#sylvia patterson

[markagorman]

I'm Not With The Band (A Writer's Life Lost in Music) by Sylvia Patterson: Book Review

I didn’t know of Sylvia Patterson, she was never really a big name music writer like Barbara Ellen or Miranda Sawyer but, as it turns out, she had quite the CV behind her. Raised in Perth by an alcoholic mum and adoring dad her life story (Published in 2016 but evading me until now) is diaphanously explored through this wonderful book’s pages. She’s a bit of a sorry soul in most respects;…

[jaynedolluk]

Last couple of weekends of the Times included reviews of Maisie Peters new album, Eliza Clark's new book Penance and The Change plus 25 Best Elton John Songs. Also an extract from Caitlin Moran's new book, What About Men, which does not look that great.

They also had interviews with Aidan Turner, Idris Elba, Alex James, Shappi Khorsandi talking about her ADHD and bulimia, Sylvia Patterson on her cancer diagnosis/treatment and Andrew Ridgeley talking about Wham to promote the upcoming Netflix documentary.

They also had a couple of interesting pieces on the reopening of the Young V & A museum (what used to be known as the Museum of Childhood in Bethnal Green, London) and what airport tribe are you.

[mariocki]

God Told Me To (Demon, 1976)

"You're probably too young. When I was around when Orson Welles told the people over CBS that the Martians were in New Jersey - and believe me, the show was not that convincing, not that good... and you want me to tell them that God is at 57th Street and Madison Avenue, coaching snipers?"

[sophaeros]

arctic monkeys for q magazine, june 2011 (x) (x)

ARCTIC MONKEYS: Inside Alex Turner's Head

Words Sylvia Patterson Portrait John Wright

The day Arctic Monkeys moved into their six bedroom, Spanish-style villa in the Hollywood Hills, where the first-floor balcony looked over the patio swimming pool, they knew exactly what to do.

"From the balcony, you could get on t'roof and jump in't pool," chirps the Monkeys' most gregarious member, drummer Matt Helders, in his homely Yorkshire way. "We looked at it and said, That's definitely gonna happen. So by the end, we did a couple of 'em. Somersaults in t'pool, from the roof. At night time."

In January 2011, as Sheffield and the rest of Britain endured its bitterest winter in a century, Arctic Monkeys capered among the palm trees, eschewing hotels for a millionaire's Hollywood homestead as they recorded and mixed their fourth studio album, Suck It and See.

The four Monkeys, alongside producer James Ford and engineer James Brown, lived what they called the "American man thing": watched Super Bowl on giant TVs, played ping-pong, hired two Mustangs, cooked cartoon Tom And Jerry-sized steaks on barbecues on Sundays, had girlfriends over to visit, all cooking and drinking around the colossal outdoor kitchen area featuring a fridge and two dishwashers. Living atop the Hills, they could see the Pacific Ocean beyond by day, the infinite glittering lights of downtown LA by night.

Every day, en route to Sound City Studios, they'd travel in a seven-seater four-by-four through the mountains, via bohemian 60s enclave Laurel Canyon, blaring out the tunes: The Stones Roses, The Cramps, the Misfits' Hollywood Babylon. For the sometime teenage art-punk renegades whose guitarist, Jamie Cook, was once ejected from London's Met Bar for refusing to pay €22 for two beers, the comedy rock'n'roll life still feels, however, absolutely nothing like reality.

NICK O'MALLEY: "It were really as if we were on holiday. When we came back it's the most post-holiday blues I've ever had!"

JAMIE COOK: "It's hard to comment on that. It were just really good fun."

MATT HELDERS: "We always said, As soon as things like that feel normal, we're in trouble. But it's just funny. You might think it would get more and more serious as you get older but it's getting funnier. We've done four albums now and I'm still only 24, I'm still immature to an extent. So who cares?"

Alex? Al? Are you there?

ALEX TURNER: "Yeah, it were good times. But we were in the studio most of the time. So there's no real wild Hollywood stories. Hmn. Yeah."

Wednesday, 16 March 2011, Strongroom Bar, Shoreditch, East London, 11am. Alex Turner, 25, slips entirely alone into an empty art-crowd brasserie looking like an indie girl's indie dream boy: mop-top bouffant hair which coils, in curlicues, directly into his cheekbones, army-green waist-length jacket, baggy-arsed skinny jeans, black cord zip-up cardigan, simple gold chain, supermoon sized chocolate-brown eyes.

Almost six years after I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor became the indie-punk anthem of a generation (from the first of Arctic Monkeys' three Number 1 albums), and nothing prepares you for the curious phenomenon of Alex Turner "in conversation". Unlike so many of the Monkeys frenetic early songs, he operates in slow motion, seemingly underwater, carrying a protective shell on his back, perhaps indie rock's very own diamond-backed terrapin. The most celebrated young wordsmith in rock'n roll today talks fulsomely, in fact, only in shapeless, curling sentences punctuated with "maybe... hmn.. yeah", an anecdotal wilderness sketching pictures as vague as a cloud. He is, though, simultaneously adorable: amenable, gentle, graceful, and as Northern as a 70s grandpa who literally greets you with "ey oop?".

"People think I'm a miserable bastard," he notes, cheerfully, "but it's just the way me face falls." Still profoundly private, if not as hermetically sealed as a vacuum-packed length of Frankfurter, his fante-shy reticence extends not only to his personal life (his four-year relationship with It-girl/TV presenter Alexa Chung, whom he never mentions) but to insider details generally. Take the Monkeys’ Hollywood high jinks documented above: not one word of it was described by Turner. Before Q was informed by his other Monkey bandmates, Turner’s anecdotal aversion unfolded like this:

Describe the lovely villa you were in. AT: "Well... we certainly had a... good view."

Of what? AT: "Well, we were up quite high."

The downtown LA lights going on forever? AT: "I dunno. It was definitely that thing of getting a bit of sort of sunshine. Is it vitamin D? If you can get vitamin D on your record, you've got a bit of a head start. So we'd get up and drive to the studio."

What were you driving? AT: "Nothing... spectacular. But yeah, we'd drive up the studio, spend all day there and sort of, y know, get back. To be honest... we had limited time. So we spent as much time as possible kind of getting into it, like, in the studio.

So your favourite adventures were what? AT: "Well, they were really… minimal. We were working out there!"

Any nightclubs or anything, perhaps? AT: "You really want the goss 'ere, don't you?"

Yes, please. AT: "I could make some up. Nah!"

And this was on the second time of asking. It's perhaps obvious: Alex Turner, one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation (four Monkeys albums and two EPs in five years, The Last Shadow Puppets side-project, a bewitching acoustic soundtrack for his actor/video director friend Richard Ayoade's feature-length debut Submarine), is dedicated only to the cause – of being the best he can possibly be. He simply remembers the songs much more than the somersaults.

Throughout 2009, Arctic Monkeys toured third album Humbug – the record mostly made in the Californian desert with Queens Of The Stone Age man-monolith Josh Homme – across the planet. While hardly some cranium-blistering opus, its heavier sonic meanderings considerably slowed the Arctic Monkeys' live sets and on 23 August 2009, Q watched them headline the Lowlands Festival, Holland and witnessed a hitherto unthinkable sight – swathes of perplexed Monkeys fans trudging away from the stage. With the sludge rock mood matching their cascading dude-rock hair it seemed obvious: they'd smoked way too much outrageously strong weed in the desert.

"Heheheh, yeah," responds Turner, unperturbed. "That's your theory. You probably weren't alone."

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Turner's arm is now nonchalantly draped along the back of a beaten-up brown leather sofa. He ponders his band's somewhat contrary reputation…

"I think starting the headline set at Reading with a cover of a Nick Cave tune perhaps was a bit contrary. D'youknowhat Imean?! But to be honest, that summer, at those festivals, we had a great time. And I know some fans enjoyed those sets 10 times more. And you can't just do, y’know, another Mardy Bum or whatever. Because how could you, really?"

With Humbug, notes Turner, "I went into corners I hadn't before, because I needed to see what were there," but by spring 2010 he wanted their fourth album to be "more song-based" and less lyrically "removed". He was "organised this time", studied "the good songwriters" (from Nick Cave, The Byrds and Leonard Cohen to country colossi Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline), discovered "the other three strings" on his guitar, and wrote 12 songs through the spring and summer of 2010, mostly in the fourth-floor New York flat he shared with Chung before the couple moved back to London late last summer (the New York MTV show It's On With Alexa Chung was cancelled after two seasons). The result: major-key melodies, harmonised singing and classic song structures.

At the same time he revisited the opposite extreme: bands such as Black Sabbath and The Stooges ("we wanted a few wig-outs as well"); he was also still heavily influenced by the oil-thick grinder rock of Josh Homme, who is clearly now a permanent Monkeys hero. After four months' rehearsals in London, on 8 January the Monkeys relocated to LA for five swift weeks of production and Homme came to visit, singing backing vocals on All My Own Stunts. Tequila was involved.

"Tequila is probably me favourite," manages Turner, by way of an anecdote. "But it takes a certain climate... It's not the same... in the rain. Yeah. [Looks to be contemplating a lyric] Tequila in the rain."

Vocally, he developed the caramel richness first unveiled on The Last Shadow Puppets' Scott Walker-esque The Age Of The Understatement, finding a crooner's vibrato. "Everything before was so tight,” he notes, clutching his neck. "Probably just through nerves. That's just not there any more." Suck It and See contains at least four of the most glittering, sing-along, world-class pop songs (and obvious singles) of Arctic Monkeys' career: the towering, clanging She's Thunderstorms, the summertime stunner The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala, the heavenly harmonised title track and the Echo & The Bunnymen-esque jangly pop of closer That's Where You're Wrong.

Elsewhere, in typically contrary "fashion", there's preposterous head-banger bedlam (Brick By Brick, the rollicking faux-heavy rock download they released in March "just for fun", featuring vocals by Helders; Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair, and Library Pictures). News arrives that the first single proper will be Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair. Q is perplexed. Brilliantly titled, certainly, but arriving after Brick By Brick, the new album will appear to the planet as some comedy pastiche metal album for 12-year-old boys.

You've got all these colossal, summery, indie-pop classics and you've gone for... The Chair? AT: [Laughing uproariously] "The Chair! I'm now calling it The Chair, that's cool. Well for once it weren't even our suggestion. It was Laurence's (Bell, Domino label boss). And I were, Fucking too right! He's awesome. It'd be good to get a bit of fucking rock'n'roll out there, won't it? It's riffs. It's loud. It's funny."

If you don't release The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala as a single I'm going round Domino to kick Laurence's "awesome" butt. AT: "I think it'll be the next one!"

The record's title, meanwhile, could've been more enigmatically original than the un-loved phrase Suck It and See. The band, struggling with ideas due to the opposing sonic moods, invented an inspiration-conjuring ruse: to think of new names for effects pedals in the style of Tom Wolfe, Turner being long enamoured with the American author's legendarily psychedelic books The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, "cos that just sounds awesome".

"There's the Big Muff pedal," he elaborates, "That’s the classic. I've got the Valve Slapper. And there's the Tube Screamer. So we came up with the Thunder Suckle Fuzz Canyon. And… wait till I assemble it in me mind… em… it'll come to me… The Blonde-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap. So we were going for summat like that."

A wasted opportunity?

"Nah. Because some of those things ended up in the lyrics anyway. Suck It and See was just easier."

Alex Turner, rock'n'roll's premier descriptive art-poet, still writes his lyrics long-hand in spiral-bound notebooks. "Writing lyrics is a craft that I've practised a bit now," he avers. "In me notebook it looks like sums. Theories. There's words and arrows going everywhere. There's always a few possibilities and I write the word 'OR' in a square."

For our most celebrated colloquial sketch-writer of the everyday observation (all betting pencils, boy slags and ice-cream van aggravations) the more successful he becomes, the less he orbits the ordinary. "I'm not struggling with that, to be honest," he decides. "In fact I'm enjoying writing lyrics much more than I did. Stories. Describing a picture. Um. There's quite a bit of weather and time in this one. Which is probably not reassuring. 'Oh God, he's writing about the weather.' Maybe leave that out!"

There are also some direct, funny, romantic observations: "That's not a skirt, girl, that's a sawn-off shotgun/And I only hope you've got it aimed at me..." (from the title track).

Some of your romantic quips, now, must be about Alexa. AT: "Right. Yeah. Definitely. Well... there's always been that side to our songs, when we weren't writing about... the fucking taxi rank. It's kind of inevitably... people you're with." [At the mention of Chung's name, Turner is visibly aggrieved, head sliding into his neck, terrapin-esque indeed.]

It must have been very grounding being in a proper relationship through all this madness. Because if you weren't, girls would be jumping all over your head. AT: "Em. Hmn. Well, of course that helps you to... I don't really know.. what the other way would be."

Does Alexa wonder if the lyrics are about her? AT: "Oh there's none of that. Yeah, no, there's no looking over the shoulder."

She must be curious, at least. "Maybe."

Did you ever watch Popworld? AT: [Nervous laughter] "Em! Now and again."

Did you ever see the episode where she helps Paul McCartney write a song about shoes? AT: "Ah, yeah I think so, maybe I did see that."

Well, if I was you, I'd have been thinking, "She's the one for me." AT: "Well. Yeah... maybe that would've... sealed the deal! Hmn. But maybe that wasn't when i got the ray of light. When was? Nah [buries head in hands]. I might have to go for a cigarette..."

Q can't torture him any more and joins him for a snout. Turner smokes Camels from a crumpled, sad, soft-pack and resembles a teenager again. As early song You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me says, "Never tenser/Could all go a bit Frank Spencer…”

In January 2006, when Arctic Monkeys' Number 1 album Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not became the fastest-selling debut in UK history, inadvertently redefining the concept of autonomy and further imploding the decimated music industry (& wasn't their idea to be "the MySpace band", it was their fans': the Monkeys merely kick-started viral marketing by giving away demos at gigs), the 19- and 20-year-old Monkeys were terrible at fame. They weren't so much insurrectionary teenage upstarts as teenage innocents culturally traumatised by the peak-era fame democracy.

To their generation (born in the mid-'80s) fame was now synonymous with some-twat-off-the-telly a world of foaming tabloid hysteria where renown and celebrity meant, in fact, you were talentless. Hence their interview diffidence and receiving awards via videos dressed up as the Wizard OfOz and the Village People. Which only, ironically, made them even more celebrated and famous. (“That were a product of us just trying to hold onto the reins," thinks Turner today. "Being uncooperative.")

Q meets The Other Three one morning at 11am, in the well-appointed, empty bar of the Bethnal Green, Bast London hotel they're staying in (all three live in Sheffield, with their girlfriends, in their own homes). First to arrive is the industrious, sensible and cheerful Helders, crunching into a hangover-curing green apple. He has recovered from last year's boxing accident at the gym, which left his broken arm requiring a fitted plate. Now impressively purple-scarred, the break felt "interesting" and the doctor couldn't resist the one-armed drummer jest: "D'you like Def Leppard?"

Currently enjoying an enduring bromance with Diddy, he still doesn't feel famous, "it just doesn't feel that real, there's no paparazzi waiting for me to trip up." He and Turner, during the four-month rehearsals last year, became an accomplished roast dinner cooking duo for the band. "I reckon we could have us our own cookbook," he beams. "Pictures of us stirring, with a whisk."

O'Malley, an agreeable, twinkly-eyed 25-year-old with a strikingly deep voice and a winningly huge smile, is still coyly embarrassed by the interview process. A replacement for the departed original bass player Andy Nicholson in May 2006, he went from Asda shelf-filler to Glastonbury headliner in 13 months and still finds the Monkeys "a massive adventure". His life in Sheffield is profoundly normal – he's delighted that his new home since last October has an open-hearth fireplace: "Me parents had electric bars." He has also discovered cooking. “I’m just a pretty shit-hot housewife, most of the time," he smiles. "I cook stews, fish combinations, curries, chillies. I made a beef pho noodle soup the other day, Vietnamese, I surprised meself, had some mates round for that."

Recently, at his dad's 50th birthday bash, the party band, made up of family and friends, insisted he join them onstage "for ...The Dancefloor. So I were up there [mimes playing bass, all sheepish] and it were the wrong pitch, they didn't know the words or 'owt, going, Makin eyes... er..." He has no extra-curricular musical ambitions. "I'm happy just playing bass," he smiles. "I've never had the skill of doing songs meself. It'd be shit!"

Cook, 25, is still spectacularly embarrassed by the interview process. He perches upright, with a fixed nervous smile, newly shorn of the beard and ponytail he sported in LA: "Rockin' a pone, yeah, because I could get away with it." With his classic preppy haircut and dapper green military coat (from London's swish department store, Liberty), he looks like a handsome '40s film star. (Turner deems Cook "the band heartbreaker" and had a word with him post-LA: "I said to him, Come on, mate, you've got to get that beard shaved off. Get the girls back into us. Shift some posters.")

His life in Sheffield is also profoundly normal. He still plays Sunday League football with his local pub team, The Pack Horse FC (position, left back), remains in his long-term relationship with page-three-model-turned-make-up-artist Katie Downes and "potters about" at home, refusing to describe said home, "cos I'll get burgled".

A tiler by trade, he always vowed, should the Monkeys sign a deal, that he'd throw his trowel in a Sheffield river on his last day of work. "I never did fling me trowel," he confirms. "Probably still in me shed." He's never considered what his band represents to his generation. "I'd go insane thinking about it, I'm pretty good at not thinking about it… Oh God. I'm terrible at this!"

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Alex Turner is cloudily describing his everyday life. "I just keep meself to meself," he confounds. He mostly stays indoors and his perfect night in with Alexa is "watching loads of Sopranos. And doing roast dinners".

No longer spindle-limbed, he attends a gym and has handsomely well-defined arms – "You have to look after yourself."

Suddenly, Crying Lightning from Humbug rumbles over the bar stereo. "Wow. How about that? I was quite happy the other morning cos Brick By Brick were on the round-up goals on Soccer AM. It's still exciting when that happens. It was like Brick By Brick is real."

He spends his days writing music, "listening to records", and recommends Blues Run The Game by doomed '60s minstrel Jackson C Frank ("who's that lass?... Laura Marling, she did a cover recently), a simple, acoustic, deep and regretful stunner about missing someone on the road.

Lyrically, he cites as an example of greatness the Nick Cave B-side Little Empty Boat [from ‘97 single Into My Arms ], a comically sinister paean to a sexual power struggle: "Your knowledge is impressive and your argument is good/But I am the resurrection babe and you're standing on my foot."

"I need a hobby," he suddenly decides. "I'd like to learn another language." Since his mum is a German teacher (his dad teaches music), surely he can speak some German? "I know how to ask somebody if they've had fun at Christmas." Go on, then. "Nah!"

Where Turner's creative gifts stem from remains a contemporary rock'n'roll mystery; he became a fledgling songwriter at 16, after the gift of a guitar at Christmas from his parents. An only child, did his folks, perhaps, foresee artistic greatness? "I doubt it!" he balks. "Cos I didn't. I wasn't... a show kid." Like the others, he doesn't analyse the past, or the future.

"You can't constantly be thinking about what's happened," he reasons, "it's just about getting on with it." The elaborate pinky ring he now constantly wears, however, a silver, gold and ruby metal-goth corker featuring the words DEATH RAMPS is a permanent reminder of he and his best friends’ past. The Death Ramps is not only a Monkeys pseudonym and B-side to Teddy Picker, but a place they used to ride their bikes in Sheffield as kids.

"Up in the woods near where we lived," he nods. "Just little hills. But when you're eight years old they're death ramps." The ring was custom made by a friend of his, who runs top-end rock'n'roll jewellery emporium The Great Frog near London's Carnaby Street. Ask Turner why he thinks the chase between his writing and speaking eloquence is quite so mesmerisingly vast and he attempts a theory.

"Well, writing isn't the same as speaking," he muses. "Not for me. I seem to struggle more and more with... conversation. Talking onstage... I can't do it any more. Hmn. I'll have to work on that."

The ever-helpful Helders has a better theory.

"Since he's been writing songs," he ponders, “It seems like he’s always thinking about that. So even when he’s talking to you now, he’s thinking about the next thing that rhymes with a word. Even when he’s driving. We joke he’s a bad driver, his focus is never 100 per cent on what he’s doing. Which is good for us cos it means he’s got another 12 songs up his sleeve. I think music must be the easiest way for him to be concise and get everything out. Otherwise his head would explode.”

The Shoreditch.com photo studios, 18 March. Alex Turner, today, is more ethereally distracted than ever, transfixed by the studio iPod, playing Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, a version of I’d Rather Go Blind. Occasionally, he’ll completely lose his conversational thread, “Um. I’ve dropped a stitch.”

The first to arrive for Q’s photoshoot, he greets his incoming bandmates with enormous hugs (and also hugs them goodbye). Today, Q feels it’s pointless poking its pickaxe of serious enquiry further into Turner’s vacuum-packed soul and wonders if he’ll play, instead, a daft game. It’s called Popworld Questions, as first posed by someone he knows rather well.

“Oh, OK. Let’s do it,” he blinks, now perched in an empty dressing room. He then vigorously shakes his head, “Um…I’ve gotta snap back into it.”

Here, then, are some genuine “Alexa Chung on Popworld” questions (2006-2007), as originally posed to Matt Willis, Amy Winehouse, Robbie Williams, Pussycat Dolls, Kaiser Chiefs and Diddy.

Why do indie bands wear such tight jeans? AT: “Um. I supposed they do. They haven’t always. When we first were playing I was definitely in flares. You need to be quite tall to get the full effect, though. So, that's why this indie band wears such tight jeans, cos we've not got the legs for flares."

What makes you tick in the sexy department? AT: "Wow. Pass. What do I find most attractive in a woman? Something in the head? That's definitely a requirement. Well... Hmn. I'm struggling."

Tell us about all the lovely groupies. AT: "No!"

If dogs had human hands instead of paws, would you consider trying to teach them to play the piano? AT: "Absolutely. I'd teach Hey Jude."

How many plums d'you think you can comfortably fit in one hand? AT: "They're not very big. [Holds small, pale, girly hand up for inspection] It's a shame. Probably three. Diddy only managed two? Maybe not then. I can carry a lot of glasses at once, though. If they're small ones I can do four."

Are you cool? AT: "Not as much as I'd like to be. There's this clip where Clint Eastwood is on a talkshow and he gets asked, Everybody thinks of you as defining cool, what d'you think about that? And he gets his cigs out, takes one out, flicks it into his mouth, lights it and says, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Here, Turner locates his Camels soft-pack and attempts to do a Clint Eastwood. He flicks one upwards towards his mouth. And misses. Flicks another. And misses. "Third time lucky?" He misses. "I'll get it the next time." And succeeds. "Hey. Fourth time. Don't put that in! So there you go. I'm four steps away from where I wanna be."

Thank you very much for joining me here on Popworld, here's my clammy hand again. There it is, let it slip, hmmn. You can let go now. AT: "OK! Were you a Popworld fan, then? It was funny. Cool. What were we talking about, before?"

Blimey, Alex. What must you be like when you're completely stoned out of your head? AT: "Stoned? What d'you mean, cos I seem like that anyway? Yeah. A lot of people... tell me I'm a bit... dreamy. But I like the idea of that. Of being somewhere else."

Two days earlier, Turner had contemplated what he wanted from all this, in the end. Many seconds later he gave his deceptively ambitious answer.

"I just wanna write better songs," he decided. "And better lyrics. I just definitely wanna be good at it. Hmn. Yeah.”

—

RUFUS BLACK: AKA Matt Helders, on his ongoing bromance with Diddy

Matt Helders has known preposterous rap titan Diddy since they met in Miami in 2008. “He goes, Arctic Monkeys! Then he said summat about a B-side and I was like, He's not lying! I just thought, This is funny, I'm gonna go with this for a while." Last October Diddy texted Helders, suggesting he play drums with his Diddy Dirty Money band on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, to give his own drummer a day off. “I were bowling with me girifriend at the time. In Sheffield, on a Sunday." On the day of recording, says Helder, "We had a musical director. That were one of the maddest times of my life. Next day Diddy said, Why don't you just stay? Come along with me. So I went everywhere with him." Diddy had "a convoy of cars" and made sure Helders was always in his. "He'd stop his car and go, Where's Matt? You're coming with me! So I'd get in his car. Just me, him, his security, driver." Diddy, by now, had given him a pseudonym - Rufus Black. "He kept saying, I don't wanna fuck up your image. And I'm, I don't think it's gonna do me any harm!" He stayed in Diddy's spectacularly expensive hotel. Some weeks later, Helders almost returned to the Dirty Money drumstool for a gig in Glasgow. "But we were rehearsing in London. I were like, I might come, how are you getting there? And he were like, Jet. Jump on t’jet with me. But I had to stay in Bethnal Green instead.”

Love’s young dream: Diddy (left) with Helders

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Nicholas Sparks

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Nikita Gill

Nora Roberts

Ocean Vuong

Osho

Pablo Neruda

Patrick Rothfuss

Patti Smith

Paulo Coelho

Paulo Leminski

Perina

Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Phil Good

Pierre Ronsard

Platão

Poe

R.M. Drake

Raamai

Rabindranath Tagore

Rachel de Queiroz

Ralph Emerson

Raymond Chandler

René Descartes

Reyna Biddy

Richard Kadrey

Richard Wagner

Ritu Ghatourey

Roald Dahl

Robert Schumann

Roy T. Bennett

Rumi

Ruth Rendell

Sage Francis

Séneca

Sérgio Vaz

Shirley Jackson

Sigmund Freud

Simone de Beauvoir

Spike Jonze

Stars Go Dim

Steve Jobs

Stephen Chbosky

Stevie Nicks

Sumaiya

Susan Gale

Sydney J. Harris

Sylvester McNutt

Sylvia Plath

Sysanna Kaysen  

Ted Chiang

Thomas Keneally

Thomas Mann

Truman Capote

Tyler Knott Gregson

Veronica Roth

Victor Hugo

Vincent van Gogh

Virgílio Ferreira

Virginia Woolf

Vladimir Nabokov

Voltaire

Wale Ayinla

Warsan Shire

William C. Hannan

William Shakespeare

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Yasmin Mogahed

Yoke Lore

Yoko Ogawa

[essential-music]

In the shimmering world of 1987, ABC unveiled The Night You Murdered Love, a track from their Alphabet City album that pulses with the sleek allure of synth-pop, laced with the soulful swagger of funk.

This is a song that struts into the room, confident and impeccably dressed, its composition a masterclass in balancing pop accessibility with emotional depth. The melody hooks you instantly, with a chorus that lingers like a bittersweet memory, its refrain—“It’s cold outside / The night love died / On the night you murdered love”—etched into the heart of anyone who hears it. The verses build with a quiet intensity, weaving a tale of betrayal that feels both personal and cinematic.

The production, polished to a mirror shine, bears the unmistakable fingerprints of Bernard Edwards, the Chic legend whose funky bassline anchors the track like a heartbeat. That bass, sinuous and irresistible, dances with crisp guitar riffs and sweeping strings, creating a soundscape that’s as lush as it is propulsive. Synthesizers hum in the background, adding a glossy 80s sheen, while the rhythm section drives the song forward with a groove that begs to be danced to.

At the helm is Martin Fry, his voice a velvet dagger slicing through the mix. He’s equal parts crooner and wounded poet, delivering each line with a charisma that’s both suave and searing. Whether he’s purring through the verses or letting his voice crack with anguish in the chorus, Fry makes you believe every word of the song’s tale of love’s demise. His performance elevates the track, turning it into something more than a pop song—it’s a confession, a confrontation, a cry in the dark.

The instrumentation is a triumph of precision and flair. Edwards’ bassline is the star, a funky thread that weaves through the fabric of the song, but it’s complemented by a cast of players who know their roles. The guitars snap with Chic-inspired sharpness, the strings soar with cinematic grandeur, and a subtle saxophone nod adds a retro wink. Every element is meticulously placed, creating a sound that’s rich yet never cluttered, dynamic yet always in service of the song’s emotional core.

Lyrically, the song is a tapestry of vivid imagery and heartache. “You poisoned the moonlight / When you put out the sun” paints a scene of cosmic betrayal, while the roll call of months—“January, February, March and April May / June July sees you go by”—captures the slow bleed of time after love’s collapse. These are words that cut deep, blending poetic flourish with raw vulnerability. Some might call the metaphors a touch theatrical, but they suit ABC’s brand of camp sincerity, pulling listeners into a story that’s as dramatic as it is relatable.

Critics of the time were divided. Some, like Jerry Smith of Music Week, hailed its “glamorous and dramatic” charm, while others, like Sylvia Patterson of Smash Hits, dismissed it as “flimsily tinkling” and “half-hearted” compared to ABC’s earlier fire. Chart-wise, it carved a modest path, peaking at No. 31 in the UK but finding warmer embrace in Germany’s Top 20.

Yet, its true strength lies in its staying power—a song that still feels vibrant, its blend of synth-pop polish and funk-driven soul a testament to ABC’s artistry. With Fry’s commanding vocals, Edwards’ masterful bass, and a composition that marries pop hooks with soulful depth, the song stands as a jewel in ABC’s crown—a sophisticated, heart-wrenching anthem that captures the band at their stylish, soulful best.

Year: 1987

Composer/Lyricist: Martin Fry, Mark White

Producer: Martin Fry, Mark White, Bernard Edwards

[pbandjesse]

I think we all needed today to just chill. Everyone just seemed really tired today. But I did get pretty good sleep last night. I was able to go downstairs and put away dishes and do a little cleaning. James came down a little before midnight, confused in the time again. But I came upstairs to feed baby, though Sylvia barely woke up for her midnight bottle. And James would take over at 330. We are doing our best.

I woke up at 7 again and was excited to have another hour and a half to sleep. When I woke up for real I felt fine. But I was very unsure about clothes. The outfit I had planned did not work. And it was muggy and grey but also slightly chilly. So I wore my favorite green plaid shirt. And tried to have a relaxing day.

I was really trying to just relax. It was a good day.

When I came downstairs Sylvia was squirming all over and I put her in the playpen and played with her a little. Let her explore the space a bit. Played with the new scarf and the computer toy. She was able to kick the button to make the music happen. Though I don't think she knew she did that. It was still fun.

We were able to leave her to play by herself for a bit to which is always nice.

James would go for a bike ride and I would do some work at my desk. Sylvia would take a little nap. And when James got home I asked them if they would like to go for a walk after lunch. They said whatever I wanted to do. And because I was feeling really sensitive I got my feelings hurt that they didn't want to want with us. But they apologized and said of course they want to walk with us. And in the afternoon that's what we did.

We didn't go to Patterson though. Instead taking some alley streets for fun and that lead to James finding a tiny little public playground in the back of a neighborhood of row houses. It had two slides, monekybars, and a swing set! I swung on the swing set for a little bit. Just having a blast.

Then just being silly putting Sylvia on it. James said they weren't sure if that made them feel safer then if she was in my lap. But we were just playing around. I tried to hold her up to the monkey bars but I was to short so James didn't and I took pictures of my baby's first time on a playground!

I was having a really good time. There were beautiful flowers growing all over on our walk. But it was starting to drizzle so we headed home.

When we got back here James had found a small log to add to the firewood collection. So they would go chop that up and me and Sylvia got cozy in on the studio couch.

James would take her eventually though. And I would rest alone. I had to many snacks but I was living my best comfy life. It was still really hard to feel relaxed but I was trying.

The father of Rosie's girl would come by around 345 to pick her up. He gave me double what I quoted them because they were so grateful and told me it was hard for his daughter to not have her last night so she's going to be so happy. And the sent me a picture of her reunited and it just made me heart so happy. I have to really flesh out my teddy bear hospital advertising this year. I think it'll be fun.

James would make me rice and nuggets for dinner and while it tasted fantastic, I got a really horrible stomach ache that has been plaguing me all night now. I have been sipping water and I hope that helps.

We would all come upstairs to hang out. I would take a shower before we would run a tub for Sylvia. And it was a very calm bath, which is always nice.

James just finished feeding her. And as the sun finishes setting I'm sure James will go to sleep. And I will have my quiet time to read. And it will be a good night.

Tomorrow is a very full day for me. I have union negotiations in the afternoon and then my first sewing club in the evening. I am not positive if anyone is signed up for that. But I hope so! I have my project bag all packed. And if anyone comes it will be fun!

The morning should be quiet though. And hopefully just a good time. I hope you all sleep well tonight. Be safe and be kind. Goodnight!

[popculturelib]

Haunted States of America: Georgia

Ghosts' Reflections: My Contact with the Other Side (1999) by the Ghost Lady

Panola Hall was built in 1854 by Henry Trippe and is home to a ghost named Sylvia, who is often seen in a white dress looking out of a living room window. Ghosts' Reflections chronicles the experience of the Ghost Lady, a psychic medium. Here's what she had to say about it:

I discovered the ghost who haunted Panola Hall in Eatonton, Georgia was someone in a past life. The ghost befriended me and I was allowed to photograph her ghostly image. I experienced the haunting world she lived in and could not escape. I walked between two worlds--the present and the past. I found the answers waiting in the haunted house where I spent the night all alone. My ghost story is a true mystical experience of finding a lot kindred friendship dating back to 1864.

Other books in our collection about ghosts in Georgia include

True Ghosts of North Georgia (1982) by L.E. Patterson, Jr.

Banshees, Bugles, and Belles: True Ghost Stories of Georgia (1995) by Barbara Duffey

Ghosts of the Georgia Coast (2002) by Don Farrant

The Browne Popular Culture Library (BPCL), founded in 1969, is the most comprehensive archive of its kind in the United States.  Our focus and mission is to acquire and preserve research materials on American Popular Culture (post 1876) for curricular and research use. Visit our website at https://www.bgsu.edu/library/pcl.html.

[crookedheartedlove]

Nit Picking Talking Board (s3e2)

The Bigfoot episode is early in season 1, but there’s no reference to the famed Patterson-Gimlin footage. Fi doesn’t even mention it in her monologue.

Fi mentions Claire Sylvia in Transplant, Nikolai Gudkov, Edgar Cayce, the Stewart twins, and even Nikola Tesla with no problem.

Perhaps it was too realistic for a Disney show to mention and best to avoid any viewers asking questions? Maybe it’s because all the name drops were in season 2 and season 1′s openings were more general?

Whatever the reason, imagine my surprise when a close-up of someone’s textbook in Talking Board (during the 14 minute mark) shows this:

That’s the 1967 footage!

Mr. Paulson (named “Mr. Paulsen” in the Babble credits) teaches social studies and ends the class saying,

“...which brought an end to the feudal system and brought a new era of social reform”

What does that have to do with Bigfoot??

Then while Annie tries to figure out the significance of 317, the obvious answer no one mentions is St. Patrick’s Day! 

The Phillips family is from Irish lineage. Regardless of what they think about the holiday (maybe like Fi thinks of Halloween?), that should have at least come up as Annie questions several people about the number’s significance.

The writers could have at least thrown it in the way they mention Mardi Gras in the Voodoo episode but nope.

Finally, Annie specifically asks Ned if 317 means anything. He says,

“That’s the mileage between Albuquerque and Denver, more or less, if you take Interstate 25.”

Apparently “more or less” means give or take 100 miles?

Then again, this is the same guy who asked if Fi was lost in the woods while the family was... in the woods.

Coincidentally (or not?) that was also the Sacrifice/Bigfoot episode.

[lboogie1906]

The National Association of Negro Musicians, Inc. is one of the oldest organizations in the US dedicated to the preservation, encouragement, and advocacy of all genres of the music of African Americans. NANM had its beginning on May 3, 1919, in DC at a temporary initial conference of “Negro” musicians under the leadership of Henry Grant and Nora Holt. Within Members lend their support and influence—educators and professional musicians share their musical knowledge, and amateurs and enthusiasts grow in their musical enjoyment.

NANM has provided encouragement and support to thousands of African American musicians, many of whom have become respected figures and have contributed to American culture and music history. The organization has awarded scholarships to scores of talented young musicians throughout the country, including Marian Anderson, William L. Dawson, Florence Price, Margaret Bonds, Warren George Wilson, James Frazier, Julia Perry, Grace Bumbry, Leon Bates, Joseph Joubert, and Awadagin Pratt.

Many international personalities have been presented in performance, including Lena Horne, Todd Duncan, John W. Work, R. Nathaniel Dett, Marian Anderson, Edward Boatner, Camille Nickerson, Clarence Cameron White, Margaret Bonds, Florence B. Price, Etta Moten, Betty Allen, Natalie Hinderas, Adele Addison, Kermit Moore, Simon Estes, George Shirley, Robert McFerrin, Shirley Verrett, Jessye Norman, Carl Rossini Diton, Sanford Allen, Derek Lee Ragin, the Uptown String Quartet, Esther Hinds, Ruby Hinds, Wilhelmenia Fernandez, the Hinds Sisters, William Warfield, Benjamin Matthews, the Albert McNeil Jubilee Singers, Harolyn Blackwell, Billy Taylor, Delphin and Romain, Greg Hopkins, Martina Arroyo, and Nina Simone.

Clinicians and lecturers of note include Carl Diton, Warner Lawson, Frederick Hall, Kemper Harreld, Wendell Whalum, Eileen Southern, Doris Evans McGinty, Alain Locke, Grace Bumbry, Sylvia Olden Lee, James Cleveland, Raoul Abdul, Matthew Kennedy, Geneva Handy Southall, Sowah Mensah, Willis Patterson, Roland Carter, Brazeal Dennard, Robert Harris, and Shirley Verrett. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[lucents]

The Enemies of Sensual Love: Releasing Tension for Deeper Connection & Facial Head Massage Techniques

In the world of holistic Tantra and deep connection, sensual love thrives in a state of relaxation, trust, and presence. But modern life—stress, overthinking, and chronic tension—often creates blocks that prevent true intimacy. In Erotic Massage for Couples, Sylvia Patterson explores the concept of “enemies of sensual love” and how we can dissolve them through intentional touch, particularly with…

[blueharborhq]

The following players have 24 hours to resume activity or risk being unfollowed:

Calahan Macarthy — @fromharbor — 1 interaction.

Dottie Patterson — @eclvpses — 1 interaction.

Elspeth Sun — @fromharbor — 1 interaction.

Franca Oliveira — @francaoliveira — 1 interaction.

Matty Foster — @just-foster — 1 interaction.

Ziana Mohan — @ziamo-xo — 1 interaction.

Chance Underwood — @ophaeliacs — 2 interactions.

Charity Castillo — @charitycastillo — 2 interactions.

Giselle Finch — @ophaeliacs — 2 interactions.

Scarlett Blackwood — @scarlettrxse — 2 interactions.

Sylvia Bello — @fridaynightmuses — 2 interactions.

Arizona Ortega — @ariortega — 3 interactions.

Nathaniel Abadiño — @ophaeliacs — 3 interactions.

Quin Stuart Francisco — @biolumipunk — 3 interactions.

Sebastian Vora — @sebastianvora — 3 interactions.

[sylviahubbard]

ONE MORE DAY: Dreams of Reality📚❤️ Free for you. #AmazonKindle Aug14th - 18th. ⬇️Download now| 🫂Share with a friend

Until Sunday, Dreams of Reality is available FREE to all readers on Amazon. It’s always available FREE for Prime Members and Unlimited Customers on Amazon. See how the literary journey started for me or share this post with a friend so they can ease into The Literary World of Sylvia Hubbard. More to come… About the book: Skye Patterson – a 24-year-old entrepreneur trying to make her way in the…

[clickyourradio]

Released in August 1987 by Mercury as the second single from their fourth studio album, Alphabet City. It peaked at No. 31 on the UK Singles Chart. Jerry Smith of British magazine Music Week described "The Night You Murdered Love" as a "glamorous and dramatic number" and noted "its Chic-style funky guitar and sweeping strings". In a review published in Smash Hits, Sylvia Patterson described the song as being a "desperately dreary, flimsily tinkling, half-hearted puff of a record that makes you want to be instantly sick on Martin Fry's expensive breaks". The music video shows a homicidal fashion model carrying a slingshot and a skateboard stalking the band across the city of Paris.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"WOMAN NOT GUILTY OF RECORDING BETS," Toronto Star. March 2, 1934. Page 2. ---- Employer Is Fined $50 De- spite Plea He Was Only Agent ---- When Morality Officers Jackson and Sunderland walked through a store on Queen St. E. yesterday afternoon and entered a room at the rear, they discovered Mrs. Margaret Innes seated at a table upon which was lying a writing pad, with racing bets registered upon it, they testified before Magistrate Patterson in women's court to-day. Mrs. Innes was jointly charged with John Scott, for whom she claimed to be registering the bets, with keeping a betting house, but defence requested that the charge against her be withdrawn on the plea that she was an employee and pleaded guilty for Scott.

"We found the accused woman sitting at a table, and in front of her was this writing pad," testified Detective Jackson. Producing the pad, he continued: "On this pad there are the names of several horses and a list and record of bets registered against them. She told us she was only working for John Scott in keeping a record of the bets."

A few minutes later, while the officers waited, Scott walked into the room and when requested to explain, admitted possession of betting slips upon his person.

"Scott had about $100 in bets registered on the slips he carried," the officer swore, "and he told us he was working as a commission agent and getting five per cent. of the bets.

"This was an office fully equipped for this purpose," queried the bench and was informed that it was apart from the store and that Mrs. Innes was not employed in the store. When the officer added Scott's statement that the co-defendant was working only in recording under his Instructions, the charge against her was withdrawn.

Mr. Malone suggested a nominal fine for Scott, submitting that "he is an agent working on commission," but the bench thought the amount of bets carried required a heavier penalty. Fine of $50 and costs or 10 days was the sentence imposed.

In admitting his guilt, accused stated he was taking bets from асquaintances, which were laid on horses running at Hialeah and Agua Caliente tracks.

Learns a Lesson "She has had a few days of custody and I hope she realizes that she has placed herself in position where she would be sentenced to serve as many years as she has days," was the comment from her worship when Alice Hindle was brought before her in women's court to-day for sentence on a previous conviction of theft from a department store.

"I am sure she has learned her lesson," replied counsel.

A remand for sentence was granted with the prisoner placed under bond to keep out of the stores in question for at least two years. Bond was set at $200.

Conviction for theft in a trial last week, cost Sylvia Garfinkle a sentence of $25 and costs or a ten-day alternative.

Defence pleaded that his client had an excellent home to go to and had not been in trouble before, and that her relatives would keep a vigilant eye upon her. Her worship intimated that in imposing a fine she was taking into consideration the first offence plea.

Committed For Trial Magistrate Patterson's court was delayed for almost half an hour until a witness could be brought from county court to testify in the charge against Dell Fine, whom the crown alleges is guilty of perjury by swearing to false statements during a wage protest case in county court, knowing her statements to be false.

Gordon Waldron, K.C., acting for Miss Fine, who reserved plea upon a previous appearance, elected trial by jury, and offered to waive his right to preliminary hearing by admitting crown evidence for committal. Mr. Malone pointed out a certified copy of the evidence submitted at the county court hearing, but her worship pointed out that magistrates are forbidden to commit without taking evidence of the crown.

Court was held open until Walter B. Fenwick, official court stenographer of the York county court, responded to the call. Mr. Waldron did not cross-examine and the accused was committed for trial under bail of $200.

[imthefailedartist]

My 2023 Reading Stats

My goal was to read 12 books. I read 45 total!

I read mostly authors I'd never read before. I made a significant dent in my purchased TBR. I read 5 classics. I read 7 genres.

I checked out 3 books from my local library.

I did not finish 3 books. Les Liaisons Dangereuses, Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, and Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy.

Reasons: LLD the two main characters were getting on my fucking nerves so bad. Valmont leave that woman ALONE! Also, the epistolary style does not make for active reading.

Lolita. I mean, take a wild guess.

AK. To many characters with the same name, I also signed up for one thing, but it's about a whole bunch of things.

I read the longest book I've ever read, Gone with the Wind. I thought it would take a year. Surprisingly, it took a month. December 22nd to January 22nd. I took four days off because the racism was getting on my nerves. I also sometimes just missed a day or two.

January

Loved: To Catch a Raven by Beverly Jenkins, The Wedding by Dorothy West, The Revenant by Michael Punke.

I refuse to say I loved this book, but I did enjoy reading it, a lot: Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell

February

Loved: Their Eyes were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston, The Women of Brewster Place by Gloria Naylor, If There be Thorns by VC Andrews, Barbarian Alien by Ruby Dixon.

Read: My Best Friend's Exorcism by Gravy Hendrix

March

Loved: Priest by Sierra Simone, Roses are Red by James Patterson

Read depressingly: The Stranger by Albert Camus

April

Loved: A Hero Ain't Nothin' but a Sandwich by Alice Childress, Moby Dick by Herman Melville. Big Bad Wolf by James Patterson

Read: In the Woods by Tana French

May

Loved: Whatever Happened to Baby Jane by Henry Farrell

Liked: Animal Farm by George Orwell, Candice by Voltaire

Read: The Proposal by Jasmine Guillory, The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith

Hated: GOTH by Otsuichi. It was like reading an edgelords Wattpad writing.

This month was so Meh. Baby Jane came in at the end and saved it.

June

Loved: The Invisible Man by HG Wells, Seeds of Yesterday by VC Andrews

Liked: Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen, Devil in a Blue Dress by Walter Mosley, Violets are Blue by James Patterson

Read: The Body by Stephen King.

I have one Flowers in the Attic book left in looking into the other VC Andrews books, but none of them are calling me like Flowers. Maybe I'll read the one with the twins.

July

Loved: The War of the World's by H.G. Wells, An Offer from a Gentleman by Julia Quinn, London Bridges by James Patterson

August

Read: The Hallowe'en Party or A Haunting in Venice by Agatha Christie

Hated: The Other Black Girl by Zakiya Dalila Harris

September

Loved: I am Legend by Richard Matheson

Liked: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

October

Loved: Hannibal by Thomas Harris, Romancing Mister Bridgerton by Julia Quinn

Read: The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty

I have one Hannibal book left. What am I supposed to do for Halloween 2025?

November

Loved: An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon and The Song of Achilles by McAllen l Madeline Miller

Liked: The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson

December

Loved: Difficult Women by Roxane Gay

Liked: Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut

Read: Marnie by Winston Graham.

The book I was looking forward to the most. It's one of my favorite movies. It was the book I just wanted to end. Also, I keep calling this author every name but his own. Winston Granton, William Granston, Graham Wilson.