CV of CV

CV of CV: dry but informative Caetano Veloso biography, from the altogether more colourful Caravan Music, a one-stop shop for Brazilian music.

ALL MUSIC SUCKS

ALL MUSIC SUCKS

Face it, every single note of music ever committed to paper, vinyl, CD, zeroes and ones sucks harder than Linda Lovelace in a sucking competition with a black hole. There is absolutely nothing going for music. It just plain sucks.

“Wait a minute? How can you say that Tanya?” I hear you all cry. “Why bother slagging off all those other bands and genres if you’re just going to say that all music plain sucks?” I hear you whimper. “Where’s your bloody evidence?” I hear you scream.

Well, the answers to these are staring you right in the face. Go on, just turn on your radio and listen to the aural abuse that eminates from it. I hate it, you hate it, but somebody does like it. Well, fuck em, is what I say, because for every person that likes something, there is definitely more than one person who despises it, thus creating a negative utility whereby all music must suck.

You may not agree with my simple utilitarian values, but the proof is there for you all to see. All bands, artists, classical composers (ESPECIALLY classical composers!) suffer from this utility vacuum. It is inescapable. You can’t please everyone, but this inability of musicians is why they suck. They should be able to please everyone. It’s their job to! If they can’t do this, then they just suck.

You can probably prove it by induction too, but having been left up the junction by my maths teacher, then I’d fall flat on my arse if I even tried. Much like those pesky musicians who think they’re good, but ain’t pleasing me.

Look, if you were a bad chef who displeased more people than you pleased with the food you cooked, you’d get the sack. If your food killed more people who ate it than those that survived (a vivid, but totally plausible situation I might add), then you’d been looking for another form of employment.

All musicians suck. They’re just plain bad. Now I’m no journalist, I’m just a cultural commentator who happens to have a penchant for hating music. But, if I was a bad journalist who pissed off more people than I pleased, then I’d be out on a…..actually, no, I’d still have my job.

Music is just bad. All of it sucks. Whether you prove it by utilitarian values, induction, the theory of relativity, or by complex differential equations, you can’t escape the bottom line that it sucks, and there is nothing that can save it. It just sucks.

I just saw Titanic, and that sucks. Therefore, all films must suck too. In fact, everything just sucks. EVERYTHING. The universe especially. Everything and everyone sucks. Yah-Boo Sucks!

OH FOR GOD’S SAKE…

OH FOR GOD’S SAKE…

You go away for one weekend and this awaits you when you get back. No, no and a million times no, Sysqo’s “Thong Song” is NOT the best song of the year, you wretched bunch of perverts. He’s a repellent individual who comes on panting like an over-excited dog: put a fire hydrant in a fucking thong and you can bet your life Sysqo would be on its ‘dumps’ in half a second, rutting away until the police come for him. You remember that kid who used to wank off at the back of the class and would dribble and leer when the teacher called him on it? That’s Sysqo.

God knows what you were all thinking, maybe you were thinking that voting for “Thong Song” would make you look like a SEXY BEAST and yet ironic too, rather than a load of rough old embarrassing uncles who probably make jokes about “white meat” at Sunday lunchtimes. As for the production, yes, there is a violin on the track, well goddamn if that’s not radical. Even by the low standards of current R&B (let’s distract the children with funny noises, shall we?), “Thong Song” is lame. Focus Group my entirely thong-free arse! Next time it’s going to be me and a fucking mirror, and it’s going to be a great deal better to boot.

(As for the person who gave Sysqo a zero, don’t think you’re getting off. That rare moment of sanity is entirely counteracted by the fact that you gave ten points to Dead Prez’s grisly “Hip Hop”. Calling a “Hip Hop” song “Hip Hop” is like writing L and R on your shoes! At least Sysqo, fool that he is, could probably remember the name of his bastard genre. And what a surprise, they can’t afford a proper bass and had to nick their mums’ vacuum cleaner instead.)

BELLE & SEBASTIAN - or THE TRUE STORY BEHIND BRAVEHEART

BELLE & SEBASTIAN - or THE TRUE STORY BEHIND BRAVEHEART

Many people have mentioned to me over the last couple of weeks that some of my reasons for disliking particular strands of popular music are tenuous at best. I will accept this criticism on the chin, something Belle & Sebastian could never do. While I would be the first to admit that disliking a band because I could have them all in a fight under general anaesthetic may seem harsh – it is my main bugbear with the not coincidentally abbreviated B&S. Even if the band were at the full early doors strength of eight, and even if they came at me all at once, I think a disdainful flick of the wrist would put paid to the lot of them. Especially the fey one who formed Looper and wants to go to Mars with his Dad – ah, what a bed wetting sweetie.

There is nothing wrong with stealing Nick Drake’s schtick; the seventies grand wizard of mumbling over un-amplified instruments certainly does not need it any more (in his fey pop grotto in the sky). And there is nothing wrong with pretending to be intelligent that failing the odd exam won’t put paid to. What irks me most is the dedicated underachievement of the band. Really how much cash can they make when they go out of their way to avoid those money making things like touring, releasing good records and having a sensible number of people in their band. No wonder they can only ever afford one colour on their album covers.

I must admit to being let down and disappointed with my hosts new found admiration of B&S. I accepted Mr Ewing’s offer of hosting almost a month ago now, after a long and vitriolic conversation sans pub about all that is currently bad about pop music. From viewing his site he has since turned his coat upon the all encompassing hate. That said I never thought I would see the day when he who fights the good fight in thought if not in deed would be suckered by the deceptive charms of Scots who can’t fight. I use the word deceptive there to mean they have deceived Tom. Not even wrassling a sitar (surely the easiest of instruments to master since it is never in tune and plays to mystical Eastern scales) can put a smile on my face. “Get out of the city”, they emplore, and leave your fucking record collection behind while you are at it.

Some say Belle & Sebastian are merely raconteurs in the troubadouric tradition. I would advise you, if you come across such an advocate to smash them in the teeth – odds are they too will be rubbish in a scrap. “I Fought In A War”? Since when have the Scottish Fusiliers been employing ragtag multi-instumentalists as the first wave of attack. This is obviously a war they lost, which has been hushed up by the press. (That or they are representing the Scot’s who lost independence as lead by Mel Gibson’s William Wallace. Wearing skirts and singing songs about foxes is no counter to effective cavalry charges.) Of course the shame of being accused of losing a war has driven Belle & Sebastian underground: but if you need them, and you can find them (via Isobel’s amusing cod Chinese Laundrywoman impression in the outskirts of East Kilbride) you just might be able to hire Stuart “Howling Mad” Murdoch’s A-Team. What this particular A-Team could achieve I am not so sure. Lock them in a garage with just a washing machine and some plastic tubing and they’ll probably knock up a song called “Wash-Board Sally Dances”. Or die of claustrophobia. David Niven’s wife died playing sardines don’t you know. It could happen to Belle & Sebastian too.

B&S ? Bull and Shit. Oh and fold your hands child, it makes it easier to punch you.

So, why haven’t you been updating all day, Tom?

So, why haven’t you been updating all day, Tom? Well, O Reader, that’s because I’ve been editing the The Freaky Trigger Pop Music Focus Group, June 2000, the definitive overview of the first six months of Y2K in pop. It rules - thanks to everyone who contributed.

I’ll be working more on that tomorrow and Wednesday, fleshing out the results with a bit more analysis, and for those who like that kind of thing some anal stats too.