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Flotsam and Jetsam

Techno ceilidh and acid croft!

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Photo by Dave Connor on FlickrShould the rubric to this post make you start asudden – anxious lest you might all unknowingly have ingested some strange hallucinogenic compound which has set your pulse a-racing, your nerves a-jangling and which leaves you wondering if kaleidoscopically hued chameleons might start suddenly to emanate from the light fittings…

…rest easy – gentle reader – relax!

Maybe even – as the au courant slang would have it – ‘chillax’! (Though I find that particular neologism strangely vexing!).

No matter. Bear with me and I will elucidate…

In the course of my occasional series of posts on the subject of seeking out new musics – both here and in Canada – I have previously waxed lyrical on the subject of Celtic fusion. The background to this particular fascination may be revisited here. That particular post extols the talented Paul Mounsey, whose music fuses the influences of his Scottish roots with those of his Brazilian wife.

A couple of weeks ago the Kickass Canada Girl and I were to be found basking somewhat unexpectedly in the sunshine at Twickenham – where we were attending the double-headed fixture that these days launches the Premiership rugby season in the UK. The first of the two games saw London Irish pitched against the Saracens, and the pre-match atmosphere was stoked to a frenzy in part by the splendidly thunderous ‘Irish’ music that was cranked out over the stadium’s PA. At these levels, and with sufficient clarity, such music really can stir the blood and set the pulse racing – not to mention tugging teasingly at the heart-strings of any true Celt.

I wanted, naturally, to know what tune – and by what band – had been responsible for this thrilling elevation of the spirits. As ever the InterWebNet provided the answer – though not without some considerable efforts on my part. The piece concerned turned out to be an instrumental version of I’m Shipping up to Boston by the splendidly named Dropkick Murphys. Their original version sets to music lyrics by Woody Guthrie and features on the soundtrack to Scorsese’s (frankly disappointing) The Departed. The instrumental is apparently widely used as ‘run-out’ music in sporting circles – which comes as little surprise.

Now – the Dropkick Murphys turn out to be American (from Quincy, Massachusetts) rather than Irish – and that itself turns out to be something of a theme once one starts to look for modern Celtic music. The scene in Canada and North America seems to be every bit as vibrant as does that in the home nations.

Further listening suggests that the Murphys – in reality a Celtic Punk band – are a little rough around the edges for my taste, but I am grateful nonetheless that this aural experience has re-invigorated my quest to boldly seek out new musical life forms (well – new to me, anyway!).

Enter the Haggis! No – really… that’s the name adopted by the next ensemble that I encountered in the course of my musical meanderings. Sure enough, they hail from Canada! Their Celtic tinged rock incorporates a wide range of influences and styles and I particularly like some of the tracks on their last two CDs – Whitelake and The Modest Revolution. Here is a taster:

Year of the Rat: Year of the Rat – Sample

It was not, however, until I followed the trail back to Scotland – to Edinburgh, to be precise – that I found what I was really looking for. Please allow me to introduce to you – the inventors of Techno Ceilidh and of Acid Croft (which latter has been described as ‘a fiery and infectious blend of Celtic traditional music and dance grooves that band members like to call “hypno-folkadelic ambient trad!”) – the one and only – Shooglenifty!

What I like about this particular fusion – apart from the infectious rhythms and evocative melodies – is the sheer breadth of influence that the band draws upon to create their unique and adventurous music.

Look – that’s quite enough chat from me… Do your ears (and feet!) a favour and have a listen to these samples. Crank it up!

McConnell’s Rant: McConnell’s Rant – Sample
The Eccentric: The Eccentric – Sample
Walter Douglas MBE: Walter Douglas MBE – Sample

In my life

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Photo by Suraj RajanThough I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

In My Life – Lennon/McCartney

I have been racking my brains over the past week or so trying to find an angle from which I might contribute something thoughtful or meaningful to mark the 50th anniversary of the 1963 March on Washington and – of course – of Martin Luther King’s epochal speech with which that event has become synonymous. Much has been written – over the intervening decades and in the run up to the commemoration itself – concerning both the event and the man, by writers considerably more gifted than I could ever hope to be. It may indeed simply be that all that could be – and possibly even should be – has already been said.

This reflection, however – as such contemplation frequently does – leads me on to other thoughts with which the gentle reader might discern some resonance.

I was only nine in 1963 and have no direct memories at all of the march or of the speech. The only event that year to have left a lasting impression on me – as on so many others – occurred later in the year – that fateful November in Dallas. The true nature and significance of even that momentous happening was lost on me at the time, of course. My mother was an avid Home Service listener and I do recall programmes being punctuated by shocked reports from Texas, though I was – at the time – unable to make much sense of them. When my father returned from work I ran down the garden path to meet him crying “They’ve shot the prime minister”… Of course, I didn’t actually know who that was either (Alec Douglas-Home, as it happens – MacMillan having resigned in October the same year!).

I grew up surrounded by women (bear with me here!). My parents were both only children but each of their mothers came from large families. I stress ‘mothers’ here because – other than my father – I have no memories at all of any of the men in either family. An initial imbalance in favour of the female had been exacerbated by the war and by ill health. Of grandmothers and great aunts I thus had an abundance, all of whom – endowed with the robust family female gene – lived to a ripe old age.

My grandmother on my mother’s side was born in the very early days of the nascent twentieth century, around the same time that Queen Victoria passed away. I recall in my youth being amazed that one lifetime could encompass so many dramatic changes and extraordinary events. She lived through two world wars… She witnessed the arrival of the motor car (as anything other than a plaything for the rich)… She was alive for the birth of flight and thus for the development of air travel… She was born in an age that pre-dated radio and TV. I could go on…

You can probably see where this is going.

At the time I could not imagine what it must be like to have lived long enough to have seen or experienced so many happenings. Maybe I just couldn’t imagine that such a pace of change could be maintained.

Now – of course – the realisation that when the March on Washington took place I was already approaching the start of my second decade on this verdant planet makes me realise just how many such events have actually taken place on my watch – as it were. The moon landings… The fall of the Berlin wall… The end of Apartheid in South Africa… The Good Friday agreement… The financial crash… The advent of the personal computer and of the mobile phone… The birth and extraordinary growth of the InterWebNet… DVDs… CGI… A Briton winning Wimbledon!… and on and on…

What this tells me is that I am already well on my way to achieving a similar status to that which my grandmother enjoyed – that of having lived a bloomin’ long time!

…and of having seen many things…

One for the purists

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidIt says a good deal as to the frenetic pace at which we have been living of late that Sunday last saw only my second appearance of the season in the whites (as opposed to the garish ‘pyjamas’ of the short-form game) that are still in the main the mark of the village cricketer.

I posted regarding my first outing of the season here. This fixture was played under rather different circumstances, taking place not on some bucolic countryside cricket green but rather in a council run park in one of the suburbs of south London. Nowhere near as pretty and – as is often the way with council squares – the pitch was – shall we say – erratic… to put it mildly. In other words – some balls kept low whilst others would shoot abruptly up to chest or even chin height and very few came on nicely to the bat – making the timing of shots difficult in the extreme.

No matter. A good game was had by all and the opposition – another side new to us – were good sports. The match was thus played in an appropriately Corinthian spirit.

One of the great beauties of cricket is that the game came be played in a wide variety of formats, from the full five day ‘tests’ so beloved of the purists (of which I count myself one) down to the frantic dash of the Twenty20 format, which is done and dusted – razzamatazz and all – in around three hours. Even at village level subtle variations can be agreed upon to enhance the occasion. For this fixture – for example – we had agreed on two additional rules:

  • every member of each team would be required to bowl at least one over – including the wicket keepers…
  • once a batsman reached 30 runs he would be obliged to retire, though he could come out again if all of his team’s other wickets had fallen.

These ‘house’ rules were adopted to ensure that all concerned would be as involved in the match as possible, and so that no particularly gifted individuals could hog the limelight.

As a result I got to bowl a couple of overs for the first time in ages and – to my surprise – I actually took a couple of wickets… although the second such – a stumping – came from such a rank bad ball that I felt embarrassed to have my name associated with it. I also hung around for a while with the bat and accumulated what is – for me – a respectable score.

Once I was out – however – we lost several more quick wickets and soon found ourselves at 120 for 8, chasing a target of 183 and with only 7 overs or so left in which to get them. A win looked the least likely outcome at this point. Fortunately – by another of the sort of quirks that features only in this type of game – we had held back a couple of our better batsmen until well down the order, and some judicious hitting out by them saw us home with a few balls to spare in a most exciting finish.

Jolly good stuff all round – and everyone went home happy.

As the title of this post suggests, I have made no attempt herein to elucidate any of the arcana of the game for those with little or no extant knowledge thereof. To make up for this ommission I am very happy so to do – individually – for anyone who might be interested.

I don’t think I will hold my breath though!

Perseids

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Photo on Flickr by aresauburn™I saw two shooting stars last night
I wished on them but they were only satellites
It’s wrong to wish on space hardware
I wish, I wish, I wish you’d care

New England – Billy Bragg

 

Spent some time outside last night –  looking for Perseids…

Saw three shooting stars – and a bat!…

Made a wish (on the stars – not on the bat!)…

Seemed a reasonable night’s work – so I called it a day – (if you see what I mean)…

 

Got a crick in my neck!…

Random representations from our recent ramblings

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The great beauty of the Fuji X10 is that it is small enough and light enough that it can simply be carried over my shoulder pretty much everywhere I go. It is also at the same time both versatile and yet simple to use. As a result I can quickly fire off shots whenever I see anything that tickles my fancy. The great step forward that digital represents, of course, is that one can execute as many such as one desires – with no cost implications and the ability to rapidly lose any results to which it is just too embarrassing to admit. Goodness knows how we managed in the days of film!

Herewith a few more snaps from our recent travels.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

A place in the sun

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For our recently (and most sadly!) concluded sojourn in the Perigord we stayed in a beautiful apartment at a wonderful old manor house not far from Périgueux. Our hosts there – Catherine and Maxence – go out of their way to make their guests feel welcome, to the extent of introducing them to – and involving them in – the delights of life in the small village that is their home.  The house is called Le Maine and I encourage anyone seeking a tranquil and delightful stay in the region to investigate. We were in ‘La Cuisine d’Alice’ and we loved it! I can’t recommend it highly enough…

Herewith some images – although those on the site above (taken by Catherine – a professional photographer!) do the house and grounds considerably greater justice than ever I could.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidIn addition to being a professional illustrator, Maxence (who teaches art and who also curated a splendid exhibition of Perigordine artists – to the opening of which we were invited) plays a mean harmonica! On our first night in the village he enticed us to the tiny but ‘happening’ local bar – Le Cube – where a completely splendid Anglo-French duo called Buckshee entertained us to a wild evening of French, Irish, Cajun, bluegrass, swing, rock and roll, calypso and soca musics. Great and sweaty fun!

The band’s website gives some idea as to their multi-instrumental capabilities. Not content simply to display their own array of talents they invited a local English lad (who is blessed with a great swing voice!) and Maxence onto the tiny ‘stage’ area to belt out a stomping version of Van Morrison’s ‘Moondance’. No photo could do this justice. This is a close as I could get…

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

 

The journey south

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Herewith some images captured with the trusty x10 as we made our way south through France. Just off the ferry from Newhaven to Dieppe (a crossing that I had not previously tried but which was really most easeful – not to mention being as smooth as a millpond on this occasion) we spent a night in Rouen:

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

…where we witnessed a splendid Son et Lumiere projected onto the frontage of Rouen cathedral – inspired by the works of Monet.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

On the second night we stayed in the Loire Valley at the Chateau des Arpentis. For a B + B this is one pretty cool place – and one which we loved!

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

The evening was completed by a wonderful al fresco dinner at Les Closeaux near Amboise.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

The next day saw us in the Dordogne. More to follow…!

 

Atlas Obscura

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atlas obscuraWhilst searching the ever wonderful InterWebNet for items on the raven as trickster in North American First Nations cultures I came upon this article. The piece itself is brief, but acted as an introduction to this totally wonderful and unknown – to me at any rate – website… the Atlas Obscura.

Every so often one comes across something so splendid and beautifully executed that one simply has to share it. I have added this to my blogroll so that you can pay repeated visits whenever you so desire… which is exactly what I intend to do myself.

Enjoy!

 

 

Like…

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Facebook_like_thumbSitting in the cafe at Bath Spa the Sunday before last indulging ourselves in a spot of post-detox lunch (one feels so much more virtuous entertaining a large glass of something white, crisp and chilled when one has just purged oneself for an hour or so in the sultry muculence of the steam rooms!) – the Kickass Canada Girl and I found ourselves sharing the ambience with the group at the next table. We had little choice in the matter since the table in question was occupied by a gaggle of raucous teenage girls!

I suppose it is an established fact that the majority of those who avail themselves of the facilities offered by these temples to the body beautiful are members of the gentler sex. This has certainly been my observation, and at Bath last week there did seem to be a preponderance both of groups of ladies of a certain age – doubtless on other occasions to be found lunching – and of throngs of turbulent teenagers. The Girl offered some pithy thoughts as to why these young shemales might feel the need to be quite so strident but I can’t really repeat them here for reasons of propriety.

Given that it was impossible to avoid overhearing the ‘conversation’ (though it is doubtful that such verbal exhibitionism could ever really be construed as an ‘informal interchange of thoughts, information, etc., by spoken words’ – as the definition has it) I found myself somewhat bemused by what was actually being said. Though the group as a whole seemed only too eager to demonstrate their linguistic limitations, the loudest of the three – the one sitting closest to us, naturally – appeared also to be trying to displace the definite article from its preeminence in the lexicon to be replaced by that which – according to a study by the OED of the Oxford English Corpus – is ranked no higher than fifty fourth.

I refer – of course – to the word – ‘like‘!

The dictionary definition of ‘like‘ runs thus:

      – of the same form, appearance, kind, character, amount, etc.

The Urban Dictionary adds these alternatives:

      – a term used by many junior high and high school students for having a crush.

      – in some teenage girls, a word spoken in between other words in a sentence.

      – the same as “said” or “spoke”.

The first is obvious. An example of the second might be:

      “Like, oh my God, that is, like, so wrong.”

…and the third:

      “So I was like, ‘duuuude’ and he was all ‘baaaabe’.”

Now – listening to someone inserting ‘like‘ between every third or fourth word in a sentence may set the teeth on edge in much the same way as does being subjected to the sound of fingernails on a blackboard – or indeed to the Brummie accent* – but nothing raises my hackles quite as effectively as this latter substitution. If one really must find an alternative to “said” – and is not prepared to do without it entirely – then the InterWebNet will happily furnish some hundreds of possible alternatives. None of them is – ‘was like‘!!

What I find most puzzling, however – given that these self-regarding youths undoubtedly pick up such linguistic tics from their favourite Hollywood movies or TV shows – is that they should have fixated on a meme that is getting on for a decade old.

I didn’t think that Bath was that far from the capital!

 

* Apologoys ter brummoys fer anny offence. Cor resist a cheap gag!

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