Archive for the ‘music’ Tag

Smithfield Market 150th Anniversary   1 comment

 

Been sick a few days and Jackie has been off on holidays for a few, so we were both itching to escape the house despite the sudden cold-and-rainy snap.  The weather didn’t really suit the Notting Hill Carnival this time around, so we opted for the Smithfield Market 150th anniversary do.  The lion, above, is a detail on one of the ornate iron gates to the meat market (seen below).

 

 

I’ve been all around this joint, but neither of us has been inside and it didn’t disappoint.  However, we WERE disappointed to have missed the Sausage Dog Parade on Saturday (but I’m sure they’ll do it again for the 300th anniversary).

 

 

Butchery is the name of the game, here, but it isn’t a trading day.  One trader taunted us with a carcass and some fabulous, aged standing ribs:

 

 

Speaking of butchery, this is the site where William Wallace, having been dragged behind horses from the Tower of London roughly ½ mile away, was hung, drawn, and quartered 713 years ago this week.

“They can take our Sausage Dog Parade but they will never take our free…hang on…what are you doing with that gallows, y’ wee lad?”

 

 

With me recovering and J cold-natured, we stuck to the covered bits more so than the rest (although I met some lovely people into fermentation at one of the tents near the Wallace Memorial).  There were musical acts but the people-watching was the real show.

 

 

Of said musical acts, I enjoyed the Fish Police more than any of the others.  You should seek these guys out (although I  believe they have a very limited touring range):

 

 

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This Bank Holiday Weekend I Have Been Mostly Listening To …   1 comment

  1.  The Beasts of Bourbon.  I didn’t know about these guys before Spencer P Jones slipped this mortal coil.  I’m not at all hip, but he was.  Instead, I was perusing the Death Pool to see just how badly I was doing against the other ghouls (currently #41 in my funeral home with the 44 points I got off Winnie Mandela), and he came up as one of the celebs I didn’t know, but should have.  When I saw the band name, I had to have a listen and it turned out to be quite moreish.  Brilliant stuff, including this cover of Psycho by Leon Payne (the Elvis Costello version is aces, too).

 

2. The Fish Police.  We went to the Smithfield Market 150th Anniversary Sunday and it was rainy and cold and full of children and absolutely dreadful save for the Fish.  We got home cold and wet and miserable and both of us had their tunes stuck in our heads.  Definitely the highlight of the day.

 

 

3.  Siddha yoga chanting.  I have this hour stripped to mp3 to go along with a wait for the sacrament to take.  You understand this or you don’t.  It doesn’t have to be Hindu, it could be the Rolling Stones or Louis Prima or Vivaldi.  But, it isn’t…THIS weekend.

 

4.  Richmond Fontaine‘s “Don’t Skip Out On Me.”  Willy Vlautin, singer/songwriter/ostensibly the leader of this band is rapidly becoming Jackie’s favourite author (and she reads voraciously).  She picked this up at HMV trying to keep her club card points up and it is an absolute delight (entirely acoustic, it is meant to accompany one of his novels called, strangely enough, Don’t Skip Out On Me — as an erstwhile soundtrack.  Good accompaniment to dinner, as well.

 

This Week I Have Been Mostly Listening To…   Leave a comment

 

The Fratellis’ “Costello Music,” Greatest Hits disks from The Pretenders and The Jam (all three were thrift store finds), and NPR coverage of the whole Trump/Manafort/Cohen/Giuliani shit storm.  More of the last one than anything else.

On the news coverage, they keep calling Judge TS Ellis, “TS Eliot.” The Wasteland is one of my favourites, but I am reminded more of this one:

“Let us go then, you and me
“To the penitentiary.”
–opening verse of The Swansong of J Donald Trump-frock by TS Ellis

and, further on in the poem:

“In the room the jurors told the court,
We’re convicting Paul Manafort.”

In spite of all that, the earworm I can’t shake is this:

 

Posted August 23, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in music, Politics

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This week I have been mostly listening to …   Leave a comment

 

Not only Martin Mull (wearing my cousin’s baseball uniform, seen above, from Macon Central HS not far from Capricorn Records Studios), but a host of oddball records I got in the 70’s (everyone needs at least one Johnny Puleo and the Harmonica Gang disc in their collection).  Anyway, here’s a favourite track from “No Hits;” I give you Jesus Is Easy:

 

 

Probably no need to explain the “This Week I Have Been Mostly…” thread to Brits, here is the origin story of that one:

 

 

 

Posted August 3, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Made Me Laugh, music

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This Week I Have Been Mostly Reading …   1 comment

 

I don’t have many people at work I consider friends and one of them left the labs for good, yesterday, frustrated by the nonsense in the University, the Department, the lab and his research group.  He lasted nearly 2 years before The Great Funk (not the good kind, either) set in.  The brightest burn out the quickest (while a dim bulb like meself carries on toward the 10 year mark).  We didn’t have many conversations but every one of them was engrossing, intense, and completely free range (not free ranging, but free range, like chickens pecking at the soil).  During one of these, an offhand comment about acid during a longer discussion of one of my frequent head injuries (the one where I was struck by a falling tree whilst running in a snowstorm near Athens, Georgia) stuck with him; not a tripper himself but open to it, he applied his freakish eidetic memory to a choice of parting gifts and presented me with Michael Pollan’s How To Change Your Mind: The New Science of Psychedelics.  I am touched by this unusually thoughtful gift and I hope he knows how much I will cherish it (not least because I was going to buy it for myself when it comes out in a trades/paper edition).

I have also been reading my twit feed fairly regularly and recently added Existential Comics to list of followed accounts.  This is a recent one, typical of the genre:

 

 

Weekend Runs 21-22 October 2017   1 comment

 

“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”
USPS Creed

The weekend runs tested my resolve with cold, rain, wind, and pre-dawn darkness; not exactly the Postman’s Creed, but most of us really think of the “Going Postal” version of the motto à la Newman from Seinfeld.  In fact, when a colleague asked, “was someone chasing you?” in reference to my mention of 30 miles on trail this weekend I replied, “only my demons,” before I realised I really had an opinion.

 

 

 

Saturday, I did an 8½ mile loop out to the canal path (where someone has dredged a scooter from the depths where the A40 crosses), through Northolt and back to the diy shop to pick up some varnish for a garden project. The wind was brutal and even dislodged a traffic light while I was waiting to cross the street at Northolt Station.

 

 

 

We had a busy day planned Sunday so, in order to be home in time to shower and get out to Uxbridge by 11, I left an hour-and-a-half before sunrise on my 21½ mile journey to Clapham Junction.

 

 

Hitting the canal at the same spot in Greenford as the previous morning, I worked my way south to the longer branch that passes below Ealing.  At a park along the way, I was intrigued by this beached rowboat with the WATER DONKEY sign.  If anyone can explain it, you are a better man than me; if anyone DOES explain it, I regain the high ground.

 

 

The route merged onto the River Brent path as twilight allowed me to holster my torch which would be a great euphemism; not as great as “Prize Length of Piling,” but not bad.

 

The transition to the downstream sections of the Thames Path required a stretch of street running through Brentford where a lovely collection of pubs taunted me with their pulled curtains and gated doorways.  I’ll be back, though, mark my words.

 

 

This year’s World Series involves the Astros and the Dodgers, two of my least favourite baseball teams, but them’s the breaks.  It was good to see that someone with a spray can is also patiently waiting for the Cubs’ return to form, next year:

 

 

Just before the Brent highway segment, there were several impressive weirs and railway bridges.  Following on, I eventually crossed to the south side of the Thames via the stately Kew Gardens Bridge and dodged the now-legion runners and cyclists that wait for a decent hour to get out for their morning constitutional.

 

 

On the far side of the Putney Bridge sits a Wetherspoons called the Rocket in an early-1960s office building that looks as if it was just built (a rarity in that era of Stalinist architecture).  Alas, the bar was not yet open (food only till 9) so to its sister pub, the Asparagus, I struggled.

 

 

After my long-overdue pint, I finished the journey at Clapham Junction.  I think there is a subconscious battle going on in my feeble mind.  Every time I catch a train here, I get songs by Squeeze stuck in my head but NEVER the one you would think.  Typing this up over coffee Tuesday morning, I’m still struggling to supplant Pulling Mussels From A Shell with any other earworm.

 

 

Posted October 24, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Running, Tourism

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The Elephant and Castle, Kensington, London   Leave a comment

 

Pub #1935 (and just a stone’s throw from The Goat which was Pub #35, exactly 1900 stops and approximately 8½ years ago):

The sign on the door of the Elephant and Castle stated, “No Soiled Clothing Allowed On These Premises” which would normally exclude me since most of my pub stops involve running or, if late in the night, being somewhat soiled in general. But, this trip I was just killing time in the neighbourhood while the wife was interviewing for a job and I was actually presentable.

Unfortunately for documentation, I was only carrying my burner phone (the iPhone I bought from a junkie in Amsterdam a few years ago — and which I usually use for GPS and photography — had to be hacked to use at all and can’t be activated for telephony). The photos the burner takes were considered pretty good 20 years ago but are lower resolution than thumbnails are now. I stole the main photo, above, from the Interwebs (the rest are what the phone did).

 

 

The pub is gorgeous inside, too, and there were 5 real ales on. I had one that spoofed Star Wars (a dark ale I think was called Dark Vader). Pretty good stuff. I took it to the small back room where there was just one other guy and another proclamation declaiming dirty clothing.

 

 

“What’s that playing?” I asked the barmaid. She turned the monitor toward me to show me “Gotan Project,” which had been on for several consecutive cuts.

“I can’t decide if I would like that on at home or if it would…”
“…bore the piss out of you?” My compatriot completed my thought not quite accurately, adding, “I felt that way about the Buena Vista Social Club but I think I’m going to go home and play it now.” He got up and left.

A few minutes later, I left as well, passing the former home of Radclyffe Hall.  On the wait for Jackie to finish her interrogation I was reading some NPR news blurbs online and noted that it is now the 20th anniversary of the release of the album. Neato.

 

Posted September 27, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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