Cometh the Edit function.
Joy to all mankind!
Bunting! Streamers! Cucumber sarnies! Flags! Trumpets! Cherubim & Seraphim!
I was going to make some late-to-the-party comments on this subject to the DIY thread but there are now so many nested comments on the part of the thread that I wanted to get stuck into, that no more comments are possible. This is not a complaint about that. It just struck me that for certain generations in certain parts of the world, music assumed a huge significance and now appears to be less important to the great mass of humanity than it did in the last 3/4 of the 20th century, from when it first became industrialised to when the wheels started falling off the music industry juggernaut. Prior to this it was something ordinary people enjoyed without thinking much about it. There were 1) a few hardy souls who took a precarious living from making it, with varying degrees of success and 2) some practitioners who made it for their own and their friends and neighbours’ pleasure while making their livings in other spheres. And that was about it, really.
Currently in the sphere of music there are 1) practitioners like those I’ve just mentioned 2) a dwindling coterie of “music stars” who still do very well financially » Continue Reading.
Here I am, sitting in the Sports Bar of a swish golf club, looking out on a sunlit evening. In the far distance I can see the Arran Islands, and in the foreground some stalwart souls are finishing their rounds at the eighteenth. We are staying at the nineteenth a while longer, having feasted on chicken linguine awash with garlic and accompanied by a pint of the dark stuff. Desserts to follow shortly. At 9 this morning we snorkelled with seals in a little sandy bay we know, and tomorrow we will drive and walk to a 6 mile sandy beach that will be deserted but for the two of us and our faithful Jack Russells. Alcock and Brown ditched a few miles from where we sit, happy to have landed on Ireland’s sainted soil. We feel the same whenever we come back here. May your Guinness never run dry and may your wetsuits never fill with sand. Happy thoughts to all. What about your August? How’s it going?
We live in troubled times. Money is tight, TV is crap, idiocy and nastiness are on the increase, hell has set the SatNav on our handcart and just needs us to press GO.
Let’s be gratuitous out there!
The accelerating conversion of Turkey into an embryonic caliphate, driven by politicians emboldened by their ability to claim to be democrats, is one reason why their entrance into the EU was expected by many observers to be unlikely any time soon.
Have we just seen the last chance that this slide might be reversed in our lifetimes lost in one poorly organised coup? Is that it? Is Turkey the next Syria? Why is it possible to witness these events with a sickening sense of inevitability? How long has Erdogan got before someone lights the touchpaper with a bullet or a bomb?
There must be Afterworders here who know far more than I about the mood on the streets in Turkey; informed insight would be welcome.
Not sure if anyone else has linked this, but I found this an interesting read, and you might too.
Well done, South Yorkshire, how much did that cost, you divs?
Every time I walk past my @pencilsqueezer my heart gives a little song of joy. Here’s a little in return.
I could do with north of 100 grand, so a) you’ll have to come round to Foxy Towers and lamp me as well, and b) you’ll have to be a well-heeled TV presenter and journalist who was employed by a broadcasting corporation that can chip in to fund the settlement when I sue you for assault and racial discrimination.
Once the swelling’s gone down it’s easy money I reckon.
*drives off sharpish in fast car*
Nerr, nerr-nerr-nerrnuh, nerr, nerr-nerr-nerrnuh! The eighth of May! The eighth of May!
Lest we forget, let’s hear it one more time for the elemental Mr. K.
Earlier this spring Swedish TV was airing a Danish series where ordinary people got up on stage to read excerpts from their teenage diaries in front of highly amused audiences. Very entertaining, thanks to the typical teenage traits of exagerrated emotions (boundless enthusiasm, wild despair), obsessions with particular topics (and people) and, not least, style-, word- and punctuation choices. It got me looking for my own teenage diaries. I didn’t find all of them (not lost forever, just very thoroughly stored away somwhere), but what I did find amused me quite a bit. I had the tendency to only write when I’d had “fun” – mostly meaning getting hammered – so going by that evidence I look like a teen drunk. I didn’t write that often though…but my enthusiasm over these drunken antics are, of course, boundless…
So, why don’t we all get up on stage and read some excerpts of our teenage ramblings to each other? I think it could raise a few chuckles, and either a wave of nostalgia or a feeling of “Thank god that’s over!” Of course, I had to translate mine into English, but I kept the odd punctuation etc. I just picked the first » Continue Reading.
Heads up, VanFans; I’ve just noticed that the dodgers are now taking pre-orders. Four discs worth of Vansome Splendiferousness. Delivery on June 10th apparently. £55 quid at the mo’, which is pretty steep, but then I’m a sucker for this one, so the dogs are going hungry to pay for it.
Oh look, the creationist nut-job has fallen by the wayside, but the Trump kid’s still on his feet, God help us. The Abrahamic religions are busily annihilating each other over in the Middle East, and on the global front the accountancy Mafia are still quietly running everything. Up on the big screen, centre stage chez-nous, charmer George and moon-faced Dave are gleefully running our gaff into the offshore ground while dozy old Jeremy’s apparently asleep at the wheel. Ho-ho! There are elections tomorrow in the UK but nobody seems to give a flying one any more. The environment is a toxic disaster area, the oceans are warming and we are one El Nino away from agricultural Armageddon. But fear not, never mind, cheer up everyone, it won’t be long until the next series of Strictly starts, and in the meantime we can all argue about the merits of the EU. What joy we have brought to the twenty-first century, what with our Enlightenment, our Renaissance, our Quantum Physics and all that sort of stuff. How clever we are. Personally, I’ve had ENOUGH of all this crap and I’m mad as hell.
This is an official AC-12 Line Of Duty whinge. On the table is the evidence: Season 3 Episode 6.
SPOILER ALERT – look away now, step away from this posting if you still haven’t seen the finale.
I’ve enjoyed a lot of Line Of Duty. It’s been top flight stuff, and the character development in this latest “season” had produced a great villain, brilliantly played.
Oh, but what had they been sniffing when the plot development meeting and script conference for the dénouement took place? A line of something perhaps, but it didn’t feel like they’d done their duty to the series.
I watched the feature length ending with utter disbelief. Had I been fooled into expecting something much better? Did you see this ham-fisted nonsense approaching in a black Volvo emerging from a cloud of tyre smoke with the blues & twos on full chat? Was I asleep and dreamed it all?
Am I the only one to feel let down by the series?
I know there are some EITS fans on here, in fact I know some are going to be at the Bristol gig on Saturday. Needless to say, I’ll be there too. What’s buggin’ me is the fact that I ordered a copy of their new one, “Wilderness”, around a month ago, from the dodgers, but it still hasn’t arrived. Every day I get the “sorry, it’s been delayed” email, and nothing EITS-shaped drops into the mail box. Has anyone here received their copy from the same source? What gives? Should I cancel and re-order, or, as seems most likely now, accept that I’ll hear most of the new ones for the first time when they play them live on Saturday? Pick up the album from the merch table instead, maybe.
Gosh, these first-world problems really test one.
PS there’s a spare ticket going free for any Afterworder who can bear to sit next to me, my gig-buddy has bailed.
Just watched Tom’s fifties reminiscence on the Beeb. Outstanding telly. Hope he is coping this week. That is all.
Eighteen months had passed since the majestical magnificence of Blonde on Blonde. In those long-gone innocent days we knew nothing about a motorcycle accident, nothing about Woodstock or The Big Pink, nothing about Sarah and kids: all we had from Bob was the Sound of Silence. To put that in perspective, during that time The Beatles released Revolver and Sergeant Pepper.
Then seemingly out of nowhere came John Wesley Harding. The shock was seismic – where was the snarling and sneering delivery, the ethereal wild-mercury sound, the mystical and poetic lyrics? We played JWH on non-stop rotation and gradually convinced ourselves this was a return to roots, a rejection of pop’s wilder excesses. Never mind that Bob’s voice seemed to have changed (I had some friends who seriously thought Bob had died and that this was some imposter put in place by Columbia in order to keep the revenue stream going) and never mind that tracks like Frankie Lee and Down Along the Cove seemed childlike in comparison to Visions of Johanna and Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands. All Along the Watchtower and I Dreamed I Saw St Augustine were proper Dylan songs and that was plenty good enough.
I’ve got a couple of tickets for the Colston Hall gig – and it looks like one of those might be looking for a new owner if anyone’s interested, as my intended gig-buddy has decided to f*ck off to Vienna that weekend – are there any other Afterworders who would like the spare, and indeed are there any others going to the gig who fancy a pint beforehand?
I’m not sure who to vote for, so I’m hoping my local council will send everyone a leaflet telling me who to support.
Isn’t democracy wonderful?
What’s that you say? Dogs? It’s just for dogs. Oh bugger.
Probably not news to those who subscribe, but an interesting interview with Todd Rundgren on WTF last week. Has his potted version of the XTC production story, production in general (incl. Bat Out of Hell), and even name-checks Mahavishnu Orchestra (@colin-h).
The Dweezil Zappa episode earlier in the month was pretty good too.
Parent of tantrum-throwing infant complains that nearby shoppers can’t stand the sound of her screeching brat.
Meanwhile, in Syria…..
Now I love ol’ Dave Jones as much as the next man, but while trying to recover from the blow of his artful departure, I’ve been burying myself in the work of another musician who’s also just cashed in his chips: the awesome Dan Hicks.
There must be love for him here – there’s no-one more Afterword, especially now he’s gorn an’ gone. We can all claim we have yards of shelving full of Dan Hicks bootlegs and a special shelf full of signed memorabilia gifted to us in obscure Texan bars by the man himself as we spent a happy evening trying unsuccessfully to gain intimate pleasures with a Lickette. Or two.
This chap is (was) the smirking alter-ego of JJ Cale crossed with the poker-faced subversion of the best Mike Nesmith songs – the ones he never played for those other jokers in the Monkees. He’s the Phil Harris Baloo to John Prine’s Bagheera.
Let’s hear it for your favourite Dan Hicks song. Someone? Surely it’s not just me that’s mournin’ the Dan?
In the (continuing and annoying) absence of the reissue of Diamond Jack & The Queen Of Pain, here’s a blast from around the same time: Kevin Ayers and assorted mates having a lazy blast on a Spanish TV rock show.
Anyone else still hoping that the album will eventually appear? Anyone shed any light on why the HECK it hasn’t appeared? Yeah, yeah I know there’s a lot of discussion and speculation on’t web, even on the KA pages, but there’s no real FACTs out there. Whisky. Tango. Foxtrot.
The plot was hatched on Friday nights in a pub in Islington and nearby café.