‘Come Dancing’ with Ray Davies, 2012, Stratford

Visited the Theatre Royal Stratford East in the week as we were up in town to see Bob Mould and managed to get much better tickets than were available online. It’s a beautiful Victorian building so we opt to go on the theatre tour prior to the matinee. Wander behind the scenes, past the dressing rooms, the green room, to the upper circle, etc., all refurbished to resemble the original décor of red and gold. I’d call it rococo but am happy to be disabused. It has a certain elegance and the faded glamour of an old Hollywood movie star, keeping up appearances against the onslaught of time, frayed at the edges but it’ll take more than some flaking paint to diminish her splendour. In a way, it rhymes with the production itself (and it’s not impossible that the old Palais might have looked something like the theatre), which captures an era of post-war privation and post-war optimism but although the theatre has weathered the storm and still stands, the Palais could only delay the changing of the musical guard as the big bands dissolved into the background and pop music took centre stage. Now it’s a bonafide community theatre with volunteers around to explain things, hand out questionnaires, and so on.

As it was the first time I had seen the show in any form, I had few preconceptions. I knew that Ray would be in it but thought his role might only be a cameo and he might not sing; I was prepared to be disappointed. Billed as a concert, the focus is the music: it’s all about the songs and not many of us would dispute Ray’s talent in that arena. He is the storyteller, his words providing the background, stitching the songs together but he sings as well, starting some songs that move on to the ensemble or to another performer.

I didn’t know who was new to the cast or who was an old hand; they were all excellent and I particularly liked Julie who reminded me of Shani Wallis (as Nancy) from Oliver!, especially singing ‘Something Better’, an inspirational number for which she suddenly developed a broad Cockney accent, a bit like RD himself does on occasion.

(Of course we can't overlook the choice of Julie as a name for the big sister, also used for the unattainable dream girl of the X-Ray narrator’s fantasy of RD, in ‘The Ballad of Julie Finkel’ and in ‘Waterloo Sunset’. Ray likes to keep these mysteries alive.)

Given the opportunity, RD has finally written that troublesome ‘interloper’, that scene-stealing, attention-grabbing younger brother out of his history, out of this story anyway although some of Dave’s youthful traits (belligerence, vitality, recklessness, sexual ardour, that effervescent joie de vivre, which he still has) find echoes in the younger male characters. It must be fun to revise the past like this, create a fictionalised version; in Ray’s case, streamlining, contracting, editing it for dramatic impact and personal satisfaction. The six sisters have been conflated to three with Peg and Rene’s characteristics and details slightly altered and transferred to Julie.

I tried to note down the songs as they occurred, guessing the titles from the lyrics. I don’t have them in the same order as on the Ray Davies Forum so may well have gone wrong. I won't list them all as some are mere snatches of tunes but concentrate on the ones that particularly affected me.

First, a lively song by the ensemble (there’s a band at the back of the stage) that I will hazard is called ‘The Palais’. Lets us know where we are as the cast enters, the women in fabulous 50s frocks, with magnificent full skirts, tight bodices, demure and alluring at once. I wish I’d lived in that era. Surely life was simpler then.

Then, Ray himself, looking slight, a little fragile, dwarfed by an outsize suit (makes you want to give him a hug); he sets the scene, introduces his ‘imaginary family’ and starts the story with reference to a book (no doubt simply a prompt), sounding slightly tentative but when he begins to sing ‘Come Dancing’ and ‘My Big Sister’ (an effortless swing tune), that voice is so familiar, it tugs at your heart and any wavering is overlooked.

The sisters sing ‘Putting on the Face’, a lively number full of humour, that summarises their personalities for the audience. Enter Tosher, the delinquent who has his eye on Julie, to whom he addresses an impassioned, sexually frustrated version of  ‘Tired of Waiting for You’. I like the way a couple of Kinks songs have been sympathetically interwoven into the story, thread of a slightly brighter hue, immediate and fresh.

Photo of castlist that may disappear ...

At the Palais, we meet Frankie, our host, part-comic, part-singer, part-band leader, one of those all-round-entertainer types, common to the time. I hesitate to say ‘jack of all trades, master of none’, because the actor has a good voice. He takes the part well; the character connotes ‘variety’ to me, not a good thing, as it conjures up The Royal Variety Performance, something that deserved to go the way of the big bands (indeed I would have kept the big bands) but is still clinging on somehow.

Favourites from the first part include:

Tosher’s band’s rousing rendition of ‘You Really Got Me’, his love song to Julie;

‘The Rhythm of the Dance’, an uplifting ensemble piece;

‘Something Better’, an angst-ridden plea for more as well as a statement of self-belief (dreams once more thwarted by life and Julie’s weak heart);

‘When the Band Begins to Play’ evoking the time and place, the escapism that the Palais and the big bands represented for the workers or would-be workers with nothing to look forward to but a lifetime on the factory floor; some of this hope is ill-founded, the ‘New Towns’ of the fifties not the promised paradise on earth that Rose and Arthur envisaged, Stevenage here standing in for Australia, also disappointing in Ray’s opinion.

In the second act, there are some heart-wrenching ballads, around the Julie/Hamilton dynamic: ‘Wherever You Go’; ‘The World Won't Keep Us Apart’ plus the all-pull-together solidarity of ‘We’ll Meet in Heaven’ but the highlight is Ray singing ‘A Better Thing’ in an effort to rouse Frankie’s conscience, so delicately fervent. Notice that he sings with a slight lisp here, rendering the vocal even more vulnerable. Is this done deliberately?

I never hear the words ‘better thing’ without thinking of that other great chronicler/observer/inventor of English eccentrics and the line in A Tale of Two Cities about the ultimate sacrifice: "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known." Such poetry in prose. But, of course, if this were Dickens, the character would have done the better thing …. In interview excerpts, Ray has implied that Frankie’s interest in Julie is romantic but this isn’t his motivation in this version but I don’t want to spoil it for people who have yet to see it.

Ray has a fascination with certain ideas (variations on a theme), the desire for optimism is one of them; ‘Something Better Beginning’, ‘Better Things’, ‘A Better Thing’, ‘Something Better’, ‘Things Are Getting Better’ and others that don’t use those particular words but express the same emotion: ‘Look a Little on the Sunny Side’, ‘Rock and Roll Fantasy’, ‘Good Day’, etc. They reflect a positivity he strives for against the workings of a naturally pessimistic soul. You always feel that in trying to raise our spirits or his characters’ hopes, he’s trying to raise his own, a sort of cheerful fatalism. He’s really saying that things aren’t going to get better but if we don’t believe they will, we might as well give up.

The concert showcases Ray’s versatility as a writer; the only songs that don’t shine are the r'n'b numbers, although delivered with gusto by Rita (‘Do It’, for instance, seeming raucous and one-dimensional in comparison to the big band numbers, the pop and the ballads, a mere belter) and the Rock 101 of ‘Rock Till You Drop’, the latter unable to hold a candle to ‘You Really Got Me’, but of course it’s meant to represent the beginning of a band and as such is not supposed to equal the perfect pop songs in the Kinks back catalogue which sparkle anew in this setting, with ever-lasting lustre; the sheer exuberance of ‘Tired of Waiting for You’ the jewel in the crown.

It’s actually scary how versatile Ray is and this production is simply one facet of one gem in his crown, or simply a skilfully embroidered sample from Ray’s rich tapestry. Of course he doesn’t work alone and all the cast and musicians play a part – you’d never have guessed they’d only been rehearsing for a few days. I’m sure they could have put on more performances – all that work and professionalism for less than a handful of shows. Such a shame. Perhaps next time a longer run? Or perhaps a concert of the songs from 80 Days?

[There was a girl in costume at the front of the stage, enthusiastically acting out each bit of dialogue as she signed the whole show for the deaf and hard of hearing. Great job.]

Excellent news that the younger sibling, who exists despite Ray’s creative attempts to excise him from their past, is about to release a new album.

Big Star 'Third' at the Barbican + Ray Davies

Bought tickets for this a while ago because we fancied that Mr Ray Davies might grace it and us with his presence. Time went by; names were finalised and Ray wasn’t mentioned. Now I wasn't a huge Big Star fan. I was only aware of ‘Thirteen’, for instance, because Daryll Ann had covered it, and of ‘September Gurls’ via someone my Dad worked with. On recommendation, I listened to a few more tracks on the ubiquitous YouTube and enjoyed them, particularly the ballads, many suffused with a melodic melancholy worthy of the Kinks themselves, a simple eloquence in arrangement and lyric, such as ‘The EMI Song’.  However, I tried to get into Third without much success. Loved ‘Holocaust’, liked ‘Blue Moon’, ‘O Dana’ and ‘Nighttime’, didn’t mind ‘Take Care’ and ‘Jesus Christ’ and, apart from the covers, wasn’t particularly enthused by any of the other tracks. I know this must rankle with longtime aficionados so I apologise. I thought the songs were possibly too slight, too fragile to sustain the weight of an orchestral interpretation, that they would be like sandcastles overwhelmed by the tide or rowboats overcome by the vast power of the ocean. I was wrong.

So we’re sitting in the food hall eating overpriced cakes and sandwiches when Robyn Hitchcock comes in, instantly recognisable by the white hair and colourful shirt. Nice to see they make him buy his own dinner. Naturally don’t bother to speak to him although ‘Heaven’ is one of my favourite songs (hence this gratuitous link) and I would have loved to ask if Ray has been around backstage at all. Then – they have these long tables like a school dining hall – we were descended on by the musicians who would later be playing – so do we acknowledge that we know who they are? Of course not. We pointedly ignore them.

Wander out into the open to avoid being stalked by these annoying famous people and to get away from a curious squat doppelganger gazing at me from the mirror in the Ladies. Am accosted by someone from the Jackie Leven list, also here for Big Star. We join him and his friend for a while before the show begins. Neither has heard anything about Ray coming along and they seem to think it unlikely. Our hopes fade but Ray had hinted that he would be here on Facebook. However, can't see him having the time or inclination to learn any Big Star songs and they wouldn’t suit him anyway so if he sings, it’ll have to be ‘Till the End of the Day’, the song on See My Friends that he and Alex collaborated on – I certainly won't complain as it’s one of my favourites, – I particularly like this version at the beginning of this 1972 concert; Ray is so masterful and yet so camp (complete with breathless pant between words and then a curtsy), holding the audience in the palm of his hand as he promises, rescinds, delivers – it’s brilliant. As for the end of the song – the hair, the screams, Kurt Cobain anyone? Forget what I said in an earlier blog about Ray being a pussycat; by 72, he's found his roar.

I must admit that I hate the idea of See My Friends though. Why would I want to hear anyone other than Dave sing with Ray? Paloma Faith’s version of ‘Lola’ is horrid, no inflection in her tone; Metallica turn the emotion in ‘You Really Got Me’ into rage, reducing it to something far inferior; Mumford and Sons don’t destroy ‘Days’ and ‘This Time Tomorrow’ but neither do they add anything in particular; to me, it’s as if all the songs are being stripped of what made them special. Anyway, I'll hold my tongue for the moment.

The concert starts and is actually pretty good fun. There’s an obvious camaraderie between the musicians and everyone is very appreciative of each other and of the audience although the second track, ‘Kizza Me’ is so raucous, it nearly frightens us away.

The hall is a manageable size and even in Row P, we’re not too far from the action, the only problem being that the conductor blocks the vocalists.

The first half stand-outs are: Mike Mills, ‘Jesus Christ’; Ira Kaplan, ‘O Dana’; Sondre Lerche, ‘Femme Fatale’; Jody Stephens, ‘Blue Moon’; Django Haskins, ‘Holocaust’ (chilling and affecting; you can hear ice in the instrumentation, the little boat must have reached the Arctic); everything the Posies guys do, always had a soft spot for them since they sent me a copy of the lyrics of ‘Grant Hart’ so that I could show them to Grant – he was duly pleased.

There’s an ebb and flow throughout, with each artist bringing something different to the mix.

First half setlist

Nature Boy – John Bramwell

Kizza Me – Mitch Easter

O Dana – Ira Kaplan

For You – Jody Stephens

Nighttime – Alexis Taylor

Jesus Christ – Mike Mills

Big Black Car – Jon Auer

Take Care – Ira Kaplan

Stroke It, Noel – Norman Blake

Femme Fatale – Sondre Lerche

Downs – Robyn Hitchcock

Dream Lover – Sharon Van Etten

Blue Moon – Jody Stephens

Holocaust – Django Haskins

You Can’t Have Me – Sharon Van Etten

Kanga Roo – Brett Harris

Thank You, Friends – Various

The names are simply who sings the lead. My typing’s too slow for me to list all the musicians.

I enjoy the second half better though. This is like a mini Big Star hit parade so we get ‘Thirteen’ – I think I would have felt cheated if they hadn’t played this. Great vocals from Skylar Gudasz. Mike Mills rocks out a rendition of ‘September Gurls’; his voice is perfect for it. Shamefully, many of the songs are new to me

Second half setlist

I’m in Love with a Girl

Thirteen

Give Me Another Chance

I Am the Cosmos

There Was a Light

You and Your Sister

Daisy Glaze

The EMI Song

The Ballad of El Goodo

September Gurls

Apologies if I got any of these titles wrong. Couldn’t take down names of who sung which in the dark. Will accept corrections/additions.

And just when you think that Ray’s cried off, they talk about Big Star rarely doing covers and you know it’s his cue. He’s a miniature tsunami, raising the energy level a notch and sweeping us along with him, upturning the boat. He gets the biggest applause of the night and effortlessly steals the show, smart in a jacket and shirt although his hair looks like he’s been pulled through a hedge backwards. Talks briefly but sincerely about his acquaintance with Alex Chilton and appears eminently affable. People stand for the first time although only we remain on our feet to dance. I thought this picture was particularly topical as we’re about to celebrate the Diamond Jubilee and host the Olympics. Not sure why Gary Barlow (apposite initials) was chosen to organise the concert and not Ray, 'jubilant' as I was when Take That went to number one after having had more than a little 'Patience'. Somehow this return to triumph gave us all a sense of vindication on their behalf after their years languishing in the chip shop wilderness (some selling, some buying) watching Robbie's career perpetually in the ascendant. Did they ever dare think 'Our day will come'? Anyway, there was some validation for the Kinks as one of their songs was mentioned in the Archbishop of Canterbury's address, proof of entry to the pantheon.

With Ray Davies:

Till the End of the Day

The Letter

Showstoppers both.

I don't know how Ray fits so much into his schedule (he really is a workaholic) but I like the fact that he finds time for this. It doesn’t really matter why he chooses to take part, whether to reinforce the respect (and adulation) of his peers, out of a general need for recognition and admiration, out of respect for Alex Chilton and Big Star, out of pure altruism, out of a desire to be perceived as purely altruistic, the all-round good guy next-door. It’s the ‘taking part’ that counts although of course Ray also wins in this instance, always important for him.

Encore

Back of a Car

All in all, a great spirit of togetherness and celebration among the musicians and a heartfelt appreciation of Big Star’s oeuvre, conveyed to the crowd on waves of their own enthusiasm and love, inspiring those of us relatively unfamiliar with the songs to investigate further.

Next stop: Bob Mould, Come Dancing, Citizen Cope.

Dave Davies: Satsang II: April 2012: You Only Live Twice

So we decided to have this once-in-a-lifetime experience twice. Starting to remind me of a title for a James Bond movie.

I’m not going to write a complete blog as I don’t want to repeat what someone else might do or has done. Instead, a few snapshots of the weekend, in words. Plus ruminations on the nature of faith.

‘I'm all about denial/But can't denial let me believe’ (‘Pavlov’s Bell’ – Aimee Mann)

I suppose that’s how I would categorise my feelings for Dave’s credo and in fact, any religious doctrine or spiritual creed. Simply wanting to believe cannot make it so because logic, reason, a natural propensity for scepticism often triumph over need and desire. They’re the Spaniards in the works as Lennon might say. Ok, I’m not the world’s most logical person but I do tend to ask too many questions.

So my beliefs bear more resemblance to superstition than anything else. I pray to St Anthony for lost items and to St Jude for lost causes. For me, faith of any kind is a triumph of will over common sense. Dave is obviously very well read and has done his research but me, I judge by results. If it works, I do it again. (Talking of ‘Do It Again’, have just seen the documentary so a review will follow shortly.) I’m not someone who ponders on whether the tree falling in the forest makes a sound kind of thing. Life’s too short; let’s not go there.

Say you watch a fantasy series, you need to suspend your disbelief in order to accept that vampires exist, that Buffy can kill them, that Sunnydale is the Hellmouth, etc. My attitude reminds me of something my Dad once said, while watching an episode of Smallville (I’ve long since stopped worrying about my Dad’s unerring interest in US teen dramas); one of the teens with meteor powers uses them in a destructive way, so, in order to control this, she’s forced to wear a bracelet made of lead, which prevents her from accessing her powers. My Dad is up in arms over this: ‘Ridiculous! As if a lead bracelet could do that! …’, etc. He’s happy to believe that a meteor shower could give people special abilities, that an alien arrived from the Planet Krypton and is living as a Kansas farmboy before becoming Superman but he draws the line at the efficacy of a lead bracelet. Now, whenever we’re watching something that does invite the suspension of disbelief, and we’re tempted to question an event that seems even more unlikely than the general tenor of the film might dictate, we call it ‘having a lead bracelet moment’ and laugh at ourselves – why is this one thing less credible than the rest? But we all have them, I think, those moments, however spurious, the lines we’re not willing to cross, either out of reason or out of fear, the bridge too far. I’m not sure Dave has them though and that’s what makes his outlook and his conversation so fascinating. It could lead anywhere.

Dave doesn’t discount or disavow other religions, mentioning Christ, Ganesh and Buddha – he’s inclusive and accepting and has cast his net wide in search of enlightenment. So, we’re looking at a patchwork quilt of different philosophies, so that, as well as a buffet lunch, we can partake of a spiritual smorgasbord (always wondered if I’d ever get a chance to use that word), with some options for the more refined palate, or those who have acquired a taste for something relatively rare, and others more easily digestible to the spiritual novice.

It’s the sort of thing I’m perfectly at home with, although I don’t accept that any of it is necessarily true or real; I have a similarly inclusive mentality. Why shouldn’t it be so? Although I’ve never seen an angel, I believe Dave when he says he has. At the risk of sounding facetious, I always wanted a visit from the Blue Fairy.

Perhaps my problem is that I’ve never particularly desired enlightenment. I’m more at ease with confusion. Should the divine be explicable or should it remain a mystery? Transubstantiation, the Trinity (such a beautiful word), reincarnation, all lovely ideas that might fall apart under analysis.

What seems contradictory though is the rejection of the ritual of established Western religions (vicars, communion, incense, kneeling to pray and so forth) and the embracing of concomitant rituals in Eastern faiths, such as gurus, types of breathing, mantras, chanting, meditation, all of which to me are just symptoms of the same kind of mind control. Why should chanting a certain phrase be any more effective than saying a Hail Mary? I’m sure Dave would say it wouldn’t be, that they would both have value.

Maybe I harp on about this because I find being instructed, however gently, when and how to breathe extremely stressful, partly because of my complete inability to comply, and thus, while for others, it is inducing a sense of peace, the perfect prelude to meditation, in me, a state of panic is rising and the very opposite is achieved.

[In the ante-room, there’s a statue, a Buddha or an Indian god, I can't remember, with a bowl of satsumas in front of it. I was just about to nab one before I realised that possibly they were an offering to the deity – I’ve been on a Buddhist retreat so I’m a little wise to this sort of thing – I do see someone else take and eat one later though but I won't tell on them.]

‘Look through any doorway/Tell me what you see’

Who’s to say what’s real, whether the voices people hear are those of spirit guides or demons or aliens or the result of drug-induced psychosis? If the latter, does it make them any less valid? Maybe it’s simply another way of opening the mind, of looking at the world? Perhaps it’s how we react to them that determines our fate, whether we consider them friend or foe. I know many people who have, sometimes as the result of a bad trip, sometimes through stress, developed what used to be diagnosed as schizophrenia. Some have never returned to ‘normality’ (whatever that is – I know the way I live would not fit most people’s definition; as Dave says in Kink, ‘What’s normal, anyway?’), some are fine for a while on medication, then relapse, some just cope with the existence of a certain amount of what could be deemed ‘unreality’. Just watched a documentary on Peter Green; his experience with mescaline is a good example.

Dave copes well without his spiritual helpmeet, Rosina, absent through illness but the schedule suffers a little – I wanted to hear about the UFOs but, for some reason, we never got round to this.

Without the constant rain of last year, we were able to appreciate the location. Although not far removed from town, there was still a sense of remoteness, of cut-off-ness, ideal for a retreat. Plus this time we took the Magic Bus (some of our number having been on the real ‘Magic Bus’ that I had only read about in novels and didn’t imagine had actually existed), so the length of the path we were on felt emphasised as we were driven through picturesque chocolate-box villages on our way out to sea.

‘True Phenomenon’

That connection with Dave, not as pronounced this time, but he certainly felt my breathlessness, as an asthmatic without an inhaler, when I entered the room, asking ‘Are you having trouble breathing?’ I was suffering from a sense of disquiet too that I hoped I hadn’t communicated to him (or that he hadn’t communicated to me) as a friend thought he seemed more relaxed than last year. I thought he was pretty relaxed last year.

I was more in awe than last time, perhaps because then I had only liked the Kinks for two months and had had only a little time to absorb the huge amount of material they had produced over their thirty-year career, not to mention all the solo stuff. I knew they were amazing but hadn’t really absorbed the scale of their talent.

Highlights of the gigs: Dave on acoustic ‘Are You Ready, Girl?’, ‘Fortis Green’ a stormer both nights, ‘Milk Cow Blues’ a rousing finale, the new songs, ‘Green Amp’ and ‘Remember the Future’, which he did when requested. Dave, ever obliging, sang, when asked ‘Visionary Dreamer’, with a member of the audience and delivered ‘Dead-End Street’ almost word-perfect although it had not been rehearsed. Surprised by how much I enjoyed ‘Hare Krishna’, even the singing along and ‘Creeping Jean’ which used to frighten me. Loved dancing to ‘Sea of Heartbreak’. I had requested ‘Imagination’s Real’; they had rehearsed it; but Dave didn’t seem to want to play it so I said I didn’t mind if they didn’t. Listening to it now and it’s so darn pretty, I wish they had played it.

As Molly, our lovely yoga teacher, was about to leave, there were calls for ‘Good Golly Miss Molly’. Thank God Dave had the presence of mind not to comply; the lyrics would have been a little inappropriate ‘Good golly, Miss Molly, Sure likes to ball’ for this remarkably prescient young lady.

Band personnel (as last time but minus Kristi – we missed you): Jonathan Lea, David Nolte, Frank Rawle. And Dave of course!

People: There were fewer of us (due to some last-minute cancellations) so it was great to see some familiar faces and get better acquainted as well as meet some new recruits. Last year, there were some people I only spoke to on the last day and wished there’d been more time. With fewer people, it was easier to get to know each other. Although the instant sense of camaraderie wasn’t there – that first time was different probably because it was the first time – they were all lovely, like- and open-minded folk.

The artwork: I did manage to add something to it this time; last time I never got round to it and thought any addition I made could only detract from the general effect. So I went with words instead of images. As Jackie (Leven) was very much on my mind, I used an album title of his. Luckily, writing with a paintbrush looks sort of artistic.

Mementoes: There was a raffle and I got a copy of The Aschere Project: Two Worlds, which is probably ‘prog’ enough for my Dad to like. I’ll have to lend it to him. Interesting and actually much more listenable than I expected. (Actually two days since I wrote this, I woke up singing the title track - it's a grower.)

Also managed to scalp a setlist that the band was kind enough to autograph and received another special memento, courtesy of Jonathan (it’s nothing inappropriate).

‘There were times when there was absolute compassion in the air’

(Sorry to quote Ray here but he does have a way with words)

For all of us there, I can only say follow Dave’s advice and ‘Trust your heart’. Surely any issue or disagreement can be resolved if we simply allow love, compassion and respect to prevail.

In the back of a record rack/There's an old double pack/Twelve inches and black/With an old crumpled cover/But every track is stacked

On our last night, members of the group said they were going to reconvene at the Anchor in the evening and gave us very specific directions to reach it. We passed these onto the rest of the party. Left Dave’s house and tried to find the pub. Came across another one, the Crown, but had somehow missed the Anchor, I thought because we’d been talking, and walked past it. I was dispatched into the pub to ask. The natives were friendly and happy to engage with me on the subject of the mysterious Anchor although they listed all the pubs in town (which I already knew) and could only surmise that we were expected to go to a nearby town (we’ll call it ‘Mordor’) where there was a Blue Anchor. Mordor was a long way away, down a very steep hill. I said ‘I’m not going to **** ing Mordor!’ Then my sister came in, and noticed people waving at us from the back of the room, the people who’d told us to come to the Anchor. Even now, they had no idea this was the Crown. Girls! Anyway, then I went back to the bar and asked the regulars to pretend this was the Anchor if anyone else asked. Sure enough, another group arrives, puzzled too that here’s a pub at the exact location but it’s not the right pub. So they ask a man smoking outside – ‘Do you know where the Anchor is?’ and he replies, ‘Apparently, it’s here tonight’. It was a lovely pub though, with a turntable and we could choose our own music from a box of records on the table, so we started off with a Kinks greatest hits, so inevitably there was dancing; the backroom looked like a record library. What an amazing collection. Plus they stayed open till 1 a.m., still serving one of us. How welcoming.

So the tale of how we renamed Dave’s local for one night will make us legends in our own lunch hour.

Picture is of the sunrise after a

Sunrise from the hotel

‘Sleepless Night’

Had a strange experience in bed that last night. I take a lot of medication to help me sleep but suddenly I found myself thrown off the bed so violently that I bit through my lip, causing it to bleed and swell up. I’ve never fallen out of bed in my life before and this was a double bed, much bigger than mine. Now, if I’d bitten my tongue, I could have taken it as a sign … . Annoyingly, we were going to meet someone we work with the next day, for the very first time, so he’s going to think I’m a bit of a bruiser, like the young Dave, picking fights in bars. I did notice that everyone was very friendly to me on the train home, no doubt anxiously wondering what the other guy looked like.

Anyway, it was great fun but it feels weird to blog about it because it’s a little like going to stay with friends then writing a report afterwards ... what they said, what you ate and so on ...

Booked tickets to see Ray now but can't imagine it could compare to being a foot away from Dave when he’s performing. If only Ray were playing some more intimate venues. Looking forward to it though.

Adventures in Levenland: Celebrating Jackie Leven

A report on our Easter escapades in Levenland, which probably won't help to demystify any of the list correspondence from that time, but wouldn’t we all rather be mystified than demystified anyway?

After our experience with Dave Davies last year, this seemed like a cinch – no pre-payment, a fraction of the price, no terms and conditions, no cloak and dagger, just a ‘let me know when you intend to get there’. Mind you, Jackie never really played the star card and only occasionally the hero one.

What worried us was that all these people knew each other and had been congregating as/at the Church of Leven for nearly ten years. We were the strangers on the square. Although a very welcoming group, they were very different to us; we must have seemed like we were from the Stone Age, having only succumbed to a mobile phone last year, and that because a friend bought one for us. It’s not an iPhone or a smartphone or anything like that. We can text, take pictures, but rarely give out the number so hardly ever get any calls. Every time someone calls, there’s some confusion over how to answer it, usually resulting in the caller getting cut off. As for laptops, tablets, iPads, don’t go there. We’re from a long line of Luddites, deeply entrenched in the ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ school. We still have vinyl, for God’s sake.

Phil said the cabin might need to be spruced up a bit (note woodland reference).

But soon we had it looking like this.

The location was lovely and the cabins were triangular (A-frame we were reliably informed) although there was no triangular honey from triangular bees. We were warned that a dangerous cupcake- crème egg-eating ogre was en route, the indomitable Emjay. The men took refuge behind a forest of laptops. The ladies were braver and offered tea and biscuits. We eschewed the forest and wandered out into the ancient woodland. What an idyllic setting – bluebells, the river, birdsong.

Weirdly nearly everyone there (with a couple of exceptions) had only started liking Jackie around the early 2000s, at exactly the time we stopped going to gigs for some reason or other, and none were Doll by Doll fans. Felt a little guilty that we hadn’t seen Jackie live for so long. Our loss of course.

Good Friday

A singer-songwriter called Jinder (don’t ask, we did, and forty minutes later …) was kind enough to visit in the afternoon and sing us a song he’d written for Jackie, so far entitled ‘A Song for Jackie Leven’, part-tribute, part-manifesto. Very moving; some of us cried. ‘In the meantime, I’ll work hard to see, that you weren’t the last of a dying breed.’ Bless you.

A trip to Portsmouth to see him play a full gig in the evening followed. We enjoyed the other acts too – Piefinger tried hard to engage with an audience whose main concern was to shout loud enough to drown them out – they were Jayhawksy, pretty harmonies and a ukulele. Bemis were met with an extreme lack of interest by the rest of the Levenites (despite their partiality to one of our number, he knows who I’m talking about), who interacted via phones with the list and each other throughout their set (hmm – wouldn’t have got away with this if it had been Lee Griffiths – you’d definitely have got ‘the stare’) but I actually really enjoyed them. Great spirit and camaraderie when they took the stage and their enthusiasm was infectious. Plus their harmonies were lovely. I liked their own material as well as the covers. And I never thought I’d be in a pub in Portsmouth, dancing to ‘The Stray Cat Strut’! Not in 2012 at any rate.

Easter Saturday
Walked to Botley (recently featured on ‘Countryfile’, a UK TV show, as the perfect village, according to William Cobbett), where Jackie lived. Not sure how long it usually takes Phil but with a group, it was a two-hour trek, partly owing to the cross-examination he received on the John LeBourne Incident – a tragic tale in which a poor upstanding family man is vilified and slandered although all the evidence against him is purely circumstantial. Phil has been reading the Botley Parish Register and informs us that people used to die in entertaining ways. Wonder if they thought, God, so and so’s death was so dull, I must make mine more entertaining. The more intrepid of the party climbed trees. Our leader was on hand to identify every flower: from wood anemone, butcher’s broom, dog violet ‘to the humble forget-me-not’ (‘Standing in Another Man’s Rain’).

Met up with some late arrivals at the Deep Pool, yes that Deep Pool and at the Leven local, the Brewery Bar, including Adrienne and Hollie, surely the best-behaved dog in the universe. During the meal, Deborah, Jackie’s partner, arrived, with her new dog, Treacle, and she was gracious enough to supply a carrier bag of items for a Lucky Dip. I was fortunate enough to get some of Jackie’s guitar strings, which I will treasure; wore them as a bracelet to the Dave Davies weekend the week after. Other people got Doll by Doll or Remember badges. She also let us leaf through some of the great man’s notebooks: fascinating stuff, with shopping lists intermingled with poetry and commentary on life. I was very touched because his handwriting is so familiar to me as he sent me a lot of faxes in the days before he had email. Somewhere, an inveterate hoarder, I still have them all, on yellow fax paper. Such a distinctive hand and such exciting times.

Repaired to the centre to eat, watch Leven videos, and then (the) Lee Griffiths played a set, including a cover of ‘Wish You Were Here’ (mention that for my Dad) and ‘Meet Me Halfway’; I remember when he first played the latter at a Castaway party. Great stuff. Ambience had been supplied, with tables of candles either side of him and, after I’d fetched my Parka, I was fine but everyone else was freezing so we adjourned to the largest cabin. Lee is a revelation to me – what a lovely guy, what great stories.

During the course of the evening, Phil’s dark secret is revealed. He used to be in a band, The Dead Trout. With that name, you can tell they didn’t covet success. And they got their wish. But, undeterred, the more curious among us, and let’s face it, the more masochistic, discover that we can still subject ourselves and our enemies to the joy of their music, if we really try.

Easter Sunday

Today we walk in Jackie’s footsteps, encountering the sights he’s described in various Deep Pool pieces – the white horse – it breaks my heart to leave this friendly animal alone, especially as it follows us to the far reach of its lonely field, the abandoned train engine, the graffitied tunnel, the ‘rickety bench’ (so shaky that only Lyn dares sit on it), the Romany encampment.

Jackie wrote:

‘To the right, nearly wholly hidden in creeper and silver birch saplings, is a beautiful old bright blue and yellow steam train engine,still with wheels and everything. I first saw this, and maybe wrote about it then, on a fine winter’s morning with the lightest of snow covering on it. It’s completely magical – the engine has such presence: I’d love to find someone who could tell me how it got there – it doesn’t look like it will be going anywhere else in a hurry. No matter how banal the story of how it came to be there was,there would be a moment of absolute magic in the telling, of this I am sure.’

The more adventurous of our expedition set forth to investigate and brought back photographic evidence.

Yes. The steam engine turns out to be of the Thomas the Tank variety.

A compellingly powerful illustration of how we make our own myths.

Soon we are overtaken by the Gary Numan Crash Team Investigators (identified by Phil’s sighting of a Tubeway Army badge or could he be pulling our legs?), our progress being more peripatetic and desultory than theirs. But do they climb the forbidden bridges? Do they heck? Or did they? No way of knowing as they left us for dust ages before. Gratuitous Tubeway Army link for my sister-in-law.

Yes, Phil leads us across bridges clearly barricaded as unsafe. Undeterred, we follow. He knows best.

Later, Lyn comes down to the main cabin, with a robin standing in her hands. This bird sat outside the window, and didn’t move when she approached and spoke to it. When she put her hands down behind it, it hopped onto her palms, and doesn’t seem to want to leave. We worry that the bird is injured in some way although it looks fine. Decide to put it back on the grass by the cabin, to see if it can fly. On our way back up, it takes off. Just dropped in for the photo opportunity. I like to think it was Jackie’s spirit that came by to tell us he was ok and no longer constrained by any physical impediment, now free to come and go at will. The more prosaic say it had flown into the window and was stunned – but why get on someone’s hand? Whatever, it was a pretty special encounter. I’m on the side of magic and poetry. Honestly, can't you hard men believe in fairytales?

Along the trail, I learned that it’s protocol (whenever I use that word I feel like I’m in a Bond movie) not to use your real names on the list and am asked to choose something. Opt for Wyrd Syster(s). Now I’ve just got to start using it.

Thanks to: All the people who provided plentiful food on a tight budget and introduced us to Manchester tart, to Phil who organised everything brilliantly, kept us on track as well as leading us down the garden path a few times. It was great to meet everybody. Emjay wasn't frightening at all.

Photos of the miraculous robin and Thomas: Lord Oates, Captain of the QEII.

Next stop: Exmoor and random ramblings on Satsang II. For more on this, see bashful.

Other Leven blogs can be found at The King of Love Has Died,  Exit Wound and I Never Saw the Movie and Jackie Leven'.

Village Green Preservation Society – The Kinks

This purports to be an analysis of concert footage from London in 1973, specifically of the song ‘Village Green Preservation Society’, but diverts from its purpose many a time.

This video is a virtual microcosm of the Kinks’ career and Dave’s trajectory within it. A foretaste of what was to come. It’s a falling line on a graph: from singing lead vocal on much of the Kinks early output, albeit B-sides or album tracks, some self-penned, some by Ray and many of the covers (‘I Wonder Where My Baby Is Tonight’, ‘Got My Feet on the Ground’, ‘I’m Not Like Everybody Else’) to joint lead on some songs (early, ‘Milk Cow Blues’, 'I Don't Need You Any More', slightly later, ‘Juke Box Music’, at least live), to backing singer (‘Life on the Road’, ‘Slum Kids’, ‘The Informer’). Later, and you imagine it’s in the manner of a papal dispensation, he’s granted a temporary recall from banishment and brought in from the cold to sing a song or two live (with some kind of entente cordiale in the early 80s when he gets to sing three: ‘Come On Now’, ‘Living on a Thin Line’ and ‘Bernadette’) unless a song proves very popular like ‘I’m Not Like Everybody Else’, in which case Ray resumes lead, even though he wrote this song for Dave’s voice, as he did ‘Sleepless Night’. (For more on this, please see 'bashfulbadgersblog'.) Sometimes he’s allowed to sing ‘Too Much on My Mind’ but they never seem to play ‘Strangers’, ‘Mindless Child of Motherhood’ or ‘This Man He Weeps Tonight’. At least, if they ever did, they’re not on YouTube, which is I’m afraid my only point of reference since I never saw them live. If only.

[In fact, ‘Milk Cow Blues’ proves an exception to the rule, with Dave originally singing a verse then passing the lead to Ray as in the 1965 version above - Dave’s like a wild animal, a tiger (in fact, in 'My Way', he sings 'I was born a tiger'), there’s often something uncontrolled about him, in his guitar playing and his singing – you’ll never hear him play/sing a song exactly the same way – it’s all fluid and flexible and when he gives, he gives it all, totally instinctual, the lyrics are mutable; at this stage, Ray’s more like a pussycat, riled enough to reveal his claws and rhythmically thump his tail but back to refuting my own point, in this 1966 performance, Dave starts the song, Ray takes over lead vocal then it reverts to Dave at the end and it’s as if they’re competing with each other as to who can hold the notes longer and deliver them with the most passion.]

While I’m on Dave’s backing vocals – well I was on them till I went off-track – I have to eulogise them a little. Their voices are so distinctive and they blend so well; Dave’s higher-pitched tone an emotional echo (it is an echo as it’s often just slightly behind Ray’s lead as people have commented on the Ray Davies Forum but it works like this and I’m sure is deliberate) and counterpoint to Ray’s voice of reason. Listen to ‘Scattered’, ‘Life on the Road’, ‘Slum Kids’, ‘Picture Book’, 'Jukebox Music', ‘Mr Pleasant’. I said in one of my first blogs, how live, Ray quite often acknowledges the advent of Dave’s distinctive backing vocal with a smile of recognition, sometimes combined with a sexy hairtoss, no doubt realising that this is a pretty irresistible combination, the incorrigible flirt. [It reminds me of a Bratpack movie, where a girl could flick her hair and smile and it was wryly considered a great accomplishment. Might have been About Last Night.

Googled it and it was (how’s that for my memory of total trivia?), found this:
Joan Her big move should be coming up any moment. The combination hair flip with a giggle.
Debbie There is a 3.2 level of difficulty here, Joan. Let's see if she can pull it off.
Joan This is it... this is it... Oh Yes!
Debbie Oh Yes! Yes! Oh Bravo! Bravo! 9.0!]

Don’t get me wrong. I love Ray’s voice and appreciate the way he can turn on a dime, from playful and affected to impassioned. To see him perform ‘Yo Yo’ (1982, Essen), with such total and more-than-adrenalin-fuelled commitment, is astonishing. He’s completely mesmerising. He gives everything. And so does Dave on guitar, so powerful; they match each other’s intensity. I love it when Ray reaches the top end of his range in ‘Million Pound Semi-Detached’ – it’s really touching. The choices he makes musically are always spot on. It’s not so much that he can do something as when he decides to do it, sometimes on the most unromantic word, like ‘semi’. ‘The Real World’ is a beautifully put-together song, in which Ray’s vocal wrenches your soul. Listen to the last verse/chorus ‘So head off in the car and follow the stars’ – it’s heart-breaking, the first half of the line plain-speaking, the second imbued with that wistfulness that only Ray can impart, in lyric, voice and melody (his signature move, level of difficulty: irrelevant to him because it comes so naturally). When he writes about Dave, and I don't think I’m reaching here (‘So you headed down south, left your old home town, … relocated so far away from the real world’ – it doesn’t take a detective to work this out although I admit that it could just as easily be about an ex-girlfriend), there’s always a special intimacy plus a real evocation of loss and regret. You can hear the love in his voice even if he’s unable to express it when they meet. I don’t think Dave needs to worry that Ray sometimes minimises his contribution (after all, what better way to wind him up?), because it’s obvious that he’s always in his thoughts. And I’d venture much more so than the other way around.

Anyway, I digress: Ray is sweaty and preternaturally pale and extraordinarily beautiful in this particular incarnation. Dave is slight (and perhaps used to being slighted), almost physically diminished somehow, insubstantial, an effect of his stance and position; as if he’s trying to disappear altogether. He looks like his body is there but his mind somewhere else. His eyes are glazed. They look without seeing, in complete contrast to this early ‘Waterloo Sunset’, in which he’s so alert to the camera’s every move, so intent on being noticed, forever making eye contact with the lens.

So, let’s (over-)analyse:
Ray is in shot as he shyly and somewhat disingenuously introduces the song. Camera zooms out from Mick to a wide shot of the band.
Both Ray and Dave are shown, in the forefront of a wide shot, side by side, almost equal partners.
Then a two-shot, both in view, with Ray in focus in the foreground, Dave out of focus behind him.
Throughout the performance, the cameraman pulls focus now and then, rendering one clear, the other blurry, neck and neck, as it were. There are glorious stereo hair tosses as they synchronously approach the mikes to sing. Usually Ray is in focus and pre-eminent, with Dave out of focus; he seems to be first a shadow, a smaller image of his brother (because of perspective), then in his brother’s shadow. This is the most recurrent shot (this technique is also evident in this live version of ‘Juke Box Music’ although the emphasis on Ray is less pronounced). And possibly the story of Dave’s life; also used in this video of ‘Days’, with Ray mostly clear and Dave mainly blurred although it switches occasionally.
Dave medium close-up right, remembering the words.
Ray extreme close-up right – don’t need to say whether he knows the words or not – if he didn’t, there would be no song; he can't rely on Dave.
Back to the usual two-shot, with Ray clear in the foreground, Dave less distinct behind him.
Then they are shown separately, from different sides, superimposed on the background of the whole band, face to face, as it were, with Dave visible in the background and foreground, forgetting the words (well, there are so many!) and, in the background shot, looking somewhat dazed, perhaps by the onslaught of lyrical verbiage.
A technique much beloved of the BBC at the time is common here, where a dissolve is unresolved so that you can see through the subject in the foreground to the shot behind. Very noticeable in much ‘TOTP’ footage of the Kinks. See the aforementioned ‘Waterloo Sunset’, for instance. A contrariness in me always wants to see the person in the background.
The camera pans down from the right to show most of the band one by one.
Ray alone in medium shot, from front. Can hear Dave in background – it’s not fair – he knows this bit!
Shot of horn section.
Two-shot again, Ray in front, with Dave and John Dalton part of the indistinct background.
Camera swerves to show Ray from right.
Camera ranges to show most of the band.
Back to the recurring shot. Both again, in a two-shot and both in focus.
Switch to the facing images again but this time they’re both Ray, one medium close-up left and an extreme close-up right and only part of Dave is accidentally visible; he’s lost in some dark, out-of-focus (as out of focus as his eyes) hinterland, an in-between world, another dimension, between the two in-focus shots of Ray before disappearing altogether. This scenario is the one that seems to have most often proliferated in live footage of the Kinks ever since, with sometimes almost whole concerts in which the only parts of Dave you’re likely to catch sight of are his hands on the guitar, during a guitar solo – that’s if they’re not showing Ray’s by mistake.
Dave alone right.
Camera pans to two-shot again, this time with Dave in focus, everything but his eyes at least (and that’s no fault of the cameraman). A final reprieve.
Back to the horns again, with the shot gradually widening to encompass Mick then the rest of band.

After
Dave smiles shyly, timidly, at Ray, with something of a beaten dog still anxious to please an unpredictable and volatile master.

Ray graciously and flamboyantly receives the audience applause with a grandiose flourish.

Dave isn’t zoned out for the whole concert. He invests all his energy and enthusiasm in ‘Good Golly Miss Molly’, very obviously enjoying himself (and when you see him like that, how could you deny him the opportunity, the unadulterated joy, also apparent in his failure to hide his smile of anticipation before he sings the beginning of ‘Juke Box Music’); in fact, the whole band looks more relaxed, apart from Ray, whose engagement seems jittery and nervous in comparison and whose backing vocals sound a little strained and frantic. During Dave’s guitar break, they show Ray on the mouth organ, which you can't hear in the mix.

Poor John Gosling is so far over to the left that the camera can hardly ever include him. He can occasionally be spotted in the background of other shots. But at least he isn’t made to appear in some costume or other, those wicked boys.

Obviously, it’s natural for the lead vocalist (especially when he’s also the songwriter) to take centre stage in performance so this analysis is in a sense, a little facetious. But I had fun.

Intended to do a blog on the recent Satsang event at Dave’s house but I know someone else who’s writing one so don’t want to duplicate that. More later but suffice to say 'Milk Cow Blues' is still a showstopper.

First, I'll report on a weekend in the perfect village, according to William Cobbett, where the Church of Leven gathered for Easter.

Who Should Play Ray and Dave Davies in the Kinks Movie?

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boys

20 March 2014 Update
In view of the latest developments on the Kinks film, i.e. none, I've revised this blog to make a few more suggestions. Feel free to comment.

Being driven to distraction by the people put forward on the Ray Davies Forum as possible candidates. I want to stick my oar in but have no idea how to upload pictures to a message so I have to do it via a quick blog.

No no no! Not Matt Smith. Have you all lost your minds? He can't be Ray. He’s not nearly attractive enough. Nor is Ben Whishaw. It’s not enough to bear a slight resemblance from a certain angle if you crop half his face off. He has to be beautiful.

It’s immediately apparent that we all see Ray and Dave differently. We can only be subjective. With that in mind, here I go.

Ben Barnes

Ben Barnes is a possibility and he looks great with long hair. He's played Prince Caspian and Dorian Gray. Swashbuckling or effete, he can do it.

Or how about Hans Matheson? Great actor, plays guitar and has already accomplished the pseudo-Cockney thing Ray has going many a time. His performance in Dr Zhivago should have propelled him to stardom instead of the wooden Keira Knightley. And he has Ray's generous mouth.

Cillian Murphy

Cillian Murphy has already sung ‘You Really Got Me’ in Disco Pigs. Also a musician and an actor. Perhaps he’s too extraordinary looking though, with those cheekbones and eyes. For Dave maybe? We’d have to tone him down and rough him up a bit (Cillian not Dave). But I think he could do that insouciant innocence Dave somehow retained while he was a rampant teenage sex god. And he could definitely achieve the femininity of the ‘Sitting in the Midday Sun’ Dave. See Breakfast in Pluto for proof.

Ray and Dave

Of course it’s going to be an impossible task to find anyone who could express their myriad qualities and different looks in a movie. You can't go with someone who, from a specific angle, bears a slight resemblance because they have to be as physically captivating as the brothers were. There has to be androgyny, ripeness (but not over-ripeness which would be the problem with Michael Pitt), a certain delicacy and amazing smiles, not forgetting the very uneven British teeth. The actors would need to have something comparable (rather than having any particular feature in common) that allowed the overall impression to be strikingly appealing in order to convey the indefinable, irresistibly attractive nature of Ray and Dave.

Sweet Ray

Perhaps the 70s hair can be achieved by a certain (un)styling – though I’ve never been able to get anywhere near it myself.

Not to mention that it might be useful if they could sing and play instruments …

But have any of you seen the aforementioned ‘Sitting in the Midday Sun’ video? Perhaps looking at actors is the wrong way to go. How about some girls?

Mind you, I’m a little worried that this creative team will produce something dated and irrelevant: unimpressed by the ancient sitcom writers, none of whose work has really entertained or amused me, and Julien Temple, who seems rather a one-trick pony (just my opinion) although I don’t mind the ‘Come Dancing’ video. I know the Davies have a track history with him and it might be ‘better the devil you know’ although I’m loath to quote Kylie at this point. Perhaps they’ll prove me wrong. I hope so. But I really don’t want the Kinks story to be reduced to a comedy of hackneyed one liners. It has to be so much more than that because it was.

Gratuitous pic of Dave and Ray, looking pretty

I’m not sure whether Ray’s judgement can be trusted on these matters, given the almost uniformly abysmal videos the Kinks turned out in the latter part of their career. You know the ones I mean, with the repetition of clichéd tropes (images within images, the person stepping into the movie frame, the photo coming to life, the band on the TV in the living room, the camera passing through the window of a house into another time, and so on) and the obligatory unattainable (or now lost) wispy, ethereal girl wafting in and out of time and shot, for example, 'Lost and Found', 'Down All the Days' and 'To the Bone'. The sweet 60s promos were far preferable, charming and straightforward – ‘I know! We’ll show them sitting on a bench. In the park!’ ('Starstruck', now no longer available on YouTube, such a shame) or ‘I know! We’ll show them walking. In the park! But it’s called ‘Apeman’ so one can be costumed as a gorilla!’ or ‘I know! We’ll have them playing their instruments. In the park!’ ('Sunny Afternoon') Brilliant.

Vincent Kartheiser

Some extra ideas. Let's not reject Vincent Kartheiser, here looking suitably androgynous (and rather elfin so maybe Dave?) as Connor in Angel and he can effortessly achieve sulky (surely much called for in the endless battle between the brothers?) or Jared Leto (always loved him in My So-called Life as the unattainable, cool-without-trying Jordan Catalano but should have got him before the Oscar but hey, it's a wishlist) who also sings/plays in a band (30 Seconds to Mars). Here's a link to their song, Hurricane.

Jared Leto as Jordan Catalano

And a couple of suggestions from leftfield or from out of the ballpark and down the street a way (I may be mixing American game metaphors here). How about Christian Kane? He sings, plays guitar, acts, has long hair and is cute. Here’s a clip of Sever from the Jazz Café last year. Of course he’s Texan and sings country but Muswell Hillbillies, anyone? The accent might be a problem. He loves to fight so could suit either of the Davies boys. Ok I admit it's just an excuse for me to put this picture of him in my blog.

Christian Kane - positively beatific

And, one from outer space (he does look a bit like an alien): Benedict Cumberbatch. Ok, he doesn’t bear any resemblance to the Davies brothers being pretty striking rather than strikingly pretty and he looks better if part of his face is covered up for some reason – it doesn’t matter which part. Check out Google Images and you’ll see I’m right. But if we knocked the hat about a bit, he could fit into the promo for Dead End Street.

Of the cast, Julien Temple says: ‘I think you would want to have the music played by the actors ... that is believable and real while miming is problematic’ so that leads us back to Hans, Cillian, maybe Jared or Christian.

Benedict Cumberbatch - Dead End Street?

Anyway I’ve stuck my oar in and now I’m going to paddle my boat hastily away before someone scuppers me.