Fables - Joe Innes and the Cavalcade

Joe Innes

What can I say? A good song can change your life. No, perhaps I went too far there. But it can do so many things: evoke an atmosphere that enthrals you; affect you emotionally; intrigue you; make a point (see my Protest Songs blog); be so rousing and rambunctious that it lifts your spirits; take you on a journey; make you want to get up and dance; involve you in something greater than yourself (or make you feel as if you are); restore your faith in the power of an infectious tune and some insightful, witty lyrics. There’s a theory that sometimes when you express something particular, personal and unique, it somehow becomes universal, something that everyone can identify with. And a great song does all of the above. And Fables is a great song.

Like the first time that you heard Babies by Pulp. You feel like you’re freewheeling your bike down a hill, without ever having had the arduous task of crawling up it. A free ride. First the intro, the impression it gives me is of starting in clear mono, then switching to fuzzy stereo, then the song, as it gathers instruments, gathers power, grabs ahold of you - it reminds me of a daytrip I went on with friends, en route we kept collecting people, on station platforms, on the street  and so on - then it picks you up and the sheer energy of it carries you along. For one fantastic instant, you cease longing and start belonging.

You just can't beat some intelligent, postmodern lyrics, full of cultural allusions like an episode of Buffy and a Sinatraesque swing, a rolling quality to lines like: 
And it all starts spinning like a ferris wheel/The Jesus hounds hot upon our heels/How the hell does it make you feel/To be loved? 
that always alters my mood for the better.

Then: But I will live forever now/Just like the kids out of Fame/When I shoot the man who shot, the man who shot, the man who shot Jesse James 

God, it's so incredibly uplifting. A song to make your heart soar. I like the inclusion of a a line from the Irene Cara title song, Fame from the TV series: Remember my name, fame/I'm gonna live forever/I'm gonna learn how to fly ...
and the nod to Jesse James ,* the outlaw (as legend (or fable) has it, 'killed by the coward Robert Ford').

Sometimes you hear a tune and it seems so natural, organic, that it feels almost inevitable, as if it's always existed. And this is like that.

Semi-gratuitous picture of Tyrone Power, for my Mum

*Incidentally, I just watched Jesse James, the one with Tyrone Power and Henry Fonda. I tried to video it a few months ago (yes I still have a video) partly because of the glorious colour but only the sound came out (my video is temperamental)) and I figured it would be like listening to Wimbledon on the radio (which some people actually do). Pointless. On Jesse James, see Glenn Frey: Cowboy Casanova.

For more on passions in music, see I'm on Fire, Doll by Doll, Gordon Gano.

I hope to publish this simultaneously (doesn't this sound grand? 'publish simultaneously') with a review of the Joe Innes gig at The Harrison, which you can find here: https://sshh-sshh.blogspot.com/.

Sister's poetry on Pulp/Jarvis Cocker is here.

Travis Fimmel is Ragnar Lothbrok in Vikings on History

the careless abundance
of his hair

such profusion
is wanton

an extravagance

of genetics

...

or a generous gift from god?

eyes indescribable

one minute ice,

one minute lightning

striking

heart-stopping

breath-taking

the sky, the sea, the fire

the storm, the mist,
the rain

the elements

and

every kind of weather

in the compass

of an hour

or the duration

of a day

For more on Travis Fimmel, Ragnar, Vikings, Athelstan, George Blagden, see Vikings on History: Ragnar/Travis Fimmel and Athelstan/George Blagden and TV Series: Versailles on BBC2. If you preferred Rollo (Clive Standen), see my review of his new series, Taken.

peter quinn from tv's 'homeland' (brought to life by rupert friend) (2)

reincarnated as

a hall of mirrors version

of himself

fragmented, contorted

everything a little

awry, askew

… nothing is new ...

leaves the fairground

forever altered

or a cherished

threadbare teddy

pulled apart, dismembered

by the randomly brutal

devotion of an infant

then as roughly mended

stitched together by

an inept seamstress

strapped for time

in some ways less

than what he was
before

in some ways more

now

what was once

an instinct, a reflex

can cause him to pause, to hesitate

adjust, adapt, recalibrate

a clockwork toy

in a perpetual

wind-down

running on empty
driving on fumes

usually head-on

down a dead-end

fuelled by a fervour

that keeps

pitching him forward

regardless

reckless

now he’s died already

courts disaster with disdain

is indifferent to his fate

and an intimate of pain

his default setting

self-destruct
takes the wheel and

takes control ...

for the sake of the girl

for the sake of the mission

one last shot at redemption

one last act of contrition ---

For a textual appreciation of Rupert Friend's portrayal of Peter Quinn, see: peter quinn (rupert friend) in 'homeland' on channel 4. It's a crime Friend wasn't nominated for an Emmy; for another Quinn poem, see vanquished.
.

peter quinn (rupert friend) in 'homeland' on channel 4/uk showtime/us (1)

Peter Quinn

She frowned a lot

Homeland was always Claire Danes’s show. Yes, Damian Lewis hung around for a bit and Mandy Patinkin won't give it up but it was Carrie Mathison who effectively led the thing, had the ideas, took the initiative. However flaky or off the wall she acted (when she forgot or decided not to take her meds or sometimes even when she did), we trusted her. She took risks, often utterly uncalculated ones. And like that other heroine of our TV times, Buffy, ‘She Saved the World. A Lot’.

So did he

What amazes me is that when Peter Quinn arrived, I really resented it though I wasn’t sure why. I think I must have seen Rupert Friend in something else and not liked him. I was worried that the plot would now follow some hackneyed romcom trope, where he would start as the antagonist to Carrie, then there’d be an interminable ‘will they, won't they?’ stage before they realised they were in love. (There has been a whisper of this attachment on Quinn’s side; Carrie as we know makes a series of bad decisions about who she sleeps with, frequently putting her life and the lives of others in danger. In fact, talking about The Lives of Others, I considered Sebastian Koch a better match). I thought it implausible that someone like Carrie would fall for the by-the-book, straight-arrow, in-league-with-management guy. I saw him as just another obstacle Carrie would have to surmount. Despite great lines like 'Is there no line, Carrie? Is there no fucking line?' I still didn't like him. And I didn’t trust him. At all.

But now he’s the reason I watch.

I have to give credit to Rupert Friend and the writers for this incredible but somehow, because of their consummate skill, entirely believable character arc and story trajectory.

Particularly since the gas attack and the resulting catastrophic brain injury, but in truth a little before this, Peter Quinn has had me mesmerised. He’s like another person. In a total tailspin, on a downward spiral (funny how you never get an upward spiral) that seems to last forever, barely pausing for breath on the descent. And just when you think things couldn’t get any worse, things get worse.

This paranoid, damaged, broken creature (played with such aplomb by Friend) is who I root for now. Carrie who?

Angela in My So-called Life

For several seasons, I was bored with Homeland, only loyal because Carrie’s stops and starts remained intriguing. How would she get rid of that annoying Peter Quinn? I didn’t have much patience for Saul. Danes has hardly put a foot wrong since the wonderful, could-never-be-overrated My So-called Life (a semi-gratuitous clip here, so emotional, my heart breaks for Brian, thrills for Angela), which I recently watched all over again on YouTube (and it didn’t disappoint), through Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo and Juliet (with Leonardo DiCaprio) to Homeland (with the tiresome and pointless Stardust the exception to the rule, and even that at least produced the glorious 'Rule the World' by Take That) but now, astonishingly, it’s Peter Quinn who has me hooked. Each time the credits roll, I can't conceive an hour has gone by. I’m like ‘Already?!’

Increasingly unkempt

Similar to the halting progress Quinn makes dragging his bad leg, I gradually became attached to him. The fatalism, the heroism, the tragic mistakes (poor Astrid), the self-pity, the despair. Every time he survives, I cheer inside. There’s a certain romanticism about his decline and the more unkempt, ragged, desperate he becomes, the more I like him. As his stubble grows, as his eyes glaze over from some unwise high, as he does something crazy, foolish or both, as he realises the consequences of the crazy, foolish thing, as everything falls apart for him as a man, it’s all coming together for him as a character.

With Carrie effectively sidelined by motherhood, Peter Quinn has become the heart of the show. Bloody and let’s face it, not unbowed, down and somewhat out, he’s the one out on a limb now. Shaky but steadfastly loyal to Carrie even when he imagines she’s betrayed him, he keeps vigil. It seems to be their fate to continually save each other’s lives without the other noticing or acknowledging it. Friend’s performance is so startlingly true, so affecting, his hauntedness so haunting, I’ve changed my mind completely. I believe in him as Peter Quinn. And Carrie has changed her mind too: 'Quinn, the last two years, everywhere I went, I looked for you. I tried to find you. I never stopped thinking about you.'

So it’s taken a few seasons, a few cataclysmic errors, a heap of occasionally justified paranoia. Each setback, each stumble, each misunderstanding, each minor triumph, I experience with him. Shot at, underwater, we all hold our breath till he resurfaces Rasputin-like. I feel his pain, his frustration, each new degradation. As he grasps for a word somewhere now out of reach, I yearn to supply it. The doubt, the battles, the defeats, I live with him … and it’s Peter Quinn I trust to save the world now.

Rupert Friend

[Quinn makes me feel like this song lyric:

If there’s no one beside you when your soul embarks/I will follow you into the dark.]

[Please note that I didn't always pay proper attention to Homeland so may have got some facts wrong.]

[Poem on Quinn here: https://poeminawhiteribbedvest.wordpress.com/2017/04/29/vanquished/.]

[For more on acting, see secretsquirrelsays on Law & Order, Cold Case and Versailles.]

Vikings on History: Ragnar/Travis Fimmel and Athelstan/George Blagden

Watching and rather obsessively rewatching an interview with the cast of Vikings, fascinated by the dynamic between Travis Fimmel and George Blagden (respectively Viking Ragnar Lothbrok and monk Athelstan in the show). 

Travis assaults George

Their interchange is the affectionate push and pull of an excitable, irrepressible, slightly rough puppy (Travis) with his favourite, long-suffering chew-toy (George), who is alternately hugged, kissed, and hit, gripped, pinched, abused but all with a proprietary kind of devotion. He just can't let him alone. And George submits good-naturedly, patiently to this harsh handling, barely complaining except for an occasional ‘Ow!’ when his nipples are tweaked, and even then he's so well-mannered, he apologises to the interviewer, smiling throughout. It seems to me that this playful and immediate intimacy is perhaps unwarranted, unasked for but not unwelcome – like, when a child you barely know unexpectedly takes your hand as you’re walking, almost a benediction, an acceptance, a symbol of trust you don’t yet deserve but will work hard to justify. Here, just to be the focus of the puppy’s attention, when little else will hold it, and certainly not the seriousness of your fellow interviewees, that he feels this irresistible urge to touch you, jostle you, acknowledge you, makes you feel chosen, special.

A hand on his shoulder

Curiously, it's almost an echo of the relationship between Ragnar and Athelstan. From different worlds but with an affinity that belies it, a natural understanding, a mutual indulgence. I won't say savagery versus civilisation, primitive versus cultured but perhaps physical versus not so much spiritual as simply rather less physical. The wild, laidback, expansive Aussie and the quietly spoken, self-contained Englishman. Google images of Ragnar and Athelstan and you will find it's usually Ragnar laying hands on Athelstan, whether it's a hand on his shoulder or gripping his knee. Watch this superb YT tribute, brilliantly videochoreographed to Hozier's 'Take Me to Church', which captures the essence of this special relationship.

Athelstan asserts his independence

Travis/Ragnar is extremely tactile – he tends to communicate more through touch or expression than by speech, talks with his hands, his eyes, his body. A nod, a smile, a sideways glance. George/Athelstan's British reserve is eroded by the extreme physicality of Travis/Ragnar. In a way, touch is more honest than anything that can be said. It's a shorthand for how the character feels. Travis himself has an innate understanding of this: 'Those silent moments can have such meaning. Too much dialogue can leave the viewer with nothing.' It takes something momentous, the fear of losing him, before Ragnar tells Athelstan 'You cannot leave' then 'You cannot leave me' and eventually 'I love you.' Travis has said that it's his favourite relationship on the show and it's easy to see why. It's a beautiful friendship with a frisson of homoeroticism (helped by the palpable chemistry between them), played up in the many excellent YT tributes and by Travis himself. Twice here, when Athelstan's role is discussed, Travis naughtily murmurs 'Sex slave'. Even when affirming that free lunches are still his favourite thing on set, he adds 'And you, monk'.

Lagertha

Then, in other interviews, Travis mischievously maintains the mystique. Asked, of Lagertha and Auslag: 'Who's a better kisser?', he replies: 'Athelstan.' Of the occasion when Ragnar and Lagertha importuned Athelstan to come to bed with them, the 'Come and join us, monk?' line, he jokes, 'The offer's still on the table.' Asked (of Athelstan),  'How much is he worth?', he answers: 'I don't know. I haven't slept with him yet.' Of the threesome suggestion, he says 'You don't know if we were messing with him. ... I was serious ... test your relationships out a bit and see what you can get'.

Interestingly elsewhere, it's Travis who seems to shy away from physical contact with other cast members, just as George here once shifts slightly away from Travis, as if asserting his own position, albeit briefly. Perhaps he should be wary of this easy familiarity but it's given so frankly and with such charm, it would be churlish not to submit. George is comfortable enough in his own skin to accept these rough overtures in the spirit in which they're offered, as a gift of trust.

'I ache from your loss'

There's a certain casual intensity in Travis's performance that I'm not sure I've seen anywhere else. It's instinctual, natural. A force of nature. There's an essential truth to his portrayal of Ragnar, as if he were born to play this role. The series' creator, Michael Hirst, in audio commentary on the first episode, has said how the camera loves him. Indeed, it's hard to take your eyes off him, even when here he, a little endearingly, seems to zone out at times when the others are speaking, fidgets, plays with his nails and waits for a chance to act rather than talk, another opportunity to assault George. He acts as if George were actually his possession. He's prompted to tell a hilarious story about a lady giving him a dollar as he sat outside a bank, waiting for a friend. She thought he was homeless and panhandling. He's not embarrassed. He kept the dollar but says, 'Don't tell my manager and that, I'll end up with 25 cents'.

This very playfulness, the roughhousing, the affection, on and off screen, and the tendency to value action over words, makes everything he does say seem more significant so that when you hear the lines 'There is nothing that can console me now' and 'I ache from your loss', you really believe them.

One day, they'll be reunited

For more on George Blagden, see secretsquirrelsays Versailles.

john malkovich as the 'unfathomable' gilbert osmond in 'the portrait of a lady'

malkovich makes me

mix my metaphors

the

basilisk stare

rock steady

unflinching

grey slate eyes

say nothing

and everything

over and over

insistence in

bloodless lids

half-lowered

crocodile calm

caught

trapped in his weblike traces

clingy tendrils

immobilise

make you quiet

submit to his will

passion is petrified

a cobra

coiled for the kill

seduces with stillness

seduces you still

the voice

a whisper, a promise, a threat

a soft chill

it slides like a slug across the nape of your neck

and bites

something scary

something sexy

something in control

makes you lose control





To check out my reviews on Amazon, follow this link.

Doll by Doll - I Never Saw the Movie More Than Twice

That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!

Robert Browning, Home Thoughts, From Abroad

It's Jackie’s birthday and it seems like a good time to post a piece on this great Doll by Doll tune from their second album, Doll by Doll.

You hear a song like this again, or it comes into your head and everything you were when you first heard it comes back to you. Songs have such power to evoke a mood, an era, in this case, youth and possibility. You realise that it’s in you, has infiltrated your blood, your consciousness, has got under your skin, is imbued in your very sinews. You played it so much, taped from someone’s vinyl, loved it so much, that you will never forget it. The song’s soul is part of your soul.

Doll by Doll, more so than Jackie Leven solo, make me want to use words like glory and majesty. They make me go all Biblical. I can only express myself in superlatives, in hyperbole, absolutes because Doll by Doll dealt in nothing else. They did nothing by halves.

There’s a palpable joy when Jackie launches into 'She asked me/Would I like to see her again/Forget that bedroom/I just want to be friends/She once told me something/I was not to repeat/And I know she was right/But I feel like making love tonight', a rush like a jet taking off. It comes crashing along, with so much vitality and hope, like the wave of the century and you’re carried on the momentum to a place where all love is eternal (as if there were any other kind of love with Doll by Doll), swept up in the slipstream. Simply hearing those lines today, sung with Jackie’s inimitable intensity, I feel the same surge of emotion I did then.

Now the almost tangible elation that resounds through that stanza and that I feel when I hear it, is interlaced with sorrow that Jackie is gone and will be forever missed and my life is no longer fresh and new and maybe my dreams never amounted to much but I know that I once rode the crest of the perfect wave with Doll by Doll and  shared it with people I really cared about.

There are many Leven fans who only know Jackie’s solo material. I didn’t know about Doll by Doll until some time in the 80s when they were no longer together but my belated immersion in their sonic grandeur meant that years later, when I saw Jackie’s name in a gig list in 1994, I was there, so excited: to be able to hear him sing, perform live, to think he was still making music, music that I could buy. It was like a reprieve from a sentence I didn’t know I was serving.

And now, despite the sadness, we still have songs like this and the moments we shared with friends at the 12 Bar or in some civic hall in Bromley or a crypt in Clerkenwell. I’ll quote Abba here: 'And I've often wondered, how did it all start?/Who found out that nothing can capture a heart/Like a melody can?/Well, whoever it was, I'm a fan.'

So thank you Doll by Doll and thank you Jackie. Gone but not forgotten.

Other Leven blogs can be found at The King of Love Has Died,  Exit Wound and

Jackie Leven: 'To see a world in a grain of sand/And a heaven in a wild flower/Hold infinity in the palm of your hand/And eternity in an hour'.