A New Day

Posted in Music, Politics, Nature at Thu 6 Nov 2008 by Stavros

I went to see Sigur Rós on Tuesday at the Civic Hall in Wolverhampton, with Fulla and Walt. It was tops, really effing good. As the Icelanders made strange and beautiful noises on stage, I realised that I always see 6 and a half foot blokes with 5 foot nothing girlfriends at gigs. Loads more than on the street. Where do they all come from? Is there a national society of tall fellas with short birds? And do they scour the UK for live music? And why do they always gather at the front of gigs so no-one else can see anything? Why do they always stand infront of me? There must be someone I can complain to. What gives Daily Mail readers the right to be offended at anything? Who do I moan to? Oh yeah, you dear readers. You.

We’ve had a lodger for the past couple of months. He wasn’t paying any rent, but I got used to him all the same. And I fear on Monday, I condemned him to almost certain death. In August a moth (or a butterfly not sure which, summat to do with antenna furriness apparently) came in and with scant regard to the legislations about sub-letting, perched himself on the wall above the stairs. Not wanting to make a mess of the wall by “integrating” him with a rolled up Admag, we left him there. He was obviously just resting for a couple of days. A kip grew into a deep sleep, which in turn grew into full on hibernation. Anyone who’s been a student will know all about this I guess. He woke up on Monday, possibly a result of the heating being on. His warm little brain must’ve thought spring had sprungeth and he found his way back downstairs fluttering about at the window. I duly let him free, as Merk got a bit scared (he promised he’d have done the same for me had a clown been clawing at the glass). As he flew away from his servitude my heart glowed, like those people in TV animal programs who nurse a chimp back to health and let it back into the wild. A feeling of loss, pride, hope and farewells all at once. He fluttered away with the hopes and expectations of another bountiful summer to come. But, no! I could see him shivering in the distance. That was the moment I realised the result of my actions, and the moment the poor moth realised it wasn’t actually May. Sometimes freedom comes at too heavy a price. Sorry buddy.

Stav’s tenuous playlists #1

Posted in Music at Thu 16 Oct 2008 by Stavros

A sense of place is important in all the arts. Would Picasso’s “Guernica” portray the horrors of wartime air-raids if it was entitled “Monochrome wierd shit… woah! Is that a fucking cow, dude”? Get Carter needs it’s bleak early 70’s Tyneside just as much as McQueen and San Francisco’s hills in Bullitt. Would The Wire be so damn good if it was based in Llanelli? How about Woody Allen’s soliloquy over Gershwin’s famous clarinet trill as the camera pans up to display exploding fireworks over the skyline of… Peterborough?

This is basically my longwinded way of embedding some cool tunes with cities in the titles.

The Decemberists - O Valencia!

The Rakes - Strasbourg

Beirut - Nantes

Mogwai - Glasgow Mega-Snake

LCD Soundsystem - New York, I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down

You know the drill. Like asking Frankenstein to create the bastard child of Alan Whicker and Jools Holland, I want you to leave some linkage below for a youtubulous armchair tour of the fucking globe, man.

The View

Posted in Aberystwyth, Big Daddy Merk, Holiday, Bored musings at Tue 2 Sep 2008 by Stavros

As I supped from my mug of tea that night, I looked out from the balcony. I was slightly drunk, but was sobering thoughtfully. The sea was dark blue and regal. The church and the old college tower stood tall, like strong black sentinels overlooking the same silent rooftops as myself. With our Merk we puzzled over the circumstances that had enabled us to enjoy this panorama. I felt like an old colonialist viewing my veldt right to the horizon, except there were no hippos or miffed Zulus. A single firework exploded near the castle, for a second casting dancing yellow lights into the unready sky. The gulls responded to the noise with their own cries of protestation. I sighed contently, lit another cigarette and finished my tea.

Notes from a train - August 2008

Posted in Aberystwyth, Philosophy, Bored musings at Tue 2 Sep 2008 by Stavros

Two crimson-armed farmers halting their tilling and toiling of the golden field to carefully peel the plastic wrapping from the ice-lollies a third man has thoughtfully brought to them.

A sullen youth with narrow nervous eyes slinks into the train seat like ink spreads on blotting paper.

In the soggy marshes of the Dyfi valley scores of black headed geese merely saunter away from the noise and danger of the train carriages.

A middle-aged woman with a Yorkshire accent laughs as she flirts with an older gentleman, and her whole oval face smiles.

The tall hills of Powys covered in a damp blanket of mist, plumes of which rise from within the trees almost industriously.

A battered white pick-up racing the train through the winding lanes, three excitable black dogs in the back biting at the on-rushing air.

War-B-Q

Posted in Old Man Rich, Food & Drink at Mon 11 Aug 2008 by Stavros

Amidst the gloom of a late summer evening, a conflict of glow-sticks occured on Saturday in Shrophsire. Fuelled by a mixture of wine, beer, barbequed meat and, in some cases, very potent chilli peppers, these warriors launched their luminous missiles across the garden at their foes. Who in turn returned fire. There was no respite to the show of force, and control of the disputed territory changed hands several times. Peace finally broke out when the kids got bored and the grown ups got knackered and run out of beer. There were no casualties.

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