Posts from June 2001
I now understand exactly what all of the people who’ve been bemoaning lowest common denominator trance music have been complaining about. Despite the “hook” of being a trance reinterpretation of an operatic aria, absolutely nothing about this record can save it from mind-numbing badness. Records like this make me see Tanya’s point of view a little clearer…
Went to see my old MP at the House of Commons last night, and am pleased to report that the Mother of Parliaments uses the Mother of all Hand Dryers.
Strangers Bar (which is where the plebs are allowed) is a great bar, mainly because you aren’t allowed to buy a drink yourself – only MPs and Parliament Staff can do this. I suspect this is under the terms of its licence as a Members Club, but part of me would like to believe that it is some quaint convention about buying an MP a drink being considered to be a bribe. That would ‘fit the model’ as it were – a pint and a packet of crisps risks corrupting the moral fibre of our legislators, but freebie jaunts all over the world and hotel bills paid for are perfectly acceptable. Sometimes, the truth disappoints…
Everyone’s written a love song ‘ silly, serious, heart-felt, ironic, and all the various permutations throbbing and convulsing therein. Often, the best ones try to reconcile these conflicting traits ‘ for instance, Elvis Costello’s ‘Allison’, where he both pines for and scorns the girl. Or the Cardigan’s “Lovefool”, where the girl asks for her heart to be broken, and won’t be satisfied with anything less. Where V/VM & his Sick-Love CD fall in all of this, I can’t be sure ‘ it’s at once alien to these concepts, and also painfully aware of them.
1. It’s June 8 2001 and I’ve a few hours to kill in London, so I walk. It’s a sunny day: most people look bored and in a hurry. Every now and then I stop and pick up one of the daily papers, which are all full of election talk. Arithmetically nothing’s happened – five seats lost here, six gained there, but the great blocs of party power are still intact. Look closer, though, and you can see eddies in the electoral current, small tics and tremors which suggest not just disillusionment but a twitchy volatility. A crushing majority for a single-issue independent. Turnout at its lowest since World War I. Twelve thousand fascist votes in Oldham. And all the record shops are playing Amnesiac, this strange little Number One album. “After years of waiting, nothing came / And you realise you’re looking, looking in the wrong place” sings Thom Yorke in a voice like hammered lead. “I’m a reasonable man, get off my case.”
I hereby declare June 26, 2001 Sugababes Day. Their debut record (One Touch) was released in the US. Their song “Overload” (a blissfully atypical pre-fab pop track, which means it’s damn good – never mind Tom’s grousing) has been nominated for a Brit Award. And I found this Sugababes site – Sugababes Online – which features the entirety of One Touch in Windows Media format (which is playable via Winamp, in case you’re worried about compatibility). And while (upon initial listen) “Overload” sounds like the best track on the album, there’s plenty here worth checking out. (Even the ballads!) Keep these girls away from the hair dye & the nookie playas, if you please.
Aint No Party Like A Sussed Club Party: like plucky kids in a Children’s Film Foundation epic, last Thursday saw DJs Cabbage, Carsmile and Cockfarmer take to the half-working decks in a flooded nightclub and entertain hordes of partygoers in triumphant style. So triumphant, in fact, that after toting up the bar receipts they’ve invited us back! Thursday July 5 sees the return of Club Sussed at Club Latino in Oxford. £3 on the door, playing things that make you go ‘aw’. More details as I get them but all sorts of thrilling innovations are mooted including a new face in the DJ booth (a nation gasps). Whether or not I’ll be allowed to get away with this is less certain….
You know, being the most respected rock’n’roll band that ever existed must have been a difficult gig. Not only were they constantly tortured by the self knowledge that they were actually crap, but the Beatles also had to suffer from their words being taken literally. Just as Elvis Presley has The Church Of The Latter Day Elvis, there are two factions of a Beatles religion fighting a fatwa (or Ringo – aka The Fat One) over the one true Beatles Religion. Much like the heresy of Protestantism there is merely one schism which separates the two creeds, who would otherwise be joined in their belief that All You Need Is Love (pacifists), that Tomorrow Never Knows (anti-determinists) and Baby, They Can Drive My Car (thieving Scouse bastards). Even as we speak people are dying in this cause to show that theirs is the true way, light and that Octopus’s Garden is actually a metaphor and not a pile of nursery rhyme wank. Let us examine the case:
Charlotte Raven today: “[The British are] committed to making stuff happen in the short time they’ve got. We’ve got a genius for compression. That’s why we’re so good at pop songs.” Hmmm.
STOOGES – “REAL COOL TIME”
adapted for the stage, a play in one act.
me – me.
her – her.
suburban bedroom(s), 1969.
[a telephone rings. a telephone is answered.]
me: “can I come over tonight?”
me: “can I come over tonight?”
her: “no, no, i got that much. what i want to know is why?”
me: “what do you think I wanna do?”
me: “that’s right. can I come over tonight?”
me: “i say we will have a real cool time tonight.”
her: [grudgingly] “oh, alright.”
[cue air-guitar solo to heavily wah-wah’d track]