Sunday, 31 January 2016
And just yesterday hearing Harry Secombe singing Jerusalem on the radio as I browsed the second hand books the hospice shop on the Antrim Rd. That very funny man had an amazing voice and he carried that hymn til it soared and yet he grounded it as well. Maybe it was because it was the same place just a couple of weeks ago I heard of the death of Bowie. A sad voice coming over the air on a radio that had seen better days I guess no matter how much we try to live in the moment the past and the yet to be whirl all about us like a dervish. Anything permanent is just an illusion. I wonder if I would have felt differently if the song had been Bowie singing The Laughing Gnome...
Ha,Ha,Ha,He,He,He,I'm The Laughing Gnome And You Cant Catch Me..
It all feels terribly dated now. A very mannered Lord Of The Flies with the protagonists descending into more practical life adjustments than the chilling barbarism of our distant ancestors. Well, I say that in a cautionary fashion. Not so much distant as sleeping lightly not so far beneath the skin. You have to read with generously non-judgemental eyes as there are colonialist attitudes clunking throughout the text but it is still an entertaining read after all this time. It was a juvenile tale in the era of its inception and the years have morphed it into something else. This book and others like it would have lined the shelves of school libraries the world over. It is hard to imagine some of the tiles or book covers having social acceptability in the world as we understand it to be. And quite rightly so in some cases.
I never did read its sequel The Gorilla Hunters but it already sounds equally charming. One so rarely gets to go on a gorilla hunt these days.
Or maybe that is just my fear of a future that sets no store by my own feeble aspirations.
My desire to get to the moon in a wooden rocket.
Thursday, 21 January 2016
There is a melancholy quality that runs like a rich seam through Blackstar. There are tracks that allude to times and tunes past, well remembered songs and their composition. A track such as I Cant Give everything away feels like a track left off Low or at the very least a song recorded in a studio not so far away from the time and the place that wonderful album was recorded in. Let yourself be swept away by Blackstar and you will see what I mean. With Bowie's passing it feels as though a certain magic has gone out of the world. A sprinkling of stardust that allowed the wingless to fly.
Sunday, 17 January 2016
Perhaps in another time in another place.
And where ever that is you can be sure it will not be boring.
Wednesday, 13 January 2016
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved Earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of Heroic Hearts.
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Ulysses by Alfred Lord Tennyson.
Oh Boy. Such days. It can be hard at times to say aloud that which is truly unspoken in the heart. When what we are trying to express with clarity is obscured by a blizzard of ill- judged sounds that pass for words. We sound angry when we aim for temperance. We sound ignorant when we strive for wisdom. Words just fail as they often times do when a man tries to speak from his heart. But this I can say with an absolute certainty;I loved David Bowie and I always will.It is hard to imagine a world that no longer has such a precious being in it..
Just days to absorb Blackstar, To look at those accompanying videos and realise the context in which they were created. The Heart aches..
But it sings too. A heart filled with songs that will never stop. With work that will never rot.
Bowie sang his life and we all listened and it was a better kinder world for it.
I wish I could sing. I would sing for him and like a host of angels sing him to his sleep.
Good night David and thank you for everything.
Saturday, 9 January 2016
...Some people took punk very seriously indeed. A few good friends of mine saw the possibility for social change in its ethos and thought it the responsibility of the artist to change the world through their music and almost as importantly their hair. And then there was those of us who liked bands like the Damned. For about four albums they were for me one of the most enjoyable sounds to come thumping through the heavy mono speaker of my ma's stereogram. Signed to Stiff Records they came already with a thumbs up in a funny kind of way. There were some genius people on that label back in the day. From Ian Dury and Lena Lovitch right up to the labels most sustained hit makers Madness. Not that hits seem to matter much back then it seemed to be about something else. Having a great time most of all.
They bloody looked great too. Each member doing his own thing. Dave Vanian always looked amazing and I so envied Captain Sensible and his mohair suit. I wanted one so much but did not even know what mohair was. I thought there was a wild animal called a Mo. One of my neighbours, Peggy Ferguson, sent some old cushion covers up for my ma. We were always being given hand me downs as my family never had a pot to piss in. She was a bit startled at her window one day soon after to see me walking past wearing them as a waist coat. They were fluffy and bright orange. I decided they looked like the hair of a mo. since I was not a bad hand with a needle and thread I turned them into a warm piece of eye catching apparel. "Here,Billy, Malachy Coneys away past wearing the cushion covers I sent up for his ma." I heard she exclaimed to her husband who barely batted an eye lid about anything he heard about me. Well, he was profoundly deaf in one ear. They served me well did those covers. Keeping me warm in a cold climate.
I suppose when you are really really broke everything you get is just gravy.
I had a" team up "recently with The Black Canary. Those associated with the costumed vigilante fraternity do that occasionally. It is texting with a mask( Cripes, is there any other kind?) We had met previously in Det Sen Monastery high in a mountainous region of Tibet. We were both there to master the arcane discipline of the Right footed Path of The Ladybird.( A mystical ability that teaches costumed hero types how when faced with overwhelming odds to run away. Such wisdom comes at a cost.)
Anyway she asked for some assistance regarding a n entire shipment of meaningful dialogue which had been hijacked on its way to the Northern Irish assembly and unless it was recovered all our senior politicians would be reduced to talking meaningless boobie-babble. The main suspect was a mutual Nemesis The Button Mushroom King of Anarchy and his Army Of Anarchic Fungi.
Only time will tell if we were truly successful in our enterprise.
(Black Canary; The Lovely Miss Joanne Alexander( Check out her Facebook Page
And special thanks to Ex Daily Planet Photographer Jason Murphy.)