2000

Re-Post: A Trip To China (Part Two)

~ beetleypete ~ 35 Comments

This is a re-post of the second part of my visit to China in 2000.It is a long post, at 2,900 words.

By the end of the first week, I had more unusual experiences to recount. I had been for a meal in a Turkish restaurant, in China! It was different, to say the least, being served traditional Turkish fare, by Chinese waiters and waitresses. They even had the large Shisha pipes available, as well as totally authentic coffee. If it had not been for the staff, and the view from the window, we might well have been in Ankara. We had also been out with the previously mentioned hedonist, the Turkish friend, businessman, and ‘diplomat’. I got the feeling that he was a shady character, underneath his urbane, party-going exterior. If Turkey has the equivalent of the CIA, I would bet my car he was in it.

We went to his large house for drinks, before going out to eat. He had a ‘houseboy’, and other servants, and I was amazed at his ability to drink huge amounts of whisky without any apparent affect on his demeanour. He then took the whole group of us to a Japanese Teppanyaki restaurant, in a very smart area of the city. This was a really exclusive place, and served delicious food cooked in front of you, on sizzling griddles. I ate until I burst, as everything was so tasty. At the end of the night, this unusual man covered the whole bill, for everyone. When we left, he invited us to accompany him to a bar the following week, and my friend accepted on our behalf.

The weekend excursion was arranged through the Turkish Embassy, a family trip by small coach, to last all day Sunday, and including lunch. We left the apartment early, to get to the embassy by taxi for 8am. There was a group of around ten people there already, and I was introduced all round, instantly forgetting everyone’s name. I was also told the name of the place we were going to; a park in the hills, with amusements for the children, scenic views and country walks, and a hilltop restaurant. They had been before, as it was a popular summer day out for the more affluent Chinese, as well as foreign residents. I had forgotten the name of it, so looked it up; Muianyu. This is now called The Great Wall Slide, as on the way down, you can see a section of the Wall, at some distance. It was not called this when I went there, at least I don’t remember that.

This place is about fifty miles outside Beijing, so we got to see some countryside at last. On arrival, we went up the hillside on a cable car, that was a bit like a ski lift. The restaurant at the top was basic, but we had a lunch booked, and enjoyed a set meal in excellent weather. The small rides and amusements were very old-fashioned, and only for smaller children. I don’t think that they are there anymore. We walked around a bit, but did not get close enough to the Wall, as we had not arranged to go to this section. For our group, the attraction (apparently) was the ride back down the hillside, on the famous slide.

This is more like a toboggan run, the sort you see in the Olympics, though more sedate. That said, it does reach a fair speed at times, and the individual toboggans are supplied with a large brake lever, to slow you down. I was encumbered with an enormous, overstuffed camera bag, that I had to wedge in between my legs. I cannot recall seeing any of the Wall at any time on the way down, as I was preoccupied with not crashing into the rider in front. I did enjoy it, but this was marred to some degree by getting covered in thick grease from the brake gears. As this sounds a little crazy, I have included a video clip from You Tube, showing what it is like. It takes over five minutes to descend, and it seems a long time, as you are clattering down.

The next week started with a suggestion that I ought to arrange some trips for myself, as my friends were busy for a couple of days. I went over to one of the big hotels, and asked about a trip to the Great Wall at Badaling, and the Ming Tombs combined. I was assured that it would be a small group, only ten people, and we would have an English-speaking guide. It would last all day, from 7am, and lunch would be provided, with an afternoon stop for refreshments too. At less than $30US, I thought it was OK, so booked up for the following day. I had an early start, and met my group outside the hotel. I was the only English person, along with two Japanese, three French people, and four Chinese tourists, from other parts of China.

The minibus headed out of the city for the long trip ahead, and I got to see more of the China I had anticipated. Small villages, roadside shops and stalls, and a look at the agricultural lands outside the built-up areas. It was very hot, and I started to feel a little unwell. The rich food, heavy drinking, and constantly being on the move, was getting to me a bit. By the time we arrived at the Ming Tombs, I was not feeling too good. I told the guide to go in without me, and waited in the shade, with a cold drink from the cafeteria there. I was sorry to miss it, after coming all this way, but I had nobody to support me, and felt that I might pass out, or disgrace myself by being sick. I had to content myself with a wander around the edges, and some of the sights there. It proved to be a wise move, as by the time they got back, I was re-hydrated, and feeling much better.

We pushed on to The Great Wall, and it was worth the effort. This was a section that I had not seen on TV travel shows, and consisted of small forts, or bastions, connected by long stretches of the Wall. I was unprepared for both the sheer scale of it, and also the incredible steepness of the stepped sections. After being shown around some of the first parts, we went for lunch in a lovely old building, with an airy terrace where we could get some relief from the 38 degree heat and humidity. The guide then told us that we had two hours to explore, before leaving on the journey home.

I suffered badly, mainly from taking too much camera kit. My large Billingham bag was stuffed to capacity. I had three camera bodies, five lenses, a flash, two power winders, as well as an assortment of accessories, filters, and ten rolls of film. In the heat, on the near vertical steps, it became very difficult to manage. Ironically, I shot almost every picture with a Canon T90, on a 24mm wide-angle lens. I could just as well have left everything else behind, and I was taught a valuable lesson that day. The Wall was a sight to behold. It stretched as far as the eye could see. At one stage, I put a 400mm telephoto on the camera, with a x2 converter, just to see how far it went. I needn’t have bothered, as I later realised that it followed the contours of the hills and mountains for hundreds of miles of course.

I had to keep resting, because of the heat, and also from searching for photo opportunities that didn’t show too many other tourists, which was difficult. When it was time to leave, I was very pleased that I had seen it, as there could be nothing like this anywhere else on the planet. The afternoon stop was at a cafe that was part of a shopping ‘opportunity’, somewhere that sold expensive Jade souvenirs, and other carved items. I didn’t buy anything, but presumed that the guide must be on commission, as he tried so hard to get us to purchase things.

The rest of the evening at the flat was very peaceful, with a visit from another Turkish diplomat who came for dinner. After he left, we spent some of the time on the small balcony, getting the cooler air, and drinking Jack Daniels, chatting about the old days in London. When I went to bed, I put on the noisy but welcome air-conditioning unit, and slept like a baby.

I decided to stay in the city for my next trip, which was to be to the Temple of Heaven. Situated in a large park in the Chongwen district, this was about as far from my friend’s place as you could get, so I decided to take a taxi. I showed the driver a picture of the temple, from a tour leaflet, and he took me straight to the entrance. I bought a ticket to go in, and looked at a map on a board there. I suddenly realised that the place was vast, and actually covers an area larger than the Forbidden City. There are various temples, including the iconic building seen in so many photos of Beijing. The grounds are full of the most amazing trees, and it is all very peaceful there, despite a considerable number of tourists. I spent a couple of hours there, taking in the most impressive sights. I could easily have stayed the whole day, as there was so much to see.

Opposite the gate was a modern indoor market, full of local people shopping. I crossed the road, and went inside, finally coming face to face with real life in China. There were no tourists or foreigners there, and no prices or signs in other languages. The sights, sounds and smells were wonderful, and I saw everything for sale, from strange live amphibians (for eating), to jewellery. I bought a small piece of jade jewellery as a gift, once again bargaining with the help of an electronic calculator.

Leaving the market by a different entrance, I resolved to walk back, at least to see how far I got. I had travelled from east to south-west in the city, so I reasoned that a right turn would do to start with. I was soon wandering inside the fascinating Hutong district. This quarter had remained unchanged for hundreds of years. The Hutongs were small dwellings, with outside taps, shared toilets, and no bathrooms. The families lived in one or two rooms, in a communal fashion. Were it not for the modern clothes, I felt that I could have been wandering around in the seventeenth century. People looked at me suspiciously, unused to tourists.

Before the Olympics, eight years later, the government demolished many of these dwellings, and forcibly re-housed the occupants. They did not want the outside world to think that people still lived that way, in modern China. Some remain, and are now a tourist attraction. I walked around a large area, as I was no longer carrying all my camera gear, having restricted myself to one camera, and one lens for the day. I did get a bit lost, but in a good way, as I later found myself out on the main thoroughfare again, approaching Tianenmen Square from the west. It was more by luck than judgement though, I am sure. By the time I arrived back, I had been walking all day, including the trip home from the park, which took just under three hours. I was pleased with myself though, as I had got off the tourist trail and managed to find my way around, unable to ask for help from anyone.

Other trips that week included the TV tower, a very high building affording great views over the whole city, and a trip to a different market, a special souvenir market, run by local people selling lots of interesting memorabilia from the Maoist era. I did buy a fair bit of stuff, including a classic ‘Mao’ hat, a ‘little red book’ in Chinese, and a nice assortment of posters and painted ceramics. I had to leave it at that, as I needed to cram all this extra stuff into my suitcase.

We then went out for the evening trip with the Turkish diplomat, arranged the previous week. It was just the three men, and we started off once again with drinks at his house. He then took us to the Sanlitun district, where I had been during the day. At night it was very different, with flashy bars and night clubs, all catering to well-off foreigners, and the more affluent Chinese. He was well-known everywhere, and relished his popularity. This was soon evident, when he was draped in a couple of Mongolian prostitutes, within minutes of arrival. I declined the offers of some of their friends. I wasn’t being prudish, I just found them unattractive; their gaudy make-up, and incredibly flat faces didn’t ring my bell. They did seem very popular with most of the men there though, and I was told that they were ‘incredibly good value’.

My friend and I spent most of the evening buying pirate DVD films from vendors who came into the bars. They had every film imaginable, and at $1US each, I couldn’t resist. Most of them played well when I got them back to London, though the three rows of subtitles, Mandarin, Cantonese, and Indonesian, did get wearing, after a while. We eventually left the mysterious Turk alone with his girls, and got a taxi home. I didn’t see him again, and I wasn’t sorry. Despite his generosity, I felt uneasy around him.

Before departing for home, my friend’s Chinese boss insisted on taking us out for dinner. She viewed me as a kind of visiting dignitary, and despite telling her that I was only a Paramedic in London, in a very normal job, she seemed to imagine I was some sort of government executive. Anyway, her sense of hospitality would not allow her to let my visit go uncelebrated. She took us to the famous duck restaurant, Quanjude. Arranged over seven floors, and able to seat 2,000 diners at a time, this is one of the most famous restaurants in China. With the menu in Chinese, she ordered for all of us, telling me that we would have numerous courses, which would all be different styles of duck. It was a veritable duck feast.

We had it roasted, boiled, in a terrine, a soup, and fried with noodles and ginger. There were also the shredded duck pancakes, as well as duck livers, and other offal. I managed it all, and found it delicious, with the exception of duck feet. These were served as you might imagine, webbed and clawed, as if they had just been severed from the unfortunate bird, and fried. They were almost impossible to eat, with a texture like rubber bands. The Chinese diners actually ripped them apart with their teeth, but I had no appetite for these, and after sucking them politely for a while, left them on my plate. It was a very enjoyable evening though, and a great experience.

After paying the entire bill, the lady mentioned that she would be in London early the following year, and that I could return the favour.

(I am pleased to report here, that I did just that. I collected her from her Knightsbridge hotel, and took her to a specialist English Food restaurant in Bayswater. One very strange evening, I can tell you. She asked me what was good, and I recommended a few dishes, so she ordered them all. Unaware of the starter/main course tradition, she expected to get a variety of small dishes. I didn’t have the heart to correct her, and she must have wondered what was going on, when it all arrived at once. She did manage to eat most of it though, so full marks to her. I spoke to her that evening about how we found eating small dogs distasteful, as they were so loyal, and we had them as pets. She thought about this for a while and then said, ‘But you eat baby sheep’, before forking in her next mouthful. Back in Beijing, she told my friend that she had really enjoyed the evening, and that she found me interesting company.)

My trip came to a close, with a taxi to the airport, where I had to wait in the ‘luxury lounge’ reserved for foreigners. This was the only place where smoking was allowed, and all drinks and snacks were sold at an extortionate price. A very small coffee was $5US, and it went up from there. It was their last chance to get your currency, I suppose. I had really enjoyed the trip, though it was more of an experience, than a holiday. I had met some nice people, some strange people, and eaten some fantastic meals, the like of which I have never seen since.

I am the first to admit that I did not see a great deal of this vast country, or a lot of the ‘real’ China that I had expected to encounter. But I was glad that I had gone, and even looking back today, I would do it all again.

Re-Post: A Trip To China (Part One)

~ beetleypete ~ 53 Comments

I am reposting this from 2013, as so few of you will have ever seen it. It is a very long post, of 2,390 words.

I had always wanted to see China. Ever since watching films as a child, and later reading about Marco Polo, Kublai Khan, and others, it seemed a place of mystery, and home to a totally different idea of culture. Later interest in the Boxer Rebellion, the Japanese invasion in the 1930’s, and the Communist dictatorship formed by Mao, and I was more than ready to go and see this legendary country. But it never happened.

Despite travelling to lots of other places, China had always seemed too daunting, too vast, and also too expensive. Over the years, I often wondered if I would ever get to see the Great Wall, The Forbidden City, and the other spectacles on offer.

In the late 1990’s, an old friend contacted me. He was working for an advertising agency, and he had been offered the management of the Audi contract, through an agency in Beijing. He was off to China, and he would be in touch, and let me know how it was there. His wife and son were going too, as it might be a long contract. After a period of settling in, and adjustment, he contacted me.

At the time, I was single, and living in London. I had recently moved to a flat in Camden, subsidised by being in my EMT job. I had a reasonable amount of savings, and a fair bit of disposable income, courtesy of that reasonable rent. I had two weeks holiday booked for September 2000, and with a bit of shift-jiggling, I could manage a few days either side as well. The world was my oyster, and I was looking to do something extravagant.

My friend suggested that I come to visit him in Beijing. He would put me up in his luxury high rise in the city centre. Although he would have to work, his wife would be around most days, (and I knew her already) and he would arrange some weekend trips, as well as some interesting evenings out after work. I made some enquiries, and found that I could fly direct, with British Airways, for around £700 return. With Visas, spending money, appropriate gifts for my friends, and a reasonable crop of souvenirs, I could definitely do fifteen days, for around £1500, maybe £2,000, at an excessive pinch. I decided to throw caution to the winds, and booked it all. I could never see a time in the future when I would have such an opportunity again. OK, it was ‘only’ Beijing, but as that was my first choice anyway, so what was the problem?

I went to Oxford Street, and booked a scheduled flight with British Airways, which came in at a shade under £650 for the chosen dates. I also applied for my visa, to be collected from the Chinese Consulate in Portland Place, a short walk from my flat. My friend was really happy that I was coming to visit. I went shopping in Camden, and bought his son a model car, and his wife some perfume. He would be content with booze, which I would get at the airport. I sorted my camera gear, ready for the photographic opportunity of a lifetime, and arranged all my leave, and finances.

When the day came, I was more than ready. I took a cab to Paddington Station, and the Heathrow Express out to the airport. It was nice to be travelling on a scheduled flight again, so much more civilised than some of the package tours that I had become accustomed to. It was a little disconcerting to be travelling alone, though the prospect of being collected by and staying with a good friend assuaged any concerns. The flight was long and uneventful, but very comfortable. My arrival in Beijing was exciting, but the time of day meant that my friend had to drop me at his flat and get off to work, arranging to meet four hours later for lunch.

I learned the first rule. Do not sit behind the cab driver with your window open. Despite a humid temperature in excess of 35 degrees, my old pal closed my window, and I soon discovered why. The Chinese spit. They do this constantly, and habitually. Everyone does it, from old men, children, housewives, to attractive young girls. All the time, day and night. Their culture demands spitting, to expel the things in their system that they believe are bad. They see nothing wrong with this, or with contaminating their walkways and paths with gobbets of spit. It is accepted, even encouraged. It is very different to what we regard to be acceptable behaviour, and it takes a great deal of getting used to.

I also discovered something else that I had not expected. Six-lane highways choked with cars, and wall to wall traffic. Tower block offices, western advertising signs, neon-lit garish illuminations. Subway, MacDonald’s, Starbucks, and any other Western-influenced product or establishment you can think of. Every high street bank familiar from the UK, and chain hotels from the same companies known so well here. I was left wondering what had happened to the China that I had imagined. I felt that I could have just as easily been in Chicago, or Hong Kong perhaps.

The flat, right in the heart of the business district, was luxurious. On the nineteenth floor, with panoramic views, tiled floors, and a well-staffed concierge entrance. I was taught my first words in Mandarin; ‘Neih Ho’, and ‘Shei Shei’. Hello, and thank you, both addressed to the immaculate staff in the foyer. I did not learn much more, save for something that sounded like ‘Jella Ting’, said to taxi drivers when you wanted them to pull over on the right. After settling in, I met my friend in Subway, of all places, for lunch. I told him that I was disappointed, that Beijing was too modern, too western. He assured me that I would see the ‘real’ China during my stay. He also told me about his contract and salary, and the fact that his Chinese female ‘boss’ was only earning $200 dollars a month, and she spoke three languages. She also supported her family on this salary, as well as running a new car, so she wasn’t doing too bad. However, this was only a tiny percentage of what he was getting, over $200,000 a year! So some indication of how economics worked there at the time. It was nice to see his wife and young son again, and we spent the first night in the flat, catching up.

The next day, his wife took me to the shopping district, and to a large department store. We went everywhere by taxi as it was very cheap, comparable to bus fares in the UK. I got cash from an ATM, a branch of my own bank in England, with the same pin number, and no formalities. I found the Yuan notes colourful, and the exchange rate was good. I bought cigarettes at half the price compared to England, and we went for a light lunch, in a reasonable outdoor restaurant that was acceptably cheap. Things that did prove to be expensive were red wine, and some western sweets that I bought for their son.

We ate at home again that night, and I was introduced to someone from the Turkish Embassy (my friend’s wife is Turkish) who was a heavy drinker, and a complete hedonist. My head was spinning, as here I was in China, and I was eating Turkish food, and getting drunk with an Englishman and a Turkish diplomat. I resolved to see more of the city, and decided that the next day would be spent exploring.

I started out early, and took the easy walk to Tianenmen Square. This was a long time after the televised demonstrations, and excessive reaction from the authorities, that have since given this place an infamous, rather than famous name. It is certainly huge, and home to many official buildings, heroic sculptures, and hundreds of tourists. I was a lone westerner that morning, and could feel what it was like to be so out of place. Opposite the square, the huge portrait of Chairman Mao, so often seen on TV, marks the entrance into the Forbidden City, the main destination for me that morning.

Built in the fifteenth century, this vast complex of almost 1,000 separate buildings was the Imperial Palace of Chinese emperors until 1924, when the last emperor was forced to leave. It has since been a museum, and an amazing one too. To go into detail would take a complete post in itself, but it is an overwhelming place that cannot all be seen in one visit, let alone one day. The entrance fee was very reasonable, and the large numbers of tourists, almost all Chinese, really did make it feel as if you were wandering around in a populated city, at the time of the Ming Dynasty.

The architecture is fully restored, and each level leads into the deeper depths of the city, to where the Imperial family would have resided. It is crammed with interesting statues and carvings, with the numerous buildings each housing exhibits. My camera was on overdrive, and I was so excited, I almost ignored the 35 degree heat that was sapping my energy. I stopped and bought water and a strange twisty bread confection from a vendor, and had a break. Carrying on later, I realised that I would never see it all, and even after almost five hours inside, I still felt that I had not done it justice.

On the way back in the late afternoon, I noticed how many cycles, mopeds, and motorcycles were on the roads, and alongside them too. They all seemed to be heavily laden, often having to be pushed instead of ridden, so high and wide were the loads. Crowds of brightly-uniformed children were getting off buses and coaches returning home from school, and street vendors were beginning to set up for the evening, in the streets around the main station. Crowds gathered around their stalls, which all seemed to be selling food. On closer examination, I realised that they were selling fried insects of some kind, grasshoppers, or similar. They were selling fast too, as hundreds of people walked around with the stiff paper cones, full of the crunchy creatures. And no, I was not tempted to try them.

As I strolled back to my friend’s flat in the business district, I took in the sights and sounds of the approaching rush hour. Thousands of people, and almost all of them, including children, and young women, spitting constantly. The traffic was already at fever pitch, and the strangely old-fashioned looking vans and trucks all belched black smoke into the sky. Looking across at the horizon, the pall of pollution was easy to see, hanging over the natural basin that Beijing is built in, like a cloud of low fog. I had to almost pinch myself. Here I was, wandering in Beijing, as if it was nothing. I could never have imagined this, thirty years earlier. It felt fantastic, but as I was alone, I had nobody to share it with. Perhaps the only downside to being a lone traveller, on that occasion.

That evening, we went to an expensive restaurant, housed on the penthouse floors of the same building my friend lived in. I was raving about my day, and how much I enjoyed this strange city. They were unhappy living there, they told me. They found the Chinese to be ‘difficult’, and were hoping for a transfer to somewhere else. They had not even bothered to visit the Forbidden City at that stage, though they did recommend a trip coming up that weekend that they had arranged, along with a group of diplomats from the Turkish Embassy and their families. I ate the best Chinese food that I had ever seen in that restaurant, though I confess to refusing a huge black scorpion, deep-fried, and offered as a complimentary starter. I just couldn’t do it. I had delicious braised eel, snake ‘cooked in its own blood’ (according to the translated menu), and various delicacies, best not elaborated on here. Other than the insects and arachnids, I did not refuse to try anything. We had numerous courses, and copious amounts of alcohol, and I went to bed thinking that it had been a great day indeed, one of the best ever.

The next morning, I took myself off to the famous street market, to buy souvenirs, and to get a feel of everyday life once again. I was a bit early, and many stalls and shops had not yet opened; but as soon as they saw me wandering around with a camera, and a presumably bulging wallet, they waved me in anyway. Disappointingly, most places specialised in clothes. Padded jackets, winter gloves and hats, ski wear, mittens, and waterproofs. This seemed strange in late summer, when I was sweltering, but this part of China does face harsh winters. I did buy a watch with Chairman Mao on it, his arms serving as hands. I still have it, but it no longer works, unfortunately. I had to haggle fiercely, even worse than in Egypt, or Istanbul. The start price was just laughable, hundreds of dollars. The whole transaction was carried out on a calculator, due to the language problems. After spending an eternity with this lady, I finally bought the watch for $10US, about £7 at the time. (My friends later told me that I was too easy, and should have paid no more than £1, but it was acceptable to me.)

I took a taxi to Sanlitun, the embassy district popular with ex-pats, to have coffee and lunch. Taxis were all metered, and no attempt was ever made to rip me off. If you gave the driver a tip, he would be very appreciative. Sometimes I could see them cruising the area, hoping to get me as a return fare, waving at me as they went past.

I had not even been there a week, and felt that I had seen and done so much. The rest of the trip will be covered in part two, otherwise this post will be far too long.

(Part Two to follow.)

Significant Songs (4)

~ beetleypete ~ 16 Comments

I am reblogging this 2014 post because other than Jude and Sarah, hardly anyone has ever seen it. I still love this record!

beetleypete

Woman Trouble

In the year 2000, I was 48 years old. I had just moved to Camden, and was living alone, for the first time in ages. I had a new car, and like many tracks featured in this series, I heard a record on the radio in that car, that I had had not heard before. I couldn’t keep still in my seat, and found myself jiggling around, oblivious to strange stares from other drivers, in the heavy traffic leading out to Brent Cross. I didn’t really catch the name of the song, as I was too busy humming along to it, and car-dancing like a fool, to listen to the announcement at the end. I wanted to listen to it again, straight away, and felt empty when it had ended.

I had to endure the embarrassment of going into a record shop in Central London the next day…

View original post 392 more words

Great Albums: It’s All About The Stragglers

~ beetleypete ~ 11 Comments

This choice may surprise most of you. Despite being in a musical genre known as ‘2-Step Garage’, (no, I don’t know what that means either) this is one of my most played albums over the last eighteen years, and one of the favourites I return to time and time again. I apologise in advance to readers from outside the UK, who will probably never have heard of the performers, the genre, or anything involved with that very British sound back then.

When I heard a track played on the radio, I went into a branch of a big record shop chain in London, and asked about the CD. I was 48 at the time, in the year 2000. I am sure that the young man serving me must have thought I was buying it for a teenage child, but he was suitably respectful when I told him it was for me. Artful Dodger was not a group or band, in the usual sense. It was a duo made up of two white guys, DJ/Producers who developed a sound, then recruited session singers, backing vocalists, or unknown artists to sing the songs they wrote. This led to some of those singers, like the smooth and handsome Craig David, becoming household names in the UK.

The CD had fifteen tracks, but as is usual with modern albums, quite a few of those were extended remixes of the same songs. I preferred the ‘radio edits’ in most cases, and I was caught up in the CD from track one, playing the whole thing again immediately.
Think About Me.

The second track was the Craig David vocal that I had heard on the radio.
Re-Rewind.

This really captured the mood of the club scene back then. Something I knew nothing about aged 48 of course. 🙂

By track three, my feet were tapping uncontrollably.
Outrageous.

Track four was an irresistible smooth groove. I love this one!
Please Don’t Turn Me On.

By track five, I was introduced to Nicole singing this nice funky pop song.
24/7.

Romina Johnson took the vocals for track seven. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, this came along.
Movin’ Too Fast.

By track ten, I was already looking forward to hearing it all again, and Craig David was joined by Robbie Craig for this one. I was on my feet by now!
This was so infectious, I replayed it straight after.
Woman Trouble.

OK, you get the idea. A timeless album that still gets me in the groove at the age of 66. One of the first things I would take to a desert island, or rescue from a house fire. Eighteen years later, it keeps getting better for me, and though I appreciate that this sound is not for everyone, please give some of the tracks a chance.

And if you feel your feet moving, I told you so.

One film, two versions: Get Carter

~ beetleypete ~ 49 Comments

In 1971, Michael Caine starred in what is arguably one of his best-ever roles, as the gangster Jack Carter, in Mike Hodges’ gripping. British thriller. Set and filmed on location in the grimy industrial landscape of North-East England, the story follows London-based Jack returning to the town of his youth, after the death of his brother. Once there, he discovers a web of corruption, based around a seedy world of pornography and prostitution manipulated by a local crime lord. With his suspicions about the supposedly accidental death of his brother confirmed, he is further horrified to find that his young niece was also used in sex films, and embarks on a personal quest to exact revenge from everyone concerned.

Meanwhile, his London gang boss wants him back, and to stop him interfering in the workings of the criminal underworld in that part of the country. He sends some henchmen to get him to return, and very soon Jack is being hunted by both sides.

This is a cracking thriller, with Caine at the top of his game as the unstoppable Carter. Everything is just right, from the authentic locations to the script, and the supporting cast too. Ian Hendry, John Osborne, Britt Ekland, as well as George Sewell and Glyn Edwards, all do their jobs well. There are the first film roles for both the excellent Alun Armstrong, and well-known TV actress Dorothy White, and a memorable performance from Bryan Mosely as Brumby. Completely convincing, and forty-seven years after it was released, still one of my favourite British films.

But they couldn’t leave well enough alone, and in 2000 the film was remade, starring Sylvester Stallone as Carter. What follows is more or less a straight remake, with some modern tweaks to put the story into the new century. As usual, the cast is A-list heavy. As well as Stallone, there is Miranda Richardson, Mickey Rourke, and Alan Cumming. Even Michael Caine shows up, this time playing Brumby. (Then again, he was never an actor embarrassed to ‘take the money’) The setting is changed of course, with the American Carter now a Las Vegas gangster, returning to his brother’s funeral in Seattle. All the names used are the same, and the revenge plot more or less identical. So, what was the point? The critics were not amused, and the audiences stayed away too, despite the box-office appeal of Stallone.

Better to watch the 1971 film again, and save yourselves a waste of time.

Significant Songs (160)

~ beetleypete ~ 29 Comments

Spinning Around

Sometimes, a song doesn’t have to be meaningful and important. It doesn’t have to be the product of a tortured soul, a wonderful lyricist, or a person who makes poetry into music. Very often, the simplest ditty can make your spirits rise every time you hear it, and give a lift to your day.

That time comes to eschew the musical snobbery, forget that lifetime of serious musical appreciation, and search inside that list of guilty pleasures, and just admit you enjoy something popular. To be honest, my own list of what might be considered to be ‘unworthy songs’ is very short. I have taken the whole thing very seriously, I assure you, at least most of the time.

So when a song just gets into my head, and I find myself humming random parts of it when I least expect it, my usual reaction is to go into denial. I would happily assert that the reason the song is so catchy is one of the main reasons it is also a bad song. Not something I would buy of course, nor readily associate myself with it. But I am older now, and less easily embarrassed by such things. I am more positive, and perhaps have an honesty once denied by a careful youth.

With that in mind, I offer this as perhaps the perfect example of a mindless pop song, but one that I am now happy to broadcast as being on my mind, more often that I care to admit. Hard to believe it is seventeen years ago.

Go for it, Kylie!

Significant Songs (157)

~ beetleypete ~ 20 Comments

Flowers

This is a strange one. In April 2000, I was 48 years old. It goes without saying that I was a long way off the target market for a pop single in the ‘UK Garage’ genre. But I heard this song on my car radio, and couldn’t get it out of my head.

The two girls performing the song were called Sweet Female Attitude, and I had never heard of them before, though I later discovered they had been around since 1996. I saw the video promoting the song on TV, and also the duo performing live, on a TV music show. I was suitably impressed by their enthusiasm, and I also liked the fact that they looked just like two ‘normal’ girls you could see on any street.

This was destined to be a one-hit wonder though, reaching number two in the charts, and receiving countless plays. Their follow-up single disappeared without trace, and so it seemed did the two girls.
Whenever I hear this song now, it always makes me feel happy. And despite the seventeen years that have passed, it feels as up to date as ever.

Significant Songs (155)

~ beetleypete ~ 12 Comments

Seven Days

Craig David is a British Soul and R&B singer. He is not only a very good singer/songwriter, but also a very nice guy, who comes across so well in interviews. I first encountered his talent when he was a guest vocalist with the band ‘Artful Dodger’ in 1999, and they featured his vocals on ‘Rewind’, from their amazing debut album, ‘It’s All About The Stragglers’. A year later, he went solo, releasing his own album ‘Born To Do It’.

The Southampton-based singer has since released many albums, and collaborated with artists like Sting, and Rita Ora. He continues to perform to this day, now aged just 36. This song is the second single release from his debut album, and hit the charts in 2000. So I have loved it for over seventeen years.

Significant Songs (95)

~ beetleypete ~ 11 Comments

The Time Is Now

I have written about this song before. It was on one of my early music posts, Pete’s Playlist 1. This song has considerable significance to me, for a few different reasons. When it was released in March 2000, I had just moved to a flat in Camden. I was 48 years old, and at the end of a crumbling relationship. It was my third move in less than three years, but it had some positives, as I was now back in central London, and closer to most of the things that I enjoyed doing, as well as an easier commute to work.

Moloko was a pop and dance band, with electronic overtones, and had enjoyed some previous success. The mainstay of their records was the outstanding vocals provided by the Irish chanteuse, Roisin Murphy. Her plaintive tones gave a distinctive feel to anything they released, and made it instantly recognisable too. As soon as I heard it on the car radio, I knew who it was, and bought the CD single within a few days. I was a little lost at the time, and the sentiments of the lyrics seemed more than appropriate.

In the November of that year, I met Julie, and we often played this song when we were together. For both of us at the time, the title seemed very pertinent. I still love this song today, as much as ever.

Significant Songs (60)

~ beetleypete ~ 8 Comments

Gettin’ In The Way.

Very few female Jazz singers manage to cross over from that somewhat claustrophobic genre into the mainstream of music. Jill Scott started out as a poet, reading her poems in a performance style. She later collaborated as a songwriter and vocalist with other artists, before releasing her first record in 2000. Depending on where you read it, you will find her described variously as a Soul singer, Rap artist, or Hip-Hop performer. For my money, she is a Jazz singer, undeniably. The style may be modern, the constructions might seem familiar to some rappers you have heard, and the overall effect does sometimes sound like sung poetry; but believe me, it’s Jazz.
There is a great voice in there, showcasing real talent, good songwriting ability, and a style bordering on unique. She is almost her own musical genre, and she has acted in films and on TV too. Issues with her record company caused a gap in her output, but she continues to record and perform today. This is far from the usual kind of song featured on this blog, but I felt that I had to include this one, purely for the effect that it had on me, almost fifteen years ago.