Posts from November 2000

Nov 00

ROBERT FORSTER – “Baby Stones”

New York London Paris Munich1 comment • 564 views

ROBERT FORSTER – “Baby Stones”

A friend of mine had just got dumped, and they were trying to write to their ex and say some stuff, they didn’t know exactly what because they didn’t know exactly what they felt: you can sympathise, I’m sure. And I wanted to tell them to quote Robert Forster – “Every man for the rest of your life will be less than me”. It would have been a dreadful idea and as it happens also true.

I don’t know what baby stones are: I like to think it’s something to do with the way Forster sounds like he’s playing hopscotch at points in the verses, turning words into lines then running new words together into one: “The old men who sit on / Tree / Stumps / Know / Iamanunfortunateman”. You can’t write it down properly but it works when he sings it: he sounds weatherbeaten. He sounds like he’s been round the block once too often and knows a little too much, but not so much that he’s not surprised when his lover tells him she wants to see other people. This song’s his reply – it swings between reasonable and proud. I think that’s realistic – let’s hope I don’t find out if I’m right.

Am I Cool Or Not?

New York London Paris MunichPost a comment • 131 views

Am I Cool Or Not?: two weeks off and I can only come up with this??

Ah, Shep Pettibone

New York London Paris Munich1 comment • 266 views

Ah, Shep Pettibone. That reminds me of a joke about John Noakes, Crufts and someone coming first. I’ll leave that to another date. Anyway Tim brings up an excellent subject in talking about Shep Pettibone. The proliferation of dog names for record producers. So we get Shep Pettibone, Mutt Lange and Butch Vig – anyone got any more? Seems like more than a coincidence. Is there something faithfully dogged about producing records?

Oh – before you say – Goldie doesn’t count. I know a joke about him, Crufts and someone coming second though.

Oh come on Peter, everyone

New York London Paris MunichPost a comment • 1,313 views

Oh come on Peter, everyone knows that the producer of “Justify My Love” was, of course, Shep Pettibone. To get the same answer to a different question, one might ask “With which producer did Madonna create the best music of her career?” Or “Which producer does Madonna apologise to in the liner notes to Bedtime Stories after she shafted him in favour of Babyface?”

THOMAS DOLBY – “She Blinded Me With Science”

I Hate MusicPost a comment • 1,301 views

THOMAS DOLBY – “She Blinded Me With Science”

Time has been harsh to Mr Dolby. Not only has he been usurped by THX in all but the most flea-bitten of cinema’s but now rock history sees him as the poor mans Howard Jones. And considering history regards Howard Jones as some bland idiot who was most notable for having a mate who did not know the difference between mental and physical chains – its unsurprising Thomas gets short shrift.

Its also unsurprising when you listen to “She Blinded Me With Science”. Pointless keyboard noodlings yes, but more importantly it is never quite plain what science she is blinding him with. Wishful thinkers might go for the science of the red hot poker, but instead it seems rto be the science of the cheap and nasty sample. Considering the sample is of Professor Magnus Pyke a now long dead TV scientist, any relevance this song may have ever had is completely nullified. Its a rubbish sample anyway – this woman blinded Pyke too – which is along the line of some sort of serial blinder and something the police should have been tipped off about.

Instead I have my own theory. Perhaps Thomas was confused. Perhaps she did not blind him at all – perhaps she deafened him with science. It would explain why al his records sounded so bloody awful.

Problems inherent in running radio competitions.

New York London Paris MunichPost a comment • 479 views

Problems inherent in running radio competitions. Perhaps Radio One went too fan in their “win tickets to Madonna’s gig” competition when the wanted real Madonna obsessives to ring up. The questions were certainly harder than the average fill in the blanks – “Who produced Justify My Love” would have stumped me. Problem is real Madonna obsessives could go by another name. Stalker.

Perhaps adding a moral tie breaker into the quiz is the best way to go. Something like “If you say Madonna sitting ona park bench would you
a) Go over and say hello
b) Respect her privacy
c) Cut all her hair off and make a corn doll out of it, so you can then use it to practise some kind of voodoo punishment on the Queen Of Pop when she marries Guy Ritchie?

That will seperate the wheat from the nutso chaff.

Nov 00

This is what its all about

Pumpkin PublogPost a comment • 380 views

This is what its all about. Live posting from the pub. Much time for The Head – one of the few pubs on Holloway Road you would not recomend to your enemies when pissed. Its had a good refurb and odd free Internet portals slapped in sections.The music is surprisingly good fun as well.

This entry will be tidied up some time but the mere idea of posting a publog entry from a pub is heaven in itself.

Nov 00


I Hate MusicPost a comment • 772 views


Forced hiatus chaps. Just as I was getting into my science stride. Ah well, “Clouds Across The Moon”, and “She Blinded Me With Science” will have to wait. I have just escaped from being kidnapped and tortured by Elton John, and am feeling a wee bit clapped out.

The self styled Captain Fantastic, and about two of his fans, have taken umbrage at my laying all of Elton’s lyrical woes on his doorstep. And so in the dead of mid-morning, some diamante studded Commando’s stormed my gin palace where I was dozing after a particular heavy night on the mosaic and dragged me off to his secret hideaway.

“Tanya”, saith the berugged one. “I don’t write the lyrics. Bernie Taupin does.”

I tried to reply but he had hand-maidens force feeding me Victoria Plums (‘The most expensive fruit in Tesco this week’ John told me with glee). After nipping out to buy the entire stock of Tower Record for his five homes and converted volcano, I finally got to talk to him.

“Reginald,” I said – because there is nothing I like better than showing up some pumped up prissy pop-star by using the name they were born with. “I know you do not write the lyrics. But you sing them. And I cannot help but notice you lavishly luxurious lifestyle which seems to be at odds with the poverty of said cod poetry.” I could not help but notice since whilst I said this very sentence he had thrown another bank-roll of tenners on the fire. Presumably to see Charles Darwin go up in smoke: Elton has always felt bitter about his place in the evolutionary ladder as some kind of Cro-Magnon throwback.

“You would think with your predilictation of wasting money wherever you go, on wigs made of Hedgehog Pubes f’rinstance, that you could hire the worlds best lyricists to pen your words for you. Then at least the dazzling wit of the poetry would at least detract from the artistic shortfalls of your major key bombastic piano stomp alongs which belittle even Billy Joel’s keyboard obviousness.”

This made Elton rub his chin for a moment (it not being wise to scratch his head). Then he rubbed a fake chin made out of the entire world stocks of Beluga Caviar.

“You have a point there Tanya – one which I already dealt with when I collaborated with Tim Rice. No?” He tried to look all superior, which is very difficult for a man who’s goggle eyes and slipping rug makes him a poster child for computer nerds everywhere.

“Elton,” I said, “that’s like swopping constipation for bloody stools.”

Oddly he seemed to know what I was getting at. He truned away haughtily and I I just settled into the torture which involved poodles pissing on old Johnny Cash records.

Nov 00

“Fancy a drink after work?”

Pumpkin PublogPost a comment • 1,445 views

“Fancy a drink after work?” There is no better criterion against which you can assess your career decisions than your first response when this question is asked. In some jobs, the thought of imbibing with colleagues is a pleasant one; round after round of free drinks, amusing office gossip, potential tongue sandwiches with the bird from accounts, and everyone has the courtesy to remember to forget to remember the night’s events by 9.00am the following day.

In other jobs, the offer of a drink (often of the enforced variety) arouses altogether different emotions; round after round of expensive drinks, repellent office gossip, potential snog with the ugly bird from accounts, and everyone has the perfidy to forget to remember to forget the night’s occurrences.

If you concerned about the quality of your after-work drinking, rate your job using the scenarios below.

GOOD – you have an overpaid and generous boss
BAD – you have a badly paid boss. Or you are the boss.

GOOD – You work with people of broadly similar interests (e.g. children’s television of the 1980s, pop music etc)
BAD – You work with the elderly or soap addicts. Or in IT.

GOOD – You work in a large team and go to the pub in a group
BAD – You work in a large team and go to the pub as a group, then they all piss off and leave you with Gary the Geek.

When you are in a job interview and they ask “do you have any questions you would like to ask”, the most pertinent response is “where is your local?” A visit to this pub will then determine whether you should take the job. If it is a Wetherspoons, it’s time to find another recruitment consultant.

Nov 00

Indeed Mr Baran. A couple of points

Pumpkin PublogPost a comment • 411 views

1. Pete is not a connoisseur of fine ales. This is evidenced by the fact that he once failed to distinguish authentic Czech lager from Safeways Value Lager in a taste test.
2. Apparently micro-breweries are very popular on the West Coast of the good ole US of A.

Not sure whether all this is defending or opposing the motion but still. And besides an alcopop is an alcopop wherever you go. However, the prospect of home brewed alcopops has put the fear of God into me and I need a drink…….