I'm by no means a frequent cinema-goer or film buff, and it's probably just as well that I don't have a collection of DVDs to rival my hundreds of CDs. Saying that, I have recently seen The Flying Scotsman, which is the film version of the Graeme Obree story - see the title link for more on Obree. The drive to reach those kind of world record feats is something I struggle to relate to, and I'm sure my own efforts to overcome the traditional family temperamental and competitive traits that make that sort of thing easier have made my life drastically less fraught, and more settled than might otherwise have been the case. Regardless of exactly what the records books show, with and without all the interference and goalpost moving shenanigans targeted specifically at Obree and his riding position, the world's a far better place for that particularly single-minded sort of invention and willingness to experiment. As to the film, it's clear that it's something based on a story rather than a strict documentary account, but Jonny Lee Miller is excellent and the story it tells is pretty effectively told and filmed. I wish Obree himself the best of continued mental health, there's no doubt he's been through more than enough already. And if you haven't seen it, I thoroughly recommend it.

Labels: cycling, film, Flying Scotsman, Graeme Obree

Nah, of course I haven't. But that's the title of the email you get when someone does that, I've discovered. It's a curious thing, the shift in technology trends at any one point, half the blogs I'm still linked to are no longer being updated, and haven't been for some time. Some people moved from blogs to myspace, some no doubt from myspace to bebo, to facebook and a few other places besides. I've watched most of these changes, and pretty much all I see is that I'm happy where I am. Myspace I find intrusive, especially on sites with a lot of graphic content where you get no choice but to have music playing for the fifteen seconds it takes for the page to load sufficiently that you can get to the control to stop it, and facebook's firstname+lastname basis has obvious drawbacks that I'm not about to entertain. And in any case, I've been easily findable on that basis for about the last six years through what was probably the first majorly popular social (re)networking site. This is my three hundred and sixty-somethingth post in less than three years, which works out at a post every three days, more or less. I'm entirely happy with that, as it is the text based commentary that works for me. While I've got the other options of flickr for still photography content, and youtube for the limited moving content I've produced, I think I've got everything covered. At the same time, I'm still a sucker for conspiracy and stunts of all kinds, and here's one that's come my way today. It's a neat, jaunty little pop song from Rhodri Marsden and The Schema that's instantly gone flying up the youtube watching charts, and you never know I might even splash the cash to buy the single. I've certainly sat through worse, and the DIY independence gives it an additional allure you don't get every day.

Labels: blogs, facebook, myspace, Rhodri Marsden, The Schema, youtube

The anniversary of Elvis' death comes just before Phil Lynott's birthday. And even if Lynott did write King's Call about Elvis, I know which of the two meant more to me. It's interesting (though ultimately fruitless) to speculate what he'd have made of what's happened to rock music in the last twenty years, but the examples of his solo albums, The Greedies and even Paul Hardcastle's work on Nineteen* make me think he might well have moved with the times rather than fought against them. Happy birthday Philo, may the angels be watching over you.** * No, two different songs of the same name. ** Spirit Slips Away from the album Fighting, 1975.

Labels: Phil Lynott, rock, Thin Lizzy

For many bands, carrying on having lost a member who was a major creative force is difficult, if not impossible. And yet every now and then, the enjoyment of making music together keeps those who are still around interested in carrying on to some degree. When I first saw Big Country, I was possibly expecting too much, and without going back to my diary to check, I'm fairly comfortable saying I thought they were great but not quite earth-shattering. They're another band I have more than one album by, and who I definitely like, but for one reason or another never became a devoted fan of. All the same, I was very much saddened by Stuart Adamson's death, and touched by another band who first toured with Big Country dedicating a song to him in their live performances at the time. A gig by Tony Butler, Bruce Watson and Mark Unpronounceablename (as those of us of a certain age and a history of Smash Hits reading will always think of him) as a trio was a very interesting prospect, and one that could have gone several different ways. Rosie Jones' support slot fits somewhere close to Carina Round's mixture of melody and screaming, with a dollop of Lily Allen's almost spoken delivery in places, and Tennessee in particular is good fun. Not something I'm going to chase hard, but I'll be interested to see how her writing develops if our paths cross in the future. Bruce in particular looks like he's having a great time, and Tony, in between taking most of the lead vocals, looks like someone who'd liven up even the dreariest party, so it's great to see people enjoying what they do to start with. Stuart is mentioned enough times that the gig is a worthy tribute without descending into an overmawkish spectacle of sentiment, and leaving it to the crowd to sing the vocal on Chance is a nice touch. The Teacher rocks like a quarryload of granite, Look Away bounces like Zebedee on a bouncy castle, the few new songs sound like they fit right in, and the final encore of In A Big Country finishes early enough for me to be on my way home by 22.15. Here's a set of their autographs, collected eighteen years ago, and my recollection of meeting them to get these was of warm and friendly, personable and approachable chaps, anything but the archetypal rock star nonsense. Given the chance, I'd recommend you check them out, and you will be in Wonderland!

Labels: Big Country, Bruce Watson, gigs, Mark Brzezicki, music, reformations, rock, Stuart Adamson, Tony Butler

After the idleness of the close season, and the distant, blissful ignorance of what goes on behind the scenes, it's back to earth with a bump. The last game I went to that had a little extra added road rage value was against the same opposition, and it was up there and someone obviously local, at a game we lost; this time it could have been anyone's moron, but there's still no excuse for that sort of dangerous impatience. It tells you something about how the season's started if dubious omens of off-field events leading to home wins are already edging into the picture, and a summer spent dismantling the previous squad and partially building a new one changes very little from last season's struggling. I'll gloss over the details of the game, but it's safe to say that nobody's pessimism was disappointed! One defeat down, and most of the season to go. All the same, it makes everything interesting to see what slightly different flavour of struggle we might be facing this time around, and getting to recognise all the new faces is going to keep me busy for a little while.

Labels: football

Just in case anyone was wondering, this is what 5kg of chocolate looks like. It's another thing to like about the continent, you get a better class of checkout staff reaction - when I was buying the bulk of this, I was offered the entirely sensible suggestion that I might wish to consider a little moderation in my chocolate consumption. Given that this will be my lot till next easter probably, I'm not too worried just yet, though I guess I have now clarified exactly how I'm open to bribery and corruption!

Labels: chocolate, greed, sweet tooth, vice

After a short break, posting resumes with the news that I'm pleased to be back home to start another football season consisting of about two weeks of hope, and eight months of desperation. There's something about being back in my own bed that's pretty unbeatable, but there's another thing to look forward to and that's working through the autumn touring schedules. The last few years seem to have proven that barring death, almost every band comes back together sooner or later, and often in addition to or despite members moving on to other, bigger and/or better things. Even Robert Plant was recently seen explaining how Roger Daltrey keeps asking him 'why don't you give them what they want?' so the reunion bug really does get absolutely everywhere. Nevertheless, it's a matter of incredible excitement and glee to find myself looking forward to another unexpected reformation delight, namely that the headline slot of Blaze Bayley at Tamworth Rock Of Ages Festival is to be supplemented by a reunion set by the mighty Wolfsbane. It's not for no reason that my HMS card is one of the few items that remains in my wallet all the time, and it's not like there was much of a chance to say a proper goodbye after somebody legged it to join Maiden either. Even though I've run into Jeff a few times over the years, and heard some work Jase's been part of, there's some unfinished business, and that's without the mouth-watering prospect that they might like each other enough to want to do some more. Never say never. Chances of my limited readership here being familiar with Wolfsbane are on the low side, but I can safely say there is no other band on earth I would rather see reform unless the current rules on death and resurrection are radically changed. And I'm utterly thrilled that once again, we're gonna paint the town red.

Labels: Blaze Bayley, reformations, rock, Wolfsbane