Consequences: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Watch television for half an hour or so. Get interested in what you're viewing - news, drama, documentary, whatever - and curious to know what happens next. At some point before the program concludes, pour a glass of water into the TV's innards. Wait for the inevitable results, whether a spectacular explosion or merely a silent cessation. Pretend you didn't pour the water in. Continue to stare at the blank screen. Wonder what went wrong. Get bored, get frustrated, get anxious. Contemplate the reflective blankness. Feel the loss of the narrative. Explore the knowledge in your head that you can't just walk away and ignore it, but that you don't know what to do. Come to terms with the realisation that this phenomenon will have an unknown cost. Open the TV's casing and let the water drain out. Press the on/off switch and wonder why nothing happens. Stare further at the screen because this is now the most important thing in your life. Let exercise, dinner, friends and family recede into the distance. Your plan is to sit there until the programme reappears.

Your partner comes home. What happened to the TV, they ask. I don't know, you reply. Shall we call someone out to fix it, they ask. The TV's broken, you reply. We'll have to do something about it then, they tell you. No, you mumble, you don't understand... it doesn't work anymore. Let's get a new one, they suggest. No, I want this one to work, you say. Obviously this one isn't working, they point out, you can't just sit there. But I want this one to work, you tell them uncertainly, I was watching a programme on it. You're sad, so sad. And so you sit there on the sofa for a year or so, watching the blank screen because that seems like the best plan. Your partner has a different plan, but you know it won't get your programme back. No, the best idea is to wait... this will eventually come right, somehow. Things will pick up exactly as they did before. That seems like the easiest approach. In the meantime, you need to sleep. You'll wake eventually, but for now you're tired. There are listings and schedules, but only one programme you want to see. You'll wait as long as it takes.

Posted by Hg on Wednesday 01 July 2009 at 17:23.
Received 5 comments so far.

I was called an "internet weirdo" a couple of weeks ago. I liked that and joked that I'd use it as my job title on my next batch of business cards. The friend who coined the phrase seemed concerned that I might have taken offence and sought to reassure me by explaining that "you are definitely weird and the internet is one of many things you know lots about".

To set his mind at rest, I decided that the next time I saw him I'd wear a t-shirt with the phrase on it. My first attempt was constructed with safety pins. I thought it looked great, but the problem was that when I started pushing the pins into the material the letters lost definition and the effect didn't have the impact that I was aiming for.


Internet Weirdo design


A change of approach was required. I hatched a perfectionist plan to paint the phrase onto the t-shirt in bleach, wait a while, then wash the bleach out. The prospect bored me a little and I had too many other things to do. Remembering that the paint we'd used for the spare room the previous week had not washed out of my jeans, I headed for the shed.

Ten minutes later, it was done. The neck of that particular t-shirt had always been a little tight for me, so I hacked it down with a pair of scissors. Then I did the sleeves and base to match. I thought it looked pretty good. I showed it to another friend the following day. "It looks like something you'd get from a shop," was his comment.


Internet Weirdo t-shirt


A day later, I turned up at the phrase-coiner's house with a blank expression on my face. He smirked. "Cool t-shirt," was the verdict, then the conversation immediately turned elsewhere. Later on, he too said it looked professionally made. I showed it to Mrs Hg the day afterwards and she, to my surprise, said exactly the same thing.

So, now I'm wondering whether clothing design should also be added to that ever-increasing list of many things I might know a little about. Would you buy one, or do you know someone who would? Mugs, mouse mats, postcards? Are my fantasies a little too fevered, or should I press into service the domain name that I've just bought?

I'm only joking, of course. Except maybe I'm not. I have no idea, anything seems possible at the moment.

Posted by Hg on Monday 29 June 2009 at 14:23.
Received 4 comments so far.

Mrs Hg: I need some of that spray-on antiseptic stuff.

Hg: Do you want the wet one or the dry one?

Mrs Hg: What's the difference?

Hg: One of them's wet and the other one's dry...

Pedanticism is predictable, dull and prosaic. It's the product of a literal mind. There is a moronic simplicity to its use in humour. In general, it's a pretty unattractive quality. And yet, that never seems to stop me.

Posted by Hg on Sunday 28 June 2009 at 17:28.
Received 2 comments so far.

She felt blessed. I knew that because she told me pretty much every day as I paid her for my lunchtime sandwich. It was like a call and response ritual. "How are you today?" I'd ask her. "Oh, I'm blessed, darling," she would reply, her face a vision of pure joy. It always felt oddly intimate, even though I'd watched her have exactly the same conversation with everyone in front of me in the queue. I could hear the beginnings of the follow-up as I walked away with my carrier bag, receipt and change.

Many people gravitated towards her till. She was a one-off. She transcended her chain-store uniform, the potential invisibility of her position as checkout drone, the paradoxical "individuality" of her plastic name badge containing the prominent company logo. I didn't know what drove her unbridled optimism, though I suspected it was probably some form of evangelical worship. I was a cynical twenty-something and wasn't quite sure what to make of that. Here was a sheep that stood out from the flock.

The tiresome certainty of youth gradually mellows into the more comfortable knowledge that nothing can be stereotyped, everything might surprise. Square pegs nestle into round holes, their impossible mechanics both freely perceived and yet invisible to the eye. Tiny cogs grow, Alice-like, to become bigger than the machine itself. The world thrives on a singular equation: one to the power of infinity equals one, a never-ending calculation that wraps back on itself with ever-increasing consequences.


This is the fifteenth and final post in an online game of Consequences. To read the entire series from the beginning, start here and follow the links in each post.

Posted by Hg on Thursday 25 June 2009 at 16:38.
Received 11 comments so far.

That grouchy, dislocated feeling must be hunger, I decide. I leave the house in search of food. Crossing over the road, I stare at the cardboard cut-out of the woman in the shop window, pink and white top, a flower in her hand. Then she looks up at me. I'm definitely a bit spaced out.

I walk along the side street. Everything has edges, exists in two and a half dimensions. The sky is overcast, but the world is slightly too bright. My vision looks like stop-motion photography. A woman walks past me, pink top and white skirt. She's out of place, like an exotic flower in a skip.

At the pedestrian crossing, I wait for green. Normally I might manage a mad inter-car sprint, but today I don't trust myself. Over the street, another woman walks past dressed in pink from head to toe. Something odd is happening today, this can't just be perceptual vigilance.

I skulk across the road, grey and blue. The supermarket is a sensory assault of fluorescent light, merchandising and seething crowds. I feel like I'm wandering blindfolded into No Man's Land, hands tied behind my back. The self-service till is an agony of grating beeps and sequential coins.

I don't know why this is my way of being today. The world is a film set, even though I can't quite see the director, producer and cameras. We're all playing our parts, waiting for someone to shout "Cut" so the pretence can be dropped, the script abandoned and real life resumed.

Posted by Hg on Friday 12 June 2009 at 13:45.
Received 2 comments so far.


More guerilla scribbling: ten minutes of pre-lunch creative venting this morning. The pens are running dry and the door & filing cabinet should have been bigger, but that's how it goes. My head still thinks these things are crap, but my heart says that at least they're my crap.

Thanks to The Man Of Many Names And Little Discernible History for the retrophobic inspiration.

Posted by Hg on Thursday 11 June 2009 at 12:45.
Received 0 comments so far.

I promise I'm not going to start bombarding you with blog posts about that band; despite superficial appearances, this one's about me. The video that I made with Didi Bergman and Driver a couple of weeks ago was actually my second. The first was shot at the end of April and took a little longer to put together while I got to grips with iMovie.

I was down in Rochester with Mr Crook, working on the website. Later in the day we went along to Ranscombe Studios, where he'd decided to record the vocals for Impossible Loss Brigade, a track that would feature on the band's new EP, The Lost Belongings (released 4 July). I offered to video it as part of the ongoing band documentation.

It's weird standing in the recording booth with someone, listening to them sing. They're wearing headphones and can hear the music. You can't. You get to watch an unintentional a cappella performance. The video came out fairly well, given the low light conditions. Mr Crook suggested that the band should use it to support the release.

Fair enough, I said, but it's a bit brown and murky. It'd look better with some sunny street footage mixed in. A walk down Rochester High Street, maybe. He handed me a can of Stella. "Come on then." What... now? "Yeah." So off we went. Two hours later, we had thirty minutes of material - mostly opportunistic, with only one "staged" scene.

After a few weeks of learning and experimentation, this was the end result:



Hollywood won't be quaking in its boots, but I'm happy with it - especially given that it's the first time I've ever done anything like this. It's shot on a mobile phone, the same one I've been using for gig recordings for the last two years. It's lo-fi, Jim, but not as we know it. Most importantly, it's got me thinking about what else I might do next.

Posted by Hg on Wednesday 10 June 2009 at 21:15.
Received 4 comments so far.

I considered myself a loner for a large part of my life. Frequently finding myself in situations where I felt little in common with the people around me, I retreated into my head. It was the one place I truly felt at home, an inner world whose idiosyncratic topology was mine to explore. Yet I wasn't fundamentally a hermit-like introvert. Participatory by instinct, I would sit on the sidelines of groups, appreciating the company but never feeling part of what was going on.

I tried to rationalise my situation. I told myself that I was the "strong but silent" type: an observer, an anthropologist, a seeker of innate truth. The fact is, I lacked sufficient confidence to join in. Something within me held back. I revealed little of myself, so there was nothing that people could get a grip on to pull me closer into their circle. I know now that there's no strength in silence. You are who you are, best say it loud and proud.

Over the past few years, I've loosened up, let go, started to trust more - both myself and others. I've always been rather suspicious of those who want to join groups: to quote SPK, how can you be scene and not herd? I think I fear surrender, dilution, the loss of my individuality. However, the past few years have revealed this to be a rather misguided anxiety. If you're in danger of losing yourself, you've simply joined the wrong group of people.


This is the opening post in an online game of Consequences. Each successive entry begins with the closing lines of its predecessor. Entries are 250 words long and linked thematically. The running order was decided randomly and the entire series is as follows:

Posted by Hg on Monday 08 June 2009 at 15:10.
Received 12 comments so far.


Over the past few months I've been working on something that I started referring to in my head, and then eventually on Twitter, as The Murderous Project: a website for Lupen Crook & The Murderbirds (occasionally NSFW). After a couple of years of on-off conversations about the band's web presence, things stepped up a gear three months ago. The site went live in mid-May. Now seems to be a good time to tell you about it in a bit more detail.

By the start of this year, the band members found themselves in a perplexing position. Having parted company with their locally-based record label in the Spring of 2008, they'd spent a year re-grouping and re-forming, writing and recording new material. They had mostly completed their third album, but had no idea what to do with it. They'd talked to a few record labels, but no conclusive deal had been finalised.

I went for a drink with Mr Crook at the start of March. We talked about internet-based self-publishing options for his all-but-completed novel. He wasn't sure what to do with the album. Self-release it too, I suggested. It's something they've talked about occasionally over the past year or so and now seemed to be the right time to do it. But how would we promote it, he wondered out loud. I nearly choked on my pint of Spitfire.

Cue a lengthy rant on my part about how this band is a marketer's dream. Admittedly they're something of an acquired taste, but they certainly encapsulate most of the aspects that have drawn me to music and art over the past three decades. They're musically accomplished, a beguiling mixture of melodic simplicity and frantic complexity. The lyrics are brutally honest and tangentially elusive. They're one of the best live acts I've ever seen.

It doesn't stop there - they are so much more. Their restless, multi-media creativity also encompasses painting, drawing, writing, lo-fi film & photography and even jewellery & clothing. There's a purposeful, artistic seriousness to what they do that manifests as depth and substance. There's also a healthily subversive, anti-authoritarian, prankster element to this band that riddles their output with playfulness and humour.

So, it's not that they're difficult to market. The raw materials are amazing. They'll never be mainstream - thank fuck - but there's huge potential for wider appeal. You need to be more visible, I suggested. You need people to see what a talented, prolific, funny, annoying bunch of cunts you are. You do so much on a daily basis that many people would find fascinating, if only they had access to it. You need a website.

And that was that. Ideas flowed thick and fast from that point onwards. Fundamentally it had to be a blog, of that I was convinced. I showed them what it could look like, how it would work. They quickly grasped the potential and got to grips with the concept. We bounced ideas back and forth, tried out different approaches, reacted to feedback. By the start of May we had something that was ready to face the world.

What you see might not be to your taste (who knew you could do that with a Bounty bar?). Visually it's loud, riotous and, in places, deliberately tatty. It's certainly not "finished" and there's a To Do list as long as your arm, with time and imagination the only limitations. Like the band itself, it's a work in progress. But I think - I hope - that it's doing exactly what it needs to do at this moment in time. The site stats and comments seem to back that up.

I keep joking that I want the band members to expose themselves on the internet. It wouldn't surprise me if one or more of them takes that suggestion quite literally at some point in time; a Crook in a thong has already featured in one post. More seriously, the site has four objectives at present. First, it's a place for self-expression, an outlet for an ongoing flow of visual and audio material that hasn't been made public previously.

Second, it's a more traditional "news" vehicle for promotion: gigs, CDs, downloads, t-shirts, and so on. Third, it's an un-dependent space in which the band can build and strengthen the relationship with its fans, away from the gated, corporate communities of MySpace, Facebook, etc. Fourth, it's a means of documenting the fascinating phenomenon of the DIY, punk-driven ethos fuelling the band's current self-release initiatives.

The music business is thrashing around in agony at the moment. No one knows where things are going. What this band is doing might well be a glorious but ultimately doomed experiment. Alternatively, it might be turn out to be the dominant future model for bands and solo artists - a craft-based, artisan culture that steers music away from its temporary dalliance with commerce and back to its pre-contractual roots.

That suits this band down to the ground. Take the new EP, for example, due for release in early July. As well as downloads and "standard edition" CDs, there's a limited edition version released in a safety-pinned canvas sleeve, designed and created by Lupen Crook himself. I've been on the sidelines of this project, watching canvases being splattered and slashed, filming studio performances, driving to CD production companies on out-of-town business parks.

The whole process is fascinating. I've loved being involved, coming up with mad suggestions to be seized upon or ignored, helping to document their activities, hoping to inspire them with my boundless enthusiasm for what they're doing and, in turn, being inspired myself by their fearless, frenetic spirit. It's this level of energy and inclusiveness that, to me, makes their activities - as revealed via the website - so compelling.

So, that's the story of how I got sucked into the crooked family. As well as helping to set it up, I'm an occasional contributor to the band's website too. If you're one of those mad unfortunates who simply must read every word that I write, there's somewhere else to keep an eye on now. If I've tempted you to find out more about the band (I told myself I wouldn't sermonise, but I can't seem to help it), their site is, obviously, the right place to start.

It doesn't end here. The Murderous Project might have come to fruition, but three further sibling projects - Crooked, Regal and Bestial - have already been conceived and will be born when the time is right for labour to begin. Before then, we have to grapple with PayPal, RawRip and TuneCore to work out how the hell this EP gets released to the wider world. The learning curve is steep, but the view at the top will be amazing.

Posted by Hg on Monday 08 June 2009 at 08:10.
Received 2 comments so far.


DrunkenWerewolf issue 7 includes interviews with experimental songstress Polly Scattergood, cemented 'wrong pop' Middlesbrough band Das Wanderlust, Leeds based wonder-woman Penny Broadhurst, a feature on the American-British transition alongside an interview with Brooklyn band The Jealous Girlfriends, Tuscon's Serows and an exploration of the work of London based photographer Jenny Hardcore.

Due to other commitments, I haven't been able to contribute to this issue. This is, of course, no reason not to be interested - this is the best issue yet. For details of (free) stockists in various UK cities, or to order via PayPal & post, visit the DrunkenWerewolf MySpace page. You can also download back issues in PDF format. To keep up with the magazine online, visit the blog and the Facebook fan page.

Posted by Hg on Monday 08 June 2009 at 07:08.
Received 0 comments so far.

I was more scared of the cannula than the camera. Screw a piece of plastic into my hand and pump me full of chemicals? No way! I felt panicky, physically sick. I'd rather be undiagnosed and ill for the rest of my life than let them do that. I asked whether there was an alternative. "Well, yes... but it won't be pleasant." Fine. I'll take unpleasant over nightmare any day.

They numbed my throat with a spray. I wanted to walk into the theatre, but they insisted on wheeling me in on a trolley. It was made very clear that I needed to be patient, play my role. Relax, they said, it's going to be uncomfortable. Don't fight it. We can still drug you, if you'd prefer, but to be honest you'll recover more quickly if we don't. Quick sounded good.

I had imagined the camera as a slim fibre-optic device, a thin stalk, maybe almost as wide as a straw. Ha ha. How naive. It was black, phallic, more akin to a bike pump or a truncheon. There was no going back. They pushed it into my mouth and towards the rear of my throat. I gagged. Try to relax. More gagging. A lifetime's gagging. We're going in, he said.

It wasn't pain, exactly. More of a slow, agonising invasion. An intimacy almost beyond endurance. I drooled and retched, laughing inwardly at the surrender of my dignity while staring at the consultant in horrified fascination. He was watching my guts on the screen in front of him, piloting the camera with what looked to me, brain on fire, like a set of handlebars.

As he turned my insides out, I wondered how he was interpreting this visceral tableau of pink, red and purple. I'm going to inflate your stomach, he said, this might feel strange. How would I tell, I wondered. Then I looked down and saw my midriff swelling like a football. Retch, retch, retch. I felt faint. He steered left and right and I remembered that I'd never seen Alien.

Apparently satisfied, he started to retract the invader. The withdrawal was worse, an unbirth of searing intensity. Someone held my head still. The room was turning white, but I managed to grasp the idea that fainting would be a very, very bad thing indeed. Then it was out and I gasped and twitched like a fish out of water, working out how to breathe properly.

I was formally diagnosed: a hiatus hernia, a pause in my digestive abilities. Not bad enough to operate, not good enough to be of no concern. The next step was to be a lengthier process: a tube down my nose into my stomach, attached to a monitor clipped to my belt. FOR A MONTH. I booked the appointment, but when the time came I cancelled it the day beforehand.

That was five or six years ago. I put up with the heartburn and the frequent, undignified inability to swallow, accepting it as my lot. When I left full-time work, I started to lose the stress-induced weight that I'd put on over the years and things seemed to improve. By the start of this year, fifteen kilos lighter, the symptoms had faded away. I'm "cured", for now.

Posted by Hg on Friday 05 June 2009 at 11:06.
Received 1 comments so far.

I planted a bomb in my brain. Unlike Cameron, I have not yet given you the detonator. There might come a time when you need to use it against me. Choose your moment wisely. Defer it as long as possible for maximum benefit. Deploy it skilfully, for the greatest impact. Spare me a dull thud, give me a blaze of glory.

Posted by Hg on Friday 05 June 2009 at 09:22.
Received 1 comments so far.

Previously

Restate basic principles. The Hydra: a mythical, multi-headed monster. Eclecticism, identity and schizoid perspective personified. Unstoppable in battle: chop off... »

Posted by Hg on Tuesday 02 June 2009 at 20:56.
Received 2 comments so far.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa. Life is too interesting and I am too interested. In everything. All the... »

Posted by Hg on Monday 01 June 2009 at 21:39.
Received 1 comments so far.

Mrs Hg: Can you shave off that bloody beard please? I can't kiss you any more, it hurts too much.... »

Posted by Hg on Friday 29 May 2009 at 20:27.
Received 2 comments so far.

A suggestion made on Monday evening: shall we drink coffee, drink beer, gossip and/or make a video? We got together... »

Posted by Hg on Thursday 28 May 2009 at 23:57.
Received 0 comments so far.

Mr Hg: Oh, he's not serious... it's only banter. Mrs Hg: Banter? That's not banter, that's just taking the piss.... »

Posted by Hg on Thursday 28 May 2009 at 13:22.
Received 0 comments so far.

A couple of months ago, I came across details of a project being run by one of my oldest... »

Posted by Hg on Wednesday 27 May 2009 at 21:07.
Received 0 comments so far.

Can't stand up and be counted; lightning strikes the highest point. Nowhere to hide, except the caves under the... »

Posted by Hg on Monday 25 May 2009 at 22:08.
Received 3 comments so far.

A friend bought me a voodoo doll recently. This is what it said on the packaging: "Brave and full of... »

Posted by Hg on Monday 25 May 2009 at 16:39.
Received 2 comments so far.

Earlier

Visit the archives for a detailed list of posts in reverse chronological order, or if you're looking for something specific, try a search:

Elsewhere

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If you want to get in touch with me, you can e-mail me at Hg At [The Name Of This Blog] Dot Com.

Copyright

All original material on this site is © Hydragenic, 2002-2009. Extracts of other people's work are used for the purpose of criticism, review or news reporting, in line with the "fair dealing" (or "fair use") principle.