R.I.P Captain America and my tribute to Kraftwerk

So Marvel comics have finally killed off Captain America. He was never one of my favourite superheroes it has to be said. A bit bland, a bit boring, blonde, goody two shoes, even had the super soldier serum removed from his blood in the 90's to show kids that "drugs were bad".

So why kill him off? Because Marvel didn't have a storyline for him. And he was killed off in a rubbish way (shot by a sniper, not bummed to death by a re-animated Red Skull which would have been much cooler).

Marvel killed him off because they bottled it. He represents America and its ideology driven from the war of independence and the civil war which came later, freedom, democracy, liberty.... but they couldn't give him an opinion anymore, he wasn't allowed one, not when there is a raging debate about war/international intervention going on. Comics, or at least comics aimed at the mainstream are apolitical. So Marvel sacrificed him. It was too dangerous to keep him alive, in case he upset one part of the polarised readership. Maybe they didn't bottle it, it was fairly shrewd in some ways.....

I hated modern storylines around Captain America, he was boring, they were boring. The Avengers were boring. I much preferred him as a member of the Invaders. Set in World War II, battling the Super Axis, The Red Skull, Baron Blood, Master Man, Thor and Adolph Hitler himself. I love those 1970s comics. Weak on plot, but high on action and adventure. And the gaudy bright artwork sticks in the memory.

I think I have most of them somewhere, if not, then I'm going to re-buy them.

Captain America, Union Jack, Spitfire, The (original) Human Torch, Toro, The Whizzer, Prince Namor the Submariner, Bucky (actually he was shit) and Miss America (she was shit too - the others were great).

Also here is a cool rendition of the original Union Jack before he got his legs smashed by his traitourous turncoat Nazi vampire of a brother Baron Blood. After this tragedy with a boulder (ha), his son had to take over in the Invaders. One of only a handful of British Marvel Super Heroes.... set back in the time when guns, and smoking, especially pipes, were considered cool.

Anyway, onto my tenouous link with Kraftwerk. As you know, the Germans fought in the second world against the Allies. Did you know that Kraftwerk were also German? Ha Ha Ha. That was a grim link.

Anyway, I was listening to the C.S.S album today, which is magnificent. Danceable indie brasilian punk. Like many artists they have sampled Kraftwerk. I am absolutely positive that (admittedley small) chunks of "The Robots" and "Spacelab" have found their way into C.S.S' album. I can't find any reference to this on the web anywhere. But it is a tribute to these dance music pioneers heritage.

Kraftwerk, and their 1970's electronics, where more time was spent repairing failing analogue keyboards than recording were geniuses, one of the progenitors of modern dance music, admittedley a curse on, as well as a blessing to the world. So what if the music sounds a bit dated today? It would be like having a 3000 year old Egyptian sarcophagus in your living room, using it as a coffee table. Not particularly appealing, but made of solid gold. It isn't disposable music to jump around to nowadays, but it is still appreciated on the rare occasions you do dig it out.

Coldplay and their tired usage of "Computer Love's" main riff aside, most samples of Kraftwerk in modern music are a great tribute to their musical heritage.

What magnificent nerds. I love them.

Amusing Spam Mail

I occasionally check my mails that have been redirected by the spam filter, just in case one of my mates is offering to sell me a re-mortgage, a russian wife or some obscure filthy DVD's. You know, I don't blame the filter, it's eager to please, like a puppy that's pees on the lino, they can't understand irony, they can't separate humour from spam, hence I give the filter my full support and double check its progress and guide it.

Anyway, amoungst the dross, the following one came to the fore.... the subject alone made me crack up laughing. But what the hell is it trying to sell me? Is this spam for spams sake? Or is it some subliminal ploy for me to buy a fart powered ceiling fan? Who knows. Your comments welcome.

---

From: White [mailto:mzctp@grunadis.com]
Sent: 02 March 2007 10:56
To: melly
Subject: Meanwhile, button down that flapping upper lip of yours, goofy, before I staple it to the ceiling and watch you spin around like a fart-powered ceiling fan.

I think that pimple on your ass turned out to be a brain tumor.

My understanding of this crime was the victims where youths on their way to play some soccer. Just one example : At Petrobras. is Brazil teaching to these nations. Six youth, out of what population size in their age category in the city? The team predominately filled with L.

"We respect the local culture to preserve children," stated the doctor. Just one example : At Petrobras.

without anyone help !

Fly Fishing by J.R Hartley

I got really excited on the train yesterday, as I thought I spotted the actor who played J.R Hartley, the author of Fly Fishing who appeared in the iconic Yellow Pages ad of the 1980's... here it is... brings a tear to my eye every time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=abt6wGtWVX8

I whispered to Deb in my best secretive attempt at grabbing her attention... "psssst (as I have to speak like Ramirez the Hispanic Pimp according to Ongey from now on)... look over there... it's heeeem!"

"Who?" She replied.

"J.R Hartley!"

"What! FLY FISHING BY JR HARTLEY!?"

"SHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! He'll hear us! Wait till we get off!"

So as we got off, we both had a good ogle, I'm sure he muttered "W*nker" as we got off. But that would be praise indeed... from the great J.R Hartley.

Unfortunately, having done some research we were hoodwinked by this elderly imposter. The actor who played JR Hartley died in 2001 aged 95. Rest in peace Norman Lumsden, people aged 30 years and above loved and still love you. I'm glad you found your book, you humble and wonderful man.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/Archive/Article/0,4273,4310537,00.html

As for the old goat on the train, I'm gonna find you and make you pay for calling me a w*nker. The real JR Hartley was a gentleman, not like you, how dare you sully his cultural heritage and gentle demeanor with your identical face!

Will Young and Mexican Wrestling

Yes. I decided to do one of those tabloid headlines that will get you reading, but this is not a story about Will Young grappling in the ring so to speak, oh no, its two separate stories tantalisingly linked by the gift of the English language.

So... Last week, I was in a meeting in Manchester, and as my train pulled in I walked to the end to get on my carriage and Will Young jumps out. We briefly clock each other, him admiring my hair, me horrified at his awful bucket hat.

Remember this bit, I'll come back to it. This is indeed a sad "I saw a celeb" story, but not as sad as what I just wrote.

So this weekend, on Sunday, after the Arsenal, I agreed to meet up with Des and Mel, over from Ireland, who were celebrating their engagement. Also, Martin would be there, a quiet, quick witted, engaging and observationally astute chap who seems to know some amazing places to visit in London, like the flamencgo tapas bar he took us to at 3am just off oxford street one night I've never rediscoved, like it was some sort of beer mirage....

We all went to a little french place on the Essex Road. And Martin had us captivated, apparantley there is a restaurant in Clerkenwell where you are led through progressively darker rooms draped in thick black curtains to get you used to the darkness, until you come to a final room.... which is pitch black.

The waiters and waitresses are apparantley blind, and this restaurant is supposed to enhance the eating experience and your sensory perception (other than sight of course - durrr!) i.e smell, touch, taste, hearing (does food make noise? If alive I guess... or is it because there is a killer in the room who whispers something grim in your ear as you sneakily nick a spring roll from your neighbours plate?).

Anyhow, we discussed "What is the point?". Apparantley there is the middle class reason on sensory deprivation/enhancement, yeah yeah, but also its meant to be a good laugh. If I want to live as a Morlock I'd just sell my house and pitch up in a sewer trapping rats to be honest, not for me I'm afraid.

So, "What is the point?" - I don't know is the answer, I don't know if this place even exists. And I probably wouldn't go there as I'd be kicked out for bringing in a torch and shining it under my chin and screaming "woooooooooooaaaaaaaaarrrrrrghhhhhhh!!!" to make the other diners jump.

Des, being a pragmatic miserable Irishman was equally bemused by the concept, as was his fiance Mel, who is a french lady, not a miserable pragmatic irishman.

So anyway, then Martin mentioned that his old flatmate asked him whether he wanted to go "Mexican Wrestling" with him a couple of weeks before. I have to say it sounds brilliant. Not to compete, to watch. You get a discount if you go dressed as a superhero or something unusual and the place is full of tattoo's, piercings, burlesque dancers with swirly tassells on their nibs, PVC, glam and cyber-goths.

Is anyone up for an evening of Mexican mayhem? Get a group together.... a superhero group... yeah!

So anyway, after the French restaurant, we went to the theatre bar in Islington, another little London gem offered by Martin, a rythym and blues band were tuning up in the corner, it had a homely ambience and one of those old fashioned ornate mechanical tills. If I was an eccentric millionaire, I would buy one! The pub was full of all ages, old locals with rollies, young dapper 60's throwbacks, and a bunch of people there for the beer and music.

We perched ourselves near the fireplace to dry our wet clothes (for it was raining outside) and lo and behold... Will Young squeezes past me to get to the bar. He was wearing a trilby this time, much nicerer than the abomination he had on his head the week before. He clocked me again, and my hair, I clocked him, I nudged the other three who were visibly unimpressed, especially Des, and then we all went out separate ways after finishing our drinks.

And if I had a mexican superhero wrestler costume, it should have a gap for the head to allow my mane to flow when I'm gliding effortlessly through the streets to catch villains. Oh and a cape, I must have a cape, and boots. With knives that come out of the front. And a fake six pack.

That is all. I'm off to Grenada next week to put on a stone and a half. I've mentioned to Deb that if Will Young is in our hotel, then clearly our destinies are somehow entwined. She has been warned.... but she didnt seem that bothered about losing me to a pop star.

Adios from this Mexican Wrestler.

El Fatso Diablo, the Dashing Blade

Winter Ramble in the Woods

I worked from home today, the snow was teeming down and having no meetings it all worked out quite well. After a busy morning and afternoon, took a late lunch and wandered down into the moors and woods with me other half who was also snowed in, only a few minutes walk from my house.

I got an opportunity to wear one of my favourite hats (of which I have several). One I keep for Arctic Explorer weather.

First stop - the goats, or sheep, or whatever they are. They look delicious though.

Then into the open field, where in the distance you can see the ghostly stooped shape of a snowman....

Must find snowman and pose next to him.... I look like I've got lady legs in this picture for some reason. It must be the snowman, I should carry one round with me, they are a good slimming accessory. I look like I'm about to mince. And yes, wellingtons, I love them, never thought I'd say that. Now I want a shotgun too. If I am destined to live in the country then I need to shoot things. Starting with this snowmans face. Smug twat. Boom! Smiling now you prick? Yeah? Yeah? Want some more? Boom!

I'm sorry to break the news guys, but one of your mates is .... dead. His snowman corpse is over there. Here's a couple of carrots to cheer you up, as I notice your noses are shit.

Moving swiftly on... the moors are criss crossed by streams, it's marshland after all and very boggy. The red tinge in the stream is because it has a high iron content, not because I've shot animals and people and dumped their bodies upriver.

In the olden days people used to bottle the water and sell it to people as a tonic. Now it is full of wee wee and radiation. Don't drink the water, it will make you insane and want to bum goats.

Here is a frozen boggy pond. Can you see the man scratching under the ice gasping for breath?

I'm so excited it's snowed.

Me after my snowman killing spree, looking relaxed.

FINI

Conspiracy Theories in Tesco

I bought some essentials from tesco the other day, you know, the usual, bread, milk, red wine, lobsters.

I never make an effort for tesco, I just look like I've got out of bed, which of course is usually the case. So I'm queuing up in a daze and bleary eyed in like a really shit outfit, blue tracksuit bottoms and a green jacket with a stupid brown beanie on (I mean colour clash, and white / red trainers too) and the lady at the checkout catches my interest.

She looks like a pensioner, but has dyed her hair jet black, she has ruby red lipstick on with a drawn on beauty mark on her left cheek. And no, I'm not saying I fancied her, far from it, but she was striking looking. How I'd imagine Robert Smith of the cure to look when he's 70, but a woman.

So anyway, she starts rabbiting on about shit, like they are supposed to do for "customer service" and I'm just going "yeah", "hmmm", "right" thinking about toast. But then I realise she is talking the most intense shit I've ever heard so I pay closer attention. She draws me in, like a supporting character in the X-Files, speaking quietly over the beep beep beep of the checkout in case some government agent is listening. I lean forward. She speaks slowly and clearly.

"I love the frosty weather.... the midges, and the gnats, they live in the grass... the frost, it kills them.... and those squirrells, those grey squirrells. They are invaders. I hear they are importing red squirrells from Germany to kill them all."

What fucked up weird shit. I was sort of scared that this 1920's goth progenitor was giving me this lowdown, but some guy with a mullett and a trucker hat was trying to pay for his six pack of Carlsberg special brew behind me and he had the shakes so I had to leave before she revealed more secrets. I must catch up with her again. See what other mysteries are occuring in rural Bedfordshire. Woooooooo!!!

Jon Redfern @ The Spitz

Me, Ongey, Paul and Paul met up on Wednesday night to watch Jon Redfern at the Spitz, near Liverpool street.

The last time I was round Spitalfields market it was to play football a few years ago. I was surprised the see the pitches gone and the area completely renovated, not necessarily rejuvenated, but certainly gleaming and new. Coffee shops and trendy bars seemed to be the order of the day. However, there are still pubs with character, and the Spitz itself is a great venue. Resisting the urge to go for a curry down brick lane, we had our meal in the Spitz. And this time it was Ongey that played the faux pas much to the merriment of the rest of us. As the waitress was leaning over the table to place his starter in front of him, he shouted out "corrrr look at that!". He claims his eyes were fixed firmly on the chicken liver parfait, but it seemed like he was looking down the waitresses cleavage.

She scurried off, and after a moment of shock, we all p*ssed ourselves apart from Ongey who was already pasting big dollops of his starter onto crusty bread with a bemused expression as he rammed huge mouthfuls into his burgeoning cheeks.

The venue itself is great, intimate, good bar, great selection of draft beers and musically Jon Redfern really hit the spot.

He had a 5 piece band with him, and they played jazz tinged folk, although that is a lazy description by me. Easy on the ear, really tight and he has a magnificent voice. As a group, they looked the part, obviously this shouldn't detract from musicianship and songwriting, but when a band look cool, you feel good too. Well I do anyway.

We'll defo be seeing him again. Bought the album as well.

Till next time