Thought I’d share these links just in case we don’t make it through; Bill Wyman’s Rhythm Kings at Town Hall and the Steve Swallow Quintet at the CBSO Centre.

I’ve also been getting into my new role as editor of a blog set up through the UoB Careers centre. UoBlogfest is a blogsite set up to provide aspiring writers and journalists the chance to cover some of the lovely stuff happening in the city, arts, culture and all. More on this after Christmas.

Last weekend I journeyed home to partake in a nostalgic regional round of NCBF with MYJO Too!
It’s so great to have the chance to keep playing in a big band of such a high standard, particularly with the prospect of going to London for the finals this year. On top of this, the weekend was a chance to revisit my old school, see old friends, old teachers, old teachers who are now friends, and watch with pride as my former County and School big bands walked away with Platinum Awards. Rather wonderful.

Sticking with big band jazz, last night I had the chance to see the BBC Big Band perform in a tribute to a century of music from great bandleader and composer Stan Kenton. One cancelled train and a horribly smooshed commute into new street later, Ben and I dashed to Town Hall, only missing one number before we managed to find our seats. I’ll write this up for Redbrick tomorrow, and hopefully it’ll appear online at some point? If not I’ll post it somewhere I suppose. This was followed by a trip to the final hour of the Jazz & Blues society jam in Joe’s bar for an alcoholic top-up and a whip through a funk tune or two. Especially exciting was the addition of a red Nord Synth to the ensemble: Motown groove well and truly accounted for.

Soon I’ll find time to gush about the latest event to arise from the fabulous work of my lovely English Department committee and the success of our Murder Mystery night. Until then, check out some more of my Whiteboard Project single reviews, The Wombats, Christina Perri and Bruno Mars.

Ta-ta for now x

One of the things I’m looking forward to getting on with is writing for The Whiteboard Project a bit more regularly. They’re a rather fantastic webzine featuring music, fashion and film write-ups, with lots more coming soon.

In the past I’ve done a fair few single reviews for them, including Cat’s Eyes, Miles Kane, The Vaccines, Mogwai and Patrick Wolf. I also wrote a review of Jonathan Wilson’s album Gentle Spirit, album reviews being something I’d like to do a lot more of. I find writing about music relatively straightforward, thought certainly not easy. Writing about music that you think is good presents even more of a challenge, often it’s hard to put across exactly what it is about the music that’s so captivating. Indeed, that’s why it’s music, of course: nothing else quite matches it.

Someone who’s good at writing about music, as well as other cool stuff like fashion, is my friend Jess. You can find her rather beautiful blogspot here.
Peace x

Fortunately, I wasn’t without the help of some stunning musicians, all of us reppin’ the Birmingham Uni Jazz Orchestra. Brap? After a couple of ramshackle rehearsals in the few days leading up to the gig, we were ready to set the night alight, with a perfect set finale of Disney’s The Jungle Book’s ‘I wanna be like you(oo-oo)’. Awesome evening.

Despite this week being my reading week, I haven’t read nearly as much as I’d have liked to. This is partially due to my prancing off to various aforementioned events, not to mention last night’s evening of fireworks, fun fair and candy floss that arrives with the premature celebrations of Guy Fawkes night on the Vale. Fireworks are fab, but after nearly twenty years of watching them, I have to say I’m pretty much an expert on them now. It’s possible I won’t be actively seeking out any more of them until new years eve comes around. WOW I sound old and grumpy! A highlight of the night was definitely myself and Charlotte braving the heights (and the queues) to go on the massive spinning gyrating swirling flashing fun fair ride whirling dangerously close to the first block of Maple Bank. Heights don’t tend to bother me, but rides do quite a bit. Maybe I’ve watched too many ‘Final Destination’ films.

Today I missed the Abram Wilson Quartet playing Rush Hour Blues at Symphony Hall, something I miss pretty much every week now due to a rehearsal clash. Apparently, he’s playing a bit at this Musical Picnic thing tomorrow presented by Birmingham Jazz. I might go along and check it out, especially if it decides not to rain tomorrow. Especially since Abram’s band is called ‘Sing, Swing and Stomp that Thing!’. Sounds groovy.

Also, just a quick mention to Chris Unitt of Created in Birmingham for so kindly mentioning my blog on their links list for this week. Always nice to be noticed.

On Thursday, I had the pleasure of a visit from my brother and sister; Alex is currently going through the rigmarole of applying through UCAS so I gave him a grand tour of my uni, hopefully providing an insight into the copious amounts of coffee and chatter that seem to (occasionally) take precedence over study. I hope he was impressed. Zoë on the other hand is yet to confront the issue of higher education, so we decided to venture from the uni into Birmingham for a night at Symphony Hall: a wonderful performance of Mussorgsky’s ‘Pictures at an Exhibition’ from the CBSO. Just stunning.

The weekend was full of Hallowe’en spirited rag raiding with UoB’s Carnival Rag (this time I actually managed to wake up in time for the coach for something!) all in aid of Meningitis UK. So we bundled off to Bristol, a city I’d only ever encountered when dashing for my connection at Temple Meads Station. It’s fair to say the beauty of the place was, unsurprisingly, pretty lost on me until now. It feels sort of ‘higgledy’ as a place, maybe because it’s got a fair few hills that let you view the cityscape; an intriguing mixture of architectural grandeur and a scrappled array of vintage shops and stalls. Hopefully I’ll get the chance to go back sometime, there’s this bar there called Start the Bus that looks rather lovely. Perhaps some time when the streets aren’t crawling with extravagantly dressed student zombies.

Feeling decidedly ‘Hallowe’ened out’ on the return to Birmingham, the real witching hour on Monday night rolled around to find me curled up in James’s flat with a glass of rosé and a stupid amount of scary face paint for a night in. Spooky stuff. I’m heading to the Guild for a rehearsal soon, so I’ll leave some of the finer details of this week for later on. To follow: Birmingham’s latest Itchy Feet and a nostalgic trip to this year’s Vale Fireworks. Peace out!

So after trekking all over the Midlands this week, completing two essays and reading Milton’s Paradise Lost, it’s no wonder I was feeling a little sleepy. I did still manage to head out to Propaganda on Friday with my house girlies which was ace, and we saw RizzleKicks! Now though, I am suffering from post-freshers flu, something that’s been a very long time coming and will probably be hit me worse as a result. There’s nothing left to do now but curl up on my sofa and plea for reading week to come around quickly. Time for bed!

Clearly not satisfied with dancing like a loony to brass-infused tunes once within the space of a week, tonight I went to see The Cat Empire at the O2 with Siobhan, a show long awaited by both of us and a band I knew wouldn’t disappoint. A far cry from Siobhan’s first experience of them on their home Aussie turf complete with beach, warm sand, warm sea, warm evening, we taxied to the centre of Birmingham in weather fast approaching zero degrees. Brr.
Cat Empire really are just gorgeous. If I do end up writing a review for the paper about the gig it’ll probably be my most contrived and gushy article yet because writing about music is hard enough, but when it comes to trying to frame words into meaning precisely what affect music has on you, what exactly about it taps into your being and touches your senses then it can become difficult to be concise and well versed about it. That’s why it’s music and not words in the first place. Words have a habit of being messy and indirect and complicated, whereas even the simplest of melodies from the joyous shout of a trumpet bell can strike a feeling of pure ecstasy, excitement, burning embers around the heart…there you see! Good music is very tricky to encapsulate without getting all slush and that. I’ll link it anyway, when I get round to writing it.

Following the gig, Shiv went home to a warm house and pajamas sporting her new Cat Empire teeshirt, something I regret not doing sooner this evening as I sit writing late in my onesie under my duvet. As the night was yet young, I joined up with Tadgh and a couple of others from the gig and went for a wonder through the icy passages of Five Ways. We were on our way to Snobs or what we came across sooner which happened to be the Sunflower Lounge, extravagantly patterned wallpaper on one wall and my drunken friends sprawled along the other – a much more pleasant combination that it sounds.

Far too much time tonight was spent embracing the freezing cold and a climate shift that I’ve not yet adjusted to. My room is just as much of an ice box as a telephone booth would be tonight, but at least we had fun and explored a little more of our city. I’m looking forward to heading home to see Tellison and hopefully catching up with some people, turns out that gigs are like buses this month – nowt for ages then they all come at once.

‘Aehh it’s a pleasure to meet ya,
You look like one incredible creature.’

After a bit of a wild goose chase on Monday night where my friend James and I went searching for a photography exhibition only to find the studio address shut, dark and not looking very promising at all, things gradually began to improve. Instead we headed to the Vic for a cosy drink surrounded by the crazy cartooned wall art and tea-lights in what I imagine once started out as jam jars. The following night, without meaning to go out at all, I found myself finally venturing to the Spotted Dog pub in Digbeth after a rehearsal to listen to some Birmingham conservatoire kids and others play in what appeared to be a mini big band. It was mainly old swing tunes at a comfy kind of speed, suiting the tired room right down to the dusty array of pots and vases lining high shelves above the bar.

All of a sudden it was Wednesday and if there’s one thing that Wednesday means in studentsville then it’s a customary trip to Snobs. After a long day and a long rehearsal with MYJO 2, dancing to faux-indie pop music seemed to be the least of priorities. Yet, somehow, after a quick turnaround and a steady demolition of a bottle of wine, a few of us were heading out. I must say, I do love Snobs. This is perhaps because I have only ever experienced the heaving rooms of sweaty masses stamping on broken glass in a double-vodka-and-coke induced state – alcohol has that way of providing some protection and sanity in such situations. But heck, there’s even some charm in the way the sticky floor grabs at your shoes, like a hungry seal bobbing just below water’s surface. Swamp water, that is…

So anyway that was great and wonderful and jolly good fun but for the small issue of having to be in a lecture at 10am the following morning; owch. Unsurprisingly, today’s been a tad blurry, right up until I was climbing in a taxi once more to Digbeth to watch the Hit the Ode Special Poetry Dice Slam. After a few scary moments of driving through very dark streets and not knowing where on earth we were supposed to be going, Ellie, Laura and myself spotted the sign for Fazeley Studios, jittering on a long narrow flag through the gloom. On entering through the oversized blue wooden door, the dinge of the city melted away to reveal the beautifully bright and white entrance hall, stylishly adorned with flowers and cushions in the corners and several large biblical prints; clearly, this was the kind of treasure venue you’re expected to casually stumble across. Stumbled or not, we were there for the poetry, and we weren’t disappointed. Spoken word artists from all over the world performed some of their best poetry to an audience in raptured appreciation for the passion, expression, energy and pure skill of memory displayed by these stunning young poets. You’re probably wondering where the Dice come into it..but I’ll explain (or attempt to explain) that another day, once me and Ellie have written the review of it up for the Birmingham Book Festival.

Phew. To finish, Thursday really was a lovely night and after a cheeky drink at the Yardbird we three trotted on back home feeling throughly culturally enhanced. Hopefully more of this sort of thing will actually happen this year – there’s only so many times you can go to Gatecrasher and still retain 100% of your natural happiness and with all the odd little places to go and discover in the city, why queue to get into a generic night of CLUB. Anyway, preach over. A review of the Dice Slam is to follow, and if you can, definitely to get to some of the last events for the Birmingham Book Festival. If they’re all as good as last night, they are certainly not to be missed. Peace out.

What do I do to stem this discomfort? Put off actual degree work further by indulging in extra-curricular and extra-unneccesary activities. Nevermind being a ‘CV whore’, it’s getting ridiculous now. Even if you’re head of ten societies and volunteer on the weekends for a charity you’ve never even heard of, no employer will want you if you fail your degree. This is something I need to address. Furthermore, after my first experience of Fab ‘n’ Fresh at the Guild last night, today was filled with hangover cures ranging from tomato soup and copious amounts of tea to Disney films and I only ventured out of the house to buy cheese – something I couldn’t even muster changing out of pajamas for. You can see why I’m in a slight panic about my studies taking a back-seat.

The problem seems to lie in that, less and less, I see my degree as actual work. The study of literature and its surrounding elements of history, culture etc. is traditionally pleasurable and even considered to be spiritually enriching. I definitely love my degree, which is more than can be said for many students. But with my idea of studying currently being sitting in the sun and indulging in twenty lyric poems before breakfast and generally soaking up any concept of the 17th century, it’s hardly generating me any concrete credits. It’s just self-indulgent, romanticized fixation with wanting to discover more and more irrelevant material to draw upon in times of emotional trauma. Unlikely as it may sound, some verse does provide comfort where the usual trails of hapless wondering tend to fail. I’m not so sure if any of that made sense either. Prose is such a weak vehicle for expression sometimes. I’ll go back to that sometime.

It struck me earlier today that I haven’t made an entry for quite some time, so happens that typing into a grey and white intangible box seems quite ridiculous when the sun is shining outside. Never fear! Winter looms through the crusty breath of Autumn, and so begin the long dark nights of snuggling under blankets, peering at the eerie glow of a computer screen starting yet another attempt at writing something worth writing. Goodnight!

I’ve been lucky enough these past few weeks to play for a couple of my friends’ end of year music recitals. It’s great to get to still get to play jazz so regularly in an exciting, if not sometimes terrifying situation. The fact of the matter is that I’m not really cut out for this musician lark. I just happen to find it very fun. I definitely need to practise more and I’m very much looking forward to revisiting a few solo piano numbers next week. It’ll be great to get under the skin of some familiar tunes again.

On Thursday I went to catch up with an old friend; considering we both live in the city, it seems ridiculous how little we see of each other. This was topped off nicely by a night at the Yardbird, with stunning sets from horn quartet Brassjaw and a very comfortable amount of wine. Lovely.

Since the year is drawing to a close, people are moving onwards and upwards in their own various ways. Sadly, this means that myself and my flatmates will soon be saying goodbye to our friend Caitlin who’s studying over here on exchange from America. Wanting to give her a final British adventure, an impromptu road trip to Cardiff seemed like the perfect idea. Obviously? Not really. It was a lot of fun anyway though. The castle, though dating back to the 1st century (apparently!) still possesses a tremendous amount of grandeur and, on a more recent note, Cardiff Bay was just as beautifully bright and crisp as I remembered it from two summers ago.

The day was followed up with a ‘traditional’ English tea party on return to Birmingham, which oddly enough didn’t actually involve any tea… Hopefully Caitlin enjoyed it nonetheless and we wish her a fond farewell. It will definitely be strange not having her around next year.

Hopefully I’ll get my act together and start providing a little more input for this ‘blog’ soon. Finding time to write about the day-to-day is tough when life insists on racing through the days just so rapidly.