A marvellous night amongst the stars at the magnificent Regent's Park Open Air Theatre

An electrifying ensemble performance of Gershwin's Porgy & Bess at the Regent's Park Open Air Theatre, London, 22 August, 2014.

Inspirational Woolf exhibition at the NPG

A moving and insightful look at the life and influences of Virginia Woolf. The exhibition encompasses Woolf's family and upbringing, the Bloomsbury Group and the impact of the politics of the time on her work and thinking, London as inspiration and the creation of The Hogarth Press, and her lifelong battle against depression and ultimate suicide. A must-see. 

The National Portrait Gallery, London until 26 October, 2014.

Beautiful Thing: Inside the Secret World of Bombay's Dance Bars

Beautiful Thing: Inside the Secret World of Bombay's Dance Bars by Sonia Faleiro

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


This is a wonderfully engaging and elegantly written book that tells the story of Leela, a teenage bar dancer in Mumbai’s seedy, barely-concealed underworld of dance bars and prostitution.


I forgot that I was reading a work of non-fiction. The author has so skilfully crafted the story and the characters that you feel you know Leela intimately from the very first page. Later characters like Priya and the cleverly constructed Apsara are also brilliantly drawn.


Although the book covers a fairly short time span and is relatively short in length, this adds to the pace of the narrative, which was gripping throughout. Beautiful Thing is a page turner. The twist in the tale in Apsara’s story, in particular, was unexpected genius and the somewhat sudden and frustrating ending left me wanting more. If ever Faleiro was to produce a sequel I’d be eager to read it. Leela is a character that stays with you long after the final page. There are many questions that remain unanswered, many fears for Leela that remain unassuaged.

Faleiro is subtle in her revelation of the prejudices that exist within the world of the dancers themselves. While it would be easy to focus on the obvious injustices the dancers face in the outside world, Faleiro succeeds in highlighting the bigotries that consume Leela and her cohorts, revealing a moral hierarchy within an immoral world.

My one criticism about the book would be the use of long strings of Hindi, which had the tendency to disrupt the flow of the narrative rather than add to it. But this is minor. Faleiro has created an endearingly solid work that was five years in the making and is as beautiful as its title implies. Beautiful Thing is a sensitive, often shocking and moving insight into a world that most wouldn’t want to be a part of but one which we’re hooked on discovering more about, however uncomfortable it is. That’s the writer’s ultimate talent in producing this gem of a book.

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A Twisted Affair

Twisted Christmas, Barbican Hall, 11 December
Jarvis Cocker was the headliner at the Barbican’s alternative yuletide celebration but unfortunately for the audience the former Pulp frontman wasn’t the highlight. After two and a half hours of a bewildering mix of music, comedy and shadow puppetry – some of which worked, some of which didn’t - Jarvis sloped on stage to perform two brief and forgettable songs. Luckily, there were other revelations to enjoy.

Illinois-based singer-songwriter Daniel Knox was one of them. His deep melancholic vocals called to mind cold winter nights in front of the fire and were perfect for his heart-warming rendition of the classic, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Blues-folk duo The Smoke Fairies were ubiquitous on stage, and proved to be even better on their own than when performing back up for others. Patrick Wolf, a piano playing ex-chorister turned art-rocker, was sensational while unbilled songstress Camille O’Sullivan was reminiscent of a pre-tabloid era Amy Winehouse.

As well as the eclectic there was also the eccentric. Canadian singer Mary Margaret O’Hara and American Sandy Dillon provided much needed light relief, though it wasn’t entirely clear whether this was intentional.

What was intentional, however, was the wry comedy of Radio 4 presenter Jeremy Hardy, who ably steered proceedings from one fragmented act to another. But the night belonged to the shadow puppetry and accompanist Matthew Robbins who together earned plaudits in an otherwise borderline show.

Seun Kuti and Egypt 80 live at Cargo

I'd been looking forward to seeing Seun Kuti live with such anticipation that the show was in danger of being a massive anticlimax. Luckily for me, Seun and his father's original Egypt 80 had tuned in to my expectancy and delivered a storming performance that left all in awe.

Playing at Cargo in Shoreditch, the former warehouse was the perfect venue for Seun's highly politicised Afrobeat, a blend of high-life, jazz and traditional African rhythms. Reminiscent of his father Fela, Seun emerged from the shadows of his legacy to put his stamp mark on the scene despite performing much of Fela's most famous back catalogue. In fact, the highlight of the night was the title track from Kuti's new album Many Things, a bold, original anthem that puts the world to rights.

Having played at the Barbican earlier in the year to a sell out crowd, Cargo was an intimate setting for the ten man band - the hot, sweaty atmosphere was thick with the sound of the solid brass section with rythmically pulsating bodies jamming shoulder to shoulder to the beat. It was standing room only and those who couldn't dance were forced along by the push of the crowd.

After a somewhat brief hour and a half set we were left eagerly wanting more but the pre and post show DJ set was the perfect antidote. All in all, a near perfect night that will go down as one of the shows of the year.

Seun Kuti and Egypt 80 performed at Cargo in East London on Monday, 15th December.

Robert Glasper: Live at Cargo

Doo-rags, hoodies and baseball caps aren’t the usual attire of jazz aficionados but Robert Glasper’s crowd is as notable for its youth as its urban fashion sense. He, himself, is dressed like one of his tribe – oversized T-shirt, baggy jeans and obligatory glass of liquor in hand. “Don’t let this jazz thing fool you,” he jokes mid-gig as he threatens to break in to a rap after seizing the mic from guest MC, Kashmere. And it wouldn’t have been out of place if he had. For Glasper, it seems hip hop is as intrinsic to his being as his first love, jazz. The fact that his show is taking place in a smoke-filled nightclub rather than a venerable jazz venue is testament to his street cred. His warm-up act isn’t some young pretender polishing his bebop chops but a DJ whose vinyl cases are crammed with Soul and Old Skool Hip-Hop. It could so easily be a cliché if Glasper wasn’t the real deal.

Website: www.myspace.com/therealrobertglasper

The John Akii-Bua Story, An African Tragedy

At the Munich Olympics of 1972, Ugandan John Akii Bua powered round the inside lane in the 400m hurdles, past English favourite and reigning Olympic Champion David Hemery, to win the gold medal, 10m clear of the field. The clock showed 47.82, an astonishing new world record.

Akii Bua was the first African to win gold in an event under 800 metres. He was also the first man to break the 48 seconds barrier in the 400 metre hurdles, an event so gruelling its nickname is 'The Mankiller'. But, while David Hemery retired to respectable fame and fortune, Akii Bua returned to a Uganda carving the name of its military 'President', Idi Amin, into genocidal notoriety.

After the glory of 1972, John never found prosperity in his country, beautiful but blighted by the Amin slaughter, tribal rivalries and poverty. Akii Bua's tribe, the Langi, were the primary victims of Amin's slaughter, and John's national popularity could only protect him for so long. In 1979, Akii Bua fled for his life to Kenya. In the trauma, his wife gave birth prematurely, and the baby died. The couple did not even have the money to bury him.

Shortly afterwards, Akii Bua presented his former coach, Englishman Malcolm Arnold, with 12 foolscap notebooks. Arnold, astonished, found they contained Akii Bua's life story, written in longhand, in pencil, in English, his third language.

In 1983, with Amin ousted, Akii Bua returned to Uganda, his achievements and place in history seemingly forgotten. This is a film about the pinnacle of athletic achievement - and the search to discover what followed. The John Akii Bua Story is the story of one man, and of Africa itself; its glory, potential and tragedy.

The John Akii-Bua Story, An African Tragedy, was shown on BBC2 on Sunday, August 10, at 10pm
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Black Power Salute, BBC Four, 9pm

Still Black, Still Proud: An African Tribute to James Brown

The Barbican was the setting for a thrilling night of funk and frolics as legendary saxophonist Pee Wee Ellis led an all-star tribute to his long time collaborator, James Brown, at Still Black, Still Proud: An African Tribute to James Brown.

Proving that good music never dies, celebrated musicians including Senegalese guitarist Cheikh Lo, Afrobeat pioneer Tony Allen and Vieux Farka Toure joined trombonist Fred Wesley and others to salute the Godfather of Soul. And what a night it was!

Interspersing traditional African music with Brown’s extensive back catalogue, the band - accompanied by singer Fred Ross, vocalist and dancer Wunmi and UK rapper Ty - put in a pulsating performance that had the audience dancing in the aisles, bringing the house down with interpretations of classics like I Got You (I Feel Good) and Say It Loud: I’m Black and Proud. But it was Cheikh Lo’s (above) hauntingly beautiful rendition of It’s A Man’s World that was the highlight, combining awesome musicianship with Brown’s signature showmanship. South African songstress Simphiwe Dana’s bluesy homage was also a revelation.

With each band member a star in their own right, Still Black, Still Proud was an awe-inspiring evening that’s testament not only to Brown’s indisputable legacy but also to the rich vein of African musical talent. It may be nearly two years since he passed away but the spirit of James Brown truly lived on in this wonderfully captivating show.

___

Still Black, Still Proud took place on Saturday, 14th June as part of the Barbican's Groove Nations Season.

Fire in the dark: Mos Def live

Dante Smith, the brilliant rapper that is Mos Def was in town last week to showcase some tracks from his forthcoming album The Ecstatic and run through a selection of his greatest hits. Playing two sold-out shows at London's Shepherd's Bush Empire and Islington Academy, Mos worked his knowledgeable crowd in to a frenzy with classic cuts like Umi Says, Ms Fat Booty and Sex, Love and Money. Despite coming on stage at approx. 10.30pm on a Sunday night, Mos gave a solid performance in front of an audience that was clearly in awe of the talented Brooklynite. After the poorly-received The New Danger and True Magic Mos appears to have returned to form as one of the finest and most credible MCs in the game. Support was ably provided by London's own Pyrelli and Swedish-American hip-hop group OneSelf.

On another note, today I had the pleasure of interviewing an unusual rising star in the shape of British saxophonist YolanDa Brown. Brown is different because not only is she a black female instrumentalist in a male-dominated genre but she's also highly-educated. The 25 year old musician is studying for a PhD as well as regularly performing on the tour circuit and working on her debut album. Check out http://www.sylviaarthur.co.uk/ for more info on this woman to watch.

Until next week...

Lessons in transcendence: Rahsaan takes it to another level

Picture the scene: It's 9.30pm on a mild October Wednesday. A hardcore contingent of soul music aficionados are gearing up for a short but satisfying gig from one of the genre's most gifted artists. By 11 o'clock it'll all be over and we'll go our separate ways, content until we meet again. Job done. Now for what really happened. Enter the world of Rahsaan Patterson:

In Rahsaan's world there are no worries about getting up for work in the morning or how to make the long journey home when the underground shuts down. No. In Rahsaan's world, where he is the Pied Piper and we are his followers, time stands still as he guides us through his outstanding collection of finely-crafted material, from his eponymous 1997 debut through to Wines and Spirits, his latest offering. Locked in transcendence for two-and-a-half hours of pure musical ecstasy, Patterson's rapt audience are consumed by the sheer force of his talent. If heaven were a sonic construct this would be it.

Patterson's voice is the central tool in a superior six-piece band that features two fine backing singers and a keyboardist who's notable, not as the lone white guy in the ensemble, but as a brilliant multi-instrumentalist. With undertones of Prince that speak of admiration not imitation, Patterson is an exceptional vocalist who epitomises soul. He simultaneously provides a lesson in artistry for wannabes while raising the bar for his peers.

At a time when it's the norm for artists to race through a set with little regard for their audience, Patterson is an utterly unselfish performer who clearly sees his role as paying his dues to his loyal fan base. And we were certainly repaid in full. Extended renditions of Sure Boy, Don't Run So Fast and the Van Hunt After Hours collaboration The Best were particular peaks in an evening full of highs. This is a man at the top of his game. There's Rahsaan Patterson, then there's everyone else.

At the end of the night I was disappointed to be leaving the Jazz Café. Forced back out in to the real world, the problem of getting home and being at work in just a few hours brought me back down to earth with a thud.

But I, like the rest of the crowd knew that for a time we were in the presence of greatness, treated to a very special show from a consummate artist who's truly out of this world. I can't wait for Rahsaan to return. "Earth to Planet Patterson... Beam me up Scotty!"

Wines and Spirits is out now on Dome Records.

Review: Joe Guy is the man!

OK, I admit it. I was apprehensive about seeing Joe Guy, the new Roy Williams play currently in residence at the Soho Theatre. "Yet another production exploring the historically difficult relationship between Africans and Caribbeans, yet another vehicle for exposing our ignorance in public," I thought. Blah de blah, blah! And it’s themed around football to boot. Not my idea of a great night out. How wrong could I be.

This is not a play about football. Nor is it a clichéd or gratuitous attempt to cash in on the neuroses of black Britons. Rather, Joe Guy is an intensely engaging story of a young man wanting desperately to fit in to a society at odds with, and occasionally hostile to his culture and skin colour.

Joe Boateng is a successful Premiership footballer who arrives in the UK as a twelve-year-old from Ghana. Displaying a talent for hard work and the beautiful game doesn’t insulate him from schoolyard taunts about the thickness of his accent or the darkness of his skin. So taking solace from the adage that success is the best revenge he sets his mind to making it big as a way of getting back at the bullies.

The epicentre of the play is crystallised in a stirring and impassioned monologue which sees Joe transform himself from a harassed, awkward-speaking teenager in to a streetwise, slang-talking man. This marks a turning point in Joe’s evolution to wild egocentric, which ultimately sees him charged with rape.

The beauty of Joe Guy is in the detail. The dialogue is sharp and witty, delivered by a group of wholly identifiable characters that could have been drawn from any school or street in London. A stellar ensemble performance from an energetic cast makes it almost churlish to single out individuals. However, Abdul Salis in the lead role of Joe Boateng is a revelation and Mo Sesay, whose turns as a dim-witted bodyguard, an aging footballer and Joe’s curmudgeonly father are all equally utterly convincing. This combined with the fast-paced direction and simple but effective set makes Joe Guy an action-packed hour and a half of intelligent and compelling self-examination.

My one criticism of an otherwise excellent production is that some scenes were overly long, with a tendency to labour an already emphasised point. But this is just being finicky.

Williams’ unique powers of observation are evident through the crisp clear way in which he translates an otherwise overplayed subject in to a captivating cultural narrative of our times. All in all, Williams manages to encapsulate the complexity of a vexed and taboo topic without either trivialising or romanticising the

2007 has been a relatively good year for black British theatre but this is by far the best production I’ve seen all year. You have until 24th November to judge for yourselves. You have been warned. 4½ / 5.

Joe Guy is on at the Soho Theatre until 24th November. Book online or for more info, visit http://www.tiatafahodzi.com/.

Africa Plays On... And why you should be listening

Africa Plays On… was originally released to commemorate Africa’s participation in the 2006 World Cup but the songs on this disc will far outlive the Summer of ‘06. The album’s standout cuts are the opener Please Don’t Stop, a sublime collaboration between US R&B singer John Legend and Cameroonian bassist Richard Bona and the brilliantly epic 2000 Blacks Got To Be Free by Roy Ayers and Fela Kuti. Wahala Project’s Wahala, a groovy slice of Afro-funk also rates an honourable mention. The ubiquitous Akon makes an understated appearance on Amadou and Mariam’s Coulibaly while reggae fans can choose between Alpha Blondy’s rootsy Cocody Rock or Waldemar Bastos’ dancehall-tinged Pitanga Madurinha II. Man of the Moment K’naan shines on Ba Sissoko’s Silani and Osibisa show they haven’t lost any of their old sparkle on Watusi.

Africa Plays On… is an excellent introduction to the eclectic sounds and talents of a diverse continent. For neophytes it serves as a delectable taster of what Africa has to offer and perfectly enunciates how African music could compete in the international mainstream. Don’t worry if you don’t understand any of the many languages on this disc. The beauty of this compilation is that the truly universal rhythms transcend linguistic boundaries, taking the listener on a compelling journey through a musical soundscape.
A true aural delight! SA.

Shoot The Messenger: The Morning after the Night Before

I felt compelled against my better judgement to stay up last night and watch Shoot The Messenger (BBC2, 9pm, Wed, 30/08/06), having been told by many friends that this was definitely watercooler TV. It’s not good to go to bed with an angry mind and I knew that like Channel 4’s The Great British Black Invasion this had the potential to rile me. And indeed it did.

Shoot The Messenger was train crash TV, an awkward juxtaposition of every stereotype that currently exists about black boys and men. Every character was a conflicted tragedy and every tragic character was black. In the first thirty minutes it became clear that the sole objective of the film was simply to see how many stereotypes can be easily crammed in to 90 minutes. And there were enough of them to go round:

The uneducated black boy
The undisciplined black boy
Black self-loathing
Black-on-black crime
The black man in prison
The black man in a mental health institution
The homeless black man
The tormented black man

The storyline was inconsistent and weak and based on a series of unconnected and flimsy premises. The relationships betweens the main characters were undeveloped and unbelievable. Why would someone like Heather or indeed any sane intelligent black woman go out with someone like Joe, who openly declares that he hates black people? Why wasn’t she shocked when she heard his declaration? Why would Joe himself want to go out with a black woman? What well-to- do black parent would see their child out on the streets, especially parents like Joe’s?

From beginning to end Shoot The Messenger careered from one inexplicable extreme to the next and was littered with gaping holes that left many unanswered questions:

Why did Germal, the teenage tearaway, go mad? While Joe’s descent into mental illness was understandable, if not questionable, Germal’s stay in a mental health institution was simply a gratuitous twist in an already hackneyed plot that saw another black male character end up in prison for black-on-black murder. Are we forced to assume that insanity or incarceration or both are an inevitable consequence of being black?

Where were Germal’s parents? Though his mother was twice alluded to again the viewer is left to assume that he is yet another fatherless product of a single mother and a victim of fate.

Why did the only ‘normal’ character, Joe’s girlfriend Heather have to have issues? And a weave? This isn’t the ‘60’s. Not every black hairstyle is a political statement. But of course there had to be a deep-rooted reason why she preferred human hair out of a bag to the natural hair on her head. And then the came the sob story … “When I was younger I was lined up with my sisters and put to the back of the line because I was dark and ugly.”

Just when you thought Shoot The Messenger was about to redeem itself, when the lead character Joe implored his girlfriend Heather to, “Sort out the mess on your head and I’ll sort out the mess in mine” you were left disappointed when the film once again descended in to a hyper-critical introspective muddle. While the film’s opening line has been much maligned - “Everything bad that has ever happened to me has involved a black person” – by far the most shocking and damaging dialogue came when Joe concluded that perhaps the reason why black people are obsessed with slavery is because “we were actually good at it. We were productive then.” In an interview in this week’s New Nation newspaper the film’s writer Sharon Foster says black people can’t be afraid to tell the truth. What possible truth can be derived from that statement?

If there was anything good to be taken from this film it was that the directing was slick and the acting was brilliant but that was never in question.

In the end I realised that there was really nothing in this film to get angry about. Shoot The Messenger was supposed to be clever and ironic. Instead it was tacky and submissive. Last night I went to bed content in the knowledge that thankfully I personally don’t know any of the characters portrayed in the film (and no, I don’t live in some backwater in the country). While some may question the truth of this statement I’d prefer instead to question the kind of society that has us believing that every black woman under 30 is an unemployed single mother with four children by four different fathers who will either end up in prison or in the mental health system. And it was then that I realised that I must take this film for what it was – an exaggerated work of fiction. SA.