Thursday 18 June 2009

Been a while

Self-discipline is not my forte. Maybe I need to get riled before I write on this and, now that our politicians are being upstaged by Iranians, I'm not so angry... One thing that is calming anyway though (and I haven't done it for some time) is fishing. I've never written about it, and now there's probably no point anyway, because it's being done terrifically well over at http://caughtbytheriver.net/ as reported today on R4.

The site was set up by the founders of Heavenly records (appropriately home of Doves and Saints such as Ettiene). A number of their roster are now converts to the divine art of fishing and some of their literary contributors are very impressive names who you might not have thought were likely anglers. But it is Britains most popular pastime. Anyone interested in where their food comes from (or what might happen if it didn't turn up one day), soon starts to think about how they would go and get wild food if they ever needed to. So knowing how to fish is a post-apocalyptic skill. It also presents the enticing posibility of being able to catch fish and then beach barbecue it over a massive bonfire before a bit of dancing and maybe getting off with someone. Think Man Friday in Big Wednesday.

But most little boys (and no small number of litle girls) simply want to get a glimpse of a fish up close and long to catch one and hold it in their hands. Take any six year old into a garden centre with an aquatic section and they will be rapt by the alien colour and exotic behaviour of tiny fish. The water is the first alien environment we encounter, the one we can't breathe in, one that is mucky and inaccesible. So it is the biggest mystery a child could unwrap. If there is a hint that there is life in it I am still intent on spotting it. We went to Mile End recently to help develop the park (a lot of weeding in the borders and painting in the ecology pavilion) and the section by the Hertford Union Canal had separating from the group of weary gardeners and dawdling the long way back just in the hope of catching sight of a suspicious eddy or a misplaced bubble, let alone a glimpse of sinuous movement below the surface. 

Tragically this week we were also reminded in the Anglian news of the dangers of being fascinated by water; a six year old cub scout drowned whilst on a river visit. The details haven't been released but such tragedies serve to highlight that the water is dangerous realm and knowledge of it must extend, beyond what it's natives like to eat, into how not to sacrifice oneself to it. I wonder just how much information children get about the risks of going near water, but it seems it would be a very good topic to take into schools. 

Having not done any fishing for over two years (the allotment having become my new outdoor mistress), I am very much looking forward to the day before my birthday in August when I go out on a cat into the channel with a few workmates to livebait for bass and fish a wreck or two. That's going to be some birthday week as I also have an Ashes ticket to Headingly. Feels like it should be a 40th birthday, with such treats going on, but it's only a 38th. 40 will be here son enough though; no need to push it.

One thing I won't be doing is going to glastonbury. Aforementioned Doves are there and I've heard they are good. I should have gone to see The Specials when they had some dates in London and I reckon that if you can't see them in a sweaty (preferably midlands) nightclub, then why not see them on a big sound stage and exploit Terry's singalong choruses; a very different vibe. Having Dreadzone on the Friday is almost like having the perfect support act for the Specials right there. And I don't doubt that a search through the listings would probably reveal a number of other glasto acts that would be worthwhile. But the event (an expensive and  oversubscribed invitation to lose ones personal effects and ruin one clothes in a field whilst trying to spot B list celebs) seems swamped by novelty acts that are not worth the grief. For that level of cost and aggro I would want a sincere and earnest band headlining who are on the very lip of a new cultural wave and who also happen to rock like f*ck. Rolf Harris and Status Quo and Spinal Tap, and even Madness and Bruce Springsteen, do not meet that criteria. Kasabian is the best they can offer and frankly Kasabian are recycling the baggy sound to distraction and I grew out of that in 1990 and have no intention of going back. 

Of course one is curious. And of course a considerable number of irony addled thirty somethings will appreciate the joke. But unlike a Bob Dylan, Nick Cave or Neil Young or when, a few years ago, Rev Al Green played his sunday morning gospel service (pitch perfect and definintely  something high quality that a lot of these attending would never have got into otherwise), these acts were never seminal, not even Springsteen. You can of course see Neil Young next weekend (and there is the tantalising possibility of seeing him hook up with CS and N as well, certainly more interesting than a reformed Blur). But that Neil Young is brilliant live is no longer a secret. The Specials have maybe the best chance of turning on a new audience. Amongst the more recent acts Friendly Fires may be in the box seat when it comes to taking momentum away from the festival on into the rest of the year. 

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