Lightning strike!
Before the tedium of this Tuesday evening drives me to plunge my steaming fingers into the back of my eye-sacs, I've decided its time to pull out the necessary apostrophes and reveal unto the world my latest Siwncbocs shenanigans. These words woven from my Hiberno-Cymric heritage, y'unnerstan'?
Back in the day, when I was bored, I would take a pencil in my hand and write about the chicks I was busy digging, or watch an auld film on the VHS, or try and get a bubble into my vein in order to turn all the switches to Nope. None of this has the lusty allure for which I have to petition so strongly these days.
I open up the big box marked "Think, You Squib, Think!" and next to nothing tumbles out, the scaly few cells left behind by thoughts long dessicated, the dead, dry earwigs that starved waiting for Walter Koening to return, the scorched remains of things that were never really there. And cetera.
So in place of original thought and an artfully-turned phraselet, I give you another Junkbxxxxxx tracklisting...
Insidious Junkbocs 23: Revenge of the Skidoo
Frank Sidebottom - Guess Who's Been On Match of the Day (rest in papier mache)
Daniel Johnston - The Beatles (and not the other way around...)
School of Seven Bells - Heart Is Strange
Daedalus - An Armada Approaches
Human Resource - Dominator
D.O. Misani - Giko Piny
PJ Harvey - Man Size
Circulatory System - Overjoyed
Brian Dewan - 99 Chops (not Bryan Fury the zombie dude in Tekken)
MGMT - Flash Delirium
Psychobuildings - No Man's Land
M.I.A. - Tell Me Why
The KLF - What Time Is Love? (Original Version)
Don't let the cotton wool cuteness fool you - I am the one and only Dominator. I'm bigger and badder and almost certainly rougher and tougher. In other words, sucker, there is no other. So make way there or something. And listen to the new Ariel Pink album while you're at it. It'll feature in Junkbox soon (ie Coctober).
Great smears of luck, friends, daubed all over your lolling faces.
Your pal, Coc x
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
Thursday, 8 July 2010
Orange vs Red Fury vs Insidious Junkbox 22
Evening, chums!
In this new atmosphere of amnesiac interpretation of global sporting events, I present a tardy entry into the sloppily-recording school of podcasting, Insidious Junkbox 22: 22 Dragons On My Shirt.
The tracklisiting is something like this:
The Jesus And Mary Chain - Reverence
LCD Soundsystem - Drunk Girls
Ganglians - Candy Girl
Meat Beat Manifesto - She's Unreal
White Hinterland - Huron
Ulrich Schnauss - On My Own
Comet Gain - Thee eager Younger Fraternity Bomp
Love Is All - Kungen
Young Marble Giants - Choci Loni
Crysal Castles - Birds
Filthy Pedro & The Carthiginians - Gilgamesh/Dolphins of Rotherham
King Tubby - Hijack The Barber
The Scientist - The Fly (classic hardcore from Kickin' Records, c 1991)
Tamikrest - Tamiditine
So many of my tiny little crackly brain cells have been absorbed in the World Cup. in wedding plans and in my attempts to scratch out a living in a customer care call centre that it's been almost three months since my last podcast. Were I less honest and more delusional than I am, I would solemnly swear that it shall not be so long before "Junkbox 23: Revenge of the Skidoo" opens a can of Whup-Ear. But who would be fooled?
May the road rise up to meet you, and your gorge swell as best required.
Yours in Christ
Your pal, Coc x
In this new atmosphere of amnesiac interpretation of global sporting events, I present a tardy entry into the sloppily-recording school of podcasting, Insidious Junkbox 22: 22 Dragons On My Shirt.
The tracklisiting is something like this:
The Jesus And Mary Chain - Reverence
LCD Soundsystem - Drunk Girls
Ganglians - Candy Girl
Meat Beat Manifesto - She's Unreal
White Hinterland - Huron
Ulrich Schnauss - On My Own
Comet Gain - Thee eager Younger Fraternity Bomp
Love Is All - Kungen
Young Marble Giants - Choci Loni
Crysal Castles - Birds
Filthy Pedro & The Carthiginians - Gilgamesh/Dolphins of Rotherham
King Tubby - Hijack The Barber
The Scientist - The Fly (classic hardcore from Kickin' Records, c 1991)
Tamikrest - Tamiditine
So many of my tiny little crackly brain cells have been absorbed in the World Cup. in wedding plans and in my attempts to scratch out a living in a customer care call centre that it's been almost three months since my last podcast. Were I less honest and more delusional than I am, I would solemnly swear that it shall not be so long before "Junkbox 23: Revenge of the Skidoo" opens a can of Whup-Ear. But who would be fooled?
May the road rise up to meet you, and your gorge swell as best required.
Yours in Christ
Your pal, Coc x
Sunday, 20 June 2010
I think that perhaps...
... the French read my last blog and decided to draw on one of their most durable skills - going on strike.
Obviously, they'll now go on to reach the final again - before Riberry gets sent off for biting Robinho's face off or something.
Your pal, Coc x
Obviously, they'll now go on to reach the final again - before Riberry gets sent off for biting Robinho's face off or something.
Your pal, Coc x
Saturday, 19 June 2010
My World Cup theory
Morning, chums!
I've been developing a theory the last few days. In a rather limited way.
It's about the World Cup, and why I love it quite so much. It's about England, and the way they play - and the way other nations play. It's about why some nations are more successful than others. And above all, it's about sticking my head into some pretentious idea, which I enjoy doing lots and lots.
The World Cup isn't about football. It's about countries' standings in the world. It's an obvious thing to express - but it's a form of cultural warfare with all the despair and triumphalism you might expect. This is why totalitarian governments, especially in Latin America, but not confined there, really enjoy throwing their weight behind their national sides, or their pet club sides, as in the Soviet Bloc.
My thoughts were sparked by an article in The Observer's World Cup special last week about the performance of Algeria in the group stages in 1982, when they shocked the West Germans 2-1 in the first game before being cynically squeezed out by "el Anschluss" between the Deutsch and their Austrian neighbours. The article was full of how the Algerians felt they had the opportunity to express their country to the World, and how their football seemed very suucesful as a result.
Those countries with the best World Cup pedigree are maybe those with the surest idea of what they can contribute to the world. In the case of Brazil and Argentina, football is perhaps held up as their greatest contribution, but nonetheless self-confidence of nation and national side seem intermingled. Is it any coincidence that England's most lasting success came at the height of its Swinging London mid-sixties confidence, when the "white heat of technology" and its explosive British Invasion of pop charts, art and design circles propelled Britain back to the forefront of the West's imagination?
So far, so familiar - but it got my slowly-grinding mind to thinking about what it IS that these countries feel they are expressing?
Brazil is all about dance, I think. They are the Samba Kings, and individual flair (maybe not best illustrated by the "gaucho" Dunga's relatively pedestrian outfit in this World Cup) is very highly valued together with the ability to improvise. This approach (and their supreme self-confidence in it) has produced a team with the necessary belief to lift the trophy five times and to win a lot of friends doing it.
Argentina is more urban, shiftier, and this is perhaps in many ways why they represent the eternal enemy of English football - the spectre of the thief, the hustler. This is best represented by Maradona, of course, who's celebrated in other countries for exactly those qualities that turn the stomachs of so many English football fans. Argentinian confidence is perhaps a little more fragile than sunny Brazil's, and they've only won the competition twice; but nonetheless, we can tell what it is they are looking to express and how it might reflect Argentina's collective opinion of itself. Should such a dream exist.
Germany's expression of itself seemed to begin properly in 1954 with the Miracle of Bern and their first World title. The nation entered the competition still guilty, broken and starving from the fallout of a war-scarred half century but after winning the factories of myth now had it poised on the brink of another economic miracle and the acceptance back at the international table. They've since qualified for every World Cup, surviving the group stage each time, featuring in seemingly countless finals and won the trophy another two times in '74 and at Italia 90. Self-belief and industry seem to be their chief tools both in terms of football and nation-building.
Italy is something of a more complex beast. Four World Cup wins places them firmly in second place ahead of the Germans, Argentina and the dimly-remembered Uruguayans, although the first two Italian victories bear the dark, stubborn stain of Mussolini's fascists. The later two victories are a little more difficult to fathom as Italy entered both the competitons in '82 and 2006 as unfancied and couldn't be described as amongst the most attractive teams in either. Their national game can be characterised by paranoia and cynicism, which has helped to build the catenaccio defensive system of man-marking and a sweeper to pick up the pieces and launch counter-attacks. Images of stilettos and Renaissance city states. This analogy is weakening even as I try to open it out, so for the sake of finishing my point, I'll move on.
France won their own country over to the idea of supporting the team in 1998, and almost validated Pele's view that an African team would win the World Cup by the end of the twentieth century, fielding an ethnically diverse mix studded with African-born talents like Zidane, Desailly and Vieira. Their desire to express this idea saw them pick up the WC and European titles in quick succession, but they've since collapsed back into imperious disdain and in-fighting, and without the influence of Zidane are expected to slump out of this year's competition in the first round.
So much cheap pop cultural theory, now on to the escapist fantasy - England. A rather dour team it was that won in 1966, perhaps the last hurrah of the old Victorian values - an emotionally constipated coach reflected in a rather constipated performance that finally exploded into relief and joy come extra time. But that model simply doesn't work for England any more. Just as the spread of the game around the world at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries indicated the stretch of England's influence around the world, so England's performances post-war (once they'd deigned to get involved in international competition) have mirrored its anxious slip down the political world league table.
The pressure of maintaining a pre-eminent position in the world has become crippling. Thirty years of hurt has spread to forty-four, a half-century is knocking. The same emotionally-constipated ideas about what England means give no escape. Only Gazza was able to weep out a bit of relief, and maybe he is the key to the re-invention that England requires. Despite all the attempts to re-cast England in the form of the Premiership as skillful, sophisticated and successful, the pressure of maintaining some Victorian image of quiet, manly supremacy is proving too much for our modern adolescent players.
Bearing in mind that the most successful football models could be said to be based on assured national skills and characteristics, it might help to look at what English people are so skilled in and so heavily-trained in it is as second nature. What is the English equivalent of the Argentinian wiles of the tango, or the German belief in industry or the Brazilian spirit of carnival? I'd say, humour. The famous English/British sense of humour that pervades our society as thoroughly as paranoia does that of Italy.
The most successful player at the World Cup for England post-66 was Gazza, the joker. Although his talents seem to have been borne of huge emotional and psychological problems, nonetheless it would be difficult to separate his inventive play from his joking nature. A relaxed and jokey approach would help our players to deal with the huge pressures heaped upon them and it would certainly serve as a better coping mechanism for the English fans and press than the current tactic of sour-faced whingeing, and more importantly it would be an expression of something quintessentially English. That seems to be the key - playing to national strengths.
So, that's my grand plan for how England can come closer to taking their game forward on the global stage. The only difficulty now is to figure out how this idea can be applied to the actual playing of the game, but, you know, I just do the blue sky thinking. I'll leave it to the techno-crats and clever types to figure out the rest.
Now I have to work out how the lingering sense of Hiraeth and propensity for bilingualism can propel Wales to the European Championships in 2012.
Your pal, Coc x
I've been developing a theory the last few days. In a rather limited way.
It's about the World Cup, and why I love it quite so much. It's about England, and the way they play - and the way other nations play. It's about why some nations are more successful than others. And above all, it's about sticking my head into some pretentious idea, which I enjoy doing lots and lots.
The World Cup isn't about football. It's about countries' standings in the world. It's an obvious thing to express - but it's a form of cultural warfare with all the despair and triumphalism you might expect. This is why totalitarian governments, especially in Latin America, but not confined there, really enjoy throwing their weight behind their national sides, or their pet club sides, as in the Soviet Bloc.
My thoughts were sparked by an article in The Observer's World Cup special last week about the performance of Algeria in the group stages in 1982, when they shocked the West Germans 2-1 in the first game before being cynically squeezed out by "el Anschluss" between the Deutsch and their Austrian neighbours. The article was full of how the Algerians felt they had the opportunity to express their country to the World, and how their football seemed very suucesful as a result.
Those countries with the best World Cup pedigree are maybe those with the surest idea of what they can contribute to the world. In the case of Brazil and Argentina, football is perhaps held up as their greatest contribution, but nonetheless self-confidence of nation and national side seem intermingled. Is it any coincidence that England's most lasting success came at the height of its Swinging London mid-sixties confidence, when the "white heat of technology" and its explosive British Invasion of pop charts, art and design circles propelled Britain back to the forefront of the West's imagination?
So far, so familiar - but it got my slowly-grinding mind to thinking about what it IS that these countries feel they are expressing?
Brazil is all about dance, I think. They are the Samba Kings, and individual flair (maybe not best illustrated by the "gaucho" Dunga's relatively pedestrian outfit in this World Cup) is very highly valued together with the ability to improvise. This approach (and their supreme self-confidence in it) has produced a team with the necessary belief to lift the trophy five times and to win a lot of friends doing it.
Argentina is more urban, shiftier, and this is perhaps in many ways why they represent the eternal enemy of English football - the spectre of the thief, the hustler. This is best represented by Maradona, of course, who's celebrated in other countries for exactly those qualities that turn the stomachs of so many English football fans. Argentinian confidence is perhaps a little more fragile than sunny Brazil's, and they've only won the competition twice; but nonetheless, we can tell what it is they are looking to express and how it might reflect Argentina's collective opinion of itself. Should such a dream exist.
Germany's expression of itself seemed to begin properly in 1954 with the Miracle of Bern and their first World title. The nation entered the competition still guilty, broken and starving from the fallout of a war-scarred half century but after winning the factories of myth now had it poised on the brink of another economic miracle and the acceptance back at the international table. They've since qualified for every World Cup, surviving the group stage each time, featuring in seemingly countless finals and won the trophy another two times in '74 and at Italia 90. Self-belief and industry seem to be their chief tools both in terms of football and nation-building.
Italy is something of a more complex beast. Four World Cup wins places them firmly in second place ahead of the Germans, Argentina and the dimly-remembered Uruguayans, although the first two Italian victories bear the dark, stubborn stain of Mussolini's fascists. The later two victories are a little more difficult to fathom as Italy entered both the competitons in '82 and 2006 as unfancied and couldn't be described as amongst the most attractive teams in either. Their national game can be characterised by paranoia and cynicism, which has helped to build the catenaccio defensive system of man-marking and a sweeper to pick up the pieces and launch counter-attacks. Images of stilettos and Renaissance city states. This analogy is weakening even as I try to open it out, so for the sake of finishing my point, I'll move on.
France won their own country over to the idea of supporting the team in 1998, and almost validated Pele's view that an African team would win the World Cup by the end of the twentieth century, fielding an ethnically diverse mix studded with African-born talents like Zidane, Desailly and Vieira. Their desire to express this idea saw them pick up the WC and European titles in quick succession, but they've since collapsed back into imperious disdain and in-fighting, and without the influence of Zidane are expected to slump out of this year's competition in the first round.
So much cheap pop cultural theory, now on to the escapist fantasy - England. A rather dour team it was that won in 1966, perhaps the last hurrah of the old Victorian values - an emotionally constipated coach reflected in a rather constipated performance that finally exploded into relief and joy come extra time. But that model simply doesn't work for England any more. Just as the spread of the game around the world at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries indicated the stretch of England's influence around the world, so England's performances post-war (once they'd deigned to get involved in international competition) have mirrored its anxious slip down the political world league table.
The pressure of maintaining a pre-eminent position in the world has become crippling. Thirty years of hurt has spread to forty-four, a half-century is knocking. The same emotionally-constipated ideas about what England means give no escape. Only Gazza was able to weep out a bit of relief, and maybe he is the key to the re-invention that England requires. Despite all the attempts to re-cast England in the form of the Premiership as skillful, sophisticated and successful, the pressure of maintaining some Victorian image of quiet, manly supremacy is proving too much for our modern adolescent players.
Bearing in mind that the most successful football models could be said to be based on assured national skills and characteristics, it might help to look at what English people are so skilled in and so heavily-trained in it is as second nature. What is the English equivalent of the Argentinian wiles of the tango, or the German belief in industry or the Brazilian spirit of carnival? I'd say, humour. The famous English/British sense of humour that pervades our society as thoroughly as paranoia does that of Italy.
The most successful player at the World Cup for England post-66 was Gazza, the joker. Although his talents seem to have been borne of huge emotional and psychological problems, nonetheless it would be difficult to separate his inventive play from his joking nature. A relaxed and jokey approach would help our players to deal with the huge pressures heaped upon them and it would certainly serve as a better coping mechanism for the English fans and press than the current tactic of sour-faced whingeing, and more importantly it would be an expression of something quintessentially English. That seems to be the key - playing to national strengths.
So, that's my grand plan for how England can come closer to taking their game forward on the global stage. The only difficulty now is to figure out how this idea can be applied to the actual playing of the game, but, you know, I just do the blue sky thinking. I'll leave it to the techno-crats and clever types to figure out the rest.
Now I have to work out how the lingering sense of Hiraeth and propensity for bilingualism can propel Wales to the European Championships in 2012.
Your pal, Coc x
Thursday, 15 April 2010
Insidious Junkbox XXI - Whither the Digital Economy?
Greetings, mud-watchers.
As usual, I'm writing this while trying to think about two other things: Charlie Brooker's new TV programme and simultaneous haircut, and the inevitable dawning of another day at work. I've had a day off today, which I've typically not made anything like the most of. Whinge, whinge. But I HAVE done another Junkbox. One strangely rutted in the year 2008. I'm nostalgic to the sinew and no mistake.
So, Junkbox XXI, which inspired by Dave C's TV appearance on ITV this evening, I seem to have called "I Hate Tories". Normally I try to keep the air-bubbles of hatred out of my bloodstream in order to avoid juddering death, but I was under pressure to name the MP3 and it just blurted out. Unless I'm discussing the party arrangements for the day Thatcher finally fucks off from the face of the earth on her way under it, then I really annoy Lw and feel like a blackened stump of a human figurine.
INSIDIOUS JUNKBOX XXI
1. Primal Scream - Higher Than The Sun (Higher Than The Orb Mix)
2. Rusko - Cockney Thug (Caspa Mix)
3. Crocodiles - Neon Jesus
4. Clor - Love + Pain
5. Archie Bronson Outfit - Shark's Tooth
6. Asiko - Lagos City
7. Gil Scott Heron - New York Is Killing Me
8. Talking Heads - Pulled Up
9. High Wolf - Tropical Rain Washed My Brain
10. Wolf People - October Fires
11. Cults - Go Outside
12. Shitmat - Clash And Carry (Old Socks Mix)
Download it from the titley bit that should be a different colour. Next time, fewer tunes from 2008 that I hadn't heard until very recently. Maybe some LCD Soundsystem.
I keep thinking that I'll do one that I just let my iPod pick the tunes. Could be disastrous.
And next time, a bit more of an effort with the descriptive words. Something about buttery udders or porcelain battleships or something.
Your pal, Coc x
As usual, I'm writing this while trying to think about two other things: Charlie Brooker's new TV programme and simultaneous haircut, and the inevitable dawning of another day at work. I've had a day off today, which I've typically not made anything like the most of. Whinge, whinge. But I HAVE done another Junkbox. One strangely rutted in the year 2008. I'm nostalgic to the sinew and no mistake.
So, Junkbox XXI, which inspired by Dave C's TV appearance on ITV this evening, I seem to have called "I Hate Tories". Normally I try to keep the air-bubbles of hatred out of my bloodstream in order to avoid juddering death, but I was under pressure to name the MP3 and it just blurted out. Unless I'm discussing the party arrangements for the day Thatcher finally fucks off from the face of the earth on her way under it, then I really annoy Lw and feel like a blackened stump of a human figurine.
INSIDIOUS JUNKBOX XXI
1. Primal Scream - Higher Than The Sun (Higher Than The Orb Mix)
2. Rusko - Cockney Thug (Caspa Mix)
3. Crocodiles - Neon Jesus
4. Clor - Love + Pain
5. Archie Bronson Outfit - Shark's Tooth
6. Asiko - Lagos City
7. Gil Scott Heron - New York Is Killing Me
8. Talking Heads - Pulled Up
9. High Wolf - Tropical Rain Washed My Brain
10. Wolf People - October Fires
11. Cults - Go Outside
12. Shitmat - Clash And Carry (Old Socks Mix)
Download it from the titley bit that should be a different colour. Next time, fewer tunes from 2008 that I hadn't heard until very recently. Maybe some LCD Soundsystem.
I keep thinking that I'll do one that I just let my iPod pick the tunes. Could be disastrous.
And next time, a bit more of an effort with the descriptive words. Something about buttery udders or porcelain battleships or something.
Your pal, Coc x
Sunday, 4 April 2010
Chocolate Fear Of The Big Booming Daddy
Howdo? and Howdo!
I'm watching me the end of the Tim Burton version of Charlie & The Chocolate Factory. Very poor how it entwines the whole American obsession with the Patriarchal into the end. Everyone in the US seems so obsessed with the Daddy Within. Or at least it runs through American pop culture like an unravelling stitch on a poorly weft fabric.
I like the Gene Wilder one much more, even though it's maybe a bit more sappy. The point is that Wonka is the father figure, not some creepy over-toothed older brother at the dinner table. Or is that the point? Even if it isn't, we don't need a dentist and people following their destiny even if it's against the parental wishes and blah baby boomer blah... On the other hand, a bit of Christopher Lee is always a good thing.
An unfocused mind railing against the locusts, gumming up my mental air-con.
Peace and fucking! Believe!
Your pal, Coc x
I'm watching me the end of the Tim Burton version of Charlie & The Chocolate Factory. Very poor how it entwines the whole American obsession with the Patriarchal into the end. Everyone in the US seems so obsessed with the Daddy Within. Or at least it runs through American pop culture like an unravelling stitch on a poorly weft fabric.
I like the Gene Wilder one much more, even though it's maybe a bit more sappy. The point is that Wonka is the father figure, not some creepy over-toothed older brother at the dinner table. Or is that the point? Even if it isn't, we don't need a dentist and people following their destiny even if it's against the parental wishes and blah baby boomer blah... On the other hand, a bit of Christopher Lee is always a good thing.
An unfocused mind railing against the locusts, gumming up my mental air-con.
Peace and fucking! Believe!
Your pal, Coc x
Tuesday, 16 March 2010
Late Night Junkbox Seepage
Mawnin' mawnin'!
Time is tight and the night is short, friends, and work scratches at the clock like a hungry yellow dog in the streets. So I cut quick to the chase, yeah?
Insidious Junkbox 20 - Trouble HeliXX
1. NWA - Straight Outta Compton
2. Beach Fossils - Daydream
3. Gorillaz - Stylo (Chiddy Bang mix)
4. Race Horses - Cake
5. Club 8 - Western Hospitality
6. Shellac (of North America) - Wingwalker
7. Quasi - Repulsion
8. Massive Attack - Babel
9. Nightmares on Wax - Aftermath
10. Phantogram - As Far As I Can See
11. Son Lux - Weapons V
12. TV On The Radio - Staring At The Sun
A flinty dozen indeeeed, although I myself was not on the sparklingest of forms and the levels were weird and mossy indeed. I went off for a bender in a paintball course of my own mind. I did, I did.
I also tried to cut down on the number of times I said "kindof". Perhaps that was why I didn't feel so talkative....
So many questions!
Your pal, Coc x
Time is tight and the night is short, friends, and work scratches at the clock like a hungry yellow dog in the streets. So I cut quick to the chase, yeah?
Insidious Junkbox 20 - Trouble HeliXX
1. NWA - Straight Outta Compton
2. Beach Fossils - Daydream
3. Gorillaz - Stylo (Chiddy Bang mix)
4. Race Horses - Cake
5. Club 8 - Western Hospitality
6. Shellac (of North America) - Wingwalker
7. Quasi - Repulsion
8. Massive Attack - Babel
9. Nightmares on Wax - Aftermath
10. Phantogram - As Far As I Can See
11. Son Lux - Weapons V
12. TV On The Radio - Staring At The Sun
A flinty dozen indeeeed, although I myself was not on the sparklingest of forms and the levels were weird and mossy indeed. I went off for a bender in a paintball course of my own mind. I did, I did.
I also tried to cut down on the number of times I said "kindof". Perhaps that was why I didn't feel so talkative....
So many questions!
Your pal, Coc x
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)