Luke Lewis, the NME and the irresistible rise of Ed Sheeran
Posted: 16/01/2012 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Luke Lewis, Ed Sheeran, #howshitisedsheeran, NME, Brit Awards, Twitter, Facebook, apology 6 Comments »
It pains me to side with an artist as innocuous as Ed Sheeran. I’ve never listened to an entire song, but the 15 seconds I have heard have been enough to indicate that he’s far from being my cup of tea.
However, a sold out tour, triple platinum album and a handful of Brit nominations would indicate that he does have a few fans. And that’s fine for most of us, but not for the NME’s online editor Luke Lewis, who last week decided that his disdain for Mr Sheeran had reached a zenith.
I can understand it must be frustrating being Luke Lewis. When us plebs hear an artist we dislike, we avert our gaze. Whereas Luke has to not only endure the streams of tepid piss that come shooting through the NME letterbox, but he’s often asked to write favourably about it.
Not content with fulfilling his role of informing 14 year olds who they should listen to, Luke felt that his contempt toward Ed Sheeran needed galvanising via a Twitter and Facebook campaign. The campaign of hate was imaginatively titled ‘How Shit Is Ed Sheeran?’, and came with a corresponding hashtag that would allow Luke to compile his results into a in-depth report due today. The campaign garnered some truly gut-busting responses, the best of which were retweeted on the NME’s twitter page. Sadly, they’ve since been deleted. Indicative of a guilty conscience? Or backtracking for fear of alienating quite a hefty number of their readership? Both?
Now matter how you feel about Ed Sheeran, you have to admit that what Luke Lewis did was somewhat churlish. Not content with rating Ed Sheeran’s debut album and moving on, Luke and the NME retweeted bile without getting their own hands dirty. Their actions were tantamount to cyberbullying, despite Lewis’s protestations that his #HowShitIsEdSheeran campaign was, ‘Just a bit of Twitterfun’ (spoken like a true bully).
I viewed the activities of Luke and the NME as a desperate attempt to jump on a bandwagon of hatred; an effort to claw back some credibility in a climate of music, abundant with blogs and message boards. But it doesn’t work like that when the musicians you chastise one week, you venerate the next. Furthermore, when that chastising is done on a national scale, the ginger-bashing’s quite pathetic, and wholly irresponsible.
Besides, having a publication as tired and irrelevant as the NME branding something as ‘shit’ is like the ocean calling rain ‘wet’. Lest we forget that the NME once trumpeted Viva Brother as ‘the future of guitar music’.
Update: Luke Lewis has since issued an apology on his Facebook page.
CERN to use text-walkers as ammo for ‘dull’ Hadron Collider tests
Posted: 30/12/2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: CERN, Higgs boson, Large Hadron Collider, mobile phone walkers, shopping, texting 1 Comment »
Scientists at CERN have announced that they’re to begin using oblivious phone walkers as projectiles for their latest Large Hadron Collider tests.
With interest dwindling, and faced with boring and confusing test results, physicists at the CERN laboratories near Geneva, Switzerland, have been examining ways to rekindle a public curiosity driven senseless with X Factor, Strictly and Piers Morgan.
The state of the art lab, which cost £6.19bn and spans the Franco-Swiss border, was constructed to address the most fundamental mysteries of science. However, when it became apparent that the tests would not yield pioneering results such as hoverboards, functioning Lightsabers or children that can sit still and shut the fuck up in restaurants, public interest in the activities at CERN diminished.
‘Ever since people stopped thinking the world would end when we switched this thing on, we’ve had huge problems trying to drum up interest in what we do here,’ said a CERN spokesman. ‘Introducing figures of utter derision into our tests will hopefully change this.’
‘Text-walkers’, ‘moron trekkers’ or ‘ambling twats’ as they’re known, are seen as ideal projectiles, owing to their low intelligence and disregard for the safety of themselves and others. The latest tests will find those who place finishing a text messages above safety flown to the LHC, whereupon they’ll be accelerated round the 27-kilometre tunnel, and collided at a velocity just shy of the speed of light.
While the tests will work to reignite public interest in the esoteric goings on at CERN, the physicists were cynical about uncovering any ground-breaking discoveries. ‘To be honest, we’re pretty bored of what’s happening here. We’re just tired of these vapid morons clogging up the pavement. Even blind people have the etiquette to use a dog and stick.’
Merry Christmas, or Happy Halloween from John Lewis
Posted: 11/11/2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Christmas ad, head in a box, John Lewis, John Lewis Christmas, John Lewis Christmas Advert, Morrissey, The Smiths 1 Comment »‘They’ve only gone and done it again!’ went hoards of clunking dolts as John Lewis’ Christmas ad went viral. What many viewers have failed to address is the highly sinister undertones manifest throughout this Crimbo cry-fest.
Watch again and note how it conveys an air of ChildLine, with the parents of the protagonist seemingly unable to grace their little bundles of joy with even the slightest bit of affection.
The scene is set amid sleepy suburbia. There could have been a murder. Here’s where we meet our Kevin. His frequent sighing indicates he’s depressed. He sits like a prisoner on the cold landing, throwing a ball against the wall like McQueen in the cooler. He’s then seen tapping manically on the table like a bear gone mental at a Russian zoo.
‘Can make a good man turn bad’
Not content subscribing to the old adage that a watched pot never boils, our boy attempts to speed up time by revolving in his father’s chair at a terrifying, unnatural pace. His sister looks on, petrified. These scenes are interspersed with frequent sighing. I hate people that sigh.
Kevin’s latent insomnia is briefly alluded to, followed by a Groundhog Day-esque montage in which his family can be seen enjoying is solitude in the background. Themes of time and the occult are touched upon. The boy is then seen locked outside, sighing, ominously toing-and-froing in the freezing conditions (note the breath condensation, a blatant homage to M. Night Shyamalan’s The Sixth Sense).
The father, oblivious to his child’s boredom, nullifies his son’s incessant fidgeting with a threatening hand. At dinner, little Tommy doesn’t so much as eat, but rather shovel his food like some soulless spectre. Fleeting glances from his parents convey not the eternal love of a parent, nor concern, but rather a sort of stifled panic not seen since The Exorcist. Kevin throws himself under the covers, wishing it would all go away.
It’s Christmas, and Kevin wakes and makes his way toward his parents’ bedroom. Upon arriving he’s met with a look that says, ‘how the hell did you survive the abortion?’ rather than the glee of a young family experiencing their first Christmas together.
Kevin smiles, and moves toward the bed holding a parcel that has suspiciously similar dimension to that of a head. His sister is nowhere to be seen.
‘Guess what’s in here, you bastards?’
‘For gifts you can’t wait to give.’
Paedo chic: Coming out from the shadows
Posted: 13/10/2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: chic, fashion, men's fashion, paedophile fashion, street style 2 Comments »There’s a sinister, yet alluringly dressed menace stalking the streets and playgrounds of British suburbia. A menace who’s surreptitiously been at the forefront of a halfhearted new look known as ‘Paedo Chic’. It’s a dour, pedestrian style that draws influence from charity shop and chav street fashions. Paedo chic is the dowdy, jumbled and musty old trend that’s taking UK cul-de-sacs by storm.
It’s a style that’s been gathering momentum away from traditional fashion for some time. Only recently has it been galvanised via a number of high-profile paedo pioneers making their way into the mainstream. Today, paedophile chic devotees are popping up everywhere; appearing in the Daily Mail, shopping at Asda and Millets, and making up a large proportion of the audience on the Jeremy Kyle Show.
Despite it’s unfriendly overtones, paedo chic is a look that anyone can work. Here, we’ve compiled a handy rub-down of many paedo staples so you can try out the look behind the safety of you net curtains.
This is Iain, 29. Iain’s working a dark, techie and functional look. The jacket says, ‘let’s tussle!’, but the glasses and backpack say, ‘only after I’ve downloaded and encrypted these files!’ Iain has that sci-fi, Matrix nonce style perfected. The joyless matching of black leather to a characterless turquoise TK Maxx shirt accentuates his washed out and worn facial features. He certainly knows how to work the mob gauntlet. His furrowed brow gives him that evasive demeanour. We’re sure he just wants to get home, stick a Fray Bentos in the oven, and get down to some quality Chatroulette time.
Well hello! Who’s this cheeky chappy? Remember guys, if you’re gonna accessorise, more is more. Just ask Greg, 46. This foxy old cad’s got all the delicious ingredients for a huge nonce pie, but has zhuzhed up the recipe by adding a set of rad wheels for dessert. Nothing screams limp, ominous sex offender like an unnecessary wheelchair. There’s room for you +1 with this handy and fun little add-on. We’re giving extra credit for those gorgeous leather gloves, reverse midriff display, and velcro shoes. Go get ‘em, Greg!
Here’s Neil, 22. Muted, unassuming pastel colours are a great look for the urban paedophile, and here they’ve been matched perfectly. The blue really draws attention to Neil’s pallid complexion, with his acne and harrowing eyes creating striking, haunting contrasts. Neil’s natural features are a huge benefit here, marking him out as a simply stunning nonce. Simple, dangerous and ready for a trip to Legoland. His crooked smile, unremarkable hairdo and cold white ears give his face an asymmetry that’s crucial for pulling off this number. To achieve a complexion like Neil’s, a strict diet of microwave dinners and fizzy Ribena should be adhered to. Neil’s got the look that’ll have nervous school office workers dialling the local police station for. Brillo!
Step back gentlemen, and make way for the Karl Lagerfeld of kiddie-fiddling fashion: Ray Hewlett, 63. Unnecessary raincoat, layering up, jogging bottoms, long hair and the use of a wheelchair despite having the ability to walk mark Ray out as a paed truly at the top of his game. Hewlett’s credited with kick-starting the paedophile fashion movement during the 70s, and, having cultivated his look for a number of years, he’s a well respected face on the ring. His rumpus of wearisome Scope threads embolden the ephemeral and effortless look of a paedophile, all topped off with Ray’s signature wiry locks. We also love the handy multi tool lanyard. His look says unassuming sexual predator on the prowl. Grrr.
For paedophiles, an infinitely more harrowing variation on the wheelchair is the electric scooter. Add a basket full of torches to the mix and you have yourself a genuinely terrifying ensemble. Just imagine being stalked by David, 61, with the whir of his electric motor doing little to drown out his frenzied panting as he draws nearer down the darkened alley. David’s sporting that casual day-at-court look that says, ‘How can I be a paedo? I can’t even take a dump without running out of breath, let along chase children!’. Whatever you say, Dave. We love the tracksuit bottom/suit trouser combo, and that sallow shirt really compliments David’s bleak features. His mouth agape is a lovely touch, lest we mention the white socks. Absolutely perfect.
X-Men Budgets
Posted: 24/06/2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Stan Lee, Wolverine, X-Men 1 Comment »
On set of the next X-Men movie, Stan Lee comes face to face with the realities of studio cutbacks.
Other things Bruno Mars would probably do for ya
Posted: 24/06/2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Bruno Mars, Grenade, music, new single, other things bruno mars would do 2 Comments »If someone told you to jump off a cliff, would you do it? Singing sensation Bruno Mars probably would. He sure is keen. Ladies, if you ever happen upon a similar man you’d better snap him up real quick, because a man like Mars will actually jump in front of a train for you if only you’d ask. He’d shoot himself in the brain at your request. That’s dedication! Imagine Bruno, working himself into a Deerhunter style frenzy, picking up a handgun, pressing the barrel against his temple before pulling the trigger and blowing his brains out…for ya. Of course you’d be left to deal with the bloody mess, probable mental scarring and hours of subsequent police questioning, but who cares? Get this man some life insurance!
Would you do the same? No, probably not, because you’re a selfish bitch. Here are some other things our man Mars is probably willing to do for ya:
- Move to Spain for ya.
- Give up his seat on a train for ya.
- Unblock a drain for ya.
- Hijack a plane for ya.
- Name his child Dwayne for ya.
- Resit sixth grade for ya.
- Nuke the Ukraine for ya.
- Douse his balls in acid rain for ya.
- Sever his jugular vein for ya.
- Launch into a drug fueled, anti-Semitic tirade for ya.
- Sodomise Alex Zane for ya.
Do you know any other man that would do that? No. Because every other man is a dick for not wanting to kill himself for ya. I wish Bruno Mars would jump in front of a train for me. *Sigh.
Things I hate: The Windows 7 advert
Posted: 23/06/2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: like what you see it's a new PC, Lindsey, new windows advert, Windows 7 advert 5 Comments »I hate adverts. I’m sure the success of adverts depends on people like me grabbing strangers in the street and asking, ‘HAVE YOU SEEN THAT WINDOWS 7 ADVERT!? IT’S AWFUL! I HATE IT! I HATE IT! I HATE IT! I WANT IT TO DIEEEE!’, before screaming off into the distance.
There’s a place reserved in hell for the creators of this baseless dross:
'What the shit have you done to the dado rail!?'
Meet Lindsey, 57. She thinks her eight year old PC is good enough. Eight years old! What is it? A Difference Engine? I didn’t know you could access Faceparty on one of those. Using Microsoft Word on an eight year old PC must be like typewriting onto a sheet of idiot.
You’d have thought Lindsey would have gone looking for a new PC had she wanted one? Well, seemingly not. Cue Microsoft going all Pimp My Living Room on her arse, and turning her living room into a bone-fide, gaudy laptop showroom. I’m speechless!
Yo, dawg, we heard you like PC showrooms...
Everyone knows that if you’ve been using the same PC for eight years, not only are you a light-weary moron, but you’ve essentially been missing out on the luxury of having a PC store in your house. How I’ve mocked my parents with their furniture and pictures as I bask in the warmth of pastel coloured walls strewn with monitors that beam lifeless reams of stock imagery upon my empty, wretched soul.
'Dad's on the phone!'
Had Lindsey torn herself away from flirting with Gavin the PC guy for one second she could have taken the call. It’s from Tony, her husband. Tony works every hour heaven sends in a job he hates so that Lindsey can sit on her fat arse all day reading Take A Shit magazine and shovelling Snack a Jacks into her pie hole.
Tony’s trying to tell her how much he loves her, and that he’s leaving his job so the two of them can finally travel around Sri Lanka. For God’s sake don’t make any unnecessary purchases on the credit card.
‘I’m busy. Looking at new computers’
Oh no.
Lindsey’s daughter slams the phone down.
‘Oh. But…I need to tell her something’ The lines goes dead. Tony holds the yellowed receiver to his ear before carefully placing it back in the cradle. He slowly opens his top drawer and reaches for the antique pistol that belonged to his father. Pressing the rusty, cold barrel into the back of his mouth, his finger tentatively rests upon the trigger.
‘It’s lighter than my handbag!’ says Lindsey excitedly, fawning over the cheap plastic, baby shit brown machine. Lighter than her handbag! No hard task, given the amount of consealer, Vagisil and dildos she insists on carrying round with her all day.
'I'm a PC, and this, is marvellous' clunks Lindsey.
As she turns back towards the ersatz glow of her newly furnished computer room, a police car wearily rolls up outside her house.
Hug Life Posse Strike Again!
Posted: 21/05/2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: hug life, hugged, Hugging mugging, mugged 1 Comment »
It’s the docile crime wave that’s rocking Manchester to its very core. In a series of compliant attacks, young professionals based in the Northern Quarter are having their digital toys ruthlessly snatched like candy-laden babies. They’ve fallen victim to a benign hug.
For a number of months a gang known as ‘The Hug Life Posse’ have been terrorising Manchester’s digital sector, targeting prosperous but unkempt digital types who boast high-end Apple gadgetry such as iPhones, iPads and iPods.
The Hug Life Posse wait patiently while their target gets smashed up on specialty ales such as Hobbit’s Brown Finger and Curly Wurly Edale. Stalking like tech-hungry cheetahs in the Serengeti, it’s only when their quarry has vacated the safety of its watering hole that the huggers begin their fatal attack with astute precision.
Working in pairs, one of the two huggers will distract their victim with light banter. The jovial prey is too jolly on grog to comprehend what’s happening. It’s then that the attackers deliver the fatal maneuver. Gradually, the assailant makes the, ‘give me a hug’, arms outstretched gesture. By now the victim believes he has built sufficient rapport with his attackers, and in a split second of misinterpreted camaraderie, he obliges the deadly hug.
It’s at this moment that a second assailant carefully rifles through the victim’s pockets, pilfering whatever he can find, drunk with lust like an Apple fanboy on launch day. If the prey becomes suspicious, the hugger will dazzle his victim with verses of a boozy sing-along favourites such as ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ by Queen.
Only smaller items are taken, however, a number of Hug Life victims describe the horror having woken up without keys, shoes and even limbs. One victim relives the terror having been targeted by two ferocious huggers one starless night: “It was terrifying. They took all my gizmos. One minute we’re hugging, singing ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’, the next, they’re gone. They even took my Kindle. I’m not too bothered about that, though. It’s completely shit.”
Phil Henson of Greater Manchester Police said: “This Northern Quarter iPhone robbing spate reminds me of the great Chorlton-cum-Hardy pager thievery of the early 90s. It’s a vile and heinous crime spree that affects everyone in our fair city. What kind of world are we living in where you can’t even embrace a man without having your overpriced Apple products pinched? A shit one. That’s what kind.”
The police have several leads, and are appealing for witnesses or anyone who’s been a victim of a hugging to come forward. “We recommend that any close contact with strangers be avoided. No kissing, no hugging, no love making. We’ll crack this one, even if it’s the last thing we ever do in the history of policing. Ever.”
More Names Announced for NeilFest
Posted: 10/02/2011 Filed under: Uncategorized 1 Comment »
Homeless Matt
Homeless Matt, the weird guy who does open mic at The Swan, tops the list of additions to the NeilFest line-up this summer.
The outspoken musician who attends every open mic night in the Berkshire area will make his headlining debut at NeilFest in July.
Known for adding his own brand of desperate dour balladry to hits such as ‘Cheeky Song (Touch My Bum)’ by The Cheeky Girls and ‘My Humps’ by The Black Eyed Peas, this will be the singers only festival appearance, after some recent remarks regarding children landed his name in both the local newspaper and on the sex offenders register.
Neville The Cancerous Mole
Also confirmed on Friday for the three-day drink and drug binge extravaganza are Datchet rockers Neville the Cancerous Mole, Bracknell country-math band %%%, and Ascot-based Mumstep trio Smashing Shirley, who’ll appear on the Saturday night to help raise funds for more beer and nitrous oxide.
Shirley Draper of Mumstep trio Smashing Shirley
Speaking about the festival, promoter Neil Sullivan said, “Once again we’ve set a benchmark for the DIY festival. NeilFest had its humble beginnings in our back garden at uni, and now moves to the heady climbs of Leigh’s dad’s allotment.
“It’s not massive or anything. It’s just well chilled out. There’s no advertising like all the big festivals. We like to keep the everything local.”
This year’s DazFest is being supplied by Mike Chaff’s homebrew cider, with drugs food provided by local dealer Ammo.
Ammo. He loves pussy.
NeilFest takes place on Leigh’s dad’s allotment from Friday, July 8 to Sunday, July 10. Tickets are available by ringing Neil.
Realistic PR of the day: Smashinglad – Alt Ctrl Del!
Posted: 08/02/2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: CTRL, Topman 1 Comment »(Disclaimer: This post is not about a new music show called CTRL from Topman)
Smashinglad are gonna pull down your pants and dry hump you from behind with their new tepid music smell, Smashinglad Alt Ctrl Del! Hosted by Radio 1 button presser and serial rapist Vermin Kaye, the series will bore music fans to mental breakdown, as it features a veritable ‘oh crap, not them!’ of new and vapid music acts. Each show will have an exclusive ‘controller’, who’ll choose the acts Smashinglad have endorsed, in true Smashinglad Alt Ctrl Del! style. Lined up in the Alt Ctrl Del! hot seat for shows 1 to 3 is that arsehole one from the Inbetweeners, James Buckley, misfit Heather Small and high-lord of all that’s abhorent and lifeless in music, Mark Ronson.
With six insipid instalments taking place each Thursday, Smashinglad Alt Ctrl Del! kicks off on February 10th on Channel 49, and will air mediocre, but well lit performances from the blandest acts around, including Fuck Topman and Topshop, Topman Clothes are Probably Manufactured by Blind Seals, Brother, TOPMAN CLOTHES ARE SLIPSHOD SHIT and How Much!? For a fucking cardigan?, to name but a few. Smashinglad Alt Ctrl Del! paid the likes of Rod Hull, Leo Sayer and Sting to curate undersubscribed gigs in cities up and down the country. Now Smashinglad bring Alt Ctrl Del! to the small screen, giving viewers the option of moaning about modern music from the comfort of their own home. Miss out!
Vermin Kay says, “Yeah, I can’t really be arsed. Hopefully it’ll be a chance for people to see that I’m not just a rapist, but also an okay TV presenter. It’s annoying that this ‘ere telly show is a showcase for shit. There’s not a lot of live music on TV at the moment, only that slippery lizard-man Jools Holland and his awful, awful world music, so I guess it’s better than that. There’s so much great music being made; maybe one day we’ll get to hear it!”
Danielle Volkswagon, Senior Marketing Manager, Smashinglad says, ” Smashinglad Alt Ctrl Del! is about revenue. Alt Ctrl Del! means we get to feature the most commercially viable bands, dress them in our clothes, and put them out to the Channel 49 audience. It excites me thinking about how much money we’ll make – we’ll end up with huge piles of cash as these gawping, picture weary retards pile into our stores to try an emulate these marvelously named. We’ll be stinking filthy rich, all the while portraying the idea that we actually give a hoot about new music!”
Cool and wicked etc.
/Ends.
The National – Saturday November 27th @ Manchester Academy
Posted: 03/12/2010 Filed under: Uncategorized Leave a comment »I’m quite prepared to dislike the National this evening. Manchester Academy’s capacious and characterless space is thronging with bearded 20-somethings, all moping around like middle-aged emo kids. The Academy’s a painfully featureless venue that’s currently playing host to a painfully featureless support act. Talking throughout gigs is infuriating at the best of times. Right now though it’s quite justifiable.
Space is getting scarce. Men all around are clapping, squealing with excitement. Many of these men clamber stage-ward. I hear one of them confer to his friend as he walks past, “I hope Matt looks at me!” before shrieking off into the melee.
The National walk through a purple haze of light to fervent applause. They open with ‘Mistaken for Strangers’. It’s agreeable but, like a few they play tonight, lacks the depth that on record takes the band from the doldrums, to the euphoric heights that have many a grown man clunking like a love-starved schoolgirl. If there’s a Jonas Brothers for this demographic, it’s the National.
Occasionally they hit their stride. ‘Anyone’s Ghost’ is tender and sobering and near perfect. While their songs are engaging enough to hold the attention of a Saturday crowd, many of whom are now itching to drown their sorrows at the pub, it isn’t until ‘Bloodbuzz Ohio’ that things start to take off.
I admit, I’m knocked back. I wasn’t prepared for such a level of proficiency from a live act, especially here. It can so easily be a disappointment. Not tonight. Great sound, great songs. On ‘Conversation 16’ they slightly prolong the pause before the toms and it sends a shiver down my spine and I go a little mawkish. Only a band like the National could take a lyric as ridiculous as, “I was afraid I’d eat you brains” and furnish it with such blissful profundity. It’s quite poignant, and the reason why the National are slowly making their way into the CD collections of people across the land.
Between songs, and despite the lugubrious nature of much of their music, the band are in good spirits, and regale a baying crowd with stories about Aaron on the tourbus.
‘Sorrow’ and ‘London’ garner awe. There’s an encore and the band finish with a beautiful a capella of ‘Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks’. They’ve tried to hush the audience. The audience have tried to hush the audience, but to no avail. There’s nearly a fight as one man chastises another for breathing too loud.
As I leave a see the gaggle of man-fans crowding around the tour bus. More fights are breaking out. “I want Matt to sign my ass!” says one. “I’ve got a line from Start a War tattooed on my balls!” says another.
Afrirampo – WE ARE UCHU NO KO
Posted: 04/11/2010 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: afrirampo, WE ARE UCHU NO KO Leave a comment »
This is gonna be a glaringly biased review. You’ll struggle to find two-bit reviewers such as myself who won’t offer to cover an album by a band they love. And as far as I’m concerned, my beloved Osakan noise spirits Afrirampo can do no wrong. They belong in a stratum of magical musicians that draw a smile so broadly across my face that I don’t even recognise what a bad song by them sounds like. This is annoying because WE ARE UCHU NO KO (We Are Kids of the Universe) is a genuinely thrilling album, so just pretend that you’ve read this first bit.
For many they’d be an awkward sell. Shrieking, immature Japanese girls combine tribal and difficult sonic punk-something or otherness. Lets go with this: they’re insanely fun! In a bloody great river of melancholy and taking oneself too seriously, two noisy, unintelligible girls shouting and generally being unruly about music, all the while rocking with total abandon is a truly excellent thing.
If you’re familiar with Afrirampo then WE ARE UCHU NO KO is much of the same, albeit in a finely produced, varied and expansive package. The first disk retains that unabashed, chaotic and exciting immediacy of their early albums. Here songs are polished, timeless in their assortment of doomy-punk riffs, caterwaul shrieking and crazy tribal drums. I don’t know what the hell they’re saying, but I join in with the “AFURIRANPO!” and “POPOPOPOPOPO!” on ‘Sore Ga Afrirampo’. I know and smile at the constant reaffirmation of who they are. I love a band that does that.
It’s this stock that makes them great. ‘Tou Zai Nan Boku’, featuring their call and response lyrics atop the hugest raw guitar, gives the whole affair a pure and enticing characteristic. It’s like listening to two rambunctious and brave young anime explorers preparing for war after playtime.
WE ARE UCHU NO KO isn’t all so loud either. ‘Egolo Island’ is quite considered, and paves a way for an Afrirampo that play with melody on a whole new, yet familiarly audacious level. ‘Whyto’ is gentle, playful and displays a tender side to the duo that you’ve always known lies behind that brash.
From there the album takes a more somber, reflective tone, playing, as it does like an inevitable goodbye. ‘Yah Yah Yeah’ and ‘Sunwave Dance’ have an air of sadness, the duo calling out to each other, seemingly lost and separated on the latter. ‘Hoshi No Uta’ (parts 1-5) are expansive and experimental, in parts chaotic to glorious inhibition. Too soon you’re onto the final part. The most coherent, funny, sad and beautiful piece of music on WE ARE UCHU NO KO.
What makes this album even more perfect is that Afrirampo have indeed disbanded. And who can blame them? This is a fine swan song. Where it was all too much, too chaotic, too tribal, too screamy, too noisy, too magic, too stupid, WE ARE UCHU NO KO is all of these and more. There’s no other side. No bullshit. I’ll miss it greatly.
In The City: Part Two
Posted: 15/10/2010 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: About, allen, chad, City, day, HEALTH, in, kimbie, lily, mount, Satan, The, two, valley, Worried, youth Leave a comment »
Where’s day one? I have a blog but it was a bit of a incoherent blur having had a minor altercation with a cocktail of flu remedies and one too many G&Ts. I’ll put it up in a couple of years when the heat’s died down with John Robb. It’s more of a Fear and Loathing In The City piece anyway, but with prescription drugs and crap writing.
So today was by far a good day. I was all over Manchester on my fixie-bike, frequently pressing my Buddy Holly bins onto my self-regarding dickhead face.
First off was Kisses at the Castle. Painfully unhurried dreamy pop from this trio of cardigan models. I liken the experience to one big safe cardigan shopping trip with your mum. Songs weren’t bad either. I prefer loud noise and sweat so it wasn’t exactly my bag, but I can see the attraction. Definitely more of a record band than a live act. Spot Lily Allen. Try to make friends with her but she’s repulsed by my snotting and tells me to fuck off. She’s so lovely.
I’m a bit weird with laptop bands. Bands such as Worried About Satan. Anyone else feel that a gig needs to be aesthetically engaging? There’s not much you can do behind a laptop before it begins to look as though you’re enjoying your own music more than the audience. Worried About Satan bop enthusiastically like that. Very long, nondescript beat music. I like it, but it’s not engaging for me in a live setting, even while coming up on Lemsip Max Strength. Again, headphones on a train band.
I forgo D/R/U/G/S. Everyone else will cover them. Not a huge fan, and I’ve heard enough unexceptional laptop music for tonight (controversial). Plus, why are playing thrice across In The City? Really? Thrice?
I see Youth at Gullivers. Excellent. Young, broody young chaps with a collection of perfectly crafted songs. However I’ve only caught the end. Will keep an eye open for any future name changes and developments. I note that Gullivers is the kind of venue where I expect I’ll see something amazing. Any tips?
The pleasantly named Chad Valley at Soup Kitchen is the best thing so far. The guy has an amazing voice atop a collection of weird, croony, dare I say wonky pop backing. I like backing bands, but consider the hassle of having to run songs by them. For this reason what he plays is quite unique, and works in filling Soup Kitchen with an engaging sound that has passers-by stopping for glimpses through the window.
Smatka are an strange cabaret-cum-pop act. They’re not bad, audience seems a little nonplussed by the whole affair. Everyone looks around in order to gauge exactly what they should be doing. I concur.
Labyrinth Ear. Brilliant cold-wave minimal from this delightfully odd looking pair. These guys really belong in an early 80s German basement/dungeon. The tall fellow hits away at a drum pad that has that satisfyingly dull snare sound. Volume’s too low and audience murmur becomes a huge pain in the ass.
Mount Kimbie. Laptop band. I duck out early to head over to HEALTH. I’m torn between them and From the Kites of San Quentin. HEALTH are predictably amazing. Played a couple of new songs that appear to focus more on a beat you can continually move to, as opposed to frequent time changes. Big mosh and lots of smiles, except the one guy who stares in disbelief at his broken Armani glasses.
In The City Trends (For next year): Those chains that old people use to keep their glasses on at HEALTH.
My nodes are like friggin golf balls. Make of that what you will.
In The City – Live
Posted: 13/10/2010 Filed under: Uncategorized Leave a comment »
Update:
Intense. John Robb spied me from across the room and mouthed, “You!” with pointed finger before walking toward me T100 style. I ducked into the conference room before he could scalp me like he does in The Last of the Mohicans.
I’ll condense the 1-hour Blogging in the USA talk into a few sentences: One blog good, lots of blogs, bad. Be funny and shit. Don’t post MP3s without good content. All fairly standard. Was nice that (Joe?) from A New Band A Day piped up. He has a wonderful blog. Skip to the end, most bloggers are a bunch of cunts.
In The City Trends: “Buzzword” in the new buzzword.
I wanna see some bands already.
—
So I’m here. I’m an In The City virgin, apparently it’s been crap for a few years so there’s not much to live up to. Which thus far is just as well. Everyone’s talking to each other with very sincere looks on their faces. There goes John Robb, Mohawk cutting through the crowd like a scene from Jaws.
Saw a band while everyone else was too busy mulling away in conference rooms over what kind of underpants Guy Garvey wore while they recorded Elbow’s new album (I’m told a Jersey Brief). Lisbon duo Youthless were great. Of course if I say otherwise I’m likely due a beating from said band as they’re currently kipping on my floor. They play at the Umbro Design Studio at 9.30 on Friday. Plug over, honest, they’re well worth watching though.
In The City Trends: Those with lanyards, have front of pass facing you. That way someone might think you’re famous. They’re giving out some cool bags full of stuff. Apparently you should “totally go for the lemon flavoured energy drink!” It’s no “beware of the brown acid” but it’s a mantra I’ll certainly take heed of. Off for some blogging talk.
Joanna Newsom – Saturday September 18th @ The Palace
Posted: 12/10/2010 Filed under: Uncategorized Leave a comment »
I’m in the heavens, and every time someone sheepishly walks past to go for yet another piss the stairs creak like grandma’s house in the dead of night. Where I am it’s a disparate rabble of audience. A large frequency of beards, but other than that there’s no discernible character trait of a Newsom fan. This is of course irrelevant; I suppose other reviewers might allude to it as being ‘all part of the magic of the evening’.
Lights dim and a voice emerges from the shadows: “I can see in the dark!” I don’t think many here know who Roy Harper is, judging by the quantity of people who get up two songs into his set to go and get more beer, or piss. Harper’s warm, homely, and frequently breaks off the start of songs to voice his opinions on visiting pontiffs. I’ll admit I’m more aware of his legend than I am of his work, but he reminds me of someone somewhere between John Renbourn and Bill Bailey. The talent and the whimsy. He’s a great choice for support, and I chuckle at gung-ho members of the audience that let out a sole clap having assumed his last song’s done.
First band, and then the Newsom are met to a predictably rapturous applause. As she delicately plucks the first chords of ‘Bridges and Balloons’ a change of tone is noticeable in her voice (I’ll omit the node story. Google it). Those who struggled with the Lisa Simpson shrill of her earlier work would find no qualms with a softer, rounded and more mature colour that her voice has this evening. The sparse track tonight benefits from her Ys Street band, as they stir what were still moments of a wonderful reworking.
‘Have One On Me’ then ‘Easy’ are perfectly conducted. With the band live you appreciate the imperative role they play on HOOM (Crap acronym), elsewhere making up for a full orchestra brilliantly on ‘Cosmia’. One of many highlights is a striking rendition of ‘Inflammatory Writ’. Tonight there’s a greater air of drunken, hazy bar room, with trombone being played to marvellous effect on ‘Good Intentions Paving Company’. Newsom’s fingers play arachnid across the strings and you get the feeling you’re watching her at the top of her game. She oozes confidence and appears in good spirits, thankfully addressing audience members who insist on being David Bailey throughout the early part of the gig. She graces them a few moments to grab their grainy pictures before settling into a superb, albeit far too brief set.
However, such is the duration of Ys and Have One On Me, when you see Newsom live you feel cheated that you’ve not been graced with an epic night. There’s curfews afoot and she returns for a superb and enchanting encore of ‘Peach, Plum, Pear’ and ‘Jackrabbits’ before disappearing into the Manchester rain.
(Photo courtesy of Phil King)
