Not Difficult Music

Television seems so neat and tidy these days. With so many damn channels available, you’d think there'd be anarchy. But no. Every channel has a niche audience and a mandate, with carefully targeted programming to match. I sort of miss the 13-channel cable TV service that we had until the mid-‘80s. Every channel had to be all things to all people. They all had news, they all (even PBS) covered sports in some way. There weren't many shows to go around, and programmers sometimes had to draw from unusual sources to fill up the schedule. Now, with every special interest tucked away in its own channel and so many TV shows in production, the chance of coming across something completely surprising is a lot lower.

Here in Vancouver we pulled in a wonderful little station called KVOS on channel 12. Based in Bellingham just across the border, it primarily catered to Canadians. In its heyday, KVOS carried a lot of syndicated American programs (still does, actually), but when 10 PM rolled around, they packed up old Glory and unfurled the Union Jack. It was time to give Canadians heaping platefuls of the televisual equivalent of mushy peas and sausage rolls: old sitcoms like On the Buses and Man About the House, lowbrow sketch/variety shows like Benny Hill and Dave Allen at Large (I always thought Allen was ultra-cool, presiding with his whiskey and fags). In a slightly more upmarket vein, KVOS also gave us lots of Monty Python, Fawlty Towers, and—god bless them for all eternity—Not the Nine O’Clock News.

Not the Nine O’Clock News was a lot fresher than the other KVOS fare. The episodes were only a year or two old when they aired here. It was also skewed a lot younger—it felt like the next generation on from Python. Today it’s remembered as the place where Rowan Atkinson got his start before he went on to Blackadder and Mr. Bean. Even back then, it was clear he was the star in the cast, although the other three players were excellent themselves.

The show had a freewheeling format, interspersing studio sketches with fake news reports and film footage of royalty and politicians edited for maximum laughs. The only reliable segment was the closing song, where they would skewer some musical trend or artist. This was one of the strongest elements on the show—not only were the cast great singers and impressionists, the songs themselves were catchy as hell and offered an interesting insight into music at the turn of the ‘80s.

Here’s a rundown of my favourite NtNOCN songs.

It’s odd to think there was a time when Kate Bush was considered a lightweight flash-in-the-pan pop star. We should be so lucky today. This one’s a little mean-spirited, but Pamela Stephenson’s imitation is spot-on, as is the mangled arrangement of “Them Heavy People.”



Mainstream culture couldn’t help but overhear the rumblings of the NWOBHM as headbangers and rivetheads elbowed their way into pubs and festivals across the country. As with many satires of heavy metal, this isn’t a very good metal song—it's more like bad Status Quo. But it slightly predates “Bad News,” and there’s an exploding head.



Another thing about NtNOCN was that its naughtiness threshold was higher than anything else on TV at the time. The writing usually aimed higher, but any mention of “tits” or “shit” would send me howling. I never actually saw this song on the show; I heard it via one of the three NtNON albums the BBC released.



By the way, there is a significant Difficult Music angle to all this, as some of these songs (including the one above) were co-written by Chris Judge Smith, founding member of Van der Graaf Generator.

Is this ska? Two-tone? Whatever it is, it’s damn funny. Rowan Atkinson in fine form.



This song doesn’t seem intent on parodying any specific musician or style, but it does show how times have changed. To my knowledge, no fatwahs were issued as a result of this.



I don’t know what prompted this one. I can only guess that the CB radio fad arrived in England well after it had died in the U.S. Anyway, this song even features the truck driver’s gear change towards the end. It also inspired the second NtNOCN LP, Hedgehog Sandwich. 1:09 cracks me up every time, as does the line “you can listen to the wireless.” That’s some burly trucker’s tough-guy talk right there!



Like most great British shows, NtNOCN ran for only a few years (27 episodes) before its cast and writers dispersed. Atkinson, as I mentioned, went on to worldwide fame. Smith and Jones did their own show, Alas Smith & Jones, which was more quality sketch comedy in the NtNOCN style. Smith also directed The Tall Guy and Bean, amongst others. Pamela Stephenson joined the cast of SNL during one of its most turbulent periods, and made little impact. She’s now a clinical psychologist and still does television. First-season player and writer Chris Langham went on to do a ton of acting, writing and directing until some unfortunate, not funny at all, charges sidelined his career.

A lot of this material is available on The Best of Not the Nine O'Clock News, a two-DVD set from BBC Worldwide/A&E/New Video. It's a shame the original shows aren't available in North America, but this edited compilation hits most of the high points.

Unrestrained! has taken over my life right now. I'll come up for air and post more often when I'm done in a couple weeks.

This post starts with The Office, the American version of which has won me over. It's about the only U.S. network TV series with interesting-looking people on it. Steve Carell is fantastic as Michael Scott, a walking, talking hangnail of a human. I find the series doesn't centre on his constant humiliation the way the British series did, probably because that sort of humour would be hard to sustain (and tolerate) over 20-plus episodes a season or however many they're producing. The utter destruction visited upon David Brent (Scott's British counterpart) just wouldn't work over a long U.S. network season.

The American series also lacks the poetry of Gervais & Merchant's version. I'm thinking specifically of John Betjeman's "Slough" and how it informed every moment of the original 12 episodes of The Office. I need to read more of his work.

I first saw Betjeman's name mentioned in some Charisma Records "historical notes" inside my copy of Genesis's Nursery Cryme. Charisma founder Tony Stratton-Smith (RIP) writes, "We maintained too, a certain eccentricity: the comic invention of Monty Python (like Genssis, with Charisma for almost a decade) was laid beside the quintessentially english recordings of Sir John Betjeman..." Aha.

I've never actually seen a John Betjeman record—I'm sure they were deleted pretty quickly if they reached these shores at all—but I'm on the lookout now. According to this article in The Guardian, Sir John's hipper than ever. Anyone who treated guests to Scotch and shortbread—never mind wrote something scathing as "Slough" and was labelmates with Peter Hammill—is all right by me.

Here's a picture of Judge Smith to cap off a day I spent out of my mind with excitement after learning you can get Not the Nine O'Clock News on DVD now.

The picture also answers the heretofore unpondered question "Which member of Van der Graaf Generator went platinum?" Peter Hammill contributed to a couple of mega-selling Peter Gabriel albums, but it turns out Judge topped the charts first!

Happy birthday to me (I was born on a Friday, too, sez mum). According to this, Kenny Loggins and Screech from Saved by the Bell will also be enjoying some cake today.

Tonight I’m going to hang out with fancy and Mel & Adam. Tomorrow I need to get Clutch tickets for me and Smash and maybe see The Life Aquatic, even though moviegoing is a dangerous undertaking.

Reading about that incident at Metropolis reminded me of a shitty Saturday we had last fall. First we wasted a couple hours at the VAG’s Massive Change exhibit (with a whole room devoted to the Segway, nothing but a laughing stock the moment they showed Gob tooling around on one on Arrested Development), then rushed over to Tinseltown to see Julianne Moore in The Forgotten. Not only was it a bad film (not even bad in a good way), it was totally ruined by three stoned teenagers with cell phones a few rows ahead. We should have left early and got our money back. Instead we stayed till the end, hating every minute of it, and got lost in a back stairwell leaving the theatre. When we got outside, our three pals from the movie were loitering down the block. We tried to get a cab home (we were completely sick of humanity by then), but when the first taxi approached, one of the three teenagers rushed to the curb and got in it before we could. Yeah, I’d like to get that whole day back.

I wouldn’t mind watching the last episode of The Office this weekend. The second series has been getting more painful with each episode, though, and I’m not sure I can take it. I can’t imagine what else the show’s creators can do to poor David Brent, or more accurately, what they’ll have David do to himself. I sit there every episode thinking, “No. Stop that, David. Walk away.” Yet he does not. He cannot—he’s David Brent, an open sore, a human hangnail we can’t help waggling.

The most evil thing about this show is that as the pain intensifies, so do the laughs. The last episode we watched (Comic Relief Day) was excellent, and featured a grand scene with Finchy, who’s a favourite of mine partly because he looks like IQ guitarist (and lunatic in his own right) Mike Holmes. While I need to see the finale of the series right now, (then check out the follow-up special, naturally) I wish I could drag it out some more...prolong the agony.

There was nothing on TV last night, so we got out SCTV Season One and watched the Pledge Week episode. There are several classic bits on this one, including:
Guy Cabellero threatening to broadcast nothing but soccer if not enough money rolls in. The soccer footage he then shows has Toby Charles doing the play by play. It must have been a direct lift from “Big League Soccer,” which PBS used to show (and my dad and I used to watch) every Sunday. What a strange program for PBS to air, now that I think about it.

Mel’s Rock Pile 20th Anniversary Special. Mel reunites the original dancers from the first Rock Pile episode, shows old clips, and faints in the presence of Roy Orbison. John Candy is hilarious and a bit scary as a bitter German fellow trapped in a loveless, childless marriage. It turns out he met his future wife on Mel’s Rock Pile lo those 20 years ago. “Tell them,” he shouts at his wife when Mel catches up with them in the present day. “Tell them all—why you can’t have children!”

Tracking the Unknown with Edith Prickley. This may be my favourite few minutes of television ever. What the hell is it? Who thought this would be a good idea? I don’t know; it’s just one of those completely random things that SCTV would throw at you occasionally. Stitched together from a faded old documentary about India’s Gir Forest, some film of piglets scratching themselves, and footage of Edith “Tracking the Unknown” in an Edmonton park with a tiny, overexcited dog (who steals several scenes) and two disinterested guides, it presents Edith at her most out of control, sputtering and smutty—a sustained freakout that I can’t do justice in words. Andrea Martin is a genius.

Farm Film Report. Where the hosts discuss both foreign and domestic film. Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point gets a nod because everything blows up at the end, while Blow Up is a disappointment because nothing blowed up in it. And the best movie ever is David Cronenberg’s Scanners because of the part where Louis Del Grande’s head blows up.

I sure hope I find season two under the tree next weekend.

(Man, I wanted to see Scanners so badly when I was a kid. I had to settle for reading the novelization, which was a lame substitute for actually seeing someone’s head blow up on the big screen. I barely even considered asking my parents if they’d take me. I remember reading the novelization of Alien, too, and leafing through a picture book about the movie at WH Smith, where I could finally see what it looked like when the alien burst through Harry Dean Stanton’s chest. The equivalent sorts of cool things must be easier for kids to find these days. I’m glad the Web wasn’t around when I was a kid; I’d be a complete sociopath.)

I've become obsessed with Strangers With Candy. Jerri Blank is the best comic invention since Alan Partridge. Like old "Cook Pass" Partridge, Jerri is sometimes difficult to watch, and her general ookiness makes me squirm. On the other hand, I'm rooting for her unequivocally, the same as I do with Alan. I don't know how Amy Sedaris is able to pull this off, but she does it. Genius.

I'm heading into the last third of season one, and season two awaits.
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A Deep Purple concert review is in the works. I'll put it up after I massage most of the gayness out of it. That takes some doing.

We’ve been on a Twin Peaks kick lately, plowing through a bunch of episodes that I taped when it originally aired. Fancylady never watched the show—she was too busy getting a life at the time.

I can imagine a lot of people still holding a grudge against Twin Peaks. I bet people have bitter memories of inane water cooler conversations about who killed Laura Palmer, or of Halloween parties where four people came as the Log Lady. Even I got tired of “damn good coffee!” and other catchphrasery, the same way that I want to clobber anyone who says “yada yada yada” within earshot these days.

But I won’t question the fact that Twin Peaks is/was quality television. It was probably the first time that an American network produced anything that you could compare favourably to Denis Potter’s The Singing Detective or Lars von Trier’s The Kingdom. It did pretty well in the ratings, too, until, like most American shows, it lost its original spark and outstayed its welcome.

Aside from the occasional mullet on display, Twin Peaks hasn’t dated too badly. Because I already know what’s going to happen plot-wise, I’m finding a lot of other things to enjoy about the show.

* The opening credit sequence of automated saw blade sharpening is really soothing and beautiful.

* The relationship between Major Briggs and his son Bobby is both hilarious and touching. It’s easy to chuckle at the Major (who is always in uniform and speaks in a grave tone that never wavers) and his heartfelt efforts to connect emotionally with his son. Yet it’s hard not to feel for him, because he never gives up or shows any irritability in the face of his son’s utter indifference and contempt.

* There was a time when Lara Flynn Boyle looked like a healthy human being.

* Invitation to Love. This is Twin Peaks’ show within a show, a ridiculous soap opera that’s on TV in the background of many scenes. I guess Invitation to Love is Lynch reminding us, not very subtly, that we’re watching a soap opera ourselves. Anyway, I like that Invitation to Love is always on, day or night, and that all the characters, regardless of age and gender, watch it.

* Jerry Horne and his obsession with exotic food.

* My all-time favourite Twin Peaks scene. Near the end of episode 10 we find ourselves at a singalong (or a recording session?) on the floor of the Palmers’ living room. James, Donna and Maddie sit around some 50s-style microphones. James says, “That was really good. Let’s try it again.” They begin singing a simple ballad whose lyrics mainly consist of “Just you and I/Together forever in love.” James plays a hollow-body electric guitar and sings in an unearthly falsetto. As the song progresses, bass and drums join in. All three kids seem entranced by the sounds they’re making. Donna and Maddie, who’ve come to resemble each other during the episode, sing backup. Donna looks at Maddie looking at James, then at James looking at Maddie, then becomes upset and runs off. James gets up to console her and the music stops abruptly, like the tape was cut. As James and Donna kiss, Maddie, alone and perplexed on the floor, has a frightening vision of BOB.

I love this scene for its randomness. Aside from the romantic tension and Maddie’s vision, it doesn’t have anything to do with the plot. None of the characters have shown any musical inclinations before, and what’s the deal with those microphones and James’s voice? I also love it because of the creepy song they sing. I assume that David Lynch wrote it, because the phrasing is similar to his “Heaven (Lady in the Radiator)” song from Eraserhead. The mysterious James song isn’t on the soundtrack album, unfortunately, so the only way to enjoy it is to watch this scene over and over—which I have.

We’re also watching the Ben Stiller Show these days. I only have a 10-minute scrap of it on tape as evidence of its brief lifespan, but fancy got me the whole works on DVD for my birthday. There’s a definite early 90s slant to our entertainment intake right now. Where will it end? I invite you to break down our door and berate us if we start listening to The Spin Doctors.