Posted on

MiSC/MEDiA: Why I Loathe TV Advertising With Such Abiding Passion

The restaurant scene from Brazil superbly captures the gulf between products as advertised and as actually delivered.

This isn’t my first post on this topic. I doubt it’ll be my last. Why return to such a theme? This time it was prompted by a silly FB post by a friend about which David Bowie number, of four he specified, ‘would you rather’… etc.

Pointless silliness, perhaps? Well, yes. I.e. totally suited to and at home on FB. As, indeed, is the constant harassment of advertising. But it so happened that the most popular choice was Heroes. Admittedly an excellent song. But, for me at least, tarnished by its heavy usage in adverts.

I also recall the pride with which several drummers on a FB drummer’s forum related that they had been in that recent ad’ for a gambling sports sponsor that features hordes of drummers. I’m glad to say I can’t recall exactly which such parasitic body it was.

I’d love the exposure that might bring (well, perhaps for a few of the more ‘featured’ of the many hundreds of otherwise anonymous players). And I’m sure the nuts and bolts of actually filming it might also be fun. Did all these drummers get get paid, I wonder?

But what about taking a principled stand against the cancerous blight on our society that is gambling? Or even advertising as a whole? Or, better still, advertising as a hole… specifically, an arsehole’!

Talkin’ ass: the allure of the ad’ (Renault Megane).
The anti-climax super-unsexy reality!

That’s r-r-r-r-right f-f-f-f-folks, I’m talkin’ ass! Now I felt this way long before I saw Bill Hicks do his anti-advertising schtick. Indeed, a loathing for advertising – and a contempt for gambling – was something I learned at home, mostly (I believe?) from my father.

But in order to keep things relatively short and ‘sweet’ here and now, let’s wrap this up with a short consideration of ‘the asshole in contemporary culture’ (sounds like a topic on a college degree syllabus!).

It turns out that some of the ugliest ideas of the worst types of racists and those dearest to many a ruling elite converge, for differing reasons, around a certain nexus of ideas. As mentioned above, I don’t intend to go into great detail on the subject(s) here. Perhaps another time?

What I will say is that there’s a culture of brashly aggressive ugliness, massively on the increase, from the politics of Trump, to the shouted egotism in rap, or the gurgling screams of extreme metal. It’s also manifest in the strident upbeat chirpiness, and even – I contend – the zombie-smiling lockstep of Nuremberg-rally style formation dancing.

The massive and very visible rise of the latter, especially obvious in advertising, had me baffled for a little while? Why the sudden effusion of such stuff? And then it struck me; we now have loads of educational institutions, pumping out hordes of glassy eyed dreamers, who have become production line product, trained in dance and/or drama.

And what’s the glorious acme of their profession most might earn a buck or two from? Depressingly, it’s advertising. I suppose some might get Butlin’s style gigs. Some might go on to teach more aspiring dreamers. But, as with Fine Arts and Music, most will have to eke out a living by other means.

Dammit! I’m still skirting around my chief focus… the omnipresent asshole! So, let’s get to it, let’s really get stuck into the fundament/als! Thar’ she blows…

Basically it boils down to this; would you be happy inviting the kind of hectoring, patronising, wheedling, insinuating assholes that one hears in advertising in off the street to harangue you in your home? ‘Cause that’s what we’re all doing, when we tolerate advertising.

Again, rather depressingly, that’s what a great deal of what I’m increasingly thinking of as contemporary serf-culture trains us to do. If you like a lot of modern pop music, which includes supposedly ‘underground’ or counterculture (but in reality totally commercially co-opted) genres like rap or metal, you’re already being inoculated in the required ‘herd immunity’ to such internalised or even self-inflicted bullying.

Anyway, enough ranting, or sounding off, or whatever it may be. For now! my thoughts on all this are fairly clear, if not, perhaps, terribly well formed. But they may change, with time, and further consideration or information. For the time being, however, I remain resolute in my disavowal of the pollution that is most TV advertising.

Posted on

MiSC/MEDiA: The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame

Over Yuletide I watched the Cosgrove Hall animation of The Wind In The Willows. But the version I watched was an augmented and lengthened one, that an enterprising fan had created, splicing in several segments absent from the official release, in order to bring it closer to Grahame’s book, in it’s original unabridged form.

At the time that I’m re-drafting this post (started on my 50th birthday, but totally re-written now, on the 9th), I’m several days into reading this, at an appropriately leisurely pace. And last night, at just gone midnight – a suitably enchanted hour, perhaps? – I read the beautifully titled mid-point chapter, The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn.

The aforementioned ‘extended cut‘ of the Cosgrove Hall production took parts of the TV series they also made, and spliced them into the feature length film that is both a standalone gem, and had also acted as a ‘pilot’, of sorts, to said series. And the insertion of The Piper segment very literally enchanted me.

A watery rural idyll.

Some print versions of the book apparently cut this remarkable chapter. Vandalism, I’d say! And I’m not 100% sure, but I think the version I recall from childhood didn’t have that part. As it all felt wonderfully fresh and new to me. Whereas the remainder of the book, by and large, is all very familiar.

As is the way of my adult self, I want to read around the subject a bit. And I’ve discovered that there’s a great deal of tragedy in the real world back story, regarding Kenneth Grahame himself, and most especially as that relates to Alistair ‘Mouse’ Grahame, the author’s son, and only child. It was out of bestie stories told to the young Mouse that WITW grew.

But I’ll save any further thoughts on that and other extra-literary considerations for another time. This post is intended as a very positive celebration of what’s best and most captivating about this classic of so-called children’s literature. I put things that way because it’s my view that the inner child lives ‘eternally’ within us. Or ought to. And by eternally, in this context I simply mean as long as we live, and despite our ageing.

Mole’s inner child is frequently excited.

One of the many very attractive things about The Wind In The Willows is it’s strongly pagan affinity for nature. This is something it shares with other writers, such as A. A. Milne – whose stage adaptation of Grahame’s work helped popularise it – and, very notably so, for me at least, J. R. R. Tolkien.

Allusions to Christianity do intrude here, however, and more nakedly so than in Tolkien’s Middle-Earth writings (or the Winnie The Pooh stories, for that matter). But when they do, as for example in the carolling of the field mice at Mole’s door, the frankly comically bizarre parochialism that so frequently attends the conflation of myths, as they travel from place to place and culture to culture, is plain to see, as Joseph and Mary seek shelter in what appears to be some snowy English shire!

Another strand, relating once again to nature and the place of living beings within her, is to do with consciousness. Grahame’s animals, whilst rendered in cutely (or ought that to be acutely?) anthropomorphic forms, retain certain ‘animal qualities’. Or rather what we, or more accurately Grahame, think these might be.

Many a bucolic reverie is enjoyed.

So it is that animals are more firmly located in the present moment. And, correspondingly, perhaps, freed from the burdens of anxiety over past or future, they are more subtly attuned to whole ranges of perception – this is delightfully rendered in the chapter Dulce Domum, in which Mole’s home calls to him on the air, via scent – of which we humans are very crudely and ignorantly unaware.

All of this stuff, from the anthropomorphism to the ideas of animal nature, is freighted with all manner of assumptions. And it’s not set about in a rigorously scientific way. But rather approaches things from a poetic angle. Let’s not forget Grahame also wrote The Reluctant Dragon, about a peaceful dragon who preferred poetry to fighting!*

I absolutely adore The Wind In The Willows. And whilst it may magnify or conceal flaws in the whole romantic view of life/nature, or it’s creator’s own character, or the history of his times, it remains a potently charming work of poetic storytelling art. And, for me at least, it’s manifold attractions far outweigh any nitpicking analyses, past, present or future.

A perfect tale for those long winter nights.

It’s interesting that Grahame, like Tolkien, found finding a publisher difficult. And it’s worth noting that TWITW was no overnight success. Indeed, at the time of first publication it received poor to indifference notices!

Anyway, this post is intended to capture the flashes of enchantment that this terrific little gem of book lit up in or for me. I’ll leave it there for now, as I still have just under half the book left to read.

* Also brought to our TV screens, and delightfully so, by Cosgrove Hall!

An old-fashioned love of simple homely pleasures.
Posted on

MUSiC: Modern Johnny Sings: Songs In The Age Of Vibe, 2020

Wow! What a talented guy Theo Katzman is. Not only is he an ace drummer, singer and guitarist, but he’s also an excellent songwriter and producer.

The music here is kind of pop/rock. But those two words fail utterly to encapsulate the richness of Theo’s music. It’s very indebted to the best sounds of the late ‘60s and the early to mid ‘70s, something also attested to by the album cover design. But it’s also very contemporary, partly thanks to his amazing voice, partly the postmodern magpie gleanings in the music, and also the very high production values.

If there was any justice in this world Katzman would be massive. A global superstar. He’s very much an heir to folk like James Taylor and Joni Mitchell; raw talent with oceans of genuine heartfelt soul. Ok, so I guess, given how much I’m diggin’ this, on my 50th birthday – a present to myself! (BTW Thanks Patrick for the Amazon voucher with which I bought this.) – and my first full listen through, I ought to do a track by track appreciation.

The album – digital only (at this juncture) – starts with the fabulously positive yet raunchy rock of ‘You Could Be President’. Am I right in thinking this first appeared online under a different name? Whatever, it’s just terrific. The first thing to note is how beautifully produced it is. As Theo’s an excellent drummer, it shouldn’t perhaps surprise that the drum sound is literally perfect. Crisp and dry, yet dig the rich timbres of the toms in the fills!

This first track also combines an extremely funky folk-rock guitar riff, with a simple yet clever verse structure – two measures of 4/4 finished with one of 3/4, juxtaposed with a kind of ‘primary colours’ style chorus, and ending on an epiphany of vocal prowess, including a phrase for our times ‘yeah, no…’

‘The Death Of Us’ struts with an elastic funk. Lovely little touches, like congas and guiro, enrich the delightful groove. Whilst ‘You Could Be President’ has a sublimely musical/soulful and tasteful slide guitar solo, ‘Death Of Us’ features talk-box. Like the font on the cover, it’s super-‘70s, in the best way possible.

‘What Did You Mean (When You Said Love)’ is chosen as the favourite track in a lot of the online reviews of this album I’ve seen. And I can see why. I love it. But it’s not my favourite track. Perhaps because it’s the most ‘contemporary pop’ sounding on this near flawless album. That said. It’s bloody brilliant. And grows on me with every listen.

Katzman’s vocals (that phrase was just rendered as ‘Katzman avocado’ by my iPhone’s predictive text function!) are incredible. And on this track he uses his skills in a performance that puts me in mind – ever so slightly – of the kind of vocal performances favoured by TV talent show judges. But whereas those performances are too often like very well performed karaoke, here it’s the artist themself bringing these skills to bear on their own material. A quite different proposition.

Track four, ‘Hardly Ever Rains’, hits closest to my own emotional tenor, with it’s clever yet soulful and very 60s-70s folk rock vibe. Poss’ my favourite track (thus far!) Katzman’s more baroque pop tastes come to the foreground on ‘Lily, of Casablanca’, with it’s more complex arrangements and jazzier chord voicings. Once again this talks directly to my own tastes and preferences. But as superb as it is, I admire this one more than I’m moved by it. If that makes sense?

One thing I miss about not having this on CD (or even vinyl*) is not being able to read stuff as I listen, as I write this. Darting between the Amazon Music app and Notes is annoying! Anyway, back to the music: ‘Best’ is slightly funkier, rhythmically, and one of the tracks that helps earn the album an *explicit* warning. It’s another of the harmonically richer numbers, as opposed to the folksier ones.

Talking of which, ‘100 Years From Now’ sounds, esp’ as it starts, like one of the latter, although actually it’s quite subtly harmonically rich, belying the quite stripped down mellow vibe. Many of the songs here are surprisingly mature lyrically, mixing a homespun philosophical vibe with a modern burned-out take on the ‘age of ego’. In a way this track captures the essence of Theo; witness the near solo passage, just guitar and voice, which starts the verse about the pal meditating in a Thai monastery. And even the way it ends says something astonishingly simple yet profound. In the midst of an intense chorus, perhaps like our lives, it just suddenly stops. Theo, you, sir, are a genius! Brilliant!

‘Darlin’ Don’t Be Late’ continues the shockingly strong succession of musical excellence. There’s so much in the mix. From the whole torch song and jazz tradition, of harmonic movement/resolution, to shades of everything from Steely Dan to ‘80s Bob Dylan, with The Eagles and all sorts in a soulful bouillabaisse of utter gorgeousness. It sounds very different from Jeff Buckley’s amazing Grace album, but it has an equivalent, if somewhat warmer more organic richness.

‘(I Don’t Want To Be A) Billionaire’ is terrific. More funky, with a kind of N’Awleans bounce, it addresses the current climate of Mammon worship blighting the world, and perhaps the US in particular. ‘I don’t want to sing along, if a computer wrote the f*ckin’ song’ he sings, in an impassioned way. Amen, brother Theo, I’m feelin’ you deeply.

‘Like A Woman Scorned’ is terrific musically – as is absolutely everything here (the cover says ‘12 good songs’, and for once they ain’t joking!) – and very interesting lyrically, as it addresses the contemporary state of the ‘battle of the sexes’. Theo is great at articulating some difficult things, and making art out of his musings on a subject that concerns us all, whether we like it or not. I’m not being ironic when I say… good man!

‘Fog In The Mirror’ mines the starker seam of Theo’s muse – and, quite unbelievably, as I type this he sings ‘a sad romantic looking for a muse’ – damn, but I do love a spot of synchronous serendipity! I think this one is competing with ‘Hardly Ever Rains’ for my favourite. I’m essentially a melancholy soul! And that aspect of many artists often touches me deepest.

And so we arrive the final track, ‘All’s Well That Ends Well’. It’s worth pausing here to note the role piano plays on this album. With a CD or vinyl I’d hope for instrumental credits. So far I’ve not found any. Is Theo playing piano, as well as all the other things we know he does? And which tracks is he drumming on? As a fellow muso I love knowing such things.

Musically the final track is another that could stand for the whole album. It moves effortlessly between ultra minimalism, such as the final verse, which strips right down to piano and vocals, before building to a rich chorus with the whole band, only to end on the minimalist vibe, so quiet and delicate you can hear the dynamics pedal of the piano being released.

So there you have it, the whole album, track by track, as I see and hear it. Now that I’ve listened to the whole thing Amazon Music has served up ‘Browns At Home’ by The Greyboy All Stars, which – as much I might want to object to such algorithmic stuff – is perfect! But, discipline,

Posted on

MEDiA/MUSiC: Cowboy Song, Phil Lynott Biog’

Excited to have this to read!

Hannah, my sister, bought me this book for Yuletide. Thanks, Hannah!

Having been on a longer than usual break from reading, I’m looking for’ard to getting stuck in to this! This isn’t a review of the book, obviously. How could it be, not having read it yet!? It gets glowing reviews. But I’ve found that’s not necessarily any guarantee I’ll like something!

Phil’s solo debut. He always looked pretty damn cool!

Interesting that it’s named for a Lizzy fan favourite which, whilst perfectly good in a ‘standard fare’ way, is far from a being a favourite of mine. Were I to write a Lynott biog it’d prob’ be called Still In Love With You. Partly ‘cause that’s a blindingly brilliant song, and partly because it perfectly captures both how I feel about Lynott, and also the plaintive poetic heartache that makes a lot of his and Lizzy’s best music so good.

A favourite platter in my teen years!

It’s that aspect I love most, about Thin Lizzy, in addition to their perhaps more usually celebrated rock n roll bombast. And then there’s Phil’s solo stuff. I don’t really know Solo In Soho very well (writing this has prompted me to remedy that, by ordering it off Amazon!). But I’ve long known and loved The Phil Lynott Album. A true classic, on which his mellower muse is allowed freer rein than it is on the final few Lizzy albums.

Seriously cool cats know about the good stuff!*

* I hope Theo K does actually dig Lizzy, and it’s not just a ‘funky tee’ thang!?

Posted on

MUSiC: Theo Katzman

Theo’s latest album. Released Jan, 2020.

I’ve been aware of Theo Katzman for several years now, courtesy of Vulfpeck, for whom he sings, plays guitar, and drums. His multitalented musical abilities are, even in that context, where he’s not the central ‘star’ performer, mightily impressive.

I first checked out his solo stuff maybe about a year ago. And immediate loved it. But I didn’t dive in to it fully. Today, on the eve of my 50th birthday, I took a deeper dive. Typing this at 11.45 pm, Jan 4th, it’ll probably be my birthday by the time I finish and post it!

I had been watching yet more snooker. Teresa objected! So I binged on some Vulf videos for a bit. The great thing was that, I guess using some evil algorithms, YouTube curated a string of Vulfpeck videos for me. I did intervene a little, trying to favour stuff I’d heard/seen less (or at least less recently).

After about ten Vulf vids, a Katzman one snuck into the playlist; I’m Too Busy Trying To Write A Pop Song. It’s hand scrawled text only black and white title screen just caught the eye. I listened. And lo, it was good. Damn fine, in fact.

I’m a big fan, old fashioned as I am, of owning hard copies of the music I love. I’ve only really broken that rule for music that can’t be had on CD, some of that’s old vinyl, some modern streaming only, etc. But it looks like Theo’s stuff is digital only. Pity!

But just look at the cover of Modern Johnny Sings! Couldn’t be more up my street with its retro vibes, from the colours to the font, to the slightest suggestion of a hippy/classic rock vibe in the shoeless/guitar as violin pose. And the image perfectly fits with the music.

I’m not sure anyone other than me ever looks at this blog. I need to address that somehow! But if anyone does, then please support a real artist. Visit his website, buy his albums, watch his videos, go see him live. I’m pestering him to come and perform for us in the UK!

His previous (first?) album.

It looks like I missed out on a recent re-issue of his previous album, Romance Without Finance. Re-released as a limited edition crowd-funded vinyl package. Damn!

I fully intend to get hold of all his stuff – since starting this post I’ve learned Modern Johnny is album three, and number two is Heart Break Hits (2017) – as everything I’ve heard by him, and his many super-talented associates, is just fantastic.

Posted on

MEDiA: Neil deGrasse Tyson, BBC HardTalk

Just caught the last five or ten minutes of this. Fascinating! Neil deGrasse Tyson might be described as an heir to Carl Sagan, inasmuch as he’s a populariser of science, and a New Yoiker.

I’ll definitely be checking out the full interview at some point.

Several things stuck me, about Tyson (or should that be deGrasse Tyson?)*. First off I’m on his ‘team’, so to speak. His bit about open-mindedness reminded me of Dawkins’ thing about being so open-minded your brain falls out!

Returning momentarily to the Sagan allusion I made above, another thing about the astrophysicist that was less appealing than his very reasonable eloquence and knowledge was his rather booming slightly overbearing style.

Folk like Sagan, and in other areas of science, Attenborough, even Richard Dawkins, are (if you actually watch them in public discussion, as opposed to basing your views on the hearsay of their ‘adversaries’) pretty scrupulous in their attempts to be calmly and politely evenhanded, or reasonable. Neil deG&T, on the other hand, exhibited moments of what looked to me worryingly like controlling bluster in his responses to some of Stephen Sackur’s questions.

* Americans are big on middle names. Very notably so in public and intellectual life (one of the themes of this interview concerns the state of the latter in the modern US). But, although I’ve not seen it hyphenated, deGrasse Tyson sounds like a double-barrelled surname.

Posted on

SPORTS/MiSC: More Insomnia, More Snooker…

Hendry at work.

Another night of insomnia, with yet more snooker as my medicine. This 1996 match finds Hendry looking young, fresh, handsome, even. O’Sullivan looks a bit dorky, with his altar-boy pudding bowl hair. But I prefer this look to the later match I watched next.

This shot sums up the match, for me.

The pic above captures the balance of power in this match. It was a bit one-sided. Hendry pulled rapidly and decisively ahead, after the fourth set (two all at that point). A few flashes of Ronaldo brilliance were not enough to claw his way back, from 8-3 behind. Hendry dominated this best of 19 match.

2002, Ronnie’s hair stylist is still in the ‘90s.

After this four or so hour March, I tried to sleep. No dice! Sooo… another long ‘un. This time, still going with the fag-peddlers as sponsors, but now Embassy, as opposed to B&H! This one is the best of 33 frames, and in excess of six hours!

Does this pic indicate a re-run of Hendry style cold hard domination?

At the time of posting, as with the first of the two matches mentioned in this post, it’s two frames all. A long way to go. Will Hendry dominate again. The pic above came up when I googled the match, possibly suggesting an outcome with a whiff of deja-vu?

Or will I be mercifully enfolded in the arms of sleep? I do hope so…

Posted on

SPORTS: Snooker – Selby vs O’Sullivan, Masters Final, 2010

Wow! Now that’s what I call a snooker match. Ronnie O’Sullivan and Mark Selby, two of my favourite players, slugging it out in a best of 19 final.

I’m not going to précis the entire match. Just watch it. What I will saying, in summary of the events, is that it’s what what could happily call a ‘come back special’.

Am I giving anything away?
Posted on

SPORTS/MiSC: Why I Love Snooker

I’ve always enjoyed snooker. Probably partially because I’ve watched it since my childhood; my father is or was a fan of the game.

Perhaps surprisingly, David Attenborough is also a part of the story. It was Attenborough, when running BBC2, who chose this working men’s sport as a part of showcasing the introduction of colour TV to the United Kingdom.

Attenborough, when running BBC2.

We may come back to the issue of class at some later point. Billiards has been portrayed as a posh man’s game. Pool is a brasher more American blue-collar pursuit. And snooker sits, perhaps, somewhere in the middle.

But here are some of the things I like (and dislike) about this game.

First, the table. I love the green baize (what if any difference is there between baize and felt, I wonder?). It’s like a mini battlefield. And as a wargamer I like that! It’s the terrain in which the combatants engage in a warfare that’s both physical and intellectual.

Then, the balls. I love those bright, hard, shiny orbs! And the choice of red, against green, for the little army of low value ‘grunts’ is perfect. The higher value colours could be various brass or ADCs (Aide-de-Camps), dotted around the battlefield, running errands for the commanders.

The beautiful baize battlefield of the snooker table.

Then there are the players and their magic wands, the cues. Snooker players are a funny bunch. Mostly they seem to be drawn from working class or what we class-conscious Brits might call lower middle class, or upper working class. The latter might be best exemplified by someone like Ronnie O’Sullivan; resolutely working class in terms of culture, but from an affluent (if shady) background.

Do such considerations apply to foreign players? One wonders about the Chinese and Thai players. I really don’t know!

Having mentioned the whole ‘working men’s culture’ thread, that brings in some other things. Mostly these relate to what I don’t like about the sport. These also concern the ‘showbiz’ and fiscal aspects of the game (not unique to snooker). So, whilst I don’t mind the silly nicknames, I’m not so keen on the player’s theme tunes. A recent trend I could happily do without. And the ubiquitous advertising, gambling being the most pervasive, pernicious and, frankly, repulsive.

Snooker players and umpires also have – in all the snooker I’ve ever seen, UK or elsewhere – dress codes, which are a mixed bag. That any people in sport should act as advertising hoardings I strongly disapprove of. But the tradition of dressing smartly? That’s alright. Rather like cricket whites it’s a tradition I find cosy and comforting, rather than oppressive.

Alex Higgins looking sharper than a razor blade!

There’s obviously the game itself, with its combination of bravura and strategy. I love flashy aggressive players, from ‘Hurricane’ Higgins and ‘Rocket’ Ronnie, to newer guys, like Trump. But then again, I also love the more measured tempi of guys like Neil Robertson and Mark Selby. There are a good number of what I deem to be duller players. In the gentlemanly spirit of the sport itself, I’ll refrain from naming anyone. They may be highly skilled. But I don’t enjoy watching them ‘at work’.

But the chief attraction of snooker, as with many sports (or indeed any human activities), is to do with something I just mentioned, skill. Watching the more flamboyant players when they’re ‘in the zone’ is a kind of Zen poetry.

And with this introduction, via my reference to Zen, there’s the calmness of the game. Crowds occasionally get a little rowdy, at certain junctures. But by and large they watch in rapt silence, as the gladiators fight hard, but silently. If one excludes the TV commentators (quite often on YouTube the commentary is missing), the clack of the balls, the numeric narrative of the umpire’s interjections, and the occasional burst of applause, are all that breaks the almost monastic silence.

In the end it’s the mix of skill, drama, aesthetics (of the game in particular) and pace/peace, that I love the most. It’s a game I can focus intently, or just bathe in its ambience. It can command attention, and it can soothe and relax.

‘Whispering’ Ted Lowe.

Whilst mentioning such qualities, and having consciously excluded them above, I feel it’d be churlish not to mention some of the commentators. Perhaps my favourite might be ‘whispering’ Ted Lowe (Clive Everton may be his heir?), whose soft-spoken delivery really is very charming. Especially in an era when the tawdry brashness of so much of our culture – the intrusions of adverts really throws this into stark relief – is pitched at such a glaring blaring level. As alludes to via Everton, Lowe has some noteworthy heirs, although the professional pundits of old are increasingly being replaced by former (and even sometimes current) players.

As I type this I’m watching a Trump vs Robertson match from 2020. And it’s great. Trump has the flash speed and power, and Robertson the cool, smooth methodical game. And – this might sound superficial; I’m a tad embarrassed confessing to it – they’re both trim and relatively (for the snooker world, perhaps not the acme of fashion) stylish.

Two trim stylish gents.

Certainly snooker is not as bad as darts, in which you can picture many of the players as drunk, racist, aggressive bigots. The kind of folk who might keep the worst of rough pubs in business. Sure, snooker has its cadre of tattooed skinhead porkers, evoking a culture I find total anathema. Along with the role of gambling in supporting the sport, this is an aspect of snooker I have real issues with. And I won’t pretend some of these relate to ‘issues’ I have with what is often popularly called ‘chav’ culture, but I prefer to call contemporary serfdom.

Scots dart player and former tyre-fitter Peter ‘Snakebite’ Wright.*

* Peter may be a very nice chap. I really don’t know! But his theme music is by a band called Pitbull. And he looks like a proper cnut.

But let’s leave such thoughts there! And instead, reflect on the the simple but satisfying aesthetics and mechanics of the game itself, the prodigious and entertaining skills of its best protagonists, and the range of responses it can provoke from excited awe to soothing and relaxed admiration.

For me snooker – not all snooker, mind; but snooker at its best – is a wonderful and almost therapeutic spectator sport.

8/1/‘22

3 am: when insomnia bites… snooker soothes!

Since first posting this I find I am in company with a certain Mr Osman. The only game show I like enough to watch regularly is his House of Games. He’s not ashamed of being suavely polite and clever. And he’s also an author. Apparently he chose the BBC Snooker theme when he appeared on Desert Island Dicks, on the most recent Boxing Day,

Amen, brother Osman. Amen!