Apparently I have a doppelgänger. Two separate pals on two separate occasions have sworn, hand on heart, that they have seen a fella with not just my physical appearance but gait and stance striding around the mean streets of Reading. Who is this man? Does he have friends who tell him of the peculiar, haunted-looking stranger with his face scurrying about Dingtown? Are we destined to meet in the future? When we do, will that crack the surface of reality? Whoever you are, mysterious twin, if by some happenstance you come across this message, hit me up and we’ll have a beer together.
Please don’t be a teetotaler. That would be a version of me I wouldn’t want to meet.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, whoever you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
The Tin Roof Blowdown by James Lee Burke. I’ve been meaning to try JLB’s work for a while, so cheerily snagged a copy of the aforementioned when I spotted it in a National Trust book nook. Set in the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, it follows New Orleans cop Dave Robicheaux as he contends with a city in ruins, murdered looters and a psychopath with intentions towards his family. The Tin Roof Blowdown is widely considered to be Burke’s masterpiece, and I can only concur. Horrific, unflinching and angry, it’s not an easy read. But honestly, I think it’s essential and worryingly relevant as a bulletin from a country which is losing its mind and its soul as we watch.
Rob is watching…
Shrinking is back on Apple TV. Go watch. I won’t tell you twice.
Rob is listening…
to Dead Man’s Pop, a big ole mess of Replacements live tracks and rarities. Imagine my delight in discovering a tranche of songs they recorded in what sounds like a highly-refreshed session with Tom Waits. It’s all adorably ramshackle and teetering on the edge of a catastrophic face plant, but that’s both very Replacements and where the fun is. The highlight for me—this woozy stumble through Ringo Starr’s I Can Help.
Rob is eating…
I enjoy cooking in other people’s kitchens. Obviously, the groove and flow of your own space, where you can reach without looking to find the salt or oregano, where you can lob veg peelings into the recycling bin without really looking, is a happy place. But there’s value in being forced to slow down and think a bit more.
Thusly, last week I helped out with the Sunday roast at my lovely in-laws. Lamb, a meat I don’t cook very often. A half-leg, similarly unfamiliar. So I treated it the same way I’d deal with any big lump of animal protein. Within the bounds of what was available on the day, which meant a lot of dried herbs and non-fancy oil. Store-cupboard cookery. My favourite.
I made up a paste of oil, dried Italian herb mix zhuzzed up with a bit of oregano, garlic powder and salt. I went Norman Bates on the meat, stabbing it all over then rubbing the paste into the cuts. Into the oven, 90 mins at 180, then rested for half an hour while we finished off veg and made some gravy. Tender, full of flavour, a banging Sunday lunch.
Not quite as fab as last week’s pie, but I feel like I’m on a roll with the big dinners at the moment.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
This is magnificent. Swipe through, and prepare to have feels about that Darcy chap you never realised you could have.
I am a reader. If, on clicking a link, I’m directed to a video, I am quite likely to close the tab and move on with my day. There is a reason I present to the world in the guise of a newsletter, and why you will always be my Readership. To those who say reading is dead—the evidence suggests otherwise.
It’s Friday night, you’re warm and fed and ready for distraction. ‘Let’s find something to watch.’ Ah, there’s the problem. Unless you’re in the middle of a boxset or there’s a film you really want to check out, you will come up against the most first-world of first-world problems—too much choice. And we always seem to be offered the same versions of stuff we’ve already watched. To fair, it’s not all on the algorithm. We can’t tell the machine what we want if we don’t know ourselves. It’s what makes us human, and the Friday night dilemma such a massive ballache…
A great bit on Vittles about Gibraltar, its food scene and the sad reductionism which strips a vibrant and unique place down to the label of ‘Britain-by-the-sea’. Like our little island isn’t you know, surrounded by the stuff.
Having our pudin and eating it too
I’m delighted to see that UKTVSF classic Blake’s 7 is getting a reboot. The darkest, most cynical of 70s telly shows, which frankly out-harshes a lot of the mainstream stuff, has the characters and potential to do a Battlestar Galactica. Let’s put it like this—B7 shared the wobbly sets and questionable effects of Doctor Who, but was always a much more grown-up proposition.
How excited am I? Well, I offered up my own attempt at a restart back in 2014, as part of a Blake’s 7 month on Excuses and Half Truths. There’s even a three-hour long podcast if you have the patience…
More 70s SF, with a Ninth Art flag. Tom at Freaky Trigger is taking a long walk through the 2000AD archives, and has landed at one of the venerable comic’s great early achievements—the 25-issue Judge Dredd story, The Cursed Earth. One writer, two artists leapfrogging each other, and an ending, in its own way, as harsh as that of Blake’s 7.
The resistance to tyranny in Minneapolis is deeply heartening, showing that despite my worries and cynicism, there is still good in America. There is still heart in America. There are heroes who choose to show their refusal to bow to Tango Hitler by lobbing dildoes at his shock troops.
Short kings, long gods, curved menaces.
An extraordinary story of codes, language, computation and the extraordinary achievement of a young Chinese girl 1600 years ago. Fair warning, this is very deep and explores mathematical ideas quite deeply. You may need to skip past some bits, but I urge you, stick with it. The overall picture builds into an extraordinary whole.
A delicious takedown of the new dramedy loosely based on the comedy career of John Bishop. Grainne Maguire knows the funny, and she does not hold back on tearing big holes in the assumptions and male privilege at play in a boring film about a boring comedian. Come back to me when the biopic on Harry Hill gets green-lit.
Last up, a charming conversion from two actors about their musical careers. I’ve featured Michael Shannon’s R.E.M. covers project before, but did not know about Hank Azaria’s Springsteen obsession. Well, I do now which means you do too.
Hank And Bruce And Michael And Michael
One last thing.
Back to Bruce for the Outro. Look, when The Boss starts singing protest songs about the fight for freedom in Minneapolis, you know the government has screwed up pretty badly. This is a foot-stomping rabble-rouser which should be blasting out on every street corner in America. ICE OUT.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
EXCUSES AND HALF TRUTHS 