Regret is a Worthless Emotion. Move On.

AFTER SPENDING SEVERAL weeks editing and designing our London music magazine, then playing catch-up with the world, I needed a respite. So I picked up a Nick Hornby novel and burned through it (no television, baseball or sleeping for one week).

Juliet Naked is about obsession, regret and loss, I think, though the book jacket says the novel ends with "optimistic conclusions."

One of the primary characters, Duncan, religiously studies the short-lived career of Tucker Crowe, a fictional American musician who mysteriously ends his career while on tour 20-some odd years ago. Duncan interprets lyrics and builds his narrative about the former musician, then posts everything online.

Duncan's ex-girlfriend Annie is a follower but not as stalker-ish. Through a series of events, she winds up connecting with Tucker Crowe online and then brings him to her English seaside town.

Duncan meets his hero, only to learn that he's been off the mark for years. All of Duncan's conjectures are wrong. Annie realizes that the 15 years she spent with Duncan were pretty much a waste of time. Tucker realizes that he squandered his career, talent and life, scattering fatherless children around the globe along the way.

It was an enjoyable, amusing tale although, as a 39-year old dude who still dreams of being in a ska/punk/funk/hip hop band, the notion of squandering your life and not living up to your talents hits a little close to home. Since I finished the book a week ago, I've been non-stop grading, attending meetings, teaching classes and generally running around in circles. I have no control over my life. It's pretty annoying.

What would I have done differently 15 years ago? Probably nothing. I will learn how to play guitar. I will launch that band, someday. And I will read more books.

OK. I have to get back to grading papers.

This Makes Me Happy.

I WISH PEOPLE would burst into Verdi all the time.

JUMP! The London UnderSound 2010 is DONE.

THE MAG WE worked on for six weeks in London over the summer went to the printer today. Check it out. Let us know what you think.

There's Only One Way to Learn About the London Music Scene ...

Bands seen while in London from July 6 through August 11, 2010:

Royal Gala
Big Ass Red
Drawings
Burn the Fleet
Cuba Cuba
Filthy Boy (x2)
Olly the Octopus
Toufique Ali
Pete from Neverland
White Elephant
The Monorals
The Hillfields
The Sequins
Frank Turner
The Futureheads
Wild Palms
Not Cool
Sex Beet
The Black Tricks
Broken Mile
Without My Medicine
Empress
Grupo Fantasma
Firestations
Clock Opera
Plus Ultra
Mirrors
Black Cherry

That's 28 bands in 36 days.

At these venues:

Hootananny
Notting Hill Arts Club
93 Feet East
The Scoop
The Roundhouse
The Lexington
Bull & Gate
The 100 Club
Hackney Wicked (rooftop)
Old Blue Last
London Fields (Little London Fields Festival)

Yellow Plastic Ball = Fun For All.

WE WERE HANGING AT THE Little London Fields festival in Dalston and we ran out of beer.

So, we walked over to the nearby convenience store, grabbed a few bottles of Red Stripe and approached the cashier. Near the checkout counter, however, we found a little, yellow, plastic ball.

It's not a soccer ball but it's painted like one. It weighs next to nothing. Hit someone with it and they might not even feel it.

I bought it. It cost me £1.49. And it may have been the greatest purchase of the trip, so far.

Of course, the early moments of my time with the ball were rather inauspicious.

When we left the store, it started raining. We retreated to the dance tent where the drum n' bass was pounding. I had to hold onto my ball, which was awkward since I was drinking and dancing. I waved the ball in the air to the beat and Meghan said, "Throw it."

Next thing I know, it was bouncing all around the tent. It took on a life of it's own. I thought I'd never see the ball again. But it seemed to be having fun.

An hour later, when the rain stopped, I was eating by the main stage. And wouldn't you know it - the ball flew through the air, soaring over the crowd.

We made our way over to the ball and wound up kicking the stupid, little, plastic ball for hours with random people.

Really, hours.

We wound up meeting a bunch of folks and just having fun, laughing and playing, until well past dark (we arrived at the party around 4:30, I think).

That ball was an amazing cultural icebreaker. And it was tons of fun.

Luke (below, left) and Kevin continued kicking the ball all the way home on the tube. They hit numerous people with the thing. In Philly, that might earn you a beat down. Here, in London, even the tube passengers joined in the game. And they seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Pretty stunning.

Publishing a Magazine and Loving Life.

THERE IS A young, creative vibe in the East End of London, with so many things happening under the radar.

So Elizabeth Barrett and Luke Edge created a magazine, STATION, to show off the scene - as well as their own talents. They've published four free, bi-monthly issues so far and they have big dreams.

Elizabeth (in the center of the above image) is a trained journalist who previously covered fashion for the conservative newspaper, The Daily Mail ("After a while, I quit telling people where I worked," she said. "People hated it.").

Luke (in the hat) is a designer. They do the majority of the magazine themselves, with the assistance of unpaid columnists and family members forced into a variety of tasks - proofreading, babysitting, distribution, etc.

They had considered doing a website but they like print.

"With a website, you can change things anytime," Luke said. "It's not real. Holding a magazine is like having your balls in your hand. It's permanent."

That has its ups and downs. With such a small crew doing so much work, minor little details often get messed up along the way.

"When it comes back from the printer, I don't even read it," Elizabeth said.

The mag focuses on the arts, music, fashion and lifestyle. They try not to thrust their opinions on people, saying this or that is the cool new thing. Instead, they just highlight interesting people doing interesting things.

It is beautifully designed - simple, with great use of images and white space. They have evolved their product with each issue. For instance, they no longer print the publication date on the cover, giving every issue a feel of timelessness.

They print and hand-deliver 6,000 copies. The publication is financially supported by advertising, though they have yet to make any profit worth noting. The couple, who have an 18-month old son together, do other contract work to support themselves. They recently produced the magazine for the Lovebox music festival. They are currently negotiating a deal to produce a magazine for a major UK retailer.

After they celebrate their one-year anniversary, Elizabeth wants to expand the mag from it's current 64 pages to more than one hundred. One year after that, she'd like to take the magazine monthly. And it will always be free to readers.

Ultimately, the magazine is a labor of love.

"It's lovely just to be able to do something I really like," said Elizabeth.

It's the Jumpoff, UK Style.

WHEN TAKEN AS an entire collection, well, I fear I may have abused my powers as a university professor. I made my students jump in the air at numerous locales around the UK, like at the Fuller's Brewery (above and below).

On the beach in Brighton and at the Royal Pavilion.

On the tube.

At the Hackney Wicked festival (including with artist Adam Beale and his 8-foot tall wooden chicken).

In pubs (The Lexington).

With a street performer in Bath.

At Stonehenge.

Near Brick Lane.

We have five more days here in the UK. I'll likely have more jump pics coming.

I'm an Old Punk.

THIS IS MY NEW favorite song, from the band Rum Shebeen. They got a kick start from the good folks at Strummerville, the legacy foundation of Joe Strummer.

Haroon Amir: "Our Minds Are Richer and Wider Than We Ever Imagine."

IT SEEMS ODD to be in London, sitting in pubs or on underground trains or cafes or wherever, and just reading. But I love it. Especially when the book revolves around the place where I am.

I finished The Buddha of Suburbia by Hanif Kureishi moments ago and I can't think of a better way to have spent the last four or five days.

It's a fascinating tale about London and it's people - the complex relationships they have with their familial backgrounds and their present situations, as well as their relationships with each other.

Karim, the teenage primary character, is an Englishman born to an Indian immigrant father (Haroon Amir) and an English mother (Margaret). He doesn't easily fit into any categories so he really doesn't have a social group (he's too English for the Indian immigrants and too Indian for the white folks). At the same time, he represents so many categories (racially, sexually and intellectually) that he easily gets swept into various activities - almost none of which he feels an attachment to.

Throughout the entire novel, he's on a quest of self-discovery during an era of great tumult in London - the 1970s. We see hippies and punks and New Wavers. He lives - for a period - in West Kensington, one neighborhood away from my Earl's Court flat (a neighborhood he describes as being home to whores, transvestites, addicts and Australians).

Part of my discomfort about reading while in a different land stems from the idea that I'm reading about people doing stuff, rather than actually doing stuff myself.

Ultimately, books make me feel a greater connection to the place, I think. For the most part, sadly, I am a tourist here (today I visited Big Ben and Parliament). I could never live the characters' experiences, even over the six weeks I am here. But books provide context for what I do actually get to experience.

Now I need another book that takes place in London.

Joe Strummer, Punk Rock Warlord.

ON EDGWARE ROAD near the Harrow Road overpass, the Brits actually recognized Joe Strummer, one of the most passionate musicians of all time. Seven years after he died in 2002, they named a subway tunnel/ art gallery after him. Apparently, Strummer used to be a street musician in these tunnels.

On one hand, the subway tunnel seems appropriate for a punk revolutionary. But Liverpool actually named their airport after John Lennon. At least Strummer hasn't been ignored completely by London, like other local greats.