Stuart Maconie is back on the road, now venturing further from the safety of his northern birthplace (which he explored in Pies and Prejudice) to investigate the myths of Middle England, home of Jane Austen, Nick Drake, David Brent, Margaret Thatcher, Fred West, Midsomer Murders, Brief Encounter and Tubular Bells. It's an easy life being a celebrity travel book writer: you get on a train, spend a day wandering round Chipping Norton or Burton-On-Trent, sample the local wares, chat to a few disgruntled passers by, make a few notes, nick a few bits from other people's books or blogs, then cobble it all together with wry humour and a little seasoning - voilà, £11-99 in Waterstones. I might resent it if Maconie wasn't a writer first and celeb second, if he hadn't worked his way up through the NME trenches, if he wasn't so warm and avuncular, at times even bordering on fascinating.
Often here, the opinions become more important than the places. You're liable to come away from this book knowing more about what Maconie thinks about Top Gear, complaint culture, the British railway system and Jane Austen vs. George Eliot than you are the Cotswolds, Tunbridge Wells or Leamington Spa... on which he steals a quote from one blogger, Oliver's Poetry Garret, though sadly misses out on referencing the true champion of Leam, Steve at Bloggertropolis. Steve, your agent needs to work harder.
As with his previous books, Maconie becomes most enthused when talking about his first love, music, pottering round Nick Drake's graveyard or scouring the hillsides that inspired Mike Oldfield. For me, the most interesting chapter is the most northern, when he arrives in Buxton, Derbyshire - a town I know, and would question its "Middle" credentials - but that's because I rarely venture any further south at risk of being shot. Still, reading this book made me think it might be worth the risk... one day.
Some guy on the net thinks I suck and he should know He's got his own blog!
By popular demand, I'm back with another pathetic playlist of pity. Many thanks to everyone who suggested songs last time, some of which are included here, others will be featured in the future.
You know the drill by now... this is Radio I Hate Myself & Want To Die FM!
This homage to Robert DeNiro's King of Comedy deserves a post all its own. I strongly urge you to read the lyrics below, and if they strike a chord, follow the link to Ben Parker's website and give him some money. He has a new record out now.
I've been looking through loads of books of old lyrics that I wrote, I've been wondering if I have really developed at all, I used to want to be Billy Corgan now I can't remember what I once saw in those sentimental, over-produced songs he used to sing to me, I was at home and feeling lonely, he was out there making loads of cash...
Used to want to be a writer But now I'd take a lighter to those stories I thought I'd be changing people's lives I thought I'd have the Booker Prize Now I realise that they're just lies People tell themselves because hey don't wanna get a job
What's the point of singing songs you don't believe in Just 'cos people say they might make you money? And is Robbie from Eastenders really sexy Just 'cos people recognise him from the telly? And if Newsnight Review look at everything you do And they decide it's crap Is it really time to pack it in? And no matter how many times I do this thing Will I still feel like Rupert Pupkin?
I used to wanna be in Iron Maiden Now I can't imagine what I'd do With the money that I'd come into Just for playing shows and hanging out with Bruce And spending my spare time with Mötley Crüe I mean, would I really care About the people that stare And point at the spandex clothes that I wear If it was something I really wanted to do?
What's the point of singing songs you don't believe in Just 'cos people say they might make you money? And is Robbie from Eastenders really sexy Just 'cos people recognise him from the telly? And if Newsnight Review look at everything you do And they decide it's crap Is it really time to pack it in? And no matter how many times I do this thing Will I still feel like Rupert Pupkin?
A song that begins with Gilbert being jilted at the altar and ends with the death of both his parents - you can't really blame him for feeling sorry for himself.
See also Nothing Rhymed, a song so monumentally miserable that even Morrissey struggled to make it through to the end when covering it live.
Speaking of Morrissey... there is, of course, a masterclass in self-pity from The Smiths that goes under the same title as this recent offering from Babybird - you know, it's the one where Moz declares "I wear black on the outside, black is how I feel on the inside". I'd have given my right arm for a T-shirt with that on the front when I was 15 (and it'd only have needed one sleeve).
Babybird's song isn't quite that tragic, but it is a fine example of the quality of work on Stephen Jones's 10th album, Ex-Maniac, released earlier this year. Plus the video was directed by Johnny Deep. Yes, that Johnny Depp.
"I wouldn't wish my life upon anyone else..." sings David Shah on this peerless ode to failing to bother the charts. "I can't spend another summer burning copies of my debut single in my bedroom," he continues, "I can't spend another Sunday crying on the sofa as another opportunity passes me by."
You can download the entire album free from their Last FM page. I'd highly recommend you do that. Now.
The opening track to the new Ben Folds / Nick Hornby collaboration. Seriously - Ben Folds and Nick Hornby made a record together. Ben on music and vocals, Nick on lyrics. Until Stephen King and Bruce Springsteen team up, or Morrissey and Douglas Coupland, this is my dream muso-author combo.
Some guy on the net thinks I suck and he should know He's got his own blog!
I'm a loser I'm a poser Yeah really It's over I mean it and I quit Everything I write is shit
Hey, hey It's a working day Hey, hey It's a working day
Somehow it's reassuring to know that even Ben Folds and Nick Hornby have days like that.
A song I find almost too painful to listen to. And I'm a boy...
To those of us who knew the pain Of valentines that never came And those whose names were never called When choosing sides for basketball It was long ago and far away The world was younger than today And dreams were all they gave for free To ugly duckling girls like me
Go on world - hurt each other, kill each other, do anything you want!
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