Someone actually commented on my blog.
This is a breakthrough on two levels, never mind the fact that both comments were critical.
1. Someone has actually read the blog; this is news to me.
2. It means that the fact that two people stumbled across my blog (probably by accident) means that now I've got a captive audience; that is, a host of lost internet ramblers who somehow find my blog between checking facebook and viewing highly erotic french lithographs.
This particularly blog is another segue between my last one and what I intend to post in the future. It's London Fashion Week, and as always, I'll be off with my godmother next week to go and take in the sights, the sounds, the eating disorders and write a cracking review in the process.
Secondly, I trekked up and down the King's Road in order to document the first of my London Underground guides, Sloane Square. I picked this station as I haven't been there in a while, but it's where my parents used to take me a lot when I was but a small child.
Lastly, I've been pondering objectivity and subjectivity. So much of the media is obsessed with objectivity it sickens me. A blog I follow opened a post with "We journalists make it a point to know very little about an extremely wide variety of topics; this is how we stay objective." Now I'm not sure if this reflects her particular view, but it got me thinking anyhow. Hunter S Thompson once remarked that "Objective journalism is one of the main reasons American politics has been allowed to be so corrupt for so long. You can't be objective about Nixon." He's got a point. When things like civil liberties are concerned, why shouldn't we be able to inject our writing with vitriol to go against the grain? Reporting a story objectively, simply laying out the facts, does little to uncover any political agenda between the lines.
I've yet to decide if I'm actually any good at writing. If you're reading this, do please tell me if you'd rather wipe your arse with a cactus than pore through the text displayed on your humming monitor. I don't mind if you disagree with what I'm writing, it's just if it turns out I've got the literary ability of Jade Goody (ooh, topical and risqué...) then I'd rather quit while I'm ahead and get stuck into another doomed profession like banking.
Saturday, 21 February 2009
Friday, 20 February 2009
Bum, arse and widdle
I got dragged along to the Forum a few nights by a friend to see Late of the Pier play. Never mind that their music is just Gary Numan furiously masturbating into a synth, it was filled with pretty much the type of person I can't bear to be around.
Live music and music in general is in a bit of a pickle. Many people are saying that we've never had it so good, but is that really true? I mean, there's no doubt that due to myspace and the like, we've been exposed to a lot of bands who are thoroughly productive and creative. However, I can't see any of these bands standing the test of time. Will anyone really be listening to Late of the Pier in 20 years time? It's doubtful that anyone in 2028 is going to listen to a pastiche of what the 80's were like, rather than just going for the real thing. Musicians face a problem today that almost every angle has been covered in music, making it very difficult not to sound like you're imitating sounds of the past.
The downside of the online music phenomenon is that you inevitably have a lot of shit sifted through independent labels. Witness for example, Patrick Wolf. Saviour to the hormonal 14 year old girl he may be, but to everyone else he's just a Bowie imitator for the Boombox generation. No matter how much he drowns himself in glitter and feathers, he can't help looking, well, just a bit old hat. When shock dressing and glam was first born, the point of it was that no one had ever done it before. Having said that, I do miss the days of music when rockstars looked like, well, rockstars. If you take a look back at the likes of Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, Ian Dury, Guns N Roses, David Bowie, Roxy Music, these people actually looked like they came from a higher power. The ethereal quality they had was part of what made them so interesting to watch. Now you just get Late of the Pier prancing around in skinny jeans with no shirts on, and we're expected to like them? Members of a band are supposed to be removed from the public, sartorially interesting and just a little bit crazy.
I'm pogo-ing back and forth between both sides of the argument here. I've always been hesitant to take on things like downloading music, so perhaps I'm just a grumpy old man. Disposability is the byword of our generation, be it regarding clothes, media or music. I'm sure I can't be the only one who's hoping for a bit more than the endless stream of bands that seem to record one good album and then disappear into the wilderness, soon to be found gigging at the Dog and Duck, propped up by their morning shifts at Tesco.
Late of the Pier: Slathering themselves in paint and hoping to sell records
Ian Dury: Sold records without the use of paint.
Live music and music in general is in a bit of a pickle. Many people are saying that we've never had it so good, but is that really true? I mean, there's no doubt that due to myspace and the like, we've been exposed to a lot of bands who are thoroughly productive and creative. However, I can't see any of these bands standing the test of time. Will anyone really be listening to Late of the Pier in 20 years time? It's doubtful that anyone in 2028 is going to listen to a pastiche of what the 80's were like, rather than just going for the real thing. Musicians face a problem today that almost every angle has been covered in music, making it very difficult not to sound like you're imitating sounds of the past.
The downside of the online music phenomenon is that you inevitably have a lot of shit sifted through independent labels. Witness for example, Patrick Wolf. Saviour to the hormonal 14 year old girl he may be, but to everyone else he's just a Bowie imitator for the Boombox generation. No matter how much he drowns himself in glitter and feathers, he can't help looking, well, just a bit old hat. When shock dressing and glam was first born, the point of it was that no one had ever done it before. Having said that, I do miss the days of music when rockstars looked like, well, rockstars. If you take a look back at the likes of Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, Ian Dury, Guns N Roses, David Bowie, Roxy Music, these people actually looked like they came from a higher power. The ethereal quality they had was part of what made them so interesting to watch. Now you just get Late of the Pier prancing around in skinny jeans with no shirts on, and we're expected to like them? Members of a band are supposed to be removed from the public, sartorially interesting and just a little bit crazy.
I'm pogo-ing back and forth between both sides of the argument here. I've always been hesitant to take on things like downloading music, so perhaps I'm just a grumpy old man. Disposability is the byword of our generation, be it regarding clothes, media or music. I'm sure I can't be the only one who's hoping for a bit more than the endless stream of bands that seem to record one good album and then disappear into the wilderness, soon to be found gigging at the Dog and Duck, propped up by their morning shifts at Tesco.
Late of the Pier: Slathering themselves in paint and hoping to sell records
Ian Dury: Sold records without the use of paint.Sunday, 15 February 2009
We love Valentine's!
I decided to originally write a scathing attack on the whole Valentines Day shebang, having spent the last 3 years very alone on February 14th. I then realised that this is what everyone else in the known universe is writing about, so instead I'm just doing a small post on what I got up to the other day.
I cycled into Greenwich, with the intent of buying a book, perhaps having a coffee and then wandering around Greenwich Market. I had almost forgotten that it was Valentines Day, only to be reminded when everyone on the street seemed to come as a pair.
It's the curse of Valentine's Day that everyone who is part of a couple is tainted by assumptions that they're getting lovey-dovey all day. There I was standing in the off licence cum grocery, when lo and behold; a couple came in to buy some groceries. How dare they, I thought. Look at them, smugly holding hands whilst they check out the frozen food isle. As they mulled over whether to buy minestrone or oxtail soup I had to leave the shop otherwise the phrase GBH would soon be marching with ill-deserved confidence in the direction of this situation. It's only because they happened to go shopping on Valentine's Day that this happened, mind. Any other day of the year, perfectly acceptable. Today however, pity the poor sod who trots out of his front door to pick up a few essentials with his missus, because he's going to have daggers looked at him from every footloose person within a 2 mile radius.
Off licence incident aside, I actually had a pretty pleasant afternoon. For once I'd actually put on enough layers so that my testicles wouldn't retreat into my abdomen, and I was enjoying aimlessly strolling, sipping my coffee.
However, as I went to unchain my bike, the piece de resistance hove into view, and shattered my brief fantasy that "Hey, Valentine's Day isn't that bad after all". It's one thing being one of the only single men on the high street. It's another thing entirely when people who look like they've swallowed walrus DNA stride into view, with a slightly smug look at you as if to say "Yes! I know I have the personality of a pine-cone, but tonight I'll be getting some hot carnal action, unlike you!” That's a real kick in the teeth, that is.
So I got on my bike and pedalled away, safe in the knowledge that there was a giant tub of Cookie Dough ice cream waiting for me when I got home.
I cycled into Greenwich, with the intent of buying a book, perhaps having a coffee and then wandering around Greenwich Market. I had almost forgotten that it was Valentines Day, only to be reminded when everyone on the street seemed to come as a pair.
It's the curse of Valentine's Day that everyone who is part of a couple is tainted by assumptions that they're getting lovey-dovey all day. There I was standing in the off licence cum grocery, when lo and behold; a couple came in to buy some groceries. How dare they, I thought. Look at them, smugly holding hands whilst they check out the frozen food isle. As they mulled over whether to buy minestrone or oxtail soup I had to leave the shop otherwise the phrase GBH would soon be marching with ill-deserved confidence in the direction of this situation. It's only because they happened to go shopping on Valentine's Day that this happened, mind. Any other day of the year, perfectly acceptable. Today however, pity the poor sod who trots out of his front door to pick up a few essentials with his missus, because he's going to have daggers looked at him from every footloose person within a 2 mile radius.
Off licence incident aside, I actually had a pretty pleasant afternoon. For once I'd actually put on enough layers so that my testicles wouldn't retreat into my abdomen, and I was enjoying aimlessly strolling, sipping my coffee.
However, as I went to unchain my bike, the piece de resistance hove into view, and shattered my brief fantasy that "Hey, Valentine's Day isn't that bad after all". It's one thing being one of the only single men on the high street. It's another thing entirely when people who look like they've swallowed walrus DNA stride into view, with a slightly smug look at you as if to say "Yes! I know I have the personality of a pine-cone, but tonight I'll be getting some hot carnal action, unlike you!” That's a real kick in the teeth, that is.
So I got on my bike and pedalled away, safe in the knowledge that there was a giant tub of Cookie Dough ice cream waiting for me when I got home.
Saturday, 14 February 2009
This isn't a proper blog entry
Rather, its a summary of what's to come.
Readers of my blog (that is, the one person who follows it,and the countless people who do a typo and end up here instead), I am over the next few months going to be focusing my attention on documenting London, specificially it's tube stations. I feel that tourists too often go to the obvious sights and sounds of London, and this to me isn't what London is about.
I'm convinced that behind every tube station, no matter how obscure or far flung from the square mile, has some little gem of culture, be it a pub with character, a quiet park, or a kitsch boutique.
So over the next few months I'm going to attempt the gargantuan task of visiting every single tube stop and telling you what I find there. Who knows, I might get bored half way through.
Readers of my blog (that is, the one person who follows it,and the countless people who do a typo and end up here instead), I am over the next few months going to be focusing my attention on documenting London, specificially it's tube stations. I feel that tourists too often go to the obvious sights and sounds of London, and this to me isn't what London is about.
I'm convinced that behind every tube station, no matter how obscure or far flung from the square mile, has some little gem of culture, be it a pub with character, a quiet park, or a kitsch boutique.
So over the next few months I'm going to attempt the gargantuan task of visiting every single tube stop and telling you what I find there. Who knows, I might get bored half way through.
Sunday, 8 February 2009
Ga-ga for GaGa
So it seems that in the midst of all this financial crisis, all we need to do is "Just Dance". I am of course referring to Miss Joanne Stefani Germanotta, a.k.a. Lady GaGa, whose aforementioned single has reached number one in four countries.
Having initially discovered GaGa (I'm sorry, but its a rubbish pseudonym, why couldn't she have gone for something more serious like, I don't know, Morrissey) back in early 2008, she was promoted as a sort of hipster version of Madonna. There are two things that are wrong with this.
1. Madonna isn't something to be deemed uncool, she's bloody brilliant and anyone who says otherwise I'd love to see prancing around in their underpants at 50.
2. Its a bit unfair on Lady GaGa herself. A bit like saying that Russell Brand is the new Oscar Wilde.
The point is, everything would be a whole lot simpler if we just accepted GaGa for who she is, that is, brilliantly perfect throwaway pop. I'm not sure when it became a sin to hate pop music. Looking back, I can't see much wrong with the likes of Joy Division and Ian Dury populating earlier chart placings, when did it become so uncool to get to the number one spot? Looking around in popular music today, the "guilty pleasures" like Rihanna, Madonna et al seem a much better proposition than say, Scouting for Girls, whose songs are akin to have someone crap in your ears and then grin childishly.
Lady GaGa in full on Donatella Versace mode
I'm not entirely sure what my point is here. Maybe it's that because being commercially successful has become so uncool, an entirely new sub-genre of pop has been created. Namely, pop-that-is-intent-on-selling-a-shitload-of-records-but-will-claim-to-be-alternative-anyway type pop. Its because of this new leap of mediocrity that something like The Kooks exist. Alarm bells should've been ringing in the record-buying public's ears when the lead tosser (sorry, singer) said he'd previously dated Katie Melua. This is a woman so bland that she probably regards the Boden '09 Winter catalogue as daring, and buying a child travelcard as living on the edge. And yet they've sold millions of records.
Anyway enough of this, I'm off to listen to an exclusive collection of Small Faces B Sides, only available on limited edition vinyl, ta ra.
Having initially discovered GaGa (I'm sorry, but its a rubbish pseudonym, why couldn't she have gone for something more serious like, I don't know, Morrissey) back in early 2008, she was promoted as a sort of hipster version of Madonna. There are two things that are wrong with this.
1. Madonna isn't something to be deemed uncool, she's bloody brilliant and anyone who says otherwise I'd love to see prancing around in their underpants at 50.
2. Its a bit unfair on Lady GaGa herself. A bit like saying that Russell Brand is the new Oscar Wilde.
The point is, everything would be a whole lot simpler if we just accepted GaGa for who she is, that is, brilliantly perfect throwaway pop. I'm not sure when it became a sin to hate pop music. Looking back, I can't see much wrong with the likes of Joy Division and Ian Dury populating earlier chart placings, when did it become so uncool to get to the number one spot? Looking around in popular music today, the "guilty pleasures" like Rihanna, Madonna et al seem a much better proposition than say, Scouting for Girls, whose songs are akin to have someone crap in your ears and then grin childishly.
Lady GaGa in full on Donatella Versace mode
I'm not entirely sure what my point is here. Maybe it's that because being commercially successful has become so uncool, an entirely new sub-genre of pop has been created. Namely, pop-that-is-intent-on-selling-a-shitload-of-records-but-will-claim-to-be-alternative-anyway type pop. Its because of this new leap of mediocrity that something like The Kooks exist. Alarm bells should've been ringing in the record-buying public's ears when the lead tosser (sorry, singer) said he'd previously dated Katie Melua. This is a woman so bland that she probably regards the Boden '09 Winter catalogue as daring, and buying a child travelcard as living on the edge. And yet they've sold millions of records.
Anyway enough of this, I'm off to listen to an exclusive collection of Small Faces B Sides, only available on limited edition vinyl, ta ra.
