There go my 20s then. As everyone will tell you, "it's just a number", but there is something about turning 30 that causes you to needlessly examine your life to date.
Ten years ago, I was slumped in the corner of a student union bar with a group of people I seemed to do a lot of that kind of thing with. England beat Spain 3-0 at football, in what was Sven-Goran Eriksson's first game in charge. I remember being glad to be rid of my teenage years, which for the main were lousy. Full of piss and vinegar as most would be in that position, I had a head full of ideas of what I'd get up to over the next decade of my existence.
Of course, it didn't work out how I thought it would. But on reflection, though it didn't pan out how I expected when I was 20, I did a hell of a lot better than I thought I would when I was aged 23. I managed to get work as a journalist, I clambered on stage in a band and even managed to get out to LA. That I did any of those things is down to a fair few people for backing me up, head of which would be my parents and Nicky, without whom I've no idea where I would be.
The whole idea of setting yourself "things to do before you're 30" came up in a conversation the other day and we laughed at the daft things we wanted to do. Nevertheless, I'm doing the same for the next ten years. Essentially, I want to get a book published somewhere. There. I said it. Fuck knows how, or even if I have the chops for it. A more far-fetched target would be to not have to work a 35 hour week, by choice.
Perhaps the best thing I can say for my 20s is that I survived it in one piece. Plenty don't. And hey, I can still fit in the same size clothes I could when I was 19 too. Result!
Monday 28 February 2011
Friday 25 February 2011
Coping Well
I can't confess to being a huge Julian Cope fan, though the Teardrop Explodes remain one of my absolute favourite bands of the post-punk era and I've enjoyed bits of his solo work. Despite his penchant for the weird, the guy can write a very good pop song when he feels the need.
Even so, I probably wouldn't have even known he was playing in Manchester if a friend hadn't seen him at the All Tomorrow's Parties festival a few months ago and told me he was playing at Band On The Wall. I'd never been to the venue before it was shut for several years, but the general feeling from those I spoke it who had was that it was "grotty". Obviously they must be looking to go for a new vibe, as it all seemed a bit more upmarket to me.
Anyhoo, what Cope is also known for aside his tunes is his storytelling. His two autobiographical books Head On and Repossessed are well worth reading for anyone who hasn't, and the Cope of 2011 (dressed in leathers, shades and biker cap, looking like Marlon Brando from The Wild One after a heavy night on something stronger than pints of Old Peculiar) can still spin a yarn. Early on, he goes on a rap about creative experimentation. Turns out for his 50th birthday a few years ago, he dropped acid for the first time in ages and followed it up by trying some new substance that left him unable to drive for four months. All of which inspired a song called Julian Cope and the Underworld.
In one of his between-song muses, Cope reflected that the last time he played here, on one of the Teardrop Explodes early gigs, he was frequently heckled by scencester Jon the Postman shouting 'Louder!'. When it turned out someone in the crowd had the guy's number, Cope tried to call him up only to be put through to his answering machine.
Following this, he decides to play a very early Teardrops song, All I Am Is Loving You, which was the b-side to their second single, Bouncing Babies. Explaining that as the band's first keys player Paul Simpson (later to become leader of the wonderful Wild Swans) could only play two chords on the keyboard, he would now play the song with the third chord as he had originally written it.
Asides from the humour, what I take away from the night is that JC has always been a top songwriter, an aspect perhaps overseen by many for his previous (current?) appetite for adventures of the chemical kind. Stood up there alone for all but the encore, he's got great stage presence and still looks a star. That his voice was never particularly strong even 30 years ago has worked in his favour now, as it hasn't had the chance to decline in a way that has happened to some of his contemporaries.
A great night out then, thanks of which to go to Julian H. Cope. And yes, when he did Sunspots my friend and I did sing "Indeed! It goes away!"
Even so, I probably wouldn't have even known he was playing in Manchester if a friend hadn't seen him at the All Tomorrow's Parties festival a few months ago and told me he was playing at Band On The Wall. I'd never been to the venue before it was shut for several years, but the general feeling from those I spoke it who had was that it was "grotty". Obviously they must be looking to go for a new vibe, as it all seemed a bit more upmarket to me.
Anyhoo, what Cope is also known for aside his tunes is his storytelling. His two autobiographical books Head On and Repossessed are well worth reading for anyone who hasn't, and the Cope of 2011 (dressed in leathers, shades and biker cap, looking like Marlon Brando from The Wild One after a heavy night on something stronger than pints of Old Peculiar) can still spin a yarn. Early on, he goes on a rap about creative experimentation. Turns out for his 50th birthday a few years ago, he dropped acid for the first time in ages and followed it up by trying some new substance that left him unable to drive for four months. All of which inspired a song called Julian Cope and the Underworld.
In one of his between-song muses, Cope reflected that the last time he played here, on one of the Teardrop Explodes early gigs, he was frequently heckled by scencester Jon the Postman shouting 'Louder!'. When it turned out someone in the crowd had the guy's number, Cope tried to call him up only to be put through to his answering machine.
Following this, he decides to play a very early Teardrops song, All I Am Is Loving You, which was the b-side to their second single, Bouncing Babies. Explaining that as the band's first keys player Paul Simpson (later to become leader of the wonderful Wild Swans) could only play two chords on the keyboard, he would now play the song with the third chord as he had originally written it.
Asides from the humour, what I take away from the night is that JC has always been a top songwriter, an aspect perhaps overseen by many for his previous (current?) appetite for adventures of the chemical kind. Stood up there alone for all but the encore, he's got great stage presence and still looks a star. That his voice was never particularly strong even 30 years ago has worked in his favour now, as it hasn't had the chance to decline in a way that has happened to some of his contemporaries.
A great night out then, thanks of which to go to Julian H. Cope. And yes, when he did Sunspots my friend and I did sing "Indeed! It goes away!"
Wednesday 23 February 2011
Dragging The Past For Pearls (II)
The Comsat Angels - My Mind's Eye (1993)
To surmise: The Comsat Angels were a Sheffield post-punk band who started out by releasing three wonderful albums in the early 80s. Then they tried to see if they could make the 'pop' angle work, an ill-advised move that did them no favours and saw them, by the end of the decade, resorting to changing their name to Dream Command in a final move at commercial viability.
By 1993, most people may have assumed the band had split up years prior. Instead, they came out with My Mind's Eye, an album that easily ranks with their best. Indeed, from the off, with Driving, the band come across as determined to get back to the heights they hit in the early 80s after years in the wilderness.
What the Comsat Angels always had going for them was a superbly solid rhythm section in bassist Kevin Bacon and drummer Mik Glaisher. Their tautness allowed keys player Andy Peake and singer/guitarist Stephen Fellows to go off on whatever tangents they fancied.
Throughout this album, what does come across is how it emphasises how good the Comsats were as songwriters. Even at their most mainstream, on 7 Day Weekend, songs like You Move Me and I'm Falling were as good as anything in the charts, albeit they now sound a bit dated. By 1993, they'd honed down their chops to create a set with more timeless qualities: songs like Field Of Tall Flowers and And All The Stars don't sound dated at all and the title track showed they could amp it up in style when they needed to.
Sadly, despite getting the best press notices of their career, My Mind's Eye didn't change the band's luck on the sales front. Kevin Bacon left soon after for a successful production career and the band replaced him and added a second guitarist for the subsequent The Glamour album. By the mid 90s, they'd finally handed their cards in.
When the band, in it's original line up, did reform in 2009, they focused entirely on material from the first three albums. I hope in any subsequent gigs, they expand their set to include songs from both of their 90s albums. Reissued in 2007 with plenty of remixes and b-sides, My Mind's Eye deserves to be recognised in the same league as Waiting For A Miracle, Sleep No More and Fiction as showing the very best of a very exceptional band.
To surmise: The Comsat Angels were a Sheffield post-punk band who started out by releasing three wonderful albums in the early 80s. Then they tried to see if they could make the 'pop' angle work, an ill-advised move that did them no favours and saw them, by the end of the decade, resorting to changing their name to Dream Command in a final move at commercial viability.
By 1993, most people may have assumed the band had split up years prior. Instead, they came out with My Mind's Eye, an album that easily ranks with their best. Indeed, from the off, with Driving, the band come across as determined to get back to the heights they hit in the early 80s after years in the wilderness.
What the Comsat Angels always had going for them was a superbly solid rhythm section in bassist Kevin Bacon and drummer Mik Glaisher. Their tautness allowed keys player Andy Peake and singer/guitarist Stephen Fellows to go off on whatever tangents they fancied.
Throughout this album, what does come across is how it emphasises how good the Comsats were as songwriters. Even at their most mainstream, on 7 Day Weekend, songs like You Move Me and I'm Falling were as good as anything in the charts, albeit they now sound a bit dated. By 1993, they'd honed down their chops to create a set with more timeless qualities: songs like Field Of Tall Flowers and And All The Stars don't sound dated at all and the title track showed they could amp it up in style when they needed to.
Sadly, despite getting the best press notices of their career, My Mind's Eye didn't change the band's luck on the sales front. Kevin Bacon left soon after for a successful production career and the band replaced him and added a second guitarist for the subsequent The Glamour album. By the mid 90s, they'd finally handed their cards in.
When the band, in it's original line up, did reform in 2009, they focused entirely on material from the first three albums. I hope in any subsequent gigs, they expand their set to include songs from both of their 90s albums. Reissued in 2007 with plenty of remixes and b-sides, My Mind's Eye deserves to be recognised in the same league as Waiting For A Miracle, Sleep No More and Fiction as showing the very best of a very exceptional band.
Monday 21 February 2011
Fire Sale
With our esteemed leader coming out and saying he wants a new "presumption" that public services will be open to be run by anyone with a bit of spare cash, the most depressing part is the numbing inevitability of it all.
What it does remind me is a conversation I had with a friend where we come to the conclusion that the likes of the people who make up the cabinet could well have been made in a factory, such is their apparent lack of actual humanity. Everytime I see Cameron on the box, I believe he's like some cyborg sent from the future and bases his actions and having video tapes of Tony Blair on a constant loop. The constant hand signals, the way he manages to speak for any length of time without actually saying anything meaningful. It's beyond bizarre.
In seriousness, what I do believe about the new political elite, and this goes across all the major parties, is that they have no actual idea about the real world. Of course, they can turf up at some inner-city school, nod gravely as some kid tells them their parents can't afford to buy a new uniform and then say some vague words on what must be done. But they don't actually know the world these families live in, because they've been protected from it their whole lives.
Which brings me to the kind of cuts that Manchester is having to go through, and how they effect lives. Some may think it's a simple matter of ditching the kind of "non-jobs" certain columnists get themselves into a state of frenzy over. Realities are very different. Issues such as Sure Start centres having their funding cuts reduces the chance of problems being prevented, making a social worker's job being one more of picking up the pieces.
I've got a couple of very good friends who work in Children's Services in Manchester. As I understand it, several of the contact workers that aid them in their jobs are on the way out. These are people who will handle any contact between Looked After Children and their birth parents - if they go, it has to be done by the social workers instead. On the face of it, not that much of a problem. Except it can sometimes take up half a day from picking the kid up to dropping them back at their carers, and when you have up to 30 children on your caseload, half a day is a huge part of your working week.
The concept of the 'Big Society' appears both vague and too simplistic. Nobody seems to know what it means, but it carries the assumption people will step in to fill the gaps. As Cameron won't know, real life doesn't work this way. Real life is too complicated for too many people. A small tax hike may not seem much to a millonaire, but it can maybe be the difference for somebody between going out on a Friday night or not. Might not seem much, yet people need to be able to relax, enjoy their leisure time and not just exist for nothing but work.
To quantify all of this, I'm fully aware how much of a great place to live the UK is for the most part. But I really believe it can be a whole lot better, especially for those at the bottom of the heap. Whether this is possible depends, I would imagine, on having politicans who have at least the smallest understanding of how us proles get by.
What it does remind me is a conversation I had with a friend where we come to the conclusion that the likes of the people who make up the cabinet could well have been made in a factory, such is their apparent lack of actual humanity. Everytime I see Cameron on the box, I believe he's like some cyborg sent from the future and bases his actions and having video tapes of Tony Blair on a constant loop. The constant hand signals, the way he manages to speak for any length of time without actually saying anything meaningful. It's beyond bizarre.
In seriousness, what I do believe about the new political elite, and this goes across all the major parties, is that they have no actual idea about the real world. Of course, they can turf up at some inner-city school, nod gravely as some kid tells them their parents can't afford to buy a new uniform and then say some vague words on what must be done. But they don't actually know the world these families live in, because they've been protected from it their whole lives.
Which brings me to the kind of cuts that Manchester is having to go through, and how they effect lives. Some may think it's a simple matter of ditching the kind of "non-jobs" certain columnists get themselves into a state of frenzy over. Realities are very different. Issues such as Sure Start centres having their funding cuts reduces the chance of problems being prevented, making a social worker's job being one more of picking up the pieces.
I've got a couple of very good friends who work in Children's Services in Manchester. As I understand it, several of the contact workers that aid them in their jobs are on the way out. These are people who will handle any contact between Looked After Children and their birth parents - if they go, it has to be done by the social workers instead. On the face of it, not that much of a problem. Except it can sometimes take up half a day from picking the kid up to dropping them back at their carers, and when you have up to 30 children on your caseload, half a day is a huge part of your working week.
The concept of the 'Big Society' appears both vague and too simplistic. Nobody seems to know what it means, but it carries the assumption people will step in to fill the gaps. As Cameron won't know, real life doesn't work this way. Real life is too complicated for too many people. A small tax hike may not seem much to a millonaire, but it can maybe be the difference for somebody between going out on a Friday night or not. Might not seem much, yet people need to be able to relax, enjoy their leisure time and not just exist for nothing but work.
To quantify all of this, I'm fully aware how much of a great place to live the UK is for the most part. But I really believe it can be a whole lot better, especially for those at the bottom of the heap. Whether this is possible depends, I would imagine, on having politicans who have at least the smallest understanding of how us proles get by.
Saturday 19 February 2011
Liberty For All
I'm not the sort who'll queue up to buy a video game, finding myself unable to wait to get my hands on it. I much prefer to wait a few months to gauge the long-term verdict and, frankly, see the price drop by £20 or so. Only twice have I bought a game on the day of release, those being Metal Gear Solid 4 and Grand Theft Auto 4.
Having been a fan of the series since the start, I couldn't wait to see what Rock Star could do on the PS3, especially after Grand Theft Auto: Vice City had endeared itself to my heart so deeply. I wasn't disappointed: the tale of Niko Bellic's escape from a troubled life to what he hoped would be a prosperous one in Liberty City, USA, and his subsequent descent into an existence of murder, chaos and crime was compelling.
What made GTAIV so brilliant was how Liberty City seemed so immersive. Walking down the street, you'd pass people talking on phones, drinking coffee or catching the train. See a guy get hit by a car and in a few minutes, an ambulance would turn up and cart him off. It was fantastic. Which made a return when I finally got hold of Episodes From Liberty City all the more exciting. Initially released as downloads, they've been released together on one disc or even as a complete package with GTAIV, useful to any newcomers to the games scene.
There are two episodes, each following two different characters as they try to survive in the city, occasionally crossing paths with Niko. First, The Lost and Damned circles around Johnny Klebitz, Vice-President of the LC chapter of the Lost Motorcycle Club, a leather-clad bunch of lunatics whom Johnny has managed to whip into some kind of shape in the absence of their leader, Billy, a drug-crazed lunatic. The game throws you in as the gang ride out to meet Billy on his release from court-ordered rehab and continues on the Lost's inevitable slide into madness and Johnny's struggle to stay alive, not helped by his strung-out former girlfriend, meddling politicians and turf wars with a rival gang.
The Lost and Damned feels gritty, to suit the character's circumstances: he sleeps on a grotty mattress in a back room, has done several stretches in prison and screams during combat that he doesn't care if he dies. He lives only for the brotherhood of the gang, and even that begins to crumble around him over the storyline.
In contrast, The Ballad of Gay Tony is full of colour and decadence. We play Luis Lopez, bodyguard, quasi-business partner and friend to Gay Tony, a nightclub owner up to his designer shades to various unpleasant characters. Cleaning up this mess and stopping Tony from going over the edge in a pill-popping frenzy takes up a lot of Luis' time, but he's also got to help out his old neighbourhood friends in their efforts to become successful drug dealers and help out insanely rich Arab businessman Yusuf (in which the voicing of whom Omid Djalili makes me laugh for the first time in his career) with his plans to build the most imposing structure in the city as well as pacifying his disapproving father.
Amusingly, Luis feels no resentment about his lot in life, freely confessing that he's a "murdering maniac" and that "I like killing people for money". He also shows commendable loyalty to Tony, despite his frequent bouts of self-pity, sticks by his old friends despite their catcalls that he's "sold out" and looks after his mother financially. Of the three 'heroes' of the GTAIV saga, he seems to be the only one who gets a happy ending. Perhaps it's because he's such a great dancer, which you can see for yourself in an engaging minigame with ends with either the seduction of your dancing partner or in an extended sequence with sees you get the whole room shaking to a routine. I'm not usually a fan of such mini-games, but trying to get the moves right to Do The Bus Stop by the Fatback Band gets my thumbs up.
Both episodes also feature whole new radio station line-ups, including the excellent Vice City FM, playing 80s classics so that you can enjoy being chased by the Five O with Scritti Politti and Terence Trent D'arby soundtracking it. Mercifully, Rock Star have dispensed with the ultra-annoying friends side-games that were my one real irritation with GTAIV. You can still call up friends to go play air hockey, bowling, darts and so on, but it's no longer a must and they never call you up to insist so. Thanks for that.
All of which brings me to the conclusion of what we can expect from GTAV. Rock Star have been on top of their game with this series since the mid 1990s - will they finally drop the ball or will we be surprised once again by them stepping things up another level? Doubtless I'll be handing over the cash on release day once again.
Having been a fan of the series since the start, I couldn't wait to see what Rock Star could do on the PS3, especially after Grand Theft Auto: Vice City had endeared itself to my heart so deeply. I wasn't disappointed: the tale of Niko Bellic's escape from a troubled life to what he hoped would be a prosperous one in Liberty City, USA, and his subsequent descent into an existence of murder, chaos and crime was compelling.
What made GTAIV so brilliant was how Liberty City seemed so immersive. Walking down the street, you'd pass people talking on phones, drinking coffee or catching the train. See a guy get hit by a car and in a few minutes, an ambulance would turn up and cart him off. It was fantastic. Which made a return when I finally got hold of Episodes From Liberty City all the more exciting. Initially released as downloads, they've been released together on one disc or even as a complete package with GTAIV, useful to any newcomers to the games scene.
There are two episodes, each following two different characters as they try to survive in the city, occasionally crossing paths with Niko. First, The Lost and Damned circles around Johnny Klebitz, Vice-President of the LC chapter of the Lost Motorcycle Club, a leather-clad bunch of lunatics whom Johnny has managed to whip into some kind of shape in the absence of their leader, Billy, a drug-crazed lunatic. The game throws you in as the gang ride out to meet Billy on his release from court-ordered rehab and continues on the Lost's inevitable slide into madness and Johnny's struggle to stay alive, not helped by his strung-out former girlfriend, meddling politicians and turf wars with a rival gang.
The Lost and Damned feels gritty, to suit the character's circumstances: he sleeps on a grotty mattress in a back room, has done several stretches in prison and screams during combat that he doesn't care if he dies. He lives only for the brotherhood of the gang, and even that begins to crumble around him over the storyline.
In contrast, The Ballad of Gay Tony is full of colour and decadence. We play Luis Lopez, bodyguard, quasi-business partner and friend to Gay Tony, a nightclub owner up to his designer shades to various unpleasant characters. Cleaning up this mess and stopping Tony from going over the edge in a pill-popping frenzy takes up a lot of Luis' time, but he's also got to help out his old neighbourhood friends in their efforts to become successful drug dealers and help out insanely rich Arab businessman Yusuf (in which the voicing of whom Omid Djalili makes me laugh for the first time in his career) with his plans to build the most imposing structure in the city as well as pacifying his disapproving father.
Amusingly, Luis feels no resentment about his lot in life, freely confessing that he's a "murdering maniac" and that "I like killing people for money". He also shows commendable loyalty to Tony, despite his frequent bouts of self-pity, sticks by his old friends despite their catcalls that he's "sold out" and looks after his mother financially. Of the three 'heroes' of the GTAIV saga, he seems to be the only one who gets a happy ending. Perhaps it's because he's such a great dancer, which you can see for yourself in an engaging minigame with ends with either the seduction of your dancing partner or in an extended sequence with sees you get the whole room shaking to a routine. I'm not usually a fan of such mini-games, but trying to get the moves right to Do The Bus Stop by the Fatback Band gets my thumbs up.
Both episodes also feature whole new radio station line-ups, including the excellent Vice City FM, playing 80s classics so that you can enjoy being chased by the Five O with Scritti Politti and Terence Trent D'arby soundtracking it. Mercifully, Rock Star have dispensed with the ultra-annoying friends side-games that were my one real irritation with GTAIV. You can still call up friends to go play air hockey, bowling, darts and so on, but it's no longer a must and they never call you up to insist so. Thanks for that.
All of which brings me to the conclusion of what we can expect from GTAV. Rock Star have been on top of their game with this series since the mid 1990s - will they finally drop the ball or will we be surprised once again by them stepping things up another level? Doubtless I'll be handing over the cash on release day once again.
Thursday 17 February 2011
Dancing Around Politics
I'm not sure if I'm the only one, but it seems to becoming increasingly hard to argue politics with a lot of people. Matters seem to have descended into a clear "a or b" stance, and with the Liberal Democrats seemingly safely in the Tories pockets, it all seems to be increasingly like the two party system that they have in the States.
I'll tie my colours to the mast right away. I'm an old socialist with an admiration for people like Tony Benn. I'm not going to go into what I believe in (too boring) but over the past few months, whenever I have criticised the current government, I have been met several times with a sneer and "it's all because of the mess Labour left" or "what, so you'd have Labour back in?"
All I can say in return is that I never voted for that bunch of tossers either. Whatever Tony Blair felt he had to do to make the party electable, he moved it so far from whatever it did stand for to make it beyond the reach of my cross in a box.
Yet the damage has also been done in that to a lot of people, the mistakes between 1997 and 2010 will forever go down as the mistakes of socialism. Now, excuse my naivety here, but as someone born in 1981, I'm fairly confident I've never lived under what I would term a "left wing" government. The cynic in me says I never will, at least not while living in this country.
Perhaps the politics I believe in is a pipe dream, and that as a people, we've chosen our route and have to follow it to the conclusion, no matter how harsh the cost. Having good friends who are social workers, I'm starting to see how Big Dave's Big Society is starting to bite. Caseloads are going up, meaning they get less time with children in desperate need of help. Support workers and admin support are being let go. But nevermind, we as a people will fill in the gaps. Or maybe we won't, after 30 years plus of being encouraged to look after nobody but ourselves and to spend our troubles away.
Unfocused Rant over. Last one to sign on gets the drinks.
I'll tie my colours to the mast right away. I'm an old socialist with an admiration for people like Tony Benn. I'm not going to go into what I believe in (too boring) but over the past few months, whenever I have criticised the current government, I have been met several times with a sneer and "it's all because of the mess Labour left" or "what, so you'd have Labour back in?"
All I can say in return is that I never voted for that bunch of tossers either. Whatever Tony Blair felt he had to do to make the party electable, he moved it so far from whatever it did stand for to make it beyond the reach of my cross in a box.
Yet the damage has also been done in that to a lot of people, the mistakes between 1997 and 2010 will forever go down as the mistakes of socialism. Now, excuse my naivety here, but as someone born in 1981, I'm fairly confident I've never lived under what I would term a "left wing" government. The cynic in me says I never will, at least not while living in this country.
Perhaps the politics I believe in is a pipe dream, and that as a people, we've chosen our route and have to follow it to the conclusion, no matter how harsh the cost. Having good friends who are social workers, I'm starting to see how Big Dave's Big Society is starting to bite. Caseloads are going up, meaning they get less time with children in desperate need of help. Support workers and admin support are being let go. But nevermind, we as a people will fill in the gaps. Or maybe we won't, after 30 years plus of being encouraged to look after nobody but ourselves and to spend our troubles away.
Unfocused Rant over. Last one to sign on gets the drinks.
Monday 14 February 2011
Number One In The Hood
Of all the things I like, in terms of music, film and games, very few seem to divide opinion than Aqua Teen Hunger Force, an animated cartoon series about (and bear with me here, for those not in the know) a box of fries, a milkshake and a lump of meat who live together in New Jersey.
Part of this may be it's completely absurd humour. Frylock, Master Shake and Meatwad engage in a series of non-adventures that bear little resemblance to reality of each other - characters are often killed or mutilated in a series of ways, only to be restored to full health by the next episode. Principal themes seem to revolve around Shake's desire to inflict pain and misery on the naive and helpless Meatwad, and also to get laid, though he doesn't know what the latter involves. All the while, the intelligent though slightly aloof Frylock tries to hold a semblance of order and help Meatwad attain some kind of intelligence, despite the latter having a brain that turns out to be a squeaky toy.
Distractions and chaos often arrive in the form of aliens from the Moon, who exist only in two dimensions, or Pluto, who tend to be stoned beyond the ability to follow through any world conquest plans they might have. All the while, the Aqua Teen's human next door neighbour, Carl, despairs and is often the target for brutal injury through little fault of his own.
It's slapstick humour to a degree, yes, but balanced out with a very healthy sense of never knowing what might come next. An episode may see Shake insist that "Highlander was a documentary, and the events happened in real time" as he throws a depressive doll off the edge of a cliff, or Ted Nugent appear, armed with a bow that shoots flaming arrows.
The genius of the first four series that I've seen so far is that the idea of a bunch of anthropomorphic fast food bumming around doesn't wear thin as the writers always seem to have a stupidly brilliant idea. By setting the tone from the early episodes, after ditching the vague idea of the ATHF being detectives, they allow themselves to play with any idea they get. Why not have Meatwad get pregnant, or have a sandwich that sends the consumer to hell voiced by the son of Isaac Hayes?
Doubtless I do it no justice at all. Go find out for yourself.
Part of this may be it's completely absurd humour. Frylock, Master Shake and Meatwad engage in a series of non-adventures that bear little resemblance to reality of each other - characters are often killed or mutilated in a series of ways, only to be restored to full health by the next episode. Principal themes seem to revolve around Shake's desire to inflict pain and misery on the naive and helpless Meatwad, and also to get laid, though he doesn't know what the latter involves. All the while, the intelligent though slightly aloof Frylock tries to hold a semblance of order and help Meatwad attain some kind of intelligence, despite the latter having a brain that turns out to be a squeaky toy.
Distractions and chaos often arrive in the form of aliens from the Moon, who exist only in two dimensions, or Pluto, who tend to be stoned beyond the ability to follow through any world conquest plans they might have. All the while, the Aqua Teen's human next door neighbour, Carl, despairs and is often the target for brutal injury through little fault of his own.
It's slapstick humour to a degree, yes, but balanced out with a very healthy sense of never knowing what might come next. An episode may see Shake insist that "Highlander was a documentary, and the events happened in real time" as he throws a depressive doll off the edge of a cliff, or Ted Nugent appear, armed with a bow that shoots flaming arrows.
The genius of the first four series that I've seen so far is that the idea of a bunch of anthropomorphic fast food bumming around doesn't wear thin as the writers always seem to have a stupidly brilliant idea. By setting the tone from the early episodes, after ditching the vague idea of the ATHF being detectives, they allow themselves to play with any idea they get. Why not have Meatwad get pregnant, or have a sandwich that sends the consumer to hell voiced by the son of Isaac Hayes?
Doubtless I do it no justice at all. Go find out for yourself.
Thursday 10 February 2011
Dragging the Past for Pearls
An occasional series of looking at albums that may have been lost to the dense fogs of history.
The High - Somewhere Soon (1990)
Found, if I remember right, about ten years ago for £2.99 in a "reduced" basket in a record store whose name I can't remember in Aldershot shopping centre. I also got Giant Steps by the Bood Radleys on cassette for a pound. Bargain!
If the High are remembered at all, it may be because they were one of the last bands Martin Hannett worked with, on their single Box Set Go, which is the opening track here. Not that it's a classic Hannett production by any means - it's a perfectly upbeat indie-jangle affair - but the name on the credits is perhaps enough to secure kudos. Apparently, Hannett was set to do the whole album, but the health problems that would led to his death meant otherwise.
At the time, the High were lumped in with the whole 'Madchester' scene of the time, not helped by being from Manchester and picking a bandname with drug connections. Also, with the Stone Roses at their peak, it perhaps did them no favours in terms of journalistic reporting that they had a guitarist in Andy Couzens who used to be in the Stone Roses, appearing on their debut single So Young and aborted 1985 sessions (also produced by Hannett) that would appear much later as Garage Flower.
All that aside, the High were an ill-fit into the pigeon hole they were put, seeing as there was very little (if any) dance music influence in their sound. Couzens' guitar mainly went down the Byrds route, with occasional detours into rocking out (Dreams of Dinesh). The album occasional suffers from a lack of variety in the pace front, and John Matthews' vocals tend to never stray from safety, but at their best, when they're putting together appealing atmospherics, it's a very good sound. The final two tracks of P.W.A. and Somewhere Soon make for an excellent conclusion.
Signed to London Records, the inital signs seemed good for the High when Box Set Go cracked the top 30. However, these were the days when any set of ambulance chasers with a tenuous connection to Manchester could get a hit. The album stalled at #59 on the charts and by the time of 1992's follow up Hype, the backlash was in full effect with the media now wowed by the likes of Cobain and chums.
Forgotten then, perhaps, but certainly unfairly. If it had been released perhaps a few years either side of 1990, Somewhere Soon might have been able to stand on it's own merits more. Worth tracking down for anyone a fan of well-put together indie pop music.
The High - Somewhere Soon (1990)
Found, if I remember right, about ten years ago for £2.99 in a "reduced" basket in a record store whose name I can't remember in Aldershot shopping centre. I also got Giant Steps by the Bood Radleys on cassette for a pound. Bargain!
If the High are remembered at all, it may be because they were one of the last bands Martin Hannett worked with, on their single Box Set Go, which is the opening track here. Not that it's a classic Hannett production by any means - it's a perfectly upbeat indie-jangle affair - but the name on the credits is perhaps enough to secure kudos. Apparently, Hannett was set to do the whole album, but the health problems that would led to his death meant otherwise.
At the time, the High were lumped in with the whole 'Madchester' scene of the time, not helped by being from Manchester and picking a bandname with drug connections. Also, with the Stone Roses at their peak, it perhaps did them no favours in terms of journalistic reporting that they had a guitarist in Andy Couzens who used to be in the Stone Roses, appearing on their debut single So Young and aborted 1985 sessions (also produced by Hannett) that would appear much later as Garage Flower.
All that aside, the High were an ill-fit into the pigeon hole they were put, seeing as there was very little (if any) dance music influence in their sound. Couzens' guitar mainly went down the Byrds route, with occasional detours into rocking out (Dreams of Dinesh). The album occasional suffers from a lack of variety in the pace front, and John Matthews' vocals tend to never stray from safety, but at their best, when they're putting together appealing atmospherics, it's a very good sound. The final two tracks of P.W.A. and Somewhere Soon make for an excellent conclusion.
Signed to London Records, the inital signs seemed good for the High when Box Set Go cracked the top 30. However, these were the days when any set of ambulance chasers with a tenuous connection to Manchester could get a hit. The album stalled at #59 on the charts and by the time of 1992's follow up Hype, the backlash was in full effect with the media now wowed by the likes of Cobain and chums.
Forgotten then, perhaps, but certainly unfairly. If it had been released perhaps a few years either side of 1990, Somewhere Soon might have been able to stand on it's own merits more. Worth tracking down for anyone a fan of well-put together indie pop music.
Tuesday 8 February 2011
Dead Men Don't Swim
I often wonder if I'm getting a bit detached in my old age. Reading news that a crematorium in the Midlands town of Redditch is being proposed to provide heat for the local swimming pool, my first reaction was "what a good idea!".
A local funeral director put his thoughts to the media, describing it as "eerie", though what the fuck it has to do with him, I don't know - it's not like it's going to effect his business. Also, it's only using the heat generated for some good when it would otherwise just vanish into the air: by some reactions you'd think it was if poor Mrs Jones was approached and asked by the local council "it was a bit frosty last night - can we use your husband's ashes to grit the path outside?"
Of course, I'd being silly, and people will get offended by such things. Still, by the figures banded around, the money the council would save is pretty much what a low-level office worker gets paid a year, which is a bonus in these days. Plus you have the environmental advantages. Bonus!
It's easy for me to say that, of course, seeing as I couldn't give a toss what happens to my bones once I pop my cork. After they rip any useful parts out of my body, they can use the cremation to provide heat for the local baker to make some nice pies, for all I care.
So kudos to Redditch Council for this scheme, and here's hoping it goes ahead. It's only when we get to Soylent Green levels of ways of disposing of the dead that we need worry. OR IS THAT NEXT FOR REDDITCH? Charlton Heston, where are you now when we need you?
A local funeral director put his thoughts to the media, describing it as "eerie", though what the fuck it has to do with him, I don't know - it's not like it's going to effect his business. Also, it's only using the heat generated for some good when it would otherwise just vanish into the air: by some reactions you'd think it was if poor Mrs Jones was approached and asked by the local council "it was a bit frosty last night - can we use your husband's ashes to grit the path outside?"
Of course, I'd being silly, and people will get offended by such things. Still, by the figures banded around, the money the council would save is pretty much what a low-level office worker gets paid a year, which is a bonus in these days. Plus you have the environmental advantages. Bonus!
It's easy for me to say that, of course, seeing as I couldn't give a toss what happens to my bones once I pop my cork. After they rip any useful parts out of my body, they can use the cremation to provide heat for the local baker to make some nice pies, for all I care.
So kudos to Redditch Council for this scheme, and here's hoping it goes ahead. It's only when we get to Soylent Green levels of ways of disposing of the dead that we need worry. OR IS THAT NEXT FOR REDDITCH? Charlton Heston, where are you now when we need you?
Sunday 6 February 2011
Getting Past Stunde Null
I've been listening to the latest British Sea Power for a couple of weeks now, trying to gather exactly what I want to say. After all, this is a band whom I've often championed to friends or anyone else listening. So I'll say this first, Valhalla Dancehall is another fine album, but unlikely to win over those who've not yet succumbed to their charms.
To start with the packaging, this is the worst artwork I can remember the band putting out. For an album cover, it looks like some lazy nonsense a first year Graphic Design student would put out while under the influence of bad dope.
Putting that grumble aside, there's plenty to like once you get into the music. First track Who's In Control? is classic 'epic' Sea Power, to go alongside Remember Me and Please Stand Up. It also seems a little political to these ears, with lyrics striking at mass apathy as "everything around you's being sold" and wishing that "protesting was sexy on a Saturday night. Where not for the line "over here, over there, over here, every fucking where" it'd make a great single.
What has become more clear as British Sea Power have got older is the influence of bassist Hamilton. While once brother Yan was de facto frontman, it's around a 60/40 split now. And their styles show marked contrasts, with Hamilton going for the more atmospheric approach, possibly reflecting his songwriting base on some Scottish isle.
This is best shown in the remarkable Cleaning Out The Rooms, which was also on the Zeus EP released a few months back. It was a great song then, and works even better in the context of the album. Keyboard player Phil Sumner's piano crops up a few times through Valhalla Dancehall, adding a different angle to the one that his predecessor Eamon did.
Not that Hamilton can't write a tune that makes a fair old racket, as Mongk II proves. There's a few moments were the band crank it up to the epic levels that made their name. I've read several times that this reflects the Cumbrian landscape in which three of the band were brought up in - and it does seem to be a fair statement. Perhaps my own feelings towards this music is down to me being from the same part of the world.
I've also read many times, with each album they release, that they've never equalled The Decline of British Sea Power. I can't disagree more - for while the debut was an excellent album, it at times felt to me like a selection of songs written over a protracted period of time. Subsequent releases have had a growing cohesion to them and Valhalla Dancehall continues the trend. It flows brilliant, with the tempo ebbing and flowing across the hour or so.
There's plenty to like here for fans, yet as I stated, I can't imagine many newcomers being won over - perhaps reflected by a chart placing of #22. Not that the band care, I'm sure, but you wonder for how long British Sea Power will continue to plough their peculiar furrow? I'm reminded of a favourite band of mine, the Comsat Angels, who eventually got tired of being obscure and tried to make a huge 'pop' album - only for it to completely fail to increase their profile. Will BSP ever be tempted to play the same gambit?
To start with the packaging, this is the worst artwork I can remember the band putting out. For an album cover, it looks like some lazy nonsense a first year Graphic Design student would put out while under the influence of bad dope.
Putting that grumble aside, there's plenty to like once you get into the music. First track Who's In Control? is classic 'epic' Sea Power, to go alongside Remember Me and Please Stand Up. It also seems a little political to these ears, with lyrics striking at mass apathy as "everything around you's being sold" and wishing that "protesting was sexy on a Saturday night. Where not for the line "over here, over there, over here, every fucking where" it'd make a great single.
What has become more clear as British Sea Power have got older is the influence of bassist Hamilton. While once brother Yan was de facto frontman, it's around a 60/40 split now. And their styles show marked contrasts, with Hamilton going for the more atmospheric approach, possibly reflecting his songwriting base on some Scottish isle.
This is best shown in the remarkable Cleaning Out The Rooms, which was also on the Zeus EP released a few months back. It was a great song then, and works even better in the context of the album. Keyboard player Phil Sumner's piano crops up a few times through Valhalla Dancehall, adding a different angle to the one that his predecessor Eamon did.
Not that Hamilton can't write a tune that makes a fair old racket, as Mongk II proves. There's a few moments were the band crank it up to the epic levels that made their name. I've read several times that this reflects the Cumbrian landscape in which three of the band were brought up in - and it does seem to be a fair statement. Perhaps my own feelings towards this music is down to me being from the same part of the world.
I've also read many times, with each album they release, that they've never equalled The Decline of British Sea Power. I can't disagree more - for while the debut was an excellent album, it at times felt to me like a selection of songs written over a protracted period of time. Subsequent releases have had a growing cohesion to them and Valhalla Dancehall continues the trend. It flows brilliant, with the tempo ebbing and flowing across the hour or so.
There's plenty to like here for fans, yet as I stated, I can't imagine many newcomers being won over - perhaps reflected by a chart placing of #22. Not that the band care, I'm sure, but you wonder for how long British Sea Power will continue to plough their peculiar furrow? I'm reminded of a favourite band of mine, the Comsat Angels, who eventually got tired of being obscure and tried to make a huge 'pop' album - only for it to completely fail to increase their profile. Will BSP ever be tempted to play the same gambit?
Friday 4 February 2011
Dumb Waiters, Part Two
He chains smokes through the three cigarettes in the box on one shot, being gracious enough to ensure any smoke is kept well away from my more delicate lungs. It’s not even to win the game, but the nature of this particular trooper means that ever moment has to be precisely planned and thought out so to maximise chance of success.
Of course, this may well fully depend on amount of intoxication at said moment, this one being early on in the sessions hence the use of every angle examination. At first it used to think it was gamesmanship, then I just worked out it was natural, which means that when he hits the shot, it perfectly pots the intended ball and lines up the next shot. With the grace of a man who has spend many a stoned Sunday afternoon watching 'The Hustler', he flips open a fresh pack from his inside shirt pocket and sparks up, leading me to wonder whether this is part of some whole caricature he’s invented to entertain his mates.
The Shipwrights Arms is where I've always gone to drink with Charlie since we were 17, leaving school on Friday dinnertimes to learn to play pool. The times we go there are always quiet enough to allow us a few hours of interrupted attempts of playing over cheap pints. This is to be my final weekend before I finally fuck off to Sheffield and luckily he's home from Newcastle for the weekend.
Same as always, he puts a pound of his and a pound of mine in the jukebox and selects Paint It Black by the Stones amongst more recent fare. I elect to get my moneys worth by picking the five longest songs, which includes, much to our amusement, The End. Anyone entering the Arms during that particular 11 minutes isn't likely to find the soundtrack one to encourage jovial drinking. Then again, in this town drinking for pleasure is below killing boredom and survival on reasons to do it.
I’m glad to be getting out of here. I thought I’d escaped during my three-year sojourn into student land but this place has claws that can drag you back down. Finally, I've managed to get the motivation and confidence to get out, and it’s crucial I keep my bottle. He has been in my situation before and may well be again. His job at some law firm is looking shaky and rather then have to come back home, he’s looking into joining the Army. Some may say drastic, I call it sensible in the circumstances.
Two pints in and already I’m on one, over half a year of knock-backs, frustrations and constant rejections from every job under the sun has come right to the hilt and I’m found myself an excuse for today.
"I tell you, man, it’s living in this shite-hole that does it. You apply to some job in Manchester or London and the cunt working in the Human fucking Resources department sees your address and thinks..."
I put on some mocking middle class London accent:"‘Oh! Cumbria! Where is that? Up North somewhere? Well, he wouldn't want to move down here, all the noise might scare his sheep! Har har har!’ And they give the job to some arse kissing Cambridge graduate who know fuck all about the job!"
I’m far off the mark and I know it. He nods, takes his shot and doesn't interrupt.
"Thing is with this place, right... no one knows who we are or gives a shit. I know! When I meet people and they ask where I’m from, they go ‘Oh, is that in Scotland?’ ‘Oh, you sound like a Geordie!’ Fucks sake - haven’t they seen a map? Bit hard to bloody miss Cumbria but then, most those gets think England ends somewhere just after Manchester."
I pause to eye up my shot. It’s an easy one, which I obviously miss.
"Shite."
Charlie takes a long draw on his cigarette.
"Aye, you’re not wrong mate. Same crap happened to me and I was only living in Preston. I’d go ‘You ever watch Byker Grove?’ ‘Yeah’ ‘Do I talk like they do?’ ‘Well, no’ and you think ‘So why say I sound like a Geordie? You know as well as I do man, that people are thick as fuck."
The two of us met in the sixth form common room, I can’t remember how we got talking but we did and have somehow stayed friends despite having apparently very little in common outside football and appreciation for beer. Unlike everyone else bar one that I know, I can safely say the two of us will still be meeting up like this when we’re in our 30’s. Though he’s into his night-clubs, smoking his weed and taking regular trips to Amsterdam, he is the only person who has similar slightly sociopathic tendencies to me. An average conversation of ours will tend to eventually swing towards dishing out unique methods of punishment to politicians. After he’s beaten me three games to two, this is where we end up. Obviously, I’ll neglect to mention the names of our hopeful victims.
", that knobhead, the only solution to that problem would be making him bob for apples in fucking acid."
This makes me laugh, he has a great way of thinking up ways to inflict horrible pain on people. Soon, however, we begin to talk about my immediate future.
"Sheffield, huh? So what’s going on down there?"
I’m not sure what to say and spend 10 seconds polishing off a pint to give myself time to think.
"Don’t know. Got a mate who’ll put me up and I’ll take it from there, I guess."
"Well, uncertainty in a city is still a step up from this place."
Which is a better reaction then I got from my parents. That the boy who aged ten was predicted could do anything has wound up directionless and spending his life waiting around for nothing in particular has not gone down well. I could tell you of all the arguments and flak that goes along with being in this situation but I’m sure many of you already know what I’m talking about.
My beer money spent, it’s separate ways time once again for us. We never shake hands and we don’t start here.
"Hope you get it sorted down there, stay in touch."
"No problem, man. If I get sorted you’ll have to drop down for a weekend."
"Yeah."
I go home and pack my single case.
(Note: If you're wondering what Part One was, it was the entry entitled 'Entering the Real World from 18/01/2011)
Of course, this may well fully depend on amount of intoxication at said moment, this one being early on in the sessions hence the use of every angle examination. At first it used to think it was gamesmanship, then I just worked out it was natural, which means that when he hits the shot, it perfectly pots the intended ball and lines up the next shot. With the grace of a man who has spend many a stoned Sunday afternoon watching 'The Hustler', he flips open a fresh pack from his inside shirt pocket and sparks up, leading me to wonder whether this is part of some whole caricature he’s invented to entertain his mates.
The Shipwrights Arms is where I've always gone to drink with Charlie since we were 17, leaving school on Friday dinnertimes to learn to play pool. The times we go there are always quiet enough to allow us a few hours of interrupted attempts of playing over cheap pints. This is to be my final weekend before I finally fuck off to Sheffield and luckily he's home from Newcastle for the weekend.
Same as always, he puts a pound of his and a pound of mine in the jukebox and selects Paint It Black by the Stones amongst more recent fare. I elect to get my moneys worth by picking the five longest songs, which includes, much to our amusement, The End. Anyone entering the Arms during that particular 11 minutes isn't likely to find the soundtrack one to encourage jovial drinking. Then again, in this town drinking for pleasure is below killing boredom and survival on reasons to do it.
I’m glad to be getting out of here. I thought I’d escaped during my three-year sojourn into student land but this place has claws that can drag you back down. Finally, I've managed to get the motivation and confidence to get out, and it’s crucial I keep my bottle. He has been in my situation before and may well be again. His job at some law firm is looking shaky and rather then have to come back home, he’s looking into joining the Army. Some may say drastic, I call it sensible in the circumstances.
Two pints in and already I’m on one, over half a year of knock-backs, frustrations and constant rejections from every job under the sun has come right to the hilt and I’m found myself an excuse for today.
"I tell you, man, it’s living in this shite-hole that does it. You apply to some job in Manchester or London and the cunt working in the Human fucking Resources department sees your address and thinks..."
I put on some mocking middle class London accent:"‘Oh! Cumbria! Where is that? Up North somewhere? Well, he wouldn't want to move down here, all the noise might scare his sheep! Har har har!’ And they give the job to some arse kissing Cambridge graduate who know fuck all about the job!"
I’m far off the mark and I know it. He nods, takes his shot and doesn't interrupt.
"Thing is with this place, right... no one knows who we are or gives a shit. I know! When I meet people and they ask where I’m from, they go ‘Oh, is that in Scotland?’ ‘Oh, you sound like a Geordie!’ Fucks sake - haven’t they seen a map? Bit hard to bloody miss Cumbria but then, most those gets think England ends somewhere just after Manchester."
I pause to eye up my shot. It’s an easy one, which I obviously miss.
"Shite."
Charlie takes a long draw on his cigarette.
"Aye, you’re not wrong mate. Same crap happened to me and I was only living in Preston. I’d go ‘You ever watch Byker Grove?’ ‘Yeah’ ‘Do I talk like they do?’ ‘Well, no’ and you think ‘So why say I sound like a Geordie? You know as well as I do man, that people are thick as fuck."
The two of us met in the sixth form common room, I can’t remember how we got talking but we did and have somehow stayed friends despite having apparently very little in common outside football and appreciation for beer. Unlike everyone else bar one that I know, I can safely say the two of us will still be meeting up like this when we’re in our 30’s. Though he’s into his night-clubs, smoking his weed and taking regular trips to Amsterdam, he is the only person who has similar slightly sociopathic tendencies to me. An average conversation of ours will tend to eventually swing towards dishing out unique methods of punishment to politicians. After he’s beaten me three games to two, this is where we end up. Obviously, I’ll neglect to mention the names of our hopeful victims.
"
This makes me laugh, he has a great way of thinking up ways to inflict horrible pain on people. Soon, however, we begin to talk about my immediate future.
"Sheffield, huh? So what’s going on down there?"
I’m not sure what to say and spend 10 seconds polishing off a pint to give myself time to think.
"Don’t know. Got a mate who’ll put me up and I’ll take it from there, I guess."
"Well, uncertainty in a city is still a step up from this place."
Which is a better reaction then I got from my parents. That the boy who aged ten was predicted could do anything has wound up directionless and spending his life waiting around for nothing in particular has not gone down well. I could tell you of all the arguments and flak that goes along with being in this situation but I’m sure many of you already know what I’m talking about.
My beer money spent, it’s separate ways time once again for us. We never shake hands and we don’t start here.
"Hope you get it sorted down there, stay in touch."
"No problem, man. If I get sorted you’ll have to drop down for a weekend."
"Yeah."
I go home and pack my single case.
(Note: If you're wondering what Part One was, it was the entry entitled 'Entering the Real World from 18/01/2011)
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