Duke Special- Zodiac, Feb 22nd

(copied from my last.fm journal, as ever...)

***ADDITIONAL NOTE*** I would have had a number of excellent photos from this gig, if it had not taken me an hour to work out that to take photos of moving people, you put the camera in 'moving people' mode, (I thought night-time mode would be more appropriate, seeing as it was very dark, but no...) and if the camera had not run out if batteries two minutes after this realisation. Consequently, I have two. But they are reasonably good, and give a pretty good impression of how close to the front we were.


Duke Special is surprisingly short. What with the raggedy dreadlocks, and the eyeliner that even the most tragic emo-girl might find excessive, I'd imagined him as being tall and imposing in order to complete his completely misleading, scary appearance. But no, he's a midget, and is all the more adorable for that. I wouldn't have thought that I'd ever describe someone with his choice of hair and make-up as cute, but he's an exception. But that's besides the point- much more importantly, he is FANTASTIC live.

The support, Stephanie Dosen, was also lovely to hear as well as entertaining, even though her wackiness did seem a little forced. (But then, maybe she really is naturally that strange, I'm not one to judge...) I'd never have suspected that such an insane potty mouth lurked behind her music- all gently rippling guitar, soft and sweet vocals, with a delicate string accompaniment. Still, her songs were more than good enough to make up for the slight grating that her in-between song ramblings inspired. And she was pretty funny as well- dead orphan jokes always raise a smile, right?

The Duke himself set the mood for a magical evening when the lights dimmed, the crowd hushed and 'The Teddy Bear's Picnic' floated through the speakers. He was spell-binding the whole evening through, from the opening song (don't ask me what that was, I can't remember) right through to the supposed finale, Salvation Tambourine. His band mates were fantastic as well- clarinet is incredibly underused in modern pop music I reckon. Unfortunately, our position in the room meant we could only see percussionist Chip Bailey with craned necks, but at intervals we could still see him wield his whisk with pride, and bash his drums with all the precision and grace of a crazed clockwork robot. I would have loved to have seen the incredible stumpf fiddle action- reserved for the very end of the show- more clearly, and his assault on a cheese grater (Chip Bailey-approved grater and whisk available to purchase, only £4!) more clearly, but I don't know if it would have been worth giving up our excellent view of the Duke himself, at just the right angle to see his hands skitter and pound across the piano.

I was surprised by just how much better Duke Special's music sounded live than on record. I like Songs from the Deep Forest and all, but had always thought it was a little too glossy, much preferring live performances gleaned from YouTube; seeing for myself that gloss stripped away, the songs played organically, lifted them from being just pretty orchestral pop songs to something completely unique. He managed to make the covers he performed sound completely his own- the only one i knew was Baby Britain (Elliott Smith), but if I hadn't known it, I would have thought it was his own song. The Duke was a proper showman as well, and really seemed to be loving it on stage- an enthusiasm and appreciation which shined back from the audience. And he said 'thank you' between each song, which always makes me happy- I like politeness.

The encore saw Stephanie Dosen back on stage and singing a hymn as a duet with the Duke, which was absolutely gorgeous, followed by I Let You Down (like a tonne weight). Then, finally, on their way from the stage to out the door, the Duke and his band set up in the middle of the audience for an acoustic sing-along of John Lennon Love. (This was the only point when his height was a problem, as I couldn't see him through the mass of taller people stood in a circle around him- he's not the only midget.) Then, after a tip-off from a Duke Specialist at the merchandise table, we hung around afterwards to get our posters signed by the man himself, our gratitude towards him completely reciprocated. He's just such a lovely man, whose music completely matches said loveliness.

I'm going to allow myself a really cheesy conclusion, because I think he deserves it. 'Angels make their music, and give my spirit wings...' Duke Special, you are one of those angels- thank you.

A special day in memory of the great and noble St. Boysarerubbish, Boys Are RUBBISH day should ideally be spent in the company of several good female friends, lots of ice cream and good movies (but not rom-coms). Also, as I'm sure the good saint would agree, alcohol isn't such a good idea as the happiness it brings can oh-so-easily turn to exagerrated sorrow and weeping and dwelling on unsavoury things, as I'm sure you are all aware.

I don't know what you do if you're a boy on this day. I'd suggest there may be a St. Allgirlsaretwats for you to venerate, but of course that isn't true.

Seriously though, I'm not bitter- we all know how Valentine's Day is a load of commercialised rubbish anyway. I'd offer my own thoughts about love and the sordid like, but I think I can do better in offering you the wisest, most true words I've ever heard on the subject. That they come from the mouth of a fictional, bi-sexual Dutchman is not important- I honestly think this passage, and in fact the entire book, has had the biggest effect on my way I think about life in general out of everything I've ever read.

I'm probably breaching copyright by doing this, but I'm sure the author would understand. I'd just type out the lines I think are most important, but they wouldn't make sense out of context... so you're getting the whole lot. (Trust me, it's good though.) The most important bits are in bold. Also, this is not me coming out, or saying I want an open relationship, or that I don't believe in marriage, or anything like that. I don't agree with all that he says, but he does have a fair point. It rings true, which I think is important at any time- and especially today, when so much of the suppose love we see is false.


--From 'Postcards from No Man's Land', by Aiden Chambers

"Daan put his fork down. 'You want the lecture?' He took a drink of wine. 'Okay, here's the lecture. Then it's enough maybe. Yes? Agreed?'
Jacob said, 'Dunno what I'm going to hear yet.'
'No, but it will be enough. Then the ice cream. That's the bargain.'
'What a dictator you are. Thank heaven you're not a politician.'
'Or a husband,' Ton said.
'You want it or not?' Daan said.
'Okay, yes,' Jacob said.
Daan wiped his mouth with his napkin. 'You've heard all the arguments. You'd have to be brain dead not to. Marriage belongs to an out-of-date social system, a different way of life from now. There's nothing absoluut about it. It's only a way of controlling the population. It's about property and land rights. [To Ton] overerving-?'
'Inheritance,' Ton said.
'Inheritance. The purity of the... shit!- [to Ton] geslacht?'
'Let me think... [to Jacob] lineage?'
'Line,' Jacob said. 'The family line.'
'Yes,' Daan said, 'the family line. Only if the woman was pure when the man married her and she became his possession was he sure his children were his. And only if he was the only one who fucked her could he still call her his. Marriage is about the protection of the genes and about ownership. You've heard all this before. Yes? Well, it doesn't mater now. It's of no importance. Except to a few dinosaurs, like royal families and monomaniacal multi-millionaires, and to people with a vested interest, like priests and lawyers and politicians.'
'And not to them any more, to judge by their actions,' Ton said. 'Look at your British royals. What a mess, eh? What a hypocrisy!'
They laughed.
Daan went on, 'As for eternal love, loving the same person for ever, living with the same person for ever. Can you think of anything which is more obviously untrue? It's an illusion.'
'Sarah and Geertrui don't think so,' Jacob said.
'Ha!' Daan mocked. 'And look at them. What are they in love with, our two grootmoeders? Not who. What. You think our English grandfather was so wonderful as they both say? You think he was so perfect? You think he was this big romantic hero Geertrui makes him? No no. Of course not. Come real, Jakob.'
'Get real is what you mean. Another gormless phrase.'
'Gormless?' Ton said.
'I dunno,' Jacob said irritably. 'Stupid, naff, silly.'
'Come real, get real, who cares!' Daan said. 'Geertrui's Jacob is an illusion. Verbeelding. Fantasy.'
Jacob was rattled. 'I don't believe you. Maybe she sees him through rosy spectacles now, after all these years. Sarah too. But something big happened between them then. Something true. Something existed which wasn't a fantasy. They haven't made it up. You can't deny that.'
'Yes. Then. For how long. A few weeks? But if he had lived...?'
'That's an if. Nobody can know.'
'Great! Okay! That's how it was. For both of them, a big love. And Jacob a great guy. Well, he must have been. We're his grandsons and we're great guts, yes?'
They laughed.
Daan went on, 'And yes, nobody knows how it would be between them now. That's my point. You're agreeing with me. Nobody knows, because what we know is that it was more likely not to be a big thing between them any longer after all these years. There's no absoluut. No for ever. So don't pretend there is. Don't make rules about it. Or laws based on it. If people want to say for ever to each other, okay, let them. It's up to them. But for me, no. Just like there are no rules about love. Who you love. How many people you can love. Like love is some kind of commodity in... [to Ton] eindig?'
'Eindig, eindig...'
'Shit! This is so boring to do in English. Why don't you speak Dutch, little brother?'
Ton had got up and gone to the bookshelves. Daan poured more wine. Ton came back, flipping the pages of a Dutch/English dictionary.
'Eindig,' he said, reading. 'Finite.'
'Finite?' Daan said. 'Okay, finite... What the hell was I saying?'
Jacob said, 'Love is not finite.'
'Right. Yes. Love is not finite. It is not that we each have a limited supply of it that we can only give to one person at a time. Or that we have one kind of love that can only be given to one person in the whole of our lives. It's a ridiculous thing to think so. I love Ton. I sleep with him when we both want it. Or when one of us needs it, even if the other doesn't want it then. I love Simone-'
'Simone?' Jacob said.
'She was here the other morning when you left. She called out to you. She lives two streets away. Ton and Simone know each other. They were friends before I met them. We've talked about it. Ton never sleeps with women. That's the way he is. Simone only sleeps with me. That's the way she is. I sleep with them both. That's the way I am. They both want to sleep with me. That's how we are. That's how we want it. If we didn't, or if any one of us didn't, then, okay, that's it. All the stuff about gender. Male, female, queer, bi, feminist, new man, whatever- it's meaningless. As out of date as marriage for ever. I'm tired of hearing about it. We're beyond that now.'
'You are, maybe,' Jacob said. 'Not all of us, though. Not most of us probably. Not where I come from anyway.'
'No, well, nothing ever changes completely at once, does it. That's why revolutions always fail. You can't do anything big with people all at once. But that doesn't mean you have to stay with the ones who belong to the old ways, if you don't. Nothing would ever change if people did that. And me, like I say, I'm tired of discussing it. Let people go on the way they want to in the old way if they can't live up to the new way. But I'm not going to be stopped. I'm not going to be held back. I'm not going to live the kind of lie that keeps the old system going.'
Jacob said, 'I dunno. Doesn't seem to me to be as clear cut as you make out.'
'Yes it is,' Daan said. 'I love who I love. I sleep with who I love if we both want it. Nothing to do with male or female. Nothing is secret. If it ends between us, it ends. That's life. The pain is part of it. Without it, we'd be dead. All that really matters to me is the people I love. How we live together. How we keep each other alive.'
Daan sat back in his seat and rapped the table with his knuckles.
'There,' he said, grinning. 'Over. Finished. Ice cream now. Yes?'"

Patrick Wolf- Zodiac, 6th Feb

(Copied from my last.fm journal)

LESSONS LEARNED
(in chronological order)

1. Nice people from last.fm may in fact turn out to be nice people in real life.

2. Never, ever trust the Zodiac to start a gig at anything approaching a reasonable hour. Having the support act on one hour fifteen minutes after the doors open, so the main act is on an hour after that, is fine by them. They do not care that some patrons may have to leave at a certain hour in order to get public transport home, and thus miss half the gig. They have no souls.

3. No Bra is impossible to describe politely.

4. The Zodiac staff are still doing their best to protect the innocent, by soon stopping No Bra from proving his/her own name. (Yes, I know there were breasts, but I refuse to accept that he/she is an actual woman.)

5. Never feed drugs to ginger midgets. You will risk being taken out by their wildly flailing, wee little limbs.

6. Patrick Wolf is a very, very pretty man. Okay, so I already knew that, but he is especially pretty when dressed in sideways hair, a swoosh of glitter over one eye and an amazing electric blue military-style-buttoned tailcoat thing.

7. Patrick Wolf is still an amazing virtuoso violinist, and Overture is a brilliant opener.

8. Virginals are far nicer sounding than harpsichords, and Mr Wolf can play one as nicely as he does the piano. And Bluebells sounds especially brilliant on it.

9. Theramins are fun. I want one.

10. The ukelele on Augustine is still incredibly menacing in the most awesome way imaginable.

11. Patrick Wolf has a friend named Craig who looks like a woman but whose name suggests otherwise (my ability to guess people's genders has been messed with after witnessing No Bra). When drunk, Craig can be persuaded to get on stage with Patrick and sing Larrkin's part on Accident and Emergency.

12. Leaving after only 45 minutes of Patrick Wolf, and hearing Tristan booming from upstairs whilst leaving the building, is very saddening indeed.

Songs we did see, in as much of an order as I can remember, are:
Overture
Let's Get Lost
To the Lighthouse
Bluebells
Jacob's Ladder
Augustine
Don't Say No
Accident & Emergency

What we saw was fantastic, but I'm still really, really annoyed that we only got to see half. Maybe there were technical difficulties or something- we only got there at eight, so we don't know. I'm particularly upset that we didn't see Bloodbeat or A Boy Like Me, as those were probably my favourites from last time.

Anyone care to fill me in on what we missed?

***EDIT*** I love YouTube. The Wolf plays Overture:

A short update:
After the splurge of pain and moaning of my previous entry, I am now feeling pretty much fine; not perfect, but I am now confident that everything will work out for the best. Maybe I'm reading too much into things, but I now see the vomit incident as symbolic: an act of cleansing, with the expulsion of all the horrible poison of the previous week in order to move on with my life. There may still be a little nausea and tiredness from time to time, but ultimately I will be a better person for it, my immune system stronger for having combated the bacterial invasion. (Who can tell I had biology today...)

Patrick Wolf in a few hours! I'm excited :)

And so the worst week of my life ends in a spectacular blaze of vomit.

The past seven days have seen:

• Me send away the only boy who has ever meant anything to me;
  
• One of my best friends, who is already more prone to death than most other people, admit she's been (unwillingly) helping that potential early death along;
• Me realise that the chances of me failing, or at least dramatically under-achieving in, History are very high;
• The gigs I've been looking forward to for months be slashed in number, and the ones I am still attending be tainted, due to point #1.

At the moment I am just a big ball of numb, so I'm not feeling that bad. Sometimes, I've even felt something resembling contentment, because at least I, nor anyone else, is lying any more. But most of the time I've been feeling shit, shit, shit, and I find it so hard to talk to anyone about it because I don't like to make a fuss and besides, I get the impression that most people don't really want to know. We're all just bloody islands.

The one thought that got me through the day today was that soon I would see my future sister-in-law, who has been the biggest help to me recently. Without something positive to focus on, I honestly don't know if I could have got through another four hours sat at the front till at Woolworths, directing silly people to the batteries, glaring at the Valentine's Day sign and hating myself. I had to miss a family engagement- the 2nd birthday of my baby cousin Leo- to go to work, which didn't bother me that much to be honest. The prospect of spending an afternoon with my joy-filled family and having to say no, I'm not going out with whas-his-face anymore, was hardly a cheering prospect, and I'd be seeing Fliss afterwards anyway.

Unfortunately, when I leave work (ten minutes late because yet again there are some stupid fuckers who decide to enter the shop one minute before closing time, then spend the next ten debating exactly what sweets to buy) and see my father waiting outside for me, he informs me that my mother has been sick, so the car smells a bit. I HATE vomit. I can't stand it. I know there's hardly going to be someone who says well, actually, I love it, but really, I think I might hate it more than most people. I get in the car and it reeks. There are huge orangey chunks spattered on the dashboard, down my mother's face and all over her clothes. I find out later that she had in fact fainted before she threw up, which is why there is no trace of control in her sick patterns.

Turns out that some soup at the family party was left unrefrigerated, and everyone who ate some (apart from my father mysteriously, so far at least) had got very violent food poisoning. Fliss was sick before my parents evern left to pick me up, so of course I won't be seeing her this evening, and instead spent some time sponging vomit off of my mother's very expensive leather handbag (I left my father to deal with the car.) She's fine now, though, apparently, so hopefully the rest of my family are feeling better now they've got it all out of their stomachs. I'm so glad that I couldn't go, in the end. In a way, I see it like a sign from a greater power- it's like the cosmos knows I've had a rough enough week already, and so orchestrated it so at least I wouldn't be spending my evening chucking up. It would have seemed appropriate, though.

Sorry for not being full of sunshine at the moment. It'll get better with time, or at least that's what people keep telling me. And although I might not ask for you to listen, or for your support, that's just because I'm just not emotionally mature enough to do that. Believe me, I need all the help and support I can get.

Watching these makes me smile and feel a bit better about life, even when I'm finding that especially hard. I hope they make you smile, too.

(In the second one, I love the idea that there are people in the audience who have never seen the original OK Go video, so are just thinking 'what the hell?')