Sinister: Sand In Easter

[P F]

Someone, somewhere, in springtime has got the foggy
notion into their head that 'soda' is not known as
'pop'. What piffle. In my country we have known 'fizzy
drinks' as 'pop' for year upon year, for time out of
mind. (That time wasn't bad; at least, not entirely,
or not necessarily.)

My editor, who looks always ahead, will approve when
he learns that I have finally broken my duck, cast
aside my musical backwardness, and moved on into the
glittery pop future. Yes, I'm getting into The Carter
Family. Could the Carters' song 'Single Girl, Married
Girl' have been an inspiration for Lush's 'Single
Girl'?

Was there any inspiration for Lush's 'Single Girl'?

Le Winship talked about Victoria. I know what he
means. I think I do.

The geezer Miller remarked that there had been a
debate on Costello, and why he is bad. I read this
list more closely than you think, and I don't remember
such a debate. Did PJM perhaps have it on his own,
with only his pals Pedro and Gonzalez for company and
meek contradiction?

Anyway, EC is not bad. From where I'm standing (but
I'm not) he is probably still the world's greatest
songwriter; the greatest to emerge in the last 30
years, anyway. This reminds me of the tangles that one
can get into when thinking about things like 'the best
songwriter in pop', etc. Should such battles royales
include Bacharach, McCartney, Wilson, Harrison,
Jagger, Townshend, King? Where is the cut-off point
that separates Great People Who Belong To The Hall Of
Fame and People Who Are Still In The Running For
Thoughts Like Best Songwriter In The World Today? See,
I would still put EC in the latter category, though
he's starting to push it. B&S fans will be glad to
hear that I think he is, or was, or has been, vastly
more talented than the talented geezer Murdoch, who
probably agrees with me.

This may all sound like rambling nonsense without
point. But Painted From Memory doesn't. Give it
another try.

The geezer Miller punctured the silliness of the J&D
title with his references to the Coulthard and King.
For some reason I really enjoyed them. The references,
I mean, not so much the geezers themselves. It was
vintage Miller. I have sometimes thought that someone
should take 2,000 words or so to explain what is good
and funny about the geezer Miller: because there is
something there in his sentences that none of us have
ever troubled fully to pin down. And if we don't, who
will?

Oh, of course - the big readership that his Daisywheel
publication will get him.

David Thomson, who is almost as brilliant as Elvis
Costello, and even older, says that there's a
difficult realization that one must come to about Cary
Grant: namely, that besides everything else, he was
the finest and most important actor in the history of
the cinema. Is that true? I like him in The
Philadelphia Story, where he seems to me to have a
sort of clown's or chorus's role. Alcoholism has
something to do with it: Brick in Cat On A Hot Tin
Roof has a similar detached quality, as I remember.
Jeez, I hope he's actually called Brick.

It's the drink, see. Decimates the memory. Clive
Tyldesley doesn't drink. You can tell, cos of the way
he talks about one memorable night 700 days ago so
ceaselessly, after promising not to talk about it. Big
Ron tonight: 'Giggs has got it out of his street and
roared with it'. But did Ron really say that, or did
we fabricate it from his half-heard mumblings? Maybe
Ron is actually a sort of sonic canvas which enables
his auditors to be more linguistically colourful than
they'd otherwise be.

E99 said that Cazza was beautiful. I don't know about
that, but he did once buy me a cocktail, and I have
never forgotten. It's the drink, see. Helps the
memory.

People talked about Iron Maiden. Nick Dastoor will be
irritated to hear that I find Iron Maiden revolting
and worthless.

Lia and Lee, or rather one of them, said that London
was really great, and that they wanted to hear more
about it, etc. I say: just tell us more about Texas.
I'm sure it's a darned sight more interesting.

Thomson - I had forgotten - also tells me that Grace
Kelly only made six pictures. Can that be right? And
how many were great? No, it can't be right. Someone
check. I expect Lloyd Cole knows, or failing him (but
I never fail him), Joan Didion.

An interview early in chickfactor#10 ended with the
mysterious words 'the Hamptons'. I have never known
what these meant, but have never got round to the
simple expedient of asking. And now I don't need to.
Channel 4 are showing a documentary called Manhattan
On The Beach which is about - the Hamptons. The
Hamptons are a bunch of beaches and houses, or
something.

Hang on, I've forgotten. I think I might need to watch
that programme again. It featured a somewhat unsavoury
entrepreneur from Weybridge, who still seemed to
belong in Weybridge even when he was in the Hamptons.
I mean no slur on Weybridge in saying that. Possibly
great poets have come from Weybridge.

I think it was Sam Walton - but if it was someone
else, apologies - who used sinister to announce his
romantic progress with the gal Agnes. I have decided
to follow suit and use sinister to announce that I may
have written my last song. That was two days before
All Tomorrow's Parties, so it's not really news. It's
the end of soda, though, if not the death of pop.

Mooro - I almost forgot - is one of the few people who
can quote the Foxgloves and still leave the Foxgloves
wondering for a while what he's on about. But we get
there in the end. As usual, Big M, you were right. He
does look good, doesn't he? I mean, she.


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