I’m in the mood for…. psychobilly. Courtesy of the Termites, hailing from Kilmarnock and featuring a good mate on fiddle. Such a talented boy! He plays other stuff too. And writes books.
And now we’ve got the party started, how about this? Too much pressure by the Selecter.
Lots to share with you!
Some fab videos over at Favourite Son, including the brand new video and single from the burdz favourites, Sons and Daughters. Whose new album is out. At last.
Also – but be quick – Insound’s free mixtape to download for June. Worth it alone for the great tracks from BOBBY and Fucked Up.
And two very different Celtic sounds to finish with. Amor de Dias are a new discovery and I’m liking the soundscape they create. Kinda Celtic fusion but not that cheesy. Which I’m sure tells you everything you need to know! Bunhill Fields is particularly fine.
Then there’s Cashier No. 9. I’m sure there is a point to the moniker and it seemed like a good idea at the time but actually, it matters little. This Belfast band don’t do anything particularly novel or innovative but they mix up an old sound very well indeed. This has been on constant play since it was downloaded earlier this week.
I’ve been doing my occasional thing of keeping several books on the go at once. A couple of cheap fillers, and a couple of substance. One downstairs, one by the bed, and one for the travel to and from work. No wonder my brain is frazzled.
Enough already. Time to focus on Skippy Dies by Paul Murray. I started it ages ago, in the museum cafe, embarassing myself with its many initial laugh-out-loud moments. But then the true purpose and depths of the plot started to reveal themselves and I couldn’t face it: it’s the sort of subject matter you have to be in the right frame of mind for.
It’s such a good novel, so superbly written, that I want to immerse myself in it. The pace is cracking, the tempo varied but it is the quality of the prose which is, on occasion, breathtaking:
“Standing there unseen, Halley thinks of the way that Howard braces himself when he comes through the door these days, the cloaked expression of weariness as he asks about her day. He is bored: he is in the grip of some massive boredom. Does it emanate from her? Is she leaking boredom into his life, like a radiating atom, the dull, decaying isotope of a lover?”
Murray has a wonderful ability to capture a setting with perfect precision:
“…beneath the superficial emptiness, the air groans with the freight of anticipation: the silence shrieks, the space trembles, crammed with previsions so feverish and intense that they begin to threaten to flicker into being, there in the depopulated hallways. Meanwhile, above the old stone campus, sombre grey clouds gather, laden and growling with pent-up energies of their own.”
It is a fantastic novel, I’m looking forward to spending the weekend with it and can’t recommend it enough.
I asked the chicklet what he wanted to do this weekend. It’s Father’s Day, he says, I’d like to see my dad.
It’s Tuesday evening, I text. A reply comes back after midnight: There’s no way I can do anything this weekend. Too short. I had no idea it was Father’s Day.
That’s a shame I respond. He would really like to see you. Again soon. (There has been one meet-up since Christmas. In fact, well before.)
It’s a pity you couldn’t have come over tonight (Wednesday), he says in reply. (He works and stays in Edinburgh two or three days every week.)
And nothing else – no attempt to arrange time with his son. Doesn’t even ask how he is.
I still haven’t told the chicklet it ain’t happening. Coward I know. But I can’t bear the disappointment on his face. Again.
The Absent B*stard. Happy Father’s Day? I think not.
But a well-deserved soap-on-a-rope and burnt toast offering to the rest of you – the dads who put their children first before all else; who found their definition when they became a father; who cannot ever imagine going without seeing, smelling, holding their children on a daily basis; who know that the most important job they can do is to raise their children to be happy and healthy, safe and secure.
Glasvegas – Daddy’s Gone