nothing is underground anymore

Great music blog from Simon Reynolds here, who argues that the internet has blurred the lines between what is seen as "underground", and what is seen as "mainstream". Everybody now has access to a wide variety of music at the touch of a button, which means that if you so wish, you can go and easily discover new music from the comfort of your own bedroom. In previous generations, mine included, there were often physical barriers to entry into an underground scene - either by virtue of not being old enough to get into clubs or gigs, or simply being too far away from a decent record shop, so that it became physically impossible to listen (or even know about) music which was not played on heavy rotation on the radio.

It meant that there had to be a big psychological step for any person who wanted to become part of any scene, a step into the unknown, or at the least having the bottle to go into that musty smelling record store and ask for an obscure name of a band that you had jotted down on a notebook while listening to John Peel. That barrier is simply not there anymore, and as soon as a genre has a name, you can simply google it and find out what exactly it sounds like without handing over some of your hard-earned cash.

'Kidults' living with their parents longer

The Office for National Statistics have released a study saying that many young adults in their mid-20s and early 30s, are increasingly postponing the transition to adulthood.

It seems that 1/3 of them say they are still living at home because they cannot afford to get a toehold on the property ladder by buying or renting. But that means that 2/3rds of them are staying through choice.

I find this very strange. I couldn't wait to leave home, and I saw it as an important part of growing up - having my own space, being independent, and being responsible to no-one but myself. And frankly, I saw the people who stayed at home as dullards and a little bit weird to be honest: why would you stay with your parents, and abide by the rules set down for you when you were a teenager, when you could live by yourself, and do exactly as you pleased.

It was made easier for me, as I left home for university, but even once my course had finished, I moved back to my mum's for only 5 or 6 months, while I found a job and got some money together. Once I had enough money to afford a deposit and month's rent, I moved out. Yes, there were some tough times, and yes, I couldn't always afford to eat properly, but that is part and parcel of gaining independence, and growing up. You make your mistakes when you are young, so that you learn how to budget properly, you learn how to cook, you learn how to fend for yourselves. It was a greater education than anything else I have done, and I can't help but feel that those people who stay at home are not only isolating themselves from the joys of living by yourself, but also willingly infantilising themselves.

stewart lee interview

I am a long time fan of Stewart Lee, from way back when he popped onto TV with Richard Herring with Fist of Fun. They then provided great Sunday morning hangover entertainment with TMWRNJ. An interview in the Guardian provides a fascinating insight into how and why he chooses what to write his stand-up material about. One interesting thing is the following quote:

It's interesting to me that apparently distasteful comments from the right against weak targets tend to draw a lot less media fire than apparently distasteful comments from the left against hard targets. That's one of the threads that runs through the show and that people hopefully pick up on."

A very valid point, although in fairness, the same is also true vice versa. I hate the shit that comes out of littlejohn, davidson's etc mouths, but maybe I just notice it more because I am already looking to be offended. The only other option would be to have no comedy, and no targeting of anything - which would make for rather boring comedy and life in general.

Haven't posted in a while

I realise the irony of this, given the name of the blog, but I haven't been inspired to write anything. In a couple of cases, I dipped my toe into the water, but the post ran out of steam, and now they sit, unfinished and sulking on my blog dashboard.

I shall endeavour to write about something every day, it's not like I don't have opinions about absolutely everything, it's just a question of writing it all down. Damn my laziness.

Back to Bexleyheath

I found myself at a loose end this weekend, with 4 long hours to kill between dropping my wife off for a rehearsal, and hearing her perform in a concert later that night. As the concert was close by, it seemed the perfect opportunity to re-visit Bexleyheath.

During my teenage years, I went through Bexleyheath twice every day, on my way to and from school. As such, it does hold a little place in my heart: the many hours that I stood waiting at bus stops with friends, telling all kinds of lies about how far we had got with members of the opposite sex; the scrums to get on every bus, with old ladies tutting as boys and girls shoved each other in a desperate race to nab the best seats on the bus; fireworks being let off at bus stops, and on one memorable event, on the top of a 132; evading the security guards in the Broadway for as long as possible after closing time; watching form afar as someone dumped a load of bubble bath into the fountain by the clocktower. All of these rites of passage, of young dumb kids with nothing else better to do, are indelibly marked on my memory. But mostly I remember the seemingly eternal boredom of waiting for buses.

My return seemed to herald the first day of winter, as a cold biting wind whipped across and into me, buffeting my spirits and good cheer. I pulled my jacket tighter, and pressed on, past the laughing buddha and Asda, but the town centre seemed to echo my despondancy, looking miserable and grey. This wasn't just a reflection of the weather, but of the prevailing recessionary gloom: many of the shops had closed down, and the ones that were left looked bedraggled and worn out.

The Bexleyheath of my youth, despite there being not much to do, seemed like a town where something new was always being put up or renovated: a pedestrianised section here, a supermarket there, a new cinema and resturant complex here. Now though, it has a melancholic air: as if it's quest for constant renovation had tired it out. Resignation to its fate permeated the maudlin concrete structure of the Broadway: a realisation that such a pursuit of excellence was doomed to failure with the behemoth Bluewater on it's doorstep.

It also seemed much smaller than I remember. One Saturday, I refused to walk from one end of the Broadway to the other, because I felt it was too far. And possibly also to spite my friend, who only wanted us to walk back again in a fruitless pursuit of a girl. I distinctly remember one end of the broadway seeming like an impossible distance to travel, with so many different shops offering so many different things to the explorer intrepid enough to venture it's whole length. You'd be lucky if you didn't get lost in such a huge jungle. No such dangers on Saturday, as it only took me a couple of minutes to walk the entire length of the Broadway.

It was diffifult to know whether my horizons had grown, or whether Bexleyheath's had shrunk, but the afternoon was an intensely depressing experience. I am glad that I have moved away and moved on, and this was a transitory experience, rather than a common way to fill a weekend.

footballers, divers, and the archer's bow

An interesting study has just been published by the University of Portsmouth, which researched the ability to determine when footballers dive, or when they are legitimately fouled.

They asked a group of people to watch a set of videos of football games, and say which tackles they thought were dives, and which were legitimate falls from tackles. By analysing the results, there was agreement from the participants on the result: a significant amount agreed on which were dives, which were real, and which ones they couldn't be sure of.

The boffins then analysed the dives, and came up with 4 points of similarity on them, but it's down to biomechanics: the histrionics of the diver are actually a give-away, because their body acts in completely the opposite way to how you would expect it to behave in natural circumstances.

The tackled player will put their arms back, often they will put them back behind their head, the legs will go up behind their bodies, their chest is stuck out and often their head will go back.

What is interesting about that particular behaviour is that you don't witness that in actual natural falls. If you are losing your balance you put your hands on either side to try to regain your balance.

Biomechanically people don't stick their hands above them in the air when they are falling over. This just doesn't happen

The researches called this an Archer's bow, because: "people are bowed back like in a bow and arrow." They then set up a 2nd study, where some footballers were told to dive, and some were told not to dive, but to only fall under a fair tackle: they then showed them to the group, which got them right:

What we found was there was a perfect correspondence between the instructions to the diving or the non-diving player and the perceiver. So taking those two studies together we could show there was consistency and also there was accuracy.

Borough market in danger from rail expansion

Borough market is apparently in danger of closing, as the much-mooted rail expansion plans eventually start. A new railway bridge will mean that a considerable chunk of market space will be lost forever.

The fear is that what will be left is a Borough Market-Lite: with all the good and interesting stalls which made it such a great stop off point, priced out of the place, to be replaced by organic lifestyle-branded companies.

I think that would be a great shame, although it's already happening to a certain extent - the first time that I went there, it was already set up as a "foodie" mecca, which had lots of little interesting stalls, replete with goodies that tempted the taste buds. The temptation is still there, but the little stalls seem to have been squeezed out to a certain degree. I think the main difference is that I caught it just as it had turned into this foodie mecca, so the stalls there were doing it as the end result of their labour: now a lot of the time it seems that their stall is the beginning of the process: trying to get a brand going, get noticed at Borough market, sell the concept to an investment company, get the brand into a supermarket.

It has also noticeably turned into a (posher) fast food court: near enough every stall is churning out a variation on meat and bread (or veggie burger and bread) or something similar. The original reason for going now seems almost incidental to buying a burger or sausage. Yes, the meat may be of a higher quality, but essentially it feels like a place to get a quick (but expensive) bite to eat, and possibly also buy some raw ingredients while you are there.

I will still go, and it will be interesting to see what happens, but the food on sale there can increasingly be sourced from elsewhere, and it is still very expensive: the food will always be for a rare treat, or a special supper, rather than somewhere I buy all my food from.