The Power of Yellow

It's tomorrow, and thank you for your kind messages.
Thank Anish Kapoor too, for I went to his exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts on Tuesday and was bowled over by it.
It was full of adults laughing like children at the cupped and shaped mirrored sculptures, the blood-red wax train and cannon, and the sculpture (I thought it was a painting at first) on the wall that was the yellowest thing I've ever seen, and that made me happy just to gaze at it.
It has been a long time since a visual thing has changed my emotions, but this was just the most happy and beautiful intense yellow that I don't think anyone could feel miserable in front of it. As you passed it, you realised that the intriguing paintwork was actually an illusion, and the deeper yellow centre was actually a hole that went right into the wall.
There was another sculpture I particularly liked, made of huge twisting resin tubes the colour of old dress patterns, marked with little figures and lines in graphite-grey as though it had been made on a small scale with pencil marks and then grown: it had impertinent smooth carmine-red glitter lips pouting out of the top of it, as hard and shiny as the resin tubes were rough-textured.
Like a lot of Anish Kapoor's work, there was a mysterious dark hole which led from the lips into the pipework. It was a sexy French Horn, or a harlot's intestines minus her body, I don't know what it was. But it was funny and beautiful at the same time.
More beautiful things, more beautiful things...
I though of a Christmas concert I went to at the Fridge in Brixton that featured one of my favourite ever bands, The Happy End (Sara Jane Morris era). I even auditioned for them once and failed- I can see why: the band needs a big voice at its helm.
This night, the Fridge stage was decorated with stretched white sheeting, punctuated by miniature Christmas trees all lit up; the band sat amongst them, brass instruments twinkling, all their different personalities radiating from the stage as they tumbled and swung their way through their set, smiling, concentrating, reminding me of a set of toppling plates that never quite falls over. What a huge engine of sound- just anarchic enough, but with fantastic brass arrangements, not only in sound but also visually- pockets of things to watch popped up this side, that side, all over the place; you couldn't stop watching. And over the lot, Sara Jane Morris's deliciously thick and powerful vocal, the Captain of the Ship (yes, I know it was you really, Mat Fox, but she was the one with the hand on the tiller), bouncing on and curling round those fabulously lush sax, trumpet and trombone sections. They also chose their material really well- not many people play Hanns Eisler and get away with it.
Brilliant.
Come back at once!

Gina is going to Copenhagen with Hayley Newman by train to busk in cafes at the Climate Change conference.What a good idea!
She told me Akiko had given Hayley a copy of my Suburban Pastoral album and this made me feel important and appreciated.

What else? I am thinking about starting up a 'new songs' club in the New Year. A lot of artists get stuck in the rut of old material, even famous ones, and I though it might be nice to create a small and informal night for trying out new stuff. So that's in the pipeline.

On Monday my students (and me) are doing an informal songwriting showcase at Stratford Circus, starting at 8 p.m.
Entry is free but you have to email me if you want to come. Expect a mix of hip hop, electronica and guitar-based music. Something for everybody, I hope, rather than nothing for nobody!

Ah, Old Lady Cat, we'll plant a little juniper tree for you and think about your clear blue gaze.
Aren't humans funny? We have 'house babies' to dote on and we are so upset when they die. We have to remember to love the living too. I have been giving tissues to crying strangers and cup of tea money to people who looked like they needed it this week, after finding it impossible to walk round with the usual hard shell you need to function in a big city like London.
I wish I could be like this all the time.