Sheep Against the Machine

Rage Against the Machine for Christmas #1. I’ve been invited to this group about ten times. So I joined and tried to have a conversation about the idea with some of the other members. Their responses contained a large volume of the word ‘fuck’ as well as various other insults, often misspelled.

It struck me that talking to these people was very much like talking to politicians. They are adamant about every single point, yet if they spy you getting near a chink in their armour, they change stance. Their tag line reads “Fuck you I won’t buy what you sell me!” Very clever. One person said to me (and I reproduce all comments as they were originally typed):

“this is a stand up and fight demonstration against the crass majority thats musical taste is shaped by”

OK, so what are you against? People in offices making decisions about marketing? People like Simon Cowell who have the weight to send things straight into the charts? Pop music? I hate to break it to you guys, but Rage records are all put out on by big record companies. In face, in this case the same company that Simon Cowell works for… Sony. I doubt Rage would get much money from the single sales, and nor do they need it. My suggestion was, instead of buying a single, go to a local gig. Buy an independent album. Put some money into artist’s pockets and cut out the corporate machine. The response?

“no way could you get everyone to rush out and by an independent bands single without an expensive advertising method and no way would that band deserve all the attention and money they would recieve"

What a lovely sentiment. Apparently, if a band is small, they are automatically shit. You have to have sold several million records to ‘deserve’ and success. I do accept the point about advertising though, despite the fact it’s irrelevant whether anyone gets to the top of the charts or not.

It’s a nice sentiment to try and topple the X Factor’s dominance of the Christmas #1 spot, but let’s not pretend it’s a noble protest. I’d love to see these guys talk to Zach de la Rocha and tell him they were going to buy a 17 year old American single to protest about the consumerist British music industry. People kept talking about how ‘important’ this idea was, and how they were doing it because they ‘cared’ about music. And they said all this as if I didn’t, which is very clearly not true.

If you care about music, why not do this every week? If you care about music, why are you so preoccupied by the singles chart? If you care about music, why don’t you go and watch live music? If you care about music, why not buy a song that you like and don’t already own, and isn’t nearly 20 years old, by a band who haven’t released any new music since 2002? And the question I’d really like to ask them is:

If you care about music, why do you hate Simon Cowell?

How many people do you think gave thought up a considered answer to this? Not many, I’d expect. I’m not saying I like the man, it just seems like he’s demonised because he’s an easy target.

Let’s be honest, this isn’t any different to those groups on Facebook that are called:

“IF I GET 1 MILLON FOLOWERS MY GF WILL LET ME CALL MY SON SPIDERMAN!!!!!!!1!!! OMG”

People just take it as a funny idea, and follow like sheep. Except in this case it’s different. That child is never going to be called Spiderman. Unless the parents are actually fucking idiots. This just seems to be people assuming that by buying this single, they’re embodying the spirit of the song – and they haven’t even thought about how or why.

Hell, I hope they succeed. I hope they have to cut out all the swear words when they play it on Radio 1. I’m just happy listening to some good old fashioned Christmas music, I’ll stick Rage on when I’m drunk and fancy a play-fight with Joe Selwyn. And to everyone who would like to force me to buy Killing in the Name:

Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Motherfucker!

I think that’s the right amount…

How d'you like them Apple(s)

OK, here’s the thing. Apple piss me off. I hate them. And yes, some of this hatred is definitely as completely irrational as the legions of Mac fanboys and girls that repeatedly slam their javelins into Steve Job’s USB port. In fact, some of my hatred is positively inspired by it.

I like PCs. But when nVidia announce a GPU, or Logitech announce a wireless keyboard, or LG break the news that they’re releasing a thinner monitor, I don’t thrust my hand straight into my pants. Nor do I spend hundreds upon hundreds of pounds to upgrade something that’s at best, a little bit better (or corrects horrifyingly obvious mistakes). And after said purchase, I don’t become a 21st Century Jehovah’s Witness. There’s little more annoying that when you say to a Mac disciple something like “No, actually, I have a PC.” and they smile, as if they’ve pitying a mentally disabled person. Because that’s the kind of thing Mac owners do. They pity the disabled.

Between upgrading my phone, Sony released at least five impressive updates on their range, but mine worked OK, so I sat out. Then when my contract came up for renewal, I went for a better model, and it was stolen from me a few weeks later. I think the moral of the story is clear. Don’t panda to advertising and consumerism, or people from Peckham will threaten you and steal your things. Ironically for this article, the only thing they didn’t take was my iPod. They must have already had the newer version.

If you’re wondering what inspired this tirade against Apple, it’s the announcement of their new line of products. They’ve updated a load of stuff, making everything faster, smaller, rounder and most importantly, shinier. In the promo material from their new Magic Mouse, I found some rather mystifying sentences. For example:

“You can’t help but marvel at its smooth, buttonless appearance.”

This seems to imply that when I see this product, I’m going to do something that, up until this point, I’ve never done to a mouse before. I’m going to marvel at it. Yes, marvel. At a mouse. I think I’ve only really marvelled maybe five times in my entire life. I think I may once have marvelled at an incredible clear night sky, when I was in the company of someone special, feeling very important in one person’s life, whist the seemingly infinite universe appeared to confirm the opposite, that no human endeavour is of any consequence, in such a vast, timeless cosmos that we happen to inhabit, all the time this exquisite juxtaposition exposing what really we mean by ‘spirituality’, and maybe even the notion of God. Mice rarely evoke these feelings. It goes on:

“Then you touch it and instantly appreciate how good it feels in your hand.”

To me, and I’m sorry about this, this just sounds plain smutty. I giggled quite a lot. Childish or not, it’s laughable advertising. Come on, when you read it, you thought of something dirty, didn’t you? Didn’t you? Yeah you did.

The next line I’m going to pick out I’m not really going to explain, because it conjured up some rather enjoyable images when I first read it, and I wouldn’t want to influence what occurs to anyone else on reading it:

“Inside Magic Mouse is a chip that tells it exactly what you want to do.”

I want to isolate that sentence from the rest of the text and just say it to people when I’m introduced to them. See what happens. They go on to claim that the mouse will work on:

“…nearly every surface — whether it’s a table at your favourite cafe or the desk in your home office.”

So, those are the two surfaces at either end of this vast spectrum that includes ‘nearly every surface’? Two different types of table? If I bought a mouse that cost £5 and I put it on a table and it didn’t work, I’d be shocked. Optical mice have been the norm for, what, about 8 years now? When was the last time anyone actually bought and used a mouse mat? The last two that I had were either part of a members pack from the ECB that I thought was cool, or one adorned with a ghastly picture of Kylie Minogue, that my brother gave me for a joke. We thought it was hilarious! A mouse mat of all things! That’s so 1996! If, for some reason, I spent £55 on a mouse, I’d want it to work on jeans at the very least. I’d probably want it to work if I floated it on the surface of my bath. Not just tables with slightly different veneers.

And finally, so as I can set up a short, smart-arse last line to my first blog post of a decent length in quite some time:

“When you combine Magic Mouse with the Apple Wireless Keyboard, you create a workspace free of annoying cables.”

Unless you’ve got an iPod.

Turned out not to be as good as I’d hoped.

A bit like the new range of Apple products.

PSYCHE!

db

Don't worry, I've not lost a hand, and my Dad didn't kill Alec Guinness

It has been quite a considerable time since I wrote anything. This is mainly due to:

a)    Re-locating
b)    Lack of ambition/inspiration
c)    Not having a desk or chair
d)    All of the above are essentially the same thing

Fear not, though! This week I have found enough drive to:

a)    Write a new song, what I like
b)    Write a new blog entry
c)    Make too many a)b)c) lists
d)    And pathetic jokes

Tomorrow I will be picking up an impressively large desk, which I anticipate being far too big for my attic room, which should hopefully make me feel at least a little important. It should also make getting from bed to not bed (and vice versa) unnecessarily difficult.

I have managed to fool myself into thinking that once I have a desk, I will be more inclined and able to apply myself to things like writing and recording. This is almost certainly untrue, but hey. Everyone attaches false expectations to arbitrary objects to make themselves feel better. And besides, who doesn’t like new stuff? Idiots, that’s who.

Speaking of new stuff, I’ve just got a new screen, and it’s absolutely ace. Wizard, in fact. It’s massive, it runs at a wonderful native resolution (1920 x 1080, if you’re asking) and it means I can watch stuff in widescreen without wasting most of the screen as well as fit loads of internet/Word document/Photoshop/Logic/Ableton on. I love it. The icing on the cake is that it was made by Samsung, who sponsor the most wonderful football team in the world, who also happen to be top of the table.

Anyway, that’s what’s been going on here. I’ve got a couple of half written posts about Daniel Kitson, Levon Helm and guitars, expect to see one of them within a couple of days. I might save the guitar one and re-write it after Thursday, as I’m going to see a band with one of the most sensational guitarists I’ve had the pleasure of hearing. It’d make sense to write about him if I’m doing the whole guitar thing. But yeah, I'm trying to get back on the horse.

Although I might need a decent chair first.

db

Guitar Fear-o

Hey, it's that time of the week when an aging rocker comes out and says something poorly informed and ignorant about young people / new technology / new music / gigs / drugs / the internet (delete as applicable)! In this case, it's actually three aging rockers. And, to their credit, although they've all said silly things about a shared subject, two of them are against it and one of them is trying to promote it. This being the case, you'd expect at least one of them to have got the right end of the stick.

But no.

I want to start by stating that I like these three people - the music that they have created has diverted the course of my life at important junctures, and had a profound educational and emotional effect on my growing up. After all, where would any of us really be without the Beatles, Pink Floyd or Bill Wyman's Je Suis Un Rock Star?

Let's start with the big dog - Macca. He's been talking about the upcoming the Beatles: Rock Band game. I have to say I commend the Beatles (which apparently now consist of McCartney, Ringo Starr, Yoko Ono and Olivia Harrison) on going down the video game route - it is a great way to introduce the music to a new generation who might otherwise ignore it, and I wouldn't mind picking up a copy myself, if I can stump up the cash. The silly thing that he said though regards the ongoing arguments about the Beatles' music being available online, that is via iTunes or a similar service:

"We've kind of bypassed that [download problems] because now you can do it in 'Rock Band'. I always liked that, when you're told you can't do something and suddenly there's a little route round the back."

In writing this, I do feel a bit bad about calling him up no what he's said, mostly because it's not too surprising that a 67 year old man isn't bang up to date with digital media and it's various forms. But hey, I'm feeling a little bitter and stir crazy, so I'm going to anyway. I think it just annoys me a little that he's not aware that releasing your music through this game is not the same as making it available as album downloads. If it were a less important body of work, then it wouldn't matter so much, but the fact that you cannot, on the internet, legally access ANY Beatles material for download is bordering on criminal. These albums represent one of the most important journeys of modern music, and to be so behind the times is pathetic. So, Paul, please don't think that this game has solved a problem, you still have to be pushing to get that music out there.

The second two old-timers can be grouped together, enter Billy Wyman and Nick Mason. First things first, any time Bill Wyman is mentioned, I feel it is only responsible to direct people to this video:



Now that that's out of the way, let's get down to what he's said, also about the phenomenon of the Guitar Hero / Rock Band games:

"It encourages kids not to learn, that's the trouble. It makes less and less people dedicated to really get down and learn an instrument. I think it's a pity so I'm not really keen on that kind of stuff."

Do we really believe that's true? I don't. I don't believe that less children are learning guitar for the same reasons I did. I don't believe that playing guitar games and learning the guitar are mutually exclusive activities. I don't believe that playing these games would put you off playing a real instrument. I don't believe that all of the techniques learned within the games are unhelpful compared to those required to play real instruments. I don't believe that computer games 'rot your brain' (a phrase often banded about, but never really explained) and I don't believe that Bill Wyman knows what he's talking about. Remember, this is a man that spends most of his time metal detecting. Metal detecting, people.

Last is Nick Mason. I've no reason to attack Nick Mason, he was in Pink Floyd and if that's not enough, he wrote a rather wonderful book about the whole thing as well. He had this to say about the issue:

"It irritates me having watched my kids do it. If they spent as much time practicing the guitar as learning how to press the buttons they'd be damn good by now."

All I'm going to say is this: Do you think that a generation or two ago, some people might have been saying exactly the same thing about learning how to play the actual electric guitar? You can pick at that argument all you want, I realise it is a little flawed. But come on. If we can get a generation of bedroom-locked, square-eyed, violent, stupid, brain-rotten, porn-guzzling, McDonald's-scoffing teenagers into contact with a band as wonderful as the Beatles, isn't that a good thing?

db

Networking

I went to Stroud this morning, and as most people tend to do, left very soon afterwards. During my time there (I use 'time' in the sense that people who have spent passages of their life in prison use it) I was greeted by this poster advertising Christianity. When walking past it, I did a kind of double take as I ingested the metaphor. The first three lines I can roll with, they seem like a fairly run-of-the-mill religious analogy, aimed to try and convince people that God is an actual service that produces results. Like the Samaritans (oh, the irony). The last part just kind of made me laugh. Jesus, prepaying for phone calls? Makes him sounds like a secondary school child's mother topping up his mobile. And, wait a second, if all calls are free, why did Jesus need to prepay for them anyway? Sorry, that's just nit-picking.

Now, praying has always seemed a little funny to me. Even as a child at a Church of England primary school I could see that it was a ridiculous notion that I could close my eyes and talk to someone who wasn't in the same room as me. I'm not attacking the practice or prayer, really, I believe that if you are that way inclined it can be a healthy way to organise your thoughts and concentrate on your emotions. What I don't agree with, is sitting in front of a hot meal, and thanking God for 'what you are about to receive'. Let's try thanking the nice man in Israel that grew the basil that sits atop your tomato salad, ey? The one that really pisses me off is when at a funeral we are asked (sometimes it feels like forced) to 'thank God' for the life, and even personality of the person we are trying to say goodbye to. I'm sorry, Christianity, but get fucked. I'd rather thank their parents, their family, their friends and most of all, them. God didn't make them nice to me, they did that all on their own. For now, let's forget about this anger, though. Presumably, with the advent of telecommunications, the concept of prayer became slightly more believable to the borderline sceptic community, being as there is actual technology that achieves a fairly similar feat. So, this being the future and all, I'll take a moment if I may to translate this into a more timely analogy.

Lets say that everyone's brain has wireless functionality, just like the laptop I am typing this on - they technology is invisible to the eye, but nestled somewhere betwixt the hard drive and processor, just north of the bluetooth receiver, there are a few circuits that allow the transmission and reception of invisible data streams. Now, as with wireless internet connections, each brain has its very own IP address, unique to its corresponding person. God can pick up information from each of these addresses, and has some kind of index that equates each number to a profile (think facebook), containing information about the human. I would imagine this would contain how many times they've sinned, probably in the form of a kind of good to bad deeds ratio, as well as bible knowledge and how many saints you are a fan of (forcing your friends to also becomes fans get you extra God points, especially if you're a Jehovah's Witness). By looking at this information, the G-dog decides wether or not to help a brother out. "But who pays the ISP charges?" I hear you cry. Well, don't worry about that, Jesus set up a direct debit, good for eternity, minutes before he was brutally nailed to the cross.

if this seems a little too good to be true (or too ridiculous to be in any way physically, scientifically or socially possible), then I must tell you, it does come with a few rules and regulations. Firstly, you may not access other people's prayers, or duplicate information from their brains that is copyrighted, especially over encrypted P2P (person to person) networks. Secondly, if you host any blasphemous thoughts on your own brain, God reserves the right to seize your mind and conduct a thorough search. He is not obliged to return your consciousness after this. Thirdly, and most importantly, if you manage to obtain a torrent file for God and attempt to download him (it?), your connection will be restricted to such a speed that thinking will become such a slow process, you won't be able to make toast, let alone eat it.

Take that, the Church, Mandelson and ISPs.

db

Untravelling

So, I'm back in the motherland. Fittingly, it seems to be overcast, chilly and raining, a kind of pathetic fallacy describing my return from the hot, beautiful scenes of southern Spain. As much as I liked the weather and surroundings, however, it is good to be back. After a week I have to say I was taking a little time to entertain the idea of getting a little villa and moving somewhere freer and of a more pleasing climate - but come the ten day mark, I had come back round to my more constant state of mind; that England is where I should be.

Predictably, i did not come through on my promise to post anything (save a brief gloat) whilst away, although I do have a couple of things I intend to write about - just not yet. I'm very tired, and have what is now medically know as 'EasyJet Ache' in my lower back. In the absence of these writings, I have a few things to say about what went on whilst I was gallivanting.

Firstly, the Ashes. We won them! Yes, yes, and I watched the spectacle in a bar in the small town of Competa. This was an experience entirely in contrast to the one I had in 2005. Firstly, there were approximately 3 people in the bar who gave even the smallest semblance of a fuck about what was going on some one thousand miles away in South-East London. Secondly, I wasn't with a whooping gaggle of friends, jeering at Australians. Thirdly, the winning moments were not swiftly followed by a drunken run to Tesco to purchase cava, and spray it on the patrons of our favourite pub. On the plus side though, I didn't have to go to work the next morning. The elation and excitement was somewhat subdued this time around, although it was still a buzz, and a great day.

Secondly, Chelsea have had a solid start to the new Premier League season (we can forget about conceding first to Hull and Sunderland now, can't we...), and Liverpool, well, haven't. Ben Mahon will be hearing about this. I won't say anything about Manchester United just yet, as the Blues are playing Burnley (or 'Hull2009') this weekend. I'm sure we'll put a stop to their giant killing ambitions though.

I'm sure most people who read this don't really care for sport, so I'll try to finish with something a little more appealing.

In fact, I don't think I will. Only really because I can't think of anything else to write now. So instead, here are some trailers for what is coming up on The Beames Report in the next couple of weeks:

Picasso, fuck off hills and an accordionist playing The Birdy Song in Malaga; the fact I'm 25 in eight days; two great books and one shit book etc etc etc.

db

P.S. Sorry for the lack of pictures, I'm tired and can't be bothered to put them in. Go on Google images, type in random words from the above text and find your own bloody pictures. Sometimes it feels like I do all the work around here.

Eye Candy

I´m not going to rub it in, but at the moment, this is [save some netting] pretty much the view from my bedroom window. It`s not that bad really. This isn`t really a proper entry, just a bit of a gloat I suppose. It`s quite nice to be hot and active. Still, I`m having to go on a bit of a mission tomorrow in hope of finding somewhere to watch the Chelsea match. And these Spanish keyboards are absolutely fucking retarded. All the Alt and Shift shortcuts are completely different, and seemingly random too - they change from programme to programme, hell, even between websites, and some do utterly different things even if you change nothing and try it twice in a row. Mental. Still, I managed to get the picture to upload [after much head-scratching], so I`m still able to make you click on it for high quality and go:

ner ner ne-ner ner [exclaimation point - I still can`t work out how to do that one]

db

Spain In The Arse

Tomorrow, I head to Spain. I'm going on my first proper holiday for God knows how long. I've loaded up my iPod with stuff to listen to - new things that I want to check out, older stuff that's been on the list for ages, waiting to be processed. Whilst I'm there I will have the (wonderful, wonderful) internet, so I'm planning to try and write at least a couple of reviews or articles. Who knows, maybe the beautiful weather and relaxed rural atmosphere will make me slightly less brash, cynical, dramatic and sensationalist.

Or I might just be grumpy because I'm hot. Or I might just lounge all day, dipping in and out of the pool. Or might just get exceptionally drunk on cheap red wine.

Oh, who am I kidding?

db

Harry Patch (In Memory Of)

Allow me to describe my day so far. I was woken slightly earlier than usual by a text message (NP, NP) that contained good news. Not fazed by losing an hour’s sleep, I got up and journeyed to the shop to pick up a few supplies. Coffee ensued, before retiring to my room to check the internets. I was greeted by the RSS headline:

“Radiohead release new song as download”

Oh god. Here we go again.

I’ve learnt not to try and guess what Radiohead are going to do next, as whatever I imagine always ends up wrong and worse than what they come out with. This song is in memory of recently deceased last-standing World War One trench veteran, Harry Patch.

There are a few people I know that are as painfully in love with Radiohead as I am (Jesus, what an emo), and today I had the good fortune of listening to the new song with one of them. What came out of the following conversation was essentially this:

a) What lovely string parts and movements there were
b) How fitting a tribute it was
c) It doesn’t alienate anyone

The last one was the main thing really. If you’re saluting a man that was 111 when he passed away, it’s probably not appropriate to record a noisy electronic, track. Whilst the strings and falsetto make for a beautiful tribute, they also make the track much more accessible than most things recorded today. This piece of music could be enjoyed equally by a 15 year old or an 80 year old.

This is a kind of pointless entry, but what the hell. Any way I can profess my love for the ‘Head is fine with me. Radiohead are my ‘Girl Power.’ Plus, I’d made the banner at the top, and thought it was pretty cool. Hit it for the higher quality version.

Check out my Photoshop skillz. Then check out Harry Patch. It’s well worth a quid.

db

Set Lasers to 'Stun'

If you’ve heard the furore today about Sony’s Raygun promotional video, and not taken the time to check it out, I really recommend you do. Despite the fact they ripped it from the net when they realised the Twitterverse was tearing it apart and chuckling at its innards, someone was sharp enough to chuck up an alternate version. Although it’s surely only a matter of time until this too is blocked by Sony, I’m sure it’ll be accessible somewhere on the internet. Remember, Google is your friend.

Raygun start with an often-heard comment from first-album musicians, about how their record is a culmination of all their lives and effort over the past X years (in this case, eight). This is by no means original, but it is a very valid point, and one that a great deal of musicians will bring up in early interviews. At this point, I was beginning to wonder if all the piss-takery might have been a bit overblown. Fear not. It wasn’t.

The singer (hereafter referred to as The Daft Eyeliner) haphazardly describes their sound as:

“Iggy Pop, James Brown, David Bowie and Shirley Bassey in a lift.”

Quite what a lift has to do with it, I’ve no idea. Infact, if James Brown was stuck in a lift, I imagine he’d be pretty pissed off. If he wasn’t so dead, anyway. I tried to work my way through the equation, and didn’t really manage to get close to an answer. I did work out what the answer wasn’t, however. Pop + Brown + Bowie + Bassey does not = Raygun. My best guess is that it in fact equals ‘Pobrobowsey’. And that’s not even a real thing. The worst thing about this though, is that it can’t really be heard anywhere in the music. I know it’s nice to talk about all the musicians you love, but there is no point taking four legends in their fields and claiming your music is a mixture of their styles. Especially when what you actually play is dull disco-pop, with a bit of middle-of-the-road indie chucked in for good measure. It would have been more accurate to describe it as:

“Franz Ferdinand, The Killers and The Fratellis in a basement. In Stevenage. Having a sex-fight. In a bad way.”

The Daft Eyeliner (hereafter referred to as TDE) then goes on to explain their complex writing methods. Shock horror – they make “some beats” then get together and (unless I’m misunderstanding here) LISTEN TO THEM AND PLAY STUFF. I know what you’re thinking. How is it possible that I’m single? It’s as much as mystery to me, I assure you. But seriously folks, it’s hardly revolutionary, is it? I’ve talked to tens, if not hundreds of musicians about this kind of thing, and there are some that are constantly guilty of trying to make everything seem more intricate and magical than it really is. If you make a drum beat and jam to it, that’s cool bro; just don’t pretend you’re a wizard, conjuring funk out of thin air. And, wait a minute - did he just use the phrase ‘Psychedelia Smith’? Fuuuuuuuuuuuck. What a ginormous tool.

The bit that really turns you against TDE (hereafter referred to as TW@) is when he talks about being unemployed:

“I was at the job centre, trying to get a job in music, and they couldn’t even give me a job in one of the record stores! So I was doing these admin roles and feeling really shit about life.”

I don’t have to explain that really, do I? Other than to say, he just went from being someone that was fun to laugh at, to an utter, utter prick. A dwad, if you will.

As the video goes on, we get snippets of some of their songs, which I’m presuming are their better ones. They also give us a tantalising glimpse into what they’re about. Actually, maybe tantalising isn’t the word. In fact, no, it definitely isn’t. My personal favourite explanation of a song’s meaning is when one of the guitarists (or The Bearded Flopper, as he shall now be known) more or less tells us that their song ‘Can’t Say No’ is about the ‘Maybe’ button you can respond to facebook events with. Deep.

I feel like I may have been a little unfair on Raygun. I mean, if you’re just getting your first album released, and you’ve made a music video and done countless live shows, and someone points a camera at you and talks to you about your music, then of course you’re going to try to be interesting, different and funny. And if you’re not that experienced at doing this, it’s not beyond comprehension that, after some editing, you’re going to come out of the whole thing looking like a bit of a prick. The culprits here are most probably the people who put the video on the net in the first place, without realising that instead of being a cool, down-with-the-kids way of promoting your hip new band; it was in fact an embarrassing pile of shite.

So, in an amazing end of blog turn-turtle, I’m going to say best of luck to Raygun, and hopefully next time I hear of you, it’ll be in a better light. Maybe I’ll try and catch a live show and see if your real performance floats my boat.

Actually, you used the phrase ‘Psychedelia Smith’.

Yeah, sorry, you’re bell ends.

db

The State of Things

So, Pop music is rubbish isn’t it? Nowhere near as good as it was in the 50s, 60s or 70s. Actually, now the 80s has become cool for the first time since, well, the 80s, we can add it to the list. Not long now, I assume, till Vanilla Ice and PJ & Duncan join the likes of The Human League, Wham! and Rick Astley in the cool box. Time, it seems, is the best P.R. But the noughties? You only have to ask an out of touch, aging rocker to find out that music is dead, man. Worryingly though, a great deal of young people seem to be holding the same views. Whilst I’m sure a lot of this is due to people inexplicably still paying attention to the words spouting pathetically out of Paul Weller’s flappy little mouth, I’m starting to think that some far younger people have come to this conclusion on their own (i.e. without anyone telling them what to think).

In short, there is a load of great music out there, and contrary to what a lot of people claim, you don’t have to look that hard to find it. The rise of the producer has lead to some of the most creative chart music that has ever been, err, produced – listen to anything by Timbaland, Kanye, The Neptunes (and no, Pharrell is not hot – the fact that so many women find him so attractive is conclusive proof that women are obsessed with fame and money), Xenomania or Future Cut and tell me they aren’t geniuses.

Xenomania is the team behind most of Girls Aloud’s catalogue, and if you’ve taken the time to listen to 2005’s Chemistry you’ll probably have realised that it’s better than most rock records of this decade, and almost all of this shite that people keep referring to as ‘Indie’. Actually, while we’re at it, ‘Electro’ too – both of these terms were around in the 90s, and they meant decidedly different things. It’s not dissimilar from the way ‘R&B’ has come to mean ‘wank’, when it formally described beautiful, soulful music. Rhythm and Blues no less. Oh, and don’t bother telling me I’m a hypocrite, I’m all too aware of that already.

ANYWAY, I think a lot of people shun Pop because it seems the stars are just puppets, with the whole thing geared towards money. In reality, I don’t think it really matters where the music comes from, and the fact that there are now teams of people who work on every aspect of an act is great. The performer is only one part of a huge machine. It’s just too easy to criticise. People forget that Elvis (that song always makes me shiver) never wrote a song. Aretha Franklin never wrote a lyric. Almost every Motown record was a product of the mechanical production method, and look at how they’re all looked back upon.

The thing I think a great deal of people forget is that when we browse the back catalogue of music, it has been vetted for us. Do you really think that our children will be browsing records in 20 years time and come across a Chico CD? No. He will, thankfully, have been forgotten. There have been millions of Chicos throughout music’s chequered history, and they don’t make it this far. Pink Floyd made it this far. The Velvet Underground. ABBA. These records keep selling because they are timeless, and so when we look through the catalogue, we are presented with the cream of the crop. We browse with rose-tinted glasses. I mean, come on, if we look at today’s scene in that way, it’s pretty bloody rich. I’m not saying don’t listen to old music, hell that would be ridiculous, I’m just saying look at the whole picture.

So next time someone tells you that music has gone to the dogs, sit them down, tell them to stop worrying about being branded a ‘conformist’ (surely the most offensive ‘C’ word nowadays) and play them some Justin Timberlake. Ram a bit of Love Machine into their ears (anag.). And if they still don’t get it, send them home with a copy of the brand-spanking-new Noah and the Whale album.

Because it’s really, really, fucking good.

db

Stuff what makes my life better #1

Here is a list of some stuff what makes my life better. Maybe it will make your life better too.


XKCD

This webcomic is the undisputed king of the universe. It almost always makes me laugh, and has a great mix of good humour, sweet sentimentality and geeky science and computing references. I recommended repeated and continuous viewing.

KEMPFOLDS

I was recently alerted to this by a friend. Viewing it caused a good amount of laughter, which proved to resurface when I went back to it later. Ideas like this are what makes the world a beautiful place – anything that is ridiculous, pointless and childish yet brilliant is pretty much as close to perfection as you can get, in my book (Seriously. Next time someone in a shop asks you your name, say that it’s Alan Bitch. Never fails to make me happy).


RADIOHEAD (Spotify link)

Not this song in particular, just in general. When I think of all the ways Radiohead have made me feel, it intimidates me. They’re really bastarding tremendous.

CRICKET

Because it's the sport of kings. Someone (not me) once said that a good game of football was like watching a great film but a good cricket match was like reading a great book. Whoever it was that said that, nailed it. At the moment, we (England) are hosting the Ashes, the most hotly contested and exciting test series there is - and it looks like we might take it back off the Aussies. Which is really wizard.

I suppose this post is in danger of being very boring. Hopefully anyone reading it will like at least one of the things. Next post will be another proper one, hopefully.

db

Most Definitely

The first time I came into contact with Mos Def (apart from just, y'know, knowing his name) was when he was horribly miscast as Ford Prefect in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy film. When I heard of his involvement, I pretty much resigned myself to the film being rubbish. It's very rare that a famous rap singer (you know the rap singers?) makes a blockbuster film better. However, to his credit, when I watched the film I realised that it wasn't him that ruined it. In the absence of Douglas Adams, the Hitchhiker's Guide has lost it's most important component. But that's another kettle of fish entirely. Since then, I've been impressed with his acting (notably in 'Be Kind Rewind') and have cast my ear across his music from time to time. Having liked it, and heard good things about his new record, 'The Ecstatic', I decided to pick up a copy and give it a go.

Woah.

I was expecting good things, but by the end of the first track it was quickly dawning on me that this was not just a polished hip hop album. Within a minute of opening, we've already had Martin Luther King, Indian and rock/metal musical influences and some pretty awesome vocal harmony. Now, I do not intend to give a track-by-track rundown, nor pick out a list of my favourite bits, because that's not really what the album sparked in me. What struck me about this album was how much it stands out from the crowd. This is hip hop in the same league as Outkast (quoted on the second track) and Roots Manuva. A lot of rap is essentially just lyrics, with rehashed or just plain stolen beats underneath, often just plain loops. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, not at all, but it is true. This, however, is one of the most musically accomplished hip hop records I've heard in as long as I can remember - and like Roots or Outkast, it has individuality. It feels like it's leading the way. There are almost none of the genre clichés that infect most popular rap music, and it never feels stagnant. Each tune has distinct sounds, with elements of so many styles of music that it would be pointless to list them. It feels like a rich display of culture and, maybe most importantly, it feels authored.

And that's the bit that got me hooked. Like the first time I listened to 2001 by Dre, listening to this album really made me feel like I was listening to a piece of music that was born of the vision of one man. Now, I've not read up on Mos Def, I don't know how he writes and records, but this feels to me like an album made in his image, pregnant with his ideas (the references to birth in the last paragraph were accidental. Could this be an expression of my subconscious, linked to the fact that I really want children? Hmm).

All this is a bit of a futile exercise, if you're reading this then what you should really do is just go listen to it. Trying to articulate how The Ecstatic made me feel is a bit like trying to explain why everyone on the face of the planet should take 35 minutes out of their life to sit down in a darkened room and listen to In Rainbows. You can't explain it. You just have to go and do it. So, I implore you to open up this link in Spotify:

Mos Def - The Ecstatic

And give it a go. And if you haven't got Spotify, then you're an idiot - get it now and your life will be better (I mean that, and cannot stress it enough). And if you don't like me using 'rap' and 'hip hop' as synonyms, then feel free to post comments, which I will duly ignore. And the same goes for anyone who wants to tell me I shouldn't start sentences with 'and'. And the new Noah and the Whale album just came on. And it sounds pretty good...

db

Contact

Hello there.

Firstly, I've just seen a fox snooping about in the garden. That's really nothing surprising, we suspect that there might be a family of them living in the shed. This is because a) they're in the garden all the time, and b) the shed door is fucked. Like, utterly fucked. I wouldn't even really call it a door any more. Not with any confidence, anyway. It's more like a selection of planks that are slightly more arranged and structured than the word 'pile' would describe.

Secondly, I had sardines for the first time in years today. I couldn't remember whether I liked them or not, so I decided to have some for lunch. They were pretty good. I was slightly put off by the small bits of spine hanging around, but I got over it. "What kind of man," I thought to myself, "would I be," I thought to myself, "if I can't eat a few fish vertebrae."

Right, now that that's all out of the way, I'll get somewhere closer to a point. Let's try and explain this blog. Seems like most everyone has got themselves a blog nowadays. Not to be one to miss out on any computer-based craze, I have decided to write one too (albeit maybe a little later than most people). Although this post may suggest differently, it will not mostly be about garden wildlife and my dietary experiments. Hopefully it will be an outlet for my opinions (or as I like to think of them, 'facts') on music and media. Now, knowing me, this could take the form of album/film/programme/art/software reviews, opinionated statements, character assassination or absolutely nothing because I forget about it/can't be bothered. Time will tell.

Any no one will read it anyway.

First 'proper' post will be up soon, possibly about Mos Def's new album. Or maybe the Birdy Song.

db