RGGS: Lollyphile! -or- How I Sucked On Bits Of A Pig

Hands up who likes maple syrup! Okay, hands up who likes bacon! Now everyone who didn't raise your hand get out, because I don't want you to see these good people crying over what should have been a great, great, idea.

I freely admit that I was the most excited about Lollyphiles! maple-bacon lollypops. The tantalizing thought of having meat in your candy; invoking dreams of portable pancake breakfasts. I mean, this is one step closer to the chewing-gum meal in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory! Bacon and maple syrup are best friends. This could only be awesome.

But...

The Look: This time around the lollypop has a dark brown sheen with... a bizarre piece of gristle lodged in the top of it. Like someone scalped a barbie doll only to find it had actual brains inside of it. When I pictured a lollypop with bacon in it, I pictured little diced pieces of bacon crystalized within it; like the mosquito in amber in Jurassic Park. Only edible. More edible.

But that is not what you get. Not by a long shot. Apparently the way Lollyphile! gets the bacon into the maple syrup lolly is by ramming a hunk of bacon gristle into the top while it's still hardening. The result looks something like what would happen if you pushed too hard on a baby's soft spot.

It's pretty damn off putting. Both the one I ate and the one my girlfriend ate looked this way. So either we were just really damn unlucky, or they're all like this. I'm leaning towards the latter.

Okay, so the look is awful. Really awful. But my dreams of sweet-meat-sweets can live on if the stuff tastes as good as it should.

Well...

The Flavour: Overall first impressions are positive. The sweet syrup flavoured candy contrasts nicely with the salty 'brain' of bacon on the top of the sweet. However, I didn't really feel the candy bit tasted all that much like maple syrup, more like toffee or golden syrup. Which seems like a small point in the scheme of things, but there's something very specific about the alchemy of flavours between smoky bacon and maple syrup that just didn't seem to be happening here. It wasn't unpleasant, just not what I had hoped for.

Okay. So far, so positive, with a few reservations.

Then the bacon started flaking off.

As you suck on the lolly the bacon becomes more and more exposed at the top. But rather than being a chewy piece of bacon jerky, it's more of a large lump of really hard... pig flavoured... wood. The only way to really get to taste the bacon proper was to scrape at it with your teeth or to allow little pieces to flake off. Either way your mouth becomes filled with pig grit. I wouldn't say I found this pleasant, but I wasn't totally disgusted by it. Maybe I was blinded by my desire for this treat to be good. But I will tell you that it made my girlfriend disappointedly give up on the lolly at that point, even though she loved the maple flavoured section.

Should you buy it?: So what we have here is maple syrup candy that doesn't taste like maple syrup coating bacon that looks like brain and feels like its doing it's best impression of tree bark. Do I need to spell it out?

In the end I'm not impressed. I can only really recommend it in an adventure seeking kind of way. But unlike the absinthe one, you're unlikely to want to travel this road again no matter how much you liked the flavour. Sad really. They came so close to greatness. But like Icarus, these lollypops just flew to close to the sun. And melted into strange shrunken heads with the brains bursting out the top.

Next up: Lollyphile! -or- How I Sucked A Hobo Treat

-Dashiell 'MS + B = ♥' Asher

Image courtesy of Lollyphile.com

RGGS: Lollyphile! -or- How I Crunched The Little Green Fairy

To kick off this five-part-lolly-lickin'-love-fest in style I thought we'd begin with Lollyphiles! first crazy confectionary creation, The Absinthe Lollipop.

So. Absinthe. Let's get some facts up front. Absinthe is no longer the taboo liqueur that has been banned in countries around the world for its insane psycho-active effects that fueled the Bohemian life style of many a midget Frenchman. The main reason for this is absinthe doesn't actually have insane psycho-active effects. Like, none. Outside of getting you, you know, wasted. But these lollipops won't even do that: no alcohol here, all been burned off in the cooking process.

So now that I've crushed the whole romantic side of the equation, let's get to the real deal: the CANDY.

The Look: The lolly is a deep green colour and carries a sweet scent of anise. The packaging is a bit rough round the edges, the wrapper looking a little frayed and the logo scuffed. But that's a fact that seems to have carried across to all the sweets.

It should also be noted: these are some big lollipops. I'm not talking like huge fair-ground discs made exclusively to be consumed by Victorian children (it's the law) , but these suckers are easily the size of a large ping-pong ball. While this means they last a hell of a long time (well over an hour for me, they're freaking hard to crunch) they're also not very comfortable to leave in your mouth for longer periods of time. So expect to be holding them like a ciga-lolly.

But in the end what we all really care about is:

The Flavour: First reaction finds a pleasingly subtle and sweet natural liquorice flavour from the absinthes anise. It's more akin to fennel than the synthetic black liquorice candy flavouring found in treats like jelly beans or twizzlers. The sweetness is balanced by a slightly bitter trace of the alcohol that I personally found pleasant, but I could see putting off some people.

Should you buy it?: Well... Maybe. I'm not going to pretend I didn't enjoy this lollypop. A large part of your own enjoyment hinges on whether or not you like the anise (read liquorice) flavour. If you do, then yes, you will like this sweet. However it should be noted that, while it's a nice liquorice flavour, it's probably not the first time you've had a sweet that tastes like it. Yes the bitter edge of the absinthe makes it a bit more unusual, but these are relatively expensive sweets we're talking about (ten bucks for four), and if the experience isn't all that unique some might feel a bit gouged by it.

All that being said, the real allure of trying these sweets is that they are made with absinthe, a vilified and romantic liqueur. They rank as being the kind of experience it's fun just to be able to say you've tried. I don't know that I'd rush to do it again, but I wouldn't say no.

Considering that they come in both of the variety packs Lollyphile! offers, you are extremely likely to wind up trying one anyway. They're fun and definitely tasty. Just don't expect anything mind blowing. Think less 'The Green Fairy' and more 'The Green Vaguely Nice Person You Met Who You'd Probably Enjoy Seeing Again But You Don't Have Their Number And Won't Go Out Of Your Way To Get It Because You Know How It Is.'

Tomorrow: Lollyphile! -or- How I Sucked On Bits Of A Pig

-Dashiell 'Your Midget Frenchman' Asher

Image courtesy of Lollyphile.com

RGGS: Lollyphile! -or- How To Get Bacon In Your Candy

For those of you who haven't yet stumbled across its brightly coloured banners currently screaming pink, sweet toothy murder across the internet, Lollyphile! is an online independent candy store with its prime (and only) stock being a variety of unusually flavoured Lollipops.

The company is based in San Fransisco and had its start around Halloween in 2007 where, as they put it, they found themselves with 'a lot of absinthe and no candy. One thing lead to another...'

From these humble beginnings, alongside a whole lot of imagination and some trial and error in the kitchen, they have emerged with a series of bizarre Lolly creations for us, the lucky public, to sample.

The full list as it currently stands goes a little something like this:

-Absinthe Lollipops

-Bourbon Lollipops

-Maple-Bacon Lollipops

-Wasabi Ginger Lollipops

-White Russian Lollipops

Now, being a gentleman genius scholar, I felt it my duty to try out each of these sweets and report back to you, Joe-everyman, which ones were worth your hard earned bucks. It'll be hard. I've heard tell these are some LARGE lollipops. But never fear. There is no pop too large for this scholar. I'm ready to get my sucker on.

Because that's the kind of man I am.

Check back tomorrow for Lollyphile! -or- How I Crunched The Little Green Fairy

-Dashiell 'I Want Candy' Asher

Image Courtesy of www.lollyphile.com

FMS: Because We're Dead -or- How To Make Your Song Sound Like A Kid You Want To Slap

This weeks free gift from iTunes is the musical equivalent of an ADHD stricken six year old. Who has a rockabilly quiff. And is having a lo-fi love affair with an anti-folk pedophile. And much like that child's parents you'll find yourself torn between bemusement at their antics but also wondering where the hell it all went so wrong.

The track is titled 'Because We're Dead,' a piece of rockabilly tinged folk rock by Sheffield based duo Slow Club, consisting of Charles Watson and Rebecca Taylor. Slow Club are on the famous indie label Moshi Moshi Records and share the lo-fi alterna-folk sound of many of their contemporaries such as Tilly and the Wall and early Kate Nash.

The song is an odd beast of guitars and vocals that have been heavily drenched in slap-back reverb, which causes that famed stuttering effect of 50's era rock songs (think Gene Vincent or 50's Elvis) all backed with a stomping and rolling snare drum beat. So far, so cutely hyper rockabilly.

But then!

They decide to stop all the music in the middle of the beat. The song has a tendency to suddenly crash out on its own energy and randomly lose its rhythm. As a result of this, the huge climax the insistent nature of the music feels as though it's building up to is never really allowed to come, mainly because the song is too busy running around like a sugar-fueled backwoods Sheffield bastard child colliding with a glass door it didn't notice was closed.

The lyrics are cute but nothing particularly special. The harmonies traded off between Watson and Taylor are quite pretty but I find their strong Sheffield accents to grate slightly against the more distinctly American instrumentation.

But then!

Almost as if they're aware of this problem, they suddenly swap the entire feel of the song over to an average indie number for the final thirty second crescendo filled with stop and start guitars and 'WOOOOO-OOOOH-OOOAAAAHS' in all directions.

But then!

They cap it off with a little country harmony arpeggio! Ho-ho, Slow Club! You tricked me! First I thought you were try hard rockabilly hipsters, then I thought you were actually Indie rockers playing around in Rockabilly's garden and now I think you're just shit. Bra-fucking-vo.

-Dashiell 'Because I Wish You Were Dead' Asher

Image courtesy of Moshi Moshi Records

Reflections of a Genius Gentleman Scholar: Wicca - or- How I Learned To At Least Vaguely Respect The Goddess

I was clearing through some of the dusty corners of my oh-so Scholarly archives when I came across an odd little box.

This box in particular.

Allow me to explain and harvest back some shred of my dignity.

Back when I was still living in Los Angeles I was given a bizarre present on my fifteenth birthday by some friends of my family: a pillowcase filled with a random assortment of gifts. Pouring out the nuggets of Birthday onto my floor I found within it a bashed up VHS copy of Scarface, a book I had leant them, and The Wicca Pack.

Now I vaguely knew what Wicca was, though it may have been a slightly skewed definition. I had a few friends who had decided to adopt Wicca and it's practices. It was the kind of situation where we'd arrive at their house one day and find a large corner of their room had been turned into an altar with goblets and knives in all directions while they extolled the virtues of wand making.

But then we'd play video games, and suddenly it didn't seem that strange any more.

I think it was because of the fact that most of these guys were already obsessed with fantasy culture, in particular RPG games that I didn't take it all that seriously. It just felt like another road for their personal escapism to travel on and who was I to judge? I could still be a royal pain in the ass by always pressing them to cast spells that seemed to have about as much effect as an ant farting, but I stand by the fact that I only did it in the hope that one of them would actually manage to blow up a pigeon or something.

So as a result I was a little unsure about what to do with this box containing a guidebook and a deck of Wiccan divination cards. Its weight meant it would make a keen doorstop but that seemed rather cruel seeing as this was a Birthday present. That and my Wiccan friends might stop by and, you know, THAT might be the day they go Gandalf on my ass. So in the end, due to a lack of interest and to protect myself against a dark arts thrashing, the box disappeared into a closet, silently brewing in its own magic, waiting for the day when it would get a chance to shine.

Fast forward several years to a week or two ago, where I rediscover the box wedged within a large stack of books. My knowledge of Wicca, since those innocent years, has become a bit broader. I have developed a love/hate relationship with it. There's the wide eyed believer side of me that desperately wants it all to be true, and the hard nosed cynic side that regularly beats up the wide eyed believer and steals his milk money. Which doesn't stop the cynic from likely being right, but it does mean I'm more of an asshole when I side with him.

All that being said, I understand that whether or not Wiccan teachings are fact they're as much about self-discovery and open mindedness as they are mysticism. So long as they're helping people, I'm willing to appreciate their merits. So, with this rush of open minded euphoria I decided to flip through the book and see what I could gain from it, maybe even try my hand at one of the card readings in the hope that, maybe, this would help me take Wicca that bit more seriously.

But Jesus fuck they don't make it easy.

First chink in the armor, right off the bat. The book is written by a woman named Sally Morningstar. Sally. Morningstar. Not just that, but she wrote it whilst consulting the mysterious entity known only as Gwyn. I had to put the book down and come back when I could convince myself I wasn't about to read something written by Glinda the Good Witch and an Elf.

The book opens with a potted history of the rise of Wicca, exploring its roots in pagan practices and beliefs but also how it incorporates elements of global magical practices including 'shamanism, high magic, druidism, Qabalah, and Egyptian and Northern European magic' alongside neo-pagan practices which focus on pro-environmentalism.

Okay, I can get with that. The varying practices unify Wicca as a belief system the whole world can have a part of, and what's more important than environmentalism these days? This is getting easier to appreciate.

Ah.

This lovely chap is Gerald Gardner, father of the Gardnerian tradition. He, alongside a Wiccan high priestess named Doreen Valiente helped make a public face for Wicca and made it 'go public' so to speak. It's chiefly thanks to them that practicing witchcraft has become a more widespread and acceptable past time.

Now look, this is a cheap shot, but Christ; if this man is one of your proudly extolled founding figureheads, pick a better photo. Even ONE google search turns up better results:

I mean come on. That dude is BOSS. He looks like he could shoot a lightning bolt from his fucking eyebrows. He'd be all 'Watchoo sayin' 'bout my beliefs?' I probably wouldn't even write this entry if I'd seen that fucker.

But this guy?

He's a confused tourist looking for his grandkids. While making a noise that sounds like *Heeeaaannn!* Kind of like Paul Shaffer laughing while being raped by a giraffe. The point is, if you're going to make this man your public face, make him look like he could melt fire with his wrinkles.

The first half of the book has varying descriptions of the different festivals and everyday activities of Witches along with soft focus pictures of a woman doing things like burning flowers or waving a knife around. It's an inexplicably soothing experience, broken up by moments of intense excitement when I recognize the name of a deity (shame-faced to admit mainly from video games).

Despite my cynicism, the book is an interesting read and I do feel like I've gained some deeper insight into the elements of the lifestyle, which I'll analyze in more detail in a wrap up entry. However, I still feel like I need to really throw my hat into the ring. I want the full experience.

I'm going to allow the mystic spirits to hold my fate in their hands and divine my future using the Wiccan Cards of Ultimate Phantasmic Destiny (because that's way better than Wicca cards)!

Find out how I did in: Wicca Pt. 2 -or- How I Learned To Love Fate And Cardboard

- Dashiell ‘I’ll Be Your Wicked Witch’ Asher

Free Music Signal: The Sweet Spot -or- How Cricket Got Its Sex (Back?)

So the new free single on iTunes this week is a song entirely about slightly rough oral sex... Or cricket. Obviously.

I mean the two go together all the time right?

As I'm sure many of you out there in music land know, iTunes offers a free single each week from its store homepage (and if you didn't know this I highly recommend taking advantage of it). It's a good way to find music you probably wouldn't have tried because hey, who doesn't like 'free'?

This week it's a bouncy track titled 'The Sweet Spot' off of The Duckworth Lewis Method's self titled debut; a nicely timed concept album all about cricket. iTunes have sold the track as being "the sound of English summer- it's tuneful, mellow and easy on the ear.'

Now to my innocent eyes, a description of a concept album about a quintessentially British sport such as cricket, alongside descriptors like 'mellow and easy on the ear' invoked sweet thoughts of songs like 'The Village Green Preservation Society' by The Kinks. I loves me that song. I'm ready for some twee-pop.

But no. No no no no. Yes, the song is about cricket (sort of). But this is not your parent's cricket. This is Satan's cricket. The cricket whites have been torn off by pumping synth Organs and replaced with skin tight leathers. 'Strict Machine's' drum beat is pulsating through the green and I don't like the look of what they're planning to do with that big ol' bat.

TDLM have managed to craft a song entirely around one long double entendre that, really, had you not been told it was about cricket, you never would have assumed it to be about cricket.

I was torn about the song on the first few listens. Was this clever? Maybe if I were more of a cricket follower I'd be chortling to myself in a juicy voice, 'The Sweet Spot! Haha! Of course! It DOES sound like in-ter-course! Hoho!' But fuck that. Surely the 'sweet spot' is a phrase that could be applied to just about any physical activity. Even bowling, the elephantine fart of attractive sports, starts to get sexy if you apply the term to it.

However it's when I paid attention to the members making up TDLM that things began to make a bit more sense. The Duckworth Lewis Method are better known as Neil Hannon of the idiosyncratic Divine Comedy and his mate who I've never heard of and who doesn't appear to be important enough to have a detailed Wikipedia article so screw him. Neil Hannon is known for his clever lyrical wordplay and for epitomizing the English (yes, I know he's Irish) wit-'If it ain't tweed it ain't worth it'-turned-rock star persona. So a funny double entendre would be up his alley, so to speak (yeah, I'm no Neil Hannon).

Suddenly the song seemed funnier. This was clever! I mean Neil Hannon wrote it! But slowly I realized that, much like the mouth breathing kid hanging with the cheerleaders or Johnny Depp's half-brother, it's merely cool-by-connection. The song isn't all that clever. It's funny on the first few listens. But the cricket overtones aren't really there and the lines are less thinly veiled references and more slapping you in the face with a (I guess supposed to be cricket bat shaped) penis. And while really that should be a good thing, the lines are also bluntly soft-core and kid friendly enough that you can't be sure sex was ever really there to begin with. Like fucking someone in a Barney suit.

That being said, is it still worth it? In short, no, not really. However, the song is catchy, dumb and, most importantly, free. And so long as it stays free it wouldn't hurt you to pick it up. It has a good beat, even if it's one you've heard A LOT of times before (think Gary Glitter, Goldfrapp or Atlus). The organ synth groove-moves it flings around would be good for soundtracking finding your own sweet spot. Be careful though, because I'm willing to bet soon you'll find your after dark activities being soundtracked by the intro music to a sports reel. And nobody lives that down. Nobody.

-Dashiell 'I Managed To Avoid Making a Single Reference To Sticky Wickets' Asher

Image Courtesy of Divine Comedy Records/1969 Records

Here We Go Again

Hello and welcome to Balder|Dash, the ramblings, rages and writings of self proclaimed Genius Gentleman Scholar Dashiell Asher.

I'm sure we're going to get along ever so well. Just the other day I was saying back at The Club to the other Scholars (most of them wearing top hats like real men) that I wished you would stop by more often.

And not just stop by! I want you to stop by and let me get my opinions all over you. That's right. I'm up front about these things. I don't beat around the mental bush. It's going to get messy. The marks they leave on you won't come off with simple tools such as soap and scalding water. This is going to take a priest and holy Daz. Good men will die. But though you will be shaking and having trouble breathing, you will want more. It can't be helped.

So lucky for you that I've decided to provide the world with a record of these golden moments. I know it's never going to be as good as when I get my critic on right in front of you, and I know the guilty trials you'll go through deleting your viewing of this page from your browser history.

But for a few short moments, whenever it takes your fancy, you can relive the glory of my balderdash.

You're welcome.

-Dashiell 'Genius Gentleman Scholar' Asher