El pasado viernes 1 de abril, este, vuestro blog, cumplió un añito. Era Semana Santa, hacía buen tiempo, la alergia asomaba, Madrid estaba desierto, y ¡Qué Bonito Es Criticar! comenzaba.
Desde entonces muchas cosas han pasado, aunque no tantas por aquí. Decía en el Manifiesto Fundacional que el objetivo era escribir un par de veces con semana. Y sin ir más lejos, la última publicación es del 15 de febrero, quedando marzo como único mes sin escribir o copiar-pegar algo. Oposiciones, paro, trabajo, cambio de batcueva, cosas varias… vamos, que tampoco tengo obligación de actualizar esto en ningún momento, faltaría más.
El caso es que han quedado por ahora 62 entradas (5,16 al mes, 0,17 al día), 208 comentarios, 405 etiquetas, etc. Muchos artículos copiados – gracias a El País, The Sabotage Times, The Guardian y a Chapapote Discursivo, sobre todo – y el resto de producción propia, hablando de fútbol, de música, de cine, de libros, de Wikileaks, tonterías varias… Con 4463 visitas (ahora se vive de las rentas y el spam), el día de más follón fue el 21 de enero, cuando un artículo de Diego Manrique causó sensación, agitando la blogosfera con 56 visitas. De la producción propia, mi incursión en la crítica musical con el artículo sobre el concierto de The Bleach en septiembre ha sido el que ha triunfado – aunque en el global sean World Changing Gigs (Conciertos que cambian el mundo), que es un híbrido, y el que escribí sobre ‘La Librería’, de Penelope Fitzgerald. El mes con más visitas fue diciembre, con 533, y el que menos junio, con 142. Vamos, en pleno follón.
En fin, agradecer a todos los que me habéis leído, habéis dejado algún comentario, habéis encontrado algo gracias a Gúgel, etc.
Aprovecho para inaugurar el widget en la barra lateral que mostrará fotos que voy subiendo de Madrid a Flickr, que también ocupa un trozo en esta entrada.
Muchas gracias por su visita, y que siga la fiesta
Last weekend, I watched a lot of French movies. As I usually only watch Dannii Minogue: Style Queen while eating Dairylea Lunchables, I can’t think what came over me.
Maybe I was just being a ponce. Because unless you’re actually French, giving your pseudo intellectualism an airing is one of the main reasons why anyone watches French films. Are you a tedious goatee-bearded tosspot out on a Guardian Soulmates date? Watch a French movie. Are you a sexually predatory university lecturer wishing to impress a nubile foreign exchange student? Watch a French movie. Are you a Belle and Sebastian fan who is crushingly, crushingly alone? French movie.
My conclusion after watching these films was that French people need to cheer the fuck up. Also, I realised that although French films enjoy an elevated reputation as ‘arthouse’, they’re usually about as ‘arty’ as a Thomas Kinkade painting of cottage by moonlight. Also, they are full of clichés. Regardez.
1. Je Suis Smoking un fag
To star in a French film, you must be smoking a cigarette at all times, even when you’re in the bath, in hospital, or wandering through a warehouse full of dynamite. In I’ve Loved You So Long, the quite patently British Kristen Scott-Thomas smokes more fags in 2 hours than Bill Hicks did in his entire life. And she has a right bloody gob on as well.
2. Je Suis staring out of the fenetre
Run out of ideas? In French films it is entirely acceptable to substitute dialogue and action for long periods of gazing out of the window. Nathalie Baye in Jean Luc Godard’s Slow Motion looks out of the window for what seems like days. Who knows what she’s thinking? Actually, she’s probably thinking: ‘I’d better nip down to the Monoprix for 200 fags and a Yoplait’.
3. Je Suis Une kooky pain dans le derriere
The French love a bit of far fetched magical realism and they spread it on thicker than Bonne Maman. Cue an endless parade of girlish free spirits with no grip on reality, fateful chance meetings on Le Metro, dropped passport photographs, and all manner of twinkling and winking that makes you want to be sick in the Seine. If I saw that Amelie down the pub I’d totally slap her quirky face in.
4. J’ai une face comme un arse
Although there are a fair few French actors I wouldn’t chuck out of my bed for farting the theme tune to Jeux Sans Frontiers, for male French stars, being good looking is not a requirement. Better that you look like an aged, post coital rhino who has been rutting in a swamp all night, or if you have a nose like a deformed butternut squash. In L’Homme Du Train, Johnny Halliday is meant to be sexy, despite looking like a crocodile handbag with a wig on. Add Serge Gainsbourg, Gerard Depardieu and Jean Reno into the mix and you’ve got yourself a great big buffet of ugly quiche.
5. Je Suis dans le buff
Nudity and rambunctious shagging in French films is compulsory by law. If there isn’t a nipple by the 12th minute, the entire cast and crew are arrested by les gendarmes and thrown into the Bastille where they’re forced to listen to Carla Bruni albums. Of course, the French always say that nudity is integral to the plot. (Even if that plot is usually all about Emmanuelle Beart’s muff.)
6. Pardonnez ma ‘eavy ‘anded metaphor
While American films like to whack audiences over the head with explosions and car chases, French movies prefer to tie some unwieldy metaphors around your ankles and drop you into a consomme of half-baked poetic symbolism. Your lead character is a fisherman? It’s a metaphor for dissatisfaction. He meets an ageing prostitute? She is a metaphor for death. They have a baguette? A metaphor for sex. What-EVA. In a French movie, you can’t go for a shite without it being a comment on the great existential void.
Et voila. I’m sure there are loads more, but I couldn’t be arsed to read the subtitles properly. If you’re going to see a French movie this weekend, I suggest you bring a bottle of Burgundy into the cinema and take a swig every time someone shags, smokes or nothing happens. Me? I’m off to watch Sandra Bullock in Armed and Fabulous on ITV7.
Este artículo (está un poco más abajo) lo leí en Sabotage Times, y al ir a fusilarlo copiarlo-pegarlo para el disfrute de todos y todas descubrí que no es suyo. Si no que es de Grenfiddich. Sí, Grenfiddich, los del whiskazo, allá por Escocia. Pues resulta que tienen una web llamada Glenfiddich Explorers (editada por un tal Steve Hobbs) con cosas variadas (desde postres decadentes, los edificios centrales de compañías más espectaculares, ciudades amuralladas, lugares de rodaje de películas, etc.), así que aquí hay que mencionarlo.
Decir que suele ser normal buscar los conciertos o actuaciones que han cambiado el rumbo de la música. De los que no están aquí y merece la pena mencionar, la presencia de Elvis el 9 de septiembre de 1956 y The Beatles el 9 de febrero de 1964 en el programa de Ed Sullivan.
En el caso de Elvis, el programa fue visto… por 60 millones de personas (82,6 de share). En 1956. Ojito. Por lo visto no le dejaron tocar todo el tiempo que tenía, ya que Ed Sullivan no le quería en el programa. En la revista Time se dijo en mayo de 1956 que “his movements suggest, in a word, sex”. Y como recoge Glenn C. Altschuler en All Shook Up: How Rock ‘n’ Roll Changed America (2003), un tal Jack Gould en The New York Times decía que sus movimientos del cuerpo y de la lengua eran un ‘flagrante flaco servicio a la nación’ (o como leches se traduzca ‘a gross national disservice’). A la muerte de Elvis en agosto de 1977, el Washington Post escribía esto:
“Their hunches of their parents’ fears were well confirmed after Presley’s appearance on a 1956 Ed Sullivan show. While millions of teenagers screamed in unison across the land, a Catholic priest in New York scorned Sullivan for this ‘moral injury’ and condemned Presley for his ‘voodoo of defiance and frustration’”.
Y el mismo Jack Gould (un visionario, sin duda), escribió: “His one specialty is an accentuated movement of the body that heretofore has been previously identified with the repertoire of the blonde bombshells of the burlesque runway”.
El caso es que Elvis entró en casa de 60 millones de personas. Y el rock n’ roll nunca volvió a ser lo mismo. Ni la música popular.
Elvis en el The Ed Sullivan Show
The Beatles en Estados Unidos… el comienzo de la British Invasion. Y la actuación en el programa del viejo Ed Sullivan fue lo más simbólico. Lo más simbólico, y lo más importante, qué carajo. 73 millones. 73 millones de espectadores. Esa cifra acojona incluso ahora mismo. Con Elvis las cosas habían cambiado, pero de repente que lleguen unos tipos de Liverpool haciendo coñas, y esté el país revolucionado… demasié.
Jack Paar, de la NBC, sacó a The Beatles en su programa (en una grabación de la BBC) un mes antes que Ed Sullivan porque… “I thought they were funny. I brought them here as a joke […] I didn’t know they were going to change the culture of the country with music”. En su programa dijo “These guys have these crazy hairdos and when they wiggle their heads and the hair goes, the girls go out of their minds. Does it bother you to realize that in a few years these girls will vote, raise children and drive cars? I just show you this in case you’re going to England and want to have a fun evening.
Y se dice que la actuación de The Beatles en The Ed Sullivan Show fue el cambio definitivo para la música popular. Leí nosedonde que si Nirvana no hubiese existido, una parte de la música actual no existiría. Pero que si The Beatles no hubiesen existido, la música actual no existiría; ellos crearon la escena. Los 750 miembros de la audiencia (3000 se quedaron en la calle) vivieron El Cambio Definitivo.
Y, sin más, os dejo con el artículo este:
A great music show can change the world. Check out the venues where history was played.
Burn baby burn
Frank Sinatra, Hoboken Union Club, New York, 1935
Sinatra’s ‘big break’ came in 1935 when his mother persuaded local singing troupe The Three Flashes to let the 20 year old sing with them onstage at the Hoboken Union Club. Renamed as the Hoboken Four, the band were seen by talent scout, Edward ‘Major’ Bowes who offered the group a spot on his talent competition, Major Bowes Amateur Hour. Attracting 40,000 votes from listeners, the band won first prize in the contest – a six month contract to perform on stage and radio across the US.
Moondog Coronation Ball, Cleveland Arena, 1952
The brainchild of Alan Freed, the Cleveland DJ who first coined the term Rock and Roll, The Moondog Coronation Ballstands in history as the world’s first rock concert and featured a bill that included Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, The Dominoes, Tiny Grimes, The Rockin Highlanders and Paul ‘Hucklebuck’ Williams. However the show never took place. Overselling of tickets meant 25,000 young Americans turned up to the 10,000 seat venue and in the ensuing riot, police and fire marshals shut down the show after just one song.
Elvis, Overton Park Shell, Memphis, 1954
Another strong contender for the title ‘World’s first Rock and Roll Show’, Elvis’ first paid performance at the Overton Park theatre on 30 July 1954 was as support for Slim Whitman – until he stole the show with his rendition of That’s All Right. Legend has it that Elvis was so nervous onstage that his legs started to shake uncontrollably. The effect, exacerbated by the wide flairs he was wearing, had such an effect on the audience’s young women that it remained part of Elvis’ stage show for the rest of his life.
The Beatles, Cavern Club, Liverpool, 1961
The band who invented pop music, The Beatles had been playing at the Cavern Club in Liverpool since 1957 as The Quarrymen, however it wasn’t until the legendary jazz club started experimenting with lunchtime rock and roll gigs in 1961 that The Beatles found their spiritual home. In the autumn of 1961 the band had just returned from a stint in Hamburg, Germany playing the clubs along the Reaperbahn and recording their first single, My Bonnie, with singer Tony Sheridan. They had been asked to play at the Cavern at lunchtime on 9 November to a crowd that included Brian Epstein, a Liverpool music shop owner. After the show, Epstein went backstage to meet the band in their ‘broom cupboard’ dressing room and a partnership was formed that would forever change the history of popular music.
Bob Dylan, Newport Folk Festival, 1965
On 25 July 1965, Dylan’s conversion to an electric band, with the first ‘plugged in’ show of his career, was met with boos from a hostile, folk-orthodox crowd. Having won over Newport audiences in both ’63 and ‘64 with rootsy, acoustic sets, Dylan’s perceived betrayal of his fan base at this show marked his cross over from folk to rock music, heralding a new direction for both musical styles.
Rolling Stones, Altamont, 1969
The free San Francisco show that closed the 1960s ended with the stabbing of fan, Meredith Hunter by Hells Angels, invited by the Stones’ to provide security for ‘Woodstock West’. Chronicled in the harrowing road movie, Gimme Shelter (1970), Altamont was the nightmare that killed the Hippy dream.
Jimi Hendrix, Isle of Wight Festival, 1970
Hendrix’s infamous guitar burning performance, late on Sunday 30 August 1970, effectively marked the end of the era of the free music festival that had been characterised by US shows like Woodstock and Altamont. An estimated 700,000 people showed up on the tiny British island, mostly without tickets, to see a line up which included Joan Baez, Free, The Doors and The Who. The chaos caused by marauding fans and the complete commercial failure of the concert ensured it would be the last event of its kind for almost 30 years.
Sex Pistols, Lesser Free Trade Hall, Manchester, 1976
If everyone who later claimed to have attended the Sex Pistol’s first show at Manchester’s Free Trade Hall on 4 June 1976 had in fact been there, the band would have easily been able to fill Madison Square Gardens. In truth however only around 40 people attended the show that changed music forever, although they included the next generation of Manchester music luminaries: Morrissey (The Smiths), Mark E Smith (The Fall), Pete Shelley and Steve Diggle (The Buzzcocks), Ian Curtis, Bernard Sumner and Peter Hook (Joy Division) and Tony Wilson (Factory Records supremo and Hacienda club owner).
Live Aid, Wembley Stadium, 1985
Organised by Bob Geldof (Boomtown Rats) and Midge Ure (Ultravox) to raise money for famine relief in Ethiopia, Live Aid was the biggest music show in history. With concerts held simultaneously in London, Philadelphia and a host of other destinations around the world, the show was broadcast live to an estimated 400 million viewers, in 60 countries via satellite for 16 hours and raised over £150 million for NGOs in Africa.
Nirvana, MTV Unplugged, Sony Studios New York, 1993
The band which brought music back to basics after the electronic over indulgence of the 1980s, Nirvana’s Unplugged session was the very antithesis of the contemporary rock show. Playing mainly lesser known material and a few obscure covers, with an entirely stripped back, acoustic band, while front man, Kurt Cobain, howled his death rattle vocals from an old rocking chair, this was the show that cemented Nirvana’s position as the most influential rock band since the Beatles. Six months later Cobain was dead, having committed suicide at his Seattle home.
Hey you, don’t watch that, watch this. This is a handful of the very best Madness songs. An appreciation of the pop greats who never took themselves seriously yet churned out hits for fun.
Narh, narh, narh. Narh, narh, narh, narh, narh, narh. They were great weren’t they? Madness I mean. They were though weren’t they? Its 12.55 a.m. Monday morning, I’m up for work in five hours, I sat here in the living room watching old Madness videos on Youtube. Why?
Sunday morning I had a big brunch date with my three favourite girls. My daughters. We were stood outside Raymonds in Montclair with all the other would be diners, MSU hipsters, Manhattan office working commuters, families and pensioners, waiting for our table – twenty minutes sir, these girls all yours? They’re adorable – watching the world go by. The girls, smiled at babies, played tag and commented on a passing greyhound,’ I hope it’s a dog that’s been rescued,’ my eldest enquired in a concerned tone.
It was one of those perfect early Autumn mornings, glorious sunshine but a little nip in the air. Great weather for a thick shirt or maybe a jumper. I saw one chap in a North Face fleece but he was just being daft. The twins were getting a bit restless, bored even. Twenty minutes seems like an age when you’re eight, I’ve no doubt. Especially when you’re waiting to eat pancakes. Out of the blue, The Dude (one of my kid’s nicknames) started up, ‘Hey you, don’t watch that watch this. This is the heavy, heavy monster sound…’ Everyone within earshot grinned or laughed out loud.
Madness can do that though can’t they? Even after 31 years, ‘One Step Beyond’ can cheer you up. It can, believe me. They had great tunes didn’t they? And the lyrics – admittedly the afore mentioned ‘One Step Beyond’ and ‘The Return Of The Los Palmas Seven’ were a bit what you might call sparse in that department – were amazing. Little insights into another, yet strangely familiar, world. If Ray Davies had written ‘Our House’ or ‘Embarrassment’… How could you take Suggs seriously when he didn’t appear to take himself seriously? But never mind all that. It was the videos wasn’t it? It was. I can’t think of another band that embraced the medium so fully. They were brilliant. They are brilliant. They draw you in. They make you smile. And they get you tapping your toe.
You doubt me? Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages, might I present, in no particular order, for your musical and visual entertainment, seven five* of the greatest videos you will ever see.
House Of Fun
Our House
It Must Be Love
Baggy Trousers *
One Step Beyond
* Seven in the original entry.
** I’ve put ‘Baggy Trousers’ instead of… ‘Uncle Sam’, ‘Shut Up’ or ‘Tomorrow’s Just Another Day’
That’s Entertainment – one of the greatest songs ever written. It took Paul Weller 35 minutes to write, or so legend has it. He scribbled it down while sat pissed on the last bus home.
What do the lyrics mean? Haven’t got a clue. And I don’t care – because it sounds great. Especially the chorus:
That’s entertainment.
La-la-la, la-la-la
Why bother spending hours torturing yourself over some wanky lyrics when you can express yourself with a noise? For some reason, that noise usually comes out as ‘la, la, la’. So, here’s the definitive list, which nobody can argue with, of the 10 greatest songs that go la, la, la.
10. Van Morrison –Brown Eyed Girl
It’s no wonder Van Morrison turned into such a miserable git. Despite releasing about 7,000 albums during his life, Van is still best known for one track: Brown Eyed Girl. It’s his signature tune. One of the most played songs in the history of recorded music, recently racking up its nine millionth radio play. But here’s the good bit. Van the Man claims that, owing to a dodgy contract he signed as a youngster, he’s never received a penny in royalties for it. It may explain why he hates it so much. He has said, “I’ve got about 300 songs which are better”. Still, it’s a cracking tune from one of the masters of the la, la. Check out Caravan as well.
There’s no better sound on a summer’s afternoon than a bunch of fat, sun-burnt Lancashire cricket fans bellowing out this terrace classic. It’s the bacon sandwich of the la, la song. Stripped down to its raw components: name of county, three la’s and some booze. That’s it. Simple. Beautiful. If it was sung by anyone else it could easily sound a tad moronic. But filtered through the bizarre high-pitched drone of the Lancastrian – it becomes the la, la equivalent of Hallelujah.
Lyric:
Lanc-y-shurr… la, la, la. Lanc-y-shurr… la, la, la
8. The Faces –Ooh La La
Bit of a cheat this. Despite the title, you’ll only find a smattering of five la’s in this tune. But fuck it, it’s a cracking song. This was recorded just as the The Faces were falling apart. Ronnie Lane wrote it for Rod Stewart, but the mullet-haired idiot refused to sing it – didn’t like it, apparently. It was left to a pre-Rolling Stones Ronnie Wood to do the vocals on the album version. But it’s this later version, sung by Ronne Lane, that does it for me.
Lyric:
Ooh-la-la
Ooh-la-la-la, yeah
7. Half Man Half Biscuit– Venus In Flares
Trust these loveable Birkenhead scallywags. They couldn’t just do a song with some la’s, oh no: they had to be all postmodern and droll about it and deconstruct its use in the tool shed of lazy songwriters. Smartarses. Good though – off their first album.
Lyric:
And I went la-la-la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la-la-la-la
I went la-la-la-la-la-la-la
Just like everyone else does when they can’t think of any more words.
6. Wolfgang Reichman –Himmelblau
What do you need to know about Wolfgang Reichman? Well, you’d never have guessed it, but he was German. He dressed like an accountant, wore blue lipstick and was stabbed to death by a random stranger just a couple weeks before his first album was released. Himmelblau is nine minutes of bubbling, shimmering electronica. It sounds a bit like Kraftwerk driving a Fiat Punto through the countryside. It keeps you waiting before the la, la bit kicks in, but stick with it – it’s worth it.
Lyric:
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.
5. Iggy Pop – The Passenger
This has to be included, I suppose. It’s a shame, because Iggy Pop really is one of the most tiresome dickheads ever to parade around on a stage with his top off. Iggy – currently performing in his latest car insurance advert – has only ever recorded two half-decent songs: Lust for Life and The Passenger. And despite being poisoned by association with its creator, The Passenger has survived as the Smoke on the Water of the la, la, la. Yes, Bowie did some of the backing vocals. Now fuck off.
Lyric:
Singin’ la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la- la-la-la-la-la
La-la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
4. The Jam – Saturday’s Kids
You can chart the decline of Paul Weller by the number of songs he wrote which featured a la, la, la. Back in the 80s, just about every Jam song seemed to include a burst – That’s Entertainment, Going Underground, Man in the Cornershop – all class. But the height of the Weller la, la, la came with Saturday’s Kids. After that he started getting into jazz, writing sensible lyrics about emotions and the next thing you know, you’re in a field surrounded be middle-aged men watching the UK’s dullest musician.
Lyric:
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
3. Elvis Presley –I’m Leavin’
This was a commercial flop for 70s Elvis. It showed its face in the Top 40 before scuttling off into obscurity. But it remained one of Presley’s personal favourites, a song he continued to perform right up until his death. It’s not your usual Presley fare – it’s a song about loneliness and depression. The la, la, la’s here come from somewhere deep inside – a fragile and haunting refrain.
Lyric:
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
I’m, I’m leavin’
2. Joe Raposo – Sing
You might not have heard of Joe Raposo, but, if you’re of a certain age, you’ll be familiar with his tunes. He was a Portugese musician who used to write most of the music for Sesame Street, including the classy theme tune. He’s also supposed to have been the inspiration for the Cookie Monster. Raposo wrote Sing as something that kids on the show could learn easily. No need to remember lyrics, just go la, la, la. But it became something of a crooning classic after it was covered by the likes of The Carpenters and Barbara Streisand. Fuck you Radiohead. Fuck you Doves. Listen to this and weep.
Lyric:
La-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la-la-la-la
1. Meic Stevens –Y Brawd Houdini
If you hang around pubs in Cardiff for long enough, you’ll eventually meet a cantankerous old fella clutching a pint of wine. This is Meic Stevens – the creator of the best la, la ever recorded.
These days Meic looks a bit like Father Jack – and a few years back he was arrested for threatening to shoot a landlady who’d refused to feed him any more booze. In the 60s, however, he was a fresh-faced young folk singer who was touted as the Welsh Bob Dylan. With fame and fortune calling, Meic heroically slammed the door in its face. He insisted on continuing to write and record music in his native Welsh language. And he’s carried on doing it for the last 40 years. But it’s one of his very first songs which still stands out – Y Brawd Houdini. It’s a song about going for a beer with the brother of the escapologist. Once you hear this la, la, la – it’ll never leave. The greatest terrace chant that never was.
¡Qué Bonito Es Criticar! 