unpopular

Feeling kind of dead on my feet at the moment. Also strangely out of sorts, filled with a creeping sense of emptiness. Maybe the glimpse of freedom that was a weekend in Bristol just set me up for the fall that these final three weeks of term have always promised, being so crammed with all kinds of activities that I really don’t think I have the energy to do justice to. All I want to do is withdraw into an empty space, set my head, heart and soul back on the path to… well, the path to whatever it is I want to be on the path to. See, even that eludes me. Maybe it always has. What the fuck DO I want from life? And did I ever know?

My current reading is M. J. Hyland’s How The Light Gets In and I just read a reference to someone turning 33 and realising they hadn’t done any of the things they’d wanted to, and being therefore filled with a sense of regret and failure. I thought about it and wondered… I mean, 33 is too young an age to put on judging your life anyway (it being the age Christ died is a bit of an arbitrary reference point after all), but still, what did I hope to have achieved by this point in my life? I ask myself this question and I have no idea. I don’t remember what or where or who I thought I would be at this age. I have never really been able to plan things in advance like that; the future has always seemed to me to be an empty chasm of inky blackness. I just don’t think about it.

I have always been crap at those kind of ‘where do you see yourself in five years’ questions. Fuck that. I don’t care about that. I just want to do cool stuff, hear great records, see great films, art, whatever… make stuff, let it all go the way it wants to go naturally. Christ, maybe I’m just a fucking hippy at heart.

And then the Jasmine Minks break into my thoughts, and that line of ‘do you need direction?’ echoed by its answer of ‘you know I do’ rings around in my head and I wonder… I wonder…

Sunny morning in Bristol. Strange night last night. Dinner at Budokan by the Colston Hall, fleetingly wondering which of the posters in front of the hall was for the nights show, and then over dinner watching groups of men in jean jackets and grey beards walk past and trying to guess for their appearance which of the acts was most likely performing. We figured it most likely to be either Jackson Browne or Jeff Beck, our final decision of the latter proving to be right as we checked the listings board on the way back to the hotel.

As we chilled out in the Drawing Room waiting for a taxi, attention was mildly diverted to Big Brother screening quietly on the TV in the corner. Now I’ve never seen Big Brother before, and I was really rather shocked at just how awful it is. They were doing a bunch of tasks that, if passed, collected them prize money. It was kind of sad and dull. It’s funny, I only seem to really experience the kind of collective mainstream culture that most people take for granted when I go away for a break somewhere. Most of the time I’m cocooned in my own little world, up in the Geek Lair or inside my own head / world of books and films (as Biff Bang Pow! once so wonderfully sang), so it usually comes as a bit of a shock.

The taxi ride was fun. None of the most repulsive techno music ever made (tm Of Montreal) but rather the audio tape of a Blackadder Goes Forth episode. It was the one where Rik Mayall crops up as Flasheart the flying ace, and it raised several smiles. Sadly the venue for the Gravenhurst show raised fewer smiles. As Nick later pointed out, it was pretty much the pinnacle of the Bristol toilet circuit; the kind of place we left behind in our twenties. And as I reflected later, it helped that ten years ago I was drinking and therefore able to at least partially merge into the whole culture. These days I just feel like an alien. It was really good to talk to Nick, although I felt guilty for making him stress his voice shouting over the bar stereo. We talked about a lot of things that are fermenting in my head even as I type this, hopefully to emerge eventually as a feature that I might submit to Plan B or sling onto Tangents. His Internal Travels album is issued on Warp tomorrow, so make sure you check it out.

He did ask if Warp had sent a new copy of the album, but they haven’t, Warp being in my experience very difficult to get stuff from. So the only copy I have is the Silent Age one that I bought (the one Nick sent me having itself passed into the hands of a friend), and as I have said before, I think these things are important; supporting the artists you like by buying their product.

Hmmm, and having said that, in the end we didn’t even see Gravenhurst play. The thought of going into the furnace of the black back room was, in the end, too horrific to contemplate, even to see an artist that I think is a potential genius. It made me consider my whole approach to the music thing again, and how much I love records and on the whole am at best ambivalent about the Live Experience. Especially the Live Experience in toilets… No, once more it’s safe to say I much prefer the personal experience of the recorded sound. It was strange to have Nick refer back to something I’d written years ago in Young and Foolish, but he reminded me of the key point of it all: It’s all about that sense of taking ownership of the art(efact), and that’s something that is central to the way I consume culture and is something that, for me, is next to impossible in the live context.

So I felt bad for slipping away, but it was for the best. I could feel the old nausea rising in my soul, the life being sucked out of me by too many bodies, too much smoke, too much noise not to my tastes… And as Kevin Rowland once said ‘it’s my problem, I’ll deal with it in my own way’… so we walked out of there, we walked right out of there, and we walked down the road, and although we didn’t start to sing, we did feel much better.

In Bristol, chilling out for the afternoon. The rain has kept us off the streets, so we’re being utterly bourgeois and having drinks in the Champagne Bar of the Marriott Royal. Sometimes you do need to spoil yourself, don’t you, and despite being only and hour and a half or so from home, this feels good. Of course it could be argued that we’ve been spoiling ourselves a great deal recently, but heh.

There was a copy of a men’s ‘health’ magazine in the room and I flicked through that. It was kind of gross. There was an article on the ‘healthiest’ cities in the UK, measured on a variety of criteria, most of which seemed a bit arbitrary in relation to health (ratio of single men to women, for example, and percentage of women who ‘always orgasm during sex’), but what do I know? And in case you really care, Cardiff came out top of the list. Also in the magazine was an article about ‘supercharging your sex life’ with fetishes, and a guide to all the right steps to take at the various stages of a relationship. Apparently when you see a woman you fancy you should say something like ‘nice bracelet’, and then ask ‘what’s the story behind that then?’ Presumably one hopes that the answer is neither ‘it was a gift from my boyfriend/husband, you slimeball’ or simply a barrage of scathing laughter. The latter response, C and I agreed, was the most likely. I mean, is that for real? Is that really how people start relationships? Other advice was that on a first date you should touch the woman protectively. Huh? What’s THAT all about? I didn’t read any more, it was too depressing. No wonder I hate people, if this is the kind of crap most of them read/believe/live their lives like.

And I’d suggest writing a spoof on that kind of article, only I guess it’s really not worth the effort.

Year 11 Prom last night. C and I went along early to help out and to see the kids arrive. Of course I say kids, when really they all look so grown up now; a far cry from the little smurfs in blue that turned up in our classes barely five years ago. How time flies.

Lots had arranged big stretch limos to arrive in. I imagine that must be really exciting if you’re sixteen, and everyone certainly looked like they were having a blast. I tried to take photos, but I hate taking pictures in that kind of ‘formal’ situation, so mine nearly all sucked. I’m just not that kind of photographer I guess… preferring taking shots of what D so delightfully called ‘all kinds of random shit’. That would be a great title for a book, wouldn’t it? Maybe I’ll re-name my monthly photozines ‘All Kinds Of Random Shit’...

But yeah, the ‘kids’ looked awesome. It was terrific to see how so many had made such an effort, and I was once again very proud of them in a strange way. I say strange because there’s no real reason why I should feel that way, because after all my influence on how they have grown up is minimal at best. But still, it was good to see them all looking so beautiful and handsome and aw… I’ll shut up.

The disco was weird though. Lots of old cheesy stuff whilst we were there at least. Slade, ‘Born To Be Wild’, kind of cheesy Wedding Reception stuff. Very odd. Odder still to see everyone dancing to it. See, I told you I was way out of touch with contemporary kids' taste… It was all so different to my experience of such things when I was that age. I mean, we never had a Prom as such, but there were formal dances at Christmas, and they were kind of a nightmare. No-one ever mixed as freely and comfortably as they all seemed to be doing last night, at least not in my experience. No, last night it was the teachers who looked like the wallflowers, bunched up in the corner, no doubt all feeling the same mixture of pride and age. Still, standing there I also felt ghostly washes of those old feelings of terror I had when I was sixteen, and indeed that remained with me for so many years and that still send ripples up my spine. It’s of course the terror of being in social situations and being unable to make connections, and I could see my previous soul wandering the room in a daze, wishing my life away whilst gazing in envy at the ones who find it all so easy. Or who at least make it seem so easy.

So yeah, C and I slipped out early, drove home to Exeter in the dusk, thinking another five years and we’ll be doing it all again.

I spotted some old ‘80s indiepop fanzines being sold on eBay last week, two of which were by one of our occasional Tangents contributors. It’s often hard to tell the difference on eBay between those who make a living out of trading in such artefacts and those who are simply selling off collections of the things they acquired in their youth and that which no longer seem to have much value or relevance. And as the one time Mr Pantry said, there is something oddly appealing about selling off one’s collections, like casting off old skins. I’ve been doing such to some extent of course with selling off old drum’n’bass records over the past six months / year, and it is oddly liberating and heart-rending all at once (I’m a hoarder at heart, which is maybe why there is a conflict). I wonder if I could do the same with the trappings of my younger years, however? I somehow doubt it, suspect that instead I will come to yearn for re-collecting items that were somehow lost in the shifts of time. This raises the question of WHEN is that line drawn? At what age do the artefacts become less valuable to us emotionally?

My copy of Plan B arrived in the mail this morning. Yay! It does indeed look awesome, and although I enjoyed a good forty minutes of perusing it in the Boston, I’ve still barely scratched its surface. Particularly enjoyed the Media section, mainly I guess because its refreshing to see a ‘music’ magazine deal with those things in a non bloody obvious manner, or at least to not just focus on the things that come with the shiniest press packs. So it’s off to Amazon now to track down a copy of Jim Tully’s ‘Beggars of Life’ and then to Fantagraphics for their Comics Journal Specials. And if wasn’t already a huge James Kochalka fan and had ordered one already, I’d be getting a copy of his Sketchbook Diaries Vol 4. Yes indeed I would. Oh, and I see an ad for a new issue of Eightball! Yay! And must track down a copy of Tupelo. Hmmm, and Everett’s piece on the appeal of Peanuts was timely too, seeing as how I have been devouring the first edition of The Complete Peanuts lately. Yum.

Oh and goodness, how can I forget to mention Neil Kulkarni’s simply awesome piece about tapes, a piece of writing that cuts to the bone and makes me weep, oh yes it does.

Ahem, so yes, it all makes me want to write more, more MORE, and to be Ace and yadda yadda yadda, you know the routine by now.

But speaking of Ace, I got the master CDs and artwork off to the pressing plant for the next two Unpopular Records this morning! So the world can no officially look forward to the release of slabs of 7” sized vinyl by The Clientele and The Playwrights. I am very excited. Of course I got home and immediately started panicking about whether I did everything right, and did I put the right URL on the inserts?! I just checked the files, and of course I did… But you know, one has to have these worries otherwise it wouldn’t be half the fun, would it? Ha ha.

Oh, and it’s pissing with rain. But then it is nearly the end of June, and I understand there is a tennis tournament happening on this blighted isle, so it’s pretty much To Be Expected.

Have you noticed how the alert sound for someone signing in on messenger is just like the little chimes on ABC’s ‘All Of My Heart’?

I should get out more, shouldn’t I?

Today didn’t really work. Things conspired against me and made me stressed and grumpy. It’s all too dull to write about but I will just say this: I need a technician. If I have to go around recharging all the batteries for the digital cameras again I will go crazy. Crazier.

It was nice to see the Outreach project folks today though. I’ve enjoyed the project a lot, much to my surprise, and I think we could make something really good at the end of it all. I had this notion that I could utilise archive film from the British Pathe News site in the project, but discover that its not as easy as I might like… So sure, we can download all the clips for free because we’re a school (yay! We save 25 quid a clip!) but can’t import those to iMovie because they are Windows wmv format. So I’ve been looking for a way of converting those wmv files to Quicktime format that iMovie will understand, but so far to no avail. I tried ffmpegX but the output file it produced was just white. Most annoying. If any tech geeks out there know what I’m on about and can advise, that would be much appreciated. For all the rest of you, I will now quit the geekspeak.

Have you heard The Tyde yet? I expect you all have, everyone being way more in touch with the hip happenings of the Pop world than me, of course. Well I got the two Tyde albums the other day and I love them. Of course it was always on the cards that I would, them being am off-shoot of the delicious Beachwood Sparks after all, but The Tyde supplement the Cosmic American Country of the ‘Sparks with a clear devotion to Felt and The Feelies. The Felt angle is almost hilarious, the sleeve notes to Once stating ‘Darren’s songs coloured in by the band’, and several songs on both Once and Twice sounding like outtakes from Forever Breathes The Lonely Word or Me And A Monkey On The Moon. Great stuff. So those two albums are almost constant companions at the moment, having taken over from a solid week or so of repeat playings of Mississauga Goddamn, the forthcoming new long player by those Hidden Cameras. Hmm, also of note of course would be the Mystic Chords Of Memory set, this being another Beachwood Sparks side project, and as beautiful as the name might suggest. Yum. And, and… have you got the Bronco Bullfrog collection on Rev-Ola? No, you say? Well why the hell not? As well as having the greatest name ever (which reminds me, I must get in touch with Robin, for more than pestering him for the return of my DVD of the Bronco Bullfrog movie, of course, but that would be a handy side issue) they have a sweet line in the kind of Power Pop that once upon a time used to frequent pieces of vinyl that bore the Whaaam! imprint. Yeah, that cool.

Okay, time for to head off and go meet C for dinner.

Nice to see that David M has seen a copy of Plan B and that he gives it a big thumbs up. I would like to be able to do the same, but sadly my contributor copy seems to have disappeared into the black hole of the postal service. And not being one for frequenting shops much, I haven’t had chance to see if the local Virgin might have got a copy on their racks. Maybe I’ll get a copy in Bristol at the weekend.

Ran a workshop after school today. It was intended to be mainly for teachers from our partner primary schools, but only one person turned up. So it ended up being her and the four members of the Visual Arts Team, all playing digital cameras and iPhoto. I think everyone enjoyed themselves and got something out of it, and I know I had fun doing it. It’s a bit depressing though to think that only one person from the Primaries bothered to make the effort. Maybe they all know about digital imagery already… maybe they are just too busy. Who knows? It does feel a bit like we’re bashing our heads against a brick wall, though, trying to raise the status of visual arts amongst the community, and nobody else really caring much either way. Sigh.

Also today I stared a rough edit of the audio track from last week’s Outreach project; it looks like it’s all going to be a bigger project than I anticipated and may well take up more of my time… and possibly therefore also the time of the four kids I press-ganged into helping out. Bless them… But I think it will be good when it gets finished, and I’m thinking now that maybe we can think about integrating archive film and stills footage from film archives, local museums etc. There is a huge amount of potential there. And a huge amount of work. Ho Hum.

Busy time ahead then: all the school stuff, hmmm, like the Outreach project tomorrow (and no lunch again, most likely), the animation and digital photography workshops to prepare for the week after next, module deadlines for the Year 10, end of year assessments, blah blah blah. Wasn’t there a time when the tail end of the summer term was a time of winding down to the holidays? Those times seem to be sadly gone forever. Anyway, then on Friday night it’s the Year 11’s Prom. We don’t really have a tradition of High School Proms in the UK, and our school in particular. In fact this year is the first year they have done it ‘properly’ with a hotel venue and so on. I hope it goes well. My girls are so excited, it’s very sweet. Getting dresses made and spending loads of their parent’s money… I don’t know if any of the lads are excited. They probably are but are too cool to admit it, such is the nature of the 16 year old lad, after all.

Meanwhile, Saturday brings a trip to Bristol to see Gravenhurst play a show at the Choke Club. I am tempted to go along to Here in the afternoon where various Herman Dune’s are apparently all playing solo sets. I am also just keen to see Here, and spend some more money on comics and nice things. I have spent tons on comics of late, it’s kind of bad. Comics and photography books, that’s what I’ve been spending my cash on mostly. I cannot resist a good photography book. Recent essential purchases being some William Eggleston collections (Los Alamos is particularly recommended) and Joel Sternfeld’s American Prospects. Perfect for idle afternoons or evenings of leafing and pondering.