Yup, the blog is a year old. 53 posts old (this is the 54th). That's an average of a post a week, although averages can be deceptive, and I've not been anywhere as regular as that, and some posts have been just a line, like the one below. I know this is an excellent opportunity to write a long post about random things that happened in the past year, with a bit of gloss and a dash of glamour, and to make broad sweeping statements about broad sweeping matters. But i'll resist, and just say thank you.
Thank you.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
More Bass on the Drum Monitor (The rambling saga of a mediocre band)
Apologies for cross-posting from Riff Cafe
Warning: Random
The Strawberry Fields crew had an award, we called it the NL Mitra Award (after our then Director). That was to be 'awarded' to the first band to speak those immortal words through the microphone...."er...Mike/Sidney/Dinakar.....could we have some more bass on the drum monitor please."
In those days we were not cool, and didn't play in bands, and didn't know that, as a matter of fact, rock bands always need more bass on the drum monitor. Heck you need more bass on every monitor, more important than anything, the bass is the fucking foundation, the bass gives you the rhythm, as well as the melodic (chordic?) base (ahem). I needed more bass on the monitors because the lead guitarist (apart from being a genuine maestro of the guitar) believed in the philosophy that rhythm guitarists were to be seen and not heard, and rhythm guitarists definitely did not deserve to hear anything but the virtuoso sound of the lead guitar.
And when we had the sound exactly as he wanted, we'd all merrily fuck up, because we couldn't hear anything except him playing. Yes we even managed to fuck up 'Breaking the Law.' I want to hear the bass and drums dammit, I can do without hearing the lead guitar and the vocals.
And once, when the sound guys (god bless you Shanthala Musicals) 'messed up' and we could hear everything on the monitors, the band ripped the place apart (okay, exaggeration there, the band concluded its set without any major faux pas). JD and I even pulled off our short twin-lead rather nicely. So the moral of the story is that we all need more bass on the drum monitor.
If we'd spent as much time on practising, as we spent on arguing about the name of the band, and various other even pettier issues, we might have been a decent band. But we didn't and so we weren't. We were called Grade Point. Ya, sucky name.
After immense amounts of cajoling, and applying liberal doses of maska on a certain Prof called Smiley, we got a storage room emptied of most of its contents (we still had to share it with a Godrej cupboard and some old CPUs and monitors), and converted it into a jam room. LLM classes were conducted above the storage room, and therefore we could not make noise while classes were going on, which, on account of our collective carelessness, we once did and got shouted at for.
I will not talk of the relative merits of the various members because, except for JD on lead guitars, we all pretty much sucked at what we did. Which did not stop us from doing covers of incredibly complex songs like 'Breaking the Law.' (if i hear that riff one more time, I will kill someone). But in our more inspired moments, we've jammed on bits of Iron Maiden's 'Revelations' and Ugly Kid Joe's 'Everything About You.' We covered CCR's 'Proud Mary' in which we sometimes even managed (gasp!) the harmony vocals. We helped Nair reach his feminine side by doing a cover of Tracy Chapman's 'Give Me One Reason.' Somewhere along the way, mostly thanks to JD, we even had a few original compositions, one of which was actually rather good.
We played a show at St.Johns where I opted out because I hadn't had time to jam with the band at all. That day I got to handle the console for the band, because Dinakar had to go to the loo. I felt incredibly powerful, and I moved the sliders and knobs around, even when it wasn't necessary. And the band loved the sound I gave them. Okay fine, the sound that Dinakar gave them, and I did nothing to spoil.
I think I mentioned the twin-lead before, hmmm, ya JD and I played a twin-lead interlude before the bridge on our OC 'light of my life' (yup, we were very original and groundbreaking when it came to naming songs). It was nice, I could step away from my mic, and JD would step away from his, and by the time we walked towards each other, the twin-lead would be over. But it felt good to be playing lead, instead of crummy rhythm. Second fiddle. Thoo.
I could bore you more right away, but maybe I'll save it for another instalment, or, if I am feeling especially benevolent, I'll lock it up and throw away the key.
Warning: Random
The Strawberry Fields crew had an award, we called it the NL Mitra Award (after our then Director). That was to be 'awarded' to the first band to speak those immortal words through the microphone...."er...Mike/Sidney/Dinakar.....could we have some more bass on the drum monitor please."
In those days we were not cool, and didn't play in bands, and didn't know that, as a matter of fact, rock bands always need more bass on the drum monitor. Heck you need more bass on every monitor, more important than anything, the bass is the fucking foundation, the bass gives you the rhythm, as well as the melodic (chordic?) base (ahem). I needed more bass on the monitors because the lead guitarist (apart from being a genuine maestro of the guitar) believed in the philosophy that rhythm guitarists were to be seen and not heard, and rhythm guitarists definitely did not deserve to hear anything but the virtuoso sound of the lead guitar.
And when we had the sound exactly as he wanted, we'd all merrily fuck up, because we couldn't hear anything except him playing. Yes we even managed to fuck up 'Breaking the Law.' I want to hear the bass and drums dammit, I can do without hearing the lead guitar and the vocals.
And once, when the sound guys (god bless you Shanthala Musicals) 'messed up' and we could hear everything on the monitors, the band ripped the place apart (okay, exaggeration there, the band concluded its set without any major faux pas). JD and I even pulled off our short twin-lead rather nicely. So the moral of the story is that we all need more bass on the drum monitor.
If we'd spent as much time on practising, as we spent on arguing about the name of the band, and various other even pettier issues, we might have been a decent band. But we didn't and so we weren't. We were called Grade Point. Ya, sucky name.
After immense amounts of cajoling, and applying liberal doses of maska on a certain Prof called Smiley, we got a storage room emptied of most of its contents (we still had to share it with a Godrej cupboard and some old CPUs and monitors), and converted it into a jam room. LLM classes were conducted above the storage room, and therefore we could not make noise while classes were going on, which, on account of our collective carelessness, we once did and got shouted at for.
I will not talk of the relative merits of the various members because, except for JD on lead guitars, we all pretty much sucked at what we did. Which did not stop us from doing covers of incredibly complex songs like 'Breaking the Law.' (if i hear that riff one more time, I will kill someone). But in our more inspired moments, we've jammed on bits of Iron Maiden's 'Revelations' and Ugly Kid Joe's 'Everything About You.' We covered CCR's 'Proud Mary' in which we sometimes even managed (gasp!) the harmony vocals. We helped Nair reach his feminine side by doing a cover of Tracy Chapman's 'Give Me One Reason.' Somewhere along the way, mostly thanks to JD, we even had a few original compositions, one of which was actually rather good.
We played a show at St.Johns where I opted out because I hadn't had time to jam with the band at all. That day I got to handle the console for the band, because Dinakar had to go to the loo. I felt incredibly powerful, and I moved the sliders and knobs around, even when it wasn't necessary. And the band loved the sound I gave them. Okay fine, the sound that Dinakar gave them, and I did nothing to spoil.
I think I mentioned the twin-lead before, hmmm, ya JD and I played a twin-lead interlude before the bridge on our OC 'light of my life' (yup, we were very original and groundbreaking when it came to naming songs). It was nice, I could step away from my mic, and JD would step away from his, and by the time we walked towards each other, the twin-lead would be over. But it felt good to be playing lead, instead of crummy rhythm. Second fiddle. Thoo.
I could bore you more right away, but maybe I'll save it for another instalment, or, if I am feeling especially benevolent, I'll lock it up and throw away the key.
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Kinshasa
They said the man's name was Gold. I don't know if this was in any way connected to his real name, or whether it was some sort of nickname. He came in a poorly maintained yellow Toyota Hilux of indiscernible vintage. He travelled alone and I was surprised to see that he was not flaunting a large automatic weapon as appears to be the fashion in these parts. He was slimmer than I expected, better dressed than I expected, and on the whole failed to live up to my mental image of what a man named Gold ought to look like.
He asked me if I had my papers, and I pulled them out of my folder to hand them to him. He gestured with his left hand to keep them with me. He asked me to get in the van. I got in on the passenger side, and sat gingerly on the grimy rexine seat, which had clearly seen better days. I reached for the seatbelt to discover there wasn't one.
I was surprised to see he made no motion to start the vehicle. Instead he reached under his seat, pulled out a handgun and pointed it at me.
I realised I was fucked. If this were a movie, he'd have hammed a bit and delivered a few lines of dialogue, which would help you understand why exactly it is that I am in this mess. But this is real life, and I'm about to die. Fuck.
He asked me if I had my papers, and I pulled them out of my folder to hand them to him. He gestured with his left hand to keep them with me. He asked me to get in the van. I got in on the passenger side, and sat gingerly on the grimy rexine seat, which had clearly seen better days. I reached for the seatbelt to discover there wasn't one.
I was surprised to see he made no motion to start the vehicle. Instead he reached under his seat, pulled out a handgun and pointed it at me.
I realised I was fucked. If this were a movie, he'd have hammed a bit and delivered a few lines of dialogue, which would help you understand why exactly it is that I am in this mess. But this is real life, and I'm about to die. Fuck.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
frustration
literary ambition does not its equal have in literary skill. there's a verse in my head that's searching for words to form itself. the idea is clear, the message couldn't be clearer; the words and meter unfortunately, fail to turn up for the party....like fuckers....who don't turn up for parties.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Riff Cafe
It's a music blog that a few of us have started. It's called Riff Cafe. It has music-related writing on it. Check it out http://riffcafe.blogspot.com
Do read. And comment.
And if it doesn't bore you to death, do spread the word. And if you are so inclined, join up as a contributor.
Do read. And comment.
And if it doesn't bore you to death, do spread the word. And if you are so inclined, join up as a contributor.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Bangla Rocks
The first Bangla rock I heard was in law school, when my room-mate started going out with a girl from Kolkata (yes girl from Kolkata, I've stopped referring to you as a mad Bong woman). Like the copybook romantic, he started learning Bengali, listening to Bengali rock, and referring to fish as a bhejjytable. We listened to tapes of bands like Ark and Taj Mahal, who sang 'missionary-position' (thanks kareem) 80s rock in Bengali. If you didn't listen too carefully, you could be forgiven for thinking they were singing in English. Of course, as time went by, the girl from Kolkata introduced him to Eric Clapton and Bruce Springsteen and the Doors and John Lee Hooker and so on, and somehow or the other no more Bangla rock played in our room.
Even in the brief period for which I was a 'boy from Calcutta,' I didn't manage to listen to any more Bangla rock.
Until last week that is. Week before last I'd picked up an assorted Bangla Rock CD from Cal since it cost 38 Rupees, and I had never seen a CD that cost 38 Rupees before, I wondered how bad the music would be to justify the lack of self-belief evidenced by the price, and just had to find out.
I didn't play it for a few days because a 38-buck CD doesn't really cry out to be played. And then the Robot visited, and on a lark I popped the CD into my system. And it proceeded to blow my mind.
If you like 80s rock, in all its powerchord-driven, melodic-harmonic, guitar-wankeried over-the-top glory, chances are you'd be happy with this record. The tunes are catchy, if a little derivative; the vocals and guitars are excellent, and the song structures are classic 80s rock (Van Halen, Mr. Big, Europe style). The production is average, and some of the guitar tones sound a little digital. The mixing, especially when there are multiple vocal and guitar tracks, gets a little sticky, but on the whole everything is clear enough to hear. There are some comic interludes, especially when they try to bring in some English, like this backing vocal that goes "ah wanna steal your bardy, ah wanna keel your daddy"...yup...
I can't tell you any more details about the record, because all of the information on it is (in true Bengali fashion) written only in Bangla. But from a close examination of the script, we could make out that the bands Cactus and School, are represented on the record. If you want to get your hands on it the exact same way that I did, then head over to the "City Centre" mall in Salt Lake, walk into the Planet M and look for a slim, black card-paper cased CD that costs 38 Rupees. (the store attendants might help, if they're not too busy playing on the X-Box 360 demo piece that's been set up in the store).
I'll be in Cal in a couple of weeks and I plan to stock up more on Bangla rock. I'll also try and find out more details about the records and where else they may be available. If you are interested in the info please feel free to mail in at revengeofsmith@gmail.com.
Even in the brief period for which I was a 'boy from Calcutta,' I didn't manage to listen to any more Bangla rock.
Until last week that is. Week before last I'd picked up an assorted Bangla Rock CD from Cal since it cost 38 Rupees, and I had never seen a CD that cost 38 Rupees before, I wondered how bad the music would be to justify the lack of self-belief evidenced by the price, and just had to find out.
I didn't play it for a few days because a 38-buck CD doesn't really cry out to be played. And then the Robot visited, and on a lark I popped the CD into my system. And it proceeded to blow my mind.
If you like 80s rock, in all its powerchord-driven, melodic-harmonic, guitar-wankeried over-the-top glory, chances are you'd be happy with this record. The tunes are catchy, if a little derivative; the vocals and guitars are excellent, and the song structures are classic 80s rock (Van Halen, Mr. Big, Europe style). The production is average, and some of the guitar tones sound a little digital. The mixing, especially when there are multiple vocal and guitar tracks, gets a little sticky, but on the whole everything is clear enough to hear. There are some comic interludes, especially when they try to bring in some English, like this backing vocal that goes "ah wanna steal your bardy, ah wanna keel your daddy"...yup...
I can't tell you any more details about the record, because all of the information on it is (in true Bengali fashion) written only in Bangla. But from a close examination of the script, we could make out that the bands Cactus and School, are represented on the record. If you want to get your hands on it the exact same way that I did, then head over to the "City Centre" mall in Salt Lake, walk into the Planet M and look for a slim, black card-paper cased CD that costs 38 Rupees. (the store attendants might help, if they're not too busy playing on the X-Box 360 demo piece that's been set up in the store).
I'll be in Cal in a couple of weeks and I plan to stock up more on Bangla rock. I'll also try and find out more details about the records and where else they may be available. If you are interested in the info please feel free to mail in at revengeofsmith@gmail.com.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
what colour is the ocean?
is it the slate-black from the airplane window? the muddy-brown at the beach? the copper-sulphate of a coral reef? the crashing silence of your loneliness?
it's rust from a passing steamer; the stench of rotting fish; the crack of dried seaweed breaking up; the calm, flat endlessness from the deck of your oil-tanker, awake, when you're heading for Spain....
must be the clouds in your eyes!
it's rust from a passing steamer; the stench of rotting fish; the crack of dried seaweed breaking up; the calm, flat endlessness from the deck of your oil-tanker, awake, when you're heading for Spain....
must be the clouds in your eyes!
Friday, October 27, 2006
Cassette Nostalgia
(Warning: Geekazoidical)
I was checking up to see what Varahagiri Venkata Giri actually looked like (on account of this) and in this endeavour I had hopped to those fine folks at Wikipedia, and ran into this piece
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compact_Cassette as their featured piece on the home page, and it opened up a whole lot of memories (since I am a sentimental fool).
I think most people of my age group (kids in the 80s, teens in the 90s) would have grown up listening to music on cassettes (unless their folks were either cool enough to have a record player, or progressive enough to have a CD-player). From the early days on the folkses Sharp GF8989 boombox, music to me equalled tapes. The first tape I ever owned was Michael Jackson's 'Dangerous' bought in 1992. (yes yes, I confess I was a Michael Jackson fan, and still am). Through the years of Madonna, Bryan Adams, Bruce Springsteen, Michael Learns to Rock and so on the tape was the highly frustrating medium on which all music was served. Tapes broke, tapes tangled, tapes got fungus on them, and most irritatingly tapes disappeared, but like Doordarshan and Indian Airlines in the 80s, we really had no choice.
To be fair to them they did a fairly decent job of playing the music, and at that age, in those times (and on those systems), the 'fidelity' of the recording really didn't make much of a difference to me. Plus they were infinitely involving to the geek in me. Hours were spent opening up fungus infected cassettes, swabbing fungus off the reel with earbuds and ethyl alcohol, carefully replacing the reels and rollers on the base of the shell, guiding the flimsy tape across the transport notches and grooves, and resealing the shell with a Phillips screwdriver, and playing it over a few types to 'really clean it up.'
Further more hours were spent transplanting the tape reels from a broken shell to an intact one (thereby making an MS Subbalakshmi tape play Michael Jackson), involving all the delicacy of the previous operation, plus the added frustration of tangling tape, and what to do with MS Subbalakshmi's innards after the transplant.
Grand felonies committed included recording malayalam film songs from Radio over parents' ancient recordings of Pritish Nandy's poetry (which they never listened to anyways, but for which I got the shelling of a lifetime). Crimes on humanity included recording my own singing and playing of percussion instruments such as the Bisleri bottle and the cricket bat. Silly fun included 'high speed dubbing' [where tape to tape recording happens in a dual deck system where the source and destination tapes move at approximately twice the regular speed] which made all music sound like "the chipmunks," which I liked, and which spawned the idea in my young entrepreneur's mind to make a collection of "High Speed Dubbing Hits", songs that sounded good at double speed. However, as the capital and infrastructure was lacking this concept never took off.
Then of course, the regular excitement of head cleaning, applying earbud soaked in nail-polish remover to magnetic head, capstan, pinch-roller etc., etc,. to make the sound sparkle.
My folks got a CD-player in 1995, but CDs were still too expensive to completely replace tapes, and so throughout school and most of college (before MP3s came and knocked everything for a six) tapes were all I had and most of my tapes are still lying aroudn in shoeboxes at home (pssst....shoeboxes were DESIGNED to store tapes....no kidding....try it out). Tapes went up from costing 40 bucks for Michael Jackson's dangerous to 50 bucks for Europe's Greatest Hits, to 75 bucks for Michael Learns to Rock, to 100 bucks for Blood on the Dance Floor to 125 bucks for Best of Mr. Big to 150 bucks for Best of Ocean Colour Scene....and that was the last tape I bought.
I was checking up to see what Varahagiri Venkata Giri actually looked like (on account of this) and in this endeavour I had hopped to those fine folks at Wikipedia, and ran into this piece
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compact_Cassette as their featured piece on the home page, and it opened up a whole lot of memories (since I am a sentimental fool).
I think most people of my age group (kids in the 80s, teens in the 90s) would have grown up listening to music on cassettes (unless their folks were either cool enough to have a record player, or progressive enough to have a CD-player). From the early days on the folkses Sharp GF8989 boombox, music to me equalled tapes. The first tape I ever owned was Michael Jackson's 'Dangerous' bought in 1992. (yes yes, I confess I was a Michael Jackson fan, and still am). Through the years of Madonna, Bryan Adams, Bruce Springsteen, Michael Learns to Rock and so on the tape was the highly frustrating medium on which all music was served. Tapes broke, tapes tangled, tapes got fungus on them, and most irritatingly tapes disappeared, but like Doordarshan and Indian Airlines in the 80s, we really had no choice.
To be fair to them they did a fairly decent job of playing the music, and at that age, in those times (and on those systems), the 'fidelity' of the recording really didn't make much of a difference to me. Plus they were infinitely involving to the geek in me. Hours were spent opening up fungus infected cassettes, swabbing fungus off the reel with earbuds and ethyl alcohol, carefully replacing the reels and rollers on the base of the shell, guiding the flimsy tape across the transport notches and grooves, and resealing the shell with a Phillips screwdriver, and playing it over a few types to 'really clean it up.'
Further more hours were spent transplanting the tape reels from a broken shell to an intact one (thereby making an MS Subbalakshmi tape play Michael Jackson), involving all the delicacy of the previous operation, plus the added frustration of tangling tape, and what to do with MS Subbalakshmi's innards after the transplant.
Grand felonies committed included recording malayalam film songs from Radio over parents' ancient recordings of Pritish Nandy's poetry (which they never listened to anyways, but for which I got the shelling of a lifetime). Crimes on humanity included recording my own singing and playing of percussion instruments such as the Bisleri bottle and the cricket bat. Silly fun included 'high speed dubbing' [where tape to tape recording happens in a dual deck system where the source and destination tapes move at approximately twice the regular speed] which made all music sound like "the chipmunks," which I liked, and which spawned the idea in my young entrepreneur's mind to make a collection of "High Speed Dubbing Hits", songs that sounded good at double speed. However, as the capital and infrastructure was lacking this concept never took off.
Then of course, the regular excitement of head cleaning, applying earbud soaked in nail-polish remover to magnetic head, capstan, pinch-roller etc., etc,. to make the sound sparkle.
My folks got a CD-player in 1995, but CDs were still too expensive to completely replace tapes, and so throughout school and most of college (before MP3s came and knocked everything for a six) tapes were all I had and most of my tapes are still lying aroudn in shoeboxes at home (pssst....shoeboxes were DESIGNED to store tapes....no kidding....try it out). Tapes went up from costing 40 bucks for Michael Jackson's dangerous to 50 bucks for Europe's Greatest Hits, to 75 bucks for Michael Learns to Rock, to 100 bucks for Blood on the Dance Floor to 125 bucks for Best of Mr. Big to 150 bucks for Best of Ocean Colour Scene....and that was the last tape I bought.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Simmi Post
Simmi, I'm alive and well thank you very much. Was kidnapped by work aliens for a bit, but they've sent me back to earth for Diwali, with a promise to return to captivity on Monday. And since you've given me so many things to write about I thought I might as well!
What is in between heaven and earth?
Ooh deep, I don't do deep very well, I'm shallow you see. So I'll pass this question!
What book would you take to a deserted Island?
The problem with this question is that I almost never re-read books, if i've read it once, it's unlikely i'd want to read it again, and even if i do, I don't enjoy it that much the second time, and in the great world of books that I haven't read, I really don't know what would be worthy of taking to a deserted Island, but if I can do a sneaky lawyerly thing, I'd probably take the Encyclopedia Britannica....since I'd also need material enough to read till I am rescued, and a novel or something of a few hundred pages may not last me long enough.....but leading off from here, I think I'd name my top 5 desert-island discs...not in order (at the moment, it keeps changing):
1) Dire Straits - Brothers in Arms
2) Mr. Big - Japandemonium -I (Live in Japan)
3) Dream Theater - Images and Words
4) Queen - A Night at the Opera
5) Simon & Garfunkel - Sounds of Silence
Of course, if it weren't so uncool, I'd take 'Best ofs' since they'd have all my favourite songs, and they'd have more songs than single albums...but that's not allowed for Desert Island discs....so..
Who would you take to a deseted Island?
Hmm....interesting question....there's no one at the moment who occupies the 'love of my life' position....so I'd probably take M, since she was the last occupant...and she's still the closest thing to a 'love of my life' right now.....
Whats your favourite food and post the recipe?
erm....too many things here.....Appam with a Chicken stew or something.......recipe? hahaha.....I know the recipe for nothing!! oh wait I know the recipe for something we once made at the Bappi's place.....we called it the Scarborough Omelette.....you'll understand why.....it was to serve 5 stoned souls and two sober ones (SS and me)....with lots of bread.....
Ingredients
12 eggs
Chillies
Onions
Tomatoes
Parsley
Sage
Rosemary
Thyme (yup.....all of this was available at the Bap's house)
Method
Erm.....beat the eggs together..........put some oil on the pan.......when it gets hot...put onions, chillies and tomato on it......sautee it for a bit.......then pour the eggs over it.....and then dump the parsley, sage , rosemary and thyme.....while singing the canticle in the background.....put salt and pepper to taste......put in some tomato sauce if you are so inclined.....flip it around and stuff.....and it's ready!
Your worst nightmare?
Nothing of note.....
and what do you dream of?
Bizarre things......always bizarre things....never the same things....familiar characters in unfamiliar settings , or unfamiliar characters in familiar settings....always doing incomprehensible things.....with lots of magic and lots of fast movement.....warp-speed.....lots of evil and tragedy......lots of love and excitement......monsters, magicians, ......somtimes it's just some prsosaic events with familiar characters.....with just one vital thing odd.....for instance there's no ground beneath our feet.....or no one's wearing any clothes......or no one has mouths....or something....
What is in between heaven and earth?
Ooh deep, I don't do deep very well, I'm shallow you see. So I'll pass this question!
What book would you take to a deserted Island?
The problem with this question is that I almost never re-read books, if i've read it once, it's unlikely i'd want to read it again, and even if i do, I don't enjoy it that much the second time, and in the great world of books that I haven't read, I really don't know what would be worthy of taking to a deserted Island, but if I can do a sneaky lawyerly thing, I'd probably take the Encyclopedia Britannica....since I'd also need material enough to read till I am rescued, and a novel or something of a few hundred pages may not last me long enough.....but leading off from here, I think I'd name my top 5 desert-island discs...not in order (at the moment, it keeps changing):
1) Dire Straits - Brothers in Arms
2) Mr. Big - Japandemonium -I (Live in Japan)
3) Dream Theater - Images and Words
4) Queen - A Night at the Opera
5) Simon & Garfunkel - Sounds of Silence
Of course, if it weren't so uncool, I'd take 'Best ofs' since they'd have all my favourite songs, and they'd have more songs than single albums...but that's not allowed for Desert Island discs....so..
Who would you take to a deseted Island?
Hmm....interesting question....there's no one at the moment who occupies the 'love of my life' position....so I'd probably take M, since she was the last occupant...and she's still the closest thing to a 'love of my life' right now.....
Whats your favourite food and post the recipe?
erm....too many things here.....Appam with a Chicken stew or something.......recipe? hahaha.....I know the recipe for nothing!! oh wait I know the recipe for something we once made at the Bappi's place.....we called it the Scarborough Omelette.....you'll understand why.....it was to serve 5 stoned souls and two sober ones (SS and me)....with lots of bread.....
Ingredients
12 eggs
Chillies
Onions
Tomatoes
Parsley
Sage
Rosemary
Thyme (yup.....all of this was available at the Bap's house)
Method
Erm.....beat the eggs together..........put some oil on the pan.......when it gets hot...put onions, chillies and tomato on it......sautee it for a bit.......then pour the eggs over it.....and then dump the parsley, sage , rosemary and thyme.....while singing the canticle in the background.....put salt and pepper to taste......put in some tomato sauce if you are so inclined.....flip it around and stuff.....and it's ready!
Your worst nightmare?
Nothing of note.....
and what do you dream of?
Bizarre things......always bizarre things....never the same things....familiar characters in unfamiliar settings , or unfamiliar characters in familiar settings....always doing incomprehensible things.....with lots of magic and lots of fast movement.....warp-speed.....lots of evil and tragedy......lots of love and excitement......monsters, magicians, ......somtimes it's just some prsosaic events with familiar characters.....with just one vital thing odd.....for instance there's no ground beneath our feet.....or no one's wearing any clothes......or no one has mouths....or something....
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