My favourite song by Australian country singer Kasey Chambers is her Number 1 (Aussie chart) hit from 2002, Not Pretty Enough. Although Chambers was in her mid-20s when she wrote the song, it's the perfect insecure teenage lament...
This song came back to me when I heard its unofficial Mid-Life Crisis sequel from Linda Thompson.
As you may or may not be aware, due to a condition called spasmodic dysphonia, Linda is unable to sing anymore. That seems particularly cruel when you remember just how beautiful her voice used to be...
Anyway, Linda hasn't let this stop her putting out a new record, late last year. She just got friends and family to do the singing. Fortunately, she has some very talented friends and family, including son Teddy, daughter Kami, ex-husband Richard... plus the Wainwrights (Rufus and Martha), the Proclaimers and the Unthanks. In a stroke of genius, she even got John Grant to sing a song all about... John Grant. That really shouldn't work, but it does.
The stand out track though is the one sung by Manchester's Ren Harvieu. It could be heard as a woman lamenting the loss of her youthful beauty... but I'm guessing it's more a metaphor for the loss of that beautiful voice we heard earlier...
The album's called Proxy Music, which explains the reason Linda's chosen to dress and pose the way she has on the cover.
Once again, the finger pointed firmly in the direction of our brains, and I immediately figured our old friend the amygdala might be responsible. However, it turns out there’s another suspect in the frame: the hypothalamus!
The hypothalamus is a tiny little blob of gunk deep within our brain which takes charge of our heart rate, body temperature, hunger, and the sleep-wake cycle. It does a bunch of other jobs too, notably mucking about with our social behaviour – including sex-drive and aggression. How does it do this? By releasing hormones! And which hormone is responsible for our obsession with what other people think of us? Dopamine.
Last week, we closed with a quote about “externalising our self-worth”: in other words, seeing ourselves as others see us. Take Tiberius – when someone smiles at him, even a stranger, he feels a little better about his day. If a colleague or peer compliments him on his work or tells him he’s doing a good job, it makes him happy. And if someone reads his blog or leaves a nice comment… well, it’s cartwheels time! Because every time one of those things happens, the hypothalamus in Tiberius’s brain releases dopamine… the “feel good hormone”… the “happy hormone”… the “pleasure hormone”. You’ll find many similar sobriquets applied to dopamine online. Because dopamine is also the hormone that’s released when we eat, have sex, and take drugs… anything that feels good. (Even if it's bad for us.)
Anything that gives you pleasure will trigger the release of dopamine. This can range from a fun activity you enjoy, like dancing or cooking, to sex, shopping, and even certain drugs. Dopamine activates the reward pathway in the brain, leading you to desire these activities more. For this reason, dopamine can play a role in addiction.
For example… if being smiled at by a stranger gives Tiberius a mini dopamine hit, why doesn’t he go out of his way to be nicer to strangers? Or... does he pick and choose which strangers he would rather be nice to, because, frankly, their smiles are worth more to him? Other factors outweigh the dopamine hit in certain circumstances. A smile from a little old lady in the supermarket who’s asked Tiberius to reach for a tin on the top shelf… that’s worth it. But he’s still not going to wave at that Audi driver and let him pull out, even if the Audi driver might smile back… is that because Tiberius believes the Audi driver won’t smile back, or does he get more of a dopamine hit by denying the Audi driver, by causing him a little inconvenience? There are, I presume, certain circumstances where being mean will grant you more of a hit than being nice? It all depends on who you’re interacting with in any particular moment.
Speaking for myself, rather than Tiberius, I can report a recent incident when I was on the motorway, driving at the speed limit in the fast lane, with an Audi driver behind me, far too close, desperate to get past. When it was eventually safe to pull back into the middle lane, I did so. My hands remained at ten to two on the steering wheel, but I carefully extended the middle finger of my right hand as the Audi accelerated past. Up ahead now, the Audi swerved erratically as he opened his own car window and raised his own hand / fist / finger up into the air in a furious gesture of aggression. And then he was gone. But the fact that he’d clearly noticed my subtle bird flipping, and that it had aggravated him so very much... this gave me a much greater dopamine rush than any stranger’s smile could have done. Call me petty, but I was buzzing on that for the rest of the day.
The world needs people like you and me Who've been knocked around by fate 'Cause when people see us They don't wanna be us And that makes them feel great
Going back to Tiberius, I’m sure that positive feedback from his colleagues – and the feel good hormones released as a result – encourage him to keep trying his best in the workplace. It’s interesting to note that some scientists believe a shortage of dopamine might be responsible for all manner of medical and psychological complaints, from autism to Parkinson’s, but that you can boost your dopamine by eating more protein (because that’s what it’s made from, apparently). Another reason to keep chomping brazil nuts… if I needed one. Better yet, Healthline tells us...
Listening to music can be a fun way to stimulate dopamine release in your brain.
Next week, we’ll talk about one of the biggest dopamine boosters on the planet – and, as a result, one of the most addictive drugs you will ever come across. Worse still, it’s perfectly legal and children are becoming exposed to it at an increasingly younger age these days… with all kinds of horrific consequences.
I’m talking about social media.
Oh, the horror.
If you could see the you that I see
When I see you
You would see things differently
I assure you
I wish I could hire Henry Rollins as my motivational coach.
It's late Sunday night and I just want to go to bed and read a chapter of my book, when I realise I haven't done a post for Monday morning. I could just leave it. It wouldn't be the first time I've skipped a day. Or more. But I realise that if I try to read now, I'll just end up thinking about what I could be blogging, so...
There was a halo round the moon on Saturday night. I wonder if you saw it where you live? Apparently it's caused by "the refraction of moonlight from ice crystals in the upper atmosphere." My photo isn't as impressive as some of the ones you'll find on the news sites, but still, I was pleased I caught it at all.
More bright lights I captured on my late evening walk with Bertie... though I'm less impressed by these. This is a house down the end of our road which has gone overboard on the Christmas decs... and it's not even December. It's lit up like this most of the night. Hope they can afford the electricity bill.
To be fair, that photo makes it look worse than it was.
You could still get a pushchair on there without scraping your arms.
You may recall the poison pen letter we received from one of
our friendly neighbours just
before Christmas, asking us to cut our hedge and stop dragging the neighbourhood
down.
The hedge in question is a Leylandi, and being that it’s
much taller than I am, we have to get a man in to cut it. I hesitate to call
him “our gardener”, though he did also put us a new patio down last year, so l’ll
refer to him as such for the purpose of this post. Anyway, he’s a very busy guy (he has
something to do with the Chelsea Flower Show and does the gardens for the Third
Earl of Somewhere), so we’re pretty low on his list of priorities. We have,
however, had him booked to come sort the hedge out for some time. Last Tuesday
was the date in the diary. We were very excited – after all, we’ve gone 6
months without any hate mail, and we knew it couldn’t last…
On the weekend before the gardener was due, we received a
letter from the council. Rather than send us anymore anonymous billet doux, it
turns out that our local GOG (grumpy old git) had instead reported us to “The
Trees Team”. Presumably The A Team were busy, otherwise we might have had B.A. Baracus
knocking on our door. “Get those trees cut down, sucker!”
There followed a lot of back and forth between Louise and
the council and a couple of sleepless nights. To be fair, the Trees Team lady
was very nice, happy that we already had a man booked and were taking care of
it ourselves, but as an official complaint had gone in, they had to insist on us
following the letter of the law rather than just “do as much as you can”. The
gardener, meanwhile, refused to cut it back too much in case it killed the
bushes and “damaged his reputation”… not to mention that there are birds
nesting inside it, which opens up a whole other can of worms.
Fortunately, the council were happy with the work we’ve had
done and signed off the job, meaning there can be no further comeback from Mr.
Grumpy. Meanwhile, our Number One Suspect was conveniently away on holiday that
week (in his caravan… just saying), though he’s back now. And much as I want to
put a brick through his window or smear Bertie’s dog poo all over his front door, I’m
going to be the better man and let it go. Though all this could have been
settled far more amicably if he’s just had the guts to come give us a knock...
For somewhere between ten and fifteen years of my life, I watched Coronation Street religiously. It was just you did. To be fair, it was only on twice a week back then, rather than every night and twice on Sundays, or whatever it is nowadays. I saw the lorry crash into the Rover's Return and the fire a few years later that nearly burnt the pub to the ground. I saw Brian Tilsley stabbed outside a nightclub and Alan Bradley hit by a tram while chasing after Rita in Blackpool. I saw Deirdre Barlow have her affair with Mike Baldwin and Ken's terrifying reaction (William Roache almost had to act that day!). And then I discovered Brookside and Corrie seemed twee in comparison. That's the thing with soap operas - one minute you're addicted, the next you're onto the next drug. It's funny though - I just mentioned the big tragedies that happened on the Street while I was watching it... but it seems they happen on a weekly basis these days, rather than once every few years. At least that's the impression I get from the front cover of the TV Times.
Coronation Street's been on TV for 63 years now, and particularly in the 60s, 70s and 80s, everybody watched it. So if you were a pop star growing up in those days, it's no wonder you might have dropped a reference into one of your songs.
We'll start today with a new discovery. Michael Knight. How could I not love a band named after the hero of Knight Rider, as played by The Hoff? Furthermore, this is from an album called I'm Not Entirely Sure How I Ended Up Like This. Which seems apt. It's not the easiest listen, but there's something about it I liked enough to buy their entire discography from Bandcamp, so I'll let you know about the rest of their output...
I suppose I’ll soon tire of her charm Unless first she grows tired of me Our love will shine eternally Though I guess there’re her gossip mags And her beloved TV It’s time for Coronation Street
Next up, the always-worth-a-listen Clifford T. Ward, who also likes to name-drop himself, with the T. included...
She likes her television 'Crossroads', 'Coronation Street' And Robin Day's bow tie She likes the quiz shows Where people win a lot of money And that makes sense to her She likes to listen to the radio Music, Clifford T., She says he's nice He's flattered
No wonder the aliens never come to visit. They probably think we'll push them down the stairs and then hide their body in a disused building site round the back of the Rover's.
Richard Thompson sees TV as the new religion...
Jerusalem on the Jukebox, they talk in tongues on Coronation Street Heaven help the Pharisee whose halo has slipped down to his feet A thousand satellite comedians have died for your sins Jerusalem on the jukebox, little angels, beat your wings
...while Stephen Randall is doing his best to get on Product Placement Friday...
Wake me up with cup of Tetley A slice of Hovis Eggs, bacon and beans But the rain is falling down It's falling down, it's falling down On Coronation Street
The army occupy Ireland, but the boot will never fit. Was it Coronation Street? Or was it Londonderry? Oh it doesn't fucking matter, Paul Daniels'll keep us merry.
Not fans then, boys? Not like the Toy Dolls anyway, who seem obsessed with Corrie...
Sitting watching Coronation Street You decide to put your feet up, just about comfy in your seat And she says, I'm feeling hungry If she sends you out for a bag of fish'n'chips You'll know it is time to say
That's just one example. We'll look at another next week.
Laurie Shaw is one of those musicians I discovered through doing features such as this. He reminds me of Jarvis at times. He has (according to Bandcamp) released over 100 albums. The ones I've heard are all worth a listen, but I doubt I'll ever have time to hear them all.
I was ill with jealousy All through Coronation Street But then I was fine After a bit, I was alright
Redhouse Gasoline are from Finland. Yet they appear to know quite a bit about British culture...
When Cynthia’s eyes met Reg’s He felt just like he’d known her for ages His chat-up line was really short and sweet Said she was glamorous enough to be on Coronation Street She never did her GCEs Her mum got sick she had to work at the factory All she ever wanted was for someone to hold her At the pictures late one night Reg slipped his arm round her shoulder
All of which leads us to Billy, still banging on about the British press...
If this does not reflect your view, you should understand That those who own the papers also own this land And they'd rather you believed In Coronation Street capers In the war of circulation, it sells newspapers Could it be an infringement Of the freedom of the press To print pictures of women in states of undress?
Those are the best songs I could find that mentioned Coronation Street by name. However, there are many more which mention some of the street's iconic residents. Next week, we'll take a listen to some of those. I've got quite a few stacked up, but if you know of any songs that namedrops a legend from the street, do let me know.
I was brought up to believe in stopping distances. Every Sunday morning, my father would drive us all to church, reminding us of the importance of leaving a good gap between us and the car in front. He practiced what he preached: the Highway Code to Heaven. His commandments stuck with me when I myself learned to drive, and his voice speaks to me whenever I drive through the valley of the shadow of death: or the English motorway system, as it’s now more commonly known.
These days though, I feel so alone in my faith. It’s not easy to follow Jesus (or whoever’s driving the car in front) and do the right thing (stay at least 75 metres behind him, at 70mph) when everyone else is ignoring the commandments. To the non-believers, the stopping distance isn’t there to protect you, to keep you safe and warm and happy and alive. It’s there to pull over into, because you just can’t wait to get ahead, or because you’ve left it to the very last second to change lanes for your exit.
Atheists tell me the only reason I cling to my old-fashioned beliefs is some foolish notion of eternal life. The modern mantra appears to be: “We’re all going to die anyway, if it happens right now on the M1, so be it. If not, glory be, I arrived at my destination 30 seconds sooner.” But I don’t want to live forever. I just want to get home in one piece, see my son again, and have my tea.
They say, “belief is the death of reason”. Well, I’d rather have dead reason than a dead body, thanks, so I’ll keep on believing, even if no one else does.
Good morning. Hope you're all having a Jolie Sunday, and not a Maleficent one. Hopefully you didn't have to raid any tombs to come up with the answers to yesterday's quiz...
9. Refusal to fantasise over Roy Orbison tune makes home a squash and a squeeze.
A Squash & A Squeeze is a kid's book by the author of The Gruffalo, Julia Donaldson. Probably the best kids' writer around these days. Anyway, it's about a house that gets very crowded.
I told you way back in 52 That I would never go with you
C wondered who did the original of that. RD replied that it was Smiley Lewis... and that if you listen carefully to the instrumental break, Dave gives a shout out to him, along with Huey 'Piano' Smith (who played piano on the original version), Fats Domino (who also covered it) and Chuck Berry (who doesn't appear to have recorded it at all, but maybe he played it live?).
RD then offered the controversial opinion that the cover versions by Ben Folds Five and Bruce Woolley & The Camera Club were both better than Trevor Horn's original. I'm not sure I agree with that - there's something about the original that just sends a shiver down my spine (in a good way) although they're both fine covers. I'd add the version by Presidents of the United States of America to the list of cracking covers.
Other songs I found that referenced 1952 included...
There are, of course, 52 weeks in a year, so I thought I might find loads of references to that. However, the only ones that leapt out at me were these...
However, I have to agree with both Lynchie and Rigid Digit that there was one very clear winner this week. It was the song that introduced me to this particular artist and established him in my mind as both a lyricist and guitar player of great note...
Said James, "In my opinion, there's nothing in this world Beats a '52 Vincent and a Redheaded girl. Now Nortons and Indians and Greavses won't do. Oh, they don't have a Soul like a Vincent '52
If that doesn't break your heart by the end of the song, then you've got granite in your chest...
51 next week... anyone got anything that can challenge The Swede's obvious suggestion?
To South Wales today, for our final entry in the United Kingdom of Song this year. The first place in the country to be designated as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, way back in 1956. It looks pretty damned beautiful to me.
Bonnie Tyler was born a few miles away in the village of Skewen, but now lives right on the edge of Gower in the charmingly-named coastal town of Mumbles.
Lyrically, I could only find one mention of the Gower Peninsula in song, but as it comes from a favourite of mine, one is all I needed. Here's the amazing Richard Thompson (watch those fingers on that guitar!) with the tale of a lost love he just couldn't keep hold of...
Apparently there was a big horse race last weekend. I wouldn't know. I'm not a fan of horse races. But I do like the odd horse race song. Here's ten runners and riders... who'll be the winner?
(There's no Bob Seger in this countdown. I just like that album cover.)
One of my favourite James songs, though I've no idea why they stuck the famous tax-dodging jockey's name in brackets after the title. Various suggestions I've read online include that the beat of the song sounds like racing hooves (erm... not really) or that this was a phrase the roadie used to call out during soundcheck. We may never know, and any connection to horse racing seems tenuous at best (which is why I've placed it at Number 10)... but it's a cracking tune.
Look, if Sting wrote this, I'd be taking the piss out of him for writing a song from the second person perspective of a race horse... but I'll cut Dan Fogelberg a bit more slack because he doesn't have a stripy jumper. Make sure you've got your cheese-board ready for this one...
Born in the valley And raised in the trees Of western Kentucky On wobbly knees With mama beside you To help you along You'll soon be growing up strong All the long, lazy mornings In pastures of green The sun on your withers The wind in your mane Could never prepare you For what lies ahead
Let's face it, if you went down the racetrack and found Shane MacGowan there... well, you'd hardly be surprised, would you? You might be surprised if he won though...
Twenty fucking five to one Me gambling days are done I bet on a horse called the Bottle of Smoke And my horse won
You see, this is the problem I have with horse racing. What happens to those poor horses?
There's a racecourse in the sky And that's where all the racing horses must go by and by And I believe every steward, lord and groom I believe that they're calling her home
Good luck had just stung me To the race track I did go She bet on one horse to win And I bet on another to show
Odds were in my favor I had him five to one When that nag to win came around the track Sure enough he had won
Apparently, "Up on Cripple Creek is notable as it is one of the first instances of a Hohner clavinet being played with a wah-wah pedal". Which, I'm sure you'll all agree, is... erm... something.
Swiss Adam suggested the Primal Scream cover... pretty trippy... I always like it when the Scream go mental like this.
Nobody went for the other two versions in my record collection: Garland Jeffreys or The Inspiral Carpets, but both are worth the odd spin. (That organ solo must have been irresistible to Clint Boon!)
Once you start digging around on youtube, you can find all manner of treats, including Aretha, Iggy... even Bruce. But for me, it goes back to my first love. The version I first heard. The version I bought on 7" inch single back in 1990. Congrats to Alyson and Rigid Digit for guessing right this week.
Take it away, Hugh...
95's going to be a bit tougher to guess, I reckon. Any takers?
