The Catacombs Of Liverpool’s Darkest History -The Gangs Of Victorian Liverpool. St George’s Hall.

Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating: * * * *

Cast: Michael Hawkins, Nathan Tunstall, Lawrence Larkin, Stephen Turner, Warren Kettle, Niall Ross Hogan, Lois Crawford, Samantha Walton, Katie King, Jimmy McLean, Michael Swift, Jordan Burke, Kathryn Rigby.

St. George’s Hall opened its doors to the public in 1854. Within its Victorian walls it boasts the splendid Great Hall with its vaulted ceiling and Minted floor and the Small Concert Room still used for concerts today. Perhaps the most unusual feature amongst all this grandeur is the Crown and Civil Court which were still working courts until the 1980s and it is where local company Lovehistory focuses their current show.

How Hurt Can Be Missed.

I want to call you

on the telephone, I miss

feeling inferior in your presence

and how you have that certain way

of making me foolish, uncared for,

a down and out punch bag

and the emotional wreck with scars

flowing with fresh blood, simple,

mine, closing my eyes and letting the pain

wash away. I feel the need to call upon you

so that I can feel deserted

and frightened,

alone and unwashed,

so that I can feel something,

so that I can hurt myself today,

Ben Poole, Time Has Come. Album Review.

Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * *

Brighton has long been thought of the most forward thinking and encouraging place for performers on the south coast of England for some time. Perhaps it could be seen as the Liverpool of the South, for it certainly has more in common with its Northern all encompassing metropolis of art than almost anywhere along the ridged line between the English Channel and the suburbs of the nation’s capital.

Kafena, Lukanda Propaganda. Album Review.

Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * *

Travel, as the splendid maxim argues with total conviction, broadens the mind. If that is the case, then listening to music from another country in its own language should fill the soul to the point of bursting; each note hurtling a word filled with power and beauty into the musical arena and even if the phrase that is sung or the expression uncomprehending and perhaps meaningless, it still adds bounty to human experience.

The Maltese Songbird.

The songbird’s influence

when voiced in misty breath,

covered in soft lapping oceans

and the salt air that surrounds

the island, yellow stoned, steeped

in history, steep to trace the steps

that lead on high to a safe harbour

in a paradise, that voice, haunting,

exotic and beautifully feminine,

captures my soul

as I listen entranced, as I read

rapt and spellbound;

there is after all

a voice in the blue aquatic sea

that sounds a perfect pitch bell

of the divine and sultry

The Dream Of The Forgotten Scribe.

I dreamt of you, scenic beauty

and waterfall thunder, I dreamt

of you and the forest clearing

in which you beckoned

me to explore, nature blossoming

to the sound of a pair

of butterfly wings beating

softly and in time with my own

enslaved heart, the scribe

never forgets the Queen

of Pharaoh Isle

and the image of her warm heart

in colour laden dreams as

she destroyed the scribe

time and time again,

the scribe always smiles

at the memory with

certain youthful pleasure.

James Houlahan, Multitudes. Album Review.

Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * *

The revolution will not be screened, nor will it be probably felt across the board for years to come, however in the lush green lands of New England, in the corner of the world where the yoke of oppression first found a opponent whose anger was enough to strike out, the revolution will be heard and it will be dynamic as James Houlahan releases his third album, Multitudes.

Dave Jackson & The Cathedral Mountaineers, Red Fin Sunset. Album Review.

Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating 8.5/10

If there is a gentleman in the world who can do justice to the type of song that observes how the world is teetering upon an abyss, the crazed insanity delivered with calm voice and intent in the eyes, then Dave Jackson arguably is that man, a British version of Leonard Cohen but with the added attraction of having the grime and grit, the modern noir, thrown into his lyrical repose.

The Needle And The Sword.

I went away to find myself, no map,

no compass or recollection of what I was

once, what I was failing to be, what I had allowed

to be said without my lips moving,

shut up, lips stitched, lips sewn together

and yet they were moved, like a clever ventriloquist

making a stuffed overweight toy talk;

yet my fluff had started to come apart,

the stitching holding me together

coming apart at the seams…

 

I went away to get re-stitched,

to get myself back in mental shape,

The Time And The Sea.

The sea will always wash away at the rock,

slowly, surely, as tic follows tock

and Time is patient, it will erase

all, one sediment speck at a time,

for Time is all that Time has

and its only ally is the sea,

the promise in crested waves

that gradually flicks dust off the face

and replaces it with the start of a hole,

miniature, insignificant and just like a quandary

in which doing the right thing costs you,

so too does Time and the sea, both