As of Monday 16th August AMERICA DREAMING, starting with episode 6, can be found at http://www.newfrontier-americadreaming.blogspot.com/
For Johnny-come-latelys, Episode 1 is currently acting as a introduction to the saga at the above website.
Saturday 14 August 2010
Friday 13 August 2010
AMERICA DREAMING EPISODE 5
THE PRESENT (SUMMER 1960): Leviathan, out of costume, in his lab coated persona of Doc Jeff Hurley carried a cup of hot coffee and a croissant through the sterile steel doorway of the World Patrol HQ's brig.
He took a sip of his drink and pushed his glasses back on to his nose. Blasted things were always slipping off. He looked over at the three prisoners in their ray-guarded cells and put his coffee down on a control console.
"Good morning, mein leiblings," he said cheekily. One of the captives, clad in his blackened and damaged shieldsuit, sneered back.
"Sorry that your rooms aren't up to the standard demanded by der fourth reich. If you want to, you can write a letter of complaint to the manager and I'll be certain to throw it in the trash, you Nazi scumbags!" retorted Doc Hurley, whose father had been Captain Hurley of the World War II outfit, the Roaring Rebels.
One of the prisoners leaned forward and spat: "Little jew-loving superman. Ve are ein hair's breadth from bringing your corrupt culture to its knees!"
Doc Hurley spun to face this prisoner while trying to suppress a grin. Riling up Nazis always brought results, the evil bastards loved to talk, boast and brag.
The prisoner, oblivious to the rapid shakes of the heads of his comrades, hoping to shut him up, continued to rant.
"In our strongholds across south America ve haf rockets aimed at every city in der US. Ve haf created ubermenschen who make your much vaunted Imperator, Regal und der American Sentry look like circus strongmen. Ve shall be victorious!"
Doc Hurley smiled and rubbing his chin said to the prosoner: "South America, you say? But we've searched most of the countries down there so where are you boys holed up?"
The Nazi threw his head back and laughed then carried on much to the chagrin of his comrades.
"Our supreme stronghold is under der Amazon in Brazil. It is there that our occult-doktors fuse science und sorcery to bring Der Fuhrer back to his loyal legions!"
With this bombshell, the other two prisoners cringed. One put her head in her hands.
The other raised his eyes skyward and slowly shook his head.
"My thanks, Fritz. Care to mention the co-ordinates? Y'see, I'm sure our scrawny superheroes would love to head down to Brazil to get their butts kicked by your boys," chirruped Hurley.
The other two prisoners were now yelling at their big-mouthed comrade, pleading with him not to say any more.
"How dare you tell me to be silent! I am your commanding officer. I vill speak as I see fit!" barked the Nazi, chest puffed out.
Doc Hurley clapped his hands and said: "I heartily agree. Carry on, sir."
FLASH FORWARD: THE NEAR FUTURE....NOV. 1963:
It was a moment when titans clash, a true battle royale. Tensions between the two had been simmering for some time.
And upon that grassy knoll in Dallas on a cold November afternoon they fought, with the fate of the country at stake.
Discovered in an iceberg after having been thought lost in the final days of WWII and revived by the World Patrol about a year ago, The American Shield had helped JFK to defuse the Cuban Missile Crisis.
Now he had made a discovery of his own. The Patriot, in the employ of the CIA and other shadowy branches of the US intelligence community since 1945, was preparing to assassinate JFK.
It was a split-second glint from his rifle's muzzle that had caught the attention of the American Shield. Now the pair were locking horns.
"Frigging' boy scouts like you and Imperator can't see the mess that mick bastard's gonna bring down on us!" snarled the Patriot.
The American Shield slammed a meaty fist into the Patriot's jaw.
"Just... SHUT UP!" yelled the Shield, his blonde hair twirling in the cold breeze.
The Patriot fell backwards, blood arcing up from his mouth with a couple of teeth spinning through the air.
FLASHBACK: THE RECENT PAST...1932:
"Ma, it's the truth! I saw 'im with my own eyes. Bright as day, flying over the Brooklyn Bridge!" said the skinny youth, dressed in a baggy, holed red sweater and threadbare brown slacks.
The boy, fifteen or sixteen, rubbed his freckle-flecked nose and stared at his mother, a frail woman doing a pile of washing in the small kitchen sink of their rundown apartment.
The woman turned her head and smiled at her son.
"Teddy, I do believe you. Now would you run down to the store and pick up some powder," said the woman.
The youth, Teddy Tanner, said that he would and scoped up a small heap of quarters on the kitchen table. Outside, on the landing, his friend Paulie sat on the bannister. Paulie lit up a pipe as Teddy shut the door to his apartment.
"She believe ya?" asked the bowler-hatted and podgy Paulie.
"Yes, but I still can't quite believe it myself. We actually saw the American Sentry, Paulie," said Teddy.
Paulie, through a thick cloud of grey-brown pipe smoke said: "It sure was sumthin', Teddy. I always t'ought da guy operated over in Pennsylvania. Never t'ought he'd git to Noo Yawk.
Y'know, Big Boo reckons it's an omen. He sez da Sentry is like sum kinda omen dat Roosevelt is gonna be president!"
Stepping out onto the busy street, Teddy Tanner shivered despite it being August. He found himself looking up at the sky. Not searching for another glimpse of the American Sentry but feeling something elusive yet solid. Change was coming to America and to the life of Teddy Tanner.
TO BE CONTINUED...
He took a sip of his drink and pushed his glasses back on to his nose. Blasted things were always slipping off. He looked over at the three prisoners in their ray-guarded cells and put his coffee down on a control console.
"Good morning, mein leiblings," he said cheekily. One of the captives, clad in his blackened and damaged shieldsuit, sneered back.
"Sorry that your rooms aren't up to the standard demanded by der fourth reich. If you want to, you can write a letter of complaint to the manager and I'll be certain to throw it in the trash, you Nazi scumbags!" retorted Doc Hurley, whose father had been Captain Hurley of the World War II outfit, the Roaring Rebels.
One of the prisoners leaned forward and spat: "Little jew-loving superman. Ve are ein hair's breadth from bringing your corrupt culture to its knees!"
Doc Hurley spun to face this prisoner while trying to suppress a grin. Riling up Nazis always brought results, the evil bastards loved to talk, boast and brag.
The prisoner, oblivious to the rapid shakes of the heads of his comrades, hoping to shut him up, continued to rant.
"In our strongholds across south America ve haf rockets aimed at every city in der US. Ve haf created ubermenschen who make your much vaunted Imperator, Regal und der American Sentry look like circus strongmen. Ve shall be victorious!"
Doc Hurley smiled and rubbing his chin said to the prosoner: "South America, you say? But we've searched most of the countries down there so where are you boys holed up?"
The Nazi threw his head back and laughed then carried on much to the chagrin of his comrades.
"Our supreme stronghold is under der Amazon in Brazil. It is there that our occult-doktors fuse science und sorcery to bring Der Fuhrer back to his loyal legions!"
With this bombshell, the other two prisoners cringed. One put her head in her hands.
The other raised his eyes skyward and slowly shook his head.
"My thanks, Fritz. Care to mention the co-ordinates? Y'see, I'm sure our scrawny superheroes would love to head down to Brazil to get their butts kicked by your boys," chirruped Hurley.
The other two prisoners were now yelling at their big-mouthed comrade, pleading with him not to say any more.
"How dare you tell me to be silent! I am your commanding officer. I vill speak as I see fit!" barked the Nazi, chest puffed out.
Doc Hurley clapped his hands and said: "I heartily agree. Carry on, sir."
FLASH FORWARD: THE NEAR FUTURE....NOV. 1963:
It was a moment when titans clash, a true battle royale. Tensions between the two had been simmering for some time.
And upon that grassy knoll in Dallas on a cold November afternoon they fought, with the fate of the country at stake.
Discovered in an iceberg after having been thought lost in the final days of WWII and revived by the World Patrol about a year ago, The American Shield had helped JFK to defuse the Cuban Missile Crisis.
Now he had made a discovery of his own. The Patriot, in the employ of the CIA and other shadowy branches of the US intelligence community since 1945, was preparing to assassinate JFK.
It was a split-second glint from his rifle's muzzle that had caught the attention of the American Shield. Now the pair were locking horns.
"Frigging' boy scouts like you and Imperator can't see the mess that mick bastard's gonna bring down on us!" snarled the Patriot.
The American Shield slammed a meaty fist into the Patriot's jaw.
"Just... SHUT UP!" yelled the Shield, his blonde hair twirling in the cold breeze.
The Patriot fell backwards, blood arcing up from his mouth with a couple of teeth spinning through the air.
FLASHBACK: THE RECENT PAST...1932:
"Ma, it's the truth! I saw 'im with my own eyes. Bright as day, flying over the Brooklyn Bridge!" said the skinny youth, dressed in a baggy, holed red sweater and threadbare brown slacks.
The boy, fifteen or sixteen, rubbed his freckle-flecked nose and stared at his mother, a frail woman doing a pile of washing in the small kitchen sink of their rundown apartment.
The woman turned her head and smiled at her son.
"Teddy, I do believe you. Now would you run down to the store and pick up some powder," said the woman.
The youth, Teddy Tanner, said that he would and scoped up a small heap of quarters on the kitchen table. Outside, on the landing, his friend Paulie sat on the bannister. Paulie lit up a pipe as Teddy shut the door to his apartment.
"She believe ya?" asked the bowler-hatted and podgy Paulie.
"Yes, but I still can't quite believe it myself. We actually saw the American Sentry, Paulie," said Teddy.
Paulie, through a thick cloud of grey-brown pipe smoke said: "It sure was sumthin', Teddy. I always t'ought da guy operated over in Pennsylvania. Never t'ought he'd git to Noo Yawk.
Y'know, Big Boo reckons it's an omen. He sez da Sentry is like sum kinda omen dat Roosevelt is gonna be president!"
Stepping out onto the busy street, Teddy Tanner shivered despite it being August. He found himself looking up at the sky. Not searching for another glimpse of the American Sentry but feeling something elusive yet solid. Change was coming to America and to the life of Teddy Tanner.
TO BE CONTINUED...
AMERICA DREAMING EPISODE 4
(Apologies that AD has been absent this week. I've been trying to fight off the funk of 40,000 years.)
After making eye contact with the two Black Sun agents, Imperator smiled. Not a welcoming smile, but one dripping with contempt.
And at that second he unleashed a wave of his ice-vision!
A swirling blue-white vortex of frost, ice, snow and bitter winds erupted from his white pupils and within moments had enveloped both agents in a sub-zero cage of winter.
The agents were rigid, unable to move their limbs. Imperator alighted on a table and allowed JFK to descend.
"There, that'll hold 'em," said Imperator, his pupils rapidly returning to their usual light blue colour.
Kennedy, although initially shocked by the attack and battle, was regaining his composure.
As he did so, he stepped up to the ice cage and gave it a tap with his fingertips.
"J-jeez, that certainly is cold," he whispered.
"Bit like Minneapolis, I've been told," said Imperator with a smile.
Imperator glided to the floor and said: "They're preserved in a perfect cryogenic state, sir."
Kennedy nodded and ran a hand over the frozen structure
The momentary calm was shattered as the doors to the conference room flew open and in poured secret service agents, soldiers and some of Kennedy's aides.
They were rapidly follwed by a cadre of superhumans. First in was Planet Queen, her curvy form seemingly poured into the silver chainmail and black leather of her costume. Her sumptous long black hair cascading down her shoulders and touching onto the symbol of Saturn on her chest. She wielded a flaming sword and an axe.
Flanking her was the Flying Buckaroo in his cowboy hat, leather trenchcoat and flying goggles, a six-shooter in both hands.
Somehow managing to squeeze in through the door was Leviathan, growing to at least ten foot. His red and green costume, made of transflux molecules, able to adjust effortlessly to his changes in size and mass.
Bringing up the rear after having to wait for Leviathan was the Topper, a British hero. The Topper, in his trademark black top hat, monocle and fancy dinner suit cut quite a dash. He was just unsheathing his sword cane.
"We got here as fast as we could, Imperator! What's going on?" asked Planet Queen in heavily accented English, betraying her extraterrestial origins.
Imperator waved a hand toward the captive Black Sun agents. Leviathan, reducing his size to about six foot, let out a laugh.
"Good grief. Don't those maniacs ever quit?" he said with a Boston twang.
Imperator explained that the agents had threatened Kennedy, who was now encircled by edgy secret service men.
"We should take them back to World Patrol HQ for questioning," said Leviathan.
At this, one of the secret service agents, all buzzcut blonde hair and dark glasses interceded and stated that the Black Sun operatives were federal prisoners.
Kennedy calmly patted the secret service man's left forearm and said: "Now, now, agent..."
"Shanks," intoned the secret service man.
"Now, agent Shanks. I'm sure on this occasion you can make an exception. After all, we're all on the same team," proffered Kennedy.
The agent considered this and said okay.
Imperator and Leviathan thanked the agent and walked over to the ice cage containing the Black Sun duo.
Later that night, with all three of the Black Sun operatives locked up aboard the World Patrol flying headquarters and Leviathan preparing to interrogate them the next morning, Imperator return to the Silver Spur Casino in Vegas.
By 9.15 he and JFK were in a small lounge bar drinking Martinis.
The Democratic candidate finished off a tall glass and reached inside his jacket to produce a wad of typewritten notes.
"Imperator, I've been working on a speech for New York in November. Would you mind if I read to you what I've written so far?" asked Kennedy.
The superhuman nodded and Kennedy began to read from his notes: " 'Should I be successful next Tuesday, I want above all to be a President known as one who not only prevented war but won the peace - as one of whom history might say: he not only laid the foundations for peace in his time, but for generations to come as well.
"I want to be a President as one who not only held back the Communist tide but advanced the cause of freedom.
"I have no wish to be known as a narrowly partisan President, or as a private interest President; I want to be President of all the people."
With that, Kennedy stopped speaking and looked intently at Imperator.
"Sir, it's very stirring," said Imperator.
Kennedy cocked his head to one side and grinned.
Outside the bar was the cooling desert at night, Nevada under the stars. Both men glanced out of the space-age horizontal window at the far end of the bar and felt the hand of destiny upon them.
The New Frontier of the future was here. Suddenly, it's 1960!
TO BE CONTINUED...
After making eye contact with the two Black Sun agents, Imperator smiled. Not a welcoming smile, but one dripping with contempt.
And at that second he unleashed a wave of his ice-vision!
A swirling blue-white vortex of frost, ice, snow and bitter winds erupted from his white pupils and within moments had enveloped both agents in a sub-zero cage of winter.
The agents were rigid, unable to move their limbs. Imperator alighted on a table and allowed JFK to descend.
"There, that'll hold 'em," said Imperator, his pupils rapidly returning to their usual light blue colour.
Kennedy, although initially shocked by the attack and battle, was regaining his composure.
As he did so, he stepped up to the ice cage and gave it a tap with his fingertips.
"J-jeez, that certainly is cold," he whispered.
"Bit like Minneapolis, I've been told," said Imperator with a smile.
Imperator glided to the floor and said: "They're preserved in a perfect cryogenic state, sir."
Kennedy nodded and ran a hand over the frozen structure
The momentary calm was shattered as the doors to the conference room flew open and in poured secret service agents, soldiers and some of Kennedy's aides.
They were rapidly follwed by a cadre of superhumans. First in was Planet Queen, her curvy form seemingly poured into the silver chainmail and black leather of her costume. Her sumptous long black hair cascading down her shoulders and touching onto the symbol of Saturn on her chest. She wielded a flaming sword and an axe.
Flanking her was the Flying Buckaroo in his cowboy hat, leather trenchcoat and flying goggles, a six-shooter in both hands.
Somehow managing to squeeze in through the door was Leviathan, growing to at least ten foot. His red and green costume, made of transflux molecules, able to adjust effortlessly to his changes in size and mass.
Bringing up the rear after having to wait for Leviathan was the Topper, a British hero. The Topper, in his trademark black top hat, monocle and fancy dinner suit cut quite a dash. He was just unsheathing his sword cane.
"We got here as fast as we could, Imperator! What's going on?" asked Planet Queen in heavily accented English, betraying her extraterrestial origins.
Imperator waved a hand toward the captive Black Sun agents. Leviathan, reducing his size to about six foot, let out a laugh.
"Good grief. Don't those maniacs ever quit?" he said with a Boston twang.
Imperator explained that the agents had threatened Kennedy, who was now encircled by edgy secret service men.
"We should take them back to World Patrol HQ for questioning," said Leviathan.
At this, one of the secret service agents, all buzzcut blonde hair and dark glasses interceded and stated that the Black Sun operatives were federal prisoners.
Kennedy calmly patted the secret service man's left forearm and said: "Now, now, agent..."
"Shanks," intoned the secret service man.
"Now, agent Shanks. I'm sure on this occasion you can make an exception. After all, we're all on the same team," proffered Kennedy.
The agent considered this and said okay.
Imperator and Leviathan thanked the agent and walked over to the ice cage containing the Black Sun duo.
Later that night, with all three of the Black Sun operatives locked up aboard the World Patrol flying headquarters and Leviathan preparing to interrogate them the next morning, Imperator return to the Silver Spur Casino in Vegas.
By 9.15 he and JFK were in a small lounge bar drinking Martinis.
The Democratic candidate finished off a tall glass and reached inside his jacket to produce a wad of typewritten notes.
"Imperator, I've been working on a speech for New York in November. Would you mind if I read to you what I've written so far?" asked Kennedy.
The superhuman nodded and Kennedy began to read from his notes: " 'Should I be successful next Tuesday, I want above all to be a President known as one who not only prevented war but won the peace - as one of whom history might say: he not only laid the foundations for peace in his time, but for generations to come as well.
"I want to be a President as one who not only held back the Communist tide but advanced the cause of freedom.
"I have no wish to be known as a narrowly partisan President, or as a private interest President; I want to be President of all the people."
With that, Kennedy stopped speaking and looked intently at Imperator.
"Sir, it's very stirring," said Imperator.
Kennedy cocked his head to one side and grinned.
Outside the bar was the cooling desert at night, Nevada under the stars. Both men glanced out of the space-age horizontal window at the far end of the bar and felt the hand of destiny upon them.
The New Frontier of the future was here. Suddenly, it's 1960!
TO BE CONTINUED...
Saturday 7 August 2010
THE SATURDAY SERIAL: THE QUEST FOR THE OBSIDIAN PRINCESS EPISODE 1
The bar in the spaceport was pretty much empty. The utterly bored barman wiped a glass with a crusty old cloth and two water-breathers from Aquator stood at the far end of the long bar, discussing the finer points of their moisture suits, prodding at valves, adjusting cables and tubing.
Dreadful Tau Ceti dance music pumped out of tinny speakers around the room and during dips in the pounding cacophony, the sound of hovertrucks and aircars, making up the early evening rush hour on Lynx III, could be heard from the bar's entrance.
Wolff was doing his level best to ignore both the dance music and the traffic. He rubbed a hand through his unkempt shock of greying hair and swirled his glass of Aldebaran rum with his other hand. The movement made the red-orange liquid fizz and turn a bright yellow.
Wolff took another swig and felt the warm potion sizzle in his stomach. He fancied another drink but knew he didn't have many creds left in his pocket.
He was only in the bar to kill time until he had to meet Boris by the fuel yards. He glanced at his watch, it was set to Galactic Standard Time and said 5:55pm. He had another thirty minutes to kill.
One of the Aquatorians was looking in his direction. Wolff squeezed himself into the shadows that filled his small booth. He wasn't looking to attract attention.
Presently, the Aquatorian sauntered over and spoke, his words gurgled through the liquid in his helmet: "We believe you are Captain Simonson."
Wolff feigned deafness, looking away.
The Aquatorian wasn't put off though and continued: "Captain Wolff Simsonson. You are the hero of the battle for Shiva's Drift."
Wolff shrugged and replied: "Sorry, pal. Wrong guy."
The Aquatorian glanced back to his companion, who encouraged him to continue probing.
"We have often wondered what ever happened to such a man," opined the Aquatorian.
Wolff nodded and said cheekily: "Me too, pal. Tell ya what, if you and your buddy buy me a drink I'll tell ya about the time I actually met Wolff Simonson."
With that, the Aquatorian smiled and burped excitedly.
Wolff grinned and figured why not nab a free drink. He walked over to the bar with the Aquatorian.
How did I get to this, thought Wolff. The hero of Shiva's Drift bumming drinks on a backwater rock.
TO BE CONTINUED....
Dreadful Tau Ceti dance music pumped out of tinny speakers around the room and during dips in the pounding cacophony, the sound of hovertrucks and aircars, making up the early evening rush hour on Lynx III, could be heard from the bar's entrance.
Wolff was doing his level best to ignore both the dance music and the traffic. He rubbed a hand through his unkempt shock of greying hair and swirled his glass of Aldebaran rum with his other hand. The movement made the red-orange liquid fizz and turn a bright yellow.
Wolff took another swig and felt the warm potion sizzle in his stomach. He fancied another drink but knew he didn't have many creds left in his pocket.
He was only in the bar to kill time until he had to meet Boris by the fuel yards. He glanced at his watch, it was set to Galactic Standard Time and said 5:55pm. He had another thirty minutes to kill.
One of the Aquatorians was looking in his direction. Wolff squeezed himself into the shadows that filled his small booth. He wasn't looking to attract attention.
Presently, the Aquatorian sauntered over and spoke, his words gurgled through the liquid in his helmet: "We believe you are Captain Simonson."
Wolff feigned deafness, looking away.
The Aquatorian wasn't put off though and continued: "Captain Wolff Simsonson. You are the hero of the battle for Shiva's Drift."
Wolff shrugged and replied: "Sorry, pal. Wrong guy."
The Aquatorian glanced back to his companion, who encouraged him to continue probing.
"We have often wondered what ever happened to such a man," opined the Aquatorian.
Wolff nodded and said cheekily: "Me too, pal. Tell ya what, if you and your buddy buy me a drink I'll tell ya about the time I actually met Wolff Simonson."
With that, the Aquatorian smiled and burped excitedly.
Wolff grinned and figured why not nab a free drink. He walked over to the bar with the Aquatorian.
How did I get to this, thought Wolff. The hero of Shiva's Drift bumming drinks on a backwater rock.
TO BE CONTINUED....
REVIEW: THIRTYSOMETHING THRILLS!!
Launched in 1977 to a Britain battered and on the ropes, 2000AD offered the ultimate in comic-book thrills!!
Conceived by Pat Mills and proving to be the lovechild of Action and Battle, 2000AD blew the doors off with SF action from the get-go. And I was addicted from the very first issue!!
Now in its 30s, The Galaxy's Greatest Comic shows no sign of slowing down and still wipes the floor with everything else!
Over the deacdes there's been (and still is) Judge Dredd, Zenith, Nicolai Dante, Slaine, The ABC Warriors, Invasion, Savage, The Red Seas, Strontium Dog, Harlem Heroes, Durham Red, Rose O'Ryan, Storming Heaven, Devlin Waugh, Mean Arena, Blackhawk, Dash Decent, Nemesis, Leatherjack, Finn, Flesh, DR & Quinch, Halo Jones and Button Man.
The comic has survived different owners; great periods, lean periods, some awful moments in the mid-80s and mid-90s, format changes and a surplus of murky, painted artwork but every Saturday it's still the essential shot glass of rocket fuel.
If you're a regular reader you'll know exactly what I mean. If you've lapsed then pick up a copy and if you've never experienced 2000AD, go and treat yourself to a copy!!!
Conceived by Pat Mills and proving to be the lovechild of Action and Battle, 2000AD blew the doors off with SF action from the get-go. And I was addicted from the very first issue!!
Now in its 30s, The Galaxy's Greatest Comic shows no sign of slowing down and still wipes the floor with everything else!
Over the deacdes there's been (and still is) Judge Dredd, Zenith, Nicolai Dante, Slaine, The ABC Warriors, Invasion, Savage, The Red Seas, Strontium Dog, Harlem Heroes, Durham Red, Rose O'Ryan, Storming Heaven, Devlin Waugh, Mean Arena, Blackhawk, Dash Decent, Nemesis, Leatherjack, Finn, Flesh, DR & Quinch, Halo Jones and Button Man.
The comic has survived different owners; great periods, lean periods, some awful moments in the mid-80s and mid-90s, format changes and a surplus of murky, painted artwork but every Saturday it's still the essential shot glass of rocket fuel.
If you're a regular reader you'll know exactly what I mean. If you've lapsed then pick up a copy and if you've never experienced 2000AD, go and treat yourself to a copy!!!
AMERICA DREAMING
Your daily dose of superhero goodness will return on Monday.
In the meantime, now's a good time to catch up with any episodes you may've missed.
Also, I'm opening America Dreaming up to readers. Feel free to suggest characters, ideas, plotlines and join in the retro thrills!!!
In the meantime, now's a good time to catch up with any episodes you may've missed.
Also, I'm opening America Dreaming up to readers. Feel free to suggest characters, ideas, plotlines and join in the retro thrills!!!
REVIEW: MAYBE IF YOU FIND THEM...THE A-TEAM
From the new actionmeister of Hollywood, Joe Carnhan and gonzo screenwriter Skip Woods comes the big budget version of 80s TV classic The A-Team.
Starring a cast led by Liam Neeson, Bradley Cooper, Patrick Wilson and Jessica Biel, A-Team 2010 style is an insane, hi-octane thrill-ride that takes the gung-ho spirirt of the original and amps it up to the Nth degree.
From the opening beats - Liam Neeson's stoic yet bonkers Col. Hannibal Smith seemingly at the mercy of two corrupt Mexican cops and Bradley Cooper's charming Face, a prisoner of a dodgy Mexican official - through the explosive and high-flying hi-jinks meted out across Europe to the manic, if a little CGI-heavy, climax, The A-team delivers everything you need from a summer blockbuster.
This is effectively the origins of the group, detailing how they met, bonded and after being framed for a crime they didn't commit go on a quest for justice.
Up against the unstoppable, resourceful and tough hombres of the A-Team are a collection of cunning, ruthless and equally resourceful CIA and military types headed up by Patrick Wilson, Nite Owl in Watchmen, as the excitable Lynch and Jessica Biel, bedecked in the de rigeur power heels and smart business suit as Agent Sousa.
From Mexico to Baghdad and from Germany to LA, The A-Team gives new meaning to the phrase 'rip-roaring'.
However, certain elements grate. Chunks of dialogue are lost in the action sequences as human voices are drowned out by explosions, gunfire and metal slamming against metal. Yeah, there's lots of metal things crashing against other metal things in this.
The loss of dialogue mostly affects what the A-Team themselves are saying but in the grand scheme of things it's forgivable as the film careens along, laden with hard-edged humour, in-jokes and gloriously OTT set pieces.
Between The A-Team and The Losers, the bar has been raised, shot at and blown up. The Expendables will have to go a very long way to compete with these two although my money's on Red, the possible 'sleeper' hit of the summer.
Starring a cast led by Liam Neeson, Bradley Cooper, Patrick Wilson and Jessica Biel, A-Team 2010 style is an insane, hi-octane thrill-ride that takes the gung-ho spirirt of the original and amps it up to the Nth degree.
From the opening beats - Liam Neeson's stoic yet bonkers Col. Hannibal Smith seemingly at the mercy of two corrupt Mexican cops and Bradley Cooper's charming Face, a prisoner of a dodgy Mexican official - through the explosive and high-flying hi-jinks meted out across Europe to the manic, if a little CGI-heavy, climax, The A-team delivers everything you need from a summer blockbuster.
This is effectively the origins of the group, detailing how they met, bonded and after being framed for a crime they didn't commit go on a quest for justice.
Up against the unstoppable, resourceful and tough hombres of the A-Team are a collection of cunning, ruthless and equally resourceful CIA and military types headed up by Patrick Wilson, Nite Owl in Watchmen, as the excitable Lynch and Jessica Biel, bedecked in the de rigeur power heels and smart business suit as Agent Sousa.
From Mexico to Baghdad and from Germany to LA, The A-Team gives new meaning to the phrase 'rip-roaring'.
However, certain elements grate. Chunks of dialogue are lost in the action sequences as human voices are drowned out by explosions, gunfire and metal slamming against metal. Yeah, there's lots of metal things crashing against other metal things in this.
The loss of dialogue mostly affects what the A-Team themselves are saying but in the grand scheme of things it's forgivable as the film careens along, laden with hard-edged humour, in-jokes and gloriously OTT set pieces.
Between The A-Team and The Losers, the bar has been raised, shot at and blown up. The Expendables will have to go a very long way to compete with these two although my money's on Red, the possible 'sleeper' hit of the summer.
Friday 6 August 2010
AMERICA DREAMING EPISODE 3
Slowly but surely, the Black Sun agents got nearer to the stage. The agent disguised as a businessman appeared to be the imminent threat as he was closest, however, Imperator knew a feint when he saw one.
He kept the nearest agent in view but concentrated on the chubby youth. The youth was clapping loudly and gradually moving through the excited crowd.
On stage, Kennedy was about to address the crowd once more. As the politician opened his mouth, the Black Sun agent raised his left arm.
Reality flickered around the agent's hand and a strange-looking pistol materialised. Imperator's eyes darted around the crowd, amazed that no-one else could see the weapon.
"Damned shieldsuit must be throwing out some form of projection field," thought Imperator.
It was then that the agent's eyes pulsed with red light and he squeezed the trigger on his pistol.
A bolt of dazzling green fire belched from the weapon's nozzle. Imperator breathed in and launched himself towards JFK.
Having slipped the shackles of gravity, Imperator flew at the candidate, snatched him up and away from the bolt of flame.
The flame struck the podium and the wooden apparatus exploded. The crowd yelled and screamed.
Imperator, clutching Kennedy, had flown up to the ceiling. He wrenched a chandelier loose and hurled it toward the Black Sun agent.
The glass shattered against the agent and a million shards of crystal caused the agent's shieldsuit to overload. A thousand volts of unleashed electricity skittered acros the short-circuiting suit and the agent cried in pain.
"Imperator!! Who..or what are they?" asked Kennedy.
"The Black Sun, sir. Hitler's legacy. We've got to get you and the crowd out of here," said Imperator.
"Don't worry about me. Just help the crowd," yelled Kennedy.
Imperator nodded and turned to see the woman in the flowery dress and the businessman aiming their pistols at him and the candidate.
"Hold on, sir!" said Imperator.
TO BE CONTINUED....
He kept the nearest agent in view but concentrated on the chubby youth. The youth was clapping loudly and gradually moving through the excited crowd.
On stage, Kennedy was about to address the crowd once more. As the politician opened his mouth, the Black Sun agent raised his left arm.
Reality flickered around the agent's hand and a strange-looking pistol materialised. Imperator's eyes darted around the crowd, amazed that no-one else could see the weapon.
"Damned shieldsuit must be throwing out some form of projection field," thought Imperator.
It was then that the agent's eyes pulsed with red light and he squeezed the trigger on his pistol.
A bolt of dazzling green fire belched from the weapon's nozzle. Imperator breathed in and launched himself towards JFK.
Having slipped the shackles of gravity, Imperator flew at the candidate, snatched him up and away from the bolt of flame.
The flame struck the podium and the wooden apparatus exploded. The crowd yelled and screamed.
Imperator, clutching Kennedy, had flown up to the ceiling. He wrenched a chandelier loose and hurled it toward the Black Sun agent.
The glass shattered against the agent and a million shards of crystal caused the agent's shieldsuit to overload. A thousand volts of unleashed electricity skittered acros the short-circuiting suit and the agent cried in pain.
"Imperator!! Who..or what are they?" asked Kennedy.
"The Black Sun, sir. Hitler's legacy. We've got to get you and the crowd out of here," said Imperator.
"Don't worry about me. Just help the crowd," yelled Kennedy.
Imperator nodded and turned to see the woman in the flowery dress and the businessman aiming their pistols at him and the candidate.
"Hold on, sir!" said Imperator.
TO BE CONTINUED....
Thursday 5 August 2010
AMERICA DREAMING EPISODE 2
The conference hall was cavernous and bedecked with posters, banners and balloons adorned with Kennedy's smiling face. The slogan JFK '60 was splashed on all the bunting.
As the presidential candidate stepped onto the stage at the far end of the hall, the room exploded into applause, cheers and chanting.
Democrat party workers, press officers, holidaymakers, Democrat supporters and the curious were enraptured as Kennedy approached the wooden podium in the centre of the stage.
Imperator stood just off Kennedy's left shoulder as flashbulbs filled the room with dazzling splashes of light.
It took nearly ten minutes for the applause and hubbub to calm down. Once the hall was reasonably quiet, Kennedy smiled widely, if a tad nervously, and leaned toward the cluster of microphones mounted on the podium.
"My fellow Americans, ladies and gentlemen of the press and all the devoted workers, both here in Las Vegas and out on the campaign trail, I want to say thank you for your support and tireless effort," said JFK.
The room once more erupted into loud applause. Kennedy smiled and nodded.
"It is a new decade. America, and the world, is waking up from history and we must put the doubts, prejudices and fears of the past behind us for we stand on the edge of a new frontier, one shining with promise, hope and potential," spoke the handsome man aiming to become president.
And again the people in the hall cheered and clapped. More flashbulbs went off.
As the glare from the flashbulbs faded, Imperator found himself drawn to certain individuals around the hall.
A man in a grey business man, a blonde woman in a flowery dress and a chubby youth in a varsity sweater. As Imperator looked at these three and others he found it hard to focus. The individuals seemed to flicker like images on a badly-tuned TV.
It hurt to look at thsee people for too long but Imperator had to. He sensed something was amiss with these people.
He adjusted his hearing, raising it into the upper etheric frequencies. There, there it was. The whine of shieldsuits, the stealth armour used by agents of the Order of the Black Sun.
Nazi fanatics, mingling with the crowd!
Imperator glanced over at Kennedy. He would have to get the presidential candicate out of here as soon as possible.
TO BE CONTINUED...
As the presidential candidate stepped onto the stage at the far end of the hall, the room exploded into applause, cheers and chanting.
Democrat party workers, press officers, holidaymakers, Democrat supporters and the curious were enraptured as Kennedy approached the wooden podium in the centre of the stage.
Imperator stood just off Kennedy's left shoulder as flashbulbs filled the room with dazzling splashes of light.
It took nearly ten minutes for the applause and hubbub to calm down. Once the hall was reasonably quiet, Kennedy smiled widely, if a tad nervously, and leaned toward the cluster of microphones mounted on the podium.
"My fellow Americans, ladies and gentlemen of the press and all the devoted workers, both here in Las Vegas and out on the campaign trail, I want to say thank you for your support and tireless effort," said JFK.
The room once more erupted into loud applause. Kennedy smiled and nodded.
"It is a new decade. America, and the world, is waking up from history and we must put the doubts, prejudices and fears of the past behind us for we stand on the edge of a new frontier, one shining with promise, hope and potential," spoke the handsome man aiming to become president.
And again the people in the hall cheered and clapped. More flashbulbs went off.
As the glare from the flashbulbs faded, Imperator found himself drawn to certain individuals around the hall.
A man in a grey business man, a blonde woman in a flowery dress and a chubby youth in a varsity sweater. As Imperator looked at these three and others he found it hard to focus. The individuals seemed to flicker like images on a badly-tuned TV.
It hurt to look at thsee people for too long but Imperator had to. He sensed something was amiss with these people.
He adjusted his hearing, raising it into the upper etheric frequencies. There, there it was. The whine of shieldsuits, the stealth armour used by agents of the Order of the Black Sun.
Nazi fanatics, mingling with the crowd!
Imperator glanced over at Kennedy. He would have to get the presidential candicate out of here as soon as possible.
TO BE CONTINUED...
ABOVE AND BEYOND: ENTER THE DUKES OF STRATOSPHEAR
(This is an article I wrote last year and as you'll see I really cut loose....)
Picture the scene. It’s a late summer afternoon in 1967, somewhere deep in the lush English countryside. Children wave union jack flags and a brass band plays on a village green as the musical adventurers known as The Dukes Of Stratosphear prepare to board their ornate, Art Nouveau flying machine to explore the outer limits of the psychedelic universe.
And we have a message from the Dukes themselves, featured in the liner notes from their first album 25 O'Clock, recently re-released: "The Dukes say it's time. It's time to visit the planet Smile. It's time the Love Bomb was dropped.
"It's time to eat music. It's time to kiss the sun. It's time to drown yourself in soundgasm and it's time to dance through the mirror.
"The Dukes declare it's 25 O'Clock."
The Dukes Of Stratosphear, a 60s psychedelia pop band headed by Sir John Johns, whose manager Mitch Mengele, when interviewed by the BBC in 1985, announced that the band were gearing up to play concerts in Wales and Cornwall as soon as he returned from a holiday in Barbados.
Mengele did not come home from Barbados and the Dukes never played those concerts because it was one of British music's greatest in-jokes writ large.
The Dukes were, in fact, a side project by XTC of Senses Working Overtime fame.
Out of kilter with the musical trends of the mid-80s and the over-produced sound of Trevor Horn et al, XTC channelled their undeniable talents into the creation of a faux psychedelic band.
It was a conceit that tickled XTC mainstay Andy Partridge who had managed to convince Virgin to free up £5000 so he could he create a record that sounded as if it had come out in 1967.
And with producer John Leckie he eagerly went to work. The result was the successful 25 O'Clock released in 1985.
The LP drew plaudits from Tears For Fears who adored the Beatles-esque single The Mole From The Ministry, echoes of which can clearly be heard on their own 60s-styled epic Sowing The Seeds Of Love from 1989.
The Stone Roses also demonstrated their fondness for the Dukes when they asked John Leckie to make them sound like the aristocrats of the air when recording in 1988.
In 1987 the Dukes, who are vocalist Sir John Johns, bassist The Red Curtain, organist Lord Cornelius Plum and drummer E I E I Owen, returned with Psonic Psunspot.
Now both albums have been re-released in fantastic pocket-sized cases which resemble children's storybooks.
The Dukes re-issues are the opening salvo of an XTC revival as EMI, who own most of the band's back catalogue plan on releasing three albums during the summer - English Settlement, Skylarking and Oranges And Lemons.
25 O'Clock, circa 2009, is a cracking package containing the six tracks from the 1985 original mini-album and a plethora of demos including the superb 80s as imagined by the 60s song My Love Explodes and the Ringo Starr-like nasally vocals of Susan Revolving.
There's a nice dollop of extra recordings on the CD too with the demented Doors-go-cabaret Black Jewelled Serpent Of Sound being a laugh out loud delight of OTT proportions.
Returning to the album proper; there's the 60s superspy playground machismo motifs of the title track with wonderfully overwrought lyrics like "The ticking seconds hear them call/My spell of hours will make you fall" and "At 25 o'clock, that's when you're going to be mine."
In the liner notes for 25 O'Clock, Andy Partridge says: "This psilly psong [sic] is about juvenile possession, teenage control and time all coming undone."
The next two tracks are the Laughing Gnome-era Bowie trippy warmth of Bike Ride To The Moon and the epic fuzziness of My Love Explodes, which underscores psych pomposity with a delicious garage urgency.
Wallowing in the Dukes' output is fun and the perfect way to spend an afternoon, and as you nod conspiratorially with the perfect aping of 60s musical tropes perpetrated by Andy Partridge and his comrades you understand just how restricted he and the rest of XTC must have felt during the 80s.
As the Dukes, XTC were able to express themselves far better and influenced at least one prevailing soundscape of the late 80s and early 90s.
The penultimate track on the main section of 25 O'Clock is Your Gold Dress.
A summer groover with suitably dark undercurrents that is a tribute to keyboardist Nicky Hopkins whose keys, mellotron and Hammond organ provide the heart to 60s classic Their Satanic Majesties Request.
And when you listen you'll hear how the Stone Roses, Blur and even Pulp, draw upon that sunshiney July vibe albeit with sinister, top-hatted figures with chalk white faces lurking under the weeping willow to unsettle the idyll.
The Mole From The Ministry is a sprawling epic that feels much, much longer than four minutes and 45 seconds thanks to the sumptuous, temporal molasses quality inherent in the music and the disturbing air given to it by the inserted homespun homilies of Benjamin Franklin.
Commenting on this track in his notes, Andy Partridge says: "No great daft Mad Hatter of a song like this would be complete without lots of indecipherable babble in the background so a trip to a local junk shop supplied an album of the phrases of Benjamin Franklin."
Follow-up LP Psonic Psunspot, released in the blue-eyed soul and Stock Aitken and Waterman saturated days of 1987, is the Dukes' take on a 60s concept album with the owner of the studio's well-spoken daughter Lily reading some Alice In Wonderland-esque whimsy around the tracks.
In fact, Psonic Psunspot merged the reality of XTC with the mythology of the Dukes as the album contains You're My Drug from the former's early days in 1978 and a couple of rejected tracks from 1984's The Big Express and 1986's Skylarking.
Ironically, it was the financial success of Skylarking that had put XTC back in Virgin's good books. As a result, the record company decided it was time for another Dukes album.
Andy Partridge takes up the story in his notes: "Our initial response was to say well no, actually.
"The whole raison d'être of the Dukes was to be low-tech, religiously retro and anti-modern in every way. Odd then, that it took the record company the barest minimum of arm-twisting in order to change our minds.
"In the spring of 1987, with another ten songs written, and with John and Ian on board, we loaded our cars and headed for Cornwall to record the full-length LP."
And it's quite an LP. There's the mock 60s rock opera quality of a concept album running throughout, with the songs which ooze verisimilitude, ably adding to the feeling that Psonic Psunspot was released in 1968 with an eye on the American market.
Tracks such as the foreboding Collideascope and the cosmopolitan, sun-kissed You're My Drug, the XTC number dating back to the late 70s, being two examples of this bold new direction being embraced by the Dukes.
Whereas You're A Good Man Albert Brown shamelessly revels in the Kinks and the Small Faces' tradition of British music hall bawdiness heard in Sunny Afternoon, Dedicated Follower Of Fashion and Lazy Sunday.
As with 25 O'Clock, there's a smattering of demos that kick off with the relaxed Squeeze-like No One At Home which could easily be a song receiving airplay nowadays on Radio 2.
Next up is Little Lighthouse, on both the main album and in the demo section, described by Partridge as a "mighty mess", it had been intended for Skylarking but oozing the ambience of the Dukes, it made more sense to feature it on Psonic Psunspot.
Commenting on Little Lighthouse, Partridge says: "This slice of ersatz West Coast pop is probably saved from out and out mimicry by the very complex chords in the verse."
Demos of Collideascope and Brainiac's Daughter follow. Both tracks have merits but it's apparent why these cuts are demos when compared with the actual versions.
Thus we have the Dukes Of Stratosphear, a glorious experiment in faux 60s psych-pop fashioned in the excess of the 80s and restored for the Noughties. Nice to have you back, sirs. A little something extra in your tea, perhaps?
Picture the scene. It’s a late summer afternoon in 1967, somewhere deep in the lush English countryside. Children wave union jack flags and a brass band plays on a village green as the musical adventurers known as The Dukes Of Stratosphear prepare to board their ornate, Art Nouveau flying machine to explore the outer limits of the psychedelic universe.
And we have a message from the Dukes themselves, featured in the liner notes from their first album 25 O'Clock, recently re-released: "The Dukes say it's time. It's time to visit the planet Smile. It's time the Love Bomb was dropped.
"It's time to eat music. It's time to kiss the sun. It's time to drown yourself in soundgasm and it's time to dance through the mirror.
"The Dukes declare it's 25 O'Clock."
The Dukes Of Stratosphear, a 60s psychedelia pop band headed by Sir John Johns, whose manager Mitch Mengele, when interviewed by the BBC in 1985, announced that the band were gearing up to play concerts in Wales and Cornwall as soon as he returned from a holiday in Barbados.
Mengele did not come home from Barbados and the Dukes never played those concerts because it was one of British music's greatest in-jokes writ large.
The Dukes were, in fact, a side project by XTC of Senses Working Overtime fame.
Out of kilter with the musical trends of the mid-80s and the over-produced sound of Trevor Horn et al, XTC channelled their undeniable talents into the creation of a faux psychedelic band.
It was a conceit that tickled XTC mainstay Andy Partridge who had managed to convince Virgin to free up £5000 so he could he create a record that sounded as if it had come out in 1967.
And with producer John Leckie he eagerly went to work. The result was the successful 25 O'Clock released in 1985.
The LP drew plaudits from Tears For Fears who adored the Beatles-esque single The Mole From The Ministry, echoes of which can clearly be heard on their own 60s-styled epic Sowing The Seeds Of Love from 1989.
The Stone Roses also demonstrated their fondness for the Dukes when they asked John Leckie to make them sound like the aristocrats of the air when recording in 1988.
In 1987 the Dukes, who are vocalist Sir John Johns, bassist The Red Curtain, organist Lord Cornelius Plum and drummer E I E I Owen, returned with Psonic Psunspot.
Now both albums have been re-released in fantastic pocket-sized cases which resemble children's storybooks.
The Dukes re-issues are the opening salvo of an XTC revival as EMI, who own most of the band's back catalogue plan on releasing three albums during the summer - English Settlement, Skylarking and Oranges And Lemons.
25 O'Clock, circa 2009, is a cracking package containing the six tracks from the 1985 original mini-album and a plethora of demos including the superb 80s as imagined by the 60s song My Love Explodes and the Ringo Starr-like nasally vocals of Susan Revolving.
There's a nice dollop of extra recordings on the CD too with the demented Doors-go-cabaret Black Jewelled Serpent Of Sound being a laugh out loud delight of OTT proportions.
Returning to the album proper; there's the 60s superspy playground machismo motifs of the title track with wonderfully overwrought lyrics like "The ticking seconds hear them call/My spell of hours will make you fall" and "At 25 o'clock, that's when you're going to be mine."
In the liner notes for 25 O'Clock, Andy Partridge says: "This psilly psong [sic] is about juvenile possession, teenage control and time all coming undone."
The next two tracks are the Laughing Gnome-era Bowie trippy warmth of Bike Ride To The Moon and the epic fuzziness of My Love Explodes, which underscores psych pomposity with a delicious garage urgency.
Wallowing in the Dukes' output is fun and the perfect way to spend an afternoon, and as you nod conspiratorially with the perfect aping of 60s musical tropes perpetrated by Andy Partridge and his comrades you understand just how restricted he and the rest of XTC must have felt during the 80s.
As the Dukes, XTC were able to express themselves far better and influenced at least one prevailing soundscape of the late 80s and early 90s.
The penultimate track on the main section of 25 O'Clock is Your Gold Dress.
A summer groover with suitably dark undercurrents that is a tribute to keyboardist Nicky Hopkins whose keys, mellotron and Hammond organ provide the heart to 60s classic Their Satanic Majesties Request.
And when you listen you'll hear how the Stone Roses, Blur and even Pulp, draw upon that sunshiney July vibe albeit with sinister, top-hatted figures with chalk white faces lurking under the weeping willow to unsettle the idyll.
The Mole From The Ministry is a sprawling epic that feels much, much longer than four minutes and 45 seconds thanks to the sumptuous, temporal molasses quality inherent in the music and the disturbing air given to it by the inserted homespun homilies of Benjamin Franklin.
Commenting on this track in his notes, Andy Partridge says: "No great daft Mad Hatter of a song like this would be complete without lots of indecipherable babble in the background so a trip to a local junk shop supplied an album of the phrases of Benjamin Franklin."
Follow-up LP Psonic Psunspot, released in the blue-eyed soul and Stock Aitken and Waterman saturated days of 1987, is the Dukes' take on a 60s concept album with the owner of the studio's well-spoken daughter Lily reading some Alice In Wonderland-esque whimsy around the tracks.
In fact, Psonic Psunspot merged the reality of XTC with the mythology of the Dukes as the album contains You're My Drug from the former's early days in 1978 and a couple of rejected tracks from 1984's The Big Express and 1986's Skylarking.
Ironically, it was the financial success of Skylarking that had put XTC back in Virgin's good books. As a result, the record company decided it was time for another Dukes album.
Andy Partridge takes up the story in his notes: "Our initial response was to say well no, actually.
"The whole raison d'être of the Dukes was to be low-tech, religiously retro and anti-modern in every way. Odd then, that it took the record company the barest minimum of arm-twisting in order to change our minds.
"In the spring of 1987, with another ten songs written, and with John and Ian on board, we loaded our cars and headed for Cornwall to record the full-length LP."
And it's quite an LP. There's the mock 60s rock opera quality of a concept album running throughout, with the songs which ooze verisimilitude, ably adding to the feeling that Psonic Psunspot was released in 1968 with an eye on the American market.
Tracks such as the foreboding Collideascope and the cosmopolitan, sun-kissed You're My Drug, the XTC number dating back to the late 70s, being two examples of this bold new direction being embraced by the Dukes.
Whereas You're A Good Man Albert Brown shamelessly revels in the Kinks and the Small Faces' tradition of British music hall bawdiness heard in Sunny Afternoon, Dedicated Follower Of Fashion and Lazy Sunday.
As with 25 O'Clock, there's a smattering of demos that kick off with the relaxed Squeeze-like No One At Home which could easily be a song receiving airplay nowadays on Radio 2.
Next up is Little Lighthouse, on both the main album and in the demo section, described by Partridge as a "mighty mess", it had been intended for Skylarking but oozing the ambience of the Dukes, it made more sense to feature it on Psonic Psunspot.
Commenting on Little Lighthouse, Partridge says: "This slice of ersatz West Coast pop is probably saved from out and out mimicry by the very complex chords in the verse."
Demos of Collideascope and Brainiac's Daughter follow. Both tracks have merits but it's apparent why these cuts are demos when compared with the actual versions.
Thus we have the Dukes Of Stratosphear, a glorious experiment in faux 60s psych-pop fashioned in the excess of the 80s and restored for the Noughties. Nice to have you back, sirs. A little something extra in your tea, perhaps?
Battle For Britain: An Interview with new author Andy Johnson
The following is an interview I conducted with new writer Andy Johnson. With this summer being the 70th anniversary of the Battle of Britain, I thought it'd be an ideal time to run it....
BRITAIN INVADED!!!
The date is September 21st 1940, in the dark days of World War II, and the Germans' Operation Sealion, the invasion of Great Britain, is underway.
This is the premise of Seelöwe Nord, a thrilling, detailed and cinematic novel from new author Andy Johnson. Written with the 70th anniversary of the Battle of Britain in mind, Seelöwe Nord postulates what would have happened had the Germans been able to get a foothold on mainland Britain in the late summer of 1940.
The author, Andy Johnson, a former regimental sergeant major in the renowned Coldstream Guards, brings 24 years' worth of military experience to his writing, which crackles with the earthy dialogue and 'getting on with it' attitude of fighting men and machines with a job to do.
Johnson, who joined the British Army aged 16, retired in 2009 after serving in Northern Ireland, the Balkans, Iraq and Afghanistan.
He was born and educated in the city of York and draws upon his upbringing in and around east Yorkshire as the setting for his novel. The writer also incorporates his love of military history into the book, as he said: "In the wholly historical context, it's accurate.
"The period in the book, the 20th to 25th September 1940, was the high point for the invasion threat to Britain. And if you read the war diaries of the British commanders they were literally up all night thinking: 'It's going to be tonight.'
"All our intelligence suggests it was going to happen somewhere on the south coast, which was the original German plan, somewhere between Folkestone down to Southampton."
"So the context is accurate," he continues. "The German order of battle is almost exactly as it was. The layout of British forces was almost exactly as I describe it in the book.
"I have made up some fictional British regiments and placed them where there were real regiments.
"I haven't changed the amount of troops in any one place. I've just changed the names because where something happens in the book I didn't want to offend the reputation of a good, well-known British regiment that still exists.
"In terms of fiction, what I've done is given the Germans the bonus of crossing the North Sea. But the reality is, we didn't know where they'd land, it could've been anywhere, from Scotland to Wales. We were pretty paranoid as a nation."
According to Andy, the Germans would have left from Norway onboard their destroyers.
"What I've done, with artistic licence, is given them passage across the North Sea," he explains. "They've managed to pull it off and I've put them on the east coast of Britain.
"There's a number of reasons for that. Firstly, the original thought of the British commanders after Dunkirk was that the Germans would land on the east coast.
"They thought that would be where the Germans would come across as the east coast has some very good beaches, and because it would be a very short dash from there to the industrial Midlands.
"And the other reason is due to the fact that I know that whole stretch of the country rather well."
As a boy, Andy used to holiday in places like Filey Bay and he recalls seeing pill boxes there and wondering what they were for.
It wasn't until he was older that he realised that Britain had faced an invasion from Nazi Germany and how the whole of the UK had become a fortress in anticipation of such an event.
Andy added: "And there was the GHQ, general headquarters, which was the final line of defence if the Germans had landed, about 30 to 40 miles inland and it ran parallel to the coast.
"It followed the Ouse down to the Humber and followed the line of the Derwent."
In his final year in the army, Andy had the concept of the German invasion of the east coast in mind for a military exercise. He wanted to employ the idea for an exercise training non-commissioned officers, however it was never realised.
"Because of operational reasons, the boys got deployed to Afghanistan then my retirement hit me and I never got the chance to do the exercise," he elaborates.
"But I had this whole thing in my head, and I'd been trying to write books for years, and it occurred to me that this year was the 70th anniversary of everything I was talking about.
"So after a considerable amount of time pressure, I sat down last March and just ploughed into it. That's where the book comes from, basically."
The novel sizzles with very cinematic action sequences that are character-driven, from both the British and German forces' points of view, as the following extract demonstrates:
"Koch suddenly found himself on the edge of a ditch and half-jumped, half-fell into it, landing heavily and biting his tongue in the process.
'Ah, f**k!' He swore, then, seeing something writhing on the floor and moaning, he emptied a short burst into the figure. Just to his left there was an ear-splitting scream and he whirled around, his heart hammering with fright.
In a split second, he recognised the figure of Corporal Braun leaning back against the side of the ditch as a Tommy soldier drove his bayonet deep into the German's guts."
The author also respects the German military in the book, as he explained: "The reality is, in 1940 the Germans had completely revolutionised the science of war.
"They'd already proved that several times over, seizing Norway the way they did, and they were in Poland, across the Low Countries, and they were in France. So even at that early stage of the war, the Germans were completely revolutionising war.
"We did get proper paranoid about it, y'know, and maybe thought a little too much of them but they were a very competent war machine, and had they put more commitment into Operation Sealion, they would've stood a very good fighting chance, I reckon."
Seelöwe Nord is chockfull of gripping and all-too-human characters, ranging from Winston Churchill to the British and German soldiers fighting it out on the ground.
Regarding characters, Andy said: "No-one in the book is based on a single individual apart from one character who's based on a very good friend of mine," said the writer with a smile. "He'll know who he is.
"Other than that, I haven't thought: 'Oh, ‘he'll be in the book’ and I've put his name in.'
"But over 24 years in the army, you get to meet a lot of characters and within every army you always get your jokers and your absolutely obsessed professionals.
"You get your guy who is a tough, Victorian father type, who is actually a good bloke, so you get all these characters and I was very keen to give them all a bit of vulnerability in a way, because in war films and Playstation games people seem to think of soldiers as robots, who every time they fire a weapon they hit a target, that kind of thing.
"And I just wanted people to understand that, not only that the soldiers were very real, but actually the nature of infantry warfare is very, very chaotic.
"And from my own experiences, half the time I've been shot at I don't know who has been shooting at me!"
Chaos and long periods of boredom appear to define the life of an infantryman as Andy elaborates: "You can spend hour after hour at night on sentry in Iraq, you can go on patrol in Afghanistan a dozen times and see nothing.
"But when it happens, it's lightning-quick. A man drops down, his life ended. No final last words, he just drops dead.
"And when it calms down, you're left feeling drained and disoriented, that's what war is like.
"I've lost a lot of friends in Afghanistan, but, y'know, it's in the nature of what we do, and me and my friends accept it.
"The way I see it, and one of the reasons for writing this book, is that 70 years ago we were on the verge of being invaded and losing all our freedoms.
"And the threat to Britain's security is as severe now as it was in 1940. It's just that it comes in a different way, and we don't quite register it because we're fighting these two wars in distant lands and we haven't got bombs dropping on our heads, so to speak. It is very hard to understand the threat.
"So I just wanted to say in a way that freedom costs at the end of the day. In 1940, when conscription was starting, a lot of people would've been thinking: 'What do I care about Germany? This isn't my business.'
"But if we hadn't done our bit we wouldn't be living the way we live now. I think, in a way, I just wanted to prick people's consciences."
Commenting on Britain's involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan, Andy said: "You can go on about whether it was legal or illegal but the fact is there are bad countries out there which host bad organisations, which will eventually impact on life here in the UK.
"Regardless of the minor political squabbles regarding Iraq and Afghanistan, I've been there. I've seen British soldiers do good stuff for the people of Iraq and seen their lives improved.
"Yes, there has been unfortunate incidents and casualties, but in the long term, I'm convinced that what we're doing is right.
"If someone doesn't deal with it now, then our grandchildren will have to deal with it, against nuclear powers, in 30 years' time."
Returning to his book, Andy said he started writing it in March 2009 and finished it in November, sending it to the publisher at the end of the month.
Getting your book published is a struggle for first time authors, and Andy is no exception.
"It was really unusual," he explained. "I wanted to get it to a major publisher, who would, y'know, pay me a certain amount and publish the book on my behalf, get some royalties and do all the business for me.
"But in the publishing world there's a certain amount of snobbery about submissions. You have to get an agent. Submit it, get a refusal from a publisher, then you have to play one off against the other.
"That could, potentially, take years and I was determined that if this book was ever going to be a success it would be in this anniversary year.
"So I thought the only way I'll get this published is to do self-assisted publishing, and I was looking at some companies who would look affordable to me.
"By happy coincidence, a friend who works in the youth service said they'e got a friend who runs a publishing company.
"I wrote into them with a proposal, slightly wary because they tend to publish religious books and I was conscious of the swearing in my book. So I was amazed to get an email one Sunday morning saying they were more than happy to publish the book.
"The process was so user-friendly, it was unbelievable. It is a fantastic company. So I would say that self-assisted publishing, with print on demand, is fantastic."
Thus far Seelowe Nord has been available to buy on Amazon and knocked two Bernard Cornwell books into touch in war books sales charts for February.
"It seems to be going quite well," Andy comments. "I know a lot of people from my time in the army, so there's a lot of old comrades who've bought the book.
"And it will appeal, predominantly, to ex-soldiers and those serving in the army. I've had a few people who have said it's bang on the money."
Writing has always been something Andy has enjoyed and after receiving glowing praise from high-ranking officers in the military for penning some factual pieces, Andy's confidence was bolstered, as he says: "If I'm to be honest, that's what gave me the confidence to plunge into getting a book published."
Andy, a fan of military history, which shines through in his book, admits also to being an old romantic, saying that if he had been in the American Civil War, he would have been a Confederate; "I like the idea of fighting for a lost cause, of being up against the odds."
Andy is currently working on a new book, a pre-Celtic, Bronze Age mythology-style novel.
"That's a labour of love. It started one misty day when I was misted-in at an observation post in Northern Ireland in 1996. I was surrounded by all these old stone circle sort of things."
Andy's love for military fiction can be traced back to him receiving a raft of Leo Kessler books one Christmas when he was in his early teens.
In later years, Andy discovered the first Sharpe novel by Bernard Cornwell in the 80s and Andy highly rates Cornwell's Arthurian trilogy, too.
"I read very widely - history, fantasy fiction, archaeology, and war diaries fascinate me," he goes on.
"And what finally persuaded me to write Seelöwe Nord was reading Alan Brooke's war diaries, as there's so much fantastic detail in there.
"I've been able to put a lot of these details about critical points in this nation's history into the novel, like Brooke's relationship with Churchill," said Andy.
The following extract gives some insight into the two men's relationship with one another:
"The Prime Minister was sitting a small writing bureau, dressed in his air force blue battle-dress style suit which he often wore. Next to him, General 'Pug' Ismay, his military attaché, was standing attentively by.
The room was heavy with cigar smoke, which Brooke found irritating. Winston Churchill, the new, inspirational, and in Brooke's opinion, slightly eccentric Prime Minister, turned to face them."
Seelöwe Nord bristles with knockout battle action from close quarters fighting on land to breakneck sea engagements, although the latter did concern Andy somewhat.
He explains: "To be honest, the only bits [of the writing] that worried me were the naval sequences because I'm not a naval man. I had to do a lot of reading for those sequences.
"The bulk of the book was so easy to write as it was rolling war story, action sequence after action sequence.
"I found them very easy to write. I really wanted to make people understand that this isn't like a Rambo film, with one man taking out 20 guys.
"And as you read through the book I've tried to put in many personal little things, like losing a tooth after smashing it on the butt of your gun or skinning your knuckles every time you cock your weapon."
Andy's favourite character throughout the novel is a German soldier called Corporal Nuemark. Despite being foul-mouthed, the soldier is a consummate professional.
Remarking on Nuemark, Andy said: "He's just like so many people I've come across in my time in the army. Chunters all day about what he's got to do but will go and do it very well. I found myself chuckling as wrote I some of his dialogue."
Unfortunately, Andy had to sacrifice some of the book's expansive page count to get it down to a publishable size, in the process having to cut Nuemark's 'screen' time.
However, Andy has a prequel sketched out which would show Nuemark in France and the Low Countries.
Andy has also undertaken for a percentage of the profits from Seelöwe Nord to be donated to military charities, the Army Benevolent Fund and his old regiment, the Coldstream Guards.
"I thought I'd write a fictional novel about something from a long time ago and make it readable for soldiers," he adds.
"And the least I could do for my friends over there fighting, and in some cases dying, was to give something to the organisation that looked after me very well for a quarter of a century and gave me a great career."
BRITAIN INVADED!!!
The date is September 21st 1940, in the dark days of World War II, and the Germans' Operation Sealion, the invasion of Great Britain, is underway.
This is the premise of Seelöwe Nord, a thrilling, detailed and cinematic novel from new author Andy Johnson. Written with the 70th anniversary of the Battle of Britain in mind, Seelöwe Nord postulates what would have happened had the Germans been able to get a foothold on mainland Britain in the late summer of 1940.
The author, Andy Johnson, a former regimental sergeant major in the renowned Coldstream Guards, brings 24 years' worth of military experience to his writing, which crackles with the earthy dialogue and 'getting on with it' attitude of fighting men and machines with a job to do.
Johnson, who joined the British Army aged 16, retired in 2009 after serving in Northern Ireland, the Balkans, Iraq and Afghanistan.
He was born and educated in the city of York and draws upon his upbringing in and around east Yorkshire as the setting for his novel. The writer also incorporates his love of military history into the book, as he said: "In the wholly historical context, it's accurate.
"The period in the book, the 20th to 25th September 1940, was the high point for the invasion threat to Britain. And if you read the war diaries of the British commanders they were literally up all night thinking: 'It's going to be tonight.'
"All our intelligence suggests it was going to happen somewhere on the south coast, which was the original German plan, somewhere between Folkestone down to Southampton."
"So the context is accurate," he continues. "The German order of battle is almost exactly as it was. The layout of British forces was almost exactly as I describe it in the book.
"I have made up some fictional British regiments and placed them where there were real regiments.
"I haven't changed the amount of troops in any one place. I've just changed the names because where something happens in the book I didn't want to offend the reputation of a good, well-known British regiment that still exists.
"In terms of fiction, what I've done is given the Germans the bonus of crossing the North Sea. But the reality is, we didn't know where they'd land, it could've been anywhere, from Scotland to Wales. We were pretty paranoid as a nation."
According to Andy, the Germans would have left from Norway onboard their destroyers.
"What I've done, with artistic licence, is given them passage across the North Sea," he explains. "They've managed to pull it off and I've put them on the east coast of Britain.
"There's a number of reasons for that. Firstly, the original thought of the British commanders after Dunkirk was that the Germans would land on the east coast.
"They thought that would be where the Germans would come across as the east coast has some very good beaches, and because it would be a very short dash from there to the industrial Midlands.
"And the other reason is due to the fact that I know that whole stretch of the country rather well."
As a boy, Andy used to holiday in places like Filey Bay and he recalls seeing pill boxes there and wondering what they were for.
It wasn't until he was older that he realised that Britain had faced an invasion from Nazi Germany and how the whole of the UK had become a fortress in anticipation of such an event.
Andy added: "And there was the GHQ, general headquarters, which was the final line of defence if the Germans had landed, about 30 to 40 miles inland and it ran parallel to the coast.
"It followed the Ouse down to the Humber and followed the line of the Derwent."
In his final year in the army, Andy had the concept of the German invasion of the east coast in mind for a military exercise. He wanted to employ the idea for an exercise training non-commissioned officers, however it was never realised.
"Because of operational reasons, the boys got deployed to Afghanistan then my retirement hit me and I never got the chance to do the exercise," he elaborates.
"But I had this whole thing in my head, and I'd been trying to write books for years, and it occurred to me that this year was the 70th anniversary of everything I was talking about.
"So after a considerable amount of time pressure, I sat down last March and just ploughed into it. That's where the book comes from, basically."
The novel sizzles with very cinematic action sequences that are character-driven, from both the British and German forces' points of view, as the following extract demonstrates:
"Koch suddenly found himself on the edge of a ditch and half-jumped, half-fell into it, landing heavily and biting his tongue in the process.
'Ah, f**k!' He swore, then, seeing something writhing on the floor and moaning, he emptied a short burst into the figure. Just to his left there was an ear-splitting scream and he whirled around, his heart hammering with fright.
In a split second, he recognised the figure of Corporal Braun leaning back against the side of the ditch as a Tommy soldier drove his bayonet deep into the German's guts."
The author also respects the German military in the book, as he explained: "The reality is, in 1940 the Germans had completely revolutionised the science of war.
"They'd already proved that several times over, seizing Norway the way they did, and they were in Poland, across the Low Countries, and they were in France. So even at that early stage of the war, the Germans were completely revolutionising war.
"We did get proper paranoid about it, y'know, and maybe thought a little too much of them but they were a very competent war machine, and had they put more commitment into Operation Sealion, they would've stood a very good fighting chance, I reckon."
Seelöwe Nord is chockfull of gripping and all-too-human characters, ranging from Winston Churchill to the British and German soldiers fighting it out on the ground.
Regarding characters, Andy said: "No-one in the book is based on a single individual apart from one character who's based on a very good friend of mine," said the writer with a smile. "He'll know who he is.
"Other than that, I haven't thought: 'Oh, ‘he'll be in the book’ and I've put his name in.'
"But over 24 years in the army, you get to meet a lot of characters and within every army you always get your jokers and your absolutely obsessed professionals.
"You get your guy who is a tough, Victorian father type, who is actually a good bloke, so you get all these characters and I was very keen to give them all a bit of vulnerability in a way, because in war films and Playstation games people seem to think of soldiers as robots, who every time they fire a weapon they hit a target, that kind of thing.
"And I just wanted people to understand that, not only that the soldiers were very real, but actually the nature of infantry warfare is very, very chaotic.
"And from my own experiences, half the time I've been shot at I don't know who has been shooting at me!"
Chaos and long periods of boredom appear to define the life of an infantryman as Andy elaborates: "You can spend hour after hour at night on sentry in Iraq, you can go on patrol in Afghanistan a dozen times and see nothing.
"But when it happens, it's lightning-quick. A man drops down, his life ended. No final last words, he just drops dead.
"And when it calms down, you're left feeling drained and disoriented, that's what war is like.
"I've lost a lot of friends in Afghanistan, but, y'know, it's in the nature of what we do, and me and my friends accept it.
"The way I see it, and one of the reasons for writing this book, is that 70 years ago we were on the verge of being invaded and losing all our freedoms.
"And the threat to Britain's security is as severe now as it was in 1940. It's just that it comes in a different way, and we don't quite register it because we're fighting these two wars in distant lands and we haven't got bombs dropping on our heads, so to speak. It is very hard to understand the threat.
"So I just wanted to say in a way that freedom costs at the end of the day. In 1940, when conscription was starting, a lot of people would've been thinking: 'What do I care about Germany? This isn't my business.'
"But if we hadn't done our bit we wouldn't be living the way we live now. I think, in a way, I just wanted to prick people's consciences."
Commenting on Britain's involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan, Andy said: "You can go on about whether it was legal or illegal but the fact is there are bad countries out there which host bad organisations, which will eventually impact on life here in the UK.
"Regardless of the minor political squabbles regarding Iraq and Afghanistan, I've been there. I've seen British soldiers do good stuff for the people of Iraq and seen their lives improved.
"Yes, there has been unfortunate incidents and casualties, but in the long term, I'm convinced that what we're doing is right.
"If someone doesn't deal with it now, then our grandchildren will have to deal with it, against nuclear powers, in 30 years' time."
Returning to his book, Andy said he started writing it in March 2009 and finished it in November, sending it to the publisher at the end of the month.
Getting your book published is a struggle for first time authors, and Andy is no exception.
"It was really unusual," he explained. "I wanted to get it to a major publisher, who would, y'know, pay me a certain amount and publish the book on my behalf, get some royalties and do all the business for me.
"But in the publishing world there's a certain amount of snobbery about submissions. You have to get an agent. Submit it, get a refusal from a publisher, then you have to play one off against the other.
"That could, potentially, take years and I was determined that if this book was ever going to be a success it would be in this anniversary year.
"So I thought the only way I'll get this published is to do self-assisted publishing, and I was looking at some companies who would look affordable to me.
"By happy coincidence, a friend who works in the youth service said they'e got a friend who runs a publishing company.
"I wrote into them with a proposal, slightly wary because they tend to publish religious books and I was conscious of the swearing in my book. So I was amazed to get an email one Sunday morning saying they were more than happy to publish the book.
"The process was so user-friendly, it was unbelievable. It is a fantastic company. So I would say that self-assisted publishing, with print on demand, is fantastic."
Thus far Seelowe Nord has been available to buy on Amazon and knocked two Bernard Cornwell books into touch in war books sales charts for February.
"It seems to be going quite well," Andy comments. "I know a lot of people from my time in the army, so there's a lot of old comrades who've bought the book.
"And it will appeal, predominantly, to ex-soldiers and those serving in the army. I've had a few people who have said it's bang on the money."
Writing has always been something Andy has enjoyed and after receiving glowing praise from high-ranking officers in the military for penning some factual pieces, Andy's confidence was bolstered, as he says: "If I'm to be honest, that's what gave me the confidence to plunge into getting a book published."
Andy, a fan of military history, which shines through in his book, admits also to being an old romantic, saying that if he had been in the American Civil War, he would have been a Confederate; "I like the idea of fighting for a lost cause, of being up against the odds."
Andy is currently working on a new book, a pre-Celtic, Bronze Age mythology-style novel.
"That's a labour of love. It started one misty day when I was misted-in at an observation post in Northern Ireland in 1996. I was surrounded by all these old stone circle sort of things."
Andy's love for military fiction can be traced back to him receiving a raft of Leo Kessler books one Christmas when he was in his early teens.
In later years, Andy discovered the first Sharpe novel by Bernard Cornwell in the 80s and Andy highly rates Cornwell's Arthurian trilogy, too.
"I read very widely - history, fantasy fiction, archaeology, and war diaries fascinate me," he goes on.
"And what finally persuaded me to write Seelöwe Nord was reading Alan Brooke's war diaries, as there's so much fantastic detail in there.
"I've been able to put a lot of these details about critical points in this nation's history into the novel, like Brooke's relationship with Churchill," said Andy.
The following extract gives some insight into the two men's relationship with one another:
"The Prime Minister was sitting a small writing bureau, dressed in his air force blue battle-dress style suit which he often wore. Next to him, General 'Pug' Ismay, his military attaché, was standing attentively by.
The room was heavy with cigar smoke, which Brooke found irritating. Winston Churchill, the new, inspirational, and in Brooke's opinion, slightly eccentric Prime Minister, turned to face them."
Seelöwe Nord bristles with knockout battle action from close quarters fighting on land to breakneck sea engagements, although the latter did concern Andy somewhat.
He explains: "To be honest, the only bits [of the writing] that worried me were the naval sequences because I'm not a naval man. I had to do a lot of reading for those sequences.
"The bulk of the book was so easy to write as it was rolling war story, action sequence after action sequence.
"I found them very easy to write. I really wanted to make people understand that this isn't like a Rambo film, with one man taking out 20 guys.
"And as you read through the book I've tried to put in many personal little things, like losing a tooth after smashing it on the butt of your gun or skinning your knuckles every time you cock your weapon."
Andy's favourite character throughout the novel is a German soldier called Corporal Nuemark. Despite being foul-mouthed, the soldier is a consummate professional.
Remarking on Nuemark, Andy said: "He's just like so many people I've come across in my time in the army. Chunters all day about what he's got to do but will go and do it very well. I found myself chuckling as wrote I some of his dialogue."
Unfortunately, Andy had to sacrifice some of the book's expansive page count to get it down to a publishable size, in the process having to cut Nuemark's 'screen' time.
However, Andy has a prequel sketched out which would show Nuemark in France and the Low Countries.
Andy has also undertaken for a percentage of the profits from Seelöwe Nord to be donated to military charities, the Army Benevolent Fund and his old regiment, the Coldstream Guards.
"I thought I'd write a fictional novel about something from a long time ago and make it readable for soldiers," he adds.
"And the least I could do for my friends over there fighting, and in some cases dying, was to give something to the organisation that looked after me very well for a quarter of a century and gave me a great career."
BUCKCHERRY!!
S'funny how some things slip past you, isn't it? Case in point, I've just discovered a cracking rock band called Buckcherry on Spotify.
They've got an AC/DC/Quireboys/Thunder/Aerosmith good time vibe to 'em and I'm annoyed to discover they've been around since 1995. Of course, their exposure to the UK mainstream never happened probably thanks to our charts being the preserve of boring old Oasis back in the mid-90s.
Had they'd emerged in 1989 or 1990 then Radio 1 - before it got all youth-oriented and shit - would have played 'em!!
Still, Spotify is a godsend, chockful of good music that cries out to be re-discovered.
In fact, Buckcherry - raspy vocals and funky-wild guitars - should've been featured on one of this summer's distinctly retro-styled action movies. It would've easily fitted into The Expendables, The Losers, The A-Team or Predators.
As I posted earlier this week expect reviews and interviews on Despatches. I reckon Buckcherry will among the first.
They've got an AC/DC/Quireboys/Thunder/Aerosmith good time vibe to 'em and I'm annoyed to discover they've been around since 1995. Of course, their exposure to the UK mainstream never happened probably thanks to our charts being the preserve of boring old Oasis back in the mid-90s.
Had they'd emerged in 1989 or 1990 then Radio 1 - before it got all youth-oriented and shit - would have played 'em!!
Still, Spotify is a godsend, chockful of good music that cries out to be re-discovered.
In fact, Buckcherry - raspy vocals and funky-wild guitars - should've been featured on one of this summer's distinctly retro-styled action movies. It would've easily fitted into The Expendables, The Losers, The A-Team or Predators.
As I posted earlier this week expect reviews and interviews on Despatches. I reckon Buckcherry will among the first.
Wednesday 4 August 2010
DAILY SERIAL: AMERICA DREAMING EPISODE 1
Imperator was nervous. He'd shuffled about in front of the mirror in the dressing room for what felt like ages. His costume seemed to be ill-fitting and chaffed around the collar. That never happened normally. Then again, normal for Imperator was fighting villains like Doctor Demento, the Doppler or thwarting bank robbers!
This wasn't normal, being a dressing room in the Silver Spur Casino in Las Vegas. As Imperator fiddled with his brylcreemed hair for the umpteenth time that hour, a door opened and in stepped John F Kennedy.
The Democratic presidential candidate looked nervous too but had it under better control than Imperator, who would've rather faced an alien invasion than being about to take to the stage on JFK's campaign trail.
"You feeling okay, son?" asked Kennedy.
"Bit edgy, truth be told, sir." replied Imperator.
Kennedy smoothed down the front of his dark blue suit and smiled, saying: "Heh. This is just like falling off a log. You ever fallen off a log?"
The costumed crimefighter grinned and said no.
"Me neither," replied Kennedy.
Imperator didn't feel any better. He coughed to clear his throat and said: "Sir, did you see Regal on Johnny Carson last night?"
The Democrat nodded.
Imperator, as he adjusted his cloak, said: "It figures Regal would be backing Nixon but I'm a little surprised about The Million Dollar Kid."
Kennedy cocked his head to one side before replying: "Yeah, the Kid's a bit like Bob Hope. He's changable. Did I ever tell you that I met his grandfather?"
Imperator looked surprised and said no.
Kennedy smiled and picked up the story: "I must've been five or six. It was a county fair and there was a old geezer doing fancy Wild West trick-shooting and signing books.
I ran over to see what was going on and there was Buck Dollar, holsternig one of his pistols. What were they made of? Obsidian! Yeah, he was there, big as life, holstering one of his famous obsidian pistols."
Imperator laughed and told Kennedy how he used to read Buck Dollar comic-books as a kid. And then Kennedy admitted to reading those selfsame comics, watching the Buck Dollar chapterplay serials from Republic and clipping out the Buck Dollar newspaper strip. Both men laughed.
"Jeez, he must've been nearly a hundred when I saw him but he still had that undeniable Southern charm and an eye for the ladies, " said Kennedy, with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.
TO BE CONTINUED...
This wasn't normal, being a dressing room in the Silver Spur Casino in Las Vegas. As Imperator fiddled with his brylcreemed hair for the umpteenth time that hour, a door opened and in stepped John F Kennedy.
The Democratic presidential candidate looked nervous too but had it under better control than Imperator, who would've rather faced an alien invasion than being about to take to the stage on JFK's campaign trail.
"You feeling okay, son?" asked Kennedy.
"Bit edgy, truth be told, sir." replied Imperator.
Kennedy smoothed down the front of his dark blue suit and smiled, saying: "Heh. This is just like falling off a log. You ever fallen off a log?"
The costumed crimefighter grinned and said no.
"Me neither," replied Kennedy.
Imperator didn't feel any better. He coughed to clear his throat and said: "Sir, did you see Regal on Johnny Carson last night?"
The Democrat nodded.
Imperator, as he adjusted his cloak, said: "It figures Regal would be backing Nixon but I'm a little surprised about The Million Dollar Kid."
Kennedy cocked his head to one side before replying: "Yeah, the Kid's a bit like Bob Hope. He's changable. Did I ever tell you that I met his grandfather?"
Imperator looked surprised and said no.
Kennedy smiled and picked up the story: "I must've been five or six. It was a county fair and there was a old geezer doing fancy Wild West trick-shooting and signing books.
I ran over to see what was going on and there was Buck Dollar, holsternig one of his pistols. What were they made of? Obsidian! Yeah, he was there, big as life, holstering one of his famous obsidian pistols."
Imperator laughed and told Kennedy how he used to read Buck Dollar comic-books as a kid. And then Kennedy admitted to reading those selfsame comics, watching the Buck Dollar chapterplay serials from Republic and clipping out the Buck Dollar newspaper strip. Both men laughed.
"Jeez, he must've been nearly a hundred when I saw him but he still had that undeniable Southern charm and an eye for the ladies, " said Kennedy, with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.
TO BE CONTINUED...
AFTERNOON 2...
One such quiet afternoon must've been in August 1977 or so. Yeah, '77 seems right as I'd seen a clip of STAR WARS on the BBC News the night before and I was transfixed.
Anyways, back to the quiet afternoon. I'd been to the dentist and my Nan had got me a pile of Look And Learns to read.
It had been pouring down with rain most of that day, making the morning's shoppnig to Wood Green more hassle than it usually was, sopping wet and stuck on the 144A as it took the scenic route back to Edmonton.
By the afternoon though and as we walked home, it had stopped. The pavements, gardens and flowers were dripping with rainwater and the skies had those smoky grey only prevalent in the 70s. The rain had brought a cold air with it but for that walk home, in that damp freshness, everything seemed to be alive, shimmering and vital.
Shame that the only thing worth reading in the Look And Learn was The Trigan Empire!!
Anyways, back to the quiet afternoon. I'd been to the dentist and my Nan had got me a pile of Look And Learns to read.
It had been pouring down with rain most of that day, making the morning's shoppnig to Wood Green more hassle than it usually was, sopping wet and stuck on the 144A as it took the scenic route back to Edmonton.
By the afternoon though and as we walked home, it had stopped. The pavements, gardens and flowers were dripping with rainwater and the skies had those smoky grey only prevalent in the 70s. The rain had brought a cold air with it but for that walk home, in that damp freshness, everything seemed to be alive, shimmering and vital.
Shame that the only thing worth reading in the Look And Learn was The Trigan Empire!!
THE AFTERNOON...
Mid-afternoon and it's quiet. Listen , it's just quiet. No voices, no cars going past, no phones ringing or dogs barking. Not even any wind.
This is how afternoons used to be in the 70s during the long summer holidays. No, don't talk, just listen to the afternoon...
This is how afternoons used to be in the 70s during the long summer holidays. No, don't talk, just listen to the afternoon...
TERROR IN THE DEEP
Watched the Beeb's new thriller series The Deep last night and found it pretty enjoyable.
It started off a bit weak with oh-so-well-spoken thesps trying to emote but coming across as an underwater Archers but thankfully picked up when Jimmy Nesbitt and co got to the murky depths in their hi-tech sub.
The sub is obviously inspired by The Abyss and the story seems to have (sonar) echoes of that film.
But it's gripping TV with a cold and callous 'man from the ministry', maverick boffins and a mysterious underwater craft/organism that can disrupt electrical systems and stuff. I'm aboard for the entire voyage!!!
It started off a bit weak with oh-so-well-spoken thesps trying to emote but coming across as an underwater Archers but thankfully picked up when Jimmy Nesbitt and co got to the murky depths in their hi-tech sub.
The sub is obviously inspired by The Abyss and the story seems to have (sonar) echoes of that film.
But it's gripping TV with a cold and callous 'man from the ministry', maverick boffins and a mysterious underwater craft/organism that can disrupt electrical systems and stuff. I'm aboard for the entire voyage!!!
Tuesday 3 August 2010
COMING ATTRACTIONS...
Coming soon from Despatches - reviews and interviews!!! And, if you're all really unlucky, quite possibly a daily prose serial.
Okay, I'm off now to do some work on my EastEnders proposal....
Okay, I'm off now to do some work on my EastEnders proposal....
MIDAS IN REVERSE!
So ITV, that purveyour of mindless pap, has a new boss - the lovechild of Peter Mandleson and an estate agent - Adam Crozier!
With his 'Midas touch in reverse' watch as ITV, already floundering, will go into a coma before hopefully flatlining while Crozier grins like some faulty animatronic puppet at Disneyland.
Oh ITV, neutered by Thatcher after Death On The Rock and sliced up in the early 90s into piss-weak fiefdoms before becoming the plaything of Cowell and now Crozier.
With his 'Midas touch in reverse' watch as ITV, already floundering, will go into a coma before hopefully flatlining while Crozier grins like some faulty animatronic puppet at Disneyland.
Oh ITV, neutered by Thatcher after Death On The Rock and sliced up in the early 90s into piss-weak fiefdoms before becoming the plaything of Cowell and now Crozier.
BODY NAZIS FROM MARS!!
We are truly living in the age of plastic people, for example Britney Spears and all the bimbettes on Hollyoaks, along with the likes of Peter Andre.
Couple this to the influence of inhuman fashion designers and the moronic mags that slavishly adhere to the styles and trends proffered by this cadre of pathetic beings, has given to the rise of body fascism with Hollywood and TV following suit.
Couple this to the influence of inhuman fashion designers and the moronic mags that slavishly adhere to the styles and trends proffered by this cadre of pathetic beings, has given to the rise of body fascism with Hollywood and TV following suit.
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