(un-)connexions

First of all, let's mention this web-site's initial, tentative steps into the commercial world. I went to see American popsters Mudhoney, last night. They were OK - pretty much as you'd expect. Loud and bouncy. However, I did see, on the wall of the Astoria, a large screen which you could text messages to. For a fee. So I sent an advert for "What would Puskas do" there. And it appeared. Up on the big screen. Fantastic. Sit back and wait for the hits. It was a least a more worthwhile message than "XYZ is gay" which, for some reason, seemed to be the most popular.
Moving on. As we all must. Let us turn our gaze on reality television. This is something that has irritated me for a long time, preying as it does on the least-likeable aspects of us as humans. Our seemingly innate voyeurism. Let's gather a bunch of people in a house and watch their every move. Maybe (fnar, fnar) they'll do some sex! Get a grip (no, not like that, you disgusting individual). If you want to watch shagging, watch porn. Don't watch a bunch of desperate, sad specimens willing to whore their privacy for the sake of their 15 minutes of fame. Wow - maybe they'll get a chance to release a single. Maybe host a chat-show in the nether regions of cable hell. Maybe, if we're lucky, they'll just fuck off back to their miserable lives and we'll never hear from them again (this will happen at some point to all of them, it's just that with some it takes longer than others).
Big Brother, of course, isn't the worst of these. There's one called "Temptation Island" in which a group of couples are split up - blokes one place, women in another, and surrounded by a group of rather attractive people who's sole aim is to have sex with them. This, to me, is deeply unpleasant - feeding on failing relationships, then passing it off as entertainment. However, what sympathy you have for these people dissipates as soon as you hear them talk. Muppets, the lot of them. For want of a better term. Here's a good idea. How about a reality show in which the contestants are locked in a house with a Jason-Vorhees-type serial killer? They can have as much sex as they like, but ultimately a man with a hockey mask will chop them up with a machete. It's got to be a big hit with the viewers, desperate for that extra twist which current reality tv can't give them. And best of all, there can be a celebrity version. Get your votes in now for who you want on it. I'll start with Richard Littlejohn, Jim Davidson and Tara Palmer-Tomkinson. But there are plenty of others.

disturbing hairdressing trends

Some things worry me unduly. I was at the hairdresser's yesterday. Being the fashionable and up-to-date type I am. The chap charged with my hair had a mullett. A genuine, very-short on top, long at the back mullett. And he's a hairdresser. I may add here that the woman who normally does it for me, but was on holiday yesterday, also sports one. Why? We laughed at Chris Waddle and Pat Sharpe back in the 80s. And quite rightly. No one wants to see the return of a hairstyle named after a fish. Particularly not one as ridiculous as that. I can only assume that hairdressers have hair-cuts that transcend all fashion - a bit like fashion shows with clothes that are exceptionally "now", but no one in their right mind would ever wear.
On another note, I saw Al Stewart last night. He was very good. However, it was pointed out by my friend that we need to reiterate here that a cat is for life, not just for a year.
I am making no comment on the fact that we seem to be surrendering more and more of our sovereignty to the US, this time arresting British citizen Abu Hamza, purely because they tell us to do so. I'd best stop now, before I start commenting. As I said I wouldn't.
And thus life goes on...

television and its malcontents

Apropos of nothing, but I noticed last week that there was a new movie channel on Sky - the Horror Channel. Being something of a fan of that genre, I tuned in. Several times. And it's shite. Complete, irredeemable cack. Films which sound like they have good premises, but appear to have been made by a bunch of talentless fuckwits on a budget of 25pence. No. Put some good horror films on, please.
On a completely unrelated note - current music taking up CD-player slots (can I still call it turntable space?): Frank Zappa - "Live in New York", Hawkwind - "It is the business of the future to be dangerous", Pixies - "Surfer Rosa", MC5 - "High Time" and Inner City Unit's "Maximum Effect". So there...

Astrology domine?

Ah, now, this is intriguing. A chap called Percy Seymour, who apparently used to be a lecturer in astronomy at Plymouth University, and who is still a member of the Royal Astronomical Society, has written a book entitled 'The Scientific Proof of Astrology". Which would be marvellous and ground-breaking if it did what it said on the tin. But, no, it doesn't contain a scientific proof of astrology at all. What does it contain? We'll come to that in a moment. First, a brief debunking of astrological claims...
First, and rather fundamentally, astrology was invented about 2000 years ago. In the geo-centric days of the universe. Before it was known that the earth orbits the sun. So, because of movement of stars, the earth, and so on, the star sign you are supposedly born under doesn't represent the actual map of the stars overhead when you were born - in fact it's out by approximately one. So that's nice - basically, it means that even if astrology were true, you're reading the wrong horoscope.
But is it true? How could it be? What exactly are the causal effects that determine your life, from the moment that you're born (and how, exactly, do you define birth - astrology seems to take it as the moment you pop out, but, if the stars are really having some sort of effect on us, why wouldn't it be from the moment of conception? Or at least before birth...)?
Which is where we can move onto Seymour's book. He doesn't believe in astrology. At least not the Russell Grant, newspaper style astrology. But his book does suggest that the magnetic fields of non-terrestrial bodies interfere with you, thus giving some sort of credence to it. Which is all very nice, but the magnetic fields of other planets have a smaller effect on earth than does your mobile phone. Or pc. In fact, you're more likely to be affected by the magnetic field from the computer whilst reading this than you are by one from another planet. So what can I get you to do...? Heh, heh, heh....
Ultimately, though, it does beg the question of why a respectable scientist would go over to the other side and write a book promoting irrationality and stupidity. It's akin to the pope declaring himself a Satanist. One possible explanation may be the relative pay-packets of astronomers and astrologers. The likes of Jonathan Cainer can command 7-figure salaries for writing their bollocks. Your average lecturer at a university will be lucky if they make 30K a year. Presumably Seymour thought "I'll have a bit of that" and wrote his silly book. Presumably, as well, it will sell a lot. Doesn't make it worthwhile, though, does it?

statistically, more people survive when they think only of themselves...

Some things need to be recorded. I imagine proud parents feel the same. But my cat knows how to operate the front door knocker. Oh yes. She has a perfectly serviceable cat flap at back, but no. There's a banging noise at the front, I go to investigate, and there she is, looking ginger and innocent.
But well done, Puskas. More intelligent than many humans I could mention. Richard Littlejohn, or Melanie Phillips, for example...

Comedy time...

Saw Dylan Moran doing his stand-up thing. And he was standing, rather than sitting, so that was nice. Doing what he says. Very funny man. Go to see him. A quote. Not necessarily the funniest thing he said - that was probably something about smurfs, but something that struck a chord, anyway.
"Regime change - I never understood that phrase. It sounds like a reality tv show where the entire nation is lead back in after a few weeks. 'No, don't look yet, no, no, go on, look now...' 'Oh, it's fantastic - we've got robbing and murder and looting and burning replacing the old torture - what, we've got torture as well? Oh, marvellous!'"
Well, something like that, anyway...

Give me your hungry, your tired, your poor

OK, before we move to the business of today's tedious rant, a word, please, for Mr Eric Goulden, aka Wreckless Eric. Saw him in Walthamstow on Friday, and, like every time I've seen him, he was superb. I don't know if there's a better chronicler of that low-rent, suburban-England sprawl currently living. Imagine Roy Harper becoming angry after spending too many years living in the Medway Towns. Quintessentially English in a way that tends to be overlooked in the rural, green-and-pleasant land mythology, and a true delight. I, for one, cannot wait for his new album - probably anticipating it even more than the forthcoming Hawkwind one (which, I suspect, will turn out to be a disappointment. They're re-doing a version of Silver Machine for it, for fuck's sake. I mean, fine song and all, but it's over 30 years old. Move on, boys. Move on.)
As, indeed, I will move on. To areas we've covered before, but need to keep returning to. George W. Bush, for example, and his pet poodle, Mr Tony Blair. And Dubya's insistence that he and Donny R. didn't officially sanction torture of Iraqi prisoners. Does anyone believe him? He's violated the Geneva Convention with his treatment of the kidnapped individual's held in Guantanamo Bay (how else can they be described? Not P.O.W.'s. Not criminals. Never been charged or stood trial. They've been kidnapped). So the torture of Iraqi prisoners by the U.S. Army, the mercenaries who seem to have been hired to supplement them, and, it seems likely, by the British Army, is just an extension of current policy. Which is more or less what the anonymous CIA operative told Seymour Hersh, when writing his article.
Still, it's an effective weapon in the War on Terrorism, isn't it? Ensure hatred of the west grows, creating more terrorists, thus enabling the war to continue for longer, and everyone's happy - the US get to continue their empire building, in Syria, North Korea, Iran and anywhere the threat of democracy looks to be arising against friendly dictators. Osama Bin Laden, or whoever the next bogeyman is, gets another generation of desperate recruits who'll die for his insane ideology. And the arms companies get to sell a lot more weapons. So the only losers are the people in the third world who are on the receiving end of America's freedom-bringing bombs, and the people in the west who end up as victims of another form of terrorism (private, rather than state-sponsored, this time.)
Hey-ho, isn't life grand?

All the way from New Orleans to Jerusalem

Well, well, well, this bastard's changed hasn't it? Not from the point of view of you, as a reader, obviously, it all looks the same, but for those of us writing it. Massive differences. Wow. Again.
In any event, I've just been to see Nick Harper tonight. In any sort of fair society, he would be a star, dominating the pop charts with his unfathomable guitar playing and songs of amazing power and purpose. As it is, we'll have to make do with the next winner of Pop Idol. There you go. Democracy. Or possibly apathy. People vote for that fat woman, and Mr Tony Blair, without really considering the alternatives. Or even, often, knowing there is an alternative.
Anyway, Nick Harper. As my friend Neil put it, "The Jimi Hendrix of the acoustic guitar". Utterly stunning. Go and see the man if you have the chance.
Meanwhile, the other top pop concert coming up this week is Wreckless Eric, in Walthamstow. Go to that, too. On Friday.
As for me, it seems to time for bed, now...

fairy-tale facade

Hmmm. Since the name of this thing (whatever it is) was inspired by one of the more insane pieces of religious lunacy infecting the world (how on earth can you determine what Jesus would do? Especially given that most of the "information" regarding the man was written 50-100 years after his death, and that Christianity itself was invented another 200-300 years after that, by the Emperor Constantine and the Council of Nicea? But I digress...)
Coming back from a pleasant afternoon in the pub, I was handed a leaflet, by a woman outside the tube-station, offering me eternal life. Now, aside from the fact that eternal life doesn't really sound that appealing (we all get tired, and eventually things have to stop), it is also meaningless. Particularly when phrased in terms of your "soul" living on. How? Why? What is this soul thing? In what sense is it alive now, and how would it live on? No one seems able to answer even the simplest questions.
Nonetheless, the scars go deeper. A review of the Reith lectures in today's Observer praise one questioner for having the "guts" to defend George W. Bush. Why? Where's the courage in putting forward the opinion defended by those with power and wealth. And, we ask, what's the difference between Bush and Osama Bin Laden. Well, one's the religious fundamentalist son of an oil-billionaire with no democratic mandate to support him, and the other's Osama Bin Laden. Ho, ho, ho...
But we seem to be living in a time of a religious war, whatever he might say. An insane, right-wing, born-again Christian re-enacting the crusades, propelling some equally lunatic, albeit more desperate, Muslims to kick back in an ever increasing spiral of savagery.
But what do I know about it? Hell, what would Puskas do? Purr. Purr and sleep. Which, in my book, sounds a lot more sensible.

I don't want to know about squirrels, I only want to know about cats....

Whey-hey.
I've just been to see John Martyn playing in Croydon. Marvellous gig. Started off slowly, and it was difficult to hear what he was saying at times (I know his singing's nasally and indistinct, but I didn't expect his speech to be like that), but after he'd been off for an interval and came back on, he was fantastic - the guitar was much louder in the mix, and he seemed to be bang on form - played Solid Air, to much acclaim, and did a great acoustic slot, the highlight of which, for me, was Easy Blues - I saw his ex, Beverley play this, with the splendid Matt Deighton a month or so back, and that was good, but he just blew me away with it. Highly recommended.
Support was a young woman called Eva Abrahams. I think. One of those wispy, slightly fey acoustic guitar playing women - think a dull Suzanne Vega. Sorry, don't like being cruel, but she didn't really grab me. Listen to proper Suzanne Vega, if you like that sort of thing. Or women folkies who have a bit more "oomph" - Thea Gilmore, Katy Carr. Or even Beverley Martyn....
Things that caught my eye in the news today - one of Mr Tony Blair's advisors blaming the press for the fact that people don't trust the government. Hmmm. A bit like Richard Nixon blaming Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein for the Watergate break-in.
As the fat and very curious about homosexual practices hack, Richard Littlejohn, is wont to say - "You couldn't make it up"

Hey - let's play naked twister!

Smalltown England - what's that all about, eh? Apart from a New Model Army song, obviously.
I was in Uttoxeter the other day. Don't ask why - there were good reasons. Or, at least there were reasons, which might not amount to the same thing. Nonetheless, I was there. It was Bank Holiday Monday, and the town was closed. Or almost closed. Iceland was open (the shop, not the island - I suspect that may have been open, too, but was sadly nowhere near Uttoxeter). As was Kwik Save, and Woolworths. And a pub. Just the one. In a town square. It looked OK - we went in for a swift pint, and everyone turned and stared. It wasn't friendly. Weasel-faced men with pencil moustaches, fat women in shell suits and old women with small, yappy dogs. And an undercurrent of suppressed violence. We drank up quickly and left after the one. Not, I think, that anything would have happened - whilst keeping their eyes on us, many people were interested in the DIY programme on telly. Why, I don't know.
The problem is that whilst it's easy to take the piss out of these places - and Uttoxeter is one of the worst - a post-industrial wasteland with pretentions to quaintness, and an almost unbearable lack of class - one wonders where they arose. As ever, blame Thatcher. A cliche, but a true one. For destroying British industry and British society. And blame Blair for picking up her baton and running with it. Very, very depressing.
Also, never go to Alton Towers, as it's far too scary. Why anyone would want to plunge down 280 foot to their (almost) certain death at the bottom is not comprehensible to me.

More inchoate ramblings

After all, that's what this is all for isn't it?
Feeling slightly better. Certainly better than earlier in the week.
So, more drinking then.
Saw Hawkwind on Wednesday evening, down in Brighton. Arguably the top pop band of our age. And despite them playing as a 3-piece (not my favourite - too much pre-programmed sequencer stuff, when I want to see "live" music. And one of the worst gigs I've ever seen was Hawkwind as a 3-piece, at Liverpool, back in '92 - put me off seeing them again for years) they were rather good. Played a stomping version of "psychedelic Warlords". Although I still maintain they'd be better with a couple of extra people - Simon House adding his violin, Huw Lloyd-Langton playing lead guitar and maybe bring back Arthur Brown to do his mad frontman thing (something that's always worked for the Hawks, back since the days of the late Robert Calvert).
Made a remarkable discovery, too. On Thursday, having a day off work, we went up into London, hoping to take lunch in the "pie room" of the Newman Arms pub - famous for its pies. Unfortunately it was both full and fully booked all day (a pie room? Fully booked? Just goes to show how good pies are!), so we pottered on over to Covent Garden where, nestling above the West Cornish Pastie outlet, is a small pub/bar thing which serves splendid Cornish beers, mead (Yay! Mead! Feel like a Viking. Albeit a pissed Viking....) and pasties from the pastie place. Heartily recommended.
Youngs' pubs are the order of the day, today. Yippee!

More inchoate ramblings

After all, that's what this is all for isn't it?
Feeling slightly better. Certainly better than earlier in the week.
So, more drinking then.
Saw Hawkwind on Wednesday evening, down in Brighton. Arguably the top pop band of our age. And despite them playing as a 3-piece (not my favourite - too much pre-programmed sequencer stuff, when I want to see "live" music. And one of the worst gigs I've ever seen was Hawkwind as a 3-piece, at Liverpool, back in '92 - put me off seeing them again for years) they were rather good. Played a stomping version of "Psychadelic Warlords". Although I still maintain they'd be better with a couple of extra people - Simon House adding his violin, Huw Lloyd-Langton playing lead guitar and maybe bring back Arthur Brown to do his mad frontman thing (something that's always worked for the Hawks, back since the days of the late Robert Calvert).
Made a remarkable discovery, too. On Thursday, having a day off work, we went up into London, hoping to take lunch in the "pie room" of the Newman Arms pub - famous for its pies. Unfortunately it was both full and fully booked all day (a pie room? Fully booked? Just goes to show how good pies are!), so we pottered on over to Covent Garden where, nestling above the West Cornish Pastie outlet, is a small pub/bar thing which serves splendid Cornish beers, mead (Yay! Mead! Feel like a viking. Albeit a pissed Viking....) and pasties from the pastie place. Heartily recommended.
Youngs' pubs are the order of the day, today. Yippee!