"Another day filming DESTROY BUILD DESTROY for Cartoon Network. Dealing w/ the primary aspects of life: creating stuff, then blowing it up!" 7:47 PM Oct 12thfrom txt "Just used a port-a-potty on set and a spider as big as my hand crawled out of the hole in the bottom of the toilet. So I peed on it." 8:38 PM Oct 12thfrom txt
"Just made my own party mix of salt roast cashews, smokehouse Spanish peanuts, cheddar sesame sticks, and dried jalapenos. YES!!!" about 21 hours agofrom web
"Was on tour for 2 weeks, then straight into filming TV, now back to NYC for an event, then back to LA for more TV. Am I partying?" 35 minutes agofrom web
"Of course I'm PARTYING!!! And so are you (whether you realize it or not)... so, realize it, and ENJOY CELEBRATING YOUR LIFE!" 4 minutes agofrom web
I've started writing a column for Rockfeedback. I would link it to you now, but despite me slaving over it so very much last week it has yet to materialise. It seems a bit silly, as it was a big-new-tracks-of-the-week sort of thing and subsequently posting it a week+ after I've sent it in seems to defeat the point somewhat. Oh well, they've got ting to do. I'm also DJing a rfb club-night at some point next month. That should be fun. Maybe they'll let me kip on the office floor again. Would save me a horrendous journey.
Writing this article did lead me to a realisation that I am rather out-of-touch with the artistic underground. I know the names, but seem too mired in apathy to investigate them further. It's quite pathetic really as I actually really like it. All of it. All music.
Someone who I am fucking around with payments (sorry dude) has a book coming out soon. It's really very good, I recommend it to you (that's probably you singular, if that). Again, will get a link up for that when I can. C'mon, it's only a tenner. Oh sorry, recession.
Why are there so few good clubnights within bus distance of me? xxx
If someone gets this for me I will be eternally in their debt. I'm a bit like Mephistophilis, but more jerky.
It seems I have to justify everything I say nowadays. My father has got in on the act now. Gosh it's annoying (and also a bit fun).
As usual I don't have much to say, but I will leave you with the notion that the Zollverein was a greater customs union than you can ever dream of being.
Tschuss, xxx
P.S. World's best blog going on indefinate hiatus. Let's hope it's one of those Blink-182/Limp Bizkit/any rapper ever kind of indefinate hiatuses. You will be missed.
7s - Sweet, innocent, people you can be silly with. 8s - The first seeds of corruption are sewn. Some are starting to bulk, most are flopping blind in the first waters of adolesence. 9s - All is going wrong. "Rock" music, in whatever watery approximation they have stumbled on, has taken hold. It's no longer cool to read and listen to pop, you've got to be out of your depth now, it's preparation. 10s - They have their first thrustings and all the good work falls apart as they gorge on full-blooded responsibility. 11s - HELL. Cocky heads, cocky hearts, cocky cocks, cocks. They're off the leash and baying for blood.
Fortunately I've bagged myself some 7s. We played '4 is Cosmic' the other day and I was painfully reminded when I was the last in class to get the rule.
I am becoming friends with a Tory. Hmm, new territory. Well apart from that other time I was friends with him, but we just hated each other back then really. This issue could either go away or rear it's ugly head when we're watching To Kill a Mockingbird or some other English student shit.
Why would you ring up Spotify? Why? You would have to be so neurotic, with a life so empty and a personality so bland, to even contemplate plastering your crackly monotone over every advert break. It's like those people who post their reviews on Amazon and actually think this gives them journalistic merit. Yeah, I definitely wasn't one of those at 15...
Here are the books I am reading for my courses right now; The Bloody Chamber Dracula Europe 1815-1960 Dr. Faustus
I am enjoying three of them. I have loads of others to get and devour. I also have loads of others to read around the subject, and for various other reasons. I feel quite mixed about this - I really enjoy reading, but I am, like, DROWNING in literature right now. Still, better than drowning in something else.
I rlyrlyrly want an interview for Socks-Hoard, xxx
Every night I rush to my bed With hopes that maybe I'll get a chance to see you When I close my eyes I'm going out of my head Lost in a fairytale, can you hold my hands and be my guide?
you can be a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare either way i, don't wanna wake up from you sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare somebody pinch me, your loves to good to be true my guilty pleasure i ain't goin no where... Read more baby long as you're here i’ll be floating on air cause you're my you can be a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare either way i, don't wanna wake up from you
Got me lookin so crazy right now Your love's got me lookin so crazy right now (Your love) Got me lookin so crazy right now your touch's Got me lookin so crazy right now... Read more (Your touch) Got me hoping you page me right now your kiss's Got me hoping you save me right now Lookin so crazy your love's got me lookin Got me lookin so crazy your love
You wake up late for school, man you DON'T WANNA GO You ask your mom "please!" but she JUST SAID NO You missed 2 classes and NO HOMEWORK... Read more But your teacher preaches class like your SOME KINDA JERK
Kelley, can you handle this Michelle, can you handle this Beyonce, can you handle I don't think you can handle this wooooo... Read more I don't think you ready for this jelly i don't think you ready for this jelly I don't think you ready for this Is my body to bootylicious for ya baby I don't think you ready for this jelly i don't think you ready for this jelly I don't think you ready for this Is my body to bootylicious for ya babe
its the remix to ignition hot n' fresh out the kitchen mama rollin that body got evey man in hear wishin sippin on coke and rum i'm like so what i'm drunk... Read more its the freakin weekend baby i'ma bout to have me some fun! (que ed and fred)
Well Now don't you tell me to smile You stick around I'll make it worth your while Got numbers beyond what you can dial Maybe it's because I'm so versatile Style profile I said... Read more It always brings me back when I hear Ooh Child From the Hudson River out to the Nile I run the marathon til the very last mile If you battle me I will revile People always say my style is wild You've got gall you've got guile To step to me I'm a rapophile If you want to battle your in denial Coming from Uranus to check my style Go ahead put my rhymes on trial Cast you off into exile
Jazz and Awol that's our team Step inside the party disrupt the whole scene When it comes to beats well I'm a fiend I like my sugar with coffee and cream Well I got to keep it going keep it going full steam Too sweet to be sour too nice to be mean On the tough guy style I'm not too keen To try to change the world I will plot and scheme Mario C likes to keep it clean Gonna shine like a sun beam Keep on rapping cause that's my dream
All the single ladies! (All the single ladies!) All the single ladies! (All the single ladies!) All the single ladies!... Read more (All the single ladies!) All the single ladies, now putcha hands up! Up in the club (club) Just broke up (up) I'm own lil thing You decided to dip (dip) And now you gonna trip (trip) Cos another brother notice me I'm up on him (him) He up on me (me) Don't pay him any attention Just cry my tears (tears) Got the three good gears (gears) For *something something* and me
Cos if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it! If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it! Don't be mad if you see that he want it! Cos if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it!
Girl we off in this jeeeeep Parkin windows uuuuup Blastin the raaadioooo In the back of my truuuuck Bouncin up and doooown... Read more Stroke it round and roouuund Do the reeeemiiiixxx We jus thug it oooouuut
I got fellas on ma left, honeys on ma riight, we bring em both together we got drinkin all night then after the show its the AFTER PARTY and after the party its the HOTEL LOBBY... Read more and round about 4 you gotta CLEAR THE LOBBY then head take it to the room and ...... ...... somebody
He's got a brand new car Looks like a Jaguar It's got leather seats It's got a CD player (player, player, player...) ... Read more But I don't wanna talk about it anymore
We are the crowd We're c-comin out Got my flash on it's true, but that picture of you It's so magical, We'd be so fantastical... Read more
Leather and jeans, garage glamorous Not sure what it means But this photo of us It don't have a price, ready for those flashing lights Cos you know that baby I
I'm your biggest fan I'll follow you until you love me, papa-paparazzi YA-HOW! Baby, there's no other superstar You know that I'll be your papa-paparazzi YA-HOW! Promise I'll be kind, but I won't stop until that boy is mine YA-HOW! Baby you'll be famous, chase you down until you love me Papa-paparazzi
My father walks into the room. His face is creased in a tired smile. - Did you get mummy anything? - Yes. Theatre tokens. - A what? - Theatre tokens. - A dish toaster?!
I then collapse in laughter, which lasts for about a minute. It wasn't that funny, he's just a bit deaf. This is a definite sign that the cogs are loosening, even now.
Sorry for no posts, have been crazy busy. Man UCAS is a drag. My weekend was eaten up by a combination of John Steinbeck, Gustav Mahler and ... the bookshop, as usual.
Everyone is going to turn 18 before me, which is very depressing. That said, I will be weeping for lost illegality when the time comes, xxx
I was sifting through my old MySpace today and I came across this blog post from february last year. How 18 months can change a boy;
Hello.
I'm going to tell you my 10 most recently played songs on iTunes as of 12:47 on Thursday 21st February;
Just Because You Sleep Next To Me Doesn't Mean You're Safe - Gallows Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa - Vampire Weekend Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger - Daft Punk Digital Love - Daft Punk Aerodynamic - Daft Punk One More Time - Daft Punk Dry Lips - Lightspeed Champion D.A.N.C.E. - Justice Phantom Pt. 2 - Justice Phantom - Justice
Pretty mundane, I'm sure you'll agree. At the moment I'm listening to the veritable ho-down that is the soundtrack of Oh Brother, Where Art Thou (good film). Oh no, it's changed.
It's nearing the weekend of half term, ie the end of half term and the start of what will be an interminable slog towards GCSE's. I have these things to not look forward to over the coming months;
1) Being told every 5 minutes I have to "revise, as you did shit in your mocks as you are a shit person". 2) Not going to Reading, as I am short of cash. Then again, if the headliners are to be anything like last year I'd rather stay at home listening to remixes from luscious French producers on The Hype Machine. 3) Not going to see any gigs I want to go and see/go out when I want to/generally do anything that doesn't constitute hermitage, as I have to "revise, as you did shit in your mocks as you are a shit person". 4) My teachers being on my case all the time, as I underachieve and whatnot. You might have figured that out by now.
Effectively, I will become reclusive and just generally fall by the wayside of society of the next few months. There are a few shards of light keeping me from buying a rabbit and honing it into some twisted superbeing, nourishing it with dead bees and my toenails. For one, tomorrow is Happy Day. It has been so since February 22nd last year, when we went to the "NME Rock 'n' Rave Tour" (oh dear). Still, we met Klaxons and got our names shoved into The Bouncer, so for a brief moment we were veritable superbeings, other-worldly entities existing on a higher plain to you mere mortals. I am certain that tomorrow will be just as good, as I am off with my two bestest buddies to see, among others, The Cribs. It should a giddy experience. Also, in the month of April (nothing good ever happens in March), I am doing work experience at Transgressive Records. For those who do not quite understand how amazing this is, let me explain in visual form;
Times, like, a thousand.
Also in April (at the tail end, with exams looming) I am off, in a rare show of generosity from my elders, to see a performance of Steve Reich's Music For 18 Musicians. Due the fact that this is one of my favourite "classical" pieces in the whole world ever, and Steve Reich one of the few living people that I consider to have pure distilled genius running through their veins (others being Thom Yorke, Patrick Wolf, David Shrigley and Bret Easton Ellis) this is exciting. Very, very exciting.
I am now bored, and I think there may be some crumbs or morsels or something else that constitutes lunch waiting for me downstairs, so I will leave you, for now, with this thought, from Yankel D;
"I had to do it for myself. I am not sad." I had to Google Yankel D to remind me where he's from (fucking amazing book). xxx
Question - Why does that new Wale track have Lady GaGa on it as opposed to M.I.A.? I mean, it's basically a (second-rate watered-down major label appropriation of a) Maya track, it references her at several points, and GG's singing is pretty much a carbon copy. This guy's got links with Jay-Z, surely he could have got in the real thing? I mean sure, it's catchy, but so's 'Kala', and that also happens to be really fucking good, something this isn't. He also looks like a bit of tit, to be honest.
Everyone's running away to Reading soon, leaving me with nothing (or, depending on which way you look at it, less than the nothing I already had). Still, there is ice cream in my house, and the weather seems to be holding, thus I am ok. Also Ben gets back on friday, probably with an American gut and definitely with American candy :)
Funny shit I saw in town today; 1) A guy who was the spit of Larry David with a wife who looked nothing like Cheryl. More Rik Waller. 2) A truck for a waste disposal/plumbing company with a numberplate that read "POO 2 JET".
As the light dimmed over south-west London today, I was sat down in the living room concentrating on playing some music. It sort of conjoured up a misty emotional haze in my head, and my eyes (as they sometimes do) went a bit funny, like when you stand-up too quickly and the blood rushes to your head. It then seemed that there was some horrible creature moving towards me from outside the window, a jerking and bucking black shape that looked a bit like an evil black troll you'd expect to find inspiring a Stravinsky ballet. I got really fucking freaked out, and ok, it turned out to be my cat whining to get back in the house, but ever since I've been looking over my shoulder in fright and collapsing in a wreck at the bottom of the stairs.
Can Thom Yorke actually do any wrong? Is he genetically disposed to being A Top Guy? Jus wundrin. Everyone knows how ace he is in general, but he's really upped the great musician/conscious human being/nice chap thing over the last couple of weeks. He did that track on his own that seemed to pass quite a few people by about a month ago (read into it a bit), and of course there is him and Jonny and the rest being incredible for charity. And then there's all that charity work and carbon-neutral touring and all the rest of it. Seriously, this guy is superhuman. But you knew that already.
I get results in about 46 hours. Great. I saw yet another article in the paper bemoaning how A Levels were getting easier. Well they definitely didn't feel that way when taking them. Also loads of students my age won't get university places, cos of there being no money and all. Recession, swine flu, N-Dubz - great time to be alive. (Speaking of recession, I tracked down that amazing klezma band I saw at Glastonbury - choon.)
By my next post my academic future will be in tatters, xxxx
Stuck at Calais at 7AM, in the midst of a hellish 24-hour coach journey, all I and the 40-odd other passengers wanted was some orange juice, a mattress and nothing to do til thursday. Suffering from a weeks worth of sleep deprivation, stodgy Czech cuisine and many moons without having showered or shaved, the last thing we needed was a pirate copy of a loud, obnoxious, jaw-droppingly dire 150-minute Hollywood blockbustertieinspinoffthing. But sure enough, in the lumbering, bloated shape of Transformers II: Revenge of the Fallen, that is what we got.
It speaks volumes about a film when you Shia "Greasepan" LeBouf is the best thing about it. There are just so many things wrong with this film that it makes me nautious even thinking about contemplating entertaining the idea of talking about them all. It is far too long and far too loud. Megan Fox, while obviously only there as eye-candy, cannot act at all - a mop with a face drawn on it would have more personality, charisma and theatrical ability than that pitiful excuse for a human. The robots (particularly the downright moronic pair of '80s b-boy throwbacks Mudflap and Skids) are absolutely fucking atrocious, and the voicing (esp. "British" accents) is just unspeakably bad. The script seems to have been written by a 5 year-old who's recently undergone a lobotomy, with the dialogue clunky and tedious and jarring, not to mention poorly delivered. I would go on, but it's making me so unspeakably angry just thinking about it that I'm going to have to lie down for a bit. I assure you, this is the worst film in years and years and years.
Urgh, icky. Prague was great, thanks for asking. They sell absinthe to 12 year-olds over there, which I thought was quite sweet. While we're on the subject of films, I watched The Warriors the other day, which was fucking A. Hats off to the costume department. I also reviewed quite possibly the best record of the year, I demand you check it out.
Right, off to Devon. They have electricity there, right? xxxx
Do they have bears in the Czech Republic? It seems like the sort of place that would have bears. And a drinking age of 7, apparently. So yes, I'm leaving for Prague-via-Bohemia in about 2 hours. It's going to be great, I've wanted to see it for ages. I'm going with the yute orchestra I make sound worse for a week of and looking at beautiful countryside (and hunting down Kafka and berating him for ever writing 'The Trial'. I can see why you never wanted that published).
Just realised I haven't posted in ages, but also have nothing to say. This is more a continuity announcement than anything, if I had left it another week y'all might have thought I was dead or something (yeah...). Here are some useless things I have learnt in the past weeks;
Always take an umbrella to Cambridge. In fact, in the British summertime, just always take an umbrella. Come on, fucking hell, it's the END of JULY.
Always take a spare. Condom, lighter, cello string, whatever. But mainly cello string.
Never listen to Joy Division on dark, quiet streets at 3 in the morning. I was a shivering paranoid wreck by the 2nd verse of 'Twenty-Four Hours'.
I know everyone thinks the music they had when they were growing up was the greatest since Jesus invented sound. I don't honestly know if our generation can make that claim (Cyrus, anyone?), but boy, did we have it good back in the day. The day of jean shorts, the day when cool was long hair and loud guitars, the day when we did what we liked and we liked what we did. So, in honour of the Best Era Of Music Ever, I'ma take you through some of the defining tracks of my pre-pubesence.
AQUA - BARBIE GIRL
This, I think, was the first song I ever owned. My dad bought a cassette for me, and I swear I wore that mother out. I mean, is there anyone who doesn't love this song?* My dad at the same time bought that fucking interminable 'Perfect Day' song with Bono and friends, and every week on Top of the Pops we would crowd round and see who was winning the chart battle. Barbie Girl was always winning, and that's the way it should have fucking stayed. Forever. Why are U2 still playing arenas the world over, whilst the members of Aqua are probably selling coke and talcum powder out of a coolbox on Swedish beeches (especially Claus and Soren, yeesh)?
*If you don't love this song you officially aren't human and I'm going to go Ghost Hunter on your ass.
SUM 41 - IN TOO DEEP
After I finished primary school, my friend Felix and I had one last hurrah at a French Eurocamp. It was excruciatingly hot that holiday, and all we did was lol (as in flop around) by the pool and sneak sweets back to our room from the camp tuck shop (my dad was a hard-ass about confectionary). We only had one CD between us, and it was this single. He gave it to me at the end of the trip, and it sums up so much about the primary/secondary transition that one can't help but get a little teary-eyed when hearing it. Also the bit when the Indian guy comes out of the water soloing is SO FUCKING COOL.
AFROMAN - BECAUSE I GOT HIGH
When I was 10, I got Now ... 50 for Christmas, featuring such motherfucking GEMS as this, this, and especially this. But Afroman topped them all. And you know why? Because he got high, and he didn't give a fuck who knew. This was allowed to be top of the charts for 3 whole weeks back in the day. I don't know how the hell that happened, but it was so worth it. My friends and I still sing this song, even now, and not merely for the purposes of getting high (whatever that is...). It is a song for bonding, a song for loving, a song for the good times. I don't know where Afroman is any more, but I was rifling through the CD racks at HMV recently and found this, which might well explain a lot.
BELL AND SPURLING - SVEN SVEN SVEN
I was a big football nut back in the day. You'd forever see me down at the park, my wall of hair and pot belly augmented by a football kit, kicking the ball again and again against the fence and babbling incoherant football commentary to myself like I was getting in some early practice for senility. England beating Germany 5-1 is a great, great memory of mine, celebratory Pizza Express pizza and all, and this commemorative track brings the entire thing flooding back. Sort of. Anyway, it's a song for the lads, with Bell and Spurling looking to lay down a challenge to Chas 'n' Dave's mantle as Terrible Cockney Duo In Chief of British Music with a song that basically sounds like drunk men shouting over a 70s porn soundtrack.
LINKIN PARK - CRAWLING
On the same Christmas I got Now ... 50, I also received Hybrid Theory, which I proceeded to play at full volume in my bedroom for the entire rest of the holidays. We had my 80-year-old great aunt staying with us at the time, God knows what she thought. Anyway - with hindsight, this was clearly a very important stage in my musical development, and this song was the song that got me into Linkin Park in the first place, and so it feels only right it feature it. My dad used to get them and the next band's names mixed up, which was the sweetest thing.
LIMP BIZKIT - ROLLIN'
Everyone under a certain age knows this song, and can sing the chorus. That's the way it is, so sorry if you're over that threshold. For a pre-pubescent, this is pure unadulterated bliss manifest as rock song - the delicious, forbidden joy of all those "fuck"s, the Angry Young Men on top of a skyscraper, the sheer headbang-ability of it; it's totally awesome. They also had another awesome jam that I loved just as much that seems to have been lost in the sands of time. They've reunited this year too, which should be interesting. Nu-metal, why did you go away at all?
WHEATUS - TEENAGE DIRTBAG
Now this, this was the thinking man's pop-punk smash. A wistful, poignant ode to unrequited love, the complex guitar part and shimmering vocal harmonies blended to startling affect with all those bits about Iron Maiden. What's more, it seemed genuine - the band looked like the sort of people that would be lonely on prom night (a dizzying and barely understood prospect at this early stage of development), and every chorus seemed sung with genuine passion. There was a depth here that the likes of Blink-182 and Green Day just couldn't reach. But I'll mainly remember this song for the time I spend giggly with Olly Clements about how funny it would be if, in the video, everything that was regailed in the second verse came through - the bully portrayed as a walking penis, carrying a gun through high school, kicking every ass he could lay his dicky little hands on. Good, good times.
ANDREW WK - PARTY HARD
The king of all songs: The purest rock music will ever get: A yardstick by which to measure all future rock songs, a great towering Babel casting it's shadow over all guitar music that has ever been or will be. This is a song that unites philosophies, hearts and minds of every creed, race, religion and disposition. The unadulterated joy held in that riff, in those full-bellied cries emanating from sweaty throats, in that huge "WWHOMMM" of sound that ushers in the second chorus (surely the most exciting moment in recorded sound) - every element of human nature combining in three and a half minutes of ecstasy and love. It is about life. It is about freedom. It is about PARTYING. THE FUCK. HARD.
Phew, effort. If y'all have any suggestions/disagreements/pearls of wisdom, don't hesitate. xxx
Ok, so this week I'm interning at a magazine I occasionally write for. By the end of the week I plan to have wormed my way into the top position, fired the people that have been working for the last decade to make it a respected publication, and to have turned it into a ruthless corporate money-making scheme getting 100,000+ hits a day and hiring ex-Sony employees that consider The Hoosiers "a bit edgy". Just try and stop me.
I morally object to spending £7-fucking-50 a day on a travelcard that would save me about an hour on my journey, so I'm getting up to Kings Cross each day by a complex and time-consuming system of buses and tubes. At some point in the near future I think I'll have a rant about South West Trains, but that's another post.
Anyway, so I got onto the Piccadilly Line at South Kensington this morning. It was pretty packed, as one would expect at 10.30, so I was standing for a few stations before a seat became readily pounce-on-able. Before it could be taken, I swivelled in what I thought was an expert manner round the pole and towards the seat. I had quite a few odds and ends to carry at this point, and was also engrossed in my book and my Bach, so I didn't really look when lowering myself into the point of contact between bum and seat.
Basically, I sat on one of those hard plastic seat dividers. And not just clumsily, lazily even, with one cheek momentarily resting there before drooping clumsily off, but with a hard and firm "clunk" of my coccyx. Some Asian guys laughed at me, and I sort of gave them a sheepish grin and said "that didn't go well, did it?", all the while distracting both myself and others from the fact that I have NEVER KNOWN SUCH PAIN. Maybe I need to man up (I'm pretty sure I do, I'm told so on a daily basis), or maybe I just have an unusual spine, but seriously, every movement throughout today from that point onwards has been a desperate battle against a violent and malicious twinge rearing up from the base of my spine. It knows no bounds, this pain - it's hard to sit down, hard to walk, hard to even stay motionless, and totally immune to painkillers. It makes me waddle like the old Muslim lady I see tottering around my hometown like a fucking pendulum on legs, and made me break out into a rather fetching cold sweat on one of the many legs of my journey home.
Have y'all got any witchdoctor cures or anything? Would be appreciated.
In other news; I miss Glastonbury, still. And I'm listening to a lot of Olivier Messiaen at the moment, check him out, as well as the new Basement Jaxx joint. I dunno, those plugs'll probably increase their last.fm playcounts by maybe half a dozen. Nothing really, but every little helps.
Michael Jackson died when I was at Glastonbury. That's weird. What made it weirder was that I was drunk-dancing to a gypsy band with a 60-year-old man in a fez making everyone sit down like little children. Then I had a creppe, which is strange enough in itself.
Ok, so basically - if you weren't there this year, you missed out, because it was DAMN good. Highlights/Lowlights/Things of note:
BLURBLURBLURBLURBLURBLURBLUR
GaGa - Songs = amazing, her as a person = excrutiating. "On the 26th July 2009..." MONTH FAIL
Mum tattoos
Paracetamol - £20 wasted
Lads - "PARTAY!"/"Do you wanna play a drinking game?"/"Let's go fucking mental!" All came into their own this weekend. I quite like being a lad. Except when I'm with lads.
Sleep deprivation. I slept for 12 hours this morning, cut short only by builders starting work at 7-FUCKING-30, and that was about the same amount I got all weekend.
People complimenting my moves. People complimenting my clothes. In fact, just people. I have never seen the British public so welcoming, charming or helpful as they were this weekend. Even the Australians were nice! It made me feel good about the world again.
Talking about Shostakovich at 4AM, after the oxygen bar.
Spending the whole of thursday-saturday saying "bonkers". Then seeing Dizzee. Then saying it even more frequently.
Slime. Seriously, monday morning was just horrifying. So much mud, but such a hot sun. My plimsoles will never be salvaged.
The tea party at Avalon. Big up Chol Theatre on that one, those cakes kept me going all day.
The Boss - the lights of the entire festival twinkling behind the Pyramid, cheap whisky, 'Born to Run'; good, good times.
Overpriced everything - £2 for an orange ice on the hottest day of the year?! Yeah, that's right, you will let me have it for £1.75. Sadistic bitch.
I fell in like.
But mere facets of the 4-day bonanza. What a time. London feels way, way too unpleasant right now, the withdrawal symptoms are kicking hard.
I planned a grandiose thing as a send-off. To you and myself. I sense a change in the wind. So yeah, pomp and grandure and that. But it's not happening. Instead you get this;
SUCK IT Sorry.
Anyway, have fun. Not that you need to be told that. That's probably more for me, come to think of it. Have had the worst day. Well, not the worst, they can always be worse. I don't live in Haiti, thankfully. But still, not great.
That's all, pretty much. Lazy post. I'm working both days at the shop this weekend, that'll be fun. Two weeks until the Riddell/Stewart signing though. Read 'The Edge Chronicles', they were one of my favourite series. Still are, in fact.
Ok, so this morning I came home from college at 10.30. I had to be back in at 2, so I didn't exactly have enough time to, say, accomplish anything. I switched on MTV, and the first thing that comes on is that new Keri Hilson number. It's got two guest stars, as I'm sure you're well aware, and not just any guest stars but Kanye and Ne-Yo. Decadence. Anyway, Keri does her ting for a bit, then Mr Yo, that sultan of runny-honey r'n'b, has a go. It's all chugging along nicely, and then about halfway through his verse he sings "I used to be commander-in-chief on my pimp-ship flying high". At this point I lold hard, as we all would - partly because I want a pimp-ship, partly because Ne-Yo seems way too saccharine for that shit. I mean, he's the sort of person you'd gladly hire to chat to your mother over bourbons and Earl Grey without it crossing your mind the fact that something untoward might occur. He's certainly no Akon.
This got me thinking (oh God). Mainstream r'n'b, pretty much without exception, is always about shorties. If it's a lovey-dovey number, it's all roses and sponsorship deals; if they're on the prowl, it's gyration and penetration. While this is all good to a point (actually that's not true, there is no point for Kelly and I will never tire of that track, ever), it doesn't really allow for much variation. Unless your rapper friend dies, that is. Then apparently you're allowed to piss all over his legacy.
Basically, I want to see some really intelligent r'n'b. Like, records about Shostakovich and Newton's Laws. After brainstorming earlier with Ellie, I came up with a couple of (lame-ass) titles to kickstart PHD r'n'b; Nelly ft. Kelly Rowland and Plato - 'Euthyphro's Dilemma' Paul Simon - 'You Can Call Me Albert Camus' ... that's it. Ok, it's hard. And I know Paul Simon doesn't do r'n'b. Anyone who can come up with better ones wins a feeling of smug self-importance. But there's clearly room to maneouvre here. Go on, all you budding Jackson's, let's give this (let's face it) slipping genre something to sing about again.
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In other news, Tim Westwood's having a party tonight. Here're some prime tweets from the build-up; "Gettin my eat on - then reachin the spot mad early. I'm built for this. This is what I do!" "they call me Big Sexy - ladies come to the club tonite & see why. I’m the one who’s tall & handsome – the other dj is Goldfinger" "special lifestyle offer this Thursday only - binge drinkin is cool (only at Ministry of Sound)!" "woke up mad tired with a headache - thinking I'm gettin swag flu"
You're the 51-year-old greying son of a priest - jam your hype, motherfucker.
As you can see from the title of this blog, Andrew WK's seminal musical work 'Party Hard' is a song I hold very close to my heart. It's not just a piece of music, it's a philosophy, a life path. For many people of my generation it's one of the songs that everyone knows, and not just for the video (although the guy in Hawaiian shirt and shorts is a hero).
So allow me to just say; ANDREW WK JUST TWEETED AT ME IN A NICE WAY THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EXALT MY LIFE
Right, back to hatin'. Next week, why I dislike the phrase "Carpe Diem".
Awoke at 7.10, horrific. I've never been a late sleeper, but on my day off that really takes the piss. Spent the morning eating Toblerone and reading 'Money', nearly finished now, it's a brilliant book.
Had a very decadent lunch (parma ham and mozzarella in ciabatta, apple, magnum), then set about putting up my tent. You know, as practice. I tried it on sunday and it had just ended in me fighting an hour-long losing battle with nylon in the dying light and then breaking the bag trying to get all the stuff back in. This time it wasn't so bad, with the help of my little brother it was up in about 90 minutes (haha NO). It did demonstrate how "uterly wet and weedy" (much props for whoever gets that reference) I was as my 11-year-old sibling was marginally stronger than me.
Went to the Co-Op to buy groceries, must have been a sight. They didn't have soap - soap! A staple of the family home ever since people learned that water was actually good for you, and not even your most bog standard (pun-ish) Imperial Leather bar to be found. Country in crisis.
Right now I'm plotting my evening and trying to avoid the quite frankly horrific smells emanating from my socks. I have to go out again (to buy soap...), so I'll go for a walk. Then watch Flight of the Conchords. The fun never ends.
Should I see her at Glastonbury? I mean, the entire experience would be excrutiating, probably, purely because of her. But then again, those songs. And I bet she puts on a fucking good show. I think I'll bring some matches and a candle and plug my ears between songs lest she unleash any horrific banter.
Also, Blur are back properly as of last night. This is what they played in a tiny shed in Essex;
'She’s So High' 'Girls And Boys' 'Tracy Jacks' 'There's No Other Way' 'Jubilee' 'Badhead' 'Beetlebum' 'Trimm Trabb' 'Coffee & TV' 'Tender' 'Country House' 'Charmless Man' 'Colin Zeal' 'Oily Water' 'Chemical World' 'Sunday Sunday' 'Parklife' 'End Of A Century' 'To The End' 'This Is A Low' 'Popscene' 'Advert' 'Song 2' 'Out Of Time' 'Battery In Your Leg' 'Essex Dogs' 'For Tomorrow' 'The Universal'
THIS BODES WELL
I didn't like coconuts for the first 16.5 years of my life. However, of late, I have warmed to them, mainly due to this drink, which, contrary to the blurb, is available in dainty cartons as well as that litre-large behemoth you see before you. I tried coconut juice yesterday, in a dubious looking can I found loafing at the back of the fridge of my local Costcutter. Can't say I recommend it. It looks really odd, like water mixed with sunflower oil, and tastes first horrible, then agreeable, and then just sort of coats your mouth in a sticky film. It also had some pulp at the bottom which would occasionally seep in and make you freak out you were in the process of swallowing a larvae which would morph and expand inside you until it popped out of your stomach like in Alien.
Not much else to say, I was going to make lime cooler and sit in the garden but the lack of loose limes at Sainsbury's (£1.98 for 5 "fresh organic unwaxed limes" seemed a little steep in these recession-ravaged times) has also led me to not go outside and lead me in here ranting. Sort of.
Ok. In 14 days I will be at the Glastonbury festival. This is pretty much the only picture I could find to demonstrate how excited I am; For BACON!!!!!!!, read BLUR!!!!!!!. I've never listened to Springsteen before, so today I downloaded 'Born to Run' (song) and borrowed 'Born in the USA' (album). Pound those fists.
I'm reading 'Money' by Martin Amis. I tried 'Atonement' on monday but gave up after a couple of chapters, I just had the 30-second clip of the film that I saw in an interview with Keira Knightley playing over and over in my head and was left subsequently disappointed by the novel. It's absolutely brilliant. 'Money', that is. But probably not the best book for me to be reading as it's just so depressing. Then again, I love that shit. I am also flattering myself by thinking I write in a very similar style to Amis. Not on this blog, mind, which is effectively just a deposit for my barely-literate mental drivel (and - apology necessary - for my Adrian Mole-esque adolescent grumblings, sorry about that and am reformin'), but when I write novelsnstories. Maybe they'll surface, some day.
One thing you can see is some lyrics to a song. I know I said I'm reformin', but I'm allowing myself a few joys. I wrote it a couple of months ago, in about half an hour, and it was in response to a series of videos featuring, among others, this guy, though it's not about him. If he ever sees this he'll probably think it's a desperate attempt to curry favour - to be honest, to some extent, it is. But it's nice to have context. Anyway, he's very talented (see?) and his work's certainly had a bearing on this.
North Wall
Suburban flowers blossom And web around my window. And I fall to my knees, and lift my head, And I'm knighted by twigs and branches Blowing in.
And they batter my face and hands, But still I take their blows, And gather them up from my bedroom floor And wrap them up in bows
And this could take a lifetime, Or it could take a second Look. You're doing this on my time Don't make me throw out My arms to you.
Someone's got to do it, But I'd like to do it all, And do it better And show every last one What they're missing out on.
So pass up the rope And I'll knot it round these branches. And over it goes with the blunt of an axe, And we'll have to play down out chances.
And this could take a lifetime, Or it could take a second Look. You're doing this on my time Don't make me throw out My arms to you.
And even if you gave me just a plastercast of your hand I'd leave you alone without a trace... A trace of me left on your clothes A trace of me left in your house A trace of me When there's nothing left To hold on to To hold on to
To hold on
Hold on
Suburban flowers blossom And die under my boots. And stems are cut with you in mind, And the rest just walk on by.
Obviously, songs work better with music. More in due course, Ableton troubles.
I never went to see either the Rodchenko exhibition or The Hot Club gig. Because I'm a loser. My father went to the former and got me a notebook which I used as a means of keeping myself indoors making notes on Napoleon and Churchill whilst outside the sun blazed and children laughed and love blossomed.
Ok, so I haven't updated this in forevertime. I'd love to say it's because of exams, but it's more just out of laziness/the fact that I'm the only person that reads this anyway.
As alluded to above, in my time away I have indeed taken my AS-Levels. They went well, I think. Our drama piece came together approximately 2 minutes before we went on stage, so victory for us. Aside from revising like a motherfucker (sort of), I've also become addicted to 'My Super Sweet 16 UK' and those videos of the people who autotune the news. And I've decided that Holst's The Planets is a dire and direly over-rated piece of music.
Other tings have happened, obviously, in the wider world. Namely the rise of fascism, hooray. A sad day it is when we vote in a holocaust denier. To paraphrase one of my "followers", yay forever.
I've also turned 17, which did little except highlight how I'd absolutely wasted being 16. I endeavour to not be ... well, I'll still be an alienating and lofty little bastard, but just one that now goes out more and has a few more friends.
To pass the time, I've written a lot of new songs, too. Not that you or anyone else would know, as they've never been available to the wider world. Soon, though, That's about it. More thought-tracking to come. Stay atuned, if not tuned, xxxx (I think I'm dropping the big X)
I seriously regret not reading one of your books whilst you were still alive. That copy of Empire of the Sun hovered, like a tantalising book-beacon, in my line of vision every time I inspected the shelves of the 'teen' section. I was going to get around to it, honest, but this proved too good to ignore, and as soon as I turned the middle page of the book some young whipersnapper done bought your masterpiece. The cheek.
Anyway, I never realised how influential you actually were until, the day before your death, I talked about you with my dad in Borders. You're a damn, damn cool guy. I just wish that I'd got the chance to tell you, somehow. You struggled long and hard, you crazy dystopian bastard. I'm sure, when I do get round to Super-Cannes or Crash or The Atrocity Exhibition or the other ones, that I'll be grateful you were around to write them.
I really can't make my mind up about her new single. Anyone who's heard Spank Rock's crazymazing debut LP Yoyoyoyoyo (obscure 2005 hip-hop reference - SHOOT ME), specifically 'Bump', will know how totally and utterly brilliant a rapper she can be. That part when she speeds up about 2 minutes from the end leaves even Spank himself for dead, and she's deliciously filthy the whole way through.
If you're ready to step Cos' I'm a throw down kinda bitch I don't play around See I cut the fuck up And I knock the fuck down
Agreed.
She hasn't actually done much since then, though, which is why I was very pleased to hear about the first actual single from an actual album actually 'Might Like You Better'. Apparently it uses a refrain from an old track, but it's either before my time or I'm behind my time. I can't get my head around it much. The production's good, glitchy and slightly apathetic and thus apt - and how catchy the synth lead is cancels out how totally fucking annoying it could be. But Amanda herself seems a bit bored. The line the whole track is built on is delivered with all the sex appeal of a woman who has just had a c-section, and her rhymes, rather than the staggering and staggeringly dirty cat-hiss of '05, now sound forced - after making her name ploughing one lyrical furrow, it seems Blank is unable, unwilling or afraid to stray beyond the closeted niche she has inhabited up to this point. It gets by and would do well in a club, and like I said, it's damn catchy, but one gets the feeling there's a whole lot more she could give if only she moved from the (admittedly rather restrained) female rap sterotype.
Also, this awesome dude is having an exhibition at the Tate which ends on my birthday. I missed his last London one, I'm determined not to do the same this time around;
The funniest thing I've seen this week is a review of Eminem's new single on iTunes by a chap called fergus9876;
eminem not the best - *** "every one knows of eminem as amazing raper and he is but this song isnt great it annoying and no way near one of his best songs and he also only rapss well when its about life also the other person who wrote bout this spelt eminem wrong"
I DO NOT CARE STOP APPEARING WHENEVER I LOG ON TO MYSPACE STOP FOLLOWING ME ALL AROUND THE INTERNET CEASE YOUR IRRITATING POP-UP ADVERTISEMENTS YOU HAVE A RIDICULOUS NAME I HAVE NOT LISTENED TO YOUR MUSIC, AND I DON'T WANT TO, SO PISS OFF
When I was about 8ish, there were a few cds my parents would put on in the car every single time we went somewhere. Over the last year or so I've dug them up and some of them have made me so very happy - Graceland is one of my favourite albums ever, fact, I can't believe I let it leave my life for so long.
I think we were given Tall Tales by the Hot Club of Cowtown by some American friends who lived a road or two away, and I do remember it playing over and over on dusty summer evenings driving back from somewhere-or-other. The Club are this three-piece swing band who formed over a decade ago in NYC, and, after a hiatus from 2005-2008, are back and touring again. All three of the group are absolutely incredible musicians, really quite astonishingly good at times, and Tall Tales, which, as far as I know, is all original material, is packed with '40s bangers. My father used to joke that 'I Can't Tame Wild Women, But I Can Make Tame Women Wild' was my theme song, which, as you can imagine, was totally side-splitting for a chubby little boy such as I.
They're touring the UK (they never seem to stop touring, if their website's to be believed) in May, including a London date at Dingwalls on the 28th. Do go and see them, it'll be a yee-haw of a night, and keep this brilliant group going.
In other news, I had a rockin' Pesach. In case you haven't seen them, Jewish fun here and here.
First of all, two albums by two of my favourite artists came out today - Two Suns by Bat For Lashes, and It's Blitz! by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. I waltzed down to my local record shop today in order to buy them, and paying no heed to my painstakingly constructed and colour-coded revision timetable, stuck them on repeat and haven't taken them off since. They're amazing, they're beautiful, buy them and love them.
Obama's on the continent! Hurrah! Along with his awe-inspiring wife, Obama has spent the last week touring Europe, being nice to Muslims and thinking he's Conan O'Brien. I was just as excited as you when I saw him in the president-mobile last week pulling up outside Downing Street and making me realise how dull my head of state was.
And that's just the thing. With the hugely high voter turn-out at the last polls, especially in the 18-35 demographic, people have been banging on about how Obama has politicized young people and made the next generations far more turned on than the current one. It is undoubtedly true that November's election captured the hearts and minds of pretty much the entire western world, and it is highly likely that the youth of the US will feel a far stronger bond with politics after it. But it may actually have the opposite effect on much of the rest of the world's youth. Just surveying the current leaders of the UK political parties, I feel about as politcized as a walrus with a sore tusk. In America, you vote for one person who roughly correlates with the manifesto of the group he represents - in the UK, you vote for the party, specifically the MP who represents your region of around 70,000 people. The system across the pond is far more personal, intimate and ultimately more rewarding, especially considering the fact that you're essentially voting for the next most-important-person-in-the-world. What may happen is that young people, not just in Britain but across the world, may actually become embittered and disappointed by the fact that none of their own politicians or parties measure up to the visceral, exuberant thrust of Barack Obama, leading to a generation disinterested in politics. Perhaps it's just youthful ennui, but I for one have absolutely no desire to vote for any of the major parties in the next election, especially when they appear so out of touch (or desperately misjudged) with me and my contemporaries.
In other news, my friend is putting on this show next month (if nothing shows, click the link A Place at the Table). It promises to be fabulous, there're going to be cheap tickets for da yoof, and even so it's hardly going to break the bank at £12.
Back in '06 (ahh, the heady days), Borat was big. Isn't that strange? His hairy, thong-ed frollics attracted millions in revenue and millions more pre-pubescents repeating "iis naice!" in the playground in ridiculous middle-eastern-ish voices.
(Yes, I was one of these pre-pubescents. Damn me.)
Another thing that particularly irked our Kazakh comrade was, as you well know, Jews. Now, as Sacha Baron Cohen is himself a Jew, he was able to get away with saying things in a prime-time television show and a big-budget movie that would have got anyone else a slap on the wrist for inciting racial hatred - "Jew-claw", "throw the Jew down the well" etc. And, truly, it was funny, politically iffy shock-humour that, looking back on it, is pretty much what Sarah Silverman's doing now. Just with less booing and more value for money.
However, nowadays, it's not such a laughing matter. Jew-bashing seems to have seeped into popular culture as, for one, a new casual byword for "shit", as well as some rather more visceral connotations. People seem content to say "that's so Jew" at the drop of a hat now, in a similar vein to "that's so gay" or "that's so lame". All of these expressions are, when you think about them, wrong and offensive. In all three cases, any person who happened to come under one (or more) of the above titles most likely wouldn't have come to be there by choice. It is very mild when compared, and perhaps I shouldn't be making the comparison, but it's the sort of thing that kickstarts fascist regimes. Hitler executed millions of people under the "charge" that they were gay, lame, or Jewish. "Gay" and "lame" have slipped into casual usage so far now that popstarlets can release worldwide hits entitled thus, used in their more innocent, playground sense without one eyelid batted by the consumer. Sure, but it's just a pop song, you might say. That much is true, but so is this. It doesn't take many steps to get from a to b in the mind of an impressionable adolescent.
The second, and perhaps more worrying, point is the brazen use of Jew as a direct insult. Coming from a south-west London grammar school with a high mix of various cultures (around 50% of the pupils are white, very low for the area, with a high proportion of Koreans and south-Asians from nearby New Malden and Hounslow and with many other background represented), one would imagine a degree of tolerance would have spread through the community to allow a large amount of integration. While this is generally the case, Jews, most certainly the major world religion in the school with the smallest representation, can feel a little cut off. In a Patrick Wolf related moment of hormonal madness, I scribbled "hunt for that jewel" in a toilet cubicle - you know, just to add a little variation to the "tik if uve fuked a teachr in here" proclamations and pictured of cocks. A couple of days later I use the same cubicle, and someone has turned it into "hunt for that jew!". It made me angry, particularly as I know that some people actually genuinely, for whatever reason, dislike Jews in my school. Last year, someone was suspended for shouting out "filthy Jew" when we were watching The Pianist in history. In fact, the anti-semitism in my school has reached such a level that when I hear someone say "Jew" in the corridor, I instantly assume it's being used as an insult. For once, though, I think it extends beyond the boundaries of my cosy closeted grammar school hole, and it's not cool.
It's Pesach on thursday. I am most likely one of the least devout Jews in the world - I've never been to synagogue and the Pesach, along with a bit of dradle spinning in December, is pretty much the only time of year when I can actually call myself Jewish and not feel like I'm being hyper-hypocritical (and feel guilty as I eat a bacon sandwich). To be quite honest, I think the new apathy and insensitive nature developing in modern culture is disgusting, vile and outdated, and if it continues then people of my generation are going to grow up, actively or passively, bigotted, contrived and shameful. I'm not being a stick in the mud, but just think about the things you say, there's only a pitifully short amount of time in life to say all the words you can, and these, in these contexts, shouldn't be in your vocabulary.
