Franz Ferdinand

Second gig on consecutive nights. Bombay Bicycle Club was a tough act to follow, but Franz Ferdinand stepped up to the plate just fine at The Roundhouse.

Opening act were a rather intense little trio called Mazes. Not particularly accomplished musicians I thought, but I rather liked the sound none the less.

Franz Ferdinand by contrast are very accomplished musicians, with a very extensive back catalogue now, which they proceeded to show off to its full extent during this gig. I had a different pair of friends to accompany me for this gig, including my new trainee. (Well, they have their uses...) The fact that he is 6 foot 6 has its amusing side - as I looked round I could see him standing serenely aloof over the bobbing masses beneath him. And as my other vertically challenged mate pointed out, he is an excellent landmark when trying to get back to one's original place in the crowd from a loo break.

It was a very fine show in a nice venue, whose only real drawback one doesn't realise until the end. Its very slow to empty. Very.

However, the gig was highly enjoyable, and FF did seem to play a particularly long set, and indeed a six track encore which is twice the length one normally expects. They have been away for a while, which might account for the comparatively small venue. They are a very clever, arty band. This shows from the originality of their songs, like the wonderful gear change you get in "Take Me Out", the intelligent lyrics and the fact they have uniform. I rather doubt that their monochrome suits and shirt combos will catch on (please not) but they make the effort.

One other observation. For a band that have a number of very sexy songs, they are really not a very sensual act, although probably a number of the females surrounding us might beg to differ.

So, after seeing Franz Ferdinand the band, what should one do?

Well, after having a couple of beers and staying up until 2am, one should really see the original. So this is him.

Yes, this is Franz Ferdinand, the man who started World War One, rather inadvertently, by being shot. Would be hard to blame him for the ensuing carnage.

Having seen James onto his train back to Leeds I thought I would go to the Portraits of the Great War exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, and Franz not unreasonably was featured. Much of the exhibition was filled with portraits by William Orpen, which is good as he is a very  fine portrait artist. The exhibition is a little smaller than I expected and was rather cramped. But I would recommend it. From the big set piece portraits, like one of a somewhat younger Churchill than we normally visualise, to the paintings of ordinary men returning with faces disfigured by enemy action.

After that I had a little walk in the unseasonably lovely sunny March weather, but not too long as the streets around Trafalgar Square were teeming with people also taking advantage of the break in the rain to get out a bit.

Bombay Bicycle Club at Brixton

Top combo of a good indie band at my favourite venue.

We arrived just in time to see the first warm up act disappear. Unfortunate as the second was really a pet hate of mine. I like guitar bands, so a solo female artist playing keyboard and singing ballads in a yelping voice had nothing going for it in my book. Still, for what its worth, this is Rae Morris. Any resemblance to a sheepdog is no doubt accidental.

In contrast there was Bombay Bicycle Club, not an Indian Restaurant, and although shortened to BBC by fans, I shall avoid that for obvious reasons of confusion.

They are touring their new album, their fourth, "So long see you tomorrow", which I have played quite a bit to get used to and I have to say is again very good. Certainly I and my two work colleagues were very impressed by the gig. You definitely get a lot more from seeing them live. Yes they sound great on CD as they are a talented band with clever, nuanced songs. But they have a  much harder and more exciting sound when seen (and heard!) live. Indeed during their encore a mosh pit even formed at the front for a couple of songs including the excellent "Carry me", which you wouldn't have believed possible from hearing it only on record. Definitely a band for the jangly-guitar aficionado, like me.

Tom Stade

I had managed to muster an interesting little group for my latest trip to my local comedy club - two lawyers and two doctors. Now I had obviously underplayed the merits of the Fox. My little crew, who had never been before, were clearly quite amazed at what a great evening we had. The simple fact is that a comedy club is a great place to go, and given the cost of the presentation (Space, chairs, mike, a bloke at the front), you can have a great level of entertainment for very little money. Here we were with tickets under a tenner and, by London prices anyway, relatively cheap booze. (The timing of the acts is largely based on how long it takes the entire audience to get another round in at the bar. Audience of 120 being served by two bar staff does take a while).

I have never had a bad night here, but this one was particularly good. We had a table right at the front, much to the consternation of the ladies, but were fine.The opening act was a bloke from Sunderland called Matt Reid who I had never heard of before. But much to our surprise he was really excellent. Would have been very happy if he had been the main act. Definitely one to look out for again. Funny and very confident on stage.

Now again, because of the economics, the weak act is the middle of the three, because our opening act was off immediately to get to another club to headline there. Two pay days in one night. The weak act was a chap called Spencer Brown, and frankly he was pretty funny too. One or two really quite good acts. I liked his description of himself as gentleman. "If I take a lady out I like to take her in my arms, and if we have sex, I always offer to pay." But his weakness is he really tries too hard on stage.

By contrast you get Tom Stade. An American comic who, like all the best comics, doesn't seem to be trying at all. Now I am no fool. It takes a vast amount of practice to be that spontaneous sounding. And he doesn't wholly rely on gags, I would struggle to remember any of his material, just that we laughed throughout. Its really just story telling in a fairly self-deprecating manner. I imagine he makes a fair living in this country. At 43 he is hardly a young comic, but deserves to be better known. And I suspect he will be in due course. I am not sure I can see him in an arena, but in a small venue he just owns the place.

But the evening didn't end there. We adjourned to the next door bar which had late-licensing and were there until two am. One of the advantages of being four of you - conversation flows easily with the drink. A really good night out. More please.

Good People

Its a rather strange experience watching a cast of English actors, including National Treasure Imelda Staunton, all playing in strong American accents. But one soon gets used to it.

Good People is set in Boston and sets up that awkward interface between local lad made good returning to his roots, and to those who didn't make it out of the hole. Imelda Staunton played the middle-aged mother of a mentally handicapped daughter who never made it. We find her being sacked from her job at the check-out at the local convenience store for being persistently late (due to said daughter). Maggie is bargaining for lower pay if she can just be kept on, convinced that she is being undercut by some Chinese girl. The play doesn't flinch from that element of working class racism that liberals would rather not face.

But she hears from one of her bingo buddies that her old boyfriend from high school who had made it good was back in town. Now a successful doctor, she was desperate enough to see if he could give her a job doing something. Anything.

What made this play so good in my opinion was its failure to be predictable. It changes direction unexpectedly a number of times. If you want to see it, maybe stop reading now.

The first act ends with her being invited, maybe reluctantly, to his young daughter's birthday party to see his big house on Chestnut Hill. And then she receives a call to say that his daughter is sick and so his wife wanted to call it off. Clearly this is just a way of uninviting her. But she decides she is going to go anyway.

So we are left at the interval anticipating the inevitable uncomfortable confrontation of an unwanted working class woman turning up at a party full of middle-class types. Except that when she gets there she finds his daughter really was sick, and the party really had been called off. Nevertheless his wife insists she stays, and the conversation takes other unexpected turns. An anecdote about a fight back in his school days comes up, but not a bit of rough and tumble in a tough neighbourhood, but the vicious beating of one black boy who couldn't run away. And then eventually Maggie plays the blackmail card that she wasn't going to use - her disabled daughter is his, and she hadn't told him to let him escape this place and go to college. She was a good person.

But then twist again. The professional couple are clearly having matrimonial difficulties so this would be the coup de grace. Except surprisingly the wife doesn't believe her story. And Maggie backs down and admits its not true.

Only for us to find at the bingo afterwards, that it was true.

The drama works well. But the real theme is that some people get the chance to escape and take it. Good for them. But some people just don't have the breaks. And that of course is true. Many people are in a bad place through there own folly. But ultimately someone is always going to be close to the bottom of the pile. If you aren't that clever, you ain't never going to become no fancy doctor. Someone will be working those check-outs on minimum wage.

The other great attraction of this play is the subtlety with which the characters are drawn. This isn't a JB Priestley play where all is black and white and one is bashed over the head until it is evident who are the good people and who are not. Here the working class characters are not universally wonderful in face of all adversity. And that just makes it all the more appealing. Good people are hard to find. But there may be  some goodness in a lot of folk.

Tyburn - following a drain

There is something sad about a river walk where you don't at any point see the river. But London has long built over the tributaries that led into the Thames, including the Tyburn.

This walk starts at the crowded Baker Street, but one can soon get to the much quieter Paddington Street Gardens

 This is Avery Row, built in the 1720s over the newly culverted Tyburn. London has been built up for a long time.

 And then down a pedestrianised lane I cam e across one of those little bits of quirky public art that litter London. Here there are a pair of statues, one a photographer shooting a model at the other side of the road

The Coach & Horses pub

 The Third Church of Christ Scientist

 And into Shepherd Market across the road, an excellent little backwater and full of pubs and restaurants

 Some houses are so historic they even have more than one blue plaque

 Crossing Green Park..

...onto Constitution Hill and of course Buckingham Palace

 At this point I took a detour to the Queens Gallery to see the Castiglione drawings and prints exhibition.

There was also an exhibition of prints given top the Queen for the Diamond Jubilee - 100 prints from Royal Academicians to Her Majesty. I don't think any were their finest works. And giving a self-portrait (below), well isn't that like giving someone a photo of yourself for their birthday, just a little conceited?

In the middle they exhibited a rather finer work, Godfrey Kneller's painting of the Royal Academicians in the 18th century at a life class.

Then on towards Victoria, classical terraces giving way to more modern blocks.

 And eventually towards Vauxhall Bridge with its new waterside developments, looking rather handsome in the late afternoon sun.

And finally one gets a glimpse of the Tyburn. Yes below is the outflow into the Thames