onionbagblog

I find it hard to write anything meaningful about a jazz album. I’m still very new to this, I’m still learning. Brilliant Corners is just that. It’s a fantastic record that takes you along different paths. That sounds like arsey jazz wank crap, but the music is so intoxicating and still feels fresh and modern.

Broad sweeping statement alert: I was struggling with music in recent years. I was looking for something new yet couldn’t find it. Reggae kind of filled the gap. I still return to this every now and then but I think jazz is what I was looking for.

I want something which I can listen to whilst working away and being engaged elsewhere, yet still appreciating the power that music can have. Brilliant Corners is just the latest in a long line of recent jazz findings that pretty much hit the spot for me.

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“When I close my eyes now I have a a movie-reel of stunning moments available to me. Anderson - constantly aware, constantly scanning, leading and directing - patrolling all areas of the football pitch as if the other players are just pawns in his game. Anderson isn’t human, he’s superhuman. His sense of the positioning of himself and others constantly updating, cataloguing every step those around him take and performing Rain Man calculations every millisecond to find the angles in which to dart and dance. Anderson is marvelous in the mundane moments and spectacular in the special seconds.”

Tell It Like It Is. Pete Blackburn on Elliot Anderson.

Stuttering, staccato funk music at its best. You can see how Talking Heads soaked up all that was happening around them in NY during this period and then stole the best bits to create Speaking in Tongues. This album is so rhythmic with its various chants and mantras. It’s the perfect dance music for white men who can’t dance, as the Stop Making Sense film so perfectly demonstrated.

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To the Tattoo Studio! …once again early on Tuesday morning. I am enjoying these early starts for the current round of ink sessions. It’s a bit of a surreal feeling having a needle piercing your skin before 8:30 a.m. but it means that we make great progress and can call it a day come mid-afternoon.

I was the first person to have that clattering sound of the needle piercing their virgin skin this morning. This is a good sign. Most of the legwork, so to speak, had already been completed by my ace tattoo man on previous sessions. The task today was simply to fill in the outlines that had already been drawn.

I rather rocked the mid-80s playlist that kept us entertained throughout the entire day. We’re talking absolute 80s bangers such as Madonna, Michael Jackson, and erm, Queen. I find it difficult to listen to these songs now without actually picturing the video in my head.

Video killed the radio star etc.

The first ink to go on was on my front shin.Contrary to popular belief, this was actually relatively painless. It only had the sensation of a very light pin scratch across my leg.

As the 80s soundtrack continued to rock my ink world, on the screen immediately above me was another obscure YouTube Japanese food video. This time I was watching how to prepare Japanese noodles. I found this all rather calming and relaxing.

The afternoon session had the ink action turning 108 degrees. The back of my calf this was a little more painful. The finishing touches were some drop shadow, which was an absolute bastard.

And so that’s four full on days of ink action in under the space of one month. I’m calling it quits for a short while whilst I recover. New dates are booked in for late autumn. I’ve still just about got enough bare flesh left to cover.

The missing piece in my quest to try and buy up all the old Forest tops that I either once owned and flogged on, or some retro ones that have been reproduced.

Here we have a blackout kit. I know, I know. It’s what all the cool hipsters are wearing down at Selhurst.

Maybe I should clarify that: all the cool hipsters down at Selhurst aren’t wearing Forest blackout kits, but you get the idea.

This is actually a really great design. It’s based on the legendary Forest 92 green away kit that was never worn in any competitive match. Replacing the green is… black.

I’m being drawn towards black an awful lot of late. It’s a black and white world - or rather it’s a black and white world when you have a body mass that is covered in more black ink more than naked flesh.

Forest would look cool as fuck to be honest these days if they did have a black kit. Chris Wood would look the bollocks in it.

At some stage Teenage Fanclub managed to transition from being Creation indie darlings to pretty much inventing a new scene: indie country. It really shouldn’t work but the endless melodies and west coast throwbacks colliding with a little bit of indie jingle jangle leads to a very warm feeling.

The Fannies are the great Creation survivors. Songs from Northern Britain was kicking back against all the Britpop sensibilities at the time. You couldn’t wish for an album that had less bravado than its contemporaries. It still stands up today, mainly because of the quality of the songs. Gawd bless the Fannies.

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It was a busy Monday evening at the Sailing Club table tennis Monday social. We had six players. Some new rules were delegated on the spot: rather than play to 21, it was dictated we would play to 11 so everyone had some table time.

This meant for some very speedy play. You have no hiding place, no mercy when you are playing to 11 points. Within a blink of an eye you can find yourself six-nil down and pretty much chasing the game.

I came close to departing one game on a classic table tennis bagel - aka zero points. I managed to salvage some sense of respectability.

My final game of singles was my best game. It was an epic match, which, despite being played to 11, ended up with me winning 16-14. We had tied the game at 10-all and you needed to win by two clear points.

Some pretty random doubles followed. I made a suggestion that we play as a threesome. No one laughed. I think some of my fellow Monday Night Social players even took the comment as the innuendo that wasn’t honestly implied.

Another day, another Estuary Wilds walk. I’m booked in for my final ink session of the summer tomorrow - which all means that anything too strenuous is still out of the question. Walk to live, live to walk, etc.

There was an outgoing tide as I put in a purposeful stride and marched along towards the creek. The Colne mud was baking nicely and rapidly drying out. It looked like very thick brown custard.

Up above were some brilliant Big Blue Essex skies. There wasn’t a single cloud to be seen. I was however wandering lonely. There was no one else around, with just the right amount of breeze to keep me fresh.

This was all the perfect antidote to escape the political bullshit that was taking place elsewhere.

I reached the creek and then headed up around the back of Alresford. I startled the most stunning peacock who was flopping up and down on a roof. Or maybe it was the peacock that startled me?

I’d give this route 7 out of 10 in terms of scenic enjoyment. It’s an absolute stunner until you reach the creek. The lane towards Alresford is half decent, but then you have to dodge the cars on the main road back into Wivenhoe.

I know I can walk it like I talk it.

I rather enjoyed the Wivenhoe Town Cricket Club Annual Music Day on Sunday. I wasn’t sure at first if this was taking place. Facebook said yes but I didn’t see much else around the town.

I opened the windows at home shortly after 1 pm and yep, it’s deffo. It’s surprising how far noise can carry given the right wind conditions.

We rocked up at the Cricket Club ever so slightly fashionably late. I was also ever so slightly fashionably overdressed. I do like any excuse to get tarted up: Jase Wears G Force, right?

Which was all something of a shame as I would have gone for the face painting. I don’t think my urban streetwear Nottingham look circa 1991 would have gone down too well with a butterfly design across both cheeks.

The first task was to head to the bar.

Chin chin.

Some rather decent pale ale was sourced. This came very close to being ruined with a pesky fly hovering over my pint for the first five minutes or so. Be gone!

There were plenty of friendly faces around. We spent the first hour or so not talking cricket, but talking football. This should be an interesting season ahead at Broad Lane for the Dragons.

A little business conversation also followed. It seemed that the entire building team has been working on our house over the past six months or so and was also at the Music Day. It was good to catch up with them, although there was a definite difference in my level of conversation when I was three pints down, compared to a cup of builder’s tea each morning.

The wicket at the Cricket Club was protected, but not the outfield. It was pretty much trashed. And so was I by 3 pm.

We took a strategic position sitting at mid-off facing the main band stage. A sound check was taking place for the headline act. Given the length this took to carry out I was half expecting an Oasis at Wembley Stadium performance.

It was a covers band, natch, but they were bloody good. The guitarist in particular was incredibly talented and managed to hit all the right notes and riffs. SHOUT OUT to the metal version of Cameo’s Word Up, which I rather enjoyed.

So that’s the Annual Music Day for another year. These things tend to come around… every year or so.

Kaiso Power: Sound Revolution in Trinidad is an absolute joy. It’s a compilation that has just dropped on the Soundway label. It came via the always excellent Late Junction, as most things do these days.

The title may suggest something revolutionary involving Trinidadian music. That’s not far off the mark but it’s also so much more.

At the heart of this is the rhythm and the dance. Revolutions are always the better if they involve some dancing.

There’s so many styles on offer here, all colliding and building up a sense of change, movement and just having a bloody good time whilst you’re at it.

There’s ska, some afro beat and even some Latin rhythms thrown in. It’s the perfect antidote that I should turn to after being served up some dull rock shite as part of the daily album routine.

The closing track, More Weight by Abdul Malik de Coteau, is a bit of a variation from the rest of album. It’s also the standout track.

The story follows that More Weight is a game that the young Abdul played back in Trinidad, involving his school friends having basically a pile on to add more weight.

He then moved to Brixton and the More Weight now becomes a metaphor for the pressures growing up around him.

It’s a thoughtful way to close an album that tries to raise awareness but often takes you down a different path with your dancing shoes.

My kind of music.