"By the way, if anyone here is in marketing or advertising...kill yourself. Thank you. Just planting seeds, planting seeds is all I'm doing. No joke here, really. Seriously, kill yourself, you have no rationalisation for what you do, you are Satan's little helpers. Kill yourself, kill yourself, kill yourself now. Now, back to the show. " Bill Hicks
I am, it must be said, a trifle troubled at the moment and can't get the thoughts of the legendary, no late great, no... (damn, why are there so few ways to say that?)... anyway, Bill Hicks everbody. (He was generally funnier than that I swear)
I recently began an internship (see previous post for an explanation) in the marketing department of 9:30 Club here in DC. I am, as it were, "in" marketing at the moment. The 9:30 Club produces a wee little brochure/pamphlet detailing coming attractions at the venue - at least those which aren't immediate sellers - and this month's issue included a couple of pieces written by yours truly.
Exhibit A: The Subways
'Since they first emerged in the summer of 2004, The Subways' no-holds-barred blend of riotous punk rocka nd boisterous Brit-pop (not to mention a performance of their debut single "Rock 'n' Roll Queen on The OC) has helped them attract a devoted following on both sides of the Atlantic.
The Subways' musical direction is not an obvious one as they travel from The Pixies to The Sex Pistols via Oasis. Their much anticipated debut album Young For Eternity delivers the energetic exuberance and simple-but-stylish songwriting that those who know them have come to expect and those who don't are gonna want to grab with both hands. Spin described them as "adorably vicious" and that sounds about right. Blonde bombshell bassist Charlotte Cooper certainly seems to have as much bite as bark. Now is the time to catch them as the young threesome look to impress ontheir first major American tour.
Support comes from LA's super-hip indie pistols The Shys. Don't forget this is an early one - the ideal warm-up for a night on the town.'
LIES LIES LIES. Comparisons with the Sex Pistols and The Pixies? LIES. I really have very little time for The Subways. Remember seeing them at Pilton Party a few years ago but we were, I believe, concentrating on getting sloshed (yeah yeah, awful word, very AbFab) since Mark and Fay were behind the bar and seemed to get the change "wrong" every time making for a very cheap night. Bless 'em.
(BTW wasn't that the year Chris got latched onto by a 13 year - yeah, yeah, she was older than that but the story is funnier my way - and he proceded to romance her by looking up at the stars and pointing out Orion's belt. Nice one dude. Can't remember who the main band were that year. Anyone wanna help me out?)
Anywayz I barely believe a word of what I've written there - apart from the stuff about them being in the OC and about the bassist being - and while I think it's a decent enough piece it does sorta make me feel like I've sold my soul to the devil. Except NOT EVEN SOLD! I've given it away. In return for free tickets to gigs (including Supergrass, The Deftones, Belle+Sebastian/New Pornographer, Beth Orton - not bad huh?) and an additional entry on my CV. Right I'm going to confession. So convenient being at a Catholic university.
Exhibit B: Metric
'Metric frontwoman Emily Haines compels you to pay attention. Does she? I really have no idea. While she may have boys in her band, it's the feistier-than-Feist (Feist being a similar Canadian singer/songwriter type who also came from Broken Social Scene, hence the apt nature of such a comment) keyboardist at the front you're going to be staring Probably not a lie, she is certainly more attractive than they are at when the Canadian electro-alt quartet hit the 9:30 Club. Far more than just another artschool dropout indie band Actually that's exactly what they are, Metric combine the vibrant power of neo-new wave What in God's name does 'neo-new wave' actually mean?! acts like The Killers and Interpol with subtly sophisticated feminine charms that those silly boys could only dream of - not so much screaming sex as aggressively hinting at it. Their latest album Live It Out is filled with more guitars and less glam-rock than their previous efforts, or so I read on Amazon, I haven't actually heard anything they have previously done incorporating a multi-faceted melange of dejecting despair and electric elation Ooh! Catchy! that is as unpredictable as it is fierce. Spin calls Emily Haines, 'intimidatingly cool,' but don't let that stop you: for one night only, she's all yours.'
See what I mean?
Now don't get me wrong, I actually love my job and look forward to going into work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And writing stuff like this is fun because it's so short that you're forced to really consider every single sentence, clause and word you're writing. There can be no readily discarded irrelevant lines because in 150 words or so everything has to mean something and it has to be assumed that everything is going to be read. As pieces of prose I am fairly proud of those two and the fact that they have been published and distributed to a circulation of literally many many thousands (admittedly only a fraction will actually read it but still).
But I just can't escape the fact that it's dishonest. That I barely believe a word of it. Not like me, I know many of you will agree (those of you who see me as something of a morality-free zone anyway), to find myself in the midst of a self-contained ethical entanglement.
So, the question is begged, does it really matter? Compare it to the Spencer Bates piece below and there really isn't much difference. Except with one it's marketing that you at least know is marketing while the other is marketing passing itself off as journalism.
I don't honestly believe everything in that extended diatribe about the boy Bates (don't call him Master) so it's a fairly deceitful article too I guess. He's not that great but he's a nice guy and was I never gonna write an vicious attack on his piano playing was I cos what's the point?
Anyway, I think Karma dealt me a blow last night (the details of which are not for general consumption) and on top of that I have to work at the Black Eyed bloody Peas gig next month in return for the week off work to see muvver and Lil (Happy Birthday Lily!). I ask you: Where IS the love?
____________________________________________________________________________________
So I went to The Subways gig last night despite my reservations about them. They certainly were eager to impress, I got that right, but almost to the point of being a little too try-hard. Their songs are pretty much awful and they seem fo the most part to amount to little more than a 90s tribute act, borrowing bits from everyone from Morrissey to Blur. But bless 'em they certainly gave it a go. Jumping around all over the place and the bassist's outfit (although short shorts rather than skirt, the end result was effectively the same) was nothing less (or should that read "more" than expected". Got chatting to her after the show; she was quite sweet - although not actually as attractive as people seem to think - and a bit surprised by the number of people that showed up (about a 1000, not bad for a band like that although t'was only $10), "Fanks for comin' daaaan, so laaaarvely to see you all". Good luck to 'em anyway. Pictures to come, Belle+Sebastian/New Pornographers tonight.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Newspaper pieces
I know it's been ages n ages since I last wrote anything. Just so yez know I haven't been completely slacking off, here are a few links to some pieces I've written for the paper, including my first full page-r.
Take a chance on Bonnie Olde England I swear I don't write the headlines for these things. And it was funnier before the editors got their greasy mitts on the thing. And yeah, apparently Union was something of a fart in the wind and is back to being the manky old Zap.
So Sing Us A Song, You the Piano Man Another imaginative title. And again they choose to delete the best bits and ignore the fact that it stops making sense. If anyone wants a copy of the directors cut feel free to, well, whistle for it.
Soppy Valentines Day music piece. This is, godawful, I admit. Maybe you shouldn't read it.
Bitter, cynical Valentines Day music piece. Y'see, what they did was have a reversible paper that week. One side was upbeat, the other vicious and miserable. Wonder which one came more naturally to me?
Take a chance on Bonnie Olde England I swear I don't write the headlines for these things. And it was funnier before the editors got their greasy mitts on the thing. And yeah, apparently Union was something of a fart in the wind and is back to being the manky old Zap.
So Sing Us A Song, You the Piano Man Another imaginative title. And again they choose to delete the best bits and ignore the fact that it stops making sense. If anyone wants a copy of the directors cut feel free to, well, whistle for it.
Soppy Valentines Day music piece. This is, godawful, I admit. Maybe you shouldn't read it.
Bitter, cynical Valentines Day music piece. Y'see, what they did was have a reversible paper that week. One side was upbeat, the other vicious and miserable. Wonder which one came more naturally to me?
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Ask Amy
This is hilarious and illustrative of the great divide in American society.
Taken from Monday's Washington Post -- Style Section
Monday, February 20, 2006; Page C12
Dear Amy:
My husband and I have lived in our quiet suburban Denver neighborhood for six years.
About two years ago two young gay men moved in across the street. They've taken the ugliest, most run-down property in the neighborhood and remodeled and transformed it into the pride of the street. Hooray for gays!
When it snows, they shovel out my car and are friendly, yet they mostly keep to themselves.
Last month I went out to retrieve my newspaper and watched them kiss each other goodbye and embrace as they each left for work.
I was appalled that they would do something like that in plain view of everyone. Yes indeed, how dare they be gay in anything other than a helpful and socially uplifting fashion?
I was so disturbed that I spoke to my pastor. He encouraged me to draft a letter telling them how much we appreciate their help but asking them to refrain from that behavior in our neighborhood.
I did so and asked a few of our neighbors to sign it.
Since I delivered it, I've not been able to get them to even engage me in conversation. Funny that...
I offer greetings but they've chosen to ignore me. What vile creatures. You tell them you are disgusted by their behaviour and suddenly they're not shovelling snow from your driveway anymore. I just goes to show dunnit?
They have made it so uncomfortable for the other neighbors and me by not even acknowledging our presence. THEY have made it uncomfortable for YOU? What the Fu........?!
How would you suggest we open communications with them and explain to them that we value their contributions to the neighborhood but will not tolerate watching unnatural and disturbing behavior.
Wondering
You're lucky that these gentlemen merely choose to ignore you.
Your neighbors could respond to your hospitality by hosting weekly outdoor "gay pride" barbecues and inviting all of their friends to enjoy life on our quiet suburban street.
I can hold out hope that they will choose to do this, but I'm spiteful in that way. Your neighbors sound much more kind.
In your original petition to these men, you basically stated that while you value them when they are raising the standard on your street and shoveling your driveway, you loathe them for being who they are.
The only way to open communication with your neighbors would be to start by apologizing to them for engaging your other neighbors in your campaign. Because you don't sound likely to apologize, you are just going to have to tolerate being ignored.
Amy
___________________________________________________________________
Just what I said. Hooray for the freedoms that this country was built on and which allows morons like this to have their say in a national newspaper and then be made to look like a complete idiot for holding such views.
Taken from Monday's Washington Post -- Style Section
Monday, February 20, 2006; Page C12
Dear Amy:
My husband and I have lived in our quiet suburban Denver neighborhood for six years.
About two years ago two young gay men moved in across the street. They've taken the ugliest, most run-down property in the neighborhood and remodeled and transformed it into the pride of the street. Hooray for gays!
When it snows, they shovel out my car and are friendly, yet they mostly keep to themselves.
Last month I went out to retrieve my newspaper and watched them kiss each other goodbye and embrace as they each left for work.
I was appalled that they would do something like that in plain view of everyone. Yes indeed, how dare they be gay in anything other than a helpful and socially uplifting fashion?
I was so disturbed that I spoke to my pastor. He encouraged me to draft a letter telling them how much we appreciate their help but asking them to refrain from that behavior in our neighborhood.
I did so and asked a few of our neighbors to sign it.
Since I delivered it, I've not been able to get them to even engage me in conversation. Funny that...
I offer greetings but they've chosen to ignore me. What vile creatures. You tell them you are disgusted by their behaviour and suddenly they're not shovelling snow from your driveway anymore. I just goes to show dunnit?
They have made it so uncomfortable for the other neighbors and me by not even acknowledging our presence. THEY have made it uncomfortable for YOU? What the Fu........?!
How would you suggest we open communications with them and explain to them that we value their contributions to the neighborhood but will not tolerate watching unnatural and disturbing behavior.
Wondering
You're lucky that these gentlemen merely choose to ignore you.
Your neighbors could respond to your hospitality by hosting weekly outdoor "gay pride" barbecues and inviting all of their friends to enjoy life on our quiet suburban street.
I can hold out hope that they will choose to do this, but I'm spiteful in that way. Your neighbors sound much more kind.
In your original petition to these men, you basically stated that while you value them when they are raising the standard on your street and shoveling your driveway, you loathe them for being who they are.
The only way to open communication with your neighbors would be to start by apologizing to them for engaging your other neighbors in your campaign. Because you don't sound likely to apologize, you are just going to have to tolerate being ignored.
Amy
___________________________________________________________________
Just what I said. Hooray for the freedoms that this country was built on and which allows morons like this to have their say in a national newspaper and then be made to look like a complete idiot for holding such views.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Only in Washington
Last night was the President's State of the Union address. For the uninformed (trust me, you're better off that way), this is a constitutionally required statement to Congress and the American people where he basically lays out how he thinks (this in itself something of an oxymoron when referring to W.) things are going with regards to America's interests, both domestic and foreign, and how he thinks (again, those two words look very strange together. as if they should be followed by: "as little as possible") things should go over the course of the next year.
I'm not gonna bore you with the content - partly because it has dominated my classes over the course of today and I've had quite enough THANK YOU. And partly because, despite being 5338 words and an hour in length he pretty much managed to avoid saying anything about anything. At one point my ears did prick up when he mention "human-animal hybrids" because, having seen The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, I think the world would be much livelier with a few centaurs and fawns trotting around. Sadly, Georgie wasn't coming out in favour of such things. Ooh, I've just thought - they'd be a bugger to give birth to wouldn't they? Certainly put an end to the debate over which hurts more, childbirth or being kicked in the...... anyways.
I digress. In the spirit of the occasion, despite not really having much interest in what he had to say, Katie and I decided to pop down to The Hawk and Dove on Capitol Hill, supposedly a hangout for congressional staffers, to sample the atmosphere. People cheered occasionally, people clapped occasionally and I rolled my eyes frequently. I do love it when Bush says "nucular" though. Kinda makes it tough to take him seriously when he's talking about the idea of nailing Iran.
Following the speech, we managed to grab a seat at the bar for a post-mortem and had been chatting for a while when we were approached by a woman who was immediately recognizable as British by her "umm"s, "ah"s and "do excuse me, I do apologize for interrupting you".......s. This wasn't the first time someone has overheard me speaking and, like a moth to, umm, well, another moth I guess, approached me. I sorta take it as the norm that English people like meeting and talking other English people in America, even if they are a decade or so their junior, so it didn't strike me as, initially at least, all that odd.
When her opening conversational gambit was "you don't happen to know Ewan Blair do you?" I was a trifle perplexed - is that or is that not the freakiest chat-up line you've ever heard?. Anyway, it turns out the PM's son is interning (it means "doing work experience" but doesn't sound quite as menial even though it REALLY is) at some Congressional office and as we discovered when she whipped out a business card, this woman was a journalist called Sharon Churcher and apparently the Chief American Correspondent for The Mail on Sunday (I know the cynical amongst you are thinking "b*ll***s she was" but I've just Googled her and it turns out she's legit) and was seeking to dig up some grime on Tony's eldest and seemed willing to flash the readies in return for some juicy gossip.
Sadly, despite the fact that I probably would have sold him out for a bowl of peanuts and another Guinness, neither of us have an "in" on the hill these days (I never did but Katie used to work for Minority Whip Steny Hoya who was shown on TV quite a lot last night) and so had nothing to offer her. We did get to keep Sharon (I think I can call her that)'s card and she told us to give her a call should we discover anything useful so i'm gonna do some digging. Finding a Brit in DC can't be that hard can it?
Anyone who can formulate a way of tracking him down and getting him into an incriminating position can have a share of the greenbacks. I just need some ping-pong balls, a star-fruit and 200ft of parcel tape....
I'm not gonna bore you with the content - partly because it has dominated my classes over the course of today and I've had quite enough THANK YOU. And partly because, despite being 5338 words and an hour in length he pretty much managed to avoid saying anything about anything. At one point my ears did prick up when he mention "human-animal hybrids" because, having seen The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, I think the world would be much livelier with a few centaurs and fawns trotting around. Sadly, Georgie wasn't coming out in favour of such things. Ooh, I've just thought - they'd be a bugger to give birth to wouldn't they? Certainly put an end to the debate over which hurts more, childbirth or being kicked in the...... anyways.
I digress. In the spirit of the occasion, despite not really having much interest in what he had to say, Katie and I decided to pop down to The Hawk and Dove on Capitol Hill, supposedly a hangout for congressional staffers, to sample the atmosphere. People cheered occasionally, people clapped occasionally and I rolled my eyes frequently. I do love it when Bush says "nucular" though. Kinda makes it tough to take him seriously when he's talking about the idea of nailing Iran.
Following the speech, we managed to grab a seat at the bar for a post-mortem and had been chatting for a while when we were approached by a woman who was immediately recognizable as British by her "umm"s, "ah"s and "do excuse me, I do apologize for interrupting you".......s. This wasn't the first time someone has overheard me speaking and, like a moth to, umm, well, another moth I guess, approached me. I sorta take it as the norm that English people like meeting and talking other English people in America, even if they are a decade or so their junior, so it didn't strike me as, initially at least, all that odd.
When her opening conversational gambit was "you don't happen to know Ewan Blair do you?" I was a trifle perplexed - is that or is that not the freakiest chat-up line you've ever heard?. Anyway, it turns out the PM's son is interning (it means "doing work experience" but doesn't sound quite as menial even though it REALLY is) at some Congressional office and as we discovered when she whipped out a business card, this woman was a journalist called Sharon Churcher and apparently the Chief American Correspondent for The Mail on Sunday (I know the cynical amongst you are thinking "b*ll***s she was" but I've just Googled her and it turns out she's legit) and was seeking to dig up some grime on Tony's eldest and seemed willing to flash the readies in return for some juicy gossip.
Sadly, despite the fact that I probably would have sold him out for a bowl of peanuts and another Guinness, neither of us have an "in" on the hill these days (I never did but Katie used to work for Minority Whip Steny Hoya who was shown on TV quite a lot last night) and so had nothing to offer her. We did get to keep Sharon (I think I can call her that)'s card and she told us to give her a call should we discover anything useful so i'm gonna do some digging. Finding a Brit in DC can't be that hard can it?
Anyone who can formulate a way of tracking him down and getting him into an incriminating position can have a share of the greenbacks. I just need some ping-pong balls, a star-fruit and 200ft of parcel tape....
Monday, January 30, 2006
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Monday, January 09, 2006
Have a nice day!
Despite my very best efforts to avoid adopting any American-isms whatsoever during my annee etrange (and I think I've done quite well - if anything I'm more British than I was six months ago), just last week I allowed that most cliched of cliches to escape my lips last week while bidding farewell to a friend's mother. I wish I could pretend that it was an ironic slip of the tounge but sadly t'was not the case. I said it. I meant it. And dag nammit I'm gonna defend it.
We've all heard this phrase said a thousand times in a thousand American movies. And oh how we have mocked it: for it's apparent lack of sincerity; for being a lazy attempt at manipulating a few more dollars out of our pockets with false platitudes; for the surgically applied smile that comes with it.
Nonetheless I've grown accustomed to it. Over my many and far too frequent visits to restaurants and bars that little token of insincerity feels like one of those after dinner mints that you pick up as you're on your way out the door. While I'm still far too cynical to believe that the waiter or barman (let's be honest, more often than not it's a barman) is really all that bothered about how my day or evening goes, in contrast with back home in Britain you at least feel like they are not secretly wishing that you will fall down an open man-hole cover (does anyone know an example of where that has actually happened or is it just in loony tunes?) or get hit by a taxi as you cross the street.
Having worked in several service-sector places of employment in my time I can say that with some authority. At the delightful beach bar I worked at over the summer the house motto was not "the customer is always right" but rather "the customer is always a......" - anyway, you get the idea. (BTW over Christmas I was (rightly) reprimanded by my Aunt Pauline for my employment of "colourful" language in m' blog so, at her behest, I resolve in the coming semester to keep it to a minimum.)
Last night Katie, Dave Mason (Sussex-er visiting DC for a few days from Lousiana State University) and I were taken out for a delightful meal with Mark "Sparky" Wilson (another Sussex-er who's currently studying at the University of Texas) by his immensely affable and far too generous parents. The restaurant was Pappa Razzi and easily the flashest eatery I've been to in America.
My point (and I do have one, it all links together if you're patient. Honest.) is about Bill. Bill was our waiter for the evening who came over to our table and immediately introduced himself. As Bill. He then proceeded to go through the long and obviously very well rehearsed list of specials. Unfortunately, five minutes later i couldn't remember a word of what he'd said. Other than the fact that his name was Bill. It felt like we'd all made a friend. In Britain you're lucky if you get service with a hungover grimace let alone a smile. In America it's service with a relationship.
We've all heard this phrase said a thousand times in a thousand American movies. And oh how we have mocked it: for it's apparent lack of sincerity; for being a lazy attempt at manipulating a few more dollars out of our pockets with false platitudes; for the surgically applied smile that comes with it.
Nonetheless I've grown accustomed to it. Over my many and far too frequent visits to restaurants and bars that little token of insincerity feels like one of those after dinner mints that you pick up as you're on your way out the door. While I'm still far too cynical to believe that the waiter or barman (let's be honest, more often than not it's a barman) is really all that bothered about how my day or evening goes, in contrast with back home in Britain you at least feel like they are not secretly wishing that you will fall down an open man-hole cover (does anyone know an example of where that has actually happened or is it just in loony tunes?) or get hit by a taxi as you cross the street.
Having worked in several service-sector places of employment in my time I can say that with some authority. At the delightful beach bar I worked at over the summer the house motto was not "the customer is always right" but rather "the customer is always a......" - anyway, you get the idea. (BTW over Christmas I was (rightly) reprimanded by my Aunt Pauline for my employment of "colourful" language in m' blog so, at her behest, I resolve in the coming semester to keep it to a minimum.)
Last night Katie, Dave Mason (Sussex-er visiting DC for a few days from Lousiana State University) and I were taken out for a delightful meal with Mark "Sparky" Wilson (another Sussex-er who's currently studying at the University of Texas) by his immensely affable and far too generous parents. The restaurant was Pappa Razzi and easily the flashest eatery I've been to in America.
My point (and I do have one, it all links together if you're patient. Honest.) is about Bill. Bill was our waiter for the evening who came over to our table and immediately introduced himself. As Bill. He then proceeded to go through the long and obviously very well rehearsed list of specials. Unfortunately, five minutes later i couldn't remember a word of what he'd said. Other than the fact that his name was Bill. It felt like we'd all made a friend. In Britain you're lucky if you get service with a hungover grimace let alone a smile. In America it's service with a relationship.
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