Dream geography

I’ve been warned before that there’s nothing very interesting in talking about one’s dreams. People who analyse them are deluded and people who describe them are dullards. That’s probably true – but one’s own dreams always seem interesting to oneself, particularly if you wake like I did this morning, thinking, “bloody hell, that was vivid”.

A couple of fragments that I remember, to amuse myself.

I was walking through an altered Brighton – I assume I’m not unusual and that everyone distorts geographical reality when they dream. The Brighton of my dreams is pretty close to the one I inhabit when awake, except that some roads are louder, quieter, nearer, further away, blended or bent out of shape. My home is often different, although weirdly it’s rarely an amalgam of real places I’ve lived and rather somewhere quite distinct, a figment of my imagination. But when I dream it up – or at least, on the occasions when I remember it – I find I’ve done a good job of designing something really complete. I could knock on the walls.

I was walking through an altered Brighton – and it was a bit hotter and swingier; something of Lisbon transplanted to St James Street. People drank on doorsteps or cross legged on the pavement, people drifted diagonally from bar to bar. I walked to a camera shop (Jessops, I suppose, which has just closed down in real life, although there isn’t one in Kemp Town), and got invited to a party while I stared in the window. I crossed the road, and watched two men run at each other outside the Thai restaurant. One man was bent low, like a bull. The other man pulled a gun from his pocket and shot him. Then he pointed the gun at me, and I grabbed at a bit of loose wooden boarding which was nearby – quite calmly – and held it like a shield. He shot me through the board. I was carried away.

I woke up in a garden just around the corner, here in Seven Dials. It was New Year’s Eve and I had decided to sleep outdoors. It was a warm and balmy night. When I think about it, it often is in my dreams. I tossed and turned – in my dream – unable to sleep. So eventually I got up and walked through another part of Brighton (which is down by the seafront) back to my flat in Kemp Town. I slept there. After a while I rose and went back out onto St James Street and to an L-shaped bar which has never existed, but of which I dream, oddly, often. Downstairs they do cocktails and there is a small, tropical garden where you can stand. I think I dream about this bar twice a year.

I know what my dreams mean – they mean nothing. But I am intrigued by the geography of them. I often wake wishing for a map.

december

Loping carefully down snow-covered pavements; watching My Sad Captains play a set of melodic, fine tuned indie rock; playing with my friend Claire's cat; watching the trains negotiate through the bad weather; Curly Hair live at the Freebutt, everything perfumed with Xmas; constructing stop animations from the window at work; watching adults and children throw snowballs; gasping at the lovely, sonorous sound of Foxes! live; admiring cat-leaps on Boxing Day; talking shit at parties; lunch with my friends; housebound in Brighton; surrounded by my favourite people; watching the new year land.

This was my December.



Thanks to Claire for the idea!

and still the snow

dark star brewery

Good to see Brighton's own Dark Star Brewery listed in the Guardian's list of the top ten UK microbreweries. Ace. Here's what the Grauniad says:

Dark Star Brewery – Evening Star Brighton

When the Evening Star became a freehouse in 1992 the owner converted half the cellar into a microbrewery. When demand grew the brewery moved to nearby Ansty but still supplies the pub with it's golden Hophead bitter (3.8%) as well as rotating Dark Star beers. You'll also find a choice of real ciders and international bottled beers. A short hop away from Brighton Station, it's often missed by the visiting crowds heading down to the seafront. Also handy for catching the last train back to London if you're on a day trip to the coast. Look out for its one-batch-a-year Critical Mass (7.2%) Christmas ale - sure to get you singing Fairytale Of New York in the manner of Shane MacGowan himself.

• eveningstarbrighton.co.uk, 55/56 Surrey Street, Brighton, BN1 3PB, +44 (0)1273 328931.

Thirsty now.

stormy coast

Nice little video of Brighton seafront courtesy of Dan; the South Coast is absolutely nuts, weather-wise, at the moment - sun, rain, hail, rainbows. Don't understand.

charlotte vere

I'm interested - and cautiously pleased - to hear that Charlotte Vere has been chosen as Brighton Pavilion's Conservative Party candidate to fight the general election. I'm pleased not because I intend to vote for her (I'm not a Tory voter, as regular readers will know), but because she seems, on first impressions, to be a pretty decent candidate with concerns that I think will resonate with people - she's worked alongside Zac Goldsmith or environmental issues and dedicated much of her working life to dealing with mental health issues (other people's, not her own).

She helped create Big White Wall, which is an online 'suppport network for those in emotional distress', and seems in that respect to the personification of the new, cuddly Tory which we are encouraged to believe exists. On the down side, she's a Londoner rather than a local candidate - but then aren't most of us in Brighton Londoners in the first instance? It often feels that way. And perhaps she just can't take any more of Boris as mayor? We could hardly condemn her for that...

I didn't, however, attend the (not so) Open Primary, last night, where she was nominated - and so beyond a quick scan of her biography, it's hard to know where she stands on key issues. Very peculiarly, she doesn't seem to have either a blog or a website (which makes you wonder how participants in the Open Primary were supposed to have found out what she believed in), although she is on Twitter, where she seems relatively normal. If I find out what she does believe in (which probably isn't as fanciful a notion as finding out what, say, David Cameron believes in), I shall surely keep you informed via this blog.

Most interestingly, we are now in a position where we have a geniunely open election in Brighton Pavilion, between three strong female candidates. At present, I - like a lot of people I know - haven't quite figured out who I'll vote for in the Spring - so I'm hopeful there'll be an intelligent, thoughtful debate fought locally - and that the best candidate wins.

a song on the shoreline

Funny how after years of living in Brighton, myself and a bunch of friends have started falling in love with the sea all over again. We've mostly been going down there at low tide, admiring the beauty of our horizon, the city's vista, and the fading skeleton of our old Pier. I've been taking photos and writing - the results of which will be posted here shortly. Dan, who is fast developing his movie-making skills, has been shooting video and editing things together. Here, then, is a short film he's made to accompany a song by Hauschka. It captures something still, and beautiful, and fleeting, about our city's shoreline.



Visit Dan's YouTube channel here.

brighton festival

Sat dozing on the train to work, this morning, I overhear a girl complaining.

“I’ve done it again”, she says. “The Brighton Festival season is over and I didn’t attend anything. Again. I never attend anything”.

Her companion tries to provide consolation.

“Everything is so expensive. And the good stuff always sells out early”.

There was a pause.

“No. I’m just crap. I couldn’t really find anything I wanted to see. I’m not cultured enough for Brighton”.


She just didn’t look hard enough. The Brighton Festival is a lovely event in my city’s calendar, and one that I’m prepared to admit I hardly ever get the best out of. Sometimes I feel the same way my fellow passenger did; there’s nothing much for me – it’s all scones and conversation with Joanna Lumley or ancient sonatas with the Royal Symphony Orchestra. Other times I don’t even look, feeling depressed about money or ambivalent about engaging. I’m being an idiot on all counts, of course, because there’s loads of amazing, challenging, interesting stuff happening above and below my radar, and plenty which is free, or cheap, or worth the risk. Usually Festival season slips by and I’ve barely scratched the surface, and I’m left as irritated as the girl I overheard this morning. Why didn’t I do more.

This year I did, well… I did a bit, and feel glad that I did, and only a little bit disappointed that I didn’t do more. There are things I really wish I’d got my finger out to see, and others that I reflect I might have taken a punt on, but it’s hard to feel too left out because Brighton (apologies, readers, for the smug tone) is just always brimming with possibilities. The Brighton Festival is over. But Brighton is always in festival season, really, regardless of when the posters and bunting are up. The last few weeks have seen The Great Escape (where Brighton disguises what is essentially a big 3 day long pub crawl as ‘Europe’s Leading Festival for New Music’), the Spring Festival in St. Anne’s Well Gardens, all the Festival Fringe events, and the Festival proper. And there are simply loads of events on the horizon which I’m minded to attend: the Loop festival, Hanover Day, Pride, the Brunswick Festival, Beachdown. The lesson on under-attending the month-long Brighton festival is not ‘I must do more next year’, it’s ‘I must engage more, generally’.

At the Spring Festival – a very middle class, cosy celebration of the part of town where I live (7 Dials) – I sat in the park with a friend, drinking coffee and watching a tangle of children and animals weaving through seated figures on the grass. Parents fanning themselves with their Weekend Guardians, children chasing dogs, dogs chasing children, dogs chasing dogs.

“Don’t you think”, my friend said – as we watched people mill around the stalls, munching on cupcakes – “that we’d all be a lot happier if we took more active roles in our communities?”

The answer is surely yes. We work all day so that we can live in the communities of our choosing, and yet when we arrive there we so often limit our interaction to the newsagent and the supermarket, a pair of pubs (one good for winter, one for summer), and the friendship groups we’ve already established over time. I think we should all get dogs. I want a dog and I want to be stopped on every corner by another dog owner, and I want them to know my name. I want to paint watercolours of Montpelier Crescent, St Luke’s Church and Vernon Terrace, and for the paintings to hang on my neighbour’s walls. I want to write for the local newsletter.

I don’t really want this.

I sort of want it.

I do want the feeling of pride I get when I look around the Open Houses during the Brighton festival – where I admire the lovely abstract paintings of Sarah Shaw and Natalie Edwards, the lovely sewn images of Lou Trigg, the mischevious cats screenprinted by Eve Poland (whose own cats used to climb through my window and terrorise me when I lived nearby) – and think "this is the work of my community, my peers, the people I share my city with".

I feel a bit bad about how infrequently I update my blog, because if I’d have been organised, I could have told you this earlier, in time for you to trace my footsteps through the Festival, if you'd wanted to.

burning of the clocks

Photo courtesy of Vic, taken at Brighton's annual Winter parade. Thanks, Vic.

brighton awakes for a temporary summer

bird t-shirt

Here's another bit of lomo photography, this one on slide film and cross-processed. What you can't see, sadly, is that my t-shirt is a fetching shade of pastel pink. On the occasions when I have worn it to work, people have laughed. But I hold my head high.

the grand, brighton

My girlfriend's parents are down visiting in Brighton this weekend, and took us out for dinner last night. They're staying in a big hotel on the beachfront (there'll be no product placement on this site), but not the Grand, the city's most historic hotel. That said, we all walked past it last night and although Brighton folk generally much prefer cooler, down-at-heel but achingly tasteful boutique hotels, it's hard not to be impressed by the building, not least because it so successfully survived the IRA bomb which sought to kill Maggie Thatcher in the 80s.

My girlfriend is out with her parents tonight too, and will have walked past the hotel a second time. When she walks her parents back she'll find a quite different sight. Apparently the Grand, which has weathered all sorts of storms thus far, is on fire. Ten fire-engines are fighting the blaze. I hope they succeed.

brighton blogs of the week

I've been reading local blogs a bit more recently, as the Brighton Web Awards have piqued my interest. Brighton doesn't seem to have the most vibrant blogging scene, but if you value small observations and listening in to conversations, you'll always find things that make your ears prick up. Here's a quick guide to what I've been reading this week then, courtesy of the fine city of Brighton and Hove.

Over at Chicken Yoghurt, Justin has finally decided that he's had it with Facebook and has 'deactivated' his profile. A friend of mine did the same thing a while back but has recently come back into the fold, so perhaps Facebook are operating a one-in/one-out policy. Justin writes:

"It makes me laugh that there are thousands of people out there who are screaming at the tops of their lungs that they’d rather go to bed with John Prescott than submit their details to an ID card database, but there they are cheerfully fessing up to their political affiliations, educational histories, reading and viewing habits, what they’re doing at the weekend and all the rest on a ’social network’ which is, get this, AN ENORMOUS BLOODY DATABASE."

Céline, on her Naked Translations blog, has a go at translating a passage of Sebastian Faulks' marvellous 'Birdsong', in tribute to Rememberence day. Céline, a french person living in Brighton, makes a thought-provoking observation that hadn't previously occurred to me. She writes, "This is a day that unites my birth country and my adoptive country through shared history". Which is, of course, very true.

There are always lots of good photos up at Brighton Daily Photo, as you might expect, but I was particularly taken by this one, which does justice to our lovely seafront.

At Mulled Whines, Phil is setting out his stall as a Brighton fashion icon. He's clearly readying himself for the time when he moves in more celebrated circles...

"What it also means, of course, is that I could be the subject of a tabloid exposé at any time. When my fellow twig-thin icon of style, Victoria Beckham, bought a bit o' Bitton last year, it made all the papers. So at the very least I should command a couple of lines in The Argus. And let's face it, she and I have so much in common."

Abi, over at his Zigzag Wandering blog, has spotted a parakeet in Stamner Park - I find that strangely fascinating, which is perhaps evidence of my advancing years. Yet it's not that surprising, apparently; it seems Brighton has a history of exotic finds. Abi says:

"Hollingbury Woods was once [1970s-90s] the home of upto 20 breeding ring-necked parakeets which made text books on the subject. These gradually dwindles and disappeared after the nesting tree which stood on a slope by the children's playground fell over one windy night.
Last winter, there was a bit of excitement in Waldegrave Road near Fiveways when a pair of green parrots with yellow faces arrived in the street regularly feeding on fruit of a particulalry abundant crab apple and the seed etc put out by residents. They stayed several weeks and were reported and photographed in local magazine 'The Fiveways Directory'. After disappearing for a few weeks they reappeared with a third bird in tow. Whether they had bred or not remains uncertain, but their residency this time was shrt-lived. As far as I know their present location or fate remains a mystery - as does their origin."

Lastly, and perhaps most entertainingly, Anna over at Little Red Boat has, she says, a "broken valve between brain and mouth" and so declares, surprisingly, that she wishes she had a beard. Click through for a typically funny and engaging post, if you fancy it. Here she is on that wistful frame of mind which makes her declare such wants.

"But it's not just a mood, it's a mood that fizzles in a certain little vague-valve in my chest, and then bubbles up to my brain, where it strikes me that it's a lovable thing to have out there, in the world, so I have to say it out loud. And whoever happens to be with me never knows where it's come from, they just know that I've said it. I don’t care what they think of it though. Because I've said it out loud, and it's important that I voice un-planned things sometimes because that's how I work."

I love blogs.

vote assistant blog

There's one day of voting left in the Brighton and Hove Web Awards; if you've not yet done so please do consider voting for Assistant Blog in the best personal blog category. You can do so by clicking on the icon below. Thanks!

blogging brighton

It's long been a frustrating fact that Brighton and Hove, a place with an awful lot of art, music and blogging activity, has comparitively few outlets for finding out exactly what is going on in our fine town. For ages I've been meaning to start incorporating more local information to Assistant Blog, except for the fact that I'm really not sure how many people will be interested.

As of today, then, I'll be blogging in two places - here, and on Blogging Brighton, a weblog which is going to try to keep Brighton's blogging population up to date on interesting events, shows and writing. It'll include choice listings, previews and reviews of local stuff. I make no promises at all about keeping it updated, except to say that I'm going to try.

Another thing I'm going to do is ask friends and fellow bloggers to help me out. So if you think you might be able to write me a weekly or fortnightly post on, say, films showing in Brighton, or reviews of theatre or gigs - or anything else that takes your fancy - let me know.

Here's the link - http://bloggingbrighton.blogspot.com/

plans for brighton

Brighton, my home town, has changed a lot since I moved here nearly ten years ago. It has a bright and successful (if rather deadening) shopping centre (Churchilll Square), a beautiful and much-loved new library in the North Laine, a variety of attractive new residential buildings. All of this without losing its scruffy, individual charm. There are plenty more developments lined up, too - the New England district, having been a wasteland sprouting cranes for several years, is coming together, a tall and impressive observational tower (the i360) will shortly be built on the sea front, and the beautiful and controversial Gehry buildings are finally approved. The Brighton Centre and Odeon, two ugly spots on the otherwise beautiful seafront, will be demolished soon, apparently. Most recently, the Local communities secretary, Hazel Blears, finally gave the go-ahead for Brighton and Hove Albion to build an attractive new stadium in Falmer, just outside the city. This is wonderful news for Brighton. Next on the list, I assumed, was the old pier, still standing forlorn in the water, a burned out shell of its former glory.

But no, it seems like the ever changing city will be developed in an unexpected fashion, next, if Council plans are given the go-ahead. The Evening Argus this week revealed a selection of exciting plans to renovate the three major gateways to the city, Preston Road, London Road and Lewes Road, long run-down and neglected parts of our town. The proposals - which at the moment are just that - look genuinely promising, and if a third of what is planned is completed it will be a great step forwards. The plans are outlined below. Thoughts from Brighton residents or interested observers are most welcome.

Lewes Road - this rather unattractive thoroughfare of the city, on the way out to the universities, has long been the most affordable area for student housing, and is at present a busy but unappealing road consisting mostly of funeral parlours, takeaways and budget grocers. The council plan to turn this area into an academic corridor, adding a public square at the Vogue Gyratory, demolishing Sainsburys and the petrol station and encouraging improved shop fronts. They intend to line the road with trees, ban fast food outlets and move Moulescombe station southwards to join it better with the city.

London Road - the closest that Brighton has to a suburban shopping street, London Road is ripe for regeneration sitting as it does in a valley, making high rise development feasible in a city which is famously protective of its skyline. To the west of the high street, the council has already invested in a dense outcrop of buildings, centred on a new Sainsburys, which they hope will provide a new focus for local jobs. But far from reimagining London Road as a financial district, the council see it, post-development, as a new arts district. It's the soon-to-close St Peter's Church which will serve as the catalyst, as it is soon to be converted into a 'cultural centre', complete with art studios. Elsewhere, the open market, a crucial but run-down part of town, will be completely redeveloped and renovated. The approach to the seafront will be transformed into a "green boulevard leading from The Level to the seafront, cutting the fourlane carriageway to the west down to a bus lane and moving all other traffic to the east". There'll be a new car park, too, traffic fans.

Lastly, Preston Road, the main approach to the city, will be similarly redeveloped, focusing on fixing the unused or innapropriate commercial properties and developing the viaduct into a proper Brighton landmark, complete with 'imaginative lighting' and space for 'creative business looking for bespoke accommodation in a high quality, unusual environment".

This all sounds like a lot of work, but (with the possible exception of the Lewes Road 'academic corridor', which may house a lot of students and be on the university route, but which hasn't in the last ten years supported a single bookshop) it all sounds plausible and beneficial to the city, If some of these proposals are carried out Brighton will be all the better for it,

Hanover Day

Each year Hanover, perhaps the prettiest part of Brighton - a series of colourful, narrow interconnecting streets which clamber up the east side of the city - hosts an event called Hanover Day. It's a small, homely festival which plays on the strengths of the area, focusing on the bright and lively streetlife and the many awesome pubs. Two of the central roads are lined with small stalls, in effect a kind of outdoor jumble sale, and the churches and community centres are open and serving tea, cakes and unusual, spicy curries.

The stalls are always great fun, not least because Hanover residents often have a delicately bohemian bent, meaning their tables are laden with small surprises as well as junk. People seem to resist the urge to mark everything up, too, so the many boxes of books and records yield inexpensive delights - in the course of an hour or so's browsing I'm able to pick up nostalgic treats by Dinosaur Jr, Teenage Fanclub, The Blue Aeroplanes and a great collection of early Creation Records stuff, paying no more than a pound for anything.

Lots of the stands specialise in home made, or home grown produce; clusters of white-green spring onions, jars of garlicky salad dressing or fairy cakes topped with hundreds and thousands. Along the way stands can be spotted campaigning for justice for Palestine and against US intervention in Cuba, alongside the usual Labour and Green Party stalls. More surprisingly, at one point, warm in the rare July sun, I gingerly approach a stand piled high with books. Then a logo, printed on laminated paper and pinned to a bookshelf, catches my eye.

I start to retreat, recognising it as the blue and green logo of the party now branded with a small c: 'conservatives'. Rudely, I murmur, 'Oh, fuck', and instinctively give a filthy look to the blond guy standing there. The look he returns is no more generous, and we stand eyeing each other for a second, wrinkling our noses. I'm mildly offended by the way he looks at me, despite my initial rudeness. As we walk away Siobhán reminds me that he's probably looking at my specs, floppy fringe and brown cardigan and thinking 'fucking Guardian-reading liberal poseur', just as I am thinking 'disgusting Hanover-encroaching right-wing fuck'. Later, Siobhán sits bolt upright and cries 'that Tory wanker is a TV doctor', recognising him from sporadic appearances on This Morning.

We've retreated to the pub by then, alarmed by the unusual warmth and the prospect of getting caught up in a part of Southover Street which might spring to life with Morris Dancers at any moment. Cooled down a little, we take our beers out to the pavement and sit in the sun, admiring the many, grinning dogs climbing back up the hill as the party quietens. At one point a family emerge from the pub behind us and their little boy stands before us, smiling. He is wearing a t-shirt printed with a little waistcoat and a red neckerchief. Siobhán says hello to him.

'I like your T-shirt', I tell him, 'I wish I had one like that'.
'I'm a cowboy', he tells us, earnestly.
We both laugh.
He furrows his little brow and rebukes us. 'It's not funny'.

This year's Hanover Day has a Doctor Who theme. I bump into my friend Iain, who reminds me that the man who voiced the TV dog, K-9, lives on Washington Street. Perhaps it is his idea. We don't see any Dr Who stuff at all, except for one stand which stands in front of one of Hanover's pretty terraced houses. Hanging from the upstairs window is a sheet upon which a Tardis has been crudely painted.

The man running the stand looks disappointed that no-one else is getting into the spirit of the thing.

I really like Hanover Day.

youthmovies at the great escape

Hard to know how to categorise Youthmovies without using a surge of hyphens; if I was looking to construct something out of all the familiar labels I might go for something like avant-jazz-prog-mathcore-pop, or something similarly pretentions and meaningless. So let's not bother with that, and we'll talk about the feelings they provoke.

1. Annoyance: perhaps this is only a problem if you aspire to be a good musician yourself, but watching a band who make extraordinary musical proficiency look effortless is bound to induce a little ill-will. Why can't this furiously good guitarist lose a finger in a threshing machine, I uncharitably wonder, as he unleashes a sequences of dazzling notes with such clarity and speed. How dare this violinist, who has never even rehearsed with Youthmovies before, play so instinctively and easily. Hmph. Well, technically, then, Youthmovies win the weekend prize for dazzling musicianship.

2. So Admiration naturally follows. Not only do they play well, they repeatedly set themselves challenges, each song full of stylistic and melodic about-faces, weird time signatures and moments of disciplined chaos. They're never content with sitting still, so one band member is variously employed, in the course of a single song, with playing trumpet solos, hammering out filthy keyboard riffs and conducting the string section. The singer, whose technical dexterity has already been admired, is a small, shy type who plays with a lop-sided hair cut and a slim grin. He doesn't put a foot wrong, despite the many twists and turns of the music.

3. Familiarity. Although they're undoubtedly out of step with prevailing trends, there's much to recognise in Youthmovies' sound. The guitars churn with all the controlled fury of DC hardcore, the cherubic vocals remind me of Thom Yorke's, the trumpets of NOU's unusual orchestration. There's more than a hint of Yes's epic prog rock, and that isn't as bad a thing as you might think. All the same, they manage to sound unlike all the other bands at the festival while not seeming entirely original. That's not to detract from the fact that they're interesting though.

4. Fatigue. We left a song before they finished. I meant no disrespect, and indeed enjoyed their set, but after half an hour of furrow-browed, complex rock it's hard not to feel a little worn down - every element of their sound demands attention and there are few moments of calm or release. That may sound like an odd complaint, and unappreciative of their quickness and grace, but by the time the set was winding down I was ready for some more straightforward pop music.

Still, a fascinating proposition, if not actually fun.

fear of flying at the great escape

My first experience of queuing at The Great Escape was not too painful, and actually a precursor to what would happen ahead - which is that somehow, apart from briefly on the last day of the festival, I managed to get pretty much straight into every venue I wanted without any delay. Outside Audio on the first evening, the queue snaked around the side of the venue and looked stationary as I approached.

But I spotted a friend, Liliana, and performed a seamless and subtle swerve into the front half of the queue, just in time for the doors to open and the line to inch forward like a caterpillar. The psychology of The Great Escape is really quite strange, because - unless you have to queue a lot - the experience is rapid and urgent, quite different to the ordinary experience of gig going, where you do a lot of standing around in half-empty venues watching supports, the venue slowly filling out around you.

We hit the bottom of the Audio stairs and the cavernous gloom below, and I felt suddenly that I was in one of those high speed stop videos; the venue in a matter of moments was transformed from an empty space, everyone inching forward in the darkness, to an absolutely packed room. The band were on within moments.

Fear of Flying are much hyped, I gather, and probably with good reason - they're young, handsome, keen and spirited, and their music is bright, aggressive and melodic. A three piece who seem to share a close shared vision, they amused me by trading vocals yet sharing a distinctive drawl - while the music is fast and jerky, their vocals seem almost to be a lagging a note behind, each holding their note longer than usual. I suspect it comes from the same influence that seems to drive their sound, which is an admiration for David Byrne's Talking Heads, but they reminded me variously of The Smiths, The Young Knives and Blur.

They certainly went down well with the crowd, perhaps as well as anyone else I watched, which is a fine recommendation for a band occupying the 7 o'clock slot. If I were an A&R man, I'd probably think to myself, impressed, that there's nothing that Fear of Flying do which the majority of their peers do any better, and they look eminently saleable. I wonder if they've not come of age (they're very young) at a time when critical mass for jerky post-punk bands has actually been reached and people will soon be wanting something different, but, all the same, they were a decent young band and doubtless one who'll be a success.

day two of the great escape

Not sure how today will play out, given that this afternoon I am attending Sandra's funeral (stomach already in knots about that), but I enjoyed putting together a plan for last night's Great Escape gigs, so I'll do the same for tonight even if I'm not sure what I'll be doing. To be honest, I don't think today's line-up is generally as good as last night's, which is why I've left off a few of the bigger acts who I'm not bothered about. It's jerky punky indie night, basically, and everyone sounds the bloody same. But the following bunch are much more interesting.

7.30
Navel at the Ocean Rooms: They still listen to Nirvana in Switzerland, hurrah! Well, Navel do, at least. The lone representatives of a slow-starting grunge revival, apparently, Navel do the quiet/very fucking loud Seattle thing surprisingly well. Tempting.

7.45
Cocoon at the Hope: tender, very melodic pop in an acoustic vein by this Parisien duo; everything I've heard sounds delicate and precise, and rather marvellous.
The Ripps at Kabuki: tuneful but noisy britpop-esque indie from Coventry (they even cover The Specials), The Ripps do snotty, bratty Coxonesque pop music, with lots of straight lines, and that suits me.
I Was A Cub Scout at Zap: tapping into the electronic and emotional indie sound of the Postal Service and stuff like that, I Was A Cub Scout are from Nottingham and make mini electronic epics with live drums - they sound good.

8.10
The Kissaway Trail at the Concorde 2: This lot trade in that nice, atmospheric vein of wide eyed and naive indie, recalling Mercury Rev and Daniel Johnston. Hailing from Denmark, they sound like a good alternative to all the shouty stuff on tonight.
Lay Low at the Pavillion Theatre: a female take on warped country blues, this lovely music actually comes from, of all places, Iceland, which you'd never guess. Sounds brilliant.
The Early Years at the Pressure Point: Nothing new about this lot, but you have to go some to beat their Stereolab/Spaceman 3/Neu style krautrock - all metronomic drumbeats, droning guitars and layered atmospherics.

8.30
Oh No Ono at the Beach: ultra-mathematical Clor/Devo/80s synth pop from Copenhagen, this sounds completely bonkers. Bonkers and ace, and confusing. Ok then!

8.45
Help She Can't Swim at the Arc: it would be churlish of me to leave HSCS off the list just because they're a local band, but that does mean I'm much less likely to go see them this weekend, even though their furious indie/DC punk stuff is a proven pleasure.

9.00
We're Marching On at the Prince Albert: a bit out of the way, geography-wise, but then We're Marching On are from Canada. They sound ace, quite unusual and awkward - not immediately accessible but very interesting, kind of like a Midlake, Arcade Fire hybrid. Worth a try.
We Are The Physics at the Pressure Point: more quirky Devo-inspired powerpop, and very interesting. Angular guitar lines, yelped vocals, buzzing synths and stop-start melodies. I like the sound of We Are The Physics.

10.00
The Rakes at the Concorde 2: Bound to be one of the big draws of the evening, I've always found myself conflicted on the Rakes - although the first album contained several great tunes ('Strasbourg' and '22 Grand Job' were ace) the lyrics were really unlikeable. The second album is less interesting musically but not as sneery. Either way, this is an option for the headline slot.
Spencer McGarry Season at the Prince Albert: Pretty, chiming indie pop recalling an ultra tuneful Talking Heads having a go at Motown and 50's doo-wap. That's probably a terrible description. they sound quite good, though.
iLIKETRAiNS at the Pressure Point: Yes, I know, the presentation of their name in that mix of big and small caps is just unbearable, but iLIKETRAiNS did release one of the most interesting singles of last year, in their brilliant 'Spencer Perceval', which outlined, over nine and a half minutes, the only successful assasination of a British Prime Minister. And this is likely to be one of the gigs of the weekend. What do they sound like? Like a lazy blend of British Sea Power and Leonard Cohen.

10.30
Art Brut at the Corn Exchange: The CSS of the evening, you suspect, Art Brut are just fantastic and this is sure to be one of the best gigs of the weekend; fiery, savvy punk-pop with smattering of knowing hilarity.

10.45
Willy Mason at the Pavillion Theatre: The grown up option, this is sure to be lovely, and if you were sensible you'd probably note that you're far more likely to see Art Brut and The Rakes around Brighton regularly, whereas having Mason's gentle lilting teenage country folk over here is a real novelty, and worth catching.

11.00
Enid Blitz at the Prince Albert: I was in the pub with a couple of this lot last week, although didn't do much more than wave accross the table. They sound good, actually, clean, melodic indie pop with nice lyrics - very much the gentle, cheerful option and could be a good way to wrap up, if you can't stand the thought of the queues elsewhere. A night at the Prince Albert, all the way through, by the way, could be an unexpected option for the tired but curious.

1.15am
Foals at the Concorde 2: I'm not actually very enamoured with Foals' take on the whole bleepy nu-rave thing, but then I don't like Klaxons either. But they're undoubtedly very hip and this'll be the place to go if you want to chuck glowsticks around and gurn like you're on ecstacy, even though you're not really and are just drinking Stella Artois.

2.30am
The Dub Pistols at The Beach: 2.30am!!! Goodness me. I'll be long tucked up in bed.

Right, so what is my route going to be? I dunno this time. I'm tempted to write off the big headliners, but I think Anne-So and Vic will want to see one of them. And I'm very tempted to just spend the entire evening at the Pressure Point, or even the Prince Albert. Or go to the Crescent and have an evening off! But I'll have a go at piecing together a varied agenda...

7.45 The Ripps (Kabuki)
8.15 Lay Low (Pressure Point)
9.00 We're Marching On (Prince Albert)
10.00 iLikeTrains (Pressure Point)
10.45 Willy Mason (Pavillion Theatre)