Half a percent

My first Neon set tonight stiffed, to the extent that some random punter came up and tried to tell me how to do my job. Do I tell them how to dance? Well, do I? Even when they clearly need told?

Pah.

It was a crap variation on "play something good", even, which would have earned vast contempt if I'd had the energy. Anyway, by the end, people had livelied up and bopped shamelessly to any old treasure, which was nice. The right CD deck was taking ages to read the TOC, and froze a few seconds into the second-last song, which was replaced by the Only Ones and went on last (for me) instead. I'd been unsure if they'd go for the Dresden Dolls, but we had some fans in and theyw ere first disappointed that it wasn't happening, and then pleased when it did. They didn't say thank you for my struggling with the kit, but there you go. They left with smiles on their faces. That'll do.

I mentioned the slightly feckered deck to Nora the engineer while she was packing up the turntables. I also mentioned how old the Technics 1200 actually is - look it up if you want a surprise - and tried to specify which Mark had introduced us. It ended up with her saying "Oh, Mark from that club at Ego that played all the good tunes", which is exactly the testimonial you want, really. Then I left, and it was snowing again. Small flakes, this time, so I got to watch them hurtling down through the streetlight. I don't imagine it'll be lying in the morning, so I can regard it as a special show for those who stay up late. Life is good sometimes.

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Looks like I'm doing spinny things at Neon tonight.

In other news, there were a couple of quite nice articles in the Guardian this week. It used to have (by reputation, at least) the worst coverage of pop music among the broadsheets, but it seems to have picked up a lot since the days when a truly dunderheaded review of a Silverfish concert was the only thing ever to provoke me into writing them a letter (with "not for publication" on it, probably rather arrogantly). I think I first noticed this when they pulled of the coup of getting an interview with Nigel Blackwell.

Anyway, this week there was this article by Bernard Butler about playing guitar. Among other things, he says "I don't go into guitar shops often. They are notoriously full of arseholes." It's a good one. In the paper it had pictures of eight guitarists at the top. Only one was a woman, but that's probably something to moan about another time. Bert Jansch had an unidentifiable flat-top, Jack White something odd in red and white, Hendrix a Strat, Page a twin-neck Gibson . . . and the other four (Keef, Hynde, Marr and Butler himself) are all playing Telecasters. I wonder what happened to all those horrible poodlerock guitars with droopy pointy headstocks people bought so many of in the eighties? I know nevla owns a fair proportion of them, but where are the rest? I haven't seen an Ibanez Steve Vai in about ten years.

The other one was this piece about road songs, and looking for British ones in particular. I like it partly because it settles on Billy Bragg's version of Route 66 ("A13 - Trunk Road to the Sea") as the definitive example, and also mentions It's Immaterial's "Driving away from home", probably the best song about the M62 ever written.

Today's paper had a few articles about Modernism.( Read more... )

There's also a reprint of Jimmy Carter's recent article about Israel and the peace process. As always, he's worth listening to.

In other news, I spent about three days waiting for Ed's new phone to arrive, and finally it turned out it wasn't coming. I also seem to be doing very well for spoons, but actually want a knife.

The Ig Nobel roadshow last week was very good. A couple of eccentric Dutchmen were over discussing their papers on erotic conjugation, repectively within NMR scanners and between male mallards with contrasting levels of biological viability, along with various other items including a short opera.

Someone pointed me at this animated graphic, which is worksafe, probably, as long as frivolous nonsense is permitted. I also read the obituary of Anna Marly, who wrote/cowrote/whatever the song that Leonard Cohen made famous in English as "The Partisan". I remember hearing a woman (maybe Joan Baez?) singing it on the radio in a car in Jamaica in the mid-seventies. ON the sleevenotes to Greatest Hits, Cohen remarked that when he was very young, he had the odd feeling that the fascists were defeated by song.

One of the more frustrating parts of the last week was spent trying to change the bolts holding my wheels on.( Read more... )

Errr . . . I went to see a band called Voices of Masada, as well.( Read more... )

This is apparently coming to London soon. Look at the pictures, if you're near there and allowed to look at pictures at all. It may be wise to have jaw support prepared. One not to miss.

I will leave you with this scientific finding, expressed so beautifully by a contributor to Mr Crowley's journal:
A recent scientific study found that the kind of male a woman finds attractive can differ depending on where she is in her menstrual cycle. For instance, if she is ovulating she is attracted to men with rugged and masculine features.

And if she is menstruating, she is likely to prefer a man doused in petrol and set on fire, with scissors shoved deep into his temple and a cricket stump jammed up his arse.

At bootpunk's suggestion, a few thoughts on seven of my favourite songs.

1. Magazine - A Song From Under The Floorboards.

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2. The Only Ones - Another Girl, Another Planet

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3. The Ruts - Babylon's Burning

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4. Elvis Costello and the Attractions - I Want You.

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5. Ballboy - Olympic Cyclist

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6. New Model Army - Marrakesh

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7. Big Black - Kerosene

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And, errr, should they wish to participate, may I be so bold as to nominate gingiber, sabledemon, kiaransalyn, scylla and darkstones? Although if you don't mind me not being limited to five, I'd actually be interested in what nearly all of you think.