Thursday 3 July 2008

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. On Telly.

I was planning a nice quiet night in Friday. Such sensible/boring actions have been made all the more inviting by the knowledge that Friday night is Nick Cave night on BBC Four. Festivities shall commence at 9.30pm. The main portion of the night will be an exclusive performance with the Bad Seeds in St. Luke's in London. It looks to be a damn impressive set.

There will be a
"brisk version" - the man's own words - of "Into My Arms":

The less epochal "Moonland" will also get a whirl:

There shall also be the presentation of some archival footage of the Seeds and an interview with Mister Cave himself:

The man is a legend. The Late Late will be given a miss.

Tuesday 1 July 2008

The Arrested Development Movie. It's On. Probably.

Arrested Development was one of the most impressive American comedies of the past few decades. Its cancellation after three seasons was quite silly. An aberration only possible within the asinine doldrums of Fox, or so the conventional indie rhetoric would decree. To be honest, the reasons for its decease are inconsequential. Whatever they are, it is gone and our televisual viewing has been all the less for it since... However there is good news for fans of the show as it seems that its long rumoured return in movie form is all but confirmed. Jeffrey Tambor - the hilariously immoral patriarch George Bluth Sr. - had this to say (from Entertainment Weekly):

“After months of speculation, I think we have finally figured out for sure that we are indeed doing an Arrested Development movie," Tambor told at the premiere of Hellboy II on Sunday. "I am very excited about that. I love that cast and crew and I felt like we had more to say."

Huzzah! Now I fully realise that movie adaptations of television shows are generally quite bad. However, I suspect an AD movie would deviate from the norm on this one. For one thing, the makers of the show have never hidden their contempt for the cancellation:

And that was included as a DVD extra! You see, a successful AD movie would be the cast and crew's chance to show those responsible how wrong they were to cancel. Motivation will not be wanting. The end result? Who knows? It could be woeful, a needless blight on the show's ever burgeoning cult legacy. It could be a sporadically adequate titter inducer, something akin to The Simpsons movie. Or it could soar, a hilarious smash hit bringing it to previously unknowing worldwide audiences and bringing about a fourth season.

Then again, it could all just be another rumour. Bloody internets.

Monday 30 June 2008

A Galway Film Fleadh Trailer Compendium

The Galway Film Fleadh is almost upon us once again - running from the 8th to the 13th July, to be exact - and audiences appear to be in for a delectable cross section of the cinema this year. Allow me to present you with a few choice trailers.

First up, the quixotic
Surveillance, directed by David Lynch's daughter Jennifer Lynch. Need more be said? It shall be visible Thursday 10th, 21:00, at the Town Hall:

Taxi To The Dark Side, a concise and harrowing exploration of the suspicious death of an Afghan taxi driver at Bagram air base in 2002. The Oscar winning doc screens at 13:30, Friday 11th, in the Town Hall. Also, in association with Reprieve, immediately following the screening there will be a discussion with director Alex Gibney, Reprieve Staff Attorney, Cori Crider, and released Guantanamo prisoner, Moazzam Begg (tbc). Not to be missed:

The English Surgeon. Henry Marsh, one of London's foremost brain surgeons, has been going to Kiev for over 15 years in an attempt to improve upon the archaic brain surgery he first witnessed there in 1992. And yet he refuses to be cast as the faultless savior of the West. Instead, he openly confronts the problems of the doctor-patient relationship in such circumstances, his own selfish instincts, their dire need:

A slight change in tone next with
J.C.V.D. A Jean Claude Van Damme movie. Yup, at a film festival. The plot? Jean Claude Van Damme, an aging star of bargain basement actioners returns to Belgium after a lengthy court battle that has cost him the custody of his daughter. He is broke. He 'dabbles' in coke. He is Van Damme doing nuance and introspection. Essential viewing really. Friday 11th at 21:15 in the Omniplex:

That's all for now folks. A minuscule snippet of the gems in store over the festival. The acquisition of a programme would be most advisable.

Sunday 29 June 2008

A Fitting Epitaph To A Particularly Wasted Weekend Via The Tube Of You.

A monkey artfully riding a sheepdog at a rodeo:

The rather Woodian trailer for Roger Corman's interpretation of The Fantastic Four:

That's all from me folks. Blissful oblivion beckons from beneath the duvet.

Wednesday 25 June 2008

Gonzo. The Trailer.

Gonzo: The Life & Work Of Dr. Hunter S Thompson... Directed by Alex Gibney - the man behind the superb Enron: The Smartest Guys In The Room - this documentary looks like it shall be quite the trip. The twisted dynamic between the writer and his Hell's Angels, Muskie and his 'alleged' Ibogaine addiction, the truths behind the Fear & Loathing phenomenon, his brief flirtation with real power in Aspen... The Good Doctor, as narrated by Johnny Depp. Click here for a high-def version of the trailer or below for some grainy Youtube goodness:

Thompson once declared that he who makes a beast of himself takes away the pain of being a man. Hardly an empty proclamation from a man of his particular experience. A lot of his mania was undoubtedly narcissistic and egotistical, but this matters not. The 'beast' was so very right about so many things

"I'm sick and tired of old men dreaming up wars for young men to die in."
A George McGovern quote about Vietnam, yet it could so easily be the hopeful vision speak of Obama. I do wish HST was alive today so we may have known what he made of the current stew brewing across the pond.

Tuesday 24 June 2008

"I'm so post-modern..."

The Bedroom Philosopher. A Melbourne based folk comedian who is so post-modern that he writes reviews for funerals and heckles at weddings from inside a suitcase. The ironic cad:

My thanks to Tess for the heads up.

Sunday 22 June 2008

Adam, Joe, Pirates & Bicycle Helmets

Mr Graham Linehan mentioned this the other day. It is an ode to the 'dangers' of video piracy. An ode born of the mind of Adam Buxton, one half of comedy quirksters Adam & Joe. It is rather humorous:

I was quite the fan of The Adam & Joe Show in the late 1990s. Never being a teenager for tortuous self-loathing and interminable angst, their marriage of cheeky irreverence, cuddly toys and novelty hats appealed to me greatly. That piss up in a brewery and Furends... Smashing stuff.

Adam's blog is also worth a perusal. For example, it turns out that he got a bit of copyright grief from YouTube for uploading the video that he and Garth Jennings directed for Radiohead's "Jigsaw Falling Into Place". Which is a legal grievance of startlingly retarded proportions really, seeing as he, like, you know, made the video. A great video too. Bicycle helmet cams are definitely the way forward:

Oh yeah, Adam's new show MeeBOX starts tonight on BBC3. It should well be a larf... I'm not on commission. Honest.

Friday 20 June 2008

Sporto Kantès. A Summer Vibe.

Sporto Kantès are a French group with an inclination toward funky retro electro. A French group whose most recent album is entitled 3 At Last. Be it the quixotically cheerful pastiche of "Whistle" or the more laid back rhythms of "Concrete", there is something here to grab the ear of most listeners. That said, it would be advisable that whilst listening, said listeners should be basking in glorious evening sunshine, on their fourth Corona and lime, carefully avoiding the gaze of their sensitive host as they slyly discard their soggy burger in the dirt... Yes indeed, this is unashamed summertime fun.

Here is "Whistle". Cute video too:

Scientology & Superheroes

Apparently, in his new movie Hancock a drunken, superhuman Will Smith knocks a girl clear across a room with the superhuman strength of his ejaculation.

My word. Such is the asinine Hollywood brainlessness of the whole enterprise that no sarcastic tirade I could muster would be sufficiently damning. So without further ado, take it away comically incomplete movie poster:

Thursday 19 June 2008

2084 - A Vision Of A Post "Yes" Europe

It was a fierce mild day in September and the hover-clocks were indicating thirteen. The New(ish) Journalist, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile drizzle, slipped quickly through the portal of Consensus Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent the laser scanners piercing his aged retinas.

The hallway smelt of damp croissant and cheap Bulgarovian wine. At one end of it a plasma fusion screen hovered two metres above the floor. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a newborn baby of about twenty five minutes, with the virgin inclinations of a smile. As always the face slowly began to fade away, the inclination vanquished, to be replaced by the mantra - NOT IF WE CAN HELP IT. The Journalist made for the lift. It was no use trying the instant teleportation matrix. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the wireless electric flux was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was fifty flights down, and The Journalist, who was one hundred and one years old and in constant agony, cursed the fifteen seconds he had to wait. All those seconds he waited, from each panel of the fusion wall reverberated the reminder, BRUSSELS IS WATCHING YOU.

Inside the flat he turned on his fusion screen. The communal leisure pursuit (or hurling as he once knew it) was on. The Northern Quadrant were leading the Eastern Quadrant by 3-16 to 2-10 in the All-Eurotopia Communal Leisure Pursuit Championship Final. The Easterners seemed completely indifferent even though there was nineteen minutes plus stoppages remaining. The Journalist sighed. The game was never the same once the players started getting paid. He moved over to the window: a decrepit, pathetic figure, the meagreness of his body merely emphasized by the constant tears smearing his gaunt cheek flesh. Damn leaky retinas. Damn lasers.

The Journalist reached for his eye ointment. He stopped. He gazed at the fusion screen once more. There was no change in the score. Northerners coasting to another triumph in the communal leisure pursuit. How surprising. "Ah fuck 'em! Just like those ould bastards from Kilkenny!" he muttered, as he turned once more for his ointment. He froze instantly, paralyzed by a long ingrained terror. How could he have been so stupid? Mentioning the forbidden ways out loud. Stupid, stupid old man. After all, his flat, like all others, was saturated with Ministry of Remembrance surveillance equipment. It was now only a matter of minutes.

New tears were forming. However these were not born of gappy retinas, but of regret. All of this suffering could so easily have been avoided. The stale hell that was Eurotopia would never have been if he and others like him had stood tall and done their diplomatic duty all those years ago... There would have been no mandatory decade of service in the Eurotopia Corps... There would have been no thirty year war with the Hated Chinese... There would have been no obligatory abortions in the aid of the communal fuel consumption... There would still be
some ice at the North Pole... There would still be a Christmas... Damn it, there would still be hurling... If only he and others like him - the Irish, yes, that's what they were called, the Irish - had voted no in The Glorious Treaty. The callous benefit of hindsight, the ferocity of the lessons learned.

He heard the sirens outside Consensus Mansions. This was it. It was off to The Correctional Booths for him, to suffer for as long his rotten body would permit... Unless... He dived under his bed. He searched frantically for a few moments until he pulled out what he was looking for. A rudimentary homemade bodhrán, fashioned from a commemorative Consensus dish cloth won in a raffle many Hate Weeks ago and an antique smart car wheel. He began to bang on the bodhrán, weak yet insistent. It seemed time for one last wild one. He summoned every ounce of strength... "Yeeeeeeeeeooowwww!" The Banner Roar, alive and well in the Western Quadrant. He smiled broadly. He continued to beat the bodhrán, the rhythm emboldening him further. It was time for a song.

"Sinne Fianna Fáil,
A tá fé gheall ag Éirinn,
Buíon dár slua
Thar toinn do ráinig chugainn
Fé mhóid bheith saor,
Sean tír ár sinsir feasta..."

The hallowed couplets were being bellowed out for all to hear, at a volume which surprised even The Journalist himself. He stopped. He had caught his reflection in the window. A collection of small red dots were slowly making its way up his chest. There would be no booth for him. Not now. Not with such a large threat of remembrance amongst his neighbours. He needed taking down, and fast. He was glad his life was not flashing before his eyes. Why? Most of it was a twisted maelstrom of shite caused by his own indecision. Who needs to be reminded of that at their moment of passing? His smile grew broader still.

The dots were between his eyes now. There was a flash. The body of The New(ish) Journalist slumped to the floor, the bodhrán falling in unison. The instrument hit the ground and rolled clumsily away from the corpse, not stopping until it was once more concealed beneath the bed.

The drizzle continued unabated. The Remembrance Police cursed their luck. A soggy body was harder to burn.

Wednesday 18 June 2008

Bob Dylan + Neil Young = €80 Admission

Where is such wondrous value possible you might ask?

Why, at Optimus Alive, of course. It is that most current of indie necessities - a 3 day festival in Europe - and many other bands shall be plying their musical wares. They include:

Rage Against the Machine, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, The Hives, Nouvelle Vague, Within Temptation, Peaches, The National, The Gossip, Tiga, CSS, Gogol Bordello, Vampire Weekend, MGMT, MSTRKRFT, Uffie, Spiritualized, Róisín Murphy, The John Butler Trio, Donavon Frankenreiter, SebastiAn, Ben Harper & The Innocent Criminals, Boys Noize, DJ Mehdi, Midnight Juggernauts, Xavier Rudd, Busy P, The Juan Maclean, Vicarious Bliss, Hercules and Love Affair, Feadz, Krazy Baldhead, Galactic, Mr Flash, Buraka Som Sistema, Brodinski, Sizo, Kumpania Algazarra, Banda Soundtribes.

As stated above, all for a paltry €80. It is on the same weekend as Oxegen so if interested the putting on of one's skates would be advisable.

The only catch? It's on in Lisbon. Yes, that Lisbon. Grrr. Etc.

"What's the capital of Dallas?"

With The Internet you can now find out in a matter of minutes:

Very Kip Smithers.

Monday 16 June 2008

The Sublime Idiocy Of The Valued Customer # 2

INT - Any Ubiquitous High Street Entertainment Outlet. Again.

A valued staff member carrying a clipboard is quite clearly performing some sort of inventory check, again. He is wearing a company t-shirt and wearing a glaringly obvious name badge, again. A valued customer approaches him, again. This one is holding a copy of Now 69.

Valued Customer:
Sorry now, but this might seem like a silly question.

Valued Staff Member:

Valued Customer:
(pointing to her copy of Now 69)
Was there one of these before this one?

Valued Staff Member:
(with a Herculean lack of sarcasm)
Well miss, there were actually 68.

This Sublime Idiocy Of The Valued Customer... It may very well become a series folks.

Sunday 15 June 2008

Glenn Wool. In Galway & Dublin.

Glenn Wool... A Canadian comedian who currently resides in London... A Canadian comedian who plays ice hockey for the London Devils in his spare time... A Canadian comedian who mines humour nuggets from topics as varied as Islam in China, sexually transmitted diseases and his moustache... A Canadian comedian who is coming to Ireland this week... Here he is on the redundancy of modern swearing:

Oh yeah, NSFW... Catch him at The Laughter Lounge of Galway in the Róisín Dubh this Wednesday, 18th June. Or do likewise in The Laughter Lounge of Dublin in, well, The Laughter Lounge this Saturday, 21st June.

Monday 9 June 2008

The Peculiarities Of The Irish Sporting Summer. On Television.

Yesterday afternoon, as I sat nursing an angry stout hangover whilst watching Tipperary beat Cork in the Munster Hurling Championship, a profound sense of national identity threatened to overwhelm me. The cause of this impulse? The following nuggets of punditry by Michael Duignan and Cyril Farrell.

Duignan praising Eoin Kelly's first half goal:

"That's brilliance at its best Marty."

Farrell discussing the proximity of an Eoin Kelly free to the Cork posts:

"Sure that's like throwing nuts to a monkey."

Of course it is, Cyril. Of course it is... Now, I realise that sport is ordinarily not the remit of The New(ish) Journalism, but I felt that I must use this forum of mine to give props to RTE's televisual GAA commentary and analysis. There is a unique and vibrant poetry to it all. Is there another land in which thirty men attempting to decapitate each other with sticks would glibly be referred to as a "schmozzle"? Is such a colloquialism the result of a wild and pagan Celtic idiom at odds with the colonial structure of the Queen's language? Or is it merely a load of rural ráiméis? I suppose the answer to that question depends on you and your connection to The Parish. Or lack thereof.

A connection. Something that is once again missing at a major international soccer tournament. Euro 2008 is upon us, no Irish presence, and yet RTE still insists on getting Pavlovian on our asses. Advertisement and analysis seep forth at every opportunity, a constant bell ensuring our constant salivation. Yet there will be no food, no substance. Instead, a maelstrom of the inconsequential. Germany will win a match on penalties. Cristiano Ronaldo will cry. The Beeb will vacuously fawn and/or bemoan the lack of an English presence. Giles and Dunphy will self-contradict lyrical about the death of the game, the lack of "great players" and work ethic. You already know these things, and you don't really care.

Face it. The Irish people need a parochial interest in their summertime sport. Celebration of artistry is all well and good, but an emotional edge is our necessity. It comes with the involvement of your county team in the autumn. It comes with the well intentioned stutterings of our soccer team in the group stages and subsequent moral victory married with demented binge drinking. It comes with the glorious and hypocritical schadenfreude enjoyed when observing the pantomime that is Team Eng-Ger-Lund in such competition. Alas, it just ain't coming from Austria or Switzerland.

Still, at least Aprés Match is back on our screens. In celebration, the very first glimpse of the group's parody stylings on Irish television... A sketch on Barry Murphy's Friday night version of The End in 1994... Memories:

Yes indeed, glorious memories.

Friday 6 June 2008

Donkey Kong. A Hard Ass Game.

Team Genius. A motley crew of lighting experts and velociraptors, apparently. Very funny though. The following ode to the difficulty of that level in Donkey Kong Country 2 with the "thorns and shit" is a geeky delight:

Via The Fabulistas.

Whilst on the subject of everybody's favourite barrel chucking simian, a quick glance at the following trailer would be quite fitting:

Donkey Kong, "sort of like the abortion issue". Well, according to Billy Mitchell. Who? You know, Billy Mitchell; the undisputed Donkey Kong world record holder and questionable star of The King Of Kong: A Fistful Of Quarters... It's Rocky with nerds, and I cannot wait to see it.

The Random Observations Of A Jaded Cynic. Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Accept The Truth As I See It And As Everybody Else Should Too. #2

Dallas - Oil + Shoes = Sex & The City

The Sublime Idiocy Of The Valued Customer

INT - Any Ubiquitous High Street Entertainment Outlet.

A valued staff member carrying a clipboard is quite clearly performing some sort of inventory check. He is wearing a company t-shirt and wearing a glaringly obvious name badge. A valued customer approaches him.

Valued Customer:
Sorry, do you work here?

The valued staff member slowly turns around. A weary exhalation of breath punctuates this cautious pirouette. There is a glazed look in his eyes, a curiously simultaneous marriage of indifference and vitriol.

Valued Staff Member:
Yes... Can I help you?

Valued Customer:
Yeah. I'm looking for a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie. You know, the one where he hurt his finger.

Valued Staff Member:

Monday 2 June 2008

A Russian Boy Band. A Music Video.

Ye Gods! It may be something of an oldie, yet until yesterday I had remained joyfully oblivious. Observe to the end:

A gracious hat tip to Ronan, the ultimate purveyor of all things Parmesan. With added critique of
post Soviet malaise. Possibly.

Watch this one too. A slightly more subtle exercise in this particular brand of awfulness, although one of them is wearing a Wrangler t-shirt. Really. In retrospect, I bet he wishes he went for some X-Worx.

Thursday 29 May 2008

Dan Deacon. Talking About New Album.

In a recent interview with Pitchfork, Dan Deacon speaks candidly about his new album. Titled Bromst, it is due to be released later this year. It promises to be a "much darker", more "mature" and "organic" proposition than his Spiderman collection. The electronics, MIDI, voice combo will not dominate this time round. Live instrumentation and sampling will be central. Most of the tracks will be heavily percussion based, with sporadic smatterings of marimba, xylophone, glockenspiel, and vibraphone. Intriguing. However, due to this aesthetic deviation there will be no place for the euphoric "Silence Like The Wind" on the album. A pity really.

Dan also rails against the predilection amongst music critics to label him "wacky". It denotes a lack of seriousness about his work that pisses him right off. He hints at drastic changes to his live show to coincide with the more organic timbre to this album. Dan Deacon, with a band, on a stage. Say it ain't so! Yet before this causes a ripple of panic amongst those of you who have purchased a ticket for Dan, Jape et al as part of the upcoming Future Days buzz in Vicar Street, fear not. The changes are not due until 2009.

In celebration of his burgeoning album and upcoming appearance in Dublin, do enjoy the (relatively) new video for "Okie Dokie":

It must be said, the Future Sounds line-up is really rather good. Y'all got your tickets?

Wednesday 28 May 2008

Wristcutters: A Love Story

Wristcutters: A Love Story... The premise? A heartbroken man commits suicide only to find that the afterlife is just like this one, only slightly worse. He gets a job in a pizza joint. He cannot smile. Nobody can... The trailer:

Fascinating, and it has just been released on DVD on these shores. Oh yeah, if the hipster chic quotient wasn't already high enough, a certain Tom Waits appears as a spirit guide. The money grabbing bastard!

Tuesday 27 May 2008

The New(ish) Gaming Industry Tycoon

String Quartet for XBox 360. The must have gift this Christmas.

Good evening folks! Fancy a bit of gaming industry gossip? The New(ish) Journalist is on the cusp of a major contract with the makers of Rock Band. Inspired by the screaming relevance and intelligence of said game, I approached said industry folks with the following two words: String Quartet. "Imagine the joy", I said, "as you and a couple of mates rock out to some nuanced Gustav Mahler compositions over some Merlot and hazelnut foie gras!" Sacks of cash were instantly flung in my direction. A Christmas deadline now looms ominously on my horizon.

They also responded positively to a few of my other ideas.
Accordion Hero was greeted with a particular rapture. Unfortunately the proposal hinges utterly on the acquisition of the entire back catalogues of Sharon Shannon and Foster & Allen. We're hopeful. In addition, Jew's Harp Hero and Barbershop Quartet are being focus grouped. Initial feedback is promising.

What can I say? I'm an ideas man. Always have been, always will be. I don't just think outside the box. I tear the box asunder, make a paper/cardboard airplane out of the remnants, and then fling it directly into the corneas of my competition. Their tears please me.

Monday 26 May 2008

A Suicidal Kermit The Frog

Sad Kermit plays a beautiful Elliott Smith number, throws something of a wobbler and goes all Richie Tenenbaum. A truly bizarre one this and more than a little unsettling. Observe:

Saturday 24 May 2008

Careful Now! Galway In Illegal Sexy Cinema Shocker!

For those of you who may be unaware, there has been a bit of fuss recently in Galway about the owners of a sex shop who are allegedly misusing their premises as a cinema. A dirty cinema. For the full depraved tale, click here.

However, the story as I see it is really all about this quote from suitably outraged Galway city councillor Padraig Conneely:

"There are already two of them in the city, they have planning permission for a shop but not for a cinema. A lot of the business they do is for things like hen parties. When I went up for the look myself, I saw two young women coming out with bags of stuff, you know, the dildos and blow up dolls and all that type of thing. It's done all over the country."


Thursday 22 May 2008

The Tom Waits Ticket Price "Issue".

My take on the matter.

As the grotesquely knowledgeable Jim Carroll pointed out yesterday, Tom Waits is playing three shows in Dublin this summer. These will be in The Ratcellar, an all-seated marquee in the Phoenix Park. Tickets will be €116.25 and €131.25 and are available from Tuesday next at the ninth bell in the morning.

Obviously, these are rather expensive prices. Yet before one drowns in a stew of righteous indignation, one should take a step back from one's creaky pulpit. Take a breath. Consider. Tom Waits is a professional artist, surrounded by evidently skilled professional business people who want to make as much money as possible. The man has an utterly devoted fanbase and he never performs here. The demand for tickets will therefore be stratospheric so it makes sense that the price should soar in tandem.

Personally, whilst being a big admirer of the man's music, I don't think it is worth it. For that much cash I would have to be seeing Tom in a basement jazz bar in Paris, quadruple gin in my hand, saturated in cigarette smoke. His heavy delivery reverberating around the room as I weep silently for my recently departed Brazilian lingerie model with a PHD in metaphysics. After the gig Tom will sidle up beside my in my poorly lit booth, throw an arm around my shoulder, a torn packet of Gitanes on the table. With a click of his fingers Anna Karina walks straight out of that scene in
Vivre Sa Vie and starts to sway, demure and interested. That devilish grin will linger a bit, "Johnny Boy, it's all gonna be okay!"

Probably not gonna happen in a tent in Dublin. Therefore, I'm not going to buy a ticket. As a consumer I have made a conscious and informed choice about a product. Boo! Hiss! Tom Waits is above capitalism and all those evils! Erm, clearly not. It is up to you then, Adult Consumer A, if you are willing to fork out. If you are sufficiently devoted to the Tom Waits legend then buy a ticket and go see him in concert with 6,000 like minded folks. If not, then shut up. Your whining is ridiculous.

Tuesday 20 May 2008

Scarlett Johansson's Tom Waits Album. Utterly Pointless Really.

Don't get me wrong. This is by no means the worst musical vanity project ever bestowed upon us by Hollywood. Actually, the music itself is inviting. TV On The Radio dude Dave Sitek's production is typically dense and some of the arrangements are quite pretty.

My gripe is with the artiste. A fine actress she may be, but Scarlett ain't got the lungs for a Tom Waits number or ten. The gravelly Galoises engraved lungs. The joy of a great Tom Waits song is in the conviction of his expression. By turns world weary, demented, angry or crestfallen, the man always growls from experience. His is a life fully lived. And he is all the cooler for it.

Scarlett is 23 years old. She does not growl. She whines. Her lower octaves and breathy delivery operate purely on an aesthetic level. There is no passion, no evidence of emotional devastation. Uncomfortable and self-aware, she never once makes the listener believe. Whilst never sounding horrible, the album is ultimately a soulless exercise. An achievement in itself considering her accomplished wordsmith.

As relevant as a Bella from Fair City album of Tommy Fleming covers.

By the by, if you want to hear some worthwhile music from a Hollywood actress then check out She & Him. The delectable Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward make with the Juno loveliness buzz. "Why Do You Let Me Stay Here?" is on heavy rotation at the moment. Give it a whirl.

Monday 19 May 2008

The Happening. A Promising Premise.

A decidedly morose trailer too:

All rather intriguing. The question then is can M. Night Shyamalan finally deliver a satisfactory end product with The Happening? Can this film, unlike any of his previous attempts, truly do justice to the ingenuity of his premise? Or shall we be assaulted once again with a contrived maelstrom of self-indulgence and "metaphor"?

Honestly, if it were any other director attached to this project then I would be genuinely excited by the above. Alas, cynicism must be my reflex... I mean, the aliens were killed by water. Water. 71% of the planet is covered in something that kills them slowly and painfully. So they invade it. Morons.

Sunday 11 May 2008

The Subtle Art Of Music Criticism. Or Nothing Like It.

We Versus The Shark. Sound like hitting a girl in the stomach. Apparently.

Just the other day a mate of mine came to me with an old copy of Hot Press - Vol. 32 Issue 6, Nick Cave cover - that he had picked up in Róisíns for free. Ahem. He told me to flick to the 42nd page of the publication. There was a sidebar concerned with burgeoning bands at indie spectacular SXSW. I read the following gibberish in said sidebar:

We Versus The Shark.

The pitch: an Athens, Georgia combo who sound like The White Stripes being punched in the stomach by Metallica.

Ok then.

What does that even mean? Not only does it give you no clue as to the musical inclination of the band - except maybe a tendency to be loud - but it also condones violence against women... Run Meg White! Run for the hills! There are incongruous and lazy metaphors on the rampage!

Not cool. However, I nevertheless understand that it can be hard for journalists to keep making with the pithy and the ironic on a fortnightly basis. I really do. And so I have decided to be kind to those of you in such a predicament. Feel free to borrow any of the following witticisms, each one more illuminating than the last:

The New(ish) Journalist's Glossary Of The Incongruous and Lazy. For Music Journalists.

1. Sounds like BAND NAME never calling BAND NAME back.

2. BAND NAME sound tighter than putting on your girlfriend's skinnies. Backwards. On Hill 16.

3. BAND NAME, as angry as a drunk Tony Soprano in an episode of Sex And The City.

4. Sounds like BAND NAME getting a reach around from a mustachioed George Formby.

5. Imagine BAND NAME alone on a broken down ghost train in Mullingar.

6. A soundscape as bleak as Bosco on smack. Smack supplied by BAND NAME.

7. BAND NAME, BAND NAME, and BAND NAME all walk into a bar. It's not funny.

8. If Disney made a porno, this would be the soundtrack.

So there you go folks. Pilfer as you please. Indeed, if anybody is still stuck then feel free to email me for pointers. Consider me the Robert Towne of Irish music journalism.

This glossary is also suitable for aspiring indie kids. One of these bombs would garner much chin stroking and smugness dropped barside in Whelans. You might want to learn them off though. A printout would cause an unsightly bulge in those Topman skinnies.

Saturday 10 May 2008

The Great Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip Review. Episode # 2: The Galway Gig.

Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip - Stress! @ De Burgos, Galway, May 8th.

Outside. Some greasy steps on Augustine Street. The drizzle is incessant, merciless. Well, as merciless as drizzle can be. And yet despite such meteorological pettiness, the queue continues to grow. Cheeky cans are quaffed and whimsies are spun, and the queue continues to grow. A peculiarly menacing gentleman in a floral umbrella, shorts, socks and sandals combo passes by. The queue continues to grow. The doors open suddenly. The queue shall grow no longer. There are no tickets left. Clutches of Galwegian musos meander home disappointed. There will be neither Dan Le Sac nor Scroobius Pip for them tonight, on this the first completely sold-out date of their Irish tour. The gentlemen responsible at Stress!! look content. As do the ticket holders.

Inside now. Damp do and sweaty Tiger beers. The breeze is shot to pieces. In the cosy confines of De Burgos, proximity to the artiste is paramount. Haste is required. We venture towards the stage. Whereon we witness the beginning of the support set. A comically hirsute Vince Mack Mahon are ripping it up. This foursome - Deviant, Hideous Penguin, Mikey Fingers, and DJ Tweek - now call Galway their home, having arrived here from corners as wonderfully disparate as Cork, Killarney and Roscommon. Their buzz is scratch perversion and those in attendance are really rather enjoying it all. It goes a little something like this... Sans Mantua '07 environs, of course.

Evangelical seems to be an adjective of choice when Master Scroobius Pip is discussed by critics. Apt. The crowd's reception of him and his suitcase of tricks is no less than rapturous. The niceties are kept to a minimum as he and Dan Le Sac launch directly into "The Beat That My Heart Skipped". The tempo is set. Then swiftly re-aligned. "Magician's Assistant" is next up, bringing it with it all the merriment and body movin' that a song about suicide can. Cue an ironic grin and self-aware joking from Scroobius. Is it enough?

More tunes. Chronology fails me now. "Development" sounds fuller and punchier than on the album. The props may have something to do with this. A lesson in entertainment from the bygone Tommy C perhaps? "Angles" is particularly impressive with Scroobius relishing in the visceral delivery of his parable. A Blair and Bush baiting piece of (un)spoken word poetry elicits one of the biggest cheers of the evening. An emphasis of the talent in our midst. Pip demands an instant frenzy for the thumping "Back From Hell". The neon brigade front left comply completely.

The best saved for last? "Thou Shalt Always Kill" is obviously glorious. The zealotry with which Pip's commandments are bellowed back at him makes it all the more enjoyable. Radiohead and Le Sac soundtrack the closing opus. "Letter From God To Man" exists as a definition of literate and socially aware hip-hop. Guns, bitches and bling pale into insignificance when in ironic discussion with a deity. Thomas Hobbes, bile from the Big Guy, a fucked up state of nature. With dancing. Which is nice.

Alas, that perpetual niggle of the hip-hop gig, it all seems like it is over too soon. Yet there are no complaints as the crowd begins to disperse, amiable and content. Dan Le Sac and Scroobius Pip seem quite satisfied themselves. As well they might. Job done. Sporadic flashes of brilliance. Tour finished. Their place on quite a few pedestals in Galway assured.

The Great Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip Review. Episode #1: The Album.

Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip - Angles.

Let me get the versus issue out of the way from the get go. There is only one winner in the battle between Dan Le Sac and Scroobius Pip... And it is most certainly Master Pip. A poetic soul, an inquisitive inclination, an ear for a punchline. A discourse encompassing the evils of warfare, the hypocrisies of the NME brigade, and lurve. Impressive, no? Do not misunderstand me, Dan Le Sac is an artist of no little talent. However, would he ever have permeated the indie consciousness to such an extent without his able MC at his side?

The lyrical agility of Scroobius Pip is something to behold. Whilst he may not be the finished article in terms of flow, his keen intelligence more than makes up for this minuscule grievance. He tears the zeitgeist asunder on breakthrough hit "Thou Shalt Always Kill", hilariously underlining the many inanities of our very particular generation. A quote would be redundant at this stage, surely. He is prepared to examine the deeper issues too. Self-harm and alienation on "Magician's Assistant": "But then... what about me? / What kind of boyfriend am I? / Instead of living a life I was a big part of, you would rather die. / Instead of fighting through together and turning things around / You decided the grass was greener on the other side of the ground." "Reading My Dreams" is an exercise in subtle love poetry, an album closer of touching beauty and fragility: "I adjust to rest upon her sweet breast / And on her torso more so / In each others arms and with interlocked hands / Lay two smiling faces and one set of plans." And we return to the humorous once again, with this snippet from "Rapper's Battle", one of many examples of Pip's way with a punchline:
"You can hear her every word, you would still never know me / Like Sean Penn could win 10 Oscars but he'll still be Spicoli."

There are moments of brilliance on this album during which the skills of both artists operate in dexterous and harmonious union... The thundering exclamation of Le Sac's beat on "Thou Shalt Always Kill" is the perfect foil to the urgency of Pip's proclamations. Le Sac's staccato composition on "Angles" deftly reinforces the uncomfortable lyrical narrative. Unfortunately it is not consistently so. There is a messiness to Dizzie Rascal nod "Fixed" that weakens Pip's sarcastic tirade. A confused pity. "Rapper's Battle" is a few edits away from a complete tune, Pip's vocals oscillating wildly throughout the mix. And whilst "Letter From God To Man" is quite the indie/liberal anthem, it would have benefited from slightly less noodling. Only slightly.

Angles is not perfect. There are flaws. However, these can and should be ignored. For this album is imbued with a freshness and urgency that leaves many contemporaries in its wake, be they within the realm of hip-hop or otherwise. Via the dexterity of Scroobius Pip the listener can be transported to a unique oasis of wit and inarguable potential. Once there the body pops are enabled by Monsieur Le Sac. Really, what more could one ask from a debut? They are, after all, just a band.

Wednesday 30 April 2008

I'm not very good at this blogging lark.


The decidedly eagle eyed amongst you may have noticed a significant drop in posting round these parts over the past few weeks. A most bothersome state of affairs for which I apologise profusely. Yet it could not be helped. A temporarily decrepit laptop and two separate cowboy attempts at repairing said laptop saw to that. However, the third attempt seems to have been successful, so far anyway.

I've missed my wee soapbox in the interim. So much reactionary sarcasm, such disinterested and immune friends. Truly, those guys stopped listening many moons ago. I can't even remember the last time they really listened... Sigh... Those carefree guys. Those endless summer nights down by the jetty in Mr. Stephenson's dinghy. Blueberry soda in one hand, swish stick in the order, guffawing loudly as the smooth pebbles flit gracefully across the still water and off the forehead of a retarded heron... I often wonder if I'll ever have days like those again. Christ, will anyone? Is it possible that we have all changed that much?

It is at this time of indifference then that I turn to you all once more folks. Is there a place for me still in your warm keyboardy bosom? Oh do say yes. For I am ready to fully re-immerse myself into this New(ish) Maelstrom buzz. I really do crave the validation, the communal gratification of the comment, the endless supply of chicks. I have ideas too, a few of them not crap. For example, there is another blog by yours truly ambling slowly towards the horizon. A more specific effort - very much in relation to my MA - that shall coexist in harmony with the shambles you see before you.

So there you go folks, my recent inactivity explained. A busted laptop and an unwillingness to habitually frequent the fine internet cafés that Galway has to offer. It's not that I'm a snob. Honest. It's just that I find it difficult to mine my own particular brand of blog gold dust when another panicked Spanish student has locked herself into a phone booth and a clutch of scobettes cackle at the "shtate of dat wan Tiffany" at a recent 16th birthday in Moycullen... Ah yes, the (not so) quiet wonder of the Bebo stalk.

I'm rambling now, and I must be off. Fret not however, as further narcissistic self-importance is quite, quite imminent.

Or something.

Wednesday 9 April 2008

The Random Observations Of A Jaded Cynic. Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Accept The Truth As I See It And As Everybody Else Should Too. #1

I thought I was listening to The Kooks' new album Konk the other day. It turns out I was just standing beside a freshly painted wall.

Monday 7 April 2008

"Have you seen in your dreams?"

I present to you Miracle Fortress and the wondrously lush slice of song that is "Have You Seen In Your Dreams?". It was Nialler - but of course - who first alerted me to this Montréal indie pop outfit. A fine and tasteful discovery to be sure. Yet as lovely as this song is, the video itself is almost lovelier:

Such a sweet and unashamed childhood nostalgia buzz. Such brilliant execution of the idea too. Which is nice.

British Long Haulage Firm. The Cartoon.

Eddie Stobart is apparently the United Kingdom's most famous logistics company. Indeed, such is the company's universal acclaim that some venerable marketing folk decided that it should venture into the realm of children's entertainment. The animated mutant that is Steady Eddie was conceived:

Yup, the old "get the pre-schoolers into long haulage" dollar. Marketing strategy at its most crushingly asinine. Seriously, what kind of mongoloid would actually buy this monstrosity for their child? I can imagine the exchange running like so:

"Dad, this is shit."

"But son, it's an animated truck/corporate logo that delivers produce!"


"And look at the special features son... You can watch an actual Eddie Stobart delivery being made. At night time! But wait, there's more! Once the truck arrives at its destination you can watch the staff there tiredly scurrying about the store attempting to get the produce on the shelves before the shop opens!"

"Mum was right to leave you."

Eddie Stobart, I tip my hat to you sir. For you truly are a business man of some considerable taste and moral acumen. Why, I was just chatting to the Eddie Stobart Girls the other day:


Friday 4 April 2008

Skins. The Yoof.

Up until very recently I had never watched E4's Skins. Therefore, wondering what all the fuss was about and feeling slightly out of touch with my wee be-neoned brethren, I committed myself to watching an entire episode an evening or two ago.

I was amazed. The hype is thoroughly deserved. For Skins is a truly groundbreaking and searingly relevant television drama. Barrier upon barrier, preconception upon preconception, all obliterated. My socially conscious fogey mind, enfeebled, unable to deal... Honestly, these people are visionaries. Soothsayers.

Teenagers like sex!

Teenagers are often selfish and spoilt!

Teenagers take substances that are bad for them!

Teenagers go to school!

Fuck me. There was just so much that I did not know.

Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip. In Galway.

Cool. Cool. Cool.

Regular readers of this blog would already be aware of the stratospheric regard in which I hold the musical duo Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip. It came as a rather pleasant surprise then to learn that Master Pip's dexterous rhymes are soon to be spat in the city of Galway... In De Burgos, on the 8th day of May. Despite a periodic aberrance of sound system at the Picnic they nevertheless put on quite the show last September. In the intimate basement milieu of De Burgos, this gig assumes the status of unmissable. Truly.

Infinite kudos to those responsible at Stress!! for getting the lads in to perform. Galwegian music types are already well aware of the quality buzz that a Stressful night entails. This addition to their roster can only strengthen the event's ever growing reputation. As will the ludicrously cheap tickets. Admission shall be €12. A pittance really.

In other good related news, the debut Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip LP shall be released on the 12th May. Unfettered glee buzz.

As another matter of interest, other folks who have performed at Stress!! and are decidedly worth checking out include: The Infomatics, Beatpoet
("Tao" is such a tune!), Chequerboard, Paul O'Reilly, Mirakil Whip, and Francis Heery... If unaware of any of the above artistes then commence with the clicking. A worthwhile tapestry of tunes awaits.

Wednesday 26 March 2008

Dave Gorman's Book Launch. In Galway.

Dave Gorman is one of my favourite comedians. His is an intelligent and insightful brand of humour that is becoming all too rare nowadays. It is a happy occurence then that he shall soon be in my town of residence, namely Galway. His reason for doing so? To launch his new book, America Unchained: A Freewheeling Roadtrip In Search of Non-Corporate USA.

Whilst the book will be available from the 3rd April, Dave shall be in the Róisín Dubh on Sunday 27th April for an official launch shindig. His appearance comes as part of this year's impressive Cúirt programme. Literature and comedy enthusiasts take note, it shall all commence at 4pm and tickets are a trifling €8. Acquire them here.

I'm really rather looking forward to this. The documentary of the same title was very interesting indeed:

Saturday 22 March 2008

I Am Cuba

Mikhail Kalatozov's Soy Cuba (I Am Cuba). An absolute miracle of the cinema. An epic and poetic homage to the tenets of communism. Four almost wordless vignettes are dexterously woven; each one meant to underline the dichotomous and immoral nature of Batista's pre-revolution regime in Cuba. Grinding poverty versus mindless excess. Be under no illusion, this is propaganda at its most potent. However, not even the most apolitical amongst us could fail to be moved by the beauty and mobility of Kalatozov's direction... The funeral procession sequence blows my mind every time:

Film criticism can but flounder when attempting to adequately discuss genius such as this. Even so, this is my compendious take on the subject: I Am Cuba is irrefutable verification of the cinema's existence as an art form. Utterly peerless.

Why the random hyperbolic praise of Soviet cinema? Well, I finally picked up a copy of this film on DVD yesterday. Anyone with even a passing interest in the medium should do likewise. Click here, it being quite ludicrously cheap. Go now comrades!

Thursday 20 March 2008

Lawrence Of Arabia. In Topman.

INT - A Trendy High Street Mens Clothing Boutique. By The Accessories Stand.

A man dressed entirely in white robes strides up to an immaculately coiffured but quite vacuous shop assistant. The man in white robes is none other than T.E. Lawrence, a man perhaps more popularly known as Lawrence Of Arabia. He carries himself with an unmistakable air of dignity and decorum. Derek, the assistant, is texting somebody with unerring rapidity. He does not even glance at his newest customer.

Lawrence Of Arabia:
Good day to you sir! I was wondering if you could be of assistance.

Derek exhales slightly. He still refuses to look up. He tosses his fringe in a spasm of misguided nonchalance. His thumb is a blur.

Lawrence Of Arabia:
Indeed... You see young man, I am about to embark on another military expedition with my Arab cohorts - their rebellion being most dear to me - and I wish to acquire some much needed clothing and supplies... First off, where do you keep your keffiyehs?

Our wha?

Lawrence Of Arabia:
You know, your keffiyehs. I saw some youths gathered outside the local phonograph emporium. They were all wearing keffiyehs. And when I inquired as to where they obtained them, they said to come here.


Lawrence Of Arabia:
Damn it man, do you not even know what a keffiyeh is?

Afraid not bud.

Lawrence Of Arabia:
How bastard tiresome of you!

Lawrence then storms out of the shop, knocking over a basket of checkered neon belts and string vests on sale for €2. Derek is about to settle back into his texting groove when another customer slowly enters the shop... It is Yasser Arafat.

Alright Yasser man! Those new scarves you ordered came in! They're deadly, go really well with me scruffy Cons.

Yasser Arafat:

Wednesday 19 March 2008

Go Away Muse!


Your new live CD and DVD is terribly irritating. You are not Queen. This is not bombast. It is an excessive ego wank. Seriously, a room at a Holiday Inn, a roll of Bounty and some old Q reviews would have been way cheaper lads.

Muse... Bon Jovi for teenagers who wish they were only children.

Tuesday 18 March 2008

In Bruges. A Review.

Martin McDonagh. A bona fide gifted playwright. Martin McDonagh. An Oscar winner. Martin McDonagh. A man whose scripts are prone to the odd expletive and even odder socially irresponsible diatribe... In Bruges. Martin McDonagh's debut feature as both screenwriter and director. In Bruges. A very satisfying and worthwhile cinematic experience indeed. Which is nice.

The buddy/crime/hitman templates have been well battered by mainstream movie makers over the years, yet they still permit a talented scribe a lot of room in which to maneuver. Thankfully, McDonagh is such a scribe. Theatre enthusiasts will already be aware of his effusive dialogic style - the Aran Islands trilogy, The Pillowman. The question is then, how his distinctive style translates to a tried and trusted cinematic (sub)genre. Allow me a brief digression, if you will... Thomas Schatz, a film theorist, once wrote that genre is both "a static and a dynamic system". There are tenets and conflicts within a genre that must remain constant throughout a genre's development. Yet the techniques with which the writer/director tackles this essential conflicts can change. Fluidity is key... Old Tom was spot on really. Basically, it is up to the writer/director to prescribe to or fuck with generic rules as he sees fit. A craftsman will always attempt to do both. As does McDonagh here.

Take the setting for example. Crime films and Belgian towns do not make for common bedfellows. Therefore the intrigue is instant. As is the subtle majesty of Bruges. The medieval architecture is bewitching and ethereal. It helps to lift McDonagh's narrative out of the dregs of genre - casinos, inner city whorehouses, country clubs - and allude to something more substantial. Yet the fairytale aesthetic constantly reinforces the fiction of proceedings. Is this meant as a parable? Entirely up to you.

The most important thing is that this is a bloody entertaining film. For me, McDonagh's dialogue here is on a par with any of his previous creations. His ear for the intricacies of Irish camaraderie/vulgarity remains unparalleled. The "fucks" and belly laughs are plentiful. This film is a twisted equal opportunities offender, yet is nevertheless in possession of an insistent heart. That heart's beat is supplied by the chemistry between the two leads. Ken (Brendan Gleeson) and Ray (Colin Farrell) are two lovingly drawn characters, but McDonagh would have been stranded without the pitch perfect realisation from both actors... Gleeson is brilliant as the withered and worldly Ken. His hitman-beginning-to-see-the-bigger-picture is one that effortlessly sidesteps the clichés normally associated with such roles. However, it is Farrell that steals the show. His is a blistering performance, alternating rapidly and seamlessly between slapstick comedy, vicious outbursts of violence, tender sweetness, and an all consuming depression. Ray is an idiot at times, but he is always a relatively well-intentioned sort. A man who is perhaps not really cut out for his current line of work.

Alas, it is time for a complaint or two. Whilst an impressive debut, there are still a few faults to be found in Bruges. McDonagh displays some moments of inspired directorial ability - the coke scene, the playground scene. However, he also quite often highlights his relative filmic inexperience. There are some occasional shifts in tone and pace that just don't sit right. Especially in the final reel. Which brings us to the ending. It is a very fine exercise in screenwriting technique and formalistic invention, but it grates somewhat with the breathless and irreverent messiness of what goes before it. The fervent machinations (and characters) of McDonagh's mind seem to have been reined in by the need for an oh-so-clever denouement. The result? A serious bang of contrivance. A pity. It's a confusion that often permeates a first feature. A narcissism on the part of a fledgling director coming from a sphere of prior adulation? Perhaps.

Ultimately, however, these are only minor quibbles. Any late upsets - and slight ones at that - are completely overshadowed by the fiercely enjoyable and energetic first two acts. This film is hilarious, yet there are also moments of visceral pathos and emotion. As the strength of the relationship between Ken and Ray becomes more apparent, one cannot but be touched by their respective moral dilemmas and existential ennui. A sense of decency and a nagging moral compass,
"gay beer", and a contractual obligation to murder... Never easy is it?

"I had no time for shenanigans! No time!"

Good day to you all. Posts have been appallingly scant over this past week or so. Please accept my sincerest apologies for this blogospheric aberrance. The reasons for this lack of activity? I would like to say that it was due to some higher pursuit on my part, a bitchin' Zen quest to inner fulfillment and what not... It wasn't.

The truth is just that work was quite busy. I simply had no energy in the evenings. Especially not for the vaguely vitriolic ráiméis that usually seeps forth around these parts.

This lack of energy can also be attributed to the fact that I was quite sick last week. Which was something of a pity as it was my birthday at the weekend.

Yet fear not dear readers, as this ailment did not stop my frenzied oscillation betweens the craggy plateaus of chemical dementia and chemically induced guilt... And whilst it was all incredibly entertaining, I have come to realise the I am the Danny Glover of Bucky drinkers. Never again.

There are pictures. Apparently. Facebook. Bollocks.

Sorry again folks. It's just, like, that I was really, really, really sick:

Wednesday 12 March 2008

"Come on, look, who cares about tomatoes?"

One cannot begin to even guess as to the reasons why, but apparently a remake of seminal cult "classic" Attack Of The Killer Tomatoes is on the cards. Kent Nichols and Douglas Sarine, creators of the hit interweb series Ask A Ninja, are penning an adaptation of the 1978 original. Apparently, the basic premise shall remain unaltered. That is to say that there shall be killer tomatoes, erm, like, killing people. And stuff... The theme song was moderately amusing I suppose. Sort of:

Sigh. For those of you who may be unaware, it was in
Return Of The Killer Tomatoes - the somwheat aptly monikered sequel to Killer Tomatoes - that a certain George Clooney got his first big break. He was fairly shit in it though.

Then he slept with his pet pig. Then Lisa Snowdon. Then he won an Oscar.

The End.

Monday 10 March 2008

Predator: The Musical

Mr. R. Kelly, you can stay firmly trapped in your closet sir. For the following work illuminates the true path to a successful merger of the rules of narrative progression and the tenets of hip hop. Or something like it:

Apparently this opus took two years to complete. An impressive feat?

State Magazine. Sweet.

Having spent the weekend sporadically delving into the new Irish musical payload that is State Magazine, I would like to take this opportunity to offer a "bloody good show" to all concerned... A fresh and clean design, smells lovely too... An eclectic range of content, offering insights into the REMs of this world as well as the !Kaboogies... And most importantly of all, a talented and engaging pack of scribes.

I await the second issue with considerable interest. Until then, I shall make do with the second State podcast. Starring Choice winners Super Extra Bonus Party, a click forth would be quite worthwhile.

As is this fantastic blog, the Dalston Oxfam Shop. It is a treasure trove of nostalgia, bygone cool and kitsch. It is a library of old cassette tapes found on the dusty shelves of charity shops. The nuggets are numerous. And all available for download... The requisite hat tip must go to Nialler and his exceedingly high Blog Standard buzz.

Sweet find dude.