Getting Old

I have been getting old for quite some years now. Many years, one could say. I have been getting old for many years. If I actually were old, I would have started this article by proclaiming my age to the world; “I’m one hundred and seventy two…”. Better yet, I could have started by stating a given activity, and how long I have been doing it. “I’m seven hundred and I’ve been using the Internet for fifty two years now”, would do nicely. I don’t know if such a statement would automatically add merit to whatever precedes it, a tone, an authority, to distance myself from you, the younger, less learned reader, who would then look up to me as a father figure, hanging on my every word. Is there a cut off for when people should start using such phrases? A day you wish to begin announcing the tenure of your relationship with a particular product, activity or service? To add authority to your otherwise feeble or unquantifiable argument perhaps?

Whatever topic is being discussed, and no matter how long ago we are reminiscing about, here seem to be two striking universal truths about the past. The first is that it was much better. Most goods and services could be purchased for a penny. A bus journey, a book of stamps, a night in a seaside hotel, a loaf of bread, a two bed terrace house, a Roman-Catholic Cathedral? Whatever. It would always a penny, not the extortionate amount it does today. I imagine all shops were one penny shops, like pound shops, but 100 times better, where all the items would be carefully weighed by a surly shop keeper, but it wouldn’t matter as they would all end up costing 1p each anyway. Life was also better in terms of: service, quality, friendship, durability, intellect, safety, life fulfilment, green space, packaging, education, products being made domestically – yes, every measurable element of life is immeasurably superior. However, the second universal truth about the ‘old days’ is that although it was better, it was also much, much harder. One would work the day in the mine, then go fight a war, collect a rationed cup of tea from 30 yards away, ride a mule home, self educate one’s children, all before having a small offal sandwich and blowing out the gas lamp. All the while one would have to manually move the hands of the clock around to the accurate time with a wrench. As clocks have yet to be invented.

So there we have it. Life was better, as nothing has been invented, yet harder, as everything is yet to be invented. If there was a negative element to the past, it would never be ‘worse’, that would be admitting defeat. Having no food was no ‘worse’ than these days of plenty. It was ‘harder’. It would never have been easier in the past either. Not having to learn the many complexities of a computer was not easier. It was better, because you could spend time working out everything yourself. Thus they came out of it as better people.

I’m being cruel to old people. We are just as bad. As soon as possible we all start to reminisce. Remember the Spice Girls? Much better than today’s muck. Remember when computers had 12mhz, 1mb of ram and a no hard drive? We had it so hard waiting for the to load. Eee, the 1st Gen iPod. What about Starburst? It used to be called Opal Fruits, don’t you know? Rainbow, now that was quality children’s TV. Not like now. There wasn’t a Starbucks here last week. I DON’T CARE. Why must humans insist on talking about the past? Its because its by far the easiest thing to talk about. It requires no analytical skills, no learned knowledge, and no understanding. Face it, its far easier to talk about what sweets we used to like than how to deconceptualise French art house cinema. People don’t even need to be right, so long as it seems plausible. I suppose that’s why to announce your age before you state something. To give you authority before you spew a load of spurious guff about how much better and harder it was in the past.

Timbaland's Threat to Grammar

Looks like my hypothesis on Rihanna directly causing the rain has rung true. For the fist time in a generation there is a new song riding high at the top of the popular hit parade, the considerably more sunny Timbaland Ft Keri Hilson with the feel good sunshine mega super hit "The Way I Are". Timbaland spreads himself about too thinly for my liking. In fact if I hear a record which doesn't involve Timbaland in some respect I now feel somewhat cheated. And he always puts those Timbaland beats behind everything – do you think he is listening to one of the few records which he hasn’t produced at home, Adelina Patti perhaps, he just adds his beats to it for his own gratification?

Having a weather-neutral song at the top of the chart might avert the floods, but if number one records are quite so influential to national events, with "The Way I Are" currently the country’s most popular song I do now feel the need pray for the nation's grammar.

Why are we so pedantic with grammar, yet so bad? Signage, which one would imagine would be carefully constructed and often cross checked is a prime candidate for criticism. The number of times I have seen adverts for 'cake's' and the like. Still, its about getting the message across really. I think we could all benefit from being a good deal more fluid with such things, so as to make everything as easy to understand as possible.

What puzzles me more is our obsession with pronunciation. When talking about the popular Spanish rice dish paella, we fall over ourselves backwards to say ‘pie-ae-a’ rather than ‘pie-ella’? Yet I wonder what the capital of France is? Just Paris, not 'Parrie'. And we would always say ‘France’, not ‘Franc-ae’. If you want some hard cheese on your bolognaise, please ask for 'Parm-is-an', not 'parmizagno reggiano'. Thanks.

I doubt Timberland is too concerned about the endemic he may cause with his slap dash attitude to naming records. I just hope no one sings a song about Foot and Mouth.

Rihanna, Umbrellas and Tyrrells

You may remember many moons ago: Tony Blair used to be prime minister, I was at university, the UK hadn't seen any major floods for fifty years (see my facebook note), the sun was shining, forecasters were predicting the best summer on record, and a song called umbrella by a little known Rihanna and Jay-Z was riding high in the charts. Oh wait, some things never change. Despite the fact that we clearly now live in an unrecognisably different country, that sodding song about a rain accessory is still at number one in the popular hit parade. Ten weeks it has been. Ten weeks. Just think about it. Who would go into HMV in late July thinking "I wonder which record I should purchase today?". They might consider it for a minute. Then, after a moment of pondering, a moment of realisation may occur. "I know, I think I will buy that song which as been number one for over three months - Umberella by Rihanna. Yes, that's definitely the record for me". Why would you not have bought it earlier? Surely you would have realised you liked it after it had been number one for two weeks and Urchin FM had been playing it every half hour for five weeks, not thirteen? Maybe the children born due to the joyous heat wave of April 2007 have grown up quicker and are wearing mini skirts sooner than ever, and have now bought the record they were conceived to on iTunes.

But what else used to happen in the pre-historic times which we fondly refer to as April 2007? Oh yeah, I used to write a blog. This one. I haven't really kept it up to date, but then I never said I would. But do I have some updates? Yes I do. You may remember that I wrote a letter to my preferred mainstream supermarket (Sainsbury's) to request that they sell my preferred brand of premium crisps (Tyrrells). Sounds like a marriage made in heaven. Their response is shown below (click the picture).

Basically, although I addressed the letter to the 'Product Team', it was intercepted by the 'Customer Response Team', who correctly identified that Tyrrells aren't stocked by the UK's third largest grocer. They did say they would pass the suggestion to the 'Buyers', who probably won't buy it. A glimmer of hope is given in the sentence "If enough customers want to see a particular item on the shelves, we will certainly do our best to provide it". Maybe I should organise a campaign. On the packaging, Tyrrells now claim not only to be low in fat, but also are sutable for vegans and coeliacs, and to top it off also have a low carbon footprint. Has there ever been a crisp which more perfectly fits the place, time and mood they existed in as much as this? I think not.

Maybe they ought to just stock up on water instead. However, I imagine the majority shoppers, not to mention panic buyers, just want to buy their copies of 'Umbrella' by Rihanna and Jay-Z and be out, though. And when that single ceases to be number one, the clouds will open and the floods will clear.

You Laughed Me Into Bed

I was watching an ancient episode of The Frank Skinner Show with Kylie on it the other day, and she claimed that Frank could probably ‘laugh women into bed’. What a load of crap.

Every single top ten list of the ‘sexiest men’ has George Clooney and Brad Pitt as the top two. David Beckham is usually in there too. These are not funny men. Peter Kay, Johnny Vegas, Jimmy Carr, Jack Dee, Ken Dodd, Ricky Gervais; these are funny men. Are they ever in sexiest men lists? No. Men can not laugh themselves into bed.

Women are so obtuse with their rationale for liking men. Firstly from a physical point of view they sometimes say they think that a man is ‘too good looking’. What is that supposed to mean? I find it endlessly difficult to pin point exactly what sort of men women will find attractive.

Secondly, women do quite clearly seem to be attracted, at least sometimes (note the sometimes Lizzie), by fame and money. Rod Stuart isn’t a very good looking man, as far as I can work out, but he does not seem to have to resort to lonely heart columns to find himself a girl. Peter Stringfellow, Hugh Hefner, any high flying business man – they really don’t seem to have trouble picking up chicks, no matter how grotesque they are.

I suppose it might be deeper than this – women are going for winners, as opposed to the actual amount of money these people have, but it still seems like a pretty bizarre way to choose yourself a husband.

Men are much easier to pin down – they just like endlessly beautiful women. We are hopelessly shallow. We discust me. At least there seems to be some logic to men, though. Money doesn’t seem to come into it at all, I suppose maybe men would actually feel quite threatened by the power of a women earning more money than she is.

But men can not laugh women into bed. Frank finds the chloroform sorts that out.

Primark

The centre of Manchester is mixed – the east is pretty up market these days, with Selfridges and Harvey Nichols, the north is still quirky with botiques and sex shops, but the south really has some catching up to do. Primark is the main attraction here, and it is a pretty sorry place. It has taken up almost all of what was Lewis’s (nothing to do with John) since 2001, and does a roaring trade. It is pretty massive, but so is its client base – single parents, the terminally unemployed, the tight, old people and students. That seems to be about everyone. You have to fight your way around, past maddening crowds of angry mums with bleached blonde hair and at least an inch of their roots on display.

I assumed it must be a northern thing – former industrial workers and old people who still think the war is going on probably think it is their only option, where as the south would be far to civilised for such things, with their ‘Cook Shop’ and Krispy Kream donuts. My trip to the Hammersmith Primark affirmed this view – it was calm, small and almost verging on pleasant. No one pushed past me, and the woman at the checkout even greeted me with a friendly ‘hello’. That is approaching customer service. However, apparently I am wrong – London has its share of these nutters, desperate for some cut price crap too.

Joy of joys, there is now a Primark on Oxford Street, which combines the two worst shopping phenomenon going. Don’t get me wrong, I am not one of these northerners who just hates everything in the south by default; far from it – aside from the: prices, transport and lack of hills, London is great, with so much to do and so many places to explore. I do hate Oxford Street, though. Why does anyone go there? It is so busy you can hardly walk down the pavement and all the shops are just the generic chain stores you find in every city, with some awful discount t-shirt shops mixed in. The only shop I can think of worth the trip is Selfridges. If you want chains why not just go to a shopping centre? It would be much more pleasant and easy to get around. And now there is Primark.

Apparently on the day it opened two staff had to be taken to hospital, despite the presence of fifty security grads. There wasn’t even a discount, so all this was to avoid a short trip down the Piccadilly line. No one should be shopping at Primark anyway – the quality is just crap. Sure, it might be cheap, but for less than twice as much you can buy something which will last more than twice as long. It will also have the added bonus of actually fitting, so you won’t feel the need to injure yourself again when going back to Primark.

There is a special name for these people, who will needlessly push past their advisories to get clothes, and then buy them even though they don’t fit, without even trying them on, just because they are 50% off. The name for these people is ‘women’. I have honestly known women to buy shoes in the wrong size just because of the wonderful bargain they are getting. You aren’t actually going to wear these, so it is thus a complete waste of money. Not only that, what a waste of resources – it is hardly doing your bit for the environment. But there is just something in women’s mentality which attracts them to bargains. I mentioned a while ago that women only make themselves look good to impress other women, so I assume this is the case for bargains too. “Do you know how much these shoes cost? I got a really good bargain at the Primark sale. They don’t fit, but they only cost 50p”, at which point other women will look impressed and launch into tales of how little their ill fitting clothes cost. I despair.

On Oxford Street there is also a man with a megaphone who tells us that we are all going to die because God wants us to. Hopefully if I have to go to Primark again God will do the kindest thing and finish me off. But not before I have had time to get three t-shirts for a fiver.

Primark Update - I have been told that the Oxford Street Branch is one in one out

Why Can't I Get Any Work Done

I have not left the house for days now. I have essays to write. It isn’t that I just have such an unbearable amount of work that there just isn’t enough time in the day. Quite clearly there is – my degree probably is no harder than anyone else’s, and it would be unrealistic of the university to expect one to spend all day working. It is just that little pangs of guilt choke my brain every time I do something which many would consider ‘fun’.

Instead I stay in, and fill the day with tasks such as drinking the amount of water recommended by nutritionists to keep one’s brain active. It doesn’t help in this respect, but it does make you go to the toilet more, which is a nice excuse to stop working for a bit. Maybe get bit of cake, and a glass of water? It will make me work harder. Maybe I should just cut the crap and have lunch. Even though I have already had one. Mmm, maybe some hummus would go well? Why use pre made when you can make your own, it will only take 20 minutes?

Going to the library may appear to remove such distractions, but it doesn’t really. 'I ought to brush up on my current affairs', I think. So after reading the paper cover to cover, including that scary bit in the middle where Carol Smiley is sitting on the bonnet of a car with a fan of money, trying to offer you a loan. Carol, I don’t want your clean and alluring fan of cash – I have an excellent credit rating. By this time it is 11 o’clock. Wow, aren’t I a good little worker, I have been in the library all morning, so I deserve a coffee break I am sure. Finding someone to go with is hardly a struggle – by the time you are in third year a quick walk around the library is bound to provide someone you know, who will be in the same situation. The day continues in such a fashion until about 4, when I will do about an hour’s work, then it is time to go home.

Still, this isn’t as bad as when you have nothing to do at all. You would have thought that when one is unemployed there would be an infinite amount of time to indulge in endless hobbies, never mind easily complete day to day administrative tasks. But for some reason, tasks seem to expand to fill the time one has to do them. Writing a letter, which is something working people don’t have trouble doing, can take a week if you are unemployed. Monday will be the writing of the letter. Tuesday will be taken up with summoning of the energy to put the letter in the envelope, and copy out the address. Wednesday will mostly be consumed with getting around to going to a post office to buy a stamp. Thursday will see the stamp attached to the envelope, and the letter will be put in the hall ready for posting. Friday will mark the trip to the post box, where the letter will be posted. It will probably get lost in the post, though.

This is human nature; to do the least possible to gain the greatest reward. Some people are not like this - Simon Cowel, Chris Evans, Stephen Fry spring to mind, who just seem to keep on working regardless of if they need the money or not. Woody Allan is another one - why must he keep on making films where he (or his protege) is irresistible to the charms of a series of teenage girls? Surely he can't enjoy it that much? Once you do anything often enough and impose deadlines it starts to feel like work. I don't think I would get my film made, after I had read the paper, drunk five glasses of water, made some pesto and checked Facebook a few times it would be time to go home.

Album Review - Mark Ronson - Version

I have decided that I might as well try a number of forms of writing for this sodding Blog Challenge, so today I have decided to review an album.

Despite producing a plethora of well known acts, Mark Ronson came to fame in 2003 with his debut album Here Comes The Fuzz, with the popular hit Ooo Wee. It was a funky R&B rock and roll sort of rap album, which sampled many tracks and vocalists. However, Ronson’s Follow up four years later, ‘Version’, is an album of covers of a wide range of artists, from The Supremes to Kasabian but again has a variety of guest vocalists and instrumental interludes, this time generally band front men and singer song writers as opposed to rappers. The whole thing is more styalized than Here Comes The Fuzz, with a kind of Motown sound, for want of a better word, with extensive use of brass, big beat drums and jazz organ.

The album kicks off with a pacy ska style instrumental of one of my favourite Coldplay tracks, God Put a Smile Upon Your Face. Coldplay always sound a bit wet, which is hardly an original observation, but its true. Ronson Fixes this, by making it bouncy and pretty high tempo, but not hugely original. That sets the pace of the album; fun, groovy, novel, competent but not particularly groundbreaking.

The Lead Single is the more emotional version of Stop Me If You Think You’ve Heard This One Before mixed with a teeny bit of You Keep Me Hanging on. Phew. It works very well indeed, so much so I imagine most won’t even know it is a cut and shut of other peoples’ songs, and it doesn’t matter anyway as it sounds better than both of them. It also achieves the rare feet (for a cover version) of getting popular radio airplay, which ensures the album’s success. Lilly Alan is used to great effect to achieve the considerably easier task of making a bad song better (The Kaiser Chief’s Oh My God); it isn’t even particularly annoying here, with the strength of Lilly’s voice making the crap lyrics sound almost as if they mean something. They don’t, she still rhymes ‘name tag on it’ with ‘plate tectonic’, but I do like her voice a lot.

What other highlights are there? The track which surprised me most was Apply Some Pressure. I am not a fan of Maximo Park – they are one of those bands which seem to have perpetuated into being popular, not due to their music, or even image. There are always just a few bands which people are ‘allowed to like’. At the moment it includes: Bloc Party, The Shins, LCD Soundsystem, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Arcade Fire – you know what I mean. I have nothing against these bands, but I often think people say they like them because it is some sort of ‘right answer’, drawing a blank if you will. I also think people just say they like them without actually being familiar with their music or after only hearing one song. I think Maximo Park are one of these bands, and I don’t particularly rate them. I think my issue is Smith’s vocal, which is quite sharp and cutting. However, the vocal remains on Ronson’s version, but a ska beat and brass (mostly) replaces the annoying clangy guitar sound (just how much longer will this be popular), which is its self replaced with some wonderful orchestration, which really lifts the song to a new level. It has that sort of nostalgic discordant sound, created with layered strings harmonising with much sharper sounds. Smith’s punky angular voice really works here, similarly to Ian Brown or Richard Ashcroft. It is kind of like the Madchester / baggy / early 90s electronica stuff, where a collection of sounds somehow come together which really shouldn't. That is how you make something beautiful - completely perfect music is shallow and meaningless, with no point of reference - there has to be elements of inperfection, and Smith's voice provides this. Take note Maximo Park; maybe you should consider ditching the disposible twangy guitar sound for something more layered and gushing. Sadly I can’t be so positive about LSF, which hasn’t been improved much from the half baked Kasabian original, complete with the original vocals. It just goes to prove that you can't polish a turd.

Valerie is good, but is a pretty pointless addition to Version, as it sounds almost exactly like something from an Amy Winehouse album. That shouldn’t surprise you as it features Amy Winehouse, and Ronson produced most of Winehouse's Back to Black album. More like a Live Lounge cover, this. The Only One I Know features Robbie Williams. I don’t know if Ronson went off Robbie half way through recording, because he is almost completely lost in the mix, to almost a frustrating extent. I have sometimes thought that the charm of The Charlatans comes from their distinctive production as opposed to their songwriting, and this rather flat re-working seems to affirm my view.

Ronson has skilfully crafted a fun and credible album, which doesn’t have any gaping weak spots. It has a huge ‘kitch’ novelty, not least with a Britney Sprears cover. The trouble is that people are always spouting out albums like this – Hayseed Dixie, Richard Cheese, Weird Al Yankovic etc. cover the novelty front, and there are plenty of ‘serious’ covers albums which even reach the mainstream such as Joss Stone, plus there are also plenty of pointless cover albums out every week of Radiohead, Beatles and Bob Dylan songs which the fans just lap up. So why does Mark Ronson, a producer who can clearly make decent material of his own, feel the need to make such an album? And just how much longer does he think covers are going to be novel? Well, he knows how to make music sound good, so you just want to turn it up and jump up and down. And isn’t that what music is all about? Putting you in that special place? And besides, it breaks up the tedium of much of the music played on the radio at the moment. People have been making new versions of old songs forever, such as reggae standards which would have the order changed and new lyrics applied. Why stop now?

To be honest Version isn’t half as good an album as Here Comes the Fuzz, but it works. Putting songs by tin pot acts such as the Kaiser Chiefs in makes this album firmly targeted at the UK audience, but even the songs I am not familiar with are still listenable. The trouble is, every time you listen to a song it is hard not to constantly compare it to the original, rather than as a work in its own right. With such lucrative production credits, Ronson, lets be honest, doesn't need to make his own seminal albums. Although he probably could.

6.5/10. Released 16th April 2007