Fallin’ out of love with ‘Fallin”

Words. The world is full of them. They come in all different flavours and no matter what you need to say there is usually a word or collection of words out there to help you. That is unless you’re trying to spell the word jush… juxch… jgusssh… unless you’re trying to spell the famous word where the letters haven’t been invented yet.

Alicia Keys is a very talented musician and songwriter from the last twenty years or so. A quick look at her wikipedia page is enough to make your eyes spin with envy. I’m not talking about the eight albums she’s released or the glut of awards she’s got hiding on the mantelpiece though, I’m going back to the first single I remember.

‘Fallin” was the first single from her twelve million selling debut ‘Songs in A Minor’. Back in 2001 I enjoyed listening to it because it was sweet and simple. A song that could turn up on the radio at any time of the day and I wouldn’t be turning it off. It had heavy rotation on the music channels. She was labelled ‘the new queen of soul’ by some music magazine based on the hype for the album. ‘Fallin” was an excellent lead single, hand-crafted with love and attention, picked by some record executive because they could hear the sound of money at the door.

I heard the song again recently and frowned a big old man frown. Was this the same song that had enchanted me twenty years prior?

Firstly, the music is perfectly fine and lovely, it’s the words that make me remove the rose-tinted nostalgia glasses and question what exactly I was drinking at the age of seventeen. I did a word count and officially there’s only 227. Short, pop songs are as old as the music charts themselves. There’s nothing wrong with short songs. There has to actually be words in them though.

‘Fallin” is a song perpetually infested with oh’s. It’s so full of oh’s it may as well be a box of Cheerios. You can’t go a few seconds without one cropping up. Not even one but a whole host of oh’s, you’re never too far away from them. You’re not subjected to a Mariah Carey level of insane warbling that would make dogs cry out in pain but it’s still fairly distracting and not pleasant on the ears. Then there’s the repetition.

The chorus is used five times. It makes the cardinal sin of rhyming ‘you’ with ‘you’. The weirdest part is that the officially last word of the song is ‘what?’ which I didn’t even remember and had to go back to watch it on Youtube to check that was factually correct, which it is. She gives a sassy look at the camera and asks the question. Is she asking me this because I don’t like the song anymore? Who knows.

What I do know is that ‘Girlfriend’ from the same album is an infinitely better song and I won’t be going back to ‘Fallin” any time soon. If it comes on the radio at any time of the day, I will be turning it off.

A Question of Science – Kev’s Legs

Science has taught us a great deal of things. Without it there would be no way of calculating a pound minute accurately nor would we have the tools with which to create the Wheel of Thrusting (TM). I think we can all agree that with science around, we’ve all got mugs brimming with joy.

There are still certain questions though that evade even the brightest of minds. To try and ponder these would drive a man insane or something like it. You would find him stood in a queue at Boots trying to buy some nutmeg with a sock full of eyelids.

The most elusive member of the Beans community, Kevin “I hate waiting” Hill, is notable for drinking the dirtiest tea imaginable, for making creative balloon animals out of the stickiest of computer dib-dabs and for having legs that defy gravity and a few other laws of science. His legs have featured on the cover of ‘New Scientist’ several times over the years mainly due to the scientific community trying to work out a way of measuring how long they are. There isn’t a tool made for a distance as great as this. The mathematical algorithm is so complex that the letters and numbers haven’t been invented yet. Stephen Hawkins once tried to measure Kev’s legs with a trundle wheel and got lost around his ankles. It’s just not possible.

Polar explorer, Eric Larson, gathered together a twelve man team with a view to getting an accurate reading. With a dozen huskies and those awful food pouches you pour hot water in and it somehow makes a mush that tastes like a roast dinner, they set off in late September 2011 for the summit. After three days they couldn’t find a water supply and ended up circumnavigating back to the toes having only made, what they believed to be, about a twelfth of the way there. We only know this because of the diary entries that were found by the reconnaissance team a month later. All members of the group are currently missing to this day.

The Beano ran a competition in 2005 for the readers to try and guess how long Kev’s legs are. The winner was Daisy Slanderbelly from Wolverhampton with a very sensible estimate of twelve billion jellybeans. This is still, however, yet to be proven.

The truth is that we will probably never know how far Kev’s legs stretch off into the distance. Some mathematicians have theorised that they never stop, they never run out and they continue forever. The universe may be ever-expanding and so are Kev’s legs; you can try but you will never reach the end. We should all take solace in the fact that sometimes questions don’t need an answer and will never be fully answered.

Another mystery not really solved!

Mysterious shed

Picture this:

Two men are sat watching some good old fashioned rock and roll music at a gig. They’ve already had to endure the poor organisational skills of Huddersfield, Wetherspoons meals without the drinks (because the wait for drinks was longer than the food for some reason), rain, snow, sleet, drunk Yorkshire idiots and a winding, zig-zagging queue to get inside.

The support act were fine. The sun came out and the woman took her top off. If only the sound system was decent enough to make what she was shouting about audible but you can’t have everything I suppose.

The first band came on and despite numerous jokes at their expense (not from me), a jolly good time was had by all, especially when they did a rousing cover of ‘Enter Sandman’ by Metallic and a soothing rendition of ‘Africa’ by Toto.

The second band began their set with a weird recorded message by some semi-famous actor guy who I recognise the face of but can never remember his name. About four songs in the band suddenly decided to leave the stage.

“What’s going on?” everyone asks.

Cue the stagehands and roadies going backstage and trying to wheel on what can only be described as the world’s most unnecessarily large shed (FYI it looked more like a log cabin to me, Kev’s description is the official description though because he said it first). The shed is so big they struggle to get it onto the stage because a corner keeps getting caught on something. Manoeuvre, pivot, manoeuvre, pivot. A few minutes later it’s wheeled into the middle and the drummer climbs on top.

The band then do a two further songs before sacking the shed off and putting it back where they found it.

Was the shed some kind of protest? Probably not. Were the two songs that the band sung whilst it was there based around sheds? Did they sing ‘Sweet Shed of Mine’ and ‘My Love (How I Shed Those Tears For You)’? No they did not. Did the shed have anything to do with what was happening onstage? Not in the slightest.

It’s times like these that does make you wonder if anything actually makes sense anymore.

Fear the return

Fear. That burning at the pit of your stomach. That tingle on the back of your neck. The shivers that overwhelm your entire body and reduces you to a pitiful mess of a human being.

Everyone fears something and I am no exception. If you’ve ever seen the film ‘Biodome’ then you will know what I mean. Monstrosities like that should not exist in this world so if you ever see it anywhere, be in VHS, DVD or, heaven forbid, Blu-Ray, destroy it before it can infect another person.

Recently a friend of mine found a new fear in an unaccepted place. It looked cheery enough but underneath that happy façade was the high pitched voice and relentless energy of a toddler sucking Coca Cola through a red liquorice straw covered in sherbet.

Don’t look at it. Don’t touch it. Don’t go near it. Don’t even think about the fact that it is somewhere in this world. Just be thankful it’s not where you are. Close your curtains and lock your doors. Turn out the lights and hide in the darkness.

You never know when he might be coming.

Bamse Mums

Hey kid, are you hungry? Do you need something to snack on before dinner?

What you need is a bag of Bamse Mums.

We take the finest things that sugar can produce and fashion them into someone that would make even a Smurf squint with glee.

Hidden beneath a veil of chocolate is something that up until writing this post I wasn’t quite sure what it was. It tasted like milk but it’s actually a marshmallow. Yeah, one of them covered in chocolate but also tasting a bit like a Kinder Egg. In the shape of a bear. Sort of shaped like a bear. In your mouth.

Trust me, with a packet full of these in your pocket, well, they’d melt obviously because it’s summer. They would melt into the sexiest confectionary you have ever seen or maybe not because they’re made in France but my sister sent some over from Sweden. Also nobody is impressed with melted chocolate unless they’ve got a hoover bag covered in holes for a brain.

English people probably don’t know what they are. They’re Bamse Mums.

Import some today and wonder why you bothered to do so in the first place.

Everybody wants to rule the world… or do they?

In 1985 Tears for Fears released a song called ‘Everybody wants to rule the world’. It was a fearless, techno-infused death metal hybrid about the merits of being in charge of everything. That’s a big lie; it was a endlessly catchy pop song about the perils of being in charge. It does beg the question as to what would be the point in having the biggest chair of all chairs?

Lots of comic book supervillains are always desperate to take it over: Magneto, Dr. Doom, Lex Luthor and Darkseid to name a few. Looking at the state of the planet now, I’d say that it would be more of a chore than anything else to run the world. Earth isn’t fun anymore. It’s a dried up husk of a planet filled with dangerous morons outnumbering the sane, level-headed people by about fifty to one. We’re running low on resources, running out of space and now apparently plastic has been found in people’s blood. I don’t remember eating plastic, it must have been in a frenzy the last time someone put a box of Malteasers in front of me and I swallowed them whole, box, cellophane and all.

This all sounds very serious so before I completely step into my ‘Serious Ian’ shoes, let’s take a step back.

Imagine the paperwork involved; you would never leave your desk and certainly don’t even think about taking a full hour lunchbreak. You’d be running around 195 countries each with their own way of doing things. Sure, you’re the one with the big boots and flashy sash but you can guarantee someone is going to have a problem with your agenda or, even worse, your face.

“China wants a bouncy castle for its ten thousandth birthday!” shouts your secretary. Just before you pick up the phone to check what St John’s Community Hall can offer there’s an email in your inbox because Brazil called Peru a naughty name and now its sulking off the gulf of Mexico and it has to hand over the figures regarding its GDP before the end of the day. France has been in jail for nine days and no matter how many times you shock it with electricity it won’t tell you where your car keys are.

There’s a splat at the window. Poland is throwing eggs again. You’ve already cut off its pocket money and it still won’t respect your decision to hold the next Olympics in Australia.

Just when you think Thailand, Singapore and Qatar have their harmonies fashioned for your board meeting on Friday, Thailand sleeps in and misses the final dress rehearsal. Now you’ve got to go crawling on your hands and knees to Saudi Arabia in the hope that your fourth choice will forget the fact that you let them go in favour of the country with the slightly better baritone.

Even if you had superpowers and you could crush people with the weight of your toxic masculinity, where’s the thrill of being king or queen of the world? It’s not even something that would impress people anymore. The general public is impressed when a monkey rides a tortoise and someone films it. That’s an eight million hit on YouTube. Bragging rights for ownership of the planet Earth? Nothing. I bet all the other planets are always giggling about us because we still haven’t mastered space travel and Kanye West has now released eleven albums and still shows no sign of stopping.

No, I’m afraid if I was handed the keys to the globe I would turn and walk away. It’s just not for me. I’m out.

Strong words

Reviews are very useful when deciding if the thing that you think that you want is actually the thing that you want. Human beings are idiots, we want everything. See that patch of grass? You want that. I want it too. Let’s have a fight about it to decide who gets to have it. Whilst we’re fighting, someone comes along and takes it. They measure up the merits of the patch and review it on grasspatches.com. I read the review over your shoulder, holding a bag of frozen peas on my black eye and decide perhaps that wasn’t the right grass patch for me.

Everything gets reviewed these days from people and services to goods and refreshments. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a one star review of me somewhere with the words “could have done better but I did like his soft hair” painted around a picture of myself looking confused.

Some days I’m very interested in reading reviews and researching before deciding to purchase and other days I’m straight in there, balls deep, putting my card details straight away like a mega boss. I’m buying games and films, I’m not purchasing helicopters and hovercrafts like Kev. Those you have to take your time with because you don’t want to end up with a hovercraft that doesn’t hover or a helicopter that smells of wee.

This review made me laugh so much I had to take a screenshot and keep it for posterity. It’s for a Nintendo Wii U game called ‘Game and Wario’, a collection of strange and funny minigames that nobody really bought (because it was on a bobbins console) so now it’s commands a tall price. I’m not sure what the person thought they were doing but it was approved by the website and not only have three people confirmed it as ‘helpful’ but it’s also top of the list of ‘most relevant’ in the ten reviews the game has.

Further proof that the human race has completely lost the plot.

Cafetiere

I was given some free coffee so I bought a cafetiere to brew it up and enjoy the fresh taste of morning brown. The coffee was strong and rich so my taste buds, what little I had left, were in a joyful mood. Reuben tried some and instantly dismissed it. Now whenever he sees the cafetiere in the cupboard he refers to it as “middle class bullshit.”

There is a time for instant coffee and there’s a time to whip out the cafetiere. There’s also a time when you need to take a 600 million pound bag of tea and brew up some dirty black tea for you to enjoy, possibly whilst rocking back and forth in the corner of the room, but thankfully I haven’t quite reached that point yet.

Whilst musing on the wonders of life I came up with this playful little ditty. You can sing it or you can recite it like a spoken word poem:

Cafetiere, cafetiere,
Long of taste and long of flair.
Cafetiere, your juice is fair,
Pour some for your closest frere.
Pour some for Jim, Danny or Claire.

Hint of peach or hint of pear,
Think there’s nothing going on in there?
Au contraire, my cafetiere,
The savoir faire of cafetiere,
The savoir vivre of cafetiere.

Yeah you’re right, I made it up on the spot and that’s what makes life so great. Next time you’re brewing some coffee perhaps you’ll come up with your own song.

Pouring
Beans

Author: Ian “Wolfwood” McIver