In addition to it being Friday, I received some good news yesterday. Mitch Poole, PR bod, rang up to let me know the Wild Swans would be traversing the M62 in July to play a gig in sunny Salford.
This is obviously a wonderful thing. You can read a piece I put together on them last year here: http://www.noripcord.com/features/wild-swans-interview
Needless to say, I'll be doing all I can to get everyone I know down to the show. It's rare that I will go all-out to support an artist these days, but I have a strong belief that Paul Simpson (singer/songwriter) is one of the great talents of his time and am always keen to introduce his work to other people. The two Wild Swans gigs I attended in Liverpool in July and December 2009 were fantastic and I'm hoping they get a good crowd to create a great vibe.
Part of the reason I wanted to get into journalism was that I wanted to write about things I love. When I was eight or so years old, this was football and computer games: my dream was to work for Your Sinclair magazine. The crushing reality of both studying and working in the industry was enough to put me off for life, and I value that No Ripcord essentially has little or no editorial interference. We are allowed the freedom of our opinions and writing styles, to which I tip my hat to Mr David Coleman (also, many congrats to him on the birth of his first son).
My point is, a band like the Wild Swans inspire me to write articles, for what it's worth and I'm sure many people will offer sarcastic thanks to them. I want more people to hear their music as I feel it can touch and have meaning to a large audience. If by writing the above article, or this, one person goes to a gig or buys a CD on a whim and enjoys it, then I can take a great deal of satisfaction from my efforts.
Friday, 14 May 2010
Thursday, 13 May 2010
Season Cycle
It struck me this morning that we're already a third of the way though 2010. It doesn't seem so long ago that the year started. I fear I'll go to bed tonight and wake up to Christmas.
This hasn't been a great year for me personally, so far, and summer has rarely been an enjoyable time for me (barring 1999 and 2005, I can't remember a good one) and recent developments in the political world have left me with a bad, bad feeling. I won't go into politics too much as a) I don't have the intelligence to debate any points on any meaningful level and b) many other blogs cover the ground I would in a much more articulate fashion.
However, I do wonder who the popular right-wing press will turn on now that Gordon is gone. Will they turn against their golden boy if improvements aren't seen soon? More likely, Clegg will take the flak for being seen as some kind of diluting force. I can't help but believe he's lost of a lot of voters with this move and it will be interesting to see how that translates into opinions and votes at any future election.
I do have some sympathy for Brown. The man clearly struggled with the media circus politics has become. I was wary of the whole TV Debate idea from the start, feeling it would promote image over content in the same way the Nixon/Kennedy debate did (TV viewers thought the handsome, dynamic JFK won, many radio listeners believed Nixon came out on top). I've no doubt Brown cared deeply about his job, but in the end, the biggest stick used to beat him was his discomfort with the public: something I can sympathise with.
With the country going through the first major political change of my adult life (I was 16 in 1997), I wonder if it will act as a spur to change in myself. I've half-joked to people that I should fear for my job (in the public sector) if big cuts are brought in and the truth is, I wouldn't particularly care if my job was axed.
It reminds of reading through old articles about the Clash. A lot of journalists resented them for their wish to progress and evolve, for not wanting to keep re-writing Janie Jones or White Riot, great as those songs are. What made the Clash great was that when they wanted to try playing jazz, or reggae, or blues, they did it. I need some of that spirit in my life right now: when I get home tonight, I think I will listen to Sandinista! all the way through.
This hasn't been a great year for me personally, so far, and summer has rarely been an enjoyable time for me (barring 1999 and 2005, I can't remember a good one) and recent developments in the political world have left me with a bad, bad feeling. I won't go into politics too much as a) I don't have the intelligence to debate any points on any meaningful level and b) many other blogs cover the ground I would in a much more articulate fashion.
However, I do wonder who the popular right-wing press will turn on now that Gordon is gone. Will they turn against their golden boy if improvements aren't seen soon? More likely, Clegg will take the flak for being seen as some kind of diluting force. I can't help but believe he's lost of a lot of voters with this move and it will be interesting to see how that translates into opinions and votes at any future election.
I do have some sympathy for Brown. The man clearly struggled with the media circus politics has become. I was wary of the whole TV Debate idea from the start, feeling it would promote image over content in the same way the Nixon/Kennedy debate did (TV viewers thought the handsome, dynamic JFK won, many radio listeners believed Nixon came out on top). I've no doubt Brown cared deeply about his job, but in the end, the biggest stick used to beat him was his discomfort with the public: something I can sympathise with.
With the country going through the first major political change of my adult life (I was 16 in 1997), I wonder if it will act as a spur to change in myself. I've half-joked to people that I should fear for my job (in the public sector) if big cuts are brought in and the truth is, I wouldn't particularly care if my job was axed.
It reminds of reading through old articles about the Clash. A lot of journalists resented them for their wish to progress and evolve, for not wanting to keep re-writing Janie Jones or White Riot, great as those songs are. What made the Clash great was that when they wanted to try playing jazz, or reggae, or blues, they did it. I need some of that spirit in my life right now: when I get home tonight, I think I will listen to Sandinista! all the way through.
Tuesday, 11 May 2010
Living in a Different World
It must be around ten years ago that whilst over-enthusiastically running down some stairs, I landed in a way that ensured my right ankle swelled up to freakish levels. A sympathetic friend was going home for the weekend and handed me his PlayStation to keep me entertained, given I wasn't going to be doing my usual disco dancing down the student union. He also handed me a copy of Final Fantasy VII, noting that "it's not really my thing".
I had been a gamer since the age of six or so, when we got a Sinclair +2 in the home, enjoying games like Rambo, Chase HQ, Tracksuit Manager and the like. By the time I was 18, however, I'd began actually leaving the house now and again to go the pub or rehearse with my first band. The only games we played were the Championship Manager series, over many bottles of dirt-cheap beer from the local Aldi store. Glamorous days.
FFVII pulled me back to the allure of games, though. Previous favourites of mine had included titles such as Wing Commander or Frontier, games were you felt you were living in the future. FFVII had a similar effect in transporting you into an entire world, full of characters with their own stories and tragedies. Even now, I'm not that much of a RPG buff: I find medieval style settings and elf/orc/goblin type characters tedious at the best of times. What grabbed me from the start back then was the setting: sure, there was monsters and magic, but it was all around human characters in a Blade Runner style city (at least at first).
Throughout the Internet, you'll find countless breakdowns of the meaning and background, as if it were some vital piece of literature. I'm not sure I subscribe to that level of fandom, but I will argue the point that back then, it struck me as a wonderful piece of art. Firstly, there was the story, which appeared at first to be the usual boy/girl, fight-the-bad-guys affair, but develops off into tangents on the ideas of memory, fate, nature vs science and others.
Secondly, there was how huge it was. It took me about 78 hours to complete it and by the end, I didn't actually want to finish. I'd become so involved with the characters that it felt like it would be a pain to have to say 'goodbye', so to speak.
From that, I was hooked back on games and as I graduated and entered the real world, they provided a handy escape. I worked through the Final Fantasy series until XII, which did nothing for me and was the first I'd not bothered to complete. I think the series lost something when you could no longer name the characters as you wished.
I've not played through FFVII since I first completed it: perhaps I'm worried, especially now, that I'd find faults galore and it wouldn't hold up, like when you watch your favourite TV show from childhood and realise it was actually a load of crap. Yet now and again, you meet someone else who fell in love with those characters, that world, and you both laugh at the stuff Cid Hawkwind said and try not to admit how upset you got at the end of the first disc.
I had been a gamer since the age of six or so, when we got a Sinclair +2 in the home, enjoying games like Rambo, Chase HQ, Tracksuit Manager and the like. By the time I was 18, however, I'd began actually leaving the house now and again to go the pub or rehearse with my first band. The only games we played were the Championship Manager series, over many bottles of dirt-cheap beer from the local Aldi store. Glamorous days.
FFVII pulled me back to the allure of games, though. Previous favourites of mine had included titles such as Wing Commander or Frontier, games were you felt you were living in the future. FFVII had a similar effect in transporting you into an entire world, full of characters with their own stories and tragedies. Even now, I'm not that much of a RPG buff: I find medieval style settings and elf/orc/goblin type characters tedious at the best of times. What grabbed me from the start back then was the setting: sure, there was monsters and magic, but it was all around human characters in a Blade Runner style city (at least at first).
Throughout the Internet, you'll find countless breakdowns of the meaning and background, as if it were some vital piece of literature. I'm not sure I subscribe to that level of fandom, but I will argue the point that back then, it struck me as a wonderful piece of art. Firstly, there was the story, which appeared at first to be the usual boy/girl, fight-the-bad-guys affair, but develops off into tangents on the ideas of memory, fate, nature vs science and others.
Secondly, there was how huge it was. It took me about 78 hours to complete it and by the end, I didn't actually want to finish. I'd become so involved with the characters that it felt like it would be a pain to have to say 'goodbye', so to speak.
From that, I was hooked back on games and as I graduated and entered the real world, they provided a handy escape. I worked through the Final Fantasy series until XII, which did nothing for me and was the first I'd not bothered to complete. I think the series lost something when you could no longer name the characters as you wished.
I've not played through FFVII since I first completed it: perhaps I'm worried, especially now, that I'd find faults galore and it wouldn't hold up, like when you watch your favourite TV show from childhood and realise it was actually a load of crap. Yet now and again, you meet someone else who fell in love with those characters, that world, and you both laugh at the stuff Cid Hawkwind said and try not to admit how upset you got at the end of the first disc.
Monday, 10 May 2010
Transporting
After a weekend in which I actually managed to do something productive (an article for No Ripcord knocked together) and discover a brilliant song (Twilight Cafe, the only hit for Susan Fassbender), reality bumps hard at 7am on Monday. Move yourself to go again indeed.
I think it could be a little more bearable if not for the shower of bastards called Stagecoach. For the last two weeks I have dutifully waited for the 7.16 bus, only for it to turn up at 7.20 or later. This means I'm late for a connecting bus. Just to rub it in a little, on my return home, the bus I want to catch is always just too early. Many a time I have watched it speed past as I'm a minute from the bus stop.
It's all so trivial, I know, but when your life is pretty dreary, these things matter. If nothing else, it does make you understand why attempts to get people out of their cars and onto public transport are always bound to fail.
I think it could be a little more bearable if not for the shower of bastards called Stagecoach. For the last two weeks I have dutifully waited for the 7.16 bus, only for it to turn up at 7.20 or later. This means I'm late for a connecting bus. Just to rub it in a little, on my return home, the bus I want to catch is always just too early. Many a time I have watched it speed past as I'm a minute from the bus stop.
It's all so trivial, I know, but when your life is pretty dreary, these things matter. If nothing else, it does make you understand why attempts to get people out of their cars and onto public transport are always bound to fail.
Friday, 7 May 2010
What is Beat?
In a sulking mood due to the results from last night alongside the impeding end of the football season, I feel I should write about something positive. It is Friday, after all, and perhaps it'll get me in the mood to finish an article for Noripcord.com this weekend. So I've decided to write a little of one of my favourite bands, the Beat.
That's the English Beat, for any American readers, my favourites of all the bands to emerge from the Two-Tone movement of the late 70s. A few years ago, it would have been the Specials everytime, but the last 12 months have seen me finally investigate the Beat's albums outside of a compilation album I picked up about ten years ago. It could be a result of me being a bit older and less enthralled with the sheer energy of the Specials album, but the Beat's cleaner edges and better lyrics have worked their way closer to my heart.
In 'Rip It Up and Start Again', Simon Reynolds almost dismisses the band as a 'politically correct' line-up (half black, half white) with two pretty boy singers backed by the 'pasty faced' Andy Cox (guitar) and David Steele (bass). True, Dave Wakeling and Rankin' Roger were attractive young men, but Wakeling was a top notch singer/writer and Roger was no mug either. Cox and Steele were also excellent musicians - Steele in particular linked up wonderfully with drummer Everett Morton.
What most do remember about the Beat was the presence of 'Saxa', a 50-something, pipe smoking Jamaican who'd played on records during the first wave of Ska. An incongruous sight next to a bunch of young lads from the Midlands, but his playing added refinement of the rough-and-ready early sound.
It was the early sounds, from their debut I Just Can't Stop It, that scored all their hits in the UK. It's one I listen to mostly when I need to fire myself up: the pace never really lets up except for the cover of Andy Williams' Can't Get Used To Losing You. My own favourite moments are the paranoia/naracassim of Mirror In The Bathroom and the nervous shuffle of Twist and Crawl (best lines: "Is that really blonde hair?/Why don't you play fair?/You could be in 'Mayfair'").
Reynolds described the follow-up album Wh'appen? as 'energy-sapped', a verdict way off the mark to these ears. With the two-tone sound yesterday's news, the band had to move on. That said, the singles All Out To Get You and Too Nice To Talk To (the latter on reissues only) could certainly get a dance floor moving. The best songs, such as the sublime Dream Home in New Zealand, tapped into the feeling of the times: tension and fear were high and their plea for 'unity' on Doors of Your Heart comes across as sincere and heartfelt.
Though their moment in the sun in their homeland seemed to have passed, America was taking notice and their third album Special Beat Service reflects this. It's full of pop arrangements, though not to any detriment of quality: testiomont to the skills of the players, now aided by keys player Dave Blockhead. It skips across styles with ease, from dramatic pop (I Confess), jangling guitars (Save It For Later) to reggae (Spa Wid Me) and calypso (Ackee 1-2-3).
While it received little notice at home, not even making the top 20, the album cracked the top 40 across the Atlantic. With huge US success apparently on the horizon, Wakeling did the sensible thing and quit during a tour with David Bowie. Along with Roger, he did make a commerical breakthrough in the States with their band General Public (alongside Specials bassist Horace Panter, Dexys Midnight Runners drummer Stoker and helped out by Mick Jones from the Clash) before running out of steam.
Cox and Steele, meanwhile, waiting for their moment before recruiting singer Roland Gift to create the Fine Young Cannibals. After a few decent-sized hits in the UK, they ended the decade as possibly the biggest band in the world as Good Thing and She Drives Me Crazy topped the Billboard Hot 100. Rather than work on a follow up, they decided not to bother. I kind of admire them for that.
That's the English Beat, for any American readers, my favourites of all the bands to emerge from the Two-Tone movement of the late 70s. A few years ago, it would have been the Specials everytime, but the last 12 months have seen me finally investigate the Beat's albums outside of a compilation album I picked up about ten years ago. It could be a result of me being a bit older and less enthralled with the sheer energy of the Specials album, but the Beat's cleaner edges and better lyrics have worked their way closer to my heart.
In 'Rip It Up and Start Again', Simon Reynolds almost dismisses the band as a 'politically correct' line-up (half black, half white) with two pretty boy singers backed by the 'pasty faced' Andy Cox (guitar) and David Steele (bass). True, Dave Wakeling and Rankin' Roger were attractive young men, but Wakeling was a top notch singer/writer and Roger was no mug either. Cox and Steele were also excellent musicians - Steele in particular linked up wonderfully with drummer Everett Morton.
What most do remember about the Beat was the presence of 'Saxa', a 50-something, pipe smoking Jamaican who'd played on records during the first wave of Ska. An incongruous sight next to a bunch of young lads from the Midlands, but his playing added refinement of the rough-and-ready early sound.
It was the early sounds, from their debut I Just Can't Stop It, that scored all their hits in the UK. It's one I listen to mostly when I need to fire myself up: the pace never really lets up except for the cover of Andy Williams' Can't Get Used To Losing You. My own favourite moments are the paranoia/naracassim of Mirror In The Bathroom and the nervous shuffle of Twist and Crawl (best lines: "Is that really blonde hair?/Why don't you play fair?/You could be in 'Mayfair'").
Reynolds described the follow-up album Wh'appen? as 'energy-sapped', a verdict way off the mark to these ears. With the two-tone sound yesterday's news, the band had to move on. That said, the singles All Out To Get You and Too Nice To Talk To (the latter on reissues only) could certainly get a dance floor moving. The best songs, such as the sublime Dream Home in New Zealand, tapped into the feeling of the times: tension and fear were high and their plea for 'unity' on Doors of Your Heart comes across as sincere and heartfelt.
Though their moment in the sun in their homeland seemed to have passed, America was taking notice and their third album Special Beat Service reflects this. It's full of pop arrangements, though not to any detriment of quality: testiomont to the skills of the players, now aided by keys player Dave Blockhead. It skips across styles with ease, from dramatic pop (I Confess), jangling guitars (Save It For Later) to reggae (Spa Wid Me) and calypso (Ackee 1-2-3).
While it received little notice at home, not even making the top 20, the album cracked the top 40 across the Atlantic. With huge US success apparently on the horizon, Wakeling did the sensible thing and quit during a tour with David Bowie. Along with Roger, he did make a commerical breakthrough in the States with their band General Public (alongside Specials bassist Horace Panter, Dexys Midnight Runners drummer Stoker and helped out by Mick Jones from the Clash) before running out of steam.
Cox and Steele, meanwhile, waiting for their moment before recruiting singer Roland Gift to create the Fine Young Cannibals. After a few decent-sized hits in the UK, they ended the decade as possibly the biggest band in the world as Good Thing and She Drives Me Crazy topped the Billboard Hot 100. Rather than work on a follow up, they decided not to bother. I kind of admire them for that.
Thursday, 6 May 2010
Space
I think I've been living on my own too long sometimes. Since the summer of 2004, I've been used to spending the vast majority of my free time on my own, and this is great for the most part. After all, I'm reluctant to interact with people at the best of times and living on your todd is a great way of controlling your environment, which is specially handy for an nervous chap such as myself.
What it can lead to, however, is a sense of high anxiety when I'm expecting a visitor, especially when it's the first time they've called round. Everything in my flat is arranged exactly to my requirements: sofa facing TV in the corner, stereo speakers facing sofa and handy amplifier acting as table to rest my bottle of beer on. Plughole nearby to keep the laptop going.
So when somebody comes round, it can upset the balance. It might not make sense to you unless you are the same but as always, the anticipation is worse than the actuality. Spend two hours fretting about somebody else flicking through your CDs, then you end up digging them out anyways when they say they haven't heard of Swell Maps. Paraylsed with fear in the seconds leading up to them ringing the doorbell, then shuffling around getting drinks and trying to act the good host minutes later.
Tonight it's the election, and I feel I should probably write something, if only to put my own feelings down for posterity, yet there's not much to say except I have a horrid, sickening feeling in my gut that the Tories will get in. If so, I will drink myself numb on Friday night and babble to myself about leaving the country.
What it can lead to, however, is a sense of high anxiety when I'm expecting a visitor, especially when it's the first time they've called round. Everything in my flat is arranged exactly to my requirements: sofa facing TV in the corner, stereo speakers facing sofa and handy amplifier acting as table to rest my bottle of beer on. Plughole nearby to keep the laptop going.
So when somebody comes round, it can upset the balance. It might not make sense to you unless you are the same but as always, the anticipation is worse than the actuality. Spend two hours fretting about somebody else flicking through your CDs, then you end up digging them out anyways when they say they haven't heard of Swell Maps. Paraylsed with fear in the seconds leading up to them ringing the doorbell, then shuffling around getting drinks and trying to act the good host minutes later.
Tonight it's the election, and I feel I should probably write something, if only to put my own feelings down for posterity, yet there's not much to say except I have a horrid, sickening feeling in my gut that the Tories will get in. If so, I will drink myself numb on Friday night and babble to myself about leaving the country.
Tuesday, 4 May 2010
Time
After a four day weekend spent not doing much, though enjoying some rare good company, it would be typical for me to return to work and moan on about how crap my life is, how my jobs sucks and blows etc.
However, early this morning a good friend of mine rang to inform me that a colleague of ours, who I would also consider a friend, is suffering from cancer. Having gone into hospital last week to have an appendix removed, tumours were discovered and the prognosis is bleak.
Naturally, this has happened in my life before - I've lost friends and family to cancer and other causes - and as then, what it does remind me is that any ideas of natural justice/karma are bollocks of the highest order. This is a man who has worked non-stop since he was 16 and was three years from retirement and being able to spend more time with the family he loves, including the recent addition of a grandchild.
But none of this matters: life is cruel and random and despite all his good deeds/work, it seems unlikely the baby will have many memories of granddad. Having never known my own grandmother due to cancer, I can appreciate what a tragedy that is, especially when the person is a good a man as he is.
However, early this morning a good friend of mine rang to inform me that a colleague of ours, who I would also consider a friend, is suffering from cancer. Having gone into hospital last week to have an appendix removed, tumours were discovered and the prognosis is bleak.
Naturally, this has happened in my life before - I've lost friends and family to cancer and other causes - and as then, what it does remind me is that any ideas of natural justice/karma are bollocks of the highest order. This is a man who has worked non-stop since he was 16 and was three years from retirement and being able to spend more time with the family he loves, including the recent addition of a grandchild.
But none of this matters: life is cruel and random and despite all his good deeds/work, it seems unlikely the baby will have many memories of granddad. Having never known my own grandmother due to cancer, I can appreciate what a tragedy that is, especially when the person is a good a man as he is.
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