Where are the UK dramas like 'The Shield', 'Mad Men', 'Damages', 'Lost', 'The Wire' and 'Lie To me'?

 I've spent much of the last month catching up on the first 5 seasons of 'The Shield', the US Drama about a gung-ho 'Strike Team' who target L.A.'s gangs within a unique sort of politically experimental neighbourhood police unit. Having long been a huge fan of The Wire, I always saw this series as 'Wire-lite' for some stupid reason, and ended up missing one of the most gripping drama series of the last decade. Maybe the core themes are similar, as both look at urban and moral decay, vanity, corruption, race issues and, of course, crime. Stylistically, however, they are as far apart as the American states in which they are set and the people indigenous to either series reflect this'.

   The shaky, hand held 'documentary style' camera movements used to annoy me, when I was only aware of the show through a few clips I'd seen, but now feel an essential part of the show. Where 'The Wire' was a slow burner, giving fair amount of coverage to cops and criminals(as well as city hall, school, and newspaper offices in the last 3 seasons) 'The Shield' has its wonky focus squarely on the Strike Team, almost all the time. It may be more traditional in portraying the 'heroes' side more vividly, but then again there is enough shades of grey within the characters themselves that the show never feels unbalanced for that. Besides, the Wire tended to drift away from the cop characters to portray its other characters' souls being swallowed by the realities of ambition in a corrupt system, and the Shield seems to be showing something similar while staying around the cops. In particular the rise of David Aceveda; initially the Chief of The Barn(Police Station in Farmington) before steadily making his way to the Mayor's office throughout the rest of the show's run has me wondering if he was ever a well-intentioned but morally doomed Anakin Skwalker figure or if he had designs to be LA's answer to the Emperor all along.

The American Television concept of individual 'seasons' allows for something we in the UK don't have in our homegrown drama so much; a clear sense of departure for each stage of an epic storyline, where at the end of every 13 or 25 or whatever amount of episodes the show and its cast and crew reach a plateau of dramatic pause from which to launch the next phase of an ongoing storyline. Sure, we have 'series' and something to be proud of in 'Dr. Who' and the recently wrapped up 'Life On Mars'/'Ashes to Ashes' programs, but not much comes close to gaining the popularity of say 'Lost','Fringe', 'Damages','Glee' or even the dull and uninspiring 'Desperate Housewives' . i'm sitting here trying to think of something to prove myself wrong, but nothing's coming to mind. 'Sherlock' was great earlier this year, but 3 episodes? Come on, man. 'Skins' started out really well, but I lost interest in the middle of series 2. 'Torchwood' had potential, but a puzzled home audience never really took to the Dr. Who-for-adults premise. Even 'This Is England 86', the best British TV show I can remember that is rumoured to be returning lasted only four episodes and was initially a sequel to a movie.
  Speaking of other mediums, the 'season' mentality has seeped into comics with Grant Morrison considering the first phase of an epic Batman  tale 'Season One' and is currently taking the Batman brand around the world(In the comic), with Bruce Wayne finally admitting to at least bankrolling the caped crusader's fight against crime as the lead in to 'Season Two'. Comics veteran Steve Gerber was working on his '2nd season' of     a creator owned comic when he passed away in 2007. Bigger tales have become  a trend in the movies more these days as well, with franchises like the Harry Potter, Matrix and Underworld(and many more)being conceived of as long tales with smaller internal arcs to propel them forward and enrich the initial narrative, rather than the occasional money maker being cheapened by a hasty sequel.
 Back to my main point:- I don't understand why there is so much reluctance to invest in better and longer stories, especially when the talent is here as proven by the success of things like 'Misfits' or 'Dead Set'; actors such as Tim Roth, Dominic West, and even Hugh Laurie in 'House' seem to do well in these shows. The main UK shows are churned out in 6 to 13 parts per series, except the rubbish soaps which are about 4 times a week and even prime time viewing, unlike the USA where they are mainly afternoon 'story' fodder. Maybe its a cultural thing, the Americans are more willing to believe in fantasy, and we are more likely to watch anything miserable; as long as its dressed up as 'believable'. I don't know, its just an observation.

On the dark side of the cycle

People who don't have depression rarely understand or bother to wonder what it is like to spend a huge chunk of their lives basically wishing they'd never existed. I don't mean that in the sense of embarrassment("I wished the ground would just swallow me up, I was so mortified", etc)or not wanting to face the consequences of something they've done or has been set in motion by someone else; I mean simply wishing that the life they lived had never occurred. Its obvious to me, right now, that my depression is at its low peak because I can't even be bothered to make my sentences grammatically correct, and am even having to force myself to write them in the first place. I can't draw at the moment, because every drawing (faces and bodies, in particular) I do just seems out of proportion to a degree that looks beyond amateurish and entering into insane territory.
  Although there does seem to be one thing that occurs when I reach this place:- new story ideas come thick and fast. Unfortunately not much in the way of little details to help with my first 'big concept' story about the vampire/parasite in the west end of Glasgow, circa 1995. Instead I get loads of little ideas that may or may not become something more substantial in the future. For example, walking along today, I had the idea of a man checking himself into the casualty department asking to get medical help for his driver. As things unfold,  it becomes clear that the guy is under the impression that his 'driver' is actually a wee guy who lives inside his head, pulling levers and pushing buttons, etc, to control the body like in 'The Numbskullls' or in 'Men In Black'. It won't come to anything, I suspect, but it was an idea I had a little fun with it as I walked along. Perhaps it could be 'real' and the story could take off when the surgeon discovers this reality, turning into a kind of modern day Dashiell Hammet, by way of Kafka, noir conspiracy thriller. My point here is that, as fertile as my imagination may be, my depression always seems to find a way to pull me back to earth, even as it gives me the paths to the ideas.
 It feels as though the biggest fantasy I have is of ever actually managing to get somewhere with my life. The days in bed and nights playing consoles or on pissing about on the internet and two week drug/drink binges that run/ruin my libido are as unhealthy as the mutually assured destruction type relationships that i end up in  to escape from depression at least always burn out as quickly as my brain and soul do in the middle of them. All of these things feel like minor symptoms of a much deeper rot in the very core of my being, as though the universe is in perfect agreement with my feeling that I ought never to have been born. I don't know, I guess i just needed to vent and now I've done it. So there. I don't know if I'm happy or sad that I'll likely never give out the URL of this blog! Depression will do that.

Crisis of conscience.

As a dole mole who is attempting to become a comic creator, I need to ask myself if downloading the titles I can't afford is justifiable. Sure, I need to know about the comics I wouldn't normally read but to do so means supporting and participating in a practice most industry figures find loathsome. Is it worth it?
 I spend, on average, twenty five quid a fortnight on my regular, monthly comics and maybe another ten quid on a graphic novel. However, downloading complete runs of certain titles, especially those I have bought in the past and no longer own is very appealing, no matter how many creators blog or tweet that it is stealing and all the rest. They are liable to feel that way in defence of the industry that pays them well, and it is their right to want to protect it. For the most part, I only download what I can't afford, and make sure to keep buying as much as I can afford, as a guilty gesture. I think that someone who only downloads comics has no right to consider themselves a fan, and would have a cheek to enjoy something they are helping to destroy.                                
  However, torrents could, to some extent, be helping keep comics alive in the UK. Independents are pretty rare here, with Forbidden Planet taking up the lion's share of the marketplace and there seems to be no sign of reversal. Who knows, in 15 years the Direct Market could be gone, with all comics released digitally from the creators. Nah, but there are those that would believe that is better for the planet. For my part, I am resigned to the fact that downloading free comics is a gravy train that will have to stop. When it does, I'll be slightly better of for its having existed(In digital comics terms), but will be glad to have the moral dilemma swept under the carpet  for good.

A wee break from my life story!

I started blogging the story of the wildest time of my youth last week, and decided to take a break before my past consumed me. I have since spent a lot of time playing Call of Duty, watching films, and reading the Batman epics-"Bruce Wayne: Murderer/Fugitive", "War Games" and "Under The Hood". The problem with memories is this: They are usually unclear, and to recall everything perfectly takes effort. If you expend that effort, you usually would like something in  return and all straining to remember your own past can offer you is more questions, and the vague satisfaction attained when you recall something pleasing or amusing.
  I want to record the story of my three years DJing in the Free Party scene of the South West at the turn of the Millenium, and I will. No way will I drive myself mad to do so! Fortunately, I am just building an archive at the moment, before giving out the URL of my blog to a lot of people. That is good for now, because I don't feel as though I have started something that I'll need to finish in any kind of timely fashion. Also, I am still very new to the internet and pc's, (even as late as '08, my only access to the web was via my mobile, only accessing it as a source of instant info from the likes of wikipedia) so all of this is basically just an exercise in showing myself whether or not I have an ability as a writer, while I acclimatise myself to the limitations of a new medium.

make the music go back and you hear Satan speakin'.......or how I began to Dj by mistake after years of trying. \\\\\part 2/////

"Now I Lay Me Down" - Rae & Christian

So, there I was, in a strange city with no girlfriend and everyone I knew there was a friend of hers. At least the fucked up chair lying in the downstairs neighbours' flower bed made me glad she hadn't come home, the chair wasn't too valuable but its sentimental value was through the......nah. Anyway, i'd been in her flat for 24 hrs, trips to get alcohol aside, and realised I was looking at the habitat of an organism in metamorphosis, the girl I had known was gone. Books I'd never read & music I'd never listen to were strewn around the room alongside clothes I'd never seen and condoms I'd never wear. For all I knew, she wasn't in the arms of some waiter who'd been after a one night stand and bit off more than he could chew, but was in fact in a pod somewhere waiting to grow wings before emerging as an angel.

Her surprisingly understanding live in landlord then took me to somewhere she thought i might receive a little help, and before lunch I found myself telling a stranger all about my woes for nearly an hour, which I didn't mind because I love to tell one sided of stories of my past. However, after a while longer I noticed the person I was talking to was saying nothing. I had expected to be told where I could say for a few days with only 60 quid to my name, or be given the name of a lawyer in case I faced charges over the destruction of the fruits of Pappy's labour(not to mention the window and the neighbour's prized flowerbeds), but nothing, no input whatsoever. just a smile and the occasional nod. It was then that I realised that the landlord's description of the people  as Samaritans was literal, not a way of saying they were good people and could offer any sort of practical help. Even more dejected, I left to wander the streets for a while with two big bags that I couldn't put down. This being 90's Britain, and me speaking like I might be Irish in a coastal town meant Alert Condition Amber in "Can I leave this bag here for half an hour?" terms. Thank Fuck I'm not Muslim, it must be like that for them all the time.

After a mild panic attack and a quick phone call to my parents to pretend all was well, I remembered the couple who had driven me to Bristol from a Faith Camp my Christian friends had took me to earlier that year. At the time I'd tagged along to get to Peterborough and then hitch-hike on to Bristol to see my girlfriend, then felt obliged to stay on to avoid going to hell for abusing the kindness of God's True People. It was an interesting week, and probably the only such week that year in which I knew I was in safe company and wasn't taking any drugs(apart from a brief stay in hospital to avoid being brought to court and put in remand..........but that's another story.). Anyway, Mike and Theresa had picked me up on the last day and gave me a lift to Bath,where they insisted I stay for lunch before I took a 15 minute bus to Bristol and spent the following fortnight reunited with my Girlfriend. At the time, they had said if I ever need anything I shouldn't hesitate, etc. Thinking "Yeah, but everyone says that" I phoned them and Mike came to drive me over to theirs. As I began to talk, I just burst into tears, telling my story through bubbles of snot and intermittent stuttering/quivering fits. At least that hadn't happened at the Samaritans, I'm sure the awkwardness would have been unbearable. Anyway, I stayed with them for a couple of nights, before finding a bed in a men's hostel in St. Jude's, Bristol. It was pretty grim, but at least I wouldn't be going home with my tail between my legs to face the wrath of a vengeful and petty bunch of middle aged cops and drug dealers. Mike even gave me £40 as he dropped me off at the door. I phoned them a couple of times afterwards, but didn't go to see them because I honestly felt that they had done more than enough for me already, and I never again wanted to think about the circumstances in which I'd had to ask for their help. 

It didn't take long for me to find some work on a building site, and a quick couple of chats with the other agency workers soon taught me how to inflate my hours for the time sheets, leaving me pretty well off at the weekends. I felt a little awkward going out on my own, but the only people I met were people in the Hostel and guys from the site, who were OK, but kept trying to get me to play poker with them on Friday nights, taking my naivety of building site operations as a sign of general innocence that could provide easy pickings. Another night out with guys from the site somehow degenerated into a bizarre(and thankfully fruitless) hunt for homosexuals to batter with baseball bats on Clifton Downs. Despite all that, I did have some good times and soon found a squat along the road where there was constantly someone on the decks, and where I first met Dennis, aka "Easygroove", a legend on the Bristol Underground scene who thought he was real hot shit, despite never getting to the heights of his contemporaries like Grooverider or Roni Size. kind of a mixed bag, he could be gregarious or paranoid, generous or downright selfish and thieving and his personality was reflected in his music:- he was either brilliant or shit depending on his circumstances. He took an instant dislike to me because I said I was into Chicago house, like DJ Sneak, Derrick Carter, Green Velvet and all that crowd, though I did like something from all styles of dance music. He then spent ages droning on about UK Garage and riddim and tekno dread and God knows what all before smoking all of someone else's crack then disappearing in to the night. 

Although it was quite seedy, it was good to be around something familiar. Not having any records, apart from 5 or 6 compilation albums I'd bought, I only messed about on the decks once or twice although I did learn one thing from this. you don't need to know the records you play inside out to do a set, in fact the random factor can add something you could not calculate and it also keeps your attention on the record at all times, or should if you are any kind of DJ. Not having my records was strange, but absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say. Also, I had a few musical epiphanies that would not have happened if I'd been stuck practising all the time, as I'd been for the past while. Dope Smugglaz were on the essential mix one night, inspiring me to get out loads of the saturday night  mixes I'd taped but never really listened to like DJ Sneak and Derrick Carter(hence my ill fated comment to Easygroove), Deep Dish, DJ Funk and Dave Clarke, Daft Punk(the all time best Essential mix ever) Other things I had on tape like Coldcut "JDJ" and Talking Heads "Speaking in Tongues"(a private joke with myself at the time) became touchstones to what it was all about for me. I listened to them as music for recreation, sure, but also as though they were lessons being directed at me. 

After a month or so, I missed my records more than the girlfriend though I just couldn't bring myself to make the call so I could go and get them, things had ended so crazily that I half expected her to have thrown them away. Eventually, I was at a pub Dj night next to St. Nick's market, Las Iguanas, I think it was called and I got talking to one of the DJs about music and he told me if I wanted I could play, I was welcome to try out. The Ex-Girlfriend's (I don't want to say her name, and making up one feels wrong for a true story) house was only 15 minutes away, so despite the female promoters clear disapproval and claims that they only needed a rare groove DJ for some reason, I set off to get my records.  I phoned the ex to say I was on the way, only to be told that it wasn't the right time and she wasn't ready to see me. I wasn't looking for a reconciliation, I just wanted the records, but as during my explanation I sensed she had already entered high drama mode. Thinking it had to be done eventually anyway, I ploughed on determined. When she didn't answer the door, I simply climbed the drainpipe and went in the window. Of course, that is technically burglary, and therefore a police matter which they didn't hesitate to come and discuss with me in person. "Now here is your records, so you have no reason to go round their again, Young man", the arresting officer said two hours later as I was discharged from Broadmead station. Thinking he couldn't be more right,  I walked back to the hostel convinced I would never catch a break.

make the music go back and you hear Satan speakin'.......or how I began to Dj by mistake after years of trying. \\\\\part 1/////

The Chemical Brothers   'Where Do I begin?'

The main thing I was looking forward to in Bristol when I arrived was going to the Andy Weatherall gig with the girlfriend I hadn't seen in two months that Friday night. I'd long admired his  music and DJing, he had been the support for the Chemical Brothers on the night I decided everything I'd ever wanted to do was a joke, and I was going to be a DJ.......... 

   It would be good to go out clubbing properly in Bristol and do all the things we'd talked about, before things had got so chaotic. I would have said meeting an engineer who'd been working on Massive Attack's" Mezzanine "in the studio around the corner from the off-licence where my girlfriend worked would be something to look forward to, but not long after they met he'd shagged her then started buying his booze from Somerfield. Of course, I felt like a tit for having been slightly excited that she'd already made mates on the music scene, and that naive eagerness had soured into something slightly like simmering resentment. On the morning I arrived, however, I was accepting of the simple truths of the situation. After all, I'd been dogging around something stupid the summer before and what's good for the goose is for the gander, as my Gran used to say. Mind you, I didn't expect her to be in bed with some waiter instead of at home to welcome me to the city and our new life.

  For three years, I had been made to feel that I was all she had and somehow therefore owed her a lot because her love for me had kept her in Glasgow, without her family. Bearing that in mind, I didn't think it would be too much of a stretch for us to take the time to work out what we were doing together while I mentally prepared myself for a life inside. All she was interested in now was getting out of the relationship and into the safe confines of another, while keeping her eye on a future PR cold war, it would now appear. Ah, young love. The more you ache, the more you learn and the more you learn the more you don't want to know.
   In the meantime, I would have somewhere, far away, to lay low for a while before going back to Glasgow to face the charges of concern in supply of LSD, possession of other drugs and the dealers who were yet to see remuneration for said contraband. I didn't see it at the time, but some of those who had been by my side since being in &  leaving school, who I'd been smoking weed with, tripping with, clubbing and going out to see everyone from Lou Reed to Daft Punk, Tori Amos, Bob Dylan and Orbital with, getting drunk and doing the dumb shit like go to see the Exorcist with on a Friday Night at the Odeon with, had decided my arrest for doing the same as I'd always been, with them, for years, made me a common criminal and them....... whatever they had become. Maybe the harsh realities of my situation was too scary to contemplate, and maybe they cared too much to watch me fall. I do know that some felt "How could a criminal thug like me perceive what those beyond reproach and outside of my new sphere were now?" One guy who had been waiting to see me fall for the entirety of our 'friendship' was very blatant in his glee that I was facing years in prison, and came over all weird one night in the QM with a speech about how he "wouldn't let you be left with your dick in your hand when you come out of there"(paraphrasing James Caan in 'The Godfather') before bursting into fits of laughter & telling me he would look after my girlfriend while I was away, clearly forgetting she had knocked him back several times. As I'm sure you are gathering, it was a strange time in my life.

  Despite the incipient madness, I was unaware that my life was about to change by a factor as far beyond a simple prison sentence as that simple prison sentence was beyond my days at school.  Thank Fuck I had my records, although I did leave them at the (newly ex)girlfriends and since I'd thrown the rocking chair that her Grandfather had made through her 2nd floor window on my way down to the gutter of an unfamiliar city, I wasn't really expecting to see them for a while. 

Batman comics, crossroads, choices and life. Different Day; Similar Shit.

This weekend, I had a very difficult choice to make:- Which Batman graphic novel would adequately quench my thirst to read(or revisit) a proper, compelling, Bam! Kapow! Holy Urban Fantasy! Dark Knight tale that wasn't bogged down by continuity issues or compromised  by a poor combination of talent? 

"The Killing Joke"? Nah, got it. 

"Batman's Black Casebook"? Can't find it. 

"Knightfall/-quest/-send", "Bruce Wayne:Fugitive/Murderer" or "No Mans Land"? Too long, diffuse and now practically irrelevant to the ongoing legend of the Bat-family. 

What about an Elseworlds? Again, irrelevance to the ultimate path of Bats and co.

Although I have expressed a desire to ignore continuity issues, it has to be said that the source of this Batman jones is the agonisingly slow rate at which Grant Morrisons current sprawling, DC mega-epic is being squeezed out. Therfore, it made sense to buy something that at least has some faint connection with What's Happening Now. Of course, later this month(yay!)/year(Aaaargh!) there will/should be a rapid burst of Morrison connected releases and, since I get my comics fortnightly, there may even be a day coming soon when I will get my hands on two, or maybe even(dare I think it?) THREE GMo Batman comics on the same day! Until then, however, I am cursed to wander Glasgow's few remaining comic shops in the hope of finding something to fill the gap while my poor, restless and narrow mind wrestles with the questions posed in the varied Bat Books:-

Who is this Simon Hurt/Thomas Wayne/Black glove character, really?

What is this (latest)Ultimate Disaster(defo NOT a Crisis & that's Final) Bruce Wayne's return will trigger?

When will the Dynamic Duo's fragile alliance with the Joker burst into open conflict?

Can I afford all the new Batman titles coming out from November?

How will Damian's progress in the past year or so affect his relationship to Bruce?

What's happened to Cassandra Cain?

Will Vicki Vale prove.........OK That's enough.

The main rant here involves what my choice boiled down to:  either, "Hush", by Jeph Loeb, Jim Lee and Scott Williams or,  "The Dark Knight Strikes Again", by Frank Miller and Lynne Varley. The obvious choice there would be "Hush"; in almost every respect it is simply better. However, the 1st time I read "DK2" was 3 yrs ago, on the day I returned to Bristol to live for a couple of years, thinking to get back on the DJ circuit I had hopped out of, burned out, 7 years prior. I had just re-read "Watchmen" on the overnight bus journey down and enjoyed it so much I devoted a large part of a busy day to looking for more comics to read. Sometimes, when you are looking to recapture the buzz of the night before, with comics it almost works. 

  I loved just about every aspect of the book, from Batman's much reduced role(in order to bring in more JLA members), and appearances from loads of characters I remembered from US comics like the Question, the Guardian and even a bizarre sort of proto-Saturn Girl, to the second confrontation between Batman and Superman. Where in "Dark Knight Returns" the fight almost killed Batman, and served as the climax to the whole tale, in "DK2" Batman dispatches Supes with almost comical ease, after which he delivers the immortal line-"I'm done talking, now get out of my cave" 

  Its fair to say I was tickled with the story, to the extent that I even forgave the use of Dick Grayson(The 1st Robin, and now Batman himself) as the books major villain, besides Lex Luthor and Brainiac. At the time it felt simply misjudged, but now it seems an almost unforgivable rookie mistake for a true legend of the comics medium to be making.

  No amount of brainwashing, rejection, heartbreak, years of misery or whatever other negative stuff you can think of could turn Dick Grayson into a murderous shape-shifting clown. It was just bizarre, a single misstep that irrevocably altered the tone of a great read . Fortunately, while I was reading the book, I happened to find a Green Lantern ring under the bed of the backpacker's hostel I was staying in until I found a flat. Like a 10 year old, the serendipity of finding that ring, while reading a DC story, washed away all my disappointment and left me chuffed to bits, while wondering where the hell it had come from.   Anyway, I soon forgot about that stuff, and found myself re-reading "Watchmen" for my comics buzz, which got me back into DC and comics in a big way. At first it was TPB's, either bought or loaned from the library. "Identity Crisis",  "All Star Superman", "Earth 2", "Batman & Son", "Back In Action", "For Tomorrow", "Green lantern: Rebirth", "Green Arrow: Quiver", "52", and Geoff Johns, James Robinson, David S Goyer's "JSA", Robinson's own"Starman", Johns and Greg Rucka's superb "Superman/ Action Comics" runs, Morrison & Millar's "Aztek" and Jeph Loebs DC Universe spanning "Superman/Batman". In addition I started reading "The Authority", "Tom Strong", "Promethea", "Ultimate X-Men", "Kev", "Hellblazer", and "The Boys". I also discovered the art was getting ridiculously good. Artists like Doug Mahnke, JG Jones, Frank Quitely, Darrick Robertson, Amanda Conner, Cliff Chiang, Ethan Van Sciver, Ivan Reis, Ed Benes, Ian Churchill, Gary Frank, JH Williams III, Fernando Pasarin and many, many, more were showing me just how much comics had changed. Cut to now, and I'm a DJ who hasn't bought vinyl in nearly two years, and now spends any disposable income in  the comic shop, with over 20 standing orders and a roving eye for a good graphic novel. Which brings me, again, back to my opening dilemma, "Hush" or "DK2". You could suggest a compromise in "All Star Batman & Robin The Boy Wonder" by Miller & Jim Lee, which sits exactly halfway between the two, creatively speaking. Unfortunately, that contains the exact same Dick Grayson as nutter murderer themes that so marred my enjoyment of "DK2", only this volume is an overlong and unfortunate attempt to explore and somehow justify the creation of a mean spirited and despicable criminal from the broken shell of a vastly popular  and well liked character. One who has been an integral part of DC's universe from the start. Fuck's sake, its so bad no-one bothered to finish it,though they have threatened to "expand" the story, and embarrassingly try to connect it to the vastly superior "Year One" and original "Dark Knight Returns", as if they have a huge epic instead of two classics and two pieces of shit. Anyway, I've already got it; in fact it is the only book in my collection I can honestly use the phrase "Ach, I only like it for the art, the art is brilliant" to describe. A phrase I have heard(and used) before, as if you shouldn't enjoy stories about masked crimefighters with incredible abilities going up against insane criminals in skin-tight suits, but just staring at pictures of them is totally fine.

"Hush", on the other hand, is first class; a 12 part story about Batman and Bruce Wayne and how they live with each other's excesses, history, associates and limitations. Encompassing their many relationships and past endeavours , the story involves Superman, Catwoman, The Riddler, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, the Al Ghuls, Harley Quinn, basically, everyone who has ever appeared in a Bat-book, yet no-one seems out of place or as though they are there for an excuse to have Jim Lee draw them. For once,a decent new villain who seems to know all about Bruce and the Batman is introduced. Pivotal characters like Leslie Thompkins, Oracle and nightwing have important things to do and the story allows for things  that may be happening in Gotham, but outside of Batmans immediate purview, which is refreshing for such a high profile storyline. For example, Leslie Thompkins and Selina"Catwoman" Kyle's friendship is acknowledged without being overblown, or used as an excuse to sell the Catwoman book that was running when this tale was first published. Bruce Wayne's solitary nature is explored, while the inevitability of his inspiring other crimefighters and attracting enemies is handled well. 

  Strangely enough, the only misfire involves the current misdeeds of an ex-robin. Jason Todd, famously the subject of murder by fan phone poll in the late 80's , reappears in a graveyard fight sequence only to be revealed as Clayface. Later still, he is revealed to have been both Jason Todd and Clayface, but that is, literally, another story.And so, needless to say, I had the last laugh when I bought "Hush" then read it and spent close to an hour waffling about it here. 

reading into my past

I've just been reading Simon Reynolds' Energy Flash Discography blog, which is basically the update for a book I read a long time ago, presumably now in blogland to save those who have the original from buying new editions that cost more money for small amounts of extra info. I said, presumably, because I really don't know, but it is cool that all these things are out there for whoever feels the need to go and find them. I stumbled across it because I was trying to remember the name of a song that appeared on a CD w/ the book, I didn't find what I was looking for(it may have been there, but I got sidetracked) but I did leave happy, because I was reminded of an excellent book and an important time in my life.
  At the moment, I am trying to write a story about 3 yrs spent hanging about various sound systems and free party outfits in the company of a funny and companionable yet dangerous character, who eventually stole all my decent clothes, half my records and my decks, just before beating me up and causing me to lose my home. The guy is now dead, and i hold no grudges, but it is funny to see all the people who loathed and feared him describe him as a legendary DJ, when he spent his entire 'career' playing on a set of decks that were internally sped up( to "warp factor 9", the DJ equivalent of Spinal Tap's 11 setting on amps.)and the only non-techno artist ever to appear on said decks was fucking Frank Zappa. No hip hop or rare groove or electro or funk or synthpop or disco or even punk and metal, just acid techno and Frank Zappa.
 He may have lacked skill and dexterity, but he made up for all that trivial nonsense in sheer presence and intensity, and he had STORY coming out of his pores. Every party became an anecdote, and most avidly recalled now by those he caused the most grievance. Maybe they are simply taking it out in trade, getting what they were owed while he lived; and in doing so have forgotten about the broken noses, the scars, the dodgy contracts and lifeless trucks and vans he once spent every weekend involved in the trading of.
 My most vivid memory is of him, knife in one hand, CD case in the other putting a line under his pissed up mates nose as the mate was doing ninety on the road to Gloucester. Just as the mate was halfway through doing the line, with a rolled up banknote indignantly stuffed up his nose, a police car overtook the minibus the three of us were in. I was the one who spotted them first, wedged as I was between the window and  two huge speakers, and even at that moment I somehow knew the cop car was just going to sail on past us. And so, it did, because that was how things seemed to roll for him; but on the night after he had had major surgery to remove a cancerous lump and signed himself out early, only to be at a club that very night in front of a disbelieving crowd, i knew he was going to die. I don't remember exactly what happened that night, but I told him he wasn't ready and that the type of adulation received for being able to DJ after having part of an organ removed simply was not worth it in the long run. In retrospect, that was probably the moment our friendship was over, despite my things beginning their slow migration over to his side of the fence a long time before, it was when I realised he was going to kill himself for nothing that we truly broke apart as friends.
  Of course, as soon as I was not at the very same parties as he was every weekend, I became a hated enemy and bizarre stories of my misdeeds began to spill out from his camp and, for my part, I couldn't keep my suspicions about what had happened to my decks to myself, especially after a few drinks and whatever else. I started to play to my strengths and got a few gigs in town, where the music required was less intense and more relaxed. Inevitably, a few times he showed up and bullied his way onto the decks, playing the friendship angle to remind me of the gigs he'd gotten me while showing my current employers that I brought a bad crowd, even before he blew the speakers with 200bpm gabba. Actually, blowing amps had been my thing not too long before, so I can't fault him there. In the end, I guess all I have of those days at the end of the 20th century are the stories, and if i can work out how to tell them without coming across as bitter as this blog feels I may well do Ok out of those days, yet.
 My point about the past and those who inhabit it is that I want to find some truth in my stories, without having to betray the memory of those closest to me or simply supplying a list of my youthful exploits in the hope that my nostalgic glee will come across as enjoyable reading, because it won't. The reason we need to print the legend is that the truth is almost always dull and private and unpalatable without a bit of spicing up and the imposition of structure and/or imagery. |But you can't change what actually happened, no matter how hard you try.

Feels Like I've Been Here BeforeerofeB ereH neeB ev'I ekiL sleeF*

Oh well, it had to happen eventually. I am now officially pissed off with Comics. Been buying an average of 5 titles every week and every week some of my pre-orders are missing; leading to me having to buy more the following Thursday(not Wednesday, like the yanks). The reasons for my annoyance go well beyond that though, starting with the general lack of cohesion  in DC's latest inter-title epic, "Brightest Day". Important things are happening to some of the characters, that much is certain. What's not so clear is which title they are happening in. The Atom turned into a wee-me pillar of salt months ago and now he's back without any explanation(in any of the books I have bought)and Magog has appeared in two separate titles this week that seem to totally contradict one another, and although this is common in comics, it fucks me off. Also, there was no 'Return of Bruce Wayne #5', the latest instalment in Glasgow comics deity Grant Morrison's  Batman mega-epic; which sees our titular hero adrift in time via the evil machinations of Jack Kirby's Darth Vader Prototype, Darkseid, whose aim is to turn bats' effort to return into the ultimate weapon against humanity somehow, I think. I don't know, there's that many fiendish plots and ultimate weapons and post-modern complicated but compellingly told threats in comics now, and always. To me, its as if the writers are the evil genius villains but instead of striving for world domination or the hot babes or seventeen million, billion, trillion, gazillion dollar extortion rackets, what they set their minds to is fucking up each others stories! Of course, the corporate shake up/massacre/catfight at DC could be the more obvious mitigating factor in my huff with my beloved comics; with Wildstorm this week confirming rumours of its demise to be bang on the money and the rumour mill turning its attention to whether or not DC will indeed go west, leaving its home town to the rivals who claimed it in their pages as the stomping ground of their 4 colour heroes decades ago anyway. For some reason I always preferred Gotham, Metropolis, Coast, Star and whatever cities as the setting for superhero stories. Setting them in New York or LA seems to underline how impossible they truly are, and how quickly they would get a "cap in their ass" off the page. Modern urban fantasy is the key phrase. Anyway, on that note and having cheered myself up a little I'll take my leave.