England Football

A busy weekend beckons but, for the first time in quite a few weeks, I shall feel unburdened by tasks I need to complete.

I shall certainly be watching England play Portugal. I am thinking of the quarter final in these terms: A victory for England shall mean they start their next competitive match a mere 90 minutes away from the World Cup Final. I think they can defeat the fellows from the Iberian Peninsula but ‘the lads’ and Rooney in particular will require discipline in the tackle. I would hate for a spate of yellow cards to weaken our squad. I mention Rooney because he is the key for World Cup glory now. In general, we could just about cope with the loss of a star name but without the talismanic ‘Roo’ we are nothing.

I predict wins this weekend for Germany (perhaps after extra time and penalties), Italy, England (by two clear goals) and France. An all European semi-final line-up and no new winner of the famed trophy.

Alan Hansen remains the finest and most articulate pundit around. I relish his intelligent opining. Martin O’Neill impresses too and, although he can be a touch snide when commentating, Mark Lawrenson talks a lot of sense. However, the addition of the Brazilian, Leonardo to the BBC panel has proved a masterstroke. He speaks with real erudition and passion about the sport and I find myself hanging on to his every word. Importantly, he has both talked the talk and walked the walk at the highest level too. He’s great. I can sum up the ITV1 team with a single word: dross. From the shocking and out of depth Gabby Yorath to the mundane Ruud Gullit to the ramshackle collection of spivs who barely utter a coherent word, it really is embarrassing.

Looking Back

There I was yesterday, pontificating how ‘looking back’ at old music didn’t always meet my approval. Today, a volte face, as I breezed through the list of albums on my MP3 player and felt the most incredible craving to play Miss America, the 1988 (I had to look that up) folk?, country?, jazz? album by the queen of the where-are-they-nows, Mary Margaret O’Hara. It really a fabulous record, full of immense vocal performances the like of which I’ve never encountered since or had met before. O’Hara’s lyrics are heartfelt, her delivery remains almost fractured and unusually phrased throughout. The songs stray from the traditional verse-chorus-verse but there is a refreshing structure to be discovered. After twelve listens it all makes perfect sense. I believe it was one of the first CDs I ever bought. Nothing like it exists in my record collection to this day.

Don't Look Back

I’ve been far too busy to trot onto these pages as often as I would like. I still care. I’m tired though.

I can’t wait for the summer holidays.

It looks likely I’ll be joining D for a London concert in the Don’t Look Back series that the ubercool ATP organise each year. Basically, selected bands play the whole of a classic album (and a few other favourites) for the masses. I don’t always approve of ‘looking back’ musically but it seems a jolly process and a pinch of nostalgia never did anyone any harm. Any road up, Teenage Fanclub are showcasing their 1991 (I had to look that up) second album Bandwagonesque. It should be fun. I actually prefer their albums Songs From Northern Britain and Grand Prix which aren’t quite as ‘indie’ as Bandwagonesque but Bandwagonesque will do for me. It’ll be nice to go to a new venue for me, The Forum in Kentish Town.

I see that there is a Calmer* night in Cheltenham on the 20th July with a band called Flipron playing. They look quite interesting and possibly ‘up me street’. I wonder if A might be interested in nipping over?

I’m keen to buy a bit more new music in London too and spend a few pleasant hours browsing the record shops. There are a few things I’d like.

Gob

I had my troubled and troubling tooth extracted on Monday amid scenes that Dante himself would have baulked at. Four injections I endured. Four. I, supine and quivering, received an SMS text message about popular beat music from D after the third jab. The absurdity of the timing cheered me and helped me face the challenge of having such unpleasant surgery. I thank him. I was spitting blood for the rest of the day.

I’m enjoying the new Scritti Politti long player, White Bread Black Beer. I sense it will prove 'a grower' but I am already charmed by its sumptuous tones and breathy vocals. A week or two ago, Simon Reynolds wrote a glowing feature about Green Gartside and the new album which might be worth a look.

Modern Life is Rubbish

I am totally charmed by The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society. S sorted me out with a copy a few weeks back and I’ve only managed to play it seriously for the last day or two. I love Ray Davies’ style; when the rock and pop mainstream were singing of peace, love and psychedelia in the late 1960s, he rather quaintly released songs about village greens, grocer boys, old oak trees and Sunday Schools. I read somewhere that Davies had rejected all things American after Uncle Sam failed to grasp the whimsy of his Kinks and this album as is English as, well, village greens. The songs absolutely drip with melody, the swaggering creations of a group and a writer bloated with confidence and talent. There is nothing over three minutes here and the resulting effect is like being assaulted with a pop sledgehammer – gem follows gem follows gem. This is a delicious and really unusual recording.

After a listen or two, one realises that this album could never have been made without The Village Green Preservation Society. Although released a quarter of a century after The Kinks’ classic, its evocation of a quirky England and the country’s eccentric characters is too similar to be coincidental. Even the two album titles mean the same thing really, don’t they?

Snookered

A busy time of the year for me this. A heady mix of too much to do elsewhere, the heat, the World Cup and recent dental miseries has kept me away from these pages. Regular visitors to these pages should expect a quietish period.

England’s 2-0 victory against Trinidad and Tobago was probably deserved but was nonetheless frustrating and nerve-wracking. I am keen to sign up to the theory that a slow starting England might just peak at the right time and use later improvements to carry themselves a long way in the tournament. It was reassuring to watch an enthusiastic Rooney enter the field of play. Lennon did well too.

I played snooker for the first time in about twelve years last night and acquitted myself reasonably well. My highest break was a tasty thirteen, a canny pink and black clearance to snatch a tense victory. I scored lots of breaks of one. I left the club satisfied that I hadn't made a complete fool of myself and that shall form my finest achievement.

Trials

I bought the Midlake album this morning and am playing it now. It does possess a seventies soft-rock feel but I say this not as a bad thing. The Trials of Van Occupanther is charming. The song I love is Young Bride. I’ve heard it on BBC 6Music about three or four times and it is a stunning song full of haunting melody and a tangible melancholia. The use of violin is perfect. I don’t know if anyone shares this view but when I buy an album and I know one of the songs already, I’m often tempted to skip that track for a while in order to let the rest of the album ‘catch up’. I might do that on this occasion. Or maybe not*.

The England match against Paraguay was tense and error strewn, particularly in the second half when ‘the lads’ lacked a little shape. The early goal settled the nerves (for me and ‘the lads’) though and, to be fair, the South Americans rarely threatened the England area or goal. The Paraguayans are no mugs having defeated both Brazil and Argentina in qualification. Their pedigree should put today’s result into context. Yes, it was a touch scrappy and somewhat disappointing but the three points were crucial. A win against Trinidad and Tobago next week should see England into the last 16.

* I didn't.

I've Got A Feeling

The penicillin has started to kick in and swelling on my jowl/cheek/chin is diminishing although I still retain a hamsteresque countenance. A colleague remarked jauntily this morning that I appeared ‘more symmetrical’ today which is an encouragement of sorts.

There are two albums I strongly desire. Twelve Stops and Home by The Feeling has harvested fine reviews for its melodic nods to the likes of Wings and E.L.O.and I reckon I could do with a dollop. Another album I’d like is The Trials of Van Occupanther by wistful Texans, Midlake. Again, the reviews have proved fabulous and the one song I’ve heard on BBC 6Music (which, as ever, I gently endorse) is just beautiful and really tenderly arranged. On each occasion it has been played I have had to stop what I’m doing and just soak it up – and that happens rarely these days.

Desperate Dan, Desperate Pain

A few days away from here and toothache is to blame. I’ve been suffering all week and a (rare) trip to the dentist this morning confirmed that an abscess is causing me all this pain and is responsible for my newly acquired Desperate Dan chin. A course of penicillin shall ease the swelling and I’ve been popping more pills than the late period Happy Mondays to relieve the rotten pain. Naturally, I’m milking this for all it is worth.

Of course, I have been following the Wayne Rooney broken foot saga with fierce concentration and am delighted that ‘the boy’ has been passed fit enough to return to the squad. He may make the knock-out stages but one report this morning indicates that Eriksson may play the jovial young Scouser against the Swedes. I’m still concerned about our attacking options with Owen not at his sharpest, Walcott lacking experience and Crouch, although reassuringly awkward, maybe not the fully rounded international striker we need against the better nations. I wish Defoe was still with the squad at the expense of Jenas or Hargreaves.

Festival Feelings

Although I spent much of the weekend at the Wychwood Festival, I didn’t really manage to catch much music. I savoured a few Squeeze classics played by Chris Difford, lounged about and enjoyed half an hour of Eliza Carthy’s collaboration with Salsa Celtica (which was superb!) and loved what I saw of Field Music (edgy and angular and sharp) to the extent that I’m keen to purchase some of their stuff. I did want to watch the Amadou et Miriam set but I had my elder daughter with me on the Sunday and it was getting late. School the next day and all that. Most of the time I was flogging fancy dress, leathers, fake furs and old designer clothes in the Oxfam tent and that was a lot of fun. There was a (mostly) young team working for Oxfam and they were energetic and interesting and great company. I’m not sure I’d do a festival again for Oxfam – regrettably, I concede that it’s a youngster’s game – but it proved a worthwhile experience. I’m young at heart but I simply couldn’t cope with dressing up like Santa and dancing round with an umbrella for hours on end like some of the nippers on the stall. I cocked a snook at that rag week style japery when I was 20 too, mind you. I wore a Mexican hat for a while but that’s as zany as it got and I didn’t really enjoy that either. This sounds awfully selfish but the next time I visit a festival I want to catch more sounds and visit more stalls and sample more food.

The Great Vashti Bunyan

Vashti Bunyan at St. George’s Hall, Bristol

This was tingles down spine territory. Vashti and her delightful band only played for 45 minutes but it was utterly gorgeous stuff, an enchanting mixture of newer songs from Lookaftering and old ‘classics’ from Just Another Diamond Day and beyond. The voice was hushed and whispered, the playing understated and dainty but the strength and quality of the songs underpinned everything. The three minute glimpses into gentle worlds and daydreams were captivating. Vashti herself was utterly shy and modest, timidly peering at the audience from behind a fringe like a coy teen despite being (you wouldn’t think it) sixty years of age. Her broad smiles when the warmest applause filled the fine hall were worth the admission price alone. Lovely.

Living is easy with eyes closed

The latest Mojo Magazine is a corker featuring a piece on The Beatles’ 1966 opus, Revolver as well as the 101 (why not 100?) best Beatles songs chosen by a large panel of expert-texperts. All this Beatledom was, frankly, right up my street. Before I opened the edition I was keen to guess the Top Three and I was nearly right; A Day in the Life and Strawberry Fields Forever exotically claimed numbers one and two as predicted but my choice for third best song, I am the Walrus only came 38th. Goo goo gajoob. Yesterday was third in the list, by the way. One glaring omission, for me, was Baby You’re a Rich Man from the Magical Mystery Tour soundtrack, a Lennon swipe, I believe, at the hippy generation. It remains a wonderful song that should have made the final list, especially as so many dull-in-comparison early Beatlemania era numbers did sneak in. Anyhow, here is my top ten that will probably change tomorrow:

1. A Day in the Life
2. Strawberry Fields Forever
3. I am the Walrus
4. Penny Lane
5. For No One
6. Eleanor Rigby
7. Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds
8. Hey Bulldog
9. Hey Jude
10. Happiness is a Warm Gun

Two songs in a row starting with the word, 'Hey'. Hey.