Music February 14, 2007Posted by BiB in Uncategorized.
Darlings, first things first. Liukchik turns 30 today so you must go and wish him good tidings… This is becoming a bit of a habit. Now Liukchik always gets things the wrong way round – he’s a university pal whom I naturally assumed was a whoopsy, seeing as his dancing makes Grahame Norton look like Sylvester Stallone, until he started producing girlfriends, whom I grilled just to make sure it wasn’t an elaborate ruse. Anyway, happy to see I wasn’t a million miles off the mark. His mother was just perfecting the gay gene when Lukeski was being gestated nicely and his younger brother bore the full brunt of his mother’s efforts (oh gosh, Lukeski, is this all too indiscreet? Well, I mean I know it’s too indiscreet, but is it so indiscreet that I have to take it down and replace it with, well, nothing instead?) – so in his honour of his birthday – well, not really, but the calendar is playing along conveniently enough – he’s giving away musical presents here. Go and claim your free gift. (Even I’ve heard of some of the artists for once.) Money no object. Postal distance no obstacle. And wish him a Happy Birthday and, if so inclined, feel nicely rebellious at cocking a snook at Valentine’s Day.
Darlings, I’ve got nothing for you really. Too bogged down with busyness and business. Although, every cloud having a silver lining and all that, I have at least worked out the PERFECT recipe for the work-related nervous breakdown. Do job you hate. Earn pittance. Move to country where you don’t know the language with long-term student boyfriend. Don’t work as much as you could, making pittance go even shorter way. Spend money you don’t have as that’s probably a good idea. Get in trouble with people whose money you’ve spent. Borrow money off known human. Breathe sigh of relief. One second later feel redoubled guilt and dread and worry and panic at owing the money to someone you know, who saintlily never, ever mentions it, quadrupling the guilt. Allow to simmer for, say, two years, waking up in sweats in the night six times a week. Decide suddenly you must earn a million pounds in one week and take on according amount of work. Blog instead of work. Have nervous breakdown.
ANYWAY, what about a little bit of music for you from me too to be getting on with? Now why would Michelle Shocked hit the spot at the moment? I’m trying to string analysis of that out for a good few hours a day both not to work and to speed up the onset of the nervous breakdown. Well, I think the song might remind me of a time of full houses and lots of va-et-vient and high spirits. So that’s one thing. And then I like the song starting nicely as a story (and there’s a hint of not majorly intrusive and quite pleasant string) and she’s quite good at enunciating her friend’s feeling of, “Oh fuck, it’s all passed me by.” Which isn’t what I’m feeling at all, actually, and the friend probably thought a couple of years after this whole exchange, “God, thank god I’m not a skateboard punk-rocker, actually. Michelle can keep her skateboard. I’m perfectly happy anchored down in Anchorage with Leroy and Kevin.” But it’s somehow all suitably wistful, with poor old Leroy asking for a picture from the big city. I’ve known that. The woman I first stayed with in Russia, heavily pregnant with her first child in a not enthralling marriage, in the Russian equivalent of Anchorage, asked me to send her photos of London. It almost makes me want to force myself to try and cry. But I haven’t got the time.
Happy Valentine’s Day, if you insist.