It may only be up on the BBC i-player for a few more days, I don't know, but if you are interested in alternative music or are inspired by cultural revolution, I'd urge you to watch 'Krautrock: The Rebirth of Germany'.
Through charting the rise of bands such as Neu!, Can, Faust and of course Kraftwerk, the show really conveys how the creative vibe for social change inspired Germans to reinvent themselves in the latter half of the last century.
Having been to Germany and Berlin in particular a couple of times, it certainly made its mark on me (and yes, that is a pun).
****
'Ignore the Ignorant' is another generous helping of Lancashire guitar driven indie, packed full of songs that will force their way instantly into the indie-kid's affections.
'Cheat On Me' with its vintage Marr contribution is one of my favourite singles of the year and opener 'We Were Aborted' is crafted into a striking comment on fidelity and exploitation - "Mid-shelf masturbation/Leaves a smear on half the nation".
More importantly however, The Cribs have evolved from producing strings of catchy hits to writing songs that are really something beautiful to behold. In particular this is true of 'We Share the Same Skies' and 'Last Year's Snow', the latter rejoicing in the line, "Yesterday's bouquet/Looks a little sad today." I love the sentiment evoked here, truly poetic.
I'm also in thrall to 'Save Your Secrets' which initially reminds me of 'Revolver' era Beatles with its high melody and blissful harmonies over lyrics that are wonderfully melancholic, "You are far more likely/To be devoured than empowered/By your sense of romance." However, then the mood changes altogether with the chorus rolling in like Kurt Cobain in a wheelchair, "Save your secrets/For those who deserve it." - marvellous.
'Victim of Mass Production' and 'Ignore the Ignorant' are further gems and although the album's not without its questionable moments (I'm not really sure about 'Emasculate Me' for example) as a whole, it truly is evidence of how The Cribs have become a band to reckon with, capable not only of rebel rousing anthems, but also of delivering on a greater artistic level with delicacy and poignancy.
With my mind in a permanently addled and sleep deprived state recently, many strange thoughts have occurred to me. They mainly enter the old brain box during the course of the morning commute, often triggered by a random newspaper headline glimpsed over the shoulder of a stranger, before passing out again and into the ether.
One such thought however, has stuck with me for a couple of days - it's maddening. I hope by writing about it I will dispel the thought from my conscience as if it were some kind of ancient curse in need of exorcising - "I need an old priest and a young priest, and failing that get me a blog upon which I can post nonsense".
Why, when we refer to the current calendar year of our Lord, do we say 'two thousand and nine'? Not 'twenty nine' nor 'twenty hundred and nine' but specifically 'two thousand and nine'?
By next year we will undoubtedly be saying 'twenty ten' rather than 'two thousand and ten' and we're already preparing for the 'twenty twelve Olympics'! The equivalent decade of the last century is always 'nineteen 'o' nine' or 'nineteen hundred and nine' So why change now?!
I wonder what choice was made even further back at the turn of the last millennium? Did 'King Ethelred the Unready' refer to his reign over England as spanning the year 'One thousand', and if so, why precisely was he 'unready'?
Did he, when signing off his Christmas speech, wish everyone a "very, happy and peaceful one thousand and one" unaware that every other upstanding citizen was saying 'ten hundred and one' and therefore suffering a lifetime of humiliation at the hands of his loyal subjects for not conducting the proper research?
You can bet your bottom dollar that by the turn of the next millennium it will change again. Perhaps, we'll refer to the date as 'three, triple zero' or maybe we'll be done with the whole thing and just settle for giving the year in binary, and don't even get me started on whether we refer to the current decade as the 'noughties'.
****
"Bah humbug", Ebenezer Scrooge once spat. The modern day equivalent has probably been emanating forth from many a 'Monkeys' fan in recent weeks fuelled I suspect by the bands departure from anthemic, booze infused ode's to nights on the razz in favour of a more considered approach.
Considered approach or not, they still can't get album covers right. 'Favourite Worse Nightmare' had an absolute stinker but 'Humbug's' is as bland as John Craven reading the shipping forecast after an overdose on Night Nurse.
At first, the music appears to have little more pep. 'Crying Lightning' didn't exactly take the world by storm on release but, perfectly exemplifying this album, it is, to use a well worn term, 'a grower'.
Gradually, 'Humbug' reveals its considerable charms, layered as it is with hidden wonders, and although it is hard to pick out tracks with real 'single' potential, you find that all play their part in bringing a little extra sass to the 'Arctic Monkeys' repertoire, perhaps too much in opener 'My Propeller', hardly a subtle euphemism for Alex Turner's manhood.
'Fire and the Thud' flickers with a new found intensity whilst 'Dance Little Liar' growls and snarls, an infectious base riff rolling around your ear drums. 'Cornerstone', evokes an image of Jimmy Stewart in the film 'Vertigo', desperately seeking the woman he once loved, whilst 'Secret Door' purs with an assured air.
Despite the inevitable criticism this album will receive, in reality it is extremely hard to fault and although gone are Turner's whimsical ditties, he's managed to replace them with shadowy glimpses which in many ways suggest so much more, "You can never get it spotless when there's dirt beneath the dirt" - Mysterious, sinister and superb!
It's been a while since I last blogged (as far back as September 1st) and, as most of you (maybe all of you) who read this will know, it's as a result of the biggest event of my life taking place at 22:25 on September 13th.
It almost seems impossible to write about new fatherhood without sounding cliched, gushing and self-important, yet by trying to avoid these traps you only end up sounding trite, flippant or downright uncaring.
In a way though, this paradox is as good a metaphor as any for explaining the wondrous, dream like state that ensues after the birth of your child. It feels like both everything and nothing all at the same time.
I should explain. Often, the question posed to a new father more than any other is, "So how does it feel to be a Dad?" This is never answered truthfully of course but I expect for many, as in my case, it actually feels no different at all to when you were a 'non-Dad'.
I'm still the same relatively irresponsible young man, with the same cultural likes, dislikes, character flaws and foibles, and it certainly hasn't changed my outlook on the world overnight. I'm no more or less conscious of global warming, street crime or the state of education even though I probably should be.
My new 'father' status is instead defined by individual moments, gradually enlightening me to the life that lies ahead. For example, when I worried the first time I saw my baby sneeze or the warm affection I felt when he first gurgled contentment as I rocked him to sleep in my arms.
Perhaps most strikingly, one morning at 3 o'clock, when having tried for hours to settle a baby who just simply wouldn't stop crying, despite being fed, changed and burped, my thoughts weren't of how terrible a night I was having but simply of wishing I could put right whatever it was that was wrong.
Of course, it would be churlish of me to say that it wasn't stressful, that I wasn't aware of how much I just wanted to get some sleep. However, therein lies my point.
So far, being a father has been both elating and depressing, both worrying and carefree, both fun and excrutiating, both everything and nothing. Yet despite the whirlwind I currently find myself in, what I can say with absolute certainty is that I love him.
It's as simple as that, and when all is said and done, for me and my boy, my Georgie boy, that really is everything I need to know right now.
****
'Quentun Tarentino' seems to be at a dangerous point in his directorial career.
From judging the general consensus of opinion surrounding the controversial film maker, it appears he needs to step up and realise the full potential of his indubitable talent.
I don't agree. Kill Bill Vol. 2 was a superb film, stylistically perfect and thematically intriguing with its tale of the revenge bride played immaculately by Uma Thurman.
However, I can appreciate some of the criticisms levelled at the man. He's a geeky, obsessive fan boy who prefers nothing more than splattering his knowledge of cult film across his movies, his interviews, across his very person, all with a relish that can at times be excruciating.
In 'Inglourious Basterds', a World War 2 fantasy Jewish revenge, so desperate is he to 'tip a knowing wink' at his audience, that at times he risks undermining the very fabric of the film.
There are some seriously odd moments, none more so than Mike Myers' appearance as a British Field Marshal, accompanied, no less, by Winston Churchill sitting at a grand piano! It could be a weird and wonderful scene cut straight from an Austin Powers movie.
Another sees one of the more prominent 'Basterds', a guerrilla fighting team of raging Jews whose mission it is to scalp as many Nazis as possible, enter the fray to a musical flourish and stencilled yellow lettering proclaiming his name. It resembles the opening credits of the 'A-Team' for chuffs sake!
Mark Kermode, one of my favourite movie critics, certainly agrees.
The more astute of you will notice I've spent the first half of this review pretty much slagging Tarantino off. Why then, I hear you ask, have I lavished 4 golds stars on the thing?
The answer is, that despite these admitted foibles, it's impossible not to enjoy the film immensely. There are scenes of unbridled tension and suspense which Hitchcock himself would have been proud of. The tavern scene in particular is so fantastically written that you can't help but appreciate the genius.
The characters too are exceptional. Brad Pitt as 'Aldo Raine', leader of 'the Basterds', is a joy to watch and both Diane Kruger and Melanie Laurent are excellent. One of the great skills of Tarantino is his ability to write strong female roles particularly in this case Laurent's vengeful cinema owner.
Christoph Waltz stands head and shoulders above the rest however with his unparalled 'jew hunter' Colonel Landa, whispers of an Oscar nomination are already doing the rounds and I expect it's with some justification.
Ultimately, it can't be denied that this film still feels special, packed as it is with talking points and memorable moments. Despite the obvious flaws, few filmakers are able to create such intrigue, impact and enjoyment from a film. His masterpiece it is not, yet when Quentin finally does grow up, we'll be all the more sorry for the loss of his childlike qualities.
I couldn't resist posting up this brilliant photo of 'The Clash'. I was reminded of how much I loved it when it appeared in a film I watched recently. Discussions on 'School of Rock'/Jack Black I shall leave for another day but in the meantime enjoy the energy and perfect aesthetic captured in this image of a truly great band.
There's a far more famous Pennie Smith photo of Paul Simonon smashing his bass guitar, voted 'Q' magazine's best Rock 'N' Roll photo of all time, but what I particularly love in this image are his snarling lips and angular stance. With Mick Jones (on the right) caught mid 'windmill' arm, you get a real sense of the urgency with which the band played live.
I would have loved to have seen 'The Clash' in their pomp but with that an impossibility I'll have to settle for this footage of them performing 'Clampdown' which for me sums up how a band should perform on stage: posturing, gyrating and looking fundamentally cool!
It may only be up on the BBC i-player for a few more days, I don't know, but if you are interested in alternative music or are inspired by cultural revolution, I'd urge you to watch 'Krautrock: The Rebirth of Germany'. 
