Pop Culture Blog: Music, Movie and Humor

Leveraging low-hanging synergies outside the vertical fruit box since 1999.

Wednesday Wadio: Nouvelle Vague’s "Friday Night…"


in Wednesday Wadio

“But two o’clock has come again, It’s time to leave this paradise. Hope the chip shop isn’t closed, Cos’ their pies are really nice. I’ll eat in the taxi queue, Standing in someone else’s spew. Wish I had lipstick on my shirt, Instead of piss stains on my shoes.” – FNSM, The Specials.

Friday Night, Saturday Morning was a hit for The Specials way, way back in 1981 – And it’s a ska-based, horn-heavy, seizure inducing masterpiece. It was one of the B-Sides to their hit “Ghost Town” (heard most recently in the movie “Snatch”), but it took on a life of it’s own and eventually grew almost as popular as the song it was supplementing. It’s a great snapshot of the life of a young English pisshead, and I’d bet several pints on it being a favorite of Mike Skinner’s.

The irony in this song is that while the lyricist lives a highly social weekend, he spends quite a bit of time on the edge of the dance floor and still feels lonely when the night is over.

My sister played Nouvelle Vague’s version of the song the last time we drove up to Canada and I fell in love immediately. NV is a French band who’s claim to fame is not their own material – but rather covers of famous alt/indie rock favorites from the 80s. You can listen to more examples of their interpretations of hits by The Cure, The Clash and Joy Division here.

Their idea was to forget the initial punk or new wave background of each song, keep simple fundamental chords, work with young singers who never heard the orginal versions and make the quality of original songwriting happen in a completely different way. (bossa nova, jazz style and sixties pop).

I wouldn’t count on this band being around 2 years from now, but it’s a very cool idea and the project was well-executed. I love this record, and it’s a definite must for any eightiesaphile. Providing you then make a point of tracking down all the originals, Duckie.

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Pre-Nuptual Newport Naughtiness.


in Heartwarming

I’ll get to posting photos and deep thoughts on Triconi’s wedding eventually – on that note, please send me photos of the actual Saturday service if you were there as my camera malfunctioned for exactly 24 hours for some very strange reason and I missed out. To keep your gallery appetite whetted in the meantime, I proudly present a selection of ridiculous pics from Chris’ bachelor party in Newport three weekends ago.

Eighteen holes of golf, a fifteen man party-bus, a thousand dollar-a-night Mohegan Sun suite. Well done to brother Matt, the organizer, and here’s hoping everyone forgets my Ketel One induced towel-clad antics by the time the wedding rolls around next month. Enjoy.

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Missing Connections Like My Name Was Craig.


in

We were cruising at about 35,000 feet last night when I started to notice that the Russian guy sitting two rows in front of me was just a little ‘off’. It wasn’t a gut feeling, or an inkling or a hunch. Rather – it was the fact that he got up, walked into the stewardess’s galley and came out with two meals which he then proceeded to wolf down while the takeoff seatbelt sign was still on.

The stewardesses, hostesses, whatever you’re supposed to call them nowadays – were towards the front of the cabin, but soon enough one of them walked back and caught Vladimir chowing down. And on a special, pre-ordered kosher meal no less. She looked at me incredulously and asked hypothetically “What the hell does he think he’s doing?” To which an older man seated directly across the aisle from me answered “You need to get security watching that guy”. Jason then threw in his $0.02 – very loud and in no uncertain terms, “I wanna knock that friggin’ idiot out”. I liked his idea better. It’s a scary world, and when you’re airborne airborne head-shaking and tut-tuting at the idiosynchracies of others should always be foregone in favor of one .45 caliber round behind the ear from an Air Marshall’s glock.

I was supposed to get to my Boston office around 9 a.m. this morning. We had an overnight, red-eye flight from Vancouver to Toronto, and then an immediate connecting flight through to Boston. It was too perfect. In reality, we never stood a ghost of a chance of making the connection, and as 10 other Beantown hopefuls chirped at a gallery of Air Canada employees Jason and I choked back the bitter and got boarding passes for Pittsburgh.

From Pittsburgh we managed to eventually get to Boston a good 7 hours later. Due to a storm Saturday night, air traffic was backed up and we waited an hour on the tarmac and then another hour in a holding pattern before we finally got home. 20 hours, four airports, a rental car and a taxi later – I was unlocking my apartment door and being scolded by a cat. And it was heavenly. I do not want to see the inside of an airplane again for a very, very long time. Unless, of course, it’s one of these.

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Where Does He Get Those Wonderful Toys?


in Movies

We’re four hours into the flight to Vancouver, and Tim Burton’s Batman is better than I remember it. The first movie shown was Kicking and Screaming, but now Air Canada has gotten all retro on us. Jason and I enjoyed a lovely airline pancake breakfast and now he’s reading The Perfect Storm while I struggle to keep from going truly batty in my cramped little aisle.

As we were waiting to board the plane at 7am, we ran into Jeff B. who’s also going to the wedding and is sitting two rows behind us as I type. When we land, we’re going to sync up somewhere in Vancouver proper and I imagine they’ll end up in one of the city’s new Amsterdammy cafes while I skulk around for a suit. Then – it’s on to Whistler. We have to be at the hotel for a champagne reception by 8.

I think that somewhere in the middle of this very hectic, very short and phenomenally expensive (tack the new suit onto the already hefty tab) weekend – a really great time might emerge. So I press on in hope.

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