Parallax View Albums Of The Year 2009

The usual disclaimers apply: we can't pretend to have heard every single new album released in the UK between January 1 and December 31 of 2009, but of those we did, these were the best, and in this precise order.

1. SILENCE IS WILD - FRIDA HYVONEN
2. Fever Ray - Fever Ray
3. Bitte Orca - Dirty Projectors
4. I Had The Blues But I Shook Them Loose - Bombay Bicycle Club
5. Thunderheist - Thunderheist
6. Veckatimest - Grizzly Bear
7. The xx - The xx
8. Union - The Boxer Rebellion
9. Bird-Brains - Tune-Yards
10. It's Blitz! - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
11. Guns Don't Kill People, Lazers Do - Major Lazer
12. 'Em Are I - Jeffrey Lewis and the Junkyard
13. See Mystery Lights - YACHT
14. Logos - Atlas Sound
15. If You Were Fruit - The Lovely Eggs
16. Farm - Dinosaur Jr
17. Hospice - The Antlers
18. Post-Apocalyptic Love - The Very Sexuals
19. My Maudlin Career - Camera Obscura
20. Still Night Still Light - Au Revoir Simone
21. Blue Roses - Blue Roses
22. The Floodlight Collective - Lotus Plaza
23. Tear Ourselves Away - LoveLikeFire
24. Get Guilty - AC Newman
25. Face Control - Handsome Furs
26. Varshons - The Lemonheads
27. A Man, A Woman Walked By - PJ Harvey and John Parish
28. Survival Strategies In A Modern World - Liechtenstein
29. Me Oh My - Cate Le Bon
30. I'm Going Away - The Fiery Furnaces
31. Embryonic - The Flaming Lips
32. I Feel Cream - Peaches
33. Dance Mother - Telepathe
34. The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart - The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart
35. Julian Plenti is...Skyscraper - Julian Plenti
36. II - Desire
37. Fight Like Apes And The Mysteries Of The Golden Medallion - Fight Like Apes
38. Polly Scattergood - Polly Scattergood
39. Fine Fascination - Red Light Company
40. Fantasies - Metric

Use the comments box for any gripes, observations and linklove for your own year-end lists. Happy New Year to all our readers, hopefully this site will be slightly more active in 2010!

Poisoned Chalice

For anyone still concerned about the Mercury Music Prize the nominations have been announced and can be found on the official site. A pretty uninspiring list by any standards, the Best British Album during an era when the best music is coming predominantly from Scandinavia and North America seems like eternal damnation by faint praise to these ears.

No strong feelings on the outcome, either, but depending on the odds, Speech Debelle or The Horrors might give you a decent run for your money.

Legal disclaimer: Gamble Aware: Don't gamble unless you know the facts. Being responsible about gambling means knowing whether to gamble and how much money or time to spend.

Gonna Do One Thing An' One Thing Only - Kill Nazis!


Inglourious Basterds

Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds (yes, that's really how they're spelling it) collect some Nazi scalps in cinemas from July 2009.

Easy On The Sauce, Cupcake, This Is Serious

Happy New Year to all our readers, amazingly there's still a few of you out there, despite the sparsity of updates in the last few months. Unsure to what sort of degree that will change in 2009, but here's a few links to get things kickstarted and see where it takes us.

853 describes Ladytron's Velocifero (our favourite album of 2008 lest ye forget) as a damb squib, but gets most other things right reporting from the frontline of south-east London.

I Am The Crime is a cool Swedish music blog run by hot Swedish music blogger Cecilia.

Robyn Wilder reveals her Top 10 embarrassing childhood crushes. Includes Dudley Moore dressed as an elf - there's hope for Dead Kenny yet then, eh Robyn?

Meanwhile, an interesting art blog - At The Moment.

West Ham's Congolese left-back Herita Ilunga also has blog (albeit in French, malheuresement).

Matt Smith has been announced as the new Dr Who. We saw Matt in That Face at the Royal Court just over 18 months ago, and he's a talented actor with a lot of energy who should do well.

The Top 20 Nude Scenes of 2008 (NOT SAFE FOR WORK) features a heavy smattering of former TV actresses like Neve Campbell, Mischa Barton and Eliza Dushku (gesundheit!).

Heather Locklear's mugshot. What would TJ Hooker say?

Worth seeking out on DVD...Alan Rudolph's surreal cartoonish romantic thriller Trouble In Mind available on R2 for the first time.

And finally...the results of the Music Bloggers Poll of Polls are in and again 7 of our Top 10 made the cut. Thanks again to Simon for compiling the chart.

Pip Matters

Lykke Li/Yoav, Glee Club, Hirst Street, Birmingham, Sunday October 5 2008, 8.30pm.
Ladyhawke/Deluka/Death Ohh Eff/The Electrilickers, 444 Club@The Rainbow, Digbeth, Birmingham, Monday October 6 2008, 8pm.

In the few months since we last saw Lykke Li at Glee, the seated-only studio has made way for a packed standing-room-only show in the bigger room, the crowd here less through curiousity and more from conviction, and the conversion sees the Swede in noticably more relaxed and engaging form. But before all that, we have Yoav, a tidy, bookish young man born in Israel but brought up in South Africa and New York. His music takes on a similarly hybrid form, folk, blues and R&B fused into intriguing songs enhanced by the singer-songwriter fully utilising plentiful effects pedals to create an atmospheric soundscape high on intrigue but a little short on memorable melody.

There a few people who could get away with making an entrance in a Freddy Parrot hat and shapeless outfit, but Lykke Li is one of the number who can, and it's safe to assume she knows it. The set opens with 'Dance, Dance, Dance' given a louder, squelchier, more 'electro' feel than the recorded version, paving the way for a lively performance aimed at dusting off the 'depression' she senses from the audience. 'I'm Good I'm Gone' and 'Breaking It Up' offer predictably giddy thrills, the soon-to-be-re-released 'Little Bit' is already treated like a greatest hit, the dubby, hypnotic pull of 'Complaints Department' is another winner on the night, and there's even room for a tongue-in-cheek cameo of Duffy's 'Mercy' sneaked into closing cover of 'Can I Kick It?'. There are officially no more excuses left not to invest in her debut album 'Youth Novels'.

Next night, head over to The Rainbow in Digbeth for a special 444 Club gig which sees three local hopefuls supporting touring Kiwi star Pip Brown aka Ladyhawke, here to promote her self-titled debut released the previous week. The cunningly-curated cabaret begins with The Electrilickers who operate at the exact intersection between the homespun lo-fi charm of Kate Nash and the harder-partying nu rave aesthetic, a formula which works on the night for two simple reasons: their tunes are cool and the singer's hot. The ecstasy throes of 'Constant Disco' are a suitable climax to a set that provides more fizz and tingle than licking your way through a battery factory.

Meet up with Kate and Chris from newly-rejuvanated StRANGEtIME as Death Ohh Eff make their entrance. Your crumbling correspondent may be getting old, but do bands have to look so young? These guys don't even look old enough to be policemen, but somewhere along the line they've obviously crammed in some intensive education on how to work a crowd with an energetic, keyboard-led set full of bounce, attitude and harmonies. Tremendous fun, although it was all 'a little bit Nathan Barley' for some.

We haven't seen Deluka for a couple of years, since when they've developed some extra balls, a tune on the soundtrack to Grand Theft Auto IV, and much tippin' and toutin' among the music press. They're tighter and rockier than the preceding acts with a stronger drive towards an anthemic punch, although they only hotwire into our hearts during the closing two numbers before leaving the crowd panting for more.

Headliner Ladyhawke has a different problem, and it's one that similarly affects her debut album. Her songs are consistently strong in terms of memorable tunes and anthemic power, but she operates within such a tight formula and poodle-permed 80s mindset, you feel like you've seen and heard enough about halfway through, even though she saves belters like 'Paris Is Burning' and 'My Delirium' for the concluding double-whammy. Maybe a little more personality in the performance and more depth in the lyrics would help develop a higher-level of emotional engagement to undertow the undoubted heft of the choonage.

With many thanks to Shakeypix for kind permission to use some of his brilliant shots from the night in this review.

Tues Life

Just a brief bulletin to mention that Elbow won the Mercury Music Prize; introduce you to London's boy/girl arch-angular types Lux Lisbon; point you in the direction of Weebl and Bob destroying everything Ladytron touched in not safe for work adult animation (via Sweeping The Nation) and urge reading of RussL's spectacularly belated Supersonic 08 review.

Oh, and Anja's writing everyday now. You know what to do.

Waitin' For Superman(ager)

S'pose it's about time your coughing correspondent delivers his verdict on the week's comings and goings at his beloved West Ham which saw gaffer Alan Curbishley resign after Anton Ferdinand and George McCartney were sold without his sayso.

Curbs' departure seems premature from the point of view he steered us to safety in his first season, despite a quite unprecedented injury list steadied the ship with a respectable tenth position the next, and had stewarded the teams' best start to a season for nine years this term. He's an experienced manager who can be relied on to deliver stability through dour pragmatism, but with enough knowledge of the West Ham traditions from his playing time at Upton Park to have a sense of loyalty and belonging to the club. It's sad to see him leave in such acrimonious circumstances.

And yet...Tony Cascarino was right this week when he said that Curbs had effectively alienated himself from all four stakeholders - the fans; the board; the media and the players themselves, and his position had become untenable despite some respectable results (40% win record over his tenure).

While many football fans will sympathise with a manager feeling undermined by lack of control over who comes in and out, Curbs is still unproven in terms of transfer dealings at the high end, and his own decision-making in terms of bringing in injury-prone players on ludicrously high wages makes it difficult not to agree the board have a point. Further, had he been more ruthless in shifting players out earlier in the summer the much-criticised timing of the Ferdinand and McCartney departures might have been avoided. Few fans were devastated at the prospect of losing Anton and George (both at best average Premiership performers who offer poor value to Sunderland at £14m imho) when better replacements were being mooted.

The board have shifted McCartney off the payroll for a pretty fee, and brought in a young Uruguyan international on an out-of-contract pick-up as well as a Congolese player on loan, and on the surface of things that looks pretty good business. Ferdinand's departure still leaves us six centre-backs, although minor injuries mean we'll be slightly short in that position for maybe one or two games. Crisis, what crisis?

Much will depend on who comes in to replace the boss, of course. The board appear to be looking for an experienced manager with coaching capabilities and familiarity with the continential style of management structure. Given that in modern football, the Director of Football and board make the decisions on recruitment and the players suit themselves as to whether they put in a shift or not, all that's currently required of a manager is someone to look equal parts dapper, troubled, enigmatic, pensive, inscrutable, mercurial and wise as he looks on at proceedings from the touchline before picking up his £2m payoff at the end of the season, victim of forces beyond his control. Someone who looks like The Flaming Lips' Wayne Coyne, in fact, so step forward Roberto Donadoni as the Parallax View manager of choice. Let's hope it ain't too heavy for him.

Scents and Indie Sensibility

Not that we're shallow enough to buy a mens fragrance on the basis of a moodily-shot B&W advert starring Josh Hartnett and soundtracked by Interpol, of course!

Psssst!

Could Bret Easton Ellis' least noted book provide the source material to the best screen adaptation of his work? Take a sneak peak at the trailer for The Informers below, which contains enough sex, drugs and rock'n'roll to make it NOT SAFE FOR WORK viewing.

Manic Mondo

Because the internet would just be boryn without a bit of Robyn, we start off this Monday mini-mitherpiece with some self-styled self-regarding nonsense from the suddenly big and bossy Ms Wilder. Titbits include revelations about wandering through London with her blouse undone to the waist, but it's not just blogging ninja divas who suffer from wardrobe malfunctions, as Rihanna shows in this set of dubious-safety-for-work photos, proving that not even an umbrella (ella, ella, ella) could hide your blushes when it's that nippy out.

Raising our eyes from the gutters to the stars somewhat, Warren Ellis gives a sceptical glance back at speccy sci-fi boffin Joe 90 (via LMG) and Carl Hiassen's Lucky You is being adapted for the British stage. Elsewhere, various bods recall this year's Indietracks; On Dancefloors is a Bristol music blog with a funky attitude; In Pictures: Kate Bush is 50 and, remember Cardiff pop kids, Tell The Police The Truth.

Bloggers don't so much fade away as they do diversify, a case in point being Creepy Lesbo's Slash Media (NOT SAFE FOR WORK) in which she samples some of modern pop culture's gashtronomic delights. Skin Flicks is much more safe for work, although as he considers himself to be a very angry man and is found pleading for fallen women to be shown to him, maybe due caution should be shown after all.

Meanwhile, the undisputed star of Bristol's Dot-to-Dot, the inimitable Big Jeff, has MySpace.

And wherever else your browser points you, remember, Jesus Can See!

Elvis Lives And Is Forever Blowing Bubbles Somewhere In A Field In Toronto

MLS All-Stars v West Ham United, Dead Kenny's living room via Setanta Sports 1, Friday July 25 2008, 00.20am.

The Parallax View business expenses budget didn't quite run to sending your scuttling scribe over to Toronto, but courtesy of Dickie Branson's Virgin Media empire got to see the full game beamed into my house via Setanta Sports. My beloved Hammers are still in relatively early stages of pre-season so wasn't quite sure what to expect from them, or for that matter the Harlem Globetrotters-style opposition, who have a 100% record against British teams in these games, and now include current England international David Beckham in their ranks.

The Hammers rested Craig Bellamy and Mark Noble and the likes of Upson, McCartney and Dyer were left at home to work on their fitness, but a starting XI that included Robert Green, Lucas Neill, Anton Ferdinand, Scott Parker and Dean Ashton should have proved competitive. Indeed, after a quiet start to the game, it was the Irons that took the lead when Dean Ashton caught the All-Stars defence napping and slotted smartly past the MLS keeper. Straight after, a similar move at the other end of the pitch saw Gomes equalise, the All-Stars then continued to shine for the rest of the half, culminating in a brilliant finish from Blanco after his movement left Scotty Parker on his backside.

The MLS All-Stars' extra fitness started to tell in the second half, but a hugely impressive Dean Ashton always posed a threat, and a speculative effort from the big striker took a couple of deflections before whizzing past the keeper to level things at 2-2. Again, though, this only prompted the All-Stars to step up a gear, and Lucas Neill remembered his lines from last season and lunged like a brainless oaf in his own area to concede a penalty that was duly converted. Villa reject Juan Pablo Angel had a great strike disallowed for no apparent reason, and Boa Morte missed a sitter after smart work from Parker just before the end.

It was a much better game than expected, hugely entertaining and played in the right spirit. Obviously any defeat is dissappointing but the fitness work will be hugely beneficial at this stage of pre-season, Faubert and sub Boa Morte both did themselves favours with their commitment shown, and rookie left-back Joe Widdowson didn't look out of place against Mr. Posh Spice. Amusing cameos were provided by Elvis blowing bubbles at half-time, and Boa Morte losing it big-time after being kicked in the head by an MLS defender, much to the evident amusement of the clearly not-too-concerned Hammers physio.

Parallax View Player Ratings: Green 6; Neill 5, Ferdinand 6, Davenport 5, Widdowson 6; Faubert 7, Mullins 6, Parker 6, Etherington 6 (Boa Morte 7); ASHTON 9, Cole 5.

Gruff Justice

Off out shortly to Brum for the rest of the day, but in the meantime let your eyes have a lunchtime feast over The Mercury Music Prize nominations, which contain few alarms or surprises, and include a couple of top contenders for album of the year to date in our upcoming Half Term Report (due by the weekend) in Neon Neon and Laura Marling. Radiohead and Burial are also worthy choices from 2007 for the MMP, with Burial and Laura Marling probably the best value bets, as genre contenders with broader appeal usually do well in these kind of competitions. A second successive win for a dance-orientated record may be risky, so my money's on Ms Marling for the folkin' good album 'Alas I Cannot Swim'.*

*Remember, pop punters, always gamble responsibly, and with money you can afford to lose.

Look Now

Nic Roeg has made his first major feature film for some years, a horror yarn based on a Fay Weldon story, starring Kelly Reilly, and re-uniting him with his Don't Look Now leading man Donald Sutherland. Initial reviews have been mixed, but bad Roeg is usually better than a lot of films made by lesser mortals at the top of their game, so perhaps best to judge for ourselves when Puffball is released in cinemas from July 18. In the meantime, here's the NOT WORKSAFE trailer to whet your appetites.

If You Can't Tell Your Friends From Your Enemies, It's Time To Go

After The Invasion and Flashbacks Of A Fool, Daniel Craig sure needs the new 007 flick to be a big hit.


Quantum Of Solace - Exclusive Trailer

Mister Derrick

There Will Be Blood, Cineworld, Broad Street, Birmingham, Wednesday March 5 2008, 4.45pm.

The last time we remember cinema looking into what happens when a prospector strikes lucky, Nicolas Roeg's neglected masterpiece Eureka (1983) asked the question: what happens when a man gets everything he wants? In contrast to Gene Hackman's self-made man Jack ('I've Never Made A Nickel From Another Man's Sweat') McCann in that film, however, Daniel Day Lewis' Daniel Painview in Paul Thomas Anderson's There Will Be Blood (2008) is less a rounded personality than a physical manifestation of the will to power, a relentless one-man force of capitalist growth that can never by definition be satiated. Plainview is portrayed as a virtually sexless man, with only the vaguest yearnings for family bonding occasionally softening his edge, who seeks to impose his masculinity on the earth through his big fuck-off drills that are ultimately superceded by his big fuck-off pipeline that pulses and disseminates his oil.

Religion, in the shape of Paul Dano's preacher Eli, attempts to establish a moral conscience on Plainview, but succeeds only in nipping at his ankles, a nuisance too easily swatted away because you can never bullshit a bullshitter with total success, and the man-of-the-cloth's lies, hypocrisy and greed are all too easily seen through by the prospector for whom the truth is never acknowledged or spoken if there's any chance of it hindering profit and progress.

In many ways There Will Be Blood should have won the Best Film Oscar along with the Best Actor nod for Daniel Day-Lewis. It's rare indeed that a film with one such dominant role could reverberate with such political and historical resonance, and you could boil this movie down for eternity and still not find an ounce of fat - everything you see and hear serves a purpose of exposition, and that's even more scarce during a 150-min. running time. But given that There Will Be Blood holds up a mirror to the lies and corruption that helped lay the foundations of modern California, perhaps it's not so surprising that the Hollywood heirarchy found the Coen Brothers' admittedly marvellous but nevertheless relatively unfocused No Country For Old Men a more palatable prospect.

Transformer

Metamorphosis, Birmingham Repertory Theatre, Birmingham, Wednesday February 27 2008, 7.30pm.

The combination of Franz Kafka and Nick Cave lured your cautious correspondent back into the theatre for the first time in several months. Billed as a six-legged nightmare, the story has been adapted and directed by David Farr and Gisli Orn Garderson to be performed by the Reykjavik-based ensemble Vesturport with an original score provided by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis. With the pedigrees and reputations of those involved we had every right to expect dark material dashingly delivered, and we were not to be disappointed.

Many of you will be aware of the central story concept, of a young man who awakes one morning to find himself turned into an insect to the consternation of his family for whom he is their breadwinner, and who only hear an ear-piercing shriek when he tries to communicate with them. There are many semi-autobiographical elements involved in the story (Kafka turned his back on a conventional career to concentrate on his writing, outstayed his welcome in the family homestead until the age of 31, and had an unusually strong bond with his sister) but perhaps the timeless genius of the piece lies in the way the writer has extracted universal themes from these elements, primarily the way in which both micro- and macro-societies ruthlessly isolate the different and unconventional.

The resulting production is as odd and slightly depressing as the material dictates, but remains a triumph on many levels. The Cave/Ellis score is subtly integral to the mood of the piece, while the magnificent set design (including a gravity-defying bedroom) and astonishing physical theatre make apparent light of the numerous logistic difficulties of translating such surreal material to the stage. Bjorn Thors deserves particular praise for his acrobatic performance as Gregor, particularly moving in the sequence where he appears never-more human than at the point of final rejection by his family. Striking, memorable, theatre, then, worth catching as the run moves on to Plymouth then London (Lyric Hammersmith, March 25 - April 5).

Dead Heath

Shock news in tonight that Brokeback Mountain star Heath Ledger has been found dead earlier today apparently surrounded by pills and awaiting a masseuse. Ledger, due to appear as The Joker in this summer's upcoming Batman film, and who played a suicidal man in Monster's Ball, split up from his girlfriend, actress Michelle Williams, in September.

RIP.

Update: Confused? What The Media Does And Does Not Know About Heath Ledger's Death.

Blast Off

Happy New Year to all Parallax View readers everywhere. Yeah, even you.

Out with the old and all that, so let's get this party started with a crudely ripped linkdump.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, Robyn's back for another Wilder reunion with the internetwhatnot.

Here's something to put a lightbulb in your milkglass: Hitchcock Blonde. Writer/actress, yeah we know.

Live recordings from Supersonic 07 includes our pick of Gig Of The Year, Beestung Lips!

Kevin Greening RIP.

Steve Gerrard Rock Photographer. He shoots bands for three score.

Simon has again lovingly compiled the UK Blogger Poll of Polls for Albums of 2007. 7 of our top 10 made the 50.

Still feeling listless? The Top 10 Celebrity Sex Moments of 2007 are unsurprisingly NOT SAFE FOR WORK.

On a similar UNSAFE FOR WORK tip here's the list you've really been waiting for: The Top 20 Nude Scenes of 2007 with pictures and movie clips attached to get your boss hot under the collar.

Another blog of note: Thomas Moronic.

And finally, the first of our music tips for 2008: Ida Maria a Swedish-based Norwegian with a distinctive rockchick rawr, who's playing a couple of gigs in London later this month.

Nic's 'Snatch' Not Quite Up To Scratch

The Invasion, Odeon Telford, Saturday October 13 2007, 1pm.

Why bother going to see a fourth screen adaptation of Invasion Of The Body Snatchers? Good question, and one which the makers of The Invasion (2007) seek to answer by placing it in the milieu of a post-Iraq America beset by a curious combination of paranoia and self-loathing, acutely agitated by the prospect of enemies within yet troubled by their own violent tendencies revealed as they defend through offence.

In fact, the film-makers busy themselves so much in justifying the remake in terms of topical relevance, referencing not just Iraq several times but also the break-up of the Soviet Bloc, the use of anti-depressants to flatline emotions and the near-pornographic fetish for 24/7 news saturation that other, equally crucial elements to make the film come alive are fatally neglected. Namely, there's an acute shortage of credible romance, thrills or suspense. The lack of chemistry between an often uncomfortable Nicole Kidman and a worryingly wooden Daniel Craig is worthy of a sci-fi investigation in itself, the tension never quite builds to anything you might call excitement and the action sequences barely rise above competent and fail at any stage to quicken the pulse.

Still, at least Nicole Kidman remains easy on the eye, and even though her blonde bob, bleached visage, pinched nose and heavily arched eyebrows make her so unrecognisable from the freckle-faced redhead who made such an impact in Dead Calm that it might suggest a bodysnatching exercise worthy of a thriller plot in itself, it's reassuring to know she still looks good running around in a range of tight-fitting tops whilst in deadly peril. Yet if it seems harsh in this day and age to criticise an action blockbuster for having too many ideas in its head to concentrate properly on the staple action dynamics, no thrills + no suspense = nobody paying at the box-office in this or any other known universe.

Factory Fodder

Control, Cineworld, Broad Street, Birmingham, Saturday October 6 2007, 11.30pm.

Given the chequered history of rock star biopics whose heart didn't sink when the project was announced to do a cinematic adaption of the short life and times of tragic Joy Division singer Ian Curtis? And yet the wildcard choice of selecting Dutch photographer Anton Corbijn to helm this as his first picture, a man who helped more than most to define our perception of the band with his dark and iconic portraits of the group for NME, ensures an authentic feel and the luminous B&W photography to provide a fitting tribute to this troubled soul.

Basing the screenplay on the Curtis biography from his widow Deborah also helps this film become the best rock biopic ever precisely because the music and the music business is seen within the perspective of Curtis' wider life and broader range of issues. With contemporaries such as Anton Corbijn and Deborah Curtis playing such a strong hand in the project, we're spared lazy journalism and Madchester myths in favour of something that feels more true - it's manic manager Rob Gretton who provides the comic foil not Tony Wilson, and the young Hookeh is portrayed less as a loveable rogue and more a surly careerist.

Newcomer Sam Riley looks the part as Ian Curtis with his lanky frame and faraway gaze, but also has some of the cheeky sex appeal and little-boy-lost demeanour of icon du jour Pete Doherty for topical piquancy. He comes into his own during the second half of the film as Curtis' slow, desperate descent into depression is revealed through the steadily more haunted expression in his eyes. Seeing someone with outwardly so much going for him in his life slowly but surely have the spark snuffed out of him is so credibly portrayed to be deeply troubling to watch as the denouement enfolds.

Control presents a complex and compelling explanation of what drove Curtis to suicide as he becomes an increasingly isolated figure. Facing pressures to please both women in his life and fulfil the increasing demands of the band to deliver success in America and ease financial troubles, his final devastating seizure caused by unmedicated epilepsy triggers a final, desperate solution. Maybe it's the ultimate act of petulance but as your widescreen-eyed writer made his weary, near-sober way through Birmingham's Broad Street at 1.50am, striding stealthily through so much wanton human debris there's a timely reminder that there are many ways to descend into joyless oblivion. No chance of walking away in silence here, then.