In the morning I try to catch up with the Nick stuff and some work arrives from a company called Robot, which has to be done in the next few days. In the afternoon I go to Walker to pick up even more work that has to be done in the next few days – on way I drop by the bank where they I am regales with bureaucratic insanity. No one does bureacratic insanity quite like the banks, so it’s strange that none of them use the slogan “Fear and Loathing? We Got It!” or provide leaflets called “Thinking Of Becoming a Disenchanted Pauper?”, which might be appropriate. I haven’t been into Walker for a while, so I get to soak up the “being a visitor” vibe, which is always nice.
Back home, I look at Robot Work then jet off to The Drill Hall for a taping of Lloyd Cole Knew My Father with Andrew Collins, Stuart Maconie and David Quantick with Amelia Bullmore doing the proper actor things.
I meet up with Jeanette (who has organised the tickets) in the foyer and over soft drinks in the bar, she hands over a Classic Tango CD that she got during her Tango Lesson Escapade, courtesy of Bob Mills. We discuss matters of state, such as trying to win as many local radio competitions as possible.
The show’s a lot of fun – it was originally done for Edinburgh and then had a short run afterwards in London and I managed to miss it both times, so it was nice to get a chance to see it at long last. It confirmed all my prejudices about the music press, that’s for sure. There’s a possible undercurrent of embarrassment that they gave the very Ms Bullmore very little to do, and I theorise that they wrote in the opportunity to do sound effects (they had a door handle, a telephone and some buzzers) because they always wanted to. And they utilise the steps at the back of the stage during the “miming to Aerosmith” section, which will probably be lost on the radio.
The special guest is Edwyn Collins, playing a couple of songs. I always used to hate Edwyn Collins from the first strains of the burbling bassline of Rip It Up to the upsettingly ubiquitous A Girl Like You single of a few years ago. However I don’t even get they urge to stand up and scream “For God’s Sake, man! Stop!” So one of us has mellowed.
I do have a terrible urge to shout something, though – it’s this evil fluence that the microphones emit, and as soon as they stop recording the feeling goes away. And I have to remember to laugh “properly” because they are, of course, recording the laughter. By the end it’s quite artificial. I think I’ll go to a taping and when the audience are laughing say “Ha Ha Ha!” see if anyone notices. Or perhaps not. One or the other, that’s for sure.
And I spot the deliberate mistake.
An odd thought: I’ve thought for a while that Collins and Maconie are sort of the Laurel and Hardy of post-NME jocular journalism, except that that makes Stuart Maconie Oliver Hardy. Sorry Stuart. However, following a Rock Theme, I think that Collins Maconie and Quantick sort of work as The Police (Quantick is Copeland and the other two can fight between them for who doesn’t get to be Sting) or possibly all four of them as The Pixies, with Bullmore as Kim Deal, Quantick as David Lovering, Collins as Joey Santiago and Maconie as Black francis. I don’t know if this makes up for the Oliver Hardy thing or compounds the horror.
I told you it was an odd thought.
Cranberry juice and chat in the bar and then I stroll home (that wasn’t originally my intention, but I couldn’t be bothered to wait for a bus) and go to bed.