Friday, February 20, 2004

cast's Bold
cast's Bold

Monday, February 09, 2004

It's The End Of The Line

please go here from now on

Saturday, February 07, 2004

Oh yeah, went to Forward aswell and that place has definitely reached its' Z.F.I. (thats zone of fruitless intesnification for any newcomers, see blissblog archive). The sound has not really moved on that much since I've been going down there, however the m.c's are starting to make concestion's toward those who like "grimey" or "durty", their words, now they always used to mention "durty" beats but the G word is a new development, like the Forward sound is trying to retain its edge in the face of compettion from G brigade, now I'm not making any bones at all about being "inside" this , just tellin you what I'm seein bruv. You can still smoke bare weed down there though, bet you can't do that at Eski. Plasticman was hanging about holdin some promo's, thats what it's for really down there, it's industry.

any of you in Hackney doing nothing come out tonight its WANG, Rephlex d.j's, Squarepusher, Mark Broom and me and my mate on quite early so I wont stress.
just trying to keep up, The Green is not yeilding sufficent inspiration, t.v. mind rot and hypnotic fashionistas spiral about

Massive amount of information here and here, but finding it hard to steer a course to the point. Half way through I've forgotten the question. Thing is I read poetry all the time but not too many critical books. I studied Eliot a long time ago and probably The Wasteland is a piece of work I'm most familiar with. I like e.e. cummings too, the economy of his language creates poems that are like droplets of water falling through space.
As I said once before up here I like Pound too but never really got to grips with the Canto's. I'll go back to it now after reading about it again, I've see a copy in the library.
I found studying all that ryhming structure quite difficult and frustrating, trochaic feet, iambic pentameters all that. So it's not suprising that most people gravitate towards the free verse, more accesible sometimes. It is good though when you can see how imagination is tempered around these structures and how great minds can play with the structure.
It seems like the education system definetly legtimises some poets and fails to mention many others, when i was at school you got Hughes, Heaney, Dunn, Paulin or Wilfred Owen, Sassoon etc and not much else.
For some reason I was really drawn to William Carlos Williams, the scansion was odd and the poems were huge sprawling things about rural America. Perhaps I was drawn to him because he wasn't on the syllabus so seemed exotic compared to the Irish contingent.
The parallells that exist between developments in the visual arts are fascinating but where can poetry go now, how can it become more conceptual, take itself of the page ? As write this the answer is obvious of course, heronbone & craner are good examples of just this. This is where it can go and become vital and new, it's also free and well beyond any kind of censor.

love this bit in 'London Orbital' by iain sinclair,

"A good day on the hoof should include: (1) a section of river or canal, (2) a Formica-table breakfast, (3) a motorway bridge, (4) a discontinued madhouse, (5) a pub, (6) a mound, (7) a wrap of London weather (monochrome to sunburst), (8) one major suprise ."


Saw new pop fops Franz Ferdinand play a gig at the Great Eastern Hotel in Liverpool Street, I crept in to the venue on the coat tails of some fashionistas and drank free vodka like an over excited teenager. The band were great I thought, the've got that rigid muscular swagger and come on like bone hungry greyhounds. They entertained the crowd and had a likeable energy about them. Stock comparisons with scottish indie bands of the past abound elsewhere so whats the point in me re-iterating them, it's like I'm not trying to show off with all that . I dont want to be a proper writer, writing this shit all the time is too much fun to mess it like that, besides I've got a job. However if you haven't heard it all ready check out the blueprint for FF by listening to "The Best Fun In Town" by Josef K, there I've done it.

Thursday, February 05, 2004


stayed up late reading Simon Fords 'Hip Priest' book on M.E.S and The Fall. It is so readable I could not put it down, Ford also wrote the fantastic 'Wreckers Of Civilisation' book about Throbbing Gristle which is an essential read regardless of whether or not you like the music.
The archival content and research is immense and puts an historical context on the scene that enables you to understand objectively what happend, not reliant on rock folk-lore like so many music books.
So I dug out a cassette 'Seminal Live' and put it on, the track 'Mollusc In Tyrol' comes on and I am transported back to my youth. This mid price cassette came out in 89 and is a great document of The falls live sound from around this time including some unreleased gems like 'Pinball Machine' and 'Squid Law'. Everyone has a view on The fall, most of my mates think they're shit but a few recognize the genius at work here. When I first got in to them in the mid eighties people said they were past it but they rumbled on. I am not up to date with their current output but did see them play twice last year, at Dingwalls and All Tomorrows Parties. Smith is reasuringly untainted by middle age his outwardly misanthropic and curmugeonly demoenour still sharp as a knife.

"My frendz you can count on one hand''

Actually in the book he sites B Manning as one of his favourite comedians, last nights documentary on the contraversial northern comic revealed more than a few parralels between the two. Both are fiercely proud of their home town of manchester and schooled in the quick witted response needed to survive the northern working mans club scene.
My first live experince of the Fall was in 89 and it was fuckin brilliant. They were touring the Extricate album and first edition fall guitarist Martin Bramah was back on board. The Coldcut produced single 'Telephone Thing' was doing the rounds and my expectations were high. M.E.S did not disapoint, taking the stage like a maleovolent shadow, Smith spat his raps across the room from behind a preachers lecturn like some rabid character from an H.P. Lovecraft novel. I was up front and got to shake the great mans hand, he was I seem to remember uncharacteristicly jocund that night at Essex University. We even waited for them to come out the back and board the tourbuss, those were the days.
I got a t-shirt from that gig and wore it like a second skin proud of my deeply unfashionable allegance to a band that a few morons had vaguely heard of because of their chart success with'Victora'.

" 'Winter' is a tale concerning an insane child who is taken over by the spirit from the mind of a cooped up alchoholic. and his ravaged viewpoints and theories. An earlier version went into the 'Clang' process of speech, whereby the sufferer during speech makes sentances containing similar sounding words."

Wednesday, February 04, 2004

Saw a nearly fight on the street this morning between a big old geezer and the postman, I thought the guy was going to get physical but it just ended in him calling him a shit arse. The postman does come late and is absolutely useless which is frustrating as I'm waiting on some c.d.s one of which is very exclusive to Emerald daze as it is the new Basil Kirchin c.d. on trunk that me and Miv won in a competition on the O.S.T show last week.

Went down to some weird little alpine lodge/grimy subteranean boozer on Wardour Street called St Moritz, not having been there before I thought the prospect of a free band and my mate spinning a few tunes would be a laugh, wrong. The band were this po-faced Can-lite japanese dudes called Miso Soup that everyone (majority japanese) thought were great but I was not feeling it at all.

Tuesday, February 03, 2004

Sonambulence In The Heart Of Hackney/
The Sons Of Silence

Cosmic drones and tones at the Womb With A View night in Hackney on Saturday. Down a little cobbled street next to the railway line we ventured past the derilict cars and vans in the yard and followed the drone up the staircase. Like some latter day Death Factory the venue was strewn with old tape players, speakers of all descriptions and a healthy atmosphere of grimy abandon.
The makeshift stage was made of crates and a load of pool tables pushed together, the walls behind and to the side a mass of alternating projections with the coagulating slop of matmos atmos looped over the top of it all.
The Sons of Silence came walking in procession slowly through the crowd, one of the trio was dressed in a monks cowl, which is always a good look if you ask me. I was lucky enough to get a free c.d which they where handing out entitled Pocket Astral Navigator/Panthers and The Museum Of Fire. It’s really excellent and is numbered 3 of 20 so I felt doubly blessed you can imagine.
Anyway, distant clarinet flourishes and swathes of tones ensued with the guy who looked like Stephen Stapleton gently ruffling a number of instruments one of which was definitely a guitar. The other could have quite possibly been a ‘sheep ventilator guitar’ as popularised by aforementioned avantist on the ‘Foxtrot’ e.p from a few years back. The eerily reverberating echoes sounded like a hurdy gurdy man lost in the mist and never became too cosmic but remained resolutely urban , mingling with the external noises of the night to great effect.

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