Chasing the Greene

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did read Tim Butcher's Chasing the Devil, on the beach in Cuba in April 2013, having previously read his book about the Congo (in preparation for my forthcoming trip across Africa). Chasing the Devil deals with a long walk through the forest in Liberia. In short, he takes a bus to a forest, and walks each day along forest tracks to the next village, accompanied by a young man from Oxford and a local guide, while another guide takes his luggage there by motorbike on a normal road. Why does Mr Butcher do this? Well, he is following the footsteps of a certain Graham Greene, and he also says he feels he should spend more time in Liberia because he did not return to it when there was a war on. Or something like that. Now, I know nothing about this Graham Greene other than what I can derive from Mr Butcher's book, namely that he was a towering figure of 20th century English literature (which I rather doubt, or I or someone I know would surely have read something by him), that he liked seediness (no interesting evidence of this is given), and that he worked for British Intelligence, but later (though one suspects this was only because they were short of staff during the war). In all, I am not convinced that Mr Greene's trip in the 1930s is much more worthy than Mr Butcher's in the 2000s. The structural flaw of the book, compared to his Blood River, is this general pointlessness. The author seems worrying well connected, and the problems he encounters are of his own making. Anyway, in the course of his very readable account he gives a history of the region and its people, and this is certainly more interesting than reading roughly the same stuff in any guidebook.  He is again struck by the penchant of the Africans to fail to develop, even when not colonised, and he tentatively ascribes this to the tendency of tribalism to move at the pace of its slowest member. Maybe. But I liked this book, though I think I would have preferred a Willard Price adventure.

Playa Costa Verde, Holguin, Cuba

Girls earlier seen smoking

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being a man of wealth and taste, did spend a couple of weeks at the Playa Costa Verde, an all-inclusive resort in Eastern Cuba. The room was of good size with safe, hairdrier, iron and fridge with daily water bottle. There was plenty of food of some variety though none of it would satisfy someone with gourmet pretensions. There were 3 free speciality restaurants which were OK. The service at all points was good and the staff were friendly and liked to talk. This meant that they tended not to be terribly fast. They were happy to receive tips of 1 or 2 pesos but did not press for them. I understand they share them with senior and back office staff. The tours were quite nice, though the tour to Santiago was probably too far for a day trip, particularly when the coach got stuck behind tractors on the way back.

Maggie (guide) with our ration book

The stage and nightclub were well appointed, and the stage performances better than one might expect of rural Cuba. The most beautiful dancer was Lily.  The guests were mainly Canadian, English and German. There were a few children but they were quite well behaved. There were few people in the nightclub or in the bar late, most being couples or families, though I did run into a bored Canadian sommelier. There were two cats, a black one by the pool bar and a tabby one by the buffet, neither very friendly nor hungry. The beach was beautiful, with included recliners and beach bar. Speaking of which, there is nothing in the area outside of the resorts and, so far as I could establish, no way to meet normal Cubans or local nightlife. The nearest town (Holguin) is an hour's drive away, and there is no public transport to mention. Though walk far enough down the beach and you may find a river guarded by Roberto, who may suggest you donate a peso for his baby. Points that might be fixed include the toilet working with a curious pressure system and either not at all or continuously from time to time. The animation team were rather less visible than in other resorts. I would say this is a good choice for an inexpensive quiet week's break. Unfortunately, I was there for two.

Acid Tea Pot

The Good Admiral

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, did attend the concert of Uncle Acid and the Deadbeats and The Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovell, at the Garage, Islington, London, on 23 March 2013. The Good Admiral played again their 3-pieced traditional heavy rock, sounding rather murky; not very interesting to my mind, (but again not forgetting Respect to the Sideburns).

Don't ask me

Uncle Acid and Co. came on stage, a mysterious bunch, indeed, surrounded by mirrors and cracking TVs, they did not see fit to turn on the stage lights the entire time.

A moment of brilliance

 The guitars were not at all murky, but the vocals were a little low to start with. Their grooving and riffage was strikingly clear from the first notes, sounding much heavier than the album. Aye to the privilege to have been in the presence of such brilliance, so early in its genesis. Nay, that they played for only about an hour.

Ibis off Grand Place, Brussels, in spirit at least

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did stay at the Ibis off Grand Place, Brussels, in February 2013. The reception clerk was quite well dressed and kindly offered to speak to me in English, even though I naturally addressed him in perfectly fluent and accurate French. The tariff was not at all cheap, so I was disappointed to find that the lift, which promised to function on the insertion of my key card, did not do so, though I tried many times. Apparently, it has to be entered just so, and might then work. The lift was rather small, and, in the course of my two night stay, caused some embarrassment whenever breasted females entered. I should also like to remark on the music played in the lift, which was throughout, I believe, a sort of seventies soul. So with anticipation I reached my room, which was rather small, though perfectly clean. Had a companion joined me, breasted or otherwise, it would have been too small, indeed it would have been difficult to unpack one suitcase, let alone two. Fortunately, I, Melachi, travel light, with just a small backpack. There was no door to the wardrobe, for there would have been no room for it to open, and the television was not of the widescreen variety, though did show the first and second BBC channels. The bed was comfortable and the sheets fresh. A placard announced that the calm sleep of the guests was their first priority. However, I could hear the quiet conversation of the guests next door, through a locked but connecting door, and subsequently a snoring. The bathroom was rather small as well, and the cistern was of possibly the cheapest, plasticy variety available, though did work, but certain watery areas remained in its vicinity and did not seem to dry off. There was a bath and shower, though no soap, except in squeezy bottles attached to the walls. The bath was rather small, indeed one needed to curl up in the manner of a peat bog man to relax in the waters. The tiles were clean, with just a few dark spots. The breakfast was of a standard continental buffet variety, including some fruit, though served with a common tray. The second day, the pain au chocolat had run out. The coffee was from an unattended machine -- I would have preferred hand drawn espresso or at least a nice filter variety. The staff said hello, but not much else. They were kind enough to enroll me in their frequent hotel-using programme; but I do not think that I, Melachi, will frequently be using their hotels.

Orange Slab of Goblin

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, did attend the gig of Orange Goblin, The Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovell, and the Earls of Mars, at the Academy, Islington on 15 February 2013. The Earl/s of Mars were very interesting and somewhat progressive to listen to, with a notable keyboardist playing solos, and an electric double bass. They could have played a little longer. The Magnificent Name of the Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovell cannot be doubted, indeed a few weeks previous I almost picked up their CD on the strength of that alone; fortunately I did not, since their music was a sort of loud three-piece rhythm and blues, though Respect To The Sideburns. The Orange Goblin laid down what can best be described as a great, solid, steaming slab of metal, like a not so fast and slightly more melodic motorhead, and without perturbaition; Melachi finds it difficult to comment more, other than to remark at the bravery of those teenagers who remained in the pit following the advance of the balding, topless, ex-military!

Sold on Devil Chimp

A Chimpspanner

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did attend the gig of Sylosis, Devil Sold His Soul and Chimpspanner, at the Academy Islington, London, on 24 January 2013. When Chimpspanner started I groaned, as they appeared to be a vocal-less 3 piece playing jazz fusion, but after a while a deep metallism came through, matched by great and well-structured virtuosity, without any pointless guitar solos. But probably half an hour of this was enough, as it is difficult to concentrate on a band without a lead and obvious themes for much longer than that. Nevertheless, excellent supporting material.

He sold his soul

Next Devil Sold His Soul, the singer giving a fine appearance of a chimp, leaping and screaming. Initially again I was not impressed, but gradually began to remark the strange slowness of many of the songs and the frequent almost processional passages, as though he were shouting incantations, against a funereal beat with swirling synthesizers, also with no guitar leads, despite numerous guitarists. Though I have no idea was he was screaming about. Won over, I picked up their CD next day at HMV. But I think the repetitive sections would benefit from more sophisticated modulation. Some of the "clean" vocals were painfully out of tune.

Sylosis and shorthairs

Sylosis played for a bit under an hour and a half, the sound quality was excellent and the vocals were much stronger than I heard previously, and the guitars seemed this time in tune throughout. The material from their new album seemed more aggressive but with less of an epic quality than the rest. Curiously some resembled the folk metal bands, more like a jig, I suppose this follows from playing complex figures quickly. All in all, I, Melachi, found this a most satisfactory evening.

No pain (au chocolat)

View in cracked mirror

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did stay at the Mirabeau hotel, Brussels, in January 2013. The hotel is located in a sort of gay Arabic district on the grimy boulevard to the Gare Midi, though next to the tram stop; in all a location probably not recommended for those of nervous disposition. Presenting my booking, the clerk gave no signs of recognising it, and asked for payment in advance, though he did take a credit card. I climbed the steps to the fifth floor, rather a mistake since the intermediate floors seemed under construction with wires hanging from the walls and lights in the very narrow stairwells going on and off intermittently. The room itself was small but acceptable, and appeared recently refurbished, though the mirror had a long crack, and the flush required judicious fiddling with the cracked button-panel to stop it running continuously.
There was no bath but the shower worked. The TV channels were all in foreign languages; the beer glasses were a thin plastic. The room was not very warm, though the heating was set to maximum; there was snow on the ground outside, which may explain this. I was woken at 4am by drunken people shouting from the street below, shortly followed by rubbish collecting vans, and did not get much more sleep. Descending for breakfast I found that the elevator did in fact work, it was just that the summoning light did not illuminate. For breakfast there was self-service with several pieces of not terribly fresh bread, one type of cheese and small packages of jam, with coffee and tea. There were no croissants or pain au chocolats. But for that, I would stay again, at least during the financial crisis.

Winter in Scala with Karnataka

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did attend the concert of Winter in Eden and Karnataka in Scala, London, on Thursday 13 December 2012. The gig was not otherwise well attended, and rather cold. The first band were muddy sounding, with a murky mix, and the singer saying she was recovering from a throat problem. They sounded a bit like Mostly Autumn, but without the guitarist. Though they had a guitarist. The headline band, Karnataka, were quite similar with a better sound mix, though I could not hear the synthesizer well. The singer, in gesture and temperament, seemed rather large for the stage and the rest of the band; though certainly no problem on the eye, particularly in the Christmas dress. Her hair indicated a pleasing pre-Raphaelite; though the music was not particularly Celtic, and the songs were long and developed. The guitarist was quite good, though some of the solos seemed a little pedestrian and would have benefited from greater rhythmic flexibility and a more sensitive axe, like a Stratocaster. Unfortunately, the band finished with a Led Zeppelin cover, which rather showed up the rest of the compositions. In total, it would be a "ho ho hum" from Melachi.

Katacurious

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, did attend the gig of Junius, Alcest and Katatonia at the Academy, Islington, on 10 December 2012. The venue was full for both the support bands, and Junius played a solid, slow and somewhat grungy set that was well received. Alcest played similarly slow and more atmospheric music, with rather long songs, sometimes sounding trancy, like a heavy Enya, with the celtic vibe. The vocals were too low in the mix, felt I. Katatonia seemed better than last time I heard them at Koko (when they kept stopping), and were notably, well, loud. Although I liked their performance, I feel there is something lacking; possibly it is the rather unimaginative rhythm section, or the monotone emotional delivery, the lack of melody, or the way very many of the songs end oddly. Pleasing, yet curious, in the mind of Melachi.