Culture

In the aftermath of an early-evening thunderstorm on a baked Easter weekend, Trembling Bells took the stage in a Lewisham pub. They seemed like visitors from another time. It wasn’t quite clear which, but the most evident contender is the early Seventies, and it’s no surprise that Joe Boyd, the celebrated producer of Nick Drake and Fairport Convention, referred to them as ‘my kind of band’. In the aftermath of an early-evening thunderstorm on a baked Easter weekend, Trembling Bells took the stage in a Lewisham pub. They seemed like visitors from another time.

It seems to me that society can now be divided into three different types of people on principles that have nothing to do with class, wealth or status, and everything to do with one’s ease — or lack of it — with modern technology. It seems to me that society can now be divided into three different types of people on principles that have nothing to do with class, wealth or status, and everything to do with one’s ease — or lack of it — with modern technology. In this arrangement, my parents, who live comfortably in Surrey with two cars in the drive and a delightful garden, would belong to the underclass. They have no computer at home, would have little idea how to use one if they did and even struggle with mobile phones.

It rapidly became inevitable that my annual trip to Fukushima would be cancelled: I was due to go less than a week after the earthquake. No explanations were asked for and none was given. After all, every contract I have ever signed has included a standard clause about force majeure — it is always taken for granted and assumed it will never be invoked — and here suddenly I was presented with the most complete definition of that phrase I could ever expect to encounter. The job in question was to judge the all-Nippon Choral Competition, which I had done for the previous three years. In so doing I had got to know not only the town of Fukushima and its delights, but also the people who run the Symphony Hall there, including the prefect of the province.

The drugs don’t work sung the Verve on one of their best songs, and I’m feeling the same myself at the moment. The drugs don’t work sung the Verve on one of their best songs, and I’m feeling the same myself at the moment. The stash in my bedside cabinet aren’t drugs of the recreational variety but anti-depressants that I have been taking, on and off, but mostly on, for 30 years now. Depression for me always starts with acute anxiety and sudden rushes of panic.

In December 1956, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis Presley and Carl Perkins met at the recording studios of Sun Records in Memphis, Tennessee. And Million Dollar Quartet, at the Noël Coward Theatre (booking until 1 October), charts this memorable get-together with 90 minutes of rock’n’roll played and sung by a not-exactly lookalike group of four — plus a few extras. In December 1956, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis Presley and Carl Perkins met at the recording studios of Sun Records in Memphis, Tennessee. And Million Dollar Quartet, at the Noël Coward Theatre (booking until 1 October), charts this memorable get-together with 90 minutes of rock’n’roll played and sung by a not-exactly lookalike group of four — plus a few extras.

It should no longer come as a surprise when old pop stars keel over and die. Ten years ago, obituary columns were dominated by heroes of the second world war, with the occasional member of the Carry On cast included for light relief. Nowadays, barely a day passes without some old heavy metal singer croaking, and a funk guitarist or two. The shock, if there is any, is that so many have survived so long. Brian Jones, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison were all 27 when they died, and years later Kurt Cobain secured his legend by hanging himself at exactly the same age, conscious that, if he had waited another year, his surviving relatives might not have been able to eat. Even if they make it through the tricky twenties, pop stars rarely seem to make old bones.