Oh. (Russ L going to and fro in the Earth)

This takes us away from the chronological order in which I usually write about my exploits, but this morning I lost to James ‘Jamrock’ Davidson at Scrabble. Again. He’s now 3-0 up. I think I need to try a new game, perhaps Russian Roulette.

~ Russ L, vanquished once more.

Lord Oh Mercy! How far behind can a blogerator get? I haven’t done that much, though, so it’s not as bad as it might have been. I should have been off tonight to see Drop The Lime and others, but I’m far too tired (I’ve been doing a slightly different job at work this week and today was mental. I’ll blame it on that). I feel a bit guilty about that, of course, despite telling myself I shouldn’t. It’s funny, really – if I’d decided I didn’t fancy the gig a while go I wouldn’t have had the slightest qualm, but having decided that I was going and now choosing not to makes me feel bad. There’s no logic to it, but I can’t help it.

Anyway, it was the sixth of the sixth of 06! You’ve got to see a bit of metal, under the circumstances. I very nearly didn’t go to this one either, though – I felt really sick earlier in the day and still a bit off by the time I went out, but sometimes you have to put such things aside in the name of supporting evil.

Off to The Jug Of Ale in Birmingham, to a Capsule gig (I’m trying to do that typical blog thing of turning absolutely loads of words into link – does it suit me?), it was. Haddonfield, Illinois were already on when I arrived. I couldn’t stand them the first time I saw them, but since then had a little listen on their MySpace page and quite enjoyed them. Reader, I added them. Here at this gig, though, I again wasn’t keen – their sometimes drone-y and sometimes beat-y distorted synth stuff (with long samples of speech between songs, during none of which could I actually make out what was being said. I’m not sure if that was deliberate or not) just hasn’t seemed to come across effectively either time I’ve seen them. The really pompous air projected by three out of the four of them (again, I’m not sure if this is deliberate or not) while playing doesn’t help, either.

Fast Lady were more amazing than my limited verbal powers can convey. Three men in full hooded robes, playing bombastic classic rock-styled songs on a laptop (well… let’s be precise – one singing, one operating the laptop and doing backing vocals, and the other doing occasional backing vox but mostly just dancing in an angry way. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was angry). There wasn’t a face in the audience who wasn’t smiling at songs like “Hooray For Rock” and “Erado The Horse.” Absolutely hilarious stuff (and I’m not normally one for comedy bands). Do not miss the chance to see them if you get it.

As an aside, after leaving the gig later on I saw a woman walking down the street wearing a full yashmaq. In the dim light, I initially thought it was a member of Fast Lady. Dear me.

Mistress were originally advertised as headlining but turned out to be on next. This was an abbreviated version of them, with Paul on holiday, and so not at all surprisingly they were sounding a fair bit looser than usual (Drunk looked like he was concentrating for a change though, bless ‘im) but still loads of fun. Some new ones from the upcoming album were to be heard, of which I recall there being one I liked in particular. It may or may not have had a mid-paced headbangy sort of tempo through most of it. I’m not sure now. It was a few weeks ago.

Art Of Burning Water headlined, and although I would have liked to have seen them by this point I was feeling sick again and decided to abandon the place to get started on the long journey home. I have no particular regrets.

~ Russ L

It’s not just local gig posters anymore. Does the description of Legion Of Doom (great band, by the way) found here not ring an uncredited bell or two?

Ah well. Nice to be loved, I suppose.

~ Russ L

I mosied on over to The Planet in Wolverhampton on Friday the 2nd of June for only the second time ever, to see The Swarm. Them going on first (the promoter informed me that she would have liked to have them higher on the bill but knew they wouldn’t be too popular amongst the likely audience. Curse you, world!) and me working till eight o’clock and then needing to get the bus from Walsall to Wolves wasn’t the greatest match in the world, but although they were already on when I arrived (about five to nine, fact fans) I don’t think I missed too much of their set.

What a set it was, too. I adore their album, and (even though it was a bit of a shame to see some of their number sporting MySpace style fringes) they didn’t disappoint live. Their on-record Birthday Party/Jesus Lizard teeth-grit-a-thon seemed bolstered by a throbbing, pulsing industrial sort of element, but wasn’t any the less scary. The anguished creepy-crawly horror of ‘Shacked Up With The Flies’ sounded evil, and the closing ‘The Last Friend Left Alive’ sounded absolutely explosive with its enormous blues-rock riff.

I realised I wasn’t really in the mood for the rest of it after their set had finished. I decided that I’d leave if the next band on hadn’t provided me with sufficient reason to stay by the time I’d bought and drunk a pint. Come said time they weren’t even onstage yet, so off I toddled.

~ Russ L

Boxing on Thursday the first of June, to the Aston Events Centre for the biggest fight held around these parts in many-a-year: British welterweight champ Lee ‘Young Mutley’ Woodley (from West Brom. Specifically Stone Cross, I gather) vs Commonwealth welterweight champ Kevin Anderson (from Kirkcaldy in Scottishland).

The results are here, although as ever the fights weren’t in that order. By the time I’d got there and stood in the oh-so-sloooooow-moving queue to get in, I’d missed Hussain Osman vs Albert Rybacki and Darren Gethin vs Craig Dickson (a shame, I’d really like to have seen that one), and Carl Allen vs Tristan Davies was halfway through. The pick of the undercard before the main event (and third best fight of the night, for me) was Brummy Matthew Macklin (his first time fighting at home professionally) and his dissection of Polish fighter Marcin Piatkowski with jabs straight through the middle and thunderous bodyshots.

The main event itself was, unreservedly, the best fight I’ve ever seen live. The atmosphere was amazing before things turned nasty, and the fight itself had my heart in my mouth. Mutley started strong and seemed to nearly stop Anderson in the second round, and I was elated. The rounds ticked by and the Scottsman (hyped beforehand as the more technical of the two) was comprehensively outboxed and outpunched, with only his jaw (seemingly made out of concrete) keeping him upright. The elation that I (and most of the crowd) felt cannot be expressed, but a nagging doubt grew into a big worry – the longer the fight went, the more tired Mutley seemed to get and (crucially) the lower his hands seemed to drop. Anderson, meanwhile, was managing to fire back with more and more in return, despite the beating he’d taken and continued to take.

In the fateful tenth round Anderson caught Mut with a right and knocked him into the ropes. The ensuing wild brawl saw Anderson landing a mighty left hook and the ref jumping in. My whole body went cold with the shock – so close, and yet so far…

It was such a shame for Mutley, as he’d been the better fighter more or less throughout. Of the preceding nine rounds I’d got six of them to him (one of which was a 10-8), two to Anderson and one drawn. If he’d managed to hang on Anderson would have needed to do something bloody spectacular not to lose on points. Then again, I suppose Anderson did do something bloody spectacular.

The bunch of Scottish supporters in attendance left their seats to dance and celebrate, and were charged by various mobs. I had a great view of the mini-riot that followed, but it’s not good really – it only reinforced Birmingham’s reputation for this sort of thing when it comes to boxing, and after it this was more than likely the last big fight we’ll see in Birmingham for another few years.

Between people who left after the main event, people who left at the sight of the trouble, people carried out by police or ambulance or people just sidling off trying to look like they had nothing to do with anything, most people had left by the time the final match was ready to begin, and as such the few of us remaining were allowed to watch it from ringside. Bonus! Martin Gethin earned a narrow win over the respected Baz Carey in a cracking fight (second best of the night), with a real race-against-time feel to it as Baz won the first two rounds and Martin had to work like mad in the following two to take it. He rose to the challenge, and with a couple of knockdowns in the fourth was able to squeak a 38-37 win (which was how I scored it too, incidentally).

Definitely see the Mutley-Anderson fight if you get the chance, it was amazing. It was televised on Sky so I imagine it won’t be too difficult to get a look at.

As is becoming par for the course, I’ll point out that a better account of this card can be read here. There’s also a very good article on the state of boxing in the West Midlands written by the same guy, which you can have a look at over here.

~ Russ L

After a face-stuffing feed at The Big Wok (there have been a few restaurant trips later, but I don’t think I’m going to write about them. I don’t have a lot of detail to relay. Not that I usually let that factor get in my way, but still…) on Tuesday the 31st of May it was to the Hippodrome to see ‘Andalusian Images Of Carmina Burana,’ as arranged and choreographed by Salvador Tavora. It wasn’t at all what I expected – I’d assumed what we were going to see the choral work Carmina Burana with a bit of Spanish dancing around it. Instead, this production was a full-on Flamenco affair that happened to include a few recorded excepts from Carmina Burana piped in.

A bit different for me, then. I’ve never really ‘got’ dance as an artform (I recognise that this is far more my fault than it is that of interpretive dance), but I’ll try anything twice and I really enjoyed this. There was something approaching a plot if you squinted and thought laterally, but it was far more effective as a series of spectacles. Naurally, the bursts of Orff’s cantata were stirring (Oh, O Fortuna - ooooohhhh…), but the star of the show without a doubt was the lead Flamenco dancer Lalo Tejada. She was absolutely magnetic, and not just because she was gorgeous – her dancing managed to convey a great sense of dramatic interpretation to me (rare, as I’ve noted above) and she was so physically charismatic. Her dance around and over the lowered cross was breathtaking.

AAAAND – horses! How often do you get to see a couple of horses onstage? It’s not something I encounter very often, and that’s a shame. Two great big gorgeous pure white Andalusian stallions were employed – one of them couldn’t stop dribbling around its bit, bless it, but that just made it seem more endearing.

Not something I’d normally have gone to see, but an enjoyable and wonderful experience.

~ Russ L

Trig and I were off to Wolves on Monday the 29th, to The Little Civic. We missed the first band on and I don’t particularly see the need to waste too much time talking about the next two - Camorra (an uninteresting indie garage-rock band. The most notable thing about them was that a bass note from their soundcheck caused my pint to fall off the seemingly secure ledge I’d placed it on) and My Girl Sleeps (an uninteresting emo/post-hardcore band. The most notable thing about them was the bad-even-by-the-standards-of-their-peers American accent the vocalist chose to feign while singing).

No sir, we were there for headliners The Fallout Trust, from down South. Last time we saw them I thought their sound was based in that currently favoured “mod-pop-rock with splash of ska” Kaiser Chiefs-y sort of style, but with lots of interesting variations away from it. It was probably just me ‘cos this time it didn’t seem to be anywhere near as prevalent – a spot of it was there, but it definitely didn’t seem to be the foundation of their sound. A very broad ranging selection of reference points were instead to be heard, with some of the above, some post-punky Gang Of Four via Franz Ferdinand sort of bits, the odd garage-rock moment, some more synth-led efforts and, of course, that ballad with the violin…

The singer (still can’t figure out who he reminds me of) makes for a great frontman and the keyboardist/violin player remains very nice to look at, but despite this (and I think to some extent this was a result of contrast with the previous two bands) it was far more about the songs than the performance.

Alas, we had to leave before they finished due to the Bank Holiday meaning Sunday bus times, but I’ll tell you what: The Fallout Trust are that rarest of things, a band who could easily become very big who are actually very good. Get yourself on the bandwagon now so you can brag to your friends later.

~ Russ L

On Sunday the 28th I went to see Impaled Nazarene at J.B’s in Dudley. This was the first time I’d been there in a long, long time (since going to see The Rollins band there in January 2002, to be precise). Said establishment was the scene of much youthful silliness in days gone by, and I wondered what memories it would bring back. None at all, it turned out. “Bloody hell, I’d forgotten how big this place is” was the only thought rushing uncontrollably to mind.

It’s hardly surprising that I hadn’t been in all these aeons, of course, since no effort at all appears to be made to actually advertise gigs that happen there. I’m still bitter about the Clutch gig there a couple of years ago that I missed because I didn’t know about it until after it had actually happened. The only reason I knew about this one was because some kind soul (not the promoter, just a well-meaning next man) was concerned about the lack of promotion it had received and sent the details of it to me to put in The Communion gig guide.

I digress, anyway. Stoneman from Switzerland were already on when I arrived, playing glammy industrial with only the occasional moment that linked them to the deathly theme of the night. They turned out to be a lot more fun than I expected them to be as I walked in, though, with some fairly catchy songs (and a silly but not un-enjoyable cover of Eric Clapton’s “Cocaine”). I like bands who really go for it and play every gig as though they’re headlining at the NIA even when they’re third on the bill performing in front of next to no-one, as was the case here.

Master were the main support and indeed seemed to be the biggest attraction of the night for a fair chunk of the small crowd present. This wasn’t a surprise, as I know they’re a band oft-admired by in-depth death metal aficionados. They seemed like a good example of fairly typical old/earlier style DM stuff, with some bits wandering off into the realms of boringly generic but some really hitting hard. Some fun rocking solos, too, and you have to love the singer’s ZZ-Top-come-Catweazle look.

Impaled Nazarene were headlining and the band I was here primarily to see, and turned out to be good but nothing mindblowing. I was expecting their punky black/death/thrash to be quite sloppy live (I’m not sure why, I just was) but they turned out to be as tight as a vice. It’s the extra splashes of Motorhead and Discharge in them that sets them apart (and the obvious sense of humour they have), and this came across pretty well in a gig setting, but they didn’t turn out to be as all-out amazing as perhaps I hoped they would be. Still fun though, and I had to leave before they finished to get the bus – maybe the moment where they absolutely tore the roof off the place came after then.

~ Russ L

Saturday the 27th saw myself and Trig off to Coventry to see the latest Cagewarriors show for free. Yup, that’s right – free, gratis, no money down, due to my mad pickin’ skillz. The day nearly went horribly wrong since (unbeknownst to us) trains between Brum and Cov were off and a replacement coach service had to be taken part of the way, but (fortunately enough) we’d planned to get to Coventry pretty early anyway. A couple of hours in The Orange House pub later, we took up our (free!) seats and were (bizarrely) confronted with a TKD exhibition in the cage as a warm-up. It was, to be blunt, crap, but you had to love the eight year old little girl who got a cheer for chasing a big fella across the cage.

Here are your results. There wasn’t a stand-out barn-burner of a fight on the card, but it was still good fun all round. The main theme was Britain (including the usual Brazilians proxying for the UK) vs Germany, finishing up a 4-4 draw over the eight matches in the series and perhaps amazingly not leading to any trouble (England vs Scotland did at the boxing a few days ago, obviously, but I’ll get around to that when I get around to it). The fight of the night for me (if forced to pick one) would probably be Daniel Weichel’s majority decision win over Josenildo “Luquinha” Ramarho – a good ground battle with a nice mix of striking and submissions. I’d actually got it two rounds to one in favour of Luquinha, but it was close enough to go either way. The welterweight scene is definitely where it’s at for MMA on this continent (I was going to list some names but I’ll be here all day…)

The Barrington Patterson vs Thomas Marcinkevicis match (cage kickboxing rules) was great fun to watch, too – a purists nightmare, but great fun. Bazza strode around the cage simply absorbing a load of blows on his chin while waiting for the chance for counterpunch, and when he did it hit like a shotgun shell. A big right hand eventually finished it in the second round. Ross The Boss Mason blitzing straight through Jesse Bjorn-Buckler was a good ‘un, too.

The main event of Alexandre Izidro vs Mario Stapel for the lightweight title was a bit of a snoozer, with five rounds of bugger-all happening, but was enlivened by a streaker jumping into the cage. He was promptly dragged backstage by the security, and I’m sure that once they’d got him back there the one of them nicknamed ‘Molly’ who’d done a long stretch inside was very pleased to see him…

Try here if you want some actual detail about this card.

~ Russ L

My original plan for Tuesday the 23rd of May was to go and see Extreme Noise Terror at the Medicine Bar, but that gig was cancelled. Instead I went to Symphony Hall to hear a bit of Shostakovich. Not a bad difference, eh?

The Mariinsky Theatre Orchestra and Chorus (better known to most of us as The Kirov Opera) were in town for the week, conducted by their artistic director Valery Gergiev, and this (the first concert in their run here. Shame I didn’t make it to any of the others, really) was part of the Shostakovich centenary.

We had two of Dmitri-boy’s symphonies that I vaguely knew sandwiching something entirely new to me. His third symphony (which I like - a jolly one-long-movement [not especially symphonic] affair) opened and his tenth symphony (which I love - another one of his amazing post-denunciation efforts, varying between some quite down ‘n’ depressing sounds and some absolutely wild ‘n’ ferocious ones) closed, but even more enjoyable than both very enjoyable pieces was the new-to-me “Six Songs To Lyrics By English Poets” between them. Half the orchestra left leaving us with a more chamber-style ensemble, and bass singer Eduard Tsanga joined them. The terms ‘English’ and ‘Poets’ were both stretched (of the six, three were by Robert Burns and one was traditional), but the thing as a whole was great. Burns’ “In the Fields” (Which I think is absolutely lovely to begin with) was heartbreakingly beautiful; Shakespeare’s Sonnet no. 66 (which I hadn’t ever actually read until looking at the programme) was stirring; and the comical air of the version of “King’s Procession” (”Up the hill, the king he led/His regiment of musketeers/But down the hill, the king he came/Without his Regiment.”) was capped off wonderfully by Tsanga’s cheeky little shrug after he stopped singing.

Sometimes I wish I had the technical knowledge and/or frame of reference to write about this sort of thing more usefully.

~ Russ L