BenJen's Blog

Welcome to my blog. A place where you may not find consistency, but where you will find various rants and irrelevant anecdotes, and 'witty' text on the subject of whatever crops up into a poor student's mind.
Please, do try to enjoy it... Constructive criticism is more than welcomed.

Have a nice day now, chaps and chappettes.

Warning: May contain traces of football, video games, and musical ramblings... It's mostly the latter, in truth.

Sunday, 20 January 2013

My Thoughts On Christmas Songs 2 Years Ago


Some things never change...

"No, you are not all that I want for Christmas. Selfish as it is, it'd be quite nice to get some other things too, and frankly, if you're going to be singing this song, if I could have just one present this year, it'd likely be for you to shut the fuck up. Yes, all I want for Christmas is for you to shut the fuck up. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think? And no, I didn't give you my heart as a gift last year. That's absolutely preposterous. I may like you to some degree - perhaps a hell of a lot - but the feeling is never going to be strong enough for me to have to physically hand over my life-giving bodily organ (and whatever bloody mess comes with it) to you. I'm not saying I wouldn't die for you, because in different circumstances I almost certainly would, but this is a very strange, inappropriate and quite awkward way of dying for someone. It's also totally unnecessary. Whoever it is that I'm so generously gifting my heart to, I'm pretty sure isn't going to want to be the recipient of it. Nobody asks for a human heart for Christmas. I'd be permanently disgusted if I received one. In fact, I really do struggle to think of many worse ideas for a Christmas present than this. If I'm saying I'll give my heart to someone, this person is probably a love interest. I'd be hoping that the feeling would be mutual, and upon my act of love and kindness, in an ideal world she'd say that she feels the same way. Presumably then, she'd give me her heart. If there's anything worse than a Christmas suicide, it's two Christmas suicides. Here's the issue. IF there's a genuinely good chance that this person would love me back (which there would have to be for me to make such a bold statement at over the festive period), I'm pretty damn sure that the consequences of killing myself and then presenting her with my heart in some way would be completely horrific in terms of my chances of winning her over - not to mention logistically impossible, or certainly at least incredibly difficult. I'd have to hire people to ensure it all went 'according to plan'. Here's why it'd be such a catastrophic blow to my chances. Firstly and indeed lastly, I'd be dead. This acts on two levels, because not only would I be totally unable to move or function in any way at all, but I think the girl to whom I am giving my heart would be at least a little bit upset/horrified/baffled/angry upon hearing that I am in fact dead, and that it was me who did it to myself. This is all under the hugely speculative presumption that this poor girl actually has some kind of romantic feeling towards me, of course. So I don't want to come across as a tad negative, but I just have a niggling feeling that my death would perhaps obliterate my chances with the girl. Then there's the fact that she's clearly not going to appreciate the disgusting gift, and that she's most likely to reject it, leaving it inside my rotting corpse. Bah. Fucking song. Wait, what do you mean it's 'metaphorical'?"



10 (Weird) Things You May Not Know About Me

It's been way too long since I actually wrote a block of text of any sort of decent length on the topic of anything other than music, or indeed apologising for my relative blogging activity. As the name suggests though, the pointless piss is only potentially perpetual. Alas, I do very much want to keep it going by sporadically feeding it tiny morsels of ideas; so I forced myself to sit down and collate a few facts about myself - perhaps strange, certainly useless - and lob them out into the open. Without further ado, here's a rubbish snapshot of me. If it were actually a snapshot, it'd be from a crappy disposable Kodak camera, thanks to somebody leaving it in a bag or pocket and fully winding the cog forwards. That was some 'further ado', wasn't it?

  1. I'm quite trypophobic. Trypophobia is (unofficially) the fear of clustered holes. It's pretty bizarre.
  2. I write my number 2s (that's the symbol, not the faecal matter) from bottom to top as opposed to top to bottom.
  3. I'm obsessed with symmetry. I often find it difficult to get along with unsymmetrical objects, unless I acknowledge that for whatever reason they logically must be that way to exist with purpose.
  4. In jest, I annually celebrate 'Yeaster', in the vain hope that the fungi will help me grow beyond my slightly stunted height.
  5. I used to love Marmite, but now I hate it. I expect at some point soon to find myself ambivalent towards it.
  6. My lucky number (though I understand it has no effect) is 6 - not because my birthday is the 6th of July, but because Charizard (my favourite Pokémon as a kid...and to this day) is number six on the Pokédex.
  7. Despite having gone to church many a time as a child, but (tentative use of 'but', because of course science and religion can co-exist) also having always loved science in general, I'm strictly agnostic. Certainly when it comes to creationism I find it hard to believe anything, and so I've taken on a an attitude of "I'll never know, so why bother?" This lax approach creeps up into my life in many ways...
  8. Alongside my brother (Josh Jenkins) and a long-time friend from Wales (Enya Williams), I devised conceptual ideas for a non-existent Beano themed racing video game. We drew courses, characters, cars... Not long after, coincidentally, the game became a reality in the form of Beanotown Racing. It was shite.
  9. When I was roughly 9 years old, I concocted, bottled and labelled a 'potion' made from all kinds of liquids, powders and odd substances that I found around the house. I've still got it.
  10. I discovered that a little bit of Oxy Face Scrub makes an excellent hand cleaner/softener. Throughout my college years, it helped me gather many comments and a small reputation... Dem bitches go crazy fo' dat. Don't they...? The secret's out.
Adios.


Tuesday, 15 January 2013

Album Review: Keane - Strangeland

Utterly Uninspired and Unremarkable Piano Pop Pleasantries

Nawwwww, look, it's kinda pretty and stuff!
It recently hit me that due to my fully-blown neglect for this blog, I'd missed out on reviewing several albums released during the memory that is 2012, that I was quite interested in. Christ, that's an awful sentence. First up is Keane's Strangeland, which is most likely being tackled before anything else for the sheer fact that I have so very little to say about it. It's Keane. I mean, really, it's Keane. Very Keane. Make of that what you will. For me, that means it's yet another perfectly listenable record - there's no(t much of a) doubt about that - lackingwhat you may call a certain spark, and in dire need of some musical variation. 2008's Perfect Symmetry - their last proper record - was a small step in the right direction. Well, not necessarily, but a step in ANY direction would be the right one when your music's getting so stale at such pace. Strangeland sees Keane revert to what they've always been doing though. You'll hear the same chords and keys over and over again, with very few of the tracks offering anything even moderately interesting. Trust me, it's about as imaginative as a potato flavoured crisp. The album's two main singles - Silenced By The Night and Sovereign Light Café - are pretty decent, but aren't a patch on the catchiness of earlier singles such as the borderline classic Everybody's Changing. I'm not sure whether this is simply because it's all been done by them before, or if in actual fact they are actually inferior tunes. The album doesn't really have any particular low points as such, and it's certainly not musically bad...but it's just safe; oh so very safe. Tom Chaplin and co. have stuck to what they know, which is perfectly understandable from their point of view, but something that just has to be criticised in a band which has been (sort of) in the limelight for over 8 years now. I don't think it's asking too much to expect some sort of progression, but there's just none at all to be found here. The Beatlesy and Coldplayish elements are still to be found, but both bands do their own thing better. As you can probably tell, I really do have very little to specifically say about this album. I should probably warn you that if you listen to Strangeland as backing music, there's a very good chance indeed that you won't notice when the tracks are starting and finishing. More importantly, you must be warned about the piano. It's everywhere. If you know what Keane are all about, then you'd have probably guessed this by now anyway, but bloody hell was I sick of it come the end of the album. Somebody needs to invest in some fresh instrumentation. Merely a different sounding piano would suffice...although plentiful use of cowbell would be nice...or how about a didgeridoo? Honestly, on a couple of Strangeland's songs I'd genuinely rather hear a dwarf sneeze than listen to any more plinking and plonking. I'd better briefly summarise... 

If you like Keane, you'll like this. If you don't, you definitely won't. Yawn.

4/10