Mortigi Tempo

Mortigi Tempo


End, kinda

Posting has been almost non-existent for the past month or so. I've pretty much given up on this blog for the moment. Firstly, I've realised I enjoy reading about politics a lot more than I like writing about it. I, instead, enjoy writing about topics probably not many other people care about. There are better places to do this. And secondly, there are plenty of others - any of those in the column to your right - who have much more interesting things to say. (Oh, and then there is that whole thing about my laziness lack of time.) My loyal reader readers will be shattered at this news, I know.

Still, I know at some point I'm going to want to rant about some issues; so I'll probably keep posting, only even less frequently than now. That is all.

After thought: I guess the more you post the easier it becomes. So regular posters are blog-fit.

posted by Tim Stevens | 9/07/2003 11:41:00 PM |

100 from 1977-2003

James Russell points to an interesting top 100 songs from 1977-2003 list. It has a little too much punk and hip-hop if you ask me - I counted only one dance song. But, anyway, what's interesting about this list is the commentary that accompanies each song. There are some great little comments, even if they do look like they've been written by over-enthusiastic fans sometimes.

Take this one about Underworld and their Born Slippy song which came in at 51:
This song starts with the sound of angels we have heard while high, angels with high density addictions to chemicals, to lager, to beautiful people. With heavenly strings and delayed chords crackling our synapses, we take nightflights in cityscapes, listening to our own innerspaces. On this journey, as the ecstasy melts between our velvet lips, the steel metropolitan heartbeats surround us. We dance to pounding percussion, burning a white hole in the spaces between us, stretching time out forever, forever seeing absolution and clarity and shimmering hot intercourse in Romford at the end of the night that never comes. (Having just outlined that metaphysical and utopian scenario for this song -- which could have happened to the tarnished protagonists of Danny Boyle's 1996 film, Trainspotting, from which this song first appeared in many of our lives, not to mention the hundreds of thousands of kids that house/rave music empowered -- the socioeconomic conditions accompanying it -- executives pouncing on electronic dance music in the late 1990s as the new grunge, inventing the mean-nothing term "electronica" and fattening some wallets in the process -- are an unfortunate fact of its existence.)

And this one about the irony of Blur's biggest hit:
Kurt Cobain was asked, during an interview that took place shortly after Nevermind exploded, if there were any current songs on the radio that he liked. Cobain thought for a minute, then started singing in that aching raspy tenor, "There's no other way, there's no other way / All that you can do is watch them play". Praise from Caesar, to be sure. Sadly, the author of that song, Damon Albarn of Essex upstarts Blur, was not nearly as complimentary. He loathed grunge. In fact, Blur's 1994 album Parklife was written with the express purpose of ridding the world, or at least England, of that blasted bile from the Pacific Northwest. Ironic, then, that the song that would give Blur the massive U.S. radio hit Albarn so desperately craved would sound just like Nirvana. 1997's "Song 2", from their eponymous, those-Americans-aren't-so-bad-after-all fifth album, was everything that Blur consciously tried not to be up to that point: dirty, loud, hard, loose, and, well, dumb. The mere mention of the slinky guitar riff in the opening prompts an instant response of "Woo hoo!" from anyone within earshot, which is why it supplanted "Rock & Roll Part II" as the official post-touchdown celebratory song in nearly every football stadium, as well as anchoring a slew of movie trailers. The bass line is the sleaziest thing Alex James will ever touch, and that's saying something. The guitar work by Graham Coxon is pretty simple by his standards (the man is, after all, the Johnny Marr of his generation), with the bass line doing the real lead. But if you listen closely, you can actually hear Coxon smiling. The devout Yankophile finally got his way. The only truly bad thing about "Song 2": Cobain never got to hear Blur belatedly, and gloriously, pay him back.

Unfortunately, I counted at least three Prince songs on the list. No list that contains the words ‘best’ and ‘100’ should also contain the word ‘Prince’.

posted by Tim Stevens | 9/01/2003 12:39:00 AM |
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