Chuck Klosterman IV

I think I may have a new favourite nonfiction writer, and his name is Klosterman. Chuck Klosterman. (Does that make him my favourite writer called Chuck? Probably not.)

After enjoying CK's 80s metal memoir Fargo Rock City last year, I was eager to read more. I've still got his Dead Rock Stars book Killing Yourself To Live waiting on the shelf, but first up was CK IV: A Decade Of Curious People And Dangerous Ideas, a collection of articles and interviews which mostly ran in Esquire magazine.



Klosterman has a style that's both irreverent and sympathetic. He's ferociously iconoclastic and at times deconstructionist in his thinking... and yet, like Louis Theroux or Jon Ronson, you never feel he's taking the piss. He's got this clever self-deprecating thing going on too, so he tries to come across as smarter than his subjects... even when he's interviewing Britney Spears, who is "either the least self-aware person (he's) ever met, or she's way, way savvier than (he'll) ever be".

It doesn't matter who Klosterman is writing about, he makes you think about them in ways you never have before. Even U2. (Though I wouldn't go so far as to say he changed my opinion that Bono is a giant dick... but then, he doesn't really try to.) One of his greatest gifts is that he seems to genuinely like people and want to find out what makes them tick. Which makes it tragic when he unintenionally upsets one of his heroes - as he does with Billy Joel in 'The Stranger'. "But," Klosterman insists in the profile's intro, "I still think All For Leyna is awesome!"

CK IV isn't just Klosterman's interviews; there's also a collection of funny and thought-provoking articles. Klosterman loves to break with conventional critical opinion. That's a recurring theme, as when he compares the media's reaction to the death of Joey Ramone with that of Robbin Crosby from 80s metal band Ratt...

The reason Crosby's death was mostly ignored is that his band seemed corporate and fake and pedestrian; the reason Ramone's death will be remembered is that his band was seen as representative of a counterculture that lacked a voice. The contradiction is that countercultures get endless media attention: the only American perspectives thought to have any meaning are those that come from the fringes...

Now I know what you're thinking; you're thinking I'm overlooking the obvious, which is that the Ramones made "good music" and Ratt made "bad music"... and that rebuttal makes sense, I suppose, if you're the kind of person who honestly believes the concept of "good taste" is anything more than a subjective device used to create gaps in the intellectual class structure.

Later, in an article about jingoistic overreactions to the Olympics, Klosterman writes "as I grow older, I find myself less prone to have an opinion about anything, and to distrust just about everyone who does." He's joking, but he makes an excellent point. We all get so hung up about what other people think, like, watch on TV, read, and do... but it's such a waste of time.

Here's the first step to happiness: don't get pissed off that people who aren't you happen to think Paris Hilton is interesting and deserves to be on TV every other day; the fame surrounding Paris Hilton is not a reflection on your life (unless you want it to be). Don't get pissed off because the Yeah Yeah Yeahs aren't on the radio enough; you can buy the goddamn record and play 'Maps' all goddamn day (if that's what you want)...

Basically, don't get pissed off over the fact that the way you feel about culture isn't some kind of universal consensus. Because if you do, you will end up feeling betrayed. And it will be your own fault.

I could go on quoting Klosterman all afternoon, but I've probably infringed enough of his copyright for one day. And I haven't even started on the mindbending moral quandaries he uses to link many of the later articles in CK IV, each of which deserves a blog post of its own. Maybe later.

Sing When You're In Love

It's not often these days I fall in love with a song the first time I hear it on the radio. I'm far more likely to discover new tunes online. Credit then to Radio 2's Bob Harris for turning me on to the latest single by The Enemy, a band I could take or leave up till now.

Sing When You're In Love isn't the most original song you'll ever hear - in fact, it's greatest strength seems to be how many old classics spring to mind every time I hear it - from Bruce Springsteen to Shed Seven to the Boomtown Rats. Mostly I think it's a cross between Drugstore's Say Hello and Bob Seger's The Fire Inside. Which is probably as bizarre a combination as you can get.

You might listen to it and hear something else entirely. But I bet it reminds you of something...

PJANG 3

PJANG #3 is coming...

I've already previewed the first two strips, with art by Davey Metcalfe and Nige Lowrey, so now here's a taster of the third (and cover-featured) story, perfectly visualised by the amazing Andrew Cheverton...



It's a classic. And that's 95% down to Chev, 4% down to luck, and about 1% down to me.

All we need now to complete PJANG The Third are the covers (and wait'll you see those!) and a text page. Bah. I used to enjoy writing text pages, but lately it's become a bit of a chore. Fortunately, with 25 pages of story this issue, there's only one page left for my mindless witterings. Nobody reads 'em anyway.

More soon.

Duckupdate

Remember these guys?



They've grown...





And that's not all. Remember our local cairn-builder?

He's back...



Not quite as impressive as last year's, but hopefully it'll last a little longer.

My Goat Ate Its Own Legs

The first thing you notice about Alex Burrett's short story anthology My Goat Ate Its Own Legs is its shape. The cover shown above isn't the same as the copy I own, and the chewed away bottom corner is less ragged on mine, but the idea remains the same - the titular goat took a chunk out of its own book. It's a nice idea, which hopefully will make Burrett's collection stand out in the bookshop (though not if it's shelved).

Burrett's writing is all about the ideas. Like all the best authors, he seems to have more ideas than his brain can possibly cope with. From the girl who dates Death to God's ex-wife to a sniffer dog that becomes an addict. There are stories written from the point of view of a rat, ancient Welsh legends, Human Abattoir Reports, and lovers who have so much sex they become literally inseparable. Some are less stories than satirical articles (Arguments For The Decimalisation Of The Day), and occasionally Burrett sets up an interesting concept purely to throw it away with a gag twist in the final line. Fortunately they're short enough that if you don't like the one you're reading, another great idea is always just a few pages away.

Personally I always prefer character-led fiction, so my favourites here include Cream (about a man who lies to his date about being allergic to dairy - and ends up losing his life as a result) and The Expanding House (about a widower who finds extra doors appearing in his home, but cannot bring himself to open them).

As with all great short story writers, Burrett gives excellent opening line...

"I knew a bloke who ate his children."

"When I was young, I allegedly killed one or more guinea pigs."

"The devil is offering holidays in hell."

"Five years ago, they started selling Utter Beauty Paint - or UBP©."

...all of which pretty much ensure you're going to read on.

My Old Man Vs. The Dustmen

Yes, it's come to this. I'm complaining about the bin men. I'll be writing for the Mail On Sunday next! (What do you mean I already have? Oy! That's still a sore point.)

Anyway, earlier this week my dad went out to fetch his wheely bin back in from where he'd left it out for the bin men only to find they'd stuck not one, but TWO stickers on it, both reading:

"Important - Please Leave Your Bin In THIS Location On Collection Day"

Obviously the felt my dad's crime deserved extra attention: two stickers worth. So then, where had my dad left his bin... and where do the bin men want him to leave it?

He'd left it just outside the gate to his front garden, half on the pavement, half in the gate hole.

The location the bin men want it leaving in however... is a whole six inches further out. No exaggeration, the position they'd left it in was six inches from where my dad always leaves it, the only difference being that it's now blocking more of the pavement.

"Cheeky buggers!" said my dad (lazy buggers would have been more apt), "I'll dump my own rubbish from now on if they can't be bothered!" (He will too, even if it means driving it to the dump himself... and he's 79.)

Needless to say, he'll be waiting to give them a piece of his mind come next collection day. I pity the fools...

Happy Birthday, Moz

50 today, eh? You don't look a day over 49.

Never mind, you know what they say: you're only as old as the woman (or man) you're not feeling.

Thanks for it all.

Here's to another 50!

The Scaremongers are Born In A Barn

In a year that's brought (or promises) new releases from many of my favourite artists - including Morrissey, Bruce Springsteen, Jarvis Cocker, Eels, Art Brut, the Handsome Family, and the Manics - what's the one record I've been most looking forward to?



I've written before about my hero worship of local poetry legend Simon Armitage. For a while it looked like we might be moving to his village, which would have meant me spending most nights stalking the highways and byways in hopes of an accidental meeting... but in the end, it's to Simon's benefit that we ended up settling in Meltham rather than Marsden.

The Scaremongers is Simon's band, the realisation of a lifelong dream with his old pal, guitarist Craig Smith. They describe their sound as “kitchen-sink snow-shaker pop-rock”, and anyone who's familiar with Simon's poetry will be unsurprised to learn that his lyrics are a mix of Jarvis Cocker, Morrissey, Paul Heaton and Alan Bennett - yet also uniquely Armitage.



The band's first release, You Can Do Nothing Wrong In My Eyes, came out last April. It was soon followed by the jealous husband rant of Less Is More and the wonderfully romantic Cardigan Girl, not to mention the wedding disco lament Nodding Dog... and now, finally, the debut album Born In A Barn, which can be bought or downloaded via links at the Scaremongers website.

Despite the absence of classic b-sides Modesty & Grace and If You Ever Leave Me), the album never sets a foot wrong. New favourites include the student-baiting Grouse Beaters Boys' Club...

You're back from doing your degree
And all the regulars agree
You're someone different

We're in the snug room of the Swan
You're talking Freud and going on
About some Russian dissident

Your girlfriend's training as a vet
She's smoking Gauloise cigarettes
And quoting TS Eliot

She did her gap year in New York
She simplifies things when she talks
Like I'm the village idiot

...and the bitter denial of From The Shorelines Of Venus, which includes such Morrissey-esque delights as these...

At the height of the season
In a laughable blouse
You came with a suitcase
And laughed at my house

They claim that they've seen me
They've heard from their spies
They're nothing but bad-mouthing, supergrass, ear-wigging, tongue-wagging, planting the Judas kiss,
Come here to blame me and bleed me
With leeches and lies

Yes, they're a local band, and local people* will appreciate mentions of Castle Hill (in Derailleur) and ...Nothing Wrong's chorus of "Lancashire is over the hill", but despite their boast of representing The Sound of Mature Huddersfield, they're no more insular than the Smiths' "Manchester, so much to answer for" or Pulp's celebration of Sheffield: Sex City. I'm certain that anyone who enjoys the sardonic Northern tones of Jarv or Moz will fall in love with this band just as much as I have. Even better, I'll be catching them live soon. More power to Armitage and Smith - roll on the difficult second album, lads.


(*That reference is particularly apt as the exterior scenes from The League Of Gentleman's Local Shop were filmed on the hills above Armitage's home.)

Wedding Disco

Went to the wedding of our friends Helen and Dan at the weekend, at a farm located waaaaaay up a hill above the gorgeous town of Matlock Bath, in the heart of the Peak District. Highlight was the wedding disco, all songs chosen by the bride and groom themselves. When the playlist includes This Charming Man, Born To Run, Sweet Child Of Mine and Babies (by Pulp), even I will get up to dance. Which was even more impressive considering the dancefloor was inclined at a 45° angle as the marquee was balanced precariously on the edge of a mountain. It did mean that all the blokes ended up doing a strange sort of 'marching on the spot' dance routine to maintain their balance, but this worked in my favour too.

I was especially pleased by their choice of 'first dance' song: Bryan Ferry's Let's Stick Together. I do so like it when I'm not the only one who's paying attention to lyrics...

Marvel Comics Songs

Following last week's mammoth tribute to DC comics in song, Marvel had to follow. I've written plenty about my deep and abiding love for the Marvel universe, so I won't bore you again with all that... besides, this post is going to be long enough as it is. Let's crack on...

He's not necessarily the most popular Marvel character, and he still hasn't recovered from being dragged through the mud by Nicolas Cage, but Ghost Rider does crop up in a hell of a lot of songs. Of course, that's because the legend of the Ghost Riders goes back way beyond the 1972 debut of flame-headed Johnny Blaze. Country songwriter Stan Jones wrote the much-covered Ghost Riders In The Sky back in 1948 (it may well have been the inspiration for Marvel's original Western Ghost Rider, subsequently renamed Phantom Rider once Johnny Blaze and his motorcycle roared into town). The most famous version is probably the Johnny Cash one, but I also own covers by Me First & The Gimme Gimme's and Spiderbait (possibly the best thing to come out of the Cage movie, apart from Sam Elliott's moustache). Apparently this song also inspired the Doors classic Riders On The Storm.

But that's not the only Ghost Rider song out there. Another much-covered offering comes from Suicide (or Paul Haig, R.E.M., and Henry Rollins), while Attack Of The Ghost Riders is still the best thing the Raveonettes ever recorded.

My favourite Ghost Rider song doesn't even mention the character. Yet he's unmistakeably the star of Buck 65's Blanc Bet...

"Skeleton on fire, ridin' a motorcycle..."

Possibly the most well known song with a Marvel hero in the title is Black Sabbath's Iron Man, though there's some debate as to whether their inspiration was Tony Stark, Ted Hughes, or a big sack of drugs. I think I prefer the Cardigans version. Or the Giant Sand one, which I can't find online.

Casting round for suitable villains to plague Iron Man back in the 60s, Stan Lee came up with The Titanium Man and The Crimson Dynamo, both of whom popped up - along with arch X-foe Magneto - in this infamous album track from Paul McCartney & Wings. I haven't checked, but I reckon it's a good bet that Macca was also the man responsible for The Continuing Story Of Bungalow Bill on The Beatles (White Album), which features a guest appearance by Captain Marvel himself (no, not Shazam!).

Deep in the jungle where the mighty tiger lies
Bill and his elephants were taken by surprise
So Captain Marvel zapped him right between the eyes

Yep, those sound like Macca lyrics to me.



Iron Man's fellow Mighty Avengers (anyone remember the 60s band of the same name? Me neither) include Captain America, who crops up in both Catch Me Now I'm Falling by the Kinks and Paradise City by Guns 'n' Roses, Thor (no Thor songs, sorry, but I did find his dad - Psychedelic Odin by Julian Cope), Antman & the Wasp (Captain Beefheart comes closest with Antman Bee) and (back in the early days, at least) the Incredible Hulk...



Joe Harnell's classic Lonely Man Theme (originally from the Bixby / Ferrigno TV show) always makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but my favourite Hulk song comes from the recent Wedding Present b-sides collection, How The West Was Won. Track it down, it's worth your time. More David Gedge in a moment.

First though, the Uncanny X-Men. No Wolverine, Rogue, or Colossus - and I'm not about to kid you that Billy Joel's Storm Front is about Ororo Munro's chest. You will however find Nightcrawler and Kitty Pryde hanging out in Weezer's garage...

I've got the Dungeon Master's Guide.
I've got a 12-sided die.
I've got Kitty Pryde
And Nightcrawler too
Waiting there for me.
Yes I do, I do.

As for the original team, They Might Be Giants lead the way with Cyclops Rock. It's not as good as their classic Particle Man song, but he wasn't ever a member of the X-Men to my knowledge (though who knows what happened when Scott Lobdell was writing the book).

I somehow doubt that Bruce Springsteen is an X-Men fan, but he does pay tribute to both The Angel and The Iceman, and you can't beat a bit of Bruce.

As for Hank McCoy... well, there's always Nick Lowe's The Beast In Me or the haunting Johnny Cash cover.

Couldn't find any Marvel Girl songs, but Jean Grey fans may be satisfied by Aimee Mann's Phoenix or this immortal Jimmy Webb classic from Glenn Campbell.

Sadly, the Fantastic Four are ill-served by songwriters (unless you count Joe Satriani's Surfing With The Alien; not in my collection though). Which only leaves us with a little guy named Peter Parker...



The most famous Spider-Man song is definitely the 60s cartoon theme written by Paul Francis Webster and Robert 'Bob' Harris (no relation to the DJ).

It's been covered by everybody from the Ramones to Moxy Früvous, Aerosmith to Michael frikkin' Bublé, and with lyrics like these, it's no surprise...

Spider-Man, Spider-Man,
Does whatever a spider can
Spins a web, any size,
Catches thieves just like flies
Look Out!
Here comes the Spider-Man.

Is he strong?
Listen bud,
He's got radioactive blood.
Can he swing from a thread
Take a look overhead
Hey, there
There goes the Spider-Man.

In the chill of night
At the scene of a crime
Like a streak of light
He arrives just in time.

Spider-Man, Spider-Man
Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man
Wealth and fame
He's ingnored
Action is his reward.

To him, life is a great big bang up
Whenever there's a hang up
You'll find the Spider-Man.

They don't write 'em like that any more.



The greatest superhero of all has also enjoyed his own recording history, with both Reflections Of A Superhero and the Amazing Spider-Man Rockomic, both from the 70s (which you can tell the moment you start listening to them).

The less said about Bryan May's MC Spidey Mastermix, the better. Still, I'm sure that'll sound like Beethoven's 5th when compared to the unspeakable travesty that can only be the forthcoming broadway musical, written (and I cringe as I type these words) by Bono and the Edge!!! Now that's the Parker luck at its absolute worst!



Maybe it's because I'm such a big fan, but I've found more Spidey references in pop than for any other superhero. From Lullaby by The Cure ("the Spider-Man is having you for dinner tonight") to Sex Talk by T'Pau ("Like Spider-Man I'm climbing the wall, I want my prize")... from Veal's criminally hyphenless Spiderman ("I'm feelin suspect, just like Spider-Man - you know how he gets a little nervous too") to the typically overblown pomposity of The Supreme Being Teaches Spider-Man How To Be In Love
by The Flaming Lips, which seems to involve a fight between Spidey and Muhammad Ali and really is as bizarre as it sounds... but sadly not as much fun.

That one comes from the soundtrack to the equally not-much-fun Spider-Man 3, which I'd guess David Gedge of the Wedding Present wasn't too big a fan of...

I thought I saw a superhero but it was just Spider-Man on Hollywood
I thought I saw a supermodel but she had hair where I don’t think she should
Yes, things can be a parody of what they first appear to be

I thought I saw a flying saucer last night but of course it was just an aeroplane
I thought I saw Winona Ryder but my eyes were playing tricks again
Some things look wonderful but then they’re different when you look again

And that’s what’s so funny, honey
You’ve looked like my girl for so long that I thought you would always be beside me
But I’d be the first to admit I was wrong

Gedge may not be a fan of Hollywood Spidey, but he obvious knows his comics. Not only did he record the aforementioned Hulk Loves Betty, but he also quotes Mary Jane Watson's famous opening line on Santa Ana Winds...

I must look anxious because she fixes me with this gaze
"Face it Tiger, you just hit the jackpot!" she says
We laugh together but I'm trying hard to ignore
The fact I've won the jackpot means I've lost a whole lot more

(Other Mary Jane songs? How about these from Tom Petty, Lloyd Cole and Nick Drake.)

I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel now, and I doubt anybody's still reading this post anyway. Two more tenuous Spidey songs and I'm hanging up my webs. Rumour has it that My Hero is the Foo Fighters' webslinger tribute, and with lines like "There goes my hero - he's ordinary" and "Don't the best of them bleed it out while the rest of them peter out", I'm tempted to believe it. But my favourite unofficial Spidey song is this short blast of webfluid from They Might Be Giants. Enjoy it, Marvelites - 'nuff said!

Star Trek

I was never a Trekkie / Trekker. I suppose I expended too much of my geek energy on Marvel to have much left over for the Klingons. I watched the original series on repeats as a kid, but I never watched Next Generation or Deep Space Nine or any of the other spin offs. I gave Enterprise one episode for Scott Bakula, but it didn't grab me. So while I was mildly excited by the idea of a new, original crew film... it was more for JJ Abrams' involvement than anything Trek.

I had my doubts too, and mostly about Chris Pine. Because if there's one thing I do love, unashamedly, about Star Trek, it's James T. Kirk. Or, more precisely, Shatner. Some call it ham, but I prefer to think of it as the finest dry cured prosciutto. William Shatner is not a bad actor, he is a unique actor; so if there's one role I couldn't ever imagine played by any other man, it's James T. Kirk. And certainly not some ten-a-penny Hollywood pretty boy like Chris Pine - if ever I judged a book by its cover it was at the unveiling of that first new Star Trek poster. Pine never stood a chance, he just wasn't the Shat.

But Pine proved me wrong. I mean Wrong Factor 10. Pre-release interviews emphasized the fact that the actor wasn't even attempting to do a Shat, that he was intent on making the character his own. Well, he did. But he also managed to capture the very best of what Shatner brought to the role: the bullish arrogance, the macho swagger, the eye for the (green) ladies, the smirk. Even, on occasion, those unique vocal mannerisms - though thankfully toned down, and never slipping into parody. Chris Pine made me a believer in Jim Kirk... and yet, incredibly, he wasn't the best thing about the film.

While I wasn't alone in dreading a non-Shatner Kirk, more people were willing to give Zach Quinto a shot as Spock, and though he lived up to expectations, it was a far easier role. Likewise Simon Pegg's Scotty, rightly played for laughs. The 12 year-old Mr. Chekov was annoying, but then so was the original. New Sulu got to show more action chops than his predecessor, and the only slight disappointment was Uhuru, given a feisty introduction but then somehow thrown into one dimension as Spock's love interest.

But the undisputed highlight of New Trek was Bones. From the moment he grouched onto the screen complaining about how space is just one big disease waiting to happen, Karl Urban was perfect. I'd forgotten just what a great character Leonard McCoy was, but there were times - with little more than an arched eyebrow - that Urban came close to out-Bonesing the wonderful DeForest Kelly. Brilliant.

Don't get me wrong, new Star Trek isn't flawless. If you sit and think about the plot for too long, you'll likely find more black holes than Vulcan can withstand. And despite a couple of blatant Empire Strikes Back references, Eric Bana's Nero is no Vader - not even a KHAN!!! Yet it succeeds a hell of a lot more than it fails, and in all the areas where it really matters. I even found parts - notably the Nimoy scenes - unexpectedly moving. The most frustrating thing about new Trek is that we'll have to wait another couple of years for the next episode. A cast this good deserves an ongoing TV series.

We Have Always Lived In The Castle

The most disturbing thing I've seen this week? The cover of the latest Word Magazine. It is well past time for Iggy Pop to put his shirt on and leave it on. He looks like a cross between a featherless parrot and geriatric scrotum. Wasn't that bloody car insurance ad bad enough, Ig?

(Speaking of The Word, this normally reliable mag has published the only negative Star Trek review I've read... and I swear Andrew Harrison has seen a different movie to me. Dull? Anything but, Andrew.)

Anyway, book review - then big news...



I really enjoyed Shirley Jackson's We Have Always Lived In The Castle... but I didn't quite enjoy it as much as I expected to, and for that I only have Chev - and my own imagination - to blame.

I was familiar with Jackson from The Haunting Of Hill House (made into the excellent 1963 film The Haunting, and then utterly desecrated by Renny Harlin and Catherine Zeta Jones in one of the worst remakes in Hollywood history) and her infamous short story The Lottery. I also knew that Stephen King counts her with Ray Bradbury among his main influences. And when Chev described We Have Always Lived In The Castle as "one of the most beautiful books I have ever read", I had to bump it to the top of my reading list.

From the title alone, I'd got it into my head that WHALITC would be a ghost story. I'd almost imagined the entire plot in my head too - part Haunting, part Beetlejuice - but that wasn't what I got at all. Instead it's the story of two creepy sisters, Constance and Mary Katherine 'Merricat' Blackwood who find themselves ostracized by their local community after the rest of their family fall victim to a fatal poisoning. It's a story about the madness of crowds and the unkindness of strangers - to a point. The book's biggest twist comes not in the revelation of the murderer (which Jackson makes plain from the outset) but in a guilt-driven change of heart that turns the sisters from pariahs to the beneficiaries of unexpected charity, leading to a resolution that's both heartwarming and tragic.

All that said... did I enjoy it as much as I imagined I might? Possibly not. It's a great story, lovingly told... and yet, a combination of impossibly high (bad Chev!) and mistaken (bad imagination!) expectations meant it couldn't ever live up to the hype. Still, it's one I'd recommend... but not too highly, so I don't go and spoil it for you.


As for the big news (carefully hidden away down here to check if anybody actually reads this far)... we've bought a house. At last! We exchanged contracts yesterday, and if all goes according to plan we'll move in the first week of July. Longtime readers will know all the aggro we've been through hunting for and almost buying a number of other properties, but it looks like it's all going to turn out well in the end, because this is by far the best property we've seen. More details will follow...

Whole Lotta Lovin'

What an innocent child I was!

I mentioned recently how I've been renewing my affection for Huey Lewis & The News, and one of the songs I've been singing along to, full throatal, while driving to work has been Whole Lotta Lovin' from Fore! It's a simple enough tale of life on the road, with a horny Huey lamenting that he's "tired of these girly magazine, I wanna stop dreaming and get back home to the real thing". I got that, even when I was fourteen.

One thing I never got though was the next line...

Late last night, I read a letter you sent
Woke up this morning under a tent
I got a whole lotta lovin', a whole lotta lovin' to do...

Why was Huey waking up under a tent? Had he been chucked out of his hotel room? Surely they wouldn't do that to a rock star on tour? Not unless he threw a TV out the window or drove a Cadillac into the swimming pool or something... and even then, surely his manager would just book him a room at another hotel... they wouldn't see a million-selling artist sleeping rough in the park, would they?

Only now, listening to that song again twenty years later do I actually twig to Huey's bawdy innuendo. Ironic, really, considering I woke up under far more tents as a 14 year old than I do as a past-his-prime 37. What an innocent child I was.

Has this ever happened to you? A lyric from your youth that you cheerfully sung along to without ever understanding its deeper (not necessarily smuttier, though that'd be good too) meaning? I'm not talking about mondegreens or misheard lyrics, just occasions where innocence or lack of worldliness kept you from the truth?

Or were you all as wise as teenagers as you obviously are now?

Comics Catch-Up

Busy day at t'mill, still no time to write my Star Trek review (so good, I didn't even miss Shatner!) or finish my giant post of Marvel Comics songs... just enough time to mention two great small press comics I've read recently...



Issue #9 of Paul Rainey's excellent ongoing graphic novel There's No Time Like The Present is now available, and yes, it's true - it's not a hoax, a dream, or an imaginary tale... this issue: SOMEONE DIES!

It's another 24 pages of grumpy old geeks feeling the after-effects of time travel and getting jealous of each other's comic collections, and it's just as wonderful as the eight issues that preceded it. Go buy your copy now.



Tim Skinner: Total Scumbag #1 is a hilarious, full colour comics industry satire by Andy Winter and Declan Shalvey. The eponymous Skinner is a scumag with a mission - he can step into the pages of any comic and interact with the characters and worlds within. From superheroes to Dredd-alikes to zombies and giant transforming robots, no one is safe from Spinner's scumbaggery... especially not Power Girl and Alan Moore. It's worth buying for the Bendis / Morrison line alone. Read all about it here.

Finally, what of my own humble comic aspirations? Well, those of you with nothing better to spend your money on will be pleased, nay thrilled, to hear that PJANG #3 is creeping ever-closer to completion. Two of the strips are now in the bag, with the third just a spit and polish away. Nigel's working on the cover, and everything's right with the world. Having now seen all three of the strips, I definitely think this is our best issue yet. I've already previewed Davey Metcalfe's masterpiece, so here's a taster of Nige's offering... (Click to enlarge.)



Anyone paying attention will have noticed that both Dave and Nige's strips begin with scenes of schoolday bullying. This is accidental; Davey's strip was originally written for another book entirely and Nige's story is one I've been kicking around for years, with a new character I hope to investigate in greater depth soon. The imminent third strip - with Chev's best art job yet - has nothing to do with school or bullying. That one's got a big meteor, the end of the world, sex and violence and bitter workplace recriminations. More on that shortly...

Late Great Albums Of 2008 (1) - Life, Death, Love & Freedom

Before I get on with today's post, I should first point you over to The Vinyl Villain, where I'm guest-posting today. JC's on holiday for a month (a month!? Who goes on holiday for a month? The Queen? Jesus Christ? Hmmm, actually, those initials... could it actually be?) so he's asked a different person to fill in every day and write about a song or record that means a lot to them. Regular readers of this blog will not be surprised by my choice...

Anyway...!

The problem with compiling Albums Of The Year lists is that you invariably don't get chance to listen to everything you want to until well into the next year. So even though this was my official Best Of 2008 list, I've since discovered a number of records that could easily have crashed the party. Here's the first... if I get time, I'll write about some of the others later.


John Mellencamp's Life, Death, Love & Freedom might better have been titled "growin old's a bitch". I was a big Mellencamp fan back in the 80s, but lost touch with him in subsequent years. LDLF is his cool-reinvention-comeback-Johnny-Cash album, a more sedate and often acoustic offering than many might expect from the Cougar who rocked out on the classic Jack & Diane and Authority Song, but Mellencamp was always a folk singer at heart and he's returned to his roots here in fine style. But boy is he contemplating his mortality...

This getting older ain't for cowards
This getting older's a lot to go through
Ain't gonna need this body much longer
Ain't gonna need this body much more
Well, I can't see much like I used to
And I can't run like the wind
I don't sleep more than just a few hours
I can't remember where I've been

That's from Don't Need This Body, and from listening to it you'd think Mellencamp must be at least 90. Turns out he's 57. Still, I can sympathise - I'm 20 years behind him and I feel like that some days too.

"Young without love is old without friends," he laments on Young Without Lovers, and "I don't care if I see tomorrow, If I had a reason I'd pretend, I know one thing for certain... I ain't a got no friends" on John Cockers. What a wonderfully curmudgeonly album this is. And let's not forget the self-explanatory If I Die Sudden...



John Mellencamp - knocking on Neil Young's door and demanding the crown of Grumpy Old Man In Rock. It'll be zimmer(man)frames at dawn!

Bookface

Louise recently bought me the Sleeveface book, and I've been getting a kick out of looking at people with album sleeves where their faces should be. Some of them are very, very clever. I fancied having a go myself, but unfortunately my vinyl collection went years ago. I'm sure that's shocking to many of the musos among you, but I only have so much room in the house and I'd already bought everything on CD (yes, I know, it's not the same) and they were just gathering dust in the end. I've got a few LPs left (mainly stuff that still hasn't been released any other way), but none of them were appropriate for a Sleeveface attempt.

Then I had a thought... why does it have to be a record sleeve? Why not a book? First attempt below, others may follow...



If you fancy having a go yourself, I'd love to see it.

Chapter 14

I'm about half way through the rewrites for the first half of my latest nvl. Because of the way it's structured, I have to complete the schooldays / flashback section before going on to write the present day arc.

I like rewriting, but it's a weird process. What I tend to do when I'm working on a large project like this is vomit out the first draft as quickly as I can, getting the plot to work and discovering the characters as I go, then going back and starting the hard work of making it remotely readable. (Be grateful, I toyed with the idea of extending the vomit metaphor to say 'edible'.)

It's strange when you go back. Some chapters appear to have emerged almost fully formed. They need very little work. Others require a bit more kicking around and chipping into shape. Actually, chipping's a good analogy. I do feel like a sculptor while I'm doing it, like I have a stone in front of me that's roughly the shape I want, but with none of the right details. A nose where an ear should be, a great big wart on the chin that needs lopping off, a Gallagher-esque monobrow. Getting those details the way I want them, producing a sculpture I wouldn't be ashamed to let someone else see, that's a tremendously satisfying process. It's one of the things I enjoy most about writing, one of the things that keeps me plugging away even when no-one's reading. It makes getting up at 6 every morning worthwhile, knowing the first 90 minutes of my day will be spent on this.

But every now and then, I reach a Chapter 14. A brutish quasimodo that needs more than a little gentle chiseling - it needs Semtex and a cosh. I've been hacking away at Chapter 14 for three weeks now (the best solution when something doesn't work is usually to cut, cut, and cut again) and it still needs work. But I'm getting closer. I'll know it's right when I can read it aloud without hesitation, deviation or repetition. After cutting, reading aloud is the best tool in a writer's belt - that's one thing the evil day job has taught me.

It's a long process though, and I'm not getting any younger. Not only am I finding more and more silver threads among the dark brown these days, but even my stubble is turning grey in places. And don't start me on the hair I found in my ears the other day. At this rate, I'll be dead before the latest nvl is complete, and what good is that to anybody?

Still, at least the blog has readers. I say this through gritted teeth as Sunset Over Slawit has just been awarded a resounding 6.6 by the reviewers over at blogged.com. 6.6 - how depressingly average. How very, very... Snow Patrol.

Some days, I think maybe I should have stayed in bed after all...

Mr. Malcontent

"After playing live music for 25 years," says Lloyd Cole, on stage in Holmfirth last night, "I thought I'd played every town in the country. I guess not..."

Now I'm sure I risk enraging the good burghers of Holmfirth when I say this, but come on - you're not really a town, are you? You're a big village is all. Very nice, and with an excellent live music venue, but a town? Ah, whatever, dude...

That said, I'm surprised Lloyd hasn't ever visited Holmfirth before; he was after all born just over the hill in Buxton. Then again, he does live in Massachusetts nowadays, so it's not like he can pop over on the Number 36.

"Once it snows in Massachusetts around December or January, it stays on the ground 3 months," he later revealed, explaining why he'd put on an extra 10 lbs that he needed to bicycle away in the next few weeks. (Those dad-pants he was sporting did appear to be of the elasticated waist variety.) "This is perfect for playing live music though, not only do I have a little paunch on which to rest my guitar, but looking like this instills just the right degree of self-loathing needed to perform these songs."

I've seen Lloyd Cole live more than any other artist, and here's why: not only does he bring a superior catalogue of songs to cherry pick for his one-man/two-guitar show, but he's also an excellent raconteur. Like Billy Bragg and Jarvis Cocker, I'd pay to see Lloyd just stand in front of a microphone and talk - the singing is a bonus.

As for the self-loathing - yes, that's what we're all here for. Here's a selection of opening stanzas from pop's self-confessed Mr. Malcontent.

I am cold, distant, increasingly resistant to your smile
And this I don't deny
You are bold, beautiful, I'm always going to be in love with you
Amphetamines or none

(Music In A Foreign Language)

Rather than you, she said
I prefer solitude
Rather than company
I prefer cigarettes

(No More Love Songs)

Smile, she said, and if you want
I'll look the other way
Until you regain your melancholy disposition
Or until you get over yourself

(What's Wrong With This Picture?)

Look at the world through a rose tint lens
I get mine from a poison pen
I've got a negative attitude
And I don't mind

(Negative Attitude)


Yet somehow, listening to Lloyd Cole is never depressing. Perhaps it's the voice. It's always an uplifting experience, spending time in his company, seeing the world through his eyes. I've said it before, but if I could live inside the songs of any artist, I'd choose Lloyd Cole. Smart, witty, literate, gloriously melancholy... that's the world for me!

Far North

Not to be confused with the Michelle Yeoh / Sean Bean movie of the same name (which I haven't yet seen, but is supposedly very good also), Marcel Theroux's Far North is another in the growing list of literary stabs at post-apoc fiction that also includes Margaret Atwood's Oryx & Crake and Cormac McCarthy's The Road. It shares a similar sense of sparse isolation with the latter, but also some of the science-gone-wrong backstory of the former (though this is never entirely explained, frustratingly so in the case of the macguffin-chase that drives the final chapters of the story).

Makepeace lives on the outskirts of a dying city in the northern territories of a world that may well be over. A lonely, desolate existence that is interrupted by sudden signs of life - first an escaped slave girl, and then a crashed airplane. Makepeace sets out to discover whether civilization really is beginning to crawl its way from the wreckage, though neither the future - nor Makepeace's past - is entirely what it seems.

Far North is one of those great 'triumph of the human spirit' stories, with a lavish dollop of 'People need people' on the side, and while it never quite manages to scale the heartbreaking heights of The Road, it is beautiful and affecting and horrifying, while also managing a few surprising diversions along the way to its uplifting conclusion.

A sane person knows they're headed for the end of something. But the thought that things will continue, there'll be kind words at their funeral, or even just a pulse of blood in someone, somewhere, that dumbly recalls that they were here - that gives the rest of it point. A sane person expects that.

DC Comics Songs

While I prepare my next ongoing music feature (I do have another se7en episode theme planned to follow My Week In Music... no prizes for guessing), here's a list I was inspired to compile after hearing the song DC Comics And Chocolate Milkshakes on the aforementioned new Art Brut album, Art Brut Vs. Satan.

"I'm in love with a girl in my comic shop," reveals Eddie Argos. "She's a girl who likes comics; she probably gets it a lot."

Sounds like the perfect woman, if you're 12.

Or 29, like Eddie himself.

Or 37, 1 month and twelvety-sum days...

Though obviously, she'd be even better if she gave you Marvel comics and chocolate milk...


Marvel was always my first and major love in comics (and one day soon I'll put together a definitive list of Marvel songs - including the sublime Hulk Loves Betty by the Wedding Present and Spider-Man by Veal), but I did finally sucuumb to the dubious pleasures of DC in the late 80s and early 90s. It was New Teen Titans that opened the door, but the Giffen / DeMatteis Justice League sealed the deal. In recent years, my interest in DC has tailed off... but unlike many comic fans who scream for Executive Editor Dan Didio's head on a spike, I'm quite grateful to him for making DC so unreadable. I can barely afford all the Marvels I want to buy, without building a wishlist of DCs too. So keep it up, Dan, you're saving me a fortune. (I still read Vertigo, so you are still getting some of my cash.)

Anyway...



The greatest DC hero of all is undeniably Batman, and I was surprised to find he doesn't crop up at all in my mediaplayer except on Neil Hefti's theme (ably covered by everybody from The Who to The Jam) and Prince's insane Batdance LP. Around the time the first Burton film came out, I thought Prince could do no wrong. When compared to some of the tat he's put out in recent years, Batdance remains a masterpiece... but it's hardly Purple Rain, is it?

And no, I don't own a copy of either I Was Kaiser Bill's Batman by Whistling Jack Smith or Pink Batman by Dan Deacon.

Disappointed I didn't own more Batman songs, I had to resort to trawling through his Rogue's Gallery... coming across unofficial tributes to Poison Ivy, Hush, Two Face, and Scarecrow by James... which has a secondary Bat-connection because Tim Booth played Bat-foe Mr. Zsasz (briefly) in Batman Begins.



I always told myself that if I ever got the chance to write a Batman comic, the Joker's opening line would have to be "Some people call me the space cowboy..." I can't believe it's never been done. (Chances are it has, I just haven't read the comic in question.)

Which brings us to the dullest DC hero of all, the big bland boyscout himself, Superman. (Why is he so dull? Too powerful. Too goody goody. Too alien. Etc.) And yet - songwriters are falling over themselves to write about him. It's incredible!

Here's five that Dan came up with on his podcast just last week.

That was good of him, because it saved me having to admit to owning Pocketful Of Kryptonite by the Spin Doctors.



Yet still we find Superman songs from R.E.M., Dan Bern, Eminem, The Flaming Lips, the Stereo-bleeding-phonics (it doesn't surprise me that Kelly Jones feels a kinship for Kal El, they're both yawn-inspiringly turgid), Peggy Sue & The Pirates (worth a listen for the lyrics), and of course Laurie Anderson, not to mention Frank Black's Man Of Steel (and a particularly melodramatic Meatloaf song of the same name, which wasn't written by Jim Steinman song so it's not very good).

Typically, I can't find my favourite Superman song anywhere online. It's that man Gedge again, in his Cinerama guise, lamenting the fact that:

I'm not a super hero; I just can't find a cloak and change
That sounds more like a job for Superman
Not the lazy slob that you think I am

Special super-mention goes to the Superman Revenge Squad, Klark Kent, Todd Snider's Songs For The Daily Planet LP (on which can be found the excellent Talkin' Seattle Grungerock Blues - not actually Superman related, but a damned good song anyway) and XTC as Dukes of Stratosphere with Braniac's Daughter. Says Andy Partridge:

Brainiac is the character in the Superman comics, the evil genius with the green skin and the sort of lightbulb screwed in his head. He was like a Martian Lex Luthor and I thought he'd be a wonderful psychedelic subject to write about, and his potential daughter: I don't think he had one but if he had she would have been, well, colorful, mauve and purple

(XTC proper also gave us That's Really Super, Supergirl and, of course, the amazing Sgt. Rock Is Going To Help Me.)

Me, I'm with Gil Scott Heron. There ain't no such thing as Superman.



The third big DC hero is Wonder Woman, but aside from her infamous theme tune, the only song I could find was by Elvis Costello and Allen Toussaint, from the River In Reverse album. Couldn't find it anywhere on'tinternet though.

Other DC heroes that crop up in songs include Aquaman (in One Week by Barenaked Ladies)...

Hold it now and watch the hoodwink,
As I make you stop, think.
You'll think you're looking at Aquaman.
I summon fish to the dish,
Although I like the Chalet Suisse.
I like the sushi 'cause,
It's never touched a frying pan.

(Aquaman can talk to fish, see. Now that's a super power to be proud of.)

...and Green Lantern, who pops up (along with that other bloke, again) in Donovan's Sunshine Superman...

Superman or Green Lantern ain't got a-nothin' on me
I can make like a turtle and dive for your pearls in the sea, yeah!

(Maybe Donovan is secretly Aquaman?) Rickie Lee Jones does a nice laid back version of that one too.

Speaking of Green Lantern, I understand this year's big waste-your-pocket-money crossover event from DC involves lots of different coloured Lanterns running around causing chaos - Red and Yellow and Black Lanterns... but they've yet to reveal a Grey Lantern. Perhaps Mansun beat them to it.

Ray Davies was obviously a DC fan. Not only do the Kinks Wish I Could Fly (Like Superman), they've also brought us odes to Johnny Thunder and Plastic Man (originally a Quality Comics character, but integrated into the DC Universe by the time the Kinks had their hit).



Other lesser known DC heroes include Jack Kirby's Challengers (Of The Unknown) (by the New Pornographers), Cliff Steele, aka Robot Man from the Doom Patrol (possibly not the same one The Aliens are singing about here) and Jack Knight, Starman (obviously not the inspiration for this particular song, but any excuse for a bit of Bowie).

Oh, and Matter Eater Lad, by Guided By Voices. Yes, Matter Eater Lad. Show them a barrel and DC will scrape it.

But without any doubt, the best song ever written about any DC Comics character is this one. Especially as it isn't just a tenuous link, the whole song really is an ode to the superhero in question. Many thanks to Nige for making me aware of Jim's Big Ego and The Ballad of Barry Allen (aka The Flash... though the Ballad of Wally West would have been even better)...

Why Would You Want To Sound Like U2?

I had a hell of a day at work yesterday. I'd been drinking from a big can of moron soup all afternoon. I needed to get out and listen to some loud rock 'n' roll.


Luckily, I had a ticket for Art Brut at the Cockpit in Leeds. Job done.

Yes, a ticket. Though I prefer to go to gigs with a mate, I've no problem going by myself. I go for the music, not some big social outing. Mostly though, when you go to gigs by yourself, you do tend to stick out like a sore thumb. It's not like going to the cinema on your own (though I know some people get weird about that too) because there's a lot of standing around at gigs, waiting for the band to come on. That's when you stand out.

Great thing about an Art Brut gig though - you won't be the only loner. I counted about ten of us, a whole wall of billy no-mates... but it really doesn't matter at an Art Brut gig, because the whole place is full of Freaks 'n' Geeks. We are the children of Eddie Argos (even though he's actually 8 years my junior) for the duration of that gig, and being a loser is something to be proud of in that company.

Art Brut's third (Frank Black produced) album, Art Brut Vs. Satan, is all about not fitting in. Having been booted out by EMI after their last release failed to trouble the charts, Art Brut now have an outsider record label (well, almost*) to suit their outsider image. Are they bitter?

"How am I supposed to sleep at night when nobody likes the music I write?" Eddie asks on one track, concluding "The record buying public shouldn't be voting!"

"Slapdash for no cash - those are the records I like" goes another, "Why is everyone trying to sound like U2? That's not a very cool thing to do."

The truth is though, Art Brut would be ruined if they hit the big time, no matter how Eddie dreams of writing the theme tune to the new Top Of The Pops, or reminds us on his debut single rallying cry Formed A Band, "We're gonna write a song as universal as Happy Birthday that makes sure everybody knows that everything is going to be OK". It's a nice aspiration, but if they ever realised it, Art Brut just wouldn't be the same.

"My sex is on fire," Eddie deadpans to drive home his frustrated ambition, "My sex - isonfire. Mysexis - onfire. Am I human, or am I dancer? Mysexisonfire!"

No guys, you stick with what you do best. Punk anthems for losers everywhere... like the new album's chock full of. Tracks like The Passenger, which takes the rock 'n' roll "life in the fast lane" cliche and tips it on its head as Eddie confesses, "Some people hate the bus, not me - I can't get enough!" Tracks like What A Rush in which Eddie confesses to the grubbiness of one night stands while the rest of the band chant, "Parents, please - lock up your daughters! His rebellious henchman is giving the orders!" And tracks like Am I Normal? which recalls early single Emily Kane in revealing another of Eddie's high school romances in all-too-real detail...

"Another time I overheard you saying you were going into town
And at the time, I lived right in between two towns and I wasn't quite sure which one you meant
So I bought a bus pass and went to both of them and tried to look for you everywhere
And when I finally saw you in WH Smith, I got scared...
Deep breath, stay calm - try and hide those sweaty palms
I can't get no satisfaction, I've got an itch I can't stop scratching"

A loser? Maybe. But Eddie Argos is the closest his generation gets to a Morrissey or Jarvis Cocker, and for that I'll always love him. Just like Modern Art does to Eddie, Art Brut... makes me... want to ROCK OUT!



*I was going to post the video for the new single Alcoholics Unanimous, however some bizarre record company decision has ruled it unavailable to view in the UK... so here's My Little Brother instead.

Wolverine: All Claws, No Blood

So then, X-Men Origins: Wolverine. (Or X-Men 4 as my local fleapit would have it. Surely if you want to put a number on it, its X-Men -1?)

Better than Ghost Rider, Elektra, the two Fantastic Four films, and X-Men 3.

Not as good as any of the Spidey films (not even 3 - though I'm obviously biased), Iron Man, or the first two X-Mens.

Probably on a par then with Incredible Hulk, Daredevil, or... oh all right then, Spider-Man 3.

Many of you will probably consider this to be damning it with faint praise. And you'd probably be right.

Despite being a Marvel zombie, my knowledge of Wolverine (and most of the X-Men universe) is patchy. I read the Claremont / Byrne issues (and stuck with it through most of the 80s, at least until Marc Silvestri came on board) but didn't get back into the X-world until Grant Morrison came on board. I've probably got at least a ten year gap in my X-knowledge, so I didn't really know who John Wraith or Agent Zero or Bolt or Silver Fox were, but fortunately the movie did a perfectly adequate job of explaining them. Wade Wilson's early appearance chimed with what I knew of Deadpool - in fact, Ryan Reynolds was (incredibly) the best part of the film. Which makes what happens at the end somewhat puzzling.

The biggest complaint I'd have is that the director took a kind of kiddy-friendly A-Team approach to the violence, so despite adamantium claws and sabretooth fingernails and huge fucking sword appendages flying all over the place, less than a test tube of actual blood was spilt in the whole film. I swear there was more blood in Spider-Man 2, and nobody had any claws in that. Maybe they're scared of some kind of Daily Mail Knife Crime Horror!!! reaction, but they played it so safe at times it was almost Wolverine: Manicured.

Jackman was good (not perfect) as always, though despite star billing, there were times when a plethora of new mutants made it seem like just another team film (particularly in the post-credits Team X section). Liev Schrieber was a far better Sabretooth than that wrestler bloke, but that's not exactly difficult. Gambit was, is, and always has been one of the worst ideas for a superhero ever, and I'm glad to say the movie did absolutely nothing to redeem him.

That's about it. I'm going to see it again on Monday (ha!) so I'll let you know if it's one that reveals hidden depths second time round...