Heard It On Film

So, whilst I was off work this week, I found myself watching/snoozing through an awful lot of TV. Here’s a short list:

  1. Storyville: Death on The Staircase on the BBC iPlayer. A courtroom documentary along the lines of Netflix’ Making of a Murderer that, at the risk of a spoiler, had me reaching for Google the moment the eighth and final part finished.
  2. Homes Under The Hammer. I cannot top Dave Gorman’s summation of this:

3. Atypical on Netflix. The story of an American teenager on the autism spectrum who decides it’s time he gets himself a girlfriend. Take home message: Jennifer Jason Leigh has still got it going on.

4. Gameshows Impossible and Tenable. Take home message: a lot of people are idiots.

5. Flog It! I mention this only because I am 99.9% sure that in one episode, filmed in Swansea’s Margam Park, Gruff Rhys from the ever wondrous Super Furry Animals wanders into the crowd watching an evaluation of a porcelain pig. I’ll be revisiting it on the iPlayer later and trying to upload it to Twitter at some point to see if anyone else agrees.

5. Love & Mercy on Netflix. This is a film which attempts to chart the recording of The Beach Boys’ seminal Pet Sounds album, Brian Wilson’s subsequent nervous breakdown (all shown in flashback), which is juxtaposed with the 1980s, when Wilson is under the guardianship of Dr Eugene Landy.

Generally, it works. Paul Dano, who plays the 60s Brian is phenomenal, as is Paul Giamatti as Landy.

But there’s a problem, and it pains me to say it. For the problem is John Cusack.

Now, I love Cusack, and I would say that 99.8% of the time, he can do no wrong (the 00.2% is deducted for his pronunciation of The Beta Band in “High Fidelity“). However, in Love & Mercy he plays the 80s Brian Wilson, and great as he is, I couldn’t get past the fact that this was Cusack, playing Brian Wilson, who he looks absolutely sod-all like.

Maybe you can suspend disbelief better than I can. If so, good on you. Fill your boots.

What I was totally on board with, however, was the Beach Boys songs which got an airing, not least this, probably my favourite song of theirs, and since it’s a Bank Holiday weekend here in the UK, with what appears to rather nice weather ahead of us, I think we can blow the dust off one more time:


The Beach Boys – Good Vibrations

I wish I could post (again) Adam Buxton’s shredding of The Beach Boys’ performance of “Barbara Ann” on Later….  here, but alas it has been taken down from all platforms. If you ever stumble across it, brace yourself: I went to see Adam earlier this year and he showed it in its entirety; I laughed so hard at it that I nearly slid out of my chair (which is no mean feat for a fat old git like me).

More soon.

Replenishing the Vinyl

Morning all.

A couple of weeks ago, in my occasional series where I feature compilation albums I picked up when I was a teenager making mix-tapes to please my peers in the sixth form common room, I featured an album called “Take The Subway To Your Suburb” which included, amongst a host of jingly-jangly indie-popsters, some proto-Pop Will Eat Itself, when they were still in their grebo mode.

Today’s vinyl selection is by a band who slotted into the same scene, but unlike the Poppies, they failed to move with the times, released one album (on Dave Balfe and Andy Ross’ Food Records, better known for fathering early Blur releases, amongst others) but were dropped by the label in 1989. They did release a further album, which I’ve never heard, but lack of commercial success meant their days were numbered.

I saw this lot once, in my first year of college, before I got involved in the Entertainments Committee (you should not take it from that that I wouldn’t have booked them when I did get involved); they were pretty good, good enough to make we wait until the end of their set before going to the Gents. High praise indeed.

As I entered the Gents, there was Keith, my housemate, washing his hands at the sink, which meant that Allie, a girl from Bristol who wore polka dot skirts that he was moderately obsessed with, was in the venue somewhere.

“What did you think of them lot?” he asked (he was from Yorkshire, hence the poor grammar).

I positioned myself at the urinal, my back to the rest of the room.

“Yeh, I thought they were alright,” I said. “Though I have reservations about any band that has a song called ‘I Don’t Want That Pint Of Blood’.”

At which point, the lead singer of the band crashed out of one of the cubicles.

“That’s not what it’s fucking called,” he slurred at me, pulled his leather jacket down taut, assumed rock star status and strutted out to meet his slightly more approving (and female) public.

And he was right, it’s not.

I may have misheard one of them, but they had some great song titles tucked under their belts.

Here’s some tunes from that Food release album I mentioned earlier:


Crazyhead – I Don’t Want That Kind Of Love

Crazyhead – Time Has Taken It’s Toll On You

 (that one has a key change at the end that would make Westlife fall off their stools)

Crazyhead – Have Love, Will Travel

Crazyhead – What Gives You The Idea That You’re So Amazing, Baby?

They haven’t dated all that well, but blimey I’ve loved hearing those again.

More soon.


Fighting Fit

Apologies it’s been a bit quiet round these parts this week; as many of you will have gathered from my post on Monday morning I’ve been a bit under the weather this week, and had to take a couple of days off work to get over the dreaded lurgy I’d been struck down with.

No, not man flu, before you all start, but I’ll spare you the details.

Anyway, although I was at home for a couple of days I didn’t really feel like writing anything. And then, of course, there is the small matter of my boss reading this.

Now Kay is really supportive and encouraging of what I do here – barely a week goes by when she doesn’t ask me when I’m going to get round to writing her favourite of my many anecdotes (I’ll do it soon. alright??) – but since I was off work sick, and since my work is essentially sitting in front of a computer writing stuff, I didn’t think it was a very smart idea to write anything here. A return to work meeting which includes me saying: “Yes, Kay, I have been too unwell to come to work, but on a brighter note I have written a weeks’ worth of blog posts, including an epic edition of The Chain” is only going to lead to uncomfortable questions being asked and P45s being hastily inked.

But, before we get this show back on the road, I did want to thank those of you who took the time to wish me a speedy recovery, they were all very much appreciated.

Here’s a tune to break me back in semi-gently:


Gene – Fighting Fit

I’m dedicating that to a friend of mine who used to be a member of the Gene fan club (she doesn’t know that I know that), and, if all goes as it should, is about to become deservedly famous and successful in her chosen field. You know who you are. I could not be prouder of you.

And if you liked that tune, go buy some Gene records. You could do worse than seek out either their “Olympian” or “Drawn To The Deep End” albums, both of which are magnificent.

More soon.