Yet Still the Cranes Fly

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did watch "The Cranes are Flying" (1957), a Soviet war film by Mikhail Kalatozov, in October 2012. It tells the story of a girl whose fiancé goes to war, and simply and directly, unencumbered by side-plots. The cinematography is first rate, though highly stylized; most shots could be framed as stills and displayed. The acting is hammy, to modern tastes -- whichever emotion is required from the script is presented, in the style of a Russian icon, more like an opera or comic. The few battle episodes are poor, and several scenes too melodramatic; surely old fashioned, even in 1957. With the change of a very few shots, it could have been set in any country, and with some updating (or, indeed, predating), at any time. Like any serious film about war, it is rather upsetting, and its simplicity tends to exacerbate this; rather more so than would some trendy, progressive  treatment. Is this a great film? Well, I, Melachi, in 2012, would say it is a fine film, within its limitations.

The Don flows home, finally

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did read "The Don Flows Home to the Sea", the sequel to "Quiet Flows the Don" by Mikhail Sholokhov, in English translation, over a two year period, on the beaches of several continents, finishing in October 2012 (though I did other things as well). Any reader of this review will have already gathered that I did not find it the most gripping of books. It deals with the Russian Civil War between the Whites, in particular the Cossacks, and the Communists. I will not reveal who wins, in order not to spoil the enjoyment of any who remain ignorant. Any selection of half-a-dozen pages or so of this novel, which is extremely long, will find a brief and impenetrable description of the stage of a campaign, a few paragraphs of naturalistic description of the steppe (e.g. "Where the ploughed land lay in frozen waves of silver snow, where the earth had been wrapped in dead ripples since the autumn, there, gripping the soil with greedy, living roots..." p.109) and a bit of fighting or a description of a dismal cossack dwelling. The campaigns are, to my mind, impossible to follow; I assume they make sense -  someone with a good map and taking notes of the offensives and principal characters might have better luck. The last two hundred pages or so are easier to read, if only because most of the protagonists have died. Indeed, the book differs from the previous instalment in that there are not so many people in it and the women do not get beaten up and abused quite as frequently, though again this may simply reflect the gradual deaths of their menfolk. The portrayal of the cossacks is memorable and remorseless: the overall impression is of lives nasty and brutish among the proud and stubborn. There is little of cinematic nobility or honour here. Some of the scenes of the women, in particular their deaths, are quite harrowing. But Melachi observes that life is generally rather unpleasant, if one thinks about it too much, and it appears this has especially been the case in Russia. In sum, I would say these are fine works, but the control of the flow of events is insufficient to recommend the endurance of their enormous length.

Um Om ...

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did attend the gig of the King Midas Sound and Om, on Sunday 30 September 2012, at the Scala, in London. The first band played loud sequenced bass beats with a few synthesizer warbles and occasional female and male vocals. It sounded like a rather slow and murky hip-hop. I had heard that "Om" themselves played modern interpretations of Byzantine chant. Judging by the many greasy, top-knotted beardies paying their respects I would not have been surprised to hear that the patriarch himself had sent a delegation. They presented a sort of drum and bass, occasionally with  rather weedy, synthesized oriental-sounding themes over the top. After about half an hour I stopped waiting to see what more was going to happen and simply experienced the totality. What can I say about this concert? Obviously to my ears it would have been greatly improved with a couple more guitars, and so I much preferred the Shrinebuilder project of their bassist (in London last year). But this sort of "heavy minimalism" is not something in which I have much expertise, and I cannot say this gig inspired me, Melachi, to acquire any.

Rocking in the Chicken Cottage

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did visit the Chicken Cottage restaurant by Mornington Crescent tube station, 21 High Street, Camden Town, London, on 22 September 2012. The price of 2 pieces of chicken and fries was approximately 50p more than in a neighbouring chicken establishment, nevertheless it seemed less crowded so I entered. Ordering the meal at £2.49 the pleasant though slightly bored operative asked if I would like a drink, and I asked how much a drink was. He said it was included and so I ordered 7-up, which was provided in a can. He then charged me £2.99, which I noticed was indeed the price of the meal displayed, when ordered with a drink. The additional cost of the can was therefore a further 50p, making a total additional cost of £1. He invited me to sit down if I was dining in, which I did, and he brought the food to my table and then transferred a tomato ketchup bottle to me as well, which was nice. The table was not perfectly clean, but not too bad; the window was seriously cracked, and there was a black bag, presumably with rubbish, pushed under the bench on which I was sitting, close to a standard plastic bin, though a built-in plastic bin was also available at the other side of the store. A man entered and showed the salesman an expensive looking watch; he shook his head and the man exited. Another man came and ordered some food; when he sat down, on the end of the same long bench, it rocked back and forth in an annoying manner, and continued to do so repeatedly. This bench clearly needed some more screws.

As for the food, the tomato ketchup was a little watery and probably not from Heinz. The fries were acceptable though some could have been warmer. The first piece of chicken was pleasantly moist, though would have benefited from a more interesting selection of spices and herbs. The second piece of chicken was a little dry.

I then placed my refuse in the more distant disposal bin, said goodbye to the salesman, and took my leave. In total, I would say it was on the good side of a fried chicken meal, and one's choice might depend on one's financial situation; next time I would be inclined to pay a pound or two more and visit the Colonel.

Ensiferum: swords and tubes

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did attend the Finnish roadshow led by Ensiferum at the Islington Academy on 18 September, 2012. The first band I thought had a new-mettalish sound, though calming down to a more conventional guttural and rhythm attack. I do not remember anything else about them. The second band, Amoral, were a bit similar but with more melodic themes, some guitar solos, and an impressive singer whose vocals ranged from the early Axl to the more modern guttural. Ensiferum began with a Irish jig type rhythm, and may well have played exactly the same theme for the next hour and half. I believe this is known as folk metal. The lyrics were mainly about the raising of swords, meant literally, but I could not hear them well. Generally, they resembled Alestorm, but without the jokes. They were deliriously received by a youngish crowd who bounced vigorously together throughout the entire set. Well, this was rather unsophisticated for the musical tastes of Melachi, though might have gone down well with foaming tankards, buxom wenches, and some sort of castle or great hall with long wooden benches and oak tables. However, the ambience of the Academy is modernist, the beer too expensive, and the girls thin and selling Jagermeister in curious tubes. I say yea to potential Oktoberfest experience, nay to exposed pipework.
 

Everywhere, Overdrive

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being a man of wealth and taste, did read Dana Johnson's novel "Elsewhere, California" (2012) in August 2012, since I had heard it dealt with a black girl who liked Led Zeppelin. Unfortunately, I find this girl also likes to talk about African-American hairstyles, modern art, and, especially, baseball. I know nothing about these latter topics, so their semiotics, if any, remain oblique to me. She is from a poor area, and goes to a better area, then to college and eventually finds herself living with a wealthy "European", all in Los Angeles. The latter sections are intercut with the earlier ones, so I am not giving away the plot. The book is in the narrative present and the sections dealing with childhood are in a black dialect, which gradually whitens out as the story progresses. The transition from life in a poor (but decent) family to a situation of relative wealth strikes me as more crucial than the racial aspects, which makes the book less programmatic than it might have been, though whether this is due to the nature of the city in particular, or the country in general, I cannot say. It is all somewhat earnest, correct and reflective, more like a memoir than a piece of dramatic literature. The overall experience resembles the watching of a ballet, perhaps portraying the release of a battery chicken, and with the sound turned down. The childhood sections are not terribly interesting, being the thoughts of a 9-11 year old, but it gets better towards the end. And who can resist the image of the blacks of West Covina bopping to the Bachman-Turner Overdrive? Certainly not Melachi!

Borderline Magenta

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did attend the Magenta gig at the Borderline, London, on 8 September 2012. It was the first band heard by myself of the 2012/13 season, indeed since Black Sabbath at Donington Park, so there was something for them to live up to. The first band was Alan Reed, actually an acoustic guitar with an electric keyboard player. The songs he played were rather long and involved for an acoustic treatment, which is generally used for fairly simple melodies and heartfelt lyrics. Some of the exposed vocals were slightly painful, and I am not sure what possessed him to finish with an acoustic treatment of Peter Gabriel's "Biko" (as I could never quite work out why Peter Gabriel himself used to finish with it). However, he did say he had some CDs available with the songs played by a full band, and that these would sound different (for which I read, better).

The gigs of Prog are possibly the least stylish of all possible events (indeed, the only other non-balding person there was a lady scribbling in a reporters notebook), but since the lead guitarist of Magenta made the effort to wear a natty red tie, let the annals record that Melachi was wearing drainpipe jeans, in black, Clarks goretex boots, in black, an Electric Wizard T-shirt, predominantly black, topped off with a collared shirt, left open, in a fetching shade of black. Magenta clearly have that Prog choppy rhythm well sorted, the guitarist being excellent in all respects, other than the tie, using brief explosions of appeggios to mark the entries, in the style of Yes or IQ.  Their lead singer had, I think, a bit of an issue with rhythmic attack, and tended to bend the notes a lot, in the manner of a cabaret singer; more seriously she seemed to be singing to herself most of the time, sometimes with her eyes shut. She might work at slower and more directed movements, taking command of the stage, and being present for all the audience, particularly in such a small venue. She seemed more an accompanist to the guitarist. A few riffs would have added some variety and the singer could have strapped on a rhythm guitar to get some more meat into the instrumental sections. Nevertheless, they were almost there and I, Melachi, enjoyed this gig and would not mind seeing them again.

Blood of Aquarius

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did audition the album "The Thousandfold Epicentre" (2012) by "The Devil's Blood", in June 2012. I should record that my first impulse, on opening this, in the 2LP version, was literally to wow at the album-sized lyric booklet, in a magnificent multi-coloured style with spidering script on surrealistic imagery somewhere between William Blake and Salvador Dali. I cannot immediately recall such impressive presentation, particularly in the digital age. As to the music, my first thoughts were - retro, in fact so retro I would not have been surprised to hear them launch into "Age of Aquarius". Essentially a hippy-chick vocal sometimes doubled, with driving but not very heavy rock, certainly no more so, than, say, Procol Harum. But the most remarkable thing is the rhythm, it is all in a galloping pace, which I think is technically 8/8, and quite unusual elsewhere. Even in the couple of slow songs at the end, they feel as though they are just waiting to go back into that rhythm. As to the lyrics themselves, they seem to be about the relationships between the material and the spiritual, and it is somewhat satanic, though more in the abstract Manichaean sense than the simpler "dark mass" variety. The guitars play a muted role, and the songs are progressive, in that they progress, but more in the sense of variations on a simple theme than fully fledged-song suites. The last three tracks are slower and more atmospheric, the final one having a long play-out section which is not perhaps sufficiently varied to be interesting on record. 

So, retro and remarkable, but is this actually any good? I think it is very good, in terms of presentation, unity of theme, general musicality, and consistency (there are no weak tracks). I would very much like to see them live, when I imagine this band could easily sound much heavier and the play-out sections would be more effective. The weakness is that there are no stand-out songs - I have heard it many times and cannot quite remember any themes. But compared to other releases around this is clearly one of the most interesting, and it is blessed by Melachi (in the sign of the cross, that shall be inverted!).

Hotel Falesia, Portugal

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being a man of wealth and taste, did spend a week at the Hotel Falesia, Alcoteiras, Portugal, in July 2012. Obviously, not a man of that much taste, or I would not have stayed there. The first problem with this hotel is that it does not have any obvious stairs, meaning it is necessary to hang around for the lift, even if just going one floor. The next problem is that it is not by the beach. There is a shuttle, or a half-hour walk down the elevator of neighbouring hotel, where one would have to rent chairs and parasols and pay 12 euro for a cocktail. Third, on half-board they do not serve water at dinner unless you pay extra for it, the minimum being E1.50 for a very small bottle. Fourth, there is only one pool, one restaurant (a buffet), and no entertainment worth mentioning, except a strange quartet of reps, one of whom is out of tune (being a charitable person, I will not say which). There is nothing interesting nearby (it is a modern resort area), and it is also rather a long walk (one and a half hours) from the town of Albufeira. On the other hand, the staff are friendly, personable and efficient, but without the annoying, automatic bustling efficiency that one finds in resorts catering to US visitors. The hotel was clean and the room service was fine. There were just about enough sun loungers. Some complained the water in the pool was too cold. Cheapest cocktail was 5 euros, a pint of beer was 3 euros, and there was a 1 hour happy hour when it was 1.50. Jigsaws were available. However, Hugo's plastic-chair bar by the road down the steps at the front charged euro 1.50 for beer at all hours, and also with friendly service. A 5 litre box of wine is available from the supermarket there for about 4 euros.

Dining Hall

Chef Angelo is himself a great advertisement for the attraction of his food; I particularly recall the chef veal and the chef orange duck. But not a place to come if hoping for steaks, hamburgers, outdoor grills, hot dogs, or lobster and seafood on ice.

Police assist stranded day-trippers

The Western Wonders tour with Jose and Joaquin was excellent. The trip to Seville was a disaster with only a few hours in the town, the guide saying little of interest but in three languages, and the coach breaking down on the way back leaving us in the bus on the side of the motorway without air-conditioning for two hours.

Metalhead count was two: slipknot t-shirt on longhair with his parents, and motorhead t-shirt on tattoos in Lagos. Porsche count was also rather low, mainly Cayennes.

Obviously, I, Melachi, was not the target market for this hotel, and cannot quite remember why I booked it. Might suit people over sixty, though 

if I were over sixty I do not think it would suit me. 

Edit:
~Edit:This 


This review provoked a nice answer from the Hotel Manager and the following hilarious comments: