I waited in anticipation last night for Jay-Z’s, some have said controversial, appearance as the Saturday night headliner at the Glastonbury Festival.
As some fans had voiced their concern at a hip hop act topping the bill at this traditional and long running fest, I was intrigued as to what his reception may be – would they dare to bottle one of the greatest rappers of certainly our generation, or would the laid back country folk merely accept him as another genre to the eclectic bow belonging to Michael Eavis?
It was Noel Gallagher who started the ball rolling once the acts had been revealed in April, saying that the choice of Jay-Z was deviating from the festival’s tradition of guitar-based headliners.
“If it ain’t broke don’t fix it,” he said. “If you start to break it then people aren’t going to go. I’m sorry, but Jay-Z? No chance. “Glastonbury has a tradition of guitar music and even when they throw the odd curve ball in on a Sunday night you go ‘Kylie Minogue?’ I don’t know about it. But I’m not having hip-hop at Glastonbury. It’s wrong.”
He may not have had it at Glastonbury, but it certainly appeared that 120,000 revelers did last night. I knew it was going in the right direction when the Brooklyn rapper straddled onto the stage to sing his version of the Oasis hit ‘Wonderwall’ – complete, may I add, with his live band…yes, a live band which for Noel’s sake did include guitars.
I was pleasantly surprised as many rap acts rely mostly on a backing track and microphone, but the fact Jay-Z had put on his full show which fully engrossed and included the crowd was impressive – regardless of the musical genre.
It was typical Noel Gallagher’s remarks would make the headlines, he’s an old pro at the festivals and his wants to protect that but Glastonbury has always been fully open to different types of music. After all they have something like 27 individual stages, with music varying from folk and country, dance to jazz and new world to the new addition of hip hop. Part of its mass pulling power is that it sells itself as a ‘family’ festival, where there truly is something for everyone.
So while the open-minded good, good people of Glastonbury were devouring their slice of American pie, I hope somewhere in the world Mr. Gallagher was being force-fed a dish of the humble variety.
Sunday, 29 June 2008
Thursday, 26 June 2008
Showers suspend play
You know that summer is officially here and you’re guaranteed two weeks of rainy showers, when you turn on the TV and hear that infamous music for the start of Wimbledon. Out they roll the past tennis masters to commentate, Boris Becker out of his cupboard and John McEnroe out of his soundproof box. Yes, I AM being serious.
I just adore how British the whole tournament is, I know that’s more blazingly obvious than a Big Brother contestant appearing in a lad’s mag, but the rules and traditions are so quintessentially British.
From the determination of a Brit camping out to get on Centre Court and once there sitting under an umbrella, safe in the knowledge that ‘giving it 5 minutes’ will clear the grey skies – and that’s just our British players!
The great hope and longing that our national number one WILL make it to the final and lift the trophy this year and the sudden hilarity of a pigeon landing on court and disrupting match point – when in any other situation, walking through the city seeing one of those buggers merely gives you the desire to kick it towards the direction of the road.
The Britishness seems to rub off on the international stars too, Roger Federer in his blazer last year and this year in an even more fitting cardigan – complete with gold buttons and RG initialed crest. It’s more forced to please the masses than Madonna’s Americano-Cockney accent.
Ralph Lauren is shipped in with his preppy style to make the court staff and umpires look like 1950’s boyband dreamboats, while the public descend on the stomping ground now known as Murrayfield or Murray Mound – previously a Hill belonging to Henman and a Ridge owned by Rusedski.
We also love an underdog and once the tradition of our man or woman going out in round 2 becomes a distant memory lost in the bottom of a strawberry punnet, we adopt another less obvious hero as our own to defy the odds.
But if us Brits survived the Blitz, then what’s a little sprinkling of rain going to do to harm us during a tennis tournament? The possibility that Cliff Richard’s agent will be rubbing his hands together at the thought of one spit of rain landing on the umpire’s nose – that’s enough to shake an entire nation to its very core.
I just adore how British the whole tournament is, I know that’s more blazingly obvious than a Big Brother contestant appearing in a lad’s mag, but the rules and traditions are so quintessentially British.
From the determination of a Brit camping out to get on Centre Court and once there sitting under an umbrella, safe in the knowledge that ‘giving it 5 minutes’ will clear the grey skies – and that’s just our British players!
The great hope and longing that our national number one WILL make it to the final and lift the trophy this year and the sudden hilarity of a pigeon landing on court and disrupting match point – when in any other situation, walking through the city seeing one of those buggers merely gives you the desire to kick it towards the direction of the road.
The Britishness seems to rub off on the international stars too, Roger Federer in his blazer last year and this year in an even more fitting cardigan – complete with gold buttons and RG initialed crest. It’s more forced to please the masses than Madonna’s Americano-Cockney accent.
Ralph Lauren is shipped in with his preppy style to make the court staff and umpires look like 1950’s boyband dreamboats, while the public descend on the stomping ground now known as Murrayfield or Murray Mound – previously a Hill belonging to Henman and a Ridge owned by Rusedski.
We also love an underdog and once the tradition of our man or woman going out in round 2 becomes a distant memory lost in the bottom of a strawberry punnet, we adopt another less obvious hero as our own to defy the odds.
But if us Brits survived the Blitz, then what’s a little sprinkling of rain going to do to harm us during a tennis tournament? The possibility that Cliff Richard’s agent will be rubbing his hands together at the thought of one spit of rain landing on the umpire’s nose – that’s enough to shake an entire nation to its very core.
Monday, 23 June 2008
The People Versus
One of the biggest music releases of the year has lived up to its hype as Coldplay’s latest offering headed straight to number 1 and even spawned (excuse the pun) their first UK number 1 single, a position ‘Speed of Sound’ was embarrassingly denied by that damn Crazy Frog a couple of years ago.
Even so, as ‘Viva La Vida’ or ‘Death And All His Friends’ or ‘Come On Martin Pick One Title’ or ‘Is This Just A PR Stunt?’, hit the top with a sprinkling of iTunes advertising magic, it only just survived some scathing reviews from the critics.
But does the fact it will clearly go on to sell millions and save EMI’s arse once again go to show that the general buying public doesn’t listen to critics?
After all, surely if the most praising review of the Crazy Frog song was ever uncovered (and the critic who wrote it sent to a darkened room for the rest of their days), didn’t help propel it to number 1 that time over Coldplay. Does public demand beat critical opinion?
Maybe it’s different across the board of media, people and fans of different music know what they like and are loyal to it. On the other hand something like film often depends wholly on the opinions of a review to even get it off the ground.
I can only whisper the word ‘Glitter’ starring Mariah Carey without getting a shudder – god knows how many of us actually donned a fake moustache and glasses to go and watch it, but the rotten tomatoes and bad reviews it got certainly put me off I’ll freely admit…not that I was too bothered about a film based loosely on Mariah’s life – as loose as her bra evidently.
But the gem in the people versus critics comes when a slow burner of an album or film suffers the mauling of a hungry clan of critics only to then be outdone by Joe Public as they buy and attend in force, based on the best form of publicity there is – word of mouth.
If some old dodder from The Guardian tells you Will Farrell is an unfunny buffoon attempting to mock the 1970s news genre but then your best mate tells you ‘Anchorman’ is funny as fuck – based on whose opinion will you honestly bother going to see the movie?
The public know what they like, whether it makes a lot of sense of not – after all, ask yourself, do you actually know anyone who bought the Crazy Frog song? Or even a Westlife single? WHO is doing that? If you do know, I’d suggest you hand them into the nearest police station as I certainly consider them a threat to the public.
Then again, making such a statement - does that make me a critic now?
The buying public, whether it’s music, cinema, fashion or theatre to name a few, appreciate that what they like is a lot of the time based on what it gives them. The critic’s opinion may sway your impulses if perhaps you’re undecided, but fundamentally you know what type of coffee you like and although someone may suggest you try something new you stick to that one as it gives you what you want.
Now I’m not comparing Coldplay to a mocha latte with wings or probably the more appropriately named chilly frappachino (hell, let’s make it Fair Trade if we’re being precise) but that’s my example.
As the Crazy Frog no doubt wallows in a pond full of spawn from the past groupie conquests of his hey days, Chris Martin continues to write what some see as dreary soft rock and others as anthemic, arms in the air classics, waking up beside Gwyneth Paltrow and making trade fair, you tend to think if Coldplay satisfy so many people with their music then who, besides a frog in goggles, is going to stop them – certainly, for now, not the critics.
Even so, as ‘Viva La Vida’ or ‘Death And All His Friends’ or ‘Come On Martin Pick One Title’ or ‘Is This Just A PR Stunt?’, hit the top with a sprinkling of iTunes advertising magic, it only just survived some scathing reviews from the critics.
But does the fact it will clearly go on to sell millions and save EMI’s arse once again go to show that the general buying public doesn’t listen to critics?
After all, surely if the most praising review of the Crazy Frog song was ever uncovered (and the critic who wrote it sent to a darkened room for the rest of their days), didn’t help propel it to number 1 that time over Coldplay. Does public demand beat critical opinion?
Maybe it’s different across the board of media, people and fans of different music know what they like and are loyal to it. On the other hand something like film often depends wholly on the opinions of a review to even get it off the ground.
I can only whisper the word ‘Glitter’ starring Mariah Carey without getting a shudder – god knows how many of us actually donned a fake moustache and glasses to go and watch it, but the rotten tomatoes and bad reviews it got certainly put me off I’ll freely admit…not that I was too bothered about a film based loosely on Mariah’s life – as loose as her bra evidently.
But the gem in the people versus critics comes when a slow burner of an album or film suffers the mauling of a hungry clan of critics only to then be outdone by Joe Public as they buy and attend in force, based on the best form of publicity there is – word of mouth.
If some old dodder from The Guardian tells you Will Farrell is an unfunny buffoon attempting to mock the 1970s news genre but then your best mate tells you ‘Anchorman’ is funny as fuck – based on whose opinion will you honestly bother going to see the movie?
The public know what they like, whether it makes a lot of sense of not – after all, ask yourself, do you actually know anyone who bought the Crazy Frog song? Or even a Westlife single? WHO is doing that? If you do know, I’d suggest you hand them into the nearest police station as I certainly consider them a threat to the public.
Then again, making such a statement - does that make me a critic now?
The buying public, whether it’s music, cinema, fashion or theatre to name a few, appreciate that what they like is a lot of the time based on what it gives them. The critic’s opinion may sway your impulses if perhaps you’re undecided, but fundamentally you know what type of coffee you like and although someone may suggest you try something new you stick to that one as it gives you what you want.
Now I’m not comparing Coldplay to a mocha latte with wings or probably the more appropriately named chilly frappachino (hell, let’s make it Fair Trade if we’re being precise) but that’s my example.
As the Crazy Frog no doubt wallows in a pond full of spawn from the past groupie conquests of his hey days, Chris Martin continues to write what some see as dreary soft rock and others as anthemic, arms in the air classics, waking up beside Gwyneth Paltrow and making trade fair, you tend to think if Coldplay satisfy so many people with their music then who, besides a frog in goggles, is going to stop them – certainly, for now, not the critics.
Saturday, 21 June 2008
Welcome, Benvenuto, Bienvenue and How Do!
So, I've decided to start writing a blog.
I appreciate this is neither the newest thing to do, nor the most fashionable. But as social networking sites take over people's lives it seems that these days people are more interested in who you know - rather than what you know.
Adding to that belief, I'm sure if you know me or have just stumbled on this blog by mistake you may not even care for what I think - but I enjoy the writing and it keeps the old brain of a 25 year old ticking over. Of course in an ideal world I'd be sitting in front of my laptop, sipping a Cosmopolitan in my New York apartment overlooking Central Park...
...the reality is that I'm typing on my old PC (a battered victim of my 2004 dissertation), trying to wipe spilt coffee from between the T and Y keys, with the view of the opposite house's trees and a mobile phone mast on the horizon to inspire me.
Bet I get a damn better Orange signal than Carrie bloody Bradshaw anyway. ;-)
Stick that in your Jimmy Choo's and walk in it.
I appreciate this is neither the newest thing to do, nor the most fashionable. But as social networking sites take over people's lives it seems that these days people are more interested in who you know - rather than what you know.
Adding to that belief, I'm sure if you know me or have just stumbled on this blog by mistake you may not even care for what I think - but I enjoy the writing and it keeps the old brain of a 25 year old ticking over. Of course in an ideal world I'd be sitting in front of my laptop, sipping a Cosmopolitan in my New York apartment overlooking Central Park...
...the reality is that I'm typing on my old PC (a battered victim of my 2004 dissertation), trying to wipe spilt coffee from between the T and Y keys, with the view of the opposite house's trees and a mobile phone mast on the horizon to inspire me.
Bet I get a damn better Orange signal than Carrie bloody Bradshaw anyway. ;-)
Stick that in your Jimmy Choo's and walk in it.
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