Diary

There was a time when it was normal to see Grayson Perry cycling around east London in a frock, turning heads, stopping the traffic. He is so busy and in such demand these days that even being in the audience at one of his talks today is quite a steep order, sold out even before it is advertised. Perry is such a master of ceremonies, stunning presence, allergic to stereotypes, he arrives on stage the grand dame of the pantomime, he jokes, this is me. The pretext for the comment is an exchange with the audience, you can always count on the participation of the audience as a member of the cast in the UK. Grayson warns the organizers that he might need some water at some point as he will be talking nonstop for over one hour and the audience goes Behind You!, referencing the pantomime season just over and pointing to the water bottle and glasses on a...

I’m mad as hell and I cannot take it anymore! The stage becomes a screen where hundreds of faces are projected while screaming into their mobile phone, I’m mad as hell and I cannot take it anymore! This is the most powerful scene in a perfectly choreographed and perfectly acted play, a spin off from a cinematic release from the seventies. In Sidney Lumet’s film, Peter Finch landed the role of the anchor-man/ newsreader going mad live on tv, announcing his suicide live on TV. He becomes the news because, in his words, he could not handle the bullshit anymore, the bullshit he was reading while doing his duty as a news reader. On stage Bryan Cranston takes over the role. His performance is up close and personal, he is seeking contact with his audience, literally sitting next to a young member of the audience “I see you have dressed up for the theatre” he quips coming out of character,...

There is always an underlining ironical nuance in Frances McDormand’s characters and attitude to acting as if inside she is laughing at the absurdity of the world around us and the pettiness of the individuals that populate it. Her performance in Three Billboards will probably earn her all the top acting prizes and quite rightly so. This is a light hearted, heavy-weight drama and a vehicle for McDormand's performing skills. She cuts a powerful figure as a mother demanding justice for the rape and murder of her teenage daughter. She acquires status and power with every minute rolling on screen and becomes this holier than thou figure who can almost literally get away with murder because she is the wronged one, she can and feels she has a duty to set the place on fire until justice is done. In her journey on screen she is surrounded by many interesting characters, the reflection of how stereotypical we all become in...

13 November 2017 A very musical week full of inspiring musicians, starting with the London Jazz festival and ending in Bristol, at the Colston Hall, a historical venue celebrating 150 years of service. We start with the elderly Italian poet and jazz enthusiast Paolo Conte conducting his full band in front of a full house at London’s South Bank Centre. This is not the first time I see Conte live. It is remarkable he still feels the urge to entertain despite his getting weaker with age. The concert is slick and observing his musicians move between instruments onstage is like witnessing a well-choreographed ballet. The music slides smoothly on our tired limbs after a busy working day. Conte’s understated but steadily influential music and rough but velvety voice and rhymes lull us into a sense of false security, transporting us into a world of glamorous, cool musical cats. One just hopes reality never sets in and we can be transported forever...

Was Basquiat just a meteor in the modern art world? He just kept on pushing boundaries by breaking into the modern, contemporary art world scene, a scene dominated by white western males. Breaking the rules was this tiny, elfish being whose inquisitive eyes were crowned by rebellious dreadlocks, questioning the rules of society, questioning the fabric of our civilization. From his puzzling messages tagged SAMO (same old, same old) on the dangerous, dirty streets of New York in the 70ies to becoming Andy Warhol’s protégé, painting ferociously in haute couture suits, his pattern has been meteoric, but his star was only crashed by a heroin overdose, aged just 27. A self-made, very political rock-n-roll star painter shaking the art world at its core. His paintings are uncomfortable statements, starting from his minimalist, painted diploma declaring his qualifications were not gained in conventional schools but on the streets of NY and devouring everything around him, the culture and the trash around...

I have been in the crowd witnessing PJ Harvey on stage through many years. I have been playing her music in my headphones for even longer. I have seen her changing from her angry rock guitar persona to a gentle, brooding piano player, moving on to a plethora of musical instruments both ancient and new and a diversity of collaborators throughout the years. There is an urgency, a passion to her music that is so totally unlike any music written by any other woman in the musical world, she is so very English and so very atypical, she is tiny and powerful, classy and minimalist. She is touring a few festivals during the summer and I witnessed her gig at the Route du Rock at the Fort St Père near Saint Malo, in France. There are hundreds, thousands of festivals during the summer, it has become big business, huge business. Most festival goers are not even interested in the music, it...

The musical genre does not sit well with me. It feels utterly uncomfortable the way actors all of a sudden start singing on stage at the end of a perfectly conventional conversation with other characters. It feels awkward and most of the times it feels like the plot is an excuse to introduce the music. It is like opera gone wrong. And the singing style is all strutting and showing off of some starlet’s vocal range. Though I find it utterly boring, the audience just love it. I am not sure what I expected from the Girl from the Northern Country, for sure not a musical, but a play featuring Bob Dylan’s songs, I did not realise that it would feature some of Dylan’s best-known songs, including Like a Rolling Stones alongside some more obscure ones all taken from his back catalogue. I resented that at times the play was overly sentimental, I was not impressed to say the least...

We are mainly inspired by fusion, by artists crossing boundaries, moving the goalpost further and further. We are inspired by artists like Devendra Banhart. Proud of his Venezuelan roots, perfectly bilingual, totally at ease with both his inner yin and yang side. We are in awe of his musical and visual talent, we are inspired by his quirky, deceptively simple creations. Live on stage at the Hackney Empire in East London, I was expecting Banhart to be somewhat aloof and distant, instead from the very first notes he was gregarious, inclusive, joyous, funny, a pleasure to watch. At some point he even lamented the physical distance from his audience, which was in reality minimal. He cuts a very tall figure on stage, his tall, slim body and body language reminded me of the Italian director Nanny Moretti, his beard more Latin American hero than hipster cool and I could see some of Beck’s naivety in his moves. At times when...

I only recently saw Angels in America, A Gay Fantasia on National Themes, in its star-studded, HBO miniseries version (Meryl Streep, Al Pacino and Emma Thompson come to mind) and approaching the theatrical version in the knowledge that I would sit through a marathon 9-hour performance, my biggest question was, how would they portray the angels on stage? The staging is actually magical, thanks to master puppeteers playing the angel’s shadow and wings. Tony Kushner’s writing is excellent, engaging and engaged, the jokes are funny, the Pulitzer winning plot digs dip into the recent history of the US and its idiosyncrasies, the domineering force is what in the eighties was considered a new plague, the red plague, Aids. The play was written in 1993 but has not aged one iota. The comparison with the TV series actors was impossible to avoid (i.e. Nathan Lane v. Al Pacino portraying historical lawyer and hate figure Roy Cohn, Andrew Garfield v. Justin Kirk...

Owner of the most powerful voice and provocative personality in the music business, Diamanda Galás can be scary. She can be ice cold and sinister, her scathing voice is made to dig inside our deepest, inner self, a part of ourselves we would never confess existed not even to ourselves. Black is her state of mind and her attire, a grand piano her only accompaniment, nothing else is needed. Above all that voice reaching deeply into our soul and lifting us up to the highest, vertiginous grounds, nothing is safe during a performance by Galás. I seem to remember her previous performances might have been slightly more sober as far as the lights and effects on her voice were concerned, though the extreme whiteness of her facial make up, vertiginously high shoes and infinite nails can always be relied on. She fascinates and terrorizes us as she incarnates our primordial instincts buried under centuries of indoctrination in what we consider...

A trip along the Cotentin peninsula in Normandy, an area well known for oysters, radioactive power and Jazz sous les pommiers, a Jazz festival named after one of the biggest resources in the area, apple trees. So while sipping locally brewed cider and savouring oysters produced along the infamous WWII landing beaches, we skip in between venues and performances in Coutances, a smallish French town still quiet despite the musical circus hitting it for over 30 years now. It all feels odd, in a French way, during what appears to be the hottest and humid day ever. Extremely hot, and amazingly ugly appears to be the Salle Marcel-Hallé that hosts the main events of the festival, including the concert that sees Norwegian saxophonist, composer and all-round jazz legend Garbarek and India’s most talented and inventive percussionist Trilok Gurtu. I had dreamt of a performance under beautiful apple trees in full bloom, festival goers relaxing on the grass and fields of...

I am finding it harder and harder to enjoy exhibitions. The way they have been traditionally organized for years, they are static, crowded, uncomfortable, expensive experiences in dire need for a revolutionary change. I am talking mostly about the large popular museums in the big cities. Though the exhibition celebrating 50 years of partial decriminalization for homosexual relationship at the Tate Britain was quiet enough in terms of attendees, it felt as if the curators wanted to cover too much in too small a space. Homosexuality or in any case a sexuality that is different from heterosexual, has always puzzled the rest of the world, when lucky, it has become cause for oppression and repression in many societies that would otherwise have been considered civilized in many respects, including the British society up to 1967, the time boundary set by the title of the exhibition. The subject matter is interesting and visually heterogeneous, it engages our senses and our brain in equal...

I could only manage a taster of Saatchi’s Selfie exhibition as I was running against the clock, closing time being 5 pm, while I was hoping it would be at least 6. My bad. I often stroll around the Saatchi Gallery as it showcases the work of many contemporary artists from all over the world. Still vivid in my mind Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s artwork during an exhibition dedicated to China, 10 years ago. Their work Old Persons Home displayed life-sized statues of elderly and fragile people, closely resembling famous, or rather infamous, world leaders on wheelchairs set on a collision course in a large clinical room in the gallery. World leaders battling it out on wheelchairs despite themselves despite their infirmities, the irony of it all, just brilliant. And the selfie exhibition appears to be just as revolutionary and playful. I particularly enjoyed the interactive room displaying on video selfies painted in the past, or self-portraits as they...

What pushes Toneelgroep, a Dutch theatre company, to revive the story behind the neorealist cinematographic debut for Italian director Luchino Visconti in 1943? The story is originally taken from The Postman Always Rings Twice, a novel by James M. Cain, written in 1934, therefore US origins, Italian transposition, a version plagued with censorship and lack of distribution during the fall of the Italian fascist regime. The premises are melodramatic, the story itself and some of the dialogue during the performance feels dated, though the feelings are universal: lust and ambition and the feeling of entrapment that a woman feels, the narrow options at her disposal to get out of poverty, hence marriage to an older man running a restaurant and annexed garage. A dreary life till the arrival of a drifter changes it all. The drifter on stage has the looks of Jude Law, getting closer in his features to Michael Caine in is mature days. The play directed by...

Veloso is a superstar and his London concerts attract large crowds, I’m surprised I’m able to grab return tickets the night before the actual concert. It is a double-bill with Veloso introducing  Brazilian Samba star Teresa Cristina. The latter is touring her new album, Canta Cartola, where she pays homage to the great poet Cartola from the Mangueira Samba school. She hits the stage accompanied by Carlinhos Sete Cordas on guitar. The performance is velvety, elegant, theatrical. Cristina’s performance becomes smoother with each song, with each sip in between songs from a glass containing a golden liquid. We are all hoping she is feeding her voice a good, stiff Rum but it is only tea, she reassures the audience. I am not sure we believe her, though. Visually and musically, the whole performance is stunning. Her colourful dress perfectly fits Cristina. her deep, smooth voice, caresses our soul and I feel as if I am in the presence of an...

I was not aware of the existence of I Am Not Your Negro, when I saw the poster advertising it at the Carolina Theatre in Durham at the beginning of the year. It somehow looked all wrong: a picture depicting James Baldwin, an old b&w picture, his eyes magnified to gigantic proportions. My curiosity was tickled: I learned about the participation of Samuel L. Jackson lending his voice to the documentary, credited in the poster. Somehow, there and then, I had a feeling this was an old production, from the nineties maybe? An old documentary being replayed in this old-fashioned theatre. Then I realised that IANYN was actually nominated for the 2017 Oscars in the documentary category and eventually I caught up with it a couple of days before its London release at the Barbican main cinema, bundled with a Q&A session with the director, Haitian filmmaker Raoul Peck. During the screening, I see James Baldwyn for the first time, lecturing...

A quietly intriguing “pas de deux” featuring the Canadian pianist, composer and all round bon viveur Chilly Gonzalez and very British Pulp frontman and now broadcaster Jarvis Cocker. The idea for this evening and cooperation between the two men came from a navel gazing stay in a luxurious hotel based in Hollywood, the Chateau Marmont Hotel. It is quite a place to feel sorry for oneself and try to piece one’s thoughts together and finding inspiration from, reconnecting with oneself and the perception of that self at the end of a relationship while at the same time reconnecting with the ghosts of a glorious past, mainly associated with the star-making machine that was the film industry in the thirties. It could have been self-indulgent and decadent and trite, but Cocker’s self-deprecating sarcasm and Chilly Gonzales’s bohemian world-weariness make it funny and likeable while the presence of the dancer Maya Orchin bringing to life the Time Lapse Dance with flowing robes...

An evening at the theatre in Copenhagen seeking refuge from the bitter easterly wind sweeping the city. The square where the theatre is located is a working site, our first impression is not as dramatic as it should have been. When inside, it is very clear that the tired looking Royal Theatre itself is in desperate need of tender loving care, moreover the remaining seats, leftovers after the locals have chosen the best, are not exactly spectacular… they are spectacularly steep though, but despite it all the dancers work their magic over us accompanied by modern, classical and tribal music. If only the music had been played live, the experience would have been perfect. The program includes three separate choreographic pieces created by 3 very different professionals. The performance of the three pieces is mind blowing in many ways, starting from the monochromatic, visually minimalist, pitch perfect, soothing Infra conceived by Wayne McGregor; followed by the burst of life, joyous...

I was watching Moonlight just a few hours before it won the Oscar for best film, in an almost totally empty Barbican main cinema room. During the winners’ ceremony, because of an amateur’s blunder, the award was mistakenly given to La La Land and their producer’s acceptance speech was already half way when the mix up was revealed and the real winner, Moonlight, was proclaimed. It is terrible in my mind that Moonlight will be remembered just because of this awkward, dramatic moment, for their momentarily taking the glitz away from the over celebrated La La Land, more than for its own merits. And the merits are many, a wonderful ensemble cast giving their all in a coy story describing bullying and abuse, breaking stereotypes, electrifying. 26 February 2017: Moonlight dir. Barry Jenkins ...

Acoustic guitar and, in his words, his finest dungarees for a solo concert in the Elgar room at the historical Royal Albert Hall. This is Grant Lee Phillips in 2017: back to basics, full of life and melodies, travelling by train in between a handful of European cities with his guitar as his only travel companion, entertaining an amused chat with his audience and singing his music, digging deep into his Cherokee roots from his new base in musical, folksy Nashville, Tennessee, producing root music at its best. Phillips was the front man of Grant Lee Buffalo and inevitably the room is full of his loyal fan base. Stripped down, the Buffalo’s cinematic music, and in particular Mighty Joe Moon, sends some shivers down my spine, with Phillips’ voice moving beautifully and painfully between octaves despite a seasonal cold – it must be all the waiting in the cold at train stations, he quips. Amongst the oldies goldies, Fuzzy is an...

Part of the Bloomsbury Group, Vanessa Bell was a domineering creative force in London in the early 20th century. Not as well remembered and loved as her sister, the writer Virginia Woolf, Bell’s career as a painter, feisty amateur photographer, and interior designer is celebrated in the latest exhibition at the Dulwich Picture Gallery, a small by London standards but perfectly formed museum. Boasting an enviable permanent collection including several Rembrandt and Murillo, the DPG recently has been featuring a few quirky and interesting exhibitions centred on less known artists including Canadian Emily Carr and Norwegian Nikolai Astrup. Both previous exhibitions were strongly centred on nature as the most powerful source of inspiration, strong in colours and emotions, wild, primordial. Vanessa Bell’s exhibition was equally as quirky and unpredictable. From room to room we discover different sides of an artist, a free thinker, a matriarch, ranging from the sober covers for Virginia Woolf’s self-published books to wildly abstract designs for carpets...