My wife and I, and young Master George went to one of those ‘pop’ festivals, for young people, last Saturday. The weirdest thing happened (actually the whole experience was both odd, enjoyable and more than just a little bit of an eye opener)... I was asked to show some photo ID!? I was slightly taken aback at first and could only think that they must have had a rule of not letting people over 45 years of age in (I was clearly a borderline case). If they did have such a policy it proved very successful because there were absolutely no ‘upper middle-aged’ people on the entire site... apart from maybe a couple of members of ‘House of Pain’.
For reasons that never really became clear the festival was called ‘Groovin’ the Moo’. It was actually an all-ages event – so we didn’t have to cobble together a fake ID card in order to get George in (although he appeared to have one of his own already... which is just a little bit worrying). The ID was, in fact, needed to get a wrist band that allowed access to the special bar area – which is just a fancy pants term for a piece of grass, behind a fence, with a beer tent... not special at all really. The only conceivable reason I can see for the inclusion of these areas at festivals is to create dangerous bottlenecks that wouldn’t otherwise be there - and it that respect they work a treat.
It’s certainly interesting being at a festival with your 13-year-old son. We soon discovered that we both had something that the other one wanted. George wanted to be six feet two in order to see more of the performances, and I just wanted some of the attractive women (actually just one would have done) that stopped to chat to George to talk to me instead. Alas we were both left frustrated, however George will grow taller whereas I...
Obviously there were some signs of immaturity; for instance, when we passed the stand where they were handing out condoms there was embarrassed sniggering and blushes. But then George told me to pull myself together... yes I know you could see that one coming a mile off (thinking about it, that might not be the best phrase to use in this context). They were also using a prop (which seemed slightly oversized to me) to demonstrate how to put on the product they were distributing. We didn’t see it but they must also have been demonstrating the proper use of them because all of the bands had masses of ‘condom balloons’ floating passed them during their performance.
And another thing I noticed was that, like the last festival I went to, there were an awful lot of people on crutches there. At first this prompted in me a feeling of sympathy towards these poor unfortunates whose enjoyment of the festivities was being marred by their inability to manoeuvre freely around the site. And then, the ‘cynic synapse’ inside my brain kicked in and I suddenly thought ‘if you wanted to get a sizeable quantity of drugs into an event, wouldn’t the best thing to use be an innocent looking hollow tube of some sort?’ Look, I’m not saying that they were all dealing amphetamines but I just think that it’s unlikely that that morning all the invalids in the area got up and thought ‘you know what? I reckon I’ll head down and check out the Go! Team at ‘the Moo’ this arvo’. Next time you are at a festival make sure you look out for all the people on crutches and then report back to me.
So, (6 paragraphs in) was the music any good? Well some of it was, some of it was a tad disappointing (the Drums, and the ‘drug dealers’ favourites the Go! Team) some of it I just didn’t get – but ‘the kids’ loved it. The highlight of the day (according to the review in this week’s Music Paper) was a couple of DJ’s who were doing unspeakable things, involving rapping and sampling, to a Beatles track (I think it was ‘Come Together’ but it was so mashed up it was nigh on impossible to properly identify it). Call me a bluff old traditionalist if you like but I still prefer my music to be performed by ‘4 skinny indie kids’ - on guitars.
It was at this point, towards the end of the evening, that I was reminded of a lyric penned by the great Jarvis Cocker, namely: ‘Is this the way they say the futures meant to feel or just 20,000 people standing in a field?’ I came to the conclusion that it’s probably the case that once your kids start going to festivals then you should stop attending.
The Social Service candidates amongst you will have been thinking,’ hang on a minute, if the three of you were stood in the middle of a football oval down in Bunbury where was young Harriet? Well – you nanny state do-gooder you – she was staying with one of her friends from dancing. Although to be honest we could just have left her in bed and she would have slept all day. On Friday afternoon she came back from School Camp and looked like she hadn’t slept at all in the three days she had been away.
By all accounts she had a great time, although wasn’t altogether keen on the part where they dissected a fish. You see, it’s a long time ago, but when I went on my School Camp to Malham Dale I don’t remember once having to perform surgery on a Sturgeon. I was however forced to eat Kendall mint cake, which in my opinion is far more horrible and stomach churning than chopping up a Chubb. Actually I don’t see how she can have had a better time than I had in Malham. as I recall we had thick fog and cowpats, she just seems to have had zip wires, sea life centres and sherbet pips.
Her flute playing is going from strength-to-strength. The school band is now practicing ‘Supercalifragalrock’ (no, that’s not right), SuperCallygoballisticCelticareatrocius, (no, that’s not right either), SouporCauli.... oh, you know, that song from Mary Poppins.
Do you remember how some time ago (about three paragraphs), I said that when your kids start going to festivals then its time, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera (I sound like Yul Brynner)... well. Me and George are planning on going to another festival in July – Jarvis Cocker’s Pulp are coming all the way from Sheffield for ‘On the Bright Side’ so it seems rude not to go after they’ve made all that effort.
To mark this occasion I’ll leave you with 5 essential tunes from Steel City artists.
1: 59 Lyndhurst Grove – Pulp, 2: I Remember Moonlight – The Crookes, 3: The Look of Love – ABC, 4: Mardy Bum – Arctic Monkeys; 5: She Said – Longpigs.
Wot no Def Leppard
Friday, May 20, 2011
Thursday, May 12, 2011
There is a light that never goes out
My wife and I have been invited to a '70s' party. I'm seriously hoping that '70s' is the theme of the evening and not the average age of the attendees. I'm yet to see an official invite but am led to believe that we are expected to dress-up (or down)in appropriate garb. As you are all aware the 1970s (as opposed to the 1870s... which funnily enough, my wardrobe is more suited to) is the decade that taste forgot.The way I see it is that the choices regarding dressing up are:
1) Glam Rock Platform heels, gold lame cat suits, glitter, long hair, flares.
2) Disco Saturday Night Fever style white suits, flares.
3) Bay City Rollers Tartan, denim, more long hair, more flares.
4) Punk* Nuf said
Personally I'm favouring the latter choice. Apart from anything else it's the lazy option - all I need is some skinny fit jeans, a bin liner and several gallons of hair gel.. oh yeah, and some hair, My biggest quandary is whether to dye my hair blue or red for the occasion.
My only reservation, with going to the party as a punk, is that I did it once before, albeit 30 years ago, and it had the effect of making me irresistible to women (no, honestly, no don't laugh). On that occasion it was a general fancy dress party. As I recall, amongst the revellers, there was a French onion seller, an Andy Pandy, and a Wee Willy Winky (well it was a very cold night). On the bus ride home I had my first proper snog... with Aunt Sally (it was a girl dressed as the character from Wurzel Gummidge, I hasten to add, and not a member of my own family). I think it's safe to assume that I'll be able to avoid such incidents this time around - for a start we are walking to the event so I won't have to come home by bus.
Talking of punk - the Royal Wedding achieved phenomenal viewing figures over hers - over a quarter of the population watched it by all accounts. We had the pictures on TV but with the volume turned down and a soundtrack provided by my iPod. This meant that at one stage there were a couple of nuns in Westminster Abbey who appeared to be lip-sinking to 'Anarchy in the UK' by the Pistols... a nice touch I thought. (Coming up later - find out how my iPod caused me earache of a different kind.)
As you know, by now, I don't like to conform to popular opinion so I won't pass comment on the major talking points of the Wedding - apart from to say... Pippa - yes, the Ferguson girls - no (not with a barge pole, not even when wearing my best full-strength beer goggles). Just one thing though, Kate's (gawd bless 'er) dress was described in some quarters as being Grace Kellyesque. I would have to say that it was more Lorraine Kellyesque (I was going to say Matthew Kellyesque, but that might be a bit harsh). Oh, and one more thing, the BBC Sport website described the Wedding as a 'dry run' for next summer's Olympics... how so? Has the sport of man-handling the aging Duke of Edinburgh into a coach been added to the itinerary for the London Games? If so, is it too late to get tickets?
WARNING: IPods can seriously damage your ears as well as your hearing. Let me elaborate. I was returning home from work, walking back from the railway station (I'm good like that... combining first-class exercise with saving the planet) and it was a Tuesday - it's not important to the story but is true none-the-less. Anyway, I was just crossing the footbridge listening to my iPod (I was listening to my iPod, not the footbridge) when I was set upon by a bee (that may, or may not, have been called Eric). Without a by or leave the bee stung me on the right ear lobe and then flew off - which was quite a feat seeing as it left half of its body attached to the sting, which was in turn attached to my ear. I can only think that the buzz and pitch of the music I was listening to had created a frequency that unsettled the bee, either that or he'd had a particularly bad day at the office. The song that it had objected to so violently was (ironically) 'Heather' by the Wedding Present... again, a nice touch. For a week afterwards my already sizable ear swelled to double its normal girth and for several days I was able to pick up up satellite TV channels on my lugs.
Later that same evening I managed to smash the glass in one of paintings by walking it into a door frame. I would like to blame the sting and subsequent swelling for effecting my balance and causing the accident but I think it's fair to say that my innate clumsiness and general lack of coordination were more likely to have been the overriding contributing factors. You may be asking yourself why was he walking his paintings anyway, do paintings really need to be taken down for regular exercise, aren't they just supposed to sit on walls looking pretty? All good points, to which I have no suitable reply.
Sadly, it now falls upon me to report the tragic, untimely death of my Habitat bendy lamp (Ralph). He passed away after a short illness (and a very loud bang) at the tender age of 27. Ralph was a constant companion and a reliable servant over many years having cast his radiant beam over 104 paintings, countless University projects (all of which were running behind schedule, and several of which were worked upon throughout the night), and a few nocturnal activities that shouldn't be elaborated on here (I'm sorry but if I choose to do a bit of brass rubbing of an evening then that's my business).
All of these duties were carried out despite the fact that Ralph was a very unfashionable olive green colour and had a propensity to release an acrid smell of burning if you kept him turned on for more than five minutes (what do you mean he sounds just like his owner?). Despite the severity of his initial demise, I did manage to get Ralph working again. The problem was that once I got him turned on I couldn't turn him off again (what do you mean he sounds just like his owner?). It was therefore my onerous task to make the decision to turn off his life support machine. Luckily Ralph left a Donor card so his plug and bulb will be used to help prolong the life of the toaster and the fridge. In the tradition of the old Soviet Union I have been playing sombre music constantly for 36 hours as a mark of respect (come to think of it, I have been playing sombre music constantly for 36 years). RIP Ralph 1984-2011. Irreplaceable.
By the way is Habitat still going? Do they still do bendy lamps?
H
* Even allowing for the 10,000 mile journey and the strict quarantine restrictions, punk must have arrived on these shores before the decade was out.
1) Glam Rock Platform heels, gold lame cat suits, glitter, long hair, flares.
2) Disco Saturday Night Fever style white suits, flares.
3) Bay City Rollers Tartan, denim, more long hair, more flares.
4) Punk* Nuf said
Personally I'm favouring the latter choice. Apart from anything else it's the lazy option - all I need is some skinny fit jeans, a bin liner and several gallons of hair gel.. oh yeah, and some hair, My biggest quandary is whether to dye my hair blue or red for the occasion.
My only reservation, with going to the party as a punk, is that I did it once before, albeit 30 years ago, and it had the effect of making me irresistible to women (no, honestly, no don't laugh). On that occasion it was a general fancy dress party. As I recall, amongst the revellers, there was a French onion seller, an Andy Pandy, and a Wee Willy Winky (well it was a very cold night). On the bus ride home I had my first proper snog... with Aunt Sally (it was a girl dressed as the character from Wurzel Gummidge, I hasten to add, and not a member of my own family). I think it's safe to assume that I'll be able to avoid such incidents this time around - for a start we are walking to the event so I won't have to come home by bus.
Talking of punk - the Royal Wedding achieved phenomenal viewing figures over hers - over a quarter of the population watched it by all accounts. We had the pictures on TV but with the volume turned down and a soundtrack provided by my iPod. This meant that at one stage there were a couple of nuns in Westminster Abbey who appeared to be lip-sinking to 'Anarchy in the UK' by the Pistols... a nice touch I thought. (Coming up later - find out how my iPod caused me earache of a different kind.)
As you know, by now, I don't like to conform to popular opinion so I won't pass comment on the major talking points of the Wedding - apart from to say... Pippa - yes, the Ferguson girls - no (not with a barge pole, not even when wearing my best full-strength beer goggles). Just one thing though, Kate's (gawd bless 'er) dress was described in some quarters as being Grace Kellyesque. I would have to say that it was more Lorraine Kellyesque (I was going to say Matthew Kellyesque, but that might be a bit harsh). Oh, and one more thing, the BBC Sport website described the Wedding as a 'dry run' for next summer's Olympics... how so? Has the sport of man-handling the aging Duke of Edinburgh into a coach been added to the itinerary for the London Games? If so, is it too late to get tickets?
WARNING: IPods can seriously damage your ears as well as your hearing. Let me elaborate. I was returning home from work, walking back from the railway station (I'm good like that... combining first-class exercise with saving the planet) and it was a Tuesday - it's not important to the story but is true none-the-less. Anyway, I was just crossing the footbridge listening to my iPod (I was listening to my iPod, not the footbridge) when I was set upon by a bee (that may, or may not, have been called Eric). Without a by or leave the bee stung me on the right ear lobe and then flew off - which was quite a feat seeing as it left half of its body attached to the sting, which was in turn attached to my ear. I can only think that the buzz and pitch of the music I was listening to had created a frequency that unsettled the bee, either that or he'd had a particularly bad day at the office. The song that it had objected to so violently was (ironically) 'Heather' by the Wedding Present... again, a nice touch. For a week afterwards my already sizable ear swelled to double its normal girth and for several days I was able to pick up up satellite TV channels on my lugs.
Later that same evening I managed to smash the glass in one of paintings by walking it into a door frame. I would like to blame the sting and subsequent swelling for effecting my balance and causing the accident but I think it's fair to say that my innate clumsiness and general lack of coordination were more likely to have been the overriding contributing factors. You may be asking yourself why was he walking his paintings anyway, do paintings really need to be taken down for regular exercise, aren't they just supposed to sit on walls looking pretty? All good points, to which I have no suitable reply.
Sadly, it now falls upon me to report the tragic, untimely death of my Habitat bendy lamp (Ralph). He passed away after a short illness (and a very loud bang) at the tender age of 27. Ralph was a constant companion and a reliable servant over many years having cast his radiant beam over 104 paintings, countless University projects (all of which were running behind schedule, and several of which were worked upon throughout the night), and a few nocturnal activities that shouldn't be elaborated on here (I'm sorry but if I choose to do a bit of brass rubbing of an evening then that's my business).
All of these duties were carried out despite the fact that Ralph was a very unfashionable olive green colour and had a propensity to release an acrid smell of burning if you kept him turned on for more than five minutes (what do you mean he sounds just like his owner?). Despite the severity of his initial demise, I did manage to get Ralph working again. The problem was that once I got him turned on I couldn't turn him off again (what do you mean he sounds just like his owner?). It was therefore my onerous task to make the decision to turn off his life support machine. Luckily Ralph left a Donor card so his plug and bulb will be used to help prolong the life of the toaster and the fridge. In the tradition of the old Soviet Union I have been playing sombre music constantly for 36 hours as a mark of respect (come to think of it, I have been playing sombre music constantly for 36 years). RIP Ralph 1984-2011. Irreplaceable.
By the way is Habitat still going? Do they still do bendy lamps?
H
* Even allowing for the 10,000 mile journey and the strict quarantine restrictions, punk must have arrived on these shores before the decade was out.
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