(Rebecca Nye)

(Rebecca Nye)

(Rebecca Nye)

(Rebecca Nye)

(Rebecca Nye)

(Rebecca Nye)

(Rebecca Nye)

(Rebecca Nye)

(Rebecca Nye)

(Rebecca Nye)

(Rebecca Nye)

Addiction. It’s a strange thing; an all-encompassing, all-consuming habit that leaves pain, destruction and seemingly insatiable craving in its wake. Pick your poison – there’s one for everyone. But be comforted by the fact that we are, according to the latest exhibition at the Wellcome Collection, a race of addicts

The coffee that gets you through that all-nighter, the cigarette that calms you down, and the many vodka tonics needed to get you ‘Kukui’ drunk are all perfect testament to this. High Society is a beautifully put-together mixed media exploration of the dialectic of our fetishisation and demonization of drug use; it’s a truly heady experience. And while the issue is a topical and contentious one – the illegal drug trade is estimated by the UN at $320bn a year – this is certainly a habit that permeates culture and time.

The universal impulse for the alteration of consciousness is demonstrated upon my arrival by the cabinet of drug paraphernalia which greets me. A ‘heavy fetish pipe’ (Congo, late 17th or early 18th century) and ‘Betel nut cutters in the form of a human head with the wings and tail of a peacock’ (Indian, 19th century) sit next to ‘Fly Agaric mushrooms’ and the pre-packaged plastic glasses of wine found in the aisles of your local supermarket.

We are exposed to the uncomfortable history of the opium trade through the Chinese artist Huang Yong Ping’s installation of a giant opium pipe next to a fallen statue of Lord Palmerston; and a 19th century gouache illustration of Chinese opium smokers, divided into two, contrasts the experiences of filthy rich and destitute poor. Then we are swiftly brought onto Tracey Moffatt’s arresting Laudanum, a Jekyll and Hyde-esque narrative of the effects of this Victorian cure-all. The contemporary is also represented by Keith Coventry’s photolithograph, Crack Den, while Joshua White’s LSD blotter art for Hendrix, The Doors, and The Grateful Dead is recreated, colourfully signalling the 60s drug culture.

Mind-altering drugs have often been the subject of scientific experiment, and also the source of artistic inspiration. The sombre blue, black and grey tones of the exhibition rooms reflect the contradictory lenses which illuminate our attitude to drugs: sombre, clinical, subdued, seedy, glamorous, romantic. Yet this exhibition is by no means about passing judgement. And indeed, the serious fuses with the comedic – in Mark Harri’s video, Marijuana in the UK, the artist reads Benjamin’s Hashish in Marseilles and Baudelaire’s Les paradis artificiels to cannabis plants to stimulate faster growth, and Rodney Graham’s comedic Phonokinetiscope recreates Hoffman’s accidental discovery of LSD while cycling around Berlin.

This is definitely an exhibition that should come with a health warning, but is highly recommended nonetheless. And like the best ventures, you charge in sober and hungry to imbibe, and emerge feeling just a little bit dizzy. And that’s something to be experienced rather than merely read about.

‘High Society’ is on at the Wellcome Collection, Euston Road, London until February 22nd.

If you are lamenting the fact that, with no more presents to unwrap, Christmas is over for another year, you will be pleased to hear about some musical gifts that several bands are offering online, as gestures of their seasonal goodwill. The hype surrounding Gorillaz’s free online album ‘The Fall’, released on Christmas Day, was generated not simply by the novelty of this generous act, but also by the means used to record the album.

Damon Albarn and co., using a mixture of different iPad applications to produce the 15 songs, have produced the first album to be recorded by a mainstream artist on the iPad. It is helpful to know this fact before listening to the tracks themselves, since, despite their diversity and originality, the limitations of the recording medium are unignorable, and listeners will be disappointed should they be expecting something equivalent to the kaleidoscopic sonorities achieved on Albarn and Jamie Hewlett’s most recent album ‘Plastic Beach’ (out at the beginning of this year).

A couple of the songs (‘Detroit’ for example) have a distinct flavour of that familiar ‘canned’ commercial Christmas music which, thank heavens, will not be assaulting our ears again for another ten months or so. The most dynamic songs on this album are those that do away with sonic cleanliness in favour of more chaotic, disorganised textures (‘Joplin Spider’), and others which make full use of Albarn’s soulful vocals (‘Amarillo’). ‘Bobby Phoenix’ features the gritty, emotionally-charged voice of Bobby Womack – guest vocalist on ‘Plastic Beach’ – and is exceptional for its tenderly lyrical quality. This experimental album is intriguing – but it is technically progressive rather than musically outstanding.

Klaxons were also in festive spirits this Christmas, releasing a new five-track EP ‘Landmarks of Lunacy’ on Christmas Day, which can be streamed and downloaded without charge from their website. Featuring unreleased material recorded during sessions in 2008 with Simian Mobile Disco’s James Ford, the band described this period as ‘magical’; proof that they were on good musical form at this point can be found in these tracks, which share a refreshingly straightforward style, somewhat removed from the density and earnestness of their famed ‘nu-rave’ sound. There is no ebullient guitar-chattering in these songs; instead the shimmering ambience of songs such as ‘Ivy Leaves’ has an almost psychedelic quality. The lilting arpeggiated keyboard accompaniment in ‘Marble Fields’ is a beautifully mellow touch, demonstrating the softer side to a band which has finally shaken off its association with glostick-waving teenagers.

For a final Christmas offering, it would be worth investigating the dreamy pop Swedish duo jj’s free downloadable mixtape ‘Kills’ (from Sincerely Yours’ website) released on Christmas Eve. Together these songs provide an eclectic mix of covers and samples from various hip-hop or r’n’b artists; some of them are strangely effective when overlaid with the hypnotic vocals of both Joakim Benon and Elin Kastlander. Highlights include ‘Kill Them’, in which you may recognise strains of Akon’s ‘Right Now’, and ‘Kill You’, a re-working of MIA’s ‘Paper Planes’.

The forthcoming royal wedding between Will and Kate has been the subject of much media speculation over the past few weeks, and plans for the occasion will be the focus of intense scrutiny until the day itself. At present, the royal family will be painstakingly planning this ceremonial royal rite of passage, which some hope will be just as much a popular entertainment as a religious celebration. Choosing the musical content of such high-profile occasions so as to please all listeners is an undeniable challenge, and the choice will, no doubt, be particularly important to the royal pair, who (we can surmise), will be keen to project an image of freshness and modernity.

Princess Diana’s funeral in 1997, perhaps the last royal occasion subjected to a similar level of hype, was in danger of becoming more of a show-biz performance than a solemn funeral, by the inclusion of Elton John’s rendition of Candle in the Wind. Despite its gut-curdling lyrics, this song went on to become the biggest selling single in UK history as a result of the funeral. In the ceremony itself, it was placed alongside the contemporary composer John Tavener’s specially commissioned work, Song for Athene, in what could have been a deliberate attempt to balance popular music with what is perceived to be more ‘high-brow’. Perhaps Diana’s funeral has set the tone for future royal events as celebrations of our culture’s musical pluralism. In contrast, the music for Prince Charles and Diana’s wedding in 1981 consisted almost entirely of core English classical works by composers such as Elgar and Handel.

Important musical decisions for this wedding will lie with the Prince of Wales, who is reported to be pressing for the wedding music to have a Welsh theme. Might this mean, as rumoured, a duet between crooner Tom Jones and the Welsh ‘angel’ Charlotte Church? This depressing potential line-up could grow with the possible inclusion of Andrew Lloyd-Weber, the ‘demi-god’ of musical theatre, with his fail-safe combination of classical and popular styles. Elton John himself, that over-rated veteran crowd-pleaser, has recently joked that, although he might perform at the wedding, it would probably be as a busker outside. If only.

However many concessions are made to musical populism, there will at least be one man who should uphold royal traditions as Master of the Queen’s Music, a position established in the seventeenth century. He is Sir Peter Maxwell Davies. Officially commissioned to write a piece for the occasion, he has stated an intention to give his work a ‘Scottish feel’ in honour of the country in which the couple first met, and where he himself lives. His music will probably dissatisfy many ears across the country, unaccustomed to the sound of his modern classical works, although much of his choral music is more accessible to inexperienced ears. We can hope that for such a piece he will make full use of the outstanding abilities of Westminster Abbey choir. His adventurous style is no reason to dismiss his work; after all, Wagner’s famous ‘Here comes the bride’ march, when chosen by George V for his wedding in 1897, would have been considered a daring choice of music at the time.

Popular music should have its place in the wedding celebrations, but perhaps best outside the official ceremony. Since Prince Harry is reportedly in charge of the engagement party, we can safely assume that this occasion will be a fitting musical tribute to the latest sounds in pop culture. Mark Ronson, who lists Harry among his good friends, has requested the privilege of DJ-ing for the couple, and the Prince is rumoured to have lined up Tinie Tempah and Snoop Dogg to perform. The latter is promoting his new single ‘Wet’ as a potential wedding gift to the pair. With lyrics such as: ‘I just wanna get you wet, wet…Drip, drip, Drip, drip for me mami’, it seems unlikely that the Queen will be in a hurry to download it onto her Ipod.

At least Snoop Dogg is under no illusion that his song is a serious homage to the royal wedding. The same cannot be said of Elton John: must we prepare to be drowned by another wave of gushing media-drive emotion come April 29th, inspired by his banal and syrupy lyrics?

I’ve tried all of the classic resolutions at some point, and they’ve all been abject failures. Losing weight. Getting that elusive six pack. Reading the Bible. Writing in the diary every day. Being lucky – a less common choice, but my dad cracks it out every year.

The problem is that they’re about self improvement or, to lose the euphemism, making yourself do something you don’t like. Yuk. But why do they have to be a chore? This year, I’d like to choose a resolution I might actually keep. For a whole year, I resolve to make my reading fun, a source of guilty, guilty pleasure.

I remember as a child I used to read like a cat in a fish factory, devouring everything in sight. But sometime in Upper Sixth I started to get these niggling feelings that I should be reading somebody French in translation, or something in Scottish dialect without punctuation, or any of those books that sit in pairs around the house as both my parents have a copy left over from their English degrees. Reading stopped being fun.

But how I loved books. I think I shall begin by revisiting all my old favourites. Scrap Borges, I’m going to read all of the Just William stories I couldn’t get my hands on as a kid. Then there are all the books I’ve been too snobby to read: Mills and Boon novels, Vampire romances, action novels, celebrity biographies. Perhaps I’ll give Stephenie Meyer a try, or look out those romances by Anne Widdecombe. I’ve heard Katie Price’s autobiographies are startlingly funny.

I’d give that phase about a month. The top of the slippery slope will be the comedic novels of bygone eras: Jane Austin, Graham Greene. I’ll end up giving Catch 22 another go (my fifteen-year-old self didn’t exactly find it hilarious first time around). Slowly, slowly, I’ll slip into more and more varied volumes, and before I know it I’ll have read something terribly serious and not so much as giggled once. But I won’t have broken my resolution, oh no, because I’ll have read it simply because I liked the look of it and the pages kept on turning – because reading it was fun.

I’m not studying English. For me, the only reason to read fiction is for the kicks. If I resolve to stop taking books seriously and go back to basics, perhaps I’ll end up reading Ulysses – and perhaps I’ll enjoy it.

Hotel rooms. Celebrity ennui. Father-daughter relationships… Sophia Coppola’s Somewhere veers decidedly close to her portrait of the rich, famous, and depressed in her revered Lost in Translation. Here, we follow Johnny Marco, a rising Hollywood star who is resigned to boredom and loneliness in the glamorous world of five-star hotels, Ferraris, film premiers, and beautiful women. Marco (Stephen Dorff) is checked into a veritable Hotel California – “you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave” – in the form of the infamous Chateau Marmont, where he drifts as comfortably through his opulent and meaningless life, as he does on his inflatable in the Hockney-esque pool. It is only when his 11 year old daughter, Cleo (Elle Fanning), pays him an unexpected visit, that he questions where his life is heading.

Winner of the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival, Somewhere is a candid and understated portrayal of the other side of fame. This is a familiar tale of a lost and lonely Hollywood, but, characteristically for Coppola, its appeal lies in its delicate portrayal of this stagnation and isolation and this is captured visually by Harris Savides’ reportage-style camerawork. This sense of suspended animation is poignantly highlighted when Marco feels a pear, as he has forgotten how it feels like and when he sits patiently with his head in the plaster cast that must be taken for his “old man” makeup, we see him cosseted in celebrity and suppressed by loneliness.

The question is raised as to whether Somewhere is in some part autobiographical; indeed Sophia spent much time accompanying her father, Francis Ford Copolla, and too stayed at the Chateau Marmont. The father-daughter theme permeates Copolla’s films and much like Scarlet Johansson’s character in Lost in Translation, Cleo, in her own quiet and unassuming way, injects a vitality and hope into Marco’s life, without questioning his lifestyle or seeking a reformation of his character. We see him assume a teenage boy persona when bored in his room watching identical pole-dancers and in a peculiar role reversal, we see her cooking Eggs Benedict for breakfast, while Johnny has a lie in. Nevertheless, the transience of their friendship is highlighted as we become aware that the pair may not survive the separation when Johnny takes her to summer camp in Nevada.

This is a world without ramification or repercussion, where actions are not explicitly questioned – a rendition of a bland and cyclical existence. Copolla’s movie enunciates astutely with muted bathos. It is well executed, and reconfirms Sophia Copolla as a talented and distinctive director. However, the strong parallels with Lost in Translation underline what Somewhere lacks – the former being funnier, more engaging and more mature. Nevertheless, Somwehere comes warmly recommended.

Currently showing in Oxford at the Ultimate Picture Palace, Jeune Street.

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