Listening to Christopher Weingarten is less fun than reading his writing. Not because he often comes across as that kind of whiney nerd who swears too much for effect, but because he's right. His speech at last year's 140 Characters Conference kind of summed up my thoughts about music writing and re-inforced the fear that there is little to no chance of making any money from it. He recently gave another speech at this year's conference, (below), and, what can I say, dude's got more points than Michael Jordan has won MVP's. For someone who is still trying/pretending to be/become a music writer, it's depressing viewing.
What he calls "wet spitballs of non-news" being lobbed around Twitter is a phenomenon visible to anyone who logs on to the wretched thing whenever there's a gig of a certain importance going on. Every music magazine or webzine will have someone at the gig "covering" it - but not just, as you might expect, in the form of a knowledgeable review, but in a kind of verbally constipated, stuttering "live-feed" that reads like a collection of haikus written by a drunk 5-year-old. Some of these writers actually do this voluntarily, which makes it even worse. It's like if you didn't tweet about how Courtney Love just dropped her guitar onto her roadie's head, you weren't there.
The bit about "exclusive content" is spot on, too - although I have to say the Guardian's new(ish) way of streaming soon-to-be-released albums (The Hold Steady, The Fall, Hole) and letting a critic in in an actual dialogue with those who comment (rather than just let them pile up into an unreadable mess) is an idea worth mulling over - until you think about just how quickly these streams will end up on What.CD and Mininova.
But yeah, right on, Chris. Thanks for getting my hopes up. Oh, and the new Broken Social Scene doesn't suck.
Saturday, 24 April 2010
Thursday, 15 April 2010
Drive like you stole it
On Wednesday, my housemate and me went to the rather brilliant True Stories Told Live night. We were probably the youngest and poorest in the audience, but we still enjoyed it. The standard wasn't quite as high as the last time I went (but then, last time I had a seat and a bit more to drink, so I might've been biased), but the standout story still made me laugh, like, lots. It was about how the protagonist and storyteller had, after reversing the family car into his parents' kitchen extension when he was 17, never learnt to drive and, as a result, had to ride his bicycle to work. In Los Angeles. On a highway. Summarised, it doesn't sound all that interesting, but he made it very funny and engaging.
It made me think about my relationship with driving, and with a more-than-average cringe I remembered how I failed not one, not two but three practical driving tests before finally passing. My instructor was a no-nonsense Spaniard who had lived in London all his life but still talked like Rafa Benitez on Ritalin. I don't know how it happened, but somehow he ended up teaching pretty much everyone from the German School who was over 17. Anyway, I didn't make it easy for him (quote: "Wow. You've done it. You're actually on the pavement.") and, to my shame, haven't really driven since I passed. I once picked up a friend from the airport, and after getting back safely, she said I drive "like a butcher". Don't think that was a compliment.
Theoretically, I should be an awesome driver - Germans make the best cars in the world, and my dad is a great driver. He grew up on a farm and drove one of these bad boys at the age of 14. He's never had an accident in his life and, when my mum gave him a race car driving course for his birthday, he won the "Driver of the day" award. That's how good he is. So why am I so fucking useless behind the wheel? It might have something to do with the fact that I know nothing about cars (I was once asked in a mock interview: "If you were a car, which one would you be?" I said: "A red one"). I vaguely remembered my dad telling me about the clutch and the accelerator and stuff, he literally drew me a picture and explained it well - but if you asked me right now how to check the oil level, I'd have to pass.
I think I'd enjoy driving if I did it more, but as it is, I sometimes have actual nightmares about driving. The main scenario is that I'm stuck behind the wheel of a car that, for whatever reason, doesn't have working breaks, resulting in a kind of murderous rampage reminiscent of GTA, where I bump into water hydrants, walls, other cars and people, while trying to estimate how much this is gonna cost me in damages (I can't seem to switch off my paranoia even in a dream).
In the story I mentioned at the beginning, the guy made the point that you should do things like learning to drive as soon as you get the chance, because you never know if you ever get round to doing them, which is a fair point. But I feel in no way qualified to, say, take my (hypothetical) wife and kids for a spin or even on a camping holiday. And I know there will come a time when I won't be able to cop out of driving a car, but for now, I think I'll cross that particular bridge when I get to it.
Thursday, 18 February 2010
Eight years ago...
...my family and I drove from Germany through Belgium and France to England, where my father had been transferred to a year earlier. I know this isn't as much of a milestone as five years or ten years would have been, but I needed some kind of inspiration to get this going again, and this was something that I thought I could milk for the first update in a while. And the format in which this will go down is the old favourite, the list. I was going to do a list of "8 things I love about living in England", but in my unimaginative and jaded frame of mind, I could only come up with 4. Might do "4 things I hate about living in England" soon. Uninspired and obvious is apparently how I roll these days. Anyhow, here it goes.
1. The language
Apparently English was the first language I ever spoke, back in kindergarten in upstate NY. I don't remember this, but I do remember watching the US version of Cartoon Network with my brother when we were about six or seven. Every Friday and Saturday, we were allowed an hour and a half of TV, and although we didn't have a clue what all those weirdly coloured cats were saying, it was better than the shit that passed for entertainment on German television. At school, I thought English was the coolest language ever. I read Lord of the Flies without understanding the main plot element but felt so cool it almost made up for the fact I didn't have any friends. I envied Americans and Brits their language, their writers, and their books. I still do - my favourite writers are almost exclusively American and British - and even though I'm OK at speaking and writing in English (WAY better than I was when I first moved here), I'll never be able to command words and sentences the way good native speakers and writers can.You lucky bastards.
2. The girls
Now, that is a difficult point. Because girls - I think that much we can all agree on - are pretty mental, regardless of their nationality. However. While British girls have a bit of a rep for being easy like Sunday morning, drinking like camels and generally being a bit rowdy, most of them are also polite in that inherently British way. You get the feeling they'd rather eat glass than embarass you or make you feel uncomfortable. And since I'm very easily embarassed and pretty much live in a bubble of inadequacy, this makes me warm to them a lot. Obviously there are many irritating exceptions, but the female friends I've made here in the last few years are gobby, loud, smart, funny, good drinkers and lovely people.No British girlfriend so far though. Fucking racists.
3. The football
This point obviously refers to the English Premier League, the only one that matters for a football tourist like me. I'll watch a scrappy lower division match once a year, but why put up with that when you can watch the ridiculous, overblown, obscene and awesome blockbuster that is the Premier League? I know that in Italy and Germany you can still smoke and drink (both of which I fully approve of) inside the grounds, and the tickets are cheaper, and that every successful English team is owned by Americans or Russians or Arabs, but the way the whole country goes mental about every single detail of the game still gets me. Plus, have you watched any games in Italy or Germany recently? No offence, but it's bloody boring 80% of the time. People complain about 'the big four' over here, but Inter, Bayern and Barca in Spain pretty much stroll through every season without a serious challenge. Incidentally, some of my favourite Premier League players are Robbie Fowler, Dennis Bergkamp, Steven Gerrard, Gianfranco Zola and Danny Murphy.
4. Nando's
Never mind the ever-rising prices, the awful salsa cover compilations playing in every outlet, the Rose that tastes like a rusting car, the massive variance of the amount of chips that are served, the pitch-dark, cavernous restaurants, the rage-inducing script the staff have to go through ("Table number? How spicy? Double or single? Cheese or pinapple? Nuts or olives?" etc.), the fact that no matter how often you've ordered extra Halloumi cheese INSIDE THE BURGER at the same branch, they insist on serving it on a seperate plate and the frankly tiny ketchup bottles, this fine food institution has served me well in the last couple of years. Every other visit, my friends and I try to estimate how much money we've spunked up the walls in the various branches, and it wouldn't surprise me if it was approaching the £1000 mark (when I was 15/16, every Friday AND Saturday night involved a visit to the Richmond restaurant). Comfort food at it's finest, and no Kebab from Berlin, no Pizza from Milan and no Leberkaessemmel from Munich could measure up to the sensation of sinking your teeth into a Hot Chicken Burger with extra Garlic Sauce. Fuck, I really want one now.
1. The language
Apparently English was the first language I ever spoke, back in kindergarten in upstate NY. I don't remember this, but I do remember watching the US version of Cartoon Network with my brother when we were about six or seven. Every Friday and Saturday, we were allowed an hour and a half of TV, and although we didn't have a clue what all those weirdly coloured cats were saying, it was better than the shit that passed for entertainment on German television. At school, I thought English was the coolest language ever. I read Lord of the Flies without understanding the main plot element but felt so cool it almost made up for the fact I didn't have any friends. I envied Americans and Brits their language, their writers, and their books. I still do - my favourite writers are almost exclusively American and British - and even though I'm OK at speaking and writing in English (WAY better than I was when I first moved here), I'll never be able to command words and sentences the way good native speakers and writers can.You lucky bastards.
2. The girls
Now, that is a difficult point. Because girls - I think that much we can all agree on - are pretty mental, regardless of their nationality. However. While British girls have a bit of a rep for being easy like Sunday morning, drinking like camels and generally being a bit rowdy, most of them are also polite in that inherently British way. You get the feeling they'd rather eat glass than embarass you or make you feel uncomfortable. And since I'm very easily embarassed and pretty much live in a bubble of inadequacy, this makes me warm to them a lot. Obviously there are many irritating exceptions, but the female friends I've made here in the last few years are gobby, loud, smart, funny, good drinkers and lovely people.No British girlfriend so far though. Fucking racists.
3. The football
This point obviously refers to the English Premier League, the only one that matters for a football tourist like me. I'll watch a scrappy lower division match once a year, but why put up with that when you can watch the ridiculous, overblown, obscene and awesome blockbuster that is the Premier League? I know that in Italy and Germany you can still smoke and drink (both of which I fully approve of) inside the grounds, and the tickets are cheaper, and that every successful English team is owned by Americans or Russians or Arabs, but the way the whole country goes mental about every single detail of the game still gets me. Plus, have you watched any games in Italy or Germany recently? No offence, but it's bloody boring 80% of the time. People complain about 'the big four' over here, but Inter, Bayern and Barca in Spain pretty much stroll through every season without a serious challenge. Incidentally, some of my favourite Premier League players are Robbie Fowler, Dennis Bergkamp, Steven Gerrard, Gianfranco Zola and Danny Murphy.
4. Nando's
Never mind the ever-rising prices, the awful salsa cover compilations playing in every outlet, the Rose that tastes like a rusting car, the massive variance of the amount of chips that are served, the pitch-dark, cavernous restaurants, the rage-inducing script the staff have to go through ("Table number? How spicy? Double or single? Cheese or pinapple? Nuts or olives?" etc.), the fact that no matter how often you've ordered extra Halloumi cheese INSIDE THE BURGER at the same branch, they insist on serving it on a seperate plate and the frankly tiny ketchup bottles, this fine food institution has served me well in the last couple of years. Every other visit, my friends and I try to estimate how much money we've spunked up the walls in the various branches, and it wouldn't surprise me if it was approaching the £1000 mark (when I was 15/16, every Friday AND Saturday night involved a visit to the Richmond restaurant). Comfort food at it's finest, and no Kebab from Berlin, no Pizza from Milan and no Leberkaessemmel from Munich could measure up to the sensation of sinking your teeth into a Hot Chicken Burger with extra Garlic Sauce. Fuck, I really want one now.
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