step up to the mike...

"Impartiality is not neutrality. It is partiality for justice." - Stanisław Jerzy Lec (1909-1966)

 

 

posted by: Oborski at 20:37 | link | comments |

THE EIGHTEENTH DAY OF MAY...
...are a five-piece, London based group. Originally formed as an acoustic trio comprising American singer and flautist ALISON BRICE, Swedish-born RICHARD OLSON (acoustic guitar, harmonica and sitar) and Oxfordshire-based guitarist and mandolin player BEN PHILLIPSON; the group's original intention was to combine elements of traditional and contemporary folk stylings with a psychedelic "underground" rock sound. They spent the summer and autumn of 2003 making home demo recordings and, having established the bare bones of a reportoire, THE MAYMARK NICHOLAS (bass), KARL SABINO (drums,autoharp) and ALISON COTTON (viola). The resulting sound is accessible, yet exciting and unique; and almost completely divorced from what the UK music scene has to offer, at present. went electric early in 2004, adding rhythm section

Part of what seperates THE EIGHTEENTH DAY OF MAY from their peers in the world of indie rock is a deep-rooted love for the pioneers of the folk revival. Traditional singers like Shirley Collins, Martin Carthy and Jean Richie have influenced the inclusion of songs in the group`s current stage set, while electric folk innovators such as Pentangle, The Trees and the early Fairport Convention have undoubtedly laid foundations for the group to build on. The group has little in common with the folk-scene of today, however, mainly due to their inability to "play it safe". Still relatively young (the group members are all in their late twenties and early thirties), the group has an experimental, musically ambitious edge- equally inspired by the Velvet Underground`s drone and feedback and the more dreamy qualities of psychedelia. The group's own material is inspired partly by this approach and partly by the storytelling aspect of traditional songs and murder ballads.

THE MAY have recently recorded seven tracks with Blue States mastermind Andy Dragizis, which will form the basis of an album to be released early in 2005. In the meantime, they plan to perform live on a regular bass, bringing their personalised take on "the people`s music" back to the live circuit.

posted by: Oborski at 14:34 | link | comments |

Lost Worlds...

Remember when men wore hats, bicycles had Sturmey-Archer gears, your mother had chilblains and banks had managers? Michael Bywater, in extracts from his new book Lost Worlds, reminds us of the everyday certainties of life as we lived it not so long ago...

posted by: Oborski at 01:01 | link | comments |

posted by: Oborski at 13:49 | link | comments |

Love those Tories!

...look up "dracula" on the national Tory web site and what do you still find - "Michael Howard" of course!

posted by: Oborski at 20:01 | link | comments (2) |

posted by: Oborski at 10:25 | link | comments |

posted by: Oborski at 19:31 | link | comments |

Why we place a Fairy on the top of our Christmas trees....

It was late on Christmas Eve morning when Father Christmas staggered out of bed with a blinding hangover from the party of the night before. It was only when he entered the kitchen and pleaded for coffee only to narrowly miss being hit on the head by the large and very heavy coffee pot thrown by Mother Christmas that he started to remember the events of the previous night - particularly having been caught by his wife while in a passionate embrace with a naked and voluptuous young elven girl - his hand having been precisely where it shouldbn't have been.

The row that now followed in the kitchen that Christmas Eve morn with vicious, humiliating, protracted and - worst of all from Father Christmas's point of view - extremely noisy. He was saved only when a terrified Goblin rushed in in unannounced screaming "Father Christmas, Father Christmas, come quickly, come quickly, the presents, the presents!" Father Christmas rushed over to the workshops. Unsupervised by the elves - who were mostly still collapsed in an alcoholic stupor in the staff canteen - the toy making machines had churned on uncontrolled making increasingly faulty and unlikely, not to mentioned unwanted, toys. Father Christmas staggered around a huge mountain of square footballs only to be confronted by a vast array - stretching as as far as the eye could see - of neatly packaged and stacked huge-breasted Action Men. He could not even bring himself to look at the equally vast output of apoparently trans-sexual Barbie Dolls about which the horror struck Goblin was now moaning. Luckily for his sanity it was only on Boxing Day that Father Christmas eventually discovered the hidden warehouse full of George W Bush dolls created due to the endeavours of a singularly malevolent computer attached to an automatic production facility!

Furiously Father Christmas (still unaware of the George W Bush Dolls) stormed off to the canteen to confront the elves. An hour later and the elves were happily esconsed around hastily assembed bonfires outside the gates of the complex exchanging bottles of near toxic alcohol left over from the events of the night before and singing filthy songs about the alleged sexual inadequacy of Father Christmas. They had declared a dispute and were happily awaiting the arrival of their national Union organisers.

With all the hectic events of the morning it was not until lunchtime that Father Christmas discovered the rude and ill spelt letter which had been left on his desk and which was signed by every single one of the middle management Goblins. They were, they said, all resigning and had got better paid jobs at a Call Centre somewhere in India. As the Goblins were by nature rude, insolent and barely able to understand let alone speak a word of English they would obviously be absolutely perfect for their new roles Father Christmas reflected grimly. It was only when he started phoning around trying to find temporary last minute labour that he discovered for himself exactly how rude, insolent, uncomprehending and incomprehensible a Call Centre Goblin can be!

It was only following this that Father Christmas realised that nobody had fed the reindeer! Father Christmas rushed off to their stable to feed them. It was too late. They had gone. After a protracted search Father Christmas found them. They had strayed into the Great Hall - the uncleared scene of the previous nights "Company Party". Clearly the reindeer had found the left over food and drink some long hours earlier. Rudolph was lying drunk on the floor snoring loudly - his head resting comfortably in a still warm pile of his own vomit. Indeed, only two of the reindeer were still standing. Donner and Blitzen had become fighting drunk and were were still staggering around, swearing loudly and exchanging badly aimed punches. The air were filled with reindeer curses and the floor was covered in pools of reindeer blood, vomit and droppings. Rudolph gurgled happily in his drunken stupor, rolled over and elegantly pissed down Father Christmas's left trouser leg.

It was by now late afternoon and for Father Christmas it had all been far too much. He staggered back to his house his head and heart both thumping, his senses numb and his eyes filled with tears. Entering the hallway he ignored the envelope from his wife who had by now gone off to stay with her mother. He sank into his favourite and well worn arm chair in the freezing and uncleaned living room. At that moment the front door bell rang. Mindlessly Father Christmas staggered to the door and opened it. He looked down. There, on the doorstep, stood the the most truly beautiful little fairy anyone has ever seen. Her face was radiant with the joys and warmth of Christmas. Beside her on the ground lay the most magnificent Christmas Tree you can possibly imagine. The little fairy peered up at Father Christmas her whole face wreathed in smiles as she opened her beautiful little fairy mouth and said in her beautiful little tinkling fairy voice "Father Christmas dearest, I have brought you this wonderful and beautiful Christmas Tree. Where do you want me to put it?"

posted by: Oborski at 09:54 | link | comments |