Ja, bitte!

Here's some that didn't make me vomit!

RICHARD HAWLEY – Tonight The Streets Are Ours
I don’t know much about the rest of Hawley’s output, I believe he was in the Longpigs, and is mates with Jarvis, and initially I thought this song might be Cocker’s latest, although Hawley doesn’t have quite enough charisma to fool me for long. Whatever though, it’s charmingly upbeat and just a little bit timeless, which will do for a drab Wednesday afternoon. I have come to accept that my critical faculties have been altered, some might say dulled, by months of listening to Radio 2’s daytime playlist. What of it though - I am content. It’s like valium.

SOPHIE ELLIS BEXTOR - Today The Sun’s On Us
Like Hawley, someone who’s reinvented themselves after Britpop. How many more are there around today? Louise Wener doesn’t count. Anyway, here Sophie manages to take this quite positive lyric and make it sound wistful. I’ve always liked Sophie; she has very good legs.

AMY WINEHOUSE – Tears Dry On Their Own
It took me awhile to notice Amy Winehouse, having for a long time filed her away in the bit of my brain reserved for Glamour magazine, strappy heels and cocktails with the girls. None of which appeal to me, apart from the cocktails, so for ages I ignored her. I realised I was mistaken when Rehab came out, and although she’s clearly heading for a massive crash she really does have a remarkable voice, and this is one of the strongest songs on the album. Also, the world needs pop stars who get fucked up and fall over, and are mouthy and don’t give a shit.

JOSS STONE – Tell Me What We’re Gonna Do Now
A surprise entry in the Ja, bitte! list here, I had no idea who this was the first couple of times I heard it and by the time I found out who it was it was too late; I was already captivated by her overly mature voice, and the straightforward stylings of this track. I guess that’s why I didn’t click that was Stone, I associate her with overblown vocal displays and hideous white soul. As an aside, I love these singers who are basically children, there’s something quite satisfying about watching them go off the rails as time goes by.


THE THRILLS - Nothing Changes Around Here
Does what it says on the tin (the tin says ‘Standard Indie – Non Toxic). I see this lot as methadone to the Shins smack. It’ll do. Although I hear methodone is highly addictive which fucks that analogy out of the water.

Also-rans for the good list: THE REVELATIONS - Baby, I Want You To Know/ GROOVE ARMADA FEAT. MUTYA - Song 4 Mutya/ ARCADE FIRE - No Cars Go

EDIT: Cannot get the link for Joss Stone to work, but what the hell, you all know how to use Youtube, right?

Nein Danke!

Hello! Here I am again with my ramblings. First up, the crap that's been on Radio Two in the last month or so.

AMY MACDONALD - Mr Rock and Roll

Christ this is awful. I’m unclear what it’s about, but there’s something almost nauseatingly embarrassing about her singing about someone being rock and roll. It’s like a shoddy uncle trying to do a hip-hop dance. The music itself is so remarkably uninspired and cliched that its pointlessness is almost remarkable. Almost. Her voice is deeply unsubtle, like a blunt hacksaw. Finally, ‘multicultural’ is not a suitable word for a pop song. And actually, nor are most of the other words in the song, not in this combination at least.

BEN'S BROTHER – Let Me Out

Have you seen (at top) what this lot look like? It’s like an advert for banality. Anyway, song starts with emo piano, alarms bells should be ringing around now. The vocal wanders in, with some shit lyrics, and the voice is a cross between Steve McFadden (on that duet CD he did with Barbara Windsor. Or whatever) and Joe Pasquale. Essentially unpleasant is what I’m saying. The mixed messages in the chorus elevate it from bland to actually annoying (‘Let me out. Or let me in'. WHICH IS IT TO BE?).

JAMES BLUNT – 1973

Born in 1974, the only way James would have been in a club in 1973 is if his pregnant mother had been there, no doubt passively inhaling cigarette smoke, which as we all know can lead to birth defects. I put it to you that James’ birth defect is to be condemned to a life of producing shite, annoying MOR songs.

RUFUS WAINWRIGHT - Rules And Regulations
Rufus’ previous song irritated me so much that I would leave the room when I came on, much like when Big Girl by Mika comes on. His Thom Yorke esque voice is whiny, and just so gloomy. This song sucks the life-force out of me. What fucking rules and regulations are you on about anyway? Cheer up goth.

NELLY FURTADO - In God's Hands

I don’t have much to say about this, but why is it that some singers often do say, two or three great upbeat tracks then follow it up with this kind of drivel?

Also rans: NATALIE IMBRUGLIA – Glorious/ GOLDSPOT – Friday.

Three for Ten Quid

I sometimes go to a little record shop in Reading that sells secondhand CDs at three for ten quid, which usually seems cheap enough to take a chance or to pick up something you've had your eye on but never dared pay full price for.

LFO: Frequencies

I used to have a double CD called Warp Influences, which was early techno and house records. Foolishly, I sold it, but the memory of it was enough to persuade me to choose this album by LFO. I expected it to be more minimalist, but even so it is pleasantly bleepscapist and makes for good background music whilst playing Lego or toy cars, two of my most frequent activities now that I am a stay-at-home dad. There is one track called "Love is the Message", but it sounds like the lady vocalists are cooing "hunt the sausage". Neither message seems particularly relevant to the music, but still. I think this album might be a grower. It begins with a track aligning itself to house pioneers like Phuture and Adonis rather than KLF, but I think it is quite similar to KLF's Chill Out album, a form of easy listening. Perhaps it stuck out more in 1991 when it was released.

The Cramps: Flamejob

This album is now available with loads of extra tracks, but this is the original release on Creation Records from 1994. I was hoping it would put itself forward as the greatest late Creation LP, but unfortunately it is for the most part quite tame, at least by Cramps standards. It ends with three cover versions, which are probably the highlight of the album, including a strangely affecting version of (Get Your Kicks On) Route 66. Thoughtful and sedate, it effortlessly evokes the passing of time, a surprising end to a Cramps album.

Sonic Youth: Rather Ripped

Another album that saves best for last, the closing track here is called "Or" and appears to revolve around fanzine interviews, something Sonic Youth used to make a point of making themselves available for. I conducted one myself on the Daydream Nation tour, and if I'm perfectly honest, I consider that album to be their cut-off point. Still, it's nice, if slightly chilling, to be a small part of this lacerating lyric - "What comes first, the music or the words?". Yes, I asked something very similar. (The answer is jam sessions.) Like the Cramps album referred to above, this LP lacks a certain spark or edge of desperation, and it's a shame the bonus track undoes the good work of "Or" which is a fantastic closer, like "Caroline No".

I bought the above three together. I can't remember what I bought the next one with, but I remember I only bought it to make up the three CDs required to qualify for the cheaper price:

Ministry: Early Trax

Ministry is a group I would like to like, along with spin-off projects like The Revolting Cocks and 1,000 Homo DJs. Here we have some early 12" singles and their accompanying remixes and B sides. They are not blessed with the corrosive guitars of later Ministry records and come across as something like a poor man's Depeche Mode. They do not sound particularly angry or twisted, so to my mind they are not much use. I suppose you could play them at a party, and the album might be a grower, if I ever give it a chance. I have been tempted to check out later Ministry, but I have not got round to it yet.

You may have noticed that these reviews have been written with only the most cursory of listens to the albums in question, so I reserve the right to completely change my mind.

Radio Woohoo More Like

Part two of my monthly round-up.

Feist – 1 2 3 4
Aw, this is lovely. What a nice voice. Hadn’t heard anything by her before, so it’s a bit depressing that I’m discovering stuff though Radio 2 now. Brass instruments and faintly shambolic Kate Bush feel. First place!



The Bees – Listening Man
Really nice production, all retro, if that’s the right description. Lovely, laid back, confident pace. Bit like Clinic but happy not angry.

Travis – Selfish Jean
I railed pretty hard against Travis back in the day, and Coldplay too. It’s clear now that neither band is a fraction as medicore as the dirgemongers they’ve spawned. Anyway, this song is great, all jaunty and compelling. I am converted (in this instance at least).

Unkle Jam – What Am I Fighting For?
I was really surprised to hear this on Radio Two – it feels much more suited to a younger station, and definitely more a night time song. Also the word ‘jam’ is funny. Jam. It’s almost as pleasing in the mouth as ‘Dade’*. Dade. Say it now. Dade. Jam. Jam. Dade. Dade.

Enrique Iglesias - Do You Know?
Starting with the sound of a ping-pong match, this song spent much of the first half of the month in my Bad list, but oddly it’s totally grown on me, but I really can’t explain why. A radio version of Stockholm Syndrome?

Simon Webbe – Grace
Again, a surprise hit. This style of music has never appealed to me, but with Radio Two you take what you can get. This song however, is calm, understated and just plain nice and oh my god you best not play me any Lighthouse Family cos I’ll tell you I’ve changed my mind about them and then I’ll probably start going to church, voting Tory and eating desiccated coconut. This is the slippery slope my parents warned me about. Quick, fetch the Throbbing Gristle box set; this is an emergency.



*As in CSI: Miami (Dade). ‘Sunglasses ON, Horatio, sunglasses ON’

Radio Poo More Like

Hey, me again! I'm making this a monthly thing. Readership of 3, if I'm lucky. My original idea was to list 10 good and 10 bad songs for the last month, as heard on Radio Two. I had too many bad though, and not enough good, so here in part one is my abridged baaaad list. Gooood follows tomorrow. Aren’t you excited!

Mika - Big Girl (You Are Beautiful)

I had time for Mika’s first single. It was charming, vaguely intelligent; I thought he might be an all right kind of cove. How wrong was I? This latest lyrical vomit is utterly awful; I go and lock myself in the bogs when it comes on. People think I’ve got the shits, but I don’t care, I never want to hear this heavy-handed hymn to lardy lasses and how great every single one of them is ever again.

Paul McCartney – Dance Tonight

For me, this song is as surreal as the stuff on Yellow Submarine. The concept of the long-faced Gillian McKeith lookalike providing musical accompaniment to people ‘dancing tonight’ and having fun is just plain weird. Plus is that a ukulele? Unforgivable Paul, you look like a right nonce. No wonder Heather fucked off. She knew this was in the pipeline.

Andrea Corr – Shame On You

First of all Andrea gets some credit for leaving the Corrs. That’s the extent of my goodwill though, as this song is basically a Corrs’ song that has been put through some kind of generic lite dance processing machine in order to give Andrea some edge, I imagine in an unimaginative attempt to buoy her career along for a bit longer. Is ‘MOR Dance’ a genre? Andrea’s just invented it if not.

Gareth Gates - Angel On My Shoulder

In some interview recently GG was explaining how he had a fresh and exciting direction. Whereas Andrea Corr at least has the decency to try something a little edgy (I’m being generous here, ok?) GG has opted to perform a song so overwrought, down tempo and downright tedious that it makes me wonder whether his label isn’t trying to sabotage him from the inside. Genuine queries – who buys this shit? And at what point in one’s day does it feel right to listen to this? Is it for when the Samaritans are engaged*?

Robin Thicke – Lost Without You

Two problems – first this is a sorry excuse for a song, pretty much a textbook example of everything I hate, and second, his name is Thicke. THICKE. Is the final ‘e’ silent or voiced?

Sonny Jim - Can't Stop Moving

When I first heard this I was optimistic but by the second listen it was clear that it’s insubstantial chaff. Chucking together a load of vintage samples and saccarine motivational quotations, a la ‘Wear Sunscreen’ and generally ripping off the Go Team!/ Avalanches may impress Steve Wright but not me. Try harder Sonny Jim.

Scouting For Girls - It's Not About You

“Dear Jim

We really like McFly, even though they’re a bit shit. Can you fix it for us to be like them? Obviously we don’t want to be as good as them cos that would be disrespectful, so can you fix it for us to be a third rate tribute act to a third rate somewhat generic guitar band?

from Roy, Greg and Peter from ‘Scouting For Girls’

Fergie - Big Girls Don't Cry

Some people, myself included would point out that one Anastasia is quite enough for the world. Fergie’s voice on this is pretty weird, strangled and cutesy and all over the place. The one redeeming feature of the song is the unintentional humour in her pronunciation of the line ‘I’m gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket’

Justin Nozuka - Mr Therapy Man

Justin is 12 years old and last year for Christmas he got an acoustic guitar and a random blues lyrics generator. Since then he has put togther some cod blues records, much in the style of tens of other nondescript male singer-songwriters with guitars and sensitive-yet-macho haircuts, and is inflicting them on us. He lives in Luton and although he often sings about his ‘baby’ (who in this song has left him boohoo), he has actually only got as far as brushing up against Laura’s boobs in General Studies.

*I didn’t want to write this, as I know full well the Sams operate a phone system whereby if one branch is busy you’ll get put through to another branch, meaning the phone is always answered. Well done them.

Radio Two baybee

(I figure some posts here wouldn't go amiss! Is anyone reading?

Anyway, I have knocked something up. It follow below. Obviously.)

This is my five best and worst newish tracks as heard on Radio Two in the last week, with brief commentary...

Good

1. Umbrella - Rihanna

The 'ella-ella-ella-eh' part is like catnip to me.


2. World is Outside - Ghosts

Reminiscent of Valentine by the Delays, gets the dance/ rock balance right.

3. Willy Mason ft KT Tunstall - We Could Be Strong

Catchy and charming, with minimal Tunstall. He looks like the sort of chap who would entertain a novelty beard though, so some reservations remain.

4. Samson - Regina Spektor

Not the type of song I usually like, but I like RS, and her voice goes a long way to make a miseryballad or whatever this is into something rather listenable and not heavy handed (take note Natasha Bedingfield)). The video is pretty also.

5. Someone to Love - Fountains of Wayne

A last minute entry here, I've only heard this once, but it sounds interesting.

Bad

1. Last Night I Nearly Died - Duke Special

Offensive voice, terrible sixth formish concept for lyrics, stupid gentle crescendo into repetative nothingness on the chorus.

2. Tiny Dancers - Hannah We Know

Songs by blokes with girl's names in the title in fuck me right off*. Can't actually work out what the song is about, so feel the name is a bit gimmicky. The singer looks like a sickly creep.


3. Cherry Ghost - People Help The People

Just monotonous, over-worthy lyrics.

4. Natasha Bedingfield - Soulmate

This is just painful. Overwrought, whingy, no one cares, woman! Ooh, she knows long words, isn't she clever, not like all the others!

5. Ben's Brother - Rise

Just look at them.

*with the exception of Eleanor Put Your Boots On by the Frank Fergusons.

Top Telly from Irvine Welsh and Someone Else

(I started a new blog but no one read it, so I am repeating it here.)

I am proofreading the subtitles for this new Irvine Welsh TV thing called Wedding Belles. Due to the nature of the job I can only watch it in fits and starts, on a tiny little screen on my computer. Even so, I can tell it's a fantastic piece of work. Apparently it airs on March 29th, and then the DVD will come out, I suppose. My favourite scene is when the crackhead heroine is enjoying her drug of choice whilst listening to Krautrock by Faust, which is one of my favourite pieces of music, punishingly hard psychedelia that seems to go on and on for ever. Then she tries to kill herself. Something about the conjunction of music, image and content makes this scene especially moving to me, even without the benefit of a proper context. I suppose it is because I share her desire for oblivion (at least some of the time), but me being me, I know that after the oblivion wears off I would be right back where I started, if not actually worse off. I suppose this is one of the positive effects of being a negative bastard.

Murphy's Law

(I started a new blog but no one ever read it, so I am repeating it here.)

I had a closer look at my Murphy's Law Series One DVD what I got from Woolworth's for £4 last night. Imagine my surprise to find that it's the same story over and over again:Pilot Episode - Murphy's Law: A team of undertakers are moonlighting as diamond thieves - and the bodies are beginning to stack up. Murphy goes undercover to infiltrate the team and discovers a sinister connection with Japanese heroin dealers. Electric Bill: When Richard Mooney is arrested on suspicion of being 'Electric Bill', London's most infamous kidnapper, Murphy and Annie are in a desperate race against time to locate his latest victim. Mooney isn't talking so Murphy goes undercover in prison to win his trust. Kiss and Tell: A beautiful serial killer is terrorising London's business elite. Murphy goes undercover as a top financier and joins the same health club that the victims belonged to. Now he must date a number of beautiful and sophisticated women, each of whom might be the killer. Manic Munday: A top Irish snooker player is ordered to fix his next game - or die. Murphy and Annie go undercover to protect him - and uncover the sinister organisation behind the death! threats. Reunion: A top member of an east end gang is murdered - and London looks set to be torn apart by a bloody gang war. Murphy infiltrates the ranks of a rival gang and sets about gathering evidence against its leader. But as time starts to run out, and as tension on the streets reaches boiling point, Murphy and Annie find themselves on the front line...Having said that, the Irish snooker player one sounds quite good.

Stopper For None

Last night I started reading a book called Starter For Ten by David "dandy" Nicholls. You may have seen advertisements for the film based on this book. It is about students in the 80s, and they go on University Challenge. I did quite well at this week´s University Challenge (by my standards) so when I saw the book going for half price, I thought i would do my bit for the eventual ruin of the publishing industry as we know it, and snapped it up. (Actually I had to go back the next day after thinking through the possible repercussions of spending three quid on a book.) Anyway, I have been waiting all day for a chance to pick it up again and have a bit of a laugh. But instead, I have been brouhgt to my knees by this:

"I'm stood behind her for the whole of the extended twelve-inch version of 'Blue Monday' by New Order."

That's it. A whole day of anticipation ruined. Now what am I going to do? Watch the fucking rugby?

Automatic for the people

My mother travelled from Scotland to Hong Kong a few weeks ago, and she brought with her a CD by a Scottish singer/songwriter, David Heavenor, called "The Automatic Eye". This was a more personal gift than it sounds: David is a family friend who used to spend time at our house in the 70s and he is one of those figures from the past who I remember through the filter of summer gardens and heat on the tarmac with the strumming of a guitar as backdrop; he seemed to like spending time with the kids, the price for which was always a story; and the tales he used to tell us ("and the captain said, tell us a tale!") , including the legendary story of the hut in the woods, with its genuinely terrifying denouement, still burn in my mind. The gentle, unmistakeable Scottishness of his voice and its clear timbre contain so many things that I can't even name which are all to do with my memories of childhood, and my undeniable nostalgia for the place where I come from, which, at the risk of sounding sentimental, often seems even further away than 6,000 miles.

I've always been distrustful of people who sing unnaturally, in an accent other than their own, as if ashamed ("Brown Sugar! Just like a young girl should!") ; and I love those voices which in song are no more than a gear shift away from the spoken word: like David's.

The best track on the CD (what cheesy radio DJs call "the standout track") is called "Sign In a Stranger" and lines keep recurring to me, sitting at my desk in the office in the glass edifice where I spend my day, or lying awake at night worrying about work:

building up like storms,
bursting in mid-air

When David sings, in a hush, "I'm walking behind you, I'm climbing the stairs", I'm in a darkened, damp Edinburgh close with someone I can't have. It's strange being transported by something as simple as a song, but I realise that that's what I love about good music, that it can speak to you on so many levels: even though I now know nothing about David, his experiences, his life, I feel as though I know everything I need to know.

How I Want To Live My Life

Inside I'm Plastic Bertrand:

The Byrds

The Beatles are the sound of sitting on a damp wall waiting for something good to happen; of discomfort first mingling with, and then becoming the same thing as, the certainty of salvation.

The Byrds are something different: a beach, a leaf-carpeted grove, slanted sun in your eyes, the promise of something beyond.

I have been listening to this music for 20 years now, so that seems as good a reason as any to invest in a new box set. There Is A Season, it is called. I can’t remember what the previous box set was called, but There Is A Season is a good title, containing as it does a no-arguments-brooked reason for its existence.

There is more Gene Clark here, and with good reason. You don’t miss your water.

Disc 1 kicks off with some pre-Byrds stuff and some tracks from Pre-Flyte. Unlike many exercises of this type, they make pleasant listening aside form, or despite, their evolutionary importance. You can’t say the same for Steve Marriott gurning his way through Consider Yourself or the Reed/Cale demos that lie like the Slough of Despond before the Velvet Underground box set.

Then onto the well-loved classics, straight down the line, with the odd googly for good measure. The tracklisting flows beautifully, a broad and deep introduction to the band with no dud tracks whatsoever: chiming, drowning, skipping, dawdling and traipsing – out on the end of time. The dynamics are spot-on; propulsive and convincing, the rhythm section draws you in like quicksand, the Eighteenth Emergency of Pop.

Tracks tagged onto reissues can shine here, showing themselves to be the true equals of their more celebrated siblings. 65 minutes of bliss – just right. The exact number of drum beats and tambourine tattoos, the exact quantity of piled-high Rickenbacker glory, of heaving walls and pounding floors, of shaken mops of hair and breathless rides home.

Flash is fast, Flash is cool

It must be the first and only time that the word “sacroiliac” has ever appeared in a song lyric. On paper it’s a toweringly cheesy idea, but somehow in song it works: how else to explain the unexpected shiver down my spine on hearing in passing a bar or two from Blondie’s “Rapture”?

I don’t think it’s just pure nostalgia either. Something about the cool, easy way Debbie Harry (oh, how it used to irk me when they called her Blondie! No, that’s a category error, I should have self-importantly cried) drawls: “Fab Five Freddie told me everybody’s fly…” makes the unworkable work. Poor old Vanilla Ice, who tried the same thing to practically worldwide opprobrium just a few years later, should have learned from Debbie’s chutzpah: do it first, do it best, then henceforth keep well away from a genre you are plainly ill-suited for.

Like many things, of course, none of this bears closer analysis, least of all the lyrics (“You get in the car and you drive real far/And you drive all night till you see a light/And it comes right down and it lands on the ground/And out comes the man from Mars”, anyone?). But I’ll throw my hands in the air like I just don’t care, and that’s what music is all about.

A Little Hell

In the gym this morning they were playing Jamiroquai (as a brief respite from Nickelback: albeit not brief, and no respite) and in the shower I was musing about Jay Kay's inexplicable global success as he whinged in the background: a multi-millionaire who espouses green issues but owns dozens of cars; whose lyrics are the wrong side of doggerel (“I got candy in my heels tonight, baby” doesn't really withstand any kind of textual analysis); whose records all sound the same; a posturing, style-dodging white boy who steals everyone else’s sound and puts it through a hot wash to produce anaemic cod-funk and who’s been getting away with it for ten (10) years now.

Either he’s thick as mince or we are.

He’s always wearing a risibly oversized hat, though, so no one really knows what he looks like. Genius! He gets to make shite records and walk away incognito to his Lotus Élan.

Set this against the equally inexplicable failure of Maximo Park to make much of an impact (thus far) and you have a real travesty.

Madame Onassis Got Nothin' On You

An early rockumentary, showing where Rod Stewart, Ronnie Wood, and the rest of The Faces got their raunchy and rebellious image, providing an "excess all areas" pass to the kind of backstage high-jinks that got the seventies such a bad name. Hold on to your hollyhocks!

Insane Clown Posse

I am quite surprised that Leo Sayer's classic song of urban multi-instrumentalist alienation, "One Man Band", was written for the toughest man in rock, Roger Daltrey. See for yourself on this excellent video, uploaded by the equally excellent Paris1919:



PS: I apologise for Leo Sayer's lack of afro.

Validate Singleton

I have watched "Boyz n the Hood". It stars Cuba Gooding Jr, an actor what I saw in real life last year, at the San Sebastian Film Festival, where he was promoting a truly terrible film in which he has physical relations of a sexual nature with BAFTA award-winning actress Helen Mirren. Had I known that he had hung out with Compton's Most Riddled With Attitude Problems, I would have been more impressed. I believe the crucial shooting scene, where Ice Cube empties his clip, takes place in the same "parking lot" as the time travel sequence from the far superior "Back to the Future".

Silver Machine vs Love Me Like a Reptile

I have decided that my job is like being in Hawkwind - smelly, pointless, going nowhere. What I need is a job that equates to forming Motorhead - admittedly also smelly, but dynamic and unstoppable, like a runaway freight train shovelling speed instead of coal.

To extend the analogy, I suppose I need to meet the subtitling Philthy Animal.

Instead, I am stuck with The Worst Week of My Life, a BBC comedy series that updates the standard scenario of hapless middle class twat creating havoc and navigating his way through pandemonium.

What annoys me most about this series is its outdated assumptions, such as "it is unacceptable to talk about breastfeeding" and "inverted nipples are something to be ashamed of" and "pregnant women do not have sex" and "people called Cordelia are more worthy of attention than people with normal names".

It is a load of posh crap, and I urge you to avoid it.

Nirvana - Live! Tonight! Sold Out!

My dad used to call me a bloody anti. He meant that I was a contrary little bleeder. Nirvana's 1994 VHS release Live! Tonight! Sold Out! is a masterclass in bloody anti behaviour, from the title on down. This 83 minute film documents their discomfort at "selling out" by which they seem to mean simply becoming successful. They are repeatedly shown claiming that the music is all that matters, yet a large percentage of the video's running time is taken up with extra-musical matters, and the music itself is edited in such a way as to preclude the normal enjoyment one might find in watching a performance by a favourite group. This is fine with me. Unlike most music videos or DVDs, I was not itching to switch off after ten minutes. I was fairly gripped in fact, and when I wasn't gripped, I was transfixed by a strange squirming embarrassment. There is no doubt in my mind that here was a brilliant, brilliant group, and this video does a great job of putting them in context, without spin or gloss. Television appearances are shown with the original incongruous presenters' claptrap (Jonathan Ross is a prize twat), and the original on-screen text, all of which helps to expose the absurdity of the whole circus without allowing the film to become a morose reflection on the perils of popularity. Some of the attempts to sidestep the mechansims of fame (singing in a funny voice, miming with no attempt to suspend disbelief) presage the coming of Robbie Williams, a performer whose refusal to take himself seriously has done nothing to slow down his global ascendance. There are hardly any glimpses of "the real Kurt" (unless on stage lost-in-music counts). The best bit by far is when a bouncer tries to beat Kurt up after he takes a lunge at him with his guitar whilst crowd-surfing. One telling interview clip trots out the old "we're not interested in the business side of things" line of evasion, before Kurt pipes up with "but you have to take an interest, otherwise people will take adavantage of you". So I suppose that is the difference. In the olden days, pop stars didn't mind being taken adavantage of, until it was too late. This enabled Joe Brown and the Bruvvers to develop unhindered, whereas now we have a fight, with pop stars dissipating their energy by becoming food critics or whatever they need to assuage their falling star, or rather their star that never quite comes into being, forever reamianing a ball of gas. The glory is gone, and here you can see it being flushed down the toilet.

Much too long and quite boring. Hurrah!

I made a CD for my friend in China - only it seems a lot like I made it for myself:

Cat Power – The Greatest
Reluctant as I was to pick the most obvious track from the album, I have because it remains my favourite, mainly due to listening to the album when falling asleep, resulting in only ever really remembering the first 3 songs properly.

Au Revoir Simone – Backyard of our Neighbours
One of those bands where you hear a track on a compilation and think ‘that sounds good, I’ll buy their album’, then upon listening to the album realise you should have left it at the one track because the rest of it is quite weak and little annoying. This is the good track obviously.

Nina Nastastia – It’s a Dog’s Life
This is funny because it’s about being a dog and how although it’s fun to be a dog sometimes you are misunderstood and chased away by old men and sometimes you upset small children. Just like being a human.

Neko Case – If You Knew
I am still firmly in my Neko Case phase. This is slightly more, erm, strident than I’d usually go for, but I like it nonetheless. I am pretty sure that the recipient of the CD will dislike it though.

Concretes – Chosen One
Still not sure about the Concretes, but I really like this one. Also squashed face cats in the video.

Jenny Wilson – Let My Shoes Lead Me Forward (Knife mix)
This one makes me feel clever because it’s a bit dancey and I’d never heard of Jenny Wilson, and for quite a while I mistakenly thought it was Jenny Lewis the winsome country singer being remixed by the Knife, and I was impressed but it turned out it wasn’t her, but remained impressed, albeit in a different way.

Orange Juice – Rip It Up
Just because.

Baltimora – Tarzan Boy
This was the entire reason for making this CD, so my friend could hear this, err, gem. Anyway, it’s pretty much terrible, apparently sung by people who have no idea how to pronounce English, but who are actually Irish, so should know better. The chorus is the best part, and the bits where he says ‘monkey business’.

April March – Winter Cave
I don’t know if I like April March, I think I bought this album because it has a cover of ‘Some Things Just Stick in Your Mind’, but I find her voice grates a tiny bit. Naturally I included the track mainly because it would make me look eclectic.

Stina Nordenstam – Winter Killing
Lovely lovely Stina, revealing herself in this song as the other woman in an affair. Proof if proof be need be that Millie Jackson’s concept album ‘Still Caught Up’ was not the final word on this subject. Thankfully.

Camille – Vous
Makes me look good because its modern and in French. The French aspect helps cover up the fact that it’s a bit shite. No idea what it’s about but suspect it’s political as she can be heard to sing ‘Angleterre’ and ‘Tony Blair’. Oh well.

Belle and Sebastian – Your Cover’s Blown
I still think this is the best thing they’ve done for ages. Also any song that uses multiple key and tempo changes, sounds a little bit like Pink Floyd and uses the word ‘bummers’ is ok by me.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Y Control
I just like this.

Francoise Hardy – Ton Meilleur Ami
Again, French, so I look good. Also old, so even more cool points. Could be about bestiality for all I know.

The Motels – Anticipating
A good track from an album that contains many laughable moments, including a song called ‘Porn Reggae’.

Neko Case – Star Witness
More Neko. She pretty lady. Has undertones of violence.

Cat Power – Naked If I Want To
And more again. The word ‘naked’ is a bit rude too.

El Perro del Mar – I Can’t Really Talk About It
I know nothing of this lot; I listen to it and wonder how it is possible to sing like they do.

Coco Rosie – Good Friday
It’s about Santa. I’m running out of things to say.

Kate Bush – The Kick Inside
Wrong choice of Bush here. Totally inappropriate for the target audience. I should have gone for James and the Cold Ham, or something jauntier.

Neil Young – One Of These Days
Again, totally wrong. More proof that I made this CD for myself and I will probably never post it to Shanghai at all. Nice way to end though.