Sir: If The Independent insists on retaining the quaintly colonial categorisation of “World Music” within its Review pages, may I suggest the only other possible genre is “Space Music”, the only known exponent being Sun Ra.
GILES BARRETT
LONDON, E14
It is a delightfully professional feeling to have the tone lowered by someone else’s title to your article. Chuckle chuckle. But i was caught out! Though Mr Ra is clearly the greatest exponent of Space Music, apparently there are others:
Sir: With reference to Giles Barrett’s letter (27 July) concerning “space music” and Sun Ra being the only known exponent, could I mention the band Gong, who not only played space music but hailed from the planet Gong?
DAVID R POLLARD
HECKMONDWIKE, YORKSHIRE
I stand corrected. I was making a serious point about a really bizarre and patronising aspect of the Independent’s usually excellent music coverage. But it was great to be able to mention Sun Ra.
I heard “Umbrella” for the first time yesterday, whilst waiting for a ‘genius’ in a computer shop. I was pretty surprised that all the fuss was about this dreary dirge. Lucky this morning I found Pete Carlberg’s new track for free from the excellent Labrador site. Also, best title ever - “Clever Girls Like Clever Boys Much More Than Clever Boys Like Clever Girls”! From the album “In A Nutshell”. Look at him, just look at him. No wait, listen. But look, too.
Since acquiring shingles, there has been much speculation. Am I in agony? Am I a gay? Negatory, fact fans. I am, however, in quarantine, mainly to protect myself from the ire of those who got shingles and got it BAD. This is not me. In fact, recently I was looking quite on top of things:
This was in Norman’s Bay, on a recent holiday with a beautiful girl.
She takes all the photographs, of course, so the resulting album consists mainly of silly pictures of myself. There was perhaps a less egotistical way of phrasing that, but I shan’t look for it. There are many worse ways to amass a collection of silly pictures of yourself. The weekend was so relaxing I haven’t properly adjusted to city life since, which probably explains the shingles. I do enjoy telling people how chicken pox lies dormant in the spine for one’s entire life. I don’t enjoy being in quarantine.
In fact, it seems to be affecting my quite badly. It’s 21:50 or so here and I haven’t bothered to eat yet. I was planning on a roundup of my wonderful holiday, and perhaps a reflection on shingles, but all I’ve managed is an incoherent and homophobic splurge. I’m simply getting distracted by all this deep deep dub I’m listening to.
In retrospect, I should have been a garage deejay to collect my cheque.
It seems so effortless.
I have been spouting off on the airwaves once more, this time on the theme of underage nosies. Not as suspect as it perhaps sounds, but the curious can investigate further at Gigs, Reviews, News. Excuse for audio aficianados: I had a cough.
Of course it’s not, I’m just practising my bravado. But they published me again, strangely getting my postcode wrong despite me not supplying them with one.
Sir: Johann Hari (”The jihadis hate not just the worst acts of our rulers, but the best aspects of our society”, 2 July) may well be right that encouraging and supporting liberal Muslims may help prevent the radicalisation of British youth.
But while many extremists may be preoccupied with the freedom of novelists and women, it is clear from events of the last few years that it is dramatically easier for them to attract followers if these contradictory ideologies are preached before a backdrop stained with Iraqi and Afghan blood. We can only hope Brown adopts a more far-sighted interpretation of phrases such as “ethical foreign policy” and “security” than his predecessor.
…a reminder that the bombers are not only blowing back against the worst in our system of government: the torture and chemical weapons in Iraq, Guantanamo Bay, and our support for Arab dictators. They oppose the best in our system of government too: the intellectual freedom to write novels that question religion, the sexual freedom of women to pick their own partners.
It’s like the guy has the war in Afghanistan hanging round his neck, his support from it constantly pulling him down and away from the clarity and perspective he seems so nearly capable of.
This grew in my father’s garden. What lurks beneath the innocent-looking soil, I do not wish to speculate. The troubling part is that the carrot has since disappeared, and my brother is hiding in his room.
