Sunday, February 27, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
This week (intimating that I post at least weekly) finds your daring correspondent in Inverloch. I was invited down here for one of Ricky Nixon's bunga bunga parties but he cancelled it for reasons I know not. Fortunately I have been gripped (griped?-Ed) by World Cup fever (chlamydia?-Ed). It leaves one quite reeling with thrillderment to realise that there will be 49 matches in this World Cup and it takes 7 matches before there is one even remotely worth watching...and that requires a now delusory (and during the few moments we have left, let's talk right down to earth in a language everyone can easily understand....stretched to the point of impenetrable post-structural comedy) premise that the West Indies are still a decent team. But my mind turns to Hot Rock, and it turns to it much more often than posts to this blog would indicate. Such is the state of rock in the 30s that not only do babies prevent you from rehearsing but they also prevent you from having space to pack a guitar. And while the ukulele is certainly admirably compact it does not lend itself to slabs of totemic riffing. It does on the other hand encourage alternate chord forms.