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Dug up from the permafrost of punk-funk obscuria, ex-XTC and Gang of Four men explore the emotional life of monsters. It’s alive…

Shriekback - Oil & Gold

ARISTA, 1985

Throughout the rock epoch, commentators have slagged record companies for the dilution of art in pursuit of profit. Full marks to the Arista label, then, for releasing Shriekback’s Oil & Gold. A chthonic portal into an inverse world of eat-or-be-eaten terror-funk, macabre amusements and terminal ambience, it would have sat heroically askance in the Phil Collins and Wham!-embracing charts of 1985.

Co-vocalist Barry Andrews looks back on an anomalous situation. “There was a precedent in the Thompson Twins - also on Arista, also signed by the bloke who signed us - of a band turning from weirdo, uncommercial ugly ducklings into great big shiny ‘80s cash swans,” he reflects. “I think Arista still held out a wispy hope that that would happen. The cover idea was to make us look dreamy and great, but we ended up going for a gang of eels and feathers, which were props that became the main event. Once again the record company were not totally made up.”

Formed in 1981 in Kentish Town, the group’s core consisted of ex-XTC keys man Andrews, Gang Of Four bassist Dave Allen and Carl Marsh, former guitarist in squat funkers Out On Blue Six. Having logged such unnerving dancefloor releases as My Spine Is The Bassline and Tench EP on the Y label, they’d signed with Arista for 1983’s Jam Science album. After July ’84’s crisp single Hand On My Heart got to Number 52, they regrouped for a third LP, having been joined by drummer and Fairlight sampler operator Martyn Barker.

Andrews recalls a complicated genesis, commencing when the band took 20 rhythmic sketches to Rockfield studio in south Wales, with producer and future Hollywood soundtrack composer Hans Zimmer (who turned up three hours late, copping a £600 black cab bill after missing his train). “Everybody was involved in a lot of groove-building and improvisation to get ideas rolling,” says Marsh. “Then Barry and I would pick the ones we fancied and write lyric and melody ideas and structure them into songs, after which everyone would pitch back in with ideas to fill in all the gaps.”

After more session at Lillie Yard in west London, mixing took place in various studios in the capital and Bath. It was not an over-harmonious process, remembers Andrews. “There were a lot of major rifts,” he reveals. “Our manager wanting to sack me, Carl was gearing up to leave, Hans getting sacked - we ended up mixing with Gavin MacKillop. God we spent a lot of money.”

What emerged clearly thrived on the discord. Opening with the febrile, spasming Malaria andtwo more feverish funk eruptions sung by Marsh, Shriekback’s strangely scientific world of primordial nature was revealed in its noisy, intoxicated splendour. Drastic contrast was provided by This Big Hush, a phantasmal, possibly post-apocalyptic contemplation of ultimate extinction sung by Andrews, and similarly spectral pieces including the Cretaceous instrumental, Coelocanth. Marsh cites lead single Nemesis - which name-checked 2000AD comic’s alien hero who battles Earthling superfascist Torquemada - as “the one that sums up all the themes and contrasts into one pop blast. The animals and monsters, the tensions between instinct and intellect, nods to high art and comic books, and big laughs in dark places.”

Despite this, Marsh would leave the group after the album was completed, fulfilling press and photo duties but bailing before the touring could begin. “I did feel that the band had become a bit of a two-headed monster with myself and Barry both fronting it and pulling in different directions,” he says. “That said, I’m actually always surprised the album as a whole has such a unified feel. I guess we had a common purpose after all.”

The group forged on, but despite all efforts including an arena tour with Simple Minds, Arista’s dream of an immaculate cash swan would prove chimerical. Director Michael Mann, however, would add to the group’s cult cache by selecting Oil & Gold tracks for his movies Manhunter and Band of the Hand. “He got the tenderness in the weirdness, I guess - the emotional life of monster,” muses Andrews. The singer continued to lead Shriekback, with 1986’s Big Night Music a worthy companion piece to its predecessor, but would cease operations after 1992’s Sacred City. The beast would not die, though, and four more releases down the line, Marsh was back in earnest for 2010’s sterling Life In The Loading Bay. Now Barker is also returned; the three-man line-up is finishing a new album.**

Twenty eight years on, Oil & Gold remains visceral proof of what they’re capable of. “The actual title came from a lyric that wasn’t used,” reveals Marsh. “‘It’s as physical as oil and gold’. It was the contrast between dark, sticky, clingy blackness and bright, hard clarity that seemed to encapsulate some of Shriekback’s extreme qualities.”

Ian Harrison

MOJO July 2013

**The new album referenced in Ian Harrison’s article is Without Real String or Fish, our thirteenth studio album, just released earlier this month. You can learn more about it on the official website. Please join us in the discussion on Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr, and don’t forget to sign up for our newsletter for free music downloads and current Shriek activity.

Mood: nerdy
Where? the house
Music: Pink Floyd - On the Turning Away

James from Canada was kind enough to share his Shriekback concert experience from 1987. Read on, MacDuff!

A Big Night - Music, Youth and Naïveté

It was back in April of 1987 that I got to see Shriekback live for the first (and, it seems, last) time, during their Big Night Music tour. It was just a few days after my 18th birthday, so I was having quite a nice week. The show was at the now-defunct Concert Hall in Toronto, a cozy little venue with a standing floor space and a large, wrap-around balcony above.

800px-CTV_Temple After making our way past the merchandise table, where one of my friends bought himself a Big Night Music T-shirt (still kicking myself for not doing the same), my friends and I found our place up in the balcony, with an almost "front and centre" view of the stage.

As we sat there, I remember the excitement at seeing all of Shriekback's instruments on the stage: an eclectic mixture of modern electronic synths and old, earthy bongos, gongs and bells. We knew that this was going to be a great show!

I don't recall who the opening act was, although I think it might have been the Comsat Angels. We didn't care, though… we were here to see Shriekback! After what seemed like an eternity, the house lights finally went down, and the crowd went wild. As the dry ice fog slowly filled the stage, we could see movement in the dark… who was that? If my memory serves me well, it was Steve Halliwell first out on the stage, wearing a little hat on his bald head (no doubt to avoid being mistaken for Barry!) Steve got the dark synths going, and as the multi-coloured stage lights pierced and wound their way through the fog, the rest of the band slowly came out, one by one adding a new layer of instrumentation to the intro track. As the intro built to a crescendo and the first track came crashing in, Barry himself slunk onto the stage to raucous applause.

It's been so long since I saw this show, that my memories of what got played are pretty vague. At the time, though, the Shrieks had already started working on their next album - the much maligned Go Bang - and some of the new material made its way into our Big Night Music setlist. The opening song of the show was "New Man", followed by a wonderful mixture of Big Night tracks and earlier material, all energized to the highest degree for an exciting live experience. We heard "Black Light Trap" and "Gunning for the Buddha." Classics like "Nemesis", "Hammerheads", and "Lined Up." Go Bang's "Intoxication" got introduced to the crowd around the half-way mark, and the show wound down with an encore performance of "New Man."

What a show it was. So exciting and fun. One thing which really stood out to me and my friends as we sat there taking it all in, was just how much of a good time everyone was having - both the audience, and the band itself. I've been to many concerts where it seemed like the band was just "phoning it in", but that wasn't the case with Shriekback. These guys know how to work an audience! There was lots of dancing and clapping, and Barry engaged and entertained the crowd with funny stories about how his pants kept sliding down, while encouraging us all to sing along: "let's hear it again… 'My Spine.. IS THE BASSLINE!' ", and "With the GREAT BIG FISHES!!". It was truly a special night, and everyone left with a big smile on their face.

It was also during this show that I experienced a bit of a life-lesson, although I didn't know it at the time, of course. As my friends and I were waiting for the show to start, we spent some time looking around at the gathering crowd. Our attention was drawn to one individual in particular - an older man, probably in his 50's, with grey hair and glasses, standing at the back of the balcony. Now, remember that we were just in our teens. Young and naïve, you could say. Alphaville's "Forever Young" was our anthem song, and music like Shriekback was only for us "cool, hip, alternative" types! So what was this older-than-30 guy doing here? He wasn't even wearing anything black, for heaven's sake! "Hey, check out the old geezer back there," we laughed among ourselves. As the show progressed, we occasionally looked back to see the "old geezer" clapping and dancing along to the music. "Ha ha," we thought sarcastically, "go home and put on some Easy Listening, will ya!"

Well, fast-forward almost thirty years, and here I am in my 40's - the proverbial "old geezer", still listening to Shriekback. While my hair isn't white yet, the grey has definitely started to creep in, and I really must see the optometrist about getting bifocals. It is only now, later in one's life, that you realize just how silly and naïve some of your attitudes were when you were younger. Usually, though, these moments of realization come when you find yourself doing something that you swore to your parents you would never do. Like telling your kids to be extra-careful, or not to swear or watch that rude TV show. I never expected, though, that it would be via the medium of a Shriekback concert that I would learn one of the truths about life's little pleasures. Namely that good music is timeless, and crosses all boundaries of language, culture, and, yes, age. Good music is there to be enjoyed by everyone. I wonder if the guy I saw at the concert that night, who by now must be in his 60's or 70's, is listening to Without Real String or Fish? I sure hope so! I know that I will still be listening to the Shrieks in the coming decades, and that's something I'm definitely looking forward to!

©James from Canada
14 March, 2015

Mood: okay
Where? the house
Music: Massive Attack - Inertia Creeps

Inspired by listening to Without Real String or Fish, James from Canada (his preferred cognomen) felt compelled to share his thoughts about the mighty “Coelocanth."

Coelocanth: The Last Shriekback Song I Will ever Hear?

So here we are in 2015, and Shriekback have just released their 13th album, Without Real String or Fish. And a most excellent album it is, too: full of the usual Shrieky goodness - clever lyrics and wordplay, groovy basslines, catchy tunes that run the gamut of dark, light, thoughtful, funny and sombre (often at the same time!).

So it is not surprising that while one is feasting on a plate of brand new songs, that one also reflects on a band’s past releases, and how they may have influenced one’s musical tastes, preferences, or - perhaps - one’s life.

In my case, I'd like to look back at one particular song - "Coelocanth" - the atmospheric conclusion to the Oil and Gold LP back in the 80's. I was a teenager back when Oil and Gold was released, and at the time I preferred all the hard-rockin' tunes like "Nemesis" and "Malaria." So while I loved most of the Oil and Gold album, I always thought that "Coelocanth" was a piece of crap. "What the hell is this?" I asked at the time. "Did Shriekback hire Zamfir and his cheesy pan flues to play on this record?** Awful!" As far as I was concerned at the time, Oil and Gold finished with the conclusion of "Hammerheads." And so it went for many years... until Manhunter.

Many Shriekback fans either discovered or re-discovered the band as a result of Michael Mann’s film Manhunter, which featured the Shriek songs “Evaporation,” “This Big Hush,” and “Coelocanth.” For me, when I saw the famous tiger scene in that movie, set to the music of “Coelocanth,” I had a bit of an epiphany. All of a sudden, this song wasn’t a cheesy woodwind “extra” tacked on at the end of Oil and Gold, but something which really penetrated deep down into the soul. I promptly began to listen to “Coelocanth,” and with my ears now finally open (so to speak), I realized just how haunting and beautiful a track it really was.

Back in the late 90’s, I once had a dream about this song. I remember it quite vividly - I was lying on some ocean beach on an alien world, with a huge ringed planet rising in a dark aquamarine sky. I heard “Coelocanth” playing somewhere in the distance, although I knew that I was alone on this planet.

At the time I didn’t give the dream much thought… it was just a cool thing that happened. Well, you can imagine my surprise when several years later, while I was surfing the internet for some new desktop wallpaper for my Mac, I came across this particular image at the Digital Blasphemy website :

This image - minus the palm trees - was almost 100% verbatim what I saw in my dream. It really chilled me to the bone to see my "vision" realized by some person whom I'd never met. Of course, I immediately pulled out Oil and Gold and played “Coelocanth,” and found myself thoroughly captivated by the synergy of sound and image…it was absolutely hypnotic, even magical. I had already grown to appreciate that once-belittled track “Coelocanth,” but from the moment I heard it in conjunction with this image from my dream, it just became so much more.

So why is it that I say “Coelocanth” is “the last Shriekback song I will ever hear?” Well, it may not be, but - and this is where I perhaps get a little morbid and over-the-top for some readers, but bear with me - I have for many years thought that “Coelocanth” would be the perfect “last song” for me. The last song is essentially the soundtrack to one’s end: when you’re on your death-bed, and you know that you’ve only got minutes left to live, but you can pick one piece of music to accompany you as you journey out of this world and into “whatever-lies-beyond.”

For me, “Coelocanth” conjures up many feelings and imagery. The obvious one is that of prehistoric fish moving through the dark depths of an ancient ocean. But I also see strange alien landscapes (as in my dream), or even the infinite depths of outer space, filled with stars and galaxies. Combine all that imagery with the background synths and trickling water samples, and you have a concoction that just soothes the soul in a way that’s hard to explain. This is why I would be quite happy to spend my final moments with this song in my head. It really encompasses, well, just about everything, for me. Not bad for a previously-mocked, little 4 minute atmosphere track at the end of a 30-year old album.

So why all the “deep-thought” and rather mawkish gushing over this old song? Well, for me, it really demonstrates what I (and no doubt many other Shriek fans) love about Shriekback. How their music grows on you over time, and how deeply it can affect you. It’s not surprising that I’ve been a fan of the Shrieks since the 80’s: they’ve consistently delivered amazing and diverse music, and the new Without Real String or Fish album continues this tradition. Hopefully there are many more wonderful albums coming from this talented bunch in the years to come.

©James from Canada
8 March, 2015

**with apologies to any fans of Zamfir. I also heartily recommend Digital Blasphemy’s Desktop Wallpaper site. The worlds that this guy creates with 3d software really go well with the whole Shriekback vibe. “Without real worlds or matter”, I guess!

Mood: busy
Where? the house
Music: Genesis - Mama

There was a time in movie history when an extreme shift occurred, thanks namely to George Lucas and Steven Spielberg. In 1977 Star Wars and Close Encounters of the Third Kind were released. This, combined with Star Trek playing in syndication at the same time, triggered the coming of age of Geekdom. A lot of now-middle-aged individuals found a kind of new religion because of these movies, each of them deeply spiritual in their own right. Sadly, many of us did not get to see these movies in the theater for a variety of reasons; theaters were still sparse in many areas, we were too young to be allowed to go see them, or we learned about the movies too late to see them at the theater. The advent of the VHS allowed us to finally see the films years later, after we had long-since been immersed in their canons. I was lucky enough to see Star Wars in 1978, when it returned to the cinema that Summer. It was my first PG movie. It wasn't until 1983, when I spent part of my Summer with the Father Unit and Mary, that I got to see Close Encounters. They had a friend who owned a Betamax, and he screened that movie and Cat Ballou for us one evening.

I've noticed with increasing interest how movies that were released years ago, are being re-released in theaters, mainly because of the 3-D option. This made me think about how some of the classic films, from the 30s and 40s, enjoy homes in art house cinemas dedicated to Hollywood's golden age. And let's not forget the sacred nights of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, now a tried and true tradition that spread out from New York City until it touched lives world wide.

All of it has gotten me to thinking: my generation deserves...no, it fairly demands a platform to celebrate out Geek origins. It would please me no more than to open a cinema house, called Iconic Cinema, that caters to Generation X. For too long, we have been equated with cynicism and apathy; but we are the generation that gave rise to almost every great fan convention in modern times. It wasn't the first generation of Star Trek viewers who gave the Trek world life; it was their children (US) who began clamouring for more after seeing the shows in syndication. It was we who lamented for a proper Lord of the Rings movie, after many of us cut our reading teeth on the tales of Bilbo and, later, Frodo. It was we who grew up dreaming of virtual realities, thanks to the wholly alien inner world of Tron. And I could go on and on. Suffice to say, Simon Pegg's movie Paul would never have been made, had it not been for GenX and the movies that moved us so long ago.

If I had the money to invest, it would most assuredly be to create a meeting place for all these wondrous movies, and even TV shows. Not only would it allow those of us who never got to see the Big Two in the theaters, to finally realise that dream, it would also afford our children and grandchildren the opportunity to see these and many other movies in a format worthy of their greatness.

Maybe someday I'll get to do this.

Mood: nostalgic
Where? home
Music: Ancient Aliens

Stolen from

popfiend!!

Mood: bouncy
Where? home
Music: Vnv Nation - Momentum

When I was a kid, I was keen on reading movie novelisations, the main reason being that we couldn't afford to go see all the movies I wanted to see, but a book back in the 70s and 80s was much more affordable. Besides, I could play the movie in my head when I read the book, so I got essentially the same experience, if not a better one that movie-goers. One such book was TRON. I really wanted to see the movie, but there was no way, so I read the book instead. I loved it. When I finally got to see the movie, I wasn't nearly as impressed with it as I was the book. Looking back on it, I understand why. I saw in my head future CGI, but the movie could only provide imagery from the technology available to it at the time of filming.

The film is airing on G4 right now and I can honestly say I'm enjoying it more now than I did when I saw it in the mid-80s. The nostalgia that surrounds it is palpable for me. Despite its antiquated computer effects, the movie truly was ahead of its time, and I can appreciate this more now than I could as a teenager. It's sort of like Atari games. When I get the chance to play Atari, I enjoy it much more now than I did when it was all the rage. I can appreciate its simplicities, despite it being cutting edge in its heyday. Before, I was frustrated with the games' limitations, just as I was frustrated with the funky effects in TRON. Now? Not so much.

So Disney is making a sequel to TRON, called TR2N or TRON2. Some people are up in arms about this, saying it will ruin a classic, going on the old adage "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." Others are very excited about what can be done to bring the computer world to life 26 years of technological advancement since the making of the original. I'm in the latter camp. Given the virtual realm and the existence of a whole other reality in Teh Intarwebs, I'm thinking it would be a mortal sin if TR2N didn't get made.

When TRON was released, it was done so on the premise that we were living in a rapidly-changing reality that depended more and more upon machines and AI. It opened the door for further exploration in the CGI realm and the creation of video games. To want such a maverick of a film to stagnate in the vaults of posterity goes against everything the movie stands for, in my opinion. I'm hoping that, with TR2N, the programs are much more sophisticated and independent, relying on themselves and each other as much if not more than their users. This would accurately reflect the current state of AI in our modern world.

Mood: nostalgic
Where? home
Music: Taj Mahal - Hard Way

The George Michael I know and love wears a "choose life" tea shirt and sings about waking up before you go-go. He isn't the anonymous park pervert of the 21st Century. May I please please please just go back to the 80s and live there forever? Please?

I admit it. I've become my Uncle Michael, who is still lodged firmly in the 1950s. He emerges occasionally to sample modern music and culture, but he always returns to his safe haven of that particular decade. My decade is the 80s. Actually, it's just a handful of years from that decade, specifically 1980 through 1985. The music of that time still sings to my soul. It was the age of the synthesiser, the age of taking chances and being different, the age of experimentation. The Second British Invasion of the American music scene was in full swing and I was immensely grateful for some decent music for the first time in ages. It was also my age of innocence, because I was certain that these icons of musical superiority could do no wrong. They scored the soundtrack to my life and they represented for me all I wanted to be when I came of age. I had my first girl crush in 1983, upon seeing the "Sweet Dreams" video by the Eurythmics. Annie Lennox in her spiffy suit and wielding the Riding Crop of Domination quite literally blew my mind. My nickname in high school was George because Boy George was one of my idols. It was Boy George and Robert Smith who essentially taught me how to apply makeup. To this day, I still put more eye shadow under my eyes than over them. Imagine my horror when I saw Boy George, bald, and painted up like a Killer Klown from Outer Space. Whuh?

I know everything changes. I know that time supposedly marches on and only the strong can keep up. I'm not that strong. I've been left behind somewhere in the swelling throng in attendance at Live Aid. Just let me stay there, where Boy George is still decked in Foundation and George Michael offers up careless whispers to his fans and not pot-bellied white van men in London parks at midnight. I don't want to be here in this horrible age, stained by a cynicism that never washes off and broken by dreams that I never realised.

And now my head hurts. Maybe I should apply something...anything...directly to my forehead.

Mood: discontent
Where? still a very dark place
Music: Sinead O'Connor "I Am Stretched on Your Grave"

It's a song title from a piece on "Haunted Box of Switches" by Barry Andrews, and it feels like that's what I've been doing. In all actuality, I've been going through dresser drawers. I found my old Rider-Waite deck, my Celtic Tarot, and the box for the Robin Wood Tarot but, in lieu of cards, there was instead a wax poppet, a wooden heart, a small bag of keys, and a scrap of paper that says "psychic work" in Tarmi Tamllorann.

Also found:

A draft of some section of The Chalice, dating back to probably 1988, not long after Cadmus' creation.
My Witches' Rede and Initiation taper given to me when I was initiated into First Degree.

My wooden Pentacle purchased at Rainbows & Moonbeams "back in the day."

My ceramic Pentacle made by yours truly.

My bag of FUTHARK.

A paper spell I'd done back in 1991 to help Pierce, one of Johnna's many neglected pets, find a decent home.

My old Witches Bible by Janet and Stewart Ferrar.

Some black candles so old they are literally disintegrating

This makes me want to pull out all my other Craft paraphernalia and conduct a full-blown, no-holds-barred High Ritual. One of my favourite kinds. Not to make magick or engage in any wish-fulfillment; rather, to worship ~ just worship and do so with a deep and unfettered passion.

Rose Red is on Sci-Fi right now. Mmmmmmmmmmm.....Julian Sands.....

Mood: sleepy
Music: Rose Red on Sci-Fi

So here I am watching the new Doctor Who and it's teleporting me back to the early 80s when I was still convinced that I'd grow up to be a journalist and novelist in London. My favourite shows were viewed through a veil of television snow on Asheville's PBS station ('cos the local PBS had no British shows in the 80s). Saturdays were dedicated to Doctor Who (Tom Baker's and Peter Davison's mostly, but there were some Jon Pertwee's thrown in there for good measure) from 12 PM 'til 4 then, at 8 PM, came All Creatures Great and Small. During the week there was Fawlty Towers either at 9 PM or 11 PM. In 1983, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy edged in on a little of the good Doctor's time, being featured from 3 'til 4 each week until the series ran out.

Those were some of my happier and more hopeful days. I was still a dreamer then, and I still had faith in myself and my fellow humans. There seemed to be an innocence I associate with those shows and that era in my life, a freshness that can never be recaptured.

But it can almost be.

When I heard that theme song, that glorious theme song for Doctor Who, all modernised and enriched with orchestrations, my heart fluttered and I was 15 years old again. I'm hoping to at least visit London soon and I've written a book, albeit one that still needs a godawful amount of work. Truth be told, I'm probably more like Basil Fawlty now than the Doctor, Zaphod or Trillian, or James the veterinarian, but that's okay. I am who I am. And it makes me smile that I can still feel that thrill of newness and the well-known unknown.

Now I need to go find pictures of Anthony Andrews from the Sebastian Flyte years.

Mood: nostalgic
Music: Doctor Who

Spandau Ballet's "True" is on VH-1 Classics right now. This band had real class. There were a lot of bands in the 80s that were classy beyond comprehension. Where has that suave coolness gone today?

By the wayside with all us old curmudgeons.

I need to download "Electric Dreams" by Phillip Oakey.

Mood: nostalgic
Music: Spandau Ballet "True"

That song, "Too Much Time on My Hands" by Styx: I'm starting to relate to it. There's a line in it, near the beginning, that goes: Is it any wonder I'm not crazy? Is it any wonder I'm sane at all? That's me and I came to grips with the truth of it earlier today when I started contemplating compound eyes and what effects on society having them would have. Yeah, I know that it's thought that the facets of the compound eye are communicated as a singular image instead of a whole lot of the same image, but I was pondering on the multiple-image eyesight during my theories regarding, say.....wasp society.

I chose the wasp 'cos I saw one on the front porch a few days ago, it's teardrop arse dangling an inch from its body as it burrrrrzed about lazily, rubbing in the promise of Spring without the appearance of Winter. Sensing my resentment, the wasp eventually floated away.

For the purposes of my theory, let's say that wasps have 10 facets on each compound eye. If each facet worked independently, that would mean that a wasp would then see 20 of everything. So wasp math would be based on increments of 20. 20-40-60-80-100 would be like our 1-2-3-4-5. This would also mean that wasps think there are way more of humans about than there really are. When it stings just one of us, 20 of us chase after it while they all freak out and swell up. It would be kinda terrifying to think that a posse hellbent on your destruction was just right around the corner. After Humanity has destroyed all the natural habitat, wasps will see the last tree alive as at least 20 trees, the beginnings of a festive little forest! All nouns would be plurals because the wasp would not understand the concept of any form of singularity, seeing everything in plural and being a member of a hive mind. When one wasp would tell another wasp it was heading back to the hive, s/he'd might say: "Yo, so we're heading back to the homes. See y'all there!"

So. Too much time on my hands. The mind is turning to overcooked oatmeal.

popfiend made note of my mention of "pre-Cable" in one of my posts from yesterday. To those of you born after, say....1978.....:

There was a time in history, not so very long ago,
when there was no such thing as Cable Television

We were lucky if we had 4 channels in our neck of the woods: the ABC affiliate, the CBS affiliate, the NBC affiliate, and the local PBS station.

Bugs Bunny cartoons were always shown from 9 'til 11 every Saturday morning, and none of the violent or rude parts were cut from them so as not to damage our delicate little child psyches.

We tuned our TV stations in with a set of "rabbit ears" antennae that sat on top of the television. Sometimes the cunning use of foil would be employed, most often using one of the kids as antennae extensions for better reception.

Our TVs usually didn't have remote controls. The remote control of most families' households was the youngest member of the family, who was ordered to get up and flip the channel using the channel dial attached to the front of the TV.

By the same token, channel surfing had yet to be invented, as it was a result of TV remotes and the wide choice of shows afforded by the coming of the Great Cable God.

Most kids shows were reserved for the weekend, but were often pre-empted or "joined in progress" thanks to the many sports events also reserved for the weekend.

If you missed a show, you missed it! We didn't have VCRs and re-runs were few and far between.

TV Guides were pamphlet-style, bound with 2 to 3 staples with long descriptions of each TV show because there were so few channels and not that many shows.

When the announcer mentioned a TV "Event," he was usually quite accurate. There was few things to inspire excitement, so the "Events" we enjoyed were truly that: EVENTS. A special episode of "Friends" isn't an EVENT. "Roots," on the other hand, IS!

We had no choice but to watch The Olympics when they were being held. One network showed the coverage and all the other two networks covered that covered. PBS would discuss it all.

The Jerry Lewis Telethon was looked-forward-to by many people desperate to break up the monotony. Actual celebrities would participate because they had nowhere else to go.

The stations went off the air usually at Midnight, maybe 1 AM. "The Star Spangled Banner" was played and images of America would be displayed. Afterward, viewers could enjoy the sleep-inducing TV snow and white noise. An excellent example of this would be the beginning of the movie Poltergeist. Carol Ann could never be possessed in the Cable Age. No TV snow!

The Christmas shows like "Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer" and "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" were always shown on CBS and often pre-empted in order to finish showing a football game that had gone into overtime.

When the President spoke, every channel showed it. You missed your shows and had one of two choices regarding his address: 1) You could watch it or 2) You could turn off the TV. Thank the Mighties for Cable, now that we no longer have a president but, instead, a Dick Tater to whom only the mentally and ethically challenged want to listen. I can switch to the Cartoon Network and watch censored Bugs Bunny cartoons.

For musical programming, we had "American Bandstand," "Soul Train," "Friday Night videos," and "The King Biscuit Flower Hour." MTV didn't exist. It's sad that MTV ceased to exist over a decade ago.

In the mornings, we had no choice but game shows. In the early afternoons, we had no choice but soap operas. Late afternoons were dedicated to syndicated shows, most usually Gunsmoke or The Andy Griffith Show. There was always local news at 6 and national news at 6:30. Same at 11 and 11:30. News wasn't at our fingertips 24/7. All sorts of shit could happen and we wouldn't know til hours later.

"Sesame Street" was the kids' show, then "The Electric Company" (for older and hipper kids). It only came on twice a day and that was it for the day. Kids had to enterain themselves or each other until it was time for more boob tube. Barney wasn't even an idea. TV wasn't a good babysitter back then.

It sometimes took years for a movie to come to television and, then, it would be edited for time and content. People were let know what special movies they had to look forward to in the Fall Issue of the TV Guide.