I meant to write about Yacht Rock, I really did. I like the word ‘yacht’ on account of how definite it sounds when anybody says it and I like how it’s spelled. I don’t particularly like yachts themselves but nor do I dislike them especially. I don’t know much – no, I don’t know anything about…
Game Of Moans. Or, I Am The Heel That Defends The (Under)whelm(ed) Of Men. And Women.
I like Game of Thrones. Or, rather, I still like Game of Thrones, as in the present tense. I’m not one of those people who get tattoos of it or who call their children Khaleesi or who go on holiday to the locations it’s filmed at, but I enjoy it nonetheless. To qualify that statement…
Oh Jackie, I Want You Backie. Or, Farewell Scott Walker, The Captain Of The Love Boat.
My earliest memory of celebrity death is that of Elvis. I was six and it was the summer holidays. My Dad was usually the one who was at home with me and, while I’d be bodding off and about with the kids who lived near me, I always came home for dinner. His culinary expertise…
How Much Is That Dogma In The Window? Or, Altruism & Why Being Right Might Not Be As Important As You Think.
In one of these post/rants/whatever they are, ramblings, mainly – I wrote about how, when I used to teach Biology, I’d ask kids whether they believed in evolution or creationism and how practically every one of the thousands of kids I’ve been in classrooms with said that they believed in evolution but, when questioned about…
Unsigned, Peeled, Bequivered. A Small Story Of A Local Band: Part 4.
Bogwoppit had what Shandy Boberts may have balked at describing as a ‘team‘ because it consisted of two other people who actually did things. Shandy would have probably referred to the three people as an army. One was a handyman who was building – and making an unusually good job of it – the studios….
Unsigned, Peeled, Bequivered. A Small Story Of A Local Band: Part 3.
Management ‘team‘, as Shandy Boberts liked to describe the set up in the box room of his house in Northallerton in place; an unusually large local following and songs flowing thick and fast in my living room, we were “poised,” as he described it, to start making it into “The Big Time“. Nothing could have…
Unsigned, Peeled, Bequivered. A Small Story Of A Local Band: Part 2.
The timing of The Drummer’s sacking and the recruitment of Moggy was what you might call ordinary. We’d been working towards a date at the end of Hull university’s academic year when they had a festival planned. Demos were being taken in by the organisers in order to establish the lineup and running order…
Woke Gets In Your Eyes. Or The Times, They Are(n’t) A-Changing. Separating Art From Artists.
“Nobody knows what I’m talking about. I’ve got my own life to live. I’m the one that’s gotta die, When it’s time for me to die. So let me live my life the way I want to.” If 6 Was 9 – Jimi Hendrix. I’m into that. Maybe not the word ‘let‘ because you shouldn’t…
The Flaws Of Perception. Or, On The Cis Pension Of Reality.
This post came about after hearing a transgendered person stating in a television interview that, “I want to be perceived as female.” I’d been thinking about perception and reality for some time and this person made me realise something I’d not previously considered. I’d been contemplating the different ways that different people perceive reality and,…
Unsigned, Peeled, Bequivered – A Small Story Of A Local Band – Part 1.
This is the the story of the last real band I was in. I say ‘real’ band because since then I’ve played here and there with bands who play covers at weddings, bar mitzvahs, birthdays and what have you but I don’t consider those to be real bands. Real bands write their own songs and,…
