Sunday 30 September 2007

"À bientôt, Napoleon O'Sullivan!"

Let me just say this... Ireland were simply atrocious at the Rugby World Cup. There was hardly a moment's respite from their crippling ineptitude. Such events sadden sporting hearts across the land. Nevertheless, so whimpers to an end our Golden Generation TM.

During our presence at the competition much was made about the nonsensical "Ireland's Call". It truly is an abomination, a travesty against music and national identity. May I suggest an alternative:




I think this Rammstein redub would be the perfect anthem for our current panel. Why? It is slightly more uplifting than "Ireland's Call". More importantly, it is a total fucking joke.

Friday 28 September 2007

The Snot Doctrine & Other Inanities

A quote from Ignatius J. Reilly of A Confederacy of Dunces:

"I dust a bit... In addition, I am at the moment writing a lengthy indictment against our century. When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip."

Alas, I am but making the occasional Lemsip, attempting to re-enjoy John Kennedy Toole's classic. Sick as a small hospital I be, curled up beneath a quilt or three... There shall be no
Hard Working Class Heroes for me this weekend. I envy those of you able to attend. Do enjoy. Do fill me in.

Yet it is not all doom and gloom - in a manner of speaking - for my copy of Naomi Klein's
The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism finally arrived in the post earlier today. I look forward to devouring it utterly and then drunkenly plagiarising her work whilst in 'genteel' company.

Have a peak at the accompanying short film, made in conjunction with Alfonso Cuarón. Sinister permutations, fascinating vibrations:





Delightful McAdjective signing off... Adieu.

Archie Bronson Outfit @ The Village

Archie Bronson Outfit were one of the breakthrough bands of 2006, as far as I am concerned at least. Derdang Derdang was one of the best albums of 2006, as far as I am concerned at least. Their vehemently delivered, melodically insidious garage rock drips with the angst of the blues. It is big and bloody stuff that the band seems to dare us to enjoy... Which ain't hard. It kicks arse.

Why the retrospective appraisal? Archie Bronson Outfit shall be playing Dublin in a matter of weeks.
The gig:

The Village @ 8.00pm, Saturday 13th October.

It will definitely be worth checking out. Their set at Electric Picnic last year was immense... If you should need further convincing, check out the gloriously lo-fi video to my favourite track of theirs, "Dart For My Sweetheart":




Thursday 27 September 2007

Repo! The Genetic Opera!



Erm... Yes.

Paris Hilton is set to star in a musical about organ failure in the future. It shall be called Repo! The Genetic Opera! and it shall come to a screen near you in April 2008. The plot, according to the press release:

"Set in the not-so-distant future, the production tells the story of an epidemic of organ failures that devastates the planet, killing tens of millions. As scientists feverishly make plans for a massive organ harvest program, a multi-billion dollar biotech company called GeneCo begins to manufacture salvation — for a price — offering simple payment plans to those lacking the necessary funds to purchase new body parts outright. But all financed organs are subject to default procedures, including repossession at the hand of the notorious organ repo men."

Like an autistic Moulin Rouge in the clutches of a savage night terror.

This can only be awful... Right? Or maybe I'm wrong. Perhaps the director is a visionary auteur aiming to claim the horror musical as his own? Perhaps this is a man with the foresight of a pre-Star Wars IV George Lucas?

The director is Darren Lynn Bousman, the director of Saw II and Saw III.

Awful it is then.

Wednesday 26 September 2007

I really hate the Independent

Insert Indo style caption here. Must make reference to amount of males in picture and Katy's 'box'.

It seems somebody in the house bought a copy of the Sunday Independent at the weekend. I just noticed a copy of the LIFE supplement lying on the coffee table... I shall suitably admonish the purchaser of the demagogic muck later. First, a quibble.

There is a Shutterbug section in LIFE, wherein pictures of 'celebrities' are published with hilarious captions are provided for our 'entertainment'... They are truly awful.


There is a picture of Katy French sitting on a motorbike. The caption:

"Katy doesn't care about the size of your throbber, as long as it goes."

A picture of Britney during her recent MTV performance:

"Britney: backfat, beer belly, bad hair, still bang her."

Paul McCartney standing beside a gigantic guitar he has signed:

"Up yours, Heather, look at the giant shaft you're missing out on."


What fuckwit writes this stuff? Who actually finds it funny? Spurious, misogynistic drivel... Since when has Benny Hill been editing the Indo?

On reflection...

The feedback is in. The gist:

  • Half for a move to Wordpress, half against... I shall consider it further.
  • The creative writing idea is universally seen as a good thing.
  • As is the possibility of pompous academic musings on the cinema. Godard's oeuvre, deconstruction of genre, and Barthesian critique of the auteur theory await. Maybe. (Or maybe as a separate blog; hat tip to Michael of That's Ireland)
  • Hyperbolic ramblings about music I admire should be maintained.
  • Regimentation would not be cool... My creative soul transcends, for it can not be caged. Or something.

Basically, the sarcastic and shambolic inclination of The New(ish) Journalism is not be trifled with in any seismic manner... Which is reassuring.

Thanks ever so much for taking the time to comment folks. I really enjoy writing here and it tickles me to think that others enjoy reading it.

Tuesday 25 September 2007

Feedback Appreciated

Dear Avid Reader,

The New(ish) Journalism has reached something of a fulcrum point in its erstwhile development, in my own eyes at least. Sarcasm and pedantry have always been paramount to its existence, yet recently they seem to have become the central protagonists in this amateurish muck... Not to mention something of a reactionary (stale?) inclination. This has caught me unawares. Cynicism is my reflex. Where is the love?

Is my mocking of random/fellow deadbeats and losers enough anymore? Should the emphasis remain as it is or should it deviate? Are my hyperbolic appraisals of Foggy Notions approved scenesters sufficient for your informed selves? Should I continue to throw upon you a fine movie trailer or two that has caught my attention? What the fuck has happened to the alleged 'How To Series'? Does anybody care?

I ask all of this in demi-jest. I fully realise the sarcastic imperative of The New(ish) Journalist and his prosaic and derivative spite. My grá for quality art and culture shall always soldier blindly on, but cannot claim an ultimate victory. Alas, joy is intermittent, in this blog as in this life... Ooh, get him... Ponce... At times I feel like I'm stuck in an old Friends repeat. The One With The Obvious Jokes And Matthew Perry Weight Gain.

Bollocks, I'm rambling.

Basically, I'm considering some changes around here and I would really appreciate some feedback from you guys. These are some of my ideas for changes:
  • A move to Wordpress... I am something of a sporadic technophobe. Is such a move advisable?
  • A change of aesthetic and template. Regardless of move, this will happen.
  • Less of an emphasis on music... Nialler, Aoife, Una and the rest of the gang already cover this cultural sphere far better than I... However, I'm far too opinionated for a complete cessation of musical appreciation.
  • More of an emphasis on film. I have an MA Film Studies. Why the hell not?
  • Some form of creative writing every week... Not sure of the form, only the intention.
  • Overall, a more regimental approach to blog updating. For example... Monday: Sarcastic appraisal of the life of a mid-20s individual in Ireland. Tuesday: Politics or Stupid News Stories. Wednesday: Movie news/gossip/critique. Thursday: Serialised novella. Friday: Agony uncle spot... I can but dream.
  • A more intentional focus on all things Irish.
  • Free shit for you guys!

That last one is not true... And more importantly, in no way legally binding. I think. Your thoughts on the above suggestions? Would it all be worth the bother? Or would you prefer simply things to remain as they are? Is the current "Notice & Post" system getting the most out of me? Does this haphazard and nonsensical gibberish actually appeal to you? Should I stop fishing for compliments? Needy fucker.

Finally, a somewhat apt quote from Hunter S Thompson:

"No man is so foolish that he may not sometimes give another good counsel, and no man so wise that he may not easily err if he takes no other counsel than his own. He that is taught only by himself has a fool for a master."

I shall take my leave of this post now... I'm off to smoke a spliff of the most glorious herbal tobacco, moistened shut by the incessant salivation of an excited Síle Seóige. Later we shall enjoy Garth Marenghi's Darkplace and giggle at the outrageous formalism of it all... Really.

Yours adjectively,

Me.

Passive Aggressive Notes

Humans. We are a funny bunch.


How terribly Freudian.

I adore this site: www.passiveaggressivenotes.com

Monday 24 September 2007

Those crazy Romanians?

Human magnets, pastoral Supermen... And now this:

Boxer turned mayor KOs opposition (Ananova)

A former professional boxer turned mayor in Romania is facing legal action after beating up five councillors who disagreed with his spending plans. Mayor Iulian Florea, from Teslui in south-west Romania, attacked local councillor Mircea Chirita after an argument over the town budget at a council meeting. He then turned his attention to four other councillors who attempted to stop him...

A left-hook, an upper cut, two various combinations, one KO, two serious concussions...

Damn profligate tribunals! Want actual results? One Bertie, one Mr. Florea, one cage, twenty bare knuckles... I jest. Surely.


And now for something completely different (yet still with a Romanian theme):



I shall forever resent O'Leary for that deferral of Alf... Being but a bairn, the anaesthetic joys of alcohol were a few years off.

Vik Muniz - Creativity & Creation

Brazilian artist Vik Muniz talks about the process of creation and the subtlety of creativity. Watch this video. Subversive, hilarious, amazing. Commentary on art that actually is art:



I want that encyclopedia!

Friday 21 September 2007

Southland Tales Trailer

I had wondered how Richard Kelly's initial cut of Southland Tales could have received such a slating at Cannes. I scoffed at the snooty rhetoric of critics and cinéastes. The creator of Donnie Darko would never be responsible for such a mess... Erm:


Luc Besson he ain't.

Superhero Outbreak In Romania

Naff Headline # 1: Glued to the telly


A Romanian man - Aurel Raileanu, 40, from Bucharest - has become known as The Human Magnet because things stick to him like glue... A fiscally advisable skill it would seem, as Aurel is working as a 'kineto-therapist'. Apparently, he uses the healing qualities of his powers to help people recover from accidents.

A human magnet who can cure people... Erm, if only there were more like him?

Furthermore, there is absolutely no way the above photo could have been tricked. None whatsoever.


...Meanwhile, in another part of Romania....


(Not as) Naff Headline # 2: Police probe 'Superman' sighting

Police are investigating after residents of Gemeni in Romania claimed to see a Superman-like figure flying through the sky. Almost 20 villagers claim that the figure was wearing a shiny blue suit, very much like Superman's in appearance. Constantin Toader, 41, described the figure thusly:

"He looked like Superman and was flying slowly at about 100 yards from the ground in a standing position. He didn't make any smoke or sound. Just cruising around."

That makes sense. If I possessed the power of flight, 'just cruising around' a village in Romania would totally be at the top of my to-do-list... Imagine the rush, 100 yards above it all, a leisurely cruise... Some shoddy masonry here, a clutch of minuscule women on their way to gymnastics practice there, the tender juxtaposition of pastoral idyll and post-communist malaise... Aloof and untouched.

Yes, I would certainly utilise such a power just above a village in Romania.

Perhaps it was some form of genetically altered super mutant gymnast? One who would guarantee Romania the Olympic gold for years to come! Cazart! I think I just cracked the case... Etc.

Thursday 20 September 2007

Nothing Makes Sense Any More

The world is fucked. Here is the proof:




But wait, there's more:


Chris Crocker may be getting a TV deal with production company 44 Blue. A docusoap built around the Britney fanatic's life in Tennessee, apparently. This is what 44 Blue president/co-founder Rasha Drachkovitch thinks of Crocker:

"We consider him a rebel character that people will find interesting. He's going to be a TV star."

That? A rebel? Interesting? A star?


Distressing bollocks... For some reason I am reminded of a Bill Hicks routine where he pitches the following idea for a show; "Let's Hunt and Kill Billy Ray Cyrus." Excessive? Meh.

Wednesday 19 September 2007

Dostoyevsky's Batman



Dostoyevsky's classic Crime and Punishment, adapted as a comic book by R. Sikoryak, rendered through a Dick Sprang Batman filter. An interesting amalgam. A worthwhile one? Certainly so, according to Brian Hughes of Again With The Comics (Link via Boing Boing):

"This marriage of Classic Russian Literature and the Caped Crusader of Gotham also serves as further proof, if any were needed, that everything is better with Batman."

The man might have a point.

I cannot help but wonder how Bertie Ahern et al would fair if they sat not in front of the Mahon Tribunal, but the Batman Tribunal... The (alleged) twinkly-eyed Machiavellian techniques of a certain few might struggle against Gotham's finest... It would certainly make for more interesting radio broadcasts anyway.

To finish, a quote from Fyodor Doystoyevsky's classic (chapter 19, I believe):

"If he has a conscience he will suffer for his mistake. That will be punishment - as well as the prison."

Prison is quite unlikely. The conscience?

Final Fantasy: Envoyé par La Blogothèque

Have you ever seen a man sprinting down an empty boulevard in Paris whilst playing the violin?



Now you have... The man is of course the mercurial Final Fantasy. The song is "Pour Light Is Spent". The performance is a cheeky joy.

Via La Blogothèque. Mais bien sur.

Tuesday 18 September 2007

Masking Tape Art

Alleyhand by Buff Diss (a member of the Wooster Collective): Too cool.


The art: www.flickr.com/photos/buffdiss

The artist: www.myspace.com/buffdiss

The artist at work:

Hyperbole would be redundant. The appeal is obvious.

Bad Karma?

Personally:

I fell asleep on the bus from Galway to Ennis yesterday evening.

Somebody stole my newly acquired copy of Foggy Notions while I slept.

And my half-eaten chicken fajita wrap.


I suspect the pungent tramp-like creature who boarded in Gort.

He was drunk and told a frightened French girl that she had "tempting lips".

The scurrilous fuck.


Ecclesiastically:

Richard Dawkins refuting a student who asks him if he might be wrong:



Mr. Dawkins, you do of course make a sound point here regarding the significance of geography and history in relation to religion... However, it is a sound point that anybody with even the most rudimentary understanding of sociological studies could make.

Also, by using terminology such as "the flying spaghetti monster", you are adopting a needlessly defensive and aggressive stance to a politely phrased question.

Rich, you're smart... She's stupid (you presume)... We get it.

Now go away and count your money.

Monday 17 September 2007

The 10th Annual Manhattan Short Film Festival (in Galway & Cork)

The 2007 Manhattan Short Film Festival is coming to Ireland. In a way.

Irish cinéastes and common plebs - I jest - shall unite with audiences in 97 other cities across three continents to view and judge a burgeoning generation of filmmakers when the 10th Annual Manhattan Short Film Festival screens at:

Town Hall Theatre (Galway) on Sunday, September 30 at 3 pm.
Cork Film Centre (Cork) on Sunday, September 30 at 8 pm.


Out of 456 entries received from 33 countries around the world, Manhattan Short selected 12 finalist shorts. Countries represented include USA, Australia, Canada, UK, Kenya, Israel, Spain, Singapore and Germany. An interesting cinematic tapestry awaits. A culturally distinct and diverse smorgasbord, a vital cross section of filmic possibility.



The 2007 Voting Card & The 2007 Finalists. Obviously.

But wait, there's more... These films shall not only be enjoyed on a global scale, but shall be judged on one too. Audience members will be handed a voting card upon entry and asked to vote for the one film that they feel should win. Votes are tallied at each cinema and forwarded to the festival’s headquarters where the winner will be announced at Union Square Park (NYC) on Sunday, September 30 at 9:15 pm. and posted on www.msfilmfest.com by 10 pm.

If you find yourself in the vicinity of either the Town Hall Theatre or the Cork Film Centre that Sunday, then you should really take a look at the talent on offer... Oscar nominations (even victories) are the norm for winners of the Manhattan Short. Furthermore, admission is a mere €7.

Go on, it just makes sense.


Actually, whilst on the subject of the Manhattan Short... The following is a short film that was programmed in the 2006 Manhattan Short Film Festival's world tour. It is called Who I Am and What I Want. It is directed by David Shrigley and Chris Shepherd. Disturbingly reassuring:

Thursday 13 September 2007

Oscar Wilde Vs Chris Crocker

The world according to Chris Crocker (yeah, him):




The world according to Oscar Wilde:

"Why was I born with such contemporaries?"



Too right Oscar, my son. Too fucking right.

Wednesday 12 September 2007

In need of a worthwhile pursuit...

What a boring day. Utterly vacuous. As my brain idly festers it seems to have developed something of a tendency for self-reflexive limerick composition. The latest:

There once was a young man called Dominic,
Who loved to compose a good limerick,
But he was shit at them,
Quite sad really.

Jesus! I need something to do! Perhaps a new hobby? Or a model train set crush fetish?

Lazy stereotyping this may be, but those Japanese are mental! Link. Via Boing Boing. (Where else?)

Sigh.

At least the Irish match is on soon... That will surely alleviate my boredom!

Tuesday 11 September 2007

The Warholiser

You can now Warholise your favourite pictures by clicking here. Fifteen minutes have never come easier. Some examples (both from the Picnic):


Yours truly, The New(ish) Journalist.

My 'ironic' festival t-shirt.


Iconoclastic genius. Located via the delightful Rapture Ponies. Huzzah!

The End of Anti-Americanism?

Is Anti-Americanism Over in Europe? (Newsweek)

What? When did this happen? Nobody told me. I'm confused...

... A confusion hardly alleviated by a quote from the above article by its author, Stryker McGuire:

By going against public opinion, European leaders are showing that they are determined to bury anti-Americanism.

Going against public opinion? Stryker, explain something please. If leaders are required to go against public opinion, how exactly does that constitute a cessation of anti-Americanism in Europe? (Pedantry is a wonder.)


Perhaps I forget that we voters/common plebs are seldom but a trifling insignificance to our political elites and their most informed commentators. People, why must we be so eternally bothersome? Where is our gratitude for being permitted to partake in glorious Democracy?

An end to anti-Americanism? Piffle and poppycock I say! Some Dylan Moran might be apt at this juncture:



For the record, I do not hate America. That would be silly. It (its government) merely annoys me. Often.

What say you, my fellow partakers in Freedom TM?

Monday 10 September 2007

An Open Letter To The Internet Fanboy

Peter Jackson and his next movie The Lovely Bones. The fans expect. Too much?


To whom it may concern,

The blogosphere is the milieu of the zealot. Hell truly hath no fury like a fanboy's scorn. It would not be an excessive statement to declare the botched film adaptation one of the greatest instigators of Internet Fury. Infinite cross-sections of blogs and forums would indicate that nothing hurts more than seeing one's favourite novel, comic, computer game or TV series massacred by a talentless director... Why won't Hollywood learn dude?! Fidelity to the source is paramount. Or is it?

I am currently reading The Conversations: Walter Murch and the Art of Editing Film by Michael Ondaatje. A fantastic read. A quote (Ondaatje, p.126):

The writer and filmmaker Henry Bean told me a story of a writer who had been approached by someone who said. "Can you believe what that film producer did to your book!" And the writer replied, "He did nothing to my book."

"Nothing to my book." Cazart! Take heed! Regardless of how the film adaptation turns out, it can take nothing from the source. The inspiration (your obsession) remains untainted... Believe me, detachment is what you should seek my friends. If the writer mentioned above can so easily remove himself from the perceived malaise, why then does your vicarious fixation persist? Learn to let go guys and the brain bubbles will cease. Premature balding can be a thing of the past. Interaction with the opposite sex a marvellous possibility. (An easy stereotype, an ugly truth.)

Yet if you decide against such wisdom, then at least acquire a decent thesaurus. What in the name of Jehovah does "pwned" mean? You rabid twits!

To finalise, a dash of poetry. A trio of lines from One Art by Elizabeth Bishop (1975):

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Or something. Just cop on guys. It's only a story.

Yours in indifference,

Delightful McAdjective aka The New(ish) Journalist.



And the Pompous Post of the Month Award goes to... Fuck it.

Sunday 9 September 2007

Kanye West samples Kanye West


Big shout out to my boy Kanye West! The man is a genius. His next single is set to be totally off the hook! The rhymes are sick:

"I'll take all yo money, yea plant my seed,
Totally overrated, yet y'all pay no heed,
Oh, I'm a total fuckin' chancer... with average flow,
Cue the sample. Yo!"

The track will be called "Platinum Diggaz" and shall sample Kanye's earlier smash hit "Gold Digger"... "Diggaz" will be the first single from his forthcoming album Kept Back A Year: Monstrous Ego Wank... The video will be co-directed by Steven Spielberg and George Lucas and shall feature Kanye getting a blowjob from Jesus.

Kanye y'all! My boy!


In other Kanye related news, Daft Punk have released a new track featuring a Kanye sample. Check it out:

Daft Punk - Harder Better Faster Stronger (Youtube)

They are like so unoriginal!

Friday 7 September 2007

"But, honey, you move like an ocean liner."

Kingsley marries fourth wife - Breaking News.

This is what Ben Kingsley had to say about his new wife:

"We're extremely happy. Daniela is like an ancient mythological princess. She has great dignity. She moves like an ocean liner."

Moves like an ocean liner? What the fuck? Ben, that means you equate your new partner to the following: A gigantic creature capable of bearing great loads, yet only capable of movement whilst immersed in water due to her obscene size!

Which ties in nicely with your Cleopatra fetish?

Whatever you're into mate... I've seen Sexy Beast.

Thursday 6 September 2007

Joe Driscoll

Checked out this chap at the Picnic. Joe Driscoll is his name and he possesses some serious skills. Effortless genre fusion is the name of the game here. Shades of hip hop, reggae, roots and jazz are interspersed throughout each and every song. Quite the feel good smorgasbord:

Joe Driscoll - "Origin Myth"


Joe Driscoll - "Ridum"


Check him out: www.myspace.com/joedriscoll

Wednesday 5 September 2007

An Electric Odyssey - The Sunday

Mass as Gaeilge... Freaked out hippies... The excellence of Mixmaster Mike... The pathetic indifference of limbs... Miscellaneous meanders and the sublime Body & Soul... Chinwags and oxygen bars... A partial glimpse at Sonic Youth... Thou Shalt Always Enjoy Le Sac Vs Pip... A blinding Fujiya & Miyagi... The ramblings of Mani... "Thirty sheets for a yoke"... The End.

We awake with mass as Gaeilge on a builder's radio borrowed from benevolent neighbours. Buzzes are wrecked. Hippies are freaked out... The application of moistoned jelly babies to the foreheads of strangers... Bouncing into tea cups... Ducks and dives... Who knows when we shall be right again? Apologies, for it were not I.

Propped up against the back of the tent. Enraptured by the turntablism nous of Mixmaster Mike, emboldened by his ability to get a party started. Nonetheless unable to move an inch. Paralysed by aching limbs, a lack of sleep and completely ineffectual vodka... Feeling shall return but not yet... Not yet... Stop quoting Gladiator.

Des Bishop pleasing some crowd. The pic is a late addition.

Vodka is taking hold me thinks... The Comedy Tent... Jarlath Regan... A funny university student coda, one to which I can so relate. A joke about guide dogs cramming for exams, a 2.2 at the end of it all... My laugh is noticeably loud. Paranoia averted for now. Gerry Mallon comes on. The despicable and tasteless twat. He makes a joke about fingering his niece... Really.

In the Body & Soul arena now. Inadvertently disrupt a yoga class (or something), but it feels good to be there. Until... An army of butterflies descends upon our group of Flim Flammers as we idly chat shite. My brain is scrambled and this is the last thing I need. "Smile, smile" they say as I cling to the fragments of my broken ceann. The callous hippies. Cosmic revenge for mass earlier? Who knows... Hardcore kudos on the necessity of the drip by the way. You know who you are.

Get chips from Home Fries. They are the most putrid muck, festering in a pool of Satan's knob cheese. Then the rain starts... The biblical rain... Soaked, we venture back to our tents to recuperate, drink some more and prepare ourselves for the next onslaught.

Catch a bit of Sonic Youth. I am on my own now, isolated by my fervent compulsion to witness Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip first hand... They are entertaining, but little more than a distraction from my dwindling vodka supply and inability to achieve adequate sentence structure.

To Foggy Notions and Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip. And what a decidedly impressive show it is. Scroobius oozes stage presence. His flow is effortless. The Radiohead sampling "A Letter From God" is a peach. A slice of spoken word poetry keeps the audience thoroughly enraptured. However, it is "Thou Shalt Always Kill" that the punters crave, and the duo are aware. So aware in fact, that it quickly becomes something of a joke. At one stage the opening bars of the song creates a torrent of cheers only for them to cut the music instantly. The reason for doing so, according to Scroobius: "Fuck off, if we play that now you'll all leave and go see Sonic Youth." Not I, Scroobius. Not, I. But I see your point... The song itself is ab fab. "U2... Just a band!" Too right son.

Fujiya & Miyagi - "Cassettesingle". Incredible buzz.



Next up Fujiya & Miyagi. Words can not do justice to just how good this gig was. They commence with "Ankle Injuries" and it just gets better and better from there on in. Banter with the crowd is non-existant. However, in this case it would also be an irrelevance, such is the triumphant musicianship on display, and the frenzy the crowd is slowly being whipped into. "Collarbone" is such fun to dance to, inspiring a momentary spastic Macarena-like dance-off down the front. The band looks delighted, and slightly confused. "Cassettesingle" is another gem... The cheering never stops throughout the entire gig, and there is only one viable option for the encore... "Fujiya, Miyagi! Fujiya, Miyagi! Fujiya, Miyagi!"

We hang on at the front for a while and get chatting to Miyagi (David Best). Lovely bloke. Pictures are taken. Congratulations are heartfelt. A set list is procured. Nice.

We hurry towards The Go! Team to catch the end of their set. The atmosphere is incredible. The whole arena is engaged in bouncy delirium. New songs are rapturously received. Old favourites like "Bottle Rocket" even more so. The end comes far too soon for us latecomers, but the last song is a beauty. "Ladyflash" is spellbinding. The crowd continues to bellow its cheery refrain minutes after the band has left... Did not expect too much, but this was mesmeric.

The weekend ends way back by Pieminister at Primal Scream. An enjoyable greatest hits buzz. Nothing amazing, but fun all the same. Some last hurrah dancing and nonsensical chit chat with some girls from Naas. I get accosted by a Northside pillhead.. What language does Mani speak?

Body & Soul is wedged. We depart for the tents. I meet a fellow blogger on the way. He appears as devastated as I. Our souls lay bare on our sleeves. We say practically nothing but communicate enough through the festival smile... That vacant but heartwarming expression that indicates the joy within. You have nothing left to give, but it feels fantastic.

Back to the tent.

Warm tepid beer.

It will not relent,

This burgeoning Fear.

Now asleep, I repent,

The End is quite near.

An Electric Odyssey - The Saturday

An immense Super Extra Bonus Party... A blogospheric union... Cian & Cyril and The Galway Nostalgia Buzz... The shameless karaoke of Bonde Do Jokey... Manipulative euphoria at the hands of The Polyphonic Spree... The Shaking of one's Rump... Pretentious pillheads and some trees... Staying in character, regardless...

Awake. Hangover. Quelle surprise. Gallons of coffee. A smoothie. Another bagel. Wheels are set in motion. A cheeky splash of Wild Bucky makes all the difference. To Bodytonic we must venture!

The Super Extra Bonus Party Air Hurley Buzz. Great pic. Via Nialler.


Wherein we find a superlative Super Extra Bonus Party. It may only be midday but the crowd is in the hundreds and decidedly in the mood. The band are in superb form, evidently buoyed by the reaction of said crowd. The sound is fantastic. The intro to "Everything Flows" melts this particular mind. "Favourite Things" is the undisputed highlight. Rodrigo surveys his dominion with an enormous grin. Those slain by this Newbridge posse smile back, utterly content. Huzzah!


My feet, Andy and Aoife. Nialler resides in the background.

Afterwards, I meet Aoife of The Indie Hour and we have a wee chat. An utterly charming lass. Cigarettes and Buckfast are shared, as are highlights and predictions. I, Horace (Ronan) and Andy extend our heartiest congratulations to Nialler (on visuals) and a clutch of the SEBP boys. Satisfaction and nonchalance seem to be buzzes of choice... A fantastic start to the day.

We bump into Cian & Cyril aka SiSi aka the 110th Street DJs. Undisputed heroes of the Galway club scene, it is great to see them perform at the Picnic. They seem totally relaxed pre-Bodytonic set, and we wish them the best of luck... There was no need. Their set is an absolute banger, a typically seamless smorgasbord of inspired tune selection. Bucky and these lads, the definitive Galway buzz. By 3.00pm it is all over, and I am spent. So spent that I miss Malajube in Foggy Notions. A twisted pisser. Was I wrong to do so?

We lie in the sunshine and chat to some new friends acquired during the 110th Street buzz. They are politely mangled, the cheerful victims of a class A onslaught. Yet we care not, for we too are under the power of another... The Wild Bucky. You schizo bastard. After a time, we compose ourselves sufficiently and brave the Bodytonic arena once again. The reason? Bonde Do Role.

The wise and venerable zeitgeist would decree that this is a live band that cannot be missed. Even in my wobbly and impressionable condition at the time, I would have to disagree. The tenacity of this trio of musical chancers is to be applauded, and for a few cheesy samples and shouts I was moderately entertained. However, on reflection this is perhaps the most vacuous performance I have ever witnessed. Oh look, it's two Brazilians simulating sex whilst shouting. They are sweaty too, like when you have a good ride... Look, I get it, it's meant to be a joke. However, how am I supposed to laugh when the punchline is in Portuguese? Never again.

I decide to take a walk. I take in some sights and sounds which I distinctly remember being impressed by... Names and places, however, escape me... I decide to take a break and partake in that particular novelty of the summer festival: the reggae cover band. Easy All Stars Radiodread breathe effortless humour into the grumpy intelligence of Thom Yorke & Co. Sprawled across the grass I sip warm Heineken from a €3 plastic cup, and smile. The slow approach of sunset during a festival, these are the peculiar times...

The Polyphonic Spree - Post Wardrobe Change. Splendid.



Bouncing baby Gandhi on a paraplegic elephant! The Polyphonic Spree blow me away, yet again. Whilst their last two albums never quite achieved the quixotic majesty of their first LP, it is in the live arena that it all makes sense. The ultimate euphoric buzz. Granted, making your average Picnic punter smile is like shooting a paralysed and blindfolded fish in a shoe box, but Tim De Laughter et al are just so very good at it... Their cover of "Lithium" is perhaps the highlight of my weekend. The encore and wardrobe change is totally expected, yet still breathtaking. That lone harpist must have felt like a king.

I miss Final Fantasy. I am seriously annoyed. The mojitos do nothing to quell my self loathing. Gaarrgh! Etc.

Next up, the Beastie Boys and the gig I had anticipated more than any other that day. An incendiary performance. Whilst getting on in years, this group has lost none of its vitality and venom. Hits like "Triple Trouble", "Brass Monkey", "Shake Your Rump", "No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn" and a cathartic "Sabotage" leave me breathless. An intoxicated grin threatens to split my gormless mug throughout. Hugs and high fives are plentiful... The crowd clings to its ability to party. At this stage it is nobody's right.

The Chemical Brothers - "The Sunshine Underground". Immense.



And so the evening closes with The Chemical Brothers. Immersed in an ocean of pill heads, there was little choice but to give it our all. Which we did. However, a collective boredom within could nevertheless be detected. Such is the malaise of the dwindling super-group I suppose. A serious lack of quality recent material becomes quite apparent when the biggest cheers of the night are unanimously given to drops from the Surrender era... However, it must be said that nothing could compete with that version of "The Sunshine Underground"... Also, that sinister march of green robots was a work of freaky genius. A visual unquestionably designed to instill The Fear. Cheeky geeks.

Back to the campsite... Miscellaneous insanity... Brian wearing a sumo suit on the rodeo bull... A superb dismount... The ultimate moral victory... A rave in the woods... Malcontent vibrations... Pretentious scenesters sneer at the wellies with contempt... Grotesque levels of misplaced self-confidence... "I'm Rick James bitch!".... Will the catchphrases ever cease?

Our group dwindles to a mere duo. Handsome and I. A random decision. We assume different identities. He is Fontelle. I, Lavelle. We become androgynous amalgams of Northside scobes and Baptist preachers' wives... We take a walk throughout the entire campsite. People are entertained by our insanity. People are scared. People are both.

The madness eventually subsides as Wild Bucky relinquishes its grip on our enfeebled minds and we return to the tents. Sleep beckons, but first I must assuage one last desire.

I acquire a Caesar salad bagel. Satisfaction. Oblivion.

An Electric Odyssey - The Friday.

Commencing with Pimms... An air of eloquence... Bastards on rodeo bulls... The unexpected surprise of the Origin Myth... Politely refined enjoyment avec Hot Chip... All My Friends at LCD... Disappearing tents... The first of many...

The author of www.slurdotcom.blogspot.com and some Pimms. Huzzah!

We arrive early at a festival for the first time ever. No stress. Tent up with minimum fuss... Commence with the mixing of the Pimms my good man! Damn you, more strawberries! Have you not heard? This is a boutique festival. You filthy, unrefined savage. This is no time to be cheap. For we are about to embark on a voyage of polite aural discovery, a meaningful discourse with our inner hippie... Can the coarse young consumerists of Ireland handle such a symbiotic relationship with nature? At €3 a pint glass, we shall soon see. Down with capitalism man!

The Pimms has been quaffed. Inhibitions have been nullified. Friends have been met. Rubbish has been talked. Resolutions have been made... "Outside the Silent Disco at 6.43? Yeah, totally. See you there!"... To the inner sanctum of the Picnic we meander.

This meandering brings us to our first act of the festival, and an unexpected joy at that. His name is Joe Driscoll, a New Yorker residing in the UK. He plays in a tent with a small stage and a clutter of clichéd shmoke paraphernalia. Multi-instrumentalism, quality beatboxing, intricate layering, and dexterous rhymes are this dude's bag... The vibe in the tent is extremely chilled out. Fragrant odours abound. "Origin Myth" is quite the tune... We depart, happier and expectant.

The wanders continue... Hot Chip are our next port of call. I chill out towards the back of the crowd, opting to take it all in rather than give it socks. The Pimms seems to have quietened my will to fully embrace. The show is nothing groundbreaking, but very enjoyable nonetheless. The shy "thank you" offered by the band during the breakdown of "Over and Over" makes me smile. Such a lack of egotism and willingness to impress the punters is to be applauded... If only a certain daughter of a certain Tamil Tiger would take heed.

More aimless meandering... I'm sure I caught a band or two, but I really can't remember who... Endure monumental boredom at the hands of Bjork. She seems to be aiming for a powerful marriage of theatrical splendour and subtle viscera. It feels like listening to a Bjork album on dodgy speakers. Sssh...

And so on to LCD Soundsystem, and a very good show. "All My Friends" was a transcendent highlight. The insistence of that opening piano always gets me. Hugs are exchanged with a gusto that borders on violence. A masochistic refusal to stop dancing. Shut up foolish body! There is more beer back at the tent. Sedation is imminent. Fear not... I make the acquaintance of a very nice girl from Maynooth called Sarah... The immediacy of the festival connection? Sigh.

An hour or two to find the tent of a new acquaintance... A tipple or two shared from the delightful Creek of the Badger... The first of many Caesar salad bagels... Abuse is shouted at that despicable Northside wanker in the rodeo bull stall. What did the tenants of Blue camping do to deserve this vacuous tosser? Why did he congeal here? The Tiesto, the horror... The tent cam confirms its status as a moronic idea... Eventually shut down after hours of semi-effort...

However this is not the time to ponder the implications. Prospects? We'll burn those bridges when we come to them... The second bagel. A sleeping bag. Teasing slivers of sunlight... The bastards.

Monday 3 September 2007

Home From The Picnic

Oh dear. The weird post-festival dreams have already started. The latest one involved a Portuguese table quiz, speed dating whilst being chased by a grizzly bear, and the following creature coming to life:



So worth it though.

Goodbye for now blogosphere! A Lemsip and a perilous couch coma await...