Band #24

24  Red Hot Chili Peppers

RHCP are one of those bands who have just about pulled off the transition from garage band to mega stardom, altered their style enough to remain interesting and yet are still good. I remember hearing Blood Sugar Sex Magic as a young, impressionable child and could have never predicted that their populatiry would go beyond the bedrooms of a few jaded teenagers.

That they now sell out festivals, stadiums and the like is a victory for the good taste of the majority, which so often lets the side down. And even Stadium Arcadium, despite having the worst front cover of all time, is still pretty good. Hooray for the slap base indeed.

Justifiable voter apathy

I must link to this Iain Dale story about him sparring with some robotic Labour MP. It's a perfect example of why the average guy on the street might have a bit of a point when they say they don't care about politics because MPs are "all the same, all in for themselves" etc etc

 

Here's the pertinent extract:

 

Earlier this evening I spent an hour on LBC alongside LibDem MP Susan Kramer and Labour MP Emily Thornberry discussing the Queen's Speech. Never was so much hot air expounded over so little.

Thornberry is an ultra loyalist and I expected her to defend the government's programme, but I was somewhat surprised when she was unable to explain how the government's Fiscal Responsibility Bill will work.

She tried to say that it would all be funded by growth. But what if there isn't any growth, I asked? But there will be, she said. But what if there isn't enough growth, I rejoindered. But there will be, she insisted. But just supposing on the off chance there isn't, I countered. Surely there would have to be public spending cuts. Otherwise the government would be breaking its own law. No, no, it'll be alright, she said. There would be growth. I left it to the listeners to judge what she said.

 

And this spacco is representing our country, earning roughly triple my salary (with many extra benefits). Is it any wonder why there is voter apathy?

Band #25

#25 The Who

Martin Clune's character in Men Behaving Badly once said that old bands "had the tunes down, even if the lyrics were a bit shit back then." He had a point. When I listen to certain old bands like this, along with The Doors, The Byrds, 10cc and others, I am often struck by how simple they were. They just made up a nice tune, and played. Life somehow doesn't seem so simple any more.

The Who make the grade mostly because of their tunes, but also because of their lyrics too. They made possibly the best concept album of all time; not to mention the most concept-y. But you do have to wonder: a deaf, dumb and blind kid would surely be quite shit at pinball, surely?

Muse at the O2

I went to see Muse on Friday night at the O2. I think it's the second time I've seen a band there and it was one of the best gigs of my life. Everyone knows that Muse are fabulous live, but I hadn't quite realised before the difference that money can make. A chockload of effort (ie. bunse) went into the set, lighting, lasers and ascending/descending platforms. This made the gig such a spectacle that I didn't even mind not being in the mosh pit (in my younger days I occasionally indulged in a good mosh). From now on, I'm going to see all my gigs at giant, capitalist mega domes. The romantic vision of the understated musician at a small, intimate gig is overrated.

And they say women's football is dull...

And no red card! Outrage.

Band #26

26 The Kooks

Not sure how much Ad Man is going to enjoy this choice, but I chose the Kooks because of three letters: fun. They're one of the funnest bands I know, and that's more than enough to slot them into the prestiguous 26th spot. Also, I believe they're vaguely from my local area: Brighton, as far as I'm aware. I also saw them at Reading a few years ago and the crowd bladdy larved it. Good for them.

Phone trouble

I've often thought that although an iPhone would be nice, I can never have one because I am so clumsy. Today I proved this theory by dropping my own, cheap phone in the toilet. Don't worry, the toilet was clean at the time. But clean or unclean, my phone appears to be fucked. The internet tells me that submerging it in a box of raw rice for a day will solve the problem, but sadly I don't have any rice with me at work. And anyway, surely cous-cous would work better? I'm not sure. But what I am sure is that a new phone is likely to be on the cards for me this weekend. Just not an iPhone. Unless there is a toilet-proof version. If there isn't, there really should be.

Fantastic Mr Fox: go see the bastard

I've been really surprised to see all the lukewarm reviews for Wes Anderson's amazing Fantastic Mr Fox. Almost all of the critics seem to have decided that it's only a three star movie, which seems strange after all the praise lavished recently upon Up. Don't get me wrong, Up is a superb film and should be watched by everyone, but I thought that FMF was *even better*. They are both animated "children's" films that are really for adults, but for me, FMF was the more consistent. (the shifts between the adult bits and the kids bits in Up has been well documented by, among others, me.)

 

I am of course a little biased as I am already a big Wes Anderson fan: I love The Royal Tenenbaums, especially. I also like The Life Acquatic very much, but I am not completely blinkered as I will admit that The Darjeeling Limited has one of the worst scripts I have ever seen in any film - beautifully shot and well acted, but my, what a flipping appauling script that film has.

 

Er... anyway. Fantastic Mr Fox. It's bloody brilliant. It looks great and it sounds even better (the music in it is superb, especially Jarvis Cocker's songs). Best of all, it talks to adults *even more* than the cleverest of clever Pixar films (ie. Up). So for me, it is a fiver starrer, whereas Up is only a four starrer. But clearly the critics disagree.

Winterval approaches

I've been a bit quiet of late I'm afraid, but at least I have an excuse: I had swine flu. As I alluded to last week, it was coupled with a number of other unfortunate incidents, most of them involving me and the missus spending a lot of our hard-earned bunse. We threw away our £150 tickets to Scotland and spent £500 on a new clutch and reconditioned gear box on the car.

 

However, it's all better now. Although we were ill on holiday (in Wolverhampton - the new Seychelles!) at least we had a change of scenery. NB: I'm completely obsessed with the idea that a change is as good as a rest, so I'm always keen to get away from my beloved Tunbridge Wells to recharge. Odd for someone allergic to new and exciting things, but there you go. I suppose Wolverhampton is neither new nor exciting.

 

We're already back into the groove now: both of us our back at work and I'm back on with the infamous second novel. There's only one thing on our minds for the next two months, though: golf. Er... sorry, I mean Christmas. It's a nice long descent to the festive period where one can whittle away the grating hours by spending money on other people (not something that comes easily to me) and waiting for it to snow.

Is it too early to be discussing Christmas? No, because a certain family-run Seattle-based coffee shops rolls out its red cups today. Hooray for the birth of Jesus indeed!

Taboo words

Unfortunate

How about this for a sub-par miss?

Wheel of Fortune

Well, medieval culture was right when it suggested that we live our lives according to the mercy of the wheel of fortune. A successful king can die of gout the day after conquering France and the poorest peasant can...er... what? Win the 13th century lottery? Wake up in the 21st century realising that it was all a horrible dream? Anyway.

I've gone from happy to have a lovely week's holiday to being bogged down in Wolverhampton, cancelling a holiday in Scotland, throwing a set of £150 train tickets in the bin, having my car's clutch break (absolute minimum of £150 to repair) and am dying of swine flu*.

And to cap it all off, I don't even have my golf clubs to keep me company! I've heard that starving people in the third world have it worse than me, but frankly I don't believe it.

*Possibly an exaggeration

Reap what you sow

As much as I loathe the postal strike, I can at least garner the following consolation from it: Brown, Mandleson and others grew up believing that unions were better than chocolate £50 notes. They almost certainly supported the undemocratic miner's strike and thought that the GMU should have been even more militant. And look at them now: they've got what they always wanted! A militant union. Ha.

Band #27 Belle & Sebastian

27 Belle & Sebastian

Sometimes people buy a product not because they actually want the product, but because they like the idea of the lifestyle that goes with it. 'The Economist' magazine is a good example. For years, it has run adverts that emphasise the kind of person that 'an Economist reader' is, rather than the magazine itself. This is because people might not get very excited by "it's like a newspaper, only slightly better and a lot more expensive" and yet oddly do get excited by the idea that if only they could BE that incredibly intelligent person they've always wanted to be. Pretentious coffee houses are another example. You could get a £1 coffee from anywhere shit, but you chose to go to the £2 place because you can sit and pretend you're a character from Friends while you try to drink it without vomiting.

B&S are the musical equivalent of this concept. Even if some of their albums have a bit too much filler in them, the very idea that you are 'one of those people who listens to B&S' is enough to make you feel all warm and smug inside. People who like B&S are intelligent, fashionable, beautiful, bohemian rebels who live as if they're in Montmartre in 1899 and don't care if anyone says they're not. They drink red wine and absinthe, engage in free love and have read all the big clever books filed under the 'classics' section of the library that you have never really understood.

Musically, B&S are gentle, inventive and (to use a gender stereotype, which I say I hate and yet still continue to do) rather feminine. But, of course, it's the lyrics that make them great. They tell pithy stories about odd characters, rather than try to rhyme "Oh baby, you're so hot" with something phallic about a "lollipop". Rather than a Youtube video, I'll treat you to an example.



Mary Jo
Mary Jo, sitting alone

Drinking tea, she just got home

She wants, I don't know what you want

Mary Jo, living alone

Drinking gin with the telly on

She wants

The night to follow day and back again

She doesn't want to sleep

Well who could blame her if she wants?

The night to follow day and back again

She doesn't want to sleep

Well who could blame her, if she sleeps?

Well who could blame her, if she sleeps?

Well who could blame her, if she's sleeping?

Mary Jo, back with yourself
For company, keep telling yourself you're young

It'll happen soon

Mary Jo, no one can see
What you've been through

Now you've got love to burn

It's someone else's turn to go through Hell

Now you can see them come from twenty yards

Yeah you can tellIt's someone else's turn to take a fall

And now you are the one who's strong enough to help them
The one who's strong enough to help them

The one who's strong enough to help them all

Mary Jo, you're looking thin

You're reading a book, 'The State I Am In'
But oh, it doesn't help at all

What you want is a cigarette
And a thespian with a caravanette in Hull

Because life is never dull in your dreams

A pity that it never seems to work the way you see it

Life is never dull in your dreams

A sorry tale of action and the men you left for
Women, and the men you left for
Intrigue, and the men you left for dead

Teachers for Tesco

Did you see that Tesco executive blaming British schools for the state of the retarded teenagers who leave them unable to spell their own names? I surely can't be the only person who read it and thought, "but what about the parents?" It's a strange coincidence that these "terrible" schools managed to turn out a hell of a lot of incredibly intelligence kids who end up at Oxbridge/RADA/shagging Pete Doherty, and that all these amazing kids happen to have... middle class parents. And yet they managed to learn something in these educational hellhouses.

Is it possible that the real enemies are the parents, rather than the schools? Parents who think that their kids' education begins and ends at the school gates, as opposed to at home, when you read to them, teach them manners, get them to play creatively etc etc

Obvious point perhaps, but still one worth making. I'm the first person to criticise the way schools are run and the bizarre objectives that classroom teachers are told to achieve, but even I can see that a 17 too stupid to be able to work on the tills in a supermarket was probably already fucked before they stepped foot in a classroom.