Struck by a little piece of iThingyphonic genius this morning; the little terror shuffled from the Prodigy's 'Out of Space' (a touchy too brash and chirpy for 0730) to Max Romeo's 'Chase teh Devil' (Dub is far more acceptable in the mornings - especially after last night's bottle of Morrisions 'Good French Red'. More on the Trades' Description Act later.)
This is genius because, of course, the main sample for Out of Space is lifted straight from Mr Romeo's 1972 classic. Two very very different songs with one hook.
This begs a question: Are we running out of original compositions? There have been acres of print decrying the huge number of cover versions which bestride the charts these days - (Girls Aloud, Atomic Kitten, I'm looking at you. Westlife: I'm not looking at you, you lumpen-headed fuckwits.)
Despite the above travesties, I don't think so. i think remixes, mash-ups and the whole reimagininginging theme can make some really fresh, new, minty products out of tired musical cliches. (Cf everything Soulwax have ever done) but quite apart from anything else people have been making very different songs out of the same half dozen chords since.. well, for ever.
Try Freebird ( Lynard Skynard) and Cum on Feel the Noize (Slade): Very similar chord structures. Every Rose has its Thorn (Poison) and Good Riddance (Green Day) - largely identical, just shorter hair.
The Ramones - well, you know that line.
My point? I'm not sure I have one... except, maybe, I was surprisingly cheered by rediscovering something before the grind of the day began.
Tuesday, 30 September 2008
Wednesday, 24 September 2008
So, Farewell then...
…Ruth Kelly. The diminutive, Opus Dei’d transport secretary has announced that she is to stand down at the next election. I cannot claim to be disappointed.
Although she’s given ‘time with family’ – that tired old cliché – as her reason for standing down, I can’t be alone in thinking good riddance.
For starters, Ms Kelly has not had an illustrious career as a minister – not least as a rather terrible Communities Secretary, where she presided over nascent bungled housing reforms and fucked up moves to unitary and regional government. A quick aside: when she was in this role I very nearly vomited over her, one coffee-fuelled, conference-hungover morning. More of this at a later date, no doubt.
Secondly, the whole fundamentalist Catholicism really grates. There’s widespread muttering that one of the reasons she’s going is that she opposes the embraeology bill on religious grounds. One of the few pieces of government legislation in the last two parliaments that I’ve honestly approved of, and she’s been assiduously working backchannels to stunt it. If ever there was a better example of why church and state – let alone politicians and judiciary - should always be separate, it’s Ms Kelly.
But thirdly, finally and most vividly, it’s all about her voice. She’s possessed of a hollow, hectoring, patronising tone that wouldn’t seem out of place in a public-school, Sunday-service pulpit. She intones sentitious, holier-than-thou monologues with all the humanity and passion of a dead haddock. Every, EVERY, time her voice pops up on the radio, I’m stricken with Tourettes and an insatiable urge to fling the stereo from the nearest, highest window.
The only other person to whom I have this response is Sarah Palin – a woman whose voice embodies that tired American trope which makes merit of mediocrity, normality, being blinkered, and celebrates small-town bigotry… without looking at her you just know she’s got her chin stuck out and her eyes sighted straight down the line of her nose* and that she thinks that anyone with an opinion different to her is a moose to be field-dressed. And then crucified.
I am not entirely sure why I have this reaction – maybe I was scarred whilst young by a teacher of similar tonality. But, ultimately, I’m very glad la Kelly is fucking off. And I rather hope that Palin goes the way of the dodo soon, too. Otherwise I'm quite scared for the future.
*the Alaskan version of snapping your fingers and wiggling your head from side-to-side. I’ve also seen this is Luton.
Although she’s given ‘time with family’ – that tired old cliché – as her reason for standing down, I can’t be alone in thinking good riddance.
For starters, Ms Kelly has not had an illustrious career as a minister – not least as a rather terrible Communities Secretary, where she presided over nascent bungled housing reforms and fucked up moves to unitary and regional government. A quick aside: when she was in this role I very nearly vomited over her, one coffee-fuelled, conference-hungover morning. More of this at a later date, no doubt.
Secondly, the whole fundamentalist Catholicism really grates. There’s widespread muttering that one of the reasons she’s going is that she opposes the embraeology bill on religious grounds. One of the few pieces of government legislation in the last two parliaments that I’ve honestly approved of, and she’s been assiduously working backchannels to stunt it. If ever there was a better example of why church and state – let alone politicians and judiciary - should always be separate, it’s Ms Kelly.
But thirdly, finally and most vividly, it’s all about her voice. She’s possessed of a hollow, hectoring, patronising tone that wouldn’t seem out of place in a public-school, Sunday-service pulpit. She intones sentitious, holier-than-thou monologues with all the humanity and passion of a dead haddock. Every, EVERY, time her voice pops up on the radio, I’m stricken with Tourettes and an insatiable urge to fling the stereo from the nearest, highest window.
The only other person to whom I have this response is Sarah Palin – a woman whose voice embodies that tired American trope which makes merit of mediocrity, normality, being blinkered, and celebrates small-town bigotry… without looking at her you just know she’s got her chin stuck out and her eyes sighted straight down the line of her nose* and that she thinks that anyone with an opinion different to her is a moose to be field-dressed. And then crucified.
I am not entirely sure why I have this reaction – maybe I was scarred whilst young by a teacher of similar tonality. But, ultimately, I’m very glad la Kelly is fucking off. And I rather hope that Palin goes the way of the dodo soon, too. Otherwise I'm quite scared for the future.
*the Alaskan version of snapping your fingers and wiggling your head from side-to-side. I’ve also seen this is Luton.
Wednesday, 17 September 2008
St Vitus Statistics
Oh, I hate it when a plan don't come together.
I've had the house to myself for three whole days (Ms Dive being off conferencing somewhere or other) and had constructed a schedule of male-oriented singleton activities in which to immerse myself. These were, in no particular order: the smoking of cigars; the thrashing of guitars; the eating of steak; the playing of video games; and the staying out late in the pubs.
Sunday started really rather nicely: Havanas were lit, a couple of cans of lager were imbibed and many many mutants were gunned down. This, by the way, was all carried out in my dressing gown. Brilliant.
And then, unfortunately, everything went a bit wrong. I'll not bore with details but 0300 to 0930 Monday were unpleasant. Projectile unpleasant.
Couple this with an inavoidable meeting in Bristol (note to train companies - serving cabbage in dining cars is just crass) and my week began quite horrid. The evening was lost to an 11-hour sleepathon, Tuesday evening was mainly shaped by the force-feeding of plain pasta (foie gross, if you will) but did at least see a brief rally of video gamage - after a couple of hours of reassembling the house into something resembling the state it was in when my session commenced.
Anyway: to the point: Nothing that I have endured these last three days is anything compared to that facing people in the financial sector. I never thought I'd say this (and may my ancestors forgive me) but I am finding my self feeling sorry for bankers.
A key part of my day is working through the papers - print and online - to pick up key themes and trends that are relevant to those who which pay my rent. As a result I'm almost preturnaturally aware of the different spin the various outlets put on a story - the Mirror, for instance, has carried barely a column inch on house prices the last 6-month, whilst the Mail has pretty much blocked out three pages in each edition.
Today, though, there is one, uniform conclusion across all the front pages: We are, to put it mildly, fucked.
Batten down the hatches, one and all. There's an axiom that says something along the lines that music plays louder and people dance harder in times of adversity. So in that spirit, enjoy:
I've had the house to myself for three whole days (Ms Dive being off conferencing somewhere or other) and had constructed a schedule of male-oriented singleton activities in which to immerse myself. These were, in no particular order: the smoking of cigars; the thrashing of guitars; the eating of steak; the playing of video games; and the staying out late in the pubs.
Sunday started really rather nicely: Havanas were lit, a couple of cans of lager were imbibed and many many mutants were gunned down. This, by the way, was all carried out in my dressing gown. Brilliant.
And then, unfortunately, everything went a bit wrong. I'll not bore with details but 0300 to 0930 Monday were unpleasant. Projectile unpleasant.
Couple this with an inavoidable meeting in Bristol (note to train companies - serving cabbage in dining cars is just crass) and my week began quite horrid. The evening was lost to an 11-hour sleepathon, Tuesday evening was mainly shaped by the force-feeding of plain pasta (foie gross, if you will) but did at least see a brief rally of video gamage - after a couple of hours of reassembling the house into something resembling the state it was in when my session commenced.
Anyway: to the point: Nothing that I have endured these last three days is anything compared to that facing people in the financial sector. I never thought I'd say this (and may my ancestors forgive me) but I am finding my self feeling sorry for bankers.
A key part of my day is working through the papers - print and online - to pick up key themes and trends that are relevant to those who which pay my rent. As a result I'm almost preturnaturally aware of the different spin the various outlets put on a story - the Mirror, for instance, has carried barely a column inch on house prices the last 6-month, whilst the Mail has pretty much blocked out three pages in each edition.
Today, though, there is one, uniform conclusion across all the front pages: We are, to put it mildly, fucked.
Batten down the hatches, one and all. There's an axiom that says something along the lines that music plays louder and people dance harder in times of adversity. So in that spirit, enjoy:
Friday, 12 September 2008
Il Retourne
Not written anything for a while - and I'll not bore you with the many and manifold reasons. Suffice to say that I am a social butterfly with a massive coterie of friends to pay fealty to. Also, wage slave.
I have had a very, very random week. Many things seem to have broken in the last 7 days: laptop - smoking; phone - battered; jacket - de-lined; washing machine - ticking; tree - collapsed; line between Bristol and London - bus replacement service; diet -3 (THREE) kebabs; and most worryingly, a significant friendship - hiccup.
And last night, bizarrely, I ended up sat behind the lesser Minogue.
Pondering these things on the way in this morning (ithing - powerless) I came to the conclusion that it is far too dangerous to go outdoors this weekend. Therefore I am going to lock myself away from the world with a video game and a pizza menu.
And, in that spirit, the soundtrack:
I have had a very, very random week. Many things seem to have broken in the last 7 days: laptop - smoking; phone - battered; jacket - de-lined; washing machine - ticking; tree - collapsed; line between Bristol and London - bus replacement service; diet -3 (THREE) kebabs; and most worryingly, a significant friendship - hiccup.
And last night, bizarrely, I ended up sat behind the lesser Minogue.
Pondering these things on the way in this morning (ithing - powerless) I came to the conclusion that it is far too dangerous to go outdoors this weekend. Therefore I am going to lock myself away from the world with a video game and a pizza menu.
And, in that spirit, the soundtrack:
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