Major holds a place shared by only two others in being bought instantly without even thinking about having to check well... Anything. Except for the artistes responsible, of course. It's fellows, Fluent in Stroll and Audio, Video, Disco are similarly well-made purchases.
Fang Island are still of Brooklyn, formerly of Providence. This second album was released in 2012, some 30 months ago from now.
With its stony cover, it's almost as if we're in for something different... But not. This is really Fang Island part 2, but that's not exactly a bad thing either. The cover art might be less nonsensical than their previous effort, but the fun really starts inside this cardboard envelope, with our three main players of the band, Jason Bartell, Chris Georges and Marc St. Sauveur Jr., reaching out to us in perfect monochrome. Georges in particular holds the centre, with an intense had gesture, delicate coiffing and the finest Indie Rock mustache. The list of credits is far longer this time round, with an additional guitarist and two different bassists joining them over the course of the songs. Also, the "Fang Island Choir" are named for posterity, giving a real sense of scope this time; with the changes are subtle, the entire enterprise is much bigger.
The opening track, 'Kindergarten', uses their signature guitar harmonics, slowly creeping across the stereo field. It begins with solo piano though, giving this album a kind of "indoor" feeling that continues through the whole record. Time signatures are much more settled, with far fewer of those whip-round changes from last time. Maybe that's another reason they chose the cover art? Carved in stone, to the weather the tides...
The first three tracks, 'Kindergarten', 'Sisterly' and 'Seek It Out' are all pretty muted affairs as well, quite calm and steady with solid riffs that use an accentuated mid-range. It's almost as if they're finding their feet, as 'Make Me' and 'Never Understand' go a long way to returning to the previous album's aesthetic, with catchy riffing, third harmonised melodies and a smattering of Drawbar sound. The crowd noises behind the sound in 'Never Understand' give it the feeling of a particularly well behaved gig, or festival stage. Maybe a restaurant-turned-cocktail venue at a weekend?
Curiously, on the back there's a whole line space before 'Asunder', and there is a kind of directional change here in the sound too - there's more energy and the guitar sound steps up, no more the calm and mid-heavy production of the first 5 tracks. A shout out to St. Sauveur's drumming in this sixth track too, perfectly combining with Michael Jacober's fine bass work, allowing these two rhythm players to become more than the mere sum of their parts. 'Dooney Rock' is the high point of the show for me, and well worth the price of entry: A fun little instrumental, with a finger-picking sound on that E drone, joined 14 seconds in by the kick drum on every beat helping to ramp up a feeling of excitement that's really been essentially missing from the otherwise tuneful material we've heard. Fuller sections follow the recurring drones with a whining guitar solo cutting across the texture. At 2:10, they change gear and really put the pedal down, full of outbursts of shredding with extra distortion and harmonics to fill out the texture. Next up, 'Regalia', keeps up the strength of movement, with a real stylistic return to form - crowd-sourcing vocals, dramatic pauses, a few quick shifts in the beat, and a euphoric lead sound, but still with that more solid mid sound behind it. Synthesized strings and a piano are there in the fade out before the before diving right back in to the instrumental. 'Chompers' is the summation of the best of the two preceding tracks, helping form a little unit of just pure fun. The best aspects of the album really are here, focused into tight riffs and catchy solos.
The closing act, comprised of tracks 'Chime Out' and 'Victorinian' tie these two different halves of the record together. 'Chime Out' starts slowly, like 'Make Me', but builds a lot quicker, which is arguably more effective, with a huge wall of guitar chugging and EQ'd harmonics, with the sound of chimes tinkling away above it all. 'Victorinian' starts with a Shakuhachi solo, complete with applause and cheering, before bursting into a hyperactive Piano line. This time, it's like there are different time signatures happening across the same instrument, and it's almost four minutes gone before a fuzzed up guitar comes in to double the melody. The chord sequence is highly reminiscent of the opening, just like the last disc they cut. A rumble of thunder heralds not just the end of the track but the end of the whole as well...
Out of the two musical Ourobouros that Fang Island have given us I'm hard pushed to call a preference. 2010's offering has much more energy over all, a big punch through a wall, telling us that "Yes! This album is here! We will bring you joy!" It was happy and energetic and just bounced off the walls for the sake of it. This one is much more serious, and it doesn't quite succeed for it. The first act is stodgy, even compared to the throwaway enthusiasm of the first part of Fang Island. By the second act, they know who they are again, as do we, and by the end there's been some reconciliation. 'Dooney Rock' and 'Chompers' stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of 'Daisy' and 'Sideswiper', but the other material does feel even as if they themselves aren't exactly thrilled to be their.
I feel a bit bad ending on that kind of note! I still think it's a good record, and I'm glad I bought it &c &c... But it kind of needs the first album to work best, so you know where it's come from even if you're not sure where it's going sometimes. Over all though, it's great stuff and as a piece of Indie-noise-instrumetal-nonsense rhymes, it still works just great.
Reviewed on a
Philips AX1100/00 CD Player through Philips/O'Neill 'The Snug'
SHO8802/10 headphones and Logitech Z323 2.1 Surround Speakers.
Thursday 27 November 2014
Tuesday 25 November 2014
Out of the Deep
Why break the habits of a lifetime?
I hope you're all enjoying my attempts to look outward, to drag myself out of a mire, usually of my own making, in the form of my new schedule (he says, barely hanging on to it by his fingernails alone). I'm one down in a way already, so I'll have to finish and publish my take on three short stories by Kafka on a transposed date, but in falling behind I'm already falling into the bad habit I am so desperate to avoid. That said, you try and read The Judgement, Metamorphosis and In the Penal Colony and... No, I'll leave it at that. Just trying to read them ought to be more than enough for now.
Then again, don't forget that at the heart of this venture is still the same man, misguided at best and bitter at worst, trying to make sense of not only everything around him but also inside his own head. The title of this blog has become a cornerstone really, and it all started as a throwaway joke (as all the best things do), combining the salutation an old friend would use on the telephone with a kind of forced reaction to the BBC's latest interpretation of Sherlock Holmes, fronted by Benedict Cumberbatch, who is NOT KHAN*. That's not a spoiler, I'm not even going to apologise. I mean, could you imagine if Star Wars: The Force Awakens was set in an alternate timeline that split off just after the Battle of Yavin in A New Hope and replaced Lando Calrissian with... BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH?! I suppose it might be a bit different, I mean, Billy Dee Williams didn't die in 2009... Anyway, the point I'll be getting back to right now is the whole "Mind Palace" concept that Sherlock didn't necessarily invent but brought to a kind of public level. While I'm hardly an expert (feel free to emphasise any or all of those five words as you see fit in my stead for maximum ironic impact), Cumberbatch's Holmes is certainly symptomatic of Asperger's, or at least high-functioning autistic. I can't remember the 'official' byline on it, wasn't it something about being sociopathic as well? Who knows.
It's this 'Mind Palace' where all of his knowledge is stored, all highly organised deep within his brain. There's a neat visualisation of this at the end of the third series, after suffering a life threatening gunshot wound, where we see him retreat to his memories both comforting and well... Not. Also, there's that Doctor bird (technical term) who fancies him, popping up as the voice of reason to walk him through surviving being shot. I think it's her anyway. Pretty sure. It's from this palace that the floating text appears when he looks at things (Egg? Sitty thing?!?!?), like the scanning from the Metroid Prime trilogy but without having a Chozo Battle Suit Ver. SA1-446B-VM6-P (or should that be Ver. SH1?). 3D map constructions (press Z to bring up the map) and things like phone numbers float about as well. What happens after he gets shot is arguably more like a dream sequence than anything else, but it's clearly set in the same place. We're also shown that the baddie of the overall outfit has his own kind of palace, the "Appledore Vaults". Throughout the series we're treated to scenes of him trotting in and out of archives, picking out files and pictures &c, only to discover that in the end it was all in his head! Thanks, Dallas.
Being the friendly local neighbourhood autist (or, at least the one who admits anyway), the comparisons with Sherlock were impossible to avoid. In the eyes of many, I have all of his social niceties (almost none), yet none of the beguiling intelligence. Oh, how I am good for nothing! But thinking about it, there's some traction. I retain almost everything I learn, and notice more environmental and intellectual stimuli compared to my emotional ability. True, things are better than they ever have been, but I still lag sometimes significantly. And often, my memory of places and events is aided by the recollection of bizarre things such as exact weather conditions, seeing someone's collar turned up or what time my watch said compared to somebody else's, you know, something quite odd that ties it all in to a causal timeline. Sometimes this has been taken advantage of by others, who know that I'll recall events as they happened with no bias. Everything is up here, somewhere, it's just getting at it that's the problem.
So, finally. Why an asylum? An old mad house, a "hospital" for the mentally degenerate. Many real asylums were truly awful places, the genuinely disadvantaged rubbing shoulders (and perhaps more - yeesh) with the syphilitic, most likely being beaten by staff who would strike out in anger and fear more than anything else (is this helping?); not terribly jolly places at all. The next step? Don't roll your eyes too hard: Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth, yet another seminal and character defining work from Grant Morrison, illustrated by Dave McKean. Yes, it's Batman. Yes, it's an illustrated work... But serious stories can also be told with in a visual manner, and just remember that the next time you go and see some cinematographical masterpiece. The wikipedia page linked there has some interesting comments, about how Morrison believing the further abstraction provided by McKean's art reduces its power, by making it 'unreal', and the success it had with an untypical readership - perhaps I'll write up for the next 'Top Shelf' (although I'll need to finish Kafka first). I'm going right to the end with this one though. Batman's journey through Arkham is harrowing enough, interspersed with the story of Amadeus Arkham, the man who turned the family home into a madhouse (and also tried to invoke some crazy dark magic), but by the end (and cutting a long story very very short), our favourite nemesis to all things Bat gives our hero a simple offer as he leaves: "Enjoy yourself out there. In the Asylum. Just don't forget -- If it ever gets too tough... There's always a place for you here."
In this case, the Asylum is the outside world: Gotham, crime, daily life, whatever. Arkham Asylum itself is a little haven, an island where the madness inside is only ever less than or equal to the madness going on outside. Like... The inside of my head? Ha ha ha... We all have to think of something, right?
In the Asylum, there are many doors, and not all of them are open. Things like traumas are locked away - abuse, family death, injury. You know what it's like, you know, when "the mind protects itself" from the memory of great pain. This is my version, that those things, places, people, those sensations are behind closed doors, some of which do not open. Some things, like the time I basically became a functional alcoholic are behind doors that open - I can make myself remember if I try, and it brings back a lot that I don't necessarily want - Grant the King a Long Life was an exercise in opening many similar doors, so that I could accept those things and start to move on more positively, that the things inside those rooms could no longer burst their prisons and overwhelm me but be put away in their proper place. Of course, I consider myself quite mad, in fact, you could say I was "fucking insane" most of the time, and had I lived even a hundred years ago, I probably would have been condemned to one of these "hospitals" myself, no need to kid myself. I can retreat here though, when it all gets a bit too much outside, and I also need to stop making myself feel guilty about that. I already push myself to appear as, uh, "typical" as I can, (because being normal is some boring ass shit and I ain't getting involved with that), and sometimes I just need a rest! Feet up, tea, lock the doors. Nothing in or out. Everything will be okay.
Anyway. I promise to get back to the new timetable of distractions after this. It's good to get out of the Asylum sometimes too.
* Yes, I'm STILL angry about that. This must be what "Trukk not Munky" felt like in the mid 90s...
I hope you're all enjoying my attempts to look outward, to drag myself out of a mire, usually of my own making, in the form of my new schedule (he says, barely hanging on to it by his fingernails alone). I'm one down in a way already, so I'll have to finish and publish my take on three short stories by Kafka on a transposed date, but in falling behind I'm already falling into the bad habit I am so desperate to avoid. That said, you try and read The Judgement, Metamorphosis and In the Penal Colony and... No, I'll leave it at that. Just trying to read them ought to be more than enough for now.
Then again, don't forget that at the heart of this venture is still the same man, misguided at best and bitter at worst, trying to make sense of not only everything around him but also inside his own head. The title of this blog has become a cornerstone really, and it all started as a throwaway joke (as all the best things do), combining the salutation an old friend would use on the telephone with a kind of forced reaction to the BBC's latest interpretation of Sherlock Holmes, fronted by Benedict Cumberbatch, who is NOT KHAN*. That's not a spoiler, I'm not even going to apologise. I mean, could you imagine if Star Wars: The Force Awakens was set in an alternate timeline that split off just after the Battle of Yavin in A New Hope and replaced Lando Calrissian with... BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH?! I suppose it might be a bit different, I mean, Billy Dee Williams didn't die in 2009... Anyway, the point I'll be getting back to right now is the whole "Mind Palace" concept that Sherlock didn't necessarily invent but brought to a kind of public level. While I'm hardly an expert (feel free to emphasise any or all of those five words as you see fit in my stead for maximum ironic impact), Cumberbatch's Holmes is certainly symptomatic of Asperger's, or at least high-functioning autistic. I can't remember the 'official' byline on it, wasn't it something about being sociopathic as well? Who knows.
It's this 'Mind Palace' where all of his knowledge is stored, all highly organised deep within his brain. There's a neat visualisation of this at the end of the third series, after suffering a life threatening gunshot wound, where we see him retreat to his memories both comforting and well... Not. Also, there's that Doctor bird (technical term) who fancies him, popping up as the voice of reason to walk him through surviving being shot. I think it's her anyway. Pretty sure. It's from this palace that the floating text appears when he looks at things (Egg? Sitty thing?!?!?), like the scanning from the Metroid Prime trilogy but without having a Chozo Battle Suit Ver. SA1-446B-VM6-P (or should that be Ver. SH1?). 3D map constructions (press Z to bring up the map) and things like phone numbers float about as well. What happens after he gets shot is arguably more like a dream sequence than anything else, but it's clearly set in the same place. We're also shown that the baddie of the overall outfit has his own kind of palace, the "Appledore Vaults". Throughout the series we're treated to scenes of him trotting in and out of archives, picking out files and pictures &c, only to discover that in the end it was all in his head! Thanks, Dallas.
Being the friendly local neighbourhood autist (or, at least the one who admits anyway), the comparisons with Sherlock were impossible to avoid. In the eyes of many, I have all of his social niceties (almost none), yet none of the beguiling intelligence. Oh, how I am good for nothing! But thinking about it, there's some traction. I retain almost everything I learn, and notice more environmental and intellectual stimuli compared to my emotional ability. True, things are better than they ever have been, but I still lag sometimes significantly. And often, my memory of places and events is aided by the recollection of bizarre things such as exact weather conditions, seeing someone's collar turned up or what time my watch said compared to somebody else's, you know, something quite odd that ties it all in to a causal timeline. Sometimes this has been taken advantage of by others, who know that I'll recall events as they happened with no bias. Everything is up here, somewhere, it's just getting at it that's the problem.
So, finally. Why an asylum? An old mad house, a "hospital" for the mentally degenerate. Many real asylums were truly awful places, the genuinely disadvantaged rubbing shoulders (and perhaps more - yeesh) with the syphilitic, most likely being beaten by staff who would strike out in anger and fear more than anything else (is this helping?); not terribly jolly places at all. The next step? Don't roll your eyes too hard: Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth, yet another seminal and character defining work from Grant Morrison, illustrated by Dave McKean. Yes, it's Batman. Yes, it's an illustrated work... But serious stories can also be told with in a visual manner, and just remember that the next time you go and see some cinematographical masterpiece. The wikipedia page linked there has some interesting comments, about how Morrison believing the further abstraction provided by McKean's art reduces its power, by making it 'unreal', and the success it had with an untypical readership - perhaps I'll write up for the next 'Top Shelf' (although I'll need to finish Kafka first). I'm going right to the end with this one though. Batman's journey through Arkham is harrowing enough, interspersed with the story of Amadeus Arkham, the man who turned the family home into a madhouse (and also tried to invoke some crazy dark magic), but by the end (and cutting a long story very very short), our favourite nemesis to all things Bat gives our hero a simple offer as he leaves: "Enjoy yourself out there. In the Asylum. Just don't forget -- If it ever gets too tough... There's always a place for you here."
In this case, the Asylum is the outside world: Gotham, crime, daily life, whatever. Arkham Asylum itself is a little haven, an island where the madness inside is only ever less than or equal to the madness going on outside. Like... The inside of my head? Ha ha ha... We all have to think of something, right?
In the Asylum, there are many doors, and not all of them are open. Things like traumas are locked away - abuse, family death, injury. You know what it's like, you know, when "the mind protects itself" from the memory of great pain. This is my version, that those things, places, people, those sensations are behind closed doors, some of which do not open. Some things, like the time I basically became a functional alcoholic are behind doors that open - I can make myself remember if I try, and it brings back a lot that I don't necessarily want - Grant the King a Long Life was an exercise in opening many similar doors, so that I could accept those things and start to move on more positively, that the things inside those rooms could no longer burst their prisons and overwhelm me but be put away in their proper place. Of course, I consider myself quite mad, in fact, you could say I was "fucking insane" most of the time, and had I lived even a hundred years ago, I probably would have been condemned to one of these "hospitals" myself, no need to kid myself. I can retreat here though, when it all gets a bit too much outside, and I also need to stop making myself feel guilty about that. I already push myself to appear as, uh, "typical" as I can, (because being normal is some boring ass shit and I ain't getting involved with that), and sometimes I just need a rest! Feet up, tea, lock the doors. Nothing in or out. Everything will be okay.
Anyway. I promise to get back to the new timetable of distractions after this. It's good to get out of the Asylum sometimes too.
* Yes, I'm STILL angry about that. This must be what "Trukk not Munky" felt like in the mid 90s...
Wednesday 19 November 2014
Now Showing: Sound and Fury
Now, this isn't going to be easy, is it...
In the opening lines of last week's review of Fang Island, I made mention of how it was the first time I had written about something someone else had done blah blah blah... Completely forgetting that I had done a piece on Hercules, starring Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson! Turns out I've been wanting to break out into talking about things other than my own screaming inadequacies for ages now oh well haha! But to be fair to me, it was really just a one-shot, rather than part of a concerted effort like all this is, so you know, swings and roundabouts.
I remember the point that I was making that it was probably the closest we'll ever get to a real Dungeons & Dragons or Fire Emblem movie we'll ever get; instead of using beloved and often bitterly defended characters and situations from those two properties, it uses a generic action adventure template with a simple team dynamic laid over a mythic, faux-ancient history setting, to stage a quest to save a land from invasion and a people from their own corrupt ruler. Sound familiar? It's pretty much the same basic plot that Intelligent Systems have used ever since 1990. I'm not saying it's a bad one either, as really there's a lot of room for character development once you have that outline to hang things on.
Thinking more about that piece also points out some things about my general film-going habits: I love uncomplicated blockbusters, hence the subtitle. But looking at my shelf of DVDs you'd be forgiven for thinking that's some kind of red herring, what with my interest in foreign film, character-driven drama, intelligent sci-fi and of course, Batman. I also have an unexpected love for the "oeuvre" of Steven Seagal, because there are times in all our lives where we just need a guy in a ponytail executing the most insane martial arts fight scenes to cheer us up. I think my real favourite is The Glimmer Man, because it's just before he stops doing (mostly) his own fighting and stunts. It's a 'buddy cop' film taken to an illogical and egregiously hilarious extreme, and I like that. I like that a lot.
I also hold my hands up to liking some straight up terrible films as well. For every La Vie en Rose there's Michael Bay's Transformers trilogy, for every Big Fish there's a... Uh, um, Matrix Revolutions? I'd have said Keanu Reeves' Constantine but I actually thought it was quite good, bar the fact that they use character names and (tenuous at best) likenesses from Vertigo's Hellblazer - if only they had thought of an original set of names it might have garnered some light respect rather than the rough kicking it deserved as a film representation of "the" John Constantine. I gather that the TV series is doing a bit of a better job, bar the fact that their Constantine is, well, clean. As I read in the recent Comics Alliance article, Hellblazer's Constantine is the guy who gave Satan the middle finger, probably before, during or after calling him some choice names that couldn't possibly be published here, in time for last orders and chaining a pack of ten fags - not something that would really go down well on American Network prime time.
I'm also conscious of having no real or formal training in any kind of film study, no matter how much I throw the term "non-diegetic" into conversation, which makes me feel a little nervous in leaping in like this... But then how many people do their own blogs publishing reviews who have no similar experience? At least in reviewing albums I have the fact that I'm an actual musician and have played bass guitar, banjo, keyboard and sang live, and also have recorded all of the above at some point, even if for GSCE and A-Level examination, that can stand up to scrutiny - although if I ever use the phrase "as a professional musician" I demand that somebody comes and kills me. Reach through the monitor and throttle me if you have to. On the other hand, perhaps not having a formal background in film might help. After all, it's about me and my reaction; you have not and could possibly not have had the experiences my life has (as I could not yours) that govern my judgements and my approach and appreciation of anything, really! Just like with music, sometimes an op-ed, reactionary piece is much more effective in communicating how you might enjoy it, rather than a hardline technical analysis.
In fact, there's yet more meaning behind the subtitle; I am a hyperactive adult with a mercilessly short attention span. I have a lifelong love of comics, cape or not, Transformers, video games, anime, and all the associated trivia that goes with all of them, I often seek out loud films with out very much plot most of the time - hence Transformers (well) quadrilogy. Fight Club is an excellent foil however, as not only is it full of explosions 'n shit and fighting and plot twists, but it's pretty close to the plot of the book, if slightly less disturbing by the end. I really need to see Choke with Sam Rockwell and Angelica Houston to follow up my Chuck Palahniuk obsession. But anyway, that's why most of my films are fast-pased action or brightly coloured comedy (Batman Movie 1966, I'm looking at you), because I like shiny things, basically. My interest in foreign films stems from one of my ex-girlfriends from long ago, who would take me to an art house cinema as our dates (avec les sous-titres, naturellement); not exactly a natural habitat given my reputation but one must strive for a bit of class eh.
I'll be back, ev'n in the time appointed to bring you news from my local, The Plaza on Lemon street. In fact, I'll wrap this by setting the scene... And don't forget to visit their website!
-"The Plaza Cinema is ideally situated on Lemon Street, slightly up the hill, taking it away from the bustle of the high street and the Hall for Cornwall, the city's venue for live performances, but close enough (much like everything else in Truro) to be no more than a ten minute walk. Although there are only 4 screens, this is perfectly ample, with 1 being the largest and the following three gradually, but not markedly smaller. In fact, I'd say that the smaller screens have as much going for them as the larger, allowing The Plaza to put on films with more intimate settings on a screen and room size that reflects the setting: Summer blockbusters like Guardians of the Galaxy and Transformers: Age of Extinction (and by extension all the upcoming Marvel and DC comic book films &c) belong in screen 1, while the modestly statured comic A Thousand Ways to Die in the West and period drama Belle are complimented by the smaller setting afforded by screens 3 and 4, say. 'Found-Footage' style and other horror films also benefit, although in their case the rooms accentuate the claustrophobia.
Seating is spacious and comfortable, there's no feel of faded grandeur here. The staff are polite and friendly, most of them are young (younger than I am anyway), which along with the smaller size of the actual place itself makes it feel quite local, and certainly not in a bad way; Truro isn't exactly in a need of a colossal multiplex, and the nearby towns of Redruth and Falmouth are served by their own cinemas as well.
While not every film makes it as far west as Truro, The Plaza manage to get in showings of opera, ballet and stage theatre as well. Alongside their honouring of the now ubiquitous 'Orange Wednesdays', they also have offers for senior cinema enthusiasts for showings before 7pm, and on Tuesdays all tickets are just £5 in the evening.
It might be the only cinema in Truro, but it's definitely a fine one. Rather than try and throw bells and whistles, The Plaza distinguishes itself by doing things right: With a small but useful set of ticket offers, clean seats (notwithstanding the occasional discovery of a previous patron's underseat hiding of rubbish), welcoming staff and even refreshment prices that aren't too bad, The Plaza is definitely an excellent place to get a film in."-
In the opening lines of last week's review of Fang Island, I made mention of how it was the first time I had written about something someone else had done blah blah blah... Completely forgetting that I had done a piece on Hercules, starring Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson! Turns out I've been wanting to break out into talking about things other than my own screaming inadequacies for ages now oh well haha! But to be fair to me, it was really just a one-shot, rather than part of a concerted effort like all this is, so you know, swings and roundabouts.
I remember the point that I was making that it was probably the closest we'll ever get to a real Dungeons & Dragons or Fire Emblem movie we'll ever get; instead of using beloved and often bitterly defended characters and situations from those two properties, it uses a generic action adventure template with a simple team dynamic laid over a mythic, faux-ancient history setting, to stage a quest to save a land from invasion and a people from their own corrupt ruler. Sound familiar? It's pretty much the same basic plot that Intelligent Systems have used ever since 1990. I'm not saying it's a bad one either, as really there's a lot of room for character development once you have that outline to hang things on.
Thinking more about that piece also points out some things about my general film-going habits: I love uncomplicated blockbusters, hence the subtitle. But looking at my shelf of DVDs you'd be forgiven for thinking that's some kind of red herring, what with my interest in foreign film, character-driven drama, intelligent sci-fi and of course, Batman. I also have an unexpected love for the "oeuvre" of Steven Seagal, because there are times in all our lives where we just need a guy in a ponytail executing the most insane martial arts fight scenes to cheer us up. I think my real favourite is The Glimmer Man, because it's just before he stops doing (mostly) his own fighting and stunts. It's a 'buddy cop' film taken to an illogical and egregiously hilarious extreme, and I like that. I like that a lot.
I also hold my hands up to liking some straight up terrible films as well. For every La Vie en Rose there's Michael Bay's Transformers trilogy, for every Big Fish there's a... Uh, um, Matrix Revolutions? I'd have said Keanu Reeves' Constantine but I actually thought it was quite good, bar the fact that they use character names and (tenuous at best) likenesses from Vertigo's Hellblazer - if only they had thought of an original set of names it might have garnered some light respect rather than the rough kicking it deserved as a film representation of "the" John Constantine. I gather that the TV series is doing a bit of a better job, bar the fact that their Constantine is, well, clean. As I read in the recent Comics Alliance article, Hellblazer's Constantine is the guy who gave Satan the middle finger, probably before, during or after calling him some choice names that couldn't possibly be published here, in time for last orders and chaining a pack of ten fags - not something that would really go down well on American Network prime time.
I'm also conscious of having no real or formal training in any kind of film study, no matter how much I throw the term "non-diegetic" into conversation, which makes me feel a little nervous in leaping in like this... But then how many people do their own blogs publishing reviews who have no similar experience? At least in reviewing albums I have the fact that I'm an actual musician and have played bass guitar, banjo, keyboard and sang live, and also have recorded all of the above at some point, even if for GSCE and A-Level examination, that can stand up to scrutiny - although if I ever use the phrase "as a professional musician" I demand that somebody comes and kills me. Reach through the monitor and throttle me if you have to. On the other hand, perhaps not having a formal background in film might help. After all, it's about me and my reaction; you have not and could possibly not have had the experiences my life has (as I could not yours) that govern my judgements and my approach and appreciation of anything, really! Just like with music, sometimes an op-ed, reactionary piece is much more effective in communicating how you might enjoy it, rather than a hardline technical analysis.
In fact, there's yet more meaning behind the subtitle; I am a hyperactive adult with a mercilessly short attention span. I have a lifelong love of comics, cape or not, Transformers, video games, anime, and all the associated trivia that goes with all of them, I often seek out loud films with out very much plot most of the time - hence Transformers (well) quadrilogy. Fight Club is an excellent foil however, as not only is it full of explosions 'n shit and fighting and plot twists, but it's pretty close to the plot of the book, if slightly less disturbing by the end. I really need to see Choke with Sam Rockwell and Angelica Houston to follow up my Chuck Palahniuk obsession. But anyway, that's why most of my films are fast-pased action or brightly coloured comedy (Batman Movie 1966, I'm looking at you), because I like shiny things, basically. My interest in foreign films stems from one of my ex-girlfriends from long ago, who would take me to an art house cinema as our dates (avec les sous-titres, naturellement); not exactly a natural habitat given my reputation but one must strive for a bit of class eh.
I'll be back, ev'n in the time appointed to bring you news from my local, The Plaza on Lemon street. In fact, I'll wrap this by setting the scene... And don't forget to visit their website!
-"The Plaza Cinema is ideally situated on Lemon Street, slightly up the hill, taking it away from the bustle of the high street and the Hall for Cornwall, the city's venue for live performances, but close enough (much like everything else in Truro) to be no more than a ten minute walk. Although there are only 4 screens, this is perfectly ample, with 1 being the largest and the following three gradually, but not markedly smaller. In fact, I'd say that the smaller screens have as much going for them as the larger, allowing The Plaza to put on films with more intimate settings on a screen and room size that reflects the setting: Summer blockbusters like Guardians of the Galaxy and Transformers: Age of Extinction (and by extension all the upcoming Marvel and DC comic book films &c) belong in screen 1, while the modestly statured comic A Thousand Ways to Die in the West and period drama Belle are complimented by the smaller setting afforded by screens 3 and 4, say. 'Found-Footage' style and other horror films also benefit, although in their case the rooms accentuate the claustrophobia.
Seating is spacious and comfortable, there's no feel of faded grandeur here. The staff are polite and friendly, most of them are young (younger than I am anyway), which along with the smaller size of the actual place itself makes it feel quite local, and certainly not in a bad way; Truro isn't exactly in a need of a colossal multiplex, and the nearby towns of Redruth and Falmouth are served by their own cinemas as well.
While not every film makes it as far west as Truro, The Plaza manage to get in showings of opera, ballet and stage theatre as well. Alongside their honouring of the now ubiquitous 'Orange Wednesdays', they also have offers for senior cinema enthusiasts for showings before 7pm, and on Tuesdays all tickets are just £5 in the evening.
It might be the only cinema in Truro, but it's definitely a fine one. Rather than try and throw bells and whistles, The Plaza distinguishes itself by doing things right: With a small but useful set of ticket offers, clean seats (notwithstanding the occasional discovery of a previous patron's underseat hiding of rubbish), welcoming staff and even refreshment prices that aren't too bad, The Plaza is definitely an excellent place to get a film in."-
Tuesday 18 November 2014
Eat it - Hors d'oeuvre
Welcome to yet another mad and wild and new departure. This is all so novel that it's almost exciting to write... Almost.
Yes, this is the inevitable food part of my new blogging plan, a blogging plan for the ages. Or for the year, at least. Hopefully there'll be something for everyone! Or just the hope that everyone will read something.
Once again, I find no small inspiration from my old friend, Emily P. Burt. She's gone and done all sorts of things that I probably won't even get near because she's so cool and good and excellent, and this latest venture is thankfully more of the same eloquent and eminently readable style: "Eat Happy!", documenting trips to various eateries in her current city of Cardiff. She does a bunch of other stuff than just write about recipes and places, so keep up on her twitter to find out all the interviews and other coverage as well.
I have always had a... Difficult relationship with food, to put it lightly. I have an even more difficult relationship with my weight because of it and have only now, in my advanced age, reached the princely weight of 11 stones. I try to look after myself as best I can (so you can stop worrying so much, Mother), and this extends to my often bizarre eating habits. I am picky. I'm as picky as hell, actually, and now I have my ever-increasing lactose intolerance to watch out for as well. I have heightened senses of taste and smell, and have weird issues with food texture as well; I'm one of 'them' who has difficulty mixing "wet" and "dry" food - you know what I mean. Having any more than an impossibly meager splash of gravy with a Sunday roast is considered pushing the boat out, par example. I'm a nightmare at dinner parties due to my odd tastes as well: At last year's Burns Night dinner I found myself on the edge of sanity trying to stay polite after allowing myself to be forced into trying haggis, a personal horror of both taste and texture if ever there was one. Sometimes it's very embarrassing. It makes me very anxious.
I initially learned to cook, therefore, to make sure that I could control what I ate, to make sure that it would definitely be something I would enjoy. My knife skills can be a little, er, rough and ready sometimes but good intentions and taking care often make up for holes in technique. I've been told I normally underseason my food as well, but I'm fine with a less intense taste as it's not a sense that's exactly deficient. Although I'm still a fiend for take out, I actually enjoy whipping up a dinner or perhaps an especially hearty lunch. The flip side? Washing up, the source of many arguments in my short life already, which (let's face it) nobody really wants to do ever at all in the whole and entire world. As I said earlier, the next level of control is the lactose avoidance, which can be amazingly and disappointingly difficult, like finding out the milk powder used as a thickening agent in ready meal curries makes you uncomfortable. Add to that the fact I'm basically allergic to ice cream, life seems cruel and unnecessarily mean. Or just plain unfair (life's not supposed to be fair blah blah blah).
Also, being a young gentleman about town, the big city here, I go out to many exciting places to exchange my money for food and table waiting. I often run a constant gauntlet of making myself ill (seriously guys milk powder is in almost everything), but life's too short to let a bit of bloating get in the way of enjoying one's self (seriously fuck milk powder). I am a regular offender at several places round Truro (especially the Old Alehouse), where I have a reputation as an excellent customer. I was thinking about this the other day actually; not only am I polite to the staff, often help clear up or definitely take glasses back to the bar, behave well... But also I hand over all my money all the time. I also make sure I don't be so stupid to make passes at the staff as well, because that always works out for me doesn't it? Jeez.
Anyway. I'll be using this as a kind of signal post, and yes I am going to turn into one of those people who takes pictures of food even more so than usual. As always I will make my first review some place where I have been a lot so we can get started comfortably (like last week), and then see how we go. In the meantime, here's my recipe for a thai-style stir fry that I've been eating a lot of recently. It looks like more work than it is, and prep and cook time shouldn't cost you more than a half hour.
INGREDIENTS
Nam Pla (fish sauce) Light and Dark Soy sauces Noodles or Rice
Chicken or Turkey, thinly sliced Spring Onions Garlic cloves Root Ginger
Red or Green Chilies Mushrooms Broccoli Basil leaves (fresh)
METHOD
Okay, first of all get your rice or noodles on the go. I use medium egg noodles for kind of everything, but anything should be fine according to your taste. I just boil the noodles in unsalted water for 5 minutes and then drain, with just a bit left in the pan.
The rice is a different ball game. On a high heat, melt butter in a pan with a tight fitting lid. When the butter is melted pour in however much rice you're using and stir so all the grains are coated. Whatever you use for a measure doesn't really matter, as long as you can definitely pour in twice as much boiling water once the rice is coated. Stir up to get all the grains down from the sides of the pan, and once the water starts boiling again, place the lid on top, making sure it's been firmly wrapped in a cloth. Once the lid is on, turn the heat right down straight away, to its lowest amount, and keep it like this for 15 minutes. Once the time is up, turn the heat off but leave the lid on; this way, it can stay hot for up to an hour. When ready, serve! The rice ought to be fluffy grained and not too dry - you can pack it into bowls to make a timbal if you like. Speaking of bowls I like to use them to group ingredients, as you'll see...
Prepare your ingredients. You can get "stir fry" packs of meat at major supermarkets, which are perfect for the job. Otherwise, just cut Chicken or Turkey breast fillets into thin strips. Slice the spring onions up either diagonally or into straight rings - white scallions will also do a fine job here. For the mushrooms, either pull the legs out and slice the head and legs thinly, or for button mushrooms cut into four. Once prepared, these two can go into a bowl together. For the broccoli, cut to your preference; personally I chop down the florets from a Calabrese head, or just cut the stalk away if you get hold of some blessed tenderstem...
Next, skin and finely chop three cloves of garlic. Then slice the ginger - you don't want too much here, perhaps a piece an inch long by half an inch wide. Finally, the chili. Either red or green is fine, just cut up into rings, and dispense of the seeds if you wish; I like the heat but I know plenty of people don't. Make sure all of these go into a bowl together. Chop or simply tear a healthy portion of basil leaves and make sure you don't forget about them!
Get a wok screaming hot. Hobs these days sometimes come with a central burner especially for woks, so use that if you have one. Just pour in either sunflower, groundnut or plain vegetable oil to the wok so it covers the bottom and sit on the highest heat you have until it starts to smoke. Do not use olive oil, as it will burn, and the wok will be ruined. Once you've reached temperature, throw the meat in and stir fry until the outside is sealed. If you cut it into thin strips, it'll cook very quickly indeed. Once the outside is all sealed, pour in one or two teaspoons of Nam Pla, according to taste. Be careful with this stuff, as it has a very strong flavour! Err on the side of caution if you're worried about overdoing it. When the edges are beginning to brown a little on the meat, pour the contents, meat and sauce, into a bowl for later (we'll throw it back in at the end!).
Return the wok to the heat and add a little more oil. When you're ready to go, add the ginger, garlic, chili and broccoli, and fry - make sure the garlic doesn't catch but let the broccoli cook as well. Pour in one teaspoon of Light Soy sauce. Then add the spring onion and mushrooms, and fry them out too. Once you're happy with the veg, pour the bowl of your meat back in, and toss all the ingredients together. Pour in two teaspoons of Dark Soy sauce. Keep stirring. Remember what I told you not to forget? Good! Add your basil leaves and stir everything together for a minute before you serve. At this point you can add the noodles if you want, but the rice might be a but much in the wok. Plate or dish up as you see fit.
Ideally, this will serve two as a kind of medium to light supper alongside a dessert, or a hearty meal for one. Service!
Yes, this is the inevitable food part of my new blogging plan, a blogging plan for the ages. Or for the year, at least. Hopefully there'll be something for everyone! Or just the hope that everyone will read something.
Once again, I find no small inspiration from my old friend, Emily P. Burt. She's gone and done all sorts of things that I probably won't even get near because she's so cool and good and excellent, and this latest venture is thankfully more of the same eloquent and eminently readable style: "Eat Happy!", documenting trips to various eateries in her current city of Cardiff. She does a bunch of other stuff than just write about recipes and places, so keep up on her twitter to find out all the interviews and other coverage as well.
I have always had a... Difficult relationship with food, to put it lightly. I have an even more difficult relationship with my weight because of it and have only now, in my advanced age, reached the princely weight of 11 stones. I try to look after myself as best I can (so you can stop worrying so much, Mother), and this extends to my often bizarre eating habits. I am picky. I'm as picky as hell, actually, and now I have my ever-increasing lactose intolerance to watch out for as well. I have heightened senses of taste and smell, and have weird issues with food texture as well; I'm one of 'them' who has difficulty mixing "wet" and "dry" food - you know what I mean. Having any more than an impossibly meager splash of gravy with a Sunday roast is considered pushing the boat out, par example. I'm a nightmare at dinner parties due to my odd tastes as well: At last year's Burns Night dinner I found myself on the edge of sanity trying to stay polite after allowing myself to be forced into trying haggis, a personal horror of both taste and texture if ever there was one. Sometimes it's very embarrassing. It makes me very anxious.
I initially learned to cook, therefore, to make sure that I could control what I ate, to make sure that it would definitely be something I would enjoy. My knife skills can be a little, er, rough and ready sometimes but good intentions and taking care often make up for holes in technique. I've been told I normally underseason my food as well, but I'm fine with a less intense taste as it's not a sense that's exactly deficient. Although I'm still a fiend for take out, I actually enjoy whipping up a dinner or perhaps an especially hearty lunch. The flip side? Washing up, the source of many arguments in my short life already, which (let's face it) nobody really wants to do ever at all in the whole and entire world. As I said earlier, the next level of control is the lactose avoidance, which can be amazingly and disappointingly difficult, like finding out the milk powder used as a thickening agent in ready meal curries makes you uncomfortable. Add to that the fact I'm basically allergic to ice cream, life seems cruel and unnecessarily mean. Or just plain unfair (life's not supposed to be fair blah blah blah).
Also, being a young gentleman about town, the big city here, I go out to many exciting places to exchange my money for food and table waiting. I often run a constant gauntlet of making myself ill (seriously guys milk powder is in almost everything), but life's too short to let a bit of bloating get in the way of enjoying one's self (seriously fuck milk powder). I am a regular offender at several places round Truro (especially the Old Alehouse), where I have a reputation as an excellent customer. I was thinking about this the other day actually; not only am I polite to the staff, often help clear up or definitely take glasses back to the bar, behave well... But also I hand over all my money all the time. I also make sure I don't be so stupid to make passes at the staff as well, because that always works out for me doesn't it? Jeez.
Anyway. I'll be using this as a kind of signal post, and yes I am going to turn into one of those people who takes pictures of food even more so than usual. As always I will make my first review some place where I have been a lot so we can get started comfortably (like last week), and then see how we go. In the meantime, here's my recipe for a thai-style stir fry that I've been eating a lot of recently. It looks like more work than it is, and prep and cook time shouldn't cost you more than a half hour.
INGREDIENTS
Nam Pla (fish sauce) Light and Dark Soy sauces Noodles or Rice
Chicken or Turkey, thinly sliced Spring Onions Garlic cloves Root Ginger
Red or Green Chilies Mushrooms Broccoli Basil leaves (fresh)
METHOD
Okay, first of all get your rice or noodles on the go. I use medium egg noodles for kind of everything, but anything should be fine according to your taste. I just boil the noodles in unsalted water for 5 minutes and then drain, with just a bit left in the pan.
The rice is a different ball game. On a high heat, melt butter in a pan with a tight fitting lid. When the butter is melted pour in however much rice you're using and stir so all the grains are coated. Whatever you use for a measure doesn't really matter, as long as you can definitely pour in twice as much boiling water once the rice is coated. Stir up to get all the grains down from the sides of the pan, and once the water starts boiling again, place the lid on top, making sure it's been firmly wrapped in a cloth. Once the lid is on, turn the heat right down straight away, to its lowest amount, and keep it like this for 15 minutes. Once the time is up, turn the heat off but leave the lid on; this way, it can stay hot for up to an hour. When ready, serve! The rice ought to be fluffy grained and not too dry - you can pack it into bowls to make a timbal if you like. Speaking of bowls I like to use them to group ingredients, as you'll see...
Prepare your ingredients. You can get "stir fry" packs of meat at major supermarkets, which are perfect for the job. Otherwise, just cut Chicken or Turkey breast fillets into thin strips. Slice the spring onions up either diagonally or into straight rings - white scallions will also do a fine job here. For the mushrooms, either pull the legs out and slice the head and legs thinly, or for button mushrooms cut into four. Once prepared, these two can go into a bowl together. For the broccoli, cut to your preference; personally I chop down the florets from a Calabrese head, or just cut the stalk away if you get hold of some blessed tenderstem...
Next, skin and finely chop three cloves of garlic. Then slice the ginger - you don't want too much here, perhaps a piece an inch long by half an inch wide. Finally, the chili. Either red or green is fine, just cut up into rings, and dispense of the seeds if you wish; I like the heat but I know plenty of people don't. Make sure all of these go into a bowl together. Chop or simply tear a healthy portion of basil leaves and make sure you don't forget about them!
Get a wok screaming hot. Hobs these days sometimes come with a central burner especially for woks, so use that if you have one. Just pour in either sunflower, groundnut or plain vegetable oil to the wok so it covers the bottom and sit on the highest heat you have until it starts to smoke. Do not use olive oil, as it will burn, and the wok will be ruined. Once you've reached temperature, throw the meat in and stir fry until the outside is sealed. If you cut it into thin strips, it'll cook very quickly indeed. Once the outside is all sealed, pour in one or two teaspoons of Nam Pla, according to taste. Be careful with this stuff, as it has a very strong flavour! Err on the side of caution if you're worried about overdoing it. When the edges are beginning to brown a little on the meat, pour the contents, meat and sauce, into a bowl for later (we'll throw it back in at the end!).
Return the wok to the heat and add a little more oil. When you're ready to go, add the ginger, garlic, chili and broccoli, and fry - make sure the garlic doesn't catch but let the broccoli cook as well. Pour in one teaspoon of Light Soy sauce. Then add the spring onion and mushrooms, and fry them out too. Once you're happy with the veg, pour the bowl of your meat back in, and toss all the ingredients together. Pour in two teaspoons of Dark Soy sauce. Keep stirring. Remember what I told you not to forget? Good! Add your basil leaves and stir everything together for a minute before you serve. At this point you can add the noodles if you want, but the rice might be a but much in the wok. Plate or dish up as you see fit.
Ideally, this will serve two as a kind of medium to light supper alongside a dessert, or a hearty meal for one. Service!
Sunday 16 November 2014
Just a quick one.
Twenty minutes. Go!
This really should have been typed and landed yesterday, but in my defence I was very busy, what with singing in a concert, sorting out white tie for one of my co-soloists (coloist?), eating and generally you know this that the other. Those of you who have done evening concerts on Saturdays will know how the rehearsal in the middle of the day really puts the whole thing off kilter and takes up way more time than it really ought to. Also, my major writing project for yesterday was a piece of personal correspondence to Canada. There's no way I'm posting any verbatim stuff from my letters, even if there may be similar themes present.
This weekend has been particularly good musically, actually! Friday night's evensong was remarkably strong for the end of the week, with Holst Nunc and 'Hail Gladdening Light'. This was followed by last night, where I sang as part of a solo quartet in a performance of Mozart's Coronation Mass with Truro Choral Society. Finally, today is truly the reward for a life that disappoints, reassurance that everything really is okay, even if you're a loser and you constantly wonder why people claim to be your friends, with what I could only describe as the greatest verse anthem of all time, 'See, see the word is incarnate' by Orlando (furioso) Gibbons, the "best finger of the age", Walton's hard-work-but-rewarding Missa Brevis, and the centrepiece of this evening's engagement, 'Blest pair of sirens', Parry and Milton joined in a grand anthem.
I think that 'See, see...' is so good that I almost want to accost people in the street about it. To take them by the shoulder and shake them into realisation that there is more to life than whatever they do, walking mundane streets through uninspiring lifetimes, that yes, this amazing piece of drama, the whole church year in 5 minutes (more or less), with impressive and meaty solos for all voices. I was responsible for almost all the alto verse action this morning, which is about as good as an early Christmas present as I'll get (in the middle of November). 'See, see...' is another one of those anthems that's very important to me, as it was something else that I wasn't allowed to do, for whatever arbitrary reason. Probably because reasons. To think, that not so long ago I wouldn't even have had half the necessary notes in order to give account, but now have a full and fine compass... There's hope for us all. The powers of hell were truly shaken this morning.
This is possibly the best part of my life and indeed, lifestyle. High stress (mostly self-induced, let's be honest), emotional upheaval, argument... Whatever. It melts away with a weekend of good singing; hard work goes in and great services come out. Not exactly rocket science.
I'll be back tomorrow with something different again. My friend runs a food blog (I'll update the links in the sidebar tomorrow as well) which has definitely been no small inspiration to me (and she's just really good), so let's see how week B works out...
Until then.
This really should have been typed and landed yesterday, but in my defence I was very busy, what with singing in a concert, sorting out white tie for one of my co-soloists (coloist?), eating and generally you know this that the other. Those of you who have done evening concerts on Saturdays will know how the rehearsal in the middle of the day really puts the whole thing off kilter and takes up way more time than it really ought to. Also, my major writing project for yesterday was a piece of personal correspondence to Canada. There's no way I'm posting any verbatim stuff from my letters, even if there may be similar themes present.
This weekend has been particularly good musically, actually! Friday night's evensong was remarkably strong for the end of the week, with Holst Nunc and 'Hail Gladdening Light'. This was followed by last night, where I sang as part of a solo quartet in a performance of Mozart's Coronation Mass with Truro Choral Society. Finally, today is truly the reward for a life that disappoints, reassurance that everything really is okay, even if you're a loser and you constantly wonder why people claim to be your friends, with what I could only describe as the greatest verse anthem of all time, 'See, see the word is incarnate' by Orlando (furioso) Gibbons, the "best finger of the age", Walton's hard-work-but-rewarding Missa Brevis, and the centrepiece of this evening's engagement, 'Blest pair of sirens', Parry and Milton joined in a grand anthem.
I think that 'See, see...' is so good that I almost want to accost people in the street about it. To take them by the shoulder and shake them into realisation that there is more to life than whatever they do, walking mundane streets through uninspiring lifetimes, that yes, this amazing piece of drama, the whole church year in 5 minutes (more or less), with impressive and meaty solos for all voices. I was responsible for almost all the alto verse action this morning, which is about as good as an early Christmas present as I'll get (in the middle of November). 'See, see...' is another one of those anthems that's very important to me, as it was something else that I wasn't allowed to do, for whatever arbitrary reason. Probably because reasons. To think, that not so long ago I wouldn't even have had half the necessary notes in order to give account, but now have a full and fine compass... There's hope for us all. The powers of hell were truly shaken this morning.
This is possibly the best part of my life and indeed, lifestyle. High stress (mostly self-induced, let's be honest), emotional upheaval, argument... Whatever. It melts away with a weekend of good singing; hard work goes in and great services come out. Not exactly rocket science.
I'll be back tomorrow with something different again. My friend runs a food blog (I'll update the links in the sidebar tomorrow as well) which has definitely been no small inspiration to me (and she's just really good), so let's see how week B works out...
Until then.
Thursday 13 November 2014
Fang Island: Now Playing Retrospective
Welcome to the first in what is a staggering departure for me and my house in writing an actual review about... About a thing that... That somebody else made and or did. I hope you are patient while I settle in to this new routine. I've chosen what I can only describe as a real old favourite to get started with, so at least I don't feel too strange doing something new. Aha...
Fang Island, formerly of Providence and now of Brooklyn, released this eponymous album following Day of the Great Leap and Sky Gardens in '08 and '09 respectively. In 2010, Fang Island came out and made all my Indie-Post-Instrumental-Progressive dreams come true, without me even knowing it.
I discovered this album, like all great things, completely by accident on a scrobbling session through Last.fm. I can't even remember what I was searching for at the time, I think I might even have happened upon it in the "Math Rock" tag (because Math Rock is delicious), but I definitely recall the strains of 'Sideswiper' coming through my (then new) satellite speakers. It was just excellent, that sweeping 3/4 opening giving way to 4/4 with a soft but definite distortion, before shifting back again (oh that's why it was in the Math tag huh huh huh), a big joyous sound like sunshine pressed into a CD and back again. The next track, 'The Illinois' even starts with a big crown cheer before breaking into tremolo picking that enhances the sheer brilliance of the sound before gradually winding down. The album is defined by this flow of energy, back and forth; a whole ebb and flow that really works when you just let the disc play. Doing so preserves the banding between tracks (I still haven't found a digital player that keeps that continuous effect. Any tips?) that allows these tidal forces to be even more effective. The end of 'Treeton' into 'Davy Crockett', the latter of which just builds and builds until you feel like cheering them on yourself, is a real big hitter; softly softly and then a step by step build up... This is party music through and through.
It begins how it ends, with vinyl-esque popping, imitation fireworks. Whistles and a synth riff accompanied by a heavenly Drawbar organ (through a Lesley, of course) welcome you, with open arms. "They are all with in my reach/They are free" choruses across your ears before 'Careful Crossers' smashes through, threes against twos in heavy distortion with a squealing lead over the top and liberal use of the top edge of the cymbals really characterise not only this track, but the first half of the album. The lead single, 'Daisy', is Fang Island in a nutshell, and that's a very good thing. Chunky distortion in the rhythm lines, melodic lines harmonised in thirds, lots of Drawbar sound mixed in, abrupt drops in texture, euphoric chanting of seemingly nonsense lyrics, with a calm down before the stomping intro to 'Life Coach'.
The last two tracks keep up the feeling, with 'Welcome Wagon' continuing the trend of foot-stomping intros and third-harmonised melodies, the syncopation of which cuts straight across the rhythm underneath. At times this is the most generic-sounding of the whole line up being a straight-up drums/guitar/bass track, but that melody is pretty catchy, and the consecutive fifths near the end are worth keeping your ears open for. 'Dorian' rounds the day off, with a synth flying in like a violin over the top. This is a real mellow end, with a soft shuffle behind the return of the organ, gradually coming down to the sound of distant fireworks and chirping crickets...
The band have been on paper describing their sound as "everyone high-fiving everyone", and there's no better way to say it really. They have distilled that idea into this very disc, a celebration of fun just for the sake of being cheerful. From the picture on the cover that looks like it might have been picked at random from an old family album to the jack-o-lantern pattern on the CD, there's a sense of amusement woven through the whole enterprise. This isn't the bleeding edge of sound anymore, granted, but it really is still one of my absolute favourites that's sat on my phone for instant replay ever since I got it.
Next time, I'll follow this up with Fang Island's follow up, 2012's Major. I hope I never understand!
Reviewed on a Philips AX1100/00 CD Player through Philips/O'Neill 'The Snug' SHO8802/10 headphones and Logitech Z323 2.1 Surround Speakers.
Fang Island, formerly of Providence and now of Brooklyn, released this eponymous album following Day of the Great Leap and Sky Gardens in '08 and '09 respectively. In 2010, Fang Island came out and made all my Indie-Post-Instrumental-Progressive dreams come true, without me even knowing it.
I discovered this album, like all great things, completely by accident on a scrobbling session through Last.fm. I can't even remember what I was searching for at the time, I think I might even have happened upon it in the "Math Rock" tag (because Math Rock is delicious), but I definitely recall the strains of 'Sideswiper' coming through my (then new) satellite speakers. It was just excellent, that sweeping 3/4 opening giving way to 4/4 with a soft but definite distortion, before shifting back again (oh that's why it was in the Math tag huh huh huh), a big joyous sound like sunshine pressed into a CD and back again. The next track, 'The Illinois' even starts with a big crown cheer before breaking into tremolo picking that enhances the sheer brilliance of the sound before gradually winding down. The album is defined by this flow of energy, back and forth; a whole ebb and flow that really works when you just let the disc play. Doing so preserves the banding between tracks (I still haven't found a digital player that keeps that continuous effect. Any tips?) that allows these tidal forces to be even more effective. The end of 'Treeton' into 'Davy Crockett', the latter of which just builds and builds until you feel like cheering them on yourself, is a real big hitter; softly softly and then a step by step build up... This is party music through and through.
It begins how it ends, with vinyl-esque popping, imitation fireworks. Whistles and a synth riff accompanied by a heavenly Drawbar organ (through a Lesley, of course) welcome you, with open arms. "They are all with in my reach/They are free" choruses across your ears before 'Careful Crossers' smashes through, threes against twos in heavy distortion with a squealing lead over the top and liberal use of the top edge of the cymbals really characterise not only this track, but the first half of the album. The lead single, 'Daisy', is Fang Island in a nutshell, and that's a very good thing. Chunky distortion in the rhythm lines, melodic lines harmonised in thirds, lots of Drawbar sound mixed in, abrupt drops in texture, euphoric chanting of seemingly nonsense lyrics, with a calm down before the stomping intro to 'Life Coach'.
The last two tracks keep up the feeling, with 'Welcome Wagon' continuing the trend of foot-stomping intros and third-harmonised melodies, the syncopation of which cuts straight across the rhythm underneath. At times this is the most generic-sounding of the whole line up being a straight-up drums/guitar/bass track, but that melody is pretty catchy, and the consecutive fifths near the end are worth keeping your ears open for. 'Dorian' rounds the day off, with a synth flying in like a violin over the top. This is a real mellow end, with a soft shuffle behind the return of the organ, gradually coming down to the sound of distant fireworks and chirping crickets...
The band have been on paper describing their sound as "everyone high-fiving everyone", and there's no better way to say it really. They have distilled that idea into this very disc, a celebration of fun just for the sake of being cheerful. From the picture on the cover that looks like it might have been picked at random from an old family album to the jack-o-lantern pattern on the CD, there's a sense of amusement woven through the whole enterprise. This isn't the bleeding edge of sound anymore, granted, but it really is still one of my absolute favourites that's sat on my phone for instant replay ever since I got it.
Next time, I'll follow this up with Fang Island's follow up, 2012's Major. I hope I never understand!
Reviewed on a Philips AX1100/00 CD Player through Philips/O'Neill 'The Snug' SHO8802/10 headphones and Logitech Z323 2.1 Surround Speakers.
Tuesday 11 November 2014
To-Do List
I am my own worst enemy.
As always, I am behind. The only feet I have left really are back ones, and when told to "put my best foot forward" I am wracked with confusion. Anyway, that's enough barely amusing jokes. Last week I posted the biography that I'll be using for the concert I'll be singing solo in with Truro Choral Society this weekend. I decided to post it with minimal advertisement as this is where everything I publish ends up, and it's always here if I need it for another concert. Basically the only thing that will change is the centre paragraph because that's the one that reflects actual singing work at this time. The rest is all preamble and stuff intended to persuade the reader that I am in fact a normal member of society, and not just some subversive countertenor (wait a minute...) after all. Oh, except for "In preparing for postgraduate study, he is writing to a weekly schedule...". What happened to that? Aha... The road to hell is paved with good intentions, don't forget. Even I have lost count how many times I've said and written something just like that and then promptly not done so. Hypocrisy at its best.
I suppose the central problem is confidence, the lack thereof. I said recently in conversation that my confidence and self-belief are finite supplies; I ran out long ago. Every now and again I get hold of some but then it fritters away (shades of psalm 39), and we are back to square one (which square?). Or worse! We are even behind that starting point! God isn't it awful... Change is difficult and exceptionally slow to implement for me, but it's there (no really it is I promise please believe me), which makes me wonder just what the hell I'm going to do about this verkakte schedule I'm supposed to be keeping to. In having a schedule, I might just be able to reinstate order into my life out of all this time of chaos, rather than live a life of dead-end fucking boredom. There are probably lots of times where it isn't my fault I am so truly awful to and about myself, times when I have been used, abused, vilified, ostracized in my own home or just straight up insulted by somebody who wasn't me (who would ever want to do that I mean honestly?)... But then perhaps my defence has been inadequate?
Perhaps though, in establishing a weekly round-up, I can actually make myself do things as well. I have stopped listening to music unless it's in preparation for some specific occasion - but when one's life has a musical regularity like mine does a bit of silence every now and again doesn't hurt. I've returned to the cinema (certainly compared to my previous life as a University student), but still mainly watch crap designed to entertain and make money, rather than say anything profound (and still make money). Then there is the thorny issue of going back to study itself: An aborted application to Falmouth Uni at the end of August has been belayed a new plan that will need a lot of very careful consideration; it is likely to take me away from here and I need to think about this one very hard indeed. That said though, I probably won't go through with it. Even my cooking has fallen by the wayside recently, which is unforgivably poor, so I must really actually and very vitally get my act back together. I am conscious of being able to help myself more effectively than you would expect, but it doesn't half take a long time to get going. I've had a lot of fight knocked out of me over the recent past, and losing that has been more disastrous than one might first consider. In many ways the War Requiem over the weekend was a great rallying call, something to fight through an 84-piece orchestra and disconcertingly difficult intervals for. I think another central issue is that I just don't do enough. But then, I don't do much because I don't put myself forward for anything and that's because I don't have any confidence yes! *drum roll*
What happens next? I start writing, you keep reading, I keep posting and you tell your friends about how good I am, yeah? Since I'm so late to the party I'll have to start with reviewing things that I've had for a while in order to build the momentum, perhaps a few more responses to concert repertoire like the last post as well - those who knew my relationship with Peter might well have been surprised that I was bothered at all but at no point did I ever take him for a fool, doubt the reasoning process that was behind his decision making and at the end of the day, I would like to think that he would have been impressed and pleased that I was part of such monumental performances. His sometimes low opinion of "everyday" countertenors, Songmen like myself now, spurred me on to prove him wrong.
Having a routine will presumably keep me away from the pub as well. As usual, it's not exactly my liver I'm worried about but more my bank balance; I might be out of my overdraft for the first time in almost half a decade, but paying all my rent myself (oh boo hoo) isn't going to leave me with much pocket money at the end of the month. I must once again cherish the value of things I already have rather than buy more in an empty hope of improving my life. I once read that buying things in order to cheer yourself up is as effective as stapling sandwiches to yourself when hungry. Think about it.
I may well be my own worst enemy, but especially at this time of remembrance, it's worth making peace.
As always, I am behind. The only feet I have left really are back ones, and when told to "put my best foot forward" I am wracked with confusion. Anyway, that's enough barely amusing jokes. Last week I posted the biography that I'll be using for the concert I'll be singing solo in with Truro Choral Society this weekend. I decided to post it with minimal advertisement as this is where everything I publish ends up, and it's always here if I need it for another concert. Basically the only thing that will change is the centre paragraph because that's the one that reflects actual singing work at this time. The rest is all preamble and stuff intended to persuade the reader that I am in fact a normal member of society, and not just some subversive countertenor (wait a minute...) after all. Oh, except for "In preparing for postgraduate study, he is writing to a weekly schedule...". What happened to that? Aha... The road to hell is paved with good intentions, don't forget. Even I have lost count how many times I've said and written something just like that and then promptly not done so. Hypocrisy at its best.
I suppose the central problem is confidence, the lack thereof. I said recently in conversation that my confidence and self-belief are finite supplies; I ran out long ago. Every now and again I get hold of some but then it fritters away (shades of psalm 39), and we are back to square one (which square?). Or worse! We are even behind that starting point! God isn't it awful... Change is difficult and exceptionally slow to implement for me, but it's there (no really it is I promise please believe me), which makes me wonder just what the hell I'm going to do about this verkakte schedule I'm supposed to be keeping to. In having a schedule, I might just be able to reinstate order into my life out of all this time of chaos, rather than live a life of dead-end fucking boredom. There are probably lots of times where it isn't my fault I am so truly awful to and about myself, times when I have been used, abused, vilified, ostracized in my own home or just straight up insulted by somebody who wasn't me (who would ever want to do that I mean honestly?)... But then perhaps my defence has been inadequate?
Perhaps though, in establishing a weekly round-up, I can actually make myself do things as well. I have stopped listening to music unless it's in preparation for some specific occasion - but when one's life has a musical regularity like mine does a bit of silence every now and again doesn't hurt. I've returned to the cinema (certainly compared to my previous life as a University student), but still mainly watch crap designed to entertain and make money, rather than say anything profound (and still make money). Then there is the thorny issue of going back to study itself: An aborted application to Falmouth Uni at the end of August has been belayed a new plan that will need a lot of very careful consideration; it is likely to take me away from here and I need to think about this one very hard indeed. That said though, I probably won't go through with it. Even my cooking has fallen by the wayside recently, which is unforgivably poor, so I must really actually and very vitally get my act back together. I am conscious of being able to help myself more effectively than you would expect, but it doesn't half take a long time to get going. I've had a lot of fight knocked out of me over the recent past, and losing that has been more disastrous than one might first consider. In many ways the War Requiem over the weekend was a great rallying call, something to fight through an 84-piece orchestra and disconcertingly difficult intervals for. I think another central issue is that I just don't do enough. But then, I don't do much because I don't put myself forward for anything and that's because I don't have any confidence yes! *drum roll*
What happens next? I start writing, you keep reading, I keep posting and you tell your friends about how good I am, yeah? Since I'm so late to the party I'll have to start with reviewing things that I've had for a while in order to build the momentum, perhaps a few more responses to concert repertoire like the last post as well - those who knew my relationship with Peter might well have been surprised that I was bothered at all but at no point did I ever take him for a fool, doubt the reasoning process that was behind his decision making and at the end of the day, I would like to think that he would have been impressed and pleased that I was part of such monumental performances. His sometimes low opinion of "everyday" countertenors, Songmen like myself now, spurred me on to prove him wrong.
Having a routine will presumably keep me away from the pub as well. As usual, it's not exactly my liver I'm worried about but more my bank balance; I might be out of my overdraft for the first time in almost half a decade, but paying all my rent myself (oh boo hoo) isn't going to leave me with much pocket money at the end of the month. I must once again cherish the value of things I already have rather than buy more in an empty hope of improving my life. I once read that buying things in order to cheer yourself up is as effective as stapling sandwiches to yourself when hungry. Think about it.
I may well be my own worst enemy, but especially at this time of remembrance, it's worth making peace.
Sunday 9 November 2014
In Memoriam
From his obituary in The Times of the 18th of September, 2013:
This is an odd one really, but I couldn't let this weekend pass without some kind of memorial note to our old Professor Emeritus. We may not have seen eye to eye, in fact, we hardly ever saw eye to eye at all... That's beside the point. The point is that this weekend I have been part of the culmination of the 'Cornwall Remembers' events in performing Benjamin Britten's War Requiem. Earlier I said it was rather like the Kafka stories that I'm reading at the moment: totally remarkable, thought-provoking, full of meaning and depth and yet difficult to understand on so many levels. That's a huge over-simplification, I realise, but the similarities are there. The marriage of the text to the Missa pro Defunctis and the poems of Wilfred Owen, put together by a pacifist, in often deeply touching and unsettling ways is an absolutely incredible piece of work, whichever way you look at it. Above everything else, it can't help but remind me of one of many unintentionally hilarious anecdotes from the great man himself (some liberties with patchy memories but work with me here):
"I had arranged a concert in St. Andrew's Hall in the city of Ben's Requiem, in the winter of 1976. Unusually, ticket sales had been rather slow, which was surprising as it is a work of incredible profundity, as you know. As the date of the concert drew closer, there were only around a hundred seats sold, which would have been a drop in the ocean, even with the vast forces required. Ben had been very ill for quite a while, and regretfully he passed away, although not suddenly. Of course, tickets boomed, and in fact, it turned out that I conducted the very first memorial performance of the Requiem for Ben himself [chortle chortle]"
Peter had several anecdotes, most of which he regaled us with either in conducting sessions or just on the street itself. He always came out with things that were completely legitimate and often very interesting statements, but with some kind of... Unexpected comic cadence. Perhaps in his sermon at St. Peter Mancroft, which was more a Bach High Mass lecture: "And of course, you can't have a resurrection without Trumpets". Or at that great church once again, in concert this time with his Morley Consort of voices and friends: "...which I have wanted to perform in its original setting for so long, remember, these are genuine street cries...", of Gibbon's Cryes of London. Sometimes ridiculous as well, in reviewing my dissertation abstract and first chapter, after pointing out a number of typographical pitfalls said "it's clear to me that you know far more than this about I do", or in a letter: "Even though it is a formative piece, I find myself pleased with my work from so long ago". He even recounted a lunch with Peter Pears: "We had asparagus, the butter was dripping from our fingers".
He was not a great fan of countertenors, as I found out almost... all the time. I obviously took it personally as that's what I do, you know. There are lesser people to be disliked by at the end of the day, and I've certainly met them too. Some ridiculous conversation where he waxed at great length about the merits of mixed alto departments in Ton Koopman's recording of Bach Cantatas ("the very finest"), lest in an all male department one or two members would go sharp in chorales... I dunno?
The point of all this is not to decry a man who left a respectable legacy behind him. It is not to point out his personal faults, but to recall a musician, who showed great decorum and an unfailing willingness to teach those who wanted to be taught. I would like to think that somewhere, along with all the other souls of the fallen in the Great War, he too will be remembered by others with the same admiration, if not more. I may not have been his favourite student, or indeed his best, and I may not have ever been invited to sing with him, but for tonight's second and final performance of the War Requiem at Truro Cathedral, I will remember him.
"Peter George Aston was born in Edgbaston, Birmingham, on October 5 1938, and
was educated at Tettenhall College, for whose 150th anniversary this year he
composed a setting of Let us, With a Gladsome Mind from John Milton’s
arrangement of Psalm 136."
This is an odd one really, but I couldn't let this weekend pass without some kind of memorial note to our old Professor Emeritus. We may not have seen eye to eye, in fact, we hardly ever saw eye to eye at all... That's beside the point. The point is that this weekend I have been part of the culmination of the 'Cornwall Remembers' events in performing Benjamin Britten's War Requiem. Earlier I said it was rather like the Kafka stories that I'm reading at the moment: totally remarkable, thought-provoking, full of meaning and depth and yet difficult to understand on so many levels. That's a huge over-simplification, I realise, but the similarities are there. The marriage of the text to the Missa pro Defunctis and the poems of Wilfred Owen, put together by a pacifist, in often deeply touching and unsettling ways is an absolutely incredible piece of work, whichever way you look at it. Above everything else, it can't help but remind me of one of many unintentionally hilarious anecdotes from the great man himself (some liberties with patchy memories but work with me here):
"I had arranged a concert in St. Andrew's Hall in the city of Ben's Requiem, in the winter of 1976. Unusually, ticket sales had been rather slow, which was surprising as it is a work of incredible profundity, as you know. As the date of the concert drew closer, there were only around a hundred seats sold, which would have been a drop in the ocean, even with the vast forces required. Ben had been very ill for quite a while, and regretfully he passed away, although not suddenly. Of course, tickets boomed, and in fact, it turned out that I conducted the very first memorial performance of the Requiem for Ben himself [chortle chortle]"
Peter had several anecdotes, most of which he regaled us with either in conducting sessions or just on the street itself. He always came out with things that were completely legitimate and often very interesting statements, but with some kind of... Unexpected comic cadence. Perhaps in his sermon at St. Peter Mancroft, which was more a Bach High Mass lecture: "And of course, you can't have a resurrection without Trumpets". Or at that great church once again, in concert this time with his Morley Consort of voices and friends: "...which I have wanted to perform in its original setting for so long, remember, these are genuine street cries...", of Gibbon's Cryes of London. Sometimes ridiculous as well, in reviewing my dissertation abstract and first chapter, after pointing out a number of typographical pitfalls said "it's clear to me that you know far more than this about I do", or in a letter: "Even though it is a formative piece, I find myself pleased with my work from so long ago". He even recounted a lunch with Peter Pears: "We had asparagus, the butter was dripping from our fingers".
He was not a great fan of countertenors, as I found out almost... all the time. I obviously took it personally as that's what I do, you know. There are lesser people to be disliked by at the end of the day, and I've certainly met them too. Some ridiculous conversation where he waxed at great length about the merits of mixed alto departments in Ton Koopman's recording of Bach Cantatas ("the very finest"), lest in an all male department one or two members would go sharp in chorales... I dunno?
The point of all this is not to decry a man who left a respectable legacy behind him. It is not to point out his personal faults, but to recall a musician, who showed great decorum and an unfailing willingness to teach those who wanted to be taught. I would like to think that somewhere, along with all the other souls of the fallen in the Great War, he too will be remembered by others with the same admiration, if not more. I may not have been his favourite student, or indeed his best, and I may not have ever been invited to sing with him, but for tonight's second and final performance of the War Requiem at Truro Cathedral, I will remember him.
(1).jpg) |
| A head shot for the ages. |
Tuesday 4 November 2014
Paul-Ethan Bright - Countertenor
Paul-Ethan Bright is a countertenor of Truro Cathedral Choir.
Born in Derby, he became a chorister at the Cathedral at the age of eight, and stayed there until he left for university some ten years later, becoming an alto in the process; his life having been given purpose by listening to a rendition of Orlando Gibbons’ This is the Record of John by one of Derby’s Songmen.
Reading Music at the University of East Anglia in Norwich, Paul-Ethan was appointed not only alto choral scholar but also organ scholar at the Church of St. Peter Mancroft, the largest mediaeval church in Norwich. Here, he was taught by Julian Haggett on the prestigious Collins organ. While studying, he was a mainstay of the University Chamber Choir, and performed the role of The Spirit in North Norfolk Chamber Opera’s 2009 production of Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas. Paul-Ethan is also a keen bassist, and has been found underpinning the rhythm sections of Swing bands, pit bands for musical and cabaret productions and jam nights wherever he goes. In 2012 he was delighted to perform Bach’s G major cello suite (BWV 1007) in concert at Truro Cathedral on the tenor banjo.
Having been at Truro since graduating in 2011, Paul-Ethan joined Three Spires Singers as haute-contre soloist in Charpentier’s Te Deum, and sang Ich will dich all mein Leben lang from Cantata 117 as part of the Cathedral Choir’s Lutheran Vespers reconstruction in June 2014. He is currently busy planning a summer concert with the current organ scholar, James Orford, which will include American songs from the New England school of the early 20th century.
In the rare moments when he isn’t found singing or playing, Paul-Ethan likes to relax by reading American literature, cooking, and appreciating fine ales and stouts, often all at the same time. In preparing for postgraduate study, he is steadily building a portfolio and writing to a weekly schedule, which can be found at www.asylumsouthwest.blogspot.com
Saturday 1 November 2014
Welcome Back
This is exciting. I'm excited. Are you excited? It's time to reopen the Asylum.
I've had a month off, there's no two ways about it. After managing an almost water tight 50% every day post schedule last month, I've had a bit of a break. A little rest. I've been working a lot, as I'm sure most of you will already know. To be quite honest... I feel a little burnt out. I truly have no idea how you do a full time job; I don't think I can. Not full time all the time. Not like this. See, working full time like that is, uh... What is it now? It's distracting. I think that's the biggest problem really, it takes over your life. It becomes your life in the absence of your actual life. I haven't written for a month because frankly, I haven't felt like writing after sitting at that desk, answering that telephone and kicking the photocopier for most the day and then hot footing it to choir only to be late anyway because of having to take the bloody meter bags to the post office. Yes, "because I don't feel like it" is exceptionally weak, I mean weak, but it's what I've got, and importantly, it's what you're getting.
Work has been bringing money in though. But that's another story for another time.
I need to get back to work on this though. I need to start my novel! A great novel full of social pitfalls, the trap of growing up, and importantly, all of my mistakes so you can avoid them. Or feel superior for having avoided them already. Which is where we're going with this. I have come to understand that I am a man who makes fundamentally bad decisions. And I make a lot of mistakes. So many. I don't think I've ever made the same one twice, unbelievably... More that I make such vast, colossal waves of them that I've never had to repeat anything. Like 'Just a Minute' but for critical errors in judgement instead, and rather than Nicholas Parsons, the never-ending self-doubt and blaming and... You get the picture. I just get things wrong. I can't interpret social and interpersonal relation cues correctly, I can't tie my shoelaces properly, I probably don't clean my teeth often enough. The list is endless.
Actually, one of the big problems I have is that I do not say no. No to people. Work with me here, it looks odd I know. It looks even stranger when you consider that one of my chiefest regrets is not saying yes and taking a chance at University but... You know, it was a different time and I wasn't as capable (or appear to be) as I am now. It's all smoke and mirrors, guys, and any denial of that on your part is an act of deception on YOUR PART WOOOOOO. I digress. The point is that there's not enough people that get told "no". Or at least I don't think so. Don't think I'm excluding myself from this as well! I'm sure there have been people who regret not saying no to me, and that's hardly limited to my ex-girlfriends, either (ha ha ha). There's some kind of... Oh, I dunno, I need a soundbite don't I... Miasma of mediocrity. There are too many things in my life that are simply "okay". There's no real screaming excellence (except for my uncanny ability to scream to a melody) around here, and equally, nothing that's utterly dreadfully terrible. I might as well be thankful for that! I think that my extreme and debilitating social anxiety that stops me from taking chances on things, I steer a middle way (yes, the via media). I need to make some changes. I don't mean redecorate my webpage again either.
This is obviously going to take some time working out, and you will be pleased to hear that I will be moving to a full time writing schedule. I recently wrote a concert biography (which I must post on here, is only for the laughs) in which I claimed I was preparing for postgraduate study and building a portfolio... And if I want to get anywhere near doing a Masters, I need to keep practicing. I don't have a course or any deadlines or anything, so it's all personal just like it's always been really. I've already been asked to write the programme notes for the Christmas concert already, so that's good... I haven't exactly been inundated with work requests but hey ho you know, these things take time! Speaking of which, I'm actually going to be sensible about this "full-time schedule" this time. As long as I'm writing at least five out of seven days a week by the time I'm 25 then I'll be doing juuuuuuust fine. If not, then... We rethink. Like always.
I'm really quite unhappy though, and just like always, I land the blame for that squarely at my own feet. It's cool though, you know? Like a few things, it has to be this way, and please please please don't try to persuade me otherwise. The struggle is real, after all. [cue laugh, fade to black...]
The Asylum is open again. There are many doors that haven't been opened, and maybe there are some that can't be closed. But we'll find out when we get there! I might even write some fiction again...
I've had a month off, there's no two ways about it. After managing an almost water tight 50% every day post schedule last month, I've had a bit of a break. A little rest. I've been working a lot, as I'm sure most of you will already know. To be quite honest... I feel a little burnt out. I truly have no idea how you do a full time job; I don't think I can. Not full time all the time. Not like this. See, working full time like that is, uh... What is it now? It's distracting. I think that's the biggest problem really, it takes over your life. It becomes your life in the absence of your actual life. I haven't written for a month because frankly, I haven't felt like writing after sitting at that desk, answering that telephone and kicking the photocopier for most the day and then hot footing it to choir only to be late anyway because of having to take the bloody meter bags to the post office. Yes, "because I don't feel like it" is exceptionally weak, I mean weak, but it's what I've got, and importantly, it's what you're getting.
Work has been bringing money in though. But that's another story for another time.
I need to get back to work on this though. I need to start my novel! A great novel full of social pitfalls, the trap of growing up, and importantly, all of my mistakes so you can avoid them. Or feel superior for having avoided them already. Which is where we're going with this. I have come to understand that I am a man who makes fundamentally bad decisions. And I make a lot of mistakes. So many. I don't think I've ever made the same one twice, unbelievably... More that I make such vast, colossal waves of them that I've never had to repeat anything. Like 'Just a Minute' but for critical errors in judgement instead, and rather than Nicholas Parsons, the never-ending self-doubt and blaming and... You get the picture. I just get things wrong. I can't interpret social and interpersonal relation cues correctly, I can't tie my shoelaces properly, I probably don't clean my teeth often enough. The list is endless.
Actually, one of the big problems I have is that I do not say no. No to people. Work with me here, it looks odd I know. It looks even stranger when you consider that one of my chiefest regrets is not saying yes and taking a chance at University but... You know, it was a different time and I wasn't as capable (or appear to be) as I am now. It's all smoke and mirrors, guys, and any denial of that on your part is an act of deception on YOUR PART WOOOOOO. I digress. The point is that there's not enough people that get told "no". Or at least I don't think so. Don't think I'm excluding myself from this as well! I'm sure there have been people who regret not saying no to me, and that's hardly limited to my ex-girlfriends, either (ha ha ha). There's some kind of... Oh, I dunno, I need a soundbite don't I... Miasma of mediocrity. There are too many things in my life that are simply "okay". There's no real screaming excellence (except for my uncanny ability to scream to a melody) around here, and equally, nothing that's utterly dreadfully terrible. I might as well be thankful for that! I think that my extreme and debilitating social anxiety that stops me from taking chances on things, I steer a middle way (yes, the via media). I need to make some changes. I don't mean redecorate my webpage again either.
This is obviously going to take some time working out, and you will be pleased to hear that I will be moving to a full time writing schedule. I recently wrote a concert biography (which I must post on here, is only for the laughs) in which I claimed I was preparing for postgraduate study and building a portfolio... And if I want to get anywhere near doing a Masters, I need to keep practicing. I don't have a course or any deadlines or anything, so it's all personal just like it's always been really. I've already been asked to write the programme notes for the Christmas concert already, so that's good... I haven't exactly been inundated with work requests but hey ho you know, these things take time! Speaking of which, I'm actually going to be sensible about this "full-time schedule" this time. As long as I'm writing at least five out of seven days a week by the time I'm 25 then I'll be doing juuuuuuust fine. If not, then... We rethink. Like always.
I'm really quite unhappy though, and just like always, I land the blame for that squarely at my own feet. It's cool though, you know? Like a few things, it has to be this way, and please please please don't try to persuade me otherwise. The struggle is real, after all. [cue laugh, fade to black...]
The Asylum is open again. There are many doors that haven't been opened, and maybe there are some that can't be closed. But we'll find out when we get there! I might even write some fiction again...
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