The Exchange Room of Mr Ian Bruce

All photographs © Jamie Archer **

   10 years ago, back at school, it became apparent to me as I focused intently on  completing second tier painting coursework that Ian Bruce was a disgustingly talented individual who was born to brighten up a canvas. And, to be blunt, he's also far nicer than I am. But we still became friends somehow. Life's that funny

   In the years since I said goodbye to all that, Ian's morphed into something of a dandy, formed a band  named after the best two tone shoes in the world, The Correspondents, and wields a paintbrush or five in a manner of which the creative world of London is growing rather fond, as evidenced by the massive crowd that attended his recent show early last month. Since it's rather likely that the same thing is going to happen in a few days' time, I think it's very much of the moment to give my pal his due here

   This link explains it all, but the Reader's Digest version is that Ian showcased works created by friends and collaborators in exchange for portraits in his distinctive figurative style of those involved, which included particularly excellent "one good turn" portraits of Ian himself by gifted photographers Jess Bonham and Wendy Bevan. The nine-foot portrait of reputedly immoral artist Sebastian Horsley (sporting the same top hatted ensemble that swathed him on Comme des Garcons Homme Plus' catwalk in 2007) was put under the hammer by auction house Lyon & Turnbull over the weekend; the proceeds of which are intended for flying The Exchange Room to New York City at a future juncture

Ian's portrait of Horsley. It definitely adds much character, moral or otherwise

   Since Ian's work is bold and full of life, it stands to reason that his subjects follow suit. Particularly hilarious was Bonham's large scale concept of a nude Ian "chasing" his clothed Correspondent alter ego, while Bevan's nostalgicly misty close-ups are as evocative as usual for her. Katherine May's purses ripped up, rewired and reformed as rather heavy boutonnieres (well, they still contained quite a bit of loose change) were also a genuine delight and I'd love to see more examples of her creative textile manipulation in future

** Except these photographs

   Sartorialists may be most interested in this portrait within a portrait of Ian's father, along with a bespoke suit commissioned by Ian in return for the aforementioned painting. In it, Mr Bruce models the three piece made for his similarly built son by the tailor Jonathan Quearney; the artisan will hang the portrait in his shop. To bring this paragraph full circle, here's an interview with Jonathan, courtesy of The Sartorialist

   Photographs of the attendees follow here:

Guy Hills, one of the two masterminds behind Dashing Tweeds, in an Exploded Houndstooth safari suit of his own design

Your author with Donald of Great British Attire, a man who knows what he's talking about

Our photographer stands on the far left

   Ian's latest presentation is as part of a group ensemble show, Suspended in Process, hosted by Art.In.Flux, taking place at 14 New Quebec Street, London W1H 7RV from the 9th to the 18th of October. And I'm sure you LDN-based readers aren't busy all the time, yes?

Neil & Iraiza - New School (2002)

   For context, please note that this was written prior to the Sugababes review. This is most apparent in the opening paragraphs:

   I started around 7am. The insomnia is working mondo overtime, as I'm so very fond of saying, though it bears pointing out that the saying sits loftily on my monument of "Turns of Phrase I Wish I Had Devised". For as long as my sleep has been disordered, I've wished for it to amount to something - anything - productive instead of procrastination or zombification or trying to roll my eyes into the back of my head (purely experimental)

   Bearing in mind that this started far back around my 14th year, I recalled sometime after 2am this morning that I used to have a wider variety of coping methods beyond fatalism and rubbing my temples in what I hoped was a hypnotic rhythm. Such as music. And there was something "productive" to be followed, for there was a promise I made to myself and, by extension, the 3 people who peruse this journal on a regular basis regarding what used to be on my iPod, as well as what might be on a future model. To specify, little missives about what I consider to be among the best records of the past 9 years

   New School is rather easily one of the top 5

Via Last FM: l-r: Hirohisa Horie ('Iraiza') and Gakuji Matsuda ('Neil'). I'm planning to acquire sunglasses like Horie-san imminently

   This is, as far as anyone's aware, the final long playing collaboration between the abovementioned band members, who have maintained stalwart status in Tokyo's alternative music corners since the dearly departed King of Pop was onto his sixth new face in the mid 1990s. Matsuda, aka DJ Chabe, is best known under his Cubismo Grafico alias, tying together lounge, classical strings, Brazilian pop, French House, reggae, electronic exotica and a dab of Philly disco to almost unimpeachable effect over multiple albums, EPs and singles, all impeccably produced and played. And he sang too

   Horie is even more disgustingly talented - a multi-instrumentalist who flies the world with former Shibuya-kei figurehead and lauded sonic maestro Cornelius as his live bassist (which means that I've seen him in person twice), and has an almost inexhaustible gift for honing psychedelic rock experimentation into unforgettable melodic hooks and uncontrived arrangements, using his cheerfully wistful and whimsical persona to imbue a winning warmth in his writing (he's also a frequent collaborator of pop star Hideki Kaji, whose recent unfortunate assault was reported a few months ago - their 1999 Tokyo Tapes EP as Dots and Borders is worth five LPs put together). Given the close-knit nature of the scene, his list of collaborators is naturally extensive and, up until N&I's first releases, more used to taking center stage

   On the face of it, it's Eclectic Dance Producer meets Ecelectic Indie Pop Lifer, but the common thread between the two men - unabashed FM radio adoration - makes them entirely an entirely natural pairing. Over two EPs and the first album, charmingly titled Johnny Marr?, as well as New School, the division of labour runs thus: the duo split lyricwriting duties, Horie handles anything with a keyboard, leads on vocals and creates the bulk of the guitar work, arrangements and ultimately, the majority of the music. Matsuda handles choruses, secondary vocals and keys, and an array of percussive instruments including the occasional drum. Friends play parts N&I believe to be better served by other talents. And naturally, Horie and Matsuda produce everything

New School's sole (Japanese) single, 'Wasted Times'. It scores highly with me for the callback to early song 'Five Idle Days', amongst other things

   In my own way, the first adjective I use to describe the album is "consummate." There seems to be an utter lack of limit to the deft touches the two artists leave on the 12 songs. Although their earlier work had a certain ramshackle charm that was nevertheless in tandem with the breadth of their skill, the songs of New School are full bodied, tightly arranged and winningly melodic; hook filled enough that English indie label Ochre Records, released tracks 4 and 11, 'This is Not a Love Song' and 'Oracle Noises' as a 7" in 2003 as a way to increase their cult profile. As an international introduction, the single captures the sunny, charming FM pop side of the duo, who create the most perfect country-inspired jangle pop record of the decade in a little over 2 minutes on side A and then delves into their effects-led psychedelic introspections on the flip, thereby providing a snapshot of the entire album

   I adore every single cut, but aside from the delights of the aforementioned selections, there are many great tricks performed successfully here. Take 'Human Dust Bin' - silly title, sillier risk in leading with beats, keys and sax that resemble mid-1980s synth soul and r'n'b (or Simply Red, if you're feeling mean) and in a possible moment of self consciousness, Horie even sings "Out of my head, that makes no sense, you know" in the middle, but it's an undeniably charming concoction of songwriting and melody that soon papers over the desire to sneer and might even move one to reconsider the source genre. 'Our Housing' is another excercise in such near-3D thought - if the reference to Madness in the title isn't immediately obvious, then the opening soon reveals the extent to which 'Our House' influences the song - the bassline, the horns, the famous guitar lines and the chorus harmony are all present and correct, but it's nevertheless a different entity in rhythm, arrangement,and lyrics, dipping through all the wistfulness and emotion that accompanies nostalgic reflections on a childhood home and providing a strong example of inspiration made good where other efforts are cynical and poor (Christina Aguilera's 'Make Over' of Sugababes' 'Overload') or simply accidental (The Flaming Lips' 'Fight Test' and Cat Stevens' 'Father and Son')

   'Wednesday' is a spirited dash of Kinksian whimsy that manages to seem original through the strength of the melodies and playing, the unexpected soft pop/light reggae collision of 'Hello Young Lovers' is soothing and oddly moving (blame it on Horie's cooing choral lead-out), while the energetic instrumental (save for a whistled lead tune), 'Fez', gallops through lighthearted 60s freakbeat and 70s keyboard wizardry but avoids total antiquity through the  detail and clarity of its production

Via Maniadb.com

   Special mention goes to 'Supreme Day', a superficially simplistic drum-pounding jaunt, upon which all manner of instruments and hooks surmount, most prominently a recorder. And then there's 'Mall Rats', possibly my favourite contender for rock'n'roll song of the decade. It's exuberant, confident and practically viral in its memorableness, from its opening riff to its cute, child's-view-of-consumerism-and-defiance lyrics to its slightly dizzying, percussively danceable finish. Best part? It's the second song on the album, and, therefore, the strongest assurance that the record to follow will be one that remains in the memory

   It pulls off the best trick of much of Shibuya-Kei - making the past sound like the present and/or the future - but the childish whims and viewpoints of many of their peers are made more adult  and refined in the hands of Horie and Matsuda. And as an album from the final days of "old" Shibuya-Kei, New School is very much the capstone that the movement deserved

Shibuya-Kei: A Brief Primer

 Whilst finishing off my next 2000s musical review - technically the first until real world events dictated otherwise - I noticed that a genre overview might be needed for those who lack my particular proclivities for musical geekery. So the following is extracted from said review, a classic from Japan's old alternative pop scene, Shibuya-Kei:

The now-dead - and resurrected - scene they contributed prolifically to, Shibuya-kei, deserves its own article or, better still, a link to a better overview and dissection than I could hope to manage, lack of rest or no. Suffice to say, it centred around an auspiciously fashionable and lively area of Tokyo - the titular Shibuya - and its harmonic proponents became known for recombinant, idiosyncratic, heavily detailed and often exuberant and kitschy forms of Western pop history. It was the 1990s incarnation of the DIY spirit of punk and golden age hip hop, yet almost everything had a whispy voiced Japanese femme on vocals and it all sounded like it was created on an unlimited budget, even when it wasn't

   And those links are the preserve and insights of Japanese-but-actually-American alternative/blender pop artist, journalist and cultural disinterrer Marxy, as detailed in six parts. The Legacy of Shibuya-Kei is a vital and excellent read, examining and championing well over a decade of a landscape changed by reinterpreting and reshaping Western music into something familiar but utterly new. And sometimes far more interesting:

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

   Give Marxy's songs a try. I'll be returning to his output in the near or distant future

Outfit - The Temperley Party

   Courtesy of my new acquaintances at Prendas Publicas, whom I met at the Temperley party at Sketch last week:

   The shenanigans that followed are to remain the stuff of legend, naturally. Though I suppose that it isn't every night that bloggers meet on a dancefloor

Sugababes - One Touch (2000)

   I had an entirely different, and, some might argue, more "sophisticated" record review to address the Broken iPod Blues I've been feeling. But then the news broke that Sugababes had finally become utterly akin to Menudo, Morning Musume and Trigger's Broom, so this response is wholly dictated by the fickle whims of current events. An easy mark for Pop Culture Thumbs-Down News of the Month if I ever saw one. Good times

   It's strange to settle in with their first, and best, album and note that in spite of the considerable charm, ranges and talents of the three founding - and now utterly departed - girls, Mutya, Siobhan and Keisha, that it was not immediately apparent that this was Britain's most successful female pop act in the making. At least, if you analysed the sales figures instead of scrutinising the music. But then the marketing for the group's introductory period demanded an appreciation of the little differences between themselves and their peers. They had a cutesy name but were not being promoted on the basis of their looks (though it's worth noting, now that the girls are in their early 20s, that those looks are more highly rated than popular myth might have it); they were 16 but neither cute like The Jackson 5 nor disquietingly sexualised like Miley; they were a girl group but instead of an abundance of plastic exuberance moulded as Spice Girls in waiting, the public were presented with a youthful, contemporary British pop band pitched somewhere in the hinterland between All Saints and En Vogue. And they could sing

   Quite the curious beastie, pop singing. To the average person, it's an area wherein if the voice conveying the lyrics doesn't make one reach for a rusty cleaver with which to pay personal tribute to Van Gogh then it's fine. Unless there is a panel of at least 3 overly self-satisfied judges on hand to make repeated complimentary remarks about a nascent singer's voice and the transformative effect it's had on their lives, sex lives, rheumatic problems and bank balances on live television or the vocalist on the radio or television is widely recognised as a diva, then no one cares how well the girl(s) in question performs. Especially if she has a face made for posters in a supermarket

   So, Sugababes at the start were different. No smiles, no sex, all 16, all sass. The music and the singing had to be front and centre, and it was rather helped by, as well as hinged on, the fact that the performers all seemed older than their years. Indeed, when they sang such a line in 'New Year', perhaps the least nauseating Christmas song in over two decades, it actually seemed plausible, the way that little Michael projecting age old heartache about the lover he spurned moving on from him did. The album's thematic elements are generally uncontrived - the usual hazards and happy times with boys and girls are mingled with deftly handled singalongs about teenage angst, musical escapism, breakdowns in communication and social alienation, much like a teenager's diary (thank you, Popjustice message board). Alongside this, the production was utterly different to their various peers - sparse, oft-times downbeat, barely melodic in most places and more in the mould of trip hop's pop excursions than the post-Spice World environment

   And these girls could not only sing but harmonise. Unexpected multi-part vocals are a particular highlight in 'Look At Me' and 'Promises', wherein the girls' voices cascade across each other without overwhelming themselves or the listener, while the vocal interplay, while not necessarily unconventional, strives to be interesting, whether through all 3 girls singing the second verse of still memorable debut single 'Overload' or ending an ensemble-sung bridge with a couple of solo lines. The combination of vocals is also a strong selling point, mixing as it does Keisha Buchanan's slightly tremulous r'n'b stylings, Siobhan Donaghy's sweet melodies and somewhat detached delivery, and Mutya Buena's strong range and interesting mix of honey and husk. Emerging as the band's best singer over 3 subsequent albums before resigning, Mutya gives the album moments of added punch, even managing to sound as if she's making little effort at the same time. This becomes particularly evident in the title track, which makes a 15 year old calling her beau "my dear" the most natural statement of declaration for a young 'un whose adulthood is still a few years away (by all accounts, the girl also makes for an excellent mother)

   The most interesting aspect of the line-up changes is how it reveals how each of the founders have shaped their particular tenures, notably in hindsight. Sugababes Mark 2 was filled with fuzzy basslines and grit and spikes in a way that particularly suited Mutya, who moved on to take the majority of first verses and leads on choruses, as well as typifying the "non-traditional" image of the band with her offbeat dress sense, tattoos and piercings. The recently ended Mark 3 focused on Keisha's enthusiasm for American r'n'b, more facile pop and high energy numbers. And so, Mark 1 seems to match the rather indie Siobhan the most through its heart on sleeve-approach, minor keys and utilisation of sunny and plangent strumming. And while this is the record of theirs that I'm most fond of, it does them no end of credit that amongst all the changes, there's still something to enjoy. I only hope that Mark 4 can keep it up

Blue Gas (We Got)

Photograph courtesy of James Lewis

   My latest visit to The Crate Gallery involved appraising and enjoying the work of James Lewis,  a skilled conceptual artist whose Blue Gas installation brought a certain showstopping grandeur to the usual near-clinical confines of its three day abode

   Naturally, the neon words and numbers created for the show utilise the titular blue gas to achieve their illuminating effect. A number of pieces, such as those that I'm photographed with, crossed over from James' previous Value and Worth show, which addressed the intrinsic value of his creativity head-on, displaying the cost of the time, effort, design and even the electricity invested in the project. The end result was a series of price tags in lights, and very attractive lights they are too - I derived a thrill from having the issues of the pieces' fair value and fiscal effort posed to myself and to others in so forthright a manner

   The artist's methods and thought processes are detailed on The Crate's website; this excerpt addresses Lewis' approach:

 [Lewis] tries to prevent his Conceptual Art practice from being cold and stale. He does this by trying to place a narrative within his work, be it through photographically documenting his physical capabilities during a project or saving his income so that he can produce a series of neon signs. Lewis plays upon a personally devised formula of achieving a finalized “art object”¹. Which often means he financially or physically suffers for his art practice.

   As is common with such work, the viewer may transpose their own views and deductions even if they've been made aware of the concept. One of the first reactions I discussed with the artist was a certain nostalgia of 1980s apartments and the neon decorations that adorned many of them, as well as the use of such lighting and design in public advertising, my supposition being that this was a thoughtful and honest take on an iconic and ubiquitous practice

   I certainly appreciated Lewis' sense of perspective in addressing the true worth of his work in an analytical manner; some might argue that this kind of self awareness is sadly absent in the contemporary art world, although I have always felt that talent and effect should dictate prices. Lewis' projects are all worthy of further investigation - his end results are always well considered, technical, aesthetically interesting and unpretentious

   Perhaps the most delightful thing about viewing them is that not only do they all have something to express but they also seem to have yet more to say

Pop Culture Thumbs-Up 14/09/2009: What We Learned at the 2009 MTV VMAs

   Madonna can give a truly heartfelt speech. And Janet gets fiercer and more powerful with age

   We learned nothing new about Kanye's lack of class, however

A Placeholder Post

From GlaxoSmithKline's blog. No, really

   I'm doing it again: leaving far too much time between posts, even though I genuinely have material in the pipeline (and I mean actual events, musings and writeups, not only narcissistic outfit diarising)

   The demands of the offline existence I'm eking out (long, fruitless jobhunting) places a small strain on the old thought processes, but combine that with a persistent sleep disorder (oh, and I've also been watching that Shakira video several times too many) and it's only a matter of time before the aforementioned narcissistic outfit diaries start to feature a dark skinned, Afro-haired incarnation of  Christian Bale in The Machinist El maquinista.  Even this is taking around 20 minutes to write, and it's only meant to be a quick missive to paper over my lack of attention.  And I'd rather like this here online ideaspace to last longer than my Livejournal

  One quick thing: Ryan, if you're reading, thank you very much for what you wrote at Final Fashion (enjoyable reading, by the way). Winston indirectly brought it to my attention by mentioning that he'd seen me namechecked by one of my own "confreres". I'm surprised and glad it was you

NP: V/A - We Are Escalator Records No. 5, mixed by Masashi Naka

Teleportation

 

   I've no idea how the effect came about, but it's an amusing one. It's also a sign that my camera is incrementally inching towards death as I type. Good times