I was taught to always avoid and eschew pleonastic redundancy in writing. Redundancy is, however, acceptable in the writing of songs. Bob Dylan has written about 89 of my all time top 100 favourite songs. He has written hundreds of songs with various types of lyrics: surreal, silly, wounded, hallucinatory, political, historical, bitter, sad, happy, and so on. I love the lyrics he writes, but more importantly I love how he performs the songs – both in the recording studio and in concert. So here are a few Dylan lines that may contain redundant words or phrases:
He unleashed His power at an unknown hour that no one knew
Come over here from over there, girl
I’m here to create the new imperial empire
I’ve made shoes for everyone, even you, while I still go barefoot
In a basement down the stairs (I suppose a basement could be down the escalator or the elevator)
Talking to myself in a monologue (I think this is ok because you could talk to yourself in a dialogue. Are you sure? Yeah, I reckon so.)
This morning I was leaving Tesco, having bought a newspaper. I was approached by a man.
“What paper you got there?” he asked.
“Independent; why?” I said.
“Thank goodness, that’s the only one that cares.”
“About what?”
“About the big issues – you ever see another paper carry articles about the VUE?”
“VUE?”
“Yes, you know, the Violent Unknown Event.”
“What, are you for real? That is not real – that was never in a paper.”
“Shh!” This was when he greeted me with the sign from the Blinking Buzzards.

So here I am, approached by a stranger, who appears to know two of my favourite films. The VUE, as far as I know, is only referred to in Peter Greenaway’s The Falls; I have not seen the Blinking Buzzards sign anywhere apart from Buster Keaton’s The ‘High Sign’. So I begin to wonder who this stranger is: Is he a madman, struck lucky by his choice of victim? Is he an angel? Is he from the future? Is he Kirk? Is he me? Has he access to my television or DVD player or internet history?
There is no Prime Minister Blair.
Tony Blair holds the office of prime minister, but his title is not “Prime Minister Blair”.
I have heard this solecism repeated frequently and it really gets my goat. Please could radio and television presenters differentiate between job titles and personal titles?
And why does President Bush refer to his friend as Prime Minister Blair? Hasn’t the prime minister ever corrected him?
I remember, when growing up, referring to the prime minister at all times as Mrs Thatcher. How reverent. Knowing what I know now, the politest form of address I can muster is Thatcher.
I was taught to always avoid and eschew pleonastic redundancy in writing. Redundancy is, however, acceptable in the writing of songs. Bob Dylan has written about 89 of my all time top 100 favourite songs. He has written hundreds of songs with various types of lyrics: surreal, silly, wounded, hallucinatory, political, historical, bitter, sad, happy, and so on. I love the lyrics he writes, but more importantly I love how he performs the songs – both in the recording studio and in concert. So here are a few Dylan lines that may contain redundant words or phrases:
He unleashed His power at an unknown hour that no one knew
Come over here from over there, girl
I’m here to create the new imperial empire
I’ve made shoes for everyone, even you, while I still go barefoot
In a basement down the stairs (I suppose a basement could be down the escalator or the elevator)
Talking to myself in a monologue (I think this is ok because you could talk to yourself in a dialogue. Are you sure? Yeah, I reckon so.)
This morning I was leaving Tesco, having bought a newspaper. I was approached by a man.
“What paper you got there?” he asked.
“Independent; why?” I said.
“Thank goodness, that’s the only one that cares.”
“About what?”
“About the big issues – you ever see another paper carry articles about the VUE?”
“VUE?”
“Yes, you know, the Violent Unknown Event.”
“What, are you for real? That is not real – that was never in a paper.”
“Shh!” This was when he greeted me with the sign from the Blinking Buzzards.
So here I am, approached by a stranger, who appears to know two of my favourite films. The VUE, as far as I know, is only referred to in Peter Greenaway’s The Falls; I have not seen the Blinking Buzzards sign anywhere apart from Buster Keaton’s The ‘High Sign’. So I begin to wonder who this stranger is: Is he a madman, struck lucky by his choice of victim? Is he an angel? Is he from the future? Is he Kirk? Is he me? Has he access to my television or DVD player or internet history?
The string of numbers (100, 91, 84, 81, 72, 69, 58, 44, 37, 38, 42, 21, 28, 12, 7) at the top of this blog comes from the Tindersticks song 4.48 Psychosis, which takes its name from the Sarah Kane play 4.48 Psychosis. The truly wonderful Isabelle Huppert is currently starring in 4.48 Psychose (as it is now called) at the Brooklyn Academy of Music.
4.48 a.m. is apparently the time when you are most lucid and thus most prone to suicide.
I have seen the Tindersticks in concert a few times over the years. I saw two contrasting shows in 2001.
1. Subterranea, London – only a couple of hundred people at this one. This was part of Rough Trade’s 25th anniversary celebrations. The band appeared slightly nervous – one song was restarted, another abandoned. The atmosphere was great, the audience listening to each note, each word in quiet reverence. Apart from one loud-mouthed person behind me: “I liked that one… what are they called again? The timber sticks? Weird name.”
2. Royal Albert Hall, London – a few thousand at this one. The band was exquisitely supported by a 17 piece string ensemble, brass section and backing singers (would have had trouble fitting onto the stage at the Subterranea). The band had clearly rehearsed in the hall and got the right level of amplification for band members, providing one of the best sounding concerts I have attended. I can compare this to concerts at the Royal Albert Hall by Morrissey and Elton John (on separate occasions), who appeared to have turned up, plugged in and played, without thinking about how to work the unique acoustics of the hall.
The support act was the excellent David Kitt, who has since become a favourite of mine.