Issue 16 � June 2006
bog-standard fanzine intro
hello dear readers and welcome to the narcissistic soap opera that is our little zine. regular victims of this monthly letter-bomb will know pretty much what to expect.. self-pity, bad-writing, hopelessly out-of-date and unprofessional cut �n� paste layout, etc, etc. these are the sober ramblings of dry drunks, the ill-conceived imaginings of failed writers, failed musicians, the kind of people who mumble to themselves whilst walking down the street, the kind of people who shout aloud at the television. welcome to �hiroshima yeah!� issue 16, june 2006, written by mark ritchie (zine master), gary simmons (foreign correspond-dunce) and tom quinn (poetry ferret). website now open for viewing at www.geocities.com/sniperglue. rest in peace grant mclennan � even though i�ve never been a huge fan of the go-betweens, i was always aware of their importance� �was there anything i could do?� and �apology accepted� are great songs. why doesn�t BUSH die??
THE GRAPEVINE
He�s not been at work for a week now.
Someone said they saw him buying a bottle the other night.
He apparently looked terrible.
Eyes all bloodshot and he hadn�t shaved in days.
Yes, it�s obvious.
Sad, too.
Poor guy.
After all that�s happened to him, though,
you�d think he�d have the sense to stop altogether.
Makes you wonder why he keeps doing it to himself.
Why can�t he accept things the way they really are?
Does he think he�s better than everyone else or something?
I don�t know how he can afford to drink anyway.
Sometimes I wish I could just forget all my troubles like that,
but I�ve got kids to feed and bills to pay.
Yes, I�d like to know who he thinks he is,
enjoying himself like that.
It�s selfish, that�s what it is.
It�s just plain selfish.
MARKETING MAN by Tom Quinn
We must have a niche.
We must find a gap in the market.
Target group.
Easy.
Male. Between 20-30. Economically independent and always looking for new, exciting and differentiated products.
Support for marketing product.
Mens magazines, web site, sampling, outlet possible.
Create desire.
Class in a glass.
Best served chilled at 3 degrees from the bottle or over ice with a wedge of lime.
Cut with lime & a hint of ginger for a refreshingly crisp tasting drink.
Maintain visibility.
Bar displays. Table talkers. Bar runners. Numerous posters.
Avoid challenged outlets.
Socio-economic stability essential.
Implement.
HERE GOES A THOUGHT� by Tom Quinn
Something about Saturday made it worse. The day always reeked of mischief, and, and, you felt the kind of nausea reserved for lighter times, when the reality if it all still seemed like the stuff of dreams and adults.
It was never to be the same again.
It's trying. It's trying that's the hardest.
It had only been a matter of months but this was wrong. This change was sudden. He felt artificial, empty. A liar. But it was all true. He had become what was required. An existence that was far removed from his soul inside.
Listening to Sigur Ros, pretending.
Waiting for communication. Validation. Asking for approval.
Feeling the energy from soul singers who take on love and dance it into the ground
TV
JOHN OSBORNE AND THE GIFT OF FRIENDSHIP (CHANNEL FIVE)
First of all, I can�t express strongly enough how weird it was to see this being screened on Channel Five. A three-part exploration of the �angry young man� of 1950�s British theatre, screened during PRIME-TIME, for God�s sake! Talk about commercial suicide! Five is better known for it�s sensationalistic shows about sex and freaks (sometimes it even manages to combine the two!) This was a rather sombre toned tribute to the late, great playwright, which included interviews with many of his friends and admirers, who all claimed he really WASN�T the grumpy old cunt he came across as. It included many tasty clips of old stage performances of the plays (it was especially wonderful seeing Laurence Olivier as Archie Rice from �The Entertainer�, a role he reprised in the brilliantly bleak 1960 film version). Osborne himself was brought back to life by means of a lot of archive footage and it was pretty funny seeing his obvious delight at being branded a traitor to his country while poring over various tabloid newspaper clippings (after he wrote his infamous open letter �Damn You, England�). It goes to prove that Channel Five�s NOT just wall-to-wall episodes of �Trisha�, where the UK�s endless supply of white-trash scum is happily paraded for our docile entertainment on a daily basis. I wonder what John Osborne would have to say about THAT?
CDS
CENTRO-MATIC � FORT RECOVERY (COOKING VINYL)
There�s something that keeps drawing me back to the music of Will Johnson. This is the third CD I�ve bought by him in recent weeks (see last two issues for reviews of his solo disc �Vultures Await� and South San Gabriel�s �Carlton Chronicles� if you have nothing BETTER to do). There�s an indefinable quality to his music that I find quite fascinating. After being initially disappointed by this, his main band�s latest release, I realised that it�s a slow-burning winner in a Flaming Lips kind of way. Johnson�s odd-bod lyrics (reminiscent of Jay Farrar � he uses words like �eleemosynary� like other songwriters use the word �baby�) and eccentric song structures take a while to work their spell. His choruses don�t really SOUND like choruses and occasionally take an age to show up at all but, when they do, like on �Patience for the Ride�, they�re huge and magnificent. One of the finest things here is �Gunmetal and Engines�, one of three �bonus tracks� tacked onto the end of the disc. With its' ALMOST �normal� lyrics, it brings to mind Wilco�s �The Lonely One� in its� understated prettiness.
DANIEL JOHNSTON � LOST AND FOUND (SKETCHBOOK)
There�s SO much to love in a Daniel Johnston album. While some people would have you believe he�s a one-trick-pony mental-case ? la Wesley Willis, that REALLY couldn�t be further from the truth. You don�t get the respect of people like Tom Waits and Kurt Cobain (who famously wore a Daniel T-shirt on MTV) without being a pretty amazing songwriter and this latest album doesn�t disappoint. If six-minute opener �Rock this Town� - with it�s references to marijuana and macaroni cheese - doesn�t immediately put a smile on your face then check your pulse, �cos you�re probably DEAD! Then there are the lovelorn piano ballads that Daniel does so brilliantly (�Try to Love� and �History of Our Love� are both excellent) as well as the odd silly/silly odd number (�Country Song� brings to mind the lo-fi acoustic stuff GG Allin did, without all the swearing, of course). �Lonely Song� is a stomping, and extremely old (various versions have been floating around since the early 1990s), tune that nicely sums up Daniel�s various troubles and triumphs (�Well, you heard about the time I was in the insane asylum/..You�ve read the magazines/I�ve been wounded by folklore�) while �It�s Impossible� continues in the tradition of great Daniel songs with the word �impossible� in the title (�Impossible Love� from �Rejected Unknown� is one of his best ever).
DEAN MARTIN � THE VERY BEST OF DEAN MARTIN (CAPITOL)
Got the 10.30 train to Motherwell (didn't pay) and met Tom outside the station about 40 minutes later. We went and handed in his prescription at a chemist then went to The Brandon Works pub on Merry Street. I treated him to a roll on sausage and a coffee. I had the �1.99 veggie breakfast and coffee. After we�d eaten, I looked in a charity shop and got a Dean Martin CD for the same price as the veggie breakfast while Tom had a smoke outside. After collecting his drugs, we went to the new Asda (well, I'd never seen it before) for some shopping then got a bus to Tom�s place. It went a �scenic� route. We had lots of coffee and chocolate too. He'd bought me a posh Easter egg thing which we devoured. Later, he made dinner of stuffed garlic and cheese mushrooms, roasted vegetables and egg fried rice. I ended up with a sore stomach and kept shovelling spoonfuls of bicarb of soda down my neck till I eventually felt better. We went out in the clammy heat to the local shop so Tom could buy a power card, we listened to CDs and downloaded some music and looked at some web sites then thunder and lightening came on, for hours. We had a great view of it all from Tom's top floor flat. While he made supper (garlic bread with cheese and onion rings), we played my new Dean Martin CD and Tom told me how his dad and various other people used to love the song 'Little Ole Wine Drinker, Me'. I told him that was the main reason I'd got the CD in the first place. We were also rather taken by a dodgy number entitled �The Naughty Lady of Shady Lane� which ended with the line �And she�s only nine years old�. While we ate, we watched 'A Sensitive, Passionate Man' on video as the lightening continued to flash outside, then a live Morrissey DVD till late. Then, amazingly, Moz's appearance on the Jonathan Ross show came on UKTV Gold. We turned it over at the EXACT moment Moz came on! So we watched that then went to bed at about 3.30am. I had the spare room and I tossed and turned and tried to get into a position which was comfortable for my sore back, my sore side, etc. A physical WRECK.
GREAT LAKE SWIMMERS � GREAT LAKE SWIMMERS (FARGO)
Had to get this, the debut disc from Great Lake Swimmers (aka Tony Dekker and friends) after finding its� follow-up (�Bodies and Minds� - see issue 9 for review) an indispensable late-night companion. Dekker�s songs grow on you, like a rare form of seaweed. There are constant allusions to water and animals in his odd, but strangely beautiful, music, bringing to mind far-off harbour lights, tinkling wind chimes and lonely, sleepless sailors. Here�s a sample lyric � �I shiver in the cool air/And my guitar echoes against the backs of sleeping buildings and my faithful night still listens�. See? BEAUTIFUL stuff!
TALK TALK � SPIRIT OF EDEN (PARLOPHONE)
I remember the first time someone told me that I really ought to own the last two Talk Talk LPs if I was into delicate, hymn-like music. Being an idiot, of course, I scoffed at the idea. Everyone knew that Talk Talk were a shitty 1980s synth-pop band, right? WRONG! Well, they WERE, but this album and its� follow-up �Laughing Stock� couldn�t be further away from anything remotely describable as �pop music�. The seismic, shifting beauty of these albums has to be heard to be believed. I�ve had �Spirit of Eden� on tape for years now, but simply couldn�t resist when I saw it on CD for only �3.99. Its� six pieces of music (though there are only four actual tracks on the CD) all blend together, apart from a 30-second interlude of silence which, one imagines, is supposed to mimic the gap in sound caused by turning over a vinyl record. Words float by mysterious and mumbled (though the hand-written lyrics in the CD booklet reveal that the now defunct Leeds band Dakota Suite were a little TOO fond of this album � they ripped-off half the lyrics!), their meaning unclear. Instruments zone in and out of range, as if they�re being played in another room. You REALLY should own this album (along with �Laughing Stock� and the Mark Hollis solo disc) if you�re into delicate, hymn-like music, you really, really should.
RICHMOND FONTAINE � SAFETY (CAVITY SEARCH)
Another one I�ve had for ages on tape (well, on CDR to be precise), this is the hard-to-find (unless you�re un-paranoid about buying stuff online which, I�m sad to say, I�m NOT) debut (released in 1996) from one of my All Time Favourite Bands (as regular readers will by now be SICK TO DEATH of hearing!) The similarities to early Uncle Tupelo are plain to hear on the cow-punk of tracks like �Riverhouse� and �1968� but Richmond Fontaine were showing incredible early promise with great songs like �Settle�, �White Line Fever� and �Wagonwheel Motel�, to name but three, and Willy Vlautin�s amazing lyrics are fully-formed here. Willy sets out his stall with disturbing tales of homophobic rape and murder, attempted suicide and fatal hunting accidents. Not your standard fare by ANY means! Some of these songs have since been re-recorded for the unavailable-in-the-shops release �Obliteration by Time� (see issue 5 for review).
RICHARD HAWLEY � COLES CORNER (MUTE)
I had meant to buy this disc MONTHS ago, after hearing the lovely (and oddly festive � perhaps because it came out around Christmastime last year) strains of the single �Just Like the Rain� (a �Gentle on my Mind�-style classic which garnered much airplay on Radio 2 and even saw ex-Pulp/Longpigs guy Hawley appearing on ITV�s afternoon granny-fest �The Des and Mel Show�). Once I heard the title track - a sweeping ballad for hopeless romantics everywhere � though, I just HAD to own this. Those two songs are the first tracks on the album, which made me wonder if perhaps the rest of it would be mere filler. Luckily, my wonderings were wrong. Some tracks, especially �Darlin� Wait for Me�, recall the lonely splendour of Roy Orbison, while �(Wading Through) The Waters of my Time� could be straight out of the Johnny Cash songbook. Perhaps best of all, though, and right up there with the impossibly gorgeous title track, is the Blue Nile-esque �The Ocean�, a tune of string-laden grandeur that builds into something epic, windswept and wonderful.
GIGS
THE LURKERS � GRUTA �77, MADRID, 7TH MAY 2006 by Gary Simmons
It�s now 9.54pm. M sorts out the cupboards. A tape she just found in there plays : �Movie Lovers� comp!! It has THE worst song in the world on it� Charlene�s �I�ve Never Been to Me�. Vomit! About The Lurkers gig� We first �checked out� this Gruta �77 venue venue on a free night and, so, the first band I ever saw in another country (note absence of �CUNTry�!) was a jazz group with a female singer doing Grappelli/Reindhart style �hot club� stuff. Only song I remembered was �Bye Bye Blues�� I was pissed and �ordered� more booze (Mahou beer. �Mau�, as in the Chinese chairman) all on me todd!! (It�s not TOO difficult�) We had already drunk cheap-but-effective boo-talled lager at home (not allowed to drink in the street, but I did a bit on the last leg of the journey there� I am a devil!) Never found out the jazz band�s name. We saw a Lurkers poster outside and flyers and shit, so M paid for advance tchickets (0002 and 0003!!) and we went. Arthur (bass and vocals. Art-tur-io or SOMETHING??) was manning the merchandise �stall� as we walked in (I was pissed on 5 boo-talls of Mahou Negra which I�d drunk before we left. 5.5% and a bit like a cross between Guinness and Tartan Special� NICE!!) He said �hello� so I said �allo� and, after I got another Mahou, I went and spoke to him. He�s also in 999 and so The Lurkers turned out to be pretty much the same kind of 3rd rate punk-pub rock which, for a carefree ultra-pissed (I WAS in thee end) evening, is bloody fuckin� BRIL-EE-ANT!! I was at the front with M and a-huggin� the young Spanish mod-punks!! Dave, the guitarist, who I also spoke to before the show, gave me a beer from the stage when I said �I�ve got no beer� after their �more beer� shouts and Arthur dedicated a song to me (I was a 5-second hero, I got cheers and took a small bow!) about how shit Richmond is for punks (should be updated to include all of the rest of London� at LEAST). We hung about until closing time, around 4am, spoke to the quiet and shy drummer-of-4-years, Brian-who-isn�t-Brian (or something?!), spoke to the mods and started a Hobs-esque �we are the mods� Quadraphenia chant, swapped an Avengers badge for a UK Subs one with some guy (bad move!) and said we�d see 999 and The Lurkers in June at The Underworld in London. It�s great to be speaking English with a London (ISH!!) band in a foo-rain cuntry!! M took her �Dole Babies� about, was rude to people (mainly Arthur, who gave her 2 Euros for both DB issues!) He now lives near Hadrian�s Wall in a �35,000 4-bedroom gaff!! He�s had mental problems too, hence their song �Go Sane�, a play on The Ramones� �Go Mental�. Best song they did was Ramones� �KKK Took My Baby Away�� It was in my head for days� to the point of irritation, actually. I was so pissed at the end that I barely remember the WALK home in the empty Spanish streets. M said I was pissing on the way, willy-nilly to the world and crying and talking shit. What a great night!! You should have been there. Oh� and the support band was called Delincuencia Sonora (=Noisy Delinquents) who were run-oh-da-mill Eurorockers, the singer of which wouldn�t look out of place working in Lord John (that�s an old men�s outfitters, similar to Burtons�) Almost bought a Lurkers �Go ahead punx, make my day� T-shirt as a souvenir too but, by the time I was ready to part with a meager 10 Euros (about �7) it had already gone.
JANDEK � MONO, GLASGOW, 18TH MAY 2006
Met Joe in Fopp in Union Street at around 12.25. We looked at some CDs then went over the street to The Goose, where we had a pint upstairs. We took our time and then went to Failte for another (I had cider in there, as it�s only �1.50). By then, it was after 3pm, so we went to Central Station to meet Cat off the train (she�d been at work). I went into Cooper�s Bar for a piss. Once we�d met Cat, we walked up to Sauchiehall Street where she sees her alcohol counseller. Joe went in with her and I said I�d get them in a nearby pub. Bought a reduced-price veggie pasty from a newsagents then went into Sleazy�s for yet another piss and noticed posters for a Jandek gig happening later that night at Mono in King Street. So I texted Grant, who got back to me saying he didn�t even know the gig was on. Despite being a Jandek fan (and despite the fact that his live gigs are super-rare) he decided against going. I was still pondering going on my own, though I didn�t fancy having to be in among all the hip scenesters who�d undoubtedly be there. Got a �1.50 pint in The Local and waited for Joe and Cat. They showed up after about half an hour and we all had a drink and admired the place�s retro decor. After that, they went over the road to get a bus home and I pondered my next move. Decided against Bunker, as it would be too busy at that time (especially with the drink prices at only �1.20), so I went to the newly done-up Nico�s instead. It USED to be cheap, but I opted for the WRONG drink � a pint of Miller, which set me back �2.40 (I later noticed that Foster�s was only �1.50). By then I was hungry, so I got a �2.99 pizza from a nearby place which I ate walking back home through Kelvingrove Park. Stopped to rest at a picnic table and someone had left a weird book lying there, wrapped in a plastic sheet. There was a note inside with �A gift from Jessie� written on it. It didn�t look very interesting, so I left it there for someone else to discover. Walked back via Byres Road, stopping for a watery shit in Tennent�s Bar. Went into Somerfield for a �1.99 bottle of Blackthorn cider and some crisps (for tomorrow�s �breakfast�). Was back at 7.40pm. Watched a great episode of �Curb Your Enthusiasm� on DVD (�The Grand Opening�). The electricity cut off twice, for only a split second each time, for some reason. Drank slowly and listened to music (Husker Du, Elliott Smith, etc) until �Bring Back the A-Team� came on TV, which was enjoyable in a daft sort of way. Then I watched something about sex addiction and then �Big Brother�s Big Mouth� (I�d had the TV on earlier, with the sound down, when the new housemates were being introduced, and they all looked like a bunch of wankers, especially one guy who looked the sort of person you�d never tire of punching) until about 1.10am. Then it was time for bed. The Jandek gig? Oh, I didn�t bother going in the end.
DANCING WITH PETER MANUEL
They bonded over nicotine. Every morning at two o�clock, when they got their break, Mary McGuire and Ray Forbes would huddle from the cold against the tall office block in Wellington Street where they were employed as cleaners. Even at night, the building was always blazing with fluorescent lights, leaving its workers scuttling around like small, scared insects in search of dark corners where they could hide.
Despite the thirty-year age difference, Mary and Ray always found plenty to talk about. Usually, they would discuss the boring routine of their job and the various characters they worked with, all of whom preferred to spend their break in the warmth of the tiny cupboard which served as a make shift kitchen for the cleaning staff.
�God, I�d go mad, stuck up there with that lot,� Mary would say. �All they ever do is talk about what they�ve seen on the television� and none of them smoke! How come nobody smokes anymore?�
And Ray would laugh. Mary always cheered him up on these bleak nightshifts, even though he sensed a certain sadness in the older woman. The way her face would crumple into itself whenever she finished laughing made him want to give her a hug and ask what the matter was. One particularly cold night, he got the chance.
�Did you get any Valentine cards today then?� Ray asked, a couple of minutes into their break.
�Och, no. My Charlie never bothers with that kind o� thing. He thinks it�s all a con, a waste o� money.�
�Does he work?�
�What? Charlie?� Mary laughed. �Christ, no. He�s been on the incapacity for years. He�s got a bad back. Not that it stops him going to the pub every night, drinking all my wages away.�
She turned her head, glancing at something further off down the street, trying to hide that sad, hollow look Ray recognised so well. He wanted to say something but the moment just hung there for a while and then seemed to evaporate in the cold night air.
�I always feel so sorry for those poor lassies,� Mary said, pointing with her cigarette to the group of women and girls who were always hanging around the area after dark. They were pacing up and down, trying to keep warm, all of them dressed in skimpy summer clothes and scanning the street for passing headlights.
�Aye,� Ray agreed. �Makes you wonder what kind of lives they�ve got that they need to do that for a living. I mean, you�re always hearing about girls getting abducted and murdered. All sorts of terrible things.�
�I met a murderer once,� Mary said in a casual manner that shocked Ray somewhat.
�No way. Really?�
�It was years and years ago, in the mid-fifties. I was still Mary Dornan, it was before I met Charlie. Me and my sister used to go to the dancing every Friday night. Sometimes on Saturdays too, if we were flush. The men used to look really handsome then, in their suits and ties. You don�t see men dressed like that today.�
�Nah, they�re all scruffy bastards like me!� Ray said, making Mary laugh. But then that haunted look was on her face once again, as she continued to talk.
�I�ll always remember the night it happened. My sister couldn�t go out �cause she�d fallen for a bairn, and everyone was always shouting in the house. I still lived with my mum and dad, see. She wouldn�t tell them who the father was and she was crying all the time, so I went to the dancing with one o� my pals from work instead.�
�Where did you used to go? I heard The Barrowland was really big for going out clubbing back then.�
�Oh, no. We always thought it was a bit rough. We only ever went there the once. No, we�d go to The Locarno on Sauchiehall Street. It was lovely in there. They had a revolving stage and everything. It was such a laugh, and it�s not like we�d get drunk or anything. Well, not too drunk! And I suppose we wanted to meet fellas as well, I can�t deny it.�
�There�s nothing wrong with that,� Ray said, flicking his cigarette butt into the gutter.
�No, you�re right there,� Mary continued. �Anyway, this one night, a Saturday it was, me and my pal Elsie were at the dancing and this really handsome young chap comes right up to us, right out of the blue and he says to me, �Fancy a dance, hen?� Just like that. No introduction or small-talk or anything. So I sort o� smiled at Elsie and went off onto the dance-floor with him.�
�You tart!� Ray laughed.
�Och, I know girls these days get up to all sorts, but it was a lot different back then. People were more reserved. Even later on, it was still like that. I don�t care what you might hear on the television about the �swinging Sixties�. It wasn�t very swinging for most people, I can tell you that.�
�So this guy, then. He was a murderer?�
�Well, I didn�t know that at the time. I�d hardly have gone dancing with him if I knew that, would I? No, it was a couple of years later. His face was all over the papers. He�d killed all these people. What do you call it now? A serial killer.�
�No way! Really? What was his name?�
�Peter Manuel.�
�I don�t think I�ve heard of him,� Ray said, sounding almost disappointed.
�Even at the time, before I knew what he had done or who he was or anything, I thought there was something not quite right about him. It was his eyes. He had really unusual eyes. Cold, they were. Like there was no emotion in them.�
Ray shivered.
�Am I scaring you, son?� Mary laughed, putting a playful arm around his shoulder.
�Don�t be daft, it�s just bloody freezing out here. What time is it?�
�We�ve still got another few minutes yet. Time for another fag.�
They both lit up.
�Sometimes, � Mary said hesitantly, �when I�ve been lying in the hospital with broken ribs or a broken hand, I�ve wished that he�d killed me too. Then I wouldn�t have had to put up with the life I�ve had.�
Ray was shocked by the brutally of her words. He had never heard her talk like this before, but that only made the question easier to ask. Not asking it would have been a lot harder, if not impossible.
�God, Mary. Why would you wish something like that? What�s so bad about your life?�
Even as he asked the question, he already knew what her answer would be.
�It�s Charlie,� she said, pressing her back so close to the side of the building that it looked as if she wanted to disappear into it. �He�s been knocking me about for years. I didn�t mind so much at first, it was just the odd sore face, and a lot o� my pals had to put up with the same thing. But it got worse when he stopped working. All he did all day was drink. That�s why I don�t mind these nightshifts. It�s a relief to get out the house, to be honest. I usually manage to be away just before he gets in from the pub.�
�I�m really sorry, Mary. I don�t know what to say.�
�Och, don�t worry about it, kid. What�s there to say? It�s funny, though, because everybody that I went to school with are all going on about how much they�re looking forward to retiring. I�m dreading it. I can�t imagine being stuck in that house all day long with him. Or waiting for him coming home and wondering what mood he�ll be in. I�m too old for all that carry on. But what can I do about it?�
Then there was a long pause because neither of them knew what to say. They simply stood there, finishing the last of their cigarettes, watching the cars going up and down Wellington Street and the girls in their skimpy summer clothes waiting in the headlights.