Author: Seb Palmer

Well, misery and self-pity were off the charts this morning. But fortunately getting out and working helped me simmer down, eventually.

Another cue-card I had out today, was ‘Calm Down’. And, oh boy, did I ever need to!

Initially work wasn’t actually helping, but was aggravating. I’ve had a dip in my ‘standing’, which is the Amazon Flex way of rating performance.

Although I think my record should remain perfect and unblemished – as it had been for a good while – apparently one or two packages were not received. I’m questioning this.

But it seriously bummed me out.

My shift started with delivering in an area with extremely poor – for which read basically nonexistent – network coverage. This makes delivering much harder. And I was starting to get anything but calm!

So I checked into St Leonard’s, Glapthorn, for a five minute cool-down (whilst re-setting the app). It didn’t have the most potent effect. Not being the most glorious of churches. But it did help. I think?

Not much interest in the way of woodwork, or stained-glass. Mildly interesting mix of Anglo-Saxon style curved and Norman/Gothic pointed arches. But prob’ the best things are the font, some remnants of wall painting, and a few carved stone corbels..

I couldn’t linger long.

And to follow, a few pics from out and about, in the pretty countryside…

On the outskirts of the village of Woodnewton, I espied an unusual sight, in someone’s front room… organ pipes.

I knocked on the door and enquired. The gent who lived there very kindly showed me his massive organ (titter). He even sat down and played with it…

I thought my drums were loud. This thing was pretty damn powerful.

Sadly the short video I took totally fails to capture the sound in the room. In fact it sounds pretty poor, I think. Pity!

This unexpected encounter did more to lift my mood than the church visit, which surprised me. I think what I liked best about it was just how out of the ordinary run of things it was. And that the guy was friendly enough to share his front room and his music with a complete stranger.

Gulp… I’ve watched and enjoyed three or four Euros matches, so far. The opening Germany vs Scotland match was a great start. But now it’s England vs Poland… dare I watch?

It’s approaching half-time, as I type this. And England are 1-0 up, after a Saka-supplied Bellingham headed goal. But that’s a slim lead! And since then Serbia have had numerous shooting opportunities.

May the best team win. Of course. Do I have any National feeling? I grudgingly suppose I do have a little. But, as commentator Guy Mowbray just said, ‘England have gone off a bit.’

Well, phew… they’ve kept their lead till half-time. What’s the next 45 minutes got in store? More England goals, I hope. I’d love to see Kane put one or two away!

Later…

Hmmm!? England, eh? We won, one-nil. But the second half was excruciating. Serbia were all over us. Kane could’ve scored. He had a header on target. But, Rajkovic, the Serbian goalkeeper, made an excellent save.

Watching England play international football is a form of torture!

‘Stop The World, I Want To Get Off…’

This is how I feel right now. And sadly it’s neither a new nor an unusual state of mind, for me.

I’ve weathered a number of particularly unpleasant storms in the last couple of years. But instead of experiencing them as ‘what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger’ type events… Well, it’s more a case of being worn down by attrition.

To continue with the Anthony Newley schtick, ‘What kind of fool am I?’

What kind of man is this?
An empty shell
A lonely cell in which
An empty heart must dwell

Unlike Littlechap, the protagonist of the play/film (etc.) that the poster atop this post refers to, I’m not in a circus, nor do I have kids, a successful career, wealth, or a series of interesting lovers.

I’m just a ‘bona fido’ sad-sack loser. I don’t enjoy life. At least not enough to want more of it. Depression has been a near constant companion since mid- or even early-teens.

And what have I done with the life I do have? Feck all. Or at least feck all of any worth. Even of any worth just to me, or those around me.

Everything seems to me like a pointless and lamentable waste. A waste of time. A waste of energy. And as time passes, this makes me more and more bitter and angry. What’s the fucking point!?

I realise that I’m not this way all the time. And sometimes I’m actually happy. Or just ‘comfortably numb’, as The Floyd had it.

When I was a child 
I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child is grown, 
The dream is gone.
I have become comfortably numb.
   (Pink Floyd [lyrics, Roger Waters)

Writing like this, to my surprise, seems to help a bit. Maybe just venting a little is ok? I’ve found calls to The Samaritans helpful. So much so I’ve gone from thinking they are totally useless (poss’ even harmful!?), to becoming almost dependent on them.

I guess I need to go back and get more ‘help’? But I don’t really want to. And therein lies one of the worst aspects of the depressed state: lack of motivation.

In fact it’s kind of worse than a pure absence of motivation. Only when I’m actively doing something else, e.g. my Amazon delivery work, do I feel motivated to do other stuff. But as soon as I get home, poof! That’s gone. And I slump back into the slough of despond.

I can dream up schemes when I'm sitting in my seat
I don't see any flaws 'til I get to my feet
I wish I never woke up this morning
   (The Police, Darkness [Stewart Copeland])

I’m seriously tempted to just brutally chuck out a ton of stuff I’ve accumulated over the years, as I feel that ‘all my shit’ – both physical and mental – is quite literally doing my head in.

Not much happening of late.

Sleep, eat, work. Antonio’s away, with Ali n’ Sofi, staying with Dad n’ Claire. We’ve got Pat round.

I was delivering in Ketton, which is utterly gorgeous.

Almost all of Ketton is gorgeous. An olde-wolde place, grown out of the local Ketton stone. I’d love to live somewhere like that! So pretty.

The Euro-Footy started. Germany thrashed Scotland, 5-1. Indeed, it was a German player who got Scotland’s only goal.

Hank Mobley was one of Blue Note’s star attractions. Mosaic have issued two Blue Note boxed sets, one covering his ‘50s output, another for 1963-70. I have the latter, but not the former.

The first box contains the following Blue Note releases:

There’s a gap, in the Mosaic coverage, during which there were several Blue Note Releases not included in either set. These are:

I’ve ordered these gap-fillers. And I’ll be looking into how I can get either the first Mosaic box, or the albums it covers.

The second Mosaic set collects the following:

And then there are the non-Blue Note releases, for Savoy and Prestige:

Like many jazzers of this era, Mobley struggled with substance misuse. Heroin addiction lead to his incarceration for spells, in the fifties and sixties. And later in life his smoking – which finally killed him – would lead to a decline that saw his star fade into obscurity.

Very sad. But on these recordings, as leader, and many more as sideman, he left a lasting legacy, of great joy and beauty. I intend to fully savour that more positive bequest to the ages.

Wow!!!

Every now and again, you hit the absolute motherlode. And for me, Walter Bishop Jr’s ‘theme’, on Soul Village, is just that.

I feel like I’ve heard it elsewhere, before. But I can’t be sure. I recently became aware of it via the version on Blue Mitchell’s eponymous 1971 Mainstream Records release. That album is sometimes referred to as Soul Village (it’s the opening track).

The theme gives me goose-bumps! It’s the epitome of groovy cosmic jazz funk, to me. A lithe snaking bass-driven melody, that just tickles my third-eye, so to speak. To the extent that music is magical – we can’t explain its occult effects upon us – then this is, for me, a real humdinger.

Perhaps oddly, it alternates what I’ll call the ‘theme’, with a much simpler, earthier ‘groove’ or jam section. Initially this bugged me a bit. But over time I’ve come to appreciate it. It’s like the band of an engagement ring, setting off the jewel that is the theme.

It’s also an instance of a single track, or even musical moment, making the seeking out and purchase of an entire album – even if it’s quite costly – worthwhile. Even if the rest of said album were shite. But of course, in this case, it ain’t. Far from it!

Another locked church. I’ll have to come back another time. Here’s a few outside snaps, in the meantime.

I found this website, which shows that a revisit is well worth the effort.

Earlier the same day…

I was delivering in Polebrook on this day. A very beautiful village (but with lousy – verging on zero – network coverage!). One of the drops was for Polebrook Hall, the place pictured above and below.

Here’s a link, to an Estate Agent’s listing from a few years ago. The best part of an eye-watering £4,000,000!

This arrived today.

I already have the paperback edition of Volume 1. This smaller hardback version collates all of both volumes 1 and 2, obviating the need for me to seek out Volume 2 (which is both pricey and rare).

It also means I can use my older larger Volume 1 to cut up and frame some groovy album cover prints.

The hardback edition is nice and robust. But it is smaller. And that is a pity. But it’d be churlish to dock even half a star. This remains a very beautiful treasure trove.

I just counted the covers, in both of the above editions. I may have over- or under-counted a bit? But the new one came out at about 435! The old one about 230.

So I’m glad I got the new one. As I already said, I no longer need search for rare and overpriced copies of Vol. 2. And I can now chop up my older copy for wall art. That’ll take some doing, as it’s a nice thing as it is.

Blue Note really established a benchmark. For not just great music, but a unified aesthetic, across the whole gamut: beautiful music, beautifully recorded and produced, and beautifully packaged.

To this day the many productions of the Reid Miles dominated era remain a high water mark in the area of sympathetic artistic cross-disciplinary homogeneity.

Just as the discerning ear can revel in the beauty of great musicians captured masterfully on recordings, so too the discerning eye can peruse with exquisite pleasure these wonderful visual creations.

One of my delivery stops was this place, where they specialise in olive trees. A guy working here told me this tree is 8-900 years old, weighs about 8 tons, and would cost a buyer £25K!

I’d like to visit this place for a proper look around some time. They also had lots of very large/mature palm trees.

Another very tall olive tree. I didn’t ask the price of this one. Eye-watering, no doubt. And behind, enormous olive oil jars.

I’d love to see how these jars are made. They are pretty amazing.

I tried to get a selfie beside the larger of the two. But I failed. So I opted for a snap of me by the aperture. I could’ve climbed in!

I’ve heard Ahmad Jamal a little on and off over the years. But I guess I’ve never really paid attention, until today.

With a long and prolific career, there’s a lot to catch up on. But I just started with something that I liked the look (and price!) of, The Awakening.

Recorded Feb’ 2-3, 1970, in NY, with Emil Nasser on bass and Frank Gant on drums, it’s a very interesting and ultimately, I think, rather beautiful album.

One very interesting thing is the material, and how it’s handled. The first three pieces are not familiar standards. Whereas three of the last four are. Or are they?

Ahmad and co, but particularly Jamal, take all the material way out, from its origins. Not ‘out’ as in appalling free jazz. But out as in the version of Jobim’s Wave is barely recognisable as such. But in a good way.

If some of the core qualities of jazz are freedom, expression, improvisation, change, surprise, and so on, then Jamal and his sideman deliver all of that, and more, right here.