Deerhoof, at Brighton Concorde 2, July 2nd 2009
All drummers should leave their bashing, suckle the lead microphone, deadpan comments and sit down again. It never happened. It’s an echo of a false memory, however charming. Or is it?
The blue jeans and t-shirt band are far from ordinary. Don’t be fooled by the uniform outfit. You’ll get a shock. Fractured songs and cooler than thou eccentricities will fill the room.
ChooChooChooChooBeepBeep. Deerhoof sound like Deerhoof and nothing else does. Combining deceitful peace with a happy intensity, the atmosphere is electric. Ahhh, this is so beautiful. Arrrgh, this is so fucking mental. Hooray. Hooray. Hooray. A pinball is flipping my head up, fucking my ears out and going for jackpot. What’s that? The guitarists are playing toe to toe, legs raised high. And, what’s all the spinning on the spot about? It’s great. Let me keep the flashing basketball? It’s as screwy as you are. Oh yes. Join Us. Let me be. You are endearing, so very endearing.
Fabpants Recommends:
The Flashing Basketball song...!
Download MP3: Deerhoof - Basket Ball Get Your Groove Back (courtesy of podcastingmanager.com)
Sunday, 4 October 2009
Saturday, 3 October 2009
Gig Review: 'Eat Shit' Carved into a Lemon
The Lovely Eggs, at Brighton West Hill Community Hall, June 13th 2009
You may already know that I am a great fan of The West Hill Community Hall.
It's the perfect venue for quirky bands. Some bands are quite capable of inventing their own razzmatazz, whether by music, banter, style or costume. Hooray for them.
West Hill Hall is basic. Imagine, village. Along the walls, seats are stacked in rows. There is the odd electrical socket. Tables appear when called for. The Pet Shop Boys and West Hill Hall might not gel. I'd like to see their faces.
The Lovely Eggs are an inspiring couple. Watch them and you might wonder, "Why isn't my relationship like that? Why don’t I go home with boundless enthusiasm to create something out of my random and wide-eyed thoughts? Hang on, why don’t I have those thoughts, I used to when I was six? And, why don't I spend time, with my very own sex bomb, turning daydreams and the oddness of life into art?"
Well I do, don't you?
David Blackwell and Holly Ross are married. They spend their time making happy songs. Sometimes their songs are a little too silly, but that doesn't matter. The songs are made with love, presented with love, and always with one foot on the ground. Sometimes twee bands forget to keep one foot on the ground. Bantering about sunburn, and softly ridiculing each other, helps. Trashing away at a guitar and shouting helps too.
The quite fantastical ditties, from the album 'If You Were Fruit', found themselves with a precursor. Of course, every song is 100% logical to a free mind, but an explanation can only help.
The Lovely Eggs carry you with them. Our brain cells forget how to open the doors that stand shut in our day jobs. They rarely escape the tireless thought patterns that accompany the administration of daily living. The Lovely Eggs let your mind swim, with armbands and a pre-flight talk.
Holly Ross has a brilliant voice, an infectious smile, a naughty laugh and a tendency to giggle.
David Blackwell grins along. He thinks about all the wonderful things they've collected together. Some of the collection sits before him. Coconut shells and bicycle bells included.
Here's what I'm thinking. If I tie a coconut shell to my bike, which already has a bell, do I have my own drum kit? A mobile drum kit?
If I was in The Lovely Eggs, the answer would be 'Yes'. Without pause. I guess.
And every day, I'd tie something new to my bike and make my drum kit bigger, badder, weirder. It would be a thing of wonder. I'd have cushion on the back. On it, a talented musician would thrash away at a guitar and sing like a fallen angel.
Fabpants Recommends:
Last September, I recommended a Let’s Wrestle track, as a pre-Bestival taster.
Due to onsite flooding, I didn’t see Let's Wrestle. This is where I pull a sad face. The Let's Wrestle album just released this summer. It's called 'In the Court of the Wrestling Let's'.
I'm not going to say that it's the missing part of your MP3 collection. It won't have you dancing til dawn. It won't make you cry. And it won't cure cancer.
It's an instantly comfortable release. It's on the level. It makes me feel warm. It's spiky, without spearing souls. It's thoughtful, without being pretentiously philosophical. It is bouncy without the rave. It's like a best mate. It's not perfect. It lives in the same place as most of us. On the ground. There are highs and there are lows. Chewing gum pavements, mud and fallen pennies are never far away.
Download MP3: Let’s Wrestle - My Schedule (courtesy of polaroidallaradio.it)
You may already know that I am a great fan of The West Hill Community Hall.
It's the perfect venue for quirky bands. Some bands are quite capable of inventing their own razzmatazz, whether by music, banter, style or costume. Hooray for them.
West Hill Hall is basic. Imagine, village. Along the walls, seats are stacked in rows. There is the odd electrical socket. Tables appear when called for. The Pet Shop Boys and West Hill Hall might not gel. I'd like to see their faces.
The Lovely Eggs are an inspiring couple. Watch them and you might wonder, "Why isn't my relationship like that? Why don’t I go home with boundless enthusiasm to create something out of my random and wide-eyed thoughts? Hang on, why don’t I have those thoughts, I used to when I was six? And, why don't I spend time, with my very own sex bomb, turning daydreams and the oddness of life into art?"
Well I do, don't you?
David Blackwell and Holly Ross are married. They spend their time making happy songs. Sometimes their songs are a little too silly, but that doesn't matter. The songs are made with love, presented with love, and always with one foot on the ground. Sometimes twee bands forget to keep one foot on the ground. Bantering about sunburn, and softly ridiculing each other, helps. Trashing away at a guitar and shouting helps too.
The quite fantastical ditties, from the album 'If You Were Fruit', found themselves with a precursor. Of course, every song is 100% logical to a free mind, but an explanation can only help.
The Lovely Eggs carry you with them. Our brain cells forget how to open the doors that stand shut in our day jobs. They rarely escape the tireless thought patterns that accompany the administration of daily living. The Lovely Eggs let your mind swim, with armbands and a pre-flight talk.
Holly Ross has a brilliant voice, an infectious smile, a naughty laugh and a tendency to giggle.
David Blackwell grins along. He thinks about all the wonderful things they've collected together. Some of the collection sits before him. Coconut shells and bicycle bells included.
Here's what I'm thinking. If I tie a coconut shell to my bike, which already has a bell, do I have my own drum kit? A mobile drum kit?
If I was in The Lovely Eggs, the answer would be 'Yes'. Without pause. I guess.
And every day, I'd tie something new to my bike and make my drum kit bigger, badder, weirder. It would be a thing of wonder. I'd have cushion on the back. On it, a talented musician would thrash away at a guitar and sing like a fallen angel.
Fabpants Recommends:
Last September, I recommended a Let’s Wrestle track, as a pre-Bestival taster.
Due to onsite flooding, I didn’t see Let's Wrestle. This is where I pull a sad face. The Let's Wrestle album just released this summer. It's called 'In the Court of the Wrestling Let's'.
I'm not going to say that it's the missing part of your MP3 collection. It won't have you dancing til dawn. It won't make you cry. And it won't cure cancer.
It's an instantly comfortable release. It's on the level. It makes me feel warm. It's spiky, without spearing souls. It's thoughtful, without being pretentiously philosophical. It is bouncy without the rave. It's like a best mate. It's not perfect. It lives in the same place as most of us. On the ground. There are highs and there are lows. Chewing gum pavements, mud and fallen pennies are never far away.
Download MP3: Let’s Wrestle - My Schedule (courtesy of polaroidallaradio.it)
Thursday, 1 October 2009
Gig Review: Scrape the Skies: The Joy Formidable
The Joy Formidable, at Brighton Audio, June 11th 2009
At the feet of Ritzy Bryan, lead vocalist, guitarist and miniature wonder, lay twenty pedals. The girl wear’s cool like a comfortable pair of knickers.
For the most part Ritzy Formidable wore one facial expression. It said 'I am self-assured, serious, composed, intent, down-to-earth and friendly. Looking great just happens'. This is a rare combination for a singular face story. Ritzy commanded the show. Occasionally, a delight-filled smile broke through.
It all comes to this. A nerdy fascination with music and wired peripherals, hours and hours of practice, and an innate love: it all comes to this.
A group of fifteen-year-old boys crowded around me. Testosterone scented saliva wet their inner cheeks. It spread infectiously amongst them. With every outward breath or sentence, their communal feelings for the lead, whose boyfriend - Rhydian Dafydd - was on stage too, burgeoned.
Containment became futile. Hormones broke through the barriers, carrying the pubescent males in tow. Circling the source of their lust, a condensed gathering of happiness rose up and down. Ritzy looked at ease. She looked happy. This was the encore.
The songs: I am sure you can imagine. Think pedals and think sex. The songs filled the room with intensity, fuzz and throbbing.
The Joy Formidable followed two excellent support acts. The Lyrebirds boast an amazing vocalist, think Interpol, and clean cut The Welfare Mothers offered part polished tunes, with a dreamboat singer to boot.
Fabpants Recommends:
If you haven't already done so, you REALLY should watch the video banned by YouTube. It is for the song called Austere, which is a cracking pop gem. There is an official video, but this one's much more fun.
Download MP3: The Joy Formidable - Austere (theregoesthefear.com)
NEWSFLASH: The lovely people of Joy Formidable are offering a NEW free track via MySpace. It ends very happily in a fit of giggles.
Download MP3: The Joy Formidable - Greyhounds in the Slips
At the feet of Ritzy Bryan, lead vocalist, guitarist and miniature wonder, lay twenty pedals. The girl wear’s cool like a comfortable pair of knickers.
For the most part Ritzy Formidable wore one facial expression. It said 'I am self-assured, serious, composed, intent, down-to-earth and friendly. Looking great just happens'. This is a rare combination for a singular face story. Ritzy commanded the show. Occasionally, a delight-filled smile broke through.
It all comes to this. A nerdy fascination with music and wired peripherals, hours and hours of practice, and an innate love: it all comes to this.
A group of fifteen-year-old boys crowded around me. Testosterone scented saliva wet their inner cheeks. It spread infectiously amongst them. With every outward breath or sentence, their communal feelings for the lead, whose boyfriend - Rhydian Dafydd - was on stage too, burgeoned.
Containment became futile. Hormones broke through the barriers, carrying the pubescent males in tow. Circling the source of their lust, a condensed gathering of happiness rose up and down. Ritzy looked at ease. She looked happy. This was the encore.
The songs: I am sure you can imagine. Think pedals and think sex. The songs filled the room with intensity, fuzz and throbbing.
The Joy Formidable followed two excellent support acts. The Lyrebirds boast an amazing vocalist, think Interpol, and clean cut The Welfare Mothers offered part polished tunes, with a dreamboat singer to boot.
Fabpants Recommends:
If you haven't already done so, you REALLY should watch the video banned by YouTube. It is for the song called Austere, which is a cracking pop gem. There is an official video, but this one's much more fun.
Download MP3: The Joy Formidable - Austere (theregoesthefear.com)
NEWSFLASH: The lovely people of Joy Formidable are offering a NEW free track via MySpace. It ends very happily in a fit of giggles.
Download MP3: The Joy Formidable - Greyhounds in the Slips
Wednesday, 30 September 2009
Monday, 7 September 2009
Chocolate Diarrhoea Cake
If I was living in Ground Hog Day, I would like to bicycle past this every lunch break:
Girl (on scooter): Dad?
Dad (on scooter in front): Yea-as?
Girl: I love you.
Dad: I love you too Squiggles.
Girl: Do you love me more than anything? More than anything in the whole world?
Dad: Yes, more than anything in the whole world.
I wouldn’t want to live in Ground Hog Day, because life’s variety is often so very pleasing.
For instance, I just spent the weekend at Bodium with a collective of beautiful souls. Some stayed in tents, one stayed for the day, and two slept in their brand new, but very old, VW Camper (1973).
Park Farm campsite is really quite something. In the main field, there is Darren’s. Darren sells burgers. In the Green Fields, there is Darren’s competitor. He sells cup cakes and jacket potatoes.
At Park Farm, there are no predefined pitches, and the site encourages campfires by selling a bag of logs for £3.50 a pop. While we made barbecues and fire, other people had pretty lights to dress up their tents.
The site offers homemade playthings; swings, a seesaw and a death slide. The death slide was particularly popular, so never free for cavorting adults. The seesaw could fit four of us on at once and felt wonderfully dangerous. The rope swings over the River Rother sat unused, just waiting for a daring child or a drunken adult to take a dip. We liked being dry.
From the campsite, there is a lovely walk along the river. A castle and steam trains sit at the other end. Bodiam Castle is a perfect example of a late medieval moated castle. That’s not just market-speak. It’s bloody brilliant. It was built in 1385, and the fish in the moat are so big, they may have lived there that long. In the olden days, people could sit on the toilet whilst shooting arrows at the French.
The Kent and East Sussex train line isn’t the best and is very expensive. We enjoyed a bit of soot, poking our heads into the locomotive to see the hot fire, and the fact they sold Chocolate Diarrhoea Cake at the pub near Northiam Station.
Fabpants Recommends: I am going to see Darren Hayman tomorrow. Darren used to be in Hefner. I loved the album Darren Hayman and the Secondary Modern. Darren released an album this year. It’s called Pram Town, after Harlow New Town’s 1950s nickname. Darren grew up near Harlow.
Here’s a taster:
Download MP3: Hayman and the Secondary Modern – Big Fish (courtesy of hefnet.com)
Download MP3: Hayman and the Secondary Modern – Pram Town (courtesy of getdropbox.com)
I’ve also been enjoying The Foster Kids. They are from Norfolk like me. I grew up with foster kids. The album is called 'At Home With The Foo Fighters'. Bands from Norfolk do create a certain bias within me. You might think it's pants.
Download MP3: The Foster Kids – Before You Change My Mind (courtesy of letterboxrecords.com)
Girl (on scooter): Dad?
Dad (on scooter in front): Yea-as?
Girl: I love you.
Dad: I love you too Squiggles.
Girl: Do you love me more than anything? More than anything in the whole world?
Dad: Yes, more than anything in the whole world.
I wouldn’t want to live in Ground Hog Day, because life’s variety is often so very pleasing.
For instance, I just spent the weekend at Bodium with a collective of beautiful souls. Some stayed in tents, one stayed for the day, and two slept in their brand new, but very old, VW Camper (1973).
Park Farm campsite is really quite something. In the main field, there is Darren’s. Darren sells burgers. In the Green Fields, there is Darren’s competitor. He sells cup cakes and jacket potatoes.
At Park Farm, there are no predefined pitches, and the site encourages campfires by selling a bag of logs for £3.50 a pop. While we made barbecues and fire, other people had pretty lights to dress up their tents.
The site offers homemade playthings; swings, a seesaw and a death slide. The death slide was particularly popular, so never free for cavorting adults. The seesaw could fit four of us on at once and felt wonderfully dangerous. The rope swings over the River Rother sat unused, just waiting for a daring child or a drunken adult to take a dip. We liked being dry.
From the campsite, there is a lovely walk along the river. A castle and steam trains sit at the other end. Bodiam Castle is a perfect example of a late medieval moated castle. That’s not just market-speak. It’s bloody brilliant. It was built in 1385, and the fish in the moat are so big, they may have lived there that long. In the olden days, people could sit on the toilet whilst shooting arrows at the French.
The Kent and East Sussex train line isn’t the best and is very expensive. We enjoyed a bit of soot, poking our heads into the locomotive to see the hot fire, and the fact they sold Chocolate Diarrhoea Cake at the pub near Northiam Station.
Fabpants Recommends: I am going to see Darren Hayman tomorrow. Darren used to be in Hefner. I loved the album Darren Hayman and the Secondary Modern. Darren released an album this year. It’s called Pram Town, after Harlow New Town’s 1950s nickname. Darren grew up near Harlow.
Here’s a taster:
Download MP3: Hayman and the Secondary Modern – Big Fish (courtesy of hefnet.com)
Download MP3: Hayman and the Secondary Modern – Pram Town (courtesy of getdropbox.com)
I’ve also been enjoying The Foster Kids. They are from Norfolk like me. I grew up with foster kids. The album is called 'At Home With The Foo Fighters'. Bands from Norfolk do create a certain bias within me. You might think it's pants.
Download MP3: The Foster Kids – Before You Change My Mind (courtesy of letterboxrecords.com)
Thursday, 3 September 2009
Getting to Grips with Gender-Neutral Pronouns
For the first time in my life, I’ve been able to remember what the term ‘pronoun’ means for more than a millisecond.
Yesterday, I learnt about Gender Neutral Pronouns. As someone who hates using the term 'they' when the gender of a single person is unknown, I like this idea.
I got excited.
Then I made a disappointing discovery. There is no simple list of gender-neutral pronouns. Instead, there are many.
One can't just roll forward with commonly accepted usage. It's far more complicated than that.
If you're looking for a start point, Wikipedia lists an array of 'invented' gender-neutral pronouns.
This is problematic for me. Choosing is hard. Do I choose my pronouns based on popularity of use? Or, should I opt for the funkiest sounding set?
If one set was popular or had a cool ring to it, it might help. Alas, this is not the case.
It seems that in adopting a set of 'invented' pronouns, I will be attaching myself to a subset within a genre, and with it a 'School of Thought'. I will be a member of a sect rather than a great paradigm shifting force. I will be saying something by my preference of terms, which goes beyond the gender-neutral.
Faced with the choice of joining 'The Judean People's Front', 'The People's Front of Judea' or 'The Popular Front', I started to go off the idea. The revolution was a risk of losing my support. I felt the beginnings of disillusioned apathy. 'Nir', 'hys' or 'zer' are not for me. Thanks, but no thanks.
Then my attention was drawn to a grassroots uprising, with spirit - instead of theory - leading the way.
Yes, away from academia, and on the streets of Baltimore, gender-neutral pronouns have formed and proliferated. It's all been rather organic, un-invented and quite wonderful. The New Scientist got wind of the trend last year, but any of us watching 'The Wire' have been long-exposed.
Being a grammar retard, I didn't pick up on the gender-neutral 'he’s' and 'she’s' that my favourite series advertised. I'm just getting to grips with pronouns after all.
Here's where it's at. Here's where I'm back on board:
Yo – Her/His
Yos – Hers/His
Yo's - She's/He's
Yon – Her/Him
I intend to still use traditional pronouns, but perhaps for those times when I'm speaking hypothetically, about a random imagined person, with no predefined gender, a little 'Yo' will help. Paradigm shifts start small.
The New Scientist articles are here:
'Yo' is the word when 'he' or 'she' won't do
Yo! yo
Fabpants Recommends: As a great fan of The Soundtrack of Our Lives 'Behind the Music' when I lived on a different street, I am delighted with their new fat double album 'Communion'. I always have this feeling that I shouldn't like The Soundtrack of Our Lives, but I do. I love them and they're bloody brilliant live. Is it RAWK? Really? How come my ears like it so?
The band share their music via a widget. I highly recommend starting with the track 'Second Life Replay'. It's quite beautiful. 'The Ego Delusion' reminds me of the Super Furry Animals, and 'Universal Stalker' is fantastically bitter. Feeling as slushy as a lovelorn dreamer? Check out Lifeline.
Yesterday, I learnt about Gender Neutral Pronouns. As someone who hates using the term 'they' when the gender of a single person is unknown, I like this idea.
I got excited.
Then I made a disappointing discovery. There is no simple list of gender-neutral pronouns. Instead, there are many.
One can't just roll forward with commonly accepted usage. It's far more complicated than that.
If you're looking for a start point, Wikipedia lists an array of 'invented' gender-neutral pronouns.
This is problematic for me. Choosing is hard. Do I choose my pronouns based on popularity of use? Or, should I opt for the funkiest sounding set?
If one set was popular or had a cool ring to it, it might help. Alas, this is not the case.
It seems that in adopting a set of 'invented' pronouns, I will be attaching myself to a subset within a genre, and with it a 'School of Thought'. I will be a member of a sect rather than a great paradigm shifting force. I will be saying something by my preference of terms, which goes beyond the gender-neutral.
Faced with the choice of joining 'The Judean People's Front', 'The People's Front of Judea' or 'The Popular Front', I started to go off the idea. The revolution was a risk of losing my support. I felt the beginnings of disillusioned apathy. 'Nir', 'hys' or 'zer' are not for me. Thanks, but no thanks.
Then my attention was drawn to a grassroots uprising, with spirit - instead of theory - leading the way.
Yes, away from academia, and on the streets of Baltimore, gender-neutral pronouns have formed and proliferated. It's all been rather organic, un-invented and quite wonderful. The New Scientist got wind of the trend last year, but any of us watching 'The Wire' have been long-exposed.
Being a grammar retard, I didn't pick up on the gender-neutral 'he’s' and 'she’s' that my favourite series advertised. I'm just getting to grips with pronouns after all.
Here's where it's at. Here's where I'm back on board:
Yo – Her/His
Yos – Hers/His
Yo's - She's/He's
Yon – Her/Him
I intend to still use traditional pronouns, but perhaps for those times when I'm speaking hypothetically, about a random imagined person, with no predefined gender, a little 'Yo' will help. Paradigm shifts start small.
The New Scientist articles are here:
'Yo' is the word when 'he' or 'she' won't do
Yo! yo
Fabpants Recommends: As a great fan of The Soundtrack of Our Lives 'Behind the Music' when I lived on a different street, I am delighted with their new fat double album 'Communion'. I always have this feeling that I shouldn't like The Soundtrack of Our Lives, but I do. I love them and they're bloody brilliant live. Is it RAWK? Really? How come my ears like it so?
The band share their music via a widget. I highly recommend starting with the track 'Second Life Replay'. It's quite beautiful. 'The Ego Delusion' reminds me of the Super Furry Animals, and 'Universal Stalker' is fantastically bitter. Feeling as slushy as a lovelorn dreamer? Check out Lifeline.
Wednesday, 2 September 2009
Arrested Development
Rutland is the smallest county in England, for the half the year. That's when the tide is out in the Isle of Wight.
In June, I bought train tickets to Coventry.
As time passed, people made decisions to add a little 'travel fever fuck-up' to the mix. It was a Bank Holiday after all.
London Euston:
"You can’t get on this train, the one that goes direct to Coventry, the one you’re at the front of the queue for. You will have to get this train, then this replacement bus, then perhaps this train, or perhaps another replacement bus. We’re not too sure, but you can’t get this train. That’s for certain. It’s a Virgin train and you have a London Midland ticket. Today only Virgin ticketholders will travel direct."
Damn privatisation and a non-integrated transport system!
I have never felt so instantly travel sick as I did on the replacement bus between Hemel Hempstead and Northampton. The air was stale when we boarded. Food, sweat, bad breath and sick, melded like a witch’s pot of cackling spite and dust bogey soup. The bus driver, schooled in jerk-based acceleration and sudden-braking, set his mind on ensuring the complete imbalance of being.
A girl sat in the adjacent seat, folded first. She regurgitated her breakfast into a crisp packet. Yesterday’s supper, lunch and snacks followed. Her journey ended with bile. The woman sat behind her played bad radio on bad mobile phone speakers. The retching continued. At Wolverton, a group of Northampton Saints (Rugby) fans joined the wagon. They shouted at each other and at the woman playing the radio. The sweet smell of morning-supped alcohol added to the ambience. The radio played on.
At Northampton, my friend was read his rights.
"You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention - when questioned - something which you later rely on in court."
The man had driven from Coventry to save us. This was his reward. An unmarked car blocked us into the parking space at Northampton Railway Station. A girl I’d smiled at in the station toilets got out. “Are you lost?” she asked. Within seconds, two others joined her. The university lecturer, and family man, was ordered to leave his vehicle. We sat inside quite baffled.
As quick as they came, they went. No explanation. No nothing. Just a quick sorry and back to their car park stakeout. What were we suspected of? Intention to meet up with three children, and their mother, and camp at a rather nice campsite? Criminal indeed! If they had seen the sandy play area, they would have imprisoned us for sure.
We barbecued onsite and visited Rutland Water. Rutland Water is an internationally famous nature reserve, built in the 1970s, and manmade through and through. The cycling is popular, and bikes are available for hire. We hired, rode, picnicked and rode home. For one mile, I clutched an abandoned children’s bike in my right hand, riding its adult sister. All were encouraged to escape my path.
On Sunday night it rained. Seven of us gathered in tent porch. We made a set of cards from printer paper and a mismatch of children's pens. Those cards saw action until midnight. One by one, the children, aged three, seven and ten, disappeared to sleep in the adjoining pod. Meanwhile, their abandoned £5 tent filled with water. In the candlelight, we giggled at the absurdity of it all. We could barely see. The 'one of diamonds' indeed. A suit of 14 filled our night.
The trains were kind to us on Monday. I was home in time to read Kurt Vonnegurt on the beach, soak up the sun, and look forward to tea.
August Bank Holiday Weekend. Indeed!
Fabpants Recommends: Today, I am enjoying My Toys Like Me. They have an album called 'Where We Are'.
Download MP3: My Toys Like Me – Sweetheart (courtesy of quietcolor.com)
Download MP3: My Toys Like Me – Bats (courtesy of quietcolor.com)
In June, I bought train tickets to Coventry.
As time passed, people made decisions to add a little 'travel fever fuck-up' to the mix. It was a Bank Holiday after all.
London Euston:
"You can’t get on this train, the one that goes direct to Coventry, the one you’re at the front of the queue for. You will have to get this train, then this replacement bus, then perhaps this train, or perhaps another replacement bus. We’re not too sure, but you can’t get this train. That’s for certain. It’s a Virgin train and you have a London Midland ticket. Today only Virgin ticketholders will travel direct."
Damn privatisation and a non-integrated transport system!
I have never felt so instantly travel sick as I did on the replacement bus between Hemel Hempstead and Northampton. The air was stale when we boarded. Food, sweat, bad breath and sick, melded like a witch’s pot of cackling spite and dust bogey soup. The bus driver, schooled in jerk-based acceleration and sudden-braking, set his mind on ensuring the complete imbalance of being.
A girl sat in the adjacent seat, folded first. She regurgitated her breakfast into a crisp packet. Yesterday’s supper, lunch and snacks followed. Her journey ended with bile. The woman sat behind her played bad radio on bad mobile phone speakers. The retching continued. At Wolverton, a group of Northampton Saints (Rugby) fans joined the wagon. They shouted at each other and at the woman playing the radio. The sweet smell of morning-supped alcohol added to the ambience. The radio played on.
At Northampton, my friend was read his rights.
"You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention - when questioned - something which you later rely on in court."
The man had driven from Coventry to save us. This was his reward. An unmarked car blocked us into the parking space at Northampton Railway Station. A girl I’d smiled at in the station toilets got out. “Are you lost?” she asked. Within seconds, two others joined her. The university lecturer, and family man, was ordered to leave his vehicle. We sat inside quite baffled.
As quick as they came, they went. No explanation. No nothing. Just a quick sorry and back to their car park stakeout. What were we suspected of? Intention to meet up with three children, and their mother, and camp at a rather nice campsite? Criminal indeed! If they had seen the sandy play area, they would have imprisoned us for sure.
We barbecued onsite and visited Rutland Water. Rutland Water is an internationally famous nature reserve, built in the 1970s, and manmade through and through. The cycling is popular, and bikes are available for hire. We hired, rode, picnicked and rode home. For one mile, I clutched an abandoned children’s bike in my right hand, riding its adult sister. All were encouraged to escape my path.
On Sunday night it rained. Seven of us gathered in tent porch. We made a set of cards from printer paper and a mismatch of children's pens. Those cards saw action until midnight. One by one, the children, aged three, seven and ten, disappeared to sleep in the adjoining pod. Meanwhile, their abandoned £5 tent filled with water. In the candlelight, we giggled at the absurdity of it all. We could barely see. The 'one of diamonds' indeed. A suit of 14 filled our night.
The trains were kind to us on Monday. I was home in time to read Kurt Vonnegurt on the beach, soak up the sun, and look forward to tea.
August Bank Holiday Weekend. Indeed!
Fabpants Recommends: Today, I am enjoying My Toys Like Me. They have an album called 'Where We Are'.
Download MP3: My Toys Like Me – Sweetheart (courtesy of quietcolor.com)
Download MP3: My Toys Like Me – Bats (courtesy of quietcolor.com)
Sunday, 23 August 2009
I am the God of Hellfire
I bring you FIRE. A really BIG fire.
Today we went on the South Downs Bus Walk Number 7. I love Bus Walks.
Just as we stepped into the countryside, and released the happy sigh of Lemon Jelly fields, a big black cloud filled the sky. It was amazing. Black swirling plumes gathered, dispersed eastwards, and a shadow fell across the land. Pollution can dance. The formation was stunning.
"I love the Bus Walks on this side of town", I said, "It's wonderful to be free from the drone of traffic". Our backs turned from the ominous sky, as the bridle path took us upward. A sheep cried out and, one by one, several fire engines joined the chorus.
Today, the countryside was beautiful and the sun glorious. As my neck gently roasted, a tractor and trailer of hay said goodbye to the world. The fire was in the next valley, and the farm just out of visual range.
While the smoke hailed sailors lost at sea, nearer to home perhaps someone was cursing that dropped cigarette.
I hope everyone at the farm is okay. Thanks for the show.
Fabpants Recommends: It’s definitely a Lemon Jelly weekend, with picnics on Hove Lawns and rather jolly strolls in the English countryside.
Download MP3: Lemon Jelly – Nice Weather for Ducks (courtesy of bass-ackwards.net)
Earlier today, I bought tickets for five gigs. WOO HOO. More on those and some summer gig reviews coming soon. Now, it's time for ice-cream and people watching on the promenade. Wish you were here...
Today we went on the South Downs Bus Walk Number 7. I love Bus Walks.
Just as we stepped into the countryside, and released the happy sigh of Lemon Jelly fields, a big black cloud filled the sky. It was amazing. Black swirling plumes gathered, dispersed eastwards, and a shadow fell across the land. Pollution can dance. The formation was stunning.
"I love the Bus Walks on this side of town", I said, "It's wonderful to be free from the drone of traffic". Our backs turned from the ominous sky, as the bridle path took us upward. A sheep cried out and, one by one, several fire engines joined the chorus.
Today, the countryside was beautiful and the sun glorious. As my neck gently roasted, a tractor and trailer of hay said goodbye to the world. The fire was in the next valley, and the farm just out of visual range.
While the smoke hailed sailors lost at sea, nearer to home perhaps someone was cursing that dropped cigarette.
I hope everyone at the farm is okay. Thanks for the show.
Fabpants Recommends: It’s definitely a Lemon Jelly weekend, with picnics on Hove Lawns and rather jolly strolls in the English countryside.
Download MP3: Lemon Jelly – Nice Weather for Ducks (courtesy of bass-ackwards.net)
Earlier today, I bought tickets for five gigs. WOO HOO. More on those and some summer gig reviews coming soon. Now, it's time for ice-cream and people watching on the promenade. Wish you were here...
