cat & bird

I've found it easier to 'get' poetry when it is spoken rather than on a page. I could recite it to my self but there's the distraction of self-awareness to deal with, not to mention the sound of my own voice, an acquired taste, possibly, but, generally, as a method it doesn't work for me. Other people reading it is much better. Providing they don't perform it. Of course - not naturally, which most find impossible to do. Only the poets should be allowed to do this, like Michael Donaghy reading his poem, Machines, in my first poetry post.

Unfortunately, the following poets passed before technology allowed their voices to be recorded. However, Zita Frith does quite a good reading of these. Not too act'tor-ish.

The Windhover, by Gerard Manley Hopkins. I think the kestrel was the first non-garden bird I came to recognise and know. Then, a few years ago, I noticed I hadn't been noticing them as often as I once had, maybe I had become bored with sighting them, moved on to other birds, then I came across one hovering just yards above me while walking the dog and I knew you couldn't fall out of love with the things. Some time afterwards I heard on the radio that their numbers had seriously declined in the UK. The usual suspect for this is human interference in the environment, destroying the habitat of their prey; small rodents and birds. Everything is so interconnected.

For I Will Consider My Cat, Jeoffry, a title that I doubt will ever fail to put a smile on my face. No doubt Christopher Smart was serious in his gratitude to God for having Jeoffry (this piece is an excerpt from his monumental work, Jubilate Agno, or Delight in The Lamb, though he was at the time confined in an asylum by his in-laws for mania). But still it makes me curl up because I've had a few cats in my time, and how often do you get the opportunity to delight in such expressions as ''gravity and waggery''? Not to mention the idea that any grown man should call his cat Jeoffry!

The percussion accompaniment is by Brendan Murphy, an untitled piece. Although, as a general rule, poetry needs no music, this time it doesn't distract from the words.

***

I'm trying out Wordpress for size. I'm not sure if it'll merely mirror some of the posts here or be a whole different set of posts. It may be more autobiographic. I don't know...

hiromi uehara

Strolling through a fine Esbjörn Svensson Trio mix on Youtube this morning I discovered, sandwiched within a tranche of Thelonius Monk tunes, this. At first glance it looks like a return to showy excess: six stringed bass, too many drums, a corral of keyboards, and not to mention two necks on a guitar... Hold on though, this is pretty funky jazz, and sounds exquisitely clean.

The pianist is Hiromi Uehara. Her band is called Sonicbloom. Well, I'm hooked...



Lots more on Youtube, check her out.

addendum: actually, if you follow the mix, there's a performance from Hiromi earlier on. I didn't notice it at the time as I was working and only listening.

sad to know you're leaving

Friday, being poets' day, I usually catch Last Word on the radio, driving home from work. What is our fascination with obituaries? Next to the puzzle page, they are, allegedly, the most read single page in any newspaper. On the radio, the form expands into a mini documentary featuring audio clips and talking heads. You begin to wonder why they don't put it on the telly!

A couple of Friday's ago there was a piece about the reggae star, Gregory Isaacs. Isaacs had played a small part in my improver's relationship experimentation - a sofa, a girl and a lovers album - around the early 80s. Then reggae seemed to change pace and I lost interest, so it was a jolt to hear his life celebrated on Last Word.

So, last Friday I spent an afternoon listening to a Gregory Isaacs mix on Youtube. This is the first time I've used a youtube playlist. It was really quite good. I don't know why I'm surprised, Youtube is, surely, one of the finest websites on the wobbly web; precisely what the internet was made for.

But this video wasn't in the mix. I post it because it looked like a good gig: a veritable reggae gang show with an extensive, and casual, house band, and Isaacs, smooth and sartorial.

rhyme & reason

Despite the duff ear, my love of Radio 3 is waxing. I may even have to get a t-shirt made.

Recently, the Beeb have improved their iPlayer site and now users can select their favourite shows so these shows are ready and waiting as soon as you enter the site. (Unfortunately, my overseas buddies might not be able to access the shows - which is a pity - but fair, I suppose, as BBC content is funded by UK taxpayers).

I have discovered another gem of theirs, Words & Music. I've avoided it until now because it sounded dry and up itself. Basically, it's a mix of spoken word and music selected for a theme. I feel a bit short changed on the music, it's often only a clip, but the words are the thing, a reading from a novel, or a piece of poetry. It's a wonderful way for a relative illiterate like me to hear poetry and I wonder how it would work on my mp3 player, randomly selected in shuffle mode. I might acquire a few clips and find out.

I was quite taken by the poem, Machines, by Michael Donaghy. It was read on the show by an actor from the Archers (a chronic radio soap where nothing discernible happens to a community of farrrmers) but I discovered that Donaghy was happy to perform his own work in his time and so here he is performing Machines.

My Ear Deceives Me

I've got this ear. Recently, it's developed a condition which I believe falls into the ETD category. Eustachian tube disorder, which sounds like something the transport workers' trade union might organise for commutors north of Watford. It's also given me glue ear which I can't shift.

Googling for remedies, I read that dairy products may make matters worse by increasing mucus output so in an effort to reduce dairy I thought I'd try substituting rice milk. On its own, I found it tastes like regular milk that's ever so slightly on the turn and with a spoonful of sugar added. It's not too bad if you like yoghurt and stuff, which I do.

However, it doesn't really mix with other foods like milk does. First, I tried making porridge. The result neither looked like porridge nor tasted at all pleasant. Secondly, I added it to my morning coffee. This proved worse: it totally failed to complement the bitterness with the usual creamy smoothness I look for, but it did give it added sweetness. That would be fine if I took sugar in my coffee - I could add fewer spoonfuls - but I don't.

Luckily, I've been taking my Redbush tea black for some time. I'll try the soya milk next but I won't get my hopes up.

Tony Meeuwissen

It's easy to overlook the exhibition space in our small town museum. In a modest room tucked around the back of the museum gift shop, I found a small exhibition by local artist and illustrator, Tony Meeuwissen. I say local because I see he lives in the county, but as an artist he's certainly global. His portfolio includes book covers for Penguin paperbacks, record covers, and postage stamps. It was really delightful work; deep, rich and colourful.

I could have bought a framed limited edition print, one of a series of illustrated playing cards, but every one I picked had a tiny red dot underneath - I presumed this meant he'd sold the lot. I could have asked, I think he was there, at least there was a man being pressed to sign a book for a customer, I didn't know what he looked like and, anyway, when I next looked the man was no where to be seen.

On a table were three books of original sketches for sale, real doodle stuff but nicely done. In the front was a few words describing his way of coming up with an idea, basically throwing doodles down, all the time thinking outside the box and letting his imagination run riot until a germ of an idea presented itself. It's consoling news for compulsive doodlers like myself; all I need now is to give up the day job. Or first find the courage to do so.

street photographer

Had this little beauty in my inbox this morning, an invitation to join a community, the Street Photography Now Project, in association with The Photographer's Gallery, London, and Sophie Howarth and Stephen McLaren, authors of Street Photography Now. (Unfortunately, it involves posting our efforts on Flickr - why they didn't set up their own unique platform, I really don't know.) The gist is, they'll post a weekly instruction for you to take to the street, make an image, and upload it to their Flickr group. You don't need a squirrel monkey; just a camera, a town, and a lot of brass neck.

Here's a brief slideshow promoting Howarth and McLaren's new book which contains some fun, funny, and inspirational photos, and the kind of thing I imagine they're looking for;

Street Photography Now from Johanna on Vimeo.

Addendum: Seems to be a bit confusing over at SPNP's Flickr page. I've found this which seems to be where the prompts are. Then you have to marry it up to the right Flickr group. Why, oh why, oh why et cetera et ad infinitum....

sirkka-liisa konttinen and the north

BBC Four is back on form this month with a series on The North [of England]. As a ''Southerner'', I have to be careful what I say about The North. I mean, I don't actually get up there much but, from what I know, it's all right. Largely my experience of it has been through the media of film, predominantly black and white ones, and books. I'm pretty sure both of these skew the true nature of The North, and its folk, but, to its advantage, gives it an extra sense of romanticism and strength; it makes for good art.

The series introduced me to the work of Finnish photographer and film-maker, Sirkka-Liisa Konttinen. This is a photographer to know as he obviously knows about photography, its potential and its purpose. In the 60s she came to Byker, a working class area of Newcastle on the verge of being pulled down to make way for improved housing. The young Konttinen fell in love with the community she found living in the terraces and moved in. Then she began photographing her neighbours and their neighbourhood. Then last year she returned to make portraits of newer residents of Byker Wall, the estate which replaced the condemned Byker, this time in colour.

Her portraiture is a work of genius; she manages to capture the finest of lines between the formal pose and the candid. Only the genuine expressions of the ordinary people in her images give away the unstaged nature at that moment of capture, and what Cartier-Bresson must have meant by the ''decisive moment''. Have a look at the family portrait with their bull terrier, above. It featured very briefly in the programme, and it turns out to be her own favourite.

I love the structure of this composition, the way the subjects are placed in the room as if she was setting out to paint the scene, not merely snap them. Yet they seem, at that moment, to be totally unconscious of the artist: the playful interaction between dog and master, the open wonder in the upturned face of the young daughter set against the knowing gaze of her older sister. Perfect.

manu delago & the hang

If you liked the sound of Toumani Diabaté's kora, I'm sure you'll like the sound of the hang, played here by Manu Delagu. Not actually a drum as suggested by the title of the video, but an idiophonic instrument of serious complexity (I'll stop here because I'm well out of my depth). Designed in Switzerland, it's a long way from putting holes in cheese and the cuckoo clock. However, I'd be happy to have a hang on my wall though it'd be too tempting to stay there for long.

September

I've taken to walking at lunchtime, even though there's nowhere interesting to go in an hour and not much else to see apart from other offices and office workers. It's like Clonesville, but at least the weather is good; the slightest covering of cloud and a strong, fresh breeze.

In Ealing, West London, there are two great recreation parks separated by a crossroad in a quiet residential street. They are two of the largest, and oldest, municipal parks I'd known anywhere in suburbia. I used to work nearby and most lunch hours would complete a figure of eight around both parks by the perimeter paths, a walk which would take almost exactly the whole hour. It was a fine walk, especially if the weather was good.

A short time later, an old work-mate joined the firm. He was Polish and he came to England, via France, at a time when Poland was under communism. His command of English was really good though he still had an accent which added charm to his words and gave the simplest of statements an air of gravitas and wisdom. And he was slightly older than me, possibly by as much as ten years.

Our paths crossed in the park one day. It was mid-Summer. I'd made some remark about how good it would be to holiday in Britain, if the weather was as good as it was that day.
I remember he said immediately how, in England, in September and, sometimes, October, it could be good, also.

I wasn't aware of this at the time, in fact I was a bit dubious. I was young enough still to associate September as the month for going back to school at the end of a long Summer break. But in passing years I found my Polish friend was right. September is a fine month, also. In fact, I'm not certain it isn't my favourite month of the year.

inconsequential truths

I. The hazelnut doesn't do much for me. It's taste is vaguely reminiscent of the end of a pencil, and I don't expect it has as much nutritional clout. In order of preference in my daily nut mix;

• Brazil nuts - generally uncultivated, mostly gathered from the rainforest floor. A satisfying bite with plenty of flesh.
• Walnut - Californian (though I don't know why they couldn't be English). Slight resemblance to ossified brains of small critters so may improve mental health or the ability to climb trees. A difficult nut to extract (though in this case I didn't have to).
• Almond - a taste sensation, though thin on flesh.
• Hazelnut - mere ballast.

II. Buddhism is a religion least likely to be practiced by aspiring time-travellers. However, for actual time-travellers it could be the most likely followed.

toumani diabaté

Despite doodling on acoustic guitar in rare moments, I'm not a musician. It takes more dedication, over many years, than I could tolerate and I wouldn't be happy with just being a doodler. And then there's the instrument; what would I choose? The guitar is an easy choice but then you hear Miles and you wish it was the trumpet, or with Joe Morello, the drums! Each instrument has its own beauty.

In this short film, Toumani Diabaté introduces the kora. Can you imagine a sweeter sound coming from an instrument made from a vegetable? No.

a borrower be

Support your local library. Before they cut it.

Even though our numbers are falling, I'm proud to be in that number. I've found a new use for my membership - CD rentals(and I've also spied some interesting foreign films on the racks). For £1 a week (or just 50p if returned within 24hours) I borrowed a copy of Tuesday Wonderland, by Esbjorn Svensson Trio. I've been listening to it at work. Wonderful, even though it's not Tuesday. This band has often been cited as the future of Jazz, or Europe's best Jazz group. But I'm sad that I shall never get to see them when I consumate my new found love affair with Scandinavia. Esbjorn died in 2008, aged 44, whilst scuba diving.

Also from the library, I'm currently into the Best of McSweeney's Vol. 2. A collection of modern American short stories. So far these have been fabulous little gems; some mysterious (think Twilight Zone) and some very funny. The McSweeney's website also looks fun, but not intuitively explorable. At least I'm struggling, but I'm specifically trying to find the stories and there's nothing to say there are any. There's a page of lists though, some of which are quite funny.

Also this week, and not a long bus ride from the spirit of McSweeney's is the brand new culture superblog, The Dabbler. Today's post is from Frank Keys, (Hooting Yard) on the poem, Jubilate Agno, by Christopher Smart (1722-1771 ). Essentially it's a list pairing a biblical hero with a named critter, some familiar, some absurd, so that hero can praise God with said beast. It's a shocking three hours long but you can hear it all here. It's worth at least a quarter of an hour. I put in about 20 minutes and then fast-forwarded - I think it's safe to say the best bit is at the beginning.

I think that's all. Back to E.S.T....

Mrs. Schrödinger goes for a stroll

The video says it all.



Or does it?

It's disturbing the amount of CCTV there is about. Now I don't wish to draw fatuous comparison's with Orwell's 1984 but when I read that book in my youth, and got to the part where the sweethearts thought they'd escaped the prying eyes of state only to find microphones hidden in the hedgerows, I thought, how awful! And all the things I got up to as a kid, unobserved.

tick-tock

For about a couple of years between my late teens and mid twenties I never carried a watch. I don't remember whether my old watch broke or was lost but I didn't have enough enthusiasm to shop for a replacement. Then I found I could get along fine without one. Generally, I'd work out the time to the nearest hour intuitively, and if on rarer occasions I needed more accurate time I'd simply seek out a clock or the kindness of strangers.

The reason I think of this now is because I've just read an article in response to old news that using technology makes you stupid. The article refutes the claim though I wasn't convinced, and I wonder how my life would be without media technology (gratuitous use thereof, obviously. I'm not suggesting that if ever I should face a life-threatening situation where safety required the assistance of technology, I should decline it on principle). It's safe to say, I think, that certain tasks seemed more meaningful before technology saved time and labour. And made us stupid because now any fool can do it, can't they?

These days I'm a watch wearing conformist, but every once in a while, I try to tell, not guess, the time of day intuitively. Rarely am I out by more than half an hour, more frequently correct within a quarter of an hour. I ask you, how accurate do we need to be?

stickmen at atom

Over at the opposite end of the spectrum from BFI resides Atom Films. I'm not sure where Atom Films' films come from - country of origin, pro or am, small or big time - but they're certainly and consistently well-polished works; a cut above average youtube fare. Having said that, I remember them when they used to be better. Oh well, I expect someone at Atom had to do a necessary exercise in ''progress''.

Yesterday, I saw a clip for a programme which featured an aged writer who I didn't recognise saying something about all stories being essentially about death. That's funny, and very reassuring, because up until then I thought I must be developing a peculiar taste in literature - everyone seemed to be, whether literally or metaphorically, dying.

Is animation dead, and the wonder of it dying? Technology guilty, murder one? Here's a ghost of cartoon past,

Stickman Exodus
Tags: Atom.com,Atom Originals,Atom Blog,Upload Videos

monday morning blue

A week off work starts today and by 9 o'clock I've had a run, walked the dog, cut my hair, shit, shaved and showered, and fit to go. And the sun is shining in a pale blue sky. The forecast said rain all week, but it also said sunshine yesterday which we didn't get. It's not that you can't trust British weather, you just can't trust Britain's weather forecasters. Speaking for myself, the weather's okay. Elsewhere it can be tragic or very boring.

At the time of the badgers incident I was being played a tape of the Jersey Boys, Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Now, I'm not a fan of all that high-pitched harmony but this one song shone through. It sounded familiar, like all good songs do even if you haven't heard them before. I didn't catch the name so I had an awful time on Youtube looking for it amongst the squeals. Here it is, Beggin', and it includes a video-edit by a fine-looking gentleman called pilooski, and an animator by the name of Cyriak. There's a touch of the Gilliams about it, and there's nothing wrong with that.




Now, it's a curious fact that Scandinavians speak better English than anyone else - including the English. It's also possible that they're creating the best music for the 21st century only we're not noticing it yet. Look around. Anyway, if you quite liked Beggin' but felt it could've been somewhat earthier, try Madcon - Europe's biggest hip-hop duo. From Norway. Theirs comes with a blaxploitation parody which is both funny and sexy, if that's your bag, man. Why not?

Momo Wandel Soumah and Jason Bua

Hey, it's time to listen to some laid back and rolling Guinea blues.



I love this sound but really it was the slideshow of art that caught my attention. I think, mostly if not all, by Jason Bua. Anyone know anything about him?

old fart-lek

Following what seemed at the time like an interminable series of illnesses and injuries I’m glad to be back on track, running. It might be early days but I’m pleased to be able to say I run again, and this time I have the dog as my jogging buddy. Though it might not feel it at the time when I’m bowling along, afterwards, having run, and retaining the confidence that you really can run, it gives me a great sense of being and achievement; it’s liberating, both physically and mentally. Thinking about it, I do get it when I’m actually running, providing the humidity and the sun aren’t too high. Fleet of foot, the wind in the hair (some chance), that kind of thing. Superb.

To ease myself back in I’ve adopted my own interpretation of Fartlek which I’ll probably call old fart-lek. Basically, this is a Swedish training method and simply translates as Speed-Play. In practice in involves breaking up a long run into a series of shorter ones varying in effort, anything from, say, walking fast to sprinting flat out. The pace and duration of each leg designed to suit the individual and to allow for brief periods of stress followed by recovery while continuously moving. I’m sure there’s more to the science than I’ve explained but it’s a fun way, and a good way, to run. Blinding.

Running with the dog can be a bit comical. A comfortable pace for me is a tad too quick for the dog to walk normally but way too slow for her to trot, so we begin with her walking increasingly fast in a similar way to a cartoon dog, her legs speeding up to a blur until the lead gets tight and she has to give in and break into a casual trot whereby, soon after, the lead gets yanked in the opposite direction and I, with arm stretched out of its socket, get pulled along the road. When we get to the cross-country part, I’ll let her off the lead but this has its funny moments too. A narrow cut in a field of tall grass means we must go single-file but who goes first is a bone of contention. With dog out front, she seems gradually to slow down so I’m constantly worried she’ll just stop to smell something over ripe on the path and I’ll go arse over tit over a sniffing dog. However, if I get in front I feel her wet snout nudging the back of my calves all the way as if she’s telling me to get a bloody shift on, dawg, or move over. But mostly it’s the open lane, with me hacking up sputum owing to a juvenile tonsillectomy, and her panting due to an absence of sweat glands and making it sound like I’m running alongside Thomas the tank engine. Excellent.

I guess that’s f-fa-f-fa-f-fart-lek, folks!

on understanding art

Apparently, Robert Frost on being asked what one of his poems meant, replied;

“You want me to say it worse?”

I can imagine it. Wonderful.

a brief moment with badgers

I’m writing this post as an afterthought but I wish to mark this day as my second ever sighting of a wild badger. Actually, there was a pair of them on this occasion so that makes three all told.

My first contact was but a little over a year ago. Given my age and the numbers of badger corpses you see scattered alongside any country road, it seems extraordinary that it’s taken so long to get to just three. I might have assumed it’s down to shyness but none of the three hardy specimens I encountered showed the least bit of coyness. The latter two ambled across the road, yards in front of our car, seemingly without the slightest sense of cautiousness. In fact, the hindmost one was intent on boisterous playfulness, nipping its leader on the side of the face in a similar way I’ve seen young dogs play.

Witnessing them like this, for just a short moment, I can’t understand how anyone can think of eradicating them from our countryside in the dubious belief that it best protects cattle from bovine TB. When was the last time a cow made you marvel at nature, never mind a plate of minced beef?

sex

This is not a purse.

I haven't explored it yet - I'm at work! - but already I like its style.

(Don't worry, I believe it's - ahem - intellectual).

Jaga Jazzist

A few years ago when I bought a copy of Kind of Blue in the Amazon sales, just to see what the fuss was all about, I wouldn't have believed it would eventually switch me on to Scandanavia big-time. I've never been there and I think I should go.

According to my radio jazz is big in Norway and Sweden. They kind of have their own way with Jazz. I can't describe it, and I don't know enough about music to want to try, but it sounds - I don't know - clean, young and fresh, like I imagine all Scandinavians to be. It's also sometimes crazy, which is also what I imagine Scandanavians to be.

I've just heard this on the radio. Jaga Jazzist are from Norway. Actually, I'd like you to listen before watching the band as they're distracting at first. I thought I was hearing the theme from a 60s TV show about a team of psychadelic private eyes, or a crime-fighting schoolboy who lives out of a suitcase with his mini-skirted, millionaire mother.

Once you've listened to it, then see the band; it's even more unbelievable. Enjoy.

choosing the right device

I was thinking about time machines this morning. There appears to be three options going; a) the machine, as in HG Wells, Doctor Who etc., b) the gadget; wristband, belt and so forth, or c) the portal.

I have to be honest, I'm not keen on the portal. I'd prefer something tangible; when moving across the fourth dimension, you want to keep a good grip on the other three.

Of the remaining two, I can see pros and cons with both. The gadget is more discreet, arousing less curiousity, but offers no protection whilst travelling nor sanctuary on arrival, and if you put it down anywhen you might lose it forever. The machine, on the other hand, is too obvious, too cumbersome. When you get there, should it have wheels so you can move it around with you - not exactly practical all the time - or do you leave it parked up somewhere? So, how could you make the machine not look too out-of-time, out-of-place?

It's obvious when you think about it.

piccadilly and the corned beef salad sandwich

Apologies for typing this with my mouth full but you know how it is when you come through the other side of a fever you have a ravenous appetite. I'm finishing off the last morsel of a corned beef, coleslaw and fresh salad sandwich made with home-baked bread, still warm; the dog, who disapproves of humans eating unaided, shows her objection by resting her drooling jowls on the closed lid of my laptop; in a short while she would ensure there's enough dog saliva to endanger life and laptop either by short-circuiting or fatal electric shock; I would have to put down my plate and remove my laptop from my lap thus giving her an opportunity to remove the sandwich. It doesn't work. I'm feeling right as ninepence after being far too unwell to eat a thing and now I'm far too hungry to play dogs' games.

Yesterday, I viewed the BFI playlist, The Big Smoke: London on Film. I've a soft spot for any old films showing ordinary goings on, especially up and down streets. London has a particular interest as it's where I'm from. The first clip, Old London Street Scene, 1903, I found truly incredible. Just how many horses were there in London at that time, and what did they do with all the shit? There's none to be seen in the film yet it only takes a couple of girls trotting by on ponies up our way and there's shit for miles! (I did a bit of reckless Googling and estimated over 100,000 public and privately registered nags by 1900 - and it was a much smaller place than now. When the oil finally runs out, and they find there's not enough minerals to make batteries for everyone to have a G-whizz, we'll be in the shit, again.

Moving on, I found this one interesting. It threw up some more questions. I liked the way the colour changes with the scenes, sepia for the interior of the Limehouse boozer, cyan for the street outside, but how would this have been done in 1920s; in the processing, post-process coating of the frames in each scene, or by coloured filters during projection? I don't know why I'm curious, I just am. I'll bet it's the middle one.

It's only an extract from a longer film, and I wouldn't mind watching the whole thing. It's a strong subject, racism, which with all isms isn't going away fast enough, and soon there'll be horseism and shittism to boot, mark my words.

tom dick and bfi

Taking a few days off, tom-dick, right now. It's been a long time since I last had sick leave, and I think it must apply to the whole country because, in that time, the afternoon telly has been neglected and, as a result, become unbelievably crap. I was hoping for a good, old-fashioned and classic film to take my mind off my chills and fever but instead got an endless series of programmes featuring estate agents showing vacant couples around vacant houses.

I had some time ago collected a link to the online British Film Institute and they have uploaded some ''curiosities'' from their archives on to BFI-Youtube. I hadn't realised this runs as a playlist, so by selecting one clip I ended up watching a concoction of weird and unrelated historical film clips for about an hour before I felt overloaded. Still, it was better than watching estate agents.

I'm feeling much better, by the way. Back to normal next week.

speaking of...

...chills and fever.



Young Tom Jones, (he's 70, you know?) ripping it up with his first band, The Senators. (Which, by coincidence, was the name of a different band that John Bonham, later of Led Zeppelin, first recorded with.) Remarkable sound, I think, considering the age. Especially the way the bass comes over. I believe the bassist is Vernon Mills Hopkins, a name that sounds as if it should belong to a Victorian industrialist rather than a 60s rock and roller. ah, well...

...back to the time machine.

...finally

If you though the sound of vuvuzela was something recent, here's evidence to the contrary. A British invention, apparently; seen in this film from 1939, rehearsing somewhere in the north of England, the Three Lions Junior Supporters Club Vuvuzela Marching Jazz Band, sadly unaware that British teams were excluded from entering the World Cup until 1950...



..oh well.

Robert Race

Our local arts centre, New Brewery Arts, is hosting a small exhibitions of moving toys and automata by the artist, Robert Race. I've just been.

Robert Race used to teach science; now he's a full-time artist, working almost entirely with found objects and detritus, which includes a lot of driftwood, to create wonderful, moving pieces. Some of the works are wall-sized and explicitly mechanical, others are much smaller with subtler mechanisms. And most charming; I almost bought a small bird chasing a bee, made from driftwood and clockwork (the reason I didn't is I've never bought directly from an exhibition before, one in progress, and, as visitors were encouraged to play with the objects, I don't know what happens if a bought object gets broken).

However, the piece I liked best in the exhibition I couldn't afford. Titled, Nothing much happening in black & white, it actually featured a pair of counter-rotating, stylised propeller aircraft flying around a slender and upright log, driftwood probably, the mechanism powered by gravity using a shorter, detachable log as a weight. The whole thing was about eight foot tall and would've looked great had I owned a room of sufficient height to do it justice.

There is a website but it doesn't even begin to do the work justice. You'll just have to seek them out for yourself.

moneyless artist

It just struck me, the Moneyless Man is the Hunger Artist.

I bet someone's taking bets - one mown lawn to ten apples he makes it to four & twenty months.

why milkmen whistle

In my world I find myself troubled by the lack of recreational whistling these days. I arrived at this, as always, through a circuitous route beginning with the song, The Milkman of Human Kindness, inexplicably coming to mind, and continuing around and around in my head for days. This song, performed on TOGWT, was the first time I’d noticed Billy Bragg and the lasting impression was how well the loneliness of the performance matched the pathos of the song. I think it was the use of electric guitar that helped in this: most one-man performers, I thought then, used an acoustic, the electric was for bands.

The very long serving milkman we had when I was a lad could have easily been nominated for the milkman of human kindness had such an honour existed. A youthful presence, though probably 30-ish, well-filled out yet short on being fat, with an open, round face, and hair my mum would have described as having been cut with a knife and fork. He carried a withered leather satchel on his front from which he often produced a flip-flap wallet which looked homemade of cardboard and criss-crossed elastic ribbon, and which, by magic and slight of hand, flip-flapped and entrapped your ten-bob or quid note beneath the elastic ribbons. And then he whistled. That’s the point, the whole point. You can get milk from the grocers around the corner, but you can’t get an early morning whistler come all weathers.

On his first day on the job, on our round, he came around our corner with an almighty crash. He asked my mum if she had a broom he could borrow. And a cardboard box for the broken glass. I miss the low sound of bottles hitting the doorstep and the high sound of bottles returning to the crate. He called you Sunshine, or Missus, or Squire, and he left an extra pint.

Billy Bragg had to appear a second time on TOGWT before I got him. The song, Levi Stubbs Tears. The circular working of the lyrics is wonderful, the story unfolds and eventually answers the intriguing question arising from the opening line. But most of all, he isn’t alone. The horn coming at the end simply sold it for me. I suppose he could have whistled it, like Lennon on Jealous Guy, or Redding on Dock of the Bay. I’m glad he didn’t. He went for the horn.

pop schmop

I vaguely remember a long time ago, George Harrison was asked in an interview whether he'd be going along to see Paul McCartney's new band, Wings. He replied something like, Why should I want to see someone pretending to be The Beatles when I've seen The Beatles.

I've just seen some snaps from Glastonbury 2010. Christ, I don't know if the music was worth it but if I'd had to take part in such a grotesque density of human bodies for just a weekend, I'd be shipping myself off immediately to somewhere like the Outer Hebrides for two months of detox. Actually, I've a fair idea the music wasn't worth it. Not for me. It's to do with those words of George Harrison. I did catch a few minutes on telly on several occasions and wondered what the point of pop was now. I was going through a phase of each new artist reminding me of one or several older artists. Now I can't see the wood for the trees. Everything pop suddenly coagulated and the fans bring to mind the Eloi. I felt quite sad for it all but the fans look happy enough, like they don't care. But they should care, shouldn't they? Wasn't that one of its tenets? I'm beginning not to remember...

So, I decided to watch a biopic on Stevie Winwood on BBC iPlayer. I enjoy the intimacy of watching telly on the lappy with headphones. Stevie was remarkably good in his day, I'd completely forgotten that. Apart from the mid-80s bit, I think; I remembered I'd forgotten that for a good reason. I saw Traffic once in London, the three originals - Winwood, Jim Capaldi, and Chris Wood - with a guest bassist. They played for three hours without a break, a fusion of rock, jazz, folk, funk, and much besides. They were exhausting but really, really good. In the documentary, I felt for Stevie musing over an old record sleeve, missing his two dear pals, now both sadly passed away...

4-1

On this day, England lost too convincingly to the youngest Germany of all time. You know, I have some German ancestry somewhere...about three generations back...

No, damn-it, I'm English! More so than football is, I think. They, naturally, should be made to practice their archery.

the naming of things

I see the Guardian is holding a competition to give names to endangered bugs and plants so rare they're only known by scientists who speak of them in Latin. It would be a nice idea but I haven't caught up with the names of all the non-endangered critters yet! Time's running out for us all...

snap vs. slap

I see the NPG is showing the BP Portrait Awards 2010. There's some here and a bit more here. I think I might go.

As I saw The Guardian pictures first, and which didn't carry much information, I wasn't sure whether the BP Awards had allowed photography. (I know the NPG includes photographs in its collection.) However, I see it's just for contemporary portrait painters which makes me marvel at the talent and amount of work that must go into some of these paintings. The Guardian's image of David Eichenberg's Tim II had me puzzling for a mimute until I saw on the NPG site it's an ''oil on panel''. I had wondered if he'd used one of those funny photoshop effects on the background. Of course, now I know, what was I thinking?! It's the NPG!

I do marvel at the work but I'm also ambivalent about this style of painting: a part of me wonders why not just make a photograph? But then a different part thinks photography isn't art. Not in itself. Photography is more a craft, one using much science and technology, and mainly it's use is non-expressive. But I'm not suggesting that no photograph is art or that photography can't be used as an artistic medium. I mean, photography doesn't equal art. Like a brush and paint isn't art - otherwise anyone simply painting a garden fence would be considered artistic.

So, which is better, a photograph or a photo-realistic painting? I don't know but if Tim II had turned out to be a photo I wouldn't have marveled as much.

decent exposure

Libraries are automated now which makes it easier for the borrower and, I assume, allows librarians to get on with better things. The best use of this system is when returning: no more waiting in queues to hand over armfuls of books; it's a five second job. I don't even mind when you have to put each returned book on the appropriate trolley. I mean, there's only the two trolleys and the machine assists with a bright green, flashing arrow. The bonus is, rather than recent returns disappearing behind the librarian's back, they can now be seen on the trolley. It's curious what some people borrow, rather like eyeing up the contents of supermarket trolleys. You can't tell a thing about a person that way but it doesn't stop you trying.

Anyway, to cut an unnecessarily long story short, I found a good book on photography amongst the returns last week; Understanding Exposure, by Bryan Peterson. Now I've gone through loads of these bibles and handbooks and for the intermediate photographer, which I am and I imagine most people are, they're mostly if not all hopeless. Either they're too basic or over technical and too dull to interest anyone but the technical fanatic.

Peterson's book is better because it cuts to the chase. It's the exposure, stupid. He makes it all so obvious, which it probably is but you couldn't be arsed to find it in the dry and lofty ''Advanced Photographer's Bible''. Instead, this one takes you directly to the nitty-gritty, enlightening you with such useful concepts as the holy triangle (shutter speed, aperture, and ISO); the 18% grey illusion; and the handy tricksters, Brother Sky and Mr. Green Jeans. If only they'd have printed a notebook sized edition, it would be a must. Nevertheless, get a copy from your automated librarian today!

the coin-operated horse

I've put this image up for Steve. It's me, probably around four years old, riding on a coin-operated horse. I don't know where it was taken: the coin-operated horse I had in mind, when I commented on a photo of Steve's wife as a little girl riding a rocking horse, was out front of a beach shop in Newquay, Cornwall. This wasn't it; it's an entirely different one. I really must have had a thing about mechanical horses.

Riding the horse, and wanting to ride them when I saw them, is one of the few memories I have from pre-school years. It may be the only one. I have to be careful not to dwell on this memory too long in case it gets corrupted. Memories are delicate things, and I don't really know how pristine this one actually is. I'll put it away now.

brian sewell, national jewel

I've been catching up on Brian Sewell in the London Evening Standard.

In many a twilight hour, I would be sent forth, ''round the corner'', on my little bicycle by Dad to collect an Evening Standard from the news vendor. Then he switched preference to the Evening News; I don't know why...

on photos: wall, web, or book?

Tomorrow I'll go to The Photographers' Gallery. On their forum, which now they appear to have taken down in favour of a new Facebook page (!), they had asked which was best for showing photographs; wall, web, or book? I'm undecided but it does show that photography is the odd medium; no one could dispute that art is best seen in the flesh.

Here's David Wilson's work. He's a Pembrokeshire landscape photographer. We've just come back from a weekend B&B there and found his book of black & white landscapes in the sitting room. It's a great book: not only are the images fantastic but it's instructive too, the accompanying words and the technical bit at the back teach more than most photo handbooks I've read.

I looked out for his work thinking I might have one on the wall at home. His work was everywhere you looked but I never found the one image that I liked enough separated from the rest. His work worked better in a book, as a collection.

What about the web, then? Well, you can make your own mind up but I was interested to read the opening lines from this press review. It's a book, then.

camera

I have a new camera, and I don't know what to do with it. It's to replace two cameras I have. That makes four cameras in all. Two of which have never been used: this new one and a 35mm one the insurance company gave me after I washed my Pentax inside a duty-free carrier bag with two bottles of Italian red. It was well and truly obsolete by that time and I never could find love for the replacement model they sent.

Anyway, enough of this crap.

Isn't this photograph wonderful! It's by Becky Vigor, The Art of Zinkibaru. (We've met before but I found her this time using 'next blog', starting at Ellis Nadler...)

the chair: an idea

In quiet moments I'll sometimes click on the next blog link on the blogger bar above. I don't do it from here. I do it from Ellis Nadler's blog because I've been doing it for a while and starting from his blog normally gives more interesting results than others, no doubt by content association. Often I thought I ought to post some of the interesting blogs I've found by this method but I'm lazy, and people should do their own lokking, and if anyone really wants to know, I hide them in the link mosaic at the end of the sidebar.

Anyway, I found Galen's Manspace and I'm intrigued by his vertical marble roller (I wish there was a video). I love machines, and I love art, so what's not to like with a vertical marble roller.

I wish I had the time to develop this idea along my own lines. Two things came to mind; there must be a visual and an audible element to this which can be separated. the idea I have is for a chair - credit to my blog mate Steve for this post - incorporating a marble roller. The first device, a helter-skelter, would wrap itself around the sitter's head thus, if the sitter closed their eyes, they would hear the sound passing around their head. The second device comprises a wall, not unlike the one in the contemplation chair, but constructed from marble rollers. There would need to be some random element in the way the marbles were released but I feel the effect will either be infuriating or relaxing, and I don't mind which.

tempus fugit

Man, it's been awhile. Tempus fugit. So, an update in brief;

I'm reading the Guardian more these days, online. Not as good as the minds found in The Times but at least it's free, and there's more Environment news-views. I have it on a handy feed. I'm liking this guy recently, John Crace. Funny.

Like Goldilocks and the porridge: neither heavy, nor lightweight. I agree with Nick. I'm voting Lib-Dem.

Life drawing was cancelled this term due to lack of interest. D'oh! But I have a new camera!, the G11. Sounds more like a meeting of elite nations; not as catchy as the Ixus which it's replacing. Not as compact either but less weighty than the Brick of Eos. I hope it fits my requirements better than either.

Shall I resurrect my art blog?

Watched James Lovelock on Beautiful Minds through yesterday's lunch hour. Easily as good as Satish Kumar on Natural World (of which I have a DVD). If I could only choose one televisual channel, I think it might be BBC Four.

Allotment is going fine. This year we're experimenting with no-dig (well, min-dig, really. I can't resist the odd fork over). It feels so natural this time around; am I becoming an old hand at it, perhaps?

END

more death, only slower, and more free easels

Further insight into The Book About Death yields this, a less hurried way of looking.

Also, you may be pleased to know that I contacted Winsor & Newton about my missing easel parts and, following two weeks of pleasant email ping-pong to establish exactly which bits were missing, they posted the missing parts, absolutely free. Now, you can't say fairer than that. My thanks to Alison at W&N.

underground art

This thing I have about the web, well, a friend once told me when talking about work, ''you only get out what you put in!''. (He must have changed his mind because recently he was telling me how much he hated his job, working long hours, but that's a story for another time.) Well, I don't know about work but it seems to be true for trawling the web. I'm on a mini-roll here...

This is a find: Linear, a series of pencil portraits found at Art on the Underground. It's unusual as the drawing process is captured on film and accompanied by conversation with the subjects as they're being drawn. There's also background noise that makes up the working environment, hence the idea behind Linear. The artist is Dryden Goodwin. He tells it so,

'Linear exists as a repository of insights and histories, anecdotal and factual, revealed through the interplay of the drawn line and conversation, that is unique to the Jubilee line at this particular point in time. Drawing someone you've never met before results in an intense encounter and enables a unique intimacy to develop. As the portraits unfold, so too does openness in the conversation; Linear is all about different types of connection.'

To me, it's a wonderful example of drawing as performance art.

art strip

As the web expands it naturally thins out. This is, no doubt, why I've let my interest in some areas lapse. Like Flickr. However, one of the resilient wonders of the web is the way people from far off make casual contact. I find this heartwarming. The human race is a good thing.

In my inbox this morning is a Flickr notification of contact from Alan Cichela. Finding his comic strips based around artworks is love at first sight. I wish I understood Portuguese - Alan hails from Brazil. The google translator is a bit ham-fisted, I may have to persevere, but as they stand they are delightful images.

I iGoogle.

It saves time, sometimes.
You never know what it might turn up.
Wiki-How is a feed.

How to Live with a Perfectionist
(do they mean me?)

How to be Active Before Work
(steady on, now!)

the funny thing was the image that greets you on the perfectionist page (see right), well, I'm sure it's by fellow Moleskine Exchanger Mike Kline! Small world.

hi-ho

Spring is here and I'm bored with working inside. This time, last year, I was free to dedicate 100% of my hours on the allotment if I so wished; now I have to work.

It doesn't help that I can't seem to get the measure of the brief for the job I'm currently involved in. One day you can't do too little, the next too much is not nearly enough. It's the business-political aspect I never get; I'd much rather set-to to do the best job I can, regardless. Still, I quietly remind myself of the mantra: nothing lasts forever. There's light approaching clearly from the end of the tunnel. All I need do is steady myself on the footplate and keep shovelling in the coal...

someday my prints will come

Many moons past, I made a multi-media illustration inspired by a prompting website called, I think, Artwords. I can't remember what the prompt word was either but the illustration featured a doodle of a fisherman pulling a net amongst newsprint waves while being assailed by a shoal of flying fish. What troubled me was where the idea of the fish came from. I wouldn't want to argue that anything in art is original but these fish, though not copied, were naggingly too familiar. Last week, I found the similarity with MC Escher's flying fish. Case solved.

I'm 97.3% decided to enrol on a printmaking class, particularly one involving block cutting. I'm fascinated with these things. From my naive point of view, the success of these comes in two directions which, in my ingorance, I call the illustrative and the geometrical. The illustrative tends to have a laboured, old-fashioned feel, so I'm drawn towards the simpler looking geometrical. I've also been charmed by the effectiveness of these simple designs using MDF board, by Nat Morley. I'll have to get a head start on any course and get my thinking cap on about subjects and designs...

missing the point

The Beauty of Wind Power. Nice!

vs.

Rubbish Photography. Er, nice too.

The camera always, always lies.

barking

The remarkable thing about Percy Edwards was his ability to mimic animal noises convincingly. Accurate enough for the film industry to regularly employ him to overdub sound effects for countless movies over three decades. If this ability wasn’t special, no doubt he would have passed away in relative obscurity. He could have been the exception which proves the rule: why keep a dog and bark yourself?

The smartest riposte I heard a colleague give to a meddling architect was; Please allow me to know my job.

when you mention death, I hear violins

Life class isn't going well; I'm just not in the zone with it this time. I console myself by picking up a pair of studio easels, gratis. They'd been removed from their usual corner and placed in the naughty corner opposite, one bore a roughly penned note warning, ''broken, do not use''. Well, I asked if I could have them, to save them from being thrown away. That was last week. This week, after spending a half hour simply dismantling and reassembling, I have one perfectly good easel, albeit mucky with old paint, and a second mucky easel with only one missing bolt and wingnut, and a small wooden clamping piece which any numpty can fashion from a common or garden offcut. Brand new they'll cost £85 a piece. I'm as chuffed as a chuffed thing can be.

Trawling (I'm lately regarding this as a more suitable adjective than surfing) the net for inspiration, I stumbled upon this project from last year. 500 artists submitted a postcard-sized work to be included in a book entitled, A Book About Death. Brazilian artist, Angela Ferrara, compiled this superb video-slideshow of the exhibits. It runs a little fast for me [old codger!] but you can pause if you're quick [I should've kept up playing vid games!], and the music, though not unpleasant, wasn't what I'd choose when looking at pictures about death, or artwork of any sort. It's a bit full-on. You can always mute, of course. It's worth going to Youtube and watching in HD rather than this little embedded view.

perspectives

Illustration friday's topic this week is Perspective. Here's a strip I did for Moleskine Exchange. The height of a tree is inversely proportional to the distance the observer is from the top. This is exactly the same law that governs time travel: the closer the observer is to their youth, the longer things are. I was reminded of this when I remembered reading Brave New World at college; I must have been eighteen. Yet I knew before I was sixteen I hadn't started reading anything significant. At the time, I clearly remember I was sure I had wasted half my life to illiteracy yet now I realise it was barely two years....

The Three Trees: an allegory of the three worlds?

(I don't know)

click for a bigger view

don't buy any of these!

My path to mindful consumerism is fairing well. I can categorically claim now that I do not buy books, CDs, or DVDs. My conscience is not pricked by the damage I'm doing to these industries and their employees as I'm sure I'm in an eentsy-weentsy minority of, oh, about 0.0083%. I feel good.
I went to the library to get a book to help me with life drawing. I didn't spot one but came away with Outsiders: Art by People, by Steve Lazarides. It's an interesting book. Much of the art in the book is intended to shock the viewer by its context, its message, and its scale. In a book, most of it comes across as witty; I had to stop and think, hey, these guys are fucking up the places where peaceable folk live! Can vandalism be acceptable as art?
The best pieces were those temporary pieces which employed dummies; a cross-legged hoodie, head bowed, hands in pockets, leaning against a city office wall with a half-empty bottle of water beside him on the pavement, or the ''floater'' lying face down in the canal beside a bridge and clutching a collection of colourful helium-filled balloons. The first piece was largely ignored while the second eventually had the emergency services executing a deep water recovery. There's a clear line between despair and drowning.

We rent films monthly from LOVEFiLM. There's been some good ones recently;

• The Visitor,
• Home,
• Into The Wild.

I choose films arbitrarily, not knowing too much about them; like with books, you can do that more freely when you don't have to own them. So, you'd think there couldn't be any connection between these three films but now, strangely, I'm not sure.

art surf

''Are you pleased with it?''

That is the question I get asked each week in life class. Being asked the question, in class, reminds me of being asked the question, en route,

''Are we nearly there yet?''

It's become a philosophical question now; it depends what is meant by the term 'pleased'. Frankly, I always know I can do better, no matter what I've done - the curse of the incurable perfectionist - and to get there I need to do more practice, to draw more often. Not just once a week.

The web has become less pleasing, quite dull actually. I rely on familiarity and feeds these days but ccasionally I surf randomly though this comprises little more than hitting 'Next Blog' above Ellis Nadler's Sketchbook. I've discovered that starting at his blog yields more fascinating hits, no doubt by process of similarity, and I get to see Ellis's latest offering which rarely fails to brighten my day.

And today I was moved by some preliminary sketches for a painting by Brooke Olivares (top right). Simple and so full of life, I think they speak for themselves. There's also a wonderful painting of a family group on a beach. It's worth looking for.

I'm pleased with that little surf. Now that just leaves me the question, what's the difference between ''illustration'' and ''art''?

iRack

It's high time I signed off my Mortuary Corners...

Pandora's Box

Journo-lisms: Cause and effect

''Just a couple of hours before the earthquake hammered poor Haiti, I was reorganising my bookshelves at home. In the Haiti section...''

Andy Kershaw, The Independent

Do you have a Haiti section? Any section at all? Why not?

Pandora's Box

Journo-lisms: for openers,

''The multimilliondollar question, the one that follows Jimmy Page around like relentless feedback from an amp...''

James Jackson, The Times

When Tinnitus goes to Eleven.

(And when did it become a multi million dollar question? Picky, I know, but I remember when it was just $64k.)

blues meditation

Mr. Natural by Mr. Crumb, and Mess o' blues by Messrs. Mississippi Sheiks. Nice.

Crumbs

Chicks Don't Dig Collectors

Ah-ha. Interestingly, he makes the case for connoisseurs over mere collectors. I think this probably just indicates a wealthier bunch of collectors and the difference between mindless and madness.

Previously...

armenian navy band

For minimalism.

far more drums

Btw,

Q: What do you call a musician who hangs out with three guys?

A: Joe Morello.



Full Story

a personal journey to world music

Some years after Ron Ely's Tarzan series' Afro-Californian bongo scenes my World Music education continued.

reformed collector

Rod Liddle once wrote a piece for The Times opining how singers and bands really have only one great album in them; precious few have two, and only the rarest of geniuses could produce three.

Phil Spector said, a decade or two earlier, why he didn't like albums. To him they too often comprised two hit singles and ten bits of crap.

These days I listen to a lot of internet radio shows, down at the ''serious'' end of the spectrum. Really without exception they still push the latest album releases and yet, like any other show, will only feature repeat plays of one or occasionally two songs from any album. For a long time I thought this was down to legal obligations born out of business prudence, but now I'm not buying it. Also it seems odd that the greatly hailed albums of January are only good until the end of February by which time we've moved on and another record joins our expanding unplayed collections. Rod and Phil are probably right. Record collecting is beginning to look like nothing more than a good example of mindless consumerism.

Getting back to the internet radio, there is more music than it is possible to hear in one lifetime. Combine this with the delights found on youtube, lastfm, myspace etc., I find my life overwhelmed with fabulous music. So who still thinks rooms clad in dusty, yellowing plastic is right? Not me.

I am not a happy bunny

The telephone rang. A charming woman's voice told me the oil painting class won't be happening this term. There wasn't enough interest.

I'm especially put out as I have knives and canvasses ready and waiting.

But I find I'm still happy. I enrolled for life drawing as well.

time out

Hey, I watched this great documentary on jazz; 1959, The Year That Changed Jazz. Sorry, but you've missed it (and I only just caught it thanks to BBC's 7 day Play It Again feature). I only mention it now because if it ever comes around again be sure to see it. Apart from the beautiful music and its history, the programme contains some wonderful footage and photos of 50s America. When the time machine is working again this period will be my first call.

I've cottoned on to the pleasures of jazz only recently - pretty late actually. Of the four records spotlighted, I already enjoy three; Kind Of Blue, Time Out, and Mingus Ah Um. The fourth which I don't own, Ornette Coleman's The Shape of Jazz to Come, scares me a little. It's still sounds somewhere else despite its age. I'll have to think a bit more about that one...

Don't forget to look out for the programme.

request stop

Why is it you don't see a bass for ages and then four come along at once?

helping hand

Xia Taptara's blog title sounds like a lascivious confession but is instead really a delightful place.

I like this tutorial on how to draw female hands. It has a doodling quality about it, as if visualised by an invisible eye, and his voice fits perfectly with the process. A tranquil influence. I often find doodling calming, and most of my doodles are created in a state of calmness or in the direction of calmness. Hands are something I might doodle, absent-mindedly, in a corner of a page, like the one on the right reaching for the button.

resolutions

The only way to avoid failure is an all or nothing approach. The more resolutions you make the more chance some will prevail, or don't bother with it. I like resolutions. It doesn't worry me that they won't amount to anything; there's happiness in their making.

Happy New Year.