Sharing Nirvana

There have been a lot of tributes and eulogies written for Kurt Cobain on this, the 20th anniversary of his death, some very honest in the grim reality of suicide, others relying on sensationalist bullsh!t (to 'click~bait' their cheap articles). Me? I was (shotgun)bang in the thick of it: a 23 year old metalhead who after witnessing Gun n' Roses go from L.A. dive bar to Wembley Stadium thanks to the stunning Appetite for Destruction, was now seeing Nirvana throw a sonic nailbomb into the Platinum party. (And even for a fan of bands like Motley Crue and Poison, it was comical watching glam rockers cut their girly hair and attempt a shot at grunge music).
Grunge music was a venomous shot in the 90s arm after the bourbon soaked gems of 80s hard rock, and the awesome thunder of bands like Metallica and Slayer. To a creative twenty something, seeing the almost anarchic madness unfold before my eyes was was very exciting. Up until then, mainstream radio was reluctant to play what was labelled 'heavy metal' and most imagined fans to be long haired, shabby morons headbanging to a tuneless racket (no matter how much I tried 'educating' them with Motorhead's 'Ace of Spades').
The fact I am a poet/writer who, like Kurt, was also using alcohol and drugs whilst shrugging off the norm, made me understand him even more. Hell alive, take away the magazine covers and arena tours, we could have been the same lost kid, looking for a voice. Neither of us afraid to write about misery and death, me with my poetry, Cobain with his beautiful music (and it is beautiful. Afterall, agony has a unique glamour all of its own.
Nirvan were a great band, 'Nevermind' a permanent rainbow's arch.
I was thrilled (at first) when Nevermind shot them into the wider universe in 1991. It was the new Back In Black, Master Of Puppets, the fresh faced De Niro, eager to show a previously ignorant world just how pretty and hard (or pretty hard?) we liked it. This melodious slab of screeching guitars and orchestrated catastrophe topped with singed vocals was King. A shabby Elvis come to show that angry music could indeed win over the doubters. Heavy metal, punk, grunge, call it whatever, it suddenly became accepted, cool even (insert shocked smiley here). Nobody groaned when Nirvana came on the radio, or pub jukebox.
Here was a band lifted straight from the pages of Metal Hammer, suddenly appearing in 'serious' music magazines and even the 'Art/Culture' sections of broadsheet newspapers (where is that shocked smiley again)? It didn't stop there either (of course music fans know grunge didn't start with Nirvana but we won't go into that here), and soon Pearl Jam, Soundgarden et al were sharing the limelight.
A shame it was so short lived but then, and without being too overly dramatic, life's highs (both natural and chemical) and butterflies always find the quickest path to the morgue. Savour the good times for they are fleeting and seldom hang around to see an encore. So it was with Kurt and his boys (although the boys/songs remain). I was drinking in a pub in my hometown in west Wales when I heard news of Cobains suicide in 1994, and it soured my drink some. I always knew Kurt was a reluctant rockstar, you didn't have to be a genius to know that reading some interviews but suicide? By shotgun? It seemed so vulgar, especially after that gentle accoustic performance on MTV Unplugged.
Some would say it was a fitting end . After Kurt's suicide, the banshee guitars and murderous drum solos could retire back into denim covens where Lemmy was God, and trendy pop lovers could breathe a sigh of relief again as dance floors reverted to monotonous digital, pulse~like tunes. Poetry in music was gone, its chief bard, a shabby Shakespeare dead by his own hand.
And you want to know something? The young Dai Jakes was glad (though not by the frontman's passing obviously). Glad because I wasn't really happy sharing 'my' music for long. Initially I was proud to have the worlds ear cocking its head to grunge and heavy metal, it proved we were more than Jack Daniels soaked ruffians but it also felt like an invasion of privacy. I had something good, something cool and while it was nice sharing, it did feel good to have it back again.

Now we plum haired, coffee eyed darlings of the leather nights can go back to making magic between ourselves.

Toodle pip for now!

A Knight Of Our Times

Suits you Sir!

Today we learn that David Beckham could be Knighted. Arise SirDai Beckham! (Briefly dreams of LordDai Jakes). One might say its less LordHaw Haw but more Sir Ha Ha? Okay, rubbish jokes aside, why the surprise? Did we not all see it coming? The venerable *coughs* Mr Jakes certainly did. This is my friends is very much a Knighthood of our times. Its perfect for our new age culture of celebrity, a natural progression. Most people these days worship television and the fame it bestows on its vacuous 'victims', and Beckham, even though I happen to like the man, is king of this. They might as well make it official. I can certainly think of worse people to give a gong. Dame Katie Price anyone?
David has done a ton of good work for charity, and love him or loathe him, he is a good role model for our youngsters. There have been some real disaster stories coming from the world of sport, football especially, but the boy Dave done good. I don't understand folk saying he shouldn't be Knighted because he spends most of his time in America either. Are we not all free to live wherever we like? I didn't realise that if I was made SirDai Jakes (dreaming again) I would have to be permanently based in Britain. Does Sir Paul McCartney live in the UK? (And not being a Beatle fan, I actually had to Google to see if he was a Sir or not). It would be a petty reason not to award someone a gong in my humble opinion. But then David Beckham has had to put up with this kind of garbage for a while now, envy mostly from people who are quite content sitting in an anonymous den typing spiteful bilge online.
Listen, I will happily admit there are more deserving 'unknowns' who will never be recognised for their good deeds toward good causes and their fellow man, and if it were up to me they would all be Knighted but such is life. Its not perfect, and like I have said, is Sir Beckham so bad? At least he's not falling out of a nightclub at 4am, drugged out of his eyeballs, or chasing women old enough to be his grandmother (not that that is necessarily a bad thing *laughs*).
Want to know something else? As a guy who has tattoos himself, I think its kinda cool to be getting a Knight with arms covered in ink. Feels like the outlaws have invaded the Palace! Or at least become accepted as not only prisoners and sailors get tattooed. Better not show them to Her Maj though eh.
I bet Victoria B is over the moon at the prospect of hubby becoming a Knight of the Realm (although it is not a done deal yet). I can see it now:, Lady Beckham handbags and gladrags with emphasis on the 'Lady' part. She'll make the title hip or sick, or whatever words the trendy kids are using these days. Oh and look on the bright side, at least it removes, or should, the last vestiges of any possibility that the Spice Girls will ever get back together. Cin Cin!

Only Fools Lose Tongues

Readers should know that I am extremely passionate about anything Welsh and belonging to Wales, and I am opposed to anything that will harm my great country so I had to cool off before composing this little piece. Drink in hand? Then I'll begin. So the Western Mail has come out and said that we would be wasting money by spending £400,000-a-year translating meetings held at the National Assembly into Welsh. Fine, let us have everything in Welsh then, afterall this is Wales not England.
Its quite frankly idiotic for this paper to suggest such things, especially when we are haemorrhaging money for things like the London Olympics and its downright offensive to proud Welshmen/women like myself who with every fibre of our being love Welsh, are Welsh, think Welsh, dream Welsh and will die Welsh. Im glad ive never bought the Western Mail for surely if I had I never would again. Contemptable rag!
Welsh was my first language and I attended Welsh schools where english was hardly heard and I am so glad of this. I believe any parent worth their halen should have their children speaking Welsh and I look dimly on those who don't. Other countries are proud of their mother tongues and so should we and how wonderful it sounds when I walk the streets of Carmarthen and Llanelli and hear Welsh being spoken by both young and old. It warms the Penclawdd cockles of my Celtic heart., it really does.
Think on this: Italy without Italian. Japan without Japanese. Wales without Welsh. How absurd! We should all be wanting to KEEP our language and those who don't like it ought to clear off to England. When you support Wales in rugby or football (or any other sport), you are not simply supporting a team. You are supporting the COUNTRY, all of it and that means the language too. Shame on those who would like to see our language wiped off signs and the like for surely you are helping to kill off something that should be part of your spirit. Indeed its alien for me to even consider harming the culture of Wales.
Embrace being Welsh! Cherish our rich history and if you or your children don't speak Welsh then learn it! And anyone who thinks differently, you know where the bridge is. Diolch am eich clustiau.