Month: August 2018

The seminal Chuck Palahniuk book (and subsequent movie) ‘Fight Club’ introduced us to the notion of the ‘single serving friend’; that person – or thing – that is meaningful, perfectly pleasant and functional for a specific journey, moment or event, but soon becomes obselete and irrelevant to the bigger picture.

Outlives its use; becomes a problem.

This idea was particularly resonant during the second part of the summer holidays, for more reasons than one, though I’ll accentuate the positives later. Meanwhile, the following blog covers food, music, football and modern art, with TV, film and literature along the way. Please, read on if you’re interested in how I spent the second part of my summer… click on to something else – Tory or baggy – if not.

It all starts with me doing a ‘Morrissey’.

We start with me ‘doing a Morrissey’… and I felt all the better for it.

The first thing I did was create a YouTube account and watch the entire series of Cobra Kai in the space of a few short hours. I’d forgotten all about how much I’d loved Karate Kid back when I was the age my daughter is about to be: all the action figures; the dreams of doing karate; of going to Japan and my practising the moves of Daniel San…

This, for me, is one of the best examples of a modern retelling of an old story. It really makes one think about the original in a new way, and feel sympathy for the villain of the first piece. Kind of like a fractured fairytale, akin to ‘Maleficent’ or ‘Wicked’ and any other tale of good and evil, I actually ended up rooting for Johnny and Cobra Kai – who I’d hated for years – whilst coming to dislike Daniel, one of my childhood heroes.

Talking of eighties classics, I also watched, and really enjoyed, the eclectic mix of ‘Ready Player One’ (especially the soundtrack) and the surreal but mesmerising animation ‘Loving Vincent’; the wholly entertaining and mouthwatering ‘Somebody Feed Phil’ which made us itch to return to NYC, and then the old favourite Wes Anderson’s most recent offering, ‘Isle of Dogs’ which was beautifully light and symmetrical in the way that all of his films have been… animations in particular.

Meanwhile, in the real world, B turning five was a truly seminal moment. The youngest in her year, it was a long time coming, but fully worth the wait. The joy on her face as she saw her carefully selected gifts will remain long in the memory, and what I love about her most bore through in the simple pleasures of her choice of birthday celebrations: a trip to the park and tea around the corner, as she almost wet herself with excitement at the littlest things.

That we brought her into the world five years ago, that Saturday in L7, still beggars belief, and as a wise man once told me, every day it just gets better and better.

Eyes dried, my boy and me ventured back into town for the second foray into the world of the 2018 Liverpool Biennial. Part two took in a plethora of shows which included: Tate Liverpool; Open Eye; the viewfinders in Derby Square; ‘This is Shanghai’ in the Cunard Building, and I’d say these exhibitions were even more impressive than the first section we visited.

More polished, more cerebral, especially the offerings from China. E and I enjoyed the strange entrance to what was once the Underwater Street play centre we frequented, what with its unusual timed prison-like door to go through, and then a really lovely looking installation of neon letters which brought back memories of projects gone by (nicely timed, given the resurgence of the band it was all for) and some really ornate tea tins.

The real highlight of the day was the Yoko Ono exhibition at the Museum of Liverpool; somewhat serendipitously, it has replaced the musical exhibition I’d proudly take my kids and visitors to, to see our album assemblage for said band. This though, was arguably even better: the story of a complicated love affair between a pretty much genius couple who had beautiful ideas and faced a horrible ending.

The links between my own career and life, and that of John Winston, are myriad, from education to lifestyles – I even applied to the National Trust for the job of keyholder at Menlove – before his awful demise inspired a magical moment (?) at the Dakota Buildings, the day we got engaged and a surreal anecdote when my sister announced to my horrified mum that it was me who’d been shot – and then I ended up visiting the scene years later. I’ve recently begun watching, listening – and dancing – to The Beatles a lot more, so reading up on the lives of John and Yoko was really cathartic and I was genuinely in tears at a couple of points in the show.

I spent more than I should have on badges and t-shirts and thankfully, by now E really needed a sleep, so I was able to return to the Tate for the main reason for my visit and I really loved the hauntingly beautiful portraits by the (initially strange) combination of Egon Schiele and Francesca Woodman, whom I’d not heard of before but really admired.

After all this sensory bombardment, I needed some time to absorb everything I had seen so went for a reflectory pint at Lunyalita… not just to check out the new Catalan surroundings, but to also enjoy the soundtrack from the Beatles Story’s speakers next door. He woke up halfway through my pint of Moritz and for once, it didn’t matter – I wanted to enjoy the time with my own beautiful boy after all this stuff he’d been wide-eyed at.

There was one more little show to see: New Brighton’s documentary photographers, and this was a mixed bag, as it clearly showed the resort’s halcyon days but I couldn’t help but feel the images were a little patronising as the likes of Tom Wood, Martin Parr et all seemed to capture the worst of the town at its – not a nadir, just a time when it was a working class resort and I quite liked looking at a town I recognised, even though I never went there as a lad: kids in chippies, dolled up couples in clubs and daytrippers fighting to get on the bus back to Liverpool… just the summer, for many of us, and how we loved it.

It wasn’t long before we were jetting off to Ireland for an unforgettable weekend of dancing, soda bread, love and Guinness in a most wonderful part of the world.

The same weekend as the Pope, of course.

 

This was where the Tyler Durden effect really kicked in: a half hour flight sat next to a gas fitter from Blackpool with whom I discussed a variety of things – beer, Bispham, the future, my own portrait of the artist as a young man – and his plans for debauchery on the streets of Dublin.

Ellis was actually on our flight back but we didn’t speak – he looked too hungover, and I wish him luck.

It’s ok, as during the weekend I made other friends such as Jamie the music mad waiter, and Lawrence the articulate young man with plans to take over Australia. We may never meet again, but how good it was! Over-indulgence can sometimes be good for the soul, and although it meant missing other celebrations closer to home, we did have an absolute ball in the vicinity of the Pope with some amazing people, scenery and moments that will live long in the memory.

Back home, after another period of recovery, it was into the home straight.

Namely, the finale of something else which we’d been gripped by thoughout the holidays: BBC drama ‘Age Before Beauty’ which wouldn’t normally have been my cup of tea but really took me because it rekindled my love of  Manchester. the city – namely, the NQ – looked so beautiful, and after the first episode we decided that we needed to go back ASAP so booked in a date and I planned a bar crawl to take in locations from the series mixed in with meeting Simon Rimmer, overspending in the MCR shop, spotting a plethora of bees, being agog at a selection of murals and graffiti offerings in the most cultured part of a city I can remember ever visiting…. all before a meal to remember at somewhere we came close to last year but didn’t think it possible to return to any time soon.

A great meal was devoured at Mr Cooper’s at the Midland Hotel; a lovely place with interesting organic collages on the walls and excellent staff (including Tomas, our waiter with whom I conversed in French about the heyday of L’Olympique Marseille) accompanied by wonderful food. My steak tartare came with a salt & sugar cured egg yolk which tasted like nothing I’d ever eaten before, then a pork chop of such quality I didn’t want it to end. L had an equally luscious terrine and pork shoulder with a chorizo cassoulet and it all made the day so, so memorable.

Manchester, so much to thank you for.

And so to the last days of the holiday, and two more key moments: the cathartic climax of the excellent ‘Keeping Faith’ and a belated birthday day out at the fair. Both of which were enjoyable, entertaining and rewarding, as Faith got some answers and B rode the Ghost Train for the first time – alone!

Another sign that things are changing for the better: the end of summer, then, but the beginning of something even brighter.

Driving over Snake Pass to spend a week with my parents, sister and family, I wasn’t sure what to expect of a place I had only ever ventured to once: thirty years ago, in fact.

The journey there was pretty memorable: spending time on the A57 of ‘Van Der Graffe’ fame; seeing the Suedehead barbers in lovely Glossop and getting funny looks in the Yorkshire Bridge Hotel. But strangely, I didn’t remember much of our first foray into the Peak District and it’s a good job, as we were pleasantly surprised with a plethora of things from our time there together.

We stayed in a beautiful, picturesque cottage and enjoyed the peace and quiet as well as the beautiful surroundings.

We had a weekend of sunshine and outdoor swimming at the Hathersage Lido: all lovely stuff, especially a chilli & lime scotch egg from the Coleman Deli, pints at the Scotsman’s Pack. We even happened upon the grave of a Little John, Robin Hood’s bezzie, which was a little underwhelming but still a nice experience for anyone who grew up watching Kevin Costner as the Prince of Thieves.

The next day, two hours perusing Chatsworth were nowhere near enough, given the beautiful gardens, the incredible range of sculptures on show from Damien Hirst to displays of shells and crystals and the wonderfully ornate rooms on the tour and the particularly interesting work by the house’s inaugural artist in residence, Linder Sterling.

Obviously, I had a vested interest in her work due to her close association with a certain Steven Patrick, and was impressed with the collages on show but also the incense being burned at different points during the day, the sound pieces and the textiles designs. She’d obviously immersed herself in the whole experience of touring the house, and made links with its historical influences and importance very cleverly.

I was very impressed.

This of course may be of interest to you, so here’s a link:

https://www.chatsworth.org/events/artist-in-residence/

Whilst in this neck of the woods, I also overspent at the farm shop and the kids loved the farm itself – plus the adventure playground – and enjoyed a great takeaway from the Maazi before we all had a great day out at the Crich Tramway Village: a hark back to days at the seaside, with some beautiful signage, and evoked thoughts of times in our own city as well as locations around the world which use the tram system.

It was a really lovely family day out.

The day in between, though, brought with it the highlight of the trip: Sheffield. 

A strange sentence, perhaps, for those who have never frequented the city, and even stranger for someone who never thought I would get there. I grew up watching ‘When Saturday Comes’; we love Henderson’s Relish; I had a soft spot for Wednesday because of Waddle and even collaborated on a play about the north (2013 production ‘Wondrous Place’ http://www.britishtheatreguide.info/reviews/a-wondrous-plac-unity-theatre-8838 in which the play-within-a-play ‘Porters Brook’ made me want to visit the city more than ever, if only because of the song:

Plus, my heart both snag and sank a couple of years ago when I read an article about the story of the Urban Splash neon signage on a housing estate on the outskirts –https://www.theguardian.com/global/2016/aug/21/tragic-story-of-sheffield-park-hill-bridge –  and I supported the campaigns to keep the chimneys and the trees from extinction, despite them being two hours away.

Now, then… the steel city and me have an interesting history, mainly musically, because I feel like I know the place through the songs of Richard Hawley.

Many people of my generation would say the same of the Arctic Monkeys, and although I really like some of their newer stuff – and had a drink with them in the Brewery in a previous life when a friend worked on their second album cover – but I can’t really count myself a true fan. Similarly, ‘Different Class’ by Pulp was a seminal album from my teenage years and again, really respect Jarvis but don’t feel the same affinity I feel for Hawley.

I fell in love with his words and chords when he didn’t win the Mercury Prize, then fell in love with my wife as he played the soundtrack. Meeting him in a darkened doorway on Parr Street was still one of the more surreal moments of our relationship – having a reet good natter like old friends – and so it was no surprise when our secret dance lessons, learning a Viennese waltz, led to our first dance at the wedding of 2012.

Here’s the proof: our practice notes!

Countless concerts and seminal moments since, as I said I didn’t think we’d ever make it to Coles Corner or the other places namechecked on his albums.

We went to Coles Corner first, took the obligatory selfies and reminisced… saw the Crucible Theatre; the lovely indoor Winter gardens; the gallery and museum, including a great anti-war exhibition; the Hendo’s shop; car bonnets painted with iconic lyrics; examples of Lego Bricktropolis, and were made up to see Hawley’s visage on the wall of the Pizza Express (the only negative being they didn’t sell grappa!)

We made it to Lady’s Bridge, the oldest in the city, and saw a grittier, edgier part of the city ‘down by the river’ which I really liked. There were several beautiful, iconic buildings which have been run down or worse, and there was  also a ‘beach’ in the square in front of the town hall. B loved running through the fountains, too, but not before we visited an amazing little pub in the student part of town that I’d read about and was not disappointed.

Ok, well I was a little disappointed with their music policy:

Though not with the pint of Cher Bert beer, nor the time spent in the beer garden painting B’s nails…

Nor the sticker on the drainpipe outside.

A quirky, genuine, playful yet sincere pub I’d recommend to anyone, especially after what happened immediately following our visit. I realised I’d left my beloved Primark sunglasses in the pub whilst chasing an escaping B, and with no time to spare before the tram back to the park & ride I wrote a brief email to the landlord asking for their safe return.

They have some sentimental value in that they’re very me, with some nice memories attached… sunglasses are currently a thing, too, so I said I’d pay the postage, but a few days later, there arrived an envelope with my pride and joy inside and they’d even gone to the effort of sending them first class which I really appreciated and made me love Sheffield even more.

As did something I’d picked up in the pub, a really interesting catalogue from www.theimagespeaks.co.uk which is a collection of projects by PhD students from the Faculty of Arts and Humanities at the University of Sheffield. I particularly liked the works by Katrina Mayson on Joseph Cornell, and the Franco-Algerian identities project by Martin Elms but was most taken by the comments I found at the back of the booklet.

Our day out, and this interesting body of collaborations, made me wonder how life might have been as a student in Sheffield. The architecture is amazing, a real mix, the students union used to be the centre for popular music… They even have poems on the side of buildings, for God’s sake!

But this all embodied my impression of the city: it comes through in Pulp, Monkeys, Hawley’s music; in the kindness and generosity of pub staff for a one off customer;h in the honesty of the art critic who left his comments for a stranger like me to find and love.

Love, love, love.

I’ve been listening to the Beatles a lot recently and I think Sheffield is a city of love: love is, after all, all you need.

Earlier in this article, I skirted over Coles Corner as it was a little anticlimactic – a few undesirables were sat on the benches opposite; it now houses a Pret, and there’s no romantic lighting, but just being there with our children all these after that dance and the countless rehearsals and re-enactments reminded me that the site was initially written about because it was where couples traditionally would meet before embarking on a night out together. 

Our day in Sheffield had all the same ingredients of romance, grit, edginess, culture and smiles as a first date – with a very happy ending.

Talking of which, next time: extreme pain, joy and turning five!

Exactly a year ago, I had my head shaved and was thrown off a train for protecting my family.

That’s a true story, believe it or not, and by way of apology, Merseyrail sent me some train vouchers as compensation. For myriad reasons, I never got around to spending them until this week, and even then could only manage a trip into town.

However, this was a journey I’d been looking forward to making for a while: well, I say a while, perhaps a lifetime. I took B around the 2016 Biennial when her mum was a month away from giving birth to our second born, E, and this was his time. Introducing your son to the world of contemporary art – he’s been to a few galleries before, but this was his first taste of Biennale gallery-hopping – is a wonderful thing I’d hope all those interested in it, can experience, even if it can be stressful and challenging at times.

We actually started at the library, in the incredibly ornate Picton and Hornby rooms for the Frankenstein book art exhibition I’d first heard about through that life-changing course I recently completed.

There were some lovely examples on show, and even though I’m not teaching the gothic fiction module next year – sorry, no more talk of school, WE’RE ON OUR HOLIDAYS – it stirred up the creative juices and whetted the appetite for other planned text engagement. It was just difficult keeping the ever-more-articulate little ‘un quiet in such lovely surroundings.

Next up was the JOHN MOORES exhibition at one of my favourite places on earth, the Walker Gallery. If I’m honest, I was a little underwhelmed by the collection this time, though that’s perhaps because I’m so out of touch with painting and image-making that I don’t know what’s on trend any more. I saw quite a few things I liked but left with an understanding of the negativity some of the Post-it notes reflected.

Still, it offered the chance to see this great design and quote from the genial past winner Sir Peter Blake, and to interact with a selfie mirror at the end of the show.

Onwards, Evertonians – up Brownlow Hill, to a building I’d never made it inside before, and what a silly decision that proved to be! The not having been in before, because it’s such an ornate and classy environment I should have spent time in whilst a student who instead frequented dodgy bars and nightclubs.

I am, of course, talking about the Liverpool University building; I knew it was there but had never ventured in, not even able to attend the Stu Sutcliffe show a few years back. This time, though, I was even more pleasantly surprised with the art on show, particularly those by Francis Alys in the upstairs gallery, above the beautifully ornate cafe with its decorative tributes to fallen heroes.

Alys has always fascinated me, but not previously for his painted works. These were just lovely, painted over a lifetime on boards and skilled but at the same time, quite naive-looking, but still carefully composed and with pastel colours chosen for effect. It was this palette which reminded me of the works of David Tindle, a little-known painter of egg tempera still lifes whom I was introduced to at GCSE time… long, long ago.

I also really loved the strange, labyrinthesque installation by Ben Judd, and the Egyptian section featuring mummified bodies and beautiful little carvings.

After that, we moved on to JMU’s John Lennon building – the home of the art & design faculty – and a building close to my heart, not just because  I exhibited there as part of my MA show several lifetimes ago, but aso because it now homes several of my old tutors who deliver the BA Graphic Arts course (me first degree, embarked upon nearly TWENTY years ago now) to those wide-eyed undergraduates of whom I was once one.

There, we enjoyed the Bloomberg New Contemporaries showoverall, though it was rather inconsistent. Standout pieces involved a fanzine collaborative; a load of eggs, taking the form of a Virgin Mary; a set of strange witch figures and a lovely collection of eclectic images by the group who also designed the biennial branding. This was one of the highlights of the day.

Next, we took a walk along Hope Street: a trip down memory lane for me, as we passed old flats, old places of study, old haunts and arrived at ‘the suitcases’, where I once posed for a DAZED & CONFUSED photoshoot. Then, it was down Hardman and Leece Streets for the somewhat underwhelming shows at FACT (one such offering – films by Agnes Varda – I had to shield Elijah from, as it showed a woman getting attacked in a phonebox – I’m all for pushing the envelope for one’s art, but we were given no warning in the way in by the gallery assistant who just said “ahh, she’s young!” to us on the way in) although I did like the ideas behind the horse and garden themed films by Mohamed Bourouissa.

How things change when you have kids.

Still full of energy, we walked down to the Bluecoat which has always been a favourite of the kids due to the peaceful garden there and a nice mix of interactivity in their shows over the last few years. This was no exception; Ryan Gander, Suki Seokyeong Kang and particularly Silke Otto-Knapp made this a more engaging experience, and a really positive end to this first part of Biennial binging.

There followed a nap, after all that art, and a short period of shopping for B’s birthday gifts before a nice pint at Lunya in advance of getting the train home and reflecting on everything we had seen that day.

Including Noel Gallagher playing the piano in L1…

The rest of the festival can wait, for now… We’re off to Sheffield!