A Gentleman’s Cultural Leanings #1

On Monday night I went to see some intimate comedy at a drinking club I’ve been going to for a few years called Black’s in Soho. It’s spread over 3 floors of a Georgian house, and rumour has it that Joshua Reynolds and Dr Johnson had traded ideas, blows and beers in the very room in which the comedy was taking place. Panelled walls, flickering candles and a roaring fire.

The comics were Tom Basden and Tim Key. Tim won this year’s Perrier aren’t sponsoring it anymore award at Edinburgh, and he and Tom have worked as a semi double act for years. Their tone captures a wonderful understated Englishness. Each gag apparently stumbled over and bashfully, accidentally delivered- belying the deftness and timing of it all. I suppose it’s generally acknowledged that Richard Pryor is the Greatest Ever Stand Up- and his act is the voice of angry Black America. Tim and Tom’s voices are those of If It’s Not Too Much Trouble England.

Numbers with numbers – a Tiny Dan top five

I wouldn’t want anyone to think that the demise of the Steve Show has quelled our almost pathological desire to hunt down new music.

Our New Music Quest (NMQ) was no affectation we adopted for the show. Me, Harry, Rufus and Sammy were NMQ-ing pigs, sniffing out fresh melodies like they were tune-based truffles.

For example, here’s one that, were the Show still on air, I’d be going Billy Mental for, The Phenomenal Handclap Band with 15 to 20…

Songs Steve never let me play #2

Tiny Dan fans are often disappointed when they see me in the flesh. This is for a number of reasons.

Firstly, I am quite simply physically disappointing. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not grotesque or unpalatable. But neither am I majestic like, say, Jamaican runny man Usain Bolt or unstoppable bike emperor Sir Chris Hoy. I’m more like a human manifestation of October weather. You know, a bit of everything, but not really anything in itself.

But there’s another reason for their disappointment.

Moose …xyz

When you’re writing a blog that’s predominantly about music, you’ve got to pay your dues.  Knowing your blog onions is essential.  You can’t just start typing any half-baked thought, as there’s always someone out there who has already baked a similar thought for slightly longer.

For a band who had the radar-avoiding qualities of a submarine shaped like a bloody big fish, the blogosphere is surprisingly awash with lovers of Moose.   So here is my three-quarter-baked Moose item, hopefully with a slightly different take on proceedings.

Songs Steve never let me play #1

Tiny Dan critics often said that one of the many reasons for my deep unpopularity on The Steve Show was the despicable music I used to play.

“Melody-free claptrap”, “Fit only for knuckle-dragging dunderheads” “I hate you –  hate, hate, hate you Dan”. That’s just a taste of the bile-filled comments I imagine I would have had to endure about the songs I played had I ever been recognised by anyone who cared.

Yet my crap music taste was a myth (mostly spread by Harry-loving types). And I would like to set the record(s) straight…

X Factor Dead Eastender Shocker

The world of bloody awful Saturday night dross was shocked to it’s soulless core tonight as Simon Cowell unleashed his latest weapon in the reality TV ratings war – a dead ex-Eastender coupled with a pop legend.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

X Factor became more like Ex Actor as deceased Mike Reid, of no living age, appeared alongside Whitney Houston in one of the most astonishing comebacks in TV history.  Having played the nation’s favourite dodgy car dealer Frank Butcher in Eastenders, Reid was ideally placed to rise from his grave and assess the singing talents of the bright young popstrels, all hoping to be the next big thing.

If the nation accepts this unprecedented return to life from an ex-soap star, Cowell has secretly lined up a number of similar voice-coach grave-rob double acts for future editions of this derivative, ball-achingly mindless slop.

Lou Barlow – Goodnight Unknown

The great thing about having this blog is the ability to get the big important news out there straight away.  No waiting around for a radio show on Sunday to deliver a message that’s yawningly out of date.

So the plan was to get the new Lou Barlow record, Goodnight Unknown (on Merge in the US and Domino everywhere else) on the day of release and do a kind of real-time review as I listened to it for the first time.  What a grand, exciting and innovative plan, hmm?  I was pretty pleased with it.  It was going to be great.

Then, the Monday it was released, it didn’t half rain.  It’s a 20 minute walk to my local HMV, and frankly, I would have got soaked.  No-one wants that.

Then the next day I had some other stuff to do, and the whole week got busy somehow, so I eventually bought it last weekend. 

I bet the sodding reviews desk at the NME doesn’t have that problem, although I do recall the story of Steve Lamacq, while seconded to LA in 1993 as the NME’s West Coast correspondent, driving through the middle of a forest fire in order to get his hands on a limited-edition (of 16,000) Echobelly 7″ from Union Jack’s Brit Wax Emporium, LA’s most popular anglophile record store*.  He’s made of sterner stuff than me.

Anyway, the new Lou Barlow album is great.  A hugely prolific songwriter, his work with Dinosaur Jr, Sebadoh, Folk Implosion, his myriad Sentridoh releases, and a fantastic website are all testament to his abilities.

Rufus Arrives…

The brilliant Harry has been keeping the site alive for the past few months, and my absence can partly be explained by my parents both spending some time in hospital. Both thankfully home and recovering now, but it’s been a long summer.
 
When I told my friend Michael about my father’s recent spate of illness, he said ‘welcome to Middle Age’. Which I first thought was a reference to the Middle Ages. Except it was like some sort of corporate paid-for experience of The Middle Ages- all indolent students in lurid tabards, all tankards and chicken legs. But no- to my surprise, he meant my own middle age. At 35 I feel too young to have a dad who’s seriously ill through old age. But The General has been through the mill.