We are Tiger Woods?

'Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo' - H. G. Wells

Wells would have had great empathy, one suspects, with Tiger Woods. A man not known for his fidelity, the author was in his time able to live his life free nonetheless from the glare of the celebrity gossip sites, the tabloid magazines and the talk shows which so frame public consciousness today. It is the irony of today's society that, as public standards of morality have arguably reached their lowest ebb, the level of scrutiny and, indeed, moral indignation levelled at those in the public eye has never been higher. Just 12 years ago, the President of the USA could admit to 'personal indiscretions' of a similar nature and yet expect (and indeed be granted) a modicum of privacy and his family sensitivity. Today those considerations have simply ceased to exist.

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When music was music

What would happen if four of the world's most talented musical virtuosos came together, armed with the latest in musical technology? Surely you would find the 'music of the future'?

Such simple intention was embryonic of U.K. As hard as it is to believe today, thus was also, in 1977 as the men worked together in the studio, the primary marketing tool. Four alchemists at work in the lab, developing something never before experienced. Music fans were told simply that four pre-eminent players, namely Bill Bruford of Yes, King Crimson and latterly Genesis, Eddie Jobson of Roxy Music and Zappa, John Wetton of King Crimson and Uriah Heep, and Allan Holdsworth of just about every jazz-prog group that had ever existed had joined forces (no one cared about the record company jiggery-pokery involved) with this one single intention.

Not to have fun. Not to send out some political message. Not under the auspices of charitable fundraising. This was about creating music that would change perceptions of what was possible, about giving four of the finest 'popular' musicians who have ever lived the opportunity to flex those chop muscles. What an intention. What a desire. What a result. Punk killed prog? Don't you believe it.

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Teignmouth Electron

There are people whose life stories take on for us a special significance. A biography, an obituary can be read, considered and then discarded; the subject's being having no impact on our own. But when that person takes hold of us in some way, moves us, threatens to change us, then the impact is far more significant; rather, it is transcendental and, by turns, often unnerving.

Donald Crowhurst was born in British India in 1932, and was acquainted through his parents with not only a declining Empire, but the declining fortunes of those who had drawn from it. He saw himself as significant, but led a life which was so only to himself and those closest to him, until announcing his participation in the inaugural 'Golden Globe' Round the World Yacht Race. This was to be his Everest, his Moon landing, his vindication.

His story well documented, Crowhurst can easily be dismissed as cowardly cheat, at best a sad victim of conscience without outlet. That his actions played at least some part in driving a fellow competitor to capsize, obsession and ultimately suicide adds another layer to the tragedy, and perhaps further weight to the scales of judgement. But the same obsessional, introspective, significance-seeking characteristics which so drove him onto and into the sea drive others to consider him in a different light. His expressed desire pre-race to 'impart a great message' to the world is one the current Internet Age shows us to be shared by many, who resent the pre-determined role assigned to them by 'society' and long that their personal uniqueness be recognised on a wider scale. That so many in our world today seem happy to accept the scraps offered to them by a media-driven consumerism and consumer generator is particularly galling, to those who would view the ocean as canvas upon which to paint their masterpiece were the finish line not, like Crowhurst's, a final judgement they could not, or indeed cannot, face.

That Crowhurst knew not where to turn in order for his conscience to be cleansed is, to this Christian reader, the most poignant part of the story. As moving as the images of a rotting Teignmouth Electron are, they say little other than to emphasise how uncomfortable humankind is with those who play neither the part of hero nor villain, but rather that of window into the areas of the human soul that many would prefer not to recognise, or even acknowldege.

The Race was ultimately 'won' by the now-lauded Robin Knox-Johnston, in his heralded vessel Suahli which now fittingly rests in the National Maritime Museum. It also drew several other men whose lives would come in some way to be defined by the race, or rather whose characters' would further mythologise it and provoke horror, pity, fascination and admiration from those who would come to be touched by them.



This post was inspired by Peter Nichols' wonderful A Voyage For Madmen, which I would recommend wholeheartedly. Crowhurst's voyage has also inspired films, artworks and even an opera, Ravenshead.

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It's a long way from Sincil Bank...

... To the Emirates.

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My fashion philosophy

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The Tram Twitcher's Guide To The Fallacy

Posted by 'Anna Thema', Edinburgh Evening News online comments 15/02/10.

Deep below the Royal Mile, two councilors have programmed their supercomputer to find a solution to the tram project's onging schedule and budget problems.

Topdeck: Oh great computer, have you an answer for us?

Cheap Thought: AN ANSWER? AN ANSWER TO WHAT?

Tramfondle: An answer to the problem we gave you.

Cheap Thought: YES, I HAVE AN ANSWER.

Topdeck: You mean there is an answer? A simple answer?

Tramfondle: To Trams, the Business Case and Scheduling?

Cheap Thought: YES, THERE IS.

Tramfondle: Brilliant!

Topdeck: We're saved!

Cheap Thought: ALTHOUGH I DON'T THINK YOU'RE GOING TO LIKE IT.

Topdeck: That doesn't matter. Tell us.

Cheap Thought: I REALLY DON'T THINK YOU'RE GOING TO LIKE IT.

Tramfondle: Tell us anyway... Please!

Cheap Thought: ALRIGHT. THE ANSWER TO TRAMS, THE BUSINESS CASE AND SCHEDULING IS...

Topdeck: Yes?

Tramfondle: Yes???

Cheap Thought: TWENTY-TWO!

Topdeck: Twenty-two?

Cheap Thought: IT WAS A SIMPLE CALCULATION...

Tramfondle: What do you mean, twenty-two?

Cheap Thought: IT IS THE BEST SOLUTION. THE ONE PEOPLE WANT.

Tramfondle: Wait a minute...

Topdeck: You mean we should keep the bus service that the trams will replace?

Cheap Thought: YES.

Tramfondle: *groans* The taxpayers are going to kill us!

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Snozzberries?

You may be aware that Sky are using Gene Wilder (in Willy Wonka guise) to plug their 'Supertelly' HD offerings. Now I have always found Mel Stuart's 1971 adaptation of Charlie and The Chocolate Factory a little creepy (if not as grim as Tim Burtons') but there's no doubt Pure Imagination has a magical, other-worldly quality to it. As with every iconic song, there are no shortage of folks willing to try and do something with it (Maroon 5 have even had a predictably careful bash) but one that really sticks out is by Californian weirdo-virtuoso Buckethead. His adaptation of Bricusse and Newley's song, characteristically re-monikered 'Wonka In The Slaughter Zone', is both interesting and restrained in equal measure.

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Top Man

http://www.guardian.co.uk/sport/2010/feb/04/six-nations-scotland-euan-murray-interview

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3's A Crowd

What music defines Obama's America? Goodness only knows. Miley Cyrus? I'd like to think that were we living in the Age of Paul (and good grief I wish we were) then the musical quality barometer could be shifted up a few notches, but alas 'twas not to be. But rather than get entrapped further into the sludge of that depressing thought, let's turn our thoughts back to a simpler time. The 80s. Reagan is in power, America is winning (and Russia knows it, defeat having been foreshadowed by Stallone) and the Progmasters of the Universe have embraced AOR in a big, some say cynical, way. The Korg M1 has just been released, and the Japanese techno-magic of MIDI promises to bring with it the next revolution in recorded music. What a wonderful time to be a subscriber to Keyboard Player magazine.

Of course, by 1988 Reagan was on his last Presidential legs, the great ivory ticklers of the 70s started to miss their Moogs and Arista, Geffen et al once again had their heads turned by the louder, more simplistic (ie stupider) and infinitely less good music coming out of the underground scene (for grunge, read punk). Their loss was our loss. For what it is worth, here's 3.

Music, well and truly, by numbers.

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Blunder Road

Edinburgh, my birthplace and the place I called home until very recently, has made some almighty blunders in its time. And if you didn't bother to click on the link as you were sure it would just take you to the Edinburgh Trams propaganda site, you're wrong. There's no way NOMW is giving that abomination of a scheme the oxygen of publicity, adverse or not. You may not be aware that the 'City Fathers' almost bankrupted the place centuries before trams though, when despite the fact the Firth of Forth is topographically completely unsuitable as a major shipping channel, they spent the equivalent of billions of pounds trying to dredge large parts of it and turn Leith into the main port of a Clyde-beating waterway. Maybe the current lot are just trying to finish what their hapless predecessors started.

For all that though, there's to be no out-stupidifying Dubai. Recession or no recession, Dubai's a place that still likes to do things bigger and better than anyone else (they're-whisper it- building a tram line to complement their grossly over-budget and under-utilised monorail network as I write) and so it should come as no surprise that they've now managed to build a tunnel without telling anyone about it. Not only that, they've forgotten they even did it. Brilliant.

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Mothers of the World (well, Lincolnshire) Unite!

So, what do you think really upsets the mothers of Lincolnshire; the ongoing, seemingly irreconcilable conflict in Afganistan? The botched global response to natural disasters? The increasing inequality gap between Britain's rich and poor? Of course not, silly- It's people leaving dirty clothes next to the washing basket. This bombshell came from a survey on a website which my favourite local newspaper, the Lincolnshire Echo, cut-and-pasted into their paper today. I think I can say that with confidence as there is no way nos. 5 and 17 on the list would ever have passed a sub editor's desk. Woops.

Oh, and number 49, wonky rug? Wonky rug? No idea.

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Back to the well...

Like a boxer who doesn't know when to quit, I've gone back to some more glorious music from David Gilmour, this time from the final show of his 2006 On An Island solo tour. Featuring the late-and truly great-Richard Wright where he belongs (to the left of Big Dave), this version of A Great Day For Freedom is quite possibly the best ever recorded (and I've heard most of them). Featuring the talents of the Baltic Philharmonic Orchestra, this concert took place on the Gdansk Shipyards to mark the anniversary of the Solidarity Trade Union Movement, and is all the better for being the only performance of the song from the tour. Gilmour is a guitarist who never ever sounds off colour, and with the adrenalin of playing underrehearsed (although you'd never tell) coursing through the veins, he takes the solo off into the (ahem) STRATosphere. Lyrically, the song title references an Evening Standard headline from 1990 on the fall of the Berlin Wall, but as always with the Floyd there is a layer of personal meaning in there as well.

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What's not to like?

People often ask me about my musical tastes. Basically, I like -strongly- music that is good and dislike -strongly- music that is bad. This, a professionally-edited 'bootleg' of a 1994 performance of the Division Bell's Poles Apart, is good. But then, if you've listened to it, you already know that. No room for 'subjectivity' at Not On My Watch towers, no sir.

For those who are interested in lyrics, the first verse relates to Syd Barrett, the second Roger Waters, and as it's Floyd I'll leave you to fill in the interpretive blanks for yourself. For those of you interested in music, the guitar tuning for this track is DADGAD.

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A Revelation

Denzel Washington is my favourite actor. I could talk about him and his films all day (honestly, I could). If you take Dolph 'Missionary Man' Lundgren out of the equation, no one carries off the Bible in one hand, sawn-off shotgun in the other combination better than Denzel. His new film, The Book Of Eli, carries on that fine tradition as we follow what is possibly Hollywood's most overtly Christian hero ever as he journeys west in his quest to take the only existing copy of the Bible to where he believes God wants it to go.

Now of course, it could be argued that, post the mega-successful Narnia and Gibson's Passion, Hollywood has cottoned on to the might of the Christian dollar, and with a tagline like 'Deliver Us', the marketing men aren't exactly hiding the fact. But that doesn't seem to concern the Christian Denzel who co-produced Eli and helped with some Bible-inspired script re-writes. Whether a believer or not, it's a film which has much to commend it (Gary Oldman is sensational in full-on ham mode, and Michael Gambon (another of my personal faves) has a cracking, if somewhat macabre, cameo. I enjoyed it so much I've totally lost track of my commas. Go see.

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Stinkin' Up The Great Outdoors

Late afternoon in the open air
A human sea made out of mud and hair
Ain't nothing like a festival crowd
There's too many people so we play too loud

Smalls, St Hubbins, Tufnell: Break Like The Wind (1992)

I think Spinal Tap had it right. Music festivals are a nightmare. A urine-soaked, drug-ridden nightmare. And if Roger Waters isn't bringing in his own quad stacks, the sound is as muddy as the field the orc-like masses have to camp in. But I'm being sucked into one, nonetheless. It's drawing me in like a progrock magnet. If the 1990 Monsters Of Rock Festival marked the end of 80s Rock (and it did); and the 1990 Nordoff Robbins Silver Clef Awards concert was maligned as a tribute to the dinosaurs of rock (and it was), then the 2010 inaugural Classic Rock High Voltage Festival, taking place July 24-25 in London's Victoria Park, promises to be just as fantastic as they were. It's the Isle of Wight 1971, with a classic car exhibition. It's going to be hard to resist. Just look who's headlining...

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It's uncanny

Avatar eh? What makes you of it? I thought it was alright, but probably the worst film ol' King Of The World's ever popped out (I was pining for True Lies 2). If you compare it to the Abyss (which is kind of similar), it's a no contest. But I'm starting to doubt myself. Was it really just the lazy, uninspired plotting, AWOL editing, drab characterisation and a blink-and-you-already-missed-it opening setting of scene that left me a bit underwhelmed? Or something more?

Ever heard of the uncanny valley?

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Car shopping

Lots to consider when unpacking your stuff into a new house. Should you put On Her Majesty's Secret Service between You Only Live Twice and Diamonds Are Forever, or keep the Connery's together? Do you include the works of Anderson Bruford Wakeman and Howe as part of the wider Yes cannon or keep them seperate?

Lots to consider when buying a car too. Comfort. Economy. Reliability. Kudos. It's important when making big decisions I think to consult older, wiser heads, so I've been mulling over this quote from Clarkson:

Speed is useful. Speed means we can get where we're going quicker, which means we can see more, do more and learn more. Speed makes us cleverer.

Speed also means we can leave work later and get home sooner so it makes us richer, and our families more stable.

Speed means we can have a more varied diet because we can have fresher produce from further afield every day in our local shop. Speed therefore makes us healthier.

Speed means we can expand our horizons. It means we can explore strange new worlds and new civilisations, like Cheshire and Norfolk. And Wales. This gives us a better understanding of the world and its peoples, and that makes us more tolerant. Speed brings peace.

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Still So Serious?

http://indexing.blogspot.com/2006/10/tempus-fugit-part-2-elderly_30.html

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Holy... Fright?

Yes, that's right, you've got it. Pretty funny, no? Well if Meatloaf can apply for a 'license to thrill' then I can give good ol' Curd Jurgens a holy fright.

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Why So Serious?

Do you remember much about 2006? Me neither (unless you're a Channel 4 researcher looking for talking heads for a new I Love 2006 show you're commissioning, in which case I can remember lots of things in literally nauseating detail).

I do know that I wrote some possibly interesting, and definitely long, blog posts for my church youth fellowship blog, which no one read. Anyway, in the current climate, it's only appropriate that NOMW engage in some recycling.

http://indexing.blogspot.com/2006/10/tempus-fugit-part-1-hospitals.html

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