Symbolic Forest

There’s five days to go, and I already feel like I want to cancel Christmas. I haven’t written a single card. I haven’t bought many presents, and I have no idea what The Parents actually want. To be fair, neither do they. I try to go look for something on my lunch break, and everyone else has had the same idea. The roads into town are gridlocked; as soon as I’ve found a parking space, it’s time to head out back to the office again.

But then, I look out at the night sky, and I remember what the Yuletide season is really about. I feel the crisp air, watch the frost, and think about the turning seasons. On Saturday,^* the daytime stops shrinking and slowly starts to get longer again; and there is winter itself to enjoy. As this year starts to turn over into the next, I know I’m older, wiser, learning more about who I am and what I enjoy in life; and becoming happier with it, too. And I’m looking forward to life with excitement, and wondering just what we’re going to do next.

* Pedants might point out that the solstice is on the 21st, and Saturday is the 22nd. However, the solstice isn’t always on the same date. This December it’s on the 22nd, unless you’re in the Far East.

Keyword noise: Christmas, seasons, shopping, solstice, winter, Yuletide.

A spare weekend: we went wandering, in the car, and on foot. We drifted through the moorland village of Levisham, as untouched a village as you’ll find in Yorkshire, with one road wandering through it across a broad green. Ambling downhill, we reached the railway station. We watched a train pull in, and shunt about, great clouds of steam rising in the December cold.

Prowling around the station, we discovered its Artist In Residence, Christopher Ware, in his studio. We chatted a little while, and studied his prints of bucolic trains. He can’t have many visitors on a day like that; hopefully we were a welcome distraction for a few minutes.

Keyword noise: artists, Christopher Ware, heritage, Levisham, North Yorkshire, North Yorkshire Moors Railway, NYMR, railway, studio, Yorkshire.

As it’s the week before Christmas: it’s time for the most pointless contest in music: the Christmas Number One Single. It may be slightly meaningless, and it may well end up being won by some talent-show contestant with nothing interesting about him whatsoever; but at least it gets people buying and listening to music. I hope.

The Last.FM website is campaigning to get “Lips are Unhappy” by Lucky Soul to the top of the charts. They have a lot of users, but I’m not sure they’re going to make it. Radio One, on the other hand, is apparently backing “We’re All Going To Die” by Malcolm Middleton. Now, “We’re All Going To Die” is a wonderful song. It’s the opening track to Middleton‘s last album, the one with the David Shrigley artwork, and it’s a lively, exciting, life-affirming piece of music, a wonderful thing to play at this time of year.^* I’d be completely behind it, if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s Radio One supporting the damn thing. Admittedly, one of their better DJs, and someone who works hard to broaden the range of what the station plays; but still, I feel slightly odd about the idea of agreeing with a Radio One-related campaign.

* Never mind what the title says, and never mind it being by someone out of Arab Strap, it’s not actually depressing at all.

Keyword noise: chart music, Yuletide, Christmas, Christmas number one, Colin Murray, Malcolm Middleton, music, BBC, Radio One.

The Archers, The Avengers, Roy Of The Rovers, Quatermass, Angela Carter, P. G. Wodehouse, Giles, George Orwell. Hi-de-Hi, Spenser, Shakespeare, Crowley, Dee, The Prisoner. James Bond, Scoop!, and Bulldog Drummond. Virginia Woolf and John Cleland, all bound together on different paper stocks.

I’ve been reading The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen: The Black Dossier, which I picked up from Travelling Man‘s Newcastle shop yesterday. And that’s only the references I spotted myself, without reading any annotations. As Ian said recently, “Alan Moore is geekier than all of us.”

Keyword noise: Alan Moore, Black Dossier, comics, graphic novels, League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen.

Having written that big review of Indietracks the other day, I’d almost forgotten to mention the gig I’d been to the day before: Patrick Wolf, at the Middlesbrough Institute Of Modern Art, a venue so stylish they insist on only ever being referred to in small letters: “mima”.^* You could argue that it’s been done, but never mind.

The venue itself is a large, glass-fronted edifice in Centre Square, opposite the victorian Town Hall. The gig was held right by one of the windows; and as we were walking round the building trying to find the queue, other gig-goers were impressed they could see the crew setting up. “I saw Patrick Wolf!” one screamed. “With my EYES!”

Patrick Wolf is fashionable at the moment – popping up on the NME’s Cool List and Albums Of The Year^** – so there were lots of Fashionable People in the audience; or, rather, lots of teenagers of the sort who think the NME’s Cool List is important. Plenty of tight trousers, and emo hair. Mr Wolf outdid them all, though, turning up onstage in a blue gingham outfit which looked vaguely like a Tyrolean barmaid’s costume, glitter covering any and all exposed skin, and artfully-tousled yellow hair dangling over his left eye. The careful placing of the hair didn’t last long, though; by the fifth song it had been pushed out of the way so he could see properly.

His music’s good, though. His singing voice makes me jealous of its strength, and he makes melodic, synthetic, original landscape-based pop. He deserves to be where he is, in fact, in the press and on the telly, because he’s very good at what he does, and there’s noone else really doing it.

* Even on all the road signs round the town. This gig, too, was K’s idea to attend.

** And popping up on Never Mind The Buzzcocks tonight, which is probably slightly less fashionable.

Keyword noise: gig, live music, Middlesbrough, Middlesbrough Institute Of Modern Art, mima, music, Patrick Wolf, review.

Pasta, prosciutto, and tomato sauce.

Ingredients:

• Lemon pasta. I’m not entirely sure what sort of pasta it was, and I’ve mislaid the packet; but it was a bit like thick linguine. And lemon-flavoured.
• 125g Proscu Prosch Parma ham, sliced.
• 1 red onion
• 1 clove garlic
• 1 tin chopped tomatoes
• 1/3 tsp paprika
• Grated parmesan

Put the pasta on to boil. Chop the onion and crush the garlic, and fry them in a large frying pan until soft. Roughly chop the prosciutto into pieces maybe up to an inch square, and add it to the pan. Drain the tomatoes, keeping the juice. When the ham is well-cooked, add the tomatoes, the paprika, and a little of the tomato juice, and turn the heat down slightly. If the mixture becomes too dry, add more of the tomato juice. When the pasta is cooked, drain it, and stir it into the sauce, cooking it on a medium heat until everything is thoroughly mixed in. Divide into bowls, sprinkle with parmesan, and serve. Serves two.

Keyword noise: food, linguine, parma ham, pasta, prosciutto, recipe, tomato sauce.

Every month I promise myself to start Blogging Properly again, and every time I’m tired.

I still haven’t mentioned much about last Saturday: a mysterious midwinter pop festival, somewhere on a train between Ambergate and Pye Bridge.^* We arrived early, and lurked around the railway station warming our hands by the fire.

First band. The Deirdres are some of the most enthusiastic people I’ve seen on the stage for a long time; they haven’t become cynical enough to hide their enthusiasm yet. They bounce about between different instruments, fight over the percussion, banter with each other and put themselves down, but their joyfulness comes through in the music. They’ll accidentally start Demo Mode on their Casio and apologise for it sounding better than they do; and Russell Deirdre has a picture of a steam train on his glockenspiel case, which has to be a good thing.

Second band. The Poppycocks have applied a lot more polish to their work, and have turned the amps up a bit whilst the audience weren’t looking. They’re bright and cheerful, with a hint of 1960s bubblegum and brocaded jackets; and waste no time getting The Deirdres to work on a few organised dance moves. “This song’s called The History Teacher, it’s about, er, a history teacher … so maybe for this one your actions can be books, turning pages, things like that.” Miles Poppycock had a badge on his lapel that he’d snaffled from somewhere around the railway station. Finding myself stood by him later on, I sneaked a quick look: it said “I’ve been on the Santa Special!”^**

Headliners: **The Icicles** had come a long long way, indeed, so much so that everyone in the audience was invited to sign a Christmas card for them. As we were lurking around the gig early (see above), we got to sign it first! So if any Icicles are reading this, we’re the couple who had plenty of space to write long messages like “Thanks for coming so far”.^*** Their tour manager, on the merch stall, is a very friendly chap too. We walked off the train into the empty marquee, to find them in place and almost bursting to play. “Do we just start? Is anyone else coming?” “Nah, everyone else is staying on the train,” I said, and after a few seconds’ confusion they kicked into their first track.

As for the music: it’s the sort of thing that I’d never say no to, sweet vocal harmonies over jangling guitars, and good enough for me to buy the albums straight after the gig. The song about Gretchen Icicle’s cat^***** was a bit too sweet and romanticised, at least if her cat is anything like mine, but you might call it a kind of romantic lullaby. I wanted to mention the music first, because every other review of the Icicles probably mentions their matching and home-made stage outfits first – in fact, I enjoyed myself during the first two bands by spotting members of the Icicles, by spotting the hems of their stage outfits peeking out under their winter jackets. That’s not important, though – it’s important as part of the experience,^****** but not compared to the music. The whole experience – dark winter cold, the 1950s steam train, the fire-lit footplate – gives the festival an amazing atmosphere; but the music is what we were there for.

Other people who were probably there: The Autumn Store, and this chap on Flickr.^*** I was planning to take the camera myself – but discovered too late that all my batteries were dead. Arse.

* It was K’s idea to go. Thank you!

** This is a British railway museum, and it’s December. Of course there’s going to be a Santa Special.

*** Or words to that effect

**** I checked very thoroughly to see if he’d caught either of us in the background anywhere. He hasn’t.

***** I was a bit misled, as I saw a song called “Gedge” on the setlist and thought: “ooh, a song about The Wedding Present.” But, no, Gretchen Icicle’s cat is named after David Gedge instead.

****** The Deirdres, too, had themed stage outfits, customised appliqué t-shirts with their names on; and they make them to sell to the fans, too. The Icicles sell badges made from their fabric offcuts.

Keyword noise: Butterley, Derbyshire, gig, glockenspiel, indie, Indietracks, live music, Midland Railway Centre, music, railway, review, Ripley, The Deirdres, The Icicles, The Poppycocks.

News story of the week: John Darwin, the man who disappeared, mostly, then came back again after the police started raising their eyebrows. The question, of course, is: why would you disappear, only to come back again with such publicity?

Well, I reckon I’ve worked it out. Never mind insurance money; I think Darwin’s worked out he’s had an interesting life, what with all the disappearing, and wanting to return. So why come back? To sell the film rights, of course. I bet there’s “Untitled John Darwin Project” up on IMDB before the end of the decade. Just you wait and see.

Keyword noise: biopic, fraud, John Darwin, Teesside, vanishing.

Why is it that Sweden has so many good bands? Why is it, in particular, that it has so many good indiepop bands? I don’t understand it. It’s a shame more of them aren’t better-known in England; I wish I knew more about them, to tell you about them. I’m sure Dimitra could compile a list of 103 excellent Swedish indiepop bands who started in their teens and have only ever released on vinyl,^* but I can’t, and I wish I could.

I’m almost tempted to start posting “Obscure Swedish band of the week” on here, though. Recently I’ve been listening a lot to the latest Pelle Carlberg album, In A Nutshell,^** which is very very good, and very very catchy; cheerful tunes and sharp lyrics. When someone comes up with song titles like “I Love You, You Imbecile”, how can you not love their writing in return? Not to mention “Clever Girls Like Clever Boys Much More Than Clever Boys Like Clever Girls”. And, as for the catchiness, I’ve been loudly singing “Middleclass Kid” to myself all morning. Go out there and listen to him, because he makes intelligent, witty, and extremely listenable records.

* I’m exaggerating. Sorry, Dimitra. But not by much. I did have one band in mind that she’s told me about in the past, a teenage brother and sister I think, but I’ve completely forgotten everything she told me other than that they were very very good.

** Which K told me about. Here’s your footnote!

Keyword noise: album, In A Nutshell, indie, music, Pelle Carlberg, review, Sweden.

The Mother is always fond of saying: “you know, with your brain and your skills, you could have done so much better for a career! You could have done anything you wanted!”

So, when we heard on the news this morning about the teenager who allegedly made millions from internet crime, I was slightly surprised she didn’t say anything. I was almost expecting: “Why didn’t you do that? You’re just as bright as he is! You could have made millions from botnets and fraud by now if you’d only put your mind to it!”

Keyword noise: career, crime, internet, millionaire, The Mother.