As one of the voices on the venerable white horse of internet football broadcasting that is the Twohundredpercent Podcast, I have had to do some unusual things. A while ago, when we were thinking of ideas for our subscriber special podcast, we wondered about doing some football fan fiction. That would be a stupid idea, we thought. Well, it most certainly was: so stupid, in fact, that we hastily abandoned the concept and retired to our den to smoke our pipes and suck a thoughtful tooth.
But with today being the day of Gareth Southgate's first game since he was officially installed as the England team's full-time manager - and with that very eventuality being the subject of the fan fiction that I had written - I rashly promised that I would put the piece up on my website. Here it is.
The team coach crackled its way up the hotel's circular gravel driveway, dodging peacocks and Polish gardeners. This was not the usual salubrious countryside retreat where the England team would convene before a Wembley fixture, but the more modest confines of the Hertford Ramada Jarvis. It was the choice of the squad's new permanent manager, Gareth Southgate, keen to stamp his own identity on proceedings. "What's this place, gaffer?", asked a concerned Theo Walcott. "Is this where we're staying? Do they have archery?". "Yes, do they have archery?" chimed Daniel Sturridge, nervously fingering the carbon fibre carry case of his bow.
"There's no archery, there's no pool table, there isn't even a golf course," came Southgate's terse reply. "But they do have excellent conference facilities and there's a love tester machine in the corner of the bar". "Can we use the love tester machine, boss?", Joe Hart asked. "No you may not. No you may not." came Southgate's reply.
Southgate had been both the most outstanding and indeed only candidate for the position of England manager after the hurried dismissal of Sam Allardyce, whose downfall had been so swift that there remained a slice of gala pie and a jar of pickled onions the drawer of the desk in the manager's office at Lancaster Gate. Southgate had established his credentials with his even-handed and successful stewardship of the England Under-21 team, as well as with his willingness to do his own typing. No England manager had ever been so thoroughly proficient with Microsoft Office.
"We're beginning a new era, so we're in a new place," explained Southgate as the team gathered in the hotel lobby. "We're here to concentrate, to work and deliver for the country and I want you to bear in mind that all of my decisions have been taken towards that end". The players shuffled about nervously, some even going as far to remove their headphones so that they could better listen to their new manager. Southgate reached into his briefcase and pulled out a single sheet of immaculately typed A4 paper, which he placed on the table.
"Here are your new room assignments. Many of you will find that you have been given a new international roommate but do not be alarmed. In time, I want you to get to know one another as closely as you do your clubmates, this is my hope and my expectation". The players lurched forward as one, curious to examine the list and pair off into their new units. Many of the players were now grouped by their position, an attempt to help foster a greater understanding both on and off the field."Right, you have your rooms. You've got an hour of free time before hot yoga, so get yourselves settled in," Southgate announced. "And no sloping off to Kyle Walker's room. We all know what goes on in there". Kyle Walker put down the joint he was skinning and made a face.
The team's captain, Wayne Rooney, stepped forward. "I'm not on the list, gaffer. Where do I go?". "I was wondering when you'd ask that, Wayne. You'll be with me", said Southgate. The receptionist, who had been carefully pretending not to listen to any of this, suddenly let out a loud fart with shock.
Three hours later, the players were all back in their rooms. Gareth helped Wayne to peel back his sweaty leotard. "Blimey", said Rooney, "if I'd known that yoga was going to be quite that strenuous I wouldn't have eaten that third Turducken!". The two men chuckled good-naturedly until Gareth Southgate's face froze. "Wait, you've eaten three Turduckens? Today?". "Only a joke, gaffer, only a joke," said Wayne reassuringly, hurriedly kicking a wishbone underneath the Welsh dresser. The two men were now in their white hotel bathrobes and a lengthy silence developed. A minute or two passed before Wayne was the first to speak. "Why did you want me to room with you, gaffer? I've been in football a long time and I've never heard of a player being roommates with the manager". "Wayne, I needed to try and get inside of you," Southgate explained. "Get inside your mind, try and understand what makes you tick. You're still a young man with a lot to offer this team. I need to try and understand why it isn't happening for you on the pitch at the moment. Are you happy at home?"
Wayne Rooney exhaled deeply. "It's been tough, gaffer. My wife has got nipples like walnuts. The actual kernels of walnuts. The nut meats. Its hard to put it out of my mind. Increasingly, I find that during the course of games my mind has started to wander. All I can see are table after tressle table of coffee cakes at a Women's Institute summer fair". Southgate put an arm around Rooney's now bare shoulder. "Wayne, I'm going to tell you something that I have never told anyone outside of my family before. In the autumn of 1996, my marriage nearly ended. My wife couldn't get past the fact that it turns out my cumface is exactly the same as the face I pulled when I missed that penalty in the shootout at Euro 96."
Both men were now in tears. "Football exposes the rawest of emotions, Wayne. It is the root of its success as a sport, but it is also why it puts such a strain on the people who play it. Do you know that Denis Law is only 35 years old?" "That explains why he's got so many Ocean Colour Scene albums in his CD rack," sniffed Rooney. "I had wondered".
"Ultimately Wayne, you can't get through this crazy life inside professional football without the outlet of family. So if your wife has got walnut tits and you make three hundred grand a week, there's an obvious solution. But you need to communicate". Southgate now, too, was completely naked.
Rooney studied the pattern on the carpet intently for a minute or more before he looked up again. "I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Shell suits spontaneously combusting in the skips outside Deepdale. I watched shadow stripes glitter in the floodlights at Ashton Gate. I've done a shit in the dressing room toilet at Goodison Park that they still can't get to go down. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. It's time to play."
"I've cum on the floor", said Southgate, pulling the exact face he made when he missed that penalty in the shootout at Euro 96.
Don't @ me.
Showing posts with label Blog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blog. Show all posts
Wednesday, 22 March 2017
Tuesday, 25 October 2016
337 songs that changed your life
Last Saturday evening, hungover to tits and listening to The Velvet Underground, the conversation turned to the maddeningly inexact science that is musical taste. As with any such discussion, the issue of the one song that you really cannot stand was never far from our thoughts.
In a moment of idle curiosity, I asked Twitter for some nominations.
It is safe to say that I had never anticipated what would happen next. By Sunday afternoon, my Twitter notifications were giving me a microcosmic indication of what it might be like to be famous. It turns out that being famous isn't all cocaine and hookers: or rather, if it is, those people aren't on Twitter. You wouldn't have the time: it turns what is normally a desert of anguish and boredom into a full-time occupation. I tried to imagine what it would be like if a significant proportion of each new tranche of notifications were abusive, quickly concluding that it would be straight up bullshit. Gary Lineker is an admirable man.
If I'm honest, I expected my tweet to go much the same way as all the other 68-odd thousand I'd done: shout into the abyss, wait for echo, forget it entirely, repeat until death. This time, however, I had touched a nerve. The medium was prepared just right: time of day, day of the week and subject matter all made for an extremely fertile thread. Overwhelmingly so, at times.
However, it was all entirely positive. One hundred percent. Not one single response was even slightly antagonistic, let alone insulting or to tell me that I had done a poo on a football pitch. It was a reminder of the goodness in people, and that social media is just as capable of reflecting this goodness as it is the badness. The whole thing was a genuine pleasure and if you are one of the many people who contributed, thank you.
So far, 337 songs have been nominated for the list. Some have been mentioned countless times - countless because I didn't realise that I should probably have been counting them and now I just don't have the time nor the inclination to wade back through. Others are outliers, including some entries that provoked astonishment at their inclusion.
Overall, it is a thrilling glimpse into the fragility of the human mind. I hope that some people were heartened to find themselves a ready-made online support community while others were just able to get something off their chest. The resultant Spotify playlist, which I have called Kryptonite Songs, is perhaps the most tantalising song roulette anyone could ever play. If you are anything like me, you probably like a significant percentage of the following songs and can tolerate a large rump of the remainder. But it's in there, isn't it? Just waiting for you.
Without any further waffle from me, here is the list. Free from the (admittedly slim) restraints of Spotify's library, it appears in its unexpurgated form. There is one small rider to this, which is that I will have almost certainly forgotten to include some of the songs: things were coming so thick and fast on Sunday afternoon that in the time it took to write up the latest 50 replies, there would be 65 more. So, if I missed yours off, I apologise. However, the list - and my Twitter - remains open, so I can almost certainly be nudged to fix any mistakes. Finally, if you haven't contributed yet and would like to, the original Twitter thread can be found here, or you can leave your nomination in the comments below.
10cc – Dreadlock Holiday
10cc – I'm Not In Love
The 88 – At Least It Was Here
Ace Of Base - All That She Wants
The Animals – House of the Rising Sun
21 Pilots – Ride
The inclusion of this song riled up one respondent's teenage daughter. This delighted me: people were playing the Spotify list to their children. Hearts and minds.
4 Non Blondes - What's Up?
ABBA – Dancing Queen
I love this song. More updates on this as we get them.
Aerosmith – I Don't Want To Miss A Thing
Aerosmith – Janie's Got A Gun
Aerosmith. Music for people who like to be uplifted but hate music.
Akon – Lonely
Amy Grant – Big Yellow Taxi
The Big Yellow Taxi saga was interesting. Many replies just said "anything by [artist]" or "any version of [song]". Big Yellow Taxi, however, was unique. Initially picked with the stipulation that it was any except the Counting Crows version. Within an hour this, too, was on the list.
Andrew Gold – Lonely Boy
Anohni – 4 Degrees
Aqua – Lollipop (Candyman)
Artful Dodger ft. Craig David – Re Rewind
The B52's - Love Shack
Oh, this one is really, REALLY unpopular
B*Witched – C'est La Vie
Babybird – You're Gorgeous
Babylon Zoo – Spaceman
The most disappointing song of all time?
Bananarama - I Can't Help It
Band Aid – Do They Know It's Christmas?
Barry Manilow – Mandy
The Beatles - Across The Universe
The Beatles - Hey Jude
The Beatles - She's Leaving Home
The Beatles - When I'm 64
The Beatles - Yellow Submarine
The Beatles – Yesterday
The Beatles, objectively the greatest pop group in history. Just accept it. However, I can't particularly argue with any of these selections.
The Beautiful South – Perfect 10
BUT SHE WEARS A TWELVE
Bee Gees – More Than A Woman
Belinda Carlisle – Circle In The Sand
Belinda Carlisle – Heaven Is A Place On Earth
Belinda Carlisle – Leave The Light On For Me
Some have queried whether Belinda Carlisle deserved such shoddy treatment. But the people have spoken and what they said was, do our ears deserve such shoddy treatment?
Beyonce – Single Ladies
Billy Joel – My Life
Billy Joel – Piano Man
Billy Joel – Uptown Girl
Billy Ocean – When The Going Gets Tough The Tough Get Going
Billy Ray Cyrus – Achy Breaky Heart
Bjork - It's Oh So Quiet
Black Crowes – Hard To Handle
The person who nominated this song tells me it is an FM radio staple in America. No wonder things are getting so fraught over there.
Black Eyed Peas – I've Gotta Feeling
This is one of the most nominated songs. The level of angst that it inspires, if harnessed properly, could end our reliance on fossil fuels.
Black Lace – Agadoo
Blondie - Heart of Glass
Blondie – Rapture
I was glad these were nominated. It's nice to have some great songs in any playlist.
Blue Mink - Melting Pot
No argument.
The Bluebirds - Young At Heart
Dunghampers.
Blur - Song 2
Bobby McFerrin – Don't Worry Be Happy
Two songs by otherwise popular acts, completely ruined by their ubiquity.
Bobby Pickett - Monster Mash
Bon Jovi – Livin' On A Prayer
These two are on rotation as the elevator music in hell.
Bonnie Tyler – Total Eclipse of the Heart
Brand New Heavies – Midnight At The Oasis
Bruce Hornsby – The Way It Is
Bryan Adams - Everything I Do, I Do It For You
Sixteen weeks at number 1. Sixteen! Someone must have been switching out the HRT pills for M&Ms that summer.
Bryan Adams - Summer of '69
Bryan Ferry – Let's Stick Together
Crap, warbled by a prick.
Buckcherry – Crazy Bitch
The Byrds – Mr. Tambourine Man
The worst band in history.
Callum Scott - Dancing On My Own
Carl Douglas – Kung Fu Fighting
Carly Simon – You're So Vain
Carly-Rae Jepsen – Call Me Maybe
The Carpenters – Yesterday Once More
A brother and sister, singing love songs to one another.
Catatonia – Road Rage
Celine Dion – My Heart Will Go On
Chas & Dave – Rabbit
Cher - Believe
Dance music for people who don't like dance music.
Cher - The Shoop Shoop Song
Cher - Walking In Memphis
My own personal choice. A song of irredeemable awfulness.
Chris De Burgh – A Spaceman Came Travelling
Chris De Burgh – The Lady In Red
Run away!
Christina Aguilera - Lady Marmalade
Chumbawamba - Tubthumping
Cliff Richard – Mistletoe and Wine
Cliff Richard – The Millennium Prayer
The first Christmas songs on the list. They will not be the last.
Coldplay – Clocks
Coldplay – Yellow
Coldplay invoke all kinds of ire, but these were the only two specific songs chosen. (Update: someone nominated every single song Coldplay have recorded, in alphabetical order of the title. Is this what my life has become?)
Coolio ft. L.V. – Gangsta's Paradise
The Coral – In The Morning
Counting Crows – Big Yellow Taxi
Courtney Barnett – Pickles From The Jar
The Cranberries – Zombie
Crash Test Dummies – Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm
Hnngh hnngh hnngh hnngh.
Crazy Town – Butterfly
The stink of RHCP all over it. Music for the tattoo parlour where you caught hepatitis.
Crystal Waters - Gypsy Woman
Cutting Crew – (I Just) Died In Your Arms
Cyndi Lauper – Girls Just Want To Have Fun
D:Ream – Things Can Only Get Better
Danny Wilson – Mary's Prayer
I'd forgotten about this one. One of my favourite choices on the list, it is a howler.
David Bowie – Across The Universe
David Bowie – The Jean Genie
Dead Or Alive – You Spin Me Round
The curse of 2016 stuck just a day later. Sorry, Pete.
Deee Lite – Groove Is In The Heart
Deep Blue Something – Breakfast At Tiffany's
Of all the songs nominated, this one inspired the most hatred and anger.
Des'ree - Life
Dexys Midnight Runners - Come On Eileen
A brilliant song by a brilliant band, so there.
Diana Ross – Chain Reaction
My mum's least favourite song.
Dire Straits – Money For Nothing
Dire Straits – Romeo and Juliet
Dire straights.
DJ Otzi – Hey Baby
Perhaps the only good argument as to why leaving the EU was a good idea after all.
Dobie Gray – Drift Away
Dodgy – Good Enough
Don McLean – American Pie
Doobie Brothers - What A Fool Believes
I sang this tunelessly the entire morning after it was mentioned. My wife left me.
Doop – Doop
Dream Academy – Life In A Northern Town
"President Kennedy... and The Beatles (scream)...". A sackcloth full of watery cum.
The Eagles – Hotel California
The other worst band in history.
Edwyn Collins – A Girl Like You
Eiffel 65 – Blue
Elbow - One Day Like This
Ellie Goulding – On My Mind
A friend played this to his 4-year old daughter. Her response? "Why's she saying that? This isn't even a song, dad".
Elton John – Candle In The Wind (1997)
Well, obvs.
Elton John – Crocodile Rock
Elton John – Your Song
Elvis Presley - Return To Sender
Eminem – Lose Yourself
Enigma – Sadness
For when your ambient dance track needs more Gregorian Chant.
Eve ft. Gwen Stefani – Let Me Blow Ya Mind
The theme tune from Everything's Rosie
The curse of cBeebies.
Fairground Attraction – Perfect
Fountains of Wayne - Stacey's Mom
Frank Sinatra - My Way
The Fratellis – Chelsea Dagger
The sound of losing your virginity in a public toilet at a darts match as they counted up the results of the EU referendum.
Fun – Some Nights
Fun ft. Janelle Monae – We Are Young
Gary Puckett and Union Gap – Young Girl
A brilliant choice. I applaud whoever it was who suggested this one.
George Ezra – Drawing Board
Gerry & The Pacemakers – You'll Never Walk Alone
Full disclosure: the person who nominated this song's Twitter avatar is the badge of Everton Football Club. However, it all checks out. This song is bobbins.
Gerry Rafferty - Baker Street
Extraordinarily popular choice. Because no-one likes saxophones.
Glasvegas – Daddy's Gone
Gloria Gaynor – I Will Survive
The most nominated song to include the qualifier "I'm sure no-one else has said this, but..."
The Goo-Goo Dolls – Iris
Green Day – Good Riddance (Time of your Life)
Guns 'n' Roses – Sweet Child o Mine
Gwen Stefani – Hollaback Girl
Hinder – Lips Of An Angel
House of Pain - Jump Around
The early leader in the popular vote. The party song for people who don't go to parties.
Idina Menzel – Let It Go
Inner Circle - Sweat
The Jam - A Town Called Malice
James Blunt – You're Beautiful
James Brown – I Feel Good
Someone was obviously having a bad day.
Jamie Lawson – Wasn't Expecting That
Jamiroquai – Canned Heat
Janet Jackson – Rhythm Nation
Janis Joplin – Mercedes Benz
Jay-Z ft. Alicia Keys – Empire State of Mind
Surprisingly, this is not on Spotify. So you all dodged a bullet there.
Jennifer Rush – The Power of Love
Jim Diamond – I Should Have Known Better
JJ Barrie – No Charge
Joe Dolce – Shaddap You Face
John Lennon – Imagine
John Mayer – Your Body Is A Wonderland
Joni Mitchell – Big Yellow Taxi
Journey – Don't Stop Believin'
I have a long-standing suspicion of songs with abbreviated words in their title.
Justin Bieber – Baby
Baby baby baby, ooh (repeat x1 fucking trillion)
Kate Nash – Foundations
Kate Tempest – Circles
Katie Melua – Closest Thing To Crazy
Katie Melua – Nine Million Bicycles
Katrina and the Waves – Walking On Sunshine
Some people don't like to be happy.
Katy Perry – California Gurls
Katy Perry – I Kissed A Girl
Katy Perry – Roar
Katy Perry has three songs on the list, representing 50% of her entire artistic output.
The Killers - Mr. Brightside
An outstandingly unpopular and awful record.
Kings of Leon - Sex On Fire
Ffffuuuu
Kings Of Leon – Use Somebody
The La's – There She Goes
Lady Gaga – Bad Romance
Led Zeppelin – Stairway To Heaven
Leonard Cohen – Hallelujah
Lighthouse Family - Lifted
Lighthouse Family – Ocean Drive
The elevator music in Purgatory.
Limp Bizkit – My Generation
Lisa Stansfield – Around The World
Little Eva – The Locomotion
Lo-Fang – You're The One That I Want
Los Del Rio – Macarena
Lou Bega – Mambo No. 5
Lukas Graham – 7 Years
Lulu - Shout
Lulu - The Boat That I Row
Lulu is not nearly as popular as Absolutely Fabulous would have you believe.
Madness – Baggy Trousers
Madonna – Like A Virgin
MAGIC! - Rude
Manfred Mann's Earth Band – Blinded By The Light
A solid choice.
Manic Street Preachers – SYMM
A song. About writing a song. About Hillsborough. A song about writing a song about Hillsborough.
Marc Cohn – Walking In Memphis
The worst song ever written, performed by the culprit.
Mariah Carey – All I Want For Christmas Is You
Mark Ronson ft. Bruno Mars – Uptown Funk
Maroon 5 – Animals
Maroon 5 – Moves Like Jagger
Maroon 5 – This Love
No-one likes Maroon 5.
Meatloaf – I'd Do Anything For Love
Do it and get off.
Meghan Trainor – All About That Bass
No treble?
Men At Work – Down Under
Mercury Rev - Goddess On A Hiway
Michael Buble – It's A Beautiful Day
Michael Jackson – Earth Song
Considering his enormous popularity, ubiquity and cultural significance, a surprising solitary vote for Michael Jackson. Then again, Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen didn't get any. But then again, neither of them recorded Earth Song.
MIKA – Grace Kelly
Mike and the Mechanics – The Living Years
This one made me nod my head so hard I think something broke off inside.
MN8 - I've Got A Little Something For You
Mousse T ft. Tom Jones – Sex Bomb
Mr. Big – To Be With You
Mumford and Sons – I Will Wait
Natasha Bedingfield – These Words
The New Radicals – You Only Get What You Give
Inspires nought but rage.
Nicki Minaj – Anaconda
Nickleback - Rockstar
Oasis - Champagne Supernova
I think the original nomination sums this one up better than I ever could:
Oasis - Shakermaker
Oasis - Wonderwall
One of the most nominated songs of them all. Is it because it has been over-played? Or just because it is shit? Or both?
Oasis – All Around The World
"IT NEVER FUCKING ENDS" argues the nominator.
Ocean Colour Scene – The Day We Caught The Train
Offspring - Come Out and Play
OMC – How Bizarre
This song inspires such ire that it renders a lot of people speechless.
Paolo Nutini – New Shoes
Paul McCartney – We All Stand Together
Paul McCartney – Wonderful Christmastime
Peter Sarstedt – Where Do You Go To My Lovely?
An exceedingly popular choice.
Pharrell Williams – Happy
Phil Collins - In The Air Tonight
Phil Collins - You Can't Hurry Love
Phil Collins – Easy Lover
You couldn't not have a bit of Phil.
Picture House – Sunburst
The Pogues and Kirsty McColl - The Fairytale of New York
The Proclaimers – I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)
The Prodigy – Firestarter
Psy - Gangnam Style
This song is the national anthem of the list.
Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody
Queen – Don't Stop Me Now
Queen – We Are The Champions
Queen – We Will Rock You
I like one of these songs, but you'll have to guess which one while I go and throw up.
R.E.M. - Shiny Happy People
My mate Kev's choice, the first song committed to the list.
Razorlight - America
Red Hot Chilli Peppers - Californication
Red Hot Chilli Peppers - Under The Bridge
"Whenever anyone hears a song and asks 'what is THIS shit?', the answer is always Red Hot Chilli Peppers"
Rednex – Cotton Eye Joe
The Cast of Rent – Seasons of Love
Reverend and The Makers – Heavyweight Champion of the World
Richard Harris – Macarthur Park
Ricky Martin – Livin' La Vida Loca
The Righteous Brothers – You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling
Rihanna – Take A Bow
Robbie Williams - Angels
Robbie Williams - Millennium
Robbie Williams - Rock DJ
Robbie Williams – Candy
Robbie Williams – Freedom
Robbie Williams – Mack The Knife
Robbie Williams – Rudebox
No-one has as many entries on this list than Robbie. He has touched many lives.
Robert Palmer - Addicted To Love
Robin S – Show Me Love
Robin Thicke – Blurred Lines
One of the most frequent choices. A dumb-as-shit, rape apologist, piece of fucking garbage sung by a peenarse.
The Cast of The Rocky Horror Show – The Time Warp
Rod Stewart – Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?
Nope.
Roy Orbison – Oh, Pretty Woman
Run DMC ft. Aerosmith – Walk This Way
Rupert Holmes - Escape
Sacred Reich - 31 Flavors
Sam Smith – Money On My Mind
Sandi Thom – I Wish I Was A Punk Rocker
Santana – Smooth
The soundtrack to trying to pick up a really runny dog shit.
Sash – Encore Un Fois
Savage Garden – Truly, Madly, Deeply
Music for, and by, virgins.
The Scorpions - Winds Of Change
The Scorpions – Still Loving You
The band that made people want to rebuild the Berlin Wall. Not on Spotify, you lucky people.
Scouting For Girls – She's So Lovely
The Script – The Man Who Couldn't Be Moved
Shaggy – It Wasn't Me
Shania Twain - Man! I Feel Like A Woman!
Songs with unnecessary exclamation marks in the title.
Shanice – I Love Your Smile
Shut Up And Dance – Raving I'm Raving
A rave track that samples Walking In Memphis. What's not to like?
Simply Red – Fairground
You know how smug Hucknall's face must have been when he finished this one.
Simply Red – Stars
Sister Sledge - Frankie
Sixpence None The Richer – Kiss Me
Slade - Merry Xmas Everybody
I like this one and I don't care. Although, not in October.
Smash Mouth – All Star
Snap - Rhythm is a Dancer
Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars
Social Distortion - Story of my Life
Sophie Ellis Bextor – Murder On The Dancefloor
Space ft. Cerys Matthews – The Ballad of Tom Jones
No nomination made me laugh as much as this one. It is perfect, brilliant and entirely correct.
Spice Girls - Wannabe
The Spin Doctors – Two Princes
One of the most magnificently unpopular songs on the list. I guarantee that when I go back to Twitter after finishing this post, there'll be a new tweet nominating this. Probably with the word "fucking" in it.
Starship - Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now
Starship – We Built This City
Stereophonics - Hurry Up and Wait
Stereophonics – Have A Nice Day
If you ever doubt how much people hate these two groups, just read the Twitter thread.
Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel - Make Me Smile (Come Up and See Me)
Steve Miller Band - Abracadabra
Steve Walsh – I Found Lovin'
Stevie Wonder – I Just Called To Say I Love You
Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney – Ebony and Ivory
Perhaps the two most hateful songs ever written, for any fans of irony out there.
Stiltskin – Inside
The Stranglers – Golden Brown
Supertramp – The Logical Song
Survivor – Eye of the Tiger
Sweet – Wig Wam Bam
The fucking Sweet. The other, other worst band in history.
T'Pau – China In Your Hand
I like this, so nur.
Take That ft. Lulu – Relight My Fire
Tammy Wynette – Stand By Your Man
Taylor Swift – I Knew You Were Trouble
Taylor Swift – Shake It Off
Taylor Swift is not on Spotify so you won't be able to enjoy what a brilliant song Shake It Off is. Or how arse-clenchingly dreadful the other one is.
Terence Trent D'arby – Wishing Well
Terry Jacks – Seasons In The Sun
A tumour.
They Might Be Giants - Birdhouse In Your Soul
The inclusion of this one sparked controversy in my timeline, with calls to name and shame. Cards on the table, I like it. Many, many others do not.
Tina Turner – The Best
Hah!
TLC – No Scrubs
Tom Petty – Free Fallin'
Tony Christie – Is This The Way To Amarillo?
Toploader - Dancing In The Moonlight
Hands down, this is the popular choice for the most hated song in history. The sound of Hard Brexit happening as Jamie Oliver runs over your dog in his VW camper van.
Traditional - Jerusalem
"...when it is sung by old posh ladies".
Traditional - Little Drummer Boy
Traditional – I'm Proud To Be An American
Trio – Da Da Da
Twista ft. Anthony Hamilton – Sunshine
U2 – Beautiful Day
A song so cataclysmically awful that it drew the fire from the remainder of the U2 canon.
UB40 - Red Red Wine
Ultrabeat – Pretty Green Eyes
Ultravox – Vienna
Van Morrison - Brown-Eyed Girl
Vance Joy – Riptide
Waterboys – The Whole of the Moon
The overwhelming choice from Irish and Scottish respondents.
The Weathergirls – It's Raining Men
Westlife – You Raise Me Up
Wet Wet Wet – Love Is All Around
Wheatus – Teenage Dirtbag
Whigfield - Saturday Night
Whitney Houston - I Will Always Love You
My dad's least favourite song.
Wings – Mull Of Kintyre
Wizzard – I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day
Yello – Oh Yeah
Oh no.
++ LATE NEWS ++
There continues to be significant interest in this project, significant enough to increase the 337 songs to 373 and then to 380. Which is more. For the benefit of science, here are the new entries:
Anohni - 4 Degrees
Basement Jaxx - Do Your Thing
The Beatles - Octopus's Garden
And yet, still nothing for Rocky Raccoon. Or Oh-Bla-Di, Oh-Bla-Dah.
Benny Mardones - Into The Night
Beverly Knight - Shoulda Woulda Coulda
Billy Swan - I Can Help
Bran Van 3000 - Drinking In L.A.
Songs from adverts, a surefire recipe for resentment and anger.
Bros - When Will I Be Famous?
Caro Emerald - Liquid Lunch
Charlene - I've Never Been To Me
Colbie Caillat - Bubbly
Corinne Bailey-Rae - Put Your Records On
The Cult - She Sells Sanctuary
Donna Fargo - The Happiest Girl in the Whole U.S.A.
Elton John - Passengers
Eternal - I Wanna Be The Only One
Europe - The Final Countdown
Dur dur dur dur, dur dur dur dur dur.
Flying Machine - Smile A Little Smile For Me
Fools Garden - Lemon Tree
Frankie Goes To Hollywood - Relax
Look, I don't choose these songs, OK?
Jeff Beck - Hi Ho Silver Lining
Although if I could, I would.
LMFAO - Sexy And I Know It
Madonna - Die Another Day
The Mavericks - Dance The Night Away
The creeping menace of modern country music.
M.C. Hammer - U Can't Touch This
Midnight Oil - Beds Are Burning
Nelly Furtado - I'm Like A Bird
Okkervil Rover - A Girl In Port
Outkast - Hey Ya!
Prefab Sprout - The King of Rock and Roll
Hot dog.
Procul Harem - A Whiter Shade of Pale
R.E.M. - Everybody Hurts
Rod Stewart - Sailing
The Rolling Stones - Sympathy For The Devil
I fundamentally disagree with three out of these four choices. I will leave you to guess which is the odd one out. (It's Rod Stewart).
Sheryl Crow - All I Wanna Do
Stan Ridgway - Camouflage
Steve Winwood - Higher Love
Southern Sound FM, Woodingdean 1991, representing.
The Streets - Fit But You Know It
Swing Out Sister - Breakout
Tight Fit - The Lion Sleeps Tonight
I can see how these could wear you down.
In a moment of idle curiosity, I asked Twitter for some nominations.
 |
| The moment that torpedoed my next 72 hours |
It is safe to say that I had never anticipated what would happen next. By Sunday afternoon, my Twitter notifications were giving me a microcosmic indication of what it might be like to be famous. It turns out that being famous isn't all cocaine and hookers: or rather, if it is, those people aren't on Twitter. You wouldn't have the time: it turns what is normally a desert of anguish and boredom into a full-time occupation. I tried to imagine what it would be like if a significant proportion of each new tranche of notifications were abusive, quickly concluding that it would be straight up bullshit. Gary Lineker is an admirable man.
If I'm honest, I expected my tweet to go much the same way as all the other 68-odd thousand I'd done: shout into the abyss, wait for echo, forget it entirely, repeat until death. This time, however, I had touched a nerve. The medium was prepared just right: time of day, day of the week and subject matter all made for an extremely fertile thread. Overwhelmingly so, at times.
However, it was all entirely positive. One hundred percent. Not one single response was even slightly antagonistic, let alone insulting or to tell me that I had done a poo on a football pitch. It was a reminder of the goodness in people, and that social media is just as capable of reflecting this goodness as it is the badness. The whole thing was a genuine pleasure and if you are one of the many people who contributed, thank you.
So far, 337 songs have been nominated for the list. Some have been mentioned countless times - countless because I didn't realise that I should probably have been counting them and now I just don't have the time nor the inclination to wade back through. Others are outliers, including some entries that provoked astonishment at their inclusion.
Overall, it is a thrilling glimpse into the fragility of the human mind. I hope that some people were heartened to find themselves a ready-made online support community while others were just able to get something off their chest. The resultant Spotify playlist, which I have called Kryptonite Songs, is perhaps the most tantalising song roulette anyone could ever play. If you are anything like me, you probably like a significant percentage of the following songs and can tolerate a large rump of the remainder. But it's in there, isn't it? Just waiting for you.
Without any further waffle from me, here is the list. Free from the (admittedly slim) restraints of Spotify's library, it appears in its unexpurgated form. There is one small rider to this, which is that I will have almost certainly forgotten to include some of the songs: things were coming so thick and fast on Sunday afternoon that in the time it took to write up the latest 50 replies, there would be 65 more. So, if I missed yours off, I apologise. However, the list - and my Twitter - remains open, so I can almost certainly be nudged to fix any mistakes. Finally, if you haven't contributed yet and would like to, the original Twitter thread can be found here, or you can leave your nomination in the comments below.
10cc – Dreadlock Holiday
10cc – I'm Not In Love
The 88 – At Least It Was Here
Ace Of Base - All That She Wants
The Animals – House of the Rising Sun
The inclusion of this song riled up one respondent's teenage daughter. This delighted me: people were playing the Spotify list to their children. Hearts and minds.
4 Non Blondes - What's Up?
ABBA – Dancing Queen
I love this song. More updates on this as we get them.
Aerosmith – I Don't Want To Miss A Thing
Aerosmith – Janie's Got A Gun
Aerosmith. Music for people who like to be uplifted but hate music.
Akon – Lonely
Amy Grant – Big Yellow Taxi
The Big Yellow Taxi saga was interesting. Many replies just said "anything by [artist]" or "any version of [song]". Big Yellow Taxi, however, was unique. Initially picked with the stipulation that it was any except the Counting Crows version. Within an hour this, too, was on the list.
Andrew Gold – Lonely Boy
Anohni – 4 Degrees
Aqua – Lollipop (Candyman)
Artful Dodger ft. Craig David – Re Rewind
The B52's - Love Shack
Oh, this one is really, REALLY unpopular
B*Witched – C'est La Vie
Babybird – You're Gorgeous
Babylon Zoo – Spaceman
The most disappointing song of all time?
Bananarama - I Can't Help It
Band Aid – Do They Know It's Christmas?
Barry Manilow – Mandy
The Beatles - Across The Universe
The Beatles - Hey Jude
The Beatles - She's Leaving Home
The Beatles - When I'm 64
The Beatles - Yellow Submarine
The Beatles – Yesterday
The Beatles, objectively the greatest pop group in history. Just accept it. However, I can't particularly argue with any of these selections.
The Beautiful South – Perfect 10
BUT SHE WEARS A TWELVE
Belinda Carlisle – Circle In The Sand
Belinda Carlisle – Heaven Is A Place On Earth
Belinda Carlisle – Leave The Light On For Me
Some have queried whether Belinda Carlisle deserved such shoddy treatment. But the people have spoken and what they said was, do our ears deserve such shoddy treatment?
Beyonce – Single Ladies
Billy Joel – My Life
Billy Joel – Piano Man
Billy Joel – Uptown Girl
Billy Ocean – When The Going Gets Tough The Tough Get Going
Billy Ray Cyrus – Achy Breaky Heart
Bjork - It's Oh So Quiet
Black Crowes – Hard To Handle
The person who nominated this song tells me it is an FM radio staple in America. No wonder things are getting so fraught over there.
Black Eyed Peas – I've Gotta Feeling
This is one of the most nominated songs. The level of angst that it inspires, if harnessed properly, could end our reliance on fossil fuels.
Black Lace – Agadoo
Blondie - Heart of Glass
Blondie – Rapture
I was glad these were nominated. It's nice to have some great songs in any playlist.
Blue Mink - Melting Pot
No argument.
The Bluebirds - Young At Heart
Dunghampers.
Blur - Song 2
Bobby McFerrin – Don't Worry Be Happy
Two songs by otherwise popular acts, completely ruined by their ubiquity.
Bobby Pickett - Monster Mash
Bon Jovi – Livin' On A Prayer
These two are on rotation as the elevator music in hell.
Bonnie Tyler – Total Eclipse of the Heart
Brand New Heavies – Midnight At The Oasis
Bruce Hornsby – The Way It Is
Bryan Adams - Everything I Do, I Do It For You
Sixteen weeks at number 1. Sixteen! Someone must have been switching out the HRT pills for M&Ms that summer.
Bryan Adams - Summer of '69
Bryan Ferry – Let's Stick Together
Crap, warbled by a prick.
Buckcherry – Crazy Bitch
The Byrds – Mr. Tambourine Man
The worst band in history.
Carl Douglas – Kung Fu Fighting
Carly Simon – You're So Vain
Carly-Rae Jepsen – Call Me Maybe
The Carpenters – Yesterday Once More
A brother and sister, singing love songs to one another.
Catatonia – Road Rage
Celine Dion – My Heart Will Go On
Chas & Dave – Rabbit
Cher - Believe
Dance music for people who don't like dance music.
Cher - The Shoop Shoop Song
Cher - Walking In Memphis
My own personal choice. A song of irredeemable awfulness.
Chris De Burgh – A Spaceman Came Travelling
Chris De Burgh – The Lady In Red
Run away!
Christina Aguilera - Lady Marmalade
Chumbawamba - Tubthumping
Cliff Richard – Mistletoe and Wine
Cliff Richard – The Millennium Prayer
The first Christmas songs on the list. They will not be the last.
Coldplay – Clocks
Coldplay – Yellow
Coldplay invoke all kinds of ire, but these were the only two specific songs chosen. (Update: someone nominated every single song Coldplay have recorded, in alphabetical order of the title. Is this what my life has become?)
Coolio ft. L.V. – Gangsta's Paradise
The Coral – In The Morning
Counting Crows – Big Yellow Taxi
Courtney Barnett – Pickles From The Jar
The Cranberries – Zombie
Crash Test Dummies – Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm
Hnngh hnngh hnngh hnngh.
Crazy Town – Butterfly
The stink of RHCP all over it. Music for the tattoo parlour where you caught hepatitis.
Crystal Waters - Gypsy Woman
Cutting Crew – (I Just) Died In Your Arms
Cyndi Lauper – Girls Just Want To Have Fun
D:Ream – Things Can Only Get Better
Danny Wilson – Mary's Prayer
I'd forgotten about this one. One of my favourite choices on the list, it is a howler.
David Bowie – Across The Universe
David Bowie – The Jean Genie
Dead Or Alive – You Spin Me Round
The curse of 2016 stuck just a day later. Sorry, Pete.
Deee Lite – Groove Is In The Heart
Deep Blue Something – Breakfast At Tiffany's
Of all the songs nominated, this one inspired the most hatred and anger.
Des'ree - Life
Dexys Midnight Runners - Come On Eileen
A brilliant song by a brilliant band, so there.
Diana Ross – Chain Reaction
My mum's least favourite song.
Dire Straits – Money For Nothing
Dire Straits – Romeo and Juliet
Dire straights.
DJ Otzi – Hey Baby
Perhaps the only good argument as to why leaving the EU was a good idea after all.
Dobie Gray – Drift Away
Dodgy – Good Enough
Don McLean – American Pie
Doobie Brothers - What A Fool Believes
I sang this tunelessly the entire morning after it was mentioned. My wife left me.
Doop – Doop
Dream Academy – Life In A Northern Town
"President Kennedy... and The Beatles (scream)...". A sackcloth full of watery cum.
The Eagles – Hotel California
The other worst band in history.
Edwyn Collins – A Girl Like You
Eiffel 65 – Blue
Elbow - One Day Like This
Ellie Goulding – On My Mind
A friend played this to his 4-year old daughter. Her response? "Why's she saying that? This isn't even a song, dad".
Elton John – Candle In The Wind (1997)
Well, obvs.
Elton John – Crocodile Rock
Elton John – Your Song
Elvis Presley - Return To Sender
Eminem – Lose Yourself
Enigma – Sadness
For when your ambient dance track needs more Gregorian Chant.
Eve ft. Gwen Stefani – Let Me Blow Ya Mind
The theme tune from Everything's Rosie
The curse of cBeebies.
Fairground Attraction – Perfect
Fountains of Wayne - Stacey's Mom
Frank Sinatra - My Way
The Fratellis – Chelsea Dagger
The sound of losing your virginity in a public toilet at a darts match as they counted up the results of the EU referendum.
Fun ft. Janelle Monae – We Are Young
Gary Puckett and Union Gap – Young Girl
A brilliant choice. I applaud whoever it was who suggested this one.
George Ezra – Drawing Board
Gerry & The Pacemakers – You'll Never Walk Alone
Full disclosure: the person who nominated this song's Twitter avatar is the badge of Everton Football Club. However, it all checks out. This song is bobbins.
Gerry Rafferty - Baker Street
Extraordinarily popular choice. Because no-one likes saxophones.
Glasvegas – Daddy's Gone
Gloria Gaynor – I Will Survive
The most nominated song to include the qualifier "I'm sure no-one else has said this, but..."
The Goo-Goo Dolls – Iris
Green Day – Good Riddance (Time of your Life)
Guns 'n' Roses – Sweet Child o Mine
Gwen Stefani – Hollaback Girl
Hinder – Lips Of An Angel
House of Pain - Jump Around
The early leader in the popular vote. The party song for people who don't go to parties.
Idina Menzel – Let It Go
Inner Circle - Sweat
The Jam - A Town Called Malice
James Blunt – You're Beautiful
James Brown – I Feel Good
Someone was obviously having a bad day.
Jamie Lawson – Wasn't Expecting That
Jamiroquai – Canned Heat
Janet Jackson – Rhythm Nation
Janis Joplin – Mercedes Benz
Jay-Z ft. Alicia Keys – Empire State of Mind
Surprisingly, this is not on Spotify. So you all dodged a bullet there.
Jennifer Rush – The Power of Love
Jim Diamond – I Should Have Known Better
JJ Barrie – No Charge
Joe Dolce – Shaddap You Face
John Lennon – Imagine
John Mayer – Your Body Is A Wonderland
Joni Mitchell – Big Yellow Taxi
Journey – Don't Stop Believin'
I have a long-standing suspicion of songs with abbreviated words in their title.
Justin Bieber – Baby
Baby baby baby, ooh (repeat x1 fucking trillion)
Kate Nash – Foundations
Kate Tempest – Circles
Katie Melua – Closest Thing To Crazy
Katie Melua – Nine Million Bicycles
Katrina and the Waves – Walking On Sunshine
Some people don't like to be happy.
Katy Perry – California Gurls
Katy Perry – I Kissed A Girl
Katy Perry – Roar
Katy Perry has three songs on the list, representing 50% of her entire artistic output.
The Killers - Mr. Brightside
An outstandingly unpopular and awful record.
Kings of Leon - Sex On Fire
Ffffuuuu
Kings Of Leon – Use Somebody
The La's – There She Goes
Lady Gaga – Bad Romance
Led Zeppelin – Stairway To Heaven
Leonard Cohen – Hallelujah
Lighthouse Family - Lifted
Lighthouse Family – Ocean Drive
The elevator music in Purgatory.
Limp Bizkit – My Generation
Lisa Stansfield – Around The World
Little Eva – The Locomotion
Lo-Fang – You're The One That I Want
Los Del Rio – Macarena
Lou Bega – Mambo No. 5
Lukas Graham – 7 Years
Lulu - Shout
Lulu - The Boat That I Row
Lulu is not nearly as popular as Absolutely Fabulous would have you believe.
Madness – Baggy Trousers
Madonna – Like A Virgin
MAGIC! - Rude
Manfred Mann's Earth Band – Blinded By The Light
A solid choice.
Manic Street Preachers – SYMM
A song. About writing a song. About Hillsborough. A song about writing a song about Hillsborough.
Marc Cohn – Walking In Memphis
The worst song ever written, performed by the culprit.
Mariah Carey – All I Want For Christmas Is You
Mark Ronson ft. Bruno Mars – Uptown Funk
Maroon 5 – Animals
Maroon 5 – Moves Like Jagger
Maroon 5 – This Love
No-one likes Maroon 5.
Meatloaf – I'd Do Anything For Love
Do it and get off.
Meghan Trainor – All About That Bass
No treble?
Men At Work – Down Under
Mercury Rev - Goddess On A Hiway
Michael Buble – It's A Beautiful Day
Michael Jackson – Earth Song
Considering his enormous popularity, ubiquity and cultural significance, a surprising solitary vote for Michael Jackson. Then again, Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen didn't get any. But then again, neither of them recorded Earth Song.
MIKA – Grace Kelly
Mike and the Mechanics – The Living Years
This one made me nod my head so hard I think something broke off inside.
MN8 - I've Got A Little Something For You
Mousse T ft. Tom Jones – Sex Bomb
Mr. Big – To Be With You
Mumford and Sons – I Will Wait
Natasha Bedingfield – These Words
The New Radicals – You Only Get What You Give
Inspires nought but rage.
Nicki Minaj – Anaconda
Nickleback - Rockstar
Oasis - Champagne Supernova
I think the original nomination sums this one up better than I ever could:
Oasis - Shakermaker
Oasis - Wonderwall
One of the most nominated songs of them all. Is it because it has been over-played? Or just because it is shit? Or both?
Oasis – All Around The World
"IT NEVER FUCKING ENDS" argues the nominator.
Ocean Colour Scene – The Day We Caught The Train
Offspring - Come Out and Play
OMC – How Bizarre
This song inspires such ire that it renders a lot of people speechless.
Paolo Nutini – New Shoes
Paul McCartney – We All Stand Together
Paul McCartney – Wonderful Christmastime
Peter Sarstedt – Where Do You Go To My Lovely?
An exceedingly popular choice.
Pharrell Williams – Happy
Phil Collins - In The Air Tonight
Phil Collins - You Can't Hurry Love
Phil Collins – Easy Lover
You couldn't not have a bit of Phil.
Picture House – Sunburst
The Pogues and Kirsty McColl - The Fairytale of New York
The Proclaimers – I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)
The Prodigy – Firestarter
Psy - Gangnam Style
This song is the national anthem of the list.
Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody
Queen – Don't Stop Me Now
Queen – We Are The Champions
Queen – We Will Rock You
I like one of these songs, but you'll have to guess which one while I go and throw up.
R.E.M. - Shiny Happy People
My mate Kev's choice, the first song committed to the list.
Razorlight - America
Red Hot Chilli Peppers - Californication
Red Hot Chilli Peppers - Under The Bridge
"Whenever anyone hears a song and asks 'what is THIS shit?', the answer is always Red Hot Chilli Peppers"
Rednex – Cotton Eye Joe
The Cast of Rent – Seasons of Love
Reverend and The Makers – Heavyweight Champion of the World
Richard Harris – Macarthur Park
Ricky Martin – Livin' La Vida Loca
The Righteous Brothers – You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling
Rihanna – Take A Bow
Robbie Williams - Angels
Robbie Williams - Millennium
Robbie Williams - Rock DJ
Robbie Williams – Candy
Robbie Williams – Freedom
Robbie Williams – Mack The Knife
Robbie Williams – Rudebox
No-one has as many entries on this list than Robbie. He has touched many lives.
Robert Palmer - Addicted To Love
Robin S – Show Me Love
Robin Thicke – Blurred Lines
One of the most frequent choices. A dumb-as-shit, rape apologist, piece of fucking garbage sung by a peenarse.
The Cast of The Rocky Horror Show – The Time Warp
Rod Stewart – Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?
Nope.
Roy Orbison – Oh, Pretty Woman
Run DMC ft. Aerosmith – Walk This Way
Rupert Holmes - Escape
Sacred Reich - 31 Flavors
Sam Smith – Money On My Mind
Sandi Thom – I Wish I Was A Punk Rocker
Santana – Smooth
The soundtrack to trying to pick up a really runny dog shit.
Sash – Encore Un Fois
Savage Garden – Truly, Madly, Deeply
Music for, and by, virgins.
The Scorpions - Winds Of Change
The Scorpions – Still Loving You
The band that made people want to rebuild the Berlin Wall. Not on Spotify, you lucky people.
Scouting For Girls – She's So Lovely
The Script – The Man Who Couldn't Be Moved
Shaggy – It Wasn't Me
Shania Twain - Man! I Feel Like A Woman!
Songs with unnecessary exclamation marks in the title.
Shanice – I Love Your Smile
Shut Up And Dance – Raving I'm Raving
A rave track that samples Walking In Memphis. What's not to like?
Simply Red – Fairground
You know how smug Hucknall's face must have been when he finished this one.
Simply Red – Stars
Sister Sledge - Frankie
Sixpence None The Richer – Kiss Me
Slade - Merry Xmas Everybody
I like this one and I don't care. Although, not in October.
Smash Mouth – All Star
Snap - Rhythm is a Dancer
Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars
Social Distortion - Story of my Life
Sophie Ellis Bextor – Murder On The Dancefloor
Space ft. Cerys Matthews – The Ballad of Tom Jones
No nomination made me laugh as much as this one. It is perfect, brilliant and entirely correct.
Spice Girls - Wannabe
The Spin Doctors – Two Princes
One of the most magnificently unpopular songs on the list. I guarantee that when I go back to Twitter after finishing this post, there'll be a new tweet nominating this. Probably with the word "fucking" in it.
Starship - Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now
Starship – We Built This City
Stereophonics - Hurry Up and Wait
Stereophonics – Have A Nice Day
If you ever doubt how much people hate these two groups, just read the Twitter thread.
Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel - Make Me Smile (Come Up and See Me)
Steve Miller Band - Abracadabra
Steve Walsh – I Found Lovin'
Stevie Wonder – I Just Called To Say I Love You
Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney – Ebony and Ivory
Perhaps the two most hateful songs ever written, for any fans of irony out there.
Stiltskin – Inside
The Stranglers – Golden Brown
Supertramp – The Logical Song
Survivor – Eye of the Tiger
Sweet – Wig Wam Bam
The fucking Sweet. The other, other worst band in history.
T'Pau – China In Your Hand
I like this, so nur.
Take That ft. Lulu – Relight My Fire
Tammy Wynette – Stand By Your Man
Taylor Swift – I Knew You Were Trouble
Taylor Swift – Shake It Off
Taylor Swift is not on Spotify so you won't be able to enjoy what a brilliant song Shake It Off is. Or how arse-clenchingly dreadful the other one is.
Terence Trent D'arby – Wishing Well
Terry Jacks – Seasons In The Sun
A tumour.
They Might Be Giants - Birdhouse In Your Soul
The inclusion of this one sparked controversy in my timeline, with calls to name and shame. Cards on the table, I like it. Many, many others do not.
Tina Turner – The Best
Hah!
TLC – No Scrubs
Tom Petty – Free Fallin'
Tony Christie – Is This The Way To Amarillo?
Toploader - Dancing In The Moonlight
Hands down, this is the popular choice for the most hated song in history. The sound of Hard Brexit happening as Jamie Oliver runs over your dog in his VW camper van.
Traditional - Jerusalem
"...when it is sung by old posh ladies".
Traditional - Little Drummer Boy
Traditional – I'm Proud To Be An American
Trio – Da Da Da
Twista ft. Anthony Hamilton – Sunshine
U2 – Beautiful Day
A song so cataclysmically awful that it drew the fire from the remainder of the U2 canon.
UB40 - Red Red Wine
Ultrabeat – Pretty Green Eyes
Ultravox – Vienna
Van Morrison - Brown-Eyed Girl
Vance Joy – Riptide
Waterboys – The Whole of the Moon
The overwhelming choice from Irish and Scottish respondents.
The Weathergirls – It's Raining Men
Westlife – You Raise Me Up
Wet Wet Wet – Love Is All Around
Wheatus – Teenage Dirtbag
Whigfield - Saturday Night
Whitney Houston - I Will Always Love You
My dad's least favourite song.
Wings – Mull Of Kintyre
Wizzard – I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day
Yello – Oh Yeah
Oh no.
++ LATE NEWS ++
There continues to be significant interest in this project, significant enough to increase the 337 songs to 373 and then to 380. Which is more. For the benefit of science, here are the new entries:
Anohni - 4 Degrees
Basement Jaxx - Do Your Thing
The Beatles - Octopus's Garden
And yet, still nothing for Rocky Raccoon. Or Oh-Bla-Di, Oh-Bla-Dah.
Benny Mardones - Into The Night
Beverly Knight - Shoulda Woulda Coulda
Billy Swan - I Can Help
Bran Van 3000 - Drinking In L.A.
Songs from adverts, a surefire recipe for resentment and anger.
Bros - When Will I Be Famous?
Caro Emerald - Liquid Lunch
Charlene - I've Never Been To Me
Colbie Caillat - Bubbly
Corinne Bailey-Rae - Put Your Records On
The Cult - She Sells Sanctuary
Donna Fargo - The Happiest Girl in the Whole U.S.A.
Elton John - Passengers
Eternal - I Wanna Be The Only One
Europe - The Final Countdown
Dur dur dur dur, dur dur dur dur dur.
Flying Machine - Smile A Little Smile For Me
Fools Garden - Lemon Tree
Frankie Goes To Hollywood - Relax
Look, I don't choose these songs, OK?
Jeff Beck - Hi Ho Silver Lining
Although if I could, I would.
LMFAO - Sexy And I Know It
Madonna - Die Another Day
The Mavericks - Dance The Night Away
The creeping menace of modern country music.
M.C. Hammer - U Can't Touch This
Midnight Oil - Beds Are Burning
Nelly Furtado - I'm Like A Bird
Okkervil Rover - A Girl In Port
Outkast - Hey Ya!
Prefab Sprout - The King of Rock and Roll
Hot dog.
Procul Harem - A Whiter Shade of Pale
R.E.M. - Everybody Hurts
Rod Stewart - Sailing
The Rolling Stones - Sympathy For The Devil
I fundamentally disagree with three out of these four choices. I will leave you to guess which is the odd one out. (It's Rod Stewart).
Sheryl Crow - All I Wanna Do
Stan Ridgway - Camouflage
Steve Winwood - Higher Love
Southern Sound FM, Woodingdean 1991, representing.
The Streets - Fit But You Know It
Swing Out Sister - Breakout
Tight Fit - The Lion Sleeps Tonight
I can see how these could wear you down.
Saturday, 4 June 2016
Muhammad Ali, 1942-2016
Muhammad Ali left us today, in as far as he ever can.
Cassius Marcellus Clay Jr. was just a boxer. A boxer in the same way, perhaps, that Pelé was just a footballer, but just a boxer all the same. Muhammad Ali, however, was a politician, a poet, a wit, a diplomat, a contrarian, a storyteller, a peace campaigner, a husband, a father, a religious advocate, a motivational speaker, a pillar of the civil rights movement, a television personality, a social theorist, a comedian, a villain, a hero, a martyr.
He was also twice the heavyweight boxing champion of the world. Having been stripped of the title for his social and political ideals in the turbulence of 1960s America, he regained it - aged 32 - against George Foreman in Zaire with such a breathtakingly audacious combination of brawn and brains that it walked the unseen line that divides life and death. Just under a year later, he retained the belt fighting Joe Frazier in the Philippines. Flirting with that line again, The Thrilla In Manila was a contest of such punishing circumstances that everyone involved was pushed to the outer limits of the known human capacity for endurance: physical, emotional, spiritual.
In the end, Muhammad Ali was a leader. Never before or since has a sporting figure so supervened their station and entered the wider public consciousness with such vitality or luminous brilliance. Ali is a hero to more than just those who follow boxing or saw him fight. Some, I'm sure, don't even know he was a fighter. After a time, it became incidental anyway. Muhammad Ali went beyond labels, beyond time and place.
Muhammad Ali gave people hopes and dreams; his foibles, mistakes and indiscretions serving only to make us feel better about those of our own. To come across Ali's story is to be moved, thrilled, excited. It is energising in a way that speaks to the human spirit at a most fundamental level.
His story will be discussed for as long as human beings are. The words "The Greatest" will never be far away, drawn magnetically towards one another. It was Clay - the boxer - who first immodestly bestowed himself with the moniker. In later years, Ali would admit he had done so without even realising yet that he was. Nevertheless, it was prescient in the extreme: Ali's life continued along a path of transcendence as if, at times, guided by an unseen hand.
Those of us today, living on in his wake, are blessed and cursed. Cursed because we are too close to properly appreciate Muhammad Ali with anything like the true perspective that his life, his achievements, his personality, his essence, will ultimately demand. It may take tens, or hundreds, of years for that to be possible. But we are blessed, too: no-one else in human history will be able to boast that they had shared a planet with him, had the opportunity to see their lives directly impacted or influenced by his in real time.
Muhammad Ali was bigger than boxing, bigger than sport. His was the ineffable spark of humanity. This was as good as it gets. He is the greatest.
Cassius Marcellus Clay Jr. was just a boxer. A boxer in the same way, perhaps, that Pelé was just a footballer, but just a boxer all the same. Muhammad Ali, however, was a politician, a poet, a wit, a diplomat, a contrarian, a storyteller, a peace campaigner, a husband, a father, a religious advocate, a motivational speaker, a pillar of the civil rights movement, a television personality, a social theorist, a comedian, a villain, a hero, a martyr.
He was also twice the heavyweight boxing champion of the world. Having been stripped of the title for his social and political ideals in the turbulence of 1960s America, he regained it - aged 32 - against George Foreman in Zaire with such a breathtakingly audacious combination of brawn and brains that it walked the unseen line that divides life and death. Just under a year later, he retained the belt fighting Joe Frazier in the Philippines. Flirting with that line again, The Thrilla In Manila was a contest of such punishing circumstances that everyone involved was pushed to the outer limits of the known human capacity for endurance: physical, emotional, spiritual.
In the end, Muhammad Ali was a leader. Never before or since has a sporting figure so supervened their station and entered the wider public consciousness with such vitality or luminous brilliance. Ali is a hero to more than just those who follow boxing or saw him fight. Some, I'm sure, don't even know he was a fighter. After a time, it became incidental anyway. Muhammad Ali went beyond labels, beyond time and place.
Muhammad Ali gave people hopes and dreams; his foibles, mistakes and indiscretions serving only to make us feel better about those of our own. To come across Ali's story is to be moved, thrilled, excited. It is energising in a way that speaks to the human spirit at a most fundamental level.
His story will be discussed for as long as human beings are. The words "The Greatest" will never be far away, drawn magnetically towards one another. It was Clay - the boxer - who first immodestly bestowed himself with the moniker. In later years, Ali would admit he had done so without even realising yet that he was. Nevertheless, it was prescient in the extreme: Ali's life continued along a path of transcendence as if, at times, guided by an unseen hand.
Those of us today, living on in his wake, are blessed and cursed. Cursed because we are too close to properly appreciate Muhammad Ali with anything like the true perspective that his life, his achievements, his personality, his essence, will ultimately demand. It may take tens, or hundreds, of years for that to be possible. But we are blessed, too: no-one else in human history will be able to boast that they had shared a planet with him, had the opportunity to see their lives directly impacted or influenced by his in real time.
Muhammad Ali was bigger than boxing, bigger than sport. His was the ineffable spark of humanity. This was as good as it gets. He is the greatest.
Tuesday, 23 February 2016
Pictures for sale
It's that time again, when Spring is starting to spring and I look around my cave of bewilderment and pencil shavings and see artistic output strewn everywhere. Maybe you or someone you know might be able to give any of these pictures a home?
If any of the above have caught your attention, you can email me or contact me via Twitter or Facebook. Alternatively, you can do the whole thing via Paypal, although do remember to leave a note stating which picture or pictures you would like.
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| ADELAIDE TERRACE, HOVE. 28 x 38cm, acrylic on 300gsm watercolour paper. WAS £120, now £80. |
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| CHIN UP, LOVE - IT'S THE PRESIDENTIAL INAUGURATION. 9.5 x 28cm, acrylic on 300gsm watercolour paper. WAS £50, now £30. |
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| NIKI LAUDA. 21 x 27cm, acrylic on textured white card. WAS £70, now £40. |
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| STREET FIGHTER 2: REUNION EDITION. 38 x 28cm; pen, ink and watercolour on 300gsm watercolour paper. WAS £120, now £80. |
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| SWAN RUGBY. 10 x 15cm; pen, ink and marker on 220gsm cartridge paper. WAS £25, now £10. |
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| WESTERN. 21 x 30cm; pen, ink, watercolour and pencil on white card. WAS £35, now £20. |
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| ZINEDINE ZIDANE. 21 x 29cm; acrylic on reclaimed book page. WAS £70, now £40. |
If any of the above have caught your attention, you can email me or contact me via Twitter or Facebook. Alternatively, you can do the whole thing via Paypal, although do remember to leave a note stating which picture or pictures you would like.
Thursday, 26 November 2015
Twenty five dogs
My history of doing prints has been a slew of disappointment and frustration, I'll be honest with you. There is little more dispiriting than watching a pile of identical artworks gathering dust sadly in the corner of your room.
So I have come up with a brilliant solution. What if everybody who wanted to buy a print told me ahead of time, so that I know how many to get? I know. Pretty smart. I suppose if I was really on top of things, I'd start getting deposits in as well. But if there is one thing about me, it is that I am a hugely credulous optimist at heart, so hopefully (hopefully) I won't have to do this.
I understand that this is perhaps not the kind of positivity and salesmanship that one would normally associate with this kind of pitch. However, as well as being a hugely credulous optimist, I am also a honest to the point of harmfulness. I anticipate that I will soon win numerous awards for my business acumen.
But anyway, yes... I've made a print! Twenty five dog breeds! How about that? It will be A3 size (29.7 x 42cm) and printed on 170gsm paper. The price is £20, plus £5 for postage and packing (or £10 for postage and packing if you are outside of the UK). If you would like to pre-order one, you can either email me or contact me via Facebook. I can't absolutely guarantee that they will be ready in time for Christmas, but if you particularly want it for then do let me know and I will try and accommodate.
PLUS! A bonus for all my long-suffering fans: I have made all the line art (plus some extra stuff that didn't make the cut) available as six A4-sized pages that you can download, print out and colour in yourself. They are available HERE. For free! FREE!
So I have come up with a brilliant solution. What if everybody who wanted to buy a print told me ahead of time, so that I know how many to get? I know. Pretty smart. I suppose if I was really on top of things, I'd start getting deposits in as well. But if there is one thing about me, it is that I am a hugely credulous optimist at heart, so hopefully (hopefully) I won't have to do this.
I understand that this is perhaps not the kind of positivity and salesmanship that one would normally associate with this kind of pitch. However, as well as being a hugely credulous optimist, I am also a honest to the point of harmfulness. I anticipate that I will soon win numerous awards for my business acumen.
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| Click here for bigger |
But anyway, yes... I've made a print! Twenty five dog breeds! How about that? It will be A3 size (29.7 x 42cm) and printed on 170gsm paper. The price is £20, plus £5 for postage and packing (or £10 for postage and packing if you are outside of the UK). If you would like to pre-order one, you can either email me or contact me via Facebook. I can't absolutely guarantee that they will be ready in time for Christmas, but if you particularly want it for then do let me know and I will try and accommodate.
PLUS! A bonus for all my long-suffering fans: I have made all the line art (plus some extra stuff that didn't make the cut) available as six A4-sized pages that you can download, print out and colour in yourself. They are available HERE. For free! FREE!
Monday, 15 June 2015
Everything you thought you knew about dogs is wrong
I have a dog now. People who have been with me every step of this disjointed and increasingly stationary journey will no doubt be pleased to hear that it is the same dog as they have met before on these pages. He is still very much the same dog. I am still very much the same man. Although we are now both two-and-a-half years older, neither one of us has grown any wiser. We both smell a little worse and find standing up more of a chore but we remain, fundamentally, fuckwits.
The last time the dog and me had this association, he was just visiting. But now he is here to stay and we can dedicate ourselves full time to our ultimate goal, which is ruining each others' lives. He is winning and will win, as I was already convinced that my life was in ruin. Plus, you know, he is a dog and therefore pretty contented with his lot.
But even though the enriching life lessons part of pet ownership will almost invariably pass me by, I have nevertheless decided that I must use this opportunity for scientific enquiry and in so doing have discovered a great many things. Among these nuggets (of what are probably dog faeces) sit some pieces of information which will bust myths, explode paradigms and blow minds in equal measure. Everything you thought you knew about dogs, it turns out, is in fact wrong.
1. Dogs do NOT eat bones
Not a single bone. Not a one. Anyone expecting to see my dog sat down chowing into some osseous tissue will be shit out of luck. What dogs eat is in fact dog food, which is readily available in shops. But here's the rub: if you take your dog to the veterinary hospital and have it x-rayed (for example, on a night when there's nothing on the telly), you will find it to be completely full of bones. I do not know how these bones get in there.
2. People who do not like dogs or are scared of dogs will NOT like your dog
Anyone with a caninically nervous disposition has heard this one. "Oh, you'll like MY dog". In fact, you will not. Most people who are nervous around dogs dislike the rush of the approach, the jumping up, the frenzied and slobbery attempts at friendship, the barking. My dog does all of these things. It is, to be fair, only a little dog and as such these tendencies are more potentially adorable than if it was one of those horse-sized dogs. But the fact remains. My dog acts like pretty much all the other dogs and as such, if you do not like dogs you will probably not like my dog.
3. All dogs owners clean up after their dog
I am aware that this is a contentious belief and one directly challenged by the fly-strewn, humming, practically sentient, mountainous egg piles that adorn pretty much every busy thoroughfare and public park in the land. However, I have never seen a dog owner without a sack full of brown swinging, or at the very least the paraphernalia to hand to address the situation.
The massive, stinking, steamy curlers that you see everywhere are, therefore, utterly unexplained by science and may even be evidence of extra-terrestrial involvement in Earthly doings. A humbling thought and certainly one in the eye for anyone who has ever walked around Hove Recreation Ground this lunchtime and seen all of the dozens of piles of dog shit and thought to themselves, "for fuck's sake, clean up after your fucking dog, fuck me... Jesus, look at that one, fuck". It was as though the circus was in town and they'd been looking for somewhere to exercise the elephants. Or it would have been, had I not already explained that they were done by aliens.
Some of whom I would advise should probably consult a doctor.
The last time the dog and me had this association, he was just visiting. But now he is here to stay and we can dedicate ourselves full time to our ultimate goal, which is ruining each others' lives. He is winning and will win, as I was already convinced that my life was in ruin. Plus, you know, he is a dog and therefore pretty contented with his lot.
But even though the enriching life lessons part of pet ownership will almost invariably pass me by, I have nevertheless decided that I must use this opportunity for scientific enquiry and in so doing have discovered a great many things. Among these nuggets (of what are probably dog faeces) sit some pieces of information which will bust myths, explode paradigms and blow minds in equal measure. Everything you thought you knew about dogs, it turns out, is in fact wrong.
1. Dogs do NOT eat bones
Not a single bone. Not a one. Anyone expecting to see my dog sat down chowing into some osseous tissue will be shit out of luck. What dogs eat is in fact dog food, which is readily available in shops. But here's the rub: if you take your dog to the veterinary hospital and have it x-rayed (for example, on a night when there's nothing on the telly), you will find it to be completely full of bones. I do not know how these bones get in there.
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| Not a bone in sight |
2. People who do not like dogs or are scared of dogs will NOT like your dog
Anyone with a caninically nervous disposition has heard this one. "Oh, you'll like MY dog". In fact, you will not. Most people who are nervous around dogs dislike the rush of the approach, the jumping up, the frenzied and slobbery attempts at friendship, the barking. My dog does all of these things. It is, to be fair, only a little dog and as such these tendencies are more potentially adorable than if it was one of those horse-sized dogs. But the fact remains. My dog acts like pretty much all the other dogs and as such, if you do not like dogs you will probably not like my dog.
3. All dogs owners clean up after their dog
I am aware that this is a contentious belief and one directly challenged by the fly-strewn, humming, practically sentient, mountainous egg piles that adorn pretty much every busy thoroughfare and public park in the land. However, I have never seen a dog owner without a sack full of brown swinging, or at the very least the paraphernalia to hand to address the situation.
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| Hove Recreation Ground, mentioned in the text any moment now |
The massive, stinking, steamy curlers that you see everywhere are, therefore, utterly unexplained by science and may even be evidence of extra-terrestrial involvement in Earthly doings. A humbling thought and certainly one in the eye for anyone who has ever walked around Hove Recreation Ground this lunchtime and seen all of the dozens of piles of dog shit and thought to themselves, "for fuck's sake, clean up after your fucking dog, fuck me... Jesus, look at that one, fuck". It was as though the circus was in town and they'd been looking for somewhere to exercise the elephants. Or it would have been, had I not already explained that they were done by aliens.
Some of whom I would advise should probably consult a doctor.
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| The end. |
Friday, 17 April 2015
The Joy of Doing Stuff
I've been watching a lot of woodworking videos on YouTube recently. No, wait, come back.
A while ago I found a rich seam of old motor racing documentaries on YouTube. They were mostly from the 1980s and almost always narrated by Martin Jarvis. In spite of the fact they were about racing cars, however, the thing which I enjoyed the most was watching a bunch of Midland craftsmen carving, from mahogany, a wooden former for the casting of a new engine block. The sight, sound and skill of it were mesmerising. Always a wise owl, I wondered if perhaps there might be some more examples of woodworking for me to watch on the site.
Of course, there were, as everything ever made is now on YouTube. It is by some margin the greatest site on the internet, ever. So, this is how I came to start watching a lot of YouTube videos about woodworking.
I can't particularly explain why I have been watching these videos. They are, for one thing, mostly tutorials and I have no particular interest in the practical side of woodwork. Make no mistake, if someone has a load of nice sharp tools and wood ready for me to have a wallop about with, I'd be in there like a shot. But to commit to making it happen for myself, the thought has never really crossed my mind. My last experience of woodwork came in Design & Technology class, which I stopped doing when I chose my subjects for GCSE in 1994. The ultimate result of this was a lot of unfinished crap and one tetanus shot.
And yet, I've been watching a lot of woodworking videos on YouTube recently. Hours and hours of them. I believe there is a basic desire in every human being to make things. To watch a craftsman produce a tangible object is extraordinarily, if often inexplicably, satisfying thing to do. But more than just satisfying. There is something profound in it. Something which is closer to the soul than our conscious brain can properly understand.
I quickly found a favourite producer of YouTube videos. It is Paul Sellers. Paul Sellers is a 60-year old British furniture maker and master craftsman with 45 years of experience and all the necessary tools to share and impart this knowledge. His videos are sometimes short affairs - mythbusting, tool maintenance or useful techniques - and sometimes hours and hours of masterclasses, where the viewer could, if they wanted to, make the piece along with him. The first video of his that I watched teaches how to carve a spoon using simple hand tools and I was absolutely hooked from the first axe cut.
Sellers is the teacher of your dreams in these videos. Calm, unambiguous, accomplished and authoritative without ever being steadfast, set in his ways or preachy. Plus, just the merest glance will tell you that he knows his stuff. What Mozart was to the pianoforte, Paul Sellers is to the Bailey-pattern number 4 bench plane. Coupled with the zen-like delivery - think Bob Ross, but with less happy clouds and more old-fashioned Salford common sense - I honestly think that anybody, of any walk of life and any set of interests, could happily lose themselves in his films.
I suppose that I am, too, a craftsman after a fashion. I, like Paul Sellers, have ploughed my own furrow in a world increasingly dominated by mechanical shortcuts and kept faith with traditional techniques. He does it with a lump of oak, I do it with bits of paper and pens. Although I may never necessarily do any woodwork, I have learned an awful lot from him. The importance of believing in your method. The fundamental seriousness of following your own vision. The simple joy of doing things rigorously, patiently and properly. These are basic lessons but also ones that strike at the very heart of learning about being human. I would like to thank him for that.
I recommend that you drop everything and indulge yourself in some Paul Sellers, right now: www.youtube.com/channel/UCc3EpWncNq5QL0QhwUNQb7w
A while ago I found a rich seam of old motor racing documentaries on YouTube. They were mostly from the 1980s and almost always narrated by Martin Jarvis. In spite of the fact they were about racing cars, however, the thing which I enjoyed the most was watching a bunch of Midland craftsmen carving, from mahogany, a wooden former for the casting of a new engine block. The sight, sound and skill of it were mesmerising. Always a wise owl, I wondered if perhaps there might be some more examples of woodworking for me to watch on the site.
Of course, there were, as everything ever made is now on YouTube. It is by some margin the greatest site on the internet, ever. So, this is how I came to start watching a lot of YouTube videos about woodworking.
I can't particularly explain why I have been watching these videos. They are, for one thing, mostly tutorials and I have no particular interest in the practical side of woodwork. Make no mistake, if someone has a load of nice sharp tools and wood ready for me to have a wallop about with, I'd be in there like a shot. But to commit to making it happen for myself, the thought has never really crossed my mind. My last experience of woodwork came in Design & Technology class, which I stopped doing when I chose my subjects for GCSE in 1994. The ultimate result of this was a lot of unfinished crap and one tetanus shot.
And yet, I've been watching a lot of woodworking videos on YouTube recently. Hours and hours of them. I believe there is a basic desire in every human being to make things. To watch a craftsman produce a tangible object is extraordinarily, if often inexplicably, satisfying thing to do. But more than just satisfying. There is something profound in it. Something which is closer to the soul than our conscious brain can properly understand.
 |
| Paul Sellers demonstrates the advantages of his weapon of choice, the no. 4 smoothing plane |
I quickly found a favourite producer of YouTube videos. It is Paul Sellers. Paul Sellers is a 60-year old British furniture maker and master craftsman with 45 years of experience and all the necessary tools to share and impart this knowledge. His videos are sometimes short affairs - mythbusting, tool maintenance or useful techniques - and sometimes hours and hours of masterclasses, where the viewer could, if they wanted to, make the piece along with him. The first video of his that I watched teaches how to carve a spoon using simple hand tools and I was absolutely hooked from the first axe cut.
Sellers is the teacher of your dreams in these videos. Calm, unambiguous, accomplished and authoritative without ever being steadfast, set in his ways or preachy. Plus, just the merest glance will tell you that he knows his stuff. What Mozart was to the pianoforte, Paul Sellers is to the Bailey-pattern number 4 bench plane. Coupled with the zen-like delivery - think Bob Ross, but with less happy clouds and more old-fashioned Salford common sense - I honestly think that anybody, of any walk of life and any set of interests, could happily lose themselves in his films.
I suppose that I am, too, a craftsman after a fashion. I, like Paul Sellers, have ploughed my own furrow in a world increasingly dominated by mechanical shortcuts and kept faith with traditional techniques. He does it with a lump of oak, I do it with bits of paper and pens. Although I may never necessarily do any woodwork, I have learned an awful lot from him. The importance of believing in your method. The fundamental seriousness of following your own vision. The simple joy of doing things rigorously, patiently and properly. These are basic lessons but also ones that strike at the very heart of learning about being human. I would like to thank him for that.
I recommend that you drop everything and indulge yourself in some Paul Sellers, right now: www.youtube.com/channel/UCc3EpWncNq5QL0QhwUNQb7w
Friday, 17 October 2014
Brand new bollocks
The other evening Twitter alerted me to the fact that erstwhile comedian, actor and television presenter Russell Brand had occupied Wall Street. This came as little surprise, as he is turning into a right prat.
Russell Brand is an interesting sort of chap. Most people grow out of the risibly simplistic and teenage desire for revolution, or any other such tearing down of the existing social fabric, in their early twenties or whenever else they have finished college. Alas, Brand claims to be interested in doing so only now that he was reached comfortable middle age. One can only assume that this is born out of a desire for self-flagellation stemming from a lack of self-esteem, because come the revolution the first people against the wall will be big-gobbed Pre-Raphaelite millionaire fannies.
Brand cannot just be dismissed out of hand. He has respect and an eager audience, not least off the back of a lot of his intelligent, sensitive and thoughtful journalism. But his transformation into a slacker messiah is particularly ill-timed. His arguments against voting could not really come at a worse time.
There are elements to his argument which are easy to sympathise with. British politics has been turning itself into a grey-brown morass of sameness for the best part of twenty years, ever since Tony Blair decided that the Labour Party were unelectable without transforming themselves into a nasty bunch of Thatcherite weasel bags. Voting is an increasingly difficult sell in these circumstances.
But there are still significant differences between the major British parties. No-one could pretend that a Labour government would have different inclinations and priorities to the current Coalition one, or that the path of the current government hasn't been influenced or tempered by the lousy, Quisling stink-bag Liberal Democrats. Yes, British political figures are a largely unlikeable bunch of braying, over-privileged tits, but ever was it thus.
The only result of apathy, however, is demagoguery. Political parties will tailor their policies towards those people who are likely to vote and to people who are likely to vote alone. What sort of policy would that make? Well, just check the polls and see how well UKIP are doing. Young, open-minded liberal people may feel increasingly marginalised by this but they're not going to see any improvements by disenfranchising themselves further; worse yet, by disenfranchising themselves through their own choice.
I like Russell Brand. I like him as a comedian, I like him as a broadcaster and I like him as a writer. I respect him. As such find his efforts to turn himself into David Icke all the more painful, not least because of the fact that he - ironically enough - represents many of the good things and positive things that a British government should be interested in fighting for. He is an intelligent, engaging and stimulating presence in our cultural life. But, to paraphrase Chris Rock's thoughts on Flavor Flav during the 2008 US Presidential election, Russell Brand needs to shut his fucking mouth until after next May. Because this is more important than his ego.
Russell Brand is an interesting sort of chap. Most people grow out of the risibly simplistic and teenage desire for revolution, or any other such tearing down of the existing social fabric, in their early twenties or whenever else they have finished college. Alas, Brand claims to be interested in doing so only now that he was reached comfortable middle age. One can only assume that this is born out of a desire for self-flagellation stemming from a lack of self-esteem, because come the revolution the first people against the wall will be big-gobbed Pre-Raphaelite millionaire fannies.
There are elements to his argument which are easy to sympathise with. British politics has been turning itself into a grey-brown morass of sameness for the best part of twenty years, ever since Tony Blair decided that the Labour Party were unelectable without transforming themselves into a nasty bunch of Thatcherite weasel bags. Voting is an increasingly difficult sell in these circumstances.
But there are still significant differences between the major British parties. No-one could pretend that a Labour government would have different inclinations and priorities to the current Coalition one, or that the path of the current government hasn't been influenced or tempered by the lousy, Quisling stink-bag Liberal Democrats. Yes, British political figures are a largely unlikeable bunch of braying, over-privileged tits, but ever was it thus.
The only result of apathy, however, is demagoguery. Political parties will tailor their policies towards those people who are likely to vote and to people who are likely to vote alone. What sort of policy would that make? Well, just check the polls and see how well UKIP are doing. Young, open-minded liberal people may feel increasingly marginalised by this but they're not going to see any improvements by disenfranchising themselves further; worse yet, by disenfranchising themselves through their own choice.
I like Russell Brand. I like him as a comedian, I like him as a broadcaster and I like him as a writer. I respect him. As such find his efforts to turn himself into David Icke all the more painful, not least because of the fact that he - ironically enough - represents many of the good things and positive things that a British government should be interested in fighting for. He is an intelligent, engaging and stimulating presence in our cultural life. But, to paraphrase Chris Rock's thoughts on Flavor Flav during the 2008 US Presidential election, Russell Brand needs to shut his fucking mouth until after next May. Because this is more important than his ego.
Thursday, 17 July 2014
Elephants and testicles
I think that it is now universally accepted that cancer can do one, so it's always good to see anyone stepping up to facilitate this process. The doing of one. CheckOneTwo are raising awareness of a cancer which predominantly strikes men. Women may well also be affected by testicular cancer but largely their own testicles remain unfettered.
Testicular cancer is the most likely cancer to afflict young adult men but it is also one of the most curable and survivable. The five year survival rate of sufferers in the UK is over 97%. As with all cancers, to give yourself the best chance it is best to catch it early. That's where CheckOneTwo's #FEELINGNUTS campaign comes in.
So, the next time your partner, spouse or mother tell you to stop playing with your goolies "because we're in the Harvester", stand up and be proud. For you are taking care of business and responsibility for your own health. For once, wrangling your knackers is the sensible, grown-up thing to do. As it ever was.
For more information on CheckOneTwo's #FEELINGNUTS campaign, you can visit their website, follow them on Twitter or Facebook, or watch their YouTube channel.
Testicular cancer is the most likely cancer to afflict young adult men but it is also one of the most curable and survivable. The five year survival rate of sufferers in the UK is over 97%. As with all cancers, to give yourself the best chance it is best to catch it early. That's where CheckOneTwo's #FEELINGNUTS campaign comes in.
So, the next time your partner, spouse or mother tell you to stop playing with your goolies "because we're in the Harvester", stand up and be proud. For you are taking care of business and responsibility for your own health. For once, wrangling your knackers is the sensible, grown-up thing to do. As it ever was.
For more information on CheckOneTwo's #FEELINGNUTS campaign, you can visit their website, follow them on Twitter or Facebook, or watch their YouTube channel.
Monday, 9 June 2014
Rik Mayall 1958-2014
Other people have died before, of course. And unless we've been horribly lied to, they will again. I might, even. But I suppose I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. Rik Mayall crossed that bridge today, numbingly, crushingly, horribly early. It's perhaps the only thing he has ever done to the British public that has not made them laugh riotously and made them feel glad to be alive.
Because that's what Rik Mayall was. A lightning bolt of energy, a distillation of every good thing about this existence, a cocked thumb at all the shitty things that grind people down. Those shitty things are boring. Rik Mayall was never boring a day in his life.
I was too young to have been affected by The Young Ones but the general opinion - and it's not just an opinion that has been made as a snap judgement before today's tears have dried - is that it was comedy's equivalent of the atomic bomb. A programme that was cutting edge, thrilling, visceral, terrifying; a moment in time after which nothing could ever be the same, even if we decided we wanted it to.
Being too young for The Young Ones had its own benefits, mind you. Most of the people who were so altered by it would probably have been off at university or starting out in their working lives when I was watching Rik present Grim Tales, one of the most dazzling, anarchic and brilliant storytelling exercises ever committed to television, let alone children's television. There was never anyone better on children's television than Rik Mayall. He made all the new things seem scary and impossibly exciting all at once.
There was Bottom, too, of course. For the Oppenheimer of alternative comedy to make such an oddly broad, childish and knockabout exercise in smut and toilet humour should have seemed anachronistic. It never did, though. There's no point in trying to analyse why that was. It just was. Rik Mayall understood what was, understood the absurdity of what was, and made us all shit our pants laughing about it.
In the last part of his life, post quad-bike accident (but I refuse to refer to it as "in his later years", he was only 56 years old, for god's sake) his appearances on TV became more sporadic but no less effective or exceptional. The only difference was that they were an even bigger treat. Last year he played in Greg Davies' excellent Channel 4 sitcom Man Down, a programme which I have only just this last month caught up on. He stole the show, of course, without it ever being to the detriment of the overall piece. Like everything else, it seems inconceivable that he won't be back in the second series.
It seems inconceivable that he won't be back, full stop. Rik Mayall and comedy were indivisible in my mind. People have died before, of course, and we've always found some way to recover enough to laugh again. It feels different this time. Peculiar.
We will all laugh again, of course. Rik Mayall won't be there to hear it, but I like to think that there'll be a small part of every titter, chuckle or guffaw which is a tribute to him, his life and his work. Thank you, Rik.
Because that's what Rik Mayall was. A lightning bolt of energy, a distillation of every good thing about this existence, a cocked thumb at all the shitty things that grind people down. Those shitty things are boring. Rik Mayall was never boring a day in his life.
I was too young to have been affected by The Young Ones but the general opinion - and it's not just an opinion that has been made as a snap judgement before today's tears have dried - is that it was comedy's equivalent of the atomic bomb. A programme that was cutting edge, thrilling, visceral, terrifying; a moment in time after which nothing could ever be the same, even if we decided we wanted it to.
Being too young for The Young Ones had its own benefits, mind you. Most of the people who were so altered by it would probably have been off at university or starting out in their working lives when I was watching Rik present Grim Tales, one of the most dazzling, anarchic and brilliant storytelling exercises ever committed to television, let alone children's television. There was never anyone better on children's television than Rik Mayall. He made all the new things seem scary and impossibly exciting all at once.
There was Bottom, too, of course. For the Oppenheimer of alternative comedy to make such an oddly broad, childish and knockabout exercise in smut and toilet humour should have seemed anachronistic. It never did, though. There's no point in trying to analyse why that was. It just was. Rik Mayall understood what was, understood the absurdity of what was, and made us all shit our pants laughing about it.
In the last part of his life, post quad-bike accident (but I refuse to refer to it as "in his later years", he was only 56 years old, for god's sake) his appearances on TV became more sporadic but no less effective or exceptional. The only difference was that they were an even bigger treat. Last year he played in Greg Davies' excellent Channel 4 sitcom Man Down, a programme which I have only just this last month caught up on. He stole the show, of course, without it ever being to the detriment of the overall piece. Like everything else, it seems inconceivable that he won't be back in the second series.
It seems inconceivable that he won't be back, full stop. Rik Mayall and comedy were indivisible in my mind. People have died before, of course, and we've always found some way to recover enough to laugh again. It feels different this time. Peculiar.
We will all laugh again, of course. Rik Mayall won't be there to hear it, but I like to think that there'll be a small part of every titter, chuckle or guffaw which is a tribute to him, his life and his work. Thank you, Rik.
Tuesday, 21 January 2014
Spring clean 2014
Hello again. You are hopefully now aware of my Redbubble page, a growing online portfolio of my work that can also be bought as t-shirts, cards and prints. However, now is a good time to remind you about my Etsy store. Here you can buy original artwork and signed prints, for that much more unique and personal touch.
*touch touch*
However, my Etsy store has been a bit stagnant lately. What I really want to do is to clear out some of the old artworks to make room for some shiny new ones. So, here's the deal.
On February 18th 2014, the majority of the listings on my Etsy store will expire and I have decided that I will not be renewing them. Instead they will gradually be replaced by new original work for people to gawp at in wonder and, hopefully, buy. So this is the last opportunity to get your hands on the existing stuff! To sweeten the deal, I've created two coupon codes for readers of this blog to get discounts on any stuff they buy.
At checkout, simply enter SPRING14 for 15% off any orders between £10-£49.99, or SPRING1425 for 25% off any order of £50 or more.
Please have a look and pass this link around. Let's try and find some of these things a nice home. Remember, these are all originals, one-offs and once they're gone, they're gone.
*touch touch*
However, my Etsy store has been a bit stagnant lately. What I really want to do is to clear out some of the old artworks to make room for some shiny new ones. So, here's the deal.
On February 18th 2014, the majority of the listings on my Etsy store will expire and I have decided that I will not be renewing them. Instead they will gradually be replaced by new original work for people to gawp at in wonder and, hopefully, buy. So this is the last opportunity to get your hands on the existing stuff! To sweeten the deal, I've created two coupon codes for readers of this blog to get discounts on any stuff they buy.
At checkout, simply enter SPRING14 for 15% off any orders between £10-£49.99, or SPRING1425 for 25% off any order of £50 or more.
Please have a look and pass this link around. Let's try and find some of these things a nice home. Remember, these are all originals, one-offs and once they're gone, they're gone.
 |
| Brighton seaside painting, £20 |
 |
| Extendable 2 canvas giraffe painting, £100 |
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| Rhinole painting, £20 |
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| Sussex seaside painting, £40 |
There are also two signed prints still for sale, 2 of each design:
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| Over-familiar tigers A3 print, £10 |
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| Slothbusters A3 print, £10 |
Thursday, 14 March 2013
A little housekeeping
Fans of me would probably already be aware of this but I believe it is possible that there may well be people who are fans of me and also completely bewildered, so here goes: Be sure to add sadclownillustration.blogspot.co.uk to your bookmarks and readers. It's packed to the gunnels with piping hot me on a daily basis.
Here you will find news about NEW AMAZING PRODUCTS at the Sad Clown Etsy store which I naturally hope you will all purchase in your droves, but as of this week you will also find a TOPICAL DAILY DOODLE from Monday to Friday. These are corruscatingly up-to-the-minute satirical sideswipes and NOT TO BE MISSED! Just observe Tuesday's blistering assault for evidence:
Here you will find news about NEW AMAZING PRODUCTS at the Sad Clown Etsy store which I naturally hope you will all purchase in your droves, but as of this week you will also find a TOPICAL DAILY DOODLE from Monday to Friday. These are corruscatingly up-to-the-minute satirical sideswipes and NOT TO BE MISSED! Just observe Tuesday's blistering assault for evidence:
Sunday, 3 February 2013
In order to decide the best one at something inexplicable to me
There have been 32 Super Bowls during my lifetime and I have watched none of them. The first one was on January 25th 1981 and was called Super Bowl XV. This made me feel old until I remembered that America is particularly historically deprived. It turns out that the first Super Bowl did not happen until 1967, which is almost 1968. Super Bowl XV was held five days after the inauguration of Ronald Reagan as the 40th President of the United States, an event so unlikely I still can't believe it happened. Five days, too, after the release of the American hostages in Iran. The patriotic fervour obviously had a positive effect on the Oakland Raiders, who beat the Philadelphia Eagles 27-10. Both teams celebrated by not getting to another Super Bowl until the mid-2000s. Neither have won it since. Losers.
Today's Super Bowl is called Super Bowl XLVII, which is Super Bowl 47 in normal. It is between the Baltimore Ravens, who are from Baltimore and the San Francisco 49ers who are from San Francisco and are also a sexual position. Five days ago North Korea launched a rocket for no particularly good reason and Ronald Reagan continued to be deceased, as he has been every day consecutively since June 5th 2004.
But the most seismic event about Super Bowl XLVII is that I am going to watch it and finally find out what all the fuss is about. I hope that Beyoncé doesn't mime the half-time show. Or else they'll set OJ Simpson on her. And so tonight on my blog you will be able to join me as I try and understand what the hell is going on. Will one of the teams do it? Or will there be a penalty shoot-out? This will also be my first ever game of American Football, so everything is up for grabs. Will American Football turn out to be better or worse than Rugby League? This is a rhetorical question. No sport is worse than Rugby League.
---
23.17 I have just emerged from what can only be described as a tactical disco nap and now I am READY TO GO.
23.19 What the hell is going on?
23.20 Apropos of nothing, this is day three of my 28-day vegetarian food-only diet. The food is nice but I am farting like a horse. Like a HORSE.
23.23 Perhaps this is why soccer has taken such a long time to get a foothold in the United States: the FA Cup final doesn't feature enough emotionally exploitative jingoistic singalongs.
23.24 Presumably some sort of sporting event is going to break out at any moment.
23.26 There is a spirited discussion of the talents of Baltimore's Ray Lewis which represents perhaps the most glowing assessment of any sportsman's ability I have heard in cases where they could easily be replaced by a side of beef, or an oak dresser.
23.30 OK, consider this the one-off, catch-all post regarding the way American sport serves television, whereas European sport is served by television. There. I said it.
23.32 Heavens, someone just kicked a ball. Now they're going to start beating up on each other.
23.33 They're going to have to replay the first down because of an illegal formation. Apparently. This is going to be a long night.
23.35 San Francisco are the red ones, right? This is an important tactical choice.
23.38 DRAMA. The Baltimore quarterback (Bauterback) just chucked the ball miles up the field. This could prove significant.
23.40 Offside. Will we sports fans ever be free?
23.41 TOUCHDOWN! Oh my word. It's my first ever touchdown. What an event. As the US networks celebrate with a hearty 20-minute commercial break, I get to reflect on Baltimore's quarterback and dashing number 5 shirt Joe Flacco who is chucking the ball about with some gusto. This time a man who is the biggest man I have ever seen caught it on some grass which is for some reason blue. Then the kicking man converted it, just like in a good old-fashioned rugger. It is Baltimore 7-0 San Francisco.
23.44 I could really go for some football now. That touchdown has got the blood running to my shoulder. How ironic that it should also have triggered a full-on infomercial marathon. The trouble with watching the Super Bowl on the BBC is that you can't possibly expect to have the same experience as viewers in the US. Advertisers invest so heavily in their Super Bowl commercials that they are almost a part of the game.
23.47 Football has started again. San Francisco provide an immediate piece of excitement with one of their players getting hold of the ball and legging it a full nineteen yards before he is flattened by a defender the size of a tree.
23.49 This game is beginning to remind me a lot of proper football, in that there is clearly a level of tactical nous and refinement at work here, but it is taking place at a level that goes right over my head. What I'm seeing on the field is total chaos. It's almost reassuring.
23.51 One innovation I would like to see in European sport is the way there are two completely different teams for if you're attacking or if you're defending. But on the flip-side, it would be deeply amusing to me to see all of the reedy sophisticated Pythagorian ball-players to also have to do all the defending, or the colossal lunatic fatties have to try and extrapolate a 45-yard pass to a moving target.
23.54 Field goal! San Francisco bum up a chance for a touchdown when their big fat player drops it in the end zone, but make up for it thanks to the piston-like boot of Jimmy Kickpuncher. Now in commercials. I am rapidly discovering that for the true gridiron purist, the worst thing that could possibly happen is that either side score. Because it means no more football for 5-10 minutes. Ho-hum. Baltimore 7-3 San Francisco.
00.01 The most significant thing in the build up to this match is that the teams are coached by two brothers. If only their parents had taught them the importance of sharing, none of this would be happening.
00.04 The Baltimore number 82 has preposterous hair. He reminds me a little of The Predator, who would almost certainly be a good American Football player.
00.06 I keep thinking about Charlie Brown.
00.07 According to the BBC studio analyst, football often looks like a game of chess. Which poses a series of questions.
00.08 If he'd said Twister, I'd be more inclined to believe him.
00.09 We're back under way! The startling innovation here is that they take shorter commercial breaks for the end of a quarter than they do for either team scoring. The equivalent in football would be to take a 20 minute break every time a player scored a goal. Which is how Aston Villa defend. #satire
00.11 I've not heard anyone say "23! 48! 72! Hike! Hike! Hut Hut Hut!" yet. I feel television has misled me.
00.12 These gentlemen are enormous. San Francisco's number 23 just tried to skilfully feint to turn his man and get away up the wing. His reward was to be clattered by a defender the size of a bison and drop the ball. So possession reverts to the other team. I think Isambard Kingdom Brunel would have enjoyed American Football.
00.15 A series of slow-motion replays are celebrating this tackle with glowing praise. In any other sport he would be subject to the most harsh criticism. But which is the right reaction? I think all sports should adopt one player who is allowed to defend in the fashion of Baltimore's monolithic number 91 shirt. But having loads of them on either team does seem a bit like overkill.
00.18 It's still Baltimore 7-3 San Francisco, which is making advertisers nervous.
00.19 Quarterbacks must have arms like pistons. I've been trying to figure out how far I reckon I could throw an American Football. It is not far. And that's without 2500lbs of gristle running at me at 10 mph.
00.21 TOUCHDOWN! The line of scrimmage was only two yards from the end zone, but the Ravens quarterback didn't let this fact dissuade him from making some plays and flinging the pigskin right into this shit. It was converted, too. Baltimore 14-3 San Francisco.
00.24 I wish I could see the commercials. I reckon I would enjoy the commercials more than a British Olympic rower explaining the completely inexplicable, i.e. why he supports the San Francisco 49ers. We're back under way, making everyone question why some gridiron players have a towel hanging out the back of their trousers like a tail. In a sport where the likelihood of a helmeted assailant grabbing hold of you is reasonably high.
00.30 This is where my total lack of understanding of the sport is a major handicap. A fight broke out, necessitating official intervention. But it looked so much like the regular gameplay I'm not sure how they called it.
00.33 Idea: combination All-American Aport. The meat of the game is like gridiron, but on either goalpost there is a basketball hoop for opportunistic 2- and 3-point shots. And one player at a time is allowed to wield a baseball bat.
00.35 Baltimoreterback Joe Flacco is so good at chucking the ball miles that he's gone all the way over the end zone several times. This time, The Predator was under it, legs going away like pistons, but to no avail. It's all Baltimore at the moment, as long as I have correctly assumed that they're the ones in white shirts.
00.37 Watching some replays of an interception. The slow-motion replay is very important here, as it shows off details that you might miss in real time. Notably, that once one player has grabbed hold of another to tackle them, everyone else just dives on, regardless of what team they play for. Or if they're even playing at all. There's an Irish grandmother, half-cut on Guinness, still perched atop the scrimmage hitting someone with her umbrella.
00.42 San Francisco have a Defensive Safety called Darcel McBath. And we can only thank god for that.
00.45 Two minutes to half time. Which means it will be half time in about 15 minutes.
00.48 Mother futchdown! Joe Flacco passes the ball about as far as you can get it without employing FedEx and an optimistic receiver called Jacoby Jones who is standing in Ecuador suddenly finds himself with a ball dropping out of the sky into his lap. He recovers from this shock, picks himself up off the floor and hares it over the line. It was very exciting stuff. Let's all chug a beer! Half time in an hour! Baltimore 21-3 San Francisco. It's difficult to see San Francisco coming back here, because they are dreadful.
00.55 Predictably, San Francisco have now moved into their most meaningful spell of attacking dominance of the match so far. I love quarterbacks. In fact, David Beckham used to play for England like a quarterback, delivering finely weighted long-distance passes whilst the rest of his gristle-headed teammates ran around aimlessly.
00.58 San Francisco kick their second field goal to go into half time trailing 6 to 21. It's go time for Beyoncé. What controversy will the half time show bring this year? Men everywhere hope it's in the Janet Jackson way.
01.01 Of course, the awesome organisation, integration and choreography of American sports makes things like the Super Bowl half time show possible. It's hard to imagine the kind of abject chaos that would reign if someone decided to try a similar thing during the FA Cup final. Electrocutions. Nail gun accidents. Trades Union outrages.
01.13 Woman wearing a bin bag dances to Beyoncé records. Wait a minute! It IS Beyoncé.
01.20 Do you reckon Jay-Z is a considerate lover?
01.22 Stars In Their Eyes having finished, we're just minutes away from some more I Can't Believe It's Not Rugger.
01.32 LUDICROUS TOUCHDOWN Well I never. San Francisco kick off the second half, it's caught by Baltimore's Jacoby Jones and he just runs the entire length of the field for a touchdown. This, it seems, is a fairly rare occurence. As one might imagine it to be, considering the amount of steaming huge psychos wearing armour between the two end zones. It's Baltimore 28-6 San Francisco, whose no doubt in-depth half time team talk obviously did the trick. Maybe their players were all busy dancing back-up for Beyoncé?
01.38 Half of the lights have just gone out in the Mercedes-Benz Superdome. I'm not entirely sure whether or not this is supposed to have happened.
01.39 When they're not playing this Super Bowl, they are showing clips of old Super Bowls. It's like a Super Bowl assault on the senses. Meanwhile, it turns out that half the lights were not meant to go out. Candles are coming out.
01.42 I'm giving them until 2 to sort the lights out or else I'm going to bed. I was bewildered enough when everything was running smoothly.
01.44 What sports are there to play professionally for short-arsed scrawny Americans?
01.58 I'm tired.
02.01 The galling thing I have just realised is that there's not really much of a difference between a twenty-minute power outage and what happens when someone scores a touchdown, in terms of being a television viewer.
02.06 None of this would happen if they played this game outside and at a reasonable hour.
02.08 I am really questioning whether or not my going to bed now would represent a failure on my part or a failure on somebody else's. And, as it's past 2 a.m., whether or not I really care either way any more.
02.10 I think that, in situations like this, they should just resort to a 10 minute paintball contest.
02.12 This is still better than Rugby League.
02.15 Wacko Flacco *weeps*
02.21 Power failure.
08.01 Ah, that's better. Rumours of Far-Eastern betting syndicates be damned, as the power outage proved to be no help to the forlorn San Francisco 49ers were beaten 34-31 by the invincible (admittedly I have a very limited data set) Baltimore Ravens.
So, what do I think? Well, for a start, the need to sort their floodlights out. But beyond that, I find the stop-start nature took a little bit of getting used to. I would just start to get into the whole thing, feel a surge of excitement as one of the teams scored and think that this might well prove to be the sport for me. But then would come a break for commercials so drawn-out that by the time play restarted I would have forgotten the rules.
I didn't find the whole experience displeasing at all. In fact, I think that I could get into the whole idea. I reckon American Football viewed as a highlights package would prove to be a ceaseless thrill ride. Perhaps that's the best way for me to engage with it, though. I am a little old man and like to be in bed early, so the insurmountable obstacle in my watching future Super Bowls live will always be the time difference. Come the day I am in America on the big day, or they play the match in Swansea, I'll be straight there with a ten-quart skein of pilsner and a hat with clapping foam hands on.
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| This is an American Football. It is the wrong shape, but not for playing American Football with |
Today's Super Bowl is called Super Bowl XLVII, which is Super Bowl 47 in normal. It is between the Baltimore Ravens, who are from Baltimore and the San Francisco 49ers who are from San Francisco and are also a sexual position. Five days ago North Korea launched a rocket for no particularly good reason and Ronald Reagan continued to be deceased, as he has been every day consecutively since June 5th 2004.
 |
| The American hostages returning from Iran: that's doing it a bit brown |
But the most seismic event about Super Bowl XLVII is that I am going to watch it and finally find out what all the fuss is about. I hope that Beyoncé doesn't mime the half-time show. Or else they'll set OJ Simpson on her. And so tonight on my blog you will be able to join me as I try and understand what the hell is going on. Will one of the teams do it? Or will there be a penalty shoot-out? This will also be my first ever game of American Football, so everything is up for grabs. Will American Football turn out to be better or worse than Rugby League? This is a rhetorical question. No sport is worse than Rugby League.
---
23.17 I have just emerged from what can only be described as a tactical disco nap and now I am READY TO GO.
23.19 What the hell is going on?
23.20 Apropos of nothing, this is day three of my 28-day vegetarian food-only diet. The food is nice but I am farting like a horse. Like a HORSE.
23.23 Perhaps this is why soccer has taken such a long time to get a foothold in the United States: the FA Cup final doesn't feature enough emotionally exploitative jingoistic singalongs.
23.24 Presumably some sort of sporting event is going to break out at any moment.
23.26 There is a spirited discussion of the talents of Baltimore's Ray Lewis which represents perhaps the most glowing assessment of any sportsman's ability I have heard in cases where they could easily be replaced by a side of beef, or an oak dresser.
23.30 OK, consider this the one-off, catch-all post regarding the way American sport serves television, whereas European sport is served by television. There. I said it.
23.32 Heavens, someone just kicked a ball. Now they're going to start beating up on each other.
23.33 They're going to have to replay the first down because of an illegal formation. Apparently. This is going to be a long night.
23.35 San Francisco are the red ones, right? This is an important tactical choice.
23.38 DRAMA. The Baltimore quarterback (Bauterback) just chucked the ball miles up the field. This could prove significant.
23.40 Offside. Will we sports fans ever be free?
23.41 TOUCHDOWN! Oh my word. It's my first ever touchdown. What an event. As the US networks celebrate with a hearty 20-minute commercial break, I get to reflect on Baltimore's quarterback and dashing number 5 shirt Joe Flacco who is chucking the ball about with some gusto. This time a man who is the biggest man I have ever seen caught it on some grass which is for some reason blue. Then the kicking man converted it, just like in a good old-fashioned rugger. It is Baltimore 7-0 San Francisco.
23.44 I could really go for some football now. That touchdown has got the blood running to my shoulder. How ironic that it should also have triggered a full-on infomercial marathon. The trouble with watching the Super Bowl on the BBC is that you can't possibly expect to have the same experience as viewers in the US. Advertisers invest so heavily in their Super Bowl commercials that they are almost a part of the game.
23.47 Football has started again. San Francisco provide an immediate piece of excitement with one of their players getting hold of the ball and legging it a full nineteen yards before he is flattened by a defender the size of a tree.
23.49 This game is beginning to remind me a lot of proper football, in that there is clearly a level of tactical nous and refinement at work here, but it is taking place at a level that goes right over my head. What I'm seeing on the field is total chaos. It's almost reassuring.
23.51 One innovation I would like to see in European sport is the way there are two completely different teams for if you're attacking or if you're defending. But on the flip-side, it would be deeply amusing to me to see all of the reedy sophisticated Pythagorian ball-players to also have to do all the defending, or the colossal lunatic fatties have to try and extrapolate a 45-yard pass to a moving target.
23.54 Field goal! San Francisco bum up a chance for a touchdown when their big fat player drops it in the end zone, but make up for it thanks to the piston-like boot of Jimmy Kickpuncher. Now in commercials. I am rapidly discovering that for the true gridiron purist, the worst thing that could possibly happen is that either side score. Because it means no more football for 5-10 minutes. Ho-hum. Baltimore 7-3 San Francisco.
00.01 The most significant thing in the build up to this match is that the teams are coached by two brothers. If only their parents had taught them the importance of sharing, none of this would be happening.
00.04 The Baltimore number 82 has preposterous hair. He reminds me a little of The Predator, who would almost certainly be a good American Football player.
00.06 I keep thinking about Charlie Brown.
00.07 According to the BBC studio analyst, football often looks like a game of chess. Which poses a series of questions.
00.08 If he'd said Twister, I'd be more inclined to believe him.
00.09 We're back under way! The startling innovation here is that they take shorter commercial breaks for the end of a quarter than they do for either team scoring. The equivalent in football would be to take a 20 minute break every time a player scored a goal. Which is how Aston Villa defend. #satire
00.11 I've not heard anyone say "23! 48! 72! Hike! Hike! Hut Hut Hut!" yet. I feel television has misled me.
00.12 These gentlemen are enormous. San Francisco's number 23 just tried to skilfully feint to turn his man and get away up the wing. His reward was to be clattered by a defender the size of a bison and drop the ball. So possession reverts to the other team. I think Isambard Kingdom Brunel would have enjoyed American Football.
00.15 A series of slow-motion replays are celebrating this tackle with glowing praise. In any other sport he would be subject to the most harsh criticism. But which is the right reaction? I think all sports should adopt one player who is allowed to defend in the fashion of Baltimore's monolithic number 91 shirt. But having loads of them on either team does seem a bit like overkill.
00.18 It's still Baltimore 7-3 San Francisco, which is making advertisers nervous.
00.19 Quarterbacks must have arms like pistons. I've been trying to figure out how far I reckon I could throw an American Football. It is not far. And that's without 2500lbs of gristle running at me at 10 mph.
00.21 TOUCHDOWN! The line of scrimmage was only two yards from the end zone, but the Ravens quarterback didn't let this fact dissuade him from making some plays and flinging the pigskin right into this shit. It was converted, too. Baltimore 14-3 San Francisco.
00.24 I wish I could see the commercials. I reckon I would enjoy the commercials more than a British Olympic rower explaining the completely inexplicable, i.e. why he supports the San Francisco 49ers. We're back under way, making everyone question why some gridiron players have a towel hanging out the back of their trousers like a tail. In a sport where the likelihood of a helmeted assailant grabbing hold of you is reasonably high.
00.30 This is where my total lack of understanding of the sport is a major handicap. A fight broke out, necessitating official intervention. But it looked so much like the regular gameplay I'm not sure how they called it.
00.33 Idea: combination All-American Aport. The meat of the game is like gridiron, but on either goalpost there is a basketball hoop for opportunistic 2- and 3-point shots. And one player at a time is allowed to wield a baseball bat.
00.35 Baltimoreterback Joe Flacco is so good at chucking the ball miles that he's gone all the way over the end zone several times. This time, The Predator was under it, legs going away like pistons, but to no avail. It's all Baltimore at the moment, as long as I have correctly assumed that they're the ones in white shirts.
00.37 Watching some replays of an interception. The slow-motion replay is very important here, as it shows off details that you might miss in real time. Notably, that once one player has grabbed hold of another to tackle them, everyone else just dives on, regardless of what team they play for. Or if they're even playing at all. There's an Irish grandmother, half-cut on Guinness, still perched atop the scrimmage hitting someone with her umbrella.
00.42 San Francisco have a Defensive Safety called Darcel McBath. And we can only thank god for that.
00.45 Two minutes to half time. Which means it will be half time in about 15 minutes.
00.48 Mother futchdown! Joe Flacco passes the ball about as far as you can get it without employing FedEx and an optimistic receiver called Jacoby Jones who is standing in Ecuador suddenly finds himself with a ball dropping out of the sky into his lap. He recovers from this shock, picks himself up off the floor and hares it over the line. It was very exciting stuff. Let's all chug a beer! Half time in an hour! Baltimore 21-3 San Francisco. It's difficult to see San Francisco coming back here, because they are dreadful.
00.55 Predictably, San Francisco have now moved into their most meaningful spell of attacking dominance of the match so far. I love quarterbacks. In fact, David Beckham used to play for England like a quarterback, delivering finely weighted long-distance passes whilst the rest of his gristle-headed teammates ran around aimlessly.
00.58 San Francisco kick their second field goal to go into half time trailing 6 to 21. It's go time for Beyoncé. What controversy will the half time show bring this year? Men everywhere hope it's in the Janet Jackson way.
01.01 Of course, the awesome organisation, integration and choreography of American sports makes things like the Super Bowl half time show possible. It's hard to imagine the kind of abject chaos that would reign if someone decided to try a similar thing during the FA Cup final. Electrocutions. Nail gun accidents. Trades Union outrages.
01.13 Woman wearing a bin bag dances to Beyoncé records. Wait a minute! It IS Beyoncé.
01.20 Do you reckon Jay-Z is a considerate lover?
01.22 Stars In Their Eyes having finished, we're just minutes away from some more I Can't Believe It's Not Rugger.
01.32 LUDICROUS TOUCHDOWN Well I never. San Francisco kick off the second half, it's caught by Baltimore's Jacoby Jones and he just runs the entire length of the field for a touchdown. This, it seems, is a fairly rare occurence. As one might imagine it to be, considering the amount of steaming huge psychos wearing armour between the two end zones. It's Baltimore 28-6 San Francisco, whose no doubt in-depth half time team talk obviously did the trick. Maybe their players were all busy dancing back-up for Beyoncé?
01.38 Half of the lights have just gone out in the Mercedes-Benz Superdome. I'm not entirely sure whether or not this is supposed to have happened.
01.39 When they're not playing this Super Bowl, they are showing clips of old Super Bowls. It's like a Super Bowl assault on the senses. Meanwhile, it turns out that half the lights were not meant to go out. Candles are coming out.
01.42 I'm giving them until 2 to sort the lights out or else I'm going to bed. I was bewildered enough when everything was running smoothly.
01.44 What sports are there to play professionally for short-arsed scrawny Americans?
01.58 I'm tired.
02.01 The galling thing I have just realised is that there's not really much of a difference between a twenty-minute power outage and what happens when someone scores a touchdown, in terms of being a television viewer.
02.06 None of this would happen if they played this game outside and at a reasonable hour.
02.08 I am really questioning whether or not my going to bed now would represent a failure on my part or a failure on somebody else's. And, as it's past 2 a.m., whether or not I really care either way any more.
02.10 I think that, in situations like this, they should just resort to a 10 minute paintball contest.
02.12 This is still better than Rugby League.
02.15 Wacko Flacco *weeps*
02.21 Power failure.
08.01 Ah, that's better. Rumours of Far-Eastern betting syndicates be damned, as the power outage proved to be no help to the forlorn San Francisco 49ers were beaten 34-31 by the invincible (admittedly I have a very limited data set) Baltimore Ravens.
So, what do I think? Well, for a start, the need to sort their floodlights out. But beyond that, I find the stop-start nature took a little bit of getting used to. I would just start to get into the whole thing, feel a surge of excitement as one of the teams scored and think that this might well prove to be the sport for me. But then would come a break for commercials so drawn-out that by the time play restarted I would have forgotten the rules.
I didn't find the whole experience displeasing at all. In fact, I think that I could get into the whole idea. I reckon American Football viewed as a highlights package would prove to be a ceaseless thrill ride. Perhaps that's the best way for me to engage with it, though. I am a little old man and like to be in bed early, so the insurmountable obstacle in my watching future Super Bowls live will always be the time difference. Come the day I am in America on the big day, or they play the match in Swansea, I'll be straight there with a ten-quart skein of pilsner and a hat with clapping foam hands on.
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