Crackle - Snap, Crackle and Pop

Harbour cottage, Isle of Barra

On our second trip to the Outer Hebrides, we stayed in a fabulous cottage on the Isle of Barra.  It was a restored and extended Crofter’s cottage with many original features including an open fireplace in the ground floor living area. The time of year was May, late spring, early summer and the Hebrides, though breezy, was warmer than expected. Too warm for a log fire but I could imagine the ultimate in cosy.  I read the guest book entries of some amazing winter breaks describing the sound of the crackle and spit of a newly laid log fire. I could picture myself curled up on the sofa with a book or letting my mind wander as I watched darting flames begin to devour the logs. The cottage received regular visitors and it was interesting to read how they liked to spend their time. Hikers, hill climbers, sailors, water sports or observers like me, all had their story to tell.  Someone had been snowed in, but couldn’t have got off the island because of the weather, so had to stay longer. Someone else couldn’t leave the cottage for days due to the danger of gale force winds. Nothing like that happened to us. It didn’t even rain during our stay. The Glasgow to Barra aircraft stayed on schedule, so did the ferries, which was our means of transport.  Everyone who had stayed when it felt chilly had remarked on the brilliant log or coal fire.  I wish I’d set it up just to see it, and hear it snap, crackle and pop.

When I was a child, the only breakfast cereal in our house was cornflakes. At my Nanna’s it was cornflakes or All Bran. Once, I asked for All Bran. It was horrid, but I ate it because I’d asked for it, and that is what happened in those days. If my grandchildren choose something then don’t like it, I’ll find them something else – I’m a softy. At some point, Kellogg’s Rice Krispies made it to our kitchen and true to the advert on TV, as soon as the milk was added ‘Snap, Crackle and Pop’ happened. It’s funny when you’re only eight and still makes me smile.

My first introduction to John Cooper Clarke was listening to his album, ‘Snap, Crackle and Bop’. It wasn’t the music, it was the words, the clever imagery of Beasley Street and Evidently Chickentown made me laugh. His appearance fascinated me then, about 1980, and unchanged, it still does. I’m reading ‘I Wanna Be Yours’ and trying to make it last because I’ll miss it when it ends.

Here is my poem for JCC,

Terza Rima for John Cooper Clarke, when Manchester became Madchester,

Those of the time embraced every word,
Listening in wonder to John Cooper Clarke,
The Bard of Salford who had to be heard.

Rapid from the mouth and skinny and dark.
‘Evidently Chickentown’, effing good,
He’s magic with words, bright as any spark.

His wholesome description meant that we could
Smell the inhabitants of ‘Beasley Street’;
Rich mixture of urban decay and blood.

Life, humour and truth, a picture complete
And painted with colourful language that
Reaches all listeners not just the elite.

So thanks, JCC, I know where I’m at
Laughing out loud at the poem called ‘Twat’.

Pamela Winning 2012

Thanks for reading. Stay safe and have the best Christmas you can. Pam x

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Pop Music

New York, London, Paris, Munich everybody talk about mmmm, that’s right pop pickers this weeks theme is all about pop, pop, pop music.

With the invention of the teenager in the 1950’s came the creation of the parent saying “What’s this rubbish?”. Though a little know made up fact is, at the very same time Bill Haley rocked us around the analog time piece, another form of being was on the rise. And as the charts became more and more about the popular vote and the majority of young people having a good time, this new social group fell in rank and file to express their views with smug expression.

That’s right, with the explosion of the pop music scene came the meteoric rise of the pretentious twat. A social class that, like pop culture, is still around to this very day.

Before pop, pretentious twats were just pretentious. They huddled together writing poetry and classic literatur, living the life a drunk with money with only the occasional witty riposte to make a social comment or patronise others for using a tautology.

With pop music the pretentious evolved, becoming more and more twatish as the years rolled on. Their refusal to listen to anything ‘popular’ moved them further and further away from the people they so wished to condescend until, they themselves became the joke.

The self imposed exile has stopped them being exposed to great moments in writing, one of the very things they hold dear. Such great poetic works like ABBAs sinister “The day before you came” or the subversive version of “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell.

Throughout the history of pop you can find some outstand examples of poetic writings, “Neon on my naked skin, passing silhouettes of strange illuminated mannequins” - ‘Big in Japan’ Alphaville; “Beauty I’d always missed, with these eyes before. Just what the truth is, I can't say anymore” - ‘Nights in White Satin’ Moody Blues and of course, “You ain’t nothing but a Hound Dog, Cryin’ all the time” - ‘Hound Dog’ Elvis Presley.

Behind every single one of these records is a fantastic wordsmith and musician. Sometimes the performer is that creative genius, and sometimes it’s not however, the performer is usually of equal talent, though I must admit this is not always the case. And I do understand not all pop music displays flashes for pure art, some of it is quite puerile but, if like the pretentious twats, you close yourself off to it, you’ll never seen the diamond in the shit.

All art is art, and you are allowed to like things that sometimes you shouldn’t. These are our guilty pleasures. I think it’s ok to be pretentious because what’s the point of opening yourself up to all the beauty in the world if you can’t lord it over someone who thinks Dan Brown is a great writer from time to time. It’s the twat bit that holds people back. Open your mind to things without having a preconceived idea because someones else has already labeled it for you.

So turnaround bright eyes, it a mad world out there and ask yourself, are you ready for this jelly?

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