I recently watched, for what I think was the fourth time, BBC's excellent documentary Synth Britannia, part of which explored the feelings of alienation post-war British town planning could bring -underpasses, tower blocks and endless grey concrete - and how it influenced the music of people like Gary Numan, John Foxx and Cabaret Voltaire.
This brought to mind my recent trip to Preston - I met my bessie mate at their (in)famous bus station, to reach which requires you to walk through this underground walkway that was like stepping back into another world. I have expected we would get assaulted by a gang of droogs.
Being brought up in a small town in the back end of nowhere, I wasn't aware of these strange pieces of architecture. It wasn't so much grey in Whitehaven - the colour that springs to mind when I think of my hometown in the 1980s would be brown. The largest building in town was the multi-story car park, and the brown bricks used in that were also used for all sorts of things in town.
The car park was a strange building. In my dad's car, we would go from broad daylight to almost total darkness in seconds as you climbed the ramp. To get out, you crossed the bridge and went down this odd narrow circular passageway which always stunk of piss. Thinking now, I've no idea if this part of the structure is still there.
In 2013, the place has changed, for the better. There has been huge amounts of money put into making the harbour look pleasant. 25 years ago, it was a dump, with derelict cranes and two huge silos dominating the area. Tram lines that ran from North to South sides were a sad reminder of the then-recent demise of the last coal mine in town. When the tide was out, you would see shabby little boats sat on the mud and it looked tragic, so to go back today and see a shiny marina that holds a festival every summer... well, it makes going home that little bit nicer.
I live in a city now, but Manchester has also changed a lot in the last 30 years. The horrid Hulme Crescents are long gone and the city centre always seems to have some glass tower being thrown up to replace some old piece of crap from the 1960s - the city that inspired Ian Curtis to write lyrics such as Shadowplay is pretty much gone, bar the odd signifier like the the Mancunian Way.
Despite my love of electro music dealing with the horror of living in the concrete jungle (my current favourite is Underpass by John Foxx), I'm fairly sure having a childhood where 40 odd miles of mountains and lakes just at the end of the road means I couldn't hack the real thing. In the last couple of years, I came to realise that despite nine years living here, I'll never be a city lad: my heart belongs to Cumbria, though I do hope they knock down that bloody car park sometime soon.
Sunday, 13 October 2013
Wednesday, 9 October 2013
Power Games
If, like me, you live in the United Kingdom, you'll be aware that we currently have a bunch of tossers in charge. A load of inept arseholes who couldn't tell you time of day without a full committee investigation first.
Yes, the opposition are doubtless no better. But they're irrelevant for the moment. David Cameron, George Osborne, Iain Duncan Smith, Michael Gove and the rest of the mob are essentially about as welcome as a nasty rash on your penis that develops just before you're set to go on a date you're certain you're going to get a result on (female readers may wish to alter this analogy to fit).
Despite that, it is good to have a bit of a laugh at them now and again. With that, I had a fair old of a chuckle at this short game.
Made in the best traditions of Super Mario Bros and Wonderboy, Super Tory Boy allows you to play as either our glorious leader, his financial whiz-kid chum Gideon or the blonde bombshell that the people of London somehow saw fit to elect Mayor, Boris Johnson.
Yes, the opposition are doubtless no better. But they're irrelevant for the moment. David Cameron, George Osborne, Iain Duncan Smith, Michael Gove and the rest of the mob are essentially about as welcome as a nasty rash on your penis that develops just before you're set to go on a date you're certain you're going to get a result on (female readers may wish to alter this analogy to fit).
Despite that, it is good to have a bit of a laugh at them now and again. With that, I had a fair old of a chuckle at this short game.
 |
| Tally-ho, chaps! Smash the oiks! |
Give it a go - you only use one button, so anyone can have a decent shot. Shut down public services and be sure to crush those unemployed layabouts, all in the name of Britannia! I managed a score of £10,416,087 - anyone do better?
Tuesday, 8 October 2013
On The North Lancs Streets
Preston is a strange place. I couldn't think of any reason why you'd want to visit unless you were a student there (as I nearly was) or your football team were playing North End. Nothing wrong with the place, I guess, just nothing of interest to be found.
Except, perhaps, a gig by Go-Kart Mozart, one of the very few to support their recent album On The Hot Dog Streets. A chance to see their leader Lawrence in action on stage was not to be sniffed at.
In somewhat typical fashion, the gig had a last-day venue change. Which I didn't know about until arrival and required a somewhat desperate series of asking total strangers where we had to be. Initially it looked like we'd be late, but in a further misadventure, it was all running late anyways.
Support bands, then. Hot Vestry are a bunch of late teens types from Macclesfield who dress like they want to be in the Paisley Underground and have hair that makes mine look good. They also sounded fairly anonymous to these ears, despite some decent work from the drummer. Not that it matters, as they've already got foots on the ladder of the Manchester music scene via endorsement from Tim Burgess and a support slot with New Order. How did they get the latter? Well, it's always nice to have the right connections.
Next up were the Oreoh!s, which is a name that really needs to go. There's a difficulty in trying to be objective here, as the three of them look like they have a combined age of 40 and you don't want to be too mean to a band who are all young enough to be my children, which is in itself a depressing thought. Their set trundled along harmlessly enough, with nothing of any note to stick in the mind bar the fact the guitarist held his instrument like Bernard Sumner, and even looked like a younger version of the man. Like Hot Vestry, I'd imagine a lot of work has to be done down the line before they'll be headlining any decent sized venues on their own steam. Time is on their side, at least. My own suggestion would be that the singer ditches the bass playing and focuses more on fronting the band.
There are enough words written about Lawrence out there already - some of it due to me. On the night, he isn't happy about the venue change, states the stage lights are too bright and he has a bad cold. Despite the sparse audience, the band put on a great show. It helps to have a guy with a huge assortment of keyboards to produce all manner of sounds, and major kudos has to go out to the man behind them to some top-notch playing. The rhythm section (this version of Go-Kart Mozart is minus guitar) also do their job in solid fashion.
What Lawrence has that very few others have too is that all the songs he has written since 1980 are clearly identifiable as his, whether it be in the style of jangly indie (Felt), stomping glam rock (Denim) or novelty electro-pop (now). It's easy to say the guy deserves a hit, but he's always made even his most "mainstream" music just slightly off-kilter enough so that you won't hear it on radio. West Brom Blues from his most recent album On The Hot Dog Streets is a perfect example.
It can't be said enough that the guy is a total one-off, and worth even a night in Preston and a train journey home surrounded by Man City fans. The "tour" as it is (four gigs in four months) continues in a hometown gig in Birmingham next month, then Oxford in December and Hebden Bridge (work that one out) in January.
Except, perhaps, a gig by Go-Kart Mozart, one of the very few to support their recent album On The Hot Dog Streets. A chance to see their
In somewhat typical fashion, the gig had a last-day venue change. Which I didn't know about until arrival and required a somewhat desperate series of asking total strangers where we had to be. Initially it looked like we'd be late, but in a further misadventure, it was all running late anyways.
Support bands, then. Hot Vestry are a bunch of late teens types from Macclesfield who dress like they want to be in the Paisley Underground and have hair that makes mine look good. They also sounded fairly anonymous to these ears, despite some decent work from the drummer. Not that it matters, as they've already got foots on the ladder of the Manchester music scene via endorsement from Tim Burgess and a support slot with New Order. How did they get the latter? Well, it's always nice to have the right connections.
Next up were the Oreoh!s, which is a name that really needs to go. There's a difficulty in trying to be objective here, as the three of them look like they have a combined age of 40 and you don't want to be too mean to a band who are all young enough to be my children, which is in itself a depressing thought. Their set trundled along harmlessly enough, with nothing of any note to stick in the mind bar the fact the guitarist held his instrument like Bernard Sumner, and even looked like a younger version of the man. Like Hot Vestry, I'd imagine a lot of work has to be done down the line before they'll be headlining any decent sized venues on their own steam. Time is on their side, at least. My own suggestion would be that the singer ditches the bass playing and focuses more on fronting the band.
There are enough words written about Lawrence out there already - some of it due to me. On the night, he isn't happy about the venue change, states the stage lights are too bright and he has a bad cold. Despite the sparse audience, the band put on a great show. It helps to have a guy with a huge assortment of keyboards to produce all manner of sounds, and major kudos has to go out to the man behind them to some top-notch playing. The rhythm section (this version of Go-Kart Mozart is minus guitar) also do their job in solid fashion.
What Lawrence has that very few others have too is that all the songs he has written since 1980 are clearly identifiable as his, whether it be in the style of jangly indie (Felt), stomping glam rock (Denim) or novelty electro-pop (now). It's easy to say the guy deserves a hit, but he's always made even his most "mainstream" music just slightly off-kilter enough so that you won't hear it on radio. West Brom Blues from his most recent album On The Hot Dog Streets is a perfect example.
It can't be said enough that the guy is a total one-off, and worth even a night in Preston and a train journey home surrounded by Man City fans. The "tour" as it is (four gigs in four months) continues in a hometown gig in Birmingham next month, then Oxford in December and Hebden Bridge (work that one out) in January.
Friday, 27 September 2013
Means Test
Cliché is the new black, or something like that. It certainly is with By Any Means, the BBCs newest Sunday night effort, which appears to try to break through the line of parody so hard that it comes back on itself in the realms of sheer tedium.
To whit, Jack Quinn (they should have give him a more macho name, like Jim Steel or John Ripper) operates his own team that does ‘off the books’ police work, given to them by Da Chief, portrayed in a dignified cameo by Gina McKee.
In this first episode, the mission is to take down a nasty gangster type who has managed to keep his hands clean of all the nasty deeds done on his orders. Thus, Jack works on getting a result with his colleagues: attractive Jessica Jones and tech geek Thomas Tomkins, who is nicknamed Tom Tom (do you SEE?). Naturally, the best way to ensnare our criminal friend, played with true scenery chewing style by Keith Allen, to make him lose his cool and fall into making a mistake. Because he’s a gangster and therefore prone to bouts of psychotic rage, especially when it comes to the wife who is half his age. Who would have thought?
It is all essentially like Hustle except with the intention of banging a villain up rather than scamming a few million, and like that other show, suffers from huge spades of style over substance. There’s rarely any real peril or reasons to care about any of the characters. Throw in a scene when Jack drives up to a council estate and is instantly met with a bunch of young scallies giving it the “fiver to mind your car” and I’m staggered I made it to the end, where the reveal is less twists and more “here’s some conversation we didn’t show you before”. A key piece of the, ahem, puzzle turns out to be the presence of John Henshaw, making a dignified cameo as a man with a heavy cold.
If I had to nail it down, it’s the sheer lack of conviction that did it for me. In a scene where Quinn bursts into the bad guy’s office and whips out a pistol to force the heavies to back off, you feel that Allen should have laughed and said ‘oh, do fuck off’. It’s not helped by the main actor being barely out of his mid 30s and thus seems a bit young to be leading a crack team of specialists in the quasi-legal fight against crime.
Still, by the end, the team gains another member and the quartet is complete for a series, one which if it carries on like this, will soon find itself set later and later in the schedules.
To whit, Jack Quinn (they should have give him a more macho name, like Jim Steel or John Ripper) operates his own team that does ‘off the books’ police work, given to them by Da Chief, portrayed in a dignified cameo by Gina McKee.
In this first episode, the mission is to take down a nasty gangster type who has managed to keep his hands clean of all the nasty deeds done on his orders. Thus, Jack works on getting a result with his colleagues: attractive Jessica Jones and tech geek Thomas Tomkins, who is nicknamed Tom Tom (do you SEE?). Naturally, the best way to ensnare our criminal friend, played with true scenery chewing style by Keith Allen, to make him lose his cool and fall into making a mistake. Because he’s a gangster and therefore prone to bouts of psychotic rage, especially when it comes to the wife who is half his age. Who would have thought?
It is all essentially like Hustle except with the intention of banging a villain up rather than scamming a few million, and like that other show, suffers from huge spades of style over substance. There’s rarely any real peril or reasons to care about any of the characters. Throw in a scene when Jack drives up to a council estate and is instantly met with a bunch of young scallies giving it the “fiver to mind your car” and I’m staggered I made it to the end, where the reveal is less twists and more “here’s some conversation we didn’t show you before”. A key piece of the, ahem, puzzle turns out to be the presence of John Henshaw, making a dignified cameo as a man with a heavy cold.
If I had to nail it down, it’s the sheer lack of conviction that did it for me. In a scene where Quinn bursts into the bad guy’s office and whips out a pistol to force the heavies to back off, you feel that Allen should have laughed and said ‘oh, do fuck off’. It’s not helped by the main actor being barely out of his mid 30s and thus seems a bit young to be leading a crack team of specialists in the quasi-legal fight against crime.
Still, by the end, the team gains another member and the quartet is complete for a series, one which if it carries on like this, will soon find itself set later and later in the schedules.
Thursday, 22 August 2013
Mind Your Own Business
A few weeks ago, I posted how I noticed a series of small posters around my neck of the woods, stating how scientology was behind all kinds of mischief.
Well, now whoever was behind this startling expose has returned to the dark streets of Didsbury.
Wow! You don't hear this kind of news everyday. Psychic powers can be yours for $300,000 and zero cents. Or should that be $30,000,000? Clearly, our amateur journalist could do with clearing this up, as the former seems a pretty cheap price for such an ability. You could make that back in a night in Vegas. Probably.
But a sinister thought occurs. That I took this poster down to bring home and photograph means I have denied my fellow denizens of Didsbury the chance to learn this world-shattering truth. I now have a bad feeling that I am under the direct control of Tom Cruise and/or John Travolta. Ye Gods!
Well, now whoever was behind this startling expose has returned to the dark streets of Didsbury.
 |
| Scoop of the Century! |
But a sinister thought occurs. That I took this poster down to bring home and photograph means I have denied my fellow denizens of Didsbury the chance to learn this world-shattering truth. I now have a bad feeling that I am under the direct control of Tom Cruise and/or John Travolta. Ye Gods!
Tuesday, 13 August 2013
Reminders of the Meaning of It All, Or Otherwise Unknown
You know it's a bad day when you try to send an email and the internet refuses, giving this as a reason:
Honestly, I wanted to have a bit of a lie down after that. I mean, I know a lot of us believe that existence itself is an eternal meaningless slog towards the void, but when you have that hammered home by your email provider, you have to question the point of getting out of bed in the morning. I was only trying to send a link.
Thursday, 1 August 2013
Shoot That Green Arrow Through My Heart
If DC Comics have learnt one thing from The Dark Knight trilogy, it's that "dark" works. As they struggle to keep up arch rivals Marvel's rate of knocking out hit movies, it seems they have learned to follow the trend.
Therefore, Arrow, a new take on one of their more peripheral characters, the Green Arrow. In comic book lore, he's always been something of a Batman expy: a rich kid forged by circumstance into a crime fighter while maintaining an illusion of a playboy billionaire by day. His defining characteristics where his choice of weapons (bow and arrow, natch) and his somewhat left-wing (by American standards) politics. When written by Denny O'Neil in a series alongside Green Lantern, the character was superb, and it was good to see him make a brilliant cameo in O'Neil's essential run with the Question in the late 80s.
Green Arrow was also one of the strongest (for me) characters in the excellent Justice League Unlimited cartoon series, delivering a nice smackdown to his super-powered colleagues when needed. He also played a role in Smallville. I'm not sure if these played a part in the character getting a TV series of his own, but happened it did, and ten episodes in (I'm watching repeats) I have to admit I'm somewhat drawn in.
As stated at the top, he's been made more "dark" to fit in with the current mood. Oliver Queen, like his comic book counterpart, is indeed a carefree playboy with a tendency to shag any willing young lady before an accident sees him marooned on a desert island. This happens around the same time as his lady-of-choice drowns and his dear pop shoots himself (and some other poor sod) in order to conserve life-boat supplies for dear Ollie.
Five years on, our man is rescued and, naturally, he's a changed man. In short, he's become a huge fucking badarse who can kebab you from 500 yards, covered in scars and with a new found desire to clean up his hometown of Starling City.
A lot of Arrow is cliché city, but it remains enjoyable for reasons a little bit beyond my ken. Oliver has loved ones to keep his secret from (at least, unlike Batman, his mother is still alive, and he has a sister) and his own "Alfred" figure in Diggle, employed as a bodyguard for "Oliver" who becomes a close ally of his alter-ego. In a nice little touch, when the vigilante figure is nicknamed "The Hood" Oliver discusses that he needs a better name at a dinner party. When someone suggests "Green Arrow", it is meet with a "lame!" response. The man who suggests that? None other than John Barrowman, who manages to be pretty sinister in his role as (as far as I've seen) the Big Bad.
There's plenty of tickle the comic book geeks (characters with surnames with 'Lance' are enough to make me chuckle knowingly) and from the first episode they try to distinguish the Arrow from the Batman when he snaps some poor mook's neck in half to protect his "secret". None of this "no killing" stance that the Bat takes up for our man.
Arrow isn't another original or mega-exciting, but it does somehow manage to capture my imagination. The cast are nothing special, but then all do their jobs well - Barrowman is the exception and he comes across as both ultra-charming and outright threatening. So far, they've managed to throw in characters such as the Huntress and Deadshot, with hints at others from the DC canon, and I look forward to more.
Therefore, Arrow, a new take on one of their more peripheral characters, the Green Arrow. In comic book lore, he's always been something of a Batman expy: a rich kid forged by circumstance into a crime fighter while maintaining an illusion of a playboy billionaire by day. His defining characteristics where his choice of weapons (bow and arrow, natch) and his somewhat left-wing (by American standards) politics. When written by Denny O'Neil in a series alongside Green Lantern, the character was superb, and it was good to see him make a brilliant cameo in O'Neil's essential run with the Question in the late 80s.
Green Arrow was also one of the strongest (for me) characters in the excellent Justice League Unlimited cartoon series, delivering a nice smackdown to his super-powered colleagues when needed. He also played a role in Smallville. I'm not sure if these played a part in the character getting a TV series of his own, but happened it did, and ten episodes in (I'm watching repeats) I have to admit I'm somewhat drawn in.
As stated at the top, he's been made more "dark" to fit in with the current mood. Oliver Queen, like his comic book counterpart, is indeed a carefree playboy with a tendency to shag any willing young lady before an accident sees him marooned on a desert island. This happens around the same time as his lady-of-choice drowns and his dear pop shoots himself (and some other poor sod) in order to conserve life-boat supplies for dear Ollie.
Five years on, our man is rescued and, naturally, he's a changed man. In short, he's become a huge fucking badarse who can kebab you from 500 yards, covered in scars and with a new found desire to clean up his hometown of Starling City.
A lot of Arrow is cliché city, but it remains enjoyable for reasons a little bit beyond my ken. Oliver has loved ones to keep his secret from (at least, unlike Batman, his mother is still alive, and he has a sister) and his own "Alfred" figure in Diggle, employed as a bodyguard for "Oliver" who becomes a close ally of his alter-ego. In a nice little touch, when the vigilante figure is nicknamed "The Hood" Oliver discusses that he needs a better name at a dinner party. When someone suggests "Green Arrow", it is meet with a "lame!" response. The man who suggests that? None other than John Barrowman, who manages to be pretty sinister in his role as (as far as I've seen) the Big Bad.
There's plenty of tickle the comic book geeks (characters with surnames with 'Lance' are enough to make me chuckle knowingly) and from the first episode they try to distinguish the Arrow from the Batman when he snaps some poor mook's neck in half to protect his "secret". None of this "no killing" stance that the Bat takes up for our man.
Arrow isn't another original or mega-exciting, but it does somehow manage to capture my imagination. The cast are nothing special, but then all do their jobs well - Barrowman is the exception and he comes across as both ultra-charming and outright threatening. So far, they've managed to throw in characters such as the Huntress and Deadshot, with hints at others from the DC canon, and I look forward to more.
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