A particular amount of comfort

Oh goodness gracious me. All my high hopes for the next Bond movie have been dashed, with the announcement of the name. Quantum of Solace.

Now really. Being a little bit of a Bond geek, I have read the short story of the same name. There is NO action whatsoever. It's not even like The Spy Who Loved Me, where Bond is just a secondary (although significant) character. That story is full of action. Read the story summary on Wikipedia here, and tell me whether that sounds like a good story to base a film on. No actually, because it might make a nice indie film. Does it sound like a story that will make a good Bond movie?

And then there are the secondary considerations. Who on earth is going to want to sing the theme tune? Are you really going to be able to say in 10 years time "oh no, my favourite Bond film is Quantum of Solace" without everybody looking at you with pity?

Of course, as my favourite James Bond is Timothy Dalton, there will be those who will revoke my right to comment, but I will anyway...this title sucks.

Heath Ledger

There's nothing to say that hasn't been said by other people, but I'm very shocked and saddened with the news of Heath Ledger's death.
I loved Ten Things I Hate About You, he was one of the few I actually had posters of in my room. In the last couple of years he'd started to show real potential, and it's just so sad that this will never be fulfilled. I can't help feeling the new Batman is going to make or break how he is seen in years to come.

And now for something completely uninspiring...

Despite being a fairly old news story now (9th Jan), this is a subject that has been bubbling along at the back of my psyche recently, and so I have decided to share my views on the 4th plinth debate. Going past Trafalgar Square everyday as I do, it is a subject I muse on day after day. No really, I do.

Of the 6 proposed installations, I'm not sure I can really say I love any of them Anthony Gormley has a good track record, after his beautiful rooftop male sculptures in London last year, and his Angel of the North, but the proposal to have a series of volunteers on the plinth doing what they wish, albeit, one would hope, within reason (health and safety measures included, as seen above), seems a little gimicky. Similarly Tracey Emin's lemmings peering over the edge, and Jeremy Dellers burnt out car (representing the 'spoils of war') do not have any of the power of the first installation Ecce Homo (right) by Mark Wallinger. But then, the current occupant, Hotel 2007 by Thomas Schutte is not a particularly powerful piece, although it does add some colour to the square. Shonibare's model of Lord Nelson's ship Victory, with printed fabric sails (left) could make an interesting choice, but really, I do think the public could be provided with something more...inspiring. Of course, I have no idea what this could be. But that's why i'm not an artist, i'm just a blogger writing to myself. Goodness Tuesdays are hard.

"Obviously you're not a hockey player"

Having just tried...and failed miserably...to do the Empire Movie Quotes Quiz, it has reminded me of one of my pet annoyances. I am unable to remember quotes. There are only two quotes I can be relied on to get right. "I love Lamp" and "Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies do divert me I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can", but any others I am doomed to get wrong. Just be a word or so, but apparently this makes a difference. For the last couple of years, I have been cursed with male friends - because it is always men, who can quote entire films, tv series and albums at length and verbatim. I lived with 3 boys, who could converse entirely in Napoleon Dynamiteisms.

I cannot describe to you how frustrating it is, when I try to join in, be amusing and show off my wide knowledge of popular culture, only to be humiliated because I have somehow got one or two words not quite right, even if the basic meaning remains the same.

I try, I really do. But who can expect me to remember "Oh Ron, there are literally thousands of other men that I should be with instead, but I am 72 percent sure that I love you", without getting the percentage wrong? My friends, that's who. My brain is simply too full with the stresses of everyday life to have room for all this nonsense. I shall just remain quiet, and one day find friends who aren't sad and geeky. I just don't have the skills.

Strictly Come Reading

Book publishing is going to get its own reality show in March, when six celebrities will be in a 'Apprentice' style reality show, where they will be attempting to write a crime novel for the Quick Reads series

'Murder Most Famous' will be hosted by Minette Walters, writer of The Ice House, amongst other books, and I don't quite know what to make of it.

It could be fabulous. It's certainly an interesting proposition, and good bring up any number of interesting ideas. Of course it's going to get the normal accusations of the BBC dumbing down, and I do in part agree. Yet on the whole, I think any programme that attempts to engage readers of books is a good thing. And i'm dying to read what Kelvin Mackenzie produces. Really I am.

Music I Like

The not very exciting title of this post is likely to be repeated a few times, as I point out a few songs I have noticed and loved.

The Hype Machine (button to the right) is my main source for these pieces of joy, and so it is I found this. Eels doing a cover of Can't Help Falling In Love. Doesn't just the idea of it make you incredibly happy? Well now go and listen to it.

The man is tackiness incarnate

I really do find Paul Burrell difficult to stomach. Admittedly nobody seems to be coming out of the Diana inquest looking good, But there is just something about the man that makes my bile rise.
Australian Princess is quite fun though.

Why can't we be more like the French?

I saw Spamalot last night, and the funniest part is when King Arthur insulted by the french guard. "I fart in your general direction! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!" Just wouldn't be as funny in a Cornish accent.

Can you imagine Brown dating Kate Moss? Do you want imagine it? Aren't you imagining it right now? Them, in sexual activity. See? You can see it. And it's not nice. Whereas Sarkozy and his possible new wife Carla Bruni seem like a nice glamorous couple, and the thought of them in the sack really isn't unpleasant. I've got to stop this now.

And then there's this. France's leading news broadcaster is exposed as a complete idiot by an anonymous book. What do we have? News at Ten and bloody Sir Trevor 'I'll talk really slowly if it's important stopping at random intervals to express the gravity of the situation' McDonald coming back. We should have glamour and scandal, instead we have stodge and boredom. I want to be French. I'm sure I'd be a lot thinner if I was.

And we've had french biscuits in the office this week, they're yummy.

Link

David Lodge on Malcolm Bradbury's The History Man.

It's a book I struggled through many years ago, but reading this, I should perhaps revisit it.

Ride a white swan

Bjork has been attacking paparazzi again. I don't really have a comment about this, I just wanted to show this picture. And say that I quite like it.

Recommendation

This is perhaps a little late, given it is only running for another month, but I saw War Horse at the National Theatre on Friday, and it was fantastic.
Aimed at children, but not at all childish, I sobbed most of the way through (embarrassing my more cold-hearted companion). The life-sized horse puppets were extraordinary. I'm not sure whether you can pre-order tickets anymore, but you can certainly queue in the morning of the show you want, as we did. It really is worth it.

Such a silly boy

Morrissey has announced the tracklisting of his Greatest Hits. It's got National Front Disco on the bonus disc.

He's just doing it to annoy me, but I'm going to rise above the pettyness.

In Praise Of Reading

Apparently 25% of the population didn’t read a book last year. Who can say that they’re truly surprised? But this doesn’t necessarily mean doom and gloom for the publishing industry (and least I bloody hope not). £1.8bn was spent on books last year, and the average price went up by 4p to £7.57. Of course, 2% of all book sales was Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, but the message is essentially, books are still being bought. It’s just that they aren’t read by everybody.
I love reading. Since about the age of 7, when I ‘got it’, I’ve devoured books, basically of any sort. I went from Enid Blyton to The Chalet School, from Georgette Heyer to Dick Francis to, heaven forgive me, Jilly Cooper, and I’ve never really looked back. I haven’t just read so called ‘trashy’ novels of course (although I would defend them to the death). There was a fairly embarrassing episode when I was about 9 because my head teacher wouldn’t believe I was reading Tennyson, and I’ve got very into modern fiction recently, discovering the works of Jonathan Coe. But what I really love is the type of book where I can just rip through it, a M. M. Kaye or Alistair MacLean, where I can sit, ignore the real world, inhabit the one before me, get absorbed in the characters, and finish the book in one sitting.
For some reason, this really annoys some people, who see it as proof I’m not experiencing them properly. The average is 60 pages an hour, and while I have no idea exactly how quick I am, it’s faster than that. But it’s not that I’m not appreciating it. I’m taking in every sentence, and I would hope, every nuance. Although thinking about it, the joy of these books as that they don’t really have nuances. But trashy doesn’t necessarily mean bad. Yes, there are some books, such as Alan Bennett’s Untold Stories, which are to be savoured, and every beautifully crafted sentence pored over. Yet the aforementioned M. M. Kaye or Mary Stewart Books are well written. Yes, there may be a certain formulaity to their plots, but that is what I like. These are comfort reads, in the same way a big bowl of pasta is comfort eating. You don’t want them all the time and they aren’t healthy if consumed on their own, but as part of a balanced diet – sheer bliss.

I really enjoy live comedy. For various reasons I hadn’t seen any for over a month, so going to see some last night, especially when it is that good, was a pleasant surprise. But it also reminded me of the problems I face when I do venture forth. The main one being, I’m easily offended.

I don’t quite know how. Certainly, as a nice white middle-class girl at an inner-London comprehensive, I had to make sure I didn’t offend anyone, and it’s easy to offend when you’re a slightly pretentious, well-spoken geek. But The Real Daniel O’Donnell Show at The Albany last night wasn’t full of race-orientated comedy last night. This would be pointless, as with all live comedy, the audience was basically white. Maybe Jewish, but not black. Nope, the jokes were about The A-Team raping in Vietnam (in a song performed by Phil Whelans), and a sketch about paedophiles, based on Loose Women, that most scintillating of programmes. The first was actually very funny, perhaps because if you put anything to a jaunty melody it somehow seems more friendly. The paedophile sketch I found less funny. I hope this is because it wasn’t actually very funny, but I suspect it’s because I was quite offended by it. I’ve laughed at Madeline McCann jokes (and then felt a bit guilty), and I find Frankie Boyle hilarious, despite his entire act being about pushing the audience as far as he can. But on some level, I’m offended by them, and if I caught someone looking at me while I laughed I think I’d feel very ashamed. So I’m hoping that it was just that the sketch was unfunny. The whole show is put together very quickly before each monthly club night, which leads to some fairly hit and miss pieces, but creates a great energy and sense of excitement.
There was then a great band on. Subtle link, there, sorry.
Anyway, The Brute Chorus were fantastic. The singer looked like some sort of 40s swashbuckling Errol Flynn type. It’s essentially music of the intelligent art pop persuasion, but bloody brilliant for all that. A bit of a Kinks style riff here, a Cure bassline there (There’s a definite LoveCats vibe to one song), and you’ve got a whole room loving the energetic pop. I though that heights had been reached with ‘Nebuchadnezzer’ and ‘Chateau’, but then for an encore (after singing Happy Birthday to Nick, the keyboardist/guitarist, they brought on Tigs, so sing the flipping amazing The Cuckoo & The Stolen Heart. A fantastic bluesy sea-shanty type thing (yup, ok, I admit defeat, it’s undefinable), they have immediately captured my heart, and I’ll be looking out for more. Look, I got to the end without mentioning they’re releasing their music on the Hawley Arms (the boozer of choice for Wino and Borrell) label Bumpman Records. Oh. Dammit.

Do you really want to know me?

Pretending for a moment that there are people reading this blog who don’t already know me well…how much of myself do I, and you, want me to reveal? There are those who bring their family and personal life into their blog (David Hepworth often mentions family members), and others who keep their sites purely as a commentary tool.
As I am hoping to use this site as a discussion of popular culture and the like, how necessary is it for me to reveal myself…and would you want me to anyway? Personal details such as age, sexual orientation may have an impact on my views, so would you need to know these in order to put my opinions into context? Do you need to know who my favourite bands are, and who I hate, so you can filter out the bias (warning, U2 and The Stereophonics are never going to get positive comments here)?
It seems to me that publishing something, whether it be on the web or a printed medium, gives it gravitas and credence. By posting this blog, I am saying that my views are worthwhile and should be taken into account. Should I therefore be giving a potted CV, letting you make up your mind as to whether I am qualified to criticise (answer: not really)?
But then that is sort of the point, it has been commonly observed that the internet is allowing everybody to have their say, whether others want to hear it or not. I like to think of it as the letters page from a magazine or newspaper. There are the silly little feuds and insults so beloved of NME readers, but also the purposefully serious opinions of Telegraph readers. The major difference is of course that there is an editor of these publications, choosing which letters to put in, whereas the internet is open to all. The only editing available is self editing.
Which brings up another interesting point. How much do I choose to write about, and how much of what I really believe should I express? I would quite like people reading this to like me, so is revealing that I was a massive Jason Donovan fan (to the extent of having his autograph) something I should be doing? Or will I, be it conscious or unconscious, choose to self-edit my views into what I perceive to be cool? Blogs are personal. They style is more open, and the content more subjective than any commentary that has gone before it, but the question is how much to I push this. I’m not suggesting I should be sharing gynaecological details, but if the odd personal note creeps in, I don’t think this is a bad thing. Do you?

Review - The Innocent Traitor, by Alison Weir

The Tudor period is one that holds a fascination for many, revelling as it did in its opulence, and being a period of great turbulence. Alison Weir is one of our current leading popular historians on the period, having published several factual works on the age. This is her first foray into Philippa Gregory territory (who's‘The Other Boleyn Girl’ currently being adapted for the big screen, starring Natalie Portman and Scarlett Johansson).

It is the story of Lady Jane Grey, a figure who has captured many a young school-girls imagination, told from the viewpoint of many involved in the action. Despite the outcome being known from the beginning, there is a fair amount of tension, as we see Jane being coerced into a role she has no wish to play, and then watch as she is abandoned to her fate. This is no swash-buckling Elizabethan adventure, there is little action involved, but is a more personal look at how it is easy to be caught up in the ambitions of others, and if we do not have the courage to stand up for our convictions, then we risk being swept away in their hubris.

Accessible and engaging, the style is easily followed, not oppressive in its detail, but richly described nonetheless. The characterisation is perhaps a little harsh, Jane’s mother in particular receiving very little sympathy for what must have been a trial, providing no male heirs in a time when this was a women’s main role. The sweet but fiercely intelligent Jane of the beginning of the novel actually becomes less attractive as the story goes on, as she hardens in her religious views, and shows no empathy for her husband, another pawn in a parent’s plan. The book works very well when it keeps within its limits, but there is the odd occasion where the realms of believability are stretched too far, in particular the disposing of Edward VI’s body, and another being replaced in its stead. Not as informative as others, ‘The Six Wives of Henry VIII’ in particular, it is nonetheless a happy, if slight, read.

Celebrity Big Brother Hijacked

Much as it pains me to accord the topic any attention, I did nothing but enjoy a nice bottle of red wine and watch TV last night, and I have resolved to try and write once a day to begin with, to get myself into the habit, I have no choice but to discuss CBBH (as we are meant to call it).
Firstly, Davina had made the wise choice of not having anything to do with the programme, which meant we had ample opportunity to admire Dermot’s rather fetching coat. The attractiveness of the coat seemed to increase as the night went on, presumably in comparison to the heinousness of what it was surrounded by.
The premise of the show seems to be that we can’t trust ‘celebrities’ to behave with any common expectations of decency when not fully supervised, and so they are apparently to be given control of ‘talented’ youngsters (and why was I not included, I hear you ask?!). So for the first show we have Matt Lucas, presumably with a swathe of producers monitoring his every move just out of camera shot. Then the housemates themselves are introduced. The first is a Scottish young politician John, who is immediately told he has a task, in which he much only say what Matt Lucas tells him to, via an ear piece cunningly hidden underneath a tartan hat (do you see what they’ve done there?), and John wins considerable props for his comments “the first series of Little Britain was really good”, he’s coming across fairly likeably. So far, so nothing.
We’re introduced to the second inmate, Calista. She’s a Myleene Klass wannabe. Her classical music credentials all seem very impressive, until we hear a sample of her new garage songs, which are apparently “taking over the scene”. We’re treated to a shot of Calista recording the lyrics “I like to play bongos in the morning”. At this point my house makes a collective cry of “Nooooooooo”, followed by a five minute discussion of whether she’s just playing without us, seeing how many gullible idiots will believe she’s real, or a Chanelle type invention. She enters the house, and John is forced to say many a sort-of amusing thing by Matt Lucas. There is one genuinely funny point, when he is told to say he is “like shit-hot with a kazoo”, and then we move on to the third contestant. Anthony is a boxer, and seems nice enough, even if he does like seeing other people’s blood. When he enters the house, Lucas tell John to hug him, and massage him. It’s at this point I turn off. John’s obvious distress, the others discomfort, and the same joke repeated ad infinitum made for uncomfortable, not amusing viewing, and did no favours to anyone involved. To crow-bar another Smiths lyric in, that joke isn’t funny anymore. And so I will be doing the same as any other right-minded person, and not watching the show, while reading about in on the web, just in case anything significant happens.

2007 The year in review - Pt II

Film

Frankly, this year I’ve been dreadful at seeing films. The ones I’ve seen, such as Pirates 3, Ratatouille, The Golden Compass and Hot Fuzz have been disappointments (Hot Fuzz maybe less so), and nothing else has been promising enough to make me part with my money, especially since I know have to deal with London prices.

Instead, here are ten films I should have seen, and may eventually get around to;

1. Control
2. This is England
3. The Lives of Others
4. Knocked Up (I loved Freaks & Geeks)
5. No Country For Old Men
6. Atonement (although it does mean putting up with Ikea Knightly)
7. The Bourne Ultimatum
8. Superbad
9. The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert For
10. Elizabeth: The Golden Age

TV

I watched a lot more TV than I have films, and there have been some really enjoyable shows this year. We’ll get This Life + 10 out of the way to begin with shall we? Yes, it was a bit crap, but seeing all those characters again made me feel nice, which was sort of the point. In better news, Doctor Who put in another strong series, with Blink being my favourite episode (but too scary to watch again).
It was a fairly strong year for British shows, despite the endless moaning about American imports. Comedy was a particular forte. It may not have been the strongest series of The Mighty Boosh, but it was still bloody funny, the standout being four-way crimping. The Thick of It and Peep Show were both very satisfying, but the Mac adverts may have been jumping the shark for Mitchell & Webb (Magicians being yet another film I haven’t seen, but one I have no intention of watching). Never Mind the Buzzcocks has returned to full strength under Simon Amstell, after a few lacklustre years. Charlie Brooker’s Screenwipe is often hilariously funny while being full of rage and making serious points. I think the joint HBO/BBC production of Flight of the Conchords is the comedy highlight of the year, with Murray my personal favourite.

But hey, on to the Americans. Heroes was fantastic. I was never a fan of Lost, but Heroes had genuine character development, and despite the occasional saccharine overload, some really touching moments. You could say the same of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, which I am still defending in the face of all criticism. I wouldn’t say it’s as good as The West Wing, but then, not much is. CSI: Crime Scene Investigation had another really strong series. I really really cannot wait until next week, and the start of the next series. The miniatures serial killer is a fantastic story arc, and I hope the climax lives up to the rest.

Of course, I can’t talk about TV without going into Reality TV. About this time last year Celebrity Big Brother was kicking off (in more ways than one), and it has been followed by all the shows that now seem fixed in the TV calendar. Both I’m a Celebrity and X Factor were particularly lack-lustre, but Strictly Come Dancing was an absolute joy to watch, mainly because it featured some talented people, doing what they are expert at (I do feel that not enough attention is given to the professional dancers of the show, without whom it would be impossible). But back to that nightmare CBB. Jade Goody made herself even more disliked by the general public by indulging in some fairly unpleasant racism. Of course, she was not the only one involved, but Jo O’Meara and Danielle Lloyd managed to avoid too much criticism by dint of massive media management, and also having the good luck to be pretty. Channel 4 was eventually found to have breached Ofcom’s Code of Conduct, and it signified a year of woe for the TV networks. Richard & Judy started the trend of phone-in scandals which encompassed everything from BBC6 to The X Factor, and this has really dominated the year industry wise. There have been a fair few high-profile resignations following scandals, significantly Peter Fincham, Controller of BBC One, after the so-called ‘QueenGate’ affair.
Each of these scandals would have been serious enough as an isolated incident, but so many coming to light at the same time has led to an apparent crisis in conscience for the national broadcasters. Coupled with falling advertising revenue (although this has not been as disastrous as widely predicted), these scandals have caused some major introspection and endless media debate. I can’t be alone in thinking this is no bad thing. Yes, these mistakes were awful, but if they lead the industry to take a look at itself, and think about what they do wrong, and what they should be doing, it will hopefully create a more focused outlook, and a greater understanding of what producers owe to their public. I shall got off the soapbox now. I thank you.

2007 The year in review - Pt I

On a personal note, it’s the year I moved back to London, and stopped acting like a student. However, as this is uninteresting to no one but myself, and even then I find it fairly boring, I am going to try and get the last year in some semblance of order in my head, by going through the major pop culture happenings. I have a feeling it’s going to descend into stream of consciousness fairly quickly as well, so apologies for any structural weaknesses.

Music

It’s been a fairly unexciting year in music, for me at least. Of course there are some fantastic artists, but there have been no momentous albums…just take a look at the Q albums of the year:

1. Neon Bible - Arcade Fire
2. Icky Thump - White Stripes
3. Favourite Worst Nightmare - Arctic Monkeys
4. The Good, The Bad & The Queen
5. Magic - Bruce Springsteen

I found Neon Bible disappointing, and certainly not as heart-stopping as their debut. The White Stripes seem to have descended even further into caricature, The Good, The Bad & The Queen was an album of ideas, but too disparate to be really good, and I’ll be honest and say I haven’t listened to the Springsteen. Of the five, the only one I really like is Favourite Worst Nightmare. There are some really fabulous songs on it, and there’s a sense of a band of potential working up to a really great album, I can’t wait for the next one.
Other honourable mentions have to go The LCD Soundsystem album Sound of Silver, The Klaxons, and Radiohead (that fact that the album is really good seems to have got lost in the hype surrounding the delivery method), as well as Asobi Seksu, although the new album Citrus is nowhere near as good as their self-titled debut, which only got a UK release this year.

There have of course been a few fantastic singles, Umbrella by Rihanna is still not losing its appeal, and if you can enjoy the hopefully ironic pronunciation, Foundations by Kate Nash is lovely, as long as you avoid the rest of the album. It’s been great to see The Manic Street Preachers remember how to write good singles again, Send Away The Tigers and Your Love Alone stood up really well in comparison to older material when I saw them live in December.

I can’t really comment on the live scene at the moment, as I’ve been rather old-fogey like this year, I didn’t go to any festivals, and haven’t managed to see many gigs, of which I’m particularly gutted about missing Joanna Newsom. However, it does seem like two increasingly separate entities exist, the album/single selling bands, and then those that are successful live (of course, some bands cross the divide). A band can have a very comfortable success playing live to large audiences, but this doesn’t seem to translate into album sales anymore.

But really, 2007 has been the year of melt downs. Of course, this is a topic every pop culture commentator is covering, but then it has been the most entertaining thing to watch this year, as long as you’re comfortable with a bucketload of schadenfreude. We started the year with blanket coverage of Pete Doherty & Kate Moss’ relationship, and end it in a tabloid obsession with Amy Winehouse. It’s difficult to see Amy as anything more than a tragic figure at the moment, and hard to remember the period between her first (very good) and second (brilliant) albums, where she was just a mouthy, feisty and endearing London girl. The comparisons with jazz legends of old (cheers Lord Lloyd Webber), go further than the music, she’s become the stereotype of the strong woman weak when it comes to love, standing by her man however grubby he may get.

And then we get to Morrissey. Oh, what to say. Those who know me will attest to the fact that I have spent some years pretending that songs such as National Front Disco don’t exist. I love Morrissey and The Smiths, and I really can’t bear to think that the man who expresses with such perfect wit and subtlety my emotions, is a hypocritical xenophobe. Of course accounts of the interview he gave to the NME differ, but it seems pretty certain that he made some remarks, not of themselves offensive, but the thoughts of a middle-aged Dail Mail-educated grumpy white man, wrapped in some fairly unpleasant rhetoric. He then blogged on the Guardian Music website. At last! I hoped. Morrissey is going to honestly give us his thoughts on immigration, racism etc. What we got instead was an petulant rant about journalistic standards, and some weak posturing along the lines of ‘I can’t be racist, because I let an anti-racist organisation put their logo on the back of my album’. The latest news that Morrissey has donated some money to Salford Boys’ Club, while a nice thing to do in itself, just confirms it. Morrissey is a old, grumpy man. I’m going to get back to listening to the old stuff, and pretend the last six months have been Morrissey free. Delusion can be a great thing.

This is the beginning

Where I shall eventually try and write interesting things. Iwould hope.