Friday, May 14, 2004
Infinite Cat
http://www.privatehand.com/infinite/1.html
NJS
5/14/2004 02:33:00 pm
Thursday, May 13, 2004
Spanner me, Blogger, you are shite.
Utter crap. I'm going to have to get someone who knows what they're doing to fuck you up.
NJS
5/13/2004 02:52:00 pm
FUCKING SHIT FUCK WANK SHIT POOH PLOP BUGGER ARE TIT
Blogger I hate you.
NJS
5/13/2004 02:17:00 pm
Suck A Fuck
I'm going back to Haloscan, at least they fucking worked.
NJS
5/13/2004 02:02:00 pm
A Sky Without A God Is A Clear Clear Sky
Tinkering tinkering tinkering...
The train broke this morning, causing me to be 40 minutes late, and I nearly broke my right little finger last night when the goalie trod on me. Scored a hattrick though...
NJS
5/13/2004 01:51:00 pm
Wednesday, May 12, 2004
Oh well.
I'm buggered if I can figure it out.
NJS
5/12/2004 09:56:00 am
Abracadabra?
Comments are... go?
NJS
5/12/2004 09:41:00 am
Keane
Hopes & Fears
Up on Stylus already; thanks to SLSK for allowing me to rip the shit out of it off the internet without ever having to sully my hands by actually touching a real copy.
Keane are The Next Big Thing, at least in the UK. There’s too much money banking on them for this not to be the case. Have a quick scout round ebay and see how much their early vinyl singles are going for. And if that doesn’t convince you then just listen to them shimmer and soar; they’re destined for greatness, insofar as greatness means stadiums. If you stripped the heavy metal away from The Bends, completely removed the guitars and (occasional) sense of urgent dynamics from Coldplay, took away Travis’ harmonies and Scottish pop sensibility… then you might end up with Keane. Welcome to the wounded world of the spurned choirboy.
Retro used to be a dirty word but it’s not one that can be levelled at today’s teeming school of MOR stockbroker rockers. Keane’s record company have made sure that Hopes & Fears sounds utterly contemporary, laden as it is with keyboard swoops, preening strings, plenty of reverb on the drums and vocals from time to time, and not a trace of character or history; we can blame David Gray, perhaps, for making skittering programmed beats and computers sound as bland as vintage mixing desks and Sunburst Les Pauls. No, Keane are not retro. They are so utterly, desperately modern, so thoroughly now, that over the course of the next few months their momentum and presence will become irresistible. Unavoidable.
Piano, drums, vocals and lavish production flourishes are Keane’s stock in trade, and they seem to have nothing in common whatsoever with their namesake, Manchester United’s hardman midfield general Roy. The irony is almost delicious; Keane are the kind of public school prawn sandwichers taking up oxygen at Old Trafford that Roy so objects to. Seemingly all three of them are called Tom. The nearest thing to controversy surrounding Keane is the rumour that they’ve been manufactured in the same way as Westlife or Girls Aloud, assembled via a lengthy process of auditions and then pushed in definite creative directions by sinister svengalis in expensive Italian suits. The truth is even more disheartening; Keane formed as naturally as any other band (even *gasp* Busted, who rose from an ad in NME or Melody Maker, lest we forget—a fact that would doubtless terrify the Busted-haters on Keane’s messageboard, who consider the band the antithesis of their own heroes). They’re not manipulated or manufactured or target marketed any more than anyone else; they just want to be BIG, MASSIVE even, and that kind of humongous success doesn’t come from trawling toilet circuits—it comes from radio saturation, expensive videos and half-familiar melodies about the kind of vague heartbreak that anybody and (almost) everybody can relate to. And so guitar and bass are eschewed, David Sneddon was supported, meetings were had and directions were decided upon. Singing Tom (big lad, baby face) was encouraged to move away from his full-throated vocals towards a more falsetto-focused delivery. Current single “Everybody’s Changing” (best melody on the album; I know this because at first I thought it must be a cover version, it seemed so familiar) sits at number 4 in the charts. If Hopes & Fears doesn’t make number one a lot of people will be disappointed.
The songs are pretty much all identikit. “Somewhere Only We Know”, the second single, is the weakest and sappiest “me and you against the world babe” song in a long time. Cymbals are tapped, pianos are played, melodies rise and fall. “Can’t Stop Now” starts with a bang and becomes a forgettable show tune (“I’m loneeeeeeeeeeeeely and I’m too tired to talk”). “Untitled 1” is almost dance. The title of “Bedshaped” would suggest something lustful and psychotic, dallying with sexual obsession, but it is, in fact, another piano-led ballad about being alone and lonely too; the climax sees expensive-sounding electronics replacing guitar solos, but these nice production flourishes are just that; flourishes. Never is there any sense that ‘the studio’ was considered as an instrument during the composition or arrangement of these songs (for a band who do that with aplomb check out The Earlies). Neither do they ever rock or betray any sense of the unpalatable or dangerous. The continual sense of aesthetic, structural and emotional conservatism constantly makes the listener feel short-changed, Singing Tom persistently pleading his own honesty and kindness and suitability and weakness. Early demos were laden with enough overblown guitar and pompous dramatics to make Rufus Wainwright blush, but these potentially unsightly edges have been smoothed away. The result is quite nice to tap your fingers and hum along too.
Eternal cymbal decay to fade.
NJS
5/12/2004 09:15:00 am
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
Put The Money Back In The Envelope
Commets are on hold / gone until I figure out how to get the new Blogger-powered system working.
NJS
5/11/2004 08:33:00 pm
On Saturdays I Shop
Fucking hell - The Stone Roses is fifteen years old. Possibly yesterday, certainly this month though.
Wow.
NJS
5/11/2004 08:05:00 pm
You're Thick But You Don't Know It
wtf is Blender and why are they letting Dorian Lynskey handle The Streets?
I mean, this bit from the end nearly made me fall off my chair;
Either way, your iPod’s random-play function will not be required.
DOWNLOAD THESE “Blinded by the Light,” “Fit but You Know It,” “Dry Your Eyes”
Are there no copy editors at Blender? Are they all retards? DO THEY NOT UNDERSTAND? Surely it wasn't intentional? Please no!
NJS
5/11/2004 09:43:00 am
ARGH!
I've been censored; Metacritic have seen fit to omit the word 'fucking' from the last line of that link back to Stylus. Which is fair enough, I guess.
Also, Petridish YOU ARE WRONG; there are lots of records that have a cohesive narrative running through them, from Serge Gainsbourg to Neil Young (and probably loads more besides that I don't know about), ergo it is NOT unprecedented you fule.
Also, Mojo people YOU ARE WEIRD; the thing about A Grand Don't Come For Free that struck me was how powerful it was on first listen. In fact I was worried that this initial emotional clout wouldn't stand a chance of sustaining over multiple listens, if anything.
NJS
5/11/2004 09:19:00 am
Back Door MAN
Came in early this morning; everyone at the station who expects me at 8.30 said they thought they'd overslept (if they expect me at 8.30 how did they know to be surprised when i was there at 7.46? - long story).
Also, THIS madness must be stopped.
NJS
5/11/2004 08:58:00 am
Monday, May 10, 2004
Right Down The Hatch Without A Scratch
I'd also like people to use the comments function to guess what the title of each post is in reference to.
This means YOU.
NJS
5/10/2004 07:48:00 pm
Everywhere You Go...
Had I sat in one place at lunchtime instead of wandering around campus, I would have run the risk of acquiring a touch of sunburn, such was the heat in Exeter. The sky was blue, the sun was up, the prunes were dented, something something. At half past four I sat in the sun and ate a banana. And then, at quarter past five, I walked out of the back door to be greeted by deluge. Billy had wandered down from his kennel to watch it, such was the power and noise. It was biblical; I’ve not seen rain like it in years. Stocker Road was a stream of rain water, and students, dressed for the morning sun, were rushing, sodden, flip flops in hands, bare legs stung by bullets of rain, towards whatever shelter they could. I gawped at the pleu and swore; Billy offered to lend me an umbrella so I could walk to the station.
At the bottom of Prince Of Wales Road, at the junction with New North Road opposite The Imperial pub, it was like the Somme. Well, probably not. I wouldn’t know anyway; I’m 24. But it was as if the storm drains had blown – the whole road was flooded, cars were trawling through the filthy water slowly, churning huge waves across the pavement, which was almost ankle-deep anyway at some points. In order to avoid getting trenchfoot, I had to jump up onto a wall, clamber around a pillar, and then walk along a slippery, curved-topped wall for a good 25 feet, arms outstretched like a tightrope walker. I then had to jump down and immediately spring back across the last gloomy, churning puddle of filth before it lapped my already sodden feet and ruined the leather on my poncey Art shoes.
And then when I did get to the station I’d missed the train by about a minute. I could see it about 200 yards down the track. Fucker.
NJS
5/10/2004 07:47:00 pm
Under The Influence… Sick Nouthall
Someone on ILM started a ‘make your own Under The Influence… compilation’ thread, and this was what I came up with off the top of my head. It is quite possibly the most Nick Southall compilation ever. I can’t remember a compilation I’ve made in the last 6 or seven years that hasn’t had at least one of these on (excluding iPod playlists).
Orbital - "The Girl With The Sun In Her Head"
Glen Campbell – “Wichita Lineman”
Bark Psychosis - "Blue"
The Stone Roses - "Standing Here"
Deee-Lite - "Groove Is In The Heart"
M/A/R/R/S - "Pump Up The Volume (Rare Version)"
The Verve - "Brainstorm Interlude"
De La Soul - "Eye Know"
The Staple Singers - "If You're Ready (Come Go With Me)"
Disco Inferno - "It's A Kid's World"
Embrace - "Blind"
Aphex Twin – “Flim”
Delakota - "The Rock"
Miles Davis - "So What"
Talk Talk - "John Cope"
NJS
5/10/2004 06:55:00 pm
The Streets
A Grand Don't Come For Free
Up on Stylus already.
Thanks to TP for getting the PR people to send me a promo.
The second album from The Streets starts with a fanfare that gets quickly muddied by a clumsy drumbeat and Mike Skinner’s in-need-of-a-throat-lozenge voice, his Brummie accent finally coming through the Cockney lilt as he monotones something about achieving absolutely nowt; about forgetting a DVD; about the battery on his phone going dead; about the cash machine proclaiming ‘insufficient funds’; about losing a grand that he was sure was in a shoebox or on a mantelpiece or something. Two years ago on “Let’s Push Things Forward” Skinner claimed he made “bangers / not anthems”. “It Was Supposed To be So Easy” is neither; it’s an opening scene, an introduction to a story, the start of a post-garage, 20-something romantic tragic-comedy that owes more to Mike Leigh than two-step. Mike Skinner has cleverly, and possibly vaingloriously, sidestepped the difficulty of making a worthy follow-up to the astonishing, genre-busting dance elegy of his debut, Original Pirate Material, by changing the game completely, by not making a ‘normal’ album, by stringing a simple but compelling and well-observed narrative through eleven tracks so that, even if the individual songs don’t match up to any of the standout moments of his previous work, the cumulative affect is exceptional, powerful, and pretty much unprecedented in pop music.
The much-vaunted storyline is simple and full of holes; Skinner has admitted leaving out various details that would plug the narrative gaps because they made tracks overlong, and also, one suspects, because the exactitudes of the plot are less important than the melodies, the beats and the minutiae of the lyrical twists that he drops throughout every song. So precisely why the misplaced grand is in the shoebox in the first place pales into insignificance next to the delicately naïve chorus of “Could Well Be In”, where lyrics about a dating programme on ITV are underscored with a tiny, broken string melody and piano, pushing the trite (pathetic, even) into the realm of the affecting by eschewing pretension in favour of disarming honesty.
And so A Grand Don’t Come For Free guides us through what Mike Skinner’s life might be like if he was in a different, less fortunate and talented situation, documenting an existence wasted through gambling, clubbing and easy emotional atrophy. The reliance of the songs on the narrative that links them is such that, the Blur-esque “Fit But You Know It” aside, there are no obvious singles on first listen. Familiarity reveals though, that while there isn’t a “Weak Become Heroes” or “Has It Come To This” here, maybe half the tracks could stand alone even if none of them will be filling floors anywhere. In fact the only song to deal explicitly with Skinner’s beloved dance culture, the extraordinary “Blinded By The Light”, is such an uncomfortable and accurate evocation of an (unpleasant) ecstasy experience, from arriving at the club and dropping a pill (“ah that’s proper rank / that tastes like hairspray”) to the eventual rush of coming up (“I think I’m gonna fall down… that one noise is like… oh who cares… I’m mashed… this is fucking amazing…”), that you can’t imagine people wanting to listen to it that often, let alone dance to it.
We know that Skinner is sharp and strangely beguiling, his almost dissonant, anti-song voice cringe worthy and off-putting but so natural and honest (despite its clear affectation) and different that it’s hard to resist, even if at times his delivery is so deliberately stilted and broken that it almost seems like sabotage on his part. The frustration and pain in his voice as the signal cuts out during the mobile phone confessional of “Such A Twat” (“ah fucking phones, man!”) is as universal as the ominous string patterns and paranoid whisperings about his girlfriend’s philandering in “What Is He Thinking”. His ability to match words and music in order to achieve a level of dramatic irony or catharsis is unequalled, from the thoughtlessly comfortable emotional alacrity of “I Wouldn’t Have It Any Other Way” to the confused defensive of “Get Out Of My House”; whether he’s dropping jokes or scathing remarks about femme fatales (“I like her, d’ya know what I mean? I’m never gonna meet her”) he continually creates moments so delicious or affecting that they’ll stick with you for an age. The refracted repetition of certain moments adds another level of pathos, the “I think I’m going to fall over” line played for drunken laughs in “Fit But You Know It” and disconcerting headfuck in “Blinded By The Light”, two sides to every moment of every tale.
Like any story the momentum slowly builds to a climax, in this case the emotionally bare “Dry Your Eyes”, where a requiem of strings gives way to a sparse acoustic strum and Skinner’s lachrymose plea for a reconciliation, the too-familiar clichés of the chorus ringing truer than you could possibly imagine. And then, like any story, there is the denouement, what happens next and what might happen after that. “Empty Cans” comes in two alternate parts, bitter and beaten (“everyone’s a cunt in this life / no one’s there for me”) vs. bruised and hopeful (“something that was not meant to be is done / and this is the start of what was”), Skinner at first damned by his own failings and then redeemed by them, with the aid of a friend and a little good fortune. As strings and pianos slowly rise through the tune after it’s rewound itself in order to start again, and more positively, altering the mood magnificently, it develops the power to make (physically, if not emotionally) grown men weep in public. Like the whole album it’s flawed and clumsy, but it packs an amount of emotional clout that can’t be denied. It’s not perfect, but somehow… it is. Mike Skinner’s taken a big risk in doing this, but he’s found the bizarre and beautiful meeting point of The Specials, Danny Rampling and Serge Gainsbourg. A Grand Don’t Come For Free is a remarkable record.
NJS
5/10/2004 10:42:00 am
Bidding War
Had one inside the first 6 minutes of getting to work, for a copy of the "Are We Here?" single by Orbital. I'd forgotten I'd ever bid for it, actually. I was the £5.55 winner at 6 minutes and 55 seconds past nine; excellent!
Also on the way to work this morning I saw an indie kid wearing a t-shirt with the slogan "Non-Athletic", which I thought was clever for two seconds before I decided it was stupid.
Also, Blogger have totally changed their interface, again, which confused the shit out of me.
NJS
5/10/2004 09:27:00 am
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