Playlist 7

There has been a prevailing Folk strand running though my monthly playlists to date.  This time, after an initial sample-fest, things became increasingly Jazz-centric, and a bit funky too.

‘The Five EPs’, Disco Inferno

Disco Inferno was an ironically named Indie outfit that made a few ripples in the early to mid 90s.  They might have been remembered as mere New Order wannabes had they not hit on the unusual idea of using ‘real’ instruments to trigger an expanding library of samples.  It was a technically unwieldy approach but one that allowed them to construct fascinatingly nuanced soundscapes and employ their found sound sources as raw material rather than mere decoration.

Arranged chronologically on this compilation, these tracks range between relatively conventional, if sonically unusual, song forms to real avant-garde aural sculptures.  The best cuts stand comparison with the multi-layered texturalism of contemporaries The Cocteau Twins or My Bloody Valentine, and the later tracks show increasing complexity and some humour.  It takes a certain genius to combine a drum loop from Iggy Pop’s ‘Lust For Life’ with fragments of the ‘Playschool’ theme, (‘It’s A Kid’s World’).

‘Foley Room’, Amon Tobin

Of course, what Disco Inferno once attempted with a stack of mal-functioning equipment is now achieved over coffee with a laptop computer.  Amon Tobin has enjoyed a reputation as a highly skilled aural bricolagiste and beat technician for some years now but 2007’s ‘Foley Room.’ album saw him abandon his trusty record crates in favour of tailor-made original field recordings.  The album still showcases his customary obsessive detail and disquieting atmospherics but acquires an extra dimension through the new cinematic approach to sound design.  It proves genuinely arresting to listen to tracks constructed from a pitch-shifted motorbike engine or terrifyingly close-up tiger growls.

‘Until The Quiet Comes’, Flying Lotus

This may prove to be my favourite new record of 2012.  Steven Ellison has established himself as an impressive practitioner of the style of electronica sometimes called Wonky.  He’s a master of the stumbling, unquantised rhythms and dazzling assemblages of diverse sounds typical of the genre, - achieving massive degrees of disjuncture but always retaining nagging vestiges of a groove or melody. This is his lushest material to date, incorporating swathes of atmospheric keyboards and sweet, processed vocals into an implied dreamscape.  Even a contribution from whinging Radiohead vocalist Thom Yorke can’t spoil the excellent ‘Electric Candyman’.

Whilst coming from a nominally Hip-Hop background, Ellison covers numerous stylistic bases and possesses a distinct jazz sensibility and laid-back West Coast funkiness.  He’s much aided in the latter by long-time collaborator and virtuoso bassist Thundercat.  For all the formal abstraction, nothing overstays it’s welcome and there are moments of sheer transcendent beauty here.   Rather than proving a problem, his grasshopper approach to track construction can make each repeat listen seem like a new experience.  To my ears, ‘UTQC’ is the most seductive Flying Lotus release so far.

‘The Golden Age Of Apocalypse’, Thundercat

Thundercat Channels The Warmth Of The Sun

Having marvelled at Stephen Brunner’s bass guitar work for Flying Lotus, it was only natural I’d turn to his own 2011 album, - itself produced by Steven Ellison.  This is imbued with West Coast ambience and, with eyes closed, it seems to evoke an artificial L.A sunset, - polychromatic with smog and airbrushed for reproduction.  Actually, it reminds me of Ed Ruscha’s paintings of the Hollywood sign.

The album is full of jazz and funk flavours and Brunner seems to be channelling Herbie Hancock, Chick Corea and, particularly, George Duke, whose ‘For Love I Come’ is covered beautifully.  Like much of the best synthetic music these days Brunner plays freely with a palette of retro tropes whilst producing something that sounds very contemporary.  As the title suggests, these are sun-drenched grooves for a changing climate.

‘Headhunters’, Herbie Hancock

Hancock was a major name in 60s jazz, making numerous albums under his own name, and as a member of Miles Davis’ seminal fusion bands too.  With a new band, also named Headhunters, he embraced a new funk-orientated approach with this album in 1973.  If it was partly a search for greater commerciality, it also contained great music and proved to be a milestone in jazz-fusion.  The main influence is Sly Stone and this shares his ability to find compelling laid-back grooves within relatively spare arrangements.

Hancock and his band played in Leicester’s De Montfort Hall Gardens one wet midweek evening some years ago.  Dancing for warmth in a pathetically small crowd I wondered, “where is everyone – it’s Herbie Hancock?”  They’d have been forgiven for getting out of there as soon as possible but, instead, turned in a memorably dynamic and fully committed performance.

‘Birdland’, Weather Report

Not The Album Version But Too Good To Leave Out.  Weather Report 
Play The Stadthalle Offenbach, 1978

Weather Report is another of those Jazz-fusion acts whose music, (from the 70s at least), I really enjoy.  Purists always scoff at this kind of thing, forgetting that mutation and evolution are actually necessary for the sustained health of any art form.  That Miles Davis and his circle sought to push Jazz into new areas of expression by no means betrays what went before and merely signifies that the idiom was adapting to survive.  Weather Report was a major component of his legacy.  Of all the period's fusion acts, they probably retained the greatest element of Jazz within their music overall.

‘Birdland’ came from 1977’s ‘Heavy Weather’ album and marked a conscious move away from their previous reliance on improvisation towards a more accessible, composed approach. The single was certainly their most successful release commercially but I love it nonetheless.  It has an infectious, uplifting hook and is pretty much the sound of optimism.  It always works well in the car at the start of any journey undertaken for pleasure.

‘Handsworth Revolution’, Steel Pulse

A Bird In The Handsworth... Oh, Never Mind.

In Birmingham not long ago, I caught Vanley Burke’s exhibition of documentary photos of the city’s black community, taken over several decades.  Many of Birmingham’s immigrants came from Jamaica and it made me realise I haven’t played much Reggae lately.  Steel Pulse hailed from the Handsworth area of Brum and was amongst the most credible of the British Reggae acts.  This was the band’s debut album and it’s a great example of the roots style that bares comparison with anything from the island.

‘Marcus Garvey/Garvey’s Ghost’, Burning Spear

Winston Rodney, Aka. Burning Spear

Another slice of conscious Roots Reggae but this time, very much from Jamaica.  Whilst originally a three piece, Burning Spear was essentially Winston Rodney – a musician whose Rastafarianism and adherence to Marcus Garvey’s teachings were profound.  This release gathers the original album with the subsequent ‘Ghost’ dubs.  It does appear that Spear’s deep and heavy sound was somewhat lightened for mass consumption but I love the steady, serious tone and sincere, heartfelt vocals.

‘Solution’, Solution

One Sunday evening, Stuart Maconie played a track from this on his ‘Freak Zone’ pigeonhole, (sorry – radio programme), and really whetted my appetite.  Solution’s debut is a wonderful piece of early 70s Dutch Jazz Prog. that ticks loads of boxes through its numerous changes of mood and tempo, proper, heavy-duty organ, flutes, and impressive passages of European Jazz-Rock.  It also includes some spooky, atmospheric bits and a passage that sounds like a circus orchestra on speed.

Connections between Solution and Focus - the godfathers of Dutch Prog., led me back to…

‘Focus III’, Focus

Focus Embrace Their Dutch Heritage

Focus covered most of the Prog. bases in their first few albums.  Dynamic guitar and organ Rock; Classical influences; Jazz; Renaissance Lute Music; mock operatic vocals; Latin lyrics; yodelling; whistling, - they all appear at some stage, (sometimes within the same song).  They had real instrumental ability but avoided terminal pomposity by tempering grandeur with humour.  Even their tendency to assemble over-ambitious, extended pieces from separate fragments, rather than through-composing them, seems less of a problem in our cut & paste age.

‘Focus III’ aims all round the target and scores several bullseyes in the process.  Highlights for me are the slow-burning title track segueing into ‘Answers? Questions! Questions? Answers!’ and ‘Sylvia’, (that rarest of beasts, - the perfect short Prog. Rock single).

If A Picture Paints A Weekend Away...

Rather than rushing back to Leicester after the Friday night private view of the ‘If a Picture Paints…’ exhibition, I made a weekend of it in Birmingham.  It allowed me to revisit the gallery on the Saturday and reflect further on the work and the exhibition experience as a whole.  It also provided an opportunity to celebrate my close friend Susie's birthday in a different city, and to explore some of the photo opportunities I suspected were lurking in the Digbeth area near the gallery.  The luxury of a big bed and leisurely hotel breakfasts were an attraction too.

Work By: (L-R), Shaun Morris, Andrew Smith, Chris Cowdrill & Andrew Smith

Two Of My Paintings With Work By: (L-R), Andrew Smith, Shaun Morris
& Andrew Smith

Still Life Paintings By Shaun Morris

Work By: (L-R), Andrew Smith, Shaun Morris & Andrew Smith

Friday was all about the buzz of the exhibition as an event, but Saturday demonstrated it can still be difficult to coax people into a gallery under normal conditions, however diligently you publicise it.  If only a trickle of people found their way in that day, I still think it was right to opt for a weekend opening and can’t fault the collective effort to raise awareness of the show.  The Works gallery is a good space and suited the exhibition well but, being on the third floor of an old industrial building, must struggle for passing trade.  I guess the lure of Brum’s extensive retail honey pot nearby was always going to provide severe competition too.

Ceramic Piece By Craig Underhill, (Foreground), With Work By: (L-R),
Myself, Andrew Smith & Chris Cowdrill

Ceramic Work By Craig Underhill

Nonetheless, it was good to spend more time with the work, to chat to Shaun and Andrew again and get to know Chris a little better.  I appreciated seeing how the work appeared with some daylight illumination too.  Andrew’s paintings, which had seemed quite muted the previous evening, started to sing next to the large gallery window as surprising amounts of colour seeped out from their accumulations of visual incident.   I was drawn to make comparisons with my own paintings’ more overt, on-the-surface garishness.

Paintings By Andrew Smith

My Paintings 'Home 1' (L) And 'Broken 1' (R)

My Painting 'Shut 1'

I like what Indigo Octagon are trying to do as a collective and am convinced that artists gathering together to provide their own support mechanisms and shared energy is a canny strategy in these days of increasing financial and cultural poverty.  I chatted with Chris about the potential for different projects under the same banner to involve varying combinations or degrees of involvement from core members whilst drawing in outside collaborators as appropriate.  It works well enough for musicians, (Massive Attack being an obvious established model), so why not artists?  I was encouraged to meet a group for whom the main priority appears to be the work, with everything else seemingly just about maximizing the chances of it reaching an engaged audience.  In a hollow, P.R. driven culture, where every dream is retailed back to us, the value of encountering reasonably like-minded people is incalculable.

Paintings By Shaun Morris

Earlier, I had wended my way slowly to Pershore Street via the seriously dilapidated industrial back streets of Digbeth.  The streets I traversed are dominated by massive brooding railway arches which, as Andrew pointed out, lend them a slightly Gothic, or even De Chirico-esque, quality.   During my short walk I encountered numerous good examples of urban text, decaying surfaces and general entropy.  I’m sure I only scratched the surface(s) and intend to return for more photo-perambulations very soon.

Surfaces And Texts, Digbeth, Birmingham

The day concluded with a meal and drinks with my friends and a chance to marvel at the apparent 'last days of the Roman Empire' unfolding on Broad Street.  A real find for me was ‘The Yardbird’, tucked in next to the municipal library.  Somewhere between a bar and a club, this intimate venue revealed itself to have a very happening vibe with lounge décor, an open minded crowd and excellent Jazz/Funk/Soul/Hip-hop sounds.  Full marks go to the proprietors for pitching the P.A volume perfectly too.  It’s good to know my arthritic knees still permit occasional dancing even if my Sunday morning head doesn’t like me drinking!

Private View: If A Picture Paints A Good Night Out...

My last post mentioned how various events in Birmingham have been occupying my time just lately.  Prime amongst these was the private view for the exhibition, ‘If a Picture Paints a Thousand Words, Why Can’t I Paint’, organised by the Indigo Octagon collective and in which I participated as a guest artist.  Although the show had been open for a few days, the Friday evening event was an obvious opportunity to draw as many people as possible through the door and was, in that and several other respects, a real success.

Being at a geographical remove, I’d had a relatively little hands-on involvement with the show’s practical preparations and was unsure exactly what to expect prior to entering the gallery for the first time.  Additionally, I was rather breathless from the rapid race over through Friday evening M6 traffic, (thank you, Road Gods!), and a hurried hotel check-in.

In the event, I was delighted to see how well the exhibition looked and just how much care, thought and sheer hard work, Shaun Morris and the other guys had put into the hang.  Although generally familiar with the soft themes underlying the show, and some of the work on display, I hadn’t anticipated just how well different pieces would relate to each other across the room.  It was fascinating to observe the subtle correspondences between the differing preoccupations of the five artists emerge as one moved around the gallery.  I think one of the main achievements has been to allow these connections to be discovered and reflected upon naturally without too much spoon- feeding or conceptual contrivance.

It’s always scary to expose one’s work to a public arena and in the context of other artists’ output.  I was relieved to find I haven’t been fooling myself, and that, out in the World; my paintings can justify their creation.  Of course, there’s always a list of things one might do differently and certain aspects of the other participants’ work may suggest possible new ways forward for my own.  This is particularly true of Andrew Smith’s engagement with some concerns that I share but across a variety of platforms.  Despite my commitment to painting, he takes greater account of the flux of urban existence, and the relationship between environment, text and thought processes, than I have managed so far.  His video work, painted photographs and textual paintings supplied much food for thought.   Craig Underhill’s ceramics engage with the nuances of distressed hard surfaces to which I’m often drawn, whilst Shaun’s painted motorway nocturnes and Chris Cowdrill’s painstaking, collaged illustrations tackled those mutable zones at, and just beyond, the margins of any conurbation.

The Men They Could Hang: (L to R), Craig Underhill, Some Bloke From
Leicester, Shaun Morris, Chris Cowdrill, Andrew Smith

Work By Shaun Morris, (Left & Centre) And Andrew Smith, (Right)

Ceramics By Craig Underhill

Many exhibiting artists will probably admit that private views sometimes alternate between the slightly intimidating and the dispiritingly vacuous, but this time round it seemed the large gathering comprised people who’d come for the right reasons.  There was plenty of genuine interest in the work and lots of positivity and general good humour. I met many new faces and enjoyed numerous conversations. It was evident that the I.O. team had worked really hard at getting the word out and it paid off, with the room remaining full nearly all evening.  The exhibition brochure was a stylish art statement in its own right and the souvenir badges provided a nice touch of affordable ‘merch’.

Shaun & Andrew Perform 'Music For Service Stations'

Box Of Knives

The exhibition’s mixed media aspect was further enhanced by the inclusion of live music that turned a private view into a real multi-dimensional event.  Although Shaun and Andrew will maintain their performance of ‘Music For Service Stations’ wasn’t wholly successful, I was impressed they’d composed a piece specifically for the event at all.  They were followed by a committed performance from local band Box of Knives that went down very well with the room.

It Was a Mixed Crowd

Although our numbers were a little reduced through illness, I was pleased to be able to take a small contingent with me to add to the crowd.  As well as thanking the I.O. guys for making it all happen, and everyone who attended, particular thanks are due to Lorel, Susie, Pauline, Dave and Sid for helping to make it a great weekend altogether.  More of that in my next bulletin…

'Thanks For Coming'

It’s worth mentioning that the show continues until November 23 so here’s hoping that, before then, some more folks make it along to the Works Gallery, Jubilee Centre, 130 Pershore Street, Birmingham B5 6ND.  Oh, and if you want to know who Harvey Smoke is, - ask Andrew.

Supersilent with John Paul Jones: Birmingham Town Hall, 14 November 2012

It’s been an eventful few days, with all the interesting stuff happening in Birmingham.  Not so long ago, despite living in Leicester, my social life focussed largely on nearby Nottingham and I enjoyed discovering more about what lay both on and under the city’s surface.  Now, it seems that my attention has shifted slightly to Brum and, after several years’ absence; I’m reacquainting myself with that town also.

Birmingham City Centre Today, (Photo: Unknown)

The main reason for heading west was the invitation I received to include paintings in the current exhibition organised by Indigo Octagon.  I’ve already posted in anticipation of that event and will post my account of it very soon.  Separately, however, I headed along the M6 the other night with a friend to hear Norwegian Improv/Electronic ensemble - Supersilent at Birmingham Town Hall.

Birmingham Town Hall, (Photo: Dave Madden).

Supersilent is highly regarded in Avant-garde music circles, not least for a rigourous, no rehearsals; no pre-planning; no contact beyond the music-making, stance.  However, it has a darker, even vaguely Rock, aesthetic than many older improv. stalwarts.  This is due, in part, to slick, minimalist presentation, (impassive graphics, tasteful light show, dry ice, etc.), and partly through having a somewhat saturnine member named Deathprod, (Helge Sten).  The current incarnation scores even higher in that regard by including ex-Led Zeppelin bassist and all round muso – John Paul Jones as an honorary member.  In fact, with Sten on sick leave from Birmingham, Jones became the main focus of the evening, proving himself quite capable of functioning in a contemporary Free Jazz idiom.

Supersilent With John Paul Jones, Moldejazz, Norway 2011, (Photo: Unknown)

As must occur amongst regular collaborators, and despite the improvisatory approach, there is a typical Supersilent sound.  Most pieces follow a quiet, loud-then -quiet-again routine, pursuing a dialogue between profoundly alien, midnight-sun atmospheres and passages of chaotic, visceral racket evoking terrifying events deep in dark forests.  For this performance the spooky keyboards, muted trumpet and free drumming were marvellously augmented by Jones’ massive bass vibrations and haunting vocal intonations by drummer Arve Henriksen.  Employing a beautiful and unusual 12 string bass, Jones also injected subtly ornate high-string embellishments in counterpoint to all the low-end stuff.

After an impressive opener, mounting to a massive dissonant climax, our ears were properly attuned to an alternative sound world of shifting aural environments.  It also became apparent that, with its high-ceilinged, Neo-classical grandeur, yet deceptive intimacy, the venue was a perfect setting for Supersilent, contributing considerable acoustic richness.  With music of this kind one must remain in the moment and immersed in pure sound.  Consequently, whenever a riff or groove started to emerge, at least one member of the trio intervened to mutate the sound in a new direction.  There were online hints of a little pre-show rehearsal but I’ve no idea if this was merely a sound check or a concession to the new boy.  In fact, the trio’s exchanged glances of inquiry, nods of approval and gestured instructions to the mixing desk suggested there were still huge elements of the unknown in the unfolding material.

Supersilent In Birmingham, (Photo: Kevin Hewick).

Naturally, the deep listening demanded by such music can prove exhausting and the duration of individual pieces and the overall set were well judged.  If there was a slight loss of impetus around two thirds of the way through, that slack was taken up effectively before the end.  The set concluded with a shorter encore that really showcased Jones and was the closest the music came to any semblance of bass funk throughout the entire evening.

Stale Storlokken & J.P. Jones, Sonar, Barcelona, 2012, (Photo: David Broc).

Exiting the Town Hall amongst the demographically, (and cheeringly), baffling audience, it occurred to me that, (Rock legend worship aside), the only real unifying factor between us was a hunger for real musical sustenance.  Supersilent and John Paul Jones served up a banquet.

Aki Onda, (Photo: Makiko Sasanuma).

Respect is due also to support act Aki Onda.  His improvised set of layered and manipulated cassette field recordings, played through numerous Walkmans, (Walkmen?), was both fascinating and engaging.  Apologies to him for crashing the start of his performance, then sitting directly in his eye-line. 

It's Malala Day

I've already posted my responses to the shooting of Malala Yousafzai and threats made to the life of Hina Khan by the Pakistani Taliban.  The plight of these young campaigners for the right of girls to access education has received global attention and I now learn that today has been designated as Malala Day.  You can read a really enlightening article on the importance of this from the perspective of a British woman of Pakistani heritage here.

Malala Yousafzai, (Photo: University Hospitals, Birmingham).

There is an online petition for Malala to be nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize which you can sign here.  Today would seem be the obvious time to do it and, regardless of what you think of such awards, it's a chance for people of all cultures to stand up to the bullies.

Hina Khan, (Photo: Unknown).

It occurs to me that, aside from the important issues around them,  this is all far more than any schoolgirl should have to cope with.  I guess I've been engaged by the whole thing because, every day, I go to work and see girls of many different backgrounds just getting on with their studies and being cheerfully crazy with their friends.  Here's hoping Malala can find time and space to focus on her own recovery and, before long, she and Hina, (and indeed any fellow campaigners whose names I don't know), might just get on with all the stuff other teenage girls enjoy.

An Evening With Will Self

I went to Leicester University the other night to hear author Will Self discussing his new book, ‘Umbrella’ [1.], as part of their ‘Literary Leicester’ festival.  Self is a familiar, often controversial figure within the British cultural scene and enjoys an international reputation for both his fiction and journalism.  He’s adept at playing the media at its own game and is regularly observed performing his cynical, ex-junkie of letters routine across multiple platforms.  The fact he also appears possessed of a brain the size of a planet and habitually delivers material that is as perceptive and well crafted as it is challenging, makes this more amusing than irritating.  He appears equally comfortable appearing on populist T.V. or demonstrating intellectual rigour and a formidable mastery of the language to an academic or broadsheet audience.  He’s by turns withering, engaging and sardonically amusing.

Will's Shelves, (Photo: The Guardian/Karen Robinson).

Plenty of attention was paid recently to the somewhat surprising nomination of ‘Umbrella’ for the Man Booker Prize for fiction, - eventually losing to second-time winner Hilary Mantel’s Tudor Novel, ‘Bring Up The Bodies’. [2.]  That Self’s formally experimental and self-consciously Modernist novel should be judged alongside supposedly more middlebrow offerings, or be included in the fatuous beauty pageant at all, has been described as “a category error” by his own wife, journalist Deborah Orr. [3.]

Certainly, the man himself was quick with a swipe at historical fiction of, “say, the Tudor period”, before making genuinely interesting points about how Modernist literary tropes like magic realism, stream of consciousness and multiple voices might actually be closer to real experience than the more conventional modes; (for instance, third person narrative), typical of less elevated writing.  It was intriguing to hear an author with such a palpable love of words explain his belief that humans don’t generally think verbally, and certainly not in the manner of much contemporary fiction.

On reflection, his distain for Mantel’s work sounds slightly misplaced.  I’ll accept it’s not mere sour grapes as I’ve no doubt Self is sincere in his understandable aversion to the infantilisation of a culture expressed through prizes and award ceremonies.  One might inquire why then, he chose to collude with the aforementioned category error.  It’s possible the whole thing was a bit of a lark to highlight the contrast between comfort literature and the hard stuff.  Certainly, his amusing approach to the official photo might  affirm that, (I do wonder if the chosen form of his name, Will Self, itself might actually signify that his entire public persona is all a huge, knowing gag).

Will Self's Single Handed Elevation Of The Novel Form,
(Photo: AP/Lefteris Piterakis).

Where I find Self to be slightly unfair is in ignoring that Mantel herself has, in her Tudor novels [4.], used a somewhat more experimental approach to form than is common in much historical fiction. If she has extended her writing beyond the normal constrains of genre, this surely represents some kind of intellectual advance.  Ironically, Self’s reading, complete with character voices actually reminded me slightly of Mantel’s own inhabitation of her own protagonist’s internal monologue.  Whilst clearly not operating at Self’s own Joycean altitudes, her books caused at least one reader of my acquaintance to describe them as a really interesting if rather demanding read.  Ultimately, perhaps Self chooses to forget that who’s cleverest or which work is the most worthy, are all relative.

A Tall, Thin Author With High Standards, (Photo:
Telegraph/Andrew Crowley).

I can agree that the Tudor soap opera is an account that has been over-rehearsed and that to be endlessly reacquainted with the same events can be dispiriting.  But the lurid events of that period undeniably mark a fulcrum in British history with a legacy that is still felt today and it seems arrogant to assume that, because I know something, so must everyone else.  Also, where Mantel does find new ground is in relating events from the viewpoint of Thomas Cromwell, - a man whose own story is often overlooked.  We must make a clear distinction between the study of History and historical fiction as entertainment but, as I’ve previously discussed, the two strands may inform each other perfectly successfully.  My own experience of HF as a gateway drug to more serious study convinces me of that.

Keeping Tabs On Will Self In Flaneur Mode, (Photo: Casey Kelbaugh).

Self was keen to validate his use of stream of consciousness in his current work by claiming that his perception of the world is largely in the moment and that references in the past tense must, in most cases be little more than reconstructed false memory.  At the same time, I noticed the word ‘Psychogeographic’ was used with some abandon during the discussion of his recent work.  My understanding of the term is that the interaction of present experience with multiple pasts, (including subjective or reconstructed memory), is a potentially important element within the approach.  Self’s own supposedly Psychogeographic writing, including ‘Walking To Hollywood’ [5.] and 'Psychogeography' [6]; has actually been dismissed by Iain Sinclair as not actually in the true spirit of that tradition at all.  It does suggest that, as Self himself demonstrated, one writer’s real deal may be another’s weak gear.

This post is admittedly compromised by the fact I have yet to read ‘Umbrella’ or indeed ‘Walking To Hollywood’.  I do know that I want both Will Self and Hilary Mantel, (and Iain Sinclair), on my shelves and suspect that context is all and horses really are for courses.

(I enjoyed the hour we spent in Mr Self's company and, on the off-chance he might actually read this one day, - must apologise for my own woolly thinking, mangling of the language and probable misuse of punctuation.)

[1.]:  Will Self, 'Umbrella', London, Bloomsbury, 2012

[2.]:  Hilary Mantel, 'Bring Up The Bodies', London, Fourth Estate, 2012

[3.]:  Deborah Orr, 'For A Moment I Really Thought My Husband Had Won The Booker. But No!', The Guardian, Friday, 19 October 2012

[4.]:  See Also:  Hilary Mantel, 'Wolf Hall', London, Fourth Estate, 2012

[5.]:  Will Self, 'Walking To Hollywood', London, Bloomsbury, 2010

[6.]:  Will Self & Ralph Steadman, 'Psychogeography', London, Bloomsbury, 2007