Post-punk pioneers

Rough Trade's new boxset of 45s is not so much a humblebrag as a (justifiably smug) boast, a self-congratulatory gesture that's entirely understandable. Not only does it cover the remarkably fertile period in British music in the wake of punk, as chronicled so illuminatingly in Simon Reynolds' Rip It Up And Start Again, but it underlines Rough Trade's critical role at the heart of the action.

Admittedly, for my review for Buzz I wasn't able to evaluate the whole boxset package (which includes liner notes and interview with curators Geoff Travis and Jeannette Lee) - but on the basis of the music and its impact alone, it's essential.

Roots manoeuvres

All too often, articles about Glastonbury are either sneerily dismissive or blindly defensive - which is why this Observer piece by Luke Turner of the Quietus stands out from the crowd.

Turner recognises that Glastonbury remains a unique event that retains connections to its leftfield, political roots. He also points out that armchair pundits who've never set foot on Worthy Farm get a very warped perspective on the festival. Realistically, the BBC can only cover a fraction of what goes on away from the main stages, where much of the most interesting artists are to be found. In reality, non-musical forms of entertainment are everywhere, and "tend not to feel awkwardly bolted on": "Glastonbury is a far cry from the sort of contemporary high-end boutique festivals at which a few bands of faded glory appear to have been booked as musical wallpaper for yoga classes and lessons in how to use Le Creuset."

But equally Turner isn't so naive as to suggest that Glastonbury hasn't changed with the times. As I said myself earlier this week, you can't ignore the fact that it's not what it once was, for better or for worse, and Turner is right to suggest that the creeping corporatisation of the festival is becoming increasingly problematic with respect to its founding principles.

In some ways, it feels as though the festival is approaching - or indeed is already at - a crossroads. The direction of travel has been unilinear for years, but hopefully it doesn't continue down that same route for too much longer.

If Turner is wrong about one thing, you can't really blame him. In describing Glastonbury as "a microcosm of Britain in 2025" "apart from the absence of Nigel Farage", how was he to know that the Reform leader would wind up having a vocal supporter on the Pyramid Stage? I'm glad there's no problem platforming Rod Stewart's views, when Kneecap and Bob Vylan are both effectively being censored...

"A history lesson, a ruined house, a grave and a memorial"

There are films that are a hard watch, and there's Steve McQueen's Grenfell. But then that's very much the point.

Describing it cannot do justice to its power - but I'll attempt it anyway. The artist's 24-minute-long piece opens with a camera flying serenely over the outskirts of London bathed in winter sun, the sounds of the world below soundtracking its movement. It then changes course and heads towards the city centre, the volume increasing to a deafening howl as it zeroes in on the burned-out shell of the tower block.

At that point, the sound abruptly disappears, replaced by total silence as the camera circles around and around the building, its dizzying and nauseating orbit conducting a forensic examination from all sides. We're taken close enough to see, through empty window frames, the red plastic sacks containing the charred remains of lives and homes. As the camera finally starts to move away, the noise of the city begins to bleed back in, until both sound and vision shut off entirely.

McQueen felt some urgency in making Grenfell, aware that contractors were beginning to wrap the building in hoarding: "I feared once the tower was covered up it would only be a matter of time before it faded from the public's memory." The film's purpose is confrontational: to make the reality of the tower and what happened unignorable.

The act of covering is itself deeply symbolic, of course. It was the building's literal cladding that contributed to the rapid spread of the fire, and in its wake there have been desperate attempts to metaphorically shroud the facts in what Paul Gilroy, in his accompanying essay Never Again Grenfell, damningly brands "mists of calculated misinformation", "PR propaganda" and "a mesh of duplicity". 

McQueen's film is a determined and profoundly affecting attempt to counteract all such efforts at covering over/up. We may not want to look, but look we must. Only by doing so can we do justice to those who died and ensure that such a horrific and avoidable loss of life is never repeated.

Viewing platform

Sometimes the simplest ideas are the most captivating. Window Swap invites you to "open a window somewhere in the world" - so if you're sick of what you can see where you are, give it a try for an alternative view from somewhere else.

Things we lost in the fire

It's funny, isn't it, how often derelict buildings at the centre of planning and development disputes mysteriously burn down. The Hotspur Press building in Manchester was already vacant and in a poor state of repair, but has now been largely destroyed by fire.

As this 2021 article by Dani Cole explains, this isn't the first time in the former mill's life that it's been seriously damaged by flames. She traces its rich history from cotton mill to printing press to ramshackle artists' studios to vacancy, neglect and deterioration.

The building's last few years are a textbook tale of gentrification, with a vibrant cultural hub springing up thanks to the location, available space and affordable rent, only for the building to be crowded by sleek modern tower blocks and the artist community ultimately turfed out. Former studio owner Chara Lewis says: "It's happening increasingly that spaces for artists are being pushed into the margins of Manchester, rather than its heart because of the commercialisation of the spaces."

Places like the Hotspur Press building are critical if we want culture to thrive in our cities, and careers in the arts to be both accessible and achievable. Far too many such spaces are left to moulder by owners who just don't give a damn - or, worse, are calculatedly playing a long game.

Organised chaos

Glastonbury kicks off today, every year inching a little further away from its roots in spirit as well as in time - as a new book by Bristol photographer Beezer underlines.

In the words of Digital Camera World's Kalum Carter, the images in Until Now: Volume 1: A Life In Photos 1982-1986, the first of three planned volumes, "take us back to a rawer, more chaotic time when the festival was a haven for punks, protesters, artists, and idealists. His shots of muddy crowds, DIY stages, and outlandish subcultural fashion capture the essence of what made Glastonbury a countercultural cornerstone long before corporate sponsorships arrived."

While many of the festival's quirks and curiosities remain, off the beaten track, there's no doubting that times have changed: designer wellies, celebs arriving by helicopter and £16,500 glamping packages etc. But there's also a risk of romanticising the past. In my time (between 1998 and 2011), the festival could be a hairy and potentially dangerous place, especially after dark and in the years before the superfence. I'm not arguing in favour of corporate sanitisation, but a safer and better managed festival isn't a bad thing.

National portrait gallery

The premise behind David Hurn's Wales As Is is simple, and in keeping with the photographer's lifelong antipathy to artifice: to strip back the misty-eyed myth and scythe through the romanticism surrounding the Welsh landscape. "My idea of landscape involved people", he writes, introducing a book that depicts not unspoilt natural beauty but an environment shaped (for better or worse) by phases of human activity. The point is made by the cover photo of Ty Newydd on Anglesey, an ancient stone burial chamber propped up with brick-and-mortar pillars, and by a zoomed-out image of Hanter Hill, a rocky outcrop in Powys that offers stunning views but is festooned with discarded drinks cans.

Wales As Is conducts a sweeping nationwide survey, taking in iconic locations (Rhossili, Portmeirion, Pentre Ifan, the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct, Tintern Abbey on Hurn's doorstep) as well as curious eccentricities (the once-tarmacked beach at Porthcawl, the petrol pump in rural Powys where the bill was added to your tab in the local pub).

Unfortunately, though, the fact-packed captions by Ceri Jackson - interesting though they are - prove an unwelcome distraction from the images, making it less a photobook than a lavishly illustrated guidebook. The pictures themselves, predominantly taken in the last 20 years, are loosely and unevenly grouped by subject matter, in some cases set disappointingly small, and - by Hurn's high standards, at least - often relatively unremarkable.

(An edited version of this review appeared on the Buzz website.)

Keep the faith

"I always maintain I was fortunate to be born when I was, because in the 1960s we believed a revolution was possible. I was working with people who thought it was possible to change the situation the country was in. It was invigorating and exciting. I still think that is necessary, it still exists today. It's particularly interesting now to see issues to do with race, gender and sexual identification coming forward and being expressed strongly. That's very encouraging. I still believe we can change the world."

The words of Nick Hedges, from a 2023 interview with the British Journal Of Photography's Diane Smyth - a fitting epitaph for the documentary photographer, who died recently.

Hedges' fervent conviction that photography can make a material difference, and his vital work for Shelter (belatedly showcased in the Bluecoat book Home), came up in conversation in Wednesday night's book group meeting up at the Workers Gallery - perhaps inevitably, given that the focus was on Marc Davenant's Outsiders project on homelessness and substandard housing, images and text from which are currently on display.

In the face of challenging and relentlessly depressing circumstances, some would brand Hedges' optimistic outlook naively idealist. But what's the alternative - succumbing to apathy or sneering cynicism? Surely it's better to have the courage of your convictions and cling to the possibility that you might have a genuine impact.

The article I wrote on Home for Buzz back in 2021 remains one of the pieces I'm most proud of, and it wouldn't have worked anywhere near as well without Hedges' contributions. He was generous with his time and remarkably modest - and will hopefully continue to serve as a source of inspiration for photographers keen to use their chosen artform as a means of combating injustice.

Punk, principles and pure energy

If you approach We Are Fugazi From Washington, DC hoping to learn a bit more about the personalities and philosophies behind the band, you'll leave disappointed - but if you're looking for evidence for (or a reminder of) how sensational they were in the live environment, then it's vital viewing. Buzz review here.

And here's a recent feature on the Messthetics from the Quietus in which Stevie Chick talks to the band's formidable rhythm section, Joe Lally and Brendan Canty, about how they connected in Fugazi and the film. Lally admits: "Just to sit there in a big cinema and watch us play was definitely really heavy for me. I was really moved by it; it fucked with me."

Fringe benefits

Friday evening brought a second encounter in the space of two months with the six-legged wrecking ball that is Shlug, this time headlining Tiny Rebel's Rebel Fest Fringe. Also on a stacked local bill were grungey whippersnappers The Meritones and singer-songwriter Foxxglove.

Buzz review here.

The resurrection and the life

The rediscovery and renaissance of Zamrock pioneers WITCH (albeit with a vital infusion of young blood) is the sort of story to warm even the most cynical of hearts. The band are, to use my son's current favourite term, "cooking" - so it makes sense that they wanted to serve up a successor to 2023's comeback album Zango as soon as possible.

Sogolo review for Buzz here.

Celestial harmonies

Let's face it: you don't need yet another person telling you that Brian Wilson was an incomparable genius, so I won't waste your time on that front. Here are some brief personal reflections instead.

The first time I recall hearing the Beach Boys, I must have been about 11, at my brother's birthday party. 'Good Vibrations' seemed both perfectly suited to the situation there and then - a sunny garden in August - and utterly otherworldly, transportive in a way that was totally enchanting.

In later years I would fall in love with all of those deceptively simple pop songs about surfing, cars and girls that, like the music of the Shangri-Las on the opposite coast of the US, capture the excitement and outsized emotional dramas of teenagerhood. It was a love subsequently cemented by the Jesus & Mary Chain and Yo La Tengo.

I'd heard 'God Only Knows' - and been stunned by it, of course - but kept holding off taking a deep dive into Pet Sounds simply because I didn't believe it could possibly live up to its reputation. And yet, when I finally did, I found myself feeling as though it perhaps wasn't lauded loudly enough. Pretty much every aspect of the album is astonishing - something underlined by listening to the isolated vocals of tracks like 'You Still Believe In Me'. (Here's a personal appreciation of the album by Treble's Jeff Terich, who was lucky enough to see Wilson perform it in its entirety in 2016.)

Fast forward to 2005, and what remains one of my favourite Glastonbury sets of all time (and that's saying something): Wilson in the Sunday evening slot on the Pyramid Stage. As the man said himself, he brought the sunshine at the end of a festival most remembered for the Friday downpour that caused flash flooding and general chaos. Hearing those songs in that context, surrounded by thousands of people also having the time of their lives, was very special indeed.

As has been very well documented, Wilson was undoubtedly an eccentric, troubled soul (see Nick Kent's long feature on him, republished in his book The Dark Stuff). But it's the music for which he should be remembered. He just wasn't made for these times - and neither was he made for this planet.

Wish fulfilment

"Heartwarming" isn't a word you often find used in connection with Mclusky. But it applies when it comes to Damien Sayell's story of how he fell in love with the Cardiff-born noiserock terrors as a disaffected teenager - first hearing 'Lightsaber...' in Dales Music Store in Tenby - and, several years later, found himself playing bass in the band, as recounted for Noizze.

It turns out that meeting the legend that is Big Jeff and witnessing his insatiable enthusiasm for music was instrumental in it ultimately happening, because it inspired Sayell to move to Bristol, where he subsequently entered Mclusky's orbit. As ever, hats off to the big man.

Buoy band

Contrary to expectations, Chicago post-punks Lifeguard won't actually save your life - or not yet, at any rate. Second LP Ripped And Torn packs a fair few thrills but also a bit too much pointless padding.

Buzz review here.

When in Rome ...

... have the good fortune to find yourself a two-room suite in a hotel that's an oasis of calm, yet located amid bustling streets and so close to the Trevi Fountain that you can practically dip your toes in the water by dangling your foot out of the window.

... make sure you're wearing a robust pair of shoes. It's a wonderful city to explore by foot, with stunning surprises around every corner, and the Archaeological Park of the Colosseum alone is enormous, so you're guaranteed to smash your daily step count.

... check out the Colosseum itself - it's world famous for a reason. (Don't bother with the audio guide, though.)

... marvel at the immaculate quality of the wall paintings in the House of Augustus - especially in the Room of the Masks - and contemplate what it must have felt like for the archaeologists who first unearthed them after two millennia.

... venture into each and every church with an open door - after all, you never know where you might stumble upon a trio of Caravaggio paintings. (Well, I do now - the Church of San Luigi dei Francesi.)

... meet a new saint in the Pantheon (and remember it's called the Pantheon, not the Parthenon). Or maybe it was just a trick of the light shining through that extraordinary ceiling?

... gatecrash a wedding at the Basilica Santa Maria in Aracoeli.

... go underground to learn about the Vicus Caprarius and the ancient water tanks that feed the Trevi Fountain (and be surprised to discover a subterranean lecture theatre too).

... stroke a mog or five at the Largo di Torre Argentina, home to the ruins of four temples and a theatre, and now a cat sanctuary.

... patiently make your way through the very dry Capuchin Museum to be freaked out by the astonishing architectural sculptures made of monks' bones in the crypt. Each room is like a new 3D black metal album cover.

... take some fashion tips from the snazzy guards at the Vatican.

... climb to the top of the Janiculum Hill, not so much for the monument to Garibaldi as for the view of the city.

... swerve the obvious tourist traps when looking for places to eat and accept that a permanent queue and a bouncer on the door is a positive sign. At Piccolo Buco, practically opposite our hotel, very good things come to those who wait - in our case, pizza topped with yellow tomato base, spicy sausage, smoked cheese and crispy fried courgette discs, with an out-of-this-world panna cotta to finish.

... head across the river to Travastere for some of the nicest bars, and sample the abbacchio al forno (lamb cooked with garlic and herbs on a bed of roast potatoes) - a delicious local delicacy best enjoyed (in my experience) al fresco in the early evening, with a limoncello spritz or glass of crisp white wine and the news that Newcastle have qualified for the Champions League.

... be wowed by the fresh produce available even in the Roman equivalent of Tesco Express.

... make friends with a freaky cannibalistic ice cream cone man.

It's fair to say we crammed a lot into the space of a mere four nights and three and a half days - and yet it still feels as though we barely scratched the surface. A return visit is very much on the cards ...

Let's do the time warp again

It was just like old times at Canton Liberal Club last Friday, with Wylderness inviting Gindrinker along for the launch of their new EP. £5 for two bands (one of whom are long-time personal faves) playing merely three minutes' walk from my front door, and the opportunity to check out a novel venue? A complete no-brainer.

Buzz review here.

Splendid isolation

Given that it was written by and stars Tim Key and Tom Basden, I was fully expecting to find The Ballad Of Wallis Island funny. What I wasn't expecting was to find it deeply touching. Both of them are brilliant in a film that's as warm and sweet as sticky toffee pudding but won't rot your teeth or push your blood sugar levels into the red.

Buzz review here.

The downward spiral

Running The Light, the debut novel from stand-up Sam Tallent, is a grimly gripping study in self-abasement. Given the way it tracks in grotesque detail the tragicomic escapades of comedian Billy Ray Schaefer and portrays the grubby underbelly of the US Midwest, it's little wonder that the author of Vernon God Little, D B C Pierre, has found much to enjoy and admire.

Buzz review here.

Emergency Services

Feeling glum and ground down by daily life? In urgent need of some light relief? Getdown Services are on hand to offer a pick-me-up. I went along to their Clwb show with no expectations but, by the end of a wildly entertaining and thoroughly daft set, was happy to proclaim them a miraculous panacea. One of those gigs where, as a reviewer, you have to drag yourself there but are retrospectively extremely grateful to have got the call-up.

Buzz review here.