As usual, what starts out as a trickle stream of emails and texts, hung loosely about the premise that continued existence is something worthy of congratulations, the foggy aftermath of NYE has begun to clear. Flood would be a hellish way to understate and everyone seems fully intent on doing enthralling things all at the same, everloving time.
This, people, is ‘the John Travolta Scrapbook’ by Suzanne Munshower (Sunridge Press, 1978). How much more do I need to write about it? It’s a scrapbook...about John Travolta? His parents were very proud? I’m very proud? I am: It’s awesome. If someone had taken that ‘High School USA’ book and smushed JT’s mercurial face with it, they couldn’t have created something more artefact status worthy and I am obsessed. Much might be said for the equivalence of thumbnails and we shall have to love with that. There may have been people attempting to buy this even today. With money. Money! Don’t they know I haven’t finished reading it? The nerve.
I know, I know but having bought ‘Doolittle’ last year, January was in serious need of a Pixies fix if only to start as I fully intend to continue. If I’m really honest, I discovered this via the dirty, glossy halls of Spottyfie and initially panicked, convinced that they had a new live album called ‘Come On Pilgrim… It’s Surfa Rosa’. They don’t though. It’s two of their best older releases, ‘Come On Pilgrim’ and ‘Surfa Rosa’ - neither of which I owned on the black stuff - sandwiched by the most incredible set, ‘Live From The Fallout Shelter’ in 1986. There is also an interview on the CD/digital version but that can be had on a whim. Moreover, there is a Deluxe pressing on clear, transparent vinyl but at eighty of our dwindling English pounds, justify I could not. This one is gold and plenty loud and you can come listen to it anytime you feel the urgent need.
I have been disappointed by places that are definitely not “barcades” [in the past. There are certain establishments that expect you to bring your own version of the second part of that cocktail, content to merely serve their own overly prices machinations with minimal imagination or investment, aside from trendy stripped wooden fittings and well tattooed purveyors of sullen wit. They have no game. PimpShuei in Clerkenwell has all the game and they will fight you for it and they will win. Arcade? Yep. Great booze? Double yep. Infectious obsession with martial cinematography? Triple spinning bird kick to your purdy mouth.
Their staff are supernice and let’s face it, even if they weren’t, we’d be both too enthralled and terrified to say so.
JD - TACOCAT