There's More To Life Than Books, You Know (But Not Much More)

Hopefully I'll have less time to read soon... and those are eight words I never thought I'd find myself typing. I only mean that when the pot comes off my arm and I can get back to my normal routine, reading won't be my only option for entertainment (for example, I've missed four gigs while in plaster - including Morrissey at the Beeb). It will, however, still be top of the list.

Here's a few books that have stopped me going stir-crazy over the last couple of weeks...

...whether you're a record producer or an artist or a manager, record companies are the enemy. They're the voice of gloom. A barrier between enthusiastic creativity and the waiting public. Record companies always play safe, lose faith, change their minds, and hesitate. They're a rest home for the mentally sluggish. They're overstaffed. They're out to lunch. They're in a meeting. Beating about the bush. Avoiding decisions, and deadlines, and phone calls. Thirty-thousand-a-year executives asking the messenger boy his opinion because, after all, it's the kids on the streets who buy the records, isn't it?

Originally published in 1982, and dealing almost exclusively with the music industry of the 60s (when £30k a year was serious money - not that it isn't now; I wish I earned that), You Don't Have To Say You Love Me tells tall tales of a bygone era. For anyone feeling sorry for the state of the music business in the 21st Century, you can't help thinking "they got what they deserved" after reading Simon Napier-Bell's memoir. That said - and all hyperbole aside - this is the funniest book about music I've ever read.

Napier-Bell began his career in pop when he co-wrote the lyrics to the eponymous Dusty Springfield chart topper one night "between dinner and the club". Realising how much money there was to be made in this insane industry, the former adman decided to wade on in, becoming the manager of groups like The Yardbirds and the tragically awful John's Children. Reading the stories here, it's obvious that SNB is a bullshit-raconteur par excellence, which goes a long was to explaining his success.

Hilarious (and occasionally bittersweet) anecdotes include ripping off record companies, getting seduced by Brian Epstein, arranging an orgy for a TV documentary, finding himself contracted by the Chinese Secret Police to manufacture a group that would subliminally control the minds of teenagers (like The Jock, but for real), and being rescued from certain death (twice) by Keith Moon. SNB doesn't waste time with waffle, it's like he's telling these stories over drinks in a bar and wants to get to the point - or the punchline - as quickly as possible, making for an immensely readable collection that surprises and horrifies with every page.

On explaining to a young Marc Bolan the sordid truths of the music industry (and persuading him to be a part of John's People)...

I said, "Joining the group will start you off on the road to eventual stardom. And you gotta start getting rich soon if you're going to be like James Dean and buy a Porsche."

"Oh no," Marc told me. "A Porsche wouldn't be right for me. I'm too small. I think a Mini is the right car for me. If I was going to die in a car crash, it out to be a Mini. I think I'd like that. It'd be nice."

From Simon Napier-Bell to Malcolm Gladwell is an easier transition than you might expect. Both are born storytellers. Gladwell's latest, Outliers - The Story Of Success, deals with similar issues to You Don't Have To Say... - namely why certain people make it big in their chosen field while others fall by the wayside.

There's an accepted belief that the reason the likes of Bill Gates and the Beatles became world-famous pioneers is that they were 'outliers' - genius thinkers or talents so far removed from their contemporaries that no-one else could ever come close. Gladwell challenges this by suggesting many other factors play a part in success, from cultural and economic backgrounds to good, old-fashioned hard work and 'practise makes perfect'. (During their Hamburg days, the Beatles often played 8 hour sets 7 days a week - they perfected their art over thousands of hours of live performance that wasn't available to many other groups.) Along the way he looks at why more planes crashed in Korea in the 90s than anywhere else, why the children of Chinese rice paddy farmers are better at maths than Western students, and why more successful hockey players are born in January than any other month. Many of the conclusions Gladwell reaches are simple and obvious - but it's the way he reaches them that makes his third book so readable. A touching epilogue tracing his own family background and rise to success mean this is also his most personal writing to date.

I often remember in this false, distorted way, and the memories are often cloaked in the colour of the sun. Sometimes I feel nostalgia for things I know I hated when they were happening; for days spent at the beach or the swimming pool with my sisters.

When I pick my memories apart, I realise that my mind has merely played back the objective ingredients, the cliched apparatus of happiness; the sun, the sound of splashing water, ice-cream on parched lips and cold fizzy drink on a hot tongue, and laughter too. My memory often peddles in the falsehood of past happiness. I should know this.

Like many teenagers, I read The Catcher In The Rye repeatedly while growing up. Holden Caulfield's paranoia, cynicism and self-reproach speak clearly to you at that age. I've read many books since that attempt to capture the same suffocating sense of teenage alienation, some more successful than others, but MJ Hyland's How The Light Gets In comes closer than most. Loneliness, self-delusion (and destruction), and doomed inevitability play a large part in the story of Louise, a foreign exchange student from a poor Australian background who goes to stay with a wealthy American family for a year. Hyland achieves a fine balance in making us both sympathise with Louise and want to give her a good slap. Still, she has a way of looking at the world which proves entrancing at times, making you see things from a perspective you might never have considered - or offering observations (as in the extract above) that had me nodding in agreement.

After a while, even the dream family begins to reveal odd behaviour and disturbing secrets. A glimmer of hope is offered towards the novel's end (following a particularly cruel betrayal), but by this point we - like Louise herself - have stopped trusting anyone... which was much the case when reading JD Salinger's classic.



Finally, I've just devoured the third issue of Ralph Kidson's excellent self-produced mini comic GIANT CLAM. I've been laughing at Ralphie for years, and his comics are pretty funny too. No, seriously... Giant Clam #3 is an adult (i.e. there's a fair bit of swearing - only funny swearing, not just swearing for swearing's sake) comic that features the further adventures of Envelope & Stick (they're an envelope and a stick, I suspect because those two things are pretty easy to draw; this time, they go into space and have cross words over a crossword); a slanging match between elephants and giraffes; the shocking truth behind Ralph's trip to Amsterdam; Mr. Fucking Best At Everything; what the Daleks and Cybermen really think of the new Dr. Who; and a special guest appearance by 'Keanu-Reeves-my-friend-Keanu-Reeves-Neo-in-the-Matrix-Keanu-Reeves'.

To read more of Ralphie's stuff (including his previous comic, Captain Dolphin) click on this link. To contact Ralph and buy your own Giant Clam #3 click here. Do it now or he'll send an envelope and a stick after you.

25 (Part 3)

OK, I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel when it comes to my 25 Interesting Facts, but I'm determined to finish it today. As in Part 1 and Part 2, blame Chev for setting this challenge. You should see the one he's tagged me with next.



15. I was in the school choir. No, really. Then my voice broke. Pretty much end of story.

16. My favourite piece of classical music is the Prelude from Bach´s Cello Suite No. 1, especially as performed by ace cellist Yo Yo Ma.



17. My first night away from home without my parents was a school trip to Kettlewell in the Yorkshire Dales.

18. I've never sung karaoke. Not that I wouldn't, with the right song. Wichita Lineman would do it.

19. My favourite chocolate is white chocolate. Proper white chocolate, not that too-sweet stuff they give kids. Louise thinks I'm a freak for liking white chocolate best... and not only for that.

20. Back when I'd foolishly decided I wanted to work in radio, I had elocution lessons with a posh old school teacher of mine. Didn't do me a lot of good, but I learned to read Ode To Autumn without too much Yorkshire accent.

21. If I had a penny for every time the phone rings or somebody knocks on my door when I'm on the loo, I'd have more money than Bill Gates. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that the only time the phone rings or anyone ever knocks on the door is when I'm in the bathroom. What do you mean that's not a fact? It bloody is.

22. My favourite pizza is pepperoni. Or a combination, but pepperoni has to be on there somewhere.

23. When I was a kid, I really did have an imaginary friend called Ticker. He was a bomb disposal expert. I used his name when I wrote my novel Imaginary Friends, but everything else about the character in that story was made up.

24. Before he retired, my dad was (among many other things) a car auctioneer. When I was a kid, I used to sit in the back of the cars as they drove through the auction house and watch my dad conduct the bidding from his podium.

25. There is no 25. I am officially a failure.

What A Bunch Of Bankers

Following on from that excellent Recession Song by the Indelicates, here's something in a similar vein... though a lot more silly... from the wonderful Peter Dickson, aka Voiceover Man. We do quite a lot of work with Peter through The Job; he's a funny bloke.



Well, you've got to try and see the funny side, haven't you?

Ugh! Your Ugly Houses!

Longtime readers will know that Louise and I have been trying to buy a house together for over a year now. Twice we've got to the stage of putting in an offer - first to be outbid (although the vendor told us they'd accept our offer if we promised not to ask for the price to be dropped once we saw the results of the survey... alarm bells rang, and we happily stepped away); then to find our mortgage deal (and all other decent deals) pulled at the last minute so we were unable to proceed on buying a house we'd got for an absolute steal.

A couple of weeks back we thought we'd finally found an affordable alternative, and were pleased when the vendor accepted our first offer. (Though in retrospect, perhaps we should have started lower.) The house in question wasn't perfect - indeed, there were a number of issues we'd label as serious compromises for both of us, but with the economy being what it is, job worries, and the fact that Louise still hasn't sold her own house, it seemed like a prudent choice.

All proceeded well until the survey came back, not only highlighting some of the issues we ourselves had agreed to accept; but also a number of other worrying, potentially costly factors, including urgent work needed to the roof and electrics, and the fact that the internal bathroom had no form of built-in ventilation (despite assurances to the contrary). It was just too much to deal with on top of everything else (if Louise's house had sold, we might have been more willing to take on a "do-er upper"... but if Louise's house had sold, we'd have been looking at better properties to start with).

Reluctantly then, we dropped out of the purchase. We didn't like doing it, especially as Louise has been a similar position herself where a buyer has got as far as the survey only to change their mind at the last minute - we know how that feels. But in the end, you have to be selfish about decisions like this; you can't buy a house just because you feel bad for the person selling it. If that was our selection criteria, we'd have bought about thirty over the last twelve months. And some of them would have been hideous...




Oh well, back to the hunt. We'll get there in the end...

No Career, No Hope, No Fun, No Fashion!

My favourite band of last year is back. The Indelicates have released The Recession Song, they're giving it away, and you can download it free from their website, where you can also buy an official Indelicates recession-busting T-shirt. What else are you going to wear in the current climate?



The song also features Eddie Argos from Art Brut, who also have a new album (Art Brut vs. Satan) out soon.

"Thank fuck for the fucking recession!"

Debut Album

Everyone keeps tagging me with Feckbook memes, which I don't mind - as long as they don't mind that I do them here, instead of on Feckbook. Because, as Steve pointed out this week, Feckbook is EVIL.

Anyway, this one comes from Kelvin... and as it doesn't involve disagreeing about comics, I couldn't resist.

What would your own album look like if you were in a band? Follow the directions below and find out...

Here are the rules:

1 - Go to Wikipedia. Hit “random”
or click http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first random Wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.

2 - Go to Quotations Page and select "random quotations"
or click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four or five words of the very last quote on the page is the title of your first album.

3 - Go to Flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”
or click http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4 - Use Photoshop or similar to put it all together.

Like Kelvin, I cheated slightly when it came to the photo - but for different reasons. I wanted to make sure I used one that had a Creative Commons license (i.e. the photographer was happy for me to reproduce and alter his work). The image in question comes from Flickr user Leo Reynolds.

However, both the band name (Democratic Revolutionary Youth Federation) and the album title ("No Freedom Without Sacrifice"; from The Lord of the Rings, apparently) came from completely random clicks... amazing how well they go together.

I don't tag, but have a go if you fancy...

Dear Tom, The Kraken Wakes...

More one-armed reading...




I love my mum and dad. I owe them more than I can ever repay and respect them more than anyone. All the good parts of my character and personality, I inherited from them. All the bad parts, I picked up and cultivated myself. I've been pretty lucky, I know, not everyone gets parents as good as mine... but it certainly seems that the actor Tom Courtenay did.

Dear Tom is a memoir based on Courtenay's early years - from his schooldays, through university, RADA, to his early stage / screen career. More than that, it's a tribute to his parents, particularly his mum, who wrote to him every week he was away from home, keeping him up to date with the goings-on back home in Hessle Road, Hull. Married to a dockworker, struggling to make ends meet, and never really cut out for the role of housewife (or "fishwife" as she at times describes herself), Annie Courtenay is an artistic soul with no way to express herself except through her letters to her son. The book includes many of these letters in full, as Courtenay finally attempts to grant her wish, many years after her death.

My leaving home, so painful for her, gave her the one opportunity she did have to express herself in writing. What magic if, after all these years, people read her letters and are affected by them.

It's an extremely touching book as you'd expect, and it had me sobbing at the end. Heartfelt and sincere, it made me appreciate Courtenay as an actor - and a human being - so much more.



I've mentioned my love of John Wyndham before, and as I continue to work my way through his library, I've arrived many thousands leagues under the sea as The Kraken Wakes. Initially similar to Wyndham's most famous creation, The Day Of The Triffids, Kraken begins when strange lights in the sky spell extraterrestrial visitors. Unlike the Triffids though, these aliens make their home at the bottom of our deepest oceans and begin attacking humankind from the one place on earth we cannot go to fight back.

What differentiates this novel from its predecessor is the politics. Here Wyndham concentrates - certainly in the first half of the book - on the various official reactions to invasion: from statesmen burying their head in the sand or trying to make political capital by blaming enemy nations, to squabbling in the scientific community, to the way competing media outlets portray the escalating attacks. It soon becomes clear that the greatest threat may indeed come from ourselves, our refusal to work together in times of crisis, or even accept what's happening in front of our own eyes. Despite the fact that Kraken was originally published over 50 years ago, very little has changed.

Fascinating - and frighteningly true - though the politics may be, it does distance the reader from the action somewhat in the early parts of the novel. Thankfully the final act brings rising sea levels which flood lowland Britain, leaving the remaining protagonists struggling to survive. This is where the novel crosses over into more traditional post-apoc storytelling and provides the reader with a more exciting climax that I'd expected. Another winner from Wyndham then, though with greater lashings of plummy stiff-upper-lippiness than ever.

Oh. My. Moz!

I've seen some bizarre things in my life as a Morrissey fan.

I've seen him nominated as one of the Top Three Living British Icons.

I've seen "Your Specialist Subject - Morrissey."

I've seen Morrissey's arse... and pretty much everything else besides.

I didn't see an exclusive BBC Morrissey gig that I won tickets to be live in the audience at... but because of this blasted broken arm, couldn't attend. (At least I got to watch it on the iPlayer.)

But I never thought I'd see the day Morrissey appeared on something like The One Show. (If that link's stopped working, or you're not in the UK, just search for 'Morrissey One Show' on youtube.)

That is the single weirdest thing I think I have ever seen in my life, not just my life as a Morrissey fan. Thanks to Davey, and his mates, who watch TV so that I don't have to. I'm speechless. Good old Moz - he always would do anything for his mum...

I'm hoping my copy of Years Of Refusal will arrive tomorrow. It's been a long wait.

25 (Part 2)

Here we go with Part 2 of my 25 Interesting Things list, for which you all have Chev to blame. Boy, it's hard work. Part 1 went like this, in case you missed it. Not sure how I'm going to manage the next eleven...


8. My dad doesn't like wearing seatbelts. A long time ago he was in an accident where he had to be cut out of his car and the firemen told him, "it's a good job you weren't wearing a seatbelt, mate - or we'd never have been able to get you out in time". This was before I was born, so if he had been wearing a seatbelt... I probably wouldn't be here.

9. I once went to a fancy dress party as The Joker. This was back in the Sixth Form, around the time of the first Tim Burton Batman film. I did the full whiteface / red lipstick / green hair dye job but regretted it after about ten minutes as the make-up began to run, my eyes began to sting, and spots began popping up like molehills. Never again. (If only I'd gone as Doc Ock.)

10. Back in the early 90's I used to co-present a Saturday morning show on local radio. We used to run stupid competitions (basically an excuse for me to take the piss out of listeners) and write/produce sketches... many of which I'm sure would be cringeworthily awful were I to hear them again now. My favourite sketch involved a House of Commons debate between John Major and Neil Kinnock about who was the biggest fan of Scooby Doo. For a while there, we had the best audience figures of any show on the station. Eventually though, we got a new boss who didn't understand my sense of humour (or anybody else's) and I packed in my DJ ambitions before he had a chance to do it for me.

11. I failed my Art 'A' Level. Well, I got an E. It was my third choice subject - after English Language and Literature - and I'll admit that I took it because I thought it'd be a bit of a doss (allowing me to concentrate more on my preferred subjects). However, the art teachers didn't see it that way. If you're doing art, art comes first. The other reason I failed? I just wasn't very good.

12. I believed in Father Christmas until I was eleven years old. I ignored all the kids who told me otherwise, until I heard my mum and dad wrapping presents in their room on Christmas Eve... otherwise I might still be a believer.

13. I have two visible scars, only one of them isn't very visible at all any more. The one on my left wrist is from when I cut myself on a piece of broken pot as a five year-old and had to have a number of stitches. I used to let people believe it was from a bungled suicide attempt, which I guess is kind of sick... so I stopped doing it. The other (the hardly visible one) is on my forehead, from when I swam into the side of the pool at full speed during school swimming lessons and managed to cut my head open. Only a butterfly stitch was needed on that, but I did dye the water red.

14. My favourite place in the world is Deer Hill and Marsden Moor (where, as I've mentioned before, they filmed the exterior of the local shop scenes in League Of Gentlemen - and yes, I am local). I've seen many places that are far more picturesque, but I have a strange affinity with this particular location. I've walked there many times, just me and my thoughts (and my walkman / mp3 player), and doing so has helped me through all kinds of strange times. There's a sentimental part of me thinks I'd like them to scatter my ashes there one day... but who knows, maybe it'll be a parking lot by then, or a mall... or a radioactive crater.

Who Cares What The Question Is?

So I ate the pudding.

All of it.

But I left the blueberries till tonight. I'll eat them while watching the first episode of the final season of The Shield.

Anyway, over at the blog of A Free Man, he's hosting a great Blogger Interview Project. Sign up and you'll get interviewed by the blogger who volunteered ahead of you... while you yourself have to interview the one who follows. Anyone can take part, so if you fancy playing interviewer and interviewee, drop by, leave your details, and tell him I sent you.

Normally such interviews take place among people who regularly read each other's blogs so know a little bit about the person they're questioning... but in this case, that's not happening. I hadn't read the blogs of either of my chosen correspondents prior to getting involved, so I had to do a bit of research - particularly in the case of my interviewee. My victim was SSG, over at Wake Up It's Tuesday... pop over and find out what I asked her, and exactly how she answered. I have to admit it was a challenge, as one of the first things I learnt about SSG was that she doesn't know much about pop culture... so all my questions about Morrissey and Spider-Man went straight out the window.

My own interrogator is Father Muskrat, and I await his questions with some trepidation. In the meantime, here are some Bees...

The Great Pudding Dilemma

My sister has made me an apple crumble and my mum has made me a big jug of custard to cheer me up.

I have a sweet tooth, and I love a good comfort food pudding.

However... with the broken arm situation, I haven't been getting any exercise lately. Normally I hill-walk for at least 45 minutes, 5 days a week; but as I'm scared of slipping and breaking my other arm, I'm staying at home on the safety of my lazeeboy recliner. (Because obviously home is an entirely safe place - despite the fact that this is where I broke me bloody arm in the first place!)

So... do I resist the pudding, have a nice bowl of blueberries from the fridge instead (bear in mind: I love blueberries) and not pile on any extra pounds... or do I say, 'sod it!', eat the pudding and custard, and worry about shedding the moobs once I'm back in action?


I already know the answer to this question, but...

What would Morrissey do?
What would Peter Parker do?
What would Andy Sipowicz do?
What would George Bailey do?
What would Bruce do? (Springsteen, Campbell, or Willis)
What would Greg House do?
What would Tyler Durden do?
What would Al Swearengen do?
What would Rod Serling do?
What would John Constantine do?
What would Kate Winslet do?
What would Fox Mulder do?
What would The Dude do?

What would you do?

Stay Out Of My Way On Valentine's Day...

It's that damned day again!

I said all I have to say about the 14th of February this time last year, where I also revealed my favourite Valentine's Day song. This year I went looking for another... and though there were obvious contenders (Bruce, Elvis Costello, Thea Gilmore, The Auteurs, Tom Waits, Richard Hawley etc.), there was one song I remembered which wasn't even on my computer. I had to go digging in a box of old singles under my bed to find my copy... and youtube hadn't even heard of it.

None of this will come as much of a surprise when I tell you that it only reached number 106 in the UK singles chart back in 1996, though it was apparently a minor airplay hit in Japan. Back around that time, one of my jobs involved helping programme a weekly indie radio show (long gone), so we listened to all the new releases at the height of Britpop and tried our best to predict the next big things.

Ruth were one of those bands - like the Supernaturals and Silver Sun - who were shoe-horned into Britpop but didn't really fit. Listening to this single again now, with it's ELO piano, 70's Brian May guitar break, and Small Faces vocals, I can't help but feel that it'd be much more successful today - like The Feeling, but with much better lyrics.

"I think I'll make a film about our life together
I'll send you to the cinema
Put a brick in your microwave
And pretend to be dead
Time for a surprise
I won't say what it is
But it won't upset you
It won't even surprise you
But I'll pretend it did...

Stay out of my way - and you'll be OK - on Valentine's day..."

I always wondered what the brick in the microwave bit was all about. Fortunately, all is revealed on the aforementioned website...

The interesting thing about the microwave line is that that is where the whole song came from. I was standing in the kitchen watching some rice cook and the image of a big red brick humming round in the microwave suddenly popped into my mind. Now, I've never tried this (and I'm sure it isn't a good idea) but I imagine that if you put a brick in your microwave and set it on full power for an hour (add ten minutes if your oven is 650w) it would eventually get soooo hot it just bursts open like a big microwave bomb full of bricky shrapnel. Not a nice thing to do to someone, but you could definitely get away with pretending to be dead afterwards. Being the kind of person who would do that (and why) was what the song grew out of. It's good to get that sort of word into songs - ones that are so magnificently bulky and unpoetic. "Helicopter". "Measurement". "Crisps". Matt once wrote a song that had the word "flask" in it. Result.

Ruth continued as a band until 2003; after which singer-songwriter Ben Hales formed another shortlived band, The 45s; before finally releasing a compilation (which included collaborations with Duke Special and Aqualung) in 2004. The only other song I own from the band is the earlier single Fear Of Flying, but I'm tempted now to check out some of their later work. If you're interested in buying any of Ben's records, they do appear to be available from that website. Go there to find out more.

Whatever your day holds... the promise of contrived romance; bitterness and copious sorrow drowning; or out and out avoidance... I hope you get through it. Enjoy the song anyway.

25 (Part 1)

Although I might appear to be something of a meme addict, I generally avoid the ones which involve coming up with interesting facts about myself.. partly because this whole blog is about me (and I've yet to make any of it interesting) and partly because without a specific subject or question, I usually draw a blank. Oh and also because it's tricky coming up with things I haven't already discussed in detail here before.

However, my old fellow-misanthrope Chev recently tagged me with the challenge below... and as it's him, I'm going to give it a go. I'm not sure I can manage it all in one go, so I'm going to split it up over a few posts and give myself more time to think.

Chev's original tag came via Facebook but as I hate Facebook, I'm doing it here instead. Oh, and the bit about tagging other people... I always refuse to do that directly. However, if you're reading this and you fancy a crack - consider yourself tagged.

Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. Do tag the person who tagged you. I tagged you because I want to know more about you.

1. When I was younger, I was something of a thespian. At junior school I played Willy Wonka, Huckleberry Finn and Mr. Beaver (in The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe); then in High School I played Little John in a Robin Hood pantomime. After that the drama teacher wanted us to do Oh What A Lovely War, but we all hated it so much the production was cancelled.

2. I once encountered Christopher Eccleston in the toilets at the West Yorkshire Playhouse. He was in the cubicle next to mine, on the phone to his agent. He wasn't actually performing there at the time, though he did a few months later (an excellent Hamlet).

3. On holiday in Reighton Gap (near Filey) as a kid, I shorted out all the electricity in the bungalow by sticking a metal fire poker onto the coils of an electric fire (to see what would happen). Amazingly, though I did get a shock, I didn't electrocute myself.

4. I don't have any pets at the moment, but I did when I was younger. Most memorable were a vicious Lancashire Heeler dog (a cross between a Corgi and a Daschund), aptly named Nip... and a fluffy black and white monster cat called Boris.

5. My favourite poem is The Peace Of Wild Things by Wendell Berry. I first heard it read by Alan Alda in an episode of ER about ten years ago and it moved me to tears.

6. I've appeared in two separate TV documentaries based on radio phone-in programmes that I worked on... but as I found the production companies to be self-serving, hateful, egotistical tosspots in both cases, I refused to be shown directly on camera or interviewed, and was only seen answering phones in the background.

7. The first comic I ever wrote was a sci-fi strip was called Sharpshift, heavily influenced by Jim Starlin's Dreadstar. I drew the first few episodes myself (they were awful), before roping in an artist called Levon Archer... wonder what happened to him?

8... no, that's all I've got for now. More when I can think of them

So I Have A LOT Of Time For Reading Right Now...

...which is about the only good thing that can be said for this whole broken arm situation. I'm making my way through a stack of books and comics - some of which have been waiting on the shelf for too damned long.

Here's a few...


Flying Saucer Rock & Roll



Richard Blandford incurs my wrath twice before I even start reading this book: once for giving rock 'n' roll an ampersand; and then for being three years younger than me, which is a hanging offence for published novelists round these parts. Fortunately I gave him a pass, and Flying Saucer Rock & Roll was well worth my time.

Essentially it's a book about growing up, forming a band, and getting absolutely nowhere in your quest for fame and fortune. I don't believe I'm spoiling the plot by telling you this, as that's not really where you'll find the surprises. Instead they come from the developing characters of Chris (our weak-willed narrator, far too eager to be one of the lads for his own good), Ben (a good-for-nothing-except-playing-guitar layabout), Thomas (a thuggish, "pussy whipped" gang leader), Jase (perhaps the most sympathetic and likeable of the bunch - except he's the drummer), and Neil (an extrovert geek who may well be smarter than all of them... but will pay the price for his individuality). It's also a book about just how cruel and destructive teenagers can be, and naturally a book about learning to stand on your own two feet. Good quality rites of passage stuff.

Lazy shorthand comparison would have me mention Nick Hornby for style and readability, though Hornby's characters tend to be more charming, for all their flaws. Parts of this book were a little too uncomfortably close to certain people I grew up with... so the more misanthropic reader should get good mileage here. Kudos to Blandford also for not following the predictable path, and taking the story in a most unexpected direction in the last act.

The Darkest Evening Of The Year



I'm a huge Dean Koontz fan, but this isn't one of his best. Something you have to accept as a Koontz reader is that there's no place for grey in his world - everything is completely black and white. His heroes are always noble, virtuous, and unspeakably GOOD - while the villains are the vilest, backstabby, kick-a-puppy BASTARDS you could ever imagine. There's actually a lot to be said for this kind of worldview if it's handled well - and Koontz certainly knows how to lay out a page-turny plot that's packed with surprises (even if none of those surprises come from the characters). But sometimes it just gets a little too much - the heroes are so sickeningly pious you want to strangle them yourself, and the villains lack any redeeming feature, despite Koontz's best efforts to give them interests outside of being utterly, utterly vile. Darkest Evening also suffers from Koontz's recurring canine obsession (if you're a dog lover, this might be the thriller for you... I kind of lose it when all the metaphors point to our four legged pals being angels in furry form), and from one of the most outrageous deus ex machina endings I've read in a long time. Pity, because Koontz's last novel, The Good Guy, was one of his best. He'll be back.

DMZ: On The Ground



I've been hearing the name Brian Wood around comics circles for a few years now, but for some reason I've never read any of his books. Finally I picked up a cheap copy of the first DMZ collection on eBay... and now I'm kicking myself I didn't do it years ago. (The good thing is, DMZ is now up to Volume 6 and counting, so there's plenty of catching up fun to be had.)

DMZ (de-militarised zone) is the story of America's "second civil war" - a violent split between the US governed states and the so-called 'free' states... slap-bang in the middle of which is the former Manhattan island. Trainee journalist Matty Roth finds himself stranded there - the only surviving reporter in the city. Does he try to get out to safety... or does he stay and try to get the story of those still living in the DMZ to the outside world? Well, there wouldn't be much of a book if he just buggered off, would there?

Wood's concept provides a fascinating spin on familiar post-apoc drama, bringing the kind of conflict you'd expect to see in the Middle East right into the heart of the world's most famous city. The writer helps us relate to the larger political questions by focussing on sympathetic characters, and taking his time to peel back the onion, rather than trying to reveal too much at once. Like Y, The Last Man, this is the Vertigo imprint at its best - and in artist Richard Burchielli, they'd found another superstar.

The Nightly News



Another classy adult graphic novel, collecting the six issue series by Jonathan Hickman. The Nightly News tells of a subversive terrorist organisation called The Voice that targets journalists and aims to expose corporate media corruption and bias. Pitched as Fight Club meets Network, it hits the bullseye from the first chapter. Hickman's story benefits from a depth of real world research that cleverly blurs the border between fiction and reality (I had to google some of his facts to see which were true) and a slyly self-referential narrative style (like a 21st Century Stan Lee) that keeps the book from becoming too bogged down in its message. One of the most frighteningly real comics I've ever read... I'd love to think there's something to Stuart Immonen's back cover notion that "Jonathan Hickman's The Nightly News is the industry vanguard... where the rest of comics will be a decade from now".



And finally, the third issue of Tony McGee's wonderful small press comic Outcastes is out now, and it's the most spooky and unsettling episode yet. I defy the hairs on the back of your neck not to stand to attention when you reach page 65. Who says that comics can't be scary any more? Find out more about Outcastes here.

How Do You Sleep?

WARNING - WARNING - broken arm whinge alert!

Well, not really. I'm not in a grump today, despite being awake half the night. I'm finding sleep a little difficult at the moment due to being forced to sleep on my back. See I'm normally a front-sleeper, and though I can get to sleep fairly well when lying on my back... after a few hours I want to turn over into what feels like a more natural position. But because I can't, my back starts aching, and that's usually enough to wake me up. I can just about manage to lie on my side, which takes the strain off my back for a while, but it's not easy to get back to sleep that way.

So - because I had nothing else to occupy my mind while I was lying awake (or the things I did were things I didn't want to think about - worries always seem so much bigger in the small hours)... I started wondering about everybody else. What's your favoured sleeping position? Front - back - side... foetal ball? Do you snore if you sleep on your back? (I do sometimes, which is even more reason to be on my front... sometimes I wake myself up!) Do you find one position warmer than another? (I definitely think I'm warmer front-down.) Or are you one of those lucky people who can sleep in any position... even hanging from the curtain rail by your toes like a bat?

Go on, tell all - as John Lennon famously enquired of Sir Thumbs Aloft McCartney... How do you sleep?

Slumdog

It's been out for weeks, it's sweeping up all the awards, there seems little else to say about Slumdog Millionaire... except that I finally saw it today, and it deserves every bit of its success.

I've been a fan of Danny Boyle since Shallow Grave - he's yet to make a bad film (though The Beach could have been much better), but this is possibly his best yet. That's mostly down to the story though, based on Vikas Swarup's novel Q&A (now renamed in favour of its Hollywood title). From a writer's point of view, there's so much to admire here - most notably the simple yet hugely effective trick of using the Who Wants To Be A Millionaire format as a device to make the plot and characters immediate and relevant to Western audiences; to ramp up the tension unbearably; and as a flawless hook on which to hang a rags to riches / rags to rajah story. It's one of the most ingenious, immediate, exciting, and satisfying structures I've seen used in fiction in a long time. It just works so damned well, I'm in awe of it. So obviously, now I have to go read the book...

Songs For Misanthropes Volume 1

I do love a good rant, don't you? When the world gets you down, when someone steals your parking space, or your girlfriend, or just looks at you funny... write a song about it! Some songwriters have taken this to a glorious extreme, and whenever I get mad as hell and just can't take it anymore, I like to put on one of these tracks and indulge in a little cathartic misanthropy.

1. Jarvis Cocker - Running The World

After the lukewarm reception given to the final Pulp album (I loved it - it may even be my favourite), Jarvis shut up shop and retired to France. But like most writers, take away their pen, and the venom they'd normally release just gets bottled up...

So on his return, he let fly:

"Well did you hear, there’s a natural order.
Those most deserving will end up with the most.
That the cream cannot help but always rise up to the top,
Well I say: Shit floats.
If you thought things had changed,
Friend you’d better think again,
Bluntly put in the fewest of words..."

If you don't know what comes next, watch the video. Be warned though - if you don't like bad language, you might want to cover your ears.



2. William Shatner & Henry Rollins (and Ben Folds) - I Can't Get Behind That

As I've said many times before: "Shatner. I'd fight Shatner." But if I was ever in a fight, I'd want him on my side. Particularly if he was in full-on ranty mood. And if he had Henry Rollins with him, I think we'd be pretty much unbeatable.

BILL: Yeah! And what about student drivers using my streets to learn? If you learn to play the drums you got to go to a studio! Go to a parking lot, for God's sake! Why are you jeopardizing my life? I can't get behind a student driver!

ROLLINS: I can't behind a driver who drives like a student driver! If you're going to drive an urban assault vehicle then get off the phone and keep your eyes on the road!

ROLLINS: Lifetime guarantee?

BILL: Whose lifetime? Not mine! I haven't that much time left. Let's make it yours. Everybody's got a longer life than me!

BILL: The leaf blowers, is there anything more futile?

I went looking for a video, and to my joy found that someone has done it with muppets! Enjoy...



3. Ballboy - The Sash My Father Wore

No offense to any of my Scottish friends, but there's definitely something in the water north of the border that breeds a better class of misanthrope... in songwriters, at least. Take a random selection of song titles from the wonderful Ballboy as example...

You Can't Spend Your Whole Life Hanging Round With Arseholes; I Wonder If You're Drunk Enough To Sleep With Me Tonight; Meet Me At The Shooting Range; I Hate Scotland; and my personal favourite, All The Records On The Radio Are Shite... well, you get the idea.

The Sash My Father Wore sounds like it might offer something a little sweeter... until you actually start listening to it.

Whoever put this video together has some kind of axe to grind about football, I think. But as I'm completely ignorant to such matters, I don't know if his opinions are just or not. Ignore them, and listen to the song.



4. Half Man Half Biscuit - Breaking News

I've written about this, one of my favourite Half Man Half Biscuit songs, here before. That's not going to stop me...

We’re just receiving reports of an incident at a farm in Sussex where a number of people have been arrested in connection with “Annoying The Nation”...

A woman who described herself as “A little bit Bridget, a little bit Ally, a little bit Sex In The City” and chose to call her baby boy Fred as a childishly rebellious attempt at a clever reaction to those who might have expected her to call him Julian or Rupert. Bit of advice: call him Rupert, it fits, and besides it’s a good name. Don’t be calling him Fred or Archie, with all its cheeky but lovable working class scamp connotations, unless you really do have plans for him to spend his life in William Hill’s waiting for them to weigh in at Newton Abbott.



5. Paul Heaton - Everything Is Everything

For a singer with such an angelic voice, Paul Heaton has made a career of writing bile-dripping lyrics - from the angry Housemartin who decried the "Sheep we're up against" through the mistaken-as-MOR-by-those-who-won't-listen heights of the Beautiful South, to his recent solo album, The Cross-Eyed Rambler (and its curiously forgotten predecessor, Fat Chance).

"I enjoy the right to moan. My lyrics have been one long whinge, but with jokes," Heaton admitted in a recent interview.

Everything Is Everything is the 7 minute rant that closes Cross-Eyed Rambler, and I think it proves beyond any doubt that the ink in Paul Heaton's poison pen has far from run dry.

Again, the person who posted this on youtube has included visuals which don't necessarily reflect Heaton's own opinions... but it's a free world, baby, as Kirsty MacColl recognised - "got to take it got to grab it, got to get it up and shag it".



6. Philip Jeays - Seven Signs Of Ageing

Lyrically similar to Heaton, though musically more in debt to Jacques Brel and Scott Walker, Philip Jeays is one of the wordiest songwriters I've come across in recent years. And being how much I love me those words, that makes him an immediate favourite.

Then you can watch Madonna advertising Gap
While children sweat in sweatshops to bring you brandname crap
A brandname badge of honour to put you on the map
Just take my hand I'll take you there there'll be no turning back
And you'll get interest free credit with nought to pay till May
And more and more enticements to overspend your pay
Until you can't afford it and they take it all away
And you're drowning in your debt a little deeper every day

This song was "inspired originally by my hatred of advertising," Jeays reveals on his website, "'combat the seven signs of ageing with new moisturising crap from whoever' - but then, with the start of the second Iraq war, it sort of became something else, and the two merged into this song."

Unfortunately, there's no sign of this song - or much else from Jeays - on youtube, but you can hear / download it, and read the full lyrics on his website. I'd recommend the click.

7. Dan Le Sac Vs. Scroobius Pip - Thou Shalt Always Kill

What the hell is this? Rap? Dance? Musically, it sounds like early 90's Fatboy Slim to me - but as with most of these tracks, it's the lyrics that matter. It's a list song, and I love list songs. (Don't start me on We Didn't Start The Fire.) It's a rant of epic proportions. And it's also very, very funny... even the video.

Thou shalt not think that any male over the age of 30 that plays with a child that is not their own is a peadophile… Some people are just nice.
Thou shalt not read NME.
Thou shalt not stop liking a band just because they’ve become popular.
Thou shalt not question Stephen Fry.
Thou shalt not judge a book by it’s cover.
Thou shalt not judge Lethal Weapon by Danny Glover.
Thou shalt not buy Coca-Cola products.
Thou shalt not buy Nestle products.
Thou shalt not go into the woods with your boyfriend’s best friend, take drugs and cheat on him.

Honestly though... were The Smiths really just a band?



8. Mikrofisch - The Kids Are All Shite

I don't know much about this lot except they're German and they have a healthy disrespect for their indie contemporaries, which is always fun - whether you agree with every band they hate or not. They also have a song called Evil Customer, and another called Let's Kiss And Listen To Bis... which will do me.

"I bet that you look good on the dancefloor - but nowhere else."



9. Ugly Kid Joe - Everything About You

I have a perverse need to never allow myself to become too hip when putting out music posts. These longhaired, sub-Jovi, Wayne's World wannabes should ensure you remain incredulous about my street cred credentials. Unfortunately their record company don't want me to post the video here - god knows why, perhaps they're scared you might want to buy a copy? If you really want to relive the horror that was UKJ, you can always click here.

Great riff though.

10. Another Sunny Day - You Should All Be Murdered

You don't get much more misanthropic for your money than the title of this jangly, late 80's, Smiths-esque single from shortlived London indie band Another Sunny Day. Again, a band I know very little about, but the song says everything it needs to.



Catharsis achieved. And I managed the whole list without resorting to such towering miserablists as Morrissey, Luke Haines or Arab Strap. This was fun. Who's for another ten?

Snow Geese

Fed up today.

Feeling a little sorry for myself, which is not an attractive blogger quality - so I'll spare you any more words.

At least I have the geese to make me smile...

In The Future, When All's Well

Back when I was a kid, I used to watch Tomorrow's World and get terribly excited about all the amazing things that the future held in store - like flying cars, robot butlers and those funky lights that come on when you clap.

Of course, not all the Tomorrow's World predictions were completely off the mark - they did give us our first taste of mobile phones, CDs, and camcorders, among others. I think we're all fascinated with - and perhaps a little frightened by - what the future might hold in store for us, particularly as the pace of technology gets ever faster every year.

Richard Watson's book Future Files picks up where Tomorrow's World left off, identifying 'The 5 Trends That Will Shape The Next 50 Years'.



The trends in question are:

Ageing - a society made up of more old people than young, due to advances in medicine and healthcare and increased life expectancy.

Power Shift Eastwards - has the West had its day? Will the CHIME nations (China, India and the Middle East) be world leaders of the future?

Global Connectivity - I'm writing this in Huddersfield. It's being read by people I've never met in Canada, Australia, New Zealand, France and the USA... among other impossibly exotic locations.

GRIN technology - Genetic, Robotics, the Internet, and that dreaded, grey goo causing, Nanotech.

...and The Environment - eek, it's snowing - we're all doomed, I tell you... doomed!

Watson then examines how each of these trends will affect our way of life in the future - some of it fact, some of it speculation... some of it, by its very nature, contradictory... but all of it fascinating.

Along the way, he covers Voice-Lifts (sound as young as your Face-Lift made you look); the death of privacy; hotel rooms customized to look and smell like your own home - before you arrive; how murder has recently been identified as a leading cause of death in the workplace (can't say I'm surprised); GPS tracking built into school uniforms; Wasp Cameras; Smart Mirrors that can show us what we'll look like next year; the social stigma of eating lettuce; and chewing gum that can increase your bust size (it already exists!).

Of course, not all of it will come to pass. But some of it will, and forewarned is forearmed. If you're interested, you can read more at Richard Watson's website. Still no flying cars though...



Soon I Will Be Invincible is the debut novel from Austin Grossman, and it seems in principle to be a superhero fan's dream read. It tells a story that could have been lifted almost directly from a modern comic book, introducing masked super-genius Dr. Impossible and his latest world conquering scheme; and cyborg superheroine Fatale, newest member of The Champions.

It perhaps goes without saying that this is a novel aimed squarely at the comic book crowd, but though it's well written and it both avoids and takes liberties with all the usual cliches, it still wasn't entirely what I expected. In short, the story here would have made an excellent comic... from a novel though, I expected a little more. More what, exactly? I'm not sure... Depth? Reality? Humour? Perhaps all of the above. I kept thinking back to the way Joss Whedon had so much fun with all the usual comic book tropes in Dr. Horrible's Singalong Blog, without ever once seeming to put the genre down. I guess that's what I missed from Grossman's book - a little more fun. It almost seemed too respectful of the source material... and like I say, if you're going to be like that - why not just write another comic? Still, he's definitely a writer to watch, and I'll be interested to see what he does next. (Bryan Hitch fans take note though - the cover and a number of full colour interior pages feature original artwork by the artist of The Authority / Ultimates.)

Worst Winter Blog Post Since 2008!

So we've had some snow. It's not the end of the world. Of course, because this time the snow affected that London (where all the journalists live), you'd think it was Armageddon. "They cancelled the buses in London - how are we going to get home tonight after running up the expense account at Groucho's? It's a scandal, I tell you!"

According to those same excitable journos, this is "the WORST winter weather since 1991!". Meanwhile, we're in the "WORST recession since the 1930s!". And Tesco had its "WORST Christmas Sales Figures since 1990" (even though profits were up 2.5% on last year). Even Nicholas Cage had his "WORST Box Office figures since 2003" last year... but will that stop him making shit films? I doubt it. What's this I hear about The Wicker Man II. (Oh, apparently they scrapped it. What a loss.)

Seriously, google the words "worst since" and EVERYTHING is the worst since 19whenever... or even better, it's "OFFICIALLY the worst since", so you can't even argue with it. Lazy sensationalist journalist tosspots; I'm fed up of it.

Of course, all this bad weather chaos "wouldn't happen if we lived in Canada. Or Moscow. Or Norway." Those places spend money on keeping the roads clear, buses running, snow tyres pumped. Except... those places have this kind of weather every year, often for months on end... so it's a way of life for them... not something that happens once a year (or once every ten, or whatever).

Sigh.

Still, it's easy for me to be so blasé, isn't it? I couldn't even drive anywhere at the moment even if I wanted to. I'm just stuck here working from home, hoping the roads will be clear enough later in the week for my sister to take me shopping. And wandering about taking photos of all the pretty snow-covered things, trying my best not to slip and break my other arm in the process...

I even designed a new blogheader - but you'll have to come out of your feedreader safety zone and visit the site itself to see that. Also, if you do pop over, scroll down to the bottom of the page and help me demand that Morrissey come to Huddersfield. I know you don't care whether he does or not, but I do...

Countdown

Fought my way through the snow this morning for my hospital check-up. Fortunately the bone has stayed in place, so now I just have to wait and hope it heals. The doctor told me that in a small number of cases (5-10%) healing doesn't happen - in which case I'll need a bone graft (ouch), but HOPEFULLY that won't be necessary.

My next appointment is Monday the 9th of March - which seems an eternity away. I'm fortunate in that I'm being allowed to work from home while I'm unable to drive (as using any form of public transport to get to work would be a 2 hour journey at least - for some bizarre reason there's no direct train route from Huddersfield to Bradford, so I'd have to go via Leeds, changing twice).

So far the itching hasn't been too bad, though even after 1 week the cast has begun to smell... god knows how bad it'll stink in another month! And even though I make no secret of the fact that I haven't had a drink in ten years, it's amazing how many people's first reaction to the news that I fell down the stairs is a suspicion of alcohol... my favourite response being from a dry old cousin of my Dad's who took one look at the pot and simply remarked...

"You want to take more water with it, lad."



Anyway, while digging around in my pen pot looking for a paper clip this morning, I came across a tiny scrap of paper that I thought I'd lost. It's a quote from an interview with Jarvis Cocker, and for many years I carried this clipping around in my wallet because I felt it held a special relevance to my own life. The quote follows the video to the song Jarvis is referring to...

"That's why I wrote Countdown, which is about thinking of your life like you're a rocket on a launchpad. The countdown's ticking away, and it's all right, all this shit can go on because eventually it's going to be five, four, three, two, one, we're off, and all that stuff doesn't matter any more. Then I realised that the countdown might never happen, and that even if it did, I'd be sitting on the launchpad, too decrepit to take off. All I was doing was wasting loads and loads of time."

This message, and the song behind it, have always stood out for me. It's been a kick up the arse whenever I've felt like I wasn't getting where I wanted to be in my life. A great big shout of GET ON WITH IT! You can't just sit around waiting for a lift off you have no control over... you might even be waiting on the wrong launchpad.

It means more too, coming from Jarvis of 1990. By that time he'd been in Pulp for over ten years, and had achieved little beyond the occasional Peel session. It was Countdown - and its sister single My Legendary Girlfriend - which first brought the band a taste of the limelight, though it would remain a slow build before their true breakthrough, Common People, which wasn't released until 1995.

Musically, Countdown's Human League-meets-Acid House sound seems somewhat dated now. Lyrically though, it's classic Jarvis. And the section below...

"I wasted all my time on all those stupid things that only get me down.
Get down, oh
Oh and the sky, is crying out tonight,
for me to leave this town,"

...would fit seamlessly into Springsteen's Born To Run, a song with a very similar sentiment, and one that also meant a lot to me while I was growing up.

As for me... do I still feel like I'm waiting on that launchpad for the big lift off? Only occasionally. Most of the time, I tell myself I'm building my own rocket now - I'll pilot it myself, rather than waiting for somebody else to do the driving...