The film passed me by and so did this album at the time. I’m still not entirely sure what I have just to. At times it felt like the roll call ahead of a circus big top performance. At other times it was almost too meta-French. This is no bad thing. I like a bit of variety in my morning listening habits. This pricked up my interest and was thoughtful. It wouldn’t pass the old grey whistle test but it was a pleasant departure from some of the other music I’ve been listening to of late.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐
I was a layer down in clothing for the autumnal ride on Thursday lunchtime. The weather around the roll out for the Estuary Wilds loop was made for gilets - which was something of a shame as I have become a bit of a gilet ponce in recent years. Any excuse to wear them, but sadly not today.
I was feeling a little tired on two fronts and so decided to take it easy. Yesterday we put in 25,000+ steps, schlepping from East London down to Bankside, across to the West End, and then back over east. This was also my first major physical activity since something of a vaccination spree at the start of the week.
The only eventful thing to happen on this ride was the powerful stench of onions. These appear to be getting stronger and stronger each week. I think most have been picked from around the fields in the lanes. They’re just left there lying now, waiting to be collected.
There’s a metaphor in there for the dying days of the summer.
I approached this with some caution. I’m not really a fan of nu soul: too much vocal gymnastics and not enough, erm, soul in the actual delivery. I was pleased to see that this is only 37 minutes long. That’s pretty much a decent running time for any album.
“Global warming ain’t got nothing on this chick. My summer has gone frigid.”
… ‘aint going to win an Ivor Novello Award anytime soon.
The music is actually the winner: strong Prince vibes - and not just any old Prince vibes but some pre-Purple Rain stuff with some of the slowed down funk on offer here. Still not enough to tip it over the edge for me.
⭐ ⭐
Kevin Ayers and The Whole World’s Shooting at the Moon. He’s a name that I’ve always been familiar with, but not so his music. My endless journey towards being lost in a summer of Prog continues. We may be coming towards the fag end of the summer days but this doesn’t stop my musical time travelling back to the early 70s. I remain convinced I was born in the wrong decade.
There’s something just so innocent about Shooting at the Moon. It’s a bit of a messy album in that there are so many styles and structures taking place. That’s the jazz thing going off, innit. But some of the more considered song pieces really are well crafted and have a very pastoral warm sense that just fits these final days of the summer of 2026. It’s a shame I came to it all more than half a Century too late.
To Tate Modern!
I had half an hour or so to kill on Wednesday afternoon. I was in search of Mr. Rothko. I found Mr. Rothko.
The Seagram Murals are of an immense scale. There’s a very dark mood to them compared to the lighter touches in his other work. I found it all rather calming, such was the vastness of the art in front of me.
Mr. Rothko has been known to make grown men cry. Yep.
To Shakespeare’s Globe! …on Wednesday afternoon.
“Is this Much Ado or As You Like It?”
…asked my theatre companion.
Oh dear.
Two and a half hours later and I still don’t think she knew what she had just seen.
This was something of a slow burner. It started off with half the cast wearing costumes that looked like those old naff toilet roll doll holders that your nan used to have.
SHOUT OUT to the company members who had to spend the first half hour simply holding a pose. It was like watching a game of musical statues.
It all livened up when one of the main young, virile love interests came to life. He ripped off his shirt, showing a pair of pecs that would put my calf muscles to shame. There were a few fainters in the crowd - male as well as female.
The casting was superb. Issues of social class were somehow explored and drawn out of the plot. Orlando in particular, played out his outcast role to perfection. There is no war but the class war, etc.
A subplot was taking place with the scenery. Live art was being created as the plot developed on some large white boards.
This worked out really well during all the All the World’s a Stage speech. The seven stages of humanity were portrayed in artistic form as the trees in the artwork went through their seasonal changes.
The climax, so to speak, got very saucy. The musicians up above were superb, with a Burundi drummer’s beat pounding out the thrust and rhythm to keep up with the plot.
Oh, I think it was As You Like It, luv.
To Four Corners Gallery!
Yoanna Walden was exhibiting in something of a miniature show with a very loose theme of containment and mental health. Cheer up, luv.
I do love these outpost galleries on the eastern edge of the city. It was a right bloody pain in the arse to get to, but just about worth it.
We walked straight into some big pow wow with three curators discussing an opening elsewhere with some grade A artists. They tried not to sniffle at us as we wandered in for a quick shifty.
I’m not quite sure what the point of the exhibition was, but it was visually stimulating all the same. I quite like the way the photographs were framed. I suspect this was part of the overall artistic vision. The medium is the message, etc.
The Orb are one of those artists that I really should listen a lot more to but I never really get round to it. What’s the point? A lot of it all sounds very familiar, but that does them a disservice.
With Oblivion you feel like you’re listening to a mixtape from the mid to late ’90s, which I guess essentially this is what it is - and that’s no bad thing. As ever the album takes you on a journey through the ups and downs, with plenty to explore in between.
It’s music of its period, with a certain amount of post-rave hippy shit thrown in. It’s also highly infectious and another example of the ideal music in which to work along to.
I really should listen to The Orb a lot more, even though I’m only really half listening to them.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐
Gee Vaucher Art Foundation seeks start-up funding
via HNWB
Royal scroungers grab £50 million ‘pay’ rise
via Socialist Worker
This is a real mismatch of an album. It sounds pretty much like it is: some McCartney demos that didn’t quite make it onto the back of Let It Be or Abbey Road.
Too Many People is just pure spite and bile. The sentiment works fine but musically it doesn’t really go anywhere. It picks up a little with Uncle Albert, which shows that he’s not lost any of his pop sensibilities.
The highlight is The Back Seat Of My Car. I wasn’t aware of this song until a few outtakes appeared on the Let It Be Disney series a couple of years ago. This could have been a Beatles classic if McCartney had persisted with it. A missed opportunity.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐
