Sailing on the Seven Streets

Caution: does not contain ranting

It’s all gone horribly wrong.

I started this blog almost exactly a year ago today. A hundred entries later and I could see the way things were heading. And it wasn’t pretty. I started off, dewy of cheek and pert of ambition – a little review here, a wise askance architectural critique there (who am I kidding?). But soon, the furies set in. Every third day, like some particularly bloodthirsty character in an Icelandic saga, I’d have to spear a little (atomic) kitten or race across the lava flow, astride my trusty steed, to impale a Wag Troll.

Yes. I’d turned into one of those bloggers. And, frankly, I felt dirty. Continue reading

A Momentary Lapse of Reason

Calm down dear, it's only a model

Just before he became the foursquare mayor of the Second World War (let’s face it, he’s revisited it that often), Stephen Spielberg admitted: ‘Jaws couldn’t be made now. The audience wouldn’t wait that long to see the shark.”

He’s right.

Within ten minutes, focus groups would be demanding a CGI Great White (probably in 3D) skullpunching the teeth out of a hapless cheerleader on waterskis.

Goodbye narrative arc and charater-driven ennui, and hello gratuitous shark porn. Continue reading

The C Word

...if my calculations are correct...

People who (unlike me) have made it past the “Big Bang” chapter of A Brief History of Time tell me that, way into the future, we’re heading for a Big Crunch

I’ve got news for them. It’s already happening.

I’m not talking about the moment the Universe will contract in on itself, like some cosmic Rosemary Conley hip and thigh diet.

No. I’m talking of a sinister foreshadowing down here on Earth. Like that moment in a Keanu Reeves disaster movie when he notices a little blip on a seismic read-out and his friends in Government tell him that, if he wants to avoid snarl-ups on the turnpike and panic buying of Wonderbread, he should shut the flip up.
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Don’t Take Away The Music

...or perhaps none of the above

The BBC is not short of money.

I knew a producer for one of its national radio stations, a high ranking chap. Every year, would take his latest girlfriend to the Monaco Grand Prix. They’d stay the weekend, in a lovely hotel overlooking the course, all on expenses. No one questioned it. If they did, she was a production assistant. And no-one really knew how many of them there were, so it was an easy, er, blag.

These days, they’re not quite as subtle.

They’re currently hawking A Question of Sport around the enormodomes of the UK, to rake in more cash for a project that we paid for. Do we get a cut from their profits for all this real-world commercialism they dabble in at our expense?

Imagine if, say, politicians made hay with the public purse. Imagine what Jeremy Vine’s listeners would have to say about that? Oh, we already know…

So it strikes me as odd that the BBC have gotten away with not having to release the salaries it pays its ‘talent’ (you know, Chris Moyles, Chris Evans and, er, Anne Robinson).

Commercially sensitive, they say.

Dear Auntie Beeb, I’ll tell you what’s commercially sensitive. When you make forays into an already beleaguered publishing world, buy Lonely Planet guides, and release magazines in direct competition with ‘traditional’ publishers (including, oh yes, Lonely Planet Magazine) and Focus (now just an excuse to publicize any vaguely science-related BBC programme within its lackluster pages). That’s commercially sensitive. But they seem to turn a blind eye to that.

Of course, no one minds a company hell bent on making money.

It’s how they spend it that counts.

And when it makes decisions like today’s (to axe 6music and Asian Network) you have to wonder – has it lost sight of its remit?

When ITV made a move to reduce its news output, the BBC were up in arms. No no no, it said – that’s sooo not fair. Why should we be saddled with the boring news?

I’d argue that the BBC has the same duties when it comes to the provision of music, too. Music for everyone.

With Radio 1′s unseemly fall from grace into its present sub-Nuts/Zoo Radio station, and Radio 2 marrying U2 in a civil ceremony on the roof of Broadcasting House last year, 6Music was the only station to promote new bands, play decent alternative rock and pop, and transmit the thousands of hours’ worth of live recording gems they’ve amassed from their Maida Vale studios.

Other radio stations would die for the chance of airing this stuff.

But, hell-bent on pushing DAB (and, of course, the wrong kind of DAB with appalling audio quality and a shit bit rate. Still, that’s what you get when you employ a marketeer (Simon Nelson) to run the stations, rather than someone who knows anything about technical stuff. Like audio quality) they restricted 6music to the few thousand of us tuning in online or on our Pure Evokes.

Now, answer me this. Is that the best way to launch a new music station that has the potential to reach every music fan in the country between the age of 25-45? not currently served by the playlist-centric 1 and 2.

6Music was a public affirmation that, despite all the Simply Come Dancing, Andrew Lloyd Weber Musical Promoting, R’n'B mulch-deifying aural arse it pumped out, the BBC still understood  - and supported – exciting new music.

Now we’re left with Moyles.

Still, at least it’s getting its house in order. It’s currently £100 million pounds over budget for its new Broadcasting House extension in London, and is creating Salford’s gleaming Media City.

Oh yeah, that.

Here, rising from the quays, will be the new home of  Tony Livesey’s new 5Live show.

Yeah, that’s worth every penny.

Cloud? Nein

Broadband connection lost

Before you reach the oldest village in Europe – at Skara Brae, in Orkney – you have to travel back in time. From the visitor centre, out across the tussocky grass, there’s a waymarked route, punctuated with milestones, taking you on a history lesson back to the beginnings of society. I imagine it’s to help build suspense across what is, actually, quite a bleak, wind-scorched promontery.

“1969, Man Lands on the Moon” declares the first painted boulder. Further along, “1492, Columbus reaches America”. You get the idea. Continue reading

The Winter of Our Paid Content?

Guardian Online. All killer, no filler?

What if your local newspaper was an app store? I’d buy into that. Or, rather, I’d buy into the bits I wanted to, leaving the photo features of the ‘hottest parties in town’, the PR mulch and the cynical campaigns. Oh, and the news. Why would I when the BBC is free?

But I would buy into the wordsmithery, the columnists I love to read, the in-depth features, the sports info and the interviews with people who I knew had something interesting to say. Continue reading

Of Magic and Medicine

a spoonful of sugar

I’m not a scientist. But I’m fairly certain that water doesn’t have a memory. At least, no more than a first generation iMac. I’ve been acquainted with water all my life and it still forgets to send me a birthday card. So it’s odd, isn’t it, that Homeopathy took this premise as its starting point and has been running (rather successfully) with it ever since.

If water did have a memory, imagine the stories it could tell. Imagine the techniques it would have developed to stop us having a little wee in municipal swimming baths. Seventy percent of the Earth – all water. All that memory. Water should be cleverer than Steven Fry. It should follow Yvette Fielding around derelict Roman Baths saying ‘I sense there was great lewdness here between off-duty Centurions.’ Continue reading

Flirting with the Evil Empire

Baltimore Tourist Authority's favourite show?

Baltimore Tourist Authority's favourite show?

I find myself with a moral dilemma. But let’s come back to that later. First, a bit of context.

No-one, seriously, can deny that the last ten years was the decade that television finally came good on its promise. It grew up. Sure, it had some middle-youth issues with I’m a Celebrity, Ready Steady Cook Me while I’m Dancing-type shit. But, then, I’ve had some middle-youth issues this decade with a period spent wearing short sleeved t-shirts over long sleeved ones. Good God. So we’ll draw a hoodie over all that nasty business.

No. This decade, if you wanted to watch gripping, intelligent, long-form drama – it was, increasingly, the TV you’d turn to, rather than the multiplex. Continue reading

This Blog Post Can’t Change Your Life

and you can make my career

I’ll tell you where it all went wrong. When Paul McKenna lost his job at Radio One and started to believe he was the Dalai Lama of Enfield.

When a nation starts thinking that God is a (failed) DJ you know that, before long, our Highways Agency is going to forget that it gets icy in winter, that we’ll all shuffle off to Shanghai’s World Expo to congratulate China on killing duped bipolar drugs mules, and that Waterstones will devote a greater surface area of shelving to Self Help than to Science.

And it came to pass…
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Urban Planning Committee

Get Rich, or Die on QVC

If this week’s Charts tell anything, it’s that 2009 was the year that Urban music, from hip-hop to grime,  Rascal to Stryder became all-conquering in the UK.

For all the hoo-hah about the Cowellisation of the music business, the man has remarkably little influence in the bigger picture. Sure, he shifts advertising slots on ITV, but his acts have about the same influence on the business of music as Eurovision or the NME.

The only way an X Factor winner can be a contender these days is if they, like Leona,  follow the rules of engagement.

Ladies – sing R’nB lite and rub up against a radiator. Gents, let’s have some naked machismo and locker-room posturing. Oh and that video? Can you storyboard flights on private jets, a crate of Cristal, a VIP nightclub enclosure, some gang signs and sexual irresponsibility with semi-clad lovelies.

Because that’s the stereotype we’re comfortable with, isn’t it? – black lawlessness, hedonism and shallow self-aggrandizement. Pimps, playaz and prima donnas.
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