Monday, 2 May 2016


Dateline BLOODY BLIGHTY: As the twisted ankle recovers and as the physical condition begins to pick up after the blissful blunting of incautious eating and reduced exercise in now much-missed NYC and now yearned-for Florida, more poundingpounding of treadmill and further jerkyjerk-phyzikal jerx. Today: reintroduction of bastard bench-pressing and blooming box jumps, the latter causing prickling stings of familiarness, such is the affection for this particular form of movement. All movements not unconducive to the wearing of big-ass headphones (i.e. just those box jumps, really), were bounced onwards by musical accompaniment thus:

  • Delegation: You and I [1979]
  • Bad Manners: Ne Ne Na Na Na Na Nu Nu [1980]
  • Audio Deluxe: 60 Seconds [1992]
  • The Stranglers: No More Heroes [1979]
  • Elvis Costello & The Attractions: Pump It Up [1978]
  • Talking Heads: Once In a Lifetime [1981]
  • Sex Pistols: Pretty Vacant [1977]
  • Baby Huey: Hard Times [1971]
  • Symarip: Skinhead Moon Stomp [1970]
  • The Rakes: The World Was a Mess But His Hair Was Perfect [2007]*
  • Gary Toms Empire: 7-6-5-4-3-2-1 (Blow Your Whistle) [1975]
  • George Benson: Give Me the Night [1980]
  • Chicken y Sus Comandos: Caminando Despacito [1969?]
  • Azymuth: Jazz Carnival [1979]

As my current preference is, demonstrably, for music recorded, for the most part, in the 1970s and 1980s, this tune by defunct UK indie-rockers The Rakes stands out like a sore thumb: a rare example of young(er) people's music entering the radar screen of this ageing, dessicated husk. It's a song which 95% satisfies me but which contains a single irritating flaw, to my mind. Music, musicianship, craft, whatever: fine; lyrics: MOSTLY fine, being an unpretentious take on the worries of an imperfect night out in the 21st Century (ten new messages on my phone; danger of eye contact with male stranger leading to fighting and disturbance of carefully crafted hairstyle...). But there is a seriously dud pair of lines:
You slag off America in the pub
Saying the war was shite
The in the club drink some Buds
And smoke some Marlboro Lights
I'm not sure whether the narrative voice is addressing itself (himself) or a third party. Either way, a critical observation is made, namely that it is hypocritical to speak negatively about American foreign policy while consuming products made by American companies. This seems an entirely juvenile and fatuous position, reminding me of the time when Louise Mensch thought it was terribly clever to suggest that protesters who oppose some iniquitous elements of capitalist societies cannot use mobile phones or drink coffee without undermining their arguments. But this is a minor gripe, I guess. The song is pretty good otherwise.

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