Of course, not everyone agreed with everything Jesse had to say...
Jesse you say common ground, does that include the PLO? What about people right here right now who fought for you not so long ago? The words that flow so freely falling dancing from your lips I hope that you don't cheapen them with a racist slip, oh common ground Is common ground a word or just a sound? Common ground, remember those civil rights workers buried in the ground
The obvious one - a law banning Audi drivers. Or should I just ban Audis? No, no, guns don't kill people: people kill people. It's the people who want to own an Audi and drive it like a scumbag because they think they're better than everyone else... they're the real threat to society.
And there definitely ought to be a law against people who drive vehicles that break the sound barrier. You with your twin exhausts or your motorbike engines that sound like an angry road drill when you rev them up. At 11 o'clock at night. When decent folk are trying to sleep.
How about a law forbidding you from having a nice long chat with your mates in the supermarket while blocking the aisle and preventing access to the frozen peas?
Or a law that forces bartenders to serve people in the actual order they got to the bar, not just the pushy / attractive ones first? (And I say this as someone who doesn't drink and therefore goes up to a bar about twice a year. This law is more for your benefit that mine.)
Better yet, a law that creates two separate queues in coffee shops. A slow queue for anyone ordering a mocha-choca-spocka-latte with whipped cream and sprinkles or any drink that involves crushed ice. And a fast track queue for people who just want coffee. Black coffee. We're not even pfaffing about with frothy steamed milk. We just want our drink. Fast.
Growing up among a family of builders, there was always the opportunity to wreck things. Before side-stepping into building houses, my brother specialised in demolition. I never really accompanied him on any of these wrecking jobs, but I'd see him knocking stuff down for my dad around the farm every now and then. My greatest memory of his destructive tendencies involved my first bike, which he drove over with his JCB when I made the mistake of leaving it in the yard. My sister carried it back into the house and held it up to show me what had happened... but it wasn't until she turned it side on that I realised it was flat.
My dad was a joiner by trade, but he could turn his hand to most jobs. He built sheds, turned our old barn into the house my Mum still lives in today, and single-handedly wood-panelled the house I grew up in to within an inch of its life. Wood panelling was very big back in the 70s, especially if you were a joiner. There was always some DIY project ongoing, despite the fact he had a full time job at the car auctions and also managed the farm.
I do have one specific memory of a demolition job that I got involved in, and this was when I was very young... maybe 4 or 5. There was a wall down the side of the staircase that my dad had started knocking down so that he could make the small sitting room a bit more open plan. This was an old farmhouse, so all the walls were built of stone - no plasterboard when that place was built. Removing the wall was taking him some time (in between all his other jobs), but one morning he and my Mum woke up very early to the sound of hammering... only to discover me sitting on the stairs with a lump hammer in my hand, cheerfully knocking out the bricks. I guess I wanted to be like my dad...
I had a different post to run today, but as I came to post it, I saw the news about Kris Kristofferson taking his Last Ride.
Time was, I'd have tried to cobble together a decent eulogy, but the words aren't coming too easy these days, so here are some of his finest moments...
Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose
And there's nothin' short a' dyin'
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleepin' city sidewalk
And Sunday mornin' comin' down
I was a sailor
I was born upon the tide
And with the sea I did abide
I sailed a schooner around the Horn to Mexico
I went aloft and furled the mainsail in a blow
And when the yards broke off they said that I got killed
There was only one song I could close with today - the one that makes me ponder the biggest questions of all, such as, "Well, how did I get here?", "Am I right, am I wrong?", "My God, what have I done?" and most importantly of all... why is there water at the bottom of the ocean?
A former colleague posted the two images above on the book of faces at the weekend and his stream was filled with warm, nostalgic comments as a result.
The windows are part of the old Victorian mill building in which the local radio station where we all worked was located, from the 70s through the turn of the century. The station's not there anymore, it's moved twice in the intervening years before being dissolved into the generic nationalised slush that all local radio has become in recent years. About the only thing "local" about it these days is the breakfast show and the adverts. It's even losing its identity in April, to take on the same name as a million other "local" radio stations across the world, because there's no longer anything to differentiate it from them.
But this post isn't about the sad death of local radio... it's about the glorious times in its past. Those windows at the top of the page represent that. The building in question has been converted into luxury flats these days... I know, they don't look particularly luxury, do they? But this is Bradford we're talking about.
Among those reminiscing, the comments included people talking about how the corridors sometimes smelled of sewage (the station was in the basement), how the windows in question often got bricks through them, and, of course, The Ghost (actually, those comments came from me). But despite all that, what got to me was how much love people felt for the old place...
"What a place that was... so many memories!"
"I'd love to have a look inside..."
"Such fond memories, wish I could rewind time."
"The place dreams began! We were all so lucky to be there!"
"Feels like a lifetime ago since we were there."
"And that building still hosted the greatest days of our lives."
I certainly have some happy memories of that old radio station - it was a great job with (mostly) great people. Over the years I was there, it gradually went downhill... as all things do. That's entropy for you. I was there for 23 years, and for me the first ten or so were the best... yet some of those comments come from people who were only there in the second half of my time, and even after I'd gone. There are a number of things we can take from that - nostalgia is viewed through rose-tinted glasses, one person's Golden Days are another person's 'Meh' Months... but things are never as good as they were in the past. And yet, I also know I was miserable for a large part of my time there, and if you'd asked me then, I'd have said I was hoping my life would get a whole lot better when I was older.
To answer that, I turned to the American Psychological Association, who started by telling me that we actually have more happy times in our lives that sad ones, "because people seek out positive experiences and avoid negative ones." Beyond that, though...
The other process at work involves our memory system treating pleasant emotions differently from unpleasant emotions.
Pleasant emotions have been found to fade more slowly from our memory than unpleasant emotions. One mechanism for this uneven fading may involve a process known as minimization. In order to return to our normal level of happiness, we try to minimize the impact of life events. This minimization process - which occurs biologically, cognitively and socially -- is usually stronger for negative events than for positive events.
However, this process doesn't work for everyone. In fact, if you're suffering depression, chances are it's because your unpleasant memories aren't fading as quickly as they should be. I wonder if that's linked to what we were talking about a couple of weeks back - how our emotions only last 90 seconds unless we choose to dwell on them, thereby creating moods which can go on and on.
"This implies that there is a tendency to 'deaden' the emotional impact of negative events relative to the impact of positive events," says a doctor who's researched this kind of stuff. "Such deadening occurs directly because people are motivated to view their life events in a relatively positive light."
I take a kind of comfort from all this. And I'm glad the memories I have of my time in radio are largely good ones. Even some of the bad things that happened, I can now look back on and smile... or even laugh. Distance gives us clarity.
Kris Kristofferson was a talented amateur boxer who took part in The National Golden Gloves boxing tournament. He never fought Ali professionally, but he did star alongside him in the TV mini series Freedom Road back in 1979. He had a way with an eye-catching song title too...
Anyway, as I've been down with the lurgy this week, I don't have much to say for myself beyond throwing a few more songs with interesting titles your way. Interesting images too, like this one...
This is Bobb Trimble, "psychedelic folk/outsider musician" from Massachusetts. Bobb self-released two albums in the early 80s (above is the cover of his debut record, Iron Curtain Innocence) before packing the psychedelic folk / outsider shit in and going off to do something more respectable with his life. Like not having a backing band made up of 12 year old kids that resulted in them getting barred from venues scared of losing their liquor licences. The albums were re-issued in the early noughties after second hand copies started going for silly money on eBay and taste-makers like Thurston Moore began dropping Bobb's name.
Next up, a couple I owe to Ernie. Firstly, African-American country singer Howdy Glenn. I'd never heard of him until Ernie pointed me in his direction a couple of weeks back, but he's a welcome discovery. In the copious notes I make while preparing this feature, I scribbled the following...
Ernie also responded to Khayem's recent 1000th post and they got into a bit of banter about reggae singer John Holt. Ernie wondered if any others wanted to take up the John Holt baton. I'll admit, I didn't have a lot from Mr. Holt in the hard-drive, but this one caught my eye.
I've no idea why John wants brushing. Please tell me it's not a euphemism.
And now, I bring you "the driving force behind 'The New Wave of Swedish Celtic Punk'", described by one critic as pioneers of "Celtic Social Realism". Swedish Celtic Social Realism, that is. They're also the only Swedish band ever to have performed for two consecutive years at the Woodstock Festival. The Woodstock Festival in Poland, that is.
Full disclosure, Finnegan's Hell didn't come up with the song title below... they just stole it from Oscar Wilde. Still, you know what Picasso said...
Finally, I'd just like to point out that the current Number One on the UK Singles Chart is a song I first wrote about back on the 18th of August 2022. Look at me, the taste-maker! Woo hoo! It's not got the greatest title in the world, but given that I am now clearly an Influencer, I can make up my own rules.
Meanwhile, at #8 in the aforementioned Completely Irrelevant Streaming Aggregate still known as the "Official Singles Chart" (surely it's time they dropped the word "Singles"?), it's a re-entry for the lovely Sophie Ellis-Bextor's 23 year old Number 2 hit, Murder On The Dancefloor. This is largely due to the Irish actor Barry Keoghan dancing naked (and I do mean: naked) to it at the end of the recent movie Saltburn.
Now I've always had a lot of time for the daughter of Blue Peter's Janet Ellis. I even saw her play live a couple of times in the late 90s with theaudience, a band who certainly knew their way around a song title. To whit...
The Grim Reaper rarely takes a break these days...
WILLIAM FRIEDKIN
Mark Kermode tells us that The Exorcist is the greatest movie ever made. Not just the greatest "horror" movie, mind, but the greatest movie full stop. And who are we to argue with Mark Kermode?
When I was a kid, I devoured every horror film I could get my hands on from the local video shop. Not The Exorcist though, as it had been withdrawn in the UK as a "video nasty" by James Ferman of the BBFC. I had to wait till 1998 to see it, when it was finally re-released and re-appraised. It was a thrill to see such a notorious film after so long, and at the time it made quite an impression on me. But I wonder how much of that was the illicit hype? Years later, I still rate the movie highly (though not quite as highly as Mr. Kermode) but I don't find it shocking anymore. Has the world changed or have I changed?
I couldn't find any lyrics that mentioned Mr. Friedkin, so I had to go with the obvious tribute...
PAUL REUBENS
Pee-wee Herman is a children's TV character I'm largely unfamiliar with, so my only encounter with the actor Paul Reubens is from his role as The Penguin's father in Batman Returns. His career involved a certain amount of controversy, as it seems he was a little too interested in pornography (or "vintage erotica") for a prominent star of kids' TV, but he appears to have weathered the storm better than many of his contemporaries did.
I was very excited to find a song called Paul Reubens by Felt... but sadly, it wasn't that Felt. (I should have known.)
Reubens also crops up in this... protect your ears.
Grey rustic buildings Divided by cobblestone streets Pigeons flock on the pavement Candle-lit atmosphere in street side bars Paul Rubens rises in the hazy air As the cathedral glows in the night Flares of cerise and magenta stream Fading in the starry night sky Paul Rubens rises in the hazy air As the cathedral glows in the night
But my favourite reference comes from a band who describe their music as "Good vibes with a tropical twist". Here, Mr. Reubens features in a less than stellar list that includes Jon Benét, the Menendez Brothers, Orenthal James, Dodi Fayed and... Princess Di.
In the Darwinian Age Everyone is on their own front page Everyone's your friend But nobody cares They're all much too busy donning their airs
SIXTO RODRIGUEZ
As far as I can tell, nobody wrote any songs about Sixto Rodriguez. I did find a couple called Sugar Man, but they weren't about him...
Like most people, I only discovered Rodriguez after the documentary, Searching For Sugarman. I'm glad he found fame in later life, and I hope it treated him well.
Just prior to the easing of lockdown last weekend, we tested the limits of what was "local" in order to take a walk round some (quite) nearby National Trust gardens. We weren't arrested for it, and we got to see the above colourful eggs (along with a brightly painted bench - much more impressive than a Happy Bench - that Sam sat on). It was a mini art installation in the woods, but without pretention, and the pretty colours contrasted well with the early Spring gloom. I say all this to counter yesterday's misanthropy... in case it's not already too late.
As lockdown eases one step back on the roadmap to a brighter future... how are you all doing? I'm still on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but at least I've had half a hair cut. Louise bought some clippers online and shaved the back and sides... but she daren't touch the top. Apparently I now resemble a Peaky Blinder (as long as it's not Tom Hardy) or a slightly younger David Lynch. But I feel better for it. Other than that, not much else to report.
Here's some Norwegian Americana to take your mind off it all. Harald Thune may hail from the Land of the Midnight Sun, but he's got a voice many Nashville musicians would kill for. Don't believe me? Ask the recently retired Kris Kristofferson, who declared: “This guy is good; this guy is really damn good!”
Harald's latest album is called The Backbounceability of Humans, a very appropriate title for these troubled times. Here's wishing you all a good dose of backbounceability with the lead single, Hello, Trouble!
4. I was born pretty much slap bang in the middle...
According to the interweb, to be part of Generation X, you must have been born between 1965 and 1980. 1972 is pretty much slap bang in the middle of that.
