In the morning, the streets are empty. It’s five days later; not twenty-eight. In afternoon, the streets are full. Hordes of zombies, given a taste of fierce consumerism by festive decadence, want more. They jostle on pavements, queue in cars and fill their free time with the only hobby they know.
Some of us work. Work is a great place to be when no one else is there. Music plays, needless junk is discarded and all the jobs - that there's never time to do - get done. I always choose to work over the winter bank holiday season. I like to save my precious leave for adventures and sunshine.
Today, I left the office later than expected, dressed and ready for the gym. Standing outside the office, I stared at my wonderful two wheeled 'go faster' machine. It sat in its usual spot, resting on its stand, and looking bare. It lost its AXA SL7 rear mount lock yesterday. The lock refused to open and I had to take a drill to it. It’s the only power tool we have, but it did the job. The missing SL7 lock wasn’t the problem. It looked VERY bare. Usually, my bike wears three locks, and after a double take, I realised its free-range status; it was a lock free bike in the heart of town. It was as though someone had walked off with the locks and not the bike.
Who would pilfer the locks, which they would surely have to break to take, and not steal the bike? No one of course.
I, the stupid ‘I’, had left my precious and much loved bike in a vulnerable state all day. Meanwhile, my locks sat in the shed at home. How had I not noticed? Well, as usual, it was a chain of events that led to my precariously foolish behaviour.
The Five Stages of Dim
1. When my city bike locked itself shut, my cable and d lock found themselves transported to my mountain bike.
2. A well-needed festive gift – a mirror – attached itself to my bike last night. I rather successfully snapped it in two on arriving at work this morning.
3. My keys, which usually sit inside my forcibly removed SL7 lock, were on my person and not my bike. I didn’t have to lock my bike to retrieve them.
4. I walked into work thinking about broken mirrors.
5. My dear, dear bike sat resting on its stand, not even against a wall or post, on the far side of a pavement, outside a well-used community centre, ALL DAY. People stood staring at it, belched out of the building for the intake of cancer sticks, and many more walked by.
The last two times ‘a chain of events’ led to one of my bikes being unlocked or poorly locked, I had no bike to return to. A very lucky me rode home today.
I would most certainly have cried if it had been any other way.
If you think that Fabpants might be descending into madness, I spent last night unable to sleep, smiling and giggling. I have no idea why. It might help explain this morning though. I’ve gone loopy.
Fabpants Recommends: Watching Sigur Ròs’ film ‘Heima’. It’s the right time of year to watch Iceland’s populous, in their fabulous 80s style knitwear, enjoying their best export.
Here are some tracks to chill to (preferably in the warm):
Download MP3: Sigur Rós - Ágætis byrjun (courtesy of amazon.com)
Download MP3: {{{sunset}}} – Moebius (from the 2008 album ‘Bright Blue Dream’) (courtesy of autobusrecs.com)
Tuesday, 30 December 2008
Saturday, 20 December 2008
What ARE those Trees Thinking?
Fabpants Recommends: Sticking with the festive theme, a risky business for sure, here's one from Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine's Jim Bob and Fruitbat. Who’d of thunk it?
Download MP3: Who's The Daddy Now? - A Daddy Christmas Eve (courtesy of mapsmagazine.co.uk).
Yes, it's a bit of an old one, but I just found it on Maps Magazine's 2008 Advent Calendar. Sorry, but it won't play in my little music player, and I don't upload music myself. You'll have to download it this time. I assure you that it's worth your precious time.
The advent calendar also includes tracks from Norwich's fabulous Bearsuit, Homescience, MJ Hibbett and The Long Blondes. Go check it out. It's pleasantly DIY.
Friday, 19 December 2008
Gig Review: One More Tune Herman Dune
Herman Dune, Duke of York’s, 18th December 2008
Last night in the ever-wonderful Duke of York’s Picturehouse, I sat with a box of popcorn resting on my lap and watched bands where a film should have been. David-Ivar Herman Düne and Néman Herman Düne, did what Stanley Brinks (aka André Herman Düne) should have done at The Hope. They played a hell of a lot of songs, some two hours worth and some real belters. Néman Herman Düne was particularly amazing on drums and percussion. Really! I found myself mesmerised by the drummer.
I was particularly delighted when they played this truly charming number:
Download MP3: Herman Dune - I Wish That I Could See You Soon (courtesy of littleradio.com)
I posted the lyrics up some time ago, so if play the song and open my post of 29 January 2008 you can sing along. Neat, eh?
The only downside of the wonderful cinema gig was that it started very late and ended at midnight. Cosy in my chair, and drifting along with the lovely sounds, I almost nodded off. It was so easy to relax. I hate to say 'too easy'. Can it ever be 'too easy' for all your worries to slip away and to find yourself asleep?
I should not neglect to mention that support act and backing singers, the Baby Skins, delighted us with a lovely tap dance. A rare treat for sure.
Fabpants Recommends: A twee and indie Christmas.
Download MP3: Slow Club - Christmas TV (courtesy of acertainromance.com)
Last night in the ever-wonderful Duke of York’s Picturehouse, I sat with a box of popcorn resting on my lap and watched bands where a film should have been. David-Ivar Herman Düne and Néman Herman Düne, did what Stanley Brinks (aka André Herman Düne) should have done at The Hope. They played a hell of a lot of songs, some two hours worth and some real belters. Néman Herman Düne was particularly amazing on drums and percussion. Really! I found myself mesmerised by the drummer.
I was particularly delighted when they played this truly charming number:
Download MP3: Herman Dune - I Wish That I Could See You Soon (courtesy of littleradio.com)
I posted the lyrics up some time ago, so if play the song and open my post of 29 January 2008 you can sing along. Neat, eh?
The only downside of the wonderful cinema gig was that it started very late and ended at midnight. Cosy in my chair, and drifting along with the lovely sounds, I almost nodded off. It was so easy to relax. I hate to say 'too easy'. Can it ever be 'too easy' for all your worries to slip away and to find yourself asleep?
I should not neglect to mention that support act and backing singers, the Baby Skins, delighted us with a lovely tap dance. A rare treat for sure.
Fabpants Recommends: A twee and indie Christmas.
Download MP3: Slow Club - Christmas TV (courtesy of acertainromance.com)
Monday, 15 December 2008
Not as Green as I am Cabbage Looking
I have a personal rule. I don’t own a car and I have a limit of hiring one three times a year. Brrm brrrm. Beep beep. Yeah.
In 2008, I hired a car twice: once to see Granny Fabpants in Staffordshire and once to travel across Malawi with my brother. I’ve decided to end my car hire for the year there. Christmas will be by train. There were debates, and there was research, but the decision is final. The train won. Choo choo. Mind the gap. Yeah.
Despite setting us back £109, travelling by train is still cheaper than hiring a car, plus fuel, and it’s the ethical thing to do. Cars kill the planet and give children asthma. They also nearly kill me each morning. Fucking school run.
It’ll mostly be a car free Christmas, but it won’t be sanctimonious
While, I do my bit for the environment, I am the first to admit that it’s not enough. I may buy trees in exchange for flights, opt for green electricity, and bicycle – in a permanent state of fear - about town, but...
...I live in a shitty rented flat, where the wind blows hard through rotten window frames and the heating is caught in an eternal battle to keep us warm. I’m always leaving the hob on by accident and I like baths. I like baths a lot. I was the sole cause of the great water shortage of 2005. Crops died while I bathed. If the flat burns down because the hob has been left on, I’ll probably be in the bath.
Over the years, my extensive knowledge of environmental matters has fallen by the way. I know that agreements to save the world from climate change were on shaky ground last week. UN climate talks in Poland had European leaders rubbing their heads. One by one, their commitments became fewer and it became increasingly hard to save appearances. As usual, they wanted to look like the great environmental saviours of the West, with superhero capes and CO2 reduction sabers, but doing bugger bollocks all is, as ever, so much easier. Shift responsibility, trade emissions and build more runways. Running away is always a good option.
Who wants to invest in saving the world, when financial collapse is likely to eat us in our sleep and the ever-expensive pistachio nut is threatening to become a unit of currency?
Perhaps we all do. Want to see the solution to all our woes? Well, read ‘A Green New Deal’ and prepare yourself for a treat.
You can download a PDF of it here:
A Green New Deal
Don’t give a shit? Think that climate change is a myth? Sure that we’ll find a new planet to trash pretty soon? Who cares? Well, read it anyway. Why? Because it has the best summary of the 2008 financial collapse that I’ve yet to encounter. You can always read the ‘Financial Crunch’ section and ignore the rest.
I also really enjoyed this article:
The 10 big energy myths by Chris Goodall
Fabpants Recommends:
Download MP3: The Lovely Eggs - Tyrannosaurus Rex for Christmas (sorry, this link has died)
Find it on Cherryade Records: Cherryade - A Very Cherry Christmas volume 4
In 2008, I hired a car twice: once to see Granny Fabpants in Staffordshire and once to travel across Malawi with my brother. I’ve decided to end my car hire for the year there. Christmas will be by train. There were debates, and there was research, but the decision is final. The train won. Choo choo. Mind the gap. Yeah.
Despite setting us back £109, travelling by train is still cheaper than hiring a car, plus fuel, and it’s the ethical thing to do. Cars kill the planet and give children asthma. They also nearly kill me each morning. Fucking school run.
It’ll mostly be a car free Christmas, but it won’t be sanctimonious
While, I do my bit for the environment, I am the first to admit that it’s not enough. I may buy trees in exchange for flights, opt for green electricity, and bicycle – in a permanent state of fear - about town, but...
...I live in a shitty rented flat, where the wind blows hard through rotten window frames and the heating is caught in an eternal battle to keep us warm. I’m always leaving the hob on by accident and I like baths. I like baths a lot. I was the sole cause of the great water shortage of 2005. Crops died while I bathed. If the flat burns down because the hob has been left on, I’ll probably be in the bath.
Over the years, my extensive knowledge of environmental matters has fallen by the way. I know that agreements to save the world from climate change were on shaky ground last week. UN climate talks in Poland had European leaders rubbing their heads. One by one, their commitments became fewer and it became increasingly hard to save appearances. As usual, they wanted to look like the great environmental saviours of the West, with superhero capes and CO2 reduction sabers, but doing bugger bollocks all is, as ever, so much easier. Shift responsibility, trade emissions and build more runways. Running away is always a good option.
Who wants to invest in saving the world, when financial collapse is likely to eat us in our sleep and the ever-expensive pistachio nut is threatening to become a unit of currency?
Perhaps we all do. Want to see the solution to all our woes? Well, read ‘A Green New Deal’ and prepare yourself for a treat.
You can download a PDF of it here:
A Green New Deal
Don’t give a shit? Think that climate change is a myth? Sure that we’ll find a new planet to trash pretty soon? Who cares? Well, read it anyway. Why? Because it has the best summary of the 2008 financial collapse that I’ve yet to encounter. You can always read the ‘Financial Crunch’ section and ignore the rest.
I also really enjoyed this article:
The 10 big energy myths by Chris Goodall
Fabpants Recommends:
Download MP3: The Lovely Eggs - Tyrannosaurus Rex for Christmas (sorry, this link has died)
Find it on Cherryade Records: Cherryade - A Very Cherry Christmas volume 4
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
Gig Reviews: Your Mum Will Be Very Proud of You
I know, it’s been a while. Life got hectic and then I collapsed. I slept for sixteen hours on Sunday night. Divine. I’ve been ignoring a stalker-like virus for weeks. Fair play, it put up a long hard fight, followed me everywhere and deserved to win. I surrendered. All hail the virus.
Stanley Brinks, The Hope, 30th November, 2008
Fujiya & Miyagi, Pavilion Theatre, 3rd December, 2008
I sniffed through Stanley Brinks, spent two bleary - but lovely days - in Norfolk and then sneezed a thousand times to the fine tunes of Fujiya & Miyagi. Ask the band, I was down the front. The ceaseless sternutation was striking. Someone near me was crawling with dust mites and I was fucked. It’s been a while since I sneezed so much. I curse the allergy that haunts me. The musical geeks had me bopping all the same. I can’t remember the details, but through an allergic haze and a cold infested head it tasted sweet and bouncy.
The night before, Stanley Brinks had been disappointing. He played a short set sandwiched between the ‘shit rock’ support act that was Ish Marquez. I didn’t take to Ish Marquez. It was painful. I'm sorry Ish, but that's the way it is.
I try to accentuate the positive on these pages, but I was there for as much Stanley Brinks as the man could give and I felt robbed. For such a prolific and wonderful musician, the set was stunted. It left me wanting more in the worst kind of way. I wasn’t there to watch the headliner play bass in a second rate support band, before and after his short serenade. I was there with a longing to be whisked away by the sweet, sensitive lyrics of a bearded genius. He should have played more of his own. André left me hanging.
This wonderful opening track from 'Dank U' was notably absent:
Download MP3: Stanley Brinks - Stanley Brinks (courtesy of musiclikedirt.com)
Let’s hope that the Herman Dune set is better. Nine days and counting...
Two more nights out and the end credits scrolled. GAME OVER. No Club Wotever for me. Being out eight nights in a row, and eleven out of fourteen was enough. I challenge anyone ten years my junior to compete mid-winter, and to hold down a job. Yes, the sniffles are part of the package. And yes, as well as being an employee, I am also self-employed. I’m busy in every direction. I also love sleep. I really love to sleep.
All the same, I have been listening, reading and filling my brain with nuggets to share.
The following is a series of 999 call recordings, as included in The Guardian on 29th November. I would have shared them earlier, but I could only listen to one at a time. They all made me cry. I felt the love, the fear and the bravery. I recommend listening to one a day, and no more.
The epileptic fit (courtesy of guardian.co.uk)
The birth (courtesy of guardian.co.uk)
The fire (courtesy of guardian.co.uk)
The cardiac arrest (courtesy of guardian.co.uk)
The Heimlich manoeuvre (courtesy of guardian.co.uk)
Fabpants Recommends: This is late in coming, but - without much fanfare - Bonnie "Prince" Billy, slipped another album through this year.
‘Lie Down in the Light’ is a soft and beautiful album. It’s not Bonnie "Prince" Billy at his best, but it's close. An enchanting echo of his finest work resounds. Try these out for size.
Download MP3: Bonnie 'Prince' Billy - Easy Does It (courtesy of thelookback.com)
Download MP3: Bonnie "Prince" Billy - You Remind Me of Something (The Glory Goes) (courtesy of earitnow.com)
Stanley Brinks, The Hope, 30th November, 2008
Fujiya & Miyagi, Pavilion Theatre, 3rd December, 2008
I sniffed through Stanley Brinks, spent two bleary - but lovely days - in Norfolk and then sneezed a thousand times to the fine tunes of Fujiya & Miyagi. Ask the band, I was down the front. The ceaseless sternutation was striking. Someone near me was crawling with dust mites and I was fucked. It’s been a while since I sneezed so much. I curse the allergy that haunts me. The musical geeks had me bopping all the same. I can’t remember the details, but through an allergic haze and a cold infested head it tasted sweet and bouncy.
The night before, Stanley Brinks had been disappointing. He played a short set sandwiched between the ‘shit rock’ support act that was Ish Marquez. I didn’t take to Ish Marquez. It was painful. I'm sorry Ish, but that's the way it is.
I try to accentuate the positive on these pages, but I was there for as much Stanley Brinks as the man could give and I felt robbed. For such a prolific and wonderful musician, the set was stunted. It left me wanting more in the worst kind of way. I wasn’t there to watch the headliner play bass in a second rate support band, before and after his short serenade. I was there with a longing to be whisked away by the sweet, sensitive lyrics of a bearded genius. He should have played more of his own. André left me hanging.
This wonderful opening track from 'Dank U' was notably absent:
Download MP3: Stanley Brinks - Stanley Brinks (courtesy of musiclikedirt.com)
Let’s hope that the Herman Dune set is better. Nine days and counting...
Two more nights out and the end credits scrolled. GAME OVER. No Club Wotever for me. Being out eight nights in a row, and eleven out of fourteen was enough. I challenge anyone ten years my junior to compete mid-winter, and to hold down a job. Yes, the sniffles are part of the package. And yes, as well as being an employee, I am also self-employed. I’m busy in every direction. I also love sleep. I really love to sleep.
All the same, I have been listening, reading and filling my brain with nuggets to share.
The following is a series of 999 call recordings, as included in The Guardian on 29th November. I would have shared them earlier, but I could only listen to one at a time. They all made me cry. I felt the love, the fear and the bravery. I recommend listening to one a day, and no more.
The epileptic fit (courtesy of guardian.co.uk)
The birth (courtesy of guardian.co.uk)
The fire (courtesy of guardian.co.uk)
The cardiac arrest (courtesy of guardian.co.uk)
The Heimlich manoeuvre (courtesy of guardian.co.uk)
Fabpants Recommends: This is late in coming, but - without much fanfare - Bonnie "Prince" Billy, slipped another album through this year.
‘Lie Down in the Light’ is a soft and beautiful album. It’s not Bonnie "Prince" Billy at his best, but it's close. An enchanting echo of his finest work resounds. Try these out for size.
Download MP3: Bonnie 'Prince' Billy - Easy Does It (courtesy of thelookback.com)
Download MP3: Bonnie "Prince" Billy - You Remind Me of Something (The Glory Goes) (courtesy of earitnow.com)
Sunday, 30 November 2008
Gig Review: Singing in the Dark to No one
Pete and the Pirates – Concorde 2
Last night, as I cycled my merry way home, a happy sigh left my body. It was cold, dark and wet. A smattering of drunken revellers ambled along the promenade. I felt wonderful.
Sigh complete, I sang all the way home. Sometimes my arm reached out to the world, just as it had only moments before. I was high. I was high on live music. Alcohol free and happy, I had a one-lady sing-along, with and to no one.
Pete and the Pirates are and were truly amazing. For once, I found myself with an audience that whole-heartedly agrees. Particularly impressive, was the throng of lads that had travelled all the way from Madrid, just for an intimate Brighton gig. Whilst Pete and the Pirates are a lesser-known entity in their homeland, they seem to have conquered a small quarter of Spain. Good for them.
“We travel around the world to see bands”, my new friend said, “We’ve seen the Arctic Monkeys and The Strokes”. Pete and the Pirates so deserve to be included in that sentence. “And this gig is so cheap”, he added, “Just £7.50.” Yes, it was. It was even cheap for the Concorde 2.
While Pete and the Pirates have the good looks and the rip-roaring tunes, their personalities seem better aligned to those of anti-folk renegades. They are an endearing band.
In the moshpit, the audience fell under this very charm. We sang our hearts out, the Spaniards shouted mysterious requests, and a happy bubble of fans bounced for joy. When the music soared, foreign arms would curl around my shoulders or waist, and buoy me along. We were as one and it was fun, fun, fun.
And too much fun for one. When a Spanish hand snuck its way under my t-shirt, I politely removed it. Enthusiasm has its limits. Needless to say, I will still treasure the moment that a handsome man, 15 years my junior, tried to cop a mischievous feel. I will also treasure the kiss that his friend politely planted on my cheek. That was after I'd allowed him to rip off and take away part of my mask.
Yes, for the last two nights, I’ve worn masks. It’s the best solution to hiding wrinkles in a young environment. For two nights in a row, I’ve entertained young suitors. Why didn’t I think of it before? I have a reasonable figure, so why not hide the face, and highlight my assets? Okay, the mask wearing was far from intentional and I don’t really need an extra lover, but it was great fun.
Mask 1, Friday 28th December:
At Club Mayhem, the great DJ that is Amongst the Pigeons filled the room with pigeon masks, whilst adorning his own - as cool as fuck - cat hat and shades. A stroke of paraphernalia genius and a belter of a DJ set.
Mask 2: Saturday, 29th December:
At the Concorde 2, Pete and the Pirates volunteered to be the backing band for support act, Connan Moccasins, who were a few members short. They disguised themselves with gaffer tape moustaches and eyebrows, and the more inventive made their very own head masks. Entitled 'The Gimps', they provided additional vocals, a bassist and wonderfully childish dance routines. When, at the start of their real set, they threw the masks into the crowd, I won. It seemed churlish not to wear it. I ended up with a cardboard and gaffer tape inspired ‘gimp-come-animal’ headset on for the full length of the set. I loved every minute of it.
I’m getting into this mask wearing. Maybe I should wear one tonight for Stanley Brinks.
Fabpants Recommends:
Download MP3: Pete and the Pirates - Mr Understanding (courtesy of auralstates.com)
Last night, as I cycled my merry way home, a happy sigh left my body. It was cold, dark and wet. A smattering of drunken revellers ambled along the promenade. I felt wonderful.
Sigh complete, I sang all the way home. Sometimes my arm reached out to the world, just as it had only moments before. I was high. I was high on live music. Alcohol free and happy, I had a one-lady sing-along, with and to no one.
Pete and the Pirates are and were truly amazing. For once, I found myself with an audience that whole-heartedly agrees. Particularly impressive, was the throng of lads that had travelled all the way from Madrid, just for an intimate Brighton gig. Whilst Pete and the Pirates are a lesser-known entity in their homeland, they seem to have conquered a small quarter of Spain. Good for them.
“We travel around the world to see bands”, my new friend said, “We’ve seen the Arctic Monkeys and The Strokes”. Pete and the Pirates so deserve to be included in that sentence. “And this gig is so cheap”, he added, “Just £7.50.” Yes, it was. It was even cheap for the Concorde 2.
While Pete and the Pirates have the good looks and the rip-roaring tunes, their personalities seem better aligned to those of anti-folk renegades. They are an endearing band.
In the moshpit, the audience fell under this very charm. We sang our hearts out, the Spaniards shouted mysterious requests, and a happy bubble of fans bounced for joy. When the music soared, foreign arms would curl around my shoulders or waist, and buoy me along. We were as one and it was fun, fun, fun.
And too much fun for one. When a Spanish hand snuck its way under my t-shirt, I politely removed it. Enthusiasm has its limits. Needless to say, I will still treasure the moment that a handsome man, 15 years my junior, tried to cop a mischievous feel. I will also treasure the kiss that his friend politely planted on my cheek. That was after I'd allowed him to rip off and take away part of my mask.
Yes, for the last two nights, I’ve worn masks. It’s the best solution to hiding wrinkles in a young environment. For two nights in a row, I’ve entertained young suitors. Why didn’t I think of it before? I have a reasonable figure, so why not hide the face, and highlight my assets? Okay, the mask wearing was far from intentional and I don’t really need an extra lover, but it was great fun.
Mask 1, Friday 28th December:
At Club Mayhem, the great DJ that is Amongst the Pigeons filled the room with pigeon masks, whilst adorning his own - as cool as fuck - cat hat and shades. A stroke of paraphernalia genius and a belter of a DJ set.
Mask 2: Saturday, 29th December:
At the Concorde 2, Pete and the Pirates volunteered to be the backing band for support act, Connan Moccasins, who were a few members short. They disguised themselves with gaffer tape moustaches and eyebrows, and the more inventive made their very own head masks. Entitled 'The Gimps', they provided additional vocals, a bassist and wonderfully childish dance routines. When, at the start of their real set, they threw the masks into the crowd, I won. It seemed churlish not to wear it. I ended up with a cardboard and gaffer tape inspired ‘gimp-come-animal’ headset on for the full length of the set. I loved every minute of it.
I’m getting into this mask wearing. Maybe I should wear one tonight for Stanley Brinks.
Fabpants Recommends:
Download MP3: Pete and the Pirates - Mr Understanding (courtesy of auralstates.com)
Saturday, 29 November 2008
Gig Review and More: Ear Worm
For two days this song has happily co-existed with my mind:
Download MP3: Public Enemy – You’re Gonna Get Yours (courtesy of getthecurse.com)
Despite filling my head with music for hours on end, it persists. I rather like it. It’s there for no other reason than to give me pleasure. So suckers to tha side, I know you hate my 98. You’re gonna get yours. And yours is another gig review.
You might not have heard of this one. I do my research. I go out. Going out is fun. If you can, go out today. If you can't, then live through me. It's my treat. I love it.
MC Fashion – Tom’s Gallery
Last night, I had the great pleasure of attending Club Mayhem, at Tom's Gallery, where I caught the wonderful MC Fashion.
MC Fashion reminded me of a younger and freer Kid_Carpet, minus the children's instruments. Instead, with a laptop, guitar and wildly co-ordinated dance moves, the MC guru fused happy hardcore, ska and amphetamine laced bleeps. With pure enthusiasm, and his own brand of shouty style lyrics, MC Fashion pulled off a unique and enthralling performance. Top notch.
Fabpants Recommends:
Download MP3: MC Fashion – Pressure Drop (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: MC Fashion - Dawnin Of a Nu Era (sorry, this link has died)
Did someone request a bit of Helen Love? If MC Fashion hasn’t put you in the mood, what will?
Download MP3: Helen Love – Does Your Heart Go Boom? (courtesy of www.box.net)
It’s a golden happy hardcore oldie. It’s a great gym track. It’s an advertising whore.
I have also added the music player to all my old MP3 links, so please go back and listen. It involved some research, as some links had fallen by the way. I don't host MP3s myself, so enjoy the gift of others. I do.
Download MP3: Public Enemy – You’re Gonna Get Yours (courtesy of getthecurse.com)
Despite filling my head with music for hours on end, it persists. I rather like it. It’s there for no other reason than to give me pleasure. So suckers to tha side, I know you hate my 98. You’re gonna get yours. And yours is another gig review.
You might not have heard of this one. I do my research. I go out. Going out is fun. If you can, go out today. If you can't, then live through me. It's my treat. I love it.
MC Fashion – Tom’s Gallery
Last night, I had the great pleasure of attending Club Mayhem, at Tom's Gallery, where I caught the wonderful MC Fashion.
MC Fashion reminded me of a younger and freer Kid_Carpet, minus the children's instruments. Instead, with a laptop, guitar and wildly co-ordinated dance moves, the MC guru fused happy hardcore, ska and amphetamine laced bleeps. With pure enthusiasm, and his own brand of shouty style lyrics, MC Fashion pulled off a unique and enthralling performance. Top notch.
Fabpants Recommends:
Download MP3: MC Fashion – Pressure Drop (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: MC Fashion - Dawnin Of a Nu Era (sorry, this link has died)
Did someone request a bit of Helen Love? If MC Fashion hasn’t put you in the mood, what will?
Download MP3: Helen Love – Does Your Heart Go Boom? (courtesy of www.box.net)
It’s a golden happy hardcore oldie. It’s a great gym track. It’s an advertising whore.
I have also added the music player to all my old MP3 links, so please go back and listen. It involved some research, as some links had fallen by the way. I don't host MP3s myself, so enjoy the gift of others. I do.
Gig Review: I Have Nothing to Say about My Life
Gigs are like buses. You wait patiently for ages, and then they all come at once. My blog is going to turn into a gig diary, and you’re all going to hate me. Sorry.
I’m From Barcelona – Concorde 2
While I’m from Barcelona’s new album isn’t awash with the same gleeful pop gems as their debut, their live show remains bloody brilliant. On Wednesday night, at the Concorde 2, paper planes, giant balloons, glow sticks and confetti were rife. With a mix of songs old and new, the 12 strong band, stole a room full of hearts and melted my mind. With Soko in support, who could ask for more? Not me.
Fabpants Recommends:
Download MP3: I'm From Barcelona - Paper Planes (courtesy of nastypanda.com)
As the best band of Latitude and End of the Road 2007 - by far - I hope that 'I’m From Barcelona' will return to the UK festival scene in 2009. Pretty please.
I’m From Barcelona – Concorde 2
While I’m from Barcelona’s new album isn’t awash with the same gleeful pop gems as their debut, their live show remains bloody brilliant. On Wednesday night, at the Concorde 2, paper planes, giant balloons, glow sticks and confetti were rife. With a mix of songs old and new, the 12 strong band, stole a room full of hearts and melted my mind. With Soko in support, who could ask for more? Not me.
Fabpants Recommends:
Download MP3: I'm From Barcelona - Paper Planes (courtesy of nastypanda.com)
As the best band of Latitude and End of the Road 2007 - by far - I hope that 'I’m From Barcelona' will return to the UK festival scene in 2009. Pretty please.
Tuesday, 25 November 2008
Waltz with War
I was 10 years old when the Sabra and Shatila massacres took place. Beirut was a name synonymous with war. Films showed crumbling battle struck buildings. Dusty army tanks seemed to reign supreme. It was a place of death and destruction. I had no idea why.
In the news, stories about the IRA merged with those of Lebanon. In my head, there was little difference. They shared the fate of being poorly explained images on a TV screen. I felt robbed of a decent explanation.
It was as though I’d walked into a conversation decades in. I felt unable catch up. I was wise enough to understand that I didn’t understand. I was decisive enough to conclude that I hated politics. Politicians appeared to be manipulative bullies, and the world was their playground.
Bored by confusion, and frustrated by my own ignorance, I shut myself off from the details. What was the point in learning facts that no one could adequately account for? Without reason they were meaningless. As the acronyms and names drifted by, only the words ‘war’ and ‘death’ truly penetrated my mind.
I felt certain that the carnage could not be justified and that humankind was needlessly violent. Whatever the true history and rationalisation, there was ultimately no meaning.
Ariel Sharon was part of something that the news told me was awful. But, he was just a name. My limited knowledge was not enough to understand his place in the world or his motives. I understood that the newsreader portrayed him as a man of war. The world seemed full of men like him. I heard the daily reports, but never a summary of why they did what they did, or how they got away with it. It seemed ridiculous that such people could come to rule the world.
The Lebanese Civil War began when I was three and ended fifteen years later. By the time I was ten, the conflict was seven years in.
Summaries of the long Lebanese war raise many questions and answer few. It seems that everyone wanted a piece of the conflict. There were factions within factions, allegiances and betrayals. Even to the people involved, it seems that the situation was absurdly confusing and wildly out of control.
Much more than that, it was global. Funding and support came from all over the world. It appears that Romanians, Bulgarians, West Germans, Belgians, Israelis, Libyans and Iraqis all played a part and that the arms came from somewhere.
In 1987, Terry Waite, a British man, became a household name in England. He was our face for a civil war that was tearing apart so many lives, so many miles away. He was one of the many hostages, kidnapped and held in captivity.
On Sunday, I was reminded of the short distance that my mind has travelled. Some 26 years on, the gaping holes in my political knowledge are equally persistent and frustrating. I remain mostly ignorant about the conflicts that kill our kind. I want to learn more, but to learn more, I need the human perspective. I need to be engaged, and the facts alone can’t hold me.
For a series of news stories that frustrated me all those years ago, I now have that.
As soon as the final credits rolled, I wanted to watch Waltz with Bashir again. Real life interviews combined with striking animation presented me with that missing piece. The interviewees in the film aren’t political figures, but people that Ari Folman, the director, spent time with during the 1982 invasion of Southern Lebanon by the Israel Defense Forces. They are very human. They are very engaging.
BBC Interview with Ari Folman
The film ends sadly with the Sabra and Shatila massacres. For the assassination of Bashir Gemayel - the senior commander of the “Phalangists” Christian militia, and the President of Lebanon - the Christian militia took the lives of the Palestinian men and women that remained in the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps in Beirut. They did not spare the elderly. They did not spare the children.
The Palestinian combat fighters had already left, evacuated two weeks earlier.
Ari Folman questions his role in the deaths of the innocent.
Fabpants Recommends:
Download MP3: Fujiya & Miyagi - Knickerbocker (courtesy of rraurl.uol.com.br)
I bought a ticket to see them next week. I bought lots of tickets. It's pay day.
In the news, stories about the IRA merged with those of Lebanon. In my head, there was little difference. They shared the fate of being poorly explained images on a TV screen. I felt robbed of a decent explanation.
It was as though I’d walked into a conversation decades in. I felt unable catch up. I was wise enough to understand that I didn’t understand. I was decisive enough to conclude that I hated politics. Politicians appeared to be manipulative bullies, and the world was their playground.
Bored by confusion, and frustrated by my own ignorance, I shut myself off from the details. What was the point in learning facts that no one could adequately account for? Without reason they were meaningless. As the acronyms and names drifted by, only the words ‘war’ and ‘death’ truly penetrated my mind.
I felt certain that the carnage could not be justified and that humankind was needlessly violent. Whatever the true history and rationalisation, there was ultimately no meaning.
Ariel Sharon was part of something that the news told me was awful. But, he was just a name. My limited knowledge was not enough to understand his place in the world or his motives. I understood that the newsreader portrayed him as a man of war. The world seemed full of men like him. I heard the daily reports, but never a summary of why they did what they did, or how they got away with it. It seemed ridiculous that such people could come to rule the world.
The Lebanese Civil War began when I was three and ended fifteen years later. By the time I was ten, the conflict was seven years in.
Summaries of the long Lebanese war raise many questions and answer few. It seems that everyone wanted a piece of the conflict. There were factions within factions, allegiances and betrayals. Even to the people involved, it seems that the situation was absurdly confusing and wildly out of control.
Much more than that, it was global. Funding and support came from all over the world. It appears that Romanians, Bulgarians, West Germans, Belgians, Israelis, Libyans and Iraqis all played a part and that the arms came from somewhere.
In 1987, Terry Waite, a British man, became a household name in England. He was our face for a civil war that was tearing apart so many lives, so many miles away. He was one of the many hostages, kidnapped and held in captivity.
On Sunday, I was reminded of the short distance that my mind has travelled. Some 26 years on, the gaping holes in my political knowledge are equally persistent and frustrating. I remain mostly ignorant about the conflicts that kill our kind. I want to learn more, but to learn more, I need the human perspective. I need to be engaged, and the facts alone can’t hold me.
For a series of news stories that frustrated me all those years ago, I now have that.
As soon as the final credits rolled, I wanted to watch Waltz with Bashir again. Real life interviews combined with striking animation presented me with that missing piece. The interviewees in the film aren’t political figures, but people that Ari Folman, the director, spent time with during the 1982 invasion of Southern Lebanon by the Israel Defense Forces. They are very human. They are very engaging.
BBC Interview with Ari Folman
The film ends sadly with the Sabra and Shatila massacres. For the assassination of Bashir Gemayel - the senior commander of the “Phalangists” Christian militia, and the President of Lebanon - the Christian militia took the lives of the Palestinian men and women that remained in the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps in Beirut. They did not spare the elderly. They did not spare the children.
The Palestinian combat fighters had already left, evacuated two weeks earlier.
Ari Folman questions his role in the deaths of the innocent.
Fabpants Recommends:
Download MP3: Fujiya & Miyagi - Knickerbocker (courtesy of rraurl.uol.com.br)
I bought a ticket to see them next week. I bought lots of tickets. It's pay day.
Friday, 21 November 2008
All the Ladies in the House Say Yeah
With absolutely no inkling of its odious nature, I’ve been using an offensive term in public spaces, and not infrequently. Could you be at fault too? Are you offending people left, right and centre, and with no insight?
On Wednesday, I took part in a Diversity Training course. I didn’t learn much about diversity, but I did learn that people can be easily offended. Either that or I’m a dick. The latter might be true. I smell like sweaty old cheese and can be floppy or erect at will. I hold my hands up. I'm a dick.
It’s odd that I have such a diverse range of friends. I’m such a bigoted penis of a person. What the hell are they thinking?
Did you spot the hideously offensive word in my last blog entry? I left it there. I left it there for you, and I left it there for me. I like it and I’m stubborn. Yes, I have a lack of respect for the feelings of others and, if you are an other, you can always leave. This is Fabland and in Fabland we are all free. I welcome you with love and I wave you away with glee. Go shag a goat. Stay for crumpets and tea. Do whatever you please.
Still here? Cool. Then, let’s play Blankety Blank. It’s a comeback kind of a show.
49.76% of the world’s population are BLANKS.
BLANK is used in plural form when referring to the busiest of the single sex toilets.
In America, if the Head of State is male, then his wife is the First BLANK
There’s a pretty red winged insect and it sports amazing black spots. It is half bird (or for the Americans ‘bug’) and half BLANK. It’s a BLANKbird.
Have you got it, yet?
Yes, the missing word is ‘LADY’. But, don’t say it out loud. If you use it, you are wrong. Very wrong. Just brimming with wrongness.
Women are NOT ladies, they NEVER have been ladies and they NEVER will be ladies. You should NOT call them that. If you do, they will hit you over the head with a spade. They are women.
I go to the women’s toilet, the President’s wife is the First Woman and those wonderful spotty insects are womenbirds or womenbugs.
When called by its British English name, the ladybird finds itself with two derogatory names for a female in one. It’s a cruel world. It’s a lovely beetle.
To top it all off, the finicky, ‘words can’t evolve’, bastards are in collusion with MSWord. Every time I type ‘lady’ or ‘ladies’, it corrects me. Apparently, I should be using the terms ‘woman’, ‘women’, ‘person’ or ‘people’ and I’m fed up with it.
To me, the word ‘woman’ sounds old and haggard. I don’t want to be a woman. I have no objection to being a lady. I know which I prefer. Lady Fabpants. The word lady has a pleasant ring to it. It ends with a ‘y’, like Emily, Happy or Titty. I like words that end with a ‘y’. I even like the nastier ones, such as Junky or Robbery. They sound so friendly.
So, if I ever refer to a gaggle, throng, trick or horde of females as ‘ladies’, I’m not saying it because I think that they are elegant, refined or preoccupied with correct behaviour. I’m not saying it because I‘m obsessed with their sexual instrumentation or gender. I’m saying it, because, in my preposterous opinion, the word has a likeable ring to it. I like to use it when I’m being friendly or affectionate.
I’m not a girlie girl, but I have my limits. I like words that make a lovely sound and I like language to evolve towards them.
In that light, I might start to use the words ‘Ladies’, ‘Junkies’ and ‘Titties’ interchangeably when referring to any group of mammals, regardless of species, sex, gender, addiction or hair colour. You never know, it might catch on.
Have a good weekend everyone. Have a good weekend ladies. Have a good weekend junkies. Have a good weekend titties. Have a good weekend all.
Fabpants Recommends: Air France – No Way Down. It’s Socialist roof top music. Here’s a couple of tasters.
Download MP3: Air France - Collapsing At Your Doorstep (courtesy of polaroidallaradio.it)
Download MP3: Air France - No Excuses (courtesy of rraurl.com)
On Wednesday, I took part in a Diversity Training course. I didn’t learn much about diversity, but I did learn that people can be easily offended. Either that or I’m a dick. The latter might be true. I smell like sweaty old cheese and can be floppy or erect at will. I hold my hands up. I'm a dick.
It’s odd that I have such a diverse range of friends. I’m such a bigoted penis of a person. What the hell are they thinking?
Did you spot the hideously offensive word in my last blog entry? I left it there. I left it there for you, and I left it there for me. I like it and I’m stubborn. Yes, I have a lack of respect for the feelings of others and, if you are an other, you can always leave. This is Fabland and in Fabland we are all free. I welcome you with love and I wave you away with glee. Go shag a goat. Stay for crumpets and tea. Do whatever you please.
Still here? Cool. Then, let’s play Blankety Blank. It’s a comeback kind of a show.
49.76% of the world’s population are BLANKS.
BLANK is used in plural form when referring to the busiest of the single sex toilets.
In America, if the Head of State is male, then his wife is the First BLANK
There’s a pretty red winged insect and it sports amazing black spots. It is half bird (or for the Americans ‘bug’) and half BLANK. It’s a BLANKbird.
Have you got it, yet?
Yes, the missing word is ‘LADY’. But, don’t say it out loud. If you use it, you are wrong. Very wrong. Just brimming with wrongness.
Women are NOT ladies, they NEVER have been ladies and they NEVER will be ladies. You should NOT call them that. If you do, they will hit you over the head with a spade. They are women.
I go to the women’s toilet, the President’s wife is the First Woman and those wonderful spotty insects are womenbirds or womenbugs.
When called by its British English name, the ladybird finds itself with two derogatory names for a female in one. It’s a cruel world. It’s a lovely beetle.
To top it all off, the finicky, ‘words can’t evolve’, bastards are in collusion with MSWord. Every time I type ‘lady’ or ‘ladies’, it corrects me. Apparently, I should be using the terms ‘woman’, ‘women’, ‘person’ or ‘people’ and I’m fed up with it.
To me, the word ‘woman’ sounds old and haggard. I don’t want to be a woman. I have no objection to being a lady. I know which I prefer. Lady Fabpants. The word lady has a pleasant ring to it. It ends with a ‘y’, like Emily, Happy or Titty. I like words that end with a ‘y’. I even like the nastier ones, such as Junky or Robbery. They sound so friendly.
So, if I ever refer to a gaggle, throng, trick or horde of females as ‘ladies’, I’m not saying it because I think that they are elegant, refined or preoccupied with correct behaviour. I’m not saying it because I‘m obsessed with their sexual instrumentation or gender. I’m saying it, because, in my preposterous opinion, the word has a likeable ring to it. I like to use it when I’m being friendly or affectionate.
I’m not a girlie girl, but I have my limits. I like words that make a lovely sound and I like language to evolve towards them.
In that light, I might start to use the words ‘Ladies’, ‘Junkies’ and ‘Titties’ interchangeably when referring to any group of mammals, regardless of species, sex, gender, addiction or hair colour. You never know, it might catch on.
Have a good weekend everyone. Have a good weekend ladies. Have a good weekend junkies. Have a good weekend titties. Have a good weekend all.
Fabpants Recommends: Air France – No Way Down. It’s Socialist roof top music. Here’s a couple of tasters.
Download MP3: Air France - Collapsing At Your Doorstep (courtesy of polaroidallaradio.it)
Download MP3: Air France - No Excuses (courtesy of rraurl.com)
Tuesday, 18 November 2008
Climbing the Walls
I want to tell you about a wonderful experience that was given to me as a gift by strangers.
As a child, I loved adventure holidays. I went twice with school to the Peak District to mess about on rock faces, under the ground and on water. If you know me well, you will have heard about the long hot summers spent boating.
As an adult, I often miss these things. In many ways, my work life balance is perfect, and yet sometimes I simply ache for active fun. I have no interest in becoming a master at any sport, but I love having a go. With a cheeky grin and questionable talent, I'm up for it, as long as no one expects me to be serious.
When I discovered a free course in wall climbing, I leapt at the chance, almost literally.
During two recent Sunday evenings, I have learnt to belay, to tie a ‘figure of eight loop follow through’ knot, and to swing dramatically mid-air. A friend of mine’s recently acquired girlfriend held me safety in her hands (via a rope!) and I gave her absolute trust. It would have been no fun not too. Rather inelegantly, I even made it up the odd wall.
I like the ’figure of eight follow through’ knot, despite its stupid name. Contrary to speculation, I did not 'let one go' or 'follow through'. I like the knot because it's an elaborate version of the only sailing knot I know. My limited skills could take me far.
How and why did I get all of this free? Well, a group of super Brighton based ladies have set up a social enterprise called VertiGirls. As a member of the willie-less sex, they wanted to provide me and other women with an opportunity that might not otherwise come our way. I thank them for it. It was the best present ever.
My Geek bought me a new eye mask today. It's the best present ever. There can be more than one. It blocks out every glint of light and has a lovely cushion where it rests upon my nose.
Fabpants Recommends: Headlights - Some Racing, Some Stopping. The entire album is scattered across the World Wide Web in MP3 format. If you like it, you can buy it. Otherwise, take advantage of my search engine skills. I’m so rad.
Download MP3: 1. Get Your Head Around it (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: 2. Cherry Tulips (courtesy of the-frame.com)
Download MP3: 3. Market Girl (courtesy of chromewaves.net)
Download MP3: 4. On April 2 (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: 5. School Boys (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: 6. Some Racing, Some Stopping(sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: 7. So Much For The Afternoon(sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: 8. Catch Them All (courtesy of the-frame.com)
Download MP3: 09. Towers (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: 10. January(sorry, this link has died)
As a child, I loved adventure holidays. I went twice with school to the Peak District to mess about on rock faces, under the ground and on water. If you know me well, you will have heard about the long hot summers spent boating.
As an adult, I often miss these things. In many ways, my work life balance is perfect, and yet sometimes I simply ache for active fun. I have no interest in becoming a master at any sport, but I love having a go. With a cheeky grin and questionable talent, I'm up for it, as long as no one expects me to be serious.
When I discovered a free course in wall climbing, I leapt at the chance, almost literally.
During two recent Sunday evenings, I have learnt to belay, to tie a ‘figure of eight loop follow through’ knot, and to swing dramatically mid-air. A friend of mine’s recently acquired girlfriend held me safety in her hands (via a rope!) and I gave her absolute trust. It would have been no fun not too. Rather inelegantly, I even made it up the odd wall.
I like the ’figure of eight follow through’ knot, despite its stupid name. Contrary to speculation, I did not 'let one go' or 'follow through'. I like the knot because it's an elaborate version of the only sailing knot I know. My limited skills could take me far.
How and why did I get all of this free? Well, a group of super Brighton based ladies have set up a social enterprise called VertiGirls. As a member of the willie-less sex, they wanted to provide me and other women with an opportunity that might not otherwise come our way. I thank them for it. It was the best present ever.
My Geek bought me a new eye mask today. It's the best present ever. There can be more than one. It blocks out every glint of light and has a lovely cushion where it rests upon my nose.
Fabpants Recommends: Headlights - Some Racing, Some Stopping. The entire album is scattered across the World Wide Web in MP3 format. If you like it, you can buy it. Otherwise, take advantage of my search engine skills. I’m so rad.
Download MP3: 1. Get Your Head Around it (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: 2. Cherry Tulips (courtesy of the-frame.com)
Download MP3: 3. Market Girl (courtesy of chromewaves.net)
Download MP3: 4. On April 2 (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: 5. School Boys (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: 6. Some Racing, Some Stopping(sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: 7. So Much For The Afternoon(sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: 8. Catch Them All (courtesy of the-frame.com)
Download MP3: 09. Towers (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: 10. January(sorry, this link has died)
Sunday, 16 November 2008
Escaping Sunday School
My favourite memory of Sunday School is the collection pouch. As the cloth bag travelled around the room by its wooden handle, hands, large and small, would disappear into a private world. No one knew how much money each member of the congregation had put in. Whether someone was rich or poor, generous or mean, was a mystery. Did the adults even suspect what some of the children were doing? Were some of the adults involved in the same criminal activities?
It started with children putting their hands in, but not releasing a coin. It progressed to children funding glorious trips to the village shop with the money of others. Parents, unknowingly, stopped paying their chosen cheap rates for the childminding service of religious indoctrination, and the children made a profit from mumbling prayers. The day that a child with curly red hair, took a five-pound note from the soft velvet pouch, will forever impress me. He came with 10p and left with £5.10. He had big ginger balls. And, yes, I do remember his name.
It was more profitable than playing the stock market. It was gambling with limited risk. What was the danger? Being caught and expelled? Going to live in a nasty place in the afterlife, in a very distant future, that was impossible to comprehend and might not even exist? We had yet to figure out the full details of where babies came from, and whether Father Christmas would stop coming if we announced our longstanding knowledge that he was a big bearded myth. The afterlife was of little value. For those of us that weren’t even Christened, Sunday school was a chore and a bore. Personally, I hated it.
Then, on one glorious sunny day, my Dad made his announcement. If we could find an alternative activity for Sunday mornings, then our days of Sunday morning churchgoing were over. It was an incredibly clever tactic on my Dad’s part. The only other option in our village was to get out on the water; that is to find a boat and to sail. Within a month, four of his five children were sailing every week and seeing it as a privilege. The youngest child was too young to take himself to Sunday school and got out of it altogether. My Dad loved sailing, and instead of pushing us into sharing his hobby, he gave it to us as a treat.
It may seem odd, but the local kids didn’t play on the lake that was as big as the village itself. To get out of Sunday school, we had to develop social skills. We had to find a boat to sail in and we had to make acquaintances. None of us knew how to helm to racing standards and we didn’t want to sail with each other.
With fortuitous timing, after two weeks of hanging around at the sailing club, whilst pretending to seek activity, my older sister heard a rumour. It seemed that a young spunk called Walter Mondale was looking for a shipmate. I was a nonconformist child, with leanings towards idiotic behaviour, and it frustrated the hell out of my sister that the villagers thought I was thick. She already had a place sailing in our Dad’s beast of a boat and she wanted me to take the opportunity to get out there too. Walter was a year younger than me and my sister had a plan. She was determined that the prize was mine. She knew that I needed new friends and new chances.
It was a close shave. With two younger sisters, far from puberty, but already desperately horny, I had competition on my hands. They were confident and I was nervous. One of them wanted Walter for herself. My older, protective sister sent me forth immediately, holding my younger sister back. "You have to go and ask him" she forcefully instructed. In complete and utter fear I did. My rival was as angry as hell by my success. Despite being two years my junior, she was used to winning in the social arena. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for Walter’s older brother to be talked into taking on that challenge.
Looking back, leaving Sunday school and finding Walter was probably one of the most important moments of my life. I bravely did what I feared, and asked to be accepted. In doing so, I found a friend that I’m still very fond of to this day. Walter was friendly, self-assured and charmingly clumsy. He didn’t ask any questions and he didn’t look at me like I was a freak. He didn’t fancy me and I didn’t fancy him. He seemed to have an attitude that life just happens; if I asked, then of course the answer would be ‘yes’. It felt odd and liberating to find acceptance with no judgement. I’d spent my whole life being judged. I lived in a small village where people have nothing better to do.
And so, the age of unrivalled idiocy began.
Walter didn’t have to be a good helm and I didn’t have to be a good crew. We sang our hearts out. Walter used twee phrases such as ‘Pardon my French’, and I made plans to freak out the other racers by going the wrong way. Getting stuck in the reeds was the biggest hoot of all. In my memory, every moment that we spent sailing together is glossed with hilarity; from the time that we collided with a windsurfer and gained a great hole, to the day that we won first place by sheer fluke.
Occasionally, Walter wanted to win, and occasionally he got bossy, but, ultimately, he seemed to realise the virtue of having a crew that didn’t give a crap. He was growing like a beanstalk and loved to talk. Whatever his intention, his focus would always drift. He couldn’t let me outtalk him and I put up a good challenge. I never wore my glasses and could barely see. Walter grew more clumsy and put his knee through the woodwork. People could hear us laughing and singing raucously from miles away. Okay, and having the odd argument too.
Last night, while I was out and about, the conversation journeyed from a forthcoming Christening, to Sunday school. A concise version of my great escape from colouring in Jesus came to the fore. For a brief moment, Walter was in the pub with me, if only in my mind.
On returning home, to complete the circle, I read his blog. It was then that I discovered, that while I had been declaring to the world at large that I would never steal from Mondale (the Sunday School collection pouch was on people’s minds), and he was still a dear friend to this day, that he was publicly inviting me to a magical event. Considering that Walter and I have met up once in the last 16 years, I find the synchronicity outstanding.
I find it even odder that I have been invited to just two events next year, one on the 20th June and the other on the 21st. They are both only days before Glastonbury and many geographical miles apart. The logistical nightmare of 2009 begins. The former is a wedding in a castle. I love castles.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, the latter event is fictional, but we could make it real I'm sure. I hang out with Lord Nelson and the Duke of Edinburgh on a regular basis. I last saw Mr Cumpstey at Reclaim the Streets in 1997. It was just before I took a very public leak outside the National Gallery (not the first in that location, but the first in daylight and in company). I bumped into one of my brother's old school friends doing the same.
On a side note, they have free public toilets in Trafalgar Square these days and it has been reclaimed. There's no more catching the number 13 night bus home from the National G for me and, more regrettably, a notable absence of partying in the street protests. The violence won and ruined it for everyone. For a while it was fabulous. Truly fabulous; a million smiles from Sunday School, and not unlike sailing with Master Mondale. It too celebrated the glorious and gleeful pleasure of semi-organised chaos.
For more about Walter Mondale, you can read his childhood letters to me here:
The Letters of Walter Mondale
Fabpants Recommends: I woke up this morning and this song was in my head:
Download MP3: The Fiery Furnaces - I'm In No Mood (courtesy of dmoon.ru)
I didn’t even get drunk last night. What’s all that about?
It started with children putting their hands in, but not releasing a coin. It progressed to children funding glorious trips to the village shop with the money of others. Parents, unknowingly, stopped paying their chosen cheap rates for the childminding service of religious indoctrination, and the children made a profit from mumbling prayers. The day that a child with curly red hair, took a five-pound note from the soft velvet pouch, will forever impress me. He came with 10p and left with £5.10. He had big ginger balls. And, yes, I do remember his name.
It was more profitable than playing the stock market. It was gambling with limited risk. What was the danger? Being caught and expelled? Going to live in a nasty place in the afterlife, in a very distant future, that was impossible to comprehend and might not even exist? We had yet to figure out the full details of where babies came from, and whether Father Christmas would stop coming if we announced our longstanding knowledge that he was a big bearded myth. The afterlife was of little value. For those of us that weren’t even Christened, Sunday school was a chore and a bore. Personally, I hated it.
Then, on one glorious sunny day, my Dad made his announcement. If we could find an alternative activity for Sunday mornings, then our days of Sunday morning churchgoing were over. It was an incredibly clever tactic on my Dad’s part. The only other option in our village was to get out on the water; that is to find a boat and to sail. Within a month, four of his five children were sailing every week and seeing it as a privilege. The youngest child was too young to take himself to Sunday school and got out of it altogether. My Dad loved sailing, and instead of pushing us into sharing his hobby, he gave it to us as a treat.
It may seem odd, but the local kids didn’t play on the lake that was as big as the village itself. To get out of Sunday school, we had to develop social skills. We had to find a boat to sail in and we had to make acquaintances. None of us knew how to helm to racing standards and we didn’t want to sail with each other.
With fortuitous timing, after two weeks of hanging around at the sailing club, whilst pretending to seek activity, my older sister heard a rumour. It seemed that a young spunk called Walter Mondale was looking for a shipmate. I was a nonconformist child, with leanings towards idiotic behaviour, and it frustrated the hell out of my sister that the villagers thought I was thick. She already had a place sailing in our Dad’s beast of a boat and she wanted me to take the opportunity to get out there too. Walter was a year younger than me and my sister had a plan. She was determined that the prize was mine. She knew that I needed new friends and new chances.
It was a close shave. With two younger sisters, far from puberty, but already desperately horny, I had competition on my hands. They were confident and I was nervous. One of them wanted Walter for herself. My older, protective sister sent me forth immediately, holding my younger sister back. "You have to go and ask him" she forcefully instructed. In complete and utter fear I did. My rival was as angry as hell by my success. Despite being two years my junior, she was used to winning in the social arena. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for Walter’s older brother to be talked into taking on that challenge.
Looking back, leaving Sunday school and finding Walter was probably one of the most important moments of my life. I bravely did what I feared, and asked to be accepted. In doing so, I found a friend that I’m still very fond of to this day. Walter was friendly, self-assured and charmingly clumsy. He didn’t ask any questions and he didn’t look at me like I was a freak. He didn’t fancy me and I didn’t fancy him. He seemed to have an attitude that life just happens; if I asked, then of course the answer would be ‘yes’. It felt odd and liberating to find acceptance with no judgement. I’d spent my whole life being judged. I lived in a small village where people have nothing better to do.
And so, the age of unrivalled idiocy began.
Walter didn’t have to be a good helm and I didn’t have to be a good crew. We sang our hearts out. Walter used twee phrases such as ‘Pardon my French’, and I made plans to freak out the other racers by going the wrong way. Getting stuck in the reeds was the biggest hoot of all. In my memory, every moment that we spent sailing together is glossed with hilarity; from the time that we collided with a windsurfer and gained a great hole, to the day that we won first place by sheer fluke.
Occasionally, Walter wanted to win, and occasionally he got bossy, but, ultimately, he seemed to realise the virtue of having a crew that didn’t give a crap. He was growing like a beanstalk and loved to talk. Whatever his intention, his focus would always drift. He couldn’t let me outtalk him and I put up a good challenge. I never wore my glasses and could barely see. Walter grew more clumsy and put his knee through the woodwork. People could hear us laughing and singing raucously from miles away. Okay, and having the odd argument too.
Last night, while I was out and about, the conversation journeyed from a forthcoming Christening, to Sunday school. A concise version of my great escape from colouring in Jesus came to the fore. For a brief moment, Walter was in the pub with me, if only in my mind.
On returning home, to complete the circle, I read his blog. It was then that I discovered, that while I had been declaring to the world at large that I would never steal from Mondale (the Sunday School collection pouch was on people’s minds), and he was still a dear friend to this day, that he was publicly inviting me to a magical event. Considering that Walter and I have met up once in the last 16 years, I find the synchronicity outstanding.
I find it even odder that I have been invited to just two events next year, one on the 20th June and the other on the 21st. They are both only days before Glastonbury and many geographical miles apart. The logistical nightmare of 2009 begins. The former is a wedding in a castle. I love castles.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, the latter event is fictional, but we could make it real I'm sure. I hang out with Lord Nelson and the Duke of Edinburgh on a regular basis. I last saw Mr Cumpstey at Reclaim the Streets in 1997. It was just before I took a very public leak outside the National Gallery (not the first in that location, but the first in daylight and in company). I bumped into one of my brother's old school friends doing the same.
On a side note, they have free public toilets in Trafalgar Square these days and it has been reclaimed. There's no more catching the number 13 night bus home from the National G for me and, more regrettably, a notable absence of partying in the street protests. The violence won and ruined it for everyone. For a while it was fabulous. Truly fabulous; a million smiles from Sunday School, and not unlike sailing with Master Mondale. It too celebrated the glorious and gleeful pleasure of semi-organised chaos.
For more about Walter Mondale, you can read his childhood letters to me here:
The Letters of Walter Mondale
Fabpants Recommends: I woke up this morning and this song was in my head:
Download MP3: The Fiery Furnaces - I'm In No Mood (courtesy of dmoon.ru)
I didn’t even get drunk last night. What’s all that about?
Thursday, 13 November 2008
What Brought You Here?
Whilst spending the last few weeks living up the arsehole of an art bore, something has been gnawing at my subconscious. Should I start writing entries more in keeping with my readership? Should I start giving the people what they want?
I have StatCounter installed on my blog. It’s a wonderful thing. It tells me who visits, what brought them here, and where the hell they came from.
What follows is a selection of search terms - from the last month - that makes a readership my own:
1. sheep fucking thumbs
Search location: London, United Kingdom
2. MAGIC EYE UP THE BACK PASSAGE
Search location: United States
3. beautiful people not in reading
Search location: Reading, United Kingdom
4. How To Shoplift Primark
Search location: London, United Kingdom
5. why do girls hold their ankles when they are being throated?
Search location: London, United Kingdom
6. can your back passage come out
Search location: Peterborough, United Kingdom
I’ve actually had two hits for shoplifting in Primark. I recently met someone with a little bit of a shoplifting endorphins problem. I won’t say where they got caught in action.
So, for the sake of my readers, I must go into the field. Let me be the one to find out why girls hold their ankles while they are being throated, how to thumb fuck a sheep, and whether it is possible to insert a magic eye up your back passage without your colon falling out. If you don’t hear from me for a while, I might be in prison or hospital.
If you came here searching for ‘songs with the same chords’, ‘heroin in Glastonbury’ or ‘my eyes are dim I cannot see’, then I’m sorry. You keep coming and I keep failing to provide. I have not brought my specs with me. It's possible that I never will.
Fabpants Recommends: A bit of German pop. You are forewarned that should you get the album ‘Rest Now, Weary Head! You Will Get Well Soon’, it contains a cover of 'Born Slippy Nuxx'. In my crumbling opinion, this is a song to be avoided in any format. It kills the album.
Download MP3: Get Well Soon - Prelude (courtesy of nastypanda.com)
Download MP3: Get Well Soon - If This Hat Is Missing I Have Gone Hunting (courtesy of cityslang.com)
Download MP3: Get Well Soon - Witches! Witches! Rest Now In The Fire (courtesy of carbonmade.free.fr)
To all my readers - shoplifters, music fans, or dear friends - there is this:
Download MP3: The Beatles – From Me to You (courtesy of gaoge.wh-stuttgart.de)
I have StatCounter installed on my blog. It’s a wonderful thing. It tells me who visits, what brought them here, and where the hell they came from.
What follows is a selection of search terms - from the last month - that makes a readership my own:
1. sheep fucking thumbs
Search location: London, United Kingdom
2. MAGIC EYE UP THE BACK PASSAGE
Search location: United States
3. beautiful people not in reading
Search location: Reading, United Kingdom
4. How To Shoplift Primark
Search location: London, United Kingdom
5. why do girls hold their ankles when they are being throated?
Search location: London, United Kingdom
6. can your back passage come out
Search location: Peterborough, United Kingdom
I’ve actually had two hits for shoplifting in Primark. I recently met someone with a little bit of a shoplifting endorphins problem. I won’t say where they got caught in action.
So, for the sake of my readers, I must go into the field. Let me be the one to find out why girls hold their ankles while they are being throated, how to thumb fuck a sheep, and whether it is possible to insert a magic eye up your back passage without your colon falling out. If you don’t hear from me for a while, I might be in prison or hospital.
If you came here searching for ‘songs with the same chords’, ‘heroin in Glastonbury’ or ‘my eyes are dim I cannot see’, then I’m sorry. You keep coming and I keep failing to provide. I have not brought my specs with me. It's possible that I never will.
Fabpants Recommends: A bit of German pop. You are forewarned that should you get the album ‘Rest Now, Weary Head! You Will Get Well Soon’, it contains a cover of 'Born Slippy Nuxx'. In my crumbling opinion, this is a song to be avoided in any format. It kills the album.
Download MP3: Get Well Soon - Prelude (courtesy of nastypanda.com)
Download MP3: Get Well Soon - If This Hat Is Missing I Have Gone Hunting (courtesy of cityslang.com)
Download MP3: Get Well Soon - Witches! Witches! Rest Now In The Fire (courtesy of carbonmade.free.fr)
To all my readers - shoplifters, music fans, or dear friends - there is this:
Download MP3: The Beatles – From Me to You (courtesy of gaoge.wh-stuttgart.de)
Sunday, 9 November 2008
Grandmaster Fabpants
I spent the whole of yesterday in my pyjamas. Well, from 4am onwards. It was marvellous. I got more exercise at the Silent Disco than on a bike ride across Hungary; I deserved a pyjama day. I read, listened to Radio 4, snoozed, watched a film and played Xbox. I was never far from the duvet.
I love Silent Discos. Everyone’s on the dance floor all the time. You can take the headphones off and chat whenever you like. It’s highly sociable. There’s no room for pretentiousness. Silly dancing and sing-along’s are almost compulsory. You get hot ears, but it’s a small price to pay.
Last night, I had a dream that Amongst the Pigeons took over two pages of the NME, one with an HMV advert for the album and one with a Radar review. The pages sat side by side and I couldn’t contain my glee for the artist concerned. The image was so real, that I can still visualise the pages.
In the dream, I wondered how it might sit with him. Is this a person regularly criticises the NME for choosing it’s buzz bands and ignoring the rest? I know someone like that and I disagree with him. The cover stars are often not to my taste, and the magazine pays far too much attention to the stadium fillers, but look in the hidden corners and there are often gems.
Misty’s Big Adventure and The Death Set hide in those corners and they are both ace.
So, how pleased was I, when I found that NME had not only reviewed Misty’s Big Adventure’s new album, but had also given it an 8/10? Yes, this is real life and I was very pleased.
Fabpants Recommends: The entire Misty’s Big Adventure back catalogue. Really, listen to everything. It will make you feel better.
Here’s a newbie for you:
Download MP3: Misty’s Big Adventure’s - The Rainbow And The Cloud (sorry, this link has died)
I love Silent Discos. Everyone’s on the dance floor all the time. You can take the headphones off and chat whenever you like. It’s highly sociable. There’s no room for pretentiousness. Silly dancing and sing-along’s are almost compulsory. You get hot ears, but it’s a small price to pay.
Last night, I had a dream that Amongst the Pigeons took over two pages of the NME, one with an HMV advert for the album and one with a Radar review. The pages sat side by side and I couldn’t contain my glee for the artist concerned. The image was so real, that I can still visualise the pages.
In the dream, I wondered how it might sit with him. Is this a person regularly criticises the NME for choosing it’s buzz bands and ignoring the rest? I know someone like that and I disagree with him. The cover stars are often not to my taste, and the magazine pays far too much attention to the stadium fillers, but look in the hidden corners and there are often gems.
Misty’s Big Adventure and The Death Set hide in those corners and they are both ace.
So, how pleased was I, when I found that NME had not only reviewed Misty’s Big Adventure’s new album, but had also given it an 8/10? Yes, this is real life and I was very pleased.
Fabpants Recommends: The entire Misty’s Big Adventure back catalogue. Really, listen to everything. It will make you feel better.
Here’s a newbie for you:
Download MP3: Misty’s Big Adventure’s - The Rainbow And The Cloud (sorry, this link has died)
Thursday, 6 November 2008
I'll Cut The Smile Off Your Face
“Don't talk down to me. Don't be polite to me. Don't try to make me feel nice. Don't relax. I'll cut the smile off your face. You think I don't know what's going on. You think I'm afraid to react. The joke's on you. I'm biding my time, looking for the spot. You think no one can reach you, no one can have what you have. I've been planning while you're playing. I've been saving while you're spending. The game is almost over so it's time you acknowledge me. Do you want to fall not ever knowing who took you?”
More from Jenny Holzer from Inflammatory Essays, [no title] 1979-82
Tate Modern: Level 5 - Idea and Object. It hurts the eyes.
While I thoroughly appreciate the essay that appears in this sickly square of colour and the essay shown in Scream When Your Life Is Threatened, as a piece of art, Inflammatory Essays is quite revolting. It is inflammatory.
Talking of inflammatory materials, I, for one, actually enjoyed the Brand and Ross call Sachs radio clip. I’m no great fan of either Brand or Ross, but it genuinely made me laugh. The lewd unguarded silliness reminded me of the fantastic works of Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, otherwise known as Derek and Clive.
From Derek and Clive - Get the Horn
Clive: I tell you something. That, that religious singing reminded me of something. Did you, did you see that, er, TV coverage of the, er, Pope when he was lying in state? The, the last Pope, you know, John Paul.
Derek: Yeah.
Clive: Lying in state, on that catafalque? In those robes. It didn't half give me the horn, that. Him lying there. He looked so fucking vulnerable, didn't he? I mean, like I, I couldn't prevent myself, you know, having a wank immediately cos he looked, he looked vulnerable, he looked at, at rest and, er, somebody had, er, gone to the trouble of plucking all that hair out of his nostrils.
From Derek and Clive - Ad Nauseam
Clive: I said, "we've been married fourteen years ...
Derek: Right.
Clive: ...and you've tried a number of things. I was about to get into the Guinness Book of Records for the longest yardage of snot
Derek: Phhwww!
Clive: ...between one nostril and the wall, and you let me down. And shall I tell you what I'm going to do NOW? I'M GONNA GET THE GUINNESS BOOK OF RECORDS TO RECOGNISE ME .....
Derek: (laughs)
Clive: AS THE NUMBER ONE CUNT KICKER-IN IN THE WORLD!!" AND I SPREAD HER LEGS APART AND I PUT MY HUGE GREAT NAILED SHOES ON AND I KICKED HER! AND I KICKED HER IN THE CUNT FOR HALF A FUCKING HOUR 'TIL I WAS EXHAUSTED! AND THEN I SAID, "DOLLY! WILL YOU GET A POLAROID OF THAT?!" And the cunt wouldn't even get up!
Derek: What a CUNT!
Fabpants Recommends: It’s Ladies Night in Fab Town.
Download MP3: Speech Debelle - Speech Therapy (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: Speech Debelle - Searching (courtesy of dansolomon.com)
Download MP3: Emmy the Great - We Almost Had A Baby (courtesy of awmusic.ca)
More from Jenny Holzer from Inflammatory Essays, [no title] 1979-82
Tate Modern: Level 5 - Idea and Object. It hurts the eyes.
While I thoroughly appreciate the essay that appears in this sickly square of colour and the essay shown in Scream When Your Life Is Threatened, as a piece of art, Inflammatory Essays is quite revolting. It is inflammatory.
Talking of inflammatory materials, I, for one, actually enjoyed the Brand and Ross call Sachs radio clip. I’m no great fan of either Brand or Ross, but it genuinely made me laugh. The lewd unguarded silliness reminded me of the fantastic works of Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, otherwise known as Derek and Clive.
From Derek and Clive - Get the Horn
Clive: I tell you something. That, that religious singing reminded me of something. Did you, did you see that, er, TV coverage of the, er, Pope when he was lying in state? The, the last Pope, you know, John Paul.
Derek: Yeah.
Clive: Lying in state, on that catafalque? In those robes. It didn't half give me the horn, that. Him lying there. He looked so fucking vulnerable, didn't he? I mean, like I, I couldn't prevent myself, you know, having a wank immediately cos he looked, he looked vulnerable, he looked at, at rest and, er, somebody had, er, gone to the trouble of plucking all that hair out of his nostrils.
From Derek and Clive - Ad Nauseam
Clive: I said, "we've been married fourteen years ...
Derek: Right.
Clive: ...and you've tried a number of things. I was about to get into the Guinness Book of Records for the longest yardage of snot
Derek: Phhwww!
Clive: ...between one nostril and the wall, and you let me down. And shall I tell you what I'm going to do NOW? I'M GONNA GET THE GUINNESS BOOK OF RECORDS TO RECOGNISE ME .....
Derek: (laughs)
Clive: AS THE NUMBER ONE CUNT KICKER-IN IN THE WORLD!!" AND I SPREAD HER LEGS APART AND I PUT MY HUGE GREAT NAILED SHOES ON AND I KICKED HER! AND I KICKED HER IN THE CUNT FOR HALF A FUCKING HOUR 'TIL I WAS EXHAUSTED! AND THEN I SAID, "DOLLY! WILL YOU GET A POLAROID OF THAT?!" And the cunt wouldn't even get up!
Derek: What a CUNT!
Fabpants Recommends: It’s Ladies Night in Fab Town.
Download MP3: Speech Debelle - Speech Therapy (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: Speech Debelle - Searching (courtesy of dansolomon.com)
Download MP3: Emmy the Great - We Almost Had A Baby (courtesy of awmusic.ca)
Tuesday, 4 November 2008
As it is
Liu Wei’s ‘Love it! Bite it!’ is a model city made entirely from edible dog chews. It’s in the Saatchi Gallery. It’s probably not the best place to go walkies. Famous buildings, such as The Colosseum and The Guggenheim, are replicated to amazing levels of detail. Hove Town Hall is notably absent. It made me think of deserted cities, long abandoned by humankind. Society collapses and the city very slowly collapses. In ‘Love it! Bite it!’, even the plants are dead. Nothing has broken though the mock concrete ground. It is desolate and beautiful.
Zhang Huan’s ‘Ash Head 1’, albeit in smaller form, is what might remain of humankind if the city had been set alight or bombed. It makes me think of Hiroshima. The face looks calm in its decomposed and cindered state. Enter a meditative trance before you’re burnt alive and create a serene token to your lost life.
Galleries 1,2 and 13 are my favourites. 13 is best savoured last. Throughout the gallery, silica gel replicas of the human form are outstanding, but the works in Gallery 13 will mark my mind forever. Here 13 decrepit dictators dither about in dynamoelectric wheelchairs. They glide and collide as they drool and die. You can walk amongst them. Sun Yuan and Peng Yu 'Old Persons Home' is a place that anyone can visit.
Harold Pinter’s ‘No Man’s Land’ completed my Gloomy Saturday. As the rain hammered down outside, tube trains rattled by. Was that my imagination? Does the underground pass through the Duke of York Theatre?
The long monologues and low lighting made me comfortable and sleepy. I drifted away from the words, caught myself and tried to come back. My head lolled back. For a moment, sleep took me. The word CUNT doesn’t shock me. Old women tutted. Meanwhile, I desperately tried to blink myself into a wakeful state. This is not a criticism of the play. In many ways, I loved it. I am eager to read the script. There were some beautiful lines. It felt like there was little plot, but great atmosphere. It was all so wonderfully bleak and meaningless, to the point of giving meaning to nothing much at all.
At times, the wordplay and repetition was tiresome. At times, it stunned.
Michael Gambon should always have more lines, or perhaps he should play all parts. I watched BBC’s The Singing Detective series earlier this year, and singing moments aside, it was a work of brilliance.
Fabpants Recommends:
In keeping with this blog, here is bleak and beautiful tune. You may know it well.
Download MP3: Billie Holiday – Gloomy Sunday (courtesy of skr3amy.free.fr)
Zhang Huan’s ‘Ash Head 1’, albeit in smaller form, is what might remain of humankind if the city had been set alight or bombed. It makes me think of Hiroshima. The face looks calm in its decomposed and cindered state. Enter a meditative trance before you’re burnt alive and create a serene token to your lost life.
Galleries 1,2 and 13 are my favourites. 13 is best savoured last. Throughout the gallery, silica gel replicas of the human form are outstanding, but the works in Gallery 13 will mark my mind forever. Here 13 decrepit dictators dither about in dynamoelectric wheelchairs. They glide and collide as they drool and die. You can walk amongst them. Sun Yuan and Peng Yu 'Old Persons Home' is a place that anyone can visit.
Harold Pinter’s ‘No Man’s Land’ completed my Gloomy Saturday. As the rain hammered down outside, tube trains rattled by. Was that my imagination? Does the underground pass through the Duke of York Theatre?
The long monologues and low lighting made me comfortable and sleepy. I drifted away from the words, caught myself and tried to come back. My head lolled back. For a moment, sleep took me. The word CUNT doesn’t shock me. Old women tutted. Meanwhile, I desperately tried to blink myself into a wakeful state. This is not a criticism of the play. In many ways, I loved it. I am eager to read the script. There were some beautiful lines. It felt like there was little plot, but great atmosphere. It was all so wonderfully bleak and meaningless, to the point of giving meaning to nothing much at all.
At times, the wordplay and repetition was tiresome. At times, it stunned.
Michael Gambon should always have more lines, or perhaps he should play all parts. I watched BBC’s The Singing Detective series earlier this year, and singing moments aside, it was a work of brilliance.
Fabpants Recommends:
In keeping with this blog, here is bleak and beautiful tune. You may know it well.
Download MP3: Billie Holiday – Gloomy Sunday (courtesy of skr3amy.free.fr)
Friday, 31 October 2008
There Were Dead Bodies Everywhere In My Village
If you are a fan of photographic art, I thoroughly recommend a trip to the National Theatre on the Southbank. Outside is a free exhibition of Rankin’s photographs of the Mugunga camp in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Approximately, 17,000 people live in the camp on the outskirts of Goma. Entitled 'Cheka Kidogo', Rankin’s exhibition - in partnership with Oxfam - aims to raise the profile of the humanitarian crisis in the DRC. While it has achieved its aim in press inches alone, I felt sad to watch the video pleas for help. One woman presumed that if so much effort was going into taking the photographs, then it must mean that the world might step in, resolve their problems, and help them home. I fear that too much optimism will lead to disappointment.
You can currently see a selection of the photograph’s on Oxfam’s’ website: Oxfam - Cheka Kidogo
Rehema Buera, 52. Restaurant owner
“I lost my husband and four of my children because of this war. After the attack, there were dead bodies everywhere in my village. I found the dead bodies of my husband and my four eldest children – all shot in the head. That day, 175 people from my village were murdered.”
Seraphine, 42. Entrepreneur
“I came from Rutshuru in Katwiguru. My own husband was killed in front of my eyes. There is still no peace in Rutshuru. Laurent Nkunda (leader of CNDP) is still oppressing us. We lived with the Interahamwe and there was no problem with them. But when Laurent Nkunda came, we started suffering a lot. He shot many people. Many people. Please help us get rid of those enemies so that we can go back to home. That is what we want. If you help us with this, really, we can finally heal."
Furaha Vumilia, 65. Basket maker
“It takes two weeks to make a basket – but it only sells for 260 francs (25p). How can you work for two weeks to make 25p? I fled when the war came. People were throwing bombs into our houses. I was living with my son. He and his wife were killed. I fled with my two grandsons. One is 15 and the other 13. They are orphans now.”
Alexis Ruangu, 29. Hunter – from a Pygmy tribe
“I know someone from my village who was castrated by the rebels. This war has scared us a lot – it has really affected us. I can’t say if we will ever return home. We are afraid that if we go back we will be killed. Pygmies move around the forest. We hunt, and look for honey and potatoes. My family’s not used to staying in one place, living among so many people.”
Oxfam tell us that “since 1998, the country has lost 5.4 million people to conflict, and the deadly disease and hunger that it has unleashed. Over a million people are displaced in the eastern part of the country, with over 500,000 people having fled from violence in the last year alone. Rape is epidemic. This year more than 1,100 women a month have reported being raped, although the real figure is likely to be much higher.”
Another excellent photographic journal of the camp is shared by Julien Harneis, Unicef worker, on Flickr. If you watch it as a slide show, I suggest that you turn ‘info’ on and pause to read the text.
Fabpants Recommends: Last night I went to see Neon Neon, with Yo! Majesty as support. I was grinning from ear to ear when Neon Neon, Yo Majesty! and Har Mar Superstar took the stage together for Sweat Shop. Har Mar Superstar also sang an entire song while stood on his head. Yo! Majesty looked impressed, Gruff Rhys looked delighted and Cate Le Bon looked stunning.
Download MP3: Neon Neon - I Lust You (courtesy of saladdaysmusic.net)
As for the encore, I recognised this short video from the End of the Road Festival cinema tent:
You can currently see a selection of the photograph’s on Oxfam’s’ website: Oxfam - Cheka Kidogo
Rehema Buera, 52. Restaurant owner
“I lost my husband and four of my children because of this war. After the attack, there were dead bodies everywhere in my village. I found the dead bodies of my husband and my four eldest children – all shot in the head. That day, 175 people from my village were murdered.”
Seraphine, 42. Entrepreneur
“I came from Rutshuru in Katwiguru. My own husband was killed in front of my eyes. There is still no peace in Rutshuru. Laurent Nkunda (leader of CNDP) is still oppressing us. We lived with the Interahamwe and there was no problem with them. But when Laurent Nkunda came, we started suffering a lot. He shot many people. Many people. Please help us get rid of those enemies so that we can go back to home. That is what we want. If you help us with this, really, we can finally heal."
Furaha Vumilia, 65. Basket maker
“It takes two weeks to make a basket – but it only sells for 260 francs (25p). How can you work for two weeks to make 25p? I fled when the war came. People were throwing bombs into our houses. I was living with my son. He and his wife were killed. I fled with my two grandsons. One is 15 and the other 13. They are orphans now.”
Alexis Ruangu, 29. Hunter – from a Pygmy tribe
“I know someone from my village who was castrated by the rebels. This war has scared us a lot – it has really affected us. I can’t say if we will ever return home. We are afraid that if we go back we will be killed. Pygmies move around the forest. We hunt, and look for honey and potatoes. My family’s not used to staying in one place, living among so many people.”
Oxfam tell us that “since 1998, the country has lost 5.4 million people to conflict, and the deadly disease and hunger that it has unleashed. Over a million people are displaced in the eastern part of the country, with over 500,000 people having fled from violence in the last year alone. Rape is epidemic. This year more than 1,100 women a month have reported being raped, although the real figure is likely to be much higher.”
Another excellent photographic journal of the camp is shared by Julien Harneis, Unicef worker, on Flickr. If you watch it as a slide show, I suggest that you turn ‘info’ on and pause to read the text.
Fabpants Recommends: Last night I went to see Neon Neon, with Yo! Majesty as support. I was grinning from ear to ear when Neon Neon, Yo Majesty! and Har Mar Superstar took the stage together for Sweat Shop. Har Mar Superstar also sang an entire song while stood on his head. Yo! Majesty looked impressed, Gruff Rhys looked delighted and Cate Le Bon looked stunning.
Download MP3: Neon Neon - I Lust You (courtesy of saladdaysmusic.net)
As for the encore, I recognised this short video from the End of the Road Festival cinema tent:
Thursday, 30 October 2008
I’m A Normalite
The highlight of my week so far has been the most fantastic experience of seeing Davina Maccoll in zombie form. Since the days of 3am airings of ‘God’s Gift’, back in the day, Davina has been working towards this role. This is the role she was born for.
Dead Set is an amazing new series by Charlie Brooker. While I am not a fan of all his works, this is the best televisual programme that I have seen in a very long time. Yes, that means it trumps 'The Wire'.
Anyone who knows me well, the wonderful fools, will know that I visited the cinema twice in three days to watch the remake of Dawn of the Dead (this link is not for the faint hearted). There are no prizes for guessing which film inspired 'Dead Set'. Oh, the thrills, the spills and the belly aches.
For those of you yet to make the discovery, Dead Set is a zombie version of Big Brother. The vacuous nature of Big Brother contestants and fans is portrayed faultlessly. Not only does the show turn Big Brother into a gorefest of zombie mayhem, it is fantastically scripted and directed . I shouldn’t be shocked that a British comedy series has been made to such exceedingly high standards, but I am. That makes me love it all the more.
Apparently, there are cameos by real Big Brother contestants. They will be lost on me.
Don't shoot. I'm a normal person.
I’m a Normalite.
Fabpants Recommends
The Old School:
Download MP3: Depth Charge - Dead by Dawn (sorry, this link has died)
And the best ever, jolliest zombie track of all:
Download MP3: Herbert Chappell - The Gonk (courtesy of eccentric-cinema.com)
Dead Set is an amazing new series by Charlie Brooker. While I am not a fan of all his works, this is the best televisual programme that I have seen in a very long time. Yes, that means it trumps 'The Wire'.
Anyone who knows me well, the wonderful fools, will know that I visited the cinema twice in three days to watch the remake of Dawn of the Dead (this link is not for the faint hearted). There are no prizes for guessing which film inspired 'Dead Set'. Oh, the thrills, the spills and the belly aches.
For those of you yet to make the discovery, Dead Set is a zombie version of Big Brother. The vacuous nature of Big Brother contestants and fans is portrayed faultlessly. Not only does the show turn Big Brother into a gorefest of zombie mayhem, it is fantastically scripted and directed . I shouldn’t be shocked that a British comedy series has been made to such exceedingly high standards, but I am. That makes me love it all the more.
Apparently, there are cameos by real Big Brother contestants. They will be lost on me.
Don't shoot. I'm a normal person.
I’m a Normalite.
Fabpants Recommends
The Old School:
Download MP3: Depth Charge - Dead by Dawn (sorry, this link has died)
And the best ever, jolliest zombie track of all:
Download MP3: Herbert Chappell - The Gonk (courtesy of eccentric-cinema.com)
Tuesday, 28 October 2008
Black Magic
In Level 3 of the Tate, Material Gestures - a room full of Contemporary Paintings - serves to impress. The use of collage and non-traditional materials is striking. I didn’t visit every room at the Tate, but of those that I did visit, this room impressed me the most. I won't recommend viewing the artwork on the Tate website to form an impression. It would be pointless. The use of texture to create a stunning visual effects will be lost.
These were my favourites:
Mark Bradford - Los Moscos 2004. This reflects the grit of urban living. I’ve never been to Los Angeles, the inspiration for this work. Instead, it reminds me of Berlin.
Raqib Shaw - Jane 2006. The gory faces are brilliant. What would Jane Seymour think?
Ellen Gallagher - Bird in Hand 2006. The evil peg leg’s hair is something to behold.
Wangechi Mutu - You were always on my mind 2007. Like a parasitic growth you were always on my mind.
Albert Oehlen - Loa 2007. Techno, techno, techno. Black metal techno.
Michael Raedecker - overnight 1998. Check out the ripples in the sand.
Fabpants Recommends: The All New Adventures Of Us: Best Loved Good Night Tales
Download MP3: The All New Adventures Of Us - 45 Forever (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: The All New Adventures Of Us - The Art Of The High Five (sorry, this link has died)
These were my favourites:
Mark Bradford - Los Moscos 2004. This reflects the grit of urban living. I’ve never been to Los Angeles, the inspiration for this work. Instead, it reminds me of Berlin.
Raqib Shaw - Jane 2006. The gory faces are brilliant. What would Jane Seymour think?
Ellen Gallagher - Bird in Hand 2006. The evil peg leg’s hair is something to behold.
Wangechi Mutu - You were always on my mind 2007. Like a parasitic growth you were always on my mind.
Albert Oehlen - Loa 2007. Techno, techno, techno. Black metal techno.
Michael Raedecker - overnight 1998. Check out the ripples in the sand.
Fabpants Recommends: The All New Adventures Of Us: Best Loved Good Night Tales
Download MP3: The All New Adventures Of Us - 45 Forever (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: The All New Adventures Of Us - The Art Of The High Five (sorry, this link has died)
Monday, 27 October 2008
Scream When Your Life is Threatened
“Shriek when the pain hits during interrogation.
Reach into the dark ages to find a sound that is liquid horror, a sound of the brink where man stops and the beast and nameless cruel forces begin.
Scream when your life is threatened.
Form a noise so true that your tormentor recognizes it as a voice that lives in his own throat.
The true sound tells him that he cuts his flesh when he cuts yours, that he cannot thrive after he tortures you.
Scream that he destroys all the kindness in you and blackens every vision you could have shown him.”
Jenny Holzer from Inflammatory Essays, [no title] 1979-82
See it in gory colours at the Tate Modern: Level 5 - Idea and Object. It hurts the eyes.
Fabpants Recommends: Pocketbooks – Proofreading. Sometimes all we need is a bit of twee pop. This band give away their music for free, here’s 4 tracks from the album:
Download MP3: 01. Pocketbooks - It Started with Squares
Download MP3: 02. Pocketbooks - Running Circles
Download MP3: 04. Pocketbooks - A Picture Waiting For a Frame
Download MP3: 08. Pocketbooks - Every Good Time We Ever Had
Here’s a more recent release:
Download MP3: Pocketbooks - Don’t Stop
Reach into the dark ages to find a sound that is liquid horror, a sound of the brink where man stops and the beast and nameless cruel forces begin.
Scream when your life is threatened.
Form a noise so true that your tormentor recognizes it as a voice that lives in his own throat.
The true sound tells him that he cuts his flesh when he cuts yours, that he cannot thrive after he tortures you.
Scream that he destroys all the kindness in you and blackens every vision you could have shown him.”
Jenny Holzer from Inflammatory Essays, [no title] 1979-82
See it in gory colours at the Tate Modern: Level 5 - Idea and Object. It hurts the eyes.
Fabpants Recommends: Pocketbooks – Proofreading. Sometimes all we need is a bit of twee pop. This band give away their music for free, here’s 4 tracks from the album:
Download MP3: 01. Pocketbooks - It Started with Squares
Download MP3: 02. Pocketbooks - Running Circles
Download MP3: 04. Pocketbooks - A Picture Waiting For a Frame
Download MP3: 08. Pocketbooks - Every Good Time We Ever Had
Here’s a more recent release:
Download MP3: Pocketbooks - Don’t Stop
Sunday, 26 October 2008
City Dwellers Dressed Up Like Europeans
I went to the Tate Modern again on Saturday, as part of another big day out in London. It was a fantastic day and I mainly want to tell you that I absolutely love this photo:
Seydou Keïta - Untitled 1952-1955 / 1995
It was the highlight of my day.
The work of Seydou Keïta deserves the accolade. You can view all of the Seydou Keïta photographs displayed at the Tate Modern via the Tate website and step into Mali 1949-1960, or thereabouts:
Seydou Keïta at Tate Modern
If you want easier viewing access, you can try these websites for two different, but similar collections:
Seydou Keïta at African Imagery
Seydou Keïta at CAACART
Keïta’s amazing story is told here alongside some of his works:
Seydou Keïta at Ego Design
Fabpants Recommends: Herman Dune has a new album out. Here are some tasters from 'Next Year in Zion' (courtesy of nastypanda.com):
Download MP3: Herman Dune - Try To Think About Me
Download MP3: Herman Dune - On A Saturday
Download MP3: Herman Dune - Next Year in Zion
Seydou Keïta - Untitled 1952-1955 / 1995
It was the highlight of my day.
The work of Seydou Keïta deserves the accolade. You can view all of the Seydou Keïta photographs displayed at the Tate Modern via the Tate website and step into Mali 1949-1960, or thereabouts:
Seydou Keïta at Tate Modern
If you want easier viewing access, you can try these websites for two different, but similar collections:
Seydou Keïta at African Imagery
Seydou Keïta at CAACART
Keïta’s amazing story is told here alongside some of his works:
Seydou Keïta at Ego Design
Fabpants Recommends: Herman Dune has a new album out. Here are some tasters from 'Next Year in Zion' (courtesy of nastypanda.com):
Download MP3: Herman Dune - Try To Think About Me
Download MP3: Herman Dune - On A Saturday
Download MP3: Herman Dune - Next Year in Zion
Wednesday, 22 October 2008
Just White Air and Waiting
Henry Chinaski, in many ways, is your typical outsider. He's depressed. He likes to be alone. He hates his parents.
He might be an outsider, but he's not sensitive. He's tough. He could knock seven shades of shit out of you. Even if he couldn’t, he’d have a damn good go. If you beat him unconscious, he’d still come back for more.
Below are some excerpts from Charles Bukowski’s 'Ham on Rye' (1982). If you want to find out how tough he is, read the book. For now, it’s all just white air and waiting.
-
“The first thing I remember is being under something. It was a table, I saw a table leg, I saw the legs of the people, and a portion of the tablecloth hanging down. It was dark under there, I liked being under there. It must have been in Germany. I must have been between one and two years old. It was 1922. I felt good under the table. Nobody seemed to know that I was there. There was sunlight upon the rug and on the legs of the people. I liked the sunlight. The legs of the people were not interesting, not like the tablecloth which hung down, not like the table leg, not like the sunlight.”
-
“The first children of my age that I knew were in kindergarten. They seemed strange, they laughed and talked and seemed happy. I didn’t like them. I always felt as if I was going to be sick, to vomit, and the air seemed strangely still and white... One problem I had was going to the bathroom. I always needed to go to the bathroom, but I was ashamed to let the others know that I had to go, so I held it. It was really terrible to hold it. And the air was white, I felt like vomiting, I felt like shitting and pissing, but I didn’t say anything. And when some of the others came back from the bathroom I’d think, you’re dirty, you did something in there...
The little girls were nice in their short dresses, with their long hair and beautiful eyes, but I thought, they do things in there too, even though they pretend they don’t.
Kindergarten was mostly white air...”
-
“We went down into a cellar, under the house. It was dark and damp and we stood a while until our eyes grew used to the gloom. Then I could see a number of barrels.
'These barrels are full of different kinds of wine', Baldy said...
I put my mouth under the spigot and opened it. A smelly liquid trickled out and into my mouth. I spit it out.
'Don't be chicken! Swallow it, what the shit!'
I opened the spigot and I opened my mouth. The smelly liquid entered and I swallowed it. I turned off the spigot and stood there. I thought I was going to puke.
'Now, you drink some', I said to Baldy.
'Sure', he said, 'I ain't fucking afraid!'
He got down under a barrel and took a good swallow. A little punk like that wasn't going to outdo me. I got under another barrel, opened it and took a swallow. I stood up. I was beginning to feel good.
'Hey, Baldy', I said, "I like this stuff."
'Well, shit, try some more.'
I tried some more. It was tasting better. I was feeling better... Never had I felt so good. It was better than masturbating. I went from barrel to barrel. It was magic. Why hadn't someone told me? With this, life was great, a man was perfect, nothing could touch him.
I stood up straight and looked at Baldy.
‘Where’s your mother? I’m going to fuck your mother!’”
-
“’Let’s go’ said my father, and I walked into the bathroom.
He got the strop down.
‘Take down your pants and shorts’, he said.
I didn’t do it. He reached in front of me, yanked my belt open, unbuttoned me and yanked my pants down. He pulled down my shorts. The strop landed. It was the same, the same explosive sound, the same pain.
‘You’re going to kill your mother!’ he screamed.
He hit me again. But the tears weren’t coming. My eyes were strangely dry. I thought about killing him. That there must be a way to kill him. In a couple of years I could beat him to death. But I wanted him now. He wasn’t much of anything. I must have been adopted.”
-
“I walked back into the bedroom and got into bed and pulled the covers to my throat. I looked up at the ceiling as I talked to myself.
All right, God, say that You are really there. You have put me in this fix. You want to test me. Suppose I test You? Suppose I say that You are not there? You’ve given me a supreme test with my parents and with these boils. I think that I have passed Your test. I am tougher than You. If You will come down here right now, I will spit into Your face, if You have a face. And do You shit? The priest never answered that question. He told us not to doubt. Doubt what? I think that You have been picking on me too much so I am asking You to some down here so I can put You to the test!”
-
Gathered around me were the weak instead of the strong, the ugly instead of the beautiful, the losers instead of the winners. It looked like it was my destiny to travel in their company through life. That didn’t bother me so much as the fact that I seemed irresistible to these dull idiot fellows. I was like a turd that drew flies instead of like a flower that butterflies and bees desired. I wanted to live alone, I felt best being alone, cleaner, yet I was not clever enough to rid myself of them”
-
“I made practice runs down to skid row to get ready for my future, I didn’t like what I saw down there. I didn’t like what I saw down there. Those men and women had no special daring or brilliance. They wanted what everyone else wanted. There was also some obvious mental cases down there who were allowed to walk the street undisturbed. I had noticed that both in the very poor and rich extremes of society the mad were often allowed to mingle freely. I knew that I wasn’t entirely sane. I still knew, as I had as a child, that there was something strange about myself...
Sitting there drinking, I considered suicide, but I felt a strange fondness for my boy, my life. Scarred as they were, they were mine... It was felt to sit alone in a small space and smoke and drink. I had always been good company for myself.”
Fabpants Recommends: I’ve been writing this blog whilst listening to Horse Stories album 'Everyone's a Photographer'. My Geek had never heard it before. He liked it. My Geek rarely likes music that he hasn’t heard before.
Download MP3: Horse Stories - Lies (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: Horse Stories - Bloody Time Of The Year (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: Horse Stories - You Explained Away (sorry, this link has died)
He might be an outsider, but he's not sensitive. He's tough. He could knock seven shades of shit out of you. Even if he couldn’t, he’d have a damn good go. If you beat him unconscious, he’d still come back for more.
Below are some excerpts from Charles Bukowski’s 'Ham on Rye' (1982). If you want to find out how tough he is, read the book. For now, it’s all just white air and waiting.
-
“The first thing I remember is being under something. It was a table, I saw a table leg, I saw the legs of the people, and a portion of the tablecloth hanging down. It was dark under there, I liked being under there. It must have been in Germany. I must have been between one and two years old. It was 1922. I felt good under the table. Nobody seemed to know that I was there. There was sunlight upon the rug and on the legs of the people. I liked the sunlight. The legs of the people were not interesting, not like the tablecloth which hung down, not like the table leg, not like the sunlight.”
-
“The first children of my age that I knew were in kindergarten. They seemed strange, they laughed and talked and seemed happy. I didn’t like them. I always felt as if I was going to be sick, to vomit, and the air seemed strangely still and white... One problem I had was going to the bathroom. I always needed to go to the bathroom, but I was ashamed to let the others know that I had to go, so I held it. It was really terrible to hold it. And the air was white, I felt like vomiting, I felt like shitting and pissing, but I didn’t say anything. And when some of the others came back from the bathroom I’d think, you’re dirty, you did something in there...
The little girls were nice in their short dresses, with their long hair and beautiful eyes, but I thought, they do things in there too, even though they pretend they don’t.
Kindergarten was mostly white air...”
-
“We went down into a cellar, under the house. It was dark and damp and we stood a while until our eyes grew used to the gloom. Then I could see a number of barrels.
'These barrels are full of different kinds of wine', Baldy said...
I put my mouth under the spigot and opened it. A smelly liquid trickled out and into my mouth. I spit it out.
'Don't be chicken! Swallow it, what the shit!'
I opened the spigot and I opened my mouth. The smelly liquid entered and I swallowed it. I turned off the spigot and stood there. I thought I was going to puke.
'Now, you drink some', I said to Baldy.
'Sure', he said, 'I ain't fucking afraid!'
He got down under a barrel and took a good swallow. A little punk like that wasn't going to outdo me. I got under another barrel, opened it and took a swallow. I stood up. I was beginning to feel good.
'Hey, Baldy', I said, "I like this stuff."
'Well, shit, try some more.'
I tried some more. It was tasting better. I was feeling better... Never had I felt so good. It was better than masturbating. I went from barrel to barrel. It was magic. Why hadn't someone told me? With this, life was great, a man was perfect, nothing could touch him.
I stood up straight and looked at Baldy.
‘Where’s your mother? I’m going to fuck your mother!’”
-
“’Let’s go’ said my father, and I walked into the bathroom.
He got the strop down.
‘Take down your pants and shorts’, he said.
I didn’t do it. He reached in front of me, yanked my belt open, unbuttoned me and yanked my pants down. He pulled down my shorts. The strop landed. It was the same, the same explosive sound, the same pain.
‘You’re going to kill your mother!’ he screamed.
He hit me again. But the tears weren’t coming. My eyes were strangely dry. I thought about killing him. That there must be a way to kill him. In a couple of years I could beat him to death. But I wanted him now. He wasn’t much of anything. I must have been adopted.”
-
“I walked back into the bedroom and got into bed and pulled the covers to my throat. I looked up at the ceiling as I talked to myself.
All right, God, say that You are really there. You have put me in this fix. You want to test me. Suppose I test You? Suppose I say that You are not there? You’ve given me a supreme test with my parents and with these boils. I think that I have passed Your test. I am tougher than You. If You will come down here right now, I will spit into Your face, if You have a face. And do You shit? The priest never answered that question. He told us not to doubt. Doubt what? I think that You have been picking on me too much so I am asking You to some down here so I can put You to the test!”
-
Gathered around me were the weak instead of the strong, the ugly instead of the beautiful, the losers instead of the winners. It looked like it was my destiny to travel in their company through life. That didn’t bother me so much as the fact that I seemed irresistible to these dull idiot fellows. I was like a turd that drew flies instead of like a flower that butterflies and bees desired. I wanted to live alone, I felt best being alone, cleaner, yet I was not clever enough to rid myself of them”
-
“I made practice runs down to skid row to get ready for my future, I didn’t like what I saw down there. I didn’t like what I saw down there. Those men and women had no special daring or brilliance. They wanted what everyone else wanted. There was also some obvious mental cases down there who were allowed to walk the street undisturbed. I had noticed that both in the very poor and rich extremes of society the mad were often allowed to mingle freely. I knew that I wasn’t entirely sane. I still knew, as I had as a child, that there was something strange about myself...
Sitting there drinking, I considered suicide, but I felt a strange fondness for my boy, my life. Scarred as they were, they were mine... It was felt to sit alone in a small space and smoke and drink. I had always been good company for myself.”
Fabpants Recommends: I’ve been writing this blog whilst listening to Horse Stories album 'Everyone's a Photographer'. My Geek had never heard it before. He liked it. My Geek rarely likes music that he hasn’t heard before.
Download MP3: Horse Stories - Lies (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: Horse Stories - Bloody Time Of The Year (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: Horse Stories - You Explained Away (sorry, this link has died)
Thursday, 16 October 2008
Children of the Ashes
“The bridge was half destroyed, and hung in flames into the river. So I ran to the iron railway bridge, a hundred yards downstream. The wooden sleepers were burning here too, but I ran along the red-hot metal rails. On the far side crowds of maddened people were running like demented lemmings, trying to get across the river. They were screaming, and it sounded like one enormous voice. In the middle of the bridge lay four or five bodies, unrecognizable as human beings, but still moving. Then- skin hung from them like strands of dark seaweed! Instead of noses, holes! Their ears and hands were so swollen as to be shapeless. One of them falls off the bridge! Now another! And then one after the other they tumble into the river, helplessly exhausted. They drowned, and made no attempt to save themselves. But there were still fifty or sixty clinging to the red-hot rails. In their terror of dying they clawed their way over one another, their eyes hanging from their sockets, pushing one another into the river, and screaming all the time.
Somehow I got across the railway bridge, but on the far bank there were mountains of corpses blocking the way forward. These people must have been chased by die roaring tongues of flame that caught them here. They were still burning. I thought that they were all dead, but now they began to whimper. A woman was calling for her husband. A mother for her child. And the flames sprang to life again andgripped them pitilessly. My own eyebrows were singed, my hands and my face burning. My only thought was that I must get out of here, somehow, anyhow. I must fight my way through the corpses. I pushed them aside, pulling on a head to clear a passage. "Zuru, zuru" .., This contact with my hands was loathsome. The skin on the face stuck to my palms. Beneath the skin was something yellowish. I was trembling all over, and I dropped the dead man's head, tried to push his hand aside in order that I might get through ... and that hand was nothing but bones beneath charred flesh, and the skin off his face still stuck to me.
I climbed on top of a pile of corpses. Layer upon layer of them. Some were still moving, still alive. I had to get over them. I had to climb over. There was no way of getting through. I can still hear the cracking of their bones. At last the mountain of the dead lay behind me. One of my feet was aching horribly. Only now did I notice that I had lost a shoe. My bare sole had been cut by glass splinters and was bleeding. An open water tank, against air raids. I buried my face in it. The water was boiling hot. I began to feel faint. And thirst, such a thirst. There was no drop of sweat on my desiccated body, but it was covered in blood and bits of strangers' skin. I reeled and wanted to vomit. I took hold of myself and automatically picked out the little stones that had got into the wounds on my feet. Now the wounds began to bleed again from horrible, black gashes. And the little stones were in them again. There was no sense in taking them out. Up to then I had at least been able to breathe and moan and shout. But now my throat was so parched that I could scarcely utter a sound. When I tried to shout it was as though my throat was pierced by a thousand needles being driven into an open wound. I mustn't think about the pain! I must run, run, run, that was all - run for my life.”
From the ‘Diary and Recollections of Kazuo M.’ as published in ‘Children of the Ashes: The People of Hiroshima After The Bomb’ By Robert Jungk (1985)
Fabpants Recommends: Pivot's debut album 'O Soundtrack My Heart'. It has now sound tracked the words of 'Kazuo M' and his recollections of Hiroshima just after the bomb. For me, the words and music worked well together. The tragedy of a flattened city, where civilians fought for their lives and failed to do so in their thousands, is hard to comprehend. The music helped me to visualise it like an archived film. It helped to bring home the horror. It is hard to think of the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki as anything but stories. We have to remember that they were real and we have to remember that they were awful.
Download MP3: Pivot - Fool In Rain (courtesy of porkpiesuperman.com)
What follows is a series of excellent podcasts by Pivot:
Download MP3: Pivot - O Download My Heart - Ep1 - Cosmic Gods of Synth
01. Van Halen - 1984 [1984]
02. Vangelis - Main Titles [OST: Blade Runner]
03. Jean Michel Jarre - Oxygene IV [Oxygene]
04. Tonto's Expanding Headband - Ferryboat
05. David Bowie - Warszawa [Low]
06. Pink Floyd - On The Run [Dark Side Of The Moon]
07. Klaus Schulze - Floating [Moondawn]
08. Kitaro - Flight [The Best of Ten Years 1976-1986]
09. Vangelis - Spiral [Spiral]
10. Kitaro - Mororism [Oasis]
11. John Carpenter - Main Titles [Assault On Precinct 13]
12. Brian Eno - 2/2 [Ambient 1: Music For Airports]
Yes, this is a retro ambient selection, and happily for me, it excludes 'Aphex Twin'.
Download MP3: O Download My Heart - Ep2 - Australian Music
01. The Drones - Shark Fin Blues [Wait Long By The River and Watch The Bodies of Your Enemies Float By]
02. Grinderman - No Pussy Blues [Grinderman]
03. Augie March - Cold Acre [Moo, You Bloody Choir]
04. Qua - On Clouds [Painting Monsters On Clouds]
05. The Necks - He Led Them Into the World [The Boys]
06. Jack Ladder - Once In A Lifetime [Not Worth Waiting For (Single)]
07. Phil Slater - The Chance [Strobe Coma Virgo]
08. Snowman - We Are The Plague [The Horse, The Rat and The Swan]
09. Matt Rosner - Dissolve [Morning Tones]
Nick Cave lives a stone's throw from me, quite literally, but it seems that the Aussies still class Grinderman as a band of their own. Good for them. But he's my neighbour and not theirs!
Download MP3: O Download My Heart - Ep3 - 13 Autobahn Favourites
01. Cluster - Hollywood [Zuckerzeit]
02. Neu! - Hallogallo [Neu 1]
03. Flanger - Studio Tan [Templates]
04. Roedelius - Veilchenwurzeln [Wenn Der Sudwind Weht]
05. Andrew Pekler - Rockslide [Cue]
06. Farben - Live at the Saraha Tahoe 1973 [Textstar]
07. Kraftwerk - The Model [Man Machine]
08. Moebius - Transport [Tonspuren]
09. Oval - Textuell [Systemisch]
10. Isolee - Rest [Rest]
11. Moebius/Plank - Tolkuhn [Material]
12. Can - Mushroom [Tago Mago]
13. Tangerine Dream - Mysterious Semblance At The Strand Of Nightmares [Phaedra]
Oddly enough, I listened to Tangerine Dream's 'From Dawn 'til Dusk - 1973-1988' only a few days ago.
Somehow I got across the railway bridge, but on the far bank there were mountains of corpses blocking the way forward. These people must have been chased by die roaring tongues of flame that caught them here. They were still burning. I thought that they were all dead, but now they began to whimper. A woman was calling for her husband. A mother for her child. And the flames sprang to life again andgripped them pitilessly. My own eyebrows were singed, my hands and my face burning. My only thought was that I must get out of here, somehow, anyhow. I must fight my way through the corpses. I pushed them aside, pulling on a head to clear a passage. "Zuru, zuru" .., This contact with my hands was loathsome. The skin on the face stuck to my palms. Beneath the skin was something yellowish. I was trembling all over, and I dropped the dead man's head, tried to push his hand aside in order that I might get through ... and that hand was nothing but bones beneath charred flesh, and the skin off his face still stuck to me.
I climbed on top of a pile of corpses. Layer upon layer of them. Some were still moving, still alive. I had to get over them. I had to climb over. There was no way of getting through. I can still hear the cracking of their bones. At last the mountain of the dead lay behind me. One of my feet was aching horribly. Only now did I notice that I had lost a shoe. My bare sole had been cut by glass splinters and was bleeding. An open water tank, against air raids. I buried my face in it. The water was boiling hot. I began to feel faint. And thirst, such a thirst. There was no drop of sweat on my desiccated body, but it was covered in blood and bits of strangers' skin. I reeled and wanted to vomit. I took hold of myself and automatically picked out the little stones that had got into the wounds on my feet. Now the wounds began to bleed again from horrible, black gashes. And the little stones were in them again. There was no sense in taking them out. Up to then I had at least been able to breathe and moan and shout. But now my throat was so parched that I could scarcely utter a sound. When I tried to shout it was as though my throat was pierced by a thousand needles being driven into an open wound. I mustn't think about the pain! I must run, run, run, that was all - run for my life.”
From the ‘Diary and Recollections of Kazuo M.’ as published in ‘Children of the Ashes: The People of Hiroshima After The Bomb’ By Robert Jungk (1985)
Fabpants Recommends: Pivot's debut album 'O Soundtrack My Heart'. It has now sound tracked the words of 'Kazuo M' and his recollections of Hiroshima just after the bomb. For me, the words and music worked well together. The tragedy of a flattened city, where civilians fought for their lives and failed to do so in their thousands, is hard to comprehend. The music helped me to visualise it like an archived film. It helped to bring home the horror. It is hard to think of the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki as anything but stories. We have to remember that they were real and we have to remember that they were awful.
Download MP3: Pivot - Fool In Rain (courtesy of porkpiesuperman.com)
What follows is a series of excellent podcasts by Pivot:
Download MP3: Pivot - O Download My Heart - Ep1 - Cosmic Gods of Synth
01. Van Halen - 1984 [1984]
02. Vangelis - Main Titles [OST: Blade Runner]
03. Jean Michel Jarre - Oxygene IV [Oxygene]
04. Tonto's Expanding Headband - Ferryboat
05. David Bowie - Warszawa [Low]
06. Pink Floyd - On The Run [Dark Side Of The Moon]
07. Klaus Schulze - Floating [Moondawn]
08. Kitaro - Flight [The Best of Ten Years 1976-1986]
09. Vangelis - Spiral [Spiral]
10. Kitaro - Mororism [Oasis]
11. John Carpenter - Main Titles [Assault On Precinct 13]
12. Brian Eno - 2/2 [Ambient 1: Music For Airports]
Yes, this is a retro ambient selection, and happily for me, it excludes 'Aphex Twin'.
Download MP3: O Download My Heart - Ep2 - Australian Music
01. The Drones - Shark Fin Blues [Wait Long By The River and Watch The Bodies of Your Enemies Float By]
02. Grinderman - No Pussy Blues [Grinderman]
03. Augie March - Cold Acre [Moo, You Bloody Choir]
04. Qua - On Clouds [Painting Monsters On Clouds]
05. The Necks - He Led Them Into the World [The Boys]
06. Jack Ladder - Once In A Lifetime [Not Worth Waiting For (Single)]
07. Phil Slater - The Chance [Strobe Coma Virgo]
08. Snowman - We Are The Plague [The Horse, The Rat and The Swan]
09. Matt Rosner - Dissolve [Morning Tones]
Nick Cave lives a stone's throw from me, quite literally, but it seems that the Aussies still class Grinderman as a band of their own. Good for them. But he's my neighbour and not theirs!
Download MP3: O Download My Heart - Ep3 - 13 Autobahn Favourites
01. Cluster - Hollywood [Zuckerzeit]
02. Neu! - Hallogallo [Neu 1]
03. Flanger - Studio Tan [Templates]
04. Roedelius - Veilchenwurzeln [Wenn Der Sudwind Weht]
05. Andrew Pekler - Rockslide [Cue]
06. Farben - Live at the Saraha Tahoe 1973 [Textstar]
07. Kraftwerk - The Model [Man Machine]
08. Moebius - Transport [Tonspuren]
09. Oval - Textuell [Systemisch]
10. Isolee - Rest [Rest]
11. Moebius/Plank - Tolkuhn [Material]
12. Can - Mushroom [Tago Mago]
13. Tangerine Dream - Mysterious Semblance At The Strand Of Nightmares [Phaedra]
Oddly enough, I listened to Tangerine Dream's 'From Dawn 'til Dusk - 1973-1988' only a few days ago.
