Saturday, 22 March 2014

Cary Grant and his drip-dry suit ... February in Paris

Hotel St Jacques - view from the balcony by day
The Hotel St Jacques in the rue des Ecoles proved to be a good choice. It seems to have changed little since Cary Grant took a shower here whilst wearing a suit, much to Audrey Hepburn's amusement, in the 1963 comedy mystery 'Charade'. A comfortable room with a delightful view from the balcony, friendly staff and a varied and delicious buffet breakfast.
The streets around the Pantheon are very atmospheric and it's only a short walk to Boulevard St Michel and the Musee d'Orsay.

We had arrived via Eurostar (from Ashford in Kent, direct to Paris). (It's very useful having a daughter who lives 40 minutes from Ashford and who can provide a lift and overnight accommodation in Kent.) Travelling by Eurostar is much less stressful than dealing with airports and much more comfortable than travelling on British trains. It's also amazingly quick. One excellent, time- and hassle-saving innovation is that you can buy books of metro tickets from the Eurostar buffet en route to Paris (and Oyster cards for the London underground, if you're travellling in the other direction.)

Our Eurostar tickets also gave us two-for-one entry to the Musee d'Orsay.  The former grand railway station would be worth a visit in its own right even if it didn't contain a mesmerising collection of the world's best art. Looking through the giant clock out over Paris, it's incredible to think this building was threatened with demolition in the 1970s.
My wife Sue and I spent the days walking, exploring, having improvised picnic lunches in the Luxembourg gardens, browsing in bookshops and stopping off in cafes. Despite a disappointing vegetarian meal at Le Grenier de Notre Dame restaurant and a horrible coffee at Starbucks (why bother?) we agreed that, thanks to Eurostar and the Hotel St Jacques, this had been our most relaxing trip to Paris ever, and the best holiday we could remember in a very long time. We will definitely do it again and, next time, I might even take a shower with my suit on.
Hotel St Jacques - view from the balcony by night

Saturday, 15 February 2014

A Starship lands in Bromsgrove




Jefferson Starship live at The Artrix, Bromsgrove, Wednesday 29 January, 2014

Since she was a young teenager, one of my wife’s favourite records has been Jane — a 1979 hit by Jefferson Starship. Over the past 35 years, Sue has oftentimes spontaneously burst into anguished song — 'Jane you're playin’ a game you never can win, girl!' —so, when we heard that Jefferson Starship were coming to nearby Bromsgrove, how could we resist? 

Jefferson Starship grew out of the seminal psychedelic band Jefferson Airplane whose 1967 album Surrealistic Pillow featured the classic singles White Rabbit'and Somebody to Love. The history of the band (from the 1960s Jefferson Airplane to the 1970s Jefferson Starship, with a further continuation in the 1980s as Starship) is complicated and we weren’t sure who, if any, of the original members would be in evidence.)  It seems the current line-up includes two original Airplaners (David Freiburg also of Quicksilver Messenger Service fame) and Paul Kantner. Sadly, the latter was too ill to join the tour so Freiburg was the only authentic aviator aboard this particular incarnation of the starship.

The band was fronted by the powerful presence of Cathy Richardson, sporting a fantastic rock voice and leggings with an interestingly ecclesiastical, stained-glass window design. (I’ve since discovered, as well as being a singer, Cathy is a graphic artist and clothing designer, about to launch a line of hand-dyed organic cotton yoga pants, so that might account for it.) Jude Gold — virtuoso lead guitarist — is also a man of many parts. When he’s not playing with Jefferson Starship he’s the Los Angeles editor of Guitar Player magazine. Overcoming a few problems with microphones and monitors, David Freiburg (who incidentally co-wrote Jane), at 75 years of age and still singing beautifully, shows that it probably pays to practice Buddhism and to live in California. Airplane fans were treated to a fine selection including White Rabbit and Somebody To Love while fans of the later 70s music were delighted with exhilarating versions of Miracles and Count On Me as well as, much to my wife's obvious joy, Jane. Cathy thrashed a cow bell with a rolling pin and David beamed beatifically. And so did we.

Wednesday, 22 January 2014

Fracture Zone hit the big time in a very small way



 Members of Fracture Zone — far too ugly to be depicted here
2014 has got off to an exciting start for my musical project, Fracture Zone. For those not in the know, Fracture Zone is ... me, joined in live performances by my good friend and cajon-battering harmonicist Phil Richards. How to convey our sound in words? Well, it has been described (by me, actually) as ‘Original, guitar-driven songs with spicy lyrics and a pop sensibility nestling alongside capricious instrumentals.’ It’s also been said that ‘our live performances are peppered with the occasional unlikely cover version while the Zone's lo-fi recordings have a more psychedelic tendency than our live sound; (guitars are blended with broken keyboards, autoharps and dulcimers played backwards and sideways.)’

 Phil and I decided to play a few open mic evenings locally to get the New Year underway and hopefully get a few more gigs under our belts. So, we showed up on a Sunday afternoon at The Talbot in Bewdley for the session hosted by renowned blues guitarist Gwyn Ashton, who spontaneously and expertly accompanied us on bass. Next, we cropped up on at Pete Kelly’s amazingly friendly Tuesday evening bash at The Queen's Head in Wolverley and then, a week later, back in Bewdley at The Cock and Magpie at a splendid evening curated by stalwart of rootsy percussive acoustic guitar, Dave Onions. Here, we were approached by the irrepressible Andy O’Hare (music reviewer from BBC Hereford and Worcester’s Introducing.) As a result, on Saturday night, we got a mention (‘this very capable duo who have hidden their light under a bushel’) along with a tantalisingly brief snippet of airplay on Andrew Marston’s radio show.  After forty odd years of writing songs, strumming, bashing and blowing on various instruments, it’s nice to get some recognition.

Saturday, 14 December 2013

Enlarging horizons is far from old hat



The imposing Lancasterian Primary School, Shrewsbury
It's always good to hear from people out there who’ve enjoyed the Passengers in Time blog. Recently, I was contacted by someone -- let's call her Sheila -- who, it turns out, was in my class at school when we were both 11 years old, the year we took the fateful 11 Plus exam. Hearing from Sheila took me right back to The Lancasterian Primary School in Shrewsbury. Built in 1812, the 'Lancs' was an imposing-looking institution that I attended in the late 1960s and early 70s. We haven't seen each other in the intervening forty-odd years but I remember Sheila well because -- out of our class at primary school -- I think I'm right in saying we were the only two to go on to grammar school. Sheila went to Priory Girls’ Grammar School and I went to Priory Boys’ Grammar School (which was only right, given our respective genders) and our paths never crossed again until Sheila contacted me to say that reading Passengers in Time had inspired her to create Grumbling Appendix -- a blog about 'politics, feminism and popular culture in the context of the NHS'.

It turns out let’s-call-her-Sheila is a nurse in a NHS hospital. Funny, that — as I’m also a nurse who works in the NHS. Grumbling Appendix is a brilliant and highly-regarded blog that's getting rave reviews. So, hearty congratulations to let’s-call-her-Sheila. 

A cowboy hat made from recycled beer boxes
And then there’s let’s-call-him-Matthew. Well, actually, no need for anonymity here; his name really is Matthew — Matthew Steffen, to be precise. Matthew contacted me to say some very positive things about my blog post on Nova Scotia. He appears to be involved in a company called redneck beerhats.com that produce cowboy-style hats made from recycled beverage boxes. So, hat’s off to Matthew! What with grumbling appendixes (or should that be appendices) and recycled beer hats, my horizons are now suitably enlarged. I wonder if the treatment for a grumbling appendix would also work for an enlarged horizon.

Thursday, 14 November 2013

From Dublin Streets to Kentish Lanes

It seemed odd that the police were stopping taxi drivers to breathalyse them. In England, we assume - perhaps naively – that no one who earns their living by driving would risk their license by doing so under the influence. Our Dublin taxi driver explained to us that it’s fairly common to be pulled over by the Gardaí … and I suppose we should be reassured by it.
I was in Dublin in grey, early September to help provide some family therapy training (along with my fellow trainers from the Nova Scotia adventure, Chris and Julia.) Early starts and long days meant there wasn’t much daylight left by the time we got back to the very comfortable Ashling Hotel. No time to visit the museum or even the Guinness Museum though, luckily, Guinness isn’t only found in museums. But then nor is it always found in pubs. I managed to find an Irish pub that didn’t sell Guinness; The Porterhouse in Temple Bar specialises in ‘craft beers’. One in particular, called Galway Hooker, was rather tasty. What more innocent pleasure can there be, I put it to you, than to enjoy a Galway Hooker at the Porterhouse?
After my week in Dublin I was worried that summer was already over but my wife Sue and I managed to squeeze in a week’s holiday in Kent, courtesy of daughter Katie who now lives in an idyllic corner of the garden of England. So, at the end of September, we bade the season farewell in a bliss of bike rides down country lanes, sailing past windmills, feasting on blackberries from the hedgerow.
 And then and only then, it was autumn …

Thursday, 11 July 2013

Are oranges the only fruit? And is that Germolene I can smell? Adventures in Nova Scotia

Question:  How could you logically travel from Halifax to Truro in a north-easterly direction?

Answer:  When you are in Nova Scotia.


The multi-coloured houses of Lunenburg
and cars without front registration plates
I have just had the pleasure of visiting Nova Scotia, having been invited to help provide family therapy training to mental health professionals in the province.  After an overnight stay in Halifax, we travelled to the town of Truro, stopping off for a brief touristic interlude at Mahone Bay and Lunenburg.

Truro is perhaps not the most exciting place in Canada but, as a centre for training people from all over the province, it made geographical sense.  It’s described as a ‘hub’ and was once the point of convergence of major railway lines but I was surprised to learn much of the railway network has closed, simply because, so I was told, ‘Everyone has a car and the highway network is so good’.  Nova Scotia is now left with a legacy of disused railway-lines-turned-cycle-tracks which, sadly, I had neither the time nor the bike to enjoy.

The Nova Scotians seem to be generally an unassuming, rather conservative people who made us feel very welcome with their enthusiasm for learning and their commitment to improving the lives of families dealing with mental health problems.  So what does a British visitor notice that’s different from the UK?  
Cars display no registration plate at the front which, for some reason, creates a slightly sinister atmosphere when you first become aware of it, as if you have stepped into a sci-fi movie. That said, the road etiquette is characteristically well-mannered:  pedestrians don’t cross roads at crossings until the ‘red hand’ turns white. Visually-impaired pedestrians are prompted to know when it’s safe to cross by birdsong sounds – one that sounds like a cuckoo and another more monotone one which, I think, help you to determine when it’s safe to cross either in a forward or a sideways direction.  Traffic stops as soon as a driver notices a pedestrian wanting to cross.  For a while I found myself looking the wrong way when crossing roads (the traffic being on the right) and gratefully acknowledging the person in the passenger seat rather than the driver! 
 Most of the buildings are made of wood rather than brick (there are endless forests all around so timber is plentiful and brick is reserved for the more prestigious buildings.) Homeowners favour steel roofs – they last forever.
 I had expected to have lots of good strong coffee but Nova Scotians seem not to prioritise this. I was also surprised at how alien vegetarianism seems to be to them.  Restaurants seemed satisfied with themselves so long as they offered a single veggie option (usually mushroom risotto or salad). Salad sometimes had meat in it, however, and even baked beans in the hotel’s hot buffet had to contain bacon – real cowboy food. Frankie and Gino’s (nothing like our Frankie and Benny’s) was an unexpected treasure.  Friendly staff served pints of Rickards Red beer for those of us who were missing our real ale, and they were able to be more flexible about the menu. The complimentary mints that came with the bill caused a minor transatlantic stir. 
wintergreen
magical ointment
Our Canadian hosts explained that, in North America, the over-sized Polo mints are called Life Savers (they are lifebuoy-shaped, if you think about it for a moment!) But what was that pungent aroma that could be smelled through the sweet wrapper?  ‘Wintergreen,’ said the Canadians.  ‘Germolene,’ said the English. We were transported instantly back to the playground, grazed knees and the comforting smell of that magical, skin-coloured ointment applied lovingly by our mothers from a little tin.  The Canadians looked bemused but I politely declined to pop a Germolene-impregnated mint into my mouth.  Germolene was, as far as I was concerned, not to be taken internally.

The Nova Scotians seemed more Scottish than they realised. Some of them pronounced ‘Out and about’ as ‘Oot and aboot’. They seemed to prefer meat and fish to fruit and vegetables; trees and lakes (lochs?) abound.  The traditional music they enjoy, which they think of as Nova Scotian, sounded pretty Irish and Scots to my ears. If a young man decides to take up the bagpipes rather than the guitar it is not considered strange.Fresh fruit, like strong coffee, seemed unimportant in Nova Scotia. 

A few precious bananas appeared in the hotel one day but, within 24 hours, they had converted themselves into a banana dessert. Curiously, slices of oranges were de rigueur, whether on the edge of a pint of Rickards White beer or as an accompaniment to poached eggs. Apart from these ubiquitous slithers of orange, fruit was, if not forbidden, rare.


After a week in Truro, the enthusiastic politeness of the hotel staff was wearing a bit thin. Call it grumpiness, but an English person is satisfied with a grunt when he thanks a waitress for pouring his coffee whereas it is the Canadian reflex to declare: ‘You’re welcome!’ at every turn. I had the privilege to meet some great characters and kind souls in Nova Scotia and so - perhaps despite rather because of the urgent, insistent ‘You’re welcomes’ - I genuinely did feel very welcome in this big, beautiful, peaceable province.






Sunday, 26 May 2013

Thankfully not floating away with Unknown Mortal Orchestra



Unknown Mortal Orchestra — live at Thekla, Bristol

Tuesday 7th  May, 2013


 I'd heard some tracks by Unknown Mortal Orchestra on BBC 6 Music but no one else I know seemed to be aware of them. When I discovered they were playing in Bristol in the week of my birthday, it seemed like a perfect excuse to hook up with my son Dan -- currently a Bristol resident -- for a chilled-out, father/son, gig-going experience.

Unknown Mortal Orchestra (UMO) is led by Ruban Nielson (former member of the Mint Chicks) — a New Zealander now based in Portland, Oregon. UMO were supported by Splashh -- a four-piece psychedelic rock band that also includes a smattering of New Zealanders.

The unusual setting for the gig was Thekla – an award-winning venue that's actually a cargo ship moored in the Mud Dock area of Bristol's Floating Harbour. (The ship was originally brought to Bristol as a music and theatre venue by the wife of Vivian Stanshall of Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band fame.) I'd been aboard the Thekla years ago though I can’t recall which band I saw. (Dan tells me it's more interesting to see gigs there on a stormy winter's night because you forget you're on a boat and are suddenly reminded when the venue starts to sway.) But it was a calm, early May evening when we embarked to see UMO.

Support act Splashh, despite the aptness of their maritime-sounding name, were disappointing. I tried to imagine their songs performed without the arsenal of effects pedals and suspected there would be little left behind to enjoy. The sound was unbelievably distorted. There’s psychedelic and lo-fi ... and then there's just distorted. By contrast, UMO sounded fuzzy in a good way. Ruban, in a leather jacket with a Monkees logo on the back, is a talented guitarist and songwriter and gave an assured performance with solid but unassuming backup from bassist Jake Portrait and drummer Riley Geare.

Gillam the Younger looked pretty unimpressed throughout the gig and told me he enjoyed the psychedelic cover version encores more than the main set. As for Old Man Gillam, well, I was glad to have witnessed UMO in action. Ruban has a gift for creating chirpy songs with sprightly guitar parts and quirky, sometimes incongruously dark lyrics. Who could fail to delight in the hook ‘... so good at being in trouble, so bad at being in love ...'? The intriguingly-titled The Opposite of Afternoon could, in a parallel universe, have been a lost track by the Young Rascals while UMO’s nearest thing to a hit single, Swim and Sleep, epitomises their plaintive pop sensibility:  
‘I wish that I could swim and sleep like a shark does,
I'd fall to the bottom and I'd hide till the end of time
in the sweet cool darkness, asleep and constantly floating away ...’

About me

My Photo
Is it 'Tony Gillam' or 'Anthony Gillam'? Well, both actually. I write for children under the name Anthony Gillam, and for adults as Tony Gillam. Why? Because, as Tony Gillam, I've written lots of articles and a text book for mental health nurses and, when it came to writing my first children's novel ('A Passenger in Time'), I thought I'd take on a different identity so people wouldn't get confused! I'm afraid it may have only added to the confusion. I'm a member of the writers' group Severn Valley Authors who also have a blog - http://severnvalleyauthors.blogspot.com/ Currently I'm working on a number of short stories, a handful of songs, a few articles and the beginnings of another book.