There's a fleamarket which I pass on the way home from signing on. There's stalls selling pet toys, teenage clothes, mobile phone accessories, rucksacks, rugs and all kinds of stuff you never knew you didn't want - all at knockdown prices, and and all sold by vaguely shifty men who just might get some of their stock by breaking into warehouses.
One I usually stop at is moving away from comics and music CDs, into games and DVDs - so the man in charge (and his son, who has loud conversations with girls about his boyfriends) are selling off CDs on special offer - 3 for UKP1. Well, for 33 pence a disc, I can afford to check out new music.
One CD is "Fireworks" by an acoustic folk/pop band (or solo performer?) called Pele. It's packaged like an album (which I thought it was), but has "CD single" printed in tiny letters, but consists of 2 discs with 7 songs between them. Oh well, there you go.
The second is This is techno, Volume 4. If I were feeling pedantic, I'd point out that it's actually 12 tracks of rave, not techno. The sleevenotes tell me Volume 2 is still available, but no sign of volumes 1 or 3 - I wonder if some bright young marketing executive thought it was a really cool gimmick to issue a series with missing numbers.
Maybe I should call my first album Kapitano, Greatest Hits, Volume 3?
The third is the kind of real find that's the whole point of trawling fleamarket music stalls. It's an album called "Dressing for Pleasure" by Bluescreen - and I bought it because I once spent 6 months researching the subtlties of bluescreen technology.
It's 13 tracks of downtempo acid jazz/cool instrumental triphop/sample based chillout, and it's my current musical squeeze.
Spock is now on steroids. They don't turn him into supermutt, but he has regained some alertness. The vet isn't optimistic - we'll just have to see what happens.
A night out with Simon M, slightly hampered by both gay pubs having karaoke nights - one themed as crap disco from the 70s, the other as crap showtunes from the 50s (as covered by Robbie Williams).
There is a 3rd gay pub, scheduled for demolition in the council's scheme to revitalise the economy by knocking down the current shopping presinct (so called) in the town centre (so called), and building in it's place a more expensive shopping presinct in the town centre. It's the same place as the fleamarket.
I thought the plan would go the same way as the national plan to merge all regional police forces - into the dustbin after an expensive feasability study showing what anyone with half a brain cell could tell you in ten seconds. But no. We are destined for yet another revitalised local economy. Be still my fart.
Simon says I'm turning into a curmudgeon, by the way.
On the way home, a call from CW. He missed me, wished I was there to give him a big hug and, well, so did I. I almost got a taxi there just to meet him at 0200 in the rain.
I really don't need to feel this way. H and I almost fell in love 2 or 3 times, but were sensible enough not to - it was bad timing for us both. M tried to engineer a romance with excellent home cooking and strenuous denials that he was lonely and looking for a relationship.
The way D made me feel - I'd mug old ladies in the street to feel the highs again, and mug a dozen old ladies to avoid the lows. I really don't need to feel like that again.
S and R both fell for me (don't ask me why) and I felt obliged to try to reciprocate, which led to all the bitterness you'd expect. Before them all there was P - and I felt frightfully mature at 19 dumping him because I was supposed to be his (and his partner's) bit on the side, and we were getting a little too close.
Now with C - I think he deserves the single letter - there's no big operatic crashing of emotion, and sex isn't really important, we just feel incomplete when seperate.
Sixteen years ago, I was swapping cassette copies of interesting music with my cousin, Mark.
One tape he sent me (it might have been the last one) contained tracks from the album "Heart of Darkness" by Hoodlum Priest. An album of rap music...that wasn't like any other rap I'd heard.
Mysogeny, glorification of violence, hatred of gays or jews - all were absent. Oh, there were lyrics about some of these, but they were thoughtful, self-doubting, sometimes ironic. And I don't mean the pseudoironic provocations of Eminem.
Instead of the usual gangsta-crap, there was imaginative use of samples, futuristic and dark themes, and an experimental attitude to sound that you just didn't hear in pop music.
I tried occasionally over the years to find the album - the tape copy wasn't good quality - but always drew a blank. Now I find it, and the second album, are available for free download in high quality mp3. And which copyright infringing pirate has done this? It's the man behind Hoodlum Priest - Derek Thompson, who turns out to be (a) not black (b) not American and (c) the actor I fancied off Casualty in the 80s! (Well, almost. Same name. Cough).
I've sent him an ever-so-slightly gushing fan email, and I'm listening to the album now.
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Can I put my order in for Greatest Hits Volume 3 already?
ReplyDeleteI think you just have.
ReplyDeleteEspecially if I get a sneak preview of the upcoming Rumours of Whores album. Don't tell me one isn't planned :-).