Edinburgh Festival Part 2

Well, there's good news and there is bad news. The good news is that Alan survived his 'Mad Chris' Ibiza holiday. The fundamental reason he survived is because he did not go. The bad news (for myself and Tony and all other fans) is that Bert Jansch cancelled his concert last weekend and instead the pair of us got roped into going to a nightclub. This Saturday was an altogether more cultured affair. First stop was Isy Suttie: Pearl and Dave at The Pleasance Courtyard. Isy Suttie turned out to be a strangely attractive, slightly offbeat but likeable English comedian and actress who bounded onstage with a guitar and an appealing smile. Through a mixture of music, storytelling and comedy she told the whimsical story of 'Pearl and Dave', two characters who reconnect on the internet a few years after failing to act on the mutual attraction they experience the first time they meet at a holiday resort in the mid 1990's. My friend Tony felt that the story of Pearl and Dave began to wear a bit thin after a while, and I guess he had a fair point, but I quite enjoyed how it all unfolded, despite the growing sense that these two characters were a figment of her imagination rather than the real people she claimed them to be. At the very least I think a lot of creative license was applied. Isy is a fairly accomplished guitarist but I agreed with Tony when he observed that all her songs sounded the same. That was probably the weakest part of her act but on the whole I found her performance entertaining and I particularly liked the way she drank from her bottle of mineral water. She would occassionaly pause to take a slug from it like a hard drinking Russian swigging down a bottle of Vodka. After a quick pint and oggling (great word) at the pretty bairmaids we tallied forth (great expression) to the Symposium Hall to see Dr Phil's Rude Health Show.

For some bizarre reason, which I can only attribute to my brain being frazzled at the sight of so many beautiful girls, I had an image in my mind of a big bearded guy with a pirates eye patch and white doctors coat. However I immediately recognised him as the celebrity doctor (he is a real doctor) who appears on various tv shows and writes articles for a satirical magazine called Private Eye. We were hoping that Dr Phil would not make too many medical injokes but we had sufficient knowledge of the NHS (National Health Service) and the human anatomy to enjoy his amusing and insightful observations on the subject. He also included plenty of funny, and occassionally rude, ancedotes from his experience as a practising doctor, so his health show was anything but dry and exclusive. We then had a disastrous chip shop supper: 1) a fish supper cost £7 (outrageous but to be expected at the Festival) 2) Alan ate chips and cheese which came back to haunt him 3) I ordered a smoked sausage supper and then shortly dropped the sausage onto the pavement. It's just as well I did not pay £7 for it. I was severely disgruntled as we arrived at the Assembly Hall for Andy Parsons: Gruntled. Everybody knows this comedian as the bald guy from Mock The Week, a satirical and irreverant quiz show in which the pannelists conjure comedy out of current affairs. The Assembly Hall was packed to capacity, which prompted Tony to make a good obsevation about the pulling power of television.
Andy Parsons is a decent comedian but it is unlikely he would have had this impressive turnout without his regular slot on Mock The Week. Much of his comedy sprang from what was happening in the world of politics and current affarirs, which I did not mind, but it probably alienated a certain part of the audience. It was an enjoyable hour but only once or twice did I laugh with any real gusto. We then weaved our way in a mad dash to the Surgeons Grand for Get Carter, our second play of the Festival. I have not seen the film, much to Alan's amazement, but I had a rough idea of the plot. Jack Carter returns to his hometown to investigate the mysterious death of his brother and in the process he gets drawn into a seedy violent underworld. It was a gritty, hard-hitting production that was not for the faint hearted. It had very strong language and full frontal nudity (we squirmed in our seats as Jack Carter brandished a sawn-off shotgun while wearing only his socks). The acting was very good, making me curse Shia LaBeouf all the more, and the direction flowed along well enough to keep the audience engrossed. The only major flaw of the play was that the identity of some of the characters became confusing. The director or screenwriter should have aimed for a happy medium of making it clearer who exactly was who without diluting the plot or slowing down the action. After the play we had plenty of time to kill until our 1.30AM bus back to Glasgow so we chilled Snoop Dog style in the Pleasance Courtyard with a few alcoholic refreshments. Ideally we would have taken a limousine home Snoop Dog style but we had to suffer the company of a particularly annoying drunken idiot who continually told all the passengers that the bus was not on the correct road to Glasgow. If I had been the driver I would have stopped the bus and tossed him onto the hard shoulder, no doubt to rapturous applause, but that did not happend because life is rarely that just or fair. So thanks to CityLink the Festival started poorly and ended poorly, but everything else inbetween was jolly good fun.

Ending on a positive note

Like most people, I have been disturbed by the rioting, looting and violence that occured in parts of London and other English cities earlier this month. For those who don't know, it was sparked by the fatal shooting of a man by police in London: there followed a protest march by friends and family of the departed, and although initially peaceful it soon erupted into violence and other criminal activities. I just want to make it clear that I don't condone such actions and those who are responsible should be brought to justice, but I think it is rich and hypocritical of our Prime Minister David Cameron and other politicans to take the moral high ground in their own condemnation of what has happened. It makes them look like strong leaders to take the moral high ground and use strong words against the criminals. In fact they are either incrediably narrowminded or completely out of touch with reality. They should have the courage and honesty to admit that generations of urban working class people have been neglected and the recent violence and looting are the consequences of this neglect. For generations politicans and the powers that be have failed to invest in adequate education, health care, community services and most of all employment, especially in these urban areas. It is little wonder that a significant proportion of this present generation of youth are completely devoid of hope and purpose. This violent reaction should be a wake up call for the nation but I fear that our politicians will take the easy option and punish the criminal element without addressing the deep rooted problems. I am genuinely amazed that these people get into positions of such power and influence. I could write another 500 words about how useless our politicians are but I will try to finish this blog entry on a positive note. My friend Jackie says that every movie should have a happy ending because real life can be depressing and tough. So here are a few uplifting quotes to end this blog on a high.

"How you think about a problem is more important than the problem itself. So always think positively." ~ Norman Vincent Peale

"There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with chocolate."
-Charles Dickens

"It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters." - Epictetus

Edinburgh Festival Part 1

Time for more adventures in the capital. The day got off to a predictable start with the 11AM Citylink bus to Edinburgh full to capacity and it passed us by as we stood abject at the bus stop. As my friend Alan pointed out, Citylink run well enough under normal circumstances but you would think that they would run more buses during the Festival or when there is a major event taking place that might involve extra commuters. However, apart from an encounter with an unfriendly monosyllabic member of staff at Easterhouse Train Station, we got the train without much fuss and arrived in Edinburgh in good time. This year we decided to mix things up and branch out into other forms of entertainment rather than our usual diet of standup comedy. First on the bill was 'Singing I'm No A Billy, He's A Tim', a play that deals with the problem of football related bigotry and sectarianism in a humorous but uncompromising way. For those who don't know, a 'Billy' is a Protestant supporter of Rangers Football Club, a 'Tim' is a Catholic supporter of Celtic Football Club. There has been a long standing rivalary between the two clubs, often descending into hateful sectarianism due to the different religions and ethnic origins. The premis of the play is that a Ranger's fan and a Celtic fan get locked up in a prison cell on the day that the two rival clubs play. What follows is the inevitable tension and barrage of insults, each fan questioning the others prejudices and tinted views. However as the play develops they manage to find common ground, often helped by the objective presence of the police officer on duty, and an unlikey friendship is formed. The language throughout is extremely strong and crude, the playwrite maybe trying too hard to give the play a feeling of realism. Despite this it is well written and acted, funny, highly relevant and thought-provoking, and if the language was strongly toned down then I think it could be well worth while showing this play in schools around Scotland.
The rain greeted us as we emerged onto the streets of Edinburgh and it continued to pour heavily for the rest of the day. We found solage in The Three Sisters, a pub that boasted the prettiest barmaids in Scotland. While Tony and Alan watched rugby and sampled the draught cider I spent the next two hours trying to persuade the barmaids to relocate to my local pub in the east end of Glasgow, but alas my efforts were in vain. Our next location was The Spaces on the Mile, which to our bemusement turned out to be the Radisson Hotel. It did not seem like a typical fringe venue. We were there for Absolute Improv, a troupe of young comedy performers who improvise in scenarios and games aided by suggestions and collaboration from the audience. If you have seen Whose Line Is It Anyway? then it is very much like that. The performers were not in that class of comedy improv but they were undoubtedly quick witted and there were plenty of laughs. Not bad for £5.50. We rejoined the rain soaked crowds and headed straight to the Udderbelly's Pasture to see our next show. While waiting we sought shelter under a huge inflatible purple cow. I am infinitely relieved that it did not fall on top of us: that would probably be the most stupid way to die and something I don't want mentioned in my obituary.



Michael Winslow, billed as 'the man of 10,000 sound effects', is best known as the guy from the Police Academy films who makes lots of funny noises with his mouth. Our expectations were high and on the whole he did not disappoint. If his comedy was not always side splittingly funny then he more than made up for it with his sound effects. He did have the help of an effects pedal but nevertheless he possesses an extraordinary talent. It is well worth checking him out in action on YouTube as my words cannot do him justice. His Jimi Hendrix impression was particularly impressive. People outside the tent might well have thought that there was a guy playing a real guitar, such was the realism of his distorted guitar sound. All this from his mouth, quite amazing. So, despite the constant rain and my failure to kidnap any pretty barmaids it was a successful start to the Festival. I have not had a holiday this summer so I was really looking forward to the Festival this year and I was not disappointed. Next up, my guitar hero Bert Jansch in concert. Alan will be MIA* for this due to a holiday in Ibiza with 'Mad Chris', and if Mad Chris lives up to his name then Alan might be MIA for a long, long time. Watch this space.

* Missing In Action

Lucian Freud

Frank Auerbach by Lucian Freud 1976


Love or loathe his style, not many people would deny that Lucian Freud was a painter of immense skill and dedication. The German born British artist focused on portrait and figurative paintings for the bulk of his career, and carved a niche in that part of the art world that was as distinct and brilliant as Rembrandt. Born in Berlin in 1922 Freud and his family fled Nazi Germany in 1933 and settled in London. He studied briefly at various colleges and schools of art before the war and his early work seemed to be strongly influnced by Surrealism, involving an experimental juxtaposition of figures and objects composed with a thin layer of paint. During the 1950's Freud underwent a significant change in style which would last for the rest of his career. He focused more on portraits and the nude, building up his paintings with a thick impasto of often muted colours. This technique would frequently involve cleaning his brush after each stroke. His models were usually friends and family, and he said of his work: 'The subject matter is autobiographical, it's all to do with hope and memory and sensuality and involvement, really.' For Freud, painting another human being was much more than just trying to capture a good likeness. There was a strong psychological dimension and each stroke seemed like an incision in trying to get under the subjects skin and expose the insecurities and flaws beneath. Art critic Martin Gayford had his portrait by Freud and remarked that it seemed to "reveal secrets—ageing, ugliness, faults—that I imagine...I am hiding from the world...". This is what some people might not like about his art. His approach was often raw and brutal and there is a certain nihilism that comes through, often in a subtle way. He has been compared with Francis Bacon and I can understand why. Their art was in many ways a response to the breakdown of 20th century society. It is not uplifting or wholesome and I personally would have major reservations about hanging it up on my bedroom wall. I don't think it would give an environment a positive or joyful vibe. Regardless, Freud is probably my favorite painter of the portrait and nude. His work is incrediably powerful and technically brilliant, and for some reason I find it fascinating, albeit in small doses.

Lucian Freud 1922 - 2011 REST IN PEACE

(Thanks to Tony Murphy for helping me to post the above image)