I Seem To Be A Verb - R. Buckminster Fuller

Another visual treat from Bantam, published in 1970.
Apologies for the shading, but I didn't want to break the spine of this gem.

Better Life Vibrations

The Interns Soundtrack (1962)

Ah, yes, another great find from a recent record hunt, in very good condition, and the gold Colpix label spinning on the turntable is a beautiful sight. Yes, I bought it for the cover, with no great expectations of the music, but such titles as 'Sugar Bush Cha Cha' and 'Wild Party' did whet my appetite. To my surprise the Leith Stevens compositions are superb, very classy, especially the arrangement on 'Toss Me A Scalpel'. I used to share accommodation with nurses but, sadly, never met one like Olga...



Primitive London - Basil Kirchin

Primitive London still exists. You only have to walk down Camden High Street to see Dickensian characters dragging dogs and feral yobs in fake Burberry, although I suspect that’s not the kind of ‘primitive’ intended by the film title. So we must travel south, to Soho, to find the traditional heartland of London’s sleaze empire. It may not be as full of decadent dives as it once was, but they still exist. Yet sleaze today doesn’t have the attraction of the older version. The music will be worse, for starters; some Beyonce, perhaps, instead of a brassy big band sound. And as the ongoing hunger for burlesque seems to demonstrate, the lure of the swivelling tassle still exists as an acceptable alternative to the more explicit forms of ‘female artistry’.
   As if to reflect the dark side of 60s sleaze, Kirchin’s music creates an ominous atmosphere of shadowy alleys and desperate punters, along with desperate dancers. I haven’t seen the infamous film, although it has been re-released by the BFI, but this soundtrack is quite amazing. From the start, the sound of the ondes Martenot evokes not only the exotic, but the other-worldly, as if a semi-clad beauty may appear, not from behind curtains, but from beyond reality. So it probably seemed to a drunken punter salivating into his over-priced drink.
   It’s been pointed out that some of the music sounds very much like Bernard Hermann’s theme for ‘Taxi Driver’, and this is particularly true of track 3. Could it be that Hermann knew this score?
   Whilst the first three tracks are relatively traditional in that they use the jazz form, albeit in a very distinct manner, the remaining three take a very different tone, charting an eerie course through a world where the neon’s been switched off and the night takes over. It never seems to be night in the sense of sinister foreboding in Soho, but this music evokes darkness in the heartless world of criminals and traders in female flesh. The ‘Primitive London’ part only lasts for just over 12mins, but it’s worth every penny.
   The rest of the CD consists of Kirchin’s soundtrack to a rarely-seen 1971 film called ‘The Freelance’. This is every bit as good as the music for ‘Primitive London’, but in a completely different style. Parts of it are in the kind of funky vein one might expect from this period, but Kirchin breaks from the formula to expand on the themes in free style which allows for some great bass and trumpet-playing.
   It’s a late entrant to the ‘Albums of the Year’ category and a fantastic piece of work by label owner Jonny Trunk.

New Year's Resolution - I Vow To Join The Philistines

‘I’m sick of other people’s opinions’ - so I thought to meself as I read more on the internet the other day. You know what I mean, all the ‘comments’ after a newspaper article.
   Do you remember a time when the only other opinions on culture you heard were those of experts on the telly? Not that I recall much cultural criticism on the box in the old days, apart from Barry Norman’s verdict on the latest films. I believe there was a time when there was serious cultural discussion on TV. I say this based purely on parodies by the Monty Python team. If I saw one of those now it would probably make me yearn for a time when men smoking pipes discussed Kenneth Clarke’s ‘Civilisation’, or debated the length of teenage boys’ hair with a studio audience (cue David Jones speaking up on behalf of Youth).
   Yes, I know there’s the review show on BBC2, but I can never be bothered to stay up and watch it. Sometimes I just can’t be bothered with culture at all. Sometimes I imagine myself being the kind of bloke who goes to work every day, then home to watch telly, then to bed (not to read). And he does not write, or listen to anything but popular music.
   Actually, to go the whole hog, as they say, I imagine selling all my music, books and DVDs, and just absorbing culture via TV...watching lots of football or something. But everyone has their own cultural life, and here I am throwing the word around as if the definition was obvious. There is culture, then there is the ‘cultured’ person, as they might to be called. The cultured person reads serious books, understands classical music, and appreciates subtitled films, presumably.
   Is it any big deal nowadays to watch a subtitled film? Does it signify anything? Not as far as I’m concerned. But there are, no doubt, people who have never watched a film that they would also have to read. It’s a philistine’s nightmare when you think about it, having to read the thoughts of depressed Swedes...or philosophical French people...or stylish Italians. And just in case you think I know nothing about European cinema, I’m fully aware of the fact that there may also be films about philosophical Italians and depressed French people...but probably not stylish Swedes.
   Perhaps I could reinvent myself as the type who doesn’t watch foreign films or listen to ‘weird’ music. This could be my New Year’s resolution. After all, who would care or notice? Perhaps LJ would wonder why I put ‘The Expendables’ on our LoveFilm rental list and started reading Andy McNab books. But the thing is, I’d no longer get wound up by popular culture, would I? I’d start taking an interest in who a professional footballer is shagging, and thrill to the sight of a female celebrity showing her knickers whilst getting into a cab, courtesy of The Daily Star.
   Yes, that’s it, I will become a different person. In a reversal of the Tony Hancock scenario in which he is trying to improve himself by reading Bertrand Russell I shall lie in bed with a book by Jeremy Clarkson and a copy of Autocar magazine for reference. I’ll eagerly await the new Paul Weller album, and collect Jack Vettriano prints.
   So be warned, reader. Things are gonna change around here. I might lose you but I’ll gain a lot more hits, I reckon. After all, by default, popular subjects will be more popular, won’t they?

Some Highlights Of The Year

 

 

  

 

 

 

Some highlights of the year.

Not everything.

Just what I could be organised enough to post.

I'm not very organised.

As the sign in Travis Bickle's flat says:

'One of these days I'm gonna get organizised'....

Interzone - John Zorn

Words falling...notes falling...
   New York’s post-No Wave Freeform Orientalist Metal Jazz soundtrack master musician (?) embarks on a three-part trip through Interzone via almost as many musical styles as there are plagiarised lines in the average Burroughs text.
   It starts in the bazaar and moved like a giant black centipede through Avant-Rock, Improv, Free Jazz and more regular grooves, with all contributors getting an improvisational fix along the way.
   Like The Zone, this is a vast building, each track being a room that bulges to accommodate the players, so Medeski, Wollesen and Ribot make the most of the space. There’s also an electronic element from Ikue Mori.
   Howard Shore and Ornette Coleman have already laid down one trail with their soundtrack to the film, ‘Naked Lunch’; here Zorn find his own. It’s as rewarding and challenging as the words that fell from Bill and Brion’s blades and undoubtedly the best sonic tribute to them so far.

Stereo Plus 3...A First National City Bank Production

Oh I love a mystery...Sherlock Holmes, Chandler novels, why I’m not a famous blogger (not so keen on that one), and albums like this, the label of which simply bares the logo of the First National City Bank – New York. Having done a little searching, I’m none the wiser. It looks like I need to hire someone like Philip Marlowe to solve this one.

   Yes, another classic junk shop find. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard ‘Je T’Aime...Moi Non Plus’ played in a Tijuana style, and just as strange is the fact that it’s entitled ‘Je T’Aime Non Plus’ here, which translates as...‘I Love You Neither’(?). They couldn’t even be bothered to give it the full title! Likewise, there’s ‘Guess I’ll Always Love You’, which misses out the ‘I’ that should be at the beginning. And who are ‘they’ anyway? Did the bank put this out as an advert for how ‘with it’ they were? There’s no date, but since the latest recording I can work out is ’68 I’m guessing ’69, although with the graphics and design it looks much older (well, what would you expect from a bank?).

   Note the text about the Soul section included below, it’s priceless. ‘Young and hairy’!? I can imagine a ‘not so young (and less hairy?)’ banker putting this on the hi-fi and twisting to ‘Guess I’ll Always Love You’. I can’t imagine who bought this, where it was sold, who made it or why, which makes it wonderful. Oh, and one other element worth noting is that one male singer (yes, singers were hired for the Soul section) sings both parts on William Bell & Judy Clay’s classic ‘Private Number’. If you know the record you’ll realise how absurd, and comical, that is.

Spotify Hits of 2010

Yes, it's that time when we all prove what amazing taste we have.

For those with Spotify, here's some of the music I've enjoyed this year...

For Addicts Only

A 1964 release. I found this for 50p. Yes, I know, a Colin Frechter album for 50p! I couldn’t believe it either. OK, you could believe it, but I’m sure someone out there couldn’t, although I can’t imagine right now who would be overjoyed at finding this for just 50p, except those types who collect LPs just for their covers. In the unlikely event that you’ve never heard of Colin Frechter suffice to say that the music here swings in a way that only British orchestras could, ie, without swinging too much, which is doing a disservice to the likes of Tubby Hayes, of course, but then this isn’t quite in the same zone as Tubbs, baring as it does only a vague tangential relationship to Jazz. I do love the cover – ‘Addicts of what!?’ I wondered as I laid my mitts on it without noting the TV programmes printed on the cover. Psychiatry? Heroin? Old album covers? Well, shouldn’t that be a comfy old sofa on the cover instead of what looks like a swish, groovy 60s office chair? No matter, it wouldn’t be as good if it bore an image of a sofa, would it? Funny thing (funniest thing, I should say) is that they kind of jazz-up the theme to ‘Coronation Street’. They do. And if that doesn’t make you wish you owned this, nothing will. Apart from the cover.

Sooty, Sweep & Herbie Hancock

Last week was a good one for special vinyl finds. How's this for starters? This classic album from 1973 documented the travels of Sooty, Sweep and Harry Corbett in Sooty's Super-Sonic-Sooty Spug. But it was Sweep who would go super 'sonic' that year when the session he took part in with Herbie Hancock's Mwandishi band appeared as 'Hornets' on the 'Sextant' LP.

This album is 'Not Exchangeable', which prevents me from including it in one of my recycling trips to Record & Tape Exchange, but the thought of doing so would never enter my head. Coincidentally, on the day I bought this I met a guy who works in the shop. With great excitement I told him about this find and he just looked at me with a blank expression. It turned out that he's only 32 yrs-old and had no idea who Sooty was. I thought this was pretty poor considering the musical knowledge the guys in that shop are supposed to have.

Here Sweep proves his singing ability, as if it was ever in doubt.



And here he demonstrates his improvisational skills on that classic Herbie Hancock track. Sooty flew him over to San Francisco in the Spug. His contribution is mainly rhythmical (at 2.42 & 4.45), but there's a rumour that another take exists where he cuts Bennie Maupin to shreds.

Find Out What Happens When People Stop Being Polite, And Start Gettin' Reel - Hype Williams

I'm going to remain polite and stay 'reel' (does that mean I have to film a review instead of writing one?).
   Hype Williams attracts the tag ‘hypnagogic’, and if there’s one adjective guaranteed to put me right off any artist it’s that one. Mind you, I’m all for expanding one’s vocabulary (although mine’s stayed as it is since 1987), so you might be encouraged to look it up on Wikipedia where you would find that it’s ‘a term coined by Alfred Maury for the transitional state between wakefulness and sleep (i.e. the onset of sleep)’. Now, to me, that’s not a desirable state for music to induce in a person. I realise, though, that for a generation raised to click a mouse before the umbilical cord’s been snipped so they can spend all their time being screen-fed useless information music which creates a permanent state of semi-somnambulism may be just what they crave.
   ‘Hypnagogic’ is a term used by only the hippest critics, of course, and is unlikely to appear in The Sun’s showbiz page anytime soon. I did, however, see a page devoted to Hauntology in there last week (‘Hauntology? What Is This Craze That’s Sweeping The Nation?’). It featured juicy gossip about who Miles Whittaker is shagging, and a punch-up involving James Kirby and a nightclub bouncer.
   Anyway, Hype, we were told not to believe it by Public Enemy, so should we believe in this? In truth the musical hype machine that once existed regarding ‘underground’ or ‘alternative’ music no longer exists since neither does the monopoly on opinion by a few tastemakers. This is a good thing. It means I can pretend that my opinion matters here albeit as one more tiny voice amid the cacophony of democratised criticism on the ‘net.
   ‘Jesus To A Child’, I’ve just learnt, was also the title of a George Michael track. Whether this is a cover or not I don’t know because I’ve no intention of playing a George Michael track to find out. Well, it’s a blur of beats and hazy, indistinguishable vocals anyway, so it would be hard to tell. And it’s only 1min 42secs long. ‘I want to be the best there ever was’ intones a voice on ‘Rescue Dawn’, what else he says is hard to tell, but I think he namechecks Pokemon – yes, it’s that post-modern. The first ‘Untitled’ track is also brief at just over a minute, and sounds like a love rap to someone – ‘I’m ugly as fuck’, he says in the slow, doped-out drawl, sounding not unlike a psychotic weed-head. I hope she still loves him, but I’d be wary if she brought him home for my approval. ‘Blue Dream’ continues the blissed-out mode that makes this ‘hypnagogic’, but it does have a good slow groove going on. ‘The Throning’ nicks a large portion of Sade’s ‘Sweetest Taboo’, which in my books should never work because I can’t stand her schmaltzy penthouse muzak, but I’ve got to give Hype credit for transforming it into something that’s almost good. Old computer game sounds crop up...brief reprises of ‘Jesus To A Child’, and so it goes in an unspectacular fashion, but I now realise that I should probably be bombed out of my skull to be able to tune into this. Or under 30. It’s only 24mins-long. To think that there’s any form of hype surrounding it is incredible.

London Jazz Action 1987

Look what London had to offer over one month in 1987 – yes, London Jazz Action! I feel it should have an exclamation mark, although that makes it sound more like a hip 60s album featuring Tubby Hayes and Ronnie Scott. Aye, they were the days, when you could walk upstairs in an ordinary boozer to a little room with a few uncomfortable chairs loosely organised around a tiny stage onto which would walk (from the bar behind you) such legends as Lol Coxhill, Keith Tippett, Clark Tracey, Derek Bailey, Harry Beckett, Evan Parker et al. I didn’t see Gilles Peterson once – perhaps because IDJ could not have managed dancing to most of this music - meow! That was OK, I didn’t expect to see him there. The Jazz scene was as fractured as it’s always been and most who attended the trendy clubs wouldn’t been seen dead in a pub listening to Lol Coxhill – no congas! It’s not Fusion! And so it went. I’d travelled a long way from earlier forays into the easier side of things to watching, open-mouthed, as Parker circular-breathed his way through a solo...

 

A Famous Blogger Writes

To Do Today:


Make myself famous.
Not sure how to go about this. If I blog enough perhaps someone will sign me up as a professional blogger for a proper organisation that pays bloggers money. The problem with that would be having editors check everything I say. I can’t have that. Not only would I have to watch my opinion, but also watch my grammar. Bollocks. To. That. But how many bloggers are ‘famous’? Probably loads, but I don’t know any of their names. There was the guy that blogged from Iraq, wasn’t there? Yes, blogs from the frontline might get me noticed, except that my war takes place on the battlefield of Culture. And there are already too many soldiers firing off missives in that arena. Yes, I know, there are too many bloggers full stop, according to some. But I say let there be more bloggers! Let the world gradually grind to a halt because everyone, from the refuse collectors to top-ranking politicians, demands that their blogs must be written, every day, before the business of emptying bins or running countries. Should this happen, perhaps there would be fewer wars...

Find a good new album to review.
It’s tougher than you think. With all the music available you’d think it would be easy. It would be easy if my standards were lower. And in saying that I come across as someone who regards himself as a purveyor of nothing but the finest cultural artefacts, which isn’t true, of course. I got my taste. You got yours. Still, nothing’s come onto the radar that’s worth reviewing, music-wise. So you’ll just have to wait for the next word on what you should absolutely be listening to...because I am...

Watch a good film.
I’ve got several lined-up, some of which I know will be good. I’m currently about quarter of the way through ‘The Lives Of Others’. Now, if I were to recommend any film on the basis of half-an-hour’s-worth of viewing, it would be this. ‘The best film of the year’, according to the quote from The Guardian on the cover. That’s how famous I want to be – whereby whatever I say about a film is included on the DVD case – hah! It’s about East Berlin’s Stasi. Now, this made me think that we’re all members of our own private spying organisations today, in a way. We spy on the lives of others via social networking sites all the times. We’re all peeping toms, without the need for binoculars, climbing into other people’s back yards, or fear of being caught. I don’t know if this is good or bad. It needn’t be either. I know someone who’s quite the ‘lurker’ (in the parlance of the ‘net). He enjoys reading the opinions of others but rarely joins in. Perhaps he’s got the right idea since in this way he can’t get embroiled in the frequent online rows, or reveal too much about his private life, or what he really thinks. I’m on a few forums, but I try to tread that thin line between being honest and being no more than yet another anonymous name, a ghost without the flesh and bones of a real person. If you get my meaning. Likewise here, as a blogger, I try to maintain the illusion that I am not only discerning, culturally, but handsome, well-dressed, intelligent and ‘hip’. But you saw through that long ago, didn’t you? So now I come clean and confess that I live in tracksuit bottoms, smell, weigh too much, watch trash TV, and listen to MOR Rock, mostly, plus 80s Soul, the kind that utilises synth-drums and crappy keyboards. The ‘underground’ or ‘tasteful’ culture I talk of is all done by culling words from others. Please forgive me.

Get out of the bunker.
In theory this is as easy as donning Winter clothes and opening the door. In practice it involves steeling myself in preparation for encounters with the general public, the transport system, and the cold. There needs to be a purpose, too, since I’m no flaneur. But to wander the streets of London aimlessly is to risk an increased sense of isolation amongst the crowd and claustrophobia caused by concrete all around me. I think I’ll stay in.

Misinformation - Central Office Of Information + Mordant Music

If you’re familiar with Baron Mordant’s music you’ll know not to expect anything as obvious as cheesy synths applied to footage of Britain from the 70s and 80s for the purpose of pure nostalgia. Oh no. This is something far stranger, at times amusing, simply odd, and in one instance, very disturbing.
   Whoever dreamt up this concept of getting Mordant to create music for Central Office of Information films deserves a medal. The result is 14 films, re-edited, reconfigured to warp notions of nostalgia and mutate the mundane (a simulated ship’s deck, for instance) into the bizarre.
   The two stand-out films for me are also some of the longest, thankfully. ‘New Town’ may contain common imagery of urban existence circa ’74 (teenagers, old folk, housing etc), but it also has the exceptional animation by Halas & Batchelor. Add to this the contrast between Mordant’s bleak futurist music and the visions of supposed concrete utopia circa 1974 and the whole thing works brilliantly. ‘Attenuated Shadows’, however, is shocking. It features nothing but youths sniffing solvents and, combined with Mordant’s music, sometimes looks like a sci-fi horror film about some evil spawn imagined by Kubrick and Windham as they stagger through various landscapes.
   I do think two of the longer pieces (‘The Dry Dock Dybbuk’ and ‘Ridyll’) are less successful since both rely on largely uninteresting imagery. The first is all sea, lighthouses and coastal wildlife, the second prehistoric sites. But viewed again as separate entities I may feel differently. I did watch all the films in succession, possibly lessening the effect of each individually.
   Peter Greenaway’s 1979 film about the inkjet printer provides fascinating footage, and Mordant’s music perfectly complements the original wonders-of-technology idea in which egg yolk, flowers, fingers and sausages are all tattooed with ink. That said, his mechanised sounds and the site of a sausage with ‘sausage’ inked onto it provide a very strange highlight.
   The footage will satisfy nostalgia buffs, but thanks to the Baron this project succeeds in being much more than a mere trip down memory lane. His music sometimes reacts to the images as a normal soundtrack would, but on the whole takes them into another realm altogether.

Directors Cash In On David Lynch Single Idea

I heard David Lynch’s single ‘Good Day Today’ today and my day was not made good by hearing it. I’d heard about it, of course, but made no effort to track it down because I suspected it would be rubbish and my suspicion was correct. It’s techno-lite Pop in which Lynch’s treated vocal is raised a few octaves and his woosiness is made worse by the insistent plea for a good day today and, would you believe, his complaint that he’s ‘so tired of fear and so tired of the dark’ – huh! – this from the man who’s built a career on exploring the dark side of the human psyche and giving viewers nightmares. Now here he is making Cher’s disco dross sound like Merzbow. I like to think other directors will respond by making singles, like these:
   ‘Have A Bad Day Today’ – John Carpenter mumbles in a psychotic tone about killing people to his theme from ‘Assault On Precinct 13’.
   ‘I Wanna Be A Gangster Today’ - Scorsese teams up with Barry Adamson, lyrics sampled from ‘Goodfellas’, naturally.
   ‘Do You Feel Lucky Today, Punk?’ – you guessed it, Clint just recites that to a wah-wah-infested score by Lalo Schifrin.
   ‘I’m Not Going To The USA Today’ – Godard spits bile about the Oscars (in French) to lush music by Michel Legrand.
   ‘Today Is Just Another Day’ – Mike Nichols talks in a droll manner about ordinary lives of quiet desperation in NW1 to kitsch 70s-style library music by Johnny Trunk.
   ‘Today, No-One Will Hear You Scream’ – Ridley Scott describing the nausea and horror induced by carrying the Alien in your guts to pure noise by Kevin Drumm (surely a great advert/tie-in for the Alien prequel he’s making).
   ‘Burn A Christian Today’ – Robin Hardy croaks a pagan ritual chant to music by Demdike Stare.

Please...

Space Traitor Vol 1 - Starkey

In an effort to stay in touch I’ll sometimes have a listen to ‘street’ (hey!) sounds, because it’s easier to do so now. Not that Dubstep is the hottest thing today. That honour goes to Witch-Tech, a crazy sound incorporating the ghosts of Detroit, chanted spells, bed knob-twiddling and broomsticks, I shouldn’t wonder...
   Where was I...oh yes, so to Starkey, about whom I know nothing, but having just stumbled across his latest EP, ‘Space Traitor’, I’m all ears. It kicks off with ‘Robot Hands’ – BOOM-BOOM-bleep-bleep-bleep-BOFFFFFF! – a colossal bone-crunching synth riff which demands that you turn the volume up, right up, and make like Gort doing the Camel Walk, if you like. That’s all it does really, and it’s enough. ‘Playing With Fire’ has a grandeur about it that’s almost Wagnerian, I kid you not, and on Earth circa 3010, I wouldn't be surprised if they played this at the Proms. Well, OK, I would.
   Attilio Mineo’s ‘Man In Space With Sounds’ is one of my favourite albums, and I’m surprised that I haven’t heard it sampled more often. In fact, I’ve never heard it sampled, but it must have been. Starkey makes up for that, using a Mineo intro to open ‘Holodek’. Of course it’s good, especially the way he keeps Mineo’s strings running throughout and breaks it down around the 2min mark.
   I’m not too keen on vocals in modern music, as long-term readers (yes, you two) will know, but ‘Paradise’ is pleasant enough, and the opening piano is a nice touch. What’s great about the Zygadlo remix is the use of a sampled song from about halfway. I don’t know the song, but here it sounds perfectly matched, the old and new. The two remixes of ‘Robot Hands’ are good, but Ital Tek’s take on ‘Playing With Fire’ takes the remix prize for me.
   Finally there’s a biographical piece, which saves me having to look him up. He’s an intergalactic space traveller, as were his family going way back. He’s set up a Starkbot (his own humanoid robots) sanctuary called Starkville, of which he’s the mayor. There’s some question as to whether he’ll stay on Earth. I have not made that up.

Starkey waves farewell to another of his creations.

The Altman Earworm, Relaxin' With Henry Rollins, and Going Home With Art Pepper

I once had an earworm in the form of the theme from Robert Altman’s ‘The Long Goodbye’. It stayed in my head for days...perhaps even a whole week. The way it recurs in the film, as supermarket muzak, and played by a Mexican marching band, for instance, it’s as if Altman could not get the tune out of his head either.

 To my surprise I find that Henry Rollins has been invited to select tracks from the Blue Note vaults for a 2-CD compilation called ‘Rollins’ Choice’. I’d have thought something far more rowdy than Dexter Gordon would be to his taste; some Last Exit, perhaps, whilst he pumps iron. It just goes to show that you can’t always judge a man by his mouth, muscles or tattoos. Or a woman, for that matter. There’s no Cecil Taylor, but Ornette Coleman’s ‘Airborne’ is included, along with Dolphy’s ‘Out To Lunch’. At least the latter conforms to the stereotypical view I had of him. But I still can’t picture the wild man of post-Punk aggression and poetry-with-attitude relaxing at home on his sofa, perhaps with a glass of wine, to Booker Ervin’s ‘Stolen Moments’. What next? Iggy Pop selects Prestige classics?

I’ve not heard any great new releases over the last couple of days. The fact that I say that proves just how rapidly we consume things now. I do recall a time when I bought one album a week, maximum, and that was plenty. Today I can listen to a dozen new albums in one afternoon, and ‘own’ them on the computer. So instead of the new, last night I blew the dust off the record-player and laid a big black disc on the turntable, transfixed for a minute by the sight of the yellow Contemporary Records label as it spun. Then the music took over and I fell in love once more with Art Pepper’s rendition of ‘You’d Be So Nice To Come Home To’. It seemed fitting in the sense that I was going ‘home’ to a turntable, the place where my love of music was born.

A Belated Happy Birthday to Jean-Luc Godard

And why not? He's never sent me a card on mine, but I suppose he's given me more pleasure than I've given him...

So happy 80th, you crazy genius...thanks for all the images and words...for Anna K and Lemmy Caution, the visual poetry, Brigitte, bold colours, the Madison dance scene, Belmondo, Vlady, Histoire(s) du Cinema and so much more... 

Martin Luther King had his dream and perhaps mine's not as significant but I'd like to be in a Parisian bar in the 60s where the juke box is playing a mambo tune whilst I sip coffee and wait for Anna to arrive before we drive down South where we'll shack up in a place by the sea so that I can write a novel, and she will not be bored, and I will not end up strapping dynamite around my head...

Some say you're pretentious but I don't mind that, in fact I love the quotes and poetry, the mysteries which may have no meaning at all...

Even the politics now seem attractive...must some kind of nostalgia for times when people fought for and believed in something tangible and idealistic. I'm no longer idealistic, politically...I have no political beliefs at all...

Snubbing the Oscars? One last (?) great gesture to a cinematic world you do not belong in, but were so in love with once upon a time. Well, as for those who don't understand what you've done, as Lemmy said to Alpha 60, you can go and stuff yourself with your bloody Logic...