LIVE REVIEW: Franz Ferdinand

This article is copyright of The Scotsman and used with their permission for this purpose only.

Franz Ferdinand

SWG3, Glasgow

****

Glasgow's Franz Ferdinand have always been steeped in the post-modern spirit of their art-pop idols, Roxy Music, Talking Heads, ABC, Pulp, and former supergroup collaborators Sparks (their 2015 album FFS is an underrated gem).

These are bands who sincerely love disco-friendly pop while operating behind a veneer of arch self-awareness. When done right - and Franz Ferdinand at their best get it absolutely right - the results of that approach are often rather glorious.

There was a whole lotta glory to be found at this sold-out homecoming party, held outdoors during the last sticky gasp of the summer heatwave. 

The set was packed with all their bangers: The Dark of the Matinee; Michael; Do You Want To; and, of course, Take Me Out (such is their assurance as live performers, the energy levels never subsided after the played that with 30 more minutes still to go).

But Franz Ferdinand are no mere '00s nostalgia act. Two of the standout tracks were plucked from recent album The Human Fear. Bolstered by a guest spot from rapper Master Peace, Hooked can comfortably take its place alongside the crowd-pleasing hits, as can the traditional Greek music-influenced Black Eyelashes (scissor-kicking frontman Alex Kapranos is half-Greek).

And I suppose you have to admire them for stubbornly refusing to correct the "So I'm on BBC Two now, telling Terry Wogan how I made it" lyric in The Dark of the Matinee, despite having presumably been told countless times over the years - by people like me - that Wogan never had a chat show on BBC Two, and that they could've easily replaced it with "Radio 2" instead.

But that's Franz Ferdinand for you. They shimmy to the beat of their own dance floor-filling drum.

LIVE REVIEW: Elbow

This article is copyright of The Scotsman and used with their permission for this purpose only.

Elbow

Kelvingrove Bandstand, Glasgow

****

Elbow frontman Guy Garvey has a lot of charm and stage presence for a man who looks like Ed Balls shopping at Homebase.

But that, of course, is all part of this Greater Manchester band's mass appeal. They're unassuming everymen with big romantic bear-hugging hearts. No wonder they're so successful. I get it.

In a world overstuffed with earnest peddlers of arena-sized 'anthems', Elbow are clearly so much better at This Sort of Thing than most of their peers. They mean it, man.

It helps that Garvey is a good lyricist who, broadly speaking, belongs to a lineage of working-class northern songwriters which also includes Morrissey and Jarvis Cocker (but not Noel Gallagher).

During the first of three sold-out nights at the Bandstand they were embellished by two backing singers and a three-woman brass section, who at one point performed a warm 'n' woozy snippet of Gershwin's Summertime.

The baroque strings which occasionally adorn their records were handled by the keyboards (Elbow are like a Tindersticks you could take home to meet your mother).

Their default setting is nocturnal rain-swept ballads - set highlights The Birds and Lippy Kids are quintessential Elbow - but they do 'rock' at times. Adriana At Last, with its surging, swirling chanted chorus, suggests they're familiar with the bonkers '70s concept album 666 by Greek prog-rockers Aphrodite's Child.

And Garvey - who also works as a BBC 6 Music presenter - is an avuncular pro who chats to the crowd like they're sat in his living room.

I particularly enjoyed his running gag about spotting someone in the crowd who looks exactly like his brother Marcus. That's the actor Marcus Garvey, not the legendary Jamaican political activist, just in case there was any doubt.

Elbow, then. They're good company.

LIVE REVIEW: Public Service Broadcasting

This article is copyright of The Scotsman and used with their permission for this purpose only.

Public Service Broadcasting

Kelvingrove Bandstand, Glasgow

****

Public Service Broadcasting are one of those bands who came up with a fairly distinctive idea at the start of their career and decided to doggedly stick with it. This is almost certainly the only way in which they resemble the monomaniacal likes of Motorhead and the Ramones.

As any regular listener of BBC 6 Music will tell you – if they didn't already exist, that station would have to invent them - PSB's retro-futurist shtick involves festooning their crisp synths and guitar-driven art rock with audio clips taken from old films, documentaries and news sources.

While this isn't an entirely original conceit - PSB are basically '70s Pink Floyd with a laptop and unlimited access to the BFI archive - the overall effect is often quite haunting and powerful.

But there's no denying that their second album, 2015's typically conceptual The Race for Space, is still the high watermark of everything they set out to achieve. Fortunately, it featured quite heavily during this balmy summer evening outdoor performance.

Although I quite like some of their music, I wasn't expecting to be particularly moved tonight, and especially not by the sight of several hundred people holding their twinkling white light smartphones aloft.

But when they did just that - in what would appear to be a band-endorsed fan ritual - at the precise moment during The Other Side when a late '60s NASA operative welcomes Apollo 8 as it emerges from the dark side of the moon, well, it was a genuinely magical moment.

The other spirit-lifting highlights: an unexpected cameo from a boisterous brass section, a joyous race through signature tune Go!, and every time guest contributor EERA blessed us with her crystalline Sandy Denny floating in space vocals.

In a word: cosmic.

BOOK REVIEW: I Love You, Byeee by Adam Buxton

This article was originally published in The Big Issue in July 2025.

I Love You, Byeee, Adam Buxton, out now, Mudlark, £18.73

When Adam Buxton interviewed Paul Weller live on BBC Radio 2 in 2010, he hit upon the brilliant idea of singing, Grease-style, "Paul Weller, Weller, Weller, ooh! Tell me more! Tell me more!" to his guest's face. The notoriously truculent Modfather was not amused and the rest of the interview continued under a cloud of extreme awkwardness.

This is typical of the anecdotes you'll find in I Love You, Byeee, the second enjoyable volume of Buxton's memoir, in which the genial comedian and podcaster presents a litany of blunders for our amusement.

His almost constant self-deprecation would be wearing were it not for the fact that Buckles - as he's affectionately known to his large cult fan-base - is a self-evidently genuine, thoughtful and naturally funny man who's also justifiably proud of the work he created with his 'comedy wife' Joe Cornish.

The detailed chapters on the making of their inventive low-budget DIY comedy opus The Adam and Joe Show are catnip for comedy nerds. A pair of old schoolfriends steeped in pop culture and silly creativity, they were given carte blanche by Channel 4 to make the show they wanted to make.

The acutely self-aware Buxton admits that being privately-educated, well-spoken white men gave them an automatic head-start. He also reveals that working with Cornish sometimes put a strain on their friendship. Both insecure and competitive - Buxton secretly worried that Cornish was more talented than him - the accounts of their occasional 'wobbly voiced' arguments will resonate with anyone who hates confrontation. But they love each other, clearly.

Buxton also writes movingly about his mother, who passed away in 2020; the book, for all its mirth and nonsense, is essentially a sincere tribute to her.

Celebrity memoirs are often mired in hilarious hubris, but Buxton - maverick subversive that he is - has gone in the opposite direction. His memoirs are charming and endearingly honest.

BOOK REVIEW: Bob Dylan: Jewish Roots, American Soil by Harry Freedman

This article was originally published in The Big Issue in July 2025.

Bob Dylan: Jewish Roots, American Soil, Harry Freedman, out now, Bloomsbury Continuum, £15.99

No cliche is left unturned in Bob Dylan: Jewish Roots, American Soil, a workmanlike and rather pointless retelling of Robert Zimmerman's journey from Hibbing, Minnesota to global superstardom in the mid-1960s.

Author and Jewish cultural historian Harry Freedman attempts to reframe this extremely well-worn tale through the prism of Dylan's Jewishness, and the important role it played in his early life and work. An interesting angle in theory, but as Freedman concedes - practically from page one - it doesn't bear much scrutiny. So why write a book about it?

Dylan isn't ashamed of his Jewish identity, it just isn't something he's ever really thought about. It neither interests nor defines him. That may or may not be true, I'm none the wiser after reading the book, but it's effectively what Freedman tells us whenever he remembers to return to his ostensible theme.

What we end up with is a passable piece of sociopolitical post-war history - Freedman is quite good on contextualising detail - peppered with some cursory hand-me-down analysis of Dylan's work.

Freedman's prose is often clunky, repetitious and rife with vague supposition. He dutifully hits every familiar narrative beat - voice of a generation, going electric, Newport '65, 'Judas!' etc. - while adding no fresh insight.

For Dylan completists, this is just another book to add to the pile. For anyone who's recently discovered him via James Mangold's film A Complete Unknown - and that would appear to be the target audience - it will at least fill in some gaps. But other, better Dylan books are available.

BOOK REVIEW: Normally Weird and Weirdly Normal by Robin Ince

This article was originally published in The Big Issue in May 2025

Normally Weird and Weirdly Normal, Robin Ince, out now, Macmillan, £20.

The comedian Robin Ince was diagnosed with ADHD at the age of 52. Suddenly, everything – his lifelong burble of anxiety, self-criticism, social discomfort and ‘mad’ racing thoughts – made sense. A burden had been lifted. It’s OK to feel that way. It’s normal, whatever ‘normal’ is.

A wise, witty, thoughtful, comforting and compassionate book, Normally Weird and Weirdly Normal: My Adventures in Neurodiversity traces the author’s own story in sensitive tandem with a panoply of neurodiverse interviewees and academic research.

Ince never generalises, but common themes include childhood trauma, PTSD, bullying, a searing sense of justice and – more light-heartedly, but it’s all connected – a voracious passion for Doctor Who, horror films and accumulating a vast mountain of knowledge and ‘stuff’.

In his introduction, Ince declares (not at all seriously) that he will cure the reader of their anxiety. It’s not a self-help book, he just hopes it helps. It does. It’s a valuable piece of work.

BOOK REVIEW: Bowie Odyssey 75 by Simon Goodard

This article was originally published in The Big Issue in May 2025.

Bowie Odyssey 75, Simon Goddard, out now, Omnibus Press, £17.99

In the year of our Dame 1975, David Bowie was a sleepwalking cadaver in the blizzard-grip of cocaine addiction. Lost between New York and LA, and nowhere near reality, his psychotic, paranoid delusions were fuelled by a growing obsession with the Third Reich and all things occult.

A coven of witches haunted his every move. Satan lived in his swimming pool. The fridge was stocked with bottles of his own urine, lest the forces of evil steal it (for reasons only known to himself).

This is the David Bowie we meet in Bowie Odyssey 75, the sixth volume of Simon Goddard’s monumental year-by-year account of our hero’s eventful golden decade.

For those unfamiliar with the series, do not expect a conventional biography. Prepare yourselves instead for an utterly riveting and beautifully written piece of expressionistic docu-fiction all told in the propulsive present tense. Goddard places us inside Bowie’s addled mind while exploring – in meticulously researched and sometimes harrowing detail – thematic parallels with certain key events of 1975.

Nestling amid this swirling rotten funk of fame, fascism, murder, drugs, madness, mass unemployment and rampant Rollermania are the book’s other main characters: Bowie’s long-suffering and LOUD wife Angie; his agonisingly lonely and worried mother Peggy; nascent punk Svengali and shameless opportunist Malcolm McLaren; Tory leader Margaret Thatcher marching towards her everlasting reign of terror; Hitler-obsessed serial killer Patrick Mackay; and the leather mask-wearing ‘Cambridge Rapist’ Peter Samuel Cook.

Goddard ties these strands together to conjure up a vivid hellscape in which Bowie created his latest blurred lines persona, the fascistic, foppish Thin White Duke, while not really having to act at all in the role of a burned-out alabaster alien in Nicolas Roeg’s cult classic The Man Who Fell to Earth.

If that all sounds rather dark, well yes, it is, but it’s often very funny in an unflinching tragicomic way. A deadly serious, dirt-encrusted pop culture farce. Goddard is an irreverent yet fundamentally empathetic socio-political historian and storyteller. He’s a Bowie fan who isn’t blind to his subject’s faults, but who can also wax rapturously, and perceptively, about his art (Bowie somehow made one of his greatest albums, Station to Station, in 1975). Hyperbole be damned, Goddard’s unfolding odyssey is an idiosyncratic masterpiece.