And I mean that most sincerely

I read a really interesting article the other day about sincerity in music; meaning it, playing like your life depended on it. If you put your soul into every note - good, bad, or indifferent - the audience will get it. I do, anyway. To my mind alchemy happens when musicians take their feet off the bottom and go out that little bit further each time.
Listening to the second Bees long player recently (for the first time in a very long time) reminded me just how exciting they were. Wrap yer ears around this album opener and see what I mean. And at 1:44 there's a yelp/scream that tells the listener just how magical it must have been to be in that band in 2004. I don't think you can fake sincerity like that. And, me being me, I'm curious as to how you'd spell this vocal ejaculation: for what it's worth I'm going with "Hooo!" I could be wrong; wouldn't be the first time. 

The Bees - These are the Ghosts (2004)

My Life in 10 Objects (#3)

If you could say it in words there'd be no reason for mugs

Apparently radiocarbon dating is the most effective way to both accurately date an artefact and to establish the site from which it came; though with fossils, for example, you could still be a few million years out either side.
Thankfully, I think it's safe to say, I can date the 10 objects in this series with a fairly high level of accuracy without the need for such technology.



In the case of today's show and tell I think it's pretty much beyond doubt exactly how old it is, and indeed where it's from: you've just got to look at it. A visit to Tate Modern in the summer of 2004 to see the magnificent Hopper exhibition was the backdrop for a perfect day out in the capital. Ah, train journeys to London; remember them? I can't wait to see John Betjeman at St. Pancras again and tap him on the shoulder.

Vintage 2004

I've written about Hopper hereabouts and in particular Nighthawks so, I hope you don't mind, I'll limit today's missive to concentrate on my purchase from the gift shop at the Tate. Not having a spare £50M about my person that particular day (how remiss of me) I had to content myself with the ubiquitous mug. Which, can I say, is still alive and well (after 16 years) in my kitchen.

At the risk of making me sound like a crazed loner I need to tell you that I only use it on Saturdays and Sundays; coffee only. I have mugs a plenty for use in the week; mainly, though not exclusively, for tea. But not Hopper. Oh no, not Hopper. He's a weekend mug. And a coffee mug. Today's object.

Birds of a Feather

There follows not a single reference to Brexit (Hard or Soft), Backstops or Theresa Fucking May 

References to my Gaelic roots are dotted all over this blog. Without this maternal streak of Irishness running thru me, James couldn't have applied for his dual nationality, and I probably wouldn't spend as much time as I do shouting 'FECK!', 'DRINK!' and 'That would be an Ecumenical matter' at the drop of a tricolour hat. Nor would I spend so long listening to RTÉ Radio. In particular John Creedon's excellent midweek show which goes out live from Cork every night between 8:00 and 10:00 on RTÉ Radio 1. Take a peek at some of his recent playlists. Tasty aren't they?

He played a song by Declan O'Rourke last night that I'd never heard before, and I fell in love with it instantly.

Declan O'Rourke - Birds of a Feather (2004)