I was listening to a radio interview with a singer from a Scottish band, perhaps Franz Ferdinand, who was talking about his new business, which was a graveyard for atheists. People who were appalled at the thought of being mistaken for Christians after they had died simply because of the dozens of crosses and stones with appeals to God on them that would surround them in a normal graveyard would be able, for a mere 25 pence, to be buried alongside other non-believers in a large plot of ground called Indie Cemetery.
Then I was walking through the cemetery, which was in the west end of Glasgow. The graves were overgrown with weeds and thorn bushes, but little hidden speakers, activated by motion sensors when you neared a grave, played music that had been chosen by the deceased. I stood between two graves, one playing something by Belle and Sebastian and the other playing a Lloyd Cole song that made particularly heavy use of steel guitars.
Notes for Freudian Analysis
Listening to Vic Galloway's show, Air, on Radio Scotland last night, I thought that it was remarkable how much decent music is made by extremely unfamous Scottish bands. It was a little depressing to think that, for a lot of them, being played on this programme was the most exposure they'd ever get.
I used to know Vic quite well but I haven't seen him since I met him at a Jello Biafra spoken word show in 2002. I was alarmed to hear his voice on the radio last night, as I assumed that he would have been part of the strike action at the BBC. Could Vic have turned into a strike-breaking friend of the bosses? A running dog lackey? A scab? Happily, it turned out that the show was pre-recorded.
Later, for reasons of her own, Ellen chose to deride those strange, boxlike rectangular steel guitars that country and western musicians sit on a stool to play, saying that they were a pointless affectation that had been invented by some stupid man for no good reason.