Nine Feet Underground

I've just returned from a walk in the rain, ironically to see if the route to the pub has flooded. It hasn't. Yet. I went to see Kavus Torabi on the last night of the final leg of his tour in support of his solo album, 'The Banishing'. Had a good chat with him before and after his set, and he talked of his plans for the next two years. The imminent release of another Gong album, followed by a big tour, and then the release of another solo album in October. Good to chat. (I also went full-on fan-boy and got a selfie with him.  As usual, I took a dreadful photo of me, at least) I spent some time listening to music yesterday, and amongst the gems I'd not listened to for a while was a song from the album 'Soon Over Babaluma' by the German band Can. Can are one of my favourite bands across the years. Their musical styles are diverse, often far from what you might call 'rock' music. They have a great sense of humour too. Where they picked up on styles from...

I think today will be like yesterday, in almost all respects, only perhaps more so, work-wise. In the background, though, lots is happening. This afternoon Q and Φ will be driving to Canterbury ahead of  Φ's graduation tomorrow.  Son #1 is finishing an essay on the contemporary relevance of Marx (Karl, not Groucho). I am just working. Before six, Q and I have a call ahead of me stopping work for this week's 'Ulysses for All' lecture on 'Wandering Rocks'.  Tonight's guest is renowned Joycean, John McCourt , another 'exiled' Dubliner, now living in Italy. Another really good lecture and discussion, which, as is so often the case, ran over the time allotted, and I left a little after eight to have the dinner son #2 had made. No one joined me to eat, so I watched more of MAFSA in a bid to catch up. Stopped watching it for a call with Q, before a chat with son #1.  A bit of clearing up done, I'm going to head to bed. Can / 'She Brings The Rain...

Not a normal Saturday: I was up when the first carer arrived this morning at about 20 past 7, but I wasn't dressed or showered.  I got up mainly because I was parched and had no water and as I was up I thought I might as well let her in and have a chat.  Had a chat, she left, I drank loads of water and took some upstairs as I was due to take painkillers at 8 a.m. anyway. For some reason I didn't sleep very well and woke up at about 3 a.m. and couldn't get back to sleep for ages, dunno if this was the effect of the anaesthetic or what, but, by rights, I should have been knackered and slept like a log. The painkillers seem to be working and I'm more uncomfortable than in pain.  Nevertheless some movements do cause pain, reminding me that I can't do the things I'd normally do.  I find relaxing very difficult, even when I meant to be doing it to recover, so I am trying to do nothing but every time I see something that needs sorting out (the boys are doing a good job...

Even though the clocks have gone back, it was still a struggle to get up this morning, and it wasn't because today's a working day. Part of the problem is that I seem to be going through another phase of sleeping badly.  I know I woke up at around 3 a.m. and definitely had some strange dreams about being back at university in Leeds with a vague feeling of being somewhere but not being able to leave, for reasons I can't recall. I have had an idea that I should sleep with the curtains open in the expectation that as the light comes up around dawn, it should start to wake me up before my alarm, assuming I'm not getting up too early for that.  It might make me feel more awake or at least receptive to waking. Today will be dominated by work, give or take any minor interruptions. The good news is that my wife is already responding to the antibiotics and looks much better and more awake.  Her temperature is still fluctuating a bit, so we're still going to have to administe...

Today is a better Thursday than average lockdown Thursday, as tomorrow is a Bank Holiday, making this the last working day of the week.  Hooray! Better still this means I have a 4-day weekend, which I'm really looking forward to - lockdown or no lockdown. Work has dominated the day, as it usually does, so I don't have much to say about the day so far. Shortly, at 6pm, I'll be joining the latest drinks with The Idler - tonight Will Hodgkinson, music journalist is the main guest. Should be good. Another enjoyable spent in the company of poets, philosopher's and writers - next week it's the turn of Sally Philips and Jane Bussmann, can't wait. I'm settling in to these Zoom calls with 100s of strangers and participated in the chat, hard not to when music is the topic. One woman liked my suggestion of BC Camplight's new album as one of the albums to listen to in lockdown times.  There's no accounting for taste! Big success of the day - I'm well chuffe...

I'm reading this book, 'Good Night and Good Riddance', about the influence John Peel and his radio shows had on music and cultural life for over 35 years.  It's a great book that I'd thoroughly recommend and, despite the book's subtitle, it's no hagiography, and casts a critical eye at times, even though, on balance (and I'm up to 1979), it pretty much confirms what fans, including myself, thought of him and his maverick musical taste. This post, however, is not a book review - that'll appear on goodreads after I finish it - it's about a question that gets raised in the book when the story reaches the mid-1970s.   [Oh, and in case the title of this post misled anyone, this is not going to be about the Midlands grebo band, affectionately referred to as PWEI aka Pop Will Eat Itself: this is not the article you are looking for.] My question - and it's not posed as a question in the book - concerns the state of rock music around ...