corporate gig = court jester?

A quick extra blog, here’s an interesting vid of (excellent) lefty US singer-songwriter Jill Sobule performing at the D: All Things Digital conference, which is run by Rupert Murdoch’s people. She sings a sweet song written ‘for’ Rupert Murdoch.

Imagine being hired for this kind of event and then being asked to be specifically on-topic, yet non critical! Everyone knows who everyone is here: they know she’s a lefty, she knows her co-star runs Fox. I like Sobule and she manages it well but there is something uncomfortable at the heart of this relationship.

If she did ever feel debased, how would she express it? Wouldn’t want to jeopardise a lucrative relationship. For now at least, she’s owned. In an odd way this follows up what I was trying to say in my Morning Star column about Britains Got Talent. She’s not even a court jester here: too soft, doesn’t really speak truth to power, just makes a joke.

saving the economy in one go / last night

Yesterday I realised the ultimate right-wing dream: a one-step solution to the global economic crisis that doesn’t involve scary socialism. Just make a big (cost-free) ethical shift instead of these crazy-expensive fiscal shifts… here we go: let’s legalise the black markets. Drugs, the sex trade, the movement of labour and suddenly some of the world’s biggest, most stable and profit-making trades become a sizeable chunk of the ‘official’ economy. All the resources currently spent fighting them can be channelled into their development and the deregulators get to crow victory. A shot in the arm, if you like.

Really enjoyed yesterday’s Manchester jaunt. Marc Riley is a total gent, his team are lovely and we rocked it. It’s dangerous having a bar so near the studio though – especially with gaps between each performance – because the band has a swift one after get-in, another swift one after soundcheck and then one between each song.

Not me, I was driving.

Only bummer was, we adjourned to a highly recommended curry house, where everyone else had a delicious meal but I had a shite one. My floridly-described main course was just sag aloo with an onion. Asked for it mild, got it medium-strong. The tarka dal was viciously hot as well and even the pilau wasn’t much cop. And they forgot my mango lassi (though it was the nicest bit when it came). So I don’t care that the rest of the party was raving, I was gutted. Then three hours down the motorway I nearly lost my rag in Welcome Break, where it took thee different attempts to score a pathetic excuse for a coffee. Both Coffee Nation machines in WHSmith were bust and the staff were a bit ‘confused’. Especially once the milk started running and running. So I was forced into Coffee Primo, Welcome Break’s pretend café brand. It’s the worst! The staff can’t make hot drinks for shit, you get a filthy lukewarm milk’n'dirt mess and you don’t realise it’s undrinkable until you’re back on the road, doing 80 miles an hour with nowhere to throw it. The canteen was full of flies as well. God I hope their IT department tracks back!

btw (praising Chris Huhne for once)

btw Don’t let the Tories paint themselves white on economics this week. Chris Huhne pointed this out on Friday’s Any Questions: Last year, John ‘euch!’ Redwood’s Tory report on fiscal regulation said: “We see no need to continue to regulate the provision of mortgage finance,” (!!) and at last year’s Tory Party Conference, shadow chancellor George ‘loud sniffing noise in the loo’ Osbourne said: “[this report] sets out how we liberate our economy to compete with the likes of India and China, cut government regulation, planning restriction and red tape … this is the most impressive and comprehensive analysis of the economy produced by any British party”. (!!!) Even Cameron called it a “great” report.

As Huhne concluded, “The Tories were cheerleading de-regulation all the way to the bankruptcy of Northern Rock.”

Howard, the… Duck!

Last night I tricked Howard from Halifax into filming his suicide, for use as a hard-hitting allegorical short film about the economic collapse. I phoned his agent on the pretext of casting for a BBC one-off drama version of Death Of A Salesman. His agent was my sister’s friend Phill, although I have no idea why. Phill is a lovely fella but he’s not an agent at all, let alone the representative for the round-faced speccy Halifax man.

Anyway, I booked Howard for an advance fee of £10, plus he wanted tuna sandwiches and ginger beer, plus a high repeat percentage and a small percentage of advertising revenue, even though there are no adverts on the BBC. Then we all went to an office complex in Bournemouth and shot what we pretended was the first day of this extensive, expensive TV movie, except that everyone there – crew, hospitality, actors – were all just pretending, in order to get the one vital scene, which was Howard shooting himself in the face with a gun. I swapped the blanks myself.

Once that was done, we all went home and I phoned his agent back to apologise for the tragic accident and explain that the BBC had cancelled our production out of respect for Howard’s family, so we had to quit. 

Then I edited together this shit-hot snuff short out of the one scene that mattered, with some prime Johnny Cash in the background like the final scene of Generation Kill. I can’t remember which song though. When I woke up this morning, for a few seconds I was so convinced it was real, I was itching to get on my Mac to look again at the film, because it was an anti-capitalist masterpiece and Howard had truly died for a Good Cause.

I was gutted when I realised.