Taylor Swift Review at Hyde Park

TAYLOR SWIFT – HYDE PARK 27th June 2015

And it came to pass; Taytay hit the London BST festival in Hyde Park. I was there, the sun was there, my two pre-teen daughters were there and, er, 64,997 others.

Yes that white dot is Taylor. She couldn't see me very well, either.

Yes that white dot is Taylor. She couldn't see me very well, either.

Taylor Swift has re-invented herself in the last few years from curly haired country singer doing spots in the Hannah Montana movie, to a global, all conquering pop princess.

Now I have a confession; this isn’t the first time I’ve seen Ms. Swift perform. I went along to the O2 last Feb to see the tail end of her Red Tour. My house and car – if my daughters have anything to do with it, and they do - reverb to the sounds of Taylor 24/7. I’ve become a Swiftie by osmosis. Perhaps there’s an element of Stockholm syndrome…

We got to Hyde Park early, just as the gates opened. I’d bought premium view tickets, an exclusive enclosure in front of the sweating hordes pressed against the barriers. Got some laminates with a map and timings to hang around our necks. Pint of cider and two J2Os secured, we settled down to watch the support acts.

Newbie Rae Morris started things off, she was good though she did sometimes waver out of tune. I’m glad she played her hit Under The Shadows (though inexplicably not Cold) and so escaping the curse of the under card. Riptide bloke played Riptide. We were out in the park getting Rendang at the time and so missed all of it apart from the last chorus. I feel okay about that. John Newman, doing some nifty dance moves, was somewhat miffed the crowd wasn’t noisier for him. Well mate, write some better songs and have a few more hits and you’ll get the accolade you feel you deserve. Case in point; his one decent hit – Love me again – was well received. Rightly. Ellie Goulding, on the other hand, was simply great throughout. I thought she’d be all fey and fairy voiced but she belted out the hits and jumped around like an excited kid. A major artist in her own right, she knew her subsidiary place in this park of Swifties and so worked the crowd. We enjoyed her….

By now it was nudging eight o’ clock, it was as busy as hell and, even in the Premium area, viewing the stage was difficult. No sitting down and casually watching anymore. And then there she was – in one scream of adolescent hi-octane rush, Taylor came out fifteen minutes early and went all Welcome to New York on our asses.

Now, if you want a review about the costume changes, the stage backdrops, the dancers, you’re in the wrong place, as I don’t especially give a toss. Sorry. I liked the catwalk, I liked it even better when it took off into the air and Taylor floated above us (camera ready kids!). Her ‘celeb’ friends – couldn’t name them, no idea who they are – came on during Style. Whatever. The scene that celebrates itself.

Taylor.

Taylor.

But to the music… Well, I was worried because at Radio 1’s Big Weekend in Norwich a month ago, Taylor seemed a little underpowered and her voice, never especially strong, was weaker than ever. Well, not last night and not in Hyde Park. She carried the show with her musical chops (some guitar, some piano, lots of dancing, plenty of face voguing to the camera). She was on fine form.

No review of a Taylor Swift gig would be complete without mentioning Taylor’s ramblings. Yes, she likes to talk to her audience. A lot. She speaks with the certainty and earnestness of youth about friendship, boyfriends, female empowerment, Instagram, cats; that sort of thing. I thought she pushed this soliloquising about as far as it could go last night. If it weren’t so crowded that would have been my cue for a toilet break or beer run. Her legion of young fans seem to like it though. She speaks to them.

The set list was principally from her latest album 1989 with a few – a very few – vintage hits for us older folk who remember all the way back to 2012. I Knew You Were Trouble was slowed down for the first half before speeding up. It didn’t work for me; you don’t mess with class lightly. A much better reinvention was We Are Never Getting Back Together, which saw a leather clad Taylor grunge up her breakthrough hit. She powered out chunky chords like Pete Townsend in a bad mood. She didn’t windmill the guitar but she snarled through this teeny tale as though she was the Who roaring through My Generation. One for the dads. Love Story was the reworked version which me and the kids – being Swifties – have seen endless times on YouTube. But it was good to have her floating above us as she sang.

Taylor on the elevated walkway.

Taylor on the elevated walkway.

Of the newer stuff, Blank Space, Bad Blood, Out of the Woods, all rocked. Two hours in and an extended Shake It Off, officially now a classic, had 65,000 people, word perfect, chanting along to THIS…SICK… BEAT. Are you paying attention John Newman? You earn your applause. Taylor’s got the songs, the attitude and, despite being ridiculously young, has religiously worked herself up to this high plateau. As Taylor said, amongst many other things, she will remember this night for the rest of her life.

Thing is, will it be to remember the moment when she was on top of the mountain or, has she hills yet to climb?

I’m so profound sometimes it literally hurts. It really does.

RANDOM SNAPSHOTS

1)   Food. Street food, of course; lots of pulled this and wood fired that. I had a vegan rendang. The rendang stall woman being surprised my kids not only wanted, but loved, rendang. Used to it. Fav dish. I cook! I score!

2)   Great weather. A sun-cream day for the balding pate.

3)   The two for one provision of female:male toilets being buggered up by a whole block of female loos being out of action most of the day. Epic fail, organisers!

4)   The drunken girl honking up on the floor as 65,000 people passed her on the way out. Pull yourself together woman – this is a Taylor Swift gig FFS.

5)   The flashing wristbands we all wore. Given out free at the gate. We all glowed in synchronised unity during Taylor's set. 

6)   My knowledge of Belgravia helping the kids and me get to and from Hyde Park in record time. I am my own hero.

7)   The look on my youngest child’s face when she realised she was actually seeing Taylor Swift in the flesh. Yes, Taylor Swift! She really exists.

8)   My kids liked it when Taylor’s mum ran past us a couple of times. Ah, our so close brush with celebrity! (Did I tell you I once bumped into Madonna in Cipriani’s?)

9)   Two songs into Taylor’s set, re-affirming the old truth, retreat and see more! The back of our exclusive enclosure was sparsely populated. Much better views. Certainly much better than the crowds penned in behind us.

10) My kids posting their pictures on Instagram. The concert now ‘officially’ exists.

The Franco's Fiesta fans are held back by security and a well placed barrier.

The Franco's Fiesta fans are held back by security and a well placed barrier.

Short Stories

I've been entering competitions recently. What's interesting is that many of them have a rule that  a submitted entry cannot have been published anywhere before. This even includes (vanity) websites like my own. This has meant that, sadly, some of my better efforts are ineligible under those rules. Which means that I've had to go out and write new stories. Or adapt old ones. Which is fine, of course. It's always good to have a deadline and to meet a word count.

But the ramification is that I'm more reticent that ever about publishing my work here on my website as technically, that would mean the story is barred from competitions.

It's a shame. But on the bright side: When I win I'll post them up here. And I guess when they lose, too!

Cheers

Tim

Word of the day : Bloviate

I came across this lovely word today in Peter Hitchens' blog in The Sunday Express. To quote:

On the day that mass immigration reached levels not seen since the Blair era, the Prime Minister appeared amid a clearly staged ‘raid’ by immigration officials, bloviating about a ‘crackdown’ that will of course never take place.
— Peter Hitchens Blog, 25 May 2015

Now agree or not with Hitchens - I'm a fan as I like someone who will speak truth even if it is unpopular (so rare these days) - I love the use of the word which, to my shame, I'd never heard before. Bloviate. To bloviate. It's kind of a semi intellectual version of 'to bullshit'. Checking my Wikipedia, I notice that it comes from Ohio politics of the late 19th and early 20th century and means empty or vapid political speeches that essentially say nothing of substance.

How very apt in these shallow days! I shall endeavour to use this marvellous word from now on and if you think this is another example of Robson bloviation, then re-read my sentence!

Cheers

Tim

Methi Madness

It's gonna be a late one tonight. I know it's fashionable to pretend to be bored with party politics - the youth are interested in issues not parties (yawn) - who governs our country is still a must-view chez-moi.

Therefore, before the exit polls come in at ten, I'm off to cook myself a spicy methi chicken curry. Methi is, of course, fenugreek. I bought a couple of bunches from Taj down in Brighton over the weekend. Add plenty of chilli and spinach and I'll all be set for a late night. Like Julian in Franco's Fiesta (have you read it yet, it's on Amazon, you know) there's a bottle of Fino chilling in the fridge.

Okay - methi madness here we come!

Tim

Word of the day : Ennui

My story is much too sad to be told,
But practically ev'rything leaves me totally cold.
The only exception I know is the case
Where I'm out on a quiet spree
Fighting vainly the old ennui
And I suddenly turn and see
Your fabulous face.

(I get a kick out of you, Cole Porter)

Ah, our good friend Ol' King Cole could pen a good lyric, yes? I've decided to use 'ennui' more often. Popularise it, as it were, through the many and robust channels where my writing goes these days.

'Ennui' (pronounced On-wee) is the state of being listless, bored, unable or uninterested to raise your game anymore. Who amongst us hasn't felt that emotion?

My short story 'Yes/No' is basically a 2000 word exploration of this feeling. So much so that, when I came to re-edit it recently, I added the following couple of sentences:-

"My weary conscience has abdicated all authority; any restraint now lies tenuously with failing expectations and late night ennui. We are all fallen; we control only the manner of our descent."

Now I admit those lines won't make my next stand-up gig, but as an exploration of a compromised but sentient soul, they work pretty well. 

Ennui, it's gonna be big in 2015. You mark (or use) my words!

Laters, potatas

Tim

Butterflies, Elvis, Yohanna, Iceland and me.

What a good title for this blog post. Sounds like a folk song or a country music thigh slapper.

Today I posted my critique of Yohanna's Funny Thing Is which is Number 5 on my occasional series of Tim's favourite songs. Yohanna is a young singer from Iceland who specialises in power ballads. She has a great voice and has released some special songs. Funny Thing Is, happens to be my favourite.

As always in this series, I tend to waffle around the subject a bit. My views on small countries, my time as a high flying business exec and female diva / torch songs are explored as well as Yohanna's oeuvre. It's an exciting mix, a real roller coaster of a ride and I enjoyed putting together these 2000 words.

Listen, enjoy. Read, laugh.

CLICK HERE

Cheers ears

Tim

 

 

New Song Review To Follow Soon - Funny Thing Is

Spent the last couple of days writing and polishing a song critique of 'Funny Thing Is' by Icelandic singer Yohanna. It's number 5 in my occasional series of my favourite songs. Yes, I'm up my own arse. No, I don't care.

It's nearly finished. The piece has been aided by help from Yohanna herself as she graciously answered some questions I threw at her on Facebook. 

If you don't know Yohanna yet, check her out. My song critique in the next couple of days will explain why in much more detail.

Speak soon...

Tim

In or Out?

So, there are many big issues that I could address today.

Does Global Warming actually exist?

Who is going to address the rising UK debt and the continuing deficit?

What about the rise of militant Islam and the ramifications of a schism in that religion for the rest of the world?

Big issues all, but the topic I want to address today is whether a man over 40 should tuck his shirt into his trousers or not. Hold the front page.

Now, historically, I would have favoured the opinion that, when not at work and wearing a suit, the shirt should flow free. No one wants to see a paunch, strained shirt buttons or a fat man sweat. Also, done badly, the tuck-in looks like William Hague with a baseball cap - embarrassing and therefore detestable. 

However - although I'm not known to blow my own trumpet - I'm seriously buff these days. I may be over 40 (just), but I can actually tuck my shirt into my trousers without it being a strain or, superficially to me anyway, look that bad. This, dear readers, is not a natural state but the result of many hours in the gym or, lately, body pump or MyRide classes. I am my own hero.

But back to the shirt and the tuck or not to tuck dilemma. What to do?

My answer is - increasingly - fuck it, I do what I want, man. I've reached an age where I can cover a fashion faux pas with a lifetime of savoir faire. (And if you've ever seen those two French imports in the same sentence then let me know - hashtag pretentious writer - one who can't even find the hash key on his Apple MacBook).

It's like leather trousers. We all want to but we're not sure we'd look good in them. Well - lets be honest - most of us would look like a trendy vicar getting a tattoo and riding a Harley. And yet those that do don the leather, we resent for having the goddamn balls to do so. Their bravery is almost as much a provocation as their supposed sins against fashion. They take the blows so we don't have to. They allow us our superiority but, who is looking down on who and, who gives a toss?

So, I'm groping my way towards an answer. To be honest, it was a false question anyway; I do what I want and calibrate therein based on experience and utility. I think my fashion decisions are increasingly going to be idiosyncratic. Deal with it ladies. I'm all about that bass.

So tuck-in sometimes, let it flow on bad belly days. Either way, rules are made for breaking, hearts are made for taking and yeah, that's it for now.

One for the ladies. Tucked and looking good!

One for the ladies. Tucked and looking good!

Elevator Pitch

Apparently it's a phenomenon within both the corporate and creative world that you need to have an 'elevator pitch'. This is what you would say to someone powerful - someone who has the ability to change your life for the better - in the twenty / thirty seconds available if you accidentally bumped into them in a lift.

So, for example, if I bumped into the Managing Director of a major publishing company and told him I had written a book, "What's it about?" he might ask and then I would launch into my elevator pitch. "Well it's about the end of the 60's, then end of fascism in Spain, the making of movie in Franco's Spain, the collision between liberal Hollywood, authoritarian Spain and the ordinary people caught in between."

Yeah - you don't have to say it out loud: Crap, Tim. Needs work, yeah?

Let me tell you about one time that I did have need for an elevator speech. I worked for a US multi national company and I was at a sales conference in Cannes. Hungover to hell one morning, I was late for the first session of the day. I pressed the lift button, the doors opened and there, in the lift, was the CEO of my company, apparently a surprise guest on the conference agenda. Well, he looked at me, with my company laminate pass, and I looked at him, exactly as he looked on the company website. If ever there was a time for an elevator pitch, about me, about my career, about my plans, then it was now. In a company of 100,000 employees this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to make an impression, to further my career and get my name 'out there'.

Looking at him and then swallowing with my dry mouth, feeling the nausea rising from the previous night's activities, I thought, 'fuck it' and then turned to face the other corner. My plan for paperclip harmonisation could wait for another day. We spent the next thirty seconds in a conspicuous silence.

I think he appreciated my reticence - who the hell wants to be assailed by wannabes every hour of the day, with their fake smiles, fake positivity, burnished resumes? "Hi! I'm Donna from marketing, can I tell you about this exciting, game changing project I'm working on?"... "Nah, fuck off, Donna," would be my response. I guess CEO's have to be more circumspect and grimly listen to the widget reduction project in Luxembourg.

My reward for giving the CEO the space and time and courtesy he deserved, was, well, nothing, of course. My boss, when I told her the story, believed, perhaps rightly, I was an 'asshole'; that I had shockingly given up such a career advancing opportunity. She, by the way, like all powerful people, kissed butt beautifully to any passing superior. You have to drop to your knees to raise your profile. There's a lesson there Tim, somewhere.

Anyway, I tell you this story because I'm Prometheus unbound these days. I'm all about truth and honesty and authenticity (to steal back a dreadful corporate phrase into the real world).

Yeah. Authentic. Living my own values. Mainlining the personal code. But it has to be you, ultimately. Has to be your turf you're prepared to fight for. Otherwise it's an insincere elevator pitch with a hangover, with a CEO who doesn't give a toss, tired from a transatlantic flight and showing fear of intimacy in his eyes.

I'm all right. I'm cool. I am Tim. I Said. (I'm sure there's a Neil Diamond song in there somewhere!)

Hit and Run Lover, here we come.

SONG 4 : Two Gene Clark Ditties

Not one, but two Gene Clark songs make up what I'm inaccurately, but steadfastly, calling, Song 4 on my list. Hey - break the rules, man!

Gene Clark wrote many great songs both during his brief time with The Byrds in the mid 60's through to his untimely death in 1991. I've picked Eight Miles High and I'll Feel A Whole Lot Better which are probably his two most well known songs. Gene was a pioneer in many ways; none of his songs are ever straight forward in either lyric or chord structure. Even when they sound simple, they're often not.

Take I'll Feel A Whole Lot Better. Clark doesn't actually sing the title, the actual lyrics, are 'I'll probably feel a whole lot better'. Ambiguous, no?

Anyway, follow this link and enjoy The Byrds storming through I'll Feel A Whole Lot Better and my take on both songs (click on the song title for my essay). CLICK HERE

Cheers

Tim

New Writings

My quietness on the website recently could be an indication of inactivity. It's a theory and a good one. But it's also not true.

I've been writing three new short stories, alternating between them, trying out new ideas, plot lines and, for one, cooking Spanish recipes.

Yes - in order to write a story ostensibly about cooking, I've been buying Spanish ingredients and making a delicious mixture of food from that country. Catalan Cannelloni, lemon chicken with white wine, serrano ham and onions; chickpeas with chorizo and spinach. And sherry (iced dry fino) which always helps. Even when I'm not writing. This drink also turns up a lot in Franco's Fiesta. Funny that.

Anyway, once my broadband problems mentioned in the post below are fixed - tomorrow apparently - I'll be posting new material.

Welcome also to everyone in Brighton who, unwittingly perhaps, became part of my never ending author tour on Friday night. 

Cheers, Tim

I Remember the 1970's

I do, I really do remember the 70's.

Large collars, wide trousers, brown ties, power cuts, strikes, rubbish public utilities.

Can't get broadband in my new house for two weeks. Literally it feels like I've gone back to the 70's and hanging on the telephone to BT pleading with them for a line.

The fact that this is the 21st Century and the company is Sky makes no difference. These things need to get quicker! I know my expectations have changed in the ensuing decades but progress is unstoppable and times for connectivity need to improve. Yes, Eon and EDF, I'm looking at you too... Having to go to the pub all the time to get my email is not a way to exist. Yeah, really.

Moan over.

I did write a short story yesterday which I need to polish but will post soon. 

Tim

Flash Fiction

Flash fiction, Flashman, Grand Master Flash, flash in the pan...

I'm trying my hand at this new(ish) genre of micro short stories.

I'm following my own excellent advice on editing in order to get my flash stories up - or down - to standard. Basically, edit, eliminate, be ruthless; micro attention to a very precise format. You haven't got the words to develop slowly or the space to gradually build. It's all very in-yer-face stuff. A disciplined exercise, in fact.

I'll post my stories here when I'm happy with them!

Cheers

Tim

Writer's Block

Hi Everyone,

I've just written a piece on overcoming writer's block on my profile within Goodreads. It's something all writers need to overcome at one point or another. In the answer I give, I go through one or two of the strategies I employ to get rid of the dreaded blank page! 

https://www.goodreads.com/author/7329128.Tim_Robson/questions

Regards

Tim