The Fractal Hall Journal

[A couple more posts from the old blog, lightly edited again.]

September 22nd, 2005

All of Human Life is Here

Canton is a neighbourhood of Cardiff, and is a lot like every other small town that’s been absorbed by an expanding city. It’s centred around a main road lined with shops. It’s got a few laundrettes, grocers, butchers, pubs, chapels, a Tesco, the Cardiff Communication Worker’s Union, a police station, some hardware shops, about a million cafes and coffee houses. I had a coffee and a muffin in one of them. I considered joining the Communication Workers Union. I considered joining the Police. I considered buying a tool, and sort of regret that I didn’t.

You see, Canton also has a Kwik Fit. My car had ended up with freshly ground rear brake discs and had to be Seen To. The mechanic was helpful, friendly, and completely wrong in estimating that the service would only take an hour or so. I ended up on a day trip to a part of town that’s about ten minutes walk from my flat.

There’s a model/RPG shop called Dice & Disk on the main road that I never knew existed. For some reason, it sells a ton of comic book back issues from the early 90s. There’s a sex shop called Lovecraft that may or may not have inspired the title of the Super Furry Animals’ last album. It’s got a product in the window called Joy Jelly that sounds like those wobbly sweets in plastic packets moulded after cartoon characters; I particularly remember the Ghostbuster ones. I doubt anything in Lovecraft has ever appeared free on the cover of the Beano, although we’re in a whole new Century now so you never know. I know for a fact you can still get the jelly sweets in Woolworths, for Canton has one of them too. I went there and bought House of Flying Daggers for seven quid. Note it’s more expensive on their website. I’m supposed to be cutting down on impulse buying, but fuck it, it was a long day and it was seven quid. It could have been worse. I almost walked with a Batman Begins Utility Belt and 3 in 1 Power Gauntlet.

I whiled away the hours in the library, which is situated on Library Street, which a wonderful name. I want to live on a Library Street. A little further on is Chapter, the contemporary arts centre. There was a woman outside with a posh camera taking a picture of a drain cover, which is how you tell how arty it is. I stopped there for a cup of tea (which was 50p) and a fruit tart (which was not).

September 5th, 2006

If you can’t say it in three and a half minutes, it’s not worth saying

I think the above is a quote, but I don’t know who said it or, frankly, in what context. Hopefully, it wasn’t a Nazi.

Three and a half minutes is supposed to be the optimum length for a song. Not so short that it’s easily missed, nor so long that it gets boring. It’s the target length for most bitchin’ pop tunes aimed at The Kids, the gold standard for craploads of tracks from Motown to Slade to Christina Aguilera.

But in all honesty, I think 3 to 4 minutes should be the optimum length for any band’s tracks. It should be the bricks and mortar in whatever Wall of Sound you may be constructing. It’s a nice basic unit to use, because I think it forces you to selectively edit the work, to cut out the weaker bits, the same way a word-limit or poetry metre works on a writer.

Sometimes, it’s the limits we impose on ourselves that create the most interesting things, that force you to find interesting solutions. A film set entirely in one room, a tv series set on one single day; difficult, certainly, but isn’t making it difficult for yourself the point? After all, when faced with the possibility of writing absolutely anything at all you want, no limits whatsover, most people freeze and end up writing absolutely nothing. Maybe that’s why I’m not keen on modern, unstructured poetry (or modern, unstructured anything, whether on film or on canvas); I fail to see the craft, although that may be due to my own lack of insight or interest (and forgive me for using the farty old Daily Mail “modern” shorthand for anything new and rubbish. I’m currently drawing a blank on a better description.)

What it comes down to is this; I’m really aware that, if I’m busting out some super-fly, face-melting guitar work which is the very definition of freaking awesome, I never want it to end. And when you’re embedded in the heart of freakish awesomeness, it’s easy to assume that everyone’s enjoying it as much as you are.

They are not.

This goes for floor-stompin’ house choons and wildly improvisational jazz, too. Keep it concise, and you keep it interesting. If you positively have to break the barrier, ask yourself why you’re doing it. I can only think of a few extra-long odysseys off the top of my head that were worth doing, and a lot (if not all) of them stay interesting not because it’s the same three chords for eight minutes, but because they incorporate different movements. The big honking obvious one is Bohemian Rhapsody, perennial botherer of Greatest Rock Hits Charts; this one famously takes its cues from “classical” music, and incorporates several different movements.

The other track that springs to mind is Hey Jude. Now, there’s no seperate movement structure here, but this track is a very, very rare example of a song so good no-one ever wants it to end.

(As an aside, the above sentence is hyperbole. I know not everyone likes the Beatles but a huge amount of people do, and a huge amount of people like Hey Jude despite its length. Let’s just take it as read that a) everything here carries a “subjective” disclaimer, and b) lots and lots and lots of people like Bohemian Rhapsody and the Beatles.)

Example Number Three that occurs to me is Stairway to Heaven, which is kind of a mix of different movements and a track you don’t want to end. On a personal note, I also think In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3 by Coheed and Cambria is an awesome long-song, but I concede that Emo-Prog Epics about interstellar war are not of universal interest.

The short version of the above is this; you are unlikely to write something like the above tracks at all, never mind on your first time out, and people are unlikely to thank you for trying.

In particular, the grouchy old band you’re supposed to be supporting.

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Sorry, folks, but it looks like we’ve got some ongoing connection problems to deal with this week; yet another reason why it’s not a good idea to use up your post buffer just for the hell of it.

I notice the BBC reporting that the city of Cardiff has a funky new logo that ditches the boring old dragon stereotype. Because we should absolutely disavow any connection with the planet’s awesomest flag and replace it with what looks like a particularly colourful rotary telephone dial. And if I can get all cranky about it, it cost how much to knock that up in Photoshop? I am absolutely in the wrong business and I want those punk kids to get off my lawn.

Anyway, yes, I know that the whole coal-miners-and-choirs thing is tiresome for Wales’ image in the 21st Century, but while Stereotype: Leeks and Daffodils = Bad, Stereotype: Big Flying Reptile That Breathes Fire = CRAZY GOOD. Can we please be mindful of the difference between a small child and the water they’ve been bathing in?

IMPORTANT NOTE: The Fractal Hall Journal does not encourage inappropriate mindfulness of children in baths.

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Wales sometimes comes across as a nation full of people squabbling. A lot of political sniping goes on, not unusually between people in the same party, or at least on the same side of the debate. Wales spent the Eighties and early Nineties effected negatively by the Conservative government in Westminster. A socialist country by a large margin, yet governed by a party elected by people elsewhere, it stands as an example of why decentralisation is important. Even if we remove cultural and traditional considerations from the debate, growing up where I did has strengthened my view that power should be devolved as far as possible to the people whom it effects.

As a philosophy, I believe strongly in proportional representation, in local control, in self-determination and in giving everyone a voice: even those whom I don’t share political beliefs with. As I said yesterday, it was unfortunate that Welsh Conservatives did not have a voice in Parliament due to the first-past-the-post voting system, and a tragedy that Welsh national policy in previous decades was controlled by a party that a significant proportion of the nation did not vote for.

The advent of the Welsh Assembly in Cardiff Bay has been both lauded and criticised, sometimes appropriately and sometimes not. For my own part, I’m proud that we have it, proud to work for it, and proud of what it’s been able to achieve so far. But not as proud as I was earlier this year.

The Welsh Assembly elections were somewhat dramatic. Labour did not gain enough Assembly seats to form a majority government, and would have to form a coalition to govern. The same happened in the first election, after which a coalition was formed between them and the Liberals. But this time was a little different. The other three parties, usually at each other’s throats, considered forming a rainbow coalition, one that would have put Ieuan Wyn Jones, the Plaid Cymru leader, into the First Minister’s chair. As events transpired over a tense few weeks, the rainbow talks broke down over the reluctance of the Liberals to take part.

I was a little torn about the outcome. On one hand, the idea of a nationalist-led Assembly government was a historic one. But it would mean forming an alliance with the Conservatives. It made sense to many; as previously mentioned, there is a conservative streak in the Plaid camp. In cynical political terms, some were opposed on the grounds that a move would alienate voters in the Valleys (traditionally very socialist), a group Plaid has worked hard to appeal to over the past couple of decades. Ultimately, though, I thought that the politicians should listen to the voice of the people. The majority had voted for either Plaid or Labour. It was these two that should form a coalition.

I admit to being a little disappointed when the rainbow talks failed, not only because I wanted a Plaid-led government but also because I thought it would mean that Labour would continue as a minority government. There was a real chance that had Labour tried to limp along on their own, the Assembly would fast become a lame joke, unable to utilise effectively any of their new powers under the Government of Wales Act 2006.

And that’s a suitable cliffhanger to end on today.

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As the self-satisfied gurgling of my gluttonous Western over-indulgence subsides, thoughts turn to reflection of the previous year. It’s been an interesting one for me, personally: new job, new cats, new series of Doctor Who. But there’s not much entertainment-wise that seems significant enough to recap. For time reasons, I haven’t really got through as many books, comics or films as I’ve done in previous years, but most surprisingly I’ve bought less music this year than at any time after the start of Britpop, and it’s not due to bittorrenting, neither. I don’t know whether things really are lacklustre, or if I’m just not as engaged as I used to be (probably the latter), but things weren’t even this lean during the dark days of ‘99 to ‘01, when dance ruled supreme from atop its neon throne on Shit Hill and guitars seemed confined only to Nu-Metal (the horror, the horror).

So instead of entertainment, I’m going to write about something of even more obscure interest than comics: Welsh politics, with regard to continuing devolution and the National Assembly in Cardiff Bay, which gained further power this year under the Government of Wales Act 2006.

I’ll not get to deep into the complexities of the nation’s political leanings. Needless to say, like a sociological fractal, the smaller you subdivide the population, the more schizophrenic the politics get.

Here’s some background. The Welsh Labour Party has always been further to the Left of its English counterpart. In fact, the same can be said for Welsh politics as a whole. But there’s always been differences of opinion within the party towards what kind of socialism to pursue, something that causes an ever greater schism between politicians in Cardiff Bay and their counterparts at Westminster. They get even more split on questions such as devolution, or the Welsh language. The latter, in particular, has always been a contentious issue for all parties, frequently associated with Welsh nationalism although, frankly, it shouldn’t be: there are plenty of pro-Welsh language but anti-devolution Conservatives, for example, and self-governance isn’t, to me, a cultural consideration.

Welsh Conservatives generally oppose devolution, but many in their party have become more positive towards it because decentralisation and the proportional representation system mean, rightfully, that they get a larger say in the running of their country: after all, it wasn’t that long ago that the system used to elect Members of Parliament left the Conservatives without a single MP, and therefore no voice in Westminster.

Welsh Liberal Democrats have always had strong support from rural communities, Mid Wales in particular, though Welsh farmers tend to be more conservative (in the small “c” sense) than your typical Lib Dem.

Which brings us to Plaid Cymru, the nationalist party. Nominally in favour of independence from the rest of the UK (it’s a little more complicated than that, but that’s the broad ideology), Plaid have always been pro-devolution. On the political spectrum, Plaid in South Wales have always leaned towards decentralised socialism, although there is a strong streak of conservatism in the party as well. About the only thing everyone in the party agrees on is that the Welsh people should have a greater say in the government of their own nation.

More tomorrow.

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I was shopping in Cardiff today, and two coincidental things reminded me of Birmingham, England’s second city and site of the most spectacular university ever to have me on their attendance list.

A number of years ago, a lot of knackered old nightmares of Sixties architecture were knocked down in the middle of Brum to make way for the new Bullring shopping centre as part of the wider regeneration of the city centre. Now, the city’s always had a rep for being, well, ugly, which is a hoary load of old love spuds. The buildings in the older quarters of the town have always been glorious, as is the red brick of Birmingham University’s campus, and the greenery of the Vale, right in the middle of Edgbaston.

Anyway, after gutting much of the god-awful concrete around New Street Station, they built a particularly funky new building. It’s not to all tastes, as it looks like an alien organism landed next to the newly cleaned up St Martin’s Church, but I fucking love it. I love how it’s a super-clean modern design, fitting in around the older architecture of the city centre. And what reminded me of it are the building works going on in the middle of Cardiff.

Cardiff has some of the most spectacular turn-of-the-last-century buildings in Britain, thanks to the revenue from its status as an important 19th Century shipping port. The administrative centre has been described as “Little Washington”, to give you and idea of the kind of white brick buildings we’re talking about. Unfortunately, the rest of town has suffered from some of the worst building design cack-handedness the 20th century doled out.

Cardiff’s resurgence as a city of note has been spurred on by various factors, not least the growing awareness the Welsh people have of themselves as a nation, in turn contributing to and benefitting from increased political devolution. While all the recent changes have many (many, many) critics, I’m not alone in getting a kick from innovative and challenging design work on the new Millenium Stadium, the Assembly Building, or Cardiff Bay’s Millenium Centre, the latter a fantastic reflection of Wales itself, a huge mountain of dark slate nevertheless illuminated by its own culture and poetry.

The next stage of city centre development involved demolishing various buildings including the Ice Rink, the Oxford Arcade, the Waterstones where I used to work, and Cardiff Library, itself only built in 1986, along with a time capsule laid down by then-Doctor Who Colin Baker. I know, as the saying goes, because I was there. Only little, but there. Not for the whole building process, sharpshite.

So, at the minute there’s limited parking and a big hole in the middle of the city. And I was walking past it, thinking it would be great if they managed to get one of those Birmingham Space Organisms to land here, and bring a bit of the cosmic to the capitol.

Oh, I almost forgot. The second thing.

Ages ago, there was a swing band that would play in the street in Birmingham. The music’s not my cup of tea, but it’s always fun to see musicians that know what they were doing strutting their stuff. They were called something like the Jazz Aces, or Swinging Aces. Anyway, they turned up in Cardiff today, sponsored rather creepily by the Church of Scientology. Weird.

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