Chat 'n' Shit

New music blog

2011-01-26T16:01:00.000-08:00

Oh no! There are no updates here any more. Click to visit a new music blog (with stuff about TV, films, the internet and other general rubbish) from the same author.

Get in my good books...

2008-03-17T11:59:00.001-07:00

Buy me this.

THANKS.

We Are Very Funny

2008-03-14T08:35:00.000-07:00

I’ve always thought We Are Scientists are that rare thing - popstars who are actually funny, who don’t moan on all the time about ’art’, and who realise that having a laugh is just as important a part of the day job as having a way with a tune.

This video confirms that. It features them running riot at the recent NME awards, making utter fools of the ‘indie elite’. Hurrah!

Who’d have thought Kate Nash would turn out to be as humourless as Billy Bragg?

(“We would!” - The World)

This Week's Loves

2008-03-14T08:32:00.000-07:00

Two-word reviews of all the best shit this seven days...

[Album] Hercules and Love Affair - Smoothly moving.

[Book] Charlie Brooker’s ‘Dawn Of The Dumb’ - Consistently hilarious.

[Book] Markus Zusak’s ‘The Book Thief’ - Beguilingly confusing.

[TV] Skins - Emotionally charged.

[Food] Creme Eggs - Deliciously guilty.

[MySpace] Aux Raus - Ridiculously banging.

That’s your lot.

Word Of The Week

2008-03-14T03:44:00.000-07:00

'Burnished'

As seen on stickers adorning the Hercules and Love Affair album.

It basically means shiny, polished or smooth.

Which, in relation to the album, makes it an adjectival masterstroke.

Nicola Talks Jeans

2008-03-12T15:22:00.000-07:00

You know that South African department store saleswoman that Arabella Weir played in The Fast Show? Well, it wasn’t a character. She’s alive and well, and hawking expensive body-measuring techniques to the world’s greatest popstar.

Yep, this YouTube Gold follows Nicola Roberts on her hunt for the perfect pair of jeans.

Gasp and marvel and literally be amazed as she:

:: Spends £450 on something that could have been done with a tape measure!
:: Confuses 3D rendering with nudity!
:: Uses the phrase “You can see what your bum’s doing”!
:: Goes spectacularly ‘off-message’ at the 07.16 mark!

Also note how, when the camera first joins ‘Cola’ in the department store, it actually looks as though she works there. Just think, but for a Popstars: The Rivals reprieve, that is how it could have been.

Isn’t it odd that they’re recommending jeans and outfits worth hundreds of pounds on a DVD that is aimed squarely at teenage girls?

NO THANKS

2008-02-28T16:35:00.000-08:00

“I’m not man, I’m not dude; I’m OFFICER!”

2008-02-26T08:46:00.000-08:00

1% of policemen join the force through an altruistic desire to help society and protect individuals. The other 99% are former bed-wetting bastards who were probably abused by their fathers and now feel the need to exact inadequacy-based ‘revenge’ on other, even weaker individuals. Like children.

Take this twat for example:

Pathetic little man.

Argue Barmies

2008-02-26T08:41:00.001-08:00

Despite the lovey-dovey image propagated by most, famous people do not always get along.

Here are two of my favourite examples of prominent figures spectacularly failing to like each other; the first of which features Hollywood’s Midas-du-jour Judd Apatow responding to accusations of plagiarism and subsequent use of the flamer’s favourite “Get Cancer” with the immortal line, “I’ll wait ‘til you get it then steal it from you”.

Amazing.

Judd Apatow vs. Mark Brazill

Julie Burchill vs. Camille Paglia

This goes on a bit

2008-02-10T14:33:00.001-08:00

A friend of mine once went out with a girl who could not end a sentence. I’m not saying she was a blabbermouth (she actually seemed quite shy); her problem was one of punctuation. Not the sort of flagrant disregard for it that would see her hunted down and tasered silly by Lynn Truss, this was a more subtle - and yet quite profound - flaw.

Basically, texts would arrive on his mobile, posing fevered questions like “What time shall we meet!”, while follow-ups would see her claiming to be “really looking forward to it?”

It was bit confusing until we worked out what was going on. It seemed as though this poor girl was trapped in a state of flux, constantly flitting between feelings of extreme excitement and anguished confusion. And always at the least appropriate moments.

“You’re a really great guy?”, enquired one missive, followed by some things about phone bills which I won’t go into here. It got me thinking: isn’t it interesting how much a sentence’s meaning can be altered just by the shape of the squiggle you put at the end of it?

(NB. If you answered ‘No’ to that, STOP READING NOW. You have been warned).

For example, I may wish to inform some people, via, say, my Facebook status update, that I am about to embark on a visit to the local convenience store. I have three options. If I am really not that bothered about my imminent shopward stroll, I may wish to impart news of it followed by a full-stop:

“Daniel is going to the shop.”

The full-stop is like a graphological shrug. Emotionless, it conveys nothing. That is left for the preceding words to take care of. Sometimes it might be used to transmit a deadpan sense of underwhelming, but not often, and only by sarcastic bastards.

If I am really looking forward to my upcoming journey, I could inform people of it with the aid of an exclamation mark:

“Daniel is going to the shop!”

Clearly, this would denote a level of mental instability on my part. It is impossible to get that excited about something so mundane. And yet, if Facebook is anything to go by (and it has to be said that it probably isn’t), people are routinely amazed by the most ordinary of occurrences, and choose to show this with a freethinking approach to exclamation marks.

This makes simple status updates like “…is going for lunch” seem either tragically overenthused or, as I like to imagine, more like impassioned, Braveheart-style cries for independence than fluffy bits of webinfo. You will never take away my right to Subway!

Other exclamofans include weekly TRUE!!! STORIESSSS!!!! magazines, which feature headlines like “Why I Married My Murderer!” or “Brutally Beaten By My Sexy Fitness Instructor!!!” Next time you‘re in a shop just look at them. I saw one that actually had more exclamation marks on it than it did words. Sorry, I mean, words!

(FYI exclamation marks, like full-stops, can also be used sarcastically - “I’m loving this Richard Dawkins lecture!” - but I might as well tell you right now that anyone who is enough of an arsehole to do that is really not worth bothering with as a person).

Anyway, back to the point. If my impending consumerist voyage fills me with existential angst and a profound confusion, I might like to express some of that via the use of a question mark:

“Daniel is going to the shop?”

This suggests that I can’t quite believe my actions. Maybe I’m an megarich celebrity who normally has other people to do that kind of thing for him, or a Sam Tyler-like time traveller who wakes up one day to find himself… on the way to the… shop? (But not in 1973).

There is a dark and mysterious fourth option. The comma. Often brought about as a result of a typo, this sits at the end of the sentence, hinting at further possibilities but, tantalisingly, not revealing them.

“Daniel is going to the shop,”

This is probably the most frustrating punctuation choice of them all. A reader of this sentence would be left wanting to know what I planned to do upon arrival at said shop, or where I was intending to go afterwards. Despite my cheeky hint at further bean-spilling, ultimately, they would be left unsatisfied.

I think the point I am trying - and, let’s face it, failing - to make is this: let’s hear it for the little guys. Punctuation marks can have as profound an effect on the meaning of a sentence as the words within it. They are the cornerstone of every utterance, the icing on the lexical cake. Quiet, dignified heroes. A world without punctuation would be like a jellyfish without an outer membrane: messy and unsettling. Let’s look after our membrane.

"If I had a knife I'd stick it right through you"

2008-01-30T13:15:00.000-08:00

So, Jeremy Beadle’s body has gone the same way as his hand and withered away. It was a bout of pneumonia that finally saw off the famed television prankster.

What better way to mark his passing than by remembering him at his best: out there on the streets, ridiculing, humiliating and terrifying members of the public as he saw fit.

In this clip, Jeremy and his team of unemployed actors conspire hilariously to convince a woman her home and its contents are up for repossession, leading to rib-tickling threats of domestic violence, cruel mocking of the woman’s prized memorabilia and quite possibly the worst fake beard ever seen on British television (if it is indeed fake, that is).

I wonder if ‘Husband Ken’ ever escaped that loveless little death pact?

Prison Bake

2008-01-30T12:58:00.000-08:00

Staff and inmates at HMP Manchester, formerly Strangeways Prison, were left hot - and very bothered - when a massive fire broke out. The fire, believed to be serving 25 years for arson and manslaughter, broke out at around 5pm on Tuesday evening. No one was said to be hurt in the incident.

Police say the fire is extremely dangerous and should not be approached by anyone. Members of the public who see the fire are advised to contact Crimestoppers or their local police station.

You tube, I tube, everybody tubes

2008-01-26T13:01:00.000-08:00

The downside to being such a hard-partying disco nightmare is that often, I forget things. Not important things like my name (unless I am utterly twatted), but stuff like when a programme is on telly, or when to write about amazing things I have seen on YouTube.

There now follows two YouTube videos that I meant to blog (and fuck off is that ever a verb) aaaaaaages ago. The first - either an impassioned anti-racism track or an account of an explosion round at Willy Wonka’s, however you choose to look at it - is a Stateside smash that has seen its mercurial star, the entirely amazing Tay Zonday, perform on Letterman and various other gosh-aren‘t-I-famous American talk shows.

The second is just a clever music video.

Enjoy.

Amazing

2007-11-23T09:09:00.000-08:00

The CSA should have done stuff like this, it would have been fun.

Next time you go into HMV, look for the Hannah Montana calendar and check out Miley Ray Cyrus'es's' MASSIVE WEIRD MOUTH. Scary.

Lessons in Speech Presentation #2

2007-11-14T05:38:00.000-08:00

This time courtesy of the News Of The World.

BIG SAM REFUSES TO CONDEMN BAD BOY BARTON

Actual quote: "It is wrong and he should not have done it".

Good work chaps.

The TV Times

2007-11-14T04:59:00.000-08:00

A Cut Below

Hair is amazing. It keeps your head warm. It stops your ears looking massive. It prevents people calling you names like ‘baldy’ or ‘shiny-fodded fuckface’ on the bus. All in all, it’s pretty bloody special.

Which makes it all the more surprising that anyone should go within a light year of the Celebrity Scissorhands (weeknights, BBC3) salon, let alone head there for a haircut. But wait - get the yellow buckets out - it’s all for Children In Need. These people are bleeding for Pudsey, so that makes everything okay.

In fairness, the most shocking thing about CSssh is that not all of the celebrities have been completely rubbish. Despite starting out like the proverbial bull in a china shop, miniscule popster Lil’ Chris - they use lights and mirrors to make him appear taller than Warwick Davies - has found that through a combination of charm, ambition and, y’know, actually trying, he is able to produce markedly unterrible results.

The same goes for Aled Haydn Jones, who can now place ‘learnt to cut hair quite well on BBC3’ alongside ‘publicly outed by Chris Moyles’ on his CV. Innocuous mini-slebs doing inoffensive haircuts does not, however, make good television.

Neither does George Lamb, a former music manager with such dazzling successes as the Audiobullys and a distinctly pre-fame Lily Allen to his name; a presenter barely able to contain his mocking scorn for the more adventurous celebs’ disastrous attempts at shear-wielding. George, here’s a tip: don’t praise someone’s new do to the skies before thanking them for being ‘a good sport’. It comes across as insincere.

The real story here though is the blossoming romance between two of the show’s stars. From frosty but mutually-respectful beginnings, these two have developed a beautiful friendship, based on flirtatious disses and get-it-over-with playfighting, which must surely culminate in them following Chantelle and Preston up the aisle (and then down to the divorce courts) as the next reality celeb pairing. I’m talking, of course, about Lee and Steve.

And what a pair they are. Assistant Dodderer Steve ‘Increasingly’ Strange (who would have to change his surname to ‘Fuckingstupid’ were his creations to live up to it) stumbles around the salon offering ’direction’ to his fellow contestants, which varies from “let’s shave the back off”, to “let’s shave the side off”, all the way through to, “let’s shave it all off”.

The presumably self-styled old romantic started the show with gusto, gleefully hacking away at hair like a drunk gardener going at a hedge, but a crisis of confidence, brought on by a bout of “seriously runny eyes”, saw his creative pipe trickle dry. One eager (read: woefully misadvised) patron sought Steve out for a ‘creative cut’, only to be sent away with a boring biddy bob. He didn’t even clipper her neck. The disappointment of it all, not to mention the resultant self-doubt, saw him hide in a cupboard, shaking, for the rest of the day.

Meanwhile, outside Steve’s cupboard of despair, ‘Hairdresser to the Stars’ Lee Stafford - a proud graduate of the David E. Cocksure School Of Strutting - prowls the salon like an inordinately smug panther, offering nothing more helpful than a sly smirk every time the celebrities fuck things up.

Luckily, this isn’t often, because Lee is a good and thorough teacher. Except, wait, he isn’t. He speeds through demonstrations with all the usefulness of Gordon Ramsay explaining the Theory of Relativity (“Light. Speed. Space. Bends. Relativity - Done”.), leaving the contestants entirely nonplussed about what it is they are supposed to do.

And that is where the TV Gold lies: clueless people attempting to do things they are totally unqualified to do. On Hell’s Kitchen, it’s cooking. On Big Brother, it’s having a grown-up conversation. Here, it is cutting hair. I hope, if there is to be a winner, that it is Lil’ Chris. But most of all, I hope that Lee and Steve get married, and adopt millions of hairy children to practise hairdressing on. That would be brilliant.

Busier than Barlow in a Brothel

2007-10-25T13:30:00.000-07:00

Phew! It has been a busy time for me ‘of late’.

A few weeks ago I was asked to interview a popstar for Popjustice. He was a very nice man. We talked about what the weather is like in LA and where he likes to go on holiday. You can read the results of my interview here.

A couple of days after that I went to Clique, where I once again danced and drank far too much. Confirming most people’s view that I am indeed A Bloody Mess, I nevertheless fell in love that night, with a record I have played every day since.

(The beginning of the next sentence might rhyme depending on how you say it). The week after Clique (see?) I went to Keys Money Lipstick with my good friend John. We drank. We danced. We went fucking crazy over a pinball machine. John didn’t know whether Martin out of the Tigerpicks was a boy or a girl (he is a boy). We went to Burger King at 2am and got into an ~~argument~~ minor discussion on the way home. Good times.

In between all this I was busy conducting an email interview with hot young girl group The Real Heat, who always took ages to reply to anything, but were also always polite in their tardiness. The eventual results of my interview can be found in this article here.

With one eye on my inbox I headed out two weeks ago to the fashionable The Ting Tings’ launch party for their second single, ’Fruit Machine’, at Salford’s Islington Mill (literally an old mill). Once again I danced and drank too much, but I did manage to write a mini article about it, which you can read by clicking here.

The week after that I took it easy, heading to a private party to see everyone’s favourite power rockers JOON do their stuff in aid of somebody’s birthday. I don’t know whose birthday it was, but by the end of the night it felt like mine all over again :(

While all this was going on, I dutifully maintained updates on the world’s greatest indiepopelectro blog - which, as you know by now - is here. I also carried on going to work in the world’s greatest shithole - which, as you know by now - is here. On top of everything, I even found the time to get beaten up and robbed. What a busy bastard I have been.

I am not sure what I will do this weekend yet, but given that I currently feel as though I’ve been run over several times by the flu wagon - and have the most nagging cough OF ALL TIME - I might ‘do the sofa thing’. But, then again, it is Clique time again…

Nick Carter interview
The Real Heat interview
The Ting Tings article
hip young gunslinger

x

Joke Of The Year

2007-10-25T12:54:00.000-07:00

Q: Why is it all over for Facebook?

A: Because the writing is on the wall.

Thank you, I am here FOREVER.

The Amazing Popjustice Joke Of The Week

2007-10-18T11:13:00.000-07:00

Click here.

Hurrah!

x

It is a bit quiet around here

2007-10-18T11:12:00.000-07:00

I'll have to get some malnourished dogs in to liven things up.

The TV Times

2007-08-20T14:07:00.000-07:00

India With Sanjeev Bhaskar, Monday, 9pm, BBC2

You know when you’re in the pub with someone you don’t know very well and they say something ridiculous, and you shoot your friends a look that says “okaaaay - weirdo”? You know the look. The one with the raised eyebrows. That’s it. Well, India With Sanjeev Bhaskar is exactly like that look, except it’s directed at an entire country, across an entire series.

Our host, basically a middle class white man from Islington trapped inside an Indian’s body, swaggers around the subcontinent royally taking the piss out of everything, only managing to temper things slightly by being ‘fascinated’ and ‘amazed’ along the way.

It’s the sly nature of Bhaskar’s mockery that grates. Meeting the Maharaja? Be nice to him in person, then make a ‘wry aside’ to camera about his stupid castle. Spending time with camel herders? Don’t forget to make them look stupid: ask them questions like “how long have you had a relationship with this camel?“, and make witty comments into your microphone about their stupid, shitty milk.

Then it’s the actual, raised-brow, ‘DID YOU SEE THAT, TELEVISION?’ looks to camera that Bhaskar gives when someone does something really stupid, like, say, offers ritual deference, that really become annoying. You can see the mischievous glint in his eye every time someone who isn’t as posh, educated or just plain English as him comes within fifteen feet. ‘Pfft, see that guy? Bowing before me he was, PILLOCK! Am I right, eh, viewers? Yeah.’

To be fair to the rest of the production team, the programme is beautifully shot and does offer some insight into the crazy, magical, colourful world of India. Interviews with locals, when not interspersed with Bhaskar’s inane ‘quips‘, reveal stories full of history and humour. It really is an amazing excursion. Which makes it more of a shame that the tour guide is such a twat.

Lessons in Speech Presentation #1

2007-08-14T17:03:00.000-07:00

This time courtesy of The Sun.

Headline on the back page, referring to Steve McClaren:

Fergie: I heard the anguish in his voice.

Actual quote from Alex Ferguson:

“It’s a bad blow for England and I’m disappointed for Steve McClaren. I spoke to him about it and I could sense his disappointment. They have got September matches against Israel and Russia but they should be able to cope without them.”

Good work lads.

To be serious for a minute...

2007-08-14T16:45:00.000-07:00

I’m normally a bit of a flippant sod about most things, but this website moved me.

It’s a tragic, insightful and ultimately upsetting illustration of the effects Schizophrenia can have on a person.

If you ever thought it was funny to laugh at folk who think their TV talks to them, you won’t after reading this.

Click here.

A Special Report

2007-08-14T16:41:00.000-07:00

The Rules of Facebook

These days, merely maintaining a real-world existence (doing things like going to the shops and talking to people in the pub) is not enough to be considered a complete person. For that, you need a strong online presence as well. Gone are the days when a telephone and a pair of legs were all you needed to stay in touch with your friends; if you don’t have an online networking profile in 2007, you might as well not exist at all.

One of the most popular places to get an online profile is Facebook, which in the past 12 months has gone from being the reserve of students and the undersexed to being the word on everyone’s lips, thanks largely to the site opening up membership to literally the world and his wife (anyone with an email address) in September 2006.

Getting a profile on Facebook is fairly straightforward and can lead to many joys, not least the joy of finding out that the people who bullied you at school are still more popular and better-looking than you, or finding out that ‘Michael Swift and Simon Johnson are now friends’ or ’Helen Stott is no longer listed as single’ at 4.30 in the morning.

However, with the joy comes a whole new set of rules, unlike those you will previously have encountered. We all know the do-and-don’ts when it comes to everyday life: pay your taxes, vote, try not to kill anyone; but Facebook is an entirely different kettle of html, where normal societal rules are replaced by web-centric ones…

Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbour’s Friends
Unlike the friend-grabbing frenzy of MySpace, Facebook isn’t about making as many online acquaintances as possible. People here tend only to ‘add’ friends that they know - or have at least met - in real life. So going around Hoovering up all your friends’ new friends, ‘because they look cool’, is not an option. Neither is a friend count in the thousands, unless you’re Stephen bloody Fry.

Thou Shalt Check The News Feed At Least Every Half Hour
At first you’ll be sane about things and only look at the news feed when you log in, but when Facebook takes its wicked hold, you won’t be able to do basic things, like leave the house or use the toilet, without first getting a fix of ‘news‘ (usually nothing more significant than one of your friends joining the On The Buses Appreciation Society or something).

Thou Shalt Not Drunkenly Send Messages To People You Fancy
It always ends in tears.

Thou Shalt Use Your Status Update As A Means Of Bragging
As important as it is to let the world know that you’re tired or home from work, nothing beats the thrill of using your status update to brag about things and generally laud it over people in a way that would be unimaginable in real life. Promoted? Do a status update! Seeing the nice young man from HMV? Status update! It won’t be long until you’re able to change your status to ‘…is better than you, just face it‘ and have done with it.

Thou Shalt Start To Think About Your Life In Terms Of Status Updates
As a by-product of having to think up new and interesting ways of getting around the grammatical inflexibility of status updates, you will start to describe all your experiences in the third person, present tense. This won’t worry you too much, until one day you’re quite happily sitting on the bus, when all of a sudden ‘…is on the bus’ will pop into your head, and you’ll get off the bus and go for a long walk somewhere green.

Thou Shalt Set Thy First Status update to ‘…is really confused by Facebook lol!’ Or Some Other Variant.
You will. You really will.

Thou Shalt Engage In ‘Poke Wars’
Poking people is fun - unless you do it on the Tube in which case it’s a bit weird - but poking people ON THE INTERNET is probably the most fun you can have on a computer without going to court. Beware though, if your pokee reciprocates, you might find yourself embroiled in a ‘poke war’, which is basically a mouse-clicking variant of tennis, that tests patience, stamina, and willingness to adhere to the Second Commandment of Facebook, to the limit. Until one day the other person doesn’t return your poke and you get miffed with them for ignoring you, and then get miffed with yourself for caring.

Thou Shalt Not Clutter Your Profile With Applications
In an ideal world, there’d be a limit on the number of applications a person could add. And they’d have to be useful. None of this food fight business. Not even MySpace had a bloody food fight.

Thou Shalt Make Sensible Use Of Groups
One of the best features of Facebook is the ease with which it allows you to find and join fan clubs and groups, instantly aligning and giving yourself ease of contact with thousands of like-minded people around the world. This seems fine when it’s bands and television shows you’re joining up to talk about, but not so when you get a request to join the “PARTITION 2 SHUT UP KEV BAXTer lol” group, or one of those “If 100 thousand people join this group I will murder my family and film it” ones.

Thou Shalt Always RSVP
Picture the scene, your friend is having a party, to which, via Facebook, you’ve been invited. But you don’t bother clicking on a reply to the invite, knowing that it’ll be fine for you to just turn up and that they’ll be pleased to see you. A couple of days later you see your friend in the pub. “Hey”, they say, “are you coming to the party?” Yes, you reply, it’s going to be great. “Oh…” Oh? “Yeah… it’s just… you’ve not confirmed it on Facebook…” But I am confirming it with you now, in person, you say. “Yeah… it’s just… if you click it on Facebook we’ll know exactly who’s coming, and…” But I am telling you, right now, TO YOUR FACE, that I am coming to your party. You still want me to confirm it on Facebook don’t you? “Please”.

This is literally unbelievable

2007-08-13T10:24:00.000-07:00

From here. (You need Java to make the thing work).

Yet more amazing comedy

2007-08-04T18:41:00.000-07:00

Q: What is the hastiest country?

A: RUSSIA!

:(

A Restaurant Review

2007-07-26T13:09:00.000-07:00

Fifteen Cornwall
Watergate Bay nr. Newquay

Fans of eating and beaches are in for a treat at Jamie Oliver’s Fifteen Cornwall, the latest branch of his ‘paupers are people too’ restaurant chain. Situated above Watergate Bay beach and with HUGE windows, the eatery is ideal for those who enjoy looking at vast swathes of nothingness (ie. the sea) while they dine.

I should point out that I haven’t actually eaten in the restaurant - I’m not made of money - but I have seen the sign and I have also looked up at the windows, so I feel fairly able to give a balanced review.

The sign is a nice sign. Importantly, it is both illuminated AND bright pink, meaning it fits in beautifully with its natural surroundings. It is clearly visible from the road, and indeed, from most vantage points within a two mile radius.

The aforementioned windows are also nice. Like all the best windows, they are clean and massive, making them perfect for seeing through. This is beneficial for lunchtime diners, who get to gaze upon a beach full of sunburnt fatties while tucking into their lobster starter.

Evening diners can watch the sunset and marvel at fishermen camped at the shoreline; fishing long and hard into the night, destroying their marriages with every futile cast of the hook, painfully unaware that supermarkets have been selling fish for a good few years now and that if they do not go home and eat said store-bought fish with their wives, they might as well stay out all night or for the rest of their lives.

The menu at Fifteen Cornwall is slight but varied, with the best dish being (and this is where Oliver’s fat-handed mockney influence becomes apparent) the ‘Wicked Fish Stew’. Yes, the Wicked Fish Stew - Claridge’s, this is not. Then again, that place is full of what can only be described as the worst people in the world, so it’s probably for the best really.

Fifteen is worth a visit for those looking to add an authentic seafood flavour (ie. the smell of rotting seaweed) to their dining experience, and indeed anyone who enjoys eating good food near a beach. You will have to book early because the waiting list is approximately two weeks long, but when you do get seated and eated, you will most probably not be disappointed. Just watch your wallets around the waiters.

40/50

Fifteen Cornwall

PJ-oh-yay

2007-07-26T12:06:00.000-07:00

More Popjustice review goodness, this time for Nelly Furtado's snoozeworthy new one, 'In God's Hands'.

Have a read here.

X

Jokez

2007-07-23T10:22:00.001-07:00

Here we go again...

Q: How did the drug dealer stay in touch with his clients?

A: He used e-mail!

Yaaaaay!
x

Review-me-do

2007-07-05T11:57:00.000-07:00

I've got some new reviews on Popjustice. They are:

Timbaland - The Way I Are

Kate Nash - Foundations

Interpol - The Heinrich Manoeuvre

Hurrah!
x

Lookalike Corner

2007-07-02T06:41:00.000-07:00

For some reason there was a freed CD/advert for beer with this weekend's Guardian (it was an Unlistenable Taster CD, FYI)...

All I could think of, apart from how truly useless the 'music' on the disc was, was that I had absolutely no idea Pete Doherty was Brazilian.

Another 'joke'

2007-07-02T06:08:00.000-07:00

Somebody better ring up Comedy HQ and tell them they're all fired...

Q: Why did the tightrope-walker never put on any weight?

A: BECAUSE HE HAD A BALANCED DIET!!!

OMG x 1 million.

"Who said 'Do the dance'?"

2007-07-02T05:52:00.000-07:00

No one, you prick.

That Fearne Cotton interview technique in full…

2007-07-01T11:50:00.000-07:00

Following on from her insightful contribution to the BRIT Awards, which basically consisted of her telling various bands that she quite liked them, viewers of Sunday’s Concert For Diana were treated to two more weapons from Fearne Cotton’s armoury of investigative zingers.

Question #1:
“You have just played Wembley Stadium”.

Question #2:
“You are going to play Wembley Stadium”.

Add those to “I think you’re amazing - do you agree” and you will see why Sir David Frost is literally shitting into his tiny cotton shreds right at this very moment.

The Band Age

2007-07-01T08:53:00.000-07:00

‘Bands’ are what people who are neither good-looking nor creative enough individually form when they want to sell records. Examples of popular bands at the moment include Kaiser Chiefs, Muse and “Arctic Monkeys”, all of whom play regularly to literally dozens of people.

There are also ‘new’ bands. These are defined as being bands who have never had a hit, or who have not yet “punctured the mainstream consciousness”, whatever that means. This lack of success can be quite ironic, since new bands are often a lot better than the tired old ones already out there, eg. Razorlight. If there’s one thing life teaches us, it is that shit ALWAYS rises to the surface.

I have been listening to some new bands recently and have compiled my thoughts on them below.

Modernaire
Modernaire are from Manchester, which is a good thing, and they make offbeat pop music, which is a fucking brilliant thing, but the best thing about them is that as well as making music that is entirely amazing they are also very generous - offering to send me a multitude of pictures and mp3s when I added them on MySpace.
Special Features: Smart lyrics; songs about Manchester, ‘melodramatic popular song’.
Best tune: ‘Bloodshed In The Woodshed’
Link: MySpace

Daggers
I saw Daggers completely by accident at the end of May and they were brilliant. They supported The Whip (“by basically filling the dancefloor for them”, as a blog not a million miles from here noted) at the Roadhouse and were so good that I didn’t have to bother staying sober for the headliners.
Special Features: Amazing skyscraper-sized tunes; at least half the band are stunning.
Best tune: ‘Money’
Links: Review, MySpace

Dragonette
Not technically new , Dragonette are nonetheless currently lacking the chart recognition they so richly deserve. They are very good, and not just because they show that it’s possible to mix guitars with pop music without it all turning to shit (Miss Clarkson, take note). Most of their lyrics are mind-numbingly brilliant.
Special Features: Songs about infidelity, lyrics about razor blades.
Best tune: ‘Take It Like A Man’
Links: Review, MySpace

Hadouken!
Few new bands are being talked about quite as long and passionately as Hadouken! are. What could so easily have been laughable has become a phenomenon as Hadouken! have taken the country by storm, leading the charge of the (neon) light brigade who had their brains frazzled by Klaxons twelve months ago. Already NME coverstars, the band find themselves pitched between those that love it (most sane people) and those that don’t (mostly overweight and lonely people) in a way not seen since Marmite or Napoleon Dynamite. You wouldn’t mind having their poster on your wall, either.
Special Features: EVERYTHING.
Best tune: ‘Liquid Lives’, ‘That Boy That Girl’, ‘Dance Lesson’.
Links: Review, MySpace

Other new bands:

Foals
JOON and Darke Horse
The Tigerpicks
The Whip
Milke

Furnished with brilliance

2007-07-01T08:43:00.000-07:00

A while back now I managed to unearth some lyrics written for a song which didn't make the final cut of the 411's classic debut album, 'Between The Sheets'.

It is now widely regarded as POP FACT, that had this track made it onto the album, the 411 would never have been dropped and would probably, at this moment, be bigger than Coldplay.

Sadly, it was never meant to be. The song was cut, the album flopped, the band dropped. Apparently some of them work in catering now, but that's largely unconfirmed rumour.

Still, it'll teach them to name their band after something COMPLETELY un-google-able, won’t it? Yes it will. Now, without further ado, the song.

'Please Help Us Furnish Our Home' by the 411.

Porch and patio,
lemon wallpaper.
Entrances -
arches?

Stairways,
exits.

Heated tiles,
envelope-catcher on the door.
Lounge - theme?
Pots, pans and porcelain things.

Upstairs, downstairs,
so much to do, so much to do.

Porch and patio,
lilac wallpaper?
Entrances -
arches.
Stairways,
exits.

Sources say it had a kind of hip-hop beat to it that was too soft for the US market, but too harsh for the UK one. “They ended up dumping it halfway in between”, remarked one record company insider. What a wag.

What is the point of life?

2007-07-01T08:31:00.000-07:00

That’s not a rhetorical question or a case of the boo-hoos; I genuinely don’t know.

We’re all familiar with the story: you’re born, you live, you die. Some things happen in between.

But what is the point of it all?

Most of the things we do, we do for a reason. We boil a kettle to get hot water. We take drugs to get high. We say “I love you” in the hope of hearing it back. We do things that we know will have an outcome. But what ‘outcome’ is there to life itself, besides dying? Surely we can’t live just to die. There must be a reason.

Of course, having a reason to live is different to knowing the point of life. Lots of people have one or several reasons why they keep going: children, loved ones, religion, alcohol. But how many people actually know the reason they were born in the first place? Or what they’re actually supposed to do while they are alive? How many people can say they know exactly why they’re here?

There is an idea that one day, in our autumnal years, we will be hit with a startling revelation. BANG. A moment where everything falls into place; where every single thing we’ve done or had done to us suddenly makes sense.

Is that the point? To live long enough to reach that day? If it was, wouldn’t some old people have told us by now? And what if that day never comes?

We can’t just stumble through life, enduring everything it throws at us in the hope that one day we might find out why we’ve actually been doing it. That would be like taking part in a competition where you don’t know the rules, in the hope of one day winning an unknown prize that you aren’t even sure exists. That would be… pointless.

I hope that there is a point and that we just don’t know it. I hope we all have a unifying raison d’etre, beyond being part of the ecosystem and reproducing. And I hope that one day we’ll all find out what we‘re here for and why. The other possibility is just too horrible to contemplate.

You Compile Me

2007-06-14T13:33:00.000-07:00

As anyone who has ever had the ‘pleasure‘ of listening to one will tell you, compilation CDs that are given away free with magazines are completely fucking rubbish. They only ever come in three stultifying flavours:

1) Impenetrable Mix CD
These promotional mixes are ‘put together’ by Soulwax, DFA, or whichever trendier-than-thou act the magazine has decided to pay in order for them to lend their name to the sorry spectacle. Invariably these mixes will feature countless songs you’ve never heard before as well as some that you have, sadly remixed beyond all recognition by truly woeful Dutch producers (eg. ’Franz Ferdinand - Do You Want To? - Max von Rust’s Rustpumper Dub’).

2) Unlistenable Taster CD
Compiled by devastatingly on-the-pulse journalists, who have most definitely scoured the genre/label/country in question for the very best new acts it has to offer and NOT just stuck a load of shit bands on a CD because the record company PR told them to. Usually made up of bands who make a worse sound than that of your own family being brutally murdered by a marauding sex lunatic, the only upside is that none of them will ever become famous.

3) Disappointing Festival CD
Hit singles! Bands you’ve heard of! Choruses! But wait… what’s this? ‘B-side’? ‘exclusive album track’? ‘previously unreleased’? The front of the CD might scream big names and summer anthems, but the back tells a different story. Devoid of hit singles, or indeed anything that would interest anyone but the most ardent fan of the bands involved, these compilations often provide little more than:

:: a Kaiser Chiefs B-side
:: the token dance track
:: the worst song off Oasis’ last album
:: a frankly-quite-embarrassing American rock song
:: countless indie dirges
:: something ‘esoteric’
:: a ‘previously unreleased’ song by a semi-popular band

Previously unreleased. Two of the most misleading words in the language. Sure, if it’s a rare Dylan recording that’s been sitting around in some virgin’s garage for thirty years, by all means pop a little sticker on it and tell the world. But if it’s a piss-poor demo by some two-bit Shoreditch indie merchants, perhaps the words ‘TOO SHIT TO SELL’, in bold capital letters, would be more appropriate.

However, there is a fourth type of free CD. A rulebreaker. A maverick. This is the type of CD that while listening to it you realise is actually quite good and which makes you wonder about how much you would be prepared to pay for it, hypothetically (obviously the name for this type of CD is a bit long-winded compared to the others, but it will have to do).

CDs that you realise are quite good and which make you wonder how much you’d be willing to pay for them (must work on that) are very rare, only appearing every few years or so. There was one given away with Arcade magazine, way back in the 90s, that really set the standard. It was a 27-minute promotional mix comprising the entire soundtrack for the game WipEout 3 (FYI, the ‘E’ in the game’s title was capitalised for hilarious “It’s the nineties!!!” drug reasons).

It might not sound like much now, but at the time it had everything: a nice concept, big name artists (pretty much every top dance act going had tracks in the game), good tunes and it was a neat bit of promotional tat to play around with. Better than a fucking ’console skin’ (read: big messy sticker) anyway, which was the free gift given away to promote the previous WipEout game.

Then the NME did a CD in 2001, called ‘The Soundtrack to the Summer’, which was brilliant because it came during one of the paper’s biggest-ever identity crises, meaning it featured music by, amongst others: Squarepusher, Sticky Fingaz, Oxide & Neutrino, DESTINY’S CHILD and The Strokes. Sadly, this brave “let’s rate music on the basis of whether it’s any good rather than who it‘s by” approach didn’t go down well with NME’s largely-Luddite readership and normal service was resumed, at least for the next couple of years.

The NME has just this week done a covermount ’compiled’ by Muse (hmm). It’s got songs by bands you haven’t heard of, live versions and album tracks by bands that you have, a ‘previously unreleased’ song, a tune that sounds like a band pretending to be a car (or something), SOME ACTUAL CLASSICAL MUSIC and no fewer than two - TWO - spoken word tracks… and yet somehow it still manages to be completely brilliant.

Probably because most of the songs - whether live, unreleased or sung from the mouths of nobodies - are as good as they are utterly bonkers. Daft primal rock (Death From Above 1979), recent electro (Does It Offend You, Yeah?), Far-Eastern beatboxing (Bjork) - this mix is a heavily-sagging bag of tricks. Even the previously unreleased track, by Muse themselves, is much better than being ‘too shit to sell’ - it’s a brilliant bit of Alien vs. Cowboy Wild West surf rock, and at least worthy of being an album interlude.

The spoken word tracks, by Lord Buckley (“he basically invented rap”) need to be heard to be believed. Even then you won’t believe them. Amazing, in a weird and slightly worrying kind of way. How many of the people who buy this week’s NME will actually listen to them in their entirety remains to be seen, but if you’ve got any sense, you’ll be one of them.

Is this real?

2007-06-11T11:14:00.000-07:00

Either way, it’s very apposite and quite brilliant.

It also got me thinking which other mediocre soap stars could name their autobiography after how they are known to 99% of people (because who actually knows the real name of anyone in these ’continuing dramas’? Not me that‘s for sure.)

Why not see if you can guess which soapstars these book titles might refer to?*

:: The Comedy Manc off Corrie
:: The One from Coronation Street Who Was Gay and Kissed Adam Rickett
:: The Wheelchair Guy Off Emmerdale
:: Eric Pollard
:: I Was In Doctors For Six Months
:: I Used To Be In Hollyoaks But Now I’m In Emmerdale

It even works for real celebrities too:

:: The Film Director Who Married Madonna
:: The Ginger One Out Of Girls Aloud
:: That Guy Who Spent Fucking Ages In Prison For No Reason Whatsoever

Amazing.

*because you’ve got better things to do, remember.

Olympics go fluoro

2007-06-06T10:50:00.000-07:00

Gimme a two!
Gimme a zero!
Gimme a one!
Gimme… another two!

What have you got?

2012, goddamnit; you’ve got 2012!

The logo for the 2012 Olympic games has been revealed, much to the disgust of boring people everywhere, and it’s amazing for two reasons:

1) It’s pink.
2) It forgoes all that bollocks about somehow representing “the notion of sport” and the host city in favour of getting on with the very basic and important business of being pink.

There are other good points too. A quick glance at the logo means one can:

:: MARVEL at the angular design!
:: GASP IN SHOCK at the lower case text!!
:: WHOLEHEARTEDLY ENDORSE the pink and yellow colour scheme!!!

How very modern, I hear you say! How very ‘edgy’!

How very… 2007.

Better start hoping that current trends in fashion and design stay exactly the same for at least five years and that this ‘new rave’ thing turns out to be more than just a fad, eh?

Rihanna: attractive

2007-06-06T10:36:00.000-07:00

Rihanna! She might not be able to sing particularly well or pronounce the word ‘umbrella’ but she is still incredibly sexy.

I came to this conclusion while watching a recent interview of hers where she basically spent five minutes taking the piss out of Alex Zane in her sultry Barbadian twang.

If you haven’t heard this woman’s (non-singing) voice, it truly is a thing of wonder.

From that moment I became convinced that Rihanna is the sexiest woman in the world and have since compiled a list of the sexiest things about her. It’s meta-sexy:

1) Sexy voice
2) Sexy hair (I know at least two people who’ve expressed a desire to copy it)
3) Sexy videos
4) Sexy ability to only look slightly ridiculous when playing on an Xbox 360 with a headset on (see picture above)
5) Sexy refusal to sing properly on her records
6) Sexy (and amazing) new album
7) Sexy starts to sound pretty weird the more you say it
8) Sexy clothes

A sort of book review

2007-06-06T09:39:00.000-07:00

“Jon Ronson is a genius”, I tell my friends. There is a silence. My friends don’t read the Guardian. And nor did I until a couple of years ago. Even now I only do so sporadically, because it’s so ridiculously unwieldy, but that is beside the point.

It wasn’t until my final year at uni that I happened upon Jon Ronson’s columns and articles, which now sadly - thanks to a haze of third-year stress, drug misuse and a mournfully-recycled pile of Weekend magazines - are but a faded memory.

I instantly recognised in the columns the kind of neurotic, rabbit-in-the-headlights view of life that myself and many others share. I sought solace in their humour, and wondered at Ronson’s colourful depictions of everyday (and sometimes not so everyday) people and events.

‘Out Of The Ordinary’ is a collection of Jon Ronson’s work from the Guardian. Brilliantly (for me) it is also home to some of the very first articles of his I ever read (‘The Frank Sidebottom Years’, the hilarious and eponymous Out Of The Ordinary columns). Brilliantly (for everyone else) it is one of the best and most enjoyable reads one could possibly wish for.

Like football and dividing things by two, it’s a game of two halves. Part one is made up mainly of Ronson’s lighter side: in it he details trips to Lapland with his son (forged from an ill-thought-out pledge by Ronson to remain forever at his boy’s side - dressed as Santa); his time as a member of Frank Sidebottom’s Oh Blimey Big Band and a cavalcade of mishaps, misapprehensions and misanthropic neighbours in the columns that lend their name to the title.

Part two is a step into darker, more serious Ronson territory. This will be the side most recognisable to people who have seen his documentaries, like the excellent (and quite worrying) ‘The Men Who Stare At Goats’. It begins with accounts of two trials.

The first of these is an illuminating insight into that of Major Charles Ingram, who was accused of cheating to win the million pound prize on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. The second is an altogether more uncomfortable affair, focusing on the trial of convicted paedophile and former pop music mogul Jonathan King.

The final chapter in the book is entitled ‘Citizen Kubrick’ and concerns Ronson’s visits to the late film director’s estate in St. Albans. Without wanting to spoil too much of what the author terms the book’s ‘happy ending’, it is revealed that Kubrick, as well as being a brilliant director, was also a meticulous and masterful researcher.

Having read this book one gets much the same impression of Jon Ronson. A careful listener, squirrel-like accruer of facts and details, he never fails to squeeze every last drop of significance out of even the smallest minutiae, so that his readers come away feeling that they know something, well beyond the facts, of what he’s experienced.

Suleiman the Magnificent

2007-05-28T17:09:00.000-07:00

Say what you like about Suleiman the Magnificent but his headgear (see right) was amazing. As was his poetry, which is not something you’d normally expect from someone with such a big empire to look after. He had a way with words and looked good in a hat - things which are today widely considered to be mutually exclusive.

Below is a poem he wrote hundreds of years ago for his one true love. I think you will agree that it’s the very essence of romance and shits all over 99% of modern love songs. Especially the ones written for models by formerly-good indie bands.

Anyway:

Throne of my lonely niche, my wealth, my love, my moonlight

My most sincere friend, my confidant, my very existence, my Sultan

The most beautiful among the beautiful...

My springtime, my merry faced love, my daytime, my sweetheart, laughing leaf...

My plants, my sweet, my rose, the one only who does not distress me in this world...

My Istanbul, my Caraman, the earth of my Anatolia

My Badakhshan, my Baghdad and Khorasan

My woman of the beautiful hair, my love of the slanted brow, my love of eyes full of mischief...

I'll sing your praises always

I, lover of the tormented heart, Muhibbi of the eyes full of tears, I am happy.

Muhibbi was his pen name, FYI.

Obviously the best lines are the second and the third, closely followed by the second half of line five. The bit where he says, “I’ll sing your praises always” is quite nice too.

The line about Baghdad would have been a lot more complimentary when he wrote it; before “the coalition“ went and bombed it up. How insulting the implications of such a line would be today: “My Darling, you’re a bombsite”. They say ancient Iraq was one of the most beautiful places of all time. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon were there, so it must have been pretty fucking special.

Come to think of it, so must the girl.

I Scream, You Scream (and so on...)

2007-05-28T17:04:00.000-07:00

Do you like Smarties? Do you like ice-cream? Do you like secretly getting a bit turned on when you eat? Then may I heartily recommend Smarties Ice-Cream, truly the current king of frozen ices. I had about half a tub of the stuff last week. It is amazing. Do you know what Morrisons don’t sell? Smarties Ice-Cream. The bastards.

A Joke!!!1!

2007-05-28T16:59:00.000-07:00

Q: Why did Bob the Builder ditch the bling and give up the rap game?
A: He was fed up of all the gold diggers!

OMG, etc.

It's a Stitch Up!

2007-05-28T16:44:00.000-07:00

A hidden-camera practical joke show where the stars are all children might sound like the worst idea since slavery, but when that show happens to be CBBC's ‘Stitch Up’ such prejudices quickly prove to be unfounded.

Basically it involves a group of kids going around playing stupid tricks on people, for their own sick kicks. It’s a bit like something Jeremy Beadle might have done, but without the withered hand. Or the beard.

What makes it so good is that the stunts are just silly, with not a hint of malice aimed at the participants, unlike the melee of “OMG DA PUBLIC R SO FUCKIN STUPID LET‘S MESS THEIR SHIT UP COS THEY OBJECT 2 SEX IN PUBLIC AND DON‘T LOOK ANYTHING LIKE A CELEBRITY!!!!!11”-type shows that have sprung up post-Trigger Happy.

For this reason alone, ‘Stitch Up’ towers head and shoulders over cretinous bollocks like ‘Balls of Steel’ (which is basically an exercise in being nasty to strangers, and remains the absolute worst programme on television).

Wise Man Say

2007-05-28T16:42:00.000-07:00

A phone with a broken screen is like a microwave that doesn’t cook your food properly: heartbreaking and dangerous.

Hello!

2007-05-28T16:25:00.000-07:00

Welcome to this. Make yourself comfortable. Have a drink. Don't go messing up the carpets with those fucking Converse boots of yours, mind. In fact, can we have shoes off please? I hate that rule, but I think I'm going to have to impose it here. Enjoy the nibbles. x