I know I promised that I wasn’t going to do another one of these until next week, but over the period of about nine hours yesterday Bumble dragged me on a roller coaster of emotions, potential and of reaching ridiculously over my limits as a physically attractive entity*. I have to assume that you’ve all read Shawn Michaels’s esteemed memoir ‘Heartbreak and Triumph’? Well, that could well be the title of this episode of my delve into the grottiness of online dating. Except that there was very little triumph involved. ‘Heartbreak and Heartbreak’ might work a little better. Except that repeated word is a little functionally unnecessary, isn’t it? Yeah, the book of yesterday on Bumble would be called ‘Heartbreak’. Do you see where this is going?
(* though… maybe… really below… my mental attractiveness…? I don’t want to be cruel… Well… maybe I do, just a little, but as will soon become brutally clear I really need to claw back some self-respect out of this hideous situation)
What’s that? You think I’m far too obsessed with wrestling? Really?? Let’s see if that comes into play.
‘Little Fictions‘ didn’t even even make Necessary Evil 2017. In truth, it was probably the saddest album of the year, Elbow had long been one of my favourite bands and it was clear that they were finished as a going artistic concern. ‘Little Fictions‘, to me, sounded like ten borderline heartbreaking pathetic attempts to recapture the commercially successful sound of One Day Like This, a song they had released ten years previously.
Even though the sad, death march of an album didn’t make the cut (a year where Lil Yachty was number 44) I was still saddened enough to mention the mess in my post on the winner, Perfume Genius, stating that “Little Fictions’ was a disappointing mini-shark jumping by Elbow, failing to build on the shock factor of last album highlight Charge as I’d hoped”. Ah, Charge, a career highlight and shining light among the very good ‘The Take Off and Landing of Everything‘ album. I was hoping that it was pointing to future directions as a crazy psychedelic prog rock, but instead it was obviously one last hurrah from a band now content to rest on its laurels and pander to festival crowds already won. It was a crying shame, but Elbow were dead.
I was never a fan of The Fall. I mean, sure, I didn’t hate them, I didn’t even dislike them: I was quite content with allowing their existence to continue. I once told this to Mark E Smith directly, when I met him while he was rifling through the tip at the end of my road looking for his other sock, which he mistakenly threw out the week before.
He replied as follows:
and then ran off. I was glad that he appreciated my point of view, though it was always a shame I never got the chance to question him on some of the legitimate issues he brought up with my statement.
I am and always have been (and always will be), of course, aware of what’s hip and groovy. I know how The Fall are one of the most certifiably and officially cool bands to be a fan of. I know how professing your fandom for them immediately bestows upon you a veneer of high culture that automatically makes your opinion of culture far more worthwhile than everyone around you. Upon declaring that you’re a fan of The Fall every wannabe cool man, woman and child in audible proximity will immediately throw off all their clothes and rub their genitals up and down your leg. You are their new God. You are just so freaking coooooool!!
(How angry do you think Stewart Lee must be that Frank Skinner is the other most notable (living) Fall fan? He’s no way near as cool as me!!! Though, Skinner did tell a story about how he was set to interview Mark E Smith for some magazine article. Smith eventually barrelled into the interview three hours after arranged and said “Sorry I’m late, Stewart”. So I guess Lee kinda wins in the end)