The Ashes Calamity: A Theory

I have a theory as to why England are currently toiling their way to humiliating series defeat in Australia.

During the summer, in the build up to the previous series, it was declared "the worst ever Australian team" to make its way to Britain. Errant nonsense, as the 3-0 scoreline was no fair reflection of those tests.

However, England seem to have decided to properly show what a worst touring side ever looks like - particularly when it contains most of the players who have been unassailable until recently.

In a way, the haplessness is comforting. It's nostalgia for those fragile 80s and 90s teams. Winning things just isn't English, or indeed cricket.

Phantom Icons

The good folk at Phantom 105.2 have run another poll that has sorted out their Christmas playlist. This year, they wanted your musical icons.

An interesting subject, as what defines an icon? Is it longevity, a varied career or, as in many sad cases, dying young leaving a preserved image of cool an maybe a couple of decent records. (Jim Morrison not withstanding. Sorry, I can't abide The Doors.)

The countdown is underway. Here are my choices. (Damn it! Forgot about Ray Davies!)

1. Paul McCartney
He was a Beatle for goodness sake. More importantly he wrote "Paperback Writer" - a song I'm increasingly believing might be the finest recorded. If only he would stop slaughtering "Hey Jude" at huge public events. (With the Olympics and Diamond Jubilee done, we should be safe for a few years.)

2. David Bowie
The chameleon pop star. His run of 70s albums is as remarkably consistent as that of The Beatles from a decade before. Ziggy, Aladdin Sane, nicking Philly soul, the Berlin years - he was also mates with Iggy Pop, picking him up after The Stooges fell apart. Don't mention the Laughing Gnome though.

3. Mark E Smith
Curmudgeonly. Splenetic. Acidic. Pugilistic - even with band mates while on stage. The nucleus about which the myriad cast of The Fall revolve. Less a singer, more haranguing word wrangler. Holder of the Guinness World Record for use of 'ah'. Always different, always the same.

4. Paul Heaton
Quite simply, soundtracked my growing up. The Housemartins were around when I was seven years old; The Beautiful South were the first band I was properly into (take that indie scenesters!) and the first band I saw live. Also, I share my birthday with him. (Yes, and Billy Joel and Dave Gahan.)

5. Jonny Greenwood
Thom Yorke may be front man of Radiohead, but they'd be less interesting without Jonny. He's also produced several film scores, snubbed by Oscar® for "There Will Be Blood".

Random Tracks of Conciousness 27 Nov 2013

This one snuck up on me while cycling to work...

The Decemberists - The Bagman's Gambit

Music therapy

Those songs that just pop into your head for no reason. You know the ones. You're sat there minding your own business, possibly even working, then... BAM! A long-forgotten hit - or miss - lodges itself in your brain. And stays there for hours.

As and when this happens, I'll log a post.

Random Tracks Of Consciousness 25 Nov 2013

Beth Orton - Stolen Car

Tuesday: pointless

Several years ago, I came up with the theory that Tuesday is the most pointless day of the week.

Here's why:
Monday - well, you have to start somewhere
Wednesday - it's the middle of the week
Thursday - which means tomorrow's Friday
Friday - it's the end of the week
Saturday and Sunday - no work!

So that leaves Tuesday. What's the point of it?

(NB: this doesn't necessarily follow if you don't have a weekday job.)

My Key Cuts

Every Monday to Thursday evening, Phantom 105.2 has Richie and Richie, Messrs McCormack and Ryan. It's a great show, mainly because they play what they damned well like.

One feature, recycling the name of the previous evening show, is Your Key Cuts. Here a listener - or now including celebrities! - chooses two songs that mean something to them. Here's my shortlist:

The Beautiful South - Old Red Eyes Is Back

Yes, The Beautiful South. The band your mum likes. The band of 'Carry On Up The Charts' being in 1-in-7 UK homes. The band of cosy, Radio 2 friendly pop.

Except...

Paul Heaton is really deserving of more acclaim as a song writer. For nearly thirty years he has been penning sharp tales of love, pain, alcohol, politics, death, separation, sheep... from The Housemartins, through The Beautiful South and now into a solo career, he is one of Britain's finest lyricists. If anything, 'Carry On...' was an anomaly, its sustained success entirely out of proportion. (Indeed, the two number one singles he has been involved with, 'Caravan Of Love' and 'A Little Time', one first was a cover, the other was his composition but he didn't sing it.)

I was really into The Beautiful South while growing up. I know this ranks poorly in the teenage rebellion stakes, but my first gig was a small revelation. Tuesday 5 April 1994, Town and Country Club, Leeds. The nice, genteel image of the band - although go back and listen to the songs and hear the waspishness in the lyrics - contrasted with a large section the audience.

I became aware of 'NORTHERN SCUM' - the sarcastic opposite of Beautiful South - that adorned T-shirts and was chanted lustily by a crowd comprising a good number of men in their thirties and forties, who may or may not have renounced football hooliganism. (I later discovered that Heaton had hung around with Sheffield United's Blades Business Crew.)

The first song played was Mini-correct, from their newly released album Miaow. The lyric helped contribute to Briana Corrigan's leaving, being a borderline misogynistic tale of S&M in an abusive relationship. I vividly remember the whole hall being bathed in yellow as the stage lights rotated at the end of the first chorus.

About half way through, they played Old Red Eyes Is Back, that had been released as a single from previous album 0898. A story of a hopeless alcoholic, it's not the first song you think of that would cause pogoing and a tidal surge of bodies left and right across the floor.

I had been stood next to possibly the strangest pair in the audience - think The Two Ronnies portrayed by Gilbert and George - who stood impassively, expressionlessly, as chaos whirled around them. (I saw the taller one at several other concerts. He always carried a large satchel and wore a white/beige jumper.)

It may be that the surprise factor is no longer there, but I have not experienced that same burst of raucousness at a gig since.

Heaton is still writing, as acerbically as ever. No doubt the current coalition Government is providing much more grist to his mill.

Belle and Sebastian - Lazy Line Painter Jane

This is one of those songs that I know exactly what I was doing when I first heard it. I was in the car with my dad, one Saturday in June 1996. I'd just finished my first year at Warwick University and we were driving back to Yorkshire.  We were listening to BBC Radio 1, Jo Whiley I think. (Yes, she's now a caricature of herself, but back then she still hosted the Evening Session with Steve Lamacq.)

The jangly guitar already hooked me, then the vocal starts:

Working the village shop
Putting a poster up

coming from a timid, almost bored sounding Scottish voice. And then Monica Doogan comes in....

So let's see your kit for games
All the girls look the same

What the hell is that? Brilliant, that's what.

It may also be a pebble splashing into the pool of my life, the ripples still being felt years later - maybe far-fetched, but let's go with it. Belle and Sebastian are Scottish, and were on an indie label. A little later, having the confidence and curiosity (and also the student loan!) to buy indie records, I bought The Delgados' album Peloton. They run Chemikal Underground, also home to Arab Strap, half of which is Malcolm Middleton. I own none of his records, but knowing a handful of Arab Strap songs, I go to a gig of his, where I meet and fall in love with a girl, with whom I now have a daughter.

Half Man Half Biscuit - Took Problem Chimp To The Ideal Home Show

I had heard of HMHB - usually in an article that dismissed them as a comedy band. The typical HMHB clichés go: Tranmere fans, don't play on Friday nights, refused appearance on The Tube despite offer of a helicopter to Prenton Park, humorous lyrics like a Wirral version of The Barron Knights, Dukla Prague away kits...

This was the first HMHB track that I listened to, on a cover CD of Word magazine. (It may still have had 'The' in the title at that point.)

Within seconds, I was a fan. This wasn't a novelty band playing another comedy song that was a lame parody, but a genuinely funny, satirical attack on consumerism, London's Earls Court, crap DIY TV shows, Neanderthal security guards and Carols Vorderman and Smillie. Including a bloody great bass line and a bleepy keyboard.

The Beatles - Paperback Writer

As I get older, I'm becoming more certain that this is the greatest Beatles song, and possibly the best pop song ever written. Recorded in two days, as part of the Revolver sessions, in the shops eight weeks later (six in the US!) and number one shortly afterwards. That makes most modern bands look like slackers.

It's short - a tad under two and a half minutes - but it packs a lot in, including Frere Jacques behind the last two verses.

I just wish Macca had played it at the Olympics instead of another interminable take on Hey Jude.

There are more - narrowing it down to two would be difficult.

JSA not AOK

So the Irish Budget for 2014 has been delivered. Grim news if you're young - although under 5's have come out of it for the better.

One point that struck me, while listening to Joan Burton grate her way through justifying reducing the dole for young people: Ireland has adopted the same mealy-mouthed description of "Jobseeker's Allowance" as was adopted in the UK in the mid-90s.

In this age of austerity, where anyone receiving money from the Government is being ostracised - whether it be through unemployment, disability or medical problems - why haven't the right-wing restored the name "Unemployment Benefit"?

But that would admit that no jobs are available, rather than their plight being caused by ending up out of work, as businesses (and Government) race to cut costs in a self-perpetuating cycle of decline.

(And no George, the UK economy may now be - pitifully - growing, but it's from a much lower base after three years of savagery. I learnt maths at school, something that your colleague Michael is keen to put a stop to.)

Poland

So England have another make-or-break qualifier to determine if they are going to go to the World Cup.¹ And it's against Poland, again. Which means one hoary old chestnut from 1973 is going to be exhumed once more.

Despite having been drawn in groups with Poland since, and qualifying from those groups for European Championship and World Cup finals, the media can't let go of the 1-1 draw at Wembley that meant England did not take part in the 1974 World Cup in West Germany. The coincidence of the latest qualifier being two days before the 40th anniversary of clowns, Alf Ramsey's resignation et al will only make things worse.

There's a lot of airtime and newsprint (and an infinity of internet) to fill before Tuesday.

Some things to expect:

- interview with the 'clown' goalkeeper ²

- thoughts from the living England players of 1973, as if they'd be any more relevant than those of a bloke in the pub

- attempts to analyse every potential Polish formation

- desperate pleas for the already-discarded members of the class of 2000-10 to return (like the heroes of a crappy action film) for one last taste of glory

- seance with Brian Clough to get his opinion on the current Polish goalkeeper (Sunday Sport?)

¹ Not strictly true - there would be a playoff if they finished second in the group.
² Already in the Observer.

Genius?

In the aftermath of the Arthur's Day PR disaster, it's interesting to see the reappearance of advertisements for Guinness Mid-Strength around Dublin.

'Yes, we acknowledge the problem with drinking to excess - but here's something you can drink in the same vast quantities yet only be quarter-cut rather than half-cut.'

Cunningly, the ad also shows a pint of the full strength version, just in case you have forgotten what one looks like. Or fancied one of those instead.

To borrow an old advertising slogan: pure genius.

In the Beginning was the Music

I was walking along Baggot Street last week, when The Delgados' "The City Consumes Us" popped itself into my head.

It's a good little song, not one of their absolute greatest, but still worth a listen, and evidently works for me as an earworm.

The randomness of this song, out of the hundreds that I have ever bought, started me thinking.

The popularity of the iPod and such means that a good percentage of people will be listening to some music at a point in time. What is the likelihood that at that point, more than one person, anywhere in the world, is listening to exactly the same song?

Extrapolating this to my own case, where a song has crept into my mind, what are the chances that two people are even thinking about the same song at the same time.

(Of course this excludes people in bands who are playing a song together live!)

There are seven billion people on Earth. There are far fewer songs that have ever been written, so it is quite likely that two people would be independently enjoying the same song - or hating, or one doing each).

So what are my points in this ramble?

1. There is already too much music to keep up with.

After several centuries, classical music had generated hundreds of compositions. You could spend years of your life listening to them all. Since the advent of recording, the pace of new compositions has accelerated, to the point where many years' worth (by duration) is created every calendar year. It is impossible to listen to it all.

2. There is always a gap for new music.

Seven billion people sharing, at most, a few million pieces of music. There is likely to be at least one pair of ears out there that will be receptive to a tune. The continued success of The X Factor proves this - if only for a couple of weeks. (Who did win the competition last year? Who actually cares?)

3. Music can, and does, function as a glue to connect people.

There is so much music that it is impossible to sample - and then appreciate - it all. Hence we usually narrow our listening to a handful of genres. Human nature, being what it is, means that we will strike up an affinity with those exhibiting the same choices. There's no better feeling, music wise, than being at a gig with ten, one hundred or ten thousand like-minded souls, sharing a moment, often bellowing out lyrics in unison.

4. My brain sometimes functions like the world's most obscure jukebox.

While cycling to and from work, random times do come to mind. I have an unfortunate tendency to sing some of these out loud, a bit too loudly. I would like to apologise to anyone on the Clontarf Road one Tuesday evening, sat outside Bay restaurant, who heard a few lines from "Theme from S'Express" being barked out by a middle aged man huffing and puffing his way home. It is highly unlikely that the same experience could be found anywhere else on earth.

Do track down The Delgados. They were pretty good.

It's Late

I was being a little snarky about The Late Late Show trending on Twitter last Friday, and was rightly admonished as it had been discussing the awful state of affairs with the Priory Hall development. The ghost estates scarring Ireland may be the most visible remains of the Celtic Tiger bubble, but Priory Hall was completed and inhabited, at least for a short time until the fast-buck short cuts taken in construction were discovered and rendered the place unfit for living.

But still, The Late Late Show...

I was first made aware of TLLS (I'm entering this on a mobile, it's going to be an acronym from now on) when Channel 4 broadcast it during the eighties. Well, broadcast bits of it. Little did I know that it's regular slot on RTÉ - I believe before the days of Network Two - was more or less the whole of Friday. There was Uncle Gaybo introducing mostly entertainment guests, if I remember it was the cream carpeted set period. (On the walls as well as the floor.)

It wasn't until I moved to Ireland that I found out exactly what TLLS was. It's a strange beast, a chimera of shows - even though it is described as being produced by "RTÉ Entertainment" in the opening credits. It was the last time I saw them, I haven't watched an edition in years. Not that I have ever seen one from end to end, I don't have the stamina.

Nevertheless, from an assemblage of what I've seen, TLLS is about three or four shows squeezed into one. Run of the mill chat show, with celebrity guests - or what passes for them. The music show, where, yes, Boyzone were once introduced to the world. The cringingly awful gameshow elements - an incentive to keep people watching until nearly midnight on the off chance they could win. The interviews with people in the news. The serious topical discussion. In fact it could be several episodes of Oprah through the ages, stitched together like Frankenstein's monster of light entertainment. TLLS is effectively a night off for continuity, why produce and introduce distinct shows, when you can have them all awkwardly merged together by one host.

TLLS began in the earliest days of RTÉ, when nobody really knew what television could or should be about. Since then Ireland may have thrown off the yoke of the Catholic Church (officially maybe) but the persistence of TLLS shows those forces of conservatism still hold. Which is ironic given how TLLS would push progressive ideas when Gay Byrne hosted.

The only show from the UK that I can think of in comparison is That's Life, with it's sudden lurches in tone from a dog saying "sausages" to a consumer interest exposé of dodgy salesmen to a root vegetable that looks like a cock and balls.

And then there's the Late Late Toy Show. The one time of the year that the programme has a single focus, and it self-sabotages with cheese and cliché. The speculation about the host's Christmas jumper, precocious stage school kids doing song and dance numbers, toys summoning the spirit of Tomorrow's World and refusing to work... Meanwhile at home, families crack open a box of USA biscuits and the kids get to stay up as a special treat. I reckon it's the toys that keep the rest afloat - cancel that and there'd be outcry and questions in the Oireachtas. (I spelled that right first time!)

Perhaps TLLS's longevity is in fact due to some secret deal with Ireland's pubs - RTÉ promise to keep churning it out, giving people an excuse to get out of the house. Only since the advent of other TV channels have the publicans seen their takings fall.

Blur, IMMA

Blur's set list from the IMMA gig, Thursday 1 August:

Girls And Boys
Popscene
There's No Other Way
Beetlebum
Out Of Time
Trimm Trabb
Caramel
Young And Lovely
Coffee and TV
Tender
To The End
Country House
Parklife
End Of A Century
This Is A Low

Under The Westway
For Tomorrow
The Universal
Song 2

Saturday Night's Alright For Writing

Random observations from a Saturday night in Dublin...

1. I must have looked really tired - a group of (probably) drunk lads sat on a bench on the boardwalk wished me "safe home".

2. The Workman's Club is the only place in Ireland that I've seen a Wunder Bar soft drink dispenser. These seem to be standard issue in UK pubs and clubs.

3. There was a covers band in Fitzsimmons, blaring out some terrible tune. Whoever wrote the original should sue.

4. There was a group of pink rabbits on O'Connell Street bridge disguised as a stag/significant birthday party. They may have had myxomatosis.

5. I could get a milkshake in Burger King, but not at McDonald's. Therefore BK > McD.

6. DART trains still sound their warning horns at 11.30 at night. How did I block out/ignore this for over two years when living in Tara Street?

7. There were surprisingly few French rugby fans around. The most notable were sat outside a pub on Bachelor's Walk wearing pink, spangly cowboy hats.

Thanks to Phantom 105.2 for the tickets to the Rebekka Karijord gig. (Although being on the guest list consisted of a bloke writing my name down. In the event, the gig was fairly sparsely attended.)