Ash at the Cardiff Tramshed

With apparent modesty, Ash initially booked the Cardiff show in their 2019 tour into the Globe - capacity 350, apparently - but were forced, though demand, to relocate in across town, to the Tramshed - capacity 1000; and by the end of the night, with the audience packed together, sardine-like, it was clear that the trio, from Downpatrick, Northern Ireland, are still hugely popular, 25 years on from their emergence.

Supporting were Novacub, led by Louise Bartle and featuring her fellow Bloc Party alumnus Russell Lissack (also a sometime member of Ash) on guitar. Very likeable melodic indie-rock, with a lightness of touch which seemed at odds with what appear to be some angsty lyrics.

Inevitably the headliners’ set focussed on the latest album, “Islands”, the almost-hit single “Buzzkill” being a stand-out; but with classic debut album “1977” also well represented. Personal highlights included singalongs to “Oh Yeah” and “Shining Light”; bass-player Mark’s crowd-surfing during “Angel Interceptor”; and the general raucousness of the whole thing. Tim Wheeler does not have the most powerful of voices, but he’s a charming front-man and, of course, a gifted songwriter, whose sensitivity shines through the punkiness. The final song in the encore was “Burn Baby Burn”, which topped off an almost perfect evening. My fourth experience of seeing them live – hopefully not the last.

Edinburgh Fringe Shows / Homeless World Cup

This is the time of year when all theatrical activity ceases everywhere except in Edinburgh, so I thought I might as well flag up my reviews of those productions I’ve seen in Cardiff which are playing on the Festival Fringe – all of them solo shows, as it happens.

Carys Eleri’s multimedia take on love and loneliness, “Lovecraft” returns, last year’s run having been curtailed due to a bereavement; National Theatre Wales are showcasing two of their N.H.S. monologues, including Rachel Trezise’s abortion-themed “Cotton Fingers”; Dirty Protest are offering Sian Owen’s Newport odyssey “How To Be Brave”; Jonny Cotsen muses on his experience of a lifetime of deafness in “Louder Is Not Always Clearer”; and the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama are bringing Benjamin McCann’s apocalyptic “Grit”. There’s also a non-Welsh show which played at The Other Room: “Laurie Black – Space Cadette”.

 

Carys Eleri (Photo - Kirsten McTernan)

Meanwhile, in Cardiff, the Homeless World Cup, backed spiritual and financially by Welsh actor Michael Sheen has been happening, which was well worth popping down to see in the city’s Bute Park, whether to check out the four-a-side sporting action, or other events, including musical entertainment in the evening. On Thursday, I managed to see the much-acclaimed relative indie newcomers Mellt, who were very impressive; as well as one of the finest bands ever to come out of Wales, The Joy Formidable, led by charismatic guitar heroine Ritzy, who mentioned that they were marking their tenth anniversary. Some very powerful, emotional songs, anchored by some jazz-tinged bass-playing; with the genial mood enhanced by the rabble-rousing drummer. Lovely stuff.

The Joy Formidable (with Michael Sheen side of stage)

"A Prayer For Wings" / Garbage

Last week, I paid a rare visit to Swansea, to see West End/Broadway director Sean Mathias’ production of the play which kick-started his career in the mid-1980s, “A PrayerFor Wings”, performed in his home town for the first time, at the Volcano Theatre. The play itself was beautifully performed, and stood up very well, but one was inevitably distracted by the presence of Sir Ian McKellen and Frances Barber supporting their old friend in that intimate, rough-and-ready space; Kevin Allen who played the male role in the original Edinburgh production was also in attendance.

"A Prayer For Wings" production team (photo: Swansea Grand Theatre)

Sunday night saw a long-awaited event – the visit of Garbage to Cardiff, several years after a previous date was cancelled when the band went on hiatus. In support, in the Great Hall at the Students’ Union, was DuBlonde, featuring guitar heroine Beth Jeans Houghton leading a classic rock trio with a stripped-down, sensitively punky set, mostly comprising new material; and she even manned the merch stall during the interval.

The headliners were in imperious form, singer Shirley Manson in chatty mood as she admitted being more at ease playing in a relatively intimate space than during other recent shows. With the augmented classic line-up missing only drummer and super-producer Butch Vig (rotator cuff injury), the set focussed on the  second album “Version 2.0”, the current tour marking the 20^th anniversary re-release; but newer songs such as “Blood For Poppies” got an airing, as well as classic early singles “Vow”, “Only Happy When It Rains” and “Stupid Girl”. One forgets how massive Garbage were in the 1990s, with the world ready for a female-oriented, electronica-inflected take on grunge, and Manson is certainly an authoritative but somehow relatable frontwoman. This was a propulsive, 80-minute set, and I felt the absence of some of their more poignant songs (“Cup Of Coffee” excepted), but it was rounded off with an ironic encore of “When I Grow Up”, delighting a crowd many of whom were not in the first flush of youth.

The show provided a fittingly feverish end to a day of remarkable televised sport (England’s men winning the Cricket World Cup; Djokovic beating Federer in the longest ever Wimbledon final).

Tafwyl / Tate Modern

Every year, Cardiff hosts a festival called Tafwyl, which is a celebration of Welsh-language culture. I paid my first visit this year, but as someone with only a smattering of Cymraeg, made it easy on myself by restricting myself to the Saturday night concert. Thus, I caught some melodic indie-rock from Yr Eira, a bit of smooth electro-pop from H.M.S. Morris (whom I saw a few years ago, supporting Songhoy Blues), and most of the enjoyably anthemic set by Candelas, a band with which I was previously unfamiliar, but who obviously have a large, enthusiastic following.

Candelas at Tafwyl

The next day, I paid one of my irregular visits to London, this time to experience the inspirational Tate Modern Museum as a birthday treat. As always, the exposure to a universe of ideas expressed with love, intelligence and commitment was humbling and overwhelming. This time round, Cildo Meireles’ “Babel”, a tower made of old-fashioned radios, made a big impression; as did Yinka Shonibares’ room-sized installation “The British Library”, comprising a display of hundreds of lavishly bound books, celebrating the contribution of immigrants to this nation. The “Magic Realism” exhibition of work from Weimar Germany was also striking. The whole experience is like taking a holiday in other people’s minds. The gift-shops are also good.

London skyline seen from Tate Modern

"Rocketman"

Elton John’s remarkable work in the early 1970s has been somewhat overshadowed by his subsequent “tantrums and tiaras” public image. Thus it is a relief to report that while Dexter Fletcher’s bio-pic “Rocketman”, co-produced by Elton, is an all-out musical extravaganza, complete with dance routines and hallucinogenic fantasy sequences, it also pays due homage to his musicianship.

It starts as it means to go on, with Taron Egerton’s Elton, dressed in demonesque red costume, striding into rehab, finally facing up to his issues; and goes on to detail his upbringing, with a distant father (Steven Mackintosh), warmish mother (Bryce Dallas Howard with an impeccable accent), and encouraging grandmother (Gemma Jones); early entry into the Royal Academy of Music; life as a touring soul musician; and pivotal relationships with lyricist Bernie Taupin (Jamie Bell), music publisher Dick James (a hilariously profane Stephen Graham) and cynical manager and lover John Reid (Richard Madden).

Elton’s sexuality is front and centre, his torment over being gay – or rather, other people’s attitudes towards it – leading to isolation and substance abuse. Throughout, his songs, imaginatively and respectfully arranged by Giles Martin, comment on the action, with little respect played to chronology (e.g. the relatively recent “I Need Love” soundtracks a heartbreaking childhood moment). Lee Hall’s script is sharp, funny and cleverly structured, with only occasional moments of cheesiness (and unavoidable rewriting of history – Long John Baldry doesn’t even get a look-in).

Taron Egerton as Elton John

The film belongs to Egerton, however; his Elton is often petulant and self-pitying, but resolute in his determination to hide the shy Reg Dwight behind multiple flamboyant onstage personas. Fletcher’s film deftly and triumphantly walks the fine line between crowd-pleasing entertainment and merciless character study.

"Summer Holiday" / "Let It Be" / "H.O.R.S.E."

I’ve paid two visits to the Wales Millennium Centre in the past couple of weeks, to see and review large-scale touring productions in the Donald Gordon Auditorium. First on the agenda was a revival of the West End adaptation of the Cliff Richard film “Summer Holiday”, with a surprisingly charismatic Ray Quinn in the leading role, and a charmingly ramshackle London bus. The week later came the rebooted Beatles musical, “Let It Be” – not much more than a lavish tribute band performance, but extremely well done, with the songs given due respect.

"Let It Be" (Annerin Productions/Mark Goucher Productions )

In between came “H.O.R.S.E.” at Chapter – a collaboration between performance artist Tim Bromage and magician Joseph Badman, with paranoia and U.S. Government research into paranormal powers as themes – well executed, but falling a little awkwardly between the two disciplines, I felt.

"Eczema" / Edinburgh

My most recent theatre reviewing experience provided my first opportunity to experience the acoustics at the B.B.C.’s Hoddinott Hall at the Wales Millennium Centre. This was “Eczema!” –  part of National Theatre Wales season celebrating 70 years of the National Health Service, and a rare Cardiff appearance by the company. A clever collaboration between writer Maria Fusco and composer John Harris, performed by popular actor Rhodri Meilir.

Rhodri Meilir (Photo: National Theatre Wales)

As ever, I won’t be going to the Edinburgh Festival, but at least I’ve managed to see Cardiff productions of a few shows from Wales which will be running on the Fringe, namely “The Flop”, “Tremor” and “Lovecraft”. I will be monitoring reviews with great interest.

ScriptDawg / "The Effect" / "The Play That Goes Wrong" / Finch & Keita

My big event of the past few weeks was my short play, “Nerd”, being presented by the good people of ScriptDawg at AJ’s Coffee Bar in Cardiff, alongside the amusing and aptly named “Chitterlings” by Leah Byrne, as part of “An Evening With Pigs”. My play, a monologue inspired by the on-going sexual abuse/exploitation scandal which has hit Hollywood and elsewhere and inspired the #metoo movement, was given a pitch-perfect performance by Chris Pegler-Lambert, as a British film producer reflecting on his own behaviour. One hopes the story will continue.

The director, Allan Neve, is also working as assistant director on “The Effect” at The Other Room, Lucy Prebble’s play set in a lab where anti-depression medication is being tested, and two subjects struggle to ascertain whether their mutual attraction is natural or chemically induced; a powerful production of a piece which manages to both ridiculously clever and emotionally involving. Also very clever, but largely in terms of stage mechanics, was another review assignment - the touring production of worldwide success “The Play That Goes Wrong” at the New Theatre; taking the form of a disastrous amateur theatre production of a 1920s murder mystery, it’s very funny - a masterpiece of comic timing and set design.

"The Effect" (photo: Kieran Cudlip)

Most recently, there was my brother’s gift of a rare visit to St David’s Hall, to see the inspired pairing of legendary Welsh harpist Catrin Finch and Senegalese kora-player Seckou Keita. The melding of two apparently disparate folk traditions was almost seamless, although, stylistically, it largely seemed to favour the Celtic side of the equation, although with more rhythmic colour. Their take on Bach’s Goldberg Variations was particularly breath-taking. Finch, wearing an extravagantly punky black wig, since she is currently undergoing medical treatment, seemed in high spirits and her playing was flawless, as was Keita’s – his brief lesson in kora technique was fascinating. They were briefly joined by another huge name in roots music circles – support act Gwyneth Glyn, whose more traditional take on folk (her own band including veteran musician and producer Dylan Fowler) was also very affecting. And it was a pleasure to be reminded once more of the marvellous acoustics in that venue. A magical couple of hours.

"Ghost Stories" / "Sirens" / "Tremor"

I didn’t get to see the acclaimed stage production of Jeremy Dyson and Andy Nyman’s “Ghost Stories”, but reports were that it combined elements of their excellent other work (“The League Of Gentlemen”, Derren Brown) to satisfyingly chilling effect. The film adaptation is perhaps less successful, since the kind of scares which are thrillingly rare on-stage are commonplace in the cinema. The plot sees Nyman’s professional debunker of psychic phenomena challenged to investigate three inexplicable spooky events, giving it a “Dead Of Night”-style portmanteau structure. The acting (Nyman, Marin Freeman, Paul Whitehouse, Alex Lawther) is impeccable, and the visuals are highly atmospheric; but the whole thing is rather slow, and the thinness of the individual plot-lines sets us up for a denouement which is somewhat predictable. Still, it’s more than scary enough to deter night-time viewings.

I attended “Sirens”, one of the events in the Performances For The Curious season at the Wales Millennium Centre. This was a presentation, by Leeway Productions, of new songs developed with participants in their “10-Minute Musicals” scheme, as well as through a recent song-writing workshop with Amy Wadge. Working with a broadly female-positive theme, the songwriters, most of whom also performed, were a varied bunch (e.g. actor Huw Blainey, hip-hop performance poet Rufus Mufasa, 14 year-old Myah Freeman, Elis Walker from the band Mellt), the material ranging from the heartfelt to the humorous; an entertaining and heartening 90 minutes or so.

 

"Tremor" (photo: Mark Douet)

My latest theatre reviewing assignment was Brad Birch’s “Tremor” at the Sherman – about a former couple interrogating the implications of a traumatic incident in their shared past. Well performed, but perhaps not entirely successful in its attempts to drag contemporary politics into a relationship drama.

"England Is Mine"

Morrissey bio-pic “England Is Mine” seems not to have stormed the box-office, perhaps unsurprisingly, since non-Smiths lovers will all have steered clear, casual fans will be disappointed by the absence of Smiths music, and others may have been put off by some of the singer’s more intemperate political comments of the past few years. Also, reviews have tended to be lukewarm. I have to say, however, that I loved it.

The story follows Stretford’s Steven Morrissey from his days as a writer of self-important letters to the NME, via a false start to his rock star career alongside Billy Duffy (later of The Cult), and a number of reverses which see him slump into stasis, to the very start of a creative partnership with chirpy young Johnny Marr (Laurie Kynaston). Mark Gill, who co-wrote the screenplay with William Thacker, shows an assured directorial touch, finding poetry in glum Manchester locations which, frequently and inevitably reference future Smiths lyrics (cemeteries, fairgrounds, iron bridges etc).

Jack Lowden, unrecognisable from his turn as a fighter pilot in “Dunkirk”, is a more robust Morrissey than the fey eccentric of caricature, reflecting the hero’s portrayal of himself, in his excellent autobiography, as having been sporty in early adolescence. He is also surrounded by women, most notably Jessica Brown Findlay as Linder Sterling; and although he shows no interest in them, the only hint of other sexual preferences here is in his choice of cover version for his debut gig with the Nosebleeds.

Jessica Brown Findlay & Jack Lowden

The supporting cast is excellent, especially Simone Kirby as his supportive mother; not to mention Graeme Hawley as the exasperated boss in Steven’s Inland Revenue job who is well aware that the constantly tardy youth is spending much of his time filling notebooks with reflections on how idiotic everyone is other than himself.

Rather than a conventional rock star tale, this is the story of a young man with big but vague ideas slowly growing in confidence. Perhaps it misses a trick at the very end by avoiding a triumphal tableau; this, though, is in tune with the tone of the whole film - inspirational in a determinedly low-key manner.

"Sinners Club" / "Flash"

My latest theatre-reviewing assignments are both singular, musically-oriented pieces of work. 

First up was “Sinners Club” from Gagglebabble at The Other Room, written and composed by, and starring the ridiculously talented Lucy Rivers. It places the audience in the studio as a concept album on the theme of the sad life of Ruth Ellis, the last woman to be hanged in Britain (who happened to have been born in Wales) is being recorded – highly innovative and heartfelt.

Lucy Rivers (photo: Kieran Cudlip)

The other was a work-in-progress by Morgan Thomas, staged at the University of South Wales: “Flash” which uses his fan-dom of Freddie Mercury’s Queen to reflect, in an apparently shambolic manner, on mental health issues. A fascinating project, and one which looks likely to develop further in the months to come.

Pixies in Cardiff

“Everyone’s so old” said a voice, in the crowded pub around the corner from the Cardiff Motorpoint Arena, just before the Pixies’ gig. Alright, the voice was mine; the band did form, after all, thirty years ago (in Boston Massachusetts), becoming UK indie favourites (much played by John Peel and his night-time Radio One colleagues) in the late 1980s. And there was definitely the whiff of nostalgia in the air.

Those questing souls who could be bothered to make it into the venue before 8pm were rewarded with a short but intense set from Malmo-based four-piece Fews, who delivered some tasty, drone-inflected power-pop, the single “The Zoo” going down especially well.

The headliners kicked off their 100-minute concert with “Bone Machine” (the first track from “Surfer Rosa”, their debut album), segueing into classic single “Monkey Gone To Heaven”; the set as a whole, however, leant heavily on the newer material, such as the punky “Um Chagga Lagga”. Most of the hits were present, however: “Wave Of Mutilation”, “Velouria”, “Debaser”, Neil Young’s “Winterlong”, Here Comes Your Man”, “Caribou”; and “Where Is My Mind” in particular prompted a mass outbreak of smartphone video-recording.

Black Francis was coolly authoritative throughout; long-time co-guitarist Joey Santiago seemed in good health following his recent trouble; drummer Dave Lovering was the exuberant solid rock (and occasional vocalist); and the charming Paz Lenchantin seems to have slotted seamlessly into Kim Deal’s role as moderating female influence (although Deal’s “Gigantic” was absent from the set).

New single “Classic Masher” (one of the best things they’ve ever done) signalled that things were drawing to a close, and following an epic “Vamos”, the band seemed to disappear into clouds of smoke, but emerged to conclude with an even more epic “Into The White”, led by Lenchantin. They then took a graceful bow before abandoning the faithful to their mental exhaustion.

Pixies taking a bow (picture: Pixies)

Less of an exercise in nostalgia, then, than a lesson from a gang of old masters in how to weave a spell. Exhilarating.

Michael Kiwanuka at Cardiff Tramshed

This was my second visit within a few weeks to Cardiff’s newest major city-centre concert venue, The Tramshed, and it was a transcendent experience.

First up was a solo set by youthful, lank-haired troubadour Isaac Gracey, whose folk-tinged, electric and acoustic guitar-led balladeering went down very well. His original material was pleasingly melodic, and delivered in a strong, confident voice – he did mention that his only previous visit to Cardiff was on a choir tour. There were also a couple of Bob Dylan covers, in tribute to the great man’s long overdue recognition by the Nobel Prize committee.

Headliner Michael Kiwanuka’s act kicked off in the same way as his new album, with the lengthy, keyboard-led, Pink Floyd-inflected introduction to “Cold Little Heart”, which cleverly set up the tone of his set, dominated as it was by extended, atmospheric extemporisations.

Michael Kiwanuka

Music industry marketing being what it is, Kiwanuka is tagged as a “soul” singer - and his voice comes across somewhat more powerfully than it does on record - but what his five-piece backing band (including two drummers) delivers is as much influenced by robust Dylan-esque singer-songwriters and classic rock as by Ray Charles. Their exuberance mitigates the melancholic tone of the “Love and Hate” album, and the collective mood is a celebratory one, as exemplified by the jubilant response to “Black Man In A White World” from the overwhelmingly Caucasian capacity crowd.

There were relatively few songs from his brilliant first album, “Home Again”, but “Tell Me A Tale” received the psychedelic wig-out treatment (although the absence of jazz flute was a shame). The encore comprised a deeply moving version of Prince’s “Sometimes It Snows In April”, and a rousing, sing-along rendition of the new album’s title track.

Vintage stuff.

"Kiss Me Kate", "The Mountaintop", film festivals etc

I got a late call to review “Kiss Me Kate”, from Welsh National Opera at the Wales Millennium Centre, which I was unable to resist – it’s not often that one gets the chance to see one of the classic Broadway musicals performed by one of the great companies. It helped that I already knew many of the songs, although listening to them in the context of the plot (which, frankly, didn’t really hang together), one gained a new appreciation of Cole Porter’s musical inventiveness and lyrical wit.

Other recent review assignments were Alan Harris’ playful examination of guilt, “The Terrible Things I’ve Done” at Chapter; and, at The Other Room, Fio’s wonderfully acted Welsh premiere of “The Mountaintop”, Katori Hall’s multi-award-winning examination of the life and legacy of Martin Luther King.

"The Mountaintop" (photo - Aenne Pallasca)

On Friday, I attended a day-long workshop for emerging filmmakers, organised by BFI Wales, at which Rwandan-born director Kivu Ruhorahoza spoke, outlining his struggles and strategies, and giving insights not only into the kinds of films which inspire him (e.g. “Elephant”, “American Psycho”), but also about the practicalities of surviving as a creative, and of selling your work to producers and festivals. Inspiring, in a subtle way. It was also interesting to note that many of the attendees were reassuringly middle-aged.

There have been a couple of small ego-boosts – my film of Lissa Kiernan’s poem “Census” has been accepted into the Zebra Poetry Film Festival in Munster, Germany – my first successful entry for this prestigious, biennial event; and my adaptation of Carl Sandburg’s “Jazz Fantasia” will be screened at the inaugural New York Jazz Film Festival in a few weeks’ time. Which is nice.

"Sing Street"

“Sing Street” is the Dublin-set story of fifteen-year-old Cosmo (Ferdia Walsh-Peelo) who, partly to cope with the stress of moving to a new school due to his family’s difficult circumstances, and partly to impress a girl – Raphina, an aspiring model, played by Lucy Boynton – decides to put together a band. Since it is 1985, he is heavily influenced by the flashy electro-futurism of Top Of The Pops favourites Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet, before things get a little more emotional.

The firm hand of John Carney – the man behind the delightful “Once” – is on the tiller, so the mechanics of music-making are cleverly dealt with; but issues such as marital breakdown, bullying and abusive priests also get a look-in before being superseded by teen romance. The songs – co-written by Carney and bona fide genius Gary Clark (of Danny Wilson fame) - are spot-on, whether they be pop pastiches or serious statements of intent.

The young cast, especially the leads, are charming – although there is a bit of Dublin mumbling which is quite hard to penetrate. Aiden Gillen and Maria Doyle Kennedy (star of “The Commitments”, an obvious touchstone) are reliable presences as Cosmo’s warring parents, and Jack Reynor is particularly poignant as his stoner big brother, who seems to come close to finding some much-needed redemption of his own by acting as guru.

Ultimately a tale about the importance of holding on to your dreams, “Sing Street” isn’t quite the feel-good comedy drama I had been expecting, since it delves into some dark corners. It is a highly rewarding watch, however; and it’s worth once more noting how good the tunes are.

Sigur Ros in Bristol

My birthday treat this year, coinciding with the disastrous EU referendum, was a trip to Bristol to catch a pre-Glastonbury appearance from long-time favourites Sigur Ros. The venue was the Canon’s Marsh Amphitheatre, an outdoor space in the lively harbour-side area of the city (fairly central, but inevitably I managed to get lost along the way). Mercifully, the rain stayed away.

In support was James Canty, a Liverpool-based singer-songwriter of a darkly romantic bent, whose set veered from folky acoustic guitar balladry to ranting electro wig-outs. There were some technical issues, but he displayed great charm, and was fairly well-received by the impatient crowd.

The headliners came on just after 9pm, and kicked off in ambient mode with “Óveður”, the song which recently sound-tracked their Slow TV Youtube film of a road-trip around their native Iceland; then came the magic moment when they played my absolute favourite song, the unnaturally lovely “Starálfur” – deeply moving. The early part of the set focussed on more familiar material, like “Sæglópur” and “Vaka” (although not their biggest hit, “Hoppipolla”), before settling into a Mogwai-esque “quiet-loud” groove – alongside the beauty (at one point, the seagulls seemed to start joining in, to the amusement of my fellow concert-goers) started there was a surprising amount of rocking out, accompanied by a stunning light-show. With only three band-members on stage, much of the music was inevitably on tape (or its electronic equivalent); but singer Jonsi’s ethereal, choirboy vocals still managed to connect; one could even forgive the fact that he spent most of the time playing his guitar with a violin-bow. They were on-stage for just under ninety minutes, including encores, but I don’t think I could have coped, emotionally, with much more. A remarkable band. 

"The Last Mermaid" / Dance Roads 2016

Aside from the glorious evening at “Make An Aria”, my only experience of the inaugural Cardiff Festival of Voice was the assignment to review local luminary Charlotte Church’s  first foray into music theatre: “The Last Mermaid” at the Wales Millennium Centre  Taking the lead role in this ecologically themed interpretation of the Little Mermaid story, she was in excellent voice, the visuals were remarkable, and the melodies very strong. A little more narrative clarity might have helped, but I can envisage it having a life beyond its short Cardiff run.

 

The Last Mermaid

Earlier that week I was invited to attend Dance Roads, an international evening of “challenging” modern dance from across Europe at Chapter. Part of the package was the opportunity to meet with some of the performers in the middle of the two-day showing, in order to discuss the role of the critic when it comes to dance; especially when most of us, especially in Wales, have no background in the form. It was a frank bur civilised session, which I attempted to write up for the British Theatre Guide; I think I managed not to betray my betray my excitement at having been in the presence of naked people (during the performance, rather than the discussion).

Cristina Lilienfeld (Dance Roads 2016)

Meanwhile, work has begun in earnest on the migration-themed project which I’m working on with Project Fio; actors have been cast and a venue secured. All very exciting.

"Make An Aria"

Back in November, I was forwarded an e-mail from Michael McCarthy, Artistic Director of Music Theatre Wales, seeking writers to take part in their latest Make An Aria project, exploring the topic of immigration. This was in connection with their up-coming production of “The Golden Dragon” – an opera about asylum-seekers in Germany.

I was aware of the company’s pioneering work in the area of contemporary opera, and of their most recent aria programme, focussing on World War 1. Knowing little about opera (although I did go and see “Porgy And Bess” at the Wales Millennium Centre a few years ago, and “Turandot” at the New Theatre several years earlier), and always keen to try new things, I leapt at the opportunity to learn more.

A few days later, I found myself in a room at the Royal Welsh College of Music And Drama, with a bunch of other writers, several students of composition along with composer John Hardy (their head of department), Michael McCarthy and Michael Rafferty of MTW, and representatives from the Welsh Refugee Council. We were given a brief introduction to the concept of the aria, as well as some actual facts and figures about the asylum system as it applies to Wales, before hearing the remarkable testimony of Mustafa, a former soldier who has been forced to leave Gambia.

There was then a clever “speed-dating” exercise, where writers and composers interacted briefly whilst discussing imagery, following which we were put into pairs and, basically, told to get on with creating an original aria.

"Speed-dating" at RWCMD (photo: Music Theatre Wales)

Within a week, I had presented a first draft of a one-page libretto entitled “In Limbo” to my lucky collaborator, Carlijn Metselaar. We had already agreed that our take on the issue of immigration should be broadly positive, and that the writing of political theorist Hannah Arendt might be a good starting-point; I found a quote of hers about a Jewish refugee from Nazi Germany which I borrowed for the opening line. Our protagonist is a universal character, meditating on his statelessness; I tried to keep the text simple, direct and fluent.

Over the next few months, via e-mail communications and a handful of meetings and consultations (from which I took the useful note that it is hard to make the word “limbo” sound serious in an operatic context), our aria magically came into being.

The climax finally arrived on June 2^nd.

I first heard the piece during the afternoon rehearsal, with singer Rodney Clarke accompanied by Ian Shaw on piano; frankly I was lost for words. Carlijn had sent me the score, but with my primary-school-level sight-reading skills, I could only glean a vague idea of the melody. Finally getting a sense of the way in which she brilliantly used shifting time-signatures to signal the changes in mood throughout the piece – a kind of journey from a dark place to an optimistic one – with my words given life by a powerful, dramatic voice, I was profoundly moved.

The public masterclass, later that evening, was a bit of a blur.

Each writer/composer pairing (the others were Pey Pey Oh & Daniel Soley; Eric Ngalle Charles & Joe Shrimpling; Wanda O’Connor & Andrew Wallace; and Jeanne Jones & Charlotte Eaton-Jones) was called up on stage to introduce their aria, which was then performed (the other singers being Llio Evans and Martha Jones), prior to Stuart MacRae (composer of MTW’s recent production “The Devil Inside”) briefly interrogating the creative team, and bringing his experienced ear to bear on the interaction between text, music and performance and ways in which this might be enhanced.

Stuart MacRae (photo: Music Theatre Wales)

The show ended with Zimbabwean performer Bevin Magama accompanying himself on the mbira as he told the story of The Rat and The Porcupine – itself, vaguely asylum-themed.

A beautiful experience – transcendent, even.

"Unfaithful Music & Disappearing Ink" by Elvis Costello

Unfaithful Music & Disappearing Ink by Elvis Costello
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Elvis Costello is one of my few personal heroes, in terms of creativity at least. I'm not sure I'd want to meet him in person; this masterful autobiography is the perfect alternative.

"I've absorbed almost everything I know from listening to records; the rest came from trial and error." This quote comes near the end of a lengthy, detailed account of a life dominated by an obsession with music. Flitting with apparent randomness back and forth through time, the man christened Declan MacManus writes with clarity and directness, although idiosyncratic turns of phrase abound ("I tried to find the corridor between the bedchamber and the war room").

His late father, singer/musician Ross MacManus is a dominant presence; he left the family to go adventuring with music and women, an example which Elvis seems to have followed. The heart of the book is Costello's account of his relatively brief period of pop stardom in the late '70s and early '80s; his many infidelities, and other indiscretions, are discreetly confessed.

We learn much about his upbringing, and his first and third marriages; the nature of his long relationship with Cait O'Riordan is only hinted at. The love for his musical collaborators and those of his heroes (e.g. Paul McCartney, Bob Dylan, Burt Bacharach, Allen Toussaint) with whom he has managed to connect is plain; the musicality of Attractions bass-player Bruce Thomas is extravagantly praised, but there are no titbits about their broken friendship.

For the true fan, the most fascinating element is his description of his songwriting process; the collage-style construction of lyrics, and the "borrowing" of the music which surrounds them. I possess the vast majority of the albums he's made, but there were many references which will elude all but the most obsessive completist.

There is little here for the casual reader; but for devotees, this is pure gold.


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Bob Mould in Cardiff

Internet research suggests that it was in 1989 that I first saw Bob Mould, at a shockingly badly attended gig at Cardiff University – following the break-up of seminal Minneapolis punk heroes Husker Du and before he helped to invent grunge (or maybe “emo”) with Sugar. So, when a gig was announced at Cardiff’s Globe, I eventually managed to organise myself sufficiently to purchase a ticket – shortly before the gig sold out, and his subsequent appearance at the high-profile BBC 6 Music Festival in Bristol was confirmed.

In support were Cardiff-based four-piece The Estrons, who have been tipped for big things, their single “Make A Man” getting some airplay at the moment. There were hints of old-fashioned hard rock, overlain with indie sensitivity; and singer Tali’s raspy vocals cut through rather powerfully. Very impressive.

By the time Bob came on, the venue had filled up to capacity and he belied his avuncular appearance by rocking hard from the off. Frankly, the sound mix was pretty muddy, such that it took time to register each song, although he began with Sugar favourites “A Good Idea” and “Changes” – indeed, much of the set seemed to lean on this, the most commercially successful era of his career. His newer, solo material came across strongly, though – “Voices In My Head”, and “I Don’t Know You Anymore” being exemplary melodic rock. Sugar’s classic “Hoover Dam” was an unexpectedly moving stand-out moment for me. Towards the end, he played some Husker Du tunes, kicking off the five-song encore with “Flip Your Wig”; it also included, oddly, a version of Generation X’s “Your Generation (coincidentally, the first band I ever went to see live, back in 1979). He was even good-natured enough to lead the audience in singing “Happy Birthday” to bassist Jason Narducy; the drummer being Jon Wurster, another punk rock luminary.

The day after, one remains somewhat deafened, but heartened.