Live review: Belle & Sebastian, Bogota 19/11/10

Belle & Sebastian have had a huge place in my heart since I was first given a cassette copy of Tigermilk. This has been such an important album for me for so many years that at times it’s difficult to separate the album from the memories that it generates; all the same, every time I hear the songs I think back to the first time I heard it, and the simplicity that was so important to it. And there was so much going on with the songs, so many instruments and ideas to take in, but everything came together to make one of the best albums ever. Everything was going in the right direction, lifting the songs, taking them off on instrumental sidetracks, but with the same destination in mind. And this was a collective mind that was so pure, so enchantingly naïve that it didn’t seem to have been produced, but more that it had simply appeared as a glowing expression of thought and desire. Tigermilk was followed by two other albums of lesser but still undeniable genius, If You’re Feeling Sinister and The Boy with the Arab Strap. And then Belle & Sebastian became massively successful, forgot where they'd come from, Isobel left the band, and so on.

So, let’s head forward a number of years to the 19^th of November, 2010, and the night that Belle & Sebastian came to Bogotá. First off, it’s a tragedy that they played in Downtown Majestic. The only time I’d been there before, to see Emir Kusturica and the No Smoking Orchestra, I said I’d never go back. The acoustics are woeful, with everything seeming to reach your ears about a half second too late, and with the effect that you feel like you’re watching the show in a school auditorium. But, it was Belle & Sebastian; how bad could it be?

The support act was an electronic DJ, who put on a variety of beats in dire contrast with Belle & Sebastian. So we had about an hour and a half of listening to that, wondering what the point of it was.

And then the lights dimmed, and Belle & Sebastian hit the stage at midnight – which is never a great time for a show to start. And once they started playing, I started to really wonder where their heads were. The majority of the songs on the set list were from the later albums, which ranged from the mediocre to the downright poor. Perhaps the prime example of the latter was one of the songs from the last album, called “I’m not Living in the Real World”, which the band started off by encouraging the audience to sing along with it. True enough, if you think that getting people to join in with the chorus is going to make them ignore the fact that the song’s quite awful, you’re not living in the real world. The problem is that a lot of the new songs have forgotten the simple and beautiful melodies, the accessibility that made them so truly incredible.

Belle & Sebastian did end up playing a few of the older ones, but as the night went on, these songs seemed like beacons of light in a very dark sky. And when they played “Get Me Away From Here, I’m Dying”, for example, you remembered just what they were capable of.

Which made the newer songs seem even worse in comparison.

And so it ends

Things have to end. If they didn't, our lives would be very different things. Life is based around a series of endings and new beginnings, until we get the final footnote.

Which doesn't really help us when we're faced with one of these moments of upheaval, when everything is turned upside down and we're forced back to the drawing board. A new chapter might be just beginning, but it's difficult not to be focussed on the one that just ended, as we struggle to think about the new situation in which we find ourselves.

And there is a particular spin on all this when we are ourselves responsible for having made this change. On the one hand, we have the power, and we were the ones who decided that enough was enough. At the same time, we have the responsibility; it is our hand that holds the executioner's axe, and the questioning, "did I do the right thing? Was I right?" goes on perpetually.

But in the end, these changes are necessary, and make us stronger. Strong enough to pick up the pen again, and see how this new chapter is to come together.

Mark Linkous; gone but not forgotten

As generally happens when you find out about something entirely earth shattering, I discovered the news entirely by accident. Getting ready to go to work, I was having a quick browse around the BBC's Americas news section, half-heartedly looking at some reviews of the Oscars, when I saw the story. "Sparklehorse Singer Linkous Dies," it read.

And for a moment, I forgot to breathe. Mark Linkous' death manages to be both shocking and expected; after many years of depression and creating some of the most beautiful and damaged music ever recorded, either despite or because of his affliction, he finally put a gun to his head and ended it all.

Now, a few hours later, the BBC story of his death has been moved to one of the sidebars, and in a few hours more, it will disappear, pushed aside by more pressing matters of the day. Of course, if we were talking about the death of someone far more well-known, but far less talented - Bono, for example, or Chris Martin - this would be making all the headlines.

Yet Mark Linkous' death will be mostly ignored, just as his music was, by and large. In spite of being a genius, and having been behind so many truly incredible songs, he was never a celebrity, never had that hit single that would have launched him into the public sphere. In fact, after his first two truly amazing albums, Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot and Good Morning Spider, musically, he started to disappear within himself.

I saw Sparklehorse twice live, and both shows were remarkable in very different ways. The first was a very lush concert, with all the synths and extensive line-up of It's a Wonderful Life, while the second was a very stripped down show, with him playing a lot of the earlier songs with very few frills. And what was clear was that the frills weren't necessary, not when you have the abilities of Mark Linkous. I did hope after this second show that he was going to go back to his roots, back to songs with the force of "Someday I will Treat You Good", but it wasn't to be. Everything he did after that (with the exception of the "Dark Night of the Soul" collaboration) became more and more melancholic, more downbeat and always straying further from the idea of an actual "song", per se.

Such was the case with last year's In the Fishtank release; instead of ideas, instead of carefully crafted compositions, it is a collection of synthesizer fiddlings. Interesting in its own way perhaps, but not what it could have been.

And now, it's all over. And as pained as I feel inside, perhaps the worst thing is that there's no one to even explain this to. I don't want to explain Sparklehorse to people just so that they know about Linkous' death. He deserves more than that, and will be remembered by me, at least.

State of health - no.

After a week of "trying to get back into" doing some exercise, I had my checkup with the gym's doctor this morning. And after taking my pulse, getting me to do various exercises, checking my blood pressure and measurements and whatnot, she basically declared that I'm in a hell of a state. There appears to be very little salvageable.

So I thanked her, and went on and did day 1 of my new routine.

I'm still not entirely sure how I've got myself into going back to the gym. It's honestly the most boring place on earth, and I don't think that anything will or can change that. I have a vague idea that I'm going there to improve my figure, and get rid of the gut that has been creeping up on me, but at the same time, I'm fatalistic enough to believe that I won't really be able to change anything, in the end.

All the same, I carry on, on this treadmill from here to eternity.

Transport strikes are odd things, part terrorist disaster and part holiday.

We're now into the fourth day of Bogota's bus driver strike, and there are rumours that it's now drawing to a close. Of course, there have been very similar rumours circulating since the strike started; that's how the whole thing works. But after three full days of no buses being on the streets, and of course, no end of discussion about what's actually going on*, things have to end.

The strike has been received in wildy various ways. Of course, for the majority of people, who travel from the south of the city to work in the north, it's a disaster. Not being able to take a bus means queuing for hours to get onto a packed Transmilenio carrier, or otherwise staying at home and not getting paid.

On the other hand, it's been welcomed as an unforeseen holiday by teachers and students. It's like having several snow days in a row, where you'd love to go to school, oh, you really would, but you just can't. The teachers sit back and forget about their schedules for a few days, and so do the students. The smart ones might take the opportunity to catch up on their assignment deadlines, but clearly they're in the minority.

And throughout all of this, Bogota's streets are a paradise. It's so clear during days like this how much better the city is without buses; even if you can't get anywhere, the empty streets are almost dreamlike in their tranquility. It's like how the city is over Christmas, when almost everyone goes up to the coast, leaving the city with a skeleton crew of pedestrians.

For now, all one can do is await further news...


* I'm not going to say anything here about the reasons for the strike, or the justifications for it. I'll leave that to someone who has an idea about it.