Customize Consent Preferences

We use cookies to help you navigate efficiently and perform certain functions. You will find detailed information about all cookies under each consent category below.

The cookies that are categorized as "Necessary" are stored on your browser as they are essential for enabling the basic functionalities of the site. ... 

Always Active

Necessary cookies are required to enable the basic features of this site, such as providing secure log-in or adjusting your consent preferences. These cookies do not store any personally identifiable data.

No cookies to display.

Functional cookies help perform certain functionalities like sharing the content of the website on social media platforms, collecting feedback, and other third-party features.

No cookies to display.

Analytical cookies are used to understand how visitors interact with the website. These cookies help provide information on metrics such as the number of visitors, bounce rate, traffic source, etc.

Performance cookies are used to understand and analyze the key performance indexes of the website which helps in delivering a better user experience for the visitors.

No cookies to display.

Advertisement cookies are used to provide visitors with customized advertisements based on the pages you visited previously and to analyze the effectiveness of the ad campaigns.

No cookies to display.

Categories
Art Show Review

Have You Ever Smelt Marianne Faithful? ?

No photos. Pin back your eyelids and try reading some words for a change.

Howaboutno and Nolions rocked up to the premier of Joy Division by Grant Gee, courtesy of an email passed on from an obviously nameless mutual friend and photoshopped to look like addresssed to us. Two immediate questions, why London not Manchester and why bother when last year’s film of the year Control had covered the whole Joy Div/Ian Curtis obituary, albeit throught the slightly third party eyes of Debbie Curtis.

Not being miserable enough or Manc enough, turned out we were on a secondary list and thanks to a bit of lip from HAN to the oriental graciously deigning to hand out tics, the doors were slammed in our face. None the less, having a eagle eye for an opportunity, as the introductions of the faces were being made to the audience, we managed to hook on behind a small group and ended up sneaking into a pair of very plush seats in a box. Ligging and blagging is a refined skill.

Spookily, for the second time in three days we bumped into MJar, what are the odds!

The film has a bunch of major defects. Before it begins you know how it is going to start, all 70s ooop-north depression, sparking cloggs and smoke pumping chinmeys. The whole of the film is again an obituary and you know what the bloody ending is going to be. Unlike control which was pure dramatisation using actors and no appearances from band members, this film is pure documentary, relying on grainy gig footage and talking heads. As Hooky says in the film, “we never meant things to sound so fucking miserable, we really wanted the records to chop people off at the neck like the live stuff”. Top punk attitude.

Grant Gee and legendary Factory Records design guru Peter Saville took the stage afterwards to answer questions.

“Peter, how do you think this contributes to the legend”…”Well it doesn’t really”

“Peter, what do you think of the film posters”….”Pretty shit really, I’m glad I didn’t have to do them..I left that behind over a decade ago, I can’t think what Joy Division would look like now”

Afterwards, we blagged a ticket off the same forgetful or forgiving Oriental vision to some West End red roped celeb tarts bar for free Japanese beer and shoulder rubbing with various ancient ghosts from the past. “Smoke either side of the red rope” said the bouncer, which seemed less designed to allow us maximum freedom and more an excuse for him to twat us either way.

We don’t think we saw Marianne Faithful but we were puzzled how poncey journo chat-up lines are supposed to deliver the close-quarters limb entanglements when a dready next to us asked a posh lady “Have you smelled Marianne Faithful? she smells deeeeeeviiiiiiiiiiiiine” we certainly didn’t smell anything devine dahhhling so perhaps the fragrant Faithful was elsewhere.

The bus ride home was memorable. Rain bucketed down and the bus skewed through deep channels spraying tar and froth over windows and pedestrians. The budget windscreen wipers failed to clear upright rivers from the windscreen, and lights shone green, red, amber and white through the rivulets. The miserable cunts even arranged the weather as a PR stunt.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *