Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * *
Time, as noted by the singer and the audience, is a peculiar animal, it can snarl all it wants, it can find ways to give new perspective to eras in which some saw the end of a kind of order and were frightened by the prospect and in which other relished and rubbed their hands in glee as the future and bold vision opened up before them.
Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * * *
To make the audience focus completely on the drama unfolding before them takes consummate skill, a deftness of spirit, the potency of allure and the mystery, the sense of living through a moment so tangible that it seems all the functions of the human body stop what they are doing and just sit in the honour of the spectacle; to focus so much that you cannot hear a crowd breathe during a song and then applaud like a series of rolling thunderstorms across an empty desert, that is the absolute found.
Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating 7.5/10
It has always been noted that life can change within the beat of a single heart, that to not listen to the sound of your inner being is a sure fire way to be seen as nonchalant, perhaps even believing that the sound of a till in these desperate consumer driven days and times of political unreality is more in keeping with 21st Century dogma than ever stopping to think just how fortunate we are to have an organ in us that feels love, pain, despair and elation.
Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating 8.5/10
You can be thrashed, taken apart by friends, Government and by the elements that sometimes dictate the way world turns but all you need to survive and see out the storm that tries its best to put you under is The Devil, The Heart & The Fight, hopefully supplied by those that love you, those that will fight your corner when the world is Hell bent on seeing you suffer, those that will help you raise two fingers to the world and for whatever reason smile when the world shrinks back due to its own cowardice.
Should I not
answer you
in the social media world,
should you worry that upon
my floor I lay, tongue hanging,
gathering dust and flies
buzzing round,
eager vultures laying eggs, maggot, bluebottle,
think on,
perhaps I have forgotten,
late Middle age is near
and sometimes the fog is thicker
than it was,
other things catching my attention,
not out of malice but an interest
in the new for now,
or it could be that I found it rude
Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * *
It is not hard to feel disillusioned in a world that teeters on an abyss made up of political lies, when heroes became scapegoats, when those who seek fame for the sake of being famous are lauded as brilliant minds and when art is downgraded to nothing more than a pursuit or hobby; it is not hard to feel the cynicism when all you believe to be true is attacked by those who have not even looked beyond their own installed pre-convictions.
Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating 9/10
Just Human, there is no such thing as only just human, the very complexity of our being, the ability to raise someone up high or destroy them, to take apart the strands of their life one by one, shows we are more than just a solitary being, we can endure and seek even greater virtue or we can scatter all that is around us to dust.
Once upon
a Birmingham day, St Andrew’s
called the three of us together,
my Grandfather’s hand on one side
my father’s on the other,
two larger than life men
and a child, barely able to reason,
once upon a Birmingham day,
I peered through the gap
created by the outline stance
of two men and saw a game commence,
squeezed and pushed
with the flow of rhetoric,
community singing and language
unheard even in the finest
of hours, the colours,
displayed, rejoiced, groaned at
If you’re looking for answers,
Me,
I like my steak blue, under the heat for no time at all,
my eggs runny,
my haggis with mayonnaise dolloped on the side,
my bacon with a rind,
my Shakespeare riveting,
my football with City on top,
but never forgetting the days in which we were damned awful,
sometimes my poetry…whimsical,
my rock heavy, my jazz boundless and my pop with a smile
and the kiss in a women’s eyes,
I used to like my Whisky at least older than me,
It was a black and white photograph that drew me back to this town, one that had seen better days, mirroring the photograph taken at random on a night out with friends, who some became lovers, of all now, except for me, are either dead, or long since found out the hard way that we are the children whose parents were the product of meaningless catchphrases or suffocating intoxicants designed to blot out us of their forged, forgotten dreams.