Cabin fever

These days, the festival season starts as soon as the festive season has ended, with Rockaway Beach the first bash in the calendar before the Christmas tree has even come down. 2025's tenth anniversary event, headlined by Ride, Leftfield and Spiritualized, is sold out - no mean feat in the current climate.

When God Is In The TV's Carmel Walsh spoke to the festival's founder Ian Crowther last year, much of the talk was of diversity, but - I'll be honest - I have sometimes wondered exactly who the line-ups are pitched at. Likewise, you have to assume that the timing - immediately after New Year - is potentially problematic, given that many prospective punters might be skint and/or on a health kick.

Yet, the bills always pique my interest and ticket sales suggest there is indeed a market, while most of us would be glad of something to look forward to as a means of banishing the January blues. As an ATP veteran, I'm glad to see another festival adopt a similar holiday-camp model and make it work. Maybe I'll make it along to Bognor Regis one year.

Singing the praises of unsung heroes

We're deep in end-of-year-list season, and many of them look quite similar - so here's an alternative, courtesy of contributors to Buzz: a selection of albums that (unjustly, we think) went under the radar and deserve to be heard more widely.

My own piece is on Bloody Head's brilliantly beastly Perpetual Eden, while Mermaid Chunky get a mention, Will Steen piques my interest with his write-up on Water Damage's In E, and Buzz Listings Editor Noel Gardner recommends Hiddo Dhawr by Somali artist Sahra Halgan.

Insiders' perspectives and outsiders' art

Photography features heavily - pleasingly if not entirely surprisingly so - in the National Museum Cardiff's superb current exhibition The Valleys.

At a stimulating recent panel discussion, representatives from Ffotogallery and photographers Paul Cabuts and David Barnes, whose work features on the walls, talked about the past, present and indeed future of photography in and of the area, while curator Bronwen Colquhoun gave some insights into the decision-making processes behind the staging.

Buzz report here.

"The images now, 40 years later, are a historical document"

To mark the opening of Tate Britain's exhibition The 80s: Photographing Britain, Zoe Whitfield of Dazed spoke to seven of the featured photographers about their work. As suggested by one of their number, Tom Wood, it's a telling portrait of the decade.

Deindustrialisation continued apace, with the Miners' Strike symbolising the death of heavy industry, so Anna Fox's focus on the office in her series Work Stations was apposite - a classic case of an artist bristling at the suggestion that "it wasn't considered a valid subject" and asking viewers to look more closely at the apparently banal spaces that many of us inhabit every day of our working lives.

Similarly, Paul Reas was astute in recognising that in an increasingly consumerist society, "shopping malls were the new cathedrals of consumption and retail parks with supermarkets and furniture stores the parish churches". You don't need to read his accompanying comments to know that his bold colour images were influenced by Martin Parr's New Brighton photos in particular. (The sense that Parr played a significant role in shaping the way the 80s were captured is underscored by the fact that he was also one of Fox's formal teachers.)

Clearly, though, the exhibition isn't solely focused on the macro level of shifting social, political and economic patterns; it also covers individuals' negotiation of identity. For Joy Gregory, "working in various community situations" meant that she "became much more aware of the fact that people didn't have control of their image"; self-portraiture was therefore both a form of personal expression and a political/politicised tool.

"The most revolutionary, radical and rebellious of all groups"

Like many music fans of my generation, I was turned on to the MC5 by At The Drive-In, or at least journalists writing about At The Drive-In - a classic gateway drug situation, and one for which I'm very glad. Debut album Kick Out The Jams is as thrillingly raucous an aural stimulant as you'll hear.

With the band inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and a new album, Heavy Lifting, released a mere 53 years after the last (take note, My Bloody Valentine, you lightweights), Daniel Dylan Wray has written an excellent beginners' guide to the only band that can possibly rival fellow Detroiters the Stooges in the proto-punk stakes.

Musically, the MC5 y were "a fiery mix of hard rock, free jazz, touches of psychedelia, and a blisteringly unique tone"; politically, they fearlessly flew the anti-Vietnam and anti-racism flags and took pot-shots at conservative and corporate America, inevitably putting a few noses out of joint.

With the aid of a few interviewees (including Tom Morello and Alice In Chains' William DuVall, both of whom guest on Heavy Lifting), Wray does a sterling job of conveying just how exciting they were. Sadly, the past tense is apposite - the deaths of Wayne Kramer and Dennis Thompson this year means that there are now no founding members left, so Heavy Lifting serves as an epitaph.

Access denied

South Walian fans of crushingly dull music rejoice: Kings Of Leon are coming to Cardiff next summer. But what's got me and many others more vexed is not so much the band as the venue: a site on Blackweir Fields next to the River Taff.

It's baffling that a new temporary greenfield site is going to be used when the organisers - DEPOT Live and promoters Cuffe and Taylor - have been successfully putting on major shows at Cardiff Castle, and the Principality Stadium is also an option for the largest shows. Taking up an area of the park over the course of several weekends for a series of expensively ticketed events (Kings Of Leon will be only one of several visitors) is an unacceptable infringement on the right and ability of the public to enjoy the space, and will presumably have an impact on amateur cricket fixtures in particular.

If this comes across as sour, then so be it. I make no apologies for that, just over a week since the closure of the Moon. For those of us who are sore at its loss, these much-trumpeted mega-gigs - which Cardiff Council seem only too willing to bend over backwards to accommodate - are just another slap in the face.

Windows pain

Another Friday, another closure of a beloved music institution, and one close to my own heart. Last week, it was the Moon here in Cardiff; this week, it's J G Windows in Newcastle.

Situated in Central Arcade (proof that Cardiff doesn't have a complete monopoly on gorgeous arcades), Windows had been serving the city since 1908. A properly charming old-school shop, it sold instruments and sheet music as well as records.

When I started venturing beyond the confines of my local Woolworths and into record shops in Newcastle, it was inevitably my first port of call. As a scruffy teen, there was great pleasure to be had in calling in to pick up the latest hot new grunge album while attracting the glare of the classical music snobs. One particular Windows purchase stands out: the My Iron Lung EP, which hinted to this (very disappointed) owner of Pablo Honey that Radiohead might actually be able to deliver on the promise of 'Creep' after all.

One former Windows employee was Richard Dawson, who recounted the experience in his Baker's Dozen feature for the Quietus, in the course of describing how he discovered the minimalist drone music of Eliane Radigue. It was, he suggests, "a hilarious place, all dark wood" and "where everyone wore shirts and ties" - but also "a hub for all the oddballs of Newcastle" (including, of course, himself). Working there meant that he "used to listen to everything in the shop" - so we've got Windows to thank for the breadth of his tastes and how they've filtered into his music. It was fitting, then, that the record I bought on my last visit to Windows was Henki, Dawson's bizarrely effective collaboration with Finnish metallers Circle.

Newcastle can still boast the likes of RPM and Beatdown, but it just won't be the same without Windows.

"High-energy punk rock, before the fact"

I can't remember how I first came across Aussie punks the Saints, but I'm so glad I did. Debut album (I'm) Stranded is an absolute blast - right up my street in its tough, loose, raucous, devil-may-care attitude, similar in feel to the Stooges, and deserving of being much more widely known rather than overshadowed by lesser albums from higher-profile first-wave British bands.

Now it's been re-released as a deluxe box set, founding members Ed Kuepper and Ivor Hay have formed a band to rip through its songs live once again, and the Guardian's Michael Hann has spoken to them about the Saints' short and fractious but trailblazing history.

Fingers crossed this new incarnation of the band does indeed make it to Europe - not least because it features not only Mudhoney's Mark Arm, filling in for late vocalist Chris Bailey, but also former Bad Seed Mick Harvey.

It's a neat twist of events, given that Harvey followed in the Saints' footsteps back in the early 1980s by making the move to Europe in search of more accepting audiences. Harvey arrived in Blighty with the Birthday Party, whose frontman Nick Cave has said of the Saints before they left Australia: "They were kind of god-like to me and my colleagues. They were just always so much better than everybody else. It was extraordinary to go and see a band that was so anarchic and violent." And then, when the Birthday Party imploded, bassist Tracy Pew briefly became a member of the Saints. All in all, Harvey's current participation in the project seems very fitting.

Slow news day

It's infuriating enough that the widespread imposition of a 20mph limit in urban areas in Wales has been twisted into becoming "the latest culture war battlefield" - but all the more so when you consider its numerous significant and tangible gains, not least in terms of lives and money saved. Will Hayward recently set out the facts in an article for the Guardian, his bafflement at the level of vitriol the move has generated both evident and understandable.

However, rather than responding in the most obvious way - simply calling out the anti-woke wankers whingeing about the infringement of their right to mow down pedestrians and bleating on about a police/nanny state - he suggested that the Welsh government is in part to blame: "Evidence-based policy does work, but you have to own it, explain it and stay the course. It costs political capital, and politicians need to be brave. In a world where facts and evidence matter less and less, it is all the more vital that we stand by that evidence to take our nation forward."

In other words, if those behind the decision had had the courage of their convictions and actually taken the trouble to spell out in words of one syllable why the reduced speed limit was coming into force, and what benefits it would bring, it might not have become such an absurdly contentious and politically charged issue.

I'd like to think Hayward's got a point, but the reality is that the populist right can find a reason to be triggered by absolutely anything. Ironic, really.

Better Kate than never

At long last, Kate Bush's magnum opus - 1985's Hounds Of Love - has a book in the 33 1/3 series devoted to it. Author Leah Kardos explores the formative factors behind the "utterly remarkable" album's creation and the way in which it was pieced together, and goes deep in dissecting it track by track.

The book also sets out Bush's incredible commercial success, traces her enormous musical and cultural legacy and attempts to convey what it was like to witness the Before The Dawn concerts in the flesh.

Buzz review here.

Awards and adieus

Why is it that there never seems to be unremittingly good news about the businesses at Victoria Park? What fate gives local gastronomes with one hand, it seems to take away with another.

No sooner than Hiraeth had settled into Nook's old premises (receiving a glowing report from Soliciting Flavours for its fixed-price lunch) and Pettigrews had scooped the impressive title of Craft Bakery of the Year at the UK Baking Industry Awards (in the face of plentiful and fierce competition), than award-worthy burger joint Ansh announced that they'll be closing their doors before Christmas.

In a city that has never been short of burger options, theirs are second to none - thanks in no small part to the involvement of Shaun Jones, of superb butcher Oriel Jones, guaranteeing the top-notch quality of the meat patties. The closure is a devastating blow - especially if the proposed opening of a smaller outlet in Pontcanna, only announced in August, has been abandoned (the Wales Online report doesn't make it clear).

Both Pettigrews and Oriel Jones would have been worthy of a mention in this Guardian article, in which food writers pick their local food heroes - but Cardiff is at least represented, with local restaurateur James Sommerin singing the praises of the legendary "Aladdin's cave" deli that is Wally's.

The sun sets on the Moon

At the end of a week that's been an utter shitshow personally speaking, a final kick in the teeth: the announcement that the Moon, Cardiff's best grassroots venue and a very regular haunt of mine, has closed its doors with immediate effect.

The lack of any prior warning has made the news all the harder to take - as has the fact that this has unfolded so soon after the triumphalist rhetoric surrounding the inaugural Cardiff Music City Festival. The Moon's demise bears sad testimony to Lloyd Griffith's comment that "the idea that everything is rosy is absurd", and leaves the likes of Wales Online reporting on the closure of yet another grassroots venue a matter of weeks after offering "nine reasons why Cardiff Music City Festival hits all the right notes". Let's see if anyone from Cardiff Council or the Music City machine deigns to comment on the developments, as they didn't with Carnedd shortly before the festival kicked off.

The venue's statement is spot on: an expression of gratitude, a warm celebration of everything that's been achieved, the magical moments and memories created; but also an honest reflection on the multitude of challenges that have brought about the closure, from the cost-of-living crisis to business rate hikes and VAT on ticket sales. There's also a plea for levies on arena ticket prices (an initiative that, thankfully, does at least seem to be gathering momentum), and an emphasis that emergency funding is no substitute for "constant support".

Questions will quite rightly be asked of Cardiff Council, and local politicians. The truth is, though, that many of these factors lie outside their control - but within the power of a Labour government that is at least saying the right things about the arts. Will they walk the walk, though? What is needed is not "a sticking plaster" but serious surgery.

But back to the Moon. It was (that past tense really hurts...) everything that a grassroots music venue should be: rough and ready, endearingly scuzzy and chaotic, eccentric in layout, toilets a health and safety nightmare, a genuine community hub, staffed by a perpetually cheery bunch, enthusiastic supporters of everything from local artists finding their feet and building a reputation to acts visiting from afar and delighting in connecting with a roomful of strangers.

The Cosmic Carnage nights/all-dayers there were particularly good fun, Rich Collins given licence to book bills stacked with ear-bothering acts and punters paying very little if at all, resulting in a packed, lairy Moon going off. The perfect symbiosis of artists, audience, promoter and venue.

As absolutely gutted as I am, I'll end on a slightly more positive and less elegiac note by simply quoting some sage words from the Moon's statement: "Womanby Street is losing a vital part of its live music heart, but we firmly believe that Cardiff is getting exciting again and has so much potential, so much to offer. Please don't think the answer is simply to replace us quickly and hike up the number of small venues. We don't need too many small venues all doing the same thing, we need great quality venues that are supported, celebrated, protected and USED. Venues that create legacies, bringing people together for years to come, full to the brim with events and audiences, a wide spectrum of genres and events, affordable, accessible and inclusive."

Amen to that. Rest in noise, the Moon.

Safe bets

Predicting the future can be a perilous endeavour, as you run the risk of being left with egg on your face. So why not minimise those odds by predicting what's already happened?

That certainly seems to have been the philosophy behind the BBC's Sound of 2025 list, which foresees big things for such unheard-of artists as Chappell Roan and Confidence Man, plus Mercury Prize winners past and present English Teacher and Ezra Collective. Of the eight shortlisted artists/bands, only three are yet to release a debut album. Nostradamus would be turning in his grave.

The nature of the list has changed, it seems, due to an amendment to the eligibility rules. But it begs the question: what purpose does the list serve? What, essentially, is the point?

If it's to remind the general public of some acts that might be on the fringes of their consciousness, then fine, I suppose. But if it's to give useful pointers to bona fide music fans seeking out the next big thing, to draw attention to talented hopefuls recommended by those with their ears close to the ground (as it used to be), then it's worthless.

Judging from this NME piece, the general reaction has been much the same as my own. I wonder whether the changes to those self-imposed eligibility rules might be reversed for next year.

That's gratitude for you

Two years ago, Leeds outfit Thank impressed mightily at the top of the bill for Cosmic Carnage's Christmas Alldayer, and now the noisy bastards have made an album worthy of their live form, in the shape of I Have A Physical Body That Can Be Harmed.

Buzz review here.

Drunk and disorderly

The Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds show in Cardiff on 6th November was truly stunning - so much so that I was very glad to have broken the habit of a lifetime, sold my soul and ventured to the Motorpoint Arena. Two nights later, though, I seized the opportunity to return to my (grass)roots, savouring a three-band bill at Tiny Rebel headlined by Thee Alcoholics and also featuring Barry lunatics I Am Drug.

Buzz report here.

Mick Felton: in memoriam

I was very sorry to learn of the death of Mick Felton, co-founder and long-time publisher at Seren Books. As the obituary posted on Seren's blog observes, "[i]t is hard to argue that anyone has done more for the heritage and sustenance of English-language publishing in Wales over the past forty years".

Mick certainly "provid[ed] opportunities for the next generation of writers" - but the next generation of publishing professionals too. When I pitched up at Seren's Bridgend office for a week's work experience in 2006, Mick welcomed me on board, and the one day a week I volunteered there for the next six months helped to offset the mind-numbing tedium of a council admin job.

Being a small operation, Seren was very often all hands to the pump, and Mick generously gave me the opportunity to get a feel for several aspects of the job/business - from giving an initial assessment of submissions, to doing text layout, to compiling indexes, to parcelling up books ordered via the website.

As the obituary hints, Mick was resolute in the face of the numerous challenges of running a small publishing house on a shoestring, managing to remain unruffled and dry humoured no matter what life threw his way. That he also found the time to act as a mentor for publishing novices like myself was greatly appreciated.

After leaving Seren in 2007, and spending the next ten years in Oxfordshire, I didn't see much of Mick at all - but since returning to South Wales the odd encounter at book launches/readings and in the foyer at Chapter presented opportunities for a catch-up. Given that he had not long left Seren, a business to which he dedicated so much time and energy, his retirement was indeed "cruelly short".

There is a light that never goes out

Over the course of the last week, I've had the extremely good fortune to witness not one, not two, but three absolutely astonishing gigs: Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds at the CIA, Tropical Fuck Storm at the Fleece in Bristol and Alan Sparhawk at Clwb.

The latter has to be one of the most intense shows I've ever been to, for obvious reasons. Back in 2005, when Low were touring their incredible LP The Great Destroyer, I remember Sparhawk telling the audience at the Wulfrun Hall in Wolverhampton how his young son had been dancing away to Napalm Death in the empty venue before the gig - and now here Cyrus Sparhawk was, on stage playing bass with his dad, on the anniversary of his mum Mimi Parker's passing. It was an emotional gut punch of a gig, and a beacon of positivity on a day when political events in the US plunged the world into greater darkness.

And it got me thinking again: just how good would it have been to see Low on the Mountain Stage at Green Man in 2022, with that backdrop?

Buzz review here.

Beak> practice

Beak> are - true to form, shamefully - a very belated discovery on my part, largely thanks to reviewing duties for fourth album >>>> earlier this year. Stupendously good at Green Man in August, they pitched up at Clwb last week to kick off what will be drummer/chief comedian Geoff Barrow's farewell tour. On that evidence, I sincerely hope that the remaining two members, Billy Fuller and Will Young, keep going with someone else behind the kit; it would be gutting if Barrow's departure spells the end of the band as a whole.

Buzz review here.

"A bit of a sticking plaster"

With the dust settling on the inaugural Cardiff Music Festival, it's time for an appraisal - cue Bill Cummings' opinion piece on God Is In The TV.

There's been plenty of snark and cynicism (including round these parts), and in the article Dan Porter and Ed Townend suggest that credit should be given where it's due.

But another interviewee, Lloyd Griffiths, argues that much more can and should be done to support the local music scene. Certainly, it's fair to say that "the idea that everything is rosy is absurd" - not least because grassroots music venues have continued to close at an alarming rate since Cardiff was christened a "Music City".

Cummings cuts through the PR crap, offering a nuanced evaluation of whether bringing Llais, Swn and more under the Cardiff Music Festival banner was beneficial, and calling for "a clearly defined music strategy" for the city.

Lives less ordinary

It's not every day you get to hear two of the nation's most prominent documentary photographers talk about the project that set them on their path, while sat in a museum of vintage organs in the Valleys. Having missed David Hurn being interviewed by Michael Sheen at Paul Kirner's Music Palace last year, I was so glad to be present last weekend for Daniel Meadows and Martin Parr's conversation on June Street, 1973, on display at the Workers' Gallery for the next fortnight.

Buzz write-up here.

The (un)masked singer

Last Thursday, John Grant returned to Cardiff, a city he holds dear, with fast-rising Black Country two-piece Big Special in tow. It was my first encounter with the former Czars frontman - think John Goodman playing the works of Elton John - and is very unlikely to be my last.

Buzz review here.

Has the bubble burst?

Writing last year about the boom in music memoirs, and indeed books about music in general, the Guardian's Alex Petridis cited "the existence of three music imprints at major publishers" as one of the main factors. Inevitably, it couldn't last forever, and yesterday brought the unexpected announcement that Nine Eight Books is effectively no more, the imprint's founder Pete Selby leaving as part of a restructuring process by parent publisher Bonnier.

Selby is - by all accounts and by all testimonies subsequently posted on Twitter - an exceptional publisher. Some might try to argue that the books put out by Nine Eight would have found a publisher anyway, but that would totally ignore the fact that in many cases the books wouldn't even exist without Selby's tireless enthusiasm, encouragement and drive.

One author who's said as much is Ian Wade, whose 1984: The Year Pop Went Queer kept me thoroughly entertained on a mammoth coach journey in the summer. Also most enjoyable was Nige Tassell's Whatever Happened To The C86 Kids?, the subject of discussion at a great evening in Cardiff back in January.

Perhaps I've been living in a rose-tinted bubble, but the news was all the more shocking given the praise lavished on three other Nine Eight publications in particular: Miki Berenyi's Fingers Crossed, Will Hodgkinson's Street-Level Superstar (about Lawrence from Felt/Denim) and Reach For The Stars by Michael Cragg, who did a superb job of selling it at Green Man last year.

Presumably Bonnier's decision has been at least partly motivated by finances, so maybe the music book sector isn't in quite such rude good health as I'd imagined. Either way, as the generous reaction from competitor imprint White Rabbit underlined, the demise of Nine Eight is to be mourned - a sobering reminder of the fragility of the ecosystem. 

Here's hoping Selby rallies and is back helping to bring top-quality music books into the world before too long.

Not OK, computer

While the pessimist in me fears this is merely a futile Canute-like attempt to hold back an inevitable tide, it's good to see so many creative types come out against the unlicensed use of work for training generative AI models. That (mis)use has been branded "a major, unjust threat to the livelihoods of the people behind those works" in a statement signed by over 10,000 people, including Thom Yorke, Kazuo Ishiguro, Robert Smith, Julianne Moore and Kevin Bacon.

Part of what vexes me about all this is that it's unclear what the actual value of this training is. Adverts and puff pieces about AI are everywhere, and yet there doesn't seem to be any real idea of how it might be used in a way that isn't cynical and destructive.

More broadly, it seems that everyone's too bedazzled by what AI can do to give serious consideration to the wider implications and risks - for art, for technology, for the environment, and more. A classic case of "Just because we can, doesn't mean we should".

"The whole place, every single inch, was dancing"

When it comes to histories of the rave/club scene in the North West, the Hacienda always hogs the headlines. But, as Fergal Kinney noted a few years ago in an article for the Guardian, things were arguably as lively - if not even livelier - in Blackburn. And now Daniel Dylan Wray has painted a vivid portrait of goings-on in Liverpool.

Friends who went to university in the city caught the very tail end of the period Wray writes about and have vouched for the veracity of the depiction of Voodoo in particular: "dark, sweaty and relentless", according to interviewee Nick Burcombe.

Dance culture at that time completely passed me by - or, more accurately, was deliberately avoided. But articles like Wray's, and books like Richard Norris' Strange Things Are Happening, convey the excitement so convincingly that I've developed a very belated feeling of having majorly missed out.

Getting into the groove

"Do you want to know the secret?" was a line that leapt out at me on Goat's self-titled sixth album. Finally, it feels that I'm starting to understand the secret of Goat themselves - a band who had for many years somehow passed me by. But then came a headline set on Green Man's Far Out Stage and the soundtrack to Shane Meadows' TV adaptation of Benjamin Myers' The Gallows Pole, and now an album that discovering WITCH primed me to love.

Buzz review here.

Chain gang

If you had to guess who might declare "The Velvets and the Stooges were just like a road map", The Jesus & Mary Chain's Jim Reid would probably be top of the list. And sure enough, his Quietus Baker's Dozen is largely predictable rather than pretentiously obscure, featuring a selection of seminal albums by the likes of the Saints, Suicide, Joy Division and the New York Dolls that were formative influences on the brothers Reid's own band.

It's equally no shock to read him extolling the virtues of the Beatles' Revolver as a true game changer, but the warm words about Mark Lanegan's Bubblegum and in particular Vashti Bunyan's Just Another Diamond Day are more surprising.

And then there's the Cobbs' Trophies For Lovemaking!, an album that he discovered in his luggage after a US jaunt with Freeheat. Of all the things that could have accidentally found their way into his bag following what was by his own admission "more of a fucking drinking and drugs tour of American than a rock and roll tour", he's probably fortunate that it was an obscure record.

TV gold

Happy tenth birthday to the wonderful Detectorists, thoroughly deserving of this tribute to its "low-key charm" by the Guardian's David Renshaw.

The key to that charm is the series' gentle humour. Creator and lead actor Mackenzie Crook explains that he "deliberately set out to write something uncynical and removed from the awkward 'cringe comedy' that was prevalent at the time". Renshaw mentions Crook's breakthrough role as Gareth in The Office, but refrains from explicitly noting that shows like The Office were precisely what Crook was reacting against with his own creation.

Detectorists, Renshaw observes, is "not a sitcom chasing belly laughs". It's not relentless or desperate in that way. On the contrary, it's subtle and character driven - primarily by the relationship between Crook's Andy and Toby Jones' Lance, but also by a superb supporting cast. The calibre of the acting is exceptional, and the pub beer garden scene between Lance and Sophie Thompson's Sheila - well, that's phenomenal, by any standards.

Renshaw is right to single out the show's portrayal of male friendship for special mention, and for the way that it seems to foreshadow the marvellous Mortimer & Whitehouse: Gone Fishing, currently back on the Beeb for a seventh series. (Indeed, Crook has said elsewhere that the hobby/obsession that brought Andy and Lance together might well have been fishing rather than metal detecting.)

Crook and Jones appear natural and at ease in each other's company, and it's little surprise to learn that it was a joy to be a part of, Jones declaring: "Those three summers we spent shooting felt like a holiday." More of a revelation was the fact that the series was inspired by a particular episode of Time Team - one that stood out in my memory too.

That there won't be any more episodes is a disappointment in a way, but also reassuring, in that there's no risk of what we already have being tarnished. "[N]obody should be sad", says Crook - and they won't be if they succumb to the temptation to rewatch.

Listening post

In introducing an interview with Treble founder Jeff Terich in the spring, I wrote about the need to celebrate dogged stalwarts/veterans of the music media landscape rather than merely moaning when magazines and sites fold. The same goes for new arrivals on the scene. It takes laudable courage to set up a new platform in the current climate, so hats off to the former Pitchfork staffers who've just launched Hearing Things.

The About page not only describes the new site in bold terms as "a bulwark against all the bullshit" and lays out the considerable credentials of the founders; it also (refreshingly) outlines its policy of editorial independence and clarifies exactly what that means.

A smattering of reviews and features have already been posted, including this engaging Julianne Escobedo Shepherd interview with Kathleen Hanna, which covers her recently published memoir Rebel Girl, the "really joyous atmosphere" of live gigs and getting the key to the city of Olympia (and an apology).

Better still is the conversation that Los Campesinos! frontman Gareth had with Ryan Dombal - the latter, like me, a long-time fan who clearly feels as though he's grown up alongside the band. Gareth talks lyrics, ethics and politics (remaining cagey on whether he's having a pop at Idles on 'Long Throes'), but perhaps most fascinating is the revealing insight into the economics of being a well-established mid-tier band and what being DIY at that level really means.

A Gravity Hill to die on?

I must say I didn't see this coming: Metz going on "indefinite hiatus". Not least because latest album Up On Gravity Hill, released in April, is not only arguably their strongest to date but also seemed to herald an exciting new direction in dialling up the melodicism and nuance without really dialling down the muscularity.

On reflection, though, I guess that may have been the problem. In the absence of any rationale/explanation other than that they've been slogging away in the noise-rock trenches for over 15 years, there's a fair chance that not everyone in the band is keen on taking this particular fork in the road and that musical differences stand behind the decision. A great shame if so.

More awkward pirouettes in the general direction of hope and joy

Was the time ever more ripe for a new Godspeed You! Black Emperor album? No Title As Of 13 February 2024, 28,340 Dead finds the post-rock heavyweights on as fine form as ever, staring the horrors of the contemporary moment straight in the face but daring to see salvation in art.

Buzz review here.

House move

Park House is too impressive a building to be allowed to stand empty - but I'll admit that the news that Tom Simmons is to take it on makes me slightly nervous.

On the one hand, the chef's operations in Pontcanna and Canton - the restaurant Thomas and two branches of cafe/bakery Ground - seem to be thriving (and rightly so), and the move will be funded through a loan from the Welsh Government's Town Centre Regeneration scheme rather than directly out of Simmons' own pocket.

On the other hand, though, I can't help but wonder whether the place isn't something of a poisoned chalice, after the sudden closure of the previous resident restaurant last year left a bitter taste in a few mouths. Even looking beyond the financial aspects, Simmons will be taking a big gamble. Here's hoping his expansionist vision doesn't leave his existing establishments stretched and result in a compromise on quality.

End of an era

Who better to document the final few days of steelmaking in Port Talbot than Jon Pountney, the man who's been busy creating a photographic record of how heavy industry has shaped the Welsh landscape?

This BBC article gives only a small taster of a series that looks set to follow in the lineage of Mik Critchlow's images of Woodhorn Colliery and, closer to home, the recently publicised pictures taken by Huw Powell as production ceased at the East Moors Steelworks in 1978.

Venturing into the belly of the beast has evidently been quite an experience for Pountney: "I didn't know what to expect, and you're basically met with a very large dark room where there is a river of molten metal running through the middle. You've never seen anything like it - it's this incredible, almost volcanic elemental thing, which is quite terrifying."

Also allowed access was photographer and filmmaker Mark Griffiths, who underlined what the closure will mean for the town: "The ripple effect is going to be phenomenal. It's not just the steel workers that are impacted, it's the surrounding infrastructure, it's the local businesses, it's the communities that are going to be ripped apart and devastated by this."

For those of us who regularly pass Port Talbot on the M4, a smokeless skyline is going to seem very strange. How long will the chimney stacks survive?

Digging up trouble

There might come a time when I tire of the current trend/revival of folk horror films, but it's probably some way off yet.

Starve Acre has been the latest to hit cinema screens, and it ticks all the boxes: dramatic windswept rural environment (the Yorkshire moors); a 1970s setting, and accompanying colour palette of muddy browns and mossy greens; horror that has its roots in personal tragedy; themes of exhumation, sacrifice and resurrection; a chilling score that works perfectly in tandem with the images.

Matt Smith does a decent (if perhaps inadvertent) Ted Hughes impression, as an emotionally repressed archaeology lecturer compelled to dig up things that are best left buried. But it's Morfydd Clark, as his deeply traumatised wife, who truly deserves the plaudits.

Starve Acre has been criticised in some quarters for being devoid of jump scares, but, for me, that totally misses the point. This isn't some cheap, gore-laden US fright fest; it's a far more subtle film, one that progresses at a deliberately slow pace, moving inexorably to a truly, grimly memorable concluding tableau. You have to suspend disbelief on occasion, admittedly, but then it wouldn't be a horror film if you didn't.

Plane sailing

New Public Service Broadcasting album The Last Flight would most likely have been a revelation if I hadn't heard its predecessors. Familiarity dulls its impact somewhat, but there are a few novel diversions and the subject matter - the life and death of intrepid aviator Amelia Earhart - ensures that it exerts an emotional pull that carries you along to the bleak, tragic climax.

Buzz review here.

Free thinking

Typical - no sooner had I just about started to get my head around black midi than they split. Geordie Greep has wasted no time in putting out The New Sound, an idiosyncratic solo record boasting sensational musicianship and packed with what he told NME are "bizarre, horrible" love songs. Buzz review here.

Greep spoke to Eden Tizard of the Quietus about the genesis of The New Sound, its Latin American influences and the joy of collaboration - a helpful read if you're struggling to make sense of what is an undeniably challenging album.

Overstating the case

It's one thing to greet the availability of Cardiff Council funding to support grassroots music venues with cautious optimism, as I did a week ago. It's quite another to claim that the city's music scene has enjoyed an "amazing revival" since the dark days of 2017.

In fairness to Sophie Williams, the author of the article in question, the use of the offending phrase may well have been the work of a rogue Guardian sub-editor; certainly, Williams' piece is more nuanced than that.

Yet she does still seem to get caught up in the positivity, parroting the council's lines without pausing to consider what the buzzwords might mean and how the vision might actually be realised. The noises might be moderately encouraging, but it's far too soon to trumpet any strategy as a triumph. As for the Cardiff Music City malarkey, the inclination is to quote Alan Partridge to Lynn: "They've rebadged it, you fool!"

I know some people on the ground who read the article and felt gaslit, pointing out that the current reality hardly justifies buoyant boasts. Only in the last few days, Carnedd have been evicted from Willcox House, left homeless at cruelly short notice having been kept in the dark about the sale of the building. In the circumstances, it's entirely understandable why Williams' rose-tinted article has stuck in a few throats.

Speed freaks

Melt-Banana are blink-and-you'll-miss-'em fast. Thankfully, I didn't miss 'em when their tour stopped in Cardiff last week - "stopped" being perhaps the wrong choice of word, though, given that they barely stand still for a second.

Buzz review here.

Release valve

Listen to Alan Sparhawk talk about White Roses, My God - his debut solo LP, and first since the death of his wife and Low bandmate Mimi Parker - and it's clear that it's not so much an album that he consciously wanted to make as one that he simply HAD to make: "[I]n hindsight, I can see now that it must have been what needed to come out of me." It's almost as though he was merely a conduit through which the songs and words were channelled.

That the record is a challenging listen is not a surprise, but that it sounds the way it does may raise a few eyebrows. One thing's for certain: it's going to make for a very intense evening when he comes to Clwb in November.

Buzz review here.

Chaos theory

Reading Alex Deller's Guardian interview with David Yow and Duane Denison, I was reminded of the fact that The Jesus Lizard and forebears Scratch Acid are a grievous omission from Our Band Could Be Your Life (though they do get a mention). But perhaps Michael Azerrad decided that there was only room to devote one chapter to a bunch of Texas-raised fuckheads in his otherwise impeccable tome, and Butthole Surfers understandably got the nod.

Yow and Denison's mob may never have quite scaled the heights/plumbed the depths of their fellow Lone Star State natives, but they certainly got into their fair share of scrapes, particularly on stage, and Yow's penchant for nudity and (in Deller's words) "parlour tricks involving his scrotum" earned him a certain level of notoriety.

Unsurprisingly, Yow is quoted as declaring "I love it when things get out of hand" - and he's not alone. Denison too claims: "We want mindless mayhem along with an element of sophistication - that was always our thing."

The guitarist expands on that with a description that brilliantly captures the tensions in The Jesus Lizard's music: "To me, David's voice was almost like a free jazz saxophone. There was always the dichotomy between being this very organised working unit and the more free-range kind of thing." (This, it occurs to me, is very much also true of Les Savy Fav and Tim Harrington.)

What's great about new album Rack is that age doesn't seem to have dulled those edges - but touring it brings its own challenges for a band whose members are all now in their 60s. Fair play to Yow for acknowledging that if he wants to come close to performing in the way he used to, he needs the help of a personal trainer to get into shape.

I'll leave the final word to him, on getting back together and playing shows: "[I]t seemed like fucking an old girlfriend." Charming.

Upbeat

First a glimmer of hope for the arts nationally, and things may finally be looking up locally too. Cardiff's designation as a "Music City" has been a running joke for some time, but at last there may be signs that that's changing.

The inaugural Cardiff City Music Festival kicked off last night with The Orb and Leftfield at the Arena, taking the pre-existing Swn, Llais and the Welsh Music Prize under its umbrella and featuring lots of industry-based events as well as gigs. My tips are to see teenage grunge punks The Meritones at the Moon on 2nd October (superb at the Lansdowne recently, and partial to a cover of Mclusky's 'Lightsabre Cocksucking Blues') and to listen to Huw Stephens and Neil Collins talk about their new books on Welsh music at the same venue on the 12th. 

More importantly in the long term (though no doubt in the short term for some places that are particularly struggling), Cardiff Council has announced funding to help small venues in the city to survive and make improvements. Council Leader Huw Thomas is quoted as saying that "Cardiff's grassroots venues play a vital role in the city's music scene. They provide important opportunities for local artists to develop and build audiences, act as a focal point for communities, and help make Cardiff the vibrant, exciting place that we know and love." It's good to hear that recognition, but even more to know that there will be cash to back it up. Much more can and indeed should be done at a local level as well as nationally, but it's a start.

And there's positive news from down the road in Swansea too, where the Music Venue Trust have continued their sterling work in support of the sector by buying the Bunkhouse. The move will ease the strain of paying inflated rent to a rapacious commercial landlord and also make money available for building repairs and insurance. Given that ownership has been identified as one of grassroots venues' biggest challenges, it's heartening to see this scheme in action, especially close to home.

Open access?

Precious little that Labour have said or done since taking charge has come close to inspiring me to believe that genuine change is on the way; for the most part, it's been profoundly depressing to think that these are supposedly the good guys. But Lisa Nandy's interview with the Guardian's Pippa Crerar did at least give cause for (very cautious) optimism.

Not only has the Culture Secretary declared an end to the "culture wars" regularly provoked by the Tories, she also claimed that Labour are going to take significant steps in reversing the damage done by their predecessors.

Primarily, the focus will be ensuring that opportunities are available to all, starting with rebalancing the school curriculum. The Tories took the opposite approach: "Over the last 14 years, there's been a vandalism of the arts. Violent indifference to areas of the country that are becoming arts deserts. They were just not interested in arts everywhere, for everyone."

For someone who has regularly banged on about access being arguably the biggest issue in the arts, this is very much music to the ears. Of course, it remains to be seen whether these are merely fine words or whether there's a real commitment (political and financial) to make the vision a reality.

Bold move

It's a sad fact that those with the loudest voices and most self-confidence are often the most deluded about their own abilities, while those plagued by self-doubt and imposter syndrome are the ones who possess genuine talent. Perhaps I'm reading too much into it and doing Katy J Pearson a disservice, but her new album Someday, Now feels like the creation of someone with an increasingly strong (and justifiable) faith in herself as a songwriter and performer.

Buzz review here.

Back to business

Taking Green Man out of the equation, it had been the best part of two months since my last gig outing - far too long. Thanks, then, to noise-rock trio Tunic plus a supporting cast of Death Goals, The Pleasures and The Shania Twainsaw Massacre for, er, easing me back into action on Friday night.

Buzz review here.

Piece de resistance

No matter what Arcade Fire have since become, no matter the extent of Win Butler's misdemeanours - for me, nothing can ever detract from Funeral, or at least from the memory of first discovering it. It's one of those albums that instantly demanded absolute devotion but rewarded it handsomely, and remains a record whose songs still routinely get the hairs standing up on the back of my neck.

It seems that Stereogum's Ian Cohen, assessing the album two decades after its release, broadly agrees. In an astute appraisal of a record that expresses "capital-e Emotions with such intensity that it blots out everything in existence", he offers context and reflection on how it changed the landscape, but also doesn't shy away from acknowledging the criticisms of those who found it "bombastic, indulgent, cringe", the work of over-earnest, pious "tryhards".

Unlike Cohen, I never really saw Funeral in relation to US indie rock acts. For me, Arcade Fire's origins in Montreal invited comparisons with other recent products of the city - most notably, Godspeed You! Black Emperor. The two collectives' commitment to rock convention clearly differed significantly, but they seemed to share a sense of urgency and an attitude of politically charged defiance. These were secular hymns to stimulate the head and stir the heart.

Cohen ventures that "Arcade Fire's visions of love and danger and rebellion stood out for their childlike whimsy". For me, they didn't at the time - but perhaps they do now, with hindsight look somewhat whimsical, even naive, just as Godspeed's simultaneously apocalyptic and desperately hopeful narratives no longer seem to hold quite the same power.

But then again maybe this says more about my own (growing?) cynicism, twenty years on. As Cohen observes, a large part of what went wrong for Arcade Fire (after another two very fine albums in Neon Bible and The Suburbs) was their subsequent abandonment of sincerity and retreat into cynicism. To those for whom Funeral "truly felt like a matter of life and death", myself included, this inevitably seemed to be a cruel betrayal.

Lessons to be learned

Belated congratulations to English Teacher for their Mercury Prize win. I may have been a bit lukewarm about their live show, but debut LP This Could Be Texas boasts plenty of quality beyond those stand-out singles.

As Laura Molloy has noted in an article for Dazed, the victory had significance beyond the band themselves. Shockingly, they were the first winners based outside the capital for nearly ten years.

Tracing how English Teacher managed to buck that depressing trend, Molloy writes: "The saying goes that it takes a village to raise a child, but it often takes a city to forge a great band." The city in question - Leeds - has developed an ecosystem conducive to musical creativity and critical to English Teacher's success: accessible independent venues, a supportive local radio programme with clout (BBC Introducing West Yorkshire) and an array of funding and development organisations.

But, as Molloy notes, we shouldn't be too hasty in celebrating English Teacher's triumph with unalloyed delight. After all, each of those elements that make up the ecosystem are under strain in Leeds and elsewhere: financial support drying up, radio stations folding or being merged, grassroots venues closing down at an alarming rate. Molloy is right to end with a stark warning: "[I]f our music scenes continue to be an afterthought, both by the government and the wider industry, we may be waiting longer than a decade for the next winner outside the M25."

Stop!

My biggest musical regret of the year is not finding a way to get to one of the Jane's Addiction shows in May/June. Given the events of the last couple of days, those who were able to see the alt-rock legends can now consider themselves even more fortunate.

It never seemed plausible that the only casualty of Saturday's onstage bust-up between Perry Farrell and Dave Navarro in Boston would be the Bridgeport show the following night - especially when Farrell's wife poured petrol on the flames - and sure enough the remainder of their US tour has been scrapped so they can "take some time away as a group".

That's the official line, anyway. Navarro, Stephen Perkins and Eric Avery have released a separate statement citing "a continuing pattern of behavior and the mental health difficulties of our singer Perry Farrell", and insisting that "concern for his personal health and safety as well as our own" meant that cancellation was the only possible course of action.

Navarro and Farrell have always had a combustible relationship, and the latter is clearly an eccentric character, to say the very least. Time will tell if this spells the end of the reformation, but the signs certainly don't look good. A bitter disappointment, given that (I gather) they seemed to be having such a great time in each other's company at the Roundhouse.

The episode has prompted the Guardian's Dave Simpson to pull together a list of famously fractious bands. Notably, the flashpoints are often between siblings (Oasis, The Jesus & Mary Chain, The Kinks) - but always between men...

Lizard points

A quarter of a century is a long time, but with Rack you'd hardly think The Jesus Lizard had been away. It's instantly identifiable as them, and instantly likeable. Buzz review here.

Listening to the album takes me back to my one face-to-face encounter with them, in Nottingham in October 1998. The band's initial end may have been nigh, but David Yow was on feral form and I recall the microcosmic water cycle in operation in Rock City's Disco 2, whereby steam was rising from the rowdy crowd, condensing into droplets on the mirrored ceiling of the dancefloor and falling back down on the audience like sweaty rain. As with Fugazi, I feel as though I didn't fully appreciate what I was witnessing. Youth is wasted on the young etc etc.

To mark the album's release, Yow spoke to Patrick Clarke for the Quietus' Baker's Dozen feature. His picks can be roughly categorised as either British big-hitters (Beatles, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin. T-Rex), US punk/hardcore bands (Dickies, Fear) or deranged post-punk (The Birthday Party, Flipper). When he suggests that "the best three-band bill possible would be (in any order) AC/DC, Ramones and Motorhead" - "Zero fucking around!" - it's pretty much impossible to disagree, and there are some wise and touching words for The Jesus Lizard's producer and friend Steve Albini: "I'm glad Steve gave a public sort of expression of regret for some of the drastic insensitivities from his younger years. I miss him like crazy."

Subcultural melting pot

Every local music scene needs spaces in which to germinate, grow and thrive. I've written before about how the Mermaid was critical to Birmingham's mid-1980s punk and grindcore scene, making mention of the Home Of Metal project to commemorate the boozer and its place in history. Here's some of the fruits of the project's labours: a short film featuring members of house band Napalm Death and a couple of regular punters talking about what made it so special.

"Hidden in plain sight"

Jon Pountney's Allure Of Ruins (recent Cardiff exhibition reviewed here) is an important project in terms of what it says about Wales' industrial past and post-industrial present, so it was nice to see it get wider exposure via the platform of a BBC article.

The images emphasise the unconventional aesthetic appeal of countless sites that were once noisy hives of intense human activity but are now not "protected or loved or used", but Pountney is not merely content to present us with ruin porn; on the contrary, there's an agenda behind the project. As he says of the stunning Cwmystwyth in Ceredigion, "[i]f it was anywhere else in the world, it would have a visitor centre and boards telling you this view was this, but obviously in Wales we only do castles". The message is clear: Wales should do more to recognise, celebrate and conserve its industrial heritage.

Ocean songs

Talk about taking one for the team. There are war correspondents who would baulk at the prospect of being sent to cover Summer of '99 (aka the "Creed Cruise"), so credit to Luke Winkie for having the courage to go along and report back in the form of a Slate article. That said, his claim that the band's first performance of the weekend "was, without a doubt, one of the best rock shows I've ever seen" has me thinking he may have been suffering from shellshock or Stockholm syndrome.

Even more remarkable than Creed's apparently resurgent popularity among younger fans is the fact that frontman Scott Stapp has been cast as Frank Sinatra in a forthcoming biopic of Ronald Reagan. I'll give that a wide berth, thanks.