I went back to Norfolk at the weekend. I love Norfolk. I’ve never met a person that grew up in Norfolk that doesn’t love it.
It’s seems that by limiting myself to a little bit of the Today show on Radio 4 some mornings, and regular visits to the BBC News site (my homepage), I’ve been living in ignorance.
Last Friday, I cycled 36 miles through the beautiful countryside of North East Norfolk, riding back along the fertile flatlands of the coastline, and marvelling at its wide sandy beaches. I rode past two windmills, along ‘quiet lanes’, and spent some thirty minutes in awe of a lighthouse set against fields and fields of bright sun soaked daffodils. Last Friday, I made the painful discovery that they want to flood my childhood and the land of my dreams.
It seems that some time ago, a series of terrible, stink infested plans, devised by Natural England on a dark day in hell, were leaked to the public. I’m not the public; I’m a blinkered fool who wouldn’t know the news if it bit her on the bum. I had no idea. The six six six club have been scheming to flood twenty five square miles of Norfolk; including the village where I spent the first two decades of my life, my parents’ home and my oldest friend’s and her children’s home.
Under three of four plans, six villages, hundreds of homes, five of the Norfolk Broads, and thousands of acres of farmland, could be obliterated over the next twenty to fifty years. The sea will be allowed to breach fifteen miles of the North Norfolk coast between Eccles-on-Sea and Winterton. It will flood low-lying land to create a new bay. Experts talk of ‘realigning the coast’. The implication of this terminology - that a little of the coastline will be lost over a large stretch of land - is wrong. The plan is to create a large cavity; akin to taking a bite shaped chunk out of the north east coast. If you want to see what I mean, check out the map on the Save the Broads Blog.
Okay, coastal defenses cost money, and the ice sheets are melting, but flooding a village that’s three miles inland seems wrong. Or perhaps that’s just me being a NIMBY; it probably is. ‘Not in my backyard’ I say. Actually, I’d much rather they did flood my backyard. It’s lovely, but I don’t carry it with me - in my heart - everywhere I go.
I spent today asking people to decorate postcards with words and images to represent what makes them feel happy. It was my idea of bringing positive thinking to the bleak topic of mental health. It worked. I live by the sea and for many people the sea is important to their happiness. I love Brighton and its my home, but it’s not home in the way that Norfolk is.
When I think of a perfect day, I drift back to 1980s. I drift back to a time when weekly teacher strikes gave me, and none of my siblings, a whole day off, every week, for weeks on end. I drift back to days spent lying inside a boat in glorious sunshine; days when I could enjoy the blissful pleasure of having the Norfolk Broads all to myself. Many things make me feel happy, but that’s my happy place. A beach in Barbados means nothing to me.
I sailed on the Norfolk Broads before I could walk.
I spend much of the year hankering for the network of lakes and rivers that provided me with the best parts of my childhood. I always have. The Norfolk Broads are my homeland. I grew up with Swallowtail butterflies in the garden and the hushed talk of Bitterns and possible sightings. Bittern was the name of my school team. The Bittern is a rare bird and it’s making a comeback. It won’t like being in a saltmarsh, and many people won’t either.
There’s a petition online. Unfortunately, as with many of these things it’s been personalised, and it’s not generic. There’s far too much mention of the Pike Anglers Club, pikes fisheries and who caught the biggest fish. The aim is to save entire habitats and communities, not for the sake of one species, but for the sake of them all. The person who set up the petition also neglected to change the default date for the petition end date, and the government need pay it no mind until 26 March 2009. All the same, I signed it. The website for the village - the village that I grew up in - told me to.
Saves the Broads Petition.
Wednesday, 30 April 2008
A Review of Sorts
I saw Happy-Go-Lucky last night. While this film made me smile throughout (happy people make me smile), I could feel the absence of a plot wearing me down. The characters were forced stereotypes. By the end of the film, I was so sick of the theme tune that I spent the entire bike ride home trying to expel it from my mind. For me, 'Life is Sweet' remains Mike Leigh’s greatest work.
That is my short film review.
That is my short film review.
Carnival Review: Love Music Hate Racism
I went to the Love Music Hate Racism carnival on Sunday. Woo-hoo. I arrived to be greeted by the youngest crowd of gig goers that I have ever had the pleasure of being surrounded by. Yes, it was multicultural and, yes, it was ace. I have never seen a crowd so up for it at 12.30pm. By the end of the event, old white farts like me dominated the 100,000 strong crowd. I will take away my first impression and not my last. The thirteen year old with me thoroughly enjoyed his first experience of the moshpit. I did too. Bottoms up to the moshpit. We love it.
Thursday, 24 April 2008
Gig Review: I Feel like Life has no Beginning
Along time ago, when I still lived in the beautiful county of Norfolk, and spent my days watching rare butterflies and ducklings, I heard Saint Etienne’s ‘Wilson’. Its cheeky repetitive samples enchanted me. My love affair with Saint Etienne ended not long after. I tried to like them, but they veered too far into shit rock pop and lost everything that made them fun, alternative and uniquely different.
I can’t quite put my finger on why, but when I first heard Chromatics they reminded me of Saint Etienne. Do they resemble the kind of band that Saint Etienne could have been, if they had been depressively good? Instead of finding their inspiration in Stock, Aitkin and Waterman’s candy floss factory of sugar coated hits, Chromatics appear to have been wandering lost in the fields of Interpol’s darkest dreams.
As I watched Chromatics play last night, the understated vocals, gently searing guitars and dark beats had me gripped. Every song, until the very last, was perfectly formed and performed.
Ruth Radelet’s vocals were perfectly attuned to her voice and not once did she venture into the painful warbling that so many female singers find it impossible to resist.
The last song, a crowd pleaser for sure, broke the beautiful spell. “I’m Running up that Hill”, as much as one might try, cannot be sung without a warble. Where once Ruth’s voice had been flawless, it struggled.
Chromatics would be better suited to covering NYC, and deadpanning “The subway is a porno. Pavements they are a mess. I know you've supported me for a long time. Somehow I'm not impressed.” I assure you it would be fantastic with Radelet’s non-committal, apathetic and mesmerising voice. It even has a repetitive chorus.
Next time, hopefully, they will heed my advice.
From yours truly, set in Norfolk where "Godzilla eats Diss".
I can’t quite put my finger on why, but when I first heard Chromatics they reminded me of Saint Etienne. Do they resemble the kind of band that Saint Etienne could have been, if they had been depressively good? Instead of finding their inspiration in Stock, Aitkin and Waterman’s candy floss factory of sugar coated hits, Chromatics appear to have been wandering lost in the fields of Interpol’s darkest dreams.
As I watched Chromatics play last night, the understated vocals, gently searing guitars and dark beats had me gripped. Every song, until the very last, was perfectly formed and performed.
Ruth Radelet’s vocals were perfectly attuned to her voice and not once did she venture into the painful warbling that so many female singers find it impossible to resist.
The last song, a crowd pleaser for sure, broke the beautiful spell. “I’m Running up that Hill”, as much as one might try, cannot be sung without a warble. Where once Ruth’s voice had been flawless, it struggled.
Chromatics would be better suited to covering NYC, and deadpanning “The subway is a porno. Pavements they are a mess. I know you've supported me for a long time. Somehow I'm not impressed.” I assure you it would be fantastic with Radelet’s non-committal, apathetic and mesmerising voice. It even has a repetitive chorus.
Next time, hopefully, they will heed my advice.
From yours truly, set in Norfolk where "Godzilla eats Diss".
Tuesday, 22 April 2008
Gig Review: Old Enough to be Jaded
I first saw Frank some time ago. I had just flown back from Dublin. I had my rucksack in tow and a very tired head. Between his life tales and wry witticisms, Frank sang his post-punk heart out. The lyrics were honest, brutal and heart warming. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hear them all. My baggage and I had to leave. We had to catch the dreaded last bus home.
One minute later, Frank dedicated a song to me. It was my birthday the following day. It’s the only time that anyone has ever dedicated a song to me, and me alone, and I missed it. No one could find me. ‘Emily?’ they called. Only silence answered back. It was a bad scenario all round.
I didn’t see Frank again for a long time. He always came to town when I was away. Recently, he seems to be everywhere. He is experiencing a media boom. He’s in newspapers, on posters, and in the songs that circle inside your head. He’s a banner ad on MySpace.
I saw Frank again last night. He was on stage. He was playing to a sold out audience. The audience doted on Frank’s every word, song and facial expression.
They danced, sang and smiled in rapture.
I was in acute pain. I had taken two Nurofen and two Paracetamol just to leave the house. I had cycled three miles across town wincing and occasionally shutting my eyes. I was very happy to see Frank again, but I was also sad. I wanted to be at the front dancing, singing and smiling in rapture.
Frank will play in bigger and bigger venues as the months go by. “Buy my album from your local independent record shop”, he asks. “Only let the independent shops stock them”, I reply.
How far to sell out, in order to spread your thoughts, work and ideology, is always a hard choice; and everyone needs a little money to live. Do your words become disingenuous when you find yourself inside a giant banner that's ‘powered by Google’? Can you blame that on your hardworking independent record label? Do the ends justify the means? Everyone needs a return on their investment. Google is such a nice word.
Support the label, support the chain with no name, support Frank Turner, but don’t click through on that Google ad.
Talk to Frank. Ask about drugs and Frank will get back to you. Frank is an affable man.
One minute later, Frank dedicated a song to me. It was my birthday the following day. It’s the only time that anyone has ever dedicated a song to me, and me alone, and I missed it. No one could find me. ‘Emily?’ they called. Only silence answered back. It was a bad scenario all round.
I didn’t see Frank again for a long time. He always came to town when I was away. Recently, he seems to be everywhere. He is experiencing a media boom. He’s in newspapers, on posters, and in the songs that circle inside your head. He’s a banner ad on MySpace.
I saw Frank again last night. He was on stage. He was playing to a sold out audience. The audience doted on Frank’s every word, song and facial expression.
They danced, sang and smiled in rapture.
I was in acute pain. I had taken two Nurofen and two Paracetamol just to leave the house. I had cycled three miles across town wincing and occasionally shutting my eyes. I was very happy to see Frank again, but I was also sad. I wanted to be at the front dancing, singing and smiling in rapture.
Frank will play in bigger and bigger venues as the months go by. “Buy my album from your local independent record shop”, he asks. “Only let the independent shops stock them”, I reply.
How far to sell out, in order to spread your thoughts, work and ideology, is always a hard choice; and everyone needs a little money to live. Do your words become disingenuous when you find yourself inside a giant banner that's ‘powered by Google’? Can you blame that on your hardworking independent record label? Do the ends justify the means? Everyone needs a return on their investment. Google is such a nice word.
Support the label, support the chain with no name, support Frank Turner, but don’t click through on that Google ad.
Talk to Frank. Ask about drugs and Frank will get back to you. Frank is an affable man.
Saturday, 19 April 2008
Shifty Lies
Between the years of 1997 and 1999, I worked for a University. I worked on an EU funded research project. Someone took a shine to me and asked me to. It felt like an honour. A group of super intelligent individuals, and me, examined institutional adaptation to droughts and floods; all in the context of climate change. I hung out with Oxford University boffins, Spanish intellectuals that smoked from dawn until dawn, and Dutch academics, for whom all of the world’s problems can be resolved with a series of regimented, straightforward and practical solutions. It’s a long way from how I earn a living today. Life is but a journey.
Back in those days, accessing the internet from home was slow, cumbersome and expensive. Dial-up connections charged you by the minute and failed to load pages. Back in those days, organisations were still coming to terms with firewalls, and search engines didn’t filter out porn. These were the days when Napster, and file sharing, was still an underground entity. As well as revolutionising the way that we hear music today, it revolutionised my life.
On a lowly wage, after many years of being a student bum, a new album was something that I discovered in wrapping paper, and live music was a rare and groovy treat. Napster came along, lovingly provided by the university’s T1 connection, and it changed my life.
While the climate changed in the Herb Garden outside my window, my hard drive filled with music and my ears bubbled with delight. One particular Napster user had the best album collection that I have ever encountered. It is of this person that I think of today. This unknown person enabled me to hear music that I still listen to, and gain immense pleasure from, on a regular basis. This is the person that allowed me to fall in love with ’The Southside of the World’. I now own most of Bonnie Prince Billy’s back catalogue. I now own most of the music that I downloaded from my Napster Guru.
I used to fear the day that Napster would no longer be a part of my life. “The revolution has happened and there is no undoing it”, I was told, “Underground cells will always bubble up and allow file sharing in new formats. They will always be ahead of the authorities. The internet is near impossible to police. It’s like an anarchists dream.” While, the internet has changed, and Google Ads now reign supreme, my advisor was absolutely bang on. “But”, I would retort to these pearls of wisdom, “If Napster goes, I will lose my bookmark to the best album collection on earth. I will never be able to find my Napster Guru again.” I was right too.
From the age of fifteen, I began to fear the death of John Peel. From the age of twenty five, I began to fear the loss of my Napster Guru. I stuck with them both right to the end, but ultimately all good things must come to pass.
Eight or nine years after downloading Bonnie Prince Billy, I saw him last year. Nine years after downloading the Radar Bros, I saw them last night. Like John Peel, the Napster Guru has had a lasting influence on my life.
All those years ago, I was paid to think about how corporations, governments and society are simply too stupid to take note of that old adage ‘prevention is better than cure’. What will be the biggest impetus for societal and institutional change, in terms of salvaging our delicate climate? Crisis; and crisis on a large scale. THE END.
All those years ago, I sat at my desk with my eyes shut whilst listening to ‘Shovelling Sons’, and drifting away into far off dimensions. Shovelling Sons was the first song that the Radar Bros played last night. Sat amongst a sold out audience of fifty people, I felt myself go back in time.
I would love to find the Napster Guru again. I would love to meet them in person and to share a firm handshake. I always wanted to meet them. I have a feeling that we live on opposite sides of the pond.
When I finished working on the research project, I told a lie. “I must borrow the hard drive from the computer”, I said, “There is research material on there that we may need for future papers. There is simply too much to email to my terrible dial-up account.” All the music came with me. The music always comes with me.
Back in those days, accessing the internet from home was slow, cumbersome and expensive. Dial-up connections charged you by the minute and failed to load pages. Back in those days, organisations were still coming to terms with firewalls, and search engines didn’t filter out porn. These were the days when Napster, and file sharing, was still an underground entity. As well as revolutionising the way that we hear music today, it revolutionised my life.
On a lowly wage, after many years of being a student bum, a new album was something that I discovered in wrapping paper, and live music was a rare and groovy treat. Napster came along, lovingly provided by the university’s T1 connection, and it changed my life.
While the climate changed in the Herb Garden outside my window, my hard drive filled with music and my ears bubbled with delight. One particular Napster user had the best album collection that I have ever encountered. It is of this person that I think of today. This unknown person enabled me to hear music that I still listen to, and gain immense pleasure from, on a regular basis. This is the person that allowed me to fall in love with ’The Southside of the World’. I now own most of Bonnie Prince Billy’s back catalogue. I now own most of the music that I downloaded from my Napster Guru.
I used to fear the day that Napster would no longer be a part of my life. “The revolution has happened and there is no undoing it”, I was told, “Underground cells will always bubble up and allow file sharing in new formats. They will always be ahead of the authorities. The internet is near impossible to police. It’s like an anarchists dream.” While, the internet has changed, and Google Ads now reign supreme, my advisor was absolutely bang on. “But”, I would retort to these pearls of wisdom, “If Napster goes, I will lose my bookmark to the best album collection on earth. I will never be able to find my Napster Guru again.” I was right too.
From the age of fifteen, I began to fear the death of John Peel. From the age of twenty five, I began to fear the loss of my Napster Guru. I stuck with them both right to the end, but ultimately all good things must come to pass.
Eight or nine years after downloading Bonnie Prince Billy, I saw him last year. Nine years after downloading the Radar Bros, I saw them last night. Like John Peel, the Napster Guru has had a lasting influence on my life.
All those years ago, I was paid to think about how corporations, governments and society are simply too stupid to take note of that old adage ‘prevention is better than cure’. What will be the biggest impetus for societal and institutional change, in terms of salvaging our delicate climate? Crisis; and crisis on a large scale. THE END.
All those years ago, I sat at my desk with my eyes shut whilst listening to ‘Shovelling Sons’, and drifting away into far off dimensions. Shovelling Sons was the first song that the Radar Bros played last night. Sat amongst a sold out audience of fifty people, I felt myself go back in time.
I would love to find the Napster Guru again. I would love to meet them in person and to share a firm handshake. I always wanted to meet them. I have a feeling that we live on opposite sides of the pond.
When I finished working on the research project, I told a lie. “I must borrow the hard drive from the computer”, I said, “There is research material on there that we may need for future papers. There is simply too much to email to my terrible dial-up account.” All the music came with me. The music always comes with me.
Tuesday, 15 April 2008
Gig Review: There's Blood On Your Legs, I Love You
For the past few months I’ve been satiating all of my ‘I am Kloot’ needs by watching their Moolah Rogue set and an interview with John on this website:
Channel M.
Unfortunately, they've removed the item from their listings now. Sorry. I'm including the link anyway, as it's a fantastic website. Go there and enjoy.
I’ve seen ‘I am Kloot’ live many times. I am a big ‘I am Kloot’ fan. ‘I am Kloot’ are an absolutely sensational live band. Along with Henry Normal, The Maccabees, half of Turin Brakes, and a very happy throng of people, I went to see ‘I am Kloot’ play live again tonight.
It was totally stupendous. In their own words, here is their set list; the set list that I climbed on stage to steal. I AM a rock 'n' roll nerd.
I AM KLOOT SET LIST EUROPE/UK 2008
1. ONE MAN BRAWL
2. FAVOURITE SKY
3. HEY LITTLE BIRD
4. BECAUSE
5. FERRIS WHEELS
6. TWIST
7. THE RUNAWAYS
8. HERE FOR THE WORLD
9. OVER MY SHOULDER
10. SOMEONE LIKE YOU
11. SOLO
12. SUDDENLY STRANGE
13. SAME DEEP WATER
14. EVEN THE STARS
15. MORNING RAIN
16. STORM WARNING
17. I BELIEVE
18. TO YOU
19. PROOF
20. LIFE IN A DAY
21. SOLO
22. DARK STAR
If you want to know what the solo songs were, then please buy a ticket to their next gig. I promise you that they are dark hearted devastatingly beautiful classics. With 13 live dates - in the UK - to go, they could be coming to a town near you.
The new songs are Grrrrr-eat.
Channel M.
Unfortunately, they've removed the item from their listings now. Sorry. I'm including the link anyway, as it's a fantastic website. Go there and enjoy.
I’ve seen ‘I am Kloot’ live many times. I am a big ‘I am Kloot’ fan. ‘I am Kloot’ are an absolutely sensational live band. Along with Henry Normal, The Maccabees, half of Turin Brakes, and a very happy throng of people, I went to see ‘I am Kloot’ play live again tonight.
It was totally stupendous. In their own words, here is their set list; the set list that I climbed on stage to steal. I AM a rock 'n' roll nerd.
I AM KLOOT SET LIST EUROPE/UK 2008
1. ONE MAN BRAWL
2. FAVOURITE SKY
3. HEY LITTLE BIRD
4. BECAUSE
5. FERRIS WHEELS
6. TWIST
7. THE RUNAWAYS
8. HERE FOR THE WORLD
9. OVER MY SHOULDER
10. SOMEONE LIKE YOU
11. SOLO
12. SUDDENLY STRANGE
13. SAME DEEP WATER
14. EVEN THE STARS
15. MORNING RAIN
16. STORM WARNING
17. I BELIEVE
18. TO YOU
19. PROOF
20. LIFE IN A DAY
21. SOLO
22. DARK STAR
If you want to know what the solo songs were, then please buy a ticket to their next gig. I promise you that they are dark hearted devastatingly beautiful classics. With 13 live dates - in the UK - to go, they could be coming to a town near you.
The new songs are Grrrrr-eat.
Saturday, 12 April 2008
999
I work for a mental health charity. I regularly speak to people with suicidal thoughts. I sometimes speak to people who are on the brink of taking their own life. I have never spoken to anyone who is actually bang in the middle of a genuine suicide attempt, i.e. someone who has already taken the pills or is making a last call with a noose around their neck, and a chair to kick back. I am trained in suicide intervention.
Yesterday, I was about to make my lunchtime trip to the gym. I went to the toilet to get changed. When I came back, one of my colleagues was on my phone. She has a new temporary position. This was her first day. She doesn’t usually talk to suicidal people. She is very capable, calm and has worked for many years in the mental health sector. Her new temporary post is to work on Fridays. Friday is ‘crisis call’ day. It is the day when we particularly need additional cover. Her second call of the day was a crisis call. She was at my desk, on my phone, and I was in the toilet.
As I walked back into the room, I heard the words, “Your speech is already very slurred, how many pills have you taken?” I walked into the room next door. “I think we are going to have to take action on a suicide attempt”, I said. As a mental health charity we have a strict confidentially policy. We also have a policy for breaching it.
The person who had taken the pills gave my colleague minimal information before hanging up the phone. “I don’t want you to call an ambulance”, she begged.
During the short phone call, she had stated her first name and the name of a service that she has accessed. Her last name, her date of birth, her telephone number and her address were all unknown.
The service that she mentioned using is very small. Although her first name is common, there was a chance of identifying her. That is if anyone answered the phone. I had tried to contact the team that the worker is attached to on many different numbers one day last week. The phones just rang and rang, with not even an answer phone to take a message. It is not a crisis service and neither are we.
Yesterday, someone answered. Yesterday, someone went through a filing cabinet of log-sheets and found just one person with the first name of our caller. The details matched the small amount of information that we had. The details included a last name, but no contact details. No address, no telephone number and no means of sending the emergency services to her door.
The manager was contacted. They had no further information. The Community Mental Health Team was contacted. After some time, they found the relevant details on a database and an ambulance was called.
My colleague, who took the call, wondered if she could have handled the call any differently. I wonder if I had taken the call, as I would have done if I had been at my desk, how well I would have fared. Would I have got the service details or a first name? Would I have handled it any better? It was only down to good fortune that the details obtained were enough.
I do believe that suicide is a human right. I also believe that it is right for the charity that I work for to intervene. If you are going to commit suicide then you should be one hundred percent sure that it is what you want. If you’re still reaching out for support, then you’re probably not that sure. Yesterday is the kind of day that makes me extremely proud of where I work. Yesterday two callers told me that the help that I’d provided was the best that they’d received. Maybe one day, if not today, a person will feel very happy that an ambulance came round and prevented their very genuine attempt to take their own life.
www.samaritans.org.uk.
Yesterday, I was about to make my lunchtime trip to the gym. I went to the toilet to get changed. When I came back, one of my colleagues was on my phone. She has a new temporary position. This was her first day. She doesn’t usually talk to suicidal people. She is very capable, calm and has worked for many years in the mental health sector. Her new temporary post is to work on Fridays. Friday is ‘crisis call’ day. It is the day when we particularly need additional cover. Her second call of the day was a crisis call. She was at my desk, on my phone, and I was in the toilet.
As I walked back into the room, I heard the words, “Your speech is already very slurred, how many pills have you taken?” I walked into the room next door. “I think we are going to have to take action on a suicide attempt”, I said. As a mental health charity we have a strict confidentially policy. We also have a policy for breaching it.
The person who had taken the pills gave my colleague minimal information before hanging up the phone. “I don’t want you to call an ambulance”, she begged.
During the short phone call, she had stated her first name and the name of a service that she has accessed. Her last name, her date of birth, her telephone number and her address were all unknown.
The service that she mentioned using is very small. Although her first name is common, there was a chance of identifying her. That is if anyone answered the phone. I had tried to contact the team that the worker is attached to on many different numbers one day last week. The phones just rang and rang, with not even an answer phone to take a message. It is not a crisis service and neither are we.
Yesterday, someone answered. Yesterday, someone went through a filing cabinet of log-sheets and found just one person with the first name of our caller. The details matched the small amount of information that we had. The details included a last name, but no contact details. No address, no telephone number and no means of sending the emergency services to her door.
The manager was contacted. They had no further information. The Community Mental Health Team was contacted. After some time, they found the relevant details on a database and an ambulance was called.
My colleague, who took the call, wondered if she could have handled the call any differently. I wonder if I had taken the call, as I would have done if I had been at my desk, how well I would have fared. Would I have got the service details or a first name? Would I have handled it any better? It was only down to good fortune that the details obtained were enough.
I do believe that suicide is a human right. I also believe that it is right for the charity that I work for to intervene. If you are going to commit suicide then you should be one hundred percent sure that it is what you want. If you’re still reaching out for support, then you’re probably not that sure. Yesterday is the kind of day that makes me extremely proud of where I work. Yesterday two callers told me that the help that I’d provided was the best that they’d received. Maybe one day, if not today, a person will feel very happy that an ambulance came round and prevented their very genuine attempt to take their own life.
www.samaritans.org.uk.
Thursday, 10 April 2008
Gig Review: Blah Blah Blah
A band poster went on public display in my bedroom this morning. It’s a one bedroom flat, so most guests visit the bedroom at some point. I’m not a hooker. It’s where my PC lives. I make websites and sell porn.
It’s been many a year since I installed a band poster, and back then I wouldn’t have used the word ‘installed’. Okay, John Lennon lurks around inside my wardrobe and says ‘hello’ in his Liverpudlian way each day, but that’s a private thing between me and John. The moments that I share with a dead Beatle are precious and private. They are inside my wardrobe and not out.
Who is this band? What is this band? How did they gain such an esteemed role in my day-to-day life? If I told you that their drummer's from Norfolk, would you be more intrigued? That sold me for starters. Anyone that hails from Norfolk gets extra points from me. I give myself a few every day. The fact that I can shit in the right place is a minor miracle.
If I mentioned the fact that all three band members are male and shorter than me, would you stop reading? No, they’re not midgets; they’re just a little short. Stop being prejudiced.
If you heard from your own personal guru that each musician makes up for his lack of height in natural charisma, superstar qualities and a happy-go-lucky stage presence, would you be desperate to see them live?
Probably not. You’re bored, online and trawling through yet another unfulfilling website. I’m just stealing another five minutes of your immensely boring life. Why the hell would you want to go out? The people are horrible, the streets are dirty and the beer is overpriced.
I don’t blame you. It was only after enduring three horribly awful support acts that I saw Blah Blah Blah. Oh yeah, blah blah blah, that’s what I do all day, but in this case I’m not blah blah blahhing, I’m telling you the name of the band; remember, the band that's achieved 'poster in my bedroom' status. The 'blah' word was also travelling around my head with increasing frequency as the night wore on.
During the third support act, I curled up on a beer soaked sofa, tried to sleep and wished that the guitar hero wannabes would go the hell away. Late licensing laws have ruined the concept of gigs that finish by 11pm. That may make me sound old, but, at the start of the evening, the venue was absolutely heaving with young and energetic types. By the time the headline act had strummed their first note, just twenty people were left. I counted. Those of us with just enough stamina to hold out were old and used to being patient. The young ones had sex to have and essays to write. I stood next to a couple of smiling pensioners; no doubt a band member’s very dear, and up for it, Ma and Pa. They knew the score.
Like true entertainers, the band took no notice of the size of the crowd. Blah Blah Blah leapt around, made big facial expressions, and played as enthusiastically as children with supercharged water pistols on a perfect summer’s day. That’s what Blah Blah Blah sound like; a fierce and mischievous bolt of well aimed water on a faultless sunny day.
Now, you have to hear them don’t you? Did I mention that the drummer’s from Norfolk; Fakenham to be precise.
Go on. Search for Blah Blah Blah and add a bit of joy to your tedious and contemptible life.
It’s been many a year since I installed a band poster, and back then I wouldn’t have used the word ‘installed’. Okay, John Lennon lurks around inside my wardrobe and says ‘hello’ in his Liverpudlian way each day, but that’s a private thing between me and John. The moments that I share with a dead Beatle are precious and private. They are inside my wardrobe and not out.
Who is this band? What is this band? How did they gain such an esteemed role in my day-to-day life? If I told you that their drummer's from Norfolk, would you be more intrigued? That sold me for starters. Anyone that hails from Norfolk gets extra points from me. I give myself a few every day. The fact that I can shit in the right place is a minor miracle.
If I mentioned the fact that all three band members are male and shorter than me, would you stop reading? No, they’re not midgets; they’re just a little short. Stop being prejudiced.
If you heard from your own personal guru that each musician makes up for his lack of height in natural charisma, superstar qualities and a happy-go-lucky stage presence, would you be desperate to see them live?
Probably not. You’re bored, online and trawling through yet another unfulfilling website. I’m just stealing another five minutes of your immensely boring life. Why the hell would you want to go out? The people are horrible, the streets are dirty and the beer is overpriced.
I don’t blame you. It was only after enduring three horribly awful support acts that I saw Blah Blah Blah. Oh yeah, blah blah blah, that’s what I do all day, but in this case I’m not blah blah blahhing, I’m telling you the name of the band; remember, the band that's achieved 'poster in my bedroom' status. The 'blah' word was also travelling around my head with increasing frequency as the night wore on.
During the third support act, I curled up on a beer soaked sofa, tried to sleep and wished that the guitar hero wannabes would go the hell away. Late licensing laws have ruined the concept of gigs that finish by 11pm. That may make me sound old, but, at the start of the evening, the venue was absolutely heaving with young and energetic types. By the time the headline act had strummed their first note, just twenty people were left. I counted. Those of us with just enough stamina to hold out were old and used to being patient. The young ones had sex to have and essays to write. I stood next to a couple of smiling pensioners; no doubt a band member’s very dear, and up for it, Ma and Pa. They knew the score.
Like true entertainers, the band took no notice of the size of the crowd. Blah Blah Blah leapt around, made big facial expressions, and played as enthusiastically as children with supercharged water pistols on a perfect summer’s day. That’s what Blah Blah Blah sound like; a fierce and mischievous bolt of well aimed water on a faultless sunny day.
Now, you have to hear them don’t you? Did I mention that the drummer’s from Norfolk; Fakenham to be precise.
Go on. Search for Blah Blah Blah and add a bit of joy to your tedious and contemptible life.
Tuesday, 8 April 2008
Stolen Bike Alert
My Geek had his bike stolen from Hove Station today. Having had two old friends stolen, and cried both times, I feel his grief.
If you see someone on one of these - Dahon Speed TR - be sure to attack them.
The innocent may have to suffer. The guilty must pay.
By the way, contrary to my recent blogs, I don't cry that often. I am very hard; very hard indeed. Watch me hit the air with my fist. Take that air. Did you see that? The air was scared. Stupid air.
Don't attack people on folding bikes. It's just wrong.
Absolutely brimming over with wrongability. Shove a stick between their spokes instead.
If you see someone on one of these - Dahon Speed TR - be sure to attack them.
The innocent may have to suffer. The guilty must pay.
By the way, contrary to my recent blogs, I don't cry that often. I am very hard; very hard indeed. Watch me hit the air with my fist. Take that air. Did you see that? The air was scared. Stupid air.
Don't attack people on folding bikes. It's just wrong.
Absolutely brimming over with wrongability. Shove a stick between their spokes instead.
Monday, 7 April 2008
Gig Review: Driver Eight Take a Break
I’ve never been the biggest fan of wank rock.
In reality, I’ve probably said a lot of nasty things about it over the years. BUT sometimes, just sometimes, a band comes along, gets on stage, chokes it’s chicken half to death, and then explodes with such intense beauty, that even I’m enthralled.
No, I didn’t see Holy Fuck tonight; Resident Records gig of the week. While the religious acts of sex were gathering press inches like I attract emails for penis extensions, I travelled deep into the deep dark hole of The Engine Rooms. The world of improvisational electronic bleeping was not for me tonight, I was in the rock cave.
I made the right choice; absolutely, completely and utterly. Latitudes were very special guests indeed. After voyeuristically watching them shoot their loads, and loving it, the best was yet to come. No pun intended.
This Will Destroy You won’t really. This Will Destroy You wouldn’t hurt a field of daisies. They might make them stand up tall and proud, forever enchanted by the wonder of life, but destruction would be a far off dream. Those Texans sure know how to caress your eardrums and sooth you right to your very core.
Forget whether REM have made the new ‘Lifes Rich Pageant’. Get down your local flea pit and, you never know, you might find a band that’s genuinely young, fresh and fantasmical.
Have I heard it yet? No. The girl that once wore an REM baseball cap, and enjoyed her Orange Crush, was well and truly dead by 1991. Stipe’s voice has long been synonymous with the sound of stadium rock twat. Stadium rock twat equals Bono. Stadium rock twat is the cause of immense pain. I may be brave enough to listen to it one day. Perhaps I just need time to prepare or to feel gravitys pull. Or perhaps I should take a wiser man’s advice. Don't believe the hype.
In reality, I’ve probably said a lot of nasty things about it over the years. BUT sometimes, just sometimes, a band comes along, gets on stage, chokes it’s chicken half to death, and then explodes with such intense beauty, that even I’m enthralled.
No, I didn’t see Holy Fuck tonight; Resident Records gig of the week. While the religious acts of sex were gathering press inches like I attract emails for penis extensions, I travelled deep into the deep dark hole of The Engine Rooms. The world of improvisational electronic bleeping was not for me tonight, I was in the rock cave.
I made the right choice; absolutely, completely and utterly. Latitudes were very special guests indeed. After voyeuristically watching them shoot their loads, and loving it, the best was yet to come. No pun intended.
This Will Destroy You won’t really. This Will Destroy You wouldn’t hurt a field of daisies. They might make them stand up tall and proud, forever enchanted by the wonder of life, but destruction would be a far off dream. Those Texans sure know how to caress your eardrums and sooth you right to your very core.
Forget whether REM have made the new ‘Lifes Rich Pageant’. Get down your local flea pit and, you never know, you might find a band that’s genuinely young, fresh and fantasmical.
Have I heard it yet? No. The girl that once wore an REM baseball cap, and enjoyed her Orange Crush, was well and truly dead by 1991. Stipe’s voice has long been synonymous with the sound of stadium rock twat. Stadium rock twat equals Bono. Stadium rock twat is the cause of immense pain. I may be brave enough to listen to it one day. Perhaps I just need time to prepare or to feel gravitys pull. Or perhaps I should take a wiser man’s advice. Don't believe the hype.
Sunday, 6 April 2008
The Met Office Predicts ‘A Typical British Summer’
At 9.09am I successfully bought a Glastonbury Festival ticket.
At 9.40am it started snowing.
By 11.30am I had built a truly fine snowman on Hove Lawns.
That’s a productive morning.
It rarely snows enough to settle in this part of the world and the adult population of Hove was notably excited. Snowpersons, sculptures and balls were made in gleeful abundance and digital cameras went snap, snap, snap.
The West Pier shimmered and the beach glistened. Did someone mention spring? Well, it’s cancelled. We’ve decided to have a proper winter instead; several years and a few months behind schedule.
The children of Hove must have been on the alcopops last night. I only saw three of them. Don’t they teach them about hangovers in school these days? Milk Thistle my children, Milk Thistle.
On another note, I entertained myself on Friday (my one day holiday) by watching 'Son of Rambow' on the big screen and 'Treasure Island' at the theatre. The former is absolutely fantastic and the latter is soaked in rum. For your own good health, please watch 'Son of Rambow' and, when you do, allow your emotions to run free. I’ve turned into a gush bucket and shed tears of joy in my big cinema chair. That’s a first for me. Morning shows are great. They're just so empty. It’s like being in your very own picture house.
At 9.40am it started snowing.
By 11.30am I had built a truly fine snowman on Hove Lawns.
That’s a productive morning.
It rarely snows enough to settle in this part of the world and the adult population of Hove was notably excited. Snowpersons, sculptures and balls were made in gleeful abundance and digital cameras went snap, snap, snap.
The West Pier shimmered and the beach glistened. Did someone mention spring? Well, it’s cancelled. We’ve decided to have a proper winter instead; several years and a few months behind schedule.
The children of Hove must have been on the alcopops last night. I only saw three of them. Don’t they teach them about hangovers in school these days? Milk Thistle my children, Milk Thistle.
On another note, I entertained myself on Friday (my one day holiday) by watching 'Son of Rambow' on the big screen and 'Treasure Island' at the theatre. The former is absolutely fantastic and the latter is soaked in rum. For your own good health, please watch 'Son of Rambow' and, when you do, allow your emotions to run free. I’ve turned into a gush bucket and shed tears of joy in my big cinema chair. That’s a first for me. Morning shows are great. They're just so empty. It’s like being in your very own picture house.
Thursday, 3 April 2008
Four Days of History and a Lifetime of Misery
Or Happiness.
What have you been up to since Monday morning? I thought I might share a little snapshot of my week thus far. Maybe you will do the same. It’s funny how much happens in just a few days when you think on it.
In the last four days, I’ve:
What have you been up to since Monday morning? I thought I might share a little snapshot of my week thus far. Maybe you will do the same. It’s funny how much happens in just a few days when you think on it.
In the last four days, I’ve:
- Watched two paddle boarders silhouetted against the evening sky
- Bicycled a mile on a very flat tyre
- Vaguely attempted to make a broken hi-fi make sound and failed
- Given out 93 business cards with the Samaritans telephone number on the back
- Watched ‘Be Your Own Pet’ with friends
- Had my left foot stamped on by a very large man
- Received a personal email that made me feel sad
- Been told that my hands were on TV, but failed to see them myself
- Talked at ease with approximately 200 strangers
- Been asked if I am more than 18 years of age
- Gained immense pleasure from watching ‘Peter and the Wolf’ (US solo artist) with My Geek
- Received a signed contract to create another website to thrust into the world
- Listened to a very young man reminisce about the days before his children were born; the days before he went into prison
- Watched our cat spend her first days ever in the great outdoors
- Suffered the single most painful moment of my life thus far
- Spoken with a lady who spent ten hours carrying her dead mother in her arms, in Northern Africa, not knowing what to do
- Experienced mixed feelings about our cat's gift to us on her sixth day of freedom; a wounded live bird that left blood smears on the window
- Watched a young man playing with pipe cleaners, and a 'make your own' furry bug kit, as he talked about his time in foster homes and the devil bitch that bore his first
- Sat on a child’s chair in a room full of adults doing the same
- Watched the first two episodes of 'The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perin'
- Discovered that vegan fudge is now for sale and put it in the cupboard for later
- Experienced the fear that 'vegan fudge for sale' won’t be as good as my imagination tells me it will be
- Unclipped the security barrier at ‘Future of the Left’ and let the people and the band be as one
- Let my insides eat themselves in a wonderful fit of sonic pleasure, as 'Colin is a Pussy' bounced about my ears
- Felt glad that my insides haven't really been digested, and it was just the bass guitar
- Rejoiced in the fact that I'm in perfect working order to do nothing and enjoy it, and celebrated my freedom to do exactly that.
I hope you enjoyed my week so far. I did and it’s only Thursday. It’s time to get ready for Friday and a full day of birthday celebrations. Not mine, but near enough. I'm not working; I'm having fun!
