It’s rather like Sesame Street’s “Furry Happy Monsters”
with a distinctive 1970′s
psuedo-professional-dancewear feel
ideal wendy-wear
for added bounce-ability quotients
I am your neighbour
Outkast sang Hey Ya!
If it hadn’t been for Scooby Doo I never would have discovered the full fun of the Fun Lovin’ Criminals. I thought Robin’ Banks was some sort of US celebrity until I saw this video
Fun Lovin’ Criminals sang Scooby Snacks
I do enjoy a good brass section in a pop song. Enjoy
Swing out Sister sang Breakout
The Pacific North West, and Florence, two of the worlds most beautiful places. Death Cab for Cutie came from a town in the Pacific North West and named themselves after a Bonzo Dog Doo Dah band song. So many good connections, there are more….
Death cab for Cutie sang Meet me at the equinox
you’ve gone all susie quatro!
Being compared to a talented rock goddess who doesn’t conform to narrowly defined, socially constructed descriptions of femininity is an excellent gift! Especially since my nose is not THAT cute
Susie Quatro sang If you can’t give me love
According to wikipedia Brian Eno said of this piece
The idea came up at the time when I was completely bereft of ideas. I’d been working on my own music for a while and was quite lost, actually. And I really appreciated someone coming along and saying, “Here’s a specific problem — solve it.”
The thing from the agency said, “We want a piece of music that is inspiring, universal, blah- blah, da-da-da, optimistic, futuristic, sentimental, emotional,” this whole list of adjectives, and then at the bottom it said “and it must be 31/4 seconds long.”
I thought this was so funny and an amazing thought to actually try to make a little piece of music. It’s like making a tiny little jewel.
In fact, I made 84 pieces. I got completely into this world of tiny, tiny little pieces of music. I was so sensitive to microseconds at the end of this that it really broke a logjam in my own work. Then when I’d finished that and I went back to working with pieces that were like three minutes long, it seemed like oceans of time.
Brian Eno’s 3 1/4 sec piece for Windows 95
According to one obscure website, in Wiccan symbology a female dog is a symbol of the goddess, the bitch is a goddess, subserviant to no-one. Black represents things that are mysterious and unknown, change, it promises unlimited potential. The Black dog represents all possibilities.
Led Zeppelin sang Black Dogs at Earl’s Court
Watching American Gigolo for the first time, when it was released, was fascinating. Mainly because of the reversal of commonly portrayed role gender roles. A man as prostitue, beauty and clothes obsessed, victim of clever people, concerned with making other people happy. The camerawork was also extremely good.
Call me anytime, valentine
Blondie sang call me
Sharleen Spiteri is a beautiful woman. Conceptions of female beauty have changed dramatically since the 1990s. Few mainstream female pop-stars nowadays would have the imagination and pluck to dress in a way that doesn’t emphasize her sexuality.
Texas sang you can say what you want
Sometimes the everyday barrage of pressure to conform to gender-stereotype through jokes, advertisements, news, and everyday conversation, that re-affirm the female role as
gets me down
This sea shanty by the outstandingly talented ‘the Decemberists‘ can lift my mood, let me sing and dance, let me hope for the some form of justice. Though in reality I doubt such a well established system of abuse as the Patriarchy has developed will change for the better in my lifetime, at the moment things seem to be getting worse
The Decemberists sang the Mariners revenge
A clean village red phone box
Flat Eric on a sunny day
A family gathering to watch Top of The Pops (TOTP) all with freshly filled mugs of tea
Like all these things, this song always makes me feel very happy, it creates a christmassy ambience that makes me want to link arms with other people and sing as loud as I can
Red Box sang Lean on me
During the BBC Proms the family House made a trip to see the Ulster Symphony Orchestra perform the Karelia suite in prom 68. It was very touching to see mum and dad, a Karelian, look so happy. Dad once again reminded me that he has a signed photograph of Colonel Mannerheim that was given to his mum.
Sibelius wrote Finlandia
I used to have Microsoft Office 2003 installed on Neverland. I haven’t yet bothered putting it in the cupboard because I don’t have the patience to wait for 7 years worth of updates to install. Many of my files are word files, (.doc). When I tried to open them in the Microsoft Works Word processor it didn’t recognise their format, neither did wordpad.
sigh
Scritti Politti sang the Word girl
Your average height, 5″5 ¾, English gal standing in the stalls at a gig (Pop concert) has to decide whether to crane her neck for a view or
DANCE her socks off
Given the bands were Squeeze and the Lightening Seeds the decsion was easy – I opted for sock abondonment. Whenever I glanced up and between the gently rocking plumpified bodies of the middle-aged couples afront I could see fabulous back-drops and light displays. Displays clearly designed to entertaining the heightedly-average person such as myself. Good show. It was.
During the interval I joined the logistic challenge of ordering beers by acting as part of the chain to pass them from the bar through the 10-person deep seemingly random crowd that was actually multiple orderly queues. I’d forgotten the subtle skills and social coordination necessary to purchase a round of drinks at a sell-out concert in a large venue. It was fun, I got to meet and talk to other people in the Queue about their journey’s to the gig, their past experiences of seeing the bands. It’s a friendly psuedo-muddle.
By lifting my arm into the air I gained a snapshot into what the world looks like for taller people and those average heighties who are prepared to wear ankle-threatening high heals. With only 6 inches difference in height the world would look so different.
4 smiles: Ratings explained
The Lightening Seeds sang the life of Riley
Squeeze sang up the junction
The opening piece of the evening was Morrow from Gattaca (re-used as a ‘theme’ in the film Atonement). Mistaking the track for Departure, within minutes tears were streaming down my face.
wendy: I first fell in love with Nyman’s music in 1983 when I saw the Draughtsman contract
mumsie: I remember, you’ve been playing Nyman’s music to me ever since
As we talk I realise how each time I purchased a Michael Nyman album I would bring it to mum and dads then play it to mumsie, insisting that she listened. I remember her continuing to do the laundry, prepare dinner, vacuum the house, never seeming to take time out to focus on just listening.
Now, watching the Bournmouth Symphony Orchestra (BSO) perform pieces that I’d only previously heard. I noticed new things; how the lead Violin spoke to the lead Viola in Trysting fields, how the voices of different instruments came from different places. Listneing to music in the car, the instruments seem to be disembodied, the have no place to come from.
After the tuba’s and french horns had made some floor rocking contributions to ‘a watery death’:
mumsie: he does like his brass
wendy: which one is the Cor anglais?
mumsie: next to the Oboe’s, the tall thing that loops to the floor and back
wendy: woodwind?
mumsie: yes
Mumsie was pleased to recognise all the pieces. The closing scheduled piece, Memorial, was Nyman’s tribute to the victims of the 1985 Heysel stadium disaster. They decided to add a lightweight encore before letting us loose on the watery night streets of Bristol. Mum was pleased, evidently the BSO don’t normally do encores.
Michael Nyman wrote ‘Departure‘
After 6 years together, he left in march 1995 while I struggled with the isolation imposed by an itchy depressing case of the chicken pox. A tough year. Tracey Thorn helped smooth the edges on the darker sad moments, taking them up to a normal sadness with her soothing song, Missing. 16 years later the radio plays Missing and I’m reminded that even though I no longer hear the screaming in my mind, sometimes my mind wanders past where we lived, and I miss you.
Everything But the Girl sang Missing
On the off-chance you still use the same email address I replied to your last email (2006). Your prompt, succint reply, with a large attachment of baffling technical IE8 jargon, quashed that missing feeling. It prompted cat-spooking, floor hugging, loud laughter. So typical of you to find something to apologise for as an opening sentence then quickly spring into politics, attitude, and rude words:
Sorry about the attachment. I was booted off line before I was able to send. I blame the government. Big society? Big arse, more like.
We’re still unsynchronised dancing to Stand. It’s good to know you’re still there, somewhere, being wonderful you…
REM sang Stand
After a Martin Stephenson concert in the Portsmouth Wedgewood rooms (1995),
Martin Stephenson and the Daintees sang Crocodile cryer (1986)
Martin walked over to me and said: I couldn’t help watching you because you look so much like Patti Smith. I found the comparison very flattering, Patti is one of the few female celebrities that is beautfiul in her own right without reference to standard definitions of femininity.
Patti Smith sang Because the night
At a time when I was beginning to question my value as an individual, Garbage, fronted by Shirley Manson, came racing to the rescue. Reminding me that I could push it and I had opinions. Liking Garbage was just one of my opinions. I saw them play live that autumn. Outstanding.
Including a tribute to the Beach boys ‘Don’t worry baby’ this video won buckets of awards…
Garbage sang Push it (1998)
With lyrics as a tribute to one of Shirley Manson’s hero’s, Chrissie Hynde’s, singing on the Pretender’s ‘talk of the town’, this video is a sci fi style arial dogfight fight…
Garbage sang Special (1998)
I’m on a roll with the making of changes. I’ve moved my current and credit accounts to the Co-op bank. Hoorah! I love their values and helpful staff. I leave NatWest with a fabulous sense of relief and freedom.
In 1982 a girl I’d been to school with opened my Natwest Bank account in my local village. As one of the less than 10% of people that went to University I was a valued customer, a potential high earner. They promised me a free £5 for opening an account with them. One third of the cost of a pair of Levi 501s (£14.99).
In the 1980′s Natwest was small and friendly, my whole family and most of the village either banked or worked there. Natwest saw me through my BSc, PhD, my first job, first car, and first mortgage. Some bumps, but generally they were supportive and I stuck with them. In 1992 I lost my job. I wrote to Natwest to let them know (a condition of the mortgage). They told me that they were going to put my house on the market and charge me for a valuation and sales services. I had not defaulted on my mortgage. I had sufficient savings to live on and pay my mortgage for months and they could see that by looking at my accounts. This was an outragoeusly insensitive and unsupportive act. Also, they were not legally allowed to do this, this was bullying! I replied telling them that they did not have my permission to spend my money on selling my home when I had not broken the conditions of the mortgage agreement. I got a job, changed cities, changed home, changed mortage provider.
Things really spiralled downhill in the naughties. After they were purchased by RBS the service standard nose-dove into corporate solelessness and ignorant, if cheerful, front of house staff. Luckily I missed experiencing the gradual decay because I was living and primarily banking in the USA. Since returning to the UK they’ve actualy reduced me to tears twice, by aggressively trying to sell me services.
Today they treated me with their normal intrusive and condescending rudeness. AaarggGHH. The last straw. I calmly asked the informations desk for advice on the most efficient and effective way close all my acounts with them. It felt good to stride out of the shop upright, hanky still in my pocket, knowing that I wont be going back.
David Bowie sang Changes
Talking Heads sang Electric Guitar
Come and look at my garage, look at my workbench and tools
My brother proudly shows me his work bench, chisel sets and other thoughtfully organised tools. He’s recently cleared a space in the garage so he can make things. He’s always liked making things. This hobby was temporarily interrupted by having a job selling electronic stuff in Asian countries to make big money. Now he’s changed jobs, downgraded his income in favour of having time to do stuff he loves. On a budget.
This is my first guitar, it’s English Oak, its not common to use Oak to make Guitars, it is a bit heavy
I’m now in full audience mode. Something my father and brother have taught me to do well. I’m mainly here to make appreciative noises and ask questions that help them tell their stories. I like the role, its fun to watch people talk about the things they love, dad and his Pylons, Bros and his making things.
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This is the first Guitar he’s made from scratch. He looked less happy when he realised he wouldn’t be able to make a living by making guitars because it was so time consuming. I remember the first (Bass) guitar he renovated in his teens and sold for a profit over the purchase price and materials. Not profit on the labour.
His home has always been full of guitars he’s bought, renovated or upgraded. His garden shed is a production studio for local bands, often full of people playing his instruments.
The environmental health are investigating him,
the shed,
for noise pollution…. …my Brother may get an ASBO….
The rain it never stops and I’ve no particular place to go… …for me this song captures profound sadness so beautifully.
Japan sang Ghosts
OMD sang Electricity
OMD quickly earned a favoured position in my teenage heart when I first heard Electricity. This song reminds me of home, of warmth and comfort. Most of all reminds me of Dad getting excited about Pylons, happily ethusing. His excitement is contagious.
Dad started work for an electricity supply company in the early 1950′s. Exciting times for an Engineer specialising in supplying electricity to the UK. Building infrastructure, planning routes to lay cables and overhead lines. Dad is still passionate about the details of the tools of his trade. He has photograph albums dedicated to Pylons.
He’s recently returned from a trip to China. He treated us to the holiday photo’s on the family TV. Amongst the photographs of temples, rivers, mountains, village streets were numerous photographs of pylons.
Whenever I see a Pylon, transformer, dam, or insulator I think fondly of Dad. How his face lights up and he starts talking about what’s interesting about this particular thing, its age, its construction process, its location or ability to withstand high winds.
Not only is his excitment contagious,
I now find myself taking photographs of Pylons whenever I go on holiday.
As a 14 year old I found this song really cheerful and bouncy. I still find it engagingly bouncy and will occassionally pogo around my front room and garden singing the chorus. The ability to sing repetitive lines, badly while bouncing in the privacy of my own home has always been important to me. It’s a fettish that my parents gladly indulged. They sniggered. Now the song features in a traditional ‘bread’ advertisement, prompting bouncing-breaks during advertsing breaks, unexpected bouncing is fabulous.
Plastic Bertrand sang ca plan pour moi
Insanity even. Lots of strangeness going on in and around the Wendy House this week, last week and next week. Like the volcanic ash it sweeps in and out with the prevailing winds.
Based on today’s experience I suspect I’ll be unable to refrain from blogging until June. Though I can’t quite find the words to describe the prevailing winds on planet wendy. So I find myself thinking of escaping into a new hat, of the native American Iroquai, of moving furniture
Jamiroquai singing Virtual Insanity
crouching in the back of a black cab, I’d volunteered to hide from the cab dirver so that all 6 of us could travel together and share the cost.
Kaff: I don’t like wendy’s hair, its thick with hairspray, stiff and sticky
Kaff leant forward and grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head toward her sharp knees and pushing tears from my eyes. I watched my tears splash on her expensive Italian buckskin suede shoes then silently added a good dose of flemmy gob to the mix.
Glen: wendy’s hair is soft and fluffy, nice to touch, I like it
Glen leant forward and stroked my hair, pulling my head away from kaff’s threatening knees to rest on his tear-drying warm thigh.
The men they couldn’t hand sang rain, steam, speed
There are times when wandering out to the Wendy House woodshed for an evening’s supply of logs causes me to pause, even hesitate
The Divine Comedy sang ‘something for the weekend’
After the party, lights turned off, John played a favourite Moody Blues album, closed his eyes and audibly sank into the large armchair. On the floor, resting my head on the seat of his chair, I listened to the lyrics as the spinning in my head gently wound down.
I never understood you and the prop, he didnt seem like your sort of guy
I didn’t like him
I wondered whether this loud understatement would silence John’s curiosity.
The Moody Blues sang nights in white satin
As his confidence grew he followed me into my favourite local pubs. I first noticed him when I left the ladies room. He was leaning against the wall. As I walked passed I heard him quietly sing. Like you hear leaves rustling, just there and natural. I thought he was a gentle natured giant singing a sweet song. Nothing ominous, as our eyes met, smiled, he stopped singing as I blushed.
Soon after I started noticing him everywhere I went. I’d catch his eye across a crowed room, hear him singing as I left the ladies room, bump into him at the bar ordering drinks. We barely spoke. My friends told me he was a prop on the high-school first rugby team, not a man of many words. He used a few of those words to prop-position me, a few more to tell my friends and the rugby team, we were dating.
As if saying it would make it so
I politely turned down his prop-positions, told my friends that I had not dated him, had no intenion of dating him. I didn’t think that neanderthal was your type… …normally it’s the hookers you have to look out for, you can see the props coming… close friends didn’t buy his story. Persisiting, he started turning up at my home, writing letters, song lyrics transcribed followed by some of his own mechanistically pornographic explanations of why I should date him.
He didn’t understand a polite assertive no, I’m not interested
He didn’t understand a screaming, swearing, spitting version of **** off and leave me alone
I moved home, moved cities,, moved home several more times before I finally got away from him. ‘Where do you go to my lovely is probably a beautiful song, unfortunately I’ll never really be able to hear it as beautiful.
Peter Sarstedt sang Where Do You Go To My Lovely
What better place to plan a summer holiday than in a sunny Southsea Diner where the rockabillies are literally bouncing?
After two cups of coffee I was also bouncing of the red plastic benches while spottydog calmly booked a hotel in downtown Turin.
