Malcolm Middleton w/Sui Zhen, Papa Vs. Pretty @ The Hopetoun Hotel – 8/5/2008

So, here’s a little delayed review of Malcolm Middleton’s second gig at the Hopetoun a couple of weeks ago.

I went to this show not knowing exactly what to expect. I’ve never listened to Arab Strap, and I’d never heard any of Malcolm Middleton’s solo work. But after reading some descriptions (and with little else to do) I decided to indulge my curiosities and grab a ticket.

First things first. The Hopetoun Hotel is located in Surry Hills, just outside the CBD of Sydney. From the outside, it looks like the sort of place where you’d expect to see crappy pub bands over a few beers. And from the inside… it looks that way still. It’s a venue that has its charms, in a dark, gritty sort of way, and quite a few decent international bands have graced the small stage that sits in front of makeshift black curtains to keep the light out (in fact, Beach House will be playing there in a few months). In light of the Hopetoun’s pub-like aesthetics, Malcolm Middleton, with his borderline surly, yet utterly endearing demeanour, seemed at home.

The night began with a young Sydney act, Papa Vs. Pretty. Playing with a lot of energy, and a kind of jagged post-punk edge that certainly wasn’t hinted at by their palpably youthful appearance (seriously, they had to have been no older than 18), Papa Vs. Pretty forcefully snatched the attention of the small crowd that had arrived early, and, impressively so, held onto that attention to the point that an encore was served up to the happily surprised punters. An encore by an opening support band of fresh-faced youngsters? Yes, indeed. Funnily enough, however, I was later told that they had played their own version of Joy Division’s hallmark track ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’. To this moment, I cannot remember hearing it. Not entirely sure where my head was at that point.

Sui Zhen, the night’s second act, brought an interesting change of pace. With cutesy quirks that could only prove endearing, Sui Zhen, with her band, operates with the aim of entrancing an audience with a voice that carries a sort of naive, but knowing, optimism, and with music that slides and sways in a rhythmic swirl. Unfortunately, despite the attempts at prettiness and primitive cuteness, the set seemed to deteriorate after a few songs, with a slightly intoxicated crowd growing restless at the strolling pace that had been subtly put in place.

What was agreeable about both support acts, however, was that there was nothing overly drawn out; nothing too contrived; nothing to really get the audience praying for the headliner. There are few worse things when it comes to live music than a support band that just won’t get off the stage.

The perhaps unfortunately-named Malcolm Middleton reached the stage with such casualness that half of the crowd seemed unsure of whether this was the guy who they had paid to see. On a stool, and with a glass of water and a beer by his side, Middleton launched into the set with what he described self-mockingly as his four most depressing songs, silencing the now packed crowd. A clear professional in the crafting of heart-achingly sad songs of loneliness, lost love, drunkenness, and a diminishing supply of cigarettes, Middleton’s subtle expertise is illustrated by the way in which he manages, with his strong Scottish accent and no-bullshit appearance, to reduce a crowd of adults caught up in the fast-paced throes of modernity to their most primitive emotions and instincts. The hush that fell across the Hopetoun was almost funereal, a kind of strange compliment to a man who, if you believed his music, is perennially trapped in misery.

This silence, at least in the first half of the set, was broken pleasantly by Middleton’s self-deprecating style of humour. ‘I was funnier last night, I swear’, he said between songs, juxtaposing and, in a funny way, confounding an audience unsure of which Malcolm Middleton to view as real – the one represented in his stripped down tales of utter sadness, or the one who, with his tongue firmly in cheek, asked a female audience member who had been resting her feet on the stage, ‘Are you an actress?’ to which she replied ‘No’, to which Middleton then said with all the contrived superiority and spite in his voice that would convince you of his complete seriousness ‘Well would you mind getting your feet off the fucking stage?’ With such intimate banter throughout the performance, it was impossible not to fall in love with this Scot who had travelled half-way across the world to play his songs for us.

Sadly, however, the venue’s dynamics became apparent toward the end of the set, with the audience in the rear parts of the room generating a great deal of chatter that could no doubt have been heard by Middleton. In some cases this would not be such a bad thing, but when music so sincere and modest is emanating from a man of such understated talent, it’s a terrible shame, particularly when it comes at the cost of the intimate aura that had been present earlier in the set.

Middleton, nonetheless, finished his set obligingly. It was a true pleasure to watch an established musician genuinely give his best in order to repay the fans that had come to watch. Free of any pretension, he departed the stage, beer in hand, leaving a large crowd happy and miserable at the same time, but ultimately completely satisfied. This was a show that reminded me of the joy of the surprise in music. To go to this show on a whim, and for it to last in my mind as one of the best I have seen in recent times, is wonderfully pleasurable. Not only this, but to watch a musician so bereft of unneeded tackiness and full of sincerity and talent fulfills a fragile longing in the heart and mind of any music fan that the musicians they admire are human after all. There can be little doubt in my mind that Malcolm Middleton, with his heart aching and on his sleeve, is so much more human than many of us could ever be.

Things that made me happy today.

Time to take stock. These things made today slightly more bearable and worth it:

• Making the train in the morning
• Picking up Deerhoof’s album, Milk Man (although the case is cracked – what a surprise)
• Discovering our tutor has a personality
• Enjoying a Wednesday ritual of lunch with a couple of good mates
• Actually participating in torts class, despite not doing the reading
• Speaking to new people in my classes that I had not yet spoken to
• A message from a good friend who was genuinely disappointed we did not get to see each other – it’s nice to feel missed sometimes
• Reading in the sun
• Sitting next to a nice girl on the train and realising that, coincidentally, we had sat next to each other a couple of weeks ago. Nice coincidence
• Going to a cafe on the way home with a work friend
• Having a customer take note of how long I’ve been working at the place, and taking interest in what else I’m doing -restores my faith in people (just)
• The prospect of a warm bed to get into

It wasn’t such a bad day. I should try and remember that.

Listenings: M83, Nine Inch Nails, 65daysofstatic

Picked up three albums last week:

• M83 – Saturdays=Youth
• Nine Inch Nails – Ghosts I-IV
• 65daysofstatic – The Fall of Math

First is M83’s latest work, the evocatively vibrant Saturdays=Youth. Anthony Gonzalez’s new direction with this album was quite well documented in the leadup to its release, so it came as no surprise to me to hear aspects popular in the 80s shine through, conveying Gonzalez’s own fond reflection on his adolescent years. With this album, gone, for the most part, are the towering, apocalyptically urgent soundscapes that dominated earlier album releases Before the Dawn Heals Us and Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts. Saturdays=Youth takes a turn for greater structure and attention to form, with far greater lyrical presence than prior releases.

While the greater use of vocals is a fantastic addition in some tracks, such as the icey ‘Skin of the Night’, and the wonderfully dreamy ‘Graveyard Girl’, it could be a matter of vocal overload. Gonzalez’s voice, while not at all offensive in any sense, suffers from a lack of range and variation, and it is perhaps for this reason that otherwise capable tracks such as ‘We Own the Sky’ fade into the wallpaper of the album. It is for this reason that one of the only two purely instrumental tracks on this album, and the first single ‘Couleurs’ stands out so much. A beautifully constructed track that, while focussing on the ambience that built the M83 name, doesn’t aim to reach the stratospheres as with the previous albums. Instead, we are smothered by a consistent, concerted blanket of sound that evokes images of exactly what its title promises. It is here that Gonzalez’s maturity and prowess as a musician and technician shine through greatest.

On the whole, Saturdays=Youth represents a coming of age for Gonzalez. The album takes a new direction that affords M83 the ’shoegaze’ tag more than any other previous release, but in a more dreamy sense that diverges from the electronic wall of noise first explored in Dead Cities. While not perfectly consistent throughout, it’s a thoroughly enjoyable ride back in time that can only serve more credit to the already revered M83 name.

I’ve only listened to Ghosts I-IV once in full so far, and I think my attention was divided up by work and other such things. You can definitely hear that familiar Nine Inch Nails sound, however, with the metallic, grating feedback, and electronically angular noise. I think what struck me greatest though, is Reznor’s expertise as a technician. He may be in his fourties, and critics may take the viewpoint that he’s lost what made him great, but it is amazing how the T-Rez has managed to take all the new technology that has come up in the past decade and make it his bitch. Sure, people may say that he’s lost what made him what he is, but it could just be that he has found what will make him great. I need to give it a few more proper listens to be able to pass judgment on the music itself, but with that, I’m highly impressed by the diversity that Reznor has been able to convey through this latest endeavour.

65daysofstatic’s debut album The Fall of Math which I was so very lucky to find in stores this week for the first time, marks the beginning of a new band’s embrace of so many different elements of music, and subsequent jamming together of said elements. I own their two latest albums, and have played them to the point of redundance, so I’ve been waiting for my chance to get hold of their first for a long time now. As with a great majority of bands lumped into the post-rock genre, 65daysofstatic seem to hold that whole rejection of modern society mantra.

Voiceovers cut in and out of electronic glitches and twitches, guitars slam into automated drums with confidence and certainty that wouldn’t lead you to believe that this is a band’s debut outing into the musical wilderness. But this self-confidence never leads to pretension. ‘Install A Beak In The Heart That Clucks Time In Arabic’ sets the theme for the album, with an ominous bassline and careful, fragile keys, leading into throbbing drums that build with intensity throughout – something we see further explored in later albums. It’s a mature album where it would be so easy to stray into a redundancy created by a genre in which, from a negative viewpoint, there is limited originality to go around, and it’s something definitely worth exploring for those who are disillusioned with the mediocrity that can sometimes smother creativity in these times.

On choosing life.

Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up rats you spawned to replace yourself.

Choose your future.

Choose life.

 

I want to choose life. I want to walk the streets knowing that I chose life. I want to breathe in the air and feel it rush to my extremities, feel it on my face, and not shy away from it, but to push myself into it. I want to greet friends and family with smiles and hugs. I want to share laughter, take bad photos of each other, fuck around, make inconsequential mistakes. I want for the world not to seemingly depend on how I’m feeling. I want the weight off my shoulders. I want to run, sprint, get tired, but not from mental exhaustion. I want to go to bed at night knowing that I had a good day, and that tomorrow is not something to be dreaded. I want to destroy all the work I have to do. I want to show everyone how good I am, and I want to remind myself how good I am.  I want to want, and to be wanted. I want to play video games, and be a geek, and not give a fuck. I want to feel happy, and lose this cloud that looms above my head. I want to sleep, eat, exercise, drink water, talk to someone, spend time with friends and family, find myself. Feel better.

I chose my future.

I believe I chose life.

The longest week.

I am fucking exhausted.

Seriously fucking burnt out.

The last week has felt like the longest one in my life. So much has happened, and I’ve gone up and down so many times that I’ve lost count, and I really would like to get into my bed and disappear.

I suppose most important matters first. Over the weekend I called off my relationship with my girlfriend of about six months for good. We loved each other deeply, and I may never be loved so unconditionally again. We invested our entire selves into the relationship and each other (something I wasn’t ready for, in hindsight). We spent memorable times together and, although the relationship was somewhat short, we connected in a way that transcended most other relationships. In spite of these things, it wasn’t the sort of love that I desired. I loved her, and still love her, but not in the way that I want to love someone. I loved her for her care and comfort that she showed me, for her company and tastes, and for the intricacies that made her the person she is. But it became clear to me that I did not love her with the desire and passion that I wish for romance. I loved her in a way that one can love a friend, and, just six months in, that’s not how I wish to love someone. While we gave each other much good, we also drained each other of our characteristics that sustained us prior to the relationship. I drained her of her sense of security and confidence within herself, and she drained me of my independence and belief in my ability to make someone happy. We fought a lot, and brought each other to tears on many occasions, and by the end of our time together, there was a distinct air of uneasiness between us, as if we were ignoring the inherent hurt that we caused each other.

I suppose a great deal of my rationalisation is based around the idea that it was better to end it before it got any worse, before we invested more of ourselves in each other – better sooner than later. Our love had descended into hurt, perhaps because we cared about each other too much. And that’s why it was the most difficult thing I have ever had to do when I confronted the truths within myself and decided to sacrifice what we had built together. A great deal of my suffering is based around feelings of guilt. Guilt for perhaps not appreciating the full and unconditional love that had been afforded to me. Guilt for not simply being able to accept that love and return in a like manner. Why could I not do that? Why couldn’t I be happy? Did I sabotage myself?

When I explore myself a bit more (and maybe this will become clearer with time) I find that I didn’t sabotage myself. Our relationship was flawed in many situational ways, quite separate from any personal feelings of restlessness or unhappiness. Perhaps these situational factors exacerbated my feelings of restlessness, but I don’t think that amounts to self-sabotage. Maybe the relationship was sabotaged from within? Maybe it collapsed beneath its own mass. While I have a tendency to get lost inside my head at times, and question everything, I don’t feel that I pushed myself to be unhappy. I think that I would have been quite happy if the relationship was right for me. Any desires to long for independence, for others, difference, would’ve been quashed if the relationship was right for me.

So my guilt is borne out of hurting someone I care so deeply for. I am guilty because I have deprived someone of something that was right for THEM, in order to be able to find something that is right for ME. I feel guilty imagining her pain and suffering, her confusion, her longing for things to go back to how they were, and I also feel the desire for things to return to how they were. In moments of intense grief and sadness, I wish to return to the comfort that she provided me, to the idealised notion of ‘our relationship’, excluding all the pain and unhappiness that came with ‘our relationship’. It is foolish, but natural, for both her and I, in our grief, to forget how much we suffered within our relationship together. We forget how much we fought and how much was not right, and remember only the feelings of comfort and surface happiness – memories of outings together, nights spent watching movies, curling our bodies into one another in bed as we slept. Our souls are weighed down by those memories and images, and this manifests itself in our grief and suffering.

Alain de Botton in his book Essays in Love which I, heartbreakingly, read last week, refers to the metaphor of a camel. The camel represents our soul, and with such a traumatising experience, more weight is heaped onto the back of the camel as it tries to cross the desert. The camel slows and strains under the weight which forms as memories and images, smells and sounds that remind us of our lost love. The camel is pushed to its limits as the despair of such a situation takes hold, and it is almost unable to continue. But, with time, the camel is able to shake the weight from its back. The camel learns to forget. So as it walks the desert, the camel shakes off nearly every memory, piece by piece. The camel is better able to walk now as it loses this weight with time, and eventually, it shakes enough of the memories off its back and into the sand so that, while not completely forgetting the nature of the relationship, its memory becomes bearable to the soul. And so the soul is able to catch back up to the body.

Now, my camel is straining under the weight. It’s walking slowly. Very slowly. I feel guilt and pain imagining her camel, and at times I wish I could lift the weight off its back; to go to her and, out of the sheer pain of watching her suffer, put my arm around her and tell her it will be okay, that things will return to normal; to be able to see her smile again. But I know that to do such a thing would sacrifice my own sense of self. I would descend back into unhappiness and restlessness, and I personally don’t think any individual deserves to be with someone that cannot treat them as they rightly deserve. In a sense, we both need to endure this time of grief. I need to endure it in order to be able to achieve a better sense of self and continue my search for what is, in idealistic terms, right for me, and she needs to endure it in order to find a situation where she is loved and appreciated for all that she is, in the way that romantic love should be. And while she told me she will never love anybody the same as she has loved me, I sincerely hope that is not true, because I wish her nothing but happiness, and feel nothing but guilt and shame that I could not find true, lasting happiness within her.

To dumb this down – sad face. I feel really miserable. I’ve been so up and down since the weekend and have tried to avoid spending time without being in contact with someone (anyone) at all costs. For one of the few times in my life, I can’t stand being alone. And I guess I am rather perplexed as to why that is. I suppose we invested so much of ourselves in each other that even I have forgotten how to live my life alone. I miss company. I miss comfort. I suppose it will be a matter of time for me to be able to shake these feelings.

Feelings: Guilt (over hurting her); Grief (over the loss of the relationship and someone I cared about deeply from my life); Sadness (general); Longing (for a return to the safety of the idealised relationship); Anxiety (in hoping that things will improve with time); Worry (for her).

It’s enough to make me want to erect a huge billboard warning every passerby against getting in a relationship, to just live life on the periphery, to not let yourself into a vulnerable situation. Ah, the joys of the stoic. The unsustainable joys. I know within myself that it will be okay. I’ll move on. She’ll (I really hope) move on. We’ll see each other after some time has passed, exchange greetings, share a warm, but remote hug, look into each others eyes and, while still seeing the person we care for, know that they don’t need that care anymore. In most senses, suffering cannot last forever. Usually, it cannot last more than a few months, depending on the event. In the end, we all go back to normal, and life proceeds with new goals, new people, new surroundings. But for that time of suffering, life appears as a distant dream - a mirage to the weighed-down camel crossing the desert. It feels as if we will never live again. And while I can speak and think rationally, I still feel as if life is somewhere off in the distance.

In other news, work for uni is piling up a tiny bit. I’ve just been so restless of late and haven’t been able to remain focussed on my work. I really need to get my shit together. It’s getting dangerous.

I’m seeing a doctor in a couple of days for a mental assessment. It’s been a long time coming. I really should have had one a couple of years ago, as I’ve always grappled with feelings of depression and the like. My sister, who is terrific, will be guiding me through it all. I really hope these will be positive steps towards alleviating myself of a variety of things, because I need a hand. I really do.

Songs from the past week that have received a great deal of rotation:

• Galaxie 500 – ‘Don’t Let Our Youth Go To Waste’
• Cocteau Twins – ‘Pur’
• Spiritualized – ‘I Think I’m In Love’
• The Smiths – ‘How Soon Is Now?’
• Love Is All – ‘Busy Doing Nothing’

I suppose just trying to listen to a combination of gentle, sad songs, with some more uplifting ones thrown in there. Also, discovered a band named Faunts through a sample disc. Pretty excited to give them a go.

Okay. Sleep time. Let’s hope things look up.

Living in bizarro world.

I’m feeling very strange of late. My surroundings seem so much more surreal and significant. It’s like I’m feeling everything. Seeing everything. It almost feels like I’ve parted ways with my physical self, and have merely become a spectator. It’s been said that if you close your eyes, it’s possible for the supposedly real world to be imagined out of existence. Or perhaps it is that when you open your eyes, you imagine it into existence. I’m not certain which reality I should be following. But who wants reality, anyway? Reality and truth lack the wonder that sustains our thoughts, that enables us to wake in the morning and see that there’s something worth looking to. So often, reality crushes hope.

 This week I’ve been reading Essays in Love by Alain de Botton. Fantastic book, the way it combines the escapism of a fiction text with the sensibility and usefulness that philosophy can offer, giving some real insight into all those conflicting emotions that arise within relationships and rationalising their existence. It can make you feel a little bit hopeless, however. The fact that it more or less gives empirical explanation that infers that love is destined for heartache is a bit demoralising. In view of all this, what makes an individual wish to embark on these romantic journeys? Do we feel that, if we just find someone who is perfect that all the supposed inevitablities associated with love will cease to apply? That we will wake up next to that person in 40 years and still feel as stunned by them as the moment we fell in love with them? Is that even possible? As I get older, and perhaps more bitter, my perspective seems to be maturing. It’s not likely to be able to live a love in that way. It’s not possible to feel that way for the rest of your life. It’s a soul crushing notion to think that we can find someone who fulfils us in every possible way, and simply makes us fall apart inside when we see their beauty, and still grow to not love them anymore, at least not in that idealised sense that rejects truth and reality.

I suppose from a personal perspective, what keeps my hope in love alive is the prospect that maybe one day I will find that someone who will keep my love forever. Maybe.

 So I saw The Jesus and Mary Chain, supported by Ghostwood and The Rakes, last night. Let’s start with Ghostwood.

They’re a small Australian band, signed with Modular, that sometimes support touring bands. From what I’d previously heard of them, their music seemed to carry that throbbing, sparse bass that was central to the sound of Joy Division. Last night, however, I think they may have piled on the distortion (they were supporting The Mary Chain, after all) and it gave them a much fuller sound. Overall I thought they were pretty good. Certainly surpassed my expectations and I wouldn’t be all to surprised if they continue to grow.

The Rakes were second, and although I’ve never really bothered to give them a listen, I wasn’t complaining about the chance to see a band of such… er… popularity (?) as a support act. I thought they were a bit of fun and were alright for what they were, with catchy songs and a bit of a mini-Bloc Party feel to them, not that that’s really my sort of thing, but I’m not saying I dislike it. Perhaps their set was a touch too long though. By the end I think most people were getting a bit restless for The Mary Chain.

After seeing JAMC at V Festival over the weekend, I wasn’t sure what my feelings were. I suppose I was a bit underwhelmed, but I think that can be partly attributed to the whole festival atmosphere that you get sometimes. The chance to see them at their own show in a good arena was something I couldn’t pass up, and I felt honoured that someone of my age could have the chance to see one of the great bands of modern music. Just as at V Fest, Jim Reid’s voice was spot on. It’s quite amazing that that is the case. And while they perhaps aren’t the most active of performers, I still got the feeling that they were thoroughly enjoying what they were doing, and that’s such an important factor when you go to see a band, especially one that has been doing it for years. My only disappoint was the lack of Psychocandy material in the set (would’ve loved to have seen ‘Never Understand’ or ‘Something’s Wrong’), but for the general atmosphere and musical precision, it was one of the better shows I’ve seen of late. Also, for once, a good Sydney crowd. I don’t think I had one single encounter with an irritating fan, nor did I have a problem seeing, what with the sloped Enmore floor. So in that aspect, another big winner of a gig.

I went to the show with my currently non-girlfriend, and we bumped into a previous girlfriend of mine who was with her boyfriend of the same name as myself. It was actually quite nice though, although I did feel a touch sized-up by my opposite number (’What are you doing at uni?’). But otherwise it was a nice chance meeting. Matters of a relationship nature, however, grew more confusing overnight, and I remain in this purgatory of uncertainty as to what should be done.

That’s how it is though, and it’s not as if my life will forever be this way, as much as it feels like time is rushing by. Things will resolve, sooner or later, and I will reach a point of contentness.

Back to bizarro world, for the moment though.

Time for new blogs.

Ever feel like time, although moving at the same rate as ever, is passing you by at some scarily quick pace? A bit like all your decisions for your future must be made very, very soon, or else you’ll shut your eyes for a second, turn your back just momentarily, and your best years are gone.

 That’s a bit like how I feel lately. Which is why I’m here. To compile the happenings and thoughts and feelings that surround my insignificant (not to be a downer) life, and, hopefully, experience in a more tangible sense the things that I am blessed with.

 Friends. Family. Music. Love. Beauty. And everything else.

At this point in my life I am:

• 19
• Attending the University of Technology, Sydney, doing a combined degree of Law and Communications in Social Inquiry
• Probably experiencing a more difficult period of my life within myself
• But enjoying and appreciating the things that I have on a more meaningful level
• A perennial mess when it comes to negotiating with those of the opposite sex
• Loving and listening to music, though wishing I could make my own
• Becoming a reader, after all of these years
• Wishing to find a truer, deeper sense of myself and my own identity and worth, as well as a greater understanding of those around me

At times I can be a bit too existentialistic, and it can be a bit much. So I suppose this is as much an outlet for me as it is a mere documentation of my life in the truest sense that I feel willing to allow.

 I think I like the layout I’ve chosen. Relatively simple, clear, to the point. Perhaps it needs more light, but wait and see.

Anyway, tomorrow I shall be seeing The Jesus and Mary Chain (supported by The Rakes and Ghostwood) at the Enmore Theatre in Newtown, Sydney.

I saw them a few days ago at the Sydney V Festival, and they were okay. The sound was pretty great, considering how long it’s been. Maybe not a huge amount of stage presence, but that’s okay, that doesn’t necessarily detract from the quality of the show. I’m hoping tomorrow night will be a bit more intense though. A bit more… noisy. Yeah, that would be nice. Attending with (currently off) girlfriend. Complicated area. Maybe talk about that another time. But it should be good.

So that oughta do it for now I believe. Not sure what’s going on with the formatting of this thing. The image kinda messed it up. What can you do?

That’s it, first one done.