Whispers and Echoes
Ambrose barring Theodosius from Milan Cathedral.
As we all know, Theodosius I was the last unified emperor of both the Eastern and Western halves of the Roman Empire. Clearing up the mess left by Valans at Adrianople, he battled Goths, usurpers and heretics to Nicene orthodoxy in a time of tumult for the Empire.
It was also an interesting time in the history of the early church. During Theodosius' reign, Bishop Ambrose of Milan formulated the doctrine that whilst the Emperor ruled matters temporal, the Church was in charge of matters spiritual. This was an important development in the history of Western thought. One of the Emperors' many titles was Pontiff Maximus - the highest religious office in the Roman World. By the act of giving away this authority, the later emperors allowed the church to control both religious life on earth and - more importantly - the path to salvation in the afterlife. This segregation of church and state persisted until at least the Renaissance and, arguably, through to the Bishop of Rome even now.
Ambrose was a combative sort who liked to defend the church's rights. He excommunicated Theodosius following a massacre of civilians in Thessalonica in 390. More interesting to the modern world, perhaps, was his meddling in imperial matters. A christian mob burnt down a synagogue in Callinicum, Mesopotamia and Theodosius ordered the local bishop to rebuild the temple. Ambrose argued that Theodosius should retract this as he was ordering the local bishop to act against either truth or death.
Theodosius backed down and the synagogue in Callinicum was not rebuilt.
Today Callincum goes by its Syrian name of Raqqa.
History is somewhat wider than living memories.
The Decline of the Dinner Party
Somehow, my life hasn't turned out this way.
“Since the baby, she never wants sex. I mean ever.”
“Define never,” I say, these things being somewhat subjective.
“Lucky if I get it on a Sunday morning. The brat always wakes up in the middle though. It’s like it has a sixth sense. I start pounding away and then it begins with the crying. Happens every time. I usually come with the sound of crying in my ears.”
“Hers I bet.”
Phil hasn’t heard. “It’s got to the stage where I literally cannot come now unless I can hear crying. If there’s no crying, I can’t come.”
Imagine a world where Branwell Bronte came home to the parsonage in Howarth one winter's night a bit pissed. His sisters and the good reverend have gone off to bed and the fire in the sitting room is almost out. Stumbling around, he finds a load of papers on the table and throws them on the fire. They burn brightly and Branwell falls into a drunken sleep as the only copy of Wuthering Heights goes up in smoke.
Or what about; it's summer 1965 and the Beatles, fresh from playing The Hollywood Bowl turn up at a pre-arranged meeting at Elvis Presley's Los Angeles pad. The Fab Four and The King chat and someone gets out instruments and one of the Memphis Mafia says, let's record this. But the guy with the tape machine puts the reel on badly and so nothing is recorded! (BTW - this didn't actually happen. Though they jammed a little, as far as I know there are no bootlegs of this famous summit meeting).
Or maybe in some early Christian Council following Nicaea in 325, a bunch of bishops are choosing which gospels to go in The Bible. Naturally they select the Gospels of Judas, Thomas, Philip and Mary. "Throw that nonsense written by those heretics Matthew, Mark, Luke and John into the city's dump" they might have shouted.
You get the picture.
Things of value hidden, lost, thrown away.
Well, it was nearly that way this week when I left my rucksack on a Thameslink train back to Sussex. Just got up off the train and forgot my bag. Which had all manner of electronic devices and personal stuff packed inside. Including this laptop. As I'm constantly working on articles, short stories, poems, history, the laptop has many irreplaceable words of wisdom, fun and import penned by me on the 19:23 from Clapham Junction after a couple of wines at Battersea Art Centre.
For example, the quote above, is included in my current story - The Decline of The Dinner Party. Image if it had been lost to the world? Luckily, a cleaner handed in my bag and the world need not mourn the loss of untold, incalculable but well-written Robson.
I'll leave you with another from the lost story that was found again:-
"It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found."
Whoops, that's Luke 15 but here's some real wisdom:-
“I work in fracking. You know, extracting gas from rocks by high pressure water techniques.”
“You’re joking!” she says as though I’ve admitted to a liking for casual racism.“No, it’s an interesting job and it’s well paid and I love the moral dimension.”
“What the fuck is the moral dimension?”
“Well, as I’m sure you know, cheap energy means cheap fuel, which means that pensioners and poor people don’t die in winter. Cheaper energy lowers industry’s costs, makes them more efficient and provides job opportunities for millions of people. This reduces welfare and increase taxes to pay for good things like doctors, nurses and schools. Julie, it’s a moral mission to get that gas!”
The world has been saved these words and wit. Rejoice at that news!
Great Songs You've Never Heard
Man the early 90's were wild!
In my role as the sage of Battersea Arts Centre, the Yoda of Lavender Hill, the eye candy of Burgess Hill and the once and future King of Rochdale, I necessarily wear many hats. Especially on sunny days. So it's a given that many people read this blog in order to be on point with the issues and slightly ahead of the curve about what to think.
I get that. So let me direct to you to some songs that aren't famous but, maybe, should be. It's that Shazam moment where you frantically point your phone towards some tinny speaker in the pub when a weird and wonderful track comes on. "Wow! What's that!"
You Can't Win Them All Mum - Lost Soul Band (1993)
Ever tumbling, ever dying, You Can't Win Them All Mum, was my favourite song of 1993. A bit like Theresa May's favourite sexual position, who cares? Well, I have taste and this is a beautiful song. Led by Gordon Grahame, this Scots band had about 10 seconds of fame in the early 90's but - like a Celtic Achilles, they burned bright and then left. I had this single in three formats (7', 12' and cassette) back in the day. This is always on my Desert island Discs playlist. It's a private song from my youth, means something personal and shows that people who sound like Tim Robson can make it - albeit only briefly!
Sucker - Kevin Tihista (about 2001 /2 I reckon - Google is a bit silent on this)
Shit man! Beautiful, wistful, the alternative world's national anthem. For every loser out there who has been duped by an unfaithful parter. Call yourself a 'sucker' and then move on. Hold the moral high ground, it's their fault not yours. Also speaks forcefully about asymmetrical attractiveness within a relationship. Never happened to me, of course! Though all my girlfriends have been pretty stunning. Heart rending vocals, great acoustic guitar. Makes you weep. Makes you strong. Sucker!
Yohanna - Funny Thing Is
She sings like the best female singer you're ever gonna hear, she beautiful as hell, she writes great songs. Big in Iceland... If there was any justice in the world, Yohanna would be fucking huge all over the world, and you'd all be saying that you got on the Robson hipster train before she was famous, before she was the pin up of female vocalists, the Icelandic Aretha Franklin. Yeah, so she and I swapped a few Facebook messages a couple of years ago. Doesn't mean I'm smitten (I am! I am!). Of all the artists here - she's the one you need to check out and go - 'why the hell don't I know her?' Join the secret club of the righteous.
Forever J - Terry Hall - 1994
Wow! Another of my Desert Island discs. Got nowhere in the charts back when I had hair and my girlfriends were plentiful and ridiculously attractive. A stunning song with a French feel, great melody, vivid memories. Once heard, never forgotten. Well forgotten by everyone except me and a few others who can also recognise this diamond in the dirt. BTW - doesn't Terry Hall look like that nob Ed Milliband here in the video?
That's it for now. I guess I'm easing my way back into blog writing as I seem to have slept through the last couple of months. When inspiration dies. It dies. You can't fake it. And I've been uninspired recently. There's no alchemy and I can't give you base metal.
But now I can. It's back. I'm back and this time, it's for real. Man.
What do ya think? Comment below.
Read more?
More obscurity? What about the best underground 60’s sounds?
Fooking Manchester.
One Love Manchester was a significant concert for many reasons and those who organised it, and those who had the guts to turn up, made it special occasion. The scum who think blowing little girls up advances any cause, achieves some bullshit equivalency or pleases a capricious god, should rot in hell. This concert was a giant 'Fook You'* to all those who try to shut down others' lives simply because they are - as Trump says - pathetic losers.
Although all the acts on the day were good, they were pretty much on the contemporary pop edge of music. Of course. And then, right at the end, on walks Mr Manchester himself, Liam Gallagher. The Manc swagger's there, the only guy in the world who can rock an orange parka and yet still look cool. Hell - even his voice sounded better than usual!
For Manchester, for the Western way of life, for defiance and for rock itself, I give you Mr Liam Gallagher.
* Also respect to - amongst others - Ray Larner ("Fuck you, I'm Millwall") who battled back against those lowlifes at Borough Market.
The King
A question I'm often asked (by myself usually) - who would you have most like to have seen in concert? The possibilities are endless - The Beatles (obviously), The Stones, Queen, Led Zep, The Who, Sinatra... But there is only ever one answer. The one person I would have loved to have seen in concert, is Elvis.
To be clear, Elvis from 1969 onwards. Elvis in his mature years.
Like much of his life story, his last few years have acquired a mythology. The myth is that of a fat, drugged Elvis, bulging belly in a white tasseled sparkling jump-suit, sweating his way through a tired set to drunken middle-aged audiences at The International, Las Vegas.
Well let's scotch that myth. Take a look at E - lithe and on form, slaying them in 1970...
From the 2001 opening to the Fools Fall in Love (Elvis has left the building) ending, an Elvis show had rituals and designed peaks and troughs. Where to start? Well, start where I did, aged 10 - Elvis Live at Madison Square Garden. This 1972 was peak Elvis. The set list has all the live greats - Polk Salad Annie, Suspicious Minds, American Trilogy, You Gave Me A Mountain, Proud Mary, You don't have to say you love me...
You can listen online.
Blogging. Not so Much.
Dark and cloudy. Trouville today.
Blogging has been atrocious this month. Sorry. I know there are many of you who need their daily fix of 'The Tim'. I understand that you've been disappointed in May.
I've been busy. But normal service will be resumed soon.
A brief holiday in France and then back to the fray, putting the world to rights.
Hold on. Drought over soon!
Cheers
Tim
Lavender Hill (up against the wall edition)
Piles of perfectly good bricks outside Battersea Arts Centre May 2017
“All politics is local.”
Wandsworth Council quite clearly have so much money they can just piss it up against the wall.
There's an interesting example of digging holes and then filling them in again happening on Lavender Hill. An act of such pointlessness it would be funny if it wasn't for the fact the taxpayers are taking a beating again.
Lavender Hill had pavements in red brick. Bricks tend not to break and fracture like concrete slabs. The pavement is therefore in pretty good condition (excepting the non brick, stone slabs outside Battersea Arts Centre).
The brickwork pavement in Feb 17. Pretty good condition, no? Gone. A memory.
So what are the Council doing? Digging up and skipping a perfectly good pavement and then putting down another.
As an act of pointless waste of tax payers' money this is quite high. I literally cannot understand what the hell they are doing. Maybe, they signed some bullshit deal with a contractor that means they have to rip up the pavements every X number of years. Irregardless of condition.
Wandsworth is a Tory Majority run council. You can't trust the Tories when it comes to money. I suppose they had to justify their 3.99% council tax increase in 2017/18 somehow.
Of course, Labour / Lib Dem / Green would just hose the money into the Thames so it's a choice between a kick in the goolies or being shot.
--- --- --- -- --- ---- ---
So here I am. Worrying about the state of the pavements in Wandsworth. I think - girls - I should start re-engaging with you. But, once you turn on that switch, there's no turning it off. You have been warned...
Concrete slabs. Waiting to be broken.
A La Recherche du temps se souvenait.
Go on then... I would.
Tim's 70's Songs (Remembered Edition)
Here it is. The official Tim 70's song list. Based on what I liked in that decade. So, there's not much before 1973. I'll do another list (when?) of my favourite 70's songs now but - to be honest - young Tim had great taste!
Abba - Dancing Queen (1976)
For so long this was my fav track. Abba's comeback track after their career stalled 1974/76. Familiarilty and Mama Mia have dulled some of the brilliance of this - the springy piano, the trademark girls' harmonies, the effortless melody.
Terry Jacks - Seasons in the Sun (1973)
Probably the first record I really remember. (With the Osmonds) My God, it dominated that winter of 1973/4. It soundtracked the Heath government going down in flames and the dawn of Wilson's last administration. Yeah, it's morbid, sickly, over sentimental but aged 5, I liked it. Strange, my kids do too. One hit wonder.
Elvis Presley - Suspicion (1962 / re-released 1976)
Man - I loved this song and would wait around the radio for the Top 40 just to hear it. Hit Number 9 in Feb 1977. Recorded in 1962, Elvis is on top form and just hearing the intro gives me chills, even now. He was dead just months later and 'Way Down' stormed to the top. Taken way too soon. This was my first Elvis fav.
Boomtown Rats - Rat Trap (1978)
Never really punk, but the Rats looked it, this was before Bob Geldof became Saint Bob and then - pace Brexit - Bob the Nob. Great tune but what makes Rat Trap so special is the narrative style lyrics. The way the song builds - detailing urban decay and hopelessness - until we get to final double couplet:-
"She finally finds Billy down at the Italian cafe
When he's drunk it's hard to understand what Billy says
But then he mumbles in his coffee and he suddenly roars,
"It's a rat trap Judy; and we've been caught...."
Glen Campbell - Rhinestine Cowboy (1975)
Like a shiny beacon from the 1970's. Glen Campbell on top form, coming back after years of irrelevance. Yep - I'd sing along to the radio on this one. I've been known to busk versions of this song when the mood takes me. Good times.
Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody (1975)
This packed both a punch and a tutu. Impossible, over wrought, it shouldn't work but it sure as hell does. Number One 1975/76 for 9 weeks, to my 6 year old self, it seemed that Top of The Pops couldn't finish without this scary song with that scary video being played. Yeah, sure, it's ubiquitous now but I listened to again recently and yes - thanks sixth form - I still know every word. Loved the revival in Wayne's World.
Wings - Mull of Kintyre (1977)
First single I ever bought along with a million or so other Brits. Fashionable to knock this as a McCartney piece of fluff but - as every guitarist knows - it's a great strum to practice to. And when those bag pipes come in near the end! Scottish rock! Can't say I play it much now but when I do hear it, it always brings a smile to my face.
The Buggles - Video Killed The Radio Star (1979)
Fuck! This was the future when it came out. It still is. So far ahead of it's time. So clever. So well produced. Probably pop's finest ever three minutes. This is in my Desert Island Discs. And that reprise at the end! Spine tingling! The girls singing "Ow-A-Ow-A!". When people say the 70's were shit, this is a great counter argument. It wasn't.
Grease - Summer Nights (1978)
How BIG was Grease in the 70's? Huge! Unlike Star Wars it had songs which ruled the charts in 1978. And they had an inbuilt video to show on TV. I saw the film when it came out in Rochdale. All the smut and innuendo ('Took a holding in the arcade' - anyone?) went right over my 10 year old head. This is just a great song and who hates this?
Blondie - Dreaming (1979)
A toss up between this and Denis, Dreaming came out of the blocks like some poster child for a pilled up new wave kid looking for a fight. My group used to do a (crap) cover of this. I remember 2 things about this song. 1) It's bloody good and sums up new wave better than any other song of the era. 2) Debbie Harry. Yeah. Debbie Harry. No more needs to be said.
The Mamas and Papas
Stealthily, I’m penning an article on my memories of the 70’s. It’s a think-piece with much first-hand material, assorted recollections, warm memories. There’s laughter, tears; insight. If you remember the 70’s, you were probably there.
In the 70’s I got my music mainly from the Radio 2 – Terry Wogan or Stupot rather than Radio 1 and Tony Blackburn. We are all victims of our parents’ choices. Obviously Thursday nights and Top of the Pops or the music slot on Swap Shop was important. But for repeated plays I would need to raid my parents record collection. Hence my love of The Carpenters or Abba, I guess.
And the Mamas and Papas.
I created a Mamas and Papas playlist recently to play on the train to work. I love the Mamas and Papas. Although the group was of the 60’s* they are inextricably linked to the 70’s for me.
I played and played the Best of The Mamas and Papas LP. It was the British best of compilation with just ten tracks. I knew every word. They informed my evolving worldview. My nascent thoughts on relationships were crystalized by “Sing for your Supper’, “I Saw Her Again Last Night’, ‘Dedicated to the One I Love’. Before I actually had relationships, I had an idea of what they were about.
So; who were the Mamas and Papas?
John Philips – tall, songwriter and vocal arranger. Boss. Obsessive. Drug casualty.
Mama Cass - Big, bold and brassy with a belting powerhouse of a voice. The heart and soul of the group. Fancied Denny. He preferred Michelle.
Denny Doherty – Lead singer. Dressed in a kaftan at the Monterey festival. Looked a prat. Slept with Michelle. Wrote ‘I Saw Her Again’ about this.
Michelle Phillips – Ethereal, heartbreakingly beautiful. Thin soprano voice but she had the look. Wife of John but also known for shagging Denny and, briefly, the late great Gene Clark of the Byrds.
And their sound?
Bright if somewhat wistful songs with complex multi tracked musical arrangements that utilise interweaving lead and backing vocals. A unique sound – briefly with us and then, gone forever.
After their hippy beginning (documented in the hit Creeque Alley) the group only really lasted two years in the public eye – from late 1965 to late 1967. They reformed in 1971 to complete their unsuccessful fifth album - as demanded by contract - but they were essentially a mid 60’s group.
I hesitate to put in a list headed – My Favourite Mamas and Papas songs. I’ll instead entitle it:
Some Interesting Mamas and Papas Songs
Twelve Thirty (young Girls are coming to the Canyon) – I discovered this later, in the 80’s. Moody, reflective, with tinkling piano underpinning one of John Philips best songs juxtaposing an unfriendly New York with the warmth of California. The possibility of renewal.
Look Through My Window – The opening line, “It’s not that lovers are unkind,” is a wonderful, if oblique, start to this wistful romantic vinaigrette. “Look through my window, to the street below’. It takes a formulaic set up –someone reflecting on a break up whilst looking out of a window- and turns this into a wider metaphor for alienation. Great vocals throughout, resolved by Denny’s softly repeated ‘She’s gone,” at the end.
For The Love of Ivy – One for hard-core Mamas and Papas fans. John Philips’s masterwork, constructed over many, many sessions in his home studio. Harmony, piled on harmony, choirs of Mamas and Papas trying for more! More! For The Love of Ivy sails past like a doomed battle cruiser sailing to war; so stately, so magnificent, you want to stand to attention and salute it. It shouldn’t work, but it does! This was my 70’s favourite.
California Dreaming. Their calling card; a massive hit, it introduced the Mamas and Papas to the world. But despite its ubiquity, the song bears repeated scrutiny. From the acoustic guitar figure at the start, the signature vocal harmonies, Denny’s impassioned delivery, the flute solo, the abiding sense of yearning. There’s an air of decay – of the seasons, of a relationship that’s run its course leading to the yearning for something better. California.
Finding a live performance from the group is rarer than rocking horse shit. There's the stuff from Monterey but Michelle's mic wasn't working. To be honest - they were a studio band. With all the harmonies and double tracking, they couldn't replicate their sound live. So - I'll post a video of them miming. Live. If only to hear their music as it should be. And to see how beautiful Michelle was.
* They released People Like Us in 1971 to fulfil a contractual obligation.
Well - It made me laugh
A train station in London
A packed commuter train at East Croydon on the 7:52 to London Victoria.
The train is about to leave the station.
Some tourist with the world’s biggest back-pack forces himself onto the train just as the doors are closing. There’s no room but he somehow manages to leverage himself into the carriage. And his bag.
We all shuffle up and the train slowly starts off.
Two minutes later - as we pass Selhurst - the tourist starts to look agitated.
“Gatwick! Does this train go to Gatwick?”
For a while no-one answers.
“No, it’s going to London Victoria,” says a kind soul.
The tourist looks mortified. Visions of missed planes flash in front of his eyes.
“But I have to go to Gatwick!”
There is an embarrassed silence as everyone looks the other way. Then a voice pipes up from somewhere down the carriage.
“Well you’re going to London now, mate!”
Pause. General laughter.
The Visible Slap
Disgruntled Sky customers storm Customer Services
“For unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath”
And lo! My bitching and moaning got my wifi sorted.
8:30am Saturday morning a good BT engineer turned up. Often they are shit and uninterested. You're just a number. Not a name. They turn up, fiddle about and then leg it knowing the thing ain't gonna work and that some bitch in customer service is going to get a thrashing.
Rightly.
I can't help feeling my thermo-nuclear eruption on Thursday had something to do with my resolution in record time (still late, of course). My non sweary rant had me 'personally' go for the customer service rep. I alluded to the fact that Sky tape their calls and hoped her manager would be playing this back to them soon. And how it should be used in their annual appraisal to determine her annual pay rise. I made my formal complaint against both Sky and the customer service rep. Unfair perhaps? Random - certainly. Cruel? NMFP.* Effective. Yes.
By the way the rep was confrontational, incompetent and insensitive.
All my years in customer service has proved to me one thing; he who shouts loudest gets their complaints dealt with soonest. It shouldn't be that way but nine times out of ten it is.
It's only when people are personally engaged that you get great customer service. From a company stand point that means allowing the front line to override policy if they deem it necessary. To reward regularly and comprehensively incentivise the front line. From a customer point of view you need to get names, set deadlines, invoke complaints policy, make it personal. Only then will you be taken seriously.
I'm basically on a one man altruistic mission to improve Britain's utilities. Eliminate errors, drive down costs, improve efficiencies, cut down-time; compete globally, bring wealth to the country, bolster tax revenue and simultaneously reduce tax rates whilst increasing spend on social necessities.
The parable of the talents is one of the strangest biblical parables. It seems Jesus is a Gordon Gekko capitalist - 'Greed is good, greed works, greed clarifies!' A little bit like the Samaritan quote that got Thatcher in so much trouble in the 80's (wrongly).
Driving costs down is a moral mission, brothers and sisters.
No, I'm not pissed.**
* NMFP - One of my favourite Malcolm Tucker-isms - Not My Fucking Problem
**Yet
*** The Visible Slap - The Invisible Hand!!! Geddit? I do stand up too.
Literally; bend over and take it!
"Where's your fuckin' tool?" - "Sorry mate, Sky's borrowed it."
Over the course of my working life I've had many jobs. Let me list a few:-
- Corporate Real Estate Portfolio Manager
- Boss's bitch
- Gigalo
- Paper Boy
- Customer Service Rep
- Parliamentary aide
One of those may be made up...
But customer service rep... Customer is always right. You never win an argument with a customer. You love a complaint as it allows you to turn an unhappy customer into a happy customer. Blah. Blah. Been there, got the T-Shirt. I remember manning the phones for American Express in my early 20's on a Sunday Morning with a proper hangover getting chewed out by Mr Angry demanding to speak to the CEO. "Come off it, big boy; it's just you and me. What do you want, and do you mind if I put you on hold whilst I throw up?"
Yeah.
Anyway, I've had the unlovely pleasure of moving recently. That entails getting wi-fi transferred. As it happens, one of my earliest blogs on this site (Jan 2015) compared the wi-fi / BT Open Reach / Sky 'not me gov' fuck up approach to Britain in the 1970's and - specifically - nationalised industries. Well - do I ever learn?
BT. Sky. Yeah, guys, between you, you fucked it up royally - again! The surprise is, er, no surprise. Four weeks notice? Days off work? Unhappy children? Missed appointments? Useless engineers? Snide customer service reps talking bollocks.? Yes, let's tick the box on all of these. Oh - and can we welcome into the building that feeling you get where the customer is just the bitch in some gay porn shower scene? I guess I dropped the soap by moving...
I foolishly invoked Sky's Customer complaints procedure today... Asked for a manager. Told them I was making a formal complaint and that they had 24 hours to respond and give up on their 'an engineer will turn up in three weeks' bullshit. And do you know what? They showed as much respect to me as the hillbilly in Deliverance shouting 'squeal piggie' whilst analising Ned Beatty. No - you can't speak to the manager. Of course not! He's too important and too busy counting his bonus. We'll respond in 56 days. Which is about the same time as it takes to get wi-fi in this country moved from one address to another. With Sky.
Why didn't the EU ever do something useful like KILL BT, for example? Open up the market and get wi-fi transferred quickly? Bring in the free market? I might have voted for them if they did (well - not really). But you know what I mean. Being without wi-fi in 2017 is like fighting the invading - and gun toting - Spaniards in South America with spears. You lose, you get humiliated.
So - Sky's customer service policy:-
"Bend over, spread yourself; its gonna hurt and you're gonna pay for it too!"
Where's the free market in all of this?
How To Troll
Trolling. An attractive look.
I love trolling. What's trolling? Basically the deliberate act of winding people up online via newspaper website comments boards. Getting some tedious 'the science is settled' lefty impotently raging gives me the horn.
So how does one do this successfully?
1) Pick your battle ground. Obviously The Guardian website is the gold standard of trolling. It's where virtue signalling lefties come to feel good about themselves. My role is to make them leave a little less smug, a bit more angry.
2) Never read the article you're commenting on. Let's face it, The Guardian is just rag a for journos who never grew out of sixth form 'it's not fair' agitprop. I can guess their viewpoints by the headline. The only originality is how ridiculously leftwing and authoritarian they can get. Blah blah blah. Ignore. Just fight the fanboys underneath.
3) If you have good arguments, use them. Show off. Pull apart threadbare assertions, expose ignorance, exploit contradictions. Make your arguments short, pithy and - most important - deliberately provocative. Earnest discussions are for bores. Take your point and simplify whilst amplifying. This acts like catnip to lefties; they can't resist piling onto a forbidden viewpoint. A full throated support of Trump usually works.
4) More fun - play the man, not the ball. It's so unfair and exasperating but it's guaranteed to get your target hopping mad as they fall off their high horse and scrabble around in the dirt with you.
5) Use humour. Lefties hate humour. They have this smug, condescending de haute en bas kind of sneer which - on the BBC and Channel 4 - passes as humour. Not to be mistaken for real humour. Doesn't work with a hostile audience. Drag your target from the comfort of a Radio 4 panel show circle jerk to a working men's club in Sunderland and 'did you spill my pint, mate?'
6) Create straw men and a fictitious mythology about your target. I owned one self-righteous lefty by constantly suggesting he used to work for Stephen Byers - the dreadful ex-Blairite cabinet minister (nothing more insulting to a Wurzel follower). They tried ignoring me, laughing it off, attacking me, using appeals to authority and then just outright fury. I win. You lose. Loser.
I call this strategy the 'Shakey' strategy. One ex-colleague made the mistake - just once - of coming to work wearing double denim. I made up this whole back story about how he was Shaking Stevens' biggest fan. It used to wind him up but he thought that by playing along with it, or laughing it off or ignoring it, I'd stop. Yeah, right. I'd be on a call and say "Sorry, I can't hear you as XXX is playing fucking Green Door at top blast again." From then on he was known as the Shakey guy by all. He left. We don't keep in touch.
7) Dicking about with people's online moniker's is always fun. If you can twist it to something obscene - great! If not change it to something funny. Or juvenile. Diminish your target by making them ridiculous. Although everyone pretends to be high-minded and want to follow a debate, if you change someone's moniker from 'love_Corbyn' to 'love_farmanimals' no one will take them seriously again. I win. You lose.
8) If all else fails, just go for straight out abuse. Something like 'I can hear the rustle of tin foil', 'did mummy let you use the computer again?', 'Isn't it time for your meds?', 'Shouldn't you be at school', 'Does it hurt not having a girlfriend?'... Low but effective.
9) Parroting. Just copy and paste your target's contribution but change a couple of words so the meaning is the opposite of that intended. Then end it with a jaunty - 'fixed it for you!' Keep doing it and ask them how long they've been a member of UKIP posting such right wing tosh.
10) For people who write pages of tedious shit bloviating about a subject in some lawyerly or condescending manner, just attach a comment at the bottom - like a teacher - 'Too long. Learn to be more succinct and people might read your stuff'. For the serious minded this triggers them like nothing else. You can then move to employ mockery or straw man whilst changing their moniker to something stupid or rude.
This may seem pathetic, girlfriend displacement activity but those cultural wars need to be fought. Mad ideas need to be challenged by all means necessary. Ridicule and mockery are actually serious weapons. All dictatorships hate humour. For in humour we find truth and the truth is often not spoken about whereas false narratives (like the emperor's new clothes) abound. Banned. No platformed. Fight. Fight the power.
Me & The Devil
Long ago and far away
Bye bye Warelands.
Some blues.
Deep voice - must be serious. It's the last kitchen tape from this house. The Beatles leave Abbey Road. Elvis has left the building. Tim leaves Warelands...
Rocking The Ides of March
Tim Robson - pushing away the girls in lycra (not pictured). Battersea April 2017
Famously Caesar was warned by a soothsayer to beware the Ides of March (approx 15th March). He ignored the soothsayer. You know what happened next. Probably - if you asked the spirit of Julius about his view of March - I suspect it would be along the lines of:- 'Not my favourite month to be honest, prefer July actually'.
But me? Well March has proved to be a record breaking month for this website. More of you have read my street philosophy - with more visits, more followers, pages views; basically, more of everything, more than any other month like - evah! Bigly. Even with the usual stalkers discounted, the graph of my fame - for that is what it is - is off the chart. Well it would be if I hadn't recalibrated the scale, but you get the point.
Now, as a man of introspection and self reflection, I could ask, why.* However, I prefer to ask, 'why not'? But let's turn the telescope the other way and look at why. Well, I started my 'Things I don't give a fuck about' series in March. Hardcore writing promoted on Facebook. Dragged in the punters like a stripper in an after hours Rochdale pub. Then there was the Chuck Berry's obit. Serious. Measured. One string bender to another. Remember the video of Tim playing a medley of four favourite middle of the road songs? One for both the ladies and musicians. What's not to like?
Bizarrely though, the most popular blog post was something I wrote in December about Mick Taylor playing Sympathy for the Devil on Get Yer Ya Yas Out with the Stones. There were loads of website hits from the States for this piece of stellar rock history. BTW, if you haven't read it yet (why not?) go and search it out. Fun, opinionated, well researched with a decent video at the bottom, it's by far the most popular thing I've ever written. Not the best though. My recipe for Beef Ragu still brings tears to my eyes (the honesty, the flavour. I rock in the kitchen).
So - as the Monday night running club hums around me here in The Battersea Arts Centre - lots of lycra, lots of girls** - I must put March behind me and rock into April.
There's stuff about April. Me and April. April in Paris. Long, long ago. Get me pissed enough and I might write about it, here in the record breaking Tim Robson blog, Click that RSS feed now!
Until then, cheers, I couldn't have done it without you (break records that is, the writing I could have done on my own, but you know what I mean).
Cheers
(See the video below. Sort of this blog set to music - silky, hip, ethereal; probably better 20 years ago.)
* Just joking - shallow and inane. That's how I like it!
** Some random 40 plus nerd is wandering around the young girls in lcyra in his running shorts, leching. They ignore him. Like, doh! What a prat - mate, just put them in your bank and move on.
70's Films
Rocking that hat! Olly Reed.
I've been working on a blog post about the 70's for a while. Handwritten memories in a leather notebook... Yeah - I can remember the 70's. Lots of long hair, rounded collars and power cuts. A few years later - in the later 80's - I worked for a Tory MP and edited a Conservative In-Touch leaflet for voters that basically painted the 70's as a huge 10 year drift into communism (fault of Callaghan, Wilson, Benn, Heath and other assorted fellow travellers). There's something in that, of course, but my actual memories of the decade - as opposed to my political views - are fabulous; warm, comforting, happy.
I'll post the 70's article when I've finished it and - more importantly - edited it into something readable. But let's not shy away from a list when one hoves into view. So, today's listette is the best films of 1970's with a slight bias towards films I actually saw. Yeah. In the 1970's at ABC Cinema in Rochdale.
Star Wars - of course. I saw it when it came out in 1977 and was pissed off it would 1984 before it came on TV. These were days before videos. Amazon Prime etc. Christ this movie is big now. BIGGER in the 70's when the tech wasn't so dated. I collected the cards. Swapped them at school. Iconic movie. 70's classic. It doesn't get much better than this.
The Long Good Friday - Obviously didn't see this in the 70's! Bob Hoskins on fine form and Helen Mirren looking (as she always does) stunning. Dream girl. London as it was late 70's - a shit-hole but ringing to the song of Cockneys. A time piece of a world in transition before Thatcher reinvented the country.
The Three / Four Musketeers. Richard Lester screwing over Olly Reed, Michael York et al by claiming to make just one movie but then cutting it in half and releasing two. Funny, irreverent, full of humour, British character actors and daring-do. I think I saw this one rainy holiday in Dorset 1974.
Manhattan - I thought this one better than Annie Hall. Shot in black and white. When Woody Allen was vaguely funny. Didn't see this until the 80's. Plot: Woody forms an inappropriate relationship with a much younger girl. Mmm, yeah. An artist, right?
Animal House - I don't think I've ever progressed beyond this story of the worst Frat House on campus. Kent Dorfman. Wow! Tim Mattheson, John Belushi lead the lads into one gross out misdeed after another. Sporned a genre.
Apocalypse Now - "Saigon. Shit!" President Andrew Bartlett goes off to kill The Godfather to sound of the Doors while reading Heart of Darkness. Or something like that. It goes on for, like, nine hours and is always on when I come back pissed from the pub. A bit here. A bit there. Oh, the deleted French scene. Must be director's cut. "I love the smell of napalm in the morning!"
Monty Python's Life Of Brian - What can I say? Possibly one of the most iconic and funniest films ever. So many scenes that are now comedy gold. Hard to see that it was controversial at the time. Christianity is a bit of a soft target though, isn't it? Not then, apparently. I suppose one could imagine a comedy team doing a piss-take of another religious figure from a different, militant religion now? Edgy, no? No? They'd rather take lame shots at Trump? How we've progressed since the 70's.
The Godfather 1&2 - Mario Puzo / Francis Ford Coppola's epic tales of a mafia family in New York. What's not to like? Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, Robert de Niro, James Caan, Robert Duvall. "Forget about it". Not.
Well there you go - some great films. Some good times. Superman in January 1979 at the ABC in Rochdale was memorable only because it was the Winter of Discontent and so the heating was off. Good times.
BTW - I reserve the right to add a couple more as I want to publish this and I've left my initial notes at home... Yes, I do draft these out sometimes. I know it looks stream of consciousness but, it ain't.
I Swear It's Not Too Late
I'm sure I saw hipster Charles I on a scooter in Clapham this week.
“No more: - where ignorance is bliss, ‘tis folly to be wise.”
It's the gaps that hurt...
Helping with one of my girls' history homework recently. This is a pretty safe bet for a bit of daddy show-off time. I mean what can schools throw at me that I don't know? Backwards. Upside down. Usually, the only problem with me helping out with the homework is a) that it's either The Bloody Tudors because 1485-1603 is like, the only time in history. Ever. b) Wet behind the ears 22 year old teachers doing lessons on how Britain was a racist, imperialist piece of shit that exploited the rest of the world and so caused all subsequent poverty, famine and wars with sidelines in - don't you know that Islam kinda invented everything in the 12th Century and that Christians persecuted everyone, everywhere and like, SLAVERY! man. Only Britain and the US had slavery and it was only brought to an end by some freed slaves doing a dance somewhere and, who's William Wilberforce and the West Africa Squadron anyway? Yeah.
But history lessons... Although the actual topics within the eras the school picks may be bollocks on stilts, I know the broad facts, right? Usually true but this week it was all about the pre Civil War reign of Charles I. And I know jack shit about this. Well, okay, I know more than 95% of the population, but that's a pretty low bar. Ignorance isn't bliss. I'm tortured by my lack of knowledge. It physically upsets me. Why don't I know? How can I be a sentient human being if I don't know about the Ship Monies? I'm the anti-noble savage. I have to know everything.
And as I write this three general thoughts occur to me:-
1) The shocking ignorance of our 'leaders' who feel they can invade Afghanistan, Syria, Libya with no understanding, appreciation or curiosity about the history of where they are committing troops. How can supposed sophisticated politicians make life or death decisions from total ignorance? It's really quite sickening.
2) The flip side. Clearly, ignorance can drive decision making but pursuit of knowledge can make one appear weak, unsure; unable to make a decision. I have a split personality; on some things I always need more data before I form an opinion; on other things - mainly personal - I make my mind up in nano seconds. But for historical pronouncements, I've found it expedient to temporise fully aware that my high level of knowledge only makes me more conscious that I actually know nothing.
3) The universal truths of history. Always forgotten. Every generation thinks it is the first.
So what is the point of knowledge? What is the point of studying history? I heard the drumbeat of war for Afghanistan. For Syria. For Libya. It seemed wrong at the time, worse now. These days - inexplicably it's Russia that's the MSM bad guy. Why? Who is pulling the strings? I get bombarded on TV and radio about Russia. Trump and Russia. But for what end? - Ukraine? Crimea? Georgia? Sanctions? Who understands these counties anyway? This region? I find ignorance so all-prevailing that the only sensible position to take is scepticism.
And the main way we can fight back is to read. Read history. Ancient history. Understand the Renaissance. The Enlightenment. Understand why we are where we are where we are. It is no accident. See patterns. There is 'nothing new under the sun'. And then withdraw your support. Not in my name. Vote for anti war candidates.
I'll leave you with one thought to think about. What is the difference between Russia/Syria booting nutters out of Aleppo and the US/UK/etc/Iraq booting nutters out of Mosul? One was daily charged with war crimes, the others painted as liberators. I see no difference. The bombs still kill innocents whether you're an evil bastard or saintly. All is vexation. And vanity.
Interestingly, Aleppo conjures up images of battles long gone, long forgotten, bigger, more catastrophic. I look at a map and see that Marcus Crassus met his end with his legions nearby at Carrhae. One of the great disasters of the Ancient World. Is that comforting? Possibly.
“And ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars; see that ye be not troubled; for all things must come to pass; but the end is not yet. For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes in divers places.
All these are the beginnings of sorrows.”
And here's the Byrds singing the wisdom of Solomon (Ecclesiastes 3) with the tear-jerking modern addition of 'I swear it's not too late' after "A Time for Peace'.
Chuck Berry
Who started rock n' roll? How did rock start?
Well, it goes back to Fats Domino, Muddy Waters, Bill Haley perhaps. But who are the archetypes?
Elvis. Of course. Little Richard. Awopbomoloola! Jerry Lee Lewis. Great Balls of Fire...But if you're a guitarist, it was Chuck Berry who died yesterday.
Like many, I came to Chuck Berry second hand. As is well known, The Beatles and the Stones sprinkled Berry songs all over their early albums. The Stones continued to blast out a couple of Berry songs live late into their career. So, I'd be listening to Get Yer Ya Yas Out for example, and you'd hear amongst the well known Stones songs - Little Queenie, Carol.
It's safe to say, that not a day goes by without me hearing a Chuck Berry song (as I tend to have the Stones live on my iPhone and so, Let It Rock etc are always there). Interestingly enough, the latest song I downloaded last week was a Chuck Berry song by the Stones - Bye Bye Johnny.
His career is well known. His brushes with the law. His partnership with Johnny Johnson. His combination of upbeat R&B, electric guitar riffs, clever lyrics about school, cars, girls. His trouble with the law. His miserliness. His take the money and run attitude to live performances... Yeah, he wasn't a perfect individual. But I guess he didn't have to be. He was an original.
And me. My group used to play Johnny B Goode. And that is all I will say it. We killed Chuck long before yesterday. He deserved better!
It's funny but the scene in Back to the Future where Marty plays Johnny B Goode to the 1950's kids provides one of the best obituaries. Rock n roll was an alien force that quickly took over the world. Chuck Berry led the way with his twin string lead attack.
BTW I don't apologise for showing the Stones below playing Chuck Berry in 1969. My experience of Berry was second hand. He created the platform which elevated others - masterfully demonstrated by Keef and the boys here.
Oh, and if you go back to April 26th 2016 on this blog, Chuck Berry is one of those I said I would write about if they died. One of the greats.RIP Chuck. You had a good innings.
Things I No Longer Give A F*ck About - Dancing
Doing the white man overbite one more time - Tim Robson
“We dance to a couple of tracks. About 10 years ago, I learnt the art of looking okay whilst dancing. Less is more. Kind of sway and essay a few small but rhythmic swishes with the arms. Nothing flashy but nothing ridiculous. The aim of the game is to keep female interest neutral. The dance test is there to weed out the drunks and the arseholes. It’s not there to impress a girl so the trick is to avoid succumbing to the masturbation of your more expressive moves. No matter what beer or bravado might tell you.”
What happens when your dancing days are over? When you jerk awake to find yourself on a dance floor - drunk (t'was ever thus) and surrounded by people half your age sniggering at some bald granddad making a penis of himself?
Oh readers, this epiphany happened a couple of weeks ago. After a heavy session in Brighton I 'found' myself on a dance floor staring at my feet realising that all sense of rhythm and dignity was absent and that I was a figure of ridicule. One foot moved. And then the other. And the arms kinda did their own thing. Neither timing nor beauty was achieved. Just lumpen dad dancing.
And thus mortified, my sober self came to a pact with my drunken self. Dancing; it's something I don't give a fuck about, anymore. Back in the day, you know, 16-30, if you wanted to meet a woman then the disco (club now grandad) was the place. And getting down on the dance-floor was where it was all at. I remember the days when porting a bottle of beer and cigarette on the dance floor was the height of cool (maybe shades too). And then the 'erection section'... That's the last dance to you young people, when the DJ would play a few slow ones at the end to facilitate the evening's romances.
But not anymore. You see, number one these days is my looks (clearly). Most women come onto me because of them. Naturally. But, for those that don't - few, weird - my major selling point is verbal. I wrap my partners in a blanket of humour, knowledge and experience. They know they'll be okay with me. Looked after.
But dancing. It's no longer within my repertoire of seduction. I've retired this particular aphrodisiac. It's been growing in me for a while. Obviously my friends and I go to 'age appropriate' clubs these days. You know, basically late night bars with a small dance floor, a DJ and blokes in suits and girls of a certain age, not unaware that older guys might have a roll of cash on them.
“I suggest Megan and I leave the dance floor. Drug dealer is still flanking the edge, now looking a bit meaner, a bit harder. I’m sure he likes to get stuck in, show some steel; impart the leather. He steps in my way as I attempt to pass. He smiles in a ‘man of the world’ way I could never pull off. It’s all a game to him. Everything here is mortifyingly serious for me. ”
And yet. And yet. Maybe it's a place-time-mood thing. Getting down / strutting my stuff seems easier in the summer, feeling slim and wearing my mate Dan's Hartington floral shirt. Yeah, all over that like a rash. So, so, maybe, dancing is not yet in the Things I Don't Give a Fuck About just yet. If - like Glenn Miller - you're in the mood. Not pissed. Toned. With the right girl. Maybe I could bring this technique back from the dead. Show those youngsters how a 'Like a Virgin' era Madonna fan used to do it at Tiffs in Rochdale in the early 80's.
“The music changes. Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit. William starts jumping around like it’s 1991 again. I do too. Big mistake. Suddenly the floor is filled with pogoing Neanderthals. All the women have fled, leaving a horde of sad, drunken men air guitaring. How attractive do we look? Not very. ”
I'm conflicted. Aware that I could look like an arse but also aware that, in the right setting it's who you are, firstly, and then it's who you want to be. Some say your dancing style is analogous to your love making. I'm good. Sooo good. I got moves. Just a bit rusty, yeah.
And that dear readers, is my take on dancing. And now some Shakey. My dance teacher.
Play that Funky Music - White Boy!
Tim Robson - gigging in Hove. A different century. Tucked T shirt.
When I pick up my guitar my fingers form themselves around the same old familiar chords and runs as I tend to return to a short list of songs time after time. I've tried over the last few years to remember new songs but I forget them after a couple of plays. Drink I guess. Age. Befuddlement. Whatever.
So what would you hear, listening in at my kitchen door?
The Ballads
It's Too Late - Carole King / Wichita Lineman - Glen Campbell / Walk on By - Dionne Warwick /
The Blues
Me & the Devil / Hoochie Coochie Man / I'm a Man
Honky Tonk Women / Country Honk / Brown Sugar / Love in Vain / Satisfaction
Others
Proud Mary - Various / I Get A Kick out of You - Frank Sinatra / Return to Sender - Elvis Presley / Run to Him - Bobby Vee
80's
Wake me up before you Go-go - Wham / Wanted Dead or Alive - Bon Jovi / Say Hello, Wave Goodbye - Soft Cell
As a special treat I recorded especially for this article - for you - this video of four of these songs.