Friday Ten: My Ten Favourite Drummers

1. Ginger Baker (Cream)

 

2. Dave Grohl (Nirvana, Foo Fighters & Queens of the Stone Age)

 

3. John Bonham (Led Zeppelin)

 

4. Ringo Starr (The Beatles)

 

5. Mitch Mitchell (The Jimi Hendrix Experience)

 

6. Matt Helders (Arctic Monkeys)

 

7. Bill Ward (Black Sabbath)

 

8. Reni (The Stone Roses)

 

9. Jon Harper (The Cooper Temple Clause)

 

10. Keith Moon (The Who)

Tearing Off Tights With My Teeth

I returned to the office yesterday after a self-imposed two-day quarantine.

 

In truth, I think that the burning throat and thumping head to which I awoke on Tuesday morning were as much products of exhaustion as they were of anything contagious. Two days spent recuperating on the couch at Dungroanin', rather than inflicting myself upon my colleagues, has done me the power of good and I'm back to something approaching full strength.

 

But sleeping through the day on Tuesday meant that I struggled to drift off on Tuesday night, lying awake as the clock continued its steady progress beyond the early hours of the morning. Insomnia seems to be a self-feeding monster - the more you try to fall asleep, the harder it becomes. As I was lying in the dark, my brain was rattling through all the big issues - life and death, love and hate, Ren and Stimpy.

 

Unable to force myself to sleep, I wandered around Dungroanin' in an effort to avoid keeping Mrs Wife awake. The stillness that smothers the house during the witching hours is different to that which exists during the day. Having spent the afternoon alone in the house, I had become aware of how silent modern houses outwith town centres can be. The double glazing excludes all external sounds, the rabbits spend most of the afternoon dozing silently and I was in no mood for music or television.

 

But at night, though Dungroanin' is to all intents and purposes silent, the darkness seems to make even the smallest sound more easily identifiable. After a hard day's work of providing shelter, the house seems to creak for no good reason, arching its spine to iron out the kinks and stretching its extremities as it contracts in the clear, frosty night. Those electrical appliances that remain plugged in overnight emit a low hum that seemed inaudible during the day, to the beat of the kitchen clock.

 

Insomnia - the best mind-altering drug in the world.

One Two, One Two, This Is Just A Test

I'm currently testing Blogger's remote posting wangdoodle to see whether I have the ability to submit my text-based tripe to the worldwide interweb from anywhere on Earth.
 
I've been a bad blogger recently (well, I've been a bad blogger since I started blogging, but I mean bad as in frequency as well as in quality), so hopefully this new step on my path to sustained mediocrity will be a smooth one.
 
I may return....
 

Sweat Shop

You know how it is - it's wearing towards 10pm at the start of the Canadian winter, there's nothing on TV, so you decide to have a look on the internet for something worthwhile to get your juices flowing.

So you sit down, Google up and type in "old used jock cup sniff sweaty".

We've all been there, right?

A Load Of Bull

101 Reasons Why 500lb Bulls Don't Make Good Football Mascots: Reason 47.....

Beauty and The Beast

As I write this, Mrs Wife and I are watching Desperate Housewives on Sky+.

At 44, Terri Hatcher looks almost as good as she did at 30. Which must be nice for her.

Unfortunately, many of Hollywood's leading ladies can't say the same.

I'd imagine that for the first four years of his marriage, Guy Ritchie woke up each morning thinking: "Holy shit, that's Madonna".

But towards the end of the eight-year relationship, I'd imagine it was more like: "Holy shit, that's Skeletor".

OK, Terri Hatcher has a six-year advantage over Mrs Ritchie, but still, there's no question as to which would be the better catch, even with Madge's millions.

Desperate Housewives all the way.

New Arrivals

It's always interesting to see what brings the strange denizens of the Blogosphere to this far-flung outpost of the worldwide interweb.

The selection above from the past day makes for enlightening reading. Two people looking for pictures of John Lennon's beard; someone searching for the world's best name; another looking for the world's scariest name.

But my favourite is the person looking for "Disney midget" - they must be in the market for one of the seven dwarves.

Ginger Twat

I saw this when I was in Groucho's second hand record shop in Dundee the other day, and I had to share it with you.

The picture is a little out of focus, but the hand-written tag adorning this limited edition vinyl picture disc version of Simply Red's Picture Book album reads: "Free abuse from shop staff on purchase. £4.99".

Friday Ten: Ten Bands Whose Second Album Was Better Than Their Debut

1. Radiohead (Pablo Honey & The Bends)

2. The Bluetones (Expecting To Fly & Return To The Last Chance Saloon)

3. The Prodigy (The Prodigy Experience & Music For The Jilted Generation)

4. The Verve (A Storm In Heaven & A Northern Soul)

5. Super Furry Animals (Fuzzy Logic & Radiator)

6. Gomez (Bring It On & Liquid Skin)

7. Happy Mondays (Squirrel and G-Man Twenty Four Hour Party People Plastic Face Carnt Smile (White Out) & Bummed)

8. Coldplay (Parachutes & A Rush Of Blood To The Head)

9. Nirvana (Bleach & Nevermind)

10. Queens Of The Stone Age (Queens Of The Stone Age & Rated R)

Bis repetita placent

I saw this site courtesy of Rachel Lucas, and I found it most amusing - Latin mottos and phrases, many of them lifted from modern society, including songs and movies.

Examples include:

Braccae illae virides cum subucula rosea et tunica Caledonia-quam elenganter concinnatur
Those green pants go so well with that pink shirt and the plaid jacket

Braccae tuae aperiuntur
Your fly is open

Capillamentum? Haudquaquam conieci esse!
A wig? I never would have guessed!

Certe, toto, sentio nos in kansate non iam adesse
You know, Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore

Time For A Change

Well, one chapter has ended and another has begun.

Finally, the longest, most expensive election campaign this planet has ever seen has come to an end, and Barack Obama can begin counting down the days to becoming the most powerful man on Earth.

Whether or not America has made the right decision, only time will tell. And I'm not about to start sticking my neb in - people's political beliefs are their own affair, and I rarely think less of someone for theirs.

But what I will say is that this election has captured my interest like no other from outwith the British Isles. And it seems as if politics just got interesting, one way or another.

Lets just hope that the new president is allowed to get on with the job without fearing for his life - especially from his fellow countrymen.

Stupid Terrorists

Up In The Sky

I'm a tad weary today, as last night saw me turn back the years by visiting the Aberdeen Exhibition and Conference Centre to watch Oasis.

Oasis at the AECC was the first concert I attended (discounting festivals) back in 1997, shortly after the release of Be Here Now.

Since then, I've seen the band a further three or four times (unlike my friend Billy, who accompanied me last night, who has seen them 20 times). Since the last time I saw them, they've released two albums and seen the emergence of Liam Gallagher as a songwriting force to match his brother in quantity if not quality.

There's an atmosphere surrounding Oasis gigs that's unlike any other. For a start, it seems more Neds come out to watch the Gallagher touring circus than attend other gigs - it's not always entirely pleasant, but it's unique.

Furthermore, the number of people considerably younger than me who attended was quite surprising - we spotted countless youngsters who weren't even born when Definitely Maybe was released - and that's not an entirely pleasant thought either, given that it soundtracked my teenage years.

We opted against watching the support act, arriving in the concrete and steel shell of the AECC around fifteen minutes before the lights dipped to signal the imminent arrival of the band on stage. The taped intro of Fuckin' In The Bushes blasted out of the speakers and Billy and I launched ourselves into the crowd in a manner not befitting our combined 55 years walking the Earth.

The setlist was a curious one - Live Forever and Acquiesce, both of which would be regarded as amongst Oasis' best work, were omitted, while The Meaning of Soul and Slide Away were both given rare run-outs. The Masterplan and an acoustic guitar version of Don't Look Back In Anger were highlights, as were the furious blasts through Supersonic and Morning Glory.

The Shock of The Lightning suffered from a false start, the band stopping halfway through in an attempt to stop people being crushed against the barrier at the front of the arena (Noel: "Hey, hey, hey, hey, don't start booing. Everyone take one step back. We can't have the people down the front dying before they've bought a t-shirt.")

Champagne Supernova, as always, was a highlight, before the encore closed with the now-traditional cover of The Beatles' I Am The Walrus.

There was little banter between the band and the crowd, and at times it looked as though they were going through the motions - but how easy can it be to motivate yourself for a gig on a cold Sunday night in Aberdeen?

Nonetheless, Oasis and their singalong anthems are still a big part of British life. They won't be going anywhere anytime soon.

(I may post video footage if I can work out whether it's possible to rotate videos recorded on my phone.)

Season 2008/2009: Match 12: Montrose v Stenhousemuir

Last week, I wrote that a week is a long time in football. Today, that proved to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Last week, Montrose, under the guidance of new caretaker-player-manager David Hannah, defeated Huntly by two goals to march onwards in the Scottish Cup (sorry, Homecoming Scottish Cup).

But today, they were ripped apart by league leaders Stenhousemuir, who took the lead after only three minutes thanks to a mistake from the new gaffer.

Montrose were turgid and lacking in ideas throughout, their ineptitude matched only by that of referee Garry Hilland. His greatest error was allowing Stenny's second goal, scored almost on the stroke of half time time, to stand, despite a blatant foul on Montrose goalkeeper Greg Kelly.

The visitors killed the tie off in the second half, Kelly himself at fault when he failed to hold a long ball into the box.

Montrose seemed unsuited to Hannah's 3-5-2 formation, especially with Jamie Buchan pushed into a holding midfield role, leaving Hannah himself at centre back. He no longer has the pace to match the pacey young strikers he faces week in, week out in Division Three, and was regularly found lacking when challenged one-on-one.

Hopefully this week's result was a minor blip, and Montrose can resurrect their promotion push in Annan next week.

Friday Ten: Ten Bands Whose Debut Album Was Better Than Their Second

1. The Stone Roses (The Stone Roses & Second Coming)

2. Oasis (Definitely Maybe & (What's The Story) Morning Glory)

3. Massive Attack (Blue Lines & Protection)

4. The Clash (The Clash & Give 'Em Enough Rope)

5. The Libertines (Up The Bracket & The Libertines)

6. The Coral (The Coral & Magic and Medicine)

7. Doves (Lost Souls & The Last Broadcast)

8. Travis (Good Feeling & The Man Who)

9. Stereophonics (Word Gets Around & Performance and Cocktails)

10. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (BRMC & Take Them On On Your Own)

Joe Kinnear

Although it took place almost a month ago, Joe Kinnear's first press conference as Newcastle's interim manager still makes me laugh.

JK: Which one is Simon Bird [Daily Mirror's north-east football writer]?
SB: Me.
JK: You're a cunt.
SB: Thank you.
JK: Which one is Hickman [Niall, football writer for the Express]? You are out of order. Absolutely fucking out of order. If you do it again, I am telling you you can fuck off and go to another ground. I will not come and stand for that fucking crap. No fucking way, lies. Fuck, you're saying I turned up and they [Newcastle's players] fucked off.
SB: No Joe, have you read it, it doesn't actually say that. Have you read it?
JK: I've fucking read it, I've read it.
SB: It doesn't say that. Have you read it?
JK: You are trying to fucking undermine my position already.
SB: Have you read it, it doesn't say that. I knew you knew they were having a day off.
JK: Fuck off. Fuck off. It's your last fucking chance.
SB: You read the copy? It doesn't say that you didn't know.
JK: What about the headline, you think that's a good headline?
SB: I didn't write the headline, you read the copy.
JK: You are negative bastards, the pair of you.
SB: So if I get a new job next week would I take the first day off? No I wouldn't. If I get a new job should I call my boss and tell him I am taking the first day off?
JK: It is none of your fucking business. What the fuck are you going to do? You ain't got the balls to be a fucking manager. Fucking day off. Do I want your opinion. Do I have to listen to you?
SB: No, you can listen to who you want.
JK: I had a 24-hour meeting with the entire staff.
SB: Joe, you are only here six weeks, you could have done that on Sunday, or Saturday night.
JK: No, no, no. I didn't want to do it. I had some other things to do.
SB: What? More important things?
JK: What are you? My personal secretary? Fuck off.
SB: You could have done the meeting Saturday night or Sunday. You could have had them watching videos, you could have organised them.
JK: I was meeting the fucking chairman the owner, everyone else. Talking about things.
SB: It is a valid point that was made in there. A valid point.
JK: I can't trust any of you.
Niall Hickman: Joe, no one could believe that on your first day at your new club, the first-team players were not in. No one could believe it in town. Your first day in the office.
JK: My first day was with the coaches. I made the decision that I wanted to get as much information out of them.
NH: But why Monday, no one could believe it?
JK: I'm not going to tell you anything. I don't understand where you are coming from. You are delighted that Newcastle are getting beat and are in the state they are? Delighted, are you?
NH: Certainly not. No one wants to see them get beaten, why would we?
JK: I have done it before. It is going to my fucking lawyers. So are about three others. If they can find something in it that is a court case it is going to court. I am not fucking about. I don't talk to fucking anybody. It is raking up stories. You are fucking so fucking slimy you are raking up players that I got rid of. Players that I had fallen out with. You are not asking Robbie Earle, because he is sensible. You are not asking Warren Barton? No. Because he is fucking sensible. Anyone who had played for me for 10 years at any level ... [but] you will find some cunt that ...
Other journalist: How long is your contract for Joe?
JK: None of your business.
SB: Well it is actually, because we cover the club. The club say you are here to the end of October, then you say six to eight games which would take it to the end of November. We are trying to clarify these issues. We are getting no straight answers from anyone. How long are you here for. It is a dead simple question. And you don't know ...
JK: I was told the length of contract. Then I was told that possibly the club could be sold in that time. That is as far as I know. That's it finished. I don't know anything else. But I have been ridiculed. He's trying to fucking hide, he's trying to do this or that.

There follows an exchange regarding the circumstances under which Kinnear had met the owner Mike Ashley and executive director (football) Dennis Wise.

Steve Brenner (football writer for the Sun): We are all grown men and can come in here and sit around and talk about football, but coming in here and calling people cunts?
JK: Why? Because I am annoyed. I am not accepting that. If it is libellous, it is going to where I want it to go.
Newcastle press officer: What has been said in here is off the record and doesn't go outside.
Journalist: Well, is that what Joe thinks?
JK: Write what you like. Makes no difference to me. Don't affect me I assure you. It'll be the last time I see you anyway. Won't affect me. See how we go at Everton and Chrissy [Chris Hughton, assistant manager] can do it, someone else can do it. Don't trust any of yous. I will pick two local papers and speak to them and the rest can fuck off. I ain't coming up here to have the piss taken out of me. I have a million pages of crap that has been written about me. I'm ridiculed for no reason. I'm defenceless. I can't get a point in, I can't say nothing, I can't do nothing, but I ain't going to be negative. Then, half of you, most of you are trying to get into the players. I'm not going to tell you what the players think of you, so then you try and get into them in some way or another, so I've got a split camp or something like that, something like that. It's ongoing. It just doesn't stop.
Journalist: It's only been a week.
JK: Exactly. It feels more like a year.
Journalist: It's early days for you to be like this.
JK: No, I'm clearing the air. And this is the last time I'm going to speak to you. You want to know why, I'm telling you. This is the last time. You can do what you like.
Journalist: But this isn't going to do you or us any good.
JK: I'll speak to the supporters. I'm going to tell them what the story is. I'm going to tell them. I don't think they'll interpret it any different, I don't think they'll mix it up, I don't think they'll miss out things. I mean, one of them last week said to me ... I was talking about in that press conference where you were there, I said something like "Well, that's a load of bollocks ..."
Journalist: "Bollocks to that" is what you said.
JK: Bollocks to that. And what goes after that?
Journalist: That was it.
JK: No it wasn't, no it wasn't. What was after it? I don't know if it was your paper, but what went after it?
Journalist: I don't know.
JK: It even had the cheek to say "bollocks to Newcastle".
Journalist: I didn't write that.
JK: That was my first fucking day. What does that tell you? What does that tell you?
Journalist: Where was that? Which paper said that?
JK: I've got it. I can't remember. It was one of the Sundays, not a Saturday. It was a Sunday.
Journalist: But you didn't say that to the Sundays, you said that to us. That was during the Monday press conference.
JK: I'll bring it in and show it to you. Why would I want to say that?
Journalist: Are you saying that someone has reported you saying "bollocks to Newcastle?"
JK: Yes. Lovely.
Journalist: I don't know who's reported that.
JK: I'll tell you what, I'll bring it in.
Journalist: That's obviously going to damage you. That's not a good thing. But I don't think someone's done that. We have to have some sort of relationship with you.
JK: So have I. But I haven't come in here for you lot to take the piss out of me. And if I'm not flavour of the month for you, it don't fucking bother me. I've got a job to do. And I'm going to do it to the best of my ability. I'm not going to spend any more time listening to any crap or reading any crap. Stick to the truth and the facts. And don't twist anything.
Journalist: You know, you know the game ...
JK: Of course I know, but I don't have to like it.
Journalist: Today we'll print the absolute truth, that you think we're cunts, we can all fuck off and we're slimy. Is that fair enough?
JK: Do it. Fine. Fucking print it. Am I going to worry about it? Put in also that it'll be the last time I see you. Put that in as well. Good. Do it.

Much, much later after long discussions over whether Kinnear had promised Alan Shearer and Kevin Keegan would be returning to the club

Press officer: Let's get on to football. Let's have an agreement that everything said so far, if anyone has got their tapes on, it's wiped off and we're not discussing it.
Journalist: But that's what Joe has said he thinks of us.
Press officer: I'm saying don't push it. Let's accept what's been said and try and move on.
Journalist: Move on to not doing any more press conferences?
PO: No, to doing something now.
Journalist: What, one press conference only?
(Silence)
Journalist: Any knocks?
PO: Come on, let's go football.
Journalist: What are your plans for training in the next three days? How's the training going?
JK: It's going very well. No problems at all.
Journalist: Enjoyed getting back in the swing of things?
JK: Absolutely. I've loved every moment of it.

As read several times at The Guardian.

El Diego

The next Argentina coach? Maybe.

The best player ever? Definitely.

Future Darwin Award Winner

To quote Con Air: "This is fucking spectacular".

Season 2008/2009: Match 11: Montrose v Huntly

They say a week's a long time in football, and today seemed to prove the point.

After last week's inept performance against Dumbarton, Montrose today eased into the third round of the Scottish Cup with a win over high-scoring Highland League Huntly.

Since last week's match, Montrose have appointed former Dundee United and Celtic defender David Hannah as caretaker player-manager, sent last season's top goalscorer John Baird on loan to Second Division side (and local rivals) Brechin City and taken Calum Smith in the opposite direction.

If last week saw Montrose lacking focus, this week they coped admirably with a feisty Huntly side. Hannah selected himself at the heart of defence, and remained a vocal figure throughout.

But on the day, it was the weather that was the talking point. Montrose played against the gale-force wind in the first half, a wind so strong that one goal kick flew back over goalkeeper Greg Kelly's head and out for a corner. Huntly also tested their luck from long range on several occasions, with three shots from 40 or 50 yards coming close in the first half.

The first half was extended by almost five minutes due to the number of dead balls delayed while the kick takers attempted to get the ball to sit still long enough for them to take the kick.

Referee Mat Northcroft, who spent most of the game behaving in an over-pernickety fashion given the conditions, engaged in a "wind inspection" during the break, finally concluding that abandoning the match wasn't necessary.

And so Montrose, already ahead despite playing against the conditions, saw out the match with the wind at their backs. A 2-0 win over a side scoring for fun in the Highland League was a good result for Hannah's first match in charge of the Links Park size.

The two men who were arguably the biggest influence on Montrose's promotion push last season, manager Jim Weir and goalscorer John Baird, have gone, but the Hannah reign has at least started in a winning way. With the gaffer on the pitch, Montrose seemed more assured of themselves than in recent weeks, and new loanee Calum Smith, signed as part of the deal that took Baird to Glebe Park, looked lively throughout.

Yep, a week's a long time in football.

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?