Nemesis To Go [entries|archive|friends|userinfo] The mewlings and pukings of Uncle Nemesis [ website | Nemesis To Go ] [ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ] [ archive | journal archive ]

Adventures in modern advertising, part 104 [Nov. 12th, 2009|09:46 am] On my travels around the London Underground a while back, I came upon a poster advertising Richard Hammond's new TV show. Now, I Don't Do TV, but I'm sufficiently down with popular culture to know that Richard Hammond is best known as the cute one off Top Gear - the one that all the housewives think is dishy. Some might say that a cart horse would look dishy when stood next to Jeremy Clarkson, but hey. The ladies have spoken. Who am I to disagree? Anyway, here is Richard Hammond, as featured on the poster for that all-new TV show: What a dreamboat, eh? It must be the flyaway hair. But wait - that's a strangely manic expression on Richard's face, don't you think? Those wild, staring eyes, those compressed lips, the agonisingly raised eyebrow, as if he's trying to put a brave face on a sudden sharp pain - this is not a man in a state of ease and relaxation. What could have caused this? ( Richard's dilemma revealed... ) link 1 comment|post comment

Through the section labelled 'Shirts' [Nov. 11th, 2009|08:55 am] Well, after yesterday's wordathon, I think today I'll post a fab pop video. Here we have the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band performing 'Canyons Of Your Mind' in 1968. This song contains what is reputed to be the world's worst guitar solo. It also contains the voice of Vivian Stanshall, a wonder of the world in itself... Much of the Bonzos' stuff is a bit it-seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time (that time being, basically, the wiggy end of the hippy era). These days it can seem a bit awkward. But when they keep it focused, you still can't touch 'em. link 3 comments|post comment

On Blogging (slight return) [Nov. 10th, 2009|11:27 am] From time to time, I take a look around the blogosphere, weigh it and measure it, prod it and poke it, and stick a virtual thermometer up its arse. Here's one I made earlier. Perhaps it's time to have another look. Warning: this is going to be a fairly lengthy post - and all text, too. For once, no wacky photos of rock stars. But I'll put in some sub headings to break up the big text block. Hey, you want substantial content? You got it! ( To blog or to tweet? Checking the vital signs for rise or decline... ) link 13 comments|post comment

This time, there will be no encore [Nov. 7th, 2009|10:45 am] Fred went to the vet today. It was a one way trip. Here he is, in the last hour of his life: If you compare that photo with the ones I posted here only a few weeks ago, you can see that his tumour had grown alarmingly. He could no longer open his mouth properly: we had to mince his food into a paste, so he could lick it up. The tumour was also pushing his right eye out of its socket - he could no longer close the eye, and it had become infected. He was losing weight, and had stopped taking an interest in anything much. He spent his last days dozing on the bed, occasionally getting up to use his litter tray. Once he'd done so, he no longer had the strength to climb back on the bed. We decided that rather than wait until his tumour grew so large he could no longer breathe - it was definitely going that way - it would be best to hasten his end while he still had at least the last few shreds of his old good life. We weren't prepared to watch him suffer, and die a painful, drawn-out death. Frankly, I hope someone does me that same favour if I ever need it. Goodbye, Fred. The best cat ever, and my brilliant friend for over 15 years. We'll be telling Fred stories for years to come. Did I tell you about the time the postman knocked on my door one morning? But not to deliver a package. He pointed to Fred, who was turning upside down in a sunshine frenzy on the pavement. 'Is that cat all right?' he said, with concern. I had to admit Fred's antics did look rather bizarre, as he wriggled around like a mad thing. 'Oh, yes, he's fine,' I said, 'He's Fred!' Fred is buried in the back garden. I'm going to grow sunflowers on his grave. link 29 comments|post comment

A pint and a fight. A great British night! [Nov. 4th, 2009|10:46 am] Last night I was in Middle Earth to witness what Genesis P-Orridge claimed was the 'last Psychic TV gig in England'. (He didn't say anything about Scotland or Wales, though. National Eisteddfod next year, then, Gen?) He was also a little taken aback to realise that the venue, the Tabernacle in Notting Hill (Just up the road from the Rough Trade shop) had been, in its hippy incarnation, the location of 60s psychedelic club Middle Earth. 'I used to come down from Birmingham to see Pink Floyd!' sez Gen, before trying to raise the ghost of Syd Barrett: Someone in the crowd made a crack about his age. 'I'm sixty next year,' retorts Genesis. 'My age has never been a secret. Just the secret of my beauty has!' The grand finale was an elongated 'Foggy Notion'. The band were told that they had a mere four minutes before curfew time - and proceeded to play their longest song, the guitarist deliberately extending his solo to the point where the other band members began exchanging 'What the fuck is he up to?' glances. And there was a stage invasion, during which two punters - who were, as far as I could tell, completely unknown to each other - began acting out the argument between Candy and Andy in the song. At least, I think they were acting. It did look like quite a convincing fight at times... Note the 'What do I do about this?' expression on the bouncer's face on the right: I want to form a band with that girl. Lydia Lunch and Nancy Spungen in one handy package! If that really was Psychic TV's last show in England, at least the band went out with a bit of traditional British chaos. link 4 comments|post comment

F&TM under LEDs [Nov. 3rd, 2009|12:01 am] Here come a few photos from the Faith & The Muse gig on Sunday night at Dingwalls. A splendid performance by F&TM themselves, although it's a rather awkward irony that as the F&TM line-up expands (they had no less than nine people on stage) their audience seems to dwindle. I'd estimate the crowd was about 150-ish, which for a band that's generally regarded as one of the bigger acts in goth circles is not a great total at all. I'm tempted to try to get to one of the other gigs on their European tour, just to see how the crowds are holding up elsewhere (Paris, November 26, anyone?) If present trends continue, next year F&TM will probably appear in the UK with a 97-piece symphony orchestra and the Treorchy Male Voice Choir, and they'll be playing the Betsy Trotwood to three blokes and a whippet. Anyway, some photos. Monica Richards gazes into the empyrean realm (just down a bit from Chalk Farm): This is one of the Taiko dancers. Or were they Butoh dancers, and Taiko drums? Don't worry, I'll check this before the review goes up. You'll almost believe I know what I'm on about: I was going to junk this one because it's just too red for comfort - but the white star on the left (actually the light on the music stand) saves it, I think. Good mohawk action here, anyway: William Faith's battery operated light-up novelty hairstyle was the hit of the night: By adopting a winsome tilt of the head, the singer out of RazorBlade Kisses just manages to stop her hat falling off: This gig might end up being top of the review stack in issue 8 of Nemesis To Go. Then again, there's a Psychic TV gig tomorrow, and if I include that one in issue 8 it'll be top of the stack - which will create a nice balance with the gig-stack in issue 7. But I've already got Throbbing Gristle in issue 8, and I wouldn't want to overload you with too much Genesis P-Orridge in one go. The editorial committee will have to ponder that one, I think. Back to the one-finger typing marathon, then... link 12 comments|post comment

Amanda Palmer, Robert Smith, and the inexplicable something [Oct. 30th, 2009|09:03 am] Amanda Palmer has written an open letter to Robert Smith. That stark statement sounds a bit ominous, doesn't it? Makes it sound as if she's complaining about something. 'Sir, I note with concern the absence of keyboards in the current Cure line-up...' Actually, her letter is a rather wonderful treatise on what it's like to be A Fan - a real, shrine-in-the-bedroom, inexplicable-emotional-surges, wildly-impractical-fantasies fan. And how, over the years, fandom wanes...and then, when you least expect it, comes back. If you've ever been a fan of anyone, if there was ever a time when the posters on your teenage bedroom wall seemed more real to you than the people in the street, you'll know exactly what she's getting at. I was never a particular devotee of The Cure. I saw them only once, at the Hammersmith Odeon in 1985. They came on, did the hits, and buggered off. It was fine...but I wasn't a fan. However, there were other bands which made that Special Connection for me (remind me to tell you about my teenage bedroom shrine to Debbie Harry), so I know of what she speaks. Being all grown up now, I no longer have shrines in my bedroom, or wildly impractical fantasies about rock stars. But I still get involuntary surges of - what? Rock 'n' roll hormones? - when I see a band or hear a song that does that inexplicable something. I hope I never lose that, although there have been times when I wondered if the inexplicable something had upped and left me. During the seven years I promoted live shows in London, I was constantly up to my neck in band-business, so much so that I did worry that music had simply become work to me, rather than something to enjoy. Even now, I can't go to a club just for fun. I spent seven years ruthlessly flyering London clubs, to the point when even today I get twitchy and out of sorts if I find myself in a club without something to do. I've met people in the music biz who have gone completely like that - record label proprietors, other promoters, music writers, who don't actually seem to like music much. You just can't imagine them putting on a CD or going to a gig simply because they want to. Amanda Palmer confesses she went that way in the years she's been working at her own music. But one night in the desert earlier this year, Robert Smith pulled her back from the brink, and reaquainted her with the inexplicable something. Good old Bob, eh? And so, Amanda Palmer wrote a letter to Robert Smith. You can read it at her MySpace blog or on her website. Two different fonts, same content. (By the way, in case you go there and think 'Is that it?', the piece of paper she's holding up in the photo is not actually the letter. Scroll down to read the real words.) Incidentally, Amanda Palmer also offers her services as a keyboard player for The Cure. Given that the band does seem to need one right now - how about it, Bob? link 9 comments|post comment

Frock 'n' roll (slight return) [Oct. 28th, 2009|10:25 am] Tea up! Now I know just why Franz Schubert Didn't finish his unfinished symphony He might have written more but the clock struck four And everything stops for tea Emilie Autumn: Friday March 12 at the 02 Academy Islington. Time to get yer best frock pressed... link 6 comments|post comment

Names are for tombstones, baby [Oct. 27th, 2009|10:03 am] One of my more whimsical pastimes is collecting good and bad band names. Just in my head, you understand: I don't keep notebooks or anything. That would be silly. But I was just looking down the London Gigs list, and I think I've found a few new ones to add to my collection.... Good band names Dinosaur Pile-up Personal Space Invaders One Man Destruction Show (brings the house down, I'm sure) Japandroids Cats And Cats And Cats We Were Promised Jetpacks North Sea Radio Orchestra ....and my favourite from the entire list: Ringo Deathstarr Bad band names Pinky Doodle Poodle (What are they? Five?) The Shitty Limits (One of those hostage-to-fortune names. It's too easy to say, 'Yes, you certainly are.') I don't think any of the above trump my all-time fave band name: Velocity Kendal. That one probably won't mean much to anyone who doesn't know the source, but not only is it a nice pun, the word 'velocity' hints at a band that play it fast and no messin', but have a slightly intellectual humour about them, too. I never saw this band (they were around the Bull & Gate type venue circuit for a while in the 90s) so I don't know what they were actually like. They could've been sludge metal for all I know. For a long time my worst band name ever was...Sportsbra. It just conjures up an image of something dumpy, boringly practical, probably in beige. The name doesn't have the slightest shred of enticing glamour or intriguing humour. Mind you, I dare say there are people out there who have sports bra festishes. They probably thought it was great. Recently, however, I discovered a new all-time worst band name: Favours For Sailors. That one probably sounded brilliant when the band was batting potential names around in the pub. In the cold light of day it's just....blimmin' awful. In this case I have seen the band, and they are the most tediously forgettable alterno-indie-lad-rock combo you could ever suffer. I remember the guitarist was wearing brown tasselled loafers, too. Brown tasselled loafers! Game over, as far as I'm concerned. A good name won't save a bad band, but a bad name can be a hurdle for a good band to climb over. Death Cigarettes recently changed their name to Cold In Berlin, which is a slight improvement, although it does make them sound like they should play frowny Krautrock, or something. Best to get it right first time, that's the advice I'd give to bands. And think about your footwear options, too, kids. link 7 comments|post comment

Stick it up your diary [Oct. 26th, 2009|07:52 am] Here's a new thing: As you might guess even without clicking that banner (and you'll certainly find out if you do) this is London Gigs, a new one-stop guide to live music in London. You might wonder why we need a London gig guide, when we've already got the likes of Time Out, the NME, and various other event listing resources. But the trouble with these is that they're often a bit of a fart-about to use, and tend to be biased towards the big names and the big shows. Let's see if I can prove my point by testing the two big ones... The NME gig guide doesn't even have an intuitive link on the NME website these days - it now lurks behind the word 'Tickets' which takes you to a ticket-selling page for various big names. The actual gig guide is behind another link, as if it's not all that important (which, in today's celebs 'n' stars driven NME, it probably isn't). When you eventually get there, you'll find a UK-wide guide with - again - a bias towards the big names. Last night I tried it out by putting 'London' into the search box to filter out a London only list - and the top few entries included upcoming shows by ex-Rolling Stone Bill Wyman, Robin Gibb of the Bee Gees, and Mel C out of the Spice Girls. Not what you'd call cutting edge stuff, and probably not even appropriate for the NME gig guide (I imagine the NME's sales to the Bee Gees fanbase are pretty minimal). Being a kindly soul, I gave the NME the benefit of the doubt and searched for 'Lydia Lunch', who I know has a London gig in the works. The search came up blank. Well, so much for the NME. Time Out is still a good bet for general London stuff, but of course Time Out isn't just a London publication any more. The first thing you do when you go to the Time Out website is choose your city - from a list that includes Berlin, Boston, Rome, Israel (which isn't actually a city, something Time Out seems a little confused about), Edinburgh, Vancouver, Moscow, Beijing, and Kuala Lumpur. Still in test mode, I selected 'London'. Then I clicked on 'Music', and was faced with...er, a photo of Robbie Williams. The gig guide itself is behind yet another link. Once there, it seems pretty comprehensive, and certainly includes the kind of noiseniks I'm interested in. But it also lists the likes of Shakin' Stevens and Fleetwood Mac (75 quid at Wembley Arena? I don't think so!) So, too much hassle to get there, and still too much excess baggage - and, incidentally, no Lydia Lunch gig, either. It seems there's a vacancy for a simple click-and-you're-there London gig guide that filters out the easy listening, but does include the interesting stuff, the noisy stuff, the weird stuff, the obscure stuff, the underground stuff - and Lydia Lunch. That's what London Gigs is all about. It's very new, but there's already lots listed - including several gigs I didn't know about, but hastily scribbled on my calendar as soon as I spotted them. Who knew The Legendary Pink Dots are playing soon? I didn't - but that one's on my personal list now. A few gigs are flagged up as particularly interesting. You can see which gigs are recommended by zines such as The Organ, Suba Cultcha and, er, Nemesis To Go. Yes, you can have a good laugh at the kind of 'orrible rackets I think are worth your attention. But overall I think this site does the business. If you're a London gig-goer, I'd say it's a good idea to go here first. If you're a band, a promoter, or a venue with upcoming events you'd like to see listed on the site, or even if you just happen to know about a gig or two that's looming up, by all means submit the details. As I said up there, this is a new thing and there will inevitably be a few gaps until everything gets into its stride. If you spot a gap, or if you have some extra info relating to the gigs already there, or if you see a correction that needs to be made, there's a handy email link for you to shove in the info. The more info that gets shoved in, the better the gig guide becomes... Don't send stuff to me, because apart from contributing a few bits and pieces of info that I happen to know, and recommending one or two particularly interesting gigs (in my head, anyway), London Gigs is nuffin' to do with me. All the contacts are on the site itself. Oh, and that Lydia Lunch gig? Saturday November 7 at the Lexington. The only reason it's not one of my recommendations is that the Organ recommended it first! link 6 comments|post comment

The loneliness of the long-distance fanzine proprietor [Oct. 23rd, 2009|11:26 pm] I am presently spending every spare moment staring boss-eyed into a cheap and not particularly hi-rez monitor screen, trying to bash issue 8 of Nemesis To Go into a fit state for public consumption. There's nothing technically difficult about this. All I'm doing is filling up my blank page templates with content. But generating that content takes umpteen hours of one-finger typing, not to mention a certain amount of brain-cudgelling to make sure that I'm writing stuff that is appropriately pithy and at least intermittently witty. There's nothing worse than reading reviews that amount to worthy-but-dull waffle - there's a lot of that stuff around in the world of music writing (both online and off) and I hope I manage to steer clear of it. You'll be the judge of that, of course... Then again, according to my stats, I always get significantly more hits on the photos than on the words, which seems to indicate that most people don't read any of my deathless deathrock prose at all. They just go straight to the pix. Well, that's fair enough (he says, through gritted teeth). But the photos are an equal part of it, too. In fact, it almost takes longer to assemble a good range of new photos for each issue of my zine than it does to write the words - hours of desperate photoshopping to try to improve my crummy, grainy, under-lit photos taken at stupid venues which think that feebly glimmering LEDs represent adequate stage lighting. Sometimes, I've junked whole reviews because I don't have decent photos to go with them. The other day I went to see Cold In Berlin (Death Cigarettes, as was) in the traditional poorly-lit back room of an East End bar. Frustratingly, the venue seemed to have plenty of expensive lighting kit, none of which was used properly on the night. It seemed they'd just pushed the faders up to 'dim' and walked away from the control desk. Anyway, my photos were poor, and I decided to bin the idea of reviewing that gig and wait for Cold In Berlin to play somewhere where they actually bother to switch the lights on. There was a photographer at the gig with a large and impressive professional camera, but even his photos are basically green and purple shapes looming in the darkness - quite arty, I suppose, but they certainly don't capture the energy and fire of the band. (And what this one is supposed to be is anyone's guess). This time I've got an extra problem in the photo department. I'm using a hastily-purchased flat-screen monitor which was the cheapest one I could find on the web. It probably wasn't the greatest idea to buy the cheapest monitor (or are Acer monitors generally regarded as a bit crap?) - but anyway, I'm finding it quite difficult to judge whether my photos are coming up well or not. I've put a few random photos in this post (you may have noticed this already). If you think they look a bit odd, that's probably because they were Photoshopped on my cheapo monitor and I couldn't see what I was doing. I'm going to look at this post on other computers over the next few days, to see how they've turned out. Meanwhile, if you think the pix aren't quite right on your monitor, let me know and I'll...erm, swear profusely, I expect. It occurs to me that if I was a proper music mag I'd probably have an entire team doing all this. Several people writing the words, several people taking the pix. Someone else to lay out the pages and make sure it all looks good. Several layers of technical people to make it work. If my monitor went on the blink, I'd call IT and put my feet up while they fixed it. PR people would queue up to give me stuff. I'd have my people call their people, and we'd do lunch. Even webzines seem to be made mob-handed these days. I was just looking at the credits for God Is In The TV. Now, I'll grant you I'm not comparing like with like - GIITTV a very mainstream publication, which majors on exactly the same artists you read about everywhere else. If you really, really want yet another interview with Florence And Her Annoyingly Omnipresent Machine, or you unaccountably can't find any details of the new Ian Brown single anywhere else in the music media, be assured that GIITTV will fill you in. But the credits page lists an editor and no less than eight sub-editors. I suspect 'sub-editor' is basically GIITTV's term for 'contributor' - they can't all be editors, surely, otherwise the zine would be all chiefs and no Indians. Still, that's a lot of staff. If they divvy up the tasks roughly equally, nobody's going to be overworked. Meanwhile, my credits list looks something like this: Uncle N - Everything. Well, I shouldn't complain. I started up my webzine because I wanted to; I keep on rolling out the new issues because I want to. If I ever stop wanting to, I'll stop doing the zine, and I don't see that day on the horizon just yet. But sometimes I wish it wasn't all me. Right. Break over. Time to plunge back in... link 7 comments|post comment

Amsterdam Untourist [Oct. 20th, 2009|11:43 pm] Looking back over my posts here, I see that I didn't put up any of my souvenir photos from Amsterdam a while back. In fact, I can't even remember if I mentioned the trip to Amsterdam. Well, let me put that right. Postcards from Amsterdam now follow... Here's how we got there. If I'd been a bit more on the ball I would've booked the ferry out and the train back, via Brussels, thus turning the trip into a circular tour. Next time, maybe. Here's the North Sea, as seen from the good ship Stena Hollandica. The lights on the horizon are container ships bound for Rotterdam - there's so much shipping on the North Sea you could almost walk across, stepping from ship to ship: From Hoek Van Holland (that's Dutch for 'Hook Of Holland') we took a Sprinter Trein (that's Dutch for 'Sprinter Train') to Rotterdam. Then we took a Sneltrein (that's Dutch for, erm, Snel Train) to Amsterdam Centraal (which is - stop me if you're ahead of me here - Dutch for 'Amsterdam Central'). Here is the roof of the station - look carefully and you'll see banners depicting hanging men dangling from the steelwork. Now, what's all that about? These Duch are crazy! Amsterdam is a city built on a swamp. A swamp below sea level, too. Why the good people of the Netherlands decided to establish a city on such an unpromising site is a mystery - I mean, it can't even be an 'It seemed like a good idea at the time' thing, since building a city on a swamp below sea level is patently not a good idea at any time. Amsterdam has been gently subsiding into the primeval ooze ever since. Look at the building on the right in the photo below. This was originally flush with its neighbours, and, at ground level, still is. It's gradually tilted forward as its foundations have shifted - a fine example of what happens when you build on mud. I don't know why they never had the idea to tie the buildings together, so the entire terrace becomes one unit and the buildings keep each other up - or at least all go down together. There are wonky buildings like this all over the place, and this, of course, is one of the reasons Amsterdam is such a picturesque city. Long may it not fall down, say I. Bet their insurance premiums are a bit stiff, mind: Amsterdam is famous for its exotic and luxurious hotels. This is not one of them: Tempting though it was to stay at the Hotel Croydon, simply because it's called the Hotel Croydon, we didn't. We actually stayed at the... ( More postcards from Amsterdam this way... ) link 6 comments|post comment

Come back Captain Sensible, all is forgiven [Oct. 20th, 2009|11:29 am] Yesterday I was in my local Aldi (Best Supermarket of 2009, I'll have you know). The checkout queue was suddenly held up by a disgruntled customer who was trying to return a complete box (10 1kg packets) of long grain rice he'd previously purchased and taken home. Guess what his complaint about the long grain rice was...? It wasn't long enough. Well, that was certainly one of those 'Is it me, or has the world gone utterly arsewitted?' moments. It's at times like this that the loopy world of rock 'n' roll seems positively sane. So, let's have some examples of sanity from a few recent gigs. Here's Ari Up of The Slits, playing bass in a completely sensible fashion: Peter Murphy serenades the ceiling in a perfectly level-headed manner (nice mini-hoodie, by the way, Pete): Lettie multi-tasking live on stage, in an entirely reasonable way: Rachel out of KASMs has a nice rest - and why not? It's always wise to take a break now and then, don't you think? While Sarah the drummer out of Wetdog clearly won't tolerate any nonsense. Look, she's put her foot down. Er, up. Well, the thought is there: These photos are just a few excerpts from my recent raw-material trawl which I am now attempting, in a very sober and rational fashion, to turn into a webzine... However, I think I'll have to interrupt my work in order to return this packet of pasta twists I bought from the supermarket the other day. I've just noticed - and you can imagine my unspeakable horror here, I'm sure - that they twist the wrong way. link 3 comments|post comment

Ice cream for crow [Oct. 17th, 2009|10:29 am] Here's a little something I found via the Organ zine, your number one news source for the latest goings-on in the intertwined worlds of rock 'n' roll and ice cream... It seems someone's marketing a punk rock ice cream, with packaging that looks a bit Sex Pistols-esque. This has not gone down well with the Pistols themselves. The Sex Pistols are threatening to sue an ice cream maker who is selling an ice cream cocktail called The Sex Pistol, and who is using the strapline 'God Save The Cream', often displayed over a picture of the queen to mimic the cover to the punk outfit's 'God Save The Queen' single. The company, Icecreamists, have set up a stall in Selfridges, and describe their ice cream based products as being "more Sid & Nancy than Ben & Jerry". I'm not sure the reference to Sid & Nancy is a great selling point, you know. I mean, when I see those names I think of dingy hotel rooms, blood on the sheets, bad drugs and bad lives. It certainly doesn't make me think, 'Hey! Gotta have me a cool 'n' refreshing ice cream!' Still, it's all good publicity, innit. I mean, I'd never heard of the Icecreamists before, but now I have. You can't beat a bit of controversy when it comes to publicity, as the Sex Pistols know very well. The Icecreamists website, by the way, is here. Looks more death metal than punk to me. They've obviously spent quite a lot of money on an uber-conceptual website that, when the Flash intro finally stops loading, basically amounts to a link page for Twitter and Farcebook. Is that all websites are these days? It hardly seems worth it! Anyway. In other tenuously-related Sex Pistols news, last night I witnessed Johnny Rotten's stepdaughter taking her knickers off approximately three feet from my face. No ice cream was involved - but there was a banana. I might have some photos from the evening's entertainment later... link 2 comments|post comment

New adventures in the true cult of Heavy Metal [Oct. 8th, 2009|07:28 am] The woman in WH Smith gave me a very odd look, but then I suppose it's not often she gets a customer who buys both Heritage Railway and Terrorizer magazines. I'm not a regular reader of Terrorizer, journal of the 'True Cult Of Heavy Metal', as it proclaims on the front. I think the last time I bought Tezza (er, we do call it Tezza, don't we?) it claimed to be an 'Extreme Music' magazine, which seemed to mean that occasional reviews of The Prodigy would incongruously crop up amid otherwise wall-to-wall metal mayhem. Quite why Terrorizer thought that the Prodge - basically a boisterous pop group, let's face it - counted as 'extreme' while real extremists such as Whitehouse or Merzbow never got a look in was always a bit of a mystery. Perhaps it's just as well the mag has reverted to its heavy metal heartland these days. Stick with what you know, and all that. But what does Terrorizer know about goth? That's a more pertinent question than you might think. A few months after Artrocker and the NME decided that goth was A Good Thing After All and slapped copious quantities of goff-stuff all over their covers and content, Terrorizer has made its own pitch for the black pound. The latest issue of Terrorizer comes with a free goth mag entitled - without, it must be said, an over-abundance of imagination - Dominion. ( So, let's look inside... ) link 20 comments|post comment

The riff's second hand, we stole from The Damned [Oct. 7th, 2009|08:43 am] Indie kids of a certain vintage might like to note the return to the fray of I, Ludicrous, who were mildy famous a few years ago as a kind of second-eleven version of Half Man Half Biscuit. One of their new songs is a work of observational comedy genius. Have a listen to 'We're The Support Band' on their MySpace page. I've seen quite a few support bands just like that. In my showbiz days, I probably booked few, too... link 4 comments|post comment

Edit this [Oct. 5th, 2009|08:25 am] Is it me, or does Papillon, the new single by the Editors, sound like VNV Nation if Ronan Harris could sing? I'm sure outraged fans of Contemporary European Electronic Dance will tell me, in precise and pedantic detail, exactly why the Editors track is completely different to anything VNV Nation have ever done, and to draw comparisons is a pernicious falsehood - but have a listen to the track. You'll see what I mean. Quite apart from the to-and-fro synth line, which is somehow utterly 1999, I can't get over that little tickety-tock drum machine flourish which crops up at the end of the chorus. That's so...bedroom. I assume the Editors are well supplied with major label recording budgets and technology and all, so the reason this tune sounds like a slice of home-made EBM-angst is because they want it to be that way. How very odd. (Try out the 'Tiesto Remix' on the band's MySpace page, too - that one sounds like Apoptygma Berzerk!) The album from which all this comes is called 'In This Light And On This Evening', which sounds like the title of one of those godawful MOR compilations that come out around Valentine's day, always stuffed with mush such as Eric Clapton's 'Wonderful Tonight' and Chris de Bergh's 'Lady In Red'. God only knows what the Editors were thinking of there. I worry about our modern pop stars sometimes, you know. link 19 comments|post comment

Fred in unexpected encore [Oct. 3rd, 2009|08:05 am] Fred: 1994 (possibly) - Not Dead Yet (definitely) Yesterday, I made a post here to the effect that our No. 1 cat, Fred, was missing...presumed dead. He has cancer; and when he vanished last Sunday and didn't come back, we feared the worst. Guess what? He came back. I took this photo just a few minutes ago. Here's Fred having his Saturday morning lie-in: Actually, Fred didn't really come back - I had to fetch him back. Like so many incidents in Fred's life, there is a story attached. Yesterday, shortly after I'd made my post about Fred being missing, we thought we'd better ring up the vet and cancel his Saturday get-his-tumour-looked-at appointment. "We can't bring Fred in," we said. "He's vanished - we think he may be dead." "Oh, no, he's not dead," sez the vet. "He's in Putney." Some might say there's not much difference. But - wait a minute - Putney? How did he get there? I rushed off to the Putney Animal Hospital, where Fred had ended up. There, I learned the story. Someone had seen Fred last Sunday walking along a neighbouring street - no more than about 200 yards from his own home. They had assumed he was a stray cat, scooped him up, and carted him off to the RSPCA. The RSPCA had noticed his tumour (you can't really miss it) and had put Fred in hospital. Fortunately, they'd also scanned him and got his vet details from his microchip. That's how our vet knew where he was. Apprarently the RSPCA had tried to phone us directly. As it happens we did a call from the RSPCA just recently - but I thought it was a telephone chugger and wouldn't talk to them. Of course, I now feel terribly guilty about that. Fortunately, Fred doesn't seem to hold it against me. Well, I went to get Fred. He was pleased to see me (in a "Well, you took your time" manner) and he is none the worse for his adventure. When he came home, he went straight out onto the roof from where he'd disappeared on Sunday, as if he was carrying on where he left off: Thank you to everyone who said nice things when we thought Fred might be dead. Of course, he's still living on borrowed time - he's a 15 year old cat with cancer, and one day he really will be dead. But...not just yet. And I'll apply the rule of Habeas Corpus if Fred disappears again! I reckon he's currently on Life No. 8.5 and counting. But that last 0.5 certainly doesn't contain a dull moment. Later this morning he's going to the vet, for that get-his-tumour-looked-at appointment. Fred doesn't know this yet. As soon as the cat box comes out I bet he'll be wearing an 'Oh no, not again!' expression... link 17 comments|post comment

Fred takes his leave [Oct. 2nd, 2009|07:59 am] Fred: 1994 (possibly) - 2009 (probably) If you follow my occasional cat posts here, you'll know that our No. 1 cat, Fred, was diagnosed with cancer-of-somewhere-near-the-jawbone a few months ago. Not that this seemed to bother him - he carried on living his usual full life, just with an increasingly large tumour growing out of the side of his head. But recently - literally within a matter of days - the tumour seemed to put on a spurt of growth, and I wondered how much longer he could hold out. The photo above was taken in August; the photo below just a few days ago at the end of September. You can see the difference. His right ear and eye were being pushed out of position, and the tumour was starting to show on top of his head. I could only guess at what was hapening inside his head... Last Sunday morning, Fred woke up, and then went out on the flat roof below the window and sat in the sun for a while, as he often does. He went off somewhere across the roofs...and we haven't seen him since. We suspect his tumour reached some sort of sudden crisis point. Somewhere out there, he died. We've asked around the neighbours, but nobody has seen him. We have to assume he's gone. Here he is, in early September, looking distinctly unimpressed by my attempts to build a ladder rack on my Land Rover: In a way, I'm relieved it ended this way. I was dreading that final trip to the vet. I'm comforted by the thought that Fred died in his familiar haunts, living his usual life. And it's a very Fred-esque way to go - because we found Fred, as a lost kitten, on the street. Nobody claimed him, nobody knew where he came from. And now nobody knows where he's gone. His departure was as mysterious as his arrival. I'm just grateful for the years in between. link 20 comments|post comment

What are we doing here? [Sep. 26th, 2009|03:51 pm] Well, I'm not having a super fun Saturday. I'll tell you why below. But first, I think I'll post a video here to cheer myself up. Last night at the ICA I saw Pere Ubu doing ART. It was good. In fact it was slightly scary and hilarious at the same time - but it was not at all rock 'n' roll. So here's a video of the band with their rock 'n' roll hats on, because I feel like rockin' my cares away... This is Pere Ubu performing their almost-hit 'Waiting For Mary' on Night Music - a US TV music 'n' chat show, apparently similar to our own Later With Jools Holland. Instead of a genial boogie-woogie pianist, this show was hosted by a genial jazz saxophonist, David Sanborn. He and his band would jam with the rock star guests, which explains why there are a few people on stage here who aren't actually members of Pere Ubu (look out for Debbie Harry on backing vocals). I can't decide whether David Sanborn's squawking sax enhances the song...or buggers it up. If you know the original, compare and contrast. That first growling bass note (by a mystery bassist: presumably one of Sanborn's band) is rather good, though. Oh, and this was 1989. Non-ironic eighties hairstyles were still obviously The Thing on American TV. Beware the mullets! Anyway. I like Pere Ubu for many reasons. For the ART, and for...this: Well, that's quite cheered me up. David Thomas has not become any less manic between then and now, by the way. And now, the woe. This morning I set off at the crack of 9 a.m. to travel across London to a certain garage in Wanstead where my Land Rover has been having its electrics fixed and its rust holes patched. Wanstead is in the top-right corner of London. I live in the bottom-left corner of London. But hey, with our super-efficient London Overground urban rapid transit service (otherwise known as the Crosstown Zoom) at my disposal, crossing London on the diagonal is a doddle, right? It was a doddle right up to Gospel Oak station, whence I beheld the stark legend that strikes terror into the heart of every traveller: RAIL REPLACEMENT BUSES I spent the next hour sitting in a bus. The bus spent that hour sitting in a traffic jam. I arrived too late: the garage was closed. It won't be open again until 8.30 Monday morning. All I can do is make sure I'm there at opening time (I'll have to bloody well start my journey on Sunday night, obviously), offer profuse apologies for my Saturday no-show, and hope the bloke doesn't charge me extra for having my Land Rover cluttering up his yard for two days. And things were going so well up to that point. I know what you're going to say: why didn't I choose a garage closer to where I live? To which I reply....erm, don't ask awkward questions! link 6 comments|post comment

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