alexsarll: (magneto)
On Tuesday, I went to the Houses of Parliament to see disgraced MP Phil Woolas give a talk which had nothing to do with his disgrace - he came across like a pretty nice bloke, in fact. Some tangents of the discussion related to that old, infuriating question - why do so many members of the working classes vote against their own interests? Why does the Right always do so well at getting traction for lies, from the Zinoviev letter to climate change denial? And at the heart of the answers, in that nagging way which you know is on the route to a much bigger answer nobody can quite find yet, was the suggestion that the Right has better imagery. Not in the SS uniforms sense; just that, particularly for working class women trying to run a household on a shoestring, the idea of national budgeting as being kin to household budgeting makes intuitive sense in a way the paradox of thrift never will.
And then afterwards, I came home and watched a documentary about bottled water, looking at how firms make billions selling people something that tastes the same as the stuff from the tap (more or less - I've known one or two areas where the tapwater does taste a bit iffy, but never one where it tastes worse than Volvic).
Both these things represented good work by smart people. But really, given neither of them had any suggestions on how to change the problems they were anatomising, I found a more satisfactory analysis in the past few weeks' Batman comics by My Chemical Romance* video star Grant Morrison. This is not unprecedented; when everybody was spaffing over No Logo, I was unimpressed because it was pretty much just the footnotes to one issue of Morrison's Marvel Boy miniseries, in which our alien hero fights Hexus, the Living Corporation. It's a truism to describe a writer as fascinated by ideas, but where Morrison is especially good is in seeing the connections between language, magic and branding. To briefly summarise what he's been doing with Batman, and anything which is a spoiler here has either been widely advertised or was bloody obvious anyhow: Bruce Wayne got thrown back in time by the evil New God Darkseid. He was presumed dead, so Dick Grayson, the first Robin, stood in as Gotham's Batman. In fact, Bruce was fighting his way back through time to the modern day as part of Darkseid's wider plot. So far, this is just a moderately diverting adventure story. But. Darkseid's wider plot is about the use of ideological weaponry, "hunter-killer metaphors", killer ideas. Twisting what Batman represents - the triumph of the human will - into a poisonous, negative force (easily done, when you consider what Triumph of the Will so often means). Turning all our efforts against ourselves. And having seen this, when he gets back to the present day Bruce Wayne does not do the obvious thing and simply become Batman again. He leaves Dick as Gotham's Batman, and decides to start a global Batman franchise; Morrison has ditched the rest of the comics to start a new one, Batman Incorporated, in which Bruce Wayne will tour the world** looking for these Batmen. Because Batman was always about branding, wasn't he? Bruce Wayne as a vigilante got a serious beating, but then that bat came through the window, he became Batman, and since then - in spite of having no superpowers - he's basically invincible. So when evil is everywhere, why not expand that brand?
Of course, how one applies any of this in the real world, I still don't know. I wish I did.

The other new comics of interest to crop up lately both involve work from Team Phonogram. Gillen's got a new X-Men spin-off, Generation Hope, which will hopefully last longer than his last X-Men spin-off, the delightful, tragically short-lived S.W.O.R.D.. And McKelvie - whom even Marvel editorial are now calling Kitten - illustrates Warren Ellis' back-up strip in imprisoned psycho supervillain miniseries Osborn. I read Freakangels online, but this is the first Ellis comic I've read on paper in a while, because he's a terminally unpunctual sod and both titles of his I read are more than a year overdue for another issue. And the main thing it made me think, especially with Jamie drawing, was that Warren Ellis now reads like a man trying to write like Kieron Gillen.

Beyond that, Peter Milligan's Extremist has finally been reprinted as part of Vertigo's anniversary celebrations. Whenever people misconstrue the name and assume that the Punisher is some kind of S/M superhero, I have to explain that no, that's the Extremist, except that's long out of print. Except now it's not! Hurrah.

In less happy news, the latest bunch of people complaining about a film getting a superhero wrong, are making themselves look even more like morons than usual because it isn't. Pity's sake, there was even a ginger Green Lantern before there was a black one. And as for 'the only black superhero', well, yes, if the cast of the Justice League cartoon in its early, less good seasons is the complete roster of superheroes you know, but in that case, shut up until you get 1 x Wikipedia. Hell, War Machine was in Iron Man 2, hardly an obscure production.
Oh yeah, and it turns out that even when, staggeringly, he manages not to fall out with the publisher - J Michael Stracynzski is incapable of finishing his promised run on a monthly comic! Anyone else remember when he used to be a genius? I'm starting to wonder if I dreamed it.

*If anybody lets me DJ anytime in the foreseeable future, I am totally going to open with 'Na Na Na' and its intro, because it is one of the year's best pop songs. However, thus far I am not loving its parent album. As with The Black Parade, MCR have become a fictional band to free themselves from perceived constraints, which is fair enough. But whereas the Black Parade were a goth Queen, which is to say bloody brilliant, the Fabulous Killjoys are a pop-punk band. Something of which the world is not short and, as a rule, they don't have that many great songs.
**Despite the timing, there seems to be no cross-marketing with the Batman Live World Arena Tour; I'm reading the damn comics, and I only learned of the tour from ads on the Tube.
alexsarll: (bernard)
On facing pages of Saturday's paper: competitors in a race complain that it is too fast, and parishioners outraged when their vicar quotes the Bible. For comparison, yesterday I sat down to watch Primer. I did this in the full knowledge that first time writer/director/producer/star Shane Carruth had made it with $7,000, a script more wibbly-wobbly and timey-wimey than Steven Moffat's finest, and a commitment to the philosophy of 'fvck the average viewer' which makes David Simon look like a commissioning exec for ITV1. But I knew these things going in, because I am not entirely stupid, and when the film did indeed prove rather hard to follow I did not complain, because I am not a whining tw@t.
(Once you've checked online to see how the plot untangles, though, it is very good - which is more than one can say for the olympics, or christianity. Possibly the best screen effort I've ever encountered to imagine how time travel might begin and work in the real world, using something close to the orthodox physics of the matter)

Otherwise, a weekend for farewells. On Saturday, the New Royal Family abdicated after a typically energetic but strangely elegiac show. And because it was their last, and because the supports included two with social overlap and one who were Proxy Music, a fairly good proportion of 'everyone I have ever met' was there. Some of whom I thought must have known each other but did not, so I was at least able to introduce them and feel there were beginnings to balance out the ending. I think in the end it felt more celebratory than not, but still a sad day. Not least because the previous night had been the end of another era. Not that you can ever definitively pronounce a death in comics, but the last issue of Phonogram for the foreseeable was out, and the creators were dressed for a wake. It's an atypical issue, too, addressing something I had wondered about - in Phonogram's frame of reference, is there anyone who really likes music but isn't a phonomancer? And of course the answer is nothing so simple as yes or no, more like 'magic happens'. It's the counterbalance to last issue and Lloyd's over-intellectualisation, to the point of being almost wordless. It is also wonderful, but by now you probably guessed I was going to say that.
Anyway, that was one issue, but due to overwhelming public demand* let's take a look at the rest of the last two weeks' comics. Includes legitimate use of the phrase PIRATE BATMAN! )
And since I started writing all this, I've learned of another exit - The 18 Carat Love Affair will be playing one more show, then bowing out. Sad times.

"I read naturalistic novels and they seem to me to be written by people who read too many naturalistic novels. They just seem to be full of convention, that’s all." - Will Self, from a very good interview which also explores his feelings on cities (more negative than I can agree with, but he couldn't write his books without them), the degree to which the novel's self-definition against film is obsolescent, and his sense of his own work's weakness. I know that the failings of the naturalistic novel are something of a hobby horse for me, but I was reminded just how limited a genre naturalism is the other day when a friend mentioned, quite legitimately, that the film she thought had best mirrored her own recent work experience was Tropic Thunder.

*By which I mean it got one comment, which is more than the entirety of Friday's post, so it's comparatively true.
alexsarll: (menswear)
Saturday night: a double bill of bands whose videos I've been in, so I was expecting to get mobbed by Youtube enthusiasts but people just seemed to watch the bands instead. I suppose they are both ace, so fair enough. If further proof were needed, I heard Loyd Grossman tell Brontosaurus Chorus "that was really good" in his actual Loyd Grossman voice. Didn't stick around for his band, though. Watching Loyd Grossman's pub rock band is a bit like shagging the Queen - worth it for the pub anecdote if you've got nothing else on, but if there's another offer you'd enjoy, it's just perverse. Of course, that did also mean missing Mr Solo but hey, it's only a fortnight since I saw him. The Queen-shagging analogy doesn't extend to that bit, I don't think. But off to Don't Stop Moving for pop we went. Whenever I go to two things with music in one night, however varied the remits, there will always be at least one song played at both, and this time it was 'Uptown Top Ranking'. Not the Black Box Recorder version, alas. In between playing 'Identify What The Own-Brand Confectionery Is Imitating' (and usually very well, both as in I guessed them all and they were all indistinguishable in taste from their more famous prototypes) I danced rather a lot, including twice to Lady Gaga's 'Bad Romance'. I think that, helped by the Camden Head's pleasingly overpowered soundsystem, I may be on the verge of being worn down/won over.

On Friday I wasn't going to go out because of the storm, but then it hit me - that's precisely the reason to go out, because hearing the great wind batter against the windows is fun but seeing the leaves lashed by air and water, the hurrying shadows from the Fullback's smoking pagoda is so much better. The best moment came when one gust caught a pub table umbrella, sending it pirouetting high into the air - and then plummeting clumsily down the central well, like the suicide of a ballerina attempting one final gesture against gravity. Except obviously I didn't say that at the time, going instead with 'oh my god' followed by 'sack the juggler'.

Thursday was the release party for the new issue of Phonogram, except it's not out yet because of some printing cock-up, but I did end up with an issue anyway. Don't bother trying to follow that. The point is, I think this is my favourite issue of The Singles Club. I said earlier on in the series, and [livejournal.com profile] azureskies notes from the other end here, that with this prismatic run of individual experiences of a night, it's not so much about the craft of the comic, because that runs at a consistently high standard; it's about which issues are your experiences, your people, your bands. And of all the music so far (yes, even 'Atomic') my favourite is the Long Blondes. This issue reminds me why, while also reminding me why I took them off my MP3 player - "My life is neither as good or bad as a Long Blondes song, but I have the sense and understanding that perhaps...well, perhaps one day it may be". More so even than the work of Greg Dulli, they are music to do bad things to. And yet after this issue, the first album is back on the MP3 player.
(Also out this week from Gillen and (partially) McKelvie, S.W.O.R.D. which Gillen correctly describes as His Girl Friday in space. Top fun, but I think I may enjoy it even more once the obligatory Dark Reign tie-in is out of the way because for all that it was a timely and smart direction for the Marvel Universe, I am starting to get a leetle tired of it)

The House Beautiful is having the Bathroom Slightly Grotty renovated, which while it's not before time, is mildly inconvenient in the meantime, especially what with me not needing to be at a job during the day or anything because of the whole 'epochal depression' business. Meaning that by the time I'd normally be surfacing in the morning, today I had already showered, dressed and watched Hard Candy. I remember this being much praised at the time - a hard-hitting but thoughtful and taut drama about paedophilia. Mainly, though, I just found myself thinking that now To Catch A Predator does the entrapment bit for real, TV doesn't exactly need this, and that as a two-hander which mostly takes place in one house, it would work much better as a play.
Also, I totally failed to register that the male lead was the guy who played Nite Owl.
alexsarll: (Default)
The bit of Friday's post which seemed most to interest my public was the bit about buses I chucked in just before posting. So: buses. On Sunday all useful lines out of the area were out, because two had engineering works and some arse had thrown himself under other. Which meant I had to travel for longer than I usually would on a bus fuller than it would usually be. Last window seats available are near the back of the top deck, so I plonk myself down there and hope that the back seat won't then be occupied by some dismal little street gang yawping in second-hand slang. My prayers are answered; instead I get a gaggle of postgrads having an only occasionally infuriating chat about the nature of power. The one arguing that it's always essentially subjective had a surprisingly compelling case.
Clearly my seat of choice on a bus is top deck, front window. Obviously you get the view, but also if you do read, nobody can see that the final issue of Captain Britain & MI:13 has you in tears.
(Also out: the new Phonogram, whose success with the formal experiment of a fixed camera angle is all the more impressive given I just read a much-recommended Luna Brothers comic, The Sword, in which the first issue was cheating horribly with its artist's eye 'camera')

Spent much of the weekend sneezy and ill, so as far as I'm concerned I've now survived swine flu. But not too ill to make [livejournal.com profile] despina's lovely wedding, at which one particularly heartwarming sight: a dancefloor on which three generations are happily dancing together to the Prodigy's 'Voodoo People'. The tiny people were generally better behaved that one sees at weddings, in part because they'd been given something to do, wonderful things called Art Jars scattered around the place with toys and craft stuff for them. And for drunk adults, of course: the next day, in addition to their normal contents, my pockets contained:
One small rubber duck
One fortune, hopefully true
One boggly eye
One crayon drawing of a giraffe
One translucent blue pebble

The first man charged under those dubious new 'extreme p0rn' laws is Alan Moore. But thankfully, it's not because the authorities or their masters in the tabloids finally read Lost Girls, just someone else of the same name. In this case at least, the new charge does appear to be there as a safety net, in case he escapes the charge of misbehaviour with a 15-year old - but it's still dangerous to have on the books any legislation which depends so heavily on the good sense of those enforcing it, because you never know when you might get a Mail-reader running a police force.

I've finished Something Fresh, PG Wodehouse's first Blandings story - and yet I don't really feel I got my Blandings fix. Jeeves & Wooster sprang into life fully formed, ditto Psmith; but when first we see Blandings, there's no sign of Gally Threepwood, possibly my favourite Wodehouse character. Worse, there's not one mention of pigs! And while Lord Emsworth's absent-mindedness is the plot's motor, he's not quite the dreamy soul we know from later books; he even gets involved in a spot of gunplay! Dash it all, it's not even high summer, but instead a rather cold spell in spring. It's still Wodehouse, and the man was pretty much incapable of writing a dud, so I shouldn't want to give the impression of complaining; it just comes as a surprise that his world didn't always come to him complete.
alexsarll: (Default)
Finally seen No Country For Old Men and...well, OK, it's not actively awful like most films which win loads of Oscars lately, but I don't quite understand the fuss. But then, The Big Lebowski aside, I never did quite get the Coens - they make films I watch once and enjoy, but then feel no urge ever to revisit. I will concede that, in Anton Chigurh, the film has one mesmerising performance, and that its reluctance to go for one of the standard thriller resolutions is commendable. I'll further admit that their sense of whimsy does a lot to leaven the relentless, slightly monotonous bleakness which put me off Cormac McCarthy when I tried to read another of his - this is as much a film about bad service and dumb questions as heists gone wrong. But at no stage was I either as gripped, or as amused, as I was watching Psychoville. At no stage did I find myself thinking that yes, this is what film-making is about, which I felt plenty during last week's Ghostbusters marathon (and how had I never twigged before that the Warden from Oz = Winston the black Ghostbuster, aka Ernie Hudson?).
Also: while finding that No Country For Old Men link above, I learned that next year will see a Clash of the Titans remake. As much as I hate moaning about remakes - so predictable, so lacking in historical sense, so selective in its examples - I do feel fairly confident that this one deserves to be stopped by rampaging stop-motion monsters.

Michael Moorcock interview in which we learn that he doesn't read SF, and feels something of the same rage towards the steampunk he helped birth as his mate Alan Moore does towards the grim'n'gritty trend in comics. Bless the old curmudgeon. If nothing else it got me to dig out some more of his End of Time stories - possibly my favourite of his work, given they concern near-omnipotent immortals heavily inspired by the 1890s, who live out Earth's twilight in a round of parties and fads. My people, in other words.

I've already bemoaned the cancellation of Captain Britain and MI:13, but the new issue suggests that it's not even going to go out with its standards intact. By which I mean no slur on the writing or the art, but someone in lettering and/or editorial has let through a 'your' for a 'you're', a 'corps' for 'corpse' and a couple of other, lesser infelicities. Poor show. Phonogram, on the other hand, came through with my favourite issue so far of the second series, because after sweet little Penny and normal Marc, now we have an issue devoted to the first series' Emily Aster, a vain, damaged and in many ways quite annoying young woman. ie, just the kind of person who it's great to have around because she keeps you on your toes - and doubly so in fiction where she's can't really cut loose on you. I'm also left intrigued as to whether, for instance, we'll ever find out what that townie girl was doing at an indie night like Never On A Sunday. Although, I do slightly dispute Emily's test for whether a club's indie (is she more likely to hear a record which sold eight copies in 1977 than whatever's Number One now?). The rules are: if the flyer lists bands - whatever those bands are - then it's an indie club. If it lists DJs, it's a dance club. And if it lists drinks promotions, it's a pop club.

Dreamwidth

May. 1st, 2009 12:17 pm
alexsarll: (menswear)
Why is half my friendspage posts about moving there? Have the Russian Overlords done something drastic, or is everyone just getting Gadarene on my ass in the spirit of these swinish times?

In other news: watched a bunch of Jeremy Brett Sherlock Holmes, and every story involved an animal as a crucial player in the crime. I'm now waiting for one in which the murderer is a quail with a blunderbuss.

The new Phonogram: I can see why everyone is getting Best Issue Ever about it, but feel less so, simply because while I can appreciate that it is an astonishingly well-constructed and resonant tale, Marc is essentially a fairly normal chap, and as such, not really like anyone I know. And a large part of why I love Phonogram is that the characters are the sort of people I might easily know.
(Really looking forward to the Mr Logos issue, though, if he gets one. He deserves one)
Gillen's contribution to this week's Dark Reign one-shot, on the other hand, is exactly the sort of thing I'm after, because the utter superciliousness of Namor...well, he's long been a role model of mine, clearly. Except for the (lack of) outfit. Peter Milligan's Loki effort and (surprisingly) Jonathan Hickman's Doom bit also very good, but I still don't really get why everyone loves Matt Fraction, and Rick Remender...well, his name sounds like 'remainder', which always put me off his comics, and this story gives me no reason to reconsider that.
alexsarll: (crest)
In Victoria HMV, there's a box set of all eight Alien and Predator films, including the two crossovers, for £15. It's shelved next to an earlier box set of what were at the time all seven Alien and Predator films, including the crossover. This costs £30. I know Alien vs Predator: Requiem is meant to be bad, but -£15 bad? And how much would a box with neither crossover cost?
(While musing on this, I caught an ad from the corner of my eye at Pimlico station, advertising Doctor Who - the Sylvester McCoy box set. Ooooh, how did I miss that? Turns out it's a Mock the Week ad with a list of 'Presents We Don't Want' or similar. Gits.

A bad week for icons; I have seen plenty of (richly deserved) tributes to Bettie Page and Oliver Postgate, but less about Forrest J Ackerman, superfan, inventor of the term 'sci-fi', honorary lesbian (this one was news to me) and inspiration to everyone from Ray Bradbury through Joe Dante to...well, pick someone cool, they were probably in his thrall. Rest in peace, all three of you.

Bands advertising tours on TV: is this normal? Genuine question, I don't watch much commercial TV these days, but it felt very odd when one of the breaks during the final Devil's Whore* incorporated a plug for Coldplay tickets. So odd, in fact, that it even bypassed the normal outrage I feel whenever reminded of this tour's existence - I am grudgingly prepared to forgive Coldplay's existence, but that they should reduce Girls Aloud and Jay-Z to support acts? Not acceptable.

"Gordon Brown has been called "Superman" in Parliament as the fallout from the prime minister's inadvertent claim to have "saved the world" continues. The Tories have been mocking Mr Brown after his slip of the tongue over the economy at Prime Minister's Questions...But Commons leader Harriet Harman told Tory MPs that she would "rather have Superman as our leader than their leader who is The Joker"."
1) Even by the standards of Parliamentary name-calling, isn't accusing the other side's leader of being a mass-murdering psychopath rather strong? I suppose there's always the remote chance that she appreciates the Grant Morrison perspective on the Joker's personality, whereby he has no essential 'self' and reinvents himself in line with each new circumstance; this would be a pretty good charge to level at Cameron, who has never really managed to articulate a stance or principle beyond 'I'm not the other guy'. Somehow, though, I doubt there's a copy of Arkham Asylum or 'The Clown at Midnight' on Harman's shelves.
2) Equally, I can only conclude that Harman has never read Kingdom Come, in which Superman's failure to confront the Joker with sufficient conviction leads to the death of Lois Lane, Superman's retirement, and the collapse of the superheroic age into carnage and anarchy.
3) At a simpler level, I think most of us would rather have Superman as party leader than The Joker. What her riposte signally fails to grasp is the difference between Superman, and an all-too-human leader who has made a slip of the tongue which looks very like it was as Freudian as it was hubristic.
(That third point is really banal, isn't it? And yet without it, the whole item looked that little bit too abstract/Comic Book Guy. Speaking of comics - I was a little worried about Phonogram series 2 starting with a Pipettes issue, but Seth Bingo's anti-Pipettes rant assuaged all my fears. Great comic, and the launch party wasn't too bad either. Yeah, get me with the schmoozing)

*Which was still a bit of a mess, wasn't it? Moments of genuine power eclipsed by the overall sensation of a story whose truncation made it didactic and rushed. Not to mention repetitive, in the way that over four episodes Angelica Fanshawe managed four deaths for four shagpieces. Has anyone yet written a crossover in which she turns out somehow to be an ancestor of Torchwood's Tosh and her Fanny Of Doom? If not - please don't.
alexsarll: (pangolin)
[livejournal.com profile] p_dan_tic's birthday Kaput gets extra points for the skeleton DJ, but I'd have approved anyway. I don't recall any songs I actively dislike, and while there was lots I didn't know, what I did included 'Short Skirt Long Jacket', Associates, Johnny Boy, Big Black, Magazine and Pulp's 'Party Hard'. More Of This Sort Of Thing (Outside Caledonia), basically.
The next day, I was a little disappointed that the British Bonving Championship was called off on account of the cold - there were even some snow spectators by the pitch, and the pastime was invented in Scandinavia! But on balance, the world would be a better place if more sports were liable to the governing body sacking off the national championships and going down the pub instead. The pub, though...[livejournal.com profile] amuchmoreexotic had it about right when he classed Highgate's Woodman as "a remedial pub. If you pull a really bad pint, they send you here". Then on to Pennfest for an increasingly assured Brontosaurus Chorus and the sharp-suited, Kinks-y (but not Britpoppy), suave sound of Friends Of The Bride. But not, alas, [livejournal.com profile] myfirstkitchen's own set, because the second room was too well-hidden. Which was unfortunate, because otherwise Leonard's was so nearly a very good venue to bear in mind for future events. Ditto Saturday's London Stone, really - there was one bad feature, one (admittedly well-decorated) pillar blocking the dancefloor off too much, or I'd tell everyone to start putting stuff on there immediately.

Among the various unseemly details grudgingly revealed about MPs' expenses, the one which interests me most is that "Gordon Brown seems to have charged for a Sky sports subscription". Not so much because it means Gordon's been giving public money to Rupert Murdoch - we all knew Brown was his prag. But because it illustrates once again his fascination with sport which, lest we forget, is what left him half-blind and wonky of face. I usually admire bloody-mindedness, but there are limits.
(I have a lot of respect for Heather Brooke's determined campaign to get the expense information in the public eye. But am I the only one to also find her kinda hot?)

A letter in the current edition of The Bookseller:
"Regarding Kate Mosse's rejoinder to critics of the Orange Prize, here's a story I was told by the wife of a man who used to work for Orange. Apparently it used to provide staff interested in running reading groups with a room, coffee and biscuits, etc. One day the mail employee suggested that he'd like to organise a science fiction reading group. He was told this wouldn't be possible as "only men read SF", and that to start a reading group focused on the genre would be sexist."

I was unimpressed with Matt Fraction's much-praised Casanova; loved the art, sure, but find the artist better employed on Gerard Way's Umbrella Academy where the script isn't so try-hard. But I decided to give him another chance, and read Punisher War Journal. Which was better, but still not great; he was still being a bit too self-consciously cool, and that resulted in narration that was too much Matt Fraction and not enough Frank Castle. And this time he didn't even have an artist who could save him; Ariel Olivetti looks like a poor man's John Bolton*. Not dire, but just sort of...there. So, final chance: the first collection of The Immortal Iron Fist.
Wow.
Obviously, it helps that it's a co-write, but then Brubaker's not a writer I love either - it's just that they work perfectly together. Brubaker's grit and noir smarts tones down Fraction's hip excesses; Fraction makes Brubaker more fun. The result is a time-spanning pulp romp, sort of Doc Savage crossed with a Bruce Lee film if Bruce Lee films were anywhere near as good as their cultural cachet suggests, plus dragons. I definitely want to read more than this, and it makes me hope I'm wrong about Iron Fist being a Skrull, because this is one story where I can't see how that angle would do anything but undermine it.

*If you only read one comic this year about bored British teenagers discovering Faerie, read Suburban Glamour. But if you want a second, Carey & Bolton's God Save The Queen is very pretty.

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