And the latest ailment is… my left hand. Woke up on Friday with left hand cramps, and they’re still about. It’s like a hand fever. Particularly annoying as I’m severely left-handed. Aches and pains and tingling and numb bits and pins and needles. Maybe it’s RSI or Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. I don’t know. I just wish it would go away. Still, at least I can type. Just about. I’ll see the doctor if it doesn’t go. I’m utterly fed up with having to write about illnesses and ailments in the diary, and I’m sure you are too, Dear Reader. But if it’s on my mind, I have to write it down. Sorry.
Hasn’t stopped me from reviewing a couple of DVDs for Plan B Magazine. Mr Corman’s The Masque Of The Red Death, and Mr Cocteau’s box set containing his first and last films: Blood Of A Poet and Testament Of Orpheus. A twin of Cocteaus, ho ho.
Blood Of A Poet features the blonde, short-haired 20s model Lee Miller playing a living statue and looking suitably immaculate. I keep seeing Ms Miller’s name and face in bookshops lately. There’s been a few recent books about her decidedly unusual life: she went from modelling to being a top photojournalist. As a working model in the States, she was the first women to appear in a magazine tampon advert. Then she nipped off to Paris to be Man Ray’s muse and a kind of Surrealist version of Edie Sedgewick. Hence the appearance in the Cocteau film. Then she became a photographer in her own right: the most famous photo of Cocteau is hers, which is a nice Cocteau-esque mirroring of events. And then she became a war correspondent for Vogue, taking photos with the Allies as they liberated Berlin. There’s an famous picture of Ms Miller having a bath in 1945. In Hitler’s bath.
Another muse. Watching a teenaged Jane Asher in The Masque Of The Red Death, her performance is upstaged by her off-screen life: she was dating Paul McCartney at the time. This would be 1963, just before the Beatles’s first London gigs. All those songs she’s said to have inspired: “Here, There and Everywhere”, “We Can Work It Out”, “And I Love Her”, “For No One”. Yet she’s never properly talked to journalists about their relationship. No one’s business but hers. Quite refreshing given the acres of print generated by his current ex. I think Ms Mills should take Ms Asher’s cue: the only way to really triumph over the press is to politely ignore them altogether.
Off to Dublin tomorrow. It’s my first time in Ireland. Victoria Mary Clarke has got me DJ-ing at her book event, and she’s flying me over there. I’m travelling with her writer friend Hattie, and at Ms C’s request have spent a few hours today compiling a set of songs with the theme of “Angels”. Ms Clarke’s book concerns conversations with angels, you see.
Yes, yes, well, obviously that song by Robbie Williams and that other one by The Eurythmics.
But also:
Aretha Franklin’s “Angel” – can’t really go wrong with that.
Tavares – “Heaven Must Be Missing An Angel”. Nor that.
Bob Dylan – “You Angel You” – a rather good uptempo 70s Dylan track, with The Band as his band.
“Angel” – the Anita Baker song. Can’t decide if I prefer the original or the Style Council cover, with Mr Weller duetting with Ms Dee C Lee. May play both.
Madonna – “Angel” – minor hit from the 80s, better than many of her major hits. Has a certain pristine purity.
ABBA – “Angeleyes” – minor hit for them, better than most other bands’ major hits.
Curtis Lee / Phil Spector – “Pretty Little Angel Eyes”.
I wonder if Mr Spector is found guilty of murder, will his records still sound the same? Joe Meek killed his landlady. But then he killed himself too, and that seems to make all the difference.
It depends. In a similar vein, the BBC have just released a DVD of the excellent political comedy series The Thick Of It. Unusually, the main actor’s face isn’t on the front cover, because he is Chris Langham. Mr Langham is awaiting trial for a number of unpleasant sexual crimes. He’s pleaded not guilty, and the key phrase in such matters should be “innocent until proven guilty”. Sadly, the phrase “no smoke without fire” tends to override it, when an actor’s work is involved. Their performances are upstaged by their personal life. And thus, DVD covers. Just the front cover: he’s on the back in a little thumbnail photo alongside the other cast. Yet he dominates the actual series on the DVD.
I’m fascinated by the psychology behind such packaging. And the irony is, The Thick Of It is all about the politics of spin. It’s as if Peter Capaldi’s spin doctor character has been put in charge of the DVD himself. “It’s damage f—ing limitation, pal!”
