Russian Choir

Last weekend we had been told about a performance by a Russian Choir in St Aloysius church in Rose St, Glasgow. My friend, Leo had told me it started @ 4 p.m., so although I had to take my wife to another church later that evening, we thought we could do both.

Unfortunately, on our arrival in the church, Leo informed me that his rehearsal was @ 4 pm & the live gig was @ 5 pm. We sat for a while & Leo was wiring up the p.a. & his wife & son were walking around. A sudden commotion drew my attention to one of the side altars. An old woman had fallen, while searching for her mobile phone. Strangely enough Mr Saidenough, (what a name!) & myself both ran to lady’s rescue simultaneously & took an arm each to lift her up.

This reaction by both of us, spoke volumes about the fact, that although there may be slippage in full understandings between myself & Leo as far as language goes, but when it comes to the basic human communication & feelings & motives: we are both exactly the same.

Despite the woman’s peril (she was actually ok, just a little shocked by the fall), the fact that we both reacted in the same way, shows that we are brothers under the skin & both contain hearts that beat to the same rhythm. I have strong faith in God & I will not try to hide this fact & the incident I have just described convinces me that someone or something pushed that woman to the floor to ensure what happened next: did!

Anyway, we could not stay for the performance, hopefully we will get to another. Midweek, Leo brought in a cd cover (cd to follow) as he recorded the gig. I will look forward to it!

Taxonomy of Metadata



Well that all my days off from 2006 accounted for & I am back to the mundane world of work. Mind you I spent today at a workshop on Metadata & Taxonomy. Why does no-one ever speak English in this country anymore! Anyway the drive over the back roads to Stirling via Drymen, Buchlivie & Arnprior to Stirling is one of my favourites journeys in the world. It even surpasses the Kyber pass & that long road through the Troodos mountains in Cyprus, or the ricketty passage to Katmandu on the old wooden bus with heaving dysentery! Zooming at 60 mph with a tank fulla deisel, time in hand, strong winter sunshine beating down & reflecting off the tops of the surrounding mountains, Fila Brazilia tapes blaring in my ears & not a care in the world. Heaven.

Politics of Ecstasy

Enough of food already, time for some politics. Who wants to take holidays in January? I had to use them or lose them. There was too much work on over last summer.

My wife & I decided to drive towards Glasgow & leave the car at the Science Centre & get a healthy walk in the freezing cold air. As we drove past my birthplace, we were surrounded by heavy traffic & a heavy police presence. There was the launch of the world’s most advanced warship, the type 45 destroyer: HMS Dauntless. Hold on a minute. Is this not a weapon of mass destruction? I suppose we here in Scotland should be grateful, that this is keeping at least 2 shipyards alive on the Clyde?

I mentioned some of this to my neighbour who was standing outside the new BBC building. He had parked his car at Partick & watched the launch from the north side of the river & he was on his way to buy some tickets for the Celtic Connections festival. We also passed Louise Batchelor who was filming a link, on the riverside at sunset, about Ambulances for the evening news.

Lots of to-ing & fro-ing as my friend had just returned from Palestine with her 83 year old ma. Is Mrs Carmichael then the oldest living ‘terrorist’ in the world? She has to undergo humiliating body searches. Some of her escapades are mentioned below with kind permission from her daughter.

Well today my mother and I travelled to meet a dear friend

Well today my mother and I travelled to meet a dear friend of mine in Ramallah with 2 young daughters. We were held at the terminal for approx 2 hours, of course for security. The funny thing being although it was meant to be for security, the Israeli Army just stood around laughing and joking whilst holding all the buses up.

Eventually they came on and made us all get off the bus and stand in the pouring rain. A journey which should take approx half an hour took us three hours. So soaking wet and dripping we walked along to my friends with some toys for her children.

After visiting my dear friend, my mother was saying oh it will be wonderful to get back early for one night. No such luck for her. After receiving a phone call from a young boy whom I knew in Scotland and returned to Ramallah to live. He picked us up in his car and we headed to his home.

Such, such wonderful hospitality again. Eat, Drink, Eat Drink. We danced and joked the night away with such wonderful laughter. Every time I come to Palestine I am filled with such warmth from the people here.

Even not doing an activist role here, you can still see the oppression and humiliation that is heaped upon and upon the Palestinian people here. Queuing at checkpoints, having to pull their jumpers up, taking their shoes off. All in front of people.

If the Israeli Army do not like what they have, they simply take it from them and rip it up and throw it in their faces. This is all true. My mother is horrified and has not really seen anything yet. It is enough for her though. She no longer can look the Israeli Army in their eyes as she cannot understand how they can do this to another human being. Nor can I.

My mother and I visited our dear friends in Aza and Aida Refugee Camp today and once again force fed and watered.

Towards the end of the day we went back to Aida Camp for dinner and my mother was sitting quietly in her chair when all of a sudden BOOM, BOOM, BOOM and shots being fired. She jumped out of her chair with a look of horror in her eyes. What is that she asked, and of course the reply being 'Oh just the usual, you know. The soldiers are here in the Camp again'. My mother rested her head in her hands for a few minutes and asked out loud 'Why does the world not do something about this, this is wrong'.

We all looked at each other in silence, shaking our heads listening to the gunfire outside the house and streets.

An hour or so later, we had to make our way back to Al Quds to get our luggage in time for leaving tomorrow early morning. Still angry at what the Occupation is doing here, I asked an Israeli Soldier, a young girl what the shooting was. She replied 'Oh, it is the Palestinians playing with fireworks'. I told her she was talking rubbish, that we knew it was the soldiers and the whole world also knew. She turned and with a straight face said to my mother and I 'WE ARE THE GOOD GUYS, THEY ARE BAD.

She then walked away laughing. Make up your own mind, who the bad guys are.

Aida Camp still has no gas cylinders, the Israeli Army are not allowing them through the checkpoints etc. They have actually been cooking on bits of wood chopped up. I kid you not.

I am now going back to my hostel to get ready for my early morning trip to the Airport. VIP treatment once again. My mother is carefully packing everything away and I keep telling her not to bother because they will take it out for her.

A Kitchen Gurus Guide to Houmous or How the Chains Keep Us Dipping, Part 1 of a Two Part Trilogy

Let us begin by stating that costs are the prime movers in this adventure. You cannot beat a good value for money return. However as far as the rival dips go: e.g. taramasalata: Sainsburys wins hands down, no question- with their smoked salmon concoction. This, hands across the sea, mixture suits me personally, as I am half Greek, or is it half Scottish, on my mothers, or is it my fathers, side of the family. No matter, it rocks like the MC5.

Now, back to the hommos as we say in Arabic. No one seems to be capable of creating a decent rocket flavour, but Tesco do go all out to produce exotica. However, I would question their tactic of calling these apparent afterthoughts: toppings. This is in my opinion a cop-out, e.g. pesto or balsamic vinegar & red onion. Although I must admit that the latter is dynamite. Also when it comes to Lemon & Coriander houmous, Tesco are in a class of their own, everyone else is having a laugh.

Sainsburys is second to Tesco as far as quality goes, but the gap between is substantial. I have a new exotic product from Sainsburys in the fridge: avocado, but you have to be very fast in our house as believe me a shoal of hungry sharks would be in a long queue behind my sons.

Morrisons is by far the best when it comes to cheapness & Asda is not even at the races. They just provide an insipid selection because their competitors do so.

Outside the big chains: Roots & Fruits do a decent Rose version, this is their red pepper variety. However, I would hope that my boys & my work colleagues would agree that yours truly makes the best.

Alice Coltrane & Michael Brecker R.I.P



Wind, rain & death................2007 hasnt started very well ..

Smiling Men with Bad Reputations

Last night I returned to Milngavie’s Fraser Centre for a gig by Mike Heron. Considering he played Woodstock with the Incredible String Band, the low turnout in Milngavie might have puzzled him.

I have seen Robin Williamson with various line-ups & as a solo performer & I was under the misapprehension, that the ISB was mostly his creation. Last night convinced me otherwise.

Looking like the long lost twin of Lou Macari, who was badly in need of match fitness (that thickening of the middle section of our bodies happens to all of us alas!), he gave a memorable, high calibre, performance that flashed us all back to the day.

As usual at any of the related ISB gigs, everyone knows the words,(even if they are an lp side long!) & they all sing along.

My wife accompanied me this time & she was equally bowled over by this impish legend. He had the makings of a great sound with his daughter Georgia playing drums, keyboards & singing. Another guitarist was in tow & believe me, especially in the second set they were cooking & the sound was awesome. All the old songs were given a new life. I was not too impressed by the version of ‘The Greatest Friend I have in Life’, but perhaps that is because I play the old version myself, but the rest of the old material was hugely improved.

These gigs at the Fraser Centre in Milngavie are the best ever, the least publicised & the most intimate performances lets hope they continue.

The Devil & Daniel Johnston ( number 9………..)

More 4 showed the premiere of this documentary this week. I had heard of him before, naturally, but I was not aware of how damaged he had become. I have always been a fan of ‘Outsider Music & Art’ since my youth.

I was reminded of Wild Man Fisher, but I would have to admit there is a raw beauty & purity that shines through. I have bits & pieces on cd that I have listened to recently & I will re-visit these with greater insight.

His obsession with the Beatles & the no 9 was interesting. I also find numbers mystical & the same numbers have followed me throughout my life. Its always been 3s & 9s. Everywhere I have lived has these numbers in there. Even while I am typing this I had missed a track from a cd & I copied it somewhere else & naturally it was the 9^th track.

FM3 (number 9……….number 9…….)

Finally got my head around the 9 loops that live in my buddhamachine. I thought it only held one loop over the festive period, but an extensive bit of research online, pointed me in the right direction & I can now get lost in loopoland.

Very inconsiderate of our Chinese cousins not to have instructions in English, but perhaps this just adds to the mystique.

Isnt it odd the way freaky coincidences occur? In this post we have 9 loops in the fm3 & in the post that follows, we become aware of someone’s obsession with the Beatles No. 9.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71y5CXgXg-I

The Focus Group in Belbury Poly

New Year, new attitude. How pleasant it was today walking down by my new place of work in July. I have a new mobile phone that houses an mp3 player, so I was listening to Belbury Poly & The Focus Group while I wandered through the building site. At least the rain had stayed off today for the first time since the start of November, 2006. I first heard of those 2 bands from an old ‘Wire’ feature. I was intrigued by the whole Ghost Box label & I recently acquired a selection of cds that are superb & the latest thing in my life.

I had to walk as it seems that my car might be passed its usefulness. Who needs a car anyway? Fortunately the high winds we have had in combination with the torrential rain had blown over the fences so that I could access the building site unchallenged. It was a bit disturbing from a security point of view to have spent a good hour wandering around without anyone else approaching me.

It was an emotional journey as I walked across the slipways that guided the big ships out of the yard. The ghosts of all those workers (including my father) weighed heavy on my shoulders, tears came & I picked up a ‘chuckie’ to take home to my garden in memory of those great feats.

On my return home, I had a quick lunch & then I borrowed my son’s bike for a cycle down the Forth & Clyde canal. The first dry day in such a long time & it felt so good to be outside & getting exercise. If I can only keep this up for the rest of the year???

The Imp of the Perverse

What is it with short people? Did Randy Newman call it right? I went along to watch yet another dismal performance by the Scottish Champions elect against Motherwell, on my father-in-law’s new, count the number of blades of grass at Parkhead, giant tv screen.

The big screen certainly didn’t improve the champions football, but I could make out Neil Lennon’s captains armband. However these days it is not on his arm for long. Was it only last week when it was tossed away with venom? It seems to be a handmade identifier, perhaps he made it his detention class back at school in Ireland. It is certainly not built to last 90 minutes.

He kept it on yesterday, but the big screen captured his manager’s reaction to Motherwell’s 93^rd minute equaliser. Strachan showed all his footballing skills as he demolished the subs board. As he answered gruelling, piercing questions after the match, he slipped once more into his increasingly psychedelic phrasebook. Gosh! he is so ‘out there’. The last interview I saw, he kept chewing & filling his gob with, whatever: caramels, acid, who knows, but you couldn’t make out a word. Maybe this was the idea. Scotland has produced these urban, mystic, heroes of football management theory in abundance. They insist that their players do their talking for them on the pitch, but without question, Gordon Strachan has carved out a niche for himself as the glorious games answer to Timothy Leary.

Now I have realised what I love about the whole Scottish football scene. It is not the quality of the football. Sadly I might have to agree with those who state, that the English Premier league contains more quality. However, we have all the fantastic drama that surrounds the game. The wireless is where it’s at. Pre & post match phone ins, etc are chock full of real people with real opinion & many of these opinions are frankly, Mr Shankly, downright scary. This is an area so richly full of urban life in the Scottish homeland, if only we had such fervent views on independence.

Plenty of Rain & not enough Bows

Am I sad enough to get sucked into that end of Gregorian year stuff. Reminds me of all the Millennium silliness, when people thought the mere passing of a random Gregorian date would bring cataclysmic changes! Well as a matter of fact as an avid ‘Wire’ reader, I do look forward to see what is breaking new boundaries over the year. I have compiled a very personal, eclectic, eccentric & electric list of my firm favourites over the past year.

Here goes. As always any comments welcome.

Sufjan Stevens was way up there with all of his output. In fact only this week we have been listening to his xmas songs & singing along.

Astrid Gilberto always puts a smile on my face. I finally got a copy of Alexander ‘skip’ Spence’s ‘Oar’ & The Poets ‘Scotlands No 1 Group. Pure genius!

Mostly this was a year of catching up with many of the albums I have/had on vinyl & obtaining them in the digital format.

Recent Additions	to the Catalogue
bread, love & dreams	strange tale of captain shannon
chicago	chicago transit authority
ayers, kevin	joy of a toy
ayers, kevin	whatevershebringswesing
walker, scott	1
walker, scott	2
if	1
moby grape	s/t (1967)
guthrie, arlo	running down the road (1969)
spence, alexander 'skip'	oar (1969)
it’s a beautiful day	white bird (1969)
broughton, edgar	wasa wasa (1969)
comus	first utterance
comus	keep from crying
yester, jerry & henske, judy	farewell alderbaran
walker, scott	4 (1969)
havens, richie	richard p havens 1983 (1969)
united states of america	s/t w/bonus trks
beatles	love (2006)
komeda, krzysztof	fearless vampire slayers' (ost)
family	fearless
family	entertainment
family	music in a dolls house
trees	on the shore
trees	garden of jane delawney
tontos expanding headband	zero time
tyrannosaurus rex	my people were fair
various	bumpers
various	vertigo annual 1970
cale, john	paris 1919
ayers, kevin	shooting at the moon
ayers, kevin	confessions of dr dream
kaleidoscope (uk)	tangerine dream
fahey, john	legend of blind joe death
cressida	asylum (vertigo)
tasavallan presidenti	lambertland (1972)
quintessence	dive deep
palmer, bruce	cycle is complete
astatke, mulatu	afro latin soul
tyrannosaurus rex	unicorn
quintessence	in blissful company
harrison, george (RIP)	wonderwall
affinity	s/t
moby grape	wow

Another freezing Saturday night at the Fraser Centre

Déjà vu, park the car at Tesco, Milngavie & then walk through the tunnel into the greatest little venue on the planet. This past year has been illuminated not by all those naff seasonal outdoor lights, but by the real deal, honest, personal & intimate gigs by the best folk artists around.

Last night was no exception as Rab Noakes lit up a bleak, wintry night by giving a superb solo performance at the Fraser Centre, Milngavie. I was glad it was solo, no disrespect to Fraser Speirs, but I concur with one of the bands on the Pork Label (Funky Porcini? Or Heights of Abraham?) who recorded, ‘Harmonicas are Shite’. I have lived through the blues boom & I have had enough acoustic guitar & harmonica duos to last a lifetime.

The happy highlanders had hinted that there would be a bit of R & B, soul & tamla, but there was also a killer version of Beck’s ‘Devil’s Haircut’ & an Everley Bros finale.

Also you meet such fine people at these gigs. I was chatting with someone I met about crazy nights at the Maryland, Glasgow in the early 70s & the fact that the early vibrant folk scene in Scotland has not really been recorded in the printed form.

Trying to find out about these gigs is such a challenging task itself, even for a librarian. I am annoyed & having missed Robin Williamson last month, but I am determined to try & get to Mike Heron’s performance sometime in the New Year.

Seize the Power

If I can quote the ‘Wire’ nov 06 article on Lasse Marhaug……….’With its exceptionally high living standards, bounteous welfare state, plentiful arts funding……Norway famously tops the UNs ‘quality of life index’…..oil money..’

Meanwhile we live in a 3^rd world country ravaged by poverty, unemployment, drugs, violence, a failing welfare state, with hospital & school closure, pensioners barely scraping a living………etc.

Tony Blair & the other terrorists decide (no surprise here) to upgrade Trident & site the weapons of mass destruction where?

There is enough radioactive material inside foreign diplomats roaming around London to easily build a ‘dirty bomb’.

I feel that I have missed something? Are the Scottish people so stupid that they don’t see it, or are we such a downtrodden nation, that we just accept this.

Crawling King Snake


Let me tell you about Texas radio & the big beat.............

…

wicker basket and looked very evil indeed. When I shook my head, he lifted the lid of the basket and a vicious cobra head snaked out towards my bare arms. Naturally, I turned and ran with all the haste I could muster. I was filled with hate and fear, mostly fear, especi­ally as he had taken off after me, in hot pursuit. I ran like a bat out of hell and managed to lock myself behind closed doors. After a while I began breathing, but I shall never forget the experience.

A subsequent visit to the train station, resulted in my friend Graham and myself booking the 2.00 p.m. express on Thursday 27th December for Bombay. We would be traveling relatively comfortably in a reserved sleeper at a student concession rate. These arrangements were completed on Monday 24th December or Xmas eve, later that night we retired to our hotel room and had a kind of party. These celebrations continued on through the night until Xmas Day and as soon as we could stand up without falling over, which was rather late in the evening, we trotted over to a semi-European restaurant for a late Xmas dinner.

Previous fasting (adopting local customs) in anticipation of this feast, led me to make a pig of myself. I had fried liver, chips, beans, tea, toast, vegetable cutlets, chocolate ice­ cream and strawberry milkshake. After this huge meal we returned to the hotel to rest.

Boxing Day began correctly enough with me being served breakfast in bed around noon.l lay in bed until 3.00.p.m., not my usual habit I may add, and then I sauntered out for a meal.

The only exercise I seemed to get was the walk from the hotel to a restaurant, although my arms got used lifting all that heavy food and cutlery. I also utilised muscles in my mouth, chewing all that delicious grub. Thank goodness I had read all those Billy Bunter books when I was young and I knew the delights of such an abundance of such tuck. I felt as if the others in the restaurant could see me drooling as my repast arrived on my table.

However on my return this night we ventured out to attend a concert of Indian classical music. This was to be my initial encounter with the higher castes of Indian society. There was a real lack of atmosphere at this concert, although the musicians were very talented, but the immense size of the hall and the scattered attendance, meant the acoustics were very dull. There was no warmth between the performers and the audience. The latter were very restrained, not showing any emotion and constrained by behavior appropriate to their caste.

I was also impressed by the different modes of transport available in India, e.g.,

rickshaws (powered by either man or bicycle), scooter taxis, tong-as (horse-drawn carts), or motor vehicles, etc., most of the scooter taxis were driven by Sikhs, whereas the tongas and rickshaws were manned by impoverished Hindus. On the Thursday, we travelled by tonga to the train station via Old Delhi.

This would be a fine way to remember Old Delhi, if one was never to return, viz; riding in a horse-drawn carriage at an easy pace through crowded noisy, streets. A new adventure awaited us as we boarded the Bombay express. This was a fresh, new experience for me as travelling on Indian railways was unlike a normal day-return on British Rail.

Hunting Tigers Out in India

.....lives, were actually dying of exposure in the cold streets of Delhi. Delhi seemed quite warm to me, although the Indians would, of course, disagree. One was not aware that we were fast approaching Xmas, as none of the trappings of Xmas commercialism were present in the streets of the capital. Oddly enough my first day was fully occupied by me trying to obtain transport out of the city. Hence here lies the inherent weakness in a life of travel, i.e., once one starts moving and the joy of travel gets into one's blood, one finds it difficult to stop and settle down. The fact that I spent this first day in Delhi trying to arrange transport away from that city, probably serves as an adequate description of that city.

I made enquiries concerning the availability of trains for Bombay. This would become my first limited stop en route for Goa. Distance was becoming an obsession with me, because by this time I had gone 6,000 miles and the distance from Delhi to Bombay added another 1,000 miles onto this total. I was indeed a’ Poor boy a long ways from home'.

My initial impressions of Delhi were mixed. On the one side was New Delhi, with its ultra­modern facades, with its Connaught Circus and flash hotels and Government offices. One could easily imagine oneself in London. In contrast, at the other extreme, there was Old Delhi and I was to grow acquainted with this district, because I had to criss-cross it a number of times on my way to the train station. Old Delhi buzzed with all kinds of life (& death). I recall walking past a dead horse in the middle of the main road in Old Delhi and it was being reduced to a skeleton by some very large and healthy vultures. No one in the street seemed to pay this remarkable (to me at least) event the least bit of attention. On my return from the station, many hours later, after much form-filling, I saw the animal still lying there, hardly recognisable now as a horse, but nevertheless it was keeping the

big birds busy. The sight of these vultures was frightening, and whereas in other more familiar cities, one does not even give the local scavenger birds a second glance. The sheer size of those vultures still haunts my dreams.

Now that I had entered this great city's walls, I was soon prey to many of that city's horde of trained, professional beggars. I was shocked to learn that some of these women actually maimed their own children at birth, so that they would have a successful begging career. One could also rent children, who were already maimed or badly disfigured, for the day, at what appeared to be a reasonable cost. In any case, I had to have a clear policy on begging and I had decided, after long deliberation, not to give to beggars under any circum­stances. This was not because I was mean in any way, but I soon learned that if one is generous to one alms-hunter, word quickly spreads among the others and soon one is surrounded by an angry mob, who would be quick to rob or even kill you for the shirt off one's back. My action was further justified by my witnessing the damage done by unthinking, but caring tourists, who give beggars ten dollars or the equivalent in rupees and ruin the individuals whole way of life, turning the victim to drink or some other, darker evil.

I also had a bad experience with a few beggars. One immediately comes to mind. l had been walking through the bazaar, when staring eyes asked me for some money. He was carrying a.....................

Borderline Case

I was a bit better organised at this stage, and as I could not afford to have any of my precious rupees taken, so I carried all of my rupees on my person in a small shoulder bag. As we filed into line to be searched, (this would be a very thorough search, impossible to get through), I managed to choose my moment, split-second timing was required, and escaped unnoticed into the bureau d'exchange and cashed a five-dollar travellers cheque. I got a ridiculously low official rate for my five dollars, but I dragged the actual exchange out as long as possible, as it was crucial to my master plan. After this process, I spotted that the passengers, who had already been searched, were standing outside the bus. So I walked over to join them, shaking like a leaf, but luckily I remained unobserved. I was shivering in my shoes even though the climate was markedly warmer. I had made it. I had succeeded over this last difficult hurdle. I was in India after all these trials and tribulations.

All these last, horrendous weeks, flew from my mind, when I passed through that customs post. The sun shone warmer and brighter, colours were sharper, the birds sang sweeter and I found a smile on my lips and I tear in my eye.

When we reached the first town in India, Amritsar, (the Sikh capital) we ate well, in good, cheap restaurants and could stay in a hotel, if we so desired. I chose to spend, what was to be our last night together as a group, on the bus. We reached our destination, exactly on schedule, after five long weeks and entered Delhi on Saturday 22nd December. The parting of the ways was not easy at all. After all we had been cooped up together for five weeks and 6,000 miles, and yet here we were stranded alone in a strange country. Now we had to think and fend for ourselves. As we started to slowly depart from the buses, you could cut the silence with a knife. Even though some of us were not the best of friends, we all sort of depended upon one another, and we were a comfort to one another through all our difficulties.

It was as if we had been dropped into a vacuum. It was something of a shock trying to decide what to do, where to go, who to go along with, etc.. Although we had been making plans along the way, when we had to put these plans into operation, we felt a little lethargic. Perhaps we were all so tired after completing such a hazardous journey. It was like attending a funeral, and there was a gap there as if someone had just died. Maybe we were just surprised that after all we had been through, that we had survived. We were lost sheep, looking for the flock, the pen or the shepherd. No one said goodbye when we finally alighted from the vehicles, but all the passengers drifted off the bus, split into two loose groups and stepped into the two nearby hotels.

I stayed at the Kesri Hotel, near the bazaar, with many of my companions off the bus and we cut costs by sharing a huge dormitory. The cohesiveness of the group had obviously been enhanced, by five weeks eating, sleeping and being ill together. One tends to build up strong attachments under such circumstances.

I was stunned to hear that the Indians, who slept on the pavement every day of their

Trout Mask Replica


Thinking again about the Sun City Girls concert last year(or was it the year before) & my fascination with tribal masks, I thought I would make this short posting.

Lost

Librarians are constantly aware of the severe onslaught of information: the information overload. I mean there is so much out there to take in & even although I live far away from any of the centres of population, where life rushes past, you cannot but consider what we have gained with too much of everything.

How do we find what we really need? How much of our life would be enriched by the newest most fashionable consumer goods. Sometimes it is fine to go against the flow. I mean chance plays a big part on what paths I choose. I believe that this is directed by a higher power.

Take this moment as I write this. I am listening to the High Llamas – Retrospective, Rarities & Instrumentals. I mean who else in the world is doing the same? Anyway I discovered the band by accident & they are superb in a Beach Boys/Beatles/Les Baxter kind of way.

I have more cds to listen to now than I have time left to live. A sobering thought. Thus choice becomes important. I know what I like but sometimes you have to go outside the box.

Outside this box recently I have discovered beautiful Italian soundtracks & other soundtracks that would disappear into oblivion, without someone, probably another barmy librarian, pointing me in that direction; Comus & all the raft of new & older folk material that is worth a second life e.g. Incredible String band & Pentangle. Original psychedelia/garage & the newer versions keep me sane alongside all that 60s radical, free jazz that I am only now catching up on.