I Hate Music

28
Feb 02

HOW TO WRITE A DIDO SONG

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1: Have sex.

2: Get up and have a cup of tea.

3: Try and think of a first line. Fail.

4: Notice that your tea has gone cold and frankly you would much rather be back in bed shagging the bloke who has given you that ear to ear (and exceptionally punchable) grin.

5: Write this down and fifteen other banal things that come into your head.

6: Go back to bed for some more sex.

Ker-ching : you are now the richest woman in the country bar the Queen – and frankly since you are posher than the Queen the anti-monarchists will all be baying for your blood anyway. Along with anyone with half a brain.

26
Feb 02

THE FANTASTIC BLUR

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THE FANTASTIC BLUR

Welcome True Believers to the most astounding story you have ever heard. Marvel at a story so unbelieveable we had to commit it to a com-pu-tah to lend it credibility. Yes, this is the story of four ordinary Essex lads from the late eighties who – on a journey in their experimental pop rocket – were hit by cosmic “credibility” rays and found themselves transformed into the most astonishing team of heroes ever. Fighting for truth, justice and a somewhat sulky indie-copycatists way, they became : THE FANTASTIC BLUR: The World’s Greatest Comic Band!

Featuring Damon Albarn – Mr Fantastic: The brains behind The Fantastic Blur, an inventor of tricky crafty machines to nick other peoples ideas and tunes and present them as his own. His powers included going out with someone from Elastica for a bit – at which point he was nicknamed as Elasticaman – and probably wrote all their songs for them. These days he is able to morph into a Gorrilla at will.

Alex James – The Human Fag: The cool, laid back member of the Fantastic Blur he nevertheless is great in a scrap as he knows Keith Allen. Has the power to constantly smoke a fag, and if the situation is extremely dire, accidentally set fire to his floppy fringe with the exclaimation “Fag On”.

Graham Coxon: The Invisible Gurl: The shy, retiring – hold up is he even there member of the band with the incredible power to never be noticed. Annoyed that his power would kick in without his volition, Coxon has attempted to spin off from The Fantastic Blur and become a hero on his own. Now nobody notices him at all. Also has the ability to create an invisible force field which stops anyone going near him. He calls this his personality.

Dave Rowntree: The Thing At The Back. Mutated beyond belief this ginger monstrosity lurks at the back of the band to horrific for words. Or even interest.

Mr (He Thinks He’s) Fantastic, The Human Fag, The Invisible Gurl and The Thing – together for the first time in one band! Come with me True Believer, learn of The Fantastic Blur’s legendary battles for the honour and integrity of Britain Independent Music and their seemingly neverending fight against arch-nemeses, The Frightfully Dull Five (led the Dr Doom of Darsbury Noel Gallagher). Thrill at how all their records sound like someone elses – from The Small Faces through to The Spirit(ulalized). Fall asleep as they release yet another experimental album full of dirges like No Distance Left To Run. Wish that their comic – and hence career – would be cancelled. The Fantastic Blur, the only fantastic thing about them is that people have been buying their records for so long. Truly fantastic.

21
Feb 02

PICK ON SOMEBODY YOUR OWN SIZE

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PICK ON SOMEBODY YOUR OWN SIZE

Let’s think of some small things. The profits that the Poptones label made in its first year. The amount of emotion the Pet Shop Boys pour into every one of their songs. The number of times Slade or Prince actually spelt things properly in their record titles. Now think of something even smaller. That’s right, you’ve just thought of Kylie Minogue.

Somehow Kylie is held up as all that is good and decent in the pop world these days. All on the strength of having been around for fourteen years and apparently not ageing. It was this kind of thinking that let Cliff Richard have a career for so long. From soap star to pop diva, Kylie’s career is a catalogue of wretchedness so unspeakable I’m sure it is shelved next to the Necromonicon in the British Library. Even when “Indie-Kylie” flopped we never got rid of the antipodean munchkin.

The warning signs were there, with her perky post-Neighbours tomboy efforts with that staple of the zimmer-framed party set The Locomotion. See how the irony dripped from her voice as she sang “Everybody’s doing a brand new dance now”. It wasn’t even new when Little Eva did it twenty years before. Chugga chugga motion is the oldest dance in the crap dancing book. She obviously had that special kind of talent that appealed to Pete Waterman (like the special kind of songwriting skills Status Quo had) and what followed was slab after slab of (if only) forgettable pop. It was during this period that Kylie appeared in what are critically assumed to be the worst two Christmas Number Ones ever: Band Aid 2 and Especially For You. And critics like music. Imagine what I think of these two stinkers.

Oh, but what is this. Pop Kylie becomes Dance Kylie become Sex Kylie. Spare me the pop chameleon routine, its pop desperation. Obviously taking the lyrics to Better The Devil You Know too seriously (in being diabolical) for some reason her audience also stuck with these fickle changes in image.

How disappointed do you think I was when Nick Cave – that eternal tease – sang about bumping Kylie off and then shagged her instead. Its a sad day when even the dark lords of pop cannot be trusted. Instead she tried to commit suicide – of a career variety – by working with the Manic Street Preachers. At least The Impossible Princess had the right title. It would be impossible for Kylie to be a princess, as princesses are gracious, respectable and admired by all. The only thing admired by all about Kylie is her arse – and even then only if you have a magnifying glass. She was so desperate to be as influential as Madonna that she even had to continue her crap acting career.

I thought it was all over after Indie Kylie, but some fool gave her a new song to tempt me with more fantasies. Spinning Around – I’d put her in a blindfold, spin her around and let her loose in a minefield. Frankly you are getting a bit to old for this stuff love. And now winning two Brit awards? I fear foul play here. Of course we can’t get you out of our head Kylie, you are small enough to climb into our ears and brainwash us into liking you. Which is why I sleep with ear plugs in. So I never have to hear her again.

I should be so lucky.

19
Feb 02

BEETHOVEN vs BACH

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BEETHOVEN vs BACH

Another trawl through my always riveting mail finds alongside the requests for me to eviscerate Gong and Genesis(The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway – and gets run over by me in a monster truck, etc etc) this curious note from Tonamel Rhysthal:

“It seems to me that even though you hate -all- music, your site seems curiously devoid of classical composers…
And if you do it, don’t go lumping them all together, because Bach, and Beethoven sound absolutely nothing alike.”

You are right of course, I have hithertoo shown little interest in them, mainly because they are all dead and can do no more harm (a reason which unfortunately cannot be applied to John Lennon). But of course I know the difference. Bach is the twiddly one that all sad, dull mathematicians like. Beethoven is the pompous, lazy one who couldn’t be arsed to finish his symphonies and was so bad, so very very bad that his own body could not stand listening to his crap and made him go deaf. See. Alike only in their lack of quality.

18
Feb 02

B-JERK

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B-JERK

Its Oh So Quiet whispers the Icelandic pop pixie on the album Post. Not for long though if Bjork is around, nothing remains quiet once her growly shriek comes into play. Akin to the kind of siren they install in Nuclear Power Stations to warn people that it is about to go critical, it is the kind of sound that can be heard in space. And in space no-one can hear you scream.

But I have not come here to praise Bjork, but to bury her. Preferably in a concrete bunker that her sonic weapon could not break out of. After all she is a very dangerous woman to tackle, weve all seen her attack that journalist. I was quite keen on this moment because I thought it would swing the worlds sympathies on to my side and finally show what a menace pop stars are. Instead people put up with the pop puffin being in rubbish films (I thought we had killed the musical) and boasting about her own army. She is a megalomaniac wrapped in kookie dead swan wrapping. Think about it – only one group of people in the world persist with never learning English properly – and that is James Bond villains. I for one can see Bjork strapping Bond to her volcano sized sonic weapon and trilling:
No Meeester Bond, I expeeect you to die. Innit. Before holding the world to ransom with an oh so ironic rendition of Human Behaviour. Get on the wrong side of her and she will be Violently Happy. Its all fight, fight, fight with her.

The sooner the world realise this menace in our midst the sooner we can do something about her. She has even joined forced with that other major force for evil in the world Thom Yorke on -Ive Seen It All. I bet you have love, from your top secret spy satellites. But will you listen to me, I fear not. It will do you no good wishing you had listened to that voice of reason Tanya Headon when the world is under the jackboot heel of the Icelandic Despot. Or at least the heel of a boot made of jelly or matchbox toys – this is Bjork we are talking about here after all.

13
Feb 02

I Hate Music lyric watch #10: Transglobal Underground – “Templehead”

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“Music, it is the universal language”

Oh, right. So that’s why in Star Trek all the alien races speak “music” then. Why do we speak English or French or Chinese when we could all be happily burbling along in the Esperanto that is music? Surely all those wars and “damage done by those people in power” that the politically naive TGU later bang on about would have been solved if we had all started speaking music. Or perhaps this is tosh. What they really meant was: Music is a universal concept. And one which equals crap.

12
Feb 02

Tanya Headon’s Rock School

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1: Play Harmonica like Bob Dylan in three easy steps:

1. Put harmonica to your lips
2. Blow
3. Suck

Repeat for the length of the solo but whatever you do, to be true to the unique Dylan style, do not move your mouth. This may introduce other “notes” as musicians more adept than Dylan call them, spoiling the overall tuneless effect.

8
Feb 02

My worst nightmare squared

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Hey kids, there’s a fresh def new musical phenomenon doing the ’rounds’. Just imagine if you will the rapping from Get Ur Freak On by Missy Elliott (unpleasant I know but bear with me), and then – get this – imagine that rapping over the music from George Michael’s “Faith”. My God what an incredible musical mindmeld! Then! Imagine that this hilarious pairing was called “George Gets His Faith On” – do you see? – and that it was setting the underground clubs on fire with its witty pop juxtaposition.

Got all that? Good. Now imagine me actually setting the underground clubs on fire with a huge tankerload of flaming hot tar, and then dancing with glee as the Freelance Hellraiser, Osymiso, DJ Frenchbloke, DJ Shitgibbon, and DJ Piece Of Piss Mate all suffered a terrible boiling death. Can I make myself clearer? One of these is the acceptible future of dance music, one is a bootleg.

There was a time that when a bootleg was a tape sold to you by a dodgy bloke after a gig which had been recorded on a dictaphone and I was frankly all in favour of these. Here you were getting a tape of hateful music that you could not hear properly over pissed people trying to give “Dave a tenner to get shome Lahger at the bar”. My reasoning was that buying such a shoddy product may well turn people off listening to music for life – or at least render them listening to the Grateful Dead stoned under hiss forever and out of my way.

These days the word bootleg – a word derived let us not forget for the thoroughly honourable profession of beating prohibition – has taken on an even more sinister meaning. These tracks are the worst idea since the tape recorder and if you like them then you are like a bootleg of King Kong and a Cunt. Why so bad? Because fundamentally they involve playing at least two records at once. A one handed friend of mine used to do as he couldn’t start a record and mix it at the same time. I soon solved this problem by using Islamic law and cutting the other hand off. The principle of two unrelated tracks ‘fitting really well together’ is the same principle invoked by the sort of pot-stricken fuckwits who play Pink Floyd over the top of The Wizard Of Oz. The name is apt however since they make me want to place a boot – a very pointy steel-capped one – upon my leg and connect it with the arse of the people responsible.

Bootlegs are squarely in a tradition of half-arsed medley records which includes Stars On 45 and Jive Bunny. The difference is that the Mastermixers didn’t live in Hoxton and didn’t have any Missy Elliot records. At least 50% of bootlegs, you see, involve Get Ur Freak On. This is because Missy Elliot is such a dreadful rapper that she sounds the same i.e bad over any beat in the world. If Missy were killed in a car crash tomorrow the scene would implode overnight. Or it would were it not for the fact the bootlegs are the easiest records in the world to make. Forget all that nonsense about CoolEdit and ProTools – all you need to be a master bootlegger are a pair of decks with a broken crossfader stuck in the middle: the results will be the same, to wit a grisly mess. And boys in bakers hats will stare at you while you are DJ-ing as if you are the cleverest man alive for supergluing an REM and Maddonna track together and calling it “Losing My Virginity”

7
Feb 02

I Hate Music lyric watch #9: Nas – “Hate Me Now”

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It’s a thin line between paper and hate
friends and snakes, nine millis and thirty-eights

Now it is relatively unclear what Mr Nastradamus is trying to say here. I would agree that when it comes to automatic weaponry and their armaments that possibly there is a similarity between a nine millimetre and a thirty-eight. Though actually the different is 29 mm, which is actually quite a thick line if you were going to draw it. Nevertheless his other comparisons beggar belief. Is there really a thin line between paper and hate? I must admit that I never considered calling this site I Paper Music. Paper cuts can be annoying but it is certainly not a synonym.

If I was a friend of Nas I would be a bit pissed off too. Unless I was too preoccupied dislocating my jaw so I could eat a whole egg and shedding my skin. In which case I would be happy to slither over to Nas’s place to hang with him like a vine until my unfortunately bestial nature overtook and forced me to pump my deadly venom into him – causing paralysis and death within seconds. Still, its a hard knock life eh Nas, and you did tell me to Hate Me Now. Encouragement that I frankly did not need.

6
Feb 02

RANDY NEWMAN – Short People

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RANDY NEWMAN – Short People

Is it just me but is Randy Newman’s baiting of short people not dissimilar to the kind of Nazi propaganda which was spread in the 1930’s against the Jews? Utterly foundless, logically flawed and just hateful. I mean do short people really have special cars made just for them that go “beep, beep, beep“? No, and anyone who remembers the nightmare of the Nuremberg rallies will remember Hitler’s similar tirade about “J’dische Autos, die gehen Honkhonkhonk”. And yet we villify one as the ultimate evil, and celebrate the other as some kind of genius singer songwriter.

Would we have let Hitler write the music to Toy Story (“Sie haben einen faschistischer Diktator in mir”)? It certainly bares thinking about. In the end the kind of person who propgates such hateful discriminatory lies is doing so because they feel inadequate within themselves. Well I certainly won’t argue that Newman is not inadequate on the songwriting front. But will you all speak out when they start dragging the dwarves off to concentration camps?