51 years after his death, John Coltrane still ain’t done…
…. that’s what I want to know. I think this wee feller is on the run.
So Fishbone’s Ghetto Soundwave comes up on shuffle and I notice, besides how satisfyingly meaty the drums are, the lyrics: There`s another cry of murder Policeman shoot down baby brother Shot him, shot him down in the street But did they know the mother`s grief Were they sure they got the right one Did they know he was her only son A father tries to feed his family They come here to find their opportunity Living, living, living in the streets With their dreams and with their humility Can`t we see all the pain and hurt They love this land maybe more than us It`s a ghetto soundwave Gets to me everyday …
This song is thirty years old. I think if you’d told me then that these lyrics would be more relevant than ever in 2018, I’d have been pretty depressed*.
The third verse about “bourgeois politicians” could have been written any time and anywhere since the age of Catullus, but you get the picture.
If you watched this legendary clip of 999 on the OGWT with the sound off – which has plenty to recommend it – and not knowing what it was or what time period it came from, I maintain that it would be possible to ascertain what genre of music was being played from the expression on Nick Cash’s face alone…. Yes?
In fact, I suggest that each genre has its own distinctive facial expressions. For example:
Punk: Starey eyes; nose wrinkled as if placed in proximity to fresh dog turd; bared Benson & Hedges teeth Hip-hop: chin tilted forward; eyes half-closed in attitude of near-somnambulism Ska & rocksteady: knowing dimpled grin; eyes obscured by shades and/or brim of pork-pie hat Blues Rock: eyes screwed shut; mouth contorted in a semblance of acute intestinal discomfort; sweating not optional New Romantics: cheeks sucked in as if draining an invisible Kia-Ora; eyes focussed humourlessly on middle distance Country: Statue-like look of noble stoicism and solidity Britpop : pout; one eyebrow raised (if two available) Baggy/Madchester: pupils dilated; gob agape in apparent impersonation of Big Bird Prog: expression indiscernible behind huge Open University lecturer spectacles and a wall of synthesizers and/or facial hair.
Hank Azaria says he is “willing to step aside” from his role voicing Simpsons character Apu Nahasapeemapetilon.
It follows a documentary made by Indian-American comic Hari Kondabolu that argued the Indian character is based on racial stereotypes
If the only thing he’d ever done had been the Goon Show, even just as a performer, I’d be raising a glass to Terence Alan Milligan tonight.
I’d rather have the Goon Show than the rest of British comedy put together. Nothing can touch it. It’s not just funny, it presents you with a new way of conceiving reality, a new way of thinking. It brilliantly reflected Britian’s 50s fool’s-paradise image of itself back in a fairground mirror. And it featured a farting oyster, a six ton Christmas pudding and a Wurlitzer organ being driven at speed across the Atlantic.
But Spike gave us so much more – the war memoirs (“Night soil!”), the poetry (“That’s why rain is thin!”) and his often explosive interventions on chat shows and quizzes.
So many of the clips on YT are of him post-1992 when he really wasn’t with it, but carried on working – churning out those bottomlessly dreadful “According To…” books. We can do better than that, can’t we?
This thread will run and run!*
People who have appeared in almost unreconcilable contexts…
My first nomination is Mark Feltham, who is the only person I know of to have appeared on both The Young Ones and Spirit of Eden.
…. the fact that filth has been flung at our innocent biscuit eaters, or that the BBC now thinks that “snuck” is acceptable English.
The great man is the focus of the next Word In Your Ear event on 1st May.
Definitely somebody who needs to be celebrated while he’s still with us…
(sorry to get Magdalene)
He’s playing a giant bass which is both preposterous and beautiful. Rather makes Johnny Mac’s double-necker look like a beat-up ukelele…
I find this story very amusing.
…actually, it’s Chelsea O’Connor, a nail technician in Bolton.
I like her.
Those Germans clearly believe that revenge is a dish best served cold.
I mean…. what??
He’s even wearing a Kraftwerk t-shirt!
*Climbs inside Victorian diving bell, heads for underground bunker*
Great little piece about the making of the Marmite-mungous 2001: A Space Odyssey.
Keir Dullea: “The first day of shooting ended up being delayed because Kubrick didn’t like my shoes.”
Douglas Trumbull: “The orbiting space station ended up in a dump in Stevenage.”
Hal nearly had a cockney voice, which would have resulted in the eternal silence of interstellar space being shattered by things like “Oi, Bowman, put dose memmary benks beck NAAAOW, you TOILIT!”
It’s enough to make you toss your bone up (hurr)
Drink-bidding…. we’ve all done it. Why else would you possess a shaped Milli Vanilli picture disc? Wouldn’t want to get bad feedback, after all…
Kids, let’s be careful out there!
2013 was a bloody awful year for me, a miserable slow-motion car crash that only improved in its dying weeks. At one point in the summer things got so bad that I put my pants on my head. You heard me – I went there.
I tried to cheer myself up by immersing myself in (relatively) modern pop music for the first and indeed last time in years. It kind of worked, while the music played (AT-S). To give a few examples – Alice Russell, Quadron, Rhye, Janelle Monae, Giovanca and Alice Smith all released albums that I very much enjoyed…
However…in the years that followed, there were no proper follow-ups to the above-mentioned albums. It was almost as if these artists had frozen in my basilisk-like gaze.
But now in 2018 the Curse of 2013 appears to have finally been lifted. Janelle was the first to break ranks, predictably.
And now we have a new Rhye album – as shimmeringly perfect- or rather perfected – as it’s predecessor, if slower to reveal its charms. There’s another monochrome picture of, er, a “person” on the cover, and the same wispy minimalist chic-soul which is at once blank and deeply wounded, » Continue Reading.
Method: book a hip-hop headliner and other rock-bloke threatening acts eg Wolf Alice (ewww! girls!)
Result: lots of free publicity, and people are talking about the Reading & Leeds festival for the first time since about 2002. Job done!
Perhaps Cropready should announce a set from Skrillex next time.
I note with interest, if not horror, that the BBC has commissioned a radio play on the making of Blackstar starring the Mike Yarwood de nos jours, Jon Culshaw.
Given the the quite preternatural terribleness of BBC radio drama, and even allowing for the fact that the agreeable Culshaw isn’t playing it for laughs, what are our expectations? And is this to be part of a trend?
Can we expect Phil Cornwell and John Sessions to reunite for a searing drama about Altamont? Will there be a play about the genesis of the Velvet Underground, with Les Dennis, Bobby Davro and Kate Robbins playing Andy Warhol, Lou Reed and Nico respectively? (With a cameo from Rhod Gilbert as John Cale… come on, it’s a winner)
Before we forget completely because our braincells have been severely depleted by too many Canadian Carrots, let’s put together a list of songs in salute to our fallen comrade. As a sometime drummer in an agreeably befuddled state, marooned in an obscure outpost of the old empire, writing posts that generate bemusement and irritation in equal measure, I feel for you bro. Have these on me.
…I’m so terribly sorry.
Barry Gibb and (bizarrely) Marc Almond also honoured.
I think the honours system is a load of crap, but I love old Richie and this will make him very happy.
….if somebody thinks he can get eight quid (plus postage) for a 7″ of Rat Rappin’.
I’m no historian, but I dig Martin Luther’s groovy hat… and as for that “I have a dream” speech… wow.
My stomach dropped. Legend states that boys noodling on guitars cannot be destroyed. There is no stake, no silver bullet, no suggestion of a more fun activity that can deter them. For, once a boy is possessed by the desire to noodle, he transforms into a heinous creature—a Frontman who jams and, on the worst of nights, records it all on his iPhone.
….then he starts coming out with “fun facts” about the Beatles.