Tuesday 22nd July 2025
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Review: Florence Foster Jenkins

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FOUR STARS

“Music is my life,” declares Florence Foster Jenkins in the latest biopic from director Stephen Frears (The Queen, Philomena). Meryl Streep plays the eponymous New York socialite, a big name on the musical scene in 1940s Manhattan. Along with her husband and manager St. Clair Bayfield (Hugh Grant) she presents tableaux-vivants from famous musical scenes for her devoted and mainly octogenarian audience, but singing is her private passion. So much so that she takes it upon herself to have lessons and eventually give a gala performance at Carnegie Hall.

The problem is she can’t sing. Really can’t sing. There are lots of scenes which showcase her truly terrible vocals. It takes real skill to sing badly as convincingly as Streep manages. I did wonder whether perhaps the dearth of Florence’s vocal aptitude had been exaggerated for comedic effect. But no, it turns out there are recordings knocking around which are the real deal and she really was that ear-offending. Streep’s performance is in fact an uncanny impression of the lack of skill for tone, pitch, pronunciation and general talent that Florence possessed. In a refreshing twist the trailer gives very little away in terms of singing, making its effect a dreadfully delicious surprise – it really must be heard to be believed.

The film itself treats the Florence with love. Despite the ‘scoffers’ (a much better word than the modern equivalent: haters) of the New York scene we, along with her devoted – but possibly deaf – fans, are willing her to succeed. And there are some truly poignant moments, too. When one of her detractors gets through, we see the chinks in her armour. Her devoted husband (‘Whitey’ to her) shields her from the arrows of society, and especially from the music critic at the New York Post.

The two leads give fantastic performances, Streep once more confirming her chameleonic ability to play any part with panache. Grant gives a tender, intricate performance, with more depth than the posh, floppy-haired role he’s often typecast in. This is particularly impressive considering he is still playing a posh stereotype, it’s different. He’s in a happy marriage, he’s settled down. Grant’s latest incarnation offers a distinct maturity.

A surprising stand-out  performance comes from Simon Helberg, ‘Wolowitz’ from The Big Bang Theory. He breaks free of the geek we know him as.  Working as Florence’s accompanist, he plays Cosme McMoon – another of the film’s many amazing names. Full of camp nervous energy, he’s our eyes into the bizarre world of Florence’s world. His disbelief is ours too.

The titular character’s lack of singing talent shouldn’t put you off. The film is stacked with great music – operatic, classical and contemporary. We’re also treated to some fantastic dancing from Hugh Grant in one memorable scene. It paints a beautiful picture of 1940s New York. Despite being filmed in Liverpool, we’re placed right there and then amongst the smoke and yellow cabs.

The wandering narrative did feel a little listless at times. The side-plots of St. Clair and Cosme are never engaging, and only detract from Florence’s story. But this is a minor quibble to an otherwise laugh-out-loud film. As Grant points out to Florence, ‘Ours is a happy world’. In an age of cinema doom and gloom, with horror and disaster movies increasingly the norm, Florence Foster Jenkins will leave you feeling warm inside.

Live review: Pete Doherty

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Eudaimonia, the title of Peter Doherty’s new solo album, is a Greek word describing the contented state of being happy, healthy and prosperous. His performance at the Bristol O2 Academy on Wednesday last week, the first night of his 2016 UK solo tour, proved this to be a well-chosen title.

Expecting an intimate and relaxed solo set, as he had previously performed his solo material, you can imagine my surprise and excited anticipation when he casually sauntered on stage in classic Doherty style accompanied by a five-piece backing band: an accordionist, a Russian keyboardist with bright, bubble gum pink hair, the exceptionally talented Miki Beavis on the violin, Drew McConnell of Babyshambles on Bass and a new drummer. They played eight new songs during the performance, and the set-up really gave his music a very different vibe. It was clear that whilst writing this new album he’d been experimenting with different genres. For example, one song almost sounded like a Country and Western hoedown. In others, the very talented accordionist’s playing introduced a Ska feel to the music.

From Doherty’s electric energy and stage presence you could tell he was really proud of these new songs and was enjoying performing them. It was really good to see him enjoying himself on stage and giving such a positive performance after a few difficult years battling addiction. After opening with two fast-paced and raucous new tracks, the unmistakable violin melody announced ‘Last of the English Roses’, arguably Peter’s most popular solo track, which proved to be a real crowd pleaser as the whole venue sang the words back to him. The night was no doubt unforgettable for one man, who was invited up on stage by Doherty for ‘Albion’, after the singer noticed him wearing the same iconic red British military jacket infamously worn by The Libertines. They closed with ‘Time for Heroes’, the hectic and frenzied Libertines hit, written by Doherty after experiencing the carnage of the London May Day riots in 2000. Eudaimonia, set for release later this year, is not one to miss for any Peter Doherty fans.

The Stone Roses’ Third Coming

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The Stone Roses’ new track ‘All For One’ must have been one of the most awaited-for releases of the year for indie fanboys everywhere; and so its appearance on Thursday evening was greeted with something akin to mania. Yet our editors were torn…

Richard: I don’t know, the riff was kinda catchy – I guess. Slightly more overdriven than classic Roses, it made it seem slightly more generic. It sounds like many, many other shoegaze songs, maybe early Blur (I’m thinking ‘She’s So High’) or any song by Ride. What made this worse, however, was the melodic obviousness of the track. It took the three minutes of listening to it to guess the chords; which is not so much a reflection on my ability, as the simplicity of the track. Kinda like it though. It is sort of irresistibly catchy, even if singing the lyrics must be done either ironically or with more than a hint of shame. Plus what once came across as a swaggering snarl now seems more like a catatonic drawl. Bring back the Roses of ‘89, please.

Daniel: It’s just so trite. I mean, lyrically it’s appalling. We’ve gone from legitimate poetry on their self-titled debut to this: “All for one, one for all / If we all join hands we’ll build a wall”. This single screams of its own lack of creativity, its own boredom. The Stone Roses’ relative lack of financial success at the height of their powers has oft justified their comeback, but for money, they’ve created a single which is essentially artistically bankrupt. Not only has Ian Brown seemingly lost all poetic sensibility, but the drive of the song, while hardly horrific, echoes the very worst excesses of Be Here Now era Oasis: overblown, soulless and cynical. I actually do like the riff, predictable as it is, but I am bitterly, bitterly disappointed. If this is the Third Coming, it wasn’t worth the wait

Brexit at the Blavatnik: debate review

On May 3, at the Blavatnik School of Government, the public debate ‘Britain IN or OUT of Europe?’ saw a panel discussion on the possibility of Brexit. Duelling on diverse issues such as economics, political power, and international diplomacy, the panel transcended political allegiances and reflected the schism within British society over the prospect of Britain leaving the EU. The many interruptions and rebuttals underlined the conviction and commitment of the factions to their respective causes.

So far, the greatest factor inhibiting Brexit appears to be the economic ramifications that the mere prospect of leaving the common market would cause. Even those leading the charge of the ‘OUT’ faction (Nigel Farage chief amongst them) have been conceding that, in the short run at least, Britain would suffer dearly. But this wasn’t the case in Tuesday’s debate. Adopting the eyebrow-raising ‘We can’t really know what will happen, we might be fine’ approach, Roger Bootle, Daily Telegraph columnist and economist, attempted to reverse the tide of popular opinion on the matter.

These attitudes towards these implications don’t help the Brexiters’ case either. A ‘could’ simply isn’t enough when speculating on major developments on trade agreements, the City’s financial prominence, or the future of the pound. It can’t be denied that there are numerous valid reasons for Brexit, but to make an economic argument in favour of it appears a disingenuous and desperate attempt, hurting the movement rather than aiding the cause.

But a lot of this could be overlooked in favour of the higher ideals of self-determination of peoples or national sovereignty; in other words, we’ll eat the insipid main course if the pudding is good enough. And yet here lies a problem, highlighted by Lord Stephen Green of the pro-EU panel: Brexit won’t bring about a more cohesive United Kingdom. Scotland will be more likely to secede; and, in Lord Green’s words, “God help Northern Ireland if [Brexit] happens.”

Indeed, the political issues are by no means limited to Britain itself. How can Britain be an active participant in the war on terror? And a leader on the issue of climate change? On these issues, the Brexit panel failed to give any convincing answers, and the questions on the probable domino effect Brexit would have on other countries’ membership were largely ignored. In an increasingly interconnected and unified world, the implicit isolationism of the Brexit option could not be more anachronistic. One cannot but wonder at the fact that, despite all this, the pro-Brexit panel carried the day, ‘converting’ most spectators whilst providing the minority of the audience.

Discussions of the sort are vital for a positive outcome in the June 23 referendum, irrespective of the result. For it would be a pity to vote to leave the EU because you dislike the Romanian couple who just moved next door, or to hope Britain would remain because of the appeal of cheap holidays in the Spanish isles.

Debate: ‘does Oxford produce good British Prime Ministers?’

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Yes: Ben Evans 

Unfortunately the sheer number of Oxonian Prime ministers forecloses a comparative answer to this question. Instead we need to examine the particular benefits an Oxford education provides for a Prime Minister and, by extension, the country as whole. Of these, three are especially significant.

The first is a sharpening of the intellect. Oxford’s selection process is perhaps the most rigorous in the UK, ensuring that we receive the most accomplished students. But, having done so, the University does not let them rest upon their laurels – it subjects them to rigorous intellectual scrutiny, forcing them to develop and defend their own ideas via tutorials. This high intensity personal debate is the best possible way to develop the kind of mental agility, negotiation skills and reasoning capacity which are invaluable assets to a Prime Minister, both in policy deliberation and international diplomacy. Furthermore, the tutorial system, being unique to Oxbridge, provides experience that cannot be replicated elsewhere. Even when we move beyond the tutorial, Oxford overflows with opportunities for debate, whether in the Union or one of many student societies.

An Oxford education does not only improve one’s raw mental capacity, it also provides would-be Prime Ministers with the wisdom of the foremost academics in their field. Prime Ministers have policy advisors, but given they must make the final decisions (and given advisors may say what PMs wish to hear) the benefits for decision making of a PM with strong grounding in economic theory, law, politics or ethics cannot be overestimated. Not all Oxford PM’s have studied relevant subjects (Thatcher studied Chemistry, for instance); however Oxford provides other means to gain political insight – most notably via the range of influential speakers attracted to the University by its reputation, or their status as alumni.

Finally, Oxford also provides an environment in which highly gifted individuals interact with similarly talented individuals with different views. This has two effects on potential future PMs. First, they realise they are not infallible. Ordinarily, intelligent individuals, when left as large fish in small ponds, face the real danger of succumbing to arrogance, of believing that because they are better informed or smarter than those they know, they are categorically correct; a trait which leads to disastrous overconfidence, stubbornness and refusal to listen when in power. For such a person to be transplanted into Oxford, there to be surrounded by those of comparable or greater skills, to have their arguments rebutted by their fellows or their views dissected by an adroit tutor, is at once to instill in them the knowledge that they are not superior.

When this is coupled with the diversity of opinion the Oxford student is likely to encounter, students are encouraged to be careful in forming their own beliefs and intellectually considerate in responding to those of others. This may be part of the explanation for why British PMs have tended to moderation, with parties co-opting the successful elements of one another’s programme (examples of which include Macmillan’s ‘Middle Way’, Blair’s ‘Third Way’). This sort of politics, based on evidential and pragmatic considerations rather than rigid ideology, has proven both efficacious and popular.

Before we can conclude, two arguments of the opposition need be dealt with. The first is the idea that Oxford makes PM’s who are ‘out of touch’ and unrepresentative. This is quite simply irrelevant. What matters for good governance is the ability to govern well; to effectively implement beneficial policy. Being aware of the price of a pint or the average weekly household spend on groceries is neither here nor there. As for not representing the public; it is absurd to suppose that any single individual can possibly accomplish such a feat, quite aside from representativeness having negligible influence on quality of governance.

The second argument is the idea that Oxonian PMs gain power through connection rather than merit. This is an extremely difficult argument to quantify. If, as I have argued, Oxford gathers together intelligent people and then endows them with still greater intellectual resources, they are bound to do well. If they have similar interests, they will do well alongside one another. Even with no connection based advancement (and I don’t doubt it does exist to some degree) the opponents of Oxford would find everything they claim is a symptom for university based nepotism: but a symptom that exists regardless of the presence of the disease is, in truth, not a symptom at all.

Oxford’s detractors claim that the reason for Oxford’s Prime Ministerial success is that the political game has been rigged in its favour. But the simple truth is that it is Oxford that produces the best players; Prime Ministers who have established the welfare state, decolonised the Empire, reined in inflation, nurtured the modern service economy and much more besides. Oxford does not produce good Prime Ministers, it produces great ones.

No: Ellen Peirson-Hagger

The context of a Prime Minister’s education is most often Oxford, and the recent context is often PPE. It is ridiculous to believe that one singular university, no matter a single course, could produce countless Prime Ministers perfectly fit for a job which is so diverse and challenging.

This trend goes back as far as 1742, to Spencer Compton, Britain’s second ever Prime Minister, who studied at Trinity College. The fact that this trend continues almost 400 years later is, at best, out-dated. At worst, it proves the narrow-minded, stubborn and unwilling nature of our system to confront change.

Simply, the vast array of leadership, diplomatic, and practical thinking skills that have always been required from a leader cannot possibly stem from just one institution, for they are skills which combine talent and inherent character, alongside aspects that can be nurtured in an academic environment. On top of this, the role of a Prime Minister has changed massively over these 400 years. To say that Oxford, a singular institution, continuously develops these changing requirements in students is implausible.

Oxford is renowned as an institution which teaches its students to think independently, negotiating difficult courses and extreme amounts of work in little time. As Ben discusses, the tutorial system encourages students to think and communicate clearly. Whilst Ben is not wrong to state that an Oxford education improves one’s raw mental capacity (or so a student paying such an amount in tuition fees here would like to believe), one’s intelligence is not proven by attending Oxford, nor is it the only characteristic needed to be a ‘good’ PM. In fact, the key characteristic that aligns Oxford students is an incessant interest in their subject, above all. A PM, on the other hand, should be practical, fast, and knowledgeable of a wide variety of areas.

Even more relevant are the people by whom any student is surrounded. If only 53.8 per cent of Oxford’s 2015 undergraduate offers to UK students went to students from state schools, yet 93 per cent of all school students in the country attend state schools, Oxford is not truly representative of the UK. If black students make up just one per cent of Oxford’s undergraduate body, yet more than two per cent of the UK’s population, Oxford, again, is not a true representation of our country. Perhaps this would be a different argument if the members of the University who went on to become PMs were actively aware of Oxford’s inequalities during their time here. But when David Cameron (PPE, Brasenose) was a member of the Bullingdon Club, known for its members making the very most of their place at the top of the social hierarchy, it is clear that the elitist society which prevails in much of Oxford does not often stir revolutionary fires against injustice in the souls of wannabe PMs.

Being academically rich and intellectually curious is not the same as being culturally or socially aware. This narrow university field is not limited to PMs. A laughably high number of nine of the total 22 MPs in the current cabinet are Oxford alumni. Six of these nine studied PPE. All six are white; all but one, male. This lack of diversity saturates Oxford too and is part of the perpetual cycle of this tight hierarchical political bubble that, after 400 years, we have still not escaped.

Ben refers to the Oxford Union, a political bubble within the Oxford bubble, as a means of practising debate, presumably in advance of the jeering of Parliament and the corrupt “it’s who you know” elitism that exists at the top of the Conservative Party, in particular. It is clear that this aspect of the University is emulated in our political system. When so many would argue that the misogynistic, childish behaviour of individuals during PMQs is one of the things requiring most change within our system, this is one of the clearest examples as to why Oxford does not produce ‘good’ PMs. If we teach them to do here what they so rightly lose dignity and respect for during their careers, we are teaching them nothing ‘good’.

Ultimately, it cannot be said that Oxford produces ‘good’ Prime Ministers: our university is no manufacturing plant for humans of the best all-round pedigree. The fact of the matter is that for a Prime Minister and for a cabinet to be ‘good’, both must be representative of the people of a country. Until prospective Prime Ministers realise that studying PPE at Oxford should not be their singular path, this will continue as one vicious, narrow-minded circle.

Perhaps it is the 27 Nobel Prize winners who are Oxford alumni, rather than the 26 Prime Ministers, whom we should celebrate.

Of Dogs, Doughnuts and Depression – 4

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It is exam season now, and every morning I see students sharply donned in sub fusc and roses heading towards the dreaded Examination Schools. Some obviously seem to have whatever is coming their way under control, with a smug smirk on their faces and taking big strides towards the battlefield with an unmistakable strut and swagger.

Such a composure, though, is obviously not shared by everyone. Some, I see, desperately hold onto whatever miniscule time they have left, agitatedly flipping through their concrete block of notes, hoping to squeeze into their brains that very last piece of knowledge – be it a formula, a fact, a name, a theory – that might possibly make a difference between a First and a 2:1.

It is, to say the least, a very, very stressful time for those sitting exams, especially Finalists, whose degree classification depends predominantly, if not solely, on the results they achieve in a set of papers they sit within a two-week period.

Take law students for example. They have to sit 9 papers within the span of 12 days. How this is even humanely or physically possible, I do not know, for I can barely write 9 words in 12 minutes.

In Oxford, the notion of success amongst us students inevitably skew towards how many Firsts you have gotten in your Finals, or how many lucrative job offers in the City await you upon graduation, or whether you’ve made it as President of the Oxford Union.

These achievements are no easy feats. They are the just results of hours upon hours of dedication and sheer hard work, and thus they undoubtedly deserve the recognition and applause.

But what if I do not achieve those things? Does that make me less of a success in terms of an Oxford student?

The notions of happiness and success are variable, for they differ from person to person. My counterparts might equate happiness and success with academic excellence and bright career prospects and thus endeavor their best to realize such goals. These are perfectly noble pursuits and one should not assume the moral high ground by denunciating such goals as being “worldly” and “overly realistic”.

But for me, happiness holds a different dimension. With Tom around, it is admittedly difficult to hold myself up to the contemporary, or should I say, Oxonian standard of happiness and success. Happiness and success, after all that I have been through, now are much more simplistic conceptions to me.

I am happy because I made it out of bed this morning before 11. I am happy because I managed to write an actual full-length essay and hand it in on time for the first time in months. I am happy because I braved myself to speak to an actual, not imaginary, person today. I am happy because I could summon up a long-lost appetite to eat more than 1 meal today.

I am successful because I managed to win in a brawl with Tom today and I managed to kick him back where he belongs. I am successful because I was able to walk to the supermarket and back without having a panic attack in between. I am successful because I managed to take a shower, comb my hair and cut my nails properly. I am successful because I am less afraid of the dark now.

And I know no mountain is too high for me to climb. Because all the things I have done, means that I can do anything.

Review: Me & Mike

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Formulating opinions upon a piece of new writing after having only experienced a small segment of it, as I had to do when writing the preview for this show, is always a curious affair. A process of synecdoche must be enacted, whereby one must make generalisations and extensions to whatever is actually shown in the preview itself. As such, when I stated “Go, take forty minutes out of your evening of procrastination and see the play … for once with new writing at the BT, you won’t regret it”, I was as much urging myself as I was the reader. The finished whole was as much a mystery to me as it will be to anyone else who hasn’t seen it yet.

A project as ambitious and unusual as Me & Mike left a lot of room for error. It makes use projection (both still images and video), which opens up myriad possibilities of technological teething problems that could dent or even derail its five day run. Its narrative style – vignettes – opens up the possibility of disjointedness and/or lack of coherence. The play relies on a stellar performance from its lead (and only) actor Will Stevens. The writing, which I had only a small taste in the preview, could turn out to be far less interesting than that in the single scene I was presented with.

And yet it doesn’t. A small hiccup in the playing of a video clip on opening night was covered by Stevens, who hardly flinched when it became clear something wasn’t quite working. The abrupt cuts in the music cues between vignettes, at first somewhat off-putting, feed into a larger comment on the vacuous nature of modern living. The flats that hang towards the back of the stage add to this idea, being staggered so as to create a slightly unnerving dislocation to the images shown, though without ever affecting our ability to perceive what they are showing.

Stevens is remarkable. His speech rhythms and the half-excited, half-nervous tone he adopts create a blend of eagerness, vulnerability and intimacy that otherwise is only seen amongst toddlers. It works. He, under Laura Day’s excellent direction, takes Alexander Hartley’s script and delivers it beautifully, ensuring that every offhand joke and moment of black comedy shines through – there were far more laughs on the opening night than I had anticipated when watching the preview.

The character that Day and Stevens have built is an intriguingly multifaceted creation. Compulsively organised – at one point outlining the minutiae of his forthcoming day whilst shaving, and creating plan after plan after plan throughout – whilst simultaneously suffering from a ceaseless feeling of powerlessness and meaninglessness. The twenty-something student will no doubt empathise, not least when he speaks of saving phone credit, or when he struggles to dance to in-vogue electronic music, or in an extended confession scene: “I think I am the most interesting person I have ever met… I don’t actually go to Mass, I only said that because it makes me look like the kind of person I want to be…Whenever I meet someone new I try and put off them realising I am worthless and egotistical for as long as possible.” These are the ugly thoughts that pop into many of our heads, but which we bury and ignore. That the narrator is sharing them with us only strengthens the intimate dialogue between speaker and interloper that Stevens so masterfully curates. 

Me & Mike is less of a play in the conventional sense, and far more of a glimpse into the life of someone. The narrator was written by Hartley without a gender in mind, meaning that there is none of the stereotypical macho maleness that can sometimes be found in the psyche of male characters. Rather, he is a multivalent creation, but one with which we can all identify. Someone who invites their lover over to watch David Attenborough and ends up having sex. Someone who sometimes thinks of other people during sex. Someone who wants to be successful but who is afraid of the wider world, afraid that it is hostile to them, afraid that is meaningless. This one was certainly worth a watch.

The Oxonian Dandy

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Sadly, for many, Trinity Term is associated with exams; however, the modern dandy may stave off the worries and stresses of examinations by consoling himself with the promise of a Summer Ball. While forking out a large sum of precious cash just for the excuse to dress up might seem decadent (we must not pretend that the main attraction of a ball is anything else than donning evening attire), one must remember that the fashion opportunities of a ball are infrequent: where else is there such an abundance of other appreciative dandies that can bask in the splendour of your soirée raiment?

The dress codes of a summer ball realistically come in two strands, that of the black or white tie. However, there are some articles akin to both of these ensembles. A shirt is something which can (and, of course, should) readily be worn with tails or a dinner jacket. A wing collar, while not essential, lends itself to bridging the gap. The keen and ambitious boulevardier will variate in the frontage, however. While there won’t be undue complaints with a waffled or textured Marcella, there won’t be compliments, either. On the other hand, a shirt which would not fit the category of ‘dress shirt’ could invite abuse and even invective the next day on rival dandies’ web blogs. Your M&S white shirt from school should be avoided. In fact, it should probably have been thrown away quite some time ago. The man who really will pull in the flattery wears a ½’’ pleat either with a wing or semi-spread collar. I would never trust a man with a full-spread collar, and, in my personal experience, I have found chaps who front themselves with a ¾’’ pleat tend to be over-compensating for something.

I cannot more heartily recommend a dress shirt with an alternate back. I have a particularly fancy one with a pair of gilded and blanketed elephants rampant on a mauve backing, with their trunks so held above their heads as to enable a stork each to perch atop, while from their trailing ears dangle baskets of papaya and banana. De-robe yourself at about midnight and revel as onlookers queue up for selfies with your adorned back.

Trousers, regrettably, are items which cannot be doubled up. Many punters without true knowledge of evening formalwear will often cite a distinction between trousers of a white tie and black tie variety, which lies in a double or a single stripe. However, examination of vintage Saville Row white tie suits show examples both of single and double striped ribbons. The real difference comes in the length, to avoid any white showing down the flanks from shirt or waistcoat with white tie. If you can manage to fasten your trousers about where the nipples lie, you’re doing very well indeed.

The jacket, really, should be an extension of your personality, and the options are endless. With permutations ranging to include double-breasted dinner jackets or wide-lapelled tailcoats, any adept in the field of dressage ought to be well able to bedeck himself in an adventurous top-layer. My advice is to find somewhere to try on a selection.

Next week: hats

Album review: The Colour in Anything

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One gets lost in James Blake’s new album The Colour in Anything. At 17 songs it’s a mammoth undertaking, but the listener is invited into Blake’s world of melancholy confusion, and is quickly captured by it. Disbelief characterises the first section of the album, Blake singing, “I can’t believe you don’t want to see me anymore” on opener ‘Radio Silence’. The lyric is beautiful, with Blake crystallising the doubt and a devastation of having one’s heart broken in jarringly simple language. His voice cries against the wash of synthesisers, fighting against the hammering, rising mass, which moves him into a pained, humble shout: “I don’t know how you feel”. The beautiful choral tone he has isolates him within the wash of sound that the song becomes: the lyrics are solemn, childish perhaps. Blake is vulnerable: “Just please, more time”, he half-asks. He grants himself it. This allows him to create space within the songs, and they have a cavernous quality, making the work feel even larger than it already is.

On ‘Points’, a sharp, whirring alarm rises unbearably, Blake’s voice vaulting with it, only for him to cut everything, he coolly speaks, “It’s sad that you’re no longer her”. This is Blake at his best, with ‘Love Me in Whatever Way’ again giving a central role to his stunning choral voice. ‘Timeless’ sees Blake at his more experimental and contemplative. Over the lattice of synths, kick drums and warped, shifting, refrains Blake sings, “I’m acting my age”. Blake is here playing homage to the underground electronic scene that he has grown out of, and making a comment upon the narrowing divide between commercial pop and electronic music. Blake has mastered this art of melancholy electro-pop, bringing together ostensibly disparate sounds into a cohesive, textured synergy.

‘f.o.r.e.v.e.r.’ sees Blake alone at the piano, and it is raw with emotional power. It has the feel of a song recorded in one take as was the case for ‘DLM’ from Overgrown. His falsetto is stunning, and the final 30 seconds are heartrending, Blake again proving himself as an accomplished lyricist, singing, “I noticed just how slow the killer bees wings beat,/ and how wonderful,/ how wonderful, /how wonderful you were”. His voice climbs down from falsetto, seeming to lull the keys into outro.

Perhaps the standout song of the album is ‘I Need a Forest Fire’, on which he collaborates with Bon Iver. Justin Vernon’s opening cry of “Hoo” is responded to by Blake: “nice”, he mutters in the backdrop of the studio, apparently enjoying the relief from loneliness that Vernon provides. It is touches like these that add to the emotional authenticity of the album. Vernon and Blake have worked together before, on ‘Fall Creek Boys Choir’ but ‘I Need a Forest Fire’ is a more accomplished piece. Blake provides a refrain, with Vernon launching into the track, his voice soaring over the stuttering bass and kick drum in one of the album’s finest turns. It is the space that is created which again astounds, the song moving effortlessly, from a duet o f powerful, swelling harmonies to Blake and Vernon isolated from one another, their respective parts clattering into one another as the song falls to conclusion. ‘The Noise above our Heads’ is unremarkable as is ‘My Willing Heart’ and ‘Waves Know Shores’. They are, perhaps, extraneous, but they remain quietly moving, and they contribute to the mass of melancholy that ‘Choose me’ accentuates. This song is a demonstration of Blake’s masterful ability to take a song up to a roaring climax, as he does on songs such as ‘Life Round Here’ and ‘I Never Learned to Share’ from his two previous LPs. The title track appears late in the album, and by this time he seems more comfortable with the loss he has suffered, but no less pained.

The album is a maze of swollen soundscapes through which Blake’s vocals cut a path; a path that seems to slowly circle towards self-belief. The length of the album has been viewed as problematic by some, but I feel Blake intends the listener to get lost in the 17 songs, to join with Blake, to meet him in the maze, as his heavily vocoded voice trills on the album closer ‘Meet Me in the Maze’. Blake’s three year silence has been broken, and the release of The Colour in Anything seems like an effort to free himself from the isolation that the 17 eddying, labyrinthine tracks capture wonderfully

A Beginner’s Guide to… Vienna Ditto

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Vienna Ditto are a band which defy description. Whereas most two-pieces are unfairly and unimaginatively labelled as the next White Stripes, Vienna Ditto happily describe themselves as “voodoo sci-fi blues” which falls “somewhere between a Quentin Tarantino soundtrack, a charity shop Bacharach-on-the-Moog-synthesiser album and a bad night on the brown acid”. Comprehensive.

However, despite the strength of brand new EP Ticks, this freneticism is only really channelled by seeing them live. They journeyed to Oxford on Friday night, and with a vicious guitar attack, electronic trickery and infectious giggling, they commanded the darkness of the Bullingdon stage, with guitarist-cum-technician-cum-multi-instrumentalist Nigel being essentially led around the venue by his guitar à la Wilko Johnson, while performing all manner of button-pressing and tech-wizardry in between songs, often leading to the dismayed yet hopeful, “Is this song loaded?”

When the songs did load, they were invariably carried by a snarling lyricism from lead singer Hatty, one-time guitar pupil of Nigel. While their set was regularly punctured by technical difficulties and communication breakdowns, it was always endearingly well-natured enough to avoid a loss of momentum, often relying on wordplay and quips to fill the silence.

Their appearance in Oxford was to promote their aforementioned new EP Ticks, which is a disgustingly strong showing from such a budding band. If they tighten up their set and keep churning out such haunting and intelligent tracks, the world is all before them.