Friday Ten: Ten Musical Acts I Just Don't Get

In what may be a semi-regular feature, here's a random list of ten things off the top of my head. This week - 10 musical acts that have been critically lauded but that, to varying degrees, I just don't get.

In some cases - The Beach Boys, Strokes and New Order - I can appreciate the odd song here and there. But in others, I just don't see what all the fuss is about.

1. The Beach Boys

2. The Strokes

3. Captain Beefheart

4. Bruce Springsteen

5. Love

6. Joy Division

7. New Order

8. Foals

9. Neutral Milk Hotel

10. Snow Patrol

In which bands and solo artists do you struggle to hear the genius that apparently everyone else immediately gets?

Optimistic Nun

My Favourite Books: Number 1: Lanark: A Life In Four Books - Alasdair Gray

Some works of art amuse the viewer, listener or reader for a few minutes - most pop songs last barely five minutes, paintings are generally looked at then passed by.

Even books can have a limited effect on the reader - I've read hundreds if not thousands of books, but I couldn't begin to recount the plotlines of most of them - once read, they're consigned to history, never to be thought of again.

But then there are works of art so sprawling and so absorbing that they command full attention and draw you into their world, demanding repeated revisits and setting a benchmark by which all others must subsequently be judged.Alasdair Gray's debut novel, Lanark, published when I was only a year old, is one such work of art.

Attempting to sum the book up concisely would, I think, prove to be impossible - it's futuristic, almost sci-fi novel, half of which is set in pre-war Glasgow and half in the mysterious town of Unthank, which may be heaven, hell or neither. It's four books in one, where none of the books makes complete sense as an individual entity - but the books are read out of chronological synch (Three-One-Two-Four). There's an epilogue four chapters before the end.

The titular character suffers from a disease called Dragonhide before he is swallowed by the Earth. And in the Epilogue, he meets the author. The novel also draws comparisons with the Bible, for reasons I won't divulge for fear of spoiling it for those of you who haven't yet read it. (And if you've not read it yet, do so now.)

I first read the book, which took more than 20 years to write, on the recommendation of my sixth year English teacher in 1997, and it formed a major part of my CSYS English dissertation that year. I've since read it once again in its entirety and dipped in and out of it on an almost constant basis over the past 10 years.

No other book has ever had the effect on me that Lanark did the first time I read it, and I'd be very surprised if another ever did. Quite simply, it's the greatest book I've ever read.

Awesome Cat

A colleague emailed me this today, and it amused me no end.

Flapping Around

A wee trawl of the referrals that have brought visitors to this here humble website has revealed another corker.

Shortly after midnight on October 19, someone from the USA arrived here having searched on Yahoo for "big pish flaps".

Well, that's just swell.

Meeting Of Minds

As well as having the misfortune of watching Montrose lose their first league match of the season on Saturday, I also enjoyed the company of two of my fellow Scottish bloggers, The Tomahawk Kid and Big Rab of The Ben Lomond Free Press.

Both Rab and TK are Sons of the Rock, and both had made the pilgrimage to Montrose to see Dumbarton continue their push for promotion to Division Two. I worked with The Tomahawk Kid for a year or so when we were both employed by A Major Engineering Company, but Saturday was the first time I'd seen him in a few months.

TK and Rab have known each other since they were just wee boys, but it was the first time I'd had the opportunity to meet Rab.

So, an hour before kick-off, we met in the British Legion adjacent to Links Park for a mini blogmeet.

I believe a good time was had by all, although Rab and TK were more pleased with the result than I was. Oh, and Rab did voice displeasure at cups of Bovril that were described as espresso-sized.

And I thought it was us east coasters who were supposed to be grippit.

Big Rab, Groanin' Jock and The Tomahawk Kid in the Legion before Saturday's match.

Photo courtesy of Tomahawk Kid Junior.

Season 2008/2009: Match 10: Montrose v Dumbarton

What's the best thing an unbeaten side pushing for promotion can do to ensure their season remains on course?

Whatever your answer to the question above, it's probably not "sack the manager who's taken them closer to success than anyone else in the past decade and who got them to the play-offs last season".

For reasons described in this week's match programme as "a non-footballing matter", Montrose parted company with Jim Weir a couple of weeks ago, leaving the side in the temporary care of Steve Adam.

The change in leadership apparently hasn't worked, as Montrose were dire yesterday, struggling to get a foothold in the match and generally failing to create anything of note. Despite that, when Dumbarton took the lead with 10 minutes of the first half remaining, it was against the run of play.

But by the time Paul McLeod ploughed straight through the middle of Montrose's defence to add a second, it seemed that the home side had given up. Stephen Black grabbed a consolation goal in injury time, but it was too little and too late.

Montrose are still sitting in a top four position, but if they play like they did yesterday, that won't remain the case for long.

Oktoberfest

As of 4.30pm this afternoon, I'm on holiday, and it feels like it's not a moment too soon.

For some reason, I feel knackered, so it'll be good simply to be away from 6.15am wake up calls if nothing else.

Mrs Wife and I are heading to Skegness tomorrow to see her relatives, so a lengthy road trip is in the offing. But at least we'll have a selection of quality tunes to see us down the road, amongst them the latest offerings from Oasis, Glasvegas, Elbow and Santogold, plus whatever Mrs Wife deems necessary for entertainment.

After a few days in sunny Skegness (well, hopefully sunny), we'll head north again, stopping in York for a night to break up the journey and see a bit of culture - if a cathedral and some wax works count as culture anyway.

Then it's back to Montrose to watch the Gable Endies shaft the Sons in the Division Three title race, a match that will also act as a mini blogmeet, with Dumbarton fans The Tomahawk Kid and Big Rab likely to be visiting Links Park.

The same night, I'll be down in Edinburgh for a reunion commemorating the tenth anniversary of starting universary. I can scarcely believe a decade has passed since we first left home in search of education, enlightenment, sex, drugs and rock'n'roll. I predict a messy night in store involving cheap spirits and chicken kebabs, all consumed in the vain hope of recapturing lost youth.

Random Mutterings

Note to McDonald's - I don't know what an M Burger is, but the stupid advert you're showing roughly seventeen times a second is enough to put me off buying one.

I'm pretty sure my right leg is going to fall off before I hit 30. A baldy-headed twat knackered it two minutes into a "friendly" football match last week, and it hasn't been the same since. There may be trouble ahead.

The first five tracks of the new Oasis album are pretty good, but there's a dramatic tail-off until Liam's final track, Soldier On. Better than Heathen Chemistry and Standing On The Shoulder Of Giants, but not up there with their greatest work, not by a long chalk.

Driving to work sucks ass. I've been forced to this week because of the strikes affecting Scotland's railways. I miss reading my book and relaxing on the train to work, especially as the book I'm reading, The Sum of All Fears, is getting REALLY interesting.

How To Lose Friends and Alienate People isn't a great movie. Not horrific, but by no means great. It has its occasional funny moments, but they're few and far between. But any movie that boasts Megan Fox in her underwear can't be all bad.

Think that pretty much sums up the contents of my head at the moment. Roll on Scotland v Norway tomorrow.

On The Pull

I've just arrived back at Dungroanin' following a visit to Dundee Dental Hospital.

I was sent to the hospital on the recommendation of my dentist, who spotted that one of my wisdom teeth has come through squint and is pushing against the molar in front of it, causing damage and decay.

In truth, I hadn't felt anything, but the dentist thought it best if I get the wisdom tooth checked out by the folks at the dental hospital, so I found myself there today for a preliminary examination.

And it's not good news. The molar has been damaged pretty badly, but nothing can be done to attempt to save it until the wisdom tooth has been removed. And dentists prefer to remove wisdom teeth in pairs, so I'm to find myself back in the chair before too long to have the upper and lower wisdom teeth on one side of my mouth whisked out.

I was offered three options for having the work done - a local anaesthetic injection that will numb my mouth but keep me fully aware during the procedure; a general anaesthetic so that I know nothing about it until I wake up with two gaping holes in my mouth; and a halfway house that would make me pretty groggy but keep me awake during the procedure, albeit leaving me away with the fairies afterwards.

I've had a few fillings in my time and have always managed just fine with the local anaesthetic injections, so I thought I'd brave it out and have the teeth removed while fully aware of what's happening.

Which maybe, on reflection, isn't the best idea - the dentist explained that the problem tooth will be split in two and the two roots removed separately, while the one that is being removed to make a matching set will be ripped out in a single effort.

When I described what was going to happen when I undergo this oral smash'n'grab, Mrs Wife baulked a little and reminded me that she had a general anaesthetic when she had her wisdom teeth removed.

But it's too late now, so I'll just have to remember that it'll all be over in less than an hour and I'll be fit to engage in retail therapy afterwards. And that I should get between two days and a week off work to recover.

Fuel Economy

A recent study conducted by Aberdeen University found that the average Scotsman walks about 900 miles a year.

Another study by the Scottish Medical Association found that Scotsmen drink, on average, 22 gallons of alcohol a year.

This means, on average, Scotsmen get about 41 miles to the gallon.

Looney Tunes

My recently-acquired iPod is a hungry little beast.

I've had it since Mrs Wife and I returned from China at the start of June, and it now contains just under 15,000 tracks.

But I've still not finished putting all my albums onto it, let alone started on the singles squirreled away in the spare bedroom wardrobe.

And on top those, I've still to salvage some of the contents of the knackered Magic Tune Box II, which houses some really strange stuff. The Chemical Brothers' Galvanise spliced with the theme tune to The Empire Strikes Back? Check. The Beatles' For No-One, Scissor Sisters' Take Your Mama Out and George Michael's Freedom mashed together? Check again. Devo, Beck, The Doors and The Who slammed together in a musical marriage made in hell? Check mate.

Now, as a result of having descended into the world of Apple, I'm also to be found regularly having a little look around iTunes. And at 79p a track, I can often be found topping up my collection.

In recent months, I've added Desmond Decker's Israelites and Lee Hazlewood and Nancy Sinatra's Some Velvet Morning to Magic Tune Box III.

Now, don't New Kids On The Block have a new record out?

Guess Who Pulp Fiction Style

The Kids Are Alright

I'm knackered.

Over the weekend, Dungroanin' played host to an old schoolfriend of Mrs Wife's, accompanied by her two-year-old son.

It's been the best part of 23 years since I lived with a two-year-old boy, and at that time Baby Brother was more of an apprentice than a hindrance.

I've been up more climbing frames, down more chutes and round more roundabouts in the past two days than in the previous two years.

And our little visitor is at the stage where he needs to know what everything is, why everything is, where everything is and who everyone is.

Mrs Wife's rabbits, Pepper and Dylan, have now been rechristened Paper and Dinnae, and were a source of much excitement. As was the local park, the beach, dogs in the park and a football-shaped bottle opener that emits a crowd noise every time it's used.

But the 5.30am wake-up calls have taken their toll, and I'm now feeling more exhausted than I did at the end of the working week.

Just as well we were able to send him home today....

Answers

Tomorrow night sees my company's second annual employee pub quiz.

Mrs Wife will be accompanying me, a colleague and his wife as we attempt to do better than we fared in last year's event, when we led early on before tailing off later into the event.

So, to get everyone in the mood, here are five random questions. Answers in the comments, no Googling.

1. What is the capital city of Tanzania?

2. In the nursery rhyme, who visited the person with the little nut tree?

3. Who won the Formula 1 Drivers Championship in 2000?

4. What did the Romans call Paris?

5. Which actor plays Ali G and Borat?

Just 17

A friend from my university days came to visit last week, providing us with the first opportunity to catch up with each other since his stag do last year.

While he and his wife were here, we watched Motherwell playing in Europe, a match in which it was brought to our attention that it is 17 years since Motherwell last won a trophy.

I remember the Scottish Cup final of 1991, as I think it was the first in which I'd taken a real interest. The fact that it was an extra time seven-goal thriller helped, as did Ally Maxwell's heroics in goal despite having suffered a broken rib during the match.

But it wasn't the football reminiscing that struck me - it was the idea that the match was more than 17 years ago.

Initially, it seemed impossible that 17 years had passed. But I'm torn between that fact and the fact that ONLY 17 years have passed, given how much has happened in the interim.

Since a Motherwell team containing Davie Cooper, Tom Boyd and Phil O'Donnell lifted the cup, I've finished primary school and been through both high school and university. Britain has had three new Prime Ministers, four if you include Thatcher, whose reign ended in 1991.

I've moved house at least 10 times. Mrs Wife and I have been around the world. Mrs Wife has become Mrs Wife. My grampa has died. My parents have split up. I've endured more hangovers than I care to remember. Princess Diana, George Harrison, the Queen Mother, the Pope and George Best have all died. Dunblane, Columbine, two Iraq wars, the complete collapse of the Soviet Union and September 11 have all come and gone. So too have Euro 92, USA 94, Euro 96, France 98, Euro 2000, Japan & South Korea 2002, Euro 2004, Germany 2006 and Euro 2008.

But I can still remember watching that Scottish Cup final, and recreating its key moments with a seven-year-old Baby Brother in the park afterwards. I remember the excitement at receiving a signed photograph of Ally Maxwell from the SFA. I remember Davie Cooper humiliating Dundee United despite being in his late 30s.

So, has it been 17 long years since Motherwell won a trophy? Or only 17 years? I can't decide.

Season 2008/2009: Match 9: Montrose v East Stirlingshire

For the first time this season, I missed Montrose scoring a goal at home.

Mrs Wife and I were delayed in leaving a first birthday party in Aberdeen, and by the time I reached Links Park, the Gable Endies were already a goal to the good against the magnificently inept East Stirlingshire.

Thankfully, my journey to the ground wasn't wasted, as I saw Montrose score twice more to remain unbeaten and move up to second in the league. Shire also missed a penalty and had a man sent off, so the afternoon was enjoyable even for those of us watching with a hangover.

But, as is often the case with matches involving the Shire, the most entertaining aspect of the match was the performance of Mad Bill, one of Scottish football's most colourful travelling fans.

I didn't capture any footage of the man himself in action, but here's a link to a post Big Rab made last season that includes a video of him on a previous visit to Links Park.

Sectarian Pandas Shocker

Season 2008/2009: Match 8: Aberdeen v Hamilton Academical

Aberdeen: Scottish football's third force (allegedly). Playing at home following a decent, if hardly earth-shattering start to the season.

Hamilton Accies: Playing in Scottish football's top flight for the first two in two decades. The last time they were this high in the national game, Aberdeen were arguably Scottish football's number one side. Many people's favourites to go straight back down to Division One.

On paper, this should have been a walk-over.

Thankfully, football matches aren't played on paper.

I was at Pittodrie today through the kind offer of a spare season ticket. Last season, I visited the stadium to witness the Dons lose to Hearts. And today I saw them lose to a hard-working Hamilton team.

Hamilton were so confident today that they gave Aberdeen a one-goal start, Gary McDonald netting after just seven minutes.

But from there, Accies never looked back.

Sone Aluko, who spent last season on loan at Aberdeen from Birmingham, made his second home debut following his £50,000 transfer. And he looked to be head and shoulders above his team mates. His runs were positive and his crossing looked dangerous. It was a pity, for Aberdeen fans at least, that neither the horrendously poor Darren Mackie nor the ineffective Lee Miller could do anything with them.

The Dons were gash. Hamilton were first to every ball, defended with vigour and more than a little growl, and generally gave Aberdeen a chasing all over the park. It was no surprise when they equalised and even less of a surprise when they went ahead in the second half.

Jimmy Calderwood attempted to shake things up by introducing Dutch hairdresser Jeffrey De Visscher and Scottish gobshite Chris Maguire. Thankfully, for the fans of Rangers and comedy watching from the stands (probably just me), the changes amounted to nothing.

Third force in Scottish football? At this rate, Aberdeen might soon be the third best club in Division One.

My Favourite Albums: Number 2: Nirvana - Nevermind

In the 17 years since its release, I'd imagine more has been written about Nirvana, Nevermind and Kurt Cobain than any other combination of band, album and songwriter from the 1990s.

Many of these pieces focus on Cobain himself - his misery, his inability to deal with fame, and his suicide at the age of 27.

What is often overlooked is the music - a tragically small collection of just three studio albums, two live recordings and a rarities compilation.

As a teenage Britpop fan, I was fairly dismissive of Nirvana and their music, and the Grunge v Britpop debate, at least at my school, was akin to a modern retelling of the Mods v Rockers wars of the 1960s, albeit without the scooters, violence and Sting.

I only really gave Nirvana a chance in the few months between leaving school and starting university. And I was immediately enamoured.

As I'm sure is the case with many, perhaps even most, Nirvana fans, my introduction to the band was Nevermind. And the introduction to Nevermind is Smells Like Teen Spirit.

Again, many words have been used to describe the album's lead single - bombastic, thunderous, vitriolic.

But, above all else, Smells Like Teen Spirit is an extraordinary pop song.

Kurt Cobain was an exceptional writer of pop songs and pop hooks, and Nevermind is dripping in them. Smells Like Teen Spirit may be the best known - thanks also to Cobain's nihilistic roar and buzzsaw guitar and Dave Grohl's furious double drum detonations - but the opening half of the record would stand the test of time alongside any other single side of vinyl ever pressed.

In Bloom continues with the thunderous drums and dark imagery, before making way for the more sedate Come As You Are.

Though Nevermind is defined by the growl of its louder tracks, it is on the quieter songs that the other side of Kurt Cobain, as a crafter of mature and thought-provoking lyrics and melodies, shows itself. Polly, narrated by a kidnapper/torturer is a glimpse into its writer's dark side, while closing track Something In The Way puts into music the life of a heroin addict.

Metal, rock, pop - whatever Nevermind is, it stands as one of, if not THE defining album of the 1990s.

Rather than leave you with the obvious Smells Like Teen Spirit, here's the video for In Bloom: