I Hate Music
We’re not really sure what happened. This week the Lollards went back in time to 2007 allegedly trying to rescue Tanya. Tanya herself called FT Towers yesterday asking for an explanation. I didn’t have one and then something strange happened last night…
While I was tackling a technical glitch on our servers that was failing to admit the existence of the 29th of February, I got an alarming call from Tanya that was suddenly cut off by what sounded like… no it couldn’t have been… Anyway, we haven’t heard back from her yet, but will keep you posted.
There is something happening in our archive feature (below). Freaky Trigger has never had any posts from 1981 before. Could it be that Tanya Headon has come unstuck in time??
We’ll be keeping an eye on Tanya’s I Hate 1981 diary for new posts
I have already catalogued the extreme and somewhat unpleasant transformation of Robyn from novelty frog chart act to novelty Swedish pop star here. But it has been brought to my attention that even though she can be ridiculed for her po-faced personality, blonde Hitler haircut and a wardrobe which has at least two DIFFERENT hot-dog costumes in it, her lyrics are even more disturbing. Take recent mope-a-long a disco-beat* track Be Mine.
EXHIBIT A: ‘Cause you never were, and you never will be mine
No, you never were, and you never will be mine
How sure can she be that said object of her affection NEVER will be hers? Remember, she is an international pop star now and to some people this fact, and any handy financial change which comes out of it, may counter their dislike for a lady who looks like her face is made of latex. Clearly Robyn has either the ability to see into the future, or has put out a contract on said beau. Unless there can be another reason. To whit, M’Lud I bring you Exhibit B.
EXHIBIT B: I saw you at the station,
You had your arm around what’s-her-name
She had on that scarf I gave you
And you got down to tie her laces
Artistic collaborations are a bit of a mixed bag for me. Clearly Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney making Say Say Say was a black day in my book (though not as black as it might have been in the seventies), BUT it did mean that there were not two separate solo Jackson and McCartney slabs of torture on the shelves. That said when two musical acts collaborate the result can often be exponentially worse than just their ordinary solo output. Think of the collaboration between Queen, David Bowie and Vanilla Ice to see what I mean.
That said even I was surprised to discover that prog pop, washing machine orgasming, all-round musical loony Kate Bush had decided to collaborate with ten year old band Ash (that is the age of the members of Ash). It did not seem to fit her usual method of evil operation, collaborating with a pop-punk band. But I suppose when Charlotte Hatherley left there was a hole for a nusto lady, and Ash got the whole Snickers. Which may explain why their work as a band sounds absolutely nothing like either Kate Bush’s solo work or Ash’s yawnomatic punky workouts (how can you really be a pop punk group with a fat drummer anyway).
Biffy Clyro, Scottish emo pioneers* think that just because they have a stupid name that they are same from me. Perhaps they think that by being so awesomely bad on purpose, that I won’t bother to criticise their audience proof music. But seriously guys, red rag meet bull. They have named their new since Who’s Got A Match?.
Guess what. I’ve got a match…
Your single cover: Hipgnosis after a hip operation**.
I am not one to mock the afflicted, unless the afflicted are
a) a wonky eyed singer*
b) a one armed drummer
c) a rhombus faced popstrel
d) the blind – when the blind in question are Ray Charles or Stevie Wonder
e) actually I’m probably going to run out of letters when I get to…
z) deaf composers
And even then I won’t have had a chance to get on to junkie members of Wet Wet Wet. So yes, I am one to mock the afflicted. Which makes me feel a touch better about this story, where a young American lady had the misfortune of having seizures every time she heard Sean Paul’s Temperature.
Yes I am back, and thank you for all your concern. I have been undercover in the Internet trying to destroy Radiohead’s In Rainbows from the inside. Unfortunately whilst in there I ran foul of the Master Control Program and lets just say I take corners a lot sharper now on my motorbike. Anyway, as a way of breaking back into the new year, I thought I would revive the Lyric Watch, and what better track to start with than the Sugababes Ugly? Now I’m not going to follow the obvious line on this track. I went there with Xtina and her wrongheaded single Beautiful. Yes it is a horridly self-indulgent ballad from a band who can afford plenty of stylists and therefore should not be harping on about their own inner beauty when people can paint exterior beauty on them. Or if not beauty, feathers and plants (even I don’t understand what is going on in the Change video – except it reminds me a lot of the end of Darren Aronofsky’s The Fountain where Hugh Jackman is killed by a tree growing out of his gut. I for one would like to see Heidi Sugababe with a Dutch Elm growing out of her midrift.)
No, my query is this opening self-pitying lyric from the song:
When I was 7
They said I was strange
I noticed that my eyes and hair weren’t the same
For obvious reasons I tend to avoid the Guardian on a Friday. Not only does it contain the Film and Music section, it has Beth Ditto’s advice column. I have a bit of advice for Beth Ditto myself actually – keep on eatin’ sister! Not only is your confidence and style an inspiration to plus-size women worldwide, you can’t sing when there’s a cake in your mouth.
Anyway I bought it this morning because of the free Eden Project blueprints. I am very keen to collect blueprints of venues where bands like Radiohead play “unusual” gigs – and after all who would look askance at a truck packed with ‘fertiliser’ being driven to the Eden Project? I am amazed so much fuss is being made about Radiohead continuing their successful ‘pay what you like for it’ campaign. It’s nothing new, after all. The last time my spies looked in Music and Video Exchange, copies of Hail To The Thief were going for £3, £2.50, £2, £1.50 and all the way down to ten pence.
In my never-ending battle against the evils of music, I occasionally come across allies who often are unaware of how helpful they are to me. Take the US Immigration services who have decided that The Pipettes are TOO DANGEROUS to be allowed into the US. Or at least mucked up their visa. This is the same US Immigration service who were equally sniffy about letting in big mouthed satan spawn Lily Allen in recently. It is possible that the problem is that both acts have put MUSICIAN down as their profession on the visa application, which I believe flags up the FBI, CIA and the fictitious CTU as much as if you wrote TERRORIST on the form. The downside is of course that this means the Pipettes will still be knocking around in the UK with the gawky glasses and songs which sound like a deaf bloke heard the Shirelles forty years ago and had just got round to copying them. Good on the US with their WAR AGAINST TERRIBLE MUSIC.
Online dating is a wonderful thing…
Sensitive young man into eating, singing like a girl and the outdoors would like to meet an ugly girl, any age, any race just NOT BEAUTIFUL.
Hi Seany, tell me more about yrself. I am in my early thirties and like relaxing, silent movies and the countryside (as long as there is not a bloody music festival going on). What do you like?
Hey Tanya. You sound lovely. But can you tell me if you are attractive? I have had a bad experience with a beautiful girl you see, and frankly it made me want to kill myself so I would appreciate a photo or maybe a description.
Sorry, I don’t send photos but it is funny that beautiful girls made you feel suicidal. There is a song in the charts CALLED Beautiful Girls which makes ME feel suicidal.
Everyone knows that the hatchet faced Swede has not burst fully formed on to the UK pop scene with her number one hit “With Every Heartbeat”. Indeed she has been flogging the song for about a year, with the involvement of DJ Kleerup, who seems to have misunderstood the meaning of his own name by leaving Robyn’s vocals on the track. That’s not clearing up! But any cursory look at the strangely Bibi Andersson-esque singer will note she is no spring chicken. And those of you with nothing better to do will remember her previous dalliance with the UK charts. Yes hers was the thoroughly anonymous voice on “Show Me Love” back in 1999 – the song which spoiled the Lukas Moodysson film Fucking Amal for me. Fucking Robyn!
But yes yes, you say. Everyone knows this. Her tedious tale of how she was dropped by her label due to musical differences (they wanted her music to sound different* One assumes better). But very few people know of her even earlier career in pop.