Sights and Sounds

Looking forward to this weekend’s Sounds Film Festival. Especially the Woody Guthrie biopic, Bound For Glory, and the opening night’s Ballads Of The Book film which will be followed by live music, including the most excellent Zoey van Goey.

Weather and Culture

So it was one of those weekends where the summer seemed to have been condensed down into two days. The sun shone overtime, its light intensified to hot flowing honey with just enough breeze to take the edge off, and keep everyone the right side of happy.

And, occasioned by visiting dignitaries, we went out and made the most of it for a change.

Friday night was a meal in Nanakusa. Great wee Japanese place on Sauchiehall St that does the best ebi gyoza I’ve ever had, and has a very hands-on approach to friendly customer service.

Saturday we hit the Panopticon music hall show, which is always good fun and in (thankfully cool) historic surroundings. I’ve been reading Judith Bowers’ book about the place, and reckon already that it’s an essential read for anyone interested in theatre history or Glasgow history. Later on we caught up with a TV movie about the behind the scenes relationship between Sid James and Barbara Windsor, which was jaw-droppingly  well observed – both in the performances and in the period/film detail. It’s called Cor Blimey! and is well worth looking out for.

Sunday was Things Neil Has Never Done day. First up was the People’s Palace – Glasgow’s museum of popular culture – whose offerings are so diverse that’s difficult to get a grip on the whole lot. So I guess we’ll have to go back again some time. A leisurely short-cut through the Glasgow Show (not sure how to describe that expect there seemed to be lots of people having a good time, and I got a free sausage on a stick) brought us to the Saltmarket where we caught the bus up west. Wolfed down a quick curry at the Ashoka before nipping over to the Botanics to enjoy a really good production of Much Ado About Nothing. Lovely, summer evening. Great setting. Fabulous comic performances.

All in all, a fab weekend.

Watenaccio

I asked a friend the other week: “How would you feel if you were told your team would win a major European trophy, but that they’d be remembered – even despised – throughout the continent as the most negative team ever to do so, your name synonymous with defensiveness for a generation or more to come?”

He answered, quite correctly: “If we won a major European trophy, I wouldn’t care how we did it.”

“Quite correctly” because that’s what fans do. All they care about, bottom line, is that their team does as well as its resources allow it. Anything extra, punching above their weight, achieving higher than those resources should allow them to reach, is the stuff of dreams. In the list of priorities, quality of football comes fairly far down.

Of course, you’d love to have the players that were capable of playing slick, penentrating football and beating all comers with wonderful, expressive goals. You’d LOVE that. You’d be proud as punch of your team. But if you’ve not got those resources, if you’ve got a decent squad of players, who can play reasonable attacking football and score a few goals but not well enough to progress all the way to the top of the tree, what are you supposed to do? Are you supposed to say, well, we’ll try our best and see how far we get, or are you supposed to look at the resources you’ve got and try and devise a system that will maximise your chances?

Say you were the manager of Rangers (of course that’s who we’re talking about here). Suppose this was the one chance in your tenure to achieve something on this scale. Suppose you’d only recently taken over the team after a bad, bad period and were trying to rebuild it on meagre finances by European – hell, even by Scottish – standards, and sensibly starting by spending on defenders and midfielders and young, inexperienced Scottish players. Suppose, looking, at the opposition as each round came up you saw better individuals on the opposite roster. What would you do? Seriously?

No, of course, you’d limit the opposition’s chances and try to grab your own on the counter. That’s what anyone would do.

The more I look at the “Watenaccio” formation (ain’t that a fabulous word?), Walter’s version of the famous Italian system, the more I realise how clever it is. It’s a system of absolute trust between the manager and the players, and it does allow for a switch to attack when it’s going well, but it’s a risky strategy. It hasn’t worked so well in the two Fiorentina ties as it did against Lisbon. The out ball to the lone striker hasn’t been held up as well, and the supporting midfielders haven’t be close enough to him. And that’s when you find yourself “hanging on”.

Fiorentina manager, Prandelli, is not happy about it of course, and Lionel Messi called it anti-football, but guess what, they’re not in the final. To deserve to be in the final, Fiorentina should have had a better ratio than 3 shots on target out of 21. They had their chances, but they didn’t take them.

I’ve enjoyed watching the the ITV4 commentary of the last few games. Not only because auld Archie’s voice drives me up the wall, but because they know what they’re talking about and they call these games as they see them. In the first leg of the tie, Rangers were poor. Their ball possession – a key part of the system’s success – was awful, but Fiorentina were profligate. I agreed with the analysts’ assessment that we’d have to be a lot better in Italy, and we were. And I agreed with their admiration of the work that Smith has done in motivating a failing, disjointed side into a genuine team that refuses to be beaten.

I was four years old last time Rangers were in a Euro final, and I’m delighted they’re there again. I haven’t a clue if it’ll be good enough to beat St Petersburg, or win the league, or even the Scottish Cup. I just know that the transformation in the personality of the team is astonishing.

These are the experiences that bond teams. There will be new faces next season (hopefully at least one really good striker), and withthe confidence we’ll have gained from this extraordinary journey I suspect when we take on the Chamion’s League again the system will slightly less negative.

Maybe we’ll even win the trophy this time round, maybe not. But this is just the start of the second Smith era. What I’m looking forward to most, is seeing how this team develops.

Diversionary Tactics(1)

In order to stop me from going quite mad with worry and over-speculation in the coming days, I’ve decided to employ a series of diversionary tactics, which I’m then going to relate to you lot to further distance my thoughts from the subject during the day time.

Last night’s effort, coinciding with it being the birthday of someone rather special, involved a fine dinner at Manna on Bath St, followed by a trip to the Kings to see the touring production of The Producers. I always have misgivings about adaptations, and being an enormous admirer of the Mostel/Wilder combination that created Bialystock and Bloom in the original movie had approached the musical remake movie with trepidation, but Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick were great, so I had an easier time of it tripping along to see it now on stage. Even if it involved the talents of Joe Pasquale. But you know what? The show is so good, so rib-hurtingly funny, that old Mr Squeaky is just carried along as one more oddball component of the whole affair. It’s got everything you want from The Producers: “That’s our Hitler”, swastika-shaped kicklines of stormtroopers, gaggles of lovelorn little old ladies, and more camp than the hinterlands of T-in-the-Park. Cory English brings proper bo Broadway bravura to Bialystock, and a special mention for Allen Stuart’s butch/camp cocktail portrayal of Roger DeBris (‘Heil Me!’).

Brilliant fun. And a successful evening of diversion.

Only three days to go.

Coming Down The Road

I’ve got an earworm. You know, a tune that keeps popping into your head and won’t go away? This one, it’s the one that goes “We’ll be coming, we’ll be coming, we’ll be coming down the road…”

Aye, coming down the road.

Five days to go, and the tension’s already getting to me. By Friday I won’t be able to sleep. By Saturday I’ll be jittery and on edge all day until I can settle myself at that wee corner table in the Captains and get a pint of Best down me. And then, for the next two hours, my heart will cease to beat.

Until then it’s just the waiting. In the office we’ve already tried discussing the team and formation, but there’s not much to discuss. The formation will be the same as has served us so well all year, and the team virtually picks itself. Naysmith’s experience will get him the nod at left back, Hutton’s amazing consistency has made the opposite position his own. The only questions will be over playing McFadden as part of the mid-five or going with McCulloch or perhaps Hartley. Or whether Fletcher is match fit enough, and perhaps giving the in-form Hartley that spot instead. For me it’s Gordon, Naysmith, Weir, McManus, Hutton, Ferguson, Brown, Fletcher, McCulloch, McFadden, Miller. I can’t believe how dependable that sounds.
But the composition of the team is not really the question. We know they’ll give everything they’ve got. We’ll know they’ll defend across the middle and close down all night long. We know Italy have the luxury of being able to wait until the game stretches to look for gaps that they can exploit. What we don’t know is will we be lucky? Because that’s what games like this turn on. A hand ball in the box missed by the referee or undeserved sending offs by an over-officious official. Will a dive over a desperate lunge in the 75th minute be a booking or a pen? The widths of posts, the ricochets off shins, the snaring of studs in the turf at the vital moment. All of these things can/might/will make the difference.

So, yes. I genuinely believe that the gap between us and the world champions is so small that the outcome will be decided by a single piece of luck. The kind of luck that can absolutely break your heart when it goes against you.

It’s been so long since we’ve been here. It’s been so long since the outcome of a match like this mattered.

And the waiting for it to arrive is palpable here. It’s shivering the crisp Novemberish air.

It’s the noise of the tartan army boys. It’s coming down the road…

It’s not often you know what you’ll be doing seven years in the future

…but in the summer of 2014 I rather imagine I’ll be strolling down to Kelvingrove to watch the bowls, or heading out to Hampden to catch the athletics, or perhaps even scoping out the swimming at Tollcross.

Commonwealth Games, blimey!

See amateur historians?

They don’t half come up with some odd notions.

Maybe it’s the persuasive power of the way a character like Merlin is portrayed in the fantasy tradition, but Merlin as an auld geezer stoatin around Partick. It just doesn’t compute, y’know?

Injuns, Honest

One of the joys of being into music and living in a town like Glasgow is that it’s perfectly possible to have a new favourite band on almost a weekly basis.

For me, my New Favourite Bands Of The Week have recently included:

The Yellow Bentines (at Maggie May’s)

The Decemberists (played on Pulse FM immediately preceding our session)

Maxi Geil! And Playcolt (at Club Tromolo)

The Twisted Melons (on the same bill as us at Maggie May’s)

And the latest in this somewhat eclectic array of musical talent is the absolutely superb Injuns. Originally from Skye, this lot have been around Glasgow for a wee while now, but it’s one thing hearing good things about a band and quite another bothering your arse to get out and see them play. There’s a certain inertia about getting folk out of the house on a Wednesday night (what is it? Cash? Schoolnight inhibitions? Heroes on BBC2?) . Me, I love getting out to see new bands. They might not all be great, and there’ll be the occasional stinker that will at least make an amusing story to regale your friends with down the pub, but there’s plenty to get excited about too. There’s nothing like watching a band you know naff all about taking the stage, picking up their guitars and getting your toes tapping by the end of the first song, getting you singing along to songs whose lyrics you can’t possibly know by the end of the third, and get you biting their hand off for a CD at the end of their set. And not being disappointed when you stick in on the next day. Indeed, with each listen through, enjoying it more.

How often does that happen? For me, lately, more often than you might think, given the sheer quantity of bands and venues in Glasgow these days. And that’s partly due to the sterling efforts of Mr Nick and his team who put on Square Go! at Maggie May’s down in Trongate – which indeed was where Injuns were plying their energetic trade in the company of three other handy acts the other night. Maybe it’s just that my varied tastes match pretty well with their’s, I don’t know (there’s certainly been a better than average hit rate of sounds to make me go ooh!), but so far the only thing that has disappointed me at one of their nights, has been that no-one else seems have found out about them yet.

If you’re reading this, you have no excuse. The Rohypsters are on next week. If you don’t know them, that’s the perfect opportunity to discover them, then isn’t it?
See you there.

Done, and Done

I don’t really talk about the writing and such very often on here, but sometimes it’s worth noting certain milestones.

So, I finished the novel. And I think…cautiously…that it’s okay. The interesting thing is the routine I managed to settle into in order to get the last of it done.

I’d wake up, get out of bed (quietly), go through turn the laptop on for an hour. Then I’d get ready and leave early for work so that I could drop in at a cafe for 30 or 40 minutes more laptop time. Then I’d work til lunchtime whereupon I’d go to a local eaterie and bash out another hour’s worth. All of which meant by the time I got home, mentally knackered, I’d already had 2-3 hours writing done during the day and didn’t feel like I needed to push myself to do more in the evening as well (although of course, I often did anyway). This made me and those around me happier bunnies all round.

The really interesting thing is that now I’ve got this routine established I don’t seem to be able to break it. So, I’m not going to. The cafes of Glasgow will not go bust at the loss of business from the beardy guy with the laptop and the headphones.

And this is a decent opportunity to give thanks to the following establishments which have been chief amongst those that fed me well and shown genuine interest in how the book has progressed: Bella Italia (Hope St), Di Maggios (Royal Exchange Square), Oko Express (Queen Street), The Rhodderick Dhu and Bar Sporta (Waterloo Street) and all of the Cafe Neros in the area.

Also, if you’re looking for writing music that blocks out ambient yakking but still allows you to concentrate, I heartily recommend Explosions In The Sky’s “All Of A Sudden I Miss Everyone”.

Out!

So, maybe it’s the weather or maybe it’s the clocks going forward or maybe just because it’s May, but all of a sudden good people are putting on good things to go and see. In the last two weeks we’ve seen a shitload of good music, for very little outlay.It all started two Saturdays ago with the Littlest Album 3 launch at The Note, and seemed to steam roll from there. There’s too much to go into detail, but here are the highlights:

Tuesday 2nd – the ever-entertaining Scunner and The Glasgow Glambangers at Bloc.
Thursday 4th – Super Puny Humans (author Alan Bissett reading along to the music of Y’All Is Fantasy Island and Zoey Van Goey) at Oran Mor.
Saturday 5th – Popup Films’ Music and Moving Image at Oran Mor. Five bands interspersed with showings of experimental films. The films were interesting, and the pick of the acts were A Band Called Quinn and Isa And The Filthy Tongues.
Sunday 6th – Boudica’s Ball at Oran Mor. A six act bill featuring female-fronted talent (that could have been better phrased I think). Best for me were Lou Hickey and a soaring set by organiser Colette McKendrick.
Wednesday 9th – WordDogs at The Note. No music this time, but plenty of good stories and the entertainment was top notch. Great to see some old favourites reading new material, including the car-crash punning of Gavin Inglis’ “Springheeled Jock” [spoiiiiing!], and to hear readers I’ve not heard before, like Martin Belk.
Thursday 10th – the last of eight T-break heats, at Tut’s. Six bands given 20 minutes each to impress enough to grab a slot at T In The Park. Some great stuff going on here, interesting and varied. Top of my pile were the lush and majestic Miyagi, with honourable mentions to the spikily energetic Miss The Occupier and totally madcap Cider Spiders. I’d like to see more of the Sorren MacLean band too.
Saturday 12th – not an entertainment as such, but our friends Phil, Janie and VV held a party to wave goodbye to the West End. Lots of good craic there, but we couldn’t last the pace, ending up plonking ourselves on the sofa with pizza, wine and Eurovision.

What do you think we are, party animals?

And that’s it. Have a relatively quiet schedule lined up for the forseeable. Which is a good thing, all things considered.