Top 10 Albums of the year

Before we get to the main meat of this post, there's a couple of albums worthy of mention that didn't quite make it into the top 10. Bjork's "Biophilia" and Radiohead's "The King of Limbs" were both excellent returns to form, although at the same time falling a long way short of their artists' stellar best, and Lupe Fiasco's "Lasers" was a minor disappointment -very good but missing something indefinable.

Anyway, onto the list.

10. Mariachi El Bronx -II.
Following up the Bronx' excellent first Mariachi album was always going to be hard, but they've managed to make another one that's actually better than the first attempt.

9. Electric 6 - Heartbeats and Brainwaves.
You pretty much know what you're going to get with an E6 album -insanely catchy pop rock with a slightly unsettling edge to it. This one is better than most of theirs and contains one of the years best tracks in "French Bacon".

8. Janes' Addiction - The Great Escape Artist.
This is way better than I expected -I actually suspect it's way better than JA themselves expected- and well worth a purchase if you like the band.

7. Bon Iver - Bon Iver.
The next big thing. If you're unfamiliar with these guys, you won't be for long. Brilliant folky rock from very accomplished musicians. Check out the song "holocene" to hear them at their best. Also good for fans of bands with missing letters in their name.

6. Skindred - Union Black.
There aren't many truly unique bands about, but Skindred are certainly one of them. They effortlessly fuse metal, ragga and dubstep into one massive thunderclap. Brilliant, but best heard live -and that's the reason they're down at No.6. This album also contains the best version of the British national anthem ever.

5. Manchester Orchestra - Simple Math
Don't go into this one expecting something you've never heard the like of before, because on first listen, it's a fairly bland poppy album sung by a man with a pleasant if slightly whiny voice. Simple Math, however has hidden depths -and what depths they are. Lyrically, this is perhaps the most brutally honest album you'll ever hear. Keep listening to it and you'll fall in love with it.

4. Cage The Elephant -Thank You, Happy Birthday.
Conceptually a million miles away from "Simple Math" this is more of a "Happy" album - put this on when you're in a good mood and you'll soon be dancing around the room. I've just realised that that might just be me, but never mind, it's still a cracking album. It's only made No.4 because it's essentially a Pixies tribute album but if you're going to rip off someone, make sure it's someone unspeakably brilliant.

3. Mastodon - The Hunter.
Fan opinion on The Hunter was split, some seeing it as an incoherent piece of rubbish, others -like me- feteing it as Mastodons' finest hour. Rather than an album wide concept the Atlanta boys have given us a collection of largely unrelated songs, but what songs they are.

2. The Black Keys - El Camino.
The worlds' most underrated band return with their second brilliant album in as many years. This is the best rock album of the year by far. No arguments, go and buy it.

1. PJ Harvey - Let England Shake.
I didn't want to name this as the best album of the year -mainly because it seems nearly everyone else has- but you really can't deny the fact that it is. And it's the best by quite a large margin.
Musically, it's beautifully arranged and Harveys' voice is clearer and sharper than ever. Lyrically it's both powerful and sensitive without ever becoming maudlin or depressing, and she handles difficult subjects with subtlety and ease. It's not far short of a masterpiece.

PJ Harvey, yesterday. Brilliant.

RIP,Legends.

Hello all, I'm back. I'm refreshed, recuperated , re-energised and several other things that begin with "R" as well. And, as a copy of El Camino is in my possession, I'll be doing my top ten albums of the year in  a couple of days -shortly after my worst albums of the year, there's some crackers in that one- and this post which is neccessarily sombre in tone.

In the space of little more than a week, 3 of my favourite sportsmen ever have died.

Last weekend former Everton captain Gary Speed took his own life, seemingly with everything to live for. He was 42. Gary was a husband, father, gentlemen and an Evertonian. That's as fitting an epitaph as you can have.

A couple of days after Gary, Rugby League great Arthur Beetson passed away from a heart attack, aged 66.
In a sport filled with remarkable athletes and tough men, Artie was the most remarkable, the toughest, and -in his position- the best.
Just to let you know how good he was, he played for Queensland and I still loved him-that's something no-one else has managed since.

And this weekend, brazilian football legend Socrates has died.  He was a chain smoker, a qualified doctor and , in a time where the word is overused to describe people , he was truly unique. He was a big man -maybe 6'4- yet he danced and skipped around the pitch with more grace than any footballer I've seen before or after, he had a mass of curly hair, often enhanced with a bandana and a raggedy beard. He was also one of the shining lights of the best national team I've ever seen.

Short thoughts.

The London Olympics -even though they are still some 8 and a bit months away- are managing to piss me off.
To be fair, the olympics always piss me off -what seems like 24 hour coverage of skinny men running in circles for hours at a time, not really my thing- but it's never been this bad before.
Every time an ad arrives on the TV whatever the product is, it's suddenly become the official 2012 Olympic version of it's former self.
So far this morning I've spotted the Panasonic Smart Viera tv - the official tv of the olympic games, Cadburys Dairy Milk - the official tooth rotter of London 2012 and a couple of others as well.
I understand the need for corporate sponsorship, but does everything have to have a commercial tie-in? Really?
Tampax, the official feminine hygiene product of the 2012 Olympic Games.

Scott Weiland, erstwhile singer, professional substance abuser and frontman for the Stone Temple Pilots -who were alright- and Velvet revolver -who were shit- has a new album out. Nothing remarkable about that you might think, and, in a sense, you're right. But Scott has released a Christmas album full of yuletide favourites like White Christmas and such. Are things really that bad Scott?
Is this a desperate attempt to cash in on a seasonal event or a new career direction as a lounge singer? Take a guess.

It's generally around this time of year I do my top 10 albums of the year, but I'm going to hold it off until the new Black Keys album lands through my letterbox. It's due out on December 6th but hopefully I'll get it a bit before that.
If you've no idea who I'm talking about, have a listen to this -it's a great video too.

Giant vicious beast spotted in local forest.

Here it is, captured on film by my wife at the weekend.

Click the pic to see the horror in full size.

I love this.

 I found the following on a random Everton Fansite -I can't remember which one-  and it struck a chord with me. If you're out there and you wrote this, thanks, it's brilliant.

Everton wear an easy grace. They are a Cary Grant smile with a John Wayne walk. Evertonians know that no matter what befalls them or their club, they'll still be Evertonians. The cheers heard at Goodison are exaultations of pure, white-light joy, and despite the barren years at Goodsion, that brilliance will always eminate from it.

However, there is a dimness across the park. It started when God bannished Satan from heaven and Satan snarled, "Fine, but I'm taking Anfield with me," and God replied, "Whatever."

Because Liverpool supporters know that no matter how many trophies they desperately try to jam into their cabinets, at the end of the day they just aren't Everton. They are simply the hatefull step-son who grows up to be wealthy and powerful, yet filled only with spite for his brother.

The dank world of the Liverpool fan is one of pettiness, false pride and faked orgasms. The cheers heard at Anfield sound more like yelps of anger and cries of pain.

In fact, the next time a Liverpool supporter screams and yells at you after their team win a match, simply smile at them. What they are really yelling is, "Do ya love me now, daddy???"

Jim White Ruined my Birthday. Again.

Yesterday was my birthday -no, I'm not telling you how old I am- it also happens to be the football (soccer for you, my american cousins) transfer deadline day. And every year on August 31st, Jim White ruins my birthday.
I know what you're thinking -"Ok Fizz, who the fuck is Jim White?" and it's a fair enough question if A) you don't like football, or B) you don't live in the UK.
Jim White is Sky TV's equivalent of the transfer deadline day's Grim Reaper, Megatron and Hannibal Lecter all rolled into one. If you're an Evertonian, that is.
This year, big Jim gleefully told me that we'd just sold arguably our best player to Arsenal. Thanks Jim. Fucker. Stop smiling.
In between shots of Peter Crouch's people carrier, Yakubu smiling like he'd just been given the keys to Pizza Hut and strangely large mobs of youths behind reporters in car parks, it came to pass that Everton had sold 3 players and bought none -bar a couple of "interesting" loan deals, one an argentinian striker who appears to be more Martin Palermo than Leo Messi, and a famously mad dutchman. Brilliant.
Jim white ruined my birthday. Again.

Jim White yesterday, shortly after ruining my birthday.

"A Swan Dive into the Asphalt"

I know what you're thinking, "That's a strange title for a blog post" - and yes, it is, but allow me to explain. It's a line from the song "Swan Dive" by Hed (PE) and it seems relevant to the -somewhat strange- ending of this post. Bear with me, it'll get better. A bit. Maybe.

Anyway, on the Sunday just gone, my wife, my daughter Gabi and myself had decided to head all the way down to sunny Stirling to check out what is shortly to be her hometown for the next four years or so whilst she's at University (college to you guys across the Atlantic), so we packed up the car and dropped the dog off at my other daughters' on the way. More about the dog later.
So, after what seemed about 58 hours we arrived in Stirling and it's actually really nice. It's the usual mix of traditional stone built houses and modern glass and steel edifices, but with thankfully not too much of the modern that it dominates. All in all, it's a thoroughly pleasant little city. Mid afternoon arrived and we decided to head home and collect Chi from my daughters'. so far, so good. My plan was to stay in the car whilst my wife went up to get Chi, but apparently, both Chi and her mum were so desperate to see me -hey, I'm very popular with Staffys- that they both bolted out of the door. Still, no problem, everything is fine. Chi's mum isn't on the lead, but she's used to that and sprints up to me and gently savages my arm -as she always does- and I'm nearly kissed to death -however, at this point in suddenly aware that my daughter is struggling to hold on to Chi -she's incredibly powerful- and then, all of a sudden, she's loose.
She sprints straight past me. I don't have a hope of catching her. This is one of those times when time seems to stand still - she takes a sudden right turn onto the road, a car swerves and misses her- out of my peripheral vision I can see a large white van  and imagine the meeting of van and dog - and before I have a chance to think I've dived onto the road -goalkeeper style- and caught the dog in my left hand. What a relief.
It was at this point I remembered the van. It missed my head by about a foot. If I was any shorter, I wouldn't have caught the dog, much taller and I probably wouldn't be writing this.
My wife wasn't overly happy -I may be understating things here- and began telling me about the thousands of people who die each year attempting to save their pets from peril. I understand her, of course I do, but I could no more of let Chi get hit by a van than I could her, my children or Hope.
Anyway, both myself and the dog are in severe trouble but never mind, we're both still about.

Chi, in big trouble, yesterday. And today.

State of Origin

Yes, I know its several days after the fact but I don't care.

We lost. They won. The same as it's been for 6 long -really long- years now.
There is however more reason for optimism next year than there has been for quite a while. Firstly, on the back of what may have been the worst SOO performance ever -although Justin Hodges' debut runs it close- Anthony Minichiello won't be there. I'm not sure what Ricky Stuart was thinking including him in the first place, does he really not rate Hayne that much as a fullback? Even if he doesn't, wouldn't Brett Stewart have been the better option?
Yes, yes he would.
There are a few other blues whose spots will be under severe pressure too - Mark Gasnier, Ben Creagh and Mitchell "I've got a tattoo of my own name on my arm" Pearce. In fact, if I was the coach, the only people guaranteed their spot in the 17 would be Gallen, Lewis, Hayne, Uate, Soward and Scott.
Next year NSW will be stronger, Queensland will be weaker. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

Meh

Guangdong Museum of Art

I haven't done this sort of post for quite a long while, so if you've been missing them - this is for you.

This is possibly the most remarkable building I've seen this decade - there's no hint of committee designed municipal blandness here - it looks like the brainchild of a demented sci-fi writer come to life. And it's fantastic.

State of Origin

It's the day after the first game in the series, (if you've no idea what I'm on about, it's rugby league played between New South Wales -the good guys- and Queensland -beer drinking rednecks, lovers of pickup trucks and cowboy hats- and it's possibly the most intense sporting contest there is) and with 24 hours reflection on the events at Suncorp, I've come to the following conclusion. We (NSW) can win this series.

Stop laughing at the back.

With a day's worth of objectivism in place it's much easier for me to analyse the game, and  I've come to the following conclusions.

1. Jason King. With a massive 4 hit-ups and 25 metres he must start game 2. Not really. I can't actually remember a worse origin performance than his. Tolman or Galloway in for round 2.

2. Michael Jennings. Made a couple of errors but looked very dangerous with the ball -deserves to keep his spot.

3. Brett Morris, Mark Gasnier, Dean Young, Trent Merrin. All of these guys play their club footy for St George -the club I support- none of them should be picked for game 2. Hayne, Idris, Lewis and Learoyd-Lahrs as their replacements seems to make sense to me.

And yet, despite some poor performances, we were winning with 10 minutes to go.

6 in a row? Not quite time to celebrate yet.

PS. If anyone is going to get pissy about my Queenslander stereotype, be aware that I love all of god's creations. Even the ones in cowboy hats.

New South Wales, yesterday

Short thoughts

Nathan Van Someren, a not particularly well known participant in Australia's 2nd best team sport -AFL- was sent off on saturday. Why am I telling you this? Surely being sent of in the rufty-tufty world of Aussie Rules can't be that rare? Well, no. No it isn't.  But this guy was sent off for having a dangerous haircut. I'm not even making it up. hahahaha

Here's the offending do in all it's dangerousness.

Nathan yesterday, being dangerous.

A man from Brighton has been fined £80 by some particularly joyless bastard from the local council for allowing his terrier to skateboard around the streets of the town -again, I'm not making this up- He was fined for the dog being "Out of control". What, couldn't it land a kickflip properly? Too much rotation on a 360? No, apparently his Lakeland Terrier was a "Risk" because 2 women tripped over his skateboard. Sorry, but if you can't get out of the way of a dog on a skateboard, you should be worrying about other shit before reporting the canine and it's owner to the council.

Not the dog in question, yesterday.

The last week saw the death of Severiano Ballesteros, who I'm shocked to learn, was widely considered "The Greatest" amongst his peers. I'm no golf fan, but this guy's death struck a chord with me for a couple of reasons. Firstly, we're the same age -and this has made me think about my own mortality really for the first time- and secondly, the man simply transcended his sport. Even people who have no interest in golf -like me- knew who he was and had nothing bad to say about him -and I have plenty of bad things to say about almost everyone.

Most sports have a star who becomes bigger than the game -Babe Ruth, Michael Jordan, Don Bradman- in golf it was Seve.

Triple H(ope).

We had her here at the weekend, so I'm going to make you look at photos of her.

Shoes

I have a complaint. Actually, I have several -some of which are quite nasty, but you don't want to know about that- this complaint is about shoes.
This post was brought about by complete and total envy of the amount of different styles and types available to women compared to men. We have two styles, trainers or shoes -in brown, black or white. Wow, you guys have a million different styles in every shade imaginable, and I want to know why there's such great disparity in the ranges. Do the manufacturers think men don't care? Maybe most of us don't, but I do -I want better shoes, now!

My daughter bought these recently, you wouldn't believe how jealous I am.

Televisions. And doggy birthdays.

The time has come to say goodbye to a long serving and faithful friend. Yes, dear readers the Rascal family's main tv -a near 10 year old Samsung Plano- has just about come to the end of it's useful lifespan, as it's developed an almost constant high pitched squeal and a strange line sometimes occurs across the top third of the screen. I know what you're thinking -"why is he telling us this?" I'm telling this to you to see if anyone else has the same thoughts as me about modern Tv's. I have no problem replacing the Samsung -it's been great for a long while- but when we bought it, it was huge.  Now, it appears, it's tiny.
We were round at our daughters a few days ago, and in their living room they have a TV that must be nearly 5 feet across -it's ridiculous. Their room isn't the biggest and this thing completely dominates it. Like a shire horse in a bedsit. Not for me.
And, at the risk of sounding old, have you tried looking at Tv's to buy recently? I have.
"Ah, you want a 60 inch lcd with hd 3d wifi backlit plasma"
"Do I?"
I didn't. I just want to watch the rugby without it screeching. A Sony Bravia it is then, the same size as the one we have now.

Do not want

Also, it's the Devil Dogs' birthday. She's 1.

Cake.

What happens when you introduce a one year old girl to a slice of chocolate cake?

This.

Happy birthday Hope.

Short thoughts

As I mentioned in my "bored" post below, last week my wife and daughter went to see a car and my sister in laws' newly arrived twins. As I anticipated, the twins -Robert and Gemma- were, in fact, exceedingly cute. There's a shock, all babies are cute. Well almost all babies. A few years back when our girls were babies themselves there was this unfortunate kid called William and boy, cute was the last word you'd use to describe him. If you'd painted the top of his head green people would've thought it was a watermelon, it was that massive. Anyway I digress. The car she went to look at was a grey Ford Focus, the car that'll be here soon is a green Renault Megane. OK. Close enough.

A green Renault Megane, yesterday

The football transfer window came to a close and in a totally unexpected turn of events, Liverpool fans proved themselves to be utter tools. Again. I know, it's a terrible shock and totally out of character, but there you go.

Instead of celebrating the fact they'd just signed Uruguay's second best striker to replace Spain's second best striker, they showed their displeasure in a more....... incendiary manner. Mind, you, their mood may not have been helped by the fact they'd just spent £35 million on a stupid looking geordie with a crap haircut and a prison record longer than Lee Bowyers'.

"Cry-y-ying, Over You...."

And in Queensland, which has been through a bit of a rough time lately -the terrible floods which cost a lot of lives have barely subsided, the locals predilection for wearing cowboy hats in public- they may have finally gotten a bit of a break with the news that Cyclone Yasi missed the two largest population centres in it's path -Townsville and Cairns- and slammed in to the coastline between the two. It's about time something went right up there. Now, if we can just sort out the cowboy hat thing.......

Cyclone Yasi yesterday, robbing Queenslanders of their hats

A Story

About 18 months ago, our youngest daughter came home from school and announced that one of her friends' cats was going to have kittens. "Terrific" I thought, "I'm very happy for it". Not being much of a cat person myself, I gave it barely anymore thought until one day she came home and asked if she could have one. Around about this point I was acutely aware of everyones eyes being on me. "Sure, why not?" says I - three little words that produced a moment that a parent will always remember, a look of pure joy on your kid's face. Brilliant.
A few weeks pass, and it turns out that the kitty is to be her Christmas present from her mate. Great, we're all prepared for the new arrival, then she drops the bombshell......."Can I have two?" "Two?" It turns out that no-one wants the last remaining kitten of the litter, a frankly gorgeous little grey cat.
Of course we relent, and are treated to another moment like the one I mentioned above. So, a week or so before Christmas we recieve two kittens, a black one named Patton -after the lead singer of Faith No More- and the grey one, named Dixie -after Everton legend Dixie Dean. I'm guessing you must be wondering what the point of this story is by now, and sadly I'm going to have to tell you.
A couple of days ago it seems Dixie was hit by a car and dragged along by it. He died in our house last night at about half past midnight. My wife and daughter are distraught, and frankly, despite my best efforts to hide it, so am I. You wouldn't believe how long it's taken me to type this.

So long little guy, I'll miss you. We all will.

Everton

As much as it pains me to say it, as things stand right now my beloved Everton are, to be frank, shit. On saturday we drew 0-0 at home to Wigan. Wigan for gods'sake! We dominated most of the play but couldn't score, Louis Saha seems uninterested, Jermaine Beckford isn't really good enough, and Yakubu, well he's Yakubu. Slightly......erm....rotund, lazy and half arsed -except for a couple of days a season where he looks like a cross between Didier Drogba and Zinedine Zidane- it looks like he wants out. So then, the simple answer is to buy a striker, a really good one. Well yes, it is. But there's one small problem. Everton don't have any money. Nothing. Nada, not a bean or a pot to piss in. Nothing.
So then, we are going to have to sell some players -plenty of candidates, Johnny Heitinga, the Russian with the unpronounceable name and the Yak- to buy one or two, or get in a loanee of some sort. Great.
Maybe we can convince Man City to let us have Carlos Tevez if we give them all 3 and any spare change Chairman Bill can find down the back of his Technicolor Dreamcoat. Yeah well, it's as realistic as Liverpool wanting to swap Torres for him.

Stop grinning, fool.

Short thoughts

First up, Jedward.
Now I realise this may not be the best news you've had all week, but bear with me. I was blissfully unaware of these two cretins until a short while ago when I saw them murdering "Ice-Ice Baby" (Yes, that is possible) and as I don't watch reality TV, I thought that would be my thankfully brief journey to planet Jedward at an end.
Alas friends, I was mistaken. Nintendo have employed the pair of strangely coiffed belters in their christmas advertising campaign.
Get ready to cry. To be honest, I'm still not entirely convinced there's 2 of them - I think it might all be done with mirrors.





Cat vs alligators. Guess what happens here. Yes, that's right.
The feline fighter fends off the gator with a jab Manny Pacquiao would be proud of, so the gator goes and gets it's mate. The cat then proceeds tyo see both gators off the premises. Ace.





Finally today, a music video. I think you'd better get used to this, because in my opinion it's going to be huge very soon.
The world needs more women in school uniform swinging baseball bats.

Staffies and babies

It's been a while since you guys have had a puppy/grandaughter update and,  as I have a couple of new pictures of them both I thought you might like to see how they're doing.

Hope is 8 months old and just about starting to crawl and eat solid food. Chi is 7 months old, huge (the same height as her mum!) and just starting to eat the entire house.