Gretchen Mol is obviously wonderful in Boardwalk Empire - but there are moments when one is distracted by the clothes and I forget that the bad lady and all the bad mens are talking. Quite a few period dramas recently have done a terrible job with wardrobe and furnishings (Masters of Sex look to have used repro fabric for CURTAINS, which mine eyes COULD NOT BEAR, MAN), but Boardwalk Empire is consistently, gawpingly good. YUM.
Look-here Ms Chantelle Houghton, at a Workout with PURPOSE
I was researching some of the gobsmackingly lovely motorcycles that were used in WW1 when I came across this, from National Geographic magazine in April 1917. It shows the clerks of a New York department store doing exercises in their lunchbreak. On the roof.
What a breathtakingly odd time.
Every year Sounds Familyre create a special Christmas album. This year they have done the first part of Handel’s Messiah. It’s got Danielson on it and it is charming.
I can use this in a lesson about Live Performance contracts, can’t I? I mean, it’s GOT EVERYTHING. Faustian pacts! Frogs who like acoustic duos! WOLFISH LAWYERS! Miss is very happy.
It would be hyperbole to say this is my favourite Paul McCartney song. It’s close, though.
Katie Harkin: Planet Gear
Harkers from Larkers does a great job of conveying the joy of gear here. She’s also able to - artfully and smartly - explain exactly what kind of wonk each pedal will produce. Even for someone like me, who can’t play. AND she makes a neat point about booth babes. Or FUCKING BOOTH BABES, as they should always be known.
The only sadface moment was when I went to play the video of Sky Larkin’s Loom at the bottom, and got this ad:
Oh you, internet.
Sarah Roby: Poet
My sister - Sarah Roby - has a collection of poetry called ‘This Afternoon & I’ which is being published by the marvellous Templar Poetry. The book is officially launched soon and to mark the occasion I have made her a modest website. Originally I wanted to put lots of auto-play Mick Hucknall, Enya and INXS on it. Maybe some Julia Fordham. But then Sarah reminded me it was not 1987 anymore and forbade me from incorporating so much as a ginger dreadlock. This is a shame, because I thought one of the famous sex romper’s flame-hued tendrils would make a good favicon. DENIED.
If you like poets or poems or poetry by people called Sarah Roby; or if you would like to have it proved that it is possible to write a poem about Michael Jackson and miscarriages - and for that poem to be strangely funny as well as terrifying - you should probably go visit Sarah Roby - who is my sister - on the internet. Her website has a link to buy her book which is not even dedicated to me. Pshaw.