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Archive for January, 2015

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

And so, Gentle Reader we come to part four of what I've previously referred to as 'that horrible book,' Bible Defence Of Slavery. I highly doubt that you'll be surprised to hear that these three chapters are just as horrible as the preceding nine. So, in an effort to make some kind of not quite so obvious point, let's ignore the subject discussed therein for the nonce, and make a more general point regarding its similarity to modern-day argumentation from some religious quarters.

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Hey you there in the limousine,
How's Austerity Britain treating you?
What did you pass up this week,
To make sure you had food?
Did you have to lie to the landlord?
Did you turn your heating off?
Austerity: yeah, let's starve the poor,
Give the money to the fucking toffs.
Daz

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The Truth Is Only Known By Guttersnipes

Yeah, I've been on something of a prolonged music kick, the last week or so. Here, apropos of nothing much, is a selection of '80s garage numbers. A glorious, grimy cacophony from the sleazy side of the tracks.
Daz

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My flag, which I don't really own,
Flies from a non-existent pole
On the roof of my home.
Whatever that hard-to-define 'Britishness' is,
Which shows me not native of Melbourne,
Or Paris, Kolkata, Quito, Cadiz,
I own it; I'm British, and happy to be.
A flag's just a symbol, but 'round the world
That symbol, somehow, represents me.
British flag at full-mast

Which is why, Gentle Reader, I would like to point out that my own personal flag, were it to actually exist, would not have been flown at half mast yesterday, in a craven display of remorse over the death of a tyrant, merely because his country sits on vast reserves of oil.

Neither my lickspittle government nor my unwanted, over-privileged and anachronistic so-called 'royal' family, and nor, especially, my equally unwanted, over-privileged and anachronistic state church, represent me in this matter. I see no cause to celebrate the death of a human being, but neither do I see any cause to make a pretence of mourning for a tyrant.

No gods.
No monarchs.
No masters.
Daz

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Here's a fun response to bigoted claptrap. Drown it out with song!

Via the Huffington Post.
Daz

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Sod The Bloomin’ Beatles!

Something that annoys me, as a lifelong fan of 1950s rock 'n' roll, rockabilly, r 'n' b and so on, is the way that any and every TV or radio documentary on the music of that period—and especially British music—manages to insinuate that it was all just a kind of precursor to the Beatles and their single-handed re-invention of rock music. And they probably invented the 1960s pretty-much on their own too. Without them, so we're led to understand, music would have died sometime around 1963.

British rock 'n' roll and related music of the period was very much alive and well, thank you very much, and just once I'd like to watch a documentary on the subject which treats the music of the period with the respect it's due in its own right; and which doesn't end on the line, spoken in an awed tone, "And in a club in Liverpool, four young men were getting ready to change everything…"

Anyways, having done my part in talking about '50s Brit music without mentioning the dreaded mop-tops by, erm, mentioning them—ahem—here's six slices of rock 'n' roll from the period, all hailing from this side of the pond. Well, I say rock 'n' roll, but… (more…)

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Narrow

Your narrow path I would not stride,
Confined by hedge and walls of stone.
Leave me to walk the broad hillsides;
Where I may choose a way, my own. (more…)

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