Friday 29 July 2016

Plug and Don't Play

In which The Author gets up to sing
Last night was karaoke night in the Lighthouse. I hadn't planned to go there this week, because I'm going to London tomorrow and didn't really need a late night. But you know what they say about the road to Hell, don't you?
I bumped into Lee and Hannah when I was leaving the library, and they were making their way to the pub. I had to call to Wilko first, and then popped into Thereisnospoon for a glass of Pepsi before heading to the Lighthouse. I had to go to Wilko because I needed a new memory stick. And that was almost where the fun started.
Several weeks ago I asked Tara if she had a song which I've fancied singing for about fifteen years or so: a Jacques Brel song called 'Jackie', in the rip-roaring version by Scott Walker. I first heard it on Jonathan Ross's Saturday morning on Radio 2, and it was pretty amazing. Then I found out that Marc Almond had covered it as well. Marc's version was okay, but Scott Walker's take is pretty much the definitive recording.
Tara hunted through her hard drive, but drew a blank. Then we had a quick look on YouTube, but the only videos we found were unavailable. I thanked her for checking and fell back into my tried and tested songs. But I knew there had to be a backing track out there. The only question was where?
Yesterday afternoon, in the library, I scoured the World Wide Web until I found it. Then I had to go through the palaver of registering with the website, downloading an app to my phone, and finally downloading the backing track itself. In the meantime I'd found another backing track on another site, this time as an mp3. I downloaded that to my hard drive as well, just to be on the safe side.
I knew there wouldn't be any lyrics on the screen, but that wasn't a problem – I'd already written them out in my notebook. I knew about three quarters of the song by heart, but three quarters doesn't cut it on karaoke. (Contrary to popular belief, it helps if you've got at least a working knowledge of the song you're about to attempt.) At least I had the music. That was a start.
And that was the reason for my trip to Wilko. My existing memory stick has decided not to play any more, so I needed to pick one up at short notice. Wilko doesn't close until 6.00, which is handy. I saved the mp3 to the memory stick, had a good chat with Martyn E. in Thereisnospoon, and headed around the corner.
When Tara was setting up her gear, I told her I'd found the backing track, and she was pretty surprised. But I haven't been using the internet for fifteen years without learning a thing or two about searching for odd things. Then the problems started. I asked her if she could copy it over to her hard drive. She said that the last time she'd tried that, her laptop had crashed and she'd had to reinstall all the karaoke software and song data from scratch. Understandably, neither of wanted to take that risk. Then she asked me if I had it on my phone. Bingo! We were able to jack the phone into her PA using the lineout socket. I grabbed my notebook, we fired up the song, and I smashed it.
Afterwards, my pal Martin – a very experienced singer – told me it was one of the best songs I'd ever done. Everyone else seemed to like it as well. I'm going to give it another go in a few weeks, as there's nothing worse than doing the same set every time. I'll have to do it again at some point, because Shaz was late on parade last night and missed it.
The mystery still remains, though, of why Tara's laptop won't work with a memory stick. I strongly suspect it's a Windows issue. I don't encounter any hardware problems on my Ubuntu setup because everything works straight out of the box, so to speak. As Sherlock Holmes observed, 'when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' Is a Windows glitch really that improbable, I ask myself.
As I told Tara afterwards, I have no doubt that Plug and Play will become a real thing on Microsoft systems at some point. I doubt if any of us will be around to see it happen, though.

Tuesday 19 July 2016

An Musical Evening in Two Parts

In which The Author goes to the theatre again
On Saturday, having made surprisingly good progress with my latest proofreading job – which had spent four days in the capable (?) hands of Royal Mail during the week – I decided to have a couple of hours away from my desk. The youth section of the Colstars were giving their annual charity fund-raiser at the Coliseum in Trecynon. As I was so impressed with the whole company when they did Jesus Christ Superstar a few weeks ago, I figured I could spend the evening there and contribute to a worthy cause as well. It was a win-win situation.
I got there about ten minutes before curtain-up, in time to hear the band tuning up in the orchestra pit. (I don't know anything about the musicians, as they're not named in either of the recent programmes, but they all play to a very high standard.) I was sitting downstairs, so I don't know how many people were in the circle. By the time the show started, the stalls were only about half full. It was a fairly decent evening weather-wise, though. I expect a lot of the potential audience would have headed for the coast to take advantage of the break in the cloud.
The compere for the evening was a young man named Jordan Smart, a founder member of the youth section. Since graduating from the Arden School of Theatre, Manchester, Jordan's gone on to carve out a successful musical career, singing with Only Boys Aloud and performing in some of the UK's biggest venues. Two other Colstars alumni had come back for the evening. Richard Lee Thomas is a singing teacher from Resolven. Lee played Pilate in their recent production, so I already knew he could deliver the goods. The third guest singer was Rebecca Southmore, who's toured the country since leaving the Liverpool Institute of Performing Arts. That gives you some idea of the sort of talent the youth wing has nurtured over the years.
I'd expected a full-on show, but what I was treated to was a non-stop turnover of songs from the shows, and some (reasonably) modern pop numbers, delivered mainly by the kids dressed in plain t-shirts and jeans. The Coliseum stage doesn't really allow for elaborate dance routines with a large company, but the youngsters did their best with the available space. The guest slots were interspersed throughout, and two energetic sets covered the whole range of shows from Porgy and Bess to The Book of Mormon. Derek Williams, the company's mainstay since the early days, director, and a fine singer in his own right, also appeared to add his rich bass voice to the proceedings.
There was a nice little comic touch in the first half, too, when two little girls charged the stage and asked Jordan how they could join the Colstars. Jordan said he wasn't sure, so he'd ask one of the cast. After one young lad demonstrated the range of skills they'd be expected to develop, the girls decided he was 'bonkers' and walked off in disgust, to a huge round of applause.
I must admit that I'm not au fait with the current crop of musicals, and I felt that the printed programme could have benefited from a running order. I only worked out that one song is from The Book of Mormon from the context; for a lot of the others, unfortunately, I was in the dark.
My pal Iwan Davies came on in the second half, wearing a cagoule and looking very nervous. It was only after a minute or so that I realised he was doing a short piece from The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, based on Mark Haddon's extraordinary book about a young lad with Asperger syndrome.
After Iwan's monologue, Derek appeared from the wings and made the announcement that I trailed here a few weeks ago: Iwan will be leaving the Colstars before long to take up a place at RADA. As a result, they've awarded him their annual bursary. (It also means I've got someone else to go for a pint with when I'm in London.)
I said it was an evening in two parts, didn't I? Well, Part Two got underway immediately after the show finished, in the Harlequins Bowls Club directly behind the theatre.
I wanted to have a chat with Derek, following up on an email I'd sent him after Jesus Christ Superstar. I'd had a look at their website, and it didn't seem to have been updated for about two years. While I was at the bar my friend Deb J. came in, so I explained that I was interested in helping them out with the cyber side of things. As we both said, if you look at a website and it hasn't been touched for a good while, you tend to assume the business (or whatever) has called it a day. I know that I'm nowhere near good enough to be chorus material, but I can certainly offer them Tech Support with their internet presence. Deb also suggested that I could help them with their publicity materials, as we'd both picked up a number of typos in the programme. Getting involved without getting in front of an audience works for me at this stage (no pun intended).
Iwan came in while we were chatting at the bar, so I congratulated him on his good fortune and his unexpected windfall.
'That should cover your first week's rent, anyway,' I told him.
Deb invited me to join the rest of the table, and the night degenerated into a fairly decadent session, which only ended quite some time after the bar closed at 1.00 a.m. One of the girls was celebrating her birthday, and everybody got progressively smaller slices of cake as the numbers kept increasing.
By now the bizarre afterparty had split into two distinct camps – the older drinkers at one end of the room, and the youngsters at the other. I went to chat to Iwan and his pals while we decided on what music to stack up on the jukebox. One of the other lads introduced himself as Damon, and it turns out I've known his father for many years. Small world, isn't it?
It didn't take long for the conversation at our table to veer firmly into adult territory. At one point, my friend Dai and his wife decided to tell us about a very embarrassing and painful condition he developed a couple of years ago. Having described it in graphic detail, Dai had come up with some unintentional comedy gold.
I shouted down to the youngsters, 'Here's a name for a Thrash Metal band – Massive Bollock Disease!'
Watch this space, as Damon thought it was a brilliant suggestion.
After introducing the kids to the joys of 'Paperback Writer' (dedicated to the authors I've worked with recently, of course), I just said, 'This is the weirdest fucking afterparty I've ever been to.' Cue laughter all round.
Sitting down in a convivial post-show atmosphere, with some old friends and some new friends, was just the ticket after a hard day immersed in the cyberspace world of William Gibson. It was also miles better than just sitting at home on a Saturday night, and arguably a vast improvement on Thereisnospoon, the only guaranteed late night alternative.
In between the beer and shenanigans, I managed to grab five minutes with Derek and offer him my Tech Support and Content Management services. I gave him my phone number, and he's promised to ring me after everyone comes back from their holidays.
I think I've also persuaded some of the older youngsters (if you know what I mean) to come to Thursday karaoke and show everyone how it's really done. It's Deb's birthday next week, so I told her to rope some people in and strut their stuff in the Lighthouse. I already know one song which Lee and my karaoke pal Chazza could absolutely smash. In fact, I think Chazza would enjoy the Colstars. She's certainly got the voice for it, and it might do her good to get out and meet some new people. I'll suggest it when I see her next.
I might never pluck up the courage to join the Colstars for real. Maybe five years from now they'll decide to do a show I know and love (My Fair Lady, for example), in which case I might throw my hat into the audition ring. But I'll certainly be supporting them in any way I can, even if it starts with just putting a poster in my window and grows from there. Having seen such a wealth of local talent on stage in the past couple of months, it would be rude not to, really.

Monday 11 July 2016

The Pash Equilibrium

In which The Author doesn't bother trying to get his leg over
On Saturday afternoon I called in for a pint while trying to get home between downpours. I'd taken a gamble by leaving my jacket at home, and it hadn't paid off.
My pal Joe was outside having a smoke when I got there; Tony A. was in his usual spot; Joan was at the bar; there were a couple of women playing with the jukebox. They had their backs to the room, obviously, so I couldn't tell who they were at first glance. I bought my beer, sat by Tony to download the weekend crosswords, and then heard someone calling my name.
I looked round and realised who the two women were – my friend Lisa E. and her mother. Lisa used to work in a cafe near my house, so I've known her for quite a few years. She's probably young enough to be my daughter, medium height, slim, and very attractive, with wavy black hair. (She ticks most of my boxes, in other words.) She doesn't come into the pub very often, but when she does she tends to push the boat out in dramatic fashion. We've gone out drinking a couple of times – not planned, we just bumped into each other – and it usually turns into a bit of a silly evening. If anything was going to happen with her and me, it would have happened at least ten years ago. The fact that we're just good friends means that there isn't any complicated history between us – no awkward silences when one of us walks into the pub, no hasty departures while the other person isn't looking … in short, none of the things that hung over from my non-relationship with Jenny.
Anyway, Lisa came over to say hello, insisted that I gave her a kiss, and then sat on my lap while she explained why they were out on the razz. It was her mother's birthday over the weekend, so they'd been for a meal the night before and then hit the pubs early on the Saturday lunchtime.
Anyway, by this time Joe had come back in. He gazed in disbelief at Lisa, who was still perched on my lap, and then made a comment along the lines of, 'You lucky bastard'.
Lisa laughed and went back to talk to her mother. After a few minutes they decided to hit the jukebox again. By now, Joe was grilling me about Lisa: how I knew her, and was she single – that sort of thing. He obviously thought he might have a shout with her.
Lisa called me over to their table and demanded that I gave her another kiss. I teased her that she was getting very dominant in her advancing years. She thought that was hilarious, and I told her I had a couple of books she might want to borrow for inspiration. Her mother already knows I've got a warped sense of humour, so the three of us had a good laugh about it.
Unfortunately for Lisa, Ian L., Byron and Rory also thought they might have a shout with her. While she was choosing her music, she was literally hemmed in by horny pissed Valleys lads (one of whom is only a couple of months younger than me), all vying for her attention. When she went to the bar to get the inevitable Jägerbombs, Joe decided to make his play as well.
I felt really sorry for Lisa, who'd only come in for a drink, and who suddenly found herself at the centre of attention. The whole thing reminded me of an alcohol- (and possibly drug-) fuelled retake of one of the key scenes in A Beautiful Mind.
You know the scene I mean: John Nash and his college pals are sitting in the bar when a group of young women walk in. Immediately they all decide to try and hit on the statuesque blonde at the centre of the group, and start arguing about who should try and get her attention first.
At that moment, Nash has his great breakthrough:
'If we all go for the blonde, we block each other and no one gets her.'
If I learned anything at all from that film, it's that there's absolutely no point trying to get off with a girl when at least four other guys are in the running.
In fact, I'd be surprised if any of them made any progress with Lisa. It's more likely that they frightened her off, by leering in her face and trying to grope her when was standing by the bar. Whereas I, on the other hand, had a pleasant conversation, made her laugh, and threw in the odd double entendre for good measure – as I always do whenever we meet up.
So, students of Game Theory, what have we learned from this?
Well, I've seen the Nash Equilibrium in action, exactly as demonstrated in the film. I've seen two friends and two acquaintances make fools of themselves on a Saturday afternoon. I've had a flashback to the exact situation I described in 'Hit and Miss' nearly seven years ago.
And I know when it's time to make my excuses and leave.
I'll catch up with Lisa at some point, and probably have to apologise for baling out after my second pint. But I could see how the situation was developing. Since there's already a history of violence in that circle of boys, I decided that I wasn't in the mood to watch another scrap.
So I didn't get off with Lisa. I wasn't going to approach her in that way anyway, so it's not as if I missed my chance. It's more likely that I missed out on a fight, rather than a fuck. Better single than sorry, eh?

Thursday 7 July 2016

Yet Another Security Leak From the Future

In which The Author finds the referendum result predicted in a classic science fiction novel
I've recently started rereading John Brunner's 1968 novel Stand on Zanzibar. I say rereading because I first bought a copy about fifteen years or so ago. Gollancz had reissued it as part of their SF Masterworks series, so I grabbed it as soon as it came into stock in Dillons. I didn't know anything about it, apart from the fact that it had won the Hugo award, and was regularly cited as one of the most important SF books ever written. I didn't even know that Mr Brunner had died until I read it on the back cover.
Thinking about it now, it was probably a good thing I didn't buy it when it was still in print in the early 1980s. I'd never have made it past the first couple of chapters. The dense, challenging story of overpopulation, eugenics, racism, colonialism, legalised drug use, industrial espionage and mental breakdown would have been way over my head when I was a teenager. Like The Silmarillion (which I did buy at the time), it would have gathered dust on my shelves for decades before I plucked up the courage to tackle it again.
Anyway, I read it and then lent it to Paul E., thinking he'd probably enjoy it as well. I haven't seen it since. I haven't seen him since Stuart Cable's funeral, come to that. I found a second-hand copy in Pontypridd Market a few months ago, so I snapped it up and started reading it again a few days ago.
I should explain that it's a linear narrative, but told in a non-linear fashion, if that makes any sense. While the main characters move through the story in a fairly conventional manner, their adventures are punctuated with brief sections entitled 'the happening world'. Made up of imagined news items, overheard snatches of conversation, advertising slogans, TV broadcasts and so forth, 'the happening world' sets the scene for the overall story. It seems that Mr Brunner pulled off a nice trick by capturing in print our channel-hopping habits of the near future. It also includes short snippets from an imaginary book by a renegade sociologist, The Hipcrime Vocab, some of which have already found their way into my other blog O'Gorman's Unfamiliar Quotations.
Considering that the book is nearly half a century old, you can probably imagine my surprise when I found another security leak from the future in 'the happening world (4)'. Subtitled 'Spoken Like a Man', it allows us to eavesdrop on the political framework which underlies the plot. Needless to say, the US military is engaged in another of its overseas adventures. While the countries may be fictional, the attitudes are very real – and can be read in any tabloid newspaper and heard in any Valleys pub on any day of the week. Here's the chapter, in full:
Confidential: Cases have been reported of the term 'little red brother' being used by units of the marine and naval forces deployed from Isola. Officers are instructed to remind their men that the officially-approved terms are 'chink', 'slit-eye', 'yellowbelly' and 'weevil'. Use of softass civilian terms is to be severely punished.
'What they could not hold by force of arms they are trying to win back by the power of their foreign money! We must drive out these parasites, these immoral bloodsuckers who corrupt our womanhood, mock our sacred traditions and scoff at our prized national heritage.'
KEEP OUT!
Allships urgentest allships urgentest following storm Thursday night mines are loose and drifting at approaches to Bordeaux Roads stand by till daylight and await go signal from units of Common Europe Navy.
'What I want to know is, how much longer is that damned government of ours going to take this lying down?'
PRIVATE!
'Our enemies skulk on every side, waiting for us to relax our vigilance. But we shall not give them the chance they seek to fall on and devour us. We shall stand firm, and our nation shall be purged of dross in the pure fire of self-sacrifice.
TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
To all Party bureaux: Revisionism and backsliding has been noted with concern in the following Departments …
'Yeah, but what I mean, even if he does have clean genotype a guy with a proper sense of social responsibility just doesn't have five kids in this day and age! I don't care if he does get the Populimit Bulletin in his mail – that could be a cover, couldn't it? No, I say he must be one of these Right Catholic bleeders. And I want him out!'
BEWARE OF THE DOG
'What rightfully, legally and historically belongs to us lies groaning under the heel of a foreign tyrant!'
THESE PREMISES PROTECTED BY SAFE-T-GARD INC.
'It is not enough that we ourselves should enjoy freedom. We shall not be truly free until everyone alive can make the same sincere and honest claim.'
NO RIGHT OF WAY
'It is not enough that we ourselves should enjoy freedom. There are those in our very midst who extol the virtues of an alien way of life which we know to be evil, hateful and wrong!'
NIGGER DON'T LET THE SUN SHINE ON YOUR HEAD
'Dirty Reds—'
My country, 'tis of thee
NATIONALS RIGHT LANE ALIENS LEFT LANE
'Capitalist hyenas—'
There'll always be an England
BLANKES NIEBLANKES
'The wogs begin at Calais—'
Vive la France!
FLEMING WALLOON
'Bloody nignogs—'
Deutschland über Alles
YORUBA IBO
'Goddamn people next door—'
Nkosi Sikelele Afrika
YOURS MINE
'They're all mad bar thee and me and thee's a little queer—'
MINE!
MINE!!
MINE!!!
PATRIOTISM A great British writer once said that if he had to choose between betraying his country and betraying a friend he hoped he would have the courage to betray his country.
(Amen, brothers and sisters! Amen!
The Hipcrime Vocab by Chad C. Mulligan)