Flawed Courteeners

Last Friday, I was crammed into the old GMEX Centre (now Manchester Central, but it'll always be the GMEX to me) with a few thousand rabid Courteeners fans to see the band unveil material from their forthcoming second album, Falcon, as well as playing the songs that we all loved from their debut. It won't be a surprise that the older songs were the most rapturously received, so much so that we could hardly hear lead singer Liam Fray's vocals half the time - shoddy work from the sound desk. Still, there were other times in the set when I could have done without hearing him - during his arrogant, Gallagheresque boasts about how his band are going to own 2010 (a little cockiness in a rock 'n' roll star is always welcome - too much and I start to shudder), and during the band's big, anthemic, pseudo-Snow Patrol new stuff... which ditches the Northern kitchen sink lyrics and indie swagger of their previous record in favour of echoey 80s drums and sweeping MOR anthems. I might be being overly harsh on their new material, repeated listens may well reveal hidden depths, but there was such a shift in their sound that it was hard to give it the attention it deserved. It was like listening to two different bands at times, the contrast between first album and second was that noticeable.

The gig wasn't a complete letdown though. There were some great moments, notably the closing double-whammy of Not Nineteen Forever and What Took You So Long, though once again the bloke on the sound desk did his best to lose these beneath the crowd. And I always respect a band that play right through to the curfew and don't waste time with that whole going off and coming back on for an encore nonsense. The Courteeners still have a lot of potential (and hey, they're one of the few contemporary indie bands that Morrissey has a good word for) but I do hope that in their quest for stadium glory they don't lose sight of what made them magical in the first place...

That'll Be Christmas

Rain falling not a chance of snow
Jona Lewie on the radio
French beer and mistletoe
That'll be Christmas

Thea Gilmore's Christmas single is available for download today, and I want to do my bit to help it get in the Christmas Top 40. Because not only is it a proper Xmas single (as opposed to all the X-Factor bollocks that'll be clogging up the charts next week), it's also a non-cheesy Christmas single. And putting Christmas to one side, it's a damn good song to boot. So listen to the video below, and if it jingles your bells, pop along to iTunes (ptui!) or Amazon and download a copy.

Or, if you really like it, you might consider buying the album, Strange Communion, which may well be the best Christmas record I've heard since Phil Spector's. It's certainly the most varied, from the tranquil, hymn-like opener Sol Invictus to Thea Gilmore's Midwinter Toast with its heartfelt Hallelujah chorus to the blissfully atmospheric Listen The Snow Is Falling and the raucous, hilariously cynical (and previously mentioned) St. Stephens Days Murders. Then there's the gorgeous December In New York (previously released on the Songs From The Gutter collection, but well deserving of another airing here) and the sinister, whispered Book Of Christmas which talks of fading nostalgia...

And as if through coloured glasses we remember the childhood thrill
Waking in the morning to the rustling of paper
The eiderdown heaped like a hill
Of dogs and bears and bricks and apples
And the feeling that Christmas Day was like a coral island in time...

...and the war between church and state...

Christ walked in where philosophers tread
In honour of whom we have taken over the pagan Saturnalia
Letting the belly have its say
Ignoring the spirit while we eat...

...against an eerie backing track that feels like a Christmas ghost walking across your grave.

Seriously, if you're looking for something to listen to while you mutilate the bird, I can give this no higher recommendation. It's the sort of record that has me wishing the festive season will last a whole lot longer this year... and I don't even like Christmas!

The Wrong Direction

I'm about two thirds of the way through my latest n*v*l, and I've just realised that somewhere along the way, the train has slipped off the tracks. The central character is no longer driving the plot, he's just reacting to a snowballing series of contrived coincidences, or else spending whole chapters brooding and cogitating on the awfulness of his predicament.

I've known all along where the story wants to end up, I have a firm grasp on my hero and know which of the supporting cast are most important to his journey. The problem lies with the rest of the cast. I realised I was creating them purely to service the increasingly desperate machinations of the plot, and good characters should do precisely the opposite of that - they should drive the plot, take it in wonderfully unexpected directions. They should write themselves.

The other problem was the scope. As I've mentioned before, this story is structured in two halves - present day and schooldays flashback. I've written all the flashback sequences first since what happens there directly informs what happens in the second half of the book (though the two halves run concurrently, one chapter present, one flashback etc.). The scope for the first half was dictated by the setting. When you're at school, that's your world. You may have friends or interests outside, but largely your day-to-day adventures are confined to what happens within the school grounds. The problem I was having with the present day sequence was that while most of the action centred around the character's workplace, I kept letting him wander off or be distracted by things that were happening in the world outside and that was just too big a canvas to paint on - which explains why so many of the incidental characters were little more than sketches.

The wonderful thing about writing is that when you know something's not working, you can always go back and start again. That's never as difficult as it sounds. A lot of the story can still be saved, you just need to sit down and think about it. Over the last few says, I've worked through some character sheets and developed the supporting cast far beyond their roles as facilitators to the plot. I've grown to like them a lot more in doing so, and already they're suggesting natural story possibilities that avoid the contrivances I was struggling with before. What's even better is that in doing so I've found a simple and logical way to limit the scope of this sequence to the workplace. Much of the plot is based around a whodunit (or 'who's doing it?') mystery, and the trouble with the previous draft was that the list of potential suspects was endless and indeterminate. It could have been anyone from the protagonist's workplace... or anyone from his past. Or even, a relative or friend of someone from his past. There was no way for him to narrow that list down, so there was no way for the reader to do that either. Now, through a simple plot device that suggested itself while I was rethinking the characters, it's obvious that my murderer has to be one of the supporting cast. And suddenly the story has direction again. The hero can take charge of the story, investigate and narrow down the potential culprits, and drive the plot through to its inevitable conclusion.

Something else happened during this process of revision. Thinking about the luxury of being able to go back and start again when the direction of your plot just isn't working; thinking about a central character who refuses to take charge of his own life and instead descends into an ever more depressing cycle of existential monologues and self-reproach; thinking about problems of scope... it all brought a little perspective on my own situation. For too long now I've whinged about being stuck in a job I hate with no future and little hope of escape. Twenty years ago when I started working in radio, it was only ever going to be a temporary career... until the writing took off. Now, as I stare down the approaching horror of 40, I have to accept that no white knight with a writing contract is going to ride into this office, sweep me up onto his horse, and gallop us away to freedom. At least not in the immediate future, anyway. I've not given up on the dream, but I can't keep relying on it to save me. I have to be practical. I have to take charge of my own life and find a new direction, one that doesn't make me as angry and frustrated and - let's be frank here - fucked off as the road I've been stuck on for so many years.

And so I've made a decision. A long term plan. A certain amount of retraining is required, and it'll take me a couple of years to get there, but it's something I feel I can do - and more importantly, I think I'll feel like I'm contributing something positive to the world. Which, as Bill Hicks always reminds me, is not something I've ever been able to say about my current job. It's weird how it's taken me so long to make this decision, and how calm I feel now it's done. More details will follow, once I know them myself.

I've often said that one of the main reasons why I write - why I have to write - is that it helps me in my life. I get to express my thoughts and feelings and frustrations with the world through fiction (or even through this blog) and work through issues that - short of paying heap big money to a therapist - I might never properly get off my chest. That's obvious. Less obvious is how examining more technical matters like story structure or character profiles can have a big impact on the path I take in the real world... but this is a prime example how that works.

Music Was My First Meme

Apologies, I can't remember where I stole this one from...

List 10 musical artists (or bands) you like, in no specific order (do this before reading the questions below). Really, don’t read the questions below until you pick your ten artists!!!

1. Morrissey
2. Bruce Springsteen
3. Pulp
4. Aimee Mann
5. Billy Bragg
6. Eels
7. Thea Gilmore
8. The Indelicates
9. Ben Folds
10. Luke Haines

What was the first song you ever heard by 6?

Novocaine For The Soul, obviously. Their debut single was all over the radio in 1997, and it still sounds great today. Curiously, their next single, the far less commercial (though still fantastic) Susan's House remains their biggest UK hit, beating Novocaine by one chart position to reach #9. Sadly, their third single, Your Lucky Day In Hell, was denied a higher chart placing as it was scheduled to be released in the week after Princess Di's death when radio stopped playing anything but Elton John for a month. I remember, because I was working in programming at the time and I was tempted to blow my head off if I heard Elt one more time.

What is your favorite song of 8?

We Hate The Kids. Still the best song of last year, or whichever year it was originally released... and there still isn't a version on youtube that does it justice. We've been denied any true Indelicates goodness in 2009 (with the exception of the shamelessly timely Recession Song) but a new album is promised in February. Can't wait. They are selling Christmas Fudge over on their website at the moment though. What other band sells Christmas Fudge?

What kind of impact has 1 left on your life?

Oh, come on. That's too easy. Or too difficult. Or just too big a question to ask in a throwaway meme. Suffice it to say, he's said more to me about my life than any other artist.

What is your favorite lyric of 5?

If no one seems to understand
Start your own revolution and cut out the middleman

In a perfect world we'd all sing in tune
But this is reality so give me some room

So join the struggle while you may
The revolution is just a t-shirt away
Waiting for the great leap forwards

Or...

Thank you for the things you bought me thank you for the card
Thank you for the things you taught me when you hit me hard
That love between two people must be based on understanding
Until that's true you'll find your things
All stacked out on the landing, surprise, surprise
Valentine's Day is over...

Or...

When the world falls apart some things stay in place
She takes off the Four Tops tape and puts it back in its case
When the world falls apart some things stay in place
Levi Stubbs' tears run down his face

Or something else entirely.

How many times have you seen 4 live?

Once. She doesn't come to the UK very often, sadly, and when she does it's only for a very short tour. I had tickets to see her another time, back in 2001 / 02, but she cancelled all flight plans after 9/11.

What is your favorite song by 7?

At the moment, it's her duet with Mark Radcliffe (yes, that Mark Radcliffe) from her new Christmas album, Strange Communion. It's a cover of The St. Stephens Day Murders, originally by Elvis Costello and The Chieftains, and it's the best Christmas song I've heard this year.

No, seriously, if you like Fairytale Of New York, do yourself a favour and have a listen to this. It's a classic.

Is there any song by 3 that makes you sad?

A Little Soul always brings a lump to my throat. It was alleged at the time that Jarv wrote this about the strained relationship with his own dad, though I seem to remember he subsequently denied that. Even if it's pure fiction, it's still written from the heart.

I look like a big man
But I've only got a little soul.

What is your favorite song by 9?



When did you first get into 2?

'85, it must have been. Probably the same time as the rest of the world, though I quickly discovered he'd been on a long journey to get to those stadiums. It was probably Glory Days that finally did it, coupled with I'm On Fire. Then I finally heard Born To Run, and the rest is history.

How did you get into 3?

Probably through Davey. He was a big fan. I also remember picking up a copy of His 'n' Hers from the chuckout box at work. Jarvis always printed a warning in the lyrics booklet asking people not to read the lyrics while listening to the music. Sorry, Jarv, I never complied.

What is your favorite song by 4?

Probably this...



How many times have you seen 9 live?

Twice. And it's about time we made it three.

What is a good memory concerning 2?

You know how when you think back on your youth, and sometimes it seems like it was always summer? If ever I think back on listening to Bruce in my youth, that's how it feels. It's a totally false memory, I probably spent more time sat in my bedroom, headphones on, while the Yorkshire rain pelted on the window... but in my head I was driving down a dusty highway or walking down the boardwalk on the New Jersey pier. The best music creates memories that never really happened.

Is there a song by 8 that makes you sad?

It breaks my heart that We Hate The Kids wasn't Number One for seventeen weeks. God, but it should have been.

What is your favorite song by 1?

Even after all these years, it's still this...



How did you become a fan of 10?

Ah, I was wondering what happened to 10. Possibly a combination of Miller and the chuckouts box again. Although I do remember that I wasn't really a fan of the Auteurs when they were big. It was Black Box Recorder that first made me take note of his songwriting, specifically Child Psychology. I find it hilarious that this was apparently in the soundtrack to The Gilmore Girls!

Secret Satan

I don't take part in Secret Santas. They have one here every year and I always refuse. If I want to buy somebody a present, I'll buy them a present. What I don't want is to be forced to spend some of my precious, hard-earned cash (what little of it there is!) buying a present for someone I really don't like. Call me Scrooge, but that's the way it is.

But that's not the real reason I don't participate. What I really object to is the way certain people use it as a way of trying to embarrass or humiliate their colleagues. I remember one year, the office arrogant arsehole (who thankfully no longer works here - though considering how shit floats in this industry, he's probably a director at Saatchi & Saatchi or in charge of Radio 1 by now) landed the office geek as his draw for the Secret Santa. A quiet lad who had more Star Wars videos than girlfriends. (No, it wasn't me.) The arsehole bought him three porn mags and a box of tissues. Which he opened in front of everybody. Oh ho ho ho. Highly amusing. How. Everyone. Laughed.

I didn't. I thought it was cruel, spiteful and pathetic. Worse still, it was unimaginative. This was probably about 15 years ago. I'd like to think that if something like that happened nowadays, HR would be all over it. I'd like to think that, but I don't have much faith in a department that describes us all as 'resources'. People can be really unpleasant at times, and Secret Santas bring out the worst in us. That's my experience anyway.

Bah humbug to you all this festive season.

Handling The Undead

The dead are coming back to life in John Ajvide Lindqvist's follow-up to Let The Right One In. Having made vampires both creepy and heart-breaking, the Swedish author now turns his attention to zombies. Rather than the shuffling, brain-eating monstrosities of traditional zombie movie fare though, Lindqvist seems intent on asking what really would happen if the dead suddenly got a little better. How would that affect the recently bereaved? What would the government do? How would any of us cope with the idea that death might no longer be the end?

That's how the novel starts anyway, and the author handles these questions well, introducing a group of believable and sympathetic characters who find their lives suddenly changed and confused by the return of a loved one. But while the reliving we meet here aren't monsters, neither are they entirely their old selves, and it soon becomes apparent that something's not right in the state of Stockholm. That's when things start to get a bit messy. It's like Lindqvist has a bunch of different directions he'd like to take this story in and he can't quite decide between them.

The zombies feed on human emotions. They turn those around them into mind-readers. They are obsessed with taking apart toys and machines to see how they work (probably not a good idea to get them to hold your pet bunny then). They're not really reliving at all, and don't want to be here.

In places, Handling The Undead is an effective chiller. It contains some great horror moments - though ironically, these are the bits that most resemble your standard zombie shockers. Then there's the book's quieter, more literary aspirations of examining how we deal with death, which are thought-provoking, if a little muddled. The author strives for the kind of balance Stephen King achieved in Pet Sematary, but he doesn't really pull it off. Not half as satisfying as Let The Right One In then, but still a writer to keep watching.

They Came Back On Friday

Shed Seven are one of those bands the critics will never love. They'll call them Britpop also-rans; safe, mid-table rockers. But not every band can go stratospheric, play stadiums, or change the world. And not every band ought to. Some settle for just keeping going. The fact that Shed Seven keep going and are able to sell out two nights at the Manchester Academy as part of their latest tour is even more impressive when you consider they've done the same thing three years running, and yet haven't recorded or released any new material since 2001.

A devoted fanbase is enough to keep many bands going, but feeding that fanbase, and keeping them from dwindling, usually involves throwing them some new songs every couple of years... though in the case of many bands, those songs are never quite as good as the ones that made them famous. Shed Seven appear to have decided against this. They've got just enough crackers to fill a set, why water that down with past-its-best new stuff? Does that make them a cabaret band? A nostalgia act? Maybe. But for the Shed Heads who gathered in Manchester last night, I doubt that mattered one bit. They came to hear On Standby, Disco Down, Chasing Rainbows, Getting Better and Going For Gold, and they got what they wanted.

I was never a dedicated Shed Head myself, but Britpop was my gigging youth, and I enjoyed the band a lot back then. They were amazing live, and they haven't forgotten how to rock. Lead singer Rick Witter looks and sings better now than he ever did. A great gig is one where you forget your worries and the headaches of your day and escape. In the case of a Shed Seven gig, it's an escape to a world where the Britpop bubble never burst. Where it's always 1996, I'm still only 24, and the future (theirs and mine) is full of opportunity. I should thank them for giving me that again, if only for an hour and a half.

Have they really just been Chasing Rainbows all their life? Maybe. But aren't so many of us doing that. Maybe that's why we still like Shed Seven, because they didn't become idiot cartoon rockstars like Oasis. Maybe by failing, they became a band of the people.