Rob Wickings's Blog, page 8
May 11, 2024
The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 17
I was handed an ugly shift on The Day Job this week. 2pm-10pm, which does nothing for your social life or, it turns out, a positive frame of mind in general. It turns out, as I’ve got older, I’ve become much more a creature of habit. Change is not in my nature any more. I’m an early riser, which means any work undertaken after about 9pm is met with an internal mental complaint of ‘shouldn’t you be in bed by now?’ I’ve seen little of TLC, struggled to do anything creatively and generally spent the week in a state of high discombobulation. Back to a normal rhythm from Monday. Clearly, I need a settled routine to be a productive member of society.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
The Book Of Merlyn by T.H. White. The fourth chapter in The Once And Future King trilogy reunites Arthur, now an old man riddled with doubt and beset by trouble, with his crazy old tutor. It’s a strange mix of kid-friendly whimsy, pokes at the cultural trends of the day with a handful of politics and philosophy mixed in, all filtered through that very English rural psychedelic veil that Milne, Ransome and Grahame conjured up so beautifully. An oddly cosy read.
Rob is watching…
Doctor Who, obvs. The first two eps were a game of two halves. Space Babies was perhaps a little too goofy for my tastes, but The Devil’s Chord struck the right note (not sorry, won’t take it back). I love the idea of a wildly theatrical god-level villain, and Jinkx Monsoon nailed the pantomime-dame vibes of a music vampire. Great to see the producers found room for a little dance at the end, with Shirley and Johannes from Strictly sneaking in for a shimmy. Saturday night feels special again!
Rob is listening…
You know how I love love love my power pop. From the Raspberries and Todd Rundgren through to the Paisley Underground of the 80s all the way up to modern champs of the scene like The Beths (and do check out The Well-Wishers), this is the music which gives me all the happies. The good folk at Bandcamp have provided an excellent overview of some forgotten gems. But they are smart enough to start with the non plus ultra. Like Paul Westerberg said, I never travel too far without a little Big Star…
Rob is eating…
As I’ve been on a weird shift this week, Rob has been eating… badly. Back on the fresh food this weekend, I promise. For now—to me, my Shin Ramen cup!
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
My unapologetic, peak 80s earworm of the week. Come for the riff, stay for the hair. Love the chemistry between Bryan and Tina, they look like they’re having the best time. Keep your eyes open for Conan The Barbarian on keys.
Have we become a species of doom-scrollers, timeline-flickers and media butterflies, unable to concentrate or focus on any one thing for more than five seconds before fluttering off to the next shiny? The demands on our attention seem to be stacking up around us, to the point where we don’t know where to look next. (Top tip, The Swipe, Saturday, 10am, make that a settled part of your own routine). Nathan Heller takes a closer look at the problem for The New Yorker.
There is sooo much griping about how modern music is no good, usually from commentators of a certain age harkening back to the tunes of their youth, moaning how things don’t sound like that anymore. It’s a common complaint—fings ain’t wot they used to be—which has been going on since humanity figured out how to write a complaint down. When it comes to music, there has always been as much trash as treasure. Inevitably, the bad stuff rots away, as Ted Gioia explores.
All Bad Music Will Eventually Disappear
Finally, British cooking is starting to get a little respect on the world stage, as we start to realise what a bounty of brilliant produce and culinary talent we have on our little island. It’s great to celebrate the food of our country. Just for a moment though, let’s slip back and look at how our grub used to be perceived, courtesy of this crazy Californian cookbook from 1969. Those illustrations are straight out of Yellow Submarine!
I guess another reason for my discombobulated state is having to deal with a world without Steve Albini. The famously irascible, opinionated but passionate musician and producer went way too soon, leaving a legacy of creative excellence and, to be frank, a framework for living life by your own rules and without compromise. A couple of tributes from Alexis Patrides in the Graun and Grayson Hager Cullin at Pitchfork give a decent overview of a man with principles, heart and a backbone. So long, Steve.
Sure, I love Buffy The Vampire Slayer. But as time rolls on I feel more affinity for the show’s darker shadow, the LA-set noir-adjacent Angel. It’s a show that offers so much in the way of character development and wild twists in circumstance, unafraid to do terrible things to the main characters in order to up the stakes and fire up the story.
“If nothing we do matters, the only thing that matters is what we do.”
Last up, Bertie Brandes gives some top tips to all you urban parasites looking to exploit the underclass and make some cash as a landlord. Not satirical in the slightest.
It’s a short one this week, for reasons laid out above. Look after yourselves, take time for a moment in the sunshine and grab a bit of joy where you can find it. And on that subject…
Sod it, my house, my rules. As soon as I posted It’s Only Love as the Low-Key Obsession I knew this power pop banger would have to go in. Featuring my very favourite Spice Girl, this tune cheers me up every time I hear it. I needed a bit of joy this week and When You’re Gone fits the bill in every respect.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
Freedom And Liberation In Mad Max: Fury Road
A guest post this week! The fact it appears in a week when I have very little in the bank for a Swipe is entirely coincidental.
I am honored and delighted to welcome my pal Ryan Morris to the ranks of X&HTeammates. He has gracefully allowed me to host his piece, first published in 2019 by Jump Cut Archive, on… well, look at the title and you should get the idea. With Furiosa rumbling over the horizon this month, now is an excellent time to dig into the first part of the story (chronologically speaking, the second part but hey, you know, movies).
Aaaanyway. This is a deep dive but worth the oxygen debt. Settle back and let Ryan lead us down the path to freedom.
Geographically, Mad Max: Fury Road ends exactly where it begins. After a short prologue detailing the descent of the world and of humanity, we find ourselves deep within the Citadel, held and run by the tyrannical Immortan Joe. We watch as Max is brought there, used as a blood bank for the War Boy Nux, strapped to the front of a fired-up car and sent after Furiosa to bring back Joe’s five Wives. We follow their chaotic journey to the Green Place, grieve at their loss of hope, then witness their last-ditch effort to reclaim the once traumatic environment of the Citadel and re-identify it as a home of liberation. It’s a frantic, brutal, cyclical journey.
The Citadel opens George Miller’s film as a place of violence and hopelessness, an environment that leaves physical wounds upon the body – Max is brought there and immediately scarred with markings that dehumanizingly list his blood type, while Furiosa is introduced to us through a shot of the symbol Joe has branded on the back of her neck before we’re given the reveal of her mechanical left arm, an enigma to the violence of her past. Both elements to these characters will be important later, as we look at the ways Fury Road finds freedom for its characters, and binds it to a specific idea of liberation depending on the character you examine: for Max, it is liberation of the self; for Furiosa, liberation of the past; for Nux, liberation of the mind; for the Wives, liberation of the body. Miller’s film may open and close in the same physical environment but the same cannot be said for the people who occupy his story.
Before we begin, it’s worth looking at the other central themes that occupy Fury Road, as many of them will resurface once we take a deeper dive into the individual characters of the film and the way Miller takes them on the path to freedom via liberation. Most notably, Fury Road concerns itself with survival, specifically in a harsh, post-apocalyptic world. More than simply surviving the events of the film, though, Miller’s script imbeds the concept of survival deep into his characters – survival is all Max cares about, Furiosa concerns herself with the survival of others and Nux has little interest in survival in order to appease the leader he worships. Redemption and revenge also arise throughout the film, as well as the concept of home, again in a variety of ways – the Wives are looking for a new safe home, Furiosa is trying to return to her old home, and Max’s has been long destroyed.
Max Rockatansky opens the film with a narration, through which he refers to his world as “fire and blood” and deems himself “reduced to a single instinct”, survival. His narration grants us flashes into his past, scattered memories of family and friends he was unable to protect or save. He is, unmistakably, haunted by them. The shame of Max’ past overwhelms him and his sense of self, the figure we see at the beginning of the film is without home and without soul. Existing in the wasteland is all Max longs for and all he achieves, the most fundamental element of humanity – survival – is also the most rudimentary. We all need to survive, but we all choose to do so much more. Not Max.
It’s important to remember that, at this stage in the film, not even Max’s own blood belongs to him. Further into the film, when Max meets Furiosa and reluctantly joins her mission to free Joe’s Wives, he is queried as to his identity and his story, but he refuses to answer. Furiosa asks for his name during a pivotal scene and is met with little more than a blank stare and a snappy shake of the head. I don’t deserve a name, we can read through Tom Hardy’s brilliantly expressive eyes. A man haunted by those he failed to save does not warrant saving. To have a name is to have belonging, our first names identify us while our surnames come coupled with our history. Initially, Max wants neither.
Across Fury Road, Max comes to see that this world, though still unavoidably bleak and decayed, has opportunity for him. Those he failed to protect in the past will always haunt him, but when faced with the chance to correct the wrongs of his former self – the self he no longer identifies with – he begins to understand how he can avoid making the same mistakes. We’re introduced to Max in the Citadel as a blood bank for the Immortan’s army, but by the film’s resolution we find him using that branding to save the life of the woman who saved his sense of self – in doing so, he reclaims the identity he’s been hiding from others and, most notably, himself. Our last sighting of Max is of him disappearing into the crowds beneath the Citadel, refusing the spotlight and walking away from acknowledgement, but his nod of the head towards Furiosa – surviving because Max’ blood runs through her veins – is of stark contrast to the head shake he dismisses her with earlier. Liberated from the nameless persona Max bound to himself, we get the sense that the idea of family (a key component in our understanding of the self) is perhaps not all that lost to him anymore.
Similarly to Max, Furiosa’s growth across the film comes through our understanding of her past. While Max is granted the opportunity to talk us through his immediate history at the film’s opening, Furiosa has no such luxury, meaning we must piece her narrative thus far together ourselves. We know from Miller’s rich sense of world-building that women aren’t exactly heralded as worthy in this new and broken world, so we can perhaps ascertain that in order to achieve her high-ranking status Furiosa had to embody the traits of men and perhaps even look down on the other, “lesser” women of the Citadel. Why is the freedom of Joe’s Wives so important to her? In the Citadel, Furiosa has security, she has power and she has trust – that mechanical arm didn’t make itself. Abandoning this safety to grant the freedom of others in such a harsh world is an act of overwhelming selflessness, one we arguably don’t understand until later in the film when Furiosa reunites with the Vuvalini.
Redemption is the sole word on Furiosa’s lips when Max asks her what she wants, and it’s the sole word that convinces her to have faith in Max’s final plan to return to the Citadel. But what exactly does Furiosa need to redeem? We find out through her time with the Vuvalini that she was stolen from her home as a child, raised in the Citadel without any family and forced into the life she presently leads. There’s a sense of shame in Charlize Theron’s voice when Furiosa discusses her past without specificity, an unspoken side to her character that craves redemption without revealing what led her to require such an atonement. Has she brought misfortune or pain to others? To other women? Or was the mere act of passivity too much for her in the end, to allow Joe’s ruling to bring so much suffering for others? It’s hard to know for sure, but Furiosa is hell bent on fixing it.
Through saving Joe’s wives, and reuniting with and rehoming the surviving members of the Vuvalini, Furiosa finds her past actions (or inactions) redeemed, her bravery and ferocity leading to her physically ripping the face from Immortan Joe’s skull, ridding the identity of her enemy from the people she intends to rescue. Furiosa’s liberation almost comes at the expense of her own life too, with Max’s blood restoring her vitality in the film’s final moments. Where this act can be seen as a reclamation of identity for Max – the role he was assigned becomes the role he chooses – for Furiosa it feels more akin to a poetic sense of justice. When Furiosa first arrived at the Citadel, following her violent kidnapping, she lost the one person with whom she shared blood – her mother, kidnapped alongside her – three days later, leaving her alone and vulnerable to the world and the men who ruled it. In returning to the Citadel at the end of Fury Road with Max’s blood coursing through her body, her sense of family is restored and her past is relived in a more hopeful way, freeing her from its violence.
Continuing on from Max and Furiosa, Nux’s arc across Fury Road also begins prior to the start of the film. We meet Nux ill and drained, Max’s blood being pumped into him to keep him alive. He’s a War Boy, a slave to a religion. His purpose is to please his master, Immortan Joe, and die a glorious and historic death in order to be granted access into an afterlife, into Valhalla. Referred to as a half-life, Nux believes his sole purpose is to die so he can reach the next stage of his existence. He’s riddled with tumours and entirely unhinged, both his body and especially his mind are essentially poisoned. Giving chase with Max hooked to the front of his car, determined to bring back Joe’s Wives and win the acknowledgement of his God, Nux takes a leap of faith.
And he misses. He falls. In front of his ruler, he fails. Overcome with shame and fear – everything in his mind now tells him he’s destined to be cast aside, never awaited in Valhalla, living a worthless life – he cowers in the rig and is found by Capable, one of Joe’s Wives. Through his failure, he finds companionship. Through companionship he finds love, and through love he finds acceptance. Except, it isn’t a self-validating kind of acceptance, it doesn’t liberate his past or his identity in the ways the film uses Max and Furiosa. Rather, Nux’s freedom comes with accepting that his world and his beliefs are falsified, fabricated by his own ruler in order to use him as a blind soldier willing to die for a prize he’ll never see. His mind is a lie.
Coupled with his own rediscovered sense of purpose, Nux slowly joins the side that fights for freedom. In his final moments, Nux sacrifices himself by crashing the rig into a rock wall, allowing his newfound allies to survive while he closes off the pathway to the army chasing them. He dies on the battlefield, witnessed and loved by the one most important to him, in a historic death that changes the world. Nux achieves all he sets out to do but, with his mind now liberated from the toxins fed to him by a false God, he’s able to fight for the right people. Maybe an afterlife greeted him after the rig crashed through that violent terrain, or maybe his world went black and his time in it was up – the beauty in Nux’s ending is that it no longer matters. Whichever the outcome, Nux dies free, but most importantly he dies a hero – and that’s all he ever wanted.
Finally, we have Joe’s five wives: The Splendid Angharad, Capable, Toast the Knowing, Cheedo the Fragile and The Dag. Used and abused by Joe in the Citadel, exploited as little more than prized possessions and breeding stock, it would be very easy for the Wives to fall flat as characters, to feel like little more than cargo that Furiosa is escorting. But Miller binds a very simple yet powerful statement to the five women – “We are not things” – that prevents this from happening. We gather that, as breeding slaves, the Wives have little to no power in the Citadel, be it physically, emotionally or intellectually. Their bodies belong to Joe, and their minds don’t matter, as long as they’re pure and beautiful and as long as they’re his.
Across Fury Road, we witness Joe’s Wives liberate themselves from that very identity through the reclamation of their bodies. At their first pit stop, they use bolt cutters to forcibly remove the violent-looking chastity belts Joe forced them to wear and shower in water pumped from the rig, cleansing themselves of the environment they formerly belonged to. We know from an earlier scene that Joe uses water to manipulate the downtrodden citizens of his Citadel, pumping it up from the ground and claiming ownership of it. The act of using this water, that Joe himself would have pumped up, to rid the remnants of his Citadel from their skin is one of many ways the Wives free themselves – and, in that, their bodies – from Joe’s control. Later, when Joe has a clear shot at victory, Angharad hangs from the rig’s door and uses her pregnant body as a shield to prevent Joe from firing his gun. In both circumstances, the Wives use their bodies against Joe – at first symbolically, and then physically.
Returning to the Citadel feels like the very last thing the Wives would want to accomplish in this film, and yet it still rings entirely like a victory when they do. When we meet them, the Wives are the property of men in a hostile environment, but when Fury Road circles back to this location for its final sequence the circumstances could not be any more changed. Capable, Toast the Knowing, The Dag and Cheedo the Fragile return to the Citadel in the company of women, rising up on a platform and liberated from the male possession. That the film ends with them being physically lifted up to the highs of the Citadel by the sick War Pups is no coincidence, as the four women have altered their state from property to power. Their return is heralded, and as they look out from the platform rising to where we first met their former owner, their bodies now stand independent and free.
And so, we end back at the Citadel, the very place in which we began. There is an unmistakeable sense of irony to the cyclical way Mad Max: Fury Road ends, in which all the characters who fight to leave the Citadel end up returning to it and all the characters who want to return there end up dead in their attempts to do so. Here, we’ve looked at the ways Miller allows his characters’ motives and purposes to double back on themselves, to return to an earlier state but with a shift in perspective: Max reclaims his former identity but with reinvigorated hope, while Nux returns to the idea of sacrifice but for the opposing faction. Irony there may be, but it’s an irony that comes coupled with a sense of liberation for all involved.
Fury Road’s climactic return to its opening locale visually represents the nature of its own themes, a perfect circle that begins in one shade but finishes as another. All of the core characters in Miller’s film are released from their burdens, if not entirely then we at least get a sense that their new journeys are now in a place from which they can begin. Freed from the chains holding them back – be it physical (the Wives), mental (Furiosa, Nux) or maybe even both (Max) – Fury Road finds a changed, liberated perspective for its characters. The world may be poisoned and the future might look grim, but there’s no situation you can’t free yourself from if you have the power to do it, Miller argues. Self-discovery, redemption, understanding and empowerment await. Liberation awaits.
May 4, 2024
The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 16
I’ve engaged in a tiny writing challenge for the month. 200 words every day in May. Doesn’t seem like much, I know. The intersticials and intros in each chapter of The Swipe average far more than that. But it’s not really about the wordcount—although by the time we go on our hols at the end of the month I will have accrued over 6000 of the blighters, which is half a novella. The point is twofold. Build a writing habit and have fun with it. Both of which are completely doable when you’re working with such a short daily commitment. I may even share the end product with you.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
This Is What Happened by Mick Herron. What starts as a Slough House-adjacent spy story becomes much more psychological and involves a couple of clever twists. A chamber piece in a way, with just three characters of note, and a villain whose Etsy vanity really helps amp up his capacity for evil. It’s a fast read, which helps Herron to rush us past some of the really obvious plot holes, but still worth picking up.
Rob is watching…
Amsterdam, David O. Russell’s last movie. Very late to the party on this one, but it’s a strangely sweet, strangely positive and very funny spoof on pulpy Plot Against America themes. A hella good cast all having a great time, and Christian Bale channeling Peter Falk is a hoot. If you ever wanted to see Taylor Swift come to a sticky end well, here’s your chance.
Rob is listening…
I’ve become quietly obsessed with All Born Screaming, the new album from Annie Clark, T/A St. Vincent. It works fantastically as a single work, but there are breakout moments worth celebrating. Like this, for example. That’s Dave Grohl on drums. You can tell, can’t you?
Rob is eating…
I have lots of time for Jamie Oliver. He is a divisive character for many people but to me he is still first and foremost a clever, inventive cook who enjoys what he does. Check out the techniques he uses in his take on a spring cannelloni. The way he fills the pasta. That quick white sauce. This is smart cookery from a master.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
I love a reconstruction video but this one takes things up several notches. It’s utterly mesmerising. Take a bit of time, let it wash over you.
Dan Cardone went from working on the crew of a Steven Spielberg epic to something a little more lowbrow. His account of the filming of To The Last Man is full of moments that will have you cackling. Film-making is hard, in every sense of the word.
The sex was the easy part. Everything else kept getting in the way.
Every mention of food in Barbra Streisand’s huge autobiography. This works as a mini-overview of her magnum opus. You certainly get a sense of the woman, her motivations and her huge appetite for life, love and sandwiches.
So good to see Brummie writer Pete Ashton back in the saddle. This piece on the subject of the weird had me nodding along throughout. England is a deeply weird country. What does that make its citizens?
OK, you don’t get much sport in The Swipe. I have two left feet, no sense of balance and little patience for all that tedious knocking about of balls. However, I know drama when I see it, and the last couple of seasons at Reading FC have been stuffed to the rafters with killer twists and cliffhangers. An evil owner who makes his intentions to strip mine the club of assets. Heavy points deductions which send it spiralling out of the Championship. A new manager whose tactics put Reading at the bottom of the table, ready to drop another league. But then the fightback begins and that’s where the story gets really interesting…
The lead singer of The Spin Doctors explains why he wore that particular hat for the Two Princes video. See, I know how to bring the crowds in with killer content.
There is a formula for the perfect pop song, and a very particular duration. Look, there’s no sense in arguing. This is science.
Dave Courtney was a fixture of lad mag culture in the 90s. A figure on the edge of the dark criminal underground, he made himself unavoidable, showing up in the press, on telly and in (inevitably awful) movies. Following his death last year, a wake was held at The Blind Beggar pub—a venue which makes perfect sense if you knew the man. Clive Martin reports for The Fence.
‘If he was in the film, you knew it would be shit. That was his trademark.’
A chat between two Athens, Georgia musical legends—Vanessa Briscoe-Hay of Pylon and Kate Pierson of the B-52s. Both are still going strong, making great music and kicking butts from here to the Mississippi. I am such a fan of the Athens scene and these two are the queens.
Alexander Siddig talks about his time on Star Trek as the first Arab character. It’s fascinating stuff and shows just how open and inclusive the show has been since the start. Siddig is a brilliant actor who brought a lot to a role which could have been a simple racial box-tick.
Olivia Rodrigo is not your average pop princess. Her Glastonbury debut coincided with the repeal of Roe Vs. Wade, so she invited Lily Allen up on stage to help her sing ‘Fuck You’ to the Supreme Court. She can rock out with the best of them, and has played a St. Vincent signature guitar in concert. She’s bloody great—it helps that she’s also one hell of a songwriter. I am, if you’ll excuse the clumsy segue, obsessed.
Oh come on, let me have a bit of fun.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
April 27, 2024
The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 15
We headed up to Reading Town Hall this Thursday to celebrate the launch of Claire Dyer’s new brace of books—a twisty family drama called What We Thought We Knew and a new volume of poetry, The Adjustments. It was great to see her again in all her room-owning glory, and we had the pleasure to catch with a few more Reading Writers alumni and pals. It was one of those nights which gives me hope about my literary aspirations. It’s a lonely existence, so times when you can meet up and share hints, tips and war stories is really important. Check out Claire’s books—she’s incredibly talented as an author and poet.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Acclaimed SF writer Martha Wells’ keynote speech at the University Of New Mexico is full.of goodness. Not least in how she digs into her character Murderbot’s character and motivation, and shows how machine intelligence can do better than simply emulating its creator…
Rob is watching…
You may already have seen this SNL clip (spoiled slightly by the preview still). It’s still worth it for all sorts of reasons.
Rob is listening…
To Pearl Jam. Dark Matter is a massive return to form, kicking like a mule, shaking like an earthquake. Proper rock music delivered with full commitment and power. This, rather than Taylor Swift, for me all day every day.
Rob is eating…
A concoction of vanilla and strawberry ice-cream, crushed meringue, chopped tinned peaches and mint. Named after the place I came up with it, with a nod to the culinary form from which I took inspiration. Nuneaton Mess.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
This starts off strange, gets stranger and then Liberace turns up in rubber hi-vis. Clearly, the drugs were stronger in the 60s.
The division of the things you accrued as a couple during a break-up is tough. How do two cooks split up the contents of their kitchen? Well, carefully.
This, from animator and science geek Bartosz Ciechanowski, will give you a whole new respect for the innards of a mechanical watch. The complexity, even broken down into key parts, is breathtaking.
I did not know that Bill Nighy described himself as a mod, but I am not remotely surprised. The dude is proper dapper. I used to see him in Soho when I was a denizen of the labyrinth, sipping an espresso outside Bar Bruno on Wardour Street, perusing (not reading) the paper, always impeccably turned out.
We assume that the internet just happens. Phrases like ‘the cloud’ or ‘over-the air updates’ provide the comforting fiction that we communicate through magical sparklies up in the stratosphere somehow. Not true. Data is moved by cable, in the harshest conditions imaginable. The connection is fragile and requires constant monitoring and repair. Next time Facebook drops off for a bit, think about the root cause.
Cats on film, always good to see, always a nightmare to wrangle. There have been improvements in training techniques but I’m glad to say our feline pals still have the upper hand when it comes to controlling their hoomans.
You may only know X-character Cable from his portrayal by Josh Brolin in Deadpool 2. Typically, a lot has been lost in the translation from comics to film. The son of Jean Grey and Scott Summers isn’t just a gruff time-travelling assassin with a pouch fetish. He is a parable for the entire human condition.
Font geekery. I’m not even going to apologise. You should know what you get from this newsletter by now.
I do love me a flying aircraft carrier. Machines like the SHIELD Heli-carrier may seem like a science-fictional fever-dream, but Readership, Attempts Were Made back in the day. I still think we missed a trick by not taking airships more seriously as a transport option.
Alec Worley looks at a couple of examples of an interesting horror trope—the helpless monster. Grist for the mill here, and Alec is worth reading in general for his wise counsel on all things genre.
Last up, the Museum of Modern Art in New York Citaaay has an online course in how to make comics and of course you’re interested and I think you should make a start this weekend.
How To Make Comics The MoMA Way
Let’s Outro with M83, live on KEXP. I love their swooping, cinematic future coolness, and I hope you do (or will after listening to this) too. A soundtrack to the uplift.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
April 20, 2024
Harvette
I have a new love. She is a stylish blonde who garners admiring glances whenever we’re out together. She moves with elegance and grace. She is warm and soft to the touch. She sings a little two-note song when I slip into her in the mornings…
Look, she’s a car, alright? To be precise, a 2024 Honda HR-V in sand khaki. Our first new ride in twelve years. The end result of 18 months of planning, and wishing and thinking and saving.
Milady.Why now? Well, after we paid off The Big Debt, we figured we owed each other a treat. And I drive getting on for two hundred miles a week for work. An upgrade to a more comfortable, economical and modern primary mode of transport seemed like a nice way forward.
After over a decade in our old whip, the change was a steep learning curve. Modern cars are—different. Science-fictional. The first weekend spent with Harvette was nervous, as we got to grips with all the strange noises and lights, the toots and whistles as she gently showed us how she liked to be handled. Also, she’s bigger and wider than the Nissan Note we’d pulled over 100,000 miles in. All of a sudden the road through Sonning seems very narrow indeed.
Running in a new car is a lot like learning to drive all over again. Where’s the fuel tank lid? Where’s the fuel tank lid release? How do I put on the rear window wipers? All the muscle memory accrued through twelve years of Note ownership went out the window in moments. Reversing onto the drive suddenly becomes a nervy exercise in angle management which, to be honest, the fancy reversing camera isn’t really helping with. I’ll be grateful for it soon, I’m sure, but for now I’ll stick to mirror, signal, manoeuvre.
A lot of research went into our decision. Like, a lot. I became very familiar with the work of Mat Watson of Carwow on YouTube, who is the most approachable and entertaining of motoring journalists. It’s a tough gig, though. Because one thing I immediately noticed once I started digging into our shortlist was that there are very few genuinely bad cars on the market anymore. Sure, there are lemons to be had, but in general if you’re buying new or nearly new, you will struggle to find a car that isn’t comfortable, easy to drive and stuffed with safety features.
Which means that, when reviewing a car, it’s tough to find things to complain about. If you want a perfect definition of first-world problems, look at motoring vids and wait for phrases like ‘scratchy plastics’ (in other words, slightly cheaper finishes on the interior surfaces), gripes about the number and size of cup holders, or rage at the amount of USB-C plugs available. If the worst complaint you can find about a new car is how long it takes the powered boot to open or that it’s a bit noisy when coming up to line speed on the motorway (both grumbles pointed at the HR-V as major reasons not to buy) then frankly, you’re barrel-scraping.
Let’s talk a little more about the safety measures. Most new cars now have more radar sensors and cameras than nuclear submarines. You drive in a bubble of radio, an envelope of security which gives fair warning if anything intrudes.
And I’m all for it. My view after six years of driving into work is that everything else on the road is out to get you. You will be aggressively tailgated if you dare to travel at national speed limit in anything other than the inner lane. People will decide to pull in front of you with half a car-length’s distance then slam on their brakes. In urban situations, pedestrians with their heads in their phone and earbuds in will wander out into the road in front of you without looking up. All of these have happened to me this week, and I thank the full Honda Sensing suite of safety refinements for keeping me out of shunts and crashes. It’s crazy out there. You need all the help you can get.
I’ll be frank. I want a car which makes my commute and everyday travelling needs simpler, easier and less of a chore. In this, Harvette is a star. On the motorway, firing up adaptive cruise control and lane-assist means she very nearly drives herself. I long for the day when I can roll into the back of my motor, say ‘take me home, sweetie’ and be chauffeured back to bed. Autopilot on Teslas or California’s self-driving taxis don’t do the job but, based on the technology available to us here and now, the dream is not that far away. Take the driver out of the equation and road traffic accidents drop to nil. The vehicles aren’t the problem, it’s the numpties behind the wheel.
So why Harvette? That’s a question with two answers. To be honest, we made the choice when we first started looking at cars last year. I drew up a shortlist which TLC quietly decimated. The cars I’d picked were too big for her. But, after she had summarily dismissed the Honda CR-V (which is, to be fair, a big lump) she spotted its smaller classmate. Within three minutes of settling into the seats, enjoying the high, wide views and cooing over the soft-touch steering wheel, we were smitten. And to be honest, every car we looked at after that didn’t have the warm fuzzies we got from the HR-V. A test drive this February settled the deal after a nervous wiggle around the twisty B-roads around Swallowfield, and we signed off on finance before Easter.
It’s all in the gut, I guess. If you drive, you know what sort of car suits you. Neither of us are petrolheads or speed demons. It’s nice to have a car with the legs to get you out of trouble when a three-lane trap of caravans and Amazon lorries is closing in front of you, but we don’t believe in monstering it. Reviews of the HR-V highlighted how it was built for people who didn’t care if their car was a bit—you know, boring.
That’s us, Readership. Target market. We want a decent boot. We want fold-flat back seats which also, cleverly, flip up like theatre seats when you have a big plant to bring back from the garden centre. We want a smooth and elegant ride. Who needs to blast when you can cruise?
And yet. Honda are riding high in F1. The Honda Civic regularly breaks lap records on the Nürburgring. And Harvette will pull 0-60 in under nine seconds—quicker than the 80’s hot hatches so many car journalists revere. We were looking for a boring, practical car. We ended up with a speedy looker. And that colour! It’s sort of champagney with a hint of green. According to the DVLA, it’s ‘beige’. Heathens.
So why Harvette, part two? Well, the name was always going to be Harvey (HR-V, come on, keep up) until Darren at Marshall Honda referred to the test car in feminine terms. After that, well, we didn’t want to misgender. And Harvette sounds like a cool 50s motoring marque that only the real nerds know about. She has her own personality, we feel. A classy lady with a practical bent but a quietly wicked sense of humour. And she really does toot out a little tune when I start her up in the mornings. ‘Hi, Rob’ she says. ‘Morning, sweetie’ I reply.
God it’s pathetic.
In summary, then. We bought a new car. I like it a lot. I’ve been boring everyone I know about it, so now it’s your turn.
And this is why we will never charge for content on Excuses And Half Truths.
See you next Saturday.
April 13, 2024
The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 14
Off on adventures this weekend, to celebrate birthdays in Essex. Off on adventures next weekend to meet up with TLC’s side of our extended family. Meanwhile, the garden is waking up, stretching and groaning and putting out feelers. I love this time of year, when the world seems to brighten a little. If you’re happy to let that mood in, it can do you all sorts of good.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Sarah Gailey’s four-part story on love, food and survival in a future where hope is in short supply. Somehow, though, there’s always time to gather round the table and break bread. This is really good SF, warm, human and thought-provoking. Settle in and enjoy.
Rob is watching…
Life with a cat, absolutely nailed. The observation is pin-sharp, the animation on point.
Rob is listening…
Reading Writers enjoyed their Not The Oscars night this week, when five members advocated for their favourite film adaptation of a novel. Pal Jillian championed Brokeback Mountain, at a perfect time as discussions on the tropes, cliches and exclusions of the Old West are high and loud. Willie Nelson, along with the pokiest of cowpokes Orville Peck, reiterates the point he made in the movie. What do you think all them saddles and boots was about?
Rob is eating…
Wild garlic pesto. I have a clump in the garden which, whizzed up with some oil, salt, lemon and cashews (pine nuts are waaaay too expensive) make a delicious, potent, lurid green addition to pasta. Also great mixed in with peas and that half-pot of tartare sauce hanging around in the fridge, warmed through and served with fish and chips for a Friday supper.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
The new car. I will bore you extensively on my burgeoning love affair with Harvette next week.
Frankly, given the current state of worldwide politics, I think we could all use a step change away from the old order. Have a read of this manifesto from Tom Hopkinson of The Idler and tell me you don’t agree with at least some of his arguments.
I would never be able to read this children’s classic—I’m far too emotionally fragile. The overview is triggering enough…
A perfectly judged story on technology, delivery culture and doughnuts. That’s it, that’s the post.
Delighted to hear the mighty Bryan Talbot is getting the highest award the comics field can deliver. He is a giant of the Ninth Art and his achievements should be yelled from the rooftops. I proudly own an omnibus edition of Luther Arkwright and love his badger detective character Archie LeBrock in the ongoing Grandville book series. Congratulations, Bryan!
We are big fans of the Jack Reacher books and even bigger advocates of the Amazon series which finally get the character right. Alan Ritchson’s story is as wild as some of Lee Child’s plots. Are we surprised that he comes over as a genuinely good guy in this interview with the Hollywood Reporter? No, we are not. It all makes perfect sense.
A little poetry for you on this Saturday morning, which accurately describes the sense of helplessness we all feel in the face of so much—stuff. My advice—build a schedule of works and go through it point by point. Do the weeding, tidy the house, then save the world.
There’s laundry to do and a genocide to stop.
A fine new example in the journalistic sub-genre of cruise writing from Gary Shteyngart. Seriously, if you’ve ever thought about getting on one of these sea-bound fortresses, read Gary’s piece. It will help you straighten out your thought processes.
The loneliness of the long-distance cruise passenger
A history of New York told through restaurants. They’re all here from the toniest of the tony to the punk hangouts. A long read, but nicely broken up into easy-to-digest portions.
Words are magic. In some cases, literally so.
There were discussions on the socials last week regarding the best 90s album or band that wasn’t one of the usual suspects—Nirvana, Pearl Jam et al. I nominate one of the hardest groups to find in a Google search, Live, whose 1994 album Throwing Copper is, in our house at least, a stone classic. Famously combative, they reunited last year for a celebration concert, raging out of the gates in fine high style. Put this on loud while you plough through your schedule of works. This is music to save the world by.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
April 6, 2024
The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 13
TLC and I have had a tumultuous few weeks, as moments we’ve been planning over decades quietly happen, slip past and vanish into the rear view mirror, to be replaced by more pressing concerns. Neither of us are great with stress management and, although what we’ve put ourselves through is the very definition of first-world problems, the sleepless nights and tightness in the gut have been all too real. I think we crossed a rubicon yesterday, and hopefully the second quarter of the year should leave us less strung out. One thing we’ve learnt—don’t assume passing a milestone will have a reward attached. The milestone is the reward, and if it feels a little less special than it should—be grateful for what you’ve managed to achieve.
Boy, that’s all cryptic. More to come on the events of 2024 so far, if only because I need to unpack it.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
The Broken Sword by Poul Anderson. Fantasy in the high tradition, focused through the lens of Norse mythology. Harshly beautiful, beautifully pure. It reads like a story which has been told for millennia, murmured over campfires in the vicious cold of the Scandinavian winter. The story of two noblemen linked by magic, treachery and primal emnity, sung into being through the stinging blast of Anderson’s ice-cold prose. A forgotten classic.
Rob is watching…
For All Mankind on Apple+ has been on my radar for a while. I took the punt this month and boy, I’m glad I did. A simple premise—what if the Russians were first on the moon in 1969?—spins out huge and rapidly expanding ramifications. Ronald D. Moore, who successfully rebooted Battlestar Galactica for a modern audience, has done it again, blending real-life characters with an alternate history which feels astonishly alien. It’s compelling, funny and when you least expect it, completely emotionally wrenching. Even if you’re not an SF fan, you’ll love this. Get on it.
Rob is listening…
One of those ‘this has been in my head all week and I don’t know why’ tracks. Full marks to the Pathe team for including the sounds of construction all the way through this.
Rob is eating…
Simply. Don’t have the cognitive bandwidth for anything too fiddly. Although I did roast a whole cauliflower in berber spices on the barbecue last weekend, so I’ve not lost all my culinary chops. Sometimes, though, all you can handle is cheese on toast or pasta with pesto. And you know what? That’s fine. Take care of yourself as best you can, but do take care of yourself.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
This is adorable and awe-inspiring. Our solar system is a wonderful, unpredictable dance of objects whirling about each other, as predictable as clockwork, as changeable as the tides.
If you think about it, making things changes your relationship to them. By honing your craft, you come to more deeply understand the object you create. To put it another way, writers experience the written word in a different way to the average reader. If you can see how something has been built, it’s all the more satisfying to experience the cool parts snicking neatly into place.
You all know my affinity for the indulgence I call Brown Plate. If I know TLC is out for the night, I take great pleasure in working out just how much crunchy battered badness I can Jenga onto a platter at once, drench in hot sauce and wolf down in front of something loud and violent on the telly. It’s the little things that keep a marriage alive…
One of the first pubs TLC and I walked into when we moved to Reading was The Monk’s Retreat on Friar Street. We were finding our feet, and needed somewhere to sit down with a drink and a snack. There were three old geezers in there, all nursing pints on separate tables. As one, they raised and swivelled their gaze to look at us. We backed out slowly. I still think about that moment sometimes.
Christeene is not your average drag act, closer in spirit to the wildness of Divine than RuPaul. A performer treading their own ragged path in shy-high heels. A recent tribute evening to Sinead O’Connor brought out the witchier aspects of their schtick in a night ripe with ritual, celebration and dark magic.
Christeene has also been described as ‘Beyoncé on bath salts’ which to my mind underplays the ability Queen Bey has to destabilise and refresh the cultural landscape. By going country, Cowboy Carter has shone a light on a forgotten aspect of American culture, one which blinkered commentators would rather we didn’t see.
Donald Trump cheats at golf. Yeah, I know, water’s wet, the sky is blue and you won’t believe what happens to a ball when you drop it. It’s informative to put the Flatulant Orange’s shenanigans on the green into context, though. It’s a reflection of how he rolls as a businessman and a politician.
Like Robin Sloan, I try to work on my imagination every day. It’s good to be strong up there. His wonderful rumination on the universe of Iain M. Banks and The Culture will hopefully give your creative muscles a bit of a workout too.
You would never consider Jack Lord, best known for his iconic role in Hawaii Five-O, as an actor’s actor. But he had a process and understood his character implicitly. There’s some interesting material to unpack here in terms of how you approach and answer a dramatic question. See also William Shatner, who keyed his performance to the circumstances of the time, and in doing so crafted an icon.
I need to watch Romancing The Stone again. A perfect polished jewel of a script, a fantastic cast, a joy of a film. Diane Thomas should be up there with the greats.
Last up—the Barbenheimer phenomenon is fascinating in that both movies were so successful because of how they handled the subject matter. The scripts are worth studying for that reason. In particular, Christopher Nolan tore up the rule book in telling the story of Robert Oppenheimer. As many interested observers have sourly noted, not everyone can get away with doing what Nolan did…
I’ll Outro with another low-key obsession, the theme tune for the way TLC and I have been bumbling around, trying to deal with all the—stuff. It’s a song which starts with the word ‘stop’. That sums it all up for me.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
March 30, 2024
The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 12
In a perfect definition of the universe giving with one hand and taking from the other, the last payment on The Big Loan went out at the same time as an escalation of domestic horrors, culminating in a four-figure bill to address the sort of plumbing issues you get when you live in a near-hundred-year old house. Cosmic checks and balances in place clearly, because gods know it wouldn’t do to become smug about the improved financial situation.
In other news, we watched some Australian Rules Football, ate at a two-Michelin starred pub and bought some adult Lego and a car. No, not a Lego car. Yes, it’s been a birthday week.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Clean Room, written by Gail Simone with art by Jon-Davis Hunt and Walter Geovani. An SF-nal take on the concept of demonic possession which grooves flawlessly between hardcore horror, action and twisty corporate drama. It’s also, because this is the work of Comic’s Queen Bear, incredibly funny. I cannot recommend the series highly enough. A real highlight of my jump into Kindle Unlimited.
Rob is watching…
Channel 5 (no, not the UK home of Cruising With Susan Calman) is doing great work with the sort of street-level journalism we see less of and need more than ever. I’ve included a ride-along with the Border Convoy, the sort of grassroots protest which is all too easy to sneer at—the situation is, of course, more nuanced than an eye-roll would justify and the people Andrew Callaghan talks to are treated with respect and empathy. A channel worth following (fair warning, though, some of the films, particularly those dealing with drug addiction, are hard watches).
Rob is listening…
to that voice.
Rob is eating…
Well, it sounds revolting, but if you’re of the opinion that mayo is effectively just oil and eggs and therefore a valid baking ingredient, there are cakes to be made this weekend with a certain special something. It is Eggmas, after all.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
Snif And Snüf reminds me of the short European animations BBC1 would show as a filler between kid’s TV and the early evening news of a weekday. It feels timeless, universal, a simple story told with economy and grace holding more emotional weight than the big studios can manage with their huge budgets. So beautifully done.
We’ll stay with animation for a sec, and check out Drawing For Nothing, a gorgeous history of unfinished and unappreciated cartoon movies. The work, craft and talent which go into projects that never see the light of day almost boggles the brain. Should we be sad the films were never completed, or happy that we can still enjoy the beauty of the process? Hey, we’re grownups, we can have both. Now, about Coyote Vs. Acme…
A bit more on the shift in how the news landscape is shifting, and how there is room for rigorous uncompromising journalism in the most surprising places.
And, much as I hate to bang on about it, if you’re digging Channel 5 (no, not the one which seems obsessed with air fryers) you may enjoy the work of Peter Santenello, who is taking a camera into some of the most deprived areas of America and giving the people living there a voice. Like Andrew Callaghan, you should keep a wary eye on some of the editorial choices, but in general it’s a fresh perspective which starts from the base direction that everyone has good in them. And boy, we need a little more of that.
A thought on the work of one of the most distinctive visual stylists working in cinema today. He divides opinion and, I’ll be honest, his most recent films have left me a little cold. But I do admire his unflinching commitment to the bit and believe his forays into animation represent a high point in the medium.
Tribute bands are such a massive part of the live scene, so it’s surprising no-one’s thought of officially franchising them before now. All power to The Hives, who clearly believe in quality control and protection of their carefully-controlled brand…
The announcement of the Nebula long-list is out, and there’s a lot in there you can read for free. Fill your boots, and let’s hope the controversy which mired the Hugos in toxic sludge earlier in the year doesn’t repeat.
The very idea of ChatGPT creating recipes gives me the squick. It doesn’t feel right, and I believe the food which comes out at the end will be somehow—compromised. Tainted. Silly, I know, but our visceral reaction to the creatures of The Uncanny Valley is there for a reason. Gut instinct has a place, especially in cooking.
I will flag this one as adult content, and point out the flawed opinion that sex started in the sixties is way, waaaaay out.
Here’s a bit on an essential element of film-making which, if done with art and skill (all of which the women interviewed or mentioned have in abundance) you shoudn’t even notice. No, it’s not CGI. It’s far more fundamental.
I’m really looking forward to the new version of Patricia Highsmith’s charming psychopath Tom Ripley, as played by Andrew Scott, sliding onto Netflix soon. Michael Colbert digs into the character, particularly Matt Damon’s portrayal, and how their two paths briefly aligned.
Last up, as we’re into Eggmas (may the Jesus Bunny bless you with his chocolatey ovoids) let’s consider the object in question. There’s more than one way to crack this issue…
I’m happy to report that Elbow, whose last couple of albums have kinda skidded off me, have regained my attention. Audio Vertigo, the new album, is full of spiky verve. Lovers’ Leap, the lead single, bounces and struts, teetering on the edge of collapse while never losing the groove. This is all very pleasing to my ears.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
March 23, 2024
Blast From The Past- Favela Future
It’s been one of those weeks where all the things happened at once. Some really good, others—not. In short, Readership, Life Got In The Way Of Your Entertainment. Rather than offer a half-assed chapter of The Swipe, instead I’d like to invite you to click below and enjoy a hit from the extensive Excuses And Half Truths archives.
Join me in a crumbling, dystopian future that is, naturally enough, a product of and reaction to the times we live in now…
Favela Future: Dredd, Elysium and the ruins of the 21st century
See you in seven, survivors.
March 16, 2024
The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 11
A busy week as TLC and I manoeuvre into position for The Big Change. I won’t bore you with the details—yet. For now, enjoy a short sharp shock of Shwipe—er, Swipe. Extreme comics geekery, cookbooks for the people and Klingon Scrabble. Let’s get it on!
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Camera Obscura by Lavie Tidhar. An early shot of juicy steampunk from the Central Station author. A little clunky on startup, but the sheer verve of the storytelling and wild cannonades of imagination sweep you up and roll you along. Milady deWinter is an appropriately kick-ass heroine, busted up but never beaten. Plus there’s a rich supporting cast including everyone from the Marquis de Sade to Victor Frankenstein to Tom Thumb. Lots of fun!
Rob is watching…
A perfect example of neatly compressed storytelling which packs an awful lot into twelve seconds. You will have follow-up questions.
Rob is listening…
To Spotify’s Daylists, a clever use of The Algorithm which seem to suit my mood thus far on the morning and afternoon drives. It remains to be seen whether the same songs keep coming up at the same time. If it’s Friday afternoon, it must be Talking Heads…
Rob is eating…
Seafood pizza. Harder to find than it used to be, I’m sure. When in doubt, grab a decent Margarita from your favourite retailer and go nuts with the prawns and tuna. Some hot sauce on top and you’ve got an easy Friday night feast!
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
Not low-key at all. The Honda HR-V in sand khaki. More to come on this.
Max Read helps out if you need to unpick the story beats and twists in the second part of Denis Villeneuve’s epic adaptation of Frank Herbert’s sand-fi classic. Spoilers, obviously, for a story that’s been around since 1965. I remain disappointed that the murderous toddler Alia Atraides doesn’t make more of an appearance…
I will not apologise for sharing Todd Klein’s exhaustive overview of comics lettering. One of the key elements in the Ninth Art, we should never underestimate how much the humble speech bubble brings to the party. I spent a couple of evenings this week drinking down the huge amount of content on offer. Todd is one of if not the best in the business and his knowledge and enthusiasm for the discipline shine through every word and illustration.
The Art And History Of Lettering Comics
Sundials are cool and all but they’re not the most reliable of timepieces. Meet Windell Oskey, who built a better device from a simple idea. What a bright spark!
Here’s a chat with With Paige Lipari, founder of Archestratus—one of a small but noble tranche of bookshops dedicated to food writing. It’s probably just as well it’s based in Brooklyn. If I was close to a shop like this you’d probably have to set me up with a camp bed. I’d never want to leave.
A new spin on the revered board game. Phil from Funranium Labs proposes a model which upends traditional scoring methods in favour of your ability to convincingly argue the toss over your non-standard word choices. Honour is all!
As the dust settles on the inevitable Oscars drama the time has come to ask: do we deserve better from the Bizarro version, The Razzies? There are few surprises, and the choices are obvious. Of course the Winnie The Pooh horror would sweep the board. Ho hum. Is it time to expand the remit, or get back to the original idea behind the initiative—poking fun at Hollywood excesses and pomposity? Maybe the KLF had the right idea—giving the Turner Prize winner a concurrent nod for Worst Artwork Of The Year. Would Christopher Nolan show up to lift his Oppenheimer Razzie?
Please, take your time with this long Reddit thread of customer demands to poor, overworked retail staff. I believe, and I know I’m not the only one, that a spell working in a client-facing shop environment is incredibly useful for developing interpersonal skills and lateral thinking. Full disclosure, I’ve banked several years in retail, including two Christmases in a record shop. Patience is a virtue in this environment, of course. Take a deep breath…
Last up, let’s look at how the master of the ghost story, M.R. James, casts his spell. A lot of really useful insight here if you feel the urge to send a chill down your reader’s spines.
I vanished down a prog hole this week, listening to early Marillion. They were an obsession for me as a teenager (I was really not cool—I know, shock horror surprise), one of the first bands I embraced as my own away from Mum and Dad’s record collection. The band’s second album, Fugazi, was famously difficult to make as they were forced to follow up a hit record with no songs left in the bank. It oozes with the quiet panic of a freshly-famous group struggling with success. I choose to view the blatant misogyny on display as evidence of lyricist and singer Fish ricocheting around a set of messy breakdowns. Fugazi is very 80’s, very prog and not for everyone. But Marillion remain a bedrock of my musical tastes, and I found I could bellow along with every song. Just as well I commute solo…
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
