Tuesday, 26 August 2008


Just arrived back home after a weekend away, turned on Radio 1, was LITERALLY knocked to the floor by an awe-inspiring triumvirate consisting of:

Keane - 'Spiralling'
Alphabeat - 'Boyfriend'
Does It Offend You, Yeah? - 'Dawn of the Dead'

Senseless, Wagnerian, very-possibly-coke-fuelled pop with an underlying sense of desperation and bewilderment: the Eighties revival in full swing.

And yet ...

The Keane tune is, on a purely formal level, actually pretty fucking good.

Strange, that.

Wednesday, 20 August 2008


'Gaily into Ruislip Gardens
Runs the red electric train,
With a thousand Ta's and Pardons
Daintily alights Elaine;
Hurries down the concrete station
With a frown of concentration,
Out into the outskirt's edges
Where a few surviving hedges
Keep alive our lost Elysium - rural Middlesex again.'

Glib, emotionless patois of the English upper-middle class.

Why this is glorified as 'brilliant light-versification' by people who are wont to dismiss other more demotic forms of popular art as inane is frankly beyond me.

Sunday, 17 August 2008


In the morning of my life
there you were, dancing.
I ran the spool against itself
my love,
and watched our children
with their infant fingers drumming
a tattoo on my piggy-back shoulders,
kicking at the dawn,
glue-bound eyes opening
to the world.