Podcast Reviews - Collins and Herring vs The Perfect 10

I'm a firm fan of comedy podcasts - particularly the free ones, where the comedians do it out of the goodness of their own hearts rather than cobbling together the best bits of a radio show (tch! Adam and Joe). Especially, because I'm rather malicious, when the podcastees moan about their lack of sponsorship or honest to goodness jobs in radio or TV. Comedy via a podcast is a refreshing way to listen to favourite performers- especially those who choose to work without a script, like Richard Herring and Andrew Collins, or Phill Jupitus and sidekick Phil Wilding. These funny men demonstrate their amazing wit and ability to ramble, but with interest, on all sorts of topics. It makes you appreciate why they can be funny for a living and get away with it.

The 'Collings and Herrin' (misspelling is deliberate) podcast represents one end of the professional scale; they chat away in Richard's attic about whatever - though ginger beer, necrophilia and views through the window crop up an awful lot. I know it sounds dreary but never has looking through a window been so entertaining - aside from Rear Window that is; I am eagerly awaiting the day when life starts imitating art in the London loft space.

These two men eschew proper sound equipment and a pay packet in favour of un-policed swearing, hilarious flights of fancy and very, very witty and ironic dirty jokes. Well they didn't so much 'eschew' decent sound as reject it by necessity - they couldn't get it to work. Rich and Andy are the do it yourself podcast kings, and though we'd all like to believe we could be consistently funny for an hour, it must be a hard feat - they do it for free!

It's probably not everyones' cup of tea, and sometimes the quality can vary a bit, which Rich points out is because their doing a live hour long unscripted performance every week. I have to say though that despite being an acquired taste if you like your humour to be gently warped then you won't go far wrong. When asked the other day in a special live podcast to a professional radio audience, whether they were doing it until anything better came along they both immediately rejected the notion out of hand; Herring pointed out he has soldiered on through hangovers, food poisoning and the flu. The two of the, just enjoy chatting for the benefit of other people. Which sounds eerily philanthropic really. When Richard's not encouraging women to flash him that is.

Like Collins and Herring, Phill Jupitus and Phil Wilding's 'Perfect 10' started as a means to recreate the magic of a now defunct 6 music partnership. Unlike Rich and Andy however, the two Phils are consummate professionals; the sound is good, Steven Fry does the links (!), and the concept isn't just any old rambling, but rambling about 10 randomly chosen subjects, with a bell to time out. And, and, because Phil Wilding's Welsh he is eloquent (his words). The Perfect 10 has made it onto my subscription list with ease; it's a fantastic little show, which never fails to have me in stitches when I'm listening in.

In their discussions the two Phil(l)s throw up the deeper questions of life; what would you like to loose in space? Would you drink something Rolf Harris offered you? Is it possible to go to Ireland and not get drunk?* My flatmate probably thinks I'm mad as I chuckle away to myself, but I urge you to give it a try and you won't be disappointed.

Podcasts don't have any duty of care to their listenership, there's no sacred trust to shelter wee ears from vulgarity, risque concepts, or just waffle, and it's sometimes out of the waffle that comedy gold is struck. They are a great way of listening to new and original material in these icey credit crunch climes; some are polished, others are not, but generally when you hear a performer talking away just from the sheer love of it then it's enough to warm the cockles of your heart and brighten the day with laughter. Give 'em a go.

* I don't think so, despite my experience of a health spa/music festival once. I ran out of money at the Electric Picnic and was forced to scavenge for coins on the floor in order to buy bread: this is a true story. Instead of the ludicrously priced fermented beverages I was humiliated but thirsty enough to resort to drinking free samples of iced tea and thank god for it. Even that spartan time was because of a huge night out in Dublin and having to buy wellies (the weather report lied).

Lazarus Basil and the Three Legged People - Fun Thing #298

Ho hum, it's been a funny old week. I've been travelling far afield again (well Cardiff and Bristol), but in my few days absence so much occurred......

• Everyone seemed to go mad, or possibly have a good time, robbed as they were of my dour presence glowering away in the corners. What I'm trying to infer is that certain people of my acquaintance did not carry themselves with their usual decorum, well I say decorum, I mean drunken stumbling. It's a pretty shoddy state of affairs when you can't even stumble. Ah, bless them, it's good to blow off some steam, and only a churlish soul would sulk at having missed out. I'm not one begrudge a bit of excitement, especially as the flat was lovely and tidy upon my return.

• The walls of the hallway got plastered, like some steam blowing people I could mention... (maybe I'm alittle churlish). Actually the plastering is a huge surprise, can't believe the landlord is actually doing some work to the place!

• My basil died - it was a mere six months old. I was heartbroken, No, more! I was utterly wretched; how could I have been so wanton as to leave my special friend in my flatmate's pernicious 'care'.... as you can tell from the title it did come back from the dead, although now it looks like it wants blood.

Okay, when I say "so much happened" I mean a few random occurrences that, aside from the basil, impact on my life in no way whatsoever. Let's not underestimate the impact of that basil though! I love the plant like a member of my own family - more even. It was initially a strange part of the one-up-manship against my ex, who I lost a whole bottle of Lagavulin too when I bet that his basil (which was always on death's door) wouldn't make it until New Year. It did. Then it died. Selfish bloody plant - it never liked me. To be accurate I actually lost two bottles of Lagavulin - one was a miniature; I tried to get out of the bet by stating that he hadn't specified bottle size, which was true, but apparently this piece of legal genuis was dishonerable.

Anyway, aside from the usefulness of the herb in making pasta just that little special, my basil had much meaning of its own. I bought it when I moved back here and it has been carefully nurtured ever since. Okay, okay not that carefully as it's wedged into a broken plant pot I found lying round outside, it's been knocked off its little pedestal and smashed across the floor, it's usually underwatered, and when it's upright, potted and drenched in H2O it's probably cold. I still didn't like to see it in its wrinkly green decay though. It was a dead-un.

...Or not, as I mentioned before (no cadence of suspence here). No, the basil had merely being pining for me, bless it, all the way to the point of dessication. After a night spent in my nice warm room it has returned to life; all hail the basil, it shall be known as Lazarus and my godlike powers shall be worshipped by all. It may have been the water that my flatmate gave it, when she realised she may have killed it and I was on the way back. Surely not though! Surely not something so mundane!

As for me, well I had an interesting time too; I was puzzled to find three cast off boots in lying in the streets of Cardiff. Had there been some sort of three legged person experiencing shoe induced pain, throwing off the boots of doom? Maybe some shoe cult, admittedly a small cult of two people, but one person couldn't bear to give up their right boot? Maybe it was a custom to leave a boot on this particular street? Or perhaps it was rapid evolution in action, and just like that fossilised snake found with legs, the boots are representative of a stage in human evolution where we're casting off our legs so we can do the caterpillar all the better. Except again, one person couldn't quite commit to the trend and was forced to hop. Who knows?

Music Review - The Shortwave Set

The Shortwave Set proved to be a class act last night. Playing to a criminally underpopulated Clwb Ifor Bach, in the first date of their 'Glitches and Bugs' tour, they shone out as being something a little bit special. Their avant-garde electronica proved to be both smart and engaging; there is a lot to love about this UK-Swedish three-piece.

The set itself was rather short, and little experimental; somewhat dissappointingly it didn't include some of their strongest tunes from their latest album 'Replica Sun Machine', but new stuff was thrown into the frey and it's reassuring to know there is more to come. The sound they produced, even in that tiny little club, had a polished quality that came straight from their album; 'No Social' went down well and Ulrika Bjorsne's voice was, in particular, utterly entrancing.

All in all the music had a powerful mesmeric quality that washed over the ten people who constituted the audience. I can't recommend this band enough; if you want a night of very fine chilled out indie music you could do no better. The Shortwave Set are a crowd with huge appeal.

Support was from Cosmo Jarvis - the name says it all, but they were a happy lot, with some interesting harmonising.

24-hour Spar adds inches to your waist line - Fun Thing # 62

It's late at night, and even though there's a cupboard full of ingredients, even though I'm of the sort that bakes their own bread, buys free ranged organic eggs from the local farmers market, enjoys homemade jam, grows basil......

It's time for a pot noodle from 24 hour Spar!

Aberystwyth is a bustling metropolis alright, there's not just three streets, a camera obscura (the largest one in the whole world) and, well, the sea; we've 24 hour shop to pander to our every need whatever the time. Not to mention 'Little' Spar for snacks when you've come down the hill from a hard day of lectures -maybe a cider lollipop in the summer? Many a student can be caught being blown all about the seafront at 3am in search of some wonderful item that only a 24 hour convenience store can provide. That or they're drunk.

Okay, they're usually drunk and have suffered the indignity of stumbling out of 'Pier' or 'Bay'. Both are dens of iniquity where the walls sweat. The only difference between the two being that they tell you off or chinking glasses in the Pier. Oh, and should the A-Team be trapped in that miserable non-glass chinking fascist regime, then B.A Baracas could make some serious weaponry out of the corrugated tin roof. This is in direct contrast to the Bay, where a friend and I managed to get trapped in the dark cellar when we went in search of toilets with paper (luxuries, luxuries); we weren't able to make anything and our phones barely lit up the Victorian gloom....

Back to Spar; our florescent paradise. Home of overly priced baguettes, pot noodles, ready chilled wine and giant bags of crisps that you could try and sleep in after you've eaten one. Oh and all those strange mini-muffin things they have hanging around in the impulse buy area near the tills. It's the closest thing Aber has to the 'House of the Rising Sun', which of course it beats. The sun never sets on Spar, and they have more to sell than flesh and opium. It is a comfort in these dark days of essay deadlines, always ready to provide escape from actual cooking, ease weary thoughts and sell 'Fry's Chocolate Creams', which really are very lovely when dipped in whisky.

Music Review: Benjy Davis Project - Dust

It's an inauspicious band name, sounds like a re-homing mission for roving but helpful dogs, and I can't remember whether it was Benjy or the Littlest Hobo who had the bandanna....

Bandannas not the head gear of choice

Instead of watching Sean Bean as Sharpe (thanks everyone for letting me know exactly when he was taking his shirt off, and please remember some of us are apt to explode with frustration because we don't have TVs) I spent the night listening to the preview of 'Dust'. It's released tomorrow, and in this country I think iTunes is the only instant buying option. 'Dust' is the fourth studio album from the Louisiana-based six piece BDP, who according to their bio are 'poised to take on [a national] presence'. I imagine they are all standing on a diving board somewhere, possibly in anachronistic Victorian woolen swimming costumes, ready to leap. All in all they're a rather jolly group of lads with a blues-rock bayou sound.

What can I say; their bio needs a bit of work, but by gum their tunes don't. Benjy himself has a soulful appeal with a voice that rings with passion and occasionally frustration (much like my non-Sharpe experience last night). The music is truly joyful ('Same Damn Book'), except the sad songs - they do what they should by being heart rending, wistful and yearning. Lyrics are uncomplicated but tap straight into all sorts of emotional excesses. Above all they seem like a group of guys who all really click (try 'Do It With the Lights On' from 'The Angie House', and stop yourself from dancing), and who have taken their regional influences to a polished and gutsy level. A band who you'd have love to have discovered in a bar or party before they became that serious. Maybe you'd have stood the chance of having a melodic, Louisiana, bluesy, sort of song written about you...

Find their album streamed online here : http://www.bdpmusic.com/