Rock the Temple

You know you've made it when you're recognised at the temple. True story: Today was the birthday of a multi-limbed Hindu deity, and in Birmingham the believers were out in full force to celebrate. It is true that there ain't no party like a Hindu party, and of course, sansharma.com was there to testify.

Once there I found it odd that so many "Aunties" (as is the blanket term for older female Indians) were paying me the sort of attention usually reserved for elephant-headed idols and monkey-tailed Gods, when one turned to me and whispered, "We’ve seen your web site." Even more strange, I thought, since the site is unknown to the general temple going public. "I didn’t know if your parents knew," she added cautiously. Knew what, I wandered. My experiments with the Hindu diet? The dabbling in horseplay? My penchant for non-Punjabi women? (All of which are recklessly documented on the site.)

She declined to elaborate and returned to the festivities, leaving me to wonder how I would cope with my new-found fame, or rather infamy. Maybe I ought to get a disguise...elephant head?

Oasis live at Glastonbury! (On BBC 2)

Not quite the same...although we're only ten minutes into their set and I've already seen three pairs of tits in the crowd (and that's not including the two on stage). Still, I'm looking forward to the V Festival in August, the Pixies and their triumphant and profitable return. Greatest Hits CD anyone? Oooh, Kings of Leon are on next. Goodnight.

River Man

Totally feeling Nick Drake tonight.

Get Rich or Claim Benefit

"I'm a little worried about my future," started a pint-size Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate. "I just want it to be..." And so, taller but no more assured I embark on my career, whatever that may be, with those very same words. Hopefully, like Hoffman in the Mike Nichols classic, I can look forward to a summer of casual sex with a friend of my parents'. On second thought however that's not quite as appealing as it sounds. But then neither is the job hunt that awaits me. It's a very dull and uneventful safari, looking out for a vacancy amongst the tall blades of grass, and waiting to take my best shot.

What I'm looking for however will need to provide beyond the next Student Loan instalment purely because there won’t be one. For the first time in my life school's out forever, and my next step might be on the career ladder to money, a mortgage and a Mondeo. Before I submit to suburbia and visit the local Ford dealership however I want to think about my options. Pursuing a masters and the semi-independence of University life sounds infinitely more attractive than living at home with my parents, the Martians.

I need to think of something, and fast. I'm on a train, quite literally, to a sort of Friends Reunited weekend in Edinburgh, where the question, "what are you going to do now?", will be raised as often as glasses, I imagine. "Off to Mars," I’ll say. "On a NASA scholarship." And for those similarly undecided, one word: "Plastics."

iPod...therefore I am

Most of my friends are indeed small and white, but very few are as attractive as my most recent and least sensible online purchase, the iPod - Apple's super-sexy digital music player, capable of storing 5000 songs whilst weighing less than two CDs and maintaining a sort of smug, minimalist cool. Still, nobody is more smug than its owner, who today - he admits - sported its exclusive white earphones with several test outfits, coming to the conclusion that the iPod looks best against a black shirt [model's own].

During my 'test walk' onto campus, my iPod's first time, I picked up a copy of Rolling Stone magazine to read that I am not alone in my revelry of the little white device. "From the moment I saw it, I was stunned," says Moby in the cover story, '50 Moments That Changed the History of Rock & Roll.' The story continues, "By the end of 2003, the iPod has become a cultural phenomenon. Close to 3 million of the devices have now been sold, and they’re expected to soon outsell portable CD players... 'I never used to see people walking around listening to music on the streets,' said Moby. 'Now everywhere I go, I see the iPod’s white headphones.'" Everywhere he goes? Obviously not a well travelled man is that Moby. At a street value of £259 it would take a lot of rich kids or, in my case, those with overdraft and abandon, to pack the streets with the sound of digital music.

On my return and with my newly aquired membership I logged on to the iPodLounge web site, only to feel pride like a lump of sick in my throat at the really sad user submitted photos of "iPods Around the World". I swallowed, and determined not to be the kind of person who photographs themselves with digital music players, promptly replaced those uncomfortable, bass-light white earphones for the black Sony ones I've used for years. Realising that nothing quite replaces the interactivity of human relationships I called my friend, Rachel, for a game of racquetball. She's small and white too, but unlike the iPod she listens, and is less likely to inspire the cult-like worship of Geekdom and its disco king, Moby. No offence, Rachel.

Poet Tree: 'Anniversary' & 'The Wedding Planner'

With the news that the bank has extended my overdraft ("to help meet with the demands of being a graduate"), I went online and made one final stupid purchase, a very demanding 20 GB MP3 player by the name of iPod. More on that soon once it arrives, and I become far more attractive to the potential mugger. Meanwhile, I was preparing my computer for its arrival, you know, giving my desktop a Macover, clearing some space, re-organising files, etc., when I found some poetry that I had written for an English class at UC Davis and had completely forgotten about. The class was ENL166: Love and Contemporary American Poetry, was as awful as that sounds and taught by a blubbering old lady who consistently closed her show in tears.

In a more composed moment she assigned us the task of writing our own 'love poetry', some of which I nervously include here, as a first stab at verse. The first is about the three year anniversary of my relationship with Beth, my girlfriend at the time, who incidentally broke up with me not long after I wrote this, and hopefully not as a result! I'm under no impression that this is actually any good but I thought that, at least the sentiment, makes for more cultured blog filler.

Anniversary

There is a good foot between us¹ and an hour and a half.² Then of course, the leagues above me that you are. People look at you as we walk past: Are they together?

We walk together in this new place, your hand in mine, the bag on my shoulders and the weight of the world lifted. I admire your skin, as always.

Supple, delicate, kind! Your fingers would slide between mine and clasp at my palm! But now they clutch the handset

and finger the cord. We laugh, we cry we argue but in the pauses the silence is dark. I strain to see the alabaster skin that coats your hands like the low afternoon sun.

You step down onto the platform, a bag in your grip, smiling. The journey was long but comfortable: Three years and an hour and a half. You put your hand back in mine.

The pauses glow in the afternoon sun and we walk together as people look on and wonder. I hold on to your hand as we walk, and admire your skin, afraid to let go as always.

¹A reference to our difference in height. ²At the time Beth was living in Berkeley while I was living in Davis, an hour and a half away.

This next poem might make a bit more sense if you're familiar with the Indian wedding process. But then I don't think that's supposed to make any sense!

The Wedding Planner

A white horse, of course. And a fifteen piece
Brass band playing The Beatles.
Naturally, the best man should wear
A white suit and sit behind
The groom veiled in strands of gold.
It would be nice to have those
Indoor fireworks – white lights – maybe
Chris De Burgh’s, ‘Lady In Red’.
Cups of tea in China cups should
Await the guests. Don’t forget to
Have a Mercedes ready for
The bride, who by the way
Should be Brahmin/Hindu/Punjabi.¹

¹Caste/Religion/Origin

Burn It: 'Songs to Wake Up to'

It seems logical really, to follow on from the first in the Burn It series, 'Songs to Fall Asleep to', with this, a compilation designed to lure you out the right side of your bed, or if Dylan would have his way (see below), your window. Besides, the help of Dylan et al is much appreciated on a morning like this, grey with cloud and lined with the damp Tarmac of a good night's rain. If the day follows like this playlist however, it will be a good one. And by track 8 you're going to get lucky. Albeit with James Brown. ;-)

Good Morning: Songs to Wake Up to (Total Time: 1:15:50)

1. 'April Come She Will' - Simon and Garfunkel What better way to start the day than with Paul Simon twiddling away on his guitar on this, one of my favourite Simon and Garfunkel songs, and a memorable moment from the film, The Graduate. The economy of the lyric and melody evoke the changing seasons and a young Dustin Hoffman, alternating between hotel room rendezvous avec Madame Robinson and lazy days around the pool. Inspiring.
2. 'Sunrise' - Norah Jones Not my favourite Norah Jones moment, but nevertheless it here begins a cycle of songs to welcome in the sun and forcefully control the weather. I would also like to draw attention to its awful, awful video, which can be seen here.
3. 'Summer Sun' - Koop You could always flatter the sun into coming out.
4. 'Don't Rain On My Parade' - Bobby Darin "Hey world, here I am...", Darin sings and with gusto attempts to ward off adverse weather conditions. If you're having a parade Darin's delivery and the punchy big band sound will ensure that it will not be rained on. And that's a promise.
5. 'Laissons Entrer le Soleil' - Julien Clerc Mildly annoying French pop song introduced to me by an American ex-girlfriend who at the time was living in France and getting into the worst European music. Some things I don't miss ;-) Nevertheless, the refrain, "let the sunshine in", might do the trick or at least get you out of bed, if only to turn it off.
6. 'You Are the Sunshine of My Life' - Stevie Wonder That's more like it. Classic Stevie Wonder, before he totally replaced live sound for synthesizers and sincerity for sentimental drivel, like 'I Just Called to Say I Love You'. Why he did that I may never know. He plays every instrument on this track from the amazing Talking Book album and sounds fantastic.
7. 'Good Morning Baby' - Bic Runga and Dan Wilson The cute New Zealand singer and the slightly less attractive Dan Wilson of Semisonic would make average looking kids, but here a pleasant track for the American Pie Soundtrack. And a great start to the upcoming trio of songs for people not alone in their beds this morning.
8. '(Get Up I Feel Like Being A) Sex Machine' - James Brown Because I love the use of brackets in song titles, and because the thought of a screamingly horny James Brown would make anyone leap out of bed, 'Sex Machine' is included here as an archetypically unbridled expression of masculinity with an signature funky hook from the Godfather himself. "Get on up..."
9. 'Instant Pleasure' - Rufus Wainwright Probably an even better way to start the day than a Simon and Garfunkel folk meander, Rufus sings, "I don't want somebody to love me/Just give me sex whenever I want it..." For all the, er, morning people out there.
10. 'Red Morning Light' - Kings of Leon I loved the beardy Southern rockers' 2003 debut, Youth and Young Manhood, and 'Red Morning Light' is a as dirty and deep fried as anything else on the album, full of greasy licks and howling vocals: "You always like it undercover/Tucked in between your dirty shee-e-eets."
11. 'The Ascent of Stan' - Ben Folds Included a) because of the pretty melody and piano part, and b) because it sounds like 'The Ascent of San', as I rise from my bed.
12. 'Take Me Out' - Franz Ferdinand NME darlings Franz Ferdinand are actually very good and perhaps the best band ever named after a World War sparking Archduke.
13. 'Orpheus' - Ash On the sunnier side of metal, Ash deliver another radio-ready rocker with a sentiment I think we can all relate to: "I need sunshine in the morning..." We all do mate. It's an essential source of Vitamin D.
14. 'Can You Please Crawl Out of Your Window?' - Bob Dylan One of my favourite songs, the rare 'Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window?' is incredibly strange lyrically, but for 1965 Dylan, it was really just another day at the office. Sure, it seems to make no sense, but it is convincing all the same. Not that I'm heading for the window or anything.
15. 'Here Comes Your Man' - Pixies One of the more accessible Pixies tracks, 'Here Comes Your Man' is a nigh-perfect three-and-a-half minute pop song and a great theme for the early riser.
16. 'Bright Side of the Road' - Van Morrison With a punchy brass section, a charming melody and an all-girl backing, you can't help but smile listening to this from Van the Man's 1979 release, Into the Music.
17. 'Mrs Potter's Lullaby' - Counting Crows Despite its title and the opening line, "Well I woke up in mid-afternoon cause that's when it all hurts the most/I dream I never know anyone at the party and I'm always the host", this winding narrative makes for great morning listening, uncharacteristically optimistic and lyrically a strong point for the Crows, who incidentally got their break filling in for an absent Van Morrison at his Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction in 1994. That influence shows here, and apparently the song was written after singer Adam Duritz saw Jennifer Aniston on Friends. She heard it and they dated. Must start writing songs...
18. 'The Boy With the Thorn In His Side' - The Smiths Since we're on about meanings, this one, I suspect is about a love that dare not speak its name. That is, gay love. It's also a remarkably upbeat Smiths song with characteristically quirky lyrics: "...behind the hatred there lies/A murderous desire for love."
19. 'Just When You're Thinking Things Are Over' - The Charlatans Lovely, uplifting and highly decorative. This will get you on your feet.
20. 'So Alive' - Ryan Adams Alt-Country bad boy goes electric and does a very good Bono impression on this track from Rock N Roll, Adams' mockingly good response to the label execs who deemed his latest offering Love Is Hell "too dark" for release. The latter record would only surface, the execs bargained, if Adams delivered a big, shiny new rock and roll record. And true to its promise, Rock N Roll, is certainly that, or rather a reflection of the singer's impeccable music collection, with titles such as 'This Is It', reworking the Strokes' 'Is This It', 'The Drugs Not Working', the Verve's 'The Drugs Don't Work,' and 'She's Lost Total Control', a play on Joy Division's 'She's Lost Control.' For something original, albeit a bit depressing, check out Love Is Hell. For our purposes, 'So Alive' rocks.

Bird dropping hits singing Lauper in mouth

Sorry, it was a story too funny not to copy and paste up. PopDirt.com's headline was Bird Tries To Shut Cyndi Lauper Up In Boston, which is marginally better.

Associated Press
May. 25, 2004 07:57 AM

BOSTON - Cyndi Lauper has gone above and beyond what should be expected from a performer.

The Boston Herald reports Lauper was performing at a concert sponsored by a radio station WXKS when a bird relieved itself over her head.

It's bad enough that it hit Lauper. It's even worse knowing Lauper had her mouth open for a high note and the bird made a one-in-a-million shot.

Lauper delicately turned away from the crowd and wiped her tongue on her shirt - and finished the set.

http://www.azcentral.com/offbeat/articles/0525Lauper-ON.html

Picture This: 'Patrick Hagopian'

Having literally just - minutes ago - posed for this wonderful photograph with my professor, Dr Patrick Hagopian, in which we appear either to be holding hands or dancing, but nevertheless having some kind of fun beyond the standard teacher/student relationship, I have decided to establish a new regular feature to my blog. 'Picture This', like 'Burn It', invites you - the reader - to share with me some of my favourite sensory pleasures.

Tonight's offering was taken at the tail end of an American Studies social event, where Dr Hagopian was presented with a gift from his students. I think his appreciation, his sheer joy, comes through in these pictures. Feel free to append this photo with a caption of your choosing. There will be prizes for the best.

Kerouac Makes Me Look Good

I couldn't help feeling like a poser, sitting on the steps of my university square this balmy evening, reading Kerouac and wearing a tie, the fashion accessory with absolutely no ascertainable function. Tonight however I was unashamedly wearing it for pleasure, a throwback from my Grammar School days, when it was a compulsory part of the uniform. I was reading Kerouac too, not because it is assigned reading, but purely because - like the tie - I wanted to. And I've decided, they both make me look good.

My thoughts of this, and my road trip with Kerouac and company, were interrupted by the loud, loutish laughter of a couple of ruffian youths, drinking below the legal age and clearly demonstrating the effects. They had stumbled onto my university campus, perhaps already drunk, and found themselves like me on the steps, not sporting ties or Kerouac, but a kind of vocabulary not foreign to the Beat Generation. I gave the illusion that I was actually reading - or that I could read at all - and listened in on their conversation, as if observing a Tourette's Syndrome case study.

"F****ing university man," one slurred, looking to a crowd of girls huddled by the ATM. "One big gangbang" - a combination of words I've not before heard to describe the three years and thousands of pounds spent here, and certainly not one I'll use when thanking my parents, the investors, on graduation day. He continued to describe to the younger ruffian his view of university life, clearly a bit skewed and inspired by the filmic output of the San Fernando Valley. I hated to burst his bubble with the pin that the girls by the ATM were probably not on their way to a group act of love and instead got up from my step, clutching Kerouac, and said simply, "Yep. Gangbang." With that I walked off into the sunset and further into an evening of reverse orgy, alone and unaroused.

On my walk, I thought to myself that university life might not be the gangbang of the ruffian's perverse imagination, but nevertheless I felt inspired to dedicate this post-exam period to doing those feasible things that I enjoy most. Like reading Kerouac, or wearing ties. Or writing in my blog more often. ;-) I'm sorry it's been so long. I'll see you tomorrow.

Procrastinating on the Beach

Dear readers,

I’m sorry that I haven’t written earlier. I should say that being immersed in intense revision for my upcoming finals has kept me from updating my blog, when in truth the reason boils down to nothing more strenuous than the simple yet embarrassing fact that I have, head over flip-flops, gotten into The O.C..

For those of you whose televisions – or meaningful lives – have so far remained untouched by its beached splendour, The O.C. is a teen drama in the vein of 90210, a sort of Dawson’s goes west, and if Fox Television has been criticised for its recent reality TV binge then it may have redeemed itself by creating something so unreal that it airs as a sort of unattainable wish list. At the top of mine is Mischa Barton, who plays Marissa, and whose image unashamedly adorns my desktop as possibly the most attractive on television. Seriously...hot.

But then everybody is - even the geek, who I, with just the slightest nerd-identification, am rooting for to get laid. I’m nine episodes in after only three days of downloading/watching/visiting the official website and I tell you, he’s getting warm. Go Seth! And although the Southern California of The O.C. differs from that where I spent the last academic year, I still pine over the opening credits and cajole other viewers with stories of my brief time in L.A. (pictured left). I, like the show’s protagonist Ryan - played like a wooden stool by Benjamin McKenzie - was an exotic outsider. Well, sort of. But seriously...hot.

Wish me luck in my final tomorrow, San

Bugger

Up to Here

I once lived with a guy from Essex - and this isn't a limmerick - who, at least twice a day, would raise his palm flat above his head and exclaim in his whiny, southern accent, "I've had it up to here." If I had the energy, it being a good two hours past my bedtime, or if I felt I could do Steve justice, I might motion the very same gesture. I'm tired and my head is filled with the stories of woe, sorrow and sickening torture that I've read today in print and online media.

Hoping for some lighter bedtime reading I set my lapdog, as I've decided to call my computer, to Best of Craigslist, a refreshingly ad-free, no frills online community with user generated content, the best of which usually warrants 'LOL' in the true sense of the 'word'.

I read a post from the Missed Connections section on the recommendation that it was 'funny'. That word, I think, is banded around perhaps too much nowadays. The post, one man's story of losing his love in translation, didn't make me laugh. It, the news of the world, and the very desperate fact that at 2:45am you're all I have to talk to, has left me feeling kind of sad. Well, if I'm going down...Here's the link: 'I Chased You for 12 Years...'

Night night.

The Sounds of the Summer

Since the Windows Media Player to iTunes migration that inspired the previous blog entry (Burn It: 'Songs to Fall Asleep to') I've been listening to a lot of glorious and illegally downloaded music, from Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, to Prince & the Revolution, Joss Stone and The Libertines, not of course performing together, but wouldn't that be a treat for the ears? Then, when a 'fatal exception' error message occurred - probably a reaction to the Joss Stone/Libertines pairing - I was forced to restart my computer and for a brief moment the juggernaut that is my MP3 collection came to a halt and I was left alone with only those sounds emanating through my open window; sounds inextricably bound to those few months in the middle of the year that this hemisphere calls summer.

Today that distant sound of the good people of the world mowing their lawns was but a few feet away, somewhat deafening and a bittersweet reminder that the smell of newly cut grass, once a calling card to the summer holidays of my youth, is now Kryptonite to the allergy sufferer that I have become. Nevertheless, through itchy eyes and running nose, I appreciated the familiar and harmonic sounds of man taming nature, albeit with a lowered rotating blade, and the great machines of flight, birds and aeroplanes, both of which can be heard chirping and humming through the white striped, blue skies.

Why is it that you hear more aeroplanes in the summertime? Is it because you just have more time/make more time to lay on the grass and stare up at the skies? Is it because the skies are clearer, and sound travels better? Or am I being stupid, and do people just take more trips in their planes in the summer?

By act of coincidence, DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince's 'Summertime' has shuffled its way to the top of my playlist and it's just occurred to me that none of these points are raised by the Philadelphia duo. In fact, my summers are rarely like that rendered by the song:

It's late in the day and I ain't been on the court yet
Hustle to the mall to get me a short set
Yeah I got on sneaks but I need a new pair
Cause basketball courts in the summer got girls there

And actually, that is a good point. I haven't been to the court yet. Well, I'm off. See you tomorrow.

Burn It: 'Songs to Fall Asleep to'

I spent the most part of the business day, that is 9 'til 5, not revising as I should be for my upcoming-'round-the-corner finals but instead coordinating a mass migration of my considerable MP3 collection from Windows Media Player to my new digital jukebox of choice, iTunes from Apple, the company that bought us the iMac and the iPod but who claim no involvement in the Eddie Murphy-Owen Wilson box office bomb, iSpy.

As I scrolled the 3545 songs in my collection (that's 10.3 days of continuous music), burning a CD for my sister "on the fly", as is an advantageous feature of iTunes, I imagined myself an artist, crafting a piece of work from the pieces of others. After all, burning a CD is in itself an art, like the mix-tape that came before it, which when done right could sustain a long distance relationship or bring a short distance one even closer.

In recognition of this art I have decided to present my masterpieces here in a series that I, and NME magazine from where I stole the idea, like to call Burn It. Of course, feel free to add your comments and suggestions to my tracklistings, which after all are compiled only from the music in my collection. But if you plan on taking my advice literally and actually "burn it", please do so only with the written permission of the artists involved. Without further ado and since I'm about to turn in myself I present to you the first collection in the Burn It series...

Night Night: Songs to Fall Asleep to (Total Time: 1:16:15)

1. 'Turn Out the Lamp Light' - George Benson I don't think jazz/soul crooner George Benson's intentions are for sleeping with this track but nevertheless, for ours the rich, floating arrangement has quite the lulling effect...before George makes his move.
2. 'Don't Leave the Light On Baby' - Belle & Sebastian Scottish Chamber Pop stars insist the light is turned right off, but from the opening line, "it's been a bloody stupid day", their intentions differ from Benson's pillow talk, and I can't think of a better lyric to summarize most of my days.
3. 'Come Away With Me' - Norah Jones Who has not heard this? Chosen for the lyric, "I want to wake up with the rain/Falling on a tin roof/While I'm safe there in your arms." I want the same, Norah.
4. 'Nightswimming' - R.E.M. R.E.M. lyrics have a way of conjuring memories in the listener that don't actually exist. Whenever I hear this I'm like, "ah...I remember that, by the lake, under the moon, yeah...", when the truth is I've never been skinny-dipping.
5. 'So Far Away' - Carole King A theme song for long distance lovers this is gorgeous, especially when the flute improvises into the fade at the end. And yeah Carole, so true - nobody stays in one place anymore.
6. 'Harvest Moon' - Neil Young I love this. So sweet and vulnerable. And a little bit country.
7. 'Simply Beautiful' - Al Green The sexiest song ever and a great start to the trilogy of bedroom tracks I've included. The sparse instrumentation and Green's really close vocal make up for the fact that there are almost no lyrics.
8. 'Lay, Lady, Lay' - Bob Dylan The fact that he already sounds like an old man, and it's increasingly difficult to remember a time when he wasn't, makes this a somewhat unsettling listen. If you can get past that, and the lyric "lay across my big brass bed", the lazy country-pop groove is pretty cool.
9. 'If I Should Die Tonight' - Marvin Gaye Many forget that Gaye's erotic concept album, Let's Get It On, is actually an homage to monogamy and this, its most sensitive moment, is a classic slow jam.
10. 'Lookin' for Another Pure Love' - Stevie Wonder I really love this, and the guitar solo courtesy of Jeff Beck is to die for. I've had it on loop before, just over and over...
11. 'If I Fall' - Aqualung The Aqualung CD will actually put you to sleep because it's pretty boring, but this is a good pick for a mix CD with that in mind.
12. 'Wonderwall' - Ryan Adams Everybody knows and loves the Oasis classic and so most people hate this stripped and slowed down version. I personally love it. It's haunting and understated, and the riff that loops and fades out the Oasis version is here just faintly echoed as a brilliant aide memoir of the original.
13. 'No Surprises' - Radiohead "No alarms and no surprises" sounds like a good night's sleep to me, and the lullaby-like xylophone driven track might induce just that. I think there should be more xylophones in pop songs.
14. 'Perfect Blue Buildings' - Counting Crows Don't listen to bearded Rasta man Adam Duritz when he sings, "help me stay awake", and instead drift off into the pretty melody, "a little oblivion".
15. 'Sparks' - Coldplay Chris Martin's falsetto is one of the best things about British music and here it works sparingly and in contrast to the verses sung in his lower register. Very simple but lovely.
16. 'The Blower's Daughter' - Damien Rice Imagine if Leonard Cohen could sing well...Damien Rice, the Irish folkster, has a knack for storytelling and although the stories themselves are sometimes unclear it's the details that grab you. On his magnificent debut, O, Rice moves from the living room intimacy of guitar/vocals to the orchestral grandeur of swelling strings in a heartbeat, with a closeness of production that sounds like they were recorded in the same room with you sat on a footstool in the corner. 'The Blower's Daughter' is my favourite, melancholy, optimistic, longing, it's almost magical and reason enough to buy his album.
17. 'Mothersbaugh's Canon' - Mark Mothersbaugh Two instrumental tracks from soundtracks close this mix-CD. This, from The Royal Tenenbaums, a poignant and atmospheric piece and...
18. 'I Love N.Y.E.' - Badly Drawn Boy You would probably be deep into the Land of Nod already listening to my mix-CD. If not, this graceful and dreamy instrumental should do the trick and is a perfect way to say goodnight. Thanks for listening.

My Morrissey Moment

There comes a moment in a young man's life when he finds himself in the forlorn, Mancunian melancholy of Morrissey, lead singer of '80s indie band, The Smiths, and general naysayer of misery. Don't worry if your moment hasn't yet come. It will, however happy and content you feel now.

It came for American singer Ryan Adams, whose Morrissey moment was recorded with Smiths' producer John Porter for his new album Love Is Hell, which I will review once I've decided whether it's as good as Jeff Buckley's Grace, as I'm beginning to suspect, or more Will & Grace. I'm still not sure which, but one thing is certain and that is that Adams is one of many young men on both sides of the Atlantic suffering from what experts call, Morrissitis. That is, he is experiencing his 'Morrissey moment', a deep understanding of the romantic angst and social alienation of Smiths songs, and - just as every sibling claims "black sheep" status - an affinity with the Mozza himself, as NME so affectionately nickname the singer.

With songs such as 'Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me', 'Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now', the observational 'Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others', and my favourite, 'There Is A Light That Never Goes Out', The Smiths were clearly in tune with those on the cusp of youth and young manhood. The latter, pointedly their most romantic song, boasts the chorus:

And if a double-decker bus Crashes into us To die by your side Is such a heavenly way to die And if a ten-ton truck Kills the both of us To die by your side Well, the pleasure - the privilege is mine

It was a song that I heard the morning of my cousin's wedding last weekend and one that I had stuck in my head, where I tried desperately to keep it, fearing that the newlyweds might misconstrue Morrissey's most romantic song as being somewhat downbeat. Another cousin, Praag, recognised my incessant humming and a conversation soon ensued between two Morrissitis sufferers. "'Girlfriend In A Coma' is really the quintessential Smiths song," Praag said. "The upbeat melody and the shockingly downbeat lyrics are classic Morrissey."

Girlfriend in a coma, I know I know - it's serious Girlfriend in a coma, I know I know - it's really serious

There were times when I could Have "murdered" her (But you know, I would hate Anything to happen to her)

No, I don't want to see her!

The quintessence of Ryan Adam's Morrissey moment can be heard on 'Anybody Wanna Take Me Home', the most obviously Smiths influenced track on Love Is Hell that sees our hero lurking in the corner of a bar, watching others and "dancing in the coma/of the drinks [he] just had". Elsewhere, his flirtations with love and death lack the tongue-in-cheek, or rather foot-in-mouth, of Morrissey's lyrics. On 'Afraid Not Scared' Adams sings, "I'm really dying here", and indeed the grave sincerity of his album makes for a penetrating and challenging listen, and one that I'll evaluate soon. For now, I'm going to take Love Is Hell out of my CD player and go to be bed. Heaven knows I'm miserable now.

A Ham Sandwich

Argh! Michael Jackson is driving me crazy! And not like in the Eighties when he rocked the suburbs with his infectious grooves, driving a rainbow hued generation Off the Wall and moonwalking to the discothèques. This time, twenty years from Thriller, his latest record might be criminal, as he faces ten charges of child molestation, abduction and conspiracy, as read to him yesterday at his arraignment in Santa Maria, California.

He is again everywhere, and the sensational coverage of this case, although not yet a trial but already that of the century, has driven me to use my blog as an occasional alternative news outlet and since, as I’ve just seen, CNN enlist an expert panel of entertainment moguls, television presenters and Loyola State University law professors, I might offer my ‘expertise’.

CNN’s expert panel spoke with an assumption of Jackson’s guilt and yet dedicated a segment of the show to defending his prosecutor, District Attorney Tom Sneddon against charges of unfair practice, even advising that we not judge the D.A., as he has been unfairly represented by the media and Jackson’s interchangeable lawyers. Well, the King of Pop has hardly been treated like royalty by CNN and other such news outlets.

I have to go, but before I do I just want to remind you – because CNN won’t – that Jackson, or anybody facing trial, should be presumed innocent until proven guilty and that an indictment is just a formal accusation arising from a Grand Jury, having been presented evidence by the prosecutor only. There is a saying, ‘you can indict a ham sandwich,’ but I would still advise that you presume its innocence.

A Blast From the Past

It's not unusual that when writing a blog entry I might consult the Internet for research purposes, accuracy of dates, an online thesaurus for my fancy words, that sort of thing. For my last post I came across this video clip of Lancaster University students in the 1960s, discussing their time on campus. Look out for the foxy German girl ("we have been designed a special tutor for our academical problem"), and the American, glad to discover that "they have Coke here!"

Unfortunately, this video clip is only available to viewers on the campus network. So Mike, Nick et al., this one's for you.
Video Clip (Windows Media).

The Rain in Spain

I think I'll miss living on campus when I graduate in July. It might not be the best looking University, and I do wonder whether it even looked good on completion in 1963 when it was meant to resemble a Spanish village, but for last two out of three academic years it's certainly been mi pueblo - a rain drenched cluster of white, flat-roofed buildings.

Living on campus is one step towards independence, two from your parents and a mere bus ride from the real world, but very soon, I realise, I won't always have my meals taken care of, the kitchen cleaned for me or a comprehensive counselling service, should I require. And that's all courtesy of my neighbour and good friend, Beth - with whom living is one of the principle reasons to miss this place.

In a familiar configuration, we sit typing at our desks in our adjacent rooms, our doors propped open, and, turning to my right I channel my voice past our wardrobes and shout, "What should I write about on my blog?" Once we graduate, of course, we'll have to phone in such questions, but for the mean time she replies instantaneously, "whatever's on your mind."

So I scratch my head, hoping to conjur an interesting thought, a bottled genie perhaps, but instead find a pimple the size of my fist. Well, I thought, if can't write about what's on my mind, I'll at least write about what's on the side of my head. It's one of those spots you just knew was coming. I woke up this morning and realised that in a drunken stupor I'd fallen asleep on a potato chip. And now if I look up I can almost see it, it's that big. Damn Pringles. I'm going to resist the urge to pop.

The pimple incidentally, and the bad weather today, have rained off the scheduled dating show (see Country Feedback), and that's not a cop out. Perhaps the girls just need a little longer to get ready for this jelly. Then they'll see, and I've been waiting for the right time to say this since I read it on a t-shirt, that I am what Willis was talkin' about. Yeah.

Country Feedback

"Crazy, all the lovers have been tagged," sings Michael Stipe in the raw, despairing R.E.M. song that is a current favourite of mine and which shares a title with this entry, during which I'll impart some feedback from my part of the country, with as much angst but not half as much eloquence as those Athens, Georgia forefathers of alternative rock.

I'll admit, recently it feels as though somebody else is doing all the "tagging" - there has been a dry spell of sorts, and not just pleasant atmospheric conditions. But that is not to say that I am as despairing as the Michael Stipe vocal. At least not yet. With the onset of Spring the literal dry spell has been lovely - conducive to flip-flop wearing in fact - and as if by process of evaporation a bevy of beauties have risen from their dorm rooms to lie about campus, catch Frisbees and tans, and my unnerving glare.

Since my recent admittance to singledom, my first visit in over four years, making eye contact and smiling has been my most aggressive form of philandering. During those four years, I'll admit, I always listed flirting, alongside basket-weaving and shepherding, as one of my hobbies, but now that it is dalliance with amorous intent - and my very sex life depends on it - I am just no good.

About thirty girls in the North West of England are smiling back at least, but awaiting my second move. And whereas in California, where I spent last year, a simple "hello" in my English accent would elicit a phone number, I might have to step up my game this time. I fear if I don't soon I'll be elected Mayor of Singledom, a position of authority without the perks. And so tomorrow, as blog turns dating show for the day, I will pick one from the flirty thirty and make my second move. And then maybe I'll have some positive feedback. Stay tuned, Shiny Happy People. This is about to get interesting...