Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * *
Cast: Ewan McGregor, Carrie Coon, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Goran Bogdan, David Thewlis, Michael Stuhlbarg, Shea Whigham, Scott McNairy, Andy Yu, Mark Forward, Olivia Sandoval, Russell Harvard, Mary McDonnell, Hamish Linklater, Scott Hylands, Graham Verchere, Linda Kash, Caitlynne Medrek, Sylvester Busch, Thomas Mann, Fred Melamed, Riger V. Burton, Rob McElhenney, Francesca Fisher, Nikolai Nikolaeff, Ray Wise, D.J. Qualls, Billy Bob Thornton.
The urge comes and it takes strength
to quash it, to stamp on it, flatten it
lest it take me down dear heart,
to get on the train, to find myself
on a platform staring out across
a once abandoned town of memories
and haunt it once more,
but would you remember at all,
would you smile, playfully
slap on the back
and reach out to me,
the gentle reminder that we are still friends,
or would it be easier for you
now, before I board the train
You can call me a Tw**
I won’t take offence, call me a piece of
dirt, a shit, an arse, a f***,
Knob, Di**,
cuss me all you like, damn
me to Hell, liken me to porn,
if you feel cheap,
lazy even
forgo a letter, knock yourself,
find a better word than git,
Smeg is perfect, possibly,
it appeals to the Red Dwarf fan in me,
however,
don’t stand there and call me Hall,
that’s a No No;
you are not a N.C.O.
Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * *
Cast: MyAnna Buring, Ben Batt, David Leon, Emma Fryer, Jamie Sives, Clive Wood, Pearce Quigley, Jessica Gunning, Georgia Tennant, Ashley Walters, Sophie Bloor, Matt King, Tim McInnerny, Lee Boardman, Alice May Feetham, Fisayo Akinade.
There is always a police drama in which to rifle through, to borrow, sometimes wonderfully well, from literature; yet somehow television and film always seem to rely heavily on certain authors the vast majority of times without searching beyond the known and easily marketable. For every Christie there should be someone of unequal note, for every Ian Rankin there should be a new novelist writing with clarity and sensitivity of plot being given their chance to have the characters they painfully created, up on the screen.
I have nothing against your left eye,
it is the pupil that you know will
pass its eleven plus
and go onwards to University
and despite falling in love
with many a pretty girl,
all mysterious and from a foreign field,
the pupil will become a good egg,
concentrate mostly on the study at hand
and leave with honours,
the gratitude of the pool table
and the smiles of the women
as a reminder of what it was to have
a good eye.
Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating 8.5/10
For many, the idea of loss of any kind is too much to openly show, a hangover from the Victorian era, a residue of the lamentable act of being stoic, of not showing your true self or worth to the world. Loss is hard, not being able to grieve properly is worse, an almost despicable act forced upon society at large by a system that wanted nothing more than the idea of grieving to be shown as weak and destructible to civilisation; a hangover from an era that saw the phrase of the British stiff upper lip appallingly coined and many a generation living in the shadow of the Waiting.
Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating 9/10
Emma Stevens has been heroic and sensual in her music as she releases songs and plays live to audiences, now in To My Roots, the singer/songwriter, written with long time friend Charlie Midnight, takes the next step on her journey and strikes out of the whisper and into the realm of the tigress prowling her domain, protecting the creativity that has been nurtured but also knowing with bold assuredness that they stand on their own two feet and roar willingly on their own accord.
Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating 8.5/10
We look to America to provide a solid warmth when it comes to music, a sense of genre that for all the greatness the British possess when it comes to music writing and undoubtedly the home of pop music, Folk and the spiritual home of Heavy Metal, we just cannot truly get to grips with Americana or the Country ballad, some bands capture it but as a whole the difference between the two musical empires of the past comes down to the structure and lay out of the country itself.
I was never in,
save if there was a new album
in which Monday mornings
spent flicking through covers
and memory
of songs heard on the radio
during the weekend
were too much for my psyche
to let go, the hook,
the lyric became my needle.
Never in, always out,
what was the point in self imposed prison, surrounded
by walls, decorated by posters to cover
the stark white oppression and unhappy warden;
now I stay in, the world has become
my prison, for the body and mind cannot
I might be a Manchester Blue,
so old school that I used to have slate
and chalk to calculate City’s
progress up
and invariably down the league.
A fan since the days of Dennis Tuert,
Willie Donachie and Asa Hartford, yet
still as the new season approaches,
I salute one of the special ones,
the soothing
Voice of Anfield,
the heroic stance in the box
of echoes and history,
the voice of football
in a world gone mad with the overpaid
and the undeserving, George’s timbre