I’m genuinely not sure what I feel about this and how people are going about expressing their feelings. I’m looking for a steer from you lot.
I felt a little sceptical clicking this on YouTube. But I ended up blubbing.
No gimmicks. Just a hugely moving and uplifting version of a wonderful song.
New album out. May as well. Alphabetical, of course.
After All Aladdin Sane All The Madmen All The Young Dudes Always Crashing In The Same Car Ashes To Ashes The Bewlay Brothers Blackstar Drive-In Saturday Fame Fantastic Voyage Fashion Five Years Golden Years Hallo Spaceboy The Heart’s Filthy Lesson “Heroes” I’m Deranged It’s No Game 1&2 The Jean Genie John, I’m Only Dancing Jump They Say Kooks Lady Grinning Soul Lady Stardust Let’s Dance Life On Mars? Little Wonder The Man Who Sold The World The Motel Moonage Daydream Repetition Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide Queen Bitch Quicksand Slip Away Some Are Sound And Vision Space Oddity Starman Station To Station Stay Sweet Thing/Candidate/Sweet Thing Time Time Will Crawl We Are The Dead Win Where Are We Now Young Americans Ziggy Stardust
Just post a top 10 if you’re not an uberfan. Let’s not have the argument again, though.
Oh dear. Basic stuff.
I admire the passion, but the content is risible. I’m guessing his dad’s bigger than their dad, too.
Come on, Mr Neil, things are much more complex than you care to mention. If you have a platform on national television, you should take your responsibility more seriously. You’ve had a week to get it together.
Anyone watching the new series? My god, the first twenty minutes of ep1 was the craziest piece of TV I’ve seen in ages. I just love how everything gets so fouled up. Fabulously twitchy direction. They sure know how to crank up the tension. “OK, then.”
We’re very keen round these parts to discuss “the greatest year in rock music”, whichever that may be on a particular day according to a particular person.
After reading extensive discussions about Lord Hepworth’s année de choix, I decided to check out 1971 in detail, which led me to compile my own chronology, which I then felt need expansion to encompass a couple of key years on either side. So I have ended up chronicling the half-decade from 1969 – the year the “Sixties” died, in more ways than one – to 1973, when Pink Floyd finally arrived on the Dark Side and Bowie killed Ziggy.
In the process of so doing, it became apparent that this was indeed a tumultuous period in the development of rock, pop and soul – even, perhaps, THE most tumultuous. The rise of Led Zeppelin to juggernaut status; the transmogrification of the post-Jones Stones; the redistribution of Cream’s constituent elements; the emergence of the solo singer-songwriter as a real force in popular music; not to mention the prolonged and painful dissolution of The Beatles and the reappearance of Dylan…
Moreover, I had the amazing realisation that many significant events which we normally view as » Continue Reading.
Rupert Murdoch + Jerry Hall. Yes, apparently. 84+59. Once you’ve seen the mental picture, you can’t unsee it.
My wife kindly bought tickets for us both to see “The Importance Of Being Earnest”. David Suchet as Lady Bracknell, beamed live to local theatres all over the country from the Vaudeville in the West End. Our auditorium, in our small town in Surrey, was packed to the gills, mostly with over-65s.
We arrived with minutes to spare, but I still found time to pop to the bar and order a couple of large gin and tonics – plastic glasses, of course, you know how rowdy pensioners can get. The young woman who served me asked if I would like a loyalty card. I’d noticed on the way in that next week they were showing the Cumberbatch “Hamlet”. So I said, “Oh, we don’t really come here regularly, but I think we might try the…” Now this is went it all went wrong. I can’t vouch for the precise form of syllables; however, in attempting to say “the Benedict Cumberbatch Hamlet”, I said something like “the Benecunt Hamberditch…” The c*** syllable certainly featured and the rest was garbage. I lamely added “Hamlet thing” and slunk away with my drinks.
At the interval, I braved the bar again. This time it » Continue Reading.
Bush Hall, London
This was like falling asleep and waking up inside her wonderful 2015 album “On Your Own Love Again”. With a broad sweep of red velvet curtain as a backdrop, there was a Lynchian dreamlike quality to the set-up which suited Jessica’s uniquely mannered vocal and guitar-picking style to a tee.
Entrancing is perhaps the word most often used to describe her music. Indeed, the spell woven by her songs in this live framework proved even more hypnotic than the studio recording. Opening the evening with the haunting “Wrong Hand”, Miss Pratt never hurried her performance. The softly swirling “Moon Dude” had an even slower lilt than on the album.
“Strange Melody”, “Back, Baby” [which included an impromptu audience rendition of the opening line, “Sometimes I pray for the rain”] and “I’ve Got a Feeling” combined to bring the regular set to a marginally more uptempo close before “Titles Under Pressure”, from her debut album, and a new number [I think], “Fortuna”, formed an understated encore.
Jessica was charmingly tangible throughout, asking the desk if they could fix her reverb glitch and telling her audience she felt a little ill, offering her » Continue Reading.
Our national sperm bank has just nine donors. And I don’t even know who they are. And it’s in Birmingham. You don’t need me to spell out the implications.
Royal Opera House, Covent Garden
Anyone who knows the Folds canon would have been hoping for a cocksure volley of nerd/genius chamber pop but fearing a piano concerto. Their hopes were fulfilled, their fears tempered by a pair of mesmering tours de force from the six-piece [string trio, wind trio] ensemble yMusic, who as well as opening each half also backed the main man.
Of course he’s a slightly arrogant shit. We know, he knows. But he’s also a four-eyed, mop-headed short-arse crammed to bursting with a talent for classy tunes and sassy tales, plus an impressive array of skills on the keys. If you’ve listened to his records and found that the plink-plonk grows wearisome after a few songs, you should know that the live setting is the proper way to consume his stuff. His voice, which can sound a little flat [in the dull sense, not the “off” sense] on the studio material, is really quite wonderful in the, er… flesh. And the addition of viola, cello, French horn, sax, flute etc brings a further dimension.
Folds used this night to show off a rack of new ditties in a promising trailer for his » Continue Reading.
My top five are:
 Daffy Duck [b] A fried egg  “Posthumously”  Isaac Newton  Close-up magic  July 3, 1973
Oh, this is so hard. It’ll probably be different in an hour’s time.
I was browsing the magazines in a supermarket today and saw another one of those £9.99 genre bookazine/magbook things – “100 Greatest Sci-Fi Characters Of All Time”. Nice idea, I thought, but I was a little dismayed by the upper reaches of the top 10 – Batman not even in there, Doctor Who only number two behind – WTF – Han Solo?!?! Get out the front door!! I just don’t understand that.
Anyway, it got me thinking – wouldn’t it be marvellous to ask you lot for your greatest fictional characters ever, no specific genre, no specific medium. Give me your top five and if there’s a big enough response I’ll compile a top 20 or top fifty or, heaven forfend, a top 100. There’s literally millions to choose from – see my tags for a little taster.
Go on, you know you want to.
Sorry to get all “Just Seventeen” on your arses, but what is your least favourite bit of your own body? [Or maybe you consider yourself to be a perfect specimen.]
Me, I really don’t like my arms. They’re pale and not very manly. I longed for brown, muscular arms when I was a teenager, but I could never seem to beef them up and every time I tried to get a tan they just went red and peeled. So I covered them up and they’ve been covered up ever since.
I have very good legs, though.
How about you?
I’m in a hurry, so combining three bits of entertainment news.
Uncle Val has died, aged 88. Big part of my childhood. Paddy McGinty’s Goat, etc.
There’s a new Bowie box set out in September covering the Ziggy era. Little in it for hardcore fans.
Albarn’s new project is a musical Alice for the digital age, called Wonder.land.
End of announcements.
It’s quite heartbreaking to watch the public decline of a childhood icon. I saw him on “Celebrity Pointless” with Peter Purves a while ago and it was clear something was wrong. Now this.
Wishing him well.
I’ve had a stressful year so far, a stressful couple of weeks and a particularly stressful morning.
When I am stressed, I find this song chills me out. It’s so beautiful, it brings tears to my eyes.
Call me a girl, I don’t care. I’m not stressed any more.
I don’t want to hear from car drivers about how annoying cyclists are or from cyclists about how annoying car drivers are or from car drivers about how annoying other car drivers are who hog the middle lane, or drive too close up your arse, etc. We’ve done all that before and we know where we stand.
I’ve got a couple of new ones.
[a] Those pricks on motorcycles who look like they’re Biker-Bill until they get up close and you see that their high-vis vest actually says “POLITE” and not “POLICE”. Surely they should be done for trying to impersonate an Officer of the Lerr.
[b] These new Lidl supermarkets that have about 20 spaces in their car parks when they need about 100, causing lines of waiting vehicles on access roads and consequent delays to through traffic. I blame the local authority for giving them planning permission.
You have any current motoring gripes?
Oh yeah. [c] The Kingston F***ing Bypass.
Anyone see that Women’s World Cup match? Crikey, the ladies’ game is still a little tame, from what I’ve seen so far [haven’t watched Germany, I have to admit].
Cracking second England goal from Lucy Bronze, though [ace name too].
For services to charity and comedy.
I expect a lively debate.
Sad news. Likeable, sociable, capable, but dogged by demons. Compared with many politicians he seemed [to borrow a much puzzled-over pop lyric] human rather than dancer.
So, the Mitchell Corens have called their new daughter Barbara Elizabeth June. I don’t imagine any of those are in the current top 100. But somehow fitting for that quirky couple.
If you were having a child in the Sixties or Seventies right now, what name would you choose?
I know you lot don’t really care. To be honest, I’m not that funked myself. But I was bored. So I got to thinking: How do we win this thing, assuming we want to?
I reckon… Get Matt Bellamy to write the song – big, hooky, cheesy, obvious, dramatic, his stock in trade. Get Mark Ronson to produce it – he can turn stuff into gold, and he’s got some cool mates. Get Adele and Tinie Tempah to sing it, with manipulated ghost backing vocals from Amy Winehouse.
I’m half serious, oh yes.
When I hear Morrissey’s voice, whatever the song may be, it is only a matter of time before one particular lyric is rattling round my head.
“I would go out tonight, but I haven’t got a stitch to wear.” I think that line encapsulates what he is all about more than any other [although “I am human and I need to be loved” has a fair shout] and indeed what that era was all about.
Similarly, Bowie’s “Ziggy played guitar, jamming good with Weird and Gilly”: the artist and his time, in a few words.
I think of them as lyrical signatures. Does anyone do this for you?
Year: 2014 Director: Nickolas Rossi
This beautifully compiled montage of landscapes, portraits, new interviews and archive footage is a tribute to the late Elliott Smith – a celebration of, rather than an investigation into, his life and times in Dallas, Portland, New York and Los Angeles.
The focus is far more on his development as an exceptional musical artist than on his decline as a person. Drug abuse figured relatively late in Smith’s career, but when it did it took him to the brink of despair. He pulled back a couple of times, only to die in October 2003 from stab wounds to the chest – suspected to be self-inflicted, but left open to doubt by the coroner’s report.
Nickolas Rossi’s film doesn’t probe beyond this speculation but simply charts Elliott’s long, slow rise to recognition – peaking at the 1998 Oscars ceremony with a white-suited performance of “Miss Misery”, which had closed Gus Van Sant’s “Good Will Hunting” – and subsequent capitulation to his demons.
This movie has plenty for the fans in the way of music, images and opinions they will probably not have heard or seen before, along with heartfelt remembrances from family, friends » Continue Reading.