'A man writes because he is tormented, because he doubts.'

I watched Andrei Tarkovsky's 'Stalker' for the first time this evening and allowed myself to soak up the succession of beautiful images and not be too concerned just yet about meaning. Tarkovsky erects signposts towards possible meanings but allows the viewer to make his or her own way there or, indeed, to wander off the intended path - it doesn't seem to matter. The 'science versus art' debate emerges from dialogue between the characters 'Professor' and 'Writer', but the film's central thesis is more concerned with the search for meaning and hope in this perplexing life of ours, and the extent to which our philosophical and moral view of the world affects - or more importantly perhaps, motivates - that search. Understanding every nuance and visual reference of this film is not easy on a single viewing, but is it that important given its sublime visual and poetic beauty? I think not....

Bi Kidude

If I look like this when I'm 100 I'll be well pleased.

Lau, Colston Hall, 4 December

A fine concert last night from the fab threesome, on a night which featured the Bootleg Beatles in another part of the Colston Hall complex. The first half of the gig mainly featured tunes from 'Arc Light' but ended with some reassuringly familiar favourites from 'Lightweights and Gentlemen.' I love the epic quality Lau bring to their material - beautifully-sustained crescendos and rip-roaring climaxes are interspersed with quiet introspective interludes - positively Brucknerian in concept but extremely danceable in execution! The audience responded intuitively to their playing by dancing, whooping and hollering - we could almost have been in Shetland!

Lau are unique - they are sophisticated but also have a 'common touch' which never allows the music to become overly cerebral. Between numbers they are bloody funny as well. Only a certain band from Liverpool, celebrated elsewhere in the building last night, come close to ticking all those boxes!

A word from our sponsors....

School of Saatchi, BBC2, 23 November

The curse of reality TV has finally visited the world of contemporary art. A panel consisting of critic Matthew Collings, artist Tracey Emin, collector Frank Cohen and curator Kate Bush (sadly not THE Kate Bush) deliberated over the talents or otherwise of several young art graduates before leaving the mysterious Mr Saatchi to choose just six to go forward to the next round. Saatchi, being the recluse that he is, was represented on Earth (or in this case TV) by his rather stilted spokeswoman probably called Rebecca or Deborah or something.

TV has chosen best chef, singer, rock band, choir, dancer and even mechanic in recent years, so best onanist must surely be coming soon (no pun intended). Although I hate such formats, I found this programme almost watchable. The quality of the artworks was predictably uneven, but there were enough good ideas to make future episodes probably worth seeing.

Staff Benda Bilili, Fiddlers, 18 November

The music of SSB struck me as having elements of soukous without the lilting guitar interplay you normally associate with that form - the piercing note of the Satong was dominant - oh how I wish it had been a chiming guitar though! They really were at their best in their extended funky workouts which brought real edge to the music. I like a bit of rough and this was certainly a visceral sonic experience which, together with their unusual appearance, made this a memorable evening. Great stuff.

Anish Kapoor: Shooting into the Corner

Ten Favourite Symphonies

Vaughan Williams 5 My fave symphony is a miraculous journey from anguish to radiant redemption. It's in me veins, mate.

Elgar 2 It really is a toss-up between Elgar 1 and 2, but this symphony just has the edge. Stoic and heartbreaking.

Sibelius 7 Because of its short, one-movement structure, this symphony sustains an unbelieveable tension and, by the end, the emotional impact is equal to symphonies three times as long. Essential.

Peter Maxwell Davies 5 The spirit of Sibelius presides over this towering work. Listening to this is like standing on a storm-lashed headland. Bracing. Wear yer oilskins.

Vaughan Williams 3 Those early critics who thought this was about cows peering over farm gates were tossers. This is one of the greatest of war symphonies - desolate, poignant, strange, intense and unbelievably moving.

Ives 2 The famous Mahlerian adagio is monumental, but the rest of the symphony ain't bad either - classic Americana.

Moeran Symphony in G minor Take an ounce of English pastoral melancholy, season with a pinch of celtic twilight and mix with Sibelian austerity. Often called the greatest British symphony with some justification.

Beethoven 3 I've heard performances that make this sound like Haydn, others that make it sound like Mahler. Do what you like with the bloody thing and it still sounds great.

Bruckner 4 Worth it for the first five minutes alone - the greatest opening of any symphony ever. In the world.

Lutoslawski 4 Beautiful orchestral colour, dramatic and mysterious. A bridge between romanticism and atonality. Presses all the buttons.

J'adore Bassekou

Didn't bother reviewing his recent gig on here cos it was too good.

Horizon on Black Holes, BBC2, 3rd November

I get pretty pessimistic about the coverage of science on the media in general and the BBC in particular, so it was with some relief that I can report that this week's 'Horizon' was an altogether more challenging watch than is the norm for the flagship science show.

The highly contentious area of theoretical physics was explored in some depth, particularly the point at which Einstein's theory diverges from current thinking about the nature of gravity. The role of Black Holes in determining the size of galaxies was also considered. The programme went on to ask if a unified theory of everything might be just around the corner.

The second biggest question humankind can ask after 'what is the point of Davina McCall' must surely be 'how did the universe begin?' Horizon failed to answer this inquiry, of course, but kept us up to date with the latest efforts to resolve the conundrum. No doubt 'Horizon' will return to business as usual next week; the insidious blend of reality TV and populist 'human interest' stories once again holding sway. In comparison, programmes like Tuesday's offering seem all the more precious.

Cat-watching

Cats are always uneasy in windy weather. Both my own and next door's felines look nervous and unsettled by the gusts today. It's easy to imagine why - all mammals, especially highly territorial ones like cats, depend so much on their sense of smell to keep them alive. Not only does their sense of smell help find prey and alert them to danger from potential predators, it also establishes their place in the world, delineating its borders and telling them when that world has been breached by competitors. To have the natural scents carrying all that information dispersed by gusts of wind must leave them as disorientated as we would feel if we were rendered temporarily blind in our own homes!

African Jazz Allstars, St Georges, 22 October

I never majored in Jazz in the University of Music, but this was a real uplifting night of funky, tuneful numbers performed with panache. There was a bright brassy swagger underpinned by a tight rhythm section, and the solos (especially by trumpeter Claude Deppa) were excellent. Despite boasting members from many African countries and claiming musical influences as diverse as soukous and highlife, the sound seemed rooted very much in the South African tradition pioneered by the likes of Hugh Masekela. A most enjoyable, if not overly exciting, evening.

Lynchian Moments

I've always been ambivalent about David Lynch as a film-maker, but now, when I guess his creative energy has more or less ebbed completely away (or is he still making interesting films? You tell me) perhaps it's time to look back on his career and celebrate his achievement. I feel bludgeoned into submission after years of denying his magic - he did make some great films. Erasorhead, Blue Velvet, Mulholland Dr. are all favourites, and The Straight Story is wondrous.

And, like Hitchcock, in retrospect it's not just the creepiness, the examination of life's dark underbelly and the murderous that emerge most strongly from Lynch's oeuvre, it's the beauty, the glamour and the emotional power as well. Let's hear it for David Lynch.

Rango, St Georges, Bristol, 18th October

Call me a snob, but why do the best concerts in Bristol attract the least number of punters? A pitifully small audience turned out for an evening of what the publicity called 'Sudanese voodoo trance music'. Rango are now based in Egypt, playing traditional instruments ranging from crystal-toned lyres and tanburas to percussive Sudanese balafons. Add a plethora of other percussion instruments plus spirited vocals and you have a recipe for joyous music-making.

The evening started with a couple of numbers featuring lyre and percussion - the result was the sort of impenetrable polyrhythm I associate with late nights in the Siam tent at Womad. The rest of the evening was a headlong dash towards darbuka/bass drum-led tunes as the band expanded to involve other instrumentalists and singers. The driving percussion got us out of our seats and the spectacular costumes and dancing lent a visual excitement that equalled the music.

I was reminded of El Tanbura at times, but Rango were more exciting, energetic and edgy. A very fine band.

Seckou Keita Quintet, St Georges, 4th October

I think it might have been Jean-Paul Sartre who once reflected that 3 o'clock in the afternoon is always either too early or too late for doing anything. He was obviously not a football fan or, indeed, a follower of that fine international band of musicians, the Seckou Keita Quintet, who played a three-quarters full St Georges Hall this afternoon. What a great gig! Despite my ongoing slight problem with Samy Bishai's fiddle-playing (although it seems to work OK on CD, I never quite warm to it 'live'), the band were superb. Seckou is such a fine Kora player, and a beautifully dreamy solo in the second half of the concert was a highlight, but I also loved Binta Suso's searing, if a little uncontrolled, vocals. Some great drumming from Surahata Susso helped drive things along, but another revelation was the bass-playing of Davide Mantovani - lyrical when it needed to be and punchy at all other times.

The music was always interestingly layered, varied in tempo, fascinatingly syncopated. The audience were on their feet by the second half, with a couple of energetic male dancers on stage galvanising the crowd. The only thing I missed was Seckou's tama-playing, a highlight when I saw him a few years ago. Never mind, this was a great afternoon's entertainment - even better than the footy!

Natacha Atlas, St Georges. 25th September

A rather disappointing evening at St Georges - I really wanted to like Natacha Atlas, but the 'F' word came between me and the music far too often - I just cannot get my head around fusion any more. Her musicians were highly competent and she was in good voice, but the whole thing was strangely static both musically and visually - everyone but the bassist sat down, immobile. Middle-Eastern exoticism pervaded the evening but it all seemed skin-deep - the highlight of the gig was a very fine darbuka solo near the end when at last some spontaneity was evident, but sadly this did not last and we were back to peculiarly emotionless piano-playing by the musical director Harvey Brough and his less than dynamic band of musicians.

Band member Clara Sanabras opened the show with a solo spot which was pleasant enough. One of her songs actually mentioned town planning - a subject all too often neglected by world music artists.

Ros Sereysothea

I'm just loving Cambodian pop of the 60s and 70s at the mo. This is pretty damn wonderful.

'The object of my dreams does not yet exist'

Joni Mitchell sang ‘it’s just in dreams we fly’ and even in my rigorously Darwinian view of life as a mammal, I’m inclined to agree that we all aspire to the condition of birds. Philippe Petit personified such dreams – his ultimate aim was to walk across the sky between the twin towers of the World Trade Centre in New York. Petit had been obsessed by the high-wire all his life but the WTC had been the object of his dreams even before it existed in the real world.

Man on Wire (shown on BBC2 on Sunday) followed those audacious plans to reach the summit of one of the twin towers, sling a wire between the structures and walk on air. It was a gripping film, like a heist movie but this was trespass with the best of intentions – to beat death, to fly, to create a beautiful thing. The actual stunt was never filmed, but the still photography was unbearably moving. Petit was a wind’s breath from death, but he soared, feeling the air on his skin while onlookers far below saw him lie down on the wire, pinned against the sky like a crucifix.

The endeavour signalled the end of a beautiful relationship with his long-term partner and a ‘new beginning’ for both of them. This film was funny, exciting and profoundly elegiac – the twin towers seemed like beautiful but tormented apparitions in a post 9/11 world.

Quite simply, this is the most beautiful documentary ever made.

Carol Ann Duffy: Last Post

Carol Ann Duffy's tribute to the dead of the Great War seems as much about the craft of poetry as the senseless bloodshed of battle. I find her melancholy acceptance of poetry's limited power to change the world incredibly moving.

LAST POST

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If poetry could tell it backwards, true, begin
that moment shrapnel scythed you to the stinking mud…
but you get up, amazed, watch bled bad blood
run upwards from the slime into its wounds;
see lines and lines of British boys rewind
back to their trenches, kiss the photographs from home-
mothers, sweethearts, sisters, younger brothers
not entering the story now
to die and die and die.
Dulce- No- Decorum- No- Pro patria mori.
You walk away.

You walk away; drop your gun (fixed bayonet)
like all your mates do too-
Harry, Tommy, Wilfred, Edward, Bert-
and light a cigarette.
There's coffee in the square,
warm French bread
and all those thousands dead
are shaking dried mud from their hair
and queuing up for home. Freshly alive,
a lad plays Tipperary to the crowd, released
from History; the glistening, healthy horses fit for heroes, kings.

You lean against a wall,
your several million lives still possible
and crammed with love, work, children, talent, English beer, good food.
You see the poet tuck away his pocket-book and smile.
If poetry could truly tell it backwards,
then it would.

Getting On

I've watched a couple of episodes of this comedy drama on BBC4 now. It stars Jo Brand, Joanna Scanlan and Vicki Pepperdine and is set in a busy (or to be more accurate, chaotic) geriatric ward in an NHS hospital. The humour is dark and the performances excellent. This is gritty, poignant and very funny stuff. I've heard that the series has been 'pulled' for some reason - that would be another mistake by the BBC then.

No Womad No Cry

Due to a horrible combination of cat politics and meteorology I have had to miss my fave weekend of the year for the first time in five years. If getting muddy, wet and smelly for 3 or 4 days is character-building then so is staying home when you really want to be there. Luckily my other interests have kept me occupied, but I have learned my lesson for next year - it's the dreaded cattery for Tom!

Malick Pathe Sow

Appearing at Womad this weekend - unmissable I'd say.

Richard Long at Tate Britain Sunday 19th July

Finally got to see this exhibition today - a satisfyingly comprehensive survey of Long's work. The slate and other stone installations were worth the entry charge alone. Although I have seen these and similar works many times in various Bristol galleries over the last twenty years or so, they are always very beautiful. They are unmediated by text and lens and I find them the most successful of Long's oeuvre. The wall paintings inspired by the I-Ching are equally impressive and have a monumental, almost Rothko-like intensity.

Long's relationship with landscape and wilderness could be seen as crudely interventionist and therefore essentially suspect but my own feelings towards him are far more charitable - he attempts to communicate both the internal and external landscape by framing his experiences within the taut limitations of measured time and space, resulting in an amalgam of mathematics and mysticism which I find wholly convincing.

Wild Monty

While I continue to be so lazy about posting on this 'ere blog, why not have a gander at my Montpelier wildlife sightings? It may very well change your life.