I'm aware that it's a very boring thing to go on about how "music is no good anymore," but I've noticed recently that guitar music these days seems to have a severe lack of messianic nut-cases that used to be so common back in the day. For example, Iggy Pop and Jim Morrison. Indeed, quite stereotypically for a student (WELL I'M NOT A STUDENT ANYMORE ACTUALLY) I've been getting into The Doors a bit recently, and I've noticed that the singer Jim Morrison was something of a charismatic fellow. What I'm trying to say is if Jim Morrison got into a charisma fight with say, a certain Mr. Peter Doherty, I wouldn't fancy the-fattest-junkie-of-all-time's chances that much.
Now, rather than just have a tedious and unproductive moan about this crisis, I am willing to suggest some possible solutions. The first and foremost is the prohibition of any more bands such as Good Shoes from forming. They're not doing anybody any favours. They sing songs about a place that they come from called Morden that they HATE because it's shit. This strikes me as a fundamental error in their songwriting.
JUST IMAGINE if Jim Morrison wrote lyrics like "My area's a bit rough, I don't like it that much, I'd feel more comfortable in general if my area was a bit more well-to-do...YEAAAHHHH! COME AAWWN!!"
He wouldn't have gone down in history as the legend he is, would he? Certainly not. He went down in history as the legend he is because he sung songs like 'Love Me Two Times,' which if I'm not mistaken is a song about engaging in hanky-panky/coitus/sex with a young lady not once, but TWICE. Now boys of Good Shoes (which is also a shit name admit it), take note here. He's writing songs about sex, which immediately is far more interesting and good than a crap place in England that you're from.
So yeah there's one of my suggestions, get rid of them lot and any more of their ilk, they're giving guitar music the bad name that it's been branded with these days.
What we need basically is a version of Lady GaGa for indie music, but a version that doesn't do shit songs and that. My proposal is that we assemble the new hope of indie with science. Did you hear recently that some scientist guy created an artificial cell? This presents us with many possibilities. What we should do is give him a ring and ask him if he can create us some uber-mental representative of indie culture who does banging tunes.
"I don't think you understand, this technology is very much in the fledgling stages of development...we're nowhere near the stage of being able to create an entire human being, and even then it would raise all sorts of ethical issues..."
"No mate I don't think you understand, I just want you to make a bloke (or woman!) who's mentally charismatic and talented to bring indie out of the depths it's been pummeled into by dubstep and the like. I think they ought to be part Iggy Pop, part Jim Morrison, part Kate Bush..."
"Look I just told you it isn't possible..."
"Why?"
"....Well for a start why are you ruling me out as this successor to the throne of indie?"
(A long silence)
"What do you mean?"
"Well I'm a pretty good singer. And you can ask my mates, I'm really charismatic. One thing somebody said to me once was that when I walk into a room, women look at me, and men try not to look at me because they don't wanna seem gay or whatever."
"...Well okay but I don't really think..."
"Look I'll come over in a minute and show you how good I am at singing."
So yeah the scientist guy shows up and he's fucking amazing, he's got Rod Stewart's voice and is so mental that half of the vicinity is destroyed in the process of his performance, so the problem's solved without having to create a scientific monstrosity. He goes out and saves the day, immediately making people like Kele from Bloc Party and Ryan from The Cribs seem ridiculously unnecessary, and consequently they are politely told to fuck off. Also, I make a bit of money out of it because I'm his manager so I get 10% of everything he earns. Yeah, I'm raking it in by this stage. Really rich.
See ya later.
Wednesday, 30 June 2010
Kate Bush
Instead of people doing that 'Get Rage Against The Machine To Christmas Number 1!" thing on Facebook last Christmas, what we all should have done is had a bloody good sit-down and whacked 'Wuthering Heights' on on our tape-cassette players. This would've made everybody realise that 'Killing In The Name Of' or whatever the fuck it's called was an ill-fitting choice for the Christmas Number 1. It's got too much whining in it. Indeed, and verily, Kate Bush's sublimely annoying but fucking brilliant single 'Wuthering Heights' should've been the one.
Case in point, allow me to compare two extracts of the songs' lyrics and we shall see which fares the better (in my personal opinion, which is arguably the only correct opinion I will ever comprehend because it's mine. I don't live in your head do I for the love of bitches, so your opinion isn't mine, so it's wrong. In my opinion)
'Killing In The Name Of' lyrical extract:
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
Critique: Bit repetitive isn't it?
'Wuthering Heights' lyrical extract:
Out on the wily, windy moors
We'd roll and fall in green
You had a temper, like my jealousy
Too hot, too greedy
How could you leave me?
When I needed to possess you?
I hated you, I loved you too
Critique: Ne'er before in pop history has an opening line been delivered with such a ridiculously stupid voice and immediately arrested the curiosity and imagination of the listener. And look at the delicious use of paradox in the closing line! Pure heaven. Truly here we are witnessing the expression of a crazy bitch/genius, and one which will guide us into a brighter dawn, if only we'd let it.
So yeah, it's either that, or some bloke having a bit of a moan. It's basically the difference between either listening to an old man in the newsagent go on about how stamps used to be proper cheap, or having sex with Angelina Jolie. Are you saying you'd rather talk to an old man than have sex with Angelina Jolie? That's a bit weird.
All I'm saying is folks, the sooner you let Kate Bush into your hearts, the better. And I read the guy from Outkast who isn't the famous one really likes her, so there's something.
So yeah if such a Facebook campaign is ever/e'er started up again then I would hope the immediate first choice would be Kate Bush, otherwise I might throw a strop for a few moments.
What do you reckon is the shortest strop in history? I reckon it was when Simon Cowell's X-Factor Christmas Single didn't get to number 1. I imagine he didn't give the slightest fuck. The poor misguided youth who won the competition, however, was most probably mortified. Well done you lot.
By the way I was actually really pleased when Rage Against The Machine beat the smarmy X-Factor dickhead even though I find them a bit annoying.
Here is what I think Rage Against The Machine sound like:
See ya later.
Case in point, allow me to compare two extracts of the songs' lyrics and we shall see which fares the better (in my personal opinion, which is arguably the only correct opinion I will ever comprehend because it's mine. I don't live in your head do I for the love of bitches, so your opinion isn't mine, so it's wrong. In my opinion)
'Killing In The Name Of' lyrical extract:
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
Critique: Bit repetitive isn't it?
'Wuthering Heights' lyrical extract:
Out on the wily, windy moors
We'd roll and fall in green
You had a temper, like my jealousy
Too hot, too greedy
How could you leave me?
When I needed to possess you?
I hated you, I loved you too
Critique: Ne'er before in pop history has an opening line been delivered with such a ridiculously stupid voice and immediately arrested the curiosity and imagination of the listener. And look at the delicious use of paradox in the closing line! Pure heaven. Truly here we are witnessing the expression of a crazy bitch/genius, and one which will guide us into a brighter dawn, if only we'd let it.
So yeah, it's either that, or some bloke having a bit of a moan. It's basically the difference between either listening to an old man in the newsagent go on about how stamps used to be proper cheap, or having sex with Angelina Jolie. Are you saying you'd rather talk to an old man than have sex with Angelina Jolie? That's a bit weird.
All I'm saying is folks, the sooner you let Kate Bush into your hearts, the better. And I read the guy from Outkast who isn't the famous one really likes her, so there's something.
So yeah if such a Facebook campaign is ever/e'er started up again then I would hope the immediate first choice would be Kate Bush, otherwise I might throw a strop for a few moments.
What do you reckon is the shortest strop in history? I reckon it was when Simon Cowell's X-Factor Christmas Single didn't get to number 1. I imagine he didn't give the slightest fuck. The poor misguided youth who won the competition, however, was most probably mortified. Well done you lot.
By the way I was actually really pleased when Rage Against The Machine beat the smarmy X-Factor dickhead even though I find them a bit annoying.
Here is what I think Rage Against The Machine sound like:
See ya later.
What If Something Fucking Mental Happened, That'd Be Good Wouldn't It
For instance, imagine if during the world cup final this year (TOPICAL) Jesus decided to do his second coming. It'd be such an anti-climax for the poor fellow.
"I'm back, come on everybody look at me!" he'd be hollering outside the stadium. Literally gets blanked, except by a massive security guard.
"Listen mate, you're gonna have to fuck off or I'm gonna go mental," he warns in his ridiculous South African accent.
"I'm Jesus though," reasons Mr. Christ. (Saying Mr. Christ seems strange, but I'm gonna stick with it)
"Yeah what's your point?"
"...Well I don't really have anything apart from that to be honest, I thought that'd be quite impressive on its own."
"Right, either show me a ticket or fuck the fuck off for Nelson Mandella's sake," the security says, quite carefully not taking Jesus's dad's name in vain. So, Jesus being Jesus, he does a miracle and conjures a ticket out of thin air.
"Thank you. Right, in you go then." He's an alright guy deep down, was just doing his job, like.
So Jesus goes in, but unfortunately he conjured up a really shit ticket so he's right at the back and behind a massive post.
"Fucking hell," he grumbles to himself, but then remembers the reason why he came in.
"Everybody! 'Tis I, Jesus, I'm back to lead you all to a golden age of peace!" he hollers, but unfortunately is drowned out by those fucking horns that sound like a massive bee.
"This is shit," he sighs. And besides he's wasting his time because by some strange coincidence everybody in the stadium is a Buddhist so they wouldn't really care about him being back anyways. To them it's similar to Noel Edmunds' return to television.
Nevertheless, when the game is over and the cup is being held up by North Korea (yeah they win) he runs onto the pitch and tries again.
"Listen up!" he says, but is mistaken for a crazy cunt and is immediately shot. See ya later.
"I'm back, come on everybody look at me!" he'd be hollering outside the stadium. Literally gets blanked, except by a massive security guard.
"Listen mate, you're gonna have to fuck off or I'm gonna go mental," he warns in his ridiculous South African accent.
"I'm Jesus though," reasons Mr. Christ. (Saying Mr. Christ seems strange, but I'm gonna stick with it)
"Yeah what's your point?"
"...Well I don't really have anything apart from that to be honest, I thought that'd be quite impressive on its own."
"Right, either show me a ticket or fuck the fuck off for Nelson Mandella's sake," the security says, quite carefully not taking Jesus's dad's name in vain. So, Jesus being Jesus, he does a miracle and conjures a ticket out of thin air.
"Thank you. Right, in you go then." He's an alright guy deep down, was just doing his job, like.
So Jesus goes in, but unfortunately he conjured up a really shit ticket so he's right at the back and behind a massive post.
"Fucking hell," he grumbles to himself, but then remembers the reason why he came in.
"Everybody! 'Tis I, Jesus, I'm back to lead you all to a golden age of peace!" he hollers, but unfortunately is drowned out by those fucking horns that sound like a massive bee.
"This is shit," he sighs. And besides he's wasting his time because by some strange coincidence everybody in the stadium is a Buddhist so they wouldn't really care about him being back anyways. To them it's similar to Noel Edmunds' return to television.
Nevertheless, when the game is over and the cup is being held up by North Korea (yeah they win) he runs onto the pitch and tries again.
"Listen up!" he says, but is mistaken for a crazy cunt and is immediately shot. See ya later.
Good Weather
Everybody loves a bit of nice weather, including my good self. The thing is though, does anybody else ever get the thought that the weather's only being good at the moment in order to distract us from something thoroughly sinister that it may be planning? I mean, none of us have even met The Weather in person before, so nobody knows whether (aaah that wasn't on purpose) it ought to be trusted or not, we only ever become victims of its literally indecisive mind. Nobody's seen if it has a trusting face, etc.
"Yeah alright then I'll be sunny. Aw nah nah nah actually a bit cloudy!" The Weather says to its P.A. The P.A waits patiently for another change of thought.
"Certain?" the celestial P.A asks. If you're wondering what a celestial P.A looks like, it doesn't look like Carol Vorderman. I hope that helps.
"Nah! I take it back...."
"I've already made it a bit cloudy..."
"Yeah well.....can't you just make it a tiny bit sunnier then? But with some nonsensical bursts of rain which ruin anybody's chances of a hairstyle?"
"Yes sir/madam."
So yeah if you think your job is hard, imagine being The Weather's P.A. Anyways, so yeah all we know of the person that is The Weather is the results of their actions, and seeing as those actions have been uncharacteristically steady of late, with these lovely sunny days, we can only assume something nasty/shit is afoot. My theory is that The Weather is a bit bored of being in charge of Earth's climate and fancies its chances as something of a 'celeb'. Indeed, The Weather has recently acquired a subscription to Heat magazine, and it pours over its shiny pages with a fevered mind, obsessing over the romantic inclinations of Lady GaGa and Victoria Beckham's capability of looking a bit rough in trackies. The Weather reflects upon its eternal position of just sitting about and deciding upon the moisture levels in Florida and the difference in overall temperature that the wind will make in some shit village in Scotland and it thinks, "I got something of a raw deal, here."
Consequently, The Weather has set the master controls to auto-pilot, permanently 'Quite Nice' weather, and we can only assume that it intends to invade the impenetrable realms of the celeb world with its very own persona very very soon; just as useless as the rest of them but just as tantalizingly irresistible, with mundane family problems and perhaps some sort of minor addiction to prescription painkillers.
"P.A! What do you think I should look like? Should I be slightly alternative or should I be mainstream but with a bit of a kooky edge. Like, because I don't want to alienate too many people or anything but also I don't want to put off the alternative crowd altogether, do you know what I mean? And what should I be, should I be the child of another celebrity or should I be a really shit singer or something?" asks The Weather as it stresses around in its bedroom trying to plan an outfit.
"To be honest, I didn't sign up for this. I'm not qualified for this sort of thing at all. I'm a barely comprehensible personification of an abstract idea that influences the climate, not Simon Cowell."
And here The Weather hangs a heavy head and lets out a sigh.
"Then....I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go."
"I don't think it really works like that, I'm not on a wage necessarily because I don't really exist in the true sense of the word. I don't have a bank account or anything."
"...Urm. Well I don't really know what to suggest to be honest, then."
This mild altercation will probably go on for quite some time so I wouldn't worry too much about The Weather's arrival to our celeb culture just yet.
But still, whilst the sun is still shining, try not to enjoy it too much in case any of what I'm saying is true, because another 'celeb' infecting our media would be a bit shit.
"Yeah alright then I'll be sunny. Aw nah nah nah actually a bit cloudy!" The Weather says to its P.A. The P.A waits patiently for another change of thought.
"Certain?" the celestial P.A asks. If you're wondering what a celestial P.A looks like, it doesn't look like Carol Vorderman. I hope that helps.
"Nah! I take it back...."
"I've already made it a bit cloudy..."
"Yeah well.....can't you just make it a tiny bit sunnier then? But with some nonsensical bursts of rain which ruin anybody's chances of a hairstyle?"
"Yes sir/madam."
So yeah if you think your job is hard, imagine being The Weather's P.A. Anyways, so yeah all we know of the person that is The Weather is the results of their actions, and seeing as those actions have been uncharacteristically steady of late, with these lovely sunny days, we can only assume something nasty/shit is afoot. My theory is that The Weather is a bit bored of being in charge of Earth's climate and fancies its chances as something of a 'celeb'. Indeed, The Weather has recently acquired a subscription to Heat magazine, and it pours over its shiny pages with a fevered mind, obsessing over the romantic inclinations of Lady GaGa and Victoria Beckham's capability of looking a bit rough in trackies. The Weather reflects upon its eternal position of just sitting about and deciding upon the moisture levels in Florida and the difference in overall temperature that the wind will make in some shit village in Scotland and it thinks, "I got something of a raw deal, here."
Consequently, The Weather has set the master controls to auto-pilot, permanently 'Quite Nice' weather, and we can only assume that it intends to invade the impenetrable realms of the celeb world with its very own persona very very soon; just as useless as the rest of them but just as tantalizingly irresistible, with mundane family problems and perhaps some sort of minor addiction to prescription painkillers.
"P.A! What do you think I should look like? Should I be slightly alternative or should I be mainstream but with a bit of a kooky edge. Like, because I don't want to alienate too many people or anything but also I don't want to put off the alternative crowd altogether, do you know what I mean? And what should I be, should I be the child of another celebrity or should I be a really shit singer or something?" asks The Weather as it stresses around in its bedroom trying to plan an outfit.
"To be honest, I didn't sign up for this. I'm not qualified for this sort of thing at all. I'm a barely comprehensible personification of an abstract idea that influences the climate, not Simon Cowell."
And here The Weather hangs a heavy head and lets out a sigh.
"Then....I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go."
"I don't think it really works like that, I'm not on a wage necessarily because I don't really exist in the true sense of the word. I don't have a bank account or anything."
"...Urm. Well I don't really know what to suggest to be honest, then."
This mild altercation will probably go on for quite some time so I wouldn't worry too much about The Weather's arrival to our celeb culture just yet.
But still, whilst the sun is still shining, try not to enjoy it too much in case any of what I'm saying is true, because another 'celeb' infecting our media would be a bit shit.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
