The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be

Increasingly I find myself drawn to the Bible. The King James Bible. Of course.

I'm not remotely religious if you define religion as believing in supernatural stories, impossible events, miracles, ridiculously tight social codes. The sublimation of self, or humanity, to an abstract idea. Or if you believe that your belief is superior to any other person's belief. We are all grubs poking around on a dirt ball. None of us know the answers. 

But some of us at least ask the questions.

Religion also discusses the great philosophical issues, the futilty of man's existence, how we should navigate living together as social beings. As a writer - though it might not seem so - I like to address big issues, confront existential questions. And more and more I find myself reaching for my battered copy of the King James Bible (or googling it online!).

Why?

1) It's a comfort, and a shock - to find that all the issues have been dealt with before, discussed before. As Ecclesiastes 1 has it, there is 'no new thing under the sun'. It also has some words to say about each generation forgetting the lessons learnt by the previous. It's humbling but reassuring to know that we all stand on the shoulders of our ancestors.

2) As a writer, I can see The King James Bible is a beautiful document. The phrasing and quality of writing is top notch. I find myself marvelling at its ability to be at once profound but also carefully constructed so it could be read aloud. It's in the cadences, its in the repetitions, its in the well chosen words where the artistry lies. And it was deliberately made so. 

3) As we live in a multi cultural society - and we do - then I find myself drawn towards investigating my own culture. The invisible thread that runs through England, the Anglo-sphere, through our history, is laid bare in the King James Bible. My ancestors would have known its words, understood its allusions, recited its parables, sought comfort and strength in its words.

To find wisdom. To write better. To understand better my own culture. 

And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly: I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit.

For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.

And who would disagree?

Laters, my flock

Tim

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Not in My Name

This blog doesn't usually stray into geo-political insights. In fact it's a refuge against it. So much of political discourse today I find ill-informed and shallow, reduced to sound-bites and twitter lines to take. Great issues - immensely complex and accompanied by history hardly anyone bothers to understand - are dealt with in primary colours, simplified and glossed over.

But as I get older, and maybe this is the way of things, I can't see a war I support. I become less gung-ho and spot shallowness and bluster in arguments to blow fellow human beings to smithereens. I suppose the last couple of decades has shown the limits and problems with Western interventionism - civil wars, lawlessness, religious maniacs, a tide of immigration.

So as Parliament debates today the motion to commit British forces (air & logistics & surveillance) to Syria, I can only say, 'Not in my name'. It's an uncertain trumpet, an instinctive pull rather than a factual push, but when you're unsure, killing (and that is what bombing is however precision) is never the answer. The iron law invoked appears to be the law of unintended - and seldom good - consequences.

Of course, I'm an armchair general, my voice carries no weight nor interest from others, I have no palatable solutions to stop the spread of militant Islam, but the rush to war leaves me cold.

Tim

This Week's Hot Hits!

I'm back with some picks from my current playlist. Turn them up - especially the last!

Flares and Manchester!

Stone Roses - I Am The Resurrection

Manchester swagger. Ian Brown schooling Liam Gallagher. Epic guitars, epic bass, powerful drums. Epic Length. Flares. Daft hats. John Squire, Mani, Reni cooking up a storm. Ian Brown singing in tune. So good they don't even bother going for the chorus until two verses have passed and then the song goes into a four minute axe-led instrumental that is anything but guitar-wank. The dog's bollocks of the indie scene; it's vastness, virtuousity, and Manc cockiness always gets men of a certain age onto the dance-floor. Tim coughs and moves on.

Pele and Bobby Moore Swap Shirts 1970 Award

I Think I Love You - The Partridge Family

Like a shadow at the edge of town, a half-forgotten dream, this song dances on the far horizon of my earliest memories. David Cassidy was hip when I was young (along with the Osmonds, T-Rex, David Essex). He may have been a pretty boy in a hit TV series cashing in with a pop career, but, by god, it's a whacky song, weird and episodic, with a kick-ass chorus. A true pop classic.

Obligatory Stones Live Track!

Midnight Rambler - Live at Leeds 1971 (Sticky Fingers Special Edition)

Keef whacks a foot thru his amp, and stomps his way - in a dirty-blues fashion - through this Let It Bleed epic. Add Jagger giving a shit on his vocalisations, playing a blues harp like a blind cotton picker on double time. Chuck in Mick Taylor - the most under-rated of the cohort of great British blues guitarists - adding dextrous licks like a bastard. Yeah it's 13 minutes long but put it on when you walk the dog, when you're at the gym, when you're cooking; when you're trying to explain to your kids just what the hell rock music is about. The Stones at their best. The Greatest Rock n Roll Band in the world, indeed.

1966 or 2012 Award

The Noisettes - That Girl

How this song wasn't written, recorded in the 60's and then discovered a couple of years ago, I don't know. Unbelievable nostalgia bait it may be, but I love the retro feel, the boy and girl harmony, the impeccable taste, the aching hip vibe. 2012 FFS. Why aren't this group more famous? Took me ages to track this down. A party track.

Incongruous but Special Award

The Carpenters - Goodbye To Love

The Carpenters invent soft-rock, the power ballad! Typically gorgeous Carpenters song, sad, touching, well orchesterated. Karen's aching beautiful vocals. Richard's perfect arrangement. And then. And then. Tony Peluso fucks it all up with the guitar solo handed down from the rock gods themselves - heavy, fuzz toned, did-you-spill-my-pint hardness, providing the perfect foil to the Carpenters middle of the road class. It shouldn't work but it kicks ass! A fusion that, Rousseau-like, pushes human progress towards something better. A song that just pisses on all imitators that followed. Long Live Tony! Long Live Karen!

But for now this is my song. And it's goodbye to love.

Laters

DJ Tim

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I Am the Resurrection.

"I was saying something. Oh yes. Maria and English literature. We argue about its relevance, English Lit. As an academic subject as opposed to a leisure activity. I write, she reads. I read, she deconstructs. What annoys me is the way they (as in ‘They’ – those buggers who populate an ill informed argument. Yes, ‘Them’.) er, yes, the way they take something that's for everyone and raise it above the heads of the people for whom it was originally meant. Alienation I believe it’s called. Yes, you can see I’m better read than I let on. However, it's all bollocks, your honour." 

Tim Robson - Neil Diamond's Beard (early 90's)

 

I've been reading some of my stuff from the early 90's. The superbly titled unpublished novel - Neil Diamond's Beard. Was it any good? Was I a literary enfant terrible tearing up Brighton in my 20's? It's an attractive image but I'm perhaps not best placed to answer. However, what I would say is that lifting the lid on your younger self is sometimes a wondrous thing, sometimes a shocking thing. You forget so much, the passage of time smooths the edges off the anger, laughingly points out your conceits and can make a mockery of your juvenile attempts at a deeper truth, a coherent worldview.

But - and it is a big but - there's a vibrancy in the writing, no doubt about that. I know my brain had then been captured by Martin Amis, Jack Kerouac, by a cinéma vérité confessional style that confused reality for readability, and yet... It's a two fisted brawl of a novel, no punches left in the locker, no attitude unexplored. There's also a willingness to be honest and truthful which, however polished and skilled my writing has now become, and however much the self-edit red pen excises the wilder prose, I still endeavour to retain. Not for me plastic emotions and gossamer thin characterisations. It's all, or it is nothing.

So - what are the major differences I notice in my writings of the early 90's?

1) Smoking in pubs and restaurants (see picture above, Aug 1989). It seems like ancient history now. How we all accepted cigarettes in an indoor environment. How every table had an ashtray. How your clothes and hair would stink when you got home. Strangely I miss it - but only as a sensory shortcut to my youth, not as a going concern.

2) Lack of mobile phones. How the hell did we communicate back in the day? I seem to remember a lot of confusion and hanging around and detailed planning. Now we all just go out and kind of navigate to each other when we feel appropriate. Our 2015 ability to track each other would have been perceived as phenomenal, and perhaps sinister, in those pre mobile phone days. Conversations were more intense however without a constant distraction bleeping on the table, calling you to wonders elsewhere.

3) Political correctness. Strangely I found this worked both ways - both more and less at the same time. This was Brighton at the dawn of the 90's, not a Northern working men's club in the 70's. But some casual incorrectness creeps in. Words, phrases that I would be uncomfortable to use these days pepper the narrative. But perhaps that was youth. There's also a suspicion of the corrosive chilling effect of thought-crime in the writing. PC was both stronger but less prevalent. The war hadn't been won so the PC army wore combat fatigues.

4) How my world-view had more passion but less depth. An assertion is not an argument. Experience moderates the fires of youth. There's nothing like reality to piss on a dreamer's parade. Certainty is the preserve of youth.

5) I'm a better writer now. Fact. The work is littered with errors and stylistic howlers that poke the reader in the eye. I wouldn't publish what I wrote back then. There again, a decent and sympathetic editor (like me 25 years later) would have done wonders. 

6) Despite that, I am very definitely - and distinctly - me. The themes, patterns, style, worldview are there, in infant form perhaps, but there nonetheless. It's reassuring isn't it, that stripping away temporary conventions and fashions, forgiving naivety, lack of experience, undeveloped skill, your voice and passions remain constant.

And rather frightening too.

Cheers,

Tim

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Robson takes the silver!

A pot of freshly brewed coffee. A bowl of crispy Cornflakes. A fed cat. Happy kids watching age inappropriate TV shows. Country music on the radio. A trip to Chessington in the offing.

Surveying my little empire this morning, the Gates of Janus are briefly shutted.

Came second in a flash fiction writing contest last night. Fear not though, executive recruiters, I won't be quitting the corporate world just yet. I'm going to donate my winnings to, er, well, the ice cream maker my kids have an eye on.

In my left hand is rock, in my right, roll.

Read my stylised effort, The Earnest Conversation, here. 

Many thanks to Michael over at the Cult of Me.

Cheers ears

Tim

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What's In A Name?

I've been writing short stories. Profound, aching, searching for empathetic truisms short stories. The sort that make brave men cry and women smile that there are males who so understand the human condition.

Puppies weep, kittens frolic and I hit the 'bollocks' button by mistake.

Anyway - titles. Here are some I've been using recently. 

• The Song of Vivien
• The Twenty-Pound Note
• In Between Days
• The Four Twelves

I debated calling one Karen Carpenter's Last Meal but decided against it as it was offensive and I'm a closet Carpenters fan (Goodbye to Love has to be best power ballad, ever).

Whether these will be the Wuthering Heights, Trumpet Major, Old Geriot of the later 21st Century I'll leave for posterity to decide. Personally though, my writing has now reached heights unknown since I drunkenly penned a Martin Amis parody in 1993 and won £500 quid for my troubles. A future blogpost perhaps? Maybe. My public need to understand I wasn't always pressed against the glass watching the dance from without.

Off to buy some cat litter bags.

Tim

* Do you like the photo of a younger Tim, buff and hirsute, standing next to Oscar Wilde's tomb in Paris? 

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German Companies

One day I write about The Beatles, the next about EU regulation. I muse about the coming autumn and discuss the influence of childhood on memory and the way we live our subsequent lives. I have what is sometimes called ' depth', a hinterland that takes me on a ceaseless, maniacal search for truth wherever it may lead. It's a painful journey, a search for the soul in these Godless times, but that's who I am. It is the scrap of ground I claim as being mine and 'on ne passe pas' as we say in this corner of the early twentieth century.

Whatever dude. What is today's ramble about?

Well, to show the integrated social media marketing drive for which I'm famous, I'd like to talk about German companies. About how families set up a company, have a row and then sporn two further ones. For example, Merck and Merck, Aldi Nord and Aldi Sud, ADIDAS and PUMA. It's a fascinating subject and one that I explore in depth over at LinkedIn.

The untold story behind my omnipotent business writing is the suppositions that fail. I'm happy to pull back the curtain here and reveal some of my false premises. Like Aldi and and Lidl being related (they're not). About Kelloggs and MW Kelloggs being related (they're laughable not). About Rolls Royce cars and engines being related (they are but - hey! - who cares).

So - if you get chance - read my article on German family companies. It's a rollercoaster of a ride, a read on the wild side, a clinking Wunderbar of an article that will one day be collected into an anthology and taught at business school - or normal school even - The Collected Wisdom of Tim Robson, Part 1 - The Wilderness Years.

And on that note (Bb) I'll sign off.

Tim 

The Falling Leaves...

And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand           

Autumn is the season of endings where summer tapers into nothing, leaves fall, nights draw in and the promise of Spring lays cold in the ground. It's the end of flowers and heat and late nights, no more smells of new mown grass, double edged roses and charcoal.

And yet, I always see Autumn as a beginning. The beginning of a new term, a new year, new friends. A countdown to Christmas and parties and frivolity. Bonfire night (never Halloween) and frosty morning walks around lakes flanked by bejewelled trees of yellow and orange.

Many of my new beginnings - and there have been many - have taken place in Autumn. Some of the most vivid memories come accompanied by a soundtrack of fallen leaves, with falling temperatures and dark nights. I remember a stormy day in Brighton, so many years ago where the wind blew and the rain fell... But no, I won't go there. Not now.

So, I'll leave you with a cheer for the coming Autumn and a wish that great things, memorable things, unusual things, happen to you. As I wish it for myself.

Autumn; life's new term.

Reflectively, and yet optimistically,

Tim

* The quote is 'Leaves That Are Green' by Paul Simon

I love points. I am a robot.

I like to think I'm rational when I shop. When I buy things I have an internal nexus that weighs up price, quality and convenience. But also included in the mix, at a secondary level, is any potential loyalty points / rewards I can gather in the transaction.

Reward points should not trump price, quality or convenience but all things being equal, a loyalty scheme can influence purchasing decisions. Let me give you an example:-

I live near to a Tesco supermarket and so for convenience and price, I often shop there. Therefore not only does it makes sense to have a Tesco Clubcard but also a Tesco MasterCard which doubles up my Clubcard points. My rewards behaviour is subsidiary to my primary motivation - location and price - but as I have made a decision, it would be stupid not to maximise my rewards for each transaction.

The rationale is, if you are going to shop somewhere always maximise your ability to earn rewards. For this reason, I tend not to use cash as cash will never bring me the rewards that paying by a credit card will. Obviously, you have to settle your bill every month to realise the benefits, but, so long as you do, the following proposition works:

In each transaction try to be rewarded in some way. If possible twice.

Looking through my wallet I see I have twelve cards that offer rewards. Clearly I'm serious about this! (Love the picture Tim, BTW. Thanks Tim.)

The other side of the equation is that the benefits need to be realisable. In the case of my primary duo (Tesco Clubcard and Tesco MasterCard) they certainly are. Free cinema tickets, free family days out in Chessington, travel to France. All have been paid for by Clubcard points. Again, as I was going to make the transactions that funded these freebies anyway, it would be sub-optimal not to take advantage.

So far, so perfect market / rational consumer. I am a robot. But, two things occur to me:

1) The recent EU regulation on capping interchange levels. This will have the effect of lessening the number of linked rewards points you will get from your MasterCard / Visa loyalty schemes. For a scholarly, and yet accessible, article I wrote on this subject, look here.

2) An app/device that can convert random stray points on underused loyalty schemes to a consumer's preferred scheme... Well, that would be next level for the rational consumer. That way I could move my tiny allocation of Shell Drivers Club points or BA Miles, over to, wait for it, Tesco Clubcard Points (or Beefeater Grill!). I know there has been rumours of this sort of scheme but as yet I've not seen a decent prototype...

And so friends, get rational. Suck eggs.

PS, I like to dance too.

Tim

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Number 11 is better than Number 1

Someone asked me what my writing strategy is the other day. "Scattergun," was my response.

However, I have been entering short story competitions fairly regularly. Usually I enter the day before the deadline and frantically push myself to knock stories into shape (usually editing down). I find the pressure concentrates the mind and sharpens the pen.

I'm pleased to say my (excellent) story 'In Between Days' was placed in the top 32 of the 'To Hull and Back' competition. Added to this I was in the Top 11 of the Ifanca Helene James Short Story Competition.

Obviously winning is an over-rated concept, man! Top 32 - it doesn't get better than that!

More news from the literary front line soon. Has anyone bought my book recently? I hear it's really cheap these days! Christmas is coming. Just saying'.

Cheers

Tim

* The ruined gatehouse at Bramber Castle subtly suggests a more honest aspiration.

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The Best Beatles Album Tracks

The Best Beatle Album Tracks

A companion bookend to my August 25th piece on the worse Beatles album tracks. A much harder prospect than the previous article, sifting the best will be difficult but – hey! – that’s why I get paid the big bucks. Only rule is that (UK) singles are not permissible, other than that, let’s get down to it!

Please Please Me – There’s a Place

Already I’m in trouble. Some of my very favourite Beatles tracks are on this one album. The winner could have been Baby It’s You, I Saw Her Standing There, Twist and Shout or Anna (Go to him)… But on reflection, I’ll go with this introspective Lennon song. Used to play it with my group in the mid-90’s. No one cared (though the photo above is me playing the song in London).

With The Beatles – You Really Got a Hold On Me

The Beatles go Smokey Robinson. Supercharges the original, great arrangement, powerful vocals by Lennon. Edges out Money and Devil In Her Heart.

Hard Day’s Night – I’ll Be Back

Had the most trouble with this album. There’s five John songs on the album that I could have picked. He was undisputed leader of the group in all senses at this period in time. I’ll Be Back is an understated, but more powerful for it, acoustic ballad that showcases John’s early song writing.

Beatles for Sale – Baby’s In Black

Baby’s in Black is part of the strongest trio of songs ever to start off an album (No Reply and I’m a Loser being the other two). Only the Beatles could have written and performed this crazy, swinging, blues, country song. Weird but oh so right. Brilliant guitar solo from George.

Help! – You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away

Lennon does Dylan. The result is pure Beatles, pure John. Acoustic, hypnotic, great tune, ambiguous lyrics and, yes I keep saying it, great Lennon vocals. Number one busker’s song.

Rubber Soul – Norwegian Wood

Acoustic guitars, sitar, understated, epic. A classic from a classic album. Nuff said.

 Revolver – She Said She Said

“She said, I know what it’s like to be dead” lyrically is a million miles away from the boy meets girl constructs of previous Beatle songs. Great stinging lead guitar from George (who also played bass as Paul threw a wobbly and walked out of the session).

Sgt Pepper – Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds

I not a big subscriber to the view this is the Beatles best album. It seems to me the production overshadows the actual songs. Lucy in The Sky with Diamonds contains some of Lennon’s best images and has a cracking chorus to boot. From its haunting keyboard opening, Paul’s intelligent bass, this is the standout track.

The Beatles (White Album) – Back in The USSR

An erratic album but with some absolute gems. This McCartney rocker kicks off the album. It’s wild, badly mixed, recorded without Ringo, but it takes on the Beach Boys at their own game and gives them a beating!

Magical Mystery Tour – I Am The Walrus

Lennon snarls his way through four and a half minutes of invective, which provided the whole basis for Liam Gallagher’s career. A song only Lennon could have written. The production is amazing but what holds it together, as usual, is John’s vocal.

Abbey Road – Here Comes The Sun

Harrison’s unstoppable juggernaut takes over the Beatles and flattens Lennon and McCartney. George writes the album’s two best songs. Something could equally have been in this position but as it was the single I’ll go for Here Comes The Sun. Anyone who grew up in the 70’s would be familiar with the guitar figure as it used to the theme tune of the Holiday programme. Beautiful song.

Let It Be – I’ve Got A Feeling

The Beatles as garage band. Live and unadorned, the Beatles rock out. Appropriate that this is a Paul/John combination song showing how great they could be together (check out the version on Anthology 3 to see how John could inspire Paul). Hypnotic riff, powerful harmonies, the song gets better with age.

Who knows? I'll probably change my mind on all of these tomorrow. Or later today. That's the beauty of it, I guess.

Cheers

Tim

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What Julius Caesar Taught Me About Business

Catchy title, eh? 

Winner of the 2015  'Big Hat, No Cattle' award for business writing, I published this sound piece of advice on Linkedin yesterday. The applicability of Caesar's strategies and personality to modern office practices struck me when I was rereading 'The Civil War' last week. Whilst obviously self-serving, Caesar's writings reveal a master at not only battle but in human interaction. Well, modern business is all about defeating the competition and working with colleagues. 

Read the article following this link.

The lecture circuit sternly beckons.

Laters

Tim

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Hip Tunes for Hep Cats!

This week I’m mostly listening to Stan Getz in his early 1960's bossanova phase. I’m a hip cat, daddy-o. Black polo neck sweater, natty goaty beard, copy of On the Road in my trench coat. Oh yeah, Peter Sellers, Princess Margaret, Profumo, Harold Macmillan. Cool beans, man.

Stan Getz – The Girl From Ipanema

Yeah, okay, so I’ve picked the Beethoven’s Fifth of bossanova. I know other stuff too – and can pick a passable Desafinado on the guitar when the mood takes me – but if I want to get into a beat-poet/ hipster mood, The Girl From Ipanema does it for me. I listen to the long version with both Joao Gilberto and Astrud Gilberto trading verses.

The story of how a gorgeous 19-year-old girl would wander past a coffee shop in Rio de Janeiro and by doing so inspired songwriter Vinicius de Moraes to pen this classic is well known. It’s a touching and lasting tribute to the temporary and fleeting virtues of beauty. A bit lechy too, of course. Add some cool bossanova chords from Antônio Carlos Jobim, some breathy sax from Getz and Gilberto’s restrained vocals and we have a jazz classic.

Madonna – Sorry

Dance floor stomper from Madge (did I mention we’ve met? I should tell you about it sometime). Always partial to a decent dance song with a hummable tune, this hit from 2006 (who knew?) helps pass four minutes whilst doing the washing up.

Shelby Lynne – Leavin’

This moody, confessional, telling it how it is, men are bastards, country tune, starts with our Shelby talking into the mike about some useless tosser of a boyfriend before blossoming out into a fully fledge ‘I Will Survive’ self empowerment affirmation of womanly strength.

Barely there acoustic guitar, hypnotic beat, great harmonies. It’s a late night conversation over the phone with someone who finally has the courage to leave. You go girl!

A mere three this week but a sturdy selection I think you’ll find. Now back to the black coffee and the thinly disguised diary dressed up as fiction I’m writing this week. Ho-hum.

DJ Tim

The Worst Beatles Tracks

A pretty routine observation I make is that, unlike most artists, you can take any Beatles album and find an abundance of classic songs not released as a single. The sort of songs lesser artists would kill to have. Such was the embarrassment of riches within the Beatles, songs would just stack up and be used as album fodder. Which is why listening to any Beatles album is also such a joy. It’s never a couple of hits bulked out with fillers. With very few exceptions, all of the Beatles output is a consistently high standard, even when they were innovating.

So I thought, I'd compile a list of The Beatles' stinkers. There aren't many. One per album.

The Worst Beatles Tracks

Abbey Road – Maxwell’s Silver Hammer. Sorry Paul, it’s drivel.

*Beatles For Sale – Honey Don't. The Ringo badge of quality is added to this borefest. Carl Perkins also managed to write the second worst song too - Everybody's Trying to Be My Baby.

Hard Day’s Night – I’m Happy Just to Dance With You.  Paul and John did George no favours here by writing this dirge for him. Bizarrely, I covered this in my infamous Great Eastern solo gig in 1992. Knickers were not thrown.

Help! – You Like Me Too Much. Not a classic. George also wrote I Need You on the same album. Also crap.

Let It Be – For You Blue. George donated this derivative toss off to the Get Back project to protect better songs – Something, Here Comes The Sun – from a substandard album. Wise move.

Magical Mystery Tour – Yes, I know not a proper album. Flying, obviously. The Beatles do lounge music for the MMT film. Aural wallpaper.

Please Please Me – Boys. A Ringo filler. Pair an average singer with an average song and you get a sub average track. Probably worked better live at The Cavern. Or at weddings.

Revolver – Love You To. George and Indian music. Mordant vocals and cod philosophical lyrics to a raga beat. Same album as his fiery and brilliant Taxman.

Rubber Soul – What Goes On. Ringo got a writing credit for this Country and Western song. He should have held out and asked for the rights to Paperback Writer instead.

Sgt Pepper – Within In Without You. Yeah. I don’t really like George’s Indian influenced songs. This one goes on for over five minutes. It feels like it.

White Album – Revolution 9. Of course. John and Yoko's avant garde crap. Unlistenable.

With The Beatles. No weak tracks. Not one.

Yellow Submarine – Only A Northern Song. Sorry George, you again. Trying too hard to be different it just comes across as gauche and dissonant.

[Looking through the list now, it appears I’m overly critical of some of George Harrison’s contributions. Of all the Beatles, it was fair to say he got better as he got older. His voice, monosyllabic and nasal in 1963, matured by 1969 into a fine instrument. His song writing talents, sometimes okay, sometimes poor, had developed so much that by 1969 that he was able to go toe to toe with John and Paul. And win.]

Dirty work but someone's got to do it. Best album tracks next to cheer me up.

Cheers

Tim

*Beatles For Sale - Most critics say 'Mr Moonlight' is not only the worst song on the album but in the Beatles entire recording career. A bit harsh, I think. It's not a classic admittedly and the cheesy organ that George Martin adds doesn't help, and yet, and yet, I'm a fan of John Lennon's shouty voice going for big notes (Anna, Baby It's You, Happiness is a Warm Gun). Ironically Lennon's vocals were best demonstrated on the track they left off Beatles For Sale 'Leave My Kitten Alone' - now available on Anthology 1.

A la recherché du temps perdu

Happenings ten years time ago // Situations we really know // But the knowing is in the mind // Sinking deep into the well of time

In historical terms, the day before yesterday is always the strangest and most remote.

What was it like to live in the 70’s? It wasn’t that long ago in the grand scheme of things and yet I picture the decade in sepia - populated by horse drawn carts climbing cobbled streets passing old men in bowler hats scowling back as though the image would capture their souls. The tricks of memory.

I grew up in the 1970’s. Despite the strikes, the oil crises and IRA terrorism, I remember it as a happy decade. Tim was ever to be found playing out on the street - no worries about cars or peodos in those days - endless games of football, cricket, making dens, short trousers, street parties, church parades; egg and chips.

One abiding memory is that every August my parents would take my sister and I out into the countryside around Rochdale to pick blackberries. We would go armed with huge empty margarine tubs and come back with pounds of fruit – just waiting to be boiled up and made into soon-to-be neglected pots of jam. The weather was always sunny (I’m probably picturing 1976), the blackberries always plentiful, the thorns always benign.

In honour of my upbringing, I take my kids blackberry picking. I’m lucky enough to live near the Sussex Downs and Ditchling Common. At this time of year, the bushes on the common are weighed down by juicy blackberries. My girls and I went on our bikes yesterday, Tupperware in my backpack, to grab some of nature’s high-summer bounty.

The blackberry picking has become part of the ebb and flow of seasons in my reduced family; it’s what we do and my kids look forward to it. Probably the idea more than the reality, but that is often the way. Even now though – whilst this is actually happening - I can see that my girls’ nostalgia gene is awakening – as we bike to the Common we pass new housing developments that have laid waste to what were, ever-so-recently, green fields. The world is ever churning and nothing but memory stays the same. 

But creating those memories is at the core of our humanity. The remembrance and recreation of childhood memories – sights, tastes, rituals – is something that subconsciously draws us like an alcoholic to the bottle, the moth to the late night lamp, the sinner to the pew. With artists - and I include myself loosely in this group – it is one of the central drivers of creativity. The negation of childhood memories, to veer wildly away from familiar paths, works the same way.

The quotation that starts this post is Happenings Ten Years Time Ago, a rare Yardbirds single from 1966 when the group – so briefly - boasted the duel lead guitar attack of Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page. But you knew that already, didn’t you?

And the blackberries became a rather lovely homemade ice cream.

Cheers ears,

Tim

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This week's Top Ten

First in an occasional series of what I'm listening to. Of course, I'm influenced by my girls so the odd tween anthem may slip through - some would say it's merely nudging at an open door. After some frankly shocking mishaps with the latest Apple upgrade (losing music / playlists / visibility, grrrrr) I quite like their radio / playlists. That and Shazam have allowed me to cast the net wider than Beatles bootlegs or Stones concerts 1969/72. So here goes.

Random Obscure Oldie

Dion - My Girl The Month of May.  Swinging 60's sub Beach boys / Carnaby Street / chuck in the kitchen sink type song from Dion. Didn't sell. Shock. Ties should be kipper. Clothes colourful.

Tim's hip. Tim's now. Daddy dancing spot.

David Guetta - Dangerous (Robin Shultz remix). Personally I don't go a bundle on remixes but this one really adds to the, er, mix. Floaty violins break into this club stomper. Light and shade.

Blonde (with Melissa Steel) - I Loved You. Took me yonks to track this down. Briefly kissed the charts last year. A 90's style club throwback. Where's my handbag? I need to dance around it.

Obligatory Stones live track

Stones - Street Fighting Man. Live at Leeds University 1971. Turn it up! Stones in their absolute pomp with Mick Taylor providing magical fluid guitar flourishes to complement Keith's relentless riffs. So good my girls wait at least ten seconds before replacing with Taylor Swift.

Country

Clare Bowen - Black Roses. From the soundtrack to the Nashville TV series. A slow builder which ends in Clare (Scarlett in the series) repeating, declaring, affirming 'I'm not under your spell'.  Spell binding.

Kids Choice

Nick Jonas - Chains. This week, my kids are mostly listening to this ditty, currently in the charts.

More next week pop pickers. 

DJ Tim

It's All About You. Of Course

Here's an article I wrote recently on the human side of interviewing for a job.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget central truths in the pursuit of an objective. We all know of King Pyrrhus who won the battle against the Romans but lost the war. Interviewing for a job can be a little like this – minus the body count.

I assume that when you go for an interview you have done the correct prep: You understand the company and their products. You know whether there is a verbal reasoning test or an in-tray exercise. Will the interview be biographical or competency based or a mix of both? I'm sure you’ve  got your best suit out and given your shoes a good old polish.

But you may be neglecting your biggest asset, you!

Remember people buy from people. Now that truism may now be disputed in our internet age but it’s baby brother - people hire people – is very much true

So, let me give you a run through of some howlers I’ve committed in a selfless pursuit of authenticity for this article.

1)   Clothes. Be comfortable in what you wear. That doesn’t mean turning up in sweat pants and an AC/DC T-shirt, but give thought to your outfit before the actual day. Got a great shirt you look fabulous in? Then make sure it’s washed and ironed the day before. Hey, it’s an obvious one but I’ve been there, done that and got the (crumpled) shirt.

2)   Remember your interviewers are human too. Yes, they may have God-like powers to hire or not, but underneath their omnipotence, they’re just like you and me. Be aware of this and use the knowledge to your advantage. It’s an artificial situation, akin to speed dating. Don’t be afraid to comment on this.

3)   Just as interviewers are human, so are you. Don’t be an interview robot. Remember to change posture – don’t freeze in some ‘power pose’. Gesticulate, smile, acknowledge feedback, and ask for water if you need some. These little asides show more of the warmth and breadth of your character. But don’t push it – I’m a funny guy – but leave the observational comedy for your stand up routine.

4)   The technical and experiential stuff gets you through the door but it’s you that closes the deal. We spend about a half of our waking life in the office. Interviewers are looking for someone who can fit in, who can enrich their lives beyond the technicalities of the job. Simples things like chatting, banter, sharing. The human stuff.

5)   Lastly, believe in yourself. You know what makes you great. It would be a privilege for the employers to hire you. Don’t lose that fire in your eyes, that sense of self worth you have in your best moments – when you graduate, when you sign that massive deal, when your first child is born, when you are spontaneously altruistic. This is you. A job offer is a contract and a contract is a two way bargain that has to work for both parties. Don’t forget that.

How to write Dystopian Fiction

File under 'Random'.

In my quest for world domination of writing contests, I recently entered a competition whose theme was the end of the world. It was run by some online dystopian website.

I'll try my hand at anything - even a genre populated by adolescent boys and nerdy men (my people, my people!). All writing ultimately is good writing as the mere process improves your technique and destroys the blank page. So I entered. Having knocked out 4000 words, here is my guide on how to write Dystopian fiction:

1) Dystopian is basically a long word that tries to hide its sci-fi origins. Think Star Wars where the evil Empire wins. And it's cold and bleak and everyone dies a rat infested and lonely death.

2) Chuck in some cod philosophy. It may be gobbledegook and intellectually incoherent but don't worry about that. For example, here's one I've been working on:

"Like all misanthropes, Tim was exceedingly good company."

3) Forget morality. In some dystopian future, all people are essentially amoral. Clearly genre convention dictates that as mankind heads towards its doom, morality will go the way of my C90 home mix tapes from the 90's. Yes, into the bin.

4) Shove in a bit of sex. Hey! Your target readership is adolescent boys and nerdy men after all.

5) Like every self-authored teenage story, all endings should be a variant of "And then I went to bed and the universe blew up." (*see below)

6) For extra credibility, write a blog post slagging off the genre. Man, that's just like so subversive. Yep - that's me, a rule bending, guitar wielding, couplet writing, ex financial services professional with a specialism in payment systems technology. Hi ladies!

7) There is no seven. (Christ, that joke never gets old).

8) Lists are lame; the refuge of a bad writer using an artificial structure to cohere random thoughts in place of a good writing style.

Well, I hope that helps. I'll let you know if I win. I probably get a free black T-Shirt with some heavy rock band's logo emblazoned on the front as my prize. I wonder if it will go with pressed chinos and shiny purple shoes? Hope so.

Laters

Tim

* @Tim Robson circa 1983.

Taylor Swift Review at Hyde Park

TAYLOR SWIFT – HYDE PARK 27th June 2015

And it came to pass; Taytay hit the London BST festival in Hyde Park. I was there, the sun was there, my two pre-teen daughters were there and, er, 64,997 others.

Yes that white dot is Taylor. She couldn't see me very well, either.

Taylor Swift has re-invented herself in the last few years from curly haired country singer doing spots in the Hannah Montana movie, to a global, all conquering pop princess.

Now I have a confession; this isn’t the first time I’ve seen Ms. Swift perform. I went along to the O2 last Feb to see the tail end of her Red Tour. My house and car – if my daughters have anything to do with it, and they do - reverb to the sounds of Taylor 24/7. I’ve become a Swiftie by osmosis. Perhaps there’s an element of Stockholm syndrome…

We got to Hyde Park early, just as the gates opened. I’d bought premium view tickets, an exclusive enclosure in front of the sweating hordes pressed against the barriers. Got some laminates with a map and timings to hang around our necks. Pint of cider and two J2Os secured, we settled down to watch the support acts.

Newbie Rae Morris started things off, she was good though she did sometimes waver out of tune. I’m glad she played her hit Under The Shadows (though inexplicably not Cold) and so escaping the curse of the under card. Riptide bloke played Riptide. We were out in the park getting Rendang at the time and so missed all of it apart from the last chorus. I feel okay about that. John Newman, doing some nifty dance moves, was somewhat miffed the crowd wasn’t noisier for him. Well mate, write some better songs and have a few more hits and you’ll get the accolade you feel you deserve. Case in point; his one decent hit – Love me again – was well received. Rightly. Ellie Goulding, on the other hand, was simply great throughout. I thought she’d be all fey and fairy voiced but she belted out the hits and jumped around like an excited kid. A major artist in her own right, she knew her subsidiary place in this park of Swifties and so worked the crowd. We enjoyed her….

By now it was nudging eight o’ clock, it was as busy as hell and, even in the Premium area, viewing the stage was difficult. No sitting down and casually watching anymore. And then there she was – in one scream of adolescent hi-octane rush, Taylor came out fifteen minutes early and went all Welcome to New York on our asses.

Now, if you want a review about the costume changes, the stage backdrops, the dancers, you’re in the wrong place, as I don’t especially give a toss. Sorry. I liked the catwalk, I liked it even better when it took off into the air and Taylor floated above us (camera ready kids!). Her ‘celeb’ friends – couldn’t name them, no idea who they are – came on during Style. Whatever. The scene that celebrates itself.

Taylor.

But to the music… Well, I was worried because at Radio 1’s Big Weekend in Norwich a month ago, Taylor seemed a little underpowered and her voice, never especially strong, was weaker than ever. Well, not last night and not in Hyde Park. She carried the show with her musical chops (some guitar, some piano, lots of dancing, plenty of face voguing to the camera). She was on fine form.

No review of a Taylor Swift gig would be complete without mentioning Taylor’s ramblings. Yes, she likes to talk to her audience. A lot. She speaks with the certainty and earnestness of youth about friendship, boyfriends, female empowerment, Instagram, cats; that sort of thing. I thought she pushed this soliloquising about as far as it could go last night. If it weren’t so crowded that would have been my cue for a toilet break or beer run. Her legion of young fans seem to like it though. She speaks to them.

The set list was principally from her latest album 1989 with a few – a very few – vintage hits for us older folk who remember all the way back to 2012. I Knew You Were Trouble was slowed down for the first half before speeding up. It didn’t work for me; you don’t mess with class lightly. A much better reinvention was We Are Never Getting Back Together, which saw a leather clad Taylor grunge up her breakthrough hit. She powered out chunky chords like Pete Townsend in a bad mood. She didn’t windmill the guitar but she snarled through this teeny tale as though she was the Who roaring through My Generation. One for the dads. Love Story was the reworked version which me and the kids – being Swifties – have seen endless times on YouTube. But it was good to have her floating above us as she sang.

Taylor on the elevated walkway.

Of the newer stuff, Blank Space, Bad Blood, Out of the Woods, all rocked. Two hours in and an extended Shake It Off, officially now a classic, had 65,000 people, word perfect, chanting along to THIS…SICK… BEAT. Are you paying attention John Newman? You earn your applause. Taylor’s got the songs, the attitude and, despite being ridiculously young, has religiously worked herself up to this high plateau. As Taylor said, amongst many other things, she will remember this night for the rest of her life.

Thing is, will it be to remember the moment when she was on top of the mountain or, has she hills yet to climb?

I’m so profound sometimes it literally hurts. It really does.

RANDOM SNAPSHOTS

1)   Food. Street food, of course; lots of pulled this and wood fired that. I had a vegan rendang. The rendang stall woman being surprised my kids not only wanted, but loved, rendang. Used to it. Fav dish. I cook! I score!

2)   Great weather. A sun-cream day for the balding pate.

3)   The two for one provision of female:male toilets being buggered up by a whole block of female loos being out of action most of the day. Epic fail, organisers!

4)   The drunken girl honking up on the floor as 65,000 people passed her on the way out. Pull yourself together woman – this is a Taylor Swift gig FFS.

5)   The flashing wristbands we all wore. Given out free at the gate. We all glowed in synchronised unity during Taylor's set. 

6)   My knowledge of Belgravia helping the kids and me get to and from Hyde Park in record time. I am my own hero.

7)   The look on my youngest child’s face when she realised she was actually seeing Taylor Swift in the flesh. Yes, Taylor Swift! She really exists.

8)   My kids liked it when Taylor’s mum ran past us a couple of times. Ah, our so close brush with celebrity! (Did I tell you I once bumped into Madonna in Cipriani’s?)

9)   Two songs into Taylor’s set, re-affirming the old truth, retreat and see more! The back of our exclusive enclosure was sparsely populated. Much better views. Certainly much better than the crowds penned in behind us.

10) My kids posting their pictures on Instagram. The concert now ‘officially’ exists.

The Franco's Fiesta fans are held back by security and a well placed barrier.