Like most of the triathlon universe, I spent a good part of this past Saturday glued to my computer screen... watching the world's best long-distance triathletes race in Kona at the Ironman World Championships.
This race inspires me every year. Over the years, there are more memorable moments than I can list - Julie Moss's crawl across the line, Chris Legh's stumble and collapse 50 meters from the line, the Welch/Ingraham double crawl, Dick and Ricky Hoyt, the famous Jon Blais roll,... I could go on and on.
This year was full of drama once again, but this time I didn't have to wait for the edited NBC coverage to take it all in. Thanks to Universal Sports great online coverage, I was able to watch the drama of the race unfold in real-time.
Let's just say, I was hugely inspired by some of the performances this year. Chris Leito in particular put in a hugely courageous effort... riding off the front and hanging on his lead all the way until Mile 21 of the run. Let's just say I was yelling, "Come on, man, you can do it!!" at my computer screen, much to the amusement of my kids. Of course, many kudos to the winners, Craig Alexander and Chrissie Wellington. Alexander showed a champion's poise and ran a brilliant marathon to overtake Lieto and repeat as champ. And Wellington... well, she is simply on another level right now. Wow.
Also, some big-time props to Ian Mikelson, a fellow age-grouper that I had the pleasure of meeting at Wildflower this year. He uncorked a 9:09, 4th American overall. Sick. And I'd be remiss if I didn't mention my other Kona peeps... Mr. Fix and Darcy G who both rocked the course with some fantastic performances.
Most of these end-of-decade lists have had a White Stripes record or two numbered in their ranks – clearly they’re an ‘important’ band (hmm) – and in that respect mine is no different.
However, unlike the others I’ve not chosen the admittedly impressive Elephant (2003), the deeply flawed but intermittently excellent White Blood Cells (2001), or even fan favourite De Stijl (2000). Nope, I’m plumping for this baby, Meg and Jack’s sixth outing and in my view, their most accomplished to date.
There are so many good songs on Icky Thump it’s hard to know where to begin. The quite phenomenally good acoustic closing number Effect And Cause? The exhilarating country-rock merriment of You Don’t Know What Love Is? The bottleneck blues mix of Dylan and Led Zeppelin on 300mph Torrential Outpour Blues? There’s not a bad track in sight.
It seems the Detroit duo still haven’t come home to roost: after embracing English culture and recording studios with their two previous records, Icky Thump, despite the bastardisation of Mrs. Jack White’s Lancastrian exclamation ‘Hecky thump’ in the title, has more of a Celtic lilt to it. Look no further than Jim Drury’s bagpipes mid-record, which fit far better than they have any right to.
It’s not the only inspiration from leftfield: I’m Slowly Turning Into You was born from a music video. Michel Gondry directed a video with no backing, then Jack wrote the song to it. How, then, it came to be one of the best songs on the album I have no idea.
Lyrically, Icky Thump shows The White Stripes to be a touch more mature than in previous efforts. Reminiscing about school and adolescence is gone in favour of political pokery (“Americans – what, nothing better to do? Why don’t you kick yourself out? You’re an immigrant too”) and, in the superb blues song Effect And Cause, wry observations on blame-casting in a break-up:
I ain’t sayin’ I’m innocent – in fact, the reverse But if you’re headed to the grave you don’t blame the hearse You’re like a little girl yelling at her brother ’cos you lost his ball
The strange thing, and best thing, about Icky Thump is how it is simultaneously like their old records – specifically their 1999 self-titled debut, all garage punk riffs and covers of blues songs – while ploughing a new furrow, toying with longer songs and instruments new to the band. For while the experiments earn their place, one of the undisputed highlights is simple rock cruncher Little Cream Soda. It’s loud in exactly the right way.
After the piano pop disappointment of Get Behind Me Satan, it’s also heartening to hear a return for Jack’s incredible electric guitar skills. There are solos aplenty, but it’s not self-indulgent; indeed, on I’m Slowly Turning Into You Jack hides a virtuoso solo behind a vocal outro.
Catch Hell Blues is the closest you’ll get to guitar-wank, with White basically having a good time on a slide guitar for four minutes. Naturally he’s very good, but the whole effect isn’t as bluesy as you feel he would like. Still a good song though.
It’s an album of instant hits (even shy ballad A Martyr For My Love For You is ripped up into an uplifting rocker), which is why I find it odd they released Conquest as a single, the mariachi-punk cover of Patti Page’s classic. It’s hardly the White Stripes at their best, even if it is great fun.
Quibbles all. Icky Thump is a fantastic record – surely The White Stripes’ best in my opinion, even if no one shares that view – and it would be nice, really, if Jack White stopped fucking around and got on with making the follow-up.
Well, well, well. Barack Obama has won the Nobel Peace Prize.
The Norwegian board awarding the prize said, "Only very rarely has a person to the same extent as Obama captured the world's attention and given its people hope for a better future." (More here.)
That's certainly true. But is this enough to merit the most prestigious award there is? I'd be the last to suggest Obama is all mouth and no trousers, and I'm confident he'll deliver on his promises - but the point is, in terms of world peace (the simplest of achievements, surely), he hasn't made a fantastic deal of progress yet. So what exactly is this Nobel Peace Prize honouring? An indirect inspiration to this fantastic poster?
Personally, I'd like to have seen Zimbabwe's Prime Minister Morgan Tsvangirai recognised for his attempts at overcoming corruption and restoring order in Zimbabwe. But then, I suppose he didn't succeed either; part of a tragic year in which he also lost his wife in a car accident. Perhaps it's right to reward effort, rather than results.
After only nine months in power Obama's Peace Prize is surely a sign of hope, not achievement. But maybe that's the point.
Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond my control (no, really), today I can only offer you my own review without a Spotify link or a blog WITH a Spotify link but with the words written by someone else.
I figured you'd prefer the latter
Guero - Beck [2005]
The first thing I should point out is that I'm hideously underqualified to write an album review. The second thing is that if this were my top thirty albums of the decade, it would read very differently.
And thirdly, I love this album, and I will tell you why.
My relationship with Guero starts with the esteemed Mr Davies. We had known each other for about a week when he made me a copy of this album and told me that I'd like it. I in turn gave him a copy of Rooster's self-titled debut. Needless to say, he never listened to it.
However, the first time I actually listened to it was probably around six months later on the Welsh M4. This was unfortunate for me because my first instinct was to dance. This album is full of beat, drawing heavily from its South American inspiration. It's also got clear lyrics that can be happily mumbled along with, and those are my two main requirements in an album, so it was obviously going to be a favourite.
If you came looking for comments about structure, symmetry and the poignant irony of a white man referencing Latino slang, you've come to the wrong place. Instead, I suggest you click on E-Pro and watch the puppets:
I've been told that I'm not allowed to link to Qué Onda Guero, which is unfortunate because it's really rather good. About an outsider in a marketplace, the shout of 'What's up, white boy?' makes sense with the rest of the lyrics, making it quite unusual for a Beck song (see Devil's Haircut for comparison).
Well, apart from this:
James Joyce Michael Bolton
But you're allowed to listen to Black Tambourine. I have no idea what it's about, but it's probably sexy. However, it is one of the worst songs on this album to pole dance to, and that's obviously what's important.
Anyway, this is your unlucky 13, which is why I'm breaking Mr Davies' rules and inserting a track by the artist that definitely doesn't feature on the wonderful Guero. It also stars a fictional robot.
