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Seinfeld  - Season 1
Seinfeld - Season 1
1989 | Comedy
I always assumed I wouldn’t like Seinfeld in the 90s. In fact I was opposed to the very idea of it on principle. And that principle was: I’ve never heard of this guy as a comedian, and American stand-up usually isn’t funny. I never saw a single episode until six months ago – in my head it was some dumb, canned laughter show with very forced scripts and little charm. I just didn’t get why it was always quoted amongst the best sitcoms of all time, and I wasn’t willing to find out. This is called “being ignorant”. Guilty.

One random day with nothing else inspiring me I finally took the plunge and put an episode on. Guess what happened? I laughed, I found it completely charming and witty and easy to watch, with some great lines and likeable characters. 3 hours later I had done 6 episodes and was as hooked as anyone can be with anything. It was just so nostalgically and completely 90s! And I loved that!

A show doesn’t run for 9 years and over 170 episodes without being some kind of special, especially taking into account the depreciation due to being dated, as all sitcoms eventually are, and it really is quite remarkable – deserving of a place in the conversation of the greatest ever American half hour shows. Sure, there is an element early on in the preoccupation with everyone’s sex life and dating habits that is a little creepy in 2020, but I am totally willing to forgive it.

Shows that are hyper aware of themselves and the audience are odd creatures the minute they take themselves too seriously, and Seinfeld never does that. It knows it is trivial, essentially about nothing and going nowhere, and style-wise it is always winking at us for being in on the joke and a part of it, even to the point of applauding new characters on their entrance, which is a uniquely American thing to do.

The secret of the show is undoubtedly the chemistry of the four leads, so mismatched that it someone works a spell and creates magic, much in the same way Friends managed to do, times six. Jerry Seinfeld himself is a very likeable everyman, and the schtick of each show beginning and ending with 30 seconds of stand up is a gimmick that grows on you, as does everything about it: the more you watch, the more you love it for what it is.

Jason Alexander as the balding, quirky, self-conscious, opinionated best friend is perhaps my least favourite of the regular quartet, but he has some amazing moments over the course of things, and plays great dead-pan. But the other two are on a plane of equal genius. The verbal timing of the super cute, super smart Julia Louis-Dreyfus as Elaine (who I have fallen in love with a little bit in 1993) and the physical slapstick timing of Michael Richards as Cosmo Kramer (surely one of the most memorable characters in sitcom history) have both left me aching with laughter time after time after time. Just a glance or an expression is often enough.

And the great thing is, it never seems to get old. They are always finding new ways and new situations that keep it fresh. Some trick! Even in the final season of the 9, when there is a small melancholia creeping in because they all know it is coming to an end, it still manages to create moments that aren’t just repeats of previous gags. Which means, as future background watching it is 100% perfect. Leave it on whilst doing something else, look up once in a while, and like the best of all long running US comedy shows each episode is indistinguishable from any other in the best way – it is like having a friend in the room.

I can’t imagine ever saying it is amongst my very favourites, maybe because I missed out on it first time around – which I put down to an inherent middle aged appeal, rather than a youth appeal – but I wouldn’t also ever argue with anyone that did say that it was one of their favourites. Because I get it now. And I’m so glad I got to do it, no matter how late to the party!
  
Alabama Blues/Passionate Blues by JB Lenoir
Alabama Blues/Passionate Blues by JB Lenoir
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Album Favorite

"In 1962/3 German promoters Fritz Rau and Horst Lippmann booked a number of American blues and jazz artists to come over to tour Europe [The American Folk Blues Festival]. It was kind of the first time these blues musicians weren’t playing places like the south side of Chicago for $25 a night. They were playing in Europe’s finest concert halls to an audience that listened spellbound to every nuance and every word of a language they didn’t understand, from a people whose colour they didn’t understand and whose musical history they didn’t understand. They were enraptured by the emotion and individuality of these different blues musicians. So as a 16-year-old I went to the Manchester Free Trade Hall to see one of these shows, and one of the characters who stood out for me was J.B. Lenoir. He was alone on stage with an acoustic guitar and sang songs in this amazing bell-like high tenor that was quite unlike most of his compatriots, and he made a great impact on me. In the same year I heard him singing ‘Alabama Blues’ and was later given by Rau an album they recorded with Lenoir of the same name, repackaged and remarketed today as Passionate Blues. ‘Alabama Blues’ was the album’s key track, a very brave song for a black man to sing in 1963, with the race riots, lynch mobs, bombs and brutality. Almost the only clarion voice of protest and political awareness I was aware of was J.B. Lenoir. He sang about Vietnam, he sang about the wars in the street, he sang about police and the lynch mobs, and he did so in a very articulate and responsible way – he wasn’t a rabble-rouser. He reflected what was going on and how it impacted on him and his life, if not in an uncomplaining way, certainly not in a vitriolic way. When we think about it these are perfect sentiments for the blues. I heard some really rather tiresome man on breakfast television this morning, Michael Buble I think it was, talking about his latest single. He took great pains to explain how it was about the break-up of a relationship and said, “all my songs are about being in love or out of love, that’s what I do.” I thought to myself: “How incredibly interesting. Not.” How incredibly dull and boring, but it’s the stuff of so much. Shakespeare’s sonnets probably should have got it out of the system for planet earth and its population for all time. I don’t have a problem with a good love song but very few of them are, they’re really incredibly trite and employ the same tiresome, limiting vocabulary and expressions. It’s almost as if people’s brains can only go as far as their gonads. J.B. Lenoir proved that you can be passionate about the lynchings in Alabama. That’s the stuff we need to know about and blues, simple and direct and emotionless as it is, is the perfect form for that."

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