Sonic Life by Thurston Moore...

For some time now I've been immersing myself in 'rock' autobiographies. I don't know why other than I simply like reading about 'rock' stars and how it all happened for them. My latest book was Sonic Life by Thurston Moore. I instinctively knew, when I spotted it in the bookshop, that it would be an interesting read, I just knew it, and I was right. As I write these words I've literally just finished it and, as always, the last chapter of any book, well, actually, of most good books, like this one is, it's emotionally charged. An earlier 'closing chapter' in Book Six of what was, quite simply, a magnum opus, focused on 9/11, a seismic moment in the history of New York (and, indeed, the wider world). 

I was saddened to read of Thurston's friend Harold passing away, he who travelled regularly from Bethel in Connecticut to NYC with Thurston to listen to the bands of the punk explosion in the USA. Right at the end of the book, in the final chapter, there's mention of Sonic-Youth's last album, The Eternal, a great album, especially, in my opinion, the track Walkin Blue which, for me (and I'm sure many people) has a strange, lingering, evocative quality (because let's remember that music, certainly for me, generates pictures and sensations in my head, things that aren't necessarily real but are rooted in some kind of reality that never really surfaces, it's hard to describe, but, well, let me try). I say 'try', perhaps the best thing is to direct you to a post on another blog of mine which, in my head, relates to Walkin Blue. I don't know what is, but if you read the post in question (click here to read it) you might understand what I mean. If, or rather whenever I listen to the track, I think of the scenario dreamed up at the beginning of the aforementioned post. There's no rhyme nor reason for this, it just is, for me, the reality of listening to the track.

Anyway, I digress (or do I?). Sonic Life is a great book, full of so many stories, so many references to bands like Dinosaur Jr and Television and Mudhoney and Nirvana and Hole and Bikini Kill and loads of other bands all of whom more than hold their place in rock history, or perhaps more alternative rock history. I was glad to note that the name, Sonic-Youth is related to Fred 'Sonic' Smith from MC5, a band that had a lot to do with the early success of The Stooges. Smith was married to Patti Smith and MC5 (the Motor City Five, from the Motor City, Detroit) were a great band. I still have Back in the USA, a great album, nothing complex, just great rock 'n' roll music. 

Thurston Moore is great too, for his determination, his enthusiasm, his dedication (along with the rest of his band) to experiment with sound and push the boundaries of popular music, and the way he immerses himself in the scene, making Sonic-Youth more than just another band, but a creative force of some magnitude. I remember reading Consider This by Chuck Palahnuik, a manual for want of a better word, about writing in which he talks of 'the bravery of the writer'. He refers, of course, to a writer being 'brave' about what he submits for publication and, obviously, the need to stand by whatever it is, albeit a sensitive subject or something that others might regard as a step too far. Well, I think there's also the bravery of the musician and this is amply exemplified by the output of Sonic-Youth in the sense that they tried things that were sometimes not as well-received as they might have thought they would be, but this, of course, is what it's all about, trying stuff, doing things that are away from the mainstream and in Sonic-Youth's case, tuning their guitars differently, experimenting with their instruments and with sound and simply being different but not in a contrived manner, that would never have worked.

It goes without saying that there are, as Johnny Nash once warbled, 'more questions than answers' leading me to think that it would be great to spend some time with Moore and try and find out 'moore' (if you'll excuse the pun) about 'stuff'. For me, I'd like to learn more about how he taught himself to play the guitar as most rock docs and autobiographies tend not to mention anything about this, preferring, I guess, to assume that the readers take it for granted their heroes can play.

As a result of reading Sonic-Life I've found myself on YouTube looking for Thurston Moore interviews (and finding many). One was not so much an interview with Moore, but Moore interviewing Iggy Pop at his home in Miami, where, of course, Moore himself hails from originally. It was a great interview and for me it introduced an amazing Iggy and the Stooges track, Gardenia, from the album Post Pop Depression. A great track, it has to be said, and one I often play. I like listening for bass lines and Gardenia has a good one. The book also introduced me (and yes, I know, I should have been aquainted with them years ago): I'm talking about Dinosaur Jr and, of course, J Mascis, who is referenced a lot in Moore's book and who, incidentally, shares a birthday with me (10 December) although he's eight years my junior. If we were both dinosaurs, I guess he'd be Dinosaur Jr, yes, alright, another silly pun.

I think one of the great strengths of Sonic Life is Thurston Moore's knowledge of the alternative music and arts scene in the USA within which he and his band were a major force. He was close with Kurt Cobain of Nirvana, they toured together. Early on in the book, he found himself on a plane with The Fall and I can't remember now whether Sonic-Youth got off in Iceland, I think they did, or whether The Fall got off or whether they both got off, but the amazing thing about that is I remember that flight being referenced in The Big Midweek, Life inside The Fall by the latter's bassist, Steve Hanley (another book worth reading if you haven't already).

Something else I didn't know was that the Ramones were so-called after the fact that Sir Paul McCartney used to check in to hotels as Paul Ramon in the hope that the hotels in question wouldn't be swamped by hysterical fans.

So, if ever you spot a copy of Sonic Life by Thurston Moore in your local bookshop, buy it because it's a great read if, like me, you're in to rock star autobiographies. I doubt whether Moore would like to be described as a 'rock star'(another question I'd ask him if I bumped into him on my travels); it's not out of the question either, largely because he now resides in Stoke Newington in London. Currently, I appear to be running into famous bassists. I literally bumped into Bill Wyman as I walked into Gail's on the King's Road in London and then, having passed through security at St. Pancras International recently, Paul Simonon of The Clash. Who's next, I often wonder.

Moore doesn't skate over anything, he goes in-depth, providing plenty of information on every aspect of Sonic-Youth's development from beginning to end, start to finish. If you want a book jam-packed with information about the band, the band members and the band's contemporaries, not forgetting their encounters with the likes of Neil Young and Iggy Pop and others, then this is the book for you. I'll stop now as I'll risk sounding sycophantic and boring (which I hope I'm not).

Late ride to Carshalton...

 It was what used to be known as the 'urban ride to mum's' and it was great because the weather was good. I say it was great (and it was) but the ride itself is one that varies as there are many permutations and on this occasion I think the route was completely different from previous incantations. Perhaps 'completely different' is misleading as there were little bits that were the same: I did ride along Foxley Lane in Purley, but instead of riding towards Woodmansterne Green (like Andy and I used to when we went to see my brother Jon) I filtered off earlier on to a road called, I think, Green Lane and should have wound my way further around these lovely quiet roads at the top end of Wallington before coming out (briefly) on the main road leading down to the top of Wallington High Street. I think it's Woodcote Road as I remember when I was a kid I used to do a milk round with "Dynamic Norman" a film buff milkman. In fact, I turned left and found myself virtually on the round and the memories came flooding back, the hot weekends of childhood summers as I found myself at the top of Boundary Road heading north and eventually branching left and riding up and along Stanley Park Road, turning right into Crichton Avenue (or Crichton Road, I can't remember) and finding myself in Carshalton Beeches, passing the Village Bakery before turning right, riding past the railway station, down the hill and then left and first right down to the gas station before another left and right and then along Westmead Road to mum's.

The ride back was similar although I found myself travelling a little too far up Boundary Road to where it joins Briar Avenue (where mum and dad once considered buying a house) and then taking a long single-track road through the smallholdings which eventually brought me out on Woodmansterne Lane where I turned left and headed towards Foxley Lane again, retracing the steps of my outward ride.

Mileage-wise it was longer than Andy and I used to think. We always put the ride to Woodmansterne Green as a 12-miler and I always thought the same for Carshalton and a ride to mum's, but no, it was just over 15 miles in total.

"Working from home"

While I am sure there are a lot of genuine people who actually do "work from home" I know for a fact that there are many more who simply take the time off and that's why I'm a little concerned about Sir Keir Starmer saying he agrees with "working from home" because it will boost productivity. Really?

Why am I so sceptical about "working from home" and why have I put the phrase in inverted commas? Quite simple really, I've heard many stories about people who blatantly make it clear that when they are supposed to be "working from home" they're not doing anything of the sort.

"I think I'll mow the lawn..."

I was recently told of one person who adamantly refuses to actually work when he's "working from home" - anything but! He's either down the pub or in the gym or even shopping in a supermarket in plain sight of other work colleagues (those who choose to work in the office) and one of whom has seen the accused pushing a trolley full of groceries through the store at around 1030hrs, a time when it's impossible to claim you're on an early lunch. This person is happy to let slip to anybody unimportant that he doesn't work on a Friday (one of the days he's supposed to be "working from home"), meaning he's doing a four-day week and getting paid for five! Another unrelated tale tells of somebody who once exclaimed on a Wednesday afternoon (the day before leaving the office for her two days of "working from home") that it was "Netflix Day tomorrow!"

The person who prefers the pub or the gym or the supermarket to "working from home" regularly tries to convince a work colleague to be just like him and go to the pub up the road instead to watch the football or just drink until unconscious and then regret it the following day. The attitude appears to be that nobody really works from home, they're all skiving, so come and join the party!

Others have urged work colleagues to "have a nice weekend!" as they leave the office on a Wednesday afternoon so the view that "working from home" boosts productivity is a lame duck in my opinion. I don't believe a word of it. Mind you, Starmer let Jimmy Saville off the hook, let's not forget that.

I worked from home during the pandemic and I'll admit that I got a lot of work done – I consider myself to be one of the good guys – but once it was possible to go back to the office, back I went, mainly because I couldn't be bothered to unhook my computer every Wednesday evening from the plug sockets in the office and cart it all the way home in a plastic bag. Also, I believe in separating work from home life. I don't like to see my desk when I'm sitting in the living room at home trying to relax. 

The great thing about working in the office, as opposed to being at home, is that you're in a work environment and, let's face it, there's the journey home, which acts as a kind of buffer, a transition period if you will, between being at work and being home. I relax in a station waiting room reading my book until a connecting train takes me home and then, when I get there, I can truly say "I'm home!" I don't have to catch sight of the desk I'd been working from while trying to enjoy a movie or whatever is on the television.

To Oxted....

I hadn't been to Oxted for a while as the hill coming out is always a little daunting but 100% achievable. I've been doing shorter rides, some non-stop, others a little closer to home, like ending up at the Sheep Shed and enjoying a cup of English breakfast tea and an almond croissant.Today I left the house without really thinking about where I was going. I might well have done another non-stop ride via St. Leonard's church and Washpond Lane, a kind of twist on the conventional Weeble involving Beech Farm Road and Botley Hill and it is there, of course, that I have discovered the Sheep Shed, a perfect venue for a hot day.

The Sheep Shed, Botley Hill

The weather has stepped up a little lately with plenty of hot sunny days and weekends, which is great as there's been a lot of rain too, all very depressing. So I'm riding the 269 wondering what to do and I'm thinking I'll just turn at the roundabout at Botley Hill and come straight back, 14 miles, that's good enough, I thought, but Oxted was nagging at me and as I reached the roundabout I thought fuck it and pedalled down Titsey, picking up speed at the bottom and soaring into Oxted whilst considering the coffee shop in Limpsfield (Coffee at Kiwi House). It was, therefore, a last minute decision to turn right and not follow the road round into Limpsfield village. Instead I headed along Granville and into Oxted High Street, the perfect place to be on a sunny Saturday morning.

There's plenty of choice: Starbucks, Costa, Coughlan's, and, of course, Caffe Nero at the top on the left and, as always, I opted for the latter. There's something very pleasant about spending around 30 minutes sitting outside Caffe Nero on a sunny Saturday morning, people watching, and that's just what I did before checking out the charity shop and then riding home.

All the way to the hill I kept thinking of ways out of it. I considered turning right on Pilgrim's Lane and then taking a left a long way down the road and coming back as if I'd been to Westerham. I thought about White Lane, but realised, obviously, that that would be even more difficult and soon the hill was upon me and, as always, I took it in my stride.

I decided later not to turn right on Beech Farm Road as I have been doing of late (to increase the mileage, but mainly to avoid the dangerous bit of the 269 (the last bit before reaching Warlingham). Instead I just pressed ahead and all was well. I took me roughly one hour from Oxted to home

To Tatsfield Village...

 My last couple of rides have been more exhilarating than the many which have gone before; I don't know what it is, I feel lighter, I stand up on the pedals and swing the bike from side-to-side on the inclines, more so than I have been doing of late. I figure it might have something to do with losing a bit of weight or being on a slight downward spiral with my weight that has made me lighter and, therefore, more energetic and inclined, perhaps, to ride faster. Today was a great example of this new thing: earlier this morning I'd received a text from Andy asking me to get there on time as he had until 0930 before he had to ride to Sidcup in South East London to see his mum. These days, Andy rides everywhere, no journey is too far. I found myself thinking how he must be saving a fair bit of money through not driving or taking buses and trains. I should at least be riding three times a week, but I'm not, I'm back to riding twice a week, which needs to be upped, by at least one ride.

Library image of the village pond in Tatsfield...

But getting back to today's ride. I left the house around 0755hrs and reached Tatsfield Village by 0850, Sheree's wasn't even open and Andy nowhere to be seen. For me this was great: I'd beaten Andy to Sheree's and I was feeling good. The truth of the matter is that I've been laying off the bread, just two slices per day, no more. In the past I could easily consume six to eight, possibly even 10 slices per day with honey in the morning and possibly Marmite (or more honey or even marmalade) in the evenings. So I'm feeling good about myself and I'm reluctant to bring out the scales just in case I haven't lost any weight. That realisation would be disappointing, demoralising and depressing, the three Ds.

At Sheree's we sat outside in the early heat of the day, Andy with his soya latte and vegan almond croissant, me with nothing but a pot of tea and a small Biscoff-like biscuit. We talked about Andy's trip next year to Stonehenge and the Isle of Wight and again I found myself thinking how he sure gets around on two wheels. Nothing phases him. I started thinking of my own holidays and how, going back into the distant past, I used to go on two-week vacations and it would only cost around £1,800 quid, plus a bit of spending money. These days nobody goes away for a fortnight anymore and I found myself wondering why that would be, but not for long. These days it's just a week and it costs around three to four grand! Unless you go to an Air BnB villa but the costs still mount him, the good old days have well and truly left the building. Andy says you have to take into consideration inflation and he's right. I'll admit I never did consider it although of course it's part of the problem. I have trouble parting with such a huge sum of money for what ultimately becomes a few snaps on my iphone that eventually get deleted and then the memory fades and I'm left with nothing but a debt. Admittedly (as I've said many times) most people save for their holidays, put down a small deposit at the beginning of the year and that way the horror of parting with so much money is spread over a number of months. But not me. I suddenly go on holiday on a whim and have to pay the full tariff, no discounts. I start to feel miffed about this and sometimes forget about a holiday altogether although, having not had a vacation since 2019 when I went to the USA (not really a holiday it has to be said) I am now in dire need of one. I often look at passing fields from a train or even neatly manicured lawns as I pass them by on the bike and imagine myself on a deckchair just relaxing, reading, listening to the radio, anything but what I seem to be doing all the time: thinking about work or fretting about something or other. I need some downtime, especially at the moment with everything else that's being going on with mum (see previous posts).

Anyway, enough of that. I'm looking at taking a week off, very soon. Places like Spain and Greece have been bandied around and it looks as if finally we'll get away and I'll be able to sit by a pool somewhere chilling out. I'm planning on leaving the iphone at home to avoid the temptation of looking at my email, I want to be totally cut adrift from it all for one week, just soaking up a few rays, eating decent food (I always eat decent food) and just doing bugger all without spotting an unread WhatsApp message.

Whenever I watch a holiday ad on the TV it always seems alien to me, not something I do, a world inhabited by other people with little to do. 

It's been a very hot day today. The ride was early enough in the morning not to be unpleasant and when I reached home I chilled in the garden, drinking tea and just relaxing before a trip to a place called Ightham Mote where a cappuccino and a cookie was most welcomed followed by a tour of the house, which, even if I'm not the sort of person to enjoy trips around National Trust properties, was of great interest, being in a place that's been around since 1330AD and probably earlier. To be honest, though, I much prefer the cafes, the almond croissants, the carrot cake, the coffee and walnut cake, the Cornish pasties and so on, those and perhaps a walk around the grounds where I don't have to listen to some guide telling me about the life of one Frederik Von Hausen, a fictional character I invented who sums up the sort of people that used to own these impressive pieces of architecture that are dotted around the United Kingdom.

I'm now sitting indoors blogging. I'm kind of glad I'm doing this as I haven't been writing a great deal of late and I need to get back into it.

I didn't realise that Andy has a tattoo, which is mildly embarrassing as I started dissing people with tattoos only to discover that Andy had recently had one done in memory of his wife Marcia. I felt a bit of fool it has to be said. Some years ago now Andy and I used to have a joke about dissing the pope only to discover that he was standing right behind us. It was kind of like that, but Andy having a tattoo is a one-off, he's not planning a sleeve or any unsightly tattoos on his calves or chest, which is good to know. Basically, Andy's not the sort of person to have a tattoo, that's why I felt safe dissing people who do, but I was wrong and I'm sure he forgives me.