One of my instinctive objections to Twitter is that it will destroy the English language as we know it - just a minor gripe then. Distilling thoughts into a mere 140 characters offers very little scope for beautiful prose or wonderful soliloquies that help the imagination and the soul to soar.
Actually, I'm not sure whether all of that really matters in the greater scheme of things. Twitter is a fact of life - I use it very frequently, yet I still seem to be capable of writing proper sentences, that linked together create real paragraphs, that one by one deliver a narrative thread, that when read in sequence make some degree of sense and tell a story. At least, I think that I'm still capable of all of that - others can judge for themselves.
In fact, much more likely to destroy the English language as we know it are people who don't know how to use it properly. I'm by no means making a bid to be the next Lynne Truss. Although I think that I just about get by (and get away with getting by), for now I defer to the inestimably excellent Mr Stephen Fry, who is to front a new BBC series about language.
In sharp contrast, there are some people in the public eye who do a very good job of persistently persuading us all of their ignorance. They bite into the English language, masticate a bit and then spit out their own mangled version of it. Step forward Sarah Palin. In the grand style of George Bush Jnr, whom I must say I never misunderestimated, Mrs Palin appears to have invented a new word. I'm sure that she will repudiate that claim, or maybe she will refute it. In truth, she is more likely to 'refudiate' it, while at the same time pointing out that English is a living language and that Shakespeare invented new words.
That comparison of herself with the Bard of Avon is impressive and as modest as we've come to expect from Mrs Palin. She does seem to be impervious to the approbrium that she brings down upon herself. Clearly, she is well prepared to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, though I'm not convinced that she has the conscience that does make cowards of us all.
This whole amusing development seems to have 'gone global' thanks to a tweet by Sarah Palin. So, perhaps Twitter can actually help us defend and preserve the English language by highlighting its abuse. My fears were unfounded. I can relax. To sleep, perchance to dream.
Tuesday, 20 July 2010
Friday, 23 April 2010
With Cleggmania we're one step closer to the extinction of traditional media dinosaurs
Are you still enjoying the election ride? I know I am, but like many people I was appalled by some of attacks made on Nick Clegg in national newspapers yesterday. I am a supporter of the Lib Dems, but my dismay isn't actually party politically motivated - I simply thought that such an arrogant attempt to 'herd' the public was a disgrace.
The Mail managed to get Mr Clegg and the word 'Nazi' into the same headline - quite deliberate (obviously!) and reprehensible. Meanwhile, although the Telegraph's front page story did indeed raise some questions that needed answering (and those answers have already been given), if you analyse the detail it doesn't appear that anything wrong has been done (no homes 'flipped', no moats cleaned at the taxpayers' expense etc).
Of course, every major party's policies need to be scrutinised, especially if they have genuine ambitions to govern or play a role in a hung parliament. And yes, let's have more of that. But yesterday's attacks were something else entirely and I don't think they'll work. In fact, they just seem to have on one hand highlighted how out of touch with society some of the traditional media are, and on the other, further motivated people to get behind Mr Clegg and express themselves through social media.
Apparently, yesterday saw the highest volume of donations through the Lib Dem website, and I made a point of monitoring how many people were members of the 'we can get the Lib Dems into office' Facebook group. At the start of the day, the number stood at 132,000 - by the end of the day, there was a net increase in members of 7,000 (in contrast, there's been a more modest increase of 2,000 so far today, so I think the rapid rise on Thursday can fairly be called a reaction to the press).
There was also the tongue in cheek trending topic on Twitter - #nickcleggsfault. By tea-time yesterday tens of tweets being made with that hashtag every second (again, this isn't second hand information - I was monitoring it myself). On the surface that hashtag appears to be clearly anti-Clegg, but it is really nothing of the sort. In the UK's irony/satire rich culture, use of #nickcleggsfault is a way of putting two fingers up to the Mail, Telegraph and the establishment and was enthusiastically embraced by people from all backgrounds and political persuasions, including hoards of Lib Dems. That latter group were very happy to see #nickcleggsfault leap into the global top ten of trending topics yesterday, keeping him and the Lib Dems front of mind and driving the agenda (again). And then there was the website with the Daily Mail Nick Clegg headline generator, mocking the Mail and churning out more Clegg content far and wide. All of this is an interesting variation on the online Barack Obama surge during the USA election - there are strong parallels, though I don't think the ironic/satirical elements could have played out this way over there!
On their own, the above developments (and many others) may be fairly minor, but put them all together and that partly explains why the Lib Dem bubble has definitely not burst. Yesterday morning's attacks at a national level have seriously backfired in several ways and could have major long term repercussions for those organs that made them. In a day and age in which social media platforms in particular allow people to react, engage, debate and express their opinions so instantly, through their ignorant actions, the traditional media dinosaurs may well be the architects of their own downfall.
Incidentally, from what I have seen so far, coverage of the election in the regional and local press has been much more palatable and balanced and perhaps highlights why the general public still have great affection for, and fundamentally trust, their local newspaper. I just hope that the bad behaviour of the nationals doesn’t start to tar all press with the same brush in the court of public opinion.
The Mail managed to get Mr Clegg and the word 'Nazi' into the same headline - quite deliberate (obviously!) and reprehensible. Meanwhile, although the Telegraph's front page story did indeed raise some questions that needed answering (and those answers have already been given), if you analyse the detail it doesn't appear that anything wrong has been done (no homes 'flipped', no moats cleaned at the taxpayers' expense etc).
Of course, every major party's policies need to be scrutinised, especially if they have genuine ambitions to govern or play a role in a hung parliament. And yes, let's have more of that. But yesterday's attacks were something else entirely and I don't think they'll work. In fact, they just seem to have on one hand highlighted how out of touch with society some of the traditional media are, and on the other, further motivated people to get behind Mr Clegg and express themselves through social media.
Apparently, yesterday saw the highest volume of donations through the Lib Dem website, and I made a point of monitoring how many people were members of the 'we can get the Lib Dems into office' Facebook group. At the start of the day, the number stood at 132,000 - by the end of the day, there was a net increase in members of 7,000 (in contrast, there's been a more modest increase of 2,000 so far today, so I think the rapid rise on Thursday can fairly be called a reaction to the press).
There was also the tongue in cheek trending topic on Twitter - #nickcleggsfault. By tea-time yesterday tens of tweets being made with that hashtag every second (again, this isn't second hand information - I was monitoring it myself). On the surface that hashtag appears to be clearly anti-Clegg, but it is really nothing of the sort. In the UK's irony/satire rich culture, use of #nickcleggsfault is a way of putting two fingers up to the Mail, Telegraph and the establishment and was enthusiastically embraced by people from all backgrounds and political persuasions, including hoards of Lib Dems. That latter group were very happy to see #nickcleggsfault leap into the global top ten of trending topics yesterday, keeping him and the Lib Dems front of mind and driving the agenda (again). And then there was the website with the Daily Mail Nick Clegg headline generator, mocking the Mail and churning out more Clegg content far and wide. All of this is an interesting variation on the online Barack Obama surge during the USA election - there are strong parallels, though I don't think the ironic/satirical elements could have played out this way over there!
On their own, the above developments (and many others) may be fairly minor, but put them all together and that partly explains why the Lib Dem bubble has definitely not burst. Yesterday morning's attacks at a national level have seriously backfired in several ways and could have major long term repercussions for those organs that made them. In a day and age in which social media platforms in particular allow people to react, engage, debate and express their opinions so instantly, through their ignorant actions, the traditional media dinosaurs may well be the architects of their own downfall.
Incidentally, from what I have seen so far, coverage of the election in the regional and local press has been much more palatable and balanced and perhaps highlights why the general public still have great affection for, and fundamentally trust, their local newspaper. I just hope that the bad behaviour of the nationals doesn’t start to tar all press with the same brush in the court of public opinion.
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
My name is @chrisjlines and I'm a tweetaholic
My name is @chrisjlines and I’m a tweetaholic. There, I’ve admitted it and I’m dealing with it. For a good while now I have been a frequent user of Twitter. I tweet under my own name, on behalf of clients and with some thematic usernames – in fact, I tweet using about 16 usernames. Before anyone starts wondering how I find time to do anything else, I don’t use all of the usernames all of the time and even when I tweet using several I can do so with several accounts at once on my Tweetdeck. That’s my justification and I’m sticking to it.
Why do I do this and what does it achieve? Good question. The answer is I’m still finding that out. And that is one of the most fascinating aspects of Twitter. The continued rapid growth of the service and all that is associated with it sometimes masks the fact that many people and organisations are still simply trying to get to grips with how it all works, or could work, for them.
The escalation of Twitter gives it undoubted potency, for good and bad. It can be incredibly effective in spreading news and generating a collective voice on a wide range of topics, but that can be just as malevolent as positive. I could start listing some of the best examples here, but they already feel like really old news, which is another of the good/bad points about Twitter. The rapid churn of content means that a hot topic one day can be completely forgotten the next. I’m sure that the team at Paperchase remember the storm that recently centred on their brand (as will the designer and design agency involved in the story), but do many other people recall it and has the negative publicity really harmed the company?
Paperchase attempted to use Twitter to engage with customers after the incident, under the @FromPaperchase username. At the time I write this, they have tweeted a grand total of four times (their last tweet was on 16 February) and each tweet now links to the same landing page on their website. So, a) they still don't understand or take social media seriously (actually their attitude is somewhat disdainful based on this evidence) and b) the furore hasn't had a lasting impact on their business. Unless they've gone bust and there's no-one left to update the Twitter page!
The escalation of Twitter gives it undoubted potency, for good and bad. It can be incredibly effective in spreading news and generating a collective voice on a wide range of topics, but that can be just as malevolent as positive. I could start listing some of the best examples here, but they already feel like really old news, which is another of the good/bad points about Twitter. The rapid churn of content means that a hot topic one day can be completely forgotten the next. I’m sure that the team at Paperchase remember the storm that recently centred on their brand (as will the designer and design agency involved in the story), but do many other people recall it and has the negative publicity really harmed the company?
Paperchase attempted to use Twitter to engage with customers after the incident, under the @FromPaperchase username. At the time I write this, they have tweeted a grand total of four times (their last tweet was on 16 February) and each tweet now links to the same landing page on their website. So, a) they still don't understand or take social media seriously (actually their attitude is somewhat disdainful based on this evidence) and b) the furore hasn't had a lasting impact on their business. Unless they've gone bust and there's no-one left to update the Twitter page!
Only the really major Twitter trending topics seem to make any sort of longer lasting imprint on the collective consciousness (#trafigura, #welovethenhs etc). Almost everything else on the service is like the life in a day of a mayfly – ‘born, eat, procreate, die’. Sure, there is a significant number of Twitter heavyweights who command millions of followers and can, with 140 characters or fewer, transform the Twitter fortunes of others. It’s like the ‘Delia effect’ all over again. But there’s also a staggering volume of tweets and links and comment and ranting and comedy and filth and solicitation and the rest that’s read by almost no-one (other than the author).
So does Twitter really help people connect with the rest of the world and become part of a big, sharing community? Or is it actually isolating us a little bit more from real contact and real relationships? Some people are deluding themselves that it's the former. Reading all those tweets by celebrities and other opinion leaders that they follow doesn't really mean that they are connected - the communication is, 99.9% of the time, still one way. If that sounds a bit grouchy, it's not really meant to - I actually think Twitter is fantastic for all sorts of reasons, but we do need to be honest about what it is and what it isn't.
So does Twitter really help people connect with the rest of the world and become part of a big, sharing community? Or is it actually isolating us a little bit more from real contact and real relationships? Some people are deluding themselves that it's the former. Reading all those tweets by celebrities and other opinion leaders that they follow doesn't really mean that they are connected - the communication is, 99.9% of the time, still one way. If that sounds a bit grouchy, it's not really meant to - I actually think Twitter is fantastic for all sorts of reasons, but we do need to be honest about what it is and what it isn't.
Sometimes, reading content on Twitter makes me think of radio ’phone in shows, which I passionately dislike. Because there are, on the surface, no real consequences resulting from ‘mouthing off’ in tweets, Twitter is like a very big halogen lamp to a huge swarm of extremist moths.
People express some very strident views and make outrageous statements with apparent impunity, which can lead to some very entertaining/alarming ‘twitterfeuds’. I managed to get dragged into one myself recently. It was quite fun for a while, but then became very tedious. Safe to say, in the Rentokil related discussions between @paul_a_smith and @LINGsCARS, I remain firmly positioned on Paul’s side of the debate and the relatively mild insults that were aimed at me by Ling made no impact, other than to reinforce my existing views. So, no harm done there then.
However, we’re now moving into a General Election campaign and I am already seriously disappointed by the level of dialogue emerging from many activists on Twitter. ‘Activists’ is an important distinction as there are many commentators and candidates who contribute plenty of excellent, relatively balanced content. As for much of the rest, it’s all so blinkered and insulting to the intelligence.
I started following @BevaniteEllie using one of my accounts and while Ellie deserves ten out of ten for passion, persistence, conviction and being prolific, I find her propagandist approach to tweeting both annoying and alarming. I only single out @BevaniteEllie because I’ve been monitoring her output – I know that there are similarly single minded tweeters among the ranks of all parties. And of course, there’s an easy solution to this – I should stop following her.
But my point is that the attitude of Ellie and others like her adds nothing to the political debate – it just accentuates and, if anything widens, the divisions. It either preaches to the converted or winds up the opposition – that’s all. And if the UK is heading towards a hung parliament, as many pundits predict, then come May, these wildly flapping and fulminating moths are going to have to find a way to work to work together. Now that should be interesting.
People express some very strident views and make outrageous statements with apparent impunity, which can lead to some very entertaining/alarming ‘twitterfeuds’. I managed to get dragged into one myself recently. It was quite fun for a while, but then became very tedious. Safe to say, in the Rentokil related discussions between @paul_a_smith and @LINGsCARS, I remain firmly positioned on Paul’s side of the debate and the relatively mild insults that were aimed at me by Ling made no impact, other than to reinforce my existing views. So, no harm done there then.
However, we’re now moving into a General Election campaign and I am already seriously disappointed by the level of dialogue emerging from many activists on Twitter. ‘Activists’ is an important distinction as there are many commentators and candidates who contribute plenty of excellent, relatively balanced content. As for much of the rest, it’s all so blinkered and insulting to the intelligence.
I started following @BevaniteEllie using one of my accounts and while Ellie deserves ten out of ten for passion, persistence, conviction and being prolific, I find her propagandist approach to tweeting both annoying and alarming. I only single out @BevaniteEllie because I’ve been monitoring her output – I know that there are similarly single minded tweeters among the ranks of all parties. And of course, there’s an easy solution to this – I should stop following her.
But my point is that the attitude of Ellie and others like her adds nothing to the political debate – it just accentuates and, if anything widens, the divisions. It either preaches to the converted or winds up the opposition – that’s all. And if the UK is heading towards a hung parliament, as many pundits predict, then come May, these wildly flapping and fulminating moths are going to have to find a way to work to work together. Now that should be interesting.
Monday, 11 January 2010
Winter waffle from climate change deniers and a scandal in Scotland
“Welcome to 2010,” said the presenter on the telly. And what a wintry welcome it’s been. I have a young family (along with my own still youthful delight in all things snow), so we’ve enjoyed the start to the year with plenty of sledging (highly professional video here ;-)), snowman (and snowwoman and snowchildren) making, and the occasional icicle attack.
During all that frivolity, it’s easy to forget the negative impact that sustained snow and ice can have on all sorts of sections of society, from the old and infirm to loads of small businesses that grind to a halt even though they simply can’t afford to. In short, it has been a challenging few weeks for many people and organisations and most will be keeping their fingers crossed that the current thaw continues. Even the outdoor sector, which has seen a boost in sales thanks to the cold weather (Berghaus down jackets and hats and gloves have been flying out of stores), will be welcoming the improved weather as it will now be easier for people to get to the shops to buy warm kit in anticipation of more seasonal weather.
Of course, there are people with a particular agenda who have tried to use the ‘big freeze’ to propagate their message. Yes, predictably, the “global warming, what global warming?” lobby is working overtime. Oh dear. Well, I’m no climate change expert, so I’ll leave it to the more qualified and articulate (as far as I can tell) to put them in their place, such as the LeftOutside blog.
I found my way to LeftOutside thanks to Graham Linehan, a prolific, thoughtful and entertaining/informative tweeter under his username @glinner. If you use Twitter, he’s well worth following and was behind the successful ‘#IlovetheNHS’ Twitter trending topic last year. And his pithy take on Richard Littlejohn's attitude to climate change made me smile.
On the general subject of climate change denial, this is worth watching too. 32,000 leading scientists – really?
Meanwhile, it seems that some of the UK’s most beautiful landscape is going to be sacrificed on the altar of green energy. Or is that the altar of small-minded corporate gods? The proposed Beauly-Denny power line in the Scottish Highlands is, according to Cameron McNeish (outdoors man, campaigner and editor of Scotland based outdoor magazine TGO), “like taking a razor blade to a Rembrandt”. Those words make for a very quotable comment, but also offer an insight into the massive furore caused by the Scottish Government’s approval of the plans. Muriel Gray, writing in The Herald, hits the nail on the head with her exploration of the hypocrisy at the heart of this whole issue. Money talks. And I am clearly not alone in being somewhat perplexed by the stance of Friends of the Earth.
I’m sure that the Beauly-Denny area looks absolutely stunning at the moment. It seems to me that the financial savings of choosing the pylon option are nothing compared to the subsequent real and fundamental cost to the landscape and all those who currently enjoy it. I notice that, at the same time, the “Live it” visitScotland commercial has started appearing on television again. I wonder how long it will be before someone comes up with a spoof version featuring the pylons and a “Vandalise it” strapline. If only I was remotely competent with a video camera and editing suite...
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
Music and (mainly mis-heard) Lyrics
We're hurtling towards the crowning of the Christmas number one. In recent years, it's not been quite the event that it used to be, thanks to the dominance of the X Factor singles. In my humble opinion, X Factor is doing a grand job of ruining popular music by ripping out any vestige of soul from it and replacing that with nicely packaged absolute dross. We're all responsible for this, by letting ourselves get carried along by it and not doing enough to counter it (though I wonder what it is that can be done to combat the Simon Cowell juggernaut).
Of course, a bit of extra interest has been injected this year, through the social media campaign to get Rage Against The Machine's 1992 track, Killing In The Name Of, to the top spot. For no reason other than my dislike for all that the X Factor represents, I'm backing RATM (yes, I know that both tracks are on the Sony label, but I believe that RATM sales will be contributing to homeless charity Shelter, which is a very worthwhile cause at this time of year). I'd be delighted, if surprised, if RATM gave Joe McElderry a potty-mouthed, sage and onion, Christmas stuffing!
I was at university when Killing In The Name Of was first released as a single and I used to listen to the top 40 singles countdown on BBC Radio One. I can still clearly recall DJ Bruno Brookes introducing the single as a new entry and then playing the entire, uncensored track. Oh, how I laughed, though I'm not sure Bruno was as amused by the complaints that then flooded in to the BBC.
Talking of lyrics, I’ve always believed that however eloquent/profound/entertaining the words, it is the melody that defines a song. Basically, come up with a decent tune (preferably a musical combination of verses and a chorus) and the job is essentially done. That’s not to say I don’t appreciate the recorded work of a fine wordsmith, but if the music doesn’t get to me, then the words never really will.
However, there are many lyrics that do stick in the memory.
There are the sublime:
"And I need you more than want you, and I want you for all time"
"Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly"
"Teenage kicks, so hard to beat".
There are the ridiculous:
“Dancing at the disco, bumper to bumper, wait a minute...where’s me jumper”
“I don’t want to see a ghost, It’s a sight that I fear most. I’d rather have a piece of toast andwatch the evening news.”
And then there are the downright strange:
“I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand, walking through the streets of Soho in the rain.”
“I was lying in a burned out basement, with the full moon in my eye. I was hoping for replacement when the sun burst through the sky.”
I’m a big fan of mis-heard lyrics. Having followed REM for over 20 years, that’s no great surprise. Legend has it that Michael Stipe recorded the vocals for the band’s first album, Murmur, in a cupboard under the stairs. Not only that, but when listening, he appears to be mumbling a series of barely connected half-words. It’s still one of the greatest debut albums.
Elsewhere, there are many examples of mis-heard lyrics that have entered popular culture in their own right, and some of them are very funny.
Did Steve Winwood really sing “Bring me an iron lung” or was he looking for love?
Was Neil Diamond really paying tribute to the “Reverend Blue Jeans”?
Did Hendrix genuinely want us to excuse him while he “kissed this guy”?
Was Diana Ross expecting a rugby league inspired chain reaction when she sang “tell Eddie Waring there’s no salvation”? (The rumour mongers among us might wonder whether there was something going on between Diana and Eddie. The former did once perform at the opening ceremony of the Rugby League World Cup, at Wembley in 1995. Did the latter entice her to appear?)
And was Van Morrison really lifted up by the Lord like a “fool’s foreskin”?
There are so many more - these are just some that stick in my mind.
But having stated everything above, there are some lyrics that for me are as good as the music they are attached to. Dylan, Young (Neil), Jagger, Lennon/McCartney, Wyatt, Martyn, Morrissey and the rest, fair play to you all, but make way for the masters - Young, Young and Scott. For Touch Too Much, the fourth track on AC/DC’s sixth album, Highway to Hell, the three rock ’n roll maestros combined to write what for me are perfect lyrics. Okay, they are more than a little ‘dinosaur’ in attitude (!). They’re downright dirty (even offensive to some people I imagine), with barely disguised innuendo, and I’m not sure that they’ll appear in many poetry anthologies of the future. However, I think that they’re the perfect match for the music and the group in question and they make me smile every time I hear them, especially the first three lines of the second verse. Genius.
"It was one of those nights,
When you turned out the lights
And everything comes into view.
She was taking her time,
I was losing my mind,
There was nothing that she wouldn't do.
It wasn't the first,
It wasn't the last,
She knew we was making love.
I was so satisfied,
Deep down inside,
Like a hand in a velvet glove.
CHORUS:
Seems like a touch, a touch too much,
Seems like a touch, a touch too much.
Too much for my body, too much for my brain,
This damn woman's gonna drive me insane.
She's got a touch, a touch too much.
She had the face of an angel,
Smiling with sin,
The body of Venus with arms.
Dealing with danger,
Stroking my skin
Like a thunder and light-e-ning storm.
It wasn't the first,
It wasn't the last,
It wasn't that she didn't care.
She wanted it hard
And wanted it fast,
She liked it done medium rare."
For more classic mis-heard lyrics, it’s worth having a look at the KissThisGuy website.
I'd love to hear other gems from the music world - please add your favourites as comments.
Of course, a bit of extra interest has been injected this year, through the social media campaign to get Rage Against The Machine's 1992 track, Killing In The Name Of, to the top spot. For no reason other than my dislike for all that the X Factor represents, I'm backing RATM (yes, I know that both tracks are on the Sony label, but I believe that RATM sales will be contributing to homeless charity Shelter, which is a very worthwhile cause at this time of year). I'd be delighted, if surprised, if RATM gave Joe McElderry a potty-mouthed, sage and onion, Christmas stuffing!
I was at university when Killing In The Name Of was first released as a single and I used to listen to the top 40 singles countdown on BBC Radio One. I can still clearly recall DJ Bruno Brookes introducing the single as a new entry and then playing the entire, uncensored track. Oh, how I laughed, though I'm not sure Bruno was as amused by the complaints that then flooded in to the BBC.
Talking of lyrics, I’ve always believed that however eloquent/profound/entertaining the words, it is the melody that defines a song. Basically, come up with a decent tune (preferably a musical combination of verses and a chorus) and the job is essentially done. That’s not to say I don’t appreciate the recorded work of a fine wordsmith, but if the music doesn’t get to me, then the words never really will.
However, there are many lyrics that do stick in the memory.
There are the sublime:
"And I need you more than want you, and I want you for all time"
"Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly"
"Teenage kicks, so hard to beat".
There are the ridiculous:
“Dancing at the disco, bumper to bumper, wait a minute...where’s me jumper”
“I don’t want to see a ghost, It’s a sight that I fear most. I’d rather have a piece of toast andwatch the evening news.”
And then there are the downright strange:
“I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand, walking through the streets of Soho in the rain.”
“I was lying in a burned out basement, with the full moon in my eye. I was hoping for replacement when the sun burst through the sky.”
I’m a big fan of mis-heard lyrics. Having followed REM for over 20 years, that’s no great surprise. Legend has it that Michael Stipe recorded the vocals for the band’s first album, Murmur, in a cupboard under the stairs. Not only that, but when listening, he appears to be mumbling a series of barely connected half-words. It’s still one of the greatest debut albums.
Elsewhere, there are many examples of mis-heard lyrics that have entered popular culture in their own right, and some of them are very funny.
Did Steve Winwood really sing “Bring me an iron lung” or was he looking for love?
Was Neil Diamond really paying tribute to the “Reverend Blue Jeans”?
Did Hendrix genuinely want us to excuse him while he “kissed this guy”?
Was Diana Ross expecting a rugby league inspired chain reaction when she sang “tell Eddie Waring there’s no salvation”? (The rumour mongers among us might wonder whether there was something going on between Diana and Eddie. The former did once perform at the opening ceremony of the Rugby League World Cup, at Wembley in 1995. Did the latter entice her to appear?)
And was Van Morrison really lifted up by the Lord like a “fool’s foreskin”?
There are so many more - these are just some that stick in my mind.
But having stated everything above, there are some lyrics that for me are as good as the music they are attached to. Dylan, Young (Neil), Jagger, Lennon/McCartney, Wyatt, Martyn, Morrissey and the rest, fair play to you all, but make way for the masters - Young, Young and Scott. For Touch Too Much, the fourth track on AC/DC’s sixth album, Highway to Hell, the three rock ’n roll maestros combined to write what for me are perfect lyrics. Okay, they are more than a little ‘dinosaur’ in attitude (!). They’re downright dirty (even offensive to some people I imagine), with barely disguised innuendo, and I’m not sure that they’ll appear in many poetry anthologies of the future. However, I think that they’re the perfect match for the music and the group in question and they make me smile every time I hear them, especially the first three lines of the second verse. Genius.
"It was one of those nights,
When you turned out the lights
And everything comes into view.
She was taking her time,
I was losing my mind,
There was nothing that she wouldn't do.
It wasn't the first,
It wasn't the last,
She knew we was making love.
I was so satisfied,
Deep down inside,
Like a hand in a velvet glove.
CHORUS:
Seems like a touch, a touch too much,
Seems like a touch, a touch too much.
Too much for my body, too much for my brain,
This damn woman's gonna drive me insane.
She's got a touch, a touch too much.
She had the face of an angel,
Smiling with sin,
The body of Venus with arms.
Dealing with danger,
Stroking my skin
Like a thunder and light-e-ning storm.
It wasn't the first,
It wasn't the last,
It wasn't that she didn't care.
She wanted it hard
And wanted it fast,
She liked it done medium rare."
For more classic mis-heard lyrics, it’s worth having a look at the KissThisGuy website.
I'd love to hear other gems from the music world - please add your favourites as comments.
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
Tiger, Tiger (after William Blake)
Tiger, Tiger burning bright (red).
After tree and hydrant of the night,
What intrusive media spy
Could frame thy apparent infidelity?
Enough said.
After tree and hydrant of the night,
What intrusive media spy
Could frame thy apparent infidelity?
Enough said.
Tuesday, 10 November 2009
A tribute to Margaret Lines
This is a more sober post than usual, but there’s a good reason.
Life has been pretty good to me. I enjoyed a very happy childhood, growing up in the midst of a loving family. My parents worked hard and my siblings and I were well provided for. I was fortunate enough to attend decent schools in a great community and the rest sort of followed. On the way, among other characteristics, I think I inherited the hard work ethic that was always exhibited by my mum and dad. That, I believe, is a good thing. For some years, my biggest complaint was that I had nothing big to complain about.
Hmm.
Well, I’m not going to start complaining, because my life is still very good. However, there is now a huge gap in it. Just over two weeks ago, my mum died, after a typically courageous, yet pragmatic, fight against aggressive brain tumours (secondary tumours from a primary malignant melanoma that we all thought mum had successfully seen off a while ago). The early, unfortunate circumstances of that original melanoma constitute another story. During her final illness, mum received wonderful care in the University Hospital of North Durham, the Northern Centre for Cancer Care (within the Freeman Hospital in Newcastle upon Tyne) and, finally, in Sedgefield Community Hospital. She retained her character, her humour and her dignity to the end.
Anyone who knew mum well won’t need reminding that she was an amazing person. For those who didn’t know her, or would have liked to have known her better, I have reproduced below an appreciation of mum’s life, put together and delivered at her funeral last week, with help from family, friends, colleagues, and of course the lady herself. On the whole, it’s not at all a mournful piece, so I hope you read it and that it paints a striking picture in your mind of Margaret Lines, a wonderful human being.
And if you then feel inclined, please do pop over to the Sir Bobby Robson Foundation website and make a donation to assist the ongoing research and treatment in the battle against cancer.
Mum
I may be saying the following words and expressing the sentiments, but they are those of the whole family, former colleagues, and friends – in fact, I am sure they represent all of us here today.
Stella Margaret Smith, Margaret, Maggie, Mags, Mum, Martha, Mrs Lines. For the purpose of this, I will use mum.
I really cannot adequately articulate how much I admired mum. In summing her up, I’m afraid I will have to start by resorting to a list.
Mum was all of the following: a phenomenal force of nature; a concentrated ball of energy and enthusiasm; an intelligent person who got things done; a formidable organiser; a wise and honest counsellor; an expert practitioner of common sense in a world in which it is increasingly rare; a withering critic of the nanny state who was the best nanny imaginable; a communicator without compare; a hard worker who was absolutely committed to her profession and fiercely loyal to her team; a frustrated rally driver who was possibly the only person ever to get a speeding ticket in an Austin A35; a devotee of camping, caravanning and the great outdoors; a passionate sports fan (especially tennis – Mum used to regularly go to Wimbledon until the year she came home to find her young daughter Kate in hospital with a fractured skull!); she was kind and generous in spirit and deed; blessed with an irreverent sense of humour; flirtatious as a youngster and always gregarious; very patient and yet also very impatient; a great hostess who enjoyed fine food and fine wine; a campaigner; a pillar of the community in all the right senses; a dog lover and frog hater; incredibly family minded; a beautiful and devoted daughter, sister, wife, mother, mother-in-law, grandmother (sorry, I mean Martha); and a wonderful friend. She was a very special human being indeed and that list doesn’t begin to do her justice.
One of mum’s greatest characteristics was her conviction. She was quickly able to assess a person or situation, draw her own conclusion, and then take the appropriate action or use the necessary words with the absolute confidence that she was right. And she usually was, much to our admiration and, let’s face it, occasional annoyance! All of mum’s family and friends frequently witnessed her in full flow and so, clearly, did her many colleagues over the years.
Although the family certainly had an idea, I don’t think we ever fully appreciated how much mum contributed to a wider community and to her profession, until the cards started to flood in during her illness. Many former colleagues, a large number of whom the rest of us have never met, have sent cards and tributes. Almost without exception, included within these cards have been very personal stories about how mum helped the sender in one significant way or another.
Mum qualified in Edinburgh in 1967 and soon began work as a speech and language therapist in the North East, starting at the Percy Hedley School in Newcastle, before joining the NHS. During the 1970s, while we children arrived one by one, she worked part time in Stockton, with a group of young therapists who were struggling to provide a service across Teesside. From the start, mum was a team player who was always supportive of her colleagues, something that endured throughout her career.
In the late 70s, she became a senior therapist in Durham and developed her skills in working with people with learning disabilities. She was a very successful and caring therapist who was skilled in supporting her clients. In the mid 1980s, mum took on a head of service post in Middlesbrough and used her skills to develop that service for both children and adults with learning disabilities.
She went on to become the Speech and Language Therapy Manager for the whole of the Middlesbrough and Redcar and Cleveland service. She proved herself very able and innovative in the role. She was a keen member and supporter of the North East Speech and Language Therapy Management group and was always happy to help and advise new members and support her colleagues.
Mum was an excellent administrator, getting in to work very early and getting on with the job, invariably with a strong black coffee to hand. She became a Commission for Health Improvement visitor, which meant she looked at NHS services throughout the country. This gave mum a national role in supporting her profession. In 2002, she was on the Education and Workforce Planning Board of the Royal College of Speech and Language Therapists. The board informed government of the need for increased numbers of speech and language therapists to provide better services. I suspect that mum’s brand of informing was fairly assertive!
Mum had a great interest in the education of the next generation of speech and language therapists and worked with Teesside University to establish a foundation course for people who wanted to go on and train as a therapist. I am reliably informed that mum had a unique capacity for finding her way through the maze of the NHS structure. And, crucially, she got results. As a colleague, she was up front, always enthusiastic, very amusing and above all dynamic!
So, mum’s career, which believe me I have not covered exhaustively, was something to be very proud of and I know that she took great satisfaction from the fact that over the years, she helped thousands of people to communicate, something that she very rarely had any difficulty doing herself!
Given the fact that family and friends never wanted for attention or affection, this begs the question – where on earth did mum find the time? But find it she did, and the results and legacy are remarkable. It is incredibly challenging to be very successful in both career and family life, yet mum appeared to manage it with relative ease. She formed the perfect partnership with dad, born of deep love, and marked by mutual support and respect, many shared interests and a healthy and often amusing dose of bickering (the bickering was amusing to witnesses at least). The four children, and the wider circle of family and friends, always benefited hugely from that partnership.
I could stand here all day relating stories that illustrate mum’s many qualities, but she would tell me in no uncertain terms to get on with it. However, I can’t resist two that I think offer the perfect illustration of the person that she was.
When Kate, Richard, Michael and I were young children, our house was a place of very well organised chaos. The chaos was inevitable, thanks to the presence of four children, two to three dogs, a hamster, the stray cockatiel that Richard brought home one day, several guinea pigs, goldfish, rabbits and a cat, and of course dad. But mum had a system and it worked. And every year for our summer holiday, in usual organised fashion, she would set off with the children as the advance party (dad would arrive later).
A holiday that always sticks in my mind was one of our trips to Sandyhills in Dumfries and Galloway. Mum crammed herself, the four kids, the two dogs and all of our luggage for about a fortnight into an old, very yellow Datsun Cherry and set off with great fortitude for south west Scotland. And there’s not much more to the story. We got there, eventually, after a couple of car sickness related stops, and we stayed in our grandparents’ caravan and we had a wonderful time, which we always did. It was mum’s determination and love, and a more reliable Datsun than we expected, that made it achievable, but the point is that all of those holidays, there in Scotland or latterly in Northumberland, became the source of some of the Lines family’s fondest memories. It was mum who made them possible.
And then there was the time that mum tackled Brian Clough. Old Big ’Ead had brought his Nottingham Forest side to play in a fundraising friendly match against cash strapped Darlington. Mum took Mike and me to the match and afterwards we hung around patiently outside the dressing rooms, along with loads of other kids, all waiting to get Mr Clough’s autograph. Long after the players had climbed onto the coach, the great man finally emerged and immediately and loudly stated that he wouldn’t be signing any more autographs. Stunned silence followed and then a clear voice cut through the chilly air – “You rat.”
Cloughie turned to face his new opponent, Margaret Lines, who continued with words along the lines of: “How dare you. These children have travelled here especially to watch your team and they’ve waited a long time to get your autograph. You should jolly well sign all of their books.” A second stunned silence followed and the growing crowd watched on in anticipation of a withering response. Cloughie looked mum up and down for a few seconds, realised he had met his match and made a very sensible decision. “You’re quite right madam.” And he stopped and signed every single autograph. That was mum through and through – she was ready to take on anyone if she thought that was required, especially for her family, and she usually got the right result.
Mum gave us all so much and I don't think we ever really got the chance to thank her properly. So mum, if you're watching and listening, first of all, apologies if any of today's arrangements don't meet your very exacting standards (I can almost hear the cutting yet somehow constructive comments echoing through this building). Second, rest assured that your legacy will be profound and will be reflected in thoughts and deeds for generations, especially through your grandchildren who adored you, just as you doted on them. And finally, thank you so very much for enriching so many lives in so many ways. Although cut cruelly and unnecessarily short, yours was a life that was extremely well lived and you will endure, through all of us. Tomorrow, we will have to contemplate the void that you have left. But today, we will commemorate and celebrate your life in the manner that you would both expect and appreciate.
Goodbye.
Life has been pretty good to me. I enjoyed a very happy childhood, growing up in the midst of a loving family. My parents worked hard and my siblings and I were well provided for. I was fortunate enough to attend decent schools in a great community and the rest sort of followed. On the way, among other characteristics, I think I inherited the hard work ethic that was always exhibited by my mum and dad. That, I believe, is a good thing. For some years, my biggest complaint was that I had nothing big to complain about.
Hmm.
Well, I’m not going to start complaining, because my life is still very good. However, there is now a huge gap in it. Just over two weeks ago, my mum died, after a typically courageous, yet pragmatic, fight against aggressive brain tumours (secondary tumours from a primary malignant melanoma that we all thought mum had successfully seen off a while ago). The early, unfortunate circumstances of that original melanoma constitute another story. During her final illness, mum received wonderful care in the University Hospital of North Durham, the Northern Centre for Cancer Care (within the Freeman Hospital in Newcastle upon Tyne) and, finally, in Sedgefield Community Hospital. She retained her character, her humour and her dignity to the end.
Anyone who knew mum well won’t need reminding that she was an amazing person. For those who didn’t know her, or would have liked to have known her better, I have reproduced below an appreciation of mum’s life, put together and delivered at her funeral last week, with help from family, friends, colleagues, and of course the lady herself. On the whole, it’s not at all a mournful piece, so I hope you read it and that it paints a striking picture in your mind of Margaret Lines, a wonderful human being.
And if you then feel inclined, please do pop over to the Sir Bobby Robson Foundation website and make a donation to assist the ongoing research and treatment in the battle against cancer.
Mum
I may be saying the following words and expressing the sentiments, but they are those of the whole family, former colleagues, and friends – in fact, I am sure they represent all of us here today.
Stella Margaret Smith, Margaret, Maggie, Mags, Mum, Martha, Mrs Lines. For the purpose of this, I will use mum.
I really cannot adequately articulate how much I admired mum. In summing her up, I’m afraid I will have to start by resorting to a list.
Mum was all of the following: a phenomenal force of nature; a concentrated ball of energy and enthusiasm; an intelligent person who got things done; a formidable organiser; a wise and honest counsellor; an expert practitioner of common sense in a world in which it is increasingly rare; a withering critic of the nanny state who was the best nanny imaginable; a communicator without compare; a hard worker who was absolutely committed to her profession and fiercely loyal to her team; a frustrated rally driver who was possibly the only person ever to get a speeding ticket in an Austin A35; a devotee of camping, caravanning and the great outdoors; a passionate sports fan (especially tennis – Mum used to regularly go to Wimbledon until the year she came home to find her young daughter Kate in hospital with a fractured skull!); she was kind and generous in spirit and deed; blessed with an irreverent sense of humour; flirtatious as a youngster and always gregarious; very patient and yet also very impatient; a great hostess who enjoyed fine food and fine wine; a campaigner; a pillar of the community in all the right senses; a dog lover and frog hater; incredibly family minded; a beautiful and devoted daughter, sister, wife, mother, mother-in-law, grandmother (sorry, I mean Martha); and a wonderful friend. She was a very special human being indeed and that list doesn’t begin to do her justice.
One of mum’s greatest characteristics was her conviction. She was quickly able to assess a person or situation, draw her own conclusion, and then take the appropriate action or use the necessary words with the absolute confidence that she was right. And she usually was, much to our admiration and, let’s face it, occasional annoyance! All of mum’s family and friends frequently witnessed her in full flow and so, clearly, did her many colleagues over the years.
Although the family certainly had an idea, I don’t think we ever fully appreciated how much mum contributed to a wider community and to her profession, until the cards started to flood in during her illness. Many former colleagues, a large number of whom the rest of us have never met, have sent cards and tributes. Almost without exception, included within these cards have been very personal stories about how mum helped the sender in one significant way or another.
Mum qualified in Edinburgh in 1967 and soon began work as a speech and language therapist in the North East, starting at the Percy Hedley School in Newcastle, before joining the NHS. During the 1970s, while we children arrived one by one, she worked part time in Stockton, with a group of young therapists who were struggling to provide a service across Teesside. From the start, mum was a team player who was always supportive of her colleagues, something that endured throughout her career.
In the late 70s, she became a senior therapist in Durham and developed her skills in working with people with learning disabilities. She was a very successful and caring therapist who was skilled in supporting her clients. In the mid 1980s, mum took on a head of service post in Middlesbrough and used her skills to develop that service for both children and adults with learning disabilities.
She went on to become the Speech and Language Therapy Manager for the whole of the Middlesbrough and Redcar and Cleveland service. She proved herself very able and innovative in the role. She was a keen member and supporter of the North East Speech and Language Therapy Management group and was always happy to help and advise new members and support her colleagues.
Mum was an excellent administrator, getting in to work very early and getting on with the job, invariably with a strong black coffee to hand. She became a Commission for Health Improvement visitor, which meant she looked at NHS services throughout the country. This gave mum a national role in supporting her profession. In 2002, she was on the Education and Workforce Planning Board of the Royal College of Speech and Language Therapists. The board informed government of the need for increased numbers of speech and language therapists to provide better services. I suspect that mum’s brand of informing was fairly assertive!
Mum had a great interest in the education of the next generation of speech and language therapists and worked with Teesside University to establish a foundation course for people who wanted to go on and train as a therapist. I am reliably informed that mum had a unique capacity for finding her way through the maze of the NHS structure. And, crucially, she got results. As a colleague, she was up front, always enthusiastic, very amusing and above all dynamic!
So, mum’s career, which believe me I have not covered exhaustively, was something to be very proud of and I know that she took great satisfaction from the fact that over the years, she helped thousands of people to communicate, something that she very rarely had any difficulty doing herself!
Given the fact that family and friends never wanted for attention or affection, this begs the question – where on earth did mum find the time? But find it she did, and the results and legacy are remarkable. It is incredibly challenging to be very successful in both career and family life, yet mum appeared to manage it with relative ease. She formed the perfect partnership with dad, born of deep love, and marked by mutual support and respect, many shared interests and a healthy and often amusing dose of bickering (the bickering was amusing to witnesses at least). The four children, and the wider circle of family and friends, always benefited hugely from that partnership.
I could stand here all day relating stories that illustrate mum’s many qualities, but she would tell me in no uncertain terms to get on with it. However, I can’t resist two that I think offer the perfect illustration of the person that she was.
When Kate, Richard, Michael and I were young children, our house was a place of very well organised chaos. The chaos was inevitable, thanks to the presence of four children, two to three dogs, a hamster, the stray cockatiel that Richard brought home one day, several guinea pigs, goldfish, rabbits and a cat, and of course dad. But mum had a system and it worked. And every year for our summer holiday, in usual organised fashion, she would set off with the children as the advance party (dad would arrive later).
A holiday that always sticks in my mind was one of our trips to Sandyhills in Dumfries and Galloway. Mum crammed herself, the four kids, the two dogs and all of our luggage for about a fortnight into an old, very yellow Datsun Cherry and set off with great fortitude for south west Scotland. And there’s not much more to the story. We got there, eventually, after a couple of car sickness related stops, and we stayed in our grandparents’ caravan and we had a wonderful time, which we always did. It was mum’s determination and love, and a more reliable Datsun than we expected, that made it achievable, but the point is that all of those holidays, there in Scotland or latterly in Northumberland, became the source of some of the Lines family’s fondest memories. It was mum who made them possible.
And then there was the time that mum tackled Brian Clough. Old Big ’Ead had brought his Nottingham Forest side to play in a fundraising friendly match against cash strapped Darlington. Mum took Mike and me to the match and afterwards we hung around patiently outside the dressing rooms, along with loads of other kids, all waiting to get Mr Clough’s autograph. Long after the players had climbed onto the coach, the great man finally emerged and immediately and loudly stated that he wouldn’t be signing any more autographs. Stunned silence followed and then a clear voice cut through the chilly air – “You rat.”
Cloughie turned to face his new opponent, Margaret Lines, who continued with words along the lines of: “How dare you. These children have travelled here especially to watch your team and they’ve waited a long time to get your autograph. You should jolly well sign all of their books.” A second stunned silence followed and the growing crowd watched on in anticipation of a withering response. Cloughie looked mum up and down for a few seconds, realised he had met his match and made a very sensible decision. “You’re quite right madam.” And he stopped and signed every single autograph. That was mum through and through – she was ready to take on anyone if she thought that was required, especially for her family, and she usually got the right result.
Mum gave us all so much and I don't think we ever really got the chance to thank her properly. So mum, if you're watching and listening, first of all, apologies if any of today's arrangements don't meet your very exacting standards (I can almost hear the cutting yet somehow constructive comments echoing through this building). Second, rest assured that your legacy will be profound and will be reflected in thoughts and deeds for generations, especially through your grandchildren who adored you, just as you doted on them. And finally, thank you so very much for enriching so many lives in so many ways. Although cut cruelly and unnecessarily short, yours was a life that was extremely well lived and you will endure, through all of us. Tomorrow, we will have to contemplate the void that you have left. But today, we will commemorate and celebrate your life in the manner that you would both expect and appreciate.
Goodbye.
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