Posts from 23rd December 2000

23
Dec 00

ADVENT CALENDAR OF FILTH 11. DOUG YULE

I Hate Music2 comments • 1,510 views

ADVENT CALENDAR OF FILTH
11. DOUG YULE

It may just be me, but the very mention of yuletide immediately brings to my mind the image of the hapless, curly-haired waste of skin who goes by the name of Doug Yule.

I’m bored witless of hearing how Mr Yule ruined the Velvet Underground, who remain a rock music sacred cow as lardy, leathery and bristled as a lustful union between Elton John and David Crosby. As far as I’m concerned, Yule made the VU better, although (obviously) they remained unlistenable shite. Anything has to be an improvement on that droning bloody viola.

Certainly, Doug Yule is preferable to the loathesome Lou Reed and John Cale, who between them have managed to construct a joint canon so large and so grim that it’s only rivalled by the bastard Beatles. The only VU member I can’t bring myself to hate is that Tucker woman, who looks like my Grandmother. Unfortunately her drumming is rather worse than my grandmother’s, even after the old girl had that nasty bout of rheumatoid arthritis.

Anyway, Doug Yule. Anyone sane would be delighted to have a history of musical crime in the Velvet Undergroud airbrushed from the record. But not Doug. Doug thinks he played a crucial role and has been written out of history. He’s particularly sore at not being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame with the rest of them, though why anyone would want to rub shoulders with Doris Schwartz and Leroy (in his pre-Prodigy Dancer days – incidentally there is no worse song than “Death Of The Prodigy Dancers” – such promise! such disappointment!) is beyond me.

Perhaps it’s the time of year, but I’m not inclined to be too hard on our Doug. It’s hard to feel anything but pity for a man who feels cheated by the world’s undervaluation of his part in the VU. What’s more, Mr. Yule made the wise move of giving up music for many years to pursue a career as a cabinet maker. If only more musicians would turn their hands to something useful. Maybe he even makes his cabinets out of old pianos…mmmmmm……

Nevertheless, there are three key reasons to hate Doug Yule:

1. He’s named after a time of year when children are encouraged to sing on the street after their bedtimes, and expect money in return. This is clearly a bad thing, not least because it increases the gross sum of music in public spaces.

2. He prolonged the recording lifespan of the Velvet Underground, a crime so self-evident that it needs no further explanation, except to say that if it wasn’t for the Yule incarnation of the band, the world may never have had to bear the horror that is ‘Sweet Jane’.

3. It’s been said that if Cale hadn’t left VU, then he (Cale) and Reed would have killed each other. By filling Cale-bach’s place in the Velvets, Yule made the final John-Lou conflict less likely, effectively forming a human shield between the two. The idea of either – or both – of these twin pillars of rock being cut down before inflicting their hateful solo careers on us is one of the happiest I can iimagine. Anyone with any responsibility for preventing it, however small, is to be despised forever. Take him away.

A Merry Christmas To All Our Readers

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A Merry Christmas To All Our Readers

The Best Of UK Garage 2000

New York London Paris Munich7 comments • 2,323 views

The Best Of UK Garage 2000: Tim reviews the year in garage, a fine piece which has been linked on the front page for a couple of days now but of course me being me, and crap, the link didn’t work. Now it does.

PUBLOG LIVE REPORT 22/12/00 – Supplementary

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PUBLOG LIVE REPORT 22/12/00 – Supplementary

Yet again – much like the publog appears to be set up to apologise for people – I must say the consternation caused to the gay couple (and first I have heard of their gayness – they just pissed me off) was merely because they were cramping our previously salubrious and relatively tight knit group.

Line up tonight if you wish to know as Pete, Tom and Alex Thompson (special guest star) plus early doors the McGhee’s. Next we got a special appearance by Magnus to tell us about French bird and her plank. Then it was P, T & AT until the Mortimer voyeur session when Al rocked up and was his usual self.

You get to a point when anyone trying to attract attention to themselves really pisses you off. So gay couple merely being chatty were on a loser until I came over and told them that they perturbed me (one way or another). Mainly because they were hitting on Al – which is in itself a bizarre concept – but nevertheless – if you instigate a pub crawl you have a degree of responsibility for your charges.

I would never say I was responsible mind.

ADVENT CALENDAR OF FILTH 10. GREG LAKE – I Believe In Father Christmas

I Hate Music3 comments • 1,885 views

ADVENT CALENDAR OF FILTH
10. GREG LAKE – I Believe In Father Christmas

For christ-sake (and if not for his sake, whose sake are you making Christmas records – except o’course for your bank managers) if you have not realised by the age of 34 that Father Christmas no more exists than any sort of credibility for people who nick classical tunes as the blood and guts of their records then much hope has gone Cully.

Lake (of Blankety Blank question : my Dad bought a piss poor Prog Rock record by Emerson ____ and Palmer) was on his own in still believing in this phsyically impossible present delivery system. He admittedly never said he believed in Rudolph, but then a consumately fit animal with a glow in the dark nose is pretty unlikey. Less unlikely then than a fat man fitting down chimneys maybe but…

“They said there’d be snow at Christmas”

No weatherman worth their salt (useful on icey roads) would ever predict snow at Christmas. Or a silent night on Dec 24. Frankly all Lake could do was nick a bit of Prokofiev and fuck off and laugh his red nose off. A silly nose it is too (you’ve seen Close Encounters – well the mountain was Lakes nose).

He is obvious too old to believe in FC or even SC or St Nick, but that never got in the way of an ageing rock star who fancies feeling up the younger ladies whilst using the Santa Hat Condom. He is leading yet another generation down the slippery slope that is believing in a non-existant and rather unlikely supernatural beasties. So lake, go drown yerself in yerself.

PUBLOG LIVE REPORT 22/12/00

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PUBLOG LIVE REPORT 22/12/00

We aren’t quite posting live from the pub, this is in fact a post from Cafe Sad aka EasyEverything on the Tottenham Court Road. We have been to five public houses this evening – the Jack Horner, the Rising Sun, The Old Surgeon, the Mortimer Arms, and the Court aka It’s A Scream. Summaries follow:

The Jack Horner: hangover recovery, and a retelling of the week’s tales.
The Rising Sun: Magnus related the tale of how he had yet again pulled a nutter, in this case his French upstairs neighbour, who had staved in her window with a big plank.
The Old Surgeon: I DONT WANNA ROCK DJ! Or should that be “I don’t want a pub DJ”, as the Surgeon had employed such a personage to make Christmas Eve Eve Eve go with a swing. All the favourites were deployed, including “Who Let The Dogs Out” which excited the office party crowd muchly. Pub DJs are dreadful, yet amusing: more on this anon.
The Mortimer Arms played host to a marvellous game of Office Party Anthropology, as we witnessed the drunken near-coupling of a Serge Gainsbourg style office sot with his Jane Birkin (from Accounts, no doubt). Much voyeuristic fun – both gropers were wearing Santa hats, curse them.
The Court was a jukebox rip-off pub but nevertheless we stuck it out – enough to enjoy rounds made up almost entirely of Aftershock Blue and new drink horror Sourz (a nasty apple/cough sweet brew). Al requested the KLF twice off the pub DJ (of the trying-to-be-trendy variety, i.e. no Baha Men) and was turned down. Pete caused distress to a gay couple innocently trying to work the cigs machine. We were repeatedly burned by Tarrant and his infernal money-eating device. It is worth pointing out that the Court is the only pub in London to have been stupid enough to put Kid A on the jukebox.