Brother and Bones

I rarely go to shows anymore but when I do they seem to be the right shows. Last night, despite feeling so ill leaving the house felt like a bad idea, I managed to stumble my dreary way into a night of audio charm. My other half had the sense to book tickets to the up and coming night at the Jazz Café in Camden, (£10 with a free drink? Of course I’m taking that every time). Hosted by Time Out, with the Unsigned Music Awards, the show put on four acts one that we were already aware of and as far as I’m concerned show stealers.

            Of course I’d be whole heartedly lying if I could say they stole the entire night, due to the fact I felt so rough by the time they’d finished that I left, but what an amazing performance from a band that is considered ‘folk’ by the geniuses at Spotify, (not that folk music can’t be amazing in its own right). They were introduced as a Rock band on the night and I’d be lying if I didn’t feel a little beyond my years when I say rock they certainly did.  To my surprise they didn’t play the folksier of their tunes but the heavier rock orientated songs that had a power that I would compare to Biffy Clyro.

Brother and Bones have a magnificent way of transitioning between verses, that are reminiscent of mellow alternative and then bursting from well-placed bridges into choruses with sheer effortlessness. The arrangement of their songs has me believing that they were in bands of heavier climbs in the past, fearlessly placing choruses as early or as late in a song as they please rather than keeping to a strict layout that most ‘popier’ music demands. Without a doubt their live show was waiting to explode but I think maybe there was a slight reluctance due to the size of the venue plus the audience. Although this reluctance seemed obvious, they simply couldn’t contain it towards the end of their set when they began to physically re-instate their appreciation for music visually.

The best thing about the performance was the tracks they selected to play. ‘For all we know’ is their most accessible and probably most popular song, but also from 2012. Although the song makes an appearance on their self-titled 2015 release, it was great to see a band that didn’t just play their most popular song instead of songs they enjoy, songs that represent them best as a band, songs that they want to be defined by: a rock band with guts. 

Without a doubt they were the right band to have later in the shows line up. With vocals that sounds pitch perfect when compared to the studio, guitar that screamed even more than their recordings and percussion that wasn’t afraid to go down the heavier route of rock, Brother and Bones are the band to see as much as possible before they become to big and you simply can’t afford the tickets.

Jumping Reds

On Tuesday I journeyed to the lovely city of Cambridge to take part on a driving course for accidentally jumping a red light. Should you find yourself in this situation, here's what you might find...

Instead of a room full of 15 morons who could care less about what they had done, or why they were there, I was presented with a room that contained some of the hyperbolic characters that you expect to meet in life as well as people not so dissimilar to myself. It was definitely a melting pot for all and I was along for the ride.

The presenters of the course itself, George and Frances, were two pretty comical guys with a lot of character and albeit formulaic wit, it was funny all the same. I'm sure repeating the same things over and over again, day in day out all over the country can wear a bit thin and as they had already done a class that morning I'm sure they were more than ready for home.

But this didn't phase them at all. The banter was good and after everyone had warmed up to each other, (typically 10 minutes before the end), things were a lot easier.

I also managed to learn a few things on the course, handy tit bits of knowledge that could help the every day driver from avoiding landing themselves on the course or even worse 3 points on their license. Obviously there are far worse outcomes to driving like a bloody moron, but we'll skip the more macabre aspects of life.

For starters I realised that holding a mobile phone, not using it to make a call, not texting, not being a moron and checking Facebook, can land you in the same position I was in. Although I wasn't there for a mobile phone offence, unlike a good 60% of the class, I am guilty of having used mine in the past whilst driving. Mainly to change songs, but others things as well.

The course did a great job of reminding everyone that they are human, they we all make mistakes, but in this case we should consider reevaluating our weird superiority complexes and accept the mighty driving gods aren't in fact controlling our fate: we are.

You know what else I found out? Slow signs are put where there has been a fatal collision. The majority number of the slow signs we see are actually there because someone thought, 'I can definitely take that corner going 80' and failed miserably. Also SLOW is an acronym. It stands for 'Speed Low Observe Warning'. That's insane to me. How did I not know that? Also how did I forget between yesterday and today and have to Google it? Who knows!

Although the overall experience was positive, there were a few people in the room that I wish could have had their licenses taken off of them there and then. One woman had clearly felt the punishment was unfair and at every given opportunity would relate the examples back to being busy or having too much to do in the day, while another was just a moronic generic middle aged trophy who drives a car too big for her. Also, trophy wives really shouldn't be considered trophies unless every time they open their mouths they have something innately profound to say as well as being a looker. Plus, she was more of what I'd call a 'complete fucking idiot' over a trophy, but who am I to label people?

Either way, the moral of this story is, we're all stupid, we're all human, but for your own sake and for the people around you, think of driving as a very expensive and frustrating privilege over a right that we instil in ourselves. If we had the right to drive, there would be no punishment, there would be no license.

Long time no see

So I've been a tad lacking on the front of writing recently, mainly because I've fallen into the ever dangerous pit of self wallowing that seems to swoop in every so often. However I plan on thwarting this slippery slope before I land at the bottom wondering what happened. It's going to be a slow process, but I plan on taking this blogging thing, (and the whole 'writing' thing), a tad more seriously and hoping to actually delve into my, hopefully, hidden depths and attempt to drag out some sort of artistic ability.

I'll start small and tell you all about a rather fascinating exhibit I went to see this weekend on the wonderfully positive E.H. Shepard...

The day started with promise and bad weather as we strolled out onto the drizzly streets of London. Although the sky was a concerning shade of grey, E and I made out way through the damp towards King's Cross station in the hopes that the exhibition wouldn't reflect the dull metallic tone London was threatening us with. Out optimism was rewarded once we set foot into the House of Illustration. 

Shepard's diary.

The building itself was unimposing and aesthetically quaint for a place that held such imagination within its walls. Rather than a grandiose statement through its architecture, the House of Illustration was subtle and refreshing new building in a city that tries very hard to grab your attention no matter how engrossed you are, in whatever you are, via entirely glass facades or obscene colour schemes. Instead we were confronted with a structure that was unassuming and containing an intriguing tale of an illustrator turned war hero, a man known mainly for his later work in the Hundred Acre Wood and other children's illustration, a man who seemed to keep a positive outlook despite heartbreaking loss and being witness to several of the worst battles in the first world war, the wonderful E.H. Shepard.

What struck me as important about Shepard was his actual artistic ability. Although most of us know him as a children's illustrator, his scratchy style of drawing contains subtle strokes of genius. His ability to separate his foreground and background using a simply change in density to pen stroke was wonderful. His work was far more detailed than I would have assumed his work would have, his images of Pooh Bear and his friends firmly ingrained into my childhood as a messy, chaotic set of erratic strokes. Instead I was presented with very precise images, the facial features surprising me in particular.

Although minimalist in many places, the penetrating humour that is held in a great deal of the satirical artwork that he provided for Punch magazine shows us the true wit of a man whom was not simply a soldier who happened to become an illustrator, but a social commentator with the best interests of his friends, family and the general public at heart.

With his ability to keep morale up on the front and also back home, Shepard shows us how important a war of the mind is when facing adversary of the proportions that the First World War presented. Instead of writing home regarding the horror of the Somme, or Arras, or even Passchendaele he ensured that the horrors of such events were in fact never shown to those near and dear to him.

Some of Shepard's personal effects, including an art box pictured on the upper right of the image. A box that he took with him everywhere.

The death of Shepard's brother was one of the most crushing things to read about, especially on the format of a plaque. Cyril was obviously a massive part of Shepard's life and his death, although significant to Shepard himself, was still hidden from public view it seemed. A man of many pictures shared few words with the world regarding his loss and struggles of the war. It was incredibly sweet to see the few complaints that he made regarding the war, focussing mainly on the hours of the day being lengthy rather than the possibility his own death could take place at any moment.

A map containing the place where Shepard's brother died.

Without a doubt seeing the works of a man who had an influence on my own childhood was brilliant. Although heartbreaking in places, discovering that Shepard was not only a man who simply illustrated, albeit some of the best, children's books but a man who had a huge heart with the ability to keep those around him happy despite the bleakest of situations. He is one of the people that I can safely say I am saddened that I will never have the opportunity to meet.