Master of Love and Fate!

When I was working in Barbican for a short while this summer, the bus I took to work always passed a Banksy piece I had yet to spot before. I swore a vow on nothing in particular that I'd come back and record it. Today, not wanting to go too far but not wanting to sit at home all day, I did.
This is a most actual story.
It's located roughly here, not far down from from Angel Islington.As you can see, it's had it's share of damage since going up and I'm not entirely sure that pink paint is "canon". Plus some douchebag has slapped his myspace web address on there. I'm all for the impermanence of street art and all but man...a myspace web address?
Just down and to the left a bit was another one of Banksy's pieces...well I think it is. I mean, the ape is his but the bush stencil and the tag for "CARTRAIN" suggest that maybe somebody was aping him? Oh ho ho...Then just to the right of the Banksy piece was this thing, which I rather appreciated if only for it's roots in American pulp fiction covers. I have to wonder if, thanks to Banksy's huge success, his pieces have become like a magnet for other street artists to work on and around in hopes of getting a piece of that. I wouldn't suggest this right away except that the only graffiti I saw in a four block radius was strictly on or beside the Banksy piece and nowhere else. It might also be a preservation issue, since Banksy's works have earned a kind of quasi-immunity to being cleaned up, thanks again to his fame and a not entirely mistaken belief that his works can make neighborhoods more desirable. Augmenting this line of thought even further, two weeks back I noticed in the National Gallery bookstore a guide-map to (supposedly) all of Banksy's works in London.

I didn't even consider buying it. I'll keep the finding of his works in my "unexpected fun" category, rather than make it another checklist to work through. It'd feel too much like using cheat codes in a video game.

"The West End is too dirty, the Police should give them less Christmas trees this year"

What I was looking at when I had the great first listen to In Rainbows last Friday.

I'm never quite sure if I should feel guilty for enjoying a conversation with someone who has had serious mental problems and obviously still suffers, but not so much that they are a danger to themselves or others. This is particularly a thing when I am mostly providing a listening pair of ears to a guy who just needs to work off some steam over all the anxieties he has about shitty bus drivers, who is sure are all satanists that want to ruin Christmas and that the petrol companies must be furious that such individuals are using their petrol to drive buses so poorly. This was, of course, the case today as I settled down in the little park in Hammersmith where I like to spend my lunch hours.

He had a Union Jack took on and when he sat beside me, he assured me that nothing was in his old shopping bag but "food, good food, nice food". I smiled and told him it was alright by me. I was enjoying yet another listen of In Rainbows, with my head lolling back on the bench as I sat and watched the leaves fall from the higher branches. A few minutes passed and he politely asked me what I thought of bus drivers. I pulled out my earphones and turned off my iPod as I started to answer, but was swiftly cut off. I suppose I found myself on the outskirts of annoyance but not for more than a moment as I quickly realized that he must have a hard time getting people to listen to him or take him seriously. The poor guy had ancient jeans on, a hand rolled cigarette that was clearly prized, a second-hand looking blue winter jacket, a graying beard that blended into the hair which poked out from under his took and framed a pair of vivid but not frightening eyes and...an earnestness in his voice.

As some asshole in an American Apparel track sweater, a scarf from M&S, Ben Sherman shoes, pants from a boutique in Camden and a beard still full of color...well I felt the least I could do was hear him out. Besides, as much as the minds of these individuals are hampered by their conditions...sometimes they also seem to be untethered in ways. I'm probably guilty of romanticizing here, but the guy did have a kind of charm and friendly nature to him as he informed me of all sorts of dangers and "well known facts" about London. The bus drivers I mentioned were one and the title of this post was another. Authority figures of all shapes and sizes were always very paternal in his view and it was interesting to imagine oil executives, police and politicians being very disappointed in people the way your parents might be very disappointed in you for cheating on a test at school.

In the end I'd like to think I wasn't being patronizing. I listened far more than I spoke, a novelty as anyone who knows me can attest, and when I smiled I wasn't smiling at "the big retard"...I was smiling because I kind of admired the inventiveness with which he'd constructed his view of the world and how this supposedly "damaged" man repeatedly surprised and intentionally amused me (he had a knack for playing on words I'd be a fool not to appreciate) more than any of the other people I'd spoken to all day. I overstayed my break a bit to hear him longer, then bid him a friendly farewell. I actually kind of hope I get to see him one or two times more.
By the by, for Ottawa readers or those who've once lived there, I thought I'd mention that the Xpress is having an online poll for the best places in Ottawa for this, that and the other thing. It's downtown centric for the most part, not that that bothers me, but I did rather enjoy voting for the Carp Farmer's Market.

Linkey-dink

Given that this post over at Paleo-Future ties into a)something I've been thinking about on and off for the past year as well as b)one of the scripts I'm working on, I thought I'd link to it.

The first rule of Script Club is you are not allowed to reference Fight Club. The second rule is you are not...

Last night I wished I'd had my camera on me. Popping out of Picadilly Circus tube station and wandering along through the west side of Soho - parallel to Regent street - at the twilight hour was something special. Not to mention the pleasant feeling of being amongst piles of milling commuters when you yourself are in no big rush. Coming through Carnaby street I saw the commuters steadily being replaced with people in the mood for a night on the towne.

The pub chosen for the first meeting was a real charmer that apparently is part of a small chain who only sell drinks brewed by the company - you can't buy a Heineken or a Magnors here...not even a coke. There is still a decent selection and as a result of keeping it all in-house the prices are noticeably better than most any other establishment in central London. The chain is called "St. Thomas''" I think, but I'll check again later.

I'd get into details about the people who showed (it didn't end up being just me and the guy organizing it, thank the lard) but that would be going against my personal rule against making everyone I know paranoid I'll write up everything they do in my company. Suffice to say, they seem decent and a nice enough evening was had to guarantee I'll be back next week. It was interesting to sit and talk with a group of strangers and immediately know you had something very specific passion in common, something you don't just like but which drives you and influences almost every decision you make. Trite but true.

I'll definitely bring my camera next week...

A quick mumble, don't grumble

I've been quieter than usual, I know...strange eh?

All the usual culprits are there but I'm also trying to get my writing notes in reasonable order for the first meeting of the scriptwriters group I've joined. We're meeting tomorrow night in a pub in Soho. I'm hoping it's a good crowd that aren't paralytic when it comes to talking about their writing or various opportunities in the city. It's definitely the kind of thing that will only be really beneficial if a certain level of trust can be created. If that happens then I reckon it will be very helpful to me if only because few things galvanize my writing quite like running through what I have with someone sitting across from me.

Meanwhile, though England is a seething mass of slang and has a somewhat notorious reputation for coin related slang from the pre-metric days (ha'pence, tuppence, shillings etc etc)....I just realized today I have not once heard any slang for coins while I've been over here. The closest is to hear a five or ten pound note referred to as "fivers" and "tenners" respectively - which isn't too crazy. Everything else is simply a ten pence coin, a pound coin and so on. What's up with that?

Also, airline food and VCR clocks and jokes about tired stand-up schtick.

Meanwhile, I'm sure most of you already know but for those who don't or maybe read about it a while back and forgot....the new Radiohead album is available to download both legally and free from their website. If Bjork is my favorite solo act than Radiohead has to be my favorite band, and while Beck sometimes jostles with Bjork for her position in my mental rankings...no other band ever threatens Radiohead. That being said, I try to stay highly objective about their work and frankly I found their last album to be kind of underwhelming given what incredible songs they'd put out before.

I also find that the very act of recommending something, anything, has become highly diluted thanks to the sheer proliferation of reviews covering everything which one all but trips over in their daily life. Think about how many times you've tried to recommend a movie to someone in recent years and how much you've had to qualify what you're about to say before you do - or how many times you've had the person half-roll their eyes while saying "I'll put it on The List".

SO

When I listened to In Rainbows for the first time, this Thursday past, I lay back on a park bench during my lunch hour and positioned myself so all I saw were my feet, trees, bushes, flowers and an old brick hut with a conical roof. I listened from start to finish with no interruptions and it felt like the band had somehow broke into my deepest memory vaults and carefully sampled pieces of all the sounds and songs I'd heard during my most primordial, formative moments from the womb up until my laying down in the park and plugging in my earphones.

I haven't felt like this while listening to an album since late 2001 when it happened almost back to back with Bjork's Vespertine (August) and Stereolab's Sound Dust (which came out earlier, but it was introduced to me in November that year). This is not hyperbole designed to overcome that problem with reviews and recommendations I mentioned. This is how the record made me feel.

I mean this. I mean every word.

And I gotta say, those who maybe get fed up with Radiohead's well expressed "dreary" side should download this because even the last track - to do with a videotape one leaves to be viewed after their death - fills you not with any kind of grief but instead an optimistic appreciation of how all things have their nobility, grace and charm.

So there you go, I've given this my best shot. Now I am spent, weak, sweating into the cheap carpet while leaving myself vulnerable to some foul degenerate sneaking up, twisting my arm into my lower back and making comical imitations of my cries for help to the staring crowd of strangers.

I shall now slink back again into my nook and leave the music reviews to better men than myself.

Exasperation

Addendum: This has nothing much to do with anything I normally write about, but I feel it is just too good a piece of news not to help spread.