Sam started High School on Tuesday. It's easy to forget what a big leap this is, but early signs are good. He's catching the bus to and from school, so I'm no longer required to pick him up and drop him off from wraparound club. Seeing him in his uniform that first day rather choked me up - so big, so grown up, what happened to my little boy, etc. etc.
Sam appears to be taking it all in his stride. He's very resilient young man. He certainly doesn't get that from his dad. I hope he has a better time in High School than I did.
This is Sam's last day at Junior School. Over the past few weeks, since finishing his SATs, he's been taking part in sporting tournaments, excelling in the school play, and visiting the High School for a transition day. This time last year, the idea of moving up to the big school was starting to fill him with some trepidation, but recently we've seen that change... like he's ready for it now, like he's outgrown his Junior School and has begun to see it as too small for him, too young.
Of course, he's 11 going on 16, so it's becoming increasingly difficult to know how he really feels about anything. He doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve anymore, like little kids do. He's starting to keep his thoughts and emotions inside, and you need a crowbar to get them out.
How do I feel about all this? The predictable blend of joy and melancholy. My little boy is growing up, becoming more independent, moving on in his life... and I want to celebrate that with him. But I also want him to stay little forever. For all the obvious reasons.
I'm reminded of the poem Walking Away by Cecil Day Lewis (yes, Daniel's dad). And, as always at times like this, I'm reminded of Brad Paisley's best song...
Back to trawling through my old blog for recycled content. The next post I came across is from...
TUESDAY 19 DECEMBER 2006
...and what's interesting is that I'm writing about a phenomenon which I suspect no longer exists, at least not in the form I describe here. I'd forgotten all about this weird kind of spam email we used to get. I guess the spam blockers are so much more sophisticated nowadays, and the bots have moved onto other things. Still, it's a fascinating window on the past...
Since they decided to
take away our spam-filter at work, I’ve been flooded with hundreds of those
fascinating emails for stock tips and Viagra from people called Flossie Marks,
Gloria Beard, Houston Stout and Carmela Slaughter (which always makes me think
that Chris Morris might be involved)… and I’m becoming strangely enamoured by
the copy that arrives with them. Presumably it’s just some clever way of
bypassing certain spam-detection programmes, but if you take a moment to
actually read it, you'll find a twisted genius at work. An Edward Lear, Spike
Milligan, or even Grant Morrison of spam.
Our priest, carving the bread up the hill, isn't
tirelessly unfirm.
Oh, I know it’s
nonsense – but it’s often strangely poetic nonsense… and I’m starting to think
this could in fact be my dream job – writing email gobbledygook for the world’s
spam champions (did someone say ‘Spampions’?) Yes, I know what you’re going to
tell me. It’s not an actual human being sitting in a lonely garret composing
these odes to penis size and Wall Street… it’s just randomly generated computer
blather, an IBM Macbeth churning out idiotic sound and fury that signifies
nowt. But still, there’s something beautiful in it. In a sort of ‘found art’
kind of way.
Apparently musical ability and the bread and red sauce,
plus… between the furrows. I should be safe enough here. I clamped my jaw.
My favourites at the
moment are these eerie paragraphs of haphazard sentences that follow a set
pattern of ‘noun verb adjective noun’ (though occasionally crying out for a
definite or indefinite article, the programme’s obviously not smart enough to
select the correct one).
It’s the deliciously
bizarre, incongruous and esoteric word choices that make them so appealing. You
never get anything as trite as ‘Fred jumps fat dog’. They’re like those
creative writing competitions where you’re given a title and asked to make up
the story from there. Except these titles are far more interesting. I mean…
imagine the story behind:
There’s this guy I work with who is, to put it bluntly, a
bit of a dick. We’ll call him Bob. Because his name is Robert Brown and his
address is 32 Acacia Gardens, LS3 6JN. OK, I made that up for the purpose of
the joke. He’s not really called Bob. That is his actual address though, if you
want to go push rotting vegetables through his letterbox.
The interesting thing about Bob is that I’m not the only one
who thinks he’s a dick. Everyone in our office feels the same. (Fortunately, he
doesn’t work in our office, he’s in the one down the corridor. Yet I seriously
suspect that many of the people who work in that office also think he’s a dick.)
However, Bob is not, on the surface, an unpleasant person.
He’ll always say hello with a smile and ask how you’re doing. And he’ll tip his
head slightly to one side as you answer, to show that he’s listening. But
surface is all it is. You can just tell. Underneath he’s shallow and
self-important, probably lazy, vain and dishonest: a textbook narcissist.
Given that the people I work with all have different likes and
dislikes, different interests, cares and concerns (although they’re all pretty
decent folk – no Tories, for example), how come we’ve all arrived, pretty
independently, at the same conclusion when it comes to Bob? We don’t share the
same unified opinion about everyone else in the world – certain of my
colleagues might even have a good word to say about Tom Hanks, Noel
Gallagher or Scrappy Doo, for example, and I won’t hold it against them. So why do we all think
Bob is a dick?
Scientists and psychologists have a number of answers for
the Everyone Thinks He’s A Dick phenomenon. The first of those is plain,
old-fashioned narcissism. You’re probably aware that the word comes from Narcissus,
a character from Ovid's Metamorphoses who is cursed by the gods to fall in love
with his own reflection. When he realises his reflection won’t ever love him
back, he dies of a broken heart. In the early 20th century, various
psychoanalysts began to use the term narcissism to refer to people who are
condescending, feel superior to others, are preoccupied with admiration, and
exhibit a lack of empathy. Just like Bob.
On a side note, I was interested to read that German
psychoanalyst Karen Horney believed narcissism existed on a sliding scale “that
ranged from healthy self-esteem to a pathological state”. Which suggests that
the only way you can claim not to be a narcissist is if you believe you’re
actually a bit rubbish. I guess I’m safe there then.
Beyond narcissism, we get to a more modern definition
of why everyone thinks Bob is a dick: affective presence. Coined by
psychologists Noah Eisenkraft and Hillary Anger Elfenbein as recently as 2010,
their study suggests that some people have the gift – or the curse – to make
everyone feel good about them… or to think they’re a dick.
Affective presence refers to how we make other people feel, just by being around them, regardless of our own emotions or intentions. It's
an overall, lasting effect we leave on others.
The researchers were clear to draw a line between affective
presence and another phenomenon known as “emotional contagion” – which is
basically how happy people might make you feel more happy and miserable people might make you want to slit your own wrists. (Besides, we all know this isn’t always
the case – overly positive people can be a pain in the arse, whereas
depressives with a sense of humour can sometimes cheer you up… I hope, anyway.)
Scientific
American drills into the affective presence research in a little more
depth, revealing an interesting nugget that I’ll leave you to ponder on, as it
seems to me to be at the root of Bob’s problems…
In the research group, people who “described themselves as
both ‘extroverted’ and ‘disagreeable’ were more likely to have a negative
effect on” others. You may well ask why anyone would go out of their way to
describe themselves as ‘disagreeable’? (I’m not sure Bob would… but then, I’m
trying to limit the time I spend in his presence, so I’m not going to ask him). It's an interesting combination though - somewhere between Timmy Mallett and Jeremy Clarkson. Now imagine having to work with that!
Ernie gave a fine tribute to the late Melanie Safka, and I'm not sure there's much I can add, though I was interested to read her comments in defence of her most famous (and in certain quarters, controversial) song...
I wrote in about fifteen minutes one night. I thought it was cute; a kind of old thirties tune. I guess a key and a lock have always been Freudian symbols, and pretty obvious ones at that. There was no deep serious expression behind the song, but people read things into it. They made up incredible stories as to what the lyrics said and what the song meant. In some places, it was even banned from the radio. My idea about songs is that once you write them, you have very little say in their life afterward. It's a lot like having a baby. You conceive a song, deliver it, and then give it as good a start as you can. After that, it's on its own. People will take it any way they want to take it.
One of the greatest crimes ever committed in pop was when some fool let The Wurzels have the rights to that.
I was never a huge fan of country star Toby Keith. He was a bit too New-Nashville for me, shiny and macho, pick-up trucks, Jesus, the Star Spangled Banner etc. etc. For me, he didn't have the everyman wit of Brad Paisley, the outlaw spirit of Eric Church or even the songwriting chops of early Blake Shelton.
All that said, I was shocked to hear of his death from cancer at just 62. That's no age.
Here's a song of Toby's that I did like. It's a good one to remember him by...
Carl Weathers will best be remembered as Apollo Creed in the Rocky movies, though he also appeared in Predator, Arrested Development and The Mandalorian. Plus, for video shop kids of the 80s, he was Action Jackson. As a singer, he only ever released one record, this smooth soul number from 1981...
They even named themselves after the Fred Savage sitcom. What's not to love?
Swiss Adam wrote a superb piece of the late Wayne Kramer, guitarist with the MC5. Again, there's little I can add to that, but I will say that when Ben alerted me to Wayne's passing, my reply was four words long...
As far as I'm concerned though, you won't find a better tribute than this...
We've got Kramer coming over
To produce us
So that we can show off to our specialist friends
Go down to the Falcon in Camden and say
"I'll have a pint for myself and a pint for the ex-MC5″
Finally, my thoughts go out to Bruce, who lost his mum, Adele Springsteen, earlier this week. She was 98 and had been battling Alzheimer's for a long time... but what a legacy.
Here's the story of how she bought Bruce his first guitar...
As we grow older, our record collection grows older with us. The rock n roll survivors we grew up with (not to mention the ones who were well established before we were even born) continue making music, and we keep enjoying it. For the most part, anyway. There are, of course, those artists who carry on well past their sell-by date, don't find anything new to say, and become shadows of their former selves... and when I think about them, I have even more respect for Billy Joel, who packed in making new music thirty years ago to protect his legacy.
All that said, sometimes even the faded stars of yesteryear pull a blinder. And credit where it's due, I never though the Rolling Stones would release a single as good as this so far into their bus pass years...
(Damon Albarn hates that video. So they must be doing something right.)
The album Hackney Diamonds is as good as anything The Stones have released since the beginning of the 80s. That may sound like faint praise, but I was surprised by how solid the whole thing sounded. The Lady Gaga collaboration is a couple of steps down the same ladder as Gimme Shelter, and the video is a hoot, as Ms. Germanotta tries her best to out-Mick Mick.
Then there's a Keef sung tune which proves he should do that sort of thing more often ("he's too shy," says Mick) and a proper bluesy throwback at the end... which sounds like the kind of song you'd expect the Rolling Stones to be making in their 80s... were it not for the fact that it closes a record of full-tilt rock n roll riffs from Keef and sneeringly playful invective from Mick. And to top it all off, they only go and invite another old geezer to play bass on one track... and it's a lot more listenable than that "new" Beatles track that was inflicted on us earlier in the year.
Kevin Rowland turned 70 this year, so he's still a spring chicken by Mick n Keef's standards. The lead single from the latest Dexys album promised great things, a classic Dexys soul stomper that showcased a man dripping self confidence from every pour. There are a couple more tracks on the first half of The Feminine Divine which also stand out, though the latter part of the record turns into a huge celebration / confessional of submissive relationships which borders on unintentionally hilarious at times. Still, it's better than anything Van Morrison's done lately.
Born a year or so earlier than Kevin, but still going strong, is John Mellencamp, who just released another new record, hot on the heels of last year's Strictly a One-Eyed Jack. Orpheus Descending treads similar ground, occasionally going a little too earnest and worthy for my liking, though Mellencamp's late stage Tom Waits growl is pleasing to the ear, and his practiced Grumpy Old Man demeanour is enough to keep me coming back for more.
Ron and Russell Mael are both in their late 70s. You wouldn't know it from listening to the latest Sparks album though. They sound as youthfully irreverent as ever. They're also responsible for the year's ultimate Grumpy Old Man song, a track which delights in telling us that life goes downhill fast from the moment we're born...
Nothing is as good as they say it is
That's the way it is
I wish I'd known beforehand
I was born just 22 hours ago
But I want to go
Back to my former quarters
Take a look around and you'd understand
This is not a place I could ever stand
Ugliness, anxiety, phony tans
It ain't for me
That's all
Another old timer who's definitely refusing to grow old gracefully is Mr. Vincent Furnier. Road is his 29th album (22nd as a solo artist, having taken the name of his former band) and it's much better than it deserves to be.
Don't get me wrong - it is utterly ridiculous, full of pompous rock 'n' roll cliché and legend pimping, but nobody's expecting a sensitive meditation on the human condition from Alice, and we'd be disappointed if that was what he delivered. He gets away with it - hell, he excels at it - because it's all done with gleefully OTT relish and a sly wink to the camera.
We're back with more great song titles dredged up from the darkest recesses of my hard drive... and some from yours too. Do any of them live up to their names?
For your consideration today...
1. Alice Cooper - I'm Alive (That Was The Day My Dead Pet Returned To Save My Life)
Brackets are a wonderful thing in song titles, aren't they? Although I have to admit there's a part of me that always hears the diabolical James Saville reading the title out as he used to do on the wireless, saying "open bracket... close bracket".
Sam and I were listening to an old compilation in the car last week. When Alice Cooper's Hey Stoopid! came on, Sam said, "good old Alice!"
I've also been listening to Mr. Furnier's latest record, Road. It's a lot better than a heavy rock album by a 75 year old man should be.
This one comes from way back in 1982 though, when he was younger than all of us. Taken from the wince-inducing album Zipper Catches Skin.
2. My Life Story - If You Can't Live Without Me Then Why Aren't You Dead Yet?
Jake Shillingford's My Life Story were firm favourites in my house for at least five minutes in the late 90s. This is from their third album, Joined Up Talking.
Because you can't copyright a song title - even a great one - American rockers Mayday Parade were free to write their own song with the same name, and that's the one you're more likely to come across via your search engine of choice. (Does anybody actually use Bing?) It can't hold a candle to My Life Story, if you ask me.
3. Gary Stewart - She's Actin' Single (I'm Drinkin' Doubles)
Charity Chic was keen to remind me that country songwriters are an excellent source of great titles, and he recommended one of his favourites from Gary Stewart. My hard drive is full of country singers drowning their sorrows in booze after getting dumped, but as Gary Stewart was the "king of honky tonk", he appears to have spent more time than most propping up the bar. He was also responsible for She's Got a Drinking Problem, Hey, Bottle of Whiskey and An Empty Glass (That's the Way the Day Ends) among many others.
Tragically, Gary Stewart took his own life following the death of his wife in 2003.
4. Captain Beefheart - I Wanna Find A Woman That'll Hold My Big Toe Till I Have To Go
Next up, George wants us to consider the late Don Glen Vliet, famed for his wacky song titles... well, wacky everything, I guess, including, presumably, 'bacca. We could be here all day with the likes of...
I've been dying to feature The Six Million Dollar Man on TV On The Radio, but I haven't been able to find any decent tunes that mention him. (A lot of tunes do, just no decent ones. Unless you know different...?)
Anyway, here's the man with the Bionic Eye, which the interweb tells me "has a 20:1 zoom lens and infrared capabilities", so there must be a camera in there too, right? And here are ten songs which also proclaim their value in dollars...
Prodigies are young geniuses (google it - it's not genii). In a patriarchy though, they would only recognise the smart boys. Although the lads don't even know how to use capital letters, so what hope is there?
I've not been a big fan of recent movies based on DC Comics, but I thought The Flash was OK... despite being a box office bomb. It was good to see Michael Keaton back in the Batsuit, and the Nicolas Cage cameo was worth the ticket price alone. Controversial star Ezra Miller was rather irksome though... I doubt they'll be back.
If Ezra wanted to buy some sable though, they'd probably go to the fur man.
A grand probably wouldn't even pay for the dress these days.
1. Tommy, in chains.
It never ceases to amaze me that we're now healthily into the 300s, and I'm still discovering big name artists who have never appeared in Snapshots before. Even more incredible is when it's artists I actually like.
Above is a young Vincent Furnier, and his puppy, before he adopted his more distinctive stage persona...
Tommy Cooper + Alice In Chains =
Alice Cooper - Billion Dollar Babies
I bet you a dollar you come back for more next Saturday...
Yesterday, I took Sam to the cinema in a large nearby shopping centre. It's not the closest cinema, but the tickets are half the price of any other cinema around here, and I'm guaranteed a decent coffee to take in with me.
It was strange being in such a large public place post-lockdown-easing. The last time we went there, everyone was wearing masks and most people were sticking to the one way system, but this time it was a matter of choice. I'd say 60-70% of the shoppers were still in masks, but the rest were going about unmasked. Their choice, the laws have changed. But that choice now makes every one of us pass judgement.
Sam and I were still wearing masks. I'm choosing to do so out of respect for others. Sam has never been bound by law to wear one, but I've always asked him to do so in shops, even though lots of kids his age don't, to underline the seriousness of the situation (I want him to remember it when he's older), as well as for his own safety and the safety of others. Young kids are more likely to be asymptomatic carriers who might innocently infect older, more vulnerable people. That's my reasoning, anyway.
Walking round that mall though, suddenly I couldn't help but look at everyone choosing not to wear a mask as uncaring, callous, blasé. But then I checked myself and wondered if they were all looking at me as a paranoid hypochondriac fool. I've had my two jabs, that should be evident from my age, and why the hell am I making my child wear a mask when so few other kids are doing? Am I victimizing him by doing so, stigmatizing him? Or am I just being smug, still wearing a mask to shine a light on me as some holier-than-thou do-gooder? Or is it a political symbol? By continuing to wear it, I'm showing my allegiance to anyone but the current, grossly-incompetent government... even though the infection numbers are now apparently dropping, and maybe, just maybe, their reckless gamble will actually pay off.
Back to normal? It doesn't matter if we all toss our masks in the bin tomorrow. We're a long way from normal.
36 comments and counting from last week, as I begin to type this up. To be fair though, most of them were from George, who doesn't even like this series. Here's his first suggestion...
John Lennon had a really truly awful single in the mid 70s called Number nine dream. Don't include that in your list.
I've got to say, I'm with George on that though: that is bloody awful. Don't watch the video either, unless you want to catch Yoko Ono in leather hotpants. I'm sorry, but I'm siding with Paul on this one.
At least the REM version doesn't have Yoko in it. Or her hotpants.
Whenever I heard the name Meat Puppets, I expect them to be some kind of industrial metal / goth band... not a million miles from Nine Inch Nails. I never fail to be amazed by how they actually sound.
Now much as I like the idea of torturing George, I'm afraid I have to agree with him again on this. Which makes twice in the same week. I am now officially worried for my mental health.
And the perfect lyrical opener for next weeks column... says Rigid Digit.
Trust me, I listened to the opening lyrics... and I couldn't make head or tail of them.
Welcome back, my friends
To the show that never ends
We're so glad you could attend
Come inside! Come inside
Really? Is that what he was singing? Why can't he enunciate? He was so much nicer when he was singing about Father Christmas.
Speaking of properly enunciating: back to The Swede's list...
I think this was The Swede's last suggestion this week. I don't think I missed any out...
The Studio One Band - Nine Pence
Can't find that last one anywhere on t'internet, but I'm sure it's a belter. It's got to be better than John Lennon and ELP anyway. Eh, George? Go on, old pal, it's you and me against the world this week. What else have you got for me?
Of course it does... just listen to that intro too! Blimey. Makes me want to do high kicks. I've got half a mind to let you take over this feature, George.
Yes, Revolution 9 is a perfect example of why the Beatles had to split up. Weird, really, since the same title (minus the 9) produced one of my all time favourite Beatles songs.
Wow, Rol, your Hot 100s are getting longer and longer, says C. I suspect this trend is set to continue for a few more weeks...
What doesn't kill you just makes you stronger, C. As we're all supposed to be discovering at the moment. I'll go with 'Nine Plan Failed' by Adam & The Ants from his arty Dirk Wears White Sox days.
That's a good one! says Lynchie. And it is too. I've been listening to quite a bit of Dave Alvin lately - his voice is a great comfort. But I didn't know that one, so thank you.
Marie (can't link to you this week, Marie, your blog has disappeared again) sided with George on the Nine Pound Hammer, also suggesting this version...
This post reminds me of one of the most epic of epic Chain posts over at Jez's place.
One of my inspirations.
Talking of The Chain he used to have a Worst Record of the Week award so I'm going to nominate song Nine Million Bicycles by Katie Melua. She has a sweet voice and looks stunning but those Mike Batt lyrics drove me mad and I wrote about them over at my place.
Alyson then goes on to explain in detail her issue with this song, but she forbids me from reposting it here (even though it might have helped me beat Jez's record for longest blog post ever). You can read her cutting analysis here though.
Then Lynchie joined in with his own analysis of the Beijing bikes issue:
Fair point about those alleged 9 million bicycles in Beijing, Alyson. As you suggest - it was closer to 9 and a half million back in 2005 when the Katie Melua song was released. But, bicycle use in Beijing has dropped from about 60 percent in 1986 to 17 percent in 2010. At the same time, car use has grown 15 percent a year for the last ten years. (Note - these statistics come from a study of cycling in Beijing conducted by Jinhua Zhao, an urban planning professor at the University of British Columbia. You can find more about the De-Bikification of Beijing here.
I have to admit, I quite like that song though, despite all your objections. My biggest problem is with the video - she's going to ruin that lovely jacket. What a shame.
I bet George is a big Katie Melua fan too. Speaking of George, here's one final suggestion from my new co-writer this week...
With all the suggestions above, I hesitate to add to your sifting burden frivolously. But I have always tried to inject a small Canadian element to your rundown, and though Bryan Adams has been listed already, I feel Canada deserves a more fair and balanced representation than just that one...song. So my musings have turned up a short 1 minute exuberant little ditty I hope you will accept, "Song Nein", by Gunnarola. Its lyrics, though nonsensical, are certainly no moreso than "Song 2" by Blur, which surely must feature prominently in a few weeks time. My favourite lyric is the line "Ich habe Sauerkraut in meinen Lederhosen!" And before you look at the Teutonic spelling in the title and cry "Nyet!", I suggest he certainly intends at least a pun on the Nummer Neun, as indeed it comes in its due and proper sequence following numbers einz and zwei all the way through to seven and eight. For those interested, Gunnarola is a young Youtube artist from London (not of course in England, wherein the Queen lives, but London, Ontario, a gritty industrial town a couple hours west of where I live). He reached his pinnacle of popularity in 2009 with his song "Canadian, Please", which elicited 5 million views for its saucy lyrics extolling the virtues of life in Canada.
I think it's fair to say Mike Nesmith has a more respectable post-Monkees career than either Lennon or McCartney, post-Beatles. Ooh, little bit of controversy there.
That's rather lovely too. But I had to hold off on spending any more money for the moment.
I'm going to miss this series.
Well, that makes one of us, Brian. I do have an idea for what'll replace it though. Hopefully something that doesn't offer up quite so many potential songs every week...
And finally this week, it's over to Jim in Dubai...
Not much left this week but here's what i can add.
Y'know what, Jim? When you suggested that, I shuddered slightly. Then I listened to it again and... bloody hell, you're right. I'd forgotten what a fine pop song that was.
However, I have to hand it to The Swede again this week, for being the first to suggest what he called "surely a massive contender". Because, yes, it was.
Even before The Temptations start singing, this was the winner...
