Peats' returns

One of my recent blogs asked the question, Who remembers Even Stevens? and was prompted by the sudden announcement of the appointment of a receiver for Peats Electronics, one of those family run businesses that is as much a part of the cityscape and family lore as the GPO and summer trips to the seaside.
Now, joy of joys, I see Peats will return to business, slimmer but still alive and kicking. Apparently, all round goodwill from creditors, customers and suppliers has prompted them to regroup. Some of the shops have already re-opened and more will open on stream. So all's well etc and how refreshing it is to hear a Lazarine story in these days of crash and burn.

Have you ever seen an alien?

Like everyone these days, I like to watch the Discovery channel when I have a bit of free time. What the hell, you might discover something, eh? But when I was watching daytime tv, I became fascinated by a debate between a former police officer and a sceptic regarding a controversial ufo sighting in Britain in the early '80s. It made for some amusing, passing interest, between flicks, viewing. Later that night, I watched a detailed analysis/denial of that same 'so called' viewing on the Discovery channel. The seceptic dismissed the testimony of a British army Lieutenant Colonel as a trick of the night and blamed it all on a flickering lighthouse, five miles away. The Lieutenant Colonel and the police officer have written a screenplay and a movie appears to be in the offing. Then, one day later, I sat down for a pizza in my local pizzeria and was confronted by yet another ufo/alien sighting.
This one defies description, though. Apparently, as many as seven car loads of witnesses attested to viewing the weirdest sight of their lives - a 12 foot tall alien strolling down a highway in northern Italy. No phones would work; no-one got a photograph and there has been no official outcry. Hardly surprising, since the area of Udine in Northern Italy appears to be an area of particular interest to/for UFOs in the not so distant past.
So check out this report and look into Udine UFO sightings for yourself and let me know what you find...http://www.ufodb.com/ufo_news/ufodbnews.php?code=132

Who remembers Even Stevens?

Who remembers Even Steven's? Even Steven's was a three story retail clothing store on Capel St, back in the late '60s and early '70s. Jimmy Saville, the late Top of the Pops dj, drew headlines when he shopped there in 1968. But for many other people, Even Stevens was an eyesore.


With its floor to roof, colourful psychedelic mural, Even Stevens said 'THE '60S' in a way that was unmatched by any other store in Dublin. As a result, it was a mecca for Ireland's youth, seeking hipsters, kipper ties, velvet jackets and loud, paisley shirts. Walking through the doors of Even Stevens for the first time, was like walking into Aladdin's Cave. London had its Biba; we had Even Stevens.


Every place has its time and Even Stevens closed. There's a shop like Even Stevens in everyone's life. But that doesn't guarantee them longevity. Many of the shops of my youth have disappeared. Few people can remember there was not just one, but three department stores on Sth Gt George's St alone. There was another on the Quays. They were so monolithic, they looked like they'd never go away.


Peats was one of those shops that was always there. In this case, Peats was the place to go if you had a problem with your stereo or your radio or you wanted to upgrade to sound surround, a smart tv and whatever else the growing world of telecommunications could offer you, in a commercial package, for, of course, the domestic market. Now it's closed. Few people registered its departure; just a simple notice posted in the window of the three generation, family firm's Parnell and Dame St shops. Fifty years of being part of the city scape and psyche, gone in a trice and, no doubt, a shed full of debt. So it goes.

A friend of mine was shocked when I told him. He'd just shelled out €2,500 for a state of the art smart tv. He wasn't happy with it. Now he's stuck with it.

You tube, you die...a little

I watched a man drag himself into a Hell of his own design and circumstance and heard someone say, 'we should shoot this for YouTube, it'll go viral'. The man crawled from an alcove of an alleyway in broad daylight, less than 50 metres from Grafton St, one of this city's busiest shopping thoroughfares. In his wake, he left the discarded remains of his 'works'; scorched foil and a throwaway syringe. He was a tall man, ruddy faced and once, considered 'well built'. Now he staggered, bleary eyed and nodding, an open, scabbed, scar over his left eye. He took two steps and then fell flat on his face. We could hear the loud splat where we stood, at the door of a pub, less than 25 metres from where he lay. Then there was silence. His clothes were dark and grimy with dirt. Now as he lay in the lane, his arse was exposed, his jeans having worked their way down his hips, not by design, but circumstance. His body blocked the laneway. It was mid-afternoon and the 'footfall', as the property agents like to say, of pedestrians was frequent. Taxis streamed around the block's one way traffic system to compete for the needs of shoppers and guests in the nearby five star, luxury hotel. Now, they stopped and watched, before completing a three point turn, to go back the way they came. Remarks were made. 'It's a fuckin' disgrace.' 'Someone should call the Guards.' 'He needs an ambulance, not the Guards.' 'I wouldn't touch him with yours.' Then, 'we should shoot this for YouTube. It'll go viral.'
The prone and obliviously half naked man, began to stir. He raised himself enough to crawl on his hands and knees, towards the footpath. One hand reached out to grasp the earthenware pot of an olive tree that stood outside an Italian restaurant in the lane. His other hand steadied him while he eased the pot towards the edge of the footpath. It looked as though he planned to use the plant pot for leverage, to get to his feet. He eased himself up so now he knelt, like a prayerful supplicant. One hand rested lightly on the plant pot. The other fumbled at his waist. Then he began to piss, loudly and copiously, into the plant pot. When he finished, he levered himself upright, until he was standing again. His audience were silent. Some of them turned away. He fixed his trousers and covered his paper white buttocks that looked like two half moons, kissing. He walked away, oblivious and unaware of the scene he'd set, the audience he gathered. His moment of infamy passed unrecorded; just another moment of destitution, forgotten.

Postcard from a pigeon: Where the sheep have no shame...

Postcard from a pigeon: Where the sheep have no shame...: Last year I was asked to write an introduction for (yet another) book about U2. The intro was to reflect on the band's 30 years in the music industry. Here's what I wrote...

The boy on the cover of U2's debut album, Boy, looks at the world with wide-eyed innocence and curiosity. Thirty years later, the girl in the title song of U2's 2009 album, No Line on the Horizon tells the singer, 'time is irrelevant, it's not linear.' This ode to the infinite nature of creativity might be interpreted as wishful thinking for these now ageing rockers but for U2 fans it was a reassuring signal of the four Dubliners' continuity.
No band has sought inspiration in the zeitgeist of their generation more than U2. While many of their songs have explored their own souls' dark journeys, they have found reflection in the lives of their worldwide army of fans and the life and times of the world that surrounds them.
The '70s is not a decade we reflect upon with a rosy glow of nostalgia. The first major oil crisis of the last century set the tone for a decade marked by strikes, international hijackings, rampant inflation and progressive rock.
In Ireland, violence in the north east had reduced to sectarian, tit for tat murders while the IRA exported terrorism to the streets of British cities. Closer to home, security issues were so pressing, State intervention was perceived as invasive and oppressive.
Was it any wonder punk came along? The revolutionary cry went up; out with the old, in with the new. It was an exciting time to be making music, living in Dublin. A whole scene grew up around the Grafton St corner of St Stephen's Green. There were few venues for emerging punk bands and those there were, were overbooked. U2 were just minor players in a scene inspired by new policies of 'do it yourself' but occupied still by the old guard in new clothes.
The band of likeminded classmates put together by Larry Mullen got their first gigs in local northside venues as The Hype, playing Bowie covers. By the end of 1978, a browser in the Dandelion Green flea market could catch them playing Saturday afternoon free gigs in a partially flooded stable.
Participation was a byword for U2 as they embraced the audience that ventured to embrace them. Their music was an invitation as well as an evocation to and of their collective angst. In the boiling pot of this incestuous Dublin scene, the involvement of some members' of the band in the Shalom group, inspired devotion and derision. A rival group emerged calling themselves The Black Catholics, opposed to all things U2.
In the grand scheme of things, it didn't amount to a hill of beans. U2 had a plan to become the biggest rock and roll band in the world and when they met Paul McGuinness, they found the man who might have the moxy to realize their dream.
McGuinness was a Trinity graduate who had dabbled in music management already with Celtic rock outfit, Spud. He was well read and admired and emulated Brian Epstein and Led Zeppelin manager, Peter Grant, the two cornerstones of world domination and megastardom. He had dabbled in the world of advertising and commercial production and understood the power of image and the value of intellectual copyright.
The deal with Island Records was mutually beneficial. Although Island had considerably success in the '70s introducing reggae and Bob Marley to a worldwide audience, carving its own niche in the prog rock scene with Jethro Tull as well as tradrock and troubadours with Cat Stevens, Sandy Denny, Richard and Linda Thompson, among others, it failed to make any impression on the punk or new wave scene.
For Paul McGuinness and U2, it was a canny alliance. Island was cash rich and inclined to allow creative freedom and development room. And, as it turned out, it was needed. U2 was not an overnight success. It took more than three years of hard slog, thousands of road miles in hard touring and countless, nameless motel rooms before some faint flicker of light and hope appeared. Heavily in debt and suffering the doubt raised by the rock and roll lifestyle against their own personal convictions, the band almost split after the release of their second album, October.
They persevered in adversity. Even the setback of Bono losing his lyrics for the album while they toured inspired them to compose on the hoof. The singer 'wrote' his lyrics at the microphone while producer Steve Lillywhite was mixing the track. The album was not a commercial success but, in retrospect, it helped shape how they worked in the future.
The picture of Peter Rowan, the boy on the cover of U2's first album, Boy, changes significantly on the cover of War, the band's third studio album. He's growing up. There's an inquisitive anger in the eyes. The album announced U2's arrival as a band with something to say. They now had a distinctive sound. The Unforgettable Fire laid the foundation for what was to follow.
As the first album with the production team of Daniel Lanois and Brian Eno, it was greeted with suspicion by U2's American fanbase. But it consolidated a sound that was already manifesting itself since October and made a creative virtue of the band's willingness for impromptu experimentation.
All of this came to fruition with The Joshua Tree, a massive album exploring the journey of the soul through a material wasteland, the American hinterland, drunk on imperial power and lust. Suddenly U2 were on the cover of Time magazine and on top of the world.
Hardly overnight success but it allowed them to buy bigger homes and stay in better hotels. As individuals, they were rock stars without portfolio. They felt like pretenders.
Rattle and Hum, the double album and feature film that followed The Joshua Tree, was panned by critics as pretentious, presumptious and arrogant. It was misinterpreted. U2 wore its creative heart on its sleeve. When Boy was released in 1980, Bono declared they had no influences as though they'd emerged in a vacuum. But what was simply an assertion of the band's singular creative vision, would come back to haunt him. In Rattle and Hum they sought to explore, absorb and pay homage to the heritage that informed their own music; blues, soul, country and gospel. It was no wonder that at the end of the subsequent tour, significantly on the last day of the decade, in the Point theatre in Dublin, The Edge declared the band's intention to go away and reinvent themselves.
Ironically, the world around them was in the same process. As Gorbachev's Perestroika movement edged the Soviet Union tentatively towards more democratic freedom, the promise overran the reality and the walls, quite literally, came tumbling down. As though a corked steam kettle had popped, popular unrest and impatience spilled over into direct action. The Berlin wall was torn down, brick by brick. In Czechoslovakia, writer Vaclev Havel lead the 'velvet revolution' and in Poland, Lech Walensa was leading a popular move to democratic freedom and independence.
U2 chose Hansa studio in Berlin to record Achtung Baby, arguably the band's creative zenith and the point where the band's creative output and the zeitgeist coalesced. From the opening track, as the U2 locomotive chugs out of Zoo Station and Bono declares 'I'm ready for what's next...' It was as though the '80s had never happened and Rattle and Hum was someone else's nightmare. In the '90s U2 grew up, as a band and as individuals.
It was a period that was not without cringing embarrassment as they embraced the new dance culture and Zoo became the argot of post modern irony. Bono as Macphisto could order pizzas for an audience of thousands and phone Bill Clinton for a natter about world peace. In the end with POP and the subsequent tour, their emergence from a giant lemon was too reminiscent of Spinal Tap for comfort. They appeared to choke on their own post modern joke.
But what artist cannot embrace failure? Failure, in U2 terms, meant earning millions less than expected from what they produced. The only 'loss' they could suffer now was creative and the three albums the band released in the 'noughties - All that you Can't Leave Behind, How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb and No Line on the Horizon - have found them returning to basics in different measures and with varying results. In the meantime Bono has become a world statesman, at home in the company of world leaders. Adam has been through rehab and just recently married. The Edge is in a new marriage with a second family. Larry Mullen has a family and just recently launched himself in a new role as a film actor. They're boys no more.