The Mac is back

I went to see Fleetwood Mac last night. I am a massive fan. Massive. I don't think a week has gone by since I first bought Rumours that I haven't listened to them. I saw them on their first reunion tour back in London last September at the O2 and the differences between the two shows left me wanting to put a few words down on metaphorical paper.

I should probably apologise first. 10 months of living in Canada has taught me, if nothing else, that it's always good to start with an apology - just to cover all your bases. But this will probably be a very sycophantic, rambling and ultimately boring post. I'm not a music journalist, a writer or anything really, other than someone who can type. And let`s be honest, I'm such a huge Fleetwood Mac fan that Stevie Nicks could wander onto the stage in jeans and a hoody, half cut and announce that the band just isn't really feeling it, SOZ and I would still probably declare it one of the best experiences of my life. "Man the way she sauntered onto stage, talk about presence,  y'know". So, yeah, in advance, sorry and all that.

Anyway, so last night was hands down the best gig I think I have ever been to. It has left The Breeders gig I saw in 2008 a toppled champion. The Mac were incredible and notably better than when I saw them last year. Last year will always hold an extremely special place in my heart because it was the first time of seeing them live and because I was with the wife and everything is better when you are with your one.

That said, the O2 is not a great venue. It's huge - and therefore I'd challenge any band to really succeed in mustering a satisfying atmosphere. In my opinion the only song which got the entire stadium going was Go Your Own Way. Whereas last night, it was a much smaller and better suited venue. The acoustics were incredible and the atmosphere was fantastic. It was almost palpable - which is more than I can say for the O2.

But the biggest difference was Christine McVie. McVie is hands down my favourite member of Fleetwood Mac. Consistently, my favourite Mac song has been You Make Loving Fun, and without McVie Fleetwood Mac were incomplete. They, understandably, didn't play any of her tracks and to me the set always seemed to be missing something.

Seeing them onstage last night - all 5 where they should be, they looked complete. I can't describe how happy it made me to see McVie jamming away at her keyboard. But more than that - she brings a real warmth to Fleetwood Mac. Her songs aren't heavy guitar, Buckingham esque anthems - they are keyboard driven. Her vocals too have a real warmth to them which brought a depth which was missing to the harmonies on the previous occasion. And her songs were just fantastic, to put it bluntly. You make loving fun, Don't Stop, Everywhere, Say That You Love Me, Over My Head, Little Lies and the entire set finished with Songbird. I could not have been happier.

Overall, the band felt much more... together. At the O2 there was a lot of hand holding between Nicks and Buckingham as if to say "look how much we still love each other. We are going to be best friends forever." which to me, felt a little forced and over the top. There was a bit of that last night, but really no where near as much and it seemed more genuine. Even the backdrop animations (or whatever you would call them) were better, just more engaging and exciting. I think they had also put more graft into adjusting the songs so that Nicks no longer had to reach such high notes and it really, really showed. They are the songs that you know and love, but with a more mature, deeper sound almost. Really excellent.

I won't dribble on forever about how amazing they were. I feel incredibly lucky and dare I say, #blessed even. I will just finish with what was a standout highlight of the show for me. 

Nicks told this story about how when she was living in San Francisco with Lindsay, there was this clothes shop called `The Velvet Underground`(amazing), which was where all the successful female artists living in San Fran went to buy their clothes. So she saved up her money for a couple of months and went to check it out. Upon arriving, it immediately became apparent that she had no where near enough money to buy anything at all. She gave quite a detailed description of the shop and how the floor was elaborately decorated with lace and paper flowers - it was cool. And then she said she had this overwhelming premonition that she would one day be in a successful band with Lindsay and that she would be able to afford to buy clothes at the Velvet Underground.

So I'm back, to the Velvet Underground / Back to the floor, that I loved / To a room with some lace and paper flowers / Back to the gypsy that I was. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AM_iTNtdvYM 

Canada: WERK

I have been very slack about blogging recently, but then I am very busy and important (lies) and lazy.

My first post about life in Canada was about finding somewhere to live, which I did with an incredibly fortuitous amount of ease, #blessed. So I just want to write about finding WERK. 

It was tough for a few weeks. I hate being unemployed. I can entertain myself as well as the next person, but not having anyone to play with really loses its appeal after a week or so. Also living in a huge and unfamiliar house wasn't ideal. I found myself at one point creeping around the kitchen in a state of terror because of a very loud and persistent growling noise which was emitting from a mystery locaiton. I couldn't determine if it was a cougar (unlikely, admittedly)  or a very angry owl/pigeon. I had no housemate to consult and the signal the growling was sending was that I would be best to get the fuck out, asap, which I did, dignity thrown to the wind. I subsequently found out it was actually the fridge making the noise. 

This however encouraged me to leave the house and to relocate permanently to the Vancouver Public Library. There I spent hours pretending not to be watching "It's always sunny in Philadephia", whilst trying to subtly eat falafel without being told of by a roaming librarian. Fortunately my years at University have left me highly trained in terms of avoiding overly zealous librarians. In between watching it's Always sunny and eating falafel I would occasionally apply to a job on craigslist. Which was a mammoth waste of time and did the square root of fuck all in terms of making me feel an iota more confident that I was definitely employable and it was just a matter of time. Nothing is worse than replying to an ad, which is almost definitely a scam and may or may not require you to retire all morals, principles and ethics for which you are definitely overqualified for and yet still here nothing back from. Imagine doing that 10+ times a day and you can start to think, maybe it is me after all, 

I was rescued from the very brink of despair however by the reassurance that I was not alone. Whilst looking in the job section of Craigslist I saw a post with the title "WHY CAN'T I GET A JOB". That looks like something I'd be good at I thought, lets investigate further. Alas, it was not a call for a position which solely required you to endlessly list your faults but a rant. I love a good rant and this one was particularly brilliant. Some woman had clearly just reached the end of her tether and was venting for all and sundry to see. It felt very encouraging to read that others were facing similar struggles. I evidently had been perhaps slightly over the top in my endless whinging about not finding work as anyone I shared it with assumed that I was the anonymous author. 

I finally had a breakthrough (or so I thought), when I got a call from a recruiter to come and have an interview. Off I scurried, suit hastily uncrumpled from bottom of rucksack and hair tamed enough that it didn't block the sun, ready to try and impress... 

Things didn't go great. The offices were on the ground floor, and were made entirely of glass. Which was obviuosly distracting - but  more so for the bloke conducting the interview than for me. When it came to the end of the interview and I was asked if I had any questions I asked why he kept looking out the window. Needless to say I never heard from him again and I cursed myself for somehow managing to channel a version of Hugh Grant who very occasionally cuts right to the chase with no forethought to consequences. 

Anyway, it all worked out in the end and I plan on writing soon about my attempts to make friends at work by waving. IT'S GOING TO BE GRIPPING. 

Canada: Step 1

I moved to Canada in February. I knew literally no one when I arrived here, and this is no exaggeration. Life circumstances have meant that I've never had to find roommates on gumtree/spare room etc, but obviously moving to a new country where I was starting to consider the girl who worked in 7/11 who I'd over excitedly talked to about the fact they sell cadburys chocolate here (FYI it's not the same, it's rank) the closest thing I had to a friend, moving in somewhere with strangers was clearly the best option.

So I did what all Vancouverites for some inexplicable reasons seem to do on these situations, I used craigslist. My knowledge of craigslist was pretty limited before I moved here. My impression of it was something along the lines of that if you're looking for a short-lived life craigslist is your best bet for finding someone who is willing to step up and help you. That sounds super!

However, once I'd manned up and told myself that moving to a new country was all about the challenges and if that involved being horribly maimed and possibly killed then so be it. I then had to get past the fact that craigslist is the crappest website that has ever existed. When I was 11 and the internet FIRST started, I made a website in my IT class, it took me half an hour and if memory serves right was a documentation of how much I loved my cat, Scott. This, was better than craigslist. And yet despite the fact it looks like the internet with a permanent hangover and is basically drawn in crayon, everyone uses it. So I used it too.

Now like I said, I've never done this before, so I did a bit of googling to get some tips. And obviously, it was the housing equivalent of googling "I have a cough what does this mean" which was that I was probably going to die. No matter whose ad I had responded to, the chances were I was going to be killed. But the best thing to do was alert someone you love, someone who cares about you that you're going to see a strangers house and that if you're not back in 45 minutes, call the police, call the army, whatever, ACTION is required. This is a challenge when the closest you have to someone who might care about you in  the entire city is a crackhead who thinks you look like a soft touch.

However, as should be fairly obvious from this post, I did not get horribly maimed or killed. Thanks for nothing, internet! Step 1, complete.

Harry Potter quizzes. The secret nightmare.

I am in the midst of an identity crisis. I have spent many hours staring into the distance, feeling the wind whip across my face and getting blurry eyed all the time thinking... “Who am I?”.

This is, I hasten to add not because of any deeper spiritual or existential crisis. Although I maintain that existential crises and small talk are the only two things I’m actually any good at in life (they help each other out, you see), this has actually all been spurred on by something much more mundane. And that would be Harry Potter.

I have a tendency to spend all my time focussing on one thing at a time, it will dominate my thoughts, my dreams and my chat. This tendency is part of the reason I have to restrict myself when watching zombie related tv/films, because I will become a twitching mess who only wants to talk about the zombie apocalypse and doesn’t even care that The Great British Bake Off is on and that Paul Hollywood has trimmed his beard. Pretty frightening times. So whilst I am now at a stage where I know my limits when it comes to, say zombies, it turns out I do not know them when it comes to Harry Potter.

Part of the reason this is though is because it’s all been a rather subconscious process. I happened to watch a few of the Harry Potter films which were being shown over Christmas and then I happened to do a lot of driving where I like to pretend to be nodding and tapping along to some new band on Radio 1, just like I’m down with the kids when obviously I’m actually just listening to Harry Potter on audiobook. Which are awesome. So, it’s not like I was actively focussing on HP all the time, I’ve not felt compelled to re-read the books - life is too short to inflict that many capital letters upon oneself – and yet I still found it creeping into my thoughts.

And so I started to ask my friends. Big shout out to my friends (hey there), they put up with a lot of questions from me. I’m pretty keen on questions. I met a pregnant woman in the kitchen of the office the other day and I fired questions at her for about 15 minutes. I think she was almost on the verge of faking labour just to escape the barrage. She was new to it though. My friends however, well they know what to expect. I think I mainly targeted the lot which had gone through the first round of “what would you do in the zombie apocalypse” last time, so they were well prepped for round two.

Round two was, which Hogwarts house would you be in?

If you don’t read/watch/have any interest in Harry Potter and if Hogwarts sounds like something I really shouldn’t be talking about publically, then just stop reading now because the rest of this post is likely to either bore you or scar you. Possibly both. Take it from me, the author of this – quit whilst you’re ahead. Life is too short.

For all others (hey there, future me), lets continue.

So turns out the majority – I’d say approx. 75-85% of my friends thought they would be in Slytherin. Straight off the bat, no hesitations, most replied with variations on “um, probably Slytherin, if I’m honest”. They would then usually slack the living shit out of all of the other houses with particular emphasis on Hufflepuff.

I’d like to take this opportunity now to state that I am unequivocally, a Hufflepuff. Not by choice, mind. Not by some kind of “oh well, you know, I think I’m a good all rounder so probably Hufflepuff”, no none of that. I am firmly in the category of OTHER. Think about it, what is Hufflepuff’s defining feature? I think most people think that it'“nice”. Nice. Which is, the worst adjective there is. But really, I think it's actually just not having quite enough of the other substances/fiber to truly belong in any of the other house.

So I resigned myself to being a Hufflepuff, fine, whatever. As long as no one can take away my patronus from being a Honey Badger, I’m not that bothered. But then a small voice of protest started to nag away at me. And I thought, you know, I've called myself a Hufflepuff, but that’s not to say that it’s definitely the truth. Why have I resigned myself to a house which is made up of the words “huff” and “puff” when I haven’t even asked THE INTERNET. How can I truly call myself a Hufflepuff if I haven’t asked THE INTERNET? Ridiculous. So I did. I asked the Internet. And this is where things started to get complex.

Initially it all seemed pretty straight forward, first couple of quizzes were all “Hufflepuff, gutted” but I wasn't sure about them. I mean, some of the questions went along the lines of:

Q: You find £20 next to a stray cat in the street, do you:

a) Pocket the money

b) BURN THE MONEY

c) Give the money to the cat and call the RSPCA

d)  Use the money to set up a small cat foster home, which you invest all of your life savings into and ensure that all present and future cats can live in a safe, free, democratic society. Forever.

They were pretty weird and I wasn't taking their answers as the be all and end all. So I tracked down, the ultimate quiz. This bad boy was like 120 questions long. It took me about 3 years to complete start to finish, it was intense. I thought to myself, whatever the outcome, this is thorough, I can trust it. Yep, no real surprises there when I got Hufflepuff.

Should have just left it there – one of my friends was determined to find “notable Hufflepuffs” aside from Cedric Diggory. A couple of hours later she texted me back talking about “the one which went out with Harry Potter for a bit”. That would be Cho Chang, a Ravenclaw. Brilliant.

However, all is not lost. I thought to myself, I’ll do one more. I’ll do one more reputable one. A BUZZFEED QUIZ. That’s like the one quiz to rule them all and in the darkness bind them or something. Well, imagine my surprise when I got Slytherin! Apparently I don’t give a shit about anyone else and I’m always “leader of the pack”. Well I’m really not so sure about that. I listened to Leader of the Pack when I was about 14 and vowed to myself never to put myself in such danger as to be a leader. Lurking at the back making unhelpful comments, that’s me! Which is perhaps more in line with the “Harry Potter character” quiz I subsequently did, when I got Ron Weasley!

That one was even meaner, it told me that I had the emotional range of a teaspoon. I didn't really know how to feel about that, but then I suppose that’s to be expected.

So there you have it, I’m in a daze of Hufflepuff/Slytherin/Ron Weasley confusion. I really wish I had followed in my Dad’s footsteps more. I asked him which house he would be in and he laughed and replied:

“Well, obviously Gryffindor.”

Even my response of MASSIVE CLAIM bounced off him in his happiness at his decision. Admirable, really.

Anyway, I would just like to finish that I have been on a small journey of self discovery throughout this post and I've realised that maybe it’s not actually Harry Potter that I've been focusing on…but quizzes. Shiiiit. Further proof to this - I recently did a Mean Girls character quiz and came out as Karen Smith. You know, the one who doesn't know how to spell ‘orange’? Well according to the internet again, it’s basically a small miracle that I managed to complete a quiz at all. Well done me! So for writing a blog post about Harry Potter I surely should be on track for some kind of special achievement award/recognition/ceremony. Going to stay quietly confident about that one.

Desert Island Discs - Horsley edition

In anticipation of my (inevitable) future fame and glory plus a load of other reasons which I won't bang on about, I've been thinking about my desert island discs. Now, I know that technically you're only allowed 8, but given that this is my fictional island and the chances of me ever meeting Kirsty Young are pretty slight, I've decided to up it to 10.

If I keep blogging and - given that I've been doing this malarky for 4 or so years now, the chances are I may keep it up for a while longer, then I think I'll do another list at some point. Not in a week or so, but a few years down the line. I love the evolution of music taste and choices. Ask me what my desert island disc choices were 4 years ago and it would have featured no Fleetwood Mac. Ask me 10 years ago and it would have featured a lot of shit and the Pixies (if could have 11 I reckon Hey would have been a very strong contender. Cracking track.)

So who knows what my music taste will be like in a few years, but right now it's like this:

1. I have to open with The Beatles. I absolutely love The Beatles, and whittling it down to just one track, was incredibly difficult. And yet, my decision is final. To me this is the sound of the summer. This song just encapsulates everything about lazy summers and sunshine. It just sounds like sunshine. Absolutely wonderful stuff. So here, my first choice.

Dear Prudence, The Beatles.

2. Ok next, obvious. Has to be Fleetwood Mac. My love for the Mac is eternal and Rumours is a top 3 favourite album without a doubt. I have blogged in the past about why Rumours is such a good album so I won't repeat myself but the album has huge sentimental value for me. I wasn't into Fleetwood Mac before I moved to London, I was vaguely familiar with them of course, but really, I knew nothing about the band or their music. I bought Rumours on a whim because I had heard good things. This album therefore, is the album for my first year in London, my best year in London, the year of going out and having an absolute fucking blast. Great times. I have chosen this track especially because it is a track which has slowly established itself as my favourite after many many listens of the album. Obviously the clear stand outs are Dreams, Go your own way and The Chain and don't get me wrong, I absolutely love them, they are what make Rumours one of the best albums of all time. But something about this one...something about the intro bass and Christine McVie's voice, not to mention the back story behind it (that sleeping with her lighting director was better than her husband and band bassist...), well it all just combines to make a pretty glorious song.

You Make Loving Fun, Fleetwood Mac 

3. No 3 was always going to be in my top 10. I don't even need to offer an indepth explanation of why, you just need to listen to it. One of my favourite albums and a song which you connect with, no matter what your mood.

Wish you were here - Pink Floyd

4. Part of the reason I love wish you were here is because of the lyrics, the vocals, there is so much depth to it. But I love a good instrumental too, and track one is often the stand out track on an album. It certainly is on this album, what an intro. It's a satisfying and rhythmic sound which I find myself wishing would never stop. So here's the extended version:

Intro, the xx 

5. No 5 is one of my steadfast go-to songs. You know when you're flicking through your collection and despairing that you have nothing that you want to listen to, this usually comes to my rescue. Tap footingly good, it's great to stride around to and sing along loudly to in the car and and... and anything really. It is an absolute tune. Horsley fact.

Stuck in the middle with you - Stealers Wheel

6. Like a cup of tea. One of my favourite things.

Alexi Murdoch - All of my days

7. I''m not great at feelings. The internet told me that I had the emotional range of a teaspoon recently. Which is pretty harsh coming from something which is 90% cats and morons, but there you go. But I make up for not being great at feelings with my choice of feelings music. Whenever I'm having particularly strong ones I reflexively put on this track, again from one of my all time favourite albums (KID A), a true gem:

How to disappear completely, Radiohead.

8.  My second Mac choice of the list. Just a beautiful ballad, and again the emotional intensity behind it shines through behind such delicate music and lyrics. I never tire of listening to this, although of course it isn't, it feels personal to me, it's a song which I keep close to my heart.

Landslide, Fleetwood Mac

9. A band which I have only discovered in the past year or so. From a wonderful album this track has just slowly grown and grown on me with every listen. The sound is so warm.

Lonesome Dreams - Lord Huron 

10. And finally, last but not least. Big Al. Because, what an absolute champion. What an absolute tune.

All I really want - Alanis Morissette

Shire life (i)

"Hi. Where's Myrtle?"

Myrtle is our dog. And 99 out of 100 times, these are the first words of greeting spoken in this house. And by all family members, not just me. I'm more of a "Hi-is-there-tea-where's-myrtle". (I communicate in an incomprehensible mumble my mother never tires of telling me). So despite having flown back to the nest which I so proudly flew three years ago, I have subsequently been, firmly replaced. 

Myrtle does dominate pretty much everything in shire life. Practically every evening there is a battle of wits where Myrtle and I size each other in a fight for the one cushion there is available to sit on. Myrtle is always backed by my parents, who look down on us from their respective chair/sofa and laugh uproariously when Myrtle turned ninja jumps on the bloody thing whilst my back is turned for a SPLIT second and I have to sit on the floor. Or go to my room and sulk, obviously, with echoes of "well it is her cushion, Anna" reverberating bitterly in my ears.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, my parents are convinced that Myrtle is the most well behaved dog out of all the dogs that have ever existed, including Lassie. Sometimes I feel like I'm in some kind of parallel universe where in a different life Myrtle is actually some toddler called Caligula who rules Highgate play groups with an iron fist. Maybe this is a slight exaggeration, Myrtle may be a bit thuggish, but she's no Caligula. Agrippina Minor.. mebbe #classicistgags. Anyway she is disobedient and on almost every walk which I take her on, I inevitably end up losing my temper and shouting obscenities at her. Despite what my mother says, "Myrtle, come!" does not work, whereas "MYRTLE YOU BLOODY DOG COME BACK RIGHT NOW YOU LITTLE ******" works a charm. As one of my friends who witnessed the process once commented mildly - the sounds of the shire would be very different were it not for your walks with Myrtle. 

Indeed, many things about my life in the shire would be very different were it not for Myrtle. The things is, the shire is very...shire like. People wonder why I'm always banging on about the zombie apocalypse and why I have such a comprehensive plan come the inevitable outbreak (grab some crisps and a bottle opener, head to the cellar). It's because, sometimes on weekends you can find yourself wondering if maybe the zombie apocalypse has happened, and just no one in the shire has noticed. It really is, quite remote. So remote in fact, that sometimes it is quite easy to forget that you're not the only one out and about. I was out with Myrtle yesterday, and whilst walking along one of our quite country roads I was keeping myself and the dog entertained with a particularly moving performance of Ironic by Alannis Morisette. So involved was I that I completely failed to notice that a car was waiting patiently for me to get out of the way and it was only when my accomponying dance moves required a 360 degrees spin that I eventually clocked him. Mortifying? Oh yes. But if there's one thing that years of mortifying experiences have taught me, the best thing to do is brazen the bloody thing out. Yank the dog out of the way, don't stop singing, and give the chap a hearty wave. Ignore the fact that he looks like he is suppressing either tears of laughter or very bad heart burn and carry, jauntily on. Or you can just take a bow. Whatever you feel comfortable with.

I have titled this post Shire life (i) because there is more to my life here than the dog, although it probably doesn't seem like that right now. I know that all previous posts I've labelled as being Part 1 with the intention of encouraging/shaming me into writing part 2 have never been completed, but this is 2014! Things are (probably) different now. So stay tuned, etc.