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The Soundtrack of a Valve: An Appreciation of Gordon Dair

A few weeks ago, when the news was bad, I sent Gordon an email. I wanted to say something; anything. Gordon didn’t want cards and had limited use for sympathy, so I emailed an apology. I had a nagging memory about a historical injustice dating from 1988. It was about punk rock. It was about Gordon. Where were we? We were in a basement in Stockbridge, finding our voices. We were in the office of CUT magazine, doing our best, and although not many people noticed, sometimes our best was good. But it was 1988. Music was changing. Punk had died. Dance music was threatening a new kind of fun. Compact discs were on the way. Even The Clash had one. It was called The Story Of The Clash Vol 1 , and Gordon had reviewed it. Here, there is a conflict between memory and archive. In memory, Gordon reviewed this album with an outburst of autobiography. He overwrote, obliterating his word-count. While his writing was urgent and heartfelt, it barely addressed the music. It discussed Gordon’s life...
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The Academy Awards Are Like Buses, Leonardo DiCaprio Is An Apprentice Brian Blessed; Quentin Tarantino, What Happened?

The Oscars are marketing, so to comment on the nominations is like comparing Flash to Daz. But, since my exposure to contemporary cinema is roughly confined to reading the sides of buses, I do feel qualified to offer an opinion or two. So, obviously Leo DiCaprio will win in the Best Male Actor Who Got Fat and Looked A Bit Wild Like Brian Blessed category. Eddie Redmayne will not, even though he's on the side of every 271 (Highgate Village) bus. I would like Jennifer Lawrence to win in the Pretty Lady With Pluck category, because I saw her phone her dad in the Edinburgh Filmhouse to tell him where she was, and she looked quite thrilled about it. And Cate Blanchett is very nice and supersmart. But apparently Brie Larson is going to win, and not just because she is named after a versatile and inoffensive cheese.
But mostly, what I want to say is, Quentin Tarantino, what happened? The Hateful Eight has been on the side of every 43 bus for ages, and it's only nominated for hiring Ennio Morricone to do the music (and he will win, because everyone loves the spaghetti westerns, even if they considered them to be trash at the time) and cinematography, which is like saying, yeah, you made your film in an obsolete format so nobody could screen it, but that shows you have taste. But nothing for the crackpot video store jive talk dialogue or the actors dancing with their mirror images and being offensive in a postmodern way, forcing you, the director, to be defensively offensive or say nothing, which is roughly the same thing. And this is your masterpiece, which must now be known as your overlooked masterpiece. Surely, QT, this ain't how it was meant to be?
On another note, I was in 99p Stores today, looking for marshmallows and wooden kebab skewers, and I noticed they sell preloved DVDs. They had The Road. I was going to buy it, but then I thought, is it worth 99p? I mean, I loved the book, but do I need to spend almost a pound to feel desolate, when I could just leave the shop and walk down Holloway Road, watching buses in the rain?
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