Posts from 10th January 2005

Jan 05

Apologies to Jules Verne

I Hate MusicPost a comment • 939 views

I have had many e-mails from people trying to find out where I have been over the last couple of months. Well it is a strange tale, and stranger than even the one of the Topographic Oceans that Yes punted out to their fans in the seventies to see if drug addled loons really would buy anything. The answer they found was – well, the clue is in their name.

It all started three months ago, as i was supping a gin and tonic in The Reform Club. I had become a member a few months before when it became clear that this fuddy duddy institution was most notable for having a complete and absolute no music policy. As such I thought it an ideal place to invite my editor Mr Tom Ewing, Lord of Tooting (or Lord Tooty as I like to call him). I knew this silence would annoy him, and certainly after two drinks his whiskers were bristling with the quiet.

“Tanya,” he said to me, in a somewhat overfamiliar manner. “Do you not think that I Hate Music has gone stale?”

“Stale,” I replied. “Why there is more relevance in a single sentence of my writing than any homily about Tellytubbies STHLM you could summon up. I beleive you have started your own column about number ones. What is it called.”

“Popular.” He said. I laughed at its very name. “And that Teddybears STHLM joke is exactly the kind of thing I am talking about. Why any grandmother could make a joke of such limited wit and perception.

“Do you not realise that for thousands of devoted followers around the world I am a beacon of sanity in this otherwise benighted music mad world?” I said.

“Are you going to use that to make yet another pop at Gary Jules? Or Tears For Fears?”

“Tears For Their Bleeding, salt rubbed wounds when I finish with them.”

He shook his head in a slightly paternalistic and patronising manner that comes to all men of his class, breeding and background.

“Dear Tanya. You were once an entertaining novelty, but the act grows stale.”

“Act!” I exploded upon him making some of the older members of the Reform Club spill their brandies (and enquire after my moniker). “This is a serious campaign for me. How dare you belittle my lifes work. Why I’ll show you, I will travel the world gathering my followers together to prove this point.”

“Travel the world. Pshaw! You know as well as I do that in eighty days time the Bombay Sapphire 20 Botantical Ten Year Special Reserve is being unleashed, and frankly I cannot imagine you hot footing through the jungles of Borneo whilst the finest gin known the man goes a wasting.”

“Eighty days you say. I think i could easily circumnavigate the globe via the medium of lousy song in such a time.”

“Cannot be done,” he parrotted. “Cannot be done. There aren’t that many geography and transport based songs which are that bad.”

“What do you bet me, Lord Tooty.”

“Why, I bet you editorship of Freakytrigger, the most important cultural hub of blogs on the Interweb.”

“Well in eighty days, I will be back here at the tick of,” I checked the giant clock in the Reform. “The stroke of Seven O’Clock to receive the keys to Freakytrigger.”

At which point I ordered another swift double Gin, downed it and hot footed it back to my abode, to make haste on my record breaking journey around the world. I shall keep you, dear reader, up to date with excerpts from my diary as this trip, around the world, in eighty lousy tunes progresses.


Blog 7Post a comment • 196 views


My anti-resolution stance was further strengthened by near catastrophe. As mooted last week my primary resolution was the semi-facetious call to not fart in public places. After scientific study suggested that this would be in no way dangerous, I embarked giddily on a week of saving noxious smells to my private moments.

What all of my scientifical research did not tell me, and squeamish viewers should look away now, is that holding in farts creates a greater degree of suspense in the sphincter. In particular there is more, how you say, relief in letting one rip when in the toilet or at home with a cup of cocoa. Unfortunately this has the upshot of relegating the everyday into something special, and makes the qualitative difference in the sensation of loosing gas vs loosing something else much harder to spot.

This came to an almost head in stage one of my other science challenge on Friday when I was just drinking Ayingerbrau. This near catastrophic miss was enough to say enough is enough. I am not going to be quaking in fear about potential follow through when lying in bed at night. Farting is everyday, and from now one shall also be everywhere.


Blog 7Post a comment • 215 views


My second-most catastrophic trait as a journalist – after my mild phonephobia (=semi-unable to interview ppl or hustle editors!!) – is that i am totally allergic to the buzz of the NOW! I have endless subconscious strategies to postpone reading happnin books, listening to happnin records, watching happnin TV (it’s like my brain tells my mind that i don’t have the right head on just now, and *i* don’t have a say in the entire process grrr)

anyway at the moment i am a small way into realisation of RESOLUTION #2 = get the archives for my REAL ACTUAL BOOK (contract signed 1991 urk) into order, which means – ideally – up and circling in my middle consciousness

so i. i built some more shelves for my videos and am going through to rewrite all the ones whose labels (esp.those written in red ink have faded)
ii.initially this simply meant i used less “important” videos as the bricks to balance planks of wood on to house the more important ones (stratification based not on use-value but on some untangleable analysis of the complexity of the many things on any given label)
and i wz getting on well w.this and finding lots of things i’d totally forgotten i had*, and finally at last watching movies i recorded when at S&S (or else more generally rewatching my complete set of godzilla movies: my next bfi project will i think be on GOJIRA tai HEDORAH = godzilla vs.the smog monster which is the WEIRDEST and BEST FILM EVER MADE, it includes a sequence where the Kids of Tomorrow put on a psychedelic rock festival pn a mountain-top to undo the effects of industrial pollution (better still, their plan fails)
iii. anyway i wz a way into this early part of the massive tidy-up project of my um “external brane” (someone who came to my flat did once describe it as that) and my lovely friend GLYN phoned to say, as i wz in the middle of sorting stuff, wd i like 6ft x 6 ft of AUDIO CASSETTE TAPE SHELVING which he wz chuckin out of the studio he just moved into (500 yard down the yard in hackney), and when i ‘d negotiated him down to 4ft x 4ft he brought it over and installed it for totally FREE, all in like the space of 90 mins (from first call to last nail)!
iv. which freed up eight housebricks, so i could haha DECONSTRUCT my new videoshelves made of videos, and house ALL the videos (even the ones i NEED to watch so had naturally built INTO THE FURNITURE ITSELF) so they can be accessed and watched and learnt from (possibly)

*(my favourite old-time find so far is an ep of the YOOF TV CLASSIC “South of Watford” — it’s abt the Frank Chickens, who a short film w.Sistrah Becky when she wz at Film School, which wz nice to see in an old-friends-revisited kinda way (and reminds me i haven’t spoken to kazuko for AN AGE) (she wd love freaky trigger i think), but the best bit was the GHARSTLY THEMETUNE (“motorway runs like a videogame at a hundred miles and hour/the engine groans and the wheels complain but i can’t go any slower”) and a young fresh-faced BEN ELTON (for it is he) as the unintended parody of the worst-ever “bouncy trendy youth presenter” in youth-TV history

Sometimes you really do have to stoop to the lowest common denominator.

Do You SeePost a comment • 242 views

Sometimes you really do have to stoop to the lowest common denominator.
White Noise. Shite Noise more like.

(I really cannot be arsed to delve deeply into a review of this exceedingly flawed movie, which, passim last weeks comments, is the longest death scene I have ever seen in movie history. Of Michael Keaton’s career.)

Football, eh? Bloody hell

TMFDPost a comment • 135 views

Football eh? Bloody hell...