Category Archives: Nostalgia

A morning with Paul Smith


When I was 16 and got my first job, the first thing I saved up for was a Paul Smith shirt from his shop in Nottingham – a five minute walk from the café where I worked.

That shop, just off Bridlesmith Gate on Byard Lane, was the same cramped boutique Smith had opened in 1970 to launch his retail career. It was still there when I started work in 1987 – by which point the designer’s London business had spread to four locations – and it’s still there in 2011 as part of what’s now a huge global chain. (There are over 200 Paul Smith stores in Japan alone.)

If I suggested that Smith keeping his original shop open to this day was testament to a lack of pretention, or that he’d “never lost his roots”, you’d probably think that was bullshit.

Unless, that is, you’ve ever seen him interviewed.

I defy you to watch the 20 minute video below and not fall in love with the guy and his genuine, unvarnished enthusiasm for life, design, cycling and – especially – silliness. It may just set you up for the year ahead.

Personally I’m most in love with the fact he’s never lost his Nottingham accent. The idea of Sir Paul asking Karl Lagerfeld “y’alright mi duck?” will never get old.

Blue Peter, TVC and me

When I was little I had this book.

Blue Peter Book of Television

Published two years before I was born, it was probably my older brother’s to begin with. I can’t quite remember. But certainly out of the pair of us, I was the one who found it captivating.

On “Blue Peter” we’re always fascinated by other people’s jobs, and between the three of us we’ve had a go at most things – from operating a tower crane to being a waiter for a day at the Hilton Hotel. But most of the time we’re so busy finding new things to show on “Blue Peter” that we forget that working in Television is quite an exciting job as well!

Among pen-portraits of arcane roles like “boom operator”, “sceneman”, “vision mixer” and “sound supervisor” the book offered tantalising insights into the minutiae of TV production. Like:

There are 104 lighting hoists in Studio 3 which can be lowered or raised at the touch of a button.

Or:

You might ask why we don’t use radio mikes all the time. The answer is that the sound isn’t nearly so good as with a boom mike, and radio mikes aren’t half as reliable.

But when we want shots that are wide and exciting, it’s well worth taking the risk.

For a while this book made me want to get into telly when I grew up. Soon I became fixated on the idea of being a videotape editor. Not long after, I discovered the qualifications this would require – and that changed my mind again. (Physics? Not really my thing.)

Peter Purves, John Noakes and Valerie Singleton - Image from the Blue Peter Book of Television

But the allure of working in television never quite got dislodged from my brain; nor did the knowledge that it was Blue Peter which put it there.

Even my fleeting associations with the programme during my time with the BBC have been unaccountably exciting. And trust me, if I told you how tenuous they were, you’d know why I say “unaccountably”.

That’s why I was thrilled to be at Television Centre today to see a little slice of cultural history happening: the recording of the final Blue Peter to be made in its spiritual home of London.

More specifically, I managed to catch rehearsals for the show’s attempt to break the world hula-hooping record.

Here’s my video of what was going on, shot quickly before I headed off for my real reason for being at TVC: a meeting (they didn’t include any of those in the Blue Peter Book of Television).

By way of neat coincidence, several of my colleagues were at Blue Peter’s new home in Salford today – and that’s looking pretty exciting too. I wish the programme many happy years there.

What effortless looks like

I thought I knew my music history.

But until last night I had no idea that Marvin Gaye spent many of his final years – before his untimely death at the hands of his own father – in Belgium.

And not just anywhere in Belgium, but Ostend: a place most Britons associate less with sultry soulfulness, more with grim windswept ferries from Ramsgate.

Yet it’s true, and there are videos to prove it.

Transit Ostend is a half-hour documentary made for Belgian TV in 1981. It follows a wistful Gaye around the streets of Ostend as he muses on what drew him to the town, and what keeps him there.

It also contains some performance footage, including the clip below.

It’s a peculiar few minutes as it shows Marvin rehearsing I Want You with his band – but the singer himself is either so disengaged or so relaxed that he’s lying down through most of the performance.

And yet… Gaye’s singing is beyond perfect. It is utterly sublime.

He’s performing at a level most vocalists can barely dream of attaining – but he might as well be peeling an orange or picking his fingernails. This is what effortless looks like.

Good times, ad times

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I just watched Peter York’s The Rise and Fall of the Ad Man, a study of how the British advertising industry evolved from the 50s to the present day.

I’ve mentioned before that advertising copywriter was my dream job as a kid, and this programme reminded me why. UK advertising in the 70s and 80s was an industry at the peak of its creative powers, glamour and influence on the nation’s culture.

Here’s the programme’s stand-out clip for me.

Swimming Pool – an ad for Benson & Hedges directed by Hugh Hudson – is either the most brilliant or the most ridiculous use of a six-figure budget in the history of cinema advertising. Possibly both.

It’s genrally argued that its abstraction was inspired by tobacco advertising restrictions: rules which meant a cigarette ad couldn’t show… well, pretty much anything promoting smoking. (Read the present-day regulations on advertising rolling papers and filters to get a sense of what I mean.)

While the rules stuff is true, I suspect the creatives involved secretly liked the licence this gave them to, frankly, dick around and make a jaw-dropping film for its own sake.

Who can blame them?

Of course, what really made British advertising great was more prosaic, humorous work like these two clips. Enjoy.

Euston, I hate you

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I couldn’t write a post about St Pancras station without a quick addendum about its near-neighbour Euston.

Although I work in Birmingham, I’m fortunate enough to rarely have to travel to London from the West Midlands.

Here – for those who don’t frequent Euston – is why I count myself lucky. It redefines ”grim”.

Don’t just take my word for it. Here’s how the station is characterised by the Euston Arch Trust:

Designed in the International Modern style, its somewhat bleak style has been variously described as “hideous”, “a dingy, grey, horizontal nothingness”, “an ugly desecration of a formerly impressive building”, a reflection of “the tawdry glamour of its time” entirely lacking of “the sense of occasion, of adventure, that the great Victorian termini gave to the traveller”, and “the worst of the Central London terminuses, both ugly and unfriendly to use”.

Writing in The Times, Richard Morrison stated that “even by the bleak standards of Sixties architecture, Euston is one of the nastiest concrete boxes in London: devoid of any decorative merit; seemingly concocted to induce maximum angst among passengers; and a blight on surrounding streets. The design should never have left the drawing-board – if, indeed, it was ever on a drawing-board. It gives the impression of having been scribbled on the back of a soiled paper bag by a thuggish android with a grudge against humanity and a vampiric loathing of sunlight”.

If you really fancy a laugh, here’s the Trust’s resurrection (via PDF) of British Rail’s 1968 brochure published to celebrate the opening of the newly redeveloped station.

St Pancras, I love you

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I adore St Pancras station, and the other day I realised a key reason why.

Artists’ impressions of any new development – or in this case, redevelopment – are normally an exercise in creative optimism.

So for a transport interchange, throw in happy travellers sitting outside wine bars, deep in animated conversation. Beautiful people skitting in and out of glamorous shops. Folks of all nationalities hugging as they’re reunited with their loved ones. Maybe a small art exhibition in one corner; a musician playing an impromptu gig in another. And around it all, the architecture itself – looking amazing no matter what the season or time of day.

You’ve probably guessed where I’m going with this. In the case of St Pancras, the reality – three years after it reopened, and against all odds – is exactly as envisaged. It’s an artist’s impression come to life, and more.

(“More” includes one thing you can’t capture in an architect’s plan: the wonderful mix of foreign accents around you, predominantly French, while you queue up to buy a coffee. Ah, parfait.)

As Martin Belam tweeted recently, comparing St Pancras to Paris’ Gare Du Nord:

There are nostalgic, partisan reasons why I love the station too.

As a kid, my journeys to London were generally limited to an annual pre-Christmas trip organised by the Nottingham Evening Post. In my late teens and early 20s, a trip to the capital was generally to do with my music career.

St Pancras was “my” station in London, and arriving there meant excitement.

To have the run-down, grimy train shed I remember growing up reinvented as what its pre-launch advertising called  - again, with rare accuracy – “Europe’s destination station” makes me strangely proud. (Thanks, Sir John Betjeman.)

Compare and contrast with its near-neighbour, Euston, using my favourite unscientific method: the Flickr test. There are 2,491 pictures on Flickr tagged “Euston station“, many – understandably – of trains rather than the station itself.

For ”St Pancras station“ there are 8,047.

Like the Selfridges building in Birmingham, people can’t resist taking photos on their way through – and rightly so.

I’ve included a few from Flickr below.

Now, if only some of the St Pancras fairy dust would fall on Birmingham New Street’s redevelopment, maybe this Facebook group‘s founding sentiment might one day no longer be true…

I’m not sure that 1984 could feel any more like an entirely different world

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Steve Williams, an online friend from the halcyon days of the TV Cream mailing list, submits that this clip – recently uploaded to YouTube -  is “the very best kind of Top of the Pops performance”.

I have to agree.

The Trent end

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So, to all intents and purposes, Nottingham’s Trent FM is no more.

Global Radio’s announcement today that they’re soon to merge the station (along with the Galaxy Network, Red Dragon FM, Leicester Sound and Ram FM) into a monolithic “Capital Network”, effectively brings to an end the local service which started as Radio Trent in July 1975. All output will be syndicated from London apart from breakfast and drivetime.

The new network will be branded 95 – 106 Capital FM. (Not sure that’s quite broad enough, myself – why not go the whole hog and call it 87.5 – 108 Capital FM?)

As a business decision, I’ve no doubt this makes cold-hearted sense. And it’s hardly surprising in the wake of Global’s wholesale restructuring of Heart just a few months ago.

But I can’t help but feel sadness in the specific case of Trent. It is, after all, the radio station I grew up listening to. It is the radio station which – I’m only mildly ashamed to admit – I represented on the long-forgotten CITV quiz show for junior news-nerds, What’s Happening.

And it represents an era of commercial radio in the UK which – barring divine intervention – is never coming back.

So now feels like a good time to bring out these classic YouTube videos.

The first – in two parts – is a mini-documentary from 1979. Even the woozy jingle which kicks it off is enough to send me into undignified Proustian reveries of nostalgia – as Trent’s own Kid Jensen would doubtless have said.

Now come bang up to date with 1989′s two-parter Charting The Charts.

This follows DJ Danny Cox as he compiles the East Midlands’ very own weekly top 30, with the sole aid of “two huge Apricot computers” and a really noisy dot matrix printer.

Rest in peace Radio Trent, 1975-2011. We shall never see your like again.

Ke$ha, South Yorkshire and keyboard usability

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I gushed too much about Ke$ha’s debut single last year to write more of the same about her follow-up, Blah Blah Blah.

Except that – against all odds – it really reminds me of an early 90s clubbing classic from my Sheffield days.

I pose the question… Could the doyenne of “I’m a drunk mess” pop have once been a regular at Occasions nightclub, behind the BT offices in Charter Square? It was, after all, the home of the bleep scene.

(Reality check: She would have been five years old at the time. So probably not.)

Here’s Ke$ha’s new, erm, masterpiece.

And here’s that early 90s clubbing classic, Testone by Sweet Exorcist – one of the first releases on Sheffield’s seminal Warp label. Can you spot the similarity?

Sweet Exorcist was Richard H Kirk (Cabaret Voltaire) and Parrot (later of All Seeing I); its video was directed by none other than Jarvis Cocker.

As noted here, the Blah Blah Blah video makes prominent use of Nokia’s X6 handset. Presumably Nokia have paid for this, given the enormous size of their logo on the phone.

Is it just me, though, or is Ke$ha really struggling with that on-screen keyboard? At 0:51, all she’s trying to type is repeated exclamation marks, but even that seems to be a tricky, hesitant process, with the very real danger at all times that she might hit the backslash key instead.

And at 0:23 – well, I would never have imagined texting What a mega douche MASTER!!!!!!!! could look so awkward and unergonomic.

Maybe she could release a branded stylus?

(NB – This isn’t one of the music production posts which I so blithely promised yesterday would be “next” on this blog. They’ll be, erm, next.)

Election night 1974: Latest analysis

Last Friday, BBC Parliament cleared its regular schedules and ran February 1974′s election night coverage instead. Not just the highlights, but pretty much the whole thing.

If the idea of sitting through that fills you with horror (or incomprehension) then please click away now.

If the idea thrills you, on the other hand, you may be a political scientist – in which case, sorry, this won’t be the blog post for you either. The historic political events of that night have been analysed thoroughly elsewhere.

But if, like me, you’re just unnaturally fascinated by the look and atmosphere of 1970s telly – well, I’m happy to say I did all the hard work for you, and ploughed dutifully through it. (Not all at 30x speed, either.)

Here are a few visual tasters from the BBC’s coverage. I’ll let most of the pics speak for themselves.

Note how the female results-takers are in uniform: grim, brown smocks reminiscent of Sainsburys uniforms from the 1980s.

David Lomax is in Cobberton, North Devon, outside the house of Jeremy Thorpe MP. Is the Liberal leader around for a few words?

No, he isn’t.

Meanwhile, Penrith’s count seems to have been transported back to the 1920s.

Southampton hasn’t quite reached the colour era yet, either.

This guy’s speaking live from The Hague – so the monochrome is perhaps to be expected. He appears to be taking the RECOUNT AT BODMIN news hard.

There was a fashion in 1974, it turns out, for announcing results on the balconies of grotty council buildings.

I have to (sincerely) pay tribute here to Sir Alastair Burnet’s outfit on the night.

Especially considering this is 1974 we’re talking about, Burnet’s combo of mid-grey suit, pink shirt with cutaway collar, black watch, tie with plum dots and – brilliantly – dark plum pocket square has barely dated. Fine work.

As you’ll have spotted, the biggest winner of the night was Letraset. I imagine art suppliers in West London had to helicopter in emergency supplies of Helvetica Bold during the election period.

We’ve now found Jeremy Thorpe, who’s on the phone…

…to Cyril Smith MP, who is at the Liberal party press conference, smoking a cigarette.

And here’s the complete studio set in all its majesty. You can’t see in this screengrab, but each pundit’s chair came complete with a chrome ashtray on a tall stand. Class.