"Yo Blair".
George Bush greets his British
In other politics news, JonnyB's Post8 Save The Post Office campaign has received the enthusiastic backing of the UK Independence Party.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Quote of the day
"Yo Blair".
George Bush greets his Britishcounterpart homie. C'mon George - as Alan Partridge once said, what's wrong with "Good morning" and a firm handshake?
In other politics news, JonnyB's Post8 Save The Post Office campaign has received the enthusiastic backing of the UK Independence Party.
"Yo Blair".
George Bush greets his British
In other politics news, JonnyB's Post8 Save The Post Office campaign has received the enthusiastic backing of the UK Independence Party.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Blogwatch
Welcome...
Dies Irae, the very amusing blog of JonnyB comment box regular Ivan The Terrible.
Struggling Author, who last night managed to gatecrash the premiere of 'Superman Returns' - with her parents.
Timboland, the new home of Tim, formerly of The Long Lost Lonely Lagomorph.
Meanwhile...
Alan recalls the day his life changed - "A blast of intense heat hit me, and as I looked along the balcony I could see the huge jets of flame billowing out of the top of the stairwell and high into the night sky. And my brain said to me, 'oh well, that’s that then', and shut down".
Elsewhere...
Mike has difficulty adjusting to provincial life following his return from London - "[I can't stop] spitting with contempt every time I pass one of our many, many Greggs sandwich shops ('When I was in London, everyone ate CRAYFISH AND ROCKET')".
Swiss Toni leaves his dignity and credibility at home and thoroughly enjoys himself at a Billy Joel gig - "It wasn't just the quality of the songs that made this a great night though; Billy Joel was the consummate entertainer throughout. He chatted to the crowd, he read out a marriage proposal, he spoke into someone's mobile phone for them, he cracked jokes - often at his own expense, he bounced up and down behind his piano and, when he wasn't behind his piano, he charged around the stage with more enthusiasm and energy than you might have expected for a short, tubby little guy pushing 60. He was great".
Kenny delivers his half-time report on the best albums of the first six months of the year.
Jonathan responds to sanctimonious pundits and journalists in offering an impassioned defence of Zinedine Zidane - "The match needed livening up just around then. I mean come on, nothing of note had happened for the preceding twenty minutes. As the spectre of penalties loomed, the French players were wandering around the pitch at walking pace, and if someone had placed a nice comfy sofa in the centre-circle the entire Italian midfield would have raced to curl up on it with a good book. This is not what you want from a World Cup final. You want passion. You want incident. You want the French captain to walk up to the nearest Italian and strike him clumsily in the chest with his head".
Del posts his first proper podcast, featuring everything from Frank Sinatra and The Carpenters to Fourtet, Lambchop, KLF and Beck.
Simon unearths another great band on MySpace, and again Los Campesinos! are from my current home city of Cardiff - "In the space of first track 'You! Me! Dancing!' we noted down the names of Architecture In Helsinki, My Latest Novel, Ooberman, Thunderbirds Are Now!, Heavenly, Broken Social Scene, Orange Juice, Khaya and Les Incompetents".
And finally...
Betty responds to a reader's recent post featuring pictures of shirtless Italian footballers with a gallery of snooker players - "Not all of us are taken with Italian footballers, with their toffee coloured wavy hair, dreamy green eyes, olive complexions and perfect muscle definition. Indeed, we set our sights lower and can appreciate a man who has something of the ghoul about him (as so many snooker players do) or who have infinite love handles, chronic acne or the sort of waxy colouring only achieved by men who have never encountered daylight, having spent every day since the age of seven in a snooker hall drinking and smoking".
Welcome...
Dies Irae, the very amusing blog of JonnyB comment box regular Ivan The Terrible.
Struggling Author, who last night managed to gatecrash the premiere of 'Superman Returns' - with her parents.
Timboland, the new home of Tim, formerly of The Long Lost Lonely Lagomorph.
Meanwhile...
Alan recalls the day his life changed - "A blast of intense heat hit me, and as I looked along the balcony I could see the huge jets of flame billowing out of the top of the stairwell and high into the night sky. And my brain said to me, 'oh well, that’s that then', and shut down".
Elsewhere...
Mike has difficulty adjusting to provincial life following his return from London - "[I can't stop] spitting with contempt every time I pass one of our many, many Greggs sandwich shops ('When I was in London, everyone ate CRAYFISH AND ROCKET')".
Swiss Toni leaves his dignity and credibility at home and thoroughly enjoys himself at a Billy Joel gig - "It wasn't just the quality of the songs that made this a great night though; Billy Joel was the consummate entertainer throughout. He chatted to the crowd, he read out a marriage proposal, he spoke into someone's mobile phone for them, he cracked jokes - often at his own expense, he bounced up and down behind his piano and, when he wasn't behind his piano, he charged around the stage with more enthusiasm and energy than you might have expected for a short, tubby little guy pushing 60. He was great".
Kenny delivers his half-time report on the best albums of the first six months of the year.
Jonathan responds to sanctimonious pundits and journalists in offering an impassioned defence of Zinedine Zidane - "The match needed livening up just around then. I mean come on, nothing of note had happened for the preceding twenty minutes. As the spectre of penalties loomed, the French players were wandering around the pitch at walking pace, and if someone had placed a nice comfy sofa in the centre-circle the entire Italian midfield would have raced to curl up on it with a good book. This is not what you want from a World Cup final. You want passion. You want incident. You want the French captain to walk up to the nearest Italian and strike him clumsily in the chest with his head".
Del posts his first proper podcast, featuring everything from Frank Sinatra and The Carpenters to Fourtet, Lambchop, KLF and Beck.
Simon unearths another great band on MySpace, and again Los Campesinos! are from my current home city of Cardiff - "In the space of first track 'You! Me! Dancing!' we noted down the names of Architecture In Helsinki, My Latest Novel, Ooberman, Thunderbirds Are Now!, Heavenly, Broken Social Scene, Orange Juice, Khaya and Les Incompetents".
And finally...
Betty responds to a reader's recent post featuring pictures of shirtless Italian footballers with a gallery of snooker players - "Not all of us are taken with Italian footballers, with their toffee coloured wavy hair, dreamy green eyes, olive complexions and perfect muscle definition. Indeed, we set our sights lower and can appreciate a man who has something of the ghoul about him (as so many snooker players do) or who have infinite love handles, chronic acne or the sort of waxy colouring only achieved by men who have never encountered daylight, having spent every day since the age of seven in a snooker hall drinking and smoking".
Can you dig it?
At least, that's what the job advert should have said. Perusing all the dead-end jobs in the job centre on Wednesday, I came across this one, which is dead-end in another sense:
"GRAVEDIGGER / GARDENER
Applicants must be physically fit as you will be required to lift weights in excess of 25 kilograms and in possession of a full driving licence. Overtime working as required. Full training in all aspects of the job will be provided. Main duties include locating graves to prepare, dig and backfill graves by hand, including the use of necessary shoring and plant. Other duties include the maintenance of flower / shrub beds, hedges and grass cutting, general cemetery maintenance of sweeping, litter collection and cleaning".
I seem to remember Pete being tempted by the prospect of working as a gravedigger a while ago. I don't have a full driving licence, so that ruled it out for me immediately - a good thing, probably, because I would have no doubt disconcerted my colleagues and visitors to the cemetery by singing "Diggin' the grave, diggin' the grave" as I worked...
At least, that's what the job advert should have said. Perusing all the dead-end jobs in the job centre on Wednesday, I came across this one, which is dead-end in another sense:
"GRAVEDIGGER / GARDENER
Applicants must be physically fit as you will be required to lift weights in excess of 25 kilograms and in possession of a full driving licence. Overtime working as required. Full training in all aspects of the job will be provided. Main duties include locating graves to prepare, dig and backfill graves by hand, including the use of necessary shoring and plant. Other duties include the maintenance of flower / shrub beds, hedges and grass cutting, general cemetery maintenance of sweeping, litter collection and cleaning".
I seem to remember Pete being tempted by the prospect of working as a gravedigger a while ago. I don't have a full driving licence, so that ruled it out for me immediately - a good thing, probably, because I would have no doubt disconcerted my colleagues and visitors to the cemetery by singing "Diggin' the grave, diggin' the grave" as I worked...
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Magic mix
Everyone likes good post. And post doesn't come much better than the CD that arrived for me from Texas last Wednesday. For, in the Shuffleathon expertly organised by Swiss Toni, I drew Mandy of I Have Ordinary Addictions, and this CD bore the twelve tracks she'd assembled for my listening pleasure.
First of all, I ought to apologise to Mandy for keeping her on tenterhooks for so long - but there was good reason behind the gap between receiving the CD and putting up this review. I wanted to give the CD a good few spins - I figured that some tracks were bound to be less immediate than others, and would take time to sink in, and so it's proved. As I recently said elsewhere, it's a compulsion of mine to be tempted into prematurely delivering verdicts on albums, and I was particularly keen for that not to happen here. Secondly I needed time to do a bit of internet research so I knew what I was writing about!
Swiss Toni had told me he thought the luck of the draw had been in my favour, and - as will become clear - he was spot on.
So, without further ado...
'Princess And The Pony' - Sean Na Na
Sean Tillmann is better known as Har Mar Superstar, and Sean Na Na is what he gets up to when he's not prancing around in his undercrackers with his sweaty gut on full display making the seedy white boy funk of Beck's Midnite Vultures sound positively wholesome.
It's indie rock, and it's not bad at all - if you can tolerate Tillmann's heavily accented nasal singing voice (which is reminscent of Placebo's Brian Molko), and I can. The song finds him imagining his own funeral, but it's far from being drearily morbid as he insists: "Shake your ass around my casket / And spin your favourite records". One of the opening lines is: "Someone buy a round before my liver fails". I understand THAT particular sentiment all too well.
Plus there's an invocation to "Clap your hands" which, given what follows, suggests a great deal of thought has gone into the track selection and ordering...
'In This Home On Ice' - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah? I was clapping like a seal and shouting "Yeah!" when I saw they appeared on the tracklisting. A band I had read so much about but not yet heard (as you'll see, that was a bit of a recurring theme...), and here was a total stranger somehow knowing I needed enlightening.
The clapping and shouting subsided somewhat when I first heard the song, though, I have to admit. Probably partly because I hadn't been expecting something quite so uptempo or jangly / shoegazery, but mainly because Alec Ounsworth's voice takes a lot of getting used to. It's kind of a high-pitched blur (if that makes any sense), the words not often distinguishable even though the vocals are high in the mix. Ounsworth is often compared to Talking Heads' David Byrne in this respect, but I don't hear it. Anyway, very much an acquired taste - but one I think I've begun to acquire over repeated listens.
Musically, though, it appealed immediately so their self-titled album is now very definitely on the shopping list. Thanks Mandy!
'The Predatory Wasp Of The Palisades Is Out To Get Us!' - Sufjan Stevens
There were only two tracks on the CD that I recall having heard before, and I own both. This is the first of them, from the Illinois album released last year. It starts slowly with hand-picked guitar and flute, but later it blossoms beautifully with horns, more woodwind instruments and intertwining choral arrangements.
Had I been choosing a song from Illinois to put on a compilation, it would probably have been 'Chicago', 'Casimir Pulaski Day' or 'The Man Of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts'. But through hearing this track in isolation, I've come to appreciate its charms even more than I did before.
'Red Right Ankle' - The Decemberists
Another band I wanted to hear - but a bit of a disappointment, truth be told. 'Red Right Ankle' is an undistinguished if pleasant enough acoustic strum, over which vocalist Colin Meloy tells the story of "your red right ankle" and "your gypsy uncle", who had a hideout in the Pyrenees. No, me neither.
Factoid: drummer John Moen is or at least used to be in Stephen Malkmus's backing band The Jicks.
'Red Right Ankle' appeared on The Decemberists' 2003 album Her Majesty, which was produced by Chris Walla of Death Cab For Cutie. Speaking of whom...
'Scientist Studies' - Death Cab For Cutie
A band for whom the term "indie darlings" was invented, perennial favourites for those who soundtrack the likes of 'The OC', 'Six Feet Under' and assorted low-budget non-mainstream American films.
Back before the albums Plans and Transatlanticism took Death Cab For Cutie overground, a good friend lent me his copy of We Have The Facts And We're Voting Yes. A couple of songs - 'Little Fury Bugs' and 'Company Calls' - ended up on mixtapes I still own. How album closer 'Scientist Studies' passed me by I'm not sure - it's significantly better than both of those.
Ben Gibbard's voice is superb, as ever, and the song builds steadily to a satisfyingly explosive conclusion and thirty-odd seconds of feedback. And, as regular readers of this site - and particularly regular readers of the Art Of Noise A-Z Of Music - know, I'm a sucker for feedback. A real high point.
'Find The River' - REM
Yet another spookily telepathic inclusion on Mandy's part, given that my interest in REM - a band I've always quite enjoyed without ever being evangelical about - has recently been reawakened by the acquisition of Reckoning.
Like 'Scientist Studies', 'Find The River' is another album closer, and another track that has somehow escaped my attention - prior to getting Reckoning, I only owned New Adventures In Hi-Fi but thought I knew Automatic For The People well. It seems not.
It'd be good to hear this in the context of the record, but as it follows the superb 'Nightswimming' I'm guessing that it'd probably strike me as something of an anti-climax. As with much of their material, I find it rather unremarkable - though certainly not without its charm, and my experience with Reckoning suggests that giving their albums (in their entirety) time to bed in might prove rewarding.
'Where Does Yer Go Now?' - Gorky's Zygotic Mynci
Not (I was initially a little disappointed to discover) a West Country take on Guns 'N' Roses' 'Sweet Child O' Mine', 'Where Does Yer Go Now?' is perhaps the track on the CD that has most benefitted from repeated listens.
It's a delicately majestic song featuring plucked banjo and careful orchestration, rivalling Sufjan Stevens in the symphonic indie stakes - if not even putting him in the shade.
Not quite sure what I was expecting from Gorky's Zygotic Mynci, but this wasn't it. On this evidence I can even forgive them that name.
'Put The Book Back On The Shelf' - Belle & Sebastian
Ah. The stumbling block.
There's no other way to say it: I dislike Belle & Sebastian intensely.
Mere mention of them has long set my teeth on edge, and I've never quite been able to put my finger on why. After all, some of the bands I listen to admittedly bear more than a passing resemblance to B&S at times - My Latest Novel, The Concretes. I've sometimes wondered whether it's less to do with the band themselves and their music than the sort of people who used to fawn over them at university. My tastes have mellowed further since then, and I resolved to listen to 'Put The Book Back On The Shelf' without prejudice, honestly hoping to be pleasantly surprised.
What the experience confirmed for me is that it very definitely is the music that I was (and am) primarily reacting against. But I'm still having difficulty pinpointing just what it is that irritates me so much. Probably Stuart Murdoch's voice - a feeble tremulous whimper that's even more grating on the self-referential bonus track which Mandy has slipped in sneakily but which only prolongs the agony.
But - and it's a big but - there's a thin line between love and hate, so you never know in the future.
'A Swallow On My Neck' - Morrissey
Back on track with a familiar voice. Moz is alleged to have abandoned his legendary celibacy recently, judging by the lyrics to his latest LP Ringleader Of The Tormentors, but there's plenty of (homo)erotic interest here, particularly the coyness of the chorus: "He drew a swallow on my neck / And more I will not say / He drew a swallow deep and blue / And soon everyone knew".
In musical terms at least, Morrissey's solo stuff has always left me hankering for Johnny Marr's songwriting, but this is pretty decent - especially for a B-side, to the 1995 single 'Lucky'. (My research also led me to discover where Swiss Toni got the name for Reader Meet Author from.)
I lived with a massive Smiths fan for the best part of two years, during which time our malfunctioning boiler was somehow accustomed to sounding like Morrissey. When he got married earlier this year, Matt became very probably the only person ever to have 'Hairdresser On Fire' played during the ceremony...
'Elevator Love Letter' - Stars
Again: read a lot about them, desperate to hear something by them. And 'Elevator Love Letter', from their recent album Set Yourself On Fire, is nothing short of marvellous: jangly C86-type indiepop that's on happy pills but manages never to be hamstrung by tweeness - how could it with lines like: "I'm so hard for the rich girl / Her heels are high and my hope's so low / 'Cause I don't know how to love"?
Stars come from the same Montreal Arts & Crafts stable as Broken Social Scene, and actually include BSS members Amy Millan and Evan Cranley in their number. I haven't heard the latest self-titled BSS record yet but I've got the first - and it's safe to say that 'Elevator Love Letter' really delivers where BSS only promised. Artful joyous pop music of the highest calibre.
So, that'd be another thank you to chalk up, Mandy...
'Waitin' For A Superman' - The Flaming Lips
The other song I already owned. As with the Sufjan Stevens track, I would have been tempted to go for something else from The Soft Bulletin, given the choice - probably 'Feeling Yourself Disintegrate', or (to reflect the sheer grandiosity of the album) either 'Race For The Prize' or 'The Gash'. But, again, hearing this song out of context helped to draw out its qualities, which are legion.
For my own CD I reached for Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots, and chose 'Do You Realize??' as a brilliantly moving song which could stand in its own right. But if Mandy's choice of 'Waitin' For A Superman' is an indication that she rates The Soft Bulletin more highly, then for my money she's spot on. The later album is splendid, but The Soft Bulletin is in a different class altogether.
'Spectacular Views' - Rilo Kiley
And up go the volume levels thanks to Rilo Kiley, a band I've seen live but never before heard on record. A straight-down-the-line indie rock song, 'Spectacular Views' isn't particularly sophisticated compared to the likes of Sufjan Stevens and Gorky's Zygotic Mynci, but it really hits the spot and brings the CD to a thrillingly raucous conclusion - as one might expect given that it's another album closer (to The Execution Of All Things).
Like Death Cab For Cutie, Rilo Kiley's Jenny Watson is widely considered an "indie darling" - and if the rest of The Execution Of All Things and the more recent More Adventurous is anything like this then she and her band'll be very dear to me too.
So there you have it. I may not have liked it all, but the vast majority of the tracks were enthusiastically received. For the most part it was an education, and a thoroughly enjoyable one at that. The tracks I already had I appreciated hearing in a new light, and I'm even glad Belle & Sebastian made an appearance just so I could confirm what I already suspected.
I guess I ought to say something about what Mandy's choices say about her - but you can read too much into these things, particularly as the songs have (I think) been chosen purely on the strength of her love for them and their coherence on a compilation. Like my own CD, it's not particularly eclectic and the extremes of a record collection aren't represented, but it marks her out as someone with great taste.
So, all that remains is for me to thank Mandy again for the CD, and Swiss Toni for the concept and organisation and for introducing me to the blog of a like-minded music fan.
The internet: officially bloody marvellous.
(For ByTheSeaShore's review of my CD, click here.)
Everyone likes good post. And post doesn't come much better than the CD that arrived for me from Texas last Wednesday. For, in the Shuffleathon expertly organised by Swiss Toni, I drew Mandy of I Have Ordinary Addictions, and this CD bore the twelve tracks she'd assembled for my listening pleasure.
First of all, I ought to apologise to Mandy for keeping her on tenterhooks for so long - but there was good reason behind the gap between receiving the CD and putting up this review. I wanted to give the CD a good few spins - I figured that some tracks were bound to be less immediate than others, and would take time to sink in, and so it's proved. As I recently said elsewhere, it's a compulsion of mine to be tempted into prematurely delivering verdicts on albums, and I was particularly keen for that not to happen here. Secondly I needed time to do a bit of internet research so I knew what I was writing about!
Swiss Toni had told me he thought the luck of the draw had been in my favour, and - as will become clear - he was spot on.
So, without further ado...
'Princess And The Pony' - Sean Na Na
Sean Tillmann is better known as Har Mar Superstar, and Sean Na Na is what he gets up to when he's not prancing around in his undercrackers with his sweaty gut on full display making the seedy white boy funk of Beck's Midnite Vultures sound positively wholesome.
It's indie rock, and it's not bad at all - if you can tolerate Tillmann's heavily accented nasal singing voice (which is reminscent of Placebo's Brian Molko), and I can. The song finds him imagining his own funeral, but it's far from being drearily morbid as he insists: "Shake your ass around my casket / And spin your favourite records". One of the opening lines is: "Someone buy a round before my liver fails". I understand THAT particular sentiment all too well.
Plus there's an invocation to "Clap your hands" which, given what follows, suggests a great deal of thought has gone into the track selection and ordering...
'In This Home On Ice' - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah? I was clapping like a seal and shouting "Yeah!" when I saw they appeared on the tracklisting. A band I had read so much about but not yet heard (as you'll see, that was a bit of a recurring theme...), and here was a total stranger somehow knowing I needed enlightening.
The clapping and shouting subsided somewhat when I first heard the song, though, I have to admit. Probably partly because I hadn't been expecting something quite so uptempo or jangly / shoegazery, but mainly because Alec Ounsworth's voice takes a lot of getting used to. It's kind of a high-pitched blur (if that makes any sense), the words not often distinguishable even though the vocals are high in the mix. Ounsworth is often compared to Talking Heads' David Byrne in this respect, but I don't hear it. Anyway, very much an acquired taste - but one I think I've begun to acquire over repeated listens.
Musically, though, it appealed immediately so their self-titled album is now very definitely on the shopping list. Thanks Mandy!
'The Predatory Wasp Of The Palisades Is Out To Get Us!' - Sufjan Stevens
There were only two tracks on the CD that I recall having heard before, and I own both. This is the first of them, from the Illinois album released last year. It starts slowly with hand-picked guitar and flute, but later it blossoms beautifully with horns, more woodwind instruments and intertwining choral arrangements.
Had I been choosing a song from Illinois to put on a compilation, it would probably have been 'Chicago', 'Casimir Pulaski Day' or 'The Man Of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts'. But through hearing this track in isolation, I've come to appreciate its charms even more than I did before.
'Red Right Ankle' - The Decemberists
Another band I wanted to hear - but a bit of a disappointment, truth be told. 'Red Right Ankle' is an undistinguished if pleasant enough acoustic strum, over which vocalist Colin Meloy tells the story of "your red right ankle" and "your gypsy uncle", who had a hideout in the Pyrenees. No, me neither.
Factoid: drummer John Moen is or at least used to be in Stephen Malkmus's backing band The Jicks.
'Red Right Ankle' appeared on The Decemberists' 2003 album Her Majesty, which was produced by Chris Walla of Death Cab For Cutie. Speaking of whom...
'Scientist Studies' - Death Cab For Cutie
A band for whom the term "indie darlings" was invented, perennial favourites for those who soundtrack the likes of 'The OC', 'Six Feet Under' and assorted low-budget non-mainstream American films.
Back before the albums Plans and Transatlanticism took Death Cab For Cutie overground, a good friend lent me his copy of We Have The Facts And We're Voting Yes. A couple of songs - 'Little Fury Bugs' and 'Company Calls' - ended up on mixtapes I still own. How album closer 'Scientist Studies' passed me by I'm not sure - it's significantly better than both of those.
Ben Gibbard's voice is superb, as ever, and the song builds steadily to a satisfyingly explosive conclusion and thirty-odd seconds of feedback. And, as regular readers of this site - and particularly regular readers of the Art Of Noise A-Z Of Music - know, I'm a sucker for feedback. A real high point.
'Find The River' - REM
Yet another spookily telepathic inclusion on Mandy's part, given that my interest in REM - a band I've always quite enjoyed without ever being evangelical about - has recently been reawakened by the acquisition of Reckoning.
Like 'Scientist Studies', 'Find The River' is another album closer, and another track that has somehow escaped my attention - prior to getting Reckoning, I only owned New Adventures In Hi-Fi but thought I knew Automatic For The People well. It seems not.
It'd be good to hear this in the context of the record, but as it follows the superb 'Nightswimming' I'm guessing that it'd probably strike me as something of an anti-climax. As with much of their material, I find it rather unremarkable - though certainly not without its charm, and my experience with Reckoning suggests that giving their albums (in their entirety) time to bed in might prove rewarding.
'Where Does Yer Go Now?' - Gorky's Zygotic Mynci
Not (I was initially a little disappointed to discover) a West Country take on Guns 'N' Roses' 'Sweet Child O' Mine', 'Where Does Yer Go Now?' is perhaps the track on the CD that has most benefitted from repeated listens.
It's a delicately majestic song featuring plucked banjo and careful orchestration, rivalling Sufjan Stevens in the symphonic indie stakes - if not even putting him in the shade.
Not quite sure what I was expecting from Gorky's Zygotic Mynci, but this wasn't it. On this evidence I can even forgive them that name.
'Put The Book Back On The Shelf' - Belle & Sebastian
Ah. The stumbling block.
There's no other way to say it: I dislike Belle & Sebastian intensely.
Mere mention of them has long set my teeth on edge, and I've never quite been able to put my finger on why. After all, some of the bands I listen to admittedly bear more than a passing resemblance to B&S at times - My Latest Novel, The Concretes. I've sometimes wondered whether it's less to do with the band themselves and their music than the sort of people who used to fawn over them at university. My tastes have mellowed further since then, and I resolved to listen to 'Put The Book Back On The Shelf' without prejudice, honestly hoping to be pleasantly surprised.
What the experience confirmed for me is that it very definitely is the music that I was (and am) primarily reacting against. But I'm still having difficulty pinpointing just what it is that irritates me so much. Probably Stuart Murdoch's voice - a feeble tremulous whimper that's even more grating on the self-referential bonus track which Mandy has slipped in sneakily but which only prolongs the agony.
But - and it's a big but - there's a thin line between love and hate, so you never know in the future.
'A Swallow On My Neck' - Morrissey
Back on track with a familiar voice. Moz is alleged to have abandoned his legendary celibacy recently, judging by the lyrics to his latest LP Ringleader Of The Tormentors, but there's plenty of (homo)erotic interest here, particularly the coyness of the chorus: "He drew a swallow on my neck / And more I will not say / He drew a swallow deep and blue / And soon everyone knew".
In musical terms at least, Morrissey's solo stuff has always left me hankering for Johnny Marr's songwriting, but this is pretty decent - especially for a B-side, to the 1995 single 'Lucky'. (My research also led me to discover where Swiss Toni got the name for Reader Meet Author from.)
I lived with a massive Smiths fan for the best part of two years, during which time our malfunctioning boiler was somehow accustomed to sounding like Morrissey. When he got married earlier this year, Matt became very probably the only person ever to have 'Hairdresser On Fire' played during the ceremony...
'Elevator Love Letter' - Stars
Again: read a lot about them, desperate to hear something by them. And 'Elevator Love Letter', from their recent album Set Yourself On Fire, is nothing short of marvellous: jangly C86-type indiepop that's on happy pills but manages never to be hamstrung by tweeness - how could it with lines like: "I'm so hard for the rich girl / Her heels are high and my hope's so low / 'Cause I don't know how to love"?
Stars come from the same Montreal Arts & Crafts stable as Broken Social Scene, and actually include BSS members Amy Millan and Evan Cranley in their number. I haven't heard the latest self-titled BSS record yet but I've got the first - and it's safe to say that 'Elevator Love Letter' really delivers where BSS only promised. Artful joyous pop music of the highest calibre.
So, that'd be another thank you to chalk up, Mandy...
'Waitin' For A Superman' - The Flaming Lips
The other song I already owned. As with the Sufjan Stevens track, I would have been tempted to go for something else from The Soft Bulletin, given the choice - probably 'Feeling Yourself Disintegrate', or (to reflect the sheer grandiosity of the album) either 'Race For The Prize' or 'The Gash'. But, again, hearing this song out of context helped to draw out its qualities, which are legion.
For my own CD I reached for Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots, and chose 'Do You Realize??' as a brilliantly moving song which could stand in its own right. But if Mandy's choice of 'Waitin' For A Superman' is an indication that she rates The Soft Bulletin more highly, then for my money she's spot on. The later album is splendid, but The Soft Bulletin is in a different class altogether.
'Spectacular Views' - Rilo Kiley
And up go the volume levels thanks to Rilo Kiley, a band I've seen live but never before heard on record. A straight-down-the-line indie rock song, 'Spectacular Views' isn't particularly sophisticated compared to the likes of Sufjan Stevens and Gorky's Zygotic Mynci, but it really hits the spot and brings the CD to a thrillingly raucous conclusion - as one might expect given that it's another album closer (to The Execution Of All Things).
Like Death Cab For Cutie, Rilo Kiley's Jenny Watson is widely considered an "indie darling" - and if the rest of The Execution Of All Things and the more recent More Adventurous is anything like this then she and her band'll be very dear to me too.
So there you have it. I may not have liked it all, but the vast majority of the tracks were enthusiastically received. For the most part it was an education, and a thoroughly enjoyable one at that. The tracks I already had I appreciated hearing in a new light, and I'm even glad Belle & Sebastian made an appearance just so I could confirm what I already suspected.
I guess I ought to say something about what Mandy's choices say about her - but you can read too much into these things, particularly as the songs have (I think) been chosen purely on the strength of her love for them and their coherence on a compilation. Like my own CD, it's not particularly eclectic and the extremes of a record collection aren't represented, but it marks her out as someone with great taste.
So, all that remains is for me to thank Mandy again for the CD, and Swiss Toni for the concept and organisation and for introducing me to the blog of a like-minded music fan.
The internet: officially bloody marvellous.
(For ByTheSeaShore's review of my CD, click here.)
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Feel good hits of the 8th July
A bumper edition to reflect the vast quantities of music I've been digesting of late...
1. 'Psychosis Safari' - The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster
2. 'Weekend Without Make-Up' - The Long Blondes
3. 'Saddest Vacant Lot In All The World' - Grandaddy
4. 'Scientist Studies' - Death Cab For Cutie
5. 'Strasbourg' - The Rakes
6. 'In This Home On Ice' - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
7. 'Who's The One' - Wheat
8. 'Elevator Love Song' - Stars
9. 'Strings' - Asobi Seksu
10. 'Love Letter' - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
11. 'Vampire Blues' - Neil Young
12. 'Substitute' - The Who
13. 'Slayer' - Giant Drag
14. 'Sick 2 Def' (acoustic) - Plan B
15. 'Ring Of Fire' - Johnny Cash
The Death Cab For Cutie, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and Stars tracks are all from the Shuffleathon CD I got from Mandy (review to appear above shortly...), and thanks to Michael and Jonathan for pointing me in the direction of Asobi Seksu and Plan B respectively.
Friends have recently given me the Neil Young and Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster albums (On The Beach and Horse Of The Dog respectively), and I took advantage of Fopp's generosity to snap up The Rakes' Capture / Release and Grandaddy's Sumday for £3 each. Capture / Release, though immediate and containing a few good songs, is nothing particularly special - the lyrics are partly arch and partly Arctic Monkeys style realism, and the music a blend of The Buzzcocks, The Strokes and other leather-jacketed guttersnipes. Sumday has really impressed, though - nicely understated and very well put together. Perhaps I should invest in The Sophtware Slump and / or Just Like The Fambly Cat next?
A bumper edition to reflect the vast quantities of music I've been digesting of late...
1. 'Psychosis Safari' - The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster
2. 'Weekend Without Make-Up' - The Long Blondes
3. 'Saddest Vacant Lot In All The World' - Grandaddy
4. 'Scientist Studies' - Death Cab For Cutie
5. 'Strasbourg' - The Rakes
6. 'In This Home On Ice' - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
7. 'Who's The One' - Wheat
8. 'Elevator Love Song' - Stars
9. 'Strings' - Asobi Seksu
10. 'Love Letter' - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
11. 'Vampire Blues' - Neil Young
12. 'Substitute' - The Who
13. 'Slayer' - Giant Drag
14. 'Sick 2 Def' (acoustic) - Plan B
15. 'Ring Of Fire' - Johnny Cash
The Death Cab For Cutie, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and Stars tracks are all from the Shuffleathon CD I got from Mandy (review to appear above shortly...), and thanks to Michael and Jonathan for pointing me in the direction of Asobi Seksu and Plan B respectively.
Friends have recently given me the Neil Young and Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster albums (On The Beach and Horse Of The Dog respectively), and I took advantage of Fopp's generosity to snap up The Rakes' Capture / Release and Grandaddy's Sumday for £3 each. Capture / Release, though immediate and containing a few good songs, is nothing particularly special - the lyrics are partly arch and partly Arctic Monkeys style realism, and the music a blend of The Buzzcocks, The Strokes and other leather-jacketed guttersnipes. Sumday has really impressed, though - nicely understated and very well put together. Perhaps I should invest in The Sophtware Slump and / or Just Like The Fambly Cat next?
Super furry animals
Two unrelated links under one suitable title:
Ian of Stylus and Fractionals catches up with Mogwai's Stuart Braithwaite to discuss how the band are growing old gracefully - and loudly.
Cats That Look Like Hitler.
Two unrelated links under one suitable title:
Ian of Stylus and Fractionals catches up with Mogwai's Stuart Braithwaite to discuss how the band are growing old gracefully - and loudly.
Cats That Look Like Hitler.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
A cock and bull story
Well over a year ago (probably nearer two), Kenny set out to document his experience of reading Thomas Pynchon’s beast of a novel ‘Mason & Dixon’. No doubt he won’t thank me for saying that the series of posts petered out long before the end had been reached. It’s that kind of book, exhaustive and exhausting.
And so here I endeavour to do in one post what Kenny tried to do across several: give some impression of what ‘Mason & Dixon’ is about, and what it’s like to attempt to read it.
First of all, it’s worth noting that it took me a good six months to get through it, though it was off and on and I was reading other things alongside it, partly as a means of retaining my sanity. And as someone who loves ‘Ulysses’, I don’t say that lightly.
The most daunting aspect of the novel is its sheer length. It sat on my shelves for over a year before I ventured to take it down, its thickness more than equal to two or three contemporary novels (which are themselves often pretty lengthy).
But it’s also written in a stylised archaic language, in which clause piles upon clause and sentences stretch on for line upon line, barely held together by the idiosyncratically liberal dashes and punctuation marks. It certainly becomes easier to deal with over time, but picking it up to read in fits and starts is far from ideal.
So, what’s it about? In basic terms: Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon, the former a Gloucestershire astronomer and the latter a Geordie surveyor, who were commissioned in the mid-eighteenth century to demarcate an essentially east-west boundary between states in America, which subsequently became known as the Mason-Dixon line. Pynchon’s novel – its opening and concluding sections aside – essentially focuses on the dramatisation of the progress of this demarcation.
But if that makes it sound like a dusty-dry historical chronicle, then nothing could be further from the truth. Though there is plenty of evidence of meticulous research into the real-life duo’s movements and into the technical detail, Pynchon – in typically postmodernist fashion – makes no pretence of the fact that it is a work of fiction and has no claim to historical “truth” (whatever that might be, he might add). History is stretched, manipulated, toyed with. It’s an act of myth-making and mirth-making. As the characters lurch from predicament to predicament (led as much by their thirst for alcohol and women as by their work), absurdities continually irrupt into the narrative – as one might expect of a novel narrated by one Rev Wicks Cherrycoke, Mason and Dixon’s sometime companion, who at one point recalls a ritual at sea during which he got spotted dick lodged up his nose…
Less than fifteen pages in, the pair come across a talking dog – that pretty much sets the tone. Over the course of the next 760 pages, the reader encounters (in no particular order):
* Clocks which chat to each other
* Benjamin Franklin, who accompanies our intrepid travellers to an apothecary to stock up on drugs, and George Washington, who is growing a large patch of hemp behind his house (naturally they indulge and are subsequently grateful when Mrs Washington appears “carrying an enormous Tray pil’d nearly beyond their Angles of Repose with Tarts, Pop-overs, Ginger-bread Figures, fried Pies, stuff’d Doughnuts, and other Units of Refreshment the Surveyors fail to recognise”)
* A pickled ear in a jar which listens into conversations
* Lively discussions about pizzas, feng shui, whether tea or coffee is the superior hot beverage, the relation of a meat sandwich to the Eucharist, and the art of making realistic effigies
* Mason’s reminiscences of having met his late wife Rebekah at an annual cheese-rolling event at which he narrowly escaped being crushed by an enormous ball of Double Gloucester, and of later beginning “his practice, each Friday, of going out to the hangings at Tyburn, expressly to chat up women”
* A duel over a lady’s honour enacted not by means of pistols at dawn but a game of quoits
* A bodice which plays a musical tune when ripped open by Dixon, Mason having been left carrying a bathtub the pair are in the process of stealing (the bathtub is later a temporary home to an electric eel called Felipe who becomes “the camp Compass, as often consulted as the Thermometer or the Clock”)
* A conversation between a Philadelphia lawyer and a miserable put-upon Beelzebub
* A mechanical duck equipped with a beak made of Swedish steel and “‘a Digestionary Process, whose end result could not be distinguish’d from that found in Nature’” which furiously pursues a French chef (Armand Allegre – say it aloud…) famous for his duck-based dishes and then falls in love with him
* A ghostly horse and carriage which gets held up in traffic over the skies of County Durham
* A man who transforms himself into a beaver, and another who is a werewolf
* Mason’s entrapment amongst lamb carcasses in the meat-hold of a ship
* A valley in which, owing to particularly fertile soil (the result of volcanic activity), monstrous vegetables and flowers grow (“Single Tomatoes tower high as Churches”)
* Dixon’s account of how he entered the inner core of the Earth via a hole at the North Pole
In other words, it’s safe to say that Pynchon’s allusion to Lawrence Sterne’s eighteenth century novel ‘The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman’ – packed full of absurd digressions and the most widely acknowledged forefather of postmodern fiction – is very definitely not accidental.
That’s not to say that the humour is all ‘Monty Python’ esque surrealism – there’s plenty of good old-fashioned eminently sniggerable smut and puerility too: characters piss their names in the snow, axemen on the exhibition exchange “Your Mum” type school playground jibes (“‘I saw your Mother, and I Quiz you not, - / Drinking penny-Gin from a Chamber-Pot’”) and there are a fair few chucklesome gags (“‘King decides he’ll journey to the Sun … Alchemist says, ‘Your Majesty! The Sun? – it burns at thousands of Fahrenheit’s Degrees, - far too hot there for anything to remain alive’. King says, ‘So, where’s the Difficulty? – I’ll go at Night’’”).
Particularly amusing on this score is the discovery of an illicit publication “lying open to a Copper-plate Engraving of two pretty Nuns, sporting in ways … inexplicably intriguing” and the young man in question’s fumbling attempt at self-defence: “‘Why … sure they may be Renderings more pleasant to look upon … the Western Country at Sunset, probably, - Scenes of Religious Life, Hunting-Dogs, a Table-ful of Food … yet if one of you [women], beheld intimately, be all but unbearably fair, you see, imagine the sentimental Delight into which a Man might be thrown, at the sight of two of you’”).
But amidst all the absurdity and bawdy humour, drunken debates and bizarre tangents, there are also passages of unexpected lyricism: “Night over all this watershed how vast, that covers each soul in it like a breathing Mouth, humid, warm, carrying the odors of living and dying, that takes back ev’rything committed upon the Land that Day, without appeal, dissolving all in Shadow”.
And of course it wouldn’t be a postmodern novel if there wasn’t also some winking self-reflexivity. At one point the characters to whom Rev Cherrycoke is telling the story discuss the pernicious influence of fiction and its relation to reality. One asks “‘What of Shakespeare? … Those Henry plays, or the others, the Richard ones? are they only make-believe History? theatrickal rubbish?’”, and another maintains of the real Hamlet “‘All in all, a figure with an interesting Life of his own, - alas, this hopping, quizzing, murderously irresolute Figment of Shakespeare’s, has quite eclips’d for us the man who had to live through the contradictions of his earthly Life, without having it all re-figur’d for him”. It’s an argument directed against the central premise of the very book in which it appears – but for Pynchon all the fun is in using reality as a springboard for the imagination.
Reading ‘Mason & Dixon’ is something of an endurance test and demands perseverance – but it’s certainly not without its rewards.
Well over a year ago (probably nearer two), Kenny set out to document his experience of reading Thomas Pynchon’s beast of a novel ‘Mason & Dixon’. No doubt he won’t thank me for saying that the series of posts petered out long before the end had been reached. It’s that kind of book, exhaustive and exhausting.
And so here I endeavour to do in one post what Kenny tried to do across several: give some impression of what ‘Mason & Dixon’ is about, and what it’s like to attempt to read it.
First of all, it’s worth noting that it took me a good six months to get through it, though it was off and on and I was reading other things alongside it, partly as a means of retaining my sanity. And as someone who loves ‘Ulysses’, I don’t say that lightly.
The most daunting aspect of the novel is its sheer length. It sat on my shelves for over a year before I ventured to take it down, its thickness more than equal to two or three contemporary novels (which are themselves often pretty lengthy).
But it’s also written in a stylised archaic language, in which clause piles upon clause and sentences stretch on for line upon line, barely held together by the idiosyncratically liberal dashes and punctuation marks. It certainly becomes easier to deal with over time, but picking it up to read in fits and starts is far from ideal.
So, what’s it about? In basic terms: Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon, the former a Gloucestershire astronomer and the latter a Geordie surveyor, who were commissioned in the mid-eighteenth century to demarcate an essentially east-west boundary between states in America, which subsequently became known as the Mason-Dixon line. Pynchon’s novel – its opening and concluding sections aside – essentially focuses on the dramatisation of the progress of this demarcation.
But if that makes it sound like a dusty-dry historical chronicle, then nothing could be further from the truth. Though there is plenty of evidence of meticulous research into the real-life duo’s movements and into the technical detail, Pynchon – in typically postmodernist fashion – makes no pretence of the fact that it is a work of fiction and has no claim to historical “truth” (whatever that might be, he might add). History is stretched, manipulated, toyed with. It’s an act of myth-making and mirth-making. As the characters lurch from predicament to predicament (led as much by their thirst for alcohol and women as by their work), absurdities continually irrupt into the narrative – as one might expect of a novel narrated by one Rev Wicks Cherrycoke, Mason and Dixon’s sometime companion, who at one point recalls a ritual at sea during which he got spotted dick lodged up his nose…
Less than fifteen pages in, the pair come across a talking dog – that pretty much sets the tone. Over the course of the next 760 pages, the reader encounters (in no particular order):
* Clocks which chat to each other
* Benjamin Franklin, who accompanies our intrepid travellers to an apothecary to stock up on drugs, and George Washington, who is growing a large patch of hemp behind his house (naturally they indulge and are subsequently grateful when Mrs Washington appears “carrying an enormous Tray pil’d nearly beyond their Angles of Repose with Tarts, Pop-overs, Ginger-bread Figures, fried Pies, stuff’d Doughnuts, and other Units of Refreshment the Surveyors fail to recognise”)
* A pickled ear in a jar which listens into conversations
* Lively discussions about pizzas, feng shui, whether tea or coffee is the superior hot beverage, the relation of a meat sandwich to the Eucharist, and the art of making realistic effigies
* Mason’s reminiscences of having met his late wife Rebekah at an annual cheese-rolling event at which he narrowly escaped being crushed by an enormous ball of Double Gloucester, and of later beginning “his practice, each Friday, of going out to the hangings at Tyburn, expressly to chat up women”
* A duel over a lady’s honour enacted not by means of pistols at dawn but a game of quoits
* A bodice which plays a musical tune when ripped open by Dixon, Mason having been left carrying a bathtub the pair are in the process of stealing (the bathtub is later a temporary home to an electric eel called Felipe who becomes “the camp Compass, as often consulted as the Thermometer or the Clock”)
* A conversation between a Philadelphia lawyer and a miserable put-upon Beelzebub
* A mechanical duck equipped with a beak made of Swedish steel and “‘a Digestionary Process, whose end result could not be distinguish’d from that found in Nature’” which furiously pursues a French chef (Armand Allegre – say it aloud…) famous for his duck-based dishes and then falls in love with him
* A ghostly horse and carriage which gets held up in traffic over the skies of County Durham
* A man who transforms himself into a beaver, and another who is a werewolf
* Mason’s entrapment amongst lamb carcasses in the meat-hold of a ship
* A valley in which, owing to particularly fertile soil (the result of volcanic activity), monstrous vegetables and flowers grow (“Single Tomatoes tower high as Churches”)
* Dixon’s account of how he entered the inner core of the Earth via a hole at the North Pole
In other words, it’s safe to say that Pynchon’s allusion to Lawrence Sterne’s eighteenth century novel ‘The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman’ – packed full of absurd digressions and the most widely acknowledged forefather of postmodern fiction – is very definitely not accidental.
That’s not to say that the humour is all ‘Monty Python’ esque surrealism – there’s plenty of good old-fashioned eminently sniggerable smut and puerility too: characters piss their names in the snow, axemen on the exhibition exchange “Your Mum” type school playground jibes (“‘I saw your Mother, and I Quiz you not, - / Drinking penny-Gin from a Chamber-Pot’”) and there are a fair few chucklesome gags (“‘King decides he’ll journey to the Sun … Alchemist says, ‘Your Majesty! The Sun? – it burns at thousands of Fahrenheit’s Degrees, - far too hot there for anything to remain alive’. King says, ‘So, where’s the Difficulty? – I’ll go at Night’’”).
Particularly amusing on this score is the discovery of an illicit publication “lying open to a Copper-plate Engraving of two pretty Nuns, sporting in ways … inexplicably intriguing” and the young man in question’s fumbling attempt at self-defence: “‘Why … sure they may be Renderings more pleasant to look upon … the Western Country at Sunset, probably, - Scenes of Religious Life, Hunting-Dogs, a Table-ful of Food … yet if one of you [women], beheld intimately, be all but unbearably fair, you see, imagine the sentimental Delight into which a Man might be thrown, at the sight of two of you’”).
But amidst all the absurdity and bawdy humour, drunken debates and bizarre tangents, there are also passages of unexpected lyricism: “Night over all this watershed how vast, that covers each soul in it like a breathing Mouth, humid, warm, carrying the odors of living and dying, that takes back ev’rything committed upon the Land that Day, without appeal, dissolving all in Shadow”.
And of course it wouldn’t be a postmodern novel if there wasn’t also some winking self-reflexivity. At one point the characters to whom Rev Cherrycoke is telling the story discuss the pernicious influence of fiction and its relation to reality. One asks “‘What of Shakespeare? … Those Henry plays, or the others, the Richard ones? are they only make-believe History? theatrickal rubbish?’”, and another maintains of the real Hamlet “‘All in all, a figure with an interesting Life of his own, - alas, this hopping, quizzing, murderously irresolute Figment of Shakespeare’s, has quite eclips’d for us the man who had to live through the contradictions of his earthly Life, without having it all re-figur’d for him”. It’s an argument directed against the central premise of the very book in which it appears – but for Pynchon all the fun is in using reality as a springboard for the imagination.
Reading ‘Mason & Dixon’ is something of an endurance test and demands perseverance – but it’s certainly not without its rewards.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
"She had a face like a beekeeper's apprentice"
At last. Last night I finally caught an episode of Steve Coogan's new sitcom 'Saxondale' in its proper slot.
Thanks to NTL's On Demand facility (marvellous, it's the future etc etc), I managed to see the second episode on Sunday night, and thought it a bit uninspiring.
The third installment was in a different league altogether. An old mate from Saxondale's days "on the road" (played by Mark Williams) turned up, both of them ultimately discovering that they were no longer able to party and raise hell as they once used to. Their contemporary Iggy Pop might still be lairy on stage, but, as Saxondale pointed out, "he still has to go home and descale the kettle", even if he does do so while wearing his leather trousers. The comic potential was obvious, and co-writers Coogan and Neal Maclennan milked it to good effect.
Again there was the feeling that some of the gags were leftovers from 'I'm Alan Partridge' reheated and shoehorned in, but that didn't make them any less amusing (not least the pepperpot anecdote) and you can't argue with quick one-liners like "He said the only physician he listens to is Dr Feelgood"...
At last. Last night I finally caught an episode of Steve Coogan's new sitcom 'Saxondale' in its proper slot.
Thanks to NTL's On Demand facility (marvellous, it's the future etc etc), I managed to see the second episode on Sunday night, and thought it a bit uninspiring.
The third installment was in a different league altogether. An old mate from Saxondale's days "on the road" (played by Mark Williams) turned up, both of them ultimately discovering that they were no longer able to party and raise hell as they once used to. Their contemporary Iggy Pop might still be lairy on stage, but, as Saxondale pointed out, "he still has to go home and descale the kettle", even if he does do so while wearing his leather trousers. The comic potential was obvious, and co-writers Coogan and Neal Maclennan milked it to good effect.
Again there was the feeling that some of the gags were leftovers from 'I'm Alan Partridge' reheated and shoehorned in, but that didn't make them any less amusing (not least the pepperpot anecdote) and you can't argue with quick one-liners like "He said the only physician he listens to is Dr Feelgood"...
Haway bwoy!
"A Geordie woman has apparently developed foreign accents after waking up following a stroke.
Linda Walker awoke in hospital to find her distinctive Newcastle accent had been transformed into a mixture of Jamaican, Canadian and Slovakian".
It's a constant source of bemusement to me that when non-Geordies attempt the accent it almost invariably sounds either Jamaican or Indian...
But foreign accent syndrome isn't really something that should be made light of - it's obviously a traumatic experience for those affected. That this woman "feels like a different person" just underlines the extent to which accents - and particularly strong ones like Geordie - are an integral part of personal identity.
May she soon be back talking in that marvellous semi-incomprehensible dialect I love going home for.
"A Geordie woman has apparently developed foreign accents after waking up following a stroke.
Linda Walker awoke in hospital to find her distinctive Newcastle accent had been transformed into a mixture of Jamaican, Canadian and Slovakian".
It's a constant source of bemusement to me that when non-Geordies attempt the accent it almost invariably sounds either Jamaican or Indian...
But foreign accent syndrome isn't really something that should be made light of - it's obviously a traumatic experience for those affected. That this woman "feels like a different person" just underlines the extent to which accents - and particularly strong ones like Geordie - are an integral part of personal identity.
May she soon be back talking in that marvellous semi-incomprehensible dialect I love going home for.
Between the covers
Congratulations to Girl With A One-Track Mind, whose book will be appearing on bookshelves from 3rd August (link NSFW). If it's even half as refreshingly frank, well-written and downright entertaining as the blog from which it's sprung, then it'll be well worth a peek. Though be wary of doing so for a long period in your local branch of Waterstones, particularly if you happen to be wearing a long mac at the time.
Congratulations to Girl With A One-Track Mind, whose book will be appearing on bookshelves from 3rd August (link NSFW). If it's even half as refreshingly frank, well-written and downright entertaining as the blog from which it's sprung, then it'll be well worth a peek. Though be wary of doing so for a long period in your local branch of Waterstones, particularly if you happen to be wearing a long mac at the time.
Fashion victims
My review of Hello Movement, the debut album from louche lotharios Death Of Fashion, is up on the Vanity Project site. Think The Doors had they come from New York rather than LA - though it's not really all that, it has to be said.
My review of Hello Movement, the debut album from louche lotharios Death Of Fashion, is up on the Vanity Project site. Think The Doors had they come from New York rather than LA - though it's not really all that, it has to be said.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
"You don't want to be defined while you feel you're evolving"
There's plenty of interest in the Sonic Youth interview in the latest issue of The Stool Pigeon, not least Kim Gordon's admission that she "hated" the V Festival last year - to which Thurston Moore protests: "But we got to hang out with Robert Plant! You don't get to hang out with Robert Plant every day"...
It wasn't until very recently that I discovered Jim O'Rourke, a full-time member of the band for Murray Street and Sonic Nurse, had left - the reason being that he relocated to Japan to study "film and language and culture studies". Apparently former Pavement and Free Kitten bassist Mark Ibold is going to be contributing both bass and guitar for their forthcoming American shows as a means of plugging the gap.
Naturally there's much talk of new LP Rather Ripped, which I still haven't got but which features like this just make me salivate even more. Moore claims it's heavily influenced by The Beatles, much to Gordon's surprise. "I've listened to The Beatles more in the last year than I ever have in my life", he says - not least because their daughter Coco loves them, and particularly Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band ("the most significant rock album in the history of rock!").
I'm guessing Rather Ripped still sounds like a Sonic Youth record though - as the article's author Natalie Moore begins by pointing out, it's always been the case with them that they are fascinated by both "high brow" art and "low brow" pop culture, and that both influences are absorbed, refracted and reflected while there remains at the core a sound that is distinctively and undeniably Sonic Youth.
Moore is often taken to task for his ceaseless gabbling about, and referencing of and endorsement of other bands (as well as artists and authors), but his response to the interviewer's point "You've always had a strong commitment to other bands and the underground music community" is that of a genuine fanboy who just happens to be in a hugely influential band:
"I don't ever see it as a commitment. For me, I just really like to see bands play. It's funny because I know most musicians don't so much. Sometimes I don't really have an interest in socialising or being in a situation with a lot of people, I just really like seeing a band. It's inspiring seeing what's going on withthe performance. I like to see how people actually PERFORM. Sometimes it's not even... I mean, it certainly is the music that draws me to a band, but sometimes I'm also drawn by personality or whatever is being physically presented on stage".
The interview concludes with Gordon's thoughts on a Gabriel Garcia Marquez quote, "In the end, it is impossible not to become what others think you are":
"I remember doing interviews years ago and somebody asking us what our record was like, or being kind of mad because somebody would describe or pigeonhole a song, or pigeonhole us in a certain way, but then, as time goes on, you kind of understand why they do that and why something becomes important or is analysed in a certain way. And you don't want to be defined while you feel you're evolving. But, at the same time, there is a point now where it is weird - you do get glimpses of, 'Well, maybe I AM that!'"
For someone like me on the other side of the fence from Gordon and Moore, it's really refreshing to hear someone in a band concede that pigeonholing is inevitable but also understandable and not always a negative thing. And at the same time I can appreciate that it must be frustrating to feel yourselves constrained by the labels those on the outside impose on you which you either don't think fit at all, or which don't fit any more because you've moved on. It sounds as though they've more or less stopped being concerned about the issue altogether.
Incidentally, this was the first issue of The Stool Pigeon that I've come across (in Fopp), and very impressive it is too: loads of good interview features including Arctic Monkeys, Mudhoney, TV On The Radio, Frank Black and Bobby Gillespie, plus news, a live section, comment and analysis and pages dedicated to other art forms. And all for nowt, too. If only they can resolve the issue of the serious quantity of ink it leaves on your fingers...
There's plenty of interest in the Sonic Youth interview in the latest issue of The Stool Pigeon, not least Kim Gordon's admission that she "hated" the V Festival last year - to which Thurston Moore protests: "But we got to hang out with Robert Plant! You don't get to hang out with Robert Plant every day"...
It wasn't until very recently that I discovered Jim O'Rourke, a full-time member of the band for Murray Street and Sonic Nurse, had left - the reason being that he relocated to Japan to study "film and language and culture studies". Apparently former Pavement and Free Kitten bassist Mark Ibold is going to be contributing both bass and guitar for their forthcoming American shows as a means of plugging the gap.
Naturally there's much talk of new LP Rather Ripped, which I still haven't got but which features like this just make me salivate even more. Moore claims it's heavily influenced by The Beatles, much to Gordon's surprise. "I've listened to The Beatles more in the last year than I ever have in my life", he says - not least because their daughter Coco loves them, and particularly Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band ("the most significant rock album in the history of rock!").
I'm guessing Rather Ripped still sounds like a Sonic Youth record though - as the article's author Natalie Moore begins by pointing out, it's always been the case with them that they are fascinated by both "high brow" art and "low brow" pop culture, and that both influences are absorbed, refracted and reflected while there remains at the core a sound that is distinctively and undeniably Sonic Youth.
Moore is often taken to task for his ceaseless gabbling about, and referencing of and endorsement of other bands (as well as artists and authors), but his response to the interviewer's point "You've always had a strong commitment to other bands and the underground music community" is that of a genuine fanboy who just happens to be in a hugely influential band:
"I don't ever see it as a commitment. For me, I just really like to see bands play. It's funny because I know most musicians don't so much. Sometimes I don't really have an interest in socialising or being in a situation with a lot of people, I just really like seeing a band. It's inspiring seeing what's going on withthe performance. I like to see how people actually PERFORM. Sometimes it's not even... I mean, it certainly is the music that draws me to a band, but sometimes I'm also drawn by personality or whatever is being physically presented on stage".
The interview concludes with Gordon's thoughts on a Gabriel Garcia Marquez quote, "In the end, it is impossible not to become what others think you are":
"I remember doing interviews years ago and somebody asking us what our record was like, or being kind of mad because somebody would describe or pigeonhole a song, or pigeonhole us in a certain way, but then, as time goes on, you kind of understand why they do that and why something becomes important or is analysed in a certain way. And you don't want to be defined while you feel you're evolving. But, at the same time, there is a point now where it is weird - you do get glimpses of, 'Well, maybe I AM that!'"
For someone like me on the other side of the fence from Gordon and Moore, it's really refreshing to hear someone in a band concede that pigeonholing is inevitable but also understandable and not always a negative thing. And at the same time I can appreciate that it must be frustrating to feel yourselves constrained by the labels those on the outside impose on you which you either don't think fit at all, or which don't fit any more because you've moved on. It sounds as though they've more or less stopped being concerned about the issue altogether.
Incidentally, this was the first issue of The Stool Pigeon that I've come across (in Fopp), and very impressive it is too: loads of good interview features including Arctic Monkeys, Mudhoney, TV On The Radio, Frank Black and Bobby Gillespie, plus news, a live section, comment and analysis and pages dedicated to other art forms. And all for nowt, too. If only they can resolve the issue of the serious quantity of ink it leaves on your fingers...
The maker's dozen
I've been fortunate enough to take part in the recent Shuffleathon CD exchange expertly organised by Swiss Toni. The idea was for participants to create a CD consisting of twelve tracks that either said something about them or meant something to them personally (or both). Each CD then would then find its way to a different participant for them to comment on.
As yet I haven't received a CD in the post, but as the luck of the draw would have it, the recipient of my CD was ByTheSeaShore, whose site is a regular read of mine. You can read what he made of my concoction here. Suffice to say that it's gratifying that most of the tracks made a positive impression, and pleasantly surprising that the Jesus & Mary Chain track didn't go down like a lead balloon, which I'd imagined it might well do.
So thanks to ByTheSeaShore for his considered thoughts, and also to Swiss Toni, both for organising the Shuffleathon in the first place and for helping me out with the logistics of putting my CD together. (The filesharing site SendSpace is a godsend, if you haven't already discovered it - thanks to Ian for drawing my attention to it.)
There'll be a full run-down of the CD I get in return here as and when it arrives.
I've been fortunate enough to take part in the recent Shuffleathon CD exchange expertly organised by Swiss Toni. The idea was for participants to create a CD consisting of twelve tracks that either said something about them or meant something to them personally (or both). Each CD then would then find its way to a different participant for them to comment on.
As yet I haven't received a CD in the post, but as the luck of the draw would have it, the recipient of my CD was ByTheSeaShore, whose site is a regular read of mine. You can read what he made of my concoction here. Suffice to say that it's gratifying that most of the tracks made a positive impression, and pleasantly surprising that the Jesus & Mary Chain track didn't go down like a lead balloon, which I'd imagined it might well do.
So thanks to ByTheSeaShore for his considered thoughts, and also to Swiss Toni, both for organising the Shuffleathon in the first place and for helping me out with the logistics of putting my CD together. (The filesharing site SendSpace is a godsend, if you haven't already discovered it - thanks to Ian for drawing my attention to it.)
There'll be a full run-down of the CD I get in return here as and when it arrives.
Birds in the hand
As of yesterday, somewhat unexpectedly, we are the owners of a pair of budgerigars. They're as yet unnamed, because we haven't managed to be able to distinguish between them.
Life for them seems to consist of standing perfectly still side by side on their perch for hours at a time before descending for a brief foray for some millet, a bit of squawking and a frantic flutter of wings. And then it's back to the perch.
Apparently they love watching TV. I look forward to discussing the latter stages of the World Cup and the finer points of current 'Coronation Street' plots with them.
As of yesterday, somewhat unexpectedly, we are the owners of a pair of budgerigars. They're as yet unnamed, because we haven't managed to be able to distinguish between them.
Life for them seems to consist of standing perfectly still side by side on their perch for hours at a time before descending for a brief foray for some millet, a bit of squawking and a frantic flutter of wings. And then it's back to the perch.
Apparently they love watching TV. I look forward to discussing the latter stages of the World Cup and the finer points of current 'Coronation Street' plots with them.
I'm free to do what I want any old time
... but many millions the world over aren't. A timely reminder that not everyone wants to write about what they've been listening to or post pictures of their cat - and that they're punished for doing so.
"The web is a great tool for sharing ideas and freedom of expression. However, efforts to try and control the internet are growing. Internet repression is reported in countries like China, Vietnam, Tunisia, Iran, Saudi Arabia and Syria. People are persecuted and imprisoned simply for criticising their government, calling for democracy and greater press freedom or exposing human rights abuses, online.
But internet repression is not just about governments. IT companies have helped build the systems that enable surveillance and censorship to take place. Yahoo! have supplied email users’ private data to the Chinese authorities, helping to facilitate cases of wrongful imprisonment. Microsoft and Google have both complied with government demands to actively censor Chinese users of their services.
Freedom of expression is a fundamental human right. It is one of the most precious of all rights. We should fight to protect it."
Click here to find out more about this joint Amnesty International / Observer campaign, and what you can do to support it.
... but many millions the world over aren't. A timely reminder that not everyone wants to write about what they've been listening to or post pictures of their cat - and that they're punished for doing so.
"The web is a great tool for sharing ideas and freedom of expression. However, efforts to try and control the internet are growing. Internet repression is reported in countries like China, Vietnam, Tunisia, Iran, Saudi Arabia and Syria. People are persecuted and imprisoned simply for criticising their government, calling for democracy and greater press freedom or exposing human rights abuses, online.
But internet repression is not just about governments. IT companies have helped build the systems that enable surveillance and censorship to take place. Yahoo! have supplied email users’ private data to the Chinese authorities, helping to facilitate cases of wrongful imprisonment. Microsoft and Google have both complied with government demands to actively censor Chinese users of their services.
Freedom of expression is a fundamental human right. It is one of the most precious of all rights. We should fight to protect it."
Click here to find out more about this joint Amnesty International / Observer campaign, and what you can do to support it.
Word of the day
(Courtesy of my word origin desk diary...)
"TABOO: 'Taboo' is one of the words brough back by Captain James Cook (1728-1779) after a long sea voyage to the South Seas. It comes from the island of Tonga, and in the language of that culture, referred to something that was forbidden by a rule of religion."
(Courtesy of my word origin desk diary...)
"TABOO: 'Taboo' is one of the words brough back by Captain James Cook (1728-1779) after a long sea voyage to the South Seas. It comes from the island of Tonga, and in the language of that culture, referred to something that was forbidden by a rule of religion."
The end of the road
From the Sleater-Kinney site:
"After eleven years as a band, Sleater-Kinney have decided to go on indefinite hiatus. The upcoming summer shows will be our last. As of now, there are no plans for future tours or recordings.
We feel lucky to have had the support of many wonderful people over the years. We want to thank everyone who has worked with us, written kind words about us, performed with us, and inspired us.
But mostly we want to extend our gratitude to our amazing fans. You have been a part of our story from the beginning. We could not have made our music without your enthusiasm, passion, and loyalty. It is you who have made the entire journey worthwhile.
With love and thanks, Sleater-Kinney"
And they were such rock 'n' roll fun too. We'll miss 'em.
(Thanks to Kenny for the link.)
From the Sleater-Kinney site:
"After eleven years as a band, Sleater-Kinney have decided to go on indefinite hiatus. The upcoming summer shows will be our last. As of now, there are no plans for future tours or recordings.
We feel lucky to have had the support of many wonderful people over the years. We want to thank everyone who has worked with us, written kind words about us, performed with us, and inspired us.
But mostly we want to extend our gratitude to our amazing fans. You have been a part of our story from the beginning. We could not have made our music without your enthusiasm, passion, and loyalty. It is you who have made the entire journey worthwhile.
With love and thanks, Sleater-Kinney"
And they were such rock 'n' roll fun too. We'll miss 'em.
(Thanks to Kenny for the link.)
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Achosion I Laweni
(If you're wondering what this is all about, click here).
#5 - Ozone Cafe
Charles Street in Cardiff city centre is pleasant enough for the most part, with the main pedestrianised thoroughfare Queen Street at one end and the below-mentioned JobCentre Plus. Unfortunately the Ozone Cafe is situated towards the top end, facing the large blank wall of Marks & Spencers - but what it lacks in location and view it more than makes up in terms of food and service.
Unlike the misleadingly-named Cafe Soya, by far and away our favourite food establishment in Birmingham, the Ozone Cafe is the real deal - little more than soup, sandwiches, generously filled salad bowls and sweets on the menu as well as a selection of hot and cold drinks. But, as the name might suggest, the proprietors pride themselves on a conscientious attitude towards what they offer - everything bar the bacon is organic, and served up by friendly and welcoming staff who bend over backwards to be accommodating.
Last week's chicken and bacon club sandwich was one of the best I've ever had (not least because all the sandwiches come served in your choice of fresh bread), washed down with an excellent coffee.
As noted on the page from the Guardian's G2 supplement stuck proudly in the window, it's fast food but it's certainly not junk.
(If you're wondering what this is all about, click here).
#5 - Ozone Cafe
Charles Street in Cardiff city centre is pleasant enough for the most part, with the main pedestrianised thoroughfare Queen Street at one end and the below-mentioned JobCentre Plus. Unfortunately the Ozone Cafe is situated towards the top end, facing the large blank wall of Marks & Spencers - but what it lacks in location and view it more than makes up in terms of food and service.
Unlike the misleadingly-named Cafe Soya, by far and away our favourite food establishment in Birmingham, the Ozone Cafe is the real deal - little more than soup, sandwiches, generously filled salad bowls and sweets on the menu as well as a selection of hot and cold drinks. But, as the name might suggest, the proprietors pride themselves on a conscientious attitude towards what they offer - everything bar the bacon is organic, and served up by friendly and welcoming staff who bend over backwards to be accommodating.
Last week's chicken and bacon club sandwich was one of the best I've ever had (not least because all the sandwiches come served in your choice of fresh bread), washed down with an excellent coffee.
As noted on the page from the Guardian's G2 supplement stuck proudly in the window, it's fast food but it's certainly not junk.
Dole scum
Excuse the woe-is-me nature of this post, but there really is something terribly disspiriting about looking for work.
Sending off countless CVs and application forms in the vague hope of receiving just one solitary compliments slip in return; being talked down to and patronised to within an inch of your life in thejob centre JobCentre Plus (now I know how it must have felt to be an African nation in the World Cup...); traipsing around temping agencies to hawk your wares, and realising with a wry smile that two of them are situated on Working Street.
Still, I guess I have been able to watch the World Cup almost in its entirety...
Excuse the woe-is-me nature of this post, but there really is something terribly disspiriting about looking for work.
Sending off countless CVs and application forms in the vague hope of receiving just one solitary compliments slip in return; being talked down to and patronised to within an inch of your life in the
Still, I guess I have been able to watch the World Cup almost in its entirety...
Mash it up!
... as The Damned didn't quite sing.
I can't believe I've never done it before, but today I followed the link from Del's blog to find the page where he's collected his assorted mash-ups produced under the name DJ Nite.
The first to really catch my attention was 'Come All Night', which plots The Streets' 'Has It Come To This?' on the graph of Lionel Richie's smoooooth bubble-perm-and-slip-ons classic 'All Night Long'.
More ambitious is the track which blends Franz Ferdinand's stompalong single 'Take Me Out' with Stevie Wonder's 'Superstition', before Nirvana's 'Smell Like Teen Spirit' and even 'Just Be Good To Me' make appearances towards the end.
As with all good mash-ups, it's both the moments of juxtaposition and the surprising moments of complete sync that catch the ear. Great stuff.
... as The Damned didn't quite sing.
I can't believe I've never done it before, but today I followed the link from Del's blog to find the page where he's collected his assorted mash-ups produced under the name DJ Nite.
The first to really catch my attention was 'Come All Night', which plots The Streets' 'Has It Come To This?' on the graph of Lionel Richie's smoooooth bubble-perm-and-slip-ons classic 'All Night Long'.
More ambitious is the track which blends Franz Ferdinand's stompalong single 'Take Me Out' with Stevie Wonder's 'Superstition', before Nirvana's 'Smell Like Teen Spirit' and even 'Just Be Good To Me' make appearances towards the end.
As with all good mash-ups, it's both the moments of juxtaposition and the surprising moments of complete sync that catch the ear. Great stuff.
Death by chocolate (nearly)
Spotted today on a sandwich board for the South Wales Echo:
"PRANKSTERS PAINT HOLIDAY FAMILY'S HOME PINK".
Enough to raise a smile as I walked down Queen Street, but not even the best Echo board of the day - that honour goes to...
"SHOP SELLS MUM 23-YEAR-OLD NOUGAT BAR".
Let's just stop a moment and analyse that one. What I like is the way the information is so densely packed in. The length of time that the bar was out of date is the key detail, but there's plenty more in there. Note that the victim wasn't a "woman" but a "mum" (ie if consumption of said bar proved fatal, children would have been orphaned), and that it was no ordinary common-or-garden chocolate bar, but very specifically one consisting primarily of nougat. Let that be a warning to you if you're thinking of purchasing a nougat bar - check the best before date on it carefully first.
So, two terrific (if not terrifying) headlines. All I can say is that it must have been a very slow news day.
Spotted today on a sandwich board for the South Wales Echo:
"PRANKSTERS PAINT HOLIDAY FAMILY'S HOME PINK".
Enough to raise a smile as I walked down Queen Street, but not even the best Echo board of the day - that honour goes to...
"SHOP SELLS MUM 23-YEAR-OLD NOUGAT BAR".
Let's just stop a moment and analyse that one. What I like is the way the information is so densely packed in. The length of time that the bar was out of date is the key detail, but there's plenty more in there. Note that the victim wasn't a "woman" but a "mum" (ie if consumption of said bar proved fatal, children would have been orphaned), and that it was no ordinary common-or-garden chocolate bar, but very specifically one consisting primarily of nougat. Let that be a warning to you if you're thinking of purchasing a nougat bar - check the best before date on it carefully first.
So, two terrific (if not terrifying) headlines. All I can say is that it must have been a very slow news day.
Feel good hits of the 28th June
1. 'A Truth Quietly Told' - The Black Heart Procession
2. 'Low Happening' - Howling Bells
3. 'Stones' - Sonic Youth
4. 'Is This All That I Came For?' - The Delgados
5. 'This Isn't It' - Giant Drag
6. 'As Long As I Die Before You I'll Survive' - The Voices
7. 'Faded Lines' - Secret Machines
8. 'Heart Of Glass' - Blondie
9. 'The Weekend Without Make-Up' - The Long Blondes
10. 'Monster Hospital' - Metric
1. 'A Truth Quietly Told' - The Black Heart Procession
2. 'Low Happening' - Howling Bells
3. 'Stones' - Sonic Youth
4. 'Is This All That I Came For?' - The Delgados
5. 'This Isn't It' - Giant Drag
6. 'As Long As I Die Before You I'll Survive' - The Voices
7. 'Faded Lines' - Secret Machines
8. 'Heart Of Glass' - Blondie
9. 'The Weekend Without Make-Up' - The Long Blondes
10. 'Monster Hospital' - Metric
Friday, June 23, 2006
When the music's over
"I'll miss 'TOTP' in the same way that I missed the local greengrocer's when it closed. It had been there before I arrived and it's a shame that it's gone, but I haven't used it all that much recently". Thus quoth ByTheSeaShore in his post on the demise of 'Top Of The Pops'. Couldn't have put it better myself.
In truth I can't remember the last time I watched 'Top Of The Pops'. It was certainly before it was symbolically relegated to BBC2, as clear a precursor to its demise as any. The reasons for my not tuning in were manifold, not least the presenters and the increasingly rubbish selection of acts invited to perform (no real reflection of the make-up of the charts).
I could say that the decision to axe the show, a national institution, is untimely and appalling - but the sad truth of the matter is that it isn't.
It had clearly been in desperate need of being shot between the eyes for some time. Inspector Sands has laid the blame squarely at Andi Peters's door, and I can't disagree with him. Peters single-handedly destroyed the programme's unique identity. It's a worrying day when I find myself in agreement with Noel Edmonds, but he had a point (of sorts) when he said: "It's a tragedy when a broadcaster doesn't understand such a powerful brand".
The Inspector is absolutely right in saying that despite (or perhaps even because of) the changes in record-buying patterns and means of consumption, and the fracturing of the common ground in musical and TV terms, there was still certainly a place for the sort of show that 'Top Of The Pops' once was. Seeing a favourite band perform on the programme was the always source of much excitement, and as a whole the show played an integral part in my musical education. That's something of which The Kidz are now going to be deprived.
So what's left but to remember some of the moments that made 'Top Of The Pops' such great viewing? Of all the performances noted by Del, Eels' debut remains the most memorable for me - the trio stopped miming along to 'Novocaine For The Soul' towards the end and instead destroyed Butch's miniature child's drumkit as the song continued to play. Also worthy of mention on a personal note was Therapy?'s first appearance when they performed 'Screamager' - I fell in love instantly and bought the Shortsharpshock EP the very next day.
'TOTP' RIP.
(See, it IS possible to write about 'Top Of The Pops' without making reference to Pan's People. Oh...)
"I'll miss 'TOTP' in the same way that I missed the local greengrocer's when it closed. It had been there before I arrived and it's a shame that it's gone, but I haven't used it all that much recently". Thus quoth ByTheSeaShore in his post on the demise of 'Top Of The Pops'. Couldn't have put it better myself.
In truth I can't remember the last time I watched 'Top Of The Pops'. It was certainly before it was symbolically relegated to BBC2, as clear a precursor to its demise as any. The reasons for my not tuning in were manifold, not least the presenters and the increasingly rubbish selection of acts invited to perform (no real reflection of the make-up of the charts).
I could say that the decision to axe the show, a national institution, is untimely and appalling - but the sad truth of the matter is that it isn't.
It had clearly been in desperate need of being shot between the eyes for some time. Inspector Sands has laid the blame squarely at Andi Peters's door, and I can't disagree with him. Peters single-handedly destroyed the programme's unique identity. It's a worrying day when I find myself in agreement with Noel Edmonds, but he had a point (of sorts) when he said: "It's a tragedy when a broadcaster doesn't understand such a powerful brand".
The Inspector is absolutely right in saying that despite (or perhaps even because of) the changes in record-buying patterns and means of consumption, and the fracturing of the common ground in musical and TV terms, there was still certainly a place for the sort of show that 'Top Of The Pops' once was. Seeing a favourite band perform on the programme was the always source of much excitement, and as a whole the show played an integral part in my musical education. That's something of which The Kidz are now going to be deprived.
So what's left but to remember some of the moments that made 'Top Of The Pops' such great viewing? Of all the performances noted by Del, Eels' debut remains the most memorable for me - the trio stopped miming along to 'Novocaine For The Soul' towards the end and instead destroyed Butch's miniature child's drumkit as the song continued to play. Also worthy of mention on a personal note was Therapy?'s first appearance when they performed 'Screamager' - I fell in love instantly and bought the Shortsharpshock EP the very next day.
'TOTP' RIP.
(See, it IS possible to write about 'Top Of The Pops' without making reference to Pan's People. Oh...)
Coogan's latest run
Now HERE's a pointless post - about a programme I haven't even seen yet...
Dammit, why didn't I discover that Steve Coogan's new comedy series 'Saxondale' (Mon, 10pm, BBC2) had started until the next day? And, more to the point, how come I hadn't even heard or read anything about it until belatedly coming across a friend's reminder to tune in?
The Metro's comments weren't entirely fulsome in its praise - but to take much stock of that would be the first sign of madness, and in any case several discerning comedy fans of my acquaintance (Coogan fans to be sure, but not the sort that treat everything he's done - including 'Dr Terrible's House Of Horrible' - as a sacred cow) suggested the first in the series contained several very funny episodes and held considerable promise for future installments.
Hopefully I'll remember to tune in this coming Monday and form my own conclusions - but, in the meantime, what did you make of it? Answers on a postcard.
Now HERE's a pointless post - about a programme I haven't even seen yet...
Dammit, why didn't I discover that Steve Coogan's new comedy series 'Saxondale' (Mon, 10pm, BBC2) had started until the next day? And, more to the point, how come I hadn't even heard or read anything about it until belatedly coming across a friend's reminder to tune in?
The Metro's comments weren't entirely fulsome in its praise - but to take much stock of that would be the first sign of madness, and in any case several discerning comedy fans of my acquaintance (Coogan fans to be sure, but not the sort that treat everything he's done - including 'Dr Terrible's House Of Horrible' - as a sacred cow) suggested the first in the series contained several very funny episodes and held considerable promise for future installments.
Hopefully I'll remember to tune in this coming Monday and form my own conclusions - but, in the meantime, what did you make of it? Answers on a postcard.
The finishing line
Well, it's been emotional. After 26 weeks (give or take a few), the A-Z Of Music feature on The Art Of Noise comes to a conclusion with a collection of contributions on the letter Z. Click for two splendidly contrasting pieces on Frank Zappa, plus contributions on zine writing and 'Zorba The Greek' (amongst other things).
Well, it's been emotional. After 26 weeks (give or take a few), the A-Z Of Music feature on The Art Of Noise comes to a conclusion with a collection of contributions on the letter Z. Click for two splendidly contrasting pieces on Frank Zappa, plus contributions on zine writing and 'Zorba The Greek' (amongst other things).
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Super grass
DEAD MEADOW / THE VOICES, 26TH MAY 2006, CARDIFF CLWB IFOR BACH
(Yes, this is long, long overdue...)
I'm not sure whether or not it still exists, but there used to be a club called Pieces in Nottingham. This inevitably led to hilarious exchanges about whether or not you were going to Pieces.
Well, it's along similar lines that I report I have now heard The Voices. That's Cardiff's The Voices, by the way, not this lot, who cite Coldplay and Oasis amongst their influences.
By contrast, Cardiff's The Voices might as well be from another planet as well as another country. Taking their cue from Spacemen 3, My Bloody Valentine and the sort of usual suspects that get me nodding my head, they fashion a dense, effects-laden and virtually vocal-less noise not a million miles from Spotlight Kid.
Comprising two male guitarists (one the spit of Jason Pierce) flanking a female keyboard player, they get through just four songs in the course of a half-hour set. The first, a long droning beast, is effortlessly impressive, as is the last, at the climax of which the keyboardist reverts to electronic drums. Another Cardiff band to write home about, then.
I first saw headliners Dead Meadow two years ago when they supported Mogwai on the second leg of the Happy Music For Happy People tour, and it's clear that a few things have changed for a band beloved of Super Furry Animals and Anton Newcombe of The Brian Jonestown Massacre (amongst others).
Firstly, though Cory Shane, the second guitarist whom I suspected then wasn't a full-time member of the band, played on their latest album, he's not here tonight so they're back to being a threesome, at least temporarily.
And secondly, they've evidently started to write some songs. I'm guessing that the shorter, more neatly constructed tracks aired tonight hail from their fourth LP Feathers. They're all fine and well, and certainly still at an interesting remove from their post-hardcore-obsessed Washington DC brethren - but what is actually most enjoyable tonight is the Black-Sabbath-pre-Ozzy's-hair-dye-and-coke-phase-meets-blues-meets-psychedelia of their earlier records.
Whereas appearing before Mogwai on Rock City's biggest stage they seemed a little lost and remote, in this intimate room packed full with an enthusiastic Friday night crowd, and on a stage shrouded in green smoke, they are instantly at home.
Jason Simon's lyrics are barely audible given the noise they kick out, but no-one's bothered as the trio kick into another twisting, grooving jam that has my guitar-playing companion drooling into his beer and the rest of us nodding in time like dazed but deliriously happy puppets. Behind the kit Stephen McCarty, who appears to have gone feral, gradually morphs into John Bonham as the set progresses, and bassist Steve Kille hops his strange hop in front of an audience lapping up what his band are feeding us.
A fine way for Kille to celebrate his birthday, and a fine way for us to spend a Friday night.
Now to order a copy of Shivering King And Others, methinks...
DEAD MEADOW / THE VOICES, 26TH MAY 2006, CARDIFF CLWB IFOR BACH
(Yes, this is long, long overdue...)
I'm not sure whether or not it still exists, but there used to be a club called Pieces in Nottingham. This inevitably led to hilarious exchanges about whether or not you were going to Pieces.
Well, it's along similar lines that I report I have now heard The Voices. That's Cardiff's The Voices, by the way, not this lot, who cite Coldplay and Oasis amongst their influences.
By contrast, Cardiff's The Voices might as well be from another planet as well as another country. Taking their cue from Spacemen 3, My Bloody Valentine and the sort of usual suspects that get me nodding my head, they fashion a dense, effects-laden and virtually vocal-less noise not a million miles from Spotlight Kid.
Comprising two male guitarists (one the spit of Jason Pierce) flanking a female keyboard player, they get through just four songs in the course of a half-hour set. The first, a long droning beast, is effortlessly impressive, as is the last, at the climax of which the keyboardist reverts to electronic drums. Another Cardiff band to write home about, then.
I first saw headliners Dead Meadow two years ago when they supported Mogwai on the second leg of the Happy Music For Happy People tour, and it's clear that a few things have changed for a band beloved of Super Furry Animals and Anton Newcombe of The Brian Jonestown Massacre (amongst others).
Firstly, though Cory Shane, the second guitarist whom I suspected then wasn't a full-time member of the band, played on their latest album, he's not here tonight so they're back to being a threesome, at least temporarily.
And secondly, they've evidently started to write some songs. I'm guessing that the shorter, more neatly constructed tracks aired tonight hail from their fourth LP Feathers. They're all fine and well, and certainly still at an interesting remove from their post-hardcore-obsessed Washington DC brethren - but what is actually most enjoyable tonight is the Black-Sabbath-pre-Ozzy's-hair-dye-and-coke-phase-meets-blues-meets-psychedelia of their earlier records.
Whereas appearing before Mogwai on Rock City's biggest stage they seemed a little lost and remote, in this intimate room packed full with an enthusiastic Friday night crowd, and on a stage shrouded in green smoke, they are instantly at home.
Jason Simon's lyrics are barely audible given the noise they kick out, but no-one's bothered as the trio kick into another twisting, grooving jam that has my guitar-playing companion drooling into his beer and the rest of us nodding in time like dazed but deliriously happy puppets. Behind the kit Stephen McCarty, who appears to have gone feral, gradually morphs into John Bonham as the set progresses, and bassist Steve Kille hops his strange hop in front of an audience lapping up what his band are feeding us.
A fine way for Kille to celebrate his birthday, and a fine way for us to spend a Friday night.
Now to order a copy of Shivering King And Others, methinks...
Monday, June 19, 2006
Blogwatch
Welcome...
Delete Music - the blog to accompany my old mucker LMT's new musical project
Meanwhile...
Reluctant Nomad discovers the "delights" of Chris Moyles and weighs up whether it's wrong for the BBC to condone his use of the word "gay" to mean "lame" - "While it may be impossible to change the development of meanings in the language, I’d venture that it’s really not a good thing for the BBC to defend the use of the new meaning of ‘gay’ while there isn’t an alternative word that doesn’t have a negative connotation".
Elsewhere...
ByTheSeaShore reports on his recent foray into amateur dramatics, for which he received a Best Newcomer nomination - "Having seen Emmerdale for the first time in ages, I feel much better about the Northern accent I put on. Thanks again to Jarvis Cocker and the Arctic Monkeys for their assistance".
Pete finds much to enjoy at the Wychwood Festival, most of it with beer in hand - "Dusk was coming down and from nearly every venue there seemed to be emanating something good, something positive. It was a beautiful sunset, the temperature hadn't dropped too drastically yet and everyone, everywhere, was chilled and happy. You could almost slice through the happiness and hand it around. I don't know if you ever find yourself in a countryside or riverside pub, with good ale and good food and everyone just enjoying the moment... it was like that, but magnified a thousand times".
Simon ponders whether Heavenly were "the greatest life achievers in music history?"
Alan revels in being able to call himself a cool dad - "I like the fact that I go to these sorts of things with my kids. It shows that I’ve been at least partly successful in being the cool dad I always wanted to be. I know that I’m not totally cool dad, that I am in fact embarrassing dad at times. But lets face it, we are all destined to be embarrassing dad at times. But I would never have gone to a gig with my dad when I was young. We had the traditional relationship where I listened to music and he shouted at me to turn it down and that it was all just noise anyway".
And finally...
JonnyB is appalled to discover that the LTLP "is the sort of person who posts dog shit through people's letterboxes if she is cross with them... We do not even have a dog. She would have to borrow Short Tony's. That would be going to quite a lot of trouble".
Welcome...
Delete Music - the blog to accompany my old mucker LMT's new musical project
Meanwhile...
Reluctant Nomad discovers the "delights" of Chris Moyles and weighs up whether it's wrong for the BBC to condone his use of the word "gay" to mean "lame" - "While it may be impossible to change the development of meanings in the language, I’d venture that it’s really not a good thing for the BBC to defend the use of the new meaning of ‘gay’ while there isn’t an alternative word that doesn’t have a negative connotation".
Elsewhere...
ByTheSeaShore reports on his recent foray into amateur dramatics, for which he received a Best Newcomer nomination - "Having seen Emmerdale for the first time in ages, I feel much better about the Northern accent I put on. Thanks again to Jarvis Cocker and the Arctic Monkeys for their assistance".
Pete finds much to enjoy at the Wychwood Festival, most of it with beer in hand - "Dusk was coming down and from nearly every venue there seemed to be emanating something good, something positive. It was a beautiful sunset, the temperature hadn't dropped too drastically yet and everyone, everywhere, was chilled and happy. You could almost slice through the happiness and hand it around. I don't know if you ever find yourself in a countryside or riverside pub, with good ale and good food and everyone just enjoying the moment... it was like that, but magnified a thousand times".
Simon ponders whether Heavenly were "the greatest life achievers in music history?"
Alan revels in being able to call himself a cool dad - "I like the fact that I go to these sorts of things with my kids. It shows that I’ve been at least partly successful in being the cool dad I always wanted to be. I know that I’m not totally cool dad, that I am in fact embarrassing dad at times. But lets face it, we are all destined to be embarrassing dad at times. But I would never have gone to a gig with my dad when I was young. We had the traditional relationship where I listened to music and he shouted at me to turn it down and that it was all just noise anyway".
And finally...
JonnyB is appalled to discover that the LTLP "is the sort of person who posts dog shit through people's letterboxes if she is cross with them... We do not even have a dog. She would have to borrow Short Tony's. That would be going to quite a lot of trouble".
Quote of the day
"From a music point of view, it will never be as popular as the hymns and tunes written by the Wesley brothers and others all those hundreds of years ago. That was when music was written to be listened to and enjoyed rather than deafening everybody. As much as those who bought tickets might not have been unduly worried about God, they were certainly ripped off by the Devil".
Malcolm H Mort writes to the South Wales Echo about 'Jerry Springer: The Opera'. As both the show's co-writer and a DJ and rock critic, I think Stewart Lee might like to come back on that, Mr Mort.
When 'Jerry Springer: The Opera' arrived in Cardiff, it was greeted with protests. Interestingly, the Western Mail's reporter failed to find a single protestor who had seen the show. But they'd all read and heard a lot about it, so that's OK.
Funny how it was in this very city that the '90s Comedian' set was performed for the last time earlier in the year. Lee's moved on, but has anything else?
"From a music point of view, it will never be as popular as the hymns and tunes written by the Wesley brothers and others all those hundreds of years ago. That was when music was written to be listened to and enjoyed rather than deafening everybody. As much as those who bought tickets might not have been unduly worried about God, they were certainly ripped off by the Devil".
Malcolm H Mort writes to the South Wales Echo about 'Jerry Springer: The Opera'. As both the show's co-writer and a DJ and rock critic, I think Stewart Lee might like to come back on that, Mr Mort.
When 'Jerry Springer: The Opera' arrived in Cardiff, it was greeted with protests. Interestingly, the Western Mail's reporter failed to find a single protestor who had seen the show. But they'd all read and heard a lot about it, so that's OK.
Funny how it was in this very city that the '90s Comedian' set was performed for the last time earlier in the year. Lee's moved on, but has anything else?
Friday, June 16, 2006
Hoff: an update
Following last Friday's post encouraging people to sign up to a site aiming to send David Hasselhoff to #1, I gather that the site has been featured on the B3TA newsletter.
One person who I'm sure must have signed up by now is Fulham's German right-back Moritz Volz - his website has a special section dedicated to the Hoff:
"Being German, I love David Hasselhoff. It's actually the law back in the Motherland. For me the Hoff is almost like some kind of higher spirit. Hoff-ness is everywhere. The Hoff is a big inspiration - in times of trouble I often ask myself 'how would the Hoff deal with this situation...?' I'm actually thinking of having a mini Baywatch Tower built in my house so I can sit there in my red shorts in true Hoff style. I'm also delighted to see that he's appearing as Captain Hook in a Peter Pan panto at Wimbledon Theatre this Christmas! I'm going to have to work out a way I can meet him!"
Following last Friday's post encouraging people to sign up to a site aiming to send David Hasselhoff to #1, I gather that the site has been featured on the B3TA newsletter.
One person who I'm sure must have signed up by now is Fulham's German right-back Moritz Volz - his website has a special section dedicated to the Hoff:
"Being German, I love David Hasselhoff. It's actually the law back in the Motherland. For me the Hoff is almost like some kind of higher spirit. Hoff-ness is everywhere. The Hoff is a big inspiration - in times of trouble I often ask myself 'how would the Hoff deal with this situation...?' I'm actually thinking of having a mini Baywatch Tower built in my house so I can sit there in my red shorts in true Hoff style. I'm also delighted to see that he's appearing as Captain Hook in a Peter Pan panto at Wimbledon Theatre this Christmas! I'm going to have to work out a way I can meet him!"
Feel good hits of the 16th June
1. 'Kevin Is Gay' - Giant Drag
2. 'Machines' - Spotlight Kid
3. 'Into The Woods' - Howling Bells
4. 'Alone, Jealous And Stoned' - Secret Machines
5. 'By Number' - Anathallo
6. 'Not Even Jail' - Interpol
7. 'Fortune' - Emma Pollock
8. 'Single Again' - The Fiery Furnaces
9. 'Crushed' - The Wedding Present
10. 'These Days' - Death Of Fashion
Thanks to Iain for pointing me in the direction of the Emma Pollock track.
1. 'Kevin Is Gay' - Giant Drag
2. 'Machines' - Spotlight Kid
3. 'Into The Woods' - Howling Bells
4. 'Alone, Jealous And Stoned' - Secret Machines
5. 'By Number' - Anathallo
6. 'Not Even Jail' - Interpol
7. 'Fortune' - Emma Pollock
8. 'Single Again' - The Fiery Furnaces
9. 'Crushed' - The Wedding Present
10. 'These Days' - Death Of Fashion
Thanks to Iain for pointing me in the direction of the Emma Pollock track.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Fifteen minutes of fame
When I lived in Nottingham, it was a bit of a long-standing joke that if the Queens Medical Centre appeared in the news it was either because researchers had made an extraordinary medical discovery or breakthrough, or because a hapless and no doubt hungover junior doctor had accidentally injected a patient with the wrong drug in the wrong quantity.
The infamous exception that proved the rule was when a brain surgeon at the hospital was suspended for allegedly helping himself to an extra bowl of soup (with croutons, I might add) without paying.
Today two of the QMC's specialist consultants are in the news spotlight for a rather different reason, Professors Angus Wallace and Chris Moran having passed a certain Wayne Rooney fit to take part in England's match against Trinidad & Tobago, due to kick off in less than an hour's time.
On their shoulders, it seems, rest the hopes of the country. Let's just hope their diagnosis was right, and that they didn't need to administer young Master Rooney with any injections...
When I lived in Nottingham, it was a bit of a long-standing joke that if the Queens Medical Centre appeared in the news it was either because researchers had made an extraordinary medical discovery or breakthrough, or because a hapless and no doubt hungover junior doctor had accidentally injected a patient with the wrong drug in the wrong quantity.
The infamous exception that proved the rule was when a brain surgeon at the hospital was suspended for allegedly helping himself to an extra bowl of soup (with croutons, I might add) without paying.
Today two of the QMC's specialist consultants are in the news spotlight for a rather different reason, Professors Angus Wallace and Chris Moran having passed a certain Wayne Rooney fit to take part in England's match against Trinidad & Tobago, due to kick off in less than an hour's time.
On their shoulders, it seems, rest the hopes of the country. Let's just hope their diagnosis was right, and that they didn't need to administer young Master Rooney with any injections...
The hard(back) sell
If you thought books are in the bestseller lists and on prominent display in bookshop windows purely on the strength of public interest, then think again: "That W H Smith’s 'book of the week' title, which attracts you as if it had won a prize, has been bought and paid for. The publisher handed over £50,000. Waterstone’s Book of the Week accolade is £10,000, less for ecstatic mini-reviews. Borders charges for 'fiction buyer’s favourite'".
(Thanks to Richard for the link.)
If you thought books are in the bestseller lists and on prominent display in bookshop windows purely on the strength of public interest, then think again: "That W H Smith’s 'book of the week' title, which attracts you as if it had won a prize, has been bought and paid for. The publisher handed over £50,000. Waterstone’s Book of the Week accolade is £10,000, less for ecstatic mini-reviews. Borders charges for 'fiction buyer’s favourite'".
(Thanks to Richard for the link.)
Ys right!
The penultimate installment of the A-Z Of Music on The Art Of Noise sees us musing on the letter Y - which means contributions on Manic Street Preachers, Young Marble Giants, Yellow Magic Orchestra, live bootlegs and bizarre gig venues.
The penultimate installment of the A-Z Of Music on The Art Of Noise sees us musing on the letter Y - which means contributions on Manic Street Preachers, Young Marble Giants, Yellow Magic Orchestra, live bootlegs and bizarre gig venues.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
World looks red
The hottest day of the year so far, the auditorium stiflingly hot (hotter than the gradually cooling evening outside), and the sweat virtually dripping off my nose - I can think of no better circumstances in which to have watched 'The Proposition'.
You see, if it hadn't already have been hot, the film would have made me feel hot. It's a very red film, full of the scorched baked-dry Australian outback, sunrises and sunsets, and the characters are constantly glazed in a slick of sweat.
Another reason why you might say, as Sonic Youth did in an early song, that the world looks red is that there's plenty of blood. Lots of it. Loads. Bucketfuls. There's a gruesome seemingly never-ending flogging scene, and another where a chap gets his head blown off.
'The Proposition' is a violent, primal yet occasionally touching and even comical Australian Western - in other words, just what you'd expect given that the screenplay was written by Nick Cave. He and Warren Ellis of The Bad Seeds and Dirty Three provide an original soundtrack, but it was Cave songs like 'Red Right Hand' and the whole of Murder Ballads that continually played in my mind as I watched the stubbled characters with their yellow-teethed grins stare warily and shoot at each other.
Contrasting with the violence there's a real and quite stunning beauty in the barren, desolate vistas of the outback, for which credit must go to director John Hillcoat and director of cinematography Benoit Delhomme.
And yet part of the film's message is that, despite best intentions, that landscape makes everyone savages in the end. Ray Winston's character the British officer Captain Stanley is adamant he will "civilise" the place, and the viewer might have some sympathy for him by the end, but he is at times just as brutal as those on the "wrong" side of the law. At the end of the film he lies badly (perhaps fatally) wounded, the absurdity of his naive colonialist's faith in civilisation underlined by the smashed white picket fence and trampled roses outside his home.
'The Proposition' is stark, bloody, hopeless and unsettling - and worth seeing.
The hottest day of the year so far, the auditorium stiflingly hot (hotter than the gradually cooling evening outside), and the sweat virtually dripping off my nose - I can think of no better circumstances in which to have watched 'The Proposition'.
You see, if it hadn't already have been hot, the film would have made me feel hot. It's a very red film, full of the scorched baked-dry Australian outback, sunrises and sunsets, and the characters are constantly glazed in a slick of sweat.
Another reason why you might say, as Sonic Youth did in an early song, that the world looks red is that there's plenty of blood. Lots of it. Loads. Bucketfuls. There's a gruesome seemingly never-ending flogging scene, and another where a chap gets his head blown off.
'The Proposition' is a violent, primal yet occasionally touching and even comical Australian Western - in other words, just what you'd expect given that the screenplay was written by Nick Cave. He and Warren Ellis of The Bad Seeds and Dirty Three provide an original soundtrack, but it was Cave songs like 'Red Right Hand' and the whole of Murder Ballads that continually played in my mind as I watched the stubbled characters with their yellow-teethed grins stare warily and shoot at each other.
Contrasting with the violence there's a real and quite stunning beauty in the barren, desolate vistas of the outback, for which credit must go to director John Hillcoat and director of cinematography Benoit Delhomme.
And yet part of the film's message is that, despite best intentions, that landscape makes everyone savages in the end. Ray Winston's character the British officer Captain Stanley is adamant he will "civilise" the place, and the viewer might have some sympathy for him by the end, but he is at times just as brutal as those on the "wrong" side of the law. At the end of the film he lies badly (perhaps fatally) wounded, the absurdity of his naive colonialist's faith in civilisation underlined by the smashed white picket fence and trampled roses outside his home.
'The Proposition' is stark, bloody, hopeless and unsettling - and worth seeing.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Achosion I Laweni
(If you're wondering what this is all about, click here.)
#4 - Ninjah
For the last installment of the A-Z Of Music feature on The Art Of Noise, Paul wrote about Nottingham legend Frank Robinson. Better known as Xylophone Man, he used to busk with a small toy xylophone in the city centre, his enthusiasm and cheery demeanour more than making up for his lack of musical talent. He was a part of the city, and everyone loved him - as became abundantly clear in the wake of his death in July 2004.
Every city has its characters, and Cardiff is no exception. Mention must be made of Toy Mic Trev, an oldish busker who earnestly and passionately belts out renditions of crooner classics with one of those toy microphones that distorts your voice, but it's another fixture of Queens Street (as well as Chapter) who is most widely known.
Walking through the city centre on the first day of the Six Nations tournament, it was a riot of red-shirted rugby fans - noisy and boisterous but good-spirited. I walked past a very tall dreadlocked chap who was drumming away with sticks on a bin. Naturally I assumed this was in aid of the rugby, but I was wrong - Ninjah's out doing that most days, or otherwise loudly proclaiming his philosphies on life, how great he is as a rapper and how to find his MySpace site (as he was the other day).
You see, this guy really does fancy himself as a demon MC, a street poet, an artist with knowledge to impart. And, as deluded as he obviously is about his own talent, you've got to love him for the colour he brings to the city - not least when you know that he "is often seen wandering around in a Pharaoh's headdress, with tights upon his head or wearing cricket whites for no apparent reason" and when you read the testimonies of others (via his BBC Wales biography and Knowhere):
"He never forgets a face (I have even had to introduce him to my mum and yes, he was wearing Speedos at the time). A word of warning: do not ask him about how he had to bury his mother - it involves nailpolish, a turban, ballet slippers and some wardrobe doors. Just don't!"
"I astounded him with an amazing fact one night that cats have 37 muscles per ear. Ever since then, whenever I bump into him, he runs up to me and shouts 'Cats have 37 muscles per ear' then roars like a tiger and paws the air with his hand. A legend".
"Ninjah once told me how he used to live naked in Sofia Gardens, we had an indepth conversation on what's best to wipe with when caught short there (grass and leaves came out on top)".
"I once dislocated my knee playing football in Bute Park and he freestyled for me until the ambulance came."
"Favourite Ninjah line - 'Peter Andre got a 6 pack, Ninjah got an 8 pack'".
(If you're wondering what this is all about, click here.)
#4 - Ninjah
For the last installment of the A-Z Of Music feature on The Art Of Noise, Paul wrote about Nottingham legend Frank Robinson. Better known as Xylophone Man, he used to busk with a small toy xylophone in the city centre, his enthusiasm and cheery demeanour more than making up for his lack of musical talent. He was a part of the city, and everyone loved him - as became abundantly clear in the wake of his death in July 2004.
Every city has its characters, and Cardiff is no exception. Mention must be made of Toy Mic Trev, an oldish busker who earnestly and passionately belts out renditions of crooner classics with one of those toy microphones that distorts your voice, but it's another fixture of Queens Street (as well as Chapter) who is most widely known.
Walking through the city centre on the first day of the Six Nations tournament, it was a riot of red-shirted rugby fans - noisy and boisterous but good-spirited. I walked past a very tall dreadlocked chap who was drumming away with sticks on a bin. Naturally I assumed this was in aid of the rugby, but I was wrong - Ninjah's out doing that most days, or otherwise loudly proclaiming his philosphies on life, how great he is as a rapper and how to find his MySpace site (as he was the other day).
You see, this guy really does fancy himself as a demon MC, a street poet, an artist with knowledge to impart. And, as deluded as he obviously is about his own talent, you've got to love him for the colour he brings to the city - not least when you know that he "is often seen wandering around in a Pharaoh's headdress, with tights upon his head or wearing cricket whites for no apparent reason" and when you read the testimonies of others (via his BBC Wales biography and Knowhere):
"He never forgets a face (I have even had to introduce him to my mum and yes, he was wearing Speedos at the time). A word of warning: do not ask him about how he had to bury his mother - it involves nailpolish, a turban, ballet slippers and some wardrobe doors. Just don't!"
"I astounded him with an amazing fact one night that cats have 37 muscles per ear. Ever since then, whenever I bump into him, he runs up to me and shouts 'Cats have 37 muscles per ear' then roars like a tiger and paws the air with his hand. A legend".
"Ninjah once told me how he used to live naked in Sofia Gardens, we had an indepth conversation on what's best to wipe with when caught short there (grass and leaves came out on top)".
"I once dislocated my knee playing football in Bute Park and he freestyled for me until the ambulance came."
"Favourite Ninjah line - 'Peter Andre got a 6 pack, Ninjah got an 8 pack'".
Monday, June 12, 2006
In the Spotlight
Calling fans of Spiritualized, My Bloody Valentine, M83 and shoegazery stuff in general! While Chris Olley busies himself with his electronic "side" projects Twelve and Fuck Me USA, and with working with James Flower towards a new Six. By Seven album, the Nottingham band's now-departed drummer Chris Davis has branched out on his own.
Together with a host of collaborators including Bent's Katty Heath, he's making music under the name Spotlight Kid - and rather marvellous stuff it is too. Dare I say it, but 'Machines' and 'Never's Too Soon' (both up on his MySpace site) put Six. By Seven's last recordings in the shade somewhat.
Drummers emerging from the shadows behind the kit to make a name for themselves? Dave Grohl'll be doing it next...
On a music-related tangent, my latest reviews - of You & The Atom Bomb's Shake Shake Hello?! and Lovemat's The Fearless Hair Days Of Youth - are now up on the Vanity Project site. Have a read, and if you like the sound of them, give them a listen here and here.
Calling fans of Spiritualized, My Bloody Valentine, M83 and shoegazery stuff in general! While Chris Olley busies himself with his electronic "side" projects Twelve and Fuck Me USA, and with working with James Flower towards a new Six. By Seven album, the Nottingham band's now-departed drummer Chris Davis has branched out on his own.
Together with a host of collaborators including Bent's Katty Heath, he's making music under the name Spotlight Kid - and rather marvellous stuff it is too. Dare I say it, but 'Machines' and 'Never's Too Soon' (both up on his MySpace site) put Six. By Seven's last recordings in the shade somewhat.
Drummers emerging from the shadows behind the kit to make a name for themselves? Dave Grohl'll be doing it next...
On a music-related tangent, my latest reviews - of You & The Atom Bomb's Shake Shake Hello?! and Lovemat's The Fearless Hair Days Of Youth - are now up on the Vanity Project site. Have a read, and if you like the sound of them, give them a listen here and here.
"You'll never guess who I had in the back of here last week..."
You've got to love Will Self. For many reasons, one of which is the fact that his novels and short stories are always so brilliant conceptually that you feel compelled to read. Here's the synopsis of his forthcoming novel from his site:
"'The Book Of Dave' is based around the rants of Dave Roth, a disgruntled East End taxi driver, who writes his woes down and buries them only to have them discovered 500 years later and used as the sacred text for a religion that has taken hold in the flooded remnants of London. Will Self’s big bold book dares to take on the grand themes in the grand manner. It is at once a profound meditation upon the nature of received religion; a love story; a caustic satire of contemporary urban life and a historical detective story set in the far future".
I've been meaning to get round to reading 'Dorian' for ages, but it's probably best avoided for a while given the proximity of its subject matter (at least) to that of the novel in which my nose is currently buried, 'The Line Of Beauty'.
You've got to love Will Self. For many reasons, one of which is the fact that his novels and short stories are always so brilliant conceptually that you feel compelled to read. Here's the synopsis of his forthcoming novel from his site:
"'The Book Of Dave' is based around the rants of Dave Roth, a disgruntled East End taxi driver, who writes his woes down and buries them only to have them discovered 500 years later and used as the sacred text for a religion that has taken hold in the flooded remnants of London. Will Self’s big bold book dares to take on the grand themes in the grand manner. It is at once a profound meditation upon the nature of received religion; a love story; a caustic satire of contemporary urban life and a historical detective story set in the far future".
I've been meaning to get round to reading 'Dorian' for ages, but it's probably best avoided for a while given the proximity of its subject matter (at least) to that of the novel in which my nose is currently buried, 'The Line Of Beauty'.
Friday, June 09, 2006
It’s the way she tells ‘em
What exactly IS a short story?
In the introduction to her ‘Selected Stories’, Nobel Prize winner Nadine Gordimer offers a compelling definition: “whether or not it has a narrative in the external or internal sense, whether it sprawls or neatly bites its own tail, a short story is a concept that the writer can ‘hold’, fully realised, in his imagination, at one time. A novel is, by comparison, staked out, and must be taken possession of stage by stage; it is impossible to contain, all at once, the proliferation of concepts it ultimately may use”.
Both types of short story are represented in ‘Selected Stories’. Gordimer shows herself to be a master of the quick self-contained sketch, the vividly depicted moment, particularly in her earlier work. ‘The Soft Voice Of The Serpent’ is a case in point. It concerns a one-legged man confined to wheelchair identifying with a locust which has also lost a leg, and ends neatly with the man’s painful realisation that locusts can fly.
Of the sprawling variety are many of the later stories. These include ‘Friday’s Footprint’, in which woman widowed following a boat accident marries her husband’s step-brother, and belatedly and shamefully realises with horror her mistake: “it was as if something had burst inside her and was seeping up in a stain through all the layers of muscle and flesh and skin”. ‘Livingstone’s Companions’, too, unfolds gradually with a sense of narrative development, as a journalist retracing Livingstone’s last journey finds himself at a hotel he can’t leave, obsessed with the nearby lake and inexorably ending up in bed with the hotel owner Mrs Palmer.
A white South African writing during the time of Apartheid, Gordimer is inevitably particularly sensitive to issues of race, and most of the stories centre upon and explore attitudes and suspicions, depicting encounters between people of different race and status. Her skill is to dramatise social scenarios haunted by awkwardness, discomfort and misunderstanding, and as such she is perhaps even more interested in those whites opposed to Apartheid than she is in those who are openly racist.
In this respect, ‘Which New Era Would That Be?’ is exemplary, recounting the visit of a white woman, Jennifer Tetzel, to a black man’s house. Though sympathetic and benign in her intentions, she nevertheless succeeds in further stoking the resentment of those whose rights she champions: “these women felt as YOU did. They were sure of it. They thought they understood the humiliation of the black man walking the streets only by permission of a pass written out by a white person, and the guilt and swagger of the coloured man light-faced enough to slink, fugitive from his own skin, in the preserves – the cinemas, bars, libraries – marked ‘EUROPEANS ONLY’. Yes, breathless with stout sensitivity, they insisted on walking the whole teeter-totter of the colour line. There was no escaping their understanding. They even insisted on feeling the resentment YOU must feel at identifying themselves with your feelings…”.
Similarly, in ‘Abroad’ Manie Swemmer, a South African who returns to Northern Rhodesia after a long absence to discover it’s changed almost beyond recognition, professes to be open-minded and modern in his attitudes towards black Africans, but, despite being broadly well-meaning, cannot help but give occasional voice to deeply ingrained prejudices.
The advice often given to aspiring writers is: “Write about what you know”. Gordimer certainly couldn’t be accused of not doing so, but her reflections on the theme of race never become repetitious – not least because, as she reflects in the introduction, the chronological arrangement of the stories allows the reader to trace the development of her own attitudes. If, as she claims, what makes a writer is “the tension between standing apart and being fully involved”, then ‘Selected Stories’ is the work of a consummate professional.
‘The Gentle Art’ narrates a different type of encounter to ‘Which New Era Would That Be?’. A couple of holidaymakers are taken crocodile-hunting at night, and capture a baby: “she touched the creature’s cool, hard back, a horny hide of leather medallions, fresh, strange, alive; from a life unknown to the touch of humans, beneath the dark river”. Later, a larger crocodile is shot, Gordimer emphasising the uncomprehending barbarism of the act in graphic terms: “Then the pale gaze coming from the dark forehead exploded; it blew up as if from within, and where the gaze had been there was a soft pink mess of brain with the scarlet wetness of blood and the mother-of-pearl sheen of muscle”.
That the story is Gordimer’s take on the central imagery and ideas of ‘Heart Of Darkness’ becomes clear towards the story’s conclusion as the hunting party returns to camp: “The night river closed away behind them. It went back where it came from; from the world of sleep, of eternity and darkness, the place before birth, after death – all those ideas with which the flowing continuity of dark water is bound up. And the boat came back; brought them within sight of the light of the camp itself, existence itself, a fire, the reed house, the smell of food and a human figure”. This sense of a return to civilisation, a retreat from the African unknown, is itself an oblique reflection upon the issue of race.
Best of all, however, is a story in which race does not figure at all. In ‘A Company Of Laughing Faces’ a 17-year-old girl is taken to a South African seaside resort for the Christmas holidays by her mother with the hope that she might meet and have fun with other young people. Struggling to fit in, Kathy falls into companionship with a boy, and the story appears to be panning out as a beautifully written but familiar narrative of lost innocence and emergent sexuality: “She had never been caressed before, but she was not alarmed because it seemed to her such a simple gesture, like stroking a cat or dog. She and her mother were great readers of novels and she knew, of course, that there were a large number of caresses – hair, and eyes and arms and even breasts – and an immense variety of feelings that would be attached to them”.
But Kathy’s fictionally derived notions of romance and sexuality are shattered when the boy attempts to rape her. She escapes, but Gordimer’s point is made evident by the conclusion, in which, on a trip, she discovers in the water the body of a younger boy whom she has befriended. The sight is “the one real happening of the holiday, the one truth and the one beauty”; her childhood is as dead as his.
Often beautiful yet ominous, the stories collected here are descriptively rich and packed with observational insight, and encourage me to not only read more Gordimer but more short fiction in general.
(An aside: Is this sort of review pointless? On the one hand I write them partly in the hope that they might inspire someone to hunt out and read a copy of the book, but on the other they’re unlikely to do so if the review’s packed with spoilers. I’d be interested to know. It’s just difficult to review fiction without spoiling things… That’s the beauty of music criticism – you can say what you want, because no words can quite ever convey what a song or album sounds like.)
What exactly IS a short story?
In the introduction to her ‘Selected Stories’, Nobel Prize winner Nadine Gordimer offers a compelling definition: “whether or not it has a narrative in the external or internal sense, whether it sprawls or neatly bites its own tail, a short story is a concept that the writer can ‘hold’, fully realised, in his imagination, at one time. A novel is, by comparison, staked out, and must be taken possession of stage by stage; it is impossible to contain, all at once, the proliferation of concepts it ultimately may use”.
Both types of short story are represented in ‘Selected Stories’. Gordimer shows herself to be a master of the quick self-contained sketch, the vividly depicted moment, particularly in her earlier work. ‘The Soft Voice Of The Serpent’ is a case in point. It concerns a one-legged man confined to wheelchair identifying with a locust which has also lost a leg, and ends neatly with the man’s painful realisation that locusts can fly.
Of the sprawling variety are many of the later stories. These include ‘Friday’s Footprint’, in which woman widowed following a boat accident marries her husband’s step-brother, and belatedly and shamefully realises with horror her mistake: “it was as if something had burst inside her and was seeping up in a stain through all the layers of muscle and flesh and skin”. ‘Livingstone’s Companions’, too, unfolds gradually with a sense of narrative development, as a journalist retracing Livingstone’s last journey finds himself at a hotel he can’t leave, obsessed with the nearby lake and inexorably ending up in bed with the hotel owner Mrs Palmer.
A white South African writing during the time of Apartheid, Gordimer is inevitably particularly sensitive to issues of race, and most of the stories centre upon and explore attitudes and suspicions, depicting encounters between people of different race and status. Her skill is to dramatise social scenarios haunted by awkwardness, discomfort and misunderstanding, and as such she is perhaps even more interested in those whites opposed to Apartheid than she is in those who are openly racist.
In this respect, ‘Which New Era Would That Be?’ is exemplary, recounting the visit of a white woman, Jennifer Tetzel, to a black man’s house. Though sympathetic and benign in her intentions, she nevertheless succeeds in further stoking the resentment of those whose rights she champions: “these women felt as YOU did. They were sure of it. They thought they understood the humiliation of the black man walking the streets only by permission of a pass written out by a white person, and the guilt and swagger of the coloured man light-faced enough to slink, fugitive from his own skin, in the preserves – the cinemas, bars, libraries – marked ‘EUROPEANS ONLY’. Yes, breathless with stout sensitivity, they insisted on walking the whole teeter-totter of the colour line. There was no escaping their understanding. They even insisted on feeling the resentment YOU must feel at identifying themselves with your feelings…”.
Similarly, in ‘Abroad’ Manie Swemmer, a South African who returns to Northern Rhodesia after a long absence to discover it’s changed almost beyond recognition, professes to be open-minded and modern in his attitudes towards black Africans, but, despite being broadly well-meaning, cannot help but give occasional voice to deeply ingrained prejudices.
The advice often given to aspiring writers is: “Write about what you know”. Gordimer certainly couldn’t be accused of not doing so, but her reflections on the theme of race never become repetitious – not least because, as she reflects in the introduction, the chronological arrangement of the stories allows the reader to trace the development of her own attitudes. If, as she claims, what makes a writer is “the tension between standing apart and being fully involved”, then ‘Selected Stories’ is the work of a consummate professional.
‘The Gentle Art’ narrates a different type of encounter to ‘Which New Era Would That Be?’. A couple of holidaymakers are taken crocodile-hunting at night, and capture a baby: “she touched the creature’s cool, hard back, a horny hide of leather medallions, fresh, strange, alive; from a life unknown to the touch of humans, beneath the dark river”. Later, a larger crocodile is shot, Gordimer emphasising the uncomprehending barbarism of the act in graphic terms: “Then the pale gaze coming from the dark forehead exploded; it blew up as if from within, and where the gaze had been there was a soft pink mess of brain with the scarlet wetness of blood and the mother-of-pearl sheen of muscle”.
That the story is Gordimer’s take on the central imagery and ideas of ‘Heart Of Darkness’ becomes clear towards the story’s conclusion as the hunting party returns to camp: “The night river closed away behind them. It went back where it came from; from the world of sleep, of eternity and darkness, the place before birth, after death – all those ideas with which the flowing continuity of dark water is bound up. And the boat came back; brought them within sight of the light of the camp itself, existence itself, a fire, the reed house, the smell of food and a human figure”. This sense of a return to civilisation, a retreat from the African unknown, is itself an oblique reflection upon the issue of race.
Best of all, however, is a story in which race does not figure at all. In ‘A Company Of Laughing Faces’ a 17-year-old girl is taken to a South African seaside resort for the Christmas holidays by her mother with the hope that she might meet and have fun with other young people. Struggling to fit in, Kathy falls into companionship with a boy, and the story appears to be panning out as a beautifully written but familiar narrative of lost innocence and emergent sexuality: “She had never been caressed before, but she was not alarmed because it seemed to her such a simple gesture, like stroking a cat or dog. She and her mother were great readers of novels and she knew, of course, that there were a large number of caresses – hair, and eyes and arms and even breasts – and an immense variety of feelings that would be attached to them”.
But Kathy’s fictionally derived notions of romance and sexuality are shattered when the boy attempts to rape her. She escapes, but Gordimer’s point is made evident by the conclusion, in which, on a trip, she discovers in the water the body of a younger boy whom she has befriended. The sight is “the one real happening of the holiday, the one truth and the one beauty”; her childhood is as dead as his.
Often beautiful yet ominous, the stories collected here are descriptively rich and packed with observational insight, and encourage me to not only read more Gordimer but more short fiction in general.
(An aside: Is this sort of review pointless? On the one hand I write them partly in the hope that they might inspire someone to hunt out and read a copy of the book, but on the other they’re unlikely to do so if the review’s packed with spoilers. I’d be interested to know. It’s just difficult to review fiction without spoiling things… That’s the beauty of music criticism – you can say what you want, because no words can quite ever convey what a song or album sounds like.)
Moonlighting
This burst of postage aside, it's been rather quiet here of late - and it's not all been down to the pressures of work or the recent crapness of Blogger. No, it's partly because I've been writing away elsewhere.
Unless you've not a head, you'll be aware that there's some kind of football shindig about to kick off over in Germany. Well, I'm one of several bloggers contributing to a collaborative blog Finals Fantasy. We'll be covering every game, as well as wading through / dissecting / lampooning all the extraneous bullshit that goes with it. Come and pay us a visit.
I've also contributed a feature on 'The Big Lebowski' for the Films I Love series on The Bargain Basement. Thanks to Lord Bargain for inviting me to contribute.
This burst of postage aside, it's been rather quiet here of late - and it's not all been down to the pressures of work or the recent crapness of Blogger. No, it's partly because I've been writing away elsewhere.
Unless you've not a head, you'll be aware that there's some kind of football shindig about to kick off over in Germany. Well, I'm one of several bloggers contributing to a collaborative blog Finals Fantasy. We'll be covering every game, as well as wading through / dissecting / lampooning all the extraneous bullshit that goes with it. Come and pay us a visit.
I've also contributed a feature on 'The Big Lebowski' for the Films I Love series on The Bargain Basement. Thanks to Lord Bargain for inviting me to contribute.
Miss Moustache
It's always great to get Good Post amongst all the bills and fast food flyers, isn't it? Which is why it was cheering to receive the latest copy of Drawing Moustaches In Magazines earlier in the week.
A free fanzine-type publication that's lovingly hand-crafted and photocopied, DMIM is the brainchild of Stewart Lee approved comedian Josie Long and an assortment of friends.
Contained within the pages of this issue (the third) you'll find a guest introduction from TV's Mike Reid, a cartoon strip about a chap whose brain has been infested with puffins, a feature called 'The Bits That Philosophers Forgot', instructions for a knitted iPod cover and a free mini-booklet called The Shane Richie Insect Book (it's self-explanatory).
Leave Josie a message on her blog if you fancy a copy.
It's always great to get Good Post amongst all the bills and fast food flyers, isn't it? Which is why it was cheering to receive the latest copy of Drawing Moustaches In Magazines earlier in the week.
A free fanzine-type publication that's lovingly hand-crafted and photocopied, DMIM is the brainchild of Stewart Lee approved comedian Josie Long and an assortment of friends.
Contained within the pages of this issue (the third) you'll find a guest introduction from TV's Mike Reid, a cartoon strip about a chap whose brain has been infested with puffins, a feature called 'The Bits That Philosophers Forgot', instructions for a knitted iPod cover and a free mini-booklet called The Shane Richie Insect Book (it's self-explanatory).
Leave Josie a message on her blog if you fancy a copy.
Hoff: #1 (hopefully)
"Think what he's given to the world. 'Knight Rider'. 'Baywatch'. The reunification of East and West Germany. Untold laughter from forwarded e-mails of him in hotpants.
He's given a lot. It's time we gave something back.
The Hoff's having a hard time. He's split from his wife. He needs a lift.
Let's help him out with something that would mean the world to him. Something that would repay all the goodness he's given us over the years. A glittering prize that thus far eludes him.
A top spot in the UK music charts".
You know it makes sense. As much sense as using Barry Manilow records to drive away troublesome youths.
(Thanks to Gordon and J for the links.)
"Think what he's given to the world. 'Knight Rider'. 'Baywatch'. The reunification of East and West Germany. Untold laughter from forwarded e-mails of him in hotpants.
He's given a lot. It's time we gave something back.
The Hoff's having a hard time. He's split from his wife. He needs a lift.
Let's help him out with something that would mean the world to him. Something that would repay all the goodness he's given us over the years. A glittering prize that thus far eludes him.
A top spot in the UK music charts".
You know it makes sense. As much sense as using Barry Manilow records to drive away troublesome youths.
(Thanks to Gordon and J for the links.)
Aye aye Captain
Remember Captain Lazonby-Threpwell? The hub-cap-collecting Army veteran and resident of Kingswinford who wrote the rather excellent liner notes to Black Country punk situationists The Pubic Fringe's demo The Misanthropic Sounds Of The Pubic Fringe?
Well, he's got his very own Corner. Turns out that while, as their director of communications, he's enthusiastic about the band now known as Das Fringe, he was not a big fan of Jif changing its name to Cif...
(Thanks to Tom, who stumbled across my blog while searching for stuff on the good Captain.)
Remember Captain Lazonby-Threpwell? The hub-cap-collecting Army veteran and resident of Kingswinford who wrote the rather excellent liner notes to Black Country punk situationists The Pubic Fringe's demo The Misanthropic Sounds Of The Pubic Fringe?
Well, he's got his very own Corner. Turns out that while, as their director of communications, he's enthusiastic about the band now known as Das Fringe, he was not a big fan of Jif changing its name to Cif...
(Thanks to Tom, who stumbled across my blog while searching for stuff on the good Captain.)
The X factor
Up now on The Art Of Noise - the pre-penultimate installment of the A-Z Of Music feature. This week X, and incredibly only one contributor cheated (I'm looking at you, drmigs...) There are pieces on Blondie's 'X Offender', Xfm and Nottingham legend the late Xylophone Man, while I've taken the opportunity to develop my recent post here about The Magnetic Fields' Stephin Merritt and hip-hop into something a bit more substantial.
Up now on The Art Of Noise - the pre-penultimate installment of the A-Z Of Music feature. This week X, and incredibly only one contributor cheated (I'm looking at you, drmigs...) There are pieces on Blondie's 'X Offender', Xfm and Nottingham legend the late Xylophone Man, while I've taken the opportunity to develop my recent post here about The Magnetic Fields' Stephin Merritt and hip-hop into something a bit more substantial.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Blogwatch
Welcome...
Fictions - interweb home of Brum resident and graphic comic fan Richard
Greavsie - the rather amusing site of one of JonnyB's most loyal commenters
Never Trust A Hippy - sound advice indeed from Forest fan Paulie
Meanwhile...
Pete dissects "the MySpace phenomenon" - "The end result is an ecosystem which, while it may not replace the major labels, provides a viable alternative".
Elsewhere...
Kenny indulges in a gig-going frenzy, taking in Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Dinosaur Jr, Metric and Tilly And The Wall.
Back from fulfilling his journalistic duties at Eurovision, Mike also witnesses a live act to enthuse about, Mexican duo Rodrigo Y Gabriela - "high-octane flamenco-esque covers of thrash metal tunes being just what the doctor ordered".
Also in Nottingham, Phill reports on the Bank Holiday weekend Dot-To-Dot Festival - "Headliners Bromhead's Jacket are the southern equivalent of the Arctic Monkeys, with their tales of small town life, Samsungs and girls. Brilliant lyrics, great tunes and an engaging frontman mean that this band are one breakthrough song away from moving into the mainstream".
Robin ruminates on the foolishness of his light-fingered neighbours - "Oh, they said, they had found this umbrella on their lawn on Thursday, just lying there. They seemed to assume very readily at this point that it was ours. Must have blown over the fence, they suggested. Yes, I agreed, inwardly figuring that it probably hopped over in that enormous, short lived northerly hurricane we unexpectedly experienced in Peckham on Wednesday night"
And finally...
Betty is bemused by the antics of a couple of local goths - "They had decided to have a picnic, at twilight, intermittent showers and low temperatures notwithstanding, in a parking bay on a Wimpey estate".
Welcome...
Fictions - interweb home of Brum resident and graphic comic fan Richard
Greavsie - the rather amusing site of one of JonnyB's most loyal commenters
Never Trust A Hippy - sound advice indeed from Forest fan Paulie
Meanwhile...
Pete dissects "the MySpace phenomenon" - "The end result is an ecosystem which, while it may not replace the major labels, provides a viable alternative".
Elsewhere...
Kenny indulges in a gig-going frenzy, taking in Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Dinosaur Jr, Metric and Tilly And The Wall.
Back from fulfilling his journalistic duties at Eurovision, Mike also witnesses a live act to enthuse about, Mexican duo Rodrigo Y Gabriela - "high-octane flamenco-esque covers of thrash metal tunes being just what the doctor ordered".
Also in Nottingham, Phill reports on the Bank Holiday weekend Dot-To-Dot Festival - "Headliners Bromhead's Jacket are the southern equivalent of the Arctic Monkeys, with their tales of small town life, Samsungs and girls. Brilliant lyrics, great tunes and an engaging frontman mean that this band are one breakthrough song away from moving into the mainstream".
Robin ruminates on the foolishness of his light-fingered neighbours - "Oh, they said, they had found this umbrella on their lawn on Thursday, just lying there. They seemed to assume very readily at this point that it was ours. Must have blown over the fence, they suggested. Yes, I agreed, inwardly figuring that it probably hopped over in that enormous, short lived northerly hurricane we unexpectedly experienced in Peckham on Wednesday night"
And finally...
Betty is bemused by the antics of a couple of local goths - "They had decided to have a picnic, at twilight, intermittent showers and low temperatures notwithstanding, in a parking bay on a Wimpey estate".
Daydream unbeliever
With Sonic Youth's new album Rather Ripped due to be released next week, it was timely that, in a recent On Second Thought piece on Stylus, Ian Mathers should give his personal take on the band's 1988 classic Daydream Nation.
As someone who thinks it's their masterpiece (though Dirty runs it very close - perhaps partly on account of it being the first Sonic Youth record I heard), I can't agree with Ian's assessment - but the vitriol and abuse he's received as a result (see the comments box) is incredible and utterly unjustified. Of course music critics should be able to take shots at sacred cows - I may not like what Ian has to say, but I'll defend his right to say it. The whole idea of the feature is for someone to give a personal take on an album - it's always going to be more personal than the regular album reviews - so why then complain about it?
I can well understand that annoyance at feeling you "should" like a certain band simply because it's what's expected - after all, I've never really "got" The Pixies (amongst others) and am constantly faced with disbelieving faces when I confess it. I'm not sure whether that wouldn't change if I was exposed to more of their stuff, but, as Ian says, there does come a point when you realise that no matter how often you listen to something, or how often people tell you how amazing it is, you just don't like it.
With Sonic Youth's new album Rather Ripped due to be released next week, it was timely that, in a recent On Second Thought piece on Stylus, Ian Mathers should give his personal take on the band's 1988 classic Daydream Nation.
As someone who thinks it's their masterpiece (though Dirty runs it very close - perhaps partly on account of it being the first Sonic Youth record I heard), I can't agree with Ian's assessment - but the vitriol and abuse he's received as a result (see the comments box) is incredible and utterly unjustified. Of course music critics should be able to take shots at sacred cows - I may not like what Ian has to say, but I'll defend his right to say it. The whole idea of the feature is for someone to give a personal take on an album - it's always going to be more personal than the regular album reviews - so why then complain about it?
I can well understand that annoyance at feeling you "should" like a certain band simply because it's what's expected - after all, I've never really "got" The Pixies (amongst others) and am constantly faced with disbelieving faces when I confess it. I'm not sure whether that wouldn't change if I was exposed to more of their stuff, but, as Ian says, there does come a point when you realise that no matter how often you listen to something, or how often people tell you how amazing it is, you just don't like it.
Quote of the day
"The question of late is often asked, what is Cardiff coming to? The principal streets are almost impassable for the respectable portion of the community, especially in the main street, owing to girls as imprudent as they can be, and using profane language, quite unfit for respectable and decent people to hear.
St Mary Street, once one of the most quiet and orderly in town, is getting really bad, if not quite as bad as Bute Street.
Girls by the dozen, stand in groups all through the evening and all week long, and if perchance you get twirled off the pavement and remonstrate, you may reckon upon such a torrent of abuse and filthy language, as will make you shudder.
Why should this state of things be tolerated? If the Mayor and Watch Committee do their duty, the police would not wink at this kind of thing until it is unbearable - but would soon rid the streets of these pests of society".
So quoth a local rag, back in 1888. How times have changed. I wonder if these imprudent and foul-mouthed young ladies often wore bunny outfits and congregated in Walkabout?
"The question of late is often asked, what is Cardiff coming to? The principal streets are almost impassable for the respectable portion of the community, especially in the main street, owing to girls as imprudent as they can be, and using profane language, quite unfit for respectable and decent people to hear.
St Mary Street, once one of the most quiet and orderly in town, is getting really bad, if not quite as bad as Bute Street.
Girls by the dozen, stand in groups all through the evening and all week long, and if perchance you get twirled off the pavement and remonstrate, you may reckon upon such a torrent of abuse and filthy language, as will make you shudder.
Why should this state of things be tolerated? If the Mayor and Watch Committee do their duty, the police would not wink at this kind of thing until it is unbearable - but would soon rid the streets of these pests of society".
So quoth a local rag, back in 1888. How times have changed. I wonder if these imprudent and foul-mouthed young ladies often wore bunny outfits and congregated in Walkabout?
Punk'd
The funniest thing I've seen for quite some time: a mohicaned punk hopping from one foot to the other while screeching in a high-pitched effeminate voice "You're dumped!" to his burly butch ex-girlfriend, who was hoofing him in the shins.
It was run close by the two deranged cyclists we saw on Splott Road the other day, though - one had no tyre on his back wheel, and the other was carrying an enormous bit of carpet...
The funniest thing I've seen for quite some time: a mohicaned punk hopping from one foot to the other while screeching in a high-pitched effeminate voice "You're dumped!" to his burly butch ex-girlfriend, who was hoofing him in the shins.
It was run close by the two deranged cyclists we saw on Splott Road the other day, though - one had no tyre on his back wheel, and the other was carrying an enormous bit of carpet...
Feel good hits of the 4th June
1. 'Velvet Girl' - Howling Bells
2. 'I Can't Look At Your Skin' - Graham Coxon
3. 'Sweet Leaf' - Mogwai
4. 'Canada' - Low
5. 'This Scene Is Dead' - We Are Scientists
6. 'Hoodwink' - Anathallo
7. 'Casimir Pulaski Day' - Sufjan Stevens
8. 'Cheated Hearts' - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
9. 'Lightning Blue Eyes' - Secret Machines
10. 'Bewitched' - The Wedding Present
1. 'Velvet Girl' - Howling Bells
2. 'I Can't Look At Your Skin' - Graham Coxon
3. 'Sweet Leaf' - Mogwai
4. 'Canada' - Low
5. 'This Scene Is Dead' - We Are Scientists
6. 'Hoodwink' - Anathallo
7. 'Casimir Pulaski Day' - Sufjan Stevens
8. 'Cheated Hearts' - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
9. 'Lightning Blue Eyes' - Secret Machines
10. 'Bewitched' - The Wedding Present
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