Why I support Johann Hari

This should be enough.

When I was 21...

When I was very young I played in a rock band called backwater. I was only a teenager when the songs were written and 21 when they were released. Some of them made it into the indie charts and our faces could be seen in the NME or melody maker and even on MTV once or twice.

There was an album, angels are cool, and a bunch of singles; these were nearly all released on Che, a label based in East London. There is one surviving picture of backwater on the internet and all copies of the videos have been burnt but some of the songs, despite not dating very well, are still pretty cool.

Backwater - Memory by Barry Peak

Backwater - Supercool by Barry Peak

Backwater - Shady by Barry Peak

Picciotto and postmodernism

Teaching postmodernism and Baudrillard to A-level students earlier this week, I was struggling to think of any application of the ideas which might be easier to grasp than "the gulf war did not take place".

I began to think of the current election in Ireland as a form of hyperreality; a reference with no referent. The promises made by each party appear more real than any form of reality itself. The loss of economic sovereignty to global institutions has reduced the act of voting to an entirely symbolic act.

Just as we no longer consume to meet actual needs, the Irish electorate is not voting to effect actual change. Instead, it is producing an image of itself and entering into a conversation with other peoples.

It seems the opening line of this conversation will be, "we're fed up with this lot, we're going to give the other lot a chance".

More importantly, this recording of rites of spring turned up on the internet recently. They truly were a great band. Drink deep.

Country shoegaze

I was in a band called julip. At the end it was Niall and Jonny and me but on this recording we were joined by Keith and Michael who, along with Jonny, were in tracer amc and are now both in not squares.

This was our attempt to create the, potentially earth-shattering, country shoegaze genre.

http://soundcloud.com/barry-peak/on-visiting-rough-mix-two-1

I don't have any pictures of julip, so here's one of me sitting on the back steps of William Faulkner's house, Rowan Oak. That remains one of the best days of my life.

Radio 4

When my inevitable move to Dublin does take place there are a few things I'll really miss. Without a doubt the greatest of these will be the ability to pick up BBC Radio 4 on the car stereo. Today, simply by chance, I caught two programmes which I don't think would have been broadcast elsewhere and that were of such a high quality I was left wondering why anyone would complain about paying their licence fee.

Beyond belief is not my usual cup of tea but, having taught in a convent for the past 10 years, my interest was pricked by the topic of nuns. Much of the discussion was predictable, addressing issues such as the decline in new members; however, two points in particular grasped my attention. Firstly, the openness which emerged after the second Vatican council left many older nuns dealing with feelings of loss and isolation which frequently come when individuals are forced to emerge from what Erving Goffman would call "total institutions". But most interestingly was the contention that being a nun is a counter-cultural activity. The women featured (two Catholic and one Buddhist) felt their rejection of consumerism, materialism and sexual norms gave them a relative autonomy from which to analyse society from a feminist perspective.

More my usual kind of thing was tonight's documentary about the Liberal Democrat's orange book. Attempting to place the Liberals and their antecedents on the ideological spectrum, it served as a reminder that none of us should really be surprised that the current Lib Dem leadership are (and ought to be) natural bedfellows of the Tories.

Great stuff all round.

A lot of good things happened in the last week.

I bought a few good records. Deerhoof v evil is possibly the best thing they've ever released. The pop tunes keep getting bigger and brighter but there is no compromise in the weirdness. There are fewer guitars than on previous releases but there's enough noise from other sources to satisfy. Yeah, and super duper rescue heads is as amazing as you've heard.

Yuck's debut album might have been awful. Constant references to bands I love made me think it could be, at best, a poor version of greatness and, at worst, musical plagiarism. Wrong on both counts. Yes, the references are there for all to hear; snatches of teenage fanclub, swathes of my bloody valentine, spikes of sonic youth and moods of yo la tengo but they're all handled with love. The power of a good melody always wins out.

I got to see a stack of good shows too. Starting with mogwai in Belfast and Dublin, they put in a couple of outstanding performances. Then I headed to see two of Belfast's brightest hopes, girls names and sea pinks, upstairs in Whelan's. Featuring the same three people, they each manage to have a clear identity despite both dealing in big slices of guitar driven indie pop.

I also handed in a couple of application forms to go back to university to do a Masters in Political Communication. This could be another of those times where my life takes some interesting turns.

Bookmarks

Today I unpacked some books which I brought to my new house from my mum's and started to look through what I'd been using as bookmarks at the time of reading them. It provides a neat little personal/social history.

• A fiery furnaces sticker given to me by the band the night my band opened for them.
• A letter from a nun, who was my boss at the time.
• A boarding card for a flight to Gatwick.
• A boarding card for a flight to Paris.
• A boarding card for a flight from New Orleans to Miami.
• A university reference for an ex-student called Briege Nugent.
• An essay I clearly never marked by a student called Clare McKenna (not very good).
• A ticket for a Fugazi show in Dublin.
• A ticket for a Ted Leo show in Dublin on the night I kissed my girlfriend for the first time and met my friend Jonathan with a puffy eye.
• A "pass" allowing me to enter an old friend's younger brother's tree house.
• A flyer for a quack quack/clone quartet/selah gig.
• A receipt from the bookshop at NYU.
• A picture of Steinbeck (in a book by Steinbeck).
• A restaurant bill in French.
• A restaurant bill in Spanish (from Argentina, I think).
• A receipt for coffee, cigarettes and magazines from a newsagents in New York.
• A random, unidentified phone number.
• A ticket for the squid and the whale, which I went to with Tanya.
• A post-it saying "Please file these Barry, Bernie".
• A letter which reads... Dear Teacher, Jenny was very sick this morning with severe stomach pains and vomiting. This is the reason she was a little late for school. Please allow Jenny to use the bathroom if she asks.

I genuinely can't wait to get the rest and start unpacking them.

Just hangin'

Here's me and my main man T just hangin' outside the Flight of the Conchords show at Radio City Music Hall.

If you look closely, I think he's saying... "Help! There's a freak with a furry hood grinning manically right beside me!"

Deerhunter. The Black Box, Belfast.

The leap in quality Deerhunter achieved between cryptograms and micrecastle was nothing short of massive. Where before there was a density that verged on impenetrable there is now a lightness which draws the listener in and leaves them craving the next pop hook and wave of noise.

The last time I saw them play (in Vicar St, Dublin) was also a less than satisfying show. Main man, Bradford Cox looked troubled. His often talked about mixture of illness and insecurity was the main player and overshadowed a band which seemed intent on staying in the shadows, allowing the discomfort levels to rise. Hard to listen to and disturbingly hard to watch.

A year later and with a stunning new record to promote, this is a very different band. The four players seem relaxed and drawing from the energy of an enthusiastic crowd they play a blinder. The upbeat set is filled with highlights and even a couple of potential hits. And whereas the sound in Dublin swirled around and up in to the ceiling to be lost on everyone but the most committed listener, tonight the sound was direct, focused and thrillingly, unashamedly POP!

Before the show I had intended to visit Belfast's  stunning new Mexican eatery, Boojum. Time defeated me though and dinner took a somewhat more disturbing direction. See above for evidence of Quorn "chicken style" burger with two slices of pan bread and a dollop of mayo.

 You know... It was perfectly pleasant!

Reflections on some revolutions through veggie burgers.

Apologies to Edmund Burke for the title of the post but we all know that if there's one thing the French, Argentines and Irish have in common it's a taste for protest and rebellion.

But do they have a taste for veggie burgers... Not so much!

The photos relate to Bio Solo Organico in Humbolt, Buenos Aries, Le Potager du Marias, Paris and a stinking van in a stinking field, Oxygen festival, Ireland.

Isn't it strange how the French and Argentine veggie burger are so similar? They've taken the cheese slice to its illogical extreme and liquefied it! Both restaurants were great places with totally veggie menus in nice parts of town. I just wouldn't necessarily go for the veggie burger again.

Isn't it strange how my mouth looks like it's going to fit round a burger of such proportion? Not really if you know me.

Take care everyone.

What's that noise?

Anyone for Deerhunter in Belfast tomorrow night or off to Primavera next week for My Bloody Valentine or ever considering going to a gig in the Menagerie?

You might want to take some advice from Jack Straw and Peter Stringfellow!

More Politics

OK,
I promise there will be (to mis-quote the talking heads) more posts about burgers and rock in the very near future but some more political musings for now.
It seems that opinion is split into two camps regarding the resignation of Speaker Martin. There are those who believe the man is rotten to the core. Unable to effectively do his job, he stood in the way of progress and reform and did not represent the interests of the people in Parliament. Diametrically opposed, there are those who seem to believe his removal is a classist or even sectarian conspiracy conceived, brought to term and hatched through the couplings of the Daily Telegraph and the Tories.
There's a lot of talk about the elitist and out of touch culture of Parliament but really the whole incident is better understood by looking at the culture of Michael Martin the man. His background is infused with a set of values alien to many of his contemporaries in Parliament and to political commentators. Can we rally blame him for acting like a shop steward when that's the context in which he gained his political awakening and opportunities?
There is no precedent for the Speaker to represent the people (that's what MPs are supposed to do). Martin, it seems, was protecting the interests of those he felt he represented, namely the "commoners" who have been elected to Parliament.

It seems that at last week's Cabinet meeting the possibility of convening a full constitutional convention was raised. Great idea. More devolution, fixed terms for parliament, a fully elected second chamber, changes to the electoral system and (of course) more transparency would all make democracy stronger and would encourage people to engage with politics when it is issues rather than people who are hitting the headlines.

Finally, now seems like a good time to reassess the resignation of Elizabeth Filkin. While it didn't have the same constitutional significance as recent events, it could be interpreted as much more damaging to the value of Parliament. Would the current scandal have even arose if she was allowed to do her job properly?

Speaker Martin

Very swift update.

The Michael Martin affair has become really interesting. I think the constitutional significance of the actual resignation is being over played. Again, there are more significant constitutional issues which haven't been addressed properly since New Labour came to power. Obviously, I'm primarily thinking of the second chamber. But in the drama vacuum left by Martin's simple and dignified resignation lots of political commentators are trying to fill it with bizarre hyperbole.

General election? Probably a good idea. But there's a real danger of some crazy celebocracy arising. I mean, Esther bloody Rantzen!

Ch, ch, changes!!!

Hey all,
It's been over a year since my last post. I'm pretty sure I'm writing to no one by now. But, I guess, that puts me in the same category as 99% of all blogs. But why do people write blogs? I feel I mostly did it to document a very happy time in my life. Things were so good I wanted to express it in an almost tangible way. Something that people could see and I could look back on.
A lot has changed in the past year. I live back in Belfast. I am, once again, a teacher of Politics and Sociology. And I'm not as happy as I was.
I have potential posts stored in my memory from Argentina, Paris, Brussels and, of course, Ireland. None of those burgers were particularly good but some of the places were cool and had pretty substantive veggie menus.
Politics is depressing me a little at the minute. I don't like that people only want to talk to the Politics teacher in school when gossip, rumour and scandal are at the front of people's minds. There are more important issues and they still need dealt with. Obama has been underwhelming but the ideological battle brewing in France is intriguing with the NPA getting some headlines. I do like a bit of an old fashioned left-right struggle. I'm getting a lot of good US news from the NPR website. Highly recommended.
I've seen some great bands recently. Health made an incredible noise as did Mi Ami. Morrissey was too rock but played some great tunes. Jeffrey Lewis was funny and touching but almost overshadowed by the support, Peter Broderick. And something else... When I was a kid I saw Nirvana play a few times. The best of these was in the King's Hall in Belfast. That night the two support bands were the breeders and teenage fanclub. Sixteen years later I saw both these bands within a fortnight of each other. Teenage fanclub remain lovely. I could have sung along all night. Not really an important band but a delight to see. The breeders are important. Each one of their four albums is filled with ideas, experimentation, challenges and sweet, sweet, pop hooks. Last night, in Dublin, they played songs from all these records with humour and charm and intensity and passion. First rate!
I'll be back on Friday. Thursday night brings deerhunter to Belfast for the first time and I'm gonna visit the very fine Mexican eatery, Boojum. I'll let you know how they both were.

The Bottle Tree (Birmingham, Alabama)

We've been on the road for a little over a week now and I'm starting to get a sense of just how varied this vast country is. After a brief stop in Bloomington, Indiana to visit friends and a couple of days in Nashville (yes, we do go to the Grand Ole Opry and yes, it is bonkers and genius all at once) we find ourselves in Birmingham to take in some history.

Through some careful research, Bobs has hunted down a veggie friendly place called The Bottle Tree and the night we're due to be in town tapes n tapes are playing. We figure this could be a great night out so we plan to find the venue, get some food, find a hotel and head back for the show.

And then my heart sinks. I know I'm not an authority and I'm aware I'm making this judgement based on a 30 minute drive but Birmingham seems to be a city in bits. As we drive through the town to find the venue, the scale of poverty is something I've never witnessed in a European city. And, of course, the people in the most run down areas are exclusively black. The next day we visit the Civil Rights Institute and it's an awe inspiring place filled with stories of dignity, strength and the potential for humans to display sheer guts and fight for freedom in the face of tyranny. But why have the people of Birmingham not been liberated from this crushing poverty?

Eventually, we find the venue and it is a great little place. Nice selection of veggie food, good range of board games to waste time on, a cool indie band sound checking in the next room and a great little patio where the Birmingham hipsters seem to have congregated. Something's not quite right though and it's blindingly obvious what it is. The guy working the bar and taking our order is deeply unpleasant. Nothing manifest, just his attitude and manner. This guy really stinks. His conversation is fouled by constant expletives of the most offensive type and the overall vibe he gives off is that of a jock trapped in a tattooed punker's body.

The veggie burger is really poor also. It's a black bean burger but seems to taste of very little. The salad has seen better days, the bun is inoffensively bland and the presentation is shockingly bad.

Our quest for a nearby hotel fails and we end up in a budget motel a fair bit away. It's depressing as hell. We skip the show and vow to get up and do good stuff the next day. We do. And my faith in humanity is restored.

The Flying Saucer (Humboldt Park, Chicago)

I have taken leave of New York and embarked on my very first road trip. First stop is Chicago where, in a couple of days time, I'm renting a car and driving just over 1000 miles South to New Orleans.

Chicago, like DC, is another of those places that I feel I know. Popular culture has filled my mind with images of the city, from its skyline and excesses to its ghettos and social problems, you don't have to cast your gaze too far to catch a glimpse of this city. I also have a feel for the place as I was a long time subscriber to the excellent Punk Planet magazine. What started as a magazine documenting and commenting on the, mainly American, punk rock scene, Punk Planet seemed to grow up with me and its focus moved to include left field political groups and issues. Essentially, it was a space for important, oppositional voices which could not find or maybe did not want, inclusion in mainstream media.

Punk Planet was awesome and I looked forward to it each month. It has now fallen victim of the decline in independent media and I miss it. Not exactly a tragedy but a huge disappointment,

Talking of disappointments, I'm pretty fired up to try my first veggie burger on the road. When we get to Chicago our amazing hosts have a huge pile of Time Outs and it doesn't take too long to find a recommendation for the number 1 veggie burger in Chicago. So, we trot off to Humblodt Park and find the Flying Saucer. It seems to be in a fairly desolate part of town and finding it is no easy task. But find it we do and as we step in we instantly feel at home. This place feels like a very cool East Village diner. The decor is nice, the girl serving has the requisite asymmetrical haircut and the boys have the fashion beards of choice. Foals (seriously, they were playing down the road) are at the table next to us and they don't look out of place.

We get the menu and my heart sinks. It's the weekend. It's brunch. There's no veggie burger. But as the old song says, "you've got to accentuate the positive" and I notice they have a veggie version of something I thought I'd never get to taste... Biscuits and gravy! And it's pretty good. I've nothing to judge it against so I won't pretend it's the greatest meal ever and it does feel like it's doing my dietary system no favours at all. But it was really tasty and well priced for a whole heap of food.

I liked Chicago. We did some obvious tourist stuff but, never having been there before, I felt that was important. And it's good to be out of New York to see how the rest of this vast and varied country gets along. Next stop the airport to hire the car and South to Bloomington, Indiana.

7A (East Village/Alphabet City)

"This used to be the grandest part of town.

Now it's all scuffed up, subsiding into the ground"

Faded Glamour by Animals that swim is as close to the perfect pop song as anything I've ever heard. Its description of a place once buzzing with life is quintessentially English so it's strange that it rings through my head as I step onto the boardwalk at Coney Island.

I love this place. Nothing about it appears organised or uniform. There seems to be nothing plane or plumb. But you can feel the romance in every loose board of wood and the charm in every rusted rail. The smells are almost tangible. The sea air, the fried food and the grease from the fairground combine to summon up memories of youth. I feel very alive here with a heightened sense of past and future.

Coney Island has slipped from being the place to be to being an antiquated curiosity. One frequently threatened by the destructive impulses of progress and homogenisation.

Alphabet City in Manhattan has gone the other way. Once spoken of as a no-go area for tourists, gentrification has been good to this place and, sitting on the terrace outside 7A, it feels like it's populated by a microcosm of all the different strains of cool the world has to offer.

When the sun shines, 7A (on the corner of... Oh, I don't need to tell you) is a beautiful spot to sit and engage in some people watching. It's Friday night and we're getting some sustenance for the night ahead. My burger fulfills this roll amply. There's a great "meaty" patty that comes with awesome sauteed mushrooms and lettuce and tomato. I choose to add monterey jack cheese and ask them to hold the cress (I've nothing against the flavour but I can't abide the texture). It really is stunning. There's a lot going on in there but it's all good and results in a heck of a satisfying burger. Across from me Bobs, looking stunning in her new wayfarers, has cheese and spinach ravioli and gives it a huge thumbs-up. We have a couple of beers and some red wine and it all comes to around 50 bucks with tip. Good times!

Oh, I'm still exclusively listening to music released by Matador records in the mid to late nineties. I'm currently becoming dangerously obsessed with the mighty Chavez.

Shake Shack (Madison Square Park)

There are certain days where New York seems like a truly magical place. 

It's the hottest day of the year, my two day hangover has gone, Bobs is back in town after a brief spell in Ireland and we have nothing to do but walk around, sit about and soak it all up.

Madison Square Park rests in the shadows of the Flatiron building and despite the proximity to really busy parts of the city, this little Square is a casual, relaxed space. In one corner of the Square, partially obscured by the branches of enclosing trees, sits The Shake Shack. You just know it's gonna be good as the line is at least 50 people long and it does take us a good half hour from deciding to queue to taking our first bite. Wow! That first bite is something else. Unlike any other veggie burger I've had before, this is a deep fried treasure of portobello mushroom and melted muenster and cheddar cheese. The flavours are not subtle and the pleasure is far from guilt free but these are the thoughts furthest from my mind as I consider another 30 minute wait for another one.

But I'm convinced that one is enough and we continue our day filled with lots of little, unplanned adventures.

Tiny's Giant Sandwich Shop (Lower East Side)

As a rule I tend not to enjoy cultural products that win awards. The records I listen to don't win Grammys, the books I read don't pick up Booker awards and the movies I enjoy certainly don't win Oscars (I make an exception for No Country for Old Men but I maintain that that's because it was so faithful to the novel rather than as a result of anything The Coens added to it).

The Big Mack Daddy burger at Tiny's, on the corner of Norfolk and Rivington is frequently referred to as one of the best in the city and has been voted the very best on at least one occasion.

It's literally round the corner from us so we call in the order and dander round to collect it a little later. The sandwich is really nicely packaged and is such a good size that it makes sense that it's cut in to two halves. But there's something not quite right about it. On paper it should be great. A soft brioche bun, a generous patty and all the good stuff like lettuce, tomato, onions and pickles. Then it hits me. It's the special sauce. Heavy on the mustard, it's overpowering on the bites overflowing with it and somehow bland on the bites where it's absent.

You know, it's not bad. It just needs a little balance. And I'm a fair guy. I should tell you their grilled cheese sandwich is amazing and Bobs is a huge fan of the crab cake sandwich.

Later that night I head down to The Bowery Ballroom for Nina Nastasia and Jim White. I love Nina's song writing. It's a bleak, desolate sound and her voice, Southern and affecting, has the ability to drag long hidden emotions out of the listener. Combine this with Jim's drumming (if you haven't seen him play live do it the first chance you get) and the show becomes a low key spectacular.

I should also mention that I recently picked up a second hand copy of the soundtrack to the movie Half-Cocked. Featuring Rodan, Unwound, Versus, Slant 6 and Helium among others, I'm reminded that music has never been better that it was in 1995.

Union Hall (Park Slope)

It's Thursday and I haven't had a veggie burger since Sunday. But the post-DC health kick is over and I'm ready to return to my righteous path. My friends from Belfast, a killer pop duo called Oppenheimer, are in town for a show at Union Hall and a quick look at their web-site (www.unionhall.ny.com) tells me they have a veggie burger on the menu. Seems like I can kill two birds with the one stone.

Union Hall is a great bar situated on Union Street in Park Slope, Brooklyn. I get the F from the Lower East Side to 4th Avenue and walk North noticing the contrast between the fairly desolate and grim 4th Avenue and the fashionable 5th. Union Hall certainly has more in common with the cool end of things. The feel of the place is like an old sitting room with antique furniture, low tables and even the odd chaise longe. However, toward the back of the room there's a couple of bocce courts (no, me neither but it's kinda like bowls - the European not the American variety) which people seem to be enjoying but doesn't really look like a lot of fun.

When my burger arrives I have a realisation. This isn't the end of my health kick. This thing not only tastes good but it seems to be made from really healthy ingredients. The patty is formed from fresh roast vegetables, there's no cheese in sight and the fries are the sweet potato variety which just seem to have a little more goodness about them. It also has a nice unique flavour thanks to some chipotle aioli smeared on a sesame bun. Good stuff all round, my only complaint being that the bar is pretty crowded and I have to eat my food off my lap.

Then it's downstairs where the cheap cans of PBR which accompany the rock show really do put an end to the health kick. The oppenheimers are on top form. Traveling the length and breadth of the US with They Might Be Giants has transformed them from a polite indie-pop band into a much edgier entity. The guitars growl as well as fizz and the drums are hit harder than ever before. That said, Shaun's vocals and Rocky's synth lines ensure the audience never has to listen too hard or wait too long for the next pop thrill.

A damn fine burger and a damn fine night out, as Special Agent Dale Cooper might say.