Museum of Everything, Primrose Hill

This was clearly  mis-selling.  There was at least a kitchen sink missing, but what you do get is a warming, creepy, cluttered, obsessed, and fascinating collection of 'Outside Art', which no doubt has phds about it aplenty.  This show was 'Secret Art'.  All the kind of naive, slightly dowdy stuff that worms its way inside your head; and sadly seems to have informed the Innocent Drinks and all those adverts making use of drawings and doodles at the end of the Great Boom, c. 2007.

Nice offbeat labels, with digs at Hampstead types, neat comments from the bestest still going artist (Ed Ruscha), albeit with wrong apostrophes in decades...  Rambling overwarm building was perfect, and the crowd had hipsters, oldsters, posh toddlers, and artsy girls milling around to add to the effect.  Sadly, the fairground thing wasn't working.  The Revd.' s chapel was perfect, though. And there was even a tea lady and china cups and saucers at the end.  I may be back to have a Rich Tea and some Yorkshire tea at some point.

Ladies and Gentlemen we are floating in Royal Festival Hall

I think Spiritualized must be my third favourite band, but the number one in terms of times seen.  So, what did I take from this, apart from the odd observation about the fans and the current taste for nostalgia?

Well, along with the free jazz, and bombast, was probably the smallness of the sound.  Which was wholly appropriate for one man's attempt to come up with a new language, a thrashing around in the pain of loss, the balm of druggy comfort, and finally the human sound of the choir rescuing, but not bringing much relief at the end of cop shoot cop.  Revelations?  The reversion to the Elvis lyrics for 'Ladies and Gentlemen...', and the heart-ache in Jason Spaceman's voice in Stay With Me.   At the end, he wasn't singing, just crying out.

Kind of as if Berlioz was a punk.

Moon

Moon (2009) reminded me of one of those annuals from the 1970s or earlier, all full of moon buggies, space craft, and great white rings of light as planets crept in front of a sun.  We got a director's Q&A afterwards (Zowie!), which reassured us that this was intentional.  An homage, a faked lost gem even, from the highpoint of series SF: Outlanders, and so on.  All reassuringly refreshing.  But why? Even the future is now the past, it seems...

More tellingly perhaps, even more than the hints at the ethics of cloning, or what is a sentient being with rights, is the loneliness.  Something you don't have to grow up the son of a famous pop star to understand, I suspect.  And I've always wondered what it would be like to throw up in a spaceman's helmet.  It's worse than I thought.   Another great date flick, then.