February 27, 2014

Mopey Roomy Pop Doormats.

A while back I might have said that these indie-lad prejudices that bubble up whenever NME dare to step out of the 'real music' compound need to be taken on, and need changing by convincing writing. I might even have said until then 'rock & roll' remains trapped in this eternal teddyboy age, waiting for the mods who'll never come, cos the teds simply don't like 'chav music', will only accept black music, if at all, from a time of segregation, black music without the arrogance that only rock & roll can rightfully play with. Now, for its survival, I just think the NME should keep those numbnuts happy. Turner's speech was all about having it both ways, winning an industry award, turning up, accepting it (and the new stickers that can go on the album of course, which is what it's ALL about) while still drearily insisting that you're still on the edge (cos as Oasis proved, you just have to repeatedly and tediously SAY you're rock & roll to BE rock & roll these days).

Posted by dean at 02:07 AM

February 25, 2014

. . .


Posted by dean at 12:58 AM

February 22, 2014

Curb 'N' Sneer, Page 119.

Sometimes television is your friend. When you're lonely, when you're sitting in a bedsit eating microwaved bachelor slop (Spice Cow-Hoof Scrapings In Tear & Onion Gravy -- For One), the box comes into its own, blocking it out, soaking up time like a sponge. But like all friends, it sometimes lets you down. Just when you need it most. Example: few things are as depressing as insomnia taking hold when you've got to be up early the next day. Each passing minute underlines your failure. Suddenly, you're the world's biggest loser. A dunderhead who can't even lie down and close his eyes properly. Panicking motionlessly in bed as time drags by, neurotically calculating how many hours of sleep you could get if only you could go under right now -- you need something crazy to distract you. Or you'll go crazy. Reading won't help: it strains your eyes and forces you to think. Perhaps a slug of T.V. is the answer. So on goes the box. And suddenly you're gazing at an ocean of shit.

Posted by dean at 12:40 AM

February 20, 2014

Weighted Boons, Page 128.

All writing slants the way a writer leans, and no man is born perpendicular, although many men are born upright.

Posted by dean at 12:05 AM

February 17, 2014

Curb 'N' Sneer, Page 74.

Sorry. It's just that I've been watching a lot of MTV recently, and simply don't understand what is it all these nu-metal pissbabies are getting so worked up about. There they are, living in the lap of luxury in the wealthiest nation on Earth, and they're still throwing tantrums. Shouting, jumping up and down, punching the air, screwing up their faces like a pig shitting pineapples -- what? What's wrong? What's the matter? I wish they'd just put down their instruments and tell us. Ah, MTV. It's angry, subversive videos I like most. You can tell them a mile off -- they look like they cost $250 million to make, with funds presumably supplied by the Subversion Corporation.

Posted by dean at 10:59 PM

February 11, 2014

Weighted Boons, Page 127.

All half-truths excite me.

Posted by dean at 01:27 AM

February 04, 2014

Weighted Boons, Page 124.

Fred was like a child in many ways, and sought always to blow things up to proportions that satisfied his imagination and his love of adventure. He was the Cecil B. DeMille of dogs.

Posted by dean at 02:14 AM

February 01, 2014

Weighted Boons, Page 116.

He's dead, damn it. I would feel a lot better this morning if I could just see Fred's face, as he would know instantly that I was in trouble with the authorities and would be all over the place, hamming it up. He was something.

Posted by dean at 02:37 AM