Flett-cetera

I think I owe you a blog post. It’s almost the end of my first semester at university and I’d like to keep you in the loop.

Life in Hermit’s Croft is falling into its routines. The installation of street furniture is complete. A gleaned guitar, a lamp and leather seat. Fairy lights lazily draped above the sink exude their quiet glow, and 6 Music is interspersed with Radio 3 from generously gifted PC speakers.

On Thursdays of an evening I’ll attend some wordy gathering, or when the mood takes me, a guest lecture or a workshop. Perhaps a couple of days in the week I’ll visit the gym or swim. I’m settling into equilibrium, but I want to fight it.

You find me just as I have given my presentation for my oral class in German. The subject was the federal state of Brandenburg – core of the Hohenzollern dynasty and seat of Prussian Kings. In German one is prompted to reflect upon the nature of language. Is one dialect representative of the language as a whole? Can you say you’ve learnt German if all you know is Hochdeutsch? You’d probably have a hard time in Bavaria.

Similarly, one is also invited to consider questions of identity and a sense of place or belonging. We think of our Scottish identity, a year on from a no vote and on the day of our patron saint. I consider my Orcadian upbringing. I’ve come to realise just how lucky I’ve been to have grown up in such a nice place, with a real sense of cultural identity; this perhaps coming rather artificially from the need to promote ourselves to further the tourism industry? Maybe I’m being cynical – it could be that the strength of oral tradition and inherent kinship with our forbearers has led to the preservation of such things, but who knows?

Edinburgh has many advantages over Orkney, whilst it may be great to go into the pub and recognise almost every person, one can’t help but crave anonymity at times. I can go to things alone and feel less of a loner, because actually quite a lot of people are loners too. I can go to a writing workshop and feel among friends without exchanging names.

Over the weekend I took part in Scotland’s Climate March, praying most of the time for a turn in the weather to ease the damp miserly of our technicolour advance. I suppose that’s what they call direct democracy.

Speaking of democracy, let’s talk absolutism. Yes, I’m loving my European History course, which stretches from the Renaissance to the French Revolution. I am fascinated and appalled at the audacity of figures such as Machiavelli, Louis XIV and Frederick the Great. I find it thrilling to contemplate the intellectual movements which influenced them; the apparent contradiction of Absolutism and Enlightenment married to great affect by Prussian Kings. You can see why I picked Brandenburg now…

University allows time for deep reflection, self-discovery and extra-curricular development. So naturally, I’ve spent mine watching Rick and Morty, discovering Peep Show, Parks and Recreation and becoming a huge fan of Community. In all seriousness, some books I’ve read in my spare time are More’s Utopia, Wilde’s A Picture of Dorian Gray and I’m just finishing Dracula. But just to be clear, I whole-heartedly endorse Rick and Morty. Everything about it is great. Watch it.

I don’t feel as if I’ve lost touch with Orkney. Feelings of home come out of me in bursts. A dialect word that so perfectly fits a situation, when one afternoon you find yourself writing a crofting scene ripped from 1850s Harray without ever intending. Just last week I was at a gig where Ross Clark of Hybrid Constellation fame was playing with his new band In Stations. I felt a pang of sentimentality at the syncopated djent breakdown slotted quite unsubtly into some intricate alt-rock composition. Disclaimer, they were by far the best act of the three I saw that night and I’ll definitely go and see them again if I get the chance.

That’s just about all I have to say for now. Adios! Adieu! Tschuss! Ciao! And may the force be with you! #StarWarsEpisodeVIIhype

I write to you after a considerable absence at the keyboard for the past month. Since my last post I have moved to the Scottish capital Edinburgh where I am attending the University thereof in the study of English Literature and German. I currently reside on the ground floor of a block of student accommodation known charmingly as Hermit’s Croft with four other male flatmates, each bestowed with single-syllable names to my triplicate title.

You find me now at the end of my first week of “proper” lectures, following on from the introductory foray that is Freshers’ Week. Henceforth I shall transcribe an account of my misadventures that have accompanied me to this point.

Saturday 12^th – moving in day. My family sticks around for as long as possible, we dine in the Elephant House café; an establishment which claims to have been host to the production of much of the first in the Harry Potter series. I eat little of my lasagne; I’m tense and defensive – this heightened state is mixed in with a good helping of FMO (Fear of Missing Out) because obviously everyone is having the time of their lives and is in a state of unprecedented euphoria, already having a whole city’s worth of friends in their possession within the first day of Freshers’ Week.

I tread carefully around in my new nine-month home. Any quirk or misdemeanour could sour a whole year’s worth of relations between myself and my randomly allocated acquaintances. Steeling myself for rejection and abuse I knock on the door of my, one and only at this stage, neighbour.

And we go out. Because it is expected and because I’ve planned it. All of it. Planned meticulously planned because spontaneity really isn’t me and this day has had too much already. I know the names of the bands playing, all researched and catalogued and calandered (yes that’s a verb now.) And yet, still utterly terrifying.

But by chance, sweet happenstance and coincidence, we meet a Bulgarian. Female Bulgarian. Out of all the nationalities that could have approached us, a Bulgarian.

This sounds unhinged I know, but there is an explanation for the remarkability with which I attribute the cultural collision. Yet a fortnight’s past I had hosted a European Union themed party which required of the attendees to dress according to their own specific and unique member state; this could be either the national dress, an indigenous celebrity or something more abstract to represent the given country. As luck would have it, I gave myself the task of representing Bulgaria for which I learnt “good evening” in the native tongue and made a Shopska Salad for the international buffet.

But the façade of friendship was eroded by the revelation that this 20-year-old was in fact a second year Freshers’ Week volunteer. I immediately began to question the veracity of the encounter, whether the entire conversation had been a false construct designed to make me feel welcome. This information once solicited, could never be withdrawn and even as I sat opposite her and my newly confessed vegan friend drinking ginger and lemon tea back at the flat I could not help the gnawing sense of paranoia from nibbling at my psyche.

On Sunday I attended my first Model UN debate in the Teviot Hall. This was where I met my New Yorker friends as we discussed solutions to the Syrian Refugee crisis. I found it very entertaining as a charismatic and impassioned representation of Lebanon was made, allied with Assad and blaming the Western intervention for the escalation of the conflict and the rise of ISIS. Of course I signed up for this society as I was advised by a cousin – say yes to everything; this of all weeks is the week of agreeability.

As darkness fell I returned to the Student Union; a place I had been told beforehand that I would never return to after the first week. Pronto Mama – a Glasgow-based six piece “indie prog” band were playing. They mixed a progressive sound with funky brass/saxophone breaks and rich harmonies to create a fascinating textural soundscape. For one song the entire band descended from the stage and unamplified sang a hauntingly beautiful acapella. To top it off I realised that I had been “dancing” beside someone doing exactly the same course as me all the way through.

On Monday I took the “lads” on a pub quiz in the Pleasance in which we did pretty poorly. Tuesday saw another UN debate, where territorial disputes and the increasing militarisation within the arctic were proposedly solved by making the region a permanent venue for winter sports by the delegate for the International Olympic Committee. Wednesday was my first proper experience of a DJ set, with a member of Metronomy taking to the decks to deliver a good mix of funk and indie tunes for the night.

Thursday was another first experience, this time of a poetry slam. This was truly a verbal extravaganza, an astounding level of quality and thoroughly contemporary content. It was quite strange to begin with, to listen to and experience poetry in a competitive context but the format did not seem to detract from what was being delivered. The crowd clicking in approval at particularly evocative moments, respectful but clearly engaging with what was being said. This was probably the most subtle yet potent moments of Freshers’ Week, although it was followed by discordant, atonal post rock in the Teviot whilst drunk members of the front row set about their task of destroying a plastic Guitar Hero controller during the progress of the set.

On Friday I went to the Introduction to the Student Newspaper, which really wasn’t much of an introduction to the Student Newspaper but was an introduction to some students who wanted to write for the newspaper. There I met a fellow Hermit’s Croftian and we went off to some flat party in Robertson’s Close which descended into some strange possibly too posh nightclub where shattered shards were scattered across the dancefloor.

The finale of my induction to Edinburgh concluded in Glasgow, where I had purchased months previously a ticket to see Wolf Alice off the back of a generous Ticketmaster voucher. I was greeted, on arrival in the Second City of the empire, by The Proclaimers blasting through the PA in George Square at a huge Yes rally, a year on from the rejection of independence by the Scottish people.

My experience of the gig was hindered somewhat by the necessity of carrying my overnight bag on my back, otherwise I would have been right in the moshpit. Anyhow, the band were excellent and I got to see Drenge also. The night ended after flat “pre-drinks” (a somewhat alien concept for me admittedly) in the Glasgow University Union, which is an entirely different animal from EUSA’s offerings. I have two words – Topless Balcony.

This may seem rather rambling and lacking in any perceivable connecting thread so I’m just going to wrap up in this following paragraph.

After two weeks in Edinburgh I’m slowly beginning to think that I may have made the right choice coming here. Though I won’t admit to having anything like the seemingly instantaneous camaraderie expected of a Fresher during their first couple of weeks, I feel the origins and roots of deeper things emerging. Intellectual bonds and meetings of the mind. I’ve met people whose, although I may not agree with them entirely, views and passions will help me to see the world more clearly and develop as person. I think of philosophy, and of seemingly useless anecdotes suddenly becoming relevant. On my visit to the anarchist society, my knowledge of communism suddenly finding forums for informed discussion. Even in these early days the theory of university as a scholastic community and a place of people who care about ideas is proving to be true. P.S. The city is totes beaut also.

I’m sitting in Matchmakers. The seats are covered in white, it’s bustling and people cluster around tables, rising occasionally to negotiate the tricky terrain up to the bar and back. My view is partially blocked by a wooden partition so I have to lean forward slightly to gain the fullest view of the stage yet to be filled.

Trumpets, saxophones, cornets, tuba, French horn, guitar and two basses make their way up and four voices position themselves stage left.

This was the Orkney Schools Big Band’s debut performance. They were to provide an evening of entertainment with support from a newly formed jazz trio.

With a quick introduction given through a slightly uncooperative microphone, they set off with the classic Birdland. This tune had a strong bassline and rhythm section to back some sleazy saxophone riffs. Gemma Harcus then performed Michael Buble’s Haven’t Met You Yet; a charming, yet still musically interesting number which set the standard high for the following vocal pieces. We then heard Anna Taylor sing the Latin classic Sway, another highly confident performance. However, it was a shame that there was only a limited array of percussion, which could have helped to set the scene even more.

Next we heard a couple of tunes from the trio, with David Flanagan displaying his highly accomplished bass skills and musicianship in some great improvisational jazz.

After a short break, so the brass players could “save their faces”, we were treated to A Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square as sung by Sandy Carmichael; a wonderful song in which he demonstrated impressive vocal range and dynamics. Cameron Dowel (fresh from local fame in the role of the romantic lead, Marius in Kirkwall Amatuer Operatic Society’s Les Miserables) then took his turn to sing a Frank Sinatra classic, Come Fly with Me. Dowel is a true showman with a silky smooth, luxurious voice that puts the audience at ease while still brimming with expression. He is clearly influenced by the great crooners of that era and brought personality to the piece, signing off with a characterful spoken line.

The four singers then came together for a Big Band take on The Beatles’ Twist and Shout, which was packed with solos from every corner, and another unique interpretation of Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing.

Overall, the night was hugely enjoyable. Despite some repertoire problems and occasional organisational hiccups, the band was talented and able to cope with the demands and challenges that arose from a gig of this kind. Personally, I feel as if the singers could have been utilised more, especially when popular songs were done as instrumentals such as Born To Be Wild and RESPECT.  Much of the time the singers were simply waiting off to the side, which was a shame considering their quality.

Following the show, I was quickly ferried through to Stromness, and introduced to, no, perhaps confronted with, George the Poet (spoken word artist) on the way there. Merry-making occurred, I spied a ravaged birthday cake, party rings were consumed, I sang Wham loudly. I returned home.

On Saturday I found myself volunteering at the Youth Divisional Final of the Drama Festival. As part of a team of four I sold raffles and ice cream, opened and closed doors and gave out prizes. In exchange I got to watch the four finalist group’s plays.

First was a play called Flushed and was set in the ladies of a closing nightclub. The production was cleverly staged; the floor was littered with paper towels, the dingy aesthetic so effectively portrayed you could almost smell it. The three actresses were virtually unseen for the first five minutes or so, with the exception of their high-heeled feet, concealed within cubicles. This made it technically challenging with the players having to project their voices even more loudly than usual. There were also some tricky set pieces involving a toilet roll supply crisis, which required the cast to launch the roll from cubicle to cubicle, coordinating their unsynchronised efforts for comedic effect. The pace did drag at times and the situation was not quite as hilarious as it could have been with repetitious gags and the naff use of the word “sugar” to replace any potential expletives, verbs included.

In contrast, the following play was abundant with colourful language. However, this did not detract and gave the dialogue a more realistic feel. This was the shortest of the plays, was impressively written by the cast themselves and came with an important message – that it is not right to hide who you are, even if it does result in the short term backlash of a prejudiced minority. The story followed a boy’s journey from coming out to his female best friend, to being accepted by those around him for who he was, as school gossip moved on to new developments. The play had some particularly strong characters, especially our protagonist’s funny best friend and the oblivious chatterbox mother. It also featured some intelligent staging, particularly the use of sound effects in the typing and texting scenes and the lighting in the horrific dream sequence.

Bellybuttons, a play about the decaying innocence of late primary school, generated the most laughs of the night. A new boy from “England” boasts about his gangster past and prolific impregnation od his numerous female acquaintances. This leads his new pals to interrogate him for details and it quickly becomes clear that one of them is entirely ignorant about how they came to be. He begins to explain to the rest of them the extent of his “knowledge” but is rudely interrupted by one of the girls, clearly in awe of this “foreign” newbie. This was a great script, performed with a sense of humour but suffered at times from some poor cueing.

Finally, the winners, Orkney’s own Palace Players took to the stage in a two man show – Down Came the Rain, starring Callum MacArthur and Harry Siderfin. It was a heart-wrenching performance exploring the relationship between an older and younger brother, the latter of whom has learning difficulties. Although the play was only about half an hour, as an audience member I was made to feel as if I’d known the pair far longer. There was a rich backstory and much was left unsaid; the silences were equally as expressive as the dialogue. These talented young actors were able to capture the tension effectively, which made for a raw, affecting climax.

After a short “party”, at which I was able to congratulate the victors and chat to the other participants and fellow volunteers, I was shuttled to the Bothy Bar, where I had the pleasure of witnessing the blues rock trio, Jackalope, perform.

As it was the weekend preceding the day of Saint Patrick’s, the band had in truth recruited a fourth member, fiddler Anna Rothnie, to give a folky flavour to their Irish themed numbers.

I arrived to the sound of their signature stompy grooves. Even on this initial impression I could observe that their sound was more dynamic in range, there were more layers of distortion and volume being experimented with; a more confident, complex sonic landscape was being created than I had previously heard from the band.

Quickly, a pub-dweller raised the question, “D’ye ken any Bruce Springsteen?”

Alas, the band members politely disappointed him. However, they were able to appease the chatty checked-shirted chap with a cover of Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get it On – a melodious breath of fresh air, albeit a slightly uncomfortable one.

With new recruit in tow the band did a lively cover of the Dropkick Murphys’ Shipping Up to Boston, which lilted along with its bizarre mix of punk and Irish folk. The guitar and fiddle traded the melody nicely. Next came the rather seasonally inapt Fairytale of New York – a great song and brave choice for March. This featured a vocal duet from Stead and Rothnie and though perhaps not quite executed as ideally desired, their ambition was to be commended.

The band went on to play some covers with highlights including QOTSA’s No One Knows, in which Harrison demonstrated a diverse range of complex drum fills; Brianstorm by Arctic Monkeys, and Led Zeppelin’s Dazed and Confused. Jackalope treated the crowd to some of the material from the upcoming E.P, they debuted a grittier, angrier sound that diverges from their earlier, more traditional blues focused efforts.

Jackalope closed with an unrecognisable cover of Taylor Swift, which sounded particularly Muse-y, followed by the corny but classic Born to Be Wild, which featured an unexpected midway Pulp Fiction breakdown. My main criticism would be the want of melody in some of their songs. Perhaps some, wiser critics, would dare to cry “too much beat”? Nevertheless I believe the fact Jackalope is not afraid to be abrasive, to offend, and to divide is admirable in itself.

Hello? I’m speaking to you from the year 2015, can you still hear me?

Back. Yes, 2015 for me should prove an altogether interesting annum, if not quite as monumental for the nation. In Scotland last year we celebrated Dependence Day on September the 18^th and the Glasgow Commonwealth Games were held in which the Stockholm Syndrome Syndicate showed off their skill.

This year I’ll vote in my first General Election, pass my driving test (fingers crossed), drink a legal pint and leave for university. Exciting stuff if it all comes off.

Where am I now, I hear you ask. Well I’m in the sixth and final year of my secondary education and currently in the throes of my History dissertation on the Foreign Policy of the Soviet Union (you can tell that a little too much research has been done when you’re recommended page is “RevLeft” on Facebook) and English dissertation on the religious satires of Will Self and the late Iain Banks. In my Highers I’m grappling with the photoelectric in Physics and osmoregulation in Biology. Prelims loom ominously on the horizon.

I’ve sent my “UCAS” university application in and so far have received an unconditional offer to Strathclyde to study English, Journalism & Creative Writing. The news was a relief. However, it’s a middle-ground choice, so we’ll still have to see what the others I’m yet to hear of are thinking.

Anyway, to skip to the interesting bit, I’ve decided, after much deliberation, tweaking and mulling over, to publish my summer project on amazon KDP (Kindle Direct Publishing.) I’ve written a short novel. It’s been something I’ve wanted to do for a while and now it’s out there.

Scary stuff eh?

Entitled The Treeless Isles, it is set in a fictional embodiment of mine own island homeland and tells of the struggle of the recently fatherless heirs to the seat of the Heartland and their struggle for cultural and political survival…

Did I mention today is the last chance to download it for free?

Oh well, here’s the link!

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00RU324YA

P.S I would say “don’t judge”, but I would really love it if you left a review (if, that is, you stick it out to completion.)

Jackalope are a three-piece blues rock band consisting of Jonah Stead on vocals and guitar, Alasdair Gauld on keys and Alistair Harrison on drums. First emerging as a concept in a charity fundraising concert in the Academy, they went on to perform at Orkney Live Aid in Matchmakers for the Philippines earthquake disaster appeal where they were talent-spotted and booked to perform in the county’s first exclusively “rock” festival in the Kirkwall Sailing Club. There, the trio upped the energy and took on a more aggressive style, which suited the event with a significant proportion of metal-heads in witness. Most recently, the lads played the Blues Festival, where they gained yet more connections in their most successful gigs to date playing in venues across Stromness including The Royal, the Stromness Hotel and the Ferry Inn.

The name Jackalope is that of the Native American mythical creature – a magical rabbit with deer antlers attributed with benevolent and dangerous qualities depending on the myth’s interpretation. The band prides itself with playing mostly original material and their own unique spin on classic blues standards. They hope to release their debut E.P imminently.

Jonah is the band’s frontman and principal songwriter. Following the break-up of the fast but bright-burning MCTB he embarked on a solo career where he honed his composition and technical skills, performing primarily for an internet audience on the audio-sharing site Soundcloud where he gained a small but dedicated following. His influences include Jack White, the Doors and classic blues artists. His guitar playing style is forceful and peppered with signature flourishes and motifs, while at the same time incorporating delicate picking, finger-work and interesting jazzy chords.

Alasdair, the piano man, keeps it cool in the back, casually keeping it all together in the absence of a bassist. He makes use of the entire range of his 88 keys in spiralling solos. Classical influences can clearly be heard amongst all the jazzy noodling, which gives a dimension of grandeur to the three-piece outfit. Sometimes he switches to organ, which is always nice to hear, given the keyboard’s capability of producing an adequate drawbar sound. A personal highlight is the flange effect, adding a sci-fi feel to particular songs.

Harrison is the latest addition to the band, joining to complete the group’s current line up at the Orkney Rock Festival, where the additional dynamic was required. He provides drive and extra energy to an already highly enthusiastic group. The addition of a drummer really elevates the sound, particularly in the newer, heavier songs – effectively increasing the contrast and the extremes of crescendo and diminuendo.

alasdair-from-jackalope-interview

http://https://soundcloud.com/alasdair-flett/jonah-harrison-from-jackalope-interview

P.S If you’d like to read more of this and other similar articles then visit StromNext’s Facebook or Twitter page and order a Stromnessian for only £5!

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Oh, and give these guys a follow while you’re at it.

http://https://twitter.com/_JackalopeBand