Storytime with Nick Cave

I hope you don't mind if I take a break from regular programming to bring you a bit of Nick Cave. I suppose I can make it style-related if I mention how sharp his suits always are and how his appearance in Vicar St. last night was no different. Though sadly shorn of his 70s-porn-star moustache (allegedly at the hand of his wife), he cut a dashing figure, as usual.

The blurry picture above was taken with my camera phone from the very back wall, hence the slight lack of quality. I can't really get down with the people who spend the whole gig taking pictures (especially if they leave the flash on and especially when they're seated 30ft or more from the stage...), but I thought I'd try it out to see for myself during a particularly divine performance of The Ship Song. And now I know... no more taking pictures with my camera phone during gigs for me.

Anyway, if you put your face up close to the screen and squint hard enough, you might make out Nick himself at the piano on the left, the Rasputin-like figure of Warren Ellis (who took to his minimalist drum-kit - one snare and a set of cymbals - with a vengeance on a rousing version of Dig, Lazarus, Dig!) and the unassuming Martin Casey in the middle.

The gig was to promote Nick's recently published novel, The Death of Bunny Munro and was billed as "an evening of reading, music and conversation", so what was with all the rude people filing out en masse each time Nick began to read an extract from the book? The bar wasn't even open during the performance, so no excuses there. Even if they had no interest in the book and were only there for the music (or the slightly dull "conversation", enlivened only by Nick's response to the girl who questioned whether he endorsed the main character's misogyny: "I'm f*cking insulted you have to ask that! Have you read the book? No?"), it still wouldn't have killed them to sit through the reading and not disturb everyone else who was interested.

Audience issues apart, great show

Summer is ready when you are

I still can't really get my head around the concept of daylight savings, but nevermind - it's now officially summertime! To celebrate, here are The Breeders doing "Saints". Just what you need on a Monday morning. They're also playing in Vicar Street on May 18th. I saw them there last year and despite the Monday night scheduling, it was a fantastic gig. Well worth €28.

When I Grow Up by Juliana Hatfield

When I saw this on the shelf in the bookshop I stopped and actually laughed in surprise. "A memoir" by Juliana Hatfield sounded surprisingly grand. Juliana was one of my reference points on the American indie rock landscape as a teenager. I have a clear snapshot in my head of buying her Become What You Are album (on cassette tape - I still have it) on a sunny summer day in 1993. I played it to death that summer and afterwards. Emerging from the same US east coast scene that gave the world the Pixies, Throwing Muses, the Breeders, Belly and the Lemonheads, Juliana's catchy hooks and sunny melodies pulled me in, and I could immediately identify with the themes of self-doubt and uncertainty in her songs.

I bought the book, partly out of curiosity and partly for nostalgic reasons. And I read it in a week (I know the standard with an un-put-down-able book is in an afternoon, but my reading tends to happen in 15 minute bouts before I fall asleep at night, so that's my equivalent). Her writing style flows easily and I found myself reading "just one more chapter" when I should have been turning the light off and going to sleep. The book hops between a somewhat unhappy 2004 tour with Some Girls and random events from her past, spanning her career from the early days with Blake Babies to her more recent solo efforts. Moving from the highs of signing a deal with a major record label to the extreme lows of depression and the resulting tour cancellation, she is realistic about the hard side of not always being successful in the music business without ever being self-pitying. And despite making no effort to hide the fact that she is a pain to be around much of the time on the tour, I found her honesty and lack of pretension refreshing.

In her personal references, I discovered we have also have many likes in common - she mentions Petit Bateau (she wears a tank top from them on stage and regrets showing so much flesh), X-Girl (she wears a mini-skirt with the aforementioned top, which adds to her discomfort - oh and yes, that's where the name comes from) and the original L'Occitane Vanilla fragrance (which she sprays around a particularly dank motel room, in an attempt to mask the less than fresh odour) - all loves of mine.

If you are a fan of Juliana Hatfield, When I Grow Up is definitely worth a read. And even if you aren't, try browsing inside the book at Amazon - you might find it interesting anyway.