Love Down By One Share (Love Song To A Whore) - Totty - Totty (Vinyl, LP, Album)

Guy Fawkes Day poem and coloring page. House of Parliament, London, England. Image result for sparkler set clothes alight. Ours was a small family. Christmas presents took ten minutes to buy and less to give. Everything I received was bought brand new. We never saw them. When I was eight, we went to a family wedding at Slip End Church followed by a reception in the village hall. Nothing physical, but enough for my dad to take us home early.

Gwen and Joe moved to Watford. Joe worked in engineering, for a small family concern. It was this mentality, demonstrated en-masse by the car unions that, together with the early 70s oil crisis, put paid tto o the UK car manufacturing industry. Nothing nasty, just asame funny observation. Two-way contentment. Along with drinking tea, watching TV, especially cricket entire test matches and playing his James Last records, he was always rolling his own cigarettes.

This practice required an orange Rizla and some Golden Virginia tobacco. He had done this so many times that he did it without looking, without concentration. But half of the tobacco ended up either on his lap or lips or in his teeth. Of co course, urse, only half of the burnt tobacco ever had a chance of making the ashtray. For every pound of Golden Virginia Joe bought during his hi s lifetime, he only smoked four ounces of it.

But while someone smoking a cigarette and stubbing it out was always repugnant to me, Joe and his roll-up antics were not. There was something more natural about it. It was almost bohemian. Both my mum and dad were smokers: my dad smoked Craven As, a cigarette very popular during World War II, when death never seemed too far away anyway; my mum smoked Players, which were milder.

This was my family in its entirety. No more. Mum and dad and Gwen and Joe. At weekends we ate top-side of beef with mint from the garden and the best Yorkshire pudding. It may have had something to do with washing up or a shortage of good plates befitting a Sunday roast. I once sent them to Paris for the weekend.

Milk EveryBar. Monday Mum I would friendsaged Hilda andI Nancy the Bute Street Theyafternoon ordered tea and and tteacakes eacakes and discussed current affairs and their neighbours.

I would consume a strawberry milk shake in 15 seconds flat and then had to sit quietly and wait. One milk shake was the rule. As happened happened in most corner shops in those days, days, the opening door triggered triggered a bell. Normally an assistant would would appear but that day no one came. A few seconds after consuming my ill - gotten gains I felt sick with guilt and fear.

I wanted to get away. After what seemed like an eternity we left. After starting school at 5 years old I never saw this lady again. It was there I learnt that being second counted for nothing. I was in Stockwood Stockwood House: colour, yellow. Also Also in Stockwood w was as Vaughn Collins, a gangly, lanky olive-skinned boy who took one stride for every three steps I took. He always came first. Before even taking the crease I was nervous. He had already bowled out the t he previous batsmen for minimal runs, so by the time I stood there awaiting his delivery I was tense, rigid and my knees were knocking.

The humiliation of that walk back to the bench, coming in at number four, the big hitt hitter, er, was terrible. I never bothered about cricket again because for one thing the ball was bloody hard.

The plus was abolished that year, so there was no possibility of my going to grammar school. At nine I passed my cycling proficiency test and was very proud of my badge. My tenth birthday present was a bicycle.

It was a thing of beauty, a combination of red and silver with the new-style handlebar gears that made me the envy of Farley Hill. Most kids had hand-me-downs, but, with no brother or sister, mine was brand spanking new. One house in each block of four had an extra bedroom to accommodate a larger family. His booming voice - a by-product of his ample frame - could be heard several hundred yards away, usually when shouting at Gina.

She was four or five years older than me, but hooked up with me in a sisterly way. A good-looking, dark-haired girl, she got pregnant young and married Tom, the father, and as far as I know lives happily with him in Wales. Mac is famous in our family for two t wo reasons. First, at two-and-a-half I was still sucking a dummy at every waking moment.

It was attached to my face. Mac yanked the dummy from my mouth one day and pretended to throw it on the fire. I was distraught di straught but never asked for one again.

Then, iin n , we bought a fridge. One of the joys of a fridge was being able to make flavoured ice cubes. Mac and Gina were at our house when my latest lat est creation, lime cubes, came from the freezer. Gina and I both had one. Mine, however, did not stay st ay in my mouth slowly defrosting, depositing melting limejuice around my tongue, but aimed headfirst towards my stomach and lodged itself in i n my throat.

Mum screamed, I gasped for breath and turned purple, Gina sucked on merrily. Mac grabbed my head, bent it forward to the puke position and thumped the back of my neck. The lime green projectile duly ccame ame crashing to the floor and shattered on impact. Mac joined the ranks of the doctors that had al already ready saved my life before that day. Gina said the lime cube was lovely and could she have another. They had no TV and no radio.

The Their ir strong religious beliefs beliefs meant they did without 20th-century mod cons. Only David came round, which was ok because I liked him the best with his sparkly blue eyes and big smile. I rarely rar ely ventured into their house, despite the smells of cake and bread baking everyday except Sunday emanating from the kitchen.

I never ate there and their children never ate in my house. It was one of the unwritten rules. There was an alleyway between our houses for access to our back gardens.

Ruth was the problem. She resented me more than anyone else, or maybe she resented everyone and I was the nearest target. On the Kingham side of the fence, juicy raspberries were growing, ripe for the picking. I lay on the ground and put my hand through the fence. I probably had two but Mrs Kingham rushed out to scold me. My mum came out to see what the fuss was about and gave some verbal back.

I still played with the Kingham kids, mainly David. Ruth and I never played together. Anyway, who wanted to play with girls? They took her wherever she needed to t o go. They shopped for her, and every morning Mrs Kingham checked that her curtains were pulled back. In I apologised for taking the raspberries, some 36 years later. The Martins, Fred and Jean and their t heir three children, Leslie, and the aforementioned Wendy, and Sharon, both tom-boy pretty, lived at number 7. They had moved to Farley Hill from Grimsby in and our families were quite close.

Leslie, older than me, was destined for army life, Wendy was a year older and there was always an edge between us, and Sharon, two years younger, was a real tearaway tomboy. I played with Sharon just for the t he devilment of it. It was all I could do not to break out in a face-splitting grin and laugh out loud.

Most of the time I would turn away to avoid adding salt to the t he wound. Fred was a paint sprayer at Vauxhall. He converted his garage one of the perks of a corner house was it had more land into a paint shop and was also a paint sprayer in the evenings when on days, during the day when on nights and a nd at weekends and holidays when on neither.

At odd times I guess he dealt with parenthood. On the other side of the street, at number 2 were the Crowes with their three boys: Michael much too old to be a mate ; John, four years older and way too cool to acknowledge my existence. He was three years older than me, but I spent some time with him. Steven who was two years younger than me was the boy I played pl ayed with most pre-high school. He was forever in my house. The games were always mine as I was an only only child.

We constructed the first few parts of crane construction out of Meccano and then gave up. We did handstands and cartwheels together, played hide and seek. When I was nine or ten, Steven stayed with us for six weeks while his mother was in hospital for a lleg eg operation. When he finally went home, he stood at his window looking over at our house for ages. His parents argued a lot. At number 6 were the Byrnes from Ireland. How many many children? Maybe six or seven.

Iain died young, in Mum just work again at KentatMeters, at nine I wasa left a lot to my own devices given had a key to started the front door. My parents trusted me. One day I took down a recipe from the Jimmy Ji mmy Young radio show for walnut cakes and set about making them.

If this was cooking, you could keep it. Bloody hard work but worse still, painful. No hard hard bits, as only flesh flesh was included - not my fingernails. Iain sort of shared my first traumatic experience. I had asked for money to go to the pictures and told Iain to do the same. He got the required two-and-a-half t wo-and-a-half shillings, and set off to the Odeon, in i n Dunstable Road. The Odeon was right on the border of the town.

For a ten- and a seven-year-old, it was quite a trek. We had to take a bus into town and then one of the Dunstable bound buses to go past the cinema. As it was was an afternoon showing the cinema cinema was only a third full, but about halfway through the film a man came and sat down beside me.

After about ten minutes he put his hand on my thigh, and as Morecambe and Wise went about their antics on the French Riviera he proceeded to move his hand from my thigh to my groin to my fly and then inside my fly.

I was struck dumb. I was too nervous to move. He actually really wore a mac, a thigh-length beige one. Iain continued lapping up the film and the Kia-Ora - oblivious to it all. Youthful fears turned to tears and I started to sniffle, glued to the screen, while the man shuffled around inside my fly. Just then a man, an usher, came down the aisle from the rear and told me to go with him. Outside the usher asked me what the man had been doing.

Apparently, and thank you whoever you are, someone had informed him about something amiss happening two rows down. I had no desire to go back into the dark darkness ness so we left.

When we walked out onto Dunstable Road it suddenly struck me that he could have been watching, waiting. He would know, more or less, what I looked like, what trousers I was wearing and the fact I was with a younger boy would give iitt all away. I almost told Iain to make his own way home, to split up so that I could move faster, but he was too young, so we sped along Dunstable Road towards town and both jumped on a moving bus to make up the remaining mile.

Only once back in the town centre did I feel relatively safe again. Mr Jenkins worked at Vauxhall, and was a staunch Labour activist.

He had posters in his windows even when there were no elections or by-elections. That normally be takenMy up dad withonly decorating or a garden project. Until , my holidays consisted of a day trip to the seaside. The cold and windy eastern coast was closest to Luton.

Which, of course, was not difficult. After lunch, m maybe aybe on the move, m maybe aybe sitting from time to time to rest our weary feet, we would walk around ttown, own, up and down the promenade, along the pier if the place had one and back, buy a toffee apple, have a cuppa, buy a couple of sticks of rock as mementoes and perhaps a saucy postcard.

In and , my holidays were different thanks to Gwen and Joe. They swapped their two-bedroom house, with front and back garden, for a flat. It was during those those two years that I grew to love the Cotswolds.

Day upon day of beautiful buildings in beautiful places, close to babbling brooks and green fields. In the morning we would wake early, and before the first cuppa and a slice of toast appeared he would have me in stitches with moans about his company and how much worse it was here in Cheltenham.

He had a new fforeman oreman who was in a league of stupidity all his own. Joe had transferred his much loved music system to the flat.

This was a unit cobbled together from different parts. He was very pleased with himself, although Joe had a strange, if not worried, look about him.

It will bugger up my needle and the cartridge. The good thing about sleeping in the put-you-up was that I went to bed at the same time as everyone else. The real reason was that I was scared of the dark. The day after the Nat King Cole incident, we all piled into the Austin Cambridge and set out on the return journey to Luton. Dad, true to his temperament, was a careful driver and never llost ost his temper or even sounded his horn.

But he did like driving up the arse of the car in front and overtaking on hairpin bends and country lanes. Every other driver would be honking their horns at us and my mum would be back seat driving and losing her temper. A divi dividend was a form of loyalty l oyalty card. In the 70s, a Divi competitor emerged in the shape of Green Shield Stamps. Instead of a pink ticket ti cket with your number on it, reams upon rea reams ms of stamps would spew out from the Green Shield Stamp machine when you bought a can of peaches.

You stuck them into books like stamp albums and when you had collected millions you could swap them for any number of household items and toys. If, like me, you lived in lower Farley Hill, you also had the local Crossways shops. There was another Co-op, a newsagent where I bought magazines and sweets: 4oz of rhubarb and custard, milk bottles, coconut mushrooms, wine gums, Refreshers, Spangles, sherbet fizz, strawberries and cream. There was a butcher of course w wee bought nothing there , a greengrocers and a corner shop which sold a bit of everything and stayed open long hours.

I had a bath once a week and washed my hands and face every day. I cleaned my teeth in the morning. I had never heard of body odour and thought t hought a Mum roll-on was for mums only.

But all tthat hat would change once I became aware of girls. Girls other than the ones I grew up with on Farley Hill. Highway 61 Revisited Starting high school was a traumatic experience. More traumatic t raumatic than moving from infant to junior school because the boys were adolescents. Rotherham High School, Rotherham Avenue, Luton, harboured, behind its rusting gates hundreds of working-class Flashmans.

I had convinced myself of this for the six long weeks of the summer holiday. The ribbons and blue shield worn by the prefects meant you knew who to give way. My new one from the Co-op seemed to shine in the bright September morning; others were hand-me-downs and had been handed down more than once. The plans for building Rotherham School were drawn up in , the year I was born.

Although children filtered into the school from Farley Juniors overflow in , the official opening ceremony was in March By there were 36 classes with a school roll of 1, In the school changed changed its name to Rotherham Rotherham High School.

At the time I joined j oined the school was still in good nick. Of course, it showed some signs of wear, in the obvious places - toilets, t oilets, changing rooms and stairways - but overall it was clean and tidy. A new sports hall had just been built to complement the wooden-floored gym behind the main assembly hall. Its grounds were enormous and it had tennis courts, cricket nets and all the mod-cons. Fear of going to Rotherham and meeting the t he older kids had dominated the summer of love, The Headmaster was a Mr Porter, who was getting on a bit and every child for the past ten years or so had hoped that the year they entered the school would be the year he retired.

His reputation as a bad-tempered, cane-swiper had gone before him. When I first saw him, by then in his sixties, presiding over assembly, I seriously thought about running away from home or pretending to be ill for a year.

He, too, was a cane-wielder. He would slowly remove his jacket, and then his watch, roll up his sleeves, pick up the bamboo cane and bend it to check its torque ratio or something, and then, prior to administering six of the best on your hand or backside - depending on the gravity of your crime - would hit the desk a couple of times, full belt, for a warm-up.

As I entered the grounds of the school, walking with trepidation down Farm Green, along Farley Farm Road and up Rotherham Avenue, I made sure not to overtake anyone, not to trip up or have a driver blow a horn at me and definitely not to look anyone in the eye. I was trying to be so invisible that I melted into the landscape.

Of course, my hopes of success were dashed within ten yards of passing the t he gate. Mummy wiped your arse this morning did she? The words were like a downwards pull of gravity inside me, stomach wobbling like jelly. Come here. Welcome to Rotherham. Who can forget the halcyon days of the mid 70's music scene?

Duncan, Neil, Ronnie, Trevor. Any South African rock fan bom in the late 50's or 60's knows who they were The group however, disbanded for two and a half years, only reforming in Read more.

True, it's not a drastic break, but where Traffic was getting jazzier with each album, Capaldi kept things down to earth, relying heavily on the blues whether it was in the Plastic Ono grind of the title track, or in the sighing dobros of "Yellow Sun," a lengthy jam that's all about groove, not what's being played. Oh How We Danced also maintained a groovy, mellow feel but the emphasis there was clearly on the songs, and here it's more about mood: not the instrumental interplay, but ratcheting up the soulfulness in the performances and singing, giving this album a funkier, open feel that lingers longer than the songs.

It's All Right 2. Whale Meat Again 3. Yellow Sun 4. I've Got So Much Lovin' 5. Low Rider 6. My Brother 7. Summer Is Fading. Password in comments. Filling The Void 2. I Want You Back 3. Message From The Lost 4. Angel In My Eyes 5. Over There 6. Jaunty Sarcasm 7. Melting On Madison 8.

Fly To Your Side 9. Make Up Your Mind Talk To The Hand Going Home One Day Closer To You. Mar 9, Circus - In The Arena Band history. In The Arena 2. Liberated Lady 3. Stupid Boy 4. Conquistador 5. Long Legged Lady 6. Speed Queen 7.

I Wanna Be Free 8. Tags: Circus , flac , In The Arena , lossless. Mar 7, Re-post: Beckett - Beckett Sarandon bathing herself with lemons is the iconic image of Louis Malle's sweet-and-sour portrait of a gambling town poised on a threshold between decay and renewal. Jean-Luc Godard certainly thought so, saying of Bresson's film about a long-suffering donkey, "everyone who sees this film will be absolutely astonished because the film is really like the world in an hour and a half.

Au Revoir les Enfants Louis Malle, A tender, compelling tear-jerker about a Jewish boy hidden from the Nazis in a Catholic French boarding school during the second world war. Beautifully played by first-time young actors, Malle's semi-autobiographical tale interwines friendship and secrets with the grim reality of betrayal and lost innocence.

Audition Takashi Miike, The kinkiest, creepiest, most pungently sexual horror film in recent memory: as macabre as a jewelinlaid dagger or antique instrument of torture. Director Takashi Miike has devised a modern-day Jacobean revenge nightmare, which manages to make its delirium seem an integral and plausible extension of the ordinariness and sadness that prefigure it. Ryo Ishibashi plays Aoyama, a world-weary player in the Japanese film business. Having been urged to renew his acquaintance with love by his son, Aoyama tries an ingenious scheme: he holds open auditions for a film, but with a secret agenda; by auditioning for a non-existent subordinate role, Aoyama can then casually approach the one he likes best for a date.

But it isn't long before we sense something wrong with Asami, the tall, willowy beauty with whom Aoyama falls head over heels in love. She reveals herself as a terrifying avenger, visiting on Aoyama the pain and death that he senses in the audition process, not merely as a punishment for the male sexual triumphalism inherent in Japanese society, but a gratification of his dark masochism of the spirit.

And it really is pretty scary stuff. In the final scene - made even more unspeakable by its semi-hallucinatory quality - Miike takes his stomach-turningly dark playfulness, and marries it to the gruesomeness of a Clive Barker or the Stephen King of Misery.

An intricate torture garden of a film: a lurid nightmare in which the power relations between women and men are acted out in the most barbarously extreme way. Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery Jay Roach, As the s found time to recycle every single decade in one, Mike Myers' brand of character comedy found full expression by resurrecting Swinging London.

Whether playing Powers, the "ultimate gentleman spy", or his neurotic nemesis Dr Evil, Myers throws off nifty cultural asides, killer scatological set-pieces and indelible catchprases: "Oh behave!

It has been dismissed as a "nothing happens" type of movie, but it's a provocative portrait of modern emptiness. Babe George Milller, George "Mad Max" Miller's penchant for cute animal flicks doesn't stop with penguins, as per last year's Happy Feet - he also adapted and directed this surprisingly heartfelt tale of about a pig reprieved from death row and adopted by a sheepdog. It skirts glutinous kids'-movie cliches, subtly flagging up its message of nonconformity and tolerance instead.

Babette's Feast Gabriel Axel, Set in picturesque sepia-toned 19th century Denmark, this is the movie equivalent of dinner at the Brothers Grimm. Awash with a gently puritanical sensibility, it pares religion to its most spiritual form, with food as a sumptuous example of how to serve God, when French civil war refugee Babette thanks her new community with a feast fit for a king. Back to the Future Robert Zemeckis, Few things are as enjoyable, or as rare, in the movie world as a smart crowd-pleaser.

A relentlessly entertaining time travel tale that heaps paradoxes and conundrums upon hapless Michael J Fox. Bad Boy Bubby Rolf De Heer, Fans of provocative cinema should track down this Australian one-off, that starts out bizarre and only gets stranger. A year-old man has been kept locked indoors by his mother for his entire life. And used as her sex slave. When he escapes, there's no telling what could happen.

He has a medal to deliver to a war hero. What's a one-armed man to do. Bad Lieutenant Abel Ferrara, "Gambler. Harvey Keitel gives a masterclass in depravity, redemption and loss as an addicted, corrupt cop enduring a staggeringly unpleasant tailspin of a weekend.

Abel Ferrara at his most outrageous and, weirdly, most controlled. Bad Santa Terry Zwigoff, Inebriated, foul-mouthed, child-hating, criminally intent Billy Bob Thornton gleefully desecrates everything the shopping malls hold dear.

Plumbing new depths in festive vulgarity, it's definitely not for the children, but it is hilarious, and ultimately, it has a heart. Badlands Terrence Malick, Malick's first feature instantly established him at the forefront of the Movie Brat generation, and rightly so: his hyper-alienated study of two teen thrill-killers loosely based on the Starkweather-Fugate was perfectly in tune with its times.

There's a L'Etranger-esque quality to the blank, seemingly motiveless need for violence; it's strangely funny, too. Bavarian Adlon places an efficient German hausfrau in a dwindling Mojave diner to turn its fortunes around. Jack Palance's dignified role as a patron eminded casting directors to start putting him back into good movies.

Bambi David Hand, Many a grown-up can still be reduced to tears by the plight of the young deer and his doomed mother, but Disney's woodland coming-of-age story is less sentimental and more primal than you'd think. Animation experts watch and weep, too; the pioneering "multi-plane" technique brings the story to life perfectly. Band of Outsiders Jean-Luc Godard, In what's perhaps Jean-Luc Godard's most audience-friendly film, two guys fall in love with not just a girl but the money she might lead them to.

The signature scenes are a Charleston dance sequence and a recordsetting dash through the Louvre, but the zany action races toward a shocking finale. Although Devi herself campaigned to have Kapur's film banned arguing that there was more to her life story than "sniveling" and being "raped" the film remains a powerful expose of caste in India and a gripping revenge movie to boot.

Barbarella Roger Vadim, Along with Cat Ballou, this is the high tide of Jane Fonda's almost forgotten pre-feminist, transparent-miniskirt-and-gogo-boots bimbo period - a louche, campy, wildly over-the-top sci-fi spoof from serial Svengali Roger Vadim. Unpardonable in so many ways, and therefore unmissable. Barry Lyndon Stanley Kubrick, Kubrick's Thackeray adaptation is a staggering vision of the 18th century aristocracy, switching from cluttered detail to reveal yet another stunning composition in which the protagonists - snotty Irish aristocrats, suspicious Prussian mercenaries and Ryan O'Neal's ambitious arriviste - are situated.

Kubrick is at his most imperious here, but it suits a thrilling European grand canvas. Barton Fink Joel Coen, The Coens have diverse influences, but this is insane: a Clifford Odets-ish playwright works for a Kafkaesque studio alongside William Faulkner's doppelganger, while his neighbour, a satanic Willy Loman, conjures an inferno that may prefigure the Holocaust.

Spiritedly demented. Batman Tim Burton, An astonishingly successful high-gothic reinvention of the Caped Crusader, which banished the pop-art comedy of the TV show. Most of the humans were upstaged by the terrific set - except, of course, for Jack Nicholson as the Joker.

Battle of Algiers Gillo Pontecorvo, A stark, powerful account of the Algerian uprising that has the immediacy of a newsreel although it is, in fact, a dramatisation. Dealing with imperial power, terrorism, torture and counter-insurgency, it is as pertinent now as then - testament to its honesty and accuracy. Battle Royale Kinji Fukasaku, Blood-splattered gore-fest that pushes ultra-violence to delirious, satirical heights. Teacher Takeshi Kitano takes his junior-high students on class trip to a remote island to execute a brutal new Government directive: kill each other, or die.

Teen rivalries and crushes play out in deadly style as the body count mounts. Eisenstein's Soviet history of the abortive Odessa mutiny aimed for documentary realism, hot-wiring the narrative with pioneering montage techniques and the sort of dazzling set-pieces that had other directors rushing to pay homage.

The Beat That My Heart Skipped Jacques Audiard, A superb remake of James Toback's film Fingers, this jumpy psychological thriller also tackles multi- layered mysteries about love and self-imposed prisons. Romain Duris stars as Thomas, a real-estate entrepreneur involved in brutal shady deals, who raids derelict buildings at night, releases rats out of bags and forces poor immigrants out of their homes.

In private, however, Thomas is a talented but frustrated classical musician; the mysterious title of the film becomes increasingly clear as Audiard focuses on capturing the inner music of the soul, the syncopated flutter of a heartbeat. Eventually Thomas seeks out private lessons with a beautiful Chinese pianist to prepare an audition; Audiard creates some stunning scenes of subtle dialogue-free moments between teacher and student.

With the grainy, close-ups of Duris's face and focus on the jagged pieces of his life, Audiard shows he is a master in setting up contrasts: gorgeous mix of gaudy colour and chiaroscuro shadows, the interplay of shattering violence and tremulous lyricism.

Like like the Bach fugue that Thomas drums out endlessly on his baby Grand, Audiard's film is a rigorous study in counterpoint, evoking two parallel worlds that play off each other, then finally come together with a elliptic flash-forward ending Thomas is a fugitive running from his own demons; whether or not he will ever find peace in his new life is anyone's guess. Denis choreographs the rancour into an intense homoerotic ballet that, against the Djibouti desert, seems to aspire more deeply than cinema and more monumentally than dance: almost a kind of parched sculptural beauty.

Burton and O'Toole, for all their reputation as hellraisers, are magnificent: they bring an intensity and intelligence to their roles that it is impossible to think of any contemporary British stars being able to match. Before Sunrise Richard Linklater, Two beautiful American strangers meet on a Eurorail train and spend a day and night walking around Vienna, a journey electrified by instant infatuation-maybe even love.

Linklater's verbose two-hander runs on the heady buzz of kismet, and reaches a wide-open ending that led to an equally sublime sequel, Before Sunset. Controlled lunacy and pure genius. Being There Hal Ashby, Peter Sellers' penultimate role was one he had struggled to get to the screen for almost a decade. As Chance the gardener, who has lived a life with little more than television as a companion, Sellers offers a blank canvas upon which the other characters imprint whatever meaning they wish.

Faultless in all departments. Catherine Deneuve delivers a typically impenetrable performance, enacting masochistic, degrading fantasies both hers and others and revealing the faultlines of a repressed, depraved middle class destined to self-destruct. La Belle Noiseuse Jacques Rivette, A four-hour film, slow-moving but passionately detailed, about the nature of artistic creation, loosely derived from Balzac. Michel Piccoli is a year-old painter whose talent is blocked until one day, he meets beautiful Emmanuel Beart.

His powers miraculously revive, at the expense, perhaps, of his marriage. Rivette used improvisatory techniques to devise the movie, slowly following the technical process of painting itself. Ben-Hur William Wyler, The epic movie as originally intended - a life-or-death battleground in which world-views duke it out earnestly via oiled-up hunks in really cool chariots. Wyler's three-and-a-half-hour blockbuster has shown Homeric durability, thanks to the soulful clash of values between Charlton Heston's redeemed Jewish slave and his more pragmatic Roman friend.

And Wyler hardly skimped on the chariots either. Jean Gabin plays the engineer who witnesses the crime, but instead of turning them in, uses the information to exert a sinister blackmail. La Bete Walerian Borowczyk, The great art-porn favourite of the 70s is crazily Gothic, madly over-the-top, and comically sublime.

The gadabout son of a mysterious French aristocrat is engaged to be married to an innocent American heiress. He has an awful secret, linked to rumours of a "beast" rampaging around the estate.

Notorious at the time for its close-ups of horse erections, the film also features scenes showing a young woman enjoying congress with someone in a big hairy Beast costume. Better Off Dead Savage Steve Holland, A morose high-school student contemplates suicide after his girlfriend dumps him, but he's luckily distracted by a comely exchange student and a constant parade of strange characters and situations. This glimpse of John Cusack's charms is a loopy sleeper among classic American teen comedies of the 80s.

Beverly Hills Cop Martin Brest, The Bruckheimer-Simpson axis of evil in full seductive effect: star plus empowering premise plus megavolume action sequences. The star was Eddie Murphy, the premise was rough inner-city cop straightens out chi-chi LA enclave including Steven Berkoff as chief badman and avenges a lost buddy while he's at it.

Harold Faltermeyer's slinky, synthy title song, Axel F, was a perfect expression of how you felt after it was all over.

Beyond the Valley of the Dolls Russ Meyer, The west coast hippie scene never looked as enviably groovy as it does in Meyer's exuberantly psychedelic masterpiece. Following an all-girl rock trio's ride on fame's roller-coaster, it boasts colourful characters, a vintage soundtrack, cod-Shakespearean narration and a brilliantly ludicrous ending.

The Bicycle Thief Vittorio de Sica, De Sica's neo-realist classic came freewheeling out of the ruins of postwar Italy to take world cinema by storm. The director shot his simple working-class parable on the streets of Rome, using natural light and nonprofessional actors. Six decades on, it feels as fresh and as relevant as ever. The Big Chill Lawrence Kasdan, Seminal hippie-cum-yuppie tribute to friendship, centred on a nostalgic weekend reunion of seven college friends.

Kasdan weaves bittersweet reflections on love and sex with a smattering of soul-searching for lost idealism, offset by a feelgood Motown soundtrack. Visually inventive the climax takes place under a single bulb , and watch for Fante and Mingo, cinema's first pair of well-adjusted, mutually devoted gay contract killers.

The Big Heat Fritz Lang, Against a characteristic Lang backdrop of fatalistic trajectories and encroaching madness, of myriad doublings and halvings embodied by Gloria Grahame's half-disfigured face, courtesy of Lee Marvin's coffee-pot , Glenn Ford's enraged, grief-stricken cop comes close to mirroring the animalism of his gangster foes.

Bleak and shockingly violent, even today. As loosely thrown together as one of The Dude's joints, the plot sprawls to include everything from a missing trophy wife to a bunch of hopeless German nihilists. Big Night Campbell Scott, Stanley Tucci, Character actor Stanley Tucci's starred and co-directed in this winning story of a pair of Italian immigrant brothers seeking out restaurant success in 50s America.

The food is its own character, emotionally wrought and prepared with all the sensuousness of celluloid lovemaking. A delicious treat. Vidor's landmark war movie provided a showcase role for matinee idol John Gilbert as one of a posse of Yanks who sign up for the Great War; Vidor introduces many a stylistic flourish as bathetic human stories are juxtaposed with military conflict on a grand scale.

Make it a mystery more than anyone can fathom. Then watch the labyrinth turn into a love parade for Bogart and Bacall truly a love affair made by the screen. So it's a film noir, a who-dun-what, a private eye caper, a love story and a screwball comedy. Big Wednesday John Milius, The unexpectedly sentimental side of writer-director Milius' testosterone-fuelled schtick is to be found in this emotional epic, as it tracks three Californian surfer buddies either side of the Vietnam draft.

Cornball dialogue and overblown staging don't matter when the point is so obviously personal, the surfing magical, and the sense of diverging lives so true.

The duo's flipped-out enthusiasm and the script's slangy flair make for an air-guitar flourish of a teen comedy. What sets the birds off? Mother's incestuous sexual jealousy? The son's burgeoning emotional independence? Tippi Hedren's lime-green dress? Whatever - the sexual tremors beneath the avian horror are the movie's true motor; and the effects, instantly dated in , now seem horrifyingly retro-beautiful.

But DW Griffith made the audience sit still for three hours, held by the rhythm of long shot and close-up. Yes, it's ugly and compromised, but it's hard to resist - welcome to movie history. Black Cat, White Cat Emir Kusturica, Amiably beserk tale of chaos and carnival from Sarajevo-born Kusturica, set among a modern-day Gypsy community living on the banks of the Danube. Petty crime and even pettier punishment ensue, all leading up to an epochally frenzied wedding party full of commotion, frolics and runaway ducks.

Funny, fascinating and faintly exhausting. Blackboard Jungle Richard Brooks, Lurid high-school drama that introduced Hollywood to rock'n'roll, with slash-the-seats credit music by Bill Haley And The Comets, but Elvis and co had yet to exert their influence over these inner city juvenile delinquents.

Glenn Ford exudes cool authority as a teacher drafted into to tame their savage hearts, but Vic Morrow and Sidney Poitier are on fire as the boys who won't back down. Blackboards Samira Makhmalbaf, The doughty young Iranian director took her cast mostly non-professionals and crew high into the mountains of Kurdistan for her second feature, about the desperate plight of the Kurds. The imagery here is jarring and affecting: we see kids trying to smuggle themselves past armed guards, and teachers walking across rugged ground with blackboards strapped to their backs as they look for someone to educate.

Blade Runner Ridley Scott, Filmic visions of the future tend to either laughably short-sighted or absurdly rose-tinted, but Blade -Runner's holds up worryingly well. We might not have flying cars or new planets to escape to yet, but Los Angeles is still well on track to look like this come - parts of it do already.

Bleak it might be, but Blade Runner's rainy, grimy, high-tech but rundown cityscape is rendered with such richness and consistency and imagination, it's almost a celebration. Wisely, Ridley Scott provides us with a familiar navigation device through this alien world: the good old film noir. Android or not, Harrison Ford is a cop right out of the s: weary, reluctant, alienated but essentially effective.

It also helps that he has a straightforward assignment: track down and kill four escaped replicants, or artificial humans, who prove to be formidable opponents. Thrilling though the chase is, there are complicating factors, particularly Sean Young's futuristic Mildred Pierce-like femme fatale, who raises the film's deeper, trickier existential questions: questions about humanity, and identity.

Blade Runner's world may eventually come to look dated, but its themes will continue to haunt us. Stripped down to bare narrative, raw atmospherics and bleary-eyed performances from the three leads, it was a much-needed emetic after the ironic horror excesses of Scream et al. Why, in the YouTube era, haven't there been more films like this? Blazing Saddles Mel Brooks, Discomfort, disgust and improvised flurries have become the motor of studio comedies, but whatever happened to the well-crafted gag?

Brooks was instrumental in increasing the studios' gag reflex - and they don't come any thicker than in the pelting he gave the western in The campfire scene has, of course, entered the comedy canon. Blow-Up Michelangelo Antonioni, It took an outsider to make the definitive Swinging London movie, and Antonioni's ambivalence makes this more than an ephemeral celebration.

David Hemmings' playboy photographer is sucked into a spiral of delusion and paranoia as he snaps a murder on film, then comes to wonder if his camera is lying to him. And someone to say it to. Worms should reach me by close of play on Sunday June 6. Talk about patience. Joan Armatrading — Talking to the Wall — severin: A reversal of the usual meaning. Someone she can always depend on. And therefore someone well worth talking to.

Released in so it only took me thirty-five years to realise this. The rather good bass playing here is by Pino Palladino. Or did before somebody nicked it. Hidden in plain site is his masterfully languid adaptation of an Elmore James tune. In a couple of places you can hear him ahhh in contentment when his phrasing gets good enough even for him. Easily his best blues cover. Exhausting just being around them.

I had the pleasure of seeing magicman sing this in Brighton a few years ago…. Good morning, I hope everyone is well, and ready to listen to your selection of songs about Family. Many of us will be missing family right now, or spending more time looking after them and helping them out. The short version of the Rev.

Wilkins gem. Austin is one of half a dozen punk rockers I know of who turned to americana and did Interesting Things with it. As do movies from here. But The Hag tells a tale without getting mawkish. In fact it is the kind of music she originally wanted to make before she joined The Seekers.

It still takes a bit of getting used to though. That familiar voice and that familiar song. If I had a hammer … well, it seems that many of you do, not to mention other varied and sometimes psychotic tools and household appliances. Microwave dinner, anyone?

Very apt, as many of us are missing folk and a few of us are seeing too much of each other. Suggestions for future themes are also welcome. From a compilation called Faith and Grace. What a voice!! My mother had an ancient treadle Singer which she hated and the kids loved. At one stage she sang this song at my dad incessantly until he agreed that they needed to buy an electric one. The song is from the film The Perils of Pauline since you ask.

So go, YesBodyElse! This is the title track from the one before last. Albert Collins — Deep Freeze — glassarfemptee: My deep freeze is full of stuff to get me through lockdown. And tracks like this humdinger from Albert get me through, too…. More the politics of bigotry. But I found I had few songs that were actually about tools. Or appliances.

Good morning, and welcome to your choice of music about extra-terrestrials. I leave it to your fertile imaginations. Dunno what the song is about. It has space in the title. What does he see? Eccentric Japanese blokes whistle his happy tune. The world turns. Thought I would throw this in for a bit of fun! Not sure if the bloke in the song is literally one or just an odd sort of person. Ry Cooder feat. The space girl takes it to another level, by shacking up with a Martian.

But I did, I did, I did. She said no terran girl could trust the martian race. Eliza Carthy was 8 months pregnant at the time, and as she danced with her fiddle, I thought the band might be one person larger by the time the gig was over! This track is pretty much Close Encounters in song form. Good morning, I hope this finds you all well. Here are your songs of experience. Well, Covid has shone a bright, shameful spotlight on how invisible the elderly are to us.

Last May I did a playlist of songs about aging. Of course you do. Well lotsa things to be honest. Anna Atkinson — Old Man Song — glassarfemptee: Anna Atkinson hails from Montreal, and reminds us that we pass on music from generation to generation. A cheerful singalong ditty from Pink and his band. And this one, of course. John Prine — Hello In There — Ravi Raman: A very moving song about the lonesome lives old people have and their desire for human contact. So apt for today.

Prine, we know now, was on his last trip around. Zevious — Gradual Decay — Alfiehisself: An instrumental could be about anything really, but slowing falling to bits sums up ageing for me.

Elvis Costello — Veronica — MaggieB: I doubt that most of us could still be dry-eyed by the end of this song. I love how the tempo belies the pathos of the subject.

Thoughts and prayers to all those in care homes; residents or staff. Here we are again, this week celebrating saints and sinners in music although I note that we seem to be rather short of saints. And talking of saints, we welcome Panthersan, who starts us off with a rousing wake up call this Monday morning.

Also, metal songs that reference Metal are always a winner! Greta Van Fleet — Lover Leaver — alfiehisself: Not sure the lyrics mention a specific sin, but think it sounds sufficiently sleazy. Joe is unusually warm and intimate on this, which exists in many forms but usually attributed to Mississippi John Hurt. The Animals — The House of the Rising Sun — glassarfemptee: The early Animals were raw and powerful, especially in this traditional song of a sorrowful sinner.

Sounds quite celebratory to be honest. At least not if he does all the things decried in the song. Obviously chosen for people with limited costume choice, just a strip of white cardboard for a vicar. I always went as a tart.

Naked Detroit Jazz Band – Your Glass Is Empty – Ravi Raman: From a very good album called Swinging Back to poetiafintakinrods.soikmarvictivabcogebbaresagalvie.co’s recommendation. David Bowie – Breaking Glass – Alfiehisself: Bowie live in ’78, Breaking Glass. Mott the Hoople – Through the Looking Glass– Maggie B: I love this poetiafintakinrods.soikmarvictivabcogebbaresagalvie.co only other music I could think of on the subject was Phillip Glass and his however many.

9 thoughts on “Love Down By One Share (Love Song To A Whore) - Totty - Totty (Vinyl, LP, Album)

  1. Jun 13,  · Love Down By One Share (Love Song To A Whore) I've Done Made Up My Mind Album Hot Totty: The Collection Song Love Down by One Share; Artist.
  2. grapell premiere new song “heartbreaker” on consequence of sound debut album crier out november 3rd on roll call records stream "heartbreaker" https://soun.
  3. Falls Festival /20 | Check the Lineup | The 27th Annual Music & Arts Festival | Lorne, Marion Bay, Fremantle, Byron Bay | Dec 19 - Jan
  4. Nov 01,  · In , the album was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame. In the TV network VH1 named 'Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs' the 89th greatest album of all time. In , the album was ranked number on Rolling Stone magazine's list of the greatest albums of all time.
  5. I heard this song on the radio yesterday, and I just love it. It’s El Loco Cha Cha by René Touzet. Those horns!! It also fits into my semi-obsession with making musical connections, and discovering the origins of music we take at face value as “american” because it’s Cuban, but can you guess which well-known and oft-recorded song it predated?
  6. With a love for looping electronic beats, bass, synths and vocal chops – Georgi Kay is a British-Australian artist who has received multiple awards for her original work, songwriting and collaborations. She has toured with the likes of Ed Sheeran and Tash Sultana. Georgi Kay supports LP in .

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