Sad to say, the day has come. I've realised I'm in serious danger of becoming a fat bastard. Sat on my old bed last week, I looked down to see my belly was way, way too big.
The warning signs have been there for years. I was lucky in my early 20s to have a metabolism that burned up all the crap that made up my diet, but my body's warranty has finally expired. At 21, I might have not been able to go on all-day drinking sessions anymore but at least I could keep stuffing pizza and sweets down my gob with little worries.
Now, there's a new Sheriff in town, and he's kicking arse and taking names. Action needs to be done, and quickly, lest I end up like one of those sad cases you see wobbling around, all skinny limbs but a gut big enough to rest a tray of drinks on hanging over the belt on their jeans. It's a nightmare scenario that I must do all I can to avoid.
This means, horror of horrors, doing exercise. Yes, the dirtiest of all words. If I want to carry on my lifestyle of spending plenty of time on the sofa playing video games, I'm going to have to pay the price. That means I'm going to have to start shifting my sorry arse around by foot a lot more.
It's not like I haven't been warned. Three years ago, when I bought a car, I also picked up a couple of dumbbells, rationalising that I'd use them to make up for not travelling in a way involving my own energy. Sadly, the concept of self-discipline has never been one I've subscribed to all that much, and they've lain in the corner of the room somewhat unused for a fair old while.
But no more. They're getting a few uses a day, and I'm walking part of the way to work and back, weather permitting, as walking home through torrential rain isn't going to be doing me any favours, is it? Then, the ultimate horror, I'm going to have to start on the sit ups. Wah.
I have friends who like to go on 50 mile bike rides on a Saturday and the weirdest part to me is that they do it for "fun". Well, I'm never going to get that part: all I feel after walking any length of time is the need for a bit of a lie down. Yet needs must, much as that completely pisses me off.
Thursday, 19 July 2012
Friday, 13 July 2012
Vacation, All I Ever Wanted
It's that time of the year, at least if you live in the Northern Hemisphere, where people pack up their bags and take off on holiday for a week or two. I'm no different, in a way, as I'm coming to the end of my own seasonal break.
Other people I know are going to the South of France, to Crete and Spain. All to lie around in the sun all day, a matter on which I have to concur with Bill Hicks of it being a complete waste of time. As a kid, once dad had worked his way up the career ladder a little bit, I got took away on these kinds of holidays and they were the most boring points of my childhood.
"Oh, you miserable git!" I get told. "Complaining about having a holiday. I bet they were other kids in your school who would have loved that!"
No doubt, and I wish my mam and dad had took them instead. As soon as I was old enough, I opted out and for my summer holiday aged 15, I went down to my auntie and uncle's place in Milton Keynes and mainly played Championship Manager with my cousin. That I found this an infinitely better use of my time tells you how I feel about spending days on the beach. Somewhat tragically, the two of us can still recall our campaigns in great detail to this day.
A holiday to me these days means a week travelling to see my parents, in which I tend to sleep till eleven most mornings, then mooch around the old town a bit and spend the rest of the time catching up on my gaming and going to the pub quiz with my dad. It's not much in the way of excitement, but it feels enough for me.
But is it? I always have the nagging feeling I should be doing more with my leave days. My trip to LA was about the only real holiday I've had as an adult, and the two weeks that involved is the longest time I've had off work. A big part of me would like to see the great cities of Europe, like Paris, Prague and Berlin. I'd really love to visit Japan and I have friends in Canada and Australia that I should get round to visiting. The latter is somewhere I've long wanted to visit (several generations of my family on the paternal side migrated there, so I guess it's a genetic pull to the other side of the world) but issues get in the way.
Or perhaps make that "issue", it being the contradiction in my head of wanting to check out more of the world up against a brain that goes into meltdown whenever my usual routine is broken, or I find myself in new places with new people. How I managed to keep it together to get out to California I don't know, but perhaps the excitement and anticipation of the experience overcame the rest.
Of course, I need to tell myself that this would be the case if I went anywhere else, to stop saying "maybe next year" and sort my sorry excuse for a mental state out and get doing things before all the oil runs out and we're back relying on horse and cart to get around.
Other people I know are going to the South of France, to Crete and Spain. All to lie around in the sun all day, a matter on which I have to concur with Bill Hicks of it being a complete waste of time. As a kid, once dad had worked his way up the career ladder a little bit, I got took away on these kinds of holidays and they were the most boring points of my childhood.
"Oh, you miserable git!" I get told. "Complaining about having a holiday. I bet they were other kids in your school who would have loved that!"
No doubt, and I wish my mam and dad had took them instead. As soon as I was old enough, I opted out and for my summer holiday aged 15, I went down to my auntie and uncle's place in Milton Keynes and mainly played Championship Manager with my cousin. That I found this an infinitely better use of my time tells you how I feel about spending days on the beach. Somewhat tragically, the two of us can still recall our campaigns in great detail to this day.
A holiday to me these days means a week travelling to see my parents, in which I tend to sleep till eleven most mornings, then mooch around the old town a bit and spend the rest of the time catching up on my gaming and going to the pub quiz with my dad. It's not much in the way of excitement, but it feels enough for me.
But is it? I always have the nagging feeling I should be doing more with my leave days. My trip to LA was about the only real holiday I've had as an adult, and the two weeks that involved is the longest time I've had off work. A big part of me would like to see the great cities of Europe, like Paris, Prague and Berlin. I'd really love to visit Japan and I have friends in Canada and Australia that I should get round to visiting. The latter is somewhere I've long wanted to visit (several generations of my family on the paternal side migrated there, so I guess it's a genetic pull to the other side of the world) but issues get in the way.
Or perhaps make that "issue", it being the contradiction in my head of wanting to check out more of the world up against a brain that goes into meltdown whenever my usual routine is broken, or I find myself in new places with new people. How I managed to keep it together to get out to California I don't know, but perhaps the excitement and anticipation of the experience overcame the rest.
Of course, I need to tell myself that this would be the case if I went anywhere else, to stop saying "maybe next year" and sort my sorry excuse for a mental state out and get doing things before all the oil runs out and we're back relying on horse and cart to get around.
Wednesday, 11 July 2012
Sowing The Hurting Songs From The Big Chair
Seeing Curt Smith appear in the "Shawn 2.0" episode of Psych a few weeks ago made me go back and listen to the work of his band Tears for Fears, something I'd not done for a few years. A wise decision, as it turned out, as I'd forgotten how great they were and later found out how they'd managed to do their best work years after their supposed peak.
Smith (bass/vocals) made up half the band along with Roland Orzabel (vocals/guitar) - both had grown up in Bath, children of separated parents, a factor which would influence Orzabel's songwriting in the future. Initially, they played in mod-revival band Graduate, scoring a hit in Spain with Elvis Should Play Ska, that being Costello rather than Presley. It wasn't happening on the home front, though, and the duo fronting the band weren't happy with band dynamics getting in the way of their ideas.
Therefore, they quit and formed Tears for Fears to ensure the direction lay entirely with them, and idea made a lot easier by technological advancements such as drum machines, synths and sequencers allowing them to dispense with having other people involved, though local musicians drummer Manny Elias and keyboardist Ian Stanley would soon be recruited, existing somewhere between being in the band (their names were listed as so on albums) and sidemen (Smith and Orzabel would do most of the interviews and photo-shoots).
Taking a name from Arthur Janov idea of 'Primal Scream' therapy set a tone of where the songs were going: their debut single in November 1981 was titled Suffer the Children, though the lyrical tone was helped along by a strong pop tune. It went nowhere in the charts, though, and the same fate befell Pale Shelter a few months later.
Luckily, just when it may have been looking grim, third single Mad World cracked the charts and made it up to #3, either helped or not by a video that saw Orzabel do a strange dance that brings to mind a more angular Ian Curtis. Despite it's pop verse/chorus structure, it's hookline of "the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had" still made them strange pop stars, though Smith's good looks doubtless helped get them in the pages of Smash Hits.
With the band now up and running, their debut album The Hurting went to the top of the British album charts. It's not a set with many laughs, hence the title, but it's a great listen, especially if you're an angst-ridden 17 year old, as I was when I first heard it. I imagine it sold well with teenagers who would have been listening to Joy Division four years earlier: indeed, the closing Start of the Breakdown uses mental illness as a theme in the same way Ian Curtis did on Closer.
Change and a re-recorded Pale Shelter both went into the top five of the singles chart, making the band one of the biggest in the country at the time.The album and Change also both made #73 in the US top 100 charts, further adding pressure to build on these successes with the next album.
Initially, the signs weren't good. A stand-alone single The Way You Are stalled at #24 in the UK: an attempt at repeating a formula that had worked so far, it's weird rhythms and weak lyrics weren't likely to make for a big hit. Doubtless it was this relative failure that led to the subsequent changes that 1984/85 would bring.
Working again with producer Chris Hughes, the band looked to create a huge, commercial sound. The hard funk-tinged Mothers Talk snuck them back into the top 20, but it was the epic anthem Shout that put Tears for Fears back on the map.
The album that followed, Songs From The Big Chair would become one of the defining albums of the era. Orzabel, writing with Ian Stanley on several songs and Smith on Head Over Heels, carried across some of the themes from the début album but looked to tinge them with a more adult approach. It also sounded made to crack the States.
Which it did, big time. The lead single over there, Everybody Wants To Rule The World, went to the top of the charts and Shout followed suit. Suddenly, they were one of the biggest bands in the world: Songs would go onto the sell five million in the US and Head Over Heels became the third massive hit from it. Of the eight songs from the album, five were released on a single, which exposes the sets biggest flaw: it's lack of songs. Broken is essentially only a lead into Head Over Heels - sharing as it does a central riff.
More recent re-issues address this by including some excellent b-sides: Pharaohs uses the shipping forecast to create an atmospheric number while When In Love With a Blind Man shares a riff with The Working Hour (from the album proper) but improves it with a sensitive Smith vocal, cutting out the slightly indulgent sax and making it a lot shorter.
After becoming mega-stars beyond their imaginations, Orzabel and Smith did the understandable thing and took an extended break. Sessions for a follow-up eventually started in 1987 but become problematic - recordings with Chris Hughes were scrapped and a new man, Dave Bascombe, was brought in. Ian Stanley and Manny Elias had left the band, though keyboard player Nicky Holland, who played with the band on the Songs tour stayed around to co-write a fair chunk of what would become The Seeds of Love, which finally arrived in September 1989.
It was led on by the single Sowing the Seeds of Love, which threw away the synth aspects that had made their name in favour of a Beatles-esque approach that Lennon and McCartney themselves would have proud to write. Making lyrical jabs at Margaret Thatcher ("Politician granny with your high ideals, have you any idea how the majority feels?") and, strangely, Paul Weller ("Kick out the Style, bring back the Jam!"), it was a huge hit both sides of the Atlantic.
But the album failed to build on this. There was too much self-indulgence (not surprising from a band cooped up in the studio for so long with access to a huge budget) on songs like Year Of The Knife and not enough strong tunes. Woman In Chains was saved from dodgy production by the presence of American singer Oleta Adams, who the duo had seen in the bar of their hotel while on tour. On the back of this profile-boosting, she went on to have a few hits in the early 90s. But the album did have one other major ace: Famous Last Words was a touching closing song, a cheery tale of a couple facing the end of the world. It sounded great and Orzabel has rarely sound better.
Bigger problems were afoot, however. Curt Smith wasn't happy and tensions between him and Roland Orzabel were getting serious: perhaps understandably, as the two had been in bands together for over ten years. Smith may also have been aggrieved at his role in the band - while he sung half the songs on The Hurting (including all the hits), by The Seeds of Love he only had lead on one song.
With the album somewhat of a failure in context (it still went Platinum in the States, but only produced one big hit single), tensions may have come to a head faster than might have otherwise. By 1991, Smith had quit and Orzabel decided to keep the name for his future work, perhaps reasoning that he was singing the vast majority of the band's new songs anyways. Signalling a new rockier direction, Laid So Low (Tears Roll Down) got the band back in the top 20, promoting the Tears Roll Down (Greatest Hits 82-92) compilation that was a big hit at home and in Europe.
While Smith moved to New York for work on a solo album he hated, then with his band Mayfield (bad pun alert), Orzabel brought out the albums Elemental and Raoul and the Kings of Spain to diminishing commercial returns, though the lead single from the former album, Break It Down Again provided a last hit single, and a worthwhile one at that. For the main part, however, the songs were hampered by some stodgy AOR production.
All of which seemed to be the end of that. Orzabel dropped the name and produced some weird experimental electro album in an attempt to get away from lyric-heavy music, Smith moved out to LA and kept doing his thing. Negative feelings towards each other - which may have been understandable given they'd been together since they were teenagers - dripped away with time and distance. By the start of the next decade, the two began talking and plans were put afoot to maybe work again.
Around the same, by pure coincidence, their stock rose to it's highest point since the mid 80s when the film Donnie Darko used Head Over Heels and a cover of Mad World on the soundtrack. The latter, by Michael Andrews and Gary Jules, ended up being an unlikely #1 single in the UK.
At the same time, Tears for Fears, working with Smith's writing partner Charlton Pettus, was slowly crafting away. Writing for the first time largely as a unit, songs came together and following some messing around with labels, Everybody Loves a Happy Ending came out in 2004.
Surprisingly, or not, the "comeback" album turned out to be the best thing they'd ever made. Taking Sowing the Seeds of Love as a starting point of sorts, it had plenty of Beatles-tinged pop like the title track and Closest Thing to Heaven - though Who Killed Tangerine? has the biggest (and best) Hey Jude style singalong outro you could wish to hear.
There was also Big Star-tinged power pop on Call Me Mellow, 70s soul smoothness on Last Days On Earth and all round epics like Secret World. Working with Smith again seemed to shed Orzabel of his more indulgent tendencies, as well as given him a strong voice to harmonise with.
Sadly, it didn't enjoy the chart success it deserved, failing to crack the top 40 on the US or UK. A crime. If you have a love of beautifully written pop music, you should go and buy it now. Really.
Since then, the duo have sporadically played gigs around the world, but are yet to bring out another album, perhaps feeling there's a lack of interest from the public. A shame if so - one of the best groups of their time deserve a better legacy and a proper critical re-evaluation.
Smith (bass/vocals) made up half the band along with Roland Orzabel (vocals/guitar) - both had grown up in Bath, children of separated parents, a factor which would influence Orzabel's songwriting in the future. Initially, they played in mod-revival band Graduate, scoring a hit in Spain with Elvis Should Play Ska, that being Costello rather than Presley. It wasn't happening on the home front, though, and the duo fronting the band weren't happy with band dynamics getting in the way of their ideas.
Therefore, they quit and formed Tears for Fears to ensure the direction lay entirely with them, and idea made a lot easier by technological advancements such as drum machines, synths and sequencers allowing them to dispense with having other people involved, though local musicians drummer Manny Elias and keyboardist Ian Stanley would soon be recruited, existing somewhere between being in the band (their names were listed as so on albums) and sidemen (Smith and Orzabel would do most of the interviews and photo-shoots).
Taking a name from Arthur Janov idea of 'Primal Scream' therapy set a tone of where the songs were going: their debut single in November 1981 was titled Suffer the Children, though the lyrical tone was helped along by a strong pop tune. It went nowhere in the charts, though, and the same fate befell Pale Shelter a few months later.
Luckily, just when it may have been looking grim, third single Mad World cracked the charts and made it up to #3, either helped or not by a video that saw Orzabel do a strange dance that brings to mind a more angular Ian Curtis. Despite it's pop verse/chorus structure, it's hookline of "the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had" still made them strange pop stars, though Smith's good looks doubtless helped get them in the pages of Smash Hits.
With the band now up and running, their debut album The Hurting went to the top of the British album charts. It's not a set with many laughs, hence the title, but it's a great listen, especially if you're an angst-ridden 17 year old, as I was when I first heard it. I imagine it sold well with teenagers who would have been listening to Joy Division four years earlier: indeed, the closing Start of the Breakdown uses mental illness as a theme in the same way Ian Curtis did on Closer.
Change and a re-recorded Pale Shelter both went into the top five of the singles chart, making the band one of the biggest in the country at the time.The album and Change also both made #73 in the US top 100 charts, further adding pressure to build on these successes with the next album.
Initially, the signs weren't good. A stand-alone single The Way You Are stalled at #24 in the UK: an attempt at repeating a formula that had worked so far, it's weird rhythms and weak lyrics weren't likely to make for a big hit. Doubtless it was this relative failure that led to the subsequent changes that 1984/85 would bring.
Working again with producer Chris Hughes, the band looked to create a huge, commercial sound. The hard funk-tinged Mothers Talk snuck them back into the top 20, but it was the epic anthem Shout that put Tears for Fears back on the map.
The album that followed, Songs From The Big Chair would become one of the defining albums of the era. Orzabel, writing with Ian Stanley on several songs and Smith on Head Over Heels, carried across some of the themes from the début album but looked to tinge them with a more adult approach. It also sounded made to crack the States.
Which it did, big time. The lead single over there, Everybody Wants To Rule The World, went to the top of the charts and Shout followed suit. Suddenly, they were one of the biggest bands in the world: Songs would go onto the sell five million in the US and Head Over Heels became the third massive hit from it. Of the eight songs from the album, five were released on a single, which exposes the sets biggest flaw: it's lack of songs. Broken is essentially only a lead into Head Over Heels - sharing as it does a central riff.
More recent re-issues address this by including some excellent b-sides: Pharaohs uses the shipping forecast to create an atmospheric number while When In Love With a Blind Man shares a riff with The Working Hour (from the album proper) but improves it with a sensitive Smith vocal, cutting out the slightly indulgent sax and making it a lot shorter.
After becoming mega-stars beyond their imaginations, Orzabel and Smith did the understandable thing and took an extended break. Sessions for a follow-up eventually started in 1987 but become problematic - recordings with Chris Hughes were scrapped and a new man, Dave Bascombe, was brought in. Ian Stanley and Manny Elias had left the band, though keyboard player Nicky Holland, who played with the band on the Songs tour stayed around to co-write a fair chunk of what would become The Seeds of Love, which finally arrived in September 1989.
It was led on by the single Sowing the Seeds of Love, which threw away the synth aspects that had made their name in favour of a Beatles-esque approach that Lennon and McCartney themselves would have proud to write. Making lyrical jabs at Margaret Thatcher ("Politician granny with your high ideals, have you any idea how the majority feels?") and, strangely, Paul Weller ("Kick out the Style, bring back the Jam!"), it was a huge hit both sides of the Atlantic.
But the album failed to build on this. There was too much self-indulgence (not surprising from a band cooped up in the studio for so long with access to a huge budget) on songs like Year Of The Knife and not enough strong tunes. Woman In Chains was saved from dodgy production by the presence of American singer Oleta Adams, who the duo had seen in the bar of their hotel while on tour. On the back of this profile-boosting, she went on to have a few hits in the early 90s. But the album did have one other major ace: Famous Last Words was a touching closing song, a cheery tale of a couple facing the end of the world. It sounded great and Orzabel has rarely sound better.
Bigger problems were afoot, however. Curt Smith wasn't happy and tensions between him and Roland Orzabel were getting serious: perhaps understandably, as the two had been in bands together for over ten years. Smith may also have been aggrieved at his role in the band - while he sung half the songs on The Hurting (including all the hits), by The Seeds of Love he only had lead on one song.
With the album somewhat of a failure in context (it still went Platinum in the States, but only produced one big hit single), tensions may have come to a head faster than might have otherwise. By 1991, Smith had quit and Orzabel decided to keep the name for his future work, perhaps reasoning that he was singing the vast majority of the band's new songs anyways. Signalling a new rockier direction, Laid So Low (Tears Roll Down) got the band back in the top 20, promoting the Tears Roll Down (Greatest Hits 82-92) compilation that was a big hit at home and in Europe.
While Smith moved to New York for work on a solo album he hated, then with his band Mayfield (bad pun alert), Orzabel brought out the albums Elemental and Raoul and the Kings of Spain to diminishing commercial returns, though the lead single from the former album, Break It Down Again provided a last hit single, and a worthwhile one at that. For the main part, however, the songs were hampered by some stodgy AOR production.
All of which seemed to be the end of that. Orzabel dropped the name and produced some weird experimental electro album in an attempt to get away from lyric-heavy music, Smith moved out to LA and kept doing his thing. Negative feelings towards each other - which may have been understandable given they'd been together since they were teenagers - dripped away with time and distance. By the start of the next decade, the two began talking and plans were put afoot to maybe work again.
Around the same, by pure coincidence, their stock rose to it's highest point since the mid 80s when the film Donnie Darko used Head Over Heels and a cover of Mad World on the soundtrack. The latter, by Michael Andrews and Gary Jules, ended up being an unlikely #1 single in the UK.
At the same time, Tears for Fears, working with Smith's writing partner Charlton Pettus, was slowly crafting away. Writing for the first time largely as a unit, songs came together and following some messing around with labels, Everybody Loves a Happy Ending came out in 2004.
Surprisingly, or not, the "comeback" album turned out to be the best thing they'd ever made. Taking Sowing the Seeds of Love as a starting point of sorts, it had plenty of Beatles-tinged pop like the title track and Closest Thing to Heaven - though Who Killed Tangerine? has the biggest (and best) Hey Jude style singalong outro you could wish to hear.
There was also Big Star-tinged power pop on Call Me Mellow, 70s soul smoothness on Last Days On Earth and all round epics like Secret World. Working with Smith again seemed to shed Orzabel of his more indulgent tendencies, as well as given him a strong voice to harmonise with.
Sadly, it didn't enjoy the chart success it deserved, failing to crack the top 40 on the US or UK. A crime. If you have a love of beautifully written pop music, you should go and buy it now. Really.
Since then, the duo have sporadically played gigs around the world, but are yet to bring out another album, perhaps feeling there's a lack of interest from the public. A shame if so - one of the best groups of their time deserve a better legacy and a proper critical re-evaluation.
Sunday, 8 July 2012
Brief Encounter
Life can be incredibly random in what it gives you. Quite often it's bad - person gets hit by lightning, for example. But there's also little bits of life-affirming randomness that make you glad to be on this rock.
Today brought one. It begins with me lugging my bag onto the train heading up North from Manchester. I've not booked a ticket, so I just jump on the first carriage that looks like it has some spare seats. I find one and settle down to read a magazine I'd bought to help beat the tedium of travelling. Another Rolling Stones related cover for Mojo, ho-hum.
After a while, I begin checking out my fellow travellers. No screaming kids, thankfully. There's a young Japanese couple, maybe students, who look to be heading on holiday, judging by the amount of baggage they're lugging and that they look fairly excited (therefore not coming back). Suddenly, a blonde haired guy in glasses catches my eye.
"He looks just like Richard Butler," I think. I know he's been in the country, touring with the Psychedelic Furs, but why would he be on this train? I decide he must be some guy who just looks like him. Then I spot the man directly across the aisle.
"He looks just like Tim Butler", I think, this time with a bigger hint of excitement.
See, in my heart I'm always a music fan first. I may play in a band, I've written songs and played on stage, but I was a geek for the whole world before any of that. And as anyone who knows me will tell you, I love the Psychedelic Furs. Ask me to list my top 20 albums, and chances are Talk Talk Talk, Forever Now and Book of Days will be in there, and here's two of the guys responsible sat a few feet from me.
I've met musicians I've had huge respect for in the past, always in a journalist context. This allows me to be professional, prepared and able to keep my fanboy tendencies in check. But this - I'm almost in shock: my hands are shaking before I even get up. I stand up and pretend to be stretching my legs just to get a proper look. I always wondered how people who've had a bit of fame like strangers coming up to them, wanting time and attention. It must get annoying, but at the same time, I might never get a chance like this again. The universe has conspired to put me on the same train, on the same day in the same carriage as two people who have improved my life with their art. So, eventually:
"Sorry for bothering you, but are you Richard and Tim Butler?"
A lot of people have stories of meeting musicians, actors and writers they admire, who turn out to be complete dicks. I'm dreading this happening here.
"Yeah," comes the reply from Richard. But he's smiling and I feel like I'm 15 years old.
"I'm a huge fan," and I offer my hand, which they both shake. I don't even tell them my name, I just babble on for a bit of how I love their work, and tell Tim as a bassist, I really dig his playing. Turns out they're heading North to visit their mother. They ask where I'm from, and I say I'm off to visit my own parents, but I live in Manchester and moved there because there was nothing to do back home.
"So what's in Manchester?" asks Richard.
"Football, gigs, my girlfriend," I reply to which Richard laughs. I mention I'm in a band myself, but we're struggling to find a singer.
"It's usually the drummer," he says, before asking "Why don't you sing?
"I'm a bassist. I prefer standing at the back looking moody."
This makes Tim laugh: "There's an artform to that."
I have to ask whether they're doing another album: turns out Tim has written the music for one, but Richard needs to sort the lyrics out. Here's hoping he gets to work soon.
As Neil Finn said, "one of those times, wish I'd had a camera on me" yet I'm aware that I'm taking up their time from talking to the people they're with. So I shake their hands again and wish them a nice time over in the Dales. When they get off at Oxenholme station, they both bid me farewell, which made me smile like a goon. Naturally, I then pulled my mp3 player out, stuck on Love My Way and wish I had asked Tim Butler to show me the bass part sometime.
Oh, and they're both still handsome devils too.
Today brought one. It begins with me lugging my bag onto the train heading up North from Manchester. I've not booked a ticket, so I just jump on the first carriage that looks like it has some spare seats. I find one and settle down to read a magazine I'd bought to help beat the tedium of travelling. Another Rolling Stones related cover for Mojo, ho-hum.
After a while, I begin checking out my fellow travellers. No screaming kids, thankfully. There's a young Japanese couple, maybe students, who look to be heading on holiday, judging by the amount of baggage they're lugging and that they look fairly excited (therefore not coming back). Suddenly, a blonde haired guy in glasses catches my eye.
"He looks just like Richard Butler," I think. I know he's been in the country, touring with the Psychedelic Furs, but why would he be on this train? I decide he must be some guy who just looks like him. Then I spot the man directly across the aisle.
"He looks just like Tim Butler", I think, this time with a bigger hint of excitement.
See, in my heart I'm always a music fan first. I may play in a band, I've written songs and played on stage, but I was a geek for the whole world before any of that. And as anyone who knows me will tell you, I love the Psychedelic Furs. Ask me to list my top 20 albums, and chances are Talk Talk Talk, Forever Now and Book of Days will be in there, and here's two of the guys responsible sat a few feet from me.
I've met musicians I've had huge respect for in the past, always in a journalist context. This allows me to be professional, prepared and able to keep my fanboy tendencies in check. But this - I'm almost in shock: my hands are shaking before I even get up. I stand up and pretend to be stretching my legs just to get a proper look. I always wondered how people who've had a bit of fame like strangers coming up to them, wanting time and attention. It must get annoying, but at the same time, I might never get a chance like this again. The universe has conspired to put me on the same train, on the same day in the same carriage as two people who have improved my life with their art. So, eventually:
"Sorry for bothering you, but are you Richard and Tim Butler?"
A lot of people have stories of meeting musicians, actors and writers they admire, who turn out to be complete dicks. I'm dreading this happening here.
"Yeah," comes the reply from Richard. But he's smiling and I feel like I'm 15 years old.
"I'm a huge fan," and I offer my hand, which they both shake. I don't even tell them my name, I just babble on for a bit of how I love their work, and tell Tim as a bassist, I really dig his playing. Turns out they're heading North to visit their mother. They ask where I'm from, and I say I'm off to visit my own parents, but I live in Manchester and moved there because there was nothing to do back home.
"So what's in Manchester?" asks Richard.
"Football, gigs, my girlfriend," I reply to which Richard laughs. I mention I'm in a band myself, but we're struggling to find a singer.
"It's usually the drummer," he says, before asking "Why don't you sing?
"I'm a bassist. I prefer standing at the back looking moody."
This makes Tim laugh: "There's an artform to that."
I have to ask whether they're doing another album: turns out Tim has written the music for one, but Richard needs to sort the lyrics out. Here's hoping he gets to work soon.
As Neil Finn said, "one of those times, wish I'd had a camera on me" yet I'm aware that I'm taking up their time from talking to the people they're with. So I shake their hands again and wish them a nice time over in the Dales. When they get off at Oxenholme station, they both bid me farewell, which made me smile like a goon. Naturally, I then pulled my mp3 player out, stuck on Love My Way and wish I had asked Tim Butler to show me the bass part sometime.
Oh, and they're both still handsome devils too.
Tuesday, 3 July 2012
Staying Out For The Summer
With the school holidays set to start soon, I can look forward to six weeks of relative quiet on the bus in the morning. It's the small things that make the work slog a bit more bearable and the relative peace is pleasant before I arrive at the office where I have to bite my tongue when Fifty Shades of poxy Grey is getting raved about.
Perhaps I should read it too, only the extracts I have seen suggest it was written by a 16 year old virgin whose knowledge of sex comes entirely from the letters sections of gentlemen's "rhythm" magazines. Although that's perhaps an insult to many young lads partaking in regular onanism, as I'm sure even that version of me could have made a better go of it. And seriously, you should see the stuff I wrote at 16 - I'd have beaten the Volgons in a bad poetry match anyday, and probably in a bad skin contest too.
Anyways. The prospect of an empty bus led me to think about the worst part of childhood. And it's not having to go to school, which obviously is pretty crap when you're going through it. It's also not having to grow up to see your skin go completely to cock and your voice having to be like Scooby Doo's for a little while.
No. The worst part isn't living through it, it's the hindsight. It's being on that bus at 7.30am on a workday, being thankful it's not full of screaming kids pissing about and then realising that they're probably all still in bed and will have the whole day to themselves. Which is followed by the thought "that was me once".
It's horrific. Whereas we used to have six weeks of summer to enjoy, now we didn't get that in a year. It's a depressing thought to think we won't get that kind of freedom unless we either come into some serious money or make it to retirement. It's easy in such moments to get misty-eyed of such times, out playing football for hours on end on the municipal pitch despite the council have removed the goalposts (why did they do that?) - I think that up to a certain age, maybe around nine or ten, you don't give much if any thought to the future. Perhaps two decades on, I'm idealising that time.
And it's that which brings the sucker punch, the knowledge that there's no going back. Real life, whether it comes aged 16, 18, 21, whatever, hits hard. I remember the first summer after I'd started doing "proper" jobs, looking out of the window into sunny climes, feeling wistful even if it did look out over Oldham.
What can you do? Well, you can be like me and think of those kids running around with their freedom with the thought "yeah, make the most of it, because one day soon you might end up like those poor sods I saw today, dressed like a pizza box standing on the pavement advertising special deals for a certain well-known takeaway franchise". Reality bites, kids.
Perhaps I should read it too, only the extracts I have seen suggest it was written by a 16 year old virgin whose knowledge of sex comes entirely from the letters sections of gentlemen's "rhythm" magazines. Although that's perhaps an insult to many young lads partaking in regular onanism, as I'm sure even that version of me could have made a better go of it. And seriously, you should see the stuff I wrote at 16 - I'd have beaten the Volgons in a bad poetry match anyday, and probably in a bad skin contest too.
Anyways. The prospect of an empty bus led me to think about the worst part of childhood. And it's not having to go to school, which obviously is pretty crap when you're going through it. It's also not having to grow up to see your skin go completely to cock and your voice having to be like Scooby Doo's for a little while.
No. The worst part isn't living through it, it's the hindsight. It's being on that bus at 7.30am on a workday, being thankful it's not full of screaming kids pissing about and then realising that they're probably all still in bed and will have the whole day to themselves. Which is followed by the thought "that was me once".
It's horrific. Whereas we used to have six weeks of summer to enjoy, now we didn't get that in a year. It's a depressing thought to think we won't get that kind of freedom unless we either come into some serious money or make it to retirement. It's easy in such moments to get misty-eyed of such times, out playing football for hours on end on the municipal pitch despite the council have removed the goalposts (why did they do that?) - I think that up to a certain age, maybe around nine or ten, you don't give much if any thought to the future. Perhaps two decades on, I'm idealising that time.
And it's that which brings the sucker punch, the knowledge that there's no going back. Real life, whether it comes aged 16, 18, 21, whatever, hits hard. I remember the first summer after I'd started doing "proper" jobs, looking out of the window into sunny climes, feeling wistful even if it did look out over Oldham.
What can you do? Well, you can be like me and think of those kids running around with their freedom with the thought "yeah, make the most of it, because one day soon you might end up like those poor sods I saw today, dressed like a pizza box standing on the pavement advertising special deals for a certain well-known takeaway franchise". Reality bites, kids.
Friday, 29 June 2012
Everybody Loves a Happy Ending
After a little bit of waiting, the Mass Effect 3 extended cut ending has been sent out for our viewing. What's the verdict? Well, the best word I can think of is 'meh'. Spoilers abound, kiddies.
Because it was never going to change anything. Developers Bioware said they weren't going to change the ending per se, which was fair enough. In the final reckoning, it's their game and their ending to fuck up. After all, I don't send my copy for Abbey Road to the surviving Beatles with a note saying "Her Majesty as the last song in your career? Fuck off and do a proper song!". If we are to accept video games as art, as we should, we have to put off with not liking everything we get.
So, there's still the three endings we had before (as well, apparently, as an option to ignore them all, which I haven't tried out) but with added bonus between the choice and Buzz Aldrin talking to some little kid. Now, we get a few minutes of narration from a character to whom the choice relates over pictures relating to how you got on. I went with how I went first time originally, so had EDI praising my sacrifice and how the future was all looking rosy while we saw Zaeed relaxing on the beach, Rex with his baby and everyone looking very happy. Not animations, mind, just pictures, which seems a little bit cheap.
All the same, it's an improvement on what we got but the conspiracy theorist in me thinks these were always meant to be there, but they ran out of time before the release date. I mean, would they really spend the money to get the voice actors back in the studio to record the dialogue? Lance Henriksen isn't that cheap, surely? If they did, however, then major kudos.
However, I still would have liked to see some reaction from Tali, who was the other half in the romance sub-plot I went down. In the ending, EDI seemed more upset that I'd thrown a seven than my supposed girlfriend. Maybe she just using me. Bah. Or perhaps there's further DLC to come where Shepard says just before the big battle "yeah, I think we should take a break from dating a while..."
More seriously, though this DLC kills off some bugbears, it hasn't made me want to go play Mass Effect 3 again in a hurry. There still didn't seem to be any real satisfactory conclusions from my actions to make me want to play through with different consequences. Perhaps further content with go down that road.
Because it was never going to change anything. Developers Bioware said they weren't going to change the ending per se, which was fair enough. In the final reckoning, it's their game and their ending to fuck up. After all, I don't send my copy for Abbey Road to the surviving Beatles with a note saying "Her Majesty as the last song in your career? Fuck off and do a proper song!". If we are to accept video games as art, as we should, we have to put off with not liking everything we get.
So, there's still the three endings we had before (as well, apparently, as an option to ignore them all, which I haven't tried out) but with added bonus between the choice and Buzz Aldrin talking to some little kid. Now, we get a few minutes of narration from a character to whom the choice relates over pictures relating to how you got on. I went with how I went first time originally, so had EDI praising my sacrifice and how the future was all looking rosy while we saw Zaeed relaxing on the beach, Rex with his baby and everyone looking very happy. Not animations, mind, just pictures, which seems a little bit cheap.
All the same, it's an improvement on what we got but the conspiracy theorist in me thinks these were always meant to be there, but they ran out of time before the release date. I mean, would they really spend the money to get the voice actors back in the studio to record the dialogue? Lance Henriksen isn't that cheap, surely? If they did, however, then major kudos.
However, I still would have liked to see some reaction from Tali, who was the other half in the romance sub-plot I went down. In the ending, EDI seemed more upset that I'd thrown a seven than my supposed girlfriend. Maybe she just using me. Bah. Or perhaps there's further DLC to come where Shepard says just before the big battle "yeah, I think we should take a break from dating a while..."
More seriously, though this DLC kills off some bugbears, it hasn't made me want to go play Mass Effect 3 again in a hurry. There still didn't seem to be any real satisfactory conclusions from my actions to make me want to play through with different consequences. Perhaps further content with go down that road.
Tuesday, 26 June 2012
The World Is Your Oyster, The Future Your Clam
You'd think as the sickening passing of time goes on, I'd become more and more resentful towards young people. What with their youth, energy and ability to go on 12 hour benders without needing a whole week afterwards to recover.
But not so much these days. In fact, I'm pretty glad I'm not 21 in 2012, just leaving university and looking for a job. It was hard enough when I did that back in 2002. Now, it must be a nightmare trying to find a half-decent job that pays more than minimum wage. It's not getting any easier, either - not when the government has decided to stack the deck more against you.
Even children are taking it in the neck. Your exams are too easy! With this in mind, Education bod Michael Gove made plans to revolutionise the system by, err, reverting it all back to how it was over 20 years ago. Whether he gets his way is another matter, but that such a stupid idea should gain the approval of certain media figures shows the trouble we might be getting into.
Nye Bevan once noted that the Tories always need a bogey and it seems as if young people could be the new one. Obviously, as the line seems to be, they're all scrounging bastards - how dare working class children aspire to go into further education! Best to get rid of the cap on tuition fees. How dare they need help paying the rent! I'll scrap housing benefits for them so they'll have to return to their parents, says our Prime Minister, if we vote for him in the next election.
Of course, the last one there is a complete nothing of a policy designed purely to grab media interest. After all, most people on housing benefits aren't unemployed (though you'd think differently from the newspapers), nor is everyone aged 18-25 capable of moving back home. They might live on the other side of the country, might not be on good terms with them or, sadly, not have living parents. What happens in the latter case? "Well, Billy, you have a elderly Aunt living in Bangor. She'll put you up."
Perhaps the Tories have done some kind of cost/benefit analysis on this. Young people are less likely to vote, ergo it's fine to disregard them. Edwina Currie obviously thinks so: challenged on Twitter that "under 25s and futureless youth" will make her old party pay, she responded that "no they won't. They have the vote, don't use it and have no economic power. Not till they start working, pay taxes, learn sense".
Of course, this is a woman who chose to have sex with John Major, so her judgement may well be off the scale here as well. All the same, it gives an insight into the mindset of the kind of people running the country: "economic power" is key. Put everything into the system, only to find out it's one that is so fucked that you get nothing out of it in return. "Call me Dave" may well be turning "Call me 'Sir', you peasant scum".
But not so much these days. In fact, I'm pretty glad I'm not 21 in 2012, just leaving university and looking for a job. It was hard enough when I did that back in 2002. Now, it must be a nightmare trying to find a half-decent job that pays more than minimum wage. It's not getting any easier, either - not when the government has decided to stack the deck more against you.
Even children are taking it in the neck. Your exams are too easy! With this in mind, Education bod Michael Gove made plans to revolutionise the system by, err, reverting it all back to how it was over 20 years ago. Whether he gets his way is another matter, but that such a stupid idea should gain the approval of certain media figures shows the trouble we might be getting into.
Nye Bevan once noted that the Tories always need a bogey and it seems as if young people could be the new one. Obviously, as the line seems to be, they're all scrounging bastards - how dare working class children aspire to go into further education! Best to get rid of the cap on tuition fees. How dare they need help paying the rent! I'll scrap housing benefits for them so they'll have to return to their parents, says our Prime Minister, if we vote for him in the next election.
Of course, the last one there is a complete nothing of a policy designed purely to grab media interest. After all, most people on housing benefits aren't unemployed (though you'd think differently from the newspapers), nor is everyone aged 18-25 capable of moving back home. They might live on the other side of the country, might not be on good terms with them or, sadly, not have living parents. What happens in the latter case? "Well, Billy, you have a elderly Aunt living in Bangor. She'll put you up."
Perhaps the Tories have done some kind of cost/benefit analysis on this. Young people are less likely to vote, ergo it's fine to disregard them. Edwina Currie obviously thinks so: challenged on Twitter that "under 25s and futureless youth" will make her old party pay, she responded that "no they won't. They have the vote, don't use it and have no economic power. Not till they start working, pay taxes, learn sense".
Of course, this is a woman who chose to have sex with John Major, so her judgement may well be off the scale here as well. All the same, it gives an insight into the mindset of the kind of people running the country: "economic power" is key. Put everything into the system, only to find out it's one that is so fucked that you get nothing out of it in return. "Call me Dave" may well be turning "Call me 'Sir', you peasant scum".
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