In many ways I’m a luddite. I still buy and DJ vinyl. There’s something about the romance of vinyl – the history, feel, cover art, how it sounds – that you can never replace digitally. But all the other DJs I see play music using Serrato or similar software so they are DJing MP3s via their laptops. It has it’s advantages – space and weight being the main one, particularly if you were  a globe trotting DJ. Excess baggage is big bucks. It won’t be long – as if it hasn’t already happened – that I become an out of date dinosaur, like a wrinkled jazz enthusiast whittering on to no one in particular about his dusty collection of 78s.

It’s the same with all forms of media consumed now and how our consumption habits are rapidly changing. I still like to read books. Proper paper tactile books with covers. Dust magnets. But how long before that is totally out of date? It’s already outmoded. I’ve played with Amazon’s Kindle and the advantages are obvious. Every book ever written  available at your fingertips wirelessly. No clutter of books in your homes. Bookcases made instantly redundant.

It’s the same with newspapers and magazines, particularly with the advent of the iPad. I use the very cool Guardian application on my iPhone and it’s brilliant. All the best Guardian content available at my fingertips. If I lived in England there would be absolutely no reason to buy the newspaper any more – apart from for nostalgic, romantic reasons. I’m certain the use of this app will affect sales of the newspaper.  You can download the paper and read it offline, great for Tube travel and no elbowing your neighbour as you unfold the broadsheet.

Indeed the rapid way in which our consumption habits are changing also affects the way media and art are produced. It is undervalued. The people who create it – musicians, journalists, artists – will find it increasingly difficult to be paid for their efforts. There’s such a glut of content being made that the shelf life of music and art is very short. People under 35 are used to media, music and films being free on the internet. Why would they want to start paying for it now?

Norman Jay DJ Photography Martin Worster, originally uploaded by MartinWorster.

London Cranes Kings Cross Urban by Martin Worster Travel Music Sport Photography , originally uploaded by MartinWorster.

Escalator…

Banksy in Camden, originally uploaded by artofthestate.

I don’t believe in global warming.. allegedly a new Banksy piece in Camden..

Just found out that The Streets’ ‘Original Pirate Material’ has been voted album of the decade in The Guardian. Which reminded me of an interview I did with Mike Skinner back in the day. I was a budding music journalist at the time in London. It must have been circa 2002.

I remember first hearing the single ‘Original Pirate Material’ – it’s one of those songs that stands out. It reminded me of an English version of Eminem’s ‘Stan’. But it spoke to me in my language and with UK beats and flavour. He came out of the 2 step UK garage scene. He’s a poet. And a really nice ‘geezer’ as we walked around Shepherd’s Bush Market and had a couple of pints afterwards. Happy days!

My position as the dominant male in the house has been usurped. There’s two new swingers in town – and they certainly rule the roost. I used to have sole control of the remote control. Not anymore. My demotion really hit home the other night as I observed my two sons Tristan and Oliver loungeing on the sofa watching TV.

Tristan lay languorously on one sofa with a bowl of grapes to his side. He was feeding himself in the manner of a Sultan or Emir, or perhaps even a classic toga clad Roman reclining as he chomped on his red grapes. He lazily munched on one grape at a time. All that was missing was a slave to feed him and keep him cool with a frond fan. His eyes were fixed on the flat screen TV stuck on the wall like a painting. He was watching Cars, or it might have been Ice Age, or maybe it was Fox And The Hounds. Tristan didn’t bat an eyelid as I walked in.

Oliver was lying on the other sofa (or couch as they call it here) – this time more in the manner of a Lord or Duke. He was also reclining, head propped up by a pillow. In front of him was another bowl of snacks – Cheetos, M&Ms, a trail mix, I can’t remember – that he funneled into his mouth. I tried to get myself in his line of vision. He didn’t bat an eyelid, not even a scintilla of recognition. It was like I was invisible. The Man Who Wasn’t There. 

I took the remote control and flipped the channel. All hell broke lose. Screams and cries. ‘My TV! My TV! My movie! My movie!’, they both shouted angrily. Maybe I should have asserted my ‘father-breadwinner-authoritarian-patriarch-status’ but to be honest with you I couldn’t be bothered and turned it back onto Pixar’s latest work of art. Silence resumed. Their gazes re-averted to the TV. I retreated to my bedroom like a sullen teenager and strummed my guitar as I sat on the edge of the bed. A moody teen – I’ve got all that to look forward to. Times two.

debt London, MayDay Protests 2001 Martin Worster Travel Music Sport Photography , originally uploaded by MartinWorster.

A very apt sign today considering the state of the worlds finances…taken at the 2001 May Day Protests in London.

hope London Church by Martin Worster Travel Music Sport Photography , originally uploaded by MartinWorster.

Used to be a Church on Westbourne Grove in Notting Hill, London – now it’s luxury flats!

Notorious London gangster asks me if I know who he is…

Do you know who I am? If someone asks that question normally it’s rhetorical and the answer is ‘no’. You wouldn’t have to ask me if I did. Often this question will be delivered in haughty tones, the questioner piqued by not being known. Frequently it’s adopted by snobby types hoping to get a better table in a restaurant or to avoid queueing – as if they are somehow superior. 

I had it asked to me once by one of Britain’s most notorious and dangerous gangsters. Do you know who I am talking about? Who is Britain’s most notorious living gangster? Well I won’t leave you guessing as that would be boring. ‘Mad’ Frankie Fraser once asked me if I knew who he was? When he asked I didn’t.

‘Mad’ Frankie Fraser has spent more than half of his life in prison for numerous violent offences. He was certified insane by prison authorities – whilst in prison he would frequently get his term increased for repeat offending whilst inside. On one occasion he stabbed a prison warder in the eye with a needle he was using to stitch post office satchels. In the 60s he ran with the Richardson’s – at that time the Kray twins main rivals. He has committed murder and bank robbery, in one incident he pulled out the teeth of a victim with a pair of pliers, he was one of the main instigators of the famous 1969 Parkhurst prison riots. In 1991 he survived being shot in the head in Clerkenwell. It seems he has well and truly earned his moniker ‘Mad’. This geezer is well and truly out of his nut.

I met him – accidentally – in 1997. I was studying a postgraduate diploma in journalism at City University in London. One of the exercises was finding news stories on the streets. We had an afternoon to wonder into the environs of Islington and to report back later with a story ready to file.  Hmm. Where to start?

I walked up to Angel and then into Alfredo’s Cafe at the bottom of Essex Road. Alfredo’s was a beautifully preserved 1920s cafe – it has been used as a location in numerous films. All vintage fittings, chrome taps and art deco bar stools. And a nice cup of tea. I sat there supping trying to devise a plan of action. I noticed an old man sitting next to me reading a newspaper. I thought he looked like a bit of a character and I hoped I could extract some local colour or news from him. I leant over to him and explained my assignment. He seemed interested and leaned in closer.

‘Do you know who I am?’

He said it in a low growl. His eyes turned cold, menacing – rat like as I realised how close together they were. At that instant as I stared into his old face I felt a wave of recognition come over me. I didn’t know who he was but felt as if I should. It was exhilerating, like an electric surge.

‘I’m ‘Mad’ Frankie Fraser,’ he said, in a thick South London accent. No mockney Guy Ritchie faux-gangsta character – this was the real deal. Just like the period fittings in the cafe we sat in, this man was authentic. He made Lock Stock And Two Smoking Barrels seem like The Muppets.

“Wow, pleased to meet ya Frankie.’ I replied and we shook hands. I felt slightly giddy. 

‘Can I call you ‘Mad’ for short?’, I thought to myself. We started to chatting. As I stared at him I thought of all the things this man had seen and done. The necks those hands had wrung. Countless triggers pulled by those bony fingers. The sore sights those eyes had seen. Eyes that had looked into victims eyes in the moments before death. I didn’t feel afraid – he seemed like a frail man into his 70s. Although there was no guessing what might be hiding under his long overcoat – pliers, needles, a sawn off shotgun? 

I told him my dad was from Islington. We chatted about his latest projects. At that time he had become a minor celebrity. Appearing in the theatre, writing a book, guesting on songs etc. He was very friendly, helpful – and seemed sane.

I rushed back to the college excited with my afternoons work. The teacher – a notorious hard ex-hack – wasn’t very impressed and deemed it not strictly news. It was news for me – and still is.

Dorset, England Travel Photography Martin Worster, originally uploaded by MartinWorster.

Pebbles on a beach – Chesil Beach in Dorset on the South Coast of England…