This one's for the labbies....

I'm not scared of skeletons, because I have one inside me :-)

Happy Halloween everyone!

It seems appropriate today to pay homage to my favourite company in the world – Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. For the uninitiated, they are an independent perfume company based in LA. How could a mere perfume company invade my life so? Let me explain...

I first came across the website in the year of its birth, 2004, and was overwhelmed by the range of scents (which has now surely quadrupled in volume). It may seem odd – who buys PERFUME on the internet, without sniffing it first? Crazy people, that’s who. But my fellow Bpallers (aka the forumites) have turned out to be the most interesting, intelligent, knowledgeable, quirky bunch I have ever come across in one (virtual) place. We are also very spoilt, in that Elizabeth Barrial, the genius behind the olfactory creations, takes an active part in conversations.

Before discovering BPAL, I barely knew the names of any flowers, and I don't think I'd even heard of ambergris (much less where it came from). I was scent illiterate. Being into perfume seems to “trained” my nose to be more sensitive, which can have its downside, (especially on public transport); unless others around you have some nose skills, your perfume may be underappreciated. It’s a running joke on the forums that the most complex, evocative, and sophisticated scents will inevitably draw compliments likening them to either baby powder or incense.

Of course, everyone’s noses – and chemistries – are different. To me, saffron smells like wee, booze turns rancid and several scents which seem universally popular with other Bpallers smell like nail varnish or old glue on me. Equally there are some scents which I may only indulge in when in the privacy of my own home; I love the delicious, warm, rum-and-lime-cookies scent of Mr Nancy – an oil inspired by the character from Neil Gaiman‘s Anansi Boys. However, being able to pick out the subtleties of the notes is no consolation when you are doomed to smell like curry to the uneducated noses of your colleagues.

The company also exudes a generosity of spirit; ok, so they tempt us with “limited editions” which we will hoard (the alternative is haunting Ebay for that must-have bottle) but they also send a generous amount of freebies out with each order – not only “imps” of the perfume, but pens and postcards too. As a business model, I must admit I admire the “free sample” option as opposed to the tired old “3 for 2” you get at your local department store. It suggests that the proprietor actually has faith in their products – try it once, and you’ll love it forever.

And love them you will... All other perfumes seem chemically and tinny in comparison. There is a massive variety, not only scent-wise (from delightfully dark, gloopy, foody concoctions to the lightest of Carribean breezes) but in terms of the concepts involved. I have learned about lady pirates, the book of Revelation, a million myths and legends, fairy tales I had long forgotten, and literature I had never heard of, thanks to the ever-changing inspirations behind the company. BPAL makes me realise how under-educated I am, while inspiring me to learn more. (Not to mention feeling more intelligent just for knowing that Dana O'Shee isn't a person...) I could browse the site for hours, reading poems, trying to commit every Greek legend to memory and wishing I had read more of Shakespeare.

The current Halloweenie scents are available until late November, and the Yules have just been released – comprising some old favourites as well as those based upon this year's themes; A Christmas Carol and The Nutcracker. Have moicy! My credit card gently weeps...

Candy and costumes? My kind of festival....

I grew up in a Christian family in the 1980s, a time when aromatherapy was feared, Child's Play was considered a video nasty, and acupuncture was the work of the devil. (Actually if you ask a Baptist, they would probably confirm that these are indeed gateways to hell.) Naturally, Halloween was deemed the very height of this worldly love of all things occult. (Of course, these days we also have Harry Potter.) 

I think many Christians have by now accepted the festival as a necessary “evil”. (In the US it has long been considered a harmless staple of the season by even the most God-fearin' folks.) But there's still a tendency among churches to throw “anti-Halloween” parties (with the enticing essentials of every Christian party: quiche and orange squash).

Is this really necessary? I find it kind of sad that so many Christians are so scared of everything. Yes, you should be on your guard against being be sucked into a non-Christian way of life. However, I don’t see Christians having "anti-porn parties," or publicly boycotting unethical companies – arguably far more harmful lures to the easily led. So why the obsession that we are all going to be converted over to the dark side?

Wiccans celebrate Samhain, which is considered to be the time of year when “the veil thins” between this world and the supernatural. As a festival of “darkness”, it’s balanced at the opposite point of the wheel by the spring festival of Beltane (a celebration of light and fertility).

The following day is considered by the church to be the Day of All Souls – in which we can pray for those who have departed, and who knows, maybe they'll pray for us too. In a similar vein, Mexican Catholics celebrate Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). This involves making altars to honour dead relatives, with offerings of candy, flowers and their favourite foods. Maybe I’m turning into an emo in my old age, but this seems to me rather sweet. 

Halloween isn’t going to go away – in fact, its presence in the UK is increasing every year. So why don’t we just embrace it? In fact, if we take control now we can totally hijack it. Everyone complains that Christians nicked Yule, so we might as well just go for the full monty of pagan festivals – it’s already been commercialised beyond all recognition. Nobody said it has to be dark and disturbing. We can either use it to actually honour the dead – and our spirituality – or we can just eschew any spiritual aspect and turn it into the festival of dressing up and eating sweets. (In the US it's long been the tradition that the costume you wear can be anything that takes your fancy – while we're still lagging behind with rubber scream masks and severed hands.) In years to come, historians might be saying “Halloween was once considered to be a celebration of all that was occult and evil, then in the eary 21st century some Christians stole it..."

I Heart Music

Even cats like playing the piano. If you don't believe me, check out Youtube...

Louis Walsh, that expert of the backhanded compliment (“You are a Soulful. Little. Man.”) has perfectly encapsulated the attitude to music that I find the most foolish and pretentious. 

“Music was my big thing, my escape. It’s my passion. Simon’s not a music man like I am. He probably never listens to Bruce Springsteen . . . probably thinks he’s a painter. I love everything from Bruce to Elvis Costello, and Tammy Wynette to Dusty Springfield. I love Dusty. I’ve got 22,000 songs on my iPod.”

Wow. That is some crazy mixture, Louis. I mean, your taste ranges from, well, one incredibly famous singer to another, doesn’t it? You big doofus.

Actually, I think we're living in a particularly interesting musical era right now. The internet has paved the way for anyone to get themselves heard, with or without a record contract. And who would take on the restrictive shackles offered by a cigar-chomping record company executive, if they can sell directly to their fans and have total artistic freedom? 

There is still a quality divide between the “commercial” crap which gets the most airplay and the “alternative” (eg, good quality) music which is rarely heard outside of BBC Radio 6 (my brother is also nagging me to listen to Craig Charles’ funk and soul show, insisting that the minute I do, I will be kicking myself for not doing it earlier.) However, I’ve been pleasantly surprised at what actually gets airplay these days – the delicate strains of Rumer alongside the folksy Mumford and sons. Quality IS coming back into fashion. 

Anyway, in praise of all the fantastic music that is available today, here is my list of “songs I listen to obsessively.” (And may I also offer a sincere prayer of thanks for Spotify? Best. Invention. Evah.)

• Trespassers William: Lie in the Sound. Proof, if it were needed, that you don’t need to do any vocal gymnastics to produce a heart-achingly beautiful sound. This gentle song apparently featured in One Tree Hill – I don’t indulge, but maybe I should. (I also find a lot of the music I like appears on the soundtrack albums for Grey’s Anatomy, so maybe I should start watching that too...?)

• Moxy Fruvous: My Baby Loves a Bunch of Authors. Like Vampire Weekend’s Oxford Comma, this song has the ability to make me smile and possibly jig about a little bit, space allowing. It’s irresistibly tuneful and fun and needs to be heard in full to be appreciated. Anyone who can work a lyric like “Who's a funny fella? – W.P. Kinsella!” into a song which is also musically satisfying is onto a winner.

• Tuneyards: Lions. I have no idea why I love this song so much, but I do. There is something vaguely hypnotic about the slowly shuffling beat and the nonsensical lyrics. (The chorus is just a repetition of “When you tell the lions that you love them so, you love them so, you love them so ...” ) I also like the way the lyrics veer off course and flow into an entirely different rhythm – strangely, it works. I’m a bit of a sucker for songs which sounds as if they’re expressing something beautiful, but a closer listen to the lyrics reveals a darker heart. (I was once obsessed for a couple of months by the sinister lyrics on the sweetly sung If You Go Breaking My Heart  by the excellent Danish band Hush.

• Roisin Murphy: Ruby Blue This catchy tune will get stuck in your head forever – so why have I never heard it on a dancefloor? Distorted guitars and handclaps sound simple, but combine to electrifying effect....OK, you just have to hear it for yourself.

• Wallis Bird: The Sunshine Song – if you can avoid tapping your toes when listening to this, you may be made of stone. It is indeed full of the musical equivalent of sunshine, sparkles and rainbows.

• She Keeps Bees are a band which sound like The Black Keys, but with a female vocalist who sounds a bit like Sia, if Sia had been raised in the deep South, pouring Bourbon over her cornflakes and spending all her time coming up with interesting  vocal arrangements. The 2009  album is consistently awesome, but I am particularly partial to Gimme.

• I’m also a little bit obsessed by Sol Seppys entire The Bells of 1 2 album. For me it conjures up slightly spooky images of hillsides sparkling with snow, a starry sky and creatures of myth and fairytale. I also like the way you can hear her London accent in her singing, much like the wonderful, woefully under-publicised VV Brown.

• Emiliana Torrini: Jungle Drum makes it onto my “obsessive” list – it’s an impossibly infectious, unique track which is guaranteed to lift your spirits. It’s not often somebody actually vocalises the sound of a drum. Listen and you’ll see what I mean... 

Ah, there are many more, and the list grows every day. And the next time an elderly member of your family insists that there is no current music to rival the 1950s/60s/70s, just smile and play them one of these.

I'm strictly a female female....

Apparently being a feminist means being unattractive or aggressive, or possibly both.

I am in two minds today. The culprit? Jessie J, that lovechild of Lily Allen and Lady Gaga, who has been dominating the airwaves with Do it Like a Dude. My problem with this track is that to me, it smacks of the pseudo-feminism which appears to argue that men are superior beings and women must try to be just like them.

The young lady in question has stated that the lyrics are about "male egos in the music industry", explaining that it was "tongue-in-cheek but also a middle finger up. Women can do whatever the big men in suits do who take themselves so seriously. It's an empowerment song."

Actually, I feel pretty empowered already.  Of course women can do all the stuff men can do (duh). But why would we want to?

She isn't the first to suggest imitating men as a way of "becoming" their equals. P!nk has one of the best voices in the business and is incredibly talented – but she, er, dropped the ball when she ended her Stupid Girls video with a clear choice; Sindy dolls bad, playing sport good. Because, well, boys play a lot of sport. And as it's traditionally girls who play with dolls, naturally they must be scrapped immediately. (Was there also a little irony in the fact that to parody bimbos writhing around in their underwear, she had to writhe around in her underwear…?) Despite this, I do applaud her for ridiculing the lack of political ambition among girls who end up "dancing next to 50 cent," and for generally making promos with a sense of humour – about herself as well as everything else.

Luckily I have no desire to start wearing my jeans halfway down my bum, or joining in rugby club initiations involving puke, or any other traditionally male pursuits,  in order to fulfil some sort of bizarre politically correct ideal. If you disagree, you may want to consider joining pinkstinks.co.uk. It is (don't laugh) a group which campaigns to stop girls buying pink toys. I am over-simplifying of course, but you get the gist. This is odd to me because a) surely it would be more "empowering" to allow your daughter to choose whatever colour she likes, b) pink has only been considered a "girl's" colour for about 70 years and c) I'd have thought that for those raising a daughter in 2010, her liking the colour pink would be the least of your problems.  Displacement activity, anyone?

However, in the research for this mini-rant I came across something which made me want to say "Please disregard every bad thing I ever said about Jessie J." Once I had heard the acoustic version – I was floored. In comparison, the production of the radio release doesn't even begin to do justice to her vocal talent. The girl is freaking incredible. A star is born.

RIP Norman

Norman Wisdom: Frighteningly talented man

We all knew it had to happen sometime, but I for one am feeling very sad about the loss of Sir Norman Wisdom; after a childhood (and beyond) spent enjoying his antics on celluloid, the world feels a little colder without his raucous cries of "Mr Grimsdale!"

Oddly, his celebrity hasn't quite reached many of my peers. It's not "cool" to like him, the way it might be to profess undying fandom to Charlie Chaplin or Buster Keaton. (Actually, in some circles it's not cool to like anything made before 1970, but let’s face it, those people are deeply weird.)

Somehow Norman's comic genius has gone unnoticed – maybe because he made it look so effortless. We all just assumed he really WAS that little chap with the too-small suit and wonky cap. The truth is, he was one of those annoying people who are fantastic at everything they try. (He became adept at singing, dancing, acting, and seven or eight musical instruments.) It's not surprising that he managed to work his way up to superstardom from a seriously impoverished background and miserable childhood (the perfect example of a disadvantaged background not always resulting in a miserable bugger of an adult).

Like all comedic actors, he was beloved by the public and unappreciated by critics, his skills only gaining recognition when he tried his hand at drama in later years. The funny thing is, he had ALWAYS been a consummately professional actor. Whether he was playing a pathos-inducing underdog, a camp Italian hairdresser, a confident businessman, or a victim of hypnosis who believes himself to be a toddler, he was never anything but completely convincing. He also did his own (unbelievable) stunts such as speeding down the stairs on a wheelchair, bursting through a wall and landing on a speeding ambulance – before being shot off the roof and back into hospital via a window.

Charlie Chaplin described him as his favourite comedian. Jerry Lewis, the Hollywood-ised version of Norman, appears to be a pale imitation (in my humble opinion) and he “borrowed” some of Norman’s repertoire. (He did! He did!) You can also see Norm's influence in nail-biting physical comedy such as Some Mothers Do 'Ave Em, in which Michael Crawford’s famous roller-skating scene echoed a similar set up from Trouble in Store (Norm's first major film). Norman had actually turned down the Frank Spencer role because the humour was too lavatorial for his squeaky-clean image.

As well as being at the top of his game professionally, it seems that Mr Wisdom was simply a very lovely man. When his wife left him for another suitor, he left the USA and returned to England to take care of his children, thus missing out on numerous work opportunities. In his later years he retired to the Isle of Man, but voluntarily paid the full British tax rate.

In short, there are comedians courting fame now who aren't fit to lick his boots. (Oh Frankie Boyle, when the name of your show involves a threat to punch people in the face, one can only assume it is a pre-emptive strike. I know of few things that would be so satisfying and irresistible for me, you unfunny cretin.)

Unlike those who reek of desperation and whose only hope for publicity is shock value, Mr Wisdom had the ability to cause tears of laughter with his facial expressions alone. He also had an element of unpredictability that makes you wonder if his manager often woke up in cold sweats; he had a particular penchant for jumping out at members of the royal family to surprise them. There are not many people who have both the opportunity and the inclination to be so cheeky, or ever so slightly bonkers.

Sir Norman, we salute you.