Michael Jackson

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Listening to: Jackson 5 - Looking Thru the Windows

I wasn't planning to contribute anything to the already overwhelming volume of online responses to the death Michael Jackson last Thursday. To be honest, like most of us, it's a long time since I've thought of him as anything other than the world's most famous victim of Sleb Culture. But as someone pretty good at writing about these things once said, you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone -and I got to thinking. Ok, it's been a while since he's been on top of his game recording-wise but so what? When Sir Paul eventually goes to meet his maker, my bet is that Macca tributes will be waxing poetic about The Beatles, not Wings...who were actually together for longer.
My own first MJ-moment came as a child when I heard the guitar-chiming/stop-start-bass intro to I want You back on the radio. It still makes me, mentally at least, stop what I'm doing when I hear it now. It also occurred to me; how many of us ever buy records, that have lasting value decades after being released, by someone whose voice hasn't yet broken? The Jackson 5 were fronted by just such a performer, but as a listener you never question the 10 year-old pre-pubescent vocal chords. You don't need to, because of the sheer Greatness thereof. Not many 13 year-olds get to record ballads about waking up in the morning next to the love of their life, but his is up there with the best of 'em.
Of course there's the plethora of non-musical reasons for which he had the world's attention: The plastic surgery, the confused sexuality, the (alleged) abusive childhood, the Messiah complex, the children, Neverland, his marriages, his own closely-guarded brood, and so it goes. I always thought that some aspects of his public image throughout the years were bad attempts to look wierd and therefore press-worthy (Bubbles the chimp springs to mind) but there was enough genuine intrigue around him as an individual to warrant attention most of the time, without any invention. One thing's for sure - there'll be some interesting books on their way to the highstreet as I type this.
I'm currently re-evaluating MJ's place on Popular Culture's scale of importance, and I'm placing him a fair bit higher than I might have this time last week.
For now though, just click on the above clip of the J5 performing the awesome Looking Thru the Windows on TV. MJ's great vocal, the orchestration, the airborne backing-vocals, the cavernous chunks of Theme From Shaft-informed guitar alongside it's fuzzed-out punctuations, the moves. It was all there, even then.


Is it safe?

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It's been one of those weeks. Found myself back at the Dental surgery yesterday morning. Ok, I knew I was in for the first installment of a root-canal treatment, and that this probably wouldn't involve many laffs. But I also figured that I'd be dosed to the gills with enough anaesthetic to render this a merely uncomfortable encounter, as opposed to a painful one. Funny how wrong you can be. He (my dental practitioner of choice, name withheld) had decided whilst looking at an X-ray that the nerve of the tooth was dead, and as a result no anaesthesia would be called for. I replied that I really wouldn't mind having some, even if it were for no reason. He ploughed on regardless, partly I think because he was behind schedule with his appointments.
Yes, you know what's coming. No dead nerve to be found, just a live and very angry one. First time I've ever been remotely vocal in a dental situation I have to say. Screaming was simply the natural, primal response to that particular kind of deeply invasive pain.
My dental visits
are rarely a leisurely experience these days. Costly too. Private dental treatment costs £180 per half-hour...and that's just the time. Treatment-costs are added to that. You can see why a lot of people who don't have access to NHS treatment are staying away in droves. Back there in three weeks for the second installment. I'm losing sleep already.


April to June

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Ok, so apparently May didn't exist this year. I'm officially a bad blogger. That's bad meaning bad. It's not that stuff didn't occur in Sonic World this past month, (quite the contrary) just nothing that urged me to render it in written form and blast it into the blogosphere. Bear with me citizens, as this will happen occasionally.
On the upside, the sun has indeed been shining down on this green and pleasant wasteland we know as Cruel Britannia over the last few days. In fact the sun continues to beat down as I write this. I'm feeling quite Mediterranean I have to say. You know those mornings when the sky is that certain shade of blue that seems to make the likelihood of cloud-formation extremely unlikely? Well normally, we don't here...but this last weekend has seen a daily succession of those azure, cloud-free skies. As a result, yours truly is a little less caucasian than I've been for quite some time. Plus, just over one year on from my unfortunate mishap of 2008, my right-leg is working fine again. In fact, it's better than before.
Things are on the Up pop-kids, I can feel it...


Swines

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It's amazing just how quickly you can become totally out-of-touch with what's going on in the world these days. When I went to bed on Monday night, there was some vague news on TV concerning one death in Mexico from something called Swine Influenza. On Tuesday morning I was up at 5.00am (yes, it happens) out all day, and was indisposed for most of that evening due to someone breaking into the Sonic Chariot. The perpetrator had bent the passenger-side door at the top to gain access then made off with a pair of Primark sunglasses that cost £2.00. Don't you just love smackheads?
Anyhoo, my point is that I managed not to see a newspaper or TV news bulletin for a little under 24 hours. By the time I got to see some news on Tuesday night, there were 150 Mexican deaths, with reports of outbreaks in Scotland and numerous other parts of the globe. At the time of writing (Thursday) it is now a Level 5 global epidemic. We're getting leaflets through the door, schools are closing, people are wearing surgical masks to have sex and sales of pork scratchings have plummeted. Those germs sure can shift themselves pop-kids. It really is like one of those future-doom dramas from the 70's.
Come to think of it, I have at least two of those symptoms listed up there...


Unbridled Optimism

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It must be said that us Brits are enjoying somthing of an early summer at present. I mean, you can pretty much get a sun-tan if you put your mind to it. Excellent for April. Mind you, I recall waxing lyrical about the Weather Gods smiling down upon us around this time last year, and things went downhill for yours truly pretty soon after that. Reminded me that unbridled optimism doesn't always mean that sh*t won't happen. Summer turned into something I only saw on TV and shook one of my crutches at in anger.
Still, as I've been heard to mutter before, this is not a weather blog, although this very topic - The Weather - for me is right up there with 9/11, Scientology in Hollywood, and Seinfeld as being something I rarely tire of talking about.
You'll find examples of each of these scattered around this site in various places, though thinking about it now, it's been a while since I even mentioned the crazy futuristic cult of Scientology...and now we have the whole Will Smith thing to think about. Expect an update on this.


Fear of Facial Hair

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Caught Fleet Foxes on the Culture Show over the weekend. Music aside, what caught my attention was the band's apparent devotion to facial hair. The appeal of the latter has always been a mystery to me, especially when exhibited by the under-60's. Ok, your songs may be sourced directly from 1968 but you can still indulge in a little grooming now and again, no? Whatever fashion-based skeletons I may have packed tightly in my cupboard, I can assure thee that face-fuzz sure ain't one of 'em.
And while we're at it, that interview... jeez, it's like something from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. I'm sure the lead-beard is one helluva song-writing prodigy, but if you remove the word 'Like,' he actually utters about 6 words in total, proving that sometimes there's a lot to be said for faceless techno anonymity.
Don't get me wrong pop-kids, I can be a sucker for timeless-acoustic-guitar-from-wooded-glade-in-Laurel-Canyon music as much as the next Mojo-reading beard-jockey, (check out today's Listening to selection) but many of it's exponents, these days at least, don't make for great interviews it has to be said. Now this band of folk-revisionists did it right in my book. Exactly how I like it - no song-explanations, and never, ever any facial hair.


British Summertime

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And so beginneth another British Summertime. Yes boys and girls, the clocks have gone forward, the shorts are on standby and high-hopes for a long, lazy summer begin to emerge. No matter how much of a pipe-dream it really is these days, you just can't help thinking that a 1976-style summer just might happen again. Aside from the weather though, Summer is also a state of mind. Longer days and lighter mornings make for happier, shinier (and here in Brit-land drunker) people. Could be an interesting season given the predictions earlier in the year of a summer of civil unrest within these shores. Conditions are pretty favourable this year I think.
The tone has been well and truly set this weekend with the Put People First protest in London yesterday, ahead of the G20 Summit on April 2nd. Earlier this week, the the former CEO of the Royal Bank of Scotland had his house and car vandalised by well-wishers - or more correctly, one of his houses and one of his cars. He's probably considering spending the summer at one of his holiday-homes.
Of course, whilst behaviour like this can't be condoned, it's a measure of just how hacked off people in this country are right now. Given the international scope of the current economic mess we've all been plunged into, and the amount of heads in the financial-sector that don't appear to be rolling as a result, it could be a very significant summer the world over, one way or another.
Ok, time to wax that board...


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