Jarvis Cocker - Saying The Unsayable

Jarvis Cocker gave a lecture on lyrics at Brighton Festival last night.

Special praise was singled out for the lyrics of Amy Winehouse’s track ‘Me And Mr Jones’, with Cocker stating: “Amy just makes words up. What kind of fuckery is this? I dunno, but I like it.”

Babyshambles ‘Baddies Boogie’ was also commended, as Jarvis – famed for his own unsubtly sexual songwriting - explained: “Anyone who writes ‘He’ll bum your wife then shake your hand’ is alright by me.”

The Pulp frontman showcased his PowerPoint skills in the rapturously received presentation, called Jarvis Cocker on Song - Saying the Unsayable. He also found time to debut a new track as well as give a rendition of his first ever songwriting attempt.

The new song is titled ‘Girls Like It Too,’ while Jarvis’ earliest song, written in 1978, is called ‘Shakespeare Rock.’ He played it solo on acoustic guitar and squirmed at lyrics including: ‘Got a baby, only one thing’s wrong/She quotes Shakespeare all day long/Said baby why don’t you ring me/She said to be or not to be.’

Jarvis discussed such songwriting greats as Leonard Cohen, The Velvet Underground, The Beatles, The Fall, Scott Walker and David Bowie. Contemporary acts such as Rihanna, MGMT and The Last Shadow Puppets were also praised.

The likes of James Blunt and Phil Collins didn’t fare so well, with Cocker complaining most music now has the air of sophisticated shopping lists. He justified his authority on the subject by saying: “This is all based on my subjective opinion, but I’m always right.”

Elegantly strolling about the Brighton Dome stage with a cane in hand, he admitted to being nervous and apologised for running over time by an hour. “Sorry, I’ve not done one of these before. Nobody needs to catch a bus home do they?”

In a question and answer session at the end, Cocker heralded Jimi Hendrix’s version of Bob Dylan’s ‘All Along The Watchtower’ as the greatest cover of all time, while confessing his affection for William Shatner’s attempt at ‘Common People.’

With regards to Pulp’s biggest hit, he clarified how the lyrics came about: “The girl from Greece with the thirst for knowledge was real….But she never wanted to have sex with me.” His own writing process was defined as “just stumbling along, the way I live my life. That’s why I’m carrying a stick.”

The Great Escape Festival 2008

The Great Escape
Various Venues, Brighton
Thursday 15th – Saturday 17th May 2008

Festivals don’t have to be about mud, tents and seeing recently reformed groups picking up paychecks almost as big as their egos. The Great Escape takes one city, throws hundreds of new bands into dozens of venues, adds thousands of punters and conjures millions of magical moments, all in three hazy days. On arrival in Brighton, a stroll down the beach seems the natural choice, so it’s off to Concorde2 with high hopes and a metaphorical bucket and spade.

FrYars are first on; they have a capital letter in the middle of their name so must either annoyingly pretentious or some cutting new electro act. Ah, it’s both, but with enough Talking Heads vagueness in singer Ben Garret’s curt brogue to engage as the fuzzy gloom of ‘The Ides’ booms around. School Of Language wander onstage next, telling the swelling crowd: “Thanks for coming, even though you’re only here for Vampire Weekend.” They may have a point, but as they struggle through the mediocrity of ‘Rockist’, the audience can be forgiven for not showering them with adulation. This is the current plaything of Field Music’s David Brewis, and reeks of side project cosseting. The drummer looks like he’s been in about 17 bands, waiting for a break that isn’t likely to materialise.

Vampire Weekend’s break may have arrived prematurely, but their unadulterated brand of kitsch pop impishness is far too genial to dislike. Sadly, most Escapees miss the show, as the first instance of queuing difficulties surface. As the Ivy League quartet begin with a looping rendition of ‘Mansard Roof’, scores of fans wait in vain outside. Nevertheless, those within are treated to a refreshingly tight as well as suitably enthusiastic set. ‘Campus’, an idyllic ode to adolescent apathy, is ready-made for festival frivolities, with The Kooks’ amongst those moved to move by its sheer catchiness. Luke Pritchard’s questionable dancing is again witnessed as ‘A-Punk’ provokes revellers to climb poles and generally run amok. Before closer ‘Oxford Comma’ combines grammar and giddiness, singer Ezra Koenig proclaims Brighton as his favourite place. Right now it’s easy to agree.

The real masterstroke of this event is its spontaneity. Somewhere, deep inside Great Escape HQ, an omnipotent being armed with only a headset and a contract phone frequently beams titbits of gigging gold out to eager recipients. In text message form. The simple idea of letting people know an obscure Icelandic bassoon player is about to play on the carousel ensures the day can be as exhilarating as the more rigorously organised evening. It is this service that leads to a capacity crowd filling Audio at 3pm, to see the elfin charm of French singer Soko. The quirky soloist strums her ukulele and spouts stories of peanut butter and other childish delights. ‘I Wanna Look Like A Tiger’, complete with elaborately appropriate headwear, continues the loveably novel atmosphere, before she shows depth with a piercingly fragile version of ‘I Will Never Love You.’ Soko is the find of the festival, popping up everywhere, leaving fresh devotees in her wake.

Earlier, Vinny Vinny played a midday set at Barfly showcasing their Sixties style, a foot-stomping melding of Motown with mod that references The Temptations as much as The Who. It’s all a tad too retro to be successful, but bracingly agreeable nonetheless. Another daytime session continues on Virtual Festivals’ very own stage on the pier. My Federation have borrowed Kasabian’s swagger and riffs, but are as pointless as building a sandcastle on the pebble-covered beach. Still, there’s an amusements arcade next door – you can’t play Air Hockey at Reading can you.

With over 200 bands playing, clashes are as inevitable as they are frustrating. Eventually Crystal Castles get the nod and the sweaty confines of Digital become base for Friday night. After a bitterly underwhelming performance from George Pringle, the headliners crash onto the tiny stage in an incursion of colour and intent. Incessant, loud and contagiously energetic, the duo rage into the pulsating blur of ‘Crimewave’. It’s intentionally unsubtle and structurally questionable, but their allure is insatiable. Front-woman Alice Glass is relentlessly suspended in transition between stage and crowd, much to the security team’s displeasure and the audience’s joy. She’s a buzzing ball of alacrity, never still and never clear. Crystal Castles set whizzes past, completely unoriginal but enthralling regardless. Speaking of fun but derivative bands, The Wombats then arrive on the decks to entertain the throngs of hyper revellers.

After the carousing of the night before, sanctuary comes the next afternoon in the form of three sultry tunes from Ida Maria, strumming atop the balcony of the Theatre Royal. The Swedish songstress stops pedestrian traffic with a racy acoustic run through ‘Better When You’re Naked’; her set is gloriously casual and far too short. Then, inexplicably, a string ensemble starts playing in the street. A cup of coffee and shot of Mozart and we’re back in business.

Lightspeed Champion plays three shows on Saturday, so catching him early may have been a misjudgement. A far cry from his imaginative, melodious album, his Old Market gig is a disaster. Playing solo, his electric guitar is abrasive and sketchy, burying his strengths of twisted lyricism and dazzling harmonies. Appearing uncomfortable throughout, he races through the likes of ‘Midnight Surprise’ and ‘Dry Lips’ without pausing between songs. The only respite for the perturbed crowd is a few licks of Weezer’s ‘Buddy Holly.’ At his later Barfly set, he apologises for this earlier performance. It was different, but ultimately plain shabby.

Over at the sumptuous setting of the Sally Bennis Theatre, Noah and the Whale play the gig of their lives. With a sympathetic audience, the seven-piece soothe with ‘Shape Of My Heart’ and thrill with the folk jiggery of ‘Mary’. It’s vulnerable but intense, the group dynamic cultivating a full, organic sound bereft of pretence and glimmering with emotion. The reasons for the affecting nature of the performance become clear as they announce the departure of Laura Marling from the band. As peculiar as it is warming, it’s a fitting send off.

When Marling returns, this time solo and centre-stage, it is clear her talent is thriving on its own. ‘Shine’ is a display of vocal range, while ‘Ghosts’ is almost painfully quaint. She is soon joined by her band, who add a more up-tempo drive to ‘Cross Your Fingers’ and a jubilant interpretation of ‘You’re No God.’ She is reluctant in the face of worshipping fans, her doe-eyed shyness appearing in every fiddle with her sleeves. Yet, mid-song, she’s assured, confidently aware of her ability. Every song is lapped up, before a sing-along encore of ‘Alas, I Cannot Swim’ cheerfully signals the end of another triumphant Great Escape.

The sheer volume of bands makes catching somebody startling a certainty, while Brighton’s festival feel gives the event an individual air of excitement. There is the possibility of spending large chunks of time standing in queues, unless you have a far more expensive delegate pass. Still, it’s all the positives of festivals, with fewer irritations. What better way to escape.

The Raconteurs Live

The Raconteurs
Hammersmith Apollo, London
Wednesday, 14/05/08

“I’m not sure if there’s a point to the story, but I’m going to tell it again,” preaches Jack White in his distinct primal squeal, beginning The Raconteurs final song. Yes, we’ve heard it all before, but that doesn’t make White and company any less electrifying. In fact, the back story makes their current glory all the more alluring.

The phrase ‘side project’ usually signals self-indulgence, obscure artist referencing and a horn section. In White’s case, his hobby has snowballed into an accomplished live force. Tonight they showcase the melodious blues of second album ‘Consolers Of The Lonely’, but also affirm affinity and mutual admiration for each other. They are absolutely elated onstage, oozing even more enthusiasm than an audience that isn’t exactly apathetic.

A charged charge through the new record’s title track sets a ferocious pace, before ‘The Switch And The Spur’ brings a grandiose flavour to the band’s rough and ready style. ‘You Don’t Understand Me’, with White on piano, sounds a little too close to Elton John for comfort, but ‘Old Enough’ is a delightfully dulcet ditty. Joined by a 5th band member on fiddle and White on acoustic duties, there is a delectable playfulness to the track.

The affable atmosphere persists as old favourites ‘Level’ and ‘Steady As She Goes’ are aired. The former sees White and Brendan Benson trading rapid-fire lyrics; the latter gives the crowd chance to test its voice. There is a solid platform built on Little Jack Lawrence’s sedulous bass playing that gives the guitarists freedom to experiment. One moment Benson leads, the next White is soaring into a trademark puissant solo.

There is a darker element to the show though, with the tenebrous background, complete with overhanging tree branches, casting the band – all clad in back, waistcoats aplenty - as shadowy puppeteers orchestrating the throngs below. After a stripped thunder through Charley Jordan’s blues staple 'Keep It Clean', they are in their element as the sullen smokiness of ‘Blue Veins’ gives way to an extended jam. White’s microphone is distorted heavily, adding to the inscrutable tension, until release arrives with a towering solo and the band exit.

On return, news of Mick Jagger and Ronnie Wood’s presence has spread. The Rolling Stones are teased with a short blast of their own ‘Little Red Rooster’, then new single ‘Salute Your Solution’ is delivered at apoplectic pace, Benson’s snarl competing with White’s wail. The exhilarating, breakneck performance is confirmation that this isn’t a mere plaything, their hearts are in it. Benson’s dripping with sweat as White regales ‘Carolina Drama’s urban legend, the sold-out Apollo hanging on every syllable.

“Well now you heard another side to the story, but you wanna know how it ends,” he howls, drained but exuberant as the song, and show, climax. Hopefully these tellers of tales have many more yarns to spin and many more years to span.

The Maccabees and Good Shoes Live

The Maccabees and Good Shoes
Concorde 2, Brighton
Saturday 3rd May

A summery, seaside stroll down to the secluded setting of this secretive gig is strikingly fitting for this showcase of two sun-kissed bands that really should be a lot bigger.

While Scouting For Hoosiers Only continue to brainwash a nation with saccharine tripe, The Maccabees and Good Shoes have released two of the most accessible yet credible pop records of recent years, yet can still amble into their hometown Harry Ramsden’s unnoticed.

This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The bands have been left alone to write the follow-up albums, tonight giving a glimpse of their efforts to an adoring audience. Good Shoes begin with a well-received newbie, mainly due to explaining it’s about Brighton. The unheard material is greeted with toe-tapping and hand-clapping, often adopting a cleaner, less stop-start style than in the past.

In playful mood, the band whet appetites with the opening riff to The Maccabees track ‘Tissue Shoulders’ before racing through the spiky blitz of ‘Ice Age.’ The last new song repeats the pointed refrain of “The more I want/The less I need,” all splintering immediacy, continuing the jerky realism that typifies their sound. Then they’re gone in a whirr of ‘All In My Head’ paranoia and the faux-epic urban despair of ‘Morden.’














If Good Shoes are likeable, The Maccabees are loveable; a heady mix of nervousness and assurance, watching them is comforting but never comfortable. Long-time closer ‘Lego’ is unleashed early, raising the already sweltering temperature in a clash of competing guitars and storybook lyrics.

There is a harder edge to the new material, singer Orlando playing guitar regularly to create a thicker sound. However, the melodious purity of ‘Toothpaste Kisses’ and giddy gaiety of ‘Happy Faces’ is still present. Whenever they dip into their back catalogue the venue is a riot of smiles, but the new songs stand up well, a freshness and intensity attached.

The exception to this is the peculiar choice to stick guitarist Felix on lead vocals and give Orlando an accordion. The sound of the instrument, if not the novelty, is lost amongst the clanging of guitars and unnatural singing.


It’s only a blip, but a revealing one. Orlando’s wonderful resistance to theatrics, an anti-frontman who holds attention through original delivery and understated presence, contrasts strikingly with Felix’s grinning desire for centre-stage. The chemistry between the two is captivating, but most effective with Felix playing second fiddle (not literally) however reluctantly.

It’s back to business with a hectic ‘Latchmere’, then a strident encore of a Strokes-referencing new song and the rapturous sing-along of ‘Precious Time.’ It’s furiously played, the gig showing an impatience to release the tension and music of a busy break. Still sounding slick, but adorably flawed, expect them to return with songs the radio will play to death, as well as you.