In
lieu of a proper, proper update - a situation to be rectified at a none-too-distant-yet-impossible-to-specify point in the future - one of my all-time favourite clips courtesy of Funny Or Die.
Monday 30 January 2012
Tuesday 24 January 2012
An aside: the best album ever
With the honourable exceptions of Culture Beat's seminal 1993 smash Serenity (Mr Vain, Got To Get It, Anything) and PJ & Duncan's incredible Psyche, Kula Shaker's K was my first album proper. Released on September 16 1996, it rocketed to the top of the charts and stayed there for, er... let's say two weeks.
Graduating from Euro-house and Cliff Richard (don't ask), I took my rightful place as a dedicated follower of the golden age of Brit Pop. I could even name a couple of the K-related figures on the sleeve (King Kong and Ken Dodd if I'm being truthful, or, if I'm not, then also JFK, der Kaiser, Martin Luther King and Boris Karloff).
I can still recall making the purchase. There I was in WHSmith (at the corner of McDonald's and MVC in the Monument entrance to Eldon Square; you know, where New Look was until recently), wasting another Saturday with the cool elite of 9R: Andrew Beveridge, Frank Casey, and probably somebody else too. Beveridge, the pillock, was picking up Moseley Shoals by Ocean Colour Scene; an album that managed only a pathetic number two in the charts and, more importantly, paled into bucket-hatted insignificance next to K's sitar-touched tour de force.
Graduating from Euro-house and Cliff Richard (don't ask), I took my rightful place as a dedicated follower of the golden age of Brit Pop. I could even name a couple of the K-related figures on the sleeve (King Kong and Ken Dodd if I'm being truthful, or, if I'm not, then also JFK, der Kaiser, Martin Luther King and Boris Karloff).
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| A thing of rare beauty, is it not? |
I can still recall making the purchase. There I was in WHSmith (at the corner of McDonald's and MVC in the Monument entrance to Eldon Square; you know, where New Look was until recently), wasting another Saturday with the cool elite of 9R: Andrew Beveridge, Frank Casey, and probably somebody else too. Beveridge, the pillock, was picking up Moseley Shoals by Ocean Colour Scene; an album that managed only a pathetic number two in the charts and, more importantly, paled into bucket-hatted insignificance next to K's sitar-touched tour de force.
Even now K invokes vivid memories. The first ten seconds of Hey Dude are all I need to bring to mind my mini hi-fi and the funny squiggly noise the CD drive made, my collection of SNES games (Aladdin, Space Ace, ISS) and the very smell of Christmas 1996. Yeah, so its first lines are utter gibberish until the bit where it goes, "Honey, gold, jewels, money, women, wine, cars that shine" - but so what? Warhammer 40,000, WWF, football and videogames aside, Crispian Mills was talking my language. (It probably helped that I never saw the video: PlayUK was a few years off and I rarely sat through an entire episode of ITV's The Chart Show)
It was an album that epitomised the "all filler, no killer" philosophy Sum41 would later spout but fail to ascribe to, and ticking off the hits reads like a Jamie Redknapp album review: "Govinda, bang. Smart Dogs, bang. Into The Deep, bang. Tattva, bang-bang. 303, bang. Start All Over, bang-bang-bang. Goal." Seriously, come and have a look at this:
Thereafter, of course, somebody put pesticide in the Jesus Juice and Kula Shaker's fortunes took a turn for the worse. Still, they managed to put out second album Peasants, Pigs & Astronauts, also one of the all-time great LPs (am I being serious?) and leave behind them a trail of singles that were, like The Matrix, "better than good, better than anything": Hush (a cover, admittedly), Sound Of Drums, Mystical Machine Gun, Shower Your Love (at least check out Mystical Machine Gun - it's from TFI Friday and features the batshit-crazy Arthur Brown).
And so, when the band reformed almost 10 years later (minus keyboardist Jay Darlington, who joined Oasis) and I had the opportunity to see them at Sunderland University's God-forsaken Manor Quay venue, I... didn't bother going: 2007's comeback album Strangefolk had held my attention for all of half-an-hour before I realised that I didn't want my rose-tinted memories shattered by such a half-baked return. The end.
(Or so I thought, because in 2010 the band, unbeknownst to me, released their fourth album Pilgrims Progress. Against all expectations, it was well received - not least by everybody's favourite website ever, musicOMH - so it may just be time, some two years on, to again attempt to rekindle my Kula romance. I just don't want to be hurt again...)
Thereafter, of course, somebody put pesticide in the Jesus Juice and Kula Shaker's fortunes took a turn for the worse. Still, they managed to put out second album Peasants, Pigs & Astronauts, also one of the all-time great LPs (am I being serious?) and leave behind them a trail of singles that were, like The Matrix, "better than good, better than anything": Hush (a cover, admittedly), Sound Of Drums, Mystical Machine Gun, Shower Your Love (at least check out Mystical Machine Gun - it's from TFI Friday and features the batshit-crazy Arthur Brown).
And so, when the band reformed almost 10 years later (minus keyboardist Jay Darlington, who joined Oasis) and I had the opportunity to see them at Sunderland University's God-forsaken Manor Quay venue, I... didn't bother going: 2007's comeback album Strangefolk had held my attention for all of half-an-hour before I realised that I didn't want my rose-tinted memories shattered by such a half-baked return. The end.
(Or so I thought, because in 2010 the band, unbeknownst to me, released their fourth album Pilgrims Progress. Against all expectations, it was well received - not least by everybody's favourite website ever, musicOMH - so it may just be time, some two years on, to again attempt to rekindle my Kula romance. I just don't want to be hurt again...)
Tuesday 17 January 2012
PICTURE SPECIAL: Curling
Curling. The sport of champions. The pastime of legends. The Game of Thrones. Quite literally the activity of sliding large weights down an icy lane.
This weekend we took a crash course in curling and it was everything we had ever hoped for: beer, ice, sweeping, screaming, painful tumbles and an excruciating last-gasp defeat at the hands of Team Female. A semi-amateur bowler myself (read: played ten-pin instead of attending VI Form Media Studies), I had high expectations of my performance. I didn't disappoint myself.
First, though, we had to get to grips with the appropriate specialist equipment. Which is to say we covered the souls of our left shoes with tape and got our order in at the bar. Our intrepid mentor pointed the way to the broom cupboard and mirthfully observed our practice shots. We got chatting, her and I, after fettled the stone thing and hoyed it down the lane with the consummate ease of a seasoned professional. "Where are you from?" she inquired, my handsome accent piquing her interest. "Scotland? Ireland?" As I corrected her, I was put in mind of Duncan's casual racism in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves:
A Curse on Moors and Saracens
Neverthehence, our game began in earnest and the rest, as they say, is history. Of course, the history books will state that the girls beat the boys by the slenderest of margins; but such an upset was only made possible after the boys had magnanimously offered assistance in the form of cat-calls ranging from "You should be used to sweeping" to "If the aim of the game was to overshoot the target, you'd be class at this". The actual result is neither here nor there, because the real winner that night was curling.
This weekend we took a crash course in curling and it was everything we had ever hoped for: beer, ice, sweeping, screaming, painful tumbles and an excruciating last-gasp defeat at the hands of Team Female. A semi-amateur bowler myself (read: played ten-pin instead of attending VI Form Media Studies), I had high expectations of my performance. I didn't disappoint myself.
First, though, we had to get to grips with the appropriate specialist equipment. Which is to say we covered the souls of our left shoes with tape and got our order in at the bar. Our intrepid mentor pointed the way to the broom cupboard and mirthfully observed our practice shots. We got chatting, her and I, after fettled the stone thing and hoyed it down the lane with the consummate ease of a seasoned professional. "Where are you from?" she inquired, my handsome accent piquing her interest. "Scotland? Ireland?" As I corrected her, I was put in mind of Duncan's casual racism in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves:
A Curse on Moors and Saracens
Neverthehence, our game began in earnest and the rest, as they say, is history. Of course, the history books will state that the girls beat the boys by the slenderest of margins; but such an upset was only made possible after the boys had magnanimously offered assistance in the form of cat-calls ranging from "You should be used to sweeping" to "If the aim of the game was to overshoot the target, you'd be class at this". The actual result is neither here nor there, because the real winner that night was curling.
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| Club professionals milling about |
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| Taking stock; visualising victory |
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| Pride precedes a fall... |
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| ...wait for it... |
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| ...BOOM! |
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| The Wind-Up... |
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| ...the Glide... |
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| ...and the Release. Sheer P.I.M. (poetry in motion) |
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| Understandably poor sweeping skills |
Wednesday 11 January 2012
Chilly Willy
How would you feel if your car doors were frozen shut each and every morning? Or if your face went numb with cold within a few minutes of venturing outside? Or, if you're the spitting type, if your grem froze before it hit the ground/bus window/Occupy protester?
None of those things have yet to come to pass in what is the most unseasonably mild winter ever known in Canada (as far as I know), but I have succumbed to that most English of Canadian stereotypes: a preoccupation with the weather that borders on obsession.
The difference, of course, is that Anglo weather chat is little more than an ice breaker. "What a lovely day!" strangers in lifts will sarcastically remark of the pouring rain, keen to lift the shared silence. Canadian meteorological exchanges, on the other hand, are a matter of life and death. No blanket, shovel and cat litter in your car boot? Then you're not just breaking the law (I think) - you're asking for the cold embrace of Death himself. You idiot.
With such concerns paramount in the kind Canadian species, weather is never far out of mind. "Cold enough for ya, eh?" strangers will cheerfully exclaim from passing SUVs, their humanitarian magnanimity expressed as a wide-grinning broadside as you shiver uncontrollably in the bus queue.
While it's a very pleasant five degrees today (check out my cushty weather widget on the right), snow is forecast for the weekend, and a walk to the beach last week brought to my eyes a scene as shocking as the Planet Of The Apes climax: THE SEA HAD FROZEN! (Disclaimer: the sea had not frozen)
So, like John Cabot painting a vivid picture of the frozen wastelands of the Northwest Passage for a disbelieving Henry VII, contain your amazement at the following scenes of Arctic attrition at a Rouge Hill inlet on Lake Ontario. Next time: curling!
None of those things have yet to come to pass in what is the most unseasonably mild winter ever known in Canada (as far as I know), but I have succumbed to that most English of Canadian stereotypes: a preoccupation with the weather that borders on obsession.
The difference, of course, is that Anglo weather chat is little more than an ice breaker. "What a lovely day!" strangers in lifts will sarcastically remark of the pouring rain, keen to lift the shared silence. Canadian meteorological exchanges, on the other hand, are a matter of life and death. No blanket, shovel and cat litter in your car boot? Then you're not just breaking the law (I think) - you're asking for the cold embrace of Death himself. You idiot.
With such concerns paramount in the kind Canadian species, weather is never far out of mind. "Cold enough for ya, eh?" strangers will cheerfully exclaim from passing SUVs, their humanitarian magnanimity expressed as a wide-grinning broadside as you shiver uncontrollably in the bus queue.
While it's a very pleasant five degrees today (check out my cushty weather widget on the right), snow is forecast for the weekend, and a walk to the beach last week brought to my eyes a scene as shocking as the Planet Of The Apes climax: THE SEA HAD FROZEN! (Disclaimer: the sea had not frozen)
So, like John Cabot painting a vivid picture of the frozen wastelands of the Northwest Passage for a disbelieving Henry VII, contain your amazement at the following scenes of Arctic attrition at a Rouge Hill inlet on Lake Ontario. Next time: curling!
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| Just about discernible: a gaggle of hockeyists |
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| The ebb and the flow... STILLED |
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| Un-bloody-believable, I know |
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| Surf: frozen. Sand: ice-pocked. Sun: scant comfort. |
Friday 6 January 2012
Tunes, Leafs and Blessed Segedunum
So, how is 2012 so far? On the one hand, the weather is all over the place, no job offers have been forthcoming and Bob Holness is dead. Bad times. On the other hand, Newcastle handed Man Utd a 3-0 shellacking (thanks to Demba Ba's syrup addiction), I've been able to apply for a post at Maclean's magazine and we're going curling next weekend. Good times.
A) Music
Er... what else? I could wrap things up there, in all honesty, but it simply wouldn't be cricket without a generous dollop of meandering guff. You're probably not aware, for instance, that the much-loved, widely-read and grammatically-correct musicOMH Tracks column (one-third of that description is true) is about to make a triumphant return, but may not exist much longer in its current format (is it soon to become daily posts in a news column? Who knows). What is more certain is that there are a number of exciting prospects in music for 2012. Have a gander at FOE, Milagres and Whitehorse, whose debut LPs I'm working through as I type:
Tyrant Song by FOE
Glowing Mouth by Milagres
2) Leafs
So there you have it. I think that all speaks for itself, right? I haven't forgotten, however, that such award-worthy embedding fulfills only one of three proposals for this post ("..including but not limited to an explanation as to why it's Maple Leafs and not Maple Leaves... and yet another FREE DESKTOP WALLPAPER!"), so with minimal clarting around, here is an angry Maple Leaf explanation I found somewhere on an internet back road:
D) WALLPAPER
Such civic pride reminds me of Wallsend, its pristine facades basking in the warm North East sunshine. What I wouldn't give for an afternoon touring its many districts: in High Wallsend, the Barking Dog and the Rising Sun; in the Wallsend Riviera (formerly the Burn), the Rose Inn and the Rose Hill Social Club; in the heart of Wallsend's downtown core, the Duke of York, The Klub, The Anson and many, many more (disclaimer: if you actually intend to take me for a drink upon my return, I'd like to make it clear that I'd far rather go to the Ouseburn. That or City Vault).
And so, my proud Wallsend blood pumping through my proud Wallsend heart, I have lovingly crafted a desktop wallpaper (royalty free if you're reading, North Tyneside Council) that I feel evokes the grandeur of The Forum and its environs: as I carefully slipped a drop shadow under the tagline font, I could almost smell the Greggs, hear the bustling activity at Greenways food weigh house, and see the ne'er-do-wells retreat from the Jobcentre to Supa-Snooker, keen to set their balls on the green velvet. A truly wonderful place, and twelvety times better than North Shields could ever be.
A) Music
Er... what else? I could wrap things up there, in all honesty, but it simply wouldn't be cricket without a generous dollop of meandering guff. You're probably not aware, for instance, that the much-loved, widely-read and grammatically-correct musicOMH Tracks column (one-third of that description is true) is about to make a triumphant return, but may not exist much longer in its current format (is it soon to become daily posts in a news column? Who knows). What is more certain is that there are a number of exciting prospects in music for 2012. Have a gander at FOE, Milagres and Whitehorse, whose debut LPs I'm working through as I type:
Tyrant Song by FOE
Glowing Mouth by Milagres
2) Leafs
So there you have it. I think that all speaks for itself, right? I haven't forgotten, however, that such award-worthy embedding fulfills only one of three proposals for this post ("..including but not limited to an explanation as to why it's Maple Leafs and not Maple Leaves... and yet another FREE DESKTOP WALLPAPER!"), so with minimal clarting around, here is an angry Maple Leaf explanation I found somewhere on an internet back road:
With hockey season coming up, this is important to clarify, as I get asked this about twice a month in the off season, and every time I walk into a bar to watch hockey during the NHL season: The Toronto Maple Leafs are not named for the leaf of the maple tree. They are named for the symbol of Canada, known as the Maple Leaf, and which as a symbol is a singular and very proper noun. A row of Canadian flags are not maple leaves, they are multiple incarnations of The Maple Leaf. Hence, Maple Leafs. So forget about the tree. It’s not about the [goddamned] tree. I just want to have it somewhere where it can be searched, because everyone and their horse can’t grasp this simple concept. A Toronto Maple Leaf is not playing with a piece of a tree on their chest. That’s the symbol of a nation, gringo, and if you’re going to continue being ignorant about this, it’s you being ignorant, not that there isn’t a real answer to your question. The late and very great Conn Smythe may have been a corny ex-jock who had more patriotism than grammatical sense, but it’s been eighty years already, so at this point, I for one am willing to go with it. Pardon me if I sound defensive, but I’m just a little sick & tired of having to answer this question.
D) WALLPAPER
Such civic pride reminds me of Wallsend, its pristine facades basking in the warm North East sunshine. What I wouldn't give for an afternoon touring its many districts: in High Wallsend, the Barking Dog and the Rising Sun; in the Wallsend Riviera (formerly the Burn), the Rose Inn and the Rose Hill Social Club; in the heart of Wallsend's downtown core, the Duke of York, The Klub, The Anson and many, many more (disclaimer: if you actually intend to take me for a drink upon my return, I'd like to make it clear that I'd far rather go to the Ouseburn. That or City Vault).
And so, my proud Wallsend blood pumping through my proud Wallsend heart, I have lovingly crafted a desktop wallpaper (royalty free if you're reading, North Tyneside Council) that I feel evokes the grandeur of The Forum and its environs: as I carefully slipped a drop shadow under the tagline font, I could almost smell the Greggs, hear the bustling activity at Greenways food weigh house, and see the ne'er-do-wells retreat from the Jobcentre to Supa-Snooker, keen to set their balls on the green velvet. A truly wonderful place, and twelvety times better than North Shields could ever be.
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| Click and enjoy |
Tuesday 3 January 2012
New Year Ruminations
It's 2012! The year in which the constellations will align, condemning us all to a fiery, face-melting, Mayan-style demise. Nevertheless, one's quest continues in the face of rather chillier challenges as the mercury has plummeted to -25C (wind chill included), reducing the number of possible activities to just three:
A) stay in
2) stay in
D) stay in
No, not really, because I bloody love the cold me - despite vague recollections of mild hypothermia having once severely underperformed in a childhood snowball fight - and, whatever the thermometer says, the sun is shining brightly in the blue Ontario sky. I'll be out an about before I know it: buying a bottle of whiskey here, a bottle of vodka there, heading over to the relatively cheap ($8 admission) cinema to see Arthur Christmas, Tin Tin or The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo (festive, arresting and hyper-violent respectively).
Besides, indoor pursuits remain my most pressing concerns; primarily firing off applications to a rapidly diminishing number of appropriate job listings, but also working my way through Christmas gifts with the discerning diligence of a Cash4Gold Employee of the Month. As of today it's The Walking Dead in its original graphic novel form (I won't spoil it for you, but young Carl deliberately shoots and kills Shane near the beginning), and after that I'm spoiled for choice on the booze, book and knitted ganzie fronts.
Speaking of which, I wore a smashing ganzie to ring in the New Year at our friends' place. Other highlights of that night included being whacked in the face, though I'm not sure I entirely deserved it. You see, another guest was drunkenly gushing over our host's good grace, to which I hilariously and unenthusiastically deadpanned, "Yeah, I suppose she's okay". Cue a lightning-quick slap to the chops. In retrospect, the slapper's grasp of sarcasm wasn't exactly comprehensive, so going on to slate Canada's "President Harper" (an unintentional cock-up on my part, actually) probably wasn't the wisest choice of the night. Apple Sourz, on the other hand, was an inspired choice: many thanks to my old muckers (they know who they are) who can't handle anything stronger!
Anywayz, I did manage to leave the house and take some snaps over the holidays, so here is the not-particularly-exciting-but-never-less-than-factually-accurate proof:
Some context for the next pics: St James' Park may have recently undergone the indignity of corporate rebranding, but how would you feel if it became an actual Sports Direct? Say hello to Maple Leaf Gardens, home of the Toronto Maple Leafs from 1931 to 1999. When the Leafs moved to the Air Canada Centre, the Gardens were left dormant for a decade because the Leafs' owners MLSE refused to sell it to other sporting tenants on the grounds of competition. Fast forward to late 2011 and the Gardens are in business again... as a Loblaws supermarket. But hey, it's not as bad as it sounds. The shop itself is on the ground floor, and what used to be the nosebleed seats now form a smaller arena around a new second floor rink to be used by Ryerson University - all of which means that Maple Leaf Gardens is the only remaining Original Six arena with ice still under its roof: four others were demolished, and the fabled Montreal Forum is now an "entertainment complex" sans rink. C'est la vie.
The upshot? We went down to the Maple Leaf Gardens Loblaws store for a deeks (and not a deke, which is a dummy/fake shot in ice hockey... Hah!)
In the next thrilling installment, some top class sports analysis (including but not limited to an explanation as to why it's Maple Leafs and not Maple Leaves), a gander at 2012's best prospects in music and yet another FREE DESKTOP WALLPAPER!
A) stay in
2) stay in
D) stay in
No, not really, because I bloody love the cold me - despite vague recollections of mild hypothermia having once severely underperformed in a childhood snowball fight - and, whatever the thermometer says, the sun is shining brightly in the blue Ontario sky. I'll be out an about before I know it: buying a bottle of whiskey here, a bottle of vodka there, heading over to the relatively cheap ($8 admission) cinema to see Arthur Christmas, Tin Tin or The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo (festive, arresting and hyper-violent respectively).
Besides, indoor pursuits remain my most pressing concerns; primarily firing off applications to a rapidly diminishing number of appropriate job listings, but also working my way through Christmas gifts with the discerning diligence of a Cash4Gold Employee of the Month. As of today it's The Walking Dead in its original graphic novel form (I won't spoil it for you, but young Carl deliberately shoots and kills Shane near the beginning), and after that I'm spoiled for choice on the booze, book and knitted ganzie fronts.
Speaking of which, I wore a smashing ganzie to ring in the New Year at our friends' place. Other highlights of that night included being whacked in the face, though I'm not sure I entirely deserved it. You see, another guest was drunkenly gushing over our host's good grace, to which I hilariously and unenthusiastically deadpanned, "Yeah, I suppose she's okay". Cue a lightning-quick slap to the chops. In retrospect, the slapper's grasp of sarcasm wasn't exactly comprehensive, so going on to slate Canada's "President Harper" (an unintentional cock-up on my part, actually) probably wasn't the wisest choice of the night. Apple Sourz, on the other hand, was an inspired choice: many thanks to my old muckers (they know who they are) who can't handle anything stronger!
Anywayz, I did manage to leave the house and take some snaps over the holidays, so here is the not-particularly-exciting-but-never-less-than-factually-accurate proof:
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| Museum subway station, appropriately themed |
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| Giant sloth (right) |
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| S.O.S. Fantomes! lolz @ the French |
Some context for the next pics: St James' Park may have recently undergone the indignity of corporate rebranding, but how would you feel if it became an actual Sports Direct? Say hello to Maple Leaf Gardens, home of the Toronto Maple Leafs from 1931 to 1999. When the Leafs moved to the Air Canada Centre, the Gardens were left dormant for a decade because the Leafs' owners MLSE refused to sell it to other sporting tenants on the grounds of competition. Fast forward to late 2011 and the Gardens are in business again... as a Loblaws supermarket. But hey, it's not as bad as it sounds. The shop itself is on the ground floor, and what used to be the nosebleed seats now form a smaller arena around a new second floor rink to be used by Ryerson University - all of which means that Maple Leaf Gardens is the only remaining Original Six arena with ice still under its roof: four others were demolished, and the fabled Montreal Forum is now an "entertainment complex" sans rink. C'est la vie.
The upshot? We went down to the Maple Leaf Gardens Loblaws store for a deeks (and not a deke, which is a dummy/fake shot in ice hockey... Hah!)
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| Underground parking = escalator for your trolley |
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| Much-publicised "wall of cheese" that fell short of expectations (i.e. we had anticipated a literal wall of cheese) |
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| Wor lass on centre ice. Now a red spot. |
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| One of Elvis's few non-US gigs, I'm told |
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| Our trolley (or "cart") descends |
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| Four trolley photos = quadruple posterity |
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| The Onion, now in print form in Toronto |
In the next thrilling installment, some top class sports analysis (including but not limited to an explanation as to why it's Maple Leafs and not Maple Leaves), a gander at 2012's best prospects in music and yet another FREE DESKTOP WALLPAPER!
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