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NOVEMBER |
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I don't know. After last month's epic 16 pages for the monthly message, I am beginning to feel that I can scarcely do anything in my life without thinking about how it's going to look in this virtual existence. Maybe it is something of a worrying trend, and there really isn't a very good answer to the question "why do you feel the need to have your own website/" which one of my work colleagues asked me today. Hell, I don't need to justify myself. If the Internet wasn't invented for animated clangers to be brought to the world's attention, I don't know what it could be for.
Well, after all that Albanian shenanigans, this month was always going to be less exciting. I experienced what it was to have that "after the Lord Mayor's Show" feeling, tried to bring down the government of the United States, and made a couple of excursions into the Jurassic Era, just so that I kept up to date with my well-known taste in contemporary popular music......
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The Lord Mayor's Coach: sadly my former colleagues in the City of London Rates office didn't take part in the parade. They could have inspected empty buildings as they marched. |
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Ever feel deflated? I didn't know what this float was about and didn't dare ask. |
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It's kind of odd that although I have a politics degree, I had never actually been on a political demonstration before, having something of an Eeyore-ish view on the world in many ways. In the photo opposite, you can dimly make out the statue of George Dubya in Trafalgar Square before he was unceremoniously toppled. Maybe it lacked a little drama: you could be forgiven for thinking it was Gerald Ford falling out of an aeroplane again.
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Dinosaur #2
Fleetwoodosaurus Max (15th mutation)
(has evolved and mutated out of all recognition since being discovered by Peter the Green in 1967 BC) |
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Dinosaur # 1:
Zimmerframadon Robertus
(nearly extinct on several occasions) |
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People didn't exactly laugh at me when I told them I was going to see Bob Dylan at Wembly Arena. The reaction was mostly "I thought he was dead."
Even when Bob does shuffle off into the great bootleg in the sky, for many he will still be around, on a great neverending tour, and whilst ideally it would have been great to hear him play in a coffee shop in Camden, I guess that he and I would have to make do with the shed that is the Wembley Arena. Really, though there was so much warmth, and yes, love from the audience towards him that he could have sung "Agadoo" and got away with it...
The old adage about not knowing what Bob sings until he's half way through the song (and admittedly until you've checked the setlist on the net the next day) really can be true, but his voice beared up quite well, all things and excesses considered, and he even jigged around the stage after each number, confined to the edge of the stage, playing keyboards of all things for the entire show.
I'll never forget his rendition of Desolation Row though, unlike the guy in front of me who was so drunk he'll never remember it. I often felt like completing Inspection Reports quoting chunks of that song. "So, Mike, " my boss would have said "This shop that opened in Cheapside was selling postcards of the hanging, and offered to paint your passport brown, did it?" |
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It is a lttle difficult to admit to liking Fleetwood Mac. People don't generally have a problem at all with the blues-era Peter Green-led antecedent of the 70s soap opera edition of the group that bears the same name, and peversely I am a fan of both. I've always been a bit eclectic like that. The latest version of the band, now in its 37th year has lost one of its three principals, Christine McVie to retirement, but this has left Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham far more space |
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to shine and leaves the eternal rhythm section of Mick Fleetwood and John McVie to anchor the sound. |
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I could write much about Buckingham's guitar virtuosity- he essays an incredible acoustic version of Big Love (thankfully the only Tango in the Night track they play), and the histrionics of Come and I'm so Afraid similarly impress. Stevie Nicks, who is now restored to full health (and sanity) turns in brilliant performances of Rhiannon, Gold Dust Woman |
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amongst others and has occupied acres of newsprint. Their staged Torvilll & Dean style shows of affection , aping their antics of the 1970s (and conveniently forgetting what allegedly approached mutual threats to kill each other circa 1987) amuse and add poignancy to many of the songs inspired by their breakup. |
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Then there's Mick Fleetwood. whose solid drumming is aided by some spectacular additional |
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Fleetwood:
very odd. |
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percussionists, who does however disgrace himself with a ridiculous drum solo during the encore. My hero of the night though, was John McVie, the grey-haired taciturn bassist, who almost looks as if he would be happier on a bowling green; he has a brief moment in the spotlight during his solo in the Chain and then retires to the shadows, into the oblivion of the bass line whilst controlled chaos ensues around him. Altogether a great night out. Rumours of their
death etc etc etc...........oh well.... |
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The smudge on the left is either some dirt on my camera lens, the Crab Nebula in Orion, or one of the |
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Click on the photo for a potted history of the Mac |
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click here for October |
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greatest songwriters of the 20th century. You can decide. |
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click here for homepage |
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click for quick menu |
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L-R: Nicks, McVie, Buckingham, Fleetwood |
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