taintradio

A few of us have been toying with the idea of internet radio lately. Then this was sent to me by Bruce Mack in the US.

Check it out.

taintradio.org is an international alliance of independent producers dedicated to presenting music and music-related programming on the Internet 24/7. Each program host is autonomous and presents only the music he/she wishes to present. Our audience is anyone who enjoys an eclectic and adventurous mix of music. taintradio is listener-supported but we don’t do on-air fundraising. Our listen button works for anyone with a high-speed broadband connection; our website has a tip jar to which we sincerely hope you will choose to contribute.

Currently our programs originate from North Carolina, Georgia, Maine, Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Seattle, London, Paris and St. Croix, V.I. Additional programs are in development from various locations throughout the world.

Click here for the website

Boiling water.

It begins:



'I walked away from it and headed north. Towards evening on the second day the snow came, two hours later I was seeking shelter. Without snowshoes my progress was laboured and awkward.  I came across a cave in a narrow ravine; a drift of smoke and footprints in the snow from someone coming from the north; small footprints, a woman or a child.


The cave was lit only by the fire but enough for me to see the woman, dressed in grey, sheen of her hair like a well oiled gun, a woman from an unknown tribe, sitting, heating water. 

The makings of some ritual tea ceremony were laid out on a rock.


Startled but unafraid she silently watched as I found myself a place to rest opposite her, the fire between us. In perfect English she said: 'We will wait for the water to boil. I will make tea'.A shoulder gesture indicated the paraphernalia on the rock beside her. 'Then you must leave'.


We sat in silence but for the fire as something foreign to us both crept into the cave and settled within us. 


As the water in the pot trembled close to boil she she added a ladlefull of ice cold snow-melt. We sat on in silence.


As the water in the pot trembled close to boil I took up the ladle and added snow-melt to the pot. we sat on in silence.


Into the early hours we sat watching that pot never boil. Finally, having covered me in a blanket, she lay nearby. We slept.


I awoke to find her making coffee. We talked; each to the other brought magic.


On the second morning we departed, heading South. In the cave on a fire rested the pot of water. 


Singing as it boiled.

Bevis Griffin's Rawhead TechX _ Thunderdome

This found me via a Canadian friend. I like it.

Kyoki, Umami and paint you can eat.

Kyoki arrives in an excited state this afternoon, (her days start in the afternoon and end in the morning and it is the night in which she is most comfortable) after making a cup of her instant coffee and lighting a cigarette she produces a paint tube from her bag.

'Paint'.  I said. 'you know I am not painting at the moment'.


'It is not paint. It is Umami paste. Umami is the 5th taste. You eat it'.


We spent the afternoon exploring umami; not a simple task. Each tasting led to another discussion on what exactly was in it and why it had its chameleon like ability to change as and when its fellow ingredients demanded.


A bit like Kyoki really: Inscruitable. Controlled yet controlling.

Rare Jimi Hendrix.

Please be patient. This takes a few seconds to upload... it is worth it.

Don't ask me where I got it from and no it is not on youtube.

Skye Nicolas, The Explicit Artisan.

 I found this image online in An interview with Skye in Frank 151It is well worth a visit. Skye is New York based so what is the Notting hill connection?  Marlon and the Cow!

Wills and Kate: Not so much a Royal wedding, more an impending divorce.

Caught up in the National euphoria over the idea of a royal wedding I immediately asked my 'Princess' to marry me.


'It's an idea'. She said. 'At least you wouldn't be able to give evidence against me in court.'


It strikes me that, such is the track record of royal marriages that they would keep the damn thing quiet; give two human beings the opportunity to make something almost impossible (in this day and age) work.


I bet the bookies are already laying odds on when the divorce takes place.

Kyoki.

                                Photo: the Urban Island


I don't know how this is going to work out.


I've had so many problems with unruly Muses of late (the muse is never satisfied with her initial role and quickly tries to take over) that I decided to go online and find an Avatar Muse... Kyoki.


I do not know which planet she is from, my stellar charts do not have the necessary range.

Alain De Botton at 5 X 15.

Bloody hell.

I'd gone along to 5 x 15 with the sole purpose of listening to, and looking at to a lesser degree philosopher Alain De Botton.
He arrived on stage, announced himself as Swiss (images of Orson Welles and Henry Cotton on a big wheel in Vienna flooded my brain) then promptly tried to sell us holiday lets. He tried to convince us that 'new build' was Modern and therefore good.he failed to convince me that he was anything other than another property developer on the make. reminding me somewhat of the 'Britart' movement in his desire to capitalise on gullible admirers.

5 X 15 in the first part this evening was hijacked by an overstretched property developer selling puppies.

Alain. New does not mean modern and modern does not mean new. Snake oil is snake oil however you label the bottle.

Interesting to see a good architect in the audience wincing philosophically as the philosopher tried to do convincing Architecture. And failing.

The rest of 5x 15 lived up to expectations; All of it was not every ones cup of tea but it was well brewed, well blended and well poured.

Hilary Spurling dispensed, along with Michela Wrong, enough to convince me that, forgive me; wrong was right. Suddenly 15 minutes was enough, not because it was badly presented but because it was, as a human animal, hard to bear.

Simon Singh hit the spot with his codes.

Valerie Grove convinced me that there is light at the end of the tunnel. It is not an oncoming train, it is Valerie coming back to 5 X 15.

At the end of a splendid evening I got to reminisce about Stig of the dump, followed by humming the guitar solo from Comfortably Numb on my way home.

And none of this happened in the West End where theatres were full of tourists being told by translators that the butler did it!.

Tony Butcher photography.

In The tabernacle, to the left of the bar is the Gallery; Rather under-signposted and tucked away (but I gather that is about to change) and used as a showcase for both local and more established Artists and Photographers. Well worth popping in for a look.

Currently photographer Tony Butcher is exhibiting his studies of the black male in the form of dancers, and they are an energetic collection of young men; hardly a foot on the floor in the entire show and plenty of rippling muscle. There is no Mapplethorpe edginess or homoerotic undertone to proceedings though, just a keen and professional eye at work on an obviously well liked subject.

To quote Tony: 'My photographic journey began in 1989, progressing to a fellowship of the royal Photographic Society in 1990, with a panel of images of the black male.

"Studies in black" have been published in many books, magazines and journals throughout the world as well as my monograph of the same title. Exhibitions have taken place in San Francisco, Amsterdam, Paris, Birmingham and Oh yes, The Tabernacle, Notting Hill'.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti & Hein Hoven. Sometimes During Eternity.

In the early hours; an email from Hein (now in California), you know. The man who brought his own Hill. It read: 

 too much time on my hands. I took this off of your FB page Tristan.

                                  It inspired me to write this bit of nonsense.

                                  Lawrence Ferlinghetti reading "Sometime During Eternity"

                                  Hh x

The internet can be a truly wonderful thing in creative minds and hands.

10 centuries in 5 minutes

The Young Satellites at Atomrooms Gallery.

Atomrooms Gallery presents an exhibition curated by Brett Walker

showcasing the works of young photographers Jack Davison, Lydia Roberts

and Conor Williams. The exhibition will run from 8th – 24th December 2010, 6-9pm at AtomRooms’

Portobello Road Gallery.

Sacred Monsters No. 1: Kenneth Tynan.

Monday 24 September 2001
The Guardian 

Tynan's gift was to make criticism glamorous and sexy Guardian theatre critic Michael Billington recalls an exceptional talent  No one, they say, ever erected a statue to a critic. But Kenneth Tynan has bequeathed something even larger to posterity: a legendary life. This year has already seen the publication of a revelatory memoir, Life Itself, by his first wife, Elaine Dundy. The Tynan Diaries are imminent. And, as a prelude, we have an extraordinary last interview by Ann Louise Bardach. As a result I suspect a certain image of Tynan will prevail: the spanker, the star-fucker, the sexual obsessive, the suave and ultimately ailing hedonist. He comes to seem like a Marlovian over-reacher who was finally the victim of both emphysema and his own fixations. The danger is that we shall soon forget the very thing that made him famous: his ability to write about the theatre with a voluptuous commitment. Most dramatic criticism is as ephemeral as the work it describes. Very little survives as literature. Hazlitt's essays on Kean and Kemble have a vivid, bloodshot urgency. Shaw's Our Theatres in the Nineties memorably demolishes Irving and paves the way for Ibsen. Agate wrote about great actors with gusto and allusive wit. To that select list one has to add Tynan, who not only had the gift for pinning down a performance but also, as both critic and National Theatre literary manager, helped redefine British

READ MORE.

Knock 2 Bag.

In the old days comedians would often start a show with the words: 'A funny thing happened on the way to the theatre'. Well nothing funny happened to me on the way to the theatre tonight, but a funny thing happened at the theatre; I laughed! 

I never laugh. Ask anyone.

knock 2 Bag prides itself on its claim that it is more than just a knock about open mike type thing that most comedy nights have become. it wants to be taken more seriously as a considered showcase for real comedy as opposed to a bunch of studenty amateurs standing by a mic using the c word and jokes about Down's syndrome. By tonights' showing it is doing that; of course I did not laugh at everything and nor should I; comedy like everything else is a mixed bag indulging various tastes.

The first act Phil Kay was great, arriving in an anarchic physicality and ending in a virtuoso display of quick minded lyrical hilarity. The headline act: The boy with tape on his mouth was seriously good; a mime artist with a gash of tape across his mouth, surely a metaphor for Chaplins' moustache. He relied on nothing more than observational art and fantastic timing, involving members of the audience with sensitivity and great skill, producing a show that had me crying with laughter. The bit with the cup and ball on the end of his nose with a blindfolded stooge from the audience was priceless.

Between the beginning and ending high spots was a hard place to be for anyone but there was plenty of meat in the sandwich. On the strength of what I saw, Knock 2 Bag is a refreshing change from the unfunny comedy nights where the only people laughing are the promoters on the way to the bank.

A seriously hilarious night.

Oh. and if you laugh like a drain at everything you have a mind like a sewer. 

Victoria Bean. Art & Language

I met Artist and Poet Victoria Bean  today at an impromptu lunch. She was armed with something bubble wrapped. Another member of the party said: 'Have a look'.  

My heart sank. Was this going to be one of those embarrassing, awkward, yes its lovely through gritted teeth moments?

No it wasn't.

Her work is sharp, concise, intelligent and well executed.  Have a look at her website; click on her name above.

Gratuitous photograph.

My Notting Hill. Thank you.

A wonderful day in Notting Hill. Surrounded by the the people that make the place memorable; Chris and the Tabernacle especially, the barrister who shared a bottle of wine and advice, the journalist, the writer, the reliable academic and to my mind rock star, the locals, the perfect bum guy, the big Kiwi, the regulars and bar staff in the Cow, my friends. and the police too.


Hey everyone, thanks. Think I'll hang around.

The Island Experiment 2nd birthday party.

This is one for the diary. Wade and his crew always produce a spontaneously joyful rabbit out of the hat.
It is at the Tabernacle on the 27th of this month. Be there!

Oh, and Ella Montclare is performing along with the usual and not so usual.

Cafe Ravenous, Portobello Road.

The lasers have danced for the last time. Cafe Ravenous is no more.

                                Photo: Fiona Campbell


During its life time it was the place to party on the Portobello Road and the yurt in the garden made it rather special. A lot of people will be sad to see it go. Charlie and Ali who ran the crazy place were always welcoming and certainly entertaining; they offered me help and kindness during a period when I was not the happiest of men, we had our ups and downs. The reading I did there with  Murray Lachlan Young and Sam Margin was remains a very happy memory. 


the two of them will of course continue with their 'Ravenous' catering and I wish them success.


And thanks.

The Dead Weather - "I Cut Like A Buffalo" Version II (Official Video)

Blogger not arrested shock and the twitter arrest.

The police arrived at 12.30 am to arrest me. They did not arrest me. However we spent an interesting half hour surfing the net.  


I am pleased to be able to say that blogging will continue as usual. 


I am interested to learn of the Communications act of 2003 and specifically section 127 (a) which states that defamatory, obscene or threatening posts on a virtual social network is a criminal act as is being demonstrated by the arrest of the 'stoning twitter'.

The Tabernacle Bar and Kitchen.

When general manager Christopher Scholey arrived at the Tabernacle some months ago he set about cutting out the dead wood; bringing in new faces and turning what once was a rather hit and miss affair into something rather more professional and inviting.

Head chef Mark Richardson was one of the new arrivals; Mark had already proved himself to Christopher at the Bedford in South London so there was no guesswork to be done about Marks abilities. As well as the Bedford Marks career has taken him to such diversities as Glasgow's first organic restaurant and a stint in Sydney Australia where he developed his interest in what we now call 'Fusion'. Don't be put off by that word, there is not an ounce of pretension in the cooking here but there are welcome signs of an interested chef at work. Mark also has a good sense of humour which is often lacking in other chefs.

A pre-show dinner at the Tabernacle has now become an obvious choice, at my last visit the bar was full of show goers with a similar inclination, the service,from a very friendly young staff, has improved beyond recognition and the food is not overpriced. The menu offers a range of locally sourced options including breakfast, light snacks and full meals,   resulting in the Tabernacle bar and kitchen becoming a cheerfully relaxed and pleasant destination in its own right and a welcome improvement to Notting Hill.

On busy market days on nearby Portobello Road the Tabernacle bar and kitchen is a very welcome oasis if only for coffee and chocolate cake, a glass of wine or a beer.

Leonard Cohen - A Thousand kisses deep

Snake oil, oily fish and Notting Hill parties.

Lots of oily fish the doctor said.


Yeah, as if.


Anyway a guy at a party handed me a bottle of omega 3 capsules and said try these.


If I am dead in 30 days it is because they don't work, nothing to do with the fact I'm dying anyway. If I'm alive in 30 days come for the party.


Makes a change from the usual Notting Hill snake oil salesmen.

Murray Lachlan Young is coming to the Tabernacle.

To my mind the best performance poet around is coming to Notting Hill on the 22nd and 23rd of this month. This gives me the excuse to post his showreel. 



Tom Baxter and vashti Baxter are also on the bill.... See you there!

Alive and well enough.

Photo: Emily Paige Short

Guerilla gardening in Powis Square.

A quiet evening beer at the Cow was interupted by a call to arms by a Guerilla Gardener friend; she was about to introduce a host of daffodils into Powis Square and needed help. there were only four of us (the Notting Hill promise applies at a time like this) but the task was completed without a hitch.


Something to look forward to in the spring.

BEAT.

I shall be reading a few of my poems at BEAT this evening. It is at Charlie Wrights in Pitfield street N1.  


hope to see you there.

Simon and Garfunkel - Bridge Over Troubled Water Original Version

When I'm pissed off I listen to this.

when

Now read in Ho Chi Minh City.

In the old days they would research Notting hill via blue doors, film set book shops, Welsh actors in their shreddies, Hugh grant in  Mary Poppins Portobello Road walk throughs....


Now they don't.


In Ho Chi Minh city they read Pre-Pentimento.


It is still all unintelligible bollocks to them but it is pre-pentimento bollocks; the bollocks you can savour world wide.


Pre-Pentimento bollocks; Tastier than a dog in any language*.


*translated by Lingling.

virtualfactory.org and virtualfactoryvictorfoxtrot

http://virtualfactoryone.blogspot.com/ For details.

Great Western Studios comes down.

They have started tearing down the Great Western Studios; for years in view from my desk. First to go is the wood clad tower where once Banksy's highwayman reared.


In the buildings place... The entrance to the Crossrail tunnel.

Amedeo's decision

And had Amedeo Modigliani known

that by choosing another life

he could have saved his own

as well as those

Of Jeanne Hebuterne 

and their daughter would he have done so?

I doubt it very much.

3 deaths is a small price to pay

for such placement of paint and suffering.


READ MORE POEMS AND STORIES

Rumer at the Tabernacle.

There was a buzz about the Tabernacle last night; Rumer was in town. There's a buzz about Rumer at the moment; A new album released, endorsements from such heavyweights as Burt Bacharach and Jools Holland and a following of enthusiastic fans.

Once on stage there was an air of nerviness about the singer, who, dressed simply in black, wearing shoes worthy of a second glance, launched straight into her set. It was not until a little bit of banter with her pianist put her more at ease and allowed some interaction with the audience.  Her own songs are lovely; lyrical and gentle, she has a sweet voice to carry them and her lyrics poignant enough to actually want to listen to. Her new single "Aretha" was beautiful; I'd been listening to it enough at home beforehand to recognise it with a smile.

It is so refreshing to have a British artist who is happy enough to eschew the trendy Americanisation of female singers as well as avoiding sensationalism. We shall hear a great deal more from Rumer.

Gaz's Rockin bookreading and signing.

Memories of the Muse in tattered tutu on a garlanded swing.

As I write this the happy cries of children leak into my room from the school yard next door.


I am usually impervious to these noises such is their ubiquitous status in my life but this morning for some reason I hear them... and am immediately transported (through a seemingly never ending succession of mediocre performance/installation art pieces put together by lazy, uninspired and uninspiring, talentless 'Artists' who use the sound of children playing a metaphor for innocence or some such hokum) back to a fondly remembered muse.



Years ago the Muse and I  worked on a vignette for her MA show (before the crack and heroin really got to her) in which the muse, in the guise of Manet's ballerina, hooked on crack, tutu tattered and filthy from the constant abuse she endured as the price she paid to her chemical god, smiling numbly, finger in mouth and childishly singing some unintelligible ditty, swung too and fro on a garlanded swing in the middle of a warehouse.


The soundtrack to this was the innocent playground cries of children.


I think what the muse was trying to say was: Make the most of it girls because I am what men are going to turn you into!

A million more hits and I'm viral.

Ryan O'Reilly band amuse the police on Portobello Road.

I heard rumours that the Ryan O'Reilly band were hassled by the police and moved on from their regular Saturday morning  Portobello Road spot. 


Got in touch with Ryan for details:


"Yeah. But I got them laughing and we had a chat about Mick Jones from the Clash and the Sargent seemed to warmto us after that so he marched us outside Orwell's house where there is a big no busking sign and said he gives us special permission to busk there. We got moved because the crowd was too big and spilling into the main road. Just another adventure in the life of a busker!"


Buskers such as Ryan and his band: http://www.ryanoreilly.co.uk/ are an important part of the life and soul of Portobello Road. Why can't the authorities work this out for themselves.


Here's an idea; Tell All Saints to bugger off and create an indoor busking site for the winter months.

Julian Temple and Requiem for Detroit at the Pop up Cinema, Portobello Road.

Piers Thompson writes:


REQUIEM FOR NAPOLI?


To the Pop Up Cinema on Friday night to watch Local Hero Julien
Temple introduce his lyrical masterpiece, Requiem For Detroit. It is
my third trip to our very own digital microplex and once more it is
packed. By now, we have all learnt to wrap up warm.


Julien has no equal as an iconographer. He filmed the Pistols’
Jubilee boat party. He made The Great Rock’n’ Roll Swindle
which moulded the Sex Pistols/McLaren mythology. He made
Absolute Beginners, turning Colin MacInnes’ seminal tale of the first
teenagers into a musical, with David Bowie dancing on the keys of a
giant typewriter.


He has flirted with the arts, making movies about Jean Vigo,
Wordsworth and Coleridge, and opera. But it is as the iconographer
of English Rock that he is destined to be remembered. The Filth
And The Fury (Sex Pistols revisited), The Future Is Unwritten (a
hagiography of Joe Strummer), Glastonbury, The Liberty Of Norton
Folgate (a contemporary music hall with Madness and Stomp) and
Oil City Confidential (an award winning account of Dr Feelgood)
have cemented his reputation as the go to guy if you are aiming for
posterity. He is working on The Kinks even as we speak.


Requiem To Detroit is a hymn to the rise and fall of Detroit that
combines a history of the Motor City through archive and the
parallel success of Motown with a very contemporary exploration
of the potential renaissance of the city by the subcultures that
are colonising the devastated ruins. And they are both ruins and
devastated.

It’s a post-Apocalyptic vision that is anything but bleak. It also acts
as an inspiration for those of us left in MacInnes’ Napoli (that is
Notting Hill to you squares). The vacuum created by our decline as
a creative force allows lots of room for bindweeds like you and I to
prosper.


Requiem? Hallelujah! Amen.

Watch out for RoughlerTV's report from the penultimate night of the Pop Up for the year. Tonight is a special screening of Halloween. He's behind you.

http://www.youtube.com/RoughlerTV

Hell. This is Roughler TV

Portobello Panto.

For Details and tickets click HERE

Notting Hill is finally getting it's mojo back.... At Maison du Chien.

I've spent the last eight years, grumpy as fuck, bitching about the lack of anything in Notting Hill other than the desire to yack around in pubs bars and clubs snivvelling up cocaine. I write poems about it, I alienate more people than you can shake a straw at,  and you know what! I was right.


But now. At last. Notting Hill is finally finding it's mojo.

I went up to Maison du Chien, above the Bumkin in Westbourne Park Road tonight. I went up because Piers Thompson was celebrating Tanya's birthday (it is a bit like that in the Thompson household) by DJ ing in his inimitable style (new verb: to Piers) and making a happening in his wake.What I found was a mini cabaret; just two acts: Earl Okin (a bloke I've seen around for ever but never knew he could do what he did) and Kalki; the best hula hoopist on the planet who even Piers couldn't faze. I went home after this, I'm elderly and need my sleep but apparantly stuff happens into the early hours.


Maison du Chien is Mat Whitley's baby, born of Medium Rare, and I think interesting because it doesn't try to be anything other than good fun. and that is what it is. Good fun! A little bit of Burlesque type nudity always helps.


It is a long climb up to the top floor at Bumkin. It is a climb well worth attempting without assistance.


Maison du Chien is happening until it stops (I'll try to find a link) but until then go.

Failing that go to Medium Rare at the Tabernacle... Feel the mojo rising!

Keith Richards at Proud Chelsea. Oh and the Beatles, Hendrix and Dylan too.

A busy day yesterday.


Lunch at the Tabernacle with the delightful singer/songwriter Rebecca Poole; more about her in later blogs.


Then off to Proud Chelsea: http://www.proud.co.uk in the Kings Road for the opening of an exhibition of photographs by Michael Joseph of a baby faced Keith from the 60's and early 70's.  It is a small show but contains some iconic pictures.

                                           Photo: Michael Joseph


A real bonus was the various images of  Dylan, Hendrix, and Beatles also on show in the gallery; well worth a visit if only for the cover shot for 'Rubber Soul' and the naked ladies from 'Electric Ladyland'.


I managed a little schmoozing before dinner at the Stockpot: http://stockpotchelsea.com/ a place I have not visited for years. Glad it is still there though; a rare reminder of the Kings Road of old.

First Wednesdays in Notting Hill

http://www.firstwednesdays.co.uk/

Channel 4's Seven Days; Weak.

I accidentally caught the Channel 4 reality show Seven Days last night, if you must know I had been watching something called Desperate Housewives (I don't own a TV so this was something of a novelty), and wish I hadn't but am glad I did.


Seven Days is typical of the sort of TV that causes me to not own a television; there is nothing remotely resembling reality in the show, it is merely a collection of smug, egoists (or is it egotists) serendipitously bumping into each other in the land of trite happen chance, talking about themselves in a seriously 'bigmeup' kind of way and the only reference point seems to be earlier episodes of the show.


This is television well and truly disappearing up it's own arsehole.


If you want to know about Notting Hill and the incredible cross section of people who inhabit it do not expect to learn anything from Seven Days.


Seven Days can only be seen to be attempting to follow (and failing miserably) in the footsteps of great shows such as Noddy, Camberwick Green, Trumpton and Postman Pat!


Seven Days..... Weak.


I am tempted to believe that aforementioned housewives desperation stemmed from having to watch the damn thing.

What is Roughler TV?

I put that question to Piers Thompson (one of Roughler's movers and shakers) and as luck would have it, he had an answer:


The magazine was Sniffing Glue meets Tatler. The TV incarnation is a Rantblog meeting BBC4. It celebrates life in the shadow of the Westway. We try to rouse the ghosts of the past who made Notting Hill the most subculturally significant neighbourhood in the World, so they can inspire the young in the spirit of Rock n Roll rebellion. The channel started in 2007 during Portobello Film Festival in tandem with Roughler Gallery where you can buy yesterday's memories at today's prices. We have covered subjects as diverse as Unicycle Hockey under the Westway, to the opening of Poundland on Portobello Road; from Lily Allen's return to the Tabernacle to the Class War march on David Cameron's house; music includes Nick Laird-Clowes Greenpeace anthem Mayday, to Ray Roughler Jones' Recession Glee or John Bindon to Gaz Mayall and The Trojans. Interviews have included John Maybury, Peter Richardson, Tony Benn, Ian Bone of Class War, Molly Parkin, Jake Arnott and Rusty Egan.

Here's one they made earlier:

Street critcism

Criticism before the artist has time to wipe the smile off his face.

Banksy Film at the Pop up Cinema W11.(Banksy has aerosoled out) And the Rotting Hill Gang.

Oi Banksy! The place for street art is on the street not in the cinema.


The minute you place Plexiglas over a wall painting is the moment you condemn it to mediocrity. The minute you put it on celuloid (or video) the same.  Street art IS because of it's ephemeral nature not because of it's self importance.


I started to watch a film narrated by someone pretending to be Banksy about an extremely boring bloke with a video camera. The high point for me was a length of green rope about 15 minutes into the video... Sorry Fillum.


PHEW!


Having said that, the pop up Cinema under the Westway is Great and should be celebrated.


Pop up Cinema 10 - Banksy 0


There was a great tribute to Ari Up beforehand though.


Do I get an award for reviewing this before the thing has ended...No.  But I got to meet Gary from the Rotten Hill Gang outside the Muse in Portobello Road who asked me along to a gig up the road which is just up my graffiti bedecked street!

The young satellites.

http://www.atomrooms.com/2010/10/the-young-satellites/