I used to actively dislike football. Or at least I tried to, for a spell. What I really disliked (and still do) are: yobbism, the tribalism of some supporters, and the grotesque capitalism that has colonised and dominates the sport.
Anyway, mini-rant over, back to the footy. And tonight it was, mercifully, enjoyable. Well, at least it was if you’re rooting for England. And (I’ll forego my rant about patriotism and jingoism!) And I was/am rooting for England.
Bellingham and Henderson celebrate goal #1.
I won’t pretend I know much about the beautiful game. But I do know that I like Gareth Southgate’s managerial style, and the crop of players he has at his disposal. One of the ITV pundits – Gary Neville? – put it well, saying Southgate was ‘compassionate’, and that his team believed in him as a leader.
I also liked the sound of the cultivation of a team spirit by watching matches together, as opposed to players disappearing into solipsistic isolation in social media and gaming consoles, etc.
Kane hoofs in goal #2.
But to the match: Senegal started strongly, getting the first two best chances. But then England gradually warmed up. And in the last ten minutes of the first half, first Henderson and then Kane (finally!) scored superbly emphatic goals.
I have to admit my attention wandered in the second half. But then I’m not the worlds most ardent footy fan. And I often tend to be doing other stuff whilst watching matches. But when Saka scored goal number three – another real peach – it brought my attention back with a bang.
Saka enjoys the glory of goal #3.
I rarely bother with the pre or post match punditry. And tonight was, in that respect, business as usual, for me; hopped into a piping hot bath, and then off to bed! But it’s nice to have been able to enjoy watching England compete internationally and acquit themselves so admirably.
Grabbing whatever moments I can – when we’re both at home and the weather’s ok, a rare combo of late – I get a little time here and there to progress work on the shed roof.
I recently extended the longer edges, which previously didn’t project over the walls. This was to make sure rain would run off, not down/through the structure. I didn’t do the best or prettiest job.
Mixing wood filler paste.Mmm… yummy!
So today I mixed a paste of wood dust, wood glue, and a little water, and filled in the seams where boards didn’t meet quite as flush as we’d have liked. Hopefully this bodge will suffice to keep the pieces together, and stop water passing through?
Filling quacks…
What a rubbish photo the above is! My excuse is that I was more concerned with getting the job done than photographing the work in progress.
It’s good to be chipping away at what is a reasonably large job, and gradually getting nearer to completion. I hope I can get the roofing felt on before the snow arrives!
Wow! This is a pretty amazing animated film. The quality of animation is terrific. Especially for its (pre CGI) era. Whilst the visual aesthetic is not immediately to my own tastes, it’s so singular and powerful it kind of sucks one in. Well, me at least, at any rate.
I discovered the existence of this movie thanks to the inclusion of some music from it on the vinyl compilation Mindbending Nuggets, which a friend had bought. This latter is a great collection of slightly obscure music, with a good selection of odd and unusual but groovily funky tracks (released in ‘97).
The basic premise of the film (itself based on a book*) is that humans, called Oms, are kept as pets by Draags, big blue red-eyed and web-eared humanoid characters. These Draags spend most their time meditating and being a bit weird.
They live on a planet, Ygam, whose look reminds one of both surrealism generally, and in particular the paintings of scientist (and surrealist painter) Desmond Morris. All organic blobbiness, but with an appropriately ‘sauvage’ spikiness.
Tiva plays with Terr.
Apparently the movie was marketed as a stoner experience, best watched in an altered state. And I can see that that might well be a good way to see it. Although personally those days are, for the most part, very much behind me now.
The music, by Alain Goraguer is terrific. It’s often compared to Atom Heart Mother era Floyd. Although, to my mind/ears, it’s far more complex, focussed and funky than the Brit-proggers.
Funky keys, wah-guitar, and lush strings and vocals create the perfect aural companion to the visuals. It’s one of those rare instances where the music stands in its own right, and is as strong as the film it accompanies.
Mmm… sexy jazz!
Above, a bit more of Goraguer’s work. I’ll prob do a post on him at some point. But for this one, let’s get back to the animated film. Which is, frankly, visually stunning.
* Based on this book:
All told, there’s something a bit odd, and slightly limp or disappointing, in the ideas or the narrative. The visual imagination and invention is terrific, but the conceptual side occasionally feels a little lame.
There’s a definite hangover of both WWII and the hippy era. The ‘de-Om’ing’, or culling of humans, clearly resembles the Nazi ‘final solution’. Most obviously so when gas releasing pellets – Zyklon B springs to mind – are used to kill Oms en masse. But in the end, and rather quickly, it’s determined that peaceful co-existence is the only way forward. And, rather abruptly (and dissatisfyingly), boom, the film ends.
It almost feels like they just ran out of either budget or ideas! Maybe not? Who knows. Either way, it’s a bit of a damp squib way to end.
Nevertheless, the sheer visual richness, and the soundtrack, make this essential viewing, in my opinion.
Just finished reading this. It’s a short and fairly easy read, albeit the prose veers between normal and ‘cut up’. Luckily there’s enough standard English to make it readable.
I’m fascinated by Burroughs. I think he’s prob’ a bit nuts, and possibly a bit of a huckster/charlatan. But he has a great command of language, and an amazingly vivid if somewhat twisted imagination.
In essence, a great deal of Burroughs writing – at least what I’ve read – is autobiographical. But rather than straightforward documentary narrative, Burroughs serves up a postmodern bouillabaisse of fevered drug-addled eroto-fantasy, interwoven with crumbling memories.
Burroughs wandering life as a trust-fund dilettante, globe-trotting in search of, essentially/frankly, thrills, and being both gay and – by dint of the latter, to some extent – Bohemian, lead him to live in all the places that crop up here: St Louis, Mexico City, London, North Africa, New York, etc.
Burroughs’ unusual outsider life – involving crime, drugs, and a sexuality that meant living not like but as an outlaw – all conspired to fuel a pretty weird fantasy world. And so The Wild Boys (and other writings) veers towards being his kind of heir to the Marquis de Sade’s vision of ultimate freedom in a melange of sex and violence.
Depending on the reader’s tastes, it can make for quite compelling and entertaining (or off-putting) reading. What it’s real merits may be, I’m very uncertain. In some ways I enjoyed this book. In others, I was disappointed.* As with much of Burroughs’ work, it’s like the somewhat choreographed dredgings of a disordered and fairly warped mind.
In some of his writings all of this is filtered through very standard prose, in others – particularly when he employs his cut up style – it’s practically unreadable. Here it’s a mixture, thankfully erring on the side of comprehensible. But the visions it describes are, well… read it. See what you think!
The book signs off ‘William S. Burroughs, London, 1969’. This was an interesting time in his life, about which you can learn more here.
Pop group Duran Duran’s hit song is named after the novel (more on this below). And I’ve read that cult gay film maker Fred Halsted was in discussions with Burroughs about making a pornographic movie of The Wild Boys. But that never came to pass, alas.
* The titular Wild Boys don’t really come to the fore till very near the end of the book. Making many of the ‘plot’ synopses of this work I’ve seen seem way too glib/conventional.
Notes
I made the following notes as I read the book. I forgot to do so for two chapters, so those are in [brackets]!
CHAPTER / Remarks / score Tio Maté Smiles - Cinematic surrealist Mexico City sleaze… **1/2 The Chief Smiles - Moroccan death sleaze … *** Old Sarge Smiles - St Louis nun-sleaze, with a sprinkling of racism… **1/2 Bury the Bread - Audrey moons, Old Sarge rants; a psychedelic melange… *** Penny Arcade Peep Show #1 - Funfair surreal gay sex dreams ***1/2 Le Gran Luxe - Big swanky party surreal gay sex dreams ***1/2 [Penny Arcade PS #2 - I forget!] [Miracle Rose - … er? Something to do with anii… & ‘rectal mucous’!?] Silver Smile - Frankie & Johnny gay sex dreams **** Frisco Kid - Klondike gay sex dream ***1/2 Penny Arcade PS #3 - Cinematic cut & paste Dead Child - Golf course gay sex dreams morph into shaman jungle dream *** Call Me Joe - Defection from the straight army to the Wild Boys **1/2 Mother & I - Perverts vs Police State: ‘Our aim is total chaos’. Wild Boys eroto-horror… *** Wild Boys - The title finally addressed… more of the same [gay sex dreams]… **1/2 Penny Arcade PS #4 - Tree-house-boat gay sex dream ***1/2 Penny Arcade PS #5 - Assassin gardener **1/2 Wild Boys Smile - Arrival, more of the same [gay sex dreams]… The End ***
FOOTNOTE:
The Duran Duran song, The Wild Boys, is of little or no interest to me, particularly musically, in itself. But it is a little intriguing inasmuch as it was supposed to be the theme song to another mooted attempt at making the book into a film. The ‘songfacts’ website says:
‘Duran Duran recorded the song because Russell Mulcahy, who directed their videos, bought the movie rights to the book and planned to make it into a film. The band wrote the song for the movie, which was never made. At the time, this was the most expensive video ever made.’
What a strange film! Strange, that is, by modern standards, rather than those of the day. Filmed in ‘glorious Technicolor’ – it was the first Ealing comedy filmed in the new format – it’s a picture postcard fantasy of a certain time in and idea of England.
In essence it’s a comedy about the beginnings of ‘heritage’ railways; as The State withdrew from steam locomotion, the public stepped in. Apparently it’s even based on a real Welsh example, which was allegedly the very first such heritage line. It’s noteworthy that this is a whole decade before the infamous Beeching axe would fall.
Stanley Holloway as Walter Valentine.
Visually it’s beautiful, a celluloid time-capsule. And it’s also quite sweet in how it portrays the era. There’s a just-post-WWII ‘Blitz spirit’, as when the passengers of the train all pitch in to get water, after the dastardly bus crew get Harry Hawkins (Sid James) to sabotage the water supply.
There are some thumping great ironies in there, as well; witness, for example, when there’s a joke about how, if the railway makes too much profit, it’ll be nationalised!
Modern history has demonstrated, over and over again, particularly under Toryism, that losses are usually nationalised (i.e. passed on to the public purse), whilst profit is privatised.
The Vicar and the drunk, crewing the train.
There are also all sorts of moments – for example at the public meeting, when Squire Chesterford (John Gregson) makes the case for the railway (as opposed to bus/road developments), on the basis of how it’ll change the nature of Titfield – that reflect what was considered, at the time, to make for a ‘good old fashioned’ British Utopia.
In this instance that revolves around the fear, also present in George Orwell’s very different 1984 (‘I am a name, not a number’!) that old country lanes will be tarmac’ed, and houses be numbered, rather than named.
Of course the quaint old trains were themselves, at one time, the harbingers of a modern industrialised doom. But now they are – and evidently even back in ‘53 they were – the stuff of ‘olde England’! There are many other little interesting insights into certain visions of how life was then (the squire and the poacher!), what constituted progress, and what makes for the ideal life.
Lovely old Bedford bus.
One of the things I like most about this film is the saturated slightly gaudy colour, AKA Technicolor. It’s very like the intense colouring of some design and illustration of that era. And so many things, from the clothes, to furniture, cars, trucks, etc, are, or rather were, so much more aesthetically pleasing than the vast bulk of modern mass-produced tat we are surrounded by now.
For example, the old Bedford bus, of the villainous rivals of the loco’ lovers, Pearce & Crump, is gorgeous. I absolutely adore the upholstery fabric inside the bus:
Dig that old fabric!
It has to be admitted I was only half watching this delightful old film, whilst Teresa and I played our Sunday afternoon Scrabble game, in between World Cup match viewing. I, or we, really ought to watch it again and give it my/our full attention.
It seems to me a good solid old-fashioned dose of ‘50s period fun. Balcon-era Ealing film at its cosily British best. I’d definitely recommend it.
I grew up with J. J. Cale’s Naturally. It was in my parents’ record collection. And I always loved it. One of the first covers I ever attempted, in my early teens, was the song Magnolia, from this superb album.
We also had a few Clapton discs, including both Slowhand and 461 Ocean Boulevard. Fantastic albums! Slowhand is interesting because it features two covers by other artist that are both superb in their original versions, by their composers – J. J. Cale’s Cocaine, and John Martyn’s May You Never – and none too shabby in Clapton’s readings. And in both cases Clapton’s versions helped make the original songwriters a little better known.
J. J. Cale… gone but not forgotten.
If you want to hang out, You've got to take her out, cocaine If you want to get down, Get down on the ground, cocaine She don't lie, She don't lie, She don't lie, cocaine
If you got bad news, You want to kick them blues, cocaine When your day is done And you want to run, cocaine She don't lie, She don't lie, She don't lie, cocaine
If your thing is gone And you want to ride on, cocaine Don't forget this fact, You can't get it back, cocaine She don't lie, She don't lie, She don't lie, cocaine
She don't lie, She don't lie, She don't lie, cocaine
What do I want to say about this song? Well, first off, I love both versions. Cale’s is more personal, with his unique ‘home studio’ vibe. Clapton’s benefits from the sublime drumming of Jamie Oldaker, whose buttery smooth press rolls lend the song a whole new feel.
Jamie Oldaker performing with Clapton and co.
Also, and perhaps more controversially, I love the ambivalence of the lyrics, and their stance re the titular drug. On the Wiki page on the song Clapton says it’s a clever anti drug song. I think he’s being a bit disingenuous!
The line ‘Don’t forget this fact, you can’t get it back’ is the only cautionary caveat to what is otherwise a fairly clearly pro-cocaine line, so to speak. But it has to be admitted, as the last statement before the recurring refrain ‘she don’t lie, she don’t lie, she don’t lie’, it does subtly and cleverfully skew the up until then positive perspective.
Of all the drugs I tried in my, um… what shall we call them… wasted years? It was the only one I have no bad memories of. All the others turned from happy highs to depressing downers. But cocaine was, for me, always pure fun.*
I never got this deep into it!
Maybe it was just that I didn’t take it in the quantities rock stars and Tony Montana types did? I did that instead with weed. And that soured the experience. But, whatever, as they say these days, for some reason this song is resonating with me right now.
I think it’s high time – sorry, can’t he’p maself – I both transcribe and learn the Oldaker drum part. It’d be a great tune to teach in my drum lessons.
Clapton’s version popularised Cale’s song.
* I’m not advocating it’s use, by the way. Merely relating past experience. One of the strongest objections to its use – quite apart from the well documented hazards for users – is that it inevitably supports the brutally exploitative international narcotics trade.
Whenever there’s been a brief interlude without rain (not often lately!) and I’ve been home/free, I’ve grabbed the opportunity to make progress – even in tiny little incremental steps – on the shed roof.
The four panels that I used to do the roof were more than adequate lengthwise, giving enough coverage to project at each end (front and back, I suppose?). But the 8 foot length boards were only just big enough to reach across the width of the roof.
New projecting strips added on the ‘south face’.
Also, the shed was a bit out of square. So once the roofing boards were up and in place, they didn’t present straight/flush edges along the longer axis of the whole roof.
This meant I had to trim them, to get a straight line. And then somehow add long strips. Fortunately the off it’s from the front and back were just enough for the job. I had to cut them in half lengthwise. Bit of a faff!
But I did it. And on one day last week – Tuesday perhaps? – I did the higher side. And today I did the lower side. It wasn’t easy! And I didn’t do a perfect job. Far, far from it!
The inside view, under the new roof.
But hopefully it’s adequate? At least now the roof project out over the shed walls on every face. I’ll prob’ want to mix some sawdust and wood-glue filler, and fill some of the gaps between panels. And I’ve tried to find screws long enough to go through the whole width of the add-on boards.
Anyway, a couple more small steps towards getting the shed shop shape, and ready to move all my tools out of the previous workshop. The latter will become our art studio. With room to paint. A small etching press, and – if I can get it working – a kiln!
Oh well, we should’ve known! That 6-2 victory over Iran got us all hyped up. Only for this 0-0 draw against the US to bring us crashing back down to earth.
Went round to Chris’s again. But barely watched the match. It was just sooo un-engaging. Wound up watching Miklas playing on his X-Box and chatting to folk!
Today’s sunrise was garlanded with a rainbow, putting me in mind of that rather lovely John Sebastian lyric about ‘painting rainbows all over your blues’.
The initial sunrise, en-route.
As the day lightened, it was beautifully sunny, even though the sun hadn’t as yet cracked the horizon. My route to work passes alongside a canal or river waterway. Which is where I got the above shot.
I couldn’t capture this very well, alas.
Then I spotted what I think is termed a ‘sun dog’, or little partial ribbon of rainbow. Which proceeded to grow, till it eventually became a phenomenal double rainbow. Sadly the camera on my iPhone doesn’t do these morning glories (aye… steady!) any justice at all.
Tried zooming in to enhance colour intensity.Stopped at Swavesey playing field to snap this.
The view the other way was amazing as well. The strange yellow light is totally not captured by my iPhone. Aaargh!
Trying to capture the yellow cast in the east.An earlier stop, at Swavesey’s church.That strange dark/light rainbow effect.
None of my photos really catch the intensity of the colours. But you do get a sense of how the rainbow refraction makes the sky ‘inside’ the rainbow lighter, and ‘outside’ darker. I wonder why that is? Must find out!
I have a few ‘coffee table’ art books on the subject of jazz record covers. And whilst all of them contain great stuff, none of them quite capture or distil the real magic of the best album covers as I wish they would.
This one’s actually an homage…
I think to do that they’d have to be bigger than LP-sized, and reproduce all the covers at full size. Ideally with room to spare. There’s naught worse than beautiful images that run into the gutter/spine of a book! Well, I admit, there’s a lot that’s worse. But you know what I’m saying.
How can you not love this?
This post isn’t meant to be in any way comprehensive. For starters I’m limiting it purely to one record label and one artist: Art Blakey on Blue Note. But isn’t it amazing how great these covers are? For my money they elevate the packaging to a plane very much akin to the music.
This one belongs to a weird sub-category!*
And when both music and art are sublime, that kind of sympathetic synergy is a wonderful thing, to be savoured, treasured, and just plain enjoyed/appreciated… so feast your eyes. And, ideally, put on some Blakey, and feast your ears as well!
Sublime! What a face.
In Art Blakey Reid Miles and Francis Wolff found someone who had the musical spirit they loved, plus seemingly unbounded energy and charisma, and really striking looks to boot. He’s a funny looking dude, in some ways. But he’s incredibly photogenic with it.
Fontastic.
Wolff would be busy, snapping away at recording sessions. And then later Miles would work his hyper-aesthetic design magic. The resulting package is on a par with the music, as art in its own right. And it helps lend the era/genre a hard to define but instantly recognisable vibe, both rootsy and yet sophisticated.
A typical Wolff studio portrait.
Above is the kind of raw material Wolff would provide Reid Miles with, a fantastic studio shot of the artist at work. Interestingly Wolf’s photographic estate is handled (at least in part?), by the specialist jazz label Mosaic, who might very well have taken their name – they certainly share it – from a Blakey track.
A lot of the covers use black and white photos with single colours as screening tints. And the use of typography is just phenomenal. But as the images directly above and below demonstrate. Miles could still weave his spells with full colour imagery, and more colourful font palettes.
Whether using a fuller range of colours, or going super stark and minimalist, as on Three Blind Mice (below), these covers have a tremendous power. I absolutely adore them!
Sweaty, intense and stark.
Pictured below is one of the books mentioned at the top of this post.
Also worth noting is how the Wolff/Miles house style lives on. The following images are all later non Wolff/Miles productions that clearly owe a debt to and seek to emulate (with varying degrees of fidelity/success) the classic Blue Note house style.
The above is, by normal standards, a great cover. But frankly it’s not in the same league as the real deal. The effort below is a lot better.
Another later ‘in the style of’ example.
I intend to get a body of these and similar record covers decently printed, and then frame and display them myself, both in my office/home studio, and around our home. To finish, a very early example, from back when Blue Note issued 10” discs. And this last one finds Blakey sharing the billing with another Blue Note legend, Horace Silver.
Wow! So g’damn groovy.
* I’ll prob do another separate post on the sub-category of Blue Note album covers that favour semi-abstract photos, often either out of focus, or treating imagery in almost purely textural terms.
