Summer Sun

For those that have moved away or those that simply wonder – this is what an English summer is like.

Isn’t that beautiful?

(Image taken in Harrold, Bedfordshire)

London Loves

I am unsure of where my interest in architecture started, but I often think of it as the very crux of my cultural being. I love music, films, video games, paintings/sculpture/installations both classical and modern, but I feel that it’s my appreciation of buildings, both in terms of form and function, that defines my aesthetic self. When cruising the On Demand TV channels, nothing piques my interest and excitement quite as much as a documentary about a structure, architect or architectural movement.

It’s a great interest to have because it’s (a) easy and (b) everywhere. Walking around London and you find that this is definitely the case with more or less every corner turned a trove of interest and intrigue. However, familiarity breeds apathy, and I often find myself walking around the same parts enjoying the scenery without actually marvelling in it. For my money, the Houses of Parliament (resplendent in their Victorian Gothic finery) is as good an example of architectural brilliance as you’re likely to find, yet, as I see them almost every time I visit, they have lost the vim that they really deserve.

However, upon wandering the streets of Chelsea (close by South Kensington tube station) I stumbled across an absolute marvel, located at 81 Fulham Road.

Photo by Amanda Slater (clickthrough to Flickr)

Michelin House, completed in 1911 as use for a tyre depot and now used as a top flight restaurant and furniture retailer (both affiliated with Sir Terrance Conran), cannot help but be taken in and noticed. The architectural style is very hard to pin down, being too industrial for nouveau and too flouncy to be moderne/deco. Vast stained glass windows of Bibendum (Michelin’s rotund mascot) reflect aquatic blues and greens, giving the impression of a grand church to the god of industry. In fact, the name BIBENDUM is the first thing that you really notice about the building, as that is the name the emblazons both sides of the building. (When arriving home I searched for more information using a tentative Google search of “Bibendum building London”.)

Taken with Hipstamatic for iPhone.

Another Hipstamatic shot. Details old depot building.

It is an absolute pleasure to experience such things with the same rigour as many enjoy countryside views and vistas. To my mind, there is every bit as much to enjoy in the urban landscape as there is in the rural one. I’m not saying that one is better than the other, of course, but I think that it is something that one should consider when idling in the big (or not so big) smoke.

“Radio is a sound salvation.”

This week, it was leaked that the the BBC was to axe some of its services, namely a large chunk of their internet based content, its services for young adults and the radio stations Asian Network and 6Music.  Twitter and Facebook ignited, questioning things as far removed from one another as the BBC’s broadcasting remit and the high pay of Chris Moyles.

I should know – I was one of them.

Most of the attention seems to be focused around the rumoured closure of 6Music.  It is certainly the one that personally affects me the most.  For those that don’t know, 6Music is pretty much the only alternative radio station in Britain with any true integrity, featuring well informed and intelligent DJs (and George Lamb, boom boom) playing the music that you feel they would like you to hear.  Within three hours of daytime listening, you will have probably heard a range of music from the likes of The Beatles, Florence and the Machine, Massive Attack, Squeeze, Elastica, Focus and The Buzzcocks.  Yes, there is a playlist in use and yes, you tend to hear those songs more than others, but one gets the distinct impression that this was carefully picked based on what the audience has asked for rather than simply making money.  Which is, after all, what Radio 1 and Radio 2 tend to do.

A cursory glance around the protest pages of social networking sites and comments on news websites tells you that the average 6Music listener feels a real and true kinship with the station, of which they feel fiercely loyal.  My own experience seems to be echoed by many — a lack of faith in radio as a medium of varied and good quality output that was only rescued when 6Music was finally heard on either the DAB or online.

6Music’s success comes not from being an “alternative” radio station at all; in fact it’s so much more far reaching and diverse than many people would give it credit for.  There are shows for all types of people (rock shows, dance shows, funk and soul shows, reggae and dancehall shows at el) who have a varied and fervent interest in all types and kinds of music.  The only thing that is never heard is the production line, Airfix pop that seems prevalent on other stations.  6Music will not appeal to fans of Girls Aloud, Tiesto and, possibly, Razorlight, but frankly this is no bad thing.

Except, apparently it is.  6Music’s listenership is pretty poor when compared to others owned, run and commissioned by the BBC.  This probably has everything to do with 6Music being a digital only station, which means that it can’t be listened to in the majority of cars and radios out there.  If it were an FM station, it’s listening numbers would, I should think, undoubtedly increase dramatically.

And this is ultimately where the BBC would falter.  The statement that came from the BBC after the leak was reported in The Times suggested that the station was a failure and, therefore, would be taken off the air.  Which, sad though it is, makes a fair amount of sense.  I’m sure that there were those in the world who loved the BBC1 soap, Eldorado, but no bugger watched it, so it was axed.  But — and here’s the rub — there is a massive difference between something failing because it is poorly realised or because they is a lack of audience and something failing because it has been under nourished by the logistical systems that put it into being.  Imagine putting Dr Who on BBC3 only or putting the X Factor on in the middle of the night.  Things would be different, no?

But even this isn’t enough.  The BBC then went on to say that they felt that they were taking away valuable listenership away from independent commercial radio stations by having 6Music.  This argument houses two very fundamental flaws.  Firstly – if no-one listens to 6Music then is it really jeopardising these independent radio stations?  Yes, not a lot to the BBC is probably huge to a smaller radio station, but surely once these listening figures have been scattered around like dandelion seeds on a blustery day, they are going to seem insignificant to individual stations.  And secondly (and even more basically) – if this is the case now then surely this was the case when the station was first launched.

I have focussed on 6Music because I am a dedicated and loyal listener whose days will honestly be that little bit more drab without my fix of (what I consider) quality radio.  But I must say that the thought of any cuts made by the BBC across the board are a travesty.  I’m sure that there are countless others who feel the same about the Asian Network.

What really smarts about all of this is that the BBC is non-profit making and funded by the British public. Rather than simply increasing its production of what is already drilled into us by the mainstream media, they should be dedicated to providing a diverse mix of content for everyone regardless of taste, culture or age. The BBC is unique in the way in which is funded and therefore have a responsibility to ensure that their output is as varied and far reaching as possible.  And the removal of two of its broadcasting stations, one of which represents cultural identity, is surely a step too far.

A Boy and His Bat – My Life With Batman

My love affair with the Batman (or The Dark Knight to give him his more modern moniker) started, strangely, not within the bustling streets of some neo-metropolis but in the relative tranquility of Devon. I was eight years old and on a family holiday. We rented a house in the tiny village of Tipton St John (so small that it did not appear on any of the Ordinance Survey maps that we had brought along for the trip) and went sight seeing in such places of postcard beauty as Sidmouth, Ottery St Mary and Cricket St Thomas. Though very nice there was little there for me to be truly excited about. In fact, the only things that really stick out in my memory of the trip are the collection of the Readers Digest from the 1970s, buying a loaf of “toasting” bread and my brother, Simon, not only losing his recent purchase of a rare poster in a public toilet in Lyme Regis, but it still being there when he collected it later. The holiday was nice, fun, relaxing, but uneventful.

When driving back we decided to go to Exeter. Now, Exeter is not a city in the modern sense of the word, it’s more of a twee but large town that just happens to hold the cathedral that gives it city status. It has more in common with Ely or Canterbury than London or Manchester. While we were there, my brother, Paul, decided that we were going to go shopping and that he was going to buy me something for a fiver. Paul was the kind of brother that I loved and hated in equal measure. Once he told me that I was the “hardest” person in the world and then proceeded to beat me up, telling me that I wasn’t to cry because I was the hardest person in the world. But on other occasions he would buy me things, spend time with me when no-one else would and openly showed me his porn collection. This was one of those times.

As I was eight years old and clearly a man of the world, I decided that it was time to customise my bedroom and concluded that it was a poster I wanted. Paul told me that this was ideal, posters then (and still do) come in at under a fiver, so I was well away. To the nearest Our Price (RIP) we went quick smart. The posters on the whole did not do much for me. Too old for the cutesy cartoon ones and too young to understand the smut – there was nothing much on offer for me. Then one came into view that I simply had to have.

It showed a man dressed in black, standing next to an equally black car. The car was unlike anything that I had seen before, looking like the land speed record car, Thrust II, but infinitely more mysterious and sexy. The man in black was dressed with a cape and cowl. The cowl had ears on it, a ridiculous notion even for me at that age, but that didn’t matter. This man was the coolest thing that I had ever seen. I had to have it. Paul smiled and said “Oh, so you like Batman now do you?” and told me that there was loads of Batman around at the moment because there was a film coming out. I’d heard all I needed to. I bought the poster, which took pride of place on my wall.

The problem was that the Batman movie was certified a 12 certificate by the BBFC (the first ever film to be given the new rating, although I remember it being Gremlins 2) which meant that I had no chance of getting into the cinema to see it. Sure, I was a tall child, but not even I could pass for a child almost twice the age that I was. The hype surrounding the film was amazing. These days you seem to get this every summer when the next blockbuster comes out, but back then this was a new thing. Batman was everywhere, and I was loving it. The Lateshopper round the corner from my house even started stocking the fortnightly Batman comic, which I duly bought weekly (one to read and one to cut up and put on my wall in a mad DC Comics collage). It really didn’t matter that I wasn’t going to get to see the film any time soon. None of my friends were either, so all was well with the world.

In the October of 1989 I went on another family holiday, this time to Florida. This was more my kind of thing with theme parks and sunshine and crazy golf on a scale that Britain would have scarcely believed. In the Sunshine State I also bought a load of Batman collectors cards (that came with revolting chewing gum that one ate out of propriety rather than for enjoyment) which showed snapshots from the film. I was also bought, from my parents who were keen for me to have an interest, a making of the film book.

When I returned from this holiday I was the envy of all my friends because, although the Batman cards were available in Britain, they were substantially smaller than the ones that I had brought back from the states. However, my upper hand was quickly slapped away when my best friend, Chris, managed to get himself a pirate copy of the movie on video. This was something so great that it really didn’t matter who had what, it just mattered that we had it. The quality was terrible. In an age now where we can download high definition movies from the internet and pirating is as simple as ripping and burning to and from a media player, it is easy to forget just what pirates used to be like. Memories of my brothers trying to hook up two video players to record from one to the other and fusing the house out still sit in my memory. The Batman that we watched had a snowy picture that was bad even for video, sound that kept dipping in and out and a continual hiss that bore into your head like a subliminal message. But none of that mattered. We had seen the film that meant everything to us and we fucking loved it. Batman did not disappoint us.

Sadly the fad of Batman was pretty short lived. Within a year the posters had come down, to be replaced by Teenage Mutant Hero (or Ninja) Turtles, a god awful effort that combined mutant, ninja skilled turtles with crime in the rough back alleys of New York. But hey, I was young and impressionable then. But, unlike my friends, I kept believing in Batman as a hero and kept pining for more. Sadly for me, the only fix that I could get in the short time after the initial hype was the camp and really rather lame TV show from the 1960s. Sure, Batman was at least effeminate and at most, gay, the Joker was not scary and more of a prankster rather than a master criminal and Robin, well, was awful, it still kept the flames of excitement burning.

Unknown to me, in the years before the movie, Batman had been seen as a bit of a joke. In comic book circles he was regarded as an archetype for how superheroes simply should not be. Then came Frank Miller, whose comic series, The Dark Knight Returns, marked not only a return for Batman and made him more frightening and applicable to the cause and struggle of decent, hard working people than anyone before him. And, if Miller’s fantastic comic wasn’t enough to cement Batman’s reputation back into the forefront of the superhero alumni, then Alan Moore’s The Killing Joke did. Moore, possibly the most revered and influential of the modern day comic book writers, gave us the origin story of the Joker in a brilliant but brief story that provided enough inspiration for Tim Burton to make the Batman movie. My time was truly a great time to get into Batman.

Of course, at the time, non of this mattered a hoot to me. I was waiting with baited breath for the new Batman movie, Batman Returns, to be released. When I finally saw it I was both delighted and disappointed all at once. I thought that the places where Burton’s second movie were far darker and scarier than the original but I was in love with the Joker so it simply wasn’t as good. As if Batman movies mapped out my life, I then went to secondary school and forgot all about Batman for 3 years.

My parents separated when I was 14 and I spent a lot of time with my dad, who, though working abroad for a lot of the time, always made efforts for us to do things together when he was around. One of these things was a trip to the cinema to see the new Batman flick, Batman Forever. I was dubious but hopeful about this before going – I had by that time developed a knowledge of films and film-makers and knew that the change of a director could do huge things to a movie franchise. I thought at the time that Batman Forever was great, I loved the new, vibrant Gotham City, I thought that Two-Face was a villain that almost rivaled the Joker, I thought that Nicole Kidman was gorgeous and, although annoyed by his inclusion, empathised with Dick Grayson/Robin’s loss of parents and readjustment into another way of life. Looking back, my parent’s divorce probably gave me more in common with Robin than I then realised.

Of course, with my 25 years old hindsight I now know that the film is a stuffed turkey of a movie, a movie that, although better than its follow up, Batman and Robin, almost put Batman back in the doldrums laid out by 60s TV show. Yes, I thought that the look and gadgets were cool at the time, but they were totally in contradiction to what Batman stood for. After all, he is not known as The Neon Knight.

My interest in Batman waned after seeing Batman Forever. I have never seen (or will see) Batman and Robin on sheer principal and, having left school, been to college, loafed around and got myself a career, I didn’t seem to have a place in life for Batman. I had learned a lot about films and found my favourite era of movie to be the 1970s, where cities were socially dubious and grimy and the protagonists were all anti-heroes, trying to clean up the city in which they lived their way. I especially loved the movies Taxi Driver and Serpico. This is not to say that I lived in the past. One of the best films that I had seen in a long while was Memento, directed by British new hot-shot Christopher Nolan. To see a movie that was not about a character but about memory loss as a psychological condition was both refreshing and terrifying. Nolan was clearly a director to watch. He next movie, Insomnia, dealt again with what a lack of sleep will do to the mind rather than focus on character relationships and developments with equally (though more understated) consequences.

We were now in the new millennium. Some riveted by the new century, some pleased or disappointed that the world hadn’t come to an end, but most of us were bored. In this new millennium, film makers seemed to give the superhero a new lease of life. Sam Raimi’s take on Spiderman made $100 million dollars faster than any movie before it. Then 9/11 happened changing everything that we take for granted in our lives. And once again, the world felt like it needed heroes. Suddenly there was a plethora of these, all new sub-genre of movies. And they had some decent directors too, notably Bryan Singer (the wunderkind behind The Usual Suspects) and his take on the X-Men. Elsewhere there were films made of Daredevil, Blade (although the original was pre 2000), The Punisher, Hellboy and, more recently, Superman.

I was working as a Christmas Temp in HMV when I first heard of Batman Begins. Not all that surprisingly there were a few movie geeks that worked there and I fell in with them and we got to talking about superhero movies. Spiderman 2 had just come out on DVD and I said that, although I thought that the film was okay, Spiderman didn’t do anything for me as a superhero. Too clean cut. Too hormonal. Too keen to please his dead uncle. Allen, the then deputy manager, agreed with me. He said that the new Batman movie was going to be the one to watch. Ha, I thought, I’ve been burned before. But then he told me why it was going to be good. Firstly, it was to be a origin story and have no connection to any of the previous movies. And, more importantly, it was going to be directed by Christopher Nolan.

That night I remember having a rather one sided conversation with my girlfriend about how much I was looking forward to seeing the new Batman movie. But he’s not Spiderman, she had told me. But how did she know how I once felt about Batman? Especially with Christopher Nolan, the psychological director, in charge of proceedings. I was as excited about this as I was about any other film in my life, aside from Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion when I had a massive crush on Lisa Kudrow. Things about the film just got better and better. Liam Neeson was going to be in it, as was Gary Oldman, playing Sergeant James Gordon. Even Michael Caine was in it, playing Alfred Pennyworth. Excitement grew even more when I discovered that Christian Bale was going to play Bruce Wayne/Batman. Forget all that sentimental stuff he did when a younger man (Little Women) – Christian Bale was hotting up to be one of the great action stars. He looked and acted right. The only problem was that he hadn’t actually been in anything all that good in an action role. Reign of Fire was okay, but nothing to write home about.

Batman Begins had so much potential that it was almost guaranteed to disappoint, mainly because no film can be that good. But I was wrong. Batman Begins was not only the best Batman movie by far at the time and the best superhero movie ever made but it’s one of the finest action adventure films of all time. Everything about the movie is more or less perfect. Nolan uses his gift of psychological direction to give the movie another disorder – phobia. Nolan skilfully remembers that Bruce Wayne does not love bats, in fact, he’s terrified of them, and it’s this fear that he manages to harness and draw strength from. It makes perfect sense that what scares the shit out of Bruce Wayne is going to paralysis anyone else with fear. Batman Begins also follows many of the long forgotten (or at least long ignored) sides of Wayne – he is a genius who crafts many of the gadgets himself, he has to act the foolish playboy in public so that people do not suspect him of being The Dark Knight. The movie also recognises that Batman is not a man but a symbol and pays homage to the group of people who keep this symbol alive. For the first time on screen we see Alfred as an equal rather than subordinate, we meet Lucious Fox of Wayne Enterprises and believe James Gordon to be a true friend, not foe of Batman.

I watched the film with such delight that when I finished watching it I sat and watched it again. Even sat here writing about it I feel an urge to put on it and enjoy it’s brilliance. My love affair with Batman was back on and it was stronger than ever.

The great thing was that I was, for the first time in my life, socially and financially free to pursue whatever interests that I had. Before, I had been very dismissive of graphic novels (thinking that the term graphic novel was very pretentious. I mean, they’re just comic books surely?) and would not have dreamed of admitting that I liked something as juvenile as a superhero. But then I figured that happiness never really grows up. I began reading the graphic novels/comic books that has been recommended to me by the good readers of Amamzon.co.uk and other relevant websites. The two works by Frank Miller that I read (Batman: The Dark Knight Returns and Batman: Year One) had a great effect on me and revealed Batman to not be the all conquering hard ass that I thought he had been previously, but being a vulnerable and insecure man who drives himself more on an unhealthy urge to validate himself rather than do the good of the people. I also read Jeph Loeb’s Long Halloween, which again gave a huge insight into Batman’s feelings of the city that he loves, and the criminals that he must encounter in it.

Yes, I had grown up. I managed to feel excited by The Dark Knight without having the need to sleep under a duvet with the Bat Symbol on it or eat my sandwiches from the Official Batman Lunchbox. And I’m quite happy with this. I am still in need of my heroes. I see the world as a scary place where no-one trusts anyone else and it’s seemingly only a matter of time until something terrible happens to the innocent. But I find comfort in the thought that there is this character, symbolically at least, who will always stare in the face of adversity and kick it in the teeth. That isn’t scared to do what needs to be done despite that moral and ethical ramifications . And who will always do the right thing. Despite being a grown up this still matters to me. Batman, you guided me when I was young and give me comfort now that I am older. I thank you and all that you stand for.

The missing link.

Tonight I watched the ITV production of Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey.  I thought that it was generally good (I’m something of a closeted Austen fan), but I was distracted by actor William Beck, who played John Thorpe.

This is William Beck.

And this is him in character in Northanger Abbey.

Now, look at this man.  He looks familiar doesn’t he?  I first thought that he was a comic actor and then part of a musical duo but then I realised that he was the offspring of both.  For William Beck, also known for his stellar work in The Bill, is in fact the child of:

Robert Webb…

…and Jemaine Clement.

Christopher’s shameless YouTube plug goes to…

CarlottaMusic!! Seriously it’s amazing. I clicked the initial link expecting downright awfulness and hilarity but instead I was treated to something rather special.

And I don’t even like Queen!

They do The Beatles justice as well though.

Wooo-ee!

Poetry.

I’m the first to admit that I’m not a big reader of things. I tend to imagine voices and think about timbre and delivery when I read, meaning that it’s generally a slow process that I tire of easily. This is perhaps doubly true when it comes to poetry, which I admire from afar but don’t have much of an interest in. I find the fruity language to be interesting and the metaphors clever and satisfying but, well, the majority of poetry that I seem to have read has either been far too flouncy or far too bleak.

However, I have recently discovered Philip Larkin, who seems to write in such simple and graceful terms about the things that genuinely interest me (the human condition within somewhat quietly aggressive misanthropy) and it is absolutely marvelous.

Suddenly all of that time spent thinking that poetry was not for me fades away into nothing.

Humanist.

Well, I’m back following the hiatus caused by my lack of laptop (which fell foul to a broken charger), and, honestly, I’m angry about things. Mostly, brothers and sisters, religion.

I was never raised in any particular religion and have, as a subsequence always been open minded when it came to fate and understanding of where our morality comes from. The idea of a god-like figure never sat easily with me and, recently, I realised that I was more or less hiding behind the term “agnostic” to sum up what I believed (or didn’t) and came out of the denominational closet and announced myself as being an atheist. And I found this to be a very good thing to do. I now take an active interest in Humanistic thinking and ethics; believing that life is actually all there is really frees up time and effort to actually enjoy life. I find that it is a sensible and rewarding view to have in life, and one that I take a pride in.

It does however mean that I have even less patience with religion – particularly organised religion – than ever before. I’m not going to rant on my personal feelings or views on what I think of individual faiths or religions (after all, I respect others who worship in a certain way, I just don’t agree with it) but I was so offended by the following article by Christian Voice (who are essentially to Christianity what the National Front is to politics) about a Gay Rights march in Brighton on 10th August, 2007. The article can be found here: http://www.christianvoice.org.uk/Press/press045.html

One paragraph reads:

“‘Shame on you’, chanted an overweight man, clutching his ‘boyfriend’s’ hand, seemingly unaware of the paradox of accusing others of shame while foaming out his own shame (Jude 1:13). Such perversion merely demonstrates the truth of the Bible when it says ‘the unjust knoweth no shame’ (Zeph 3:5). The Apostle Paul also writes of those ‘Whose end is destruction, whose God is their belly (Greek ‘koilia’) and whose glory is in their shame’ (Phil 3:19).”

Not much in the way of love or understanding there. The article follows this dictat of pathetic and outdated homophobia while constantly ramming home scripture, presumably as some kind of justification. Interestingly (especially given my earlier comparison) the National Front are mentioned as they too protested the march, which Christian Voice seem to object to, not because of the racism and hatred that the NF convey but because they were aping their protests:

“Funny how the NF have just picked up on the idea of protesting at gay pride events, three years after we started in London 2005. Could it be that some homosexual in the NF has worked out that their presence could devalue ours? No, they aren’t that bright, surely? But just maybe the spirit of homosexuality is still as inseparable from national socialism as it was when the Nazi Party began its obscene life in a Munich gay bar.”

Seems like there’s a war of who hates the gays the most.

It is disturbing indeed that Christian Voice can get away with much of what they say because they are a religious organisation, thus, on the “side of good”. It goes to show the dangers that can exist if you treat a 2000 year old book, written two hundred years after the fact and translated, subverted and censored by propagandist authors of numerous religious and political powers as the “truth” that life should be lived by. I don’t agree with religion at all, but I recognise that there are practitioners who are adaptable, open minded and tolerant. All that Christian Voice seem to be is a bunch of paranoid, outdated extremists who feel the need to picket everything from theatre shows to bus hoardings not because they believe in what they preach but because they are in such desperate need of spiritual control because the thought of life scares them so much. After all, this is a group who’s spokesman, Stephen Green, told the BBC that “Bendy-buses, like atheism, are a danger to the public at large”.

But then, that’s the mentality of some people. I’ll close with Stewart Lee, who sums up the inherent stupidity of it all better than I can.

Animals

There are things in life that are too practical to be fun, or too funny to be practical. Although this statement is true for a huge proportion of the time, there are the occasional little gems of things that are so silly and ridiculous that they can only be clever and pioneering.

While on a bored Wikipedia expedition last night I found an article about animals that are used in different services in human life. There are the obvious things like guide dogs (and guide horses, for those with allergies of dogs but, presumably, not horses) and police horses. But then I found that there were, in Boston, Massachusetts, a group of people called Helping Hands, who provided training for monkeys to provide living support to people who have been paralysed.

I thought that this was someone having a joke, but, upon further investigation, found it to be the absolute truth. And what a great idea it is. This video demonstrates why.

Predictably, a lot of the commenters on these videos are either saying that it is cruel for the monkeys to live with humans or that it is patronising for the people with the disabilities to be given a monkey for these aspects of their care. But this video, submitted by a man for whom care is provided in such a way, manages to dispel all of these negative views.

Pretty amazing.

And while I’m in this kind of mood, here is a video of a penguin that goes shopping.

Only in Japan.

Google-fu(lish)

About three years ago, I caught a performance that I really liked on Top of the Pops 2. I wanted to get a copy of the song, but the only thing that I could remember (other than a vague recollection of the tune and it having a decent bassline) were the words “country club” in the chorus.

The song that I wanted was this

but what I actually ended up with was this

Thus lies the problem with ill informed and badly worded Google searches. It also demonstrates how lucky we are for having youtube so new wave fans with bad memories don’t download rubbish country songs three times.