GLASTONBERRY TOOFAHSANDNINE WOS GAAN ON?

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.

Next year I'm sleeping in your tent.
xxx

Off

Glastonbury. Shit.

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.

Stay great
xxxx

Metal Love

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.

xxx

Roar

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.

-

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.

xxxx

PARTY HARD

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".

My day

• 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.

xxxx

I'll follow you until you love me

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.

I'll say something interesting soon.

xxxx

Money

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.

xxxx

Failings

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.

Self-loathe
Self-low

Rebirth

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)