Tag Archive: Suicide


Part of an irregular series of bite-sized posts about 7″ singles I own – shameless nostalgia from the days of vinyl. (Search ‘Backtracking’ to collect the set!)

JOY DIVISION – Love Will Tear Us Apart b/w These Days / Love Will Tear Us Apart
(A Factory Record – Fac 23- 1980)

I’d hazard a guess that the majority of music fans who came of age in the seventies has at least one version of this song in their collection.

It might be any one of the numerous covers by artists like José González, Bjórk, Paul Young, Swans, U2, Arcade Fire, Calexico, Mark Owen and, my favourite, Susanna and the Magical Orchestra.

Serviceable as some of these are, there’s no improving on the original.

It was released in April 1980, just one month before Ian Curtis committed suicide. This makes the plain grey sleeve design, which resembles a gravestone, look like some spooky premonition of the singer’s tragic death. Continue reading

mia_1278428396“I throw this shit in your face when I see ya ’cause I got somethin’ to say” declares M.I.A on her single Born Free from the forthcoming album scheduled for release in July.

This dispels any idea that her becoming a mom means she’s going soft. Using a sample of Suicide’s ‘Ghost Rider’ this is powerful and uncompromising stuff and an effective punk fueled antidote to a diet of Lady Gaga and Florence + The Machine.

The gory and disturbing video directed by French director Romain Gavras is destined to polarize fans – particularly red-headed ones!

This has now been deleted from You Tube!

LEGEND OF A SUICIDE

“There were times when the father showed me most clearly what I would become, and that, certainly is a kind of gift if not a blessing”. This is a line from The Higher Blue, the fifth and final tale in David Vann’s collection ‘ Legend of a Suicide. What strikes me is the use of the definite article – why ‘the father’ and not ‘my father’?  The answer lies  in Vann’s attempt to objectively come to terms with the real life death of his father by suicide. The fiction is his way of unlocking the burden of this personal tragedy which makes for a curious and not always successful blend of autobiography and flights of dark fantasy. It depicts the unshakable bond between his 13 year self (Roy) and father (Jim) who has failed as a husband, dentist and fisherman: “Roy was part of a large despair that lived everywhere his father went”.

My Penguin paperback edition has 228 pages of which 164 are taken up one long story. In other words it is a novella (Sukkwan Island) framed by four short stories and the novella set in the wilderness of Alaska is easily the stand out piece.  To say why without spoilers is impossible but, suffice to say, that at its best it has the intensity and economy of Cormac McCarthy. While the rest of Vann’s collection tends to slow, reflective and rambling, this story (particularly the second part told from the father’s perspective) has a momentum and  tightness that is truly gripping.  For this story alone, I’d recommend it.

A GOOD DEATH

Woody Allen’s once quipped  “I’m not afraid of dying; I just don’t want to be there when it happens”. This is a similar rationale that you also find in a corny joke I remember hearing, on the Dave Allen Show I think, when one man says to another – “I’d like to know where I’m going to die” – “What for?” asks the other. The man replies “Because I won’t go there!”

Behind this black humour lies the very real fear of the when, where and how we will die. These are not happy thoughts, of course, and for the sake of sanity they are questions most people (myself included) prefer to put to the back of their minds.

I admire the philosophy of my mother who at the ripe old age of 81 has just bought a new car and continues to plan holidays and excursions as if she had another 30 years to live (given her stubbornness and hardy constitution, who’s to say she’s wrong!).

There will come a time, however, when the inevitable must be faced and so I was moved by bravery of a couple from Berkshire, who this week chose to end their lives despite the fact that they were still in relatively good heath.

Dennis and Flora Milner, who were aged 83 and 81 respectively,  wrote to the BBC explaining their decision : “we can no longer attain the desired and acceptable level to support an enjoyable and worthwhile life”.

Daughter Chrissy, who knew what they planned to do (but not when) gave a short and dignified interview in which she said that it was her parents’ intention to have a “good death” at the end of their happy and devoted  life together. A BBC booklet ‘planning a good death’ is available but obviously the advice doesn’t include suicide.

UK legislation currently classifies any assisted suicide as a criminal offence.  For this reason, many choose to go to Swiss clinics where it is legal.  This option is only available to those who have the financial means and can come to terms to dying a long way from their homes.

The moral questions and dilemmas highlighted by the Milners story are huge, but , as Chrissy Milner says,  there needs to be an urgent debate with a view to adding clear and rational legislation to the statute books. The work of the organisation  Dignity in Dying is vitally important in putting pressure on the government and highlighting the plight of ordinary people who don’t want to end their lives in degrading and painful circumstances.

Image = Plate 37 from William Blake’s ‘Jerusalem’

DFW GONE!

This is news I do not want to believe!

Black On Maroon by Mark Rothko

The suicide of David Foster Wallace aged just 46 is a massive loss and a huge shock.

How can one whose writing is so full of life have been driven to such a step?

Obituary writers will pull out the facts from their files and these can be found on any wiki search. What this won’t begin to say is what made him so special.

For me it was his ability to sythesise all the immense data that faces us every day and draw upon it for stories, essays and insights that help in trying to assimulate all this information into our lives.

He did this with so much humour and insight that it’s hard to imagine what could have tipped the balance in his personal life.

David was one of those rare writers (I can count them on one hand) that I felt articulated the way I saw the world . Now he’s gone and there is surely no-one else who can write a novel as overwhelmingly brilliant as Infinite Jest.

He is absolutely irreplaceable.

Writing about someone who reminded me of the possibilities of language in a way probably only Joyce or Beckett have done previously, it is a sobering to have to concede that sometimes there are no words.

RIP David wherever you are.

You made my life richer.