The Album Review Club - Week #141 - (page 1860) - JPEG Raw - Gary Clark Jr.

[Saddleworth2]

You raise some interesting points some of which I agree with and others less so. It'll probably derail the thread to get into them and there's probably a thread somewhere where I can go off on one about the evils of social media and it's amplication of difference for profit. So I'll leave it at a couple of less heavy points...

I don't care what year it is, there will never be a day where there isn't room for a well delivered "you dig it?"

Your point about the puddings in the fridge is well made but I would argue that the nature of those puddings too often represent the 'wrong sort' of progress both from a culinary and societal perspective. I'm currently toying with the idea of poetry as a hobby to improve my writing and you might have inspired me to write a poem called The Puddings In The Fridge ('45-'24).

Go for it. I love Poetry. I'm sure there are a couple of Poetry threads on here somewhere. As my post about my Granddaughters suggests, I have views on todays social media and its poisonous nature as well.

 

[mrbelfry]

You raise some interesting points some of which I agree with and others less so. It'll probably derail the thread to get into them and there's probably a thread somewhere where I can go off on one about the evils of social media and it's amplication of difference for profit. So I'll leave it at a couple of less heavy points...

I don't care what year it is, there will never be a day where there isn't room for a well delivered "you dig it?"

Your point about the puddings in the fridge is well made but I would argue that the nature of those puddings too often represent the 'wrong sort' of progress both from a culinary and societal perspective. I'm currently toying with the idea of poetry as a hobby to improve my writing and you might have inspired me to write a poem called The Puddings In The Fridge ('45-'24).

Possibly the first time I've ever inspired anyone so I'm honoured. My favourite dessert growing up was my Nan's stewed rhubarb with lots of orange zest in it. We only had it rarely as you had to spend time with my grandad to get it and the fear of that often outweighed the promise of the rhubarb.

I feel like I've over amplified my feelings on the lyrics and the more it's discussed the more my views will become entrenched - thus highlighting the social media problem (the main one in my opinion it creates dissatisfaction out of normal experiences).

The lyrics on this album are by far the weakest point for me - so much so that at times I'm not sure if a deliberate point is being made or not. I think I'm being unkind and extremely generous at the same time

 

[RobMCFC]

We only had it rarely as you had to spend time with my grandad to get it and the fear of that often outweighed the promise of the rhubarb.

You remain a master of the quote, or at least a single sentence that hints at a fascinating story :)

 

[mrbelfry]

You remain a master of the quote, or at least a single sentence that hints at a fascinating story :)

Ah no great story. He was just a scary old Polish man who couldn't understand why his kids weren't full of gratitude because he'd provided them with luxury and opportunity compared to his upbringing. His kids (ie my mum) felt they should probably have had their own pair of school shoes each rather than having to take it in turns to wear them to school.

He taught us how to play dominoes, talked through a tracheostomy and beat up my mum and her siblings. His house was dark and oppressive and secret things were whispered about that I couldn't possibly understand aged 11. My nan was nice though she wasn't my mum's mum. She bought me an iron as a wedding gift but died the week before I got married.

We didn't even have it that tough. My older cousins got it much worse.

I wonder how his life would be different if he hadn't grown up exploited by various forms of government - he fought on both sides in WW2 and then was abandoned in Wythenshawe. He left behind some poetry and fear. But the world is a much worse place now because Star Wars is racist and misogynistic so it's probably good he's dead just to avoid that injustice.

 

[threespires]

Ah no great story. He was just a scary old Polish man who couldn't understand why his kids weren't full of gratitude because he'd provided them with luxury and opportunity compared to his upbringing. His kids (ie my mum) felt they should probably have had their own pair of school shoes each rather than having to take it in turns to wear them to school.

He taught us how to play dominoes, talked through a tracheostomy and beat up my mum and her siblings. His house was dark and oppressive and secret things were whispered about that I couldn't possibly understand aged 11. My nan was nice though she wasn't my mum's mum. She bought me an iron as a wedding gift but died the week before I got married.

We didn't even have it that tough. My older cousins got it much worse.

I wonder how his life would be different if he hadn't grown up exploited by various forms of government - he fought on both sides in WW2 and then was abandoned in Wythenshawe. He left behind some poetry and fear. But the world is a much worse place now because Star Wars is racist and misogynistic so it's probably good he's dead just to avoid that injustice.

I know this is not "Who Do you Think You Are?" but how did he end up an enforced Wythenshavian? Not wanting to diss my home town having been born and bred there, but Alderman Jackson's brave vision of the greatest of garden suburbs didn't come off entirely and I imagine it could have been a strange and dislocating place for someone who didn't want to be there.

 

[mrbelfry]

I know this is not "Who Do you Think You Are?" but how did he end up an enforced Wythenshavian? Not wanting to diss my home town having been born and bred there, but Alderman Jackson's brave vision of the greatest of garden suburbs didn't come off entirely and I imagine it could have been a strange and dislocating place for someone who didn't want to be there.

No one is truly sure because he never spoke about it as far as I know so the story is pieced together from some documents he left behind. Although he was Polish he was born in Lithuania - I think depending on when and who drew the border sometimes it was Poland and sometimes Lithuania. After the war wherever he was from was absorbed into the USSR so I think he became kind of stateless and couldn't return. My memory is hazy but I think at the end of the war the British army had some polish battalions or something so I guess the state felt some kind of obligation so pitched him up in Wythenshawe when most of it was still actually fields.

My grandad then tried to make the best of it by fully endorsing a when in Rome act like a Roman approach so my mum and her siblings didn't learn anything about their polish heritage which I think really left my uncle feeling rootless and caused him many problems growing up. Not British enough for the Brits nor Polish enough for the Poles.

They didn't know it at the time but my dad delivered the paper to my mum's house.