The Jake and Tiarnan Podcast - Episode 8

This weeks podcast comes from a brand new home after our previous service shut down. Unfortunatley we don't start well as we don't bother our arses to plan and just talk bollocks for a good thirty minutes. However there are some top new jingles and everyones favourite cartoon takes a radical turn. You can listen to it should you wish to and then subscribe to it through Itunes here.

Bigger than the World Cup?

There was a piece on CNN this morning that highlighted the monolithic status now attached to the Champions league final. Remarkably it was featured on the Business rather than sport section perhaps reflecting football's true place in the modern world. It detailed how one team competing in Rome's Stadio Olimpico would earn $93 million dollars. That would be the losers then.

Regardless of who wins or loses tonight the economic importance of the Champion's League final seems to now outweigh the prestige of World Cup Final; who wants to win an abstract concept when you can win cold hard cash? It is esimated that the winners will gain an extra $70 million dollars each in tourism for their city mainly from Asian football fans who ultimatley pledge their allegiance to the most sucessful teams.

So who will receive this crock of gold? Man United have been flawless after some minor problems at the start of the season and Ronaldo, in all his smarmy, oiled hair glory, is recognised but still despised as one of the two greatest footballers on the planet. Lionel Messi is the other and is perhaps the antithesis of everything Ronaldo represents. As Paul Hayward brilliantly points out here Ronaldo's preening, strutting vanity is in sharp contrast to the shyness of Messi. You get the sense that if Messi could play football bare footed without any cameras or pre and post match build up he would be much happier but for Ronaldo this would be an acute form of torture; after all who would pick up his elaborate winks then? How would audiences see his melodramatic displays of continental gesturing?

It is difficult watching such a talented player that is so difficult to like. Ronaldo isn't exactly troubled by public apathy in exactly the way that Messi seems to be universally liked. His physical stature automatically make him the underdog in any contest of strength, meaning animmediate outpouring of sympathy. But it is perhaps the way he deals with this disparity in physical gifts that most endears him to the public. Messi is a tiny matador buzzing in and around the cumbersome feet of players designed to run and kill all over Europe. His movement seems to be made from a series of complex mathamatical diagrams constantly intersecting at the finest and most acute of angles. He rarley passes the ball more than 20 feet and it his deadly reverse through balls in and around the penalty area that will really scare Manchester United. In comparison Ronaldo is a thoroughbread racehorse running in straight lines and smashing holes in opposition defences often with the same aplomb.

If there is any justice in the world Barca will win. Blessed with the cream of a generation of football talent who play with the abandon of players that know their way is fundamentally right, they typify everything that is good about football. They elect a president in what is a footballing microcosm of a proper democracy and give the space on their shirts away to Unicef's logo for free. Manchester United are run by transatlantic tyrants beholden to no-one, especially not an electorate of paid up members, and sell their sponsership to an insurance company, run on bad debt and bankrupting the American economy, for $56 million dollars a year. Let art triumph over strength and let nobility triumph over profiteering. But mainly- let Barca win.

The Man, The Myth, The Morrissey

It seems the saying the more you learn the less you know is particularly salient with regard to Steven Patrick Morrissey. Intriguing , mythologised, adored, hated - Morrissey is one of the few true music icons of the modern age. He occupies that ephemeral world usually reserved for the dead- his lyrics are examined with the same ferocity of those by Jim Morrison, Ian Curtis and Jeff Buckley- and he goes some way to encapsulating the idea of a poet musician.

Cleverly it is his reticence and paradoxical nature that ensure he is idolised by millions. His ability to on the one hand be relatively private and coy lends an his oeuvre an air of mysticism. However his ability to deliver a witty, and often contreversial, soundbite makes his a master of pop PR. It is this inner conflict that is parhaps primarily examined in David Bret's biography "Scandal and Passion" a task seemingly as difficult as examining the meaning of existence itself.

There are contradictions throughout Morrisseys life and work. Whilst seemingly an effete literate, intellectual enamoured by the iconograpghy of camp and often bisexual figures he has also displayed an affinity with thuggery, sexual violence and admiration for "gangster" figures, notably Ronnie Kray. Unravelling these disjointed threads is a difficult task especially without actually speaking to your subject, Morrissey has never sanctioned an "official" biography, and it is further complicated by Bret's obvious and unadulterated admiration for the "Stretford Bard". Morrissey is depicted entirely as a Romantic isolated figure railed against by a cruel world, hated by jelaous journalists and the victim of conspiracy and igorance wherever he goes. To some extent these exertions seem true. Morrissey's lyrical content, which was often heavily criticised for "explicit" imagery, is not the work of a subversive homosexual condoning violence and sexual abuse. They are invariably eloquent and tender evocations of what it means to be lonley, to be in love, to be lustful and they stand as a testament to the prowess of British songwriting; a field in which Morrissey inhabits the highest echelons, perhaps even with demi-gods such as Lennon and Mcartney.

On the other hand Morrissey has said some very silly things. It is hard to complain that the press have it in for you when you perpetually give them more than enough rope with which to hang you. Allusions to far right imagery and nods to a wholly unacceptable type of "nationalism" are seemingly misinterpreted more often than not, and Morrissey's toungue in cheek headline seeking attitude may signal them as no more than allusions, but all the same their very presence is disturbing and raises questions over one of the greatest ever songwriters to put pen to paper.

It is clear that, just like his hero Oscar Wilde, Morrissey will be debated, obssessed over and scorned for years to come even though he has reached a half century not out. Whatever he says or does it is perhaps important to remember what he truly stands for- mesmeric, articulate and beautiful songwriting that perhaps hasn't be matched in the last twenty years.

The Jake and Tiarnan Podcast - Episode 7

After a 2 week hiatus the Jake and Tiarnan Podcast returns with brilliant live jingles. As well as that we discuss our terrible, gold-filled year book and look over the news that accompanied our last week in the British education system. Should you want to listen you can here or download it from Itunes (please, look at his little face)

Just because Im losing, Doesn't mean I lost

I can't say that I'm fond of saying that TV programs have a finale (it makes me sound like an American voiceover man or the ringleader of a circus) but the last two episodes of Lost season 5 were just that.

Yes it's mental. Yes it's obscenley far-fetched. Yes it's confusing. But it is utterly compelling TV. I find myself more drawn to it the more insane it gets and, although the insane anti was upped yesterday, things seem to be drawing toward a conclusion now. The stage appears to be set for an all out war between the forces of free will and determinism and although the marooned plane crash survivors core now seems slightly oblique I think there will be a satisfactory conclusion to the central question of the whole show (when it became apparent they hadn't been involved in an ordinary plane crash); Why are they there?

Or instead the resolution could be left ambigous and fan boys the world over will bay for the heads of the producers on a plate. The writers have already said that they may not conclusively state what the Island is, comparing the idea of doing so to questioning or defining the Force is Star Wars, so conceivably they could go the all out and leave the questions that Lost poses to internet forums and articles on fansites the world over. I think this concept would appeal to the writers themselves as they seemed interested in scientific, mythological and philosophical content and references above all but , given the antipathy directed toward the unresolved final episode of The Sopranos, I can't see this playing with American network directors.

Either way Lost finally seems to be answering as many questions as it raises and, if it continues in a similar vain, the outcome should be incredible.

Counting the Cost

Here in the chronically cynical town of Stevenage we have The Right Honourable Barbara Follet as our Member in Parliament. There is something in the make up of of the upper working classes that makes for a apathetic approach to their rights as citizens to vote; politicians are all the same, it doesn't make any difference any way- Barbara Follet isn't helping to change this perception.

Whoever I tend to talk to, even in a jokey way, about politics I hear these phrases time and time again. When President Obama came to power I thought these thoughts and feelings would end - people would see a young, intelligent, seemingly honourable man in the position of power and feel rejuvenated recognising not only that he was different but that people had actually had the capacity to vote him in. How happy we would all be! How politics would change, how civic service, aspiration and equality would be at the forefront of our world! I could almost see the record turnouts the long lines stretching from the polling stations full of people excited and enthused by a new politics that would bring change and make them proud and invested in their political system for a change. I was terribly, horribly, undeniably wrong.

The democratic utopia I thought was in store will more than now likley be a wasteland. The aforementioned well worn (untrue) phrases will be perpetuated throughout Britains living rooms, cafes and bars. It will gain credence as more MP's reach for their check books or reach for their coats. Their ignominy will surpass the new faith that had been found. I am fast running out of legs to stand on in my argument that not all MP's are the same, most of them actually do a good job and that we should stop worrying about it and let the system right itself. With every revelation I feel an anger that makes me want to forget reasoned measured response and shout angrily from the windows like a reactionary right wing tosser armed with the self righteous contempt of the Daily Mail. The temptation is strong and people are ultimatley justified is giving in to it. It seems that the politicians have been caught with their hand in the till.

A danger of the expenses saga is not only the declining number of voters and a few uncleaned moats. As the major parties continue to use their expense accounts as a large length of rope with which to hang themselves support with drift to the fringes. Who has never been in Parliament? Who isn't part of this system? Whose record is clean and who can offer us the fetid good old England cliches we need to calm us in times of strife? Who will stoke the fires of anger at a subject that shoudn't divide us? The BNP will.

So it seems that although Barbara Follet's chinese needlepoint rug is clean her record is well and truly sullied, although her house is secure her dignity is vulnerable but most of all it seems that the cost of her expenses is exponentially larger than figures on a page.

Sick

I hate Britain's Got Talent. It is a sick example of everything bad about the world. It is on ITV. I hate Britain's Got Talent.

Being a pedant and someone seeking any distraction from meaningful, important work I researched the audition process for what is the most popular TV program in this shit hole of a country (The Wire got... actually I can't start on that) and there were some interesting things brought to light. Although I never thought that each and every contestant was brought before the triumvirate of evil that is Cowell, Holden and Morgan I did expect that they would have some role in the selection process. I was wrong. The thousands of people that apply are herded into a conference centre (or possibly warehouse with straw, troughs and copies of Heat) where they are quickly auditioned and (mostly) sent on their merry way, the "no" from the faceless member of the production staff ringing in their ears.

However a select few are given a yes. They fall, as the TV show demonstrates, into 2 distinct categories. The first category is comprised of those who are average singers and whose a] Mum has died b] Wife has died c] been in the army d] Does something different to the life they lead normally (this week there was a rugby player who sang Bill Withers. He was average). Despite the intense boredom that all of these types evoke the second set of contestants is vastly worse off. They are the people that have turned up at the warehouse/ conference centre unaware that they have no obvious talent usually due to a totally delusional personality or, and I am utterly serious, mental illness. These people are assessed to see if they will make good TV and brought down to a theatre to perform in front of the unholy trinity. I presume at this point they aren't notified that they are there to be laughed at and ridiculed by an entire nation otherwise, I hope, not many of them would turn up. Instead they are simply invited down to London/Belfast/Manchester to audtion in front of the worlds three most talentless and famous people. These people are already delusional. They beleive they have the capacity to be internationally famous recording artists, dancers and ventriliquists. If they are told to come and audition in front of the main judging panel, being one of the select few that make it through from the Slaughterhouse proceedures that is the initial stages, I'd imagine their reaction wouldn't be one of cautious optimism and tempered anticipation. It would be seen as validation and confirmation of the talent they already knew they had. Dreams that had just been dreams for a lifetime would be given credence, possibilities that had been far off hopes would now be just one more amazing audtion away. Instead these people are being brought out to be laughed at for our pity and scorn. Look, we sneer, that stupid man thinks he's a good DJ, what an utter imbecile! Why on earth would ever go to audtion in front of Simon Cowell and the other luminaries? He's wasting their time Godammit they've got another Paul Potts to find! In reality they are there because they have been asked, selected, chosen from thousands of other hopefuls given false hope and been fed with non commital promises. They are there so thousands of fat, mindless ITV watching idiots around the country can laugh at them and feel thankful that the person who can't really dance and is being jeered by a theatre-full of chlamydia ridden teenage girls with perma tans and aspirations of WAGness whilst they sit comfortably in the living room filling their faces with Dominoes and coke.

Is that what we want our primary source of entertainment to be? If it is then I think the joke is firmly on us.

Addicted

My addiction to boxsets is becoming insane. After demolishing The Wire like Augustus Gloop wolfing Will Wonka choccys I have now moved on to the next meal - Band of Brothers. Again I am more than slightly late to the party but at least now I am at the party at all and, like an univited gate crasher, I will now proceed to massacre the buffet and then pretend that I have been here all along.

I have heard practically universal praise for Band of Brothers and am well aware of it's "most expensive ambitious TV behemoth since time began" tag. Hopefully I will be able to assess it on it's own merits and enjoy it rather than constantly measuring it in relation to The Wire. It is possible that instead I will constantly be comparing and the affair may turn into a Hollyoaks-esque storyline. I, the jilted lover, will find solace in the arms of a friend who was there for me when my longtime partner walked out only to spurn them on the basis that they are not quite as good as the bastard who upped and left in the first place. Maybe The Wire will haunt me for the rest of my life making me haughtily dismiss any book, film or TV show as inferior only to end up bereft of entertainment and alone with an empty DVD shelf unit and a broken heart.

Let's hope that Band of Brothers soothes my soul and teaches me how to love again; I don't feel I can commit to a new relationship at the moment but maybe with the aid of times healing balm I can find something new to fill the void that The Wire has left.

The End

It had to happen sometime. As much as I wished it could go on forever I knew that eventually it would end. I have finished watching The Wire.

After giving in and watching series 5 online I quickly rediscovered the rush and sheer addictiveness of what is now confirmed in my mind as the greatest TV show ever made by a long way. The last series is self indulgent to some extent and more fantastical than it's predecessors but even then it is leagues ahead of any competitors for the crown of King. Thematically as challenging as it's before Season 5 continues it's trend of bitterness and cynicism as mayoral administrations become to busy running for govorner to deliver their promises and the same faceless career 'police' get promoted and the real investigators get shafted for funds and support. Despite being an ensemble piece Mcnulty comes to the fore in the last season ensuring he will be remembered as the focal point of the Wire, the embodiment of it's over riding thesis. He goes to increasingly desperate measures to secure the funds to take down Kingpin Marlo Stanfield and moral dilemmas abound; Mcnulty's scheme isn't legitimate but is it moral? Everyone in "the game" knows Marlo is a vicious sociopath responsible for at least 30 murders; should he still go to jail even though the investigation is flawed? Corruption and vice are at the very heart of The Wire permeating every character and making Mcnulty such a loveable anti-hero.

As expected no conclusions are proposed or implemented. Mcnulty's deeds cause cover ups at city hall and reignations in the force. People leave old jobs and start new ones but inevitably The Wire ends quietly with the images of real Baltimore citizens going about the daily lives as they always do. The drug economy carries on, the people that rob the drugs from the dealers die and are replaced with the new generation, new legions of heroin addicts are created as we see Bubble's (perhaps the shows most loveable and only truly good character; a junkie) finally gain accpetance from a family that despised him by staying clean; a melancholy concotion that beautifully displays the inevitable perpetuation of a broken system. The last episode also contains a police "funeral" scene with the body laid out on the pool table in traditional fashion, American Body by the Pogues blaring in the background.

It's beautiful, serious, terrifying, hilarious, consuming ,heartbreaking and brilliantly clever. The bar has been set. Any show that wants to better the Wire will have to combine astute social commentary with ingenious story telling, well drawn characters and script thats entertaining beyond measure. Im not sure TV will ever be done as well again.