Inexorable Tester's of the Marinets Bailiwick,

Waste Aware Scotland have bought some airtime during the ad breaks on STV; it features an elephant, urges people to reuse plastic bags and features one of my favourite tunes. This tune is mega, it's perfect for never-ending whistling, it's the theme to The Burbles from Vision On.

As a top East Fife FC neutral, it is interesting to note the growing clamour amongst the fans for the introduction of green technologies at New Bayview stadium.

Fife Council apparently recycles Tetra Pak cartons as part of their blue bin paper recycling collections. I never knew this, I always thought Tetra Pak was too complicated, but who knows what Fife Council do with the stuff we submit to be recycled?

Savants Aware of the Unattainable Probity,

In the second instalment of the new series of slipshod biographies, The Bellyaches will be highlighting Linda Smith.

Linda Smith (1958-2006)

Linda Smith was a superb comedian who sadly died of ovarian cancer three years ago. Although Linda was a regular guest panellist on Radio 4 shows, and did appear on television panel shows such as QI, Have I Got News for You and Mock the Week, I always felt her television appearances were too few. I suppose I don’t really need to feature Linda in The Bellyaches because she would have been known to millions through her stand-up shows and her appearances on TV and radio; many articles, lamentably obituaries, can be found easily by using an internet search engine; however, it’s worth taking time to discuss the genre of comedy and someone who excelled within my lifetime.

The comedy does not necessarily need to be made into a performance to be funny; I’ve always valued natural wit, knowledge and respectable opinions, anyone can have these, but comedians who have these are a class apart, Linda did. Being funny with genuine opinions can be classed as satire but I feel that that is quite an overused word and it’s often applied to some very poor comedy. I think I also her understated profile is probably quite endearing too, she never seemed to dominate the panel shows she appeared on but she her words always carried worth.

I gave up on attending stand-up comedy gigs sometime ago, I believed that I no longer turn up at an appointed time and be made to laugh. Comedy is at its best when it is spontaneous, I’m not really interested in someone running though a routine of memorised jokes with punch lines, (there are exceptions to this, for instance, the complexity of some of Stewart Lee’s material, the ‘Joe Pasquale joke’ seems to be the most famous, incidentally, Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle on BBC2 Monday was highly amusing). The best comedians will be amusing in normal conversation, because they have natural wit and opinions, those people suit the panel shows that are the only outlets for comedians on TV and radio today. It seems in modern times, there have been those who have gained success by using observational humour, by appealing to nostalgias, by using surrealist ideas, by being whimsical, by playing with the platform of the medium in which they appear, Linda Smith could do all of these and that was why she appealed to the Radio 4 massive and I.

Linda was also president of the British Humanist Association, humanism seems a bizarre concept to me. The ways of the humanist seem to be right, but I find it sad that society has deteriorated and the behaviour of people has degraded to an extent that a group of people, the humanists, had to club together, take a stance and define a proper set of morals. I admire these humanists but from my uninformed position, I feel that there should never have been the need. I note that I am once again lead back to Vonnegut.

Circuiting Cows of Transition,

On a beautiful day like today, falling in love with St. Andrews is easy, I did that once before but today, whilst I enjoyed its façade, I knew that it possessed a cold heart and that admiring tourists were none the wiser.

I enjoyed lunch from a vantage point above the harbour, I could have stayed there all day with a good book, but I was not dressed for the occasion. The temperature was around 288 K and too warm for my woolly jumper and shirt combo.

Every now and again, I do something that I later regret or feel stupid about. Last week, I went for a haircut, not that anyone could tell, I didn’t really want one so I didn’t have much of one. I’m always charged a different price by the same hairdressers so I’ve decided just to pay a standard fee and any excess could be considered ‘a tip’. The price I was charged this time was very small thus ‘the tip’ part ended up being mammoth and I ended up feeling like an arrogant ‘Loadsamoney’ character for a few hours such is my usually shrewd and modest demeanour. Today, I marched into my boss’s office and started babbling, I have always done this from time to time. I don’t know why, I sometimes think that I reach a stage where I burst with the need for someone to help cultivate ideas. My bosses, whoever they may be, have never been in the mood or shared my urgency during these unannounced arrivals and splurges of thoughts. I’m always sent away with an appointment to come back. I wish I didn’t do it, but I guess it is in keeping with my extreme ways.

Competitive Seeders of Cerebral Cedar Forests,

As a music lover whose collection begins in the 21st century, it’s perhaps unusual that I take delight when C86-type tunes are played on the radio. I can only give my opinion based on the myth I choose to believe without really knowing if I’m right, however, I think indie music was really indie music in the mid-1980s’. The indie pop of this time has a distinctive sound that I really love. People will always remember The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, but who will remember Felt or The June Brides? Most of my knowledge of the era is based on CD compilations.

There’s nothing like Penelope Tree by Felt on today’s radio. Felt were a huge influence on Belle & Sebastian. I guess Voxtrot are the closest sound to Felt, I based this remark on a comment I found on YouTube, I include it so that I can commend Voxtrot by association.

I was once told directly by a BBC DJ that Wild Beasts were today’s equivalent of The Monochrome Set, but replacing one set of idiosyncrasies with another isn’t enough, now the shine grows dim, change tradition for whim.

In many ways, it’s good that these bands are no longer with us, they’ve left something preserved in time and they haven’t stayed around to ruin the memory unlike Primal Scream. Everyone knows that they peaked in the mid-1980s, all they’ve done since is annoy us with Rolling Stones rip-offs and if there’s any band worth emulating, it’s not Rolling flamin’ Stones (they, of two decent songs: Paint it Black and Get Off of my Cloud (only because Mark and Lard used it on a sketch)).

I recently purchased Way Better Now by Speedmarket Avenue, I was quite taken by the similarities in their music to The Popguns of the mid-1980s indie pop/C86 generation. There is a review in Incendiary Magazine of the album, I disagree with many points.

The lad says that Sirens, the opening song is the best moment, I say let him believe this, it’s a great song, he writes “stirring slow-burner, heavily backed by synthesisers and excellent drumming. The band creates a haunting, fragile sound on this song, and there is an atmosphere about it that brings to mind a lonely walk on a winter’s day.” I think the review is written by someone with a taste for lo-fi music, and whilst I do like lo-fi, I think the mix of songs on this album is its strength and it was a wise choice to build from the sounds of Sirens.

The lad doesn’t like Accidents, the second track because of the ‘nasal whine’ of the second vocalist, I like it but mostly for the brass parts, these put me in mind of The June Brides, although the song may not be as upbeat as anything they’d deliver. He’s not a fan of the single, Way Better Now, but the song grabs attention because it’s a rocker and I like the lyrics, all questions, especially, ‘Is that the moral code you still care about?’, for no reason in particular other than I’m me. Don’t Fall in Love has a bit of the John Shuttleworths about it, although it does have a vocal hook in the line, ‘You’re so sick, you’re soon to die’ that catches me, it’s not that a good song and it fades lazily.

The song I play over and over is Enchanted and Left-wing Indeed, it’s a song about a domineering boyfriend who eventually ends the relationship. I suppose the lyrics could just about be applied to a terrible boss at work or an awful football coach, but things haven’t got that bad for me yet. The Popguns-like style vocals and the retro keyboard intro are the simple but charming features that appeal to me.

The delicate balance of the styles on Speedmarket Avenue's album rekindles the true spirit of indie and keeps me amused and after all, I’m one of the those barometers of quality and taste. I have just remembered Goldrush and their song, Wide Open Sky.

Proles Pouting Their Paranormal Potential,

One member of The Bellyaches massive questioned the motivation or the use of the new feature (the conceived biographies), apparently, I am pulling together information that already exists, however, the very fact that I have chosen to should be seen as a commendation of the person in question. We are nothing without people, but people are bandits and intolerable, thus we turn to science and the arts, but they are nothing without people, remarkable people.

If Andrew Collins had never written about Kurt Vonnegut, my life would be less rich. I am enjoying the new Fanfarlo album, Reservoir, they, too, have been enlightened by Vonnegut and that’s more reason to like them. Fanfarlo have written a wonderful song called Harold T. Wilkins or How to Wait for a Very Long Time. I looked up Harold T. Wilkins on this basis; I can only hope to entice people to learn more by composing my new series.

Fanfarlo are fantastic, it’s simple to compare the vocals to those of Talking David Byrne Head or Clap Your Alec Say Ounsworth Yeah or the mini-orchestra compositions to the likes of The Arcade Fire but none of these are as special, Fanfarlo are what pop should be. The musicianship and the ability to arrange numerous instruments (violins, trumpet, mandolin and many more) in these pop symphonies are what should earn acclaim from the mainstream. I’m sure many people have written articles about Fanfarlo but it won’t be enough to crack the thick skulls of those who are routinely served drivel and routinely lap it up.

Marc Riley on 6th Music has lauded the band for a few years now and his favourite tune on Reservoir seems to be Fire Escape, one of the singles, but for me, the standout tune is the other single, the aforementioned Harold T. Wilkins....The Vonnegut-style title is another endearing touch. If Marc Riley did one thing wrong when he had Fanfarlo in session, it was his failure to conduct an show-length discussion of Kurt Vonnegut, they could have continued over onto Radio 5Live to let Gideon Coe have the 6th Music airwaves whilst doing the world a favour by ousting the Twitter twit Bacon. I love the story or what might be the myth of Harold T. Wilkins, he seems a fascinating person. If I were to let that sighting of a weather balloon affect me in such a way, I could be the Kingdom of Fife’s Harold T.

Superintendents of the Esoteric Cabinet,

I found a quite exceptional piece in last week's East Fifecestershire Mail and I thought that it was important to share with The Bellyaches readership. Consider the rail link question if so desired but do lament the microcosm recounted by CT, for those buses are microcosms for society. The newspaper deserves praise for publishing this letter in this form, as does CT for its structure and wit, I apologise for the formatting I have adopted at the behest of my host. In our politically correct world, only a member of the public would be allowed to say this, if a politician was to use these words, they'd be pilloried.

Villagers Vaunting the Versifier,

In order to compete with Wikipedia in the hit count, I have decided to launch a new series, based on fact, opinions, tall tales, cliques and whispers, biographies of some folk will be offered up in exchange for nothing more than a sloth could offer me. The honour of first member of this exclusive series falls upon Marjory Fleming.

Marjory Fleming (1803-1811)

Marjory Fleming was one the greatest child writers there has ever been. She was born on the 15th of January, 1803 in a house on Kirkcaldy’s High Street, and in her short life of almost 9 years, she wrote diaries and poems which made her something of a legend.

Her diaries, which are now preserved in the National Library of Scotland, were originally an exercise to improve her handwriting and to let her parents in Kirkcaldy know how she was doing whilst she lived in Edinburgh with her cousin, Isabella.

She died in hospital in 1811 suffering from meningitis. She is buried in Abbotshall Kirkyard, Kirkcaldy. Her plain stone of 1811 was replaced by a memorial statue in 1930, the statue reads “the youngest immortal in the world of words”.

Trivia Library provides a 2 page biography, Kirkcaldy Civic Society provides another (close the Adam Smith biography to access the 'Famous Folk' menu). Some further information can be gained from Ray and my rival, Wikipedia. Most crucially, some of her work is available at The Fife Post.

Architects of Pernicious Loopholes,

Living in the rarefied surroundings of academia, I can be protected from the world’s ills for a large proportion of the time but the symptoms of the recession are creeping closer to home as a family member stands to lose their job.

A friend who moved away years ago visited me recently, he said that he’ll always be drawn back to the Kingdom of Fife. If such a feeling exists within me, it is for rivers, the sea and the city of Embra. I may never have lived there but I was educated there and even if it is only for a shopping trip, the city sequesters me. The city itself may not be wholly responsible; the train journey probably holds its own pleasures. Unseated MSP Christine May was on the train, hopefully, we will put her back in Holyrood.

To cleanse myself of the long shifts I had been working and also to buy some new footwear, I decided to go back to what I know, that group, Embarrass, suggested such a move. Corporal Jones also suggested that I didn’t panic, so I didn’t.

There, on Princes Street, the extent of the recession and the public’s fears struck me. There was no one else to strike, except the usual plague of chuggers. I am as generous as the next person to fundraisers but I, like most people are, am uncomfortable with signing my life away so I ran, as I was chased. The shops were empty, of course, it was a week day but that’s when I usually go shopping thus I make the comparison with other week days. The shops appeared over-staffed which surprised me too. I wondered what would happen to all these clothes if they were not bought, I wondered what would happen to fashion if the lack of sales caused it to never change. The only store that seemed busy was Marks & Spencers, it was filled with the more elderly sort and perhaps those, like myself, who just could not find the way out.

I would’ve liked to have bought a few jerseys as it is still cold but Spring/Summer 09 is what the shops are selling. There’s a speciality shop for tall people just off Princes Street, I may have to open my own speciality shop – for people of zero per cent body fat who are always cold. My own fashion tastes have changed dramatically over the last few years and the major change is in size, I’ve gone from being a Large to being a Medium and I feel out of sorts when I try to wear one of my archive jumpers. No jerseys were found and my clothes haul read a pair of slim trousers, two t-shirts, a pair of canvas plimsoll-type shoes and two pairs of socks.

I’ve taken to looking in charity shops for books recently, as an extension of this trait, I visited an independent bookstore. Unfortunately, I did not enjoy my visit to this bookstore. The sitcom, Black Books, is quite realistic as I found out. I was only just in the door when I was set upon by the owner, I was not allowed to browse, I was to state my intentions immediately such that I could be processed and dispatched swiftly. I told him what I wanted, he said he showed me the two Kurt Vonnegut books, I said that I’d take one of them. I think then I really angered him by asking if debit cards were accepted, I said I’d go to a cashpoint and return then he charged me more than I would expect to pay for a book in its condition. I should have haggled but I didn’t and I kept the economy moving.

There are many CDs that I’d like to buy but the chance of an early train home kept me from visiting Fopp and I travelled back to Kirkcaldy in carriage devoid of normal life, there was only myself and another, a rotund humanoid that boasted plugs, from which techno music emanated, in its barren head, golden spectacles which suggested a conceited superiority and a foreboding growl which hinted that at any moment I could be eaten and the world would be better for it.

Underworld Sitters Bearing the Brunt of Patience,

On and on and on it goes, the world, it just keeps spinning, ‘til I’m dizzy, time to breathe, so close my eyes and start again anew

I don’t know where Willy Mason is but this chorus may forever be his finest moment to my ears. The human body can achieve wonderful things when pushed to its limits, I wonder if I will really ever have to do so; if I want to win the marathon at the London Village 2012 Olympic Games, I would have to: the running part would be simple, enduring England would be harder, I’d have to leave half way through this article to acclimatise.

I may have just gone through the hardest type of work I can in my role, my life was reduced to work and sleep on a 2:1 ratio. I was excommunicated from the calendar. The graveyard shifts went on until my eyes began to fail.

Other people will have life much tougher and work harder than I did, but in some way, it’s reassuring to know that I can bear such workloads. I used to be irked by oranges (satsumas or minneolas) that yielded too many seeds, now I’m just grateful that they can and I enjoy them regardless.

Innocents Belatedly Crunching Peppermints,

There will certainly be some fantastic Scottish albums released over 2009. Leading them is Checkmate Savage by The Phantom Band, a fantastic album on the Chemikal Underground label.

I’ve known of The Phantom Band since Throwing Bones was released as a single more than a year ago and I eagerly awaited follow-up work. The album doesn’t disappoint, in a world of over-egged synths and effects, the Phantom Band pitch their sound and incidence just right and blend them perfectly with the rest of your bog-standard stuff (guitars, bass, drums, etc). My stance on the bog-standard instruments is contentious, most probably to those who play them, and most fragile to those who use them well. I’m not a musician, those who learn classical instruments were always blatant to me at school, they’d be whisked away to a musical lesson whilst the rest of us had to endure the remainder of Home Economics or Modern Studies, but in many ways, I should respect the bog-standard instrument wielders more than I do because they quite discretely to me, not to their neighbours, had to learn by themselves at home.

The big songs on this album are The Howling and Folk Song Oblivion. The Howling opens the album, it’s a song that asks, “What’s it all about, Geoff? Is this it, Mary? Is this enough, Hilda?”, and comes to the conclusion that it’s probably up to somebody else to decide, and ultimately, that person can’t be trusted, not even someone called ‘Harold’ or even his Scandinavian friend, ‘Harald’. There’ll be a ghost on the day I die and it’ll probably ask the other members of the synthetic spectre choir in this song to keep things low-key. The song caters for everyone, it has the beats, the lyrics and the scary ghosts are quality.

I’ve often heard musicians interviewed who try to claim that their music is a kind of folk music, I’ve heard them say that punk music was folk music. The Strange Death of Liberal England have a song called ‘Modern Folk Song’, this begins gently before an explosion of towering guitars. I presume that Folk Song Oblivion is The Phantom Band’s view on the notion that folk music is a meaningless tag, in many ways, it does resemble the aforementioned song. I’m not a huge fan of heavy guitars but I do enjoy the bellowing riffs during the chanting verses of this song, the chants themselves could be seen as sending up the tales of travelling in many of the traditional folk songs, ‘I can’t see for the mountain silhouette’ and ‘I left home for an empty space’. The gentler verses exhibit a happy, undulating keyboard rhythm that carries one over grassy hill at the behest of a butterfly giving hot pursuit, on a summer day.

There are a few instrumental songs on the album; Crocodile is easily as good as modern work by Holy Fuck, David Holmes or Explosions in the Sky, however, I would have named it something else because it fails to teach, through rhythm and noise, the ways of the croc.

Island provides a stark contrast to the rest of the album, stripped of most of the keyboards and synths, The Phantom Band almost had to send out for some stools and matching suits to perform this near-ballad number, having said this, it sits well with the rest of the album and demonstrates the band’s ability to diversify and still sound rather good.

If I were to complain, I don’t remember Throwing Bones, the single, having the silly a capella segment in the middle. I’m thankful for the inclusion of Throwing Bones on the album, and grateful that normal service carries on either side of these inane voices.

The Phantom Band won’t thank me for this review. I enjoyed Checkmate Savage, I hope it’s not forgotten, such is the risk taken with a January/February release, when industry idiots compile end of year lists of best releases.