Posts from 21st October 2002

Oct 02

What kind of mentalist

FT + New York London Paris MunichPost a comment • 1,201 views

What kind of mentalist writes almost 3,000 words about “Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina”? Me. Also up on Freaky Trigger today is David Howie’s word-jazz write-up of Lift To Experience’s The Texas-Jerusalem Crossroads.

And an apology to FT contributor Ronan Fitzgerald – his review of Viva Bugged Out! by Jon Carter got replaced in a terrible-yet-perhaps-inevitable name mix-up by my review of Carter USM. I still have Ronan’s original piece and will have it up soon I hope.

MOUNTAIN – Nantucket Sleigh Ride

I Hate Music2 comments • 1,610 views

MOUNTAIN – Nantucket Sleigh Ride

I’ve never been to Nantucket – but I’ve always assumed it would just be a mixed up version of Kentucky. Not having been there I cannot comment of the quality or not of a sleigh ride there. However if Mountain’s opus pretends to approximate it I would imagine that going on a ride on a sleigh in the environs of Nantucket is somewhat akin to settling down in a nice bath of hydrocloric acid whilst having your intestines threaded out of your belly button. For half an hour.

As I’ve said before music is wretched enough as it is without making it go on forever. That said there is at last some subtle irony that a thirty second snippet (hence about 0.0001 percent of the song) was used as the theme to Weekend World. After all if you had a TV news show on which you wanted to show all manner of depraved, frightening horrors of the world its best to put a big, fuck-off warning up front.

A million is an overrated number

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A million is an overrated number. We should start counting site hits in BINARY! YES! Binary Sitemeter! Wanted now!

FT HITS: 111010101010101001011100000111010101100101010101010011 etc etc.

Las Ketchup eh? I’ve got to respect them for making an annoyingly catchy song which features NO WORDS AT ALL. Yes, there are VOCALS but I can’t gather any words apart from the odd “bailar” (and we know how well that worked for young Enrique. Bailamos eh?) but still it repeats on and on in the feeble receptable that I deem my BRANE.

Each year there’s a song that counts as ‘the song yer mam danced to at the bar in Mallorca/Majorca/Pontins/Skegness’. It always gets to number one. And it has a gimmicky dance routine (ah Agadoo) and a chorus about Pineapples. Las Ketchup’s dance routine however involves the odd “mashed potato” handjive and then a bit of wiggling. Barely a dance routine at all! And when the chorus sticks in your head there is a FAIR CHANCE that you will get carted away in a BLACK MARIA because you will be sitting at your desk/shop till/STEWDENT BEDSIT rocking back and forth singing “aayyy hep, hep showaddywaddy gabba gabba dooodeeely doo, aaaay ah hep, yee heppy heppy yarr yarr ARRRRR” until the red mist descends and then ALL IS DARK. Evil, evil evil song.

Then again, it’s better than Beeyotch Valance’s latest effort. You know, the one that isn’t Down Boy but something else. And she strips down to her BRA. Utterly, utterly yawnsome and utterly, utterly depressing. I hate to say the lines WON’T SOMEONE THINK OF THE CHILDREN, but if it’s Valance today who’s to say it won’t be S Club Juniors tomorrow!! Arghh!