Time to Getoutofbed

 Time has come dear reader - we are now treedowngotoutofbed.blogspot.com - 

We have bought a motorcycle and we are going to ride it...

Is it ULEZ compliant? Will I be freezing my nose off by October? Will I be able to answer the phone, navigate and listen to the radio on the bike? 

I do know I will not be smoking while riding. More than that, the future is unknown...

The Montague - what will we miss?

Memories of The Montague Arms – as was…

As we await the reopening of the remodelled Montague, everybody seems to be expecting the worst, I have been thinking about what has happened there over the last few years, and who has played there. Here are my questions for you .

1-      What is your best memory of the Monty?

2-      What was the best gig?

3-      Who was the most famous / notable person or act you saw there?

So many major acts must have been through that damn door, that refused to budge without a major shove or pull, the same to the very end. Acts from this part of London like Squeeze, Japan, Carter and Fat White Family must have been there. Apparently comedy acts like Jim Davidson and Mike Lee were regulars. People like Gary Oldman, Ray Winston and Danny Baker doubtless know it. But who was the best act of recent years, since it reopened two or three years ago? Jeez , I cant decide. I gave Trailer Trash Tracies a big write up, but there have been so many others. Sonic Imperfections was a monthly night of experimentalism that occasionally served up music magic from the most avant garde end of the spectrum. There was a percussionist who had been to the Amazon, and had brought bird song pipes back. Playing each one in turn through a loop, and then accompanying it with a drumming storm on his tom toms,  I was transported from the Old Kent Road to the deepest jungle on a dreary weekday night. Wow, you would only come across that kind of magic at the Montague. As for the countless acts who thought we would be entertained if they played their instruments in an unusual way, blowing on a guitar, drumming on a trombone, that kind of thing, I reached the end of my tether with it long ago. But the chap who played a tuba while taking it apart was truly astonishing, in a good way. The band who performed with a photophone – transforming light into sound – were remarkable as well.  The audience varied widely in size from night to night. But nobody came close to drawing a crowd like King Krule – the queue went almost to the lights around the corner, spilling onto the road and literally stopping traffic.  Most recently , Adamski reappeared under a new name with a pink quiff and performing like a cyberage Elvis from Essex. It was home of the different, for this it will be badly missed.

As for best memory, I have to refer to an incident that happened outside one night. There was a group of us chatting shit and smoking when the local geriatric hardnuts on mobility scooters whizzed round the corner from their local haunt up Queens Road. Two of them went on down the road, but one of them was on the pavement, and a bicycle had been locked to the streetlight just beside the entrance. The bike blocked the way. The old fella screeched to a halt, stood up, and stomped towards us, effing and blinding about the cnut who had blocked his way. None of us knew who said offender was, so he went into the pub to find him. While we waited, one of our number tried to move the scooter. Grabbing it by the seat, the chassis remained where it had been parked, but the seat came away in our djs hand. So he was caught red handed when the irate old timer reappeared , steam coming out of his ears. How our Blonde hero survived the night I cant tell you, as we were all giggling to hard to hear. I have spent many nights chatting shit outside the Monty, lets hope there are more.

What are your top three? Either comment or send them in and I will publish them.

Montague Arms to reopen by April - same but different

New Cross News – Montague Arms to reopen at end of March

Two industrious twenty somethings were at work at The Montague when TG cruised by for a chat on Tuesday afternoon. Both sides of the interior are in the process of being gutted, the heart of the old Monty has been torn out. The rest is bound for the skip, and a new, shiny, brighter pub is about to appear. It will be lighter; windows will be cleaned or replaced. The bar area looks like it will be all changed as well, with the partition between function room and bar also removed. It will be a more welcoming and community-based venue, I was told. There will be no more moshing; Rammstein type noise merchants will not be appearing on stage.

I mentioned at this point in the conversation the petition which is appealing to the new owners to keep the venue as it was, with live bands on stage more often than not. There is nothing quite like The Montague in this part of SE London. They knew about the petition but they were not bothered by it. The new owners know what they want. It will be more laid back and all inclusive. The vibe will be funk, soul and jazz. It will not be punk / metal noise merchants. They mentioned a Chilean family had moved in nearby. I don’t know what the problem was; maybe the music and crowd antics had given the kids nightmares? But they didn’t want any more of it. The fellas implied there would still be live music, but of a very different style. So the old Montague is no more. Long live the new one ? We will see.

Dixieland Jazz is the main theme of a new show at Two Temple Place, one of my favourite haunts. There is a small collection of clothes and shoes, drums, 78s by Louis Armstrong and others, programmes and music sheets of all the first jazz music to hit these shores in the 20s and 30s. The explanatory texts are well done and informative, although the reason jazz bands were banned in the 30s was unexplained. The best bit is the art in the upstairs room, with two excellent Edward Burras the highlight. The films with early efforts at ambient and mood animations proved popular. On Wednesdays you can go after work as its open till 9pm, with live music giving the show an extra boost of hip n happenin’ live jazz of the 30’s. 

CBB 2018 + Bladerunner 2049 + Van Eyke

Is Celebrity Big Brother the first must see TV programme of 2018?

Spraying about the channels as you do on Sunday night, I came to rest on CBB 2018. I knew it was on but haven’t looked at it so far. Its so last year, ive done it, beyond most folks I know. Two or three series beyond my peer group, four, five, six, keep going, more than some folks who I know, who deem it the biggest waste of TV time since Eldorado briefly flourished and floundered. Well, on the main channels at least. Needing something light and fluffy to raise the mood in Treedown towers, I stopped there and turned up the sound. Wow, what followed was a fascinating and topical 40 minutes of TV, that reminded me why Big Brother was such a treasure in days goneby. The producers have been smart and picked some extraordinary people who have been chirpsing ( at least since the men arrived), clashing and chatting in a wonderfully interesting reflection of the conversations of the times.

The women are a much more interesting bunch than the page 3 and feminist clash we’ve been served up in the past. The first thing of note was the delightful Cortney Act’s entrance. Courtney, a well turned out drag queen, descended the stairs announcing the bottom half of her dress had fallen off as she posed for the public. As she held her hands out to embrace a fellow housemate, the same thing happened again and we were given the rare sight of what a man does to his privates to ensure as few bulges as possible ruin the silhoute. From afar it actually looked like a vagina with glitter on. Anne Widdacombe looked horrified. After a while the real drama queen emerged from the eight ladies; India Willoughby, an intelligent post-op transsexual. She is a complicated person to be around, no mistake, and takes offence easily. Which makes for constant drama as Anne and some of the men readily say the wrong thing, frequently and without remorse. She has a ‘phobia’ of drag queens, and sat rigid and stone faced as the rest of the crew had great fun when Andrew was made up by Courtney to be the evenings tranny. Which seemed a bit rich. Not everyone crawled and apologised for upsetting the poor thing, plus Andrew was upset by her attitude. Rows ensued. I get a definite feeling that India has been stirring up trouble throughout the female only first week, which I missed. But she was the centre of one of the most fascinating conversations Ive beheld for quite a while.

It was post row relaxing with a fag by the pool time. India announced she much preferred having sex as a woman, rather than as a man. Although she has never had sex as a woman. The first time she realised the possibilities now open to her was while watching Dr Who over Xmas. Apparently it was when a dalek entered the fray that she got a hint, a trembling down below perhaps, that she could be turned on in a way that she had never experienced, pre-op. I don’t believe a dalek was the true cause for a moment, but I do think something innocuous sent waves of pleasure through her new body, she had no knowledge existed inside her. “They should give you a map” she reflected, meaning the hospital that had performed this wondrous transformation. Just what body parts does she now have, one was forced to wonder. Can she have babies? She really is uniquely placed to comment on sex and sexuality, in these turbulent times. She seems to be surrounded by intelligent enough company to bring the discussion to the heights it reached, on a regular basis. Quite how she knows this is the case, without having performed the deed as a woman is a question I hope someone asks in the coming days. I will be watching, no doubt.

A similar theme was my main problem with Ridley Scott’s Bladerunner 2049, sequel to the best sci-fi movie ever made, in my book. He has made it in time to reuse Harrison Ford in the main part of Deckard, now old and lonely, holed up in a no-go zone of Las Vegas. As this is because its a radioactive zone, I don’t know why he is unaffected. But the main problem is not the new generation of replicants, or the design, or future world imagined as full of holograms and plastic (or are they made of latex) people. The problem is the main plot point unfortunately. I hope its not a spoiler to state the story revolves around the search for a baby, apparently born of a Nexus 6 generation replicant. Now please Ridley, come on ! Really ? We are meant to believe a robot could have a baby? No matter how smart. That is just daft. Yes the movie is magnificent to watch; the soundtrack is utterly wondrous. But it makes the movie. All the characters except new protagonist Ryan Gosling as G / joe, new bladerunner, are quite peripheral and one note. The pace is ponderous and plodding with few action sequences, so the sense of wonder and involvement depends largely on imaginative design. Like the original, the story does involve some fascinating themes. Just as the impact of memory on each individual becomes a central idea examined from replicant and humans point of view in Bladerunner, so is childhood spotlighted in Bladerunner 2049. How does it feel for someone to have had no childhood? Or what if you doubt the authenticity of your childhood memories ? What if your memories are not your own, but someone elses? What if they are not even that, but inventions of someone else's imagination? Confused? You would be. And if you dont concentrate, you will be if you havent already seen it. Its good, but not great, and it would fail without the atmosphere delivered by the soundtrack.  I give it 8/10. Shame, it could have been so much more.

Van Eyke and the Pre-Raphaelites

This was an eye-opening show which explained a lot to an ignoramus like me. Why were the group of Victorian painters including Burne-Jones, Rossetti and Millais, called the Pre-Raphaelites? For everyone who has been around the Tate Britain a few times, they are all familiar. In the main room upstairs there are gorgeous paintings by all of them, the flame-haired beauties who descend the stairs and languish in a Roman bath. The picture of Ophelia lying on her back in the pond. The Lady of Shalot, another woman dressed in flowing velvet robes, the redhead leaning back, hands on hips in her boudoir, the pretty garden behind the mirror and windows. All these masterpieces are here, as are many new examples of works from the 1850s to 1870s, depicting the age of chivalry. They all are connected to the centerpiece of the show, Van Eyke’s Arnolfini,the peculiar couple with holding hands in a bizarre fashion, with the mirror reflecting a different couple lurking behind the artists viewpoint. Why did these largely beloved artists love Van Eyke, but distain Raphael, the great 16^th c Renaissance master?  I felt I had found out stuff, lots of stuff, beyond the answer to the question. and I was delighted I had found out so much about technique, stories and use of mirrors and reflections, the theme which is the common thread, running through the eight or so rooms. This is how to curate a show; explain but don’t badger. Dont overload the text with too much info. Keep it manageable in size and detail. This show in the National Gallery's Sainsbury Wing ticks all the boxes. If you can, go, its worth the entrance fee (£10 without gift aid). .

999 and the pain & longing of men

999 –09 Dec 2017- New Cross Inn - The Sadness at the Heart of Saturday Night

The Pain Beyond the Mosh Pit

His face was the picture of a man in pain. He approached me as I stood outside the New Cross Inn on Saturday night, producing clouds from my vape.

“Dude, what can I do? There is a woman in there I fell in love with. It was love at first sight. She was sitting behind you”

“Err …” I was taken aback. I knew who he meant. She was black haired and a beauty. She gave off an air of indifference, her friend was shouting out for her favourite 999 songs, but ‘black hair’ wasn’t bothered.

“I approached her after the gig and introduced myself…” he paused, gasped, swallowed, his face assumed the original demeanour; anguish and self-loathing, everything is rotten in his world right now, and it’s on me to help him. We had met before the concert. He was good looking, had good hair and clearly was not a pauper, although he was not flashy or arrogant. “I had thought she would be interested in me, would see we are made for each other. I would give her anything…but.....”

The calm benevolent countenance vanished in an instant, and again he was battling the crushing defeat he was clearly beyond hiding. “She kind of turned away, she said hi and then she was gone. Apparently I amounted to as much..." he paused, now his whole body convulsed as if fighting some cancer of the soul, "as the proverbial flea. She went off to buy a T shirt, you were standing behind her.”

“Yes, I spoke to her” I was now desperately trying to think of something that would help, lift him from the darkness into which his mind was fast descending. “She was nice, she is English. She came with her friend…” this really was not good enough. The pitiful query, the eyebrows raised, the eyes searching me for a hopeful sign. “She was more interested in the T shirts than me…” I found myself trying self-deprecation as a pick-me-up. “She turned her head away so I was talking to her hair. She looked out of the window, which was steamed up, but more interesting than me, no mistake.

“I couldn’t get much out of her either. We are clearly of zero interest to her” I finished, groping for humour in the pit of despair.

With that he lurched sideways as if hit by an arrow. “What can I do?” he was pleading with me.  OMG, this was fast becoming a conversation way above my pay grade, which is low let me tell you. “Oh Christ I don’t know dude, try again, say something completely weird ?” “What?” he replied. “Tell her she is the greatest beauty in London”. “Right , OK” said he and he plunged back into the pub, emptying now the entertainment was over. What a stupid suggestion, I told myself. But then, what could I say. The raven haired woman was none the wiser. She wasnt to know how much longing had been invested in her by a stranger from across the room. It was as if she had applied the coup de grace by a flick of the finger, the condemned man to be dispatched to a lifetime of regret and emptiness, while she carried on with her Saturday night, blameless in her role, like a driver of a car crusher, not knowing the owner was still sat at the wheel, as the claws of doom squeezed the life out of the wretched, hopeless driver. 

I wandered off, puffing the biggest clouds ever produced in New Cross. Its not everyday a relative stranger approaches you with that kind of enquiry. The pain on his face was imprinted on my mind like a horror show climax; Carrie covered in blood, the revolving head in The Exorcist. What happened to the man? I cant tell you, but I fear the worst, as I think I saw them leaving earlier. What of 999? They were great, happy to share the mic with the bouncing crew at the front, great songs like Homicide and Nasty Nasty sent them bonkers. I loved them in 1977, glorying in the pounding dischord of the singles like Me and My Desire and Emergency.  I spoke to Nick at the T shirt stall. He wrote Homicide after watching shows like Kojak he told me. The BBC banned it. Guy the guitarist was equally friendly. They played to 12,000 people once, he related. Now they are touring again, with a different bass player after Jon Watson’s premature death. Never did I think I would associate them with one man's evident end. Stop the Clocks, in the 40 minutes it took to complete the set list, she was someone's East, West , North and South. Now all directions point downward. I wonder if the band's ever know of the turmoil that goes on, beyond the mosh pit.

November 2017 - New star is found in Millwall backstreets

INtox Extravaganza , Amadou & Mariam, Impressionists in London, Young Marx , Picasso, Death of Stalin

Theres too much to say and too little time to say it, so there will be no lengthy preamble about how few travellers on the Hammersmith & City Line refer to Treedown in their chats with strangers. Even I, Mr TG, failed to find a way to crowbar in a mention while amicably bantering with a football fan, between Baker St and Latimer Road.
"What team do you support, mate ?"
"Spurs"
"What the hell are you doing over here ferchrissakes?"
"We are on our way to Wembley...."
What was I doing there I hear you cry. I went to see a wonderful little production of "Picasso" by Terry D'Alfonso at the Playground theatre. Boy was it good, with a strong cast led by Peter Tate as Pablo, Clare Bowman (Marie Therese Walter), Adele Oni (Genevieve Laporte) and a terrific Spanish actress, Alejandro Costa as Jacqueline Roque, the final keeper of the keys to Picassos heart, and house. There was some fascinating scenes in which PP's obsession with harlequins was discussed, as was the recurring motif of the bull and the Minotaur. The three women took turns to have dialogues with the man in the middle, each one waiting for her time in his sun. Why it all happened in a sandpit was unclear, but the use of short films projected onto a screen behind the players was clever and illuminating.
Closer to home, to the new Bridge Theatre for Young Marx with Rory Kinnear as a rogueish Karl in impoverished circumstances in soho. There was a definite attempt to lighten the load on the audiences cerebellum, with few revolutionary dialectics, but plenty of hiding in cupboards and a few mock fights and drunken songs. It was all pretty lightweight but the new theatre is a wonder.
Intox Extravaganza at the DIY Space was another success with more in attendance than last time. As well as Simon Yorkshire's Nightmares on Old Kent Road, we were treated to a young Japanese performer who was all business - Sera Eke

. As well as being a great performer and presence, she had some incredible songs that rocked and grooved with accompanying videos projected behind her. Im not sure about the quotes from Sylvia, Plath, Einstein, Sartre and more, but this girl has serious star potential. Sera , get a live band, drop the philosophy - its too much to take in - concentrate on the serious songs and you should go far. The new single was called "Coo coo coo" and the film followed a pigeon on its travels around London. Was this a sop to the masses as Marx might have called us? If so, stop ! Never talk down to your audience, even in Millwall.
Finally , two disappointments. Death of Stalin was neither comedy nor thriller. If everybody looks shit scared all the time, it just grates. Once Joe dies, - not giving too much away I hope - Steve Buscemi slowly takes over as Kruschev. I could have cared less...Impressionism In London at Tate Britain. massive groups descended and one can only hope the Tate is making pots of money, seeing as it costs £20 per ticket. There are some sweet Tissots & Monets but the Pissaros were all familiar from the National Gallery / Corthauld, except the garish attempts at pointillism which were distinctly second rate. The best painting was by a new artist on me; Nittis. A huge canvas given a wall to itself, it was a super atmospheric depiction of Parliament from Westminster bridge, with some local men smoking their pipes in the foreground. There was so much smoke, they could have been vaping.
The best concert of the year, no, the last 20 years ; Amadou and Mariam at the Troxy. The whole place was just rocking joyously, what a magnificent set, atmospheric, mysterious and hugely enjoyable. I paid my usual visit to the London Jazz festival, this time taking in Miles Mosley at Islington Trade Hall.

He is Kamasi Washington's bass player, and the crashing drummer was familiar from the concert I saw last year at the Albert Hall - second best concert of this millenium. Apparently the group laid down hundreds of songs in a month in the studio. Miles Mosley is a born front man and bowed and plucked his way through a fun set.

Autumn 2017 round up - Art at 180 The Strand, bands OCD & Jord,+ TV Curb, Snowfall , The Deuce + PK Dick

Music Since the last time we addressed you dear readers, acts we've seen were many , but none were better than the incredible band I saw on Friday Oct 20th at the New Cross Inn. This fine establishment is not usually on the Treedown Track. I go past it but rarely do I descend into its dread bowels of noise torture that pounds from within, a punk band often is on stage and I give it a wide circle, not wishing to end up like Ozzy Ozborne or many others and needing a hearing aid to combat the ear damage super loud gigs can cause.Jord were licking up a properly funky groove, playing a mix of original material and Fela Kuti covers. Zombie was wondrous and we were all begging for more when the music ended at about 11pm. There is not enough of this kind of funking afrobeat on the stages of Lewisham and Southwark boozers. Its the kind of music everyone can enjoy and dance to. Lets hope funky Friday is here to stay. More !

OCD - Olympic Clamp Down - pictured- were commanding the Montague stage on Sunday 22nd October at a benefit for a local legend. They have a lead singer who is a talented doppelganger for Peter Frampton in an alternative universe and  at their best, some of the songs were attention grabbing and well crafted.

ART - 180 Strand -Everything At Once with Lisson Gallery / Vinyl Factory - Until Dec 10
 Free to enter this soon to be offices space, the current show features Al Weiwei, Julian Opie and Anish Kapoor. There are many other contributors but these are my top 3, Al Weiwei has manufactured a wondrous wallpaper which must be seen to be believed. The detail and playful content is a riff on Homers Odyssey , mixing JCBs  with Roman centurions, and much else. His other piece, a gold tree branch was not so arresting or interesting. Julien Opie has contributed two pieces on the theme of driving on motorways. A  revolving animation on a tv screen of a continuous road is accompanied by a solid figure of eight model on the floor in front. Hmm. I prefer the portraits Julien.
My favourite piece was Anish Kapoors huge bell shaped installation on the first floor. It just about fits into the alotted space, suspended in mid air with the outer edges at bell's bottom close to the four walls. You cant really see how the object is secured above, but you can walk under its dome and look up. Tricks are played on your eyesight; you look into a void, the dimensions you have understood from outside are no longer discernible. No light is permitted to exist by whatever material coats the inside of the bell, so your senses are sent spinning. It has a similarly strange effect on your hearing, so your ears are confused by the unworldly audio effect the structure imposes. Remarkably clever and superbly installed, this piece cements Kapoors reputation at the top of the world art scene tree.
Needless to say there is much tedium to be encountered on your trip around this peculiar space, not least when you reach the roof terrace and the series of films on blaxploitation and oppression in the hut entitled Love is the Message, the Message is Death, by Arthur Jafa , in collaboration with Serpentine Galleries.. People have queued for up to an hour to gain entry apparently, perhaps due to some very OTT reviews. Take it from me, its a boring diatribe on a worthy subject, and its certainly nothing you have not seen before. More worthwhile is  Ryoji Ikeda’s newly commissioned A/V artwork test pattern [N°12], requiring visitors to remove their footwear before stepping onto the illuminating floor.

TV - Curb Your Enthusiam is back. Thank you Larry David. You have given me so many laughs you are a star like no other in the world of comedy. Its not just the cleverly plotting, the characters are all like long lost friends now returned to your circle. As for the subject matter, Larry has a lightness of touch which is not apparent, but allows him to touch on taboos like removing ones penis through a small trouser fly and going out with Salmon Rushdie to experience the thrill of danger that accompanies a man under a fatwa. As the duo are lusted over by the women in the restaurant, Larry gave Salmon the fantastic punchline "fatwa sex"as a pay off for the years of hiding and solitude a man endures after a Ayatollahs decree. Must see.
Fugitives - South American Crime drama - is this a first ? Fabulous action sequences, aerial shots and nasty, double crossing cops, this oozes pure tension as we roll up and down Chile and neighboring states.

The Deuce - David Simon and George Pelicanos gave us the Wire , then followed it with a very niche tale about jazz dudes in New Orleans, Treme. Now they have dropped us into the vice heavy world of mid 70s downtown New York, in the Deuce. The characters are all seedy and sleazy, from the streetwalkers and the pimps to the gangsters, cops and barmen. Its not easy listening , but the tale is evolving and you know one thing for sure, you dont know what is going to happen next. Maggie Gyllenhall stars as Candy, the female protagonist baring heart, soul and emaciated body, out for every dollar she can get.Male superstar James Franco commands the bar around which most events revolve, not least because he plays two characters, one hard working bar manager Vinnie and his gambling loser twin Frankie. Worth a look.

Electric Dreams  New season of half hour films allegedly based on PK Dick stories, quality has been patchy to say the least. The first two episodes were uninvolving, the third with Timothy Spall as a grandad dealing roughly with a teenager in the house was woeful. What annoyed me most was not the crumby, lame idea of people getting off a train in the middle of nowhere, only its where a station used to be before the war. The time travelling aspect has no basis or explanation - it just happens . When Spall ends up sitting on a bench and is transported back to happier times, the schmaltz was degrading to behold. What was worse, PK Dick never did corny sentimentalism. Phil would be revolving in his grave at a fair rate if he knew about this travesty, which is apparently cashing in on the release of the new sequel to Bladerunner, surely the greatest film adaptation of a Dick short story. I feel faintly nauseous contemplating this TV debacle, goodness knows what Phil would have made of it.

Snowfall - The latest TV import from USA - Snowfall - has John "Boyz in the Hood" Singleton's fingers in every part of the production pie. A youngster from the wrong side of the tracks has found his way into a bohemian, moneyed world of porn, pool parties and coke. He starts to deal kilos on consignment to a vicious lady kingpin in her club. When he returns to do a second deal, two kilos are apparently put on the table and tasted in front of all and sundry to witness. So when he comes to grief as he saunters off with thousands of dollars in his backpack, the only surprise is we are meant to believe anyone would be stupid enough to do such a thing in the first place. Like so many of these crime dramas - Dr Foster, Tin Star, etc , we have to ignore the most far fetched coincidences, accidents and daft behaviour for the plot to work. I will go along with this,  knowing its based on a ludicrous coke deal, conducted in full view of a nightclubs' patrons. Only the stupidest in this universe survive, apparently.

Next month - Bladerunner 2049, Miles Mosley + Kamasi Washington, DIY Space all dayer Nov 11