renaissance man
More telephony Hell.
Dante got it all wrong.
Hell, or Purgatory, is in fact Toryland, in which the seven levels are accessible only via automated call-centres, staffed entirely by AI-bots; one is condemned to remain On Hold for eternity, whilst being told how much you are valued, all the while being tortured by muzak, and shown – in real terms – how you’re actually held in total and utter contempt.
I used to think…
Teresa and I visited the Royal Museums, Greenwich, on Friday, 21st April. That was billed as the secondary attraction, with the main event being Salute’s 50th, on the Saturday. But we actually far preferred the museum visits in the end!
I’m pretty much totally broke right now. To go away at all was pushing the boat out. Buying this book, even though it was only £10 (orig. RRP £20), felt extremely extravagant. But I’m sure glad I did. It was a bargain, frankly.
The contents really are, very literally, an embarrassment of riches. I’m currently reading it entry by entry, and I’m only one-tenth of the way in at the time of posting this. The objects are from the RMG’s collections across the National Maritime Museum, Cutty Sark, Royal Observatory and The Queen’s House.
We didn’t visit either the Cutty Sark or the Observatory, on this occasion. The Queen’s House had a temporary exhibition; paintings and drawings by the Van de Veldes. That was a fantastic exhibition in a fabulous setting.
* Couldn’t find the title, or even which Van de Velde this is!? Prob’ the Younger…
The bulk of what’s in this book is to be seen at the National Maritime Museum, and, as the introductory stuff makes clear, a lot of that – such as the astronomical table clock pictured on the cover – comes from the famous (and enormous) Caird collection.
I had originally wanted to focus any such visit on ship models. And there are lots of unbelievable ship models in the collections. But the truth is that almost everything in these collections is really interesting. And the range, from instruments to baubles, paintings to ship models, books to weapons, clothing to globes… well, it’s astonishingly rich.
Some of the most ostensibly mundane things, a pair of breeches and stockings, for example, are revealed to be those worn by Nelson at Trafalgar. His blood still visible in them. Whilst Horatio’s iconic status almost inevitably turns such run of the mill ephemera into totemic relics, the depth of historical interest such things can convey is gradually extending to the ordinary ‘Jack tar’, and even the ladies he loved and left behind.
I think we have Neil McGregor, The British Museum and BBC Radio 4 to thank for the whole slew of The History of [whatever] in 100 Objects type books and shows that have followed in the wake of that epochal exhibition and series of radio and podcasts.
Whilst this book doesn’t title itself in that vein, there are in fact 100 ‘objects’, and it acknowledges that antecedent. And it keeps up that very richly informative and inspiring tradition, with its good old-fashioned Reithian aspirations to educate and inspire. Terrific!
I could rave about this entry by entry. And I find it very salutory that things I might’ve initially cocked a snook at, for example the Royalist propaganda of Elizabeth I, The Armada Portrait, can be rendered fascinating by their broader context. My anti-Royalist desire to gloss over what I regard as a very ugly bit of nationalist chest-thumping is made more interesting when I read about how the ‘calm’ and ‘storm’ naval scenes can be regarded as ‘key moments in the development of European Maritime painting… particularly the focus on and eventual dominance of battle painting from 1600 onwards.’
I’m so keen on the latter genre (perusing the terrific Turner & The Sea helped galvanise an already incipient interest!), I’ll be looking for a cheap copy of the same museum’s book on the Van de Veldes:
Just gave up on a truly Hellish call to Citizen’s Advice. I waited in the ‘virtual queue’ for over 10 minutes, listening to appallingly inane muzak. The volume on my phone was turned way down, because the torture-muzak was so loud it was distorting. Despite this, the volume would occasionally swell. Is this some new and deliberate kind of cruel and (not so) unusual black-ops Guantanamo Bay shit?
Seriously, this system is designed to induce despair and stop users even contemplating using the alleged ‘resource’. And we encounter this every day, in so many areas of our lives. Anywhere they can put AI (which in this case stands for Artificial Idiocy) between you and help, corporate bodies will do so. One day I hope the human cost will be recognised, and such systems will be outlawed.
Nowadays we’re building towards a situation where we have terms for just about everything one can think of. That can be both good and bad. It’s good inasmuch as it gives us a handle on stuff, but it can be bad if inaccurately or lazily applied.
I was recently pondering on the phrase ‘addictive personality’, and how, despite it being a term or phrase that medical science largely rejects, nevertheless, practically speaking, it can be used to understand one’s own behaviour.
Perhaps in a similar vein, I am now thinking about hypersomnia? On and off throughout my life I’ve definitely struggled with the more common or garden insomnia. I still do at times. But just recently – since a bout of taking zopiclone sleeping pills, funnily enough – I’ve seemingly transitioned from insomnia to some form of hypersomnia.
Personally I think my own current personal brand of hypersomnia – excessive sleep as well as excessive tiredness – is (unless there’s an underlying medical cause I’m unaware of?) almost completely down to depression.
My most recent bout of depression was kicked off by being summarily fired from a music peri’ teaching position I’d been in for four years, by a new music head not yet in his job even four months.
Maybe I was heading depression-ward already? I must admit I can’t really unpack it all at present. As my mind is not in the fittest state it’s ever been in.
Other stuff – most of which I’m keeping resolutely private for the time being – has deepened the depression. So much so I’ve had a few crises. Some of these have been akin to episodes in my past. One or two are unprecedented. And scarily so.
I think mind and body are reacting to these stresses by a desire to shut down. Mind especially so, with body following, in the form of total and perpetual exhaustion. I’m also experiencing neck and headaches that are both very frequent and pretty intense.
All of this combines to make me want nothing more than oblivion. This has manifested in, most upsettingly, what nowadays is sometimes called suicidal ideation. And in more mundane terms, the desire to stay in the warm cosy cocoon that is bed, and not venture out to face the world and all it’s depressing drudgery.
Anyway, speaking of which… it’s 2.05 pm. And I’m still a-bed. Shocking, eh? But increasingly normal for me. I guess I’d better haul my sorry carcass out of the sack, and attend to some depressing drudgery… here goes nuttin’…
In a recent post about being friends with the illustrious (and elegant!) Ron Carter, via Facebook, I discovered a Roy Ayers album he appears on that I’d not seen before. Daddy Bug & Friends (1976), pictured above.
I initially confused it with this, plain ol’ Daddy Bug (1969):
I only learned of it via an album cover photo montage on another website (see below). It piqued my interest. It appears to be an odd rag-tag selection of numbers, drawn from several diverse sessions, and released on Atlantic, with some of the music edited, and a couple of tracks (Slow Motion and Bonita?) that were hitherto unreleased.
Released in 1976, it bears all the hallmarks of a speedy cash-in, by a former label, designed to capitalise on Ayers growing mid-‘70s popularity. 1976 was, after all, the year Ayers’ Ubiquity group released their breakthrough and now evergreen classic, Everybody Loves The Sunshine.
I found a nice piece on the latter here. And as that article points out, this was the track/album that catapulted Ayers to what was then referred to as ‘crossover’ fame. Something very few jazz artists achieve. Herbie Hancock, George Benson and The Crusaders are some of the rare big name exceptions.
When I first saw the Daddy Bug And Friends image, in the montage of album covers pictured below, it had an immediate allure. That has been rather tempered by finding out it’s an unofficial cash-in. Also, at the smaller scale in which I first encountered it, I even felt I preferred the artwork to the genuine and ‘original’ Daddy Bug album.
Now, seeing it more clearly, visually and within the Ayers canon, I’m rather less sold on it. I had thought it was a photo, a bit like the weird Katy Lied cover, by Steely Dan. But it turns out it’s a rather dated looking piece of airbrush style artwork. Never mind! It’s all interesting to a fan of Ayers’ work like me.
* I have over half – at least fourteen – of the 25 albums pictured. Carter’s discography is mind blowing!
Teresa’s watching the 2005 BBC adaptation of Charles Dickens Bleak House. For the umpteenth time, as is her habit. And why not? It’s very well done, indeed.
There’s an episode where the character Gridley, pursued by Tulkinghorn, expires in the care of Sgt. George. Inspector Bucket tries to rouse Gridley, whilst serving him a peace warrant, but Gridley gives up the ghost. I feel like Gridley, ground down by life to the point of despair.
Pic (Dickens books)
Tom Baker’s excellent autobiography Who On Earth Is Tom Baker reveals the hilariously self-deprecating thespian to be a major Dickens fan. Like Baker, I’d quite like to read all of Dickens work, if I can, before I shuffle off this mortal coil.
Back to this BBC adaptation. And to finish, a fab pic of Matthew Kelly in the tragicomic role of Mr Turveydrop.
I have to confess I took against Anthony McGill. The chief reason being that the first time I saw him he acted in a way, towards debutante Jamie Clarke, that I thought was tantamount to passive-aggressive bullying. The video above collects several incidents from that match into one compilation and asks ‘what went on’?
I think my dislike for McGill, at that juncture, had very valid roots. But, shameful as it is to admit such churlish traits, I think I also disliked his Scottishness, his ginger-ness, his pallor, looks, demeanour, even his choice of a Smiths track as his walk on ‘choon’. And then, later on (in his career, not the above mentioned match!) with baldness encroaching, he shaved his hair.*
[* It’s a pet peeve of mine that we’re living in an era – I call it Toryland – that is, to my mind, undergoing neo-fascist levels of anti-intellectual crassness and dumbing down. To me such things as gambling, tattoos, and the prevalence of the skinhead look are all parts of this.]
Could it get any worse? Well, yes, it could: he could defeat two of my favourite players, Judd Trump and Jack Lisowski, in this years World Championship! Which he duly did.
But I have to concede that he may not be quite the pantomime villain my initial perceptions had him down as. First of all he’s a tremendously talented snooker player. And as a fan of this particular sport I can’t deny the skill and prowess he’s bringing to his game. Secondly, when I hear him talking – with my Babel-fish in-ear ‘Glaswegian to Sassenach’ switched on – he comes across pretty well. And, most importantly of all, he’s switched his entrance music to Lionel Ritchie’s Dancing On The Ceiling!
Anthony McGill, all is forgiven (like he gives a sh!t what I think!). But seriously, I was probably just being a lowdown fool, writing him off as I was (‘though I do think he acted a bit of a dick in the Jamie Clarke match). And I’m not too proud to admit the error of my ways.
I was glad to see Gary Wilson, another ginger slap-head, albeit one I warm to more than McGill (at least he’s not Scottish!), defeated by Mark Selby. Although in all honesty I’d rather Selby had beaten McGill, and Wilson had triumphed over Lisowski. But that’s obviously just in the realms of fantasy!
Selby came across, as he pretty much always does, as a very solid and affable chap, in his post match interview. My active dislike for McGill has thawed and mellowed. But I still vastly prefer Selby, both as a player and a human being. Judging from what I see on screen. Besides, I much prefer a Leicester accent to a Glaswegian one!
Both these matches were threatening, at times, to be rather one sided. McGill’s initial dominance over Lisowski was not too far from Higgins’ trouncing of poor old Kyren Wilson! But Jack fought back. And whilst Wilson was never really getting massacred, Selby won comfortably in the end, as did McGill.
A slightly strange evening of Snooker, for my money. Neither match really having that magical pizazz the sport can offer. And yet, for all that it was sometimes plodding and attritional – with more safety play than I generally like – it was still good sporting fun.
In many ways technology, and computers, are enslaving and oppressing us all. But of course there are also positive aspects. It’s amazing that I can be ‘friends’, albeit only via FB, with living legends like the elegant maestro, Ron Carter.
On may 4th this year Ron will be 86. And he’s still gigging and recording!!! Apparently he’s the most recorded jazz bassist ever, playing on over 2,200 album (and with over 30 recordings under his own name).
But for me it’s not the quantity of his prodigious output, so much as the quality. He’s on so many albums that I rank amongst my favourites, from the classic Miles Quintet recordings, to dates with Alice Coltrane and Brazilian maestro Tom Jobim. Although he’s best known as an acoustic bassist, he has on occasion played electric. He’s the cat holding down the low-register grooves on Roy Ayer’s super-slinky We Live In Brooklyn, Baby!
If you love Ron Carter anywhere near as much as I do, do yourself a favour and dig Rick Beato’s terrific interview with this fantastic artist and human being.
For me May 4th is now going to be Ron Carter Day, as long as I live. Bless you, Ron. And may you be hale and hearty for years to come. Thanks for all the great music. A lifetime well spent, and still ongoing. What an incredible inspiration.
PS – It was nice to get a reaction from Ron:
PPS – I found another great interview with Ron here. This one is an online ‘print’ style interview (ie not a video, like Beato’s), but is very much worth reading.
PPPS(!) – The observant might notice that at the top left of the above album cover photo-collage is Roy Ayer’s Daddy Bug, but with a cover I’ve never seen before. I’d love to know what the story is there? I far prefer this new to me ladybird on an umbellifer to the usual version. I looked on Discogs, to try and find such a version. No dice!
I’m in the appalling situation of having to look for legal help and representation. Something I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Well, other than wealthy crooks, aka Tories. But of course, they’re exactly the folk who’ve been making and shaping our legal system for hundreds of years. And who are best placed financially to exploit it.
The first people I’ve tried are Lawtons, who have a local (Cambridge) branch. For some reason I thought they offered 30 minutes free consultation advice. Very attractive to paupers like me. But they’re not getting back to me with any sense of alacrity.
So I thought I’d try someone else. I called a firm called Draycott Brown. They have a lady specialising in the area I need to address. Goodness me, she was supercilious and self-satisfied. Exactly as people in positions of wealth and power grow accustomed to being.
She charges £500 for a two hour consultation. I couldn’t help but say two things two her: I wish I could charge such grotesquely inflated amounts for my time. And what a world we live in, where justice and access to ‘The Law’ prices out the hoi polloi.
I’m not 100% sure of this, but my investigations so far suggest that we, or I, won’t qualify for Legal Aid. My choice of title for this post is backed up independent research, for more on that, read this. Unsurprisingly the Tories have continually cut Legal Aid funding, whilst at the same time making it ever harder for low income folk to qualify. Now there’s a surprise.
As the above linked article puts it, the Law Society study found that ‘many on low incomes are being deprived of access to justice by the very system that is supposed to support them.’ What? In Toryland!? Who’d have thunk it.
My anger and indignation feel entirely impotent. It’s one thing to read about the injustices perpetrated by our callous Tory rulers. It’s another to feel the full force of it in deeply real, deeply personal, and deeply damaging ways.
Like Mr Gridley (and others) in Dickens’ Bleak House, I want to fight the system. But, again, like Gridley, I feel ground down and defeated before I’ve even begun. ‘They’ve done for me’, quoth Gridley. And most of the time I feel the same.
Precision in speech and language is, I think, a good goal to aim for. With this in mind, I decided it was time I took a good look at my virulent hatred of modern Conservatism, or Toryism.
To do so I had a bit of a read of various online definitions of certain terms, starting with Tory. It appears the term Tory began as an Irish insult:
The above image is a screenshot of an etymological definition. One of the things that fascinates me about history – and etymology is the history of words – is how things evolve; what changes and what remains the same, for example.
I find it incredibly poignant that an Irish term for robbers or highwaymen should have become the standard term for a political philosophy that remains based on thievery. The irony is both colossal, and pitch perfect.
But returning to the longer term history of the ideas of Toryism, as opposed to simply the origin of the term, it is tied in with ideas that can be summarised by the traditional Royalist motto, God, King and Country. And modern Toryism in that line is a product of the ECW (English Civil War). The Tories being the Cavaliers, or supporters of the King, as opposed to the Roundheads, the supporters of Parliament, or ‘The Commons’.
Unpacking all this yet further, one is inexorably lead further back in time, another thing Tories themselves seem hell bent on, politically; they are regressive, not progressive.
First to Henry VIII, whose formation of the Anglican Church – Catholic-lite, in much the same way Tony Blair’s New Labour was Tory-lite – enlarged the fallout of one man’s marital misadventures into nationwide and even international ructions.
And going back yet further, we come to the Ancient or ‘Classical’ Greeks, from whom we get such key concepts, in relation to politics, as aristocracy, democracy, oligarchy, and so on. Once again the etymology of these terms is highly informative.
Aristocracy is, in theory/according to the Greek, rule by the best. Democracy the many, and/or mob. And oligarchy – what we have under present Tory rule – the few. This latter term was meant to distinguish between the few who were (supposedly) the best, and the few who were simply those few wielding power… but decidedly not the best.
Yep, we live under an oligarchy.
I often find myself cogitating on the distinction between Conservatism and conservatism. The former is a political ideology that continues to evolve, in many ways – most notably under/since Thatcher – in forms that are anything but small-c conservative. The latter is a pretty sensible idea; keep alive, indeed, nurture, what is best about tradition. And the irony here is that a great deal of modern Toryism is about as far from that kind of conservatism as it’s possible to be.
Post Thatcherite monetarism has taken a wrecking ball to almost anything and everything about the past, replacing it with a very fascist might-is-right type of Spencerian vision. A post-evolutionary view in which power and privilege are de-facto substitutions for good or best, in the old Greek view of aristocracy. Or, in the Kuper vein, chumocracy.
Anyway, that’s it for now. As – just as our overlords wish it to be – I have to get down on my knees and scrabble in the dirt, searching for better mortgage and energy deals. Keep the paups busy and dumb; they’ll never even notice we’re robbing them blind.