Avatar Lost treasures

I’ve been having a clear out this weekend and I found this 20-year-old NOW album:

Now 1994

Nearly 20 years ago I got it for Christmas, along with an Alba mini hi-fi system that had a tape deck, CD player and AM/FM radio. Those were the days. Here’s a selection of the great hits from this double-tape compilation:

  • Ace of Base – I Saw the Sign
  • Whigfield – Saturday Night
  • Corona – Rhythm of the Night
  • D:Ream – Things Can Only Get Better
  • East 17 – It’s Alright (The Guvnor Mix)
  • Aswad – Shine
  • Reel 2 Real – I Like To Move It
  • Doop – Doop

Unfortunately when I opened the box, tape 2 was missing, so while you can still listen to Come Baby Come by K7 and Swamp Thing by the Grid, everything that was on the second tape – from Searching by China Black to The Perfect Year by Dina Carroll to Return to Innocence by Enigma – is now gone.

But we all know that tape 1 side 1 was always the best part of the album and the rest was mostly tracks you’d skip.

Avatar Trekkin’ Abroad – France (Part 4)

Having discovered a secret tunnel under the sea, I passed quietly across the border into France undetected, arriving in their capital city, “Paris”, in the early afternoon. I took an apartment in the 16th arrondissement and started my new life cycling around parks and examining museums for clues. Nothing. Then one day, in the lift, someone else rode all the way up to the 8th floor with me. An enemy agent? One of their informers? I couldn’t be sure.

I packed my bags and left early the next morning, covering my trail with stories of a poorly relative in Geneva. It was a bittersweet departure; my apartment had the finest coffee machine I’ve experienced in recent years and I couldn’t fit it into my suitcase. I will remember it always.

I took a train somewhere, anywhere, ending up in the far west of the country where I spent the last two weeks hiding in a barn before negotiating my return to Plymouth on a fishing smack, hidden under a pile of nets and fish.

I’m never leaving England again. I am a scarred man. I still smell a bit like fish. So much for France.

Avatar Your New Favourite Band: tUnE-yArDs

In the second post of what disappointingly appears to be a regular series, where we find out about the people behind one of the top modern bands in the pop charts, we look at the popular beat combo tUnE-yArDs.

tUnE-yArDs

Brooklyn-based team Tune-Yards (usually stylised as “tUnE-yArDs”) come from Brooklyn, an area of New York, and started their career playing music in Brooklyn USA. They were founded by Prunella Squitzelberger (pictured above) who performs lead vocals and effects a sort of improvised skiffle percussion using bubble gum. The band’s first album was a particularly sparse affair, featuring only the sound of chewing, inflating and popping, interspersed with spoken word recitals of Squitzelberger’s own abstract poetry, but with the addition of Dupe Kingsnorth on bass and cello the act has become much more lively.

The band’s current album, “Nikki Nack”, is their third, and to date their most successful, quickly outselling 2006’s “Chewniverse” and 2010’s impenetrable effort “Doctor McCluskey’s Casebook”. It has gained plenty of airplay on radio stations across the Brooklyn, NY area, where the band is from, and has all the signs of being part of the elusive “Brooklyn Sound” that is proving so popular there.

The power behind the throne is, of course, DJ and producer Nizzle, whose cool electronic beats and occasional rhythm-free blasts of overpowering white noise lend the latest album a cool chic and an unmistakeable now-ness.

Avatar The Fist of Justice

It was a nice evening. Everyone was there, everyone was having a nice time. Some of them had even managed to get hold of a drink and were feeling a little merry. Around the table tiny foods were consumed and the party spirit was rampant.

Suddenly the picture changed. Swinging through the air and landing on the table was the Evil Minion. His pallid, sickly yellow skin and greasy, limp hair were a sickening sight. Some of those with weaker stomachs had to turn away. He had landed squarely in front of the Partymaster, the Birthday Boy himself, and was presenting his foul dungarees as an unwashed challenge to us all. In front of him, on the table, was what looked like a small brown cake, but we knew it was really an explosive device, set to blow the whole deal sky high.

Mr Chang, the brave party thrower, was quick with his Samurai breadknife, beheading the Evil Minion in one smooth movement. He didn’t stand a chance to detonate his destructive delicacy. The show was over. A second blow bisected what remained of his torso, spilling hideous guts everywhere.

The emergency services arrived to cordon off the scene and the party dispersed into the Leeds night, some being rushed to hospital for trauma, and others the walking wounded, safe tonight but consigned to a lifetime of therapy to help them through their harrowing ordeal. As I got up to leave the scene, I dealt a blow for all that was good in the world and all that was right. My strong fist of justice obliterated what was left of the Minion’s grisly remains. I fisted that Minion good.

For as long as there are good people like me in the world, evil will not prevail.

Avatar Mr Chang’s Tasty Wares

If you go to one of the Thai restaurants in Crystal Palace (we’ve got loads of them) you will find them picking up on Kev’s latest business venture, which is brewing a fine, light and refreshing beer with his name on it.

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Mr Chang’s is clearly a popular choice with customers here and we wish him the best of luck in this new endeavour.

Avatar Review: Monty Python Live

Last week I went to see Monty Python Live, on one of their ten final ever dates. It was an exciting night for many reasons but I left feeling very let down.

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The first problem was not the fault of Monty Python themselves but was to do with the venue. On arriving at the O2, instead of finding the incredible, expansive white domed tent I had been led to expect by the O2’s promotional material, I found instead a very underwhelming brick-built theatre tucked away on a back street in Soho. It was an extremely long walk from North Greenwich tube station and not at all well placed for river boat services.

On entering the venue the staff were very rude and insisted that my ticket was not valid. It was only by kicking up a considerable stink and threatening to call the police that I was finally admitted to the auditorium. Inside the seat numbers made no sense when compared to the seat number on my ticket so I had to choose my own seat.

The show itself was baffling, principally because it was very difficult to tell who was who. All five of the Monty Python performers were so heavily made-up and disguised in costumes that they were literally unrecognisable. This, and the absence of any material I had seen before or recognised, meant that the whole show was rather strange. The sketches appeared to flow together extremely closely in a single flow of consciousness to the point that it almost resembled a normal theatrical performance, and there was a consistent theme of a murder mystery running through it.

There were very few laughs, and when I attempted to whip the crowd up a bit by shouting “albatross!” or “nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!” I was shushed by other audience members. At one point a steward threatened to eject me if I didn’t stop chanting “spam” through what appeared to be a particularly dull scene involving a police officer interviewing somebody.

After the show I inspected the merchandise, but without much hope, and found it all as abstract and obtuse as the show had been. All of it had the slogan “Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap” which I don’t remember being one of their better lines and which didn’t seem to have been shouted at any point during the show.

All in all, I would vote to give it a miss as I found it extremely disappointing.

I vote it three stars out of five.

Avatar The manliest night of my life

A couple of weeks ago I had a whole new experience. Ian, long-haired co-conspirator here on the Beans, accompanied me to a pub where football was showing. Together we drank beer and looked at a small part of the TV screen that was visible where we were sitting, and talked about football and women. At times we said swear words. It was easily the manliest thing I’ve ever done.

After we left the pub, we accidentally sat on some slugs on a wet bench and recorded a moving musical tribute to the missing third member of The Beans.

Here it is, in full.

Avatar Ode to a Broken Spoon

Some months ago, while stirring a particularly stiff risotto – which, really, needed more liquid as it was far too solid in that state – I applied too much pressure and snapped the wooden spoon in half.

It’s only now, with the passage of time, that I feel able to begin to come to terms with this tragic event and to put some of my feelings into words.

I have now written a poem about this incident. I’m sure you understand how difficult this is for me and I’d be incredibly grateful to have your support.

Broken wooden spoon

Wooden spoon, wooden spoon
Hardwood utensil
For my cookery a boon
In rice-filled pan
You tried your best
But perished when you faced the test

Your shaft bore the scars
Of previous mistreatment
Of singes and overheating
At my behest

I feel
I regret
I cry
To the moon
For you
For you
My spoon