I love METRO

In response to annual calls to ban the word
"Christmas":

I would just like to know who these faceless do-gooders against Christmas are. In fact, I think they need deporting for all the damage they do with their warped views. I think they must have forgotten which country they live in.
Sue Blackburn, Surrey

Lest we forget the Metro is a subsidiary of the Evening Standard which is a younger cousin of the Daily Mail, though no less authoritarian in nature. If only this woman were in charge of immigration policy eh?

wOLF eYES

Bel Canto IV: Track Listings

Star Wars Theme
Beatles - Magical Mystery Tour
Spanky Wilson - Sunshine of Your Love
New Order - Fine Time
CSS - Let's Make Love and Listen to Death From Above
Fun Boy 3 + Bananarama - It Ain't What You Do
Jenny Lewis - Handle With Care
David Bowie - Fashion
The Ramones - Merry Christmas (I Don't Want to Fight Tonight)
The Beach Boys - All I Wanna Do
Badly Drawn Boy - Road Movie
The Band - Rag Mama
Gram Parsons - The Streets of Baltimore
Tony Bennett - Rags To Riches
Staple Singers - I'll Take You There
Velvet Underground - What Goes On
T-Rex - Telegram
Prince - Sign Of The Times
Stevie Wonder - Pastime Paradise
Buck 65 - Kennedy Killed The Heat (MSTRKRFT Remix)
The Waitresses - Christmas Wrappin
Paul Simon - 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover
My Morning Jacket - Just Because I Do
Echo and The Bunnymen - The Cutter
Chemical Brothers - Setting Sun
Soup Dragons - I'm Free
The Rolling Stones - Miss You
Isaac Hayes - Shaft Theme
Woody Bully - Sam The Sham and The Pharoahs
Johnny Cash - Cocaine Blues (Live at Folsom Prison)
Kenny Loggins - Playing With The Boys
The Libertines - What Katie Did
- I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas
Booker T and The MGs - Green Onions
?
Manassas
Led Zeppelin
Star Wars Interlude
Manfred Mann - 5-4-3-2-1
Beach Boys - Good Vibrations
The Faces - Stay With Me
The Ronettes - Frosty The Snowman
Wolfmother - Woman (Erol Alkan Mix)
Ima Robot - The Beat Goes On
Fisherspooner - Just Let Go
LoFiFnk - Springsteen (The Hustler ReLick)
Deerhoof - +81
Super Furry Animals - Ice Hockey Hair
T-Rex - Get It On
Talking Heads - Road To Nowhere
Marlene Shaw - Woman of the Ghetto
Chic - Chic Cheer
Jefferson Airplane - 3/5 of a Mile in 3 Seconds
Johnny Cash - Folsom Prison Blues (Live)
Gloria Jones - Tainted Love
Sam Cooke - What A Wonderful World
Stevie Wonder - I Believe (When I Fall In Love With You It Will Be Forever
Elton John - Tiny Dancer
Nina Simone - Sinnerman
?
?
Neil Young
Fairport Convention
Housemartins - Happy Hour
Nancy Sinatra - These Boots Are Made For Walking
Jimmy Cliff - You Can Get It If You Really Want
The Verve vs Jack the Knife - Bittersweet Arsenal
Aerosmith - Sweet Emotion
Kelly Clarkson - Since You've Been Gone
Metric - Monster Hospital
Grandaddy - Miner at the Dial-a-View
Smokey Robinson and The Miracles - Second that Emotion
Pulp - Inside Susan
Rolling Stones - She's A Rainbow
Primal Scream - Call on Me
Joy Division - Transmission
The Jam - Shout
The Beatles - Taxman
Candi Staton + Source - You Got The Love
Jeff Buckley - Last Goodbye

A friendly word of advice for anyone taking photgraphs at a gig

TURN THE FUCKING FLASH OFF!!!!!

toothpastefordinner.com

New Cunts; Same As The Old Cunts?

So the Democrats won on Tuesday did they? Did they really? No, of course they didn't.

he American people came to their senses and gave the Republican party the stuffing of a generation. Tired of hypocrisy and troops dieing and George W, this was, as so many have said, a referendum on the government. Unable to kick monkey boy out they did the next best thing and told his minions in Congress and the Senate to go f themselves.

But the Dems, besides choosing a few vaguely electable conservative candidates, didn't actually do anything. 'DE-FAULT' as Homer Simpson said, 'the two greatest words in the English language.'

Now they're firmly established as the party of leadership the Democrats are going to have to be prepared to lead. That means directing the political discourse; it means formulating policy; it means making a firm stand on the issues that matter. If they spend the next two years fearful of turning all the voters off instead of trying to turn them on - and in so doing risk losing a few - they can only lose. Have some goddamn cojones will you?!!?

Kerry, a good man in my opinion, lost the Presidential election in '04 because he stood for nothing. Americans, in general, don't like to vote AGAINST, they want to vote FOR someone. Tuesday was different because clearly the Republicans had screwed up so very badly it was impossible for them to stay but the Dems can't count on that forever. The pressure's now on for them to show they're a responsible party with focus, with direction, with unity, with ideas on what should be done, not merely what should not be done.

The leadership is crucial. Two years until Bush goes which means far less than two years for the Democrats to find someone the party and the people can get behind. You'd better believe the Republicans woke up on Wednesday morning thinking: what do we have to do to make sure this doesn't happen again? They're in disarray and it's an opportunity for the Dems to mark themselves out as different. As better.

Nancy Pelosi seems like a good woman. She's a liberal (well, as far as such a thing can really exist in American politics) leading a party leaning far more towards the middle than herself. She has to work with Bush, to cooperate with him to some extent, but she can't be seen to bend over. He's a lame duck President looking for a legacy and she's leader of the majority with a popular mandate that Bush can only dream of. She's got the power to make a difference and she must. The refusal to confirm John Bolton to the UN is a good place to start. It shows the executive that, although foreign policy is the White House domain, the House is not without scope to act.

Fireworks!!!

irresponsibly let off in our back garden. supposedly one should be 25 metres+ away fromt hem but our garden is only ten metres end to end. made for very exciting will he/won't he blow-his-frickin -hand-off fun.

Bel Canto: Part 2

New poster!!!!Okay, so it looks remarkably similar to the old one. But it's bigger and better and has a sexy tagline at the bottom.

Chocolate HobNobs vs. Chocolate Digestives

I cannot believe there's even two sides to this debate but apparently some prefer the salty, pussy-ass biscuit against the oaty, wheaty knobbly, tea-killing man cruncher. Insane (in the membrane).

A Twat

House party in the Hove area last night. All very nice; far more enjoyable than I had anticipated; stole some beers for the walk home.

I found myself in conversation with a nameless individual (actually, he did have a name - who doesn't have name? I ask you! - I'm just choosing not to disclose it) and the subject came up, as it so frequently does these days, of the upcoming musical phenomenon that will be Bel Canto: Music Without Borders. In a painfully self-promoting kinda way, I tell him he should come down because "I guarantee the music's going to be great". His response: "How can you say that when music's so subjective?". SMUG SMARMY SELF-IMPORTANT BASTARD! It's not so much What he said as the way he said it: As if he were the first person in the world clever enough to make such an observation. Of course music's subjective you wanker. I'm just trying to shamelessly promote my night so why not indulge me, just for a minute and then fuck off.

Lots of things are subjective. For example, compleltely inexplicable to me is the fact that people seem to like you, although nowhere near as much as you evidently like yourself.

"I can't believe I've only known you for XXXXX"

(XXXXX being a very - relatively - short period of time obviously.)

Question: Is this something girls say to every bloke? Cos they seem to say it to me a lot.

Don't get me wrong, I like hearing it and I'm not complaining but to me it just seems a little, umm err, daft. I don't especially thing I do anything different to any other geeza to put girls at a particular level of ease in my presence but my relationships with the fairer sex, if they go anywhere at all, seem to go there in an awful hurry. From "let's just see how it goes" to "girlfriend/boyfriend" and "I miss waking up next to you" texts before Richard Hammond is even able to get cut out of his upside-down rocket car.

http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif

Nothing especially noteworthy to add today but figured I may as well update thee on Subculture bits n bobs:

Beck: Ths Information - Jez said he thought this was one of the best things I've ever written. He is wrong.

Pipettes Live: Corn Exchange





I should also let you know that Bel Canto: Music Without Borders

is officially up and returning and launches at The Gladstone on the Lewes Road on the 27th of October. That's a mere 19 days away. Please come, the music will, I promise, be amazing. Not to mention the fact thta the more people show up the better we look and the more likely this is to turn into a paid gig as opposes to one with merely a bottomless bar tab. Oh dear, I'm going to have to exercise self-restraint....... shit.

I've just been scanning through the photographs on my computer. Mostly from the past eighteen months or so. it feels like a different life, looking back at picttures of Keira in particular. because that's all she is now; a few pictures on my screen. she looks beautiful. i can scarceley believe that i ever had anythig to do with that woman. bizarre is what it is. i loved her, more i think than i've ever loved anyone and yet she's barely even a memory anymore. these mementoes of time past are hardly even that anymore. all they are is what they are. what do they remind me of? the hurt itself is gone. i remember that she hurt me but not really how it felt. i've come a long way since then, been involved with other girls that have treated me a lot better. yet she's never going to quite go away. i wish she would.

Observing

I cannot tell a lie: my two weeks work experience at The Observer has not, at times, been all it was cracked up to be. Up until today I would say the sum total of my time actaully spent on WORK would be around an hour, maybe two.

(On the flip side I have managed to get an awful lot of stupid little essential jobs done that otherwise would not have been had I been at home or in Brighton. I've opened a bank acount, written several pieces for Subculture, applied for jobs and more work experience and sorted out the broadband for the new house.)

But then there's today, a day that has gone so far beyond anything I could have expected. I'm buzzing, I seriously am. Let me tell the long story, rather than the short one.

Last night was Franner's birthday do. Because the last sodding tube was at 12.30 (In one of the busiest, supposedly most cosmopolitan cities in the world. What a motherflumping joke) I had intened to just go out briefly to the boy's and come home and not spend the night sleeping on the floor using a hand towel as a blanket. I'd been feeling rough (and you know how much worse a cold is for a chap) and just wanted bed, with maybe a sprinkling of The OC.

But you know how I am. And how these things are. They just don't work out like that do they? Let's be honest I was never going to head home after an hour.

We were originally supposed to go to Button Down Disco at 93FeetEast but it got too late for that. I was having a good time anyway, scaring people I'd never met and chatting obnoxiously as I am wont to do. Then some girl called Lizzie (who I'm sure is lovely really but in that environment she just came across as a fit-but-you-know-it posh bint) decided that everyone was going to go to a club callled Turnmills in Farringdon - just across from The Observer actually - and was clearly one not used to not getting her own way. I said no. But not actively enough to influence others. And there were several others. But I was not goign to spend £15 getting into somewhere I had no interest in going to.

So I dragged my feet a bit, along with the other less enthusiastic folks and we'd missed the tube so it just wasn't happening. We went for a scuffle in a patch of scrubland and Francis went dustbin surfing down the road. Party on Ted!

So back to Francis' gaff (my word this is a very roundabout way of making a point, which I haven't even gotten to yet and might not even exist) and more beer, Mexican coffee and suddenly its 4.30am and I'm making bacon sandwiches for all.

The floor it is. Sleeping bag rather than towelette and sofa cushions to cushion but I had 4 hours before I had to get up. Bugger.

But get up I do. Borrow a fetching green shirt from Francis without his knowledge and on my way.

And actions stations almost from the off. Robin tasks me with writing an information panel for his big ass feature on biofuels. It takes a lot longer than it should and i start to sweat. But it gets done. After a few frighteningly cantankerous celtic barksI find some information.

Lunch. £6 for a steak sounds good but rib-eye is a crap cut of cow.

And then it kicks off. "I want this 600 word report turned into 200 words of interesting writing." growls the Scotsman. Now THIS is work. I read the piece on 'Pester Power' again and again (actually, having said that, I'm not sure I read the whole thing in one go at all) find what I think are the most pertinent points and attempt ot write something decent. Not sure if I succeed. Not sure if it's going. Not sure if that's even the point.

The point is I'm doing it. That's not TRYING to be a journalist, that's BEING a journalist. The sweat, the pressure, the deadline, the being shouted at. Before last week I THOUGHT I wanted to do this, now I know for sure. And I really think I can be good at it. BUt that's not the end of my day's excitement.

Shortly after this Robin throws a photo in front of me and demands 100 words on Open House London REALLY, REALLY quickly. Thank God for being friends with "archies" eh? Cos I actually know something about this.

Quick as you like 100 words - and specifically, 100 good words - emerge before Robin has even had the opportunity to hassle me. I'm pleased with what I've done. it's not much but this is one instance where size really doesn't matter. (Because of course, in all other areas, size is VERY important.)

And my name is in the paper again. But this time I feel no neet to blast everyone with an email because what I've done today feels self-validating. If people read it then great. I'll have a few copies but my ego isn't gonna overtake me as it did before.

This is what I want. This is what i can do.

9/11: Five years on

This is a really great piece.

Ego

What a strange thing one's ego is. It's an issue i've been giving considerable thought to recently. Firstly it was the dominant theme of a newspaper feature on Toby Young; then, in a piece in the Evening Standard magazine it was the spine of the story about some posh, rich twat called 'Lord' Eddie Davenport who apparently is desperate for the world to know how rich and twattish he is; it also seems to play an important role in explaining the dynamics of a new play I'm reading called Frost/Nixon about david Frost's interviews with Tricky Dicky after he resigned the Presidency (should that be capitalised? je ne sais pas).

My point, however, is - as it naturally should be - all about be. Yesterday I discovered I was to get a byline in today's Observer for an article I helped with about meethan emissions from Siberian thaw lakes. Sounds faaaaascinating doesn't it? (I can't find a link to it on the Observer website sadly but that's not really what I'm talking about anyway.)

I was, as any writer would be I suppose, very excited about the idea of seeing my name in print after just a single week's work experience. In a fit of "Raaaahh-ness" I then proceeded to sent an emmail out to, well, pretty much everyone, informing of my literary triumph. And then pretty much regretted it instantly. And then have been spending intermittent periods since wondering if I should be regretting it. Overwhelmed by internal conflict you see.

My first problem is simply the fact that I didn't really contribute that much to the story. Robin McKie found the original in New Scientist magazine, I just did a bit more research on the subject - the global warming potential bit is me - and composed a straight news piece on the subject which Robin used as a foundation for his more dramatic, more wordy, more Sunday newspaper version. My overall contribution was pretty minimal.

So I felt like a bit of a fraud for that. There's so little of me in the piece that I can't claim any credit for it. It was almost the same when I wrote stuff for the Georgetown newspaper last year. if it was in anyway edited, or if there were phrases in there that I knew weren't mine, - even if they improved the piece - I'd feel far less of an attachment to it. Almost like a father, informed that the child he'd been a loving and devoted parent to for years and years wasn't really his. He just can't love it as much. okay, it's probably nothing like that.

My second issue is with the fact that I felt compelled to inform all and sundy of my achievements at all. Who am I doing this for? Them or me? Who (or why?) do I want to be a journalist anyway? Public acclaim, respect, glory? I didn't think so before but now I'm starting to wonder. I write because I feel I have to. because I can't imagine not writing. That's what this
blog's for. I'm not really fussed if people read it or not - although obviously I used to email people when it was updated - but it's nice when I find out they do. It's like a diary I suppose.

Except it's not quite like a diary is it? It's in a public forum where anyone can stumble upon it, whether deliberately or not. There's writing which is done for public consumption and writing which is private. Before the internet it used to be that black and white. These days I don't think it is. Bloggin is a free expression because, in all honesty, it's unlikely that anyone's going to read. Keeping the reader in mind is less important with this so I can pretty much say i what i want. it's a form of free - but not completley free - expression.

If I write something in the Observer - for sake of argument - or anywhere else surely I want it to be read and surely I should be entitled to inform people that it's out there. That, I think, is okay but equally that is the source of the problem. I didn't really write the thing. it's just my name at the top. So really all it is about is ego. And wanting people to see my name in print in a national newspaper and say how great they think I am.

And that leaves a nasty taste in my mouth.

Coming soon..............

Assuming these people agree to do it and that I can find a venue to host it I would like to be up and running with this little project by the time the new terms starts. Keep you posted.

Musical musings

Okay, so I was interviewing some guy called Justin from a band called She Wants Revenge yesterday. He was, basically a pretentious prick. However he made a point, not sure he was aware he was making it but still, about music's significance being somehting you can't necessarily translate into words, music journalism therefore being obsolete (not that it was ever anything else). This linked in with something Andrea said on Monday night (she's not the most sensitive of creature's but is somewhat irritatingly precious herself) about the lack of value of music journalism. The fact that that is ALL I FUCKING DO is not something she felt the need to consider but nonetheless, is it not a legitimate point. Nietzche wrote something, which I haven't read actually, about the purpose of music is to help to communicate that which language cannot. Therefore, if music fills a gap in language how can language attempt to describe the gap that's being filled? It's a ginormous paradox/viciouscircle/conundrum and basically points towards the conclusion that all music writing is bullshit. Which is fine because I've only ever been interested in it out of a desire to not spend money on CDs or going to shows. However maybe music writing's value as an artform is not in communicating the meanign of music - by a continuation of this logic, impossible - but as simply an expression of meaning of the writer himself, just as valid as the music but distinctly separte from it. That maybe makes no sense and can be attributed to the limitation of language or my failure to yet master it as an expressive tool. But I'm better at this than playing the guitar so whaddya gonnna do?

Subculture Links

You gotta be pretty bored to indulge in this tripe but here they are all the same:

Gomez Interview

Lily Allen review: yeah, mine isn't as good as Meghans

Sebadoh

Futureheads

Brighton. (Nearly) Naked Bike Riding. And stuff.

It's MEEEEEEEEEE! And girls.
The de-sexualistion of the female form.
I didnt take this picture.
Aaaaaar Katie. Not so naked. Shame.
Brighton. Sunny.
Canadian Pub. A first for me.
;-)
DP in the mix.
Rob Ward: One of the most academically successful of my peers. And a fine looking chap. Not that either of those facts are self-evident from this picture.

England. Yesterday. Shit. But they still won. So bring on the Portugese on Saturday.

An open letter to Washington D.C.

Dear DC

I wasn't expecting to feel sad about my departure but it's hard not to wish I wasn't leaving. The fast half was tough I'll admit but in the last six months i feel like we've really become great friends. It's hard to know what to say so I think maybe i should turn to the words of another "splendid bugger", Stephen Merritt of Magnetic Fields.

W a-s-h i-n-g t-o-n, baby, D.C.!
W a-s-h i-n-g t-o-n, baby, D.C.!
Washington, D.C.
It's paradise to me
It's not because it is the grand old seat
Of precious freedom and democracy
No, no, no
It's not the greenery turning gold in fall
The scenery circling the Mall
It's just that's where my baby lives
That's all.
Washington D.C.!
It's the greatest place to be
It's not the cherries everywhere in bloom
It's not the way they put folks on the moon
No, no, no
It's not the spectacles and pagaentry
The thousand things you've got to see
It's just that's where my baby waits for me
W a-s-h i-n-g t-o-n, baby D.C.!
W a-s-h i-n-g t-o-n, baby D.C.!
Washington, D.C.!
It fits me to a T
It's not the people doing something real
It's not the way the springtime makes you feel
No, no, no
It ain't no famous name on a golden plaque
That keeps me that makes me ride that railroad track
It's my baby's kiss that keeps me coming back
It's my baby's kiss that keeps me coming back

I'll be back.

Nick

And you know this

1. Americans are NOT stupid.
Yes they have a very stupid president but really, judging an entire people on its political leaders is no more legitimate than judging it on its big brother contestants. The paradoxical truth is that the people who would be best in the job are those who wouldn't in a million years dream of applying for it.

2. American beer is better than British beer.
Admittedly the top-seelling brews taste like piss but as a rule, these come in shiny silver and blue cans and the word "light" follows the brand name and these are hence easily avoided. If you drink beer because you enjoy its flavour (i'm back in England now, I don't need to spell it 'flavor' anymore and don't feel i'm ghetto enough to spell it 'flava') then the selection of fabulous ickle breweries in the states is stupendous.

3. Americans drink to get drunk.
Casual drinking is out. Mid-week drinking? Don't think so. Paraletic at weekends? Hell yeah.

4. Any job worth doing in America has a white face attached.
Of COURSE that's an absurd generalization and by America I really mean DC but the truth is, when it comes to the service sector at least, the shittier the job is the less likely it is to be a white guy doing it.

Discovering Seattleites

Seattle stuff

Closing Time

11.30am
I don't wanna go home. Waaaaaaaaah.

(No offence)

It's 2.16am and I'm sitting at a computer screen attempting to power my way through to 4.30 when my shuttle picks me up to take me to Baltimore airport from where I'm flying to Seattle. I figured now was as good a time as any to update you on goings-on stateside considering how lame I've been on that front of late, with the only recent entries being album reviews written for Subculture. Here's another one by the way: Casiotone for the Painfully Alone.

So yes, I'm lissnin to nineties ladmag throwback Chris Moyles live on Radio1. Which is weird. he is a dick but I admire his ability to talk for half an hour straight without playing a choon. radio geeks will tell you that's a cardinal sin and one I also used to enjoy breaking back at good old URF when I think my record approached 45 minutes for straight talking without either playing a song or allowing anyone else - including Damien who was on the phone from Sheffield - a word in. (heard the station's gone somewhat down the crapper in my absence this past year, that is quite sad :( but maybe can be reinvigorated upon my return. Currently planning a reunion show with Chris and Arnie in early June. keep yez updated on that one.)

So. Umm. Yeah. (2.28am) What's been going on eh? My intramural football team made it to the final of the IM cup. Which was rather impressive considering we didn't lead a single game for a single minute in five group games and three playoff matches. The first round of playoffs we won on penalties, the second we went through when the other team were defaulted for fielding several ineligible players. Sadly our run of luck did not continue in the final. 0-0 after 90 (by which i mean 40) minutes including a goal that should have been (by us) but was judged not to cross the line. a last minute counter-attack in extra time from them lead to a cock-up by our last man (who had played a stonking game apart from that) and the prize t-shirt that seemed so close was snatched from grasp. ah well, maybe next year.

What else? Mr. Alex Murray came to stay in April. That was a cracker of a week. Went canoeing on the Potomac and to a few gigs including one at DC9 (audience of about 20 including at least 8 or so people from the other bands) by Lair of the Minotaur who are noisy and screamy and quite cheesy and growl a lot but was fun and not the sort of thing i'd normally go to. Also Regina Spektor the previous night at 9:30 Club who was sweet and weird and plays a chair with a stick. Oh yeah, and we spent the first day Al was here at RFK stadium enjoying baseball and beers in the sunshine. I swear there is no better way to spend a summer's afternoon.

2.49am
Other gigs. Nickel Creek at 930 club. They were grand and was especialyl satifying given that last time they came to Washington I buggered the date up and was in Pittsburgh. They played a supoib bluegrass cover of Britney's Toxic and The Weight by The Band which, as it always does, made me think of Franny and all those trips of yore in his little car when I would belt out "get a load of franny" to successfully piss off the boy behind the wheel. Good times. I was a little dismayed to see the average age of the audience was far higher than I'm used to which obviously means only one thing. is my music taste that middle of the road??!?!

My mind is a bit blank. Umm. Lots of work been done up until last week when I officially finished my Georgetown academic career. Essays of the lowest quality coming out of my arse. Kinda appropriate that. Had my last proper night out in DC for a while yesterday involving a meal at Front Page with Eel and Evie, a game of Kings, The Black Cat and falling asleep in The Diner. This is deemed to be a "party foul" and the result was exploitation/abuse by my compatriots: Close-up photos of my be-jeaned groin and simulated acts of an inappropriate nature. Will pose 'em up soon unless my mother tells me not too. Got back to my room at 6am and then had to be all packed up and checked out by noon. Tough day.

3.06am. I'm really struggling now. It's late. And I have to head to Seattle to reunite with Christina and then going to music festival Sasquatch to see Beck, the Shins, Nine Inch Nails and others. That is, i'll be going if I can find a way of getting there. I was told it happens at the Gorge near Seattle. Then spoke to Nate who informed me that it is in fact five hours outside Seattle. Okay. Lissenup Americans: 5 hours away IS NOT NEAR! Or maybe it is. And Brighton is NEAR Manchester. Grrr.

Hokay, i'm pretty much done for now. And done with my Georgeotwn experience completely. I shall continue blogging back in Britain cos it's kinda fun although I assume no-one'll really give a shit what I'm up to and if you do you'll either ask me when you see me or be doing it with me. Nonetheless the blog will be cleverly re-titled The South-East Coast Sound - cos i'm gonna be in Brighton durrrr.

Update: 3.59am.
I'm still here. I feel dead.

So it seems I haven't had the time/inclination of late to update youse mofos on my continuing adventures in democracyland. Writing to order takes it out of you a tad. Here's my latest offering to subculturemagazine: Click Morrissey

Who says the album's been out for a month already?

Subculture

My latest review and first for SubcultureMagazine.com: Click YeahYeahYeahs

Victory is mine. Victory is mine. Great day in the morning, victory is mine.

"Spiteful adj. 'Vindictive in a petty way'"

Yup, that's me. My proudest moment as a journalist has arrived as I finally take the opportunity to deliver a low and completely unneccessary blow to pasty-faced, poncey arse-bandits Keane in a review, of all things, of a Dirty Vegas album. Most of you will probably be surpised that it's taken me quite so long to crowbar an assault of this nature into my work but it's such a satisfying senasation that it's been worth the wait. Particularly pleased that the term "bed-wetting" made it past the censors.

Sadly my description of the Arctic Monkeys as "miserable British fucks" did not. And the published picture that I took was captioned "Courtesy Tower Bride Exhibition". But the review itself, despite a fair mauling from the editors (which I actually can't complain too strongly about; most of the cuts were reasonable enough). The show was actually broadcast live on National Public Radio and if you'd like to give it a listen, can be found here. Enjoy

Warning: Gratuitously Unadulterated Display of Wussiness

Don't say I don't listen to my audience. From the many many emails I've received, and from the conversations I've had with some of you over MSN, it seems that I'm a little too abstract in the content of my blog postings. Apparently all you want to read is gossipy literature of the Heat variety and actually have no interest in my fascinating reviews of the latest tATu album or musings on the moral validity of marketing as a career path.

Oh no despite hundred of academic qualifications between you, and most about to graduate (I assume, although some have been somewhat silent) all you vile voyeurs want to hear about is DA LAYDEEZ. To quote Chris Storie, "bonned any pretty/alright looking/i was drunk, so she looked ok/ ugly birds of late....?! i did the other week, and she was neraly 30....:) ha... i was very drunk.. !!" Born romantic innee? Dunno quite what he's getting at there but does anyone expect anything more from the oh so sweet Chilean? Anyway I guess it IS time you were filled in on such matters but since my family read the blog more than most this is the nice/sickeningly sweet version of things. If it's not good enough for you , well, may I point you in the direction of amazon's ADULT section..... So i'm including a photograph which may make some of you go "awwwwwww" and the rest of you vomit into your keyboards. If you feel you may fit into the latter category I recommend you don't scroll down.
So this is the laydee. Yes yes I look like an arse, need a haircut etc, but doesn't she look cute? Name of Christina, from Seattle. And that's all you're getting from me for now. (And NO, not just cos that's all I know! - gimme SOME credit puhleeeze)
p.s. For the geeks amongst you (i.e. Franny) that is indeed a JBT poster in the background. They're playing at 9:30 Club on Thursday. Should be a cracker.

Springiness

Cheery Blossoms