Blossom

If anyone told me six months ago that I would be tempted to dress the way that I did when I was 14 I would really have looked at them incredulously and reminded them that they could no way commission the comeback of smock dresses, velvet leggings, and plum lipstick.

I would have taken a moment to think of my skin-tight wet look pucci leggings that I thought were the height of cool and really must have made me look like a demonic cross between Mick Jagger and Alias the Jester.

But without any warning this phenomenon crept up on me and from summer into autumn-winter I’ve witnessed more and more ghosts of Christmas past circa 1992 appear in Topshop.

There are those slightly gothic crushed velvet and sheer lacey panels tops and dresses that really never worked for anyone and yet were somehow beyond dreamy and as a customer you were completely drawn to them as though unable to visualize their unsuitability vis a vis your body shape.

Until this phase passes I am abstaining from the high street. I cannot be considering fashion moves that I already flung myself into whole-heartedly in the golden age of no responsibility when boys mostly had long hair and no-one would’ve liked Kasabian.

Of course in 1992 you at least had the extra excuse that femme cool icons were rockin’ that look – the velvet/goth ensemble was favoured by Darlene in Roseanne and Six, Blossom’s best friend. Darlene wore a beautiful midnight blue dress to her prom with doc martens and this was a look that I continued to wear variations of for years. The doc martens were struck off by my twentieth birthday as they were, in my mind, very much the province of the teenage.  I am a little astounded that they could have made such a huge revival and that their wearers are not all still at school.

I am also unnerved by my wistful examinations of lacey shorts (almost culottes, but not as wide) and the momentary consideration of whether they are ‘too youth’ Duh! Of course they are. They were your favourite when you were revising for your GCSE’s. Get a grip. Get some sophistication. Get over the fact that you cannot try and wear a body con dress that you would have been ok in in a dark, dark nightclub 10 years ago and quietly insist that they should really not prolong this proto grunge affair past spring/summer 2010. Then it may be safe to go in a shop again.

Then we remember what comes next if the cycle continues full circle? That’s right, juggler street wear.

If we are in fact to be entering the summer of crust then you best beware. Floppy velour hats and Levellers t-shirts  to follow!

Fade Out

JD Salinger R.I.P.

Don’t ever tell anybody anything.

If you do, you start missing everybody.

Let’s hope that no-one starts trying to make the movie of The Catcher in the Rye and destroy another literary anti-hero through ‘filming the unfilmable’. Or at the very least, ruining it with some hideous miscasting.

Permanent Record

The advert for ‘hey kids, alcohol is bad ok’ in2010 is looking a little OTT.

The one’s last year ‘you wouldn’t start a night like this…’ were very effective

Clearly missing the point of wild night’s out, but they should probably not be the norm unless you want to end up like Grace Metalious

Mcworry

I had a Happy Meal TM recently with the sole intention of scoring a Fantastic Mr. Fox toy.

This filled my friend with abject horror, presumably in part because she is way too middle class to go into a Mcdonalds in case she gets infected.

I thought on this a little as I admired my Mrs Fox with moveable tail and easel and concluded that the only possible motivation anyone has for getting a Happy Meal, grown up or no, is for the toy.

Besides, if an adult has entered Mcdonalds unaccompanied by any children then it’s far safer that they order a miniature size portion of artery blocker than anything else right?

Noticing, as housebound…

white batch bread that has been kept in the fridge has a really strange sweet taste to it.

I was forced to have a slice of bread with somerather suspicious looking cheese to prevent a hypo-glycaemic episode.

The Builders weren’t here when they said. Then they came and left again without telling me. They’re back now but I can’t use the cooker or the microwave and have no snacks.

I cannot leave to get chipsticks or emergency merry madagasgars.

It’s probably a good thing.

Won’t be having that bread again though.

A Strokes for Luck

Julian, Julian, wherefore art thou? 

You must be so totally stoked that Is This It? has reached album of the decade! I believed in you – I knew that your music was rad and cool and moving and heartfelt, but you could dance to it – and boy oh boy did you all look cool…

Now this decision is almost bound to cause much harrumphing amongst bad-tempered (and ugly) muso’s, but at least no-one can seriously deny that they deserve to be on the list; they did undisputably represent a moment in time – a cultural shift away from the halcyon days of party house and the vast superclubs that transformed the fun and liberation of a sweaty underground basement club into a soulless bug-eyed commodity. The Modern Age EP broke that cycle. It diverted those of a more serious age away from a drug burn out and boredom. The vacant stare and baggy streetwear replaced by hairspray and  and inspired 12 year olds to pick up guitars, muss their hair and take an interest in their appearance; seek out rock albums in second-hand shops and only wear converse.

Is This It? is an album of simplicity and brilliance: its’ exuberant swagger, mumbled yet fascinating half-heard lyrics, and disco friendly refrains connected immediately with British youth who  just delighted to have a gang that they could believe in again with songs to swoon and sweat to.

Every song is an encapsulated story of finding people difficult or boring, or ending an affair that was never very promising to prevent any misinterpretation and yet it is just rock. It doesn’t matter.

They deserve the prize for the changes they instigated that made us a more interesting landscape visually and aurally.

Now all Grown-up in public,  sober, sensible, married, – it would be impossible to recreate that shambolic, dazed beauty – but that’s kind of the point. We have to move on, but remember what was there in 2001: the year The Strokes broke.

design of the decade

The forboding grey skies have relented and allowed some of the old autumnal glow through to lift the spirits.  The cold/wet/miserable spell  that began this weekend drew attention to the  fact that it is the time of year where reflections are made and lists are compiled for students to memorize and ask for Christmas and more embittered bloggers squabble over the finer points of who had the edge; who was the frosting, the glaze, the hundred & thousands and who who was just filler.

The trouble with the lists, especially when it comes to music, is that the most esteemed publications all imitate one another – usually a clean sweep for the contender for album of the year. This is despite their attempts at individuality and separatism for the rest of the year.

 2009 is the final year of the first decade of the 21st century. This should have some considerable significance, but the last few months of this year have not been as buzzy and fantastical as the last time this era change came around.

I suppose it was a much bigger deal last time because it was also a new millenium;  but 1999 had a weighty pre-emptive sense to it, not just because it was a major pre-occupation deciding on the song to finish 1999/welcome 2000.

I don’t fully understand people who don’t get such a thrill from making lists… There was a super-diss that said it’s self-obsessed and so 1990’s, but it’s fun!I’m going to begin mine now…

This Is It

Just as Julian is being analysed and insulted, maligned and marauded, the end of year polls come to face the judgement for ’album of the decade’

I am delighted that the winner of this accolade is ‘Is This It?’ which is one of my favourite albums of all time. The last time I was thrilled and excited by new music and I suppose life was when they came along at the start of 2001 and moved me. The Reading festival that year was hysterical fun and I was ambitious and unjaded. Although I had fled to Brighton with a broken heart, this was my real tonic that worked. They were my last romance with youth, before I became so weighed down by the cruelty of life and burdened with bad experiences that far outweighed good.

I felt like a teenager. I felt special and I felt lucky to experience seeing them and being around them in the earliest days. Every song on the record is great but the plaintive opening of the title track holds a special place in my heart.

Wild at Heart

Which Witch is which? has she got a green nose? Well – yes, I suppose.

Dancing round her cauldron…

The happiest highlight of Green Man this collaboration between Norman Blake and Euros Childs. Euros Childs has the best jokes and their songs are pretty great too.

Jonny are the greatest band of 2009.  And although I am no longer Norman Blake and his Teenage Fanclub but he is still enduring and endearing.

Snowbell’s Lament

The golden leaves that pile up in russet rainbows across the avenues and streets of North London look so beautiful in the autumnal half power sunlight. But there is a crueller undercurrent at work here. Beneath the glowing appearance the outer world is now ferociously cold. A winter slant of light (perhaps a certain one?) is inviting and there’s a refreshing satisfaction from a march around the parks and towpaths, but only if you have a coat! A snug and not too tight winter coat that is either classic or stylish – not too fashionable because the gathering and feathering and ruffles will date you horribly in just a few weeks and make you too self-conscious to take comfort in it’s warmth. I am coatless. This is a dilemma that I am loath to and ill-advised to rectify by pouncing on the first okay-ish, wearable but not desirable garment that I happen upon. I am currently fighting the chillzone in my scally puffy coat from 5 years ago – so not very cool and definitely not bon chic bon genre. It is cosy, but was meant for a younger model than myself (aka at least 5 years) when Rocket Dog boots were exciting and new.

Alas the horizons are not good for the acquisition of something to replace the puffer. They are actually barren. The rails are bulging with tailored mustard-yellow monstrosities or over-priced primary-school standard issue parkers.  If I was desperate I could plump for the strange shaped strange-hued  tartan overcoat remaindered last winter - aka the Danielle from Eastenders coat. I find myself inexplicably amused whenever I see this coat on someone else – like they’re in fancy dress or were forced to buy it as a joke. No-one ever looks good it it and I expect that suburban charity shops are laden with them this year.

My quest goes on.