Mercury Nominations Come and Go Yawn!

Am I the only one not to have noticed the Mercury nominations recently. They came and went with a kind of damp squib effect that, for me at least, sounds the death knell of the ailing music awards and the final hiccup of the old music order. It seems the public in general and the music buying public in particular couldn't care less about the waning music industry's masturbatory propensities. The annual strokefest has become so soporific, self-congratulatory and dull that the only people remotely interested in these festivals of ennui are the industry faces and the over-excitable radio execs with the arrested development who're terrified of missing the 'next big thing'. The rest of us couldn't care less and the whole affair seems to matter only to a very limited audience and the 'next big thing' has already reached a worldwide public through a YouTube stunt video that's captured the imagination of the goldfish generation, the one with the 'short little span of attention' as Mr Simon put it so succinctly all those years ago. Perhaps 2010 will be the year that Big Brother, the Brits, the Mercurys et al. all disappear up their own fundamental orifices leaving just the faint whiff of their former glory behind. Fingers crossed.

The Benefits of a Mercedes Benz

I'm just now, one week on, descending from the euphoric cloud to which I was elevated last Saturday after watching Leonard Cohen and a bunch of musical virtuosi entertain a packed venue at Mercedes Benz World at Brooklands in Surrey. I was the brief owner of a MB, not I hasten to add in my inverse snobbery, one of their oh-so competent cars, but a van-like vehicle more mobile PortaCabin than sex-on-a-stick like their saloon or sports car output. Because of this minor aberration I was offered the opportunity of an early crack at the tickets for this concert and jumped at the chance to see one of the sounds of my early years made manifest.

Now, my introduction to Mr Cohen was from the early CBS samplers, possibly The Rock Machine Turns You On, and consisted of either Suzanne Takes You Down or Bird On A Wire I forget which. I'm at that sort of age. It was, I thought then, music to slit your wrists to. Dirge like, undoubtedly poetic but not my main musical staple diet. Many years later I clocked First We Take Manhattan and Dance Me To The End of Love and woke up to the fact that I had missed out on years of a major musical talent. So when MB made this offer I jumped at it. After all he's not getting any younger and neither am I. There might not be another chance.

So I, my better half and two friends braved the light drizzle and headed for the outdoors and what a night it was. To say we were blown away by his enthusiasm, joie de vivre, charisma and pure unadulterated talent is an understatement. A week later I'm still stoked by the experience and I would recommend it unhesitatingly to anyone even a non-Cohen addict. Apart from Cohen himself, his musicians were brilliant in their own right and the performance was a tight-knit one with some spectacular soloing. Watching this 74-year old skipping on and off stage between encores and the obvious joy and pleasure he showed in the music was one of the most exhilarating experiences I ever had at a gig. Although he was the centre of the show, he was more of a pivot round which his band revolved and he introduced them twice during the performance much to the audience's approval. By the end of the evening the light drizzle had developed to a steady downpour but it couldn't have mattered less and the whole crowd went away more than satisfied, me included.

Opening the show was Susan Vega who was good but seemed two-dimensional compared to the richness of the words and music that followed.

Two Tons, Five Days - How Long?

Whilst on the aforementioned Irish sojourn, we happened, one glorious evening, to fetch up on the small harbour near Dunfnaghy, Co Donegal to spend a picturesque night and morning on the harbour wall. Whilst there, a large articulated vehicle hove into view and much frantic activity ensued in and on the harbour while the local fishermen loaded crab onto said artic. In conversation with one of the locals it appeared that the lorry was bound, with its two-ton load of crabs, for France and was expected to arrive there in a couple of days loaded with Irish crab for the French market. It was also revealed that the two tons being loaded that night was the result of five days fishing and that the same scenario would be repeated in another five days. At this point I wondered for how long this can continue before the seas are stripped of crabs and anything else that can be consumed by an eager population. You can't blame the local fishermen. It's hard enough to find a way to make a living in this part of the northwestern British Isles and, by all accounts, the boat owners are only just breaking even at this level of catch. But you just have to wonder for how much longer the seas can sustain the ever-burgeoning world population's appetite for anything that moves.