John Walker's Electronic House

So, since moving house I’ve had no broadband, and dial-up’s too painful to blog with. Especially when I can’t read the internet all day long. But now I’m in Washington DC, awake at 5.30am, writing this on my DS. The good news is when I get back I’ll have the fastest internet in the world.

Hello The Internet.

This last weekend I moved house. I’m now out the skank-o-flat shared with horrid Jon Hicks, and now in a lovely house at the top of the tallest hill, sharing with Craig Pearson, Graham Smith, and, er, horrid Jon Hicks.

So, no internet at the moment (currently stealing raw internet from Future), and so site silence for a while. Will report. Out.

1. Dick In A Box – Justin Timberlake/SNL

Who know he had it in him? Or indeed that SNL had a joke left in them? It’s too obvious a choice, too widespread an internet phenomenon, but it’s obviously the best YouTube video of the year. NBC know what they’re doing with YouTube. Every network is trying to find a way to milk the memesis, but few are embracing the common sense of using it for defying the retardation of FCC regulations. No sooner had all the unofficial recordings of the censored broadcast version hit the site when NBC surprised everyone by posting an uncensored and usurping high quality alternative, now with just shy of 10 million views. (This is no defense of NBC. The hateful cretins are forcing YouTube to remove many clips of their daily talk shows, even when they contain promotions for their own future programming – the idiots).

But the Dick In A Box song isn’t simply a case of being barely rude on national television. It was being barely rude in a really funny way. The song is a superb spoof of the whole nu-crooning, and who better to send it up than its own crowned king, Timberlake? He wasn’t a one-trick pony either. His Ashton Kutcher pisstake is fantastic, and surprisingly cruel.

The greatest moment is certainly the counted explanation of how to create the seasonal gift, becoming the hook that’s inspired a thousand reply songs. It’s as peurile as its harshest critic can proclaim, and that’s why it’s great.

2. OK Go – Here It Goes Again

Had either of the excellent albums been released in 2006, they would certainly have appeared in my forgotten albums of the year. OK Go are far more than the novelty YouTube video band they’ve become. And again, as above, there couldn’t be a more obvious pick, but once more, it’s deserved.

The video that caused the real fire in 2005 was A Million Ways, which is still generating ludicrous numbers of copyist YouTube videos, from school performances to people far too old at parties. The choreography is unquestionably sublime, managing to capture snatches of the most famous video dances of the last forty years. However, this year’s was even more impressive.

This is partly thanks to Here It Goes Again being a far better song, and partly because, well, dancing on treadmills is just awesome. Six treadmills, four men, one continuous shot. I daren’t imagine how many takes. And quite a few less copy videos, oddly enough. That, however, doesn’t dampen the attention, with the version of the video linked below alone recording over 3,200,000 views. There’s few bands that could make such a boast, let alone those that almost no one could name a third song by. Check out both albums, they’re well worth it.

(more to come)

Everyone has their gimmicks. One of mine has been coffee. People knew the easy way to get me a present was to have it coffee related. Youth groups I ran used to mock me for always having a mug of coffee in my hand (a beautiful leaving present made by Christ Church in Guildford contained cartoons and comments and even a disturbingly rude poem, all mentioning it). Everyone knows I make a great cup of coffee with my favourite toy, my espresso machine. Everyone’s experienced rants about the clucking idiots who stand in front of me in coffee shops and order their elaborate cream-based puddings while I’m stuck waiting for some hot water pumped through ground beans. And God knows I’ve got hours of material on instant ‘coffee’, and the Satanic “tea rooms” that charge money for it. (Good grief Britain, it was A WAR RATIONING MEASURE. Every other country in the world threw it in the bin the moment the bombs stopped dropping, and we’re still, sixty years later, drinking this freeze-dried crap, and worse, CHARGING MONEY FOR IT? Would the same cafes cook with powdered eggs? Do their staff draw stocking lines down the backs of their legs with an eyebrow pencil? Answers: I imagine they probably do, the disgusting hellholes).

I’ve not had a cup of coffee for nine weeks.

Before pedantic twitheads get too worked up, I’m drinking decaf, and yes, it has “coffee” on the label. But really, to make that argument, you’ve clearly no idea about coffee at all.

The doctor told me I must stop. Not because I was glugging back crazed amounts. I was genuinely having two or three mugs a day. And the “two” part was often true. They were damn good mugs of coffee, and certainly considerably strong (how coffee should be consumed, milky weirdos). But it wasn’t quite the intravenous drip it could have been. But because it was likely linked to my bundle of anxiety issues, and it was a first thing to rule out.

My response surprised me as I was spluttering it. I began bargaining with him. I genuinely said, “But I can’t! I have… a really expensive espresso machine.” He gave me a look.

It took about two weeks and the discovery of a bearable decaf before I could do this, but on that daythat was it. No more. Cold turkey. And it hurt. Oh man, it hurt.

Two weeks of constant headaches – proper cracking headaches that made me want to bring back trepanning – greeted my every morning, through to about mid-afternoon. I was grumpy and annoyed (and inevitably annoying), and so deeply frustrated to know that all I needed was one mug and all the pain would seep away. That’s an amazing part of coffee – it’s an instantly acting drug. Having clearly been worryingly addicted for years, missing a mug in a morning (and that would be all my system required – one in the morning – the rest were just because it tastes so damned good) lead to a miserable headache. Getting a mug and knocking it back used to cause a strange fizzing noise in the back of my neck as I felt the pain immediately drain away. Good grief, how was that not ringing alarm bells?

But I did not. I haven’t chipped once. Even in the face of Nick’s* peculiar devilish enabling, telling me, “It’s ok to just have one, go on, have a treat, you’re on holiday,” I resisted.

It’s odd to get up in the morning, do some “work”, and then notice it’s 2pm and I’ve not had a mug of decaf. It’s also great to drink it at night without getting fidgity. It’s still an empty drink, missing that essential ingredient and purpose, but thank goodness for Taylors of Harrogate, and their D:Caff range. And oh sweet joy! In finding that link I’ve just spotted they make a strength 5! That was the key to breaking the addiction – finding a strong enough blend. The people who tend to drink decaf appear to be the sorts of wishywashy fools who want their coffee all thin and miserable. D:Caff’s strength 4 was my magical medicine, freeing me from the caffeine. But yippee! A strength 5 for further enjoyment. It’s going to be hard to get hold of it, it seems, but dammit, it’s out there.

What most annoys me is that the doctor was right. I now sleep within an hour of going to bed. It’s so incredibly galling to acknowledge, but I can’t deny it. Before it took me about two hours to settle and sleep, now it takes me less than one. Raw facts. Goddammit.

Because, you see, I really like coffee. I was also worryingly addicted, planning ahead if I was ever away so I could be certain to have access to something decent. Nine weeks on and the addiction is tethered, but the drink remains my favourite. Sadly no one I’ve found makes a decent grind for an espresso machine, so that still lies dormant. But yes, here it is: I stopped drinking real coffee.

*Which reminds me: I will finish the Cotswolds story, as the best nonsense is still to come, including a great instant decaf rant

Despite all my anti-spam measures, they’re still pouring in. But in the weirdest way.

I use a plugin that closes comments down on posts after about 30 days or so. This is supposed to stop the other useless spam trick where they post eight million comments to something a year old because you won’t notice (and nor will anyone reading, surely?). But here’s the weird thing: the spam is now all arriving on those posts.

HOW?

How are these evil bumfaces able to post comments to entries with no comments field? And how can I stop this tyranny?

Help me vanquish this foe.

EDIT: On the offchance that I have any avidly commenting blind readers, I’m going to switch off the comment code thing, and see how Spam Karma does on its own.

Well, this is terribly immodest, but when recently watching a programme on close up magic, I suddenly realised how this trick could be done, and had a go.

Spam comments have been picking up again of late, so much so that even if anyone were to genuinely mean, “This post is on target, keep it up,” I’d delete it without pause.

But hopefully that will now be thwarted with the human checkeriser I’ve just installed. It should now ask for a code before it will let you post a comment. If anyone has any problems, give it a test. I’m even going to switch off the comment authorisation, so if you’re one of those people who seems to constantly change their IP or email details each time they post, it should let you through straight away.

Hey, give it a go.

I’ve realised what the problem has been with me and music this year. Everyone likes the rubbish. Totally ignored in all the lists (and I don’t want to hear about the ones that include them, as it will only spoil my rant) are some of the best albums of 2006. And because I thought of putting in YouTube links before I saw Kieron had done it, I’m doing it too, but totally not copying, so there.

1. Some By Sea

And absolutely beautiful album that finds a midpoint between the fictional genre of post-chamber music and the all too real one of pop. Cellos and violins swell through each track, underlining Chris Du Bray’s gorgeous voice, as he meanders through melancholy poems. The sad news is the band have broken up. The happy news is Du Bray has started a new one called Ghosts & Liars, featuring other SBS members, and a similar, if slightly poppier sound.

MySpace

2. Bishop Allen

The Christian Rudder-containing band did something excellent last year: they released an EP every month (August’s being a complete live show). Even better, each was wonderful, serving as an audio diary of the titular month. There’s little better than a favourite band offering brand new music once a month. Completely independent, they did this without losing money to a record label, selling the EPs through their own site, hand posting each one. And at $5 a go, it was a cheap way to get 44 new songs and a live show in one year. Highlights include February’s Queen of the Rummage Sale, January’s wonderful Corazon, and June’s incredibly happy The Light of the Lost, especially it’s ULTRO-FAST guitar solo. They’re all available at the band’s site, along with a few free mp3s.

Official Site

3. Howe Gelb – ‘Sno Angel Like You

The former Giant Sands singer is endlessly brilliant, and never discussed. With the exception of Tom, thank goodness, who let me know about the new album. On ‘Sno Angel his leathery voice is given a surprisingly complimentary boost by a gospel choir (Voices of Praise). But I Did Not (featured on the MySpace page) probably does the best job of combining what everyone already loved about Gelb with the Gospel sound, but it’s Howlin’ A Gale and Worried Spirits that give you brand new things to love about him. If churches sounded like, it would only be the Christians not turning up on Sunday mornings.

MySpace

4. Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan – Ballad of Broken Seas

Mark Lanegan is one of the few survivors of the 90s Seattle Sound, former lead singer of the Screaming Trees, and occasional member of Queens of the Stone Age. Isobel Campbell sings the even girlier bits on Belle & Sebastian records. So obviously they’re the ideal match! Except, of course, they are. Lanegan’s voice has found a surly depth that matches Gelb’s, and even Cave’s, while Campbell’s whimsical floating instrumental voice is as pure and perfect as ever. The two meet in the middle in a folky sound of broken ballads (a phrase I used entirely without remembering the name of the album – what a good choice of name), that reminds of Nick Cave’s most gentle outings (even sharing the lyric “We fucked up the Sun” with Cave’s A Boatman’s Call). Cellos ensure all remains sombre, creating images of barren desert towns and broken whiskey bottles. Oddly the single, Rambling Man (video below), is almost entirely unrepresentative of the album, and probably the weakest track. It sounds far too much like a missed attempt to be Tom Waits, and not nearly enough like the album they were otherwise recording. Far better would be the grown up lullaby of Deus Ibi Est, where Campbell’s accompaniment plays a game of chase with Lanegan’s defiant and bold invitation for her to “come walk with me”, occasionally catching up, and sometimes taking the lead.

Campbell’s MySpace with two album tracks
Deeply odd YouTube video of Rambling Man

6. Mellowdrone – Box

Surely it’s not forgotten because it came out on the 22nd January 2006? Surely not forgotten because people missed its joyful brilliance? Imagine if OK Go! weren’t held back by accidentally becoming a novelty video band, then rock it up a bit. There’s a 90s feel about the vocals, but not so much you want to go and write a bloody comic about it or something. It’s modern enough to be relevant, and wry enough to be worth attention. The album bounces out of the gate with Oh My, which escalates as it progresses, and then suddenly becomes the Cure for about five seconds, before sniggering at itself and getting back on with bouncing. “Oh my what a wonderful day!” is exactly how albums should start but never do. Four Leaf Clover wins special attention for wonderful use of the word “behooves”. What I like best is that it’s the first album since Ani Difranco’s Little Plastic Castle where each song sounds like it should have been the first single, but no, this one, no wait, the next one, no, hang on, wait, all of them! Having beautifully abandoned their record label, the band are now making their money by touring. However, just before they did squeeze one video out.

YouTube
MySpace

7. Regina Spektor – Mary Ann Meets the Gravediggers and Other Short Stories

The Most Mainstream Of Mainstream People started noticing Regina Spektor this year, and she even hit top 10 lists with her lovely new album, Begin To Hope. However, when compared with her previous Soviet Kitsch, (with the exception of three exceptional songs) it suddenly sounds like Tori Amos. ARRGGGHHH! Fortunately the very beginning of the year contained the splendidly named Mary Ann… a sort of Bits And Bobs Of, containing some tracks from Soviet Kitsch, and some other leftover pieces that retain minimalistic nature of her pre-Begin To Hope sound. Mary Ann replaces the lonely piano with an equally isolated double bass, but there’s nothing more wonderful than Consequence of Sound, even with its ear-hurting interrupting scales. One of my songs of the year.

MySpace

1. Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip

Studio 60 suffers in people’s critical minds thanks to expectations set so very, very high. Any mistake the programme makes pulls it down from the perfection demanded. It’s like dropping a few pieces of gravel in a tray of precious jewels. Easily spotted because they don’t sparkle, it’s all people can focus on, ignoring the riches all around.

I do the same. I hesitated to choose this for number one for no good reason. What else am I going to put here? Superheroes? Spaceships? In honest comparison, Studio 60 stands out from an excellent year of television, with the finest writing on screen, accompanied by equally strong acting. Yes, the sketches suck. (Oddly, they weren’t so bad when the tirade against them began, but troublingly they’ve become increasingly poor as the series progresses. When watching an episode in which a huge hook is the desperate race to write a replacement sketch for the end of the show, the expected brilliance is not the cast’s spitting water in each other’s faces). But this is the gravel. All around is a joyously intelligent production. I still have worries, and I still believe there’s something significant missing (but can’t put my finger on what), and most of all I want a reason to care about the love interests.

It’s too easy to forget how magnificent it is between episodes, until you see that a new one has been broadcast and run through walls to watch it.

2. Dexter

Never has there been a more gruesome opening title sequence. It’s only fitting for a programme about a sociopathic serial killer/blood spatter forensic officer, who is either working in repulsive crime scenes, or creating his own. Except the titles simply show Dexter having breakfast and getting ready for work. Close-ups of a grapefruit being squeezed have never been so stomach churning.

Perhaps the knife-point psychology of Dexter doesn’t survive too much scrutiny. For all his narrative exposition of his emotionless state, he’s remarkably emotionally driven. However, perhaps that’s simply more realistic. Just because the narrator says it, doesn’t make it true. The first twelve-episode series has concluded, superbly, but it’s unfair to discuss it as Channel 4 haven’t even noticed it yet, let alone started showing it on random days at random times in the wrong order. But who would ever have guessed that the Ice Truck Killer was an alien!?!

Another twelve episodes are on the way, which is a great relief. Not only for the further opportunities to stare at Dexter’s sister’s excellent eyes. What a splendidly disturbing and emotionally conflicting series it was, asking you to not only cheer on the murderer, but fall in love with him completely. And it’s a rare example of something incredibly good receiving the attention it deserves. Showtime broke their ratings records once a week with each new episode.

3. Heroes

The little superheroes that could. I knew this was going to be great, in the face of all the stupid wrongheaded people I know. Especially Ste. I am best. NBC demolished the pilot, rendering the beginning of the second episode utter gibberish. This only made the deliberate lack of continuity within the second episode all the more confusing. However, once the idiotdust settled, everything slotted into place.

I’m surprised by the number of people who hate Peter. His character – deliberately weedy and underwhelming – is not nearly as garish as others have suggested, and the potential for his powers is exciting. (Conscious again that BBC2 haven’t started showing this yet, I’m avoiding spoiling anything). And anyone who didn’t like the Cheerleader is a buffoon, Graham. She is great. Fortunately everyone in the universe loves time-stopping Hiro, as well they should.

Now in the middle of its agonising two month hiatus, all the rumours that the first chunk of episodes would be a self-contained arc were LIES! LIES! There’s no programme that has me moving the mouse to the bottom of the screen to check how much time is left, hoping for ages and ages, quite like this one.

4. The Lost Room

There’s a key that can open any door. The doors it opens always lead into the same motel room. Then think of a door anywhere in the world, open the motel room door, and you’re there. Door-to-door travel. It’s a powerful object, and there’s a lot of people after it. The key falls into the hands of a cop, who through a string of events (after discovering the room “resets” each time the door is closed) loses his young daughter in the room. So there’s some motive to find a way to get her back.

There are, it turns out, about one hundred such Objects, each imbued with a unique power. Some are excellent, like a pair of glasses that resist all combustion. Some are rubbish, like the wristwatch that hard boils eggs. And there’s a number of hidden cabals, all fighting to recover or destroy the Objects for their own reasons.

Shown on the Sci-Fi Channel in the US in December (and infuriatingly advertised through every episode of Battlestar with stupid giant graphics – but dammit, it seems to have worked) The Lost Room was three one and a half hour episodes, forming a self-contained mini-series. While the first half hour of the first part is a garbled mess of exposition and rushed character establishment (sometimes so rushed they forget to provide motivation), it then slots into its groove and is away. There’s something especially potent about the most ordinary objects being dangerously powerful. The programme taps into the same brilliant vein that Stephen King found when he was great, taking the mundane, everyday objects in our lives, and making them sinister. There are certainly vibes of Needful Things, especially with the strange obsessive nature of those who’ve possessed an Object for some time. Certainly hokum, it’s great because rather than the oh-so fashionable trend of saying, “We’ve got these amazing powers – let’s never, ever use them so we appear sophisticated”, The Lost Room constantly uses everything, all the time, non-stop for four and a half hours. If it’s fun to teleport someone to a remote town in Mexico with a magic bus ticket, then it’s fun to do it twenty times for increasingly good reasons. Sure, you’ll get sick of the main character saying, “I’m looking for my daughter. She disappeared into that ROOM!”, and having every baddie touched by the tragedy, but meh, who cares? This is proper magical fun, unafraid to embrace nonsense, and constantly delivering on all the reasons you ever enjoyed an episode of The Outer Limits.

5. Battlestar Galactica

Whether the big red reset button was a good idea or not has become somewhat academic. But what a splendid collection of episodes kicked off series three. It’s a shame that the momentum was clearly never going to last, and while on-board machinations can be just as gripping as planet-based terrorism, the last couple before the break found themselves back in scrappy territory. But let’s not moan, as series three has been some of the greatest sci-fi ever made, and the Cylon stories are becoming increasingly fascinating. Especially each time Dean Stockwell appears.

6. Ugly Betty

That a programme as wonderful as Ugly Betty can come sixth shows what a brilliant year it’s been for square eyes. Every single episode has been a thing of utter joy, grabbing one handful of fairytale and the other handful of happy endings from 80s movies, and merrily combining them in an explosion of colour and pursed lips. The staff of the fashion magazine for which poor, plain Betty works, are obstensibly the baddies. But rather than be so tiresomely simple, instead it makes every one of them fantastically fun to encounter, and through Betty’s eyes, people to try and like. The stand-out character so far is Amanda, cruel and jealous (of everyone), she’s also adorable. I’ve never seen better facial expressions on a person. And what is it JimFromNeighbours is up to, eh? Oh good grief, I love this show so much.

7. House

Who knew this could last three seasons? And further, who amongst those people knew it would be consistently better with each new year? If it’s you, you win a prize! That prize is lupas.

The main concern was that they’d run out of medical mysteries for the team to explore. That, so far, doesn’t seem to be a problem, although this may be more to do with the patients having taken a backseat to the increasingly tormented life of Gregory House. The season three arc has been the most compelling so far, reaching a stunning high/low point with the amazingly depressing Christmas special.

The reason House is great is not because of sophisticated writing, or an especially stunning cast. (BillyFromNeighbours’ gurning has yet to evolve into anything resembling acting). It’s because it knows its limits, and has a hell of a lot of fun down there. Hugh Laurie is nonstop perfect as House, wry and hilarious, while impressively tortured, while all around the script, cast and patients provide walls for him to bounce his ball against. It’s nonsense, like awful programmes like CSI are nonsense, but the key difference is House knows it, and is brilliant at being nonsense.

8. Scrubs

Forgot this one! How Scrubs manages to keep the quality for so long is a mystery, but if the first three episodes of season six are an indication, it’s still being maintained. Season five was a complete joy from start to finish, seeing a lot of the characters mature with Carla’s pregnancy. And JD not mature in the slightest, which is how it should be. A lot more interesting stories for Cox was an excellent idea, and while there wasn’t an episode that matched the return of Cox’s brother in law, or the sitcom, it was still a magnificent season.

9. Bones

I enjoy Bones far more than I know I should. The ensemble cast are brilliant, and the stories so daft and entertaining. Every now and then there’s an episode of agonising dreadfulness (for example, the recent Blair Witch rip-off, that at no point acknowledged the film it was wholesale stealing in such a peculiarly blatent way, but instead made constant comparisons to other horror movies with which it had nothing in common), but most of the time this is perfect entertainment television. Undemanding, but very funny, and with all the fun of the murder mystery fair.

10. Drawn Together

The third series has so far been more shocking than I could have hoped for. Horrifically offensive, and consistently hilarious, the cartoon “reality show” is a series with infinite sources to mock. Only topped by Wonder Showzen for on-screen offense, it is, unlike the MTV show, possible to watch without putting your fingers over your eyes and feeling your childhood dying of cancer. (I’ve not seen the new season of Wonder Showzen, hence its not being included in this list).

11. South Park

I had completely dropped out of South Park, until, like so many, the Scientology episode. The following season 10, from the death of Chef to Cartman’s epic adventures after freezing himself to try and pass the time before the Wii was released, has been stunning. The World of Warcraft episode did what nothing else on television can do – understood a videogame and presented it mostly accurately – and even the season’s duffer, Satan’s birthday party, was pretty funny. The speed with which the show can respond to world events and have them appropriately satirised is a key strength, from Muhammad cartoons to 9/11 conspiracies. Then there’s the remarkable brutality of the paedophile teacher episode, or the aching cruelty of the sports movie parody that finished the series.

Also Rans

How I Met Your Mother has been mostly delightful, and certainly the only sitcom I can currently be bothered to watch. Help Me Help You lost its way after, well, episode one, and despite a couple of high points since (most significantly when Inger met her WoW guild friends in real life), has mostly wallowed in mediocrity. Family Guy has been funny, if nothing to immediately rush off and talk about as it has been in the past. Jericho has been the worst programme I’ve ever looked forward to watching every week. My Name Is Earl carries on with the same excellent writing and beautiful filming, but is in extreme danger of disappearing up its own bumhole with the increasingly patronising “messages” our moustachioed Scientologist friend seems to want to impart. And Scrubs has only just started, but is looking like it’s every bit as wonderful as ever before. A few more episodes in, and it would have definitely been on the above list.

1. Good Night, And Good Luck

Clooney is too good for people to feel comfortable recognising quite how good he is. Everyone seems to think that they should be careful not to make a mistake and credit someone so mainstream and popular. But he’s without doubt one of the finest actors to have lived, and rapidly becoming one of the best directors working today. Good Night, And Good Luck is astonishingly good, deeply subtle and exquisitely performed.