Album of the Month: THREE DEMONS by Guadalupe Plata

Could be the scorching weather or else it could be something they put into paella, but the Spanish can scare you like no one else. And while I never willingly watch horror films (I guess the last ten minutes of The Blair Witch Project did it to me back in the day), I did have to endure a Spanish piece called "Behind" a couple of years ago during the Manhattan Short Film Festival. It was a thing of nightmares, and no words of warning from the lovely presenter could quite prepare me for what I saw.

Guadalupe Plata soundtrack horror. They play sinister rockabilly and they sound like Quentin Tarantino from hell. 

Now prior to the May rerelease of this album (original Spanish LP was out back in November 2018) I had never heard of this band. Which is a shame as this is their fifth album (they are all self-titled, but my edition goes by the name of Three Demons) and I absolutely love what they do. Short blasts of beautifully crafted horrorbilly occasionally diluted by a freaky acoustic waltz with ominous hissing ("Oigo voces") or a pretty instrumental with a guitar line wiggling like some cool snake ("Paloma negra").

Elsewhere, it's your classic rockabilly with a dark edge - made all the more darker by the unsettling Spanish vocals that create a mood well encapsulated by the cover picture. Full moon, dead trees, three red demons, musical instruments scattered on the cold ground. Brilliant stuff, and very brief, too, with ten out of twelve songs clocking in under three minutes. "No te vayas" is the heaviest. "Lobo aullador" is frankly unnerving. "Duermo con serpientes" is a classic. Recommended.   

My Cultural Lowlights: RAMMSTEIN

I have just watched a video for "Deutschland", Rammstein's new single, and I guess I can easily get away with repeating the old Marc Bolan adage: 'If you know how to rock, you don't have to shock'. I mean, what is more to say about Rammstein?..

But - no, wait, people actually care. 

Each time somebody brings up Rammstein in a conversation, I always have the same reaction: Rammstein? Come on, you have to be fucking kidding me. Because I genuinely cannot believe that someone in their right mind would listen to them non-ironically. This is like saying Mel Gibson is your favourite filmmaker. This is like going to a Laibach concert - only worse, because at the very least those Slovenian guys don't take themselves too seriously.

I do remember kids from my school telling me about Rammstein for the first time. We were going home after classes, and God knows that name sounded dangerous. As did the music. When you were twelve, there was something intriguingly disturbing about those German vocals and pounding drums (even if I never fell for either). One guy from my class bought a T-shirt, another played computer games to "Du hast", someone else listened to them in class, on a cassette player. But really - we were twelve. We had no concept of subtlety and, on our way home from school, you could blow us away with a firecracker.

Later, I lost every last vestige of interest in them, and was surprised to read about the huge uproar surrounding the clip for the new single "Deutschland" which was apparently too edgy for some. Well, I saw the video, and it bored me to tears. The schtick is tedious, the sense of humour is deplorable, the lyrics are one-dimensional, the melody is rudimentary to the extent where a Soviet realism painting has a greater chance of revealing its hidden depths. Yet somehow there are people who are actively enjoying the aesthetics that wear thin after about ten seconds. 

I have always felt that the saddest part is that Rammstein are not even the worst band in the world. That would at least be an achievement of sorts.

My Cultural Highlights: VEEP

In these days of Netflix-induced coma, my single greatest achievement is never giving a damn about either Breaking Bad or Game of Thrones. Veep, however, is where I have never been strong enough. And now that it is over, after last week's brilliant finale, there is an awful sense of loss I last felt when Don Draper was conjuring up a Coca-Cola commercial in that field in America.

So just to put things into perspective:

1. Twin Peaks
2. Mad Men
3. Peep Show
4. The Wire
5. Veep

I guess I always had a thing for Armando Iannucci's humour, and while I do not necessarily believe that Veep was better than The Thick of It (Iannucci's original British series), it was still outrageously good. The sort of show where you have to see each episode a number of times to fully appreciate the script and get every little joke and reference. And you would still miss a lot - Veep was that well-written.

My love for Veep stems from the great sense of humour that was always able to walk the fine line between foul-mouthed and profane. This is all part of Iannucci's well-established aesthetics you could witness right from the very first episode on Armando Iannucci's Show (which is titled "Twats", obviously) and down to the brilliant Death of Stalin (which got approval from Stephen Kotkin, no less). Besides, I have always loved Iannucci's directing style that basically involves actors inhabiting this semi-documentary environment, living their lines rather than acting them.

However, it would never have worked over seven seasons had it not been for the wonderful characters that included all kinds of mad fuckers and adorable freaks. God knows I loved them all, from neurotically revengeful Amy to charmingly hapless Mike to spinelessly selfless Gary and all the way to 'autistic Barbie doll' Minna. It was good, too, to see the   characters develop - subtly, bit by bit, with Selena Meyer making that unmistakable transition from positively inept to negatively vile.

And you will not hear me complain about the final episode (these entitled Game of Thrones people do make me laugh though). Every fan of a long-running TV show believes he's got a perfect ending in their pretty little head and when it does not happen (inevitably), there is this overwhelming hysteria that leads to people acting like overgrown children. With its beautiful allusions to the very first episode, with scenes that made you laugh and cry in equal measure, Veep folded the only way it was supposed to fold. The ending was neither happy nor sad. It was just right - even if some of those scenes with Gary seemed a little too heartbreaking for this particular viewer.

Favourite episode? Pilot. Favourite scene? Roger Furlong dinner. Favourite character? Jonah. Duh. 

Скетчи про Минск. Брежнев.

Я научился продавать Минск. Оказалось, это не так сложно. 

Пару лет назад, в Страсбурге, когда разговор заходил о Минске, я не говорил о гостеприимстве и зеленых деревьях. Я говорил о семидесятых годах прошлого века, чей запах не вывести торговыми центрами, французскими ресторанами или перекисью водорода. Такой Минск все еще продается, и музыкант Грегори сказал, что все это крайне интересно, и он обязательно приедет. Ему страшно хотелось пройтись по советским семидесятым. Что ж, понять Грегори не так сложно, как того парня из Калифорнии, который сказал мне, что хочет посмотреть на живого диктатора. 

Жаль, что никто не пытается продать его мне. Ни жители этого города, которым он достался в кредит, и которые вынуждены отдавать долг всю свою жизнь. Ни туристы, которые могли бы толпами сновать перед музеем истории или картинной галереей, но которых всего трое, и они сидят на втором этаже красного туристического автобуса. Глядя на этот автобус, я всегда оборачиваюсь и пытаюсь представить, что испытывают эти трое. Что видят и о чем думают. И верят ли, что вечером по телевизору не будет выступать Леонид Брежнев.

Так что я вынужден продавать его самому себе, и временами у меня получается. Я почти готов купить его, забрать за полцены, и это даже не ностальгия. Это контраст. Это чувство, которое возникает во время путешествия. Чувство, что никто не может испытать этого безудержного счастья нового города, которое могу испытать я. Так, в одной из лучших кофеен Кельна сидел бельгиец, приехавший сюда прошлым вечером. Он сидел за столом из швейной машинки, пил капучино и все время печатал на своем компьютере. Рядом с ним стоял его складной велосипед, и глядя на солнце, которое пробивалось в окна после утреннего дождя, я подумал, что черт возьми, для тебя ведь это восточная Бельгия. 

А для меня это западная Германия. 

Robert Forster in Bonn

It must be some sort of mental list I compiled ages ago, one that I have stuck to quite religiously. Luke Haines? In the grand and somewhat bizarre setting of an Anglican church. Swans? In the midst of the blood-pumping, ear-splitting tour following the release of The Seer. Spiritualized? Doing the full rendition of Ladies And Gentlemen, We Are Floating In Space. Nick Cave? Anywhere, until the end of times. Etc. In fact, the only artist from my list I am unlikely to ever see live is Tom Waits. First, it would have to be late at night, in a decrepit jazz bar, behind a battered old piano. Second, the man has vowed to never play live again. 

Robert Forster, however, has just performed in the Harmonie club in Bonn, and it was special. I could probably write a lot about the experience that began with a glass of red wine and finished with Forster answering my question about his favourite song by Nick Cave (his perfect rock and roll answer was, of course, "Tupelo"), but I will just narrow it down to ten things: 

1. Robert Forster is a man of impeccable taste.
2. The instrumental interplay during "A Poet Walks" is pure orgasm, and the violinist was not even in the house.
3. The whole band were wearing shirts, which is the way it should be. Never trust bands who wear T-shirts onstage.
4. Robert dismisses all requests. As well he should. 
5. It is interesting to follow his facial expressions when he is singing. There is a lot of feeling there, and memories, and pain.
6. In terms of song choice, the biggest surprise was perhaps "Twin Layers of Lightning". 
7. There is a moment during every great show when it all clicks to the extent that the experience becomes transcendental. This time, it was the spirited version of "In The Core Of The Flame".
8. Sadly, no young people in the audience. Tragic times.
9. A couple of screw-ups (like Robert messing up the beginning of "I Love Myself (And I Always Have)") were actually quite charming.
10. His German is perfect. The man is a fucking rock star.

I could of course complain about some omissions in the setlist (I would have given a lot to hear him play "The Clarke Sisters", "Danger In The Past", "Did She Overtake You" or "I've Been Looking For Somebody"), but as long as he did "Spring Rain"... well, what more could you possibly wish? I laughed and I cried.

This was uncanny convergence, Robert Forster and the city of Bonn. Because if you were to ask me to pick a place in Germany where I would love to see him play, Bonn is what I would choose. Bonn is Lucca of Germany, a city of great elegance and history that is neither too big nor too small. It is the perfect place for a concert of Robert Forster, and it is the place where I would love to see him play again. In other words, I am afraid I am not taking him off that mental list any time soon. 

travelling notes (xci)

The more casually the waiters are dressed, the better the food they bring will be.

travelling notes (xc)

There is a moment of total serenity in a foreign city when all of a sudden - you remember all the words in a language you either never knew or have long forgotten. 

travelling notes (lxxxix)

Cologne cathedral can only be humbled by one other thing... Cologne philharmonic orchestra.

travelling note (lxxxviii)

The best thing to do in Bonn (Germany's loveliest city, I have to admit) is to skip Beethoven Haus altogether and go straight to the museum house of August Macke. This is what a museum should look like. August Macke was a genius, and I never thought I would use that word when describing German fine art.

travelling notes (lxxxvii)

Bonn is a city of owls. And the owls, as we all know by now, are not what they seem. 

travelling notes (lxxxvi)

In a land of über-punctual Germans, there's nothing worse than a bus arriving horribly, unforgivably late. With a driver who looks like there hasn't been a massive screw-up and 'alles ist in Ordnung'. It's cold and I want to strangle him. 

travelling notes (lxxxv)

The two most important attributes of any great city are imagination and a sense of humour. I'm happy to witness how Vilnius is growing in terms of the former (even of it doesn't always work - their MO Museum is a waste of space), but the latter, crucially, is lacking. It's still a city where you don't laugh.