Issue 15 � May 2006
THIS ISSUE WRITTEN BY MARK RITCHIE
www.geocities.com/sniperglue
X-RAY
The X-ray looked bad.
Everyone thought it was cancer.
In the hospital,
he received no visitors.
He didn�t want any visitors.
When they asked
about next-of-kin,
he said �None�.
He wasn�t afraid of dying.
Instead, he spent his time
worrying that he�d left
that month�s rent unpaid,
worrying about
all the songs he�d written
which no one would ever hear.
It turned out to be
a lung infection,
treatable with anti-biotics.
They discharged him after
a couple of weeks
and he showed up at my door.
Then he told me all about it,
as we sat in my darkened room of sadness.
CDS
WILL JOHNSON � VULTURES AWAIT (MUNICH)
Having a job and being sober; finding myself stuck in either one of these less-than-perfect predicaments usually makes me rush to the would-be comforts of �must have� CDs that I could exist perfectly well without if I were pleasantly pissed and/or unemployed. Well, I AM currently on the rock �n� dole, but have found myself on-the-wagon for a while now, and this CD was one of those �replacement addiction� purchases. It�s by the guy who is also, rather greedily, in the bands Centro-Matic and South San Gabriel (see last issue for review of their �Carlton Chronicles� release). It�s slow-paced sad-boy guitar music with the forlorn vocals and the lazily-strummed acoustic guitar. It�s nothing life-changing but stand-out tracks like �Just to Know What You�ve Been Dreaming� and the sublimely lovely �Fly, My Sweet Dove� make it a not-too-bad alternative to slowly sinking into boozy oblivion. Whether it was more �constructive� spending �15 on this CD or pissing it up against a wall is debatable, of course.
TEX PERKINS � DARK HORSES (UNIVERSAL/GRUDGE)
I get sent a lot of CDRs and, to be honest, most of them are thrown into a box and never played. This one�s been in the box for several years now, sent to me as part of a bootleg trade from some guy in Australia. Fuck knows why I happened to pick it out one grim and sober Saturday night in April. Maybe I was just in the mood for hearing something �new�. Whatever the reason, it was a rather pleasant surprise. The guy sings like a cross between Alejandro Escovedo, Mark Lanegan and Mark Eitzel and he does melancholic songs with violins and pianos and cellos and it was only after doing a Google search on him that I discovered he was (is?) in the Australian band The Cruel Sea, a single by whom I bought many years ago and which I�ve been trying unsuccessfully to flog at second-hand record shops ever since! This is WAY better than the stuff he did/does with that band, which I seem to recall as being rather overblown and pompous INXS-style rawk. Urgh. This is NICE, though, especially the first and last couple of tracks.
MY DELICATE MELANCHOLY DEVOTION � IT ALWAYS ENDS IN TEARS PO Box 277, Maldon, Victoria, 3463, Australia � [email protected]
This is a 13-track CDR of acoustic songs from an Australian male/female duo who have a travelling minstrel feel to them. There are rather fine covers of �Love is a Battlefield� (the 1980s Pat Benatar hit) and �Nothing Compares 2 U� in amongst the originals (of which �Netti Byrnes� is the finest). It�s all played and sung very nicely and it�s folky and charming in a similar cul-de-sac to Fairport Convention and their ilk. This sort of music is coming back in a big way, so maybe My Delicate Melancholy Devotion (a BIT too much of a mouthful of a name, to be honest) will soon be hobnobbing with the likes of Seth Lakeman and all those other beautiful young folkies who look set to take over the world. You just never know.
DUSTY SPRINGFIELD � DUSTY IN MEMPHIS (MERCURY)
There was a rather good �South Bank Show� about Dusty Springfield on TV recently and it occurred to me that I didn�t own any of her stuff on CD. I soon rectified that shocking oversight by laying my hands on this classic 1968 release (digitally re-mastered here, with eight bonus mono mixes). Dusty lays down passionate renditions of songs by Carole King/Gerry Goffin, Burt Bacharach and Randy Newman, to name but a few. Also, of course, there�s �Son of a Preacher Man� which I used to hate but now I LOVE. This is a fine, fine CD and also the GAYEST thing I�ve bought in a while! Nice, thick booklet too, with sleeve-notes by Elvis Costello and some of the people involved in the LP�s production.
JONI MITCHELL � HEJIRA (ASYLUM)
Woke at about 8.30. Had a shower. It was Moira Stewart's last day on the BBC news and John
Prescott's had an affair! Went to the doctors. He examined me again and went over my liver profile
test results with me. Some reading which SHOULD be about 90, in the AVERAGE case, was around 170,
but he said that's not as bad as it seems, as he's seen people with readings of 2000. He prescribed
me strong vitamin B pills anyway and said that he thinks the pains I've been getting are due to
back pain. I'm not convinced myself. He said to go back in another month to re-do the liver profile
test to see if it's gone down, but there's no way I can stay off the booze for another month. I would go completely mad, I think. Went to Tesco for some grub and collected my massive prescription of tablets (and bought a couple of glue sticks for 99p). Back in the flat, I had something to eat, drank some coffee and watched 'Missing' which I taped earlier. My mum rang to ask how I got on at the docs. Knocked on John's door to see how he was, etc. He asked if I wanted to go out to Crosslands for a beer later on. He looked better than he did the other night. I went to sign on and was out before I was even due IN. The security guard gave me a 'so what?' kind of look when the job point I was trying to use didn't work. He could TELL that I didn't care! The woman who signed me on just told me my giro was in my account early due to the bank holiday. She said 'Don't spend it all at once!' and I replied 'I'll try not to'. What jolly japes! Checked my account to make sure the money was in. It WAS. Went home and finished reading the Richard Yates biog. Went out in the afternoon and wandered around the West End. Bought Joni Mitchell�s glorious �Hejira� CD for �4.99 in Lost in Music then went up to the old neighbourhood, Hyndland. Got a few texts from Tom, some of which he sent LAST NIGHT. My fucking useless phone. It was a nice day and people were having drinks outside cafes and pubs. I wanted a beer SO much but decided to wait till tomorrow. Got back at about 4.10pm, made a coffee and ate a reduced veg samosa and crisps while watching 'Deal or No Deal'. The nice lady turned down 12 grand and 'only' won 3 grand, but still.. I wouldn't mind 3 grand! Listened to some Joni (which I�ve been doing a LOT lately). It�s nice to finally have �Hejira� on CD. The title track is one of THE world�s finest ever songs. Later on, Tom rang me for a couple of minutes 'cos his texts weren't reaching me. I was so bored, I started going through bags of old papers and letters. Craig cornered me in the kitchen and was going on about HIS housing-benefit hassles for about 20 minutes. After that ordeal, I watched 'Face/Off' on TV as Tom said I'd like it. It was totally ridiculous and I was laughing out loud at it. Then I watched most of the documentary about the Bible Codes I taped the other night, till about 12.40. Then I went to bed.
JOHN MARTYN � SOLID AIR (ISLAND)
Purchased this second-hand on the day before my birthday, since I wasn�t going to see J.M. play that night at the ABC. As usual, the mellow numbers are the brightest stars here. �Solid Air�,� Over the Hill�, �Don�t Want to Know� and �May You Never� are all familiar classics, while �Go Down Easy� (ooer!), �Dreams by the Sea� and �The Man in the Station� are exciting new friends. The blues-y tracks don�t turn me on so much, though. �I�d Rather Be the Devil� appears in two different versions, whereas I�d have left it off the album altogether. I still love John Martyn, though.
BOOKS
BLAKE BAILEY � A TRAGIC HONESTY: THE LIFE AND WORK OF RICHARD YATES (METHUEN)
I felt as if I knew a lot about the life of Richard Yates even before I started reading this biography, as his stories are all highly autobiographical. �Autobiographical fiction�, as he called it. Therefore, it came as little surprise to discover that Yates was a chain-smoking manic-depressive alcoholic who was so obsessed with getting his stories exactly right that it would sometimes take him years to finish a single book. He was consumed with a desire to lay down the truth about the human condition, even if it meant hurting the feelings of friends and family. But Yates was equally harsh when writing about himself. He populated his work with characters that exhibited every kind of emotional frailty imaginable. Greed, jealousy, cowardice; you name it, Yates wrote about it all in agonising detail. Modern comparison points can be found in TV shows like �The Office� and �Curb Your Enthusiasm� (whose Larry David briefly dated one of Yates� daughters; the two men�s first meeting was immortalised in an episode of �Seinfeld�) but Yates wasn�t writing for laughs. He took his craft deadly seriously and any humour to be found in his writing is usually of the black variety. It�s not surprising, really, considering he was in and out of mental hospitals for most of his life. In his many fits of mania, Yates was often convinced that he was Jesus Christ or that he had assassinated JFK (Yates was actually the main speech writer for Bobby Kennedy for a few months). Seemingly due to a combination of mania and alcoholism (and perhaps also due to sheer obstreperousness), Yates was a hard person to be around and this book is littered with horrifying episodes of his appallingly selfish conduct. He seemed to delight in loudly and drunkenly slagging everyone off, from bad writers to homosexuals to women (although he had three daughters, two wives and countless affairs, Yates was a bit of a misogynist at heart). Ultimately, though, he was just as flawed and fucked-up as his characters. The image of a desperately ill Yates, a month before his death, alone in his barren apartment, drunk and hooked-up to an oxygen tank, reading aloud from his first novel and crying like a baby is heartbreaking.
DAN FANTE � CORKSUCKER (WRECKING BALL PRESS)
I didn�t exactly �discover� Dan Fante by accident. I knew that Charles Bukowski (one of my favourite
writers) idolised his father, John, so � a few years ago - when I saw Fante Jr�s �Chump Change� novel
going for only a couple of quid, I took it back to my dimly-lit attic room and devoured it whole. Another
couple of novels followed, both equally brilliant. If truth be told, of the two Fantes, I far
prefer Dan to John. I don�t know if it�s simply because his stuff is more contemporary or not. Anyway, this
is Dan Fante�s debut book of short stories (and it IS pretty short, at only eight stories and 128 pages in
length). Subtitled �Cab Driver Stories from the LA Streets�, it contains Fante�s usual day-to-day tales of
heavy-drinking (Mad Dog 20/20 is a favourite � and that�s a name which always conjures up a lot of fond
memories for me), shit jobs and crazed women. If it all sounds a bit Bukowski-esque, that�s
�cos it IS! But Fante�s no mere copyist. And, after all, his own dad WAS the main reason Bukowski ever picked up a pen in the first place. Fante�s got a laugh-out-loud funny way with words. Some choice phrases include �blubberass shitbreath�, �fartman� and �mutated, steroid-bloated, slaughterhouse hogfuck� � and they�re all descriptions of the same person! The best couple of stories here are ones which have been available online for ages now, �Wifebeater Bob� and �Princess�, but the rest are all worthy additions to Fante�s impressive body of work.
GIG
MORRISSEY / SONS & DAUGHTERS � CARLING ACADEMY, GLASGOW, 27TH APRIL 2006
Woke at about 7.25am and watched the end of a documentary I�d taped on the Bible Codes. Interesting. And mad! To prove that it was all a load of shit, some scientist managed to find prophetic hidden messages in the lyrics of Vanilla Ice! Had a coffee. Got a few texts from Samuel about meeting for lunch. I left the flat at about 10.40am. WAY too early. The sun had gone and it was raining as I walked into town. Found 40p in a couple of phone-boxes. Was in Bunker at 12.30 and ordered a Magners with ice. My first drink in two whole weeks! Boy, did it taste GOOD! Samuel showed up soon enough and we ordered some pasta with chips on the side. He had half-price vouchers and the drinks were only �1.20 each. He kept going on about his mate who got arrested in Portugal for going berserk on a plane and threatening to kill everyone on board. Sounds like a nice boy! We had a few Magners each then had to move to another booth because the one we were sitting in was reserved from 4pm. A couple of his work-mates turned up. Firstly, this girl and her hubby (who, it turns out, works for RH-Hell! Not the EXACT place I worked, though. He works for Sky, upstairs from where I was. He�s been there for 3 � years and was telling me about new, even MORE draconian rules they�ve recently brought in, to make people�s lives even MORE hellish. They are cunts, for sure). Later on, another of Samuel�s work-mates came in, this girl who is originally from Forth. She remembers me, but I don�t remember HER. She was in the year below me at school. I left at 5pm to go to the Horseshoe and soak up some of the pre-gig atmosphere. Sure enough, there were a few Moz fans there, one guy in a posh new tour T-shirt. Drunken Eyes was in too. I had a couple in there then went to Borders for a look at the magazines. Then I had a couple more pints in the Crystal Palace, one upstairs and one downstairs, watching people walking up the road to the gig. I made my way up there and saw loads of touts selling tickets. The security guy who searched me at the door asked if I had any cameras on me (�Photography isn�t permitted tonight�). He told me to enjoy myself after that which was nice of him! Got a cider (�3.05!) and watched Sons and Daughters, who were good. I�d not seen Adele in years and was surprised at how much she was rocking out. One stomping song was particularly very good indeed. I got a second pint of cider and made my way down near the front as Moz�s intro tape played and the band�s gear was set up. It was the best I�ve ever seen the old bugger. A combination of my mood, where I was standing (about three or four rows from the front, so I got a good view) and the songs he did. Only three Smiths numbers (�Still Ill�, �Girlfriend in a Coma� and �How Soon is Now?�) and a selection of songs from the new album and past solo stuff. He did a new song called �Gang Lord� and a cover of a Magazine track. He chucked his red shirt into the crowd then came back on with a black one. For the encore, it was a white shirt and a storming rendition of �Irish Blood, English Heart�, for which everyone went nuts and a couple of people started crowd-surfing. Fantastic gig. There were lots of bootleg T-shirts and posters on sale outside afterwards but I resisted the temptation and instead rang Tom to tell him what he�d missed. Then I went to Times Square for a final pint and got a subway home. Was back at 11.35pm. Drank a can of McEwan�s Export then went to bed.
ZINE
THE LIVES & TIMES OF A PSYCHIATRIC IMPATIENT No contact address available
This is a collection of letters and psychiatric reports about a guy called Jim MacDougall, who does music under the name Aural Guerilla (see �Sniper Glue� #5 for review). It�s a rather fascinating insight into various breakdowns and skirmishes with the law (MacDougall was arrested for sending letters with �Letter Bomb Enclosed� written on the envelopes, something which I�ve done myself, rather worryingly!) I read this in one sitting, which probably says something about my OWN state of mind. There are pictures of Bin Laden and Peter Sutcliffe in the zine which caused me to yawn because I find the obsession people in the noise scene have with serial killers pretty pathetic but I enjoyed this nonetheless. MacDougall seems like an interesting and �for real� character.
PEARLY DEWDROPS DROP
ONE
Harvey had been working as a street sweeper for six years and he was sick of the job. Sick of picking up other people�s crap, sick of the looks of pity or disgust from passers-by when he was assigned to work in a wealthy part of town. All he was doing was trying to make an honest living and these people looked down their noses at him. He was sick of it all.
So he left his broom and little cart by the side of some derelict garages, took off his fluorescent yellow work jacket and began walking. It wasn�t a good area and there were boarded-up buildings everywhere, with broken bottles littering the pavements. At least I don�t have to sweep it up, he thought.
From out of nowhere, he heard someone call out his name. When he looked up, there was Shazia standing across the road, smiling at him. Harvey crossed over the road to meet her and they hugged.
�I thought it was you,� she said. �What you doing round here?�
�Just walking about. How have you been?�
�Not bad. I�ve not seen you in years. How long�s it been?�
�About six or seven years, probably. What are you doing these days? You working?�
�Yeah, I�m doing temp work in this office. It�s boring as fuck.�
Harvey laughed.
�What�s funny?�
�I just remembered that time you said �cunt� in the class and Isobel went mad at you.�
Shazia laughed and said, �I don�t think she�d ever heard an Asian girl use that word before.�
�Remember all those posters she had up on the walls. �No Swearing�, �No Eating�, �No Drinking�?�
�Yeah. She was a boring old cow. So, what about you? What have you been doing with your life?�
�I�m a road sweeper, believe it or not.�
�Don�t knock it,� Shazia said. �It�s a job.�
�I know but I totally hate it. I�ve just sort of quit. I left all my gear by the side of some garages.�
�Fucking hell, Harvey, you can�t do that. We need to go back and get it.�
�I suppose you�re right. Don�t you have anywhere to be, though?�
�Not today. Let�s go and pick up your stuff and then you can buy me some lunch.�
�You�ve not changed, have you?� Harvey said with a smile.
�No, I�m still a cheeky bitch. Come on.�
TWO
After they had picked up Harvey�s work things, they went to a nearby place called The Albion Lounge. It was a dimly lit pub with folk music playing softly in the background and a few old men sitting around nursing pints of lager and Guinness.
�What are you having?� Harvey asked.
�I�ll have a pint of cider and a plate of chips.�
He went up to the bar and ordered.
�Sorry, pal, we don�t start doing lunch till twelve,� the barman said.
Harvey looked at his watch and noticed that it was only 11.30am.
�Just a couple of pints of cider then, please.�
He sat down next to Shazia with the drinks and they began reminiscing about the last time they had seen each other.
�Remember that last night we all went out as a class? What was that club called again?� she asked.
�Cleopatra�s. God, it was terrible. That arsehole Brian kept chatting you up all night, didn�t he?�
�Yeah, but I told him my parents were forcing me into an arranged marriage. That eventually shut him up.�
�I know. He believed you, as well. What a prick.�
�I should have just told him I was going out with you.�
Harvey could feel himself going red.
�I mean, I knew that you liked me and everything. Why didn�t you ever ask me out?�
�God, Shazia, I don�t know. I had just split up with Marie and I thought maybe that I was just on the rebound. I liked you too much to put you in that position, so I just thought we could be mates for a while and see what happened.�
�But nothing did happen, did it? I always regretted losing touch with you.�
�Me too, but you know how it is. You see people every day for a couple of years �cause you�re in the same class as them or �cause you work with them and then, all of a sudden, things change and you�re not in each other�s lives anymore.�
�I know, but there are things called phones. Why didn�t you ever ring me?�
�I was embarrassed, I think,� Harvey said, taking a sip of his drink.
�What about?�
�Well, that last night, in the club, I made a right idiot of myself, didn�t I? Telling you I loved you and all that shit. I mean, what a twat.�
�You were just a bit pissed, that�s all. I thought it was kind of sweet, actually.�
�I came round your house a couple of times after that, after we�d left college, but I was too scared to ring your bell. I just stood outside on the pavement, like some kind of mad stalker, looking up at your window, hoping you�d see me and ask me in.�
Shazia smiled and took hold of Harvey�s hand, giving it a little squeeze.
�What are you like, eh?�
�I�m an idiot, that�s what I�m like.�
�No you�re not. Listen, after we get something to eat, do you want to go somewhere else? We could make a day of it, if you like.�
�That would be nice, but I�ll need to take my cart and stuff back to the depot and tell the boss I�m ill or something.�
�Good idea. You were lucky no one nicked that cart. They�d steal anything round here.�
THREE
They spent the whole day together, having a few drinks in some new bar in town, and then they went back to Shazia�s place. It was a second floor flat that she shared with a couple of friends. Her room was small and filled with books and strange looking little figurines. A large Oriental style rug hung on the wall above her bed.
�Do you like The Cocteau Twins?� she asked, as she was looking through a box of CDs.
�Yeah, they�re good. I went to see them once, years ago. I won the tickets in a radio competition. My mate was on acid and kept saying how everyone in the place was deformed. It was pretty funny.�
Shazia laughed and put on the CD.
�You know, I�m really glad I bumped into you today,� Harvey said, as he settled into the only chair in the room.
�Me too,� Shazia told him, opening a bottle of red wine.
�I mean, I�ve been so pissed off with my job and everything. My life, I suppose. Today, I was ready to jack it all in.�
�Maybe it was fate, then. That we bumped into each other.�
�Do you really think so?�
�Why not?�
Harvey smiled and took a sip of wine as the song �Pearly Dewdrops Drop� began to play.
�I love this song,� Shazia said.
�Me too. You know, I find it really easy to talk to you. I always have. It just feels right, somehow. Do you know what I mean?�
�Yeah, I know what you mean, Harvey,� she said, dropping to the floor by his chair.
�What are you doing?� he asked.
�Just close your eyes.�
Harvey did as he was told as Shazia began to unbutton his jeans. His mind began to race ahead. He had dreamt about this moment for years. To be here, with her, in her room, surrounded by all of her things. It was like being in heaven. He could barely believe what was happening. She was softly stroking his legs, up and down. Very gently, as the music played.
It happened without warning. Suddenly, Harvey felt the front of his boxer shorts fill with something hot and wet and sticky.
He didn�t know what to do, so he just sat there for a few seconds, as if suspended in time. When he opened his eyes, Shazia was standing up, a look of disgust on her face.
He tried to speak. �Oh God! I�m... sorry� I didn�t mean to��
But she was already walking over to the other side of the room, picking up Harvey�s coat and throwing it at him. All he could do was sit there, staring at her helplessly, with his trousers still around his ankles.
�Marie was right about you,� she said. �You�re nothing but a pathetic little boy. Tell you what, I�ll see you in another seven years. Maybe by then you�ll have turned into a man.�