Monday, October 21, 2002
In honour of that man Bjortomt:
1. 'Glasshouse Tarot' - Sparta
2. 'Lack Of Communication' - The Von Bondies
3. 'Dy-Na-Mi-Tee' - Ms Dynamite
4. 'Whatever Happened To My Rock 'N' Roll' - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
5. 'In Metal' - Low
6. 'Round Round' - Sugababes
7. 'Dreaming Of You' - The Coral
8. 'Do You Realise??' - The Flaming Lips
9. 'You Make Me Nervous' - The Icarus Line
10. 'Kick Out The Jams' - The MC5
While on campus the other day I got presented with a small purple flyer advertising this website. Do I look like the sort of person that wants to buy religious literature? It really boiled my piss - Christianity's marketing men out on the hunt for the student demographic. What I resent is the fact that what is relentlessly and shamelessly dressed up as life-changing, or life-affirming, or redeeming, is actually just plain old-fashioned cashlust. Fuck spiritual values, salvation and mercy, it's a commercial enterprise. They are right about one thing, though - there is a god. Called mammon.
On a similar note, I was interested to read about that tele-evangelist cunt Jerry Falwell's latest efforts to improve interracial relations and religious tolerance: apparently, the prophet Mohammed was a "terrorist". No doubt he's too busy wiping his arse with fifty dollar bills to notice that people are now being killed in India as a result of his comments.
Friday, October 18, 2002
Why is it that TV these days is wall-to-wall shit? Until, that is, you're desperate to get some work done. Like last night, for instance. I take a quick break to laugh at such wholesome subjects as parental bullying and death by auto-asphyxiation (yes, I was watching 'League Of Gentlemen') and then find myself rooted to the same spot on the sofa for a couple of hours.
First of all, 'Question Time' - it really doesn't come any better than pitting Peter Tatchell against the pretty face of the Daily Mail incarnate, Ann Widdecombe. They didn't agree on much. What I find remarkable is that someone who no doubt thinks that legalised abortion is an abomination is in fact unwittingly by her very existence one of its most persuasive apologists. Her incredible insistence that racism no longer exists within English football reminded me of the proverbial ostrich burying its head in the sand. If only she was as good looking.
Then, a return to the comedy - a bit of 'Scrubs' (to someone who thinks that disembowelling would be too good for the characters of 'Friends', this is pleasantly surprisingly entertaining) and 'TV Go Home' the TV version (check out the website here). Particularly great were 'Daily Mail Island', nostalgia show satire 'I Love Then' and 'I Am Simon Doyle', a documentary following one Simon Doyle who was trying to rebuild his life ten years after suffering public humiliation and social ostracism for shagging a mallard in a car park for a drunken bet.
All good harmless family fun.
Thursday, October 17, 2002
A classic quote from Murray Walker, surely the only person in sport to rival our very own Sir Bobby Robson for the pronouncement of absolute gibberish and genius in equal measures: "He's actually got a very well-adjusted personality. He's got a chip on both shoulders."
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
Oh my god I think I really am cracking up. I found myself watching 'Wipeout' with Bob Monkhouse today - not a particularly uncommon or noteworthy occurence, you might say. But I found his jokes GENUINELY AMUSING. Christ. Sample 'gag': "We had a painter round our house. He spilled a couple of tins of paint and my wife went into hysterics. I would have thought that if you're in his line of work you should have better control of your emulsions". And another: "Popeye's been around for ages. He still enjoys his spinach, but he hasn't been near olives for years". Please, (as Come once sang) shoot me now.
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
The Web is a weapon of mass distraction.
Just been browsing Olav's blog, where, in one posting, he seems to imply that Richard Littlejohn is the most odious journalist around. Sorry, but any of the Mail's snivelling sneering columnists would be higher on my Fourth Estate Hit-List. Yes, I'm looking at YOU, Lynda LeePotter. And YOU, Simon Heffer.
Also noticed that Olav has taken offence to my referring to his blog as "mildly amusing". Apparently, this is damning with faint praise. Well, how's about I praise you with faint damning instead, then, Olav? Your blog "has a tendency towards wilful self-indulgence" and you're "a bit of a twat". Happy now?
If you, like me, want to follow the advice of that titan among goth-metal bands, Disturbed, and "get down with the sickness", can I suggest you visit the Lair of the Crab of Ineffable Wisdom? This site is a portal into the head of one Joel Veitch, who, judging by the contents of this site, is almost certainly a severely psychologically disturbed individual. May I personally recommend the animations called 'Punk Kittens' and 'Destiny's Child'? Thank you. Just don't blame me when you laugh like a nutter and find yourself in a padded room, arms strapped behind your back, being fed through a straw.
Losers: do yourself a favour and check out the Vanity Project for top-quality musinews, reviews and features. The fanzine itself might be small, but it's perfectly formed. Size doesn't matter, it's what you do with it that counts. Anyone in the vicinity of Portsmouth (for that is from whence this fine publication emerges approximately monthly), get your lil' indie arse down to the Horseshoe pub for 7.30pm for the Vanity Project affiliated gig night oDD/eVEN #2, entry a mere £2. There you can thrill to one-man noise wave Qhixldekx (aka my good friend Mr Leon Tricker), swoon to Reinhardt (ex-Screeper man Dave Jones's new project) and holler along to Red Letter Day (belligerent pub-punk).
Another fine Pompey-based publication ahoy! If post-hardcore, post-rock and post-punk is your bag (and I know it's mine), you NEED Evil Powers Of Rock 'N' Roll in your life. OK, so what is the most recent issue (I think) took 13 months to compile, but includes interview features with such luminaries as Oneida, Nebula, the sadly-missed Bluetip and the wonderful Icarus Line, plus a Kids Near Water tour diary. The reviews section too bears witness to some extraordinarily good taste: featured bands include: Trail Of Dead, Les Savy Fav, Enon, Fugazi, A Silver Mt Zion, Burning Airlines, The Pattern, The Mars Volta, The White Stripes, Rival Schools, Billy Mahonie, Unwound, The Fall, Bright Eyes, Mogwai, Silver Jews, The Fall, The Melvins, Sparta... Email Richie at firstname.lastname@example.org and let the Evil Powers into your head and heart, for just £1 and an SAE.
Howard Wilkinson and Steve Cotterill - magic. I don't know about George W wanting to bomb Iraq back to the Stone Age, but that's where Bob Murray wants to take the Mackems, if these appointments are anything to go by.
Wednesday, October 09, 2002
My blog currently seems to be suffering from some technoproblems, but, to borrow from Alan Partridge esq, techno notice - hopefully I should have worked out how to sort it soon. In the meantime, though, I'm afraid I'm unable to compensate by putting up any audio clips of 'Sophisticated Saxophone Woman' by Norwich-based band Dark Phase.
You've got to feel sorry for Peter Reid - and not just cos he looks like an ape. He takes those red-and-white inbreds far further than they've got any right to expect, and then at the first sign that they might be (at last) getting vertigo and accepting the near-inevitability of a return to their natural level (ie midtable First Division; trips to Grimsby, Reading and Brighton etc etc) the tossers give the boot to the one person who might be able to stave it off for another season. Well done lads, really have to applaud your stupidity. What are you going to do now? Get in that whinging bastard O'Leary? He'll jump ship as soon as he finds out what he's got to work with, that there's no £60million pot of cash to be emptied, and that he's trying to entertain the most miserable bunch of cunts around. There really is nothing better than watching other people, most particularly Sunderland, fail.
Wednesday, October 02, 2002
Er, I'm slightly concerned that several people seem to have found their way to my blog by, ahem, entering 'Stuart Lubbock' into Google. Why does everyone have to have such unsavoury interests? Well, now that I'm back on the subject, I might as well mention the cover of the latest issue of 'Private Eye' - someone saying to Barrymore, "How did the man die?", and him replying, "Buggered if I know"...
I suppose bad taste really is back with a vengeance now anyway, what with the return of both 'League Of Gentlemen' and 'The Office'. While watching the former might be frequently stomach-churning, watching the latter is downright painful. But hey - there really are people like that in the world! Well, in Slough. And I never, ever want to be one of them.
My god the Sparta album is ace - At The Drive-In minus the awkwardness and plus the big fucking tunes. And don't even dare to consider not checking the Von Bondies out - like Jack White with a bee in his underpants. I know what you're going to say - more churnings from the big fat media hype machine, and, yeah, you've got to stay discerning. But you know what? When what's being churned out is (on the whole) this damn good, you should just go ahead and enjoy it. LOUDLY.
Erm, I'm a bit worried that several people seem to have found their way to my blog by, ahem, entering 'Stuart Lubbock' into Google. Why does everyone have to have such unsavoury interests? Well, now that I'm back on the subject, I might as well mention the cover of the latest issue of 'Private Eye' - someone asking Barrymore, "How did the man die?" and Barrymore replying, "Buggered if I know"...
Monday, September 30, 2002
Friday, September 27, 2002
The lesbian innuendos. The funeral rehearsals. The frenzied games of Busy Buzzy Bumbles. The grotesquely revolting sex scenes. And, of course, the pens. A warm welcome back to 'The League Of Gentlemen'.
If you are in any shape or form a fan, visiting Papa Lazarou's own personal corner of cyberspace is an absolute must. And don't forget to buy some pegs.
Monday, September 23, 2002
It's amazing what a 2-0 derby victory over the Mackem bastards can do for a raging hangover. Hopefully the wheels are firmly back on now, and we can put Feyenoord to the sword tomorrow night.
I paid my first visit to Nottingham's arty cinema The Broadway last week to see local filmmaker Shane Meadows' new movie 'Once Upon A Time In The Midlands' - a little disappointing with the balance tipped away from harsh realism in favour of slightly schmaltzy convention at times, but a good film all the same. Ricky Tomlinson and Kathy Burke are watchable in anything though. Interesting to note the low-budget nature of the whole project: the one bit filmed on Ilkeston Road at the end of my street was supposed to be where Robert Carlyle's character lived in Glasgow - seems they couldn't even afford to leave Nottingham for filming...
Good to see Ms Dynamite scooping the Mercury Prize the other day. At last, a genuinely intelligent and articulate talent emerging from the UK garage scene (see her charming Johnny Vaughan, Elvis Costello and the whole audience on JV's show?), and someone who's not afraid to blow all that bling-blinging shit out of the water. Plus, she makes Oxide and Neutrino look even more like the monkeys they are.
There really is nothing quite like a good houseparty. Like the one I attended on Saturday night. The gallons of wine swigged straight from the bottle, the half-remembered enthusing about Eels' Daisies Of The Galaxy album, the shouting "You're a fucking cock" at a fucking cock...
And there I was happily reading a Sunday Times news item on Michael Barrymore and the inquest into Stuart Lubbock's death, thinking there was no more frightening epithet in the English language than "serious sexual injuries". How wrong I was. This particular hack preferred the even more unpleasant "extreme anal injuries". OWW.
Also spotted in yesterday's Times: a less-than-admiring review of Will Self's rewriting of Wilde's 'The Picture Of Dorian Gray' and a fine feature on Low by Mark Edwards. Self was criticised for his unwieldy and exhibitionist use of language, and to be fair the bits quoted did seem ridiculously OTT even by his standards - but then that sort of excessive language is his trademark. Incidentally, it sounds like the subject matter of 'Dorian' might make its publication at this moment in time extraordinarily apt, dealing as it does with buggery and serious drug intake... Maybe Self would make the ideal ghost writer for Barrymore's memoirs, if they ever see the light of day.
The tone of the Low piece was somewhat different, but then there are few bands as deserving of such critical awe. 1999's Secret Name redefined the idea of 'heavy' for me - an awesome album.