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ATM: Is it too late to join a religion?

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Looks like the world’s about to end. I suddenly find my deep faith in atheism is shaken. Can anyone recommend a religion in need of converts, ideally one with a speedy absolution process and access to an afterlife which doesn’t require too much awed worship? No mansion of glory neccessary, no seat at the right hand of God, no handmaidens, I’m not that fussed about all that to be honest, but not coming back here as an ant either. A cockroach, maybe. Ideally somewhere that accepts pets and children please.

Nothing that requires trips to Mecca or Lourdes or getting doused in rivers, we don’t have time for that. Some light prayer requirement and generally being nice to people, not murdering or making false icons, that sort of thing.

Asking on behalf of a world.

Test Cricket, eh?

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Australia choke at home against the West Indies’ B team, with the middle order looking like they were playing in Warner’s benefit match, and England are inching towards overturning a 190-run deficit to make history in India. What a day.

Today is Con-Air day!

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It’s 25 years since time-served parolee Cameron Poe boarded a July 14th flight to freedom with a look of contented bliss on his face, only for it to change to alarm, then fear, then rage, then grim satisfaction, then love, which given that it’s Nic Cage we’re talking about here, are all the same look.

The caged Cage is initially cagey, but his shirt soon comes off and he goes full vest. This was a key plot point in all 90’s action movies – the dirty white vest of the tainted but pure hero. From that Undergarment Reveal on, he makes light work of Malkovich (all-round supervillain), Rhames (black nationalist?) , Danny Trejo (‘Johnny 23″ because he’s raped 23 women, you see) and Buscemi (serial child murderer who HA HA HA escapes at the end).

Is it any good? No of course not, not that we realised that back in 1997. It does have the set piece Willisesque point-of-death lines: “You should have put the bunny back in the box!” “Don’t! Treat! Women! Like! That!” but Nic ain’t Bruce, and you wonder what favour Malkovich owed the producers to put his name anywhere near it.

It’s shocking poor – the » Continue Reading.

David Ford – May You Live in Interesting Times

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What does it sound like?:

Album of the week in both The Times and The Telegraph is some kind of an achievement for a musician who hasn’t had a record contract to speak of for a decade and makes his albums in the shed at the end of his garden, but David Ford’s been round the rock’n’roll merry-go-round too many times to assume this means May You Live in Interesting Times will suddenly rocket his songwriting towards the reward and recognition that he’s been doggedly trying to deny it since chucking in his job at Our Price in Eastbourne and hitting the singer/songwriter trail more than twenty years ago.

From huge record company investment (for zero return) in his early 2000’s band Easyworld, to getting signed to Colombia in the US on the strength of a first solo album (and almost immediately dropped again because Rick Rubin didn’t like the second), from having an award-winning Number One in France via a Johnny Halliday cover, to criss-crossing the States alone for months on end to play to a handful a night, Ford has managed to pay the bills without ever having to get a proper job, and without ever becoming » Continue Reading.

DON’T PANIC

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Incredible. All it took was a Minister to go on TV and tell people it’s only a couple of forecourts that have been temporarily closed, no need to panic buy petrol, and 30 minutes later there’s fighting in the UK streets. I think everyone actually realises there’s no shortage, just a distribution issue, which won’t be an issue if everyone just carries on as normal and doesn’t OI BACK OF THE QUEUE YOU TOSSER! Sorry, as long as everyone doesn’t go all zombie apocalypse and spend all afternoon in a queue revving their engine a foot behind the car in front.

Fill the bunker with Andrex and hunker down, lads!

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-58670792

The memory of heft

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I threw some potato peelings into the dishwasher last night and immediately thought, oh, good evening Dr Alzheimer, I’ve been expecting you. Actually it was more likely a couple of convivial visits from Mr Gordon and Mr Fever Tree that contributed, but that’s not the point.

The dishwasher and the bin are side by side in our kitchen, both behind identical white doors, although one is wider than the other, so not identical at all. Up until last night I had never, as far as I know, trashed the crockery or jet-washed plate scraps, and the reusable/disposable decision-making process has been semi-automatic. Subconscious, really.

So why, having grabbed the wrong handle, and seen, albeit fleetingly, the gleaming racked innards of the dishwasher, did I proceed to fling the skins? The memory of heft, that’s why. My hands and head have a specific approach to each door, memorised and practiced over 10,000 repetitions. For the dishwasher it’s a strongish tug, out and down, which immediately decreases in intensity, forte to pianissimo. There’s even perhaps a slight bend of the knee there, weight on the back foot, a swish of the hips, like a pull shot. Weight distribution, balance, poise, it’s all » Continue Reading.

All Hail Blind Love

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I only fell in love with three older men in the 1990s, and two of them have had babies in the last month.

In the late ‘70s and early ‘80s I might be smitten by any Tom, Dick and Harry who’d been on Top of the Pops that week. Any Paul, Bruce and Rick with their Rickenbackers and skinny ties. Any Joe, Mick and Paul with their cap-sleeve T-shirts and Mohawks, any Robert, Lol and Simon with their eyeliner and sticky-up hair, any David, Mick and Steve with their astonishing beauty and meandering basslines. I even had a last-fling dirty thing going on with those hard-faced Manchester boys Ian, John, Mani and Reni, in the final days before I got married and sobered up.

By the Nineties I’d seen through all that and it was only Neil, Justin and John. And it’s Neil and Justin whose latest spawn I’ve been listening to this month.

Crowded House and Del Amitri; back then you’d struggle to find anything in the six-CD autochanger of my powder blue Alfa Romeo 156 other than the five albums those two produced over those ten years, except for the three that came from my third lover, John » Continue Reading.

Song of the Summer and it’s still only May

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Never mind the excellent lyrics, multi-instrumentalism and singing, this is an amazing piece of sonic choreography – all live and looped. It’s all in the feet, which unfortunately you can’t see.

And a gorgeous summer groove too.

So, Jeremy Corbyn

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One of our most regular topics over the last five years has done his last PMQs. More than likely the next Labour leader will be more centre left. He bumbled and sulked around the place and got beat in elections twice, the second time humiliatingly to the oaf Johnson. He galvanised the youth, but lost the middle-aged, middle-class middle.

But would the country be any different now if he’d got Labour into power?

EVERYBODY PANIC NOW

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There was a guy panic buying toilet rolls in Budgens last night. Budgens! They’re about a quid each, and made from a loose weave of spider webs and spit. With maximum poke-through potential, he’d need to wash his hands with bleach after every crap, if he could find any bleach on the shelves. He’s clearly not worried about food shortages because he’s planning to shit just as much if not more than usual for the next six months.

Meanwhile in Sainsbury’s there’s no pasta. Has it been withdrawn from sales because it’s from Italy? Or are people stuffing their cupboards with low-cost, long-life carbs? Has the penne dropped? Should we panic now?

And signs of mass hysteria near you?

Is the BBC biased?

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In classic ‘get your excuses in early’ style, all sides of the election debate are lining up dear old Auntie as the reason why they’re not going to win. Usually if all parties are disgruntled with the coverage they’re getting you can probably say the broadcaster is doing a good job. But we’ve seem to have gone beyond that and into this weird reality where the fact that all sides are complaining about the BBC means there must be some substance to it.

The problem with conspiracy theories is after a while everything becomes evidence of conspiracy, and evidence that disproves the theory must therefore be… part of the conspiracy.

Here’s three stores from the BBC leaders debate, alleging pro-tory, anti-libdem and anti-tory bias. They’re all from sources which I’m sure we can agree are themselves unashamedly biased.

https://www.thecanary.co/trending/2019/11/23/bbc-news-editing-the-audience-reaction-to-boris-johnson-is-really-not-okay/ https://www.express.co.uk/news/uk/1208396/Brexit-News-General-Election-latest-Jo-Swinson-Liberal-Democrat-BBC-debate https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-7716685/BBC-faces-bias-row-Boris-Johnson-confronted-hostile-audience-Question-Time.html

I’d be interested to know what the venerable members of the AW think

England v Australia

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The Cheats v The Chokers. My heart says England, my head says Australia.

The Hollies Stand (named after the ATIB Hitmakers, obviously) will greet David Warner with all the respect that great ambassador for the game and his country deserves. The M6 is still blocked with sandpaper convoys heading for Edgbaston hardware stores. It’ll all be in good humour and if he plays well, they’ll applaud him for it.

I can’t see myself getting much work done today. This is about cricket, by the way.

Kill Tory Scum

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A band called Killdren have had their slot at Glastonbury cancelled because it’s come to light they have a song called Kill Tory Scum. I’m in two minds about this.

On one hand, I do get exasperated by abuse and violent imagery being used to demonstrated strength of feeling. It’s easier than engaging with facts, but it’s not going to do much bring two sides of a debate together. This case does seem particularly wince-making – it’s hard to imagine any other word – ‘Labour,’ for example – that you could put between ‘kill’ and ‘scum’ and not expect to get shot down.

On the other hand, it’s rock’n’roll. It’s supposed to be big and dumb.There’s a proud history of inarticulate howls of rage to be upheld here. There’s a reason political and philosophical treatise aren’t written in rhyming couplets with a repeating chorus and a shouty coda, and there’s a reason why Bono sounds like a dick when he forgets this. That’s because he’s a dick, but that’s not my point. Even when it’s more considered, popular music has always maintained a vengeful side:

And I hope that you die And your death comes soon And I’ll follow » Continue Reading.

Danny Baker, the racist?

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Our former Word Blog colleague has got himself in a spot of bother. Yesterday he tweeted a photo of a chimpanzee in a suit and captioned it ‘Royal Baby Leaves Hospital’

Interpretations of this seem to fall into two groups: 1. The lifelong Millwall fan is obviously a racist 2. The cheeky chappie man of the people did a racist thing, but isn’t a racist.

Dan threw in a third explanation, which is that he never made the connection between a day-old mixed-race baby and a chimp, because he doesn’t have a ‘diseased mind.’ That’s fair, if you accept that despite being a massive footie fan and pundit, he never realised what all the monkey noises and banana-throwing was about. In a subsequent tweet, he added a couple more theories; 4. it was a joke and 5. I had cancer once, you know.

My guess is, if you liked him before yesterday you’ll still like him now and if you didn’t he’s guilty as sin. And if he doesn’t lose his job he’ll have Spurs to thanks for giving people something else to get excited about. Thoughts, anyone?

Generation Sex

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For chaps of a certain age – a few years younger than the AW regulars I suspect – here’s a curious little thing. Cook, Jones, James and Idol on Tuesday night in LA. All the hits, if you prefer Swindle to Bollocks.

They all got old as did we, but there’s still something about Steve Jones’ supercharged Chuck Berryisms and Cook’s thumping enthusiasm that makes me go a tiny bit trembly.

Unexpected things to get passionate about

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Get me, doing list thread. While cooking tonight’s dinner I’ve been listening, for the first time in over 30 years, to Bauhaus’ Press The Eject and Give Me The Tape. Don’t for goodness’ sake try this at home – it really is the most overwrought goth guff. I can’t imagine what 19-year-old me ever saw in it, with his stupid hair and his stupid coat, and his stupid cheekbones.

Anyway, there’s a song on it called The Spy in The Cab and it’s about, ahem, the ‘all-seeing mechanised eye’ which stops lorry driver exceeding the speed limit and their contracted hours. ‘Automated autonomy,’ apparently. At least I think it is; maybe I’m missing something.

It occurred to me that tachography must be one of the weirdest things anyone’s ever got really cross about in song; but I may be wrong. Are there songs about traffic light sequencing or over-sold extended warranties? I’m sure there are.

David Ford Animal Spirits

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What does it sound like?:

The John Maynard Keynes Blues Explosion? I have to declare an interest here because I’ve known the boy Ford since he was a spotty oik playing third rhythm guitar in my pick-up band in the 90s. This album, his fifth-and-a-half, goes where none has ever gone before, with a fusion of blues rock, Americana and economic treatise. If Robert Johnson had met Adam Smith at that fateful crossroads, and Milton Friedman had showed up with his SG and Marshalls, it’d sound something like this.

It sounds great, actually, courtesy of producer James Brown, not that one, the other one. Like the coolest PPE professor at a provincial university, the one the girls with glasses go for, Ford patiently take us through the last 20 years of unfettered capitalism, pointing out the fallibility of monetary policy over crunching guitars, pinpointing the moment greed went bad over rock-solid riffs. It’s a series of three-minute lectures, but without the polemic you’d expect from most musicians with a political point to make. It’s disappointed dissection rather than diatribe. All very reasonable.

As Rockenomics concept albums go, it perhaps runs out of steam a little, with the big soppy » Continue Reading.

All Things Must Paste

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I love this picture of a billsticker pasting over an advert for Jarrod Dickenson’s Ready the Horses album and looking down to see a somehow familiar face looking up. Such is our allotted 15 minutes; one man’s brush with fame erased by another’s fame with a brush. Or something; that doesn’t quite make sense. Better captions are probably available.

Apparently it’s not a set up, by the way – he was just passing.

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