More Married Man

So the wedding is less than a week away and I'm really looking forward to it. I finally finished my speech today and feel pleased - I hope I've judged the tone, whilst also including some silly jokes. After the wedding, I might post it on here for posterity. Dad, Daniel, Simon, Andy and I had our final suit fittings on Saturday - looked smart, everything fitted and we had a right laugh.

Such is my scatterbrained, restless nature, my mind is already focusing on the next thing: after the wedding, I reason, our weekends will be more relaxed and restful. I might even have time for more podcasts, Char and I can visit galleries and drink in pubs, I might even (in the future) get involved in some guitar, bass, drums and vocal antics (also known as being in a band). 

I know, I know, I'm an idiot and I need to focus on the present. But as wonderful as it will be to get married, being married will be amazing. This time next week I'll be a more relaxed man, as well as a more married man.

Journal For Plague Lovers

I can't begin to explain or explore my long, strange and intimate relationship with the Manic Street Preachers, particularly as it's 8.30am and I'm supposed to be using my office computer for work.

However, I thought it might be worth noting how excited I am at the prospect of new album 'Journal For Plague Lovers', a collection of songs composed using lyrics left to the band by missing lyricist Richey Edwards almost 15 years ago.

There will be no singles released from the album, and therefore it's unlikely to be a commercial 'smash'. However, on the evidence of the only track given airplay so far (album opener 'Peeled Apples' was played by Zane Lowe on Radio 1 last night) it promises to be quite a record: dark, punchy, raw yet somehow slick at the same time.

With several major, major things going on in my life at the moment, I feel like my heart is being pulled in several different directions. Yet a new Manics record gives me a reassuring sense of clarity and purpose - I've invested so much of my personality and identity into the band (an unhealthy amount, I'm happy to concede) that, bizarrely, it's a reminder to me of who I am and what I want to achieve.

I've always felt that, at their best, the Manics simultaneously capture glory and oblivion: I'll treat those two imposters the same.

Air

It's 8am on Sunday morning and i have opened the window to let some fresh air in. As i lay in bed and breathe it in it smells absolutely divine! It doesn't smell 'nice', it doesn't have a strong smell of flowers, clean washing or freshly cut grass, or at least they are not strong enough for my nose to pick them out. So why does it smell so good?
Are the 'nice' smells (mentioned above) blended perfectly so they are subtle enough not to be picked out but give it the overall stamp of 'good' air? Is it because i spent the night recycling the 'old' air in the room, continually adding to the percentage of carbon dioxide, so now the oxygen smells good? Could it be that my body has evolved to reward me for finding oxygen rich air by making it smell, to my percepton, good? This would mean that others would find the smell different, with their brains choosing a smell that they too think is good, but if compared, the smell would be completely different.
Our brains rule our perception of the world, nothing is probably viewed exactly the same by each of us, so which perception is accurate, is true? Maybe nothing is true, it's just what we perceive to be true.
The air coming through that window is divine - fact!

The P word

Up for scrutiny in this week's fantabulously witty, erudite and wonderfully wordy blog: pretentiousness. Self-reflexive introductory sentences aside, I'm not sure if I'm a pretentious person - it's the sort of thing that's for other people to decide. Or is it?

These so-called 'other people' might be interested to learn that I have absolutely no problem with pretentiousness. In the strictest sense, isn't everything we do heavily steeped in pretension? The quality and style of coat we choose to wear in the morning, for instance, maintains the pretense that a) we care about the way we look and want others to know that we're in touch with current trends, or, b) we're not interested in fashion at all. Either way, an image is constructed, a conscious decision made, a pretense maintained.

Of course, in common usage, the word pretentious would usually only be reserved for the person in case a) - they want to look cool, modish, in vogue: this is often dismissed as pretentiousness. But isn't the person in case b) actually the contrary one, the cool arbiter of dissonance? Aren't they, arguably, the ones with more at stake in the pretension chess-game? They're the ones thinking two moves ahead: "Fashion's vapid, transitory nonsense..." they might say, implying that they've given the whole thing a lot more thought than those of us who simply grab whatever looks 'ok' on the racks at Topshop.

I've probably been both of these people at different times in my life. Both states of affairs have their benefits and drawbacks. Nowadays I'm pretty indifferent. The real reason I'm interested in the 'P word' is not because I want to establish who is and who isn't. Rather, I want to take on those people who use the contemptible term...

Children quickly develop (naturally, childish) ways of winning arguments. "You're it", "No, you're it times two", "Well you're it times infinity", "You're it times infinity plus one". "Bagsy I get the front seat of the car." You get the picture. We all grow out of these linguistic cul-de-sacs in our early teens. All of us, that is, except those who become seduced by the 'P word'.

To dismiss someone or something as pretentious is to impose a limit on life. It's a way of negatively categorising exuberance, playfulness and creativity. Of course, not all of us can be exuberant, playful and creative without occasionally making a tit of ourselves. But so what? Isn't that a good thing? If we really do have seventy odd years on earth before we become worm food, why the hell would we waste our time imposing limits on other people's energy? To brandish the word 'pretentious' is to paint yourself into a corner - it's a promise that you will never experiment, never flirt with mistakes, never dance with failure. It might help you to win an argument in a pub, but why spend your life winning arguments in pubs when you could be out there being pretentious?

If you're reading this, promise me you'll do something pretentious today. While you're doing that, I'll scour my U2 review for the P word.

(The P word is 2mins into this classic)

Thrill of the chase contd.

Article by one of my favourite authors here. This was what I was trying to get at. I think. Substitute 'Author' for 'God', 'perfect woman' or whatever you like - the thrill, the jouissance is in the chase, the discovery, the discussion, the speculation - the object of our enquiry is obviously important, but will not and should not provide an absolute truth or reading.

Thrill of the chase

Frustratingly, the uploading of episode 5 of the podcast Jim and I produce is being stalled because of website problems. In the meantime, there's an aspect of this most recent bout of philosophical pondering I'd like to focus on...

We were discussing Descartes, trying to wrap our heads around the great philosopher's undoubtedly tenuous justification for the existence of God. In summary: because God is perfect, he must exist.

Trying to explore this concept from several angles, James and I agreed that the pursuit, if not necessarily the acceptance of such a perfect concept, is an undeniably attractive thing. In fact, the search for perfection (tongue fairly firmly in cheek, we flippantly gave the example of searching for the perfect female body) could arguably be more satisfying than actually finding it. This is by no means a new idea - countless cliches run along these lines: 'be careful what you wish for', 'the grass is always greener' etc.

However, it did strike me that this is a truly universal principle that I really do have a lot of time for, and (I think) helps me to tolerate people with views that I would otherwise find risible. To go back to the God example, I can accept (accept is the wrong word - understand?, empathise with?) someone pursuing their religious faith, in the knowledge that they're on a journey of discovery: they're in pursuit of faith or a truth, even if I disagree with the underlying principles which they rely upon.

It's a subject I'd like to return to, but in the meantime I think these notions might sit quite snugly alongside Derrida's notions of deconstruction. Maybe we'll have to wait until Two Wise Men episode 68 to find out...

Me4U2? Part 2

I'm glad I listened to U2's new album, if only for the fact that I now feel entitled to an opinion.


'No Line On The Horizon' is by no means offensive to the ears in a musical sense. In fact, I had an overwhelming feeling that U2 were actually victims of their own success: as I listened, a rash of relatively new bands came to mind, who now seem able to pull off the U2 sound more convincingly than U2 themselves. For instance, opener 'No Line On The Horizon' lacked the punch of, say, similar-sounding Kings of Leon numbers, 'I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight' is schmaltzy and pompous, but somehow lacked the glorious absurdity of The Killers. Similarly, the more earnest gospel-esque tracks left me thinking 'It's been a while since I listened to Arcade Fire'.



Bizarrely, such seeming overfamiliarity with the album tracks meant that when lead-single 'Get On Your Boots' arrived (which, when I heard it on the radio, I despised) it came as a welcome relief. Ironically, this track sounds like U2 being influenced, with a hint of electro fuzz, and a heavy debt owed to 'Hail to the Thief' era Radiohead. Unlike the rest of the album, it at least portrays some sort of interest in music, rather than an interest in getting bums on seats at the Enormo-Dome. In the context of the album, it's a real shot in the arm, despite the terrible lyrics...


... which, as someone who rightly or wrongly privileges lyric writing, will always mean I cannot love U2. Each line is a compromise, each verse written with an open mind, each chorus vaguely inspiring. After 30 years of being in a band, you'd expect their words to reach beyond the awe-struck Americana of 'White As Snow' or the cod-irony of 'Stand Up Comedy'. It's all so safe, so fucking calculated.


I'll be phrasing all of this a little more diplomatically to my tutee. After all, it's not U2's fault that subsequent bands have evolved their sound; in fact, I'm sure it must be a source of pride. But as someone who was secretly hoping for a road to Damascus-style conversion, aware of the many 5 star reviews in the more 'serious' music mags, I do feel a little disappointed.

Me4U2? Part 1

One of my tutees is destined for a career as a music critic. Every day, he asks me for my opinion, either on a piece he has written or a new album that's come out. He's had several letters published in Q and the NME and his writing style is good, if a little critic-by-numbers. His energy and enthusiasm a) make me feel old and curmudgeonly and b) make me feel glad I chose this career.

However, it is true to say that our music tastes diverge to a considerable degree. I don't quite know how to put this: He loves U2. He brought the new U2 album in for me to listen to. U2!

So, as a professional, and as someone who certainly doesn't want to hurt my tutee's feelings, I politely declined his offer, saying "Thanks, but I think I'll check it out on Spotify."

Hopefully this weekend I'll do just that. But I'm scared, because, somehow, hating U2 is part of who I am. It's how I define myself. I once won a ticket competition to see the Manics play an exclusive gig in Cardiff. The competition was to see who could come up with the best question to ask the band in an interview. My question was: "Do you hate U2 as much as me?"

Like most other people on the planet, I own 'The Joshua Tree' and 'Achtung Baby'. I've heard their earlier stuff is even better. Could I actually like them if I gave them a chance? Famously there's a tribe of Native Americans who refuse to be photographed because they feel that each photo will strip away a part of their soul. Could the same happen to me with each track of 'No Line on the Horizon'?

What's worse is that, after hearing several radio interviews with Bono this week (R4's Front Row grilling was particularly good) it occurred to me that, despite all of the criticism and bile that's (rightly) thrown his way, he is a man who's nevertheless comfortable in his own skin. I always find that attractive in people. He's actually so arrogant and self-obsessed that he somehow comes across as humble. Is that possible? I guess it's so difficult to criticise the causes he fights for, that it somehow seems churlish to remain in the ranks of the Bonophobes.

So, am I being converted? I'll update with the verdict in Part 2 ...