I recently finished work on the reworking and retouching of a Joomla 1.5 theme for the new Support Partners website. You can find the site here: www.support-partners.com.

Support Partners work in the field of digital video production and have worked with the BBC, ABC Australia and Disney among others. Their expertise lies mainly in setting up and subsequently supporting digital production facilities.

"Well, it's only been 23 years!" exclaims Tom Waits conversationally as he takes his seat at the piano for the more intimate section of his concert in Edinburgh last Sunday. "Oh, you know, the usual." is his well timed response to the imagined question from the audience hanging in the air. Waits was 30 minutes late taking to the stage as is, I have been led to believe, standard practice where he is concerned. Well, what's another 30 minutes on top of all those years going to hurt?

As we waited for the big entrance, the random array of elderly loud hailers adorning the back of the stage croaked out some carefully selected music to set the mood. Tom Waits took to the stage, his arms reaching out on either side to acknowledge the welcome, he then raised his upturned hands slowly in front of him, fingers dancing, indicating to his audience he wanted the noise level to increase further and the crowd was happy to oblige. The concert opened with a brilliant opening medley of Lucinda and Ain’t Going Down To The Well which segued back and forth between the songs. Waits stood on a raised circular platform, more like a drum riser, fringed with light bulbs and kicked up a cloud of white powder each time he stamped down one of his black booted feet to emphasise a beat. It was a simple but very effective theatrical effect. The stage was atmospherically lit in bordello red and lurid green for much of the set and the spotlights trained on Waits threw long spindly shadows.

After a little more comedic milking of the applause the band broke into Rain Dogs and I was struck at the manner in which Waits carries himself on stage. It's like watching an amalgam of Chaplin's tramp and the sort of deranged, wild-haired old drunk you might encounter pan handling for loose change in any city centre. Waits no longer drinks or smokes but he inhabits his stage persona like a well worn pair of jeans.

The Waits back catalogue is a treasure chest from which just pulling twenty songs at random would generally produce a two hour live set to blow away most other touring acts. Stylistically the songs cover vaudevillian Weimar-era cabaret, melancholy piano lounge ballads, Beat-inspired spoken-word numbers, twisted blues and tortured gospel alongside a great deal else in between. The band were simply brilliant, sounding like they had been playing together for years in darkened clubs. The Spanish guitar breaks performed by Omar Torrez which punctuated Hoist That Rag were a delight. Here's the full band line up:

Patrick Warren - keyboards
Omar Torrez - guitars
Vincent Henry - horns
Casey Waits - drums and percussion
Seth Ford-Young - bass
Sullivan Waits - congas and clarinet

Snippets of useless trivia are dispensed during the evening, almost all of which exist only in the travelling circus of Waits's playful imagination. They included a graphic description of how the legs and hips of a male Praying Mantis will continue to grind out their copulating rhythm even after the female Mantis has devoured his entire head and most of the torso during mating. Astronauts returning from the Moon report that it smells of fireworks ("That's where they all go!") and a new law which forbids forcing a monkey to smoke cigarettes has "ruined everything" for Tom Waits. We were also helpfully informed that a weasel came from the same family as a mink so it was perfectly acceptable to approach a woman wearing a mink scarf and say "You have a really nice weasel" and that you should tell her that Tom said it was OK.

It would be difficult to choose highlights from the night here but if pushed I'd go for the either the dramatic opening medley or the cemetery blues of Dirt in the Ground. The show, pre-encore, closed with Tom getting an unexpected glitter shower during Make it Rain. Now, close to a hundred pounds is a lot of money (for most people) to pay to see a concert. You need to be pretty committed as a fan of the performing artist in question to stump up that sort of cash. This is before you factor in all of the hoop jumping and DNA profiling required for the anti ticket touting campaign. The audience at the Edinburgh Playhouse were genuinely dedicated Tom Waits aficionados but their major flaw, in the eyes of this reviewer, was their reticence and politeness. The Innocent When You Dream sing-a-long was more of a mumble-a-long. I am in no way disassociating myself from my fellow audience members. We all piss at the same trough. But you were left feeling that a more raucous, a more exuberant audience may have wrung just a little extra from the encore to what was a special evening's entertainment. The possibility of a second encore seemed to hang enticingly in the air for a couple of minutes before the house lights went up. The gut feeling that the audience had been considered before being denied has, I'm sure, no basis in fact but it was inescapable at the time.

Waits's music and the theatrical persona that has built up around him for the last 35 years appeals most to those who have gone through their time here on earth expecting just a little more out of life than it has delivered, and can accept at least a portion of the blame for themselves. It is this acceptance and self knowledge which turns the character of Waits's shambling tramp into a messianic travelling hobo. U.S. Vogue's Mick Brown has written that Waits uses his vignettes as "platforms for wry and truthful observations about the cavity of desperation and disillusionment beneath the bravura of American life.". There is plenty of desperation and disillusionment right here in the U.K. and as such Waits is assured an audience on this side of the Atlantic for a long time to come.

Set List

Lucinda/Ain't goin' down to the well [Video on You Tube to give you an idea of it all]
Rain dogs
Falling down
On the other side of the world
I'll shoot the moon
Cemetery polka
Get behind the mule
Cold cold ground
Circus / Table top Joe
Jesus gonna be here
Picture in a frame
Invitation to the blues
House where nobody lives
Innocent when you dream
Lie to me
Hoist that rag
Bottom of the world
Hang down your head
Green grass
Way down in the hole
Dirt in the ground
Make it rain
Encore
Goin' out west
All the world is green
[Set list found at The Eyeball Kid]

Listen to NPR podcast of the full Tom Waits gig from Atlanta, GA 5th July, 2008
Photo of Tom found at Cows Are Just Food, and the original is at Zoometter's Flickr account. I assume he is onstage in Milan.

I have wanted to write about my experiences of reading The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins (2006) and the discussions with friends which followed. Dawkins hopes that people who perhaps haven't thought seriously about religion or the existence of God, those who are "sitting on the fence" on the subject, may be encouraged to do so after reading his book. What surprised me most during discussions between my friends and I on the subject was the fact that it seemed impossible to have a dispassionate yet serious conversation about religion with anyone, regardless of their religiosity or lack thereof.

One of the main criticisms I have encountered concerning The God Delusion is a dislike for the manner of Dawkins' angry, rant-like rhetoric and it is true that he pulls no punches when addressing the subject of organised religion, provocatively describing the "indoctrination" of children as akin to "child abuse". This highlights the unspoken societal rule that a persons religious beliefs are to be afforded a level of respect far above that given to their political beliefs or their particular tastes in art or music for instance. Religious beliefs are almost above criticism. I can berate someone for their electoral voting inclinations without fear of serious reprisal so long as I remain civil and as polite as the situation demands. I can say that someone's admiration for the music of Billy Ray Cyrus shows shockingly poor taste and that every minute they have spent listening to it was a waste of their time here on earth. However, I cannot say to a person of faith that I think their belief in God is also a waste of their time and that their holy books are fictions based on myth, at least not to their face, without fearing that I will have crossed some kind of line in the sand, no matter how polite I am about it.

If I call any particular organised religion "ridiculous" and go on to qualify that by saying that I believe the deity or deities involved to be a figment of the human imagination, adherents to that religion have a right to be offended if they so wish, as long as their reaction remains a legal and reasonable one, but the notion that I would also have managed to offend and slander some kind of omnipotent super being through my pronouncements is a little more unsettling. Just what sort of all powerful creator would be the least bothered by what I had to say and then also require the intervention of human followers to teach me a lesson I'd never forget?

It is this notion of untouchable deference towards religious beliefs which has been the main source of debate surrounding The God Delusion and it is the area which generates the most heated discussions among those I have spoken with on the topics covered within the book. It is a shame that this aspect takes up so much attention because there is so much more within the pages to stimulate the mind. For many people the intricate complexity of the natural world cannot be something which has arisen through mere chance and the only coherent answer to the existence of intelligent life which can be imagined is the co-existence of a creator. What Dawkins does both in this book, and more so in his previous works on evolutionary biology (especially The Blind Watchmaker, 1986), is present the case for life arising through innumerable small steps over an almost unfathomable period of time, Darwinian evolution, and he does so with admirable clarity for the non-scientist or layman.

Human beings struggle with the thought of their own deaths and spend a lot of time worrying over what may or may not happen afterwards. Believers in a deity may find solace thinking that they will be saved and ascend to heaven. Even if it is the other, hotter, place they end up there is still something after death. A typical atheistic thesis may be that after death your body is either buried and then slowly consumed by soil-dwelling creatures or otherwise disposed of, by burning for instance, and that your conciousness flickers out of existence when brain function ceases. Far from turning all atheists into doom-laden depressives it should really encourage them to make the most of their lives here on earth. Why be scared and worried about death when you're not going to be around to see it? Whatever the (unknowable) truth about what happens after your own death it does seem utterly pointless to spend a great deal of time agitating about it beforehand.

Dawkins' The God Delusion may have some notable flaws in its execution and may veer towards table thumping self-indulgence in sections but it certainly cannot be accused of a lack of passion and it is provocative in a way that is guaranteed to promote debate, whether among your friends and peers or within the confines of your own head and that is probably the author's main aim in the first place.

Released in 2003 and produced for a budget of something like £400,000, 16 Years of Alcohol is the directorial feature film début of ex-Skids frontman, ex-male model and ex-TV presenter Richard Jobson. I've seen this film twice in as many years now and I'll have a stab at reviewing it ...

Jobson has adapted the film from his own semi-autobiographical book of the same name. I cannot pass comment on the book as I have never read it, nor have I seen it for sale anywhere, but it was described as a "prose poem" on the BBC website. This description comes as no surprise to me as I do get the impression that Jobson may have a tendency towards the ostentatiously artistic. Nonetheless, despite having some notable flaws, 16 years of Alcohol is still rather a good film.

Opening with Frankie Mac (Kevin McKidd) receiving what is known in Scotland as a "real doin'" by three other men in a deserted Edinburgh close we are then shown the events leading up to this incident in intercut flashbacks. It is not clear to the viewer whether Frankie dies as a result of this violent and bloody beating and you are left to wonder if the film might not be a dream sequence review of his life seen through the eyes of a dying man.

With a title like 16 Years of Alcohol you would be forgiven for expecting this to be a film about alcoholism. This is true only in passing and the film is more concerned with despair and a paucity of hope which, fuelled by alcohol, results in self-expression and temporary liberation through violence. The seeds of Frankie's hopelessness are made clear in the sections of the film dedicated to his experiences as a young boy in awe of his charismatic father and the chivalry and love his father shows for Frankie's mother. After witnessing a sexual indiscretion between his father and another woman Frankie begins to see through to the grim reality of their lives. His father is an alcoholic and a womaniser and there is a simmering resentment between his parents. In a particularly memorable and heavily stylised scene the 10 year old Frankie sits between his cobweb-strewn parents who sit in their armchairs facing each other with hostile unblinking glares while each gripping a glass of spirits. With a nod to the way the human mind distorts, idealises or amplifies memories through time, the scenes focused on Frankie's early life seem particularly impressionistic.

The section exploring Frankie's life as the leader of a teenage skinhead gang is filmed as an obvious homage to Kubrick's 1971 A Clockwork Orange. Stuart Sinclair Blyth gives a solid performance as Miller, one of the more psychopathic members of the gang. Frankie sees hope of an escape from his tortured life in the shape of art student Helen (Laura Fraser) but their relationship is doomed to failure and Frankie descends into alcoholic oblivion after she leaves him. [McKidd and Fraser also appeared in Gillies MacKinnon's 1996 Small Faces from which Jobson seems to have drawn influence while shooting this film.]

Years later we see Frankie at an AA meeting where he confides to the circle "my name is Frankie and I am a violent man". A second relationship with aspiring actress and fellow AA member Mary (a well cast Susan Lynch) seems to offer Frankie a second chance but, in a clumsy and unconvincing sequence, Frankie mistakenly thinks she has been unfaithful to him in what amounts to an echo of his own father's indiscretions round the back of a pub.

The narration by McKidd throughout the film does on occasion veer quite close to being pretentious nonsense but that aside the actor puts in a good shift and delivers a powerful and memorable performance. As good a performance as I've seen from McKidd.

Whereas some directors would have chosen to make a film with this subject matter in the "kitchen sink" tradition of social realism I think many people will have seen a film just like that before. Jobson and his cinematographer John Rhodes employ striking visual flourishes throughout this film, including still photography, unusual framing and hyper-real colour saturation, which, along with some excellent performances, elevate a fairly standard plot to something much more worthwhile. Viewers of a certain age will also be given a nostalgic aural treat with a soundtrack featuring Lou Reed and The Velvet Underground, Iggy Pop and The Stooges, The Skids (obviously) and Roxy Music.

The title credits dedicate the film to Jobson's late elder brother Francis and subsequent interviews have made it clear that the Frankie in the film is an amalgam of the two brothers. Richard was a teenage gang member in Dunfermline's Abbeyview estate seeking acceptance as part of a larger group. The "AV Toi" gang had tailored clothes and a passion for football-related and drink-fuelled violence. His older brother Francis was also a skinhead but his intellectualism and more solitary nature drove him away from that life and he became a Hare Krishna devotee.

In short then, a visual and aural treat, a tad on the artsy-fartsy side with the narration but generally good acting across the board. You could do a lot worse than give it a go.

A lonely, pathologically shy and socially paralysed 27 year old man orders a life-sized, anatomically correct sex doll from the internet and forms a relationship with her. Does that sound like a story you'd like to spend an evening exploring? If not, you may find that your initial scepticism fades as this well crafted and intelligent film progresses.

Written by regular Six Feet Under contributor Nancy Oliver and directed by Craig Gillespie (Mr. Woodcock), Lars and the Real Girl never veers into the vulgarity or lewdness that such a storyline might lead toward and turns out to be really quite warm-hearted and touching. Ryan Gosling, rightly praised for his show stopping turn as a crack addled teacher in Half Nelson, gives a thoughtful and understated performance as Lars. As the film progresses we learn more about the life that Lars has led and begin to understand why he is so desperately introverted and awkward. The appearance in his workplace of Margo, played with charm and sensitivity by Kelli Garner, seems to elicit unfamiliar feelings within Lars and helps prompt the purchase of "Bianca".

Sister-in-law Karin (Emily Mortimer) has been becoming increasingly concerned for Lars's mental state and his almost total withdrawal from others. She is delighted that things may be changing for the better when Lars explains that he has a friend visiting him and wants to introduce her to his brother Gus (Paul Schneider) and Karin. They are then in very unfamiliar territory when "Bianca" is brought to their house for dinner as Lars's new girlfriend. Paul Schneider plays Lars's older brother with considerable skill, giving his best performance to date. Mortimer too is convincing and involving.

The way the God fearing folk of this unnamed mid-western town become more and more involved in Lars's delusion surrounding "Bianca", leading her to eventually be elected to the board of school governors, could easily be sneered at by the more cynical viewer and the story does flirt with fantastical sentimentality at times. However, does that "flaw" make It's a Wonderful Life a bad film? To my mind, it does not. Like Capra's 1946 classic, the film is only superficially realistic. It's a morality fable and if you can fully accept this, use your imagination and just enjoy the performances you will be rewarded.

There are many great moments in this film. The sequence with Lars dancing on his own at the party to which he has brought Bianca and the empathetic moment shared between Lars and Margo when he performs CPR on her recently executed teddy bear being just two. Well worth 105 minutes of your time.

I remember getting my hands on Underworld's seminal dubnobasswithmyheadman (1993) and being gob smacked at how good it was. It's not often that an album will stop you in your tracks and alter the way you listen to almost everything else. The hypnotic bass lines and beats, the riotous textures and the crazed pseudo-poignance of Karl Hyde's lyrics made it one of the best, if not the best electronic “dance” albums ever made. Nearly 15 years (!!!) later it still sounds fresh and wonderful. Although 1996's Second Toughest in the Infants was a great follow up record I felt Underworld never reached the heights they did on their first proper electronic album back in 1993.

This most recent release follows some years of experimentation from the band after the departure of Darren Emerson in 2001 and the release of 2002's 100 Days Off. That album wasn't very dissimilar to the output during the time Emerson was with the band and although it received generally positive reviews it didn't make a huge impression on me. The years of experimentation after 100 Days Off led to the production of three collections of new songs under the banner of The RiverRun Project. These EPs, Lovely Broken Thing, Pizza For Eggs and I'm a Big Sister, and I'm a Girl, and I'm a Princess, and This Is My Horse were released online at Underworld Live and showed Underworld were taking a more introspective tangent. Add to this the 2006 film score for the late Anthony Minghella's Breaking and Entering, give things a quick buzz in the blender and out pops Oblivion With Bells.

The opening track Crocodile might not immediately gel with this notion of mellowing introspection and, granted, it's a 4/4 trance grind of a track with a big chorus which wouldn't feel out of place on 100 Days Off or Beaucoup Fish. Beautiful Burnout seems to take us back further in time and sits closer to the epic multiple movement tracks on Second Toughest in the Infants and I defy you to be able to sit still during the final 3 minutes of the track. By the time Karl Hyde is delivering his off beat stream-of-conciousness lyrics on Holding The Moth you're right back to dubnobasswithmyheadman and convinced that this is actually a far better record than you had hoped for.

Highlight after highlight follows and after around 10 full listens over the last few weeks I'm happy to conclude that this is Underworld's finest work in 10-plus years. The closing track, Best Mangu Ever, recalls the blissful head nodding close of dubnobasswithmyheadman's River of Bass and M.E. Rick Smith and Karl Hyde have revitalised their music in recent years and Oblivion With Bells gets a healthy thumbs-up here.