New to NA: Greentea Peng

I heard this on 6 Music the other morning. The opening guitar motif caught my ear because it was vaguely reminiscent of The Changing Man by Paul Weller (itself more than vaguely reminiscent of 10538 Overture by ELO). But, after that guitar intro, the rest of the song is very different, all lo-fi shuffle and heard-through-a-club-wall sonics, married with a vocal that calls someone else to mind that I can't quite put my finger, for the moment. Imagine Erykah Badu, maybe, if she'd spent her formative years in post-Millennium Dalston rather than 80s Dallas.

Anyway, I know nothing else about Greentea Peng that can't be gleaned from her Wikipedia entry, whence comes the knowledge that Greentea is a "neo soul" artiste, and that "peng" is slang for attractive. I have seldom felt older or more parochial but never mind that, because what I do know is this: whilst One Foot is distinctly outside the Venn diagram of my normal musical tastes, I quite like it. It's borderline hypnotic in places, I think. What do you reckon?

I like the video too, it feels like it was shot on someone's iPhone without permission, guerilla-style. Or at least has been deliberately made to look that way. Next time you see someone with headphones on, singing aloud on the tube, look around, you could be in a music video...

Getting back

Or TIWHBALYIIHBOS (Things I Would Have Blogged About Last Year If I Hadn't Been On Sabbatical) #3

Back in 2022, in my end of year round-up, I made Paul McCartney my person of the year, on the basis of his headlining Glastonbury at 80 years of age and doing an excellent job of it. At the time, I wrote, "He's basically a very few years younger than my old man who, on occasion, struggles a bit to headline the armchair. So well done Paul - I hope you tour at least once more, so I can finally see you live."

Well, he did tour again; his "Got Back" tour trundled around the globe through the latter half of 2024, culminating in two nights at the O2 Arena. Which is how I found myself, six days before Christmas, sitting way up in the stand stage left, finally getting to see the man himself. Now 82, for very nearly 3 hours Paul and his band were everything you would expect and hope for, and then some. At times it was almost too much to take in, there seemed to be so much going on, even if a lot of it was largely expected: staggering pyrotechnics during Live and Let Die, for example, or mass singalong na-na's for Hey Jude. We've all seen these things so often, haven't we, not least at the aforementioned and brilliantly televised Glastonbury set. But there were surprises: I watched it snow inside the cavernous dome of the O2, for a seasonal rendition of Wonderful Christmastime (made less cheesy by the joyous accompaniment of the Capital Children's Choir). I saw a skeletal Ronnie Wood, wizened almost to the point of self-parody, join Paul on-stage for Get Back. But the biggest surprise of all came during the encore.

Immediately after Paul's duet with a virtual John Lennon on I've Got A Feeling (again, no surprise, he did that at Glasto too), I saw a second drum kit appear at the side of the stage. "No way," I muttered, to no-one in particular. Because an extra drum kit could surely only mean one special guest?

Anyway, I was sat a long way up, and my camera is quite old, but with those apologies out of the way, this is what happened next...

There's a lot I like about this, not least that Paul's regular drummer, the amazing Abraham Laboriel Jr, watches Ringo intently throughout, the way that middle-aged children watch their parents at family gatherings, to make sure they get through it all okay.

I'll be honest, I'd booked the last night of the tour for the slightly morbid reason that, at 82, I figured it might conceivably be Paul's last live performance. "I was at McCartney's last ever gig," I could later claim. Me and 20,000 others, right? But after the (again expected) finale of Golden Slumbers, Carry That Weight and The End, Paul said his goodbyes to the crowd, ending with a cheery "See you all next time." So what do I know?

Well, what I do know is that the gig, a Christmas present to myself if ever there was one, was amazing. It hasn't shot to the very top of my notional "Top Ten Gigs" list, though it is certainly a new entry to that particular chart. And it felt like more than a gig - a spectacle. At times it was almost too much to process, a feeling compounded by going alone: I had no-one to talk to about what I was seeing and hearing, and no-one to bounce reactions off. But the bottom line? Whether it was his last gig or not, I'm glad I went - the experience, the music, the sensory overload, two Beatles for the price of one, and everything else. Whatever your view of the man, he puts on one hell of a show. So, with another apology for poor quality (especially when I had to try to film around heads, towards the end), here's a video of that closing medley.

Take AIm

Or TIWHBALYIIHBOS (Things I Would Have Blogged About Last Year If I Hadn't Been On Sabbatical) #2

With all apologies in advance (especially to C, who I know gets understandably hot under her exquisite collar about this), one more AI experiment. As ever, I'm doing this crap so you folks don't have to, okay?

So I've previously played with text-based AI, and image generation. Now onto video, courtesy of Minimax. For consistency, I've stuck with the same idea of trying to generate something you would never see for real. Specifically, my prompt to the AI was "Singer Morrissey eating a hamburger in an empty McDonald's restaurant, at night". This is what it came up with.

All very impressive, I'm sure. He looks nothing like Morrissey, and doesn't actually eat the burger, just holds it whilst his jaw is moving. Plus, it's very short and has no sound but other than that ... well, it looks like real, carbon-based creatives can rest easy ... for now, at least.

Anyway, with apologies (again) to all those who don't any more, here's the real McCoy with his northern outsider pals, when they were still pals, most decidedly not eating a burger.

Forty years ago though. Stone me.

Remember when "compact" mattered?

Or TIWHBALYIIHBOS (Things I Would Have Blogged About Last Year If I Hadn't Been On Sabbatical) #1

I had to get a new phone last year, unfortunately. And it seems that if you want a decent spec, compact phones are no longer an option. My new phone is a full 20mm longer than the one it replaced - so much for progress. Add on the new protective case I also had to buy and it all adds up to a ridiculous slab. I may or may not be pleased to see you, but it really is a phone in my pocket.

Anyway, it's time to belatedly update the mobile timeline:

Because these photographs are inexplicably popular (in web searches, at least) they have their own label so, for completists (!), here are the previous posts in the series.

Simplification (or, time for it all to go)

It's time to accept the Internet is never going to make me rich.

Likewise, I'm never going to win the world snooker championships, lead the Tour de France, or write an international bestselling novel. But back to the Internet and, more specifically, this blog.

For the past two years of so, I've ended every post with this, a kind of Patreon-esque way of letting readers tip me any amount, big or small, for something I've written.

In all that time, no-one has ever tipped me anything, which is fair enough. Patreon and the like are clearly best left for high-volume, mass-market, original content creators. None of those adjectives apply to me, or my "content". Besides, if you wanted to pay to read something, newspapers are available (for now).

Never mind, eh? For the past eighteen months I've also had this in my sidebar, allowing readers to buy me a cuppa.

In all that time, no-one has ever bought me a coffee, much less a notional cup of tea that I would actually enjoy. And that's fair enough too - I'm probably over-caffeinated anyway.

So it's all going, from today. New Amusements is eschewing third-party advertising wherever possible, and becoming a public service broadcaster. With apologies to the actual BBC, whose sign I've photoshopped...

All of which is my tenuous double-link to a song, Go by Public Service Broadcasting.

I especially love the very enthusisastic "Go!" from Steve Bales on Guidance. He was only 26 at the time, can you believe?

Anyway, in the unlikely event that you do want to somehow make me pence richer, you can always buy my book. Or a t-shirt! What a time to be alive.

I can't help myself...

...so I'm back, for one more lap of the sun at least. Sabbatical over, and mostly adhered to (except when RIPs and elections prompted a few posts), I regret to say that I haven't achieved much of anything in the way of new creative writing in the last year, as I'd hoped. I'm not sure that I missed blogging that much either - make of that what you will. Maybe I'm only in it for the comments, but there's the catch-22.

Regardless, here we go again because, as we have established, I can't help myself. Will you share every sorrow?

And happy new year.

Where my thoughts escape me

Disclaimer: this post was written in December 2023, and scheduled for future posting. Its contents may no longer be accurate or appropriate.

Well, that's it: this is the last post that was written and scheduled in December 2023, and my year-long sabbatical is over. Some may be happy about that, not least because I might post a bit more often; others may feel sad, because it will also mean carefully planned and edited posts are a thing of the past, and I'll be back to impulsive, scattergun posts that inevitably I won't have time to write properly or carefully. But hey ho ... what is this blog, if not where my thoughts escape me?

Either way, you can probably (but who knows?) expect a post in January reflecting on the sabbatical, and whether I missed posting regularly. Also about how I managed to use the me-time I hoped to free up ... God, I hope I didn't waste it (but I bet I did).

For now though, this feels like I am homeward bound ... so what better than this, Paul Simon and George Harrison duetting for Saturday Night Live in 1976. A spectacular curio.

Bon année, tout le monde ...

Cancelling

Disclaimer: this post was written in December 2023, and scheduled for future posting. Its contents may no longer be accurate or appropriate.

For anyone who is, for whatever reason, not with the person or people they want to be with this Christmas.

Angel

Disclaimer: this post was written in December 2023, and scheduled for future posting. Its contents may no longer be accurate or appropriate.

This isn't about a Christmas angel, of course, but it's close enough for blogging purposes. This is Angel by First Aid Kit, from the Swedish sisters' fifth album, Palomino (2022).

It's not really my usual bag, but is nice enough, I guess. Amusements Minor liked it when it first came out, before he decided he was all about Dre, Snoop Dogg and Eminem - he's probably disavowed it now. But my YouTube Watch Later list has a longer memory.

Merry Christmas, you filthy animals...

Was That The Year That Was? 2024

Disclaimer: this post was written in December 2023, and scheduled for future posting. Its contents may no longer be accurate or appropriate.

This would normally be the fourteenth time I've recapped a year like this (for completists, here are the others) ... but here's the thing. As you'll remember from this, I've been on a blogging sabbatical, and every post you've read here in 2024 was actually written and scheduled during December of last year. So how can I recap the year, twelve months in advance?

Well, I can't, obviously. Instead, as 2023 draws to a close (This might get confusing - Ed.), I'm going to write about the things I'm maybe looking forward to for 2024 and then, when this actually gets published in twelve months time, maybe I'll drop into my own comments section and update with how reality compared with hope. Because there's always hope, right? Even for this desperate blog...

So enough prevarication - let's get the crystal ball out.

Best album?

Well, if the advance singles are anything to go by (especially Night of the Hunter), then the forthcoming Libertines album All Quiet On The Eastern Esplanade might be alright, and certainly better than the health of its chief protagonists might have led us to hope. What else? Well, by the law of averages Paul Weller will probably have a new album at some point in the year, that I will inevitably buy and find something to like on. And this is in hope rather than expectation but I wouldn't mind another solo album from Graham Coxon, but I might be pissing in the wind on that score. Who knows?

Best song?

This looking forward lark is hard. Most of the new songs that have featured on this blog in recent years have been serendipitous finds, and how do you predict that? So I'm going to take an absolute punt and say that my best song of 2024 will be something I haven't heard even a snippet of yet, by some band that is completely new to me, and will probably be on Bandcamp. I know, brilliant insight, eh? Bet you're glad to be reading this...

Best gig?

Well, this might be a little easier to look forward to, because I've already started booking tickets and planning trips. For example, I already know that I will be seeing The Smyths and From The Jam, and I can confidently state that I will enjoy both very much. I hope to see Sea Power too, touring the anniversary of Do You Like Rock Music? (which is on the Every Home Should Have One masterlist, lest we forget), although the nearest they come to me is on Valentine's day, so that might prove challenging, let's say. There's a chance I may also get to the Suede and Manics double-header tour, which is bound to be something, plus I note Pixies are touring briefly, playing Bossanova and Trompe le Monde in full. Plus hopefully there will also be some festival action, either Latitude (with Duran Duran headlining one day, no less) or CarFest. So there's lots of potential here, basically. More good gigs to go to than I can realistically afford. And I haven't even mentioned the annual pilgrimage to see The Wedding Present, which is bound to happen at some point...

Best book?

Another one that's hard to predict. I know that Stephen King has a new collection of short stories coming out in May, because I've already pre-ordered You Like It Darker. And I already know that I will like most if not all of it, because I always do - even when he's not firing on all cylinders King keeps the pages turning like few other authors do for me. I'd also love it if there was also something new from the simply wonderful Sadie Jones and the criminally underrated Michelle Paver, because I love their respective bodies of work. It might be a bit soon after Amy & Lan for Sadie, but there hasn't been any new adult fiction from Michelle since Wakenhyrst, so fingers crossed there...

Best film?

I'm going to cheat a bit here because Wonka has just come out at the time of writing, but I haven't seen it yet. Based on trailers and the fact that the team behind it gave us the Paddington movies, I'm not really going out on much of a limb here when I predict it will be quite good. But what else? Well, novelist-turned-director Alex Garland's new film Civil War looks interesting (and hopefully not prescient), and stuntman-turned-director David Leitch is bringing The Fall Guy to the big screen, hopefully without dumping on our childhood memories (I'd like a Lee Majors cameo please, David). Amy Winehouse biopic Back to Black will either be terrible or excellent, as will Beverley Hills Cop: Axel F (yes, really). Actually, 2024 looks like being the peak year of sequels, most of which, on paper, leave you scratching your head and wondering "why?" and "please don't be terrible", to whit: Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes, Beetlejuice 2 (only 30 years too late), Joker: Folie a Deux, Gladiator 2 (yep, really), and an as yet untitled Alien franchise movie. Leave the horse alone, why don't you, it's dead already... And director Richard Eggers is remaking Nosferatu for 2024 ... really, what could go wrong? Oh, and spoiler alert from December 2023 - I don't actually get to the cinema very much any more, so I probably won't even see half of these. Boo.

Best television?

Well, I'm going to need something new to fill the holes in my televisual life left by Ghosts and, since I've just given up my Disney+ subscription because of ridiculous price hikes, Only Murders In The Building. I don't yet know what that something will be. The final series of Stranger Things is coming, and had better arrive in 2024, else the young cast will all be too grown to pass for teenagers. The second series of Wednesday is coming too - so far, so Netflix. In the interests of balance, apparently Blade Runner 2099 is coming to the small screen courtesy of Amazon Prime, with Ridley Scott involved, so hopefully that will be good. Oh, and there's a live action version of Avatar: The Last Airbender coming too (Netflix again) that will be a must-watch for Amusements Minor (and, by extension, me), so hopefully that is better than the famously awful film adaptation from 2010. On terrestrial TV (do people still say that?), the BBC brings us series two of The Tourist, which I plan to watch, and the intriguing premise of Nightsleeper, a six-part real-time thriller set on a sleeper train from Glasgow to London. I have high hopes for that.

Best sport?

Well, I'm going to go out on another limb here and predict that the best sport of the year will also, in a way, be the worst, as England threaten to win the Euros but ultimately fall agonisingly short, probably on penalties. Staying with football, I'm hoping for a Liverpool title in the Premier League, but won't mind if it's Arsenal, not least because my old man's a Gooner. Moving down the pyramid, I'm also hoping that Norwich City will somehow (and despite themselves) sneak into the play-offs, but if so they'll undoubtedly revert to form and miss out, whilst watching their noisy neighbours from down the road get promoted as champions. Sigh. In other sport, I hope that Ronnie O'Sullivan prevails at the snooker world championships in May, to stand alone on eight titles in the modern era. And I'm praying for some kind of comeback from Emma Raducanu - such talent, such promise, hopefully to re-emerge in 2024. And of course it's an Olympic year, so I'm hoping that Katarina Johnson-Thompson scoops the heptathlon gold her career so richly deserves. Oh, and is one more title for Lewis Hamilton too much to ask? Probably, but it doesn't hurt to hope.

Person of the year?

Well, it's Keir Starmer, hopefully. Since the next general election must take place on or before the 28th of January 2025 at the very latest, I really need Keir to have a good year, because we need the Tories out more than ever. I know Starmer is not perfect, occasionally misses open goals, and perhaps lacks some charisma ... but I also think he is, at a fundamental level, a decent man, and that's what we need right now. So here's to a year of no gaffes, no own goals and no scandal, a year of side-stepping the offensives the right-wing press will inevitably launch against him, a year of Labour by-election victories and Conservative implosion, and a year that ultimately culminates in a landslide electoral triumph, with a compassionate party of the people back in government, where they remain for a generation. Fingers crossed. Meanwhile, internationally, I'm also desperately hoping Joe Biden has a good year because otherwise...

Tool of the year?

As I type this post, at the tail-end of 2023, I have an awful and inescapable fear that repugnant man-child and morality-vacuum Orange Don will somehow evade all attempts to rein him in, whether in the courts or in the Republican party, and that not only will he contest the 2024 presidential election as a free man but that he will also win it. It chills my heart to think of him back in power, but I can see it happening, I really can. I just pray that in the twelve months that elapse between me writing this and you reading it, something legal, conclusive and incontrovertilbe happens to prevent him: either he is convicted of something, or the Republican party realise they don't have to remain in his thrall, or the Democrats find a way to beat him, or the US electorate come to their senses. I can't think of too many things more dangerous for the world than a stupid, immoral, entitled person with ultimate power but little accountability and even less care. It is a hideous, but very real, prospect for us all.

Well, that's the future foretold. Hardly a cheery note to end on, but really, what else did you expect from me? I wonder what you'll make of all this in December '24? Blimey, I wonder what I'll even make of it...