So, tell me Dave…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s gazelle is the fat lethargic one.
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‘Dave…’
‘Yes?…’
‘You are a wise old artist, musician, and generally creative sort of person…’
‘Yes?’
‘…even though you’ve not been at all successful in any of these fields…’
‘Yes, that’s about right… What can I do for you?’
‘Well Dave, what single piece of advice would you give to a young creative person like me just at the start of their career?’
‘Well, I’m tempted to say, avoid the niches…’
‘The niches?…’
‘Yes, the niches – they’ll expect you to fit snugly into an easily recognised and handy niche…’
‘Who will?’
‘Well everybody really, but especially the people with no imagination or skills who have drifted into arts administration and criticism…’
‘But…’
‘Yes, you see, they are the ones, oh, and journalists, mustn’t forget them, who have their limp pale fingers around the throat of the arts…’
‘That’s a bit harsh Dave… But… what about these niches?’
‘Well, to be acceptable you have to fit into one – so that you can be compared with, and easily classified with…’
‘But Dave…’
‘It’s like Jack Vettriano, they’ve got him nicely in a niche – and they don’t like him, or his niche… and then… it’s like the time in the 1990s when Britpop arrived…’
‘Britpop?’
‘Yes, when people started writing wet half-hearted copies of Beatles and Kinks songs – they filled the existing niche really well and they were successful, but…’
‘But?’
‘But they were so, so, bland…’
‘You think so Dave?’
‘Well compared to the people they copied… yes… I suppose it’s like Michelangelo…’
‘What?… Michelangelo? I don’t understand, what…’
‘Yes, I’m surprised that he became so popular…’
‘Well he was very popular Dave.’
‘I know, but he must have confused a lot of people by being good at sculpture, poetry, painting, and architecture… They just couldn’t pin him down! You can imagine Pope Julius II, hands on his hips, saying, ‘Come on Mike, just get on with the stone carving, forget all the other stuff, it’s a really bad career move to spread yourself so thin you know…”
‘You’ve just contradicted yourself now Dave.’
‘Possibly… but he did manage to chisel his way into several acceptable niches at once – a very good trick if you can do it!’
‘So, you think I should avoid the niches then?’
‘Depends what you want – if you think you want fame and ‘success’, pick out a nice niche that people can easily understand, squeeze yourself into it, seek out these ghastly arts people, flatter them, and start climbing the greasy pole with the rest of the other poor wretches.’
‘And if I don’t choose one?’
‘Then you might end up poor and unrecognised, however, you will be free to do any art you like without worrying how these dull people will react to it. Success often stifles creativity – just look at Hockney – he started off with so much promise… but working in oblivion can produce spectacular things!… How’s that for an answer?’
‘You are a truly wise old codger Dave… Now, where do I find this greasy pole you mentioned?’
‘Bah!…’

Jack V.

“He drove over in his could revolve…”

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s featured piece of classical music is Igor Stravinsky’s early lesser known piece ‘The Rite of Autumn’.
(I.S.)
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Yes, I’m afraid it’s ‘Perilous Galaxy’, a British pulp science fiction paperback novel from the early 1960s, another Badger Book from my modest collection. The front cover tells us that the author is John E. Muller, but I think we all know by now that this is really just another pseudonym of Robert Lionel Fanthorpe MBIS, who wrote nearly all of these remarkable books.
As usual we shall begin our examination by seeing what the back cover has to say:
‘… we never learn from history. Primitive weakness destroys just as surely in the age of Rock and Roll as it did in the days of the harp and the spinet… An ape in a spaceship is just as much a jungle beast as an ape in a tree…
This is an intensely gripping, human story of the men who will fly space liners into infinity…. The man who can conquer himself, can conquer a galaxy…’
Well, there’s not much in there about the plot, is there? – I suspect that, as usual, the blurb was written well before the story was…
The cover: This is a very nice piece of painting, but I’m not sure if it is by the usual Badger artist ‘Fox’ – it is not signed so we’ll have to let the attribution hang in the air for the time being… Mm… the style isn’t quite Foxian enough for me…
So, what do we see here to tempt us to optimistically dive headlong into the text? This chap in the nice space suit – let’s find out who he is by glancing at the first page… Aha, he seems to be someone called Slasher Banks… What a charming name! I suppose John E. thought that people would have interesting names like Slasher in the distant future – actually the Guns N’ Roses guitarist is called Slash – Mm…
So, what’s going on here? At first glance it looks like our Slasher has got his dog on a lead off-screen left and is saying, ‘Come one you great daft brute! We’ll miss the rocket!…’  But, no… See?… Slasher is chained up! – looks like his pals on the ship have finally got fed up with him and are going off home without him – I expect it was his refusal to take his turn doing the washing up that did it… Nice space suit though! Dark shiny blue with that fine red stripe across the upper arm and down the legs – looks very much like a 1980s ‘shell suit’. These Badger Books were really on the ball when is came to prediction of future fashion trends! Oh look, there’s a matching red stripe on the rocket – I suppose it’s so you don’t become confused in the spaceport and get on the wrong rocket.
Shall we peep inside these tatty brown pages and get a taste of the writing style dear reader?
‘He studied the watch for several moments while looking at a similar device of his own, divided into ten divisions, and carrying four pointers.
“We measure time in urgs, zigs, and ulfs, in our own language.’ he said, ‘they correspond roughly to your seconds, minutes, and hours. Now let me get this again.” He put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes deep in concentration. “I’m taking it from your memory tracks…”‘
And some spectacularly poor typesetting…
‘They got to work on the Quefts with a bottle of hair dye and some skillfully applied grease paint.
“I’ll ring Ahmet-Ali,” said Frobisher.
The diminutive Asiatic doctor was incredulous, overwhelmed and delighted by turn.. He drove over in his could revolve.
ancient pre-war saloon as rapidly as its venerable engine.
“It is a very signal pleasure to be allowed to make the acquaintance of illustrious and distinguished visitors from another galaxy.”‘
And…
‘Suddenly, something like a great hand, a coil of rope, or an elephant’s trunk – descended on the wrist that held the weapon. Paralysing cold shot up and down his arm, he gave a muffled moan, and the hand, or trunk, or whatever it was… was withdrawn…’

Toot, toot, toot…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s heraldic term is Murrey: one of the heraldic colours: a purplish-red.
Murrey.
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Here is another item revisited from the dark days when my blogging was done on some strange thing called Myspace.

One of the many bands I have been involved in, I can’t remember which one of them it was, was once asked to play at a charity concert; what the charity was in aid of I can’t remember either, but I’m sure it was something worthwhile, we were glad to be asked to play anywhere – for payment or not…
A friend of mine at the time, whose name I can remember, but who, out of decency, shall here be nameless, asked if he could get up on stage with us and play a bit of harmonica in a couple of our numbers. We said, ‘Yes, of course – it’s all in a good cause! Come on, do get up!’
He got into position in front of a microphone, cupped his hands holding the harmonica around it, gave a couple of brief test toots to make sure the mic was working, and we started into our next number… and he played, and he played… and he played… He played all the time, through the vocal, through the guitar solo, loudly, and without pause. He was having a great time!
I was standing with my guitar at the opposite side of the stage, but I turned towards him and began shouting, ‘Shut up!… Shut up!…’ as loudly as I could over the sound of the instruments. He obviously couldn’t hear me, and when I eventually managed to catch his eye, he took my shouting and gesturing as encouragement – he gave me a cheery ‘thumbs up’ sign, grinned, and carried on blowing and sucking for all he was worth. As I played I carried on shouting, ‘Shut up!… Shut up!…’ Some acquaintances of mine in the front of the audience started pointing and laughing, at me, and then at the oblivious harmonica player having such a wonderful time opposite. Even several years after the event when I happened to bump into these friends in the street they’d say, ‘Dave, hey, do you remember the time that harmonica player…’

 

Coffee and cake Doom…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s random dictionary words are: chasmogamy, musette, sesquiplicate, costrel, and lallation.
Please research these words and try to form a reasonably interesting sentence that includes them all. Extra marks will be given for clean knees.
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I popped into my favourite cafe yesterday in the late afternoon; I like to go there at that time of day because the place is not too busy and one can sit in a window seat and watch the wage-slaves leaving work and catching buses home to their televisions. As soon as I got through the door I could feel eyes on me… Sure enough, there was Simon Doom, writer and poet from the glory days of the Hull Surrealist League, sitting at my favourite window table gently nursing an empty coffee cup and grinning at me.
‘I’m glad I spotted you…’ he said, ‘You can buy me another coffee… grande cappuccino I think… oh, and a cake of some kind, I don’t mind which…’
For a moment I considered turning round and leaving, but then resignedly went over to the counter to order…
When he had crammed most of the cake into his stupid mouth and gulped a face full of coffee he informed me that in return for the snack he would look out of the window and ‘knock off’ a quick observational poem for me for my blog… What a charmer he is…

Frowning eyebrow teenage whirling girl,
Irritable military gent spent dented,
Hood mood youth uncouth date gait.
Waddle lady trolley push stuff bulge bag stuff,
Hopping stopping school kid skidding kidding kicking,
Lady woman lady office file plump pouch.
Sticked limp chap cheap overcoat caught puzzlement,
Yellow big boot hi-viz ruddy dusty big chin cheerful,
Dapper man strut suit neat tight shoes aclick.
Padded zip-up shopper mum laden fading,
Cycle push backpack imperious grey efficiency,
Thick skunk cigarette suck snarl boy stink cough,
Leopard leg skinny big hat super bag swing giggle.
…
Simon Doom 2013.

Let’s have another decalcomania…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s chocolate is the sinister and sticky dark rum truffle that lurks mysteriously alone in the top left-hand corner of the box.
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This is a monoprint on white drawing paper about 16″ x 12″; it was created using the technique of decalcomania. If you would like to know how it is done, and how you could easily do some decalcomania for yourself, you could click on this link and look at a fairly amusing earlier post of mine on the subject.
Decalcomania.

It was sunny lunch hour and the beast was striding happily along to the sandwich shop, but stopped short when he noticed the two other beasts from the office standing on the other side of the road looking at him; they were pointing, and having a few chuckles at his expense.
He tapped his great leaf-like foot on the hot dusty pavement and considered what he should do. Although the other beasts were on the same pay-scale as he was, he had always felt superior to them, after all he did have special increments. They waved their fronds at him and nodded their bulbous pale heads and pretended to be cheerful and warm towards him, but he knew it was a bark-like public front they were putting on. He silently and without showing anything in his demeanour decided that he would forgo his lunch, nip back to the Ministry, and put glue in their inkwells – that would fix their little red wagons!

Titchy, but pithy…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s unusual first name is Ocean. (male or female) Usually a name given to a child born at sea; the custom dates back at least to 1620 and the voyage of the Mayflower. Oceanus Hopkins was born on that trip.
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Excuses for being late. No. 171.
I’m sorry I’m late, but I fell asleep listening to Melvyn Bragg.
(MB)

An observation:
I was walking down a street in Leeds city centre a few days ago; as I passed a coffee shop I could see customers sitting inside on high stools close to the front window.
‘What the!…’
A young woman was sitting there talking to her friend, but what caught my attention was that her bosom was moving rhythmically up and down by about an inch or so as she chatted… ‘That’s rather clever…’ I said to myself… but no, then I noticed that she had one hand up to her shoulder and was absent-mindedly pinging her bra shoulder strap with her fingers… ping, ping, ping…

A single overheard remark:
‘I was hanging my thighs…’

‘And what do you do for a living?’
‘Oh, I sell stuff to people who don’t really need it, or want it.’
‘That’s very clever… you are a sales person then?’
‘No, I’m a politician…’
‘Ah, right…’

No, I don’t like the French language – too much fiddly punctuation – it keeps working loose, falling off, and collecting at the bottom of the page…

Isn’t it great the things that you can learn from watching television?
If you are planning to burst into someone’s house with a gun in your hand, apparently you should always first bang on the door with your fist, and then shout out some letters of the alphabet – NYPD!, CSI!, LVPD!, LAPD!, etc. and then you can cheerfully kick the door in.

BBC Radio Three:
‘There are some exquisite Verdian rantandos towards the end…’

An observation:
Oh look, there are some coffee stains on the ceiling of the cafe.
Let us sit for a while and consider the sort of event that could result in such an unusually placed area of beverage spatter.

Oh, I just can’t decide which is best!
Whether to try to produce classy, thoughtful, and thought-provoking stuff in my art for just a few people who might appreciate it, or to do bland nice cheerful things and attract a massive audience… Mm… I’m told that pictures of kittens and puppies are very popular…

A single overheard remark:
‘I have aching… full-on!…’

A single overheard remark:
‘All I could taste was eggs…’

Stella and the big ball…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s instruction is to raise the saddle an inch or two and go out on it wearing a blindfold.
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‘Ball’ Charcoal and pencil on paper, about 28″ x 20″. 1997.

‘I suppose it’s the elephant in the room…’
‘Eh?…’
‘David, I can see what this one is all about…’
‘Can you Stella?’
‘Yes, David I can. When you drew this you had obviously been reading Jean-Paul Sartre’s ‘Nausea’.’
‘Really? No, I don’t think that I…’
‘It’s existential angst made flesh David.’
‘Made flesh Stella?’
‘What do you think of the work of Robert Filliou David?’
‘Dreary…’
‘How about Martin Creed David?’
‘Same… Why, what do you think of them, Stella my dear?’
‘Did you mention tea and biscuits?’
‘No, I don’t think I did…’
‘Steaming hot mugs of Taylors of Harrogate Yorkshire Tea with a dash of full fat milk and a plate of ginger nuts David?’
‘Did you happen to see the TV weather forecast this morning Stella?’
‘Are they floorboards?’
‘I think they might be, you can see the end of one with the nails showing – it looks like it’s rising up a bit and needs a spot of hammering down Stella.’
I know, that’s why I … they look like they might be under water… So, what’s all this with having a diagonally striped sky?’
‘It’s to give the impression of bright ultramarine blue.’
‘Are you serious?… Of course… yes, I see… how very… The little tiny people are very nice – I like them… Of course, you know what the best bit is…’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes, it’s the handless clock cheekily peeping up out of the ground – nice reflection too… Obviously a comment on our difficulty in getting a handle on the nature of spacetime, oh, and especially with reference of course to gravity – hence the great quivering ball of mass taking centre stage.’
‘The great quivering ball of mass Stella? I don’t think I meant it to quiver…’
‘Of course it quivers David… See… it looks as if it is about to spontaneously shrink down into a singularity and suck everything around it in – including the silly people who have turned up to stand and gawp at it…’
‘Perhaps I will go and put the kettle on…’
‘About time… and don’t forget the biscuits, and bring plenty of them…’
‘Ha!…’