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Wow, sparks flying, a LOT of activity in Reynoldzone at the moment - and also, a new one for me, the 'very thought provoking & very readable IF and WHEN it is remotely legible' k-punk (and I'm not at all biased because they mention The Pill Box).

A-n-d, yes, I know it's pushing it, me of all people criticising someone else's command of the (we)blog-form(at) - but, hey, holy gnostik nite-clubbin' datapanik or wot, k-punk, some of uz are incIPient middle-aged punks now and our eyes can only TAKE so much screwing up tight to read deep blue black addendum (addendae? ADDENDA, right...), and, while we're on the subject, let's be brutally middle-aged-punk honest here, addenda which, if they're about Thomas Dolby or John Foxx or the minutiae of Matrix scripts, we're not going to spend THAT much time or remaining eyesight deciphering, not on a nice ice-cream eatin' Big-Youth-CD-playin' football-with-the-cats day like this. . .

(Actually, middle aged punks might be a good name for something. A terrorist cell so lazy they never get round to even meeting - 'Hey, let's have dinner sometime!' 'Definitely! We MUST do it...' - never mind blowing anything up, maybe. And our figurehead could be LARRY DAVID. . . on whose hilarious but often times almost unwatchably misanthropic sitcom, more anon.)

Talking of being an old hex punk, and in re all the raging & debatable epi-phenomena being stalked by Simon (and Si, I fall down and worship at your feet for the anti-CLASH riff - and WHO/JAM/SONIC YOUTH to boot), I've speed-written 1000s of words worth of blurry midnite thoughts & notes & broodings in the past week or so about BLING, and why I find Rap all but unlistenable/untenable these days, and, further, the covert HOMOGENISATION of Brit 'youth kultur' - so that there is now an all but unsortable un-parse-able commingling of 'what-is-naff and what-is-cool' thru . . .Big Brother / TV-advertised Summer Anthem compilations (in which House Rap Girl Group Ibiza Pole Dancing Danni Minogue et al are themselves blurred into one nudge-nudge sweat-sweat soft pop machine delirium) / TOTP / David Gray as perma soundtrack / Hornby / hipster jeans & ironic t-shirts ... etc etc etc.

You can see it in Big Brother: there are NO ARGUMENTS whatsoever (or, not about culture or politics): it is as if EVERYTHING HAS BEEN AGREED. And it is in fact personified by BRIAN FROM BIG BROTHER (as he will permanently be known) - a harmless, twinkly SHOPPING obsessed pseudo Gay man, a figure in whom all the socio-sexual political movements and earthquakes of the past 40 years have been poured & sluiced & duly nu-ly emerge as a well styled, charming, happy but UTTERLY EMPTY desire for minor celebrity and major credit card-assist clothes-buying binges... (cf. his unbelievably.... unbelievably BRIAN new show on ITV, Brian's Boyfriends... and NO, US readers, it's not in ANY WAY as (f)risky as that title might suggest. Rather, it is the £/s/d cumshot of a generation of gay men so obsessed with SPENDING MONEY ON STUFF as a way of life we may have to introduce a new sociological category and call them the WHICH? QUEENS . . .)

This bears deeper examination; but it's what I call the Kyliefication or Kiddification of UK pop culture.

And, like I say, I have oodles & oodles of thoughts/notes on this, which I SHOULD painstakingly process and arrange, but... but. . . but the weather is SO lovely this week, and I'm 43 and we've just installed a beautiful red hardwood bench in The Pill Box Garden (under the Spreading Legba Tree, right next to the Cubist Bush and behind the CATS' Magick Carpet), and, frankly, I'd rather sit in the shade/sunshine and play with my cats and listen to The Bob Dylan Bootleg Series and read St Augustine's Confessions and Spinoza and Blake and Invisible Republic and Patricia Highsmith and just LUV BEING ALIVE. . . (sometimes, y'know, being freelance seems like the best gig in the world...)

Does this make me a BAD person? (I know I'm a lazy sod, already.)

Talking of PHighsmith tho but. . .

1) The adverts on TV at the moment for RIPLEY's GAME - which, for those less movie-obsessed than myself, is a mainstream re-make of the text which WENDERS turned into THE AMERICAN FRIEND in 1977. Now, I am very much NOT a Wenders fan, but two of his earlier films I just flat-out luv: American Friend, and THE STATE OF THINGS.

And the thing is, you see these adverts - with Ray Winstone, Dougray Scott and (fatally) John Malkovich - and don't you just know exactly what the film is going to be like?

And I was in hysterics last night when I realised that the advert's sign-off, over an image of MALKOVICH in oh-yawn-not-again sneery creepy soft spoken MALKOVICH VILLAIN mode, runs:


Oh my yes: yes yes yes yes yes. I couldn't have put it better myself! I may have T-SHIRTS made up for the summer, oh yes, oh my yes. . . [walks chortling into the Garden to cool off...]

and 2)
... I should have done this before, but

HONORARY PAWGIRL: . . . Patricia Highsmith.

Cat lover, gardener, threshold dweller, and acute psychologist of the hidden folds of the bourgeoisie. . .

Sorry: it really is too nice to be sitting in here.

So, pressing commentary on cluster bombs, Vincent "I want to be a legend" Gallo, Bib sorry Big - no, actually, BIB Brother, Bob Dylan as proto Rapper (take a listen to "It Takes A Lot To Laugh, It Takes A Train To Cry" and tell me you can't hear Rap cadence, Rap humour, all in all an ideal Rap in the process of becoming...), St Augustine as latterday Lacan, Gosepl Music as deep undercover jouissance and Bling as misplaced revolutionary aggressivity is just going to have to wait. . .

I mean, you should have heard the SYMPHONY of different birdcalls this a.m. in the trees at the bottom of the (I'm getting boring about this, aren't I?) Garden . . . it was astonishing, entrancing; which reminds me:


posted by Ian 5/30/2003 01:23:00 PM

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