Posts from 30th June 2000

Jun 00


I Hate MusicPost a comment • 772 views

Whenever our old friend Nicholas Currie wants to tell us how, you know, *radical* and *sexual* and *dangerous* his music is compared to all those *repressed* and *parochial* Brit-rockers (hmmm … Fran Healy hollering his way through “Turn” as though he was reading out somebody else’s shopping list, Paul Weller shouting “He’s the keeper!” as though he’s warning young kids off the sinister owner of some Hampshire museum … for the first and only time in your life, Nick, you’re right) he draws our attention to one song – an irritating and inconsequential little throwaway called “Coming in a Girl’s Mouth”. This, apparently, is the most subversive thing ever recorded, the jewel in his crown which places him millions of light years of subversion above Primal Scream, whose most recent album got its most positive review in the Daily Telegraph (for the benefit of those outside the UK, a rabidly right-wing, fanatically pro-tradition and indescribably backward-looking newspaper).


Misanthropic children reunited shocker

New York London Paris MunichPost a comment • 1,001 views

I Hate Music appears to have a kindred spirit in indieshite, which promises to be unremitting in its venomous bile and loathing for anything and everything. [link from us|against|them]

And coincidentally, it occurs to me that I have no idea whether Tom might have linked to this before. Am I non-lazy enough to check, even with Blogger’s search feature?

No. I am not.

DMX – What’s My Name?

New York London Paris MunichPost a comment • 4,487 views

For so long, as a matter of moral principle, I despised DMX. Hated the blatant simplicity of his music’s production values, hated the way his every emotional response was intoned as a blood-red tabloid headline, hated the way he played into the hands of the shocking and disgraceful racism of the British media (half the time he *does* sound like an orang-utan to *me*, and if I can think that then what would the average Telegraph reader think if *they* heard him … ?).


MAX TUNDRA – Life in a Lift Shaft, Doggy Biscuits, Control It (Bistrotheque), Ampikaipakan (MP3s)

New York London Paris MunichPost a comment • 576 views

MAX TUNDRA – Life in a Lift Shaft, Doggy Biscuits, Control It (Bistrotheque), Ampikaipakan (MP3s)
I don’t know why I find myself listening so obsessively to Max Tundra’s skittering electro-jazz, since its air of aimlessness and slight self-satisfaction clash with my current aesthetic of self-promotion and self-belief. It has overtones of Nathan Barley-ism, true, but it’s saved by this uncontrollable rush, the way the sounds play with each other. Like all the best electronic jazz – and, indeed, all the best jazz full stop – it plays a game with excitement and indulgence, and just about saves itself.

I feel strangely assured by it, awful word I know, but it’s the best description for the mixed feelings of strangeness and security this music gives me (and it’s steering me through these unsettled weeks like nothing else). Something seems to be happening sonically in every one of these pieces, as well – the way “Control It (Bistrotheque)” hurtles along to what sounds like a frog on speed, the way “Life in a Lift Shaft” is powered throughout by a frenetic mad dash of concert piano. A large part of me will recall this as the backdrop to a cruel, unthinking summer.

I drifted away

New York London Paris MunichPost a comment • 1,051 views

I drifted away – the Guardian reviews the Festival Of Drifting. The mysterious asterisk next to the name of the event is actually the rating out of a possible five stars; one star, the paper tells me, means “terrible”. Is it just me or does this review make the event sound really really good?

I guess I must stake a claim as one of the nylpm curators

New York London Paris MunichPost a comment • 236 views

I guess I must stake a claim as one of the nylpm curators in Tom’s absence, though I suspect most know me anyway …

But I’m slightly embarrassed at my sporadic recent contributions here. There’s one coming in about 30 minutes, though.


I Hate Music1 comment • 772 views

Having “the rock” is often assumed to be a singularly male obsession. We chicks have got more important things to worry about that strapping on a set of leather strides, damaging our sleek body curves with ungainly guitar straps and standing with our legs 20 degrees apart. This is the misconception that Sleater-Kinney are here to batter down. They are chicks and they rock.

Well, actually no. Sleater-Kinney – a name more suited to a low rent one room law firm than a band – are merely the latest in a long line of trad rock bands peddling the fact they are women to give them that extra boost. For christ-sake, we had the Bangles, we don’t need another one. Of course the SK sound differs from the pop savvy nature of the mid-eighties girl band, but there is a direct line back to Suzi Quatro with all these groups. Okay, they don’t play on their looks (such as they are) because they are a proper, serious rock band. They do fast songs, they do slow songs but they do them all with a singular ineptitude. If they had put a bit of scratching on an early record they would probably be touted as the female Beastie Boys (oh hold on a second – that’s Luscious Jackson I’ve accidentally strayed on to).

My many years as a detached observer of pop music gives me the power to say that sex sells. The only thing that marks out Sleater-Kinney from The Dandy Warhols is that S-K are all woman. At least the Dandy Warhols appreciate that their female member is their biggest selling point, and she gets her kit off at every available opportunity. All the above may be a pretty generic set of criticisms to hang on just one band, but Sleater-Kinney Management Consultants have one more trick up their sleeve. It is quite common these days for girl bands to use the harmonising qualities of their voices to special effect. Sleater and indeed Kinney instead employ the member with the most caterwauling voice to bellow over the fast songs, scaring animals and small children wherever they go. I have seen the yelping on Little Babies make peoples ears bleed.

Still, let’s leave the last word to the girls themselves. The hint is in the album title. You buy their record and you will have All Hands On THE Bad Thing. It’s a bad thing. A very bad thing.