I’ve seen Rob Lear and his band on multiple occasions in the past decade, every one of them a delight, and it has to be said – to echo the words of promoter Malcolm Shipp – he and they get better each time. Rob has a gentle melodic quality, writing philosophically about his life, life in Wales and the people he meets and sees.
He himself hails from somewhere in the valleys not far from Pontypridd, the wettest place in England and Wales he claims! Although a simple internet search suggests virtually everywhere in Wales has the same claim and as a former resident of the principality myself, I can attest to the fact that they are all probably correct!! Aside from Rob’s home, Liz his constant sidekick also hails from that country, but the other two members of the band Terry and Tom hail from as far afield as… Calne itself.
In a three set evening, providing time to refresh drinks and empty bladders in between a closed bar [well done TPB! ] the attentive and appreciative audience were led through a mix of Rob’s numbers from his back catalogue lifted from his discography of “A Million Stars”, “Let it Go”, “Motorcycle Heart” and “Strange Days”… plus, an unrecorded special “Chevy 54” which had the crowd singing along to and is a must for a single release (hint Rob HINT!!)
Rob’s stage show has come on leaps and bounds since I first saw him too… being Welsh he can talk the hind leg off the proverbial pit pony, but his easy, self-deprecatory, and occasionally rambling style is a joy only improved on by his sublime lyrics, melodies and the band’s harmonies performed on guitars, accordion, ukelele, bass, mandolin and fiddle. And the non-surprise addition and performance of Malcolm Shipp on harmonica 🙂
I could take this review through Rob’s set list but that would frankly be rather dull and meaningless especially to anybody not au fait with his output, so the best thing I can offer is this Spotify playlist consisting of the numbers from Tuesday evening.
The Piggy Bank also have this wonderful video for your delectation
A shout out here too for the venue, The Piggy Bank. In the last year or so it’s been hosting comedy club evenings (also highly recommended) and of late gigs too. Keep an eye on their Facebook page to keep abreast of these offerings – music starts up again in October with these musical events already “in the bag”
For those that are too busy to read this film review and to help our tech-conditioned ‘keep-it-quick’ minds please see the one liner below:
“A raw portrayal of the depths that a mental illness can reach with a glimpse of the impact on others and the eventual hope that can lead to recovery”
Or, if you’ve a few more seconds, read the Tweet-length review here:
“A reflective, unsettling film depicting mental ill health, grief and two people coming together to heal. Kate Morgan-Jones’ performance brings depth and skill with a brilliantly realistic scene showing a crisis episode. Walls are broken down and agoraphobia is given a platform for understanding”
I suspect I’ve lost a few of you. For those still reading, thank you. Here is the full lowdown of ‘Translations’, the black and white, romantic, mental health exposé drama set in Wales:
Most of my reviews are pretty long and I apologise each time I link one to a social media account. But I won’t change the length. Well, not for now at least. To write only a short piece would be a disservice to the people who have put their soul into the work. They deserve a full debrief for the hours and cash that they’ve ploughed in, usually with no guarantee of success. It takes a risk-taker and an entrepreneur, with often an activist’s determination to see a creative project through to the finish. This is especially true of a feature film where the stakes are higher than most other forms. Add to that a focus on topics that are vital but are difficult to portray, and you have a true passion-project worthy of review words. ‘Translations’ by director, Keith Kopp and writer, Laurence Guy is one such project.
From the opening scene where Stef, the main character, performed her poignant poem ‘Walls’, my gut was stilled into a contemplative but not wholly comfortable quiet. It was going to be one of those – a film that would take the viewer on a ride through dark, complex emotions. An internal rollercoaster where I knew I would be swirled through loop-the-loops of mental anguish. I wasn’t sure I was ready for this. Whispering, ‘please let it have a happy ending’ to myself, I sipped my tea and carried on.
Stef is in her twenties. She writes, talks to herself (who doesn’t?), and hasn’t left her house in a long time (years). Her beloved brother, Liam died whilst travelling with his best friend Evan (Alan Emrys). The story of how this happened is pieced together throughout the film. Stef’s mental health, which wasn’t great before, suffered hugely after his death with agoraphobia now ruling her reality. A few segments into the movie, and after a long absence, Evan arrives at Stef’s Welsh cottage. His presence transformed her walled-in existence. Laughter and chemistry ensued with the pair reminiscing shared childhood and teen memories. But close behind came an open window into the mental torment that gripped both characters. Morgan-Jones’ portrayal of an acute mental health crisis in Evan’s company was sublime and harrowing. The contradictory nature of desperately wanting help yet vehemently pushing it away and the deep shame that followed gave a true insight into an illnesses of the mind.
Evan, whilst trying to help Stef also gave many clues to his own health problems. These stemmed from his guilt at Liam’s death and his wanting to be invisible; to “soak into the walls so no one can see me… like a ghost”. Grief washed over them both and at times the feeling of angst ping-pongs between them with a competitive hue. A game of ‘who’s the most miserable?’ Stef and Evan share grief, mental health challenges and both feel trapped; one indoors and the other behind a camera. I was often left wondering, can the troubled really help the troubled?
I instantly questioned why the movie was in black and white. The answer revealed itself in an early scene which showed a framed picture hanging on Stef’s wall of a barren, lonely tree (seen a number of times during the film). Devoid of colour with all life stripped away, the tree evoked a feeling of isolated fear. I think many of us felt a version of this during the most stringent lockdown weeks of 2020, our own surface-level insight into agoraphobia. Black and white also gives a greater intensity and emotional impact on screen; the viewer needs to look closer for meaning and work harder for understanding. I wasn’t sure at first. I don’t love having to work whilst being entertained and I really did want to see the colour of the delicious sounding curry, but I became convinced that it was 100% the best choice of medium for ‘Translations’. I would have loved to see colour creep in towards the end during Stef’s transformation but perhaps this would have been too obvious, I’m no film director.
Other aspects of the movie that caught my attention included the film’s score. It created a strong ambience throughout and, along with the dialogue, dramatised the emotion and helped to share powerful messages. A slow, heavy beat often preceded a philosophical musing from one of the characters whilst the crescendoing thud-thud-thud staccato made me feel Stef’s anxieties as if they were my own. A stand out visual moment from the film that made me smile was seeing Evan rolling and smoking a cigarette. It made me reflect that despite the number of people who smoke ‘rollies’ we hardly ever see the ritualised making of them on screen. Parts of the film that will stay with me are readings of the ‘Walls’ and the ‘Line in the Sand’ poems. ‘Walls’ was performed twice in the movie and in a clever, circular finish, ‘Line in the Sand’ bought the film to its close. I would love these poem clips to go viral to illustrate what agoraphobia can feel like and to help people feel less alone and more hopeful.
Please go and see this film. You won’t come away feeling lighter but you will have a glimpse into a mental health challenge that, in its most severe form, affects well over a million people in the UK. Kate Morgan-Jones’ performance is believable, haunting and impactful. She understands the torment, the struggle and the complexity that accompanies mental health conditions and she shows this in every scene. The film has lingered in my mind and has got me thinking about all those conditions we know about but build walls around. Watch this movie to start breaking down these walls, to transform our ignorance into understanding and to help our neighbours, friends and families feel less alone and “locked inside (themselves)”. Please support this film and perhaps then we will begin to see more pictures that educate and give true insight into mental illness. Thank you ‘Translations’ for opening my eyes a little wider.
Written on 24/05/23 by Helen L Edwards @helenledwards4
Awards: Riverside Film Festival 2023 (Audience Choice Award for Best Feature Film, Best Actress, Best Screenplay)
‘Translations’ tour: Screenings start on the 2nd June in Wales. It reaches The Little Theatre in Bath on the 25th June and the Melksham Film Club on the 30th June
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Putting a two-part question to both your good self and my own deliberations this morning, what do you want from a tribute act? To be entertained, sure, but this is no different from an originals or covers band.
Nostalgia obviously plays the highest percentage, the want for an act to replicate a bygone band you idolised, or still do. Which raises the second part of the question, is sounding like more important than looking like the act they’re attributing?
Likely it’s a combination of these, a delicate balance. Though whilst I’ve caught some amazing tribute acts, my top three being a Blondie one, a Slade one and a Bob Marley & The Wailers, I could nitpick an issue with them all. Welsh Adam and the Ants tribute Ant Trouble sold-out Swindon’s Vic last night; something I was bursting with anticipation to witness firsthand. I return a million miles or so away from any shred of disappointment; it was highly entertaining, finding it impossible to nitpick any similar issue. By order of the equation surely puts Ant Trouble top of my list.
For nostalgic value, too, it ticked all boxes. But to understand why takes a backstory. For Bob Marley, I’ve been a lifelong fan, but not until heady art college days did I idolise. Slade was a smidgen before my time. But Adam and the Ants was bang on my childhood, a band though I’d loved to have seen perform live, was too young for gigs, and by the age I would’ve been the time and notion was lost.
To scare his younger sibling, my brother would put on undoubtedly the most bizarre of my Dad’s 7″ records. It was called “Burundi Black,” a 1971 single, whereby French composer Michel Bernholc overdubbed crashing piano to a recording of chants and drumming by the Ingoma people of Burundi. It still scares the willies out me today, truth be told!!
Whatever the quarrel between Malcom McLaren and Stuart Goddard (Adam Ant,) McLaren stole many original band members of Adam and the Ants to form Bow Wow Wow, but left Stuart a compilation tape with Burundi Black on. Both bands were inspired to create this Burundi beat, so that when my brother came home with Kings of the Wild Frontier, though I’d reached the grand old age of eight and wasn’t scared of anything now, I was left intrigued if slightly concerned by the sound of this previous album, as it was 1981 and I was hooked on the pop sound of Stand & Deliver.
It taught me pop stars weren’t just dropped into chart positions from outer space, they had a history, and grew to love Kings of the Wild Frontier. If the punk movement despised Adam Ant for selling out, I was blissfully as unware as the connection to Burundi Black; it was none of my business. I just loved this band, without reasoning why, for away from the angered social commentary, the disparaged realism of the punk movement I was too young to comprehend, Adam and the Ants exploited the fantastical, the carefree, enthusing any influences they cared to, from military jackets to new romantic frilly shirts, of Bauhaus, pirates, native Americans to Dick Turpin, to create this miss-mash, playful hero of nobility, and I idolised him.
Though through time that notion was lost in the plethora of ever-changing genres of pop, his attraction in uniqueness copied if never replicated, only to be bought crashing back to me like a wallop in the face, in a glorious show of retrospective precision, that’s key to why it topped my list; Ant Trouble may be the best tribute I’ve bore witness to so far, but my nostalgia not wholly the reasoning.
As for the Blondie tribute, it was perfection, though this Edinburgh lass maintained a corny Californian accent even when chatting backstage! Ant Trouble humorously allowed themselves to break the illusion, on stage, joking with extenuating accents, “we’re not really Adam and the Ants, just some Welsh nutters!” This was the honesty which deflected the pretence with an otherwise glam and showy band, it announced this was replicated, a homage rather attempting to maintain the false illusion it was the real McCoy.
My final niggly with other tributes is the fault of Father Time. Many are impersonating from their own youth, usually making them only slightly younger than the act they’re attributing. This can make the illusion awkward, and lack the zest of youth. Whereas Ant Trouble are of the same age Adam and the Ants were at their peak, bursting with the same energy, and their almighty display of enthusiasm and vigour was the icing on the cake.
They really gave it a 110%, through their skill of replicating and general performance, to the final part of my deliberations, both looking and sounding akin. Their fulfilled repertoire covering the earlier punk era to the pop peak and beyond to Adam’s solo career, and enthusing the effect with costumes, props, quality notation to the kinesiology, plus audience participation and banter. These skilful musicians could’ve produced an electrifying show if they were a Perry Como tribute!
What remained punk of Adam and the Ants was the three-minute hero, thus allowing Ant Trouble to cram a staggering thirty-two plus songs into this unique set. From Car Trouble and others from the debut album Dirk Wears White Sox, through to practically covering the entire Kings of the Wild Frontier album, and onto the pop hits Prince Charming, Stand and Deliver, et al, to later solo singles like Apollo 9, Ant Trouble delivered them all along with Ant Rap, but not by standing, oh no, they used the stage as if acrobats! The bassist of particular enthusiasm, jumping or rolling on the floor, throwing his guitar in the air, and climbing atop the speaker. Frontman Mitchell Tennant (who’s surname coincidently contains the word ant!) was equal to this showmanship, and the whole band’s interaction was exceptional, breathing life back into the discography of the pop hero of a lost era.
And that is precisely what I believe everyone wants from a tribute act. You come away from this show exhilarated, within a euphoric bubble of retrospection, but I could flatter all day, like Morpheus said to Neo of the Matrix: Unfortunately, no one can be told how good Ant Trouble are, you have to see it for yourself!
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From the band name alone it’s understandable for one to perceive their output as comical or zany, but far from it. Here is some sublime, concentrated reggae and rock steady, bouncy and carefree, yes, but astutely written, covering some acute themes as well as the general tenet of rock steady; forlorn or unabridged romance. Neither am I willing to accept the talent here is any way an accident, and the band is anything but a disaster!
Twenty seconds into Bad Press is all you need to realise why David Rodigan speaks so highly of Cardiff’s Captain Accident & The Disasters, and they were invited back to tour with legends Toots & the Maytals after their 2016 UK tour, as the official full-tour support in 2017 and again in 2018. Which they did, and Captain Accident was asked to join the band onstage to perform Monkey Man on guitar. If it wasn’t for lockdown and the tragic passing of Toots Hibbert last year, they would have been on the European tour that year also.
Other than the wonderful sunshine reggae vibe, there’s not a great deal else going on in Bad Press, yet there’s no need to be. The band stick to the tried and tested formula, the mellow plod of traditional one-drop reggae, occasionally more steppers upbeat with only subtle ska or dub elements coming through. Note importantly, they do this with bells on. It doesn’t attempt to swerve off with experimentation. All tracks flow with precision and a highly polished sound produced with traditional instruments. At no time will Bad Press replicate a previous tune through dubplate principles, neither will a dancehall DJ toast over it, or a drum n bass riff be thrust unexpectedly at you; good, honest and exceptionally beautiful roots, rock reggae is what you get.
If themes reflect lovers rock or rock steady on occasion, it’s nicely done, and in others, where more sombre subject matter arises there’s no militancy, rather the longstanding carefree reggae ethos of not worrying, dancing reservations away, as every little thing will be alright. Neither does Rasta etiquettes or such biblical or cultural references come into play, making this reggae for the masses as well as aficionados. It’s just, ah, tingly, and apt for all!
Despite the band’s output, three previous albums being self-produced, their beguiling festival friendly sound has rocketed their success with a national fan-base growing by the day. I fully believe Bad Press will seal the deal.
Ten songs strong, I couldn’t pick a favourite. As I believe I said, it flows, blessing your ears with inspirational sound. In Redemption Song familiarities the content of the opening tune casts an eye on Armageddon, but pessimism doesn’t deject or depress you, and the title, “Not the End of the World,” says it all. The aforementioned carefree attitude carries over with the catchy “Best Shoes,” the upbeat melody cutting to plod as Captain Accident aptly quotes Marley, “when the music hits you, you feel no pain.”
And such is unswaying general premise throughout, returning to one-drop for the beautiful “Playing Field,” which truly showcases the writing skill on righteousness and equality. Swapping back to the common hopeless romantic theme, “Wings,” will melt you, like the referenced wings of Icarus. Followed by the most ska-ish, the buoyant “Miami Incorporating.”
There is nothing here to rightfully label this with bad press, perhaps the blithest tune being the “Dark n Stormy,” with a rum subject, there’s a real Caribbean feel, yet the most interestingly intertwined is the rock-inspired guitar previous song, “Puttin’ Up a Fight,” because it clarifies this “reggae for all,” notion I’ve attempted to convey. I hope this comes across, especially in these local parts where the genre is often misunderstood and misrepresented. If your knowledge of reggae doesn’t extend much past Bob Marley & The Wailers in their international prime, you will love this. Yet, for bods like me, a humongous enthusiast, it fills me with a glorious passion that the traditional aspects of reggae will never be lost in a sea of dancehall, reggaeton and dubstep.
Ah, they’re all worthy, to me, but aside, reggae got soul, and you NEED this album in your life!
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