Self-Referential Media

A few days ago I heard Scott Mills announcing an Ed Sheeran song on Radio 1 and to my great surprise it was not ‘The A Team’, which, if Radio 1 is to be believed for the past 4 months, is the only song he’s ever attempted to write or play.

This song, You Need Me, not only seems to hail the artist as a necessary entity and demotes ‘you’ to a lowly parasitic being, unable to function without the glorious Mr. Sheeran, it also comments on Ed’s song writing process and his thoughts on his career. This is what today’s moan is going to centre around.

http://www.pyromag.com/music/9902/ed-sheeran-the-a-team-exclusive-review/

 

Most music played on Radio 1 at the moment is bloody awful and this song has made me realise part of what is so annoying about the new breed of artists. Songs seem to now be an ego trip of artists, a platform upon which they can discuss the fact that they are musicians or to describe themselves in ways that are almost certainly exaggerated, misguiding or simply false.

Another instance of this happening I have noticed is on the ‘Street Summer’ advert shown on Channel 4 every 15 minutes; someone called ‘Mz Bratt’ claims the following: ‘I am big, I am Bratt, I am bruffer dan brat, I am tougher than a lion’, another line does follow this but the words have been so lost in ‘ghetto’ that they have drowned into an oblivion of nonsense.

Who the hell are these people!? This seems to be their replacement for walking. Walking has evolved with us over millions of years, why's that girl on one arm!?

 

I have no guess what ‘bruffer dan brat’ means, but I’m fairly sure it’s as unlikely as her being sturdier than a lion. Why do these hideously over-confident people feel the overpowering urge to bombard my ears with these ill thought out lyrics that, in effect, means absolutely sod all?

This genre of music seems to have escaped the normal constraints of humanity; if any other medium were to spend 50% of its air time commenting on the fact that it was a part of the media spectrum and described falsehoods about itself it would not last long, it would be ridiculed and branded as pointless.

If I were to spend most of my time writing this blog going over the fact that I am writing, occasionally making up phrases such as ‘bruffer dan brat’ and exaggerating parts of my own body, personality and credibility then an even more negligible number of people would bother sifting their way through my various mumblings.

If the BBC were to do the same... Actually, here I’ve found a stumbling block. But this is also something that has annoyed me. Onwards I plough.

 

BBC nature documentaries, such as Life, are amazing. The effort gone to to get right shots and to enlighten the ignorant masses is fantastic. These documentaries are amongst my favourite programmes on telly, and I would love to see more of these on. The recent fascination with the final 10-minute copout at the end of each of these, however, frustrates me no end. I have watched some of these, and it is amazing to see the lengths gone to to secure the perfect few seconds of film, but it does seem to have become standard to include this at the end, cutting a good hour-long programme to a measly 50 minutes when other publicly funded channels are already cutting down programme length as ad breaks are getting increasingly longer.

http://battlebunny.com/2010/04/26/bbcdiscovery-life/

This has quickly gone off-topic, my rage is towards ‘urban’ music and hideously bad lyricists.

Despite the obvious inappropriateness of this technique (providing we ignore the BBC’s current form), ‘street’ music has picked up this annoying habit and its fans lap up the lies of these idols thoughtlessly.

There’s very little else I’d like to do more than to trawl through more terrible music on YouTube to find more examples of this music in order to provide my observation with more ammunition, but unfortunately I’ve got better music to listen to, so if you wish to prove it to yourself, listen to any music liked by the popular kids and you’ll soon find too many examples to shake a stick at.

Friendship

The claim of being owner of ‘the best friends in the world’ is thrown about with abandon constantly by many people of my age, and this overuse has decimated the true gravitas of this statement. Especially as I am about to make that claim for myself, and I require the full meaning from these words.

As I’m sure you will know, Tuesday night hosted the opening (and, sadly, closing) of Jono: The Musical which showcased the amazing talents of four very gifted people. For the past 6 months George Putland, Zachary Hunt and Ian Fleming and written this show from scratch and, with help from Josie Lewis, have transferred this wonderful in-joke onto the stage.  Not only did I have the opportunity to watch as this show grew and became real, but I had the privilege of watching their considerable talents create the songs and script needed for the night.

The show itself was a massive success. I sat in the audience, surrounded by my best friends while my life was played out on stage in front of us and almost 200 others. These friends who laughed with me on that night are the most amazing lot, without whom I wouldn’t have a head full of unforgettable memories and I simply wouldn’t be who I am today. It is also thanks to these people that my otherwise menial life was made possible to be converted into a show worthy of drawing an instant standing ovation.

These people and, obviously, the talents being showcased on-stage are without a doubt the greatest rabble of people to walk the planet. From the free periods spent at school to the drunken field-parties, I have spent many of the best hours of my life with these people, and sitting in the audience of Jono: The Musical was an amazing experience to add to the many others.

The night itself was, if you hadn’t already guessed, a fantastic success. The laughs started at 7:30pm when Nasi, the cockney urchin poked his head around the side of the stage and only finished two hours later when I was dragged up onto stage and the five of us left to a barrage of whoops and cheers. I’ve heard the show described as ‘faultless’, ‘the best show ever at The Sinden’ and ‘outstanding’, with many more adoring quotations to be found very easily.

These guys have immortalised my life in theatre and I love every line of mockery, every derogatory joke towards me and every embarrassing moment mentioned. Every line in Jono: The Musical will be in my mind forever and I will continue to bore everyone I meet in the future with how spectacular the show was.

I can’t think of anything more amazing that friends can do than to come together in this way and create an unforgettable show to describe the past few years of my life. And for this, I love these guys more than I can imagine anyone else would adore their best friends. I am so lucky to have grown up with these talented, hilarious, remarkable people and I wish to thank them for simply being themselves.

If you are reading this and you are not sure if you fall under than bracket, then it’s likely that you don’t. To those who know I am addressing them; thank you, I love you, I miss you and see you soon.

For Jono: The Musical memorabilia contact me for CDs (or download the album online here) and keep your eyes open on here and Facebook for the DVDs which have begun production today after 2 long days of uploading video footage. Also, thank you all you brilliant people who came on the night (and others who donated to the cause) we raised a fantastic £666.27 for The Mouth Cancer Foundation. Well done George, Zak, Ian and Josie. You did a bloody good job.

Harry Potter and the Poorly Worded Advert

As I am now a published journalist (if there’s anyone left reading this who didn’t know, I divert your attention back to my previous blogpost), I have a certain ability, nay responsibility, to point out the ill-thought-out writings in the public eye. Lacking said qualification has never stopped me before, but I thought I’d justify my arrogance as I am now so adept.

I began writing a blog post involving The Metro a few months ago, but scrapped it as it was rubbish, but I’ll mention the thought here as it was The Metro that has sparked this post.

As I was flicking through the plethora of intellectually challenging and thoroughly interesting stories, such as ‘Boy wears skirt in shorts protest’ and ‘Hasta la vista, baby: Arnie terminates his marriage’ (I do love a good pun) I reached the letters page. Who would think to write into The Metro, I don’t know, but there were letters present and one caught my eye.

‘Lay off the suburbs’ read the headline and I perused in ever-further, when I slowly realised that this story was about my friend, Bri, and her playing down of her hometown – Bromley. Now you really know you’ve made it big when a dullard is writing a letter into The Metro about his disliking for your views.

This post is more about me pointing out that I know someone who’s becoming famous and therefore trying to claw onto some kind of coolness from that, but I have little shame and I’m fine with pointing this fact out.

 Anyway, back to this week.

I discovered another copy of The Metro on a train a few days ago and after being disappointed by the contents inside I reached the end and turned onto the back page which had been adorned by a full-page advert for Harry Potter.

Now, at this juncture allow me to say where sit with Mr Potter. I read, and have reread all of the books and have enjoyed them greatly, I care not for the hoards of people willing to point out that J K Rowling isn’t a ‘great’ author and that the series was ‘technically’ good. The plot is engrossing, the characters are likable and I bloody enjoyed it, so everyone who disapproves can go and read some Jane Eyre, which is satisfyingly dull that you can bore yourself to death with the ‘classics’ until the cows come home.

The measure of the worth of a book is not in the technicalities and the ridiculously over strenuous plotlines wherein you have to read, reread, study and restudy many times in order to understand and get any kind of enjoyment from. The Harry Potter series does exactly what it needs to, and that format obviously works a lot better than the classics, and I don’t see swathes of young people queuing up outside book shops for a new edition of Pride and Prejudice, but we all saw the crowds or weirdos who waited in lines to buy the new Harry Potter books when they were released, and equally the films have caused a similar stir.

This advert, though.

I’m sure most of you have seen this in one of the papers around, I’ve seen it in a few places now, and one thing bothers me.

Advertising works on excitement and intrigue, but rallying up excitement and anticipation, and advert can draw in thousands of people to buy a product, view and event or do anything the advertisers want. This advert runs in the same vein.

‘Jaw-dropping’, ‘gripping’, ‘thrilling’, ‘awesome’, ‘spectacular’, ‘spellbinding’ (another great pun). These are all words you expect, words to typical of advertising that if they were omitted from this type of poster then we’d be suspicious, we’d be taken aback and not sure why these people weren’t throwing their all into promoting this film.

One word not often seen in this context is the one that surprised and disappointed me. I can understand the reason for including it, but its place is not here, it does not belong in large type on the back of one of the biggest free newspapers in the country.

‘Satisfying’

This word is best used after a meal. Not a meal that has excited the taste buds beyond your anticipation, but one that has had enough stodge and carbohydrates to fill you up. You were hungry, now you are full. You have been satisfied.

The final instalment of one of the most eagerly awaited films in recent times is not the place to get this word out of the cupboard. It’s not as though the quote needs the word to make sense. Drop it and leave it as ‘Spectacular and terrifically exciting’. That’s a great review. You needed involve the disappointment of the stodge-word. Put it back in its box and fetch it down after your next stew. Don’t paint the back of hundreds of thousands of newspapers with its inadequate meaning.

Also, this dog is mental.

And one more thing in case you've still not bought a ticket. Jono: The Musical is happening on Tuesday and it'd be great to sell the night out. It's for a great cause - The Mouth Cancer Foundation - and we're hoping to raise £1,000. As well as that, it's a night of laughs, songs and fun. If you miss it, I guaruntee you'll regret it for all of eternity. If you can't make the night then the set list is available in CD form or digitally. Contact me for details.

See you Tuesday!

My Magnificent Return to the FT

I realise that my blog is becoming a little self-induldgent and merely reporting on other things I've done. But rest assured that something'll rile me up soon and I'll have something to complain about.

In the meantime, here is another update from my work at the FT as previously promised.

As promised also, I have even more exciting news that last week; this Tuesday I HAD A STORY PUBLISHED! My article – Investors face volatile solar industry outlook – was rather a surprise when I was told it would be published, but published it is and it is currently online for your delectation and delight (more my delectation and delight, but oh well).

http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/c8adca56-a725-11e0-b6d4-00144feabdc0.html#axzz1RVYa0jY1

To read it you will, unfortunately, need to sign up to the free trial of the FT,so if you're interested in the global investment future of solar panels then its your lucky day. If not, then please read it anyway.

Hopefully this'll be the start of more articles for me, possibly not for the FT, as I had very little knowledge of what I was writing about in this article, but we shall see.

I had another terrifying lunchtime, though. I was certain to avoid returning to EAT. so I set to find a Tesco to simply buy a simple lunch. I set off, brilliantly, in the wrong direction and after 20 minutes I realised that a Tesco, or similarly familiar and uncomplicated shop, was becoming unlikely to find. I turned back and had to begin my search elsewhere.

After around 40 minutes of walking around in the sweltering heat, I was getting desperate and evermore doubting that I'd eat lunch that day. Then, gratifyingly, as I crossed the Thames a Tesco Express poked its head around the corner and my woes were lessened, I hastened in and selected a sandwich, some crisps and a drink.

Now I had to find my way back to a place I'd only visited twice before and it started badly. I shan't bore you any longer but I got lost behind the Tate and was very grateful to return back into the air conditioned interior of the FT and hide away from the heat.


In other, musical-related news, the programme and CD cover are in their final stages of design and production, so look forward to seeing those on the 19th when I expect you to be attending. Recording for the CDs is taking place next week before the casts' concentrations are diverted wholly to the night in question.

11 days to go!

Working at the FT

Last week I had a day working at the FT which was thoroughly bamboozling, although the scariest part of this day was my lunch break.

I left the Financial Times building and found my way to the embankment where I quickly found the food shop EAT. (the full stop is part of the name, annoyingly. The following lower case 'a' is not a mistake) as the looming rain clouds were slowing beginning a gentle release of their load.

http://www.london-se1.co.uk/restaurants/images/040319_eatbankside.jpg

I strode into the shop and selected a steak and cheese toastie and joined the queue. A foreign woman soon approached me and demanded I handed over said toastie, which she quickly disappeared with. I was then called to the service desk and I was greeted my another foreigner, this time a man. He seemed to think that I was having vegetable soup for lunch, as he continually asserted 'vegetable soup' at my mystified face while I, in my bemusement and fear, could only mutter out the unsure assertion that a woman had taken my steak and cheese toastie. He then found a ham and cheese toastie and decided I must eat that and I continued to tell him he was mistaken in my nervous way before he gave up and told me to just go and retrieve the snack I so desired. I, to this day, have no idea what that bloody woman did with my lunch, but I wish she could have let me walk it the 4 yards from queue to counter.

After my awful experience along the river, I returned to the FT and set to work on a video about the economy or something - I still don't know what the woman was talking about, see if you can decipher it. This video's now up on the ft.com and you should give it a look, even if it's just to see that I'm the credited producer of it. How weird's that?

Give it a lovely little click for the actual website

I also updated the 'Most popular in FTfm' section, which is a little less exciting, but still cool.

Clickity click

I am returning tomorrow, so I shall report back if I do anything else exciting.

For now, make sure you're subscribed to the Jono: The Muscial Podcast to see sections of the In Joke Guide every day for the next couple of weeks.

United

This is a story I wrote a few months ago and has been sitting on my desktop helplessly since, so I thought I'd do something with it. Please let me know what you think in the comments below.

I raced across the dry landscape, scorching everything in my path. I had to get to him. My soul burned for him, it had been years since I’d had him, I needed him. My plan was simple enough. Get from the west to him. He was in the air, coming my way, but I couldn’t wait.

I travelled pretty much as-the-crow-flies, I held no sentiment for who was in my path, I would destroy any man, woman or child who stepped in my way, I would tear my way through the bush, I would leave a trail of destruction. I just had to get to him.

My path began far east of the continent, close to South America, but now I was flying. Hurtling towards the rich east coast of Australia. Below me was nothing but turbulent ocean. Why had she started this again? I thought she was over this.

The swirling waves and dark, hateful cyclone pushed me on towards her.

We had had our troubles, but all we needed was each other. He was flying to get to me, I was speeding towards him. We could finally be united, with him I was safe. My problems drifted away. He was my equal and opposite. He knew what I needed.

Scarlett was uncontrollable without me. No-one understands her needs like I do. She had become utterly obsessive, she was dangerous. I was her cold shower, I could give her the perspective to end her mad escapades.

I loved him, I always will.

She would never listen. I could never be what she wanted me to be. I tried to make her happy but she was forever blinded by delusion. I had tirelessly fought my instincts, it was my duty to help. For some reason, this time it felt different, like this time something big would happen.

This time I knew it would be different. He refused to admit it before, this time he was going to tell me. He would save me, take me away from here and we could be happy forever.

My journey ploughed on, the scattered ashes of my past were behind me. None of it mattered. Everything to sustain me was laid out before me, I merely had to step forward to accept it. My Walt, coming for me. He could save me, he could take me away from this baron place.

I don’t know where this side of her had come from. She used to be controllable, helpful, such a warm person. Then it snapped, she broke away and became a menace. I was the only one able to manage her, but I had my own life to lead, I didn’t want to be stuck with her my entire life. I feared she longed for exactly that.

Everyone knew we were meant to come together, apart we were dangerous; together we could relax and just be with each other.

My journey continued. I raced past nameless towns, their inhabitants were worthless when Walt flashed into my memory. As I left these small clustered communities my journey was lonelier, the open countryside was laid bare before me. I found these periods difficult to cross, I longed for company. Without Walt, my desperation grew.

The lights of the East Coast glinted on the horizon, as if the stars had migrated from the cloud-filled sky to inhabit the Earth. The tiny packets of light burst towards my eye, just how Scarlett’s smile used to. The sharp spark she used to possess had dulled to the generic glow of life. Once beautiful, she’d dulled with over-familiarity and had become ugly, a pain, something to despise and fight against.

Through everything, Walt had always returned to me. Society feared me, shrunk back from me, but Walt never gave up. The desolate land around me reminded me of the pointlessness of life here. If only I could be up there with him, all would be well.

We were both equals and opposite, created together and we would end together, too. Drawn together but continually pushed apart.

The lights of Brisbane flitted below me. They were now gone. I gazed to my right. The North. Directly up there was the beauty of Indonesia and the technological wonder of Japan, but my path was not destined there this time I was heading into the wild. On my left, the South. The swirling Southern Ocean and the majestic Antarctic, nor was my journey ever destined for there. I shall never see the towering icebergs or the tenacious life that holds on there. Here I was, gliding over a dead land. Water rarely fell here and when it did – as it was right now – the droplets blasted the dusty ground, it was unable to drink them down and flash floods were a common after the rain. I could already see the water pooling, drowning the wind-bent shrubs below inches of water.

The thought of Scarlett re-entered my head. Her smog slowly encapsulated me, I needed to snuff her out and free myself. I didn’t need her, I had life away from her. I should have been somewhere else. It shouldn’t have ever been my responsibility to tend to her.

He would soon be here, I could feel it in the air. I surged forward, keen to embrace him. As I rushed forward there must have been a menace in my eye, they panicked and ran from me, afraid. As if their old friend had turned into something alien, something fearful. Unfazed, I continued. None of them mattered anyway.

Her daunting size loomed into view, it was obvious why she was treated  with such trepidation. Spread across kilometres of scrubland, she incinerated everything in her path, sparing neither man, nor beast. She would have eventually burnt herself out, but I couldn’t wait for that day. I had to end it.

As I neared, I could feel her warmth – the glow that everyone once loved – drifting up towards me, it warmed me through and I begun to despise my role in this. I wished there could have been another way, she was a gorgeous spectacle to behold. But this was the only solution.

His colossal power and girth blackened the sky, darkening my vision, but I illuminated my own path. He came to rectify me and drag me away. The sooner I got to him, the sooner I could be safe.

He cascaded down upon me, the sweet affection I expected was replaced with a cruel, cold attack; washing out my love. He tore through me, he spared me no sympathy. The pain blinded me, a thick fog clouded my vision, but we both knew it was necessary to unite us.

I had to do it, I couldn’t let her continue as she was. She had torn through so many people already. It pained me to snuff her out so quickly.

I drifted upward, I had transformed in such a brief moment to be like him. My silky appearance rose up, towards him. As I drew closer I felt secure, the madness of the past weeks was gone. In a few minutes we’d be together.

Gazing down, my task was complete. The silver trails of her rose up towards me, soon fading to nothing.

 ---

The two natural forces came together in an epic clash. The cyclone swept over the bush fire that man had fought for weeks and snuffed it out in an instant. The drowned path behind the storm showed the fury of the rain, it had pounded the dusty ground and gushed through towns and villages. It rushed away cars, roofs and livelihoods and dumped them unceremoniously downstream. The blackened path to the west was equally squalid, huge swathes of land had been scarred by the flames, scouring homes, farmland and scrubs for any trace of life.

These landscapes were now calm in their destruction, comparably tranquil when placed next to the wing of smoke billowing up from the point where nature collided with itself.

I hope you liked it.

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKgBJlpxBI1q1YQ2Td3fjTInL1vNozgjh6UPNX05bxJdznAznwGnZn0rjgww55wmm3FrmC_m6nDXmNL9VgSgNst7YFrQZ8AqIkj5Qx7pL_mtsajGAQjaNeiWbUm2cQJGMA_kvIiO6SAE0/s400/Australia_satellite_plane.jpg