I found an old CD the other day. It had fallen under the passenger seat of the car.
The front cover was missing. It was like one of those Now That’s What I call Music compilations, except with decent Indie music on it.
I played it and it took me right back to the 90s.
It got me thinking about how we mourn stars.
I’ve seen quite a few posts from cynics criticising people who eulogise about our recently departed idols because we never ‘knew’ them.
And they’re right.
I absolutely loved Bowie and Prince but I didn’t know them. It’s not a traditional kind of grieving that one would do for a loved one, though. It’s a grieving for all those times when your favourite singer was there for you. Through the good and the bad.
They punctuate the important times in our lives. When we were happiest, when we were broken-hearted.
Some folks might think this is a bit of a cheat. I started with my kids and I’m going to finish with them. In my defence, I have two of the little rascals so I’m counting it as one post apiece.
There is nothing more precious to me on this Earth than my two daughters. Anyone who has children will know that something changes inside of you – chemically, biologically – and nothing else seems to matter.
Of course, this doesn’t apply to every parent, and true, the pesky varmints do get on your nerves a lot of the time. And yes, they bicker constantly. And they manage to talk in a stream of consciousness James Joyce would be proud of. But, when all’s said and done, they don’t outweigh all the adorable moments. I simply couldn’t live without them.
It’s been an epic year of blogging. Thank you for sticking by me and I wish you all a very happy, healthy and prosperous new year!
Right, I’m going for a lie down.
Here are my 365 things that I am grateful for:
1 My daughters
2 Water
3 Poetry
4 Baths
5-7 Notebooks, pens, pencils
8,9 Butterflies and moths
10, 11 Softball and baseball
12 Fresh coffee
13 Sound / masts
14 Indoor toilets
15 Stepping Hill Hospital
16 Birds of Paradise
17 Roget’s thesaurus
18 Mother Earth
19 Clingfilm dispenser
20, 21 Yorkshire pudding and onion gravy
22 Jorge Luis Borges
23 Classic cars
24 Curry
25 Tim Berners Lee
26 Charles Bukowski
27 Yorkshire
28 Shiraz
29 Food
30 Katell Keineg
31 Tao Te Ching
32 A roof over my head
33 Peat fires
34 Street art
35 Friends (as in – mates, not the T.V. show)
36 Wilfred Owen
37 The Penguin Café Orchestra
38 The fry-up
39 Wolves
40 W.B. Yeats
41, 42 Cherry blossom trees and haiku poetry
43 Bread
44 Boules
45 Maps
46 Refuse collectors
47 Candy Chang
48 Sparrows
49 The tomato
50 Studio Ghibli
51 Oliver Jeffers
52 Johannes Gutenberg
53 Tom Waites
54 The cello
55 Mothers’ day
56 The Phoenicians
57, 58 Bacon and brown sauce
59 Tulips
60 Fish and chips
61 Giselle
62 Airfix
63 Firefighters
64 Rain
65 Libraries
66 Raymond Carver
67 Toulouse-Lautrec
68 The Goldfinch
69 Wings of Desire
70 Silence
71 Elizabeth Barrett Browning
72-99 Ireland
100 Talking Heads
101 Sylvia Plath
102 Yorkshire Sculpture Park
103 My mum
104 Modigliani
105 Kurt Vonnegut
106-128 Electricity
129 The pop man
130-147 Comedians/comedy
148 Commando magazine
149 Pastry
150-156 Social media
157 David Bowie
158 Football
159 D-Day
160-194 France
195-230 Novels
231 Graphic Design
232 Viva! Roxy Music
233 – 274 Art
275 Betty Blue
276 Writing
277 Joy Division
278 – 287 Scotland
288 – 324 Italy
325 – 352 Photography
353 Leeds Utd
354 Love
355 Universe
356 Advertising
357 Pan’s Labyrinth
358 – 363 Democracy
364 Miscellaneous
365 My daughters II
If anyone wants to read any of the previous posts simply type the title into the search box on the right. (It’s underneath the ‘topic’ cloud.)
I know a lot of people find Joy Division a bit depressing, but I love their frenetic energy and controlled emotion. (Paradoxical? Absolutely. That’s why they were brilliant.) They had a unique style and voice which no one else had at the time. Plus, they were quite smart! (Punks were a bit too scruffy for my liking.)
Being at art college in the early 80s, it was de rigeuer to be in a band, and I was no exception. The only slight problem to my impending rock stardom was my musical inability. That didn’t stop me trying, mind.
A group of mates, and I, got together to do a benefit gig for the El Salvador Solidarity Campaign. (The clichés just keep on coming, don’t they.) Anyways, we were doing covers above a pub in Leeds and, as I was petrified of being on stage, I didn’t move a muscle. Well, apart from the ones in my hands to play the bass.
When we got round to playing New Dawn Fades, I started to relax, a little. I loved the song and I could play it pretty well, so I began to go for a little wander around the stage. Unfortunately, I wandered a little too far stage right, and promptly fell off the stage.
I can still see the contorted faces of the audience twisted in fits of hysterics. So much for my dream of being a rock star.
If you didn’t know, lead singer, Ian Curtis, committed suicide in 1980 just as they were becoming famous. He suffered from depression and epilepsy and, if we’re to believe the excellent biopic, Control, they link his depression to his epilepsy meds.
Ian Curtis with his daughter, Natalie.
They’re not everyone’s cup of tea, but have a listen if you want to hear a truly original voice that is unfortunately lost to us.
I think I’ll save my anecdote about playing New Dawn Fades, with a band I stumbled upon practicing in an upstairs warehouse in the Italian naval port of Livorno, for another day.
Some facts about Joy Division:
They were originally called Warsaw after David Bowie’s Warszawa from the album Low
They changed their name because of another band called Warsaw Pakt
The name Joy Division originated from a prostitute ‘wing’ of a Nazi concentration camp
After Curtis’s death, the remaining members went on to form New Order
Ian Curtis is survived by his wife, Deborah Curtis, and their daughter, Natalie Curtis.
I’d just left art college and was making my first forays into the adult world of full time employment when the Stop Making Sense movie by Talking Heads came out in 1984.
I’d never seen anything quite like it before. Nor have I seen anything like it since. (Then again, I don’t get out much these days.) The movie has been heralded as “one of the greatest rock movies ever made”.
I’d go one further and say that it isn’t just a rock movie but a piece of performance art.
I’ve always been a fan of their work, maybe because they come up with some very original and quirky ideas – not to mention – the music itself. Here’s the full movie if you fancy treating yourself for an hour and a half…
It is an absolute privilege to be able to view Toulouse-Lautrec’s work up close. Not just for his energetic painting style, capturing the seedier side of Parisian nightlife, but also for his art direction and typography.
Over the years, there have been many articles about whether advertising can be art, and I’m pretty sure that it can’t be whilst it is selling something. I think it can transcend into art after it has served its purpose and becomes era defining.
In Lautrec’s case, I’ll make an exception, as he was already well known for being an artist when he was commissioned to create posters for various clubs and salons.
Any art director or designer worth their salt should be aware of the influence of art in layout and design purely from a composition point of view.
In this Jane Avril example, I love the way he frames the poster using the double base. (How many ‘frames’ have we seen like this for contemporary brands?)
Obviously, Lautrec wasn’t a 19th century ‘ad man’. He was a brilliant artist and spent much of his time in Montmartre hanging out with philosophers, writers, artists and the like. Then popping off to brothels to draw/paint the staff and clientele. He was a reportage photographer before they’d even been invented. That, coupled with the eye of a poet, lead to some breathtakingly intimate works.
So, for inspiring a 17-year-old art student, Mr. Toulouse-Lautrec, I am very grateful.
What better way to follow a slap-up fish supper than with a jaunt to the theatre to catch a ballet?
My favourite is Giselle.
Giselle is a peasant girl who falls in love with Count Albrecht, who has led her to believe that he is also a peasant villager, named Loys. After discovering his true identity and, that he is betrothed to another, she dies of a broken heart.
The Wilis, a group of supernatural women, [is there any other kind?], who dance men to death, summon Giselle from her grave and set about luring the devious Count to his grave. But Giselle’s love frees him from their grasp.
David Milligan-Croft
