An Elton Summer
’Tis the 6th day of Summer and I have yet to purchase one of those mini AC units that I swore blind I would have after last year’s big sweat. Everyone has one eye on the thermometer with their sandals, shorts and sombreros set out in expectation. Any day now. I am in the process of moving residence and have cleared as much brain space as possible, dedicated toward things that must go inside other things inside boxes inside vans, a mirage of house viewings, five-hundred unread emails, miscellaneous unseen dread and a phone that won’t stahp.
People seem to be deeply in love with the new Toy Story (it’s the fourth one in a quarter of a century, just in case you required any sort of perspective on this in terms of it being a cultural phenomenon) and I am absolutely one of them. I did laugh, I may even have cried and - I shall come out and say it right now for those of you who are still weighing the balance - I certainly felt as though my pennies were well spent and you should go right ahead and see this film. Pixar are seminal wizards of the heart, they will get you in your feel place and as far as these characters go, I could not be more invested. Also, Keanu Reeves. Again! This motherfucker is lit of late and I can’t get enough of his proto Evel Knievel. It is difficult to say more without procuring a megaphone and sticking up 60ft tall spoiler warners, safe to say that if you’ve watched any of the trailers and were a child at any point in your life, this is a call.
I’ll come clean right now and confess my failing to see the Elton John movie y’all been hammering on about for the past year. Please don’t @ me; like I said, real estate in my cortex is somewhat precious at the moment and I’m giving it the college try. By way of reparations, I present the above copy of Chris Charleswoth’s photo-biopic of the rocketman. Published in 1986 by Bobcat Books, Chris captured Elton at the height of his power - a fabulously gaudy, extravagant (owner of a pink Rolls Royce Phantom V) and talented pop star - writing with both wit and sensitivity to perfectly complement this incredible selection of photos from over the years. It makes for an incredibly interesting read, if only for more than a passing insight into the life of a man unashamed of his desire, unabashedly himself (at any angle, no matter how compromising), and arrow-sure on a mission to buy his favourite football club.
Monday was the fabled Chiltern Street Summer Party, not least because the Firehouse decided to blow the roof off and serve a whole load of excellent canapés with a generous complement of bubbles in salutation to the season. Naturally, we did not wish to be left out and so served our own brew of spritz - initially titled something along the lines of ‘Christiane Texas’ but we decided that, while most refreshing, it that might have been a bit “much” - accompanied by some good and loud rhythm & blues on the Rosita. While most of the evening was spent chatting to the loveliest and most curious of Planet Marylebone’s natives, I also found time to grab a couple of speedy snaps of the proceedings and included them here for posterity. There is a possible universe in which we do something like this every weekend in tandem with an installation, talk, reading, whatever. I feel like that would be a prime use of everyone’s time and with the weather like this, why not?
JD - TACOCAT
[Props to IMDB for the thumbnail image.]