How can this be? I’ve been linking choons for nearly five years but I haven’t shared this.
There are remixes and there are remixes, and Thin White Duke (not David Bowie who went under the same pseudonym for a while) throws out some of the best. This one is just sublime. It grows, it builds the tension, it drops, it bangs. It also has that extraordinary quality of being fairly repetitive and not progressing melodically, but till capturing the attention and making your feet tap and your head not. What else could you ask from a
In the same way that a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single entry of a post code into the satnav, a FriFic of a hundred words starts with a single germ of an idea. Read more…
Saturday was the 28th anniversary of the Hillsborough disaster. I’ve discussed the events of the day and the subsequent quest for truth and justice at length elsewhere, so I won’t re-tread that ground again now but it is extraordinary timing for Kelvin MacKenzie to decide to insult the people of Liverpool this weekend. Admission – I have to disclose here that I haven’t read the column first hand however, as it has been taken down. But he’s a dispicable man, writing for (and previously – at the time of Hillsbourough – editing) a dispicable paper.
This song was written when The Sun’s sister paper was forced to close after its staff were found to have, amongst other things, hacked into voicemails of celebrities and news-worthy figures in order to dig up gossip. Bragg reminded us then that scousers never buy The Sun following the lies that MaccKenzie printed (under a banner headline “The Truth”) and it seems appropriate to play it again now.
Never Buy The Sun.
Well it may be Easter weekend and a time of celebration and family get-togethers, not to mention a few days off work for many, but that doesn’t mean FriFic is taking a break. No sirree Jiminy Bob Read more…
Shocking surprise news last week, the legend that is Bazmow has come out. I know, whodathunkit? In recognition of this revelation, I am delighted to share the high point of his career. This is probably the nearest thing I have to a guilty musical pleasure, except there is no music I like that I guilty about.
I’ve always loved this song, and one of the first times I ever did karaoke, I treated the pub to my rendition of this bad boy. But of course nobody could come anywhere close to Bazza, and here is a truly wonderful performance. Even if youre not a fan, you can’t help but admire those sleeves.
It’s a classic, it’s a
The Jam were a rather fine band, mainly thanks to the songwriting talents of Mr P Weller. And when The Jam finished, he went off in a completely different direction. Here he is fronting that different venture at an intimate gig in West London in the summer of 1985.
Ridiculously catchy, pounding tune, and lyrics with a conscience. Yep, it’s a
It’s all kicking off over here this week. First our leader sent a minion to Brussels with her letter declaring the Britain will be leaving the EU after the nation voted for Brexit, prompting rowdy scenes in parliament and protests in the street (including my cousin dressed in a giant Theresa May head outside the House). And then the SNP renewed their call for another referendum , saying if the UK are leaving Europe, they want to leave the UK. Fortunately there is no such discord in the corner of the Internet we call FriFic, the only thing exiting is our weekly prompt from Rochelle’s outbox:
Fatima’s picture reminded me of Southampton’s own Ocean Village which grew up on land which was once the East Docks and inspired my effort this week. The name William is a nod to my own Uncle Bill, a lifelong docker.
William left school on his sixteenth birthday, before term ended. On Friday he emptied his locker; on Monday he joined his father among thousands in safety boots on the dockside. “No exams here boy,” he said, “it’s man’s work. Job for life.”
Thirty years on, William is glad his father didn’t see the docks’ transformation. Containers and freight trains replaced by yachts and luxury flats. Where rigger gloves once protected William’s hands from ropes and chains, now thin latex gloves shield him from cleaning sprays and cloths. This was a job for life, but not the one he had foreseen.