Writing To Reach You

Well, it's been about three months since my last blog, and with me now once again among the ranks of the unemployed, I thought it time to bring you up to speed with what has been a topsy-turvy time in your writer's life and career. Yes, I, Jimmy Barnes, had a career... for a little while, anyway.

In October of last year I was offered the job of Wexford County Media Manager for the fledgling media company Feck TV, whose aim was to give Ireland and beyond all their news, reviews and whathaveyou in a quirky, offbeat manner. With dozens of articles posted every day and original television programming hosted by, among others, former Bagpipe Report presenter Blake Norton, I was proud and excited to be involved in such an ambitious undertaking.

My job as County Manager for where I live was to write (and source from other local writers when possible) content for my Wexford section of the Feck TV website, in the humorous, no-holds-barred style that Feck TV expected from all it's writers. Though for about two months I was doing this job for free just for something interesting to put on my CV, right before Christmas I got a call asking for me to go not only paid, but also full-time in the New Year and take on two additional counties, those being Wicklow and Carlow, which meant I would be in charge of all FTV journalistic output for a large portion of the South-East of Ireland.

Well this was my dream come true: I had wanted to be a professional, paid writer ever since I was old enough to scrawl my name in crayon. A hastily-arranged trip to parent company Verzik Media in Cork a few days after Christmas to meet with Feck's owner, staff and my fellow CMMs from all over the island of Ireland, only heightened my excitement. By some stroke of luck or good fortune or just being a jammy bastard, I had landed my perfect job: writing witty things from the comfort of my own home.

I loved being Carlow, Wicklow and Wexford CMM, and I know my colleagues around the country enjoyed  their responsibilities to their own corner of the website too. It was heavy-going at times, especially when having to constantly update our counties readers on all the sports results and fixtures came into our job remit, but there was a massive sense of pride and satisfaction as I saw that, thanks in no small part to social media, my pages were being read by my target audience, and being appreciated and commended.

The cliche is "all good things must come to an end", but I didn't expect this job to end after little more than a month. In late January I received a phonecall from my supervisor who had to break the devastating news that, due to a lack of success with the company gaining advertising revenue, Feck TV was axing all it's County Managers and many other of it's writers and staff in a cost-cutting measure. I was to write up until the first Friday in February, then that would be it.

Though I was told that it was hoped that this would only be a temporary measure and that most of us could get our positions back within around six weeks, by the looks of things, Feck TV have failed to raise the funds needed, and are still continuing as I speak on a shoestring. Each day I look at my phone and hope that I get a call from them asking me to rejoin the crew, but each day it feels less and less likely. A crying shame, not just for myself and the other journalists, but for the website itself, which was building such momentum back in January and since has been somewhat of a shell of its former self.

I would encourage all of you to visit the site regularly by clicking this link and read, comment on and watch what they still have to offer. That influx of cash from advertisers seems increasingly unlikely now, which is a real kick in the bollocks when, only two months ago, the sheer wealth of regional, national and international content on FTV made it look a dead cert for mainstream success as it prepared for a Big Launch. But if you think your business can do worse than advertise on what it still technically a really amazing idea just waiting to take off, then contact the lads in Cork at the appropriate links provided, and tell them their former Star Employee Jimmy Barnes sent you. You scratch my back, etc...

Verzik Media/Feck TV aren't perfect; they've made one or two mistakes during their first few months in existence, not least letting all of us CMMs go right when we were making the site into something unique, popular and talked-about on Facebook and Twitter throughout Ireland and beyond. But they gave me my first foray into the world of professional journalism, and I was promised to be the first to get a call asking me to rejoin the team should the cash situation be resolved. So obviously I have a vested interest in seeing them succeed.

In the meantime, I am continuing to look for any writing positions, and so far, so bugger all. One of the few upsides of being unemployed again is that this blog, neglected as it was for the last few months, can be tended to by your writer on a more frequent basis again. You lucky sods! Anyhoo, watch this space, I'll keep you informed of the highs and lows of my homies at Feck TV, as well as other fucking nifty tidbits that only Jimbo can delightfully shove down your gullet. I may even include some of my old FTV articles on here, so you can see for yourselves why I don't think I'm being big-headed in saying that I really was one of the company's MVPs.

Hmmm, thinking about it, that did sound a bit big-headed. Ahh well, it cheers myself up in this state of Jobless Purgatory. Until next time, m'nerds.

UPDATE: Feck TV Editor Lorcan MacMuiris has contacted me to rightly address and rectify one or two points I made in the above post, and also to let me know that FeckTV.com will be relaunched with an exciting new format on Monday March 25th. Fingers crossed this will mark a turning point in the fortunes of the project, and be something that I myself will once more be involved in.

Visit FeckTV.com as often as you can, and I hope one day to be writing for them again, watch this space and all that palaver...

For more fun, but in 160 characters or less, follow Jimmy Barnes on Twitter.

Daily Mail in homophobic, anti-Auntie article "shocker"

Sorry folks, I know this blog has been neglected somewhat because of my work, but I always intended to do shorter updates at fairly frequent intervals when I had the time and inclination. Today is the day.

It's been a pretty fucking horrible evening tonight with the sickening news coming out of America on the Connecticut school shooting. Astonishingly, this is the THIRTY-FIRST school shooting since the Columbine tragedy in 1999. 31 shootings at schools in one country in 13 years... and yet the far-right gun-nuts will STILL continue to claim that "their right to bear arms" is more important than the protection of their children. Utter fuckers.

My thoughts are with the bereaved families in Newtown, further details on the tragedy are still coming to light as I type this. I wanted to write a quick blog on something that, by comparison, seems almost light-hearted and comedic. Although, if you take anything the Daily Mail says seriously, the following piece will not be funny, but an outrageous shock that will make you want to stop paying your TV licence fee. Have a ganders at this:

BBC told to hire more gay presenters for kids shows

You read it? I just want to briefly touch upon the none-too-subtlely seething, homophobic tone dripping through this article. The BBC has had a fuckload of stick the last few months, some of it admittedly deserved, and really stuff like the Savile scandal is journalistic gold to papers like the Daily Mail, who have had a vehement anti-Beeb stance for as long as I can remember.

But this article gives you two Mailisms for the price of one: snidey digs at the Corporation AND barely-polite homophobia. The piece is written in a way as to rabble-rouse Middle England once again into believing because those lefty Marxists at the BBC are again trying to indoctrinate your children into the evil ways of homosexuality.

The article claims that the results of this survey will mean that Auntie will "follow ITV's lead" by hiring presenters such as SMTV Live's Brian McDowling. So the Mail are basically reporting on this as news, despite the fact it's just the results of a study and any implications have obviously not happened yet. Then the Daily Fail writer suddenly remembers that, like the Light Channel, the BBC have indeed already employed homosexuals in high-profile childrens TV jobs, such as Andrew Hayden-Smith, so they slap a big picture of him on the webpage and remind us he is a "gay actor". Erm, how about just an actor?

The article is at pains to give it's readers important info about the study: apparantly one in five heterosexual men are uncomfortable with the amount of LGBT people on TV. No mention of the four out of five who are either totally comfortable with it, or just don't realy spend any time thinking about the sexual preference of TV stars, just as long as they are entertained.

The writer concludes by, for some reason, dredging up a comment from fucking FIVE YEARS AGO by CBBC host/comedian Kirsten O'Brien about "everyone at CBBC is either gay or hates kids". The article acknowledges begrudingly that the Corporation said this remark was made by O'Brien as part of a routine at an Edinburgh comedy show. FIVE YEARS AGO. A JOKE BY A COMEDIAN. Yet the fucking fascists at the Mail shoehorn this into the news like it's in any way relevant. Oh, and the final sentence briefly brought up other kids TV scandals, such as Richard Bacon taking cocaine while he still worked on Blue Peter.

Christ, how long ago was that, about a decade ago? It could have happened fifty years ago and the Mail would still bring it up to take their latest swipe at the public service broadcaster of the United Kingdom. Whilst simultaneously having a sly dig at the LGBT community aswell. Don't even get me started on some of the reader comments. I'll just end myself by saying, Britain is fucked if this kind of tripe continues to get a captive and believing audience. Until next time, cocksockets!

Follow Jimmy Barnes, a straight media manager, on Twitter.

Who Do You Think You Are Kidding, Grim Reaper?

Jimmy Savile/Operation Yew Tree, the BBC in crisis, seemingly no near and satisfactory conclusion to the phone-hacking scandal... there's so much miserable media-related news at the moment, it almost feels like the news of the deaths of two well-loved British actors comes as light relief. I'm being flippant, of course; it's never "good" when a popular celebrity passes away (please take note, Piers Morgan, you are in no way popular with anyone, so forgive us when the sad day comes for saying "Good riddance to the smug, talentless, lying pissweasel"), and this past week has seen the passing of a pair of iconic comic performers whose characters entertained generations of people, and whose deaths have borne witness to genuinely touching tributes across the Internet and other media forms. I'd like to take this opportunity to pay tribute to these two gentlemen aswell, both of whom I grew up watching on the television and continued to be delighted by in adulthood.

Clive Dunn as Corporal Jones: the bumbling duffer David Jason could have been

 

Clive Dunn passed away on November 6, 2012, aged 92, after illness resulting from an operation. Dunn was, of course, best known for his role as the buffoonish but brave veteren Home Guarder Corporal Jones in the wonderfully consistent 1970s BBC sitcom Dad's Army. Brits both younger and older than me just love the character of Jones, with his catchphrase "Don't panic!" etched in our memories from an early age. Dad's Army itself, is a delightful programme; a warm, funny situation comedy showcasing some of Britain's best-loved and most talented actors of 40, 50 years ago, the majority of whom were in their twilight years when the show first came to be made. Clive Dunn was unusual in that he was only 48 when he won the role of Jones in 1968 (beating out none other than David Jason for the part), and though Dad's Army would remain his prominent and most notable job for the next nine years, it would set a precedent for the multi-talented Dunn to play characters much older than him.

 



Dunn went on to play another pensioner, Charlie Quick, in the 1979 children's comedy Grandad, a programme bizarrely inspired in part by Clive having a number one hit single of the same name nine years previously in character as a kindly old fogey. It's easy to forget that Dunn was not an old man when these roles and opportunities brought him onto the television screens and record players of the nation, and I don't think it is in poor taste to suggest that a lot of people probably assumed that Dunn, who had enjoyed a quiet retirement in Portugal since the 1980s, had already passed away years ago, like so many of his Walmington-On-Sea comrades. I have seen every episode of Dad's Army, and Jones is a wonderful, integral part of every one. I saw the Grandad series once about 20 years ago when it was repeated on Saturday mornings, and while obviously not a patch on Dad's Army, was infinitely watchable thanks to Dunn's believable, humourous portrayal of Charlie. When it comes to Clive Dunn "typecasting" is a compliment, because he was the man when it came to playing old geezers, and he did it perfectly every single time. It seems oddly suspicious that, only days after his death, there is a rumour abound that Dad's Army is to be remade into a movie, with would you believe possibly a female Captain Mainwaring taking charge of an all-new platoon. I'm not normally precious about old shows or films being remade, but I think the best thing is to leave Dad's Army (which did spin-off into a movie itself) as it is: repeated on BBC2 every Saturday from now until the end of time, so that even more future generations can fall in love with a national treasure and one of the greatest TV shows ever made. God bless Clive Dunn, Arthur Lowe, John Le Mesurier and all the late, great cast of Dad's Army. Let them rest in peace.

Bill Tarmey as Jack Duckworth: Corrie's warm Northern humour encapsulated in one man

 

Just three days after Clive Dunn's death, Bill Tarmey passed away in Tenerife, aged 71. Tarmey had only left his role on Coronation Street as lovable layabout-turned-surrogate father to the nation Jack Duckworth in 2010, a part he began playing on a part-time basis in 1979, before he was made a proper addition to the cast in 1983. Though it feels like Bill had been in Corrie absolutely donkeys years, his stint was relatively short if compared to William Roache or Eileen Derbyshire. But Tarmey's 31 years on the Weatherfield cobbles made him arguably the archetypal Street resident, thanks mainly to his glorious partnership with screen wife Liz Dawn (Vera), who had left the programme back in 2008 due to ill health.

 

Jack and Vera's relationship was initially comically dysfunctional, with workshy, philandering Jack often plotting to get one over on his nagging, loudmouth spouse, and Vera almost always having the last laugh. But as the years went by, Coronation Street writers allowed us to witness more tender moments between the Duckworths, whilst not losing sight of the fantastic comic chemistry they had together. The Duckworths were the Street: and their antics, be it Jack's obsession with his pigeons, the stone-cladding of their house, their surprising and ultimately unsuccessful tenure at the Rovers, entertained and touched the hearts of millions of viewers for nigh-on three decades. When Liz quit the show and Vera was killed off in what, for my money, remains one of the most poignant moments in soap opera history, most felt it was only a matter of time before Bill, himself having had numerous health scares over the years, would announce his retirement. Tarmey, however, carried on for more than two years before hanging up Jack's trademark broken spectacles for good. Jack's final scene in Corrie was, again a very touching one, with the former window-cleaner passing away peacefully in his armchair, and his spirit finally being reunited with that of his beloved wife Vera. Normally characters coming back as ghosts is something I would prefer being kept confined to the Australian soap, but Liz Dawn's cameo was beautifully written and performed, and it was the perfect send-off for Jack. Bill Tarmey was also a singer, ironically playing Jack as a deluded wannabe club crooner with very little talent, and had minor success in the 1990s with three albums. He will be sorely missed by his family, former Street co-stars, and the millions of us who came to look upon him as our surrogate dad every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at 7.30pm.

 

Follow me on Twitter: Jimmy Barnes





Five much-missed audio formats

This piece will mean little to you young rapscallions who have grown up (and are still growing up) on the age of digital downloads, MP3s and USB flash drives, but here is a collection of archaic, obsolete audio formats that make me hark back to a simpler time. Not even the compact disc makes my Top 5, mainly because as though it has been in decline for years now, CDs are still widely available and always will be until the general public realise that paying for an album at your local HMV is a rip-off. These are the formats which only us of a certain age will remember with fondness (and frustration, too), formats which are as easy to get on the High Street now as it is to plait your own piss. Mix yourself a highball, stick a tape in the deck, and reminisce with me...

 

5. Reel-to-reel tape

 

The reel-to-real audio tape. Like a cassette for giants and lanky fuckers

 

 I don't actually know of any one who ever owned a reel-to-reel recorder apart from my dad in the 1970s, and my mum made him throw it out when I was only an ankle-biter. My own memories of the format stem solely from a slightly more recent time, the mid-to-late 1990s, when I was involved with college radio and my programme controller-slash-bezzie mate Lee used to record our station's ads, jingles and promos on a great cumbersome, two-spool jobbie. Oh the fun times we used to have devising little skits for our shows, and quite often the outtakes were funnier than the finished products. When I first started on the college station in 1997, I wondered why Lee was using such a behemoth of a machine, but when you listen to the reel-to-reel's audio, there is a fantastically warm, clear sound that was arguably unsurpassed in the analogue age. My dad would have owned the smaller, "home" recorder, despite his machine being binned he for some reason held on to the smaller yet still unattractive reel-to-reel tapes for years afterwards and I would often wonder exactly what was on them.

 

I have no idea if many people still record and/or play audio on reel-to-reel anymore; as everything is digital and computerised now, I assume probably not, aside from some aging, bearded analogue aficionados, and possibly Dave Lee Travis.

 

 

4. 8-Track Cartridge

 

A Phil Collins album on 8-track. The only way this picture could be more 1980s would be if Don Johnson was holding this in one hand and a Hulk Hogan ice-cream bar in the other

 

 Just for the record, I have never owned an 8-track player or any cartridges (officially known as Stereo 8). I don't know anybody who has. I just like the idea of my music being on a cartridge rather than a scratched disc or a chewed tape or compressed into a file on my laptop. Perhaps it stems from the fact that the Nintendo 64 is probably my favourite games console of all-time, and their cartridges were thick, chunky, durable and just lovely. That's the great thing about cartridges, unlike CDs and cassettes, you have to basically stamp on one with a Dr. Marten's boot to damage it.

 

In reality though, the 8-track wasn't as ideal as you might think. Basically a mini reel-to-reel tape housed in plastic, with no ability to record, only play, and the innards apparantly didn't last the duration if you hammered your No Jacket Required Stereo 8 like teenage girls do their Twilight Saga DVDs. But the 8-track still merits a spot on this list, simply for being a cartridge, and I love cartridges. Also, one of my dreams would come true if I could ever travel in a car that still has it's original 8-track player.

 

 

3. Flexi disc

 

 Crush On You by The Jets, a flexi-disc I got free with Look-in Magazine in the late '80s. In my pre-pubescent state, I really did think it the greatest free gift of all time

 

 I thought about entering the legendary vinyl record in this countdown, but really vinyl has never really gone away properly. Like massive 1970s unit-shifter and kiddie-fiddler Gary Glitter, LPs cannot be found on the High Street and are either unbeknown or embarrassingly ignored by today's youth, but hunt around properly and you will find what you're looking for (and admit it, you're after that rare 7-inch pressing of Do You Wanna Touch Me after you saw Gywneth Paltrow belt it out with reckless pride on Glee). But what of the LP's special-needs cousin, the flexi disc? Like a 7-inch single in need of Viagra, the floppy, bendy circles seemed an amusing trifle, a novelty, but before CDs took off properly, flexis were a cheap way for record companies to give people free gifts via magazines, fan clubs and so forth.

 

Whilst you can still often find even new-release music on vinyl online, and if you're really lucky, a Mantovani compilation long-player in a charity shop bargain bin worth at least 25 pence, flexi discs are somewhat harder to come across, given their stigma of being inexpensive and therefore disposable. Indeed, they were the record player equivalent of that C90 audio cassette you recorded over and over so often you had to throw it away and buy a new 5-pack before it completyely knackered your tape deck. Except you couldn't even record on a flexi, let alone have a half-decent game of Frisbee with it. That's why it will always be the slightly retarded relation to the vinyl record, but I had to include it in this list because they remind me of exciting free magazine gifts when I was 8 years old, and even back then, I thought the wobbly thin things were rather charming and, in their own way, pretty bloody cool.

 

 

2. MiniDisc

 

Don't let the appearance of it being like a CD encased in cheap plastic fool you, the MiniDisc was great

 

 Ah, the MiniDisc. It never really stood a chance, did it? Reaching it's modest heights around the late 1990s, in a kind-of transitional period where audio cassettes were on their way out but MP3s and CD burning from one's PC was still very much in it's infancy. The MiniDisc basically did everything the humble tape did, but digitally, meaning easy editing, deleting, re-recording that lost none of it's quality over time. MiniDisc albums were also starting to be released around that time, mainly by Sony who invented the thing, and it was widely predicted by experts that the MD would one day equal and surpass the Compact Disc as the world's most popular audio format. Despite Sony producing MD recorders (which resembled a futuristic Walkman), hi-fis with MD playback (I had one for a couple of years and loved it) and releases from the likes of Celine Dion that resembled fatter cassette albums, the day of world domination never came.

 

The speedy advent of home PCs and the internet in the early 2000s inevitably meant greater strides for CD burning and soon after, MP3 players such as the iPod, meant that the MiniDisc never stood a proper chance with the everyday consumer, though I'm told for many years afterwards they were (and perhaps still are) the format of choice for radio producers. Indeed, the last MD recorder was discontinued only last year. If the MD could have taken off five or so years earlier, we'd all probably still be buying them now, and have MD car stereos and such shit. Compact Discs couldn't be recorded onto by us plebs up until about 12, 13 years ago, and the MiniDisc never got scratched to fuck like CDs do, either.

 

 

1. Audio cassette

 

I never liked C60's, How the hell could you get the best tracks from the Radio One Top 40 into only an hour? C90 FTW

 

It is possibly the most imperfect format of all-time, yet it evokes warm feelings of nostalgia in me as I remember its sheer ease-of-use. The audio cassette was nothing other than essential for avid music fans in the days before affordable home computing. What couldn't you do with an audio tape? Borrow your mate's new Oasis album and make a simple dub of it, safe in the ignorance that the Gallagher brothers weren't going to get shit until around the year 2000. Rewind (see what I did there?) a few years back from then, and do what most of the country was doing between 4 and 7pm on a Sunday, recording all your favourite singles off the Radio 1 UK Top 40 countdown show, making sure to pause the tape as precisely as possible whenever Bruno Brookes or Mark Goodier started talking, and so you wouldn't have on your weekly compilations any utter shit from the likes of Chris DeBurgh. The original Sony Walkman was, for my money, so much better and more attractive than the Discman that followed it, and there was no need for that "anti-shock system" that had to be installed in all portable CD players when it was realised that without it, they were just shit when out on a brisk walk. Another cassette-based device that I personally had a ton of fun with was the Talkboy, a glorified, over-sized dictaphone made famous by Macaulay Culkin in the 1992 film Home Alone 2: Lost In New York. Though the Talkboy's only true gimmick was a piss-poor slow motion voice changer switch that just made the device sound like it was running low on battery power, for adolescent shits 'n' giggles at school and home, the Talkboy was possibly the best toy I ever had, and certainly the one I got most use out of in my childhood.

 

 Everybody of a certain age knows of the disadvantages of the audio tape: cheap ones got chewed up in your deck too easily, a rubbish deck would do the chewing to even a better standard of cassette, the analogue dubbings were never as good and clear as you'd hope, and we all experienced the pain in the arsehole that was recording a brilliant song off the radio but missing half of it due to the tape running out. But there is just something about the cassette and it's sheer simple brilliance; anyone from a small child to an old aged pensioner could work one instantly. It genuinely saddens me that kids today don't even recognise a picture of a cassette. So I shall end this blog and cheer myself up with the thoughts of pratical jokers back in the day sellotaping up the hole in a tape album borrowed from the library to record juvenile crap or possibly even flatulence over it and thus confound the next library-goer to borrow the tape. Come on, own up, I know you did it, you shits!

 

 Follow me on Twitter: Jimmy Barnes



That's What He Said

Back on August 21 it was announced to the press that U.S sitcom/mockumentary series The Office would end production after it's upcoming 9th season. Given that The Office is my favourite comedy series of all-time, I thought I'd be more upset about the news than I was. I'll explain why I'm actually relieved later in this entry, while I share with you just a few thoughts about the workforce of the Dunder Mifflin Paper Company, Scranton, PA and other general thoughts about America's greatest comedy.

Michael Scott: Or "Michael Snot" as alleged best friend Todd Packer once claimed

 

 

I'm expecting Season 7 of The Office in the post this week, so as difficult as it was to walk into my local DVD rental shop this morning and see it on the "Box-sets to buy" shelf, I only have to exercise patience for another day or two (presuming postal competence, of course). So far I am up to the end of Season 6, which is pretty bloody obvious, really. I don't go scouring the internet for brand new series, tempting as it can be given Universal's TV-to-DVD distribution arm Playback's lethargy in bringing us Region 2 dwellers complete seasons (Office S7 ended on US telly in May of last year, we're only getting it now). For years I have loved the excitement and anticipation of pre-ordering a film or TV series from an online retailer, or going into a shop and taking the plunge on an impulse purchase that ends up giving me hours and hours of viewing pleasure for years to come. So I sit, and purchase, and wait patiently for the release date that can often get put back time and again, for reasons never divulged to us mere consumers. Fortunately, I am not the sort of sad-act fanboy who, if he can't be as up to date as those across the Atlantic, will stick his fingers in his ears and yell out "La La La, I'm not listening!" at the first sign of any spoilers. Spoilers generally don't tend to bother me. Yes, I know who ends up taking the job of Dunder Mifflin Regional Manager at the start of Season 8, and I don't mind that, even though it will probably be another year or so before I get to watch that episode. Maybe it's because The Office is so damn rewatchable, and the more times you watch it, the more you remember exactly what happens and who says what to whom, and all the best one-liners and vox pop cutaways and so on. Of the six seasons I own as of today (seven tomorrow, touch wood!), I think I've watched each one a minimum of 10 times each, more times for outstanding seasons such as the second and third.

 

The one thing that really grinds my beans about British TV viewers is their arrogant insistence that the UK version of the show is far superior to the US Office. With the majority having never seen more than a handful of the US episodes, they in some sort of faux-patriotic ignorance claim that the original BBC series, on which the American version was originally modelled, is unsurpassed and it's Transatlantic cousin is a poor, phoney-looking copy of Ricky Gervais' early-noughties masterpiece. These people are entitled to their opinion, naturally. They're wrong, and they're grotesquely ugly freaks, to paraphrase Chris Morris, but they are entitled to spout whatever bollocks they like out of some sort of misguided loyalty to Gervais, a once-talented writer now so insecure and precious about his work, he didn't hesitate to block yours truly on Twitter for daring to give him negative feedback about his woeful recent Beeb effort Life's Too Short, an insipid, useless 6-parter that basically cast Warwick Davis as David Brent with dwarfism. Gervais, a man so British through and through, he fucked off to Hollywood the first chance he could get to see if he could simulataneously work his way into the A-List while offending his peers by telling near-the-knuckle gags about them at awards ceremonies. Ricky Gervais is, or rather was, a good writer and a funny man, and the UK Office had some blinding moments, in particular the beautifully-done climax to the Tim and Dawn unrequited romance arc in the final episode. But comparing a UK sitcom to a US one, even when they're basically borne of the same vaginal canal, is pointless. And if the naysayers would give the US Office a chance, they would see that it's no ordinary American comedy series.

 

The mockumentary style nicked from Gervais' original, means that The Office doesn't come across at all like your bog-standard J. Arthur sitcom, all laughter tracks and loud whooping from the audience when a favourite character enters a scene. The production and direction of Greg Daniels' adaptation means that you laugh when you want to laugh, cringe when you have to cringe, and in the workplace of Dunder Mifflin, it's the bizarre blend of documentary realism and often-cartoonish silliness that makes it addictive, laugh-out-loud telly. What other show on the planet could pull of something so utterly ridiculous as one of my all-time favourite scenes, where Jim comes to work impersonating Dwight, and it be not only gut-achingly funny, but also somehow believable too? Though that would never happen to any of us in real-life at our workplaces (present company excepted because I don't currently have a workplace), The Office has taken the time to let us get to know these characters, to feel how they feel about their co-workers. We know why Jim always pranks Dwight, and we love him for it. We equally love Dwight's petty reactions, because we know Dwight Schrute and have grown accustomed to his eccentric behaviour.

 

Indeed, when you talk about Dwight Schrute, you are talking about arguably the greatest comedy character of modern TV times. Michael Scott may have been the one-time Regional Manager and the star of the show, and his escapades rank up their as some of the most hilarious ever witnessed by viewers. But it's the fascistic yet somehow endearing Dwight who often steals the episode, with his on-going feud with Jim Halpert, his obsession with beets (or beetroot to us Brits) and his unquenchable desire to consistently be the top paper salesman in Pennsylvania.

 



Dwight Schrute: middle name "Fart" and a security risk. FACT.

 

Played brilliantly by Rainn Wilson, the good news stemming from Dundler Mifflin closing it's doors for good next year is that Dwight and his dysfunctional family are to get their own spin-off series The Farm, which means we will be able to witness the peculiar, pompous behaviour of Dwight for at least a little while longer. Speaking of the final Office series, it is also hoped that Steve Carell, who quit his lead role as Michael towards the end of Season 7, will reprise his iconic role as the childlike, inconsiderate but eternally-loveable former manager for at least one episode. I for one feel that the staff of the Scranton branch of Dunder Mifflin cannot say a proper goodbye to it's millions of loyal fans without him being involved in some way. But time will tell on that one.

 

The general consensus of opinion is that The Office is ending probably at the right time, and although it could feasibly carry on for umpteen more years with a rotating cast, the show has lost a lot of it's steam and original quirky charm for the past couple of series or so. I always subscribe to the cliche of all good things must come to an end, and while I've not seen anything from Seasons 7 or 8 yet, from the reports, spoilers and tidbits I've read, this fine sitcom is finally running low on fresh ideas. We Dundler Mifflinites will always have the DVDs that, as I said earlier, are so fantastic you can never tire of watching them over and over again. The Office will never die, just like other all-time comedy classics like Only Fools & Horses and Frasier haven't. Can I recommend a favourite episode to those of you who are Office virgins yet to experience the weird universe of fictional Scranton? Not really, because there are so many absolute pearlers to choose from. But if I had to tell you to start somewhere that I know would get you as hooked as I am, I'd say forget the short first season for now (which many people slated at the time but has some brilliant moments) and start with the opener of Season 2 The Dundies, an office party with a difference.

 

I could sit here for hours more and ramble on about why I love The Office so much, above is just a few reasons why, and there are many, many more. I implore you to check out the series for yourself and give it a proper chance. It doesn't matter if it's American, British, or made by a naked tribe of Amazonian warriors, it is sheer comic gold. I must end this now, as I'm off for a long walk to the nearest post collection depot to pick up a box-set of 1960's psychadelic mindfuck drama The Prisoner (now there's another story!). Till the next time.

 

Follow me on Twitter: Jimmy Barnes

Five Perfect Pop Albums

Pop music. Today they are two dirtier words than saying "Fuck off" loudly in the vicinity of a nun. Pop in the second decade of the 21st century is all about reality television participants and digital downloads on iTunes and groups of young fans using social network outlets to spend their spare time either sucking up to their idols or criticising the fans of rival acts. The biggest pop stars on the planet as I write this now are Canadian arsecandle Justin Bieber and X-Factor losers One Direction. Perhaps I'm getting old, but I see very little merit in either acts, and even less in the rabid, uncompromisingly cringeworthy fans of each who shittify Twitter every day after school has ended with their "trends". Bieber has an adequate singing voice, but his music is sickly, over-produced drivel and for someone who has been proclaimed as the second coming of Michael Jackson, three albums in he is still yet to produce even one hit that has truly crossed over from the teenage girls' bedrooms to the general publics accepting consciousness. Indeed, his most well-known single Baby has the laughable distinction of being the most disliked video in YouTube history. As for One Direction, they have somehow gone from being thrown together talent show rejects into a Transtlantic phenomenon and arguably the world's biggest boyband right now. Their breakthrough hit What Makes You Beautiful is a reasonably likeable, but hardly awe-inspiring slice of bubblegum pop that wouldn't have sounded out of place in the charts ten years ago, but is somehow considered by any female under the age of 18 as a modern, relevent classic. 1D, as the abbreviation goes, now cannot go for a dump without it making headlines, and before their second album is released later this year, already there is talk among fans and media pundits about who will be the first to "do a Robbie Williams" and go solo. The smart money is on Harry Styles, the supposed "frontman" of the group, and with his scruffy haircut, shit-eating grin and tabloid-baiting relationship with the older (but not actually old, just seemingly ancient because she looks her age and Styles looks about 11) TV presenter Caroline Flack, he is the most well-known member of the teen ensemble. Having said that, I am rather sceptical about the predicted solo success of Styles or indeed any of 1D, given that they were thrown together in the first place on X-Factor by Simon Cowell because none of the 5 could cut it as a solo contestant.

But I didn't come here just to talk about current pop acts who I dislike, I'm here to let you all know that great pop music does exist out there. Pop music that doesn't care if it's trendy, or adored only by pre-pubescent girls, or looks good on magazine covers and posters. This is pop music from a bygone era, before MP3s existed, before even the World Wide Web itself. Yet it is music that you can listen to today and fall in love with regardless of who you are and what your regular tastes may be. Presenting to you now, the five albums I in my humble(ish) opinion consider to be perfect pop platters:

5. The Raw & The Cooked- Fine Young Cannibals (1988)

 

 

 

Fine Young Cannibals spun-off from the moderately successful British ska band The Beat, yet their sound couldn't be more different. The Raw & The Cooked was FYC's second long-player and catapulted them into being one of the biggest bands both in the UK and in the allegedly tough-to-crack United States market. Casual listeners will mostly be familiar with the massively radio-friendly single She Drives Me Crazy, with its funky beats blending unusually but effortlessly with rock guitar and Roland Gift's unmistakable vocals. The album is full of catchy gems, such as I'm Not The Man I Used To Be, a laudable cover of Buzzcocks Ever Fallen In Love and my favourite, the irresistably infectious guitar-driven Don't Look Back, which bizarrely was a massive hit in the US but stumbled in the UK when all other Raw singles had sold well.

 

Strangely, the album that put FYC over the top as a world-beating act was to be their last. Roland Gift decided to concentrate on his acting career, and the trio only reunited briefly in the mid 1990s to record a bit of new material for a greatest hits compilation. An album that effortlessly blends rock, pop, soul, funk and dance music from a band who shone in the spotlight only too briefly.

 

 

4. The Other Two & You- The Other Two (1993)

 

 

Certainly the least-known album in this countdown, which makes it not just a pop gem, but a near-undiscovered gem. Husband-and-wife duo Stephen Morris and Gillian Gilbert from the phenomenal alternative group New Order took time in the early '90s to do their own thing, and after the wonderfully daft-titled Tasty Fish (named after a sign in a chip shop!) just failed to break the UK Top 40 in 1991, the debut album of The Other Two finally arrived two years later, post-Factory Records implosion and only a few months after New Order's then-thought-to-be swansong, the slightly underwhelming Republic. It was claimed by Steve and Gill that Factory head honcho and Mancunian mogul Tony Wilson thought The Other Two to be "too poppy" for his avant-garde label, hence the two-year delay in new material, which was released on the new home of New Order, London Records.

 

The Other Two & You is a fantastic record, showcasing Gillian Gilbert's warm vocal abilities that were rarely, if ever, discovered in New Order, whilst retaining the effortlessly sublime electronic beats and noises that she and Stephen Morris had made an integral part of NO for the previous 12 years. A crime that even on a major label as London, the album didn't even chart and to this day remains beloved only really by NO diehards. The casual, radio-listening public needs to hear this record almost two decades on, in particular the second single Selfish and my favourite, the experimental album-closer Loved It (The Other Track) a bizarre yet addictive mixture of electropop and audio samples from a years-old Channel 4 documentary on New Order and Factory Records. Since The Other Two & You, Steve and Gill released a second album Super Highways in 1999, and have produced television themes for shows such as Cold Feet and Cracker. Oh, and Gillian finally rejoined New Order this year after an 11-year hiatus, too.

 

 

3. Very- Pet Shop Boys (1993)

 

 

 

Very was considered at the time to be the Pet Shop Boys "coming out" record, and yes, it was released around the same time Neil Tennant finally admitted what anyone with eyes and ears had known for years, that he was homosexual. PSB's previous offerings, classics in their own right, were mostly languid, downbeat, wry synthpop platters, but Very was confirmation to a jump to in-yer-face, unapologetically camp Eurodance that was taking, well... Europe by storm in the early-to-mid '90s. A celebratory album, energetic in it's pace and with some of the catchiest pop music you will ever hear.

 

The go-to track on the album for casuals is, of course, the uplifting cover of Village People's Go West that gave a new lease of life to the 1970s gay disco number and has been enjoyed in equal measure by clubbers and football supporters ever since. It's difficult for me to pick an overall favourite track on such a consistently joyous album, but honourable mention must go to Can You Forgive Her? (rather strangely, used for a time as the theme for all the goal highlights on regional ITV football show Central Sports Special), Liberation and the Hi-NRG One In A Million, which would later be medleyed with Culture Beat's Mr. Vain on PSB's promotional tour. Pet Shop Boys continue to make great music today, but for me, Very is the jewel in the crown.

 

 

2. Tango In The Night- Fleetwood Mac (1987)

 

 

 

Fleetwood Mac, what can you say about them that hasn't been said already? The affairs, the drug habits that have become so legendary, Pete Doherty asked each member for a paternity test (not really). But above all else, despite the ups and downs, the trials and tribulations, the sex and cocaine, the Mac have endured to this day as one of the finest pop-rock outfits in the last 40-something years. Tango In The Night was the last FM album to feature it's "classic" line up of Stevie Nicks, Lindsay Buckingham, Christine McVie, John McVie and Mick Fleetwood. And how appropriate that it is, in my opinion, their masterpiece, their legacy. Recorded under difficult circusmtances, thanks in no small part to Tango originally due to be a Lindsay Buckingham solo project, the end result is worth all the angst and heartache. Nicks' vocals have never sounded more haunting, Buckingham's lyrics tell of deep personal issues, and the two gruff old codgers John and Mick are there as ever, Mac mainstays, though I'm not holding my breath to see a Mick-Samantha Fox BRIT Awards reunion any time soon.

 

TITN has some wonderful songs: the sublime Little Lies, the Stevie-penned and very introspective Welcome To The Room... Sara, and the impossibly catchy Seven Wonders. But the outstanding track is one that I have to consider probably my favourite song of all-time by anyone, if for no better reason than I have it on my iTunes in various forms more than any other. Everywhere is absolute perfection from start to finish, the instruments, production, lyrics and Christine's vocal combining to create something that can never be surpassed. Fleetwood Mac were never the coolest band, they didn't try to be (well, would you if you had Mick "Lurch" Fleetwood in your band?...). Tango In The Night could never hope to sell as many copies as Rumours. But if you are looking for timeless pop-rock that will give you shivers down the spine and many, many eargasms, buy this record and you will fall in love with it.

 

 

1. Electronic- Electronic (1991)

 

 

 

What do you get when you cross The Smiths with New Order, with a little bit of Pet Shop Boys thrown in for good measure? You get the last decent album Factory Records ever released, the first standout LP of the 1990s, and my Number One Perfect Pop record. Electronic started life in the late '80s when Bernard Sumner of New Order was planning a break from his main band, and Smiths' guitarist Johnny Marr was at a loose end a couple of years after their split. An alternative supergroup was formed, and Neil Tennant joined on vocals for debut hit Getting Away With It, considered at the time to be the best single released in 1989, except for maybe Morrissey, whose morose lyrics Sumner and Marr were allegedly satirising. Sounding not much like New Order, and even less like the Smiths (but quite a bit like PSB), fans were instantly hungry for more Electronic, but in typical Factory style, they would have to wait two long years before the eponymous album. Fuck, it was so worth the wait.

 

Electronic is an absolute masterclass in how to make good pop music, it should be required listening for anyone with so much as a passing interest in the genre. The housey thump of Reality, a fantastic collaboration with Pet Shop Boys for Patience Of A Saint, a funky first-person commentary on Manchester's notorious crime problems Gangster, the album is fresh, tuneful and compelling from start to finish. My favourite track has to be the addictive house effort Try All You Want. Electronic really was one of those albums in which every track (probably barring Soviet, it being a 2-minute mid-album interlude) could have been released as a single to great acclaim. Electronic even sold quite well in the US, and Sumner and Marr had firmly established themselves as a hip, talented supergroup in stark contrast to all the hairy, smelly dinosaur supergroups of the '70s and early '80s forming out of passe and often dull progressive rock groups. Electronic were the supergroup for the Ecstacy generation. Their next album Raise The Pressure in 1996, largely a collaboration with Karl Bartos of German synth pioneers Kraftwerk, was much anticipated by fans, and disappointed a fair few of them for being an inconsistent sounding piece of work where heavy guitar laden tracks laid down next to thumping Eurodance tunes. But that album also had some infinitely glorious moments on it, too. Electronic made making pop music look almost effortless, and possibly by accident, their first album could be argued to be even better than most New Order long players. A controversial argument, to be sure, but whatever your feelings on the New Order vs. Electronic debate, Electronic remains 21 years later, the perfect pop album. Go out and find it, I promise you won't regret it.















Read Me

So it's the end of August 2012, a month that seems to have taken forever to end, though, in fact, it's taken about a month, the average amount of time. And I have decided to once again try writing and maintaining a blog, albeit the first one actually done under my real name (well, almost... it says "James" on my birth certificate). I wrote a television review blog for a few months under an assumed name four-ish years ago; it was ruddy good fun for a while, but it was basically an outlet for extreme negativity. Rather than actually praise something decent on the box, I'd tend to rant and moan about such issues as Kirstie Allsopp being a right auld Tory munter. Which is still thoroughly true, of course, but hardly relevent to her telly career. Indeed, I can count on one bollock the hours of Location, Location, Location I've watched in my lifetime. Not my bag. Kirstie or her bore-joy-zee Channel 4 crapfests.

 Kirstie: the short-sighted man's crumpet

That's not to say this blog won't have any TV views and reviews in it; Christ, as a terminally unemployed man, watching the 32" flatscreen in the corner takes up much of my time. But I'd like to think I'll have some good things to say about telly, music, film etc this time round. I mean, I have Twitter and it's 140 characters for ejecting bile. But having seen some cracking good blog posts from my fellow Twitbags (folks who I follow/follow me on Twitter... well duhh) who are even funnier and more informative without the space restraints, it's jolly well put me in the mood to follow suit and return to blogging. So here we go. As the overly-earnest voiceover bloke on the Jeremy Kyle Show in-programme trailers would say: strap yourselves in.

Jezza: commander of Commando

 

 

August 2012- the Olympics are over, the Paralympics have begun, and here in my adopted country of Ireland, the kids are already back at school. But the big news is that, starting this Monday on the 3rd of September, ITV1's autumn season begins with BRAND NEW EPISODES of the Jeremy Kyle Show. Well, to be fair, the light channel actually kicks off with a supposed revamp of early-morning fartfest Daybreak, with "exciting" new hosts Lorraine Kelly and Aled Jones. I know, sounds riveting, doesn't it? Bland and Blander. But the real excitement begins at 9.25 on September 3rd with BRAND NEW EPISODES of the JK Show kicking off. And you can bet your last pube things really will be "kicking off" in the Manchester studios. Five or six weeks of mostly dismal repeats circa 2009 ending with this weeks Summer Updates clip shows have been punctuated with the one trailer hyping and hyping and FUCKING HYPING THE BRAND NEW EPISODES. And the hype has certainly got to me. As I said on Twitter this morning, I am psyched for the new series, especially after being drip-fed mundane repeats over the summer, where the lack of Jezza's side parting and the much-ballyhooed revamped set with Neck Strain Baby Monitor has rather jarred.

 

One of the best, nah, sod it, the best thing about Twitter for me personally is the (mostly) daily hour of tweeting we "Jezzaholics" indulge in. It makes the good episodes even better, and the poor episodes more than tolerable thanks solely to the efforts of a small but ever-growing group of Kyle Twitterati. You really have to be there, 9.25 on the dot, to understand what I mean. And if you do decide to join us one day to pass judgement on Britain's lowest parasites and their spitting, no-pants-wearing ringleader Jeremy Kyle, here's a brief guide to tweeting the show that you may find a little useful...

 

 

THE JEREMY KYLE SHOW TWITTER COMMENTARY GUIDE

 

 

1. IMPORTANT HASHTAGS:

 

#JeremyKyle is the one you want for all the banter and remarks. Don't use something long and character-consuming like #thejeremykyleshow, all the cool people like us don't, so neither should you. Getting the basic hashtag right is, of course, massively important to get involved in the shit and giggles.

 

#FacebookSweepstake is optional but a bit of extra fun. Use the tag, and predict the first time one of the JK guests (or the man himself) mentions Facebook. You don't get a prize or anything, just the congratulations and adulation of your Twitter peers. I have never won the sweepstake yet. If you're wondering why Facebook, well, it's the social networking portal of the underclasses, isn't it? That's me being facetious, everyone and his cat has a Facebook account, regardless of social class. But the site gets pretty much a daily plug on the JK Show with undesirables telling an increasingly-exasperated Jezza how they "inbox" each other insults, or flirty filth, and so on. And Jeremy loves to constantly remind us how he knows nothing about social networking. Why the baiting bastard can't finally learn, I don't know. When FB is mentioned, one or more of us will tweet it with the official time and the person who got nearest in the sweepstake is the winner. F-Bomb!

 

2. IMPORTANT PEOPLE:

 

ITV's official Jeremy Kyle Show Twitter. Now remember kids, Jezza himself doesn't have Twitter. He doesn't have Facebook. Don't get suckered in by any fake accounts. The closest thing to the man himself, arguably, is the official show Twitter account. Now I have to warn you, this account is run by a humourless dullard who exists only to provide brief after-show information and to retweet the most simple-minded yet sycophantic of pro-JK show comments ("@itvjeremykyle OMG I luv Jeremy Kyle, he iz tha bezzzt, please RT!!!! XXXXX"... that sort of shit). Do not expect any decent banter with this person, but he/she/it is worth following just to laugh at the gormless RT's and to find out what happened to Mad Dog Deon after he finally woke up one day and realised what a prize jizzcock he is for getting that thing tattooed on his bastard face.

 

Graham Stanier. AKA the Grey Panther (or just Panther). Referred to by Jeremy as "The Genius" or "G" when he's feeling in a hippity-hop kind of mood. The Head of Aftercare Stanier has achieved cult status on Twitter due to his resemblence to Gary Glitter, his soporific Lancastrian accent, and most notoriously, his penchant for touching all the guests, no matter how dirty and smelly they probably are. If you know any good sex offender quips, work the Panther in there and you're good to go.

 

Will Sentance. A near ever-presence on the programme, the bloke who brings out the DNA and lie detector test results and the occasional box of tissues for crying guests (if there's any left after the Panther's last marathon wanking session). Will isn't a massive presence on Twitter during the broadcasts, but he is often there keeping an eye on proceedings, and I have to say he is a bloody nice bloke who gets our warped sense of humour when it comes to the commentary. So keep your eyes peeled, and maybe one day, Will will acknowledge your existence. And then shatter your life into pieces by handing Kyle the envelope that confirms that your partner actually IS a filthy, VD-riddled, lying, cheating piece of cack.

 

3. MISC:

 

KLAXONS!!! Use a klaxon when you feel appropriate. My advice is to use it when Jezza wheels out one of his catchphrases, and as we all know, there are plenty. For example: IT'S CALLED THE JEREMY KYLE SHOW KLAXON, DIRTY LITTLE LIAR KLAXON etc.

 

Teeth. An episode of the JK show in which none of the guests have a mouth like a disused graveyard is quite rare. These people who are too thick to realise they live in a country that gives free dental care to the poor deserve your judgement, so you should give it with both barrels.

 

And finally... Just enjoy the damn show! If a remark from Jezza or one of the scumbags tickles you, share it with us. Use #JeremyKyle to meet new, witty people, it worked for me and numerous others. Keep a lookout for the regulars, you'll soon get to know us and love us. I promise you, if you like the Jeremy Kyle show but have a Twitter account that is virtually moribund, the two go hand in glove and you will be enjoying the delights of morning micro-blogging in a matter of days. One word of caution: the afternoon ITV2 repeats don't tend to get anywhere near the level of commentary the "proper" ITV1 morning episodes do, and neither does the American version, mainly because it's a pile of shit. But hell, I am not here to tell you what to do, just try some of the above tips and keep in mind the info I've given you about the main players. It will all fall into place.

 

Graham: here to help, here to touch you inappropriately, then touch himself if he has time

 

 

That's it from me today, sorry my first blog entry was on the long side, I probably could have split this in two. But I didn't, and you read it all anyway, so thanks. Comments on anything are always welcome, and follow me on Twitter. Till next time, you bunch of lavatory bowls!