issue 37
march 2008
Here we are again, just like the monthly menstrual cycle, like your wage/dole packet that�s not as heavy as it should be �cos SOME idiot�s fucked up AGAIN. Another waste of paper and ink, another HY!.. the zine that hates EVERYONE. This issue written by Mark Ritchie (hobbies include- eating Maltesers, watching gay sci-fi) and Gary Simmons (distinguishing features- disco panties, beard of blood). Well done to all you clever clogs who spotted the upside down page �mistake� in the last issue. GUESS WHAT, though? We did it DELIBERATELY, yeah? To FUCK WITH YOUR HEADS, yeah? In actual fact, THAT page was the RIGHT way up and the REST of the zine was upside down! Ah ha ha HA! Go to www.geocities.com/hiroshimayeah and see how the idiots live.
ALCOHOLOGRAM
After a few drinks,
the mind begins to clear.
The fog becomes less dense,
problems less terrifying.
You sense a peacefulness about the room,
a calm that shifts
then settles like sand.
We may not be going anywhere
but at least we can enjoy the journey,
all burdens lifted
here in our cosy little nowhere.
�Another?� the barman asks.
�Go on,� I say. �You�ve convinced me.�
A LONG WAY TO FALL
He sleeps on Brighton seafront,
shivering in hat, gloves and sleeping-bag.
Vodka only numbs the blood for so long
and then it�s just another memory,
like success or the warmth of love.
It�s a long way to fall,
from career-driven family man to THIS �
shaving in a public toilet,
sharing a bottle and a few tears,
floating on your back,
laughing up at the stars,
alive with the last, desperate miracle
that no one else sees.
In the darkness, I watch the images
over and over,
replaying the horror and the beauty
for my own entertainment.
Although I hope it�s more than that,
for I sense a kindred spirit,
have a vague notion of who I am
and who I could become.
Even though I rarely drink vodka
and have never been to Brighton.
PHOTOGRAPH
I want to be a photograph
on one of these walls �
frozen in time,
drink in hand,
laughing at forever.
I want to gaze out from my wooden frame
at the afternoon unfolding,
quietly observe the everyday dramas,
the tiny mercies.
I want to hear the clatter of glasses,
the half whispered jokes,
the gentle swish of traffic.
I want to be safe and warm in black and white
here among the ruins.
EMPTY PLAYGROUND
Sad-eyed tenements observe the scene �
an empty playground with frozen trees,
rusted swings, wind-blown litter.
The sky is a pale shadow that hangs over everything �
distant, removed,
unconcerned about the silent sadness
spreading out like a bruise,
unconcerned about the dwindling daylight,
the broken railings,
the chalk marks faded by the rain.
SCOTT 4
I still have the cassettes she made me,
all green ink and gold and silver stars.
They make me think of the times we spent
walking around Richmond Park,
drinking tea in caf�s
and gin in Soho dive bars,
our futures ahead of us,
bright and shining.
Now there are just these cassettes,
old letters, a few photos
and memories of what could have been,
should have been.
�You can�t live in the past,� people say,
but I beg to differ.
13.7 BILLION YEARS OF HELL
Selected Dispatches from an Unwilling Player of God�s Little Game
By Gary Simmons
2.05am: Ultra-pissed and I just kissed Pete Burns' hand outside some Soho nightclub! He said, "Nice to meet you." You fuckin' BET IT IS! xx!
*
Just made meself a big bolshy mug of hot steamin� chai. Had a chocolate eclair and two choc chip bickies with it� Bang goes my diet. I weigh 11� fuckin� STONE!! I WAS 8� in my youth. I am a FAT cunt. Got a �floater� in my punched-and-kicked eye. If it don�t go, can �they� operate? It�s BUGGING me. Why is there NOTHING about tomorrow�s STS121 Atlantis Flt 29 European Columbus Orbital Facility launch? I NEED to know, like I NEED the smell of female. It�s in my nature. Ee poot iz zeed in me: Kennedy! Kubrick!! Clarke!!! Hail Gene Cernan, the last man on the moon. He wrote his daughter�s name in the dust. Untouched, it�ll be there for EONS!! Ask the Boosh moon.
*
In Sainsbury�s, some NUT(= a 34 year-old educated TWIT who still lives at home with his mum and isn�t married but IS �courting� (courting my ASS!!)) who I�d spoken to whilst vaccing the front last week, didn�t know when to stop fuckin� talking to me as we did the shopping coz he�s after my ARSE! Some FAGGOTS, eh? He spoke like that Viz character who always talks clever and gets beaten-up real horror-show. GOD!
*
Got pissed with Carlos yesterday� The bridge, the fuzz, the trip to collect Gabby from Covent Garden, the invite to their gaff (in New Cross), the trip back to Scamden, the so-drunk-I-dunno-what-I-was-doing-so-I-lost-Gabby-and-Carlos, the missing of Roi and Nina coz they went back early after being in the Oxford Arms, the getting a TUBE home, falling asleep and wakin� up in bloody Woodford (two stops down the line), the crashing-out in beddy�
*
Here is my �triptych� (!) wot-I-dun in 1980 after purchasing an expensive DeVILBISS (�SUPER 63�) Airbrush with my 1979 Christmas bonus!! Unknown to me, I was going through a deep depression which must�ve begun after I left college and started employment in graphics on 8th May �79. I thought I was just being LAZY, not wanting to get up and face another day and feeling like I didn�t belong there, in the VERY job I�d wanted to do for YEARS! My bosses and colleagues were all fun to work with and nice, so I SHOULD have been happy. Alas, I WASN�T and this strip of three illustrations is testimony to that! It took me more than two decades to finally realise what was wrong. The original artwork is in colour, �Airbrush on CS10 paper� as it would be labelled in a gallery, book or catalogue. Or maybe just �Ink on CS10 paper�. How I survived five years of feeling like SHIT, I don�t know. Guess I thought that I simply HAD to. We know differently now, don�t we? Yes. Yes we fuckin� DO!!
MUSIC
AMERICAN MUSIC CLUB � THE GOLDEN AGE (COOKING VINYL)
Those of you who�ve been paying attention will know I regard American Music Club as THE GREATEST BAND IN THE WORLD and, even though Mark Eitzel and Vudi have mysteriously dispensed with the services of rhythm section Danny Pearson and Tim Mooney for this album, it still sounds absolutely fucking WONDERFUL. There�s an easy, serene feel to their �Golden Age�, lending it the air of some long-lost 1970s Californian rock band, Vudi�s eccentric squawks of lead guitar only occasionally letting the Art Rock cat out of the bag. Eitzel delivers some brand new classic weepies such as �All My Love�, �The Stars� and �The Grand Duchess of San Francisco� as well as recycling a couple of older ones (the gorgeous �Sleeping Beauty� - which originally appeared on his 2005 solo album �Candy Ass� - and the seasick dreaminess of �On My Way�, a reworking of a song initially earmarked for 2001�s �The Invisible Man�). Then there are the (slightly) more upbeat numbers, like �The John Berchman Victory Choir� (who �stink of sweat and last night�s beer�), �Decibels and the Little Pills� (with its jaunty sing-along chorus of �No one here is gonna save you�) and the poignantly hilarious �All the Lost Souls Welcome You to San Francisco�, a song I�ve had the pleasure of singing along to at many a live performance. Another laugh-out-loud funny number is �Windows on the World�, which might seem strange when you consider it�s about going to a party in a bar in the World Trade Center, but Eitzel�s a MASTER at this kind of thing, so for every lyric like �You can already see the ruins start to grow/The end of the world�s gonna be beautiful� there�s one about him �trying to bore the bored barmaid� She said, �Here�s your fucking beer. I love your look. It�s so Unabomber��. The could-be-a-hit-in-a-parallel-universe �Who You Are� is a real lump-in-throat moment - sad, defiant, AMAZING - while �The Dance� appears to be about a murderous, doped-up stripper cop! AMC are THE GREATEST BAND IN THE WORLD. Did I already mention this?
PAIN NAIL � END TIMES (FREAK ANIMAL)
This looks nice: CD in tasteful A5 card cover with illustrations depicting all kinds of �fun� medieval torture practices and tracks with titles like �Punishment�, �Delusion � Death� and �Servants of False Prophecy�. What BETTER way to spend a dark, flu-ridden, depressing-as-fuck Sunday afternoon? It starts off with a doom-laden movie sample about the end of the world that segues into some harsh industro-rumblings and distorted �vocals�. It's WELL sinister but DOES kind of make me wonder if, in 20 years time, this sort of stuff will be used in TV ads the way that PUNK songs are today? �Father I Love You� may SOUND like a sweet nursery rhyme but is, in actual fact, a torrent of waspy buzzings and MORE of those I-got-a-distortion-pedal-from-Santa (Satan?) shouty vocals and a practically inaudible sample about wanking off your dad or something. Hmm. Next track tries its hardest to be prime time evil but ends up sounding more like the �scary� monster noises from ITV�s tea-time sci-fi show �Primeval� (I tune in mainly to hear just HOW many times the lead actor says the word �anomaly� in each show.) �Dismal� is the mellowest track (one for the lovers) and sounds like a chain gang on Mars, breaking rocks in a howling, apocalyptic wind. Reminds me of the HILARIOUS film �Chronicles of Riddick�. It�s an ANIMAL thing. The horror of the daylight returns with the next track: one of Adam Ant�s drummers bashes away on a Woolworth toy kit, Bob Hoskins as Super Mario clanks his BIG spanner and yet MORE inaudible whisperers whisper (what sort of weird shit are these people subliminally implanting in my poor little brain, I wonder? Aw, who CARES?) �Crawlspace� bored me SO much, I spent its entire duration trying to make an anagram out of its title. Couldn�t do it, but it DOES contain the word �arse�. The final three tracks are more of the same, really. Cheer up, Pain Nail, it�s nearly Easter.
KINGS OF LEON � BECAUSE OF THE TIMES (HAND ME DOWN)
Stayed up drinking with John till who-knows-when. Don�t really remember much about what happened except he started kissing my Cat Power poster so I put on her �Myra Lee� album and he got his acoustic out but I don�t think I even TOUCHED it. Woke at 10.25, still drunk. Opened my mail. Got this Kings of Leon CD from Jim M, which I THINK is the same one that my call-centre workmate Jos� lent me one time. I didn�t much like it THEN and I don�t much like it NOW. It�s not TERRIBLE, but is the kind of thing you hear playing in the background on �This Morning� during a feature about skateboarding or something. Pretty average, really. I walked into town through the drizzle, playing a tape I made for Joe on my walkman and drinking a mini bottle of champagne. At 1.30, I was in the Griffin, having a pint of John Smiths. Then I had ANOTHER. Texted Samuel to see if he was back from his mystery holiday. He was and it was Paris. We arranged to meet. Went to WH Smith and gazed at some mags then went to the Horseshoe at around 3.30 and waited for Samuel, standing at the bar with a pint of Velvet. He showed up, told me about his hols. We sat down, had a couple more pints. I was a bit out of it. Drunken Eyes was in. Samuel left, to do something or go somewhere or perhaps just to get away from me, then I left, got a subway to Kelvinbridge and went into Barbecue Kings for a pizza, for the first time in AGES. My �mate� served me and we made small talk for a while. Was back in my room at 6.50. Ate the pizza. Lay around. Decided to take a 5mg Haloperidol pill, which was a BIG mistake because it fucked me up for DAYS afterwards.
RUDIMENTARY PENI � ECHOES OF ANGUISH/THE UNDERCLASS/ARCHAIC (OUTER HIMALAYAN)
And so, my three-issue long trawl through the career of Rudimentary Peni reaches its conclusion with these CDs, from 1997, 2000 and 2003 respectively. My initial thought was �this sounds like a different singer� but there�s no personnel info on the sleeves so I can only GUESS at this. The cover art DOES look like it�s still by Nick Blinko, though. It�s WELL fucked-up and MOST impressive. It�s just a shame that the music seems to have sunk into a swamp of going-nowhere thrash, complete with minimal lyrics (only a few lines in each song) that are SO earnest they almost seem like a PARODY. Example? �All our tears/Are but one drop/In an ocean/Of misery�. That�s like something a 14 year-old would write AND that�s the ENTIRE lyrics to a WHOLE SONG! There�s really nothing to distinguish these CDs from each other and, unlike the earlier Peni releases, they�re NO FUN. No fun at ALL. Some bands really just DON�T know when to QUIT. Shame.
MORRISSEY � THAT�S HOW PEOPLE GROW UP (DECCA)
A taster for his new �Greatest Hits� package (which, bizarrely, contains tracks mainly from his last two albums), this is Morrissey on auto pilot, though Morrissey on auto pilot is STILL better than the zillions of pretenders to his throne of witty, literate indie god. But what the FUCK was he wearing on Jonathan Ross� TV show? In his V-neck jumper with nothing underneath but a tacky gold chain, he looked like a dodgy second-hand car dealer who�d just had his door kicked in by the old bill. This single�s extra track, a torpid live version of �Last of the Famous International Playboys�, is AWFUL and a timely reminder as to why I don�t own ANY of Moz�s solo live albums.
BOB MOULD - DISTRICT LINE (BEGGARS BANQUET)/CIRCLE OF FRIENDS (MVD VISUAL)
Why Bob Mould has chosen to name his new album after a route on the London Underground is beyond the grasp of my puny understanding but it enables me to draw a connection with the time I saw him play at London�s Mean Fiddler in September 2005 (review in HY!#8 if you care, or even if you DON'T), doing a set identical to the one on his live DVD "Circle of Friends", recorded about a month later in his current hometown of Washington, DC. The DVD is a nice reminder of that fab night; of Bob�s tight black T-shirt, of Brendan Canty�s shit-hot drumming and of the turned-down-to-zero-for-a-lot-of-the-set keyboards (believe me, this is a GOOD thing. You don�t want to hear keyboards when Bob Mould is onstage reliving his H�sker D� glory days with classics like �Celebrated Summer� and �Chartered Trips�). And the new album? Well, leaving aside the TERRIBLE sleeve, yet again Bob uncovers guitar pop's dark heart with blistering songs like �Stupid Now�, �Again and Again� and �The Silence Between Us�. Then there�s the first ever official release for �Walls in Time�, a song originally demoed for 1989�s genius �Workbook� album. Why it�s languished in the vaults for quite so long is yet another Mouldy mystery because it�s one of his best. Since joining the �Stepford Wives� ranks of the gay community, however, Bob simply can�t resist throwing the odd sparkly disco spanner in the works and �Shelter Me� is this album�s worst culprit. It�s not BAD. If you�re into cold electro thump, that is.
THE INNOCENCE MISSION � BEFRIENDED (BADMAN)
JULIE DOIRON AND THE WOODEN STARS � S/T (JAGJAGUWAR)
Ah, charity shops. Where ELSE can you pick up albums of gentle melancholia for less than the price of a pint? The only time I�d heard the Innocence Mission before was on the damn fine John Denver tribute compilation, �Take Me Home�. This 2003 CD is full of peaceful pianos, swooning strings and the lovely voice of Karen Peris, singing sweetly of �Beautiful Change�, �Walking Around� and various other things. It�s VERY nice. Julie Doiron delivers tasty treats fresh from the bakery of heartbreak. She�s got THE keening croon of exquisite early hours despair and, when she sings in French (on �Au Contraire�), a million flowers wilt in AWE. She�s done a whole album in French, which I have on tape somewhere (MUST dig it out..) There are songs here, like �The Last Time�, �Gone Gone� and �In This Dark� that are absolutely GORGEOUS.
WILLY VLAUTIN AND PAUL BRAINARD � NORTHLINE OST (FABER)
Another one for listening to secretly, late at night, on headphones. This soundtrack CD comes free with the first edition of Willy Vlautin�s �Northline� novel (see review elsewhere) and its 14 sparse, drifting acoustic guitar/pedal steel instrumentals are just PERFECT for coming down/ tapering off to. Don�t quite know why it�s not credited to Richmond Fontaine, as the whole band play on it, but that�s not something to worry about as you let Willy and Paul gently ease you into another collapsed dawn.
VARIOUS � I�M YOUR FAN: THE SONGS OF LEONARD COHEN (WARNERS)
Got this (for �4 in Missing, fact fans) mainly for the version of �A Singer Must Die� by Fatima Mansions, which is SUPERB, but there are many other fine tracks as well. It�s hard to go wrong when you�re covering one of the planet�s greatest songwriters and The House of Love, John Cale, Pixies, Bill Pritchard, R.E.M., David McComb and Adam Peters all do especially fine jobs. There�s some shite too, of course. Nick Cave should�ve been SHOT for his CRAP butchering of �Tower of Song�.
AMERICAN MUSIC CLUB � ATWATER AFTERNOON (SELF-RELEASED)
Here we have a limited edition CD that sees AMC covering Kris Kristofferson, country crooner Bill Anderson and, bizarrely, Sam and Dave�s pop hit �I�m Your Puppet� as well as ill-advisedly letting Vudi take over vocal duties on his own �Little Joy�. There are also nice versions of several tracks from the current album but the finest moment is an Eitzel newie called �Long, Long Walk� with a great line about �some hillbilly fuck with nunchucks outside the supermarket�. There�s also a song written by their new bassist, which Eitzel sings, that�s very nice too.
SCOTT WALKER � SCOTT FOUR (PHILIPS/FONTANA)
Spurred by the recent BBC4-screened documentary �30 Century Man�, I finally dug this tape out of its cardboard box grave after about 15 YEARS (and was also prompted to write a poem about the girl who made it for me. See elsewhere). It wasn�t really the old clips of Scott singing the hysterical �Mathilde� or the more recent ones of him in the studio using dustbins and lumps of meat as percussion instruments that made me want to revisit this album, but the fact that my beloved Cathal Coughlan was interviewed (albeit for five SECONDS) in the doc and that he once covered Walker�s �Nite Flights� to brilliant effect. There�s some fabulous stuff on this - the Bergman-referencing �The Seventh Seal�, �Angels of Ashes�, �Rhymes of Goodbye� - that�s dramatic and moving and its influence on Coughlan�s own music is obvious.
GIGS
AMERICAN MUSIC CLUB � ORAN MOR, GLASGOW, 8TH FEBRUARY 2008
Got up early again. Before 8am. Watched �The Wright Stuff�. Walked into town. At 11am, I was in the Henglers Circus having a veggie breakfast and big coffee. Read �Metro�, including a good little AMC piece. Looked in some shops. Got the new Bob Mould CD, several days before its official release, in Avalanche then went for a pint in the Auctioneers around 12.50. It was BUSY (lunchtime, I suppose). Saw Art Gallery Alan. Felt knackered. Went to Borders and read a Bob Mould feature in �Spin� then had a cider in the Admiral. Hatched a plan to go on an alphabetical pub crawl, so I went to Bon Accord next and had another cider. They had a girl whose sole job seemed to be to replenish the condiments. Odd. Also, some guy asked me if I was Peter. MOST odd! When I left, someone in the street interviewed me for the Glasgow Council free paper, about disputes between neighbours (how APT!) and his mate took my photo. I bypassed Chinaski�s and made my way to the Captains Rest but it was SHUT so I was all upset until I realised that Coopers was on my way, so I went THERE for another cider. Then I got a pasty from the Co-op and went back to the flat to get ready for the gig. THAT didn�t take long and then I walked to Byres Road. Saw Vudi outside Oran Mor, by a big white van. I went to Tennent�s Bar and had a cider, standing GAZING at everyone, then to Jinty McGinty�s for ANOTHER cider.
Was in Oran Mor at around 7.45pm. Bought a copy of the new AMC tour CD for �10 then got a pint of �3 cider and stood at the bar for a while, as the place began to fill up. Some guy was standing reading a BOOK! Support band, Bee and Flower, were from Berlin and rather dull. The singer seemed to think she was PJ Harvey and they played for FAR too long (about 45 minutes), so I went BACK to the merch stall and splashed out another �10 on a tasteful brown AMC T-shirt, bought from Vudi. Then I got myself another cider and went down the front and watched as AMC set up. Some guy in front of me had obviously never seen them before as he was WELL excited, taking pictures of them setting up their pedals, etc, and he was the same all through the set, applauding WAY too much and getting Eitzel and Vudi to sign the setlist, etc. God! It was quite a rocky set, though it kicked off with Vudi singing some of �Chiquitita� by ABBA. Eitzel seems to wear the exact same shirt every time he plays here, and he mentioned that he�d had the same trousers on for �two months�. He introduced them as �Wish the World Away, an American Music Club tribute band� and said that all the proceeds from the gig would be going to �survivors of Russian roulette�. It was weird having the bassist in the middle of the stage and his funky bassline for �Western Sky� did NOT suit the song AT ALL. Danny Pearson was sadly missed on THAT one. Anyway, I enjoyed the gig, even though a lot of the song choices were rather strange. I got some chips from the chippy next door when I left and ate them while walking back. Was in at 10.30pm and checked the bootleg I�d made of the gig, which came out far too distorted. Watched Jonathan Ross on TV while drinking some cider, then played the CD I�d bought, until sleep overtook me.
GODSTALKER � THE TWISTED WHEEL, GLASGOW, 16TH FEBRUARY 2008
While I was waiting for the 12.23 train at Lanark station, a woman gave me a rail survey questionnaire to fill in and took my name, age and phone number (WHY I agreed to give her THAT, I don�t know). Took me about 10-15 minutes to fill it in while on the train. I used it to complain about the FILTHY state of the carriage floor, which was covered in some white powdery SHIT. One of my old call-centre colleagues, Eddie, got on the train at Motherwell with his wife, but we didn�t speak. Dave rang to see if I was still going tonight. Got off at Partick and bought three litres of cider from Somerfield in Byres Road and was back in the flat at 2pm. Knocked on John�s door. He said he�d knocked on MINE about half an hour earlier, to say he felt too ill to go out, but I managed to persuade him to go round to Crosslands for �a pint�. His mate Charlie was there and then some other guy he knew came in. I ended up having six or seven (or maybe even more) pints of Blackthorn as we chatted about this and that. They put the Celtic game on Al Jazeera TV, which is highly illegal and a couple of cops came in to reprimand them about it. Hilariously, the minute they left, the game was turned BACK on! I had arranged to meet Grant in Mono but we left it too late so ended up getting a taxi straight to the Twisted Wheel instead. John paid. Had a drink with Grant in the upstairs bar and Dave came up too. I was really pissed but we went downstairs and chatted to Scott and maybe even a few other people. It�s all very hazy indeed but I do remember watching Godstalker, who were really good, and John was WELL impressed with Scott�s stick skills. Grant filmed the whole thing too. After their set, I was nearly nodding off, I was so drunk and John asked if I wanted to leave before the next band came on, so we said our goodbyes (er, I THINK!) and got a taxi back West. I paid this time. Don�t remember what time it was OR going to bed. A truly successful Saturday night, then.
THE HOLD STEADY � THE GARAGE, GLASGOW, 25TH FEBRUARY 2008
Horrible, wet weather. I got the 1.15pm bus from Lanark, playing �Separation Sunday� on my walkman. Rang James to say not to bother coming to meet me. Got a subway to Kelvinbridge and went to dump my bag in the flat. Some scaffolder CUNTS were hanging about outside. Something to do with the chimneys being inspected. Posted a couple of things in Hillhead PO then waited for a SLOW bus going back into town. I used one of my wonderful free token thingies. Went to Failte for a pint of Guinness and a read of �Metro� then had a Velvet ale in the Auctioneers then a couple of pints in the �Shoe, standing at the bar. Texted Kenny but he was staying in, as he was going to see Hot Chip the following night. He asked me if I�d got my Bob Mould ticket yet, and I didn�t even know he was PLAYING! Went to the Brunswick next for a �1.50 pint of Miller. Sat in a dark and quiet corner but some ned TOSSERS came in so I moved closer to the jukebox, which was playing things like Depeche Mode and the Smiths. Had a �1.50 pint of Fosters in Nico�s next. Was starting to feel pretty drunk so decided I�d better go over to the Garage. Didn�t get searched, which was unusual. Got a �2.70 pint of cider from the bar at the back and watched the support act, called the Haze, who were Oasis-style twats complete with tambourine-shaking singer who had the cocky swagger of the completely fucking BRAINDEAD and all their songs sounded exactly like other band�s songs and people were openly LAUGHING at them, they were SO bad! Got myself another cider and moved further down the front for the Hold Steady, who came onstage at about 8.50pm. They were SUPERB and keyboardist/wine-drinker Franz looked GREAT in his full beard and natty hat; like a cross between Mark Eitzel and a TRAMP! Craig Finn was as geeky/bubbly/brilliant as ever and they did a couple of newies, three songs from the first album and most of the second and third, ending with a blistering �Killer Parties� (as they did LAST time I saw them� see HY!#25) and it was all over by about 10.15pm. I went over to Nice�n�Sleazy for a couple bottles of Kronenburg at �1.50 each, although the place is more NICE than SLEAZY these days. I reflected on the fact that, even when I was younger, I never liked it much, despite its great jukebox. Got chips and walked back, getting in at 11.35pm. Had some cider.
BOOKS
WILLY VLAUTIN � NORTHLINE (FABER)
Earlier in this issue, I called American Music Club �the greatest band in the world�. Well, Portland, Oregon�s Richmond Fontaine aren�t far behind. Willy Vlautin is RF�s singer/guitarist and he�s been crafting exquisitely detailed songs about life�s tragic realities for years now. He also writes stories and this is his second full-length novel (his first, �The Motel Life�, was reviewed in HY!#14). Certain things about this book will be instantly familiar to RF fans; the title, for example, is borrowed from a track on their classic �Winnemucca� album and the main character, Allison Johnson, has a song named after her on their classic �Post to Wire� album (ALL their albums are CLASSICS, okay?) The could-be-depressing storyline (self-harming alcoholic flees town to escape her abusive, racist scumbag boyfriend and works in a series of crummy jobs) is lifted by Vlautin�s simple prose which, like his songs, is brimming with heart and compassion. A work of unassuming genius.
VENDELA VIDA - LET THE NORTHERN LIGHTS ERASE YOUR NAME (ATLANTIC)
Writers whose surnames begin with the letter �V� are ALL the rage this month, kids, and check out that �North� connection too! Coincidence or something ELSE? YOU decide! This is another novel with a potentially miserable storyline: Years after her mother�s disappearance, a woman�s father dies, only she discovers that he wasn�t REALLY her father after all, so she ditches her drippy fiance and buggers off to Finland to find her REAL dad, having a serious of bleak encounters on the way and uncovering terrible secrets about her past. Really well-written and REALLY good.
WAITING FOR SHEILA
I awake a little after 5am and immediately reach out for the wine bottle. Sheila sits in a chair by the window, gazing out at the flurries of snow drifting up and down the empty street.
�What�s the matter?� I ask, taking a swig from the bottle.
�Couldn�t sleep�, she says.
I sit up in bed, pulling the duvet around myself.
�It�s okay to be worried, you know,� I tell her.
�All I�m worried about is the wine running out before opening time. Is there another bottle in the fridge?�
�I think so. We only drank four, didn�t we?�
�At least I won�t need to worry about that, I suppose,� she says. �Not after tomorrow. Pass me the bottle, will you?�
The room is dark except for the yellow glow of a streetlight that bathes half of her face in deep shadow.
�You know I�ll wait for you,� I say and then she turns to look at me.
�You�ll WAIT for me? What do you think this is? A FAIRY TALE, for Christ�s sake? I don�t EXPECT you to WAIT for me. I don�t expect ANYTHING. Not from you or from anybody else.�
�Well, then, maybe you should.�
She�s trying to be brave, drawing her defence mechanisms around her like the duvet that�s pulled around my own shoulders. But she looks small and helpless, sitting here in the dim light, and I can see the anger drain from her shoulders as she returns her attention to the window and to the wine bottle cradled in her lap.
Finally, she speaks. �I�ll leave you some money. If you could pay my rent, I�d appreciate it.�
�Of course I will,� I say.
�And I don�t want you to visit me.�
�Why not?�
�It�ll just remind me of everything too much. You�re lucky, you�ve never been in a place like that. Survival�s all that matters there. I don�t want to be one of those poor bitches they find swinging from a light fitting. You have to stay focussed, try and get through it as best you can. It�s the only way.�
�Why don�t you get back into bed?� I ask. �You must be freezing sitting there.�
She climbs in beside me and I bury my face in her hair, which smells of her favourite apple and cinnamon shampoo. We snuggle together for a while and then gently make love.
When I next awaken, bright sunlight is flooding the room. Sheila is dressed and running around with a feather duster and damp cloth.
�What are you doing?� I ask.
�This place is FILTHY. I never noticed before. I�m just doing some tidying up before I have to leave.�
�That�s not for a few hours yet. Is there any wine left?�
�No. We must�ve drank more than we thought last night. I�ll go out and get some more in a minute.�
�It�s okay, I�ll do it,� I tell her, getting out of bed and pulling on my trousers and socks. �I can get us some breakfast too, if you like?�
�I can�t eat anything, not right now. Some wine will settle my stomach, though. Do you have enough money?�
�Yeah.�
I kiss her on the forehead and make my way down to the off-license on the corner of the street. The sun has melted the snow into big pools of slush that I have to navigate to avoid getting my feet wet.
�How are we this morning?� asks the cheerful Asian shopkeeper.
�Not too bad,� I lie. �A bottle of the usual, please.�
We make small talk for a while then I go to the newsagents next door and buy a paper.
When I get back to Sheila�s place, she is gone. There�s an envelope lying on the unmade bed with my name written on it. Inside are �200 in cash and a short note:
�Sorry. It�s better this way. Need to get my head together. See you in 6 months, I hope. Love, Sheila.�
I let out a deep sigh, lay back on the bed and open the bottle.