ME AND MY BIG MOTH

The Decline of Education

2012-01-02T19:59:00.013Z

Since the Further and Higher Education Act of 1992, many more education institutions came into being to cope with the swell of students looking to get onto courses. With more institutions offering a myriad of courses and more students getting university degrees it was obvious this was only going to end one way.

Of course, it's essential that everyone has the opportunity to get an education but clearly the overall quality of it has deteriorated at the expense of everyone. Now, tuition fees are going to be in the region of £6,000 - £9,000 with no real guarantee that students are going to get a significantly improved learning experience.
What has happened is that education has been commodified in that consumers are now paying for a branded product i.e. to go a 'good' university with a good reputation.

While the tip of the iceberg is good education providers, good courses and honourable alumni, there is other 6/7ths of the iceberg that invisibly, does not. Unfortunately many students will be, and have been, paying incredible sums of money for a product that will do absolutely nothing to enhance their employment chances. Many universities and the courses they run merely gloss over their subject matter - creating a curriculum based on fresh air and giving little meaningful contact time to students, leaving them completely unprepared to use their skills in a working environment. The money spent is money unseen, naturally: much of the sums paid to universities come from students who will have to work years working in dead-end jobs to pay off a student loan.
Many HE institutions are now opting to take a greater ratio of international students to domestic ones. Simply because universities can receive close to £20,000 from non-EU students and I would bet that is much closer to the real reason why fees have been increased in the UK. Simply put, if fees weren't increased, domestic students would be frozen out of university places completely, giving the far-right a podium to vent their bile.

Many other companies have popped up offering services that cater for professional and recreational learners too, in areas such a computer/software training and language learning. These have come about essentially through the fragmentation of work and how we perceive it. The notion of the 'job for life' retired with many of the baby-boomer generation and nowadays, its fair to say most people will expect to work any number of jobs throughout their working life. Because of this, the pressure to continually learn or re-train or to enhance one's skills in their given field (or to re-train in another industry) is greater. Many people do so, in their own time and from their own pocket.
Many of these companies offer general training - a course which may or may not offer a qualification at the end of the course other than a flimsy certificate to show completion. Needless to say, regulation of these companies and their practices has been more than a tad lax by successive governments.

With self-proclaimed experts running courses, people paying considerable sums of money help to perpetuate the illusion of life-long learning and self-improvement. I have done a number of courses since graduating in order to spruce up a CV with a worthy but limp Arts degree and very few of these have met my expectations. Even universities now run these courses - I attended evening classes on web design at City University where, after 6 or so weeks, it became quite clear that the teacher running the course knew little more than we did; much of the information she taught us came from a Dummies book, which could've been done in half the time, with someone who could actually teach and knew about the subject matter. Given the fees and the number of students, it's probably a nice little sideline for universities.

So with everyone paying more money for less education, universities and education providers have become 'dream factories' where much like any other commodity or product, if we purchase it we become more desirable - in many cases advertising hopes to make us feel more sexually attractive. In the dreams that education sells, we hope to to become more attractive to potential employers.

We are creating a society of individuals with titles and 'skills-sets' and half learnt talents in the vain hope they will join up the missing dots themselves. While employers exploit this, by offering desperate graduate workers few employment rights and low and in some cases, no salary. All based on the false pretence of 'on-the-job training' which will give the sucker some insight into an industry they might have little hope of breaking into otherwise. The real hostages to all this: quality, pride in one's work and long-term job security.

While many students are rich or from relatively wealthy backgrounds, there are also those who are gambling someone's savings on the hope of a better future. While it is entirely possible that they (overseas students) might get a decent job in their native country based on a 'product' /piece of paper from an 'exotic' sounding institution the likelihood that they learn anything purposeful decreases.
This now has less to do with the pedigogical abilities of teaching staff and more to do with the dumb down of academia as a means and not an end, thus level of candidate accepted - and the schools, college and universities approach to business: 'make money and if anyone learns anything it's a bonus'. The bottom line is now drowning education and it's merits; providing value for money and giving students some element of pastoral care i.e customer service - then education might just detach itself from the retail concept it has become.

The Year That Went Batshit

2011-12-13T20:45:00.530Z

This is yet one more take on this years news events. Many commentators have been stating how remarkable this calendar year has been. Is this just good copy, does 2011 live up to the hype? For all the hyperbole, 2011 has been worth it. There have been so many political, natural and sociological events that have etched a profound mark on the timeline of history, the resonance of which, politically speaking might just echo long into the future.

Politically speaking, perhaps the most globally important thing to have happened has been the Arab Spring. A young fruitsellers self-immolation lit the touch paper for tenacious unflinching revolutions that created a domino effect from Tunisia to Syria. The power grab in the Maghreb may have had a happy ending, thus far but brutality and violence still looms large in Egypt. Protesters against the 'security forces' are being raped, injured and killed despite the removal of the 41 year dictatorship. Then there is still the slow unravelling of social order and stability in Yemen and more seriously Syria, where it is claimed more than 5,000 people have been killed by government forces.

The method in which the uprisings took place, through Twitter and Facebook, is a story in itself. That these modes of communication are now shaping capitalism and counter-culture as a parallel force, should be news enough. How we define our personal relationships to individuals and companies through things such as brand loyality or gainful employment have changed dramatically - and much of this development has happened through these platforms this year.
While the the Arab world was making big revolutionary waves, smaller but no less important waves where being made with the very same tools in New York and London, and 91 other countries by October, as the Occupy movement made headlines but not, according to it's critics, creating political alternatives.
The aggregated number of people who showed their displeasure with capitalism while not available, runs to a considerable number. Occupy Wall Street attracted huge numbers for a continuous protest, in London Occupy created much more media interest than public support but had a small nucleus for backing has now branched out into other projects. While the ultimate aims were unclear for Occupy, the overall message struck a chord with many people now believing that the gap between haves and have-nots is not too dissimilar to the political models (and distribution of wealth) of developing economies, to whom the developed world sees itself as superior.
Tax breaks for the well-connected, stealth privatisation of key services and the continued spectre of a publically supported, failed financial sector continue to go against the mantra that "we are all in this together."
The closest thing to revolution in the West came in August as four days of rioting shook the capital and affected Birmingham, Manchester and Liverpool. The unrest started after the shooting of Mark Duggan by the police, for resisting arrest, possesion of a firearm, and intent to murder a police officer. Initially the Met Police claimed that they returned fire after asking Duggan to stop his vehicle.

It was later known that Mark Duggan did not fire a gun, nor possesed a firearm. Unrest started in Tottenham, north London and spread through the capital - with many using this as a tenuous excuse to smash up local communities and set fire to both residences and businesses alike. JD Sports, a nationwide sportswear chain became an iconic for riots, as looters smashed their way into the firm's shops with many intent to steal trainers that they'd wanted rather than to protest the death of a seemly innocent man. To criticise the shortfalls of capitalism (for those that did, flimsily) with further evidence of [illegal] consumer behaviour, only seeks to enforce negative social policy through stereotyping. Indeed, 2011 was the year where inequality, privilege and exploitation became fully legitamised as a global phenomena.

During the summer the the phone hacking scandal re-emerged, costing Rupert Murdoch and News Corporation a full takeover of Sky TV and a leading Sunday newspaper title in the News of The World, which closed after widespread phone hacking was revealed. While not a new allegation levelled at the British press, public anger grew after allegations that Milly Dowler's mobile had been hacked days after she had been abducted and killed, and before her body had even been found. Things took a turn for the surreal when Rupert Murdoch was hit with a shaving foam pie in the face upon give evidence to the House of Commons culture committee (see video above).
Further allegations have been made of common practices at The Sun and News of The World and potentially, many other newspaper titles. The Leveson Enquiry has taken evidence from a number of public profiles but is on-going and it's results will probably have little effect on distracting people from the real issues, continuing to help multi-national media companies swell their coffers further.

Despite the growing use of technology and science in our every day lives, mother nature was there to remind us that natural forces can still wreak havoc in the 21st century. Arguably the most spectacular example of this happened in March, when Japan was hit by an earthquake and a tsunami within the space of a few hours. The loss of life and the damage to coastal settlements was truly horrific. If a 9.0 earthquake and tsunami were not enough for the Japanese to contend with, a nuclear power plant at Fukashima suffered meltdown, with a 20-mile radius exclusion zone still in place. The effects of this, will not be revealed for decades to come although many believe it could be more damaging to life than the Chernobyl nuclear disaster in 1986

Elsewhere, Turkey and New Zealand also suffered significant deaths due to earthquakes, with Christchurch suffering a 5.7 magnitude earthquake killing 182 people and continues to suffer tremors 10 months on.
Other significant natural disasters this year include a severe drought in Eastern Africa, where 30,000 children are said to have died from hunger and tropical storm Washi arrived in the Phillipines unannounced and took 1,200 lives.

Perhaps the most shocking news of 2011, due to its circumstances and location was the killing of 91 people in Norway by Anders Breivik a lone gunman who bombed government buildings in Oslo before killing 69 people at Workers Youth League of the Norwegian Labour Party camp on the island of Utoya, on 22nd July. Breivik has since been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and was involved with far-right wing ideology and believed (surprise, surprise) that social ills have come about through ther islamification of Western Europe. His attacks on the WYL were motivated by his hatred of Marxism and leftist ideology, and it is alleged that Breivik had links to the English far-right, contacting groups like the English Defence League.

News that has been on-going and gathering increasing seriousness is the Euro crisis, where some have predicted that if the single currency fails there could well be a global depression on the scale of the 1930s. Is this likely to happen? Who knows, but for people in many parts of Europe it's already happening and the economies of Portugal, Italy, Greece and Spain (The the so-called "PIGS") have already reached a point that will take many years from which to recover. Austerity packages have been the order of the day in the most robust of economies and the likelihood is, that the state will sede to the private sector in being the primary means of delivering traditional social support.

The previous 12 months has seen European leaders argue and dither not sure whether to put business, the electorate or pan-European interests first. What has become clear is that a two-speed Europe has started to form with the struggling Mediterranean economies (plus of course Ireland and Portugal, two countries on the very Western fringes of the continent) having to pay back debts to zone's industrial powerhouses - notably Germany and France. The International Monetary Fund (IMF) have of course tried to quell the crisis by saddling Greek society with further debt bondage, and European leaders are said to have taken their begging bowl to China, to no avail. The Euro is on borrowed time.
The most interesting thing is that Greece and Italy, the two cradles of ancient civilisation have given rise to both the economic and cultural collapse of Western culture - by this I do not mean that they are responsible for it - both the Euro as a currency has been exceptionally bad for both countries and everyone bar the exceptionally wealthy. That the start of the 'Chinese Century' and Europe as the dominant cultural force be opened and closed with two ancient seats of civilisation is rather fitting. With America now punch-drunk and on the ropes, having outsourced itself and all it's meaningful work to Asia, it's unlikely that it will go down without a fight.
However, 2012 will see the world take another giant stride towards Chinese cultural hegemony and with it a world of new rules and possibilities, and another year of jaw-dropping news.

ArtRocker Awards Presents Jim Jones Revue - XOYO, London

2011-12-05T19:15:00.000Z

The Jim Jones Revue collect their Best Live Act award.

With an awards ceremony dominated by names that made their mark over a generation ago, the Artrocker bash might have made more of a commentary on the state of music, rather than the musicians they nominated. So, the Jesus and Mary Chain won an award for best new re-issue and Gary Numan was awarded a Legend gong. The attendees did their best to feign interest when the other bands came to collect their prizes but it was the big names (and the free booze) which captured the attention but not quite the imagination.

One band that did stand out was the Jim Jones Revue. They were awarded best live band and were praised highly by a number of people at the ceremony, where they were due to play later that evening showcasing some of the winners of the Artrocker awards.

They certainly looked the part. Quiffs? Check. Leathers? Check. Sideburns? Check again. It certainly helps to be a good punk'n'roll band by looking the part - but you'd better have some smokin' tunes and a lead singer that is 2 parts starved tiger (ready to rip its prey from limb to limb) to one part catwalk model.

The JJR busted all the right moves from the rock'n'roll textbook. There were guitars-in-the-air showmanship, a keys player who dripped sweat and saliva all over the ivories, some arse-tearing guitar solos and an impressive pair of lungs to belt out their numbers. However, despite these qualities there was something missing. An absent ingredient that makes the good more than just good - that makes them show-stoppingly unmissable, with the kind of rebel cool of a John Spencer or a Nick Cave who play, coax and tease their audience. The kind of cool where the frontman can walk off with your girlfriend at the end of a gig, and somehow you'd still feel privileged.

The set had urgency but lacked that warmth of showmanship and confidence between songs but more telling was the lack of dimension to their music. Perhaps this was part of the problem - there was little in the way of variation to distinguish one song from another for the unintiated. Live sets, just like albums should be something of a narrative - there needs to be that full throttle energy but there also needs to be times when the music is slowed down and the audience's energy harnessed. JJR lacked that, and as a result, sounded at times AC/DC derivative. While their current LP 'Burning Down The House' offers little in the way of variation, there are tunes on the first JJR album that bring out a greater contrast to their formula.

In a sub-genre that has legends like The Cramps and John Spencer Blues Explosion and other notable bands like The Supersuckers, New Bomb Turks and The Bellrays, being original is not really the point. But the good bands, the really good bands, somehow offer a blood transfusion to the traditional interpretation of white boy Blues.The Jim Jones Revue may well become one of those but they're not there yet. In the meantime, if you're looking for ballsy rock'n'roll and a decent live performance they are worth checking out but it's nothing you couldn't get at one of London's better Blues nights.

General Strike - 30th November

2011-11-27T21:53:00.001Z

Tomorrow is expected to be the largest general strike since 1926, as public sector workers will strike against cuts in their pension scheme and possible job-losses, making them work longer for less money - should they have a job. Government minister Francis Maude, said on Friday that the action would cost the country £500 million if the 2 million-strong public sector workforce were not to clock-in next Wednesday.

While the government gush the usual rhetoric about it being better than a private pension, it's a retort into a chasm when the public sector explains that its salaries are more modest than the private sector.Clearly in an economy where prices continue to rise in disproportion to the returns made by those in most jobs (private and public sectors), an ageing workforce among public workers would require some support and attention in order not to create a social timebomb some years down the line.

It's amazing however how much hatred there is for those who take industrial action. The idea that striking is a selfish thing, and that those who do it should be thankful for their lot, is deeply ingrained into many (private sector workers?) in this country, without any real thought for why they have chosen to do it. For those people who choose to take this course of action, it almost certainly a difficult one both professionally and financially. It would certainly be a contrasting and interesting statistic to publicise just how much money public sector workers stand to lose from so many losing a day's pay.

The £500 million pounds that industrial action is said to cost the economy could easily be recouped by authorities clamping down on the wealthy who are dodging tax by registering their companies off-shore.
This is something which costs the economy £750m ANNUALLY. Added to that companies such as Vodafone and Arcadia, which have been targeted by UKUncut for getting enormous tax-breaks, and the picture in the UK becomes quite clear. The government clearly puts the wealthy few and their interests at the forefront of policy right across the board - on everything from an education that is now beyond the reaches of the working-class to the National Health Service which they wish to carve up and sell off to favourable bidders.

Workers of Unite, NUT, GMB and UCATT cover a broad range of workers in society, but the work they do is usually much lower than their peers working for private companies. It is essential that they are allowed to withdraw their labour as a political act against official policy, if that policy threatens their futures.

There is little chance of any kind of social cohesion if people are not prepared to stand up to common sense in supporting a movement for workers to express their disgust at government betrayal. Having expressed such an opinion on Twitter recently, I discovered that some people who risibly call themselves "libertarians" think that those strikers are 'communists' or just plain selfish for striking. And their only coherent language on the matter is to offend and name call anyone who doesn't share their point-of-view. Why isn't this cause worth supporting?

It seems to me that most of these people are just bitter private sector workers who are embittered by the very fact that there are even fewer channels for them to vent their anger - in times of austerity the job market, and the power that comes with it, swings even more favourably towards the employer. While many fear for the jobs they have, there are now a growing army of people who don't have and who fear for the long-term.

There will be many people affected by Wednesday's strikes - everybody from parents who can't take their children to school, to people who have booked time off to have surgery. Almost everyone in the country will be affected in some form. It does seem, that for so many people to want to strike, the government's proposition is both deeply unpopular and completely unacceptable. This is a vote for everybody. It's a mandate on how far ALL workers wish to be exploited.

Autumn in Pictures

2011-11-21T20:44:00.000Z

I hate winter. I love autumn though. It's the most vivid time of year for colours and smells and (at times) temperature changes. The leaves turning colour and falling, the morning mists and the smell of bonfires are heartbreakingly beautiful aspects of autumn. Autumn has other aspects too like the beautiful light that falls at sunset (this is the UK, so we rarely see them among the grey sheets of cloud) and the still, coolness of the mornings.
While Hallowe'en is imported from the the U.S. and is celebrated somewhat ceremoniously, it's cool that in the UK we still celebrate Guy Fawkes' Night on the 5th November, with bonfires and fireworks.

Some of these photos were taken on a recent visit to Chester, while the rest are taken in London.

skirt pattern and fire in the distance.

The river Dee, in Chester.

Lincoln's Inn Fields, London.

The river Thames at Waterloo bridge.

Throwing Muses - Shepherd's Bush Empire 2/11/2011

2011-11-08T20:44:00.000Z

Music venues are supposed to define the kind of act you're going to see in terms of size and reputation. Unfortunately, gig-going in the 21st century means that, because of a mixture of legislation, health and safety and anti-terrorism measures that rock and roll is a pretty sanitised and clinical affair nowadays.

Having had my bag searched and asked to leave my camera at the box office, then having my bag looked into again I managed to reach the stage and the crap over-priced beer. The music certain to be good but at this point, the whole enjoying-yourself-malarky was beginning to feel like work. While it's beneficial for everyone that we longer have smoking at indoor events but As an O2 venue, just like the re-christened Millenium Dome, the Empire also has a no re-admittance policy which is tad drastic for those who might still smoke and want to go out for, erm, y'know, a good time.

So being at a gig where you've essential been kettled and taken your entrance fee as hostage might not really get you in the mood to either have a good time or have any social display of joie de vivre. While gigs are no longer the domain of scruffy pissed-up students, vinyl obssessives and would-be musos, does your common or garden gig have to become a more like a trip to a theme-park?

Fortunately, Throwing Muses put on a good show. Kristin Hersh and co have nearly 25 years of tunes to mine from. This tour was to push their recent Anthology an attempt encapsulate the best elements of their back catalogue. The cynic and the realist might say that for a band that have been officially split for over seven years this might be a way of cashing in on the back of early-90's comeback after the successes of 4AD label-mates Pixies, and acts like Blur, Dinosaur Jr, and most recently, The Stone Roses.

And why not? Throwing Muses might not have the fanbase that the aforementioned artists but they can pull in a decent crowd of followers, albeit some slightly podgier and over-the-hill than when the Muses were still in their pomp.

Much of the set was culled from their earlier material - songs such as 'Soul Soldier', 'Garoux des Larmes', 'Vicky's Box' and 'Bea' all feature from the first 2 albums while the rest of the set was made up of the stand-out songs from University and Limbo, two albums that demonstrate Throwing Muses credentials as a fine pop band. 'Limbo', 'Tar Kissers', 'Hazing' and 'Bright Yellow Gun' were probably what most fans wanted to hear. Strange then that these were played early in the set and the encore was given over to their earlier, folky roots. 'Dirty Water' and 'Notorious' were played from 1991's critically-acclaimed Red Heaven, although material from The Real Ramona tunes like 'Counting Backwards' and 'Him Dancing' were omitted from both the gig and the Anthology which was a shame.

Perhaps this might have saomething to do with former co-songwriter Tanya Donelly's absence who left the band in 1992 after to form Belly. Although Donelly has worked with the band since, both making appearances at live gigs and adding backing vocals to tunes here and there, it would have been great to have had them as a four-piece as a truer picture of the Throwing Muses in their (more or less) original line-up.

Nevertheless, Kristin Hersh is a wonderful singer and songwriter who has, it could be argued, not been given her fair dues, perhaps because of the presence of more famous female rock idols - like Kim Deal and Kim Gordon - and because Grunge cast such a long shadow over early 90's American indie rock.

Both the gig and the album it is promoting is overall a fair summary of a band that played no small part in the last stand of independent music.

ATP: I'll Be Your Mirror curated by Portishead, London 24/07

2011-07-25T20:50:00.002+01:00

ATP have the rare knack of putting on fantastic indie/alternative rock festivals on at the most interesting and quirky of locations this time curated by Portishead and held at the glorious Alexandra Palace in North London. 'Ally Pally' as it's known - is no different. Two fantastic adjacent halls and some quaint gardens to enjoy another rare thing, a beautiful English summer day.

This was the second day of the two-day festival. The Saturday featured performances by Portishead and the magnificent PJ Harvey but offered little else in terms of crowd pulling power. However, the Sunday offered Godspeed You Black Emperor, Swans, Grinderman, The Telescopes and of course, Portishead again. While some of these bands may not be household names, it is suggestive of musicians who have played for many years and won a loyal or cult following.

First up were Godspeed! You Black Emperor (GYBE) a post-rock Canadian 6-piece ensemble whose music is a mixture of classical, rock and jazz. Their music is haunting, bleak and at times heartbreakingly beautiful. Their two-hour set spanned their 5 albums with warmer reception being reserved for earlier work like 'East Hastings' and 'Providence' from #F #A Infinity and 'Lift Yr Skinny Fists Like Antennae Towards Heaven' from the album of the same name. Much of the soundscapes and images that the group make (in their accompanying film) show a harsh, apocalyptic world of suffering, torment and love.

Post-rock as a genre conjures up images of serious boys who file their extensive vinyl collection by genre, sub-genre and then alphabetise them. Boys, for who dancing, means moving nothing below the neck. But GYBE are playful and anarchic in their choice of song-titles and their samples often evoke humour as well as impending calamity.

LIARS were next on the bill and they played a storming 45-minute set sounding more like The Stooges than the sound mash-ups from their earlier material, playing a very melodic, stripped set with 'It Fit When I Was a Kid', 'Plaster Casts of Everything' and 'Loose Nuts on the Velodrome'.

And so to Grinderman. Although not top billing, the anticipation for Nick Cave and could not have been more keenly felt. There is no doubt Cave's undeniable talent, a monster of creative energy - his career spans film scripts, spoken word tours, two novels and a seminal discography with his first band The Birthday Party, not to mention the acclaim and high regard his work with The Bad Seeds has produced.

On the day after Amy Winehouse's untimely death, here was a true rock and roll legend who had fought his own demons and drug addiction to continue at the zenith of his powers as an entertainer. That a man who allegedly once turned his own apartment into a shooting gallery from where he dealt drugs, it's hard to imagine someone could produce art of such slick, monstrous beauty - not to mention such impecable personal grooming.

Grinderman didn't disappoint, that's for sure. Nick Cave worked and menaced the stage, constantly tempting the audience forward and into his frenzy with teasing - moving ever nearer the mosh pit and the sea of grasping hands. Happily obliging at times, Cave entered into the crowd snarling and foaming like a nutter hanging out at a tube station in rush hour, spitting out the venom that accompanies his low-life personas and twisted melancholy.

The majority of the set was made up of tracks from the current 'Grinderman 2' album but his public were just as happy to lap up 'Get It On' and 'No Pussy Blues' from the first album as 'Worm Tamer' and 'Bellringer Blues'. As a live act, Grinderman manage to give their songs much more garage rawness and brute power than the recorded product sometimes allows. That a 53-year old man (and 3 other members who can't be much younger) can put on that kind of rock show with the kind of urgency that puts to shame musicians half his age.

Describing musicians whether they are dead or alive as 'a genius' shows the kind of clumsiness of language that writers reserve for describing the famous and talented. Very few individuals deserve such a title bestowed upon them, Nick Cave however, showed why he might deserve it more than most for his contribution to modern pop culture.

The Caveman keeps evolving

And so the final band of the night, or at least for those with day jobs (the interesting Caribou played on until the wee small hours) was Portishead, the curators of this year's ATP. The success of the Bristolian trio gained acclaim in the 90s for their hybrid trip-hop sound on the albums Dummy and Portishead, returning in 2008 with Third, after a 7 year hiatus.

While tunes from the last album were warmly received like 'Silent' and 'The Rip' the crowd - of the age and demographic to remember their debut, were clearly nostalgic to hear the more famous numbers: 'Sour Times', 'Glory Box', 'All Mine' and 'Only You' and 'Wandering Star' were delivered with ghostly aplomb - vocalist Beth Gibbons still retains the ability to haunt with her voice and guitarist Adrian Utley could easily sneak into The Cramps with his tremolo-heavy guitarwork.

Portishead in many ways embody the ethos of All Tomorrow's Parties: bands that despite having their day in the sun, critically at least, still retain a huge fanbase and a unique sound. Many of the bands on the bill for ATP do not really need to evolve in order to please. For those who still maintain an interest, old is the new 'new'.

Yo La Tengo - Reinventing the Wheel, London 12/06/11

2011-06-16T17:03:00.001+01:00

Yo La Tengo playing the Royal Festival hall, as part of former Kink Ray Davies' Meltdown festival, is really no surprise. Their orbit has grown quietly larger since 2008's deliciously titled, obfuscatingly eclectic I'm Not Afraid of You and Will Beat Your Ass, while continuing to release music that finds them in the form of their lives.

As part of the 'Reinventing The Wheel' tour, the band promised a method in their madness of two sets. The second part of their set was to play a 'standard' Yo La Tengo set (if such a thing could be done), and the first set would be decided at the spin of a wheel. The wheel in question, held such possibilities of the band performing a classic sit-com scenes, allegedly from Seinfeld - although singer/guitarist Ira Kaplan would make a far better Larry Sanders, songs beginning with 's' and a bunch of covers that Yo La Tengo perform annually for New Jersey radio station WFMU as part of a charity music marathon.

The concept is not new to Yo La Tengo - in 2007 the band performed under the pseudonym of The Condo Fucks and released an album Fuckbook in the same year. During their secret gigs they would take requests from and also field questions from the audience.

And so the wheel was spun and the first set was a Condo Fucks garage thrash out - bearly a 4/4 count in could be measured before the next song came in and the bands left the talking to songs like the Small Faces What'cha Gonna do about it.

The second half saw YLT do what they best. Everything. This set open with Night Fall on Hoboken which saw 12 minutes of Kaplan's effects pedals and their feedback stalk Georgia Hubley's sparse drums. Weakest Part and Black Flowers followed from I'm Not Afraid..... LP and further favourites like Cherry Chapstick And Something to Hide and Pass the Hatchet, I'm a Goodkind showing YLT in perfect-10 pop melody mode. With the exception of The Kinks God's Children for the encore, the latter part of the set saw the trio return to more low-key numbers like Autumn Sweater and for the third and final encore, (of which a good many of the audience may well have missed) the beautifully melancholy Feel Like Going Home.

As to be expected by a music festival compared by Ray Davies, the audience didn't look like a typical Yo La tengo audience but it's likely that playing at a venue of this stature will win them more fans, particularly as they showed what a fantastic live band they are. They also showed that for three middle-aged folk, they're capable of making a right (royal) racket.

The Rise of The Intern

2011-05-31T23:43:00.001+01:00

WANNA work for free? Join the queue. Almost 20% per cent of UK companies are using the 'recession' as means of cheap (i.e. free) labour in these austere times. Coupled with the fact that the number doing unpaid work is unclear but increasing rapidly, means that exploitation is now the norm.

A quick look on any website in the graduate section means that most companies now are openly breaking UK employment law and employing people on contracts that are difficult to survive on without an income.
Those who wish to change career or 'diversify', are now being encouraged to become an intern to get a foot in the door of their chosen profession.

So when did we become a nation of interns exactly? Only a few years ago, positions of work with no payment were called 'work experience placements', and internships were only something that happened in North America.

Re-branding, along with a parallel business (and socio-economic) culture mean that, what happens in say, the States, happens here. It was only a matter of time before the work experience kid became the intern. Re-branding, however, is the clincher - the deal breaker. The name has more gravity than a three-word noun phrase, and allows for more exclusivity. It oozes faux importance without stating anything at all. It enables an application process - and a longer fixed term contract.

This is further cemented into the cultural consciousness with a massively successful television show - The Apprentice. A number of sassy and ambitious young people in their single-minded attempt to win the prestigious position with a leading business figure. While the financial and vocation rewards are much more modest for most looking to get noticed, it is nevertheless a demonstration of just how accepting we've become of changes making us all worse off in the long game.

In the last decade there have been organisations like the Confederation of British Industry (CBI) and their former Captain of Industry, Sir Digby Jones who stated that UK graduates were not up to scatch, which was damaging British industry. Such disdain is unlikely to encourage companies to take a gamble and put someone on the payroll without getting insight into their ability.

There maybe some truth in this, however much I'd like to disagree. Since the 1992 Higher and Further Education Act of John Major's Conservative government, which increased the number of universities, and the number of graduates finishing each year has flooded the labour pool and made it a buyers market. Throughout the 90s, universities (or the newer instutions), chasing free government cash, offered courses as fun and as meaningless as DJ Technology and Media Studies, in which academic pursuits were devalued. When fees came in, universities cleaned up their act but nevertheless, the queue of would-be students continued to increase - many eager, able and willing. Some who, perhaps were not so.

Unsurprisingly, the universities, with government help, have put tuition fees out of reach of the average student. The unceasing supply of graduates had to stop in order to avert mass unemployment for those entering the world of work like the situation which is happening in Spain currently, where 43% of recent graduates are unemployed.

While the situation in the UK for those finishing university this year is not quite so dire, it still remains incredibly uncertain. Then only hope for many is an unpaid work placement. For those who can't afford to give up six months of their time without a salary, it could well mean a whole lot of shattered dreams and wasted talent.

My Favourite Record Shops

2011-05-30T16:02:00.000+01:00

I 've been quite detached from music over the last year and it's something that has puzzled me. Yes, it's an age thing. A man approaching the last years of his youth, (in society's eyes - not mine) isn't synonymous with rock 'n' roll except as bores.

It's not that there isn't good stuff out there either, I know if you dig deep enough there are always plenty of great bands on the fringes like Remodel and Gaggle (who released a beautiful-looking record on Record Store Day in April). Laziness is a big part of it though, because I don't go out and consume all the main music mags as I did when a teenager but I still in my soul of souls, dig music.

Having given it some hard thinking time I'm pretty sure it's all about the music buying experience. CDs started it and MP3s killed it. It's all about the vital contact with the record, the product and the artwork which you held with such esteem in yesteryear. All that has gone. Pressing a couple of buttons and downloading something on iTunes is as soul-less as it gets. No artwork, no pleasure. Just the same damned gadet in your hand that eats up a ton of money every month and dictates our lives increasingly.

What I miss is walking into your favourite record shop - the music lovers equivalent of walking out at Wembley - is being excited about buying something. Something you didn't know yet, but there were a world of possibilities. Stuff you heard talked about by other bands maybe, something with a great name, or just artwork good enough to draw you to your back pocket and payment counter.You would build a rapport with the staff because you were in there but seldom bought anything - probably the reason why they all went to the wall.
The Indie store has long gone. The independent outlets that had racks of vinyl and band t-shirts draped from every wall are long gone in the real form. Rough Trade has now become a musique boutique, where coffee is served and vinyl can be found in the extortionate section. Like 2nd hand (now: vintage) clothes and smoking, buying music is no longer a cheap and pleasurable pastime.

Back in a time when it was, here are my five favourite record shops and why I like them.

Penny Lane Records, Chester

Sadly, no image as Penny Lane shut its doors in 1991. Certainly not the biggest shop in the world, but it was dark, only ever displayed (for the most part) vinyl and was more a place to bump into your mates than buy anything. It always had some great vinyl including limited edition stuff or coloured vinyl and due to the great mass of the local populous being musical retards, it was always likely that record you've been coveting would be there next Saturday.

Probe Records, Liverpool

The old haunt of Pete Burns and Half Man Half Biscuit was always great for a music splurge. In this world there are only three occupations that are paid to be aloof: supermodels, American coffee waitresses and indie record shop workers. Probe had (and probably still do) more sneers than stock. always good for general indie stuff and amazing for punk.I used make special trips to Probe when I had saved up enough money to buy a bit of music. Going there to buy one album doesn't do the whole experience justice.

Alans, Wigan

Only visited it once but was home to a record label which occasional held gigs, mainly by label bands like Drive. This was to my mind the coolest thing a shop could ever do. I bought Dinosaur Jr's 'Freak Scene' 7' single, which I still own. The fact that it had most 80s American hardcore stuff and stocked Maximumrocknroll made it pretty cool. Now a skate shop.

Vinyl Exchange, Camden

Nothing special just loads of well ordered 2nd hand vinyl clearly laid out and a brilliant and cheap place to re-buy old vinyl favourites that have gone walkabout - A vinyl paradise, like a 'music' should be.

Adrians, Wickford Essex

Another record shop that I only visited once but it had a great selection of vinyl across all genres. I remember seeing their adverts in Melody maker and NME as a teenager but never oldered anything from mailorder. Pre-internet, mail order was always a slightly precarious transaction. The staff were friendly were really knowledgeable, and having done a quick google search it's still open which is great to see.

Berlin Street Art

2011-05-15T22:50:00.000+01:00

AV - Another Vice?

2011-04-27T22:08:00.001+01:00

On 4th May the country will decide whether the electorate should change to the Altenative Voting system. Some say that the current system, the First-Past-the-Post system doesn't give enough representation to voters and does not recognise the want of the voting public.

AV has been said to cause hung parliaments by its detractors and is said to cure them by its supporters. Only three countries use AV - Australia, Fiji and Papua New Guinea - although it is used in Northern Irish and Scottish local elections, and it is also used to elect a leader by both the Labour Party and the Liberal Democrats.

The FPTP post system is seen as being outdated as no other democracy in the world now uses it. Other other democratic nations now use variations of the Proportional Representation (PR) system. But what does it mean for the UK?

Firstly, the Conservative Party are against it and are only offering the referendum as part of the coalition pact with the LibDems, they claim that the system doesn't need change. Well they would, they're conservative. The Labour party seem to be split on the issue but are keeping their cards otherwise close to their chest in the hope that this issue will highlight and exacerbate the strains that are now beginning to show within the coalition.

There has been talk that AV will let in and give a greater platform for the lunatic fringe, like the right-wing British National Party (BNP) but they themselves prefer to keep the FPTP system as they believe it offers them a better chance to get votes. But will it give other, more 'positive' voices a platform? It appears not.

Ultimately, neither the of the two main parties seem particularly worried by a change in voting system. It would seem to cause the greatest pain to the Tories but it's highly likely to cause more than a tremor to the political landscape. The only party to benefit from the sytem - the LibDems have been so discredited and ruined by Nick Clegg and their uneasy tenancy of Downing Street that it'll be a good few generations before they can begin to think about sharing power again, if ever. It's certain that under the present system they'll ever get a shot of power for themselves.

So, what's the point? AV is yet another confidence trick, a re-branding exercise to make 'democracy' feel like it is inclusive to everyone in society - even the marginalised. Under the current system where politicos make their careers in private education institutions and finishing schools, as well as boardrooms as non-executive directors long - before they hit the campaign trail, the elite will continue to flourish regardless of the voting system.

It is yet another paradox that we entrust power to those who are good enough at courting favour and making money to create enough influence in the puiblic sphere; yet we fail to see that businessmen just cannot stop being just that. They will continue to generate cash and line their own pockets for as long as we give them the arena to do so.

In a generation there will no need to have Members of Parliament with the progress of technology. Those that claim to represent us, but can and are able to do very little will be saved their comfortable allowances and second homes as we will be all able to vote or partipate in referenda through mobile and internet technology. Perhaps then we can scrap the pointless facade of democracy and get on with being governed by the microchips that drive our lives and the companies that produce such technology.

David Cameron's Grammar Police

2011-04-14T22:37:00.000+01:00

Two stocky figures stand authoritatively at Border Control at a busy London airport. They are heavily armed with Oxford English Dictionaries and phonemic charts. Their job, is to make sure that only those with excellent English skills are allowed to enter the UK to learn English. They do this selfless act, each and every day, in order to keep these shores clean of terrorists and bad pronunciation.

Officer A: Looka dis geezer. What you reckon?

Officer B: Nah, don't be daft. He's one of us. Glottal stops and 'at. Yeah - look at his bag, he supports de Arsenal.

Officer A: Gotta be vigilant dough ain't yer? If dey ain't got the 'ang of modal auxiliaries and conditional sentences - let alone a basic grasp of determiners, we're all doomed.

Officer B: Fackin too right. Vigilance is the key - we're the eyes and ears of the people. Eyes and ears, mate.
Right, how about dis one. Geezer with the red top.

Officer B: Get on it.

Officer A: Oi. What you chattin' about?
Foreign National: Excuse me? Sorry, I....I..I didn't understand.

Officer B: Yeah what you chattin about?
Foreign National: I'm on my way passing. I have a....I have a visa. I have a permission to remain to stay in UK.

Officer A: You what? Did you here that? I am on my way passing? What the fuck is that bruv? No clear grammatical sense and you're taking de piss with definite and indefinite articles. Rules is rules, bruv. Fings have changed 'round 'ere. We're gonna have to give your pronunciation a little test. You understan'? Right, now repeat after me some of dese dipfongs.....

Officer B: 'Ere I've just had a call from management. Dey said dat he can go fru. He's an investor.Some bigwig's son. We gotta change tack, apparently.

Officer A: Go on. You heard the man - jog on. What did they say?

Officer B: Just stop poor looking people from poor countries with darker skin than ours. Ok?

Officer A: Piece of fuckin piss, mate.

Libyan Conflict

2011-03-21T23:06:00.002Z

A number of UN-led governments, the world leadership and powerful elite have finally decided to intervene in Libya after days of sitting on the backsides and letting Muammar Gaddafi's forces regain vital ground on the Libyan Revolution of 25 February.

While the calamity that has befallen Japan in the meantime has taken much media attention and sympathy away from the the Libyan struggle, it all seems like help for the North African state might well have come too late for the impetus that had built up three weeks ago.

The United Nation Council security resolution 1973 was pitched as a No-Fly Zone to appease The Arab Nation and for tip-toe diplomacy. It's only legality is to protect the Libyan people and not to topple any regime. The coalition which includes France, the U.S. and the U.K. and has the rumoured backing of Saudi Arabia, along with the U.A.E. has used military force after Gaddafi's troops broke the agreed ceasefire against the rebel city of Benghazi on Saturday.

Yet despite doing the right thing, world leaders still managed to make a pig's ear out of a silk purse. David Cameron is in chest-beating mood and wants to send in more planes, while Barack Obama is slightly more distant, getting jittery about another Iraq scenario. France too are at it, having helped the UK fly up to 80 sorties over Libyan air space last night. Many of those sorties have been targeting strategic sites that enable Gaddafi's forces to attack by air.

And today saw Russian PM Vladimir Putin and his President, Dmitry Medvedev have a very public tiff after Medvedev rightly rebuked Putin for being critical of the coalition - comparing it to the religious Crusades:

This absolutely reminds me of a medieval call to crusade, where somebody goads others to march into a certain area and free it.

Intevening can only be a good thing for the Libyan people, this much is clear. What is less certain is just how many people in Libyan are pro-revolution and how many are faithful to Gaddafi by fear and coercion, rather than believing he offers the best future and leadership to their country.

What can never be ascertained but after Iraq there will always be the suspicion that this is colonial dabbling and the West are steeling themselves for a great oil carve-up once the shell smoke of civil war settles.

Further evidence of this can be seen currently in the aparthy of UN's security council towards the people of Bahrain and Yemen. While diplomacy involves winning some battles and ignoring or losing others, it's clear hypocrisy of the West to ignore the deomcratic struggles of those in Gaza, Sana'a and Bahrain.

The UN have three options: Topple Gaddafi and help set up Libya as a democratic state while risking the wrath of the Arab Nations; arm and help the rebel forces and push Libya deeper into civil war and huge fatalities; or pull out and let Gaddafi commit murder on an unthinkable scale and keep business partners and dimplomatic relations sweet.

The perfect solution would be of course to arm the Libyan people enough in order to topple their own leader and to create change for themselves. Tunisia and Egypt seem but a sweet and clean revolution compared to the mess that might just unfold in the country which lies geographically between the two.

This could yet be a can of worms of enormous proportions. The allied forces must have an overall plan and decide what the endgame will be in their quest to help.

The Sky's The Limit?

2011-03-03T18:52:00.002Z

IT'S NOT winning the battle, but losing the war if you're Vince Cable. The Right Honourable Mr Cable is not the only loser, if today's announcement that the government has given the go-ahead for Rupert Murdoch's News Corp comes to fruition.

No, the losers in this particular battle are the media consumers of the United Kingdom, as well as media outlets who operate in this country. Perhaps even the electorate.

Vince Cable, as Culture Secretary, had been given the task of dealing with News Corp's bid for BSkyB until last December when it was discovered that he had told an undercover Telegraph reporter that he had 'declared war' on Murdoch. Cable was removed from the post, and replaced by Jeremy Hunt.

Apart from a juicy scoop, it remains to be seen what benefit The Telegraph got from the story, as the only party to benefit from Cable's removal was News Corp and Mr Murdoch himself. The Telegraph have challenged News Corp's bid, as have a disparate group including The Guardian, Associated Newspapers, Trinity Mirror and the BBC asking that the bid be referred to the Competition Commission.

News Corp have been given the go ahead to buy outright the remaining shares in BSkyB, meaning that Mr Murdoch has a monopoly on the media in the UK. The owner of The Times, The Sunday Times, The Sun, and The News of The World can safely say that he has the British market well and truly sewn up. These titles combined give News Corp 37% of the market share for newspapers, throw in Sky and the enormous shadow it throws over the media industry and you get a slightly better picture.

In order to satisfy media plurality, Murdoch has had to place Sky News in an independent trust, which involve the news outlet having an independent chairman and board of directors. Murdoch has said this move gives him and News Corp less, not more control over the UK news media.

The appointment of Jeremy Hunt, was seen by many as a token gesture, one of cronyism between Murdoch and the government.In times of need, Mr Murdoch can usually always rely on the Conservative Party for a helping hand; indeed the mutual help they have given each other over the last 30 years is astounding.

In 1981, when Murdoch sought to buy both The Times and Sunday Times titles, he stamped his feet and threatened to pull out of the purchase if the deal was referred to the Monopolies and Mergers Commission. As ever, his old friend Margaret Thatcher, then leader of the Conservative Party and Prime Minister agreed to bypass the Commission as both titles - British Institutions - were making huge losses.

Murdoch endorsed the party and the leader though the 1980s, backing the winning horse in 1983, 1987 and 1991 elections. As ever, Murdoch threw his weight behind David Cameron last May, and expected the hefty favour to be returned this time round. With the appointment of Hunt as Culture Secretary, this has been duly returned.

That Murdoch should cast such influence on what the British public see and read should be enough to set alarm bells ringing for any fair politician regardless of political persuasion. Rumours abound that the British political establishment are refusing to dig too deeply in the News of The World phone hacking scandal for fear of upsetting Rupert Murdoch. That a number of politicians (and senior police) had their phone tapped should spell horror for any country with aspirations of democracy: that it should be one of the world leaders and one of the oldest 'democracies' in the world is simply incredible.

It is a safe bet then that News Corp's titles will back David Cameron and the Conservatives for the next election. One good turn deserves another. Pro-Murdoch commentators claim that Murdoch doesn't have an overt politic agenda, and that he is only doing what is good for himself and his company.

What will happen to the landscape of the British Media remains to be seen. Many have predicted that the losses that other media groups will incur because of this will cause scaling back of resources and budgets. New talent will not be risked, new programmes will not be made.

Any broadcaster that can control such a huge chunk of the information providers available to the public cannot in any way shape or form be good for choice, quality or freedom. Proof enough that the push for power, or more of it, does not always come with a manifesto.

Knockemstiff - Donald Ray Pollock

2011-02-17T00:20:00.002Z

http://www.forgottenoh.com/GhostTowns/knockemstiff.html
Billed as a drunken punch up between Ernest Hemingway and Raymond Carver on the book's blurb, Knockemstiff is more likely to be a melding of John Steinbeck, Charles Bukowski and William Faulkner getting stoned and looking at porn while waiting for their welfare cheques to arrive in some 21st century Depression-hit Ohio.

Pollock's collection of short-stories are all set in the town of Knockemstiff, Ohio and focus on a fictional set of characters who are all cursed by their own limitations and self-delusion.

While American Lit has always attempted to push the boundaries and demonstrate 'space' be it physical (Herman Melville, Jack Keroauc) political ( Henry David Thoreau, John Steinbeck, Charlotte Perkins Gilman) or metaphysical (William S. Burroughs/Brion Gysin, William Gibson, Kurt Vonnegut) but this is more the America of Jim Thompson: Parochial, boring, small and claustrophobic.

Knockemstiff and its characters may be hurtling towards their oblivion, but first they're going to snort it, smoke it, fuck it or drink it.

Pollock manages to intersperse the bleak by finding humour in the banal and the ridiculous: middle-aged women batting flies away from shaving cuts on their legs, whacked out 20-something chicks walking round with their foodstuffs on their person or teenage boys getting wood for Nancy Sinatra on the Boots LP while their best friend gets pubic lice and banished to the garage.

Violence is pervasive in Knockemstiff. The men are t-shirt stained slobs with a penchant for casual violence save the oedipal breaks of Real Life and the marvellous Discipline. Kicks come from driving round and taking amphetamines called Black Beauties, or fantasising about women they can never have. Masculinity is portrayed in blunt brutal shapes, with beauty a distant destination and love a distant past. Women are subservient, downtrodden or subjugated to humiliation.

In a post-recession world in the wake of sub-prime mortgages, the manufacturing sector's bottom falling though and with the world inching ever closer towards the end of the 'American Century' and the American dream, Pollock's collection of short stories somehow reveals more about 21st Century American life than it lets on.

A country that has been synonymous with success, confidence and achievement is now dealing with unemployment and feelings of disempowerment. For all the machismo and swagger that comes through in the brutality of the yarn-spinning, the feeling is one of underachievement, emasculation and discontent:

"Dee was nothing more but patches of pimples and rolls of fat. The only thing she seemed capable of doing besides watching the tube was pointing out my defects. And even if she happened to be in a good mood, it was just as horrible.

"She got on this kick where she pretended to be a movie star, and she'd go on for hours about crab cakes and evening gowns and the sunset over some beach hideaway.

That she stayed with me was just one more sign of her indolence. In a more advanced society, they would have probably killed us both and fed our bodies to the dogs."

All Tomorrow's Parties - Strange Days 31/12/10 London

2011-01-03T20:15:00.005Z

New Year's Eve is that perennial tough nut to crack. Stay in and avoid the hype or go to yet another drab house party? Going out always seems like a good idea, people are at least 'up for it' but then the price of everything triples for no sane reason.

When ATP announced a NYE special in September featuring a double header of Sonic Youth and Shellac and supported by New Wave veterans The Pop Group and electro-kraut nutters Factory Floor, it seemed like a no-brainer.

If that's your kind of thing, then the New Year Eve extravaganza represented a very good deal. Four completely different takes on rock n' roll/post-punk plus some DJs thrown in for good measure all for 40 quid.

Clearly everyone had come for only one good reason: Sonic Youth. The New Yorkers still hold considerable cache despite their best work being a generation in the past, but in spite of that, can still draw a big crowd.

First up though were Factory Floor whose relentless drum heavy style was akin to being punched in the head 50 times a second. With no hyperbole or exaggeration do I use the term 'sonic assault', and while their efforts were applaudable and the drumming quite incredible, the repetition leaves little for experimentation or potential longevity. Songs came and went with little variation.

Next up were The Pop Group, who announced that they were reforming last May, and this was the first of a five live shows straddling 2010 and 2011. With the recent interest in The Slits, with whom they did a split-single Where There's a Will.... in 1980, it makes sense that perhaps they fanced a reform if only for a bit of extra cash. What seems baffling, is that given the interest in guitar bands is now on the wane why they didn't reform earlier. Like The Slits, they fuse post-punk with dub and reggae with a political edge.

They performed a solid, if not outstanding set, calling on material from both their 1979 debut Y and the 1980 follow up For How Much Longer Will We Tolerate Mass Murder?

Shellac

Shellac seemed an odd choice in many ways to this bill. Having not released anything since 2007's Excellent Italian Greyhound, there was no material to showcase. Yet, Shellac have curated ATP in 2002 at Camber Sands before (as have Sonic Youth), and are known to tour sporadically - both frontman Steve Albini and bassist Bob Weston are highly respected producers with Albini credited with producing the Pixies Surfer Rosa, The Breeders Pod, Nirvana's In Utero and PJ Harvey's Rid Of Me. Such is Albini's roll-call as a producer, it reads like whose-who of alternative and indie rock over the last 20 years. His name alone captures the imagination and sells tickets regardless of his creative output.

Shellac were as always, solid and at times quite amazing. Their angular, awkward time signatures had some of the less well-versed audience members clapping half way through songs, and thrown by their disjointed nature. Shellac are not cut from the usual rock n' roll fabric. Their metallic (quite literally) sound is formed by using Travis Bean guitars and aluminium plectrums, 'Harmonic Perculator' distortion pedals and special harnesses, as opposed to convential guitar straps, in which their guitars are supported.

The set encompassed songs from all four of their albums, although the fantastic 1000 Hurts was largely ignored with the exception of 'Squirrel Song'. Shellac are not the easiest band to listen to on record but live are quite a spectacle and very good for their money.

Sonic Youth

And so it came to Sonic Youth, who sauntered out just seconds from midnight and the promise of a new year. Golden ticker tape showered the pit at the Hammersmith Apollo as Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore and Lee Ranaldo walked on, the epitome of Kool for 90's indie kids, and despite their 50-something years, still embody the rebel spirit of punk rock. Having missed them in their heyday, this was something of a special moment for me. I'm still smarting from missing out on seeing Sonic Youth, Pavement and Huggy Bear as a 16 year old unable to make it to Manchester due to age, money and transport.

Sonic Youth now with Mark Ibold from Pavement (ironically), played a tight set with little break or pause - only a cursory 'Happy New Year to you all!' broke the rhythm as they set about bringing in 2011 in noisy fashion. But this was not the 'Youth of Daydream Nation, Goo or Dirty or the feedback bath of Ciccone Youth or Bad Moon Rising - this was the slower, more melodic sound of the 'Youth from the last two years.

The set borrowed heavily from last year's The Eternal with only 'Schizophrenia', 'Halloween' and 'Goo' played from the classic era of Sonic Youth's back catalogue. This was a real disappointment as even later albums such as Murray Street and Sonic Nurse contain real treasures but were overlooked. Sonic Youth have found form, albeit a maturer version of the form they had in the late 80's and early 90's and The Eternal is a very solid album indeed. But on a cold New Year's Eve in London the kids wanted to throw themselves against strangers bodies to the sounds of 'Dirty Boots', 'Sugar Kane', 'Teenage Riot' or 'Eric's Trip'.

Sure, Kim teased the audience, swaggering by the moshpit (without reaching out to them) singing: "what's it like to be a girl in a band/I don't/quite understand" from 'Anti-Orgasm', and Thurston shook his blonde grunge mop like he was there to soak up the sweat of the dancing kids, and strutted with the stage presence of the demi-rock god that he is, but something was missing. We know you've got albums to sell, guys. But your legend in rock n roll has already been assured. At midnight on New Years Day with a belly full of booze, give us what we want.

The Apocalypse According To The iPhone by The Shirelles

2010-04-07T01:07:00.002+01:00

"I went a-walking the other day and everything was goin' fine
I met a boy shitting about with his iPhone [you know that was sic]
And I almost lost my mind"

It's like the end of the fucking world. But it's not all purple skies darkening in a broody mix of impending doom (a la dropping blood into water or summit) and crazy shit falling out of the sky like dead birds and four horseman playing shit music on their speaker-phone systumz. It's a bit more mundane than that. It's almost pleasant now that Spring has sprung.

It's like the end of the world and you know it's all gone hopelessly wrong but accompanied with 'Mama Said' by The Shirelles:

Mama said they'll be days like this/Mama said Mama said

Slightly chirpy, but also yes, a bit of a downer. It's actually something more akin to The Running Man with The Shirelles soundtrack. ( terrible spoiler coming...) The Running Man is film starring a would-be American(ish) politician playing an would-be American(ish) politician who is erm, running.
A lot.
And he has some crazy stuff happening every so often. You didn't miss much. But a lesson was surely missed somewhere.

Being the absolute suit-wearing FT-reading deal-breaking London cock that I am, I would love for such a law to be enforced so as to be able to decapitate people reading their iPhone or Blackberry when walking down the street. If any decent political party campaigning for a decent feed and their moat polished for the next five years wants my vote, then I make my plea here forthwith that they shall have my vote come 6th May in the Year of Our Lord Help Us 2010, on that very condition!

My eyes are wide open
But all that I can see is,
iPhones are callin for everyone but-a me

My entreaties shall not end there, For I shall see a brighter dawn than to cast off thou guilty head as Apollo slain the serpants at Mount Parnassus, and save humanity from its empending apocalypse. I think we can overt the crisis at hand with a swift resolution.

Mama said there'll be days like this,
There'll be days like this Mama said
(Mama said, mama said)
Mama said there'll be days like this,
There'll be days like this my Mama said

If you need to read an email, wait until you reach the office. You probably do jack shit all day anyway and it's only the boss selling you tickets to the Justin Beiber Greatest Hits World Tour. Feel the smooth rounded edges of your precious toy. Smell the smog, take a minute to think about who you are, and what you really want out of life.
Then let me chop your head off. While having a ghettoblaster in your face with The Shirelles singin':

There'll be days like this Mama said
(Mama said, mama said)
Mama said there'll be days like this,
There'll be days like this my Mama said

If you're annoyed that Google Maps is telling you that Tottenham Court Road station is about 5 miles South West of Honolulu, that because you should have been chained at the neck and dragged by electric shackles via Bluetooth through the TfL broadband shag-pack workout. Or read a conventional map in your hotel room.

You see people, these are the choices, the potential futures. All I'm doing is giving you the wider picture.

And then she said someone will [come] at me
like I'm [coming] at you [with a sword] one day, [sic]
then I might find
I don't want it any old way,
so I don't worry cause

I'd love nothing more if we could march to work in unity, as one body, holding hands, free with the knowledge, that knowledge is at our fingertips for whenever we want it. Empowered by our beliefs we could build better relationships and break down the walls of inequality and poverty and save the world from any future harm.

I'd still want to chop your head off afterwards though. And I'd quite like an iPhone too.

Mama said there'll be days like this,
There'll be days like this Mama said
(Mama said, mama said)

Magnetic Fields - Barbican, London 23/03

2010-03-24T23:27:00.005Z

An unusual venue for an unusual band, Stephen Merritt and his band of lovelorn misfits further stamped their unconventionality on a London audience both with their music and their approach to the conventions of a gig playing 'rock' band.

Anyone who has listened to Magnetic Fields will know that the label of rock could not be further from the truth. Although willing to experiment with the concept element of the genre with their infectious, and at times, Broadway-esque 69 Love Songs they have also now completed their synth-less trilogy of albums with I, Distortion and their new release, Realism.

The all-seater Barbican seemed appropriately civilised for a band whose band members remained seated throughout the performance, with the band breaking the traditional positioning of the 'band' by sitting abreast of each other - no place for egos in a band that contains a eukele, a cello and an autoharp.

"We played a show in Leamington Spa last night," started vocalist Shirley Simms. The London crowd, as usual didn't seem to care about the provinces. "Somebody told them that The Magnetic Fields don't like noise, so they didn't cheer or applaud...." By the time Simms had finished the anecdote, the respectful Barbican audience felt the need to laugh nervously. We'd been told: there was no need to hold back our appreciation, but then, there was never any danger of that. The rapport with the audience, and among band members further endeared them to London. Humour is a rich vein that runs through both their music and their outlook.

Opening with 'Kiss Me Like You Mean It' and 'The Luckiest Guy On The Lower East Side' from 69 Love Songs but for anyone hoping for a set filled with the poppier moments from that album would have been disappointed. The (slightly disappointing) new album was given an run out with 'Interlude', 'You Must Be Out Of Your Mind', We're Having a Hootenanny' and 'Always Already Gone'. Further material came from their side-projects The Gothic Archies and The 6ths which is used for soundtracks, scores and collaborations; most notably for the children's books of Lemony Snicket, with one song featuring Amelia Fletcher from 90's Twee-pop outfit Heavenly (who were on the rather wonderful Sarah Records), Fletcher, a seasoned musician, looked a touch over-awed to be standing on the same stage.

After the interval (why don't more gigs have an interval? How very refined) the band played various material from their earlier catalogue such as The Charm of The Highway Strip and The Wayward Bus/Distant Plastic Trees.

The ethereal 'Umbrellas in London' from the majestic Get Lost was utterly capitivating and 'I Don't really Love You Anymore' brought a lighter note to the proceedings. Finishing with '100,000 Fireflies' and 'Papa Was a Rodeo'. Uber-gay eukele pop has never been so good. Unusual, it is true. Unclassifiable, definitely. But live, Magnetic Fields are that rare beast too, in that they sound almost more polished and more accomplished musically than they do on record.

Fighting With My Teenage Self

2010-03-15T22:40:00.002Z

If the past is a foreign country, (yes, I've stolen this metaphor from Alexis Petridis, who stole it from someone else) then for the British at least, history has to be Spain.

We love it, going back in droves there year after year to sample it's charm, it's weather and it's culture.

In fashion, we went loco for retro and then it became 'vintage' with an extra £25 attached.

In music, it has been the thing for some time, to see a band from another era play their most popular work.

Bands have been coming back from the dead for donkeys years but since the early years of this century there is ever-increasing yearning to revisit the years that ushered in what can only be described as the 'death of indie', the two years before Grunge made the major labels cream their jeans.

Pixies, Dinosaur Jr, My Bloody Valentine, Blur, Slint, Mudhoney, Primal Scream have all played gigs playing their most famous albums track-by-track. Now is the turn of The Charlatans to replay Some Friendly in the same format, at the Roundhouse in London and at the Empress Ballrooms in Blackpool in late May.

Of course, over the passage of time, these bands (maybe not so much the Charlatans) have gained more kudos over time with their passing into rock folklore after their expiration. Pixies have sadly become something of an exhibition band despite gaining a massive new audience, happy to trot out old material endlessly, while shunning the idea of releasing new, possibly awful material that will make burger meat of the new-found cash cow.

This of course, is exactly the same as relabelling 'retro' as 'vintage'. Despite being a grumpy old bastard who hates pretty much everything I think that, in practice, it's a cool idea. Sadly, the ticket prices don't reflect the prices of the year these albums were released. They too have got the vintage tag. It is great to see the heroes you didn't get to see the first time round, even if they are several kilos heavier - although in the case of Pixies' Black Francis, that doesn't apply.

A Ford Galaxie 500 '66

Beside the Charlatans gig, another thing that got me thinking about this era was the re-issue of the Galaxie 500 albums Today, On Fire and This is. I only really got Galaxie 500 about 2 years ago, despite dissing them in high-school with my mate Flee, we would giggle at the weird shit and find new inspiration on the Indie Chart, of early 90s show Chart Show, along with John Peel and SNUBTV.
Labelled shoe-gazers by journalists who obviously didn't listen to them, they were clearly different from bands like Slowdive, Catherine Wheel, MBV and Lush.
Their charm lies in their understated guitars and Dean Wareham's Neil Young-esque vocals creating more much of the dream ambience than their shoe-gazing peers whose songs were drenched in reverb, delay and tremelo replete with suspended 4ths and major 7ths. If anything they create a link to the past with Spacemen 3 and to the nearer present with Brian Jonestown Massacre.

Another band from that era who I sort of liked but thought they were a bit freaky and grown-up in a parent-rock, worthy kind of way are Throwing Muses. i recently discovered their last album from 2003, the last before their unofficial split.

I first heard Throwing Muses when they released the Counting Backwards EP in 1989 and it was a song I ended up liking because I really had some initial irrational dislike to it. However, being on the 4AD record-label along Pixies, The Breeders, Lush, The Amps and Unrest to name a few, I had to check them out further. They were folky and a bit twee, but their last album and the penultimate album Limbo are fantastic because, if for no other reason, Throwing Muses manage to somehow buck the traditional rock and roll trend. Many a band have arrived in an angst ridden rock and roll spring and mellowed into more mainstream rock acts.

Their early work is arty, folky, with various time arrangements, and but definitely not radio-friendly. It's also quite difficult to classify.

The later work is faster and has much more edge and colour, and paradoxically, it's easily their poppiest. Few bands start off as lightweights and end up making music with real 'rock and roll' bollocks. Depeche Mode tried though - they got the tattoos and the drug habit, but forgot to grow a pair musically.

Liking the Throwing Muses in some way puts in in major conflict with my teenage self musically. I still like to put on some Dead Kennedys, Nation of Ulysses or Born Against or Fugazi. Music that is still great to jump around to in your flat, half-naked and drunk, or half-drunk and naked: it represents a massive 'fuck-you' to the world. It's music that I always knew I'd still like even when I would be a dull 30-something. Liking Throwing Muses (and some of Kristin Hersh, the lead singer's solo stuff) really would surprise the teenage Emil.

Love This Man part 2

2010-02-22T22:40:00.005Z

"I love to squeeze their heads between my fists"

Our glorious leader. Gordon Brown. 'Agent Brown' as the Conservatives call him. No policy maker or spin doctor could have conjured up the Tory wet-dream that is Gordon Brown.
A leader so hopelessly inept, indecisive and utterly devoid of any personality, that he makes John Major seem like David Koresh or Jim Jones.

Despite Iraq and Afghanistan, the economic downturn, the drubbing in European and local elections, immigration policies, mishandling sensitive data and the expenses scandal, to name but a few of the calamities that have befallen the government - the Labour Party should still in theory at least, be able to defeat a Conservative Party lacking in clear ideas or policy.

Still the party have chosen to stick with the man who took over from Tony Blair. Gordon Brown isn't even the most popular politician in his own party (or constituency?) let alone the country. Yet, senior Labour Party members do not have the courage or the wherewithal to protect the party's and the country's future by replacing with a fresh face with fresh ideas before the general election. The spineless Labour faithful are more content to lose an election and point their collective finger at the ex-Chancellor than take control of their own political destiny.

The political cycle is all about elections that bring sweeping changes and a government with a huge majority that slowly gets eroded by bad policy and sleaze until the process starts again.

With Labour's arrogance and short-sightedness it is their turn to fall but the choice for the electorate this summer is a truly bleak one.

Now we have the bullying scandal, or bully-gate as the press are predictably going to label it.
Brown is accused of bullying a number of his staff and there have been reports that some of these staff members have called up the National Bullying charity helpline, in order to deal with their (and our) over-bearing superior.
Brown might now be seen to be like Richard Dawkin's idea of the Old Testament God: 'a petty, unjust, unforgiving control-freak....megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully', hitting his staff and thowing hissy-fits when things (frequently) don't go his way.
Even Tony Blair, shortly before he left office described his successor, in a Prime Minister's Question Time as a 'big clunking fist'. The clunking fist is now accused of pushing his secretaries about and having massive 'bouts of paranoia'.
Lay off da 'erb, Gordy boy.

Today the issue took a turn for the surreal when a number of patrons for the National Bullying helpline resigned after it became implicated as an election issue.
The founder of the helpline, the aptly-named Christine Pratt came under fire for talking about specific issues, in what is meant to be a confidential service. There were also accusations that it was politically motivated and designed to destabilise the Labour government.

Despite the fact that it puts Mr Brown in a very negative light, it seems to reflect well on 21st century Britain, where job security is fragile and where bullying in the workplace is rife.

With the unpredictability of the electorate to interpret political events, it may even do Gordon Brown's indecisive, calamity-ridden PR some good.

As Jim Bowen always said: You can't beat a bit of bully.

Love This Man part 1

2010-02-19T15:59:00.003Z

This is Nicholas Winterton, a Conservative politician. Today, he's my favourite person.

No, I'm not a Tory, nor would I ever vote Conservative. He's my favourite person today because he's done something that he's probably never done in his 40 years in politics, he's put the voter first.

Yesterday he reminded us what the Conservatives are all about.
In an interview with Radio 5 Live he stated that MPs have a right to first-class train travel because he couldn't possibly important work while surrounded by screaming kids and nasty poor people.

Sir Nicholas not only has the right to travel without having to see poor people, he also has the right to touch women wherever he likes.

The life of a Tory, eh? "Do what you like old boy!"

But it gets worse. While he's not thinking about fiddling with his collegues, he likes nothing better than to fiddle his expenses:

"When I came in in 1971, the head of the fees office, as it was known then, said to me: 'Mr Winterton, these are your expenses and allowances.

This is the figure. If you spend a pound over it, you won't get that pound back, but you can spend that allowance how you like. It is there for you to spend at your discretion.

Now, retrospectively, they are seeking to justify members providing a full explanation going back five years. I can't go back 12 months, let alone five years."

Oh the amnesia gets worse when you get to his age, and you have to justify where those thousands of pounds went, when filing the expenses.

Yesw, he and his wife claimed for £80,000 expenses from the taxpayer to pay for their second home - a home which they already owned and was placed in a trust controlled their children.

You can see what Sir Nick has voted for in the past at www.theyworkforyou.com

He's retiring soon, so hopefully he'll get some peace and quite from all those horrible, noisy poor people.

Thankfully, he's reminded the voters what the Conservatives are all about. Well done, old chap.

The Greatest Game on Earth

2010-02-16T23:38:00.006Z

Don't look like this if you want to play. And those trophies are not for Kerbsy.

It's a game that uses a ball and a very basic set of rules. It's fast, it's fun and a game where either team can win.
Kerbsy. Or Kerbie. Or Kerby.

The basic rules involve two people standing on either side of a (fairly narrow) road with little traffic, and throwing (and hopefully hitting) the ball at the kerb, making the ball return to the thrower. The thrower then stands in the middle of the road and keeps throwing until they miss the kerbstone.
When they miss the kerbstone, the other participant may throw the ball at the body of the opposition in order to score a point.

This game was perfect as a kid when it was rubbish weather or you weren't allowed to go very far from the house. Perfect if you lived in a cul-de-sac. When I was a kid, everybody knew how to play Kerbsy, and there was always someone else who was as bored as you, who maybe didn't want to, or like playing other sports and games.

Kerbsy is very democratising in that the only way to be good is to be an accurate thrower. It doesn't help if you if you throw like a girl, if you're......a girl. Or boy. But I never found Kerbsy to be won by only boys. Girls were equally good too, unless of course they threw like a girl.

Having done a quick search on the internut I can't find any reference, but two definitions, to the unisex monarch of all bored-on-a-Sunday-and-it's-stopped-pissing-down-for-half-an-hour games.

We need to bring it back, damn it.

I recognise the world got sexy sometime in the 90s. Perhaps Kerbsy died when computer consoles went 8-bit, which would mean, the world went sexy a bit earlier.
Now bear with me here, I'm not saying kids have got too sexy. You're putting words in my mouth now.
I'm saying that the art is dying and that, really we have to stop kids looking at their blackberries, give up marriage guidance, and above all, stop the kids making silly promises on behalf of the Bank of England.

It's going to be difficult, I know. The kids aren't going to give up thier invasion of Afghanistan, their hedge funds or their blathering about Earth naturally heating up on it's own without your help. And Kerbsy.

So, rather than try and solve the bigger world problems with Kerbsy, I say we start from the grass roots level.

Next time you are hauled into the HR room for a good grilling on your latest disgrace at work, by the sexless HR manager ogre (and I happen to know it happens to you all on a monthly basis, you fomenting swine) remember one thing. Forget the humble apologies, forget the empty threats of trade union backing and external arbitration committees. All you need is a good pumped-up football.

Stare into your superior's eye and shout "kerbsy", and the challenge is on. If he or she fails to take up the challenge then they are either too young, too stupid, or too chickenshit to understand.

Your moral superiority restored.

Decisions, Decisions

2010-01-14T22:46:00.004Z

I feel quite positive about 2010 despite myself.

The big issue of the year is no doubt the general election. Clearly it's hyping itself up to be the biggest non-event ever due to waning public interest in politics full stop, but also due to the lack of choice.

Despite all the guff about a hung parliament, the longer Labour gives themselves in power, the more they'll continue to shoot themselves in the foot. Thankfully, for them at least, they'll be put out of their collective misery by no later than June.

God help the up-standing electorate of the UK who have a choice between the weird asthmatic gasping Koi Carp-faced Gordon Brown - who is utter unlikable (and I can't watch another interview with him where he drags his bottom lip whenever he pauses for words liken him someone who exists in some high G-force environment (skip to 3.39 secs)) and David Cameron, who just looks like a fuckwit you'd think about kicking in the head on a Wednesday morning JUST FOR EXISTING. David Cameron, combined with his party, have a grand total of absolute zero policies worth remembering or mentioning, but this is the 2010 general election.

William Hague could win an election this year. Even Geoffrey Archer would have a chance.

I feel violated every time I see the billboards for the Conservatives new ad campaign. "We can't go on like this...." I feel like he's trying to end a sexual relationship with a room full of people. And me. That leads to thoughts that no rational human being should be contemplating, including Mrs David Cameron.
It also makes me pretty pissed off that I've been dumped by David Cameron - like the fucker is giving me the elbow. Cheeky bastard.

If there were guns involved, and my life and the life of loved ones were at stake; I have to say I'd rather shag David Cameron. Yes, I know he's a Tory but I wouldn't need the use of vaseline because he's so bloody slimey, lubrication really would be no issue; I don't really think I could manage to have sex with anyone who looks like they've tested the flight simulator in Moonraker at maximum speed, or someone who looks like a Koi Carp for that matter.

Luckily, Gordon Brown is already completely fucked, so he won't be needing my services anytime soon. Such is the charisma deficiency in a cabinet containing Ed Balls, Andy Burnham, Tessa Jowell, Alistair Darling, Alan Johnson and Harriet Harman you have to wonder what their political opposition has been all these years.

You wonder also where the charm offensive is going to come from within any party. If you look at the state of British TV and what appeals to the masses - programmes like The Apprentice or Big Brother, it's obvious to all that in 21st Century UK it's not about talent or leadership - it's about bitching, deceiving and being utterly two-faced. These are traits that are promoted as ones that will win you positions of authority and favour.

The Conservatives are only playing a waiting game - they no longer need any policies, such is the similarity between the parties now. Lucky the shadow cabinet contains.....er.....um, er......a few blokes in suits who dislike the poor, blacks, Asians, Europeans, lefties, young people, old people (the poor ones), the poor, gays, the poor, those who work in public services, Nick Griffin (thank god for Nick! Shame he wasn't radical enough for us!). Fuck it they hate everyone.

The two-party election system is a constant cycle of euphoric victory by the opposition with a huge majority who continue winning elections until they're so full of in-fighting, corruption and odiousness that they get voted out again.

Time for the Liberal Democrats to step up to the plate: except they've got an appointed leader as forgettable as the Conservative shadow cabinet. They have no policy or direction whatsoever and are fully aware of their place as a fringe party in a two party system. They get paid to disagree with everything. Wait a minute, where do I sign up?

The problem is, true-blue Conservatives will vote for their chosen party regardless. They're happy to see the back of Labour, or more specifically New Labour, as is their bette noir. Labour voters on the other hand, are screwed. Four more years of Brown's Labour, with their lack of leadership, charm, and love of pointless bureaucracy, not to mention greed. Or there is the 'wasted vote' of the Lib-Dems with weedy arguments which is neither Labour not Tory policy but something different-which-they-haven't-quite-figured-out.

Whoever gets in, the economy is screwed and you'll doubtless end up paying even more for just about everything.

So what is there to look forward to in 2010?

What do you think?

Scene from a death bed

2009-12-29T23:14:00.023Z

SCENE: A room in Everywhereville with a bed in it. The dying form of 2000-2009 lies in palid suffering. As the cold sweat drips down its pained face it sees its life flash before its eyes. The key themes remind it that like everyone it started out with great hope and optimism but became embittered in its old age.

Terrorism
A bearded man in a cave, sorry, a bearded man living incognito in a cave who is attached to a drip and who has health problems is causing global terrorism, on the scale of which the world has never known. And nobody can find him. Obviously. A theological war, or perhaps the inevitable collision of two cultures brought on by globalisation. No, it's definitely not the CIA, MI6 or ETA (as Aznar's Partido Popular government said at the time of the 2003 Madrid bombings) but shadowy guerilla organisation Al-Qaeda. Not only did it result in excruciating delays at airports and an end to taking liquids through check-in but also gave rise to Islamophobia and the use of transport as a means of destruction, culminating in the unlawful killing of Jean-Charles Menezes by Scotland Yard. The world will never be the same again.

Liberty and Democracy
The death of. The west 'stood shoulder to shoulder' and invaded Afghanistan and Iraq to tell the people of these nations that they needed liberty and democracy. In the aftermath of the London bombings the idea of bio-metric ID cards were considered by the government, and police were given greater powers to stop and search as well as a whole glut of anti-terrorist laws being passed by government giving police further powers.

is it Rod or Amy?

Music
While the noughties saw the continued popularity of hip-hop and the birth of grime which gave the world the word 'bling', the world also learned to love rock n roll once more.
The indie press wet themselves over the massively over-rated The Libertines and Arctic Monkeys got famous on Myspace. but the new stripped down sound of rock and roll was kick-started by The Strokes, The White Stripes, Franz Ferdinand and later, Arcade Fire and The Kings of Leon. While The Strokes failed to live up to their debut album, they laid down a marker and Jack White of The White Stripes stock continued to rise and rise. Kings of Leon went stadium rock. Noughties art-rock which borrowed heavily from the likes of the Velvet Underground, The Stooges and The Fall also brought renewed interest in the likes of Gang Of Four, The Slits, MC5 and Television.
Perennial bed-wetters Coldplay were everywhere.
Amy Whitehouse went from big-boned vapid R&B diva to beehived drug-addled motown soulstress, in the process making a soundtrack for her own media circus with the splendidly over-played 'Rehab'. Pete Doherty successfully managed to get on first name terms with every one of London's police officers, shagged Kate Moss and turned up for a gig once in a while.

The reforming of the indie old guard. Pixies, Dinosaur Jr, My Bloody Valentine, Jesus and Mary Chain, Blur, Smashing Pumpkins, The Stooges all reformed and played comeback gigs and tours. A great way to see the heroes you missed first time round. Such a shame they are overweight, old and ugly now.

Fashion
Skinny jeans. The bane of overweight people everywhere. The legwear of choice for indie bands and people studying humanities subjects.

16 year old boys (they've always existed) with floppy haircuts that look like they cost more money than the cost of my entire wardrobe.

Teenage boys wearing cardigans. They might as well put a sign on their heads saying 'bully me'.

Agyness Dean and the short, messy hair tom-boy look.

Dita Von Teese and Burlesque dancing. Phwoar. Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink.
Also with a nod to Dita, Amy and the noughties rock - 50's girl hipster chic.

The appropriation of Burberry by the working-classes. The ultimate in pre-recession decadence.

Celebrities
Paris Hilton, Jordan, David and Victoria Beckham, Kate, Pete, Amy. 'Nuff said.

Technology
MP3 players were once little long things that people stuck to their lapels making them look a little bit silly. Then came the ipod. They're square, hold lots of songs and everyone bought one. Now there is the iphone, which is an ipod that makes phone calls. So when you go out and get blind drunk you can now lose your music, your pictures AND all your phone numbers in one fell swoop. How easy technology makes life.

Social networking - Lily Allen got famous on Myspace and it had nothing to do with her dad being famous. Arctic Monkeys got famous too. Everyone loved Myspace and it was sold for a very large sum of money. Then we didn't like Myspace because it was Facebook that was really cool. While the facebook-myspace fight took place (well, pummelling) Twitter came along and everyone learned to love that with facebook.

Reality TV - Before the recession, when jobs were plentiful, people dreamed of situations where people sat around all day doing nothing and pretending to like all the people they were stuck in the room with. In 2000 Big Brother hit our screens and people dreamed no more. Nasty Nick, Craig the scouser and of course, Jade Goody. Era defining television indeed.
Now that we have a recession and there are no jobs, people can dream of a situation where people sit around all day doing nothing and pretending to like the people they are stuck in the room with. It's called 'work'.

Society
The smoking ban came into being with little resistance. Despite the call from landlords, licensees and restaurant proprietors up and down the country that it would ruin their businesses, people still go out to drink alcohol in pubs and eat in restaurants. While people can have a night out without smelling of tobacco, it means that you can now smell how much perfume people wear, or possibly, how little they wash.

Chavs/Hoodies - they've always been around, it's just that now they wear different clothes and are given a different name by the press. Townies, scallies, pikeys. Bored kids who aren't old enough to get drunk taking iphones and money off those who are old enough when they're walking home from the pub. In the noughties chavs discovered stabbing. According to the Daily Mail, everyone was doing it.

24 hour licensing laws - another Daily Mail favourite. Britain being soaked 24/7 (and I don't mean the weather) didn't happen. Town centres filled with brawling drunkards throughout the night and widespread criminal damage due to 60 million+ people being drunk didn't transpire either. Well, no more than usual.

EU enlargement - The concept of the Polish plumber became the nemesis of white transit van drivers with fluffy dice everywhere. The Labour government were criticised for not putting a cap on the number of workers coming from the new accession states, as the government predicted 70,000 new workers to the economy. 700,000 new workers came.

Natural Disasters
Natural disasters always happen and are always sad. They are seldom as shocking and destructive as the Indian Ocean tsunami of December 2004. The devastation caused over such an enormous area of the world - although the epicentre was in Indonesia, effects were felt as far away as Alaska and the African coast - shows how little control we have over nature despite our best efforts. 230,000 people died.

The Recession
"The end of boom and bust economics" the government announced before winning their second election in 2002. Six years later this was seen as a bit of a porky as the government tinkered with economic policy to let the city boys off their leashes. The city boys duly obliged by making staggering amounts of personal wealth while handing the tax payer a whopping £500 billion bill. The economy fell flat on it's face along with pretty much every other economy in a month of madness in 2008. The recession brought with it such verbal irritants such as 'credit crunch', 'staycation' and 'double-dip'. Terms that people bandy about with knowing authority, and which, I suspect someone somewhere who invented these words, no doubt thinks they have left their indelible mark on the English language. Let's hope not.

Noughties - R.I.P.

Sacrifices Must Be Made.....

2009-12-17T21:50:00.009Z

.....In times of crisis. It's a sad fact. In a recession it's jobs and livelihoods. In war, the casualties are lives, and more often than not, the truth.

I understand why people read The Express newspaper, and for the most part, I understand why some people choose not to believe the idea of climate change. The answers are quite simple.

The brand of newspaper we read reflects for the most part our personal political perspective. The Express, like The Mail, represents conservative ideals, and is marketed at a generally older C1 demographic who carry traditional values. We all like news to be presented in a way that fits with our outlook. This is a newspaper whose readership grew up in post-war Britain experiencing long periods of economic prosperity and told that they could have it all.

Having said that, if you read the article, it's rather science-lite. And despite the headline, there really aren't 100 reasons, even on a good day. It's working on supposition and anecdotal evidence. No surprise there then.
Climate change deniers are not all Mondeo Men believing that all goverment policy is hot air, not wearing sportswear makes you gay and socialism only equals higher taxes and more homosexuality. Some of these deniers are just conspiracy theorists looking for yet another story to shake their head at disapprovingly, and look for darker motives.

The Noughties as a decade didn't start until 11th September 2001. This was the day when the world got slammed into the 21st Century, with all of it's Islamophobia, sexed-up wars and constant terrorist threats (remember those?) - some very real, as Madrid, London, Mumbai et al can bear testimony. It also seemed to crank up media hype on pretty much everything to a new level.
For those of us of a questioning nature, something seemed not-quite-right with the New York terrorist attacks. If I'm honest, I'm not convinced by anything that goes by the name of, or in the name of Al-Quaeda. As America has demonstrated with an iconic 60's President being asassinated and it's overt and covert meddling in South America - including the disasterous War on Drugs, truth has a very broad meaning. Natural then, that people might look over issues creating hyperbole with a critical or suspicious eye.

Fitting, in some ways that the decade should be ushered into the seats of history by the Copenhagen Climate Summit. Global warming, or Climate Change, as it's now been re-christened obviously due to the fact that simple folk think this means better weather, is now the new conspiracy theory du jour.

Despite the fact that, even if thousands of leading scientists did get it horribly wrong and the massive investment in cleaner energies that will ween the entire planet off of the sickly, asphyxiating teet of fossil fuels, and thus empowering western governments with the choice of not having to deal with countries that still chop people's hands off or stone people to death - it still isn't enough. Because, you see, it's all part of a massive global conspiracy to create a totalitarian world government who will make us all wear yellow lycra body suits, drink aniseed alcohol drinks, eat blocks of dripping and will probably make us watch re-runs of Star Trek too.

The bastards.

Well, if you believe that, may I pass on a little piece of advice that might help you. Get out of the house more. Take a walk. Knock yourself out - take your car out for a spin to Maccy's and get yourself a burger. Make some friends. You can do it!
Although your average conspiracy theorist would hate to admit it, the cult of personality has taken over the internet. The people who have made their name (and considerable profit no doubt) on digging the dirt on the Bush era and recent American foreign policy have now turned their attentions to the petrol-head's call to arms.

You would think that changing your lifestyle a little - recycling, being more energy efficient, generally being more considerate about the wider-world might be something worth doing IF our collective buttocks were on the line. Even if our buttocks aren't on the line. Thinking about the planet we live on can be no bad thing.

The trouble is we can't be 100% certain about (anything) the results of climate change because it's based on projections and likelihood. However, I would think it would be wise to err on the side of caution if you really gave a flying coral reef about anything outside your own sack of flesh and bone.

Those vocally opposed to climate change action are commentators - note that word - commentators. Not scientists. They have thoroughly scoured Google and found the facts that fit their view of the world. The questions they ask themselves are likely to be: 'Why should I give up my car?', 'Why shouldn't I fly as often as I like?'. They see changing their ways as a threat to their little luxuries and slack habits.
Perhaps the internet is part of the problem. It gives a platform to all kinds, to voice their hatred and distrust, and it makes us all an expert. People like this a place to respond to articles like the one above, and nod their head agreeingly to the half baked facts that they'll never verify but it fits just nicely thank-you-very-much with their lifestyle. It gives people like me the space to write stuff like this too though, probably much to your chagrin.

The World Politicians Christmas Party 2009.

2009-12-07T20:31:00.006Z

For the next seven days in Copenhagen, delegates from 192 countries will attempt to whittle down a draft agreement for worldwide action against climate change into a number of pre-agreed terms that the major world leaders can agree terms upon in an updated accord that will replace the Kyoto Protocol, which is due to expire in 2012.

You can picture it now: 100+ Civil Servants from each of the 192 countries being represented at the Copenhagen Climate Summit shuffling along in identikit fashion through airports the world over, awaiting their private fleet of aircraft, ready to whisk them off to Denmark where they can all sit down, knock some heads together and find some impossible ways of cutting our global noxious emissions.

If there was ever a pie and jolly-fest, this has to be it. The International Christmas knees-up is taking place right now. An multi-ethnic wave of nodding heads representing nations from the four corners of a rather flat-earth society. Waiter! More Champagne!

Let's be clear about one thing: As sure as shit and taxes, neither You nor I, nor will our future families be rocketed to another safe haven in the universe, should any materialise, no longer 'if' but when the shit hits our wind-powered energy storage fans.

In order that our elected folk save our sorry asses and the sorry asses of the fruit from our loins, they all have to agree to:

+ cut carbon emissions by (.............) per cent [choose the correct answer]
+ by the year (.............) [choose correct answer]
+ agree to do so collectively (..) [choose number of Industrialised and emerging 'super-power' countries]

The supposed bottom line is that we now need to keep warming below 2C in order to stop half the species from extinction and turning arable climes to desert causing change, migration, and possible death on an unprecedented scale. What these targets are nobody can say. Reports in the media offer no clues about what is happening around those tables in Copenhagen.

Like watching a man memorise a telephone directory or a layman watching the trading of stocks and shares, it all amounts to numbers - numbers being swapped, moved and regurgitated - and very little else.

The Chinese minister for Science and Technology has stated in an interview today that emissions from the industrial powerhouse will peak between 2030 and 2040.
"There are some uncertainties here, so it is difficult to say whether it will be in the beginning, end or middle, but I can say for sure it will be within that range."

Be sure to set your RSS feeds for the Chinese Science and Technology Ministry's press releases in November 2039.

Also in the news today, Members of Parliament have given approval to a third runway at Heathrow airport with the government hoping to cut aviation emissions by 2050 to 2005 levels. 2005 being a year when absolutely nobody could be bothered to get in an airplane, clearly.

The course that humanity is taking is one that we are told is progress. Progress doesn't go backwards, and too few are prepared to let go of their precious technological luxuries to welcome anything clean, green and vaguely organic.

If climate change nay-sayers were so right in their conjectures then surely they would go along with proposals to cut emissions and change how we consume if only to make the planet a cleaner place. Yet it is not the sceptics who are the problem. There are in total over 6 billion obstacles to climb to facilitate change. Every single one of us, and most importantly the billion or so who live in the industrialised world who are the greatest polluters.

Climate change has already started and can no longer be averted or ignored. Although change can take place and damage limitation can be implemented, it is highly unlikely that it will be. Capitalism can only go in two directions: shrinkage and depression or growth and prosperity.

We've patently sent a bunch of [partly] elected officials off to find away to do themselves and their cronies out of a job.

If you give a contented man a loaded gun and ask him to do your dirty work, he may pull the trigger - but upon whom?

It's going to take quite a painkiller for the world to get over the hangover of this Christmas party.

Bette noir

2009-11-30T18:26:00.019Z

My job sucks. Yours does too I bet, but hey - I am not writing about you.

Actually the first statement is a big lie. My job most of the time, is interesting and a lot of fun. It's everything else connected with it that stinks like cowshit in a heatwave.

I'm an English teacher, and I teach mostly adults, but have taught children too. Apart from the odd erm, oddity, most of the students are friendly, interesting and make going to work an absolute pleasure. The school I work at is very small, and as a result, we get treated like humans with no vulgar promise made. It has a relaxed, atmosphere and everyone does their job well.

Unfortunately, the industry as a whole, is an absolute catastrophe with little regulation in the past, and few rights for teachers.

Language schools in London are quite often seedy little door ways at the side entrance to bigger shops. You can see them clearly as large packs of foreign folk obliviously blocking the pavement and washed out teachers, like me, are seen pulling furtive anxious drags from roll-ups. They could easily be knocking shops, sex shops or clip joints with that dodgy bloke in the black coat awaiting his 'regular'. The industry doesn't and never really has had, a great image.

In recent years, the government has done much to restrict the issue of student visas, and had a crackdown on schools who operated as 'visa factories' - allowing students from non-EU countries to come to enrol in their school, and then not pursuing their absence, as if such students ever visited the school a second time.

This was, supposedly to be able to keep track of students who entered the country and to clampdown on students and businesses who employed them for more than 20 hours a week - the maximum a person can work on a student visa.

Having closed down a lot of the cowboy outfits, the Home Office decided that classes, in their wisdom, from 6-9 would not be permitted due to their ineligibility to visa criteria. This was a good time slot for teachers to pick up extra hours, or to make up for a shortfall elsewhere.

Now there seems to be more restrictions being considered to restrict the way schools operate, and work UK-based TEFL teachers can now aquire. With rumour and counter-rumour comes more dread. Here's what could be served up:

- Only letting students who are studying at undergraduate or higher level AND/OR only letting students who have a minimum level of Intermediate level English into the country to study English.

- Restricting access for vocational students for non-EU students.

-Stopping students doing further study in Higher Education courses with students having to return to their home country for an interim before re-applying to further courses of study.

This decision will be announced by the government sometime this month, December 2009 regarding these proposals.

With the industry directly responsible for £485million a year, and generating £1.3b to the UK economy, can the government seriously put up such perimeters for a cash cow in such economic gloom?

Nobody gets into teaching to become a millionaire, or even the slightest bit wealthy. However in recent times, work has become harder to find. As I previously mentioned, only classes between 9am to 6pm exist, and because of such restrictions on working hours put on students, most students want to study in the morning. There is very little demand now for later classes, meaning teachers who don't have contracts (very few of these exist now too) have only, at most a six hour period to make a living.

The industry's regulator - the British Council are completely useless. There is no other way for me to deliver that sentence, I think most people involved in TEFL would agree to some extent. For those not familiar with BC they are a government quango that promotes the UK's cultural, artistic and language interests both here and abroad.

Their job is essentially to make sure that a language school is fit to run language courses in accordance with health and safety regulations, educational aspects - like the European Framework and that teachers are qualified and fit to teach according to the students needs, and that those that are in charge of the business are fit and proper to run the business.

I would hazard a guess and say that in meetings between the powers that be in a school and BC inspectors, more goes on 'under the table' than it does at eye level.

So despite the fact that all EFL teachers must be degree educated and have a Cambridge/Trinity certification to teach English, there exists nothing to guarantee basic employment rights or conditions for teachers. No sick pay, no holiday pay, and no industry standard rate of pay. If you want a promotion or pay rise you have to pay for it.

Teachers are often whimsically sacked by Directors of Studies or Principals for trifling reasons under the pretence 'their isn't enough work'. Bullying, and favouritism are rife. There is no union for TEFL teachers and schools often take advantage of the situation, with a continuously growing pool of teachers fighting for fewer jobs, the pay will now undoubtedly stagnate. Teaching English folk how to teach is also a tidy profit for the schools; while many teachers will go abroad for a period to work and find out about another culture, many will stay in the UK and look for work. You can bet the schools are not telling them that within a couple of years, the opportunity to get work that earns a living will be a fraction of what it was 10 years ago.

In order to gain promotion or get a pay rise I must pay £2,600 to do a Diploma, which would guarantee me around £1.50 an hour rise. Is there no end to their generosity?

I was talking to en ex-student of mine last night. His name is Rafik, from Algeria. You couldn't meet a nicer guy, a true gent. He's fantastically clever and really hard-working. He was telling me that his girlfriend had applied for a job as a air stewardess (is that the non-pc term? Erm...)with Ryanair and they had offered her a job on the proviso that she undertake and pay for a training course costing over £2,000, and which is non-transferable should she ever want to work for another airline.

Are we seeing the future of employment - paid for jobs and promotion, along with all the internships (free work) that are offered by the media and creative industries?
If the only way the government can get young adults into work is by having companies/industries making THEM pay or exploiting them with unpaid labour then it really is time for us to start thinking how we can bring about changing the representatives of the electorate, and a system that does too little representing.

http://www.managementtoday.co.uk/search/article/539865/world-class-english-global-business/

Thanks to Vanessa for some info regarding Home Office proposals.

Because of the times

2009-11-25T23:05:00.008Z

It's nothing to do with the Kings of Leon. What I really want to convey is a sentiment about the Kings of Capitalism, a.k.a. The Masters of the Universe.

Banks.

There really is no 'love them or hate' that comes into this. They disgust most people to the core, we talk about them as if they're something to be put up with, like puberty or the Number 8 Bus being late the one day of the week you overslept.

Like there is no other choice.

There are some people who like them. Shareholders and the like. But they really number less than 0,005 of the population of the entire world, yet they dictate just about everything. The rest just chase.

It's rather like putting people who like having sex with amputees in charge of everything. Ok, that logic might be a little skewed, but you get my jist. My logic isn't really skewed though by modern logic.

Yesterday saw the log-awaited high court judgement regarding bank charges in the UK. The Office of Fair Trading (OFT) argued that a £40 charge was unfairly high and that consumers were paying too much in penalty fees. Low and behold ladies and gentlemen of the audience, we saw a wholly unexpected ruling in the favour of banks, despite two years of moral victories by OFT and the major banks.

On the 4th September 2008, as the Libor rate, the rate at which banks lend to each other climbed way above the base rate recommended and a full 8 days before the Northern Rock run, the banks knew they were in the shit. They wouldn't and couldn't lend to each other.
By 17th September the banks knew they were really, really in the shit when HBOS, the 3rd biggest mortgage lender was taken over by Lloyds TSB to stop yet another run on a bank. Secretly I'm glad that happened because HBOS really does sound like the name of some Postcode Gangsta that may come and eat my placenta if I had one, should I fail with a direct debit.

For about two weeks after that we all got a general feeling that we were all in the shit because the banks knew they were really, really, really in the shit. And so were we. At the time, it was very surreal, almost funny. Seeing global markets gloating over growth and increasing affluence two years previously (but only in industrialised countries. For some.) and politicians claiming that the economic cycle of 'boom and bust' had been banished forever, like some embarrassing relative that licks strangers faces.
But the situation wasn't really funny, because even those who get paid millions for 'knowing what they're doing' started to panic. It could've hurt us all a great deal. Oh dear, we needed the banks. And the banks knew it.

We were and still are their bitches. And them some.

On Tuesday the government announced it had given LloydsTSB/HBOS a £61.1 billion emergency loan last autumn to stop it going the way of Northern Rock and Lehman Brothers. A strategically timed revelation that didn't tell anyone who follows the news anything they didn't already know. The government and the Bank of England came out to protect their flock. It was a reminder of how fragile the system was, and any verdict that came down against the banks would have doubtless seen millions claiming back fees of hundreds and possibly thousands of pounds by each individual. Having recovered from one blow the establishment wasn't about to volunteer for another.

The news, like the high court verdict yesterday, tells us only one thing we need to know.
The banks and the government are needed. We know it and they know we know it.
If you want those new Jimmy Choos, or the iphone, or that second property in the South of France or whatever. You need us. If we have complete system meltdown like we almost did in the autumn of 2008 then life will irrevocably change. You'll be fighting for your life every day - there will be rape, murder and pillaging in the streets. Uniformed thugs with briefcases and laptops will collectivise and will force you to pay for your safety and liberty. Oh wait that's capitalism.....erm...
Armed uniformed thugs will collectivise and roam the streets of world's cities making sure you pay your taxes. Ah, that doesn't work either.
We'd probably go back to some fuedal state where we have to pay someone for something. Damn. There's just no bloody escaping this capitalism.....

Society can only go forwards, it's all about progression based on utilitarian principles of the great good for the greatest number. The world and it's population faces a difficult future with unsolvable regional conflicts and climate change, but having escaped a near death experience already, capitalism isn't going to go away any time soon. The banks know they can continue shitting on the poor and doing whatever they like while feeding up and filling the private accounts of the executives with obscene amounts of cash.
We need banks for stability. We need banks for the future. We need banks because of the times.

Counting words

2009-11-11T21:04:00.007Z

It's a good job the internet exists to capitivate a zombie like me otherwise, I, like the rest of the country would be looting and ransacking the offices of power. If we could be arsed.
Clearly having time on my hands to avoid doing anything meaningful, I go and find the most pointless distraction known to man.

Today's distraction is a website called wordcount:

http://www.wordcount.org/

The main idea of this website is a numerical list, in order of the most common words in English, from the utterings of articles, prepositions and conjuctions to the real meat of the language.

'But who would use such a thing!' I hear you cry, dear reader. Ok, so you don't actually exist, dear reader, but I heard you cry such a phrase and that's all that matters.
Well, the answer is me. I've used it. Think I may have exhausted it now though.

'But why would you do such a thing!' I hear you almost cry (I have a good imagination).

Well it surely might have some significance on the language if the words we utter everyday are fair or foul. If 'power' (number 271) comes before 'political' (280) and 'love' (384) before 'sex' (1236) - by a long way - does it mean anything? Well, 'money' (227) comes before 'fact' (229) and 'lie' (1953) comes before 'honesty' (8863), so maybe it shows the language reflects reality.
Is it any surprise that 'celebrity' (12732) comes a long way before 'sexism' (15603) or 'porn' (17245)?

I think why I really find this thingamejig really entertaining is not for any socio-linguistic value but just for the amusing word combinations that come up: words that follow one another numerically that clearly have some kind of grammatical or ironic significance. Well maybe it's just serindipitous but, what the hell.

Numbers 271 - 274: power change country almost

3013 - 3015: luck earnings prospect

5598-5599 fuck workshops
(something I used to hear regularly said by teachers at a certain central London language school!)

but in 3rd place ladies and gentleman, dear reader, members of the public. I give to you:

534 - 538: class nature necessary states bank

in 2nd place m'luds and ladies:

1236 - 1245: Sex organisation holding budget families argument saturday learn normally

and the winner.......

384 - 409: love means upon areas effect likely english city therefore woman real position centre south england community view gave hard job among staff read process line future

It sounds like some kind of romantic endeavour against all the odds in some london satellite town.

Right, all we need to do now is to get Dan Brown to use a few in his next novel, so he doesn't need a chapter every 3 pages, or a plot for that matter.

If we can be bothered.

Question Time

2009-10-24T19:40:00.002+01:00

Question Time on BBC1 this week was interesting for obvious reasons, and interesting for some not so obvious reasons.

Nick Griffin, leader of the ultra-right wing British National Party, appeared on the BBC's flagship political programme to much hysteria and controversy.

Before the broadcast, the the government initially refused to field a member of the Labour party to go up against the BNP leader, later relenting and putting Justice Minister, Jack Straw on the show. The BBC insisted it invited Nick Griffin onto the show in the interests of impartiality.

Before the broadcast, anti-fascist demonstrators demonstrated outside the BBC's headquarters in White City, London to protest about the corporation's decision to give the extremist politician air-time.

The show however, kept the same format. The host, David Dimbleby fields from the audience and put them to members of the panel of politicians.

As this was no ordinary Question Time, it was perhaps a little pointless to remain with the usual format. It is not often that the British National Party is invited onto a mainstream political programme, and if the BBC really did want to do this in the name of impartiality, then perhaps it should have thought about giving the BNP, or specifically, Nick Griffin, a platform to explain his policies.

Instead we were subject to a shambolic public execution of a man already intent on digging his own grave, with his half-baked ideas and badly thought out arguments.

Nick Griffin was given seconds on most of the questions - allowing representatives from the three main parties - Labour, Conservative and Liberal parties - to roll out example how they and their respectivre parties are ethnic-friendly parties with their anecdotes about their connection to Winston Churchill or World War Two.

Griffin should have fielded questions about the BNP's election policy and only after he could present his argument should the mainstream parties been allowed to chip in with how they disagreed.

I don't think anyone is any the wiser about the BNP's economic policy or their policy in dealing with climate change or their ideas for a written constitution. Had these questions been fielded to Mr Griffin, then perhaps the viewership might have had a better idea that the BNP and Nick Griffin arre a one policy party with no ideas about what to do, should they be given power.

The audience did very little to further their own, or the cause of democracy. Most took it upon themselves to attack Griffin not question him, when the exercise is ask questions to show your opponent's incompetence.

The discussion descended into the ridiculous when one black audience member attacked Jack Straw (and other panelists, who were all white, except Bonnie Greer, Vice-President of British Museum) for calling Black immigrants from the 1960's 'Afro-Caribbean' instead of 'African-Caribbean' (with the emphasis on the first syllable in Caribbean). Honestly - do we need more terminology for ethnic groups? In what way is this going to further equality? In what way is this not going to alienate people into their sub-groups?

This was further enforced by Bonnie Greer who insisted on patronising Nick Griffin at every turn: "....you should know your history Nick, you have a 2:2 in what, History? Politics? "
She also went to proclaim that in the ice age northern Europe was full of neanderthals and was humanised by Homo Sapiens from the south, and went into great (subjective/anecdotal) evidence that Winston Churchill was (might) have been descended from Native American stock. Really?! Greer is clearly an intelligent woman but didn't show enough clarity of thought or probing to merit being on a television programme against a man at odds with her race.

Despite it's attempts to refute Griffin's claims that 'Churchill would be a BNP member if he were alive today...' it's really a poor argument, and is merely anecdotal. To show Griffin up as a fraud real facts are needed. And real questions put to him.

Immigration is an issue we seem to effortlessly get ourselves into knots over in this country. And it is all the more difficult because we have laws for everything and nothing - including hate crime - and these are so sketchy and ethereal that nobody knows what to say without wondering if they're commiting hate crimes or being 'racist'. Those who voted for the BNP in the last election are disnfranchised with the political parties and are sick of seeing a lack of social mobility.

With debt being our daily bread, and university education being our daily water, meaningful jobs are now scarce. In areas such as the arts, companies are asking students to be interns for 6 months to one year which shuts out working class talent. In traditional Labour strongholds, constituents are seeing grants and partnership schemes for ethnic minorities but not for white working class community members, it's things such as these are cause tensions. Politics has to reconnect with everyone of it's constituents and members. It has to state clearly its strategy to help all members of the community and to discourage knee-jerk voting for fascist thugs really wouldn't cause any benefits.

White Britons, Asian Britons, Black Britons know that we live on a small island and the immigration policies of the 20th century cannot be continued today. It is not racism, it's just arithmatics and logistics.

The Labour Party have relied on a continued economic boom to fill jobs in cheap labour in the service sector as the economy expands, and now that it has shrunk find they have too many in the country to cover jobs and services. Once again it is the short-sightedness of governement not to realise that economics always has a 'boom-and-bust' cycle, and that's the way capitalism likes it. It feeds off it's own death. But how will respond to the 21st century demand of feeding itself and feeding it's populace, without feeding the flames of the far-right?

50 word short story

2009-09-12T19:47:00.002+01:00

'I'll do anything for this company, my track record speaks for itself.'

'We know that, Trevor.' said Mr Graham.

'I'll do anything to make this company successful.' he admitted.

'Again. We are aware of that, but please clear your desk immediately.' Mr Graham said, this time with greater authority.

A journey

2009-09-11T21:55:00.005+01:00

"It was a beautiful city. A wonderful city to be sure. Just walking around it, is magic in itself.
I never believed it but it's true." she said, more to fill the absence of conversation but
He remained silent, understanding her sentiment, without needing to reiterate the affirmative.
They both sat and drank their coffee indifferently, having spent a number of hours awaiting for the train.

He wanted to speak, say something - anything, but there was an internal censor that gagged his thoughts. He couldn't. When he tried to form a statement he spluttered on his words, as his throat tightened. It was the emotion that did it to him. As if, the previous few years of coldness and numbness had accumulated into a tight, dry ball that prohibited the vocal egression of affection and love.
He knew this moment would come. He had been made a decision and couldn't back out now, although he would have moved heaven and earth to make it so. He had been its author, and could not admit his mistake to his own sad self.

She wondered why he remained quiet. She felt guilty, yet snubbed. She held her anger towards him and buried it within her stomach, holding a completely natural, yet forced contentedness. It put her on edge, to know his feelings and understand them completely; but she queried his reactions in her mind. She didn't want to say anything to avoid arguing - they still had another 12 hours on the train together and she didn't want this to descend into a fight, it had been a lovely few days, and few months that she had known him. Things had been really good. And now, the understanding between them was gossamer fine, or like radiowaves that could only be snatched at, rather than atuned.
She was mentally tired too from speaking his language and looked forward to rest time with her family.

They boarded the train found their cabin and settled in. Conversation and silence shrouded the confined space intermittently, both feeling obliged to spending their final hours together, while wishing they could be in two places at once.

He had a drink and pulled himself back from the brink of emotion. He tried to wrestle control. Tiredness had caught up with him. He was a disposable lighter, and she a continental ice sheet. He could spend himself entirely trying to glean something of her soul, but would be destined to fail. But still he must go on - keep dignity. Always keep dignity. And so, he reined in feeling and regained some kind of composure, enabling civilities, now too late for searching questions, now too late for definitive answers.

They went for a drink before bed and chatted amiably as the train ambled through the darkened countryside. The mutual desire they both felt for one another was spent in finality and night shut both of its eyes one last time.

In the morning they woke together, 30 minutes from the border, and one hour until their demise. It was a darkness and then a harsh light, their bodies and their mouths and their minds ajusted. For some time it was good and final figures were mentally rounded up, but then the endgame. They knew it was coming, always coming. Like the bill being handed to vagrants feasting with a stolen credit card, they tried to enjoy, they tried to ignore. But, always the bastard came.
She silent in tiredness and apathy, not knowing where life had taken her in the last two years, but not here. Not now. Not after what she had already lost.
He rushed to the toilet occasionally, spending several minutes muting his sobs and tears and the shattering of his heart.
"My love, what is it?" she said incredulously.
He coughed and he coughed until the final words fell from his throat.
"I'm scared." and only after he'd said them did he know they were the wrong ones.

Recession Flu. New. Improved.

2009-09-03T21:04:00.006+01:00

It seems the only thing that enables me to write [insert subjective qualitative adverb here] these days is the utter ridiculousness of both news and PR departments. The trite and self-evident statements that these bodies see fit to publish cause so much hype and jaw-flapping, and well here I am doing just something approaching that.

The two corkers are brought to you by the Children's Television Worksho....no hold on, by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) and Scottish Health Secretary, Nicola Sturgeon.

The OECD today claimed that the UK will take longer to come out of recession than the Eurozone and the US economies, due to what it it terms as "headwinds". These 'headwinds' are high unemployment and house prices falls. Who would have thought in a recession, eh? Whatever will they come up with next? Let me guess.......manufacturing down? Exports down? Consumer spending....down? Sorry, I'm being silly now. I always take it to too far.

I'm getting the hang of it though. I think it's clicked. It's like writing a haiku, you just have to see the form.

Here's one from the Emil Public Relations department:

Most people would find it much easier to accept being broke, if they had 375k in the bank.

The other mind blowing thing I learned today was that the government revised its official figures for swine flu deaths this winter, from 65,000 deaths to 20,000. Good news! Fewer people will die. Nicola Sturgeon announced that the virus is less dangerous than first feared. No shit, Sherlock.
Most reasonable people saw this as a ridiculously over-inflated story, but it is getting harder to get perspective when things receive more and more hype in the post 9-11 world.

This swine flu thing is a funny business and brings the whole perspective of humanity into sharp view.
Firstly, even if was a hideously deadly form of influenza, so what? People have to go out to work,and bring home the bread (as well as nasty little germs). It would be unavoidable. People would get ill and would die. It's a bit like being sent over the front during the first world war. You're going to die, and it's all for absolutely nothing, ultimately.
Secondly, this hysteria about something we know not a great about, is exceptionally irresponsible. Shifting magazines and newspapers and hitting targets for advertisers is the only motivation for media organisations. Shifting drugs is the bottom line for bio-pharmaceutical companies, and of course so it goes on. Got to increase profits.
It's a shame those lovely entrepreneurial types (who probably watch endless repeats of The Apprentice in their spare time) won't get to flog Tamiflu on e-bay for premium prices any longer. My heart is a constant torrent of tears.

The green movement and it's campaign to halt climate change does not stand a chance. In times of crisis, the only thing that remains certain: money must continue to be made. If it causes public alarm and a large portion of the gullible public to run about like headless chickens, it doesn't matter. It creates a gap in the market.

Anyway - if the government has predicted 65,000 deaths and we're only going to lose 20,000 (poor souls, RIP) that means we have a credit of 45,000 deaths. I was thinking, could we maybe push 45,000 morons off a cliff?
No? Oh, ok.
Yes, you're right. I should keep those type of thoughts to myself.

Chillaxing staycationers

2009-07-29T22:25:00.008+01:00

We're in the midst of the annual Great British Hoax. It's sometimes called 'Summer', but being a people of faint-hearted pessimism, we fall for it everytime.

Today the Met Office issued a statement, saying that they got it wrong, while going on to say, that they hadn't really. That's cleared that one up.

In April they predicted that we'd have a 'barbecue summer' (meaning we'd all become barbecuing maniacs due to the intensely relentless hot weather), today they said that the 'barbecue summer' had finished (Barbecue summer - like said al fresco cooking method - takes ages to get going and when it does you've gone off the idea and it's getting cold and dark anyway). Although they clarified they were right because "Wimbledon saw hardly any rain, and Glastonbury was not a washout this year, but people tend to forget these things."

This idea is dependent on people both being Glasto attendees and tennis fans AND those events being the defining events of summer. I'll put my neck on the line and say that really only satisfies at most only about 1% of the population. I mean nobody really gives a shit about tennis for the other 50 weeks of the year, which is why we've failed to have a British champion for generations. Most people in this country don't even know what Glastonbury is, where it is, and what its significance was before the festival came along.

Let's face it. We're English. Summer to us is getting pissed in a park instead of a pub, and going a bit pink and then peeling for 3 weeks. It's buying clothes that realistically, we're only going to wear for about 2 weeks. Most of all, it's a chance for us to leave all common sense behind and pretend that everyday is going to be a scorcher, and we'll all be floating around wearing very little and dreaming of being brown.

The Met Office does point to the fact that it stated back in the spring that there was a '65% chance of a good summer', although this is a completely arbitrary figure. It's summer, so therefore the odds have to be slightly higher than 50% - even in Blighty!

But the coined phrase 'barbecue summer', like every other coined expression and buzzword gets right up my nose. The Met Office produced it but of course, only to help journalists. So, journalists need help with their job?

I wonder if The Sun hacks get a call from the Met Office every week or so, asking if they can help make up the weather for them.

Regardless of the Met Office predictions, what it boils down to is a national press with the attention span of Red Bull-addicted five year-old that's already bored of crack, who are always looking for new ways of boiling down a news story into a sentence, a soundbite or an expression. I'm certain that you are dear reader, too intelligent for a sermon on celebrity culture and infotainment; these concepts are indeed global, but this country really is soaked with it.

Even the less salubrious dailies in European countries are far too occupied with how their respective countries are run and what the pay-offs are of the smallest political event, to print the banal thoughts of celebs. In the UK nobody really cares because it's better to know what Amy Winehouse has been upto, or what the Big Brother contestants are up to at the moment.

Even hard news stories get weakened. Stories about the global recession evolve into stories about "stay-cationers" (people who holiday in the UK). I mean for fuck's sake. You need to be a severely mentally-impaired individual with half your cerebral cortex chainsawed off not to be offended by that. Americans use the word 'vacation'. That's great. Let them do that, it sounds great with their accent. We say 'holiday', so this hybrid word just sounds ridiculous.

It's clearly some sweaty little friendless weasel who's thought that one up, hoping they can leave their legacy, their unique imprint on the English language long after they've expired. Instead all they've done is created something odious, like they've handled one of their dog's turds while cleaning, forgotten to wash their hands and then left a fingerprint of it after pawing at the dictionary.

Which brings me onto another word. Chillaxing. If you use it - you're a fuckwit. You should have the right to procreation removed, and put into hard labour until you really know what spending your leisure time without anxiety really means.

Honestly. Is it really easier to say than relaxing? Chilling out is two words. That's why people say "chillin' ". Does chillaxing state more clearly the act than the word 'relaxing'? I think not.

Dressing up

2009-07-19T00:50:00.009+01:00

It had been a year since she passed away. He had got used to her ways, they were as habitual and self-reflexive as taking a pee.
He'd assumed without too much questioning that he would go first, and loneliness an affliction that he would remain unfamiliar with. Throughout their life together, the caresses and kisses had become stamps, reminders of their physicality, as if checking they still occupied different spaces. It wasn't an intense love by any means. At times they rarely spoke. It was if, on the good days, they were lost within themselves.
He'd never wanted children, until it was too late. The doctors warned her that having children late might endanger her life. Perhaps the choice between her and children made him value her more. As the years passed she became all he had, and despite the slow decline of her health remained optimistic until the very end.
He still looked at her picture everyday, but mostly now he spent his days at the pub, firstly in the solace of company, and then in alcohol. The pub during the day was a mixture of men escaping the image of the women in their lives. Either escaping from them, or escaping the loneliness of their absence.
Every man an island, each to their own table scratching out crosswords or betting slips in silence. Later in the day, workers would come in for a pint after their day and he preferred this time. If only to listen to other men complain about their jobs or the cost of keeping a family, it was better than the tv for company.
A new girl started working during the afternoons, and oddly, it seemed slightly busier. She was in her mid-twenties, quite pretty and very cheerful. He began striking up brief conversations, and he enjoyed her company. She listened intently to what he said, she genuinely seemed interested. They talked about all kinds of things, the newspapers, what was on telly, and about themselves.
He told her about being in the army and all things he used to get up to, and had been through. She seemed fascinated. He liked being interesting and would tell her something new every time he saw her.
He brought in an old photo of him dressed up in his in this army uniform. She was very impressed and commented on how handsome and dashing he looked. He went home slightly tipsy and in a good mood. Suddenly he didn't feel the presence of the shadow of loneliness hanging over him. He felt happy, the ache in his old bones didn't seem quite so pressing and he looked forward to seeing her.
He returned to the pub over the next few days, and the conversations continued. He always complemented her when he saw her, telling her that she looked nice, and she would coyly thank him.
He decided to stay away from the pub for a couple of days because he wanted her to miss him. He'd already decided to get his uniform cleaned and pressed, to be worn on his return. He couldn't wait to see the look on her face.
He collected his freshly pressed uniform, he put it on and realised how much weight he'd lost since last wearing it, but still it didn't matter to him. She was bound to be amazed. Before leaving he once again looked at his dead wife's photo, something he'd neglected to do for some days now, and set out for the pub. He'd decided that he must stop moping about. He was old, and the world rushed before to be sure, but his life still continued and he must enjoy what little was left.
He went first to the florist's to pick a bunch of flowers, he was feeling bold enough to ask her to dinner.
He arrived at the pub feeling like a teenager, with only his sagging skin and enormous bank of memories betraying the butterflies in his stomach.

He walked in to see her standing with a man of about 30 who was talking to her, she nodded and tenderly placed a kiss on the man's cheek and stepped back behind the bar. She looked over in his direction and smirked, seeing his uniform and blushed slightly. He ordered a drink instinctively, but tried to hide his embarrassment, shuffling off to the first available table. He sat awkwardly, his uniform almost drowning him now, clutching the flowers in his right hand like brandishing a weapon.
Life had moved on. He couldn't move on, he had fooled himself. He would drain his glass and return to the photo of his wife. He would return home and re-join her once more.

All things to all people (November 14 2007)

2009-07-14T23:32:00.001+01:00

Governments try to be all things to all people. That means that while one of their departments are busy telling us one thing, they have another department (not always, perhaps, aware of each other) telling us or trying to get us, to do the exact opposite.
That might seem like a fairly basic premise, but let me expand.
The latest scandal today regarding the Home Office, concerning the possibility that there are illegal immigrants working on the government scheme to crackdown on illegal workers - comes as no surprise. To be fair to Home Secretary Jacqui Smith, she has only fairly recently taken the job. She blames businesses that are hired by the government for putting these illegal workers in these positions. That is pass-the-buck rhetoric at its best, but it strikes me as patronising at best that the Tories should feel shocked by this.
Both people and governments demand economic growth. In order to do this, cheap labour is needed. It's a basic principle of business.
So it baffles me why people should be shocked or surprised by this. To be a politician, you need to be a businessman - so why wouldn't a bunch of successful businessmen not make use of this basic principle?
It's exactly why multi-national corporations outsource all their work to India and China. The government cannot be taken seriously when they claim that immigration issues need to be addressed when also they (and sadly to say, the electorate) want an economy with sustainable growth.
The same applies to taxes on both tobacco and alcohol. You have Health Ministers warning us about the dangers of irresponsible drinking and smoking, when that exact behaviour brings in large sums for the Treasury coffers each year. While the argument goes that this revenue is redirected towards the NHS, which is burdened with all the smoking and drinking related-illnesses that occur with our preoccupation with merry-making, only Alistair Darling (what does his wife call him, I wonder?) and Prime Minister Gordon Brown know the exact figures.While the NHS is a massive organisation that needs huge sums to keep it functioning, the tax mark up on tobacco and alcohol products, is nonetheless high by Western European comparisons.
Both issues are linked by former governments' willingness to cut both workers and trade union's power - People now have little job security and are being asked to work ever more hours to quench big business' thirst for increased profit and productivity. It's a shame that it has boiled down to playing people against each other, but it's easy meat when public debate comes down to 'us versus the foreigners' - in any culture.
Alcohol consumption has increased as people look to de-stress from their hectic lives and the demands from modern living. Hard work builds up a thirst.
I know few people who stick within government guidlines for weekly alcohol consumption.
It's a case of drink up, and get on with it. If you don't, we can replace you with somebody much cheaper. Our economy needs it.

The Daily Blackmail (3 November 2007)

2009-07-14T23:30:00.000+01:00

The biggest issue of the day is immigration. Eleven days ago, the projected population figure for the UK for the year 2031 will be 71 million according to figures released 10 days ago.

It's caused middle England to feel a little twitchy - in 23 years we'll have have another population the size of London to accommodate - and perhaps with just cause.

Perhaps another statistic that puts this number into perspective is the fact that - according to optimumfigures.org the world population could rise to 9.2 billion by the year 2050.

This represents a 30% increase in global population within forty years. Let's put this into perspective - humanity will increase by a third of the total it has taken several hundred thousand years to reach. Is the migration count just another way of shifting figures?

On top of this is the startling 'news' from the Daily Mail that the think-tank, the Institute for Public Policy Research has 'downgraded' Christmas to make it less offensive to Britons of non-christian denominations. It all adds up to make those pesky foreigners pretty replusive, eh?

While I believe Christmas should be downgraded, it's not to appease the folk with the quirky religions. It should be downgraded, so capitalism gets out of our faces for just one week of the year. In fact, I'd like everyone to make a collective effort towards making it a time where neither religion nor capitalism encroaches on our space.

All the same, it adds petrol to the fire. My position has changed from my views as a youth. I do believe that there needs to be immigration controls. I believe that most liberals have woken up to the fact that immigration, now is a huge issue,is not just just important to the far-right and centre right, but is a concern to the left too.

Our infrastructure can no longer take endless volumes of people. It is important that as a nation we continue to help those who seek political refuge, and where possible, give opportunity to those who want to contribute to both the culture and the economy.

I fear that the only way a future government can make the UK a less attractive proposition to member states is by opting into the european currency, which would in turn see an increase in prices and decrease in individual spending power. This seems unlikely however. The other option would be measures by the European Union to bolster accession states economies, thus furthering homogeniety.

In this scenario we would all lose out, both culturally and economically.

I heart Global Warming (27 September 2007)

2009-07-14T23:22:00.001+01:00

Stage 1: Concern

Oh my god people, global warming is coming. The ice caps might melt if we don't do something soonish, those nice fluffy polar bears will die, and animals are facing extinction: make sure you switch off your lights and turn your TV's on standby. But let me tell you it's ok to buy our product, because it's now greener than ever. Yes, consume away, because for every time you buy our product, we'll plant some grass which will soak up that nasty CO2. So continue to enjoy!

Stage 2: Major Concern

Listen people this is getting serious now, the ice shelves at both poles are melting faster than ever, and we're getting some seriously weird weather these days. No, no, no. As we've stated, the more you consume and buy, the bigger chance we have of getting out of this mess. We've now planted over 3 million acres of grass now, so we're making headway here.

Stage 3: Panic

Ok, so those folks in China and India are burning the equivalent energy of 20,000 power stations a day, but it's ok, because we've contracted out all our work to them so WE can be carbon neutral, and we know that if we lead by example it'll be ok. Please do not panic - yes we're losing 20 species a month to extinction, but if you buy our anti-terrorist insurance (which I'm sure you'll agree is a greater threat), you can be protected. We've now managed to cover an area the size of Wales, yes, Wales, in grass, so it'll be ok. Buy our product safe in the knowledge that you'll be saving the planet. "Buying your planet back for your great-great grand kids!"

Stage 4: Resignation

Alot of scientists are complaining that we've lost 7/8ths of the polar ice caps, but let's face it people, nothing really grows in ice does it? Besides, we've got a whole lot of lush, green grass to enjoy thanks to our carbon off-setting programme. We've now covered the whole of France! We hear alot about the fact that we've lost 45,000 species of animals, but let's face it people there are a lot of people on this planet now, so we'll all have more room.

The major threat to our freedom is terrorism: We've known for some time that Islamic fundamentalists were disguised as polar bears, hiding out in the Torra Borra mountains. Now they're all dead, we've almost got rid of the Taliban. Our product goes from strength to strength - and we now live on a lush green earth.

Stage 5: Acceptance

Isn't this weather great? Apart from the long nights, you just wouldn't know it was winter. All the girls look so cute with their blistered skin, and our product, in association with Big Brother and Heat magazine are offering you the chance to fly to Mediterranean desert to those must-have all over body blisters. Just buy any one of our products, cut out the coupons (chuck the packet on a landfill site - doesn't it feel liberating?) and send it in. It could be you. The 50 runners-up will win FREE sterilisation. Yes! Beat the 5 year government waiting list! Make sure you're one of the first to be sterilised - after all would you want to be the laughing stock of your floating neighbours when they find out your polluting the planet with KIDS?

Free grass for next 100 runners-up! Remember. We can beat Mother Nature - together!

Moving, rock n roll, nicotine (28 June 2007)

2009-07-14T23:00:00.001+01:00

Moving, rock n roll, and nicotine

As those who know me, and that should be just about all of you as I don't add bands (unless they're really fucking good) or randoms (unless they're really fucking funny) will know that I move sometimes (not in a catatonic way, dear reader). Ok, a bit. Well, yeah ok, a lot.
I'm in London. I think about moving before I do it, but I don't always see the infinite variables (Mystic Meg, I ain't, dear reader) and usually it's due to work. I get sick of places really easily - I have the concentration span of a gnat to be honest with you. And the same grey streets tire me so quickly. I left London last year with an objective and that objective has been completed, for the most part.
I thought I was ready for the north, but I wasn't. It doesn't hold enough stimuli for me, and I was under the illusion that I have less free time in London. It's an illusion - enough said.
It's good to be in a place where there are some fantastic galleries, museums and exhibitions going on all the time, and when I do have some time on my hands I can see something worth seeing.
Last night I went to see Dinosaur Jr. They were great. I remember them playing in Manchester when I was 15, but of course, I didn't have a hope in hell of going. I never thought I'd be almost 31 before I got to see them, but it was worth waiting for. Most of the stuff was off their new album Beyond, but they played some old stuff too.
They have absolutely no stage presence whatsoever though, and they didn't even look at each other. It was like watching 3 guys playing their instruments unaware that there are these others making sounds which are rythmically and melodically compact to the noise they are creating. J Mascis is quite some guitarist.
I smoked my head off knowing that in a matter of days the act will be illegal. It'll just be weird going to a gig and not being able to smoke.
Let me take this opportunity to say, nay, predict that the nicotine patch will be the de rigeur fashion accessory of 2008. Once Kate Moss flashes her patched-up skinny bicep at a paparazzo, on the way into a BloodyShambles/Liberteens/Cool Sex Kids gig, you'll all be wearing one (I made that last band name up - did you see how I snuck that one in there? I want 25% of the royalties when you go global with that band name, you fuggin leech). Even you non-smokers.
'Does this patch match my shoes?' will be the formidable question every male in the land will be answering to his beau, of a saturday night.
'Does my bum look big with this low-tar full-strength patch on?' will become the new neuroses.
You'll be queueing up for 'em. David Beckham will have a Dolce & Gabbana one. Lily Allen will unveil a faux-chav nicotine patch range at H & M.
I'll end up buying mine from a charity shop. Yuk.

Storm Warning (3 June 2007)

2009-07-14T22:58:00.000+01:00

Storm Warming

I think I have an interview tomorrow, it might be the day after, I can't be sure (thanks, Albert, you're a genius). More about that to follow. I'm keeping my cards close, and I got me a poker face (I was born with it, don't laugh).

Anyway, woe is me. As a complete break from the topic and onto something far more random ~ I've been reading a book about weather. It's interesting - here are the names of possible of Hurricanes which could affect the Caribbean, the Gulf of Mexico and the southern and midwestern states of the US in 2007. These names have been generated by the National Hurricane Center using 126 names on a six-year cycle. Names that cause acute damage or high death toll (more than zero - is high, surely?!) are retired, but for this year:

Andrea, Barry, Chantal, Dean, Erin, Felix, Gabrielle, Humberto, Ingrid, Jerry, Karen, Lorenzo, Melissa, Noel, Olga, Pablo, Rebekah, Sebastien, Tanya, Van, Wendy.

I'm guess that a lot of mileage could be gained from stereotyping - and well, to tell the truth, it's kinda late and I'm running out of ideas. Hurricanes are serious business. They are a brutal fact of life for those living in their path; we've seen just that with Katrina and the tragedy of New Orleans.
But reader, think about it. Would you seriously wanna bear witness to your own demise by the harsh and random path of Hurricanes Barry, Chantal or Van?
I don't know any Chantals or Vans (I can see a blue one parked over the road - not a Chantal, silly) Vans are for putting stuff in and driving around, Chantal is...well...a giant hissy fit. Not a hurricane. Media savvy? or a victim to the highly virulent ubiquitous disease in a rotting culture known as Celebrity? And Barry..........
Barrys that I know, if you're reading, I apologise. I'd no more like to see your name stuck to a force of misery and devastation, as I'd like to see mine put to a table, or sofa. The fact is, well, I dunno. Hurricanes shouldn't be called Barry. Or Beryl (2006), Leslie (2006), Dolly (2008), Bonnie (2010), or Tammy (2011)
As I'm trying miserably to write about hurricanes with some kind of decency, I do believe that my karmic come-uppance will be the horror of a visit to Ikea and being confronted with Emil nest of tables - priced £32.99, but there you go. What else is there to do of a sunday night while waiting for Seven Ages of Rock on the telly?
Oh, you want my favourite hurricane? I didn't know you'd be interested. Well if I could pick a fight with one - just me and the big fella in a field ( sorry ladies, it's a man thing), with no external casualties, I'd pick Felix. I bet he's a slinky son-of-a-gun. Cats like Felix, like Felix.
He'd kick my ass, but I bet I could find a tin man, a lion, and a Dorothy to sacrifice before he got me, because, I'm yellow too - Then I'd run. Like the wind.

Peace (21 May 2007)

2009-07-14T22:57:00.000+01:00

Not in the stop-all-war sense. Oh no, (I mean, yes! yes! yes!) I mean in the I have time to myself tonight for what seems like the first time in weeks sense. All I do is work at the moment, and it's doing my head in, but when I have nothing to do, that drives me crazy too.
I've been reading, not just tonight, but recently quite a lot. My bread and butter material is newspapers, obviously, cos I love them (do I need to differentiate between newspaper and gossip rag, to you dear reader? I know you're clever enought to deduce that). Yet I've started reading fiction again. Well, I never stopped, but for I don't know how long, I've been reading 5 or 6 pages here and there once or twice a week and spending months on a short book, then abandoning it half way through because there is no momentum or desire on my part, and (just maybe) the books weren't all that good.
But I've read one cover to cover (ain't I big and clever, and all grown up) and am a good way through my second, and I LOVE fiction again. I want to write, god damn it. My passion is back, I'm thinking about stories and I want a sly selfish afternoon with a Bombay Saph with tonic and biiiiig cigarettes, and my moleskineTM notepad (full of rubbish, and random dialogue) and a computer all to myself, with the curtain drawn just sitting in a vest huffing and puffing and knocking out a cute little short story (just like I used to) to tell L when she says "tell me a story" and me in my now redundant unimaginative ways go coyly (far too often) [enough with the parentheses - I'm sick, you dear reader must be sick too.]
"I dunno."
When said afternoon will happen I dunno, but it must happen soon, as me being subterranea or en utero from society, or some such latinate term which I am far too stupid to use correctly, (did you see how I used those commas to avoid brackets. Oh buggery.) but have shunned gorilla society of chez-ter in order to contemplate. I think its high time I shut myself away for a bit to think when I might be able to, well, shut myself away.
Or at least produce a half decent blog.

Characterisation in B# (13/04/07)

2009-07-14T22:55:00.000+01:00

t's weird that my life has not been the same since Lucky CharmsTM were withdrawn from our supermarket shelves. I miss the marsh-mallow bits that seemed to bright the day of the slightly-sugared cereal based blotation that infected said marsh-mallow. It worked well. Since then I've been struggling to work out who I am: the re-birth of the messiah in slighly odd clothes (I bet the the original got some stick wearing robe type-stuff in such a machismo environment such as the carpentry clique - but that's me I'm talking about so -wheeeeeesh'd!), or a yardstick for the mentally ill everywhere. I know none of you are interested. I can see it in your faces, despite the glare of your cancer yielding screens. I can read you that's why my boggle eyed myspace pic is so...possessed. cancer-inducing light-emitting monitors. Now there is a thought....better leave that. It's sometimes better not to ask 'why'.
Well, anyway the reason I beg a fraction of your life is to prove once and for all that said Lucky CharmsTM hex is in fact real. If you could write in tell me inconguous and down right injust actions on the parts of Gaia and the universal order since the withdrawl of said product, then that would be a step towards world-wide harmony. Nothing too severe, lets not take away the serendipity of Lucky CharmsTM.. But really. Have you ever looked at marsh mallow products again with the same objective view?
The first 50 entries win a lucky charm.

Don't need.... (27/04/07)

2009-07-14T22:53:00.001+01:00

don't need conjunctions, don't need articles
Current mood:4-door hatchback saloon

My day. Woke late sunny grump realised overslept by hour so missed breakfast ( got shower, I'm not smelly, dummies) walked to work listening to polished music smoked fags realising that life is just packaged problems which said addiction is just one big FBI cover-up for problems distending chaotically into my past with great crazy tentancles that touch onto raw nerves, dragging into present inhibit my yo creating 35 yard free kicks which I dare not touch. Is this desire?
Think not I, in sad creeking self not caring about late work arrival as punk rock tho don't look it. anymore not too bothered which is why so punk rock as yr all load of snot bags hee hee hee.
12 minutes more I lied as running for bus, well need to keep job bit longer anyway so to pay for exams don't give me that look what the fuck do you know are you me?
Get to work casually late see all cats rocking my style as manager is in meeting coffee tastes great god am such carnivore beast filled me up chewing filling sausage butty can't be arsed why so tired all the time you must be sleep bulemic or some shit perhaps just fuelled by life and not wanting ever to wake up because that weird weird weird I've experienced it all been through every pain every pleasure seen so many fucking things yet only been napping for 7 hours why is I can't explain yet every 7.05am I feel like I've been on some fucking weird rollercoaster ride through emotions lived a thousand lives while you've been dreaming about some fucking freak with a knife who wants to shag you in leopard skin wasp costume you goddamn freak All I want to do is return to that state where I experience everything so much pain so much glory and I'm not even awake am I returning to the womb or hoping sub-consciously for death I really don't know but it hurts my every waking hour I spend 16 hours trying in dumbfounded way to try to explain to people what I just seen but yet I can't function doing everyday tasks when I kneel down in front of you weep you should really know why I have just seen everything every permutation that this lovely universe has to offer I shut my eyes, another universe - you should see a doctor.
Where was I you distracted me keep your mouth shut some stupid manager is joining my department she has the people skills of stapler I may have to try fit 12 donuts in her mouth on monday morning or perhaps my fist but its filled with jam she wouldn't like that so perhaps me/her can play new romantic hang-man and get over our grievances what if future employers read this they are going to think I'm loony or lunar there is no future the Earth will heat past 2 degrees soon we will wipe out almost entire ecosystem oh I can't have children why would I want to bring humans into this world to grow up with swollen tongues and scorched backs while the common weed withers and the coral reef shrinks to grief we see this wonderous earth mother lay dying while her new born screams its first scream lying in a pool of blood oh god I have to send an email to that woman who wants this mortgage offer faxing to some fucking packager soon I will be home Oh boy I'm so tired I just wanna beer isn't sex wonderful just primal reactive creatures I know you wear that nice perfume but you are thinking these hideous thoughts too while you smile I don't want any part of your sick mind step on heads step on heads step on heads. God it's nearly home time what will I do, why do I keep showing I'm human well I am human after all do you want another pint lets play pool I'm going to win ,no you're not how dare you I'm drunk must go home I have important things to do......like write myspace blog.
Glad I didn't write any of this down my friends would think I am fucking insane or something must make mental note to someday stop using conjuctions, stop using articles such waste of time if only i could do next time I write......

Away, away (19/04/07)

2009-07-14T22:50:00.000+01:00

away away

Well now. Back again, from my travels. I've been back a week but been off-line which caused much consternation and chagrin. I had a great time in London, Kent and to some degree, Essex.
It was great to present amongst wonderful absent friends, and it made me realise how much I miss London (yes, I am contrary - but I reserve to change my mind whenever I damn well please). After sitting in my room studying or experiencing mindless boredom for the past six months it was great to go out, see gigs, and just be foolishly drunk.
It's great to put a bit of perspective on your life by a different place and getting away from things for a few days, especially in the glorious sunshine. Nothing beats skulking down the street in London when the sun shines, watching cars crash like its two people exchanging pleasantries.
It gives me itchy feet, makes me want to load up my ruck sack and head for the smoke, to see old friends, be near honey, and even go for beers with ex-students.
The weirdest thing happened too.
In the space of two hours I bumped into Andy, my good friend Phil's brother and then, saw Amy, a girl I used to work with at the language school. This never happened when I was skint and fed up in London wishing I was living in the provincial north with my best friends (huh!) and being able to cross town in 30 minutes or walk into a pub and know at least one person there. All of that seems claustrophobic now, and I really have no desire to be a part of that (provincial north I mean), and want to race down to the big city for folics and big adventures, where big stories tirelessly play themselves out.
I'm still waiting for the crucial decision from the newspaper, but something tells me I haven't got it. Newspapers don't like non-drivers, particularly those who attend interviews bright-eyed and bushy tailed, but whose charisma perhaps had a lie in that day. Madre mia. It will happen.
Stay tuned. You'll see.

The paradox of home (22/03/07)

2009-07-14T22:48:00.000+01:00

The paradox of home

A funny thing, home. A place you return to after you are weary with the world, when you crave for all that is familiar and easy, a place that has carved its mark into your identity like a glacier through a valley.

The idea of home is one that makes people smile, it gives the bearer a warm glow: it's your own space, where you are free to be who you are, and a place to re-discover yourself.

Of course the concept can mean anything: it can be a bed, a house, a street, a town, or even a country; its not really about where you are going to, its more about where you're coming from.

So, where I am coming from? I don't know. I returned home, weary with the world, yearning for the familiar. After years of never having more than a key, a room, a floor, a sofa of my own - only ever knowing home to be brief respite in the form of a chair and a writing desk, or even track 7 on a CD here am - home at last.

I've been a few places. Those that know me in their secret quiet selves may say too many, those that don't know me, not enough. Never have I seen morning mists ascend from the plains of the kalahari, or seen the tumult of the Mississippi, nor have I witnessed the bleak brutality of the Sahara, the enormous energy generated by the torrent of Niagra, or the lonely stillness of Gaia herself, in the peaks of the Andes. All this I have to witness. But, I've been around, met some wise men, learned a language, been through the humbling experience of living in a foreign culture where my language and all of it's cultural signifiers were less significant. It all worked up to a point of coming home.

For me, as a traveller (I do not mean package holidays or gap years or two weeks in the sun or business trips) this was working up to, streets that I knew, friends company, bus routes and train timetables that I knew off the top of my head.

I have however realised that this is not how it is. I realise now that preconception as always, flatters to deceive, and that worse than that, I deceive myself. It is none of that. It is being on your own, it is time to think, time to work out who means what and why they mean that. Home to me has always meant being on my own and formulating what this all means, and that I love home to be a key, a room, a chair and a desk or track 7. It's not about making money or being around those who spend their whole life thinking about making money, or houses, or cars or responsiblity.

Home is about realising who you are, and where you have to be and who you want to be there. What it is and who is there is irrelevant.

I'm back on track, I'm home again, I now know who I am and what I want and I've made a very big decision.

Time for me to go. Home.

Mired like ghosts (for a lost friend) 05/03/2007

2009-07-14T22:33:00.001+01:00

The kid got beat up at dawn. They were actually both whitened by their blood draining out of their bodies, deadened by their experience. Shock had ripped their frames like a ladle through congealed soup.

They walked away defeated both in absolute isolation and in arms victors at their own demise.

The Kerouac kids got shot down in flames by a burst of poetry, words, sentence structures, and drug addled hate love at midnight in fallen surroundings where the fallen fell, and those that fell had fallen. Joe No.1 didn't want to know now about lonely rail stations, the hopeless monochrome dawn of love and denial - all he had was wretched bullet wounds where he shot himself, the holes where self respect used to lay, he lost lifeblood like he lost money in late night jump joints or swigging rhymes from lost bordeaux reds as misery soaked in.

Joe no. 2 was no different. He jumped like fleas moving and shifting along always drifting hoping for the monochrome dawn but only ever seeing the colour grey. The hurrumph egad! had gone and rented his frame where a soul had been as he drifted the dusty road of his own eternity haunting and hawking high price tags with flimsy dreams he lost the little money he had like his lifesblood as it exploded out of him in a 3am dual with The Shadow.

The kid is dead. Someone better bury him.

First the old blogs.....

2009-07-14T22:24:00.000+01:00

Dear reader - just in case you missed them first time round here are som of my (better) earlier blogs. These are taken from blogs that I wrote on my Myspace profile (remember that archaic social networking thing - long before 'walls', 'status updates' and 'tweets').

Anyway enjoy. I'll endeavour to write more regularly this time. My aim is to produce three times a week but well see.

Emil