Sunday, 15 June 2014

Francis Matthews RIP


Francis Matthews obituary
Glamorous star of the BBC's Paul Temple and voice of Captain Scarlet

Gavin Gaughan
The Guardian
Sunday 15 June 2014

Tall, slender and with a quietly amused expression, Francis Matthews, who has died aged 86, was ideally suited to play Francis Durbridge's gentleman sleuth Paul Temple, in the popular television adaptations of the 1960s and 70s. But his 60-year career also spanned horror films, comedy and modern classics, and as the voice of Captain Scarlet he reached a new generation of admirers.

Paul Temple, which started in 1969 and ran for 64 episodes, was one of BBC1's first colour series. From its second season onwards it was co-produced with a West German company, enabling extensive film sequences and overseas locations, the glamour of which, as well as being beyond the reach of the BBC alone, transferred to Matthews and his co-star Ros Drinkwater, playing his wife, Steve. The couple appeared almost impossibly elegant to television audiences of the day, George Sewell as their down-at-heel sidekick helping to underline their suavity.

His Home Counties image notwithstanding, Matthews was a man of the north, born in York, to Henry, a shop steward at Rowntree, and Kathleen. Visits to the theatre were a childhood highlight, and after a Jesuit education at St Michael's college in Leeds, his entreaties for backstage work at that city's Theatre Royal paid off. He first acted in a Bradford production of The Corn Is Green in 1945, before national service in the Royal Navy intervened. Following a countrywide tour with Dame Flora Robson in 1954 of No Escape, by the Welsh novelist Rhys Davies, Matthews made his West End debut in 1956. His television debut, for the BBC in its single-channel days, was in Prelude to Glory (1954). For Durbridge, he first did My Friend Charles (1956), as a seemingly affable fellow revealed in the last episode to be a drug-dealing villain.

Matthews's first film was the Raj tale Bhowani Junction (1956), directed by George Cukor for MGM, in which he played one of the men in Ava Gardner's life. He later told Gardner's biographer, Lee Server, that he was briefly involved with the star. His clean-cut qualities were also at work in several horror movies. He was an eager assistant to Peter Cushing in Hammer's The Revenge of Frankenstein (1958), then played Boris Karloff's son in Corridors of Blood (1958), with Christopher Lee. Matthews grappled with Lee, on the same sets, in Dracula: Prince of Darkness (1965) and Rasputin the Mad Monk (1966).

While making The Dark Island (1962), a BBC Scotland thriller series with Robert Hardy, Matthews became engaged to his fellow actor Angela Browne. They married the following year. Matthews was on Broadway in September 1966, but Help Stamp Out Marriage!, by Keith Waterhouse and Willis Hall, ran for less than a month at the Booth Theatre.

On and off screen, he enjoyed himself with the comedians Morecambe and Wise – particularly Eric Morecambe, with whom he shared the hobby of making home movies. He was a Secret Service stooge in the pair's debut film The Intelligence Men (1965) and at their request he had a cameo, fawning over Eric, in That Riviera Touch (1966). He worked with them again on several of their television shows, including their 1971 and 1977 Christmas specials
.

Overhearing an interview in which Matthews did a jokey impression of Cary Grant, the producer Gerry Anderson cast him in his puppet saga Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons (ATV, 1967-68). Matthews, who once listed "talking to children" among his hobbies, was probably pleased with the series' enduring appeal, although later, participating in conventions and interviews, he observed of the fans: "They dress up and stare at you when you're signing the autograph, as if you're some kind of extraordinary god!"

Having worked with the writer Alan Plater and producer David Rose on Z-Cars (1965), he did two series of Trinity Tales (1975) for them. In this reimagining of the Canterbury Tales, with boozy rugby fans replacing pilgrims, Matthews called on his working-class upbringing to play Eric the Prologue.

There was a touch of Reggie Perrin in Middlemen (1977), in which Matthews floated ideas for absurd businesses. Charles Wood's autobiographical Don't Forget to Write! (1977-79), starring George Cole as a playwright with low self-esteem, was much liked within the industry and by the discerning public. Graham Greene's May We Borrow Your Husband? (1986), adapted by and starring Dirk Bogarde, cast him as one of a gay couple. There were paternal roles in Heartbeat (2002) and The Royal (2003), and a Rik Mayall vehicle, All About George (2005). On radio, Matthews played Charles Paris, Simon Brett's ham actor turned detective.

Stage work included roles in My Fair Lady, as Higgins, on a European tour, in Frederick Lonsdale's Aren't We All?, with Rex Harrison and Claudette Colbert, at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket (1984), Middle Age Spread at the Apollo (1980) with Rodney Bewes, Badger in the National Theatre's Wind in the Willows at the Old Vic (1995) and The Kingfisher at the Yvonne Arnaud, Guildford, and on tour (2006), with Honor Blackman. The following year, he played Herr Schultz in the Lyric's revival of Cabaret, with Blackman again.

His wife died in 2001. He is survived by their three sons, Paul, Damien and Dominic, and five grandchildren.

• Francis Matthews, actor, born 2 September 1927; died 14 June 2014

http://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2014/jun/15/francis-matthews

Sam Kelly RIP


Sam Kelly, star of Porridge and 'Allo 'Allo, dies aged 70
Tributes have been made by numerous stars of screen and stage

Nadia Khomami
theguardian.com
Saturday 14 June 2014

British actor Sam Kelly, star of comedy series Allo 'Allo and Porridge, has died at the age of 70.

The Manchester-born actor's agent, Lynda Ronan, said Kelly died peacefully Saturday morning after a long illness. He was reported to have been admitted to a hospice on Friday.

She said: "He does not leave any family but a host of friends who were his chosen family. His death is a great loss to them and the profession."

Former Doctor Who actor Colin Baker, who attended the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art with Kelly in the 1960s, paid tribute to his colleague on Twitter. "Cannot believe that lovely Sam Kelly has died," he wrote. "We were at drama school together – lovely, funny, talented chap. So sad."

A tribute also came from film and TV actor Phil Davis, who said: "So sad to hear that Sam Kelly has died, a wonderful actor, a proper gent and one of the funniest men I ever had the pleasure of working with."

Kelly played prisoner Bunny Warren in the BBC's Porridge between 1974 and 1978 and Nazi captain Hans Geering in the first four series of Allo 'Allo between 1982 and 1987. As Captain Geering he was best remembered for his cry "tler!" – an unenthusiastic salute to Hilter.

His other roles include the sitcoms Barbara and On the Up, as well as the 1993 prisoner of war TV comedy Stalag Luft, in which he played Hitler alongside Stephen Fry and Nicholas Lyndhurst.

Upon reports of Kelly's death, Fry tweeted: "Very saddened to hear about Sam Kelly's death. He played a splendid Hitler".

Throughout his career Kelly also received plaudits for his theatrical performances which included roles at the National Theatre and Old Vic. In February he withdrew from his part as the Wizard of Oz in the hit West End play Wicked due to ill health.

Jacqueline Hughes, who starred with Kelly in Wicked, paid tribute on Twitter, writing: "So terribly saddened by the death of Mr Sam Kelly. I feel so lucky to have had the chance to work with such an inspiring gentleman xxx"

Other friends and colleagues also expressed their sadness at Kelly's passing. Natalie Anderson from the TV soap Emmerdale said: "Totally devastated to hear of the sad news of my friend and 'Wizard' Sam Kelly's passing!!! A truly wonderful and incredible gentleman!"

And writing on Twitter before he was about to go on stage in the West End stage show Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, Robert Lindsay, star of Citizen Smith and My Family, said he would dedicate the performance to Kelly.

He said: "Feel so depressed about the amazing Sam Kelly's passing how do we manage a second comic musical tonight? we dedicate it to him RIP".

Sherlock actor Mark Gatiss said: "Desperately sad news that the wonderful Sam Kelly has left us. Such a funny, talented man and one of the good guys. RIP Bunny Warren".

Comedy actress Rebecca Front, star of The Thick Of It, tweeted that Kelly was a "lovely actor".

Stage and screen actress Susan Penhaligon added: "Words cannot describe how sad I feel today, the glorious, funny, talented Sam Kelly has gone. He was a friend."

Magician Paul Daniels wrote: "RIP Sam Kelly. You were a funny guy."

And actress Caroline Sheen said: "No one has ever made me laugh more or taught me more about comedy than the brilliant Sam Kelly. I can't bear that he has left us. Dear man."

http://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2014/jun/14/sam-kelly-dies-aged-70

He stole the show as Senex in the 2004 production of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum.

Friday, 13 June 2014

Wednesday night's set lists

At The Habit, York: -

Set 1 - Da: -
Is It Only The Moonlight?
Falling

Set 2 - Ron: -
Autumn Leaves
You Better Move On

Set 3 - The Elderly Brothers: -
True Love Ways
Sea Of Heartbreak
The Sound Of Silence
The Boxer
Walk Right Back

Yet another quiet start to the evening with your dynamic duo performing solo spots to kick things off. By 10:30 the place had livened up considerably. There were several new players - always good to see/hear. After 12 an unplugged session ensued with some Bonzos songs making a welcome appearance.

FRIDAY NIGHT BOY COOL #256

Wednesday, 11 June 2014

I Left My Heart in Roker Park (Extra Time at the Stadium of Light) by Tom Kelly - review by Terry Kelly

Paolo Di Canio
Stage play will feature Paolo Di Canio’s reign at Sunderland


Terry Kelly
5 June 2014

Ther controversial reign of former Sunderland manager Paolo Di Canio will come under the spotlight in the revival of a play by a South Tyneside writer.

I Left My Heart in Roker Park (Extra Time at the Stadium of Light) will be performed at several regional venues later this year.

Written by Jarrow-born playwright and lifelong Sunderland fan Tom Kelly, the play is centred on the pain, heartache and occasional joy of Black Cats’ fan Kevin Halliday.

The lead role in the revamped football drama will be taken by South Shields-based actor and Sunderland supporter Paul Dunn.

Updated since it was last staged a decade ago, the play includes a lighthearted look at Di Canio’s 13-game reign at the Stadium of Light, plus “miracle manager” Gus Poyet and the team’s battle against relegation from the Premiership.

Di Canio’s time at the club was mired in controversy from the day he was appointed manager in March last year, with the alleged political views of the former forward for Lazio, Juventus and AC Milan sparking the resignation of club vice-chairman MP David Miliband.

Tom Kelly is reluctant to be drawn on too many details of his play’s depiction of Di Canio’s brief tenure at the Stadium of Light, other than the Italian’s dislike of his players having too much eye contact with anyone in the tunnel before going on to the pitch.

He said: “But we did make Match of the Day during his time at the club, including Di Canio’s famous slide. And let’s be fair – we also beat Newcastle!”

The one-man play also explores the team making this year’s League Cup Final, partly inspired by Kelly’s own trip to Wembley to see his side beaten by Manchester City.

But the play ends on a high with the Black Cats successfully avoiding the drop.

Kelly added: “What brought me back to the play? I suppose the truth is that it has never really left me. It was performed magnificently by Ray Spencer in the 1990s and then again by David Whitaker in 2004. Now it’s back with Paul Dunn at the helm.

“Listening to Sunderland away games, I often shout at the radio. SAFC are a part of me.This play is my attempt to give us ordinary fans a voice.”

•I Left My Heart in Roker Park (Extra Time at the Stadium of Light) will be at the Customs House, South Shields, on September 19 and 20, followed by the Arts Centre, Washington, on September 25 and the Gala Theatre, Durham, on September 28.

Tuesday, 10 June 2014

Rik Mayall RIP

Rik Mayall obituary
Comedian and actor best known for The Young Ones, The New Statesman and Bottom

Michael Coveney
The Guardian
Monday 9 June 2014 

Rik Mayall, who has died suddenly aged 56, was a phenomenal and outrageous performer, a leading light of the "alternative" comedy circuit that emerged from the Comedy Store in the 1980s, and a not inconsiderable comic actor, playing in Beckett and Simon Gray on the West End stage and in Gogol at the National Theatre. Part of his success lay in the timing. His crude persona Rick in the breakthrough television series The Young Ones (1982-84), written with Ben Elton and Lise Mayer, was a gimlet-eyed, nose-picking lunatic who nonetheless carried a terrible plausibility as a prissy radical student of the day.

Long gone were the serious political protests and scabrous, intelligent revues of the 60s student generation; here, student life was parodied as grotty and anarchic, with Mayall surrounded by Ade Edmondson as Vyvyan, a crypto-Nazi, Nigel Planer as Neil, a cartoon, out-of-date hippie in a haze and Christopher Ryan as Mike, a miniature smoothie; a bunch of total prats, in fact. Mayall even lived this role off-stage, telling an interviewer (half-seriously, no doubt) that he threw his satchel in the Severn on the day he heard he had got a place at Manchester University and resolved never to read a book again.

Television, and its audiences, was just ready for this sort of onslaught and Mayall and Edmondson – the two met at Manchester and remained longterm writing and performing partners – scored a major popular success, too, with Filthy Rich and Catflap (1987), written by Elton, alongside Planer; and again in Bottom (1991-95), which ran for three series but also became a fixture of the touring circuit in the live show version.

Mayall had another television hit as the cheating, monstrous Tory MP Alan B'stard in The New Statesman (1987-92), written by Laurence Marks and Maurice Gran, an irresistibly grotesque performance (for which he won a Bafta award), later transforming B'Stard into a New Labour convert in another touring stage show, The Blair B'Stard Project.

After a brief appearance in the first series of Blackadder in 1983 as Mad Gerald, he returned as the boisterous adventurer Lord Flashheart, full of sexual innuendo and flirting with Queenie, in Blackadder II (1986); then, with the same name, as a first world war flying ace in Blackadder Goes Forth (1989).

In 1998, he sustained a fractured skull after crashing a quad bike into a concrete wall on his farm in East Allington, south Devon. He was "technically dead" for five days, but made a good recovery, allegedly saying to the first doctor he saw as he came round: "So, you're the bastard who keeps sticking needles into me."

Mayall, born in Harlow, Essex, was the second of four children of John and Gillian Mayall, both drama teachers, and grew up in Droitwich, Worcestershire. At the age of five, he played a peasant in Brecht's The Good Woman of Setzuan and pulled faces when told not to sing (because he couldn't) in the school choir, aged 10; he soon knew what he wanted to do when he didn't grow up.

He was educated at the King's school, Worcester, and took a degree in drama at Manchester, where he formed a comedy partnership with Edmondson that became known on the circuit as the Dangerous Brothers, then Twentieth Century Coyote. A lot of their comedy was in reaction to Margaret Thatcher, or "Thatch" as Elton, their fellow Manchester student, dubbed her, but a lot of it was sheer high-energy nonsense and gooning about. Mayall and Edmondson wrote a very short play, The Wart (1979), in response to Ken Campbell's 24-hour epic, The Warp, which prompted the critic James Fenton to hail Mayall as "a talented maniac".

After the madness of his TV success, he joined the National Theatre in 1989 to play the deluded lead character in Gogol's The Government Inspector, duping a small town and its mayor, played by Jim Broadbent. This performance, wildly energetic though it was, I found distinctly unfunny; he was much better, two years later, in the West End, as Vladimir in Beckett's Waiting for Godot, with Edmondson as Estragon, in a surprisingly tender and melancholic revival directed by Les Blair and designed by Derek Jarman.

He had established a rapport with the playwright Gray in a revival of The Common Pursuit (he played a would-be theatre critic lapsing into glossy high-end journalism and lung cancer) and followed through in Gray's Cell Mates (1991) at the Albery (now the Noël Coward) as the Irish petty criminal, Sean Bourke, who befriends the spy George Blake in prison; Blake was played by Stephen Fry, who defected when the reviews came out.

Mayall received far worse notices for several films: Edmondson's Guest House Paradiso (1999), in which the pair of them played sociopaths running a horrid hotel near a nuclear power plant; John Henderson's Bring Me the Head of Mavis Davis (1997), in which Mayall played a vile record producer realising that his protege, sung by Jane Horrocks, would be more valuable to him dead; and his turn as Peeves the Poltergeist in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (2001), which hit the deck in the editing suite.

And there was one disastrous excursion to Hollywood in Ate de Jong's Drop Dead Fred (1991), a high-energy low comedy about a grown woman (Phoebe Cates) revisited by the imaginary friend of her childhood (Mayall) on a mission to cheer her up. He only made things worse.

But Mayall bounced back from this into Bottom and, in 2005, published a spoof, Alan Partridge-style autobiography, Bigger than Hitler, Better than Christ, and also made a surprisingly "soft" TV series, All About George, written by Cold Feet author Mike Bullen, charting his struggle to keep up with the rigours of family life; being nice in this show was a professional first.

Mayall married the make-up artist Barbara Robbin in 1985, and is survived by her and their three children, Rosie, Sidney and Bonnie.

• Richard Michael Mayall, comedian and writer, born 7 March 1958; died 9 June 2014

http://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2014/jun/09/rik-mayall

Monday, 9 June 2014

JD Salinger and Me...


JD Salinger and me: Joanna Rakoff on her extraordinary coming-of-age memoir of New York's literary world
The story of her year working for The Catcher in the Rye author's agent is one of the most highly anticipated books of the year – but Rakoff insists she never wanted to write it

Rachel Cooke
The Observer
Sunday 1 June 2014

Joanna Rakoff, author of the memoir all literary America is talking about, lives in a first-floor flat in a pretty but rather creaky clapboard house in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Its door release mechanism being somewhat temperamental, when I ring her bell one dank morning in May, she must skip downstairs to greet me – something she does barefoot, the skirt of her primrose broderie anglaise dress gathered girlishly in her hands. Rakoff, 42, is an acclaimed poet and novelist, an experienced journalist, and a mother of two. But at first glance, you would never know it. Wide-eyed, tentative and much given to confidences – her voice falls to an eager whisper when she's really dishing – she seems far younger than her years. "Would you like tea?" she asks, once we're safely upstairs and she is dancing busily between kitchen counter and refrigerator. Translated, what this means is: Be prepared: I've a lot to tell you.

It's hard to believe that her memoir, My Salinger Year, has not yet been published (it comes out this week). So much noise already surrounds it. "Girls meets Mad Men!" shouts her publisher, with only partial accuracy. For months, the emails have been pouring in. Will she write this or that piece? Will she appear on this or that radio show? The other day, she was photographed for American Vogue: stylist, hair, makeup, the lot. Naturally, all this has added greatly to her pre-publication nerves. "I didn't read any of the reviews of my first book [a novel called A Fortunate Age]. But that was relatively easy to do. This time, it will be harder. It's more personal, this book, and there is the issue of Salinger, too. He was one of the reasons I resisted writing it for so long. I didn't want to be seen as yet another person capitalising on his life, and I worry about being perceived that way even though I don't feel this is at all a story about Salinger." She sips her tea. "People love Salinger. They're ferociously devoted to him. So it's important that they understand that I'm not one of those who wants to take him down. He wasn't a psychotic weirdo. He wasn't this jerk, screaming at people in fits of temper like Sean Penn or something. He was kind, gentle, patient and respectful, and I wanted to convey that."

Rakoff's title is shrewd; Salinger sells. But it is also, as she has suggested, misleading. The author of The Catcher in the Rye makes only a few, fleeting appearances among its pages – and even then, he is mostly just a befuddled, too-loud voice on the end of a telephone line. In fact, she has written a coming-of-age story: an involving, evocative tale that will have bookish women everywhere shuddering in recognition. Like Rona Jaffe's novel of the 50s, The Best of Everything – a book that Rakoff loves and reread before she started work on My Salinger Year – it is concerned with what it feels like to move to the big city, to take on your first job, and to struggle to survive on a tiny salary when all the while your dreams are seemingly being snuffed out at every turn, and your love life is spiralling into muddle and mayhem. It is about that heady, never-forgotten period in every girl's life when fear and elation seem almost to be the same thing. The freedom! Anything might happen, out there in the wide world. But how to fit in? How to speak up? How to make it clear that you're capable of being more than typist?

Rakoff's version of this story, however, comes with an extra, gossipy twist – particularly for those readers who move in New York media circles. The job she describes in her book, hard-won and pitifully badly paid, is as an assistant to a literary agent whose most important client is JD Salinger, aka Jerry, that most famous of recluses – a man with whom she is strictly forbidden to engage in casual conversation (on pain of death is she to reveal details of his life to the outside world). Who is this agent? In My Salinger Year, Rakoff refers to her only as "my boss" and to her workplace only as "the agency", a calculated anonymity that adds to the reader's sense that its heroine has joined the literary equivalent of a religious cult. Tap the relevant details into Google, though, and the real names soon appear before your eyes: the boss in question, stern and yet oddly quixotic, is Phyllis Westberg of Harold Ober Associates. Westberg is still alive, the agency at which she works sails on, and the Salinger estate (he died in 2010) remains on its books.

Its continued existence seems like a minor miracle once you've read Rakoff's book, which is set in 1996, or thereabouts. This is the era of the dotcom boom and, in the literary world, the rapid expansion of the list of Andrew Wylie, the agent known as "the Jackal" for his rapacity; a time of dizzying auctions, huge advances for authors, and newly short lunches. Across Manhattan, authors, editors and agents alike work on computer, and make full use of email as a means of avoiding embarrassing and vulgar conversations. But at "the agency", the dark ages continue unabated. The office, wood-panelled and quiet as a grave, contains not a single computer. When Rakoff arrives on her first day, she is given a baffling and clunky Selectric typewriter and a Dictaphone machine, which must be operated by foot pedal. When manuscripts go out, their progress is recorded not on a screen, but on pale pink index cards, a Sanskrit-ish shorthand denoting which editor at which house is currently reading the draft in question (at one point, she finds the card for the manuscript of The Catcher in the Rye, which reveals that a publisher rejected it). "Most of the publishers listed on those cards no longer even existed," says Rakoff, with a laugh. "For HarperCollins we used the initials HR, which stood for Harper & Row, its previous incarnation. The pace was so slow. We were in the Palaeolithic era."

If Rakoff's boss and her colleagues grasp that things are different outside, they give no outward sign. Their attitude is resolutely superior, as if to say: we do things differently here. Sometimes, this backfires. Rakoff watches in horror as Judy Blume, the bestselling children's author, takes her business elsewhere, apparently fed up with the agency's antediluvian approach. Mostly, though, they are content to struggle on, calcified and unyielding. Rakoff's boss, in particular, seems to have come from another age, to the point where her new assistant is unable to work out exactly how old she is (she could be 40 or… 60). She wears mink coats and headscarves, smokes all the day long, and reminds Rakoff simultaneously of Don Corleone and Lauren Bacall. She reveals nothing at all of her private life or even of her feeling for books – "She was more like a mortician than an agent," says Rakoff – and seems only to come truly alive when Jerry is on the line. Jerry, by the way, has decided to allow his last published story, "Hapworth 16, 1924", to be reissued by a tiny publisher in Virginia. Does Rakoff's boss tell him this might be a bad idea? No, she does not. (As Rakoff puts it now: "Anyone else would have said: this guy isn't even minor league; he's peewee league!") What Jerry says goes, and she and the rest of her staff can only watch as the unlikely deal predictably ends in disaster, the publisher in question having talked to a local newspaper about his exciting news, at which point a furious Salinger pulls out.

Salinger, when Rakoff finally plucks up the courage to converse with him, is indeed kind to her. He is extremely deaf, and gets her name wrong. But he also encourages her to keep writing her poetry (he reveres poets). She meets him only once, when he comes to the agency to have lunch with her boss; she notices that his hair is neatly combed, but she is too agog to take in much more. Amazingly, she has not yet read his books – an epiphany lies in the near future on that score – but she is sucked in by his mythology nevertheless. Forbidden to forward to him the hundreds of fan letters he still receives every week, it is part of her job to send form letters to their authors. The only trouble is that once she has read these notes – they are so personal, so heartfelt, so tender – she cannot resist sending a proper letter back. Sometimes, quite firm, she provides advice; at others, she offers words of encouragement. "I kept only one," she says, when I ask if she still has any of these letters. "It's in my bedroom right now. In the book I guess you could say I recreated them. At one time, I did have more, because it felt strange and bad to throw them away, and they were the one thing the agency didn't file. But I left them all in Don's apartment when I moved out."

Ah, yes, Don. On the rebound from her devoted and kindly college boyfriend, a composer called Keeril, Rakoff moves in with Don, a chippy socialist and wannabe writer with junkie friends and big ideas about the novel he is writing – so big, in fact, that he cannot be bothered to get a proper job, with the result that Rakoff must bankroll him. They move into a strange apartment deep in Brooklyn which has no kitchen sink and is sub-zero in winter. When they do finally persuade their antisemitic Polish landlady to install a heater, it leaks gas so badly, Rakoff has to move out for 24 hours. Don has a wandering eye and a pretty tough line in put-downs – "he used to say to me: 'I'm not going to listen to some dentist's daughter from Scarsdale!'" – but she stays with him because she is lonely and at sea. Her parents, upset at her rejection of her college boyfriend, won't help her financially – her post-college debts are huge – and her friends are slowly drifting away. Jenny, with whom she went to school, works at a publisher in New York, but she is turning into Bridezilla before Rakoff's very eyes, her only ambition to join her fiance in Cleveland.

Was it easy to put all this on the page? The book is so gripping and funny, you feel sure she had only to twitch her nose to be back there, Selectric and all. But Rakoff shakes her head. "I didn't want to write this book," she says. "My agent didn't want me to write it either." So how did it happen? "Well, in 2001, I lost my job on a magazine called Lingua Franca, which folded. I went freelance, but I was having a hard time making a living. So I went to see this legendary reporter on the New York Times, Ralph Blumenthal, to ask for some advice, and in the course of the conversation I mentioned that I'd once answered JD Salinger's fan mail. He said: 'You should write about that.' So I did. I wrote a 6,000-word piece for a glossy magazine. That was the start of it." The piece in question got a lot of attention, and publishers began writing to her asking if she might turn it into a book. Her agent, though, warned her against being "a Salinger girl, another Joyce Maynard or something" (Maynard published a controversial memoir of the months she spent living with the much older Salinger as a teenager.) She should finish her novel instead.

"Years passed, and still I would get letters: 'I saw your piece in a magazine while I was visiting my friend's beach house', etc, etc. But still I couldn't see how it could be a book. So, cut to 2010. My father was dying, I was married to the wrong person [not Don, but not Keeril either], things had really deteriorated in my life. I wrote another piece about Salinger for Slate, and I did a piece on National Public Radio, and then the BBC wrote and said would I make a documentary about him for Radio 4? So I did that, too. It was mostly about his fans. We even hired a private detective to track one down." But if she thought this programme would draw a final line under the whole business, she soon found she was back to square one: yet again, publishers wrote begging her to turn the story into a book. At which point, her agent capitulated. She took Rakoff to lunch and told her she had changed her mind.

"I was hesitant, and I had a lot of trouble of writing it. It was painful, going back. I'm so much happier being 42 than 22. I also had all these fears. I'm not someone who likes to write about myself, and I felt loyal to the agency, even though I didn't really have anything horrible to say about them. The first year I was supposed to be working on it, I did ridiculous amounts of research, trying to put off starting. But then two things happened. The first was that I decided not to use real names. I told myself this was a novel, and these people were characters. That helped. The second was that I started to realise this is a universal story. I got my opening pages, in which I describe all these girls going to work all over Manhattan. It's not just about me. It's about women alone in the world. I was thinking about that a lot, that feeling of being unmoored."

Is her boss likely to read the book? And how would that make Rakoff feel? After all, she has invaded her privacy, describing among other things the day she fails to come to work, her married lover having shot himself in her apartment while she – Rakoff's boss – was in the next room. Rakoff frowns. "I don't know. I hope that if she does, she'll feel that she was portrayed accurately and in a holistic way. Someone said to me: everyone is comparing your book to The Devil Wears Prada. But it isn't like that. I can't feel negatively about her. I feel only sympathy. The playing field isn't level [for women], we know that. People do what they have to do." She pauses. "When I wrote that first essay, I heard that she had read it, and that she was tickled. But I remember then that I was more worried she would be upset by my revealing things about the agency than about her. It's complicated. When I worked there, I would go back and forth with my feelings. I would have moments when I felt intense love for the agency. I would go to [my friend] Jenny's office, which was all cubicles and pods and emails, and I would think: the agency seems more fun than this. But then, at other times, I was so painfully aware of how things were outside."

Salinger's death in 2010 took her by surprise; when she heard the news, she broke down. By this time, of course, she had long since left the agency – she worked there for only a year – and she had left Don, too. But her marriage to another writer, Evan Smith Rakoff, was also in trouble, and she was desperate to leave him. Salinger's end only added to her agitation. "Keeril [her college boyfriend] would come to New York, and I would collapse in his arms. 'I want to be with you,' I would tell him." This went on for years until, finally, last year, she plucked up the courage to leave her husband. She told him in a therapist's office, and as soon as the school term ended, she took her two children and went to Cambridge [Keeril teaches at Massachusetts Institute of Technology]. My Salinger Year, then, was written against a backdrop of huge emotional turmoil – and perhaps it's really thanks to this that it feels, in places, so raw and so true. What, though, will "Don" have to say about it? Gosh. Her voice drops to a whisper as she tells me a lot more. (Her opening line: "It was like I had been conked over the head by a caveman… ")

Not a day goes by, she tells me, without someone asking her about Salinger. Often, they will preface their remarks with a comment along the lines of: "I liked The Catcher in the Rye when I was young and angry, but when I read it again later, I found it so mannered, so annoying." Rakoff, though, doesn't feel this way. She read the stories and the novel first as an adult, and in the years since, turning to them again and again, she has never felt herself to have outgrown them. "I love them all, though the character I still identify with most is Franny [in Franny and Zooey]." She is wary of a literary culture that turns on those who, like Salinger, refuse fully to participate in it, and to those who believe that on some level he must have wanted the attention – who insist, as I do, that his behaviour made him more visible, not less – she is apt to point out that never before or since has a single novel had such an instantly dramatic reception as The Catcher in the Rye. "It was a cultural moment," she says. "Nothing else can be compared to it." Who could blame him if his response to fame wasn't always consistent? She isn't pious about this; her attitude, smiling and thoughtful, happily acknowledges her hypocrisy. His name is on the jacket of her book, after all. Rakoff, too, has used him – though I, for one, am inclined to forgive her. My Salinger Year is a treat even Jerry might have enjoyed.

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/jun/01/jd-salinger-joanna-rakoff-catcher-in-the-rye-memoir

Sunday, 8 June 2014

Glory In The Fire


'Glory in the Fire' is a collaboration of: -
Photography and video from Donna-Lisa Healy,
Poetry, Tom Kelly,
Music Ian Ravenscroft
and the film was edited by Andrew Hagan.

It is the re-imagined past of James Robert Henderson, a Jarrow man who faced the atrocities of the First World War.

A man with a plan...

Da in DAT Bar

Friday, 6 June 2014

Poem for D-Day: Chanson d'Automne


The long sobs
Of the violins
Of Autumn
Wound my heart
With a monotonous
Languor.

All choked
And pale, when
The hour chimes,
I remember
Days of old
And I cry

And I'm going
On an ill wind
That carries me
Here and there,
As if a
Dead leaf.

- Paul Verlaine

Thursday, 5 June 2014

Last night's set list

At The Habit, York: -

I'm Just A Loser
Love Song
Love
One Of These Days
I Believe In You
Heart Of Gold
Oh Lonesome Me

It was very quiet while the England 'game' was on, not that there is a TV in The Habit, thank goodness. Afterwards things livened up considerably. In Ron Elderly's absence this was a solo performance. Unfortunately I had to leave about 10:40 to catch the train back to the Toon, so only saw host Mark Wynn's opening set and about half of the set of the guy who followed me.

Wednesday, 4 June 2014

The Beach Boys - Brother Re-Issues Bonus Tracks...


Why so serious, Brian?

Beach Boys Outtakes Confound Fan Community

Howie Edelson
4 June 2014

Beach Boys fans are alternately thrilled and frustrated by a single copy of a three-disc test pressing of unreleased rarities and outtakes, which has suddenly surfaced. The collection, labeled Brother Re-Issues: Proposed Bonus Tracks, features a total of 56 tracks, including some widely bootlegged material in outstanding quality and others, which have never been documented before. The collection has been analyzed in depth by the Beach Boys’ connoisseur message board SmileySmile.net, with the buyer of the set, named ”Klay,” posting tidbits about his random prized find snapped up at a Southern California record store. The common consensus is that these were cuts that were passed around in-house at Capitol Records when the band's '70s catalogue -- known as the "Brother Years" after the band's boutique label and management company -- was being prepped for reissue in 2000. The albums were originally intended to be issued with a healthy dose of bonus tracks, but in the end were instead paired as "two-fers" with other albums in the catalogue.

Beach Boys author and historian Jon Stebbins has heard some of the tracks and remains floored by both quality and rarity of the material featured within: "Coming on the heels of the (recent) Made In California box, y’know, you kind of feel like, ‘Wow, we’ve gotten the best of the unreleased stuff.’ There’s just such wealth of great unreleased material on that box set that you figure anything else is really gonna be really scraping the bottom (laughs) and then all of a sudden these discs, from, I guess they probably source from, y’know, the late-‘90s, or something, when they were put together for consideration. Y’know, you find out there’s all this other amazing stuff on it, that is equal to the best unreleased things that are out there.”

During the demo for Brian Wilson's "Mt. Vernon And Fairway" -- which was released as part of the Beach Boys' 1973 Holland collection and inspired by cousin Mike Love's Inglewood, California family home -- Brian can be heard with brother Carl Wilson imitating their uncle Milton Love, calling for Love's younger brother -- and future pro-basketball player -- Stanley Love. Interestingly, Wilson had envisioned Mike Love performing the Six Teens' 1956 hit "A Casual Look" as part of the "Fairy Tale." Wilson later produced a version of Love leading the Beach Boys through the song on their 1976 15 Big Ones collection.

Stebbins feels that this newly unearthed demo proves that the officially released "Fairy Tale" ultimately represents a pulled creative punch by Wilson: “It makes more sense that way. His concept for the ‘Fairy Tale’ was way more expansive than what we got. And I think, y’know, basically, they weren’t into going back down the rabbit hole with Brian (laughs), y’know? Where. . . wherever that was gonna lead. He had an expansive concept for that. But, yeah, to have ‘A Casual Look’ in there would’ve been amazing.”

Although Brian Wilson has always been revered for the work he produced for the Beach Boys in the 1960's, frequent collaborator Mike Love told us that Wilson's music from the next decade has been unfairly overlooked over the years: "Y'know, I think Brian, when he was doing the Smile sessions and stuff, he was very dynamic. Then something happened where he shelved that for many years, until more recently. But see, the days of those -- When I called Brian 'The Stalin of the studio,' that was when we were coming out with all of those hit singles, one after another during the '60s. Then it changed. Brian's attitude and level of engagement changed. But there are some great songs that came out during, y'know, the '70s."

A substantial part of the Brother Re-Issues discs focuses on Brian Wilson’s 1976 and 1977 sessions for his two “comeback” albums as the sole producer of the Beach Boys -- 15 Big Ones and The Beach Boys Love You. We asked Wilson if he felt more or less freedom during the Love You sessions than previous albums, with Love You basically featuring him playing the majority of the instruments on his own: “Morefreedom. Very much more freedom. Yeah, a lot more freedom. Because we had. . . we gave ourselves, like 10, 12 hours a day booked time, y’know? And we took our time and we weren’t in any big rush to go anywhere, so we just took our time and recorded Love You.”

Beach Boys co-founder Al Jardine says that he's still amazed at the depth and beauty of Dennis Wilson's compositions from the 1970's: "Oh, he was the most underrated member of the band in those terms. His compositions, I think, were stronger, and they got stronger and stronger as we went along -- as he went along -- until obviously he couldn't go any further. And I just think that given time, y'know, he would've been the. . . probably the best composer in the band, outside of Brian, of course. Yeah, he just had that natural, intuitive instinct about music and lyrics. He always. . . he was the kind of guy who could get to the point without beating around the bush and, y'know, could just nail it."

Highlights on The Beach Boys' Brother Re-Issues: Proposed Bonus Tracks are:

“This Whole World” -- An alternate version of Brian Wilson's 1970 Sunflower tour-de-force, which features Mike Love taking the opening line, and a double -- and sometimes triple-tracked -- Carl Wilson vocal. Brian Wilson is featured on the bridge, with Dennis Wilson adding a vocal to Carl’s in the second verse. The gospel vocal fade includes a discarded drum break, which leads into a longer instrumental portion, which is reminiscent of Paul McCartney’s work the following year on Ram.

“4th Of July” -- Dennis Wilson's majestic backing track to his tune originally intended for 1971’s Surf’s Up collection, yet not released until 1993. The version featured here includes a six-string bass playing the song's melody note-for-note.

“Clangin’” -- A brief scaled back snippet of a group vocal that eventually morphed into 1977’s “Ding Dang” from The Beach Boys Love You.

“Ol’ Movie” -- An early version of Dennis Wilson’s 1972 Carl & The Passions - So Tough closer, “Cuddle Up,” featuring multi-tracked wordless backing vocals from Dennis and a flute arrangement playing the top melody line.

“Til I Die” -- Brian Wilson's 1969 instrumental piano demo, which is not dissimilar from his late-1965/early-1966 demo of “Don’t Talk (Put Your Head On My Shoulder)” found on The 'Pet Sounds' Sessions box set.

“T.M. Song” -- An extended version of the faux group “argument” is tagged onto the incredibly bright and rich instrumental track, which proves that Brian Wilson had lost none of his production capacities during the first half of the 1970’s. An aural treat.

“Carry Me Home” -- A pristine, releasable mix of the oft-bootlegged Dennis Wilson Holland-era song, with shared vocal by Blondie Chaplin.

http://smileysmile.net/board/index.php/topic,17621.325.html

The tracks:


http://smileysmile.net/board/index.php/topic,17621.0.html


Soooo... was this the proposed tracklist for the 2CD Brother rarities set that was mooted after the original idea of each album being released with bonus tracks fell through? Maybe. It was posted by Brad Elliott back on the old Shutdown forum back in 2002, followed by the message that any resemblance between it and the aborted Brother Rarities compilation is "purely coincidental. :-)"

Disc One:

1. Add Some Music To Your Day (alternate version with different lyrics)
2. I'm Going Your Way (Dennis' companion track to "Slip On Through")
3. Forever (alternate version)
4. Back Home (1970 recording)
5. Lady
6. Sound Of Free
7. Big Sur (original version)
8. Wouldn't It Be Nice To Live Again
9. 'Til I Die (Brian's piano demo)
10. Seasons In The Sun
11. Old Movie (early version of "Cuddle Up" from the SURF'S UP sessions)
12. Brand New Day (unreleased Dennis song for SO TOUGH)
13. All Of My Love
14. I've Got A Friend (studio version)
15. We Got Love
16. Carry Me Home
17. Out In The Country
18. We Gotta Groove
19. Michael, Row The Boat Ashore
20. On Broadway
21. Mony, Mony
22. Rock & Roll Music (long version, with extra verse)
23. Running Bear
24. Shake, Rattle & Roll
25. Sea Cruise (with Mike lead vocal)
26. Ruby Baby
27. You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'

Disc Two:

1. Gimme Some Lovin'
2. Marilyn Rovell
3. Deep Purple
4. It's Trying To Say (aka "Baseball")
5. Lines
6. New England Waltz
7. How's About A Little Bit (Of Your Sweet Lovin')
8. Go And Get That Girl
9. Mike, Come Back To L.A.
10. Companion
11. It's Not Too Late
12. California Feeling (L.A. LIGHT ALBUM outtake)
13. Calendar Girl
14. Looking Down The Coast
15. Jamaica Farewell (KTSA outtake)
16. Goin' To The Beach
17. Surfer Suzie
18. I'll Always Love You
19. Da Doo Ron Ron (KTSA outtake)
20. I'm A Man (Brian original from 7/80)
21. River Deep, Mountain High
22. Be My Baby
23. Stevie
24. Don't Fight The Sea
25. Runaway (unreleased 1982 single)
26. At The Hop
27. The Spirit Of Rock 'n' Roll

http://www.shutdown-vol2.com/forum/index.php?topic=2234.0

Hmmm. Not to read too much into this, but Andrew G. Doe reminds us that - before his fall from grace - Elliott was the man contracted to provide the liner notes for all the Brother 2fers, so who knows?

http://smileysmile.net/board/index.php/topic,17621.350.html

W. Robinson's Bookstore in Newcastle's Grainger Market Closes after 130 Years

Grainger Market book store W Robinson's closes after 130 years

By Brian Daniel
3 June 2014

A book store in Newcastle city centre which opened in 1881 has closed down.

W Robinson’s book store, in the Grainger Market, is said to have gone into liquidation, bringing to an end more than 130 years of trading.

The store, described as Newcastle’s largest independent book shop, sold bargain and second hand items and at one stage stocked over 30,000.

It originally opened in one area of the Grainger Market before moving to its present site a few years later.

The store is thought to have been owned by Michael Cornish, with the business having passed down through previous generations of his family.

Shutters were down at the store yesterday with a note placed on them saying “closed.”

Neighbouring traders at the market said it closed, without warning, on Wednesday or Thursday last week.

A member of staff at Millennium Dance, who asked not to be named, said he had put the note on the shutters after numerous people came into his shop asking about Robinson’s.

He said the rise of new technologies may have contributed to the demise of the store.

The employee said: “It is the end of an era. The Kindle and tablets have destroyed many a good business. That is life I suppose.

“They are the original shutters, the original fascia.

“It is a shame because there has been a lot of people coming over here and asking what is happening.”

Zahida Haq, of neighbouring Ruffels clothes store, said the book shop had been there throughout her 40 years in the market.

“The dad and the grandad and that is the son here now. It is the three generations.”

Grainger Market is owned and managed by Newcastle City Council.

A spokesman yesterday said the authority had been informed that the business had gone into liquidation and said he believed support would be being provided to the owners.

“We are in the process of taking back the shop unit at the moment.”

The Chronicle was unable to contact Mr Cornish.

http://www.chroniclelive.co.uk/news/north-east-news/grainger-market-book-store-w-7206836

From The London Gazette:

Resolutions for Winding-up
W. ROBINSON (NEWCASTLE) LIMITED

(Company Number 00396602 )

Registered office: Northpoint, 118 Pilgrim Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE1 6SQ

Principal trading address: 49-53 Grainger Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE1 5QQ

At a General Meeting of the Members of the above-named Company, duly convened, and held at 118 Pilgrim Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE1 6SQ on 23 May 2014 the following Resolutions were duly passed, as a Special Resolution and as an Ordinary resolution:-

“That the Company be wound up voluntarily, and that Greg Whitehead, of Northpoint, 118 Pilgrim Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE1 6SQ, (IP No 8827) be and he is hereby appointed Liquidator for the purposes of such winding-up.”

Further details contact: Greg Whitehead, Tel: 0191 211 1452.

M Cornish, Director

http://www.skyscrapercity.com/showthread.php?t=1024187&page=45

According to other information on the above forum, Stan Laurel's niece used to work there until recently.

Tuesday, 3 June 2014

Tom Pickard launches hoyoot at Newcastle Lit and Phil


Tom Pickard - hoyoot at the Lit and Phil

Tom Pickard's hoyoot: Collected Poems and Songs, published by Carcanet, will be launched at the Lit & Phil in Newcastle from 7pm on the 26th June with a reading by Tom Pickard. The event, introduced by poet and critic Terry Kelly, is free and everyone is welcome.
Cover of Hoyoot by Tom Pickard
"His ear for rhythm is exceedingly delicate, his syntax strong and terse, and his vocabulary free of fancy work. He seems able to select at will the detail which creates a whole scene or action." - Basil Bunting

For Tom Pickard poetry is a free, and freeing, space. His pen ‘demands / complete autonomy’, and finds it as it explores both harsh and lyrical realities with a northern working-class sensibility. A lifelong counter-cultural figure, Pickard transcends formal and thematic barriers with a lightness of touch that is informed both by anger and by love.

Tom Pickard was born in 1946 in Newcastle. He became friends with the poet Basil Bunting and encouraged his return to writing. In 1963, Pickard founded the Morden Tower readings with international poets such as Allen Ginsberg. Pickard moved to London in 1973 and started writing radio and documentary scripts. His publications include High on the Walls (1968) and Ballad of Jamie Allan (2007), which was a finalist for the 2007 National Book Critics Circle Award.

To order a copy of hoyoot visit the Carcanet website: 
http://www.carcanet.co.uk/cgi-bin/indexer?product=9781847772541

Monday, 2 June 2014

Hugo Williams: I Knew the Bride - review by Terry Kelly

Peter Pan Meets Elvis
I Knew the Bride, Hugo Williams, Faber, 2014, 65pp, £12.99 (hardback)
Review by Terry Kelly in The London Magazine

Hugo Williams has been called many things in a poetic career stretching back half a century. For the late William Scammell, he was 'the Bryan Ferry of English poetry...Thom Gunn meets Emily Dickinson...Noel Coward with a dash of Elvis.' Even as Williams approached pensionable age, Blake Morrison dubbed him the 'Peter Pan of English poetry.' But perhaps my favourite thumbnail poetic description was that coined by Michael Hofmann, in his brilliantly incisive London Review of Books critique of Williams's Collected Poems, published in 2002. Suggesting his work would 'sit reasonably well' with that of Wyatt, Wang Wei, Propertius and Sappho, Hofmann called Williams 'a plain-spoken metaphysical, purveying a teary elegance, clarity in confusion, insouciant reflection, irreducible unguardedness.' All of these qualities and more are apparent in Williams's latest collection, I Knew the Bride. But it's also true that while his poetic style has been extensively overhauled and loosened up since the sometimes starchy, Movement-tinged ironies of his first book, Symptoms of Loss (1965), certain lyrical obsessions remain. The 'nostalgic, valedictory sadness' discerned by Peter Reading in Williams's earliest poems has never really gone away. While often hilariously funny, Williams is first and foremost a poet of loss, almost revelling in the transience and anxieties of love since his earliest work, including the ironically-titled 'A Happy Thought,' published before his debut collection: 'Disaster is the thread/With which I stitch my painful poetry.' In fact, Williams often seems suspicious of undiluted joy, which always writes white in his lyrical philosophy. (He would surely approve of a dictum by doomed American poet John Berryman: 'The happier you get the worse you feel.') In his love-affair-gone-bad volume, Billy's Rain (1999), for which Williams won the T.S. Eliot Prize, the best poems are those which arrive after cracks start to appear in his extramarital romance, the book's fraught narrative charting the course of what William Scammell called 'a happily unhappy love affair.' A master of the subtle gradations of romantic disappointment, Williams never seems more lyrically acute than when mining the rich seams of personal failure. A plainspoken, existentialist dandy and a rational dreamer, Williams's heart seems constantly on the point of breaking.

If Williams had a 'breakthrough' early poem, it was 'The Butcher.' The last poem in his first book, it received the hard-won admiration of Ian Hamilton, the famously thin-lipped and acerbic poet, critic and editor, who became Williams's first and perhaps most significant literary mentor and an unflagging champion of his work, publishing his poems in the landmark literary magazines The Review and The New Review. As late as 1999, in a Books of the Year round-up for The Daily Telegraph, Hamilton chose Billy's Rain, highlighting what he called its 'artless candour,' while stressing it was 'actually extremely skilful, in his usual way.' Introducing the poem on a 2003 CD recording for The Poetry Archive, Williams said 'The Butcher' was 'the first poem Ian Hamilton liked of mine...I've always thought of it as the first poem of my own really.' It was also Hamilton who published Williams's Poems (1969), one of a series of pamphlets produced by The Review, helping to establish that magazine's taste for spare, emotionally intense, tip-of-the-iceberg, occasionally gnomic poems. 'The Butcher' helped fix the lyrical template for The Review's poetic house style:

The butcher carves veal for two.
The cloudy, frail slices fall over his knife.


His face is hurt by the parting sinews
And he looks up with relief, laying it on the scales.

(As if to confirm its iconic literary status, Philip Larkin included the poem in The Oxford Book of Twentieth-Century English Verse in 1973.) Moving from humdrum local detail to interrogative, apprehensive self-analysis - 'I think he knows about my life' - the poem establishes some of the distinctive poetic traits developed in Williams's later work, as the external world of the apparently friendly local butcher is darkly internalised, becoming part of the process of weighing up the inner workings of a relationship:

He writes the price on the grease-proof packet
And hands it to me courteously. His smile
Is the official seal on my marriage.

By the time of his second collection, Sugar Daddy (1970), Williams' mature poetic voice seemed fully established, with familial, domestic concerns and matters of the heart providing the raw material for a wide-eyed lyricism, and candour replacing the safety net of irony:

In the morning the birds break up our lovemaking.
They treat us like very young children.
They know it will end in tears.
('Daybreak')

Sugar Daddy also indulged a taste for dreamy poetic self-consciousness, which remains a feature of Williams' most recent work. An old Etonian, who early on discovered Elvis Presley and biker-poet Thom Gunn, Williams often dispenses a clipped, matter-of-fact 'English' lyrical version of surrealism, as in 'The Couple Upstairs': 'We come awake/And talk excitedly about ourselves, like guests.'

While the Review-style lyrical spareness was generally maintained in Some Sweet Day (1975) and the illustrated Love-Life (1979), Williams made a stylistic and thematic U-turn in Writing Home (1985), a collection widely rated as his finest to that point in his career. Described as 'a classic of creative autobiography' by the late poet Mick Imlah, Writing Home was partly an exploration of Williams's boarding school days and also a poetic hymn to his actor-parents Hugh Williams, who starred in such notable wartime films as Powell and Pressburger's One of Our Aircraft Is Missing (1942), and Margaret Vyner, an Australian-born beauty, who was immortalised in Cole Porter's 'You're the Top' - 'You're the top, you're an ocean liner / You're the top, you're Margaret Vyner' - as possibly rewritten by P.G. Wodehouse for a London show. A filial poetic autobiography, Writing Home reveals the poet as a child and adolescent destined never to live up to his parents' theatrical expectations or feel immune to the often abrasive personality and caustic put-downs of a father, following bankruptcy, who struggled to stay in the limelight after a post-war dip in his acting career: 'Out of work at fifty, smoking fifty a day,/ my father wore his sheepskin coat/ and went to auditions/ for the first time in his life./ I watched in horror from my bedroom window/ as he missed the bus to London/ in full view of the house opposite.' ('Walking Out Of The Room Backwards.') The book found the poet writing home to the other country of his boarding school past, while also letting some bagginess into his poetic method. As Williams said of Writing Home in Poetry Review (Spring 2014): 'That was when I really loosened up.' This loosening up continued unabated in his subsequent books, Self-Portrait With a Slide (1990) and Dock Leaves (1994), Williams getting more humour, sex, slapstick and more of the world into work which increasingly occupied the borderline between poetry and prose. When Williams again produced a themed collection - his widely acclaimed romantic break-up book and T.S. Eliot Prizewinner Billy's Rain (1999) - the plainness of his poetic voice paid rich dividends in work which memorably traced the arc of a doomed extramarital affair while carrying a considerable emotional punch, couching some of his old, Review-style intensities within a much more spoken lyrical form, as in 'Sweet Nothings':

Not her mouth not her chin not her throat.
Not her smell not her skin not her sweat...

None of that any more and all of it still.
All of it still and more and more of it every day.

Not all critics are convinced by Williams's embrace of a looser, more inclusive poetic style. Robert Potts has called him a 'one-club golfer...a charming and stylish prose writer (whose) poems don't think hard (nor) encourage anyone else to.' For Craig Raine, Williams 'leaves out the music in poetry,' adding: 'The weaknesses of the Williams method - or lack of method - occur when the rhythm has been so successfully repressed that what remains is chopped-up prose...' But Williams, who received the Queen's Gold Medal for Poetry in 2004, has continued to receive more critical bouquets than brickbats for his most recent collections, Dear Room (2006) and West End Final (2009), which continue to circle obsessively around his fraught love life, theatrical family and what admiring critic Adam Phillips called 'what is so strangely undramatic about our personal dramas', in poems blessed with a piercing clarity and unfailing readability.

Following the example of William Burroughs and David Bowie, Williams's later style also embraces cut-ups, the poet risking the accusation of 'chopped-up prose' by continually recycling old and discarded lines. This practice continues in his latest volume, I Knew the Bride, which takes its title from Nick Lowe's song, I Knew the Bride (When She Used to Rock and Roll), the lyrics of which the poet read out at his sister Polly's wedding reception, the retro rockabilly song later becoming the title of an elegy when she died of cancer in 2004, aged just fifty-five. In the Poetry Book Society Bulletin (PBS) for Spring 2014, Williams explains how he uses the 'overmatter' from previous poems as 'the raw material of a new poem,' adding: 'Whenever I feel like giving myself a shock I go back to this midden of overmatter and find another poem waiting. It feels like collaboration.' There are several examples of such 'collaboration' in I Knew the Bride. In an essay explaining how he goes about writing poems (The Independent on Sunday, February 26, 2006), Williams concluded: 'Every time I go to the front door the strip of carpet in the hall moves forward slightly, towards the door. Every week or so I have to pull it back. Now there's something I can use.' Eight years later, this Proustian fragment is indeed reused in poetic form at the close of 'I Was Like' in his latest collection:

The orange stair carpet
never seems to be happy
till its forward edge
is sticking out into the street.
Every day I pull it back,
taking hold of one end
and shaking it out
like shaking out
ripples of orange mud.

Similarly, Williams has repeatedly raided his long-running Freelance column in the TLS for poetic ideas. And while not as hooked on wholesale poetic revision as Derek Mahon, Williams does like to tinker with and redraft earlier poems, often giving them new titles, while also cutting or extending earlier versions. So 'Twenty Yards Behind,' a villanelle in the latest volume, dedicated to his ailing rock star friend Wilko Johnson, revisits a poem called 'Nonsense,' which previously appeared in a limited edition Williams pamphlet called Honey Hush (2005), complete with a bawdier second line: 'licking her arse and fucking her from behind.' Again, 'Rescue Warning' in Honey Hush reappears in I Knew the Bride, with its singular pronoun changed to a collective, and retitled 'Falling.' There's also yet another poem called 'Bar Italia' in the new book, named after a famous coffee bar in Soho, London, with the same title employed for poems in several collections, stretching back to Love-Life, in 1979. Williams even recycled a newspaper profile of himself by journalist Nicholas de Jongh from twenty-odd years ago, using several verbatim phrases from the article for the poem 'West End Twilight,' in his previous collection, West End Final, published in 2009. (Although he would doubtless be appalled by the idea, there's probably an essay waiting to be written on 'Intertextuality in the Poetry of Hugo Williams.')

Appropriately for the scion of a theatrical family (the poet's brother is stage and TV actor Simon Williams), the domestic world Williams describes in I Knew the Bride often resembles a disorientating stage set, where life's normal acts and routines assume an unsettling, even nightmarish quality. 'New Year Poem,' which opens the collection, is a typical late-Williams study in emotional or psychological inertia:

The day is difficult to start.
I leave it at the top of a hill
the night before. Next morning
I release the handbrake
and the whole rickety contraption
chokes itself back to life.
I come to a stop about here.

As in a painting by Magritte, the day's chronology is upset - 'I leave the room for a moment/ and when I come back it is evening.' This may be the kind of poem Williams classified under the heading 'senile nightmares' in one of his last Freelance columns, before illness intervened. Certainly, there are plenty of 'nightmarish' qualities in 'A Twitch of the Mouth,' a disturbing tour de force in the latest volume, its protagonist ricocheting around his domestic world, thoughts and emotions gripped by a kind of schizophrenic dread:

I've been acting strangely again,
ducking my head, spinning round.
I stand out of sight behind a curtain,
crying and laughing to myself.

Pitched somewhere between a Brian Rix farce and Franz Kafka - 'I run round the room on the furniture./ I lick my finger going through a door' - the poem can almost be read as a post-modernist riff on Larkin's 'The Old Fools,' which itself possessed a dark theatricality: 'Perhaps being old is having lighted rooms/ Inside your head, and people in them, acting.' A lyrical obsessive, Williams again returns to his extramarital affair of the 1990s for the sequence, 'Now that I've Forgotten Brighton,' its latest 'Bar Italia' poem establishing a bittersweet, Brief Encounterish tone:

I linger here, remembering us
braving the weather
on the other side of the glass.

A richly various collection, marked by Williams's usual sparkling clarity, disarming candour and complete tonal control, I Knew the Bride moves seamlessly from an ekphrastic, commissioned poem, 'Actaeon,' inspired by Titian, about old girlfriends exacting sweet revenge on the poet, to brief lyrics charting the anxieties of old loves, domestic dislocation or snapshot remembrance, such as 'At the Pillars,' an eight-line elegy for Mick Imlah, set in the Soho bar where Ian Hamilton once held court. Elsewhere, the beautifully judged 'Garments,' a version of Cavafy which first appeared in The London Magazine (where Williams worked from 1961 to 1970) dwells memorably on the chasm between our young and older selves, while the title poem is a moving, extended homage to a sister who taught her two older brothers how to dance to Buddy Knox's 'Party Doll,' before ultimately instructing them in the brave choreography of terminal illness: 'You turned your back on us/ to protect us from your face.' Understandably, given its weighty subject matter, the closing sequence 'From the Dialysis Ward,' about the poet's battle with kidney failure, has garnered most critical and editorial attention. Ben Wilkinson in The Guardian called the writing 'resonant and heart-stopping, as the poet's typically dandyish wit and charisma fight for ground against fear, pain, and growing uncertainty.' But while opening poem 'If I'm Early' neatly combines the figure of Thomas Hardy overseeing 'the removal of bodies... to make way for the trains,' with the poet's thrice-weekly journey via St Pancras Old Church Cemetery to the Mary Rankin Wing for his life-saving dialysis, there's also a feeling that what Williams called in his PBS Bulletin statement the 'ghastly literalness' of his hospital experience could soon peter out as poetic raw material, something he bluntly admitted in a recent Freelance column: 'The poetry therapy worked like a dream for the first year of dialysis, but I'm running out of angles, as well as people's tolerance of needles.' Indeed, while many of the individual dialysis poems are unflinching and unforgettably harrowing, the bleak subject matter narrows rather than widens Williams's stylistic options. But taken as a whole, I Knew the Bride reveals Hugo Williams writing at the height of his considerable powers.

http://thelondonmagazine.org/

Sunday, 1 June 2014

Clive James at the London Literary Festival


Seriously ill Clive James puts in a bravura performance at London literary festival – 'I'd love to go on like this'
Former Observer TV critic defies cancer to wow an audience with wit and erudition

Robert McCrum
The Observer
Saturday 31 May 2014

Clive James blew into London on Saturday with a quiver full of highly polished barbs, of the kind he deployed when he was the Observer's celebrated TV critic. Billed as a high noon, it was mainly a shootout with imminent mortality. Not that you'd have known it. "Ah, well," he began, with the sardonic smile of the old trouper, "another farewell appearance."

Why was he doing it? "Like any red-blooded Australian male," he said, in a joke designed to resonate in his home country, "I'm doing it to impress [prime minister] Tony Abbott's daughters."

After that, fully up and running, he wowed his audience at the Australia and New Zealand literature festival in the Strand in much the same old way, with a mix of exuberance, show-off allusion, topical wisecracks and Aussie irreverence.

Few critics and poets (Clive James, the polymath, is both) could bring off a monologue which effortlessly referenced "that great philosopher Kirk Douglas", the Renaissance artist Uccello, Mick Jagger and Paul McCartney, Game of Thrones, Pushkin, UA Fanthorpe, the pope, Japanese poetry, Jeffrey Archer and Meriam Ibrahim.

There was, inevitably, one big difference. The spirit of Clive James was as undimmed, and as witty as ever, but his tempo was rallentando, not rubato, conducted in a minor key of reflective and poignant sweetness.

"On the subject of dragons," he told a packed theatre, "it has been one of my rules of life to have nothing to do with any art form that has dragons in it." But then the irrepressible comic payoff: "It's one of my ambitions to live until Game of Thrones, box four." This was not a matinee, but a closing night. Young Clive was a TV idol, but vintage Clive is a 74-year-old exile racked with emphysema and leukaemia, whose inveterate frame is besieged by carcinomas. Basically, he says, "I've got the lot."

Wistful and patriotic, he recalled the Australian radio horseracing commentator Ken "Magic Eye" Howard, whose catchphrase ("As the field settles down for the run to the judge … ") expresses, he says, the eternal truth about life that we are always "on the run to the judge".

His circumstances in old age evoke a fate that Dante might plausibly have inflicted on a junior member of the damned in the antechamber to the first circle of hell.

His health has been so bad, he has had to deny rumours of his imminent demise. His marriage has been on, and off, the rocks after the disclosure of his long affair with a bottle-blonde Australian model. On Saturday, he spoke movingly about his wife and daughters, as if to scotch any rumours.

On top of his "incredible ability to make mistakes" (vide supra), his ailing body prevents him from returning to Australia, which is what he most longs to do. For a man whose lungs are "dust", it's too far to fly.

It is, however, an ill wind: here, in his adopted home, James has been "saying goodbye", as he puts it, in a succession of moving cameos, live and on radio. Whatever the outlook, he will entertain his fans until the curtain falls.

As a performer raised by the Cambridge Footlights, he knows about the risks of hogging the limelight, but believes he can pull it off. "I like to think I've hit a sort of Last Post, recessional tone," he told the Observer. "The trick is not to overdo it."

He confides that his friend, the humorist PJ O'Rourke, has advised him "to soft-pedal this death-door stuff, because people are going to get impatient".

There was, however, no sign of impatience among the capacity crowd that turned out to hear James read his own poetry, together with passages from his acclaimed translation of Dante's Divine Comedy. It was a bitter-sweet occasion with many memories. Packed into the hall for what was billed as a valedictory performance, there were Australian stars from Neighbours, numerous fellow countrymen and the writer Kathy Lette. There were also men and women, possibly Observer readers, who will have remembered the great days of James's TV criticism, a genre he more or less invented.

At his peak James was a master of the vertiginously comic, utterly quotable snap judgment. "Perry Como," he once wrote, "gave his usual impersonation of a man who has simultaneously been told to say 'cheese' and shot in the back by a poisoned arrow." He could skewer his targets with half a dozen words. Arnold Schwarzenegger in Pumping Ironwas like "a brown condom filled with walnuts". Murray Walker, the motor racing commentator, always broadcast "as if his trousers were on fire".

Prime-time James was funny, but rarely wounding. "I like to think," he says, "that I have a sunny nature." His appearance on Saturday was of a piece with that inimitable mid-season form. He can always make the words do what he wants, turning them to catch the light before his audience with a born showman's eye for magic. "My mind," he remarks in one of his greatest poems, Sentenced To Life, "basks in the light I never left behind."

He would, he concluded, with ironical laughter, "love to go on talking like this for the rest of my life". After a dazzling 90-minute solo, he got to his feet with the zest of a man who knows he has again postponed the exit to what he calls "the departure lounge". The audience also rose and cheered a man who, like his hero, the grand prix driver Jack Brabham, always "took the corners, at speed, before he got to them".

http://www.theguardian.com/culture/2014/may/31/clive-james-defies-illness-for-london-performance