Musings on the byways of popular culture
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…in which our hero displays a hitherto unsuspected talent for Cockney hoofing.
This popped up on Twitter yesterday, and I thought I’d bring some innocent merriment into your dreary lives in honour of Blue Monday, apparently the most depressing day of the year – a perfect day for the Maybot to present a Plan B that bears an uncanny resemblance to Plan A.
The entire movie is available to stream on Amazon Prime. Caution: may be subject to the law of diminishing returns.
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Feels important to let everybody know that Mr thep headed south to, among other things, beard (er…) Mr Wells in his lair. He met the completely charming Mrs Wells, Mr Wells’s legendary music collection, and Mr Wells’s collection of unfeasibly large barbecue tongs (barbie not pictured). Lunch was taken, including fresh not-fucked-up-on-the-barbie-by-Mr-thep whiting, and drink. Speakers were dragged into the back yard, and a good time was had by all, after which Mr thep got on the plane, still smelling faintly of fish.
If you’ve never been driven round Melbourne by Junior Wells while listening to Junior Wells on the car stereo, you haven’t lived.
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If like Mr & Mrs thep you were hard up in the 90s, chances are you took out a bank loan or remortgage to try and put things right. Chances are, unless you were less whimperingly grateful than we were, you were mis-sold PPI.
So far, so obvious. I’ve been watching all the ads from people hoping to help you reclaim the hard-earned while hoping to seize a chunk for themselves, but thought the bank (Lloyds in my case) would try to wriggle out of it somehow. Then one day I thought what the hell and got in touch with Lloyds.
Next thing that happened was the arrival of a huge sheaf of forms asking for information I had no hope of finding. So that’s that, I thought.
Next thing, a cheery bloke from Lloyds rings up. We haven’t had your forms back, he said. I told him why. Everybody says that, he said, and proceeded to walk me through some simple questions: address of relevant property, rough time scale (mid-90s was enough) and so on. It was obvious from the way he was talking that I had a case: ‘So I expect you did this, or that, didn’t you’ » Continue Reading.
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So I bought tickets ages ago for what promises to be a splendid theatrical show featuring the wonderful Karine Polwart and her beautiful songs.
Inevitably we are now not double- but treble-booked on that night…Stables aren’t interested in swapping the tickets for another night, so I’ve bought 2 more for the Friday night. Have a look at the links and PM me if you’re interested in going on the Saturday. With add-ons tickets are about £30 each. Not looking for face value, but a contribution to the destitute publishers’ whisky fund is always welcome.
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Harsh but fair.
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I have been asked to let you know that the Spooky Men are doing a short tour over there – I think they’re afraid nobody has heard of them. Of particular interest to @nickduvet and @black-celebration (I hope): St Matthew in the City, Auckland this coming Saturday. A splendid time is guaranteed for all.
The rest of you: as you were.
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…With sitcom characters. Hours of innocent fun…I’m sure some of our more Photoshoppy chums can add to these…
https://twitter.com/hashtag/ReplaceTheHeadsOfMusiciansOnAlbumCoversWithSitcomCharacters?src=hash
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This isn’t really a review, more of a heads up – I’ve only watched a few episodes, but I’m in for the long haul. It’s amazing.
We’re in Berlin during the dying days of the Weimar Republic. Our hero is a cop and WW1 veteran plagued by flashbacks and survivor guilt who keeps himself going on morphine. Our heroine is a sparky young woman who works as a police typist/plucky girl detective, with a little light hooking on the side to make ends meet, so to speak. (She’s the one in the front of the audience in the clip.) Ranged against them are sinister proto-Nazis gearing up to Make Germany Great Again, communist revolutionaries (helpfully identified by their Jeremy Corbyn caps), sinister Balkan gangsters – and of course their fellow cops whose motives are not always clear. It’s a glorious high-concept and high-production-value soup of politics, sex and violence, and I’m enjoying it hugely.
16 episodes on Netflix here in Oz (hurrah!), and Sky in Germany and the UK (boo!).
Not least among its pleasures is the music, which nods towards the period without being obsessive about it. A dead ringer for Buddy Guy plays raucous electric blues in » Continue Reading.
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Wisden Cricket Monthly has reappeared after a 14-year hiatus – 3 issues so far. Excellent reading for those that way inclined – good writers, plenty of archive material and of course loads of meat for the Stattos among us.
Best of all, they’ve all popped up on Readly, which is how I know about it. The mag costs 5 of your British pounds in the shops, so that’s half your monthly sub right there. Then there’s also The Nightwatchman, Wisden’s Granta-style quarterly, where you’ll find the likes of Simon Barnes expounding at some length. That’s a tenner a pop. As I keep saying, I don’t understand the economics of all this, but who cares?
Here’s a top leg-break to get you in the mood. That’s all.
https://youtu.be/_kegK6WSdCM
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It has been suggest that this zinger from the Orange One (though probably not written by him) would make the perfect first line for a short story.
Over to you. I’m sure the hive mind can come up with something.
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Anybody come across Walter Martin before? Very droll and goofy, and gives a slight impression of making it up as he goes along. School of Jonathan Richman, I guess. His first number, I Went Along on a Solo Australian Tour, is helped along by a barbershop quartet, naturally. He’s a former member of the Walkmen, who have passed me by, I have to say.
Give him a burl, as they say round here.
https://www.npr.org/event/music/567226768/walter-martin-tiny-desk-concert
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Venue:
The Northern Steamship Company, Quay St, Auckland
Date: 13/11/2017
Personnel: this was pretty much a scratch outfit, four expats who happened to be in the right place at the right time. Any fears that they might not gel were dispelled right away by a riff on a shared favourite album which came to no real conclusion but segued into a rollcall of favourite Afterword keywords: Bowie, Zappa, drummers, Stones, Depeche Mode, Stevie Wonder, H P Saucecraft, various aspects of politics, life stories, living in ANZ, and plenty of other things I can’t remember. Drink was taken, toasts were made, and bollocks was talked non-stop for about four hours.
[Interlude] Two nights earlier Nick and I found ourselves in a funky if hard-to-find basement on the edge of the Red Light District (allegedly) listening to a series of piano players doing their thing. Highlights included a young girl with the face of an angel playing Monk, a young Frenchman playing Mernk, and another young chap with a full range of blues faces playing an astonishingly difficult Scriabin piano sonata from memory. The main attraction though was none other than Mousey, playing selections from his Abbey Road album and chatting » Continue Reading.
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Saw this last night, knowing nothing about it and without any great expectations, but I really enjoyed it. It’s a romcom written and directed by none other than WA resident Ben Elton, with a great script, lots of laughs and a great cast, including Deborah Mailman, Michael Caton, John Waters, Magda Szubanski, and Rebecca Breeds, an actress I guarantee you’ll fall in love with (even if you’re a woman, if Mrs thep is any guide).
The trailer inevitably plays up the feelgood element, but but the movie’s got quite an edge to it too. It was a great couple of hours. Bonus: it’s got theremin playing in it!
Chances of it making it to Blighty are pretty slim, probably… but you never know.
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Folk who like to read and review stuff ahead of publication might be interested in this just-launched site.
Once you’ve signed up (and constructed a not-too-obviously-bogus persona for yourself) you can request proofs (ie ebooks) from a whole range of publishers including Bloomsbury, Penguin, PanMacmillan, Fourth Estate, Granta, Canongate etc etc. You have to be approved by the publisher whose book you’ve requested, and you have to say where you’re going to post a review, but I would have thought several hundred committed book-buyers on the Afterword would constitute a fairly convincing demographic.
So give it a go if you fancy it.
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A recent thread (can’t remember if it was the cheese one or the unfashionable artists one) got me thinking about Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, and how they had this glorious disco second coming in the 70s (see also: Bee Gees). Poking around in their back catalogue on Spotify, I came across their 1969 concept album, The Genuine Imitation Life Gazette, a wildly ambitious and personal (and stupendously uncommercial, I should think) take on US life and politics of the time.
It wouldn’t be true to say that they’d gone psychedelic, more that their careers were on the skids, they were chafing under the restrictions of their own history, and they’d taken advantage of the new creative and artistic freedoms that the psychedelic era made possible. The music itself is more in the neighbourhood of MacArthur Park and other Jimmy Webb epics, with a bit of Van Dyke Parks thrown in – and of course the occasional sitar or wah-wah pedal. Have a listen to the title track (complete with Hey Jude quotes) and you’ll see what I mean.
This got me wondering if any other pop stalwarts from the early 60s had taken a similar route. Turns out » Continue Reading.
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I’m no great fan of jazz flute, and Herbie Mann would be right down the bottom of my list of favourite jazz flootlists. He made far too many albums – 42 in the 1960s alone – and plodded down far too many blind alleys, including getting down with ver kids.
But this, which turned up in my Spotify Discover playlist, is beyond appalling, and I felt i had to share. It starts off pleasantly enough – nice guitar by Larry Coryell in the background – but then degenerates into a dreadful noodlefest completely devoid of ideas and inspiration. And it goes on for ever, until it subsides into pleasant enough again.
It was Hunter S. Thompson’s campaign choon when he ran for Sheriff in 1970. No wonder he didn’t win.
Anybody agree/disagree?
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Beatles socks. “…the limited edition collection is an everyday reminder that all you need is love.”
Riiight…
As an example of the higher bullshit this would be hard to beat, surely?
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…and hobbits, interestingly enough. These and many more come from a list of names for ghosts, fairies etc collected by a C19 antiquarian. It seems pretty likely that Tolkien would have read the list, being something of an antiquarian himself.
Anyhow, I’m sure our lives would be enriched if we used these words as often as possible. Can we think of anybody who could be described as a chittifaced clabbernapper?
You can read more on Denham Tracts on Wikipedia, and also find a link to complete texts.
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All this talk of bangers* has got me wondering (and because I happen to have bought some of mine this morning). (And because I’m in a frivolous devil-may-care mood.)
My favourites are the Italian fennel sausages from Pennisi, Balaclava St, Woolloongabba (beat that for cultural diversity). Thick, meaty and no extraneous nonsense just like a good sausage should be (quiet at the back), and tasting delicately of fennel. You have to butterfly them for the barbie because if you don’t the outside is incinerated before they’re cooked in the middle. But boy, are they good.
What’s yours? Just to get you in the mood here’s an oo-er-missus song for you.
*Mysterious cultural divergence footnote: in Oz bangers are called snags.
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…should you happen to have a couple of long spoons with which to sup.
The Telegraph are offering a year’s membership of Amazon Prime, worth £79, if you take out a year’s sub for £100.
If only it was the Grauniad. But I’m putting this out there as a public service anyway.
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…he had a more modern colour range…” Yeah, Jonathan!
It must be, ooh, ten minutes since we had a “whatother” thread. This prize track from the droll faux-naif minstrel popped up today, and it got me wondering: what other rekkids reference artists? There are two blindingly obvious examples of course, and there will be a QI klaxon for whoever posts them.
Lesbeeavinyew!
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Not unexpected, but still…
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I’ve got a big birthday coming up soon, and Mrs thep, who is a woman of great empathy as well as taste, has hinted that she’s thinking of buying me another Sonos Play:5 so that we’ll have a stereo pair. (She loves the one we’ve already got so much that I suspect this embarrassingly generous gesture is not entirely disinterested, but never mind.)
Has anybody got experience of what happens when you put two Sonoses (Sonoi?) together? Is it aural heaven, or is the difference not particularly obvious? The one we’ve got sounds so impressive that I find it hard to believe that it isn’t already pumping it out in stereo, and they cost an awful lot…
But in anticipation of all this hifi goodness I’ve been fooling around with a month’s free trial of Tidal’s hifi streaming, which claims to be CD quality, but costs twice as much as Spotify. Certainly the remastered Sgt Pepper sounds very impressive, with Sir Thumbsaloft’s bass positively leaping out, but then I thought it sounded pretty good on Spotify too. If you try direct track-for-track comparison Tidal often sounds subjectively ‘better’, but not always, and I was always perfectly happy when I listened » Continue Reading.
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Nobody needs reminding of this, shirley. But I just spent a happy half hour at this link which I stumbled on in the course of my, er, researches, and thought I would share. Quite apart from the music, has there ever been a more sustained stretch of graphic design brilliance than the 50s/60s Blue Note covers?* Discuss.
Here’s a very early example.
*Not just Blue Note either, plenty of other great stuff.
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The superstar popstrel played two sold-out gigs at the Gabba at the weekend (we could hear her from 10k away). That’s 120,000 people – the population of Winchester, roughly. Two gigs each in Sydney and Melbourne, one in Adelaide and three in Auckland to come, presumably also sold out. Add in the one she’s already done in Perth, and you have to figure that she will have sold well over half a million tickets on this one tour.
Why? What is it about her that makes her so yuuuge? I listened to her stuff for about an hour this morning before I’d had enough, and I’m none the wiser. She seems like a nice woman, and she obviously has a talent for making her fans feel that she’s her mate. Her voice is ok, but doesn’t seem to bring anything to the party that Annie Lennox didn’t. Her songs, those I’ve listened to anyway, are all cut from the same mould – arpeggios, bit of quiet then a bit of bellowing (can belto not bel canto as our choir leader says), then back to quiet. I was surprised to discover she didn’t win X-Factor or Britain’s Got Talent, because she » Continue Reading.
