Essays

1. A Night in Oslo

   March 7, 2012 3:59 pm 1 Comment

   

   They were both really going for it. They were eating each others faces without piercing each others flesh. I was staring with Elsa and we couldn’t work out what their arms were doing. Where they getting each other off in the middle of this bar? Is this how things were done in Oslo? I had heard stories of two lesbians doing this in a club in Belfast. The bouncers all stood around watching and smiling. I heard about two gentleman showing love for each other in a bar in London. They were asked to leave which led to a boycott of the pub. Same sex couples then arranged to go back one afternoon and start kissing. A kissing protest kind of thing. This however was so incredibly aggressive. At one point the woman tried to stop. The guy wasn’t so keen. The woman got back into it before they both stopped and then just sat looking at the floor.

   Elsa decided it was time to leave. She was the singer who was sampled by the DJ that was performing in the club tonight. It was 2am. I had been up since 7am and in between I had been carrying a sack of heavy film equipment all over the Norwegian capital. I was staying with Calixte. He was releasing music by DJ Earl through his label, Electropix. Elsa left and I sat and waited for the night to come to an end. At around 3:27am with one eye closed I asked a bar man when this night was going to end. “After this track” he said just as the lights came on and people began to gather their shit. I sat on a sofa and waited as Calixte was congratulated on a great party and Earl was praised for a great mix. Two young Swedish men sat down beside me to finish their drinks. They asked me something and I explained I couldn’t speak Swedish and that I was sorry. This alienated one of the gentlemen as he couldn’t speak English. His drunk friend couldn’t give fuck. He began telling me about problems in Sweden and how a Television persona referred to a mixed race celebrity as a “Cafe-Latte”. He felt that Political correctness had gone too far. He expressed his love of free speech in the West and blamed high levels of crime on immigration. He repeated to me that he wasn’t a racist and then he coherently spat about his dislike for Muslims.

   Within half an hour we were in a kebab shop. Earl, the DJ, and Calixte wanted to get something to eat. Since they ordered, I ordered. I got a falafel wrap. I was incredibly angry with the way it was prepared. The idiot filled up the pitta with all the salad and then added the spicy sauce. I hadn’t seen the falafel be added and assumed he had forgotten until he then set the three pieces of falafel on top of the sauce. Perhaps I should mention that when we entered the shop Calixte asked me what I would like. I said,

   “Calixte, I will have a falafel wrap.”

   Calixte replied,

   “That sounds good. I will get one as well.”

   He took the liberty of ordering the same for Earl and so requested three falafel wraps. The man behind the counter then said,

   “You know falafel is a vegetarian option?”.

   Was it a statement? Was it a question? What a complete dickhead. It reminded me of a job I used to have. Every fortnight there would be a buffet in the office and I would help serve it. The first time I did it I came home and cried. From then on I would dress up as a chef every fortnight in order to feel like it was a theatre production and it wasn’t real. There was always a vegetarian option and being a human that detests assumption I would always ask “Would you like the meat lasagne or the vegetarian lasagne?”. The clients would then smirk or sometimes laugh and reply with something like “None of that vegetarian rubbish. Give me some real food”. The said client would then turn to his (it was never a female that made such statements) side and look at his co-worker who would have a look of complete disbelief that I had even asked. He would then look at me even though it wasn’t his turn and say, “Meat.” On another occasion I was walking through Liverpool Street station in London at around midnight. I was hungry and went over to a baguette shop. I couldn’t decide between an Italian baguette which consisted of mozzarella, tomato and pesto or a BBQ chicken option.

   “What would you recommend sir?” I enquired. “Are you a vegetarian?”, “No”. “Then go for meat”. I threw my money on the ground and left the station. At this point  in the kebab shop I wanted to throw the meal on the floor and scream. I have tried to work out what could possibly be the benefit of putting the falafel on top of the sauce rather than the sauce over the falafel. I was incredibly angry.

   We sat down at a small table and began eating our kebabs. Earl ate his in a traditional fashion. Calixte despite being half asleep ate his with a great deal of dignity and elegance. I ate mine like a pig. I wasn’t hungry but I was so upset with what I was doing that I tried to eat my kebab as fast as possible. It is an undesirable trait of mine. I like to think I got it from my Grandfather. Sometimes he would cut into a pie and it would be solid blue. My loving Grandmother didn’t believe in “Best Before” or “Out of Date” nonsense. Being a man of dignity and respect my Grandfather ate the pie and thanked his wife who he adored and from whose death he never quite recovered. Maybe that’s not a great comparison after all.

   It started to snow very gently outside the kebab shop. It was around -3 degrees and the whole city was covered in snow. It was the deepest snow I had ever been in. Around shin height. I said to Calixte that we should go as it was 4:30am and I had to get up in three hours. He had begun to fall asleep and said, “It’s snowing outside man. Let’s just chill for half an hour.” He fell asleep and I sat looking at the table in front of me thinking that no matter what, I would not sleep until I was on the plane home.

   At around 4:55am we arrived at the train station. Hoping for a cigarette but out of money we looked up at the train timetable as an alternative. The next train wasn’t until 6:17am. “Why don’t we get a bus?” I asked. “Buses are strange” was the reply. “Let’s just sit and wait it out”. It was a strange situation. There were no buses leaving for anywhere for an hour or two and yet the station was open. It was a kind of shopping centre / train station with pockets of people all around the place intoxicated in varying degrees and on different substances. We went over to the seating area which had around 20 seats per line and about 6 lines. Each row of twenty sat opposite another row of twenty. I sat on the same side as Calixte and Earl lay across three seats opposite us.

   As I was sat down in the plastic chair, supplied by the Norwegian government for passing time, I was entering an unusual frame of mind. I was exhausted but the concept of sleeping had left me. My intentions were to stare at the floor for ninety minutes and clear my mind. I had heard stories of Van Morrison having out of body experiences. I had even heard about Liam Gallagher having them. I wouldn’t call this scenario an out of body experience but I started to sense that I was acting in a film. A one shot, ninety minute, avant-garde film based in this seating area in a Norwegian train station. I have therefore decided that it is not totally inappropriate to detail the next part of this story in script form.

   Int. Oslo Train Station. Early Morning

   I sat down. Calixte was asleep whilst in the process of copying my action. Earl sat opposite me and lay down across three chairs.  There was the obligatory passed out gentleman sleeping across a row of chairs on the other side of the sitting area. He was snoring like an Ox.

   SFX : A gentle snore that raises and lowers as the story dictates

   This noise would continue until we left the area 90 minutes later. He wouldn’t move. It was the same rate and melody throughout my time in his company. Two Norwegian girls sat a few seats up on my left. They were both completely drunk and had been crying. One lay on the others lap and didn’t participate at all until the end when she sat up. Her friend, who she was lying on, possibly had a learning difficulty. In the distance some lady, who was physically fit and between 20 and 30, was holding her mobile phone to her ear but on speaker as some ringtone along the lines of “Crazy Frog” was playing. She used her other arm to hold a can of Blackthorn cider as she performed for people. She was fully clothed and not being outrageous but she was turning to people, bending over a little while shaking her ass. She would thrust her hips forward towards people as well. Her style of performance was strange. She was fully aware of what she was doing and who was watching yet she offered no recognition to their gaze. At this point two fellows came over and sat in the sitting area. One went straight for the Norwegian girl with the friend on her lap.

   They started speaking.

   Drunk 2

   “Why have you been crying? I seen you crying.”

   His friend started talking to Earl. Earlier Earl had explained to me that due to the area he grew up in he was always aware of who was around him and any potential trouble. The gentleman who we will call “Drunk 1″ was saying to him that if he lay across three seats then he would be thrown out by security. He was saying it so quickly though and in such a long winded way that Earl had no idea what he meant. Still in a phase of contemplation I just listened and looked at the ground. Eventually I threw a look to Earl which he returned. I literally bit my lip as the cloud lifted over me and I accepted my role in whatever was going to develop in this new environment. Seeing me vibrate with inhaled laughter “Drunk 1″ turned his attention to me.

   Drunk 1

   “Where are you from?”

   I replied in the strongest Northern Irish accent I could muster,

   Me

   “Nnnn Iiii……Northern Ireland”.

   He actually seemed a little scared or thats how I interpreted it. He looked at the ground for a while. The snoring picked up and I heard “Drunk 2″ ask the Norwegen girl out for a cigarette. She preceded to tell her comatose friend, who may as well have been an alien, that she would be right back. “Drunk 1″ asked me for a cigarette. I told him I didn’t smoke. He came right over into my face and told me where he was from and how he was about “one love” and peace. I was prepared for a smack in the face and felt as if it would have no effect on me and that then I would have no fear in hitting the gentleman. He then joined up with Drunk 2 and the Norwegian girl who maybe had a problem and they went outside. I had a horrible image of a disgusting threesome. For the record, I have never found myself in a fight. I don’t know how or why that is the case. I punched a friend once and the connection was so bad i think he fell on the ground as a gesture.

   Snoring reached an unhealthy peak. Earl sat up again and looked around. Calixte neck kept rocking as he continued to sleep. Like one of those dogs in the back of a car. The movements your neck goes through in that scenario is pretty dangerous. I am sure people have started to nod of on the way home before and actually broken their neck.

   While those 3 where doing God-knows-what a small plump gentleman from Pakistan came in and gently threw himself into a chair opposite the comatose girl. He was wearing a tie, a hat and had a smile on his face. The three drunk lovers re-entered just in time for him to watch. Instantly I was enjoying the entry of this new character into the seating area. He is one of those older men who are totally comfortable and relaxed. I got the impression that even if someone gave him a beating he would be having a laugh and saying something funny moment after. Albeit with a horrendously swollen eye and ripped shirt.

   The lovers sat down in the same place each of them sat before. The Pakistani man eyes lit up when he saw the women. He began asking me to look at the women. Drunk 1 was basically finished with his cameo and was just waiting for Drunk 2. The drunk in question had his arm around the back of the Norwegian woman. Her friend was’t welcomed back onto her lap and was now resting her head on a plastic chair. The girl turned to the drunk that was trying his luck and said,

   Norwegian Girl

   “I like you but not in that way….You understand…Are you alright with that?…I like you but not like that….please take your arm off me.”

   Drunk 2 surprisingly then stood up and walked off. ”What about their friendship?” I thought.

   Drunk 1 fucked off with him. I was so happy with how this was all going. The morons were gone and had been replaced by a pleasantly drunk and plump Pakistani man. As I looked at this new character a horrible noise began creeping closer and closer towards my ear. It started to form some kind of beat and then a can of blackthorn came into my vision.

   Pakistani Man

   “Jesus Christ”

   He said it with much pleasure and plenty of sexual undertone. It was the dancing lady, still with her phone to her ear. She bent over and thrust her ass back and forth opposite me.

   Pakistani Man

   “Oh Jesus Christ”

   I took a quick glance then looked at the floor.

   Pakistani Man

   “Look at her man. Jesus Christ…”

   The man was speaking to me but the direction of his gaze was never in doubt.

   Pakistani Man

   “The Female body is a blessing from God”.

   I started laughing loudly at how absurd the whole situation was. Calixte woke up, Earl removed the hood that was covering face, took note and then returned to his previous position. Calixte was chuckling and basically back to sleep before even attempting it. My laughter blanked out the ringtone as the lady straightened up and began watching herself in the reflection of a glass door as she shook her ass

   Pakistani Man

   “Look at yourself…you like that….Yeah….Jesus”

   As he watched he finally unlocked his hands that had sit so nicely interlinked on his lap. He now leant forward with one hand one his knee and looked at her.

   Pakistani Man

   “You like looking at yourself”. ”Look at her man”.

   He directed towards me.

   Me

   “I’m married”

   I lied.

   Pakistani Man

   “Your married? Once a man marries he is wasted.Your not married man? How long have you been married?”

   Me

   “3 years”

   Pakistani Man

   “If you had said 1 year I believe you. 1 year is fun but if you married 3 years I would see it in your face. Your not married man.”

   He turned his attention back to the dancer,

   Pakistani Man

   “Jesus Christ girl.”

   The girl stopped and sat down beside the Pakistani gentleman as she looked at her phone. The ringtone was finally gone. Maybe that is what she was trying to fix?

   Pakistani Gentleman

   When was the last time you had sex?

   The lady seemed oblivious to the question and the man but his smile didn’t pause for a moment.

   Pakistani Gentleman

   When was the last time you had sex? Dont be embarrassed. This is a modern society. You are a modern woman. You know what I am saying.

   The drunk Norwegian woman looked at me and asked how long I was married. When I kept up the lie she said that she was happy for me. Although I had said it to a few different people in her company she still didn’t know where I was from. I dropped the Northern and just said Ireland. She still looked at me as if I had two heads. Maybe there really was something wrong with her or maybe my accent was the problem. “Beside England” I clarified. She smiled and it seemed true that not all people look better when they smile. That is very harsh. Anyway she told me how she would like to like to live in England for a year just to see what it was like. I started to feel depressed as I thought that she never would leave Norway. What do I know about it though?

   Thinking back now my memory of what happened next seems to have faded. I don’t how long past before Calixte woke from his slumber, Earl pulled back his hood and we decided to go to the platform and wait for the train in the hope it would arrive early. Before that happened the Pakistani Man asked me what I was holding. I checked what he was referring to and told him it was a tripod. He asked to see it. This man was responsible for taking me from a dark place to a contented and lighter place so I obliged and took it over to him. I pulled the legs out and replied that it was a tripod. He asked the Drunk Norwegian to wake her alien friend pose for a photograph. I’ll be honest and admit I felt uncomfortable. What the hell did this guy want with a photograph of slightly wrong drunk girl and her alien friend who hadn’t opened her eyes for hours. Bizarrely the alien was woken up and Pakistani man started looking in his bag. He pulled out a tiny digital camera. He started trying to balance it on the tripod which required a clip even bigger than his camera. I was smiling at how silly the mans attempt was. He then looked at me with a knowing smile and laughed. He moved on his chair and revealed that he had his own tripod. We both laughed. My two allies where ready to go and walked to the platform.

   I picked up my bags and started to follow them. As I was leaving I decided then man needed to know the truth. I told him that I wasn’t married and that he was right. He smiled and what ever he was saying was blanked out by his simultaneous laughter. He tried to stop me and say something else but the moment had gone and I left and caught up with the other guys out on the platform. It was freezing and the train wasn’t there. We couldn’t have been on the platform anymore than 90 seconds when we decided to go back to the seating area. Eveyone of that characters had vanished. Not one of them remained. The snoring sound track had gone. The whole station seemed to accept it was a new day and shops started opening. We sat for five minutes, heard the train coming in and walked back down the steps. As we approached the platform the Pakistani Man was chatting to a worker from the station. They were standing close together. The Lady had her back to us and it wasn’t until we had nearly passed her that I noticed she was talking to the man of the evening. He was smiling and had his tripod in his hand.

   We got on the train. It left. My blinks become longer and more heavy. I drifted off and dreamt of arriving home to my girlfriend.

2. Massive Japanese Tampon / The Japon Tampon / Super Massive Japan / Mega Huge Japon Tampon

   October 13, 2010 11:15 am 3 Comments

   This is the name of my dream band. I will now proceed to take you through the line-up and management positions within the band.

   Drums

   The only man that I would feel comfortable with behind the sticks is Patrick Baird (Kowalski). There have been performances where I have actually seen shrapnel from World War Two bombs spit past Paddy’s head. I remember a gig they played in the Ulster Hall. Paddy was playing drums and Tom’s bass broke in half. Paddy got into the band van and drove down to Bangor, picked up a new bass and drove back up to the gig without missing a beat. There was of course the other time when Paddy asked me round for dinner. I accepted but when I showed up and sat at the table I was given a dish of spaghetti and expected to eat it with a pair of drum sticks. Paddy was eating a new drum skin spread with Golden Cow.

   All of that is true but pretty pointless. Paddy B would be the drummer as he is maybe the best drummer in the solar system. Mr.Reliable, Captain Sensible, he would hold The Tampon in order. If I was in a trench in the war I would want Paddy B played the drums in military uniform whilst I smoked and threw myself over the trench into the line of fire.

   Bass

   On bass it would have to be the 6ft+ pillar of society Krist Novosellic (Nirvana). The man is over 6ft and at his peak he would play gigs barefoot. He was so cool. He had really long hair, a massive beard, was over 6ft tall and was in the biggest band in the world. He will have seen it all and know how to handle certain situations. He will also be used to the pure punk/grunge moments that can sometime pour out of The Tampons soul. This is vital as maybe Novosellic is one of only a few who could lead Paddy B. Can you imagine Novosellic and Paddy Baird cranking through some shit? It is a really delightful thought which is making me hit my keyboard buttons in an ever increasingly aggressive manner.

   Novosellic also has the sadness of having his best friend shoot himself.  “Prone to depression” is definitely a characteristic I need in this band. It means you can look into his eyes and see the sadness sometimes. Sadness can be a very creative and aggressive emotion. Paddy B would share a beer with him when he felt like this, put him in his pocket and cheer him up. Krist also has the slightly bi-sexual vibe and that is something I think is very important to famous musicians. Any thing and I mean anything just to get a kick and get through the night.

   Vocals

   The front person of this band would be the moody, indie-ly beautiful Tracy Anne-Campbell (Camera Obscura). Miss Campbell has a beautiful voice and I would imagine her and Krist have a little bit of history. If anyone treated her badly Krist would fuck them up. They would occasionally sleep together but for Tracy-Anne it wouldn’t mean much, for Krist it would add to his sadness. Tracy has the style, the voice and the look of the queen of indie musicians. Her haircut is class.

   She seems to have the temperament which makes you unsure whether you are allowed to laugh or not. It’s hard to say what her relationship with Paddy B would be like. I imagine Tracy would always appreciate Paddy’s time-keeping skills, reliability and that she would respect his decision not to get pissed with Krist before high profile shows.

   Guitar

   This is the hardest decision in selecting my ax-man. I’m sure there are some guitarists I love but I just can’t think who the hell they are! Badly Drawn Boy was very close to getting the job but his tendency to be sad would give the band a overwhelming depression angle. At the top of my head I am going to say Albert Hammond Jr (Strokes). He would provide the cool factor. He would be really upbeat and this would be infectious. He and Paddy B would be really good drinking buddies. Albert would grow a beard at times to be like Paddy. When they would go out on the town together the ladies and men would pay money to french kiss them. They would just laugh though as they were both taken.

   The more I think of Albert in the band the more delighted I am with it. He and Krist add the American influence and vibe. He would tell Tracy Ann to cheer up and laugh. He can talk about growing up when Karate Kid was released and how it felt to actually go to a decent non dodgy arcade. Americans are cool. Especially the ones in this band.

   ———————————————–

   At this stage we have the core line-up. There are people behind the scenes that we will need to look after these boys and girls. The more I have thought about it the more I think it is cool to have someone else write your songs. I was out and discussing with some friends about how I wish I knew someone who could sing like Elvis. All the local indie bands would then write songs for this person to perform and record. He would be really respected because of his voice. I remember I wanted an EP where every song had a different bass player. I digress. So anyway this band would have a song writer.

   Song-Writer

   The songwriter for my group would be Shane MacGowan (Pogues). He may seem a strange choice but he is the right balance between punk and ballad. In this group he would write the tunes and Krist would try an get him to pick up an electric and crank it up. Sometimes he would, sometime he wouldn’t. Sometimes the songs he would bring to the table would be some of the best songs the band had ever heard. Sometime they would be pretty poor but this would make the former experiences all the more magical. Sometimes after a gig he would be half cut and play a song in the background while people chatted. Tray-Anne would notice when he finished and ask “What was that song called?” Shane would reply “Oh nothing…that one’s not for you guys.”

   “One summer evening drunk to hell, I sat there nearly lifeless. An old man in the corner sang “Where the water lilies grow” – Pair of Brown eyes. Lovely.

   Manager

   There is only one man for the job, George Ivan Morrison (Them). This man has been ripped off, he is highly suspicious, paranoid and aware. Granted some people wouldn’t book his band due to bad personal relations. When the band start revolutionising the underground music scene these same bookers will come back and say “Ok…Ok… you can come and pla…..” “Fuck off, you blew it.”

   The man would ensure travel, accommodation and food was first class for the band. He would use his experience of letting The Doors support his band and that tour of the West Coast to ensure his band always got the money they were owed. If they didn’t get the money he would kick the shit out of the promoter. He would never let Tracy Ann see this side of the business though. He really cares for her. To her he is a father figure. He would sometimes ask Tracy to sing him old Ray Charles numbers when they would walk home from the local boozer and the old boy had one too many. He really loved all the band and would make wise cracks with Krist about the exploits of Albert and Paddy.

   Guitar Tech’s

   This area isn’t too important to me. It’s an excuse to mention a few names. Rivers Cuomo (Weezer – bowl cut version) would test out the instruments before a show and play a bit of the blue album era stuff that didn’t make the album.

   Norman Blake (Teenage Fanclub) would be there to tune guitars and stuff. Tracy Ann really just gave him the job as she knew him from their time in Glasgow. Normans wife left him and he got sacked from Teenage Fanclub. Once he got sacked The Fannies went onto have massive success and all moved to Bangkok. He needs the cash but more importantly he needs the company after a botched suicide attempt made one of his ears fall off.

   Erlende Oye (Whitest Boy Alive) would sometimes ring Tracy to get on the guest list with his trendy mates. He and her had a thing that started on a tour of Norway. No one else in the band really likes him and think he’s a bit of a “gay-boy” (not in a homo-sexual way, in a pimary school mid-nineties definition way). Krist goes really silent when he enters a room. Van detests him after something he overheard him say to Tracy. Tracy never knew Van over heard it.

   On a complete side note I think Joanna Newsom is the new Van Morrison. Look at their respective ages when their debut solo albums came out. Ys by Joanna is a modern day Astral Weeks, not as good though. She has the five song album so does he, their voices are instantly recognizable. Have a think about it and you’ll agree.

3. Chaos Theory – The Genius of Sonic the Hedgehog

   January 25, 2010 9:30 pm 1 Comment

   Upon reading ‘The Beauty and Mystery of Super Mario Bros’, I was transported to another land. Simple levels, left to right movements that evaded the desire to go back on ones self and mushrooms that were not followed by initial nausea and a grinding come-down. But I am not going back to a time when I had never known the love of a good woman, nor am I going back to pre-internet days. My enjoyment of Super Mario Bros has been a somewhat revisionist affair. I played it as an older gent, in my late teens and twenties on emulators on friend’s PCs (I could never get emulators to work) and more often, on the Nintendo Wii’s Virtual Console. Mario is a trip down nostalgic avenues and highways of what may of been. 

   History has thrown up many great rivalries. Ali vs Frasier, Coe and Ovette, Federer Nadal all bring up memories and emotions in all of us of titanic tussles, heart stopping  matches and televisual poetry. Computer gaming is no different. There is the eternal Street Fighter vs Mortal Kombat, Zelda vs Final Fantasy battles, and the more recent but ultimately more corporate and less fulfilling Pro Evo vs Fifa. But the mother of all battles was Sega vs Nintendo, a battle for the very heart and soul of anyone born in the 1980s but was truely a child of the 1990s.

   Battle lines were drawn and you had to be one or the other, anyone who had both or didn’t care was either a bourgeois elitist or wasn’t worth talking to.  

   I may be wrong but looking back on it, the Sega was the underdog. A plucky competitor that dared to try and knock out the undisputed champ. It slowly became a powerhouse, but its feel of being a pet project that had somehow became a global icon never left me. The Sega vs Nintendo battle, for all the millions of dollars, trillions of Yen and hours of debate can be boiled down to one simple rivalry. Mario vs Sonic.   

   Where as many people went down the pipe and took on Bowser, my childhood was spent in a different place, with different foes and an altogether different ally.  

   I played Sonic The Hedgehog. 

   Nowadays, in our post 9/11 world, Mario and Sonic can be seen at the Olympics together, at the Winter Olympics together in a cross-platform circle jerk that serves only to make anyone watching sick and pray for the days of Streets of Rage 2. But back in the day, the battle lines were drawn and you’d think you would see a black president before you would see Mario and Sonic in a two-man bob-sled together. 

   Now, the case and point for Mario has been put forward already. And a mighty fine point was made indeed. So, now it is the time for the blue guys case to be made. 

   I will make a point of not trying to pick apart the pondering of Mario and any points of comparison are not meant to be derisory toward The Moustache. 

   Firstly, there is a lovely intro to Sonic. The dulcet tones of some guy saying “Sega” (Say-Gah) will never leave me and must be as recognisable as “I have a dream” and, not to be irreverent, are personally more comforting to me. (Not that I have a problem with Civil Rights, I’m all for them, I just love that sound). Then came the music, a rousing mix of high tempo beats with a lovely melody that signified that the player was in for a fun time, but an intense and challenging one. This contrasts heavily with the stark, almost fascist opening to Super Mario Bros. It was during the opening music to Sonic that one could enter in a code to enter the cheats, but I will come back to this. 

   The levels were also named, and had three stages in each. This was shortened to two stages in Sonic 2, but each level in that game was lengthened. Also, in  the second game, the final levels all had three stages which added a ghoulish surprise when you thought you were getting somewhere. The levels stared with Green Hill Zone, a lush, green world which can be easily completed if you rush but takes a long time to master if you are trying to unlock its rings and extra lives. Next comes the stupidly difficult Marble Zone. I still remember being demoralised by this level when I was a boy. When you had never played a computer game before and you were faced with this monster it was truly evil. The levels then went Spring Yard Zone, Labyrinth Zone, Starlight Zone, Scrap Brain Zone and Final Zone. Naming the levels showed an attention to detail and forward planning that just wasn’t shown in Mario. 

   Each zone, ended at the end of the 3rd Act (ACT – what a great word, it gives Sonic an almost Shakespearian quality) when you fought Robotnik in one of his various inventions, designed to take out Sonic. These were much harder bosses to get past than in Mario, which while requiring skill were obvious and didn’t hold the same daunting qualities as Robotnik. Even the mental music ramped up the tension and meant you had to battle your nerves as well as the Big Ginger Bastard.

   Each level was beautifully rendered with new and challenging traps, tricks and enemies to get past. The music in Spring Yard and Starlight Zones deserve a special mention. The music in each level (those in particular) was pitched so perfectly, and so much more intricate than the music on the Nintendo so as to render the other machine almost obsolete to my young ears and eyes that didn’t even know what the word obsolete meant.

   The mechanical, catchy and funky tones of Spring Yard Zone and only beaten by the beautiful, melodic and all out genius of the Starlight Zone music.

   The game play was epic. It valued a mix of speed, with Sonic getting up to almost ridiculous speeds with his special shoes which were devastating when mixed with the invincibility, and all out skill. Many times and in lots of the levels you were indoors and had to use timing and patience to get by some lava or a falling spike. The game may not have had as many levels as Mario but, in my opinion, is a bigger challenge. In Mario you can skip ahead using warps, reducing the game to a farce at times. People who went through every level of Mario were either too stupid to know the warps were there or dedicated to pedantry to an extent that even I can’t understand. Sonic did not have any of these short-cuts. You could get a continue, but this did not make completing the game a certainty, even for the experienced Hedgehog. These were achieved by obtaining 50 rings in the completely mental special stages, which were in turn accessed by finishing a level with 50+ rings and jumping through a giant spinning ring. This may seem simple, but try and finish Labyrinth Zone Act 2 with 50+ rings and you’ll see its no cake-walk. 

   The special stages themselves were amazingly well thought out and tricky, levels within themselves that tested all your skill and required a little bit of luck. What is so good about them is their seemingly futile nature, but in fact they are the gateway to getting the mystical chaos emeralds. 

   The emeralds were hidden in each of the special stages, there were 6 to collect. They, and not completing the levels, were the true object of the game. Only by completing all the levels, and beating the final Robotnik and collecting all 6 emeralds could you complete the game and get the ‘good’ ending. It is this hidden meaning in the game, this depth that gives it its true genius. It is not by the amount of levels, the maniacal timing and learning by repetition that Mario requires that this game is conquered. It is by all round skill, speed, know-how, skill and temperament that the game can be truly conquered.  

   There were two main cheats for Sonic, these were a level select and a de-bug mode which allowed you to take the form of any item in the game. These were accessed through the opening screen by putting in a sequence of hits on the d-pad. (up-down-left-right A and start together and up-C down-C left-C right-C A and start together) These made up such a part of my childhood its almost embarrassing, I doubt they will ever leave my brain.  

   The subsequent Sonic sequels I met with varying success and interest. Sonic 2 which added to Sonic’s repertoire of movement as well as giving him a sidekick and Sonic 3 which was more of the same, were ok, but nothing can come close to the genius of the first one. The world changed the day that this game came out, my life got richer and I still remember running down my stairs when I finished it for the first time. My lack of success at these games (I’ve never completed either) probably says a lot about my lack of enthusiasm for them. My friend Campbell completely bosses all the games and loves them all, probably favouring Sonic 2. So, there is plenty there to get excited about. 

   Mario may have the bigger following and the bigger legacy but Sonic should never be forgotten. It was his rivalry and his genius that pushed the moustache to bigger and better things.  

   Say-Gah

   written by robert best.

4. THE BEAUTY AND MYSTERY OF SUPER MARIO BROS.

   12:03 pm 1 Comment

   I awoke this morning at roughly the same time as my girlfriend. I told her I was getting up but she talked me into staying in bed to watch “The Wizard”. If you haven’t had the pleasure of seeing “The Wizard”, it is a 1989 movie starring Fred Savage and Jenny Lewis (later to sing in Rilo Kiley). The tag line is as follows :

    

   They’re on a cross-country adventure to the world’s greatest video championship. It’s more than a game…it’s the chance of a lifetime.

    

   Basically there is a kid called Jimmy who is the half brother to Fred Savage’s character, Corey Woods. Jimmy seems to have Autism as he is has a very inward personality, barely speaks and tries to walk from Utah to California. So naturally my diagnosis is Autism. He and Fred decide to run away and stop of at a garage of some sort. There Jimmy is given a quarter to play Double Dragon while Fred Savage works on a plan. Jimmy gets 50,000 points on his first attempt. Jenny Lewis follows them and decides they should go to Reno and compete in the video game championships where the prize is $50,000. Along the way to the championships they meet some arrogant bastard called Lucas. Lucas scared the shit out of me when I was a kid and first saw this film. He had a device called “the power glove” which seems to have predicted the Wii nearly twenty years before it’s release. He keeps this glove in a special case and can destroy anything 8-bit that gets in his path. Like the Wii remote, when he wears the glove which ever way he moves his hand his character/vehicle moves the same way. Freaky.

    

   We meet Lucas once again when he faces Jimmy, and quite frankly some other forgettable doe-bag, in the final of the gaming championships. This is where the genius of the film shines through and this essay passes over to Mario. Nintendo had partly funded the film and in a master stroke of PR they had Mario Bros 3 appear as the final gaming challenge of the competition. Nobody outside of Nintendo had ever seen Mario Bros 3 at this stage as it wasn’t even released. Everyone in the crowd pisses their pants at the potential carnage that will surely ensue. Jenny Lewis watches in the crowd and delivers her career defining line “Get the star Jimmy! The Star!”. I wont spoil the ending as you should give it a watch some Sunday afternoon.

    

   After watching the film there was only one thing I had to do. I went to my living room turned on Super Mario Bros and tried to complete it without using any warps. I managed to get to World 2-3 without getting hit by an enemy once and I dared to dream that maybe I was a wizard and could complete the game without getting hit once. I managed to make it to World 7-4 where the the real danger is at a boil. I died and my game was over, I managed to rack up 569050pts.

    

   The game is so simple in design yet there aren’t many games more complicated or sick. I refer to this conundrum as “Japanese.” The plot is so neat. You go through eight worlds, each divided into four levels. In the the final quarter of each world you go to a castle and hope to find the princess only to be told she is in another castle. The controls are utterly flawless. Run, Jump and combined together, Higher Jump. This is where I feel Mario has always stood out against his most dangerous rival, Sonic the Hedgehog. In Sonic’s Megadrive debut the controls are touch and go. It can take an age to walk up a hill. If you try and jump while walking up a hill then you go down the hill. It is very frustrating. With Super Mario Bros the controls become part of you.

    

   I am a lover of most Mario Games, (save Mario 2, more later) but where this game has the real beauty over them all is the simplicity of setting and graphics combined with the difficulty and skill required for completion. In Super Mario Bros you start with three lives. Whenever the screen says you have one life remaining that is what you have got. 0 lives is not a life unlike in Super Mario 3. You also have to embrace with an open heart all the treats and goodies available to you. In most other Mario’s after this one coins are irrelevant and uncool. In this game though you must set out to get the coins as you really need the extra life that gathering 100 coins will bring. The same can be said for the Mushroom or “Mushy” as I like to call them. In Mario 3 the mushy is a beautifully designed, coloured item. It is cute and adorable, an item you could possibly have framed on your wall. Yet outside of Super Mario Bros debut it is often frowned upon.

    

   “Oh great, a mushroom”

    

   This is what one could expect to hear if one were watching someone play Mario 3 and they are given one, for free, at a Toad House. In the original I have actually prayed to God to let me find a mushy. The irony is that in the original the mushroom isn’t easy on the eye. In fact in all honestly it looks like a pixilated, half rotten mushroom with nil to zero charisma or personality. How cruel it is to base this on looks but it’s how we have been raised. Yet the original mushy has the last laugh. In the debut the mushy is a prince. A saint of an item. An item that helps you on your quest like no other. In Mario 3 the “beautiful” mushy is ignored, abused and cast aside.

    

   In later Mario games you can be small and come across a Raccoon Leaf or a Flower and instantly transform into a Super Mario with special powers. How insulting. The mushy isn’t even required to make you big anymore. If you get hit then you loose your powers but are still big, yet there is again the likely hood of hearing

    

   “Great, I’ve lost my powers. For Fuck sake!”

    

   The power of being big is completely taken for granted. In the original you can only get a luxury item such as Flower Power if you are big. If you expose a flower from a question box and are made small before you grab it then even if you reach it you will only be made big. Some people probably think that is unfair and are harsh towards the flower, yet I thank the flower for giving me the courtesy of growth enhancement. It is not the Flower’s fault if I am too small to fully embrace it’s powers. It is thanking you for exposing it and letting it see the light yet most likely it will be called pathetic or even worse, a glitch. The same attitude is presented towards the 1-up mushy in the numerous sequels. In the original it is truly an occasion to find a hidden extra life. In Mario 3 and beyond you can usually find yourself with twenty or so lives within a hour of playing. It is a rare breed that can accumulate 10+ lives in the original without taking advantage of the Koopa Troopa Shell glitch.

    

   Despite all the advantages of having Flower power in the original you are never more than one hit away from being small or two hits away being dead. If you have played well enough to be big by the time you reach a question box and it grants you a flower you should take it with utmost understanding that your time together is sacred and always one touch away from being over. In consequent sequels however you can be Flower mario, get hit, be Super Mario, get hit again, be small Mario and then require another hit to die. And if you die who cares? You have probably saved and continued. Just start the game again from where ever you died with plenty of lives. Super Mario Bros doesn’t reward this modern day save and continue culture. 

    

   In the original, “King Koopa” demands respect and isn’t some pussy. If you die in World 8-3 and have lost your lives then you go back to World 1-1 a little more experienced and with a little more tact you try again. “King Koopa” has earned the right to have the princess for a longer period as her hero has failed to conquer his kingdom, has failed to destroy the power of the Goomba. I have always admired the Goomba from World 1-1 as he was the first solider ever sent out by his leader. He was the first troop sent out to destroy the enemy. He was trusted with the job of tackling mario at his most fit and self assured. 

    

   In later additions his ancestors are a joke and often looked on as cute cartoon characters. The original Goomba probably turns in his grave at the thought of “celebrity Koopa Troopas” pleading with Mario to let them have a Kart in the Mario Kart franchise. I can share his view of disgust. But I also recognize that times have changed since his day and as can happen with the older folk, he wouldn’t embrace change well. There is certainly something honorable about his attitude but he is also a little closed minded. However, I can’t help but feel sorry for the Goomba of more recent generations. While the Goomba has persistently been loyal to their master, the “Koopa Troopa” has been dicking around in many fancy karts and bikes in Mario Kart. If there is a sell out it is the “Koopa Troopa”. Congratulating Mario or Luigi on a record lap or a Gold Cup while the Goomba waddles along the tracks picking up rubbish and routinely being driven over.

    

   Secrets or Glitches?

    

   For a game that is so simple and neat I have rarely come across a game as dark and complicated. Famous are “The Warp Whistles” from Mario 3 and the Secret Key and Lock scenarios in “Super Mario World” on the SNES. Yet you are expected to come across these items, certainly in the latter if you want to complete the game you must! Yet hidden in the original is probably the most diseased and sacred of all tricks and mysteries. In World 1-2, the level famous for warps to level 2 and beyond, you must ignore what you believe is the slick, secret shortcut and simply continue to the end until you see the pipe through which you can complete the level. You need to stand on top of this pipe, crouch and spend an age trying to jump at wall. If done right, what ever right may be, you pass through the wall to the area that looks like the warp zone to level four yet if you decide to go down the pipe you come to the minus world. The level is simply stated as World -1. 

    

   If like me you have the glory of being born in Europe then you will find yourself in an underwater level that no matter how much you try you cannot escape from. The only way to leave is for the time to run out and death to snatch you from all that you thought you had discovered. It is a conundrum that has caused people to make “fake levels” and post photos online showing what happens if you escape the level. It leads addicts with little else to do other than fantasize about what the level could mean and wishing their life away in order to discover the secret of the minus world. If you have the Japanese version then once you enter the minus world you have three levels in which you can compete. These levels are to put it frankly, totally fucked up. There is a world where you swim through the air and multiple Bowsers and Princesses sit motionless in strange locations. There are other levels where bloopers swim through the air rather than water and in the final castle level, there is no lava but only water and once you get to the axe at the end there isn’t even a Koopa to fight for it. Whoever first discovered this outside of Nintendo was probably thrown in an asylum. 

    

   Super Mario Bros is the holy grail of computer gaming. How exciting it must have been to hear that a sequel was on its way. I  should mention that I am speaking as a gentlemen who lived in Northern Ireland and had little knowledge or use for the internet until about the year 2000. The 2nd game in the series went totally over my head. I do not have any memory of playing it. I seemed to jump from Mario Bros to Mario Bros 3. It was only when Super Mario All-stars came out that I had the horror of playing Mario 2 and discovering that it was in fact a pile of wank. As I became more familiar with the internet I decided to investigate what the hell had gone wrong. How could Nintendo go from the Top Selling game of all time (until wii sports) to the most pathetic fart with a little bit of follow through. The answer is down to Howard Lincoln who was then the head of Nintendo of America. 

    

   Mario 2 was developed to challenge players who had mastered the original. It wasn’t intended to revolutionize gaming as it’s predecessor did. I mean the Nintendo guys in Japan had developed the greatest game of all time so I think it’s wonderful to simply create a similarly designed game with horrifically more difficult levels. It’s like bands. I don’t worry when a band doesn’t develop it’s sound. If I love a band and adore their album then who cares if they release an album in exactly the same style. Im all for it. Howard Lincoln however felt the game was too difficult and would frustrate the American audience. He also felt the game did little to innovate the Mario Franchise. I can see his point but then why do you need to innovate the most successful gaming franchise of all time? What happened as a result was Nintendo took an already existing game called “Yume Kojo: Doki Doki Panic” and simply changed the characters in the game to Mario characters. How bent. This is in fact how Birdo and some other characters became known to the Mario world as they were characters in the weirdly titled game originally.  

    

   In Japan those geniuses actually got a proper follow-up, the game we know as “The Lost Levels”. To add to this strange mystery, in September 2007 the Japanese version of “The Lost Levels” appeared online to download courtesy of the virtual console, however it came with a note saying it would only be available for two weeks. Why there was such a catch I guess is “Japanese” but it seemed pretty cruel as people probably didn’t even realize it was available until much too late, I for example only found out last week. However in August 2008 it appeared back on the virtual console for good. Why the change of heart? It’s something we will never understand. But I am away to download it now and try and complete it. I hear if you complete it eight times in a row then you get secret worlds called World A, World B, World C and World D. There apparently is some other disgusting level known as World 9.

    

   Thanks for reading but our writer is in the other castle. Sad Pun to end on.

    

5. A LETTER TO AGATHE BOUËDO FROM TRANSLINK

   December 24, 2009 3:02 pm Leave a Comment

   Our ref: CEN/62869/09

   4^th August 2009

   Dear Ms Bouedo,

   <>Thank you for your e-mail regarding the fare structure of Translink NI Railways.

   I am pleased to hear that you have been enjoying train travel since you moved here some months ago. May I explain that the Weekly ticket operates from a Monday to the following Sunday. It is based approximately on the price of four “Day Return” fares, and can be used by the holder an unlimited number of times during that week between the two stops for which it has been issued. For example a weekly ticket from Bangor to Belfast costs £30.00, the same price as four £7.50 Day Returns, and can be used as many times as the holder wishes.

   A monthly ticket can be used on the similar principle between the start and finish dates. This is a “rolling monthly” and is valid from the date of issue for approximately 30 consecutive days. The fare is slightly less than the cost of buying four weekly tickets. Again the holder has unlimited travel between the dates on the ticket.

   The “one-third off” fare applies for journeys starting after 09.30 a.m. This is to encourage people to travel at times when trains are less busy, although it may appear unusual that such a return ticket is only slightly dearer than a single.

   I would like to add that our ticketing system is much simpler to understand than those operated by many train companies in Great Britain whose fare system guidelines can run to many pages and can be difficult for both staff and customers to understand.

   Whilst train fares here may seem more expensive than in other countries I can assure you that we try to keep them as low as is possible. As a publicly funded company operating with a considerable amount of government subsidy, we have an obligation to set fares on a commercial basis. I would suggest that fares in France may be cheaper because French railways receive a larger subsidy from Central and Local government.

   With regards to our Sunday timetable it is based on passenger needs and economic viability on what has always been the slackest day of the week. In view of this services are run accordingly.

   I am sorry that you experienced such serious delays on a particular Sunday. Without having details of the date and time of travel I am unable to give any reason for the delay, but I sincerely apologise that you arrived so late at your destination. The ‘Delay-Repay’ scheme is based on similar schemes which operate in Great Britain and is based on the fare paid and the length of delay incurred.

   I hope that my explanations have helped to answer the queries which you have raised and if I can be of any further assistance please do not hesitate to contact me.

   Yours sincerely

   Barry McDevitte

   Customer Services Coordinator

   Central Station

   Tel: 02890 899400 ext 2463

6. TITUS ANDRONICUS SELL ME THEIR DEBUT ALBUM

   December 20, 2009 12:47 pm 1 Comment

   The Enemy is Everywhere.

   In Atlanta Georgia there is no smoking ban. Bars can choose to allow smoking or to forbid it. There was a bar that was frequently used as a live music venue. They had the novel idea of giving the power to the musicians and so whoever was playing got to decide if the audience were allowed to smoke or not. On my first visit smoking was permitted. It was a Los Campesinos gig and I had nothing better to do so tagged along with my house mates. As we walked through to the stage area there was a moaning gentleman sitting at a key board screaming something about dying like a man. Someone said something about slitting their wrists. I was thinking about how he sounded like a miserable Conor Oberst. I didn’t really want to like it but as I stood in this smoky bar it all came together.

   The lead singer, Patrick Stickles, at one point started kissing the head of the lead guitarist as he played a solo. It was a special moment. Usually bands are a bit self conscious or embarrassed yet Mr. Stickles seemed terribly proud of what he was hearing. The lead guitarist looked like he was 12 or 14, maybe younger. I didn’t know anything about this band and so it seemed plausible to me that this guitarist had been raised for this moment. It seemed plausible that he had been raised in some sort of punk rock commune and had flossed his teeth with guitar strings since he was a tot. “What the fuck is this guy doing on a tour?” I thought. He was a punk rock baby faced prodigy. The band seemed to acknowledge the same thing as me.

   The solo came and went and the gig continued. The bass player climbed on top of some huge amp and the amp seemed to juggle him about in time to the music. I was scared that he was going to fall and bone would split his skin. This feeling combined with the sounds hitting my face made me feel something pleasurable yet worrying. They left the stage and walked to the back of the room and stood behind their merchandise table. I made my way over and said hello. I bought their debut album for ten dollars. They said it was coming out on Rough Trade and that if it did well they would get a deal. They thanked me for buying the album and I went back to my house mates. Los Campesinos came on stage and immediately insulted me by lying about where they were from. I left the room and sat at the bar. Maybe I misunderstood them?, its irrelevant anyway as the night belonged to Titus Andronicus.

   The Enemy is Everywhere. This is written on their t-shirts and its brilliant. I don’t know what it truly means but the idea is great. The Enemy is Everywhere but I am on to them. It makes paranoia beautiful and hip.

   I had been in Atlanta for two weeks when I attended that gig. Over two months later my visa was coming to an end and I was preparing to go home. Upon missing Titus Andronicus at SXSW, where they played seven times, I checked their website and noticed they were back in Atlanta playing with the also superb, Here We Go Magic. My house mate and I went to the show which this time was in a smaller bar. I think it was my favourite bar. On five stools sat five human beings drinking beer and looking at a screen. They were joining the bar maid in watching City of God. I thought that was the greatest idea I had witnessed. I peeped into the stage area and noticed a sound man standing in a cupboard with his gear nailed vertically against the wall. He was doing sound from a cupboard. As I sat waiting for things to pick up the gentlemen from Titus Andronicus arrived and sat across at another table. It had been two months and I thought Mr.Stickles looked as if he had lost his mind or something. As I enquired about buying a t-shirt from someone in the band I remarked how I couldn’t believe they were still on tour. He pointed out that it had only been two months. I had a moment of clarity and realized he was right. Somewhere along my time living in this different country and meeting new people two months became two years. When they took the stage Mr.Stickles said “We are going to play the rock n roll for you tonight”. I got caught up in this phrase. They were going to do “the rock n roll”. This thing that young people can do. It wasn’t a case of they liked rock and roll but they were doing it. It was something they did to have fun, like a magic trick.

   There are things that would make this review better. If I could remember the name of the bar or the book that Mr.Stickles was reading before they took the stage, or the brand of cigarettes that they were smoking. I can’t remember any of that. Here We Go Magic went on first and only played three songs as the singer was very sick. During the Titus gig I was standing beside this sickly singer when he began kissing his female band mate ferociously. She was wearing tiny denim shorts and my house mate guessed they were in a relationship. It was really weird. The singer looked like some sort of indie poet. Someone I would expect to have a social disorder. He was taken over by “the rock n roll”.

   The show was the loudest thing I have ever been to and I had to stand with fingers in my ears. It was too loud. Everyone had seemed to loose their mind. The five people remained at the bar watching the screen except during the gig the movie cut off and security camera footage of the stage appeared. They were watching the gig on the tv which was literally deafening the room they were sitting in.

   Somewhere amongst all of this is a reason why “The Airing of Grievences” by Titus Andronicus is my favourite album of the year. There is a release date of March 9th for the follow up, “The Monitor”.

   this review was destroyed by gregg houston

7. A letter to Translink from Agathe Bouëdo

   July 31, 2009 2:21 pm Leave a Comment

   Customer Services Manager
   Central Station
   Belfast
   BT1 3PB

   31^st July 2009

   Dear Sir or Madam,

   I have been living in Northern Ireland for just over four months now and have been a regular user of your train service since this time. I hope you will treat this letter as one of inquiry rather than one of complaint.

   Having just migrated from mainland Europe (Bordeaux, France to be precise) where the train fares are significantly less expensive, I am having some troubles being able to comprehend most of your basic policies. I am aware that the prices here are not as robust as the likes of London, but I still feel slightly defrauded and confused.

   I would be greatly obliged if you could clear up a few issues. Specifically I have been frequently using the Bangor to Belfast line. First of all I find it a breach of basic human rights that Translink determines when their customers have to buy all monthly and weekly tickets. Surely it wouldn’t be too strenuous to enforce a 30 day/7 day ticket, were the customer can use a monthly ticket 30 times rather than as many times as they can within a designated month before it expires. Just like the system operated on the buses? The current system is very inconvenient and seems immoral and cash hungry.

   Secondly; why is it a third extra to travel before 9:30am? I am aware that it is advertised as a third off after 9:30am, but this doesn’t make any sense to me. Prior to this time I am also confused about the 10p difference between a single ticket, which is £4.90, and a return, which is £5.00…

   Another inconvenience is the Sunday time schedule, why has this particular day of the week had its schedule massively reduced?

   On one occasion coming home from Belfast my train was delayed, and altogether that day I suffered a total of two hours forty minutes delay. Subsequently I missed my husbands last night in the country before he left for business back in Bordeaux. I used the “delay repay” form and was refunded £2. This, to me, does not justify the few hours taken off my life.

   I am sure you will be able to provide me with some simple explanations to these few queries I have raised. I am also interested if you have received any similar letters to mine before. I have asked my friends and colleagues, who have been living in this country all their lives about these issues and, although they concur, none of them can put my mind at ease. I could have written a good deal more but I think I have managed to condense my main cogitations into these brief points/ questions.

   Thank you for taking the time to read this letter and I hope to hear from you soon.

   Sincèrement,

   Agathe Bouëdo

8. THE VINCENT MUSICAL CULT AND OTHER THINGS THAT ONCE MADE BANGOR THE PLACE TO BE YOUNG.

   June 10, 2009 4:32 pm 2 Comments

   “Hi Joe.” This was how I introduced myself to Joel Vincent when I arrived at a party at, former Made in Korea Guitarist, Richard Graham’s house. That was probably 8 years ago, maybe a touch more? That wasn’t the first time I had met him however, no the first time was after school in the Flagship shopping centre. He had black marker over his finger nails, he had a haircut so great it made mine crawl off my head and vomit on itself for being so pathetic. He went to a different school from me and the black uniform made me freak out even more. The man literally looked like an old vinyl found at a car boot sale. Our school had a terrible uniform in combining a navy blazer with black trousers, the man who designed it was obviously very stubborn.Joel had five sisters and three brothers, some of which would help complete the beautiful box set that was “The Vincent Musical Cult.”

   Standing beside Joel that day was Glen Mitchell. If there was ever a posterboy for indie music it was this man. A cigarette and a uniform have never been combined more poetically. If he was caught smoking in school he was asked only to finish it and get back to class, that is how awe inspiring the image was. Unbeknownst at the time Glen would later hold the mantle of being the greatest indie song writer in the United Kingdom for one or two sunny months in the early 2000′s. After which he would walk away and set down the guitar, putting to bed one of the most influential periods of my life. At this stage however Glen was writing “Glen’s Indie Dustbin” for a website.

   Barry McKee was two or three years older than me at this time but it may have well been decades. He was the singer in “Made in Korea” , the first local band I ever saw. I remember thinking that “Made in Korea” were massive. They had made it as far as I was concerned. Barry was Bangor’s first celebrity. Whether he would confess or not there was a period when the man was untouchable. He was a front man full stop. He didn’t play guitar, all he had was a dictaphone which he would carry around with him on walks through the streets late at night. I remember hearing he was at university and that could have been another planet as far as I was concerned. “Made in Korea” would be the first band I knew to have a release, the Message Received E.P.

   In a beautiful twist Glen Mitchell used to be the bass player for them before being replaced by Richard Graham who hosted a party at which I met Joel Vincent.

   The death of a wrestler was the incident that first brought Paddy Conn to my house. We had a love of wrestling that wasn’t very popular in our school. Stephen Darragh, who would later form The Danny Brown Show, was also a follower of the squared circle. I was embarased about wrestling at the start but I couldn’t help but adore it. I thought about it all day long. I honestly believe if I had been examined by a doctor I may have been put in a hospital.I was obsessed with it and probably had a period of several months to a year where I actually believed I was a wrestler. Anyway we started a wrestling company which lasted a year or so. During this period I became more friendly with Robert Reid. The “arena” in which we would wrestle would shut and become known as the garage. The ring was thrown out and a sofa was put in. There was talk of forming a band and I bought a bass. I had no idea how to play it but just wanted to play some heavy punk. Paddy Conn played the drums and a man who would later become a recluse called Ricky Black played guitar. Ricky was known around the area for having a ton of equipment. He would buy it and then stay in and play it which is a fair enough existence I guess. His out put was always minimal however. In all the years I have known him I have only ever heard one E.P/L.P called “Black Man, Big Penis.”

   Anyway this collaboration wasn’t really going anywhere. Glen Mitchell, Paddy Conn and Robbie Reid then formed Exit To Millrow. They recruited their friend who had just moved home from Wales to play drums, William Whelan. The garage became the rehersal space, Joel Vincent became Roadie 1 and I Roadie 2. Their first song, ‘Chocolate Biscuits” was made up of a two chord riff and had a punky pace and melody. Other tunes followed such as “Ice Cream” , “Fish on a bungee rope” and “Plasticine Man”. The first real signs of magic came to my ears courtesy of a mini-disc Paddy let me hear in school. The band had met up for a practice and Glen showed up late. Eventually when he did show up he took out his guitar and played “Pegbeg 101″. To this day I would say it has got to be one of the most perfect teenage love songs I have ever heard. The titles divine, the lyrics perfect :

   “She was the beautifulest girl i’d ever seen
   Especially when she was on her knees
   She made very nice cups of tea
   White with one sugar.”

   This song changed my life and made my entire perspective on what music was change. The image of Glen sitting in his room, picking up the guitar and crafting this in one or two takes has to be one of the most magical things to happen in the U.K period. At a New Year’s evening party seven or so years later Glen played this song for the first time in years as it struck midnight. It was video taped and I swear that it looks like a demon comes out of him from the pit of his stomach. I’d like to think that it entered someone in the room and that one day they will be able to write a song as perfect as “Pegbeg 101.”

   The gloriously understated fashion in which Glen probably played “Pegbeg 101″ to the band for the first time may have made it hard for the band to understand what they were witness to. He later introduced another song he crafted called “Skipping”. Paddy has told me before about how exciting it was hearing it for the first time. Robbie Reid told me how he was in town and saw our friend Robbie Best. As he walked up behind him to say hello he heard that Robbie Best was singing “Skipping” whilst planning his next trip round the square on his skateboard. This was a man who shat Pavement and was the indie guru you spoke to if you found yourself around the Mckee Clock. (The Mckee Clock isnt anything to do with Barry Mckee. I had heard though that there was cause for concern that the McKee Clock was a target for Al Quida.) It was at this moment the mantle of Greatest Indie Song Writer was firmly in Glen’s hands. Not that he was worried, he was too busy breaking rules of fashion with his famous brown jacket or writing about his distaste for bands such as “JJ72″ for “Glen’s Indie Dustbin.”

   Clifton Road was the location of “The Vincent Musical Cult.” There was a ladder which led up to the roof space where most albums were played for the first time in Northern Ireland. There was a bedroom at the top of the ladder which was the place to be. I remember Joel telling me he wasn’t allowed to have the room as it was an area where cheeky cigarettes could be smoked by the window. Due to not being allowed to sleep there he went for a cigarette behind the shed in his garden. When he came back inside he was rumbled as his Mum had been in the kitchen and noticed smoke rising up from behind it. Later he would move into a caravan in the drive way. The caravan could be described as Indie Music on four wheels with a bed.

   However, it was in the days of the roof space that “The Vincent Musical Cult” was born. I think the best way to sum up the feeling of what was going on is to watch the music video for “Man Size” by PJ Harvey. I imagine people being bored and a dusty camcorder being found and that sort of magic being made. His sister Katharine was dating a man 20 years older than her that looked like Elliot Smith. His sister Hannah lent me a CD which gave me my first listen to Arab Strap and Mogwai. His brother Stephen was in university hanging out with Gary Lightbody when he was a genuine contender for Glen Mitchell’s title. There were rumours that the man who would become “Simple Kid” lived up the road. The house was home to flares, haircuts and records you couldn’t find anywhere else. It was as if they were sent to the roof space and passed down to the chosen few. Possibly one of the first copies of “Is This It?” was sent to Joel and he brought it along to Ballymacormick Point where we would meet and drink by a camp fire on the rocks near the sea.

   At a battle of the bands in neighbouring town Newtownards, Exit to Millrow, were playing. It was a competition that they would win. (As a result they earned the right to get some recording time in a studio for free. That night champagne was drunk and there was a terrific atmosphere in the garage. Exit to Millrow were on their way and I was delighted and if I’m honest a little jealous. Robbie rang up the studio a week later and bizzarly it had been flooded. He was told to ring back in a few weeks but that never happened. Maybe the Northern Irish tendency to blow it was being flirted with or maybe it was nerves but that studio time still hasn’t been claimed.) During their performance and while Glen was tuning up Paddy charged into “Night Corrosion” by Made in Korea. It is captured on camera and is a fascinating moment in the history of the Bangor music scene. The crowd went wild. Robbie Best particularly. Was it a new era beginning? It felt like it but the brilliance of “Night Corrosion” cannot be denied. I still listen to it. There is a point when Barry comes in with argubly his greatest vocal performance, that is just perfect music in my mind. Its the song that announced Barry as a poet and a master of melody. The ferocious guitar intro crafted by Steve Irvine flying in a vehicle heading straight to Hell to kick Satans ass. Backed up by Chris Mac on the drums and argubly Ricky Grahams sexiest bass performance. I remember hearing that the band were really excited by a song called “Fury” that also appears on the E.P but it is Night Corrosion that I would go back and play today. It was the first great song to come straight out of the Bangor Music Scene and cemented Barry McKee as Bangor’s first celebrity :

   “Night Corrosion
   Ballerina by my side
   Night Corosion
   No need to run and hide.”

   Robbie Reid held a party at his house while his parents were away on holiday. The house was filled with everyone we knew for two weeks straight in July. It caused me to perform my first criminal act in stealing a bottle of milk from a doorstep in the very early hours of the morning. Paddy took out his mini disc and invited me to have a listen to what he and Glen had recorded earlier that day. I cant remember if there was anything before the song I’m about to write about but if there was I cant remember probably because I was more blown away by a song than I have rarely been since. The song was called “Roman Ether”. Paddy had written some lengthy experimental piece and when listening back to it he found a sequence that he liked. He recorded the music and Glen mitchell called round later that day and listened to it. Glen then wrote some lyrics and sang them like i’d never heard him sing before or since. The lyrics come in at a point that unless you’ve studied the song for a long time is impossible to predict. You aren’t sure what’s going on and then you have a moment of clarity and just realise that its pure brilliance :

   “My head is like Roman Ether
   bring me to the head of state
   on a silver plate.”

   I listened to the song back to back for at least an hour while lying on a trampoline in Robbie’s garden staring at the stars and moon. It is certainly one of the two fondest memories I have of listening to music. The song became the staple of the Exit to Millrow set and grew into a monster of track over the coming months. A pounding drum beat, magestical keyboards, extended lyrics, a perfect anthem. There is something about the original demo though that cant be beaten. It is a moment of inspiration captured perfectly. It was the time where Glen Mitchel exploded and everything reached its peak. It is one of the top songs ever written and was possibly the time when Glen realised it couldn’t be beaten, let go of the mantle and began to walk away.

   Exit to Millrow had been experiencing terrible fortune getting a new drummer after Whelan left. A gentleman called Lou Spicoli was about 14 at the time and the new prodigy. He was the best drummer in the town. He came along and played with Exit to Millrow at a few practices but in a move similar to Decca passing on the Beatles, Millrow passed on Lou Spicoli. Stephen Darragh was waiting in the wings thou with visions all of his own. He recruited Lou, borrowed Paddy Conn as Millrow practices didn’t seem as frequent at this stage and Paddy being a music addict needed a fix. He finished the band off by bringing in Danny Brown who in himself symbolised a new era in the Bangor Music Scene.

   On a non-uniform day Danny came into school in a dress as part of a bet. The thick assholes two years above him couldn’t comprehend what was going on and I think they beat him up and ripped his dress. He sported a mohican hairstyle for a while and the same culprits found it as something to slag him off about. The same unimaginative cunts would later copy his hair style years later when David Beckham said it was Ok.

   This crew became known as “The Danny Brown Show”, it was a move of genius seeing as Stephen was the lead singer and wrote the songs. They played around numerous venues with one being held at Hamilton House. Hamilton House was the place where the bands of the scene cut their teeth. It was a place where you had to sneak beer in and risk being thrown out. The drummer Lou and guitarist Danny would later distribute their first demo from music they made with a different outfit at this same venue, making the demo’s on the spot using a conveyor belt system of cutting, sticking and packing. But at this stage they were firmly in the bosom of Stephen and his “Danny Brown Show“. When the Show where playing it was like going to an indie circus. I remember coming out as a mummy during a performance and someone throwing a bag of monopoly money about. It was a marvelous spectacle. The band on after them showed how thick they were and complained about the mess. They must not have got it. The Danny Brown Show went into a studio and some tunes are saved somewhere but the vocals for these were never recorded. I think they owed the producer about forty quid and so they did a runner. There was one gig where Stevie was dressed as a tramp, Paddy as a business man, Danny as an Army Soilder and Lou was the king himself, Elvis.

   Their moment in time came at the battle of the bands. Like Millrow before them the competition was held in Newtownards. Unlike Millrow it was held in the Ards CFC. There was a great feeling of optimism during that evening. The Show played well and there didn’t seem to be much competition. The last band that went on were very tight but the superiority of The Shows tunes were clear. It was a competition where the audience voted by writing the name on a page and placing it in a box. I guess they trusted the audience not to make a ton of pieces saying the same name on it. Stephen retreated outside nervous that the last tight band had clinched it. One of our friends at the time had a few pieces of paper but hadn’t put them in for some reason. When she went to place her vote they said the polls were closed for counting. Anyway Stephen stayed outside playing the guitar to people coming in for whatever was on after the competition. He came in just in time to hear the really unfunny double act hosts announce that it was a very tight affair between The Danny Brown Show and whoever the tight band was. In a fatal moment he announced it was the tight band who had one and Stevie and The Danny Brown Show retreated from the stage. Months maybe years later I think they made it back to stage for an angst ridden performance in Donegan’s bar in Bangor. “Sorry if we weren’t funny” was uttered by Mr. Darragh moments before they played their last and most memorable anthem, Faker.

   “Steve said that in Donnegans at the end of the gig, there seemed to be too much pressure to put on a “show”. It was a far cry from the excentric “hello and welcome” (to the danny brown show), a song that i feel summed up the youthful tavern days, it became a staple opener in the set almost til the end. The end came at the front page, the same stage that gave birth to kowalski a few months later. The last few gigs were the start of great new songs like “paper aeroplane counciling” and “the search for the perfect apple.” Where danny switched to the bass and i started writing and playing more guitar. I really believe we were starting to sound like a proper band.”
   -paddy conn reflecting on the end of “The Danny Brown Show”,January 2009.

   Paddy continued on with Exit to Millrow, Danny and Lou went away and returned a year or so later under the guise of Kowalski who led an all new era in not just the Bangor music scene but that of Northern Ireland. Stephen’s on stage persona was spoken of in a mysterious manner and he made solo appearances very rarely, much like Jeff Magnum.

   Made in Korea released an album and then called it a day. There was talk of reuniting for a gig to resemble that one fateful evening in the Tavern when The Danny Brown Show, Exit to Millrow and Made in Korea all shared the same bill. However Chris Mac, the drummer wasn’t up for it and so that legacy we felt is in a deep sleep unlikely to be awoken. Exit to Millrow never found a permanent drummer and Glen Mitchell left. Glen says he put his guitar in the attic, that has to be one of the most tragic/romantic images of our time, reminiscent of footage of Alex Higgins in the snooker hall before he announced his retirement. Although Glen was in a much better frame of mind and had a much better lifestyle than poor old Alex. Robbie and Paddy up’d sticks and headed over to the pastures of Glasgow to continue to fly the Millrow banner. “The Vincent Musical Cult” like all good things came to an end. The family moved away from Clifton Road leaving behind whatever magic was in that roof space. Joel followed Millrow across the water, I guess he was justifiably Roadie 1. Stephen came out of retirement and joined me on stage under the guise of Cardigan Drive. I even managed to coax Glen back onto the stage for bass duty. Lou joins us on drums but his baby Kowalski are where his attentions are these days. All the people who made the scene what is was have moved on and gotten older, some still chasing the same dream, trying to make it. I wonder looking at the scene today if it has the same characters? Characters like Luke Chambers who fronted a band called Imperfect Art. He went to Russia and when he returned he had a big beard, would only listen to Coldplay and Radiohead and drink Black Russians endlessly.

   written by gregg houston