Why is BBC Sports Personality Of The Year always so crap?

Every year it's the same. Two hours of television with approximately five minutes of actual sporting action shown. Mind numbingly dull interviews with the great and the good conducted by permatan Lineker, an increasingly mumsy Sue and that gangly bloke off the motor racing. A couple of pointless, monumentally unentertaining gimmicks almost totally unconnected to the subject of the show. And at the end, the winner is usually someone who doesn't actually have much of a personality at all.

It all could have been so different had Phil 'The Power' Taylor won. As well as being world champion a staggering 15 times, the darts colossus has the added appeal of being a genuine character, a throwback to an earlier era when sports stars were normal people unsullied by the machinations of PR and willing to remain themselves. Grinning, fist-pumping, cracking gags with friends in the audience - The Power was in his element, and his ample girth is comforting proof to everyone that you don't need the body of a Greek god to reach the top in every sport.

The contrast between Stoke-on-Trent's finest and the recipient of this evening's Lifetime Achievement Award couldn't be more stark. Presumably Mr Beckham was given this award at the tender age of 35 to ensure his high profile attendance - although unlike the rest of the audience he clearly insisted that all his immediate family were invited too before accepting.

I don't dispute that Becks is a fine ambassador for English football, and he was a very, very good, though not great player for many years. But this 'award' smacks of the BBC cynically pandering to the cult of personality rather than focusing on the people who have actually been the most significant sporting achievers of 2010. The ex-England international's Oscar-like acceptance speech played mawkishly to the gallery as usual and was at least 27 times longer than the airtime given to any of the 10 Personality Of The Year nominees.

Even so, the Sage would rather listen to Beckham's platitudinous ramblings continuously for a week than suffer another 30 seconds of James Corden. I came across this monstrously unfunny man stuffing his face in an Italian restaurant recently and nearly asked him how he has managed to build such a successful career when it seems the sum total of his talent is being a lairy fat bloke. A comedy routine based around the less than shocking revelation that darts players like a pint and trying to molest Sue Barker does not justify a slot on primetime television,and I was left hoping that Phil The Power would take exception to Corden's slur upon his profession and proceed to pepper him with perfectly aimed tungsten tipped projectiles until he cried for mercy.

Oh - and well done A.P. McCoy. Who are you again??

The Sage's Top 10 Albums of 2010

Dear followers

2010 has not in the Sage's humble opinion been a vintage year for music, with no true modern classic emerging to really set the pulse racing. Nevertheless, there's still been a number of excellent records released over the past 12 months that I would urge you all to check out if you haven't done so already.

Please see below a list of my Top 10 albums of the year, together with links to performances by all the artists for those of you who'd like to find out more about them.

As always, your views are most welcome!

Regards

The Sage

1 Beach House - Teen Dream

Blissful and hypnotic, this record may well go down as 2010's Fleet Foxes and give Beach House the genuine mainstream success they richly deserve. Teen Dream boasts a dynamic that is both epic and ethereal at the same time, with Victoria LeGrand's bewitching vocals soaring gorgeously over layers of reverbing guitar and floating organ. I haven’t stopped listening to this since I bought it in January. My album of the year.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZxrIbTMJr4

2 John Grant - The Queen Of Denmark

Imagine if ELO had grown up gay in the American Midwest and you'll have some idea what John Grant sounds like. After years of obscurity as the front man of indie underachievers The Czars, the Denver troubadour teamed up with his more successful friends Midlake to produce an album that combines sublime orchestration with bittersweet lyrics as its creator recounts his experiences as a small town outsider. Fans of 70s FM rock should really give this a go.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzWQSabtWLs

3 I Am Kloot – The Sky At Night

This trio of gnarled, scruffy Mancunians have chugged along on the margins of the UK indie scene for a decade now, but a Guy Garvey-produced collection of stately, elegant compositions gave I Am Kloot a richly deserved Mercury prize nomination. Jonny Bramwell's eloquent tales of outsiders, underachievers, drinkers and dreamers on the margins of society make him one of the best and most original songwriters around.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-oqB3d6Pklw&feature=fvsr

4 The National – High Violet

Like I Am Kloot, The National have been around a while, but these Baltimore natives have become the darling of the critics this year with this outstanding album. A more world-weary, emotionally engaging American answer to The Editors, Matt Berninger’s sonorous baritone certainly sounds like he’s been round the block a few times and is the perfect voice to front his band’s meticulously structured, cinematic rock.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfySK7CLEEg

5 Vampire Weekend - Contra

There's an awful lot of preppy American Ivy League graduates churning too clever by half, jerky indie pop records these days, but Brooklyn's Vampire Weekend remain worthy of the hype. Yes, almost everything they do owes a huge debt to Paul Simon's Graceland, and they pretentiously pontificate on subjects like drinking horchata. But with melodies this joyous and beats this infectious, you can forgive them their indulgences.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaTgDgCSh-w

6 Tame Impala – Innerspeaker

Credible Australian rock groups are something of a rare commodity so it’s a welcome surprise that these natives of Perth have delivered arguably the year’s best debut album. Steeped in the sounds of 60s San Francisco psychedelia and early Pink Floyd, this woozy, reverb heavy record is trippy but accessible and those who enjoyed Animal Collective’s Merriweather Post Pavilion in 2009 will find Tame Impala to be very much cut from the same cloth.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7jekYAm3fkA

7 Chief – Modern Rituals

Another outstanding 2010 debut came from California’s Chief, the latest in a steady stream of excellent groups to emerge from the West Coast in recent years. But with their chiming guitars and anthemic choruses, this four piece have as much in common with British bands like Coldplay and Doves as their country-rock contemporaries. Of all the albums on my list, Modern Rituals would probably appeal to the broadest range of listeners.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LAODjl_pUbY

8 The Tallest Man On Earth – The Wild Hunt

Had Bob Dylan been cryogenically frozen in 1963, transported to rural Sweden and then revived in 2010, the next album he made would probably have closely resembled The Wild Hunt. Kristian Mattson’s song writing, voice and guitar playing are uncannily similar to the great man in his acoustic pomp, but this lack of originality scarcely matters when he can pen tunes as instantly catchy as The King Of Spain and Love Is All.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvWstzEUTfU

9 Sufjan Stevens – All Delighted People EP

Only Stevens would opt to release an EP that is actually considerably longer than most albums at nearly 60 minutes. Having long since abandoned his much-quoted plan to write a musical tribute to each of America’s 50 states, these sprawling, meditative songs are a heady brew of folksy banjo plucking, orchestral flourishes, electronic burbles and enigmatic lyrics peppered with biblical references that typify the Detroit maverick’s unique talent.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uvfg4hntSGA

10 Bellowhead – Hedonism

This 11 piece big band take traditional English folk songs and bring them bang up to date by adding elements of jazz, funk, rock and almost every other genre imaginable. Although Bellowhead are perhaps best appreciated at one of their riotously entertaining live performances, Hedonism is nevertheless a fine record, its dazzling musicianship combining with an infectious energy that’s a far cry from the genre’s woollen sweater and real ale stereotype.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fQ9joSfUB5k

Recent BBC Reviews

Dear followers

Please see below my two most recent BBC reviews. Anna Calvi, out in January, is highly recommended for the more adventurous.

Regards

The Sage


Elliott Smith

http://www.bbc.co.uk/music/reviews/dwnv


Anna Calvi

http://www.bbc.co.uk/music/reviews/jjm5

Matt finish - former decorator wins X Factor

After a tortuous, endlessly drawn out two hours of toe curling hyperbole and schmaltz, we finally have a winner! And much to the delight of the Sage, it is not the horrifically untalented gaggle of British Biebers that is One Direction, but instead the relatively harmless, actually quite likeable Essex boy done good Matt who's going to be saturating the nation's airwaves over the next few weeks, even after the potentially fatal setback of wearing hideous bright yellow trousers for his first performance.

It's probably safe to say that Matt is unlikely to join Dylan, Presley and The Beatles in the pantheon of great artists, but what his victory does represent is a pleasing triumph for a genuinely good singer who has worked hard to break into the music industry. Simon Cowell's Frankenstein-like creation of One Direction epitomises all the worst aspects of the X Factor - the cynical manufacturing, the emphasis on style over substance and the blatant exploitation of naive, wide eyed schoolchildren. Mediocre singers, leaden-footed dancers and guilty of a cringingly forced on-stage matiness, their demise should be met with a universal sigh of relief.

The Sage felt a little more sorry for the engagingly shy and awkward Rebecca, who sang beautifully but blandly every week before mumbling benignly in unintelligible Scouse into Dermot's microphone. Of course, it would have been much more interesting had one of the contestants with an actual personality won the show - the sneeringly pugnacious Cher perhaps, or the soulful but grating Katie - but we all knew it wouldn't happen. As usual we were left with a collection of inoffensive nice guys, cooed at by a panel of judges abandoning any attempt at objective criticism to reach for ever more gushingly sycophantic superlatives. Matt was probably the least bad option, and the Sage wishes him well.

One final point on tonight's show - the highly distasteful public humiliation of the X Factor's less gifted auditionees is the modern equivalent of a Victorian fairground freakshow that does noone any credit. While the career opportunities for 19th century dwarves and bearded ladies were presumably somewhat limited, quite what possessed this wretched ensemble of the aesthetically challenged and borderline insane to participate in such an unedifying exercise in self-flagellation can probably only be answered by their psychiatrists. At one point the camera focused on Louis Walsh wearing an expression of pure pity and the Sage for one shared his view.

The Egyptian Experience - Part 2: Luxor and Aswan

After the mixed bag of Cairo, the Sage was grateful to swap Egypt's madcap metropolis for the far more laid back Luxor and Aswan. First however, there was the small matter of a 12 hour overnight train journey, which certainly tried the Sage's not inconsiderable patience to the limit.

Egyptian trains are not exactly the Orient Express. The carriages are old, tatty and oblige travellers to become closely acquainted with the local cockroaches. The toilets resemble the one Ewan McGregor dives into in Trainspotting, and before even answering nature's call you have to cough and splutter your way through the fug of cigarette smoke emitted by the hordes of fellow passengers lighting up in the corridors. Attempting to sleep was largely futile, especially for the Sage who was sat across the aisle from a fanatical-looking man who insisted on chanting extracts from the Koran to himself until 3am. Each glance of disapproval from the Western infidel was met with a steely gaze of disdain, so I decided discretion was the better part of valour in order to avoid being brutally decapitated the moment I shut my eyes.

At around 10am I emerged bleary-eyed into the Luxor sunshine - their winter maybe, but still over 30 degrees. Luxor, formerly known as Thebes, is a fascinating place. The capital of Egypt's New Kingdom in the second millenium BC, it's basically a huge open air museum with a host of wonderfully preserved ancient sites including Karnak temple and the Valley Of The Kings. After managing to stay awake long enough to enjoy a tour of Karnak, I hit the hotel rooftop pool and got chatting to a charming Swiss lady who informed me that Naomi Campbell was getting married in one of Luxor's temples the following week. Since returning to England I have read the wedding was cancelled due to details leaking out to the press. I can confirm The Sage had nothing whatsoever to do with this unfortunate breach of confidence.

After another day in Luxor, which saw the Sage successfully navigate a donkey from the banks of the Nile to the Valley Of The Kings without being dismounted, it was on to Aswan. Like Luxor, this is positively chilled out compared to Cairo, and is also arguably the place where the Arab world starts to merge into Africa proper. For the first time, you start to see black faces in the streets, members of the Nubian tribes that live all across southern Egypt and northern Sudan. From Aswan, I was able to visit the spectacular temple of Abu Simbel, a kind of Egyptian Mount Rushmore hewn from a rock face in 1300 B.C and then taken apart and rebuilt 100 metres away from it's original location in the 1960s to preserve it during the construction of the Aswan dam. Very seldom does a man-made structure take the breath away, but Abu Simbel is truly sensational - an Indiana Jones style fantasy temple which even the hordes of tourists scurrying beneath it like ants cannot totally divest of its atmosphere.

In order to visit Abu Simbel, you have to obtain government permission to join one of two police guided convoys that set off there in the early hours of each morning. By this stage of my trip, the police presence came as no surprise - in Egypt, they are literally everywhere. Outside historical sites, on the door of every hotel, at stations, on trains, on the streets - it's impossible to escape these heavily armed symbols of a highly authoritarian state.

While the threat of terrorist atrocities against tourists remains very real following a series of attacks in the past 10-15 years, this need for security does not excuse harassment, bribery and intimidation. Officers on duty at the pyramids try and extort money to take photos, I had my suitcase randomly searched at one hotel, and our guide was apprehended for carrying a bag that was supposedly 'a brand that could only be owned by police.' These kind of actions hardly make them a 21st century Gestapo, but it does leave something of a sour taste, adding to my overall impression that Egypt is a country where the present day is considerably less glorious than the past. Several Egyptians I spoke to long for a better society in their homeland, with free elections, greater civil liberties and higher standards of living, but few expect their situation to significantly improve in the foreseeable future.

As I sit at my desk here in Stockwell, I'm thinking that perhaps I've been too harsh on Egypt. Poverty, overcrowding, pollution, corruption, repression, street hawking - these are all inescapable elements of most developing nations, and governments across the globe face a struggle to address and overcome them. But the Sage believes in telling it like it is, and for all it's magnificent historical legacy as the world's first nation state and the home of one of the most captivating of ancient civilisations, what we see today is a country that frustrates more than it inspires.

The Egyptian Experience - Part One: Cairo

Dear followers

The Sage recently celebrated his resignation from the world of internal communications management by jetting off to the home of the pharoahs, pyramids and random shark attacks upon German pensioners to enjoy a brief escape from the resumption of the Ice Age in Britain.

Many UK holidaymakers visit Egypt to soak up the year-round sunshine in Red Sea resorts like Sharm El Sheikh, but being a man of culture and learning who would rather not have my limbs dismembered while demonstrating my doggie paddle, my trip focused predominantly on the peerless archaeological sites of this very ancient land. Inevitably though, visiting these places necessitated engaging fully with the modern face of Egypt, which was an altogether more mixed experience.

I flew into Cairo on 28 November. Cairo is vast - the largest city in Africa with anything between 13 and 22 million people depending on which statistics you believe. Huge concrete dual carriageways dissect a warren of shops, hotels and slum housing, with spiralling minarets jostling for position alongside neon signs advertising Western brands across a crowded skyline. A thin but inescapable layer of smog hovers malignantly overhead, created by countless cars belching out exhaust fumes as they career madly around the city with no apparent regard for their own safety or that of their fellow motorists.

On foot, Cairo is scarcely more appealing. The pavements are cracked, uneven and strewn with rubbish, not forgetting the occasional carcass of one of the many stray cats that stalk the streets wherever you go. Ragged children emerge from their makeshift homes behind fences and walls to kick a battered football around. It's advisable to check your life insurance cover before attempting to cross the road, and you can sense the polluted air infiltrating your lungs as soon as you step outside.

Then there's the people. Away from the tourist areas - no problem. While travelling on the surprisingly efficient metro or ambling around local markets, I might as well have been invisible, despite being the only westerner in sight. But the rest of the time, not only in Cairo but in Luxor and Aswan too, was a constant test of patience as I was assailed from every direction by a stream of hawkers and vendors who, rightly or wrongly, see foreign visitors as fair game cash cows to be milked dry of cash by any means possible. "Hello sir, where are you from sir, do you need a taxi sir, come and have a look in my shop sir..." While it's important to remember that for many this is the only way to survive in a country that's poorer than many realise, sometimes the level of hassle can become quite invasive. For example, as I got into a cab outside the city's enormous and labyrinthine Khan Al-Khalili bazaar, a toothless old man appeared from nowhere, shut the car door behind me and then extended a bony hand through the window to demand 'baksheesh' for the unwanted service he had rendered.

Yet all Cairo's negatives faded away when I had my first view of the pyramids - a truly awe-inspiring moment. I had assumed they were located a fair distance away in the middle of the desert, but as our minibus hurtled round a suburban corner they loomed up unexpectedly, towering majestically over the shanty towns below only a matter of yards from the fringes of the city. Up close they are no less impressive; their sheer size alone adding credence to the conspiracy theories that aliens masterminded their construction. Far-fetched perhaps, but it's hard to imagine how human beings living over 4500 years ago accomplished such marvellous feats of engineering without some help.

At 146.5 metres high, the Great Pyramid Of Khufu remained the world's tallest man made structure for an incredible 3800 years until it was finally surpassed by the spire of Lincoln Cathedral in 1300 AD. A true wonder of the world - and one definitely worth braving the trials and tribulations of today's Egypt to witness.

In my next blog, I'll be writing about my travels to Luxor and Aswan, in the south of Egypt.

Until then, all the best

The Sage

Film Review - Africa United

More often than not, films set in Africa are presented very much from a post-colonial, Western perspective. Whether it's Robert Redford and Meryl Streep smooching on safari in Out Of Africa or Ralph Fiennes earnestly exposing corporate exploitation in The Constant Gardener, the story invariably revolves around the experiences of transient Europeans and Americans rather than the local inhabitants themselves.

How refreshing then to see a picture that actually focuses on Africans living in Africa, with no big game hunters or corrupt, caddish embassy officials in sight. A delight from start to finish, Africa United introduces us to a group of very different young people, each of whom in their own way gives a compelling insight into many issues this continent continues to face as well as the burgeoning opportunities.

There's Dudu, a street kid with infectious entrepreneurial flair, and his friend Beatrice, who dreams of becoming a doctor. Living in the same Rwandan town but in a different world in almost every other respect is Fabrice, a child of the country's emerging middle class with his mobile phone, gated house and TIME magazine-reading mother.

Fabrice is also a gifted footballer, and when he is spotted by a talent scout looking for youngsters to show off their skills at the opening ceremony of the 2010 World Cup, he, Dudu and Beatrice begin a somewhat implausible but utterly engrossing journey 3000 miles overland to the Soccer City stadium in Johannesburg. On the way, they team up with the marvellously named Foreman George, a runaway child soldier, and Celeste, a teenage prostitute, and together the group overcome a series of dangers, from gun-toting gangmasters to enraged wildlife, in pursuit of their goal.

What this film gives you is a sense of the real Africa, rather than the picture-postcard version. Yes, there's a few money shots of Victoria Falls and lions padding majestically by, but in general we see normal people going about their daily lives in a world that is sometimes chaotic but also characterised by great warmth and humanity. The young, mostly Rwandan and Congolese cast are superb, with a particularly affecting performance from Yves Dusenge as the troubled Foreman George, who has experienced more violence than any child should ever have to witness. But the central figure is Dudu (Eriya Ndayambaje) who constantly cajoles and inspires the others with his relentless enthusiasm for life despite carrying a terrible secret. His frequent malapropisms - for example the priceless 'the world is our ostrich' - only serve to make him even more endearing.

Africa United isn't wholly a homespun affair - director Debs Gardner-Paterson and writer Rhydian Brook are British - but overall it feels very much the work of the continent it depicts. The film strikes a good balance between feelgood factor and an unflinching focus upon serious social concerns, not least the AIDS epidemic which is Africa's single greatest threat, and while some scenes are a little contrived - the ending for one - Africa United's heart is so much in the right place you can forgive its occasional lapses.

Rating: 8 out of 10.

Thoughts on the X Factor

The Sage has been quiet of late, and I must confess that one of the less excusable reasons for this lack of activity is my unhealthy addiction to the X Factor.

As a fan and occasional reviewer of usually obscure but often wonderful independent records, the shameless commercialism and utter banality of Simon Cowell's machiavellian musical manufacturing should be anathema to me, yet strangely I love it. Some people I speak to admit to obtaining a perverse pleasure from watching the car crash TV of the early auditions, with their intriguing array of deluded wannabes, comedy pensioners and alarming Jeremy Kyle Show-style sociopaths, but lose interest once it becomes a serious singing competition. I however know I will remain in the clutches of Cowell and company until the bitter end, resigned to the realisation that I lack the strength to stop planning my Sunday evening dining to coincide with the 8pm results show.

Anyway, on to the competition's hopefuls this year, and I genuinely have no idea who is going to win. You've got your usual likeable but bland favourites (Matt, Scouse Rebecca), the Su Bo clone (Mary), the quirky but slightly irritating one (Katie) and the ridiculously bad one who keeps getting through despite being awful every week (Wagner). I like Cher, even though she invariably has an expression like she's about to headbutt someone outside a kebab shop. She's a bit edgier and more 'street' than the show's normal slushy balladeers, which is my way of saying I've never heard of most of the songs she performs because I'm too old, but she proved with Shakespear's Sister this week that she can really sing too.

Paige seems a nice lad, but he won't win because he isn't pretty enough and dresses like Winston Churchill one week and a hungover student the next. One Direction are presumably so named because of their dancing skills (or rather lack of them, as all they do is shuffle around awkwardly on the spot hoping that noone notices only Liam can sing) while TreyC has little new to offer other than parents who can't spell and Aiden is a smug and deeply annoying Mark Lamarr lookalike who's nowhere near as good as he thinks he is.

Presiding over it all is the imperious Mr Cowell, whose withering assessments of the contestants remain the X Factor's highlight. Occasionally you see in his eyes the look of a shark eyeing up its next prey as an eager young starlet walks on stage for the first time and shows signs they could potentially be his next cash cow. 'Nation's sweetheart' Cheryl increasingly resembles a Geordie mannequin; Louis seems permanently on the brink of bursting into tears; Dannii appears rather disinterested before randomly chanting 'you rock!' while waving a fist in the air after one of her acts manages to sing in tune for the whole two minute duration of their performance.

It all makes for great entertainment, but it's time to pick a winner. Personally I hope Mary does it; a genuinely pleasant, humble lady with an absolutely belting voice - but it won't happen. In the recent past, we've seen charismatic Rhydian inexplicably defeated by the instantly forgettable Leon, and the inoffensive but dull Alexandra saw off the far more interesting Diana Vickers a couple of years ago too. For that reason, my money's on Rebecca - the judges love her, she has a story (young single mother from the rough inner city with confidence issues) and she has another one of those technically perfect but utterly undistinctive Whitney/Aretha/Mariah inspired voices that will sell records by the bucketload. Cher to finish second, with One Direction third. You heard it here first...

Regards

The Sage

CD Review: Paul Smith - Margins

Dear all

Here's my latest BBC review attached - the debut solo album by Maximo Park's front man Paul Smith.

Regards

The Sage

http://www.bbc.co.uk/music/reviews/nfm5

The Sage is back...

Dear followers

Apologies for the long absence - I've been on holiday (to the wonderful Picos de Europa mountains in Northern Spain) and since then have been keeping myself busy reviewing music for the BBC.

Here's a selection of my recent output. Further original musings to follow soon...

The Sage


The Crookes

http://www.bbc.co.uk/music/reviews/czx2


Twin Sister

http://www.bbc.co.uk/music/reviews/zb28


The Clientele

http://www.bbc.co.uk/music/reviews/cqzb


Bellowhead

http://www.bbc.co.uk/music/reviews/n8fd

DVD Review - A Prophet

Hot on the heels of the two enjoyable but flawed Mesrine films I reviewed last month, last night I watched a French crime movie that's in a different class entirely. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that A Prophet, released earlier this year and nominated for a Best Foreign Film Oscar, holds its own alongside the very best of its genre produced in any language.

While it lacks the grandiose sweep of the Godfather trilogy or the wise guy wit of Scorsese's early films, what makes this picture so memorable is its complete lack of sentimentality. Set almost entirely within a high security prison, there's no Shawshank Redemption-style uplifting strength in adversity moments here. Jacques Audiard's film is unflinchingly honest in his portrayal of a brutal, unforgiving environment where survival is the name of the game rather than rehabilitation.

Malik (Tahar Rahim), an illiterate teenage Arab experiencing adult incarceration for the first time, is forced to sink or swim in a wing ran by rugged veteran Corsican gangsters. Within weeks, he's forced to murder a fellow Muslim who is set to testify against the external associates of gang leader Luciani (wonderfully played by Niels Arestup) in a horrific but brilliantly directed scene that is instrumental in shaping Malik's future. While the killing haunts his conscience (through a series of ghostly flashbacks), it also hardens him and sets him on the path towards a successful criminal career.

What follows over the next two hours is a young man's gradual development from callow, terrified prison novice to fearless, cunning overlord. Realising he has to play by Luciani's rules to stay alive, Malik does as he's told while learning all the time from his nefarious mentor. Simultaneously, he cultivates the image of a model prisoner, polite, respectful, taking classes and diligently carrying out his inmate duties. As a result, he's granted day releases, which he uses to carry out jobs for the Corsicans while also building his own drug trafficking operation. In the end, after playing all his cards right, he's in the position to become top dog himself.

Audiard vividly captures the bleak, claustrophobic world that Malik and his fellow felons inhabit, shooting A Prophet in an unfussy, ultra-realistic style that makes the story feel horribly but compellingly alive. While the violence that takes place is not for the faint hearted, the film's greatest strength is its characterisation and the alarming broader themes of a racially divided, institutionally corrupt France. In this unforgiving world, Malik does not receive redemption, nor indeed does he seek it. Instead, he realises early on that it is the law of the jungle rather than the law of the land that really matters, and while his journey is scarcely one of hope, it's nevertheless utterly absorbing.

Rating: 9 out of 10. An understated masterpiece, A Prophet is a gritty, intelligent triumph and proof that continental European cinema can often rival or even surpass the best Hollywood has to offer. Highly recommended.

My Premiership predictions

With the World Cup fading into the memory as England come roaring back with a scintillating 2-1 victory over the mighty Hungary ;-) the new Premiership season is almost upon us.

I thought I'd take this opportunity to share my predictions for how the table will finish. In reverse order:

20) Blackpool: It's great to see Blackpool get their taste of glory and we all love Ian Holloway, but the harsh reality is that his current squad is arguably the weakest ever to reach the Premiership (Derby were just unlucky). Will require a miracle to stay up.

19) West Brom: The ultimate yo-yo club, they've done nothing in the transfer market to suggest they can buck their usual trend this time out.

18) Wigan: Have done wonderfully well to survive this long in the elite considering the size of the club, but their were warning signs last season and I'm not sure their assorted obscure Latin Americans will be enough to save them.

17) Wolves: Hard to see any improvement on last year, but with a battling attitude and Kevin Doyle up front, they should have just about enough to live to fight another day.

16) West Ham: Avram Grant is a very underrated manager, but there's still not enough quality in the Hammers' ranks to enable them to push on, especially with Carlton Cole, Upson & maybe Parker seemingly on their way out. Another undistinguished season awaits.

15) Newcastle: On paper, this side isn't any better than the one that went down in 2009, but the mood is more settled at St.James's Park now under Chris Hughton, which should be enough to ensure survival is relatively comfortable.

14) Bolton: Never ones to please the purists, but improved under Owen Coyle last season and Martin Petrov could introduce some welcome attacking flair. Solid but unspectacular once again.

13) Sunderland: Steve Bruce's team are frustratingly inconsistent and following the questionable decision to sell Kenwyne Jones will be over-reliant on Darren Bent for goals. A top half finish will be demanded but looks unlikely.

12) Stoke: The arrival of the aforementioned Mr Jones for a club record £8 million signals Stoke's ambition, but while the Britannia Stadium is undoubtedly one of the Premiership's most intimidating arenas, Tony Pulis's team still lack the finesse to break down the better teams away from home.

11) Blackburn: Similar to Bolton in that they are unlikely to win many points for artistic merit but have become hard to beat, led by Kiwi World Cup hero Ryan Nelson and boosted by a good crop of youngsters. Nevertheless, hard to see them progressing beyond mid-table respectability.

10) Aston Villa: Three consecutive sixth place finishes may be as good as it gets for Villa. With Martin O'Neill's ill-timed departure, speculation over James Milner and other key players and a chairman keen to run the club frugally, it's hard to see anything other than regression this term.

9) Fulham: Mark Hughes is a proven Premiership manager and he has inherited a strong, settled and increasingly confident group of players from Roy Hodgson. Their European adventure distracted them from the League slightly last season, but expect a top ten showing this time with Bobby Zamora leading the way.

8) Birmingham City: Came on in leaps and bounds last season, and with Ben Foster replacing Joe Hart behind a miserly defence and the addition of the giant Serbian striker Nikolai Zigic to improve their goalscoring threat, they should at least emulate last season's 9th place.

7) Manchester City: Many observers believe a top four finish or even a title push is inevitable, but I just can't see it. Roberto Mancini has assembled a vast, bloated squad of highly paid players, but with the exception of Tevez and Robinho (both of whom can be as disruptive as they are deadly) and David Silva (unproven in England) they lack the world class quality to be found in Chelsea, Man Utd or Arsenal's squads. Deciding on a first choice side and keeping the fringe players happy will be a big enough challenge for Mancini without the added pressure of silverware, and a failure to deliver it will cost him his job - assuming he even makes it as far as next May.

6) Liverpool: After last season's alarming decline and continuing uncertainty over who will own the club, Roy Hodgson's steady hand is just what Liverpool need. Joe Cole will add quality in midfield while Stevie G and Torres remain unstoppable on their day, but the squad still lacks depth, especially in defence where Jamie Carragher is creaking alarmingly. Better than last season, but not much.

5) Spurs: Well capable of equalling or even improving on last year's fourth place, but I fear the excitement and demands of the Champions League may cost them a little this season and see them just miss out on a second consecutive qualification. Still just short of the depth and top, top drawer quality to challenge on two fronts.

4) Everton: But for an injury-plagued first half of the season, Everton would have been in the mix for fourth last season, and with their full squad available and star man Mikael Arteta on a new contract I expect them to be this year's surprise package. Much will depend on Louis Saha staying fit often enough to guarantee goals, as their other striker options are limited.

3) Arsenal: Were in the race for much of last season and should be in the mix again, with the talismanic Fabregas still at the Emirates and Marouane Chamakh adding extra physicality and goals up front. But the suspicion remains that for all their attacking brilliance, their defence and goalkeeper still aren't quite up to the task.

2) Chelsea: Should really have won at a canter last season, but in the end nearly threw the title away to an unremarkable Man Utd side. The return of the superb Essien will add to their energy in midfield, but there's no escaping the fact that their best players are all the wrong side of 30 and probably past their best. With little evidence of top quality young talent ready to share the burden, expect a slight dip although still a strong challenge.

1) Man Utd: There's arguably no outstanding team in the Premiership at the moment, and this certainly isn't a vintage Utd team. Even more than Chelsea, key players like Van Der Sar, Ferdinand, Scholes and Giggs are entering their twilight years, and Utd continue to lack real authority in midfield if the latter two veterans aren't in the team. But with players like Vidic, Evra, Fletcher, Valencia and Rooney, plus the arrival of Javier Hernandez to help share the goalscoring burden, Utd have more options than Chelsea and I expect them to improve enough this season to narrowly reclaim their title as the best of a relatively bad bunch of contenders.



So there we have it! Would be good to hear your thoughts.

Regards

The Sage

Album Of The Week: The Count And Sinden - Mega Mega Mega

Hi all, please see below a link to my latest BBC review - one for the clubbers among you!

Regards

The Sage

http://www.bbc.co.uk/music/reviews/zdq4

Album Of The Week: Best Coast - Crazy For You

Back in the late 1980s, there was a brief flurry of lo-fi indie guitar bands fronted by winsome girl singers, notably The Primitives and the louder, punkier Transvision Vamp. If those bands had emerged 20 years later bathed in Californian sunshine, they would probably have sounded rather like Best Coast.

Fronted by the engaging Bethany Cosentino, this Los Angeles duo's debut album is an instantly likeable sugar rush of tuneful, uncomplicated summer pop, effortlessly combining classic American girl group harmonies and fuzzy indie rock across 13 tracks each clocking in at well under the three minute mark.

All the tracks are very similar, with simple, direct lyrics about beaches, boys and Bethany's favourite feline friend -“I lost my job, I miss my mom, I wish my cat could talk," she trills on Goodbye - but that's one of the reasons Crazy For You works so well.

If every band was striving to produce Muse-inspired epic rock symphonies with classical piano interludes and choruses about medieval knights, then the world would be a dull place indeed. Best Coast revel in being an unapologetic one trick pony, and when that trick works time after time it would be churlish to knock them for it.

Rating: 7 out of 10. Some of the best music is the most basic, and you'll be singing along to this one in the shower for weeks. Not a record to stand the test of time, but one for savouring the moment. Recommended.

Film Review: Inception

I took in the most hyped film of the summer on Sunday afternoon and found it to be predictably entertaining and ridiculous at the same time.

For those of you who haven't seen it, the plot revolves around Dom Cobb (Leonardo di Caprio), a specialist in the somewhat implausible art of inflitrating and influencing the thoughts of sleeping people as they dream. This skill is apparently much in demand to extract vital privileged information from business leaders that could be used for commercial gain by their rivals, or to encourage their subconscious to make particular decisions that will have major implications.

It's the latter scenario that Cobb's trying to achieve here, and he hooks up with a crack team of international mind benders to convince the alienated son of a terminally ill oil tycoon that he must break up his father's empire to become his own man. The beneficiary this time is a Japanese oligarch (who just happens to join Cobb's party himself despite no experience whatsoever), and in return he will use his influence to allow Cobb to return to his native U.S to see his children, who he has been unable to visit due to suspicions he killed his wife.

All clear so far? I thought not. The key to enjoying Inception is just to sit back and enjoy the ride without getting too hung up on whether you actually understand everything that's going on or not. Once Cobb and friends start entering the dreams within dreams, we often have two or three sequences taking place at the same time, with any semblance of a conventional narrative left behind. But it's all done with such verve, and with some fantastic visual flourishes (check out the Parisian scenes in particular to witness the power of the imagination) that it doesn't really matter that much, although the film could have done with being half an hour shorter.

The biggest problem with Inception is not the fantastical storyline or the confusing tangents, but its leading man. It continues to baffle this writer that Di Caprio is now regarded as a heavyweight actor, because other than his ever more prominent jowls there seems little evidence to suggest he has progressed significantly from his youthful pin-up days of 15 years ago. Here he gives a characteristically wooden and dour performance, but thankfully the superior talents of the elegant Marion Cotillard as the wife who haunts Cobb's own subconscious, and suave Brit Tom Hardy as the sarcastic Eames, ensure there is some quality on show here beyond the spectacular special effects.

Rating: 6 out of 10. Like the Matrix series, this latest film from Christopher Nolan (The Dark Knight) purports to have more depth and intelligence than is actually the case, but if you are prepared to ignore the flaws this is an enjoyable way to spend a couple of hours.

Top 10 Withnail & I lines

I watched the timeless British classic Withnail & I for probably around the 43rd time last night, so for any fellow obsessives out there, here's my top 10 lines from the film, in no particular order. Anyone who hasn't seen it should stop reading now...

1) 'I mean to have you even if it must be burglary!' - Uncle Monty outlines his determination to have his wicked way with Marwood - 'I'.

2) 'Don't threaten me with a dead fish!' - Withnail responds indignantly to being menaced with a moribund eel by Jake the poacher.

3) 'There is, I think you will agree, a certain je ne sais quois about a firm, young carrot' - Monty explains his life long love of vegetables in his own inimicable style.

4) 'Four floors up on the Charing Cross Road and never a job at the top of them' - Monty again, lamenting the inefficiency of his theatrical agent, one Raymond Duck.

5) 'Stop saying that Withnail, of course he's the fucking farmer!' - 'I' becomes increasingly frustrated by Withnail asking a man on a tractor three times if he is 'the farmer'.

6) 'We want cake and fine wine. We want the finest wines known to humanity; we want them here and we want them now.' - A drunken Withnail outlines his demands to the proprietor of the Penrith Tea Rooms.

7) Withnail: 'My family don't like me being on the stage'

'I': 'Then they must be delighted by your career so far'

'I' makes a withering but accurate assessment of Withnail's lack of progress in his thespian endeavours to date.

8) 'Even a stopped clock keeps the right time twice a day' - 'I' philosophising in the bath.

9) 'They're selling hippy wigs in Woolworths man. The greatest decade in the history of the world is over ... and we have failed to paint it black.' - drug dealer Danny reflects backs at the end of the 60s.

10) 'Scrubbers! Scrubbers!' - Withnail charms some passing schoolgirls while sticking his head out of the Jag's window.


There's my ten - no doubt my fellow Withnail afficianados will think there's many others that should be in there instead!

Album Of The Week: I Am Kloot - The Sky At Night

Released earlier this month, I Am Kloot's fifth album received a richly deserved Mercury Music Prize nomination last week, and I wanted to take this opportunity to talk about what is a slightly quirky but utterly compelling collection of songs.

This trio of gnarled, scruffy Mancunians certainly don't look like rock stars, which is probably because they're not. For the past decade, they've chugged along very much on the margins of the north west's music scene, a secret cherished by the few in the know but largely a footnote compared to more successful neighbours such as Doves and Elbow. Their bittersweet songs lack the epic dynamics of both those bands, but singer Jonny Bramwell's eloquent tales of outsiders, underachievers, drinkers and dreamers on the margins of society are nevertheless just as memorable in their own way.

Take second track The Brink for example, which paints a vivid picture of a down at heel pub of the same name. 'They've got no rule of thumb, so on the counter I strum with my fingers. And I adore the surprise, of tomorrow's sunrise, so I linger," Bramwell croons lugubriously, backed by a sumptuous string arrangement that, like much of this album, brings to mind the best work of Richard Hawley, another highly literate northern songwriter. The pace throughout The Sky At Night is stately and unhurried, showing a group comfortable in their own skins and confident in their musicianship.

Other highlights are Lately, a bluesy late night delight, Proof, an early song re-recorded here and boasting an unforgettable hook, the country-inflected ballad It's Just The Night, and The Moon Is A Blind Eye, which matches anything in Elbow's canon for soaring atmospherics without succumbing to Guy Garvey and company's empty bombast.

Funnily enough, Garvey and his bandmate Craig Potter produce The Sky At Night, seemingly keen to help I Am Kloot join Manchester's musical aristocracy, and you wouldn't bet against them succeeding. This often sublime album may be a little understated and melancholy for some tastes, but the quality is undeniable throughout, with added orchestration bringing a fuller, more accessible sound than Kloot's early, stubbornly lo-fi releases.

Rating: 8 out of 10. There's few better songwriters in Britain today than Bramwell, and The Sky At Night may gain this splendid band a wider audience at last. A surprise Mercury winner?

A morning with the Doctor

This morning, my friend Peter and I decided to forego our usual weekend brunch catch-up to attend the Dr Who prom at the Royal Albert Hall. This was prompted by a number of factors - Peter is a Prom addict who also has his own Dr Who connection (sharing a name with the Doctor's fifth regeneration, you can work it out) while I as a teenage Whonatic (Derby branch) wanted the opportunity to revel in childhood nostalgia while shamelessly eyeing up the delectable Karen Gillan (aka Amy Pond) who was hosting the performance.

The Proms is a wonderfully egalitarian institution, allowing anyone who fancies it to simply rock up on the day and queue up to pay a ridiculously good value £5 to stand right next to the stage and experience some world class music. Granted, you wouldn't normally be sharing the space with small children wearing gold all in one Dalek suits and Cyberman helmets, but at a Dr Who prom, you wouldn't really expect a crowd of scholarly Albonini afficionados or flag-waving Elgar enthusiasts. I began to regret not bringing my 8 foot long Tom Baker scarf that my mother knitted for me in 1987.

Once we'd got over the fact that apart from two bemused looking Chinese women, we were the only people over 25 in the audience not accompanying their offspring, we had a thoroughly enjoyable two hours. Music from the TV show, composed by Murray Gold, alternated with vintage classic pieces that had a (usually tenuous or completely non-existent) space, time and adventure theme - for example Mars from Holst's The Planets, Wagner's Ride Of The Valkyries and O Fortuna from Orff's Carmina Burana. Holding court serenely over proceedings wearing a most fetching evening dress was the aforementioned Ms Gillan, reading off an autocue with applomb despite being dazzled by the flashing of hundreds of camera phones.

Performed by the BBC National Orchestra of Wales accompanied by the London Philharmonic Choir, the compositions from the Dr Who series swung from breathless bombast to lumpen schmaltz, characterised by the kind of derivative blandness that one generally comes to expect from incidental music. To stop everyone getting bored during these sections, big screens showed clips of the most recent series and best of all, a random selection of monsters were occasionally let loose in the arena and allowed to wander around. As a result, I was able to enjoy a brief flirtation with a Venetian vampire girl, photograph the back of a Silurian's head and watch a Dalek appear from under the floorboards and order us to switch off our mobile phones or be exterminated. In the second half, the current Doctor (Matt Smith) himself made an appearance, teaming up with a randomly selected, bow-tie sporting small boy sat in the stalls to save the Albert Hall from a flouresecent glowing chemistery set that was apparently going to blow us all sky high. Great stuff.

Proceedings closed with a predictable gallop through the programme's timeless theme tune, which in its own way is just as memorable a piece of music as the more established classics we'd heard earlier on. On the bus back to Stockwell, after debating the full array of Dr Who villains Peter and I agreed that for a supposedly elitist activity, classical music is in fact incredibly accessible. What other type of performance in London could you enjoy for the price of a pint of imported Belgian wheat beer? Or even looking across the whole country, when was the last time you could get into any professional football match for £5?

DVD review - Mesrine: Killer Instinct & Public Enemy No.1

Traditionally, French cinema is better know for its slow burning, intellectually challenging arthouse films than for action packed gangster movies. But recent efforts such as A Prophet and last year's Mesrine double bill have proved that our friends across the channel are capable of kicking ass as well as filming ass delicately and tastefully through a soft focus lense.

The latter films, a two part biopic of legendary armed robber and prison breaker Jacques Mesrine directed by Jean Francois Richet, were recently released together in the UK on DVD. They tell the story of Mesrine's journey from a reluctant killer while serving in the army in Algeria in the 1950s to the gun toting underworld kingpin who was the most wanted man in France for much of the 1970s.

The first film, Killer Instinct, is the better of the two, showing how Jacques, played by top French actor Vincent Cassel (La Haine, Oceans 12 & 13) used the ruthlessness he acquired in the army to rise swiftly through the ranks of the Parisian organised crime fraternity, headed by an always charismatic (and now immensely fat) Gerard Depardieu. After his marriage fails and he upsets a few too many rivals, he hides out in Quebec with his new lover, but can't resist a life of crime and ends up inside Canada's most brutal correction unit. Undeterred, he orchestrates an ingenious escape in a tense scene that's the film's highlight, and as the film closes Mesrine is still at large, despite a suicidal return to the prison to try and free his fellow inmates.

Public Enemy Number One is less impressive, as the events of the first installment are largely repeated again and again back in Paris with increasing levels of ludicrousness. Mesrine seduces a succession of impossibly chic women, commits ever more daring crimes, gets captured and then promptly escapes, while all the time relentlessly constructing his own personality cult through a series of clandestine press interviews. Set when the 70s were in full swing, Public Enemy Number One's frequent car chases, shoot outs and vintage hair cuts make it feel a little like a Gallic version of The Sweeney, although Mesrine's irrespressible fondness for implausible disguises also bring to mind the A Team's Hannibal Smith. He even lights a big cigar in one scene while dressed as some kind of moustachioed pornography baron.

The end of the film is unsurprising, and leaves one feeling rather ambivalent about the central character. Jacques Mesrine is not terribly complex or interesting - apart from the first five minutes of Killer Instinct, he's a nasty bastard, albeit an uncommonly resourceful one, and he's still a nasty bastard when Public Enemy Number One ends nearly four hours later.

Rating - 6 out of 10: A watchable account of a remarkable criminal career, but unlikely to challenge The Godfather series in the pantheon of great gangster movies.

Album Of The Week: Danger Mouse & Sparklehorse - Dark Night Of The Soul

Normally, a musical liaison between a chart topping hip-hop producer and a cult indie singer-songwriter would be an unlikely concept indeed, but as we have discovered over recent years, Brian Burton, aka Danger Mouse, refuses to be restricted by genre boundaries.

Not that he was ever a true 'hip-hop' producer in any case, his time in Gnarls Barkley notwithstanding. The Mouse's lofty reputation stems from 2004's Grey Album, where he ingeniously mixed Jay Z raps with musical samples from the Beatles' White Album, incurring the wrath of EMI in the process. Since then, he's also worked with the likes of Beck, the Black Keys and Bright Eyes, hardly a roll call of hip-hop royalty, as well as collaborating with James Mercer of jangle-popsters The Shins earlier this year on the excellent Broken Bells project.

Dark Night Of The Soul sees Danger Mouse teaming up with the late Sparklehorse frontman Mark Linkous, who had recorded a series of bleakly melodic, critically acclaimed albums over the past 15 years before committing suicide in March. This collection of his songs, recorded last summer with a host of star vocalists and his more famous friend at the production controls, was finally released last week after further legal wranglings with EMI.

Rather like the most recent offering from another of Danger Mouse's clients - Gorillaz (he produced Demon Days in 2005, although not Plastic Beach) Dark Night Of The Soul suffers somewhat from too big a cast list as the great and the good line up to work with Linkous. Not only do we have such indie luminaries as Gruff Rhys of the Super Furries, Black Francis of the Pixies and Julian Casablancas of the Strokes, but also Iggy Pop, Suzanne Vega and even legendary film director David Lynch, who produced a book of photographs to accompany the project.

The problem this creates is that most of these vocalists are so recognisable, the tracks they front more often than not end up sounding very similar to their own records, leaving Dark Night Of The Soul struggling to settle on one cohesive style. For example, opener Revenge, with the Flaming Lips, could have been lifted straight from Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots, while the demented hollering of Francis and Iggy on Angel's Harp and Pain respectively doesn't really sit comfortably with Linkous's spectral, understated melodies. Even Danger Mouse's trademark mellow beats and fuzzy, fairground soundscapes sound a little incongruous here, while Linkous is largely content to sit in the background.

The most effective songs here feature less showy, more easily integrated artists like Jason Lytle (ex-Granddaddy) whose high, plaintive vocal lends itself well to the wistful Jaykoub and Everytime I'm With You. And it's only on the last two songs - Vic Chesnutt's apocalyptic turn on Grim Augury, where he chants menacingly about 'catfish wriggling in blood and gore in the kitchen sink' and Lynch's distant murmuring over distorted piano chords on the title track - that this album really sounds like a dark night of the soul, evoking the nightmarish imagery that characterises so many of the latter's own films.

Rating: 6 out of 10. Some good moments, and enjoyable throughout, but not the triumph it could have been and lacking the consistency of other work by both Danger Mouse and Sparklehorse.

Restaurant review - O Moinho, Stockwell

With its grim tower blocks, down at heel pubs and extensive array of fried chicken takeaways, it would probably be pushing it a little to suggest that Stockwell is the UK's answer to Lisbon, but what is undeniable is that this particular corner of South London has become home to the largest population of Portuguese people in the country.

As in many other areas of the capital, this concentration of one nationality has spawned a range of restaurants reflecting this demographic, offering a welcome alternative to the rancid poultry carcass in a box option referred to above. Nevertheless, it has taken me almost four years of living in Stockwell to venture out for my first Portuguese meal, which I finally got round to doing the other day.

O Moinho, on the Wandsworth Road backing onto Larkhall Park, has a reputation as the venue of choice for the Iberian diaspora, and as my friend and I arrived the majority of what is a pretty small space was being prepared for what we were informed was a birthday party. With its pristine white table cloths, ornate traditionally tiled walls and sparkling wine glasses, clearly cheap and cheerful was not O Moinho's selling point.

Unperturbed, we sat down outside and tried to imagine we were in the Algarve rather than the London Borough of Lambeth, selecting an (excellent) bottle of Douro, a Portuguese red, to help us along. Service was swift and friendly, and after dabbling with the bread and olives we moved straight onto the main course. This was when the culture shock I hadn't bargained on suddenly reared its head.

Not being in the mood for octopus, fish stew or the other options on the predominantly piscine menu, I plumped for the seemingly innocuous special of chicken with rice, but was informed by a clearly concerned waitress that this dish was not suitable for English tastes as the sauce was made with chicken's blood, rendering it inedible even to some Portuguese.

Instead of doing the sensible thing and ordering a steak, I went ahead with my original choice and was confronted by a steaming pot of meat and bone that looked like it belonged in a medieval shepherd's hut rather than a 21st century dining establishment. Strangely enough, once I got used to spitting out the occasional rib, the unsophisticated but hearty taste was not actually unpleasant, and I could sense the organic, unpoilt goodness of the ingredients seeping out into my mouth. Nevertheless, it was not an experience I would care to repeat and I received a wry 'I told you so' glance when our table was cleared with my plate half full. My companion's suckling pig was also dismissed as a little too crunchy, with the baffling addition of a large pile of Walkers crinkly crisps doing little to assuage his disappointment.

At nearly £30 a head including wine, O Moinho is undoubtedly one of the more expensive dinner options in an area of London not renowned for its profusion of haute cuisine, and while I could not fault the welcome we recieved, my conclusion would be that this restaurant is best suited to those more familiar with the Portuguese palate. The curious would be advised to check out one of the several cheaper alternatives on the South Lambeth Road, where I understand a good range of tapas is available with blood and bones strictly limited.

O Moinho, 355 Wandsworth Road, Stockwell. Tel: 020 7498 6333

Review of the 2010 World Cup

So another World Cup is over, and once again, a tournament England will be glad to see the back of. I won't dwell on the supine performances of Capello and his 'team' here, but instead focus on some of the positives I've had the pleasure of witnessing during the past month.

It's not been a vintage feast of football compared to those hallowed World Cups of the yesteryear (although was 1970 really that great apart from Brazil I wonder?) and the vuvuzelas and Jabulanis certainly attracted more than their fair share of criticism.

Yet I felt that after an uninspiring start proceedings blossomed in the knockout stages and we were able to sit back and enjoy the dynamic counterattacking of the Germans, the sublime interpassing of the Spanish and the Jekyll and Hyde juxtaposition of dexterity and devilry displayed by both the Spanish and the Uruguayans. In short, the semi finals were contested by four accomplished, intriguing teams - and at the end of the day, the best team certainly won.

My team of the tournament: Casillas (Spain), Lahm (Germany), Puyol (Spain), Lucio (Brazil), Ramos (Spain), Schweinsteiger (Germany), Sneijder (Holland), Iniesta (Spain), Muller (Germany) Forlan (Uruguay), Villa (Spain)

Honourable mentions: Honda (Japan), Maicon (Brazil), Mascherano (Argentina), Mertesacker (Germany), Kingston (Ghana)

Best goal: Villa v Honduras - one of the few examples of a player actually dribbling past opponents coupled with a stunning finish while off balance.

Honourable mentions: Tevez's netbusting shot v Mexico, Suarez's curler v South Korea, Van Bronckhorst's long range thunderbolt v Uruguay

Best manager: Joachim Low (Germany) for nurturing such a vibrant young team and for resembling a Teutonic Bryan Ferry.

Honourable mention: Fabio Capello (England) - not for anything he orchestrated on the pitch or anywhere else in South Africa, but for convincing the English public beforehand he was some kind of managerial messiah when he clearly hasn't got a clue.

Best pundit: Clarence Seedorf (BBC) - for remaining impeccably chilled out and articulate over the past four weeks despite the demented rantings of the Scot and the Geordie sat on either side of him.

Honourable mention: Paul The Octopus

Albums Of The Year so far

As an occasional music reviewer over the past few years, principally for the BBC, I will be giving my thoughts on new album releases on this blog from time to time. I'll start the ball rolling by nominating what I believe are the best five albums released during the first half of 2010.

In no particular order:

Vampire Weekend - Contra

There's an awful lot of preppy American Ivy League graduates churning too clever by half, jerky indie pop records these days, but Brooklyn's Vampire Weekend remain worthy of the hype. Yes, almost everything they do owes a huge debt to Paul Simon's Graceland. Granted, they pretentiously pontificate on subjects like drinking horchata (apparently a traditional Spanish drink in case you care). But with melodies this joyous and beats this infectious, you can forgive them their indulgences.

Suitable for fans of: Paul Simon, MGMT, Talking Heads, DeVotchka

Beach House - Teen Dream

The Baltimore duo have been on the scene for a while now but it is only on this, their third album, that they have really hit their stride. Teen Dream boasts a dynamic that is both epic and ethereal at the same time, with Victoria LeGrand's bewitching vocals soaring gorgeously over layers of reverbing guitar and floating organ. Blissful and hypnotic, this record may well go down as 2010's Fleet Foxes and give Beach House the genuine mainstream success they richly deserve.

Suitable for fans of: Mazzy Star, The Cocteau Twins, the late 80s shoegazing scene

John Grant - The Queen Of Denmark

Imagine if ELO had grown up gay in the American Midwest and you'll have some idea what John Grant sounds like. After years of obscurity as the front man of indie underachievers The Czars, the Denver troubadour teamed up with his more successful friends Midlake to produce an album of sumptuous textures, grace and occasional humour as its creator recounts his experiences as a small town outsider. Steeped in the sounds of 70s FM rock, I should hate this record, but it's strong, piano-led melodies, perfect orchestration and Grant's warm, rich singing voice make it an unexpected triumph.

Suitable for fans of: ELO, The Carpenters, early Elton John, 10CC

Trembling Bells - Abandoned Love

If someone had put the 1969 line-up of Fairport Convention in a time capsule and reopened it this year, the album Richard Thompson, Sandy Denny and company made next would quite possibly have sounded a lot like Abandoned Love. This is big, bold, dynamic folk-rock, performed with a verve a million miles away from the twee real ale supping image that bedevils much of the genre. These Glaswegians are more like the house band at the most bacchanalian of medieval banquets.

Suitable for fans of: Fairport Convention, Bellowhead, The Levellers

Broken Bells - Broken Bells

2010 is proving to be a treat for campanologists everywhere. Broken Bells is the first collaboration between indie-rock stalwart James Mercer of the Shins and electro/hip hop producer extraordinaire Danger Mouse, and they've delivered an impeccably chilled out summer album that combines the jangly melodies of Mercer's band with the sonic invention that has become the Mouse's trademark. Difficult to classify, these are essentially classic guitar pop songs put through a blender of languid beats and soundscapes to produce something quite different to anything else you'll hear this year.

Suitable for fans of: Gnarls Barkley, The Shins, Tricky, DJ Shadow

Who will win the World Cup?

Well, I'll say fairly confidently that I don't think it will be Uruguay. Yet such has been this tournament's capacity to surprise, even the prospect of Diego Lugano (no, I'd never heard of him either) hoisting the famous gold trophy aloft a week today cannot be completely dismissed.

With Brazil and Argentina emphatically failing to live up to expectations when the going got a little tougher, the chances of a European victor look nailed on barring two miraculous performances from Lugano's lads. Deprived of their most creative player, Luis Suarez, by the Ajax striker's impromptu display of goalkeeping prowess on Friday, the last remaining hope for South American success will surely be swept aside by the increasingly impressive Dutch in Tuesday's first semi-final.

The men in orange stepped up to the plate superbly against the much-fancied Brazilians, and in Robben, Sneijder and Van Persie they have individuals capable of winning games against better teams than Uruguay. Barring over-confidence or a sudden return of the internal squabbling that has so often been the undoing of previous talented but temperamental Dutch teams, expect BeRt Van Maarwijk's men to be in Soccer City on 11 July.

The other semi-final is harder to call - the patient, intricate passing of European champions Spain against the tournament's revelation in the shape of a resurgent, uncharacteristically cavalier Germany. England's nemesis have scored four goals in successive matches against two supposed powerhouses of the global game, and while both opponents were ultimately exposed as defensively shambolic, tactically inept and lacking the collective will to fight in adversity, Joachim Low's team nevertheless took their chances with a clinical applomb unmatched by any other nation in this World Cup.

I fancy the Germans to continue their irresistible momentum against a decorative but often toothless Spanish side. They cannot keep relying on the talismanic David Villa to get them out of trouble and for all their pretty patterns in midfield, the nagging doubt remains that if Barcelona's new signing doesn't deliver, alternative sources of goals are thin on the ground. Especially as Fernando Torres, so deadly for Liverpool, is currently playing more like his club teammate David Ngog.

A Holland v Germany final then - now who would have predicted that a month ago??