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In this day and age, when we’re being constantly brainwashed by poppy tunes emanating from every possible audio device, it’s easy to forget that song writing is an art form, another medium connecting artists and listeners/readers just like poetry or art or literature. The transformation of writing and social media in the last decade has reduced songwriting and music to simplistic 140 character tweets and texts, leaving little room for creative license. DEV likes her beats fast and her beats down low (as she likes to remind us in monotone about two million times). Nicole Scherzinger throws away all conventional grammatical rules and wails ‘me like the way that you hold my body’.

But how about this:

You say that music’s for the birds,
You can’t understand the words.
Well, honey, if you did,
You’d really blow your lid.
Cause, baby, that is rock and roll.

These are the words of Jerry Leiber, a legendary songwriter who died in Los Angeles just last Monday. Here he’s stressing the importance of words: lyrics. Music has the ability to lift poetry/literature into sharp three dimensional relief and vice versa. Leiber collaborated with Mike Stoller, a composer, to write hits such as ‘Stand By Me’, ‘Hound Dog’,‘Jailhouse Rock’ and ‘Kansas City’ over their three decade career. Leiber took the 50s and 60s and translated it into pithy song lyrics. It’s difficult to think of Elvis Presley without thinking of Hound Dog, and it’s difficult to think of the 50s without thinking of Elvis Presley. It’s not so much the quirkiness of the lyrics that makes that song one of the most prolific of its century, but the way it melts with the jazzy blues rhythms; it’s a perfect marriage between Elvis Presley’s Southern drawl and the social colloquialisms of that time: a language that was the ultimate musical zeitgeist.

Jerry Leiber (right) with Elvis Presley and Mike Stoller

Another Leiber song, ‘Is that all there is’, was directly inspired by the Thomas Mann short story ‘Disillusionment’, and is perhaps one of the most poignant and startlingly realistic polemic on the nature of life. “Is that all there is/ If that’s all there is my friends, then let’s keep dancing/Let’s break out the booze and have a ball,” Peggy Lee sings in her sweet mystified voice. The lyrics are depressingly existentialist, but there’s a faint ‘carpe diem’ theme running throughout (in the slow, plodding beat as well that reflects the slow, plodding juggernaut flow of life – nothing stops, nothing goes, it just flows) that really captures the spirit of Mann’s ‘disillusionment’.

Song lyrics are integral to the song – think of all the songs you’ve ever listened to. Have you ever listened to Katy Perry’s ‘Firework’? More importantly, have you ever felt like a plastic bag drifting through the wind? I know I haven’t. It’s a cliché, but it’s not a relatable cliché. But then you have songs like The Strokes ‘Last Nite’ or The Naked and Famous’ ‘Young Blood’. They all hit on specific emotions/scenarios that some of us may or may not have experienced, but through the expertise of their songwriting and music we can all relate to them. Listening to ‘Young Blood’ is like swimming in a pool of nostalgia, although the song is relatively new: ‘the bittersweet between my teeth/trying to find the in-betweens’ – will mean something different to every person, but in the end still evokes a clinging longing for youth. That’s good song writing. ‘Late Nite’ is a complex song, although not in the same vein as Oasis’ ‘Look Back in Anger’ or Suede’s ‘Beautiful Ones’ (both relying on fragmented poetry to convey their messages). It might be about the disaffected youth culture dealing with depression, their inability to connect with others on a basic human level. But then again, it might be Julian Casablancas writing poetic verse. The man himself has confessed his love for Rumi, the 13^th Century Persian poet, exclaiming in an interview with American Songwriter: ”That stuff is bonkers out of this world cool. And out there crazy and yeah, that’s always the dream; that the lyrics can still work like that. Cause I think he was a musician, you know? So it can feel like those poems he sang, that’s like ideal.”

Broken relationships – love – are such troublesome themes in music and lyrics. Recently, they’ve been undergoing drastic retardations, years and memories wiped out by a single red heart icon on facebook. Everyone gets the same torn heart when they break up – everyone is going through a mass produced, generic trauma. But think of Donna Summer singing ‘MacArthur Park’.

Someone left the cake out in the rain
I don’t think that I can take it
’cause it took so long to bake it
And I’ll never have that recipe again…

The lyrics are, clearly, a metaphor for a failed relationship. They are undoubtedly strange (earlier on in the song love is compared to a pair of striped pants). But that’s the point – each relationship is unique, individual, just like a song, and the song lyrics should reflect that. Just like how Joni Mitchell looks at clouds, or how Mumford and Sons urges a cannibalistic girl to come out of her cave walking on her hands. Or Ben E. King hypothesising how he’ll be alright if you just stand by him when the mountain crumbles to the sea, literally (another great Leiber song). They all make weird, logical sense. Much more than the ditties produced by all the Nicole Scherzingers and Katy Perrys out there.

Ysabelle Cheung

Litro’s experience at the Wilderness Festival:

Into the Wild

“Put your hand up if you’re ready to play Frisbee Tree Golf!” Mr. Moore of the Idler Academy is rubbing his hands nervously in anticipation of a great game. He’s clutching several colourful rings and holding a cardboard sign that says ‘FRISBEE TREE GOLF: NEXT SESSIONS STARTS…NOW!’

Inexplicably, I have my hand up, as do eight other dazed Wilderness festival goers, all probably sharing my sentiment of what on earth is going on. Ten seconds later, we’re all running down a hill towards a huge, leafy forest and being lectured on the merits of throwing a Frisbee the correct way. To the right of us is the Relaxation pen, where lithe youngsters are engaging in some sort of jumping/stretching/forwards rolling activity. To the left are peaked tents where anything at all could be going on: film screenings, nature talks, intelligence debates or Indian men practising interpretative dance.

That’s the Wilderness festival for you: unpredictable, wonderfully strange and a little bit confusing. Set in the unspoilt acres of Cornbury Park, just a few miles out of Oxford, the festival had one main outdoor stage, a section full of tents and a relaxation zone. Everything else was unmarked. The key to tackling the festival was to talk to as many people as possible, thus initiating a word of mouth chain that helped us get to essential events. Nary a festival volunteer was seen on the site itself, save for a few parking attendants. Most of our time there was spent wandering around, drifting from tent to tent, from this patch of grass to that patch of grass. There was always the vague worry that we were missing something important.

The highlights of the festival were the talks inside the tents. The Idler Academy – a coffeehouse/bookshops/impromptu lecture theatre in Westbourne Grove, London – had camped out in the Wilderness festival for the weekend. A particularly interesting talk by Gregory Sams drew in a large crowd. Sams talked about his latest non-fiction novel, Sun God, and explained some of his theories behind the great star that feeds our planet. You take air and water, what do you get? Fizzy water, he told us. Now add light to that equation, pure sunlight – the magic of photosynthesis happens. Sams had a knack for drawing attention to things we take for granted.

“Light!” he enthused in his bright L.A. drawl. “It’s fascinating! The sun is a living being! When the sun comes out, how do you feel? Enriched? Enlightened? That’s because the sun is feeding you energy, it’s connecting you with the air, with the earth, with the trees. You’re becoming one with nature, you can feel things all around you.”

Everyone clapped and cheered, if not in complete agreement with his rather sweeping statement at the end, then definitely in appreciation of his enthusiasm.

The opposite tent housed the Intelligence² forum, an arena where great minds came to debate, lecture and occasionally berate the audience. There was a heated debate on the topic ‘New technology is creating more serious problems than it is solving’. Much of the anger from the crowd was directed at journalist and editor of Spiked Online, Brendan O’Neill, who made the unfortunate mistake of stating that Africa doesn’t need solar power, that it simply needs good old fashioned old technology. Cue audience rage. Chair Jack Klaff attempted to diffuse the situation, but a sparked debate it was, with intellectual neurons firing from both the floor and the panel, which consisted of O’Neill, Harry Eyres (FT slow lane columnist), Roger Highfield (editor of New Scientist) and Rory Sutherland (Vice chairman of the Ogilvy group). It ran overtime. The funny thing was, the debate wasn’t even scheduled for that time, and was only slotted in at last minute due to Toots and the Maytals pulling out. It makes one wonder how many other things were going on at the festival that would remain relatively unknown if not for people accidentally stumbling upon them (this happened a few more times with several bands and singers, none of whom were introduced).

Toots, however, did manage to make it to the main stage later, playing a thrumming, lively set. It was clear how they managed to stay so successful for the past forty odd years: the audience bounced along to old hits such as ’54-46 was my number’ and ‘Pressure drop’. The sun went down just as the last notes struck, at which point night came, revealing a huge full moon. This only added to the atmosphere of the festival, which could be described as a cross between someone’s backyard party gone haywire mad, and a nymph forest, veritable Daphnes stumbling around drenched in glitter, feathers and fancy dress courtesy of the Wilderness dress up tent. Rumours were going around that there was a naked parade being organised at midnight somewhere in the forest. ‘See you at the Masked Ball later!’ a girl waved to us as she handed over two feathered masks.

Our next pit stop was at the aptly named Relaxation zone, fitted with outdoor hot tubs, a sauna and a chill tent. In the moonlight, men and women stripped down to their birthday suits and dived into the sub-zero temp waters of the lake. ‘WOW!’ one naked gentlemen screamed. ‘It REALLY wakes you up!’ I’ll bet. I took the safe option and stayed in the chill out tent whilst everyone else rejuvenated themselves in the icy water. It was warm. There were furs. It was comfortable enough, in fact, for several people to remain naked long after their emergence from the lake.

Hypnotic Brass Ensemble

Then onwards: to the Masked Ball! Brooklyn based jazz band ‘Hypnotic Brass Ensemble’ were playing, fresh from their Ireland tour. HBE consists of eight brothers, each bringing their own jazz roots and hip hop influences to the band. The tent itself though, was a little too small, cramped and oddly decked out with flashing coloured squares reminiscent of a 70s disco ballroom. I asked someone where the Last Tuesday Society was and when – I had heard that was to be the highlight of the festival, organised by the same people who brought us the Secret Garden Party. ‘This is it!’ was the answer. Oh?

We passed by one last weird thing on the way out:  an array of random sized domes lighting up at timed intervals. There was no sign for this exhibit, no representative on hand to explain what it was and what purpose it served. They just kept lighting up. A little ironic, considering the majority of the talks that day were centred on eco-friendly systems and conserving energy. All in all, it was most definitely an interesting experience. Would I go again? I’m not sure. But then again, I did miss out on the highlights – Friday’s Secret Garden Party, and of course, the exquisite daily banquets cooked up by Michelin star chefs.

This Wilderness promotional video below pretty much sums up the festival:

Ysabelle Cheung

Stoke Newington hosted its second literary festival on Friday 3^rd to Sunday 4^th of June, a programme of events which has the long term goal of raising awareness and funds for literacy initiatives in the Borough of Hackney. Having missed the opening day, I was eager to pack my Saturday full of events, which proved an achievable task, since there were over twenty events taking place that day alone in the town’s wealth of public spaces and pubs, the majority of which, rather conveniently, were situated on the same road. The festival boasted a diverse and interdisciplinary programme which celebrates the literary and cultural heritage of Stoke Newington: the area was home to treasured writers Daniel Defore and Edgar Allen Poe, the former commemorated by a bust unveiled over the weekend, as well as a reading of his work in the nearby massive, almost labyrinthine graveyard.  

At the first event I attend, Stewart Lee, a resident of the area, plays host to a discussion with one of his favourite writers, Dan Rhodes, in what turns out to be a sell out, packed and uncomfortably humid mid afternoon event. Rhodes is quick to explain that, despite the presence of an alternative comedian, this is not a comedy event, and Lee will not be ‘telling any of his trademark jokes or saying any of his catchphrases’ (a dry remark which those aware of Lee’s self-aware, meandering and anti-punch line approach to comedy appreciated). However, the singularly odd humour which has gained Rhodes’ writings a cult reverence is certainly on display when he reads his stories (short glimpses into the lives of people whose strange compulsions, perhaps to avoid loneliness or to just be acknowledged, lead them to increasingly absurd lengths).

Lee states that Rhodes first won his attention because he seemed to understand the difference between a reading and a performance, a skill the writer believes he owes to his otherwise unused training as a secondary English teacher; ‘no book audience is going to be as bad as 9F’, he comments. However, he has often seemed indifferent to, or even keen to be hostile towards, critical acclaim. When his 2003 novel ‘Timoleon Come Home’ was included on Granta’s ‘Best Young Novelists’ list, he reacted with disdain, citing that the award meant the book’s release date was pushed further back. The ‘very bleak’ book is about a retired, disgraced television theme composer, Cockcroft, and his absent dog (the eponymous Timoelon Vieta).

Lee states dryly that, whilst most novelists would attempt to capitalise on the momentum of their novel winning an award, Rhodes instead chose to write a self-aware parody of commercial chick-it under a false name. Rhodes himself describes as ‘Little White Car’, released under the pseudonym Danuta de Rhodes , as ‘a romantic comedy about the death of Princess Diana’. However, Rhodes has managed to curb his tendency towards sabotage, and last year’s novel ‘Little Hands Clapping’ won the E.M. Foster award. Readers will also be pleased to hear he plans to revisit his chick-lit creation with another book, although his publisher has insisted it will be emblazoned with his own name this time.  Although I suspect many were drawn to the event by Lee’s name, I’m sure Rhode’s truly funny and engaging readings wouldn’t have left any attendees disappointed.

Saturday evening brings ‘Stoke Newington-on-Sea’, an exploration of Britain’s love affair with the seaside hosted by Travis Elborough. Elborough, who claims to have salt water in the blood owing to his childhood in Worthing, kicks things off with an exert from last year’s ‘Wish You Were Here’, a thorough insight into how the seaside has left shaped the British character in a much more significant way than just the indentations of pebbles on skin. His tale of some 1000 Mods descending on Clacton for a weekend of greasy breakfasts, the beach bed for a bed and launching deck chairs at Rockers is followed by a similarly brilliant set of songs by Darren Hayman. Hayman, a multi-instrumentalist who fronted 90s Indie darlings Hefner (becoming a prolific solo artist since) explains to the audience that his ‘pathological fear of writers’ block’, he often sets himself song writing challenges. Tonight he showcases a selection of results from his mission to write a series of E.P.s set at different classic British holiday locales. The collection illustrates Hayman’s endearing ability to capture characters that ring incredibly true, in such few lyrics. Most effective is ‘Out of Season’, which details a couple’s last-ditch attempt to make their marriage work, set against an unseasonal trip to a Minehead in the hope ‘there’s still some sun, though it’s autumn’. I really can’t recommend Hayman’s music enough.  

 Matt Thorne’s reading from his 1988 Weston Super Mayer-set novel ‘Tourist’ proves a poignant story of adolescence and the fading lustre of former glory, while Karen McLeod ‘s exert from ‘Search For the Missing Eyelash’ offers a unique and witty twist on the detective novel. Ian Marchant’s lampooning of the bohemian bourgeoisie types found in Stoke Newington rounds off the evening in style.

Sunday’s programme has a distinct musical theme, beginning with the endlessly enthusiastic John Osborne, and his touching show on the part radio has played in his life and those of others. When, in 2002, John Peel on his Radio 1 show asked listeners to write in with reasons they liked his show, Osborne answered with ‘records you want to hear played by a man who wants you to hear them’, the student won a box of records formerly stored in Peel’s shed. The crate contained a wealth of vinyl treasure, and the writer and poet treats us to a selection of the songs: oddities and obscure tunes alike. When Osborne found himself an unfulfilled graduate working a tedious temp job, he discovered creative satisfaction by hosting a radio show on Norwich’s community station in which he played the seminal DJ’s records. Osborne further developed his relationship with radio when he challenged himself to listen to a different station each day, again as an antidote to his days spent in an office, which was eventually documented in 2009’s ‘Radio Head’.  Although at first dismissive of commercial stations, he soon found that radio, regardless of station, provides invaluable companionship to countless people, every day. Osborne will be taking the show to Edinburgh, and I’d recommend it to anyone.

Continuing Sunday’s celebration of pop music was Juke Box Fury. The festival organiser who introduces the event states that usually, if your local librarian asks if he can host a discussion with some of his friends, you’d be quite sceptical. Stoke Newington’s librarian, however, happens to be none other than Richard Boon, former manager of seminal punk band Buzzcocks and founder of New Hormones Records. Boon is joined by esteemed music critics Charles Shaar Murray, Simon Reynolds, Paul Morley and Lucy O’Brien, who each discuss that track which first inspired them to write about music. Through exploring records by the Who, Sex Pistols, Buzzcocks and the B-52s, the panel stress that it was the ideas, love of language and inventiveness of these bands, rather than technical proficiency, which made them so urgent and essential. Similarly, the consensus was reached that great music journalism will discuss the ideas behind the songs rather than solely describing the music: as Iggy Pop put it best, ‘the best writing about music makes you want to hear it’.

Other enjoyable events across the weekend included children’s author and illustrator Oliver Jeffers’ discussion of his work, and his live-drawing showcase of his book ‘The Incredible Book Eating Boy’.  The poetry readings from emerging writers dotted throughout the festival are also provide highlights. Particularly impressive was Jack Underwood, whose engaging readings display a fresh urgency. Also noteworthy is Wayne Holloway-Smith, who read as part of poetry anthology publishers Donut Press’ showcase, and whose work is vivid and brimming with ideas.

Overall, my impression of Stoke Newington’s second literary festival is a very positive one. There was an incredible amount of events (around sixty across three days), but the close proximity of the fifteen venues means it’s easy to move between shows. I look forward to seeing what they come up with for next year’s celebration of the area’s prestigious cultural past.

 Rob Fred Parker

We are pleased to announce the line up for our next Litro Live! event, at the Camden Crawl on the May Bank Holiday weekend. For full details, please take a look our dedicated Litro Live! page here, where you can also buy tickets in advance. Here’s a taster of what we have in store…keep an eye out though, as we will be announcing more performers later on!

Host: Dean Atta

Dean Atta

Our event host we be poet Dean Atta. S winner of the Spirit of London Award for ‘Achievement through the Arts’, he has been commissioned to write poems for the Damilola Taylor Trust, Dr Maya Angelou and the  Keats House, among others, and his work has been featured on both radio and television.

Words:

Words will come courtesy of Colin Grant and David Szalay, with further guests to be confirmed soon!

Live Music:

Turbogeist

We’ll have our usual eclectic mix of genre artists for this event – Turbogeist are inspired by both 80’s alternative music and 70’s rock and draw influence from bands as diverse as as The Replacements, Pantera, and Prince.

Aisha Ludmilla Pin is a soulful singer who writes, performs and produces all of her own music (click on the attached links to see and hear more from these artists).

Aisha Ludmilla Pin

DJs:

On rotation, we will have IDC (whose last album was called a “revolutionary rave”) and Huge club promotor and DJ Sexface Sally.

We will have more details about the line up coming soon, so do watch this space. In the meantime, you can book your tickets online via our Litro Live! page – just scroll down to the cart section at the bottom. Alternatively, you can also book at www.thecamdencrawl.com.

 You can buy tickets right now direct from litro.co.uk by using our checkout cart at the bottom of the page. You can also buy tickets via the Camden Crawl official website at www.thecamdencrawl.com.

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Litro Live Ticket