Blog Posts - ADRIAN GOLDBERG'S BLOG

MATTHEW EDWARDS AND THE UNFORTUNATES - FOLKLORE LAUNCH

4/6/2017

The music we loosely file under "Rock" has always had a problem with ageing. Unlike folk, jazz, soul and blues - where maturity is seen as an asset rather than a liability - a genre forever associated with sex and youthful rebellion sits uneasily with middle-aged spread. Pete Townshend's "Hope I Die Before I Get Old..." isn't just a line in a song - it's part of the music's manifesto, a statement of intent that still defines the kind of reckless intensity most of us demand from any guitar-driven combo.

It's not that you can't actually be an ageing rocker - rather that much of Rock's gerontocracy (most obviously the Rolling Stones) only get away with it by pretending that they are still their twenty something selves.

So full credit to Matthew "Ted" Edwards, unashamedly singing "I'm Not A Young Man Anymore" but still writing fresh and creative tunes well into middle age. I first knew him back in the early 80's when he fronted a Birmingham-based band called Dance; later, there was a major label flirtation with Somerville; and then a couple of decades in San Fransisco with the Music Lovers.

Now back home in his beloved Brum, Ted has just released "Folklore", his second album with The Unfortunates, which was launched at the city's Centrala Bar this weekend. Like it's predecessor "The Fates" the record channels richly observant melancholy with an epic wistfulness, drawing on its creator's love of paisley jangle, Jacques Brel and the more apocalyptic side of Bowie. Each song is a bespoke postcard of heartache, decay or fretful celebration - as singular and English in its vision as anything by Ray Davies.

The recorded version has contributions from such luminaries as Dagmar Krause of Slapp Happy and Henry Cow fame, and while the live experience lacks the subtleties of John A Rivers' layered production, there's a corresponding kick of energy here that more than compensates.

Along with Richard Hawley and former Dexy's songwriter Pete Williams who's now making some of the best music of his career in his 50's, Ted is part of a generation of artists who refuse to be governed by Rock's ageist rulebook. Older doesn't only mean wiser - it can sometimes be better.

ADRIAN GOLDBERG'S TALK SHOW. EPISODE #1 - STEVE HARRINGTON

19/5/2017

Which was the best of the UK's original punk bands - The Pistols or The Clash? Steve Harrington knows. With his band Suburban Studs, he supported the Sex Pistols at London's 100 Club in August 1976; and shortly afterwards they headlined at Birmingham's Barbarella's, with The Clash lower down the bill. As well as deciding the ultimate punk poser, Steve reflects on the quirk of fate that has led to him getting fan mail, four decades on, for his next band Neon Hearts.

You can listen to the episode here...

http://directory.libsyn.com/episode/index/id/5371200

ONE LOVE: THE BOB MARLEY MUSICAL

22/3/2017

Easy now, through the reverse telescope of hindsight, to see how obvious it all was - create a dramatic timeline around the life and times of a global superstar, sprinkle liberally with some of his best known tunes and hire a cast full of soulful energy to interpret the director's wishes. Sit back and wait for the glowing reviews. Simples.
Yet we've all witnessed "obvious" hits that have missed; Birmingham Rep itself registered a conspicuous flop a few years back with an ambitious but flawed riff on homegrown heroes UB40. So it's a tribute to this joyous production that just over week after the first public performance, One Love already looks like the finished product - a show fit to take on the West End, Broadway and the world.
Marley's wonderful songbook is obviously integral - right from the early bars of Simmer Down where we see the as yet unreconstructed Rude Boy paying his dues in downtown Jamaica, audience members are doing the closest thing to skanking that the Rep's comfy seats will allow.
Later, after Marley has converted to Rastafarianism and had his head turned by becoming a best selling international artist, there's a spine-tingling play off between No Woman No Cry sung by the astonishing Mitchell Brunnings in the lead role and Wait in Vain, soulfully delivered by Alexia Khadime as Bob's long-suffering wife Rita.
Brunnings might be slightly shorter and squatter than we expect the leading man to be, but his re-creation of Marley's gravel-flecked delivery is spot on – so much so that at first you find yourself checking to see if he's miming - and by the finale he not only has the crowd on its feet but several of them up on stage in a state of joyous boogaloo.
In and around the hits, writer/director Kwame Kwei Armah deftly steers us through the political turmoil of post-independence Jamaica, which in the mid-70's was dominated by the socialist Malcolm Manley and his CIA backed rival Edward Seaga. Their mutual hostility was reflected in riots and vicious gun fights, with the Marley clan themselves being targeted for assassination.
Marley survives a shooting at his Hope Road HQ and relocates to London in 1976, in the year of peak Punk where he's adopted by a generation of white youths who find common cause with his revolutionary zeal – if not the religious temperament that later takes him to the Rastaman's spiritual homeland Ethiopia. The shifts – temporal and geographical – are smoothed over thanks to the clever of use archive video by designer Ultz.
One Love doesn't shy away from Marley's (occasional) bullying and (frequent) philandering but also rightly celebrates his phenomenal achievement in becoming the first “Third World Superstar”, capable of inspiring white, middle class record buyers in their safe European homes as well the vast African disapora.
This is a night out that will fill you with Dread – but only in a good way.

One Love appears at Birmingham Rep until 15 April 2017

POSTCARDS #4 MEDIA CITY

1/1/2017

Walk around Media City now and it's hard to imagine that less than 20 years ago the dockyards which served the Manchester Ship Canal were widely regarded as an irredeemable urban wasteland.

Created in the 19th century to link Salford with the Irish Sea, this bustling inland waterway initially allowed Manc merchants to export cotton goods to the world, bypassing their neighbours on Merseyside who were accused of exploiting their coastal advantage.

By the late 1990's, though, the area had fallen into decay. I can remember watching matches at nearby Old Trafford during Euro 96, and although the newly built Lowry Outlet shopping mall hinted at what was to come, it still seemed inconceivable that this foreboding and desolate site would become the UK's most significant regional broadcasting centre – not to mention a major tourist attraction.

Now it's not only home to a range of BBC output including 5 Live and childrens' telly, it also plays host to ITV's most prestigious soap Coronation Street and a couple of commercial radio stations. There's the Lowry Arts Centre too – and the northern outpost of the Imperial War Museum.

It is, in short, a success – in many ways the model regeneration project.

Yet amid the bustling bars and yuppie flats, there is one awkward question it's hard to avoid asking.

Where is the family housing that would make Media City feel a bit more like a real community, rather than an oasis of privilege and luxury among one of Britain's toughest neighbourhoods?

Judged purely by what it is though – rather than what it isn't – Media City is a remarkable phenomenon. Alongside two great football clubs and an impressive musical heritage, it has helped consolidate Greater Manchester's claim to be England's heaviest pop culture puncher outside of London.

The fact that Media City is located in the drabber outskirts of town is welcome antidote, too, to the centralisation of attractions and resources in many city centres.

Architects have capitalised on its waterside location to play with light and form to create a starkly modern landscape – not flawless by any means, but nevertheless a fine example of how decades of seemingly interminable decline can be sharply slammed into reverse.

AUSCHWITZ REVISITED

9/9/2016

The ongoing controversy about asylum seekers and migrants - and especially the plight of unaccompanied children in the Jungle at Calais - can't help but resonate for me with my father's experience in pre-war Germany.

In 1938, as a 13 year old Jewish lad he was sent by his parents from the town of Ratibor to England under the Kindertransport programme and re-settled in the UK.

Immediately, he was set to work on a farm in Derbyshire, while his 11-year old brother Werner who'd accompanied him was adopted by a family in Southampton and allowed to complete his schooling.

It's hard to imagine the mental anguish of an adolescent boy arriving in a strange country with an unfamiliar language, separated from his sibling by 200 miles and uncertain about what was happening to his family.

Yet however tough it was, my Dad's fate was certainly preferable to those he left behind. His mother, father, grandad, aunts and uncles all perished - with Auschwitz their final destination.

So I'm baffled that so many people ask, "How can parents send their kids, unaccompanied, hundreds of miles from home?" In most cases, I'm guessing it's because it gives those youngsters a way out of Hell and offers them at least a chance of survival.

A trip to Auschwitz is a grisly reminder of what can happen to those who stay behind.

I've been twice now, and the industrial scale of the extermination - the banal architecture of death - never fails to appal.

It was a destiny my Dad cheated only because of the singular generosity of the British people.

The likes of Syria, Afghanistan, Eritrea, or Somalia might not be directly comparable to Nazi Germany of course - and solutions that worked in the 1930's aren't automatically transferable to 2016 either.

But visiting this bleak, hideous death camp is a stomach churning, rage-inducing reminder that truly evil people sometimes do astonishingly terrible things.

What loving parent wouldn't want their kids to avoid the consequences of that.

POSTCARDS #3 - OXFORD

31/5/2016

Who'd be a cabbie in Oxford? The old university town is such a joy to walk around that earning a living plying for hire must be a thankless task.

There are so many gorgeous buildings, spanning several centuries, that going the long way around is always to be recommended - at least as a tourist.

Whether Oxford is quite such a joy to navigate on a daily basis is doubtful. The massive park and ride schemes that girdle the city hint at gridlocked rush hour mayhem, and even the simple task of buying a lunchtime sarnie is complicated by the queues of French and American tourists.

There are other problems too - most obviously housing. I spent a few days in Jericho, an inner city grid of streets ten minutes walk from the centre. This was traditionally bohemian bedsitter land - the spriritual home of Radiohead and site of the first Supergrass gig. Now the asking price for a modest terraced house is in the region of £750,000.

Oxford's wealth is reflected in a flourishing restaurant scene, though this being one of the UK's global centres of academic excellence, there's no particular premium on bling - brainpower is as useful as horsepower, and a bike has much cachet as a BMW.

With apologies to the taxi drivers, though, Shanks's Pony is the best way to navigate one of the most beautiful cities in England.

Oxford may be seen as a bastion of privilege, but it's riverside meadows and majestic colleges are free for any oik to enjoy - even me.

HALFWAY TO PARADISE

24/4/2016

Like any great city, Birmingham is a restless, organic creation. Its latest revolution involves the unmaking of Madin - John Madin, the Modernist architect responsible for the city's uncompromising Central Library, hailed by some as a Brutalist masterpiece, reviled by others as a concrete monstrosity.

Whatever your view, the location dubbed Paradise Circus - where the library stood as a centrepiece and a counterpoint to the Victorian splendour of the Town Hall, the Council House and Art Gallery - has always seemed like something of an oxymoron. Paradise, it wasn't.

For one thing, the scheme was never completed to Madin's specification - the library should have been clad in Travertine marble, but when the money ran out in the early 70's it was left standing in all its naked concrete glory.

Plans to relocate the city's central bus station from Digbeth were also shelved, leaving a gloomy and sometimes threatening walkway linking the civic quarter to the more modern prospect of the Rep Theatre.

This dank precinct came to symbolise Birmingham's blundering town planning, and although it was later given something a makeover, it's transformation into a downmarket shopping mall did nothing to rouse the spirits. Only the dossers who slept rough in its more obscure corners will miss it.

So, to 2016, and the re-invention of the area - a scheme so vast that it's causing months of traffic diversions and delays in the city centre. Madin's library - with it's "inverted ziggurat" that made it look larger at the top than the bottom - is being swept away, along with all that surrounded it.

Paradise lost? Hardly.

The development that replaces it - according to images posted around the site - will shimmer with glass and steel, as new office blocks and retail units muscle in.

Only time will tell if this is Paradise Regained.

MOSELEY FOLK 2015

20/10/2015

As the dark nights encroach and we prepare to hunker down for winter, let's have one last bask in the warm glow of summer and remember one of the musical highlights of the year - Moseley Folk Festival, held in a beautiful private park in Birmingham's most, ahem, bohemian neighbourhood.

There's no camping on site which tends to encourage a local crowd, and the emphasis is on chat and boozing as much as the music - at least until the latter stages of the evening. With headliners like The Monkees, Gaz Coombes and Polyphonic Spree, the organisers have a pretty elastic definition of "folk", too, but who cares?

Moseley has a bespoke, family friendly atmosphere and a unique spirit. Here's to next year...

LENNY HENRY'S DUDLEY PREMIERE

21/8/2015

It's not often that the words "Dudley" and "premiere" are mentioned in the same sentence, but last night Lenny Henry strode along the red carpet in his home town for the first public screening of his drama "Danny and the Human Zoo".

This feature length semi-autobiography airs on BBC1 on Bank Holiday Monday and recounts Danny's (ie Lenny's) torrid teenage years when he became an overnight sensation on TV talent show New Faces before enduring the indignity of performing with the Black And White Minstrels.

I was invited to compere the Q&A after the show, but some of the best fun was to be had outside as Lenny rolled up in a chauffeur driven limo at the Showcase Cinema, and joshed with the queuing fans. Unlike the frenzy you might see at a Leicester Square premiere, this was a down to earth, typically Black Country affair, the star posing for selfies and hugging long lost friends.

Also on the red carpet were Director Destiny Ekhagara (in the blue dress), and Khasion Franklin who plays the young Lenny.

"Danny and The Human Zoo" doesn't shy away from the racism - overt and otherwise - of the era, but it simultaneously celebrates the achievements and opportunities of the immigrant experience; not to mention Danny's hard won wisdom in the face of a shocking family secret.

Well worth watching.

Danny and The Human Zoo is on BBC1 at 9pm on Bank Holiday Monday, August 31

POSTCARDS: #2 LIVERPOOL

19/8/2015

As an infrequent (but extremely willing) visitor to Liverpool, I can't help but be struck by the discrepancy between the city now and when I first knew it in the 80's.

Then, Merseyside was on its knees, laid low by forces as varied as the decline of Empire, the kill or cure economic medicine of Thatcherism, and the self destructive urges of Militant Tendency. Two football tragedies in the space of four years - Heysel and Hillsborough - didn't help, and even now a tabloid and terrace mythology persists that the 'Pool has a victim mentality and thinks the world owes it a living.

For what it's worth, I've always found the other prevailing legend to be more accurate. The Liverpool I know is a place of happy go lucky wit, and easy banter. There's sometimes an edge of course - no big city can do without it - not to mention the defiant braggadocio of a population that has been sneered at once too often.

But let's face it, Liverpool has loads to boast about. It's economic renaissance is as remarkable as its Imperial architecture; and when it comes to musical heritage The Beatles just about trumps any global brand short of Elvis. Just to make sure, though, a second wave of Merseybeat gave us Echo & The Bunnymen, OMD and The Lightning Seeds.

Having cornered the market in pop, it then went and did the popular culture Double in the 80's by providing a home to one of the most successful football teams in Europe.

It hasn't got it all right, mind. It seems to me that the showpiece Three Graces which adorn the waterfront have been deliberately and provocatively challenged by modern seafront buildings which, though interesting in their own right, sit at odds with their historical setting; and the concentration of wonderful museums down at Albert Dock has created a self-contained "Tourist Quarter" which means some visitors might give the rest of the city a miss altogether.

That would be a pity. Whether it's the two great cathedrals (and I don't mean Anfield or Goodison), the five theatres or just the craic to be found in a random pub, Liverpool is a rarity - an earthy working class city where artistic creativity and simply being different is indulged. I love it.