You Autocomplete Me

Following a previous foray into searching for something on the information superhighway, I discovered the apparently popular phrase 'Fancy a rank?', thanks to Google's unintentionally hilarious Autocomplete function. Autocomplete is like purposefully leaving sentences unfinished in front of a hyperactive autist, so desperate to solve the quandary of your half-utterance that they resort to suggesting that you were meaning to talk about the Third Reich, daisy-chaining, or well, both.

Anyway, there are a lot of clever people out there, like the clever person who pointed me in the direction of Autocomplete Me, a blog which highlights exactly these esoteric autocomplete results. Here's a taster:



A big shout out also goes to the clever people who unfortunately thought up the idea of this blog before I did. Kudos, dudos. In other news I have been using my powers of the Russian language for the questionable purpose of helping friends to get a bit of lady love, and hand-crafting the most intricate and boring spreadsheet known to man.

Flickr Linkgasm

Oh, by the way, you can look at my Flickr photostream here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/44474320@N04/

This is where I'll be putting photos of craft and stuff*.

* This means that some photos may include my face so be vigilant.

Review of the Century #9

It's always fun moaning about stuff.

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Deaf Leaf Echo – Faint Violet Whiff

The ‘80s were great for lots of things. One of these things was music, so it makes sense that lots of musicians nowadays hark back to 20 years ago on their quest to be The Next Big Thing. Equally, the ‘80s were full of things WTF?!, things best forgotten and so on. Deaf Leaf Echo have accidentally picked the latter. ‘Faint Violet Whiff’ provides a churning dirge of guitar-driven riffery, roots of which may be found in the back catalogues of The Cranberries and perhaps, gasp, U2, but it is the myriad layering of generic effects that place this effort in a world of its own.

Notable are references to Nabokov’s Lolita, an epic piece of literature about the perils of kiddy-fiddling. And Dead Leaf Echo are certainly epic. But perhaps this should ring warning bells, as Deaf Leaf Echo’s Achilles Heel seems to lie in not being able to leave alone things that should be left alone. This in mind, despite overzealous guitar drones and a vocal affliction designed for the Smashing Pumpkin inside us all, DLE have a command of song structure to be admired. The emotion they evoke so melodramatically owes in most part to the variety of texture in their sound. ‘Denial’ builds up an air of optimistic anticipation reminiscent of Sigur Ros and tension is palpable, but there is certainly room for improvement.

They might not want to hear this, but Dead Leaf Echo are playing the one trick pony. Emotional bands should create emotional music, but in creating a concept album based upon the complex relationship between two characters, a wider scope of emotion could make the whole ordeal more appealing, and, dare I say, more likeable. Not everyone’s cup of tea, but this will be enjoyable for those who enjoy the particular niche market Dead Leaf Echo are aiming for. What this niche is exactly, however, is hard to tell.

Less Than 20 Word Story #2

The grass was green, full and lush. The cows has not been munching that day. Shame about the slaughter, really.

Postmodern Haiku #3

I think I'm aheading for an anthology.

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Shimmy up the pipe.
Shimmy further up the pipe.
Until you fall off.

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I quite like the Sysiphean imagery in this one. OH GET ME.

You, who do you fancy?

I was well up for a drink last night. In London there are literally kagooglezillions of pubs, ranging from the god awful to the sublime, and in each category prices can range from the bargainous to the eye-extractingly exclusive. The website I wanted was the very good Fancy A Pint, but as I was making my way there (in true stand-up comedy fashion), look what happened:



Oh dear. What a damning indictment of (specifically British) society. I wouldn't normally mind, but I was secretly ashamed of myself at the 'fancy a bum' reference, pointed at a particular section of Friday night cringe-fest Balls Of Steel, which, as puerile as it is, actually makes me laugh, mostly due to the relentless nature of the interrogation, and the chap's incredibly serious facial expression. Judge for yourself:




Sorry about that.

Letters Page #4

That's right, kids! It'd the return of the BBBPPP retard gawp-o-thon. Seriously though, stop laughing. It's not funny. Gogol would have argued that you're just laughing at yourself - that's bad enough. But the truth is you'd be laughing at the utterly horrific absurdity of modern society, which also includes injustice, ignorance and devoted self-absorption. Welcome to the 21st century - look how far we've come.

LOOK DADDY, NO BRAIN CELLS!

Take, for example, this particular specimen:

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Dear BBBPPP, if you had a row with your ex and a few weeks later ask her come for a drink with you and she texts you saying: "Seriously now, why would I meet up for a drink after how you have spoke to me?" What does she want me say? What is she saying?

BBBPPP: She's saying that she's surprised to have found someone as idiotic as herself. The tragicomic irony is that due to this idiocy, she is yet to work out the significance of it all and you are yet to work out that she is a tit.

Then...

Dear BBBPPP: If a girl says shes over her ex when you get with her and says she's falling for you. Then you end it and she says she still loves her ex and wants him back, but he has a new girlfriend and is happy with her. Then the girl is supposed to be dating someone else now. What should you do and whats going on in her head?

BBBPPP: Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. You should alert the nearest nurse as you've got a flatliner on your hands. In the mental sense, there is nothing going on in her head. She has still got the audacity to be suckling on the planet's painfully finite resources, yet manages to contribute nothing but migraines.

Then...

Dear BBBPPP: Why would your ex-girlfriend, who you ain't spoke to for a month and she says she doesn't want you, start to have ago at you when you have just spoken to your mate, who she says she kissed last week but he denies it, asking why I was having ago at him then she starts to cry after you have ago back at her then tells everyone you pushed her when you didn't?

BBBPPP: Because she's an attention-seeking psycho? Honestly, maybe she's right, and you're just forgetting how much of a spurt you are. Maybe you did push her. Anyone who hasn't yet decided to move on with their life has a mental imbalance and could be capable of anything.

Then...

Dear BBBPPP: Why would your ex say nasty things that hurt you?

BBBPPP: Because you won't leave her alone and maybe word has got out that you're spending all your time querying this issue to third parties. TIME TO MOVE ON, BUDDY.

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Love, eh?

Postmodern Haiku Alert

If it can't be done in 17 syllables, get over yourself.

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Utility's great!
Makes things useful, like shaving.
Shame it's my penis.

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See? Easily done.

Less-than-20 word story

Citizens! Less is more!

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"Ouch!", squeaked mum.

Rory looked agog with the harsh realisation that he had clasped the wrong anus.

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End transmission.

The Man is not for Twitting

I ruddy hate Twitter. Everyone babbles on about it like it's the second coming. In a way it is - it's the technological equivalent of a circle jerk that everyone can get involved with, thus guaranteeing multiple orgasms. However, I do like pop blog Popjustice as it is rather irreverent, a bit like I am. So imagine my utter aghastment when someone pointed out something of particular interest to me, spaffed out by Peter 'Popjustice' Robinson on interweb multigasm facilitator Twitter! My goodness! Will my head explode?!:



Allow me to explain. Many moons ago in the Greater Liverpool area, there was this band called Trilby. Their former drummer's uncle was Paul McCartney. Trilby were quite good and they had this rather good song called 'Edith'. However, fame did not come a-knocking, but Trilby have plodded along in various guises ever since, over the last 8 years or so. Their most recent incarnation, The Hot Melts (yes a band, not an aspirational sandwich solution) have received a bit of coverage. Very good news, I agree. It's nice to know that hard work pays dividends, even in the cold, cruel tundra of the music biz. But wait! Not all is as hunky-dory as once seemed. It appears that The Hot Melts have pulled 'Edith' out of the bag once more, one last throw of the pop-rock dice, before casting it into the bowels of hell, or at least the bargain bin. I can't work out whether the constant peddling of this song is a testament to its innate quality, an admirable perseverance, or just a general irritation. Help me out, here.

Do listen to it though, I'm still rather fond of it. And perhaps P-Rob would have been, had he listened to it. I doubt it though - for as amiable as he is as a chap to talk to, he knows what he likes and I don't think this is it.

Ice Hockey Hair

Now I don't know about you, but Liverpool bores the cake out of me sometimes. There might be a few things a week that I'll go to, gigs and films and whatnot, and that's great. But being a roving bastion of activity, I need things to do every hour of every day (I don't sleep). If I don't get this I turn into a house price-obsessed, traveller-hating, homophobic, racist bigot (only joking). So for a short time I became rather interested in ice hockey.



Oh lovely. One of the best things were the regional adverts. Each team has a regional TV network that will show its local games, what with the USA being quite big and all, and this naturally gave rise to some rather esoteric advertising slants:



Here's a clue - he's not selling chicken or ice hockey sticks.

Another thing that struck me as particularly absurd occurred when watching a game at the Joe Lewis Arena, home to the Detroit Red Wings. In an interval, the hospitality wheeled on a Country and Western singer, which I guess makes sense because Country and Western is rather a Big Thing in the states. The act was a fellow called John Rich, formerly of Lonestar, currently on hiatus from Big and Rich, but this chap looked to be a bit of both, the bigness and the richness being logical extensions of the marketability of Country and Western in the US:



However, more baffling was Big Rich's track selection. Being a man with the kind of face that has a story to tell, he decided to opt for his recent smash 'Shut Detroit Down'. In Detroit - Land of the Structurally Unemployed. It'd be like sending Margaret Thatcher to Rotherham to sing 'We Are All Bourgeois Now'. Most baffling was the generally positive reception to Mr. Rich's thinly-veiled putdown. The people of Michigan, clapping their foam fingers, supping on their $6 beers, must have been so in awe of everyone's favourite half of Big and Rich that they wouldn't have cared if he had have cranked out his latest hit smash 'Motown is shit, so is Eminem, as well as the White Stripes, and I love getting on eco-friendly municipal transport'. Still, when you think about it, Mr Rich does look rather familiar, doesn't he?



As yes, chubby-cheeked Gary Barlow: celebrity #1 of the 1990s and renovated pop-chap in man band Take That. Indeed, it could be magic. But hold on:



He also looks like chubby-faced demon-villian Jez Quigley from Coronation Street. Who would have thunk it?

Resumed Service

Oh goodness. It's been a good 7 months since I last dipped into this mire of patheticness. Since then I have moved to London, lived in Edinburgh, rebecome a student and travelled across Europe. But I've had enough of that and am certainly not a gloater. So, onwards and upwards. I'm soon to have: 1) a radio show 2) some craft fairs to attend (see the links on the right) 3) some more snippets of writery stuff.

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HAIKU OF THE DAY:

Working class hero:
Life's full of nepotism.
Start networking now!

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That is all.

Letters Page #3

People, people, people. What have you done? You came so far, all the way from prehistorical spermatoid protozoa, to hulking champions of this sphere and beyond. What a valiant, unprecedented odyssey. But wait! We've got distracted with things like CCJs, Loose Women and brand loyalty. Now we're too busy selling each other coffee to realise that we're making a mess of the world.

Oh well, don't worry about that. If you've got a problem/neurosis, just spaff your stupid little thought to someone like me, and I can spaff an answer back at you.

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Dear Bang Bang Bang: What's the Sanskrit translation for 'nothing in life is to be feared, only understood?'

Bang Bang Bang: I don't know. Just remind me never to take you to Auschwitz, lest you decide not to fear another Holocaust, and instead strive to 'understand' the Third Reich. The same goes for your fervent quest to understand Pol Pot, heinous crime and the commodification of life saving medicine/energy/food technology. Tattoo that on your bicep. It'll look really good when you're 50 and it's flapping around like a fat pancake.

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Dear Bang Bang Bang: I've gt 2 months until da N-Dubz gig and I still got 2 lose 16lbs. I weigh 12st. Does Bang Bang Bang fink I cn do it?

Bang Bang Bang: Yes, you can certainly do it. You just need to stop eating. The best thing about losing weight is that when you reach your target weight, you can choose another target weight to reach. Bang Bang Bang suggests you aim for 0st 0lbs. Don't eat anything until you reach that weight. When you do, I'll have a lovely Dappy-esque woolly hat to wrap you up in. You'll look really good when I toss you into the sea, I promise.

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Dear Bang Bang Bang: Can someone who has been declared bankrupt go to Florida in America for a 2 week holiday?
Bang Bang Bang: Yes they can. This is possible due to the recent emergence of the Insufferable Selfish Twat Holiday Experience market. While you are there, hordes of penniless urchins will pester you for change. But they don't need it! They are merely there for your pleasure, so feel free to spit on them and mock them for their honest, real-world values, like you do with the rest of the world. Optional extras include in-room TV service which warns you when charity adverts are going to appear 1 minute before they actually do, and your own personal golliwog.

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Dear Bang Bang Bang: Please find me the perfect property to rent; as close to Liverpool street station as possible, around £500pcm per person (2 or 3 best) and with concierge, sauna, pool etc. Good luck!

Bang Bang Bang:

Apparently the rent is free.

Review of the Century #8

Movieplex - The Crate Escape
Liverpool.com, 2008

Sick of the same, over-chiseled summer Hollywood blockbusters? Want to try something completely different? You could do exactly that at Movieplex: World Cinema In A Nutshell, coming to a Liverpool near you.

Movieplex, which will be at Princes Park (1-3 August) and St. George’s Square, William Brown Street (7-10 August), is a travelling cinema and museum, encased entirely within two shipping containers. Outside they might look uncomfortable, but inside they’re lush, with a whole load of interesting exhibits and an art-deco style viewing room. In the first room, visitors will be welcomed by 2 ‘Dutters’ (like Trekkies, but more fun) to receive a short museum tour, and will then be whisked into the second, screening room to watch a short film.

Movieplex is a project created by nutkhut (Sanskrit for ‘mischievous’) and happened as a stroke of amazing luck. Co-artistic director Ajay Chhabra was being taken around Merseyside by friends while touring a different project, the outdoor dance spectacular ‘Bollywood Steps’. In an antique shop in Wallasey, he uncovered an Edwardian box, in which was a long-lost and forgotten copy of the 1920’s, ‘Docker and the Rose’ by Shanta Rao Dutt (or simply ‘Shanta’). The find was a massive stroke of luck, and there are hopes that it’ll improve Shanta’s profile in the UK. “There are a lot of lost stories out there,” said Ajay, “but today information is at your fingertips, so it’s important to see things from new, different perspectives”. ‘Docker and the Rose’ has since been conserved and digitised by the North West Film Archive, and is now touring the UK as part of Movieplex.

Shanta Rao Dutt was a filmmaker at the turn of the century. The son of a poor miniature painter, he travelled the world making documentaries and ended up on the Mersey. He made the film using non-actors - dockers and the like – and the result is a 9-minute wonder – slightly dramatic, but very light-hearted and undeniably Liverpool, just like the shipping containers. “It would have been obvious to have Movieplex in a museum, a building, a ‘place’” said Ajay, “but we make massive outside projects. We just want everyone to see it. It has been really important to make it fun. We see a lot of kids leaving, laughing and giggling. It’s about uncovering friendship”.

Sure to be a hit for kids and grown-ups alike, you have to free up some time for Movieplex. Weighing in at a super-convenient 20 minutes, and at 2 different locations in Liverpool, you’ll have the most fun humanly possible in a couple of shipping crates.

Epic Fail

'Epic Fail' is one of the most efficient turns of phrase I have ever come across. In three succinct syllables, 'epic fail' tells you all you need to know. There's been a failure, and guess what, it's pretty epic. It's like FUBAR, but not trying to be cool. It's all like 'listen dude, a car has fallen down an anus, and it's messy'. It's not like 'we need O-neg, stat' or 'man down, man down!!!'. It doesn't swagger around, thinking it's dead important. Oh no. 'Epic Fail' is ultimately matter of fact, in the matter of fucked.

http://failblog.org/ is my preferred source of epic fails. You can see the best pictorial boo-boos from around the globe, comment on them, send in your own if you're lucky/unfortunate enough to come across an epic fail in your own shabby, little existence. And, with this being web 2.0 and all, if you don't like something you can always complain and people will pretend not to read it.



I love Failblog.org because it makes me laugh out loud. Due to the quality editing, and presumable the sheer number of proposed submissions, the photos that make it up tell a story instantly. Usually, the story is someone fucked up. The essence of the humour is in that no matter how long the fail took to build up, be it weeks of hard graft:



or nanoseconds:


or, in the case of this chap's name, a lifetime of fail:


IT'S GOT TO BE WILLIAM. OR BILL, SURELY??!!!1

The actual fail, and all its history, can be traced in 1 camera flash. And that's why I like it.

Personal Genius: Lev Yashin

If there are 2 constants in life, they are football and Russia. One is an unending phenomenon, with a confusing history spanning centuries, full of controversy, infamy, bad moustaches and self-destruction. And there's Russia as well. Lev Yashin was a Soviet footballer, who revolutionised the modern game from the 6 yard box outwards.

Playing as a goalkeeper, Yashin was renowned for his superior agility, and cat-like reflexes. However, he goes down in history as the only goalkeeper to have won the European Footballer of the Year award. Add to that his development of the idea of the goalkeeper playing as a sweeper, in addition to the fact that he spent his entire career at Dynamo Moscow, and it's fair to say that Lev Yashin was a bit of a legend.



Although he died unfortunately after complications on a knee injury, his legacy has lived on, first and foremost in extrovert goalkeeping forays towards the outfield, in an (often vain) attempt to clear loose through-balls, but also thanks to music from bands like The New Lev Yashin or, more simply, Yashin. It's unlikely that bands will surge to name themselves after cult-hero goalkeepers until other European favourites, such as Ludek Miklosko, Pavel Srnicek and Dmitri Kharine become the deserved renowned legends that they are undoubtedly yet to become.

www.myspace.com/theunfathomablemulletofdmitrikharine, anyone?

My Future Of Music Is.... Spotify

Welly welly well, have you heard enough about Twitter? No? Go put your head in a cement mixer. If you're still here, forget about Twitter. It's rubbish. It's full of people who think their every fart is worth documenting. It's like they've taken the single most irritating facet of Facebook - that of the overcreative use of status update - and launched it on its own platform, assured that Twitter is such a genius idea that it doesn't need anything else, like, you know, a point. The fact is, Twitter, that the only solo project that has improved anyone's life was Paul Simon's 'Graceland'. Not even Rocky running up them steps comes close. You might as well give up. No-one's going to buy Twitter, you nincompoops. No-one. Not even the British government and they buy anything, including my (used) socks.

So forget about all this 'POWPOWPOW is currently sitting at the computer updating the POWPOWPOW Twitter account' nonsense. Get a Spotify account. It's changing the face of music, how you acquire it, how it is accessed and produced, and how revenues will be derived. Spotify is like a huge database of music. It's like Napster, in its vastness, except instead of downloading files illegally, you stream them legally. And instead of waiting for some chump in Boston to come online so you can suck up some My Vitriol loving, it's centrally planned and ready to go ON DEMAND. You get thrown some adverts now and then, say once every 20 minutes, and that's the down side. It's not really a down side, considering you are exposed to adverts:

1) On the TV.
2) On the vast majority of radio stations.
3) Outside.

So basically you're paying with the utter inconvenience of doing something you already do all the time anyway. OH BOO HOO.

My favourite bit is the ease with which you can make your own playlists, and share them. You can even make them collaborative, so if you're chatting to a friend in the pub, they can be all like 'have you heard this banger?' and you'll be all like 'no?' and they'll be all like 'well I'll put it on our joint Spotify collaborative playlist' and you'll be all like 'o rly?' and they'll be like 'yea rly!!!1'. That simple.

For starters, here's the official BANGBANGBANGPOWPOWPOW playlist for you to slap your sweaty chops around.

And try it yourself, little doggies! In the distant World Gone Right, people like you will be sitting around, talking about their first Spotify experiences. And then you can mention POWPOWPOW. Lovely.

Spotify Official Website

Review(s) of the Century #5, #6 & #7

Foals - Hummer
Neu! Magazine

Music is a bit like digital TV – there’s far too much of it to think about. So it’s great that wonderful do-everythings like Foals squish lots and lots of noises into their choc-a-bloc 3 minutes. They’ve even taken the time to leave out all the chuff that you probably wouldn’t like. The kind of thing Zane ‘just let me rap over this last bit’ Lowe may refer to as a ‘crowd-rocker’.

If it were genres you’re after, you’d have a very long list, perforated with ‘post’, ‘funk’ and ‘glitch’. Erratic and frantic, ‘Hummer’ jerks about with white knuckles, holding on desperately to any last evidence of rhythm, and it is this claustrophobia that makes Foals so entertaining. With the complexity of !!!, the dancefloor sensibility of the Rapture and the hip-jerking ferocity of Franz Ferdinand, this debut could tap itself into public conscience. A bit too leftfield, some might say, but everything is leftfield before it becomes genre-defining. Bookmark under ‘Potential Festival Champions’.

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Harrisons (RIP) – No Fighting In The War Room (Melodic)
Sandman Magazine

They’re often accused of being derivative, and perhaps it’s just a coincidence that their album release has been held back until just after the release of the Arctic Monkeys’ second LP, but at least Harrisons are having fun. They’ve always claimed to enjoy going out and gigging and all that palaver. But the tricky transition from live frenzy to on-record quality is sometimes too taxing for some. Not the case for Harrisons, as album kick-start ‘Dear Constable’ bops and whirls over Hillsborough and far away. There are hints of other Popular Sheffield Guitar Based Bands in there, a theme that resonates throughout ‘No Fighting In The War Room’. Mentions too for the roles played by The Libertines throughout. Although this might be the only album of the year that Pete Doherty doesn’t warble over, he might as well have done. There’s a whiff of urbane lyricism happening, but it’s probably just superficial – a second listen would strip away any pretensions to intelligence or mass appeal.

It’s fortunate that Harrisons don’t pitch themselves as an arm-folding, fringe-flicking Band Above All Others. They’re good fun, and this debut album shows just how enjoyable Harrisons are. But don’t you go looking for depth, now – as a band concerned with the grim yet fun sides of not-quite-inner city living, this cheeky four-piece prefer to live for the moment, rather than the potential problems caused by analysing everything too much. ‘No Fighting In The War Room’ is a moment worth living for. Hooray!

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Monkey Swallows The Universe (RIP) - Little Polveir
Sandman Magazine

Sheffield’s premier lady-based folk twangers are at it again – this time leaving South Yorkshire behind with summery sounds fitting of places where you go on holiday. A-side ‘Little Polveir’ is very sunny indeed and may appeal to those who prefer a bit of Glasgow in their folk-based tastes (see Belle and Sebastian, Aberfeldy, Camera Obscura etc). There is also a pleasant amount of monosyllabic do-do-do-ing and such like - not too unlike Cliff Richard’s ‘Summer Holiday’ - but who cares? ‘Summer Holiday’ is great when the weather is nice. It’s the same here. Plucking its way to the end, the result is independently swaggering hipster jeans and urges to prepare picnics.

On the metaphorical flip side, ‘Hemingway’ lacks the atmosphere of the previous track and the intelligence of its namesake. It does sound very nice, though, and that’s great. Monkey Swallows The Universe are nice. Long may it continue.

What does 'Rave' look like?

Does it look like this?


Maybe. What about this?


Perhaps. And this?


Quite possibly. How about this?


Definitely. But this?


Certainly not.

Remember, kids: 'rave' is not synonymous with 'party'. Any rave-party mix-ups will guarantee your twattish impression on whoever you talk to. Haviong said that, if you're the kind of person who is vaguely tempted to use the word 'rave' instead of 'party', then you're a bonefide twat anyway. And if you are, then sorry, but you can't buy any skiing or outdoor adventure holidays here. Nor do I provide fast-track graduate schemes. Nor am I a consultant of any kind. Actually, yes I am: I am a 'cool consultant'.

Only joking.

LET'S TURN 1990's FOOTBALLERS' NAMES INTO SHOP NAMES AND DRAW THEM ON MS PAINT

Now, I'm like anyone else in that I enjoy a bit of Facebook. However, I'm quite picky over who I make chums with and even pickier over joining groups. Join too many and you're only of those overly-active Facebookers that I REALLY HATE. Anyway, I found a group that appealed to me on a number of levels:

1) Intentionally bad computer art
2) Footballing backwaters
3) Ironic humour

The name of the group is 'LET'S TURN 1990's FOOTBALLERS' NAMES INTO SHOP NAMES AND DRAW THEM ON MS PAINT' and you can find it here. I also like the self-explanatory name of the group and the needless block capitals. Still, the main focus of the group is the actual art itself, so here are my favourites:

FEELY PAL BEAR (Philippe Albert)



Sublime pun. Sublime grasp of the rudiments of MS Paint.

TORY AND DRE FLOW (Tore Andre Flo)



More top-notch punnery. Extra marks for utterly obtuse referencing.

Also, a friend pointed this one out. Not my favourite, but maybe you like it more:



Obviously, I had to have a go myself, being a champion of the word and all, so lap it up, kittens:

PULL PESKY SOLE LIDO (Paul Peschisolido)



INDIGO RAMS (Andy Goram)



As you can imagine, my inspiration for these works is the late, great Tony Hart. Tony, I don't know if you can read blogs but without you, this would never have happened. Thank you.

Old Computer Games Are Well Good #3

I spend a lot of my time on the ol' domestic desktop. I do a lot of my work on it, and because work is officially boring, no matter what it is you're doing, I tend to multitask. I write and research (boring), listen to music (less boring) and play CHAMPIONSHIP MANAGER 01/02 (exciting).

The basic idea is that you manage a football team. The amazing thing about CM01/02, or at least the version I have, is that it appears in a handy little window that you can minimize and come back to. Also, there's an amazing forum where you can download data patch updates, so you can use the wonderful flexibility of the old version, but with all the new players. Also, some clever nuggets have made patches so you can play in the Faeroe Islands or Belarus, or somewhere equally conspicuous. The reason why people have put so much effort into immortalizing CM 01/02 is that many see it as the trade-off between entertaining simulation (which the earlier versions weren't enough of) and overly-exhaustive life transplant (which the later ones are too much of).

I don't like spending too long playing computer games - I like picking them up and at some point putting them down again. CM01/02 has enough options to make it quite fun, but I am not planning every meal for my players, teaching them to read, or wiping their bum-bums. Best of all I get to have a life outside of the game, such as flicking through Spotify, Yahoo! Messenger, or, you know, doing work or something useful.

Championship manager 01/02 Windows torrent
CM01/02 Data Update Forum

Review of the Century #4

Album: LCD Soundsystem - 45:33
This Is Fake DIY, 2007.

James Murphy is incredible. He’s totally god-like: conjuring miracles, enabling mere mortals to do the undoable. He’s actually a lot better than a god because he routinely doles out top notch Class A dance joy. So, when something he makes doesn’t get noticed, that is a bad thing. However, when this thing gets re-released so everyone does notice it, that is a Very Good Thing Indeed.

Great news then, that 45:33 has been given a second run out. Originally sponsored by Nike to help people forget about the alleged unethical sourcing of their wares, 45:33is really quite simple. It is a sub-46-minute long sprawling dance-a-thon, carved and tweaked to fit the athletic peaks and troughs of running for said duration. Although merely listening to it is enough of a workout, 45:33 - originally a iTunes-only offering – has now been dissected into its 6 distinct but overlapping movements, one of which is noticeable as ‘Someone Great’, one of the very high points of the brilliant ‘Sound Of Silver’. To analyse this rhythmic funk behemoth as the sum of its parts would be grossly unfair: the true majesty of this project is the audacity and deft touches throughout which make 45:33 one of a kind. Not a boring moment in sight, and also the odd chuckle as Murphy hisses ‘Shame on you’. It is hard not to imagine fingers being wagged and love handles being gently tugged, the cheeky so-and-so. As things eventually wind down at the end, you’ll be left exhausted, regardless of how far you’ve ran (or not).

Although ‘45:33’ would be more than welcome on its ownsome, it is backed up by another 3 tracks. Most noteworthy is ‘Freakout/Starry Eyes’ – a tripped-out funk odyssey in three parts, spanning a gigantic 12 minutes. It switches from the jazz-hand-shaking Murphy on the more afrobeat moments of ‘Sound of Silver’ and clunks into heavy percussion in the guise of 80s No-Wavers Liquid Liquid and Konk before winding up again for the bizarrely loveable retro-electro stomp of ‘Starry Eyes’, a story about getting rained on in NYC. On any other album, this offering would be a huge selling point, massively ambitious and in most cases, comparably fantastic, but on ’45:33’ it is dwarfed by the immense magnitude of the eponymous effort. Meanwhile, a dubbing of ‘North American Scum’ and the gurgling ‘Hippie Priest Bum-Out’ do the job admirably, but have the sad fate of being located on the same piece of plastic as ’45:33’ and ‘Freak Out/Starry Eyes’.

The re-release of 45:33 cements LCD Soundsystem firmly atop the podium of amazing aceness, affirming and supporting the quality of the album release earlier this year. The title, signifying the common speeds of modern vinyl records shows the universal nature of this effort, both the pop wonderment found on 45s and the monumental album-length experiences found on 33s. A fantastically ambitious gem, and mercilessly executed: Murphy is simply miles ahead of the pack.

Letters Page #2: Nincompoop Special.

Society is full of imbeciles. I have to wipe their sinewy slaver off my brow eevry day, as they relentlessly press the button labelled 'ENGAGE GUFFHOLE' and let rip. I, in response, have to pander to their trivial whims so, this letters page explains exactly 'what', 'why' and 'what the fuck' (as in 'what the fuck are you still existing for?). Here are 3 letters I received from 1 person.

NB: THIS IS A TIME OF GLOBAL ECONOMIC CRISIS.

==

Dear Bang Bang Bang, I need a low-ish interest loan. My credit rating is low due to an IVA 6 months ago. Where's best?

Bang Bang Bang: There's a bunch of loan companies who'll loan dopes like you money. Yes Loans springs to mind. They'll rip you off and rob your telly, though.

==

Previously, Bang Bang Bang received this letter from the same person*:

==

Dear Band Bang Bang: Can you give me a travel insurance quote for the USA the 9th october to the 5th November?

Bang Bang Bang: Hang on, you're going to America for a month?

==

And prior to that particular letter, Bang Bang Bang also received this from the same, IVA-clad individual:

==

Dear Bang Bang Bang: How will I get two thousand pounds to buy the horse I want?

Bang Bang Bang: Do not buy a horse. In the future you'll run out of money (possibly from buying this horse that I'm telling you not to buy). Then you'll be locked into an IVA and will require a high-interest loan to buy more shit. You will not be able to pay back this loan and your tickets to America, as well as your horse and your telly will be stolen. Unfortunately they will not dismantle you to sell for spares.

==

And finally...

==

Dear Bang Bang Bang, Who was the gorgeous bloke in the canteen? And will i ever see him again?

Bang Bang Bang: Yes, if he works as a bailiff, a cutting-edge ITV investigative journalist (Peaches Geldof or Anne Widdecombe), or for some reason he hasn't run the fuck away from you and your horse-faced, Yankee-doodle financial fuckfest yet.

==

* homosapien epic fail .

PReview of the Century #3

Preview: Truckfest, Oxfordshire.
This Is Fake DIY, 2007.



The weather has been awful this summer, hasn’t it? Well it’s not all bad news. Thanks to the rain and floods and whatnot, Oxfordshire’s Truck festival has been postponed to this weekend, 22nd-23rd September. Hopefully the weather will be a bit better this time around, and the festival season will close in style.

For those who don’t know, Truck is one big village fete of a festival. With some 3-4000 people expected over the weekend, there’s a good chance of losing your mates, and then finding them, buying some local fayre from the Rotary Club and/or the village vicar, and then losing your friends again. And there’s very little chance of falling into a poo-infested quagmire, which is a good thing.

July’s bad weather hasn’t harmed the line-up too much at all, with a reported 90% of the original artists set to play. There’s even some interesting additions too! Here is DIY’s top ten of what to catch (one for each of Truck’s whopping ten years), if you’re one of the lucky few popping off to Steventon this weekend.

Foals (Saturday, Trailer Park Stage)

More local boys done good, Foals have been the ones to watch this summer. Here they wrap it all up with their ultra-futuristic, ultra-pacey take on indie dance, before (presumably) going home for some tea, scones and then off to take over the world.

Youthmovies (Saturday, Trailer Park Stage)

They used to have a longer name, but they’re still great. Oxford’s own brand of post-anarchic desolate soundscapery come home to play some windingly brilliant compositions and partake of local real ale.

Forward, Russia! (Saturday, Barn Stage)

Imported from the People’s Republic of Leeds, DIY super-heroes Forward, Russia! take their rawcous racket, angular-jangular guitars and put them all in a blender. Then they take the contents out and make you drink it. Only joking. Watch out for myriad replica t-shirts.

Emma Pollock (Saturday, Barn Stage)

Former Delgados front-lady rifles her way through solo material, undoubtedly helped by the fact that she can sing, is quite pretty, and that her floaty solo material is very good indeed. Helps the sadly gaping abyss left by Euros Childs not being able to make the new date.

Blood Red Shoes (Main Stage, Saturday)

There’s a boy and a girl. One plays the guitar, one plays the drums in the key of rock major. They’re a bit like The White Stripes in that way. But in other ways they’re not. Firstly, Blood Red Shoes are playing Truck and The White Stripes are not. Also, they’re very English, and they do like to be beside the seaside, hailing from Brighton and all.

Fonda 500 (Main Stage, Sunday)

Off-kilter rock heroics from Hull’s finest. Deserve medals for services to Humberside’s music scene, and top noises to boot.

Thomas Truax (Market Stage, Sunday)

Colarado-then-NYC-then-London’s one-man contraption engine, Thomas Truax makes things that go whizz and bang that inevitably make you go whizz and bang. Seeing is believing – he has a vaguely-defined relationship with a once-defunct horn-cum-harp and has a car wheel for a drummer. A bit special.

Outl4w (Barn Stage, Sunday)

They make an awesomely good ear-friendly punk racket, and they may be sick of hearing it, but Outl4w are really, really fresh (young). Still trying to live up to a career-defining appearance on Blue Peter a few years ago, in the halycon days of their youths, etc etc. Watch your Clearasil.

Pull Tiger Tail (Barn Stage, Sunday)

They invented Nu-Rave apparently. Who cares? Pull Tiger Tail play plinky-plonky new-school type music in a very conventional way – one song after the other, a succession of notes played in the correct order. They are very lively and inventive on stage, too, so while you’re having a lazy Sunday afternoon, you can let some other people do all the hard work.

Idlewild (Main Stage, Sunday)

A keystone appearance for many, Scottish indie-stalwarts Idlewild have been there and done that. And they’re going to be at Truck, doing it. Watch out for seminal indie cuts, folded arms, crusty t-shirts and delicate whisperings of ‘do you remember the Lamacq Live, when…’. Classic.

Internet Screengrab Deconstruction Time Again

Do you remember when I looked at that screengrab of msn.co.uk, and started dissecting its unashamed hatefulness? No? It looked like this:



Part One included the irony of persuading people to buy eco-cars in order to be ecologically friendly, and the obvious importance of Michelle Obama's clothing selections. Part Two includes a section on the phenomenon of the Dirty Pervert Curio Wankfest.

3 & 4) The Editor's Picks

The times, they are a-changing. Markets crash, social world orders turned upside down. But don't worry yourself with all that radical palarver, because The Editor is here, and they have decided what we need to be interested in. Dont forget, facts x importance = news. So, The Editor, what have you found for us?

Some men found floating in an ice box. Oh chortle chortle, what a right old carry-on. That's quite funny, chappies floating around, presumably with some cold meats and perhaps a can of Dr. Pepper. Actually, why isn't that on YouTube yet? OH THEY'RE DEAD. For some reason I'm not amused anymore by this trivial wittering and I actually feel a bit sick at the fact that 12 seconds ago I was laughing at an army of blue corpses. My bads.

Still, maybe The Editor is having an off day. Maybe he missed the bus. Maybe he's on a fixed-rate mortgage. Maybe his accumulator failed him on the last bet. What's next? A girl gets raped? She's 12? He's 15? Why is this in the curio section? Why isn't it in the straight-up news bit. Is it because it happened in a leisure centre? Is it because the chap was a chav? WHY IS IT DIRECTLY NEXT TO A LINK TO A SELF ESTEEM TEST?

I would like to know if The Editor is like this in the pub. I would also like to know if his Content Management System has a sick sense of humour. In fact, I feel a lot more at ease with the world convincing myself that some deranged web publishing robot is putting tales of pre-teen rape next to RAF application links, rather than some editor, who is presumably picking up a payslip in return for his efforts.

Epic Fail #1

I am partial to a bit of football. I don't even care where it's being played. I happened upon a Serie B game between US Sassuolo and Brescia, which for some reason kicked off at 3pm Italian time on a Tuesday afternoon. Taking the ungodly hour, as well as the dreadful pitch and weather into account, and a low attendance was always going to be on the cards:

But don't blame hosts US Sassuolo, oh no. They're playing their home games at Modena's Stadio Alberto Braglia, which has a whopping capacity of 20,507, as opposed to their native Stadio Enzo Ricci, which holds a paltry 4,008. Presumably this is due to the whopping demand for Serie B football on dank Tuesday afternoons. More interestingly, visitors Brescia have been in Serie B for a record 53 seasons (ie the cream of the crap), whereas US Sassuolo are at dizzying heights for them, this being their premier foray into the glitzy second tier. For this empty stadium, Serie B, you get a FAIL.

Review of the Century #2

Five Ways to Prepare For 2008.
GRACE Liverpool, 2007.

Did you know that Liverpool is European Capital of Culture for 2008? Of course you did. But being in a cultural city and being cultural are two completely different ways. So, if you’re getting worried at the prospect of all this culture and not being very cultural yourself, then consider the following top five tips for cultural prowess:

1) Grow a moustache.



It is statistically proven that if you have facily hair below your nose, you are more receptive to cultural activity, be it classical music or snorkling. Attaching someone else’s fluff to your face will also help, albeit less drastically.

2) Use new words.

Everyone knows that if you use cultural words then you are a cultural person. Consider adopting phrases such as ‘Indeed’, ‘quite’ and ‘how splendid’. Alternate these expressions with twiddling of your moustache.

3) Buy some fireworks.

Everyone’s doing it. You, the city council, Ken Dodd. If you don’t have casual explosives at your disposal then something is strangely awry. You’re not with it. You’re very uncultural. So blow some things up in a controlled environment and ‘wow’ and ‘whee’ your way to culturedom.

4) Pretend that you’re friends with Phil Redmond.


He invented Brookside and he also invented Liverpool. If it wasn’t for Phil Redmond then Liverpool would be a sludge pit just north of the Overpool Garden Dump. Pretend you know him and watch your social circle multiply. Note: If this is completely unrealistic then at least befriend a former cast member of Brookside and/or Hollyoaks: all are easily located.

5) Put on an event.

It’s quite obvious that anything cultural has to be encased in something that could be described as an exhibition, concert, gig or other experience. Make your own. Perhaps you could invite Ian Brodie to play an acoustic set on your toilet, or get Roger McGough to limerick your cat to sleep. They’re all available at reasonable rates. Treat yourself: 2008 is only going to happen once.

Internet Screengrab Deconstruction Time

I loves me some Photoshop, me. Check out the flagrant boxes I whacked on here. It's a shame you can't draw boxes in Comic Sans.

This screengrab belongs to the United Kingdom offshoot of Microsoft Shit Nozzle (msn.co.uk). It's a hotch-potch of sensationalism, dour social self-improvement articles and 'lazy journalism' (read: journalism by perfectly able journalists who have been given 17 seconds to write a story in the middle of a 52-hour day).

I have a very close relationship with this web page because I do a lot of my communicating via Hotmail, and the Hotmail cyberbouncers throw you into the grim, cold, grey environs of this particular nuclear holocaust in HTML. You see, most people communicate using their faces, but I use Hotmail. So Hotmail is my face, which makes msn.co.uk the inside of my eyelids. Let's have a little looky at the boxes, shall we?



1) Token attempt at being green

It's not easy being green. The hemp trousers, the Great Unwashed look. Comparisons to Bill Bailey and Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall. The slack-jawed look of agoggedness in Tesco. You're trying to save the world so that we're not all swimming around in our own cack and people take the piss out of you. Well, worry no more, as msn.co.uk is on the case, telling you about all the latest green cars that - GASP - are not as rubbish as previously thought.

Well, firstly, msn.co.uk, thanks for reinforcing the idea that eco-cars are meant to be pants. It's a poorly-founded theory which is damning the world to watery apocalypse. You along with Jeremy 'Let's Make Some Jokes About Murdering Prostitutes' Clarkson think it's cool to assume that these cars are somehow inferior due to the fact that they don't spunk out CO2 like a braindead pornstar. Perhaps it's time you realised that the whole need for things like eco-cars, recycling collection points and solar panels is related to the fact that people like you think they deserve to own 3 cars, jet to the Cayman Islands every 4 months and use up the world's oil supply on replica Jeep buggies for your stuck-up excuse for offspring.

Secondly, how about you don't tell me to buy a new car? I don't care if it runs off pure happiness, you've still got to suck the steel from the foundry and all the other precious stuff that to be honest, you don't need to extract because we've got enough cars as it is. Take a trip to Michigan, they've got plenty sitting around there. In fact, you can get them super cheap! Do that! Make it into a holiday! It's more fun than skiing, honest! And while you're at it, die. You don't need any more cars.

This is the point where you look back at the picture and go 'hang on... it doesn't actually say anything about saving the planet.' Yes, that's true. It only says something about saving money. Because we're in a credit crunch, see, and we need to save money. So, for you, here's a great money-saving tip. Tell everyone you know. It's brilliant. BUY LESS STUFF.

2) Era-defining analysis

I'm not sure if you've heard about this, but there's going to be an African-American president in charge of the USA, for like 4 years. It's monumental stuff for reasons that are much better explained by other people. But forget about all that, it's all pretty trivial. Just because people are saying it's amazing now doesn't mean that it's going to last very long. It could be a flash in the pan.

Oh no, if you want the real legacy on this story, you'll have to delve deeper than that. You have to delve deep inside First Lady Michelle Obama's wardrobe. What is she wearing? Why is she wearing it? I'll admit that there are socio-political consequences of anything that Michelle Obama might do/say/wear, but let's face it, no one was going all crazy about Barbara Bush. Which makes this particular parade a reinforcement of the 'Empowered Female Icon'* construct. Forget the politics, the foreign policy, the global economic meltdown. That girl got class, y'all.

* who happens to be fit.

Review of the Century #1

Album: Hot Club De Paris - Drop It Til It Pops. 8/10.
Published NEU Magazine, 2006



Ahoy there! Wry scouse speed-indieists Hot Club De Paris have been firing warning shots across our bows for a while already. Now that two moshi moshi singles, 'sometimesitsbetternotto...' and 'everyeveryeverything' are out on the open seas, it seems plain sailing. So why all the hackneyed marine references?

First, the album cover has fish on it. Secondly, lots of words, related to the sea and maritime culture appear throughout this album, some of which are 'galleon', 'seaside' and 'pier'. Opener 'Shipwreck' slaps you in the face with some yo-ho-ho-ing that has the texture of a very heavy and quickly-slung kipper. And there are lots of lolloping, rolling vocal singalongs.

'Drop It Til It Pops' has a tendency to sound like any band you don't think it should sound like (see Pixies, Dexy's Midnight Runners and the Minutemen). With HCdP however, you're more struck by the fact that nothing has been drenched in effects, rather just been played very well. And the tunes, if sometimes lacking in recognisable structure, aren't that bad either.

One word of warning, though. Hot Club De Paris are not fond of playing things in comfortable time signatures. This is dance for dyspraxics. They strut like juddering sea-bound creatures, restricted not by time but by the fact there is only three of them to share out the words. And although 'Drop It Til It Pops' is very good, sometimes you get the feeling that their dabbling in complex time structures is dabbling for dabbling's sake. Or even worse: a fear of sounding like one of those boring, land-loving bands that only play in common time.