Hi, Lloyd. Little slow tonight, isn't it?

It's amazing the things you find when you're obsessed with something.

Ask Twice

For some reason I'd made a note to myself, as I often do with potential blogging ideas, to write about the blatant similarities between Lady Ga Ga's Born This Way and Madonna's Express Yourself. Maybe it's an homage, let's be generous. But whatever, no-one comes to this blog for Ga Ga and Madge (barely anyone comes here at all, but that's another matter), so let's stick to more conventional New Amusements content.

This is Luke Jackson, a folky singer-songwriter from my old stomping ground that I've been meaning to blog about for ... (checks notes) ... fourteen years. I wish I'd made that number up but it's true. This is Ask Twice, a recent song from him that sits well with my current mood. Certainly better than the other songs mentioned here do.

There. That was good, wasn't it?

New to NA: Squid

According to their Wikipedia page, Squid are a Windmill scene band, which is a new one on me (because I am just too middle-aged, provincial and parochial, and not down enough with the kids, certainly not down enough to know about the "blend of experimental rock and post-punk, featuring erratic, spoken vocals" that grew out of Brixton's Windmill pub (apparently)).

So is it art rock? Maybe not. Math rock? Definitely not. When pushed, on a recent episode of the Adam Buxton podcast, the band settled for just "rock". I don't know about that either. I hear elements of The Blue Aeroplanes, occasional glimpses of Talking Heads, and lots of complexity. And I'm enjoying playing catch-up with their back catalogue.

At least ... I think I'm enjoying it. How about you?

You can learn more about the way the Squid swims at squidband.uk

Come down and disintegrate with me

From the continuing surprise that is Suede's third age, this is Disintegrate from Antidepressants.

Good, isn't it?

It's not what you ask, it's how you ask it

With apologies in advance to the delightful C and all other AI sceptics. I'm a sceptic too, if that helps...

Experimenting with ChatGPT some more, I attempted my usual baseline of getting it to create something you'd never see. But unlike Sora, it's fussy about real people... requiring me, ironically, to get creative in the wording of my prompt.

I like the way it guided me in how to get around its own constraints. And the result?

Addendum

John was much smarter than me. He asked, "Can you create a photograph of someone who looks like the singer Morrissey eating a burger in a McDonalds resturant?" And this is what he got back:

Who said this was the end?

As previously mentioned, The Man Of Cheese and I went to see Gene at the weekend.

Yes, the gig that would never happen, from the band that would never re-unite, finally came around. The band that means as much to TMOC and I as The Smiths and The Jam. After months of waiting, of anticipation ramping up and up, it finally happened.

The band played two very small warm-up gigs in the week running up to Saturday's sold-out show at the Hammersmith Apollo, a hop and a skip down the Picadilly Line from the now-defunct Astoria, where they had played their farewell show in 2004. And despite not having to contend with social media back in their heyday, the band members had all played a part in stoking online anticipation for the main event. Suffice to say, we were excited.

After an afternoon in various hostelries, and a little food to soak it up, we made our way to the Apollo, which looked resplendent.

A couple of minutes after the expected 8.30pm kick-off, Steve, Kev and Matt took to the stage, along with Mighty Mick Talbot on keys. The already positive buzz in the venue somehow climbed even higher, as the band struck up a slightly protracted intro to the only track they could have chosen to open with, all things considered: London, Can You Wait? And then, in a "slightly apart" move that he threw a few times during the evening, Martin came on stage, his red suit somewhat at odds with the dark uniformity of the other band members. I think I was not alone in feeling a wave of joy, topped off with a soupçon of disbelief that this was really happening. In fact, I'd say that was the reaction of most if not all of the 5,000-strong crowd, as I don't think I've felt such a positive, celebratory vibe from such a big audience too often. I felt real unity in the crowd, of communion in the broadest sense. Maybe one or two were worried that the passing of time was about to crap on their memories ... but they needn't have been concerned.

And from there on, the whole place was in a state of singalong, is-this-really-happening, rapture.

Highlights? What, aside from the whole thing, you mean? Well, tracks that particularly hit the spot for me included the lyrical majesty of Where Are They Now? and Long Sleeves for the Summer, the anthemic Sleep Well Tonight, and the beauty of Save Me, I'm Yours and Speak To Me Someone. But honestly? It was exceptional, end to end. And since we're being honest, I don't mind telling you, I felt emotional. The main set closed with a double whammy of Olympian and the incomparable 31-year-old first single For The Dead, numbers that felt somewhere between hymns and terrace chants, sung back to the band with evangelical fervour from the front row to the back of the circle.

MATT JAMES

We got two encores - the first was a pacy triplet of You'll Never Walk Again, Sick, Sober and Sorry, and Fighting Fit. The second was very different: Martin took to the stage solo at first to begin a piano-led version of a personal favourite, I Can't Help Myself, a song I've often featured here in various forms. Then Mick joined him about a minute in, before Steve, Kev and Matt came back to bring the song to a close. It was fantastic - here, see for yourself.

And this was followed by two more of a similar tone: Somewhere In The World and Who Said This Was The End? After which, it really was the end - the band took their bows, waved goodbye and left the stage. The crowd somehow managed to leave the building without climbing down from cloud nine, and TMOC and I bought t-shirts at the merchandise stand.

Have I oversold this, I wonder? For me, this was just about as good as it gets (you can see what I did there). Your mileage may vary, of course. Some might argue that the band of crack young musos Martin assembled for his solo farewell show back in 2021 played the songs live better than the resurrected Gene and they may even be right, if all you judge a performance on is technical proficiency. But there's more to a show than technical proficiency, isn't there? Some might say, perhaps justifiably, that Martin's "me and them" attitude towards his bandmates grated. It's hard for him, I think, having always been the one to object to and prevent previous attempts at reunion, and there were times when it looked like 3+1 rather than 4. But he's getting past that hang-up, I think, perhaps realising the love that persists for Gene as a whole. Whatever, it was nice to see Gene (and Mick) line up on the stage together at the end.

I realise I've used multiple religious terms in this post (though I did stop short of calling it a resurrection). Now I'm not a religious person at all but this - a show like this, a crowd like this, my best friend at my side - this is where I find my church. Perhaps I can convert you, for the band are playing Nottingham, Glasgow, Bristol, Dublin and Manchester in March. You can find tickets via geneofficial.com/live - The Man Of Cheese and I already have ours. Who said this was the end, indeed?

Edit this setlist | More Gene setlists

I Know That It’s Like This (Baby)

Delicate angst from Bill Ryder-Jones and the quiet majesty of his album Iechyd Da.

Though I'm too much
I'm not enough for you to love
I know that it's like this

Frying shallots

Q. Ceteris parabus, guess where The Man Of Cheese and I are off to tonight?

A. Here.

Stay away, Spencer

Spencer Elden, whose photograph as a baby was later used on the cover of Nirvana's Nevermind, has tried to sue the band for distributing child pornography.

Or for a shedload of money, perhaps. You decide.

Fortunately, the legal system in the US has got it right, with Judge Olguin basically ruling that this is ridiculous. Of course, Spencer and his lawyers plan to appeal... monkey see, monkey do, as Kurt once sang.

Footnote: I couldn't embed this video from Nirvana's official YouTube channel, because it's age restricted.