Having hummed and hah-ed over this for the past couple of weeks or so, I now present to you my favourite thirty (yes, thirty!) albums of 2008. Despite my overall impression of the musical year being a somewhat lacklustre one, it seems that I've listened to a whole heck of a lot of stuff and surprised myself somewhat by just how much of it I have come to love. There's several that didn't make it for one reason or another - Goldfinger's Hello Destiny, The Futureheads' This Is Not The World, Ryan Adams and the Cardinals' Cardinology, We Are Scientists' Brain Thrust Mastery, Jack's Mannequin's The Glass Passenger, to name a few - but let's not dwell on those. Instead, let's get right down to business with a nice old list. No, I'm not going to wax poetic about the albums in the list, mostly because it's Christmas Eve at 10.00pm and I can't be arsed, but also because there's only so much smoke I can blow up musicians' arses before I start to get a bit, well, bored. So here it is, the top 30 of the year, in all its naked, ungarnished glory...
30. BAYSIDE: Shudder
29. FLEET FOXES: Fleet Foxes
28. THE WALKMEN: You & Me
27. BE YOUR OWN PET: Get Awkward
26. THE SUBWAYS: All Or Nothing
25. BLOC PARTY: Intimacy
24. BRITISH SEA POWER: Do You Like Rock Music?
23. THE OFFSPRING: Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace
22. FUCKED UP: The Chemistry of Common Life
21. FLOGGING MOLLY: Float
20. STEPHEN MALKMUS & THE JICKS: Real Emotional Trash
19. LAURA MARLING: Alas, I Cannot Swim
18. ANTI-FLAG: The Bright Lights of America
17. FRIGHTENED RABBIT: The Midnight Organ Fight
16. CHRIS TT: Capital
15. RISE AGAINST: Appeal To Reason
14. THE KING BLUES: Save The World, Get The Girl
13. DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE: Narrow Stairs
12. LOS CAMPESINOS!: We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed
11. VAMPIRE WEEKEND: Vampire Weekend
10. R.E.M.: Accelerate
9. ALKALINE TRIO: Agony and Irony
8. LIGHTSPEED CHAMPION: Falling Off The Lavender Bridge
7. FOALS: Antidotes
6. LOS CAMPESINOS!: Hold On Tight, Youngster
5. GLASVEGAS: Glasvegas
4. CONOR OBERST AND THE MYSTIC VALLEY BAND: Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band
3. BLOOD RED SHOES: Box of Secrets
2. FRANK TURNER: Love, Ire and Song
1. THE GASLIGHT ANTHEM: The '59 Sound
Wednesday, 24 December 2008
Screenaged Noise: Standstill: 'I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Clause'
Well, since it's Christmas and all...
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Worst Ten Songs of 2008 (part two)
5. CRYSTAL CASTLES: Courtship Dating
Okay, can someone explain Crystal Castles to me, please? I really don't get it. She howls inaudibly into a dodgy Fisher Price microphone, with her hood up, while he boots up his Spectrum ZX81 tape deck and presses 'record'. With his hood up. I'm sorry folks but I fail to understand the appeal of such a concept. I hear the horrific buzz phrase 'digipunk' bandied about rather a lot whenever there's discussion of this, ahem (excuse me while I nearly choke on my use of the word), 'band' going on and, frankly, that just offends me. Okay, so they might do things on their own terms (which usually involves assaulting members of their own audiences at live shows) and yeah, fair enough, they come from a staunchly independent, DIY background, but even punk allowed for some semblance of enjoyment: sure, it was abrasive, often far from instantly accessible, but at least, for the most part, it had a melodic sensibility. An understanding of the importance of entryism: all the best punk bands essentially recorded pop songs, only sped up a notch: the Pistols, Buzzcocks and especially The Clash. Crystal Castles just make a bloody racket. And yes, I am aware of how utterly fuddy-duddy that sounds. I desperately don't want to seem like a musical conservative, bemoaning the good old days of straightforward, conventional band formations and musical compositions. I'm all for experimentation... really, I am. I swear. It's just unfortunate that, a large proportion of the time, all it produces is a right load of old wank. I started thinking it was my old age; that, upon entering my mid-twenties, I was beginning to lose my understanding and appreciation of the musical Zeitgeist and that this was the beginning of my departure into the world of daytime radio and NOW 2008 CDs. Until I remembered Add N To (X). Waaaaay back in 1999, when I was a wee sixteen years of age, this lot were being rammed down my throat as 'inspirational' by a fawning music press. They were shit. Shitty Shitty McShit Shit. And I knew that then. I hated their pretentious keyboard wankery, their insistence that the sound of decades-old computers loading up was somehow enjoyable to listen to; I saw this so-called 'musical radicalism' for what it really was: the desperately hollow sound of a bunch of chin-stroking face munchers with way too much time on their hands and smoke up their arses. So Crystal Castles, this really is nothing new. And it really is nothing even remotely good. Please... give it up and get back to your crack houses. Thanks.
4. WILEY: Wearing My Rolex
Oh Jesus Christ, please, MAKE IT STOP. NO MORE. That punctured beat that sounds like the gramophone's about to spontaneously combust. Her supposedly sultry voice, constantly repeating the question 'what would we do?', that actually sounds more like she's been drugged out of her mind, ready for Wiley to have his wicked way. His trumped-up, smug-as-fuck, self-aggrandising vocal delivery; you know, the kind that actually says, "Yeah you little insignificant runt, bitches just drop off my cock like a month's worth of congealed smegma. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT? EH?" It's enough to drive you to murder, honestly. And to make matters worse, the whole thing's about how poor Wiley, after having undoubtedly brandished his gigantic wanger at the nearest big-tittied ho-bag in his favourite club, discovers that his latest conquest is actually a bit of a bunny boiler and, heaven forfend, a gold digger. Oh poor, poor you Wiley. What an absolute cunting shame. I hope she takes your fucking Rolex and shoves it where the sun don't shine.
3. THE TING TINGS: Shut Up and Let Me Go
Now then. While 'That's Not My Name' is unquestionably an absolute car-wreck of a song, for which everyone involved should be strung up by their big toes for the rest of their days, it was featured in my list of worst songs of 2007. Yes, it was a single last year and, according to the rules (that I made up, natch), that means it's exempt from inclusion in this year's run. I probably should've made an exception, given how unforgivable it is, but hey ho, there's always this one to moan about. Yes, The Ting Tings have done it again; not content with irritating an entire cosmos once with the line 'THAAAY CALL ME STAAAAAAAAAAAACY!' and twice with 'the drums, the drums, the (MOTHERFUCKING) drums!', they've managed it a third time with the incessant squawk of the bloody singer's delivery THROUGHOUT THIS ENTIRE SONG. The way she sings 'shut up and let me go! HEY!' just makes me want to throttle her with her own microphone wire.* It certainly doesn't help that the music is a plodding trudgeathon of epic proportions, so deathly empty and devoid of soul that you begin to question whether these two are actually human beings at all, but rather manufactured space-robots from the planet Zargaton, sent by the Blue people to put an end to all life on Earth, one Ting Tings record at a time. By jove, I think I've cracked it.
* = Of course, I'm not actually advocating her murder. Really, I'm not. *tumbleweed* Look, I need help, okay? I just can't take it anymore...
2. MGMT: Electric Feel
NME's band of the year, this lot; winners of 'best album' AND 'best single', although not for this bucket of diarrhoea, thankfully (but it did manage to make it into the top ten, funnily enough). The other MGMT singles, while also considerably rubbish, do have one thing, and one thing alone, going for them: a catchy hook. 'Time To Pretend' goes 'doo doo - doo doo doo doo doo - doo doo - doo doo doo doo doo'; 'Kids' goes 'der der der der derrr derrr derrr der derrrrrr'. Inspirational. 'Electric Feel', however, has no such catchy six second keyboard part. Instead, it has a pace lethargic enough to bore snails, production so overblown you can almost taste the cocaine, and lyrics so asinine that you'd be embarrassed if your six year old wrote them for his primary school poetry assignment. 'Oooo girl, shock me like electric eel/Baby girl, turn me on with your electric feel'? Really? Is that the best you can do, guys? And NME, you consider this to be the best that we, as a race, could do in this joyful year? My God, the state of the nation is worse than I thought. MGMT then: an offence to modern music. And yes, my objection to them is rather more to do with their prog-influenced, stoner manifesto ("we just want to make music that allows people to have a good time, man! Fuck that political shit!" etc.) than anything else but can you honestly, hand on heart, tell me that this is any good? Didn't bloody think so.
1. THE VERVE: Love Is Noise
Now I've heard some shite in my time but this just takes the biscuit, cake, trifle, blancmange and ice lolly. What in the name of all that is good and wholesome IS that sample? 'Ooooo ooooo aahhh ahhhh AAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!' THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE FOUR MINUTES TWO SECONDS. Jesus tap dancing Christ. Dear fucking God. As if the sound of Richard Ashcroft's Messiah complex on overload wasn't bad enough; this just demands that the listener pick up the nearest blunt instrument and repeatedly thwack whatever instrument they are using to play the song until it explodes and is NEVER ABLE TO BROADCAST THE SHITTING VERVE TO THE WORLD AGAIN. Irritating doesn't even begin to describe it. If ever any dodgy experimental psychologist feels the need to repeat all those world class experiments where they lock people in a dark room with a CD player playing the same thing on repeat, and wants to understand how human beings could be driven to digging their own insides out with their bare hands, 'Love Is Noise' would be the perfect choice. Really, I never want to hear this again. In fact, I want to forget that I ever forced myself to listen to it in the first place. Just look at those lyrics: 'Are we blind? Can we see?/We are one - incomplete/Are we blind? In the shade/Waiting for lightning - to be saved'. Bloody hell, he thinks he's a fucking prophet or something. Actually, scratch that, he thinks he's the Second bleeding Coming: 'Love is noise and love is pain/Love is these blues that I'm singing again'. Well Ashcroft, sorry to burst your bubble and all that, but you're not. Not even fucking close. You're just a washed up, mediocre musician with an inflated ego who's well past his sell by date, writing empty epithets that say and mean nothing. Let's face it, The Verve were never even that good anyway. 'Bittersweet Symphony' is the most over-rated song this side of 'Wonderwall'. Get back to supporting Coldplay or something will ya and leave our charts, and our festival headline slots, well and truly alone. In other words: bugger. Right. Off.
Okay, can someone explain Crystal Castles to me, please? I really don't get it. She howls inaudibly into a dodgy Fisher Price microphone, with her hood up, while he boots up his Spectrum ZX81 tape deck and presses 'record'. With his hood up. I'm sorry folks but I fail to understand the appeal of such a concept. I hear the horrific buzz phrase 'digipunk' bandied about rather a lot whenever there's discussion of this, ahem (excuse me while I nearly choke on my use of the word), 'band' going on and, frankly, that just offends me. Okay, so they might do things on their own terms (which usually involves assaulting members of their own audiences at live shows) and yeah, fair enough, they come from a staunchly independent, DIY background, but even punk allowed for some semblance of enjoyment: sure, it was abrasive, often far from instantly accessible, but at least, for the most part, it had a melodic sensibility. An understanding of the importance of entryism: all the best punk bands essentially recorded pop songs, only sped up a notch: the Pistols, Buzzcocks and especially The Clash. Crystal Castles just make a bloody racket. And yes, I am aware of how utterly fuddy-duddy that sounds. I desperately don't want to seem like a musical conservative, bemoaning the good old days of straightforward, conventional band formations and musical compositions. I'm all for experimentation... really, I am. I swear. It's just unfortunate that, a large proportion of the time, all it produces is a right load of old wank. I started thinking it was my old age; that, upon entering my mid-twenties, I was beginning to lose my understanding and appreciation of the musical Zeitgeist and that this was the beginning of my departure into the world of daytime radio and NOW 2008 CDs. Until I remembered Add N To (X). Waaaaay back in 1999, when I was a wee sixteen years of age, this lot were being rammed down my throat as 'inspirational' by a fawning music press. They were shit. Shitty Shitty McShit Shit. And I knew that then. I hated their pretentious keyboard wankery, their insistence that the sound of decades-old computers loading up was somehow enjoyable to listen to; I saw this so-called 'musical radicalism' for what it really was: the desperately hollow sound of a bunch of chin-stroking face munchers with way too much time on their hands and smoke up their arses. So Crystal Castles, this really is nothing new. And it really is nothing even remotely good. Please... give it up and get back to your crack houses. Thanks.
4. WILEY: Wearing My Rolex
Oh Jesus Christ, please, MAKE IT STOP. NO MORE. That punctured beat that sounds like the gramophone's about to spontaneously combust. Her supposedly sultry voice, constantly repeating the question 'what would we do?', that actually sounds more like she's been drugged out of her mind, ready for Wiley to have his wicked way. His trumped-up, smug-as-fuck, self-aggrandising vocal delivery; you know, the kind that actually says, "Yeah you little insignificant runt, bitches just drop off my cock like a month's worth of congealed smegma. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT? EH?" It's enough to drive you to murder, honestly. And to make matters worse, the whole thing's about how poor Wiley, after having undoubtedly brandished his gigantic wanger at the nearest big-tittied ho-bag in his favourite club, discovers that his latest conquest is actually a bit of a bunny boiler and, heaven forfend, a gold digger. Oh poor, poor you Wiley. What an absolute cunting shame. I hope she takes your fucking Rolex and shoves it where the sun don't shine.
3. THE TING TINGS: Shut Up and Let Me Go
Now then. While 'That's Not My Name' is unquestionably an absolute car-wreck of a song, for which everyone involved should be strung up by their big toes for the rest of their days, it was featured in my list of worst songs of 2007. Yes, it was a single last year and, according to the rules (that I made up, natch), that means it's exempt from inclusion in this year's run. I probably should've made an exception, given how unforgivable it is, but hey ho, there's always this one to moan about. Yes, The Ting Tings have done it again; not content with irritating an entire cosmos once with the line 'THAAAY CALL ME STAAAAAAAAAAAACY!' and twice with 'the drums, the drums, the (MOTHERFUCKING) drums!', they've managed it a third time with the incessant squawk of the bloody singer's delivery THROUGHOUT THIS ENTIRE SONG. The way she sings 'shut up and let me go! HEY!' just makes me want to throttle her with her own microphone wire.* It certainly doesn't help that the music is a plodding trudgeathon of epic proportions, so deathly empty and devoid of soul that you begin to question whether these two are actually human beings at all, but rather manufactured space-robots from the planet Zargaton, sent by the Blue people to put an end to all life on Earth, one Ting Tings record at a time. By jove, I think I've cracked it.
* = Of course, I'm not actually advocating her murder. Really, I'm not. *tumbleweed* Look, I need help, okay? I just can't take it anymore...
2. MGMT: Electric Feel
NME's band of the year, this lot; winners of 'best album' AND 'best single', although not for this bucket of diarrhoea, thankfully (but it did manage to make it into the top ten, funnily enough). The other MGMT singles, while also considerably rubbish, do have one thing, and one thing alone, going for them: a catchy hook. 'Time To Pretend' goes 'doo doo - doo doo doo doo doo - doo doo - doo doo doo doo doo'; 'Kids' goes 'der der der der derrr derrr derrr der derrrrrr'. Inspirational. 'Electric Feel', however, has no such catchy six second keyboard part. Instead, it has a pace lethargic enough to bore snails, production so overblown you can almost taste the cocaine, and lyrics so asinine that you'd be embarrassed if your six year old wrote them for his primary school poetry assignment. 'Oooo girl, shock me like electric eel/Baby girl, turn me on with your electric feel'? Really? Is that the best you can do, guys? And NME, you consider this to be the best that we, as a race, could do in this joyful year? My God, the state of the nation is worse than I thought. MGMT then: an offence to modern music. And yes, my objection to them is rather more to do with their prog-influenced, stoner manifesto ("we just want to make music that allows people to have a good time, man! Fuck that political shit!" etc.) than anything else but can you honestly, hand on heart, tell me that this is any good? Didn't bloody think so.
1. THE VERVE: Love Is Noise
Now I've heard some shite in my time but this just takes the biscuit, cake, trifle, blancmange and ice lolly. What in the name of all that is good and wholesome IS that sample? 'Ooooo ooooo aahhh ahhhh AAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!' THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE FOUR MINUTES TWO SECONDS. Jesus tap dancing Christ. Dear fucking God. As if the sound of Richard Ashcroft's Messiah complex on overload wasn't bad enough; this just demands that the listener pick up the nearest blunt instrument and repeatedly thwack whatever instrument they are using to play the song until it explodes and is NEVER ABLE TO BROADCAST THE SHITTING VERVE TO THE WORLD AGAIN. Irritating doesn't even begin to describe it. If ever any dodgy experimental psychologist feels the need to repeat all those world class experiments where they lock people in a dark room with a CD player playing the same thing on repeat, and wants to understand how human beings could be driven to digging their own insides out with their bare hands, 'Love Is Noise' would be the perfect choice. Really, I never want to hear this again. In fact, I want to forget that I ever forced myself to listen to it in the first place. Just look at those lyrics: 'Are we blind? Can we see?/We are one - incomplete/Are we blind? In the shade/Waiting for lightning - to be saved'. Bloody hell, he thinks he's a fucking prophet or something. Actually, scratch that, he thinks he's the Second bleeding Coming: 'Love is noise and love is pain/Love is these blues that I'm singing again'. Well Ashcroft, sorry to burst your bubble and all that, but you're not. Not even fucking close. You're just a washed up, mediocre musician with an inflated ego who's well past his sell by date, writing empty epithets that say and mean nothing. Let's face it, The Verve were never even that good anyway. 'Bittersweet Symphony' is the most over-rated song this side of 'Wonderwall'. Get back to supporting Coldplay or something will ya and leave our charts, and our festival headline slots, well and truly alone. In other words: bugger. Right. Off.
Worst Ten Songs of 2008 (part one)
Okay, so we all know that two of the greatest crimes ever committed against humanity occurred in 2008; two acts so despicable, so thoroughly wretched and unforgivably inhumane that they drove entire nations to their knees, uniting us all under a wave of collective horror and shameful regret. "Why?", we all asked, "Why did we let this happen? How has it come to this?"
I'm talking, of course, about the release of Nickleback's 'Rock Star' and Kid Rock's 'All Summer Long', two of the worst recordings ever composed by man or beast. These works are so horrific, so completely devoid of any artistic merit or aural pleasure whatsoever, that they stand apart from anything else ever recorded. They're in a league of their own hideousness, towering over your Westlifes, your Mariah Careys and your Panteras and laughing down at all of us meagre mortals as we find ourselves forced, once again, by the unstoppable power of chart radio, to listen to their Satanic whining.
It is for this reason that they have been excluded from the 'Worst Ten Songs of the Year 2008'; not because they are, in any way shape or form, better than the load of claptrap listed below, but because to compare them side by side would be unfair. Truly, Nickleback and Kid Rock redefined what it means to 'be shite' this year and, by their own standards, have elevated themselves above and beyond any conventional means of assessing doggerel.
Oh and, while we're at it, a quick note: you won't find any pop music in here, guys and gals. 'Pop' is disposable and therefore, by its own low standards, acquits itself. The ten tracks below like to take themselves seriously... and that's where the biggest danger always lies.
10. BLACK KIDS: I'm Not Going To Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You
All over Radio 1 like an STD during the festival season, 'I'm Not Going To Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You' contains surely the most irritating vocal duo to ever be given a set of matching microphones. The male lead whines on and on, repeating the same assertion that he refuses to give 'your' boyfriend dancing lessons over and over and over and over (like a monkey with a miniature cymbal? Oh wait, that's a completely different God awful load of shite...) while an eight year old brat counts to four in the style of a girl having her windpipe crushed. Oh yeah, and she keeps shouting at us all to 'Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance!' which, quite frankly, is the furthest thing from my mind when listening to this claptrap. 'Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab!' is more bleeding like it.
9. THE KILLERS: Human
Best thing to happen in 2008: Brandon Flowers got the razor out and assaulted his bum fluff. Worst thing to happen in 2008: his band went and made a new record. Day & Age, shamefully, manages to be even worse than the depressingly mediocre Sawdust, and this lead single is the perfect encapsulation. 'Human' sees The Killers laying down their instruments, picking up a synthesiser and one of Elvis' favourite microphones and proceeding to take one massive shit all over the eardrums of an unsuspecting planet. 'Are we human?/Or are we dancer?' asks Brandon throughout this four minute exercise in eighties-throwback futility. The answer, unfortunately, is that you are neither Mr. Flowers: you are a wanker.
8. BLOC PARTY: Mercury
Given that I love Bloc Party with all my heart and soul, it pains me to admit that 'Mercury', the first single from the band's third album Intimacy, is absolutely, unequivocally and resolutely fucking awful. But awful it is: from the cod-grime flavourings, through the irritating 'rising' trombone noises and horrifically distorted bastardisation of Russell's ordinarily sublime guitar work, to Kele's pathetically unconvincing attempts to rap and, Godddddddddd, those incessant vocal 'samplings', 'Mercury' is just a categorical failure on all levels. How anyone can take any enjoyment from listening to this doggerel is beyond me. Still, the rest of the album's quite good. Honest.
7. MYSTERY JETS: Two Doors Down
Oh God. It's this lot again. The same bunch of pointless hippies who gave us such horror shows as 'Diamonds in the Dark' and, lest we forget, 'You Can't Fool Me, Dennis' in 2006 (seriously, I'm having palpitations just thinking about them...) came back with a vengeance in 08 with new haircuts, new matching outfits (well, for this video anyway) and a new fondness for Duran Duran. Well, at least, that's the conclusion I've drawn from being forced to listen to this sorry excuse for an eighties 'pastiche' at every indie club I've dared to set foot in this year. Yes, I'm absolutely certain that the emo-coffered tosspot who fronts this second rate novelty act would tell us all that the plinky-plonky keyboard chorus and unhealthy smattering of brass instrumentation is "meant to be, you know, like, ironic and stuff." Well, he can fuck right off and get back up his own arse... it's just a load of old bollocks.
6. PENDULUM: The Other Side
For a reason best known to a power higher than I, Pendulum actually became a bit popular in 2008. Sold out UK tours? Jam packed festival performances IN THE NME TENT?! At 7pm?! Just what in the holy fuck is going on, people? Surely you all have more sense than this? Surely you realise that this bunch of money-grabbing bastards are engaging in one mass music industry swindle, peddling out EXACTLY THE SAME SONG over and over again, in what must take all of approximately three minutes (just enough time to change the lyrics around a bit), in an effort to make a quick buck? Is it not obvious? The only reason I can think of as to why Pendulum continue to get away with this, and haven't already been locked up in a dingy Australian prison cell for the rest of eternity for crimes against aural decency, is that everyone who listens to their music is completely off their tits. Yes, that's GOT to be it. There's no way a clean, sober individual could ever derive enjoyment from this repetitive, nay offensive, bullshit. Is there? For the sake of all our souls, I truly hope not.
Part two (5 - 1) coming soon... if you can stomach it...
I'm talking, of course, about the release of Nickleback's 'Rock Star' and Kid Rock's 'All Summer Long', two of the worst recordings ever composed by man or beast. These works are so horrific, so completely devoid of any artistic merit or aural pleasure whatsoever, that they stand apart from anything else ever recorded. They're in a league of their own hideousness, towering over your Westlifes, your Mariah Careys and your Panteras and laughing down at all of us meagre mortals as we find ourselves forced, once again, by the unstoppable power of chart radio, to listen to their Satanic whining.
It is for this reason that they have been excluded from the 'Worst Ten Songs of the Year 2008'; not because they are, in any way shape or form, better than the load of claptrap listed below, but because to compare them side by side would be unfair. Truly, Nickleback and Kid Rock redefined what it means to 'be shite' this year and, by their own standards, have elevated themselves above and beyond any conventional means of assessing doggerel.
Oh and, while we're at it, a quick note: you won't find any pop music in here, guys and gals. 'Pop' is disposable and therefore, by its own low standards, acquits itself. The ten tracks below like to take themselves seriously... and that's where the biggest danger always lies.
10. BLACK KIDS: I'm Not Going To Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You
All over Radio 1 like an STD during the festival season, 'I'm Not Going To Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You' contains surely the most irritating vocal duo to ever be given a set of matching microphones. The male lead whines on and on, repeating the same assertion that he refuses to give 'your' boyfriend dancing lessons over and over and over and over (like a monkey with a miniature cymbal? Oh wait, that's a completely different God awful load of shite...) while an eight year old brat counts to four in the style of a girl having her windpipe crushed. Oh yeah, and she keeps shouting at us all to 'Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance!' which, quite frankly, is the furthest thing from my mind when listening to this claptrap. 'Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab!' is more bleeding like it.
9. THE KILLERS: Human
Best thing to happen in 2008: Brandon Flowers got the razor out and assaulted his bum fluff. Worst thing to happen in 2008: his band went and made a new record. Day & Age, shamefully, manages to be even worse than the depressingly mediocre Sawdust, and this lead single is the perfect encapsulation. 'Human' sees The Killers laying down their instruments, picking up a synthesiser and one of Elvis' favourite microphones and proceeding to take one massive shit all over the eardrums of an unsuspecting planet. 'Are we human?/Or are we dancer?' asks Brandon throughout this four minute exercise in eighties-throwback futility. The answer, unfortunately, is that you are neither Mr. Flowers: you are a wanker.
8. BLOC PARTY: Mercury
Given that I love Bloc Party with all my heart and soul, it pains me to admit that 'Mercury', the first single from the band's third album Intimacy, is absolutely, unequivocally and resolutely fucking awful. But awful it is: from the cod-grime flavourings, through the irritating 'rising' trombone noises and horrifically distorted bastardisation of Russell's ordinarily sublime guitar work, to Kele's pathetically unconvincing attempts to rap and, Godddddddddd, those incessant vocal 'samplings', 'Mercury' is just a categorical failure on all levels. How anyone can take any enjoyment from listening to this doggerel is beyond me. Still, the rest of the album's quite good. Honest.
7. MYSTERY JETS: Two Doors Down
Oh God. It's this lot again. The same bunch of pointless hippies who gave us such horror shows as 'Diamonds in the Dark' and, lest we forget, 'You Can't Fool Me, Dennis' in 2006 (seriously, I'm having palpitations just thinking about them...) came back with a vengeance in 08 with new haircuts, new matching outfits (well, for this video anyway) and a new fondness for Duran Duran. Well, at least, that's the conclusion I've drawn from being forced to listen to this sorry excuse for an eighties 'pastiche' at every indie club I've dared to set foot in this year. Yes, I'm absolutely certain that the emo-coffered tosspot who fronts this second rate novelty act would tell us all that the plinky-plonky keyboard chorus and unhealthy smattering of brass instrumentation is "meant to be, you know, like, ironic and stuff." Well, he can fuck right off and get back up his own arse... it's just a load of old bollocks.
6. PENDULUM: The Other Side
For a reason best known to a power higher than I, Pendulum actually became a bit popular in 2008. Sold out UK tours? Jam packed festival performances IN THE NME TENT?! At 7pm?! Just what in the holy fuck is going on, people? Surely you all have more sense than this? Surely you realise that this bunch of money-grabbing bastards are engaging in one mass music industry swindle, peddling out EXACTLY THE SAME SONG over and over again, in what must take all of approximately three minutes (just enough time to change the lyrics around a bit), in an effort to make a quick buck? Is it not obvious? The only reason I can think of as to why Pendulum continue to get away with this, and haven't already been locked up in a dingy Australian prison cell for the rest of eternity for crimes against aural decency, is that everyone who listens to their music is completely off their tits. Yes, that's GOT to be it. There's no way a clean, sober individual could ever derive enjoyment from this repetitive, nay offensive, bullshit. Is there? For the sake of all our souls, I truly hope not.
Part two (5 - 1) coming soon... if you can stomach it...
Screenaged Noise: Idlewild: 'These Wooden Ideas'
One of the greatest bands to have come scurrying out of Edinburgh since the dawn of time itself, Idlewild have been making consistently marvellous music since around 1995. To date, they've released five full length albums (Hope Is Important, 100 Broken Windows, The Remote Part, Warnings/Promises and Make Another World) and one EP (Captain), each of which has its own distinctive style that sets it apart from the others, and yet they all manage to be, at the very least, 8/10 pieces of work. It is 1999's 100 Broken Windows, however, that remains the true jewel in their crown: referencing the notion of 'ideas', postmodernism and Gertrude Stein IN THE LYRICS ALONE, this is a twelve song synthesis of everything that's good and kooky about British indie-rock. 'These Wooden Ideas', the third single from the album, even manages to encapsulate this in its utterly barking video. Click below, if you dare.
Monday, 22 December 2008
Top 10 Gigs of 2008 (festivals excluded)
Right. Out come the lists. In the first of what promises to be a bulky run of festive remembrance, I look back over the myriad gigs I've been to in 2008 and waffle on a bit about the ten very best ones. Please note that I've decided to omit festival performances from the running as, having been to two this year (T In The Park and Leeds), and with there being so much to comment on between them, I'm gonna do a separate 'top ten festival sets' list.
10. JIMMY EAT WORLD
Manchester Academy 1, February 20th 2008
Equal parts thrillingly acidic and eye-wateringly beautiful, Jimmy Eat World's eighteen song Manchester set captured the essence of the Arizona four piece perfectly. From a rabble-rousing rendition of opener 'Big Casino' through to the arms-around-mates loveathon of 'The Middle', by way of an orgasmic 'Get It Faster', fanboy-pleasing 'No Sensitivity' (not marred a single iota by the power cutting out towards the end) and spine-tingling '23', this was JEW at their very, very best. And we all got to take it home on CD at the end.
9. INTERPOL
Sheffield Academy, July 9th 2008
While the Manchester date the previous night saw the 'pol playing to a capacity crowd, there was something about the Sheffield gig that set it apart from its predecessor. Perhaps it was the fact that Paul Banks' mom and dad were in the wings; maybe it was because it was the last date of the tour proper before the inevitably shorter festival performances; or it could just be, you know, that Carlos could actually be arsed. Whatever, the Sheffield Academy show was an absolute belter from start to finish. Daniel's guitar parts soared over us all, Banks' vocals gave us chills and those on-screen visuals were just about the best we've seen all year. Plus, they closed with 'Obstacle 2' - need I say more? Actually, yes, the drummer handed me his tie. *hearts*
8. ALKALINE TRIO
KOKO, London, August 20th 2008
The date: Wednesday August 20th, three days before the legendary Reading and Leeds festivals. The venue: KOKO, a converted theatre in the centre of Camden Town. The event: well, it's only Alkamaline Trio's first show of their own* in the UK in two and a half years. A sold out crowd greets the three piece with complete and utter devotion, showering them with applause, bellowing back every word to every major, minor and delightfully obscure track in the twenty song arsenal that the boys throw headlong at us, and it doesn't go unnoticed. Matt seems genuinely touched by the (surprising) warmth of this London MASSIVE; so much so that he tells us all that it's reaffirming in the wake of the loss of Jerry Finn. This is very much a fan crowd - a collective of disparate individuals united by their love of a heart with a skull in the middle - and we really wouldn't have it any other way.
* = they played the Give It A Name festival in May but that doesn't count...
7. LOS CAMPESINOS!
Northumbria University, Stage 2, February 16th 2008
And the award for most bizarrely chaotic crowd of the year goes to the bunch of mad bastards watching this lot back in February. Seriously, I still don't think I've quite recovered from the spectacle of seeing around 200 tweeXcore boys and girls slam dancing into one another at 600mph to the sound of guitars, drums and XYLOPHONES. Los Campesinos!' curious brand of boy-girl shout-sing punk-twee clearly has the power to turn the most placid of pacifists into wide-eyed, vein-bulging lunatics. By the end of the night, we were all a sweat-drenched, bruise-covered bloody mess, while Gareth and co had stage-dived about twenty times each, climbed the speaker stacks and bellowed the absolutely immense 'You! Me! Dancing!' to the heavens with such gusto that half of them had lost their voices. An unequivocal mess, then, but a THRILLING one.
6. CONOR OBERST AND THE MYSTIC VALLEY BAND
The Duchess, York, August 29th 2008
Despite not playing a single Bright Eyes track and thereby alienating approximately 90% of his audience, Conor Oberst pulled not one, not two, but about three thousand out of the bag at this intimate show in the heart of York in the week post-Reading and Leeds. Within about fifteen minutes, he'd won everyone over to the Mystic Valley Band's soulful country stylings and was thus given free reign to do just about whatever he damn well pleased. So all the tracks from the band's eponymous album were belted out, Conor's cracked, fragile voice sounding angelic in the sweat-drenched haze, and a few traditional covers were thrown into the mix too - including a heartbreaking reimagining of 'Everybody's Talkin'. It was the tender rendition of 'Milk Thistle' that was the highlight though, Conor taking centre stage for a solo performance so poignant that even the bar staff were crying into their cash registers. There's a reason the setlist for this is stuck up on the door into the backstage area of The Duchess TO THIS DAY. Legendary stuff.
5. EELS
The Sage, Gateshead, March 1st 2008
Prefaced by an hour long documentary on the life and times of the man behind the band (and the steely thick glasses/hillybilly beard), rather than, you know, an actual support act, this decidedly unusual event took the live performance playbook and tore each page out, one by one, right before your eyes. Between song banter? Scratch that, put 'read reviews from tabloid newspapers' in there instead. Have your band play the songs you've carefully crafted over the last ten years? Forget it - all we need is Mr. E and one other trusty sidekick. Play the hits in lieu of the release of a 'best of' record? You've got to be kidding - bring out the better album tracks and throw a couple of singles in there for prosperity, but reimagine them by way of a liberal use of all manner of weird and wonderful instruments. Oh, and play an Academy venue? Nah, let's stage it all in a concert hall where the punters have to sit and muse on the poignancy of the performance. Rather like theatre, one might say. A Saturday night to remember then, characterised by ingenuity, playfulness and the absolute and undeniable charm of one bearded man and his acoustic guitar.
4. THE GASLIGHT ANTHEM
Manchester Academy 3, December 4th 2008
No frills, gimmicks, emo side partings, skinny jeans, cheap pops or intro music... just straightforward punk and roll right out of the gate. THAT's The Gaslight Anthem's manifesto. These New Jersey troubadors have no time for dicking around: they've got a twenty two song rollercoaster ride through the highs and lows of gin-soaked melancholy to dazzle us all with. Which they did. Admirably. This was one mighty fine demonstration of the band's unquestionable genius, proof positive that the hype that surrounds the bunch going into 2009 is more than well deserved. Whether inserting other people's lyrics into his own ('What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?', 'Geraldine'), axe-grinding alongside his insanely energetic fellow guitarist
or looking on with sheer joy as every soul in the building bellowed back every line to every song twice as loud, lead singer Brian Fallon was having a wail of a time, delighting in the chemistry that exists between band and audience (it's the kind that has crowdsurfers stage diving back into the pit, over and over again). The Cheshire cat grin on his face was symbolic of the atmosphere: bloody chuffing ecstatic. And we even got a stellar set from The King Blues before all this too. Christmas come early, for one and for all.
3. FRANK TURNER
The Cockpit, Leeds, October 21st 2008
Well, what about this for a love-in, eh? The first date of Mr. Turner's second UK tour of 2008, a veritable treasure trove of treats featuring the delectable Emily Barker and Chris TT on support, was nothing more than one collective, sold out, 700 person-strong toss off, in which a ragtag assortment of cardiganed indie boys, slam dancing hardXXXcore girls and suited and booted old school punks splattered their loads all over Frank, and his band's, faces OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND... well, you get the picture. And who wouldn't? With tunes as sublime as 'The Ballad of Me and My Friends', 'I Knew Prufrock...' and single of the year contender 'Long Live the Queen', you just can't help but be enveloped in the warmth that's emanating from both the stage and the pit. This has been a hallmark year for Frank. By way of jam-packed festival shows, Radio 1 play-listing and plain old fashioned word of mouth, he's reached this point - sold out tours setting him in the direction he belongs: megastardom. Here's to the future, then, but for now let's celebrate this for what it was: an absolutely fucking awesome show.
2. AGAINST ME!
The Corporation, Sheffield, April 16th 2008
Much like The Gaslight Anthem before, or rather, in the chronology of the gigging year, after them, Against Me!'s raison d'etre is the deliberate absence of gimmickry in their well-renowned live shows. There's no time for splitting the crowd down the middle, no need for invocations to collectively hand clap along, no... these precious seventy five minutes are to be spent powering through as much unrelenting punk rock as your poor eardrums can handle. And then a little more just for kicks. What sets this set apart from Gaslight's though, is the delicious fury with which lead singer Tom Gable imbues every song. Yes, that includes even the more countryfied numbers: just check out the rage in his voice, the throbbing of the veins in his arms, as he physically assaults the band's anthem-to-friendship 'Don't Lose Touch'. It's as if someone's
holding the band at gunpoint, threatening to off them unless they prove their worth and state their manifesto with absolutely everything they've got. And it works. 'Up The Cuts' launches us headfirst into the throng, taking no prisoners, then 'Piss and Vinegar' nearly mows everyone down with its wall of accusatory anger and abrasive guitars, then 'Unprotected Sex' gears up for another round, then 'New Wave', 'Thrash Unreal' and by the time we get to break-out radio hit 'Stop', the bodies are slowly piling up, one by physically exhausted one. It's one hell of a ride, and one you never want to end; but end it does, all too soon, in a mess of ear-shattering feedback and congealed band-sweat. Within less than sixty seconds, we're all demanding their immediate return to these hallowed shores, and, more probably than not, they're backstage delighting at another city well and truly slain. Can we have them back in 2009 please?
1. BLOOD RED SHOES
King's College ULU, London, April 9th 2008
Now what was that I was saying about hallmark years? 2008 has been one heck of a crazy one for Brighton's Blood Red Shoes. They finally released their much-delayed debut album 'Box of Secrets' and lo, it was super fantastisch, their singles have been all over every media outlet worth its salt and, as in years past, they've gigged like an absolute bastard, playing just about every two bit shithole that'd have them. Oh, and they headlined T in the Park too (keep the fact that it was the Relentless tent under your hat, would ya?) But it was this rather more small scale show that was their defining moment: taking place a meagre week prior to the album's release, in the upstairs room of King's College's student union (we had to get into a lift to get to it), where there's zero air conditioning, no barrier between floor and stage and 'security' is a foreign concept, this was a night to remember. Steven and Laura were on top form: he bashing the life out of his kit and nearly keeling over from exhaustion, she stalking the stage like a banshee, shreiking her lines and being effortlessly, hands down, the coolest woman in the world. And then there was the crowd: galvanised by the no holds barred environment, they redefined the word 'energetic', moshing like there's no tomorrow and ending it all with an impromptu stage invasion, in which one lucky punter got to bash a cowbell to death and the rest either went insane through excessive dancing or stage-dove into oblivion. And then Steven demolished his drumkit. We walked away, overcome by the head-battering brilliance of it all, stunned at what we'd just been a part of. In fifty loud, angry, violent minutes, Blood Red Shoes did what the likes of the Smashing Pumpkins couldn't do in two and a half hours: they bridged the gap between band and audience, delivered a blistering set and, most importantly of all, they made us feel alive. And that's why this small scale, barely noticed performance is the gig of the year. Now take all your arena tickets, tear them to shreds and get on down to your local waterhole. You never know, BRS might just be blowing the roof off the place.
10. JIMMY EAT WORLD
Manchester Academy 1, February 20th 2008
Equal parts thrillingly acidic and eye-wateringly beautiful, Jimmy Eat World's eighteen song Manchester set captured the essence of the Arizona four piece perfectly. From a rabble-rousing rendition of opener 'Big Casino' through to the arms-around-mates loveathon of 'The Middle', by way of an orgasmic 'Get It Faster', fanboy-pleasing 'No Sensitivity' (not marred a single iota by the power cutting out towards the end) and spine-tingling '23', this was JEW at their very, very best. And we all got to take it home on CD at the end.
9. INTERPOL
Sheffield Academy, July 9th 2008
While the Manchester date the previous night saw the 'pol playing to a capacity crowd, there was something about the Sheffield gig that set it apart from its predecessor. Perhaps it was the fact that Paul Banks' mom and dad were in the wings; maybe it was because it was the last date of the tour proper before the inevitably shorter festival performances; or it could just be, you know, that Carlos could actually be arsed. Whatever, the Sheffield Academy show was an absolute belter from start to finish. Daniel's guitar parts soared over us all, Banks' vocals gave us chills and those on-screen visuals were just about the best we've seen all year. Plus, they closed with 'Obstacle 2' - need I say more? Actually, yes, the drummer handed me his tie. *hearts*
8. ALKALINE TRIO
KOKO, London, August 20th 2008
The date: Wednesday August 20th, three days before the legendary Reading and Leeds festivals. The venue: KOKO, a converted theatre in the centre of Camden Town. The event: well, it's only Alkamaline Trio's first show of their own* in the UK in two and a half years. A sold out crowd greets the three piece with complete and utter devotion, showering them with applause, bellowing back every word to every major, minor and delightfully obscure track in the twenty song arsenal that the boys throw headlong at us, and it doesn't go unnoticed. Matt seems genuinely touched by the (surprising) warmth of this London MASSIVE; so much so that he tells us all that it's reaffirming in the wake of the loss of Jerry Finn. This is very much a fan crowd - a collective of disparate individuals united by their love of a heart with a skull in the middle - and we really wouldn't have it any other way.
* = they played the Give It A Name festival in May but that doesn't count...
7. LOS CAMPESINOS!
Northumbria University, Stage 2, February 16th 2008
And the award for most bizarrely chaotic crowd of the year goes to the bunch of mad bastards watching this lot back in February. Seriously, I still don't think I've quite recovered from the spectacle of seeing around 200 tweeXcore boys and girls slam dancing into one another at 600mph to the sound of guitars, drums and XYLOPHONES. Los Campesinos!' curious brand of boy-girl shout-sing punk-twee clearly has the power to turn the most placid of pacifists into wide-eyed, vein-bulging lunatics. By the end of the night, we were all a sweat-drenched, bruise-covered bloody mess, while Gareth and co had stage-dived about twenty times each, climbed the speaker stacks and bellowed the absolutely immense 'You! Me! Dancing!' to the heavens with such gusto that half of them had lost their voices. An unequivocal mess, then, but a THRILLING one.
6. CONOR OBERST AND THE MYSTIC VALLEY BAND
The Duchess, York, August 29th 2008
Despite not playing a single Bright Eyes track and thereby alienating approximately 90% of his audience, Conor Oberst pulled not one, not two, but about three thousand out of the bag at this intimate show in the heart of York in the week post-Reading and Leeds. Within about fifteen minutes, he'd won everyone over to the Mystic Valley Band's soulful country stylings and was thus given free reign to do just about whatever he damn well pleased. So all the tracks from the band's eponymous album were belted out, Conor's cracked, fragile voice sounding angelic in the sweat-drenched haze, and a few traditional covers were thrown into the mix too - including a heartbreaking reimagining of 'Everybody's Talkin'. It was the tender rendition of 'Milk Thistle' that was the highlight though, Conor taking centre stage for a solo performance so poignant that even the bar staff were crying into their cash registers. There's a reason the setlist for this is stuck up on the door into the backstage area of The Duchess TO THIS DAY. Legendary stuff.
5. EELS
The Sage, Gateshead, March 1st 2008
Prefaced by an hour long documentary on the life and times of the man behind the band (and the steely thick glasses/hillybilly beard), rather than, you know, an actual support act, this decidedly unusual event took the live performance playbook and tore each page out, one by one, right before your eyes. Between song banter? Scratch that, put 'read reviews from tabloid newspapers' in there instead. Have your band play the songs you've carefully crafted over the last ten years? Forget it - all we need is Mr. E and one other trusty sidekick. Play the hits in lieu of the release of a 'best of' record? You've got to be kidding - bring out the better album tracks and throw a couple of singles in there for prosperity, but reimagine them by way of a liberal use of all manner of weird and wonderful instruments. Oh, and play an Academy venue? Nah, let's stage it all in a concert hall where the punters have to sit and muse on the poignancy of the performance. Rather like theatre, one might say. A Saturday night to remember then, characterised by ingenuity, playfulness and the absolute and undeniable charm of one bearded man and his acoustic guitar.
4. THE GASLIGHT ANTHEM
Manchester Academy 3, December 4th 2008
No frills, gimmicks, emo side partings, skinny jeans, cheap pops or intro music... just straightforward punk and roll right out of the gate. THAT's The Gaslight Anthem's manifesto. These New Jersey troubadors have no time for dicking around: they've got a twenty two song rollercoaster ride through the highs and lows of gin-soaked melancholy to dazzle us all with. Which they did. Admirably. This was one mighty fine demonstration of the band's unquestionable genius, proof positive that the hype that surrounds the bunch going into 2009 is more than well deserved. Whether inserting other people's lyrics into his own ('What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?', 'Geraldine'), axe-grinding alongside his insanely energetic fellow guitarist
or looking on with sheer joy as every soul in the building bellowed back every line to every song twice as loud, lead singer Brian Fallon was having a wail of a time, delighting in the chemistry that exists between band and audience (it's the kind that has crowdsurfers stage diving back into the pit, over and over again). The Cheshire cat grin on his face was symbolic of the atmosphere: bloody chuffing ecstatic. And we even got a stellar set from The King Blues before all this too. Christmas come early, for one and for all.
3. FRANK TURNER
The Cockpit, Leeds, October 21st 2008
Well, what about this for a love-in, eh? The first date of Mr. Turner's second UK tour of 2008, a veritable treasure trove of treats featuring the delectable Emily Barker and Chris TT on support, was nothing more than one collective, sold out, 700 person-strong toss off, in which a ragtag assortment of cardiganed indie boys, slam dancing hardXXXcore girls and suited and booted old school punks splattered their loads all over Frank, and his band's, faces OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND... well, you get the picture. And who wouldn't? With tunes as sublime as 'The Ballad of Me and My Friends', 'I Knew Prufrock...' and single of the year contender 'Long Live the Queen', you just can't help but be enveloped in the warmth that's emanating from both the stage and the pit. This has been a hallmark year for Frank. By way of jam-packed festival shows, Radio 1 play-listing and plain old fashioned word of mouth, he's reached this point - sold out tours setting him in the direction he belongs: megastardom. Here's to the future, then, but for now let's celebrate this for what it was: an absolutely fucking awesome show.
2. AGAINST ME!
The Corporation, Sheffield, April 16th 2008
Much like The Gaslight Anthem before, or rather, in the chronology of the gigging year, after them, Against Me!'s raison d'etre is the deliberate absence of gimmickry in their well-renowned live shows. There's no time for splitting the crowd down the middle, no need for invocations to collectively hand clap along, no... these precious seventy five minutes are to be spent powering through as much unrelenting punk rock as your poor eardrums can handle. And then a little more just for kicks. What sets this set apart from Gaslight's though, is the delicious fury with which lead singer Tom Gable imbues every song. Yes, that includes even the more countryfied numbers: just check out the rage in his voice, the throbbing of the veins in his arms, as he physically assaults the band's anthem-to-friendship 'Don't Lose Touch'. It's as if someone's
holding the band at gunpoint, threatening to off them unless they prove their worth and state their manifesto with absolutely everything they've got. And it works. 'Up The Cuts' launches us headfirst into the throng, taking no prisoners, then 'Piss and Vinegar' nearly mows everyone down with its wall of accusatory anger and abrasive guitars, then 'Unprotected Sex' gears up for another round, then 'New Wave', 'Thrash Unreal' and by the time we get to break-out radio hit 'Stop', the bodies are slowly piling up, one by physically exhausted one. It's one hell of a ride, and one you never want to end; but end it does, all too soon, in a mess of ear-shattering feedback and congealed band-sweat. Within less than sixty seconds, we're all demanding their immediate return to these hallowed shores, and, more probably than not, they're backstage delighting at another city well and truly slain. Can we have them back in 2009 please?
1. BLOOD RED SHOES
King's College ULU, London, April 9th 2008
Now what was that I was saying about hallmark years? 2008 has been one heck of a crazy one for Brighton's Blood Red Shoes. They finally released their much-delayed debut album 'Box of Secrets' and lo, it was super fantastisch, their singles have been all over every media outlet worth its salt and, as in years past, they've gigged like an absolute bastard, playing just about every two bit shithole that'd have them. Oh, and they headlined T in the Park too (keep the fact that it was the Relentless tent under your hat, would ya?) But it was this rather more small scale show that was their defining moment: taking place a meagre week prior to the album's release, in the upstairs room of King's College's student union (we had to get into a lift to get to it), where there's zero air conditioning, no barrier between floor and stage and 'security' is a foreign concept, this was a night to remember. Steven and Laura were on top form: he bashing the life out of his kit and nearly keeling over from exhaustion, she stalking the stage like a banshee, shreiking her lines and being effortlessly, hands down, the coolest woman in the world. And then there was the crowd: galvanised by the no holds barred environment, they redefined the word 'energetic', moshing like there's no tomorrow and ending it all with an impromptu stage invasion, in which one lucky punter got to bash a cowbell to death and the rest either went insane through excessive dancing or stage-dove into oblivion. And then Steven demolished his drumkit. We walked away, overcome by the head-battering brilliance of it all, stunned at what we'd just been a part of. In fifty loud, angry, violent minutes, Blood Red Shoes did what the likes of the Smashing Pumpkins couldn't do in two and a half hours: they bridged the gap between band and audience, delivered a blistering set and, most importantly of all, they made us feel alive. And that's why this small scale, barely noticed performance is the gig of the year. Now take all your arena tickets, tear them to shreds and get on down to your local waterhole. You never know, BRS might just be blowing the roof off the place.
This is a whole lot of money.
Peeps, the following is an exhaustive list of the bands I have seen live this year. It includes individual concerts, festival shows and support slots. Weep with me at the amount of cash I have given to these fuckers. And then relax in the realisation that yup, just about every bleeding one was more than worth it.
Against Me!
Alkaline Trio x4
Anti-Flag
Band of Horses
Be Your Own Pet
Ben Folds x2
Biffy Clyro x2
Bloc Party
Blood Red Shoes x4
Cherry Poppin' Daddies
Chris TT x4
Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band x2
The Cribs x2
Dartz!
Death Cab for Cutie
Does It Offend You, Yeah?
Dropkick Murphys x2
Editors x2
Eels
Emily Barker x4
Emmy the Great
Esser
Electric Eel Shock
Feeder
Finch
Flogging Molly x3
Foals x2
Frank Turner x6
The Futureheads
The Gaslight Anthem x2
Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly
The Get Go
Glasvegas x2
Gogol Bordello
Goldfinger
H20
Hayley Hutchinson
HiFi Handgrenades
The JB Conspiracy
Ida Maria
In Case of Fire
Interpol x3
Jimmy Eat World x3
Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong
July Rising x3
Kid Carpet
Kill Casino
The King Blues x2
The Last Shadow Puppets
Lightspeed Champion x2
Los Campesinos! x3
The Lurkers
Mad Caddies
Manic Street Preachers
Mike TV (a.k.a. Pickled Dick)
MxPx
The National
1984
Operahouse
Panic at the Disco
Paramore
Pendulum
Pepper
Plain White T's
The Presidents of the United States of America
Punchline
Queens of the Stone Age
R.E.M.
Rage Against the Machine
Random Hand x2
Rancid
Rolo Tomassi
Skindred
The Smashing Pumpkins
Sons and Daughters
Sparkadia x2
The Steal
Stereophonics
Street Dogs
The Subways x3
Sum 41
TDA
These New Puritans
30 Seconds To Mars
The Ting Tings
Travis
Vampire Weekend x2
We Are Scientists x3
White Lies
The Wombats
The Xcerts
Phew!
Against Me!
Alkaline Trio x4
Anti-Flag
Band of Horses
Be Your Own Pet
Ben Folds x2
Biffy Clyro x2
Bloc Party
Blood Red Shoes x4
Cherry Poppin' Daddies
Chris TT x4
Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band x2
The Cribs x2
Dartz!
Death Cab for Cutie
Does It Offend You, Yeah?
Dropkick Murphys x2
Editors x2
Eels
Emily Barker x4
Emmy the Great
Esser
Electric Eel Shock
Feeder
Finch
Flogging Molly x3
Foals x2
Frank Turner x6
The Futureheads
The Gaslight Anthem x2
Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly
The Get Go
Glasvegas x2
Gogol Bordello
Goldfinger
H20
Hayley Hutchinson
HiFi Handgrenades
The JB Conspiracy
Ida Maria
In Case of Fire
Interpol x3
Jimmy Eat World x3
Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong
July Rising x3
Kid Carpet
Kill Casino
The King Blues x2
The Last Shadow Puppets
Lightspeed Champion x2
Los Campesinos! x3
The Lurkers
Mad Caddies
Manic Street Preachers
Mike TV (a.k.a. Pickled Dick)
MxPx
The National
1984
Operahouse
Panic at the Disco
Paramore
Pendulum
Pepper
Plain White T's
The Presidents of the United States of America
Punchline
Queens of the Stone Age
R.E.M.
Rage Against the Machine
Random Hand x2
Rancid
Rolo Tomassi
Skindred
The Smashing Pumpkins
Sons and Daughters
Sparkadia x2
The Steal
Stereophonics
Street Dogs
The Subways x3
Sum 41
TDA
These New Puritans
30 Seconds To Mars
The Ting Tings
Travis
Vampire Weekend x2
We Are Scientists x3
White Lies
The Wombats
The Xcerts
Phew!
Screenaged Noise: Chris TT: 'We Are The King of England'
Taken from the unquestionably brilliant Capital, which really deserves a place in everyone's 'top albums of 2008' lists, 'We Are The King of England' is Chris TT at his most accusatory best. Oh, and see if you can spot another personal favourite in the video...
Ah, vanity.
Well blog, it's been a while. I do apologise. Life got in the way. Again. Just in case you want to know, I did go to the Alice in Wonderland house party, I wasn't in costume, things did go well as the person I wanted to be there was, but sadly, things have since not worked out... but ho hum, back to the drawing board, plenty other fish in the sea and all that.
Anyway, to make up for my appalling lack of updates, I'm gonna go post crazy over Christmas, I promise. And we start here with Mitch Hewer, a.k.a. Maxxie from the marvellous Skins. The show returns in the new year with a completely revamped cast, which is nice, but for now, let's savour this incredibly hot young man's naked body, shall we? Even if he is a bit of an arse, as indicated by the quote attached to the picture. But still, HOT YOUNG FLESH PHWOOOOOOOARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway, to make up for my appalling lack of updates, I'm gonna go post crazy over Christmas, I promise. And we start here with Mitch Hewer, a.k.a. Maxxie from the marvellous Skins. The show returns in the new year with a completely revamped cast, which is nice, but for now, let's savour this incredibly hot young man's naked body, shall we? Even if he is a bit of an arse, as indicated by the quote attached to the picture. But still, HOT YOUNG FLESH PHWOOOOOOOARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, 6 November 2008
Conundrum.
To attend the Alice in Wonderland themed house party on Saturday or not? I'm experiencing major costume fail, especially given the way work seems to sap up my schedule. I have toyed with the idea of attending for a couple of hours, out of costume, and then going to the Bunker... and I'd resolved to do that until I found out an important piece of information that might make me err on the side of staying at the party all night.
Teasingly, I am going to leave that nugget to your imaginations. But you can probably guess what it is. So everyone... what do you think?
1. Desperately try to clobber something together in terms of a costume and attend (despite not being at the Bunker a couple of weeks ago too? Shocking, I know!)
2. Attend out of costume and go to the Bunker?
3. Stay away altogether and just Bunker it?
Thoughts please.
Teasingly, I am going to leave that nugget to your imaginations. But you can probably guess what it is. So everyone... what do you think?
1. Desperately try to clobber something together in terms of a costume and attend (despite not being at the Bunker a couple of weeks ago too? Shocking, I know!)
2. Attend out of costume and go to the Bunker?
3. Stay away altogether and just Bunker it?
Thoughts please.
Tuesday, 4 November 2008
Sometimes, the good guys win.
What a relief.
Some excellent news to wake up to. All that crossing clearly made a difference...
I'm a little bit stunned really. Delighted, but stunned. It happened. They did it.
Prepare for four years of scowling faces on FOX News.
Some excellent news to wake up to. All that crossing clearly made a difference...
I'm a little bit stunned really. Delighted, but stunned. It happened. They did it.
Prepare for four years of scowling faces on FOX News.
Prayers before bedtime.
Well, it's a bit of a historic day.
Come tomorrow morning, when I open my eyes and curse that wretched alarm clock of mine for waking me out of my peaceful slumber again, America will have elected a new President.
Let's just hope it's the right one. I'm crossing my everything as I climb under the covers.
Don't let me down guys.
Come tomorrow morning, when I open my eyes and curse that wretched alarm clock of mine for waking me out of my peaceful slumber again, America will have elected a new President.
Let's just hope it's the right one. I'm crossing my everything as I climb under the covers.
Don't let me down guys.
In my mailbox, this afternoon.
Hello everyone
We thought you would like to know that we have been making music. We have been in the studio with Mr Steve Albini recording live – to tape – analogue – no digital hiss – no Pro Tools – no safety nets. Quite scary, daunting but invigorating.
All the songs we are recording are lyrics left to us by Richey. Finally it feels like the right time to use them (especially after the last 18 months being so amazing with Send Away The Tigers). Musically, in many ways it feels like a follow up to the Holy Bible but there is also an acoustic side – tender, romantic, nihilism, “Small Black Flowers That Grow In The Sky” esque. It’s a record that celebrates the genius of his words, full of love, anger, intelligence and respect. We have to make this great. Wish us luck.
We hope to release the record next April or May. The working titles are “Journal for Plague Lovers” or “I Know I Believe In Nothing But It Is My Nothing”.
Love
Nicky, James and Sean.
There is a distinct temptation to be unkindly pessimistic about this endeavour. I caught myself thinking, 'Oh God guys, what have you let yourselves in for'? Can they do Richey's words justice? Are Richey's words even that good (much was made of the 'rambling' nature of some of his work post-The Holy Bible and pre-his disappearance)? And what about the notion of that second album title suggestion? (Awesome lyric, bad name for an LP). But you know what, I'm not going to be the spoilsport here. I'm going to take this for what it is, or rather, what it could be: something potentially fantastic from a band (probably) in its final days. They seem committed to doing a damn fine job and I honestly don't believe that (a) they'd give it a go if they didn't think they were up to it and (b) if Richey's words weren't up to scratch, that we'd even be here, having this discussion. So I'm looking forward to seeing what my favourite band of all time ever can come out with. Here's to 2009.
We thought you would like to know that we have been making music. We have been in the studio with Mr Steve Albini recording live – to tape – analogue – no digital hiss – no Pro Tools – no safety nets. Quite scary, daunting but invigorating.
All the songs we are recording are lyrics left to us by Richey. Finally it feels like the right time to use them (especially after the last 18 months being so amazing with Send Away The Tigers). Musically, in many ways it feels like a follow up to the Holy Bible but there is also an acoustic side – tender, romantic, nihilism, “Small Black Flowers That Grow In The Sky” esque. It’s a record that celebrates the genius of his words, full of love, anger, intelligence and respect. We have to make this great. Wish us luck.
We hope to release the record next April or May. The working titles are “Journal for Plague Lovers” or “I Know I Believe In Nothing But It Is My Nothing”.
Love
Nicky, James and Sean.
There is a distinct temptation to be unkindly pessimistic about this endeavour. I caught myself thinking, 'Oh God guys, what have you let yourselves in for'? Can they do Richey's words justice? Are Richey's words even that good (much was made of the 'rambling' nature of some of his work post-The Holy Bible and pre-his disappearance)? And what about the notion of that second album title suggestion? (Awesome lyric, bad name for an LP). But you know what, I'm not going to be the spoilsport here. I'm going to take this for what it is, or rather, what it could be: something potentially fantastic from a band (probably) in its final days. They seem committed to doing a damn fine job and I honestly don't believe that (a) they'd give it a go if they didn't think they were up to it and (b) if Richey's words weren't up to scratch, that we'd even be here, having this discussion. So I'm looking forward to seeing what my favourite band of all time ever can come out with. Here's to 2009.
Monday, 3 November 2008
In which, I plea for sanity.
Sometimes, I despair.
I honestly cannot believe that in this supposedly enlightened day and age, 44,998 people still chose to listen to the ass-backwards, self-professed 'moralising' and dangerous reactionary conservativism of a worthless rag like The Daily Mail. 44,998. Read that number and weep, people. Nearly forty five thousand of middle England's finest purveyors of 'good taste' and 'decency' chose to pick up their phones, dial the BBC and register their disgust at the decision to air Ross and Brand's skit about Andrew Sachs. "Filth!", claimed 'Outraged' of Tunbridge Wells. "In appallingly bad taste!", roared 'Aghast' of Kingston-Upon-Thames. "Kill these feminist homosexual swan-eating Polish Muslim immigrants!", bayed 'R. Littlejohn' of... oh, wait.
And all this days after the sketch was actually broadcast. Yes, that's right ladies and gentlemen, two whole individuals registered their complaints with the BBC initially. Then, when The Daily Mail's ultra-right-wing, ultra-pro-censorship media correspondent happened to tune in and found it at odds with his own personal proclivities (Songs of Praise, tragically, it was not), he made the Alps out of a molehill, splashed the story over the front page of the Sunday edition of his newspaper (not that there were any more important issues to be rabbiting on about that day or anything) and created the biggest moral panic to hit Blighty since Marilyn Manson first dipped his toes in the English Channel about ten years ago. So now, just about everyone in the Home Counties has joined the gang and had a bit of a go... and they're still complaining. Yes, that's right, the number continues to grow as the days go on, and with every additional complaint, The Daily Mail's editorial staff get a step closer to realising that yes, actually, they do control the country.
And yet, it seems, not that many of the morally outraged have actually had a listen to the actual broadcast. Here, by the glorious power of Youtube, is the skit in all its glory:
Now then. I don't know about you but... I honestly cannot see the scope of the problem. It's hardly Enoch Powell's 'Rivers of Blood' or, my personal favourite, The Daily Mail's own "Hurrah for the Blackshirts!" But we do have to concede Andrew Sachs, and his daughter's, feelings amongst all of this. Except, their feelings do seem to fluctuate a bit. Read one report and you think the BBC aired the show despite their protests that they didn't want it broadcast. Naughty BBC then, you may think... everyone should have the right to refuse the presentation of materials about themselves, or those related to them, that they object to. Although you wouldn't think that from reading The Daily Mail, or any of the gutterpress for that matter, day in, day out, as fresh sex scandals drip from their grubby pages; as over-paid 'mistresses' kiss and tell about their one night stands with married, rich celebrities. But that's another story altogether. Read the next report and you find that Sachs only objected after the broadcast; that he initially gave it his approval. Naughty Sachs then, you may think, for smelling the potential exposure and ££££ in kicking up a stink and getting both his and his daughter's name in more column inches in a week than they have managed in about two decades. (What's the betting one of the two, if not both, will appear on either Celebrity Big Brother or I'm A Celebrity... Get Me Out Of Here! in the not too distant future?!) And if you read report number three, you'll think Sachs 'wasn't happy' about the material, but gave it the go ahead anyway... and then did a 360 degree turn after broadcast. And probably after he smelled the £££££££. Hmm....
To call the sketch 'morally reprehensible' is just plain idiotic. Perhaps Ross and Brand overstepped the mark by alluding to a personal relationship between Russell and Sachs' daughter that needn't have been exposed to the public if either of the parties objected. But then, all he says is that Brand slept with her. They then go on to state that he used a condom. Heaven forfend! Oh my God, the blasphemy! What filth, what degrading, disgusting, guttural immorality! Get this refuse off our airwaves! Or... not. You would think that a member of a burlesque troupe calling themselves the 'Satanic Sluts' might be used to the concept of consensual sexual intercourse. And that the listeners of a late night radio show might be used to the concept of consensual sexual intercourse. And, particularly, the kind of listeners that tend to tune in to Brand and Ross' show. All this is lost on The Daily Mail and its middle England readership, however; all they see is a penis and a vagina, all they hear is the suggestion of - shock! - homosexuality and, whoops, they're barfing into their begonias. Some go on to object to the rest of the sketch, in which the comedians suggest ways they can apologise to Sachs, one of which is to creep up on him in his bedroom and give him a cuddle... which, obviously, leads to more sexual innuendo. Sure, you might think it's purile but, get this guys and girls, try this concept on for size... it is not to be taken seriously. Woah, never thought of that one, ey? The concept of this part of the skit is 'how can we make it better?'; the comedy lies in the suggestions ultimately only making it worse... thereby defeating the point and making Brand and Ross appear, by association, a bit dumb. To take the suggestions at face value is just plain ludicrous. But then, what do you expect from 44,998 people who only complain after a newspaper has told them to?
This is not the most troubling aspect of the, I can barely bring myself to type it, 'scandal', however. Putting aside for one moment the disgraceful fact that Gordon Brown has actually addressed this issue, and that it has been brought up in the Houses of Parliament of all places, when, you know, our economy is falling down around us and that, let's just have a look at what The Daily Mail is doing now. A day after Brand resigned and the poor Radio 2 head followed suit (neither of these should ever have happened), the paper ran this article,
Outrage at Mock the Week repeat!
in which the airing of an old episode of topical, satirical panel show Mock the Week was objected to because of its inclusion of a two minute piece in which jokes are made about the Queen. 'Morally reprehensible' jokes, obviously... which, in The Mail's eyes, is just about anything that pokes any semblance of fun. Once again, the point is missed entirely: the sketch asks the performers to come up with lines that you wouldn't hear the Queen make in her Christmas speech and therefore, the humour is open to interpretation. It is not necessarily that the suggestions are truths that would never be voiced... if so, I'm sorry, but I'd have a hard time believing that the Queen knew the words to 'Boombastic' by Shaggy. And yes, the comedians can be ruthless. But that's Mock the Week for you. No one and nothing is safe... and that's the point. Take a joke. That's all it is. The Daily Mail, however, once again, sees the world in black and white rather than its actual shades of fabulous technicolor.
And it's just getting worse and worse. Try this article, from Friday's edition, on for size:
"We apologise to any readers who may be offended."
I nearly choked on my Wotsits when I read over these examples of, to quote the paper, 'smutty and degrading obsencities'. Offended? Really? By any of that? You'd think we were living in the 1950s, were in nuclear families and that women had 'their place' in the kitchen, perpetually cooking the husband's dinner. 'A sympathy shag'? I find the whole concept of Sarah Palin about 10,000 times more offensive. But dear, dear, delicately-sensibilitied Mail reader, here's a thought... if you don't like this stuff, change the channel. I'm personally offended every time that trumped up, self-aggrandising bigot Jeremy Clarkson is given any airtime whatsoever on British television but instead of picking up the phone and whining because "I don't like it!", I reach for the remote and find The Graham Norton Show instead. And again, as with Brand/Ross and Mock the Week, the point is so achingly, depressingly missed in virtually all of the examples listed. The comedy lies in the ridiculousness of the scenarios: in marrying one extremity with another. They're not... oh why do I even bother? We're never going to get through to these people. I mean, just look at this article from today:
Now HMV's in deep trouble...
Granted, this is a step away from the world of television, but it's the same root cause of the same ludicrous moral panic. Because yes, banning these badges will reduce knife crime in Britain. Obviously. And The Dark Knight? Well, it's a shocking glorification of knives and should be given an 18 certificate! In fact, just ban this sick filth now! Head, here's two hands... meet your new best friends.
Of course, it is tempting to glance a sensible, sane eye over these articles and brush them off as the ridiculously ill-informed, psuedo-moralistic knee-jerk garbage that they are... but that ignores the underlying, really rather worrying issue, which is that, if 44,998 people can be buoyed into action by a single article in The Mail, and those numbers can then effectively bring the BBC to its knees and force them to make radical changes, however unnecessary or objectionable, what else can middle England's favourite 'journalists' achieve? What other programmes (or other forms of media output) whose political, moral or social stance they object to, can they force to 'change'? The articles above indicate that they're already trying it: what is the Mock the Week article but a blindly Royalist viewpoint taken to its most ridiculous extremity? ("We cannot mock our Monarch!" "But it's in the title of the show!" "Then she is off limits to you, heathens!") Is there any way of explaining the objections listed in Friday's article other than that they contradict an almost evangelical Christian ideology? The politics here aren't the Mail's... so they must be silenced. It's absolutely, unequivocally abhorrent... and it's damn worrying. Especially if another 45,000 people actually buy into any more of this crap.
Please, people. Don't be daft bastards. Put down this poor excuse for toilet paper, pick up the remote and change the damn channel if you need to. Just don't be responsible for landing us in a Mary Whitehouse-led media climate where 'knock knock' jokes are about the only acceptable form of humour and Little House on the Prairie fills up our daily schedules.
Don't listen to The Daily Mail. Thank you.
Addendum
Just found this
Well well well, Daily Mail. You bleat about the insensitivity of joking about murdering prostitutes now, but it wasn't that a year or so ago when you published this Littlejohn column, now was it?:
"That doesn't make it justifiable homicide, but in the scheme of things the deaths of these five women is no great loss."
I still can't get over that one. But did 44,998 people complain about this delightfully insensitive, utterly inappropriate load of garbage? Did they hell.
Oh, and it's worthwhile noting that this article about Top Gear was the lead story on the website... just above something about genetically modified mice and, oh yes, a couple of little bits about that economic crisis and, oh yeah, that little election thing that's going on in some country somewhere... these guys man, they've really got their priorities straight.
I honestly cannot believe that in this supposedly enlightened day and age, 44,998 people still chose to listen to the ass-backwards, self-professed 'moralising' and dangerous reactionary conservativism of a worthless rag like The Daily Mail. 44,998. Read that number and weep, people. Nearly forty five thousand of middle England's finest purveyors of 'good taste' and 'decency' chose to pick up their phones, dial the BBC and register their disgust at the decision to air Ross and Brand's skit about Andrew Sachs. "Filth!", claimed 'Outraged' of Tunbridge Wells. "In appallingly bad taste!", roared 'Aghast' of Kingston-Upon-Thames. "Kill these feminist homosexual swan-eating Polish Muslim immigrants!", bayed 'R. Littlejohn' of... oh, wait.
And all this days after the sketch was actually broadcast. Yes, that's right ladies and gentlemen, two whole individuals registered their complaints with the BBC initially. Then, when The Daily Mail's ultra-right-wing, ultra-pro-censorship media correspondent happened to tune in and found it at odds with his own personal proclivities (Songs of Praise, tragically, it was not), he made the Alps out of a molehill, splashed the story over the front page of the Sunday edition of his newspaper (not that there were any more important issues to be rabbiting on about that day or anything) and created the biggest moral panic to hit Blighty since Marilyn Manson first dipped his toes in the English Channel about ten years ago. So now, just about everyone in the Home Counties has joined the gang and had a bit of a go... and they're still complaining. Yes, that's right, the number continues to grow as the days go on, and with every additional complaint, The Daily Mail's editorial staff get a step closer to realising that yes, actually, they do control the country.
And yet, it seems, not that many of the morally outraged have actually had a listen to the actual broadcast. Here, by the glorious power of Youtube, is the skit in all its glory:
Now then. I don't know about you but... I honestly cannot see the scope of the problem. It's hardly Enoch Powell's 'Rivers of Blood' or, my personal favourite, The Daily Mail's own "Hurrah for the Blackshirts!" But we do have to concede Andrew Sachs, and his daughter's, feelings amongst all of this. Except, their feelings do seem to fluctuate a bit. Read one report and you think the BBC aired the show despite their protests that they didn't want it broadcast. Naughty BBC then, you may think... everyone should have the right to refuse the presentation of materials about themselves, or those related to them, that they object to. Although you wouldn't think that from reading The Daily Mail, or any of the gutterpress for that matter, day in, day out, as fresh sex scandals drip from their grubby pages; as over-paid 'mistresses' kiss and tell about their one night stands with married, rich celebrities. But that's another story altogether. Read the next report and you find that Sachs only objected after the broadcast; that he initially gave it his approval. Naughty Sachs then, you may think, for smelling the potential exposure and ££££ in kicking up a stink and getting both his and his daughter's name in more column inches in a week than they have managed in about two decades. (What's the betting one of the two, if not both, will appear on either Celebrity Big Brother or I'm A Celebrity... Get Me Out Of Here! in the not too distant future?!) And if you read report number three, you'll think Sachs 'wasn't happy' about the material, but gave it the go ahead anyway... and then did a 360 degree turn after broadcast. And probably after he smelled the £££££££. Hmm....
To call the sketch 'morally reprehensible' is just plain idiotic. Perhaps Ross and Brand overstepped the mark by alluding to a personal relationship between Russell and Sachs' daughter that needn't have been exposed to the public if either of the parties objected. But then, all he says is that Brand slept with her. They then go on to state that he used a condom. Heaven forfend! Oh my God, the blasphemy! What filth, what degrading, disgusting, guttural immorality! Get this refuse off our airwaves! Or... not. You would think that a member of a burlesque troupe calling themselves the 'Satanic Sluts' might be used to the concept of consensual sexual intercourse. And that the listeners of a late night radio show might be used to the concept of consensual sexual intercourse. And, particularly, the kind of listeners that tend to tune in to Brand and Ross' show. All this is lost on The Daily Mail and its middle England readership, however; all they see is a penis and a vagina, all they hear is the suggestion of - shock! - homosexuality and, whoops, they're barfing into their begonias. Some go on to object to the rest of the sketch, in which the comedians suggest ways they can apologise to Sachs, one of which is to creep up on him in his bedroom and give him a cuddle... which, obviously, leads to more sexual innuendo. Sure, you might think it's purile but, get this guys and girls, try this concept on for size... it is not to be taken seriously. Woah, never thought of that one, ey? The concept of this part of the skit is 'how can we make it better?'; the comedy lies in the suggestions ultimately only making it worse... thereby defeating the point and making Brand and Ross appear, by association, a bit dumb. To take the suggestions at face value is just plain ludicrous. But then, what do you expect from 44,998 people who only complain after a newspaper has told them to?
This is not the most troubling aspect of the, I can barely bring myself to type it, 'scandal', however. Putting aside for one moment the disgraceful fact that Gordon Brown has actually addressed this issue, and that it has been brought up in the Houses of Parliament of all places, when, you know, our economy is falling down around us and that, let's just have a look at what The Daily Mail is doing now. A day after Brand resigned and the poor Radio 2 head followed suit (neither of these should ever have happened), the paper ran this article,
Outrage at Mock the Week repeat!
in which the airing of an old episode of topical, satirical panel show Mock the Week was objected to because of its inclusion of a two minute piece in which jokes are made about the Queen. 'Morally reprehensible' jokes, obviously... which, in The Mail's eyes, is just about anything that pokes any semblance of fun. Once again, the point is missed entirely: the sketch asks the performers to come up with lines that you wouldn't hear the Queen make in her Christmas speech and therefore, the humour is open to interpretation. It is not necessarily that the suggestions are truths that would never be voiced... if so, I'm sorry, but I'd have a hard time believing that the Queen knew the words to 'Boombastic' by Shaggy. And yes, the comedians can be ruthless. But that's Mock the Week for you. No one and nothing is safe... and that's the point. Take a joke. That's all it is. The Daily Mail, however, once again, sees the world in black and white rather than its actual shades of fabulous technicolor.
And it's just getting worse and worse. Try this article, from Friday's edition, on for size:
"We apologise to any readers who may be offended."
I nearly choked on my Wotsits when I read over these examples of, to quote the paper, 'smutty and degrading obsencities'. Offended? Really? By any of that? You'd think we were living in the 1950s, were in nuclear families and that women had 'their place' in the kitchen, perpetually cooking the husband's dinner. 'A sympathy shag'? I find the whole concept of Sarah Palin about 10,000 times more offensive. But dear, dear, delicately-sensibilitied Mail reader, here's a thought... if you don't like this stuff, change the channel. I'm personally offended every time that trumped up, self-aggrandising bigot Jeremy Clarkson is given any airtime whatsoever on British television but instead of picking up the phone and whining because "I don't like it!", I reach for the remote and find The Graham Norton Show instead. And again, as with Brand/Ross and Mock the Week, the point is so achingly, depressingly missed in virtually all of the examples listed. The comedy lies in the ridiculousness of the scenarios: in marrying one extremity with another. They're not... oh why do I even bother? We're never going to get through to these people. I mean, just look at this article from today:
Now HMV's in deep trouble...
Granted, this is a step away from the world of television, but it's the same root cause of the same ludicrous moral panic. Because yes, banning these badges will reduce knife crime in Britain. Obviously. And The Dark Knight? Well, it's a shocking glorification of knives and should be given an 18 certificate! In fact, just ban this sick filth now! Head, here's two hands... meet your new best friends.
Of course, it is tempting to glance a sensible, sane eye over these articles and brush them off as the ridiculously ill-informed, psuedo-moralistic knee-jerk garbage that they are... but that ignores the underlying, really rather worrying issue, which is that, if 44,998 people can be buoyed into action by a single article in The Mail, and those numbers can then effectively bring the BBC to its knees and force them to make radical changes, however unnecessary or objectionable, what else can middle England's favourite 'journalists' achieve? What other programmes (or other forms of media output) whose political, moral or social stance they object to, can they force to 'change'? The articles above indicate that they're already trying it: what is the Mock the Week article but a blindly Royalist viewpoint taken to its most ridiculous extremity? ("We cannot mock our Monarch!" "But it's in the title of the show!" "Then she is off limits to you, heathens!") Is there any way of explaining the objections listed in Friday's article other than that they contradict an almost evangelical Christian ideology? The politics here aren't the Mail's... so they must be silenced. It's absolutely, unequivocally abhorrent... and it's damn worrying. Especially if another 45,000 people actually buy into any more of this crap.
Please, people. Don't be daft bastards. Put down this poor excuse for toilet paper, pick up the remote and change the damn channel if you need to. Just don't be responsible for landing us in a Mary Whitehouse-led media climate where 'knock knock' jokes are about the only acceptable form of humour and Little House on the Prairie fills up our daily schedules.
Don't listen to The Daily Mail. Thank you.
Addendum
Just found this
Well well well, Daily Mail. You bleat about the insensitivity of joking about murdering prostitutes now, but it wasn't that a year or so ago when you published this Littlejohn column, now was it?:
"That doesn't make it justifiable homicide, but in the scheme of things the deaths of these five women is no great loss."
I still can't get over that one. But did 44,998 people complain about this delightfully insensitive, utterly inappropriate load of garbage? Did they hell.
Oh, and it's worthwhile noting that this article about Top Gear was the lead story on the website... just above something about genetically modified mice and, oh yes, a couple of little bits about that economic crisis and, oh yeah, that little election thing that's going on in some country somewhere... these guys man, they've really got their priorities straight.
Screenaged Noise: Everclear - 'Wonderful'
I was woken from a Manics-orientated slumber some time in late 1997 by the sound of a curious Beach Boys-cum-Green Day rock song emanating from a cobwebbed car stereo. Said vehicle belonged to my achingly cool uncle, who was already responsible for my introduction to the world of both Nirvana and - for my sins - the Crash Test Dummies. Said rock song was 'So Much For The Afterglow', the lead track from American four piece Everclear's (probably) greatest album. After having been loaned this LP and had it set constantly to 'repeat' on my Super Deluxe Hi-Fi System for about six months, the Manics released 'This Is My Truth' and I promptly forgot all about Art Alexsias and co. Until this lovely ditty came along. As the first single from a set of two concept albums released by the band in 2000-01, 'Wonderful' acted as both the perfect re-introduction to the band and a startling, but glorious, change of direction. Far poppier than much of their previous material, but no less poignant or catchy, the song instantly burrowed its way into my skull and made one heck of an impression. Its genius lies in both its simplicity and its sincerity... qualities to be found in spades on both of the 'Songs From An American Movie' records (though personally, I am slightly more partial to part one, 'Learning How To Smile' than I am part two, 'Good Time For A Bad Attitude'). So... a fine, fine introduction to a God-damn-it-much-more-than-fine band. Spend all your money on their records, you scamps.
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