Wednesday, January 28, 2009


Living in London you tend to notice after a while that the tube don't work too good after half eleven or twelve at night, which sucks a massive svelte cock. Getting a taxi home can be done, but it will cost you thirty to forty quids (that's roughly.....thirty to forty Euros to you, I think, stupid credit crunch) Its better to have a few people with you or just some girl who's worth that sort of punishment hahahahahaaa. Anyway, I digress, the reason for this post is that the main way to get home at night for me at least is to get a night bus, if you're with a bunch of rugby pals from Marlboro college this can be fun and exciting and you might not even get stabbed by a Turkish gang member, but if you're on your own this can be a bit shitty.
Generally people leave you alone but the worst thing is falling asleep. Once after going out for some drinks with some friends from work, I got so drunk that I told one of the directors that I was going back to work to sleep off the drink, all of a sudden my once drunk pal sobered up and gave me a thorough telling off, I drunkenly left the bar pretty sharpies and angrily made my way home, then proceeded to fall asleep on the bus, I ended up all over London changing at the end of each line and falling asleep as soon as I got on each bus, eventually I woke up around Crystal Palace (somewhere I really wouldn't want to get off) and I really NEEDED to piss, so I whipped out me old Hampton and hosed down the back of the seat in front of me. Shameless. This has been on my mind since the weekend where I have vague recollections of waking up on the tube in the morning with a very sore jaw and pissing whilst looking some foreign geezer right in the eye. Eventually I ended up in Caterham which isn't on the tube and is way outside of London. I'm sorry guys but I needed to get that off my shoulders.... .....very badly. SOZ

Tuesday, January 27, 2009


I don't listen to the Kings of Leon and I've only touched on some of LL's tracks, but this is a great cover.

Kings of Leon – Knocked Up (Lykke Li cover)


Despite kinda sorta studying it for three years, I have only half a clue as to what Graphic Designers (Caps) actually do. A great many of my friends Design Graphically every day for a job and get paid right handsome to do so. Vaughan Oliver up there was a childhood hero of mine, but these days I cant figure out what he actually did when he made those album covers, was it all him from idea to execution or did he get a wee Japanese boyo to take the photographs of a bunch of weird stuff he thought of whilst having a shower and then cough a load of type on top of it?
I've sort of concluded that they (Graphic Designers) rush into work in the morning with box of Muesli in one hand and a copy of Creative Review that isn't in the shops yet in the other, complain about the Tube (take the bus you mug) then settle down to some brainstorming (checking their FB), later on they have some blue sky thinking (looking out the window) whilst listening to Sigur Ros (that's not a dig btw), after chewing the arms of their square rimmed bi-focals they have a big meeting with the Partners (the ones that swapped the cocaine for claret early on) where they eat Farley's Rusk's and drink coco. They all slap each others backs and finally decide on a design that's based on a visual pun (or a joke to you and me) that anyone who isn't regularly smoking strong Cannabis (70% of England) will grasp after seeing three times in the advert breaks during Midsomer's Murders. Then its over to the photographers, illustrators and art workers to dress their joke up in a visual context and make it walk across the page, all nice and tidy.
Then again I could have driven my problem with understanding what they actually do into blind dislike and a ferocious jealousy of their salary. They could very well be like little Bob Gill's and single handily steer our notions of how we feel about what we eat, what we read, what we sit on and all the stupid shit that we want to waste out cash on. Hmmmm maybe I should bring it up at the weekend....

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Nooooze (News in bulgarian)

....And here's some American News program about the music of Bulgaria. Full of schmaltz but also some fit Bulgarian wommen, makes you wonder how they end up looking so shit when they get older, then again the wind might have been blowing south on the 26th April 1986 at 01:23:45 a.m. Too Harsh?

Sorry about breaking this post up into four parts boys and girls.

kate bush with trio bulgarka

Here's that Kate Bush collaboration thing the soloists from the choir did . God I want to bang her.


Youtube wont let me post more that two videos at once, so here's another. These guys aren't the Bulgarian National Radio Choir but I don't think that really matters as this is a Folk music and as such sung by the folk of their country. I think this song perfectly illustrates the crushingly sad but mad beautiful schtick these birds have going on in Bulgaria.
It looks like it was filmed in the communist version of Terry Wogan in the eighties and has that annoying Youtube floating writing at the start but its still put a tear in my eye. You bitches.


This is a post that I've been sitting on for a while, I was a bit unsure how to talk about this shit without sounding like a complete fag. Anyway, this is the Bulgarian National Radio Choir (Or something like that) they sing this sort of beautiful nonsense that I first heard while listening to Donal Dineen's Small Hours program on Today FM when I was a wee boy, i taped it and while I had no clue who did it, what it was or why I liked it I was constantly listening to it all the time.
Later I found out through a Radio one documentary that some herbert ethnomusicologist went out to Bulgaria and recorded these ladies voices, then that Ivo Watts-Russell fella who owned 4AD records licensed them off him and released them on an album called 'Mystere Des Voix Bulgares'. The album became kind of popular and ended up winning a Grammy for best folk or something. They went on tour and ended up recording a few numbers with Kate Bush. I don't really know if this sort of thing still goes down back in Bulgaria. I hope it does.
Now for the gay bit. The thing that got me was the strange open-ness in their throats, a weird sound that comes out sounding like a woman crying combined with what I imagine the lump you get in your throat after watching Forest Whitaker's character die in 'Ghost Dog' sounds like. I half got the gist that somewhere back in the 16th century those villain's the Turks decided that Bulgaria would be the shining example of how conversion to Islam was a good and fairly easy thing to do to christian Europe. Things didn't go that well and the ever cruel Ottomans came up with the great Idea of kidnapping young Bulgarian boys, training them as extremely cruel warriors of the Jihad and then sending them back to convince their former countrymen to convert, failing that they would hang whole villages on wooden stakes, torture, rape and burn churches.
Living in a religious battle ground, the weird cruelty used against them (the Ottomans had a rather unique way of turning their rulers into sadistic mad men through solitary confinement in palaces if memory serves me right) and the the eventual conquer of Bulgaria led to a very, very sad bunch of oppressed people and as we all know as Irish men and women oppression comes out socially in really weird ways (look at what your great-grandparents did for hobbies: playing the fiddle, bombing England, drinking until they were blind). So yeah Turkey fucked about with Bulgaria in the sixteenth century and then when I was seventeen I heard about it in my room and it sounded like a collection of noises I had never heard before, I really mean that. This is something that I really couldn't have imagined before hearing it and its one of my favorite things.

I like their little cover at the end hahaaha

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

If you hate your friends you're not alone

Has this ever not been true? (present company not included of course)

Monday, January 12, 2009

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Relationship of Command

I got the sudden urge to listen to At the Drive-In's Relationship of Command yesterday - and not having it in my music collection, I ventured off to my local torrent provider to get it. It's one of those albums you mightn't stay in contact with for years but when you meet it again, you're pleasantly surprised by how good a shape it's in. It still sounds as fresh and urgent as its release in 2000, a year that also saw them kicking and screaming their way into the collective conscience with their legendary performance on Later With Jools Holland. Their performance was so primal and chaotic, that given half the chance they would have shitted all over Jool's piano, which is no bad thing.

Album downloaded, I pulled the speakers closer to me, pressed play and turned the volume up to 11, in the process discovering there is no vulume 11 on my PC speakers and that it's a dumb cliché that I'll never, ever use again. Anyone that's familiar with the album will know it's loud enough anyway - pressing play is the sonic equivalent of waking up to find two angry men on either side of you shouting in your ears.

As an album, the songs form a surprisingly cohesive whole given the chaotic energy unleashed within. One Armed Scissor was their "hit" single off the album, a sort of shizophrenic breakdown set to music. Then there's Cosmonauts, a song so epic it feels like you're rocking alongside Space. Ol' Vagina Face Iggy Pop pops up in the middle of the album with two songs - he plays the kidnapper at the start of Enfilade - a latin-metal hybird that descends into the Lambada halfway through - and Rolodex Propoganda where he sounds like a smug old age pensioner mumbling his way through the chorus. A glimpse of what was to come with Mars Volta can be heard on my personal favourite off the album - the brilliant Invalid Litter Dept. It's At the Drive-In's first stab at all-out-rock opera and sounds like something the Zombie Ben Elton might write some day.

It's an unrelenting album that demands your attention like a kid with ADD on a sugar rush. Dig it out and give it another blast on the stereo. It's brilliant.

Friday, January 09, 2009

Tusk - Fleetwood Mac

I'm pretty drunk in my office right now and this song is playing for the 20th time today, I even played it loud over the speakers to my whole department, they really liked it i think. The cunts. Yeah anyway, dont you just love marching bands, dressing up as trojans, brass sections, Lindsay Buckingham, playing in massive stadiums and bottles of Stella? What, you dont like any of those things? We have nothing in common.

Thursday, January 08, 2009

europe in a city

if someone asked me: here, I've never been to Europe, but all I've got and ever will have is this €50 note a drunk old man gave me for picking up his hat for him (I thought it was too much too) and I want to spend it on living my dream and seeing Europe for the first and only time (did I mention I'm dying?), where will I go?

I would say: To Barcelona with you, you dying bastard.
For I've found, over the past 24 hours, that Barca is like all of Europe in one city.

> It's got Gothic architecture mixed with Gaudí modernist design (often parallel or even cosying up side by side)
> It's part regimented-block-based layout, part-urban sprawl is reminiscent of both Paris and London and plenty of other Euro-cities
> It's history as a landmark of distaste between those Cats and Spans (which I know nothing about – but it seems pretty serious) represents a host of civil aggression across our fine continent
> It's got as many major 8-lane roads running through it's centre as it does single-file side-streets with hidden gems
> I reckon you could speak any Euro language to anyone who lives here and they'd be able to speak back (however – I haven't tried this)
> It has the classic no-limit nightlife us Eire and UK inhabitants envy, and to juxtapose, a mutual respect exists between the party-goers and the boutique cafés and restaurants who's tables spill on to the streets until the oui hours.
> Oh and there's no smoking ban

That's just a few reasons I've come across on my so-far short stay, all entirely based around a quick stroll and a read of a tourist pamphlet. true story.

Monday, January 05, 2009

Whats the difference between Jesus and David Holmes...?

David Holmes has a bit of a reputation of being a complete cunt. (judging by his DJ sets, these reports are entirely accurate)
Despite this though, ive still managed to enjoy a fair amount of his production work (despite again the entirety of This films crap lets slash the seats, which should more accurately be titled This albums shite, lets slash Holmes and of course his pish week movie soundtracks).
That Free association record has a few moments, Bow down to the exit sign has a smattering of decent/alrightish tracks and Lets get killed is great.

His latest The Holy Pictures drops the guests leaving Holmes to try his best Bobby Gillespie impression over a series of krautrock-aping My Bloody Valentine sound alikes.
The result is an album that plays like Holmes name-dropping his influences rather than bringing something new, but its the Diet-Eno stylings of the instrumentals towards the latter half of the disc that warrant a listen.

The Ballad of Sarah and Jack-David Holmes

Sunday, January 04, 2009

The Museum of Toxic Waste

Not only is the internet fast becoming a new sort of TV archive (both legitimately, with services like BBC iPlayer and Hulu; and perhaps less legitimately, with thousands of shows uploaded by fans to YouTube, Google Video, and so on), it's also the perfect medium for discussion, recaps, analysis and review, all at the click of a button.

I mentioned Smashing Telly before, and it's through that site again that I've stumbled upon a new favourite broadcaster, English writer and critic Jonathan Meades. I suppose I'm slightly late to this train, as Meades has been active on English television since the 1980s, but then at the time he started I would have been too busy playing with dinky cars or making a radio show on tape for my mum or something to pay any heed to his modern style of freethinking.

As with Matthew Collings, it's the wit of Meades that disarms you and draws you in (on a similar note, I don't think it's a coincidence that YouTube user MeadesShrine, who has uploaded a huge collection of his work, is a friend of YouTube user CollingsShrine). His wonderfully playful attitude to programme-making is to the fore in scenes where five duplicates of him address the camera at once, where golf balls nearly smash the camera or he almost runs over a man on the middle of the fairway, and where he lies asleep while one of his guests introduces his micro-brewery.

But unlike Collings or Roger Doyle, Meades takes no prisoners: he knows he is being funny yet never so much as raises a smirk himself. Hidden behind his shades, he lectures you in the tradition of some mythical old schoolmaster (albeit a schoolmaster with a mischievous sense of humour who drinks and smokes in the classroom), expecting you to keep up. As a review of his book Incest and Morris Dancing from a few years ago has it: "A writer whose favourite words are "proximate", "utile" and "topological" is one who is also in love with his dictionary. The reader sometimes begs for relief from a syntax that defies instant parsing or a vocabulary that is knowingly obscure."

However, his playfulness and verbosity are just covers for what Meades really does: he educates as he entertains, and entertains as he educates. He illustrates the unique power of television (so often overlooked as we watch celebrities brush each others' hair and have fights about vodka) to be a forum for discussion, opinion and conversation - for real communication. In tandem with the internet, the possibilities for shows like these seem endless. And yet without the BBC's license fee (which could of course be rendered redundant by current public opinion and tastes, as well as current internet trends), it seems like the chances for television of this calibre to be made in the first place would get fewer and fewer. TV needs work like this to save it from becoming equivalent to Meades' description of the Millenium Dome: "The Museum of Toxic Waste, a routinely near-modern building filled with Mandleson-sanctioned trash and the pervasive reek of McDonald's".

As a gentle introduction, try Where the Other Half Lives (1994), a cultural and architectural history of the pub: "In many places the first real factory to be built was the factory whose end was to get the populace pissed. The main industry - sometimes the only industry - was intoxication." A quick glance at the MeadesShrine playlist page will show you some of the other things he likes to talk about, from fast food to golf, from Belgium to the damage being done to cities in the name of "regeneration".

It's refreshing to be able to put your thinking cap ON instead of taking it off before you start watching.

Saturday, January 03, 2009

Friday, January 02, 2009

Lets get fucking wasted etc...

I just came across this Blog
on Juxtapoz's website. Basically a bunch of artists decided to draw stuff when they're drunk and post it online. I've always thought about doing this but I was too worried that I eventually wouldn't be able to draw without a livener. Having seen these though I'm totally bringing the sharpies out with me next time i drink. The titles that come with them are hilarious too, pretty much the funny factor is off the scale, some are really suprisingly well drawn for people who are wasted. Another thing is how many drawings they get done, their fucking renal system must be black.

Thursday, January 01, 2009

Ennio Morricone-The Crisis

Have had this on rotation for a while.
Such a beautiful yet somewhat disorientating piece courtesy some wonky keys.

Part Chimp - New Cross

I live in New Cross South London, its famous for Goldsmiths art school and being near the Millwall stadium the New Den. The Goldsmiths part of the equation means people wear their sunglasses at night and come up with abbreviations for MDMA during the day, it also makes you realise how skinny white art students are when they're standing at the bus stop next to grown up child soldiers from Sierra Leone. There are a few acceptable drinking establishments such as the Montague arms and the Amersham, and my personal Favorite The Marquis of Granby an actual genuine irish pub, none of your bits of fucking pots and cups hanging off the roof nonsense, just a load of pogues on the jukebox, a calender on the wall from Inishowen and a load of moody locals that still hate the British.
The Millwall part of the soup means that when they play Leeds or any of the other London clubs at home its hard to get home from London Bridge without walking through loads of skinheaded men pissing everywhere. Also when big matches happen a helicopter hovers over the stadium for hours and does my nut in. Its funny, you dont see that many Millwall fans about New Cross and Bermondsey these days, probably because their old haunt the Old Kent road is the most blackest area in all of london and full of gangsters* itching to give someone the dirty dagger.
Well, anyway, just thought I would fill you in on where I live, seeing as you haven't bothered visiting, how fucking dare you. Liberty!

*Not that these two things are related or anything, alright....Jesus

any Smithick's

I usually count new new years eve as a load of  rusty old bollocks but last night was fantastic.

I scoured my Itunes for a new year related song and big surprise that it turned out to be Arab strap. 
'ave it and an unrelated banger that I may have played last night. (I by and large cant remember)

The Party[s ovber

listen to this and stop being cunty