The first track off of Orbital's Snivilisation.

It combines layers of samples, a couple thousand synthesizer beeps, a steady dance beat, and buzzing bass, and spins them all around one of those man-ascending-to-the-realm-of-the-gods melodies that makes your heart leap for joy. I hum it all day. It sounds like the organ the angels play in heaven, and it's gotta be one of the most emotional songs I've ever heard without lyrics.

Kraftwerk meets Strauss meets Pink Floyd meets Juno Reactor. This song is six years old and still sounds more modern than any non-Orbital or non-Aphex Twin techno track I know of.

By the way, I like it.

Forever is another in a long line of nostalgia programmes showing in the UK, on ITV1. However, unlike the BBC's 'I Love The 90s' it is solely dedicated to the music of the year.

If you have seen more than one of these shows you probably have a set image of what will be included in a specific year: ie, everybody knows that 1991 = The KLF and Cathy Dennis. Right?

Forever takes a slightly different slant. The programme seems to be written (by Andy Darling) from the perspective of a non-snobby NME reader. 1991's programme did indeed feature Norwich's finest but also My Bloody Valentine, Lush, Metallica and Chapterhouse, none of whom have ever been in a nostalgia show to my knowledge.

The first time I watched Forever (at the wonderful peak time of 1am) it was the 1989 episode. I was greeted by the phrase "1989, surely the greatest year in pop history".

I myself have fond pop memories of 1989 (Donna Summer and Lisa Stansfield.. stop sniggering at the back!) but was taken aback at this sweeping comment. You tend to get laughed at if you suggest any year later than 1967 was 'the greatest year in pop history' but - for fuck's sake - 1989???!!

It turns out that this is a running joke, every year is introduced as 'the greatest'. Har dee har!

Any fool can slap a few music promo videos together and give a quick summary of the year, but Forever mixes said promos with rare interview footage. Seeing Miki and Emma from Lush doing an impression of a gagged brick wall makes you realise that the term 'Shoegazing' wasn't taking the piss.

After seeing the same old stock footage of your favourite band billions of times, it is so refreshing to see them in (often comically bad) early interviews, or introducing their 'new' video in crass fashion. It really takes you back to when you first heard them. Which is after all what a nostalgia show is meant to do, not just flash the cliched images of previous shows at you.

Like all great TV programmes lately, you can catch this at any time from 1am to 2.50am, on Saturday nights, ITV1. They wouldn't want to put anything not involving celebrity chefs or home makeovers on when people would actually watch it would they?

Also a book by Judy Blume, dealing with issues about first love, sex, and growing up in 1970s America.

ISBN 0671695304

Written for a young adult audience, Blume describes the happenings in the lives of Katherine and Michael through younger eyes, from their first meeting, their growing attraction and love for each other, the first time they decide to have sex, and Katherine's choices of birth control. When events happen to separate Michael and Katherine for a temporary (but extended) period of time, Katherine finds herself having feelings for someone other than Michael, causing her to question her concept of being forever with who she thought was the one. The book deals with the sexual exploration and discovery between Michael and Katherine in a frank and honest manner, with perhaps a little poetic licence in the rose-tinted glasses department.

Also a 2015 movie starring Deborah Ann Woll (the redhead with the huge platelike teeth from True Blood).

This is a movie not to be missed. As many things on Netflix it is to be avoided at all costs. 

In what is initially a very confusing montage, we meet the redhead Alice and her boyfriend, who have very noisy sex (which the neighbor says sounds like wild animals). For reasons which become completely unapparent, one day he snaps at yells at her, and she calls him an asshole and walks out. She returns to find that his response to her going out and getting Chinese to cool down and pretend that fight didn't happen is to have blown his brains out in the shower with a revolver.

This is interspersed with other confusing montages with people who seem irrelevant to that main story: a black man comes in to a car with a sleeping black woman therein - having urinated by the side of the road. He then gets back into the car and drives into the path of an oncoming vehicle, clearly killing him, and their baby.

An old man walking through a major city is approached by a couple apologizing about New Year's. He responds claiming not to know who or where he is. They take him back to his home.

Turns out the woman is a reporter who was reporting on "a clinic" somewhere where a woman's husband went after their daughter drowned while swimming with him in the ocean. He doesn't want to leave, she says. She tells her boss she's going to report on this - and he tells her she needs time to grieve instead.

(At this point Your Humble Narrator pauses the film and checks the director, who turns out to be female. I'm not going to suggest that all women write like this, but there is no way on God's Green Earth that ANY kind of publisher with any kind of deadline tells a reporter she needs to take time off to grieve, rather than follow a story. This is the kind of "didn't do the homework/fact checking" that exposes a female-targeted media trope.)

So for reasons that make no sense, she decides to head out to this "clinic" which is actually a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. She buries her identification and claims not to remember who she is. An older woman who runs into her tells her she really needs to leave. She claims to everyone in the group (some of the people from the initial montage and others) she can't remember who she is, but she really really needs to stay (and begins crying furiously at this point). Nobody questions the complete LUNACY of someone who has no idea who she is or where she is, but she really REALLY needs to stay.

Of course, she falls immediately for Tortured Skinny Emo Boy With The Nice Hair And Beard. They make eyes at each other until they separate from the group - at which point he pretty much rapes her, or at least it would have been if she wasn't for some reason I can't fathom totally fine with this. He pushes her against the wall, puts his arm across her throat, shoves her against the wall, pulls her panties down, and roughly inserts himself into her, violently pushing her against the wall and refusing to let her do anything except be railed quickly and forcefully, become ejaculated in, and of course, perfect timing, someone calls out looking for them at that precise moment. He practically punches the wall, yelling "Fuck!" and she's totally in love with him at that point. 

I'm no expert on female sexuality, but someone with a violent streak who just pushed me against the wall and then roughly masturbated into me, following that up with an angry shout and clear post-ejaculatory self-hatred doesn't sound like someone I'd pursue more thoroughly as my Next Life Partner. I mean, if she was that into men with a mean temper and a sudden angry streak, she wouldn't have walked out on the last guy, but enthusiastically melted into rough angry hate sex with him. 

The thing is - that's really the only interesting bit in the pointless and forever-taking montage that follows. The men are sawing away at pallets which in no way changes their shape or function. The women are quilting and one stands up and theatrically and violently farts, wafting that at the other women which makes them all laugh and bond together in a barrage of fart noises and heartfelt Sex And The City-type exuberance. 

Turns out emo boy knows her real name and knows she's lying - and hasn't ratted her out to the rest because he's leaving it to her conscience to do so. Something which no man ever would, it's the classic case of someone writing a typically female dialogue expressed by someone with a penis. Few men particularly care that someone's not choosing to tell other people who they are or holding something back. Secrets-keeping being A Really Big Thing is more of a stereotypically female concern. 

The woman that told her to leave before it's too late is waiting for her in her bedroom and warns her never to reveal that she remembers her name or anything else. Or else. It's a warning. 

So you have a whole bunch of people in the middle of nowhere sawing and raping and farting. She decides to come clean - she came to report on them, her name is Alice, but now she agrees to tell them who she is and she wants to be there anyway and in any case she totally wants to stay. The rest vote to let her stay. Apparently she knows what they're up to. The audience doesn't. In any way. Weirdest clinic ever.

Then the old lady who told her to leave at the beginning of the movie and warns her later on to not reveal she remembers who she is decides to die outside, cursing the man running the place as not really being "the great healer". She grabs a stick and hits him, he kills her by accident in response. Conveniently, a burial dress is in her bedroom, and redhead helps him re-dress her.

At this point the redhead is weirded out and wants emo boy to leave with her. Turns out he's there because his step-dad raped him as a child with bottles and broom handles, and his brother's in jail for life for murdering both his parents as a result. And doesn't want to leave. He shoots his two large dogs. Because he won't leave, she decides to stay with him.

Turns out the end game is, they're all going to set fire to the pallets, lie on them, and die from some poisoned water. You see, they're too sad to live, can't get over their grief, and have decided to commit mass suicide together. And because rape-emo-boy won't live, she wants to die with him, for reasons that make absolutely zero sense to anyone except the kind of Manic Pixie Dream self-cutting woman with a Hot Topic credit card who wrote this mess.

Except at the 11th hour, just as she's about to swallow the poison, he stops her. Because he wants to live with her, damn it, she's saved him. With her, he can do anything. He promises the others that they won't interfere with the rest of their plans - and the others say goodbye while dying and being on fire. So the whole tense buildup about her leaving now or never having the chance to later - and never revealing she's actually sane and knows who she is or there might be consequences - was a blind and a lie. They just go "bye, Alice!" and happily die.

They leave with the surviving dog (turns out he couldn't bring himself to shoot the other one) by train, camera pans in to a scratched-in graffiti that simply says, "Forever". 

And your humble narrator wants his HOUR AND A HALF OF POINTLESS EMO WHINING BACK. Because that was every teenage girl diary cliche combined with every morbid "death is romantic" adolescent warbling trope. Its core message is: therapy doesn't work for most people, if you're still sad you would really be better off ending your own existence. It would just be better to fall back in a swoon and catch fire.

Not all women are emotionally stunted head cases obsessed with touchy-feely happiness followed by suicide. It truly sets back female filmmaking by about five decades. We could have come in about five minutes from the end and lost nothing in the exchange. Heck, we could have lost five characters therein, whose only purpose was to pad out the happy, cheering soccer scene where they all bond over a bonfire and a kickround with a soccer ball, and for the most part had four lines in total.

And if you wanted to convince any man out there that being a depressed, angry hair-trigger ball of pain whose sexual repertoire looks like a $25 behind-the-dumpster truck stop prostitute shag where predator pressure sets the rhythm won't get you laid - well, this is NOT the film for you. We have enough problems with the idea that "chicks dig jerks" or women falling for guys they can "fix" and "change" without putting this pile of toxic garbage out there.

Please save yourself one and a half hours. 

Oh, and anyone hoping for this art film to redeem itself by featuring Deborah Ann Woll topless or something, you're going to be out of luck. Given that the character literally subjects herself to being used sexually by a drifter-looking freak, a flash of breast would actually have been less demeaning for said actress. (Not that that's what I watched it for, but I know some who would).

Apparently, The film was produced by "The Art of Elysium", which "works to make art a catalyst for social change". Well, please don't. It's the kind of "social change" we don't need. But apparently the woman who made this is originally from the Republic of Georgia and loves to read discarded and forgotten letters and emo-Post Secret style stuff. Par for the course, nailed it in one. 


For*ev"er (?), adv. [For, prep. + ever.]


Through eternity; through endless ages, eternally.


At all times; always.

In England, for and ever are usually written and printed as two separate words; but, in the United States, the general practice is to make but a single word of them.

Forever and ever, an emphatic "forever."

Syn. -- Constantly; continually; invariably; unchangeably; incessantly; always; perpetually; unceasingly; ceaselessly; interminably; everlastingly; endlessly; eternally.


© Webster 1913.

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