Always Get A Signature

"Now listen to me, Hobart. We are going to inject you with a dangerously high dose of methyl amphetamine, but first we'd like you to sign a waiver exonerating us of all responsibility, just in case you decide to do something stupid - like jump out of a third floor window."

From "Night Of The Demon" (1957.)

Northern Sky

Clouds over Chesterfield through the car window (green tint applied).

Eat, Kill, Destroy, Eat, Kill, Destroy

THE WASTE LAND [REVISITED]

THE WASTE LAND, REVISITED

FEBRUARY IS THE SHORTEST MONTH
February is the shortest month,
Stretching to barely four weeks
That is, twenty eight days
Most years (three in four)
Show me the shadow of the proposer, who
Rises to stalk you, on
The 29th of Feb., and
I shall show you a face full of fear.

Ta ra ra boom de eh
Ta ra ra boom de eh
Read some poetry today
My mind flew away
Ta ra ra boom de eh
Ta ra ra boom de eh
Etcetera ad infinitum.

I, Morrissey, I who have forsaken all
Enacted upon this same patio or decking
You see on all the makeover shews
"Oh push me, Stephen
Push me pull you
Shove me in the rose bed
And let's call it quits"

No Mike, no. I wrote them ditties
Composèd upon my ruffian antiqued rug
Wry, poignant, biting words
But perhaps – perhaps - just everso archly smug
While you – you! - just thumped along
Dum dum dum dish dum dum dum dish
Dum dum dum dish dum dum dum dish.
See, it wasn't that hard, was it

The judge was a fool
I wrote a song castigating him to hang upon mine own petard,
But I lost it
I lost it
I lost it down the back of
The sofa.
('Of course sir, no animals were harmed during the construction of this'.)
On the advice of my brief – he warned of slander
'Oh just shut and take my money then.'

'Anyway, I said, they don't want to
Sell smut like that in here, not
When there are schoolchildren and grandmothers
Buying jamboree bags and ten Capstan Double Strength
And Panini stickers for their albums, supercars, footballers and the like
I mean it stands to reason don't it'
DO YOU WANT ANYTHING ELSE DEAR?
'Take my Brian for example, he don't want
For nothing in that department
If you know what I mean
Nutu nutu risum risum
Every Saturday it is, regular as clockwork
Always after Match Of The Day never before,
(Thank god for the Bristol Cream I say, Lord knows I need it to get in the mood)
Just as Father O'Brien advocates
You know Father O'Brien
Him what's always got that young cousin staying
You know the one, 'Angel Eyes' the one with the boyish smile
He could almost be a girl
Anyway where was I oh yes should we run out of matches or milk or a visitor call unannounced
(Present company excepted of course
And do pop round for a slice of fruit cake tomorrow, I ground fresh nutmeg special)
Well then I have no choice, do I
"Bry", I say, "Bry love, do be a dear and pop down to the cornershop,'
DO YOU WANT ANYTHING ELSE LOVE?
'It seems we are wanting a drop o' milk."
"Rightyo," he pipes all cheery like,
Paper quickly tossed in the fire familiar slippers briskly closeted,
Skip in his step to the coat stand in the hall because it means
A swift half 'n half at the Jack 'O Knaves
Where it's all
"Who's running at the weekend Desert Orchid you say hmm might be worth a punt"
And:
"How's the missus good good I'm pleased to hear that how's mine you ask well mustn't grumble there's a war on after all ha ha"
(Slaps leg, titters 'n chortles, oh yes there's nothing I don't see)
"Anyway I'd best be off no doubt I'll be seeing you (drum roll) on the other side!"
(Slaps leg again, titters et cackles, exeunt.
"That Brian, he's a card, make no mistake"
"Cunt more like. He still hasn't divvied out them winnings from Spot The Ball even if it were 'is cross what won it.")
But when he comes back I just know
            I just know
He's been looking at that top shelf
You know the smut shelf
Where glossy young tarts laugh at your wrinkled yellow marigold life
Stealing husbands' eyes from childfat wives
It's in his eyes, you see, it's in his eyes, that mordant smoulder'
DO YOU WANT ANYTHING ELSE LOVE?
'That unslaked thirst for distant waters
No, I tell him firmly, no
It's fried liver on Wednesday and leftover treacle tart
I'm not dressing up and pretending
To be a wicked nun for you Mr Brian Smallbridge.
And if you don't like it you should have
Married Anne with the blue silk blouse.'
DO YOU WANT ANYTHING ELSE LOVE?
'No thanks Amjay is it all right if I settle up with you Friday
As usual, coo thanks you are a dear
Ta ra love if I don't see you tomorrow for fruit cake I'll see you at the bingo.'

THE WITHERED STALK
Dry caked field iced with mud
Burning sun Latin quotes by Pliny
Homer, Socrates and that other one.
How the stalk craves the light
Is how I crave fallen sight
Blinded, withered, parched, quite
How I run with this dead veg thing
Perplexes me.
I am not a farmer.

This morning I saw you walking backwards in my dream
It was funny watching you walking backwards in my dream
It seemed -
It seemed -
As though I might
                               have been
Mistaken.

A GAME OF SPACE INVADERS
Always always always I said
Always you beat me
Always you hit that flying saucer that blips blips blips along the top
While I
I always miss
Standing beside that electric confession box
Egyptian blue, Prussian, cobalt
(You may have heard of those
But Caeruleus does it for me)
Twisting wrenching zapping alien code
Quickly dashed down coke and puff of a Dunhill
Then back to the purple slaughter, back
Your face reflected lividly upon the shimmering glass
Levantine opal glimmer, ivory missile flash,
Brut, Denim, Old Spice, cheap fag smoke
Bus stop diesel fuming through the draughty door
Chink and tinkle of silver and slotted gold
Is this my youth?
Is this my future?
Your quest for extra lives
'Do you want a go?'
What me
No
I never win
What's the point of taking part when you never win

COPYRIGHT
C.R.Barker 2016

Musical Poetry

I have been reliably informed that my poem "In Every Parting, The Shadow Of Death" will appear later in the year on a new album by the splendid Klanggalerie music label together with an original ambient soundtrack provided by the darkwave / industrial band Attrition. Lines from the poem will also appear in the novel version of 'The Melancholy Haunting Of Nicholas Parkes' I am working on (the book that has thusfar taken two years to almost complete). 

My poem is just one of many that will feature on the album. Producing guru Walter Robotka has put together a typically eclectic mix of writers and musicians, all contemporary in nature.

https://attritionuk.bandcamp.com/

On The Death Of Lemmy

On The Death Of Lemmy

'Lemme your ears' would have been a nobler source for your nickname,

Referencing the Bard rather than something fiscally sa(r)d,

Which I am given to understand that it does.

Anyway, they say that you bedded over 2,000 groupies,

Perhaps omitting the word 'unsatisfied',

Given your predilection for Jack Daniels.

Also that you did not suffer fools gladly,

Unless, presumably, they were groupies

Or drug dealers.

'The Ace Of Spades' is to Black Sabbath as 'Paranoid' is to Motorhead,

Eg basically the same,

But slightly different.

You wrote others but to be honest I could never get passed that one.

I opted for Johnny Cash and Alice Cooper instead.  

"You win some, you lose some" was a wry lyric given your famous predilection for slot machines,

Only, I wonder whether your unsatisfying pumping of the slots was in some pathetic way a metaphor for your approach to relationships. 

Famously, you also had warts, cowboy boots and diggers,

Presumably the second, steel toe-capped, for kicking the liggers,

For your toleration of 'suits' was notoriously short,

Unless, of course, they had something to snort. 

Or some Nazi memorabilia. 

Lemmy, or rather Ian Fraser Kilmister, as your family briefly knew you,

You leave behind a somewhat sexist legacy of hedonistic excess,

10,000 empty whisky bottles, how few were ever recycled?

To say nothing of a battered liver ill-fit for transplantation.

But for me the one tangible gift you have given the world is 'Silver Machine',

Which I have always had a soft spot for,

In spite of your gravelly sleaze and your vaguely threatening fairground-worker manners.


COPYRIGHT C.R.Barker 2015

Autumnal Chills

For those jaded folk who have grown weary of the less-than-subtle thrills in most contemporary horror films, you can listen to 31 great 'Old Time Radio' ghost stories at the Nitrate Diva blog instead.

American Vampyre

* Since posting the following I have realised that an earlier American edition of Polidori's 'The Vampyre' does indeed appear to exist. However, there are no copies listed on the US Library Of Congress Online Catalog. *  

Book collecting is one of my hobbies. I blame a bookshop in my childhood home town of Brackley. It was they who enlightened me to the true and certain knowledge that the only thing better than reading a book was reading a book in its best possible state. In some cases that means a first edition, no matter how poorly it was produced; in others, that means seeking out a handsome new edition, with attractive illustrations, or else a handsome new binding, perhaps with an informative new introduction.

I am always on the look-out for books. Every shopping trip, every holiday, every dull fag end of a Saturday afternoon, it doesn't matter where or when, I simply cannot help but fill any empty available timeslot with a quick visit to the nearest bookshop, antiques emporium, charity shop or village fete. As a consequence I have bought many dismal books of supreme worthlessness but happily the odd random discovery ensures that this hobby funds itself, thus supporting my belief that money spent on a good book is never [or perhaps better to say 'rarely'] wasted.

This is my most recent discovery. Given the current interest in all things 'gothic' [an interest, incidentally, that I have long sincerely nurtured] I thought it might interest others. It is I believe an unrecorded rarity, and possibly represents the true first American edition.

'D. Polidori' [Dr. John William Polidori]: THE VAMPYRE
Cameron & Ferguson, London & Glasgow [n.d. circa 1890].
Small octavo pictorial paperwraps, string bound. Stamped 'Price Four Ce(nts)' to lower front cover. Collects 'The Vampyre' [1-20pp] and 'The Dean Of Badajoz' [20-24pp]. Slight discolouration & wear to pale yellow covers, fragile covers partially separated from each other along lower spine edge, affecting perhaps one third of the spine. Rare cover details other titles offered by publisher. A good to very good copy.

The Scottish publishers Cameron & Ferguson were formed in 1871. Prior to this, George Cameron had been publishing since 1855 on his own, mostly musical titles. According to the available listings at COPAC, their first joint titles were listed as being published in Glasgow, the later titles London & Glasgow. It is likely that subsequent to the inauguration of their partnership that they decided to broaden their scope, which resulted in several different product ranges i.e. 'Threepenny Novels', 'Boys Famous Tales', etc.  The majority of these titles were rousing adventure stories although there are also several fairy-tales and gothic novels.

The titles listed on the rear cover [which, incidentally, do not mention 'The Vampyre'] refer to an 'American Fourpenny Library' but all of the books in this series are priced in British pence, indicating that they were American-themed stories marketed at a British audience, for example, 'The Yankee Scout', 'Rube The Hunter, or The Captive Of The Crow Village'. None of these titles are listed in American cents. The Cameron & Ferguson edition of 'The Vampyre' also features original artwork which clearly depicts a man in a Stetson-style cowboy hat, indicating that it was targeted specifically at the American market. This artwork is uncredited although the initials 'B.T.' appear in the lower left corner of the front cover illustration. On the basis of this evidence, my surmise is that the Cameron & Ferguson edition of 'The Vampyre' was produced for sale only in the USA, and as such, may be the first American edition.

No copies of this edition are listed with any national library in the UK or USA [refer COPAC, Library Of Congress, Yale etc]. Nor is the edition referenced in any reference book at my disposal. Cameron & Ferguson's 'The Vampyre' appears to be an unknown, unrecorded edition, and as such may be the true first American edition, given that earlier recorded editions of the book were published only in London and Paris [refer the first edition, published by Sherwood, Neely & Jones, in London, 1819; the so-called 'second edition', same publisher, but claimed to have been published in Paris, 1830; and also the John Dicks 'Popular Edtion', published in London, 1884, in double-columned magazine format, with a misleading illustration of Lord Byron].

Extremely rare, to the point of 'unheard of'.

PUSH THE VIEWER AWAY: NICK CAVE'S FILM ODDITY

Finally, after months of being teased like a fish on a line by marketing spiel and drip-fed reviews, I managed to see the Nick Cave film "20,000 Days On Earth" in a British cinema, having failed miserably to secure tickets for the premiere in London, which had allegedly sold out in advance to the BFI's own members. In fact I was very nearly in the film. My partner and I managed to secure tickets for the Koko gig featured in it but only after registering under a false name as a 25 year old woman (the applications in our own names with our real ages were unsuccessful). However, last-minute childcare commitments prevented our attendance, so we passed them on to a very grateful third party (at the same price, mind).

This odd allocation for the Koko gig seems to mirror Cave's preference for 'connecting' with attractive young girls in his audience, a process whereby he selects and then invites one of the lucky nubiles to place their hand upon his bared chest. This whole scenario reminds me of the Hollywood cliche whereby leading men are allowed to age in the context of romantic or sexual interaction, whereas their female consorts are expected to be young and fresh-faced. Well, it reminds me of that scenario, and also of Peter Stringfellow's dress sense, by virtue of the open-necked shirt and glittering jewellery. Cave seems to be struggling a little with his visual image these days.

My expectations for "20,000 Days On Earth" were high. The reviews seem to have been very positive, and we had been impressed by the opening gig of the "Push The Sky Away" tour which we caught at Brighton. It was a fine performance. Cave is a spirited and agile performer and he has the keen sense to work with some highly talented professionals including Jim Sclavunos, Warren Ellis and Thomas Wydler. Ellis's diabolic wizardry with an electric violin was particularly striking. If he ever played at funerals then I feel sure he could raise the dead. My partner is convinced that Cave rewarded our manic, back row upper circle dance moves with a nod and a wave as he left the stage but personally I'm not so sure. He may have simply been returning my mischievous requests for "Spinning Around" with a subtle two-finger salute.

Nick Cave typing a complaint to his tailor

Besides this live excellence there is Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds' outstanding back catalogue. One of the first LPs I ever bought was "From Her To Eternity", and I still know most of the lyrics by heart. Barely a day goes by when I don't listen to a burst from "Murder Ballads" or "Abattoir Blues". The songs 'The Curse Of Millhaven' and 'Nature Boy' make for near perfect driving music.

"20,000 Days On Earth" was only shown for two days and on a small screen at our local 'arthouse' cinema. It therefore played - somewhat predictably - to a packed house. After enduring thirty minutes of loud and tedious adverts, the film finally began, starting approximately ten months after I had, via Facebook, first expressed an interest in seeing it. The circumlocutory route it seemed to have taken before hitting UK screens had contributed quite considerably towards heightening my expectations. Anyway, all griping aside, it started promisingly enough, with a spinning digital clock counting upwards from 0 to 20,000 as the viewer was treated to a barrage of collage, images culled from Cave's life, starting from birth, racing ever onwards through youth towards middle age. But then it cut away to Cave waking in his bed, next to his silent and otherwise absent wife Susie Bick, and as it did so, a sombre and rather depressing gloom descended upon the film, setting the tone for almost everything that followed.

I'm not going to dissect the minutae of the film scene by scene because people can watch it for themselves and form their own judgements. It would also take too much time and I would rather spend it more creatively elsewhere. However, I thought the film failed for several reasons, as follows.

The absence of many key figures was striking. Cave's wife and children were featured but did not contribute anything of their own. His mother was often referenced but was never seen. Mick Harvey was notably absent. Apart from Warren Ellis, the other band members were not invited to contribute anything. No fans were interviewed. The camera never once turned to film the production, and thus reference those behind the lens. In terms of the music world, there was a notable absence of third party heavyweights, fellow performers or music journalists, who could either contribute valuable insights into Cave's work, or else entertain with amusing anecdotes. We weren't even properly introduced to the all-but anonymous archivists who apparently maintain Nick Cave archive.

The aim of the film wasn't entirely clear. I didn't know whether it was meant to be a promotional feature to support the "Push The Sky Away" album or a biographical reflection upon Nick Cave's life. The frequent references to Brighton suggested the former but the vaguely philosophical musings about life, the universe and everything hinted at the latter.

The gloomy narrational introspection was punctuated by a series of odd segments in which Cave was either interviewed by a psychiatrist, or else drove around in a black Jaguar talking with Ray Winstone, Blixa Bargeld and Kylie Minogue. All of these interviews seemed staged and clipped. None of them flowed, none were revealing. The only exchanges which came close to flowing with anything approaching fluidity were those involving Warren Ellis. Ellis comes across as an amusing and pleasant raconteur.

The live footage shot at the Koko gig was disappointing. The snippet from 'Stagger Lee' completely failed to communicate the dark and edgy bass-line brilliance of the song. There were no excerpts from old videos. The penultimate scene shot at the Sydney Opera House, in which the song 'Jubilee Street' built up to a slow and powerful crescendo, was so drawn out and drip-fed that I felt like standing up to shout "Bloody well hurry up and transform then!"  

Two things struck me about the production of this film, both linked to statements that Nick Cave made himself. Early on in the film he revealed that the key to (his) writing was 'counterpoint'. He said that the juxtaposition between two disparate things could create something original and exciting. (He didn't use those exact words but it's close enough.) He illustrated this by talking about a scenario in which he would put two things (a child and a bear, I think) into a room just to see what happened, and if that didn't produce something of interest, he would introduce a clown. If that didn't stimulate something then no problem, you could just shoot the clown. It was a funny and clever example, vaguely echoing Brian Eno's 'Oblique Strategies' method of creativity. However, it was clearly not a process favoured when making "20,000 Days On Earth". The film has no counterpoints. It has but one perspective and one agenda, that of the man calling the shots.

The second thing that struck me was this. When talking with Blixa Bargeld, Cave asked his former collaborator whether he thought that some of their earlier work had gone on for too long, and whether it might have benefited from firmer editing. Bargeld agreed, saying that a judicious edit could completely alter a piece of music. Cave added that now he was solely responsible for such matters, he had adopted 'brutal' or 'ruthless' editing techniques (I forget which of the two words he used). I think this is significant. It helps explains why "20,000 Days On Earth" is such a bleak and single-minded production. It hasn't been so much edited as exsanguinated.

The legendary filmmaker D.A. Pennebaker created some memorable films about musicians such as Bob Dylan, Little Richard and David Bowie. What I like about his production style is the free-flowing shooting style which dispenses with authorial narration in favour of fly-on-the-wall observation. In contrast, "20,000 Days On Earth" strikes me as a cheerless alternative in which rather than give free reign to third parties, Cave's editorial presence haunts the film, like the Phantom Of The Opera standing in the wings. Clearly he feels uncomfortable in front of a camera and cannot act to save his life (the notable exception being when he is performing, at which times he seems to come alive). Indeed, Bela Lugosi as a sleeping vampire is perhaps more animated, and arguably more endearing. Furthermore, Cave's bleak midlife-crisis of a monologue hangs over the film like a mist of lead. As the end sequence played out, depicting Cave standing alone on a dark Brighton beach, transforming into what I have yet to discover, I felt like loading my pockets with stones and jumping into the sea, such was the sense of doom and melancholy imparted.

"20,000 Days On Earth" is a bleak, introspective and pretty unilluminating film. It avoids the key issue I thought would be uppermost in Cave's mind, which is that of loss. Indeed, I think it probably is uppermost in his mind, but unfortunately his inability to address the issue head on is disappointing. Instead he flits about the subject touching upon peripheral issues. Cave begins the film by calling himself a cannibal but he stubbornly refuses to take a bite from his own body, and instead feeds upon those around him. Yet like any sensitive person faced with old age, and surely one who has lived in the public spotlight for so long, Cave is probably acutely pained by the loss of his own youth - and by the loss of his looks, the loss of friends, to say nothing of a dwindling excitement in all that life has to offer - but instead of using this platform as a starting point, he talks about the singular fear of losing his memory, a fear that is illustrated by his frequent trips to the 'Nick Cave Archive', and in references to childhood escapades and conversations with his father. This is too selective and too prescriptive. It shines an obfusc light on just one part of the issue.

This is why he needed to cede control over production to an objective third party. It would have drawn this out and centralised it as the theme. This lack of focus is, when taken in the context of his singular reference to a fear of memory loss, rather troubling, as are the constant allusions to his 'transformation' into something unstated and ambiguous. All in all, I thought the purpose and aim of the film to be confusing and befuddling. I am surprised that few critics have picked up on this.

I remain a Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds fan. However, as Cave has pointed out himself, it never pays to meet your heroes, for they always fail to meet expectations.

Robert Aickman Speaks

For those who ever wondered what Robert Aickman's voice sounded like I have uploaded an extract of his voice, in which he reads aloud his story 'Larger Than Oneself'. It is just one of six stories that the author put on tape.

I tried [unsuccessfully] to persuade those who manage Aickman's copyright to release the readings on CD but to no avail. The reasons for this seemed to be as murky as anything the author might have wished and appear to have involved misappropriation [not, I hasten to add, by the literary agent].

Around the same time I also learned that after the author's death, several unpublished drafts of new stories had mysteriously vanished from his office, and were [allegedly] subsequently passed off as the work of another author who was known to Aickman, without the knowledge of the literary agent.

The matter of the 'missing ninth collection' remains shrouded in mystery, as does that of the audio recordings that no one is allowed to hear.