Monday 24 September 2018

Computer says no. Again.

Picture: British Airways

When Robert Louis Stevenson wrote “for to travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive” he probably wasn’t considering flying any distance in economy class. Airlines today are so cost-conscious (i.e. profit-minded) that those utopian days of the proletariat joining the jet-set are now a distant memory as we cram into 10-abreast seats too narrow, and in rows so tight we resemble the enmeshed and entangled bodies of Picasso’s Guernica.

Now, I know what an elitist (and faintly pretentious) thing that is to say, but as my new job will involve frequent international travel, which means flying economy in accordance with responsible company rules (unless upgrades can be scored by a combination of personal cash and general obsequiousness at the gate...), I have a vested interest. And because the majority of my airline loyalty points are with dear old British Airways, I will probably be defaulting to the creaking flag carrier, just to maintain my lounge status. Yes, that’s just how shallow frequent flyers are. Except that BA, once the “world’s favourite airline”, no longer is. In fact, events - largely, it would appear, of their own making - have contrived to make BA anything but.

BA's CEO Alex Cruz will probably be glad to see the back of September: earlier this month he had apologise before the media after it transpired that BA’s website had been hacked - possibly over the course of several days - during which data including customers’ e-mail addresses and credit card information (including critical three-digit CVV codes) was lifted, affecting some 380,000 transactions. Just this last weekend the airline suffered yet another “technical issue with some of our internal systems” (or ‘IT failure’ in clearer parlance) at its hub, Heathrow Airport’s Terminal 5. Once again, this led to horrendous check-in queues and delays of up to two hours (“slight”, according to BA) to flights all over the world as computers managing the entire bag drop-to-boarding process fell over.

Twitter, as ever, bore the brunt of passengers’ frustrations: journalist Andrew Neil vented: “Yet another computer failure at Terminal 5 Heathrow for British Airways. Now regular occurrence. Flights delayed. Usual shambles, not yet on huge scale.” I’d hardly call it “regular”, but BA’s recent history of IT disasters certainly warrants the “shambles” part. “I think somebody at your organisation should press Ctrl+Alt+Delete and just start again,” another tweeted. BA strenuously denied that computer failure was at fault, calling it a “temporary glitch with some of our internal systems”. In other words, an IT failure.

IT problems have been at the core of BA’s worsening reputation in recent years. Having rolled out its new “cost-effective” ‘BA FLY’ IT system in 2015, it has been beset with problems. Employees reported it breaking within only a few weeks of coming onstream, leading to heavy delays at Heathrow and Gatwick. Almost a year later, on 7 July, 2016, the system suffered another failure, causing enormous queues for check-in at Heathrow. The system was to break down twice more that month, and again the following September, causing problems for the airline throughout the world. And then, in May this year, BA suffered its most reputation-damaging outage to date, when an employee error brought down the BA network leaving 75,000 passengers, their luggage and their planes stranded around the world, leading to 670 cancelled flights and a heavy dent in BA’s profits to boot. It’s easy to blame IT failures, but then again, they shouldn’t be happening so often to all the ‘mission-critical’ parts of an airline’s day-to-day operations, like check-in, baggage and boarding. And a multi-million pound retail activity like a national flag carrier's website, shouldn't be getting so comprehensively compromised by hackers. The suspicion is that penny-pinching, as BA obsessively tries to compete with budget airlines like easyJet and Ryanair, is undoing the reputation of an airline that once justifiably claimed to be one of the world’s best.

It’s no accident that most of my frequent flyer miles are with BA, built up mainly over the 17 years I lived abroad and made frequent trips back to the UK. However, over those years, the quality of BA’s service has noticeably eroded, and not just when ‘turning right’ into the supposedly cheap seats. Eager to cram in as many people has possible, even BA’s business class cabin has shrunk, squeezing rows tighter. Business class is where any airline makes its money, but without the high volume of economy passengers, a global carrier like BA would struggle. On short-haul flights, economy passengers now have to pay for snacks. This might be expected on budget airlines, but even when those sandwiches come from Marks and Spencer, it only adds to the cheapening of the BA product.The airline is also somewhat behind on what it provides for long-haul flights: the other week I flew to San Francisco on a 22-year-old Boeing 747. It’s a dear old aircraft - perhaps my favourite widebody still flying - but is definitely showing its age. Even BA's inclusion - finally! - of inflight WiFi on the outbound flight (notably missing on the return trip…) and a refresh of the seats doesn’t mask the fact that other airlines are streets ahead in bringing new planes into their fleets. But even where BA has introduced new aircraft, there are mixed results.

Picture: British Airways
A while ago I flew to Newark in New Jersey from Heathrow in one of BA’s new Boeing 787 Dreamliners, an aircraft much vaunted for innovations to enhance passenger comfort. The reality was that, flying in economy, it was probably the most uncomfortable flight I’ve ever experienced. Similar complaints can be found online of BA’s Dreamliner service between London and San Jose (a return journey on such planes I’ll be taking at the end of October...). Rather than being a sumptuous experience, BA has, it would appear, crammed as many revenue-bearing seats and rows into the 787 as possible. Frankly, I’m not looking forward to it, to the extent that when I repeat the trip to California in December I’ll be booking myself back onto the ageing 747, flying to San Francisco and putting up with a long hour on the 101 freeway to get down to San Jose.

Of course, I have options. Even with corporate travel, there are probably better options with other airlines, but these will almost certainly involve either American carriers (to avoid at all costs) or time- and patience-sapping stopovers where, inevitably, luggage will go missing, to be retrieved usually after the trip is complete. And now I think of it, BA’s history of losing luggage is not one to be proud of.

Whether they admit it or not (and I’m still prepared to defend it), BA has lost its sheen. Middle-eastern airlines like Emirates, Etihad and Qatar, have long eclipsed BA for service, comfort and innovations. Likewise one or two of the Asian carriers, like Singapore and Cathay Pacific. In Europe, I’ve had better experience with Air France, KLM and Lufthansa, carriers of similar or equal historical standing to BA. CNN’s business and travel reporter Richard Quest recently blogged that BA-bashing is “a national pastime”, saying that its status as a national institution put it on a similar par to the BBC or the Church of England for sniping. But having travelled almost exclusively with BA for many, many years, its decline - while not necessarily acute - has been palpable. A spoon fewer here, a more basic meal there - it all adds up. Quest points out that BA is, at least, refreshing its fleet with newer, more efficient planes like the Airbus A380, the Dreamliner and the A350 (which, in the example of the Finnair examples I’ve been on, is extremely comfortable), but if it is just going to squeeze in the maximum number of economy seats as possible, as my experience already of a BA 787 has found, all they are doing is putting Ryanair-standard cabins in the air on premium routes.

Picture: British Airways


Not everyone can fly in business class, and yet those of us flying economy on corporate tickets have often forked out business class pricing, as business travel agents tend to book expensive, fully flexible tickets, rather than the cheap-and-cheerful prices we see as consumers when booking our holidays. I have no problem with budget airlines: easyJet and BA’s own stablemate, Vueling, are perfectly fine for travelling down to the Mediterranean, for work or pleasure. But for long distances, the sort of flights that made BA the national flag carrier to begin with, there’s a sense of non-premium passengers being treated like commodities. I recognise the argument that we, as travellers, want to fly for the least amount of money possible, but I also think that if you want no-frills, you fly with a no-frills carrier (like Norwegian). For what British Airways charges for its longer flights, you’d have thought that passenger comfort - for those of us who ‘turn right’, would be given more attention.

As Quest points out in his post, BA will be 100 years old next year, “a perfect chance to turbo charge the necessary changes”. It was, once, a pioneer, introducing things like premium economy, in which you can ‘almost’ experience business class without paying the high price. Perhaps with a little premium thinking BA could do something about overhauling its currently bruised reputation, both on the ground and in the air.

Friday 21 September 2018

It’s a Thursday thing


Thursdays. Not quite Friday, but better than Wednesday and, thankfully, not Monday. In my childhood it was the day of Top Of The Pops and Cubs. In adulthood it is now chiefly known as the last day of the week in the office before the now-obligatory "working from home" Friday, a phenomenon so extreme that black cab drivers have stopped coming into London on the final workday due to a lack of business.

In the football world Thursdays have become a Championship day ranking behind the Premier League of Tuesdays and Wednesdays, a Lidl day, if you will, to two Waitrose days. OK, painful analogies, I know, but essentially, there is a clear gulf in class between the Champions League and the Europa League fixtures of a Thursday evening, arguably pound shop European football and an unnecessary distraction as clubs are forced to rearrange their domestic games to Sundays while still having to deal with travelling insane distances to get home. As a case in point, Chelsea's return flight from last night's opening Europa League tie against PAOK in Thessaloniki was delayed by weather, denying Maurizio Sarri's side rest and vital training before Sunday's visit to West Ham.

At some point this season Chelsea will have to visit Videoton, which isn’t a dodgy 80s David Cronenberg film starring Debbie Harry but, in fact, MOL Vidi FC, also known as Vidi, a Hungarian club based in Székesfehérvár. Wherever that is. Likewise, they will also have to visit BATE, better known as FC BATE Borisov, a Belarusian club from Barysaw. None of these - including last night's opponents, the Greek side PAOK - are glamour teams, or particularly glamourous locations with which to visit. Sorry, PAOK, Vidi and BATE, but face facts.

Elitist as it sounds, but when your European adventures have taken you to Madrid, Barcelona, Milan, Paris and Munich in the 14 years since Roman Abramovich's largesse transformed Chelsea into proper European players, it's slightly galling to be in the Europa League. Fans know this. It's why, as Chelsea failed to finish last season in the Premier League's top four, home and opposition supporters willingly engaged in banter about Thursday evening social plans. Chelsea know that the "Thursday gig" lacks the appeal of the senior European fixtures on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, pricing tickets for the group-stage Europa fixtures at just £20 to drum up a crowd (which, thankfully, they will do, as mugs like me will be at Stamford Bridge on 4 October for the visit of Videoton, rather than at home throwing things at the TV because BT Sport have got Glenn Hoddle in the studio again).

Home games not withstanding, it's the away fixtures that provide the bigger challenge, both for the club and its supporters. None of Chelsea's group opponents are based in particularly easy-to-reach cities, so my hat goes off to those loyal followers who will take off two days from work and shell out a considerable amount of money booking flights and trains at a relatively late stage to go and watch 90 minutes of football in places where language, hostile home fans and provocative policing will make life less than comfortable. But that is the fun of following your club into Europe.

Picture: Twitter/Chelsea FC
For Maurizio Sarri, the headache is one of making decisions on players. For last night's visit to Greece, Eden Hazard, David Luiz and Mateo Kovacic were left back in London, a deliberate choice to rest Hazard, in particular, ahead of this Sunday's Premier League game at the London Stadium. On paper, however, the line-up Sarri fielded against PAOK was pretty strong, with a fired-up Willian made captain for the night, and who subsequently put in a captain's performance, scoring the one goal that separated the sides. The Europa League is, for Chelsea and Sarri alike, an adjustment: "For an English team the Europa League is a very difficult competition," the Italian said after last night's game. "Because in Italy, if I play in Greece on Thursday I can ask to play on Monday night, but I have to play again in 63 hours, on Sunday morning." He's not sure how this will affect team selections in the future. "It is not a big problem now because we have played only six matches but in the future it may be a problem. I hope to qualify before the last one or two matches of the group stage.

One of Sarri's undoubted problems is and will continue to be striker Alvaro Morata who, despite a lot of creditable toil last night, wasted countless chances in front of goal. "Morata has to gain confidence with one, two or three goals," said Sarri. "I am not able to give him confidence. In this game he had three or four opportunities, he was unlucky. I hope in the future I can try to help him, but the confidence comes only with goals. But I have to say also that for the first time this season he was very ready in the box. He was on the ball, he was active."

Morata not withstanding, Chelsea's win at the Toumba Stadium yesterday evening meant that Sarri had recorded six wins out of his first six competitive games as Chelsea coach. He has a right to be pleased, but also to have concerns: "We were in control of the match for 90 minutes. We had a lot of opportunities, we missed them, so I am really happy with the three points and the performance but not the result, because when it is time to kill the match, we have to kill the match." That will have to determine team selection - and ensuring players remain fit. Unlike Sarri's predecessor, Antonio Conte, the latest Italian in the Chelsea dugout should have no complaints about squad depth. Last night he could even afford to leave Gary Cahill, with all his European competition experience, on the bench.

Picture: Chelsea FC

A tougher challenge will be deciding when to play and when to rest Hazard. Convincing him to stay at the club and not move to Real Madrid was, effectively, a brand new signing. The glee with which the Belgian skipped through Cardiff last Saturday, scoring a hat trick in the process, was a joy to behold. Tougher opposition awaits Chelsea in Europe after the group stage - which they should clear - is over, but by then the FA Cup and League Cup will, in theory, be providing further distraction. Conte made these commitments a further stick to attack the Chelsea board with, unnecessarily so. Sarri has selection challenges, but these are largely which, out of a talented squad, he can pick for their Thursday adventures to be fresh and ruthless enough to win games by more than the one-goal margin they recorded last night. Olivier Giroud must, surely, have earned his place as first-choice centre forward, but that surely can't mean that £70 million Morata becomes a standby option. Whatever confidence issues have hampered him since Christmas, meaning that an expensive resource has now been misfiring in consecutive seasons, needs to be addressed. It's time to sharpen up.

Thursday 20 September 2018

Bond will be back…eventually

Coming out of the shadows...at some point: Daniel Craig as James Bond

So Bond 25 is back on track, sort of. A month after Danny Boyle walked away from the project amid “creative differences” (supposedly, killing off Daniel Craig’s Bond to have the character regenerate, Doctor Who-style, as the next Bond, or something like that…), Bond supremos Michael G. Wilson and Barbara Broccoli - together with Craig - have this morning announced the appointment of up and coming director Cary Joji Fukunaga to helm the much delayed next instalment in the franchise.

While it’s good to know that Bond 25 has a director again, filming won’t commence until 4 March next year, with a worldwide release date of Valentine’s Day in 2020, according to the official tweet, thus breaking the recent production and release cycle of Bond films opening before Christmas.

While this is unlikely to affect audience interest, the delay in appointing Boyle’s replacement and, rumoured, significant rewrites on the script Boyle had favoured, which reportedly had a strong reflection of current global relations with Russia, will mean that it will be more than four years between the new outing and the last, Spectre.

With Daniel Craig already agitating to leave the role after the last film and its physical demands on him, the fact that today’s announcement is jointly from Craig, Wilson and Broccoli is somewhat significant. Craig will turn 50 just two days before filming begins at Pinewood - 31 years older than the youngest Bond on his opening day (George Lazenby).

41-year-old Fukunaga made his name as director of Season 1 of True Detective, brilliantly working with Matthew McConaughey and Woody Harrelson as they investigated an occultist murder in the American Deep South. How that translates to James Bond will, obviously, remain to be seen. Plenty of Bond fans have hoped for a return to a director like Martin Campbell, the New Zealander in charge of Pierce Brosnan’s GoldenEye and Craig’s 007 debut, Casino Royale. Others - namely me - had hoped that Sam Mendes could have been persuaded to direct Craig one last time, after his triumphant work on Skyfall and the sadly under-appreciated Spectre.

Mendes was something of a gamble as a Bond director, being steeped in the theatre and with cerebral films like Road To Perdition and American Beauty to his name, rather than a back catalogue of action-adventures. But as he proved, with the Bond franchise having to adjust to competition from both the Mission: Impossible series and the darker Jason Bourne films, Mendes’ approach was perfect. And, with him stepping away after Spectre, he left the door open for a director of similar tone, Christopher Nolan. The mind only boggles as to what a Nolan-directed Bond would be like, if his Batman trilogy is anything to go by.

So, we wait with interest. 14 February, 2020 seems an awful long way away…

Monday 17 September 2018

The battle that could have ended the war by Christmas

© Simon Poulter 2018

73 years after the end of World War Two, the events of those six gruesome years continue to hold an unbreakable fascination. The conflict began less than two decades after the bloodletting of the First World War, and yet in those intervening years warfare had progressed from biplanes to the Spitfire. But as much as World War One was and still is defined by its industrial levels of human slaughter, World War Two wasn’t without death on a similarly massive scale, not least of which, of course, because of the Holocaust and the Nazi oppression of Europe. In fact, there is a common misbelief that because the Second World War wasn’t fought trench-to-trench in the same way as its predecessor that it was only prosecuted from safe distances. It wasn’t. One such example was a battle that took place relatively late in the war and which, had it gone to plan, was even designed to end the conflict by Christmas 1944. That battle was for the Dutch city of Arnhem.

By the time of D-Day on 6 June, 1944, the war had been turning in the Allies’ favour. D-Day itself had been, in the grand scheme of things, a success - from the Allied deception that led Hitler to be convinced an invasion would take place around Calais, to the relative ease with which the Allies broke out of Normandy once landed. But with this success came hubris. Such was the pace of progress over the summer of 1944 that many in the high command thought that the taking of Berlin was already in sight. How wrong they were. And how much worse was to come.

The over-extended belief in, at least reaching into the Ruhr region by the beginning of winter was fuelled partly by the archly competitive nature of Field Marshall Bernard Montgomery - Monty - and his boss, General Dwight D. Eisenhower, the Supreme Allied Commander. Monty had ridden a long wave of success, from the Western Desert and El Alamein in 1942, through the invasions of Sicily and Italy in 1943, and then to D-Day itself, when he was in overall command of all Allied ground forces. With Normandy secured and progress already being made into France towards Paris, Monty took it upon himself to push for a thrust into Belgium and the Netherlands as the route into Germany. His American rivals, notably General Omar Bradley, favoured a southern ‘punch. Eisenhower indulged his rival generals, something that may not have been the wisest.

In September 1944 Montgomery and his acolyte, the dashing Lieutenant-General Frederick "Boy" Browning (a pioneer of the British airborne infantry, husband of author Daphne du Maurier and even an Olympic bobsleigh team member), concocted Operations Market and Garden, plans for the British 1st Airborne Division to ‘speed’ up through the Low Countries to take three strategic bridges over the Rhine - at Eindhoven, Nijmegen and Arnhem. With these bridges secure, and the occupying German forces pushed back into the Ruhr, the plan would be to encircle them, throttling them further and opening up the route into Berlin. Principle to this plan was the use of paratroopers from the air supported by tanks on the ground that would swiftly move up into the Dutch territory from their holding position on the Belgian border. It all sounded simple.

However, trouble was laying in wait. Arnhem - the furthest north of the three target cities - was only believed to be lightly defended (by “old men and boys on bicycles”). The reality was somewhat different. The Germans had stationed, around Arnhem and between it and Nijmegen, units of the 9th and 10th SS Panzer divisions. Intelligence reports from the Dutch underground and from RAF reconnaissance flights had even suggested that German armour was hidden around Arnhem, but the s was dismissed as ‘probably nothing’. So when, on Sunday, 17 September, 1944 - 74 years ago today - 10,000 paratroopers of the British 1st Airborne landed by parachute and by glider in the woods of Oosterbeek, a three-and-a-half-mile march into Arnhem itself (which sounds short, but was anything but), and met no resistance, it was assumed that the dismissal of intelligence by high command was warranted.

The Germans had, however, other ideas. Field Marshal Walter Model, one of Hitler's most senior officers, had been at Oosterbeek only a matter of hours before the landings began, and had already predicted the invasion based on intelligence chatter. While the 1st Airborne were marching towards Arnhem and, in particular, its bridge, Model’s crack Panzer troops, supported by relatively fresh-off-the-line tanks and heavy armour, were being organised to counter-attack the invaders. When they did, they began six days of the bloodiest fighting seen in World War Two, with the British-led invasion force hampered by poor (if not non-existent) radio communications and by resupply drops which ended up delivering vital ammunition, food and medical supplies behind German lines.

From the force who’d landed at Oosterbeek, a detachment of British Paras led by Lt. Colonel John Frost reached Arnhem and took up position at the northern end of the Rhine bridge. Model mobilised his 2nd SS Panzer Corps under the battle-hardened General Wilhelm Bittrich to attack, unleashing an astonishing barrage in an attempt to demoralise and flush out Frost's troops. Over the next few days, the British Paras fought on bravely - sometimes with just their bayonets - but dwindling in number as casualties mounted up. By the fifth morning those who were left - the injured and those who had volunteered to fight on to protect the injured - were taken prisoner. A final message - transmitted by one of the few working radios in British possession - said, simply: "Out of ammo, God save the King". Arnhem had become a bridge too far.

© Simon Poulter 2018

Although some 2500 Paras managed to get out of Arnhem, 1500 were killed and a further 6000 taken prisoner, including Frost. Today the bridge is named the John Frostbrug in tribute to the plucky British colonel who, with his huntsman's horn, gathered his troops with rifles and machine guns to take on some of the most powerful weapons in the German army, commanded not by old men and boys, but by elite soldiers.

Relief had, however, meant to have come within just two days from 30 Corps - under the command of the charismatic General Brian Horrocks (portrayed with equal charisma by Edward Fox in Richard Attenborough’s star-studded 1977 blockbuster adapted from Cornelius Ryan’s authentic book, A Bridge Too Far). Horrocks’ column of tanks were expected to race up the main road that linked Eindhoven, Nijmegen and Arnhem: today,  the journey takes just over an hour, courtesy of the fast, dual-carriageway A50 motorway. In September 1944, the cities were linked by a single-carriageway road which, like many Dutch provincial highways was flanked by canals. This meant that sholud a tank get hit by enemy fire or, simply, breakdown, removing it was highly time consuming. The Dutch underground had warned the British leadership about this risk, but still, it continued with the plan to send Horrocks’ tanks that way in order to support the airborne troops (in years to come, what would become known as ‘Hell’s Highway’ would become the subject of tactical lessons in military staff colleges the world over).

These fundamental flaws would leave the 1st Airborne stranded in Arnhem and fighting foxhole-to-foxhole, house-to-house and street-to-street, for their survival. Just how bloody their ordeal is described in gruesome detail in Arnhem: The Battle for the Bridges, 1944, the latest compelling war account from master historian Sir Anthony Beevor.

With characteristic attention to minutiae and his usual breathtaking depth of research, Beevor paints an appropriately unsympathetic picture of the flawed planning and debilitating politics that, ultimately, hampered Operations Market and Garden, and which made some aspects unnecessarily clumsy, and others an executional disaster.

If you’ve ever read Ryan’s book or seen the Attenborough film, Beevor’s Arnhem will add several layers deeper of the personalities involved, the operations themselves, the attrition of Colonel John Frost’s brave men defending the Arnhem bridge for days longer than they were expected to, the high rates of casualties on both sides and, critically, the violent reprisals carried out by the Germans on the local Dutch population in the aftermath of, ultimately, this British defeats (it wasn’t until the 1960s that Arnhem had finished rebuilding itself and the houses and properties burned, often with residents still hiding in cellars, in retaliation for helping the Allied forces they had hoped and even assumed would be liberating them).

During my time living in the Netherlands I visited the Commonwealth War Graves cemetery in Oosterbeek every so often for reflection. Each September, at this time, local school children stage a remembrance ceremony in honour of the British, Canadian and American forces who landed nearby on 17 September and fought for over a week to get out to safety. Oosterbeek contains the final resting places of almost 1800 casualties of the battle for Arnhem. An eerie calm pervades the well-tended rows of headstones in the cemetery, set in a deeply wooded area. The graves provide a thought-provoking timeline of the battle - the dates 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24 and 25 September: nine consecutive days of attrition - while the ages: 17, 20, 21, 25, 30… - and English, Welsh and Polish names, the occasional Star of David, as well as every conceivable rank and duty from officers to glider pilots, cooks to medical orderlies, tell another story.

Operation Market Garden, in total, cost the lives of several thousand Allied soldiers and a large but undetermined number of German troops. More than 500 Dutch locals were killed in the fighting. The Dutch population paid a terrible price in the winter that followed, as the Nazis tried to starve the Netherlands in the hope that it would capitulate further and give Germany one last stronghold outside of the fatherland. 20,000 Dutch starved to death in the winter of 1944, which was particularly gruelling.

The annual commemoration at Oosterbeek is as much a gesture of gratitude towards those who died in vein trying to liberate Arnhem as it is a reminder of the terrible suffering the Dutch continued to experience long after other parts of Europe had been declare free of the Nazi tyranny. It would be another eight months after the battle before the war in Europe would finally come to an end, and almost an entire year before atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki would bring World War Two to a complete stop. Arnhem, in particular, serves to remind us that this war was bitter, right up until the end.





Sunday 16 September 2018

Into the Valley


I seem to have made something of a habit of visiting Silicon Valley at the same time as its wealthiest resident makes a splash. Four years ago this week I was in Santa Clara with a group of French journalists on the day Apple staged its "Wish we could say more" 'special event' a couple of miles down the road in Cupertino. It was during this that Apple launched the iPhone 6 and 6 Plus, Apple Pay and the Apple Watch, as well as gifting 500 million iTunes subscribers an unsolicited copy of U2’s brand new album, Songs Of Innocence, which no one, it turned out, really wanted at all.

So to be sitting in an office, last Wednesday, just 15 minutes' drive from Apple's latest launch had a feeling of déjà vu about it. But, then, so often these Apple events do. Even without paying direct attention to the event, occasionally glancing at the video stream on Twitter, I could see it was exactly the usual format: big black screens, Tim Cook opening with the latest numbers of how many gazillion iOS products have been sold, a slick film with design chief Sir Jony Ive intoning his philosophy on the look, shape and feel of things, followed by marketing chief Phil Schiller’s sales pitch.

Picture: Apple

As impressive - and as eye-wateringly expensive - as the new iPhone XS and XS Max are, they are - along with the fourth generation Apple Watch also announced - merely incremental. A new 'Bionic' chip, better OLED displays and a few more wizzy gizmos under the skin might be enough to send frenzied fanboys out to queue in front of their local Apple stores with a deckchair and a flask of tea, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s just this year's new model. If, like me, you’re considering replacing an older model, then, also like me, money will be burning a hole in your pocket. But it’s nothing essential, no matter how Apple pitches it. Wall Street takes a similar view. The new iPhones will, no doubt, trouser Apple another huge pile of cash to add to their existing $260 billion stash, but gone are the days when the company can announce something irresistibly must-have, and see its stock price rocket. In fact, Apple shares have a habit of dropping if financial analysts give a "meh" reaction to another slew of nice but relatively uninteresting new toys.

Now I think about it, gone are the days when Silicon Valley produced anything that made the world sit up and take notice. Google Glass, anyone? No, me neither. When I first professionally entered the technology world in 1995 it was still possible to create something totally new. These were the heady days of the dot com boom, where ideas born in bedrooms and garages could attract the largesse of venture capitalists and, consequently, the attention of Porsche salesmen. Silicon Valley had, when I made my first business visit in the late 90s, taken over from Hollywood, 400 miles further south, as the world's dream factory. Just as I’d marvelled at the sight of studios like Warner Brothers, 20th Century Fox and Paramount when I first visited Southern California, I was equally as slack-jawed several years later driving through San Francisco Bay Area cities like Mountain View and Sunnyvale and seeing the logos of Intel, HP and the-then Internet giant Yahoo! emblazoned on corporate real estate.

Then, tech hardware was the thing. Today the Valley is a sea of code as software, data and algorithms churn through its myriad campuses. Whereas once we bought TVs, HiFis, PCs and cameras separately, today all that functionality. can be crammed into a single iPhone, with its monster screen and (as promoted this week as a virtue), high quality speakers with extra wide output (the sort of thing passengers on the London Underground are just going to love...). Those who glue it all together, store it in the cloud and making the networks that deliver all this data and content more efficiently are the burghers of today’s Silicon Valley. Don’t get me wrong, the behemoths are still there - you can’t miss the household brand names who all, to a company, have an R&D presence in the Bay Area (no cheap affair, either, given that the Valley is one of the most expensive places on the planet in which to employ people). But the novelty that exploded in the 90s has worn off. The Dream Factory has given way to a corporate beige.

In the 26 years since I first set foot in Santa Clara County it has cycled through different phases. Dot com excitement and digital tech gave way to health start-ups, who in turn gave way to the green revolution. The dot coms still exist, of course, nestling in and amongst all the other consumer electronics, health tech, IT and telecoms businesses in the Valley. And there is still some sense of innovation. But not a lot of 'new'. Uber and Tesla might be toddlers by comparison to Google or PayPal, and Facebook famously has evolved so far that it is part of two-sevenths of the world's population. Rather than being the startup it once was, with Mark Zuckerburg and a team of coders hunched over their laptops, Facebook is now part of the establishment, as much Valley founding fathers as Intel and HP. Just three years ago Facebook moved into its 430,000-square-foot, Frank Gehry-designed headquarters in Menlo Park. Now it is planning an even bigger "mixed-use village" on the same site that will include a supermarket, 1,500 apartments, a 125,000 square feet retail space and 1.75 million square feet of office space. Google can claim a similar expansion with its vast corporate town in Mountain View (when I lived in the Valley between 2001 and 2003 I’d not even heard of Google - Yahoo! was, to all intents and purposes, "The Internet".

Picture: Google

What hasn’t changed over the last couple of decades is the wealth. Some Valley veterans claim that it's less ostentatious now than it was in the boom years, while others maintain that it is actually more obvious. It's hard to tell, really. Cars, a touchstone of disposable wealth, appear to a little more German in the Bay Area than other places in America, probably to the annoyance of the current keeper of the White House (who is descended from German imports, anyway). And property...well let’s just say that property in the region is even more ludicrously expensive than when I rented a two-bedroom 'condo' for $2400 a month, part of which was subsidised by my employer.

The can-do culture, however, is still there. The sight of basketball hoops nailed to notice boards and dudes in surf shorts skateboarding along corridors may be a tad worn these days, but the culture prevails, even in those giants who've long-since seen the days of being pioneers on the frontier of technology. Campuses across the South Bay are casual environments, where employees are worked hard but are also allowed some fun in laid-back offices. California's weather provides some of that relief, with many corporate HQs providing outdoor spaces for lunchtime barbecues and team picnics. Many companies, too, have followed Google's cultural lead by offering employees free food and snacks throughout the day, an investment that keeps them engaged - and enclosed - at the same time.

When I first arrived in the Valley I was given a lot of sage advice from more established ex-pats. First, I would soon grow bored of the permanent sunshine (I didn't). The second, was never to wear a suit, lest I be viewed with suspicion and, subsequently, likely to close down a business in times of trouble. I completely forgot this maxim this week when I entered the offices of my new employer wearing the jacket-and-chinos combo uniform in London. Instantly I was marked out by people's gazes as an outsider, given that even senior executives here wear T-shirts and jeans. It's an environment I'm very at home amongst - I've never been much of a suit wearer.

Picture: Google

Workplace attire not withstanding, these last few days have brought me to a conclusion. Well, perhaps more of a realisation. Something I hadn't fully appreciated when I lived in Silicon Valley in the early 2000s. It's what makes the Valley tick. In the 15 years since I returned to Europe, I've been immersed in a European corporate culture, working for Dutch, French-American and then Finnish companies. Such companies are often national incumbents, more like civil service organisations than enterprises, nurturing careers from cradle-to-grave. Employees are well rewarded with pensions and holiday allowances, statutory sick leave and other social provisions. And thus they work their way steadily towards retirement, when they cash in their pensions or go off to play a lot of golf. Valley companies, however, run on different view. Even those that have been in business many years still feel like they're on some imaginary frontier, where it is impossible to sit still - dangerous, even - less they leave themselves vulnerable. Life is fast, work is hard, but the work-hard, play-hard spirit is tangible. Even in one of the most expensive regions on the planet to buy or even rent property, people seem engaged and self-purposed. It's an age-old cliche, I know, but here the attitude is 'can do', not 'let's give it some thought'. And I like it.

Friday 14 September 2018

Paul Weller's meaning of life

A few - no, make it several - albums ago, journalists were writing about the purple patch Paul Weller was going through, as if the venerable mod god was spewing out material due the affliction of some terrible, terminal disorder, and that he had things to say before his Bass Weejun clogs were popped. Thankfully, nothing of the sort was going on, but that hasn't stopped the extraordinary production line that has delivered 14 studio albums over the last 26 years.

And they keep coming, with today's release of True Meanings. After the delicious, summery soul of last year's A Kind Revolution, Weller turns reflectively autumnal with perhaps his most intimate album to date.

It's impossible, too, not to cite the Modfather turning 60 in May as the trigger, if not the root, of this mellower, bucolic collection of acoustic guitar-dominated songs. This is nothing new: go back Wild Wood or even earlier to The Jam's sublime English Rose and you'll find plenty of proof that Weller hasn't always been about angry stomps. The Cranes Are Back on his last outing is probably the loveliest song he's ever committed to tape. It's just that Weller himself has drifted from style-to-style with each passing album, either deliberately (or accidentally) determining each one according to the mood he's in. Comparisons with the equally prolific Neil Young aren't unwarranted.

Here, on True Meanings, his choice of collaborators plays a part: The Zombies' Rod Argent playing Hammond organ on the deeply thoughtful The Soul Searchers and the single Movin' On, and Noel Gallagher can be found elsewhere on the album; John Martyn's partner in crime Danny Thompson on Come Along (as well as Thompson's Pentangle bandmate Martin Carthy), another reflective number recalling a long-forgotten one-night stand. On three songs Weller calls in the lyric-writing skills of Scottish folkie Erland Cooper, while on The Soul Searchers Conor O'Brien of Dublin's Villagers lends a pen to the reflection. Tracks like GlideMayfly and Old Castles present wistful glances in the rear-view mirror, while Bowie - written in tribute to the late star - acts as a medium to ponder on change. All this builds to the wonderful closing track, White Horses, a song deep in thought and not without a nod to Nick Drake in the process.

After the long hot summer we've had in the UK, the gentler, seasonal tone of True Meanings provides blessed relief. It may not be the most adventurous album in Weller's canon, but that doesn't matter. There is still more going on with these 14 tracks than in most, if not anyone else, in Weller's peer group. Others of his New Wave era may labour over new material or, simply, not bother at all, but the music seems to come out effortlessly from Weller, with soul, with heart, with top-of-its-game instrumentation and arrangements. At this rate, we should be expecting the next one any time soon.

Wednesday 12 September 2018

Woodstock, SE3

Picture: OnBlackheath 

When it comes to outdoor music festivals, I’m of the fair weather variety. That is, if it ain’t got a roof, I'll remain under my own. Thus, over the years I’ve focused my festival experience exclusively in Montreux, chiefly as some years you can spend an entire week’s holiday on the shores of Lake Geneva, stay in a nice hotel, eat in nice restaurants and, each night, take the free bus down to the Stravinsky Auditorium to see that evening's A-list line-up. Forget glamping at Glastonbury, this one - even with torrential Alpine summer storms - is mud-free and stress free. And you get to mingle with the artists over the road at Harry’s Bar. It’s not cheap, mind (and I don’t just mean Harry’s), but you are at least conscious of the fact you’re paying a premium for it all and not requiring tetanus injections, going down with Trench Foot, eating overpriced rubber vegan food and being stung by all the other hipster indulgences that have proudly kept me away from Worthy Farm. My luxury yurt has, happily, been the living room, BBC Four’s coverage, a short walk to the fridge and to my own bed.

On his doorstep: Danny Baker
© Simon Poulter 2018
Last weekend, however, I caved in to festival fear to attend OnBlackheath, a two-day, does-what-it-says-on-the tin event in south-east London, and absolutely tremendous event it was, too. I was chiefly drawn by headliners Squeeze, playing literally on their home turf, but also The Divine Comedy, Paloma Faith and the prospect of De La Soul whipping up this profoundly white and middle class enclave into a frenzy of arthritic good times. Sorry to bring up class, by the way, but despite Danny Baker (who lives a matter of yards across the heath from the festival venue) hosting Day 1, and proudly boasting his lifelong connection to this part of London (Deptford-born, raised and schooled, Blackheath dwelling via Bermondsey), the clientele is decidedly white, middle class and middle aged. You know this by the carafes - carafes!!! - of rosé being consumed, and the number of men with floppy grey hair wearing age-defying T-shirts, who clearly work in the creative industries, pushing high-end child transportation around the field. 

But don't be thinking that I'm being sneery about OnBlackheath being, in 80s parlance, a yuppie affair: a safer, family orientated festival you could not find, even with Baker jokingly dubbing it "Woodstock, SE3". Before you've even heard a note of music, your senses are assaulted by the aromas of Caribbean, Vietnamese and Korean food wafting from craft food vans, while children are well taken care of by the obligatory face painting and glitter concessions. This little green enclave of south-east London spans two stages, with a main arena devoted to the two days' major acts, while a tented second hosts groovy acts, such as the venerable and still brilliant James Taylor Quartet, Dirty Vegas (featuring local boy - schooled in Eltham - Steve Smith) and even Steve Davis - yes, that Steve Davis - doing a DJ set. Throughout the show hours, a disco tent pumps out groovy choons for wine-fuelled mums to dance around their handbags. I kid you not.

But it is to the main stage where the big draws are assembled, and the build up to Squeeze on Day 1 is appropriately filled with a theme of British songwriting at its best, albeit with a contrast. First up is dear old Billy Bragg, the 'Big Nosed Bastard from Barking', as the NME used to call him. Still as agit-prop as he was when I last saw him, over 30 years ago on a Red Wedge bill on the South Bank, his punk-meets-folk is probably a little raw for some of the more refined tastes in this audience, but, given the rancid mess that is, currently, the state of British politics, he is brilliantly and fittingly abrasive. Now, grey of beard, Bragg can afford to make light of his resemblance to Jeremy Corbyn (“except that I’m the one with the fucking guitar,” he quips to an already uncomfortable crowd possibly hearing their first swear of the day).

Picture: OnBlackheath
Next up, The Divine Comedy, and a 12-song set including pleasers like Becoming More Like Alfie, Generation Sex, Something For The Weekend, At The Indie Disco, National Express and Tonight We Fly, as well as the brilliant How Can You Leave Me On My Own from their stunning last album, Foreverland. Neil Hannon remains one of Britain's most unsung musical heroes - I suspect he likes it like that - and the hour his sharp-dressed outfit are on stage for provides a reminder - if it was needed - of just how clever a writer he is. It's still impossible to pigeonhole The Divine Comedy: are they rock? Pop? Vaudeville? Anthony Newley incarnate? I'd simply leave it as "genius".

Somewhere much earlier in the day, Danny Baker smashed the proverbial champagne bottle to launch OnBlackheath by announcing that it would be his pleasure to introduce the very first act - someone he's "known since birth" - and the last act of the day, with whom "I went to school with”. The former is none other than 18-year-old Mancie Baker. Yes, the name is no coincidence: it’s the youngest of his three offspring, and a supremely talented singer-songwriter she is, too, boldly getting a thinly-crowded early audience under way with a set of just her and a blue Fender acoustic, singing compositions written in a bedroom just a short walk from the stage. It’s a family affair, too, as the Clan Baker and assorted family friends and neighbours are out in force to support her. Watch this space: I think she’s going to be huge. 

Fast-forward, then, to the evening's finale, Squeeze. Formed, more or less, 40 years previously on the very heath on which we are assembled, they have an unrelenting charm built on the tremendous canon of songs written by Deptford’s Glenn Tillbrook and Greenwich’s Chris Difford. I saw them last year at the O2 Indigo (part of the O2 Arena, built on the site of the Greenwich gasworks, where Difford’s dad worked as the payroll clerk), and it was as joyful a couple of hours of thoughtful pop-rock as it’s possible to have. Moreover, it underlined what Tillbrook and Difford have contributed to post-punk music. So here, a few miles down the road from the O2, Squeeze recreate the same brilliant selection of memorable classics like Pulling Mussels From The ShellHourglassAnnie Get Your GunLabelled With LoveGoodbye GirlAnother Nail In My HeartTake Me I'm YoursTemptedSlap And TickleIs That Love, and of course, Up The Junction and Cool For Cats, ending with Black Coffee In Bed. Just those 13 songs alone would have constituted an incredible gig in their own right, but with the addition of tracks from their last album - the paean to London that was The Knowledge - Squeeze confirmed that they're not just kings of south-east London but a band that, frankly, should be recognised as national treasures. I'm not exaggerating when I say that Difford and Tillbrook is a songwriting partnership in the same breath as Lennon and McCartney, Donald Fagen and Walter Becker.

Squeeze homecoming
© Simon Poulter 2018
Squeeze are, for me, the weekend's undoubted main attraction, but Day 2 brings plenty of good stuff to warrant a full afternoon and evening's attention, with R&B singer-songwriter JJ Rosa kicking things off on the main stage, and another well connected individual, Leon Tlilbrook strumming the second stage into post-prandial life. 

The first major act of the afternoon are The Lightning Seeds, who storm through Sense, Lucky You, Perfect, The Life Of Riley and Pure, with Ian Broudie thankfully ignoring calls for Three Lions (despite one or two members of the band sporting England shirts). I think we've had enough of that song for one summer, thank you. But with a strict evening curfew to observe, the main stage performances come thick and fast. Next up is Corinne Bailey Rae, the Leeds-born soul star who, you'll remember from her self-titled 2006 breakthrough album and hits such as Like A Star and Put Your Records On, a pile of awards, and then a decidedly low profile in the 12 years since (just two more albums - 2010's The Sea and The Heart Speaks In Whispers in 2016. She is, though, an infectious performer, and her set - which includes the 2006 hits - suggests that there's much more to come, albeit at a pace she seems happy to be fully in charge of.
© Simon Poulter 2018

It may now be almost 30 years since De La Soul first emerged with their still lovable album 3 Feet And Rising, with its hippy-dippy mixture of "hip-hop lite" (their words) and psychedelia, so a seemingly lengthy wait for them to reach the main stage is worth it. Within minutes the trio are getting the audience grooving to songs they probably last moved limbs to at university. Noting the family orientation of OnBlackheath, they vow to keep the set profanity-free, a pledge that lasts for only half their allotted time, much to the amusement of children in the crowd. Their parents appear unoffended, willingly joining in the pantomime fun that divides the audience into competing halves, with Posdnuos, Trugoy and Maseo whipping well to do mums and dads into wild frugging with feelgood performances of Me, Myself And I, Eye Know, The Magic Number and Ring, Ring, Ring.


There appears to be a personal pattern to the 2018 OnBlackheath headliners: I only saw Squeeze last October at the O2, and I was back to the Greenwich dome in March to see the second night's star bill, Paloma Faith. Similarly local (well, Hackney), Faith purveys big, brassy retro soul (not dissimilar, in that regard, to Adele) but delivered with a gusto and at times exhausting amount of chatter. She does like to go on, a fact she happily reminds the audience. She has a lot to say, though, and a lot of it is said on her stunning last album, The Architect, tracks from which form the backbone of her Blackheath set. Her songs and their themes revolve around the human condition - often her own, personal experiences - and she's not afraid to tackle the evils of racism, misogyny, homophobia and sexism in society. 

During one lengthy rant I was reminded of the previous evening's Billy Bragg, and the two share an undimmed conviction that their stage is a platform. That might not be everyone's cup of tea, especially if you're expecting a jolly night out waving your arms in the air, but her vow to spread "epic kindness" in her songs is endearing. She may not have - yet - the lengthy career of Squeeze from which to draw on a vast catalogue of witty, poignant, instantly repeatable pop songs, but this second night's headline act is nonetheless a force majeure, belting out blockbusters like Can’t Rely On You and even The Mamas & The Papas’ Make Your Own Kind Of Music. A momentous finale to a couple of delightful days in one of London's more delightful postcodes.