Can I change this?

Unless Christmas itself is a Sunday, the Sunday in the octave of Christmas is the Feast of the Holy Family. Even when Christmas is a Sunday, the Holy Family is considered of sufficient importance to be transferred to the preceding Friday.

In 2006, I gave a talk on Catholicism in a 'what is...?' series organised by our local ecumenical partnership. In this talk, I specifically mentioned the Feast of the Holy Family as a disctinctively Catholic celebration which particularly appeals to me; I'm very attached to my family and Catholicism seems to be more explicit in its celebration of the family than other Christian denominations.

It has become my habit in recent years to keep this feast at Our Lady Help of Christians, commonly known as Portico church. My father's side of the family came to town in the late 1950s and my Grandad has lived in the same house ever since, which means, amongst other things, that my family has clocked up nearly half a century of worship at Portico. This year, my Dad came with us as well, as if to underscore the occasion.

Mass was said by a visiting priest, specifically a German missionary who had spent many years preaching the Good News around the world, including amongst the Maasai people of East Africa. In the sermon, it was remarked that some have questioned the wisdom of missionaries in today's world, especially when there seems to be so much to do 'at home'. However, the sermon included the expression 'the whole world is mission territory' and, on reflection, this has always been so and will remain so until the whole world is fully informed about the Lord Jesus Christ, who, we were reminded, died to save us all.

One aspect of Mass at Portico which always slightly disappoints me is that one of the readings is omitted. What disappointed me even more is that we, the congregation, were denied the beautiful extract from Ecclesiasticus where a son is enjoindered to look after his ageing father. Of course, responsibility in a family works across all generations, as stressed in the Gospel which recounted the flight into Egypt.

I'm not generally one to pass up an excuse for a good time, but New Year is an occasion I've never been able to get worked up about. Perhaps this is because of its secular character, although this is itself largely superficial as it was a Pope who decided that the year should start on 1 January and New Year's Eve is in many countries known as St Sylvester.

The church on my list for today presented a number of points of logistical interest. The original plan had been to go to Our Lady Immaculate & St Joseph for Midnight Mass, this church being no further from my Grandad's than St Luke's. However, the parking's dreadful. Such being the case, I swapped its place with St Luke's in my rota, which involved a train-and-bus combo to get there from home.

I left in plenty of time to achieve this public transport double-header, but the first train was horribly delayed. After an initial moment of panic, I decided to wait and thus shared my journey with some church friends. In the event, I was in my pew in plenty of time for 9:00am Mass.

Certain aspects of the service struck me as a little unusual, especially as the priest at OLI&StJ has a reputation for doing things by the book. First was his inclusion of the Gloria, although it might have been the other priests who were mistaken to omit it. Second was having the Sign of Peace immediately before the offertory procession. This is a perfectly sensible place to have it, but last time I checked, the bishops of England and Wales had yet to approve this practice.

Perhaps fittingly for 31 December, the reading (1 John again) talked about The End. Given the cyclical nature of the calendar, it was perhaps also fitting that the Gospel spoke about The Beginning. In his sermon, the priest mentioned that there was a time when the Prologue to John's Gospel was read at every Sunday Mass and that it underlines that we are all children of God. 31 December is a particularly appropriate time to reflect on the gifts our Father has given us.

The Church has a long history of honouring Mary and there are two days particularly associated with this. One is 15 August, the other is 1 January.Today, Catholics keep 1 January as the Solemnity of Mary Mother of God; in the early centuries, the validity of this title was much disputed and ther have always been some Christians who reject it - but I'm not one of them.

The original plan had been to round off my Mass odyssey by attending at Liverpool Catholic Cathedral, the the extent of e-mailing them for confirmation that the usual week-day Mass time of 12 noon would apply. I received no reply and only discovered on getting to the 'wigwam' at 11:30am that Mass on 1 January was at 10:00.

I wasn't going to let my plans be thwarted without a fight. When I had worked in Liverpool a few years ago, I had occasionally attended Mass at the Blessed Sacrament Shrine, a few minutes on foot from Lime Street station. I just hoped it would have a noon Mass on New Year's Day.

My hopes were not in vain. The existence of the Blessed Sacrament Shrine as a facility is one I'm very much in favour of and I really should visit it more often, especially as Mass there usually has a good 'feel' to it, this one being no exception. On a solemnity, Mass follows the same pattern as it does on a Sunday, with two readings, the Gloria and the Creed. The Gospel recounted the naming of Jesus (which would have taken place on the octave day of his birth, in accordance with Jewish custom) and there were juicy bits in both readings, including the bit of the Bible for which the oldest written evidence has been found (a blessing formula from Numbers) and a passage from Galatians including 'born of a woman...sons and heirs...freedom from sin'. There was no sermon, but plenty of lusty singing of Marian hymns to compensate.

I left Mass in not unjustifiable high spirits. I indulged myself with my first fancy cappuccino of 2008 and then, as I believe is customary in Ethiopia on New Year's Day, had chicken for dinner before making my way home.

Was it worth it? In every conceivable way, unquestionably.

Current mood: contemplative. Currently listening to: 'Broadcasting House', on Radio 4

There was a bit of a walk to my next Mass - approximately half-an-hour to St Vincent de Paul. As a result of re-organisation in the Church in St Helens a few years back, my parish and St Vincent's are looked after by the same priest. The walk was good not only for the fresh air and exercise, but also to listen to my Christmas CD, 'The Very Best of Ethiopiques', and to speculate about the readings. St John the Evangelist is the feast on 27 December, so that gives lots of choice for both the reading and the Gospel.

The first reading at Mass in the octave of Christmas is often taken from 1 John; this makes a fair deal of sense - not only on 27 December - as 1 John stresses the physical reality of Jesus's human, bodily existence. With a whole Gospel to choose from, the Church has plumped for the story of the Empty Tomb for the story of St John the Evangelist. It's not hard to see why: the Beloved Disciple, generally taken to be the source for at least the concluding part of the John's Gospel, features prominently.

After the Gospel, we were treated to a homily. Upon finding the tomb empty, the first witnesses could have put it down to grave robbery or to some sort of hallucination - but they didn't. One of these first witnesses took his faith in the Resurrection to the extent of providing the source material for a written record. Tradition has it that St John was the only one of the apostles not to be martyred - and I've heard it said that the Lord spared him for a reason. During the homily, the priest made a moving comparison with his own father's passing.

Tradition has it that three days after the Nativity, Herod ordered a massacre of baby boys to eliminate this potential rival for the kingship of the Jews. The Church commemorates this most monstrous monument to human injustice and abuse of power, a sobering reminder that Christmas has more sinister aspects than those recounted by Away in a Manger.

I arrived rather early; my Christmas haircut took me rather less time than I had expected and St Theresa of the Child Jesus church is only a few minutes on foot from my barber's. Finding the church door open, I decided it would be warmer and more prayerful to wait inside rather than out. The priest accosted the stranger in his church and we had a very pleasant conversation. It turned out that the former headteacher at the school where I work is well-known to this priest.

Mass was held in the church's Blessed Sacrament chapel. I like Masses in more intimate settings as a full small arena just has a better feel for me than a large sparsely-populated one. Rather than a sermon, the priest gave an extended introduction to Mass. He pointed out the the Feast of the Holy Innocents is one which remembers all children who die young, including those who die before birth. After all, we've all been children; as if to prove the priest's point, there was both a babe-in-arms and a primary-age child present.

The Gospel, from St Matthew, was the only possible one for the day.

29 December is a date which has acquired particular significance for me in recent years. This is because it's the day the Church remembers St Thomas a Becket, archbishop and martyr.

The story of Thomas a Becket sounds almost too perfect from the Church's point of view and raises certain questions which I don't see an answer to from a monarchistic point of view - even those who see kingship as a being of divine institution cannot really argue that the divine aspect of monarchy trumps that of the Church. In a completely unrelated sense, the recent closure of a school dedicated to St Thomas Becket will continue to impact on the school where I work for some time.

I seem not the be alone in my devotion to St Thomas of Canterbury. I'm fairly sure that a recent review of the table of liturgical days meant that Mass on 29 December is that of the relevant day in the octave of Christmas, rather than that of St Thomas a Becket. However, the priest at Holy Cross & St Helen came out in his red vestments and said the Gloria after the penitential rite, suggesting that for him, this was a Solemnity. I would feel safe in asserting also that the opening prayer referred to 'St Thomas the Great', which would make sense in the context. I like to think I wasn't the only one to notice.

There was no sermon, but the Liturgy of the Word fitted the occasion well, including in the reading 'if we have died with Him, then we shall live with Him' and in the Gospel (from Matthew) 'whoever despises his life in this world will save it for the eternal life'.

Current mood: contemplative. Currently listening to: 'Clare in the Community' - where would my Saturday mornings be without 'Listen Again'?!?

As I frequently state, one of the things I like about the Christmas holidays is that I actually get them 'off', ie although I work in a school, I'm on a 52-week contract. In 2006, I took the opportunity to attend more non-obligation Masses than I usually do, particularly as a lot of good feasts occur in rapid succession during Christmastide. For 2007, I made it my goal to attend Mass on each day in the octave of Christmas. In a different church.

Logically enough, my warm up didn't involve a Mass at all, nor any celebration of the Eucharist. For some years now, I've gone to the carol service at my local Anglican church, St Nicholas's, on the Sunday before Christmas with my parents, the one occasion in the year we all attend a service together. 2007 was particularly special as one of my sisters came as well.

The service is modelled on the famous one from the chapel of King's College, Cambridge. I went to the service with a sense that things were slightly fraught at home and in a state of mild fatigue after a long term. This left me vulnerable to losing my composure on hearing some of the better lines, such as the supplication in the opening prayer - that we remember 'those who know not the Lord Jesus, or who love Him not, or who by sin have offended Him'. The last reading is the prologue to John's Gospel, which is followed by Hark the Herald Angels Sing. I was too cut up to sing the last two verses.

On the one hand, the Solemnity of Our Lord's Nativity needs no introduction or explanation. However, some aspects of my attachment to it are more specific than others.

My family is Polish on my father's side and the Polish tradition is to start celebrating Christmas with a vigil - or Wigilia. Broadly speaking, the family meet up on the evening of 24 December and eat lots of food - although nothing with meat, as Christmas Eve is a day of abstinence in Poland. Once the first lot of eating's been cleared, the party retires to the living room where carols and presents exchanged. Nor does it finish with Midnight Mass - the festivities traditionally continue for some time afterwards, with Christmas Day serving principally to sleep things off.

As my Mum isn't Polish, we don't do a fully traditional Wigilia, but, in recent years, we've decided that we'd like to finish the evening by going to a Midnight Mass. I hadn't realised previously what I'd been missing out on; on reflection, it's the only day of the year when Mass is celebrated at midnight on it seems almost bad manners not to go, particularly as there's a traditional thirty-minute warm-up.

This year - as last year - we went to St Luke the Evangelist in Whiston, about twenty minutes on foot from my Grandad's house. As well as accessibility, is has the added bonus of guaranteed familiar faces. Our school chaplain is a priest based at St Luke's, while I saw a pleasing number of our pupils and their parents.

The Church has different readings for Christmas depending on when Mass is being celebrated. The Gospel for Midnight is taken from Luke 2, concluding with the words 'Glory to God in the highest'. It's perhaps a little unfortunate that this comes after the first Gloria since Christ the King, but this is a minor quibble.

As we approached the sermon, I reflected that it must be tricky to find something new and original to say every year. The centrepoint on this occasion was an account of a Midnight Mass in 1944 where a number of PoWs were in attendance - with an armed escort. The church's organist was ill, but one of the prisoners stepped in to provide music for the service, stressing that Christmas underlines our common humanity. This was complemented with a story of a Good Samaritan on the New York Metro and with extracts from the Patriarch of Jerusalem's Christmas letter.

Got in at 1:30am. A good start to Christmastide.

Full of turkey and Christmas pudding, I got up bright and early on Boxing Day and made my way to Mass at my local parish church, St Anne and Blessed Dominic.

I think it's a great shame that the first Christian martyr should have been almost forgotten in the UK, even though his feast is a public holiday. I first became aware of the occasion through Good King Wenceslas and I suppose the idea of a special day so close to Christmas has intrigued me ever since.

In 2007, we were fortunate enough to have a permanent deacon ordained in our parish. John McLoughlin has been a good friend of ours for some years now and as St Stephen is the patron of deacons, I was pleased to see John at Mass with his wife on his special day.

Having exchanged greetings with John, I was given an unexpected opportunty to appreciate the first reading; I was asked to do it. I was happy to oblige; I don't have any objection to reading in church, but I generally don't do it from one year to the next and it was a privilege to do so on such an auspicious day. The story from Acts is well-known, but I find particularly poignant the deliberate parallels between the dying Stephen and Christ on the Cross, as I do the reference to Saul/Paul at the end.The Gospel, referring as it did to betrayal and letting the Spirit of God speak in the heart, sat well with this.

There was much material for a sermon and the priest didn't disappoint. A priest from Pakistan spent some time in our parish parish recently and we were reminded that Pakistan is one of the - thankfully few - places in today's world where Christians are persecuted simply for being Christians - up to and including death. However, the Christian calling of the Pakistani martyr may be much harder than that of the British Christian, but this doesn't make it higher, only different.

St Stephen is also the patron of altar servers, but there aren't any in our parish at the moment. However, some good friends of mine were praised by name for having been altar servers and for their now serving the Church in other ways.

Currently listening to: Radio 4's 'The Now Show' - another Listen-Again jobby. Current mood: contemplative.

The week after I saw Saints have their er, 'mishap' at Old Trafford, the England rugby union team had a reverse in Paris. This gives me an excuse to blather on about all sorts of things.

Although England lost the rugby union world cup final, a casual observer of the media might not have altogether noticed this. Newspapers, television and radio spoke at some length on the great virtue and admirability of the England players, even in defeat.

The debate, sometimes explicitly, was couched as ruggerites vs socceristas. The latter are paid obscenely for petulantly conning the ref, the former having none of these failings. One of the many problems wtih this perceived moral superiority of the chaps from Twickers is that so little is made of these very problems.

On an intellectual level, I'm fond of the idea that a great game should have great rules. Rugby union matches - at any level - seem to feature an awful lot of infringements. So many that I can't divest myself of the thought that either the rules are poor or the players are.

The greater difficulty, though, is away from the pitch rather than on it. I've always felt slightly queasy at the routine deceit in the present and falsification of the past which seem endemic to rugby union the world over. Whether it's shamatuerism, player numbers in Sri Lanka or crowd figures at the Stoop, rugby union doesn't seem to be an honest game.

It is, however, a game of ruling elites, to a degree that goes beyond incongruity. I acknowledge that I personally have a deep suspicion of ruling elites, but that's a subject for another blog entry. Rugby union has an uncanny knack of being the game of social prestige and political influence, often in somewhat unsavoury circumstances. Regimes closely associated with rugby union include not only apartheid South Africa and Vichy France, but also Ceaucescu's Romania and even Salazar's Portugal.

In and of itself, this is more unfortunate than anything else. What I find harder to accept is the tendency of rugby union to (ab?)use its status to attack rugby league. The favourite tactic has historically been the outright ban, as was in place in the British armed forces until 1994. In France during the Second War, the ban - which extended to imposing the name 'jeu a treize' until the late 1980s - included transfer of assets from the French Rugby League to the French Rugby Union. The beneficiaries of this war crime continue unrepentant while its uncompensated victims continue to await justice. Moreover, bans can also act as a prelude to erasure from history - witness the 'Rugby' World Cup, contested in rugby union a mere twenty-three years after the first such competition in rugby league, yet known by a generic title.

So, how do all these seamy bits manage to go largely unreported in the media? Might it be because the media are basically the mouthpiece of the ruling elite...?

Currently listening to: last night's 'News Quiz' on Listen Again.

When I was younger, we'd go to the same hotel in Blackpool each year for our summer holidays. One of the corridor walls featured a framed copy of Rudyard Kipling's 'If', a poem bound to leave its mark on an impressionable youthful mind.

Saints RL have tasted both of these 'impostors' in recent weeks. At the start of the 2007 season, we were entered for four trophies. A few weeks ago, I went to Old Trafford hoping to see us complete a clean sweep. In the event, we were comprehensively outplayed by Leeds, not for the first time this season.

Funny thing was, I wasn't that fussed. When I was younger, I used to get awfully upset and nervous about sporting occasions, but I just don't any more. I suspect that there may be a flip-side to this: whether the two are linked or not, I certainly don't experience the highs of victory in the way I used to.

Maybe this is an act of growing-up on my part, a realisation that it truly is 'only a game'. Where I get worried is that I seem to have lost my capacity for justifiable outrage at things which once made me feel physically sick and, so far as I can make out, still should - things like hate crimes, war and social injustice. At the back of my mind is a nagging fear that I'm some sort of cold-hearted, indifferent, uncaring monster.

Perhaps this is another thing over which, by rights, I should be getting worked up. Except I'm not sure I can any more.

Currently listening to: 'Universal Evolution', from Miroslav Vitous's 'Universal Syncopations II' album.

Currently listening to: 'Nickels and Dimes', from Billy Cobham's 'Inner Conflicts' album.

I posted this as a bulletin on MySpace while back and got a grand total of one response. It has now passed its ten-day expiry date. Unlike everyone else, I think it's worth preserving.

This is one of those things where you're politely requested only to scroll onto the next section once you've done the preceding one...

Section 1: Imagine you were to be digitally stored on a USB memory stick. Which of the following formats would you be saved in? – choose one and one only!

.aac
.bmp
.doc
.exe
.gif
.jpeg
.mp3
.otd
.pdf
.pub
.xls
.zip

Section 2: Read on to find out what the file extension you've chosen says about you as a person. Banish any thoughts that it's just completely made up by someone who should really have something better to do with their free time.

.aac - you like doing things your own way and don't have a problem with expecting other people to fit in with you

.bmp - you're open to other people's suggestions and do your best to act on them when they're helpful

.doc - you're straightforward and adaptable and if other people think you're dull, it's their problem

.exe - you prefer to take an active role in matters rather than sitting by passively
while others assume the initiative

.gif - you have (probably unjustified) hang-ups about your appearance

.jpeg - you like to be looked at and admired

.mp3 - what you say is more important to you than how you look

.otd - you know that you're as worthy as anyone else, but people seem not to pay you the attention you deserve

.pdf - you have hidden depths which others generally don't appreciate

.pub - you put a lot of effort into looking good and it's worth it despite the
compatibility issues which arise

.xls - you like order and prefer objective functions to subjective expressions

.zip - you bottle things up, but there's a lot inside you waiting to be let out
when someone else figures out how

Section 3: Add your first name / nickname with chosen file extension to the list at the end of this bulletin.

Section 4: Copy and paste it as 'The File Extension Zodiac'. If you can be bothered. Even though I didn't say please. Oddly enough, there are no dire consequences for your health, wealth or happiness, present or future, if you do nothing. Nor are there any such consequences for those close to you.

List of names

1: natalie.exe

2: stankers.zip

3. geoff-E-.mp3

I meant to write this last week, but showed my characteristic lack of efficiency. Interestingly, it's ended up tying in with the theme of this week's Gospel in the Catholic lectionary, which contains the famous line 'anyone who humbles himself will be exalted'.

This week just gone (if last Sunday, 26 August, is taken as the first day of said week) has seen the Church remember two people without whom, however tangentially, I don't like to think where or what I'd be. Amongst other things, these were two phenomenally humble people.

First up was Blessed Dominic Barberi CP, Apostle of Christian Unity and the only post-Reformation beatus recognised for work in England without being martyred. A man who dreamed of bringing the love of Christ crucified to the people of Industrial England. A man who showed this love in a life of humble devotion, deep spirituality and tender pastoring. A man who kept showing this love in the teeth of public derision and physical assault, without the slightest hint of pride or arrogance.

Would Dominic mean so much to me if he weren't buried in my local church? Doubtless not - but church and Church have been there for me over the years in a way which the organs of of State and society quite simply haven't been. Going back to December 1995, in good times and bad I've felt that St Anne and Blessed Dominic is a place where I've belonged and where I've had an absolute right to be.

It's purely an accident that I go to Blessed Dominic's church - but a very happy one. Not least because of his close association with the poster-boy of English intellectual Catholic late-comers, Venerable John Henry Newman.

The second to be remembered was St Edmund Arrowsmith SJ, one of the canonised martyrs of England and Wales. As English Martyrs go, St Edmund Arrowsmith has a pretty low profile, even among contemporary Jesuits. It's true that he had little of the big-name glamour of a Parsons or a Campion - but this brings us back to humility. Is pastoring to the prominent and powerful a higher calling than any other sort of pastoring?

As with Blessed Dominic, my devotion to St Edmund Arrowsmith is largely co-incidental. A few years ago, I showed some of the characteristics associated with cliche's 'rock bottom'. Specifically, I was out of work with one failed career and a number of other false starts behind me. Rightly or wrongly, I essentially felt as if secular society, of which the economy is a part, had written me off.

This changed pretty much from the moment I walked through the door at St Edmund Arrowsmith Catholic High School, initially as a one-week temp. For the first time ever, I was in a job where I felt accepted and valued and where I genuinely believed in my capacity to contribute something positive. Recently, I've started thinking that what I'd always wanted in my heart was to go to school for a living. Working as a receptionist is basically that - only the stuff I do is easier than what the kids do in lessons and I don't get homework.

What really makes it for me, though, is the fact that my daily work brings me into contact with so many amazing people - teachers, office staff, visitors and, perhaps most amazing of all, children. These amazing people have said some deeply moving and touching things to me - they know who they are.

Sancte Edmunde Arrowsmithe et Benedicte Dominice de Matre Die - orate pro omnibus.

Current mood: contemplative
Currently listening to: 'Star Trekkin', by Firm

The title I wanted was 'there is none more arrogant than the one who seeks the perception of humility'.

To prove x + 0 = x, one has to assume x x 0 = 0
To prove x x 0 = 0, one has to assume x + 0 = x

Can you describe a colour you've never seen before?

Oum natchinaetsia togda, kogda my soznaiom svoiou gloupost'.

The point of existence

is that

there is no point.

Consequently,

the more futile a task seems,

the more relevant it is to actual existence.

The action is

neutral,

The intention is

crucial.

Contentment is impossible;

realising this

brings contentment.

Satisfaction lies

in accepting the unsatisfactory

which by definition

should not be accepted.

If it makes sense

it's not supposed to - you've misunderstood it.

Buffoons simper

I simper *

Therefore, I am a buffoon

* where simpering is the facial expression of the blissfully ignorant

J'ai oublié la dernière phrase de l'Apologie de Raymond Sebonde (Montaigne), celle qui commence 'c'est à notre foi catholique...'. Quelle ironie!

Omnia ad maiorem Dei gloriam.

1. I've come to realise that my last kiss was...
… an indication of how loose my definition of ‘kiss’ has become.

2. I am listening to…
… last week’s ‘File on Four’ about what a rip-off PFI projects are for the public purse.

3. I talk...
… several languages reasonably well. Shame I don’t say anything worth listening to in any of them.

4. I love...
… the Lord, my God, with all my heart, with all my mind and with all my soul. Well, I try to.

5. My best friend(s) ...
… not sure if I have any best friends as such.

6. My car...
… doesn’t exist. Environmentalist who’s too lazy to learn driving, you see.

7. My love life....
… I’d rather not discuss it. Can a concept exist with no grounding in reality?

8. I hate it when people tell me...
… I’ve messed up. ‘People make mistakes, mistakes annoy everyone – especially the people who make them’ (trite but true for me).

9. I want to...
… stop wanting things I can’t have and wouldn’t do me any good even if I had them.

10. Marriage is…
… a single term which means very different things for different people or institutions. Which is part of why, in my view, lots of people get unnecessarily hot under the collar about it.

11. Somewhere, someone is thinking...
… if someone’s thinking somewhere, does that let the rest of us off the hook?

12. I'm always...
… wasting my time.

13. I have a secret crush on...
… probably better for all concerned if it stays secret!

15. My mobile phone...
… has all sorts of features I don’t really use.

16. When I wake up in the morning...
… I try to calculate if I’ve got time for my full wake-up routine.

17. Before I go to bed I...
… say Compline more often than not.

18. Right now I am thinking about...
… bl**dy PFI. I might well write a blog entry about how much it annoys me.

19. Babies are…
… not really on my radar at the moment.

20. I get on MySpace...
… when I’ve got a bit of time to kill.

21. Today I...
… went for a walk as I wouldn’t have left the house otherwise (a problem with going to Mass on Saturday evenings).

22. Tonight I will...
… probably go to bed too late and then be cranky all next week as a result.

23. Tomorrow I will...
… hopefully catch up on the stuff at work I managed not to do last week.

24. I really want to...
… how’s this different from question 9?!?

25. Someone that will most likely repost this...
Flamin’ no-one. Are the assurances I get that people actually read my blog simply proof of the existence of cyber-censors?

Currently listening to: 'A Sequence for the Ascension' - yes, even with the Church's new wider target, I've still managed to miss...

Given the percentage of blogs I write while listening to Level 42 (just not the last couple), I thought I might as well write one about them. Diving right in, I came to the music of Level 42 by a somewhat circuitous route, specifically via references in an episode of the television comedy 'The Mighty Boosh'. While the details are too tedious and convoluted to recount, the references were to jazz funk as a genre, to slap bass as an instrument, to Level 42 as a group and to Mark King as a performer.

I've always had a fascination with low-pitched instruments and when I found out that a specific musical genre had developed a specific way of playing a low-pitched instrument, my curiosity was aroused. When I found some Level 42 CDs in a local library, I felt almost obliged to check them out.

Examining the CDs revealed a band whose most prominent work was perhaps a little before my time, the big clue being the number of songs which referred to an imminent nuclear war. What left me a bit puzzled was, slap bass aside, Level 42 didn't seem particularly different from the mainstream pop/rock electric instrument groups of my primary school years. Where did the jazz funk come in? There was, however, a simple solution.

Library CDs aside, I'd had contact with Level 42 through a single track which had found its way onto a jazz funk compilation. This one track had been much more what I was expecting - instrumental only, with a recurring theme developed by different instruments in succession. The link between this Level 42 and the one from the library CDs was, predictably enough, commercial sell-out. Further research revealed that as the 1980s had progressed, the 'jazz' element in Level 42's music (the band quite early rebranding themselves as 'Britfunk') got less and less as the percentage of 'lighter' numbers per album increased. That said, even in Level 42's 'poppiest' moments, there's enough slap bass and solo sax to differentiate them from 'just another prog rock band'.

Nor does the story finish there. I thought I'd missed the proverbial boat in terms of seeing Level 42 play live, but the my discovery of band coincided quite closely with the band's rediscovery of themselves, with a new album and accompanying tour in the autumn of 2006. I went to the gig in Liverpool and saw for myself that the fairly sizeable Philharmonic Hall was pretty much full.

No, they didn't play any of the early stuff and there weren't any instrumental-only tracks. I probably wasn't the only one to be slightly disappointed at this, but I'd certainly go and see them again if opportunity arose. As a concluding thought, Level 42 were never that popular and the height of their modest achievements came in the mid-1980s. Before last autumn, they hadn't released an album since 1994. How many other bands can play to full houses for a tour so long after a small section of the public and even the band themselves seemed to have lost interest?