Listening to:

Today I've been listening to:

Jim O'Rourke: Happy Days
Yes: Tales From Topographic Oceans

Yes, Jim O'Rourke

Post-Post-Modernism and the like...

For public intellectuals in the early 1980s, onle little prefix was obligatory.
Post-modernism, post-feminism, post-Fordism and 'post-culture' (a term coined by
Professor Geore Steiner) all joined the lexicon of modsih dicourse. Within a few
years, however, even these concepts had been superseded. When the economist
Lester C. Thurrow said that the 'sun is about to set on the post-industrial
era', James Atlas of the New York Times posed the obvious question: 'What
follows post?'

Francis Wheen, 'How Mumbo-Jumbo Conquered The World - A Short History of Modern Delusions)

The use of the prefix in the description of this site was intended as a humourous side-swipe at contemporary commentators over-intellectualising in their musings. The Wire magazine is particularly fond of such terms (post-Rock being one terrible usage). It gets to a stage, deconstructed brilliantly by Wheen, where there is complete nothingness in what anyone is saying. Do we now see the way forward as decribing occurrences as post-post modern. What is post-irony? Can anyone tell me?

Wheen discusses Structuralism (and, of course, post-Structuralism) and at certain stages the intellectual standard of his writing and the quotes of others started to go over my head. After reading the book I don't think I can confidently say that I possess enough intelligence to argue the case against (or for) the use of the 'post-' prefix. I'll leave it to those who can, and can do it with style and panache and pure derision i.e. Wheen. Therefore, when I can think of something a little more apt I will replace the site description.

Philosophy, Francis Wheen, books

Quasi at the Jug of Ale, 8th April 2005

Quasi,

Woo goes live...

My mate Dave has a blog. It's a must-read. Lots of eloquent opinions and thoughts concerning music. Dave's a first-class fiddle player and I believe his classical playing is improving constantly. He was on my degree course and yet I didn't get to know him until the last year really. He helped produce my 2002 cd and played and sung on it also. His talent is considerable and he's a great guy to boot. He improved my musical knowledge and stature immensely. His knowledge of literature was also a revelation. perhaps I remember him most fondly for his love of Seinfeld, which we viewed repeatedly together. Its a shame we're not close enough to view the box sets that have recently appeared on the market.

It's also got his up-to-the-minute feelings concerning his battle against weight gain. He knows it's a struggle but he's fighting it with all his might...I wish him luck...

Have a look at this and try it. I got it off Dave's site. It will revolutionise your garment-folding.

Seinfeld, violin

Today I've been listening to:

Back Door - 8th Street Nites
Ryan Adams - Love is Hell (part 2)
Pete Fairclough and Keith Tippett - Imago
Spring Heel Jack - The Sweetness of the Water
The Arcade Fire - Funeral
Mugison - Lonely Mountain
Momus and Anne Laplantine - Summerisle
Four Tet - Everything Ecstatic

-------------------------------------

This morning saw the last ever Breakfast with Frost. Fascinating montage of his interviews over the years, from Tony Blair to Nelson Mandela, from George Bush to Paul Mcartney. Sad in a way, though he is becoming increasingly shaky as time goes on. Not sure how old he is but he's getting on a bit. Reminds of the time I had Breakfast with Frost. I was at The Wolsley in Mayfair with my brother, enjoying a lovely bacon sandwich in a grand yet serene setting and we look over and who's there with a bottle of sparkling water? David Frost...

David Frost, Back Door, Keith Tippett, Arcade Fire, Mugison, Ryan Adams

Christopher Hitchens - Regime Change

Christopher Hitchens - Love, Poverty and War (reviewed here)

Hitchens and Wheen

On Thursday I went to London to see Christopher Hitchens being interviewed by Francis Wheen in order to promote his recent book Love, Poverty and War. It took place at UCL and present in the audience was Nick Cohen and Ian Mcewan. The latter was there, I presume, with a view to the interview due to take place at the Hay Festival. The unshaven Hitchens was on fine form although the audience questions tended to focus on his opinions surrounding the Iraq war. It would have been nice if he could have been probed on the vast array of topics covered in his book, which range from Route 66 to Chomsky, from Saul Bellow to atheism. I got two books signed.

Francis Wheen was wearing his MCC tie and possibly been at Lord's for England v Bangladesh. I am halfway through his latest book, 'A Short History of Modern Delusions', a thorough investigataion into an array of subjects from Enlightenment, Economics, self-help gurus and fraudulent personalities. It contains surprisingly little comment, Wheen preferring to present the facts and quotes. His arguments don't need re-stating. A refreshing, intelligent read.

Hitchens is due to be interviewd on Radio 3's Night Waves on Wednesday night at 2130hrs.

Hay Festival, books, Christopher Hitchens, Ian Mcewan, Francis Wheen

UCL, 26th May 2005, Francis Wheen interviews Christopher Hitchens

Wilco at Nottingham Rock City, 13th March 2005


Wilco, Nottingham, Rock City

St Anne's Church, Moseley

'Post-Digital' Tendencies in Contemporary Computer Music

Although the following words essentially have no relation to my music, I feel it is important to place the music in some sort of context, ie the context in which it was conceived and recorded.

I have been reading the Wire of late. I am also halfway through Audio Culture: Readings in Modern Music, a fine book that features the essays of such leading lights as Brian Eno, Pauline Oliveros, John Cage, Edgard Varese, Theodore Adorno, Pierre Schaeffer, Anthony Braxton, Derek Bailey, Stockhausen and Richard D James (Aphex Twin) et al (a selection of titles gives you further insight: Acousmatics, The Politics of Listening, Ambient Music, The Liberation of Sound, Post-Rock, 'Post-Digital' Tendencies in Contemporary Computer Music (!), A Nihilist Theory of Improv). Reading these leads you to a more thoughtful headspace, perhaps too thoughtful. It has helped me to believe in the idea that the eradication of barriers is a freeing event. The purchase of so much new music and new equipment has enabled me to rid myself of the singer-songwriter position I previously held. What does that make me now? Nothing, really. Nothing. And that seems like a better position to hold.

And so it was in this heady atmosphere/headspace in which I began to think about where I wanted to aim for. By this I mean to say that I asked myself questions in order to narrow down (or, indeed, open up) my options. There is a middle ground that still feels unexplored to me. Not a mainstream middle ground but a space between the popular and the exploratory. This is perhaps best exemplified by Spring Heel Jack who have collaborated on their last four albums with the most prominent jazz/improv players. The loping, funereal chord progressions that create the structure and grounding for the soloists (Evan Parker on sax, William Parker on bass, Hans Bennink on kit, J Spaceman on guitar etc) to tear up and rip up and spike the atmosphere with their gut reactions to the moment. The element of accessible, beautiful chords and the chaotic cacophony ofthe Free style stuns me. It seems to say, 'I'm going out there but you can come too'. As terrible as that last sentence was and as far away from Spring Heel Jack's original intentions my conclusion was, this fact is inescapable: this idea of old and new is what has evolved music since its inception. I don't think I achieved my goals with this tape and again, that seems good to me. It will keep me pushing and pushing for many years to come.

To compose and record on one's own places several restraints upon the type of music being attempted. No group Improv moments are possible and to improvise with oneself provides mixed results. However, all these were not seen as barriers but merely tests to try and overcome. I think I overcame most of them although it must be said that I am not 100% happy with 100% of the music. Some of the lyrics have already been changed since recording. Some of the vocals are shaky (although i did overcome my fear of not doing everything in one take).

When we listen to music, what is it we like and as a consequence dislike? Essentially, we apply discriminatory tests on the music based on rhythm and tempo, harmony and melody, instrumentation, lyrics (or the absence of). We also must consider aesthetics. Because Kanye West is popular does that mean that his music is mainstream, or furthermore, made inaccessible to me because of its popularity? Of course not (although I'm sure for some, it does). His fusing of soul and gospel with heartfelt lyricism makes him stand out, although, of course, Ghostface was doing the same thing several years ago. These landmark recordings are what we live by and progress. And even though we may feel that Ryan Adams too obviously pilfered his record collection on his first two albums, it was his vision that made it all sound so beautiful. The same feeling that you get from a piece of art. The feeling that you are engaging with the vision and engaging with the artist. I'm sure (and this comment is not facetious) Britney Spears (substitute with whichever popular star of the moment) arouses the same feeling in her fans. When listening to A Love Supreme I don't necessarily feel the spirituality that Coltrane must have felt. However, his vision and the artist's headspace seems the important thing. Whatever Coltrane's intentions were, I 'get it' this end. The above may not make much sense and I guess its a difficult subject to discuss. The point I want to get accross is to let the music wash over you without the consideration that its coming from me.

There are samples in some of the pieces. They come from Gershwin's Porgy and Bess, John Coltrane's A Love Supreme, Messian's Quartet For The End Of Time and Spring Heel Jack's Track Four as well as a sample of a Spanish radio station. There are examples of writing 'pure' songs with experimental sounds, minimalism a la Phillip Glass, musique concrete, free Improv and unclassifiable pieces (perhaps). I can hear obvious influences of Can and Derek Bailey and Jeff Buckley and James Yorkston but I have always said that your entire environment influences everything you create, everything you listen to is an influence whether it is Jim O'Rourke, King Crimson, Missy Elliott, a conversation at work, a passing car radio, whatever...

The reason I have posted this is because I trust your judgment (if you have reached this far down), I admire your taste, I value your thoughts and opinions although I may disagree with them, I know there will be no bullshit where advice is concerned.

music, improv, jazz, Ryan Adams, Derek Bailey,
Kanye West

Four Tet,The Guardian,The Wire

Is Alexis Petridis thinking of me in his review of Four Tet's new album:

His early releases attracted a strain of critical praise that could instil in
the average reader a burning desire to get as far away from Four Tet's early
releases as is physically possible - regrettable phrases like "turntablism" and
"heavily influenced by free jazz" were bandied about with regularity. However,
by the time of his third full-length album, 2003's Rounds, Hebden had honed his
disparate influences into something that might appeal beyond subscribers to the
Wire magazine and the kind of weblog-writing wonk who even as you read this is
hastening to their laptop to type a pithy 300,000-word riposte, angrily
explaining how a musical diet of turntablism and free jazz has made them the
barrel of laughs they are today.

Well, I'm not sure I'll reach the 300,000 word mark but... What point is Petridis trying to make here? That to be influenced by free jazz is boring? (I don't think Hebden's albums necessarily reflect his listening habits. That's what makes his work so good. To be influenced by a thousand artists and to sound like a new one is the test of anyone who dares to write music in today's age. With this age of over-exposure and with every song that has ever been recorded at our fingertips you better make sure your music is good, boy).

There are certainly moments where the album slips into abstruse indulgence
- the fly-against-a-windowpane racket pioneered by Squarepusher, and another
strong contender for the most boring music of all time title.

Forgive me for championing progression and Promethean sensibilities but I would rather listen to Squarepusher than some of the turgid tosh Petridis pretends to like in his saccharine reviews. Nice job if you can get it.
So...Petridis needs to be reminded, it is better to be boring than to be the cause of boredom in others (Hitchens). I'll confess that I subscribe to The Wire. But to read The Wire does not make me a 'Wire reader'. I'll confess that I 'dig' free jazz and Petridis, as a music critic is entitled to poor opinions in order to make a name for himself. Well done Alexis. Well done...

Four Tet

The Train Pulled Away

We read the front page together as the train pulled away from Sheffield station. It was a place that epitomised the standard of stations in the UK. Of course it was dark and dirty but it was fundamentally and ultimately depressing, a simple and formulaic description but a fitting one nonetheless. It was constantly being tampered with, changing hands, modernising and bearing the brunt of the network’s ever decreasing performance. That was why there was always a feeling of quiet elation, a glowing in the stomach that you were heading away from the station. That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy Sheffield, it was on the verge of becoming a very exciting place. It’s just that the station is the worst possible welcome / departure point. (I could go on to describe its surroundings: towering, vicious blocks of flats, imposing their grimy presence on the city, but that would further add to the detrimental and perhaps false impression I am giving)
The headlines were depicting the horrors of the Jenin massacre. Not pleasant reading by any stretch, but certainly not when joined by the prying eyes of Jenny, a friend from way back, who had chosen not to purchase any reading material from the station shops, to accompany the long journey to London. Of course, there was nothing I could say or do to prevent or discourage her from reading my broadsheet without making the remainder of the journey a rather uncomfortable one, or should I say more uncomfortable one. I would have brought my walkman, of course, (Blood on the Tracks or Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy’s I See A Darkness would have been great to have on, especially as it had been a while since I had gotten round to giving them a listen), but, no, that would be considered rude and a tad insulting to the company I was presently keeping.
The other options available at this point were sleeping or chatting. Either option was fatal. It would take a lifetime to decide which was the worse path to take. I can never sleep either whilst travelling or generally in the day. It creates such a lethargic feeling deep within and my mouth feels as if it were laced with someone else’s saliva not to mention the numbing sensation it provides my limbs and head with. Yet chatting would have been equally as painful. Having spent the entire week with Jenny, not constantly but frequently, conversation was now at a low point. We had exhausted all possible small-talk options and an expression of our ever-differing views on any subject you care to mention, would have resulted in a tired and soul-draining squabble. So, although it was all I could do to stop myself from screwing the paper up and shoving it in Jenny’s pretty, Audrey Hepburn-like face, I continued to read the paper. But did she have to read so slowly?
Luckily, Jenny fell asleep as we approached Birmingham, leaving me to peruse the world news section. Jenny wasn’t interested in that bit anyway.

The Night Sighed With Relief

The night sighed with relief as he went to bed in the early hours. Despite the harrowing uproar created by the early-rising birds that haunted the trees outside his bedroom window, he could no longer keep his eyes open. Equally, he was unable to rudely interrupt and devastate the serene silence that usually pervaded the streets of King's Heath at four in the morning. For four nights running he'd balled his soul out, screaming for a higher power to strike him down, not that he believed in any higher power. Although he had reached a new low, his childhood-induced fear of death prevented him from taking his own life and thus he prayed for a divine, ultimate intervention.
It was not to be, and he woke up around 1215hrs the next afternoon feeling around 30%, as if he had been sieved, and then left to dry in the heat. Many areas of his body, his mouth, head, legs and stomach, felt as though they didn't belong to him, as if stolen in the night from some undernourished, sickly fellow. His tongue, well, he would have liked to have been able to feel it, or at least encounter some moisture. Sadly, as he knew from the last three mornings after the night before, it would take at least two or three hours to recuperate and feel well enough to attempt to move. Once the clock struck four he knew he should be able to stomach another beer, starting the quest to fuck himself up again. He called it his 'Groundhog Day In Hell'. But it was more than a cycle that he couldn't get out of, one that your average alcoholic experiences weekly or daily. No, it was more like a duty, an obligation to himself that he had to fulfill regardless of the circumstances. He wasn't sure when it was going to end, and even if he could control the end. It reminded him of a scene in Superman where he struggles to pull a jet airplane to a halt. He was certain, however, that the end was not now and that now was not the end and also that he would know when the end had arrived.

The sun setting over my back garden and Canon Hill Park, Moseley.


Moseley
Canon Hill Park

The Selfridges flagship store - part of the Bull Ring in Birmingham. Note the old railway tracks heading into New St and the road sign for Digbeth.


Selfridges
Bull Ring

All Tomorrow's Parties: Merzbow on the beach.


Merzbow

Ugly, Custard Factory, Kate Moss

There was this poor excuse of a documentary on Channel 4 last night. Essentially about Pete Doherty, former singer of the Libertines (who has surprisingly crossed the threshold and come to my attention despite his loser-lifestyle and depressingly sterile music). Or was it? The story actually centred on Max Carlish, a university lecturer, who had attempted to shoot a film chronicling the rise of the pop star. However, the film's subject had proven elusive. So, Carlish sold some of the 'news-worthy' footage he did manage to produce to the tabloids the week it was announced Kate Moss had started dating Doherty (to quote Bill Hicks in response to the thousands of women who sent Ted Bundy love letters, 'And I'm not getting laid?!').

Anyway, I actually came into contact with Carlish about the week after the photos were sold. He came to the Custard Factory in Digbeth, Birmingham when I was there attending a seminar on the music business. He walked into the reception as I was signing in and he introduced himself to no one in particular as Max Carlish. On receiving blank looks he went into his ' I won a bafta' speech and then went into this diatribe, mainly concerning the aforementioned music business. On receiving more blank looks he left, chuntering to himself.

What a troubled sonofabitch. But that's not the point. Carlish's foolishness is not in question and it probably didn't need a high-profile, much publicised documentary to reveal this. The real talking point has to be Doherty and how he has attained his status as the UK's most famous heroin user (a term seemingly used as a badge of honour for the turgid monthly mainstream music mags). I don't think Doherty came out of it looking like the legend he thinks (and is probably told several times a night) he is. It was ugly. Watching him being portrayed as a tortured soul while he snorts H, knowing his wealthy, middle-class background, which is neither here or there, I guess. My point is this: At no stage did the supposed strength of his artistry show itself. I guess that was the point of the programme and if it was all about the music Doherty wouldn't be where he is now. In Kate Moss's beautiful arms...

Pete Doherty
TV
Kate Moss
The Libertines
Custard Factory

Dostoevsky - The Last Refuge

This quote needs highlighting. It's from Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Notes from the Underground:

"Sarcasm: the last refuge of modest and chaste-souled people when the privacy of
their soul is coarsely and intrusively invaded"

Dostoevsky

Me at Camber Sands for All Tomorrow's Parties

Poem: Life Goes On...

Life goes on...
It can stutter, stammer, stumble
It can falter, fail, fumble
But then I read Henry Miller
And then I hear Don Cherry
And life goes on...

Life goes on...
It can curtail you, wind you and cause you to be breathless
It can stop your heart or make you heartless
But then I watch Ozu
And then I read Hemingway
And life goes on...

Life goes on...
It takes what it wants and leaves what it wants, showing you nothing, showing all
But it remains lucid and yet fluent
And then I see an Edward Hopper painting
And then I hear Tweedy
And then I see the rise and fall of the sun
And then I stand with my mother on Christmas night and see the snow fall
A cliche? A picturebook scene?
Life, I guess
And life?
Well, it goes on...

Poem: Depths

I am wary of my feelings right now
I am wary
I don't want them to let me down
Like they've let me down before
Like they've shown themselves too truly
Too raw
Too bare
Too soon
These days of late
Opening up to show myself
Showing myself for who I am
Beneath the skin
Depths unseen, unknown, unheard
By you
Seen, known, heard
By few
But how would we progress as a species
If we can't show ourselves to be more than animals?
If we can't get to the truth, to the bones, to the source
Where would that leave us all?
Like Hopper, like Carvaggio, like Al Green, like Coltrane
And like Dylan, like Murakami, like Miles Davis, like Paine
I want to show you my depths, my reality and my being, me
ME
But I am wary...

Life is a Miracle (until someone spoils it)

Went to see Emir Kusturica's latest film 'Life is a miracle' last night at the Midlands Art Centre down the road in Canon Hill Park. As I walked through the park the sun was beginning to set and shine throught the plethora of trees and plants. The flowers were stunningly beautiful. The last time I had walked through that part of the park was around 6 months ago, I guess, but it seemed so different. It is a huge space and the variety of the displays was something I hadn't seen before.

The film was excellent, although my enjoyment of it was lessened somewhat by a few male fellow audience members who insisted on heartily laughing at every opportunity. It was almost as if they were trying to make a point to everyone else in the room (and there were surprisingly quite a few others in there) that they 'got' Eastern European humour and were huge lovers of Kusturica. Unbelievable. Those of you who have seen it will confirm that there are some undoubtedly amusing happenings in the film. Not once did I feel like laughing audibly, although I did have a smile on my face for most of the 2 1/2 hours it lasted. Who are these people? What goes though their minds? The majority of the film was set in and around this house that was situated on a hillside directly next to a railroad track. The war of the early 1990s passes through at one stage which was shot brilliantly. There was a gorgeous assassination scene over some snowy valley and a further highlight, of course, was the music of Kusturica's gypsy band, reworking the same theme throughout.

Kusturica

Barnsley.Or is it Tuscany?

I got my degree in music from the University of Sheffield. At least that's what it says on my certificate. I actually studied in the working-class town of Barnsley. I'm not going to use this space to vent my feelings about the town. I still have a lot of friends there. There are apparently plans to build a Tuscan-stlye wall around the town. It will bring many benefits to the old mining town. Mainly that it will keep Barnsley people in Barnsley. More importantly it keeps Non-Barnsleys away from the goings-on there. I went recently and the photos below were a stark reminder of the carnage of a Saturday night. This story is from BBC news as it gives a valuable insight into the people:

Police hurt in funeral wake fight
Five police officers were injured and 19
people arrested when fighting broke out at a funeral wake in Barnsley.
More than 50 people were involved in brawls outside the Ship Inn and Ring
O'Bells Inn in Royston on Monday. Officers believe the fights started after a
25-year-old woman was knocked unconscious. A man has been arrested on suspicion
of assault. Around 24 officers from across the Barnsley district attended
the scene and CS gas was used, police confirmed. The
officers, whose
injuries are not thought to be serious, were hurt when trying to
disperse
the rowdy crowd outside the Ship Inn on Midland Road. During the fracas
13
people were arrested. Shortly afterwards, police were called to the Ring
O'Bells Inn after the landlord reported a fight.
Police believe the same
people were involved in the two incidents.
Another five people were arrested
for public disorder offences, the spokeswoman added. As a precaution, the Ship
Inn, the Ring O'Bells Inn and The Bush, a nearby rock bar, were closed to
prevent further outbreaks of violence.

Barnsley Sick

I Am A Bird Now

I shall be receiving Ryan Adams' latest album in the post later this week. I can't wait. You can hear it on his website and it sounds as great as Heartbreaker or Gold. Another album I am awaiting is Antony and the Johnsons latest album on Rough Trade - I Am A Bird Now. I heard a track on Radio 3's Late Junction and was totally blown away (excuse the melodramatics) and then a track is on the latest Uncut mag CD (as is a great song off Teenage Fanclub's new album which also gets a really good review). The Antony... album is reviewed in The Wire:

Music is often lazily described as 'stunning', but 'Hope There's Someone' which
opens this album is so extraordinarily beutiful, so deeply melancholy that it literally stopped me in my tracks. Standing by the CD player, slackjawed and gawping helplessly, I could have been pushed over as easily as a sleeping cow....

It's not often that The Wire gets dewey-eyed about an album that isn't some post-post-modern meditation on globalisation and socio-political meltdown.

Lou Reed, who is apparently Antony's mentor, makes a cameo. The guy sounds a little like Boy George (who also guests).

Ryan Adams
Lou Reed
Antony

Cinema: Iran

Watched Mark Cousins' superb documentary Cinema: Iran last night on Channel 4, part of a season well worth checking out. The only Iranian film I've seen to date is Crimson Gold which I recall being excellent. The master of Iranian film appears to be Kiarostami and I look forward to seeing his stuff over the next week or so. Cousins explained that Iran has a vast, rich culture of poetry and that film makers tend to draw on that:

Poetry is in Iran's bloodstream. Even illiterate villagers quote the writings of
Khayaam, Ha'fez and Sadi, in everyday conversations. The pioneering
filmmakers do so as much as anyone. This is crucial, this is what makes them
seem like magicians today. If your influences are not the great plots of
Dickens or the characters of Hawthorn, but the dazzling philosophical
observation of your national poets, then of course your films will set out
along a very different track from those of other countries.

Unfortunately there were also many generalisations regarding American cinema or cinema of the West being shallow, sensational and superficial. The Iranian film-makers would not wish dismissive generalisations to be cast upon them and yet this untruth is perpetuated somewhat in the documentary. This is of course not to deny the huge numbers of turgid films made and released each year in Europe and of course, the US. Indeed, in the same way that The Cow, the landmark 1960s Iranian film about a man who loves his cow so much he begins to imitate its actions once it dies, appears to lack any depth to its message, a film such as Love, Actually holds equally little appeal which is why I will not seek to watch either. Also worth stressing is that although Iranian masters like Kiarostami and Makhmalbaf deserve a wider recognition, it should not be at the expense of Western masters such as Woody Allen, Shane Meadows, Robert Altman or Vincent Gallo....

Generally, however, the programme was a superb analysis of the culture of a country too many people know too little about. This fact was highlighted, to myself at least, in particular by a Channel 4 news item which revealed the forthcoming British Museum exhibition of artifacts from the huge Persian empire. The item also revealed the disturbing effect of Iran's repressive regime, the blue-eyed female producer being mobbed by the Iranian girls. On the same point, Cousins' film raises an interesting observation that the regime's control over the content of Iranian film has actually increased the films' poetic and existentialist nature. However, the fact that many of the film-makers have now moved away to Europe and India in order to escape the controls perhaps says more than any commentator could and makes any additional comment from me unnecessary.

The liberal prospect now

Oliver Kamm provide perhaps the most prescient analysis of the election for the progressives:

"I am pleased that Jack Straw fended off an unscrupulous campaign against him by
Islamist pressure groups. I am pleased that Tony Blair increased his personal
majority despite the Independent candidature of a man who has suffered tragedy
but not injustice, and whose supporters appear to have overestimated his
prospects on the basis of no tangible evidence. Among former comrades of mine, I
am glad to see the return of Phil Woolas, David Miliband and John Mann.

Overall, I am afraid there is no escaping the conclusion that Tony Blair
irrevocably damaged his political standing by committing troops to the Iraq war;
had the war not taken place, we can reasonably assume that he would have enjoyed
a substantial - and given its unprecedented character in Labour politics -
triumphant third election victory. Many, probably almost all, Labour supporters
would regard this as an indictment of the PM. I regard it as a measure of the
man's political stature. Knowing that the character of the threats we face has
changed since 9/11 - indeed since long before that - Blair chose to ally with a
nominally conservative US administration in a war that needed to be fought, when
the policy of containment of Saddam Hussein had manifestly failed, and the
toleration of autocratic states in the region was an affront to our values and a
gathering storm over our security."

Tony Blair, Labour, Oliver Kamm

Middle-class self-interest

Another great article from David Aaranovitch. He echoes the exact same thought I had expressed to my brother who was at the heart of the Bristol West Labour campaign. Read the whole thing but here is an excerpt:

Take top-up fees, an issue on which the Lib Dems probably gained tens of
thousands of Labour votes. Nowhere during the campaign did I hear or see the
question of support for poorer students raised with candidates or in the media.
I would think that most people simply have no idea that these students will not
have to pay fees and will receive, for the first time for years, a substantial
maintenance grant.

The issue didn't come up because the parents of such
poor students don't work in journalism and they won't write to the papers or go
on marches. The redistributive nature of top-up fees has been successfully
obscured by middle-class self-interest. In the same way, the Iraqis who want
British troops to remain while they build their country are not heard with the
same Lib Dems arguing for withdrawal, no matter what the situation is.

Aaranovitch
Labour

Fragmentations, MTV, Jazz Age

I have been thinking a lot about how I express myself artistically. I have been reading about Daniil Kharms, a Russian writer from the first half of the last century, an avant-garde absurdist who wrote various things but is held in high regard for his dramatic fragmentations or incidents. I think in this modern age, with access to so many different things, and MTV (in America at least) introducing to rule of a cut every 3 seconds which has influenced TV and film as a whole, that art should reflect this pattern. My writing seems to emulate this. As long as I am being true to myself, these short stories (whatever you want to call them) are easliy 'downloadable'. I don't know, I'm just trying to make sense of my thoughts at the moment.

I think my brother recognises my writing is perhaps leaning towards this. He bought me two books from Powell's in Portland when he was there helping the Kerry campaign last Summer. They were Short Cuts - Raymond Carver and F. Scott Fitzgerald - Stories of the Jazz Age. Both were great. An important indicator of the quality of a short story is the first sentence and every story seemed to have seismic, heavy first sentences.

I hope to post some of my writings here over the next few months...

books, Daniil Kharms, F.Scott Fitzgerald, Raymond Carver

Liquor going down like love/American Dream

Did you ever feel the malignity which rises from a swamp? It is real, I could
swear it, and some whisper of ominous calm, that heavy air one breathes in the
hour before a hurricane, now came to rest between us.

But compassion,
the trapped bird of compassion, struggled up from my chest and flew to my
throat. "Deborah, I love you," I said. I did not know at that instant if I meant
it truly, or was some monster of deception, hiding myself from myself. And
having said it, knew the mistake. For all feeling departed from her hand, even
that tingling so evil to my flesh, and a left a cool empty touch. I could have
been holding a tiny casket in my palm.

The darkness came over like air
on a a wound when the dressing is removed. My senses were much too alive...I had
one of those anxieties which make it an act of balance to breathe: too little
air compresses the sensation of being throttled, but too much - one deep breath
- and there is the fear of a fall.

I wondered if I were close to
fainting...I knew at last the sweet panic of an animal who is being tracked, for
if danger were close, if danger came in on the breeze, and one's nostrils had an
awareness of the air as close as that first touch of a tongue on your flesh,
there was still such a tenderness for the hope one could stay alive. Something
came out of the city like the whispering of a forest, and on the March night's
message through the open window I had at that instant the first smell of spring,
that quiet instant, so like the first moment of love one feels in a woman who
has until then given no love.

I swayed once, feeling a bout of misery
again. There was the king of panic which comes from a dream where one is killing
cockroaches. They were about me, literally; I saw several run off in jagged
directions to follow their mysterious trail - that line of pure anxiety - which
one sees in the path made by a car driving over a lake of ice.

...As if
indeed it was Deborah and me on one of those rare occasions when having fought
to a bruised exhaustion we would grasp each other in a kind of sorrow, my sense
of myself as a man all gone, her sense of herself as a woman equally gone, both
of us reduced to the state of children in a tearful misery, in that soreness of
the heart which looks for a balm and makes the flesh of man and woman equal for
a moment.

I got into a bar before closing, and had a double bourbon, the
liquor going down like love...

Extracts from Norman Mailer's American Dream

Norman Mailer

Slickest weasels

David Aaranovitch gets it right yet again, not that it will make a difference:

And now we have seen the Attorney General's advice from 7 March, which was
widely leaked to the media as being a series of severe misgivings about the
legality of war. In fact, it was nothing of the kind. To spin the advice, as
many journalists have done, as showing that Goldsmith was saying that war 'could
be illegal' is disingenuousness worthy of the slickest weasel. The advice shows,
crucially, that the Attorney General thought that UN Resolution 1441 probably
was permissive of military action against Iraq, without further decision of the
Security Council.

That is the central point on which he disagreed with
many (but by no means all) international lawyers. On 17 March, his judgment,
firmed up by the government's assessment of Unscom's report on Iraqi
non-compliance, and his reasons for coming to that judgment, was published in
summary.

So where was the 'lie' about the advice? In practical terms,
the answer hardly matters. Those who loathe Blair and do not care to be fair
about this question will argue that he will get away with it in any case and
will lament the moral turpitude of the British. But I regret the fact that most
people will never know that there wasn't anything much to get away with, and
that the words 'liar' and 'cheat' will remain in the popular consciousness,
unexamined.