Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Wednesday, 23 December 2009
Monday, 7 December 2009
For starters they've made all the food look completely unappetising, surely not the desired effect.
Secondly, why are they still obsessed with prawns?
Thirdly, how can Coleen Nolan push all this crap food when she's been banging on in the Daily Mirror all year about how to lose weight?
Fourthly (is that a word?), why is everything miniaturised? Mini this, mini, that, mini the other. Is it so the mouth-breathers who buy this cack don't know how to eat with cutlery and so have to shove everything in whole?
Fifthly (okay, that's definitely not a word), why the aside about smoked salmon, as though it's some new innovation? Or is it because the people eating this shite regard smoked salmon as something a bit swish? I don't know why if that's the case, I can't stand the stuff.
Sixthly, chocolate-covered frozen strawberries? What sort of sick mind came up with that?
Seventhly, who'd like to give Coleen, Jason and that twat who says "Yer not kiddin'" a miniature vile of paraquat?
Thursday, 19 November 2009
Here's something much more palatable, because it really is nice to be nice.
Wednesday, 18 November 2009
I went to see Motorhead on Monday night and, thankfully, they didn't need any of that. Lemmy was interviewed in The Times on Saturday where he said that they can't afford a fancy stage show so they just go out and play rock 'n' roll. What more do you want? The only concession to any type of big ass show was a bit of dry ice and a ton of those old-fashioned coloured lights they had before Vari-Lites became all the rage. There's no fancy intro tape or any of that ego-inflating nonsense. Lemmy just strolls on, carved Rickenbacker bass already strapped on - to huge cheers, obviously - and addresses the crowd thus: "Are you alright?...We'll soon put a stop to that. We are Motorhead, and we play rock 'n' roll." Bang, straight into Iron Fist.
The support act for the night was The Damned. What a great live band they are. Captain Sensible is actually quite a good guitarist and a born showman; he walked into the crowd during the elongated intro to Smash it Up, sat down in the front row and had a drink from someone's pint, all while still playing. Not only that, but you can't go wrong in my book if you come out and your first number is the first, and best, British punk song, New Rose. And Dave Vanian is, I'm convinced, an actual vampire.
Hurry along if this tour comes to a town near you, you can't go wrong for £25 a pop, and you get Girlschool thrown in too.
Compare that to this email I received the other day from Nottingham Arena:
Get ready to witness something amazing! Cesar Millan, dog trainer to the stars is coming to Trent FM Arena Nottingham on Wednesday 10th March 2010.
Oprah Winfrey, Scarlett Johansson and Will Smith have all had their dogs trained by US TV sensation Cesar Millan - and now you'll be able to witness his talents as he brings his amazing and hugely entertaining live show to Nottingham.
From Sheepdogs to Poodles, Cesar Millan will have audiences spellbound as he shares his amazing insights on dog psychology and behavioural issues.
Millan said: "If you had told me when I was growing up in Mexico that one day I would be going to the UK I don't think I would have ever believed it. I rehabilitate dogs and train people, so to be given the chance to fly across the pond and share my talents that help dog owners become calm and assertive pack leaders with their dogs really helps me fulfill my vision of making the world a better place...one dog at a time."
Using his natural gifts as an educator and as an entertainer, Cesar uses state-of-the-art multimedia accompanied by some friendly pooches to illustrate his unique concepts and ideas. Cesar will have audiences seeing the world through their dog's eyes and his 'fulfillment formula' will change their relationships with their dogs forever.
Prices start at £39 rising to £99. The £99 tickets entitle the holder to a Q&A with Cesar after the show. For £99 I'd expect a five course a al carte dinner to be thrown in along with the services of a Filipino masseuse. Now that would be 'something amazing!' Old Cesar could do with a lesson on ticket prices and what to expect of a show from Mr Ian Fraser Kilmister, I think.
Friday, 13 November 2009
Thursday, 12 November 2009
I hate to pour water on their flames but someone else is doing a rather good impression show over on BBC2 on a Wednesday night. Yes, it's everyone's favourite political correspondent, Andrew Marr. His show The Making of Modern Britain is jam-packed with impressions of all the major players from the turn of the 20th Century. Edward VII? Check. David Lloyd George? Check. Lord Kitchener? Check. Winston Churchill? Check. Charlie Chaplin? Check. Even PMs who nobody remembers get the Marr impersonation treatment, because, lets face it, nobody knows what the hell they sound like so he can get away with any voice he likes. An East End dockers' union leader? That's not a problem to our Andrew "Gor blimey, guvnor! These MPs are 'avin' a right 'larf! Lav a dack! Everybody aht!"
But his entertaining skills don't just stop at impressions, oh no, sir. He also likes to indulge his acting talents. Take the first episode, Lloyd George had tried to give a speech to a packed and rowdy Birmingham Town Hall but was overcome and had to disguise himself as a policeman and made good his escape from a side exit. Andrew took on this role with gusto and stormed out of one of the Town Halls exits, unfortunately he stopped short of dressing as an Edwardian policeman.
Ditto episode two when our history-loving presenter acted out a scene in a Manchester park when a load of Northern thugs decided to give those Suffragettes a bloody nose. He laps it up.
Of course, the one impression he can do with no make up is Macauley Culkin.
All this of course is a bit of dumbing down, get those who aren't really interested to watch. But they won't. On the subject of dumbing down, what about that Britain's Really Disgusting Food? If you haven't seen it it's a show on BBC Three that's actually worth watching. Presenter Alex Riley picks a foodstuff each week and shows you what horrid ingredients and shameful manufacturing processes go into it. Now, I like Mr Riley, he's got a stupid face and can be quite funny. But can't we do without the silly stunts like getting dressed in lederhosen, while standing outside the British HQ of German supermarket Lidl, to protest at them putting hydrogenated fats into their food? Something that always has to be done with a bullhorn to get their point across? I know they have to make these things entertaining but credit us with a bit of intelligence. Anyway, his programme may be having the opposite effect, as I now quite fancy the Celebrity Meat Loaf featured on last week's show. I've worked in food manufacturing for the past eight yeras and I'm pretty unshockable. It won't kill you.
And on that point, don't even get me started on Jimmy's Food Factory...
Monday, 9 November 2009
The thing is, who actually makes their own pasta? When Mr Heinz is quite prepared to make it for me and put it in a tin then I don't see why I should, I've got better things to do than dick around with one of those turny-handled pasta machines all afternoon.
The crunch came for me on Saturday morning when, I was getting ready to go out, there was this long lost relation of Jeremy Clarkson's (Valentine Warner?) on Saturday Kitchen doing something with a duck and an ingredient called puy lentils. The lentils ended up looking like puke. Green puke. Has anyone reading this ever eaten puy lentils?
I was in Waitrose a few weeks ago and overheard some fortysomething women banging on about how they'd like to be on the Chef's Table on Saturday Kitchen, like it was some kind of dream destination. And James Martin's 'a bit of alright, isn't he?'. That's the real reason they want to get on Saturday Kitchen, I fancy. They also like to make out they're some kind of experts 'there's so many flavours going off in there, it's great. The pan-fried* haddock really compliments those seared brussel sprouts.' Shut up.
Anyway, the only TV 'chef' I have any time for is Nigel Slater. He champions food that's not very good for you but tasty, and it's all 'oh, chuck however much you like in there'. And he writes great non-cookery books.
What I also find interesting about the GDR is the Stasi, the secret police. This documentary told us that they were far worse, and in much greater in numbers, than the Gestapo ever was. They scared their own people so much they'd even managed to recruit an early 80s anti-Communist activist to spy on his mates. A brilliant documentary.
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
- James May making giant Airfix kits.
- Danny Baker on the Word podcast talking about working in record shops owned by Elton John in the early 70s, King Crimson, the myth surrounding punk and its origins, working at the NME in the late 70s, Earth Wind and Fire.
- This record. I gather it's not everyone's cup o' meat but I like it.
- Mark Ellen guesting on Mark Radcliffe's show; two mates talking about nothing much but being funny and listener-inclusive.
- Seeing Adrian Edmondson and the Bad Shepherds. A good night out if you like to hear Kraftwerk's The Model played on mandolin, violin, double bass and uilleann pipes.
- Series six of Peep Show. Just keeps getting better.
- Listening to my eighteen year-old nephew order alcoholic drinks at a bar, ice creams and fish 'n' chips while on a weekend away with the bloody family. What a dork. But a funny dork.
- Armstrong and Miller.
- Reading about Sting and Trudie Styler's tantric sex-powered helicopter in the latest Viz.
- Reminding myself about when I went to a roller disco in 1982 after being served by a girl in Marks and Spencer's who was there. She fell and dropped Polo mints all over the floor for other roller discoites to grind into the wooden gymnasium floor with their wheels. That set me off, but what got me even more was the thought of me at a roller disco. Regular readers will know that I'm the world's most un-roller disco person. What was I thinking?
Thursday, 8 October 2009
Imagine my disgust, then, when I flicked open the latest edition of Word mag yesterday and saw a full page ad for his latest release, an album for winter with the utterly pretentious title of If On a Winter's Night... (Those fucking dots are actually part of the album title) Guess what, there's a photo of our hero looking all windswept and interesting on the cover walking a dog, alone in a snowy forest. I'm not surprised he's alone, who'd want to go out for a walk with a man who, was described perfectly accurately by Radcliffe and Maconie last week as, "the punchable lutist and Wallsend wassock". The lutist bit comes from the fact that a couple of years ago Sting released an album of lute music. What a cu..
I'm going to illegally download If On a Winter's Night *dot dot fucking dot* and only play it on the hottest day of the year. Yeah, that'll stick it to the punchable lutist and Wallsend wassock.
Do you know what else I hate about him? All that tantric sex stuff he banged on about. Christ, who wants that going on for hours and hours? I'd lose the will to live. Especially as at 6pm the holy trinity of TV starts: Eggheads, East Midlands Today and The One Show. Trudie Styler must have a snatch like a blind cobbler's thumb.
I do like Message in a Bottle though, mainly due to the guitar riff and drums, and would like to point out that I also like Stewart Copeland. He was in Curved Air after all.
Right, I'm off to watch Dune, Brimstone and Treacle and Quadrophenia back to back.
Monday, 5 October 2009
Friday, 2 October 2009
The bank in question is one which is cockney rhyming slang for 'masturbation'. You may have seen their, supposedly 'amusing' TV ads voiced by Stephen Merchant (or you may know him as him off of Extras, no, not Ricky Gervais, the lanky one, the one who plays the agent, you know "Barry from Eastenderrrrs"). While I was using this machine to go about my financial dealings to find out if my wages had been paid and to withdraw some cash for tonight, I noticed a sign directly above the machine which said "I love it when you push my buttons". Now things are pretty slack for me action-wise at the minute but you know you've hit rock bottom when a cash machine starts coming on to you. If that's what its intentions were.
The other intention might have been, of course, that Wanker's Bank think they're actually having a little joke, that I might somehow be amused by their little bon mot. Well, I'm not, I want my bank to deal with my finances efficiently and without jokes.
Looking round I noticed that they're trying to make us love them. There was a sign near some chairs which said "Take the weight off your feet", I know what a chair's for, they don't need to explain it to me.
Another, near the enquiries desk read "How can I help?" Well, you can help by taking down these stupid signs and not paying some sort of PR company hundreds of thousands of pounds of MY money to come up with 'friendly' signage.
In my experience they're not exactly 'friendly' when you pay in a cheque, worth an awful lot of money, issued by another high street bank, take ages to let it clear (when it should have cleared instantly) and then charge me the unfriendly sum of £16 when I write a cheque for the same awful lot of money to my DEAD mother's solicitor whose bank tries to draw the money before Wanker's Bank have let it clear. Wankers.
And they can shove their free pens up their arses too. "Take me, I'm free." No, I'm paying for those pens, they're not free to me.
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
I loved the Walkman and must have got through about half a dozen of them, including those with a fairly useless graphic equaliser on the side. Can you imagine my joy at the advent of the CD Walkman? Heavy on batteries but you could instantly go back to the beginning of Megadeth's Symphony of Destruction the minute it had finished without all that horrid rewinding killing your batteries.
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
- The Go! Team - My World. Brighton-based hip-hop-rock-dance crossover outfit have a go at long-forgotten kiddies' TV theme music. Rather good.
- Focus - House of the King. Dutch prog nutjobs provide theme music for Saxondale. Excellent.
- Arctic Monkeys - I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor. Only decent thing they've ever done.
- Hard- Fi - Living for the Weekend. A shining example of one of my 'obsession songs'. Don't think I want to hear it again for a while. Especially with lyrics like "Oh shit, my clothes are all counterfeit."
- Sailor - A Glass of Champagne. Look, I like it. Okay?
- Amy MacDonald - Mr Rock 'n' Roll. Jesus, how did that get in there? The Argos KT Tunstall, no, hang on, that was Sandi Thom. Okay, the Primark KT Tunstall.
- Genesis - ABACAB. I like Genesis, and what are you going to do about it?
- Clout - Substitute. Another 'obsession song'. Thing is, the only version of it on iTunes is a re-recording, so it's not even the original with the blokes playing all the instruments.
- Lindisfarne - Lady Eleanor. See Monday's post. It's about a "belly-dancing beauty with a power-driven saw".
- Tool - Stinkfist. Fuck yeah! The Californian prog-metal miserabelists stock opening gambit at a live show.
- The Raconteurs - Salute Your Solution. Haven't heard that in ages. Another 'obsession song'.
- Petula Clark - Colour My World. Saw on a DFS ad, liked, downloaded. Tony Hatch in full effect.
- Billy Ocean - Love Really Hurts. No wedding's complete without this. Red Light Spells Danger is nearly as good too.
- Heart- Barracuda. Inspired to download by Guitar Hero. Zeppelinesque rock workout about music industry creeps. Top.
- Wolfmother - Woman. Imagine if Deep Purple were Australian and still capable of making good records.
- Bobby Goldsboro - Summer (The First Time). I'm thoroughly fed up of hearing this paen to cherry-popping.
- CSS - Let's Make Love and Listen to Death from Above. I loved this a couple of years ago. Funky shagging song by the Brazilian crossover dance act.
- Elbow - Newborn. Worth it just for elongated section at the end. Brilliant when played live, especially the way it suddenly stops.
- The Killers - When You Were Young. I normally hate The Killers (I've got enough Simple Minds' records without this lot making weak facsimiles), but this is the only song I've ever got 100% on Guitar Hero. Probably because there's not much guitar...
- Nick Nicely - Hilly Fields. I blogged about this a while back.
- Kirsty MacColl - They Don't Know. I don't need to explain this, surely.
- Baccara - Yes, Sir, I Can Boogie. Look, I can explain...
- Feeder - Feeling a Moment. I'm not normally keen on these Foo Fighters copyists, but this reminds me of something I'm not going into here.
- Fleet Foxes - White Winter Hymnal. Not for listening to in the summer, but just the ticket as the days get shorter and darker.
- Half Man Half Biscuit - Trumpton Riots. Elevaaaaaaaaaaate!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'm an eclectic bastard, aren't I, readers?
I've put You Tube links on to tall those tracks and it took me ages, so you'd better look at some of them. I'll quite understand if there are no takers foe Bobby Goldsboro though.
Monday, 21 September 2009
Twilight Cafe reminds me of early Simple Minds (guitars and synths share the limelight with a strong bassline) and it's obviously trading on that whole Echo Beach I've-got-a-shit-job-but-I-go-somewhere-after-work-to-let-my-hair-down-with-like-minded-folk vibe. What a shame she doesn't sound all that happy about it.
My obsession has led me to found out more about Ms Fassbender. Unfortunately she hanged herself in 1991 leaving three daughters. What a sorry end to the tale. She looks so happy on this clip too.
Friday, 18 September 2009
Wednesday, 16 September 2009
Unwin always reminds me of two people who loomed large in my life when I was smaller. They were both childless but have a love of kids and loved to share little songs and stories with us. I reckon a lot of it had to do with the fact that they weren't parents themselves and didn't mind making a tit of themselves if it got a laugh out of a child. My dad, for instance, went to work, came home, had his tea, washed-up and then dropped off to sleep in front of the telly. Every night. That's not to say he was a bad parent, as he quite plainly wasn't, it's just that it was his job to provide for the kids, and be with them at weekends or on holiday.
My dad's brother, Uncle Jim was a man who spent his whole life living with our grandmother. Whenever you went he had a fresh Jane or Andy Capp book for us to look at, could knock out a tune on a concertina and would sing us songs, his favourite being one about snot and bogey pasties, exactly the sort of thing kids love. The one line I can remember went "You can have the black ones, 'cos I like the green ones." Brilliant!
As recently as the mid-70s I remember going to their house and having to use an outside loo. This was always fraught with danger as it was a home to many large spiders. Uncle Jim always came good though because to take your mind off the spiders he's let you take his lantern with a flashing beacon on top to light your way. The excitement of a flashing beacon was too much to bear for this 6 year-old.
The other guy was my mum's butcher. You'd go into his shop on a Saturday morning - trying to avoid the carcasses of dead animals which were dripping blood all over the sawdust-covered floor - and the first thing he'd do would be to shout at his wife to go and fetch the biscuit tin. Biscuits were duly handed out - usually a malted milk or a sport biscuit - then he'd launch into any one of a hundred songs. Particular favourites were There Was and Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly, Susannah's a Silly Old Sow and one which told the tale of a woman who took a pig to market and couldn't get it over a stile. She took a stick to the pig to make it go over the stile, but the stick, unbelievably, wouldn't behave itself, so it went "Stick, stick, beat pig to get over the stile/Fire, fire burn stick to beat pig to get over the stile/Water, water, quench fire to burn stick to beat pig to get over the stile" It continued ad nauseum until the exact moment my mum's meat was cut, bagged up and paid for. Perfect timing.
Anyway, enough of my useless and uninteresting childhood reminiscences, here's some classic Unwin. You Tube's disappointingly light on Unwinese, but fact fans, clip one contains an actor who was born on the same street as me. That's right, I was born at home, there'll be a blue plaque on that house one day.
Thursday, 3 September 2009
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
Let's start with Guesstimation, a dreadful new Saturday night vehicle for Nick Knowles. It won't surprise you to learn that I hate Knowles. He comes across as the kind of idiot who stands at the bar in pubs spraffing off to his pathetic mates about how great he is while mentally undressing every woman who walks into the bar. To compound my hatred I heard him being interviewed on Radio Nottingham last week while trying to promote Guesstimation. While he was at it he thought he'd slip in that he's doing a new reality show. The woman interviewing him stopped him and reminded him that in the past he's slated reality television (while conveniently forgetting that he made his name on DIY SOS, and appeared on Comic Relief Does Fame Academy), well of course he went off on one defending what he'd said and his show. Like I said, an idiot. And have you ever noticed that, apart from DIY SOS, his shows never get past a couple of series before being canned? Why is he still employed by a major terrestrial broadcaster, anyone else would be on QVC by now. Oh, and that permanent 'designer stubble' winds me up a treat an'all.
Anyway, getting back to Guesstimation, it's crap. It surely has to be the dullest game show format ever devised. the aim of the game is, get this, to guess stuff. Well that's not very interesting for the viewer is it? There's no conferring so we have to wonder what two teams of twats are actually thinking. There's nothing for the viewer at home, well, apart from throwing crisps at the telly when one woman guessed that Tokyo was 350 miles away from London. That's the distance form London to Edinburgh.
At the weekend I watched a film on BBC4 called The Mother, it was shown as part of BBC4's season about old codgers. The film's plot revolved around a widow (Anne Reid) having an affair with her daughter's boyfriend (Daniel Craig). I don't know why, but the sight of Ken Barlow's first wife being taken up the Gary Glitter by James Bond has traumatised me and left having nightmares.
The film didn't really go anywhere and at the end I was left feeling worthless and empty. No doubt Reid and Craig had similar feelings when they watched it back. Having said that though, Anne Reid does have nice knockers for her age.
What about Wallander? Have you seen that? I'm not talking about those Kenny Branagh ones from last year, I'm talking about the Swedish ones currently running on BBC4. I've only seen the one, but they're very good. I have to watch them in bursts of a bout thirty minutes at a time though because of the subtitles. Normally when you watch a film with subtitles it's usually French and the action's punctuated with bits of rumpy-pumpy so you have time to give your brain a rest. Wallander's relentless though, the plots moving on constantly so you don't even have time to think that they all sound like the chef off of The Muppets.
Apparently Wallander says an awful lot about modern Sweden. Shame that, I've always fancied going to Sweden, but I don't fancy getting blown up in a bank.
Also good to see the return of Only Connect. The contestants are usually overgrown students, but I enjoy it, not least for Victoria Coren. I'd marry her, I would. The problem is she's a shark at poker and I have trouble remembering the rules to snap. Never mind, we can but dream.
Right, that's me then, I'll leave you with my favouritest summer song in the history of the world. Have a good summer and I'll see you in a few weeks. Bye!
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
Personally, I think he should go back to making his own records, is She Really Going Out With Him? and It's Different for Girls a bona fide new wave classic in my book.
Monday, 13 July 2009
Well, I thought I'd turned to niceness until the weekend. It started off badly with me coming home from work on Friday night to be confronted by Friday Night Jonathan Ross. The line-up was Vivienne Westwood, James May and Rufus Wainwright. Westwood came out and it was pretty obvious from the off that she there to bang on about the environment and how we were all fucked. She didn't need to tell me that, I know already, where's she been for the last ten years? Personally I think, by the look of her, she's been playing an ageing Elizabeth I in yet another film about the troubled Tudor monarch.
Then, after James May who spoke more sense about the fragility of the earth and environmentally-friendly transport in the space of a minute than Westwood did in her whole interview, they wheeled on that droning sod Rufus Wainwright. What gives with him? Is he the emperor's new clothes because I can see absolutely nothing to attract me to his music whatsoever. I've worked with openly gay guys and they've all been the most happiest-in-their-own-skin people I've ever come across. He makes being gay sound like a slog. Besides, he must have some pretty saucy snaps of some high-ranking BBC official considering he was interviewed on Radcliffe and Maconie on Wednesday night, had a full hour long Imagine film dedicated to him on the same night and on Friday had fifteen minutes with Jonathan Ross to plug his new sodding opera which no one wants to see.
Now, lets' move on to Master Chef, I only watch the celebrity ones as I can't be doing with real people cooking lamb with a redcurrant jus. How come Middlemiss won? After a week of cooking challenges, where she was proved to be the worst cook, she made the best all-round meal at the end and won. What was the point in the previous bits of the final if they're not going to be taken into consideration? I've never liked Middlemiss anyway.
Moving onto Saturday and the only two minutes I caught of that Katie Price interview left me spitting my cider all over the settee. She went on television and told everyone she'd had a miscarriage. Is there nothing she'd like to keep private? Then she revealed she'd 'ran the marathon bleeding.' (presumably the London marathon) Did we need to know that? Of course not.
I'd like to say though how much I've enjoyed BBC 4's series of programmes marking the 40th anniversary of the Moon landings. I love all that old NASA stuff. One programme concerned Neil Armstrong's withdrawal into being a semi-recluse. Can't say as I blame him, after all, what are people going to ask you? "What was walking on the Moon like?" That's what people ask you. How tiresome would that get? And let's not forget, he was good at his job which is why he was picked as an astronaut. He didn't do it for fame. Do you think ITV would show an exclusive interview with Neil Armstrong on a Saturday night? A man who, let's face it, has a million more interesting things to say than Katie Price, Jordan or Rufus Wainwright added together. No, I don't think they would either. More's the pity...
Friday, 10 July 2009
Thursday, 9 July 2009
Take this fellow:
He's paying along to Rush's Neil Peart. A man who is often hailed as one of the best drummers still living. Why does he think he can play any better? Nobody's interested in it. Are they? Well 192,000+ were interested enough to watch it. Mind you, they were probably thinking "Why doesn't he go out, get some exercise and get some of that lard off instead of sitting at home behind his expensive drum set up playing along to someone else? Or even better form a band and make some music of his own? And he should stop wanking too, it'll send him blind." I mean, how much would you love yourself to actually film yourself and then put it on the internet? Does he think he can do any better? Clearly not as he just drums along parrot fashion, like an unoriginal turd. Then you get all the other musos chiming in with comments like "Mmm, really tight man, I'd love to see you and Neil in a drum war!" Well the amateur would clearly lose, wouldn't he? Considering he has to drum along to someone else to perfect his 'chops' and can't come up with his own stuff.
Anyway, this girl pisses all over our friend above. And she's THIRTEEN. And she can do all that fancy stick twirling stuff.
I get inundated with literally no letters asking me why I like Rush. Try these three originals for size, they tell you everything you need to know about the mighty Canadians. Ladies: try asking yourself, could you ever love Geddy Lee (the singer)? Plenty of Rush's female fans do. I'll leave that thought with you.
This one's a belter with Aimee Mann playing a camerawoman. The director was obviously going mad with new technology:
Friday, 26 June 2009
The problem is that it's taken on this air of - ever since it was first televised in 1994 - 'if you're not here then you don't matter.' Personally I can think of a lot more places I'd rather be, like down in a sewer or even on the end of a skewer. I've been to rock festivals and large open air gigs in the past and they're not very satisfying, even for just one day. Factor into that the fact that you have to camp, can't get a shower, go for no.2s in rancid toilets, there's little shade and get wet all makes it for not a very pleasant experience. The last open air gig I went to was Ozzfest in 2001, and that was really only to see the reformed Black Sabbath. I doubt I'll go to an open air gig again. It's a captive audience, at Milton Keynes bowl you're not even allowed to take your own drinks in, so on the two occasions I've been there, people have been tipping away gallon after gallon of perfectly serviceable drink at the gate on hot days just so they can get in.
Getting back to Glastonbury, I'm not even all that keen on who's on, apart form Madness:
- Bruce Springsteen - Can't stand his songs about unwanted pregnancy, getting laid off and ridiculous gas-guzzling cars. Songs in a live setting seem to go on for twenty minutes each.
- Neil Young - Wrinkled old git in a plaid shirt playing interminable fuzzboxed guitar solos. Only like on of his songs, that one that goes "Keep on rockin' in the free world!", it goes "Keep on rockin' in the free world!". I think it's called Rockin' in the Free World.
- Blur - Best of a bad bunch of headliners. Just bet they don't play Country House.
- The Specials - Do me a favour, Thatcher's gone.
- Kasabian - A band I couldn't more give a toss about you couldn't find. Nothing particularly wrong with them, just never been moved to buy any of their records.
- Spinal Tap - Just leave it at the film, eh lads?
- Tom Jones and Tony Christie - You know my views on those two already.
- Crosby, Stills and Nash - What's this, granddad's day out, or what?
So, as Mary Ann Hobbs wouldn't say, you won't "see me down the front", you'll see me in the beer garden with my Magner's pear cider. Have a good weekend.