Wonder

I'm sitting here, contemplating tomorrows game and listening to Mickey Newbury. He is brilliant, how come I had never heard of him before?

Nick Clegg was outraged the other day, when a labour MP talked of London being socially cleansed as a result of the housing benefit cuts. He got himself into quite a lather, and did that thing that Cameron does and pretended to be really angry. A simple phrase, that's all it was, and, despite his rather funny protests, an apposite phrase. It's a pity that he can't get a bit more worked up about the damage that he and Dave and Gideon are wreaking upon us all. It's strange, isn't it, that every time this cabal of clowns sees unfairness, they put it right by kicking the poor in the teeth.

We have the Villa tomorrow, at Krap Alliv. We owe them a doing, and tomorrow we will pay that debt, in spades. I am sure of it. Villa are a bit shit to start with, but they are missing a few tomorrow, and we will win, at a chuffin canter!

I went see The Duke and The King again last night at The Fleece and Firkin, in Bristol. I hadn't been there for a good 16 years and it was not as I remembered it. I'm sure it used to have an upstairs. I mentioned a few weeks ago that the new album wasn't much good. I was too hasty, and have revised my opinion……….it is superb, it just takes a few listens. They put on a brilliant, and intense show last night, and played with just some red lights in the background, so they were just about in darkness. Turns out Simones dad had died a day or two before, which probably explains it. It would also explain the lack of playfulness that you usually get with this lot and the frequent group hugs that went on through the set.

Whatever, it was probably the best I have seen them, and the packed crowd lapped it up. There was a bloke behind me, who had come on a whim, who just kept repeating, over and over; " this band is amazing" I hope they get their due and sell loads of records and make loads of cash, they are seriously talented, as individuals and as a collective but I will miss seeing them in small, intimate venues.

I have also had a listen to the new Giant Sand, "Blurry Blue Mountain". It's beautiful.

Last year, the twelve men of Villa were very fortunate to beat us, in fact it was unjust. Stephen Carr endeared himself to Blues fans by strolling off the pitch giving the wanker sign to the Villa fans. He has further endeared himself this week by saying that he does not regret his gestures; he only regrets being treated like a child by the disciplinary committee. If only Harriet Harman and Boris Johnson had the same backbone, both of them made salient points  this week and both of them have backtracked, shamefully.  Tossers!

While I am on about Boris, what has happened to his hair? He used to be liked because he was a Bunterish buffoon, scruffy, with unkempt hair, now the hair is very artfully scruffy………..slightly distressed, probably. It is clear that some stylist is carefully arranging his hair to make it look like he has just give it a quick rub with a towel and left the house. This is uncool. By all means tidy yourself up, but, c'mon, be natural.

Bur Oak

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I predicted that Blackpool would stuff us. I was so confident of this that I dropped Foster and Dann from my fantasy team; a decision which cost me many points; it didn't matter though, because my ability at fantasy football is as good as my ability at predicting football results: shit.


What I did get right was that it would be a good game. Blackpool came to attack, and, surprisingly, we set out with attacking intent ourselves, with both O'Connor and Zigic picked, as well as Hleb. It was, as the sages say, end to end, and both teams created, and missed chances with pleasing regularity.


The good news is that we scored 2, the less good news is that they were from set pieces. I would love to see us score from open play, it hardly ever happens. Zigic showed his quality with both goals, winning a good header and putting the ball against the bar from an acute angle, with ace goal poacher Ridgemill following up.  The two combined again for the second, with Ridgemill doing very well to keep a wayward attempt from Johnson in play, which allowed Zigic to show a true strikers instinct to pounce on a clumsy bit of control by a Blackpool man. I would bet one English shilling that Jerome would not have been alert enough to score that one.


It would be nice to say that we then went on to hammer a poor defensive team who were committed to reckless attack, but we didn't. As ever, we settled for what we had and shut up shop, or tried to, Blackpool continued to create chances, although the result was never really in doubt. Replacing a striker with a left back showed our ambition. Not many Blues fans would agree with me, but this gets on my tits, a bit. It costs a bleeding fortune to go to a match, and it would be nice to see us really go for it and show no mercy. Still, it was a good and much needed win, and we played really well, so I shouldn't  complain.


It's been a bit of a depressing week in politics, although none of it came as a surprise. It is highly amusing to hear Cameron and Osborne talk of the shit they have inherited, with absolutely no sense of irony. It was almost as funny as reading about how Clegg, the bastard, lectured people in Nottingham on life in the "real world" It is true, that the world he inhabits is real to him, but to most of us, it is the stuff of fantasy.


Nick Robinson was funny too, calmly taking a placard of a protester and demolishing it. I can no longer decide why I hate the twerp: I don't know if it is because he is a motherfucking Tory bastard, or if it is because he such an oafish little twerp. Still, it's nice to live in a democracy, where you are free to opine, although, to avoid potential embarrassment, it might be worth asking Robinson if it is OK before you open your trap. I loved the way another placard popped up; it was like whack a mole.


Genuinely funny is this Guardian piece about a bloke who replied to spam e mails and gave the spammers a bit of a runaround.


I have, just this very day, discovered Netsayi. She is bloody fantastic, and she has plenty of stuff available on Spotify. Do yourself a favour and check some of it out 


I have been working my way through the Jamie Oliver 30 minute book. It's a misnomer, it should be titled "30 minutes if you have an army of helpers, don't include the washing up and can afford very expensive ingredients". Most of it is actually superb, I did his rogan josh tonight though and it is garbage. He recommended a curry paste and as I suspected, it was no good. You can't shortcut a curry! The lemon pickle was profoundly disgusting. Don't let that put you off though, it's a good book!

Small Town Saturday Night

After yesterdays little Shearer rant, it was interesting to read James Lawtons obituary of Malcolm Allison. It is a shame that we have more Shearers in the game than we do Allisons. Allison was forward thinking long before it was fashionable, and was a bit of a card to boot.

It would be stretching a point to say that Blues were unlucky against the Arses today, as we were thoroughly outplayed, but we did OK. It is no disgrace to be out passed and outmanoeuvred by Arsenal, but I thought we played with a lot of courage, if not much finesse. Plenty of teams go there and get hammered; we avoided that, despite having to play against 12 men. What has Martin Atkinson got against us? I'm sure he must be a Villa fan.

I watched on the  PC (yay for the interweb) and amused myself by tweeting throughout the game. Early on I said that we needed to be braver or we would get stuffed. Just before we  scored. My original comment was justified, I think, because we had got ourselves in a good position, but were too scared to get on the front foot, and as result lost the ball and were lucky not to go behind following a swift counter attack.

Our goal was a good one, a good cross from the unfairly maligned Fahey was met by a good header from the criminally maligned Zigic. Zigic was a plus point. He is a much better footballer than Jerome, if not quite in the same league as an athlete, and should keep his place. He does not offer the same power and athleticism, but he does offer touch and awareness. If I wanted to see a big black bloke running fast with a sulky look on his face, I would go to Birchfield Harriers. I have no interest in seeing such a chap at St Andrews. If we have to rejig the team to suit Zigic, so be it; it will pay dividends.

We played well (ish) throughout. We didn't create much, we never do, so could hardly expect any different at the Emirates, and there were times when the Arses cut through us as effortlessly as Jamie Oliver slices a garlic clove, but we not only held firm, we tried to pass our way out of defence. I cannot stress enough how happy this made me. We have a tendency to hoof it away when we are under pressure, gifting the ball back, but, today, we made the buggers win the ball back. I like that.

We must bear in mind we were missing Gardner and Faddy. This will not mean much to non Blues fans, and may not mean much more to a few actual Blues fans, but they were our most influential players early in the season. We did alright.

Having said that, Carr seems to have become a bit accident prone and Bowyer is not as effective or dynamic as he was……..everything seems to be an effort for him: he  still gives his all though. There won't be much point buying replacements in January, as Eck has a baffling tendency to not trust the players he signs. It makes a bit of a mockery of his "due diligence" mantra.

Aesthetically, the Arses were a disgrace today. If they had been Wolves or Stoke they might have had three sent off. One of them, possibly Arshavin, stuck his knee into Ridgemill, not once, but twice. The first may have been forgivable in the heat of the moment, the second was dealt after he had time to cool down. An innocuous slap about the face would have seen him sent off, so how does he, or anyone else, get away with sticking the boot in?

This was typical of the Arses performance throughout. Spiteful, petulant, and sneaky. Lets not forget the blatant dive by Chamak for the pen either. Not to mention the outrageously dangerous, dirty tackle by Wilshere on Zigic. While we are at it, Song could have been booked at least 3 times. At the risk of sounding like a pathetic victim, our players got booked for very innocuous challenges while the likes of Song and Arshavin got away with murder. I wonder what Wenger would have to say about his team if he had watched as a neutral.

Should be a good game next week at Stans. Cheap tickets for a game against unfashionable Blackpool should draw a crowd, and Blackpool will come to score goals, and may well stuff us, as we never set out to score goals. I would much rather see us play the likes of a very decent Blackpool side, with  both sides going for the win, and with us having a realistic chance of a win, than pay scary prices to see us put 11 men behind the ball against the likes of Chelsea.

Chain of Fools

There is an interview with Alan Shearer in the Telegraph this morning. It is interesting. He says that he has all his badges and would like to manage England, and goes on to explain why he should never be allowed near the job.

According to Al, tackles of the kind that Danny Murphy so deplores, should, in fact, be tolerated…..nay……encouraged…….nay………..applauded. The De Jong tackle was ok, because he went for the ball: that he also intended to take the man is irrelevant; he was always taught to “take everything”. He extols the virtues of hardness and toughness; he likes players who are nasty. Talking about Arsenal he speaks more admiringly of the team of 10 years ago than he does the present one; the reason being the old lot “was an absolute nightmare because of Bould, Adams, Keown, Winterburn and Dixon. You knew in the first 10 minutes you’d get battered.”

He says he admires the great managers, but he also relishes the tale of himself giving a sheeps heart as a present to one of Newcastle’s foreigners who was deemed to lack courage. Great man management, that. He talks, probably correctly, of the fans loving the harder, more physical side of the game and says that a hard tackle generates a louder cheer than a great pass. 

He is dismissive of those who say he is not very good on Match of the Day. The only people who are complaining are critics and punters. It’s strange that he values the opinion of the punter when he is applauding a robust challenge, but considers it worthless when it comes to a general appreciation of football, or the art of criticism. He says “I’ve actually played the game and can pick something out that the people watching can’t see like why Fernando Torres is struggling.’’   Well, Al, that’s all well and good, but the problem is, you don’t say anything. You may understand it, but you don’t articulate it, that’s why you are shit.

The bigger, and more important issue though, is his philosophy on the game. It is rooted in the past, deep in the past. The inglorious past. The past that is characterised by failure after failure after failure. Humiliation after humiliation. How does Al explain this? He doesn’t. This is why he should never be let near the England team. He refuses to see that the game has progressed, and has left England in it's wake. Has he noticed how Barcelona and Spain play the game, how Germany have evolved? He probably has, but doesn't see that it has any relevance to us. The man who doles out sheeps hearts as gifts and who was famously ignorant of the existence of Hatam Ben Arfa , probably doesn't spend much time trying to broaden his horizons.

Shearer out!

Rogan Taylor was entertaining this morning on the subject of Liverpool, unfortunately, the clip begins with Robert Peston.

Blues go to the Arse tomorrow and it is as plain as the nose on yer face that we will moida da bums!

Love Hurts

The Tories seem to have taken a liking to the word fairness. Jeremy Hunt was very keen on it on newsnight last week. "Snot fair"! he squeaked. Hard working families have to limit the number of children they have and so should the scrounging classes. No one ever mentions working families who don’t work hard, don’t know why. "Fair" comes up over and over again, like a neocon mantra. Everything the government does, it does in the interests of fairness……………it is only fair that……………it is not fair that. I don’t like it. I think it is crude and simplistic and leads to a crude and simplistic analysis. I would much prefer them to use the word just, mind you I would like them to consider what the word actually means before trotting it out.

There were good articles in the yesterdays papers on this. The best was in the Sunday Herald, by the reliably cogent Ian Bell and I recommend it with big brass knobs on, the other was by Will Hutton, who makes the rarely heard point that there are plenty of undeserving rich knocking about, and that, as well as being undeserving, they actively seek to undermine the system, to which I say, "Snot Fair"!

I wrote this the other day, but have only just got around to posting it, and since writing it the use of the word fair seems to have developed into something of a national crisis, every time I open a paper, or a web page or turn on the radio, someone is debating what the word actually means. If it carries on, the word will become utterly meaningless, if it hasn't already. I heard Nick Clegg describe the new proposals for tuition fees as fair. Er, beg pardon? This is the same Nick Clegg who only a few short months ago pledged, along with every other lib dem, to resist any rise in tuition fees. Already, the word fair, when uttered by liberals and conservatives, seems to mean the exact opposite of its original meaning.

Similarly, to "Clegg", will come to mean: "to abandon all ones principles and dignity"

Our Spanish Love Song

There is an article in todays Independent all about the street food of Britain, and it helpfully provides recipes, so we can all make our own street food, at home. We may even sell it up and down our streets. The recipes include: Scallops with celeriac, bacon and seashore vegetables; Black pudding Scotch duck eggs, and, Lemon granita. I don't know what street the bloke lives on, but I very much doubt it is the same street as me. Around here, street food consists of very dodgy burgers, sometime with a strange, sticky, yellow substance, and bacon baps, bought from heavily tattooed women in vans, and very fucking delicious they are too. Mind you, for all I know they all do scallops with sea vegetables, but I have never thought to ask.

As a lad I used to love the exotic street food of dear old Brummagem. You had the blokes all over town with their carts (think cover of Steely Dan's Pretzel Logic !) of hot dogs and burgers, sitting in hot water, and boiled onions. They hit the spot, every time. Best of all was the caravan thingy, that mysteriously appeared in the night by the pigeon park. You could get a proper cheese cob………a crusty cob and a slice of cheese cut half an inch thick. That was it, no mustard mayo or sea veg required. Invariably though, at 4 in the morning, waiting for the night bus, I would go for a pie and a bovril, and, invariably, I would suffer, because, then, as now, I had a chronic inability to learn from my mistakes.

They had a tendency to stick a wooden fork in the middle of the pie, which was always very hot, before sticking it in a paper bag and handing it to you. Week after week, I would order a pie and a bovril, bite into the pie, fork and all, burn the roof of my mouth, yelp in surprise and drop piping hot bovril down my leg. It was embarrassing and it was painful. I always used to fall over the same garden wall when I was completing the two mile yomp from the bus stop too. Exhaustion, probably.

It's been a good week for the coalition, innit?. Gideon and Dave make up policy on the hoof and make themselves look like complete tits, Michael Heseltine turns into his own spitting image puppet and gets bested by some genial old duffer on newsnight and Jeremy Hunt turns out to be a bit of a silly hunt. And the Mail on Sunday turns on Nick Clegg. I would be pissing myself if it wasn't all so depressing.

No football today, it's the international break. I hate the international break; it's bad enough when England are playing but they haven't had a game this weekend. Bloody hell, Tony Currie and Gerry Francis managed to play at the weekend having had an international in the week, surely these athletes with there scientific training methods and diets could manage as well as those podgy old buggers.

Still it allows time to reflect on the Blues. The jury is out. It's like 12 Angry Men. Brother is against brother, families are being split, blood feuds are commonplace, it's like being in the Camorra.

Eck is either an idiot or a genius. Jerome is either a misused player of the highest class, or a donkey (he is a donkey) Zigic has hardly played, but, apparently, he is shit. Michel has hardly played, but, apparently, he is shit. Redmond is 16 years old, he played 10 minutes against fucking Wimbledon. He should start every game, apparently. It seems that he is a sort of hybrid of Stanley Mathews, Pele, and  Phil Summerhill. It's the same old same old with Blues fans. We are either the best in the world or the worst in the world. There is no in-between.

Having said that, I'm not happy, but I wasn't happy last year either. We are defensive minded. For all our pretty passing, which is exaggerated anyway, we don't pass it that much, we offer no poke. I have gone on about it long enough before, there is no need to repeat myself, but I will say that as long as we have Jerome in the team, and as long as the midfield refuse to support him, for whatever reason, we will struggle to score goals, and, therefore, we will struggle.

There is a worrying new trend though. We don't appear to like it up us. In two games this season, West Brom, and, I forget the other, possibly Wigan, or Sunderland, we were cruising in the first half, looking very comfortable. In  both games though, the opposition came out in the second half with a much more purposeful intent and we caved in. We didn't have courage on the ball, we didn't pass it, we got rid of it, shifted it on, usually to an opponent and we invited pressure. It does not augur well, it augurs ill.

Life would be shit though, wouldn't it, if we didn't have a football team to worry or bicker about. I raise a glass to shit football teams and fickle fans up and down the land.

I have  had a bit of a lucky streak with books. The last Don Winslow is better than the previous one, The last Walter Mosley is superb, and the most recent Brian McGilloway, while all too reminiscent of James Lee Burke, is as readable as his others. I have just, this very day, discovered Denise Mina, and I like her a lot, a hell of a lot. Best of all Ryan David Jahn "Acts of Violence" It is brilliant. The first 60 pages got on my nerves and I thought, this isn't a novel, it is series of vignettes………..very clever, but not really a novel. But then, out of the blue, it gripped me, and it didn't let go, and it is still gripping me now.

Extract

Nearly forgot, Henry Winter, the brother of England's most influential Muslim, has written a very warm article about Joe Hart and Ben Foster. Common denominator: Us!

Fortune Teller

Forest Fire - Fortune Teller from Johan Hesselgren on Vimeo.

I have just endured enjoyed an exciting weekend. Myself and my mate were allowed out without adult supervision and we went to the End of the Road festival, which, as everyone knows, is the best festival there is. Without wives to control us, nor children to be cared for, we set off like a pair of decrepit teenagers, and, I am profoundly embarrassed and humiliated to report, we acted like a pair of decrepit teenagers too.

We arrived about midday on Friday and were a bit surprised to find that there were loads more people than were there at the same time last year, so we had to walk further from the car park and base ourselves at the far end of the field, which was OK by me, especially as, compared to previous festivals, we had hardly anything to carry.

We got ourselves established and had a bit of scoff and some drink and, as always happens, became extremely chilled and comfortable; so much so, that it was a bit of wrench to leave the bucolic bliss of the field and take ourselves off to the actual festival.

The first band we saw was Eliott Brood, who blew me, and the rest of the tent away. I was dimly aware of them before, but they took me completely by surprise. Just 3 of them, one on banjo and occasionally ukele, the guitarist remaining seated. The racket that these 3 made was glorious and as much as they blew the crowd away, it seemed that the crowd response also blew them away, they were clearly having a brilliant time themselves. This rates as one of the best and most enjoyable gigs I have seen. Ever. And I have been to a lot of gigs.

Nothing else quite matched up to that on Friday, not that I am complaining, it was still a beautiful place to be. I have seen EOTR described elsewhere (can’t remember where) as like crossing over into Narnia, before it all went tits up, and it is as good a description as I have seen. Everywhere you turn there is something just a bit different, just a bit lovely, just a bit wonderful, and despite all the noise and the hubbub and the bacchanalia, there is always a quiet spot, for those occasions when only a quiet spot will do.

I had been looking forward to Trembling Bells, as I really like their new album and I think Baby Lay Your Burden Down is the song of the year so far. I love it. They were disappointing. Don’t know why, maybe it was me, but there seemed to be something lacking and I soon got distracted by the guitarists stout brogues and the comings and goings of  other bands hauling their equipment in. The poor sound quality didn’t help. They were alright, but they didn’t quite do it for me.

We followed that by having a peek at Jessica Lee Mayfield……………the winsome and wonderful Jessica Lee Mayfield. She played her sad songs in the Tipi tent, to an appreciative, but seated and, in some cases, unconscious audience and seemed to win most people over, although she couldn’t quite wake everybody up. She put me in mind of the female characters in books by the likes of William Gay or Daniel Woodrell……fragile, damaged, mistreated, fatalistic, but sparky and spirited. Like Elliot Brood, she seemed to be enjoying herself hugely, which is always a great help and it was evident that she was hanging out in the Tipi hours after she had finished her set.

After this, we somehow got all our timings mixed up, so, going into the Big Top to see….er…… can’t remember who, I was surprised to find Edwyn Collins halfway through his set. Dunno what the first half was like but the second half was wonderful and I am fairly sure that he will have been chuffed with the warmth and enthusiasm of his reception, but he has probably grown used to that. We got a bit distracted by the physiology of the human brain during this set. Although his speech was OK, he was much clearer when he was singing. Why the hell is that? I am assuming here that everyone who reads this blog is aware that Ed suffered a massive stroke a couple of years ago.

We only caught the end of Modest Mouse, but what we saw made us wish we had seen more, but then we would have missed something else. We peeked at the New Pornographers, but the tent was so packed we couldn’t be arsed with it, so retired to the tipi, where we found  a hay bale to rest our weary arses on and continued drinking and congratulating ourselves for being so wise as to find ourselves at such a great festival. A couple of young Americans appeared on the stage at some point, I have no idea who they were and, frankly, was past caring, but they were alright.

Winding our happy way back to the tents, at time far too late for people of my age and shape, my pal suddenly disappeared. He had tripped over a guy rope and went down with alarming speed, and was lying face down on the ground, imitating a starfish, while trying to pretend that nothing untoward had happened. Rather gallantly, I tried to assist him, but he believed that me efforts were insincere and responded to my good graces with extreme profanity and petulance, which left me helpless with laughter.

Saturday

A few years ago, we bought a huge polycotton Bear Lake tent and alongside it we bought a cheap pop up tent to use as an extra sleeping pod for the eldest nipper. Rather unwisely, this is what I took to the festival with me. It had rained in the night, and it was wetter in the tent than it was outside it. I had put the sleeping mat on top of a yoga mat and a picnic blanket, so apart from the water dripping down from the roof of the thing, I was quite dry, but everything that hadn’t been so protected was sodden, wet through. The water had got through my trousers, through my wallet and and out the other side, it was as though they had come out of a washing machine that had failed to spin. The universe had paid me back for my hilarity at my pals misfortune. Another punishment was having to listen to a grown man whinge and whine about his bruises and swellings for the rest of the weekend!

Aside from that, I felt pretty rough, and the dope I had chosen to spend the weekend with had been kind enough to bringer a cooker, but……………..no gas. It was grey and drizzly, but warm, and little by little I summoned up the energy to drag myself to my favourite spot on the whole site, Café Dish, where I turned my nose up at the herbal brews on offer in favour of two cups of coffee.  They did not revive me.

What did revive me was Forest Fires, the first band up on the main stage. This festival has a genius for putting bands on very early, of whom few have heard, who turn out to be brilliant. To be honest, I can’t remember too much anymore, too much else happened, but I do remember that they didn’t play a duff tune, that the singer is a very cool dude and that the strange guitarist is a genuine axe hero. I would see them again without any hesitation whatsoever.

Saturday just got better and better, one of the highlights of which was the wonderfully spiced goat curry from the Caribbean stall, which both lifted the spirits and provided a bit of ballast. Phosphoresence was one of the way up there highlights of the weekend. The singer looked a bit like Harry Dean Stanton in Paris, Texas, and there was yet another genuine axe hero on stage, not that band were heavy. The chaps songs are wonderful stories, a bit like Richmond Fontaine, and, like Vlautin, I’m sure the bloke could write a novel. Anyway, it was mid afternoon and they hit the spot.

Moddi were on just after and I missed them (or is it him) which is a pity, because later on I saw him (or is it they) put on a rather lovely set in the woods. I have since spotified them (or him) and they would been worth seeing.

In complete contrast, we did see Voice of the Seven Thunders. Strange lot, this lot. The main chap seemed to be in a bad, or at least a sarky mood. Maybe it is just part of his schtick, and, not being an aficionado, I didn’t get it, but he seemed like a right moody fucker. It didn’t help that he is a dead ringer for Tim Lovejoy, a man who is probably hated by his own mother. To begin with, they seemed to be enjoying themselves, amongst themselves, but they did not seem to appreciate their surroundings, then, when one of his pedals started playing up, even the good humour that they had shown between themselves went. Whatever, it was brilliant, thunderous music.

It may be beer related, but our sense of time went askew then. We headed back to the tents to get our night time attire on, namely, a fleece, and enjoy a drink sitting down and headed back over, by which time we had missed most of the Unthanks. We enjoyed what we did see, good, warm and fun.

I’m not a huge fan of Iron and Wine, but I don’t dislike him. We watched the first bit of his set and it was obvious that he is held in some reverence but we soon wandered off. I have since read on blogs and message boards and in the papers that he put on a warm and beautiful set. In fact, a peerless set, and I missed it, or most of it. It didn’t matter though because while he was being warm, beautiful and peerless, Caitlin Rose was being warm, impish and brilliant. She is virtually a child, but by God, she has a fine pair of classic country and western pipes with which to sing her literate and edgy country songs.  She is going to be absolutely massive.

We popped in to see Black Mountain but they were not cutting it for either of us, so we headed back to the main stage for Yo La Tengo. I can pretty much take or leave this lot and hadn’t really planned on seeing them, but, and this seems to be a matter of some debate, they were superb. They played some of their quiet songs, which I generally prefer, but the last half hour or so was serious wig out shit, and was spellbinding. The drummer has some stamina, in her little arms to keep that beat going. They were another band who seemed to be enjoying themselves hugely and it really does make a difference.

The Tipi tent last year was a bit of a pain in the arse so I hadn’t really planned on seeing anyone in there this year, but they had added another huge tent to it and it was much improved; in fact, the bands were not really in the tipi, they were in the adjoining tent, which left the actual tip itself as very rustic drinking joint. So long as you got a bale of hay to sit on it was great. You could sit down, drink, enjoy the ambience and then when something started up, just stroll around and enjoy it. So we repaired to the Tipi tent.

It was something else, another way up there highlight. The Low Anthem and Christ knows who else were on stage, all dressed like loons, behaving like loons and playing raucous stompalongs like loons. Everyone, band included had huge smiles on their faces and the place was jumping. Just one more brilliant and unexpected surprise.

Sunday.

Sunday dawned and I felt like shit. There had been no rain but still water was dripping onto my head. On the plus side, the weather was looking superb. We roused ourselves and trudged like refugees to the Café Dish for more coffee, which we enjoyed in some little garden effort while the peacocks pecked around for food. Then we had  a wonderful breakfast of pie, mash, peas and gravy, which was just about the job and set us up nicely.

Dylan Le Blanc kicked things off and his exquisite country tinged soft rock was just what was needed at this early hour. It was noticeable that the main stage area was much fuller than at the same time last year, so we made the decision to get there very early for all the bands we wanted to see there in order  secure a good spot. We hadn’t bothered all that much with the main stage up until now, but today was different. Today promised to be special. Timing was crucial. Timing is not our strong point.

We had a general wander around all the loveliness and relaxed with a cider (over rated) sitting on a stone and watched the world go by. We saw a bit of Kath Bloom, but were too knackered and out of sorts to really appreciate her and got back over to the main stage for Daniel Lefkowitz. Fuck me. How can this man not be a huge star? Just on his own, with a guitar, a voice and a very wry look on his face he held the by now packed Garden Stage spellbound. He can’t be too much of a secret, because there were plenty of other artists at the back of the stage watching him. EOTR had done it again…………taken my breath clean away.

Dunno what we did then, mainly dossed about, keeping our beer intake up and taking in little bits and pieces here and there. The timing. The crucial timing. It still wasn’t our strong point. One of the bands I was most looking forward to was The Felice Brothers. We managed to miss the start. Only just though and we did manage to get a good spot. The Felice Brothers were superb. As mad as shithouse rats, every one of them, but superb. I don’t know what was going on behind me, but around me and in front of me everyone was going apeshit. I could go apeshit now, 3 days later, just thinking about it.

We stayed put for The Low Anthem who had possibly been the highlight last year and didn’t disappoint this time either. They seemed a bit warmer and looser if anything, and, once again, seemed to be really enjoying the spirit of the place and having fun, which, I feel the need to repeat, makes a huge difference; it seemed to be a very short set though.

Wilco were the band I was most looking forward to; I think Tweedy is one of the all time great songwriters and it is hard to think of anyone else who has written so consistently over such a long period…..it must be at least 20 years he's been at it. I was a bit wary, as this was the first time I have seen them and I was prepared to be disappointed, but I needn't have worried. They were magnificent, from start to finish. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, brilliant song after brilliant song, Tweedy invited the audience to shut the hell up towards the end so keen was he to just get on with it and bang out as many songs as possible. The garden was packed and everyone was going for it, in their own ways, whoops, roars, headbanging, footstamping, bloody air guitar, silent, rapt attention. In my not so humble opinion, it was a classic.

That was the end of the garden stage and it would have been a brilliant way to end a brilliant day. But the day was not over. Dengue Fever were supposed to be playing last in the Big Top, but they pulled out, to be replaced by Steve Mason, which was fine by me, as I love his new album. Walking over, it occurred that the music didn't sound familiar, or rather, it did sound familiar, it sounded like Caitlin Rose. God knows what happened to the other feller, but I don't care, because once again, Rose was ace.

The goodness still wasn't over. While James Felice was exuding bonhomie at the merchandise stall after his set, I asked if they were doing any other sets, and he said they would be in the Tipi at half twelve. Once Rose finished I wasted no time getting there. Someone else was on, don't know who but their audience evidently thought they were good because they were getting a brilliant reception. They finished and as their crowd headed away, another crowd was heading straight for the stage. It was clear that the Felice set was no secret.

After a longish wait, they ambled on, and tore the place down. It was utterly brilliant, and I am now more convinced than ever that they are all insane. The place was rocking and the goodness was added to by the presence of sundry Low Anthems and Deer Ticks on the stage, joining in. The set ended with a good natured stage invasion (started by James Felice) which left security looking extremely nervous. All that was left to do was to hang around and drink and talk shit with any passing kindred spirit until far too late. 

The festival surpassed all my expectations, and once again I discovered plenty that I wouldn't otherwise have done, and missed loads that was probably just as good as the stuff I saw. Apart from the bands, the whole ambience, the vibe, is just special, and it is great to be around like minded souls, who do not think I am a posing obscurantist for liking bands hardly anyone else has heard of. 

As a final thought I tip my hat to the bar staff who remained cheerful and patient to the very end of what was clearly a weekend of epic drinking for at least half the crowd.

Some snaps what I took, rather a lot, actually.

Guardian review

Independent review

Mind you………….I felt a bit sorry for myself on Monday. And Tuesday. Today as well, actually.

The Valley Town

ELLIOTT BROOD - The Valley Town (FD Session)
Uploaded by faitsdiversshow. - Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more.

Football fans are mad, completely irrational. A week ago Blues fans were in despair at our lack of signings, and then we had the Nzogbia debacle and we were all suicidal, then, on deadline day, three hats, three rabbits. Unconfined joy. We have the best manager and the best board in the world.  The small matter of never having heard of two of them is beside the point. In the end it doesn't matter who we sign, as long as we sign someone. We would have been just as delighted if we had signed the players Stoke nabbed. The signing of Hleb is genuinely exciting though, and I am very interested to see what our formation will be.

I thought the 5 man midfield worked well against Bolton, until they had a man sent off and then somehow managed to over run us. It was nice (while it lasted) to see Blues players knocking the ball around and always having an option. With the added quality of Hleb, as well as, who knows, the Chile guy and Derbyshire, I think this could be the way forward, which, obviously, means we will be 4-4-2 against Liverpool. I know nothing, I am happy to admit it, but I do know that it feels as if the season is starting anew, only this time, with that old, familiar glow of happy anticipation.

As usual Harry Redknapp insisted he wouldn't be doing any business, which could only signify one thing………a new player for Tottenham. He said that he had to go for the chap because at 8 million it was too good a bargain. 8 million would represent a huge gamble for the likes of us, for Tottenham it is chump change. Good job we have the best manager in the world and don't need money to succeed!

For all the hatred and scorn that gets poured onto Gordon Browns poor head, he seems to be the only one out of the whole sorry cabal who is capable of maintaining some dignity.

I don't much care wether or not William Hague has been slipping his special friend advisor one, but since his tales of epic drinking, and his heroic dissembling over Michael Ashcroft, the more he proclaims that he is telling the truth, the less inclined I am to believe him.

Shaky

Christina Patterson has a good piece in today Independent, gently mocking Cameron and Osborne. We could do with more of that.

I’m not sure what to make of the labour candidates, they all seem a bit anodyne and lacking in character; lacking hinterland. I confess, I haven’t studied their policies and I base my views solely on my perception of their characters.

Ed Balls knee jerk response to the Baby P case and his appalling jumping on to any passing media bandwagon disgusts me and I could never warm to him. I’m sure Andy Burnham is a magnificently intelligent chap, but he comes across as bit dull and he seems to struggle when it comes to spontaneous repartee. Minds like Cameron, Clegg and Osborne, finely honed in the debating societies of our finest schools and universities, will make mincemeat of him.

All through the life of New Labour, I have disliked the Millibands. They are both distinctly odd looking, for a start. David looks as if you dipped his head in a pot of paint, you could do the garden fence with it, Ed just looks strange. Sounds strange too. But I am hardly an oil painting myself, so I shouldn’t judge them on looks. So I will judge them on background. They represent an element of politics that I really dislike; the apparatchiks. It seems as if they have been groomed for high office since birth; lots of front, but little bottom.

It doesn’t really matter what I think, because I am not a member of the party, so won’t be voting, but for what it’s worth, I am edging towards Ed. He seems to have the intellectual capacity and sharpness of mind to be able to deal with the pantomime of Prime Ministers Questions, and he could make Cameron or Clegg uncomfortable in the pointless exchanges over the despatch box, as well as deal with the hostile interrogations of the likes of John Humphreys . His brother could do that too, but Ed seems to me to be a bit less rigid in his thinking, a bit more open to ideas, and he has said that Labour must re-engage with the working class ………….bloody radical for a Labour man!

I went to see Simone Felice again last night, this time in Bristol. It was a very different experience to last week in Cardiff. Last week he came on quite late, the all standing crowd being pretty well oiled, and up for it, having seen two excellent support acts. They responded to Felice enthusiastically and immediately. I have noticed before that Cardiff crowds, particulary in smaller venues, can be a bit raucous. Felice evidently fed off this energy and played a long and excellent set, involving the crowd at every opportunity. As far as you can tell, he seemed to be really enjoying himself.

Last night was different. The gig was in a social club, for a start, (albeit serving a very nice pint of Doom Bar, or whatever the hell it was called), there was no support act, so he came on early and everyone was sitting down. It was a much more subdued, respectful audience, it felt like being in a folk club, which is OK, I like folk clubs.

As in Cardiff, he started with “Scarecrow”, which some might argue is his best song, he followed that with “The Morning I Get to Hell” “One More American Song” and “If You Ever Get Famous” Possibly his four best songs, certainly four of  his best songs, and you wondered, where is he going to go now? Surely, he should be saving songs as good as that for later on. Well, he played some covers, including a brilliant version of Tom Waits “Old 55” and he played more of his own stuff, such as “Mercy” and “Union Street”, which are as good as any of his other songs, and you realised that this man just writes brilliant song after brilliant song. It is pointless having a favourite, because they are all favourites. He did a couple of new ones, “New York Times” and “ Shaky” ,presumably, off the fortchcoming Duke and the King album and they showed that if anything, he is improving.

The night ended early and fairly abruptly, he left out another of my favourites, “Radio Song” which had been a boisterous and enjoyable singalong in Cardiff. He had tried, manfully, to get the Bristol crowd singing, reminding us at one point that we were in a social club, not a library, and to be fair to the audience, they did respond, but it lacked a bit of oomph . Felice was superb, but he seemed a bit out of sorts; he didn’t really seem to be getting into it. The night was great while it lasted, but the shortness of it was a bit disappointing. Typically, he hung around for ages afterwards, happy to talk with anyone who approached, happy to pose for pics.


The transfer window is near it's end, and day by day, we are told or there are rumours, encouraged by the local press, that Blues are in for this one, or that one, or we are near to deals with 2 or 3, and, day by groundhog day, nothing happens. We went in for Nzogbia, were knocked back, then went in again this week. Apparently we have been knocked back again. No news of other, unnamed players that we were supposed to be close to doing deals with. It was the same in January. I don't mind that much if we don't sign marquee players, I don't mind if we refuse to pay inflated prices, but I am becoming bored shitless by the endless hype and the endless dithering. Eck, either shit, or get off the pot, but don't tell us about it until the deed is done. Bobo Bleeding Balde, Babel, Pavluchenko, Chris Bloody Boyd, now Nzogbia, what do they all have in common?

Roberto Martinez has complained about the window and the unsettling effect it has on players. He has a point, Nzogbia and Mascherano have both missed games because, in the vernacular, their heads weren't right, and Stoke's reserve keeper appears to have gone on strike.My preference would be for them to do away with the window altogether, but, if we must have it, it should close before the start of the season.

I have blipped

Happy birthday, "Deliverance" I confess, I haven't read the book, I must put that right. I hear that like "Cutters Way" (Cutter and Bone) the book is a lot better than the film.

Crying Time

Well, that was quite a hilarious weekend of football. As much as we are all supposed to love plucky little Blackpool, the clubs owners have always seemed a bit dubious to me, what with Owen being a convicted rapist and all that. At the end of last week, we heard that the chairman had resigned because he is fed up with the avarice of agents: they forgot to mention that he is about to be made bankrupt and would not be allowed to carry on as chairman anyway. He jumped, just before he was pushed, Having said that, I have nothing against the team or the town, and didn't take any pleasure from their hammering; I did take some pleasure from Ian Holloway's post match thoughts though.

Poor old Wigan, once again, looked hapless, which is a real pity because I really like Martinez; we shall see how genial the Wigan owner is over the coming weeks. West Ham continue to embarrass themselves, which is always fine by me and  Sunderland and their marvellously loyal fans are finding out just how good Steve Bruce is.

Blues showed resilience once again, coming from behind to beat a frankly terrifying Blackburn side. Big Sam gets some stick for his Neanderthal ways, but they are much more than hoofball merchants. They certainly do not take any prisoners, but they have some pace and skill in that team, and those 3 points on Saturday will turn out to have been very good points indeed. Blackburn will finish in the top half, no question.

Eck made 3 changes on Saturday, the most telling being Gardner for Bowyer. Bowyer was very good when he first came to us and still hasn't really let anyone down, so it was quite brave of Mcleish to drop him, but it worked. I hope Gardner now gets a run in the team in central midfield, because he will only improve. Bowyer must accept the impermanence of shit and learn to enjoy sitting on the bench, coming on late in the game to help protect a lead.

I saw Newcastle on the box last week. Even allowing for the fact that they were playing Manchester Utd and that, as one or two commentators may have mentioned in passing, Paul Scholes is in a rich vein of form, they looked bloody hopeless, certain candidates for a quick return to the chumpionship, So it was easily the funniest and most unexpected delight of the weekend when they put 6 past our much loved and revered neighbours. It would not be seemly to dwell on it though.

I haven't really listened to 606 for years, I might listen to a bit here and there but it is never long before I am driven away by the inane banality of it, but I listened to it yesterday on the I player and was pleasantly surprised. Mark Chapman and Robbie Savage are very good, and Savage, in particular is happy to tell the callers that they are talking shit. As professional talking heads go, Savage is refreshingly honest and will also concede the point occasionally. Have a listen before it gets hyped to the heavens and becomes a parody of itself.

I went to see Simone Felice last week. It was a very good venue, the Buffalo Bar in Cardiff, which is not only a very cool place, but also serves a very good range of very well kept beer, which is a rare treat indeed. Felice recently underwent open heart surgery and this was, I think, only his second gig since his recovery, and it was brilliant. The man is probably the best, the most honest and the most poetic songwriter around at the moment, but he is also a showman into the very core of his being. He is either going to be huge, or he is going to go prematurely to his maker, so go and see him while you have the chance. He is touring Britain now, and will be back withThe Duke and the King later in the year, unmissable, either way. He made some solo, very stripped down versions of some of his songs when he first got out of hospital………it is a beautiful CD, only seems to be available at his gigs.

He was supported by Jeb Loy Nichols, who really, really surprised me. I had seen him before, supporting Richard Thomspon, and his music just drifted by; but in this more intimate venue, he was astonishing, he has a beautiful, rich, warm singing voice and writes songs of humour and poignancy. Having researched him a bit, he seems to be something of a renaissance man and his output is very eclectic. Well worth checking out.

While I was my holiday, I read Truth, by Peter Temple, and I have a mate, who also read the book on his holiday. We both agree that it is brilliant. Temple has an ability to evoke time, place and atmosphere using little more than dialogue which borders on genius. Don't read his very early books though, they are shit.

Anyone who may have glanced at this blog over the years will know that I have long banged on about inequality and the harm that it causes to everyone in society, those who gain from the iniquity as well as those who lose.  There is a good piece here discussing the work of  Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett, Even David Cameron has praised The Spirit Level, so it is really pissing me off that the Condems are intent on pursuing policies that will make the poor poorer and increase inequality. There is a brilliant piece in todays FT (sorry, you have to register, but it is free) which explains pretty cogently why the policies of this government are not progressive and will hit the poor very hard.


I recall saying, maybe even on here, that as much as New Labour may have disappointed some of us, we should never forget what a bunch of bastards the Tories are; what I had failed to realise is that the liberals are as bad!

When You See Me In The Pouring Rain

Don't read that, read this.

So, it has begun. West Brom hammered, West Ham hammered. Joe Hart showing his class for Man City, bet he misses having Johnson and Dann in front of him, I doubt he was ever required to be that busy for us, Blackpool win 4-0, away, mental. Refs making the news. Meet the new season, pretty much the same as any other season.

We managed a draw at Sunderland. The team was a bit of a surprise with O Connor starting ahead of Zigic and Fahey starting ahead of McFadden, and we took our first strides into the new campaign, with a faltering gait. In short, we were shit, Sunderland looked very sharp from the off and we really struggled to get into the game; for all that, Sunderland did not really look like scoring.   They took the lead from a penalty, which should not have been awarded. The ref has taken a bit of a metaphorical kicking, but I think the linesman was more at fault.

Sunderland then had Cattermole sent off, quite rightly, because he really shouldn't be on the pitch in the first place. This was the signal for Blues to carry on exactly as they did before: haplessly. They looked no better against 10 than they did against 11.

The second half and Blues improved, and were very unlucky to go a further goal behind. We had a decent break on, McFadden payed a beautiful ball through to Jerome, who fucking gave it away, Sunderland attacked at speed, some northern chump crossed it, Carr got his head to it and it looped over Foster into the goal. It was one of those strange ones, where there is a little delay before the crowd celebrates,as they are not quite sure what happened.

Zigic came on soon after and Blues improved somewhat. We put Sunderland under significant and sustained pressure and we got our rewards, with two goals coming from good crosses. We were the more likely winners by the end, but, given that we had been two down and playing, poor, poor, mediocre  football, a point away against one of our main rivals to win the little league of mid table mediocrity is not to be sniffed at.

Overall, I am not happy. The late rally (against 10 knackered men) should not be allowed to disguise how poor we were. Jerome is no good and we badly need someone else up there. We do not play a fluid game, our midfield is detached from the attack; this would be OK if we had someone who could hold the ball up and let the midfield get up there, but Jerome is not that man, he proves it week after week. We tailed off badly at the end of last year, and while our resilience and bouncebackability is nothing short of astonishing, we must remember two things, Sunderland are shit and they only had 10 men for most of the match. Better, teams, with better discipline will take us to the cleaners.

Sunderland supporters left by the thousand in the last few minutes. The game was anyones, but they were streaming out………..what the fuck is that all about? I thought they were supposed to be the best and most loyal supporters in the history of football.

Steve Bruce does not think that Cattermole should have been sent off. Steve Bruce is barking mad. Cattermole was a menace, and should have been sent off for his assault on O Connor. Bruce doesn't see that though, he thinks that Cattermoles first booking was harsh. Even if it was, he got away with the challenge on O Connor. It is a skewed moral universe that is inhabited by football managers, where discretions that go unpunished are OK, but discretions which are punished too harshly are mortal sins. Eck, as ever was dignity personified

Something I learned today. Robbie Savage does not know what the word "monosyllabic"means, and gets the right hump with anyone who uses it.