At Home with John and Debbie

Why blog, when someone else is doing so much of a better job?

My cyberstalker has been missing my words of wisdom so much that he emailed me to complain. So what shall I write about?

Trips to various Merlin Group theme parks? Taking up Scuba diving? Making soup? A nice weekend in Monmouthshire celebrating mum’s 60th birthday?

No, I’m going to comment very briefly about The X Factor.

I like the X Factor. It’s big and dumb, but it knows it. It’s polished. It’s fun. It’s pantomime, but it deals in real dreams.

But when MPs start asking questions in parliament about who’s been knocked out, you have to wonder.

Point one: The judges have pointed out it’s not a dancing competition. Debbie and I like to observe every week that it’s not a ‘wanting it’ competition (as much as the contestants would like it to be). It’s also not a singing competition. It is, to quote Superintendent Chalmers “nothing but a damn popularity contest”. The clue’s in the title. It’s a competition about having ‘the X factor’. Singing is only a tiny part of that. A glint in the eye, a certain way of moving, something indefinable - that’s what brings the votes in. Or just being Scottish, apparently, if last year is anything to go by.

Point two: The standard by now is incredibly high. Every week, someone good is going to go. That’s how it works.

Cyberstalker - No, Debbie has not left me.

Instead of going to Glastonbury in June, this year I joined a select group of festibuddies for Bestival, on the Isle of Wight.

As well as being smaller and less of a juggernaut, it was *supposed* to be a festival with more reliable good weather than Glastonbury.

I arrived on site in a biblical downpour to find it was already as muddy as Glastonbury on a very muddy year. I got lost in the dark because the way in wasn’t lit — later finding that I’d led a bunch of strangers through a winding woodland path, instead of the direct route onto the site. Then I wandered around with a rucksack and a tent for forty minutes getting drenched while looking for Tim and Richard at the campsite they had prepared.

What added insult to injury was that I’d turned down the opportunity to spend Thursday in a
comfy bed in a warm dry house, since Al lives in Ryde. I had taken the train to Portsmouth and boarded the FastCat ferry. Surrounded by festivalgoers, I decided I didn’t want to delay the festival experience. I phone Al and said that unless is was raining when I made shore, I’d get the bus to the festival. It started pouring shortly after I’d paid for the bus and lugged my stuff on.

Things did pick up. Bestival has got a smashing atmosphere. A good 70% of the crowd brought fancy dress (sea theme — lots of pirates and wenches, Nemos, submarines and Steve Zissou crew members) and there was much high-fiving of strangers.

It really was extreme weather, and they did an OK job considering, but nonetheless, the comedy tent never hosted an act, since a river developed running through it, and other tents were closed at sunset for safety reasons. There’s a lot less wacky stuff to divert you when you
want a change from music than there is at Glastonbury, and the weather eroded what there was.

Not that there was nothing. A favourite of mine was the live jukebox - a caravan into which a three-piece band is crammed. The front is done out like a Wurlitzer, the buttons on which are marked with eclectic songs. People push the buttons, the band has to play the song.

It’s not billed as a retro event, and I wouldn’t have gone if it were, but on Sunday I realised that I’d almost exclusively been watching golden oldies. The Wedding Present, My Bloody Valentine, The Specials, The Human League, The Sugarhill Gang, George Clinton…

Did I mention The Specials? They were a “surprise act”, and they were fantastic.

I think it would be lovely in the sun. But then again, so is Glastonbury. A muddy Bestival isn’t as good as a muddy Glastonbury. And a sunny Bestival probably isn’t as good as a sunny Glastonbury.

Still, it was a great weekend, and if I allowed myself more than one festival a year, I’d probably make Bestival a regular.

I’m gunning for Glastonbury next year though.

This is not a review of the film 30 Days of Night, because I’m too lazy to do that. Alright then, quickly: rather scary monsters, well done gore, ultimately doesn’t hold interest long enough.

Review ends.

No, what I really wanted to do was release some pedantry about the setting. It’s explicitly set in Barrow, Alaska, during its month-long period of darkness. That’s good for vampires, see.

Now, we’ve been there, albeit in summer, and can extrapolate what it’s like in winter. It clearly wasn’t filmed there (which is fine: all sorts of places stand in for London or New York in films). Architecturally it’s pretty close to the real Barrow (lots of corrugated metal; houses on stilts to avoid melting the permafrost and sinking into a puddle). Early on there’s a pretty view with a snowy hill in the foreground. I recall Barrow and its surroundings being perfectly flat.

In the film, we witness supposedly the last day of sunlight. It’s bright and sunny, then the sun sets. A basic knowledge of astronomy tells us that on the last day of sunlight (and the first), the sun pops its head over the horizon for a couple of minutes, then sets again.

Key to the film’s mise-en-scene, for the period of darkness, there are no flights in and out of Barrow. That’s not the case in real life - Alaska Airlines flies there at least twice a day, year round. But more importantly, it’s not even plausible. Why on earth would a bit of darkness stop an airport in its tracks?

Most people you see in Barrow are Inupiat Eskimos — and they don’t leave for winter. In the film there was barely an eskimo to be seen.

Barrow has a big AC Value supermarket. Every undead invasion film deserves its “raid the shop for survival” scene. The AC Value shop stocks guns and ammo. It stocks crossbows. Yet in the film, they raid a tiny grocery store.

Barrow lives on whaling. In the film, one character sports a “keep on whaling” t-shirt. So why was no vampire dispatched with a whaling harpoon? Poor show.

In the film, Barrow is portrayed as having a tiny population, of around 500, or 150 in winter. In reality it’s more like 4,000. Yet, even in the bigger real Barrow, you can walk to the airport from pretty much any part of town. In the film’s tiny Barrow, if you can’t drive to the airport before sunset, you’re stranded.

Irritating.

I can’t decide whether the lead vampire looks most like Neil Tennant, Huw Edwards or the singer from Danny Wilson.

My friend Chris once introduced me to the music of THRONES, saying “It’s impossible to walk and listen to THRONES at the same time”. I can well believe it, since many THRONES tracks have either a really strange time signature, or syncopation so extreme that it may as well be another time signature. However, I once tried putting Battles’ Mirrored on while jogging, and had to turn it off before I fell over.

Opening track “Race:In” starts with gentle drums, and I can tap my feet to it, but it doesn’t quite feel like 4/4, 3/4 or 12/8. Then in come some guitars, and they don’t fit. Then an odd little synth line, which makes sense, but then comes in again at an unexpected time. I’m not sure how they do it. It never sounds anything but deliberate, and it does fit together.

The album continues in similar vein, mostly instrumental, but with nonsensical vocals in places (including, on “Atlas”, irritating helium squeaking voices). You can’t help but think “isn’t this clever”.

Do I actually like it? Well, I’m not prepared to say I don’t like it yet, and I feel I could come to love it if I put some time in — it would take less time than Captain Beefheart’s Trout Mask Replica which has similar problems of approachability, except more so.

I suspect they would be quite a thing to witness live.

(Apologies for the break - I didn’t know whether I’d find time for CD blogging while on holiday. I didn’t.)

I fondly remember hearing Ash’s ‘Kung Fu’ playing on the radio in our university accommodation, and thinking it was the most exciting thing ever. I also fondly remember running around at Glastonbury singing “Ash! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Saviours of the universe….”. Youth eh.

In fact, youth is what Ash had on their side back then. They were the rock’n'roll gods who took a break from their tour schedule to take their A-levels. I still think the early stuff sounds wonderful. And of course, the Evil Dead inspired name helps too.
For a while they were a singles-only band, and not being much of a singles buyer, I was waiting eagerly for the debut album so that I could hear the noisy pop-punk ‘Kung Fu’ and ‘Girl From Mars’ on demand. In fact, the debut was the mini-album ‘Trailer’.

Trailer does not contain either of those singles, and seems to throw together some earlier, somewhat more amateurishly produced songs. Not that it isn’t a great set of songs - tuneful and intense.

The first album proper was ‘1977′, named, it’s said, after the year Star Wars came out. I guess nobody bothered to tell them Star Wars is rubbish.

It opens with the sound of a Star Wars Tie Fighter, which morphs into the thunderous buildup to ‘Lose Control’. It’s a great track, with some lovely widdly-widdly wah-wah guitar. There’s not a bad song on this album, and of course those singles I wanted so much are there too.

As the closing track ‘Darkside Lightside’ fades out, if you crank up the volume, you can faintly hear someone singing one of the themes from Star Wars. Or is it Lawrence of Arabia?

‘Meltdown’ saw a conscious step away from the melodic direction Ash had previously taken.

This wasn’t a choice that went down particularly well with me, and I haven’t played the album a great deal. It’s all a bit dour, at least compared to their joyous best.

I’m not sure whether there were other albums in between, but the only remaining CD in my collection is ‘Free All Angels’.

It’s a bit of a return to form, with some fantastic tunes, along with all the fuzzy guitar we all love.

In particular, I love the track ‘Cherry Bomb’. While of course this is done in Ash’s usual Buzzcocks-like style, it’s easy to imagine the same song performed as Stock-Aitken-Waterman synthpop, or Beach Boys 60s pop. Are the lyrics breezy or sinister?

She’s a cherry bomb
She’s a bullet in my head
Pull the trigger and I’m dead

OK, it doesn’t look very breezy in print, but hey, it’s only a song about how hot a girl is. And that’s what pop’s all about.

This won’t make it into the CD blogs, because I only own this on Vinyl (and MP3 copied from Vinyl).

The other night I put on 808 State’s 1990 album 90. I’ve owned it since it was new, and hence it’s 18 years since I’ve really, properly, listened to it.

It was during track 2, Anacodia that I realised this isn’t just good; it’s brilliant. It’s not clear to me whether 808 State’s music was so unusual because they were unschooled, or whether they were “properly” trained musicians innovating. Regardless, the result is something really special.

Dance music always risks falling into the “tyranny of  fours”, in which everything is a multiple of four - but on 90 808 State seldom fall into this trap. Things come in when you least expect them. Cliched drum patterns are uncommon. There’s harmony, but it’s unpredictable harmony.

It’s damn close to jazz, without that nasty preciousness jazz can have.

There is a downside - some of the solos are a little bit noodly. You can’t have everything.

And no, there’s no Amazon link because they don’t seem to have it.

We’re off again: Western Canada and Alaska this time. I’m very excited. The trip will be blogged here.

OK, I’ve been remiss and missed a week. I think I’ll be missing more weeks in future.

It always seemed to me that within 20 seconds of the start of the first track on The Arctic Monkeys’ Whatever People Say I am, That’s What I’m Not, you know whether it’s for you. A fairly basic punky backing starts it off, then the voice of a hoodie from a South Yorkshire sink estate announces:

ANTICIPATION HAS A TENDENCY TO SET YOU UP!

FOR DISAPPOINTMENT IN NIGHTTIME ENTERTAINMENT BUT!

TONIGHT THERE’LL BE SOME LOVE

TONIGHT THERE’LL BE A RUCKUS, YEAH, REGARDLESS OF WHAT’S COME BEFORE

… and you either fall in love with it there and then (as I did), or you don’t.

But let’s face it, if you’ve not already played the Arctic Monkeys’ first album to death, there’s no getting through to you. So rather than go on and on, I’ll quote another fine lyric at you, then be on my merry way.

From “Red Light Indicates Doors Are Secured”, a song about getting a taxi home after a night pubbing:

Ask if we can have six in, if not we’ll have to have 2
You’re coming up our end aren’t you? So I’ll get one with you.
Oh won’t he let us have six in? Especially not with the food.
He could’ve just told us no though, he di’nt have to be rude.

See her in the green dress? She talked to me at the bar.
How come its already two pound fifty? We’ve only gone about a yard.
Di’nt you see she were gorgeous, she was beyond belief!
But this lad at the side drinking a Smirnoff Ice came and paid for her tropical Reef.

Despite all this brilliance, I wasn’t inspired to buy the follow up. Fickle, me.

Edit: This is another album I’d been enjoying for a while as an MP3, but bought on CD when it came time to blog about it and I realised I didn’t ‘own’ it. Some time after getting the CD, I remembered that in fact, I’d paid to download those MP3s legally from bleep.com, so now I ‘own’ it twice. What a mess. At least I got some nice photographs of South Yorkshire people on a chavvy night out in the booklet.

(Well, Wednesday flew by without my noticing: the first slip up. I blame Grand Theft Auto IV.)

The thing with CDs is, I buy them, I rip them to MP3, I look at the packaging a bit, then I put them on the shelf where they stay. A nice thing about doing these blog entries is that I return to the shelf to look. I’m not allowing myself to blog about stuff I don’t own as a physical CD.

It was a bit of a surprise to find that I didn’t have either of these Arcade Fire albums as physical CDs, so I rectified the situation by buying them.

… and now I don’t really know what to write about them, except that they’re great. It was Neon Bible I heard first. As usual on the good weeks, it’s hard to pick out highlights, but if I must, No Cars Go - anthemic without quite reaching U2/Coldplay levels of pomp. In a Glastonbury forum leading up to their Glastonbury appearance last year, someone described them as ‘just a Talking Heads clone’, so I bought some Talking Heads. Talking Heads are great - but really the only likeness is a certain ring in Wim Butler’s voice.

I heard the debut album Funeral second - backfilling my Arcade Fire experience. It’s the better album by a tiny margin, having a nice bit of continuity in the Neighbourhood #1, #2, #3, #4 series of songs, spine tingling glory in Wake Up, and a beautiful delicate denouement in In the Back Seat.

Note - I usually hate strings, but I don’t hate this by a long way.

Highly, highly recommended.