UTILITY FISH SHED

Cookie

2008-03-09T18:55:00.004Z

Bye for now!

2006-01-19T13:28:00.000Z

For awhile, goodness knows how long, this site will remain closed for business.
We may be back, we may not. Thank's for all your comments and nice words
but for now, GOODBYE!

(you will find Cocaine Jesus on www.fishywords.blogspot.com)

CARPE DIEM (ANNABELLE CLIPPINGER)

2006-01-13T16:13:00.000Z

SINEW: LINES

caught in muscle a mood

in a body’s moves a tablet of memory

so what is slid into a bin is the body’s candle of deemed refuse

where nebulae is the marbling of meat hung along a lacework of muscle, stars

gaseous clouds an animal’s membranes on a celestial hook,

dignified by roses as set upon a grave, in this bin

discards loosened from the skin now mean the past is a set of dreams

swirling in the path of a diamond, heedless

emboldened by what is past the path of reason

or known to be exact, like the contours of a body, defined as “maternal structures”

on the hoof, the lam, what is passing

a lament is laid upon the landscape in the shadows of a landfill

bright regardless of what is projected by the poet

all the rain washes this trash

sacrifices offered at the abattoir, incense burned

an appetite for the sacred

LIFE IN THE SHED (Thumbscrews Variant Party Parade)

2006-01-09T21:16:00.000Z

Try spotting the ones who aren't drunk!!!!

Not easy is it?

The answer?

Why moir of course!

CARPE DIEM (Philip Larkin)

2006-01-04T08:56:00.000Z

THIS BE THE VERSE

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.

They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were sloppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can
And don't have any kids yourself.

words by Philip Larkin

2005-12-15T21:51:00.000Z

WE ARE
OFF ON
HOLIDAY
SEE YOU
IN THE
NEW YEAR
HAPPY X-MAS ONE AND ALL

LIFE IN THE SHED (NIGHT OUT ...seems so long ago)

2005-12-09T20:32:00.000Z

CARPE DIEM (Dorothy Parker)

2005-12-06T14:40:00.000Z

Unfortunate Coincidence

By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying –
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.

Dorothy Parker

THE THIEF OF RAGE

2005-11-30T11:15:00.000Z

So, there we have it. Straight out of the papal horses mouth. Did I say papal horse or should I really be saying the papal arse?

Some gay priests are gayer than others apparently and those 'less gay' priests, the ones who either think about it less or haven't shagged a choir boy in the last three years, will be allowed back into the fold as regular full time holy priests. The other sort, the real dyed in the wool, cassock lifting, fudge packing, bum bandits will not , (tell me if I am missing something here?), as they cannot be cured of the foul transgression that is commonly known as Homosexuality.

What a croc of shit.

The pope and all his crucifix buddies should wake up to the fact that this is the 21st century and that we all are far more liberal in our attitudes and less willing to be shackled to the tired and worn out dogma and pointless ritual that the church, with all its stolen festivals, would have us tethered to.

Time for man to grow up maybe and take responsibility for his own actions rather than having it sanctioned and ratified by organised faith.

LIFE IN THE SHED

2005-11-29T07:15:00.000Z

We hit the Harry Potter trail on Friday. Crablocker and I, along with Squid and Tweezil went to see the latest Harry Potter film. "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire". It was of course excellent and we all enjoyed it even if it was a trifle long weighing in at two and a half hours long. Not as long as the "Lord of the Rings" of course but still long enough.
Great to see British stories make it to film and then going on to become the biggest selling films of all time.
The Harry Potter franchise.
The Lord of the Rings Trilogy.
And now of course The Tales of Narnia (lets hope Disney get it right).

Saturday some friends came over who we hadn't seen in awhile. Good to see them again after such a time. We prepared Mexican cuisine which, in my humble opinion, is second only to Italian.
Conversations flew in circles the way conversations amongst friends does but the world seemed the same on Sunday morning so I guess that all our curing of the worlds ills didn't work.

Jimbob telephoned. As you may recall he and his troop were the leading lights of all the recent Royal Marine Commandos recruits. Uh, Oh. Not any more. Apparently they wore the wrong shirts whilst out on exercises.
Punishment?
Oh boy, yes.
Dumped in the sea off of the coast of Exeter at a time of year when to say the least it is bloody freezing. Left there for twenty minutes and then, for the rest of the week they had to camp out on the moors.
Sod that for a game of soldiers (excuse the pun).

CARPE DIEM (Hillaire Belloc)

2005-11-25T12:52:00.000Z

Discovery

Life is a long discovery, isn’t it?
You only get your wisdom bit-by-bit.
If you have luck you’ll find in early youth
How dangerous it is to tell the truth.
And next you learn how dignity and peace
Are the ripe fruit of patient avarice.
You find that middle life goes racing past
You find despair and at the very last
You find as you are giving up the ghost
That those who loved you best
Despised you most.

Hillaire Belloc

THUMBSCREWS MEDICAL MISSIVES

2005-11-24T15:27:00.000Z

Strictly off the record, on the Q.T and with no confidences broken here is another Medical Missive . . .

One of the alarming facts of life that I get to hear of from my hospitals A&E department are the number of males that come in with various objects shoved up their bottoms.
Pens.
Tools.
Bottles.
Even whole apples.

One gentleman was even asked how three apples had got inside his rectum. His reply was that he had swallowed them. Whole?

Other bizarre occurrences have been the occasional chap who calmly walks in with a vacuum cleaner attached to his penis.

Is it only the males of this planet could behave so oddly?

Thumbscrew

LIFE IN THE SHED

2005-11-21T06:54:00.000Z

The weekend sped by. Warp factor eight and increasing.

Squids room is all done bar the shouting. She seems to be happy with it so that is something positive I guess.

Jimbob has received a fistful of more accolades that I won't bang on about or bore you with here apart from saying he is the number one recruit and his troop is the number one troop. (Well according to his Mum anyway).

Took Tweezil out on Friday to see the new Zorro film. Catherine Zetta Jones was (hormones talking here) fantastic. The film was OK. Tweezil loved it so that was good.

Saturday we (Squidy, Tweezil 'n me) took my Mum out. She enjoys the simple act of shopping and treats it like an artform. Mulling over dishes and towels as though they were creations of Sigma Polke. Enthusing with enough passion to fill a bathtub. We got a free meal (lunch) with loads of hot chocolate to drink so everyone was happy.

Saturday evening Crablocker and I went out with a couple of friends, Martin and Elaine to one of Jamie Oliver's Mum and Dad's restaurants. Plates the size of dustbins lids and portions to fit. Too big for me and mine but M & E were happy (and full) afterwards.

Sunday we took of at about 3 and headed up to the Smoke. We all love London. Love walking down the southbank past the Tate and the millennium wheel. We stopped and had coffee outside whilst everyone passing thought we were mad as it was bloody freezing but we are British after all and the idea of sitting outside wrapped up in our winter clothes seemed fun. Then at 7 we met up with another couple of friends, Shazli and Afsheen, and ate at an Italian restaurant. I love that food. Best in the world. (Ask Squirrel).

Christmas is fast approaching and it looks like next weekend is going to be a shopping marathon.

Can't wait!

Squid doing her best to ignore me!

CARPE DIEM (Billy Collins)

2005-11-11T11:09:00.000Z

Litany

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine...
Jacques Crickillon

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blwoing down an alley,
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I am not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--
the wine.

words by Billy Collins

LIFE IN THE SHED

2005-11-09T16:34:00.000Z

Squid has had to do, for a school project, a series of job's around the house. From cleaning and tidying her room. To ironing and putting the washing on to making tea. All of this has to be photographed and for a binder presentation.

Here are some of those pictorial results . . .

And here is Tweezil cowering in terror preparing for a beating that I am about to administer . . .

And here is the reason for the beating. An untidy bedroom is punishable by death . . .

We have had a mixed and strange week. My boss had to fly out to Australia as his girlfriend was involved in a serious car accident. So serious that one of the people involved in the accident was killed. A truly dreadful business that has left a huge mental scar on someone comparitively decent and sweet natured.

Secondly my Mum was rushed into hospital with what appeared to be chest and stomach pains. The paramedics were concerned it was a heart attack. Thank god it was only gall stones.

Jimbob came home on leave on Friday and it was great to see him. Well, we didn't see that much of him to tell the truth as Friday night and Saturday night he was out with his mates sinking a few pints. Saturday he stayed in bed until gone one.

Sunday I drove him to Paddington station to see him off. Good lad. Love him loads.

We celebrated Guy Fawkes night with our normal 'set fire to the garden' bonfire. There is something about 'bonnys' and fire in general that is strangely comforting. Must be the pagan in me. Unfortunately, the photos, for some strange and unknown reason didn't come out.

Oh well, next year maybe.

PS. HAPPY BIRTHDAY SQUID!!! FIFTEEN TODAY!!!

THUMBSCREWS MEDICAL MISSIVES

2005-11-07T08:07:00.000Z

Strictly off the record, on the Q.T and with no confidences broken here is another Medical Missive . . .

I thought that this might be of interest.

Trust me, it is a real photo of a man who came off of his motor cycle and impalled himself via his anus on this large tree branch.

OUCH!

posted by Thumbscrew

CARPE DIEM (Simon Armitage)

2005-11-04T10:40:00.000Z

KX

Northerner, this is your stop. This longhouse
of echoing echoes and sooted glass,
this goth pigeon hangar, this diesel roost
is the end of the line. Brace and be brisk,
commoner, carry your heart like an egg
on a spoon, be fleet through the concourse, primed
for that point in time when the world goes bust,
when the unattended holdall or case
unloads its cache of fanaticized heat.

Here’s you after the fact, found by torchlight,
being-less, heaped, boned of all thought and sense.
The camera can barely look. Or maybe,
just maybe, you live. Here’s you on the News,
shirtless, minus a limb, exiting smoke
to a backdrop of red melt, onto streets
paved with gilt, begging a junkie for help.

words by Simon Armitage

TWEEZILS TASTY TREATS

2005-11-01T10:28:00.000Z

CARPE DIEM (Carol Ann Duffy)

2005-10-30T10:31:00.000Z

Small Female Skull

With some surprise, I balance my small female skull in my hands.
What is it like? an ocarina? Blow in its eye.
I cannot cry, hold my breath only as long as I exhale,
mildly alarmed now, into the hole where the nose was,
press my ear to its grin. A vanishing sigh.

For some time, I sit on the lavatory seat with my head
in my hands, appalled. It feels much lighter than I'd thought,
the weight of a deck of cards, a slim volume of verse,
but with something else, as though it could levitate. Disturbing.
So why do I kiss it on the brow, my warm lips to its papery bone,

and take it to the mirror to ask for a gottle of geer?
rinse it under the tap, watch dust run away, like sand
from a swimming-cap, then dry it - firstborn - gently
with a towel. I see the scar where I fell for sheer love
down treacherous stairs, and read that shattering day like braille.

Love, I murmur to my skull, then, louder, other grand words,
shouting the hollow nouns in a white tiled room.
Downstairs they will think I have lost my mind. No, I only weep
into these two holes here, or I'm grinning back at the joke,this is
a friend of mine. See, I hold her face in trembling passionate hands.

words by Carol Ann Duffy

2005-10-28T10:07:00.000Z

MUSIC TO GROW OLD TO has moved due to overcrowding here>>>>>>

>>>>>>>it can now be found at>>>>>

www.fishysongs.blogspot.com

THUMBSCREWS MEDICAL MISSIVES

2005-10-27T08:28:00.000Z

Strictly off the record. On the Q.T and without breaking any confidences here is the latest medical gossip.

Last Friday at my hospital a young man was brought into A&E with a golf ball washing device attached to his scrotum.
The young chap wasn't fanatical about his personal hygiene but had thought the device might bring him dark and erotic delights.

Unfortunately the only thing it did was to remove one of his testicles.

Another ball lost in the rough?

Thumbscrew

LIFE IN THE SHED

2005-10-25T08:29:00.000Z

The weekend was a series of paint brushes and colour matching pots.

Of sanding down wood and walls and filling holes and dents made from using blunt edged toys to liberally.

I hate decorating. Or rather I hate the preparation that goes before the putting on of colours. All that dirt and dust and mucking about leaves me uttertly cold and wanting to run for the nearest bottle of Shiraz. However, having said all that, the unwritten law that exists between us (THE PARENTS and them (THE CHILDREN) is that upon reaching fifteen we give their kingdom bedrooms a makeover. A makeover to end all makeovers. The mother of makeovers that will last them through their wild teenage years and into the early tweenties by which time they will have moved out and started their own homes.

Well, that's the theory.

Squid is fiften on November the 9th and so we (ME) are getting her bedroom sorted out. Not just the painting and decorating you understand but also NEW furntiture. NEW bed. NEW wardrobe. New cabinets. NEW desk.

The NEW stuff was delivered by Waitrose and it is of the self assembly.

I hate self assembly furniture more than I hate decorating. The bloody instructions are flipping useless and might as well be written in Arabic or Braille for all the info they impart. Besides, I never read the damn things anyway and therefore we always end up with some mutant form of alien engineering that neither resembles bedroom furniture or any other kind of human furniture at all.

I managed to fit two bedside cabinets together and then attempted a glass desk. Had to give up when I couldn't make the rubber doodang fit into the metal socketsprocket doohickey.

Squid is natuarally excited by the whole prospect and so I have to keep a lid on my prickly nature and not explode into a temper outburst and throw the damn thing through the window!

Now then, where did I put that screwdriver?

TWEEZILS TASTY TREATS

2005-10-23T10:14:00.000Z

For further viewing please go to . . .

Pretty In Pink

CARPE DIEM (Andrea Shavick)

2005-10-21T14:53:00.000Z

HENRIETTA BAT

Henrietta Bat

Thought she was a cat

She caught a little mouse

And brought it in the house

She nibbled off its head

To make sure it was dead

Then she licked off all the mud

And sucked out all its blood

‘Yum, yum!’ sang Henrietta

‘I’ve never tasted better.

This is the life for me

A mouse a day for tea!’
But Henrietta’s luck

Ran out when she got stuck.

She couldn’t move at all….

The cat-flap was too small

Suddenly she spied

Six shining little eyes

It was the mouse’s mother

His sister, and his brother

Henrietta shrieked

As they nibbled off her feet

She screamed and sobbed and cried

As they nipped out both her eyes
So learn from Henrietta Bat

Never try and be a cat

Andrea Shavick

La Bande Dessinee

2005-10-20T10:59:00.000Z

La Bande Dessinee (the comic book thingy) has moved from these hallowed pages and now floats in its own blogging orbit . . .

www.fishycomics.blogspot.com

Only for the discerning blogger!

LIFE IN THE SHED (Jimbob Badfinger and Thumbscrew Hit the Jackpot)

2005-10-18T07:10:00.000Z

The phone call on Friday night nailed home the bone hard truth.
Jimbob Badfinger is not the failure that he has always thought he was.
Fact is, and it is a bright and glittery fact too, he is as sharp as a new pin.
Having spent the first few and formative years in the shadow of his older sibling it was certainly time for him to step into the spotlight and shake those tail feathers.

And man alive did he do it in style!

As you all know he has signed up with The Royal Marine Commandos for a three and a half year period and is currently training down in Lympstone, near Exeter. It is tough. Both physically and mentally and he is, at this stage, leading all his troop mates in virtually every discipline.

That however, isn't what has got us all excited.

Among the many 'torments' that the Marine trainees have to do there is also the academic qualifications. Maths and English feature as does Military History.

Out of ALL the members of his troop my son (Yep, here I am chest expanded and puffed up proud) got a staggering 96% for his Military History examination. The nearest Marine recruit to Jimbob scored an impressive 91% but hey, that is a whole 5% off of my boy.

Good or what?

So then, we spent the weekend walking up to strangers in Tesco and Waitrose and passing on our wonderful news. (It really should have been featured on The News at Ten)!!!

Just as all this amazing news sinks in, yesterday, Monday, was Thumbscrews Graduation evening.
Mortar hats and gowns and all that palaver.
She got a 2.1 in her degree and we all went along to see her receive her certificate.

What we, and she, didn't know was the out of all the students who received a special award, (Yes, Thumbscrew was among the very top of the achievers), was that out of thirteen students she, and two others were awarded a Discretionary Award for Outstanding Academic Achievement!

Bloody hell! My little girl. Not only top of the class but top of the best!

My oh my, Son and Daughter gaining such prestigious awards and both within days of each other too. I think my head or heart might explode.

Hmmmm, on second thoughts that might not be such a good idea as that would be a trifle messy.

TWEEZIL'S TASTY TREATS

2005-10-16T19:21:00.000Z

CARPE DIEM (D.H.Lawrence)

2005-10-14T06:22:00.000Z

People

I like people quite well
at a little distance.
I like to see them passing and passing
and going their own way,
especially if I see their aloneness alive in them.
Yet I don't wan't them to come near.
If they will only leave me alone
I can still have the illusion that there is room enough in the
world.

words by D.H.Lawrence

MUSIC TO GROW OLD TO (John Lennon, Oasis, Elbow)

2005-10-12T07:49:00.000Z

This Month it is John Lennon's 65th birthday. The fact that he has been dead for the past twenty five years hasn't dented his reputation or indeed his legend one bit.

Whether he is the genius and, as voted for by the BBC's recent poll, the greatest musician of the last century, is still up for debate. His impact on modern music isn't.

For me he is the single reason that I became so passionate about music.

The Beatles were fab. We all know that, infact they were THE Fabs. The fab four. The mop tops. The lads from next door who conquered the world. Not to belittle the major input of McCartney or to reduce George Harrison's incredible talent to third place BUT it was Lennon, who in the early days, was the engine room that pushed their combined talent to the fore.

His voice was, and still is, THE voice of Rock 'n Roll. Primitive, raw, powerful. His nasal twang had the rootsy, gritty edge that people like Noddy Holder, Ozzy Osbourne and of course Liam Gallagher copied.

We will have endless conversations about which particular Beatle wrote which particular type of song. McCartney did the ballads. Harrison did the weird eastern stuff and Lennon was the aggressive experimentalist.
Bollocks.
They link between the three was far more subtle and confused than that.

Was Lennon a genius? Well, he wrote Girl and Norwegian Wood and I am the Walrus, so you make your minds up on that front but for certain, Oasis owe him one BIG debt of thanks.

1. I am the Walrus by OASIS

Of all the music that they have created in the past ten years this is by far the best of their up and down career.
Lets be honest, they are at best a 'covers' band and as good as some of their songs have been there is always a feeling of plagiarism.
This song, recorded live, has an element of Beatles meets Pistols with its feed back squall of sound and Liam's fantastic voice growling out the words at a furious speed and with all the acid and vitriol that Lennon would have been proud of.
Like with virtually all of the Beatle covered material, few of those covers even come close to matching the original.
This one does and admirably so.

2. Working Class Hero by ELBOW

One of the bands to follow in the wake of Radiohead and Coldplay, Elbow have produced some amazing music in recent years. This cover of Lennon's 1970 song from the John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band album is a staggering piece of music and just like the Oasis cover dares to challenge the original.

somber and slow like a death march with typaniesque type drums, this tune throbs its way into your head with a sullen footstep. Although slower than Lennon's own it still contains an equal amount of bile. It is still angry and the anger bristles with a potency and venom that fuels the listeners passions.

It isn't the rage of punk. Loud and furious, but rather a sniper with crosshair sights aimed straight at the moral high ground.

Blistering in its intensity.

3. Instant Karma by JOHN LENNON/PLASTIC ONO BAND

For a brief three years, from 1969 through 'till '72, Lennon was the ex-Beatle to watch, or rather listen to. Sure McCartney released his excellent eponymous first album and George released his equally excellent "All Things Must Pass" but it was Lennon who had the edge.

He released a hatful of great and classic singles and two fantastic albums.

His first 'solo' album "John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band" removed the Beatle polish and revealed a man who was hurt, pained and bruised. It did this in a very paired down fashion without any of the fabs gloss. It was and still is in my humble opinion the only ex-Beatle album to have matched their halcyon heights. Daring and brave.

It was a choice for me between this or 'Mother' or 'Cold Turkey' but I went for this thumping tune.

Full of all the things that we expect from Lennon. Melodic and aggressive with a mesmerising chorus.

"and we all shine on

like the moon and the stars and the sun

and well all shine on

everyone"

Well, for sure John Lennon's legend still shines on.

LIFE IN THE SHED

2005-10-10T12:52:00.000Z

Mummy Cocaine and baby Jesus

Big Grammy and Thumscrew

Amy 'Turtleback' and Tweezil

Squid and those damn Playstation stuff

Squid 'borrowing' a DVD from Tweezil's room. (Shush! Keep it quiet)

TWEEZIL'S TASTY TREATS

2005-10-09T19:14:00.000Z

CARPE DIEM (Edward Lucie-Smith)

2005-10-07T08:51:00.000Z

'Your father's gone,' my bald headmaster said.
His shiny dome and brown tobacco jar
Splintered at once in tears. It wasn't grief.
I cried for knowledge which was bitterer
Than any grief. For there and then I knew
That grief has uses - that a father dead
Could bind the bully's fist a wee or two;
And then I cried for shame, then for relief.

I was a month past ten when I learn't this:
I still remember how the noise was stilled
In school-assembly when my grief came in.
Some goldfish in a bowl quietly sculled
Around their shining prison on its shelf.
They were indifferent. All the other eyes
Were turned towards me. Somewhere in myself
Pride, like a goldfish, flashed a sudden fin.

Edward Lucie-Smith

More from the pages of the Eagle

2005-10-06T16:26:00.000Z

LA BANDE DESSINEE (UK Comics part four Frank Hampson, The Eagle and Dan Dare)

2005-10-03T15:38:00.000Z

The name Frank Hampson has become synonomous with not one character but also the comic that the famed character came from. Dan Dare and The Eagle are to fifties Britain what Superman was to forties USA. A landmark creation from the Golden age of British comics.

Frank Hampson was born in Manchester on 21st December 1918. Frank left school at fourteen to become a telegraph boy with the GPO. With his father's help he was admitted to life classes at the local art school, Victoria College of Arts and Science, where he later enrolled for a diploma in design course in 1938.

He enlisted in the army during World War Two and was amongst the soldiers who were evacuated from Dunkirk.

Although an army man, Frank always wanted to be in the RAF and fly as a pilot. A significant sign of his later intent?

Frank married in 1944 to Dorothy Mabel Jackson and in 1947 enrolled at The Southport School of Arts and Crafts. The course was to study and learn illustration.

One of his tutors at the School later said that 'Hampson was an outstanding draughtsman who was prepared to go to endless trouble to get a thing right'.

This desire for perfection would prove to be his signature on the Dan Dare series.

Frank's lucky break came when he met Marcus Morris, a local parson, who wanted Frank to draw and illustrate the local parish magazine. Morris felt that the christian message was not hard hitting enough nor was it reaching a wide enough audience and therefore he wanted to create a national magazine.
During this time American 'Horror' comics, primarily published by EC Comics, were flooding the British market. They certainly had an effect upon the good reverend Morris who was literally horrified by their content. Morris's vision was to publish a clean cut, with a christian bias, boys comic magazine. Together with Hampson they devised a character, originally to be a pastor, called Dan Dare. A futuristic 'Biggles' type space pilot.

The Original 'Pastor' Dare version.

The Eagle was launched on 14th April 1950 with Marcus Morris as editor and with Frank Hampson as its primary artist. It was very much of its time and captured the hearts and imaginations of its target audience; namely boys from about ten to fifteen. It contained no superheroes, no violence and absolutely no horror. It was pure, clean cut adventure strips with a christian undertone. It was also immaculately presented and quite easily knocked spots off of any of its UK competitors. In fact there were few other publications in the world at the time that could compare to its lush and exquiste drawings.

For eleven years the Eagle, with its household name hero, ruled the UK roost. There quite simply wasn't any thing out there to touch it. In 1961 however, Hampson left the strip and although it struggled on under many an accomplished artist, the strip no longer had the audience that it once did.

The comic was eventually incorporated into other publications but eventually disappeared entirely. Its main character, however, just wouldn't go away.

As with all great fictional characters be the set in works of literature or cinema or indeed comic books they all need a great supporting cast of heroes, villains and exotic landscapes. Dan Dare was surrounded by a varying cast of characters, which consisted of Col. Daniel McGregor Dare, chief pilot of the Interplanet Space Fleet. His lean-faced character was immediately recognizeable by the outer tips of his eyebrows, which were always wavy. and by the square edged jaw that jutted proudly from his chin.
Digby (Albert Fitzwilliam Digby) was Dan's batman. Rotund and sometimes bumbling, he provided much of the comic relief. He was a fiercely loyal sidekick, and the only character apart from Dan to appear in every story.
Sir Hubert Guest, Controller of the Space Fleet, would send Dan on missions, and occasionally accompany him. He was a veteran space pilot, having been on the first mission to the Moon and led the first mission to Mars.
Professor Jocelyn Mabel Peabody, the only major female character, was the brains behind many of the team's most inventive plans. (Nothing new there then).
Hank Hogan and Pierre Lafayette, an American and Frenchman respectively, were reknown as two of the Fleet's best space pilots.
Sondar was a Treen, an alien, reptilian inhabitant from northern Venus. Originally a bad guy and ex-servant of the Mekon, he turned traitot when Dan spared his life during a traumatic episode that also caused his first experience of strong emotion.

The Mekon, one of my all time favourite villains who was the super-intelligent ruler of the Treens, and also Dan Dare's arch-enemy.

It was a rich cast drawn by a master draughtsmen, and his team, that involved them in story's that were both multi layered and complex whilst still being fun to read.

Fashions come and go and with the passage of time, and the arrival of the Marvel way of doing things, Dan Dare and his series, along with the Eagle went the way of all loss making comics. But you cannot keep a good man, or character down, and Dan Dare has resurfaced again and again over the years. Most recently as a computer generated animated TV series.

For me though, as good as the modern TV stories may be they will never be a match for those halcyon fifties days.

Dan Dare and The Eagle are best described as the epitome of British comic creativity and even with the glory that has proven to be 2000AD, nothing quite matches those far flung fifties high times

TWEEZILS TINY TREATS

2005-10-02T19:33:00.000Z

CARPE DIEM (Adrian Mitchell)

2005-09-30T15:00:00.000Z

SONG ABOUT MARY

Mary sat on a long brown bench
Reading Woman’s Own and She.
Then a slimy-haired nit with stripes on his collar
Said: “What’s the baby’s name to be?”
She looked across to Marks and Spencers
Through the dirty window pane,
“I think I’ll call him Jesus Christ,
It’s time he came again.”
The clerk he banged his ledger
And he called the Cruelty Man
Saying: “This bird thinks she’s the mother of Christ,
Do what you bleeding well can.”
They took Mary down to the country
And fed her on country air,
And they put the baby in a Christian home
And he’s much happier there.
For if Jesus came to Britain
He would turn its dizzy head.
They’d nail him up on a telegraph pole
Or he’d raise the poor from the dead.
So if you have a little baby
Make sure it’s a legitimate child,
Bind down his limbs with insurance and a mortgage
And he’ll grow up meek and mild.
Meek and mild.., meek and mild.., meek and mild.

Adrian Mitchell

MUSIC TO GROW TO OLD TO

2005-09-28T07:44:00.000Z

tHere ain't HalF BEEN somE CLevER bASTaRdS

1. wHAT A wASTE by Ian Dury and The Blockheads

He used to call himself the Upminster Kid.

He wasn't.

I am. Born and bred there.

Point of fact he was born in Harrow in Middlesex of a middle class Irish mother and a working class Dad.

Second point of fact, he was one of the greatest songwriters to have come out of these green and pleasant realms. When people speak of Lennon and McCartney and Ray Davies and Morrisey and the

many other much vaunted English talents who have given such pleasure over the years then please make sure that they count this man amongst them.

OK, so Elvis Costello is capable of twisting verbs inside out. Dylan can spin out words like a surrealistic dictionary and Ian Dury can chuck words around like an East End costamonger spinning china plates.

"I could be a lawyer with stratagems and ruses

I could be a doctor with poultices and bruises

I could be a writer with a growing reputation

I could be the ticket man at Fulham Broadway station"

If his singing voice wasn't quite up to scratch (I thought it was bloody excellent myself) then his miracle word juggling more than made up for it. That and his razor sharp wit that could trap and capture and represent a moment in song.

He used his love of vaudeville to great effect and coupled this love to his other passion, music.

"I could be the catalyst that sparks the revolution

I could be an inmate in a long-term institution

I could lead to wide extremes, I could do or die

I could yawn and be withdrawn and watch them gallop by"

I could have selected any number of songs, especially from that classic album "New Boots and Panties" or maybe from "Do it Yourself" or "Mister Love Pants" but this song really gets to the roots of the man.

It sums him up in proper style.

"Because I chose to play the fool in a six-piece band

First night nerves every one night stand

I should be glad to be so inclined

What a waste! What a waste!

But I don't mind"

2. Biko by PETER GABRIEL

I was never a big fan of Genesis. Certainly not whilst Peter Gabriel was their frontman. Oh, sure, they were huge and he was wildly creative and so very theatrical but they simply weren't my cuppa.
Sorry.
The first thing that really caught my imagination was, naturally enough, "Solsbury Hill". A brilliant song about his leaving Genesis and guaranteed success behind to be able to persue his own
career. And what a career it has proven to be.
This song comes from his third album, still one of my favourites of his seven studio efforts (better check that with Londinium) and it deals with the brutal murder of Steve Biko.

Steve Biko was a a founder member of the Black consciousness movement in South Africa. As an outspoken voice of black Africans he became a torn in the side of the establishment and they claimed he was a terrorist. He was arrested under Section 6 of the Terrorism Act and was taken to Port Elizabeth where he was kept naked and chained. He was tortured by the police and he finally died about four week later whilst still in detention, aged 31.

Gabriel, incensed by this act of brutallity, sat down and composed this magnificent song.

"When I try to sleep at night
I can only dream in red
The outside world is black and white
With only one color dead"

The passion in this song flys like doves. Straight and true. And the genearl arrangement, with its huge sounding drums and the curious, yet somehow sypatico, use of bag pipes nails the song firmly where it is meant to hang, in the heart.

"You can blow out a candle
But you can't blow out a fire
Once the flames begin to catch
The wind will blow it higher"

The lyrics are far more direct and accessible than is usual for Peter's work but then again they needed to be. The song stirs the emotions with its slow throbbing drone that support the pained and plaintive vocals. It has a sound that I always associate with cathedrals. Sombre and lofty and deeply moving.
From a man who has produced a string of memorable songs this is one of the best.

"And the eyes of the world are

Watching now
Watching now"
.

3. Three Babies by SINEAD O'CONNOR

As Irish as shamrock. As beautiful as Ireland itself and with a voice to tear the heart out of god himself.

"Each of these

My three babies

I will carry with me

For myself

I ask no one else will be

Mother to these three"

She came into our lives, the mainstream certainly, on the back of Prince's fabulous "Nothing Compares to You". She had already reached the music press's eyes with her earlier album "The Lion and The Cobra" but it was this cover that made her the star she deserved to be.

"My blood and my bones

I have wrapped your cold bodies around me

The face on you

The smell of you

Will always be with me "

Sinead always reminds me, or rather the emotional content and delivery of her material, of Edith Piaf. Power. Passion. Lust and Love. Neatly captured and delivered with heavens own voice. An Irish voice. The voice of an angel.

This song resonates with me because at the time of its release my third child was born and having watched the miracle of birth, bemused and in total awe, as my wife pushed this living, breathing entity, covered in muck and blood into this brutal world, the words echoed again and again.

"Silenced me

Stilled me

Proved things I never believed

The face on you

The smell of you

Will always be with me"

Such infinite wisdom captured in a three minute song leaves anyone with any soul breathless at its supreme brilliance.

LIFE IN THE SHED

2005-09-27T07:43:00.000Z

Saturdays fly by don't they?

The weekend hits like a runaway truck with foam rubber bumpers and we all get carried along on the front end at a manic pace passing on the way the hours that disapear like motorway service stations.

Me 'n Squid 'n Tweezil, along with me Mum went shopping in Southend. As you know I bloody hate Southend. Town planners and Tesco type corporates have all but destroyed its olde worlde Victorian charm.

When I was young it was records and comics and playing subbuteo. Now, as far as Squidy is concerned, it is Platstation games. Funny thing is I can see them becoming, if they haven't already, collectables in their own right. Squid has flippin' loads of them and still wants more.

She is exactly like me in that, when I was her age, I used to browse for ages searching for the exact comic issue that I wanted or simply going through the local record shops stack of albums looking for the missing Beefheart, Bowie or Zappa.

I saw my Mum's eyes glaze over as the hours passed and thought, momentarily, that she had either gone into a Zen like trance filled with inner peace or had shuffled off her mortal coil (well she is 81) and had mummified (excuse the pun) in a standing position.

Eventually Squid gave up on getting any new games and bought instead two DVD's.

By this time I had spotted a few (dozen) CD's that are missing from my collection.
MUM!!

Good as gold my Mum bought these two, odd, albums. One by Robert Wyatt and the other a very old Mothers thing. It always makes me laugh, the thought of it, as my 81 year old Mum approaches the counter and says to the person serving, "May I have 'Weasels Ripped My Flesh' by The Mothers of Invention please dear?"

Makes you laugh don't it?

TWEEZILS WEIRD WONDERS

2005-09-24T19:49:00.000Z

MUSIC TO GROW OLD TO

2005-09-22T08:17:00.000Z

1. Sweet Dreams by THE EURTHYMICS

When Dave Stewart and Annie Lennox first formulated the concept of the Eurthymics, they both sat down and worked out , for the want of a better phrase, a manifesto.
A blueprint of musical ideas that would encompass all of their inspirations and influences and encapsculate it into one total sound.
The manifesto, when finished, was this.
A modern electronic sound that spoke of the eighties coupled with a taste of prime sixties Tamala Motown.

With Dave Stewarts naturally eclectic nature and Annie Lennox's pure and powerful soul voice the beasts personna was really fashioned by its own nature as much as it was a deciscion made over coffee and crumpets.

A string of noteworthy 'hits' followed.
This is one of my favourites.

"Sweet dreams are made of these
who am I to disagree
I travel the world and the seven seas
everybody is looking for something"

The song is the very embodiment of the brave and adventurous vision that the pair shared and unlike so much of the music that came out of this ineffective and thouroughly limp musical decade it sounds fresh and new and bold.
Still.

2.Running Up That Hill by KATE BUSH

Too often do the wise men and sages of the musical intelligensia refer to this person or that act as being genius.
It kinda makes you wonder if they really undestand the term at doesn't it?

Genius. One who is hugely talented?
I dunno.

Is Lennon more of genius than Dylan?
Is Zappa more of a genius than Beefheart?
Who defines the term anyway?

Kate Bush has great nipples. Yeah, yeah, yeah I know, that sounds sexist. It isn't. She is one of the greatest talents to come of of these green islands in many a year but the young man in me will never forget that incredible image of her windmilling her arms around like a demented dervish whilst singing in that sublime voice of hers, with its slight impediment, and those nipples doing things to my underpants.

She probably has more intelligence than the average pop singer/songwriter and uses her natural songwriting skills to unimaginable effect without ever forgetting that a song is only as good as its tune.
This tune sticks like the proverbial, and with an arrangement the even the greatest of the greats would envy.
But it isn't just her ability to produce great melodies that impresses, it is also her talent for writing such intruiging lyrics that capture the ear and mind. That and her 'envelope pushing attitude to music making.
She isn't scared of a challenge and all her back catalogue stands as a testament to that fact.

"Do you want to feel how it feels?
Do you want to know that it doesn't hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?
You, it's you and me.
And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building.
If I only could, oh... "

I enjoy ambiguous lyrics. Ones that invite you to think. And Oh boy does this song do that.

3. The Singles by THE BASEMENT JAXX

Now before someone enters a comment along the lines of 'This isn't a song it is a compilation album of their greatest hits', all I can say is, so sue me.

This is fun with a capital F and my eldest daughter has had this on repeat play since the darn thing came out and, by god, it really has done the job.

How can two guys make such an incredible noise? And with such of spirit of carefree abandonment.

Of all the songs on here, my favourite (an obvious choice I'm afraid) is 'Where's Your Head At?'.

How can anyone argue with that?

4. NOW HEAR THIS!!! NOW HEAR THIS!!!

Listen out for The Arctic Monkeys - Kate Bush's new single and album (single is fantastic) and finally Bedouin Soundclash.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

LIFE IN THE SHED

2005-09-20T11:20:00.000Z

Let us do a Doctor Who.

A spot of time travelling.

Back some four weeks ago to the 19th August.

Whilst we were on holiday Jimbob Badfinger skipped the nest and joined the Royal Marine Commandos. He signed up for a three year period. Not my choice and certainly not what I would have chosen for him but, having said all that, I am still very proud of him and have a huge respect for him. He does what very few people in life truly do and that is makes his own mind up and, whether I or anyone else likes it, he stands by his choices.

He came back for the weekend, Friday night 'till Sunday afternoon, and it was great to see him again. Bloody silly really to say that as he was only gone for four weeks but hell, you know what I mean.

He has lost weight and gained a six pack (AND NO I AM NOT JEALOUS) and looks fit and fine. His mental attitude seems to be growing to. More mature and responsible even if for the first few minutes after picking him up I thought that he had suddenly been diagnosed as having tourettes since he spent a large part of the journey home effing and blinding about one raw recruit who is wetter than a weekend in Wales. It was good to listen to his voice and to realise that the boy is gone and now beside me is a man. My equal in every respect.

It goes without saying that the weekend went too fast and no sooner had he arrived than it was time to go.

I drove him to Paddington. An easy silence settled upon us occassionally broken by a shared dark humour.

I stayed with him until the train pulled onto the platform not for his sake, he is big enough and ugly enough to take care of himself, but for me.
I wanted to be there.

Take good care son. Do what you have to. See you in seven weeks.

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

2005-09-18T20:10:00.000Z

"One joy dispels a hundred cares."

Confucius

TWEEZILS TRICKY BITS

2005-09-17T20:47:00.000Z

Tweezil has been doing a series of screen paintings. This is the first of many.

MUSIC TO GROW OLD TO (Thin Lizzy, Elvis Costello and the Attractions,

2005-09-15T09:10:00.000Z

"i'Ve gOT soUl bUt I'm nOt a sOlDiEr"

1. The Boys Are Back In Town by THIN LIZZY

Hey now, c'mon, Think about it. The seventies, unlike the sixties, did not suddenly explode like a supernova and flash across our lives but were more like a coaster ride that had a few dips as well as ups.
After the 'glam' boom with Bowie, TRex, Slade, Roxy etc we then went through a slight decline. There were a bunch of good guys who could play it right but largely they were bands or acts that struggled beneath the mainstream.

Thin Lizzy, somewhere around '75 to '76 were without a question of doubt the best live Rock 'n Roll act around and yes, I am including Queen in that estimation.

It was, however, that in 1976 that Thin Lizzy rose up to halcyon heights and suddenly reached a wider audience with the release of their album 'Jailbreak' and the single released form that album.

The single was of course 'The Boys Are Back In Town' and it smashed its way into the charts and then into our hearts.

Some would say it is Phil Lynott's finest song and it certainly captures his very Irish/Gypsy/Vagabond/Laddish heart admirably well with its almost conversational lyric that Lynott sings as though he were chatting to us down at our local pub.
That, along with the recent inclusion in the band of two great guitarist, both of whom played lead, gave it that sparkle and shine that lifted it above the crowd.
The two guitarist in question were Brian "Robbo" Robinson and Scott Gorman.
Twin leads were not an original idea as that was first done by Wishbone Ash but these two merged together into one incredible and sinuous whole that flowed over Lynotts base lines like mercury over black velvet.

It is with out a doubt a classic single from one of THE GREAT Rock bands.

2. (I don't want to go to) Chelsea by ELVIS COSTELLO & THE ATTRACTIONS

Without a shadow of a doubt Elvis Costello was, and still is in my book, one of the most important individuals to come out of any music scene but most certainly the punk/new wave movement specifically.

Intelligent, agressive, melodic, bitter, twisted, angry, pained and political Elvis Costello has it all and on this 1978 single from the album This Years Model he displays his skills with alarming and vitriolic ease.

He spits out this verbal diatribe, aimed at the West End fashioniasta, with a venom and lyrical bite that could curdle the blood at Emporia Armani and send dizzy headed fashion freaks running for cover.

His bitter bucolic attack is backed by one helluva backing band in The Attractions who manage a sparse reggae influenced accompaniment that rages behind the punk poets snarls.

"She gave a little flirt, gave herself a little cuddle

But there's no place here for the mini-skirt waddle

Capital punishment, she's last year's model

They call her Natasha when she looks like Elsie

I don't want to go to Chelsea"

Even now this song still has bite.

3. The Sunshine Underground by THE CHEMICAL BROTHERS

This fizzing little song, which lasts for about eight minutes, isn't a song at all of course but an instrumental.

As with all The Chems work it functions on several levels at once.

It has memorable melody with an easy to dance to feel but the thing that I really enjoy about this track is the way it flows and grows.

From a deliciously tinkly softly softly start it builds with pace and tempo and with layered subtleties until the whole thing storms along at a mighty pace.

It does have a very subteranean feel. Almost as though it were water that begins deep in the bowels of the earth and then comes out as a rapid waterfall that tumbles, falls and crashes down on to the boulders and rocks below.

Again, this piece stands as a testament to the unique, and often brilliant moments that filled the nineties.

Modern music for the modern world.

The rest of the album is a corker too.

4. NEW STUFF

I am currently listening to ARCADE FIRE, SEASICK STEVE & THE LEVEL DEVILS, 16 HORSE POWER and SHEARWATER.

CARPE DIEM (Judith Wright)

2005-09-14T06:55:00.000Z

Bullocky

Beside his heavy shouldered team,
thirsty with drought and chilled with rain,
he weathered all the striding years
till they ran widdershins in his brain.

Till the long solitary tracks
etched deeper with each lurching load
were populous before his eyes,
and fiends and angels used this road.

All the long straining journey grew
a mad apocalyptic dream,
and he old Moses, and the slaves
his suffering and stubborn team.

Then in his evening camp beneath
the half-light pillars of the trees
he filled the steepled cone of night
with shouted prayers and prophecies.

Whilst past the camp fire's crimson ring
the star-struck darkness cupped him round,
and cebturies of cattlebells
rang with their sweet uneasy sound.

Grass is across the wagon tracks,
and plough strikes bone beneath the grass,
and vineyards cover all the slopes
where the dead teams were used to pass.

O vine, grow close upon that bone
and hold it with your rooted hand.
The prophet Moses feeds the grape,
and fruitful is the Promised Land.

Judith Wright

LIFE IN THE SHED

2005-09-12T07:10:00.000Z

It was my idea.

The trip to Oxford that is.

We had been there some twenty years ago and had browsed around the closed market but had never actually looked around the city or the universities so I thought that it would be nice to revisit. So, Crablocker and me, along with our dear friends the Mess Mob, trundled off.

We had thought, even though this is Britain and it is now September, that we would still be able to enjoy some late summer, early autum sun.

Whack, whack, ooooppps.

It drizzled all day and although we didn't let that stop us (we are Brits after all) it certainly put a damper on the day.

Even amid the grim and damp circumstances Oxford is a magnificent city. Full of the 'gleaming spires', that are so often spoken about, and a general air of studious bohemia.

We wandered around and had coffee in a derilict cafe and then lunch in a smart, but inexpensive restaurant. In between this we also visited the tallest tower (and the oldest) in Oxford and meandered around some second hand book shops. Amazing how Sunday life has changed in recent years. The whole city seemed totally unaware that this day used to be a day of rest. Hah, no rest for us as we dodged the raindrops with serious ineptitude.

At about four, wet but not dispirited we took off back to our favourite city in nthe world, London, where we parked up the car, just off of Tower Bridge, and strolled down, umberellas at the ready, past La Pont de la Tour (which we couldn't afford) and into a sharp little Italian restaurant called Fizzi where we gorged our selves on some delicious pasta.

All in all a bloody good day if a little wet around the edges!

MAKE POVERTY HISTORY

2005-09-10T12:22:00.000Z

READ THIS AND DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!

Hello,
Summer may be coming to an end but the campaign to make poverty history certainly is not.
Less than a week from now, hundreds of world leaders will meet in New York for the UN World Summit. It's a chance for them to build on the progress already made in 2005 and go much further in the fight against poverty.
Take these simple actions now:
Email Tony BlairUrge the Prime Minister to do all he can to put pressure on other countries at the summit and stop world leaders failing the world's poorest people.Click here to email Tony Blair
Don't bin the band!This Saturday is the second White Band Day. Join millions of people across the world in wearing your white band and encourage all your friends to wear one too.Click here to get a white band
Picture an end to poverty.Send us your white band picture we'll use it to show world leaders that we are always watching them!Click here to upload your photo
Some of the world's most powerful governments are trying to back down on the promises they have made to poor countries. Even the steps agreed at the G8 Summit in Gleneagles look at risk of collapse. This would be a disaster for the world's poorest people.
Tony Blair has a vital part to play. As holder of the European Union presidency, he will be a powerful player in New York. Now is the time to remind Tony Blair that we are watching and we expect him to do all he can to ensure the summit delivers a real breakthrough. If he fails, one of the most precious opportunities in years will be lost.
Please act now and help bring an end to the extreme poverty that means a child dies every 3 seconds.
Thank you,
The Make Poverty History team

LE BANDE DESSINEE (Lee, Kirby, Ditko - The Marvel Years)

2005-09-09T08:11:00.000Z

Amongst comic afficinados there is this long time dispute about just who was the real genius, the real engine room behind those halcyon days of Marvel Comics most creative and productive years.
The Marvel spin for years was of course to declare that all parties were involved BUT of course it was Stan "the man" Lee (real name Stanley Leiber) but then again, at the time he was thr head of the corporation and so therefore they probably felt obliged to.
Then there were the steadfast and loyal fans of Jack Kirby (real name Jacob Kurtzman ) who, in their jaundiced opinion, not only created ALL the relevant Marvel charaters but alsowrote ALL the important stories.
And then there were those who felt Steve Ditko (real name Steve Ditko!) had been singularly overlooked and whose vital importance in the creation of characters such as Spiderman and Doctor Strange had been unfairly attributed to Stan Lee when in point of fact it was Mister Ditko who had not only created them but who had also written their scripts.

The truth is never as easy as the black and white creations of either the media moguls who spin yarns continent thick or indeed fans who feel that their idols have been given the rough end of the creative stick.

The intention of this article is to give a brief but succint overview of how and why Marvel Comics ruled the Silver Age of comic book creation but will also provide my take, my viewpoint, on who and which individual did what and with whom.

So then, here are the facts that lead to Marvel Comics becoming the singularly most important and innovative comic producing company in the 1960's. The Silver Age of comics.

Jack "King" Kirby was born in New York on the 28th August 1917 of immigrant parents. He grew up on the tough side of the tracks and from an early age was a feisty and headstrong character.

He joined the world famous Fleischer Studios in 1935 where he worked on Popeye doing in-betweens. He left them and joined the Lincoln Newspaper Syndicate in 1936 where he remained until they went out of business in 1938.

After this Jack Kirby met with Joe Simon whilst he was doing freelance art chores. The two young men became firm friends and went on to co-create one of comicdoms true gargantuan legends, the super patriot Captain America in 1941. This work was all produced for Martin Goodman's Timely Comics (later Marvel Comics)

After only ten issues they left the good Captain and Timely behind and went to join DC Comics where they co-produced Sandman, Boy Commandos, News Boy Legion and Manhunter.

After the Second World War, superhero comics bombed and the industry looked elsewhere for its entertainment. Kirby and Simon worked together on Romance, Westerns, Horror, Crime and even humour.

In 1954 the Comics Code Authority came stomping all over everyones sensibilities with their heavy handed and clumsy censorship rules and regulations. It was at this point that the highly succesful partnership ended. Kirby, still with DC went on creating and reinventing various superheroes. One of my favourites was Challegers of the Unknown.

It is now 1961 and for a brief moment we turn away from Jack Kirby and look instead at the second born of our titanic trio. Stan Lee.

Stan Lee was born Stanley Martin Lieber on 28th December 1922 in New York City (just like Jack and with a shared birth date if not month!). He started working for Martin Goodman at Timely Comics as a copyboy in 1941. He went, at a meteoric rate, from copyboy to editor and, point of fact became the youngest editor in the field at the age of 17.

During the war he enlisted into the American army and served in the Signal Corps. After the war he returned to his position as editor at Timely , still owned and published at the time by Martin Goodman (a relative to the young Lee). The Timely name was then changed to Atlas (circa mid 1950's). The fifties was a dire time from comic producers. Due to the excesive censorship campaign kicked of by Dr. Frederic Wertham and Senator Estes Kefauver who together blamed comics for producing too much sex and too much violence both of which they deemed had an adverse affect on children. They instigated the Comics Code which had the knock on effect of sanitising the product and thereby killing the market place. Sales dropped. Publishers were left with littel room to produce inventive and exciting material. And then DC Comics with the wonderfully creative Carmine Infantion (see previous post) reinvented the superhero and BABOOM...the silver age of comics arrived.

It was 1961. And again let us move away from Stan the man and focus on the third born of our towering team of titanium talent. Steve Ditko.

Steve Ditko was born on the 2nd November 1927 in Johnston, Pennsylvannia. He studied at the Cartoonists and Illustrators School in New York City and turned to profesional comic book art work in 1953. Initially he worked for Charlton Comics drawing sci fi, horror and some mystery stories.
During the middle part of this decade, 1956, he started to also produce work for Atlas and thereby began to forge a working relationship with Stan Lee.
His work was stark, dark and often unflinching and uncompromising in its approach. It was very different in its look and feel to anything else in the market place and this obvious difference singled it out for particular attention to the young bevvy of readers that bought his work.
This split relationship between Charlton and Marvel continued with Steve producing some outstanding work for both companies and then, early in the sixties, 1961 to be precise, Ditko joined Marvel along with Stan Lee and Jack Kirby full time.

1961. That year again.

It was Kirby who came up with the idea for the Fantastic Four, using as he did the same old blueprint that had inspired him to create Challengers of the Unknown. A genius scientist, his lovely, sexy girlfriend, her young, fiery and impetuous brother and the hard, street wise tough man. The FF were an instant hit and the creative fireball that was Jack Kirby didn't stop there. He was also responsible for creating Thor, The Silver Surfer, Black Bolt, Antman, The Hulk, The Avengers and of course the return of America's flag wearing superman Captain America. Kirby's inventive mind was on overdrive but this shouldn't blind us to his obvious lack of ability to script and edit his stories. As good as his character creations were, he was good awful at scripting. Enter Stan Lee. It was Lee's undeniable vision and ability to communicate to young people that set the focus and aims of Marvel . It was Lee who took the diamond bright talent of Kirby and polished it until it shone brighter than any of the other comic producers artist/creators.

It was a similar thing that he would also do with Steve Ditko.

Steve Ditko is my personal favourite from this time. Kirby is equally talented, brilliant maybe but even then could appear dated if left to his own devices. He needed Stan Lee just like he had needed Joe Simon.

Steve Ditko was, and still is, a maverick. One that cannot be tamed and one whose talent was light years ahead of anyone elses. Not better than Kirby's but very,very different.

In August 1961 The Fantastic Four exploded onto the market place and then, almost a year later, in June 1962, Marvels biggest money (and web) spinner crashed into our lives. Spiderman arrived via Amazing Fantasy 15 (and I had not one but TWO copies of it) and from that point on Marvels place ion history was assured. Here we had a teenage superhero with angst and spots and everyday concerns. A wll crawler who whilst fighting the supervillains would be worrying over his aged Aunt May. Reality appeared wrapped in web design tights. Brilliant stuff.

Following upon this incredible success came, as I have already mentioned, a host of other wonderful super characters appeared but probably the singularly most innovative of these had to be Steve Ditko's Doctor Strange. And oh boy wasn't it just. Strange that is. Dark, mysterious, brooding with baleful villains. With htis storyline Stan Lee virtually let Ditko have free range to do just what he wanted and the legacy that he left meant that no subsequent artist or writer evr managed to get a proper handle on it aftre his tenure.

It was the stuff on genius. Shame that someone like Alan Moore or Neil Gaiman hasn't had a crack at it. Que sera.

From '61 through till '69, Marvel reigned supreme. No one even came close as they reinvented the way comic books should be written, drawn and read. As with all things though it didn't last and, as so often is the case, ego's clashed and what was the comic worlds equivalant of The Beatles fell apart.

So then, who was the real engine room behind the Marvel years? Lee? Kirby? Ditko?

Without a question of doubt Stan Lee used the brilliant creativity of both Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko. He took their talent and harnessed it to his own vision. He did effectively what Brian Epstien did with The Beatles. Presented it with a focused intent to an eagerly waiting public. He took Kirby's unsophisticated scripts and laid in thought balloons and speach bubbles that were coherent and elequent. He gave Ditko free reign BUT with a managed eye. And in the wake of the triads fireball he brought in others to emulate their success. Don Heck, Dick Ayers, Gene Colan, John Romita and oh so many others.

No man is an island and no one man was responsible for Marvel. Lee, Kirby and Ditko. The masters of the Silver Age of comics.

MUSIC TO GROW OLD TO (Black Grape, Green Day, Fleetwood Mac)

2005-09-07T08:01:00.000Z

"oH my god,

i can't BeliEvE it

I've neveR been ThiS FAR

AWAY

FroM hOme"

from a song by the kaiser chiefs

1.The Reverend Black Grape by BLACK GRAPE

I was going to write about another Black Grape classic, Kellys Hero's, but I thought better of it.

Of all the great bands and songwriters that came out of the nineties decade, Shaun Ryder, for my money, stands up there with the best of them.

The Gallaghers had the swagger but not the original talent. Damon Albarn has the flare but not the swagger. Jarvis Cocker had the charisma but not the self same sense of lunatic fun and chaos. And lets face it, for a short while he, and The Happy Mondays, gave The Stone Roses a run for their money as THE great band of the pre-Brit Pop period.

When the Mondays fell apart, Shaun, along with Bez, formed Black Grape and against all the odds put together one of the nineties classic albums in It's Great When You're Straight, YEAH, (a nod perhaps to Mister Ryder coming clean of drug dependancy). It is one funky and very contemporary piece of magic and it of course produce this track which is the albums opener.

A roll on the bongoes. A happy go lucky toot on the harmonica and the song slam dunks its way into its self made funky dance trip. Just like the best of The Mondays music it uses as its backdrop the Dance/Rave cultures infectious rythms, generously mixed with some George Clinton type funkability and a good dose of Shaun Ryders audacious lyrics.

It is a groove master and it hooks its dance-along strains into your hips whilst the melody and odd lyrics, sung in the flatess of Manchester accents, proves as infectious as German Measels.

This to me is a glorious advert for the nineties generation to turn around and say, "We might not have invented Rock but at least with htis music we foged something of our own out of it."

Excellent music.

2. American Idiot by GREEN DAY

If anyone is going to lambast Bush and the right wing arseholes of American politics then who better than an in your face punk based rowdy bunch from California, USA?

With enough venom spitting from their blistering guitars to blow down the Whitehouse, this brilliant piece of agitpop doesn't forget that to reach people you still need a great tune and some sparkling lyrics.

A ferocious, snarling, attack of a song that chunders along at a cracking pace that doesn't for one second relent in its bitter, stinging diatribe on all things dreadful about American politics and the American media.

" Well maybe I'm the faggot America.

I'm not a part of a redneck agenda.

Now everybody do the propaganda.

And sing along to the age of paranoia"

Fuelled by the then iminent American election and also the Iraqi war, this song did nothing at all to influence the American voter to place their faith in someone other then George W but it did give us one helluva good song.

3.Man of the World by FLEETWOOD MAC

Not to be confused with the band who made Rumours this is a much earlier band, although with a similar line, to the celebrated and multi succeseful mid-seventies band. This original line up also included the exceptional talent of Peter Green.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Of course there was Albatross and a bunch of other hit singles in the late sixties but these original Fleetwood Macs should have been as big as Led Zepplin but events overtook them and that never happened.

This song has all the elements that I love in a three minute pop record. Great melody. Wistful, melancholic lyrics and such a hautingly beautiful sound that just listening to it sends shivers down my spine.

And of course we get to hear just why Peter Green has such a huge name as a guitar player with his elegant understated solo.

Beautiful.

LIFE IN THE SHED (A PICTORIAL SNICKERS BAR)

2005-09-05T18:22:00.000Z

Her 'n Him

cOCAINE jESUS and bimbo three and bimbo one

Squid the Kid 'n Thumbscrew

Tweezil Beans Blue Eyes go a fetching Red

LIFE IN THE SHED (Back From France)

2005-09-05T07:57:00.000Z

Well, that's it, for another year at least, holiday saved up for is soon come and gone and this one went at the speed of sound.

We are all of us, my family that is, in love with France. We have been holidaying here for the past ten, maybe eleven, years. The country and its people are as familiar and kind as old shoes and yet as different to us Brits as we are to our American cousins. A similarity that breeds interest and kinship rather than fear and loathing. Forget all the stuff and nonsense perpetrated by my Grandmothers generation about the French. They are a great bunch of people with a beautiful language and some very beautiful women (OUCH! Sorry Crablocker. Obviously not as beautiful as you now please put down that kitchen utensil).

Being three to four times as big as the UK and with the same population, there is a wonderful feeling of space and room given off by the French countryside and this is mirrored by their impressive roads, especially the Peage (Toll) Roads that allow for speeds of up to (and over when no ones watching) of 85 mph. And unlike dear old blighty where you have some stupid bugger sitting right on your rear bumper in France there appears to be less vehicle crowding and virtually no tail gating.

Anyway, enough already with the French love affair. We all had a great time sunning our selves, swimming in pale blue pools, dipping our toes into the equally pale blue Mediterranean Sea and at night, when life really starts in these parts, roaming around the wonderful market stalls that suddenly spring up at about eight in the evening.

This year we returned to The Cote D'Azure. Provence regions gorgeous sea side resort area. Frejeus, St. Raphael, Antibes, Menton, Marsellies, Nice, Cannes, St.Tropez etc, etc, etc. Beautiful. Spectacular and very inviting.

And for anyone who has read Roger Stevens spot on poem about the crickets that appear at night in orchestral form and blast away with their tiny legs with a sound to match a full on brass band. Or even the idiot, quieter version, that play by day and jump around on spring-heel-jack legs, well, yes, we had 'em too. A constant drone/accompaniment that you soon forget about but strangely miss when you leave.

Next year?

I certainly hope so

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

2005-09-04T01:00:00.000Z

"We're as common as muck
Bon chance, viel glück, good luck
Where bold is beautiful we don't give a damn
Love a duck we're as common as muck"

Ian Dury

THE THIEF OF RAGE (The New Orleans Disaster)

2005-09-03T08:51:00.000Z

It is very easy to point the finger and apportion blame but we are talking here (again) about commerce over human lives and that is an equation that doesn't stack up.

The dreadful and quite natural disaster, that has fallen upon Louisiana, and more specifically New Orleans, is one of the worst natural disaster to hit America in modern times. Undeniably the work of nature but even armed with that fact and that knowledge we cannot pretend, or allow anyone else for that matter to tell us otherwise, that this natural disaster was unexpected. Nor can anyone pretend or tell us otherwise that someone has screwed up.

America has the very best technology in averting floods and in being prepared for hurricane conditions. For goodness sake they must face at least one hurricane a year over there and usually cope with them in a very efficient way. This time though the same stringent controls seem to lapsed. Now whether it be the municipal governments fault or the federal governments, only time will tell but, as sure as eggs are eggs, someone, or someoneS have been very negligent.

CARPE DIEM (Rupert Brooke)

2005-09-02T08:06:00.000Z

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is forever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England
given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Rupert Brooke

CARPE DIEM (Emily Dickinson)

2005-08-19T07:37:00.000Z

There is a pain -- so utter --
It swallows substance up --
Then covers the Abyss with Trance --
So memory can step
Around -- across -- upon it --
As one within a swoon --
Goes safely -- where an open eye --
Would drop Him -- Bone by Bone.

Emily Dickinson

LA BANDE DESSINEE (UK Comics part three)

2005-08-17T06:45:00.000Z

Now where would UK Comics be without those two standard bearers of the British comic universe?

I am talking of course of The Dandy (1937) and The Beano (1938).

Without either of course there would be no Viz.

But lets go back a bit, back to 1937, three years prior to the Golden Age of comics, back to the time when Arthur Barnes, the Editor who brought into being, on 4th December 1937, The Dandy Comic, as it was originally called, and ushered in a new age for British Comics.

Yep, Arthur was the man responsible for giving us the comic that broke the British comic rule book by dropping the broadsheet look in favour of the tabloid and of course kids loved its easy to hold and easy to read style. Another innovation was the introduction of thought and speach balloons which up until then hadn't existed in British comics.

It was the introduction of some of the greatest ever comic book characters that really fired the publics imagination. Korky The Cat, Desperate Dan being two that instantly jump to mind. As British as the Thames the appeal, unlike American superhero comics, was limited to the UK only and did not have the universal appeal of their American counterparts. But in one area, however, they have proved to be the equal of any comic any where in the world. Longevity. The Dandy is still going to this day and there are no signs of it ever stopping.

The humour of The Dandy along with The Beano is very much of another age and very typically, almost stereotypically, British. Nothing is taken very seriously and there are no, to speak of, adventure strips. Everything is very much of a 'custard pie', or in the case of Desperate Dan, Cow Pie, in the face mode.

The Dandy is now very much a tradition and is the older sibling to the other very succesful 'tradition', The Beano.

The Beano followed hot foot on the success of The Dandy, and was, unashamedly, based upon the earlier forerunner. The Beano arrived with us in July 1938 and like its big brother was a humorous vehicle for another bunch of incredible characters.

Reg Carter gave us Big Eggo. Dudley Watkins created Biffo the Bear both of whom remained as two of the most popular characters and then, in the early fifties came the character who is probably The Beano's most successful and popular character The Worlds Wildest Boy Dennis the Menace who was the brain child, literally, of David Law.

A whole host of others followed. Lord Snooty, Roger The Dodger, Minnie the Minx and, my personnal favourite, The Bash Street Kids.

As I have said, both of these enormously successful and popular comics, are the stuff of Empire and the glory days of Great Britain but with out them we wouldn't have that very strong strain of modern satirical British comics.

The amazing thing is that their popularity doesn't seem to be waning at all but rather remains pretty constant despite all the social changes that we Brits have gone through. And of course their influence has been enormous and can still be felt today.

MUSIC TO GROW OLD TO (Nirvana, Prodigy, Jeff Buckley

2005-08-16T09:49:00.000Z

"tHIs TowN aINT biG eNOuGh FOr THE BOth Of us, ANd IT aiN't Me WHosE GoNNa lEaVe"

FROM A SONG BY SPARKS

Smells like Teen Spirit by Nirvana

With an almost uncanny childlike ability to write and perform songs that sounded like nursery rhymes fused with the sharp razor blade edge and raw power of punk.
Muscle with texture and melody.
Nirvana produced some of recent times greatest songs and like their modern counterparts The White Stripes they did it with a paired down and naturally raw approach.

This song, as the title suggests, smacks of teen angst and rebellion.

"Load up on guns
Bring your friends
It's fun to lose and to pretend
She's overborne and self-assured
Oh no, I know a dirty word"

The power of youth ripples through out this song flexing its budding teen biceps and swaggering in a way that only teenage youths can.
"With the Lights out it's less dangerous
Here we are now entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now entertain us
A mullato an albino
A mosquito my libido
yay"

Undeniably great lyrics that twist things a little askew with the two closing lines. Pumping with adrenaline that shoots straight into the vein like a drug.

Still as good today as it was back then.

Smack my Bitch Up by Prodigy

Here is a band that are very much of the nineties and who create music that sounds like it belongs in the nineties and not, without mentioning names, as though they are just another Beatles tribute band.

Pumped up electronica that hurls outrage at you in staggering quantities. Youth music always sounded to the older generation vaguely ominous with hints of dark alternative lifestyle overtones. This is no different and who the hell, apart from the young, couldn't be outraged at the thought of bashing some female up. But that's not really what its about is it?

So whilst Oasis were thrusting their old man style rock into the bogus Britpop explosions face, Prodigy were producing the real deal. Snarling, bare teethed, agreesive music that young guys (and middle aged ones) can jump around to.

Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley

Beauty comes wrapped in tragedy. Just like his father, Tim Buckley, Jeff drowned at an early age robbing the music world of one its potentialy greatest talents.

The album that this magnificently majestic and beautiful album comes from, 'Grace', is littered with excellent songs that paved the way for Radiohead, Coldplay, Embrace, Avalanche et all to follow in.

It is one of the nineties greatest moments.

Jeff Buckley. Genius? Maybe. Creative? Certainly. The pioneer of a raft of 90's bands and musicians. This song is from the pen of master songsmith Lenoard Cohen and the lyrics run like magic but handled by Jeff Buckley with his amazing vocal ability it sounds like the voice of heaven set into platignum and ringed by blue diamonds.

Truly captivating and the way he holds the penultimate note beggars belief.

If there be angels then Jeff Buckley is one of them.

LIFE IN THE SHED

2005-08-15T12:03:00.000Z

Having never (thankfully) experienced PMT and certainly not any kind of period pains in my life, to witness my youngest, Tweezil, doubled up and virtually crippled by that horrid experience was, to say the least, frightening.
What do you do to help?
Her Mother wasn't there and her sisters were out and her brother, god bless his cotton pants, is about as much use in this situation as a chocolate fireguard.
A bath.
Yep, that was the answer a bath and a dose of painkillers.
Not sure which one worked, probably the drugs, but they took their time to kick in and all the while my little girl was suffering.
Strangely enough neither her Mum nor her sisters have ever had bad periods (who the hell am I to judge you may ask but in my defense I am only going on what they tell me) so I was a little caught out by the whole affair. It wasn't her first period but was certainly the worst and for my part it was awful to witness the yougest of my family experience what is probably the worst pain that she has ever encountered and, I guess, if I am to be honest, I was also saddened to see my baby begin the process of growing up.
Funny thing being a Dad.
You love 'em. You try not to screw their lives up too much and a little bit of you clings to what they represent in your life. Continuity.
I have said it before but, shit, it all goes too damn fast.

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

2005-08-14T18:59:00.000Z

"No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings."

William Blake

CARPE DIEM (Stevie Smith)

2005-08-12T07:31:00.000Z

Not Waving but Drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, hee always loved larking
And now he's dead.
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

Stevie Smith

MUSIC TO GROW OLD TO (The Pixies, TRex, Primal Scream)

2005-08-09T06:19:00.000Z

"wHAt bECAme Of ThE likElY LAds, wHAt BEcAmE OF the DReaMs We Had?"
THE LIBERTINES

1.
This Monkey's going to Heaven by The Pixies

Too large a claim to make maybe BUT without the Pixies there almost certainly would not have been a Nirvana. And as great as Nirvana were so were the Pixies equally great.
There was a feeling with this band that on each and every song that they performed that at any minute they would all fall over and the music would grind to a shambolic halt. It never happened of course but there was this almost magical tightrope walk act which made you feel as thugh they were keeping it together, but only just.
This song is magnificent, begining as it does with a spitting snarl from the guitar intro and then that pounding, ominous bass. Not so much plodding but resonating in the dark secret places of your soul. Deep and sinister and threatining.
The virtually spoken lyrics slide over the tiger-stalking-to-kill-creeping-dangerously backdrop that has the band on red alert ready to break away and blast you with the sonic boom, that is always held in abayance, chorus.
And the lyrics, sung by Frank Black (or Black Francis to his friends) and thrown out like cards during a game of poker between New York hoods, are strange enough and bizarre enough to either frighten clergymen of excite young punks.
"and if man is five and the devil is six then god is seven"
On a scale of one to ten this song is every bit a ten.
A modern classic.

2.
Twentieth Century Boy by TRex

It is funny that the two years between my wife and I should prove to such an enormous difference when it comes to taste in music. Not so much taste but rather a difference of historical perspective. I was into the Doors, The Velvet Underground and Led Zepplin and grew up loving the sixties music of my childhood whereas she didn't really get into music until about 1970 when she was fourteen. Marc Bolan was an obvious choice for a young teenager to fall in love and worship but for me Bowie was (and still is) God. Bolan was just a teenage dream filler.
This song though, with its power chords and musclular riff, stands head and shoulders above the competition and, with the recent cover by Placebo, proves it has legs.
The usual daft lyrics (daft but, with nostalgic hindsight, endearing) litter the song and gives it that twist of fun that so much modern doesn't suffer from preffering to fixate on looking the part rather than being the part.
It rocks like hot shit off of a very cold shovel with a power and steel that girds it loins and thrust its hips right into your face.
Boogie with attitude.

3.
Loaded by Primal Scream

Just what is it that you want to do?

We wanna be free

We wanna be free to do what we wanna do

And we wanna get loaded

And we wanna have a good time

That’s what we’re gonna do

No way baby let’s go

We’re gonna have a good time

We’re gonna have a party

And that is precisely what this sounds like. A party.

I know I bang on about the wonderful sixties and they were as truly wonderful as popular myth tells it BUT, yes there is a BUT, I also love the nineties. Especially the early nineties with its fabulous dance influenced music.

The eighties were woefully inadequate in terms of any youth movement and, in my humble opinion, were the least worthy of decades since the advent of Rock ' Pop culture. Having said all that it was, in fairness, the late eighties that gave birth to the brilliant dance and rave culture.

And up there along side such greats as The Happy Mondays, The Mock Turtles, The Stone Roses, Stereo MC's and a raft of others comes Primal Scream.

This song is, as the title suggests, Loaded with a dance/rave vibe. It feels like it has swallowed some E's and quite frankly my dear doesn't give a shit. It shuffles along with a hypnotic beat that refuses to let your feet or hands or hips remain motionless. You just have to dance or tap along to it. It is totally infectious.

LIFE IN THE SHED

2005-08-08T06:33:00.000Z

The question that they ask you, in those clever moments when ego's need polishing, is when a tree falls in a forest, that is bereft of people, who hears the sound? Or, in other words, is there sound to break the silence when no one hears it?

Silence fits me like a glove at the moment but the truth is I love writing and if the love of writing had become a chore and not a passion then the absence of writing has certainly rekindled that love.

To cut through all the pretentious bullshit, I am back. Back to blogging. Back to writing. It has been happening in easy stages. The Fekenham site I love so much that I didn't really stop at all. And then came the poetry site and then Fish Erotica and now, finally, the first blog that I started all those months ago. This one.

There will certainly be some changes to this, my first blog, but a lot that will remain. I still am passionate about, and always will be, music and comics, and I will continue to explore this new found love of poetry that, thanks to Spicy Cauldron and Mr. Wonderful (Roger Stevens) who encouraged me.

One of the things that I want to do is to have an 'interview' type thing where I chat to fellow bloggers about themselves and their blogsites. I have certain people who really interest me such as Spicy, Roger, Doriandra and Transience (and no that is not an exhaustive list there are loads more who I find of enormous interest). I thought the way to do it would be via e-mail, which might be a long drawn out process but at least that way I can ask a question and whoever I am 'chatting' to can then respond in real live time.

Thank you for all the kind words and support.

Cocaine Jesus is back.

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

2005-08-07T20:03:00.000Z

A good book is the purest essence of a human soul.

Thomas Carlyle

Nothing Lasts Long Only The Earth and The Mountains

2005-07-05T19:46:00.000Z

IT HAS BEEN FUN BUT, FOR NOW, GOODBYE

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

2005-07-03T08:29:00.000Z

"You are successful the moment you start moving toward a worthwhile good."

Charles Carlson

CARPE DIEM (Carl Sandburg)

2005-07-01T06:03:00.000Z

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Carl Sandburg

LA BANDE DESSINEE (Carmine Infantino)

2005-06-30T13:40:00.000Z

OK.

So just who the hell is Carmine Infantino? Sounds like some Chicago mobster, or maybe an ice cream manufacturer but no he is neither of these things and is in fact one of the greats of American and world comic literature.

Most famous for his immaculate work on DC comics The Flash that lifted DC back up onto the top of the heap in the late 50's and also kicked started the silver age of comic book history. But first lets briefly deal with Carmine the man.

Born on May 24th 1925 in New York City obviously of Italian descent although having said that both of Carmine's parents hail from Brooklyn. As a family they were relatively poor, Carmine's father was a musician but rather than attempt to further his career in music, chose to take a steady job as a plumber. Life wasn't easy in the early years but Carmine had a passion for drawing and for comic books and would spend his teenage years actively looking for comic book & comic srip artists. It was around this time, aged fifteen that Carmine met and befriended Charles Flanders who, at the time, was the artist on the Lone Ranger comic strip. In the course of their friendship, Flanders would let the young budding artist sit in and watch him draw. It was an invaluable experience for the young man and he learnt a massive amount from those sessions.

With Flanders as his mentor and teacher, Infantino entered the comics industry in 1942 aged just 23 and got a job working for the company that would eventually evolve into Marvel Comics. In those days they were known as Timely and Infantino begun working as an illustrator on the 'Jack Frost' title. He not only worked for Timely but a host of other companies until he finally graduated from art school. During this period he had the opportunity to work on some Quality Comics titles where he met the legenadary Will Eisner, for whom he worked and also Reed Crandall and also Lou Fine. Eisner, Crandall and Fine along with Hal Foster, Milton Caniff and Alex Raymond were the greatest influences on Infantino's later work.

Whilst in art school Carmine meet a man who would not only become a life long friend but also his inker and who would work with him and become closely associated with Infantino's best work from the forties right through until the late sixties. That man was Frank Giacoia, a much respected artist and inker in the industry.

In the fifties the superhero genre had faded and all but died out in favour of horror and westerns and then in 1956 DC editor Julius Schwartz asked Infantino to help him revive the Flash but with some new and drastic changes. Carmine redesigned the golden age heroes costume giving him a sleek and modern look and Schwartz reinvented the character completly giving him a totally new and different secret identity to the original forties character.

The Flash, along with Jack Kirby's 'Challengers of the Unknown' signaled the resurgence of the superhero and long before the age of Marvel brought back into vogue a long time thought dead genre.

I remember reading the Flash and being impressed by not only the character but also the stories that seemed so sophisticated compared to many othe, mundane comic books but above all else it was the art work that really impressed me.

It wasn't only the Flash that he worked on but also Batman, who he breathed new life into, Adam Strange, which was probably the best of the bunch, along with the excellent and often amusing Elongated Man which in itself was a rip off, or maybe a tribute to, Plastic Man.

In 1967 Carmine became DC's editor in chief and he ws profoundly important in recruiting new talent and pushing for fresh and exciting new ideas. It was he who introduced us to the talented Neal Adams. Then in 1971, Carmine was appointed publisher of DC comics, a role he was to keep for only a short while for before being appointed president of the company in 1974. In 1976 he had major falling out with the corporate heads of DC and left the company after a long, thirty year, association.

His impact on the world of American comics and comics in general has been imeasurable and still to this day his name is held in very high regard.

Carmine still lives in New York City, his birth place, and his fine legacy lives on.

MUSIC TO GROW OLD TO

2005-06-28T13:51:00.000Z

due to nearly all my time being given over to trying to find employment, including the evening hours when i used to do these write ups, i am going to re-post a couple of old posts that i am confident a lot of people wouldn't have read before. i know that it is a bit of a liberty but i hope you won't mind too much . . .

1.
My Generation by The Who

More than ten years before punk came stomping into our lives like an onslaught of random vitriol and violence, The Who, The 'Oorible 'Oo, with their churning windmill thrashing power chords, their thunderous bass lines and their manic drummer who treated the drums as though IT were the lead instrument, sonically blasted us with this little number.

It was a clarion call to and from the youth of its day.

It was simple. There was us and there was them.

"Things they do look awful cold"

I was only eleven. I hadn't hit my teenage years but this song with its genius bass solo and the stuttering vocals of Roger Daltry encapsculated how we kids felt.

Awkward, ungainly, angry, bruised, defiant but more than anything else unstopable.
In the face of all adversity we were gonna change things. We were gonna change the world. You couldn't stop us and you couldn't silence us.
Above all else you couldn't silence our music.

Loud. Proud. Rebellious.

The Beatles were writing the gospel of pop.The Who were thrashing hotel rooms, popping amphetimines and producing music that reflected the generation that they came from.

"Why don't you all f..f..f..fade away"

The implied FUCK OFF was there it just wasn't voiced.This song, above all others, was the slap in the face that the older generation had feared.It roared and raged and raised its rebellious head above the parapets and it laid down the foundations for the future punk revolution.

In terms of sheer power and energy there has never been a song like it. Apparently written by Pete Townsend for and about Keith Moon it is a pure slice of teenage sixties mentallity

"Hope I die before I get old"

Damn right.

2.
Teardrop by Massive Attack

I have no idea what these mysterious lyrics of Liz Fraser's are about but they and this song "Teardrop " are very beautiful.

"Teardrop"

"Love, love is a verb
Love is a doing word
Fearless on my breath
Gentle impulsion
Shakes me makes me lighter
Fearless on my breath
Teardrop on the fire
Fearless on my breath

Nine night of matter
Black flowers blossom
Fearless on my breath
Black flowers blossom
Fearless on my breath
Teardrop on the fire
Fearless on my breath

Water is my eye
Most faithful mirror
Fearless on my breath
Teardrop on the fire of a confession
Fearless on my breath
Most faithful mirror
Fearless on my breath

Teardrop on the fire
Fearless on my breath

Stumbling a little
Stumbling a little"

Well Kids, being the old pervy type that I am, I really think that it is about doing IT, you know, the old hide the frankfurter thing.
IT.
But being the half wit that my family constantly tell me I am I probably got it wrong.It is a very beautiful piece of music. A slowly cascading rhythm. A hypnotic swaying sound. Pulsing. Probing. Throbbing. Erotic. A long and slow orgasm of a song. Sonic fingers massaging the sex of your soul. Gentle and haunting but with a hidden reservoir of power that threatens to surface but never quite does.It is the sort of song that you should play after listening to a bruising from Metalica.
It isn't just a message of sex, it also reverberates with a sudden sadness along with a feeling of loss and perhaps of confessional sin.
It isn't from Massive Attacks critically acclaimed album Blue Lines but from the equally good follow up Mezzanine.

Wonderful.

3.
Rock 'n Roll Suicide by David Bowie

You are seventeen and the world seems a strange and alien place.

The Beatles have gone and into that void steps, although you knew him previously in another life and as an entirely different character, a bi-sexual alien revolutionary from Mars.

You are seventeen and the world is populated by stiff shirts and stuffed egos. This place is not for you.You perceive life as though viewed through a twisted window frame.There are people out there who offer love and peace and happiness. Hippies. But the love they offer is false and manufactured and besides that they have had their day. Their moment of glory.

Love and peace has been cloaked in a shroud of serious pretension. Now is the time for fun. Now is the time for Rock 'n Roll. Now is the time for David Bowie.

"Time takes a cigarette, puts it in your mouth

you pull on your finger

then another finger then your cigarette"

Rock 'n Roll Suicide takes as its subject matter all the angst and loneliness that every teenager at some time suffers with. It identifies that feeling of being the only one in a crowded room beautifully well and it understands that awfully desperate emotion and then it offers its puny and pale hand and leads you to a cleaner, clearer place.

"Oh no love you're not alone"

It offers a better solution.

"Just turn on with me and you're not alone"

It offers salvation.

"Gimme your hands cause you're wonderful"

A fellow blogger whose site I highly recommend has suggested that Bowie seemed to him to be "too cool, too icy calm, too remote". Sometimes a cool, icy calm and remote emotional exterior hides, and keeps at bay, a multitude of other emotions. But Bowie's music has always carried large amounts of human passion. Just listen to this and also The Wild eyed boy from freecloud, The Cygnet committee, Quicksand. Life on Mars, Heroes.This song has a perfect empathy for teenage outsiders and is incredibly encapsulated in a matter of minutes to form a perfect pop classic.

Pure pop magic.

LIFE IN THE SHED

2005-06-27T08:23:00.000Z

Tweezil is thirteen.

Blonde, blue eyed and yep, very pretty but then again she would be wouldn't she? She is after all my youngest offspring and the one of my four who is daft as a brush. As barmy as a bag of frogs. As crazy as a can full of worms.

Quite why she is the only blue, blonde child we have is beyond me, and no she isn't the milkmans, but strangely enough she is only following a grand old family tradition.

You see Crablocker's brother Roy, 22 years my wife's senior, also had four children all of whom were brown heads with the exception of the baby of the family, Wendy, who was blonde and blue eyed.

Strange huh?

Strange but true and Tweezil is just the same as her much older cousin.

Well when I same just the same that probably isn't quite true because I seriously doubt that anyone is quite the chatterbox that Grace is.

Grace can talk for England and on any given subject even if she knows nothing about it at all. In fact if they were to give our medals for 'chatterboxing' then Tweezil would get platignum.

She is able to talk at any time of day and for extreme lengths of duration and I believe if asked to then Tweezil could talk to a man or woman in a coma and get and answer and quite possibly might even get a response from a cadaver. That is of course if the cadaver in question is given the opportunity to reply. Which I seriously doubt.

Breakfast with Tweezil is rather a surrealistic affair as she talks away like a budgie on speed whilst we all answer in monosyllabic grunts.

But then again we wouldn't have it any other way would we?

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

2005-06-26T10:11:00.000Z

"It's hard to use the English language. I'd rather play a tune on a horn, but I've always felt that I didn't want to train myself. Because when you get a train, you've got to have an engine and a caboose. I think it's better to train the caboose. You train yourself, you strain yourself."

cAPTAIN BeefHEarT

CARPE DIEM (Tu Mu)

2005-06-25T16:32:00.000Z

Bring in the Wine

A glass goblet
Deep-tinted amber,
Crimson pearls drip from the wine cask,
Boiling dragon and roasting phoenix weep jades of fat.
Silken screens and embroidered curtains close in the
scented breeze.
Blow the dragon flute,
Beat the lizard skin drum,
White teeth sing,
Slender waists dance.
More than ever now, as the green spring nears its
evening,
And peach flowers scatter like crimson rain!
Be advised by me, stay drunken all your life:
Wine does not reach the earth on Liu Ling's grave.

Tu Mu

MUSIC TO GROW OLD TO (Bruce Springsteen, The Ramones, Pearl Jam)

2005-06-23T19:46:00.000Z

1.
Dancing In The Dark by Bruce Springsteen

There is something about the quality of sound created by Springsteen and his separate producers that is big and grand and proud and somehow manages to aurally capture everything that feels like America in song and sonic majesty.

Expansive and sweeping and large.

He has always managed to capture and somehow engineer into a sound that is very much his own, a little bit of Phil Spector with its powerful, layered impulse. A little bit of Credence Clearwater Revival with its back to roots, basic, good old boys Rock 'n Roll kick. A little bit of a everything that has been put into American rock.

This song is in that mold but has a remarkable quality that it shares with Born in the USA in that it is very much not come to praise Caesar but the reverse. In this instance it is about the dreary drudgery of doing a passionless and pointless job. In this song Springsteen tells life as seen through the eyes of one of America's dreamers whose American Dream has fallen to rust and has decayed to such a point that he feels he no longer likes himself or the face he inhabits any more.

"I get up in the evening
and I ain't got nothing to say
I come home in the morning
I go to bed feeling the same way
I ain't nothing but tired
Man I'm just tired and bored with myself
Hey there baby, I could use just a little help"

The band storms through this with all the passion of men set free in bordello full of beautiful whores. It is Rock 'n Roll as it was meant to be played. Rich and sweaty and gritty. It is very much of the moment but still shares a history with its fifties parent.

"Message keeps getting clearer
radio's on and I'm moving 'round the place
I check my look in the mirror
I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face
Man I ain't getting nowhere
I'm just living in a dump like this"

This is the fractured illusion of the great American dream shown in its stark failure. A big mac being flushed down a cracked and soiled porcelain bowl. These are people who have been chasing that dream and who are living in abject poverty and squalor.

This is Springsteen at his very best.

This America's dark heart.

This is Rock 'n Roll.

2.
Sheena is a Punk Rocker by The Ramones

Long before the Pistols came gate crashing into the party these tatty refuges from Rock ' Roll's past sentiment arrived with their explosive Stooges meets the Beach Boys potent mix.

Before this single and before the punk movement we had Glam Rock and its intellectual big brother Prog Rock. For a time Prog Rock was a genuine inovative force and one that was exciting and energising but like oh so many 'movements' in music it ground to halt some time in '74, when King Crimson split and when their guitarist, Robert Fripp, invented the term 'Dinosaur Rock'. It was a term that became a watch word for the punk generation to apply to anyone that they didn't approve of and, in fairness, with groups like Genesis, Gentle Giant, Yes and Emerson Lake and Palmer producing more and more self indulgent pap, it ceratainly was a time for a change.

The Ramones provided that incentive with some of the most powerful and youthful of pop music since that golden period of pop, the sixties.

It was a wonderfully un-professional and quite frankly devoid of any musicianship type of song that you could have thought off and it was straight out of the hearts and souls of the teenagers who had grown tired of their big brothers lack lustre sounds.

It was simple. Straight forward and great to sing along to and by god fucking great to pogo to.

But even more importantly, it was fun.

Another candiate for the greatest three minute pop song.

(Over to you Londinium!)

3.
Jeremy by Pearl Jam

Apparently Eddie Vedder and Kurt Cobain didn't get along. Apparently nasty words were exchanged.

Shame as both Nirvana and Pearl Jam were two of the greatest things to come out of America in the early nineties wrapped in the glorious flag that we called Grunge.

This is one powerful, in emotional terms, song that you are likely to hear.

It is also one of the more disturbing with its subject matter that of a young boy who suffers abuse at the hands of his schoolyard peers.

"Clearly I remember pickin on the boy
Seemed a harmless little fuck
Ooh, but we unleashed a lion...
Gnashed his teeth and bit the recess ladys breast...
How can I forget? And he hit me with a surprise left
My jaw left hurtin...ooh, dropped wide open
Just like the day...oh, like the day I heard"

But there is something deeper than just that. Something darker. Something bad that happens after these events.

Does Jeremy turn into a physcopath? A serial killer? What?

A beautifully constructed song that leaves as much to the imagination as its tale tells.

NEW MUSIC *in ApeRTurEdePaRTmeNTaL codex *

From The Floorboards Up by Paul Weller ...nothing like his seventies, eighties or nineties stuff. Amazingly different and very classy.

Sex Isn't the Enemy by Garbage ...full on power rock with all the frills and clever stuff that you would expect from this special band. Listen and burn it.

LA BANDE DESSINEE (UK Comics part two)

2005-06-21T09:21:00.000Z

Having briefly touched upon the wondrous worlds of Comic Cuts and Ally Sloper and Chips and Punch and Puck, it is time to move on and away from the roots and foundations of British comics. Away from the later part of the 1890's and early 1900's up and onto and into the UK comic's of pre-war Britain.

The British invented the comic and also the newspaper strip but it was America that took it hold of it and sailed the genre to places that us Brit's hadn't imagined.

After the turn of the century, and as the British Empire started to thankfully crumble, many of the producers of British comics still clung to the dream days of Empire and refused to let go of the aging humor that had fueled those halcyon days.

In the pages of The Star we had Dot and Carrie. Two typists who worked for the oh so irrascible Mister Spilligan. The series began on 22nd November 1922 and ran for forty years. The artist behind the this successful strip was J.F. Horrabin who also created The Noahs of Arrat Avenue whose collected adventures were published in The Japhet Book in 1924.

The most popular British newspaper strip of all, and the first to be syndicated to America was Pop by J.Millar Watts. First published in 1925 and lasting up until 1949.

The best of the thirties strips was Nipper which, without any dialogue whatsoever, was a purely visual strip.

From the twenties and on, the British strips began to challenge the excellent American imports such as Mutt and Jeff and Bringing up Father.

As the forties dawned and war loomed, The Daily Mirror, surely the king of British newspaper strips, dropped the American Popeye in favour of the booming British ones.

In truth, the resurgence of British strips began in 1932 with the arrival of Jane. A jokey, gag-a-day strip that evolved by the start of the war in to a strip where each and every day Jane took her clothes off. Well it kept the lads fighting happy. Jane became so popular on both sides of the Atlantic that the American Army newspaper announced, when Jane went naked, with this headline "JANE GIVES ALL!"

Soon after Jane a host of other note worthies arrived and this time they all kept their clothes on.

Buck Ryan a tough detective
Beelzebub Jones a town sheriff
Belinda very much in the "Little Orphan Annie" mold
Ruggles a family adventure

And of course the excellent Garth, a musclebound hunk of a hero, kind of like Superman but with out the super powers who went on to fight a number of villains and also became Britain's longest running newspaper serial.

Unlike American strips the British versions were seldom reprinted as comic books. In fact it wasn't until many years later when an Australian publisher put the strips together into an American style comic book that some of these great strips were published in a collective format and thereby were read by a larger audience.

Away and aside from the successful newspaper strips, the British comic industry had become stuck in a rut and was still peddling tired and threadbare titles such as Puck and The Joker.

And then in 1937, The Dandy arrived and a year later The Beano.

Things were about to change.

LIFE IN THE SHED

2005-06-20T09:16:00.000Z

Well, Friday brought with it no parasol but bucket loads of summer and I in my wisdon thought that I would walk from my house to the library in Southend-on-Sea.

[tangent] southend was built in the late Victorian era as a sea side resort for people living in the east end of London. it is, in my opinion a tacky and run down place which, with a little vision and a lick of paint, could quite easily regain whatever former glory it once had. it could be Brighton but instead is more brazen bordello.

The walk from our house in Ashingdon to Southend is a distance of some twelve miles round trip. And as I love walking it didn't pose a major problem apart from when the summer hits the UK these days, it comes in spades.

Wearing a T-shirt and jeans and a pair of moccasins I did the walk and then did a spot of job hunting and then made my way back home.

The sun blazed like an oven with spiteful intentions down upon my poor little uncovered head. Fortunately I still have most of hair and the sun couldn't do a great deal of damage there but when I eventually got home, much to the amusement and subsequent derision of my loved ones, I took off my T-shirt to reveal my thin and puny (elegantly wasted) frame that looked exactly what it is. A classic Englishman. You know the kind that my Dad would have been with a sun browned head and face and forearms and that perfect V of brown on my chest with the rest of me looking a pale white.

I have been told by my family that until I somehow have managed to tan all over then I am forbidden from taking my shirt off.

Bastards.

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

2005-06-19T16:33:00.000Z

"We do not want churches because they will teach us to quarrel about God"

Chief Joseph, Nez Perce

CARPE DIEM (Ruth Pitter)

2005-06-17T09:09:00.000Z

For Us All

It is the spring of the year and a cold morning.

It is late spring too, and nothing wakes

Save the first primrose, hugging the moss she was born in,

And the pink-studded branch that the wind shakes,

Wafting down in flakes.

It is the spring of our time, and time for dying,

If hope is too heavy to lift and you cannot find

Strength to endure the east, see the petal flying,

To weather the last weeks and the most unkind

Of the whole winter, living upon the mind.

Side by side with the old joy and the old sorrow

We bear the unheard-of hope and the new pain.

Like winter wheat under the iron harrow

We grasp the soil and await the April rain;

Toil and endurance shall earn the harvest again.

MUSIC TO GROW OLD TO (Bob Dylan, The Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Buffalo Springfield, The Pretenders and Clor)

2005-06-15T08:38:00.000Z

1.
Desolation Row by Bob Dylan

Depending on your point of view you either love or loathe Bob Dylan.

He is either the genius of sixties pop culture with his poster hung high on every students bed sit or he is the greatest charlattan that the world of music has ever thrown our way.

Maybe he is both.

He cannot sing and as Bowie once wrote, he has a voice like sand and glue.

For me, together with the Beatles, he changed the face of popular music forever and his fallout still ripples at the scribbled notes of every band and singer song writer from David Grey to Damien Rice to Chris Martin who has dreamt of or who dreams of scaling the dizzying heights of success and fame.

Too often have his lyrics been analysed and mulled over as though they were tablets written from the words of some godly and poetical prophet. For Christsakes, he is just a songwriter. Get a sense of proportion will ya?

But Oh what a songwriter.

The liberties he takes on this, and other songs, are gargantuan. Were he a thief then he would steal the crown jewels and replace them with perfect fakes and sell the originals down Roman Road market.

There is no meaning here just the love of words and of telling an outrageous tale. A love of words that pour from him like wine from a broken bottle. This is less a song and more a panoramic film sequence where hordes of cosmopolitan people drift by in gaudy clothes with trinkets and canes and colours of impossible hues and impossible situations.
A kalidescopic vision of passing life in an imaginary Atlantean city street.

There are no power chords. No dazzling guitar solos. No sugar sweet and heavenly harmonies. Just a band whose elegance and ability allows Dylan to illustrate this world, his world, with an amazing array of characters and situations.

And a guitar plays a Spanish motif for to add colour to this pagan wander through Desolation Row.

Desolation Row.

His imagination knows no bounds. His ryhmes beg diamond compliments. Here is a man who, at the peak of his craft, refuses to be pigeon holed, bagged or tagged and is writing songs for himself and for us to enjoy if we want to.

I certainly did and certainly still do.

And yes the term genius really does apply.

2.
By The Way by The Red Hot Chilli Peppers

"Standing in line to see the show tonight
and there's a light on
heavy glow,
By the way I tried to say
I'll be there"

With a fluid mix of Beatleish harmony, George Clinton mega funkability, Anthony Keldis's often indecipherable lyrics and enough metal muscle, without the muscle brain, to lift a sledge load of huskies, this amazing song flits from delicious, melodious sing alongability to a raging inferno of sheer metal funk in easy stages.

There are few bands or artists today that can lay claim to having brought to a cliche ridden an often repetitive genre something fresh and new. The Red Hot Chilli Peppers are such a band and this song, that so demands a desire to be sung, perfectly illustrates the power, strength and magnificent acheivement of these four men in a three minute window of imaculate pop.

The pop charts were created for such songs and with its incredible belief in itself and the way we are led from delectable pop into hip crunching, thigh jarring funk at the drop of a note is enough to register it as an instant classic.

3.
For What its Worth by Buffalo Springfield

A crystal note sparks and ignites this mellow but potent song that is filled with a sense of disenchantment with a system that no longer holds sway over the hearts and minds of a disgruntled generation.

It is about as angry as a bunch of hippies get and these guys are as hippy as you could find in a meadow full of beads, kaftans and marijuana. After all with a band containing the likes of Neil Young and Steven Stills what else would you expect?

The melody is gentle and sweet but unsentimental and, as with Canned Heats "On the Road Again", there are those priceless guitar harmonics but this time they are used to form the songs riff that settles in nicely behind Steven Stills laid back vocal.

"There's something happening here
what it is ain't exactly clear.
There's a man with a gun over there
telling me I got to beware"

This is no love and peace and flowers empty hippie protest song but a song of alienation and disapproval and also a song that admirably illustrates all that summer of 'loves' discontent.

"Stop
Listen
What's that sound
everybody look what's coming down"

And to end it all and top it of with cream, Neil Youngs discordant, splintered and haunting guitar plays the song out with a bitter sting that rises out of the dark underbelly of the embittered melody and rises above it like a ravenous crow looking to settle upon a decaying rodent.

4.
Brass in Pocket by The Pretenders

Debbie Harry was the glowing siren of punk/new wave nobility with her Marilyn Monroe looks and her dazzling ability to not only sing some of pop's best songs but also co-write 'em.

Blonde and blue eyed and very beautiful.

Chrissie Hynde was her total image negative. Dark. Sultry. Sensual and clad in leather. And she played guitar.

She also wrote the songs and had a keen ear for sixties sparkly guitar sounds that she coupled together with a punk attitude and some damn fine lyrical twists that even her one time beau, Ray Davies, would have admired.

"Brass in Pocket" has a reggae tinge to it and therefore a completely irrestible rhytmic feel but it is the sassy vocal with all its sexual inferences that hook you like whitebait on a cruel needle.

"Gonna use my eyes
Gonna use my legs
Gonna use my senses
Gonna use my
my
my
imagination"

[Oh girl I wish you would]

She, and they, weave a delicate web that spins you in like a fly and rotates your body, heart and sexual organs as though they were malable tools in her soft and warm palms.

Sex on legs. Sex in song.

5.
NEW STUFF! 7.2 {remote}

Whatever you do listen out for Clor. Yep, Clor. I guess these guys can't spell but boy oh boy have they got an original sound. Nothing like, but with a similar effect, to when we all first heard Roxy Music. This single is their third "Welcome Music Lovers".

Download it and thank me.

MUSIC TO GROW OLD TO ..." WONKY FINGER SPECIAL"

2005-06-15T08:17:00.000Z

Live at Staplecrust Hall by Wonky Finger

As English as warm beer or chips floating in copious amounts of salt and vinegar come this deviant blast of ramshackle rock 'n blues that has all the hallmarks of actually being rather good.

The backbone of music has always been that which is played live and here is a grand old tradition being given the Wonky Finger make-over.

This is a wonderfully tongue-in-cheek but very loving slice of pub rock with the lyrical dry wit and humour that we would expect from our resident 'poet on the blog', Roger Stevens, for yes, indeed it is he and his band, Wonky Finger that creating these sounds. Sounds which remind me, vaguely, of the Bonzos crossed with the affable muscle of the Blockheads.
Without the length of hose pipe and brass instrument being whirled above anyone's head and without Mister Dury's gruff delivery it still manages to rock in a very English way.
there's also a feel of Alan Price that emanates from 'Organ Morgans' keyboard and just a whiff of the Mothers on "Go Go Go".

I especially liked " I remember Bob" with its daft lyric and call and repeat type backing vocal and "What Wanda Wants" (nice bit of alliteration there Dodger, er Roger) and very much liked the previously mentioned "Go Go Go", which has someone playing vibes on it!

And although the sound is a rough mix that isn't to say that the musicianship is unaccomplished but then again, live recordings, by the virtue of what they are and what they are meant to be, should always reflect an honest and basic quality.

Yes indeedy I liked it and for anyone who, like me, has enjoyed Rogers poetry then I recommend that you go to his Web Page, fork out the tenner and purchase that album now. It is very much worth the dosh.

LIFE IN THE SHED

2005-06-13T12:29:00.000Z

Jimbob has got his date with The Royal Marine Commandos. The 28th June. He seems happy with that whilst I think he is barmy. Still it takes all sorts to make a world doesn't it?

Thumbscrew, having kissed and made up with her boyfriend is spending a long, and no doubt raunchy and dirty, weekend with her boyfriend in Italy. Venice to be exact. Very romantic indeed.

Tweezil is taking a leaf out of Merry and Pippin, of Lord of the Rings fame, in that suddenly, aged thirteen, she is shooting up and up and up. She is probably the only member of my family who seems to share the same interests in art and poetry and music and writing that I have. She had to write a piece about me entitled "My Dad" for homework recently. Not sure if it was complimentary or not. I'll copy it and publish it here soon.

Took Squidy out on Saturday and bought her a new bed. At fourteen she is far too old to be kipping in a bunk bed and besides when she gets a bit older and she wants to have her boyfriend 'sleep over' how embarrasing to have to ask "you wanna go on top?"

Crablocker and I went out with some friends to a rather pleasant restaurant on Canvey Island of all places. Now Canvey, for thse who don't know it is the arse end of Essex. In fact it is probably THE place where all those Essex jokes spring from. Who ever designed Canvey's housing obviously decided to shoehorn as many houses into a small and confined space as possible with littel regard or though for the people living there. Bijou is being nice.

The restaurant was really nice as was the company but then again good food and good company are always welcome.

For all the people who have wondered about all those strange names that my wife and children have and now see me as either a Zappa type father who names his childen with bizarre forenames or someone who is trying to disguise their 'real' names for the sake of something or other well, neither is true. The names that I call them are the names that I have given to them as pre-birth names. I used to talk to Thumbscrew throught the wall sof her mothers womb and if I didn't call her Thumbscrew now she would think that I was cross with her.

Crablockers name comes, obviously from the Beatles song " I am the Walrus". Lennon wrote "Crabalocker fishwife" and I simply took out the "a". I have called my true love by that name for more than thirty three years and I think she might wonder why I first called her it but has become accustomed to it now.

Here is an old poem that I wrote about thirteen years ago. See If you can guess which one is Thumbscrew, which one is Squid and which one is Tweezil. Jimbob gets no prizes for guessing.

" I've got four children
count them and see
I've got a Charlotte, Grace, Jamie
and an Emily"

The winner gets a winter break on the Isle of Littlewick which lies east of Fekenham Swarberry!

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

2005-06-12T06:20:00.000Z

"We will be known forever by the tracks we leave"

Native American saying.

CARPE DIEM (Roger McGough)

2005-06-10T08:15:00.000Z

Wearing Thin

'You'll soon grow out of it' she would say
When buying a blazer three sizes too big.
Ans she was right as mothers usually are.

Syrup of figs. Virol. Cod liver oil.
Within a year I did grow into it
By then, of course, it was threadbare.

Pulling in differnet directions
My clothes matched.
And in changing rooms nothing has changed.

I can buy what I like and when
New clothes that are a perfect fit.
Full length mirror, nervous grin,
It's me now that's threadbare, wearing thin.

Roger McGough

LA BANDE DESSINEE (Harvey Kurtzman)

2005-06-09T10:22:00.000Z

Even if you are one of those people who dismisses comics as being puerile and not even within the range of contempt as they do not even stand comparison with regular literature, then I bet you have read at least one issue of MAD Magazine.

Oh, but it isn't a comic I hear you cry, it is an adult cartoon satire that is way over the heads of the young.

In the words of Johnny Rotten.

Bollocks.

Mad is/was a comic book and like any art form, television, cinema or literature it is available to various age groups but with Mad it appealed to virtually anyone and everyone.

Born in New York on the 10th March 1924 Kurtzman was to go on and instigate America's most successful comic magazine, and in fact probably the most successful comic magazine ever in the wonderfully weird and wacky MAD.

But it isn't just MAD that Kurtzman should be remembered for as there are a whole host of other titles that he worked on.

Kurtzman's first job was working for Lou Ferstadt, who produced comic strip features for a range of publishers. His work was outstanding and was featured on a host of titles.

In 1943, aged just 18 he was called up to for military service and was in the army for two and a half years, leaving circa 1946. After the war Kurtzman returned to comic books as a freelancer working for a young Stanley Lieber (Stan Lee) at Timely Comics, the forerunner to Marvel Comics where he produced, with very little editorial control his one page strips entitled Hey Look! He produced this strip for three years.

In the late 1940's comic books were going through a transitional phase and Kurtzman left Stan Lee and Timely Comics and went off on his own and started his own commercial arts studio along with will Elder, Charles Stern and Elliot Chaplin. It was during this period that Kurtzman first meet publisher Bill Gaines of EC Comics fame and notoriety. Gaines hired him and Kurtzman started doing cover illustrations on a range of science fiction and horror titles. Soon after that he startde working on, and editing his own stories for Gaines and EC with some of the best written anti war stories ever published. Two Fisted Tales and Frontline Combat.

But it was humor that Kurtzman loved with a passion and it was humor that he returned to in October 1952 with the first ever edition of Mad.

Mad was his inspiration and was not only largely written by him it was also drawn and edited by him too.

The rest the say is history as Mad went onto become the best selling comic magazine of all time but strangely enough not with Kurtzman at the helm as he only stayed with Mad for a brief four years leaving in 1956. But his legacy remained.

After Mad he tried a number of projects and even went on to work with publisher Hugh Heffner and although all his projects meet with mixed success his influence grew especially on the underground scene. Without Harvey Kurtzman there more than likely wouldn't have been a Robert Crumb.

The other title or strip that Kurtzman will be remembered for is his work on Hugh Heffners Playboy magazine with the strip Little Annie Fannie. A ribald mikey take on all things sexy and hip.

But it is Mad, with its amazing commercial success and longevity that will always be his remaining testament.

Harvey Kurtzman died in 1993.

MUSIC TO GROW OLD TO (The Beatles, Blondie, Placebo, Canned Heat and . . .)

2005-06-07T09:14:00.000Z

1.
Hey Bulldog by The Beatles

Sometime back in the late sixties or more likely the early seventies, either NME or Melody Maker, I can't remember which, ran a feature that included some of that times great Rock 'n Roll singers. people like Robert Plant of Led Zepplin, Ian Gillan of Deep Purple, Roger Chapman of Family, Paul Rodgers of Free and Ozzy Osbourne of Black Sabbath.

They asked these, and any others who, in their opinion, was the worlds greatest Rock 'n Roll singer/vocalist.
Their collective answer was as unequivocal as it was resounding.

John Lennon was their overwhelming choice.

And the reason that they didn't pick Elvis or Roy Orbison, both of whom had better singing voices then Lennon, or anyone's else come to that was because Rock 'n Roll is a primitive, primordial force. Raw and ravaged and aggressive.

John Lennon's voice was the living epitome of Rock'n Roll.

Rasping. Throaty. Raw. Earthy and with a nasal quality that would make Pavarotti blanch.

This song isn't one of the fabs best known numbers but it should be. In fact it should have been released as a single back in 68 rather than the dreadful number one hit "Hello Goodbye" which was lacklustre and MOR in comparison.

The guitar riff in itself is a classic and the lyrics just ooze with Lennon's bile and genius wordplay.

"Some kinda innocence is measured out in years
You don't know what its like to listen to your fears"

Lennon, after spending the summer of love lost in a heroin fueled neverwhere returns with this abrasive song that he sings with all the venom and passion that informed all his best work.

Brilliant.
Utterly brilliant.

2.
Heart of Glass by Blondie

When I first saw Debbie Harry on Top Of The Pops way back in 1978 I, like half the male population, was bowled over by this perfect vision of a priestess of pop.

Punk with its studded Doc Marten's had done what the Teddy Boys and Rock 'n Roll had done some twenty years before and knocked down the doors of convention and allowed a whole raft of fresh and exciting talent to come trampling all over our flowerbeds of moral decency and livened things up a bit.

Debbie Harry and Blondie were one of those magnificent acts and for a period that lasted for only a brief five years she ruled our hearts and they ruled the pop charts.

Heart of Glass was releasded in 1980 and was remarkable not only for being yet another number one hitin the singles chart but also because it mixed together a disco feel with a Rock 'n Roll song which in its time was quite an innovation.

Too often Debbie's voice is overlooked in favour of her looks but she has a voice. And a good voice too. She sings this with a deft use of irony and laid back vitriol. Ending with, on the album version these famous lines . . .

"Once had love and it was a gas
soon turned out to be a pain in the ass"

Compared to The Pistols, the Clash or The Damned, Blondie appear, at first glance, to be a sugar sweet pop band and they certainly wrote and performed some of the best pop songs ever but there was an edge to their music and often a bite to their lyrics that nearly always shone through.

3.
Every Me and Every You by Placebo

Placebo are a trio.

There is something good about trios.

Cream, The Jam, Jimi Hendrix Experience.

Something paired down with a no non sense approach.

Brian Melko is Placebo's creative force and their vocalist. His lyrics are bruised and are very much of a man on the outside looking in. There is a strong feeling of alienation in so many of his songs and this one is no different.

There is muscle here and fast, angry power and a depth of engery like a ticking bomb. As though a space missile has been launched and nothing short of a miracle is going to stop it from reaching its predestined target. It doesn't just hover or float into your psyche, it smashes in with a swell of guitar chords and flexing bass and driving drum beats.

But it isn't all about power and muscle. The whole thing is coated with a plaintive melody that is wholly irrestible.

On the Road Again by Canned Heat

It begins with three delicious guitar string harmonics that sounds like the dawn dew lightly set on a cobweb that sparkle and glitter on the reflected chrome of the Harleys exhausts and the echo of which is reflected off of the sidearms on the Ray Banns. The bass kicks in and we are motoring. Motoring across the sand swept, cactus littered desert backdrop of the Mojave desert.

The sun beats down in a blazing tatto that accompanies the undeniable rhythm.

It is of course the summer after the summer of love and the world is in recovery after all the sonic drug induced experimentation as is listening to a more basic back to roots music.

"Big Bear" Bob Hite is giving Whispering Bob Harris lessons with his frail and fragile voice, especially so for a man of his gargantuan girth, which floats over the bluesy, heavy, baby heart beat sound like a summer butterfly with hawks talons.

Beware all rodents and hippies.

This is the electric blues courtesy of Robert Johnson and Blind Lemon Jefferson. Slow. Steady. Toe tapping and oh so necessary.

This is the sound of West coast America circa 1968.

A sublime point in history.

NEW STUFF!!!

New Stuff 31 & three quarters.

The Magic Numbers.

Some guys have to go one better don't they? The White Stripes (this columns favourite contemporary band) are a brother and sister duo and these guys are TWO sisters and TWO brothers. One big happy bunch of siblings who look like the bastard offspring of Demis Roussos and Mama Cass.

They hail from London and sound like the Mamas and Papas crossed with Buffalo Springfield. No mean feet.

Try them.

LIFE IN THE SHED

2005-06-06T09:12:00.000Z

The weekend didn't prove to be the welcome escape it should have been. Crablocker worries about our situation and although I am not one for worrying, I understand how concerned she feels.

But I said that I wouldn't dwell on that bit of bad luck and therefore i won't

Hey, all you Dad's out there. Do you you do your bit of ironing at the weekend? We leave the huge mountain of laundry until Sunday evening and then we get started whilst watching the usual drivel on the telly.

I have to confess that what sound like a blokes dream come true is in reality a bit of a nightmare.
What am I talking about?
Ladies underwear.
Yep, I love the old thong as much as the next man but what confuses me, bearing in mind that there are four females in my family, is whose knickers are whose?
The bras I can cope with, I mean after all, and no offense to my younger daughters but their bobbies just aren't as big as their Mums and it is a simple matter to identify which one goes with which pile.
Even then though, to be brutally honest, I still make some stupid errors and usually one of my brood shout at me, "That's not mine that's Thumbscrews".

But the knickers I can never get right.

And tell me girls, as nice as the appear from my very jaundiced opinion, don't they chafe a little?
You know around the old naughty bits. Kinda cut you in twain like a cheese wire slicing through warm Camembert?

Thongs are, from a guys point of view, a bit like childbirth. Great to witness but you wouldn't want to do it.

The other thing that my female members do and I don't know if I am the only male foolish enough to comply is to get their damn sanitary towels.
And it is soooooo confusing. I mean different colours and different makes and different strengths. Some have even got bloody wings! What's that all about then eh? A bit like an X-Wing Tampax from the pages of Star Wars.
I had to get an armful of these alien suppositorys recently and became so confused that I had to enlist the assistance of a fellow female shopper. I'm not sure who was more shocked and embarrassed, me or her.

Thank god for my one and only son. At least he gets his Mum to buy his condoms!

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

2005-06-05T10:10:00.000Z

"Study the past if you would define the future"

confucius

IF ONLY . . . (Spencer Tracey and Katherine Hepburn)

2005-06-04T07:45:00.000Z

If Only . . .

Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracey had been around in the present time.

She had such an elegance and grace of style with a swift and deadly ability to put anyone in their place with a raise of an eyebrow,

And he was such a gifted and natural actor who exuded a natural ease and economy of style that hasn't dated in the least.

Imagine them working with some of the great directors of the modern age such as Martin Scorsese or Anthony Minghella.

If only.

CARPE DIEM (William Carlos Williams)

2005-06-03T17:41:00.000Z

Danse Russe

If when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,-
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
"I am lonely, lonely,
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!"
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,-

Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?

william carlos williams

FISHY THOUGHTS

2005-06-01T23:56:00.000Z

Friendship.

When two people have a mutual liking and respect for each other.

Right.

Three years ago one of my friends had been sacked from his job as a Sales Director of one of the UK's top five mailing facilities. To this day he doesn't know I know this but with 'friends' you appreciate their failings and their bruised egos so I stayed shtuum.

At precisely the same moment Charmster was being dismissed I was being head hunted by another DM company, based in Manchester who wanted me to act as their London Sales Manager/Director.

I have never been someone who is easily impressed by titles as I am only interested in the colour of their money. A fair days pay for a fair days work and all that.

I suggested to this Manchester based company that it would be of enormous benefit to them to set up not one London based salesperson but a team of three. My friend who had been sacked, another friend who I had worked with and of course me.

I was offered the Sales Directors role but turned it down in favour to my 'friend'. Not because I am soft in the head or overtly altruisic but because I didn't want that responsibility.

My friend was paid £60,000 per year.

It was a good job and for a year the three of us enjoyed each others company but sadly achieved less than we expected. I certainly didn't perform to my previous form of introducing £3 million pound of work in a year.

I became concerned because time is the constant enemy of a salesperson and time was passing and we hadn't closed any deals. And then I hit paydirt, or rather me and my other mate struck lucky. We got into a company called Sentinel Card Protection who were looking to place £500,000 of work a year with us. Unbeknown to me the owners of the company had some issues with our lack of, up till then success.

My 'friend' told them that all the faults for our collective failure was down to me and then he took the credit for the Sentnel Card deal.

I was sacked.

This was 2002.

Bruised and battered and no longer in favour amongst my industries disingenuous paymasters I joined another friends tiny company.

And lo and behold history repeats the same defeats etc.

I am no angel.

But I have integrity and honesty.

Four years back I gave this second 'friend' a client worth £90,000 a year.

A gift of friendship given freely and with love.

Two years ago he gave me a job. He said he wanted a salesperson to promote his company. I had designed, and all for free a web site and a four colour brochure. As a salesperson you need those kind of tools. He didn't want them even thought they were free.

He tells me that he cannot afford me as I do not pay my way. My total cost to the company is about £60,000 and I have given him £150,000 of clients.

Something doesn't add up.

I know, by whatever gods or godesses there may be, that I wouldn't, couldn't do what he has done to another human being.

Not only is it very cruel and dishonest, it is also immoral.

Of all the lessons that my mother and father taught me as a child and of all the holy scriptures and teachings of Buddha, Christ and Mohamed none of these virtues count for a squalid pile of shit in this vile and callous world.

MUSIC TO GROW OLD TO (Rocket from the Crypt, Joy Zipper, Jefferson Airplane)

2005-05-31T20:27:00.000Z

1.
On a Rope by Rocket from the Crypt

Not a big fan of heavy metal but this is less that and more just heavy rock with slabs of concrete guitar licks that crash and crunch and thunder and collide like falling masonry into a dustbin of steel to the accompaniment of boulders thrown by Norse giants.
The whole thing has a quality of being driven by an industrial strength steam engine that chugs and hammers out the distinctive riff.
The lead singer bellows out the lyrics with a gravel stonemixer voice, and yes there is a tune here too, whilst the backing singers chant and repeat the title ad nauseum.

A slice of nineties pop that all too often gets forgotten.

2.
You're so Good by Joy Zipper

Yet another current boy/girl duo but again, nothing like the brilliant White Stripes.

A chugging guitar riff splashed with some honey sweet vocals that mix together in a dog rough and barking loud song that speaks very much of a classic girl singer, as in Debbie Harry, Chrissie Hynde mold.

A bitter sweet melody with lots of raffeta type frilly bits that do not interfere or jeopardize the Rock 'n Roll street credibility of this excellent bands new single.

Joy Zipper are not new however, and have been around for awhile now and if you like your Rock with some real pop sensibilities ie like Garbage, Blondie et al then you will love these guys.

3.
White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane.

It is 1967.

It is the summer of love.

At this point in time we haven't as yet been overrun by the fashion hippies but are still being confronted by the real deal and Jefferson airplane were as real a deal as you could get.

After spending several days playing over and over and listening to every note and phrase of Miles Davis classic Sketches of Spain and after taking copious amounts of LSD, the Plane were ready to write and record one of that generations defining moments.

Rich with a drug induced lyric brimming with Lewis Carroll imagery this bolero backed song trips into the psyche with hallucinogenic ease.

And the lyric?
Oh boy, the lyric . . .

"One pill makes you larger
And one pill makes you small
And the ones that mother gives you
Don't do anything at all
Go ask Alice
When she's ten feet tall"

Perhaps it is possible to write words like these without the use of drugs but lets be honest here, it certainly helps to be a little stoned surely?

"And if you go chasing rabbits
And you know you're going to fall
Tell 'em a hookah smoking caterpillar
Has given you the call
To call Alice
When she was just small"

And what's with all the chess board references then eh?

"When the men on the chessboard
Get up and tell you where to go
And you've just had some kind of mushroom
And your mind is moving slow
Go ask Alice
I think she'll know"

And all the while the bolero builds and builds as Grace Slick's vocals rise in passion and volume and the song flyss on like a Spanish Bullfighters cape. Fluttering and flapping in the searing, scorching sun of another drug addled dream.

"When logic and proportion
Have fallen sloppy dead
And the White Knight is talking backwards
And the Red Queen's off with her head
Remember what the dormouse said:
"Feed your head
Feed your head""

As Grandma used to say, they don't write 'em like that nowadays.

LIFE IN THE SHED

2005-05-30T09:12:00.000Z

The rising dawn flushes the night away, bleeding daylight into my waking dream. Lifting the duvet of darkness from my eyes. The blinding light of morning cuts into my vision like a razor blade.

I rise from the cocoon comfort of my crumpled bed and with jangling joints cross the soundless wall to wall wooden floorboard kingdom of my bedroom upon naked feet.

I fill the empty hinterland of my breakfast table with the paraphenallia of my morning meal. Tea, milk, no sugar. Weetabix, two, light sprinkling of sugar (too many fast acting carbs but what the hell). Pint of ice cool milk. Hungry after a night of monchrome nightmares I consume the food with passion and in silence.

The angry, insect buzz of the telephone breaks through the brittle breakfast silence like a swarm of virulent bee's. I claw at the hand set and answer in clipped, brute monosylables.

"Yep"

"Nope"

"OK. Will do"

I reflect upon the wreckage that is the sum total of my working life which has had more ups and downs than a senic railway ride.

I have gone, in three short years from being a very sought after salesman in the Direct Marketing industry, someone with soul and integrity, to being an also ran. A busted flush.

Like a great pop singer who has had his hit and now no one wants to know.

When my 'friend' lost his job I found him and me and another friend the jobs of our dreams. My friend then sacked me for a failure that was equally his as mine. That was three years ago and since then life has slipped gradually away from me.

But the one thing I am, if nothing else, is a fighter and I am not done yet, not by a long chalk.

Friday, another friend made me redundant.

Nice word. Less abrasive than sacked.

Same difference though.

I am responsible for five others. They depend on me and I will not be beaten.

I will not.

No one said life was a bed of roses.

It isn't.

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

2005-05-29T09:13:00.000Z

"There are hundreds of paths up the mountain,all leading in the same direction,so it doesn't matter which path you take.The only one wasting time is the onewho runs around and around the mountain,telling everyone else that their path is wrong."

~ Hindu Teaching

with grateful thanks to lorena for supplying the quote

THE VILLAGE TALES OF FEKENHAM SWARBERRY (In which we are introduced to the inestimable Vicar Linkthorpe)

2005-05-28T08:21:00.000Z

Elvis Linkthorpe slid into the Frog and Radiator amid a fugue of marijuana smoke that followed him like a grey cloak. His red eyes gazed at the assembled populace of Fekenham with a slitted paranoia and magenta tinted, biblical suspicion.

"Evening Vicar. A pint of the usual?" declared Arthur Bentwhistle with his normal trombone toned voice that moved with inelegant ease up and down the vocal range like a greased sprocket on a leaky piston.

"Yes please Arthur" replied the addled priest.

Every evening at about eight, when all the sermons had been writ and supplications to god had gathered weary legs and gone back into the cobwebbed dusty draws of eternity to sit and wait until some angel or other found them, and the visits to the local infirmary and the old folks home high on Apple Crust Hill had been dutifully performed, the good reverend Linkthorpe fretted his way into his favourite haunt for a drop of his favourite tipple from the hand of his favourite barmaid, the rotund but delectable Delores Dewhip, with her skin like alabaster and her lips like treasured fruit and those divine breasts that quivered and fell with each guffaw that left those delicious lips.
Of course the good reverend knew that he shouldn't entertain such thoughts and he tried his level best not to but sometimes Satan plays hard ball and God is crap at fielding such wayward thoughts.

His mother hadn't Chistened him Elvis but had given him the far more heteromorphic sobriquet of Serenade Heathcliffe Austin Linkthorpe. Obviously it was a name that caused him some severe grief throughout his schooldays and well into his teenage years whereupon, by deedpoll, he had it changed to Elvis. Then, unfortunately for the newly named gent, the sixties happened and the name Elvis was about as cool as, well, Serenade actually.

He came to the village in the summer of 1969 looking like a refuge from a camp variant of some ghastly hippie commune whereupon, declaring his love for everyone and anything that either moved or didn't, including trees, he encamped to the local Church, St. Whipplemore's, and where he remained, preaching the gospel according to Mark, Luke, John, Matthew and Bob Dylan.

The villagers took him to their unflinching bosoms and forgave him his little peccadilloes after all everyone has their funny ways don't they and just because the local vicar had a lustful eye on the local barmaid, smoked pot and swore like a back street abortionist, what of it?

As the old Fekenham saying goes..."It takes a host of spanners to mend a creaky mill".

{[[Whatever that means? ]]}

more tales from Fekenham Swarberry next week

CARPE DIEM (Pablo Neruda)

2005-05-27T10:11:00.000Z

I do not love you

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

that this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep

words by Pablo Neruda

LA BANDE DESSINEE (An apollo Gee Gee)

2005-05-26T08:45:00.000Z

SORRY THAT THE REGULAR ARTICLE IS MISSING THIS WEEK BUT I SPENT MOST OF THE DAY IN THE DENTIST HAVING A TOOTH REMOVED IN PREPARATION FOR EITHER AN IMPLANT OR, QUITE POSSIBLY, A BRIDGE.

£2,000 FOR AN IMPLANT (JUST THE ONE) MIGHT JUST INFLUENCE ME TO HAVE THAT BRIDGE.

LA BANDE DESSINEE WILL RETURN NEXT WEEK AND SHORTLY, WITH LUCK AND ROGER STEVENS INPUT, I WILL BE POSTING THE SECOND PART OF THE UK COMICS ARTICLE.

LOVE AND BANANAS TO ONE AND ALL!!!

MUSIC TO GROW OLD TO (The Rolling Stones, The Kills, Sheryl Crow, The Police)

2005-05-24T00:04:00.000Z

1.

Sympathy For The Devil by The Rolling Stones

Amongst the haunted earth and the spoilt and corrupt gravestones it begins with an excitement of bongoes and a shriek from the throat of some lesser demon. And then another shriek. Chicken feathers shake in a voodoo tribal witch dance and suddenly the soil bubbles and out of its core to the accompaniment of a bass pulsing with tainted blood, Rock 'n Roll blood, Lucifer Morningstar rises resplendent in top hat and satin tails and long locks that curl around his sensual face and his lips, those sexual pouting cunningulus primed lips, move in greeting . . .

"Please allow me to introduce myself
I am a man of wealth and taste"

Behind and a little to Satans right lurches a demon of obvious importance, lewd and loquacious with a smoking dogend hanging from his mouth and a mouth that smacks together loudly as gum is chewed and from his one hand dangles a bottle of Jack Daniels and in his other he holds a guitar that he strums to the rythm of the devils music.

This is the Stones at their sleazy best. Primal and swaggering and defiant. From the Beggars Banquet album that also produced Street Fighting Man and from the same sessions came Jumpin' Jack Flash.

It doesn't get any better than this.

Love Is A Deserter by The Kills

Another boy and girl band like the White Stripes but with a sound that is all their own. Beatbox meets punk with a fizzing electronica that pole vaults out of the speaker and slaps you twice around the face just to make sure that you are still alive.

It has an attitude that is sullen and cool and the vocal doesn't scream at you, all though you think it might at any second, but spills its venom in an almost whispered snarl.

It crunches along with an impending air of petulance and sexuality that is irrestible and catchy and then, at about two minutes in, it suddenly and very abruptly stops and as you are about to get up and put in another track it kicks back in. A splendid false ending that never fails to impress.

The Kills are a relatively new band with two albums under their belts. Lets hope that they keep producing such good sounds.

If It Makes You Happy by Sheryl Crow

A travelogue.

A roadtrip.

A strumming guitar that speaks in the silences of the American vastlands that sprawl out still untamed, unless it be the occassional roadside coffee houses that litter the way. A dusty song that is loaded with a melancholia that seeps through and tastes of regret and lack of understanding and a deep, deep yearning.

"I've been long, a long way from here

Put on a poncho, played for mosquitos,

And drank til I was thirsty again

We went searching through thrift store jungles

Found Geronimo's rifle, Marilyn's shampoo

And Benny Goodman's corset and pen

Well, o.k. I made this up

I promised you I'd never give up"

It is a song of love and of caring and of wondering 'what on earth is wrong with you' and really, deep down inside knowing the answer but not liking it very much.

"You get down, real low down

You listen to Coltrane, derail your own train

Well who hasn't been there before?

I come round, around the hard way

Bring you comics in bed, scrape the mold off the bread

And serve you french toast again"

But in the end the torment and the soul searching and all the deliberation bursts out into the haunting question mark that puzzles her so.

"If it makes you happy

it can't be that bad

If it makes you happy

then why are you so sad?"

Some questions, no matter how plaintive the query are not worth noting.

This is a fabulous song from probably Sheryl's peak.

4.

Every Breath You Take by The Police

What appeals to me about this 'love song' is that it isn't quite what it seems. In fact it isn't really a love song at all or if it is then it a twisted song of love with menace. Kind of like a stalkers litany of threats to the lover he has lost. A deranged mind whose love gone bad has turned him into the worst kind of jilted paramour. A shadowy figure that sneaks around in shadows with a keen eye on her bathroom window. A silent wraith that hovers outside her house and watches whilst she walks. A specteral figure that takes photographs of her as she eats. A constant secretive companion who watches your every move and takes notes.

"Every single day
Every word you say
Every game you play
Every night you stay
I'll be watching you"

It is a possesive and paranoid longing that is fueled by loss and heartbreak. A desperate warning cry that says that we may have parted but I for one will not be letting go of you. You are mine now and forever and if it takes that long to prove I am right then so be it.

Chilling indeed.

And even the Puff Daddy, now P Diddy (just call me Coke Jess OK), single which was the backbone of that version still used that brilliant riff. An excellent song.

LIFE IN THE SHED (a memory of a mother-in-law/ Mad Glad

2005-05-23T09:11:00.000Z

Mad Glad is probably not the way that Gladys May Allen would want to be remembered but I had called her that for more than thirty years and I think that she had got used to it.

Sunday was Mad Glad's birthday. She died some three years ago and we all miss her terribly.

Forget all the mother-in-law jokes for this lady was one diamond of a person and I owe her a helluva lot.

Born in London's East End, East Ham to be exact, in 1913 she lived for a good eighty nine years and although we often didn't see eye to eye she had a wonderful personality and a natural genorisity that I could only hope to match.

She was a typical Eastender with a cackle for a laugh and huge heart for compaasion and a swift rebuke if you didn't drink her tea quickly enough or eat too litle of the food she had prepared for you.

At shopping she was a terrible antagonist who would assault anyone who got in the way of her menacing 5 foot three frame. Wielding shopping bags like battle axes.

I loved her very much.

This is my poem to her.

Mad Glad

Mad Glad,

You drive me around the bend,

They'd better let out a warning

When on Tesco you descend.

You have a style unique

As around the shop you list,

Knocking over shoppers

Who all think you are pissed.

You wield a plastic bag with skill

As you careen from isle to isle,

Today you bashed three old men

But you made the assistant smile.

words by cocaine jesus

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

2005-05-22T10:40:00.000Z

"What is a man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, men would die from great loneliness of spirit, for whatever happens to the beasts also happens to man. All things are connected. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the children of the earth."

Chief Seattle, Suqwamish and Duwamish

IF ONLY . . . (Keith Moon, Jack Bruce, Jimi Hendrix & Robert Plant)

2005-05-21T08:44:00.000Z

If Only . . .

Keith Moon, Jimi Hendrix, Jack Bruce and Robert Plant had formed a supergroup.

Just think of the incredible squall of sound that they would have made.

Plant with his sonic banshee wail.

Hendrix wit his unbelievable blues meets psychedelic guitar.

Bruce with his incredible bass runs that hauled bands into hyperdrive.

Moon who was the only drummer ever to turn the percussive instrument into a lead instrument.

If Only . . .

CARPE DIEM (Hillaire Belloc)

2005-05-20T09:53:00.000Z

LA BANDE DESSINEE (Asterix the Gaul)

2005-05-19T11:51:00.000Z

If my childhood was filled with Marvel Comics wonderful balletic violence and with fond memories of Herge's Tintin then there is yet another comic book character who has lasted in my mind and heart and that of course is Asterix the Gaul.

Asterix's creators, Rene Goscinny and Albert Uderzo, unlike Herge, were actually French and er, well at this point it does get kind of complicated. You see Rene WAS born in Paris in 1926 and therefore is/was very much French but his Dad, Stanislas, comes from Poland and his Mum, Anna, from the Ukrain and then, to make a short story all that much longer, his parents moved to Buenos Aires, Argentina where Rene was educated. (In a French school of course).

Still with me?

Good.

Now for Albert.

Ready?

OK, here we go. Albert is also French and was born in Normandy in 1927 but of course his parents weren't French, nah, not with a surname like that but were Italians who moved to France shortly before Albert was boen and thankfully stayed there because if they hadn't then this story would be an uncomfortably long one.

After the second world war ended and in 1945, Rene, along with his Mother, moved to New York where they stayed for a year until 1946 when they moved back to France.

For the next few years Rene's life was comparatively bleak and he existed without a proper job until 1948 when he fell into a friendship with American comic legends in the making Will Elder, Jack Davies and Harvey Kurtzman all of whom would become famous as the creators of Mad. Rene, together with Maurice de Bévère, aka Morris went onto create his first successful comic strip in Lucky Luke a strip he would continue to write for over twenty years.

He had a deal of mixed success in the intervening years but it wasn't until he met Albert Uderzo in 1951 that his fame would become assured.

Uderzo had started a successful career as an artist in Paris after the war in 1945, with creations such as Flamberge and also Clopinard. He met Rene Goscinny 1951 and the pair became good friends. Together they created a great many notable characters and stories but it is Asterix that will always remain as the culmination of all their achievements.

As much as I have come to love Tintin in a backward looking, nostalgic eye and with a huge deference to its incredible influence, it is Asterix, with its galaxy of gaelic (and others) characters and side splitting humor that I truly love.

Asterix arrived with us in 1959 and was an instant hit and now of course can claim to be the worlds second most famous cartoon character after a certain mouse.

The stories have always been humorous and filled with political side swipes and have never failed to entertain. Asterix is probably less well known in Japan and America than it is in Europe as both of those countries have a large comic book range of heroes of their own but of course in France, Asterix has his own amusement park that is not a million miles away from Disney Paris.

The fiction of Asterix is set in an occupied France in and about 50BC in a place known as Armorica, a psuedonim perhaps for Brittany, where the occupants have managed, due to some magical potion of the local druid, to keep the Romans at bay and very much on their toes.

The cast of characters is amazing and long and includes . . .

Asterix the star of the show
Obelix his best mate
Dogmatix well every hero has his cannine friend
Getafix the local druid that I spoke of
Vitalstastistix the village chief
Impedimenta the village chiefs wife
Geriatrix the village elder
Cacophonix the villages bard
Fulliautomatix the blacksmith
Unhygienix the fishmonger
Bacteria the fishmongers wife

And yes, as you can see there is a strong element of tongue in cheek inherent in all the stories and believe it or not this is only a very brief list at not at all comprehensive.

In total there was twenty four books that were written by the two men with a further eight, with a planned ninth on the way, that were published after Goscinny's death in 1977.

You can still buy all the many volumes and they are all reasonably priced at £9.99p per book.

Asterix and his two co-creators will always be remembered as among the greats of comicdom.