Lenny = White, Carl = Black

I have been listening and thinking a lot about hip-hop of late. Also talking about it. Arjunan is a good friend at work. He is known as Arj only to his friends. Because he is the nicest man on earth, everyone calls him Arj.

An unassuming soul, it was a delight to discover that he was also partial to the art of spoken rhyme. Like myself, Arj wades in the conscious end of the hip-hop pool but also has well articulated views on 90s West Coast rap that belies his character. He is kinda like Charles Grodin in 'Midnight Run' come to think of it.

So as a result we have been swapping discs (remember them?) and chatting further about why we like certain artists and albums. The thing that resonates most of all with hip-hop for me is 'the swagger'. From the time they drop their first single, rap artists are full of confidence which most other genres don't seem to naturally have. The term 'earnest' is virtually unknown in hip-hop circles.

Which inexplicably brings me to Kanye West.

Casual listeners to Yeezy will be forgiven for thinking that Mr West is simply a mouthpiece for boasting and for broadsides at anyone who wins an award he was nominated for. But dig deeper and Kanye is one of the very few of his peers that is willing to bare his soul. This was most evident on his debut album The College Dropout. Sure there was bravado up the wazoo but there were some moments where he dropped his guard a little. Often on the same track.

'All Falls Down' was my entry point to this album and seven years on I still have it on high rotation. The last line in particular spoke to me as a slightly directionless twentysomething:

"We all self conscious I'm just the first to admit it."

As I have mentioned previously, one of the aims of my current writing project is to steer away from the thick slabs of earnestness that weighed down my earlier attempts at fiction. But as Kanye has demonstrated, a little openness on the odd occasion has the ability to keep things grounded.

Write with confidence but with an awareness of what is going on around you.

That's not a bad thing to aim for.

I am a man, a simple man...

One of the aims for this writing project (see: Didn't you used to be Eddie Valiant?)was to avoid where possible any musical references in the story, especially when it came to our protagonist.

Considering the story involves a lot of working stiffs in a law firm (apologies to all working stiffs out there), I am able to drastically limit any opportunity to crowbar in a reference to a song or artist. Mind you I have lined up at least one recurring gag involving Hall & Oates as well as a very obscure nod to David Bryan.

Don't know who he is? Mission accomplished.

The one overt allowance is the classic 1987 album 'Man Of Colours' by legendary Australian outfit Icehouse. Without going into too much detail as to how it makes an appearance (it involves a cassette version of the album) or shape the story (it doesn't) I have instead revisited the album to get a sense as to how it affects our hero (he reluctantly loves it).

And that has been my take on it over the years. You see the Summer of 1987/88 was soundtracked by two albums, the aforementioned 'Man Of Colours' and John Mellencamp's 'The Lonesome Jubilee'. I am fairly sure that these were the only two albums my parents played over the 3 months. This is obviously incorrect as there are other songs from that time that I recall. But what sticks out was the incessant repeating of Man of Fucking Colours and Mellencamp's "every guy" rock.

The image of my parents dancing (over and over again) to 'Cherry Bomb' will be with me fondly forever.

So what has Iva Davies left me with?

It's interesting. Is it the best Aussie release of the 80s? According to the recent Triple J poll, there are 11 other albums from that decade that make an appearance. 'Man Of Colours' doesn't even rate a mention. But I can tell you now that I would play this before busting out 'Whispering Jack' any day of the week.

The reason for this rests with the overall sound of the album which still impresses me. When you consider that there are only a few songs in the set that scream 1987 (mainly resigned to the final few numbers) it is an album I can come back to at any time.

Obviously the copy my parents wore out that Summer didn't wear me out.

Didn't you used to be Eddie Valiant?

I'll admit it has been some time between drinks. To be honest though life has been going great these past couple of hockey seasons that I have had few chances to tap this part of the brain.

However a month or so ago I stumbled across what I thought would be a great idea for a story. Now normally my flights of fictional fancy have been so darn earnest and full of hand wringing that really don't represent me, or at least not a me that has left his twenties behind him.

Instead this kernel comes from a place that has been me all along:
Dark, dry and a little bit (nay a whole lot) silly.

So as I start to construct this loose thread of ideas into something legible, I will aim to use this space to bounce ideas around and to post things that inspire me on this adventure. It will hopefully keep me creatively wired and (most importantly) moving forward.

For now though I offer you a mock-up blurb of the story, like something you would find on the back of a novel. This isn't intended to give you the full picture but to set the tone and give you a glimpse as to where I am coming from and aiming for.

I hope you like it.

Ryan always wanted to be an architect, but sometimes dreams get traded. Instead he is a journalist and not a very successful one. In order to supplement his income, Ryan has taken a role as a lackey at a prestigious law firm, one that is making good coin in such a terrible economic climate.

Ryan’s curiosity (and naïveté) finally gets the better of him and he discovers the firm’s shocking secret to its success. Worse still is the revelation of who is actually behind the cunning scheme.

Suddenly, Ryan is faced with some tough questions:

Does he tell the Uncle who hired him about what is transpiring?

Will he leverage his somewhat questionable membership of The Fourth Estate to write the story of the year?

And perhaps most importantly…

…how does one get blood out of a credenza anyhow?

Radio Gaga Free: My 5 favourite albums for 2010

With apologies to the left-handed motherfucking genius who just missed out, here are the albums that I kept returning to over and over again this year (in no particular order):

Arcade Fire - The Suburbs

16 track albums should not work in this attention deficit world but Arcade Fire are not a band prone to doing things half arsed. Watch this get snubbed at The Grammy Awards.



Broken Bells - Broken Bells

It is only after listening to their self titled debut that you realise that James Mercer and Danger Mouse have created the most natural sounding ego-free collaboration in a long time. Check out 'The High Road'

Fyfe Dangerfield - Fly Yellow Moon

I have already talked a fair bit about Mr Dangerfield's solo project over on The Music Blogs. I just wish more people knew about his great album.



The Gaslight Anthem - American Slang

The shadow of Springsteen looms large over many of the new indie bands these days. The difference between The Gaslight Anthem and the rest of them is that The Gaslight Anthem couldn't give a shit if you think they are cool or not.



Plan B - The Defamation Of Strickland Banks

A rapper who doesn't need guest vocalists for the hooks (and vice-versa), Plan B knocked it out of the park with his sophomore release. And yes, a concept album that actually works from start to finish.

Me: When I'm Not Here...

...or at the place that actually pays me for that matter. Every so often I will write for the good people at The Music Blogs. My latest post is on Ben Drew aka Plan B.

Head there when you get sick of my posts with endless references to Londonbeat. But before you do, check out my favourite new song:



Take care all.

Songs that never get old #4577

A love tune from the perspective of a dying man allows for great lines such as:

"These things I might have said
only wish I could
Now I'm leaking life faster
than I'm leaking blood."

Proof that David Gray wasn't creatively bankrupt after White Ladder.

All I want is something I can write about

Little Kielbasa
Image courtesy of acoustitch

I received a mention on Twitter yesterday from a complete stranger (say hello Daniel) saying what a great blog I had. Kind words indeed but the random kudos did spark a reminder that I have not really updated this space in a while.

Sure, you've all taken delight in my past tales of Fantasy Football and over indulgence in the Robert Palmer songbook but what have I done for you lately? Bubkis that's what!

Truthfully though, my happiness has become my weakness: I am now in a relationship.

Last time I was with someone, I recall that it was difficult to put head to pen to paper. This was in the days before blogging became something non-nerds did so I have nothing by way of example to show for any past lulls in my output.

Perhaps being in a relationship puts things into perspective? Perhaps this wonderful thing I am in means that defending girl groups becomes somehow irrelevant? Perhaps the trivial things don't mean as much now?

I don't think that's necessarily the case (though sticking up for Girls Aloud shall be put down to sleep deprivation on a Trans-Atlantic flight). My current belief (and I hope to be proven wrong) is that the energy and excitement I used to express myself when I was single is now directed towards my relationship leaving me without a desire to write.

What I do hope is that my relationship inspires me to write about new and interesting topics with renewed vigour. Perhaps all I need is a little time for those effects to rub off.

So to my small band of followers, I apologise if I'm not around here as often.

To the girl who has my heart: I'll see you on Friday for a pizza and a Gig.