Is Morrissey having a giraffe? Or is he perhaps lounging somewhere in Stuttgart draped in a black cape laughing his head off like Count from Sesame Street or am I the only blogger on the planet that genuinely likes his new book ‘List of the Lost’? I don’t think so! These reviews are harsh, almost vindictive. Surely such venomous wrath should be reserved for specimens the likes of the Karcrashians. Christ on a bike, it’s unreal! Is it disdain I wonder, for the words themselves that dwell between the FSC certified paper that stir such angst in people? What have we become? A race of cripples to pangs of rage and jealousy? Can we no longer write about the things we love? Is it the fact that a gentle solitary soul with no mind to cause harm to a living thing on earth could actually be cursed with not one, but two outrageous talents that is equalled by few? It can’t be the paltry sum for which some may have parted with for the drama of fiction as they would most probably squander the same if not MORE on a snivelling git like Ronald McDonald or Kentucky Fried Hell basket of death given half a chance. The mind boggles. More questions than answers. Maybe it’s this demented mind that is disillusioned from the heat of the midday sun or the slurp of one too many sangria under the Ibiza sky that thinks this book is actually quite good if not, dare I say a work of art. But who knows and does anyone care? Answers on a post to the above please.. This in not a book review of any description just a hangover on human behaviour, for humans have fascinated us for decades and it would surely be a dull dark dreary world if we were all the same. God forbid! As usual, the moral rights of the author has been sadly averted in this case so I find I have no choice but to balance the books. With thanks and praise to Whores In Retirement as always. mrdjdwyer, somewhere in Ibiza town, celebrating great art from a great artist, on his birthday 10/10/2015, mine not his.
We had just witnessed The Polecats play a stormer of a gig in The Grand Social that evening. The place was hoppin’. The band were on fire although I suspected they had just fallen off a ferry. The crowd were up for it. The temperature was up to 90 in the intimate music venue. At the end of the gig, one of the band made an announcement that they were playing a secret gig in a not so secret location…??
Before the song was even finished, I legged it down stairs, around the corner and over the halfpenny bridge, up Christ Church hill and into the Thomas House. The place was buzzing with hushed whispers. I settled in for a pint at the bar and waited…
Half an hour later, the band arrived and started to set up. Shortly, I found myself downstairs in ‘the music venue’ in front of the stage, camera in hand among a wild but mostly celebratory crowd. After a few sound problems, the Polecats launched into their second blistering set of the night. Somehow, I managed to knock off a couple of shots of Boorer and co. This one I like alot, as it captures him in full flight with the infamous white falcon, although I coulda used a better camera.