Monday, April 19, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Today started with the best of intentions, early rise, go to the gym, make a start on my ever growing 'things to do list'. My first mistake was getting up late and starting the day by trying to clean my bike in the bathroom shower, my second was deciding to cook dinner while my bike dried.
The problem with cooking with wine is that it is physically impossible (if you have a mouth) to not drink said wine whilst cooking. Given that I was already one glass of red down by midday the chances of me ever seeing he treadmill or that thing from Empire Strikes Back that is supposed to improve upper body strength are zero.
So what to do? Well the kitchen is a mess, I have a glass of Italian red in front of me and I am now on my third 'Jazz' record of the day. That makes it 'Jazz Sunday'. I have never had a Jazz Sunday before but a good friend of mine swears by them, not every Sunday of course, the only things that should happen every Sunday are fairy cakes and 'Last of the Summer Wine'.
Anyway, onto my 'Jazz Sabbath'.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The basic idea is that he gets birds to unwittingly play human instruments by landing, shitting and or building nests on them. The effect as you can see was surprisingly coherant.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Right. I've set myself a task: Review the Laura Allan album in the time it takes my ravioli to boil. Why? You might ask. Well it's challenges like this that keep us on our toes, give us the edge so that if ever we should need to do mind-battle with other-worldy creatures we are ready. My body might be that of a tired and approaching middle aged man but there is no reason (degenerative mental illness aside) that I shouldn't have the mind of a mother fucking ninja well into my 90's.
Monday, April 5, 2010
I might be wrong, but I think it all started with The Animal Collective. After much musical squirming to fit their particular peg into the 'Mainstream Alternative hole' they finally became music press darlings about five or six years back. With them they dragged much from the past, Vashti Bunyan, The Incredible String Band and to a lesser extent and through lazy press name checking rather than anything else, Bridget St John. I suppose a one sentence review of the above might read: 'Bit like a female Nick Drake' but then that would be selling BSJ, for that is how I intend on referring to her for the duration of this review.