widg‧et /ˈwɪdʒɪt/ [wij-it] -noun: Pointless ramblings from the New Forest. Obviously complete & utter Rubbish. Why must I contibute to all this endless talk about me? My self-indulgent knees, spilling themselves all over the internet. Obviously i am Jon and his hair, I AM HIM!

Friday, June 29, 2007

We've Come a Long Way, Baby

Ah, Tony's finally gone, amid scenes of apocalyptic flooding and plagues of political & journalistic locusts swarming around his decaying reputation. He always seemed to me to have more in common with Cliff Richard than a great world leader. His hideous taste in shorts, unnaturally white grin, constantly licky-licking God's bum and his dodgy obsession with cabin boys.

And on that note, what HAS Sue Barker done to her hair? Hoorah, it's tennis time. A time to drench your strawberries in Pimms; a time to smother your thighs (or Sue Barker's) in cream; a time to inhale your last fag-whisp of freedom; a time to vicariously experience Glastonbury through the medium of mud & sweat; a time to mourn the (hopefully temporary) passing of Fopp; a time to vote Billy out of Big Brother. You know it makes sense.

Brian to win! Dip dee Bo Bo!

Currently listening: Mambo! by Yma Sumac

Monday, June 25, 2007

Step Back In Time (part one)

Now I've had a little breather after dealing with my main record buying years, I can turn my attention to the days when Gwen Stefani was just a glint in Madonna's pants & Bananarama still ruled the charts. It's time to look a little further back at some of the groovy sounds I was largely oblivious to that emanated from the flat, black, revolving platters of the past.

Very few of these tunes punctured my conciousness at the time, mainly because my first pubic growth had not yet forced its painful way though my skin & I was thusly obsessed by varying levels of pre-teen cheese (oh how times have changed). So, these are all my current favourites of the era with a large, hulking dollop of hindsight, otherwise you may have been subjected to more Boney M than is healthy.

Yes Kids, brace yourselves for this Kylie-endorsed journey into the mists of pre-history, join me as we... Step Back In Time (woof).

Big Black - Songs About Fucking
Eurythmics - Savage
Le Mystère Des Voix Bulgares
Guns n Roses - Appetite for Destruction

Big Black - Now this deserves a mention if only for its title & the gorgeous combination of pink, green & panting woman on the sleeve. Main Big Black man, Steve Albini, curiously neither particularly big nor black, is most famous for being über-producer to such indie/grungey stars as Nirvana, PJ Harvey, Pixies, The Breeders; and now fronts equally ace band, Shellac. Chock full of ear-stripping guitar and a fair amount of unintelligible shouting, with a Kraftwerk cover thrown in for good measure.

Eurythmics - Not immensely popular at the time of its release, I seem to recall, but 'tis my favourite of all the emanations from Miss Lennox's honking mouth. A little bit pop, a little bit weird, a little bit scary, a welcome return to their electro roots, after their commercially successful, but not entirely satisfying dalliances with Stevie Wonder & Aretha Franklin.

Le Mystère Des Voix Bulgares - More weirdness, brought to public attention by Ivo Watts-Russell of 4AD records after receiving an unlabled cassette of 15 years-worth of recordings by the ethnomusicologist Marcel Cellier of the Bulgarian State Radio Female Vocal Choir. Otherworldly & mesmerising with intricately woven vocal harmonies, it fits in completely with the mid-eighties sound of 4AD, despite originating from a completely different time & place

Guns n Roses - Now is the time to rock. The complete antithesis of the kind of music my 12 year-old brain found acceptable, mindless noise. My present day brain, on the other hand, finds it witty & fun, with large dollops of guitar riffage, not at all mindless and not even all that noisy. The sort of cheese I was listening to at the time would probably qualify as mindless, but is all the more spangly because of it. Anyway, it's a shame that Axl & co never reached such heights as this again (and probably never will, judging by their lacklustre set at Download last year) though they got close with the odd song. There's not a single duff track here, in fact they might as well have re-released this as their Greatest Hits and left it there.

1987: Jon the 12 Year-Old's Top Five Tunes
Madonna - Who's That Girl
Penguin Cafe Orchestra - Perpetuum Mobile
Pet Shop Boys & Dusty Springfield - What Have I Done To Deserve This?
Kylie Minogue - I Should Be So Lucky
REM - It's The End Of The World As We Know It

Saturday, June 16, 2007

Can You Smell Burning?

In the legendary words of the mighty Bucks Fizz "London town, I’m getting into London town, In London town, I’m getting into London town, In London town" Tra la la.

As I am writing this a mere 9 days after the misleading date above, memories are less than fresh in my leaky mind; so all the interesting & fun bits will be lightly skimmed over, while the dull bits will be whipped into a frothing top ten list of frenzied boredom for you to despise at your leisure.

1. The smelly man on the smelly coach who illegally stole my legally binding seat belt, thus making us both criminals.
2. The culture mecca that is Forbidden Planet, the Shaftesbury Avenue branch of 'tat for geeks'.
3. The newish Fopp on Tottenham Court Road, a record shop that sells & lets you drink Guiness. This is where I want to go when I die.
4. The crusty mummies of the British Museum. Maybe they wanted to go to Fopp when they died, but missed by a few hundred yards.
5. Visiting Tate Britain's Turner Watercolours exhibition, curated by David Hockney, with his almost namesake in tow.
6. Pimlico.
7. Shouting at the Victoria ticket machine & drawing disparaging looks from the wizened commuters.
8. Watching Hockbo deep throat his subway, until in the space of 3 seconds naught was left but crumbs.
9. Soothing Bombadier from a Shepherd's Bush public house.
10. A Wogan-less Empire with a jolly Tom McRae, a broken Steve Reynolds & illicit smokey treats.

Currently listening: King of Cards by Tom McRae

Sunday, June 03, 2007

Your Flowers & My Pee-Pee Juice

Cash & snuggly coats were forgotten in the mad dash to the finish line. The previous day's scrumptious, but ultimately deadly, volatile & probably radioactive scrumpy was not on hand to light our way. We could not bathe in its warm, orangey glow as the piscean hidey-hole was conscripted back into action for the thankfully dying embers of this year's critically acclaimed birthday season.

Creamy cakes of delicious jam & crunch were consumed, while pressies waited unopened for an interminable length of age as some of our number were waylaid by monkeys. Once their genitals were safely back in their respective boxes the revels could begin. Mistress Clo-bo held court under her stately Stella umbrella, fully boozed-up after an exhausting day's carpet soiling.

And then the final act was upon us. The orgasmic sound of torn paper filled the air, drowning out the drunken witterings of passing yobbos. We sneakily sidled past the police & other Irish dangers until the twin dilemmas of school bullies & Bruce Willis were washed away by the heady brew of tea & peas.

Currently listening: The Very Best Of Bucks Fizz by Bucks Fizz