I notice we’re all keeping very quiet about this.
As a kid, the high point of the week was always Saturday afternoon, with Saturday morning running a close second. It meant freedom, a heavenly moment between school and Sunday. It meant shops, comics, going “up the field” with your mates. Ice cream, bubblegum, biking over the bypass into the countryside, and topping it all off with Doctor Who or the Lone Ranger. It made the rest of the week bearable.
These days, one day blurs into another (no bad thing), but Saturday retains its magic. I spent mine, or a good part of it, in the hammock on the deck. Real coconut juice in a real coconut from our own tree at my elbow, Kindle with a Lew Archer novel in my lap, dogs snooting about. Watching nothing at all happen to the river in the sun.
You and yours?
RPI SIR HEFFNER U WAS THE JAZZ MAG “KING’ U LIVED THE DREAM WITH FAMUOS BEAVER GIRLS IN UR MANSHUN AND U ALWAY WORE A DRESING GOWN AND SLIPERS LIKE RUPERT BUT HE NEVER SMOKED A PIPE LIKE U RPI MATE THEREL’ BE DOIN THE WRISTWATCH DISCO IN HAEVEN 2NITE GUESS ILL GET THEM OLD MAGS OUT FROM UNDER THE BED AND PAY U TRIBUTE ‘COS MANDS UP THE CLINIC FOR HER FANNY PROBLEM THATS ONE THING U NEVER HAD HA HA LOL RPI MATE ARE THUOGHTS AN PRAYERS R MAYBE BEST KEPT TO ARESELFES FRANKLY LUV DARREN OUT OF HUMANE RESSAUCES PS THE ARTICLES WERE SHITE TLDR
What does it sound like?:
It sounds like the snapping-on of headbands! Like the sensuous slide of leggings over inadequately-waxed legs! Like the creaking of cartilage! Like the delicate sound of thunder strained through a Lycra© gusset!
What does it all *mean*?
That Mojoworking will be dragging that dusty exercise machine out from under the bed where he put it the day he bought it, and RRRRRRRRROCKING with Lionel!
Goes well with…
Those weird Chinese “glamour” videos you see in Asian hotels … what? me? No, this bloke I know.
Might suit people who like…
throwing their money away, probably. Look – while I’m here – what is this “Autogenerated Heading” field for?
What does it sound like?:
I am surprise. Willie’s boy and his band hadn’t made Neil Young’s recent effort anything more than an effort (again …), and I wasn’t expecting much from this. There’s a consistently high quality of songwriting here, with a variety of mood that shows Lukas to be a more than capable singer – he’s not afraid to lift the melody into something emotional, and to inhabit the lyric. He’s a real singer, from the heart, and it’s a beautiful thing to hear. There’s nothing (thank gawd) lo-fi or Americana about this, no going-through-the-motions for form’s sake. You can hear his old man’s influence, but that’s a good thing, because it is only influence, and a good one. This isn’t (as it frequently is) the vanity exercise of a showbiz child. The musicians are worthy of the material, showing their paces through lazy shuffles, ballads, a bit of Feat-ish boogie beat, blues-ish rockers, and even an extended guitar jam where eight minutes pass like three. And some of these songs will have you reaching for guitar, if you’re that way inclined, because you’ll want to sing them.
What does it all *mean*?
You really should buy » Continue Reading.
Whose barnet is this, then, if you’re so clever?
Hmm. The first two seasons were the best long-form TV I’ve ever seen. Best everything, from a screenplay that never got too clever or too dumb, performances that unfailingly hit the character bang in the middle of the note, Oscar-quality cinematography and editing (the newsreel clips added to, not distracted from, the realism – an amazing feat), and utterly convincing violence (the way I like my violence). So I’m hoping that S03 won’t harsh my mellow. But I’m guessing it probably will.
I desperately need ten thousand dollars right now. If every Afterworder contributed, ooh, say, five hundred dollars each – well within your means – I could afford to buy this reel-to-reel tape of a completely heretofore unknown Van Morrison album from ’75. Think how happy it would make me! Every contributor to this bold new crowdsourcing initiative would receive an authentic laser-printed picture of me holding the tape and looking happy, suitable for framing – a constant reminder of the Power Of Charitable Good Works and your own personal worth as a human being.
Once you’ve done that, have a look around the site and see what else you could have scored for your meagre five hundred – nothing to match that inner glow of satisfaction at having helped an Afterworder out!
Secrets! We’ve all got them! They’re fun! It’s like knowing something no-one else knows! But what makes secrets even more fun is sharing them! Who’s got the best secret? The SECRETEST secret? Now’s our chance to find out! What’s YOUR secret? What do YOU know that nobody else knows? It can be about you, or someone you know, or someone very famous that everyone knows! Or maybe someone not so famous that quite a few people know! Like Jarvis Cocker out of Pulp! Maybe it’s your pin number, and that three-digit code on the back of your card! Were you in the Crusaders Christian Youth Movement? Have you been cautioned for stealing underwear off your neighbour’s washing line? Share your most treasured – or perhaps shaming – secret here! And don’t worry! Only about a dozen or so people read the Afterword blog, and three of them are bricameron, so your secret’s safe with us! Spill those beans! Sing like a canary! Dish the dirt!
Over to you, Afterworders!
In a private email, Junior writes thusly:
“Hey Saucecraft me old cobber it’d be bonzer of you to host my NEAL SCONE thread if you could see your ways to help an old didgeridoo! I don’t do too many thread starters as you know because of the wifi out in the dunnee ain’t too hot on account of it comin’ from Woomawilliewongalonga and what with the flies and everything and the corks swingin’ from the brim of me old jullabuck hat and whatnot but I’d be happy as a randy sheepshagger in a room of amputee sheep if you could write a few words for me about NEAL SCONE who is frankly a bit of all right all right! I mean I’m not homosexistly inclined that way but I have to admit he puts some lead in the old pencil plus he plays guitar better than anyone else even Sacha Distel and/or Jake Thackeray down my neck of the woods. Thanking you in advance, I beg to remain your most obdt. srvt.
Jno. WELLS Esq.”
Happy to oblige, Junes! here as requested is your very own NEAL SCHON thread! Enjoy!
The unfavourable critical reaction to Clapton’s first solo album hit him hard – he’d been used to uncritical adulation for most of his career. Hunkering down with Bobby Whitlock in Hurtwood Edge, his stockbroker belt home, he concentrated on writing a new set of songs that would restore his reputation, inspired by his relationship with Patti Boyd. Assembling a now legendary band and recording in Miami, the result was a concise nine-song album that was an almost complete break from traditional blues, and delivered to Robert Stigwood in September 1970. While the new cover design was being prepared (see image), Stigwood, fearful of another “Clapton solo disaster”, rejected the album, virtually ordering the band back into the studio to expand it into a (more profitable) double by adding the blues numbers he felt Clapton’s following wanted. He also insisted Clapton’s name (“box office poison”) was replaced by a spurious band name. The result was a worldwide success, but the original album (of which actetates have survived) is thought by many (including me) to be the more successful artistic statement.
“In news that is shocking, positively shocking for fans who recall a certain 2015 Daniel Radcliffe interview about his future as James Bond, the Brit has reportedly signed on to suit up once more as 007.
Radcliffe — who infamously said after the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – Part 2 that he would rather “slash his wrists” than play the suave spy in another movie — has reportedly had a change of heart, and will join forces with producer Barbara Broccoli again for his fifth Bond flick.
Broccoli is also reported to be “determined” to get Whigfield back to sing the movie’s theme.
“Radcliffe and Whigfield together are the winning team, the ultimate choice, the money spinners,” a source said yesterday. “It’s taken time but Daniel has come round and the strong consensus in the Bond offices is that Mr. Radcliffe is 007 again. As for Whigfield, she’s more of an unknown quantity but is pretty desperate right now, so the signs are positive.”
Radcliffe pushes his way past Fish out of Marillion into third place for the most Bond films. Only Billy Bremner, with seven, and Whoopie Goldberg, with six, have more under their » Continue Reading.
I remember driving this little beauty. The link is to a fascinating blog, if you find weird cars n’ shit fascinating.
“Ray Lusse understood that not only did people want to bang into one another, they wanted to choose who it was they collided with. Given the youth and inexperience of many of the operators, the car had to be able to be backed out of a crash by simply continuing to turn the steering wheel. Ray Lusse prospered for the rest of his life.” – what a great story!
Of course the beady-eyed empiricists among you will have already spotted the fallacy inherent in such a conceit – by their very gathering into a Top Ten List the otherwise unconnected “things” are already connected! I think we may proceed, anyway, because any excuse to make a list is a reason! To “start the ball rolling”, here’s mine!
1 The distance between my nipples (at room temperature) measured in widths of a two-baht coin
2 A rusty shelf bracket bent to 85 degrees
3 The sound a caterpillar makes when falling from a leaf
4 A corner torn from a paperback book cover with the letters LER
5 Something in somebody’s sock drawer I haven’t seen
6 Marc Bolan
7 The Bic factory in Clichy
8 A piece of chewing gum stuck to the shoe of a vagrant
9 The great smell of Brut
10 The ocean-going cruise ship Freedom of the Seas
Actually not – that would be David Icke. But here’s Mr Tidybeard setting up his stall for guru-hood. In comparison to some of Rob C’s work here, it all sounds plausible enough, but in the world of Light Entertainment his stance is boldly provocative. Any ideas for a new Saturday tea-time TV show?
What does it sound like?:
Not much. There’s a cardboardy sound when you take out the perforated section on the top, and a very quiet – almost inaudible – papery rustle when you remove a tissue. Other than that, it’s completely silent, and as such an ideal companion on long road trips in the car.
What does it all *mean*?
It means that if you have the sniffles – and who doesn’t from time to time! – there’s always a remedy at hand, other than the sleeve of your jacket! Also, a tissue is a quick solution to those pesky spilled in-car beverages, or for giving the steering wheel a bit of a “freshen-up”!
Goes well with…
Long car journeys, sniffles n’ sneezes, minor in-car spillages.
Might suit people who like…
A cost-effective and convenient way to keep themselves and their car interiors spick n’ span!
Has there ever been anything more Afterwordy than this?
Collective wisdom runs like this: Santana (the band, the man) progressed from a sensational career launch at Woodstock, through a couple of world-wide hit singles and albums to peak artistically with the “spiritual trilogy” of Caravanserai/Welcome/Borboletta, then blanded out into commercialism and patchy solo releases before hitting the big time (no time bigger) with the label-bailing Supernatural, and since then, well, okay, nothing as great as [your favourite here]. There. Story told.
But let’s have a look at that “commercial” tag first. Caravanserai reached number 8, Welcome 25, Borboletta (a sometimes overlooked gem of an album) 10. Pretty good for artistic statements, right? Amigos, which didn’t concern itself much with spirituality and was therefore seen as a return to basics (and commercialism), reached 10. This is usually the bailing point for most rock fans. It was clear that Santana had given up scaling the artistic peaks and turned to “commercial” music. Which is strange, as his second album of this period, Festival, was by a hair, his lowest-charting yet (at a very creditable 27). Why the change? It’s pretty clear that he couldn’t go on repeating Caravanserai for the rest of his life, and it’s also obvious that live performances » Continue Reading.
Holiday In Italy is another toe-tappin’ collection from Bavaria’s “Mr Melody” Kurt Edelhagen. It’s a varied yet always fun collection of traditional Italian “chansons” arranged in bier-keller oompah band style. There’s a full dozen lively tunes to get the party going, and something here to suit every musical taste, from the dancefloor fillers of Funiculi Funicula and Tiritomba to slower yet still upbeat versions of Serenata, Il Bacio, and O Sole Mio. Highpoints include the irresistibly swingin’ Vieni Vieni and the haunting lilt of Torna A Surriento.
All in all a disc worthy of anyone’s collection, and will appeal to everyone who likes traditional Italian “chansons” arranged in bier-keller oompah band style or just havin’ a swingin’ time – and who doesn’t!
As the finale of S01 blockbuster binge-watch HBO series “TRUMP” left us with the cliffhanger revelations from greaseball son DonJu, here’s my take on what we might see in upcoming episodes of S02.
Trump is known to have been in the Trump Tower at the time of the Russian meeting. You know, the one about *cough* “adoptions”. We know some of the attendees at that meeting, but there’s a central character who is curiously absent from the list. So far.
What is the possibility that Trump (played with chilling authority by Nick Nolte) would NOT be helming a meeting with some juicy Russkies and his own top goodfellas – including made guy Paul “Mano” Manafort (James Caan) – about the subject closest to his heart?
Seriously – if he wasn’t in the room (Trump/elephant … please yourselves) what was he doing? Fantasising about Ivanka? Taking a long piddly leak? Playing paddleball? He could all that while he was in the meeting.
Or look at it this way: would DonJu (Matthew McConaughey, heading for an Emmy nom) have had the authority to bring Kushner and Manafort – not exactly his biggest fans – into the meeting?
These are rhetorical questions. DonJu » Continue Reading.
Nyaa-hyaa-hyaa! You thought this was about ME, didn’t you?
My Dad has been using his Macbook 10.8.5 for Skype (6.15(335)) calls perfectly happily until yesterday, when one of two things happened:
1 He ballsed up his sign-in and figured Skype was busted. 2 Skype no longer works with his OS no matter what version of Skye it’s loaded with.
Anyway, he’s an impatient sod and immediately downloaded the latest version of Skype which I have told him many times is incompatible with his machine (that banging sound you’re hearing is my head against the desk), in the process losing his old version.
I’ve found links for downloading the old version he trashed, and earlier versions supposedly compatible with his OS., emailed them to him. No use me downloading the app because it would see what machine I was on and download the latest version again.
We have had very limited success with that app that allows remote operation of his Mac, and I am absolutely sure it would be beyond him now.
As I said, he’s an impatient sod and it’s all I can do to stop him clicking the one-click button at Amazon and seeing a grand disappear from » Continue Reading.
I can carbon-date my transition into the world of Fine Dining to the first time my mum put Ski Yogurt on the table at tea-time. This, to a palate trained to accept cling peaches and bile beans, was a gastronomic revelation. It tasted like nothing else, except maybe sugar and fruit flavouring with top notes of sour milk, and opened new horizons of gustatory adventure. I knew instinctively that this was not the food of the lumpen masses – it was even socially superior to Dairylea Cheese Triangles (my poshest pre-Ski foodstuff). Not only was it uniquely presented (eating something out of a plastic pot with a spoon was like heroin back then) and flatteringly associated with Switzerland and middle-class leisure sports, it was the full-of-fitness food. It actually made you fit! Not that I cared – I was in it for the glamour. It was my gateway comestible to the next step – Alpen Muesli. This, again, effortlessly evoked the snowy Alps, and tasted like nothing else, except maybe sugar and fruit flavouring and cold porridge. Goodbye, cornflakes!
My initiation into Fine Drinking came much later (I am pleased to recount). It was Rob Sheppard [<REAL NAME] who seduced » Continue Reading.