Fatal attraction

First and foremost, it's worth stating that I'm not really a member of Nosferatu's core demographic, so the fact I found it very silly probably shouldn't count for that much - not least because when it comes to vampire movies, that pretty much goes with the territory.

For me, Robert Eggers' remake of the 1922 original is visually stunning (albeit CGI-enhanced, no doubt) but somewhat vacant. While the gore and soundtrack were effective, I found it hard to take seriously the voice that Bill Skarsgard gives to the titular wrong 'un. It's always good to see Ralph Ineson in action, though, and Simon McBurney puts in a sterling performance as Herr Knock.

Was the EastEnders-esque finale, with one chap walking in to find another man in bed with his wife, supposed to be so funny? Doubtful - and, as happy endings go, it's rather more unusual than most.

By the book

Last month I heard David Hurn talk about his then fresh-off-the-press photobook On Reading, a tribute to his hero Andre Kertesz. The Guardian have now published a selection of the images, taken around the world over the course of his long career, so you can get a flavour of its contents.

Heart on sleeve

If there's one thing that turned me off checking out Romance, the latest album by Fontaines DC - a band whose previous output I've enjoyed with steadily increasing enthusiasm - it was lead single 'Starburster'. If there was a second, it was the bizarre Korn-inspired makeover. If there was a third, it was the cover featuring the work of Taiwanese artist Lulu Lin. So it was bemusing and baffling to discover that Romance was named runner-up for the Best Art Vinyl award for 2024. What were the judges on?!

By contrast, the inclusion of Arab Strap, Sex Swing and Julia Holter in the list of nominees seemed rather more reasonable.

At the heart of things

Little wonder that Sam Dabb of Le Pub was so bullish in her comments to NME recently, claiming that Newport was "heading into another golden era". She knew that the venue she's been involved with for three decades was on the verge of being announced as the latest acquisition by Music Venue Properties (MVP), thus staving off acute financial pressures and safeguarding its future.

That Le Pub has joined the Bunkhouse in Swansea in MVP's portfolio shouldn't come as any real surprise. After all, as Mark Davyd of the Music Venue Trust has said, "Le Pub was one of the very first venues to join the Music Venues Alliance, and has been, for the last ten years, one of the most vocal and active campaigning voices about the importance of grassroots music venues to our communities, towns and cities". The security that ownership by MVP will bring seems like just desserts.

National treasure

Cometh the hour, cometh the man. Michael Sheen has once again confirmed his status - in general, but especially in these parts - as an all-round good egg by announcing that he's spearheading the establishment of a new national theatre for Wales.

The Welsh National Theatre will step into the void left by the National Theatre Wales, which effectively went out of existence late last year after its Arts Council of Wales funding was slashed. While talk suggests that the NTW wasn't a particularly well-run organisation, and so the defunding wasn't entirely surprising, Sheen is undoubtedly right that there remains a pressing need for Welsh stories to be told on the stage in English.

Of course, funding will be key for Sheen's new enterprise too, but he has the profile, personality, drive and dynamism to attract financial backing. Initially, though, it's on him. He has previous form for dipping into his own pockets where necessary, covering much of the considerable cost of staging the Homeless World Cup in Cardiff in 2019 - and his passion and generosity are set to benefit Wales once again.

Shooting gallery

If you were a press photographer working in Palermo in the 1970s and 1980s, then it was an inevitability that you'd end up covering a lot of Mafia assassinations. It's fair to say that Letizia Battaglia's subject found her rather than vice versa. It's also fair to say that Life, Love And Death In Sicily, the retrospective of her work currently on display at the Photographers' Gallery, features more death than life or love.

On the one hand, Battaglia's pictures capture humanity's ugliness. She certainly couldn't be accused of glamorising the Mafia lifestyle, showing none of the prestige that can come with power and authority.

But on the other, the images are frequently beautiful, even in their depictions of blood pooling behind heads and the anguished faces of relatives and mourners. In one, a victim lies behind a parked car, looking like he's sleeping peacefully; in another, artfully displayed nearby, a group of women cluster around and watch over a dead Christ.

Children are a recurrent presence, perhaps most notably in 'The Little Girl And The Darkness', in which the titular girl is bathed in light while adults skulk barely visible in the shadows - innocence amid the murk.

There are kids in the streets playing at being killers, and the heavy gaze of a boy sitting beside his father's deathbed, the realisation of the weight of the world dawning on him. These are not the smiling carefree kids of Tish Murtha's work, but children whose youth is snuffed out prematurely by their circumstances, who have learned that resilience is required just to survive.

There's a film noir quality to the pictures, thanks to Battaglia's evidently instinctive understanding of light and dark. She may have been a photojournalist, but she was an artist too. Yet the aesthetic appeal of her images troubled her deeply, as it has many other photographers before and since. "I dreamed of burning my negatives", she says in a short video screened in the gallery, expressing disgust at her own work. "I want to take away the beauty that others see in them. I want to destroy them."

Battaglia saw photography as "a tool of denunciation and empowerment as well as documentation", and as a result she herself became a target; the exhibition also features a death threat sent as a dire warning. Ultimately, though, she took a grimly pessimistic view of the possibility of bringing about change: "Photography changes nothing. Violence continues, poverty continues."

Indeed they do, sadly - but a world without these stunning images would be a worse place.

The beat goes on

When Alex Deller interviewed David Yow and Duane Denison of The Jesus Lizard about last year's comeback album Rack, one of the details that caught my attention was Yow's admission that he'd been working with a personal trainer to ensure he could still deliver the goods on stage. Despite the fact that more bands than ever seem to be reuniting, and others soldier on into decades-long careers, there's very little discussion of the toll that touring and performing takes on the body, and of whether and how ageing members manage to meet the challenge.

It was interesting, then, to read this article by Michael Hann detailing the thoughts of Paul Cook (Sex Pistols), Rat Scabies (The Damned), Ian Paice (Deep Purple) and David Kendrick (Sparks/Devo/Xiu Xiu) on continuing to play that most physically demanding of instruments, the drums, into their later years.

On the one hand, there's a measure of frustration that while the mind is still willing, the flesh is increasingly weak - and a grudging acceptance that, even if you look after yourself, you need to adapt your playing style accordingly.

But on the other, the enforced change in approach may actually be productive, with Cook adopting a critical perspective on his contribution to Never Mind The Bollocks, and Scabies and Paice both discovering that restraint can sometimes add value.

Of course, for some drummers, it all becomes too much, or they acknowledge the need to relinquish the stool because they feel they can no longer do the songs justice. Credit to Iron Maiden's Nicko McBrain for bowing out with dignity. A few other veteran musicians could arguably take his lead.

"We're heading into another golden era"

Let's start the new year (belatedly) with a bit of positivity: this NME article about "Newport's resurgent music scene", written by my fellow Buzz contributor Tom Morgan.

Cynics might point to the way in which Sophie Williams' NME article of last year about Cardiff glibly overstated the health of that city's scene, drunk on Music City PR and failing to fully acknowledge the reality on the ground.

But the important difference along the M4 in Newport is that there venues are appearing rather than disappearing. Or, at least, the opening of the new 500-capacity Corn Exchange and the growing reputation of rough 'n' ready punk venue the Cab have bucked the general trend both in South Wales and elsewhere in the UK. I haven't yet been to either, but they are evidently welcome additions to Le Pub, which boasts a better beer selection than any of the principal venues in Cardiff (and is actually quicker and easier for me to get to than some, too).

Perhaps most importantly, the reported resurgence seems to have the firm backing of the city council, whose offer of financial support rather than merely fine words - in the form of cash from the Shared Prosperity Fund and rates relief - was vital in enabling the Corn Exchange to open. Other local authorities should take note.

In the vein of the proposed Sweaty Ceilings project in London, let's celebrate what we have now rather than only bemoaning what we've lost.

Critical critique

End-of-year-list season always brings welcome nudges/reminders to check out albums that have, for one reason or another, passed me by. And so it was that I finally got around to listening to Thurston Moore's latest.

I take no pleasure in what I'm about to say - the exact opposite, in fact, as a long-time Moore fanboy who has lapped up his post-Sonic Youth solo work almost as eagerly as his former band's output. But Flow Critical Lucidity is lame: pallid, unadventurous, unexciting. Harsh, perhaps, but it sounds like the work of someone who may - finally - be creatively spent. And I think we also have to grasp the nettle and acknowledge that he seems to have become the kind of drippy hippie his former self would have despised.

It's probably unfair on both parties, but I can't help but compare the album to Kim Gordon's The Collective, also released this year. The latter is not exactly an easy record to love, for SY fans like myself taken way out of our comfort zone - or at least not instantly. But there's no doubting it's bold and cutting edge - both attributes that could hardly be ascribed to the dreary, zero-thrills Flow Critical Lucidity.

Here's hoping, of course, that this is merely a temporary blip and that Moore soon rediscovers his mojo. In the meantime, I guess it just goes to show that even your heroes can let you down sometimes.

Boyz will be boyz

As previously mentioned, Ansh have very sadly now closed their doors. The (potentially) good news for burger fans in our corner of Cardiff is that the premises won't be vacant for long, as Burger Boyz are moving in, expanding from their current bases in Newport and Port Talbot.

I say "potentially" as I'm more than a little sceptical. Suspicions aroused by that name (and particularly the "z") are confirmed by the fact that - despite the claim that their burgers are "made to be savoured and enjoyed" - they set eating challenges, rewarding those who are successful with a place on their wall of fame, and there are Instagram images of inedibly tall burger stacks. Personally speaking, at least, all this Man v. Food macho cockwaving is a complete appetite suppressant.

Keeping the flame alive

It seems like a great idea: celebrating a diverse plethora of grassroots music venues, to counterbalance all of the doom-and-gloom reporting on challenges and closures. But sadly Sweaty Ceilings - a book project paying tribute to London's independent venues that will hopefully feature the Quietus' John Doran among its contributors and help to raise funds for the wonderful work of the Music Venue Trust - has failed to hit its crowdfunding target.

All is not lost, though. The organisers have said that they "are exploring alternative funding options, including applying for Arts Council funding", which would require them "to secure 10% of the total from other sources". Fingers crossed it comes off - a bit of positivity is desperately needed in these dark times.

"Decaying kingdom"

It is - as advertised - a long read, but Mark Blacklock's Guardian piece on the Samuel Smith Old Brewery pub empire really is as good as everyone has said online. That it was evidently carefully worded and meticulously researched is entirely understandable, given chairman Humphrey Smith's penchant for litigation.

Blacklock's article is a jaw-dropping tale of bizarre business practices, puritanical rules (no swearing, no digital devices), heavy-handed interventions in local planning issues and an extensive portfolio of properties that are perversely being allowed to fall into ruin.

On the one hand, I've always enjoyed Samuel Smith beers (especially the Organic Lager). Back in the day, one of their pubs near Old Street in London became a regular haunt on visits to London by virtue of permitting city-centre meet-ups that didn't break the bank, and I like the Waterguard in Cardiff, though haven't been in for a few years. It's also worth saying that there's sometimes something to be said for pubs without music, and the other rules - ridiculously draconian though they are - are not rigidly or uniformly enforced. (If they were, my phone-obsessed friend wouldn't have lasted more than two minutes in Ye Olde Murenger House in Newport last year.)

Yet the facts set out by Blacklock - especially the treatment of landlords and the apparent willingness to let historical building become derelict - are more than enough to make a boycott of the company's pubs seem like the only reasonable reaction.

Art and accessibility

To mark the tenth anniversary of the opening of the fantastic and feisty Workers in Ynyshir, Shaun Thomas of Bylines Cymru spoke to Gayle Rogers and Chris Williams about the gallery's past, present and future.

As he reports, the Workers was "born out of protest" and owes its survival to commitment and hard work. That pugnacious tenacity has been essential in the face of perennial funding challenges and an enormously frustrating lack of support from Arts Council Wales. In that respect, its spirit of fierce independence is partly enforced.

But the Workers is also posing challenges of its own. What is particularly inspiring about the work that Gayle and Chris do is that the focus is always on accessibility and on creating energising connections with the local community: "We're challenging the 'is art for me' narrative. People may think art doesn't happen here, but we're here, actively bringing art to people's doorsteps." (On that note, it's good to hear that more Art Box Tours are planned, following the blueprint established by the mobile exhibition of David Hurn's work in 2020.)

Gayle adds: "I guess that's quite a political thing to say - art is for everyone and this space is for everyone." Of course, it shouldn't be political - yet it is, in a cost-of-living crisis, when artists are painted as mere hobbyists and the creative industries are a closed shop to an increasing number of people. Depressing, certainly - but all the more reason to celebrate individuals, organisations and institutions that are doing their utmost to buck the trend. As Thomas observes, spaces such as the Workers "give people hope and build community in innovative ways, despite the challenges they face".

Talking pictures

I love a good photobook, so the opportunity to hear the stories behind two of them - David Hurn's brand new On Reading and Robert Greetham's Rites And Traces - was too good to pass up. Fingers crossed that Offline Journal's Signatures does indeed become a regular event.

Buzz report here.

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.