It's all about the extremes...

So, it's been a while...

Hopefully this isn't going to be a long one, I'm just getting my eye back in. It takes a lot of practice to direct your anger and bewilderment effectively, so here goes.

BBC Radio 5 Live. An excellent radio station by anyone's standards. A wide range of news and sport programmes throughout the day. There are some exceptions to that rule, but generally it's either that or Radio 4 for non-music radio.

However, I have a serious problem with them at the moment, and this was demonstrated horrifically over 2 days this week. 

They seem to have a real problem with knowing which extreme of the scale they should be at, and no programme more so it would seem, than 5 Live Drive (weekdays 16:00 - 19:00).

By now everybody should be aware of the disgusting situation unfolding with the kidnapping of April Jones. For her parents it is the kind of nightmare I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Now, for some reason the BBC deemed it necessary to send one of the Drive presenters out to Wales to bring us the latest on the situation.

Read that again. Yes, you read it correctly. Why the FUCK did they think that was remotely necessary? Before he arrived there were reporters for the BBC in the area doing a great job of giving us the latest. And it seemed that all Peter was doing there was interviewing people who could be spending their time far more fucking productively if he wasn't.

It also seems that there was no other news that day. As I said, this is a horrific situation and I hope that April is found alive and well, but there are other things happening in the world.

The polar opposite of the scale was played out for all to hear only the previous day. With about 5 minutes of the show left, an interview started with 2 callers about depression in workers in the UK. One a sufferer, and one working for a charity to help sufferers. 

An excellent topic to raise wouldn't you say? Depression is a much maligned condition that many people are too afraid to discuss.

And it was a fantastic piece of informative radio, right up until the point that the presenter, Aasmah, cut of the charity worker mid-flow to end the interview. 

Fair enough you might think, they only have the time they're allocated.

But then they proceeded to spend the last 2 or 3 minutes cunting on about how Ed Balls had used the phrase "un-pack the facts", and business jargon in general.

Again, how the FUCK is this allowed to happen?

It seems that there is some un-written rule that means there MUST be an "and finally" at the end of the programme. A jolly little story with fuck all consequence so that we can trundle on through the evening imagining everything is rosy. Even when it cuts short a serious discussion about a very serious subject.

It hurts me to know that this bullshit still goes on, that we can't be treated like adults and given all the real news. Either we get a massive insight into a select few people's suffering, or a sugar coating of twee fuckery to help us all sleep at night.

I'll be the first to admit how cynical I can be, but I'm not imagining it this time. The media really is this fucked up.

(Ha! Turns out it was a pretty long one after all. Thoughts are welcome.)

The World Has Gone Wrong.

Today, the 15th April 2012 is the 23rd anniversary of tragic events that were to unfold at Hillsborough. 
On that day, 96 Liverpool supporters lost their lives in terrible circumstances.


I'm not a Liverpool fan, I support Arsenal, as does my entire family. I was also only 4 at the time, and I don't remember the day. Part of me wishes that I did. 
My knowledge of the events is drawn entirely from other people's experiences.


This isn't really a blog about Hillborough, there will be enough of those doing the rounds that contain far more worthwhile reading material than mine. 
An article I would recommend is this one by David Conn raising the issues of that day, and their links to the Orgreave incident during the miner's strike 5 years earlier.


The point of this short blog is to outline my absolute dismay at the state of people's priorities online.


I got up this morning knowing what day it was. With it also being the 100 year anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, I thought we would have the two human interest stories of the day.


I watched the Chinese Grand Prix and Nico Rosberg won his first race, so that was going to take the sport headline slot without a doubt.


Then I logged on to Twitter. 


Now I know that realistically Twitter isn't the place to get a gauge of everyone's top news, but the trending topics give you an idea of what is being discussed.


Hillsborough is sat in the top trending topics and has been most, if not all of the day.
But as I looked up the list of topics that were above it (some still are as I write this), I saw the following:


"Justin Makes Us Wet"
"Demi Gives Us Hope"
"Miley Gives Us Strength"
"Kristen Is The Only Queen"
"Happy Birthday Emmazing Watson"
"#2YearsSinceNaillsAudition"


I was angry. I'm still angry. Twitter is an amazing way for people to share information and opinions, have discussions, and find out about almost anything they want.
And yet, on a day like today in history, when so many have lost their lives, people are obsessed with so many over-paid, under-talented, useless oxygen thieves. 


The celebrity culture has entirely taken over. It sits high above (in the case of Hillsborough) the need for justice and answers in many people's consciousness. 
In itself that is an absolute tragedy in my mind. People have been brainwashed, and don't see anyone but those that are famous as important. And we wonder why the country (and the world) is in such a poor state.
I felt ashamed to be in the U.K. at that point. And I still do.


I said this blog wasn't going to be about Hillsborough, and the ongoing campaign for answers, and it isn't. 
But for one day a year, every year until it's resolution, there is no more important story in this country than the Justice For The 96.

One Riff To Rule Them All...

Let's set our way-back-when machine to Friday 17 April 2009 shall we...


Being a Friday night, by all rights I should have been out on the town getting absolutely wasted, or at least been at the pub with my mates. 
As it turns out I was doing neither of those things. I don't remember why, maybe I just didn't feel like going out that night.


Instead, I found myself watching Later...With Jools Holland, which is a brilliant showcase of musical talent that I don't really get around to see enough of.
It was a good night to watch as well. Doves, one of my favourite bands at the time were on, as were Marianne Faithfull, the Noisettes, and Grandmaster Flash. That's enough reason for anyone to tune in.


The programme was ticking along nicely in the background while I did bits and pieces, and I was enjoying discovering Madeleine Peyroux for the first time. And then, after she had finished playing River of Tears, Jools uttered these now immortal (to me) words:
"Now, I'm going to drop a name here because he's one of the great guitarists of all time, Eric Clapton.
He said to me 'There is this amazing guitarist, you've GOT to hear him.' Well I'm going to say the same thing to you, and I'm going to invite you to do that now. Please welcome the amazing guitarist Mr. Joe Bonamassa!"


Jools then sat down behind the piano to join in with the moment my musical world was turned upside down.


Now at this point I should say that over the few years prior to this I'd been growing more and more disillusioned with the state of the music scene in general. 
I'm a HUGE fan of people who can get out there, play their own instruments, write their own songs, and preferably do both at the same time. 
The influx of more and more manufactured groups and people with great voices singing songs they probably never dreamed of writing was starting to depress me. I longed for the days (that I sadly never saw) when the likes of Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Jimi Hendrix, and Cream were at the forefront of everyone's musical conscious. 


But those days were long gone. People now were happy to listen to manufactured Pop, increasingly ridiculous Rap/Hip-Hop, and generic American Indie Rock weren't they? There weren't any really talented musicians left in the world were there?


And then Lonesome Road Blues hit me right between the temples.


The very next day I was in HMV earlier than I've ever been in my life to buy the album "The Ballad of John Henry" on the strength of that one song. And with the other 9 studio albums he has released now firmly in my collection I'm no less in awe of him as a musician.


Fast forward to last night at 19:30, and I'm sitting in the Brighton Centre with my friend Chelle who I converted to Joe VERY quickly. 
Iron Maiden's "2 Minutes To Midnight" is blasting through the room.
We've been in this position before, at the end of last year we were sat in the Hammersmith Apollo. 
That night was our first experience of Joe live, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that it left me stunned. 
His albums are works of art, as close to musical genius as there's ever been in my opinion. But the live experience, well that was just on a completely different level. 


The way he manipulates the guitar is like nothing I've ever seen before in my life. He switches from Blues, to Rock, and back again between songs, even during them with immaculate ease. And just for good measure he'll throw in a 10+ minute acoustic solo performance that I'll never see bettered in my lifetime.


I cannot over-emphasise just how much you need to take the extra 15 minutes of your time to click through to the links of the two songs I've included in this blog. If you love music in the way that I do, you can't help but love him instantly, and you'll have a tiny fraction of the feeling of anticipation and excitement that I felt last night.


The last wails of Bruce Dickinson disappeared from the Brighton Centre. 
And the lights went out...

The Power of Prayer?

I get the feeling that this particular blog could split a lot of opinion, so I'm just putting that out there right from the off.

Last weekend, as I'm sure almost everyone will be aware, Bolton midfielder Fabrice Muamba suffered cardiac arrest on the pitch during their FA Cup quarter final match against Spurs at White Hart Lane.

Medical staff rushed on to the field to treat him, and the game was quite rightly abandoned.
Fabrice was taken to hospital and is thankfully making brilliant progress considering that doctors have since said that he was "in effect dead" for 78 minutes.

I have absolutely nothing but best wishes for Fabrice, his family, friends, team mates, and fellow professionals in general. It is a trying time for them all.


But what I wanted to say is this:

In the aftermath of this terrible incident, tweets were being sent left, right and centre. Television and radio interviews were pretty much non-stop. And the vast majority of people were "praying for Muamba" or made comments along the lines of "God willing he'll pull through".

Now let me make it absolutely clear here that I have no problem with people who are religious. Most religious people are lovely, and simply don't share my views of the world. But a small part of me felt some anger towards those people when I saw these messages being sent.

With the world looking on, two club doctors and a Consultant Cardiologist who happened to be at the game rushed to the aid of Fabrice, along with several ambulance staff.
They spent minutes trying to revive him on the pitch before carrying him to the ambulance to take him to hospital, never once stopping their efforts.
In the 78 minutes that this man's heart was not beating, nobody once thought about anything other than saving his life, however unlikely that might have seemed.

And once he had been revived, and his condition was stabilised, a great number of these same people announced that thanks to God he had been saved.
It's at times like this that I think God takes far too much of the credit, and doctors, paramedics, nurses, and everyone else involved get too little.

Throughout the entire ordeal, I never once prayed for Fabrice Muamba, but I was nothing short of astounded by the medical staff that brought him back from beyond the brink.