We at Control Wee never used to like poetry. We used to think it was boring, dull and, if we’re honest, completely pointless. At school it was only the geeks and the gays that used to take any kind of interest in this area of English. The only ‘poems’ that could hold our attention for more than a couple of seconds had to meet certain criteria. They were not allowed to be more than 5 lines long, had to contain rude rhyming words and make no sense whatsoever.

So, imagine our surprise when we stumbled across two poems which made us stop in our tracks and re-think our whole philosophy on poetry. Maybe this sudden appreciation of the genre was something to do with maturing as we get older. But there are so many other signs to indicate we are not yet able to claim a place at the grown ups table that this can’t be the case. Instead, we like to think that these odes are so good they would make anyone catch their breath.

Written by Perls, a Gestalt psychologist, this ‘prayer’ shows the author’s belief that people should concentrate on satisfying their own needs. If you do this and meet someone then it’s cool. If not, then you can still be happy.

Gestalt Prayer

I do my thing and you do your thing.

I am not in this world to live up to your expectations,

And you are not in this world to live up to mine.

You are you, and I am I, and if by chance we find each other, it’s beautiful.

If not, it can’t be helped.

(Fritz Perls, 1969)

Three years later another psychologist came up with a rejoinder to Perls’ verse. He seems to disagree with the sentiments of the first poem, saying that it is important not just to focus on yourself, but to look to the other person and how you relate to each other. I don’t want to say too much as it’s open to interpretation, so take a look yourself.

A Gestalt Poem

If I just do my thing and you do yours,
We stand in danger of losing each other
And ourselves.

I am not in this world to live up to your expectations;
But I am in this world to confirm you
As a unique human being,
And to be confirmed by you.

We are fully ourselves only in relation to each other;
The ‘I’ detached from a ‘Thou’ disintegrates.

I do not find you by chance; I find you by an active life
Of reaching out.

Rather than letting things passively happen to me,
I can act intentionally to make them happen.

I must begin with myself, true;
But I must not end with myself;
The truth begins with two.”

(Tubbs W. 1972. Journal of Humanistic Psychology, (12) 5 Beyond Perls)

Poetry, Words, Thoughts, Life | 2 Comments »

So, although the Scottish duo I refuse to name anymore got this music event off to a not-so-musical start, their performance lived up to everyone’s low expectations. Their legendary party classic managed to encourage a few people to join in vocally for the first couple of minutes. But it failed to inspire the kind of sing-along we have become used to at the end of a heavy night, with arms are draped over mates’ shoulders and the feelings of solidarity and brotherhood coursing through our veins as we raise our voices in unison. I have no doubt that the lack of inebriation had something to do with this.

A little later an artist of a completely different calibre took the stage. Hailing from Scotland, Paolo Nutini was a great choice to occupy the Saturday mid-afternoon slot. At just 20 years old his voice has a maturity and husky vibrance which can captivate the mood of slow ballads as well as more upbeat tunes. With most people now supping their 2^nd or 3^rd beer of the day his music had a real relaxing effect. Even though a few of his songs could depress if you listen to the lyrics, this didn’t seem to matter – people were just enjoying the melodies. And when the first few chords of New Shoes were struck, pockets of people all around the arena could be seen dancing some kind of thigh slapping Western jig, cowboy hats and all. While some might claim that Nutini has been forced into the mainstream by his music label, his current brand of music seemed to hit the spot as the sun began to shine on Hylands Park. He’s obviously talented as he can sing, and play, music from several different genres effectively. Here’s hoping that he is allowed to demonstrate his versatility and true talent in the future rather than being forced to write music that his bosses assume the fans want to hear.

The weekend spent at V was pretty intense. Not only did we have to stand up for 12 hours a day listening to bands, but we were also required to drink copious amounts of beer and consume numerous whopping ½ pound burgers with everything on. It’s a hard life. The point I’m trying to make here is that, although I’d love to write about all 20-something bands I saw, it will just take me too long to do. So I’ll just pick out a couple more that stood out.

Pete Doherty always seems to be in the news for the wrong, or right, depending on your point of view, reasons. Not a week goes by when he is not arrested for alleged drug abuse, possession of illegal pharmaceuticals, assault, theft or something along these lines. I don’t think it was anything to do with his offstage antics, but I had never really paid much attention to him musically, either when he was in The Libertines, or now he is the front man of Babyshambles. So when my mate suggested we go and have a listen I wasn’t too keen. But based on the fact that I had decided our complete itinerary so far, it seemed a little unfair to turn down his one request.

So it was that I found myself surrounded by trilby-wearing cockneys. As we awaited the arrival of the ‘shambles on stage I must admit my expectations were not particularly high. However, as soon as Doherty ambled out I realised I was going to enjoy their set. Bottles, glasses, cans and indeed anything that could contain liquid for more than a few seconds started raining down on him. Oh what joy to see someone who continually gives it out getting it back for once. All those taking part in the pelting seemed like avid fans of his so I couldn’t quite work out why they were intent on attacking him. Even more confusing was the fact that people were willing to waste their partially consumed beers. Maybe retaliation was what they were looking for. If that was what they wanted, then that’s what they got. Mid-set one beverage appeared to land on its mark. I half expected Doherty to throw it back or get in a strop and march off stage. But he didn’t. Instead he took revenge by …………….. throwing his guitar at the audience. From where I was stood I couldn’t see if it made contact with anyone, but I was pleased to note the ingenuity he had used when picking his weapon. I expected the instrument to be gone forever, carefully secreted down someone’s pants. So I was amazed when a security guy appeared from amidst the crowd carrying it like a prized possession. During the remainder of the set Doherty lashed his microphone stand and microphone into the crowd and, on at least one occasion, spat on those at the front. All in all it was a thoroughly enjoyable show and demonstrated to me the bond that can exist between a performer and his audience. And, I must say, the music wasn’t bad either.

Although The Killers, The Kooks, Kasabian and Jet were all awesome, the last band I want to talk about has a lot more history than all these put together. Exactly a week before the start of V this year, Tony Wilson passed away. In Manchester and the North West of England he is considered nothing less than a legend for his contribution to the music scene over the last thirty years. So much so that there is even talk of erecting a statue of him in the city centre. The band most closely, and inextricably, linked with him are, of course, the Happy Mondays. In their early days the Mondays were groundbreaking with their fusion of indie rock and house music testing waters that had not been entered previously. It was obviously effective. And the fact that they can still get people dancing to the same tunes 17 years after the release of Pills ‘n’ Thrills and Bellyaches is testament to the influence they have had for the last two decades.

Shaun Ryder still has the same distinctive voice that made him famous all those years ago. Looking at the man tells a different story though. He’s filled out substantially, seems perpetually tired and sat down while singing the majority of his songs. Paradoxically though, listening to Kinky Afro, Loose Fit and the unforgettable Step On, the energy he created with his voice was tangible and reminiscent of The Hacienda days. This was undoubtedly aided by the relentless enthusiasm and commitment shown by the Mondays iconic resident prancer, Bez. With Ryder less than a week away from turning 45 we can’t expect him to be in peak physical condition. But what we do want is someone who can inspire us to dance and sing along to his music. And he does a damn good job of that.

Other bands at V 2007 (in no particular order):

Jet, New Order, Rodrigo y Gabriela, The Coral, The Killers, The Kooks, Kasabian, Foo Fighters, Kanye West, Manic Street Preachers, Primal Scream, McFly, Seth Lakeman, Pink, James, The Editors, Basement Jaxx, Damien Rice, Mika, KT Tunstall, Ocean Colour Scene, The Fray, Sophie Ellis Bextor, The Goo Goo Dolls, James Morrison, The Cribs, The Fratellis

And as a tribute to Tony Wilson…..

Life, Music | 1 Comment »

When I first considered writing a review on V 2007 I thought it would be a piece of piss. During the 2 days of music and 3 days of drinking so much takes place that there was no doubt in my mind it would be easy to knock up a decent post. But when I sat down and started recalling the weekend, the realisation hit me that it would actually be a tricky job.

When you go to a standard gig it is only necessary to comment on the main band, while possibly reserving a sentence or two for the warm up act(s). But a festival is a different kettle of fish. At this kind of event you are combining 3 days of tomfoolery in a massive field with a choice of well over 100 artists to listen to.

The first big decision it’s necessary to make on arriving at the venue is where to pitch the tent. The spot you pick needs to be situated close to the stage-end of the field, while being as far away from the portaloos as possible. This is irrelevant at Glastonbury as anyone attending that particular festival expects, and in fact craves, to get covered in shit. It’s all part of the experience and if they go home smelling of anything other than a cesspit they are disappointed. The festival-goers at V, I feel, are a slightly different breed. Here all the girls walked around in pretty pink Wellington boots and belt skirts, not in the hope or expectation that they would get their feet dirty, but because they thought it was the kind of look one should have at such an event. At Glastonbury a pair of trainers with their soles hanging off would have been substantial and robust enough to deal with torrential rain and flooded fields. Of course, I should remind myself that I was at the Hylands Park venue, in Essex, this time and perhaps that had something to do with the scanty attire of the ladies. I seem to remember everyone wearing a lot more clothes when I went to the Stafford venue a few years ago and it was a damn sight hotter.

Having pitched the tent and cracked open the first of many canned beverages it’s then time to make the second decision. Which bands should we watch? Sitting in a circle under our gazebo were about 10 people, representing a cross section of society. So, it was obvious that we would all have different priorities when it came to our favourite artists. What was certain right from the start, though, was that all present had their hearts set on seeing The Proclaimers early doors on the Saturday.

The next day, 5 minutes into The Proclaimers’ set everyone was getting restless. A few thousand people had gathered to hear them with only one thing on their mind. And of course, that was to get some beer. But the queue for the beer tokens was so long that all present were having to put up with “Wee Jimmy”, or whatever this band’s latest drivel is called, without being the slightest bit intoxicated.

Oh I’m sorry, please ignore the last two sentences. That was supposed to say, the one thing everyone had on their mind was to hear “I would walk 500 miles by The Proclaimers. This is the only song anyone knows by this band, so predictably they left it until the end. I’m sure this was not because it is good to finish on a high note, but rather due to the fact that everyone would have left the arena if they had played it any earlier.

Obviously The Proclaimers were recruited to the V line-up as a novelty piece. A way of setting a benchmark of comparison for the rest of the weekend. It was a shrewd move by the organisers to put them on one of the main stages first. They knew that when any other bands played thereafter, the very least anyone would say was “well, they’re better than The Proclaimers.” Against them, every artist would appear good. That is, except for Mark Ronson.

I’ll post the rest of the V review in a day or so (with more musical content next time).

And as a tribute to The Proclaimers….

Life, Music | No Comments »

It’s official. I’m excited. The reason? I’ve found some people who think a bit like I do. I’m sure those of you who know me are utterly shocked to discover this, but it’s true.

Who are these people, you might ask. And what deficiencies can they possibly have which allows me to state I have something in common with them. Well, quite simply, they are some guys who have traveled around the world and, although they enjoyed themselves immensely, came back thinking that something was missing.

I can’t claim to have been all around the world, but I’ve stopped off in a few countries during my time away from the UK. I’ve had awesome experiences in almost every country I’ve visited (sorry Bulgaria). However, when I heard about these folks, I could instantly relate to what they were talking about. They have the nerve to claim that people who go ‘travelling’ nowadays aren’t really doing it in the way God intended it. They think that, since the advent of Lonely Planet and other guide books, travelling has become staid and, dare I say it, a tad boring. To say boring might be dubbing it down too much, but predictable certainly sums it up. Guide books tell you what you’re going to see before you get there.

As a result of this kind of thinking The League Of Adventurists was born. Their philosophy is, “the world has been discovered, so we need to go out there and make it more interesting.”

I suppose I should explain why I’ve said all the above. Having a group of people thinking in this way is no good unless someone takes the initiative and turns it into action. Well, that is exactly what these crazy kids do. They think of a ridiculous idea for travelling from one place to another – something which mentally stable people would not even consider – and do it. Simple as that.

Lots of events have either already taken place or are currently in the pipeline, in countries such as Morocco, Mongolia, Vietnam and Jordan. All these trips seem great, but what has really got my interest is The Rickshaw Run in India.

The theory behind this event is very simple. Take a 3-wheeled vehicle, with an engine, that is half the size of a Reliant Robin and drive it 2,500 miles across India…… in two weeks! The more quick-witted of you might realise that this equates to just 178 miles per day. But how many of you have ever tried driving an auto-rickshaw that kind of distance in a day – outside of a major city!?

Around 70 teams will take part in this rally, which will start on 1^st January next year.

So the guys who say that travelling should be spontaneous and not arranged have gone ahead and organised a two week intensive travelling event. Are they hypocrites? Absolutely not.

The journey, from Kerala in South India to Kathmandu in Nepal, has no particular itinerary. The participants can take absolutely any route they like. This could potentially take them through deserts, across vast plains, up and down mountains and even off-road. It’s no holds barred. Anything goes. Accommodation, of course, is not provided or arranged beforehand. Each team takes their pick – tent, hotel or rickshaw. If any of the vehicles break down during the fortnight of fun the participants can rest assured that organisers will NOT assist them in any way. It’s either get the locals to help or fix it yourself.

It sounds like the perfect tonic for masochistic maniacs with a penchant for near-death experiences. Anyone who takes part in this sort of venture surely doesn’t value their life very much.

By the way, did I mention that I signed up for it yesterday.

Rickshaw Run, Life, Travel, India | 2 Comments »

My old man always used to say to me, “start as you mean to continue”. So that is exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to have a whinge, a moan, a good old fashioned grumble. What’s your beef, you might ask. Why do you want to fill one of your first blog entries with negative comments? My answer to you is that I’m British and complaining is what we’re best at. In fact, most people are disappointed nowadays if they meet someone from England and are not greeted with a barrage of whining. We like to indulge in self pity at the wrongs that have been done to us on a regular basis.

Add to my nationality the fact that I currently live in India and you will realise that this is the perfect cocktail for continual and incessant complaint. The locals here must think I’m a right grumpy sod. And they’re probably right.

Anyway, I was walking home from work last night and, as I turned the corner, I saw a sight which filled me with trepidation. Immediately in front of the building where I live, lots of men were scurrying around like ants, putting up some kind of structure. Nearing the hive of activity I realised to my horror that they were erecting a temporary temple. This could only mean one thing – noise. And lots of it.

That evening, as I relaxed in my room, I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that, even though many people were hanging around the temple, the kafuffle was not disturbing me greatly. Maybe I had been too hasty in assuming that these people would carry on their celebrations with no regard for anyone else. I had heard someone muttering something unintelligible over the PR system and a few Hindi songs had been played at a reasonable decibel level, but nothing too extreme.

At around 11pm, the time when it becomes illegal to play anything over a loud speaker, I decided to go to bed. No sooner had I put my head on the pillow than it started - a cacophony of sound which seemed to be aimed directly at my window. A live band was playing traditional, along with some contemporary, Hindi music, and a guy was mouthing off at the top of his voice as if it was the middle of the day. If I had been having a conversation with someone in my room I would have had to shout – that’s how loud it was.

When I closed my eyes, had I not been trying to sleep, it would have been an awesome experience. The volume and proximity of the music was such that it seemed as if the musicians were actually sat around my bed. I could hear the keyboards and singing ever so clearly and could have sworn that the drummer was sat just to my right, by the door. It was quite surreal. For about 5 minutes I tolerated, and almost enjoyed, the occasion. But then, when I realised it wasn’t going to stop any time soon, I started to get a bit irritated.

As 2am rolled around with no let up to the celebrations I was wondering if there was any way I could force them to put an end to the racket. But I realised that any attempts I made, legal or otherwise, would result in a severe beating from the locals, falling out of favour with the particular god they were worshipping and a great big wheelbarrow full of bad karma.

By 4am, as the ruckus still hadn’t showed any signs of dying down, I had resigned myself to the fact that I would be tired and moody at work the next day. And then, finally, at 6am, the music relented and the compere ceased with his inane drivel.

I have never known as much peace and tranquility as I did right then. My ears were ringing, but the silence was golden. I soon drifted off into serene slumber, only to be woken by a hawker at about 7am and my alarm clock at 8.

Oh India, what joys you abundantly supply me with.

Thoughts, Life, India | No Comments »

It is with great sadness that I bring you this update. I arrived back to my new apartment after work yesterday evening to find a most shocking and upsetting scene.

The pigeon’s egg was lying shattered on the kitchen surface. The new, unborn life inside, snuffed out like a candle when the power comes back on. It’s father nowhere to be seen. It’s mother hanging around outside, as if expecting the horrific incident she has experienced to suddenly undo itself.

Having not been around to experience the events as they unfolded I can only surmise as to what actually happened. I imagine the mother was going about her business in the kitchen when suddenly she lost her balance. Staggering across the shelf she just about managed to right herself in time to prevent a nasty fall. In doing so, her tail inadvertantly clipped the egg and set it rolling. As she turned to see what was happening, everything began to move in slow motion. Ever so slowly the egg moved towards the sheer drop represented by the shelf’s edge. The mother started waddling towards it as quick as she could, but couldn’t seem to move her flat feet fast enough. Just as the rodent with wings caught up with the egg, the rugby shaped foetus seemed to speed up. Without arms and hands aid her, the vermin was helpless. She tried to use her feet to change the direction of the accelerating oval, but to no avail. Despairingly she watched as her baby hurtled towards the kitchen surface below.

Of course, it probably didn’t happen like that at all. It is more likely that a gust of window blew through from the balcony, knocking the egg over the edge. But that wouldn’t really constitute a story

Life, India | 1 Comment »

Well, today I finally moved out of my guest house in Paharganj. This has been my home for about 2 months now. And believe me, 2 months in Paharganj is enough to send anyone insane.

On entering my new 2 bed apartment in Laxmi Nagar I was greeted by a pigeon sitting guardedly on a shelf in the kitchen. She was looking rather defensive and I soon realised why. The winged rodent had deposited a lovely white egg where you would normally store the cornflakes.

On asking around I found out that it normally takes about 21 days for a pigeon egg to hatch. This means I will be a surrogate father within the next 3 weeks. I must own up to feeling a little concerned. I’m not sure the place is big enough for all three of us.

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Go away. We’ve got nothing for you at the mo

Thoughts | No Comments »