this is a response to the war memorial parade i attended recently. it was the same day i got gallstones or the polyp, whatever it was that made me ill.
They’re marching now.
All I can really feel is pain. I think it is because I am stressed, and have been stressed about this day for so long. Yesterday, reading the lines that represent to me my stressful past, I felt happy, and the pain was, to be kind to it, mild. Minimal. As I stood nervous behind the microphone, hand shaking and voice cracked, it was with a surge of triumph. What was once a symbol of hurt and anger and thwarted desire, now represented to me a purging of what had been before. As the words fell from my mouth, they marched triumphant in a bold assertion that I have feared, I have fought, and now I have conquered. The applause is shrieking, and I smile, relieved, and look down at the page and I look down on my body and I think, yes, this is mine now.
This is different though. I can’t remember if this is a new fear, or just an old one resurrected, and I wonder what I am afraid of, when those around me today have feared for their lives and looked death in the eye. And I have had that fear once, I think. But not to the same terrific extent.
I step out of the tube station and rush to buy a greeting’s card, hoping that I won’t be found out, and when I leave the shop I see them standing there, waiting ready. They are dressed smart. He is wearing the medal I saw once when I was a child in a box, never taken out again, and I suddenly feel small and silly in my blue summer dress and grubby flip flops, thinking, I’m wrong, I look wrong, I’ve gone wrong. Clutching my belly, I smile and twirl, but beneath waspish sunglasses I hold my eyes steady and unflinching and feel like I have to start turning hard as rock.
They bump in to someone not seen for twenty five years, and the wife asks his wife what she’s been doing for the last quarter of a century. They don’t recognise that it is not the same woman, and I wonder how much of existence is to be airbrushed out today. One. I count to myself. I smile in what I hope is a warm and expansive manner, my responses are frozen. I learnt to perform this dance many years ago. It was vain to hope the steps wouldn’t be needed again. Clutching my belly, I walk next to my stepmother and this wife, and my brother walks next to my father and the not-seen-for-twenty-five-years-acquaintance. I notice this because I find it strange how we turn to this gender divide that was never present at home. Why do I automatically fall in step with another woman, why do I automatically join the wives by virtue of wearing this blue summer dress.
I hate central London, I think. I want to go back to the boys’ house.
He’s made me cry behind my huge waspish sunglasses (‘why do you want to hide your pretty face?’) and I clutch my belly. I have committed the crime of mentioning the part of the past not on display today. But, I think, I’m on display today, and I am a visible manifestation of that past. Dressed wrong, thinking wrong, but on display all the same. I wonder at how easily it is done. Quick denial, pretend this doesn’t exist, didn’t exist, never existed; and suddenly my past is erased. And I think. Is this how I am thought of? Do you not want to recognise from where this moment came from, what has been to lead up to us standing on the Strand in the thin sun, talking right now, saying these words to one another, as I cry behind my sunglasses and text my boyfriend to ask him to come and see me when I get back home because right now all I want is for someone to hold me and let me know that my existence is all right. Two.
I fall back in to step with the women. It is safer there. They aren’t part of all of the shared past. I clutch my belly. It is getting worse now.
If this is a day to remember the past, I think, if this is a day to remember those involved in the past that were forgotten, I think, then I was right to speak up. But who knows what memories are wanted, and maybe this is a day to remember only what each mind desires.
It is getting steadily cooler and the pain is getting steadily worse, as we stand up begrudgingly to welcome the Royals and they start to march in. The camera focuses on Blair talking to Thatcher, and I joke that they are discussing how it is fine to stage an illegal and unpopular war because, look at them, they’re marching now.
We are here to remember the dead.
We are here to remember the dead.
We are here to remember the dead who died, so we are told, to keep this last bastion of imperialism safe, to keep this land British. In tears, the lady on the screen tells the widow on the screen that he in the photograph did not die in vain. That he saved her and her daughter and the land they loved. And I think perhaps now is the time to fuck politics, to ignore the nagging voice in my brain that warns me that almost without exception all the problems and wars in the world today can be traced back to Western imperialism, and the question that rings to why Britain should own the land anyway. Because we are here to remember the dead.
And how can I judge the living. For they believe that it was the right thing. And I was born too late to question that. I am young, I am foolish, I cannot ask this of them.
I did it because I believe it was the right thing to do.
Isn’t that what he says?
And for some moments I feel proud of my father today. And I feel proud of my mother today, watching on the television, in her airbrushed out of this moment here now today world. I shush my feminist pacifist, and I shush the angry little girl who is still reeling in fury and pain from him making her cry; and tell them both to let them have their moment, for what they suffered and what they saw.
I’m watching them march and I think about those who came home to get their medals and I think about the things they must have seen and I think about whether they wonder at their marching now, what they are marching for and what they marched for then. I think about how these times and these men have shaped so much of my past and my present although they never knew me, they never knew of my existence, and whether they thought they were doing it for babies like me soon to be born, or whether they didn’t think that far ahead. I try and decipher all the words and the point of singing fucking Rod Stewart because I want to know, I demand to know, if this is a celebration, because I don’t want to be celebrating. I don’t want to be celebrating. I want them to remember. I want to be remembered.
I want to be remembered as existing in this moment, because to have existed in this moment then something must have lived and thrived those years ago that need not have been so crassly brushed aside as I cried behind my sunglasses.
The pain has reached the point where I can barely stand through the National Anthem and no amount of clutching my belly makes it any less. Everyone is emotional but I am white as a sheet and all I can think of is how much pain I am in. I want to scream and scream and scream because I don’t know how I can travel the one hundred and twenty five miles to my nice soft bed when I can barely place one foot ahead of the other.
As the song comes to an end, we watch them march.
Wednesday, 11 July 2007
Tuesday, 26 June 2007
the magic of fingers
hey,
i wrote this yesterday morning. it is the first thing ive written in ages, and im not sure it is very good. but hey, im the worst self editor in the world, always posting things that aren't ready.
i think it can be read quite nicely in conjunction with 'i can make you happy' and 'learning curves of acceptance' - maybe like a trilogy? i don't know.
it is a love story of sorts.
The magic of fingers
It seems now to me that all time that came before has reached a synthesis that makes sense. From the moment I came down from the mountains, step by step over grassy ridges and rocky clefts that threatened danger, it was the beginning of the path to this point. I wasn’t to know what lay a stone’s throw away.
My body is stained with fingerprints. Like a child’s painting made with giddy joy, you find the traces of time on my hips and on my legs and on my back. A history book open and read lies on my belly. Fingertips that grabbed and stole shreds of flesh to keep and hide from my possession, losing senses and losing an I, so that, tracing the history of my body, I can’t find pieces of me, can’t find semblances of where I once was. The hurt can be raw sometimes. I was left to sew the remnants back together. Piece by piece I knitted the skin to the muscle to the organ and picked up where I left off. Holes lay bare, hidden under scraps of clothing, gaping through my badly sewn seams, as I moved from the mountain towards what lay beyond it. Pale, I was. Sucked dry. The fingers spun their spell and entranced me in to their motion, so that pulled from side to side; the holes were torn open again.
And I would scream, how many more times can I do this again, how many more times can this happen again, I’m so tired now, can we please be quiet now please.
Until I lay down and accepted it. I let the fingers do their work, until all that was left was a stretch of skin clinging to my fibre, and somewhere amongst it all was a shadow of me, whispering day by day to be heard.
I wandered from city to city, searching for bricks and mortar to stick me back together with glue. Sometimes fingers caress where the stains are and I hope the new prints will wipe out the mess of the old ones before. I’ll take anything, I think. I’ll take anything to blur the marks on my body.
There was a time before I gave the paintbrush to others, when I would mark the boundaries of my body. With skill I traced patterns over canvasses that would not be seen, too shy to reveal, and I wrote my own history there. But I was told over and over to stop, I was told over and over that I was wrong, that what I did was wrong, so I gave up my art and I gave up my autonomy and let others take hold of the ink and let others draw me the way they wanted. I wondered why this was better. I wondered why this was acceptable. Before, painting away, I had the control. I knew where the lines could be drawn and I knew how big how wide how long and far I could go. Yet, worn down, I accepted the wrongness of my actions, and gave up the precious tools to let outsiders take control of my body, and make it with their powders and their prints, greedy and wanting and leaving their mark. Lying alone later, tracing the new pictures on my body, I wondered why this hurt was encouraged. If my art was the thesis, then this was their antithesis. Somewhere, someone was winning. Somewhere, someone was pleased. As the new prints wiped out the meticulous carvings I had devoted so many years to cultivating, I stared hard trying to remember which part of me was mine. Where my independence had gone to. My self drifting from town to town searching for where I had been and where I was hiding. The truth was missing. I couldn’t pin point it anymore.
So onward I wander sleepwalking through towns with my head kept down and my smile ducked under my chin in hope that no one sees for if no one sees then no one can take hold of what is left of me. I nod politely and do my duty and I sell ugly clothes to rich ladies and I speak quietly to people who ignore the advice I give them, and sometimes, sometimes when I’m not looking a part of me that I thought I had left in the past will drink a glass of wine and laugh raucously and flutter her eyelashes and although I tell her to be quiet, to quieten down now, she ignores me and finds herself waking somewhere strange with parts of my body wiped out. Reprimanded and humbled she sneaks back deep inside and I duck my chin and walk head down and tell her to not come back. She folds her bright silks and velvets away and we go back to where we started.
Then I found fingers on the back of my neck and I felt them draw what was once there before. The seams close and are rendered invisible and when I press my fingertips there I can’t feel the cracks, I can’t feel the stretched thread. Light falls from the ends of fingers to close the gaps, and I watch astounded as I notice that no longer is my skin cracking to release my self to fall onto the dirty pavements of these dirty cities. Over my shoulders and over my back and over my breasts and belly, fingers highlight all the paintings that have shaped my body, and I am synthesised, my thesis and my antithesis meeting on my thighs to show off all the facets of my history, written there for all to see, no longer smudged and shamed and dirty. Slowly knitting and slowly mending, and the weight of my head is supported as my hands can lift and hold themselves proudly interlocking with fingers.
My body is a record of all my time and all that has come before this moment. It seems to me now that all the time that has been before has been waiting for a moment that has been caught oh so nicely between fingers.
i wrote this yesterday morning. it is the first thing ive written in ages, and im not sure it is very good. but hey, im the worst self editor in the world, always posting things that aren't ready.
i think it can be read quite nicely in conjunction with 'i can make you happy' and 'learning curves of acceptance' - maybe like a trilogy? i don't know.
it is a love story of sorts.
The magic of fingers
It seems now to me that all time that came before has reached a synthesis that makes sense. From the moment I came down from the mountains, step by step over grassy ridges and rocky clefts that threatened danger, it was the beginning of the path to this point. I wasn’t to know what lay a stone’s throw away.
My body is stained with fingerprints. Like a child’s painting made with giddy joy, you find the traces of time on my hips and on my legs and on my back. A history book open and read lies on my belly. Fingertips that grabbed and stole shreds of flesh to keep and hide from my possession, losing senses and losing an I, so that, tracing the history of my body, I can’t find pieces of me, can’t find semblances of where I once was. The hurt can be raw sometimes. I was left to sew the remnants back together. Piece by piece I knitted the skin to the muscle to the organ and picked up where I left off. Holes lay bare, hidden under scraps of clothing, gaping through my badly sewn seams, as I moved from the mountain towards what lay beyond it. Pale, I was. Sucked dry. The fingers spun their spell and entranced me in to their motion, so that pulled from side to side; the holes were torn open again.
And I would scream, how many more times can I do this again, how many more times can this happen again, I’m so tired now, can we please be quiet now please.
Until I lay down and accepted it. I let the fingers do their work, until all that was left was a stretch of skin clinging to my fibre, and somewhere amongst it all was a shadow of me, whispering day by day to be heard.
I wandered from city to city, searching for bricks and mortar to stick me back together with glue. Sometimes fingers caress where the stains are and I hope the new prints will wipe out the mess of the old ones before. I’ll take anything, I think. I’ll take anything to blur the marks on my body.
There was a time before I gave the paintbrush to others, when I would mark the boundaries of my body. With skill I traced patterns over canvasses that would not be seen, too shy to reveal, and I wrote my own history there. But I was told over and over to stop, I was told over and over that I was wrong, that what I did was wrong, so I gave up my art and I gave up my autonomy and let others take hold of the ink and let others draw me the way they wanted. I wondered why this was better. I wondered why this was acceptable. Before, painting away, I had the control. I knew where the lines could be drawn and I knew how big how wide how long and far I could go. Yet, worn down, I accepted the wrongness of my actions, and gave up the precious tools to let outsiders take control of my body, and make it with their powders and their prints, greedy and wanting and leaving their mark. Lying alone later, tracing the new pictures on my body, I wondered why this hurt was encouraged. If my art was the thesis, then this was their antithesis. Somewhere, someone was winning. Somewhere, someone was pleased. As the new prints wiped out the meticulous carvings I had devoted so many years to cultivating, I stared hard trying to remember which part of me was mine. Where my independence had gone to. My self drifting from town to town searching for where I had been and where I was hiding. The truth was missing. I couldn’t pin point it anymore.
So onward I wander sleepwalking through towns with my head kept down and my smile ducked under my chin in hope that no one sees for if no one sees then no one can take hold of what is left of me. I nod politely and do my duty and I sell ugly clothes to rich ladies and I speak quietly to people who ignore the advice I give them, and sometimes, sometimes when I’m not looking a part of me that I thought I had left in the past will drink a glass of wine and laugh raucously and flutter her eyelashes and although I tell her to be quiet, to quieten down now, she ignores me and finds herself waking somewhere strange with parts of my body wiped out. Reprimanded and humbled she sneaks back deep inside and I duck my chin and walk head down and tell her to not come back. She folds her bright silks and velvets away and we go back to where we started.
Then I found fingers on the back of my neck and I felt them draw what was once there before. The seams close and are rendered invisible and when I press my fingertips there I can’t feel the cracks, I can’t feel the stretched thread. Light falls from the ends of fingers to close the gaps, and I watch astounded as I notice that no longer is my skin cracking to release my self to fall onto the dirty pavements of these dirty cities. Over my shoulders and over my back and over my breasts and belly, fingers highlight all the paintings that have shaped my body, and I am synthesised, my thesis and my antithesis meeting on my thighs to show off all the facets of my history, written there for all to see, no longer smudged and shamed and dirty. Slowly knitting and slowly mending, and the weight of my head is supported as my hands can lift and hold themselves proudly interlocking with fingers.
My body is a record of all my time and all that has come before this moment. It seems to me now that all the time that has been before has been waiting for a moment that has been caught oh so nicely between fingers.
Sunday, 24 June 2007
news and ting
hey,
just to let you know there is now a new reason for me being out of writing action, i am officially really rather sick. Been off work for a week, had blood tests and ultra sounds and generally feeling srory for self. Hopefully i'll be better and back on scribbling form soon tho.
meanwhile my reading at the gladstonbury festival (before the illness struck me down!) was a great success! im too nervous and need to be more confident, but people really seemed to like my work, although had to cut a couple of paragraphs to make things better. (ed suggested in 'learning curves of acceptance' that the para about cheekbones being razors is cliche. but just so you know, if you have a hospital appointment in bath, that paragraph is on display as part of sarah trigg's art exhibition). I also read ' i can make you happy', which although now seems a bit dated, always works well "live".
im interested in people's reactions to 'learning curves of acceptance'. a few people have been asking me about it and whether it was about losing virginity. what do you think? i personally (and i am breaking the vow of silence here!) didn't intend that when i wrote it, so i am kind of happy that people look at it from a different perspective to me.
It is official - 'poem as autobiography' is not a good piece, and i have come to understand why. honesty is key, this poem is full of vagaries and lies and that is why it fails.
anyway, hopefully having this time off work means i can get to work on what i care about. ie writing, not telling off students.
take care xx
just to let you know there is now a new reason for me being out of writing action, i am officially really rather sick. Been off work for a week, had blood tests and ultra sounds and generally feeling srory for self. Hopefully i'll be better and back on scribbling form soon tho.
meanwhile my reading at the gladstonbury festival (before the illness struck me down!) was a great success! im too nervous and need to be more confident, but people really seemed to like my work, although had to cut a couple of paragraphs to make things better. (ed suggested in 'learning curves of acceptance' that the para about cheekbones being razors is cliche. but just so you know, if you have a hospital appointment in bath, that paragraph is on display as part of sarah trigg's art exhibition). I also read ' i can make you happy', which although now seems a bit dated, always works well "live".
im interested in people's reactions to 'learning curves of acceptance'. a few people have been asking me about it and whether it was about losing virginity. what do you think? i personally (and i am breaking the vow of silence here!) didn't intend that when i wrote it, so i am kind of happy that people look at it from a different perspective to me.
It is official - 'poem as autobiography' is not a good piece, and i have come to understand why. honesty is key, this poem is full of vagaries and lies and that is why it fails.
anyway, hopefully having this time off work means i can get to work on what i care about. ie writing, not telling off students.
take care xx
Friday, 15 June 2007
exciting news
The Guardian are publishing my experience to share! feel like a real writer, which is great.
check out march for the idea behind the thing.
then i'll let you know when it'll be available IN PRINT!
check out march for the idea behind the thing.
then i'll let you know when it'll be available IN PRINT!
About Ladyfest
This is some of the stuff from the website, but I'm putting it here too. I'll put the website here when it is up and running! Monday we hope...
LADYFEST BRISTOL 2007!!!!!!!!!!!!!
History
The first Ladyfest was held in Olympia, Washington State in 2000, and since then has grown internationally, happening in Ottawa, Mexico, Romania and Singapore, as well as dozens in Britain, including London, Leeds, Newcastle, Brighton and all over.
Born from the Riot Grrl punk movement of the nineties, Ladyfest aimed to showcase and celebrate women’s music and art on their own merit and in their own right. By this we mean that for the first time, women’s creativity had its own space, as opposed to a sideline or novelty in the traditionally more male dominated punk and indie scene.
This is the second Ladyfest to be held in Bristol. The first was a two week event in the summer of 2003, when Bristol and Bath hosted a number of musical and artistic events between the two cities.
Ladyfest has changed and evolved into a diverse festival that represents a wide selection of women’s work and needs. It has maintained its spirit as a cultural moment to celebrate women, whilst growing in its outlook and in its aims. Each festival is run independently under the Ladyfest banner, and this allows each one to develop their own idea of what they want the festival to mean to their audience, their town and themselves.
Ladyfest Bristol 2007
Ladyfest Bristol aims to be a diverse event, in keeping with the growing variety of recent festivals. Musically, we are presenting indie, electro, hip hop and folk nights. This means that whatever your taste, there will be a night to go dancing that will suit you!
Like Ladyfests before us we will be exhibiting a range of local and national artists, and running workshops on drawing, writing, knitting, self defence, and music.
Film and theatre will play a strong role in the event, with acting workshops, and the Cube cabaret performing their work, whilst local women filmmakers will have the opportunity to show off their work.
It is important to us that Ladyfest explores its own political and ethical motivations whilst making sure that we don’t exclude anyone or make people feel uneasy about attending. We want to use the festival to raise discussion and debate about gender roles and women in society, through discussion, art and music!
LADYFEST BRISTOL 2007!!!!!!!!!!!!!
History
The first Ladyfest was held in Olympia, Washington State in 2000, and since then has grown internationally, happening in Ottawa, Mexico, Romania and Singapore, as well as dozens in Britain, including London, Leeds, Newcastle, Brighton and all over.
Born from the Riot Grrl punk movement of the nineties, Ladyfest aimed to showcase and celebrate women’s music and art on their own merit and in their own right. By this we mean that for the first time, women’s creativity had its own space, as opposed to a sideline or novelty in the traditionally more male dominated punk and indie scene.
This is the second Ladyfest to be held in Bristol. The first was a two week event in the summer of 2003, when Bristol and Bath hosted a number of musical and artistic events between the two cities.
Ladyfest has changed and evolved into a diverse festival that represents a wide selection of women’s work and needs. It has maintained its spirit as a cultural moment to celebrate women, whilst growing in its outlook and in its aims. Each festival is run independently under the Ladyfest banner, and this allows each one to develop their own idea of what they want the festival to mean to their audience, their town and themselves.
Ladyfest Bristol 2007
Ladyfest Bristol aims to be a diverse event, in keeping with the growing variety of recent festivals. Musically, we are presenting indie, electro, hip hop and folk nights. This means that whatever your taste, there will be a night to go dancing that will suit you!
Like Ladyfests before us we will be exhibiting a range of local and national artists, and running workshops on drawing, writing, knitting, self defence, and music.
Film and theatre will play a strong role in the event, with acting workshops, and the Cube cabaret performing their work, whilst local women filmmakers will have the opportunity to show off their work.
It is important to us that Ladyfest explores its own political and ethical motivations whilst making sure that we don’t exclude anyone or make people feel uneasy about attending. We want to use the festival to raise discussion and debate about gender roles and women in society, through discussion, art and music!
Tuesday, 12 June 2007
oh dear, but ladyfest can save us
i have been slack haven't i?
i don't know what has been going on, but finding time to write seems tricksy right now.
the main thing is, a lot of my writing skill has been used up in ladyfest organisation. when i get permission from my colleagues, i'll post up some of the work we are doing to make the event good and great. we have gigs, film nights, club nights, art exhibtions, workshops, talks, parties and general excellent times raising awareness and debate on women's issues, gender issues, and what women are doing creatively.
ive been having vagues ideas for work, but nothing concrete. trying to imporove my poetry, so if anyone has any hints on how to do that, check out 'poem as autobiography' and give me advice! i shall hopefully be reading at rob's poetry festival in some london locale at the weekend, so hopefully i'll have learnt by then.
been to so many musical treat nights that i will review SOON but here's a taster:
ashton court fundraiser
big ting (of course)
beyonce
the third party feat kevin molloy and nick nell (sp?)
scout niblett
normalise and appleblim at the cavern club
others too methinks, i'll get on it.
to support ladyfest go to www.myspace.com/ladyfestbristol
our real life website should be up on your monitors soon!
bye x
i don't know what has been going on, but finding time to write seems tricksy right now.
the main thing is, a lot of my writing skill has been used up in ladyfest organisation. when i get permission from my colleagues, i'll post up some of the work we are doing to make the event good and great. we have gigs, film nights, club nights, art exhibtions, workshops, talks, parties and general excellent times raising awareness and debate on women's issues, gender issues, and what women are doing creatively.
ive been having vagues ideas for work, but nothing concrete. trying to imporove my poetry, so if anyone has any hints on how to do that, check out 'poem as autobiography' and give me advice! i shall hopefully be reading at rob's poetry festival in some london locale at the weekend, so hopefully i'll have learnt by then.
been to so many musical treat nights that i will review SOON but here's a taster:
ashton court fundraiser
big ting (of course)
beyonce
the third party feat kevin molloy and nick nell (sp?)
scout niblett
normalise and appleblim at the cavern club
others too methinks, i'll get on it.
to support ladyfest go to www.myspace.com/ladyfestbristol
our real life website should be up on your monitors soon!
bye x
Sunday, 13 May 2007
musical treats of april/may
Musical treats of late
Been trying to keep up with the whip around tour of Bristol’s music scene but this has been made a little trickier since Japan decided to steal all my money.
Still, have done my best and here is what my ears have been twitching too the last few weeks…
Nb: Some names in the following review may have been changed.
Ladyfest, as you are no doubt aware, is making a welcome return to Bristol after a four year hiatus, and the countdown to the fest begun with a fundraiser at Kino.
The night was open mic, and designed to inspire discussion, showcase local talent and, obviously, raise some cash, for the event.
Chicks with Decks provided the music, playing an excellent selection of indie, dance electro pop, dropping in some Portishead, Chicks on Speed and Le Tigre to a busy Kino. Despite concerns over technology and whether the treble would be too high, the girls sounded wicked, seamless mixing and tunes that showed off the musical ethos of Ladyfest.
The open mic featured three girl singer songwriters and their guitars, one ukulele, two story tellers and one boy. The night opened with Cecilia on guitar and ukulele. She had a really sweet voice, moving from jazzy tones to folksy, deft guitar playing to complement her singing style. This was followed by me (!) reading ‘Bianca’ very nervously, but it seemed to be enjoyed. (www.sianandcrookedrib.blogspot.com under March posts). We wanted to have this evening representing as much of women’s creativity, and therefore the ethos behind Ladyfest as possible. So it was great to have a range of singers, djs, writers and artists present, having decorated Kino with Lucy Downes’ artwork, line drawing self portraits and female nudes laced with strips of colour.
After my nervous reading we had another girl singer songwriter, Jess. Like Cecilia before her, she sang with her guitar, a rockier feel to her music, brasher guitar and more upbeat sounds, whilst her lyrics were fairly poignant, again songs about love and falling in and out of it are always good to hear.
Chicks got back on the decks as everyone took a break to get some more drinks and yummy Kino cakes, before it was time for another storyteller. Completely improvised, she told us a story about a princess who would rather not marry any of the prince’s in the land, and after defeating them all in a round of wrestling matches, rode 10,000 horses over their heads and into her own world of adventures, becoming the dream of brave little girls and the nightmare of kings. I am always a sucker for a good subversive fairytale, and it was really impressive to see how she created the characters and the plot as she told it, offering a performance more than a reading. And to consolidate her ability to create on the spot, she also read a poem that had been scribbled down as the night progressed, offering a perspective on middle age and growing older. It was great to have older people getting involved, as we want Ladyfest to be an inclusive celebration of women and what women can achieve and have achieved creatively, and to share all aspects of the female experience, be it from us being young twenty somethings, teenagers and students to mothers, and grandmothers and all in between.
The night offered one more girl singer, Elian (sp? Sorry!) who works at Kino. Her songs perhaps more political than Jess and Cecilia, one song about her reaction to the stirrings of the war in Iraq – namely, how can they possibly get away with this one, and the more personal, about time spent with her girlfriend farming in Spain. Her voice had a lovely range to it and she was a spellbinding performer, really reaching in to the audience to bring them in to her songs and her experience of singing them.
Mike very kindly allowed us one more tune, provided by the boy of the evening, Rafi, singing a cover of a Diana Krall track, although he apologises for having referred to her as Elvis Costello’s wife.
The night was a big success, both financially and in raising awareness for Ladyfest. It seems to have got people talking and the event in people’s minds, which was the whole point. Fundraisers should be taking place once a month until the fest itself, so keep an eye out for info and fliers…
www.myspace.com/ladyfestbristol
What next? The last Saturday of the month is of course, BIG TING and this was one to remember. If only I could…Bass Clef returned amid rumours that this may have been the last Ting with the departure of Roz from Cosies, and it is always good to see him back behind those decks. Fresh from playing with Maryanne Hobbes in Cardiff, with a bag full of drum n bass and doo wop.
The Aphrodite tune sounded wicked with big heavy bass, and although Big Ting is officially a no go zone for dnb, tonight exceptions could be made! Was great to hear the ‘I say yeah yeah’ tune out again, it has been way too long since I last heard that played, and the thumping original ‘Tainted Love’ got everyone very excited. Think there was a bit of Nina Simone in his mix as well, so always a pleasure! Was a bit of a reunion Ting also, seeing as we had a visit from everyone’s favourite dj dancer, Nza Da Baron. Excellent to hear ‘Holiday’ on the decks (me and Becca v appreciative), and his great mix of rnb and pop to get the dance floor heaving – new Amerie track sounds amazing, Beyonce, it was all good.
Jay le Surgeon kept things up with his usual brand of funk, hip hop, reggae, and umm, the Bear Necessities. Phil Harris, man. I’m still trying to get him to play the Robin Hood song though.
Puffin Jack played an absolutely beautiful set. He couldn’t play a bad tune, and it was great to hear the 12” mix of ‘Walk Like an Egyptian’, as well as dropping Sticky and Ms Dynamite’s ‘Boo’ near the end of his set, great to hear.
I was very bruised by the end of the night from stumbling in stupidly high heels, but it was great. I wish Rlf and Niz were here always.
Went to my first Normalise last Sunday for Puffin Jack, Luke, Harry Glazebrook et al, as well as Appleblim fresh from supporting at DMZ. (wish I could have gone but had to go to my dad’s). Lovely minimal techno sounds mixed with all sorts of other treats, plus I think the Puffin played something that sounded like Pattie Smith which was completely dreamy.
Saw The Kick Inside at Gimme Shelter on Friday, named I assume after lovely Ms Bush’s debut album. Really enjoyed their set, Morrisey-esque vocals sounded lovely, really powerful voice, and excellent cover of ‘She’s Losing it’ by Belle and Sebastian. They managed to get really into the spirit of the song whilst musically being completely un-schmind. Cool! And last night was dub step extravaganza of Highroad at Cosies; I missed Chris’s set unfortunately, but was in time to see Appleblim and Gatekeeper head to head, excellent as ever, flawless mixing, bass pitched perfectly and excellent choice of tunes. Pinch of course was perfect as ever. Absolutely rammed in there though, always odd to see the different Cosies crowds!
And now it is the end of my reviews and I am sitting at work typing it away….
Been trying to keep up with the whip around tour of Bristol’s music scene but this has been made a little trickier since Japan decided to steal all my money.
Still, have done my best and here is what my ears have been twitching too the last few weeks…
Nb: Some names in the following review may have been changed.
Ladyfest, as you are no doubt aware, is making a welcome return to Bristol after a four year hiatus, and the countdown to the fest begun with a fundraiser at Kino.
The night was open mic, and designed to inspire discussion, showcase local talent and, obviously, raise some cash, for the event.
Chicks with Decks provided the music, playing an excellent selection of indie, dance electro pop, dropping in some Portishead, Chicks on Speed and Le Tigre to a busy Kino. Despite concerns over technology and whether the treble would be too high, the girls sounded wicked, seamless mixing and tunes that showed off the musical ethos of Ladyfest.
The open mic featured three girl singer songwriters and their guitars, one ukulele, two story tellers and one boy. The night opened with Cecilia on guitar and ukulele. She had a really sweet voice, moving from jazzy tones to folksy, deft guitar playing to complement her singing style. This was followed by me (!) reading ‘Bianca’ very nervously, but it seemed to be enjoyed. (www.sianandcrookedrib.blogspot.com under March posts). We wanted to have this evening representing as much of women’s creativity, and therefore the ethos behind Ladyfest as possible. So it was great to have a range of singers, djs, writers and artists present, having decorated Kino with Lucy Downes’ artwork, line drawing self portraits and female nudes laced with strips of colour.
After my nervous reading we had another girl singer songwriter, Jess. Like Cecilia before her, she sang with her guitar, a rockier feel to her music, brasher guitar and more upbeat sounds, whilst her lyrics were fairly poignant, again songs about love and falling in and out of it are always good to hear.
Chicks got back on the decks as everyone took a break to get some more drinks and yummy Kino cakes, before it was time for another storyteller. Completely improvised, she told us a story about a princess who would rather not marry any of the prince’s in the land, and after defeating them all in a round of wrestling matches, rode 10,000 horses over their heads and into her own world of adventures, becoming the dream of brave little girls and the nightmare of kings. I am always a sucker for a good subversive fairytale, and it was really impressive to see how she created the characters and the plot as she told it, offering a performance more than a reading. And to consolidate her ability to create on the spot, she also read a poem that had been scribbled down as the night progressed, offering a perspective on middle age and growing older. It was great to have older people getting involved, as we want Ladyfest to be an inclusive celebration of women and what women can achieve and have achieved creatively, and to share all aspects of the female experience, be it from us being young twenty somethings, teenagers and students to mothers, and grandmothers and all in between.
The night offered one more girl singer, Elian (sp? Sorry!) who works at Kino. Her songs perhaps more political than Jess and Cecilia, one song about her reaction to the stirrings of the war in Iraq – namely, how can they possibly get away with this one, and the more personal, about time spent with her girlfriend farming in Spain. Her voice had a lovely range to it and she was a spellbinding performer, really reaching in to the audience to bring them in to her songs and her experience of singing them.
Mike very kindly allowed us one more tune, provided by the boy of the evening, Rafi, singing a cover of a Diana Krall track, although he apologises for having referred to her as Elvis Costello’s wife.
The night was a big success, both financially and in raising awareness for Ladyfest. It seems to have got people talking and the event in people’s minds, which was the whole point. Fundraisers should be taking place once a month until the fest itself, so keep an eye out for info and fliers…
www.myspace.com/ladyfestbristol
What next? The last Saturday of the month is of course, BIG TING and this was one to remember. If only I could…Bass Clef returned amid rumours that this may have been the last Ting with the departure of Roz from Cosies, and it is always good to see him back behind those decks. Fresh from playing with Maryanne Hobbes in Cardiff, with a bag full of drum n bass and doo wop.
The Aphrodite tune sounded wicked with big heavy bass, and although Big Ting is officially a no go zone for dnb, tonight exceptions could be made! Was great to hear the ‘I say yeah yeah’ tune out again, it has been way too long since I last heard that played, and the thumping original ‘Tainted Love’ got everyone very excited. Think there was a bit of Nina Simone in his mix as well, so always a pleasure! Was a bit of a reunion Ting also, seeing as we had a visit from everyone’s favourite dj dancer, Nza Da Baron. Excellent to hear ‘Holiday’ on the decks (me and Becca v appreciative), and his great mix of rnb and pop to get the dance floor heaving – new Amerie track sounds amazing, Beyonce, it was all good.
Jay le Surgeon kept things up with his usual brand of funk, hip hop, reggae, and umm, the Bear Necessities. Phil Harris, man. I’m still trying to get him to play the Robin Hood song though.
Puffin Jack played an absolutely beautiful set. He couldn’t play a bad tune, and it was great to hear the 12” mix of ‘Walk Like an Egyptian’, as well as dropping Sticky and Ms Dynamite’s ‘Boo’ near the end of his set, great to hear.
I was very bruised by the end of the night from stumbling in stupidly high heels, but it was great. I wish Rlf and Niz were here always.
Went to my first Normalise last Sunday for Puffin Jack, Luke, Harry Glazebrook et al, as well as Appleblim fresh from supporting at DMZ. (wish I could have gone but had to go to my dad’s). Lovely minimal techno sounds mixed with all sorts of other treats, plus I think the Puffin played something that sounded like Pattie Smith which was completely dreamy.
Saw The Kick Inside at Gimme Shelter on Friday, named I assume after lovely Ms Bush’s debut album. Really enjoyed their set, Morrisey-esque vocals sounded lovely, really powerful voice, and excellent cover of ‘She’s Losing it’ by Belle and Sebastian. They managed to get really into the spirit of the song whilst musically being completely un-schmind. Cool! And last night was dub step extravaganza of Highroad at Cosies; I missed Chris’s set unfortunately, but was in time to see Appleblim and Gatekeeper head to head, excellent as ever, flawless mixing, bass pitched perfectly and excellent choice of tunes. Pinch of course was perfect as ever. Absolutely rammed in there though, always odd to see the different Cosies crowds!
And now it is the end of my reviews and I am sitting at work typing it away….
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