John Walker's Electronic House

You might have gone through today forgetting to be scared of Fox News.

You can read the full, unedited exchange, here:

A comment appeared on my obit for Kevin Greening (I’ve removed it since) asking me to email the poster, one Daniel Cochlin, stating that he’s a journalist. I did, teasing him slightly for failing to find my email address so subtly hidden on the right of this page. I asked how I could help.

“Sorry, it had been a long day. I work for the — and am looking to find out what Kevin’s address was and who his partner was. All info would obviously be treated in the strictest confidence and we do offer cash for info recieved. Could you get back to me ASAP on email or on 078—? Thanks”

Mmm, how tasteful. I replied,

“I’m sorry, but I cannot in good conscience do anything that would aid the —. While I’m aware that many of the people writing for the paper are perfectly decent, the paper is certainly not. It’s a nasty, dangerous thing.

I’m a little concerned as to why you are trying to track down his address and private life. Kevin kept such details very private for a good reason – he found fame embarrassing, had no desire to have his private life in the limelight, and I cannot think of a positive reason why you would wish to have this information.

I see that you write many gossip articles. I can only request that you give a decent man his dignity.

If you would like a quote about him, or what he was like to work with, I’m certain there are very many colleagues who are far more press-savvy than me, who would be willing to share with you what a good guy he was. My comments about him are in the public domain on my blog.

Sorry I can’t be of more help,”

I did my research, obviously, and found out that the man who had contacted me regularly writes invasive gossip stories, and there was no reason to think he was aiming to write anything positive. I received a reply.

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If I had listened to new music last year, this song (and the album) would have given us a Top Two.

Jens Lekman – You Are The Light

I somewhat forgot to listen to new music last year. So, well, I’m catching up now as everyone tells me what I should have been listening to with their lists. I mean, man, I didn’t listen to Burial’s Untrue, Jens Lekman’s Night Falls Over Kortedala, Dan Deacon, The New Pornographers… oh you name it, I didn’t listen.

Also, some stalwarts let me down by either releasing nothing, or releasing crap. Most guilty of this would be Rilo Kiley’s devastatingly tedious Under The Blacklight. It’s as if Jenny Lewis took all the folk and fun for her solo album, leaving the band with a clinical and depressingly mediocre series of songs.

But I did listen to Cloud Cult.

Which means:

1) Cloud Cult: The Meaning of 8

I’ve listened to their 2005 album, Advice From The Happy Hippopotamus, so very many times. The Meaning Of 8 is even better. I can’t be arsed writing about it, so you’ll just have to accept that I’m right. Watch/Listen to this:

And this:

I’ve just heard that Kevin Greening has died.

Greening was a DJ at Radio 1 for most of the 90s, having slipped a bit more into obscurity over the last few years, his biggest moment of fame being when he co-hosted the Radio 1 breakfast show with Zoe Ball. Which was, sadly, the worst work he ever did. Before that he worked all over the schedule, spending a deal of time in the obscurity of the 4am show, and then having an extensive stint on the 4-7pm drive time (or as he called it,”drivel time”) slot. He also described himself as Radio 1’s “supply DJ”, generally with a strong tone of disgust, filling in all over the place for other presenters on holiday.

Back in 1997 I somehow ended up writing gags for his Drivel Time show. This was mostly from afar, emailing them to Greening, which led to our corresponding for a while. It’s quite peculiar now, but I remember lending him a single by MC 900FT Jesus, (that, randomly, Mark Radcliffe had posted to me when I was a teenager after I wrote to him asking from where I could get hold of it – the lovely man just posted me a copy), and eventually my being invited to come in to be part of the team for a week while he filled in on the breakfast show. However, sadly, I never did. I had created a really stupid quiz idea which Kevin liked – it was called Call The Toss, designed as a spoof of sports quizzes. Each morning they would heavily promote a sports quiz, each morning for a different sport, get callers who believed themselves to be expert to call in, and then every day the question would be, “In the 1984 Ashes Test, in the opening game, who won the toss?” Or, “In the 1978 Wimbledon Women’s final, who won the toss?” I don’t even understand it now, but he liked it, and apparently jingles were made up for it, all ready to go, with me as part of the Radio 1 Breakfast Show Posse. And then Princess Diana died the Sunday before.

The whole week of shows were cancelled, replaced with the pathetic dross every station pumped out that week, aimlessly linking miserable songs and pretending like the whole nation was in some sort of fucking mourning, rather than just bored and annoyed as 99% were. And that’s the story of how I never became a super famous Radio 1 DJ.

Greening offered me a chance to come in for a Drivel Time show later on, which was a really wonderful day. Radio 1, at least back then, was housed in a secret building quite a way from the rest of the BBC. The idea was, when they had some boy band in, the hoardes of screaming lunatics would gather at Broadcasting House, while the band was safely hidden a few roads down in an unmarked, and very unlikely narrow terrace building. There was a dank office upstairs, and two studios downstairs, and an anonymous reception between the two. It wasn’t the glamour you might imagine.

I spent the day working with the regular team, writing gags for the show, and then coming up with material during broadcast in response to the current news. That was superb fun, and the satisfaction of getting a joke on air was huge. Greening was a bit distant that day, having been quite horribly beaten up the night before. The attack was never publically reported, but it seemed he’d had the shit kicked out of him outside a club. Which was weird.

But he was still friendly, and completely without the ego of the majority working in radio. He had always been embarrassed by being famous, and I respected his quiet, background role very much. Throughout his time on the early morning show, and the slightly less so in the rest of his Radio 1 slots, he would write and produce these extraordinary sketches that would be played in without comment. These were either very strange, often surreal adverts, or the most peculiarly sedate and gentle sketches featuring regular characters. As an antithesis to the vile shit that Steve Wright would broadcast, they were hypnotically serene, often morose, and unlike anything else you’d hear on the radio. And this seemed to capture his own personality. So very gentle and calm.

(While I was there, I also walked past the hateful Nicky Campbell, and gloriously had a very brief conversation with John Peel – he was sat on my stuff, and I had to ask him to move – quite the chat).

Sadly, the last contact I had with him was our falling out. That afternoon at Radio 1 he said to me, “In my career I hope to lay a bouquet of flowers at the foot of the statue of Chris Morris.” Later, he made some decisions that did not match up to that, including agreeing to co-present the breakfast show with Zoe Ball, and lending his voice to television commercials. I expressed my disappointment in him, and he told me to fuck off, and that was pretty much it.

However, I think he achieved that goal. His subversive approach to any job he did was like a joyful secret joke for all who understood. His constant undermining of Radio 1, its playlist, and embarrassing attempts to yoof itself up every couple of months, were sharp and bitter, while presented as warm and calm. He was a very smart and funny man, and his work rewarded those who paid close attention.

It’s sad that his career ended in relative obscurity at Smooth FM, when he should clearly have been on the vastly improved Radio 2. He was very kind to me, far more so than someone in his position needed to be. It’s rubbish that he’s died so young. RIP.

The shop down the road from my house is run by a strange man. A man I couldn’t help but notice did seem to be rather drunk at odd points in the day over the last year. In a peculiar display of public expression, the sign below the jump has been stuck to the front door for the last couple of weeks.

I don’t post this to mock the content of the sign at all, but because it’s such a fascinating thing. I do, however, include the sign immediately below purely for the purposes of mockery, not being particular impressed at such a stupid sentiment being in the doorway. Combined, they’re just plain odd. (Text below if you can’t make it out).

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Ultra-raining beyond the supermax!