The music grabs me, spins me around and round

I'm becoming obsessed with this bloody song. I bought one of those crappy 80s compilation CDs to play at work and this was on it. I have these little song obsessions every now and again. The other week it was Lindisfarne's Lady Eleanor, a few weeks before that Don Partridge's Rosie. I'll go mad on it for about a week and then forget it, only to be reminded of it again when I play The 25 Most Played playlist on my iPod.
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.

Deacon Blue? Deacon Bollocks more like

Those who have stuck with me over my numerous blogs may remember that about six months ago I wrote about how I'd bought some Simple Minds anniversary tour tickets, and my complete and utter contempt for the support act, Deacon Blue.
Well, they (Deacon Blue) didn't disappoint. What a screaming pile of shit that band always were and still are. Somebody ought to tell the singer that telling a long-winded and completely unfunny joke about Alex Salmond, Scottish Arts Council grants and translating songs into Gaelic won't particularly play well to a partisan SM crowd in South Yorkshire. I'm surprised he didn't tap the microphone at the sound of no people laughing and ask 'Is this thing on?' Just to reiterate, I hate Deacon Blue. But what I hate even more is that with the opening bar of Wages fucking Day, the whole crowd (bar me) were on their feet clapping along. I stayed seated and deleted a load of text messages off my mobile phone, moving onto playing the phone's golf game in time for bastard Dignity.
Anyway, Simple Minds were excellent. I know they're the sort of band you either love or hate, and Jim Kerr can be a little bit of a self-important cock at times, but they're a bloody good live band. After thirty years Kerr knows how to work a crowd and you get the sense he genuinely feeds off it.

One person who doesn't know how to work a crowd is that lass with the saxophone off of The Zutons. I don't know whether she was badly, got the decorator's in, had a row with her drummer boyfriend or snorted something that was 95% talcum powder or what, but she had a face like a slapped arse all night. I've never seen anyone on any stage anywhere look as disinterested as her. The only time she acknowledged the crowd all night was at the end when she said (insert thick, high-pitched Liverpool accent here) 'Cheers, you've been a boss crowd'. How did she know? She'd been looking at the floor all night. Other than that, they're not a bad live band. I wouldn't go and snap up their albums but they put on a good show, apart from old mardy arse.
Oh, and I've moaned on here in the past about mobile phones and talking at gigs, can we also stop lager-throwing? I got covered in lager about three times on Friday night. And the bloke in front of me decided to do it as well. He thought he was fucking hilarious. Him and his mates were discussing earlier about how best to tackle a group of four achingly beautiful young women in front of them (yes, lads, ladies breasts do bounce up and down when they dance, don't they? Have you only just noticed, you childish twats?). In my experience with women, spilling drinks over them - intentionally or otherwise - doesn't do much to ingratiate yourself with them.

Staying on a kind of Eighties theme, I notice that Ultravox have reformed. Why? Don't do it, Midge. You can be crap on your own without the other three.
One of my fondest memories is laughing in my sister's face as she wept when Joe Dolce kept Vienna off the no.1 spot (what a sweet child I was). If Spandau Ballet's True is the worst no.1 of all time, then Vienna is the worst no.2.

After singing heartily last night, and as a result of me being a 'bit chesty' in the first place, my voice is fucked. I currently sound like Lemmy and Su Pollard's love child. It's like my voice breaking all over again, and I hate losing the ability to shout. I shout a lot at work. Bah!

Back to Ver Simps, they played an 'interesting' version of this early classic last night, with drummer Mel Gaynor handling lead vocal duties.