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portent \POR-tent\, noun:
1. A sign of a coming event or calamity; an omen.
2. Prophetic or menacing significance.
3. Something amazing; a marvel.
This arrived in my inbox. I am watching Kill Bill. I have discovered a place that sells fresh curry leaves. I am reading ‘Underworld’ by Don De Lillo and am transfixed.
I got some new writing work, sort of PR but it’s a challenge. I cooked pork sausages I bought from the butcher in Valley shopping centre and I remembered why it’s so legendary. Ever had pork sausages that smelt and tasted like real pork. Doesn’t happen that often.
Bought a kilo of cleaned tripe. Not the same as cleaning it oneself but it saves time. The only thing that Uma Thurman has not done yet is marry me.
Dreamed about the Transkei last night and find myself homesick despite the quick fix and instant gratification nightmare that is Joburg. I want potholes and crazy people. Hours on the road where I don’t see a whitey for miles and people are intrigued because whiteys don’t usually stick around.
The city centre that comprises a group of hawkers selling fresh veggies and fruit. The taxi rank where the drivers are just as crazy, if not more so, than Joburg but far more relaxed. Maybe Transkei A Grade. The backpackers that have lost their way and are at the mercy of the Transkei ebb and flow. The Vubu flooding the sea with mud for 4 or 5 kilimetres and the feeling in the air of something, a portent of strangeness still to come.
It’s where Nelson Mandela sent Chris Hani when De Klerk revoked his amnesty.
It’s where my home now lies although it is not a fixed abode but rather a place in time that I can lay claim to and call my own.
Nights in a tent where the only sound is the ocean, tree dassies and frogs. I still can’t really put it into words, not through lack of trying but it always sounds cheesy, romantic and downright utopian. It’s not safe. There are far more ways to die than there are on offer in Joburg, much to ire of the big city.
This text is from the Johnnie Walker ad across the road at the bottle store. It’s been there since as long as anybody can remember, in fact it’s possible that these words have been there since time out of mind. That is the time before memory began, don’t forget this kind of quote has been seen as an exhortation to drink and a futile excuse for countless dreamers.
The method of promoting this new offering of ten tracks from Radiohead, erstwhile pioneers of the extraordinary, has to be commended. When the band realized it was substandard they baled out, opting to leave the decision on price up to the online buyer.
Lacking the resonance of The Bends or the outrageousness of KidA it doesn’t even try to grab hold of the listener. Even the otherworldlyness of Amnesiac seems above the band these days. Remember those esoteric almost mystical moments from off the wall?
The whole of this package is just too non threatening, too tight and just too neat. It can accommodate everybody from old through to new fans and even lapsed fans in between who are now reborn after just one listen.
It demands no thinking from the listener just a go with the flow, making no real decisions while sitting on the fence pretending to be a fan in certain circles and denying it in others. A one size fits all kind of easy on the ear stuff that both your parents and your kids would enjoy.
Bob Dylan did a similar thing when he found God and demanded disciples not critics, then discovered that his cutting edge had been severely blunted.
There’s nothing ragged or jagged about this Radiohead, in fact nothing dangerous to even suggest that the listener is being mugged. The whole thing can be listened to as elevator music or worse still, played as a lullabye sequence for recalcitrant babies.
The Peppers worked a similar con with Stadium Arcadium although they retained some of their dignity by at least charging for their offering.
The similarities between the two boil down to both packages, being curiously listenable and yet, making no unique impact on listeners. The con simply lulling them into temporary amnesia about any band bibliography with which to make comparisons.
Generic, albeit polished, pieces tooled to deliver instant gratification with absolutely no demand on the listener. This kind of toy or plaything comes from a comfort zone far from that edge, ever close to the precipice, that Radiohead inhabited in their past.
Maybe the band has started believing their own myth or could it be a cutting indictment of most listeners and their mushy acceptance of mediocrity?
A credible bounce back from this far down is possible but not inevitable. His track record speaks for itself though, so watch my space.
