It was a cold morning as I climbed from bed in my tiny apartment less than a mile from Abbey Road Studios in London. As I shaved I turned on the radio and heard the news: John Lennon was dead. I banged on my flatmate’s door and woke him up. “They’ve killed my favourite Beatle.” I said.

Everyone at the office was in shock. Some of us cried. Some of us couldn’t concentrate and had to go home early. Everyone understood why.

In 1980 ‘showbiz news’ never, ever made it onto the BBC’s flagship 9 0’clock news programme. This was a 25 minute timeslot entirely devoted to political and current events of a world-changing sort. But that night Lennon’s murder was the lead story and the resonance of his demise was clearly evident on the faces of every reporter and pundit. This generation of news-men were no longer just graduates of the finest universities and press-rooms – they were the first generation to arrive in the halls of power all brought-up on The Beatles – and right then and there we were witnessing a huge change in attitudes towards the news. Pop-culture was no longer a subject buried deep in the Review section or glossy magazines – it was bloody, it was tragic, it was omnipresent and everyone felt personally moved. Older generations were shocked to realise what us ‘youngsters’ had always known – that the Beatles were extraordinary and had changed our lives; my Mother who despised modern music was shocked by the coverage and forced to admit she’d had no idea what a far-ranging influence the Fab Four had exerted.

A quarter of a century has passed and though I don’t care if I ever hear Cold Turkey again I believe that Imagine and Give Peace A Chance will never lose their power or their relevance. If anything they seem more pertinent now than ever before.

(Lennon died late evening in New York City and, because of the time difference, news of his death did not reach the UK till the early hours of December 9th.)

A friend up the coast sent me an article today from the San Francisco Chronicle in which the writer discusses how hateful her life was growing up with the last name Dick. (The Name Game – by Kelly Valen December 4th). Obviously this caused me to ponder on my own Dickness and what it means to me.

My first memory of Dick being a problem for me or my family was as a child when my father would always try and explain to my mother why the Air Force was sending him on some horrendous posting to a far-off country which would keep him away from us for months on end. “Well,” he would explain, ” they start at the beginning of the alphabet and they look for a name that’s short and easy to remember and when they get to Dick there’s no need to go any further!” I was young enough to actually believe that this was how the miltary worked and my mother, whose name was Doris Dick, and probably had her own problems with the name, never said another word.

My second memory was the playground taunt, “Nigel Dick is a prick.” Which, while it defintely rhymes quite nicely, didn’t reveal the author to be someone who was going to move forward in life and keep future Poet Laureates up at night. By now we were into the sixties and despite them being apparently very swinging no-one to my knowledge used Dick as a slang term for men’s parts or as a description for someone who was a fool. All I knew was that it was obviously an odd and unusual name and was apparently Scottish and derived from Duncan. I even heard about a famous Scottish scrum-half whose name was Willie Dick which in today’s parlance would be akin to being called Penis Penis.

In 1964 I was sent away to boarding school. In Britain the theory is that boarding schools provide superior education, excellent sporting opportunities and turn boys into men. In reality they can be brutal prisons in which smaller, weaker children are tormented and bullied relentlessly for months at a time by larger nastier boys trying to show how macho they are. I was both smaller and weaker than my peers and certainly bullied a lot but strangley the Dick part was never an issue. My theory was that, with a name like Dick and in an environment where no-one ever used Christian names, why waste energy on giving someone a nickname when his name was already Dick?

In 1969 my father was posted to Germany for the third time and, on visits home from school, I would listen to German people laugh when we were introduced for, in German, we were essentially called the Thick Family.

By the seventies American culture was rampantly invading us all and gradually I understood that Dick meant both Penis and Idiot. But I was used to it all by now and thought nothing more of it until I got a gig at Stiff Records in 1977. Punk was in full swing and people were rechristening themselves with names like Johnny Rotten and Poly Styrene and the people I worked with had names like Rat Scabies, Wreckless Eric and Kosmo Vinyl. Dick was almost starting to be a cool moniker and for the first time, when being introduced to some hipster, I was asked what my real name was. Of course I blew it and told them it was my real name.

December ’78 saw me standing in line at JFK on my first trip to America waiting to go through customs and immigration. There were 40 of us all working on a rock n’roll tour with pierced ears, Lewis Leather jackets and tattered jeans. By the time the INS guy got to me and saw my last name in the passport he’d had enough. ” Dick? Dick! I don’t f***ing believe this he muttered,” stamped my passport, handed it back to me and closed down his lane. Those ten days in NYC and Akron blew my mind and with my ever increasing confidence I came home and soon afterwards signed my first business letter as being “FROM THE DICK AT NIGEL’S DESK.” It caused hilarity and mirth – but not as much consternation as when, having been promoted to do PR for the company, I made my first phone call to The Times reviews section. “Who’s calling?” the young female asked at the other end of the line. “Nigel Dick from Stiff Records,” I replied. “Piss Off!” she hissed and slammed the phone down.

The winds of culture had shifted and my name was actually starting to cause offense. This was fun. Wreckless Eric released a single called A Popsong. In one longer mix of the track he rapped about the members of staff in the runout: “Rachel Sweet goes tweet, tweet, tweet; Nigel Dick makes you sick.” I was very disappointed that this version was never officially released.

Some years earlier Johnny Cash’s “Boy Named Sue” had been a big hit and it suggested the theory that, by calling his son a girl’s name, the errant father of the tale had provided his offspring with years of character-building toughness without being in the picture – an early version of whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. With the 8 long years of bullying still a recent memory and with Punk at it’s zenith I embraced my Dickness. In 1979 I sent out the first of my Christmas Cards with Dick themes. I made a double exposure of two of me in stupid poses with guitars and sunglasses trying to look like rock stars. The caption read: Happy Christmas from a couple of Real Dicks. Spot the Dick followed in 1980 and the year after, having seen a Richard Nixon campaign button in a history book, stole his slogan You Can’t Lick A Good Dick. Sadly my girlfriend at the time took this as a personal and very public comment on her grasp (or perhaps lack of it) of an unspoken sexual technique and we broke up before the Christmas decorations came down in January.

I carried on unperturbed and soon realised that I had found a brand for myself which seemed vaguely cool. Hell, Branson had gone mainstream with his Virgin so why couldn’t I have some fun with my Dick? People started sending me pictures of places they visited in foreign countries (Dick’s Bar, Dick’s Auto Repair etc) and then the T-shirts started arriving. I met people who’d seen my business card or Christmas Card pinned up on an office wall for years and had never met me. I’d unleashed a lovable and rather stupid monster. I came up with the one-liner that if I ever had a son I’d call him Donald. Very few people laughed but I thought it was hysterical. On one memorable night in Nice while shooting a Toto gig Jeff Porcaro stopped the show and exchanged his drumsticks for a T-shirt being worn by a sweaty punter in the front row. He proudly gave it to me as a gift. On the front it read DICK MUCUMBA.

And so 26 years after the first Dick Christmas card I’m looking at proofs for the latest edition. Truth be told it’s become a burden now. Around March I start stressing about what visual Dick-joke or pun I can pull together before October comes around and I need to start making the damn thing. But whatever I say now the die is certainly cast and on the gravestone they’ll only need to carve four letters preferably with an exclamation mark at the end. Or perhaps I should be a touch more cryptic and just have the caption: Rhymes With Prick.

George, Sorry to hear about today’s approval rating: down to a record low 37%. Yikes! Jolly glad to hear your PR chap say that he’s not paying attention to the numbers – a bit like the deficit eh?

Anyway I know that you don’t read magazines and stuff so I thought I’d just tell you that I’m a bit worried about this article I’m reading in Rolling Stone this week – it’s the one with the Billie-Joe guy from Green Day on the cover (the little chap with make-up who made the album called American Idiot – have we found out who he was referring to yet?) Anyhow the article I’m reading is all about global warming and has lots of useful quotes and info in it. Here’s some things we need to talk about the next time we hook up…

1) In the US (which is) 5% of the world’s population (we) manage to produce 20% of the planet’s CO2.

2) Defeat terrorism by freeing America from it’s dependency on foreign oil…America’s energy demand is financing terror. (This            quote from a former director of the CIA!)

3) The relationship between humankind and the earth has been utterly transformed…we have quadrupled the population of our             planet in the past hundred years…the power of the technologies at our disposal vastly magnifies the impact each individual can         have on the natural world.

4) The era of procrastination…is coming to a close. In its place we are entering a period of consequences.

5) We are entering the “Oh shit” era of global warming.

6) The Chinese…still only use about one-eigth as much energy as Americans.

You’re right George. Comments from a bunch of wishy washy pinko-liberals the lot of ’em. Except – you might want to have a word about all this with your pal Ahnold – he’s letting the side down. The Governator “signed an executive order (in June) requiring California – the world’s sixth largest economy – to slash its climate warming emissions by 80% by 2050.” This puts California ahead of Britain (which unlike the U.S. signed the Kyoto protocol) which is one of only 4 countries pledging a paltry 60% reduction by 2050.

You’re right again George. This is just another collection of bad science by a bunch of stupid scientists. But how do we explain away this one…?

“(The Inuit) recognized the threat global warming long before science confirmed their observations. (They noticed) robins and barn owls began showing up in the North’s frozen reaches, the Inuit had no names for them.”

(All quotes from Rolling Stone #987 – 11/17/05)

Dear George, I get stressed about the small crap like clearing stuff off my desk. I made another attempt today which will last until the postman arrives with a new bunch of unsolicited mail. Amongst the crap I found a note to check out some “Riveting soldier blogs.” And my veins turned to ice as I read this extract:

“There are battles which need to be fought and there are battles which serve no good purpose. Afghanistan and Bin Laden lay forgotten as if they were discarded toys left by a spoiled child. Iraq is the new frontier of poor foreign policy and poor planning. Even the soldiers can see it. Why do you think nobody is re-enlisting? They don’t want to keep leaving their families to go fight a loosing battle and to die for an empty promise. The promise that somehow staying in Iraq makes America safer.We have created a martyr factory here, and we are beginning to wade through the next Vietnam. How wrong do you want to be before you close down shop and send the troops home? 2,000 dead? Is that wrong enough? How about 10,000?”

Please Mr. Bush, Sir, Your Highness, please dismount from your comfortable cushion in your ivory tower for five short minutes and join us in the real world. This is what your soldiers are saying as they fight your purposeless war.

See more at http://www.misoldierthoughts.blogspot.com

I was having my lunch at the diner and this old todger walks by wearing a T-shirt. The top bit said: “My aim in life is to live forever.”

Underneath there was another line of type which read: “So far, so good!”

That’s the spirit.

Just thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing as I know it’s been a tough couple of weeks for you. First that annoying woman whose son died camps outside your house while you’re on your holidays (bloody cheek!) and then that pesky hurricane arrives and screws with your approval rating.

As anyone will tell you I know Dick about politics but I’m so grateful that you’ve brought things down to my level at last. When I mentioned last week that you were going public about the slow response to the floods in New Orleans I predicted you were looking for a scapegoat. Result! Brownie (Head of FEMA) is now toast. Gadzooks – I saw it coming! Now the George ratings are plummeting you take the high ground and accept responsibilty because it seems like the right thing to do. Correct. It’s also the ONLY thing to do if you want to get out of this mess. Even I can see that. Well done George.

Does this mean that you will eventually apologize for all the environmental disasters you and your pals have been creating? (see this weeks Rolling Stone – the one with the Rolling Stones on the front cover – I think you’ll be able to find it). Gosh – I do hope so. Actually, ignore this one George, it doesn’t much matter because when crunch time comes you and I will be long forgotten. And I don’t have kids so I could care less. You do? Woops. Oh heck – who cares right?

By the way – Bad Science! You are a freaking genius George. You have testicles the size of a dinosaur – I would never have had the nerve to go public with that one and tell all those technical geniuses where to get off.

Which brings us to that conflict thingy in the Middle East. Doesn’t it just bug you the way people keep calling it a war? I’m so impressed with the way you ignored all those poncey peacenicks (millions of ’em) and the way you and Don ignored those Generally people and went in with the low-impact troop deployment. Granted it’s a bit of a shame that the lads in Iraq haven’t played ball and have made the Generally people look actually rather smart. That just sucks doesn’t it? Chances are you’re going to have to apologize for all that somewhere down the line too.

Oh, yeah, right. I forgot the postcard. You’re not going to stoop that low. Like I said I know Dick about politics.

P.S. I saw you on TV in New Orleans near the flooded bits. I know you don’t read much so I just thought I’d let you know that you should get some shots – we’d all hate it if you got ill.

I had an e-mail over the weekend from a journalist in England who’s writing something about people who studied at Bath University. Give me 300 words he said. I don’t know if this is 300 words but, for the record, here’s my version of my time at University. With apologies to Nick, Vaughan and Ian who didn’t get a mention but should have…

It wasn’t till the end of my first week at Bath I realised what a terrible mistake I’d made. I’d just spent 8 years in a single-sex boarding school and discovered I’d signed up for a six year course at a University where 80% of the student body was male and had wrapped itself in an anorak. Determined to put a brave face on it all I signed up for the hockey team and was picked for the 3rd XI. The practices were notable for the lack of attendance and at our first match I was asked to play for the opposing team as only 9 of their players had shown up. I got the message loud and clear and quit.

As I was studying Architecture I needed a drawing board and didn’t have one (or any funds) so I decided to ‘borrow’ one from the school and smuggle it up to my room in the halls of residence. Late one evening, and helped by some fellow smugglers, my luck changed. The security man arrived with his scowl and his large torch as we were in the middle of our illicit borrowing…and held the door open for us while we spirited the vital equipment into the night.

At the end of the first year I received an awful phone-call: one of my best friends from school had committed suicide. The terrible news coincided with my birthday and the release of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side Of The Moon. From room 715 I looked over the campus and the city in the fading light and played Great Gig In The Sky at blistering levels over and over while the people complained next door and the tears rolled endlessly down my face.

The gigs were frankly disappointing (John Martyn – stoned and abusive onstage, the Camel ‘Snow Goose’ tour) but Thursday nights were amazing. In the main student room there was one TV and about 700 of us would squeeze ourselves in there for a night of wonderful TV: Top Of The Pops, Monty Python and Colditz. By far and away my best memory of the place.

In the holidays I stayed in my flat on Rivers Street and worked on construction sites in town and helped build a shopping precinct down by the railway station as a scaffold erector’s mate. I visited Bristol and saw Steely Dan and Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust tour at the Colston Hall little knowing that the keyboard player would later play in my own band. One Christmas I worked in a hotel as a bell boy and spent two weeks helping the Hotel Manager hide his affair with the waitress from his wife, the Hotel Manageress, as if my job depended on it – which it did.

I needed money so I started Tiny’s Disco (what a terrible name!) and played gigs all over town for a pittance playing Golden Earring’s Radar Love and Sweet’s Ballroom Blitz back to back because they had the same drum riff. It was another ploy to meet girls and it failed miserably though I certainly watched a lot of other guys hooking up to my music.

And then after four years I left and never earnt a penny as an Architect.

It wasn’t till much later that I missed the cold and soggy mornings walking across Pulteney Bridge in a hurry trying to get a bus up the hill or the wonderful summer I spent working as a waiter in town where I got to wait on Princess Margaret, Roddy Llewelyn and John Phillips from the Mamas & The Papas while wearing silver shoes and overalls. They were all very stoned and gave me a ten pound tip which I spent on a Led Zeppelin album.

One day my destiny discovered me and I became a video director. The first big act I worked with was Tears For Fears for whom Bath was, of course, their home town – and at last it all seemed to make sense. However I suspect that deep down inside they detested me for being a student – one of those penniless people who trudged home through the dark night after the last bus and defiled the peace of their beautiful city.

President George Bush stepped out onto the White House lawn today to issue his thoughts regarding the response to the disaster unfolding in the South 5 days after Hurricane Katrina. “The results are not acceptable,” said Bush.

George Bush is the Commander In Chief – for him to say the response is unacceptable sounds like the spin of a desperate man hunting for a scapegoat. Surely this man must know deep down that he has sat on his haunches all week and watched idly as the disaster unfolded when, as early as Monday, he should have been flying back to Washington from his holiday to organize a solution. He’s the man at the top – he’s responsible.

Watching from Los Angeles it was easy to see on Monday that troops, food water and medical supplies needed to be sent to the crisis areas pronto. Let’s face it there was no major logistical hurdles to overcome – no oceans to cross, no mountains to circumvent – all you had to do was get on the freeway – and there are gas stations and signposts the whole way. How much easier could it have been?

Even though we fear that money needed for public works has been siphoned off for the war in Iraq and that the eyes of the generals are pointed to the middle east surely this country is not so off-balance that it could take 5 days for help to make it the 300 miles from Houston to New Orleans?

Shame on you Bush and your cronies. This terrible week will be your epitaph.

A small piece of frightening info in June 27th issue of Time.

“By itself, Wal-Mart is China’s sixth largest export market – just behind Germany…”

Blimey.

The world is crashing down around our ears. The signs are everywhere – pontiffs are dying; people with mental problems, agendas and unlimited supplies of bullets are going on killing sprees; every Escalade has a one-armed driver with a cell phone, a steaming hot latte and a meeting to rush to and now this…

A duck is sitting on its eggs outside the white house. A security detail has been assigned to look after “Duck Cheney” and a sign has been put up to ask tourists, onlookers and well-wishers not to disturb the poor bird.

The sign says QUITE PLEASE. Once again. The sign says QUITE please.

No wonder the country is going to the dogs. We have a President who can’t string a sentence together and a government that can’t spell QUIET.

So I’ve been deceiving you all. As well as this blog for the movie there’s also an identical one at the proper movie web-site which is www.callbackthemovie.com (direct link to the blog is www.callbackthemovie.com/blog/ ). In the interests of time and space the blog will continue there. See you in a second…

So the Schiavo/Schindler fight to end/prolong Terri Schiavo’s life is finally over and it all feels as if there’s been no real victory for anyone. Seeing as you ask I have three things to say…

1) Though I disagree with their beliefs and though I feel justice, both moral and legal, was finally served, I admire the Schindlers for trying so hard to keep their daughter alive.

2) I applaud Michael Schiavo for sticking by his guns for fifteen years. The dignity with which he has quietly gone about his business is remarkable. A lesser man may have just walked away but he stuck by his promise to his wife.

3) I want the world to know that If I should ever become brain dead (and no, making videos for hair-metal bands in the 80’s and watching every episode of Mythbusters does NOT mean I’m brain dead) I want the plug pulled right away. But don’t starve me to death – please give me a bottle of Corona, a box of Rasinettes and then slam me with the big morphine shot so I can go with a big smile on my face.

I’ve watched someone die and held their hand as they slipped away. It’s an extra-ordinary, life-changing experience to observe. Though we live constantly in denial of it, sooner or later we will all pass along that road. Let’s hope that you and me can do it more quietly and without people fighting on the street outside.

P.S. I promise my next blog will be more up-beat…they’ve all been a bit dismal this year haven’t they?

It’s my birthday but I’m sad this evening. 10 people are dead and 13 wounded after an un-named young man stole his Grandfather’s pistol, killed his grandparents and then went to school killing a teacher, a security officer and other students before ending his own life.

OK so we’ll probably never get the NRA and their pals in the Republican party to ban guns entirely but consider this: To obtain a fire-arm in Britain you have to make an application for a firearms licence to the Home Office Firearms Section. Amongst the three strict criteria to get a licence you must prove “you are a fit and proper person of good character suitable to be entrusted with prohibited weapons/ammunition.” As I recall this involves getting letters of good character from your local Justice Of The Peace, Judge or the like.

In addition once you pass the “he’s a decent sort of chap” test all guns must be locked up in a gun case or safe that must be bolted to a structural wall – the Home Office pamphlet regarding these cabinets even goes into great detail about the thickness of steel used to make such cabinets and how the hinges should be built. Also guns need to be locked up separately from ammunition.

I wonder if these simple rules applied here in the USA, rules that need not interfere with “the right to bear arms,” whether those ten people in Minnesota would all be alive tonight.

Check out http://www.homeoffice.gov.uk/docs3/firearms2.html

I just heard that yesterday you were with us and today you are not. I’m in shock. You had a heart as big as the city of LA and the damn thing went and let you down. Thank-you for all the hard work; thank-you for all the great people you brought in; thank-you for all the cussing and face-scrunching and thank-you for posting that really daft picture of me on your web-site. Most of all thank-you for being you and caring.

You promised me you were going to get me some hot babes for Callback so I’ll have to find another way now – but that’s not the point. Point is you were prepared to do it without a thought. Thank-you for being so generous.

I guess you’re scoping out the angels now. Let me know how it goes. R.I.P. Scottie Lazarus.

I saw Downfall last night and it brought up many issues for me both personal and historical. I’ve discussed my feelings about the war and growing up in Germany at length elsewhere so let’s move right along to history and topicality.

This film describes Hitler’s last 12 days as seen through the eyes of Traudl Junge his personal secretary and it re-examines many of the issues discussed in Anthony Beevor’s book ‘Berlin: The Downfall 1945’ which we’ll get to shortly. The film, which is excellent, has attracted much comment for depicting Hitler as a human being rather than a manifestation of pure evil. Let’s be clear: the man was a human being and he was surrounded by other human beings who did his bidding and as a result the world was dragged into a five year conflict during which 50 million people would die. This film is a useful reminder of how one man’s obsession can lead nations and continents astray. That Hitler implemented the most barborous culling of innocent humanity that history has ever seen is well known; that his blind ego took him and his armies half way across Europe is also without question. What the film (and Beevor’s book) usefully illuminates is how deeply selfish and corrupt his vision for Germany and world domination was.

Hitler berates his generals for not listening to him when quite clearly they are at their wits end trying to reason with a man who never went to staff college and was fixated on flag-decked maps that bore no relationship to any kind of reality. (See also Beevor’s excellent Stalingrad for further evidence of this foolishness). Clearly Hitler harbored enormous hatred for the intelligent, educated German military minds that surrounded him; most likely a result of his insecurity at never having risen above the rank of Corporal.

Hitler successfully surrounded himself with psychotics and sychophants who constantly fed fuel to his burning ego – anyone who chose to disagree was branded a traitor and was sacked (if they were lucky) or shot: when one of his desperate generals, facing the firing squad, confronts Hitler with the truth about the military situation and shows some strategic sense Hitler promotes him and gives him the unenviable job of defending Berlin. The horrified general responds: “I’d rather have been shot.”

The most telling indictment however is Hitler’s distaste for the very people he had supposedly done all his beastly work for: the German people. As the Russian tanks draw closer Hitler orders every bridge, waterworks, power station and other public utility to be destroyed. Albert Speer reasons with Hitler telling him that his dearly beloved countrymen will need these important items when the war is over. Hitler spits back that the German people don’t deserve it and they should suffer for letting him down so badly. Yet the contrary is true. The German people didn’t deserve Hitler. This after all was a noble and beautiful country with a long history of great art and culture.

I think it is important that the film shows Hitler to be mere flesh and blood. Dismissing him as pure evil, like a being from another universe, is a way to avoid the issue that we are all potentially culpable if we allow someone that bad and evil to thrive in our midst. We need to be reminded that evil lurks among us and we must always be on our guard. A poll in Britain recently revealed this staggering piece of information: 90% of people under 20 believe that Hitler was a fictional character.

Useful reading:
Berlin: The Downfall 1945 – Antony Beevor
Stanlingrad – Antony Beevor
Delivered From Evil: The Saga of World War II – Robert Leckie
Hitler – Alan Bullock

BUSH WATCH
Valentine’s Day
The Prosecutor: One final question Sister Prejean. Could you please repeat for the jury your thoughts on The President.
Sister. Prejean: I hate the way he uses religion. It’s a sacrilege to me.
The Prosecutor (To the Judge): I rest my case M’Lud.

(Sister Helen Prejean, writer of Dead Man Walking, is quoted from the February 21st edition of TIME Magazine