Wednesday, 10 March 2010

The Joy of Saxon.

I didn't like that. That break between blogs, I mean. Sadly, I've now got so used to shit happening to me that I actually get quite happy about it. At least I'll be able to blog about it tomorrow, I often think. Well, while having a break from blogging that just means that shit was happening to me and I was getting nothing out of it other than confusion and embarrassment.

And a lot of stuff has happened. Things that should have been blogged but now never will be. Things like the woman with no head, arguing with a 90 year old, James Cunting Corden in MY Dr. Who, giving a man wrong directions on purpose, watching Saturday Night Fever for the first time and why I will never watch it again, the barmaid who didn't know God was fictional, the fucking middle-class who consider Lidl to be a Moroccan Bazaar, laughing at This Is Jinsy when the law states you're not allowed to, just because you fought for this country doesn't mean you're not a cunt, mobile phones have made it easier to mock the mentally ill and many, many more. Well, maybe I will blog one or two of them up sometime but I shouldn't really. They're in the past. Let's leave it. Move on. Plus, I'm far too happy.

I know and I'm sorry.

Lots of things have been keeping me cheery lately. Los Quattros Cvnts started it's monthly residency at The Phoenix last Wednesday and it was far better than I could have expected. The room was full, the audience just got it right from the word go and Robin Ince patronised me more in one sentence than he has ever done in our entire friendship. And that's saying something. "Michael, I haven't even lent you philosophy books yet", he gurned from the stage. Yes. Educate me, O Master. That said, he was utterly brilliant as was our other special guest Bridget Christie. She was brilliANT. Get it? No? Well, you should have been there. The next one is on April 7th. Don't miss it.

But nothing has made me quite so happy as BBC4 has this past week. Ah, BBC4. You are BBC3's intelligent, beautiful and incredibly embarrassed brother and I love you. If I could have sex with any TV station it would be BBC4 even if BBC4 is a man who dresses like a geek.

Apart from screening a great documentary about the life and death of Dennis Wilson that only let itself down right at the end when Dennis' friend was forced to throw a flower into the harbour where Dennis drowned (you can tell that he was forced to do this. It's what stupid documentary makers do all the time. Check out the first minute of Bennett Arron's How To Steal An Identity. He didn't REALLY want to go stone skimming), they've shown the glorious Heavy Metal Britannia that you really must see.

Heavy metal pretty much took up most of my time between 1980 and 1990 and, apparently, I know a ridiculous amount about it. More than I should, that's for sure. I joined the Iron Maiden fan club in 1981 and spent my youth sewing pictures of Satan on to my clothes, growing my hair so that I looked like Bonnie Langford and buying records by Maiden, Anthrax, Metallica, Def Leppard, Judas Priest, Motorhead and Hall & Oates. I can explain the heavy metal thing but Hall & Oates still baffles me. I recall in 1985 getting up all my courage to ask a girl to dance with me. She was beautiful and cool and for some reason she said yes. I wasn't expecting that. I also didn't expect the DJ to change songs from something awful by Paul Young to You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC. It was fine while most of the song played. We danced. We smiled at each other. It was going well. Then the guitar solo started.

I couldn't help myself, alright? It's a very irresistible force, the air guitar. It's also very funny to look at, apparently. So funny that you have to scream, point and run back to your friends.

And that's what Heavy Metal Britannia is all about. Where do all the unattractive, socially awkward people go to be accepted? Heavy metal, my friend. Spandex, leather, booze, motorbikes and soooo many women. Yeah, we got none of that. And that's what we all had in common. We didn't even have books. At least if we had we would have liked Joy Division and ended up fucking indie girls. Anyone can fuck an indie girl. They HATE themselves. Brilliant.

But I chose heavy metal. Sexless music that sang about anything other than sex. World War II, dragons, Alexander the Great, cannons, the death of an Egyptian idiot, the stupid government and fire were the subjects I knew most in the 80's thanks to these badly dressed middle aged drunks. Heavy Metal Britannia is still on iPlayer, as is the amazing Iron Maiden documentary Flight 666. It's so funny. Ever wanted golf or tennis tips from the fat, tired and old? Then look no further. An absolute must.

And that's what makes me happy. I love being happy. That will change tomorrow. I'll tell you why then. Bye bye.


Anonymous said...

I usually can hear you yelling from behind my computer screen, but this post didn't raise my blood pressure or pop any of the blood vessels in my eyes at all!

Alan Ritchie said...

If we were American metal fans, we'd be beating them off with a shitty stick, rather than beating ourselves off. But did they have 13 minute songs based on 18th century poems about sailors? No, so we win.

True fact: I won the 'Wang Off' guitar competition back in 1993 at the Aberdeen Beach Ballroom. The prize was presented to me by Paul Samson out of Samson.