Stan Hoight

Watching back last night's Dodgers-Braves game and quietly thrilling to the Atlanta organist's inexplicable but undeniably sprightly rendition of the Replacements' Can't Hardly Wait.

The Beatles

Duke Reid, no longer satisfied with merely being crowned King, being crowned King by Mrs King, Mayor of Kingston.

Death in Brunswick (1990, dir: John Ruane). No other answer is acceptable.

A nation unites in not enjoying the broadcasting talents of Sam Matterface.

Oh, god, he did not just say “They’ve got to be the wonderwall.”

The Performing Right Society visited Kingston in 1965 to promote its work. One of the half dozen people to attend was John Holt, who in consequence resolutely kept his publishing. It makes me very happy every time I remember this.

Today: trying to put together a 1966 playlist but foolishly started with Please Leave My Mind and where do you go after that.

Doug Gillard’s Parallel Stride is an absolutely fantastic record and you should get on to it.

I carefully ration myself on the Clash for fear of contracting whatever it is that’s wrong with Clash enthusiasts, but I’m on a binge this week and it’s great.

Today I am mostly thinking about Bob Stinson.

I started reading Wodehouse chronologically at the start of the year for reasons which now escape me and am nearly half way (just finished Summer Lightning), with the delighted consciousness that he’s only now hitting mid-season form.

My wife’s uncle, fumbling for a name at the end of a fairly protracted lunch: “You know who I mean, leather trousers bloke.” Me: “Nick Kent?” Uncle: “Yes, him.” There’s branding for you.

I propose to spend most of today looking around corners at things in the office and grimly muttering “Daleks!”

It's 41 years to the day since the big sound clash where Jammy debuted Wayne Smith's 'Under Mi Sleng Teng didn't happen If you've never read it, here's @thequietus.com piece I wrote for the 40th anniversary of it not happening last year thequietus.com/opinion-and-...

Party time.

No cheating, your last saved picture of a celebrity is your therapist.

We should say this.

It was only when I heard the @500songspodcast.bsky.social on Creedence Clearwater Revival that I learned this wasn't written for A Charlie Brown Christmas at all, but for an unreleased 1964 documentary about Peanuts. It was reused for the special the following year.

Vince Guaraldi’s first television performance of Linus and Lucy, from 1964. youtu.be/9EMfA5_tm8Y?...

Young Punctum is fantastic from end to end and this is a magnificent and moving conclusion. Most of my minute readership doubtless already know this but if you don’t, my goodness get on to it.

Confused and disturbed by being made to laugh out loud by Sting.

Good god is Owen Jones still going.

Mary of Scotland

Today this is a “The Byrds went off the boil when they signed with Columbia” account.

Unexpected excitement in my Quality Book Club edition of E.S. Turner’s Call the Doctor: A Social History of Medical Men.

I was never younger.

I’ve listened to it while at the library and am pleased to confirm that it is also library music in that sense.

It would be really cool to see some of this *actually* being used like library music in a film or on TV. 'Jaunty Jack' is my favourite.

He wouldn’t have survived A.H. Gilkes.

The Jam’s Direction Reaction Creation features a different Rickenbacker leaning against an amp on every disc. Horrifying.

If I’d made Everything Flows I’d spend so much time admiring my handiwork I’d never get anything else done.

Fain would I kiss my Julia’s dainty leg Which is as white and hairless as an egg

Hang on, that’s what I use this for.

Chucked work to spend the day with my Telecaster. Carpe diem, motherfuckers.

Important political fact: José "Xanana" Gusmão, current Prime Minister of East Timor and its inaugural President when it regained its independence from Indonesia in 2002, is nicknamed after Sha Na Na.

Acclaim for this 1959 Air Force comedy: “Perhaps its principal distinction among British films is that it has three scenes set in men's lavatories” - Monthly Film Bulletin.

I didn’t get where I am today by not endorsing Tony Molina.

I agree that a TV critic should have a working knowledge of why Friends was fucking horrific and its creators and audience should have been ejected into space.

Say what you like about cricket, at least it’s not fucking rugby.