Monday, May 25, 2009

Simpletons Revelling in Specious Consolation,

With illness, self-pity comes. In self-pity, reluctance broods. I decided to call the doctor but only on the premise that I’d be told nothing was seriously wrong.

‘It’s most likely viral so there’s nothing we can do’, that’s what I wanted to hear. Later I felt cheated by this; I bet he says that to everyone. Broken leg, slipped disc, shin splints, cataracts.

With victimised ears and throat, communication hurts, thought and hope are the only resort, a dead weight to be dragged around and reacted to internationally.

Should I choose to leave a short message in stone, I’d choose something by someone else, ‘Hope is important’ or ‘Through mythical measures they come together and understand’.

In hope, they gathered, but they didn’t understand, and that’s where I became lost. Sometimes it takes a departure to trigger an appreciation.

The air begins to thicken.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Rhetoricians and The Approaching Pastiche,

A cough that wants to remove a roaring throat, I nearly decided to stay at home. I began with Neutral Milk Hotel, In The Aeroplane Over the Sea, the opening line to Holland, 1945: ‘The only girl I’ve ever loved was born with roses in her eyes, but then they buried her alive, one evening, 1945’ and so it goes. If the coast round to Largo was lined with palm trees, this morning, it would have resembled one of those clips that feature on documentaries about extreme weather; the kind where a presenter is blown about in front of flapping palm trees in Florida, the Gulf of Mexico or wherever. Only a few droplets had appeared on my windscreen by the time I had changed to My Maudlin Career by Camera Obscura.

As I sat at roadworks, the cows ran to the corner of the field. I wondered why. I looked around and could see no reason for such expectancy at the gate, yet they waited. The lights turned green and I drove off, but those cows still meant something. Which cow had caused the rush? Which cow did the others trust?

I stayed mobile at work, I did not want to create a squalid zone of concentrated germs around my desk; I would’ve ended up passing on my illness to my neighbours only for them to give me it back. With Wolves by My Latest Novel on the ipod, Pretty in A Panic is my favourite song ever but my affection for some of the others still grows. As the noise grew, my little ipod failed to battle using ItalicWolves, and I changed to The Decline of British Sea Power. Slow progress continued throughout the day and as is often the case, I left with the hope that things would have sorted themselves out for my return, atoms are wonderful like that; they always will always do what’s right, even if it’s not what we want.

Prevention by De Rosa accompanied me as I headed to the pits. Refuelled I headed to Carnegie Hall for the third evening of Tigerfest. Saint Jude’s Infirmary were first on stage. Happy Healthy Lucky Month, their album on SL Records, is a fantastic piece of art. I think they deserve more from the public, they have the credentials but I fear that they are victims of geography. I was happy just to hear Good-bye Jack Vettriano, however, they have more to their arsenal and it was a good 45 minutes. I love The Rosie Taylor Project, I first heard them on Marc Riley’s BBC 6th Music show, night after night, he has great artists on the show but I still think these are the best group he has brought from obscurity to me. Words are important, the way they wrap the music around them rather than bury them is beautiful. They only played one song from This City Draws Maps, which was the wonderful single, Good Café on George Street, so it seems another album is just around the corner – I can only hope.

Audrey sings Nico and Ballboy followed, I meant no disrespect but I left, Treasure Library Canada by Woodpigeon went into the CD player, this was the right way to end my day of music.

Saturday, May 09, 2009

Cerebral Subduers of Industrial Quantities

Galapagos is the vehicle by which Kurt Vonnegut relates evolution to the activities of modern day activities of the developed world. Spread over a million years, Kurt Vonnegut charts how a small band upon the ‘nature cruise of the century’ to the Galapagos become the standard bearers for the human race as their ship, the Bahia de Darwin, becomes a badly-stocked Noah’s Ark. As a financial crisis, world hunger, war and then, disease end human civilization elsewhere, the ship lands upon Santa Rosalia and survivors adapt to their new surroundings.

The master of time, Vonnegut, describes the events of greed, selfishness, misfortune and misjudgment which bring these particular humans together. Our big brains are blamed for the chaos and by the end of the novel, humans have become animal-like as their range of functions have become streamlined to perform only fundamental acts of survival.

The theme of the book is undoubtedly the use of our big brains and the perspective of Vonnegut is priceless. I’ve been influenced greatly by this book over the past few weeks. Assessment of actions, weighting of the importance of events, accepting decisions and discarding small potatoes seems to alleviate stress. A lot of work has gone into this article on Galapagos by a fellow writer. After our big brains have made room for the knowledge of how to survive, there is plenty of space left over, Vonnegut says, and that is where mischief and misdeeds are. Of course, reducing the human life and anatomy to rudimentary tasks and tools is undesirable, as I said before, life is function and art. The goal is to ensure neither are crimes.

Thursday, May 07, 2009

Seismologists Predicting the Placid Eruption,

Proverbs are lazy but wonderful, their basis is in truth. Two come to my mind as I attempt to understand the sporting life: ‘never judge a book by its cover’ and ‘the straw that broke the camel’s back’. I was that book, I was that straw. I have been rather calm since I chose not to become agitated by or waste time on small potatoes. The power of calm was too much for one man. A quiet demeanour can’t always be assumed as that of a weak character. Some people can’t cope with politeness and respect, but a level head can’t be beaten. If one remains measured, they should keep their dignity.

The only stupid question is the one that is never asked.

Monday, May 04, 2009

Fomenters of the Bifurcation of Spirit,

Dalgety Bay is a commuter town for the wealthy. The Fife Coastal Path may tease some as it weaves inland here and there past some of the largest, most functionalised houses in the Kingdom of Fife. The only thing I envy is the location; the coastal view, the walks, the wildlife in the bay, the woodland and fields.

Two shelducks picked over the mire that was the drained bay, out in the more appealing firth, yachtists less than 100 yards out saw what we could see from the bench on the shore; I did not envy their wind management travails.

St Bridget’s Kirk has stood from the 12th century, when it served the past village of Dalgety, its ruins are at least a notable landmark along the coastal path if not of significance to the masses. The kirk is very small and I imagine a compact band of religion fans glued together strongly and squeezed inside, perhaps that is a cliché. The detail has been washed and worn from the gravestones, I pondered the corallaries of this, raised tombs seem to act as benches for stopping walkers.

The themes of death and community spirit seemed to become more foremost in my mind as the day wore on. I had began the day passive and calm but tales of the paranormal then the two TV programmes I took in of that evening made an impression.

Martin Clunes’ Islands of Britain was amusing but it was mostly an hour of scenery with little depth, he didn’t really investigate island life all that much, apart from telling us all about how he admired the community spirit and the way people helped each other more than on the mainland, this is a given. The most interesting conversation was that Martin held with Stuart Hill, guardian of Forvik, the island, he proclaims now independent from the UK government but still under the subject of the UK monarchy. I find why he would make such a definition between the two baffling. Of course, he is campaigning for the rights of Shetland, and he has chosen to highlight this declaring his own island independent.

Life, Love and Death in a Day was on More 4:

In this Cutting Edge documentary, Sue Bourne tells the story of an ordinary day in modern Britain through the births, marriages and funerals that take place in one city over twenty-four hours.

The pain of the family, and particularly the older brother, who lost a son of only 26 years of age was difficult to watch. The programme doesn’t fill me with the urge to jump up and live every moment to its fullest, it just reminds me of the knowledge that we have to make the best decisions, treat people exactly right at every opportunity and value those who do so.

Sunday, May 03, 2009

Quellers of Ruddy Gerontophobia,

Tigerfest is a collection of May gigs that have been organised over the past few years in Dunfermline, although other appointments are scheduled in Aberdeen and Embra.

The centrepiece of the Dunfermline event is a run of four concerts in Carnegie Hall and limited concession prices of £10 for all four, the musicologist can receive good value if they care for such small potatoes as currency. The great thing about these concerts is that they have quality throughout their billing and I’d like to see some of the acts that are second or third on the bill headline concerts in the Kingdom of Fife. The problem the Kingdom and music have always faced is that they have no place to come together and meet the people, and that they have nobody willing to gamble upon them. I’ve said before that strategic education of the public to whose these great bands are, focussed marketing through internet and radio and effort of the bands themselves to attract a travelling to crowd to bolster the locals who at first will be weary.

Top Fencester, James Yorkston leads the Carnegie Hall dates. What emphasises the quality of the Tigerfest bill is that Saint Jude’s Infirmary (masters of mood, Goodbye Jack Vettriano is a monster) and Rosie Taylor Project (creators of the best Belle & Sebastian song since Belle & Sebastian last sang, Good Café on George Street) are only 4th and 3rd on the Friday night bill. Saturday seems to be a Chemikal Underground special with De Rosa supporting Lord Cut-Glass, with Angil and the Hiddentracks also on the bill.

Hippo are not part of the line-up but Carl Barat is bound for Dunfermline, it’s important that musicologists of the Kingdom attend what they can to demonstrate that we’re worth visiting.

Saturday, May 02, 2009

Romancers of Re-arranged Spaces,

Like a musical study of existentialism, Prevention by De Rosa points in metaphors at the angst of re-assessment.

For their second album on the Chemikal Underground, De Rosa have expanded from three to five members with splendid results. As Scottish rock is tempered with folk and electronica, themes of acting against one’s better judgment are conveyed in poetic lyrics. Martin John Henry’s voice can carry a wonderful range of emotions and supports a range of musical moods; mostly, wistfulness, regret, anger on Prevention.

Nocturne for an Absentee is the song that seems to receive the radio play, a depiction of the difference between day and night for our protagonist, ‘daylight saving me from myself’ suggests a grim life away from the working existence, and sets the mind to ponder the use of time, what fills it and how others may misuse it or struggle to survive it.

In Stillness, a reminder that time is the shadow of our existence, any wise man knows to keep his distance is always timely. The opening verse starts:

I compose
Every centre, every perspective
Any partisan knows
I propose a way of looking
Or a way of looking past this


Thoughtlessness plagues our society and those who can do something, those able-bodied, those healthy enough, focus upon small potatoes with detail that defies sense.


Comparisons with that cheeky scampateer, Malcolm Middleton might be made here and there, particularly on Under the Stairs, an uplifting song that mentions winter and graves, but the subtleties of the percussion and keys plus the quivering vocals set De Rosa apart upon a niche that should be wallowed in by those fed up of small potatoes.
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