ladlewritings

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The Discworld and I...

Horace Worblehat (pseud.) rediscovered LEGO at about the same time that he discovered Discworld. In this post you can see where it's taken him!

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Cohen and the God's Jewels

Paul Boehlert wondered how smart a priestess it would need to be able to outwit Cohen the Barbarian. Perhaps this tale will tell us.

Written by Paul Boehlert. This is an original piece first published in the A Hat Full of Sci-Fi Facebook Group. ‘…and it is said, so great was the slaughter that day that the Disc itself cooled a little. Loud were the lamentations of the women, and the empty yurts outnumbered the stars in the sky.’ Yimyim Khan settled back onto the log where he sat, smoke from the yak dung fire curling around…

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On Grieving for the Famous: A Tribute to Terry

On Grieving for the Famous: A Tribute to Terry Pratchett

Written by Siobhán Greaney. You can see what else Siobhán wrote on Pop Verse Here. (Ed. Note: As ever, any mistakes are most likely my own.) First though, a few words from Siobhán: I was absolutely delighted to learn about Clacks Header. I added my own two cents to the plethora of articles online when Terry died. It is wonderful that his name continues to be spoken and that this site (Clacks…

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Getting to know: Vulgarithm

Getting to know: Vulgarithm #Music #Interview @vulgarithm https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3e33xiiVaX0

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GNU Sir Terry Pratchett (A Poem)

Jess Shenton asked herself what Pratchett has done for her and produced something beautiful in response. #TerryPratchett

Written by Jess Shenton This is an original piece first published on Jess’s Facebook page. Check out Jess’s various outpourings on Twitter, Instagram, or Facebook. (Ed. Note: As ever, any mistakes are most likely my own.) He taught me to pay attention,To get the number of that Donkey Cart!He taught me to think with a mind of my own,And to question all things from the start. He showed me that…

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Dance With Me (The Wintersmith)

Dance With Me (The Wintersmith)

Written by Sue Kesby This is an original piece first published in the We Ate’nt Dead Facebook Group. – which is sadly no more! ☹ For another of Sue’s stories, have a look here , here, or maybe here. ‘Dance with me,’ he says. ‘What will happen if I do?’ ‘The sun will shine in a clear blue sky, And the world will stay cold, and crisp, and clean.’ He smiles, his eyes alight with hope. ‘I can’t,’…

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Nanny Ogg Passes

Death meets his match in a banjo playing witch, with Sue Kesby.

Written by Sue Kesby This is an original piece first published in the We Ate’nt Dead Facebook Group. For another of Sue’s stories, have a look here or maybe here. OH GODS, SHE’S BROUGHT THE BLOODY CAT. Death skipped hastily to one side as the large, black-clad figure barrelled past him. She stopped a few inches from the edge of the black sands, peered down, then straightened up and carefully…

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The Passing of a Tyrant

What happens after the most important person in Ankh-Morpork leaves the mortal plane? Let's find out! #Discworld #TerryPratchett #HavelockVetinari

Written by Sue Kesby This is an original piece first published in the We Ate’nt Dead Facebook Group. For another of Sue’s stories, have a look here. He was tall and thin, and walked like a prince. His stark black and white outfit – black trousers and tunic, white, high-necked shirt – was relieved by the blood-red cloak flowing softly from his shoulders, but there was no mistaking what he was. He…

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Music Review – Darlia – I’ve Never Been to Ohio

Only two to go after this before I’ll have to start writing some original content!

Like Darlia, I’ve Never Been to Ohio either, however unlike them it had never crossed my mind to write a song about it.

The Blackpool, UK based three piece are doing their best to bring Rock back to the masses. Their first EP Knock Knock had an awesome triplet of Grunge/Punk hustling on it, with singer and guitarist Nathan Day sounding like Alex Turner and Kurt Cobain had been genetically spliced and made to share a voice box. Day also appears to have purloined a time machine, travelled back to 2010, and misappropriated Noel Fielding’s wardrobe and make-up artist.

The new song is a little more laid back than their previous work, starting with an Alice in Chains face-full of noise and rarely letting up to allow the listener to take in the brazen dropped tuning and Dave Williams’ overdriven bassline, which powers the track forward. Jack Bentham keeps time well, without doing anything too extravagant to dampen the energy of the song. While being no Matt Cameron, he certainly has a few more drumming chops than, say, Ringo Starr when The Beatles started out.

As the track barrels along you start to get hints of other influences, indie, baggy, even dance makes itself known through the repeating words of the chorus, but at heart it truly is a rock song. Pounding, heavy chords and a youthful exuberance smack you in the face from start to finish.

Up to this point, EPs have been the raison d’etre of Darlia, and it’s worked well for them. I’m just keeping my fingers crossed that Petals, their first full length album being released on the 23rd of February, can encompass the passion and excitement of their previous short form factor releases. I’m certainly looking forward to finding out!

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Music Review – The Phantoms – Wasting Time

I only have a few of these left in the archive, from the old and no-longer with us Semplesize site.

I started off being disappointed with this track but The Phantoms managed to change my mind in three minutes and fifty eight seconds.

Oh, a new Editors track, is what I thought as the guitar introduced itself, then the bass and drums started and I became confused because it sounded like Lars Ulrich had joined in on the drums along with Jason Narducy adding his bass playing expertise. Finally the singing cut in and I realised that Paul Smith from Maxïmo Park had lost his Geordie accent.

But then I removed the preconception hat I had been wearing and quickly discovered that what I was hearing was Wasting Time, the new single from The Phantoms. While initially sending mixed messages the song quickly gets into its stride and wonderfully collides all the disparate parts into one glorious whole.

The amount of noise they make is impressive, even for a four piece and this is obviously what they want, as the Bio page on their website leads with the headline “And then, there was rawk…” One reviewer likened them to Oasis, but that, I think, is doing a great disservice to The Phantoms. The guitar, bass and drums work together to make a fantastic grunge inflected backing to a song which wouldn’t have sounded out of place in 1992, if Colin Simpson’s accent was from Seattle rather than West Lothian in Scotland.

Even the middle eight brings to mind some of Soundgarden’s more serene twiddling, but then it’s back to the out and out, shake you by the teeth rock music. After a final flourish, the track even finishes with slowly diminishing feedback, seemingly from every instrument including the drums.

Throughout the song you are strongly recommended to “make up your mind”. Well I have, this track is brilliant!

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Music Review – Tired Lion – I Don’t Think You Like Me

Another review I did for the dearly departed Semplesize site.

At this point I had done about five other reviews for the site but this was the first track that really leaped out and grabbed me by the throat, so much so that I subsequently bought their album – Dumb Days – which is as good as I hoped it would be from this track.

The first thing that strikes you about Tired Lion is that they have managed to find a fantastic name for their band. When you hit the play button you also discover that they have managed to find an absolutely brilliant sound, part Sonic Youth, part Pixies, they have harvested all the best bits from the explosion of alternative rock that was a soundtrack to the early part of the 1990s.

Now, having said that I’m going to change tack somewhat and say that I Don’t Think You Like Me starts off with a riff that is ever so slightly reminiscent of the best ever Electric Six song, Naked Pictures of your Mother. As it continues the guitar’s morph into those of Lee Ranaldo and Thurston Moore, slapping you in the face with their rough and ready, “listen to me” overdriven feedback.

When Sophie Hopes starts singing the transformation into a band all of their own is complete and the fun, already at a jelly and ice cream kids party level, increases to a headshaking, jumping off a cliff altitude. Her vocals easily equal those of Romily Alice and the song would nicely fit on a CD entitled The Best of CBGBs.

The only problem facing the band is they reside in one of the most remote cities on the planet. Which is Perth, in case your geography isn’t all it should be. Therefore, as well as struggling with the normal emerging artist conundrums of self-promotion, wondering where your next meal is going to come from, paying to play and wondering if any of your music is being listened to, they also have to contend with the fact that, to play more than a dozen gigs they are going to have to travel at least 2,000 km to reach the next major city (Adelaide, people!).

Hopefully the topographical hurdles don’t get in the way, as I would like nothing more than to see Tired Lion wake the world up with their very modern take on classic alternative rock. Oh, and by the way they’re wrong, I do like them, very much!

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Latatian Translation

Because Google Translate doesn't work in Latatian, Lizzy Harrison decided to make her own version. #Discworld #TerryPratchett #Meme #HavelockVetinari

Today’s post is a little different to most of the others you’ve seen (apart, maybe, from this one!), in that it’s just a picture, however Lizzy Harrison put so much effort into it that I thought it would be nice to show her a bit of appreciation on the wider interwebs.

First posted in the Discworld Memes Facebook group.

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Existential Crisis

George Normal Lippert was musing about belief, which turned into a story of self-belief for a Wizzard with a faded bath mat. #Discworld #Terry Pratchett

Written by George Norman Lippert.

This is an original piece, first published in The Terry Pratchett Book Club on Facebook.

(Ed. Note: I never before wondered what a Discworld story would sound like if it originated in the mind of Douglas Adams…but now I know!)

(earlier this week, I floated an idea I had about what might be happening in the Discworld in lieu of its Author’s…

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Music Review – Van Dale – Bed of Bricks

Another review I did for the now post-mortem Semplesize site.

Looking back, I may have been a bit harsh on these guys, but after another listen I stand by my assertion that they were a bit of a one trick pony!

It’s over 20 years since Weezer bought out their seminal, self-titled, power pop debut, and for this new song they’ve gone back to their roots… Oh, hang on, sorry, really???

Um, alright. Let me start again.

Van Dale wear their influences on their sleeves. Not necessarily a bad thing, but if you only have one influence it can be a bit limiting. Originally released in 2013 as track two of the (unsurprisingly) self-titled debut album, Bed of Bricks was arguably the best track on the 26 minute, long player.

Of course, Weezer have now been doing this for 23 years, they have changed, developed and, arguably, improved with age, whereas Van Dale are inextricably stuck in the quagmire of early nineties post-rock.

Not that I’m unpleased listening to this song, it brings back some fantastic memories of times gone by, but unlike In The Garage or Buddy Holly I don’t know this song like the neck of my heavily worn acoustic guitar. The recollections are false and so it leaves me with a slightly bitter aftertaste.

The amazing thing is that two of the members are also involved in Way Yes, a much more chilled out affair and, to be honest, more creative and exciting than Van Dale. Not that I want to dissuade the band from making and releasing more stuff, I’d be interested to see how this alternate reality version of the godfathers of nerd rock develops over time.

If reissuing the album is a start to getting their creative juices flowing again to make more music, then I hope they find themselves some other bands to listen to. If, however, they are just going to refabricate something from Rivers and his compatriots then there is only one way to finish.

Say It Ain’t So!

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Pathfinder

I mentioned this story some while ago, it was unfinished at the time. Since then I completed the first draft, rewrote it, had a couple of other people read it, left it in a virtual draw somewhere at the back of my computer for about two years, then did a final copy edit and decided that now was as good a time as any to put it up for your reading gratification/disappointment.

Let me know what you think?

It had been three long years since the first astrophysicist’s alarm had sounded. In that time every resource available had been drawn upon to build mighty ships capable of carrying sufficient technical and scientific citizens, animals, plants and knowledge away from the Earth to seek somewhere to settle and terraform as a replacement home. Perhaps one which would be far enough from any asteroid belts to minimise the risk of a similarly catastrophic meteor strike to the one which currently threatened the end of existence on this planet.

Hank still wasn’t entirely sure why he’d been selected as a “Chosen One”. A geologist by profession, his main interest was in palaeontology – Precambrian for preference. It was a bit of a niche field of study, and for some reason it had removed him from his comfortable laboratory and his sedimentary rocks and placed him here amongst the intelligentsia and those with recognised special technical abilities.

There were some up-sides, of course. For one thing when the town-sized meteorite Delendis actually struck destroying an estimated 95% of life on Earth, he would no longer be there to suffer the resulting climate swings, which were estimated to last 30,000 years, and the accompanying environmental upheaval. There was also the fact that he would be heading off into the infinite blackness of Space – it was what every child dreamed of and many adults aspired to, but he wasn’t so sure it was as exciting in actuality, when the crew was 2,000 strong and he personally wouldn’t have anything to do with pressing the buttons that changed course, accelerated or slowed down “Pathfinder”, as the craft had been unimaginatively designated following a six month long world-wide brainstorm.

Another advantage that he hadn’t originally foreseen was that the average age of people picked for the mission was 23. Hank was slap bang in the middle of this demographic and couldn’t help but notice that a good percentage of the other passengers were quite attractive. He wasn’t sure that anyone in the planning consortium had thought about this, the sexual tension that these circumstances were creating would be created under these circumstances; a couple of thousand frustrated scientists, engineers and, for the most part, geeks, who weren’t generally used to hanging out with the opposite gender, let alone being stuffed into a flying box with them – even if the box itself was about the size of a large tower block, albeit one designed by someone who had spent too much alone time in a darkened room without air conditioning.

Still, Hank had always been more comfortable around the fairer sex than a lot of his contemporaries and optimistically hoped this might give him a bit of an advantage when it came to finding something to do on those long, or in fact constant nights!

The overcrowded living conditions were also leading to tensions of other sorts. On more than one occasion Hank had entered a room to be greeted with angry silences from the engineers and aerospace technicians who were attempting to get the machine ship-shape, before the planned take off in less than six days’ time.

Just now though, this was none of his concern. Hunger had visited early tonight, so he headed to the eating quarters at around seven o’clock, instead of his habitual nine. He’d always tended towards a nocturnal lifestyle and the habit had persisted, even after leaving university.

What a difference a couple of hours made! There were people from wall to wall and conversations bounced off the ceiling, almost deafening in their intensity. Hank squeezed in at the food bar and grabbed some salad and something vaguely resembling meat, then looked around for a seat, which seemed to be in short supply. He had to jostle through the crowds of bespectacled people to wedge himself unceremoniously between a thin, drawn looking guy and a woman with a long scar across her cheek, both of whom appeared uncomfortable at his incursion.

He started eating, slowly becoming aware of the conversation taking place next to him. The scar-faced woman was trying to speak quietly to a muscular man across the table, but the volume of people and conversation made this difficult. What they were talking about sounded like it should have been more confidential. Apparently, ‘One of the rocketists,’ this being slang for the actual rocket scientists, ‘was telling the flight planner that he didn’t think the materials they were using were man enough to take the strain. He said that they were better before we went all biodegradable! Apparently a thousand years ago we’d have been using carbon fibre and metal, instead of all this Plastech and Polymet garbage. It wouldn’t be so bad if we hadn’t returned all the non-recyclables into the earth, let alone the fact that it seems to have upset the tectonic stability of the planet.’ cleverly managing to argue for and against environmental sustainability at the same time.

The talker’s confidante leaned back in his chair and placed his long, sturdy hands behind his shiny head. ‘Last I heard they were worried about the lateral stabilisers. My guess would be that we’ll get into space and start spinning like a Ferris wheel. On the bright side, at least we might improve the Grav-Lock mechanisms in the process and be able to stand up without floating away.’

Hank had heard many such conversations in the two weeks since his relocation to Pathfinder, most of them were one sided put-downs of another worker’s or divisions’ attempts to fix things and keep to schedule. But the volume of complaints had been steadily increasing over the last week and everyone was getting close to breaking point.

He finished his meal and left the table, shoving his tray through the hole beside the doorway which took the dirty dishes to who knew where, to be cleaned and redeployed. As he walked out of the room he almost bumped into Maggie. ‘Hi Hank.’ She had a way of talking which twanged at his baser instincts, but he didn’t know if it was the tone of voice or the fact she managed to make a flight-suit look like a fashionable ensemble for a night on the town. It certainly didn’t help him think.

‘Hey, Maggie. How’s it going? Have they fixed that air conditioner in your room yet?’ His eyes attempted to find somewhere innocent to rest his gaze but had to give up and settled on her face.

‘No luck! On the bright side, it makes bedtime interesting when you don’t know if you’ll need to wear a fur coat or a negligée until you step into your bedroom.’ She accompanied Hank as he walked down the corridor, ‘what’s happening in the world of prehistoric beasties?’

Hank vaguely studied the back of his hand as he thought about an answer, ‘To be honest, I think the only reason I’m on this trip is to pad the numbers and give the botanists someone to ridicule.’

Maggie put her hand on Hank’s shoulder, sending a shiver down his spine, ‘I can’t imagine anyone laughing at you. I tell you what, do you want to come back to my room for a drink?’

Hank was momentarily taken aback but managed to gather his senses and form a reasoned response, rather than blurting out “really?” Which was the first thing that came to mind. ‘Yeah, I don’t seem to have a lot on until we make planetfall, which should be in about fifteen thousand years’ time.’

Maggie led the way as Hank tailed her, wondering which of the 439 decks her quarters would be on and whether she would have time to realise her offer had been a mistake before they got there. But it was only a couple of levels up and, before he knew it, he was standing in a strangely perfumed room, while Maggie went to find “something more comfortable” to wear – which in Hank’s estimation was always a bit of a misnomer.

He visually investigated the room, although there was no reason for this as pretty much every berth on the ship was identical. His eyes soon alighted on the display stretched across part of the wall opposite the bed. The screens had their own power supply and turned on as soon as you entered the room, or at least they were meant to… more often than not though you came in to find it merrily announcing current mission stats and a likely launch date to no one at all, or it’d turn itself on at three o’clock in the morning just after you’d got to sleep because of some badly timed ventilation testing in the laboratory down the corridor.

There was currently a news story playing which showed the projected date – roughly three weeks away – for the impact of Delendis into Earth. Hank stalked over to the monitor and popped out the fuse holder at the bottom left corner, the screen showed an agonised pattern of random noise before it lost its picture and became just another section of the plain matt white wall.

The sound of the door to the bathroom sliding open reminded him where he was. ‘Sorry, I might have disabled your monitor.’ Hank turned around to see what Maggie’s idea of “something more comfortable” was. She appeared to have gone for the less is more approach, the diaphanous material hung in just the right way to make Hank’s major intellectual functions temporarily abandon him for a better viewpoint, he realised his mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut, nearly severing his tongue in the process.

Maggie stood by the bed, ‘Are you planning on using that for something?’ She pointed towards his hand. Hank looked down, as if seeing the fuse and his hand for the first time. He reached back and placed it gently on the desk without removing his eyes from the sinuously seductive prospect in front of him.

Hank massaged his forehead to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating then walked towards Maggie while loosening his flight-suit. Probably not the attire he would have chosen for such circumstances, but with a choice limited to that or nothing, it was probably preferable.

The two stood in front of each other, Maggie patiently waiting, Hank struggling with the unforgiving fastenings that held the suit in place. When he had finally removed the top, he looked into her piercing and intelligent green eyes, which looked back at him with dividends. He glanced down, then up again and started to think of a polite way to suggest they might be more comfortable on the bed, ‘Well I don’t know about you but…’

Suddenly the lights went off, Maggie gasped, ‘Hey, how did you do that?’

‘I didn’t do anything,’ Hank replied, ‘probably just another power cut.’ As he finished saying this a red light started flashing in the corner of the room. It was the sort of light that suggests to the observer that its presence is not a sign of forthcoming gaiety. ‘What on Earth is that for?’

Maggie motioned towards the small piece of electronics laying on the desk, ‘It might be a good idea to plug that back in.’ Hank almost managed to pull off a casual walk over to the screen, trying not to look as worried as he felt.

After a couple of abortive attempts, the fuse slid back into its housing and the screen crackled back into life, a calm voice droned out of it “… please prepare yourself. An error has occurred. Await further instructions.” The screen showed a live shot of the Pathfinder in its entirety, lit up from below, with the night sky framing the uneven crenelated upper surface of the ship.

Her smooth face creased, ‘How can we prepare ourselves if we don’t know what’s going on?’

Hank shrugged, then moved his head closer to the screen and squinted at the ultra-high definition picture, ‘Hey, come take a look,’ he continued to inspect the night sky as he felt Maggie’s body press into his back, this close contact should have set his teeth on edge, but his mind was too busy trying to make sense of what he was looking at, ‘Is that what I think it is?’

Maggie’s eyes flashed back and forth with the small moving objects on the screen, ‘Comets? Lots of comets! You don’t think that’s why the alarm’s going off, do you?’

Hank thoughtfully scratched his chin, ‘I’m not sure but I think it might be a good idea if we go to bed,’ Maggie gave him a look which suggested that wasn’t the suggestion she was expecting, ‘for our safety,’ he added, completely failing to sound as authoritative as he was aiming for.

Maggie’s frown turned into a grin, ‘I was at those safety briefings too. They mould to your body contours when the ship’s taking off.’ Her eyes widened when she realised what Hank was suggesting.

The screen blustered back into life, flashing red and white out of time with the light in the corner of the room. “Attention. The estimated time for the impact of Delendis has been adjusted. Impact will take place at twenty-one hundred hours tonight.”

Hank and Maggie both glanced at the clock next to the screen. It read 20:23. Hank looked at Maggie with his lip curling in consternation, he was about to tell her he would go back to his room and leave her to prepare when the voice inexorably continued. “Please find your nearest launch berth and assume positions for take-off immediately. This is not a drill. Launch sequence will commence in T-minus two minutes.”

Maggie launched herself towards the bed and flicked the launch mode switch, Hank looked uncertain as to what he should do until she said, ‘What are you waiting for, get on.’ He assumed the correct position, on his side as the plaque above the bed instructed, trying to lay facing her, in as professional a manner as he could while she was wearing something which left so little to the imagination. Why he thought this necessary, when five minutes before he had been assuredly stripping off in front of her, was not something he cared to think about as he settled back feeling the odd clamminess of the biomech mattress subside wherever his skin pressed into it.

Maggie moved her head into a more comfortable position, which meant they couldn’t help but stare into each other’s eyes, ‘I didn’t even think the ship was ready yet.’

Hank reached out for her hand and squeezed it in as reassuring a manner as he could muster, in lieu of actually finding something to say which might make her feel better. The screen on the wall showed decreasing numbers, while the computer-generated voice droned through a 120 second countdown, which seemed to take forever. Eventually the last five digits elapsed then, nothing happened. Hank glanced awkwardly towards the screen, which showed 00:00. ‘Looks like you could be right…’

An ear-splitting creak thundered through the ship, followed by the sound a planet sized central heating system would make getting ready for winter. Finally, a noise like a concert hall full of radios picking up the static from the start of the Universe signalled the first Grav-Lock Impulsion engine firing, it was shortly followed by many more. The initial feeling of heaviness passed through Hank’s body and he wondered if it would get worse, just as the ship juddered off the ground with a crunch and pushed him against the padded mattress so hard that he couldn’t even turn to look towards the window.

Maggie’s hand pressed down on his, but he didn’t know if this was voluntary or because of the acceleration, he hoped it was the former. The speed of the ship seemed to constrict Hank’s lungs, it was almost unbearable and lasted, as close as he could estimate, for at least as long as the countdown to take-off had. Although there was no reduction in the ongoing acceleration of the ship there was suddenly a lurch which left Hank and Maggie floating five centimetres above the bed. Maggie huskily reminded him, ‘Don’t move yet,’ as another static crackle and an almost gentle descent back to the welcoming surface indicated that the internal Grav-Lock systems were now on-line.

‘Come on, I have to see’ she said, as she sprung off the bed towards the small semi-spherical window. She looked out, her jaw dropping at the sight of the Earth dropping vertiginously away behind them.

Hank squeezed his way in next to her and saw the inspiring sight of the planet – on which every single thing in recorded history had ever happened – drifting serenely into the starry night sky. Not far away from the big blue/green ball of everything they had ever known, a city sized rock outlined by red fire was drawing towards the planet, leaving a stream of particulate residue in its wake and preceded by many smaller meteors and meteoroids which were clustering round the larger carbonaceous motherlode.

‘Well, that’s it then. We’re off.’ The situation was affecting Hank in psychological crevices he didn’t even know he possessed, ‘No more sunny days and walks in the park, no more birds singing in the trees, no more waterfalls, no more lazy days hammering at rocks in the middle of nowhere. I’ll miss it.’

Maggie looked askance at him, ‘Don’t be so melodramatic. Get a grip on yourself, this is exciting!’

Hank shook his head and dragged himself out of the introspection. ‘The worst thing is that it’s the big ones that go first,’ Maggie gave him a quizzical glance, ‘in mass extinctions, which is what this is likely to be. It’s the megafauna and flora that go first. The Permian-Triassic extinction took out 90% of all life on Earth. Funnily enough we’re probably about the biggest thing that might survive through the radiation, re-entry firestorms, dust and debris fallout, earthquakes, hurricanes, acid rains… You get the idea!’

‘So, wouldn’t be much fun then. Makes you glad to be the most intelligent creature on the planet, or off it, in fact.’ She turned and kissed him. ‘Well, we seem to have a little free time, shall we find something useful to do with ourselves while everyone else is still panicking?’ She moved back to the bed and slid on seductively, patting the empty spot next to her, ‘Come on, before it gets cold.’

Hank stared at the retreating planet for a while longer, before turning and taking in the full glory of Maggie’s curvaceous body. ‘Ah, why not?’ He pounced across the space and landed next to her, ‘I guess we have a duty to propagate the species. After all, apart from the livestock and specimens down on the zoological decks, we Troodons are going to be the only dinosaurs that live on after Delendis wipes out all life as we know it.’

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Music Review – Furr – Think Sharp Kid

Another post from the sadly defunct Semplesize site.

Last news from Furr was a new single out in 2019, but the link to their website doesn’t seem to work any more.

I hope they’re still together, ’cause this single kicked some serious backside!

    I hope you weren’t sleeping ’cause Furr are about to wake you up in no uncertain terms. The kick drum which introduces Think Sharp Kid might as well be a high velocity foot to your temple, followed very closely by a grunge inspired riff which slaps your face until you are fully cognisant.

Jack Byrne starts off by telling us to “dream small son, it don’t matter if you don’t make nothing to be proud of,” triple negative notwithstanding, he launches into it with gusto and seems to have fun bouncing back and forth between falsetto and tenor as the Electrix Six-a-like bass line carries the song along in the background.

In the first chorus we’re asked to believe that “an original idea is what I need,” but this is one thing that Furr are not short of. Leeds in the UK still seems to be one of the major breeding grounds for original rock music and this track sounds a little like the Josh Homme produced Arctic Monkeys effort Humbug, however unlike Alex Turner, Byrne doesn’t show any hint of a provincial accent instead going for a more Middle American drawl, but it suits the music like fine bamboo suits a panda.

In a small nod to the resurgence of all things Star Wars; fuzzy glow sticks hang around the heads of the band as they beat their instruments into submission. The middle eight consists of the song title being sung by Jack while Sam Jackson, Guy Read and John Roberts grasp bunches of the aforementioned light strips and shout the words back in response, looking vaguely like they want to break into an off kilter killer rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody.

In conclusion I only have one thing to say to Furr – Shut up and take my money!

    from WordPress https://ladlewritings.wordpress.com/2020/08/11/music-review-furr-think-sharp-kid/

[ladlewritings]

Coming Home

Jade "Rincewind" Harper hadn't read since that fateful day. A friendly Facebook group brought her back into the fold. #Terry Pratchett #Discworld

Written by Jade Harper

This is an original piece, first published in The Terry Pratchett Book Club on Facebook.

    I discovered my love of reading in 1986, aged 8, after my older sister forced me to write her high school essay on The Lord of the Flies.

From ages 8 to 11 I read J. R. R. Tolkien, Robert Heinlein, Arthur C. Clarke, Stephen King, Anne McCaffery, Shaun Hutson, James Herbert, Tom…