Once Bertie is tucked up in his crate-bed, Millie goes downstairs, out through the catflap, to do what cats do.
On Thursday night, the same night Bertie had rolled in cow poo, I woke suddenly to hear Louise screaming hysterically. I thought perhaps an axe murderer. Sadly not.
Millie had returned from her night time patrols and brought a blackbird with her, in through the catflap, depositing it on the landing at the top of the stairs. The blackbird was still alive, but clearly terrified, which would explain why it then defecated all over the landing carpet.
Louise, having seen something moving in the darkness, was convinced it must be a rat... hence the screams. Fortunately I was able to rescue the blackbird and put it out the bathroom window. It flew away from the madhouse that is Top Ten Towers, vowing never to return.
There are certain artists whose work I will buy sight unseen. Or do I mean "hear unheard"? They've got a new record out? I must have it now. I know there will be enough in there to tick the boxes on my musical appreciation scale whether the cognoscenti or the reviewers or the zeitgeist agrees with me or not. Of course, they won't all be winners (I point you towards Bruce's soul covers album of last year), but I still want them on the shelf.
Here are the Must Have records I bought Hear Unheard this year...
Lloyd Cole - On Pain
I wrote about Lloyd's new album after seeing him play live for the umpteenth time at the end of October. I don't have much to add to that review. It is still on rotation and most of the songs have wormed their way into my good graces, but I'd still prefer it if he got over this 80s electronica phase and went back to making nice safe guitar music. Lyrically though, he's still got it. As the album's opening lines ably demonstrate...
I can't be trusted with your money Look what I did Every time that you gave it to me I can't be trusted with your secrets Look what I did Every time that you gave them to me
Brett and Rennie Sparks returned with their first album of Gothic Americana in seven years. It's not as immediate as their earlier stuff - age brings a kind of contemplative wisdom to their songwriting, I guess - but it rewards the effort if you're willing to give it time.
Another band I've been following faithfully since the early noughties is Craig Finn's The Hold Steady. Finn has a pretty steady work ethic at the moment, alternating Hold Steady releases with his solo albums... although I have to confess, I'm starting to prefer the latter. The Price Of Progress is the band's ninth album, and it's a good listen, but not quite as good as A Legacy of Rentals, last year's Top 3 offering from Finn on his own.
Lukas Nelson & The Promise Of The Real - Sticks & Stones
One artist who's only entered my Reliable Purchase list over the last couple of years is Willie's boy, Lukas Nelson. He's incredibly prolific - this is his 8th album in 13 years - and pretty much sticks to a formula of hard luck, heartbroken country with much time spent drowning his sorrows in booze, but if you like that kind of thing, he rarely puts a foot wrong.
A late entry, but one I've no doubt I'll be listening to well into the New Year. Following on from her excellent Olivia Newton John covers record of 2018, Juliana picks another top 70s/80s artist to reinvent. (We'll skip over her Police covers record, for reasons to do with the manufacturing of silk purses from bovine ears.) Actually, "reinvent" is probably taking it a bit far, as these are pretty faithful to the originals, but she doesn't choose the obvious tracks (apart from Don't Bring Me Down) and the result is the best kind of aural comfort food.
It takes quite an effort to become an Old Faithful after only one album, but Hamish Hawk went to the top of the class following his 2021 LP Heavy Elevator. I've been salivating with expectation for the follow-up, and it may well be that I set my expectations too high (something I'll discuss again in this year's Top Ten). Angel Numbers is a great album despite my unrealistic hopes of stadium-conquering crossover glory... but there's still time, Hamish.
Wherе's my limelight? If I'm to nurse the fеver I carry inside I'll starve, I will not stifle my appetite
It's nigh-on high time I can barely make out the mountain no-one taught me to climb And frightened allies take swipes at my sides
While America prepares to re-elect the riot-inciting, bleach-advocating man baby (not that we can talk, considering they brought Cameron back), here are fifteen songs that mention a former POTUS in the title. But before we get to that... here's Poet Laureate Simon Armitage giving his verdict on the Trump regime...
I find it hard to believe that hundreds of songs have not been written about Olivia Newton-John. Anyone who was a teenager in the late 70s and became a pop star in the 80s should have written a tribute. The boys because they were in love with her, the girls because she was such a powerful role model.
For example, Juliana Hatfield recorded an entire album of Olivia covers. And it was a truly great record...
Olivia was also occasionally saddled with the "hilarious" nickname Olivia Neutron-Bomb. A nickname that inspired both a professional pillow fighter (thanks, the internet), a musical artist who needs a better publicist as I can't find any information about them at all online, and the following tune from a defunct Glaswegian indie band...
OK, perhaps I found a few more than a handful. Apart from the Beautiful South and Helen Love tracks, they were all new to me... and with the exception of Busta Rhymes and Robbie Williams, they all bear further investigation. Particularly Avi Vinocur and Laurie Shaw.
However, the song I had in mind when I started this post is the one below. Batley Bob got out the steel drums for this tribute / critique of the 80s workout video craze led by Jane Fonda and soundtracked by Olivia's Physical.
I have to punch myself in the face to get myself out of bed
Hour after hour bombarded by lies
It’s a desecration of your mind
God bless Juliana Hatfield, bringing a little gender equality to the Grumpy Old stakes, and frankly, showing the blokes how to do it. Her new album Blood contains some fine songs, but my favourite at the moment is definitely Nightmary... which would be a great name for a superhero. Almost makes me want to write that comic.
I’m living in a nightmare and I can’t wake up
The whole world is controlled by fascist blood-sucking thugs
This is my last week off with Sam (after a few days back in purgatory last week) before the hard slog through till November (when I finally start my new job). So a few more days out have been planned... and a few more middle-aged King Cnut mumbles have been expressed.
Last week I spoke (at length) about how They are slowly trying to phase out real money in favour of digital / card spending, something that C agreed with greatly (pointing us all towards this article which shows that it isn't just middle-aged Cnuts fearing the end of money). Well, here's the latest chapter in that tale of woe... car parks.
A number of city centre car parks I've encnutered over the past few weeks have refused to let me pay for my parking with coins. The machines are taped up with bin bags, forcing us instead to use their parking apps. Occasional signs describe this as a covid measure, while others say nothing, which implies this is the future.
Like a true King Cnut, I refuse to use parking apps. I've tried and the hoops to jump through are just too many. I want to put a few coins in a slot, grab my ticket for the dashboard, and go. If I have to put my registration number into the machine (to stop me sharing a ticket with another driver... remember how nice it was in the good old days when someone offered you their unused parking ticket?), that's about as far as I'll go. But I'm not logging into one of the three dozen possible parking apps and giving them my life story (not to mention bank details) just to leave my car for a couple of hours on a piece of scraggy wasteland. I'll drive on and find another car park, thanks.
But I know my days of doing that are numbered. The faceless oligarchs who own our car parks don't want to pay attendants any more, and they certainly don't want the hassle of sending someone round to empty the ticket machine, count up all the coins, and take them to the bank... not when they can get us to shoot our digital cash straight into their veins. And I'll tell you who I feel sorry for the most. This guy...
Here's ten songs about parking and parking lots. Because song writers prefer to use the Americanism (I couldn't find any car park songs)... probably because most of these guys are Americans (apart from the ones who sing about valet parking - Brits with too much money, obviously!).
Ah, my old friend, Jack. So long parted.... 20 years since we spent any real time together. Not that I think you'd do me any good if you and I were still together. Not right now, anyway.
If you're going out celebrating tonight, take care and have a good one. If, like me, you'll be asleep long before the clock strikes in the new year... enjoy that too.
Thanks for reading this dribble throughout 2018. See you in 2019.
I wouldn't normally post a picture of a young lady in the bath, but given she's the answer to one of this week's questions and she appears to have taken the photo herself, I thought it would be allowed. Sharp-eyed readers (i.e. those of you who don't just come here on a Saturday and/or Sunday) will have noticed that she's already featured on this blog earlier this week anyway. But Snapshots are prepared well in advance of regular postings for reasons too mundane to explain.
For balance, if you want to send me a photo of your favourite male pop star in the bath holding a camera, I'll be sure to feature that some time in the future. As long as it's not Bono.
Anyway, it was pretty much a three horse race this week, with a returning George first out of the raps, followed swiftly by Rigid Digit and Martin, with Lynchie getting half a point to keep him happy. Even though Martin got more correct answers, I'm going to - somewhat controversially - award the crown to George this week because he went above and beyond the call of duty in trying to explain (at least half of) my convoluted clue to #1. And the referee's decision is final...
1. Buck Rogers teleports into Michael's disturbing house to find Billy refusing to let his T-shirt be filmed. (Most convoluted clue ever: extra marks if you can explain it all. Or any of it.)
Buck Rogers was played by Gil Gerard.
Mr. Scott worked the teleporter on the starship Enterprise.
REM (and Michael Stipe) sang about a Disturbance At The Heron House.
Billy Bragg sang that "the revolution is just a T-shirt away". (I own that T-shirt.)
The revolution will not go better with Coke The revolution will not fight the germs that cause bad breath The revolution WILL put you in the driver's seat The revolution will not be televised
