Smashed It!

As I attempt to navigate the blogging landscape at the fag end of 2023 I find myself stuck in a nose-to-tail jam of Best Ofs, End of Year Round-Ups and all the other vehicles used to wrap the year just gone. Don't get me wrong, I love 'em - can't get enough of 'em; in fact, it wasn't that long ago when I'd roll my sleeves up and get stuck in myself. This year, however, has got a faint whiff of CBA about it. My back issues, which by the time of this going to press, amount to just 90 this year and, contained therein, are all the runners and riders (feel free to go diggin'): if I was banging on about it then and it made the 'precious 90', the chances are it's probably a belter. A choon. A nailed on classic. He/her/they smashed it. It's a winner. Even a chicken dinner.  

Someone who tick all those boxes is/are Girl Ray. I saw them three times this year - including their album launch at Rough Trade. And the album they were launching was Prestige. Which they signed for me afterwards. So if you wrap all three gigs up (2x Nottingham; 1x Manchester) and call it one then that was Gig of the Year. Making Prestige, which they played in full all three nights (and which is their best album by a country mile), Album of the Year. Ladies & Gentlemen, Girl Ray - my Band of the Year.

Girl Ray - Love is Enough (2023)

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Once again, a huge thank you to everyone who frequents this part of Bloggerville; it's not the most celubrious part of town (there's some way better gaffs just up the hill) but it's safe round here. And, I'd like to think, welcoming. Come back again next year, won't you? Happy New Year! JM x

COCK PISS PARTRIDGE

I don't know about a match made in heaven, but there seems to be a certain symbiosis whenever a can of spray paint meets a brutalist building. In July of this year my friend Steve and I went to see Generation Sex at the newly refurbished Wulfrun Hall. Between our digs and the venue is an absolute behemoth of Brutalism - Wolverhampton Station Car Park; so much so it's something of a Modernist icon.

However, at some point between when the above photo was taken (and now residing in my office - thank you, James - a most splendid birthday present), and the snap I took in the Summer, this happened; so much to unpack. Maybe another time.

Mayo dressing

I love a flag. Drinking recently in a very welcoming boozer in Camden Town I noticed there were a number of green and red flags draped behind the bar - "Mayo GAA" the barkeep told me - "The owner's from County Mayo." Makes sense I thought (there's a strong Irish element in this part of north London).

Any Fontaines DC fans out there will probably have clocked that their bass player, Conor Deegan, can often be seen sporting one of the team's shirts, hailing, as he does, from Castlebar, county town of Mayo.

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After reading Swiss Adam's exhaustive roundup of 2023 (he researches into the wee small hours night after night to compile these things so we don't have to) I thought I too would play you the Fontaines' version of Nick Drake's 'Cello Song. It's fucking brilliant, and you can quote me on that.

Fontaines DC - 'Cello Song (2023)

Birthdays can be brutal

It would appear that since December 28th last year the earth has managed to spin round the sun one more time; something apparently even the most right wing of governments haven't been able to fuck up. (Though if there was some some sort of cash incentive involved they'd have been on it like the proverbial car bonnet.)

Amongst my prezzies opened so far has been a meet and greet with one of the greatest broadcasters of the modern era: James O'Brien has, almost singlehandedly, been keeping me (and millions of others, I'm guessing) sane via his LBC morning show for as long as I can remember. And as you can see from the above photograph, my love affair with Sheffield's modernist architecture continues apace. I can see myself spending a lot of time up there next year.

You can't say we're satisfied

Today's offering comes courtesy of Henry Normal (and his GLW) together with a little help from Paul Simon (and his brother, Ed).

Henry, a son of Nottingham, signed my copy of his recent anthology The Escape Plan a couple of years back and it remains one of my treasured processions. In his poetry Henry makes many passing references, both directly and indirectly, to his wife Angela - an award winning screenwriter in her own right.

My wife said nothing rhymes with orange 

But before despair could befall her 

I corrected Angela

Or Ange, as I call her

When Simon & Garfunkel released Anji (or Angie) on their 1966 album Sounds of Silence, Paul Simon was paying homage to his folk hero Davy Graham who'd written this fingerpicking bluesy classic the previous year. The story goes it was inspired by a young Soho waitress who knew all the bums, beatniks and young musicians riding the coattails of London's folk resurgence of the early/mid 60s.  

Here it is being played by Paul Simon and his younger brother Ed on a 1968 TV special. No, it's not camera trickery, it really is his near identical sibling on second guitar.

Paul Simon (with Ed Simon) - Anji (1968)