Exeposé
| WEEK EIGHT
MUSIC
www.exepose.ex.ac.uk
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Judge Dreadlock: Newton Faulkner plays the Great Hall Vanessa Tracey caught the seminal ginger, Rastafarian troubador in the Great Hall and couldn’t move for couples “RIGHT, now see if you get this one,” he said with a wry grin, swinging back a red dreadlock and launching into a Kermit the frog impression. Definitely not the typically wild Friday night I was expecting before I discovered that the gig had been pushed back a week due to a bout of laryngitis, and that there were still some remaining tickets. Yet you couldn’t help but be charmed by Newton’s mellow harmonies, blasé attitude and old lady anecdotes, all told in a very well-spoken voice which didn’t quite fit with his appearance.
“He played the kind of music perfect for nights in under a blanket, consequently giving couples in the audience the perfect opportunity to rub each other”
His nonchalant air on stage perhaps explains why Newton has always been on the edge of the public eye, despite topping the album charts for the third time in July with Write It On Your Skin.
Even with a three year break, the album is filled with the same kind of inoffensive and non-boundary pushing songs as his other two. The kind which are perfect for nights in under a blanket, consequently giving couples in the audience (everybody) the perfect opportunity to rub each other all night and make others feel awkward. With an acoustic act, it can be difficult to maintain an audience’s attention, especially since it was just him, four different guitars and a kick drum. But somehow, between sips of tea and guitar tuning, Newton had the crowd engrossed with his rhythmic guitar playing and his own syncopated accompaniment created by tapping and patting both the strings and body. I don’t think there was one part of the guitar that he didn’t use, and he even sang through the sound hole at one point. His earthy vocals were warming, and we all did a sufficient amount of swaying throughout which increased for the more well-known tracks like ‘I Need Something’ or Massive Attack’s ‘Teardrop’. Admittedly, it was sometimes difficult to distinguish one song from the
next. However, Newton didn’t just stand and play his new stuff, but taught it to us by splitting the crowd into three and
“Between sips of tea, Newton had the crowd engrossed with his rhythmic playing and syncopated accompaniment” making each part sing a harmony. Yeah I know, a bit cheesy, but with the kind of tunes like ‘Clouds’ it worked really well and livened the atmosphere which was just on the verge of being too laidback. Other highlights were ‘Long Shot’, the more upbeat ‘Brick by Brick’ and a surprising cover of Stevie Wonder’s ‘Superstition’. I was assuming that the concert would end with ‘Dream Catch Me’ seeing as it’s the one we were all waiting for. But instead he played ‘Write It On Your Skin’, which was just as well received, and after that we confusedly sang along to his one man rendition of ‘Bohemi-
Ram-Nam Style: The circle of Rameoke hell
Hugh Dignan waxes theological on the hysterical warbling of drunken freshers on Friday nights at The Ram
Photo: Joshua Irwandi
RAMEOKE: Where stars are born and dignity lost. Where that fine line between poor singing and crimes against humanity becomes blurred. Where people who are much too drunk sing/ songvomit Journey. And sometimes they’re not even drunk. And this Friday was no exception; what started as some friendly drinks at the Ram eventually led to a collective loss of faith in God’s decision to create human life, brain function battered into simply staring agape as that guy gets on stage again, and again, and again; virtually every performance devolving into some kind of sick, alcohol-fueled parody of the very concept of music. All set to fucking ‘Uptown Girl’. Surely there’s some kind of circle of hell
“What started as some friendly drinks eventually led to a collective loss of faith in God’s decision to create human life” that’s just bad karaoke, Dante must have just blocked it out; you can only assume even the Renaissance had some kind of unholy ancestral precursor, this kind of evil is eternal. Even when there is a rare glimpse of hope, like the sight of Bohemian Rhapsody on the song list or a performer who actually has functional vocal cords, all it does is remind you of the horror that surrounds you, hammered home as that old favourite gets up once more to drunkenly mumble something before vocalising a brain haemorrhage to some Elton John. It’s like in their drunken, perma-blurred state they reason (or attempt to) that if blindness gave Ray Charles and Ste-
love lives shouldn’t go to see him without a partner, you’ll be distracted by all the smooching and leave slightly more depressed than before.
an Rhapsody’. I decided not to think about it too much and overall felt quite humbled, wanting to nip down to the Firehouse with him for a chat. Although those with emotionally complex
F*ck Da Policies Romney’s Kid Rock & Meatloaf fell flat to Obama’s Al Green and duet with BB King. Assuming musical taste equals political success, what would you like to see sung by politicians? Anne Widdecombe doing Lil Wayne’s “Pussy, Money, Weed.” Or as she likes to call it “Celibacy, Farthings, Oregano.” BEN WINSOR
Perhaps Cameron and Osborne could do a nifty take on “Ni**as In Paris” - of course it would have to be “Old boys In Eton”, with such lines as “I spend so hard, tax man never gonna find me, yeah first he gotta find me, whats fifty grand to my expense account can you please remind me?” BEN MURPHIE vie Wonder super-human talent maybe tone-deafness will too. They are wrong in that assumption. But the weird thing is, the thing that makes me suspect some kind of sorcery, is that it’s kinda fun. A weekly
“Old favourites become vocalised brain haemorrhages” testament to the idea of ‘so bad it’s good’, Rameoke provides constant background amusement. Got nothing to say? Just turn round and laugh at the person eating the microphone. Cold rendered you too poorly to dance and drink too often equally awful music in
a club? Fear not, you can just go and thetical terrorists are into irony. I doubt watch music destroy itself onstage, they are though. Hypothetical terrorlocked in some kind of rhythm black ists are renowned for their seriousness hole. Feel a bit dead inside? Think no and absolute devotion, which is why a nail file is considered a dangerous one else relates to your misery? weapon on a plane. Well then you probably So yeah, I’m not reshouldn’t be around alRead more ally sure if this is an cohol. But if you must reviews and endorsement or a then go get some good ol’ soul-nour- articles on the newly scathing criticism. All I can say is, if ishment by watchlaunched you are that guy deing people sing as if, website and join the filing everyone else’s as one noted analyst community on ears you’re probably opined, they’re hoshaving a hell of a lot of tage victims, forced to Facebook fun; I’ve been there, group sing as some kind of meskareoke is awesome once your sage about the decadence of the West, possibly whilst singing ‘We body is 23 per cent alcohol, even UpDidn’t Start The Fire’ if these hypo- town Girl. *Shudder*
Exeposé
I’d like Romney to have a breakdown, take loads of cocaine and play ‘Murder The Government’ by NOFX. TOM OBERST
I’d like to see Chairman Mao sing The Beatles’ ‘Revolution’ as an ironic comeback to his opponents. TOM BOND
Surely BoJo singing ‘Right Said Fred’ in his best Bernard Cribbins impression would instantly hit number one shortly before completely melting the internet through too many downloads. LEAH DEVANEY