Friday, August 21, 2009


Speaking of people in lab-coats and such:

BERG: The British Experimental Rocket Group.

Feel the buzz. Here and here.


A lunchtime email chat betwn myself, Loki and 2nd Fade that started off with the cover of "A Sucked Orange" by Nurse With Wound (don't ask!) -

- transmog'd into a suggestion by The Mischievous One that a cartoon-strip about the musical misadventures of Steven Stapleton, Colin Potter, etc was almost begging to be done: "I’m imagining Professor Branestawm-like adventures into pataphysics," said Loki. After all, wasn't Stapleton practically a sort of living cartoon in his own right, an epitomy of English Eccentricism. Okay, so maybe 'eccentric' is an unfair, connotation-preloaded word; but you get the gist.

Still, Stapleton doesn't really look much like that any more, does he? - that 'classic' NWW surrealist-undertaker-proto-goth look is long-gone, innit? No doubt, their hardcore fans (are there any other kind?) will shoot me dn like a Spitfire at this point.

When I saw them a few years back - and I have to say that they were pretty dull lol - he looked like an elderly cricket teacher; a house-captain...shuffling around the edge of the stage in greyish chinos/flannels and matching shirt...incredibly suburban-looking - in the old sense of the word - smiling nervously, looking kind of, well, a friendly/favourite uncle on the edge of alzheimers, a teacher supervising a chemistry experiment in a Late 60's Grammar School. Someone helping out on sports-day.

He'd watch the younger chaps in action - sort've checking that they were doing it correctly; but mostly stand back, looking bemused... occasionally, he'd trigger some noise-making toy, or tweak its motion, then step back again. And always that benign, bemused, slightly baffled smile. The smile of a tweed-clad gentleman boffin.

The sort that had secretly helped us win WW2 - who had probably seen some terrible things; who knew stuff - but didn't like to talk about it much.

The dullness - the unobtrustiveness of it all - seemed to suit him. He was the Anti-Gen-P-Orridge. How very unflashy - how very British it all was. A cliche, I know, but true nevertheless.