I'm back in Toronto, Canada for my yearly visit. Ever since I left here (in '96) I've managed a trip back at least once a year. Some visits have been amazing and left me wistfully (if briefly) flirting with the idea of coming back here to live...but if I'm truthful, it's easy to don rose-coloured specs when it comes to my home town, simply because I know I don't have to stay here.
I suppose the fact that I spend most of my time down on the Harbourfront lends itself to idealising this fair city. I'm not so sure the suburbs would hold such appeal (although a private swimming pool and lots of space seem like heaven to me), nor would a backwater town where the only local entertainment is 'karaoke night' in a tragic 'nightclub' cum bar. But down here at Harbourfront with the gorgeous expanse of sparkling blue waters, peacefully gliding sailboats and a becoming promenade, it's hard to think of anywhere else that is this delightful in summer. (Let's not even go into how this heavenly summer paradise turns into a desolate icy wasteland in winter...when it gets so cold sometimes that it hurts to breathe outside. The only thing for it is to get drunk in your basement 'rec room' as often as possible, watch a lot of television and sports, and stuff your face on the plentiful array of junk foods available everywhere.)
In London in the summer, if you can find yourself in a park with some mates and a few bottles of chilled 'Sancerre' then there is no reason not to be utterly blissed out and content. If however, you are commuting on the tube or bus and have to endure stifling journeys twice daily on an overcrowded transport system with your chin wedged right up someone sweaty armpit and inhaling various peoples stale breath - then it is hell. The pollution in summer seems to solidify and at times you feel like you're actually swallowing the car fumes and hot pungeant air. Tourists abound and it's a daily fight to even get near hotspots like Westminster Bridge and Southbank. Italiens, Polish, Japanese and eager Americans all walk six abreast in their sandals and 'crazy' t-shirts, snapping every old building they come across (and believe me there are a few) and paying no heed as to whether there is a huge queue behind them waiting to pass. When you're hot and irritable and need to be somewhere in a hurry it's tempting to fantasise about shoving the odd one onto the road where a crazy London motorcyclist may very well dispense with them. Evil thoughts I know - but living in close quarters with annoying neighbours and oblivious tourists in an overcrowded city often brings out the worst in poeple.
Conversely, it is so refreshing to walk into a store in Toronto and instead of being simply ignored, be greeted with an enthusiastic hello and an offer to help you locate something. Customer service is important here in Canada, but not so in London. There, if you can even get the attention of sales staff, they'll get pissed off if they're interrupted while conversing with a co-worker...that is if they don't just ignore you altogether while you stand there making uncomfortable grimaces and saying 'excuse me' over and over like a twat.
What i always find amusing, everytime i come here, is how locals always ask me where i'm from as they can't 'place' my accent. Basically, just because i don't speak with a Canadian twang they assume I have an accent when in reality i'm just speaking with a 'mid-atlantic' tone. But it must be said that whenever i spend more than a few weeks here, when I go back to London I inevitably speak a little strangely for the first few weeks - this is even more the case when i've been to the deep south of America. For whatever the reason I assimilate North American accents into my voice yet can't for the life of me pass off a realistic British accent. This means that every single time I take a cab in London i invariably get taken round 'the long way' and asked how long i'm visiting for. There are benefits though. If i ever get caught without a valid ticket on a journey in the UK I simply look up innocently, put on the 'twang' and claim to be a naive tourist. Works a treat.
Friday, 22 June 2007
Sunday, 10 June 2007
EUROVISION HELL...LOSING IT
Okay, so how do you explain this? It's been ages since i've had the time to sit down and pound out (mentally and on my poor battered synth) a new tune - despite my constant desire and best of intentions. Stupid stuff like banking blunders, nasty ebay sellers, dire mobile phone customer service operators, etc. keep stealing my precious leisure time...not that there is even that much to begin with!
Telly series come and go (yes, alright, i confess - none too proudly - that i'm a pathetic telly addict), seasons do the same, and right when strawberries are back in season I'm reminded that life is just slipping away...and me with it. Which brings me to my point. You know how many inspired artists always say that their ideas just 'popped unbidden' into their heads? Well, it's a feeling I relate too as that has always been the case with me. 99% inspiration and 1% perspiration (which could explain the plethora of musical tracks lying resolutely on my hard drive and the lack of any record deals.....but i digress).
I awoke this morning with a start to realise that the 'gods' of artistic inspiration are angry with me. No, they're pissed actually. I know this because I awoke to a fully formed 'Eurovion-esque' Turkish/Maltese melody along with equally revolting accompanying lyrics in my head. The more I tried to block the cheese-tastic euro beats pounding away merciously in my brain, the more they took over and new and more grotesque lines wrote themselves line after line.So, I'm going to do what any other self-respecting telly head would do in my position. I'm going to go shove some m&m's down my throat, inhale a giant cappucino and flip on E4 to see the latest Big Brother shananigans until my head returns to normal. If it doesn't, then at least I'll enjoy my sugar comedown whilst watching unfortunates even stupider than myself. Adios.
Telly series come and go (yes, alright, i confess - none too proudly - that i'm a pathetic telly addict), seasons do the same, and right when strawberries are back in season I'm reminded that life is just slipping away...and me with it. Which brings me to my point. You know how many inspired artists always say that their ideas just 'popped unbidden' into their heads? Well, it's a feeling I relate too as that has always been the case with me. 99% inspiration and 1% perspiration (which could explain the plethora of musical tracks lying resolutely on my hard drive and the lack of any record deals.....but i digress).
I awoke this morning with a start to realise that the 'gods' of artistic inspiration are angry with me. No, they're pissed actually. I know this because I awoke to a fully formed 'Eurovion-esque' Turkish/Maltese melody along with equally revolting accompanying lyrics in my head. The more I tried to block the cheese-tastic euro beats pounding away merciously in my brain, the more they took over and new and more grotesque lines wrote themselves line after line.So, I'm going to do what any other self-respecting telly head would do in my position. I'm going to go shove some m&m's down my throat, inhale a giant cappucino and flip on E4 to see the latest Big Brother shananigans until my head returns to normal. If it doesn't, then at least I'll enjoy my sugar comedown whilst watching unfortunates even stupider than myself. Adios.
Thursday, 10 May 2007
okay, so here is what i was wondering...my favourite stephen king novel is actually a short story called, 'the long walk' wherein a group of people prepare to walk a race which only one of them can win. i first read it in university and i remember feeling so INSPIRED when i finished it. it was like a clarion call to arms to those of us who had deep, passionate dreams we wanted to fulfull and who viewed the world as limitless in possibility and didn't truly know the realities of scope. i felt like the story was meant as a personal message to me and swore that i would never forget how i felt and would never, ever stop trying to achieve my dreams.
well it just so happens that there are three things i have always wanted to do since i can remember (around age 5 is when i first recall that distinct hunger that came from deep inside...standing in the school playground vowing never to have an 'ordinary' job like my teacher, but to make songs, write books and be an actress. Those three things have always been what i desire most. However as the years have progressed i've fallen a bit out of love with acting (all that waiting around, the almost impossibility of getting hired in the UK when i steadfastly cling onto my north atlantic accent, and the distaste of imagining all the lewd love scenes i might have to grimace through while 'paying my dues'.....so no...i put that to one side.) As for the writing, although i've kept journals my whole life, and indeed have gotten a few pieces published here and there, i feel that writing is something i shall do until the day i die and I do not really feel like devoting every waking hour to painstakingly carving out the plot of a novel i might lose interest in halfway through.
No, music is my baby. It's the thing that makes me feel most alive, most real, and quite simply, most happy. All my life i've been making up songs - when i was a child i would relish the times i was alone in the house so i could play at being on an imaginary stage and belt out my recent compositions. ( I would like it to be noted however that i never, ever, attempted dance moves..even from that early age hop-stepping around, gyrating and general sexy lewd manoeverings were never my thing. Girl band fodder i am not!)
I am however, one of those people who have had a soundtrack accompany them throughout their lives. i never just went grocery shopping. i always had a tape player/cd player/mini disc/ipod jammed into my ears and would keep time with the drums and bass as i went about my life. Music makes the world truly 3D. It gets me high. It keeps me sane. It moves me like nothing else can, or ever will.
So anyway, recently i re-read 'The Long Walk' and it kind of freaked me out. The story hadn't changed, but i had. The flush of anticipation upon finishing it was exchanged for a deep-seated feeling of dread. I'm older, wiser, and more jaded. My naivety has been somewhat replaced by realism. Is it too late? When is it too late? But you know what......?
If one person - preferably someone i don't even know...might one night, play one of my songs and feel something...anything...then i will have succeeded. Then I will somehow be connected to all that music (and the musicians) who have sustained me and my spirit over the years. That's all i want.
oh yeah, and a big fat record deal so i could produce my songs properly also wouldn't go amiss :)
better sign off before i get too heavy (but maybe it's too late for that)
laters
me
well it just so happens that there are three things i have always wanted to do since i can remember (around age 5 is when i first recall that distinct hunger that came from deep inside...standing in the school playground vowing never to have an 'ordinary' job like my teacher, but to make songs, write books and be an actress. Those three things have always been what i desire most. However as the years have progressed i've fallen a bit out of love with acting (all that waiting around, the almost impossibility of getting hired in the UK when i steadfastly cling onto my north atlantic accent, and the distaste of imagining all the lewd love scenes i might have to grimace through while 'paying my dues'.....so no...i put that to one side.) As for the writing, although i've kept journals my whole life, and indeed have gotten a few pieces published here and there, i feel that writing is something i shall do until the day i die and I do not really feel like devoting every waking hour to painstakingly carving out the plot of a novel i might lose interest in halfway through.
No, music is my baby. It's the thing that makes me feel most alive, most real, and quite simply, most happy. All my life i've been making up songs - when i was a child i would relish the times i was alone in the house so i could play at being on an imaginary stage and belt out my recent compositions. ( I would like it to be noted however that i never, ever, attempted dance moves..even from that early age hop-stepping around, gyrating and general sexy lewd manoeverings were never my thing. Girl band fodder i am not!)
I am however, one of those people who have had a soundtrack accompany them throughout their lives. i never just went grocery shopping. i always had a tape player/cd player/mini disc/ipod jammed into my ears and would keep time with the drums and bass as i went about my life. Music makes the world truly 3D. It gets me high. It keeps me sane. It moves me like nothing else can, or ever will.
So anyway, recently i re-read 'The Long Walk' and it kind of freaked me out. The story hadn't changed, but i had. The flush of anticipation upon finishing it was exchanged for a deep-seated feeling of dread. I'm older, wiser, and more jaded. My naivety has been somewhat replaced by realism. Is it too late? When is it too late? But you know what......?
If one person - preferably someone i don't even know...might one night, play one of my songs and feel something...anything...then i will have succeeded. Then I will somehow be connected to all that music (and the musicians) who have sustained me and my spirit over the years. That's all i want.
oh yeah, and a big fat record deal so i could produce my songs properly also wouldn't go amiss :)
better sign off before i get too heavy (but maybe it's too late for that)
laters
me
TREADING WATER
I've been quiet for awhile. A combination of having had a lot going on in my personal life and not feeling like i've had anything terribly important to say. I'm going through my 'Treading Water' phase at the moment. Don't misunderstand - i'm not saving the world or busy volunteering at a charity...nor am I out caning it every night or working too hard at a job i despise. No, i'm simply caught up in the prickly business of living. And not doing terribly well at it in my opinion.
There is one interesting thing I've realised. When i was younger, I felt utterly swept away on tides of emotions. I'm sure some of it was hormonal, chemical, substance-induced, whatever....But I was also more prone to turbulant tossing and turning if circumstance had been kind/unkind to me. I literally felt like a helpless prisoner and just tried my best to stay above water so to speak, and ride the waves. These days though, I am so self-aware (not entirely a good thing, but whatever) that I know what phase I'm in when I stop and think about it. That's why I mentioned earlier that I'm in my 'Treading Water' phase. This particular part of my unique (possibly warped) cycle, indicates that I currently have no energy for pursuing new things/friends/endeavors at the moment. I don't just mean that I'm devoid of physical energy, but that emotionally and mentally I've navel-gazed myself into a familiar hole and now, much like a disgruntled polar bear i've got to wait out the hibernation until i feel ready to tackle the world again.
This stage could last hours, days or weeks. I've really no idea. Sometimes, not dissimiliar to that old game of 'Snakes n' Ladders' I can slide down to the depths suddenly and without warning (ie. get some bad news...experience a big personal setback). Or coversely a set of steps might magically appear before me (an unexpected windfall....a great job...some amazing news) lifting me immediately out of this place into the better and far happier land of 'Anything Might Happen."
This is my favourite place. It's where I feel most amazing, and wait for good fortune to find me. I am at my most 'smile-iest', i exude confidence (if for no other reason than I AM confidant), and I notice that people are more drawn to me because I'm radiating such positive energy.
And therein lies the crux. Just like you need money to make money, you need a bit of good fortune or good luck to kickstart an otherwise humdrum life. Maybe it's an amazing job you aren't necessarily qualified for that you somehow manage to bag...or maybe you meet the most amazing person completey as a fluke and realise that they are the 'soulmate' you've never believed existed...or you're cleaning out your drawers and come across an envelope stuffed full of notes that you completely forgot you had...or your agent rings you out of the blue with an amazing job which will pay you a fortune and turn you into a player once again....or.....or just something which takes your from your current mundane state and turns you into a 'contender'. In literature I believe it's referred to as, 'Fortune smiling down upon you'.
Is it selfish to wish for more than you have? Certainly in this day and age it is. There are starving, tortured souls scattered around the world. But by the same token, there are individuals around the globe who are living fulfilled, captivating lives. They are making a difference, meeting extraordinary people, seeing their dreams come to fruition, or maybe even just having so much fun it's criminal. It really depends on where you want to place yourself on the human map. Do you want to carve out a cosy, comfy existence for yourself...a niche where you and your mates can block out the rest of the world, drink wine and proliferate on all things amusing and strange? Create your own 'Neverland' and coast through life blissfully chilled with the psychological buffer of lots of friends and lots of laughs? Nice one...you're lucky if that's an option.
Maybe you want to sell up, consolidate your life and take off on an amazing journey around the world...becoming someone of no fixed address and no idea where you'll be in five years (let alone five months). If this is so, then I salute you. There is a big old world out there with more adventures than you could ever experience in a million lifetimes, so you may as well tuck in and get started.
Perhaps you are in a job or career where you've smashed the glass ceiling and are flying high into the unknown and are in a position to do better than you ever imagined you could. You're a mover and shaker set to acquire riches, win that coveted title, or retire early; maybe even start up your own successful business....the stratosphere awaits and in that case what is there to say but 'go for it'.
There are a million possible outcomes for even the most mundane of lives. It's the duty of each of us to find our own way and pursue our own inevitable destiny. Only some of us don't believe in that, and merely try and survive this life. Others believe in 'it' when we're young and slowly the reality of life beats it out of us until we no longer remember ever believing in more than we can see in front of our eyes. Still others will always be aware of a niggling feeling deep inside. Some inkling of burning dissatisfaction which will remain with us till the day we die. That 'could have been/would have been/should have been' other destiny which our lives merely alluded to but never fully explored. This could end up being tragic unless you learn to live with it or reconcile yourself to never knowing and no longer caring.
As for me, I fall into the broad category of 'tortured artist' (sigh) but am filed deep down into my own sub-section of tragi/comic angst. Yes, I'm a cliche. I'm a living breathing 'wannabe'....but I don't wannabe anybody but the person I'm supposed to be. Only sometimes it all gets too exhuasting and confusing and I feel like I really can't be bothered ('Treading Water'). As i've mentioned in earlier blogs, I've had the same dreams since i was five years old, and I have no real excuse for not achieving them. In my case ignorance would be bliss, but given that I am devoid of such an excuse than I'll just have to hobble along, hoping for a bit of good fortune, a helping hand, a kindred spirit to bolster my faith, some sign that i'm on the right path and everything will work out in the end. I'll try and 'keep the faith' regardless of the fact that I sometimes feel like holding my breath till i pass out.
There is one interesting thing I've realised. When i was younger, I felt utterly swept away on tides of emotions. I'm sure some of it was hormonal, chemical, substance-induced, whatever....But I was also more prone to turbulant tossing and turning if circumstance had been kind/unkind to me. I literally felt like a helpless prisoner and just tried my best to stay above water so to speak, and ride the waves. These days though, I am so self-aware (not entirely a good thing, but whatever) that I know what phase I'm in when I stop and think about it. That's why I mentioned earlier that I'm in my 'Treading Water' phase. This particular part of my unique (possibly warped) cycle, indicates that I currently have no energy for pursuing new things/friends/endeavors at the moment. I don't just mean that I'm devoid of physical energy, but that emotionally and mentally I've navel-gazed myself into a familiar hole and now, much like a disgruntled polar bear i've got to wait out the hibernation until i feel ready to tackle the world again.
This stage could last hours, days or weeks. I've really no idea. Sometimes, not dissimiliar to that old game of 'Snakes n' Ladders' I can slide down to the depths suddenly and without warning (ie. get some bad news...experience a big personal setback). Or coversely a set of steps might magically appear before me (an unexpected windfall....a great job...some amazing news) lifting me immediately out of this place into the better and far happier land of 'Anything Might Happen."
This is my favourite place. It's where I feel most amazing, and wait for good fortune to find me. I am at my most 'smile-iest', i exude confidence (if for no other reason than I AM confidant), and I notice that people are more drawn to me because I'm radiating such positive energy.
And therein lies the crux. Just like you need money to make money, you need a bit of good fortune or good luck to kickstart an otherwise humdrum life. Maybe it's an amazing job you aren't necessarily qualified for that you somehow manage to bag...or maybe you meet the most amazing person completey as a fluke and realise that they are the 'soulmate' you've never believed existed...or you're cleaning out your drawers and come across an envelope stuffed full of notes that you completely forgot you had...or your agent rings you out of the blue with an amazing job which will pay you a fortune and turn you into a player once again....or.....or just something which takes your from your current mundane state and turns you into a 'contender'. In literature I believe it's referred to as, 'Fortune smiling down upon you'.
Is it selfish to wish for more than you have? Certainly in this day and age it is. There are starving, tortured souls scattered around the world. But by the same token, there are individuals around the globe who are living fulfilled, captivating lives. They are making a difference, meeting extraordinary people, seeing their dreams come to fruition, or maybe even just having so much fun it's criminal. It really depends on where you want to place yourself on the human map. Do you want to carve out a cosy, comfy existence for yourself...a niche where you and your mates can block out the rest of the world, drink wine and proliferate on all things amusing and strange? Create your own 'Neverland' and coast through life blissfully chilled with the psychological buffer of lots of friends and lots of laughs? Nice one...you're lucky if that's an option.
Maybe you want to sell up, consolidate your life and take off on an amazing journey around the world...becoming someone of no fixed address and no idea where you'll be in five years (let alone five months). If this is so, then I salute you. There is a big old world out there with more adventures than you could ever experience in a million lifetimes, so you may as well tuck in and get started.
Perhaps you are in a job or career where you've smashed the glass ceiling and are flying high into the unknown and are in a position to do better than you ever imagined you could. You're a mover and shaker set to acquire riches, win that coveted title, or retire early; maybe even start up your own successful business....the stratosphere awaits and in that case what is there to say but 'go for it'.
There are a million possible outcomes for even the most mundane of lives. It's the duty of each of us to find our own way and pursue our own inevitable destiny. Only some of us don't believe in that, and merely try and survive this life. Others believe in 'it' when we're young and slowly the reality of life beats it out of us until we no longer remember ever believing in more than we can see in front of our eyes. Still others will always be aware of a niggling feeling deep inside. Some inkling of burning dissatisfaction which will remain with us till the day we die. That 'could have been/would have been/should have been' other destiny which our lives merely alluded to but never fully explored. This could end up being tragic unless you learn to live with it or reconcile yourself to never knowing and no longer caring.
As for me, I fall into the broad category of 'tortured artist' (sigh) but am filed deep down into my own sub-section of tragi/comic angst. Yes, I'm a cliche. I'm a living breathing 'wannabe'....but I don't wannabe anybody but the person I'm supposed to be. Only sometimes it all gets too exhuasting and confusing and I feel like I really can't be bothered ('Treading Water'). As i've mentioned in earlier blogs, I've had the same dreams since i was five years old, and I have no real excuse for not achieving them. In my case ignorance would be bliss, but given that I am devoid of such an excuse than I'll just have to hobble along, hoping for a bit of good fortune, a helping hand, a kindred spirit to bolster my faith, some sign that i'm on the right path and everything will work out in the end. I'll try and 'keep the faith' regardless of the fact that I sometimes feel like holding my breath till i pass out.
WHY CAN'T I BE YOU...LALALALALALALALA
he other day I was in a department store, strolling around, ipod plugged in, minding my own business - when all the sudden I was interrupted by an over-eager, lipglossed and cherry-cheeked lass trying to block my way and gesticulating wildly. I popped out my left earphone and this rather cheeky girl asked if I wanted to try out a 'new look'. Umm...no i didn't. Why oh why do cosmetic companies hire garish looking girls to flog premium beauty products? And why on earth would I let someone who looks like a demented clown loose on MY face?
Along the same lines, I fail to see how people are taken in by chubby telly-stars flouting 'get-fit' videos. Even the ones who are working a new, 'improved' body are taking the piss given that they've either been airbrushed within an inch of their lives, have just had liposuction, or have been on a ridiculous slim-fast starvation diet and will beef up again twice as large while their dvds are still selling at Woolworths. And there will be millions of dejected suburban housewives chugging away in their front rooms, pressing rewind and munching on jaffa cakes, wondering why they're not looking like their favourite star yet?
All the magazines these days are filled with images of celebrities going about their lives with rather nice clothes, expensive sunglasses and sumptious arm candy in form of handbags costing as much as secondhand cars. Fair enough if you suffer envy once in awhile for such nonchalont wealth on parade - that's normal enough. But to envy such vacuous, trite 'celebra-sluts' their lives and personas, and try to emulate them in every way going is a bit sad methinks. I mean, all these stupid perfumes that come out (every celebrity worth their weight in botox have one) are simply a marketing tool devised to make an overpaid famous sort even MORE wealthy. The scents are rank and not a little tacky. Not the best way to relieve yourself of £29.95.
Let's get one thing straight you famous folk out there: "I do not want to smell like you, dress like you, talk like you, act like you or live your life!" Once in awhile it would be nice to have nothing more to worry about then fitting into skinny jeans and dining in public whilst consuming no more than 35 calories. But i do not buy into the fact that now you're famous I should want to BE you.
But hey - the big house, personal chef and first class flight tickets? Sure - hand 'em over.
Along the same lines, I fail to see how people are taken in by chubby telly-stars flouting 'get-fit' videos. Even the ones who are working a new, 'improved' body are taking the piss given that they've either been airbrushed within an inch of their lives, have just had liposuction, or have been on a ridiculous slim-fast starvation diet and will beef up again twice as large while their dvds are still selling at Woolworths. And there will be millions of dejected suburban housewives chugging away in their front rooms, pressing rewind and munching on jaffa cakes, wondering why they're not looking like their favourite star yet?
All the magazines these days are filled with images of celebrities going about their lives with rather nice clothes, expensive sunglasses and sumptious arm candy in form of handbags costing as much as secondhand cars. Fair enough if you suffer envy once in awhile for such nonchalont wealth on parade - that's normal enough. But to envy such vacuous, trite 'celebra-sluts' their lives and personas, and try to emulate them in every way going is a bit sad methinks. I mean, all these stupid perfumes that come out (every celebrity worth their weight in botox have one) are simply a marketing tool devised to make an overpaid famous sort even MORE wealthy. The scents are rank and not a little tacky. Not the best way to relieve yourself of £29.95.
Let's get one thing straight you famous folk out there: "I do not want to smell like you, dress like you, talk like you, act like you or live your life!" Once in awhile it would be nice to have nothing more to worry about then fitting into skinny jeans and dining in public whilst consuming no more than 35 calories. But i do not buy into the fact that now you're famous I should want to BE you.
But hey - the big house, personal chef and first class flight tickets? Sure - hand 'em over.
THE EYES HAVE IT
THE EYES HAVE IT
I find myself thinking about 'eyes' tonight. It's extremely difficult to hide your true self when someone is looking deep into your eyes. Maybe that's why so many rock stars wear shades. It's not just the 'cool factor' - it's the desire to keep the most real and vulnerable side of yourself hidden from adoring fans and nosy journalists. It would also explain why peoples eyes often dart about when they're lying or are nervous.
I have this horrible problem whereby when i'm speaking passionately about something close to my heart, a bit of sentiment creeps out unbidden from my eyes and if the person i happen to be speaking with is observant, they are likely to catch a glimpse of my vulnerability. But vulnerability and emotion doesn't always come via ones peepholes I suppose.
A few years back I was at a Morrissey concert and was taken aback by the sheer number of fans who had paid their respect by wearing flowers in breast pockets and sporting rather elaborate quiffs. Some fans looked like builders and others like office geeks, but the sincere flattery displayed was as intense in either case. Their devotion was laid bare with almost a cathartic element to it. Idol worship normally acted out behind bedroom doors with hairbrush 'mics' was on show for all to see .
For some, showing up at a Morrissey concert dressed like their hero is akin to letting someone catch a glimpse of real emotion in their eyes. It's no less potent - betraying a touching devotion and vulnerability. Maybe they lack the words to aptly convey their adoration. Or maybe cloning themselves after him is the best way they can honour him and the poignant memories of their youth which are conjured up when they hear his songs.
You'll never find me playing 'ecstatic punter' or waving a lighter in the night air while a heartfelt ballad is being played out on stage. Nor will you ever catch me paying homage to my musical heroes in any outward, fashionista-type way (though i don't look down on those who do). No, you're much more likely to find me mesmerised with a far-away look in my eyes while listening to my favourite songs. It's my Achilles heel. My weak point. Damn those eyes...
I find myself thinking about 'eyes' tonight. It's extremely difficult to hide your true self when someone is looking deep into your eyes. Maybe that's why so many rock stars wear shades. It's not just the 'cool factor' - it's the desire to keep the most real and vulnerable side of yourself hidden from adoring fans and nosy journalists. It would also explain why peoples eyes often dart about when they're lying or are nervous.
I have this horrible problem whereby when i'm speaking passionately about something close to my heart, a bit of sentiment creeps out unbidden from my eyes and if the person i happen to be speaking with is observant, they are likely to catch a glimpse of my vulnerability. But vulnerability and emotion doesn't always come via ones peepholes I suppose.
A few years back I was at a Morrissey concert and was taken aback by the sheer number of fans who had paid their respect by wearing flowers in breast pockets and sporting rather elaborate quiffs. Some fans looked like builders and others like office geeks, but the sincere flattery displayed was as intense in either case. Their devotion was laid bare with almost a cathartic element to it. Idol worship normally acted out behind bedroom doors with hairbrush 'mics' was on show for all to see .
For some, showing up at a Morrissey concert dressed like their hero is akin to letting someone catch a glimpse of real emotion in their eyes. It's no less potent - betraying a touching devotion and vulnerability. Maybe they lack the words to aptly convey their adoration. Or maybe cloning themselves after him is the best way they can honour him and the poignant memories of their youth which are conjured up when they hear his songs.
You'll never find me playing 'ecstatic punter' or waving a lighter in the night air while a heartfelt ballad is being played out on stage. Nor will you ever catch me paying homage to my musical heroes in any outward, fashionista-type way (though i don't look down on those who do). No, you're much more likely to find me mesmerised with a far-away look in my eyes while listening to my favourite songs. It's my Achilles heel. My weak point. Damn those eyes...
WHO LET HER OUT?
The other day i was baking a lemon poppyseed cake from scratch and as i transferred it piping hot from the loaf tin onto a plate (because i had slightly overcooked it and didn't want it to get any harder) it fell apart into pieces. I had a huge strop and slammed my fist on the kitchen counter before storming off to have a HOT, HOT bath - scalding in fact. My bad mood lasted around 18 minutes or so, and as I sat fuming in the bath, skin red and no doubt drying out at an alarming rate - i realised that I had serious problems if a failed cake could send me plunging into the depths of despair.
Now in all fairness, a lemon poppyseed cake is fairly involved to make. You have to painstakingly grate the lemon rind (such a pain as you often catch your skin on the grater and it really kills - not to mention how dreadfully slow and thankless a task it is), then squeeze fresh lemon juice, and measure all sorts of piddly measurements for the other ingredients - it calls for 1 and a half eggs and that is such a bitch to do!
All in all, even if it did take over an hour to prepare, the fact that it had fallen to pieces and then i had quickly followed suit, would mean that i was either a) suffering from a severe eating disorder whereby the sense of anticipation cut cruelly short by the destruction of a much longed-for treat meant that i came unhinged and should therefore be closely observed for other signs of anti-social behaviour ....OR..... b) I was projecting my anger and/or disappointment about something else onto my failed cake and was therefore only marginally disturbed and should be approached with bemusement not caution.
A few days later i found myself in Covent Garden queuing up to use the Lloyds cash machine and there were two queues to choose from and i chose what i thought to be the shorter one when in fact i got stuck in the slowest queue I've ever been in(!) behind two sets of equally annoying tourists (one an Italian mother/daughter combo who looked like they may have well been the village idiots and didn't have either a grasp of the concept of pressing buttons on a machine or indeed the fact that money should be withdrawn in ONE go not several withdrawals of £20...I lost count).
As the other queue moved briskly along I could feel my blood pressure rising and I began to get more and more annoyed, but was too stubborn to change queues, even though people would walk by, stand behind me for a few minutes then change to the other queue, take out their money and walk away, smiling at me sympathetically. Bottom line was when i FINALLY got to the front of my queue I had completely lost the plot and was muttering under my breath about how moronic the people in front of me were - using rather imaginative but horrific terminology, and I was attracting a few stares so maybe it was slightly more audible than i thought, but i didn't care. I realised i was looking like a crazy person as I withdrew my money and stomped off - but i was too far gone to put a halt to it. Clearly, again I had to conclude that I was either a lunatic or merely projecting some internal frustration onto some hapless (and terribly annoying) tourists who may have been unthoughtful but surely didn't deserve the death penalty.
I suppose it must be said that underneath my usual chilled, slightly cynical but nonetheless harmless exterior, lurks a lot of displaced passion which needs an outlet. I need to do the creative equivalent of a bungee jump. I need to throw caution to the wind and allow the pieces of my life to rain down on my head in little shreds which i can then use to paper mache together something incredible. I need to write a new song. It might well be time to move from electro to heavy metal.
Now in all fairness, a lemon poppyseed cake is fairly involved to make. You have to painstakingly grate the lemon rind (such a pain as you often catch your skin on the grater and it really kills - not to mention how dreadfully slow and thankless a task it is), then squeeze fresh lemon juice, and measure all sorts of piddly measurements for the other ingredients - it calls for 1 and a half eggs and that is such a bitch to do!
All in all, even if it did take over an hour to prepare, the fact that it had fallen to pieces and then i had quickly followed suit, would mean that i was either a) suffering from a severe eating disorder whereby the sense of anticipation cut cruelly short by the destruction of a much longed-for treat meant that i came unhinged and should therefore be closely observed for other signs of anti-social behaviour ....OR..... b) I was projecting my anger and/or disappointment about something else onto my failed cake and was therefore only marginally disturbed and should be approached with bemusement not caution.
A few days later i found myself in Covent Garden queuing up to use the Lloyds cash machine and there were two queues to choose from and i chose what i thought to be the shorter one when in fact i got stuck in the slowest queue I've ever been in(!) behind two sets of equally annoying tourists (one an Italian mother/daughter combo who looked like they may have well been the village idiots and didn't have either a grasp of the concept of pressing buttons on a machine or indeed the fact that money should be withdrawn in ONE go not several withdrawals of £20...I lost count).
As the other queue moved briskly along I could feel my blood pressure rising and I began to get more and more annoyed, but was too stubborn to change queues, even though people would walk by, stand behind me for a few minutes then change to the other queue, take out their money and walk away, smiling at me sympathetically. Bottom line was when i FINALLY got to the front of my queue I had completely lost the plot and was muttering under my breath about how moronic the people in front of me were - using rather imaginative but horrific terminology, and I was attracting a few stares so maybe it was slightly more audible than i thought, but i didn't care. I realised i was looking like a crazy person as I withdrew my money and stomped off - but i was too far gone to put a halt to it. Clearly, again I had to conclude that I was either a lunatic or merely projecting some internal frustration onto some hapless (and terribly annoying) tourists who may have been unthoughtful but surely didn't deserve the death penalty.
I suppose it must be said that underneath my usual chilled, slightly cynical but nonetheless harmless exterior, lurks a lot of displaced passion which needs an outlet. I need to do the creative equivalent of a bungee jump. I need to throw caution to the wind and allow the pieces of my life to rain down on my head in little shreds which i can then use to paper mache together something incredible. I need to write a new song. It might well be time to move from electro to heavy metal.
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