D is for DONE (nearly)

Typed it, printed it, bound it. The dissertation is DONE and will be handed in as soon as Bank Holiday rolls away with these disgustingly dark rainclouds. Let's take a minute to celebrate.



10,000 words on the interiors and material culture of eighteenth century country house leads inevitably to this song. I genuinely think that I may be one of a few who could talk with (no) authority and (little) confidence on fashionable furnishings and where to put your servants in your luxury country pile. Can't help but think my interest might have waned a bit later had Damian Hirst been involved and I'd had Alex James to look at. That's actually a bit of a lie: from trawling through musty, dust covered papers untouched for hundreds of years, to spending hours transcribing ant-sized letters accompanied by bowls of tea and bags of e numbers, to finally locking myself in a darkened room and bashing away at a keyboard for weeks on end, there has been a seam of enjoyment somewhere amongst the chaos.

Emerging out of the other end somewhat heavier and of a duller, pasty complexion, I've even discovered a new must-read. No word of a lie, ex Country Life architectural editor Jeremy Musson has penned a fantastic history of servants in the country house, nattily titled Up and Downstairs: The History of the Country House Servant."



There's definetly a film or two to be made out of some of the scandalous snippets included in here, the raunch factor of which rivals Jilly Cooper on a bonkbuster marathon. One that springs to mind was the valet who had "intimate relations" with not only his lady and her young daughter but the lord as well.
Gosford Park's got nothing on this.

Spending long days tapping away on the computer means that my mind has wondered to other places rather than dusty damask coverings, and the discovery of the Pretty Much Amazing music blog is getting very close to knocking old favourite Jeffmix from pride of place as my most cherished music go-to. I check up on PMA on a daily basis and store up the deliciousness of Jeff every month for his dose of genius music selection: got to say that PMA has been boshing out treat upon aural treats recently which showered like snowdrops upon the dank February of academic life. Treats like this bad boy; Kele offof Bloc Party's solo effort.



It's a complete departure from Bloc Party of yore: screaming club night, banging out electo fabulousness and definetly not meant for standing emotionally in a dark corner. Can't wait to see what the rest of the forthcoming LP "The Boxer" has in store.

About a month ago PMA linked to Delorean, a Spanish (Basque) alt. band and their chooon Stay Close from new album Subiza. Althoug I liked this song on first listen for all its jazzy mixing of synths and plaintive vocals, it's grown and grown on me like creeping ivy.



I included this song on my April playlist and (cue casual linkage)have popped it on again on my brand spanking new May spotfy list, avaliable as always from the link on the right of the blog. It's a new month which means a whole new playlist: at this very moment in time just four songs have made it on, including the new Jason Derulo whose lyrics make me think even more happily of life without the diss.

'm feeling like a star, you can't stop my shine,
I'm loving cloud nine, my head's in the sky,
I'm solo, I'm riding solo,
I'm riding solo, I'm ridin solo, sooloooo.
Yeah, I'm feeling good tonight, finally doing me and it feels so right, oh,
Time to do the things I like,

Ahem.

I can also promise you loads of 90s anthems to get loaded up on there: currently listening to 90's Floorfiller Classics which I've been sent to review and joyously rediscovering all kinds of greats. Bobby Brown is a god. For another post, another time, perhaps...

Also sorted out my comments boxes so if you want to leave your thoughts on my posts you no longer have to belong to the google network to do so. hollllaa.

© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog.

JLS = JIMP

A queue stretching two fold around the building. A visual assault of neon bunny ears and assorted multicoloured hoodies. Policemen swooping on teenage girls clutching monster bottles of Lambrini and straws. Welcome to the Manchester Apollo, with the scene set for the Saturday night performance of national treasures JLS.

I know I’m now nearer thirty than I am ten years old (fml) but when the opportunity to review JLS popped into my inbox I couldn’t resist. Too young for Take That, slightly overawed by the Christ like efforts of Westlife “Flying Without Wings” and didn’t fancy any of Steps, finally, it was my time to scream like a baby and cross fingers for a seductive wink in my direction.

Inside, the air was thick with excitement as thousands of teenage girls began to fill up every nook and cranny in a shimmering mass of sequins and eyelashes. My personal hysteria began when we reached our seats; far from a corner in the gods, the PR company had blessed us with seats just feet from the action, and inches from all the flashing neon and whistles a girl could ever wish for.

Before we could get to the good stuff, we had to sit through the tedious limbo of the support acts. First up, bizarrely and completely un-originally named “Phacebook” who smouldered in sequins and did an alright job of pretending to be Blighty’s answer to Pussycat Dolls. The seven year old in front and I weren’t very impressed. So far, so standard.




Next, a marketing mogul’s genious idea; soulful Chinese Brummie singer Stevie Hoang, living up to his Oriental roots with a raucous piano performance and bringing his own hype with a personal rapper. I felt a bit embarrassed during this one; my age gap was becoming increasingly evident as every other female in the place joined in a massive singalong. Oops.




After half an hour of Cascada and Pixie Lott on loop, FINALLY, The lights went down and I was more than ready for some action. The lads didn’t disappoint. Opening with the classic boyband entrance of appearing through the floor of the stage, kicked off the show and the screams with a stonking rendition of album track “Private”, eyes blacked out with the biggest sunglasses I’ve ever seen and washboard abs on display. Aston could probably have been cautioned for indecent exposure with a low cut hoodie ensemble that just screamed for some body oil.



With no less than five costume changes over the course of the set, the boys raced through their hits, from a heart pumping ‘Beat Again” to an electrifying “One Shot”. The bit where they arrived onstage clad in white suits and clutching roses was probably on the Stilton side of cheesy, although it took a lot of self discipline not to leg it to the front to get a rose from Oritise. Love him. Their showmanship was spectacular, managing to make every girl in the audience feel wanted (I’m talking DIRECT pointing and winking) as well as squeezing in plenty of flawless dances moves which featured more than a few glimpses of their prime beef abs. The abs. Oh, the abs. I think that once they’d realised that a nuclear scream bomb detonated upon every flash of flesh, it was probably quite hard for the guys to stop themselves.




Even though the boys had just one album of songs at their disposal, the show was nicely pimped out with the inclusion of several covers which recalled the X Factor; Gabrielle’s “If I Ever”, “dedicated to every girl in the audience” and the X Factor classic “Umbrella” complete with background video showing the boys drenched in water. Another highlight was the Michael Jackson medley which showcased each of the boys’ individual vocal abilities; from a stripped back “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” to an energetic “Beat It.” The one, tiny, weeny thing which slightly marred my enjoyment? The bloody scream-off three quarters of the way through. Annoyingly, we had Aston and JB to scream for and I’d decided since first setting eyes on Marvin in tight leather trousers that he was the one for me. Cue three minutes of solid noise as the boys encouraged the hoardes to reach window-shattering decibel levels.



The finale arrived on an exultant wave of screams and hands in the air as final backflips were exhibited to all time crowd pleaser “Everybody in Love”, putting an end to a faultless show that felt too big for the cosy snug of the Apollo. The dazzling dance routines and charisma are just made for stadium venues. Just as well the stadium tour’s sorted for the end of the year then.
I’ll see you down the front. I’m going to get a bloody rose even if it means infiltrating the flashing bunny ranks and decimating them all with my twenty two year old strength.



In an attempt to restore any vestige of credibility, here’s the lovely Two Door Cinema Club with “I Can Talk”, a Jeffmix Hot Track. Jeff makes the best mixes known to man, available on itunes and it’s all free, free, free. He’s such a legend, he even helped me plan my tourist trail of Toronto when I popped over in the summer. Check him out, and suck on this little beast of a song.

http://jeffmix.com/