A Fine Establishment Takes The Piss Out Of Its Punters

Going to see stand up comedy is one of our favourite ways to waste an evening. And we like Banana Cabaret at the Bedford in Balham very much. The Bedford is a massive venue and they’ve been running the Banana Cabaret nights there for years. They regularly get strong line-ups and there’s usually a good atmosphere with a mixture of comedy regulars and a casual, laid back crowd that doesn’t include too many hen nights.

However, we do have a few problems. Firstly, the usual cost without a concession is anything between £13 and £15 on a weekend which is far too much considering that the line-ups, although good, are rarely much better than those you can get at a cheaper club. Secondly, we hate the way that after the comedy is finished, it turns into a really tacky club of the type that you would never want to stay in for more than half an hour, unless you’re into rubbish student cheese. Thirdly, it is often very difficult to get a seat and they knowingly sell tickets to punters who are told to stand which, given that you’re paying a small fortune is not good enough when you’re likely to be there for several hours.

But worst of all is their absolutely shocking decision to put on a special new years eve event which differs little from their normal nights aside from one free cocktail and a buffet but to charge £65 for the privilige. The line-up of John Moloney, Will Smith (see above), John Fothergill and Steve Gribbin isn’t even particularly good. It’s a particularly shameless attempt to cash in on the usual new years eve nonsense.

Which is a shame, because, for a while now, we’ve been planning to write a piece about how much we like Banana Cabaret, but if they’re liable to take the piss out of their customers then all we can really say is that we recommend you take your business elsewhere.

Merry Christmas

Late Night Pretentiousness

Going to galleries in the evening always seems a more enjoyable experience than heading there on the traditional Sunday afternoon. Many galleries now have late night openings and special events in the evenings, but one of the most enjoyable is at Tate Britain.

The Late at Tate nights occur on the first Friday of each month. The gallery stays open until ten and entry to all the special exhibitions is half price. They create a bar area in the main hall which is lit up beautifully with projections everywhere and a range of special events going on. This usually includes DJs, bands and various types of performance, usually of the cabaret variety. On 4th January, the website says: "In collaboration with International Project Space, Birmingham, expect an evening of performance and music, including interventions from !WOWOW!, the creative collective of artists, fashion designers, writers and musicians, and Chymical Wedding, a performance from the future-past-fiction guerrilla group Plastique Fantastique". Hmm.

Well we tried looking at !WOWOW!'s myspace site but it was, frankly, too hard to read (go there and you'll see what we mean). Also, and we don't mean to sound like grumpy old gits, but when somebody talks about "recreating the New York warehouse party scene" we tend to roll our eyes a little bit. Which isn't to say it won't be great-it's just that we've found many of the cabaret/musical acts which they've put on in the past to be piss poor. So keep expectations low and you won't be disappointed.

Meanwhile, the philosophy of this site is to be as unpretentious as possible. Which is a problem here, since we've always found the Late at Tate crowd to be pretentious as fuck. Never have we seen so many posers in one room together. To make matters worse, we're not overly keen on the Millais exhibition which is currently running. It's all very well presented and certainly provided an insight into how his painting changed as he grew older, but we couldn't get away from the fact that it was all a bit, well, boring. He just seemed like a rather opportunistic man, chasing the money of his sponsors by painting dull but technically brilliant portraits. We haven't seen the Turner Prize retrospective that's running there but it sounds either tremendously annoying or great fun, depending on how cynical you are.

The chance to get into these exhibitions for half price is certainly alluring but be warned that it does tend to get crowded in the paid exhibitions so if you want to see them slowly and without stress, it may be better to pay the full whack and come another time.

All the criticisms above don't really give a great impression of the night and it's true that we have our problems with both the logistics of the events and the seemingly random choice of bands and theatre collectives whom they put on. However, we've always had a good time when we've gone. The permanent collections are as impressive as always and the atmosphere in the hall/ bar area, though pretentious, is at least lively and a change from the normal gallery visit experience. Also, you get a strange feeling from watching a band play in a room surrounded by invaluable works of art. An odd experience then, but probably worth trying once and don't blame us if you get trampled on and want to strangle the entertainment.

A Fine Way To Spend A Rainy Day

If you fancy seeing a film but don't have the cash to fund repeated trips to the cinema, you could do a lot worse than head down to the BFI Southbank (Formerly the National Film Theatre) where you can get free access to the excellent Mediatheque (see below).

The Mediatheque is a facility which the BFI made available when they revamped the back half of the building earlier this year. In the space which previously housed the excellent Museum of the Moving Image there is now a rather flashy ticketing area, a superb shop, a gallery, a rather odd and over-priced but not unattractive cafe/restaurant and the Mediatheque itself.

The Mediatheque is a room which contains about fifteen computer terminals. As you walk in, you are given a set of headphones and seated at a terminal. You are then able to choose what you want to watch from a large chunk of the BFI archive. You have complete control over what you watch and can fast forward and rewind in much the same way you could a DVD. It's a bit like a better version of Sky Box Office or Homechoice but better because you are able to choose from an odd, varied mix of material. We've been there several times and there are a few things we particularly liked. In particular:

-"Relax" (see below)-This is a half hour film about a gay man going in to hospital for an HIV test. It's mostly in black and white and the film explores the man's worries as he waits desperately for the results pondering the possible consequences. It was made in 1991 and is very much of its time and shows the sheer horror faced by many people as the HIV virus spread into mainstream consciousness. The only time we see any colour in the film is when it's his own blood.

-"Eastenders"-Almost as depressingly, they have the famous episode of Eastenders which simply consists of Dot and Ethel talking about life, death, the past and many other miserable things. It's practically a half hour Alan Bennett play and it's great.

-"Abigail's Party"-Available in full, (although when we watched it, the last three minutes were annoyingly not working) Mike Leigh's dinner party gone wrong remains a painful viewing experience. Mike Leigh has made better things since then, but it's good to go back to the beginning and see what all the fuss was about.

-"The Smiths on the South Bank Show"-He may officially be an idiotic Daily Mail type now, but seeing Morrissey in all his pomp still gives us the shivers. The part where Johnny Marr emphatically explains why it was imperative that the Smiths not sign to Factory Record is particularly insightful and inspiring. And the footage of John Peel emotively praising the band was enough to remind us just how much we miss him.

Those are just a few of the things worth seeing but in fact, the best things are the oddities. Searching the database you can find five minute films going back to the pre-war years, public information films, old newsreels and all sorts of odd stuff. And since it's all free, you might be able to afford a three quid cup of coffee from the cafe next door.

Free Music and A Slightly Unfair Jibe About Dickon Edwards

We want to go and have a look at Peter Hujar's current show at the ICA. But we're a bit tired of photography exhibitions, for a few days at least. Our last two excursions have been excellent with both Nick Waplington and Jeff Wall showcasing some great stuff that made venturing out through the arctic winds almost worthwhile.

If you're trying to save some money in the run up to christmas, you could do a lot worse than head down to the Pure Groove shop in Archway for their series of deftly selected free gigs. This evening they hosted a gig from the horribly rubbish Emmy The Great, but the past is the past and their forthcoming gigs are much more promising.

Tomorrow evening, solo singer-songwriter Eugene Mcguinness (see above) will be down there with a christmassy (christmassy may not be an actual proper adjective) set to warm up his growing bunch of followers. Eugene's music can sometimes be a bit ponderous and, sure, he sometimes lapses into acoustic dullness, but he has a definite charm to him, a way with a tune and a charismatic stage presence. Also, it's fair to say that any singer who makes references to Neighbours in his songs is alright by us.

Later in the week sees gigs from Noah and The Whale, Beans on Toast and Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly who is accompanied on the same evening by the ultra posh George Pringle (see gratuitous photo below) who we wrote about last month here.

All the gigs kick off at 6pm and the venue is located conveniently close to the brilliant Boogaloo pub where, if you're lucky, you may just bump into the ghost of christmas past, Mr. Shane Macgowan or if you're slightly less fortunate, the ex Orlando singer (EDIT: Apologies to Dickon who was actually the guitarist and lyricist as he states below) and famous-within-the-world-of-blogs fop Mr. Dickon Edwards.

Oh-and in response to comments below, here's another photo of George Pringle.

More Photos To Make You Swoon

Following on from the storming time which we had at the Whitechapel Gallery's Nick Waplington exhibition, we felt in the mood for even more photography. So when we read some more than positive reviews of Jeff Wall's new show at White Cube we knew we had to go and have a look.

Jeff Wall is a photographic artist who is primarily known for his blown up, back lit photos to which he applies some super complicated digital jiggery pokery to make them into highly arranged situations. In 2005 he had an all encompassing retrospective at Tate Modern which we attended and enjoyed very much. So we were very excited to see the new pieces which were on display.

White Cube's new West End gallery is approached down an alleyway off an extremely posh street between Pall Mall and Fortnum and Mason in one of the most well heeled areas of London. The exhibition contains three large scale back lit works, a smaller back lit piece and some of Wall's black and white photography which he has been doing since the early 1990s.

It's the full scale, back lit pieces which inevitably form the centrepiece of the exhibition. The way in which they are displayed makes them appear like billboard adverts, even if the subject matter is far from that of a Marlboro ad. The amount of work which Wall does to his photos always tends to give them a too good to be true shimmer where everything is just a little bit too high definition and perfectly lit.

The White Cube website has thumbnails of some of the photos on display so you can see what we're talking about. "Hotels" shows the gutting of an apartment building and is essentially a highly worked landscape of an urban building project. Like many of his photos, the view is intersected by the electricity cables which are recurrent in Wall's work and which divide his photos in much the same way as a viewfinder.

"Dressing Poultry" is a rather grim view of the inside of a poultry processing factory. Feathers lie everywhere as pasty American farmers perform icky acts to birds for human consumption. A pool of animal juices lies on the floor and the surroundings look far from sanitary. Each worker's pose is highly constructed and it's easy to see how Wall may have had to take hundreds of photographs of the scenario to come up with this final, far from improvised version. Effectively, this has the same level of artifice as a painting. Wall is not an artist who attempts to capture a unique moment in time.

Elsewhere in the exhibition he explores some desolate landscapes, particularly downstairs in his black and white works which are equally as impressive as the blockbuster technicolour photos upstairs. All his work just seems so bloody cold that it gave us the shivers. It's imperative for the GDP of Canada that he should never be signed up by the Vancouver tourist board.

A hugely impressive exhibition, perfect in length. It's enough to satisfy any existing fans of Wall and act as a good taster for anyone who hasn't seen his work before. Stretched over a full length exhibition in the Tate Modern, Wall couldn't quite justify the sheer quantity of his work on display. However, in a small gallery like this, his photos each get the level of scrutiny they need and the results are excellent. We also recommend Chequers, the tiny pub next door which is a great place to go afterwards. The exhibition runs until 19th January 2008.

N.B. The photos shown in this article are not the photos on display in the exhibition.

Beautiful Things In Whitechapel

Last night artslondon went to the Whitechapel Art Gallery for the preview of a new exhibition by photographer Nick Waplington which runs until 20 January 2008. We were very impressed with what we saw and it's always nice when the highlight of these things is the art itself rather than the free booze.

Waplington has released much of his work in book form and has always taken a particular interest in documenting his patch of East London where he lives. But this exhibition is something rather different. It's actually more of an installation than a straightforward photography exhibition.The main part takes place in the gallery's cinema/auditorium. A slide projector shows a range of 1000 photographs. Each is displayed for about ten seconds before the projector progresses to the next one. In the background there is an audio feed from a US radio station where they discuss business issues and economic theory from a pro-capitalist perspective. Meanwhile we see a collection of photos which Waplington has sourced from the internet.

All the photos are taken by soldiers and predominantly focus on the Middle East. We see Russian soldiers making brotherly poses in Afghanistan and then American soldiers doing the same thing twenty years later. Meanwhile, many of the images are mundane in their focus. They veer from friend to friend, relative to relative, with nothing to link each image to the next apart from the sheer human factor that they were taken by hired killers.

What's interesting is that despite the seemingly random, fractured nature of the images, your brain naturally orders them into some kind of logic. Patterns emerge, agendas reveal themselves but what those agendas are is very much left to you, the viewer. It's quite an experience but really needs to be viewed without distractions and with time to spare.

Meanwhile, in the foyer, a number of books of Waplington's work are also laid out. We didn't have time to examine these in as much detail as they deserve but we're told that they have more of a suggested narrative than the projected images. Those we saw focused more deeply on war and the different landscapes of the Middle East as well as the more common day to day reality of small town America which so many US soldiers call home.

The exhibition is also spread out all around this corner of East London. Images can be found displayed in a range of East End venues from the Rough Trade East shop to the Brick Lane Beigel Bakery.

Meanwhile, it's probably worth mentioning that we love Whitechapel Gallery. Sure it contains the predictable hordes of East London tossers, there to pose and not much more, but enthusiasm and personality just ooze from every slab. They display posters of successful past exhibitions in the same way that say, the Dublin Castle shows photos of Blur playing in their youth. And the gallery has a flexibility that allows a true variety of exhibitions and an exciting range of talks and events which we will be bringing you more information about in the coming months.

Oh-and if you're wondering why this entry is formatted so badly, it's because Blogger is rubbish and we can't be bothered to learn html. Sorry.

Hear The Truth

We've been posting a lot about stand up comedy lately, but we can't help it. Comedy just suits the "festive" season perfectly.

We first saw Reginald D Hunter in 2002, where he wowed a room full of students at Manchester's superb XS Malarkey comedy night. His amiable style can put any audience at ease. An evening with Reginald is always thought provoking as well as funny. His standard refrain is one of "I love stand up comedy because it's the only place where you can tell the truth and everyone thinks that you're joking".

As time has gone on, Hunter has grown in stature. A string of award nominations and the odd TV appearance has brought him into the limelight, but he still remains a minority concern, loved by those who attend stand up comedy gigs but little known outside in the way that, say, the thoroughly average Jo Caulfield has broken through into mainstream consciousness via the standard panel show/radio 4 circuit. Perhaps it's because Hunter's act is a little too awkward for the mainstream. His sets rely on being seen in length, in their entirety as Hunter explores an idea and takes his analysis of American bullshit to its logical conclusions. The fact that one of his recent shows was called Pride and Prejudice and Niggas probably didn't help either.

Anyway, Hunter is probably the best comedian around not to have received mainstream recognition so should not be missed. He is performing at the Arts Theatre in Soho (not to be confused with Soho Arts Theatre) on 14th-15th, 21st-22nd and 28th-29th December.

This Is Not Written By Simon Jenkins

We've spent days trudging around the streets and galleries of Barcelona trying to take in as much as possible. In Barcelona, almost everything is beautiful, to the point where it's almost wearing. Anyway, a few things we noticed about art in Barcelona:

-Barcelona seems to place a great deal more value on its art than London. Art is everywhere there. Even if you don't go to a gallery, it's impossible to avoid it. Mosaics by Miro (see above) are trampled upon by locals and tourists alike on Las Ramblas. The art in cafes and restaurants is worth looking at. An act of folly like the Sagrada Familia would just never get built in Britain.

-Britain lacks galleries which focus on specific artists and do them justice. For example, Barcelona has three superb galleries focusing on Miro, Picasso and Tapies. Three great Spanish artists given the in depth treatment they deserve in spaces that aim to show their work in the best way possible and to teach the visitor something about them at the same time. Why is there not a permanent Lucien Freud gallery or a Francis Bacon gallery in London covering them in the same depth?

-We visited MACBA (see inset), the relatively new gallery which had a huge exhibition on French and American artists in the post-war years. A short walk around made us realise the true poverty of our nearest comparison, Tate Modern. The Tate just doesn't have enough of the 20th century's best artists. A few of the least interesting Rothkos, a limited Pollock, a few Picassos that don't show any of his variety or depth. It isn't enough. Tate Modern is a fun place to visit but doesn't half show a lot of crap. MACBA showed a true variety of work in a logical, insightful way. The permanent selection at Tate Modern hasn't a tenth of the ambition and range we saw there.

All the above isn't to say that one city is better than the other. London has a truly world class arts scene and we saw only the big galleries of Barcelona with no chance to investigate the arts scene equivalent of East London or anything outside the city. But it helped to mark out London's strengths and weaknesses. Anyway, enough rambling-we're off to search for more beautiful things for unpretentious people.

Soaking In The Hoisin Of Your Lies

The last time artslondon attempted to get a slice of the rambling musical (he’s got perfect pitch you know) and comedy genius of Bill Bailey, the weather conspired against us. Glastonbury’s traditional rain and mud (plus some bad planning on our part) made us late arrivals to his climatic set, stuck at the back of the crowd with only the chuckles of those lucky buggers at the front as an indicator of where the jokes were supposed to be.

Trudging down the sodden banks of Wembley Way on our way to Bill’s sold out Tinselworm tour, we began to think we’d done something to anger the comedy weather gods. “This was supposed to be super happy fun,” one of our companions complained.

Even without the poor weather, the sheer size of Wembley Arena can make it a cold venue at the best of times, but judging by the cheers and welcome Bill Bailey got as he came on stage, he’s such a national treasure now that it’s hard not to be warmed by the familiar sight of his beard and, according to Bill, what one celebrity magazine called ‘the worst haircut in showbiz’. Well, either that or an arena’s worth of people collectively thought ‘bugger this I’ve paid £27.50 and been soaked to the skin for this so I’m damn well going to enjoy it now’.

Not that there aren’t a few niggles with his current set. A lot of the material is quite familiar – the fan favourite and mixed metaphor-tastic Love Ballad (My heart was cold /It was a stoneMy soul was lonely/Like a stone/There was no moss) ending the evening – and there is the sense that he’s playing it safe, with the messing around with music bits filling out a large chunk of the set. However, when you’re being entertained by someone with as good a comic timing and musical ability as Bill Bailey, it seems churlish to complain that he’s sticking to what he’s best at.

This isn’t to say that the show (and it is a Show, with Flashing Lights and Loud Music and Mobile Trousers Presses and Other Special Effects) isn’t varied in its topics. In the space of two hours he takes us from the childish (manipulating pictures of Margaret Thatcher and James Blunt to say ‘I AM EVIL’) to the political (the moral dilemmas faced by the modern comedian when faced with a big wad of cash and an advertising contract, resulting in the war-cry ‘Hey! Asda! I ain’t gonna be your bitch!’ echoing around Wembley) to the sublime – bringing on a bhangra group (previously seen on a Never Mind The Buzzcocks Christmas special) to collaborate on a strangely moving cover of Radiohead’s ‘Creep’.

Sadly, Bill has no London dates scheduled in the near future. However, you can amuse yourself for at least five minutes, just by playing around on his silly website here.

Kelly Arnstein wrote this.

Normal Service Will Resume Next Week

Apologies for the lack of content this week. artslondon is on holiday in the city of Barcelona until Friday. Once we get back, there'll be plenty of updates, including a review of Bill Bailey's recent gig at Wembley Arena, a guide explaining how to see big name comedians for free, a look at the BFI Southbank's Mediatheque facility and plenty more of the usual nonsense. See you soon,

xx

It's Not Like This At Foxtons

"All train compartments smell vaguely of shit. It gets so you don't mind it. That's the worst thing that I can confess. You know how long it took me to get there? A long time. When you die you're going to regret the things you don't do. You think you're queer? I'm going to tell you something: we're all queer. You think you're a thief? So what? You get befuddled by a middle-class morality? Get shut of it. Shut it out. You cheat on your wife? You did it, live with it. You fuck little girls, so be it. There's an absolute morality? Maybe. And then what? If you think there is, go ahead, be that thing. Bad people go to hell? I don't think so. If you think that, act that way. A hell exists on earth? Yes. I won't live in it. That's me. You ever take a dump made you feel like you'd just slept for twelve hours? "

Last night we went to see Glengarry Glen Ross which is playing at the Apollo Theatre until January. It has a stunning cast, including Jonathan Pryce and Aidan Gillen (see above). It's by David Mamet and is about a group of real estate salesmen working in an ultra competitive office environment. At the end of the month, the person who sells the most real estate gets a Cadillac. The person who comes second gets a set of steak knives. Whoever comes last gets fired.

Ultimately it's all about macho posturing and who is more of a "man" than the others. Gillen's character, the unscrupulous Ricky Roma, is the alpha male in the office, number one on the board and able to spiel sales crap of such magnitude that it staggers the imagination. His rant above is used as an introduction to a client who he meets in a seedy restaurant. By the end of their meeting he has convinced the guy to sign up for thousands of dollars worth of real estate. It's Sayeed from The Apprentice times infinity. Gillen is superb and gets all the best lines with Jonathan Pryce also great as the desperate Shelly Levene, down on his luck and clawing at a way out from the abyss, voice occasionally cracking as his negotiations become more and more frantic.

The first half of the play exists in a kind of diner stasis, setting up the characters, getting the audience used to the language and exhausting the swearing dictionary. It's only in Act Two when events start interfering that things get really nasty as the cast become like a pack of animals fighting for number one spot and a way out of the office hell. It's all relentlessly American-It seems unlikely that staff at Foxtons are quite so hardcore about things.

It's a short play at just over an hour and a quarter in duration. But that was plenty. The dialogue is so intense that in the end it becomes something that is endured as much as it is enjoyed. Which isn't to say that it's not fantastic, just that you might want to plan a good lie down afterwards since you are likely to emerge drained of energy, swearing all evening like a builder. We suggest that you go and endure it, but go easy on the caffeine beforehand or you may end up offending somebody.

"You stupid fucking cunt. You, Williamson, I'm talking to you, shithead. You just cost me $6,000. Six thousand dollars, and one Cadillac. That's right. What are you going to do about it? What are you going to do about it, asshole? You're fucking shit. Where did you learn your trade, you stupid fucking cunt, you idiot? Who ever told you that you could work with men? Oh, I'm gonna have your job, shithead. "

Lovely.