A LOAD OF OLD BOLLOCKS

Sonisphere-cast

2011-07-18T14:27:00.001+01:00

WARNING! Contains Thrash Metal

A week has passed since the UK's premiere metal event of the year. Not Download (AKA Donington), but Sonisphere. Sonisphere had won this year's prestigious title by hosting The Big 4

bands of thrash on the Friday and Saturday's line-up catered for the, ahem, younger members of the festival audience with an amazing performance from Biffy Clyro. Sunday made up for it with sets by Motorhead, Bill Bailey and metal behemoths Slipknot.

Oh, and Limp Bizkit were there too...

Hear what two South London punters had to say about the weekend by listening to the free Sonisphere podcast.

Yes folks, this is Depcast 17 and you can access it by clicking here.

Merry Podcast!

2010-12-23T14:37:00.002Z

A Load Of Old Bollocks wishes its waning readership a Merry Xmas and a Happy New Blah. To help you with your vigourous celebrations, I have teamed up with the legendary Howesy in producing a technologically themed podcast fit for any bikini babes who happen to be sunning their hides in tropical climes while the rest of us freeze our cods off. We wish you good health.

Download DEPCAST16/130 here.

Save Our Club

2010-06-01T00:33:00.003+01:00

Desperate times need desperate measures.

Please sign the petition below to seek the Prime Minister's intervention to stop Crystal Palace football club from falling into the hands of the faceless financial businessmen whose only interest is monetary gain.

The Football Association do not seem to be helping this club - a club which has a long and proud history - that has served its community well for so many years. Ironically, Crystal Palace was just one of the London teams which contributed to the formation of The FA.

CPFC have not only enthused and encouraged youngsters in south east London through the excellent work of its respected youth academy, which has recently produced players like John Bostock and Victor Moses. This work has also had an effect internationally with the achievements at Crystal Palace Baltimore in the USA.

Our club needs your help. Whether you're a fan of the game or not, whichever team you may support, signing this petition is a demonstration against corporate greed whose only vested interest is the fatness of its wallet with little or no regard for the thousands of fans who will be utterly distraught if this club goes into liquidation.

Time is in short supply; thanks for reading this and please sign the petition below ASAP. In addition, please feel free to circulate this message via all means possible.

SIGN HERE

Topical-cast!

2010-05-17T16:34:00.003+01:00

Here's an idea. Listen to two of the most popular BBC presenters to see if it rubs off on you. My result? The bastard son of John Peel and Jeremy Clarkson. Get in...

For those that have just joined us, it's just another free-to-download podcast.

Download here.

A Good Name For A Band...

2010-05-05T15:22:00.001+01:00

...would be "Vanian On Acid". This is years ago in Berlin. Manic. Confusing. Winged. Bluffed. Chaotic. Shambolic. Sad. Magic.

Harmonised Chaos Alive And Well In London Town

2010-04-16T01:23:00.002+01:00

Big thanks to those who showed up, we actually made a bit of dosh from this one. Bad news is that most of the proceeds were drunk on the same night. Oh dear..

Malcolm McMarmite

2010-04-09T15:34:00.003+01:00

So it's toodle-pip to a person who appeared to be loved and hated in equal amounts. Some of today's news stories have gone, quite predictably, with the "Godfather of Punk" tag and have also described him as an impressario, mover, shaker, manager and "ideas man".

I've often wondered at that last description as to what constitutes to being labelled as such. It gives a lot of people the impression that Malcolm always had fresh, original and exciting ways to help promote whatever he was up to at the time. Wherever his own inspiration came from God only knows and whether his ideas were his own rather than borrowing them from someone or somewhere else is perhaps neither here nor there, but what he was great at was promotion.

McLaren had said himself that he was a good mis-manager of The Sex Pistols and I firmly believe that he was, despite spending much of his career putting on a bit of a spin when commenting on his own achievements. Inventor of Punk? As in loud noisy guitar music with an attitude that teenagers would love and adults would hate? Don't worry about it, it was all part of his 'Cash From Chaos' initiative. What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall when the solicitor reads out his Will.

So he turned lots of people onto Snot Rock, Hip Hop and Opera which was, musically speaking, his finest moment. The Sex Pistols charade, according to him, was always expected to turn into a bloody mess. As to what extent he actually meant this to happen is questionable, but I'd like to think that he perhaps had some form of a human heart lurking behind his internal cash registers. If you ask Viv Westwood, he did. Ask John Lydon and the answer may differ.

When I heard of his passing, the only emotion I felt was empathy for his family and friends. It's best to leave all the ground-breaking, culture-defining, svengali type tributes to writers like Jon Savage.

Staid At Home?

2010-03-20T14:20:00.006Z

Last Thursday night saw the UK debut of The Galileo 7 at The Fiddler's Elbow in Camden, London as part of a Rock Til You Drop night. They were one of three bands on the bill sandwiched between The 4th Suit (who had travelled all the way from Bristol just for this gig) and The Alpha Rays whose performance I missed due to an extremely ungodly start the following morning.

I'd been looking forward to seeing The G7 as a live entity since hearing their guitarist and main vocalist Allan Crockford's demos before he'd even got the bodies together to perform the songs in a live environment. Allan has a wealth of experience on the live circuit (he's an ex-Prisoners / Solarflares / Stabilisers / Headcoats / James Taylor Quartet member plus other bands too numerous to mention) and together with noted session bassist Paul Moss, keyboard player Viv Bonsels and drummer Russ Baxter, have recently come back to Merry Ol' England from a well received tour of Benelux countries. It must have been disappointing for them to play in what was largely a vacuous venue that is capable of holding around 150 punters on their return.

Such scenarios can be a little soul destroying considering the work that's put into organising gigs, not just for bands but for promoters too. It goes against the grain of any nice guy to frogmarch potential gig-goers into a show. Promote too hard and you're in danger of being seen as pushy, but if you take a softly-softly approach you may not be taken seriously. That seems to be a dilemma for Rock Til You Drop's promoter, Toby Burton, a very affable up front gent who has invested shitloads of time into his venture only to be rewarded (on this particular night) with a minimal return. A few hardcore supporters showed up, others would have loved to have been there but due to social as well as financial constraints, couldn't make it.

Rock Til You Drop focuses on forming and maintaining a musical community for the more mature acts and if our peers / friends / supporters happen to be of the same age group then it gets tougher to cajole an audience together for obvious reasons. Most have families to attend to and these cost time and money and if you happen to be an act that is just starting out it can be one hell of a challenge to gain a following. Sure, luck can play a huge part in acquiring positive circumstances but what can you do if you are just depending on hard work and you end up with a poor turnout on the doors?

Perhaps the answer lies in trying to banish the "middle-aged" attitude of the gig goers? After all, thousands of them will turn up to see a favourite name band that they followed as a youngster, what's stopping them from checking out new talent? Maybe those creaking bones can't be bothered to haul themselves out of their comfy slippers and nice warm houses to face the gamble of watching a new or unknown band in unfamiliar surroundings where the beer might taste of piss. Comfort becomes paramount on reaching a certain age, wether it's being able to get home after the gig by public transport or (as a performer) manouvering a smaller amp to venues in order to avoid a hernia as you carry the fucker up and down the stairs for the sake of a paltry half hour's worth of use. Thing is, at our age, we tend to get stuck in our ways. Thoughts of adventure lie in that well deserved fortnight away in tropical lands where everything is done for us which, admittedly, is much more appealing than a miserable night in Camden where you can't relax properly due to tomorrow's impending demands at work and in the home.

As I mentioned earlier, The Galileo 7 had gone down well on the continent having had a captive (but willing) audience. Does this mean that it's an issue of location? Camden has a plethora of live venues, all of them crying out for peoples' attention every night. Are we too spoilt for choice to the point where we can't be bothered to discover anything new anymore?

I really haven't got any remedies for this situation, but I hope it works out for Toby in the end. He's passionate about what he does and he needs more support, regardless of how old you are. As for The Galileo 7 themselves, they had more energy coming from them than many bands half their age do, so here's a middle-aged cliche for you: go see them and rock before you drop. Otherwise you could be in danger of wasting the rest of your lives in front of computer screens reading middle-aged moans like this one.
More pictures here.

Initial Impressions # 5: Aston & Bournville (including competition)

2010-03-08T15:36:00.000Z

I'm doing these places in aphabetical (as opposed to chronological) order of visitation, so let's get the footie out of the way first.

The home of Aston Villa FC is a fine stadium going under the name of Villa Park and its grandeur befits a club of such status; no hot Vimto for sale here then. Following a somewhat unfair result at Selhurst Park, it was off to Brum for the FA Cup replay between us and Martin O'Neil's side. Although this wasn't the final, it was another cup knock-out for Warnock's Red & Blue Army (having been defeated by a far superior Manchester City side in the League Cup last August). Warnock himself would leave us with a draw the following Saturday against Doncaster Rovers before moving on to QPR as their new gaffer. Super bloody hoops.

Villa Park ratings:

Stadium - Fine architectural structure in good nick

Security - Stewards outnumbered by police

Food - Black country pudding

Transport - Free car parking in the nearby industrial park providing you arrive early. It's either that or the train - good luck with the crowds.

(Aston Villa 3 - C Palace 1 - bleedin' penalties, innit. Attendance: 31,874)

Now the interesting part which is a follow up to this post and pay attention, there's a real competition later. Prior to the game, a visit to one of Birmingham's nicer areas, Bournville, was due. It's famous for the Cadbury's - sorry, Kraft - factory and it is a humungous place. It conjures up images of Willy Wonka's fictional HQ described in Roald Dahl's book, but with an art-deco twist to its design in some places. A waft of processed chocolate fills the air as a pleasant after thought.

The onsite Cadbury World Experience is mostly aimed at children, a brief history here and an amusement arcade ride there but if you're wishing for an indepth tour of the factory, forget it. You're allowed to see a (very) brief part of the packaging process - which is a mechanical marvel of engineering - but the rest of the place is shrowded in mystery and taking pictures inside this glorious establishment is forbidden.

Should you manage to make this pilgrimage, be sure to take the ten minute walk around the perimeter of the place to the factory outlet store where you'll be able to buy as much chocolate as you can eat for knock down prices. I got my fill, believe you me. A few more pictures here.

So, onto the competition. We are giving away Cadbury's related goodies to the lucky person who replies with answers worthy of a Golden Ticket. Let's take a look at what you could win. Anthea, please bring on the prizes;

1 x Cadbury Rubik's Cube,

1 x Cadbury World booklet,

4 x Cadbury World drink mats,

6 x vintage Cadbury's picture postcards,

1 x ultra hi-tech Creme Egg USB mouse with mouse mat,

1 x Cadbury World thimball, Flake pen, Cadbury fridge magnet, keyring, leather bookmark and enamel pin badge.

Most items above will be elegantly housed within a Cadbury's vintage style chocolate tin.

I may even chuck in a packet of Koko (unopened) depending on how hungry I get.

People who wish to enter will have to answer in full the following question:

What is the historical link between Aston Villa FC & Crystal Palace FC in relation to the latter's inauguration as a club at the start of the early 1900's?

In the event of a tie-breaker, please complete the following statement:
"I want to have a fat arse and a spotty face this Spring (because / to / for / so that*)...."
*Delete as neccessary.

Send your answers with your name by email to: pusfacechocaddict@gmail.com

Small print:

One entry per person only. Closing date for entries is March 31st 2010. The writer of this blog will not be held responsible for any heart attacks, weight gain, bloated stomachs and dermatological conditions due to this unofficial Cadbury's promotion. The editor's decision regarding bribes is usually final, so the best of British luck to ya.

Why Cocks Shouldn't Fly

2010-02-25T12:39:00.004Z

My attention was brought to this email currently doing the rounds in the transportation sector which I've decided to reproduce courtesy of Butch:

An award should go to the Virgin Airlines desk attendant in Sydney some months ago for being smart and funny, while making her point when confronted with a passenger who probably deserved to fly as cargo.

A crowded Virgin flight was cancelled after Virgin's 767s had been withdrawn from service. A single attendant was re-booking a long line of inconvenienced travelers. Suddenly an angry passenger pushed his way to the desk. He slapped his ticket down on the counter and said, "I HAVE to be on this flight and it HAS to be FIRST CLASS".

The attendant replied, "I'm sorry, sir. I'll be happy to try to help you, but I've got to help these people first and I'm sure we'll be able to work something out."

The passenger was unimpressed. He asked loudly, so that the passengers behind him could hear, "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM?"

Without hesitating, the attendant smiled and grabbed her public address microphone: "May I have your attention please, may I have your attention please,' she began - her voice heard clearly throughout the terminal. 'We have a passenger here at Desk 14 WHO DOES NOT KNOW WHO HE IS. If anyone can help him find his identity, please come to Desk 14."

With the folks behind him in line laughing hysterically, the man glared at the Virgin attendant, gritted his teeth and said, 'F... You!'

Without flinching, she smiled and said: "I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to get in line for that too."

Initial Impressions # 4: Scunthorpe & The Stranglers

2010-02-12T11:24:00.008Z

Scunny. What's there to say about Scunny?

Erm...

Well...

Shall we just move on to the match?

Glanford Park ratings:

Stadium - corrugated iron shack on breeze blocks

Security - friendly but confused stewards

Food - hot Vimto @ 50 pence a go

Transport - car parking close by. I left shortly after the opposition equalised in the eighty fourth minute, thereby missing Danns's winning goal in extra time. Bugger.

(Scunthorpe United 1 - C Palace 2. Attendance: 5,698). More pictures here.

Next up: The Stranglers. Here's The Meninblack rehearsing their new single. Jet Black is 71 years old.

Initial Impressions # 3: Hit The North

2010-02-03T14:10:00.009Z

(An occasional travel guide for first timers, sponsored by Redcar Pigeon Fanciers Association)

Day One:
It's not that I'm a shyster (ahem), it's just that I have limited time to discover the joys and woes of England. Leaving at six in the morning, it took me a whole hour to get from Croydon to the other side of the Blackwall Tunnel as the northbound approach of this river crossing was crawling at a snail's pace. Sunday wouldn't have been a problem but I left the start for the following day, so is it any wonder why I don't like Mondays? Once I'd passed that, I watched as the miles of traffic shifted slowly into the capital from the M11; I was escaping to the north and there were more than two chevrons apart between myself and the vehicle in front. Luxury.
After consuming a reasonable fried breakfast at some faceless motorway service station, I arrived in Lincoln at 10.00am. Lincoln is a small city that fits the 'quaint' description but there's two sites that you need to make time for. Lincoln Cathedral looks awesome from the front; it's just like any other cathedral on the inside mind, but worth a mooch just for the stylish wood carvings depicting the Twelve Stations of the Cross. The second sight is the castle, which is a two minute walk from the cathedral. This place held more historical interest for me; it used to be a former womens' prison and is still used as a county court. But the jewel in its crown is that it holds an original Magna Carta and I was eager to give this important document a butcher's. Unfortunately I found out that the original charter was away on tour and replaced with a copy, similar to the one that's displayed in in the cathedral. AWAY ON TOUR! Now why didn't they tell me this in the first place? However, the surrounding exhibition more than made up for the disappointment and also on display is the ancient Charter of the Forest (not a facsimile), written on animal skin and dating from 1217, this was still in use up until 1971 making it the longest remaining statute that was in force in England. The explanation of how both charters came into existence is simple to understand, beautifully well presented and therefore an ideal day out for children. I was in my element.
It's possible to devote an hour to the cathedral and another to the castle. I decided on a time limit for both based on how much loose change I had for the parking ticket machine and besides, I wanted to do lunch in Hull.

Following the signs to the Humber Bridge, I climbed northwards until I drove around an unassuming curve on the A15 where I was suddenly greeted by the imposing sight of the bridge itself. Even in shitty weather this particular structure looks damn impressive; it's no wonder that Phil Brown was eager to come here. The Humber is a large body of water and it's more enjoyable to cross compared to navigating the Severn bridge (note: the tolls do not discriminate against Ford Escort vans by doubling the charge). On arrival at this fishing village, I made my way to the old part of the locality, had fish 'n' chips in a restaurant set aside for tourists - I was the only one there - and saw some typical Northern sights (see below):

Dusk was closing in as I navigated the pitiful rush hour on exiting but I felt slightly dismayed at not having visited two of Hull's prime sights: The KFC Stadium and The Welly Club (the latter being the city's top live music venue which has hosted famous artists like The Housemartins and Cool To Snog), I'll put them on my 'places to do' list for next season.
In no time at all I was cruising along the A165 up to Scarborough which marks the start of the North Yorkshire Moors. There was just enough daylight left to appreciate this vast National Park, the scenery augmented by patches of snow that had not yet melted. Halfway through the Moors and I'm in Whitby; Dracula's English connection. Being pressed for time meant no stoppages but I did get a glimpse of the old abbey as I drove over the town's main road bridge which overlooks the harbour. This is the place to go for Whitby jet.
It was dark by the time I reached Middlesbrough and the only reason I had to stop was to take a piss. This particular city looks quite boring at night but I'm told that it's a veritable disaster area during daylight hours. I'm not sure which time of the day I'd choose if I were to visit again, but I shan't be putting it on the list unless it becomes part of a sporting away fixture. Why else would anyone go there?
You don't get any fog in the Tyne Tunnel, besides which it would've sounded strange to sing: "Fog in the Tyne tunnel is all mine, all mine...", just doesn't work, does it? I'd be bypassing Newcastle for the time being, heading instead to Northumberland.

Day Two:
I took time out to rest, explore the locality and catch up with friends.

Day Three:
I woke up this morning and soon got the blues. My newsfeed reported that Crystal Palace FC had gone into administration and further more, Victor Moses would not be in the squad for tonight's match. Financial problems at the club had been on the boil for quite sometime so it was no great surprise that it would spill over like this. In addition to all our troubles, Newcastle have been top of the table for, ooh, ages and we had a tough challenge ahead. Traveling the half hour journey to the centre on the Tyne and Wear Metro from Whitley Bay was made shorter by a friend wishing me well despite the foregone conclusion. The end result wasn't too humiliating; our lads put up a spirited fight and we've since made up for what has been a miserable week by beating Peterborough (as well as Wolves). Then again, Peterborough have been bottom of the table for, ooh, ages.

St James' Park ratings:
Stadium - in very good nick as it should be for a club this size. Away supporters are ushered to the seventh level (no lifts) of the Sir John Hall stand in an effort to knacker them out so they won't be able to cheer their team on.
Security - that'll be the local constabulary. Tough Geordie coppers on tough Geordie horses telling southerners "if yuz tek anuffa sip o' that drink yuz gettin' banged oop". Like I'm dead scared.
Transport - Tyne and Wear Metro to St James station which stops right outside the ground. Well done, Geordies.
Food - I wasn't that hungry.

(Newcastle United 2 - C Palace 0. Attendance: 37,886)

Day Four:
The journey back south included a pleasant four hour drive on the M1. There's a point on the journey just as you cross the Durham / Yorkshire border where you can see the North Yorkshire Moors to the left and the Yorkshire Dales to the right at the same time (although this might involve a spot of head turning unless you happen to be an eagle or a hammerhead shark). Not long after passing an industrious looking Sheffield, a slight detour was made towards Royal Lymington Spa in Warwickshire (Shakespeare's country). This is quite a posh place, nice, clean, all white Georgian architecture, it's so polite it's offensive. As darkness had already descended on what was a drizzly day, I decided against an exploratory amble about town opting instead for the warmth of the nearest pub just across the road from the venue. The band I had booked tickets for were playing in The Assembly, which was recently given a major overhaul by top bordello make-over man Lawrence Llewelyn Bowen. Give the fella his due, he's not done a bad job and now that the smoking ban is fully enforced, the white architrave should stay white for quite a while. It's a superb place to see a live act as it's a 1,000 seater (or should that be standing?) venue, intimate but at the same time you have lots of room to breath. Either that, or the band could've sold more tickets. I won't go into the merits of HMHB as it's ground that's been covered before but a special HMHB podcast featuring Howesy can be downloaded here and a review of the Leamington gig can be found here.

Setting off towards London on the M40 I thought I'd be home free in a couple of hours. Wrong.
Somewhere between junction 9 and 8a, I feel a slight pop coming from the gas pedal. Odd. I press down with my foot and quickly discover that there is no power. This presents me with a challenge: I'm in the third lane struggling to overtake a petrol tanker who is needlessly hogging the middle lane and to make matters worse, another vehicle decides it would be fun to sniff my arse at high speed (otherwise known as tailgating). Trapped but moving. I have to get over to the hard shoulder and I'm constantly slowing down, this is not good.
85...70...60mph and getting slower.
It's too dark, where the fuck am I?
I know exactly where I am, I'm in the middle of fucking nowhere and about to get stranded. Bollocks! Why didn't I renew my AA membership?
Hazard lights are a miracle of modern times. Apply them and watch how people give you a wide berth. Bye bye petrol tanker, bye bye coffee breath sales executive in a Mondeo rushing home to his wife, hello hard shoulder. As I'm cruising along trying to find the widest spot to the left of the motorway, I see in the distance what looks like a van at a standstill, all indicators blinking simultaneously. That'll do for me, Tommy. Hazard lights are a miracle of modern times.
The two blokes in the van are waiting for the arrival of the breakdown service, which gives us something in common. Barely thirty minutes goes by when this knight in a shining armoured patrol car turns up, deals with the blokes in the van first and then me. The bonnet is popped open to reveal a broken connection between the accelerator cable and the gubbings which lets more fuel into the engine. An improvised running repair with cable ties is hastily made and off I go, which means no two hundred and fifty quid towing fee to fork out = result . Fears of kipping in the car with high speed traffic dangerously whizzing past on a shivering cold morning are thwarted, as for that night only, the county bestows me with the title of Oxfordshire's Jammiest Git of the Month.

I'm home free.

More pictures here.

It's A Killer!

2010-01-23T12:54:00.007Z

This one's dedicated to the Milwaukee Cannibals*

Depcast 14 features Toby Burton and Colin Gillman and can be accessed by clicking here.

*A prize may be awarded to the first person who explains the reference.

We Don't Like Your Sort Round Here

2010-01-20T21:50:00.009Z

Click to enlarge if you're brave enough.

Initial Impressions # 2: Plymouth

2010-01-18T13:00:00.006Z

(An occasional travel guide for first timers, sponsored by What's My Pirate Name?)

Here we are again with our second instalment in which we observe distant lands and the cultures contained within. Located approximately 220 miles west of Croydon, Plymouth is best known as a naval city similar to Portsmouth but, in football terms at least, is in a lower league to that of its coastal rival. In fact, you could apply that analogy not just to its sporting prowess, but to the actual feel of the place. You can tell how close to the sea it is by the amount of seagull droppings that can be found. The architecture resembles the modern bits of Ipswich circa 1960s and further proof, should you require it, can be found by Googling images of the city; make sure you just look at the sepia photographs as they accurately reproduce the tone of the buildings (any photographs you see in full colour are false, they've obviously used Photoshop to give the place some pizazz).
Local cuisine is served in the form of the humble pasty (coleslaw optional), a traditional food which is easily accessible and of reasonable cost. A medium sized steak pasty will set you back in the region of a couple of quid. Hint: seek out the Oggy Oggy Pasty establishment near the market. The market itself is there for you to whittle away an hour of spare time, selling bits and bobs such as wellies, pashminas, painted tobacco tins as well as livestock. It's similar to a festival bazaar with the type of goods for sale that can be bought at any decent outdoor music event selling articles that you'd have absolutely no use for once you get home.
Architectural blandness aside, I'm pleased to inform that the natives are a very colourful race; open, friendly, helpful and hospitable - in fact, they'll willingly give you their last-but-one pasty, providing it involves the exchanging of fresh blood. As I waited for the arrival of the bus to Home Park, I was approached by two rather jolly gentlemen proudly wearing their sporting colours. "GREEN ARMY WILL KILL CITY SCUM!" they shouted. I didn't bother to remind them of both sides' respective positions in the league table as it might have hampered their good spirits. Aviva's recent television adverts seem to be a winner with the natives; it puts them on the map. Unfortunately it's a map of a different planet. Even the bus driver - a comely wench with lots of blonde frizzy hair - enjoyed hollering local slogans such as "Geddon, ya Janner!" at every conceivable opportunity. How quaint.
Earlier in the day, I ventured into a HMV store to observe regional purchasing habits of cultural artifacts where I found this displayed on special promotion:

Many Plymothian women of "Amazonian proportions" were out in force on a Saturday afternoon for the gathering of clothes, pasties and, one presumes, DVDs. Amateur anthropologists should take note that over recent years, interbreeding with people from other counties (mainly those passing through on their way to Cornwall) occurred which subsequently has reduced any Norfolk-like features. Thanks to improved social linking services such as Facebook and Bebo, there now exists a wider variety of DNA in the Devonian gene pool than ever before.
Home Park is the only man-made structure in the vicinity to have a different colour other than grey and beige; you've guessed it...it's green. The favourable factor regarding Plymouth Argyle's stadium are the parking facilities. If you arrive a few hours prior to kick off, you'll be able to leave your vehicle just outside the ground with stewards in attendance and there's public transport conveniently close by which will convey you into the city centre; a type of park + ride for away supporters and a veritable advance of civilisation. This is an improvement compared with the situation at Reading and Swansea in terms of time spent waiting to exit post match. As soon as the stewards get out of your line of sight, there's a mad dash by all the front row cars as they head towards a rather narrow exit, which is potentially dangerous to the driver, but thoroughly entertaining to watch as a spectator.

Home Park ratings:
Stadium - horrendous pitch but the ancient cowshed contributes much needed soul to the area
Stewards - drive around in tractors (as they do at Portman Road)
Transport links - satisfactory as described above
Food - Ginsters pasties (quelle surprise)

(P Argyle 0 - C Palace 1. Attendance: 9,318)

Tasting The Brown Stuff

2010-01-08T13:02:00.005Z

It's time to put the ol' taste buds through their paces and this time, it's personal. In a milk chocolate kind of way.

Good Day by The Chocolate Society

Hey, this effort is enjoyable! It's an ideal accompaniment for a hot mug of Earl Grey. Made of 40% cocoa milk, it's congenial enough without being overbearing which means it's gratifying for anytime of the day. Frivolous of gob (in a perky sense) and worth it.

Honeycomb & Vanilla by Kshocolat

This one's a bit strange; nice idea on paper but orally offensive. It decieves you into tasting the vanilla, but let it linger on your tongue for a little longer and what you're actually tasting is sugar. Not all that surprising considering that 47.3% of the total ingredients is sugar. One for the sweet tooths.

Choxi by Prestat

"Naturally rich in antioxidants" it says on the wrapper. We can deduce that Prestat are targetting the guilty by giving them a health kick in a product deemed a social leper at the local gym. This could be clever marketing but you'll need to eat 25g (or 2 squares) of the stuff daily to gain the benefit of the (supposedly) anti-aging ingredient. Each bar has 6 squares which should last the user for 3 days. Call the ambulance, I've just OD'd.

Milk Chocolate by Devine

Here we have the choccy bar that proclaims freedom from social guilt: welcome to the fair trade assurance (ie; made entirely without Oompa Loompa slave labour). Dazzle those supercilious dinner party guests as you wax lyrically about a cooperative of small holder farmers in Ghana that produce the finest quality of cocoa beans from Kuapa Kokoo, then watch as they make their excuses and leave you to mingle with other people. Speaking of wax, that's the after taste you'll get from eating this, which in turn will make you drop any trendy political pretensions as you bugger off in search of some Galaxy.

Lemon & Pepper by Kshocolat

Another oddball offering by a chocolatier who would be better off making crackers. White chocolate with lemon and pepper is an adventurous attempt at doing something different. Trouble is, most alternative confectionary usually tastes crap. This is just about edible but only if chewing on sweet plastic with a savoury kick happens to be your thing.

Emergency Chocolate by Bloomsberry & Co

Groovy marketing of a hip product: "For immediate relief of: Chocolate Cravings, Lovesickness, Exam Pressure, Mild Anxiety & Extreme Hunger". Swiss made 33% cocoa premium milk chocolate - not only should it sell by the bucketload, it'll also solve all the world's problems (or at least make them go away for a bit). The best of the bunch.

* * * * *

And finally (nothing to do with chocolate) my eccentric mate Parsley has been taking advantage of the recent meteorological conditions to make this strange but atmospheric film:

Initial Impressions # 1: Swansea

2009-12-30T14:14:00.011Z

(An occasional travel guide for first timers)

Swansea: a work in progress

Provisional towns; they're everywhere, just look around you! Why on earth would anybody want to save their hard-earned just to blow it on an all-inclusive fortnight to Benidorm when there are so many delights in the British Isles to explore? Sure, Benidorm's got sun, sea, sangria, excellent seafood and dubious entertainment for the over eighties, but apart from that, what have the Spaniards ever done for us?
Ok, let's forget the Spaniards for a moment and focus on the Welsh. Over quarter of a million of them live in a place called Swansea, which at first glance looks very town-like but has recently celebrated 40 years of city status. It's not the sprawling, towering metropolis that you'd imagine a real city to be, it's perhaps more like a cross between Basingstoke and Crawley with a marina shoved on the end of it. The surrounding countryside (which can be physically seen from some parts of the so called "city centre") is rather hilly and green. It keeps the sheep happy, and if the sheep are happy then so are the natives.

Swansea Transit Authority - Don't touch that handbrake

Bad sheep shagging jokes aside, this former Viking trading post has a rich culture of sorts, most notably it has been the home of classic writers Dylan Thomas (born and bred in Swansea) and Kingsley Amis (Swansea University lecturer). Other luminaries of celebrity who hail from these parts include Chris 'Cookie' Coleman, Micheal "Tarzan" Heseltine, and Lily Allen's dad. Fantastic - it's more than what Croydon ever came up with (Scouser Steve Coppell's makeshift centre forward Coleman was respected by the Selhurst crowd and they voted him as part of the Centenary XI in 2005).
Let's move on to the important tourist sights. Any self respecting day tripper should take time out to pay their respects to the Vetch Field, the former home of Swansea City AFC from 1912 to 2005. Holding a capacity crowd of over 30,000 at its peak, this historic stadium was named after a fruit (not Rob Brydon) that used to grow on the pitch. See it now in all its post glory gory before the local council flog it off to housing developers.
A natural progression after checking out the Vetch Field would be to take an energetic walk uphill to The Liberty Stadium which is the current home to The Ospreys as well as Swansea City AFC. The Liberty Stadium or Stadiwm Liberty as the locals call it, is in nearby Morfa, seats 20,532, cost 27 million quid to build and was made by Geordies. It's efficient, durable and above all else, soul-less which seems to be a prerequisite of every new stadium development. I'm sure the Swans' local rivals at Ashton Gate aren't in the least bit jealous.

Liberty Stadium ratings:
Entry price - is in GBPs
Transport links - chaotic post match exit of vehicles from park and ride facility
Stewards - bi-lingual; all staff are competent in Welsh and Bollocks
Steak slice - soft, elastic-like pastry that holds boiling hot Bovril
Beer - fizzy Carling, pre poured to ensure speedy delivery
Burgers - rank but still alive

Visit Swansea soon before it gets forgotten. Tell all your mates - the ones that have nothing better to do.

(S City 0 - C Palace 0. Attendance: 18,794)

And Lo, The Heavens Spunked On Earth

2009-12-22T11:20:00.005Z

Last Thursday saw The Stabilisers' new line-up get its official airing at The Hope & Anchor pub in norf London (big, BIG thanks to all those who braved the cold for coming to see us - hope you'll all be dancing to our version of Stop The Cavalry that's on the free CD prior to scoffing your turkey). Also on this punk Rock Til You Drop Xmas special were The Outbursts (who delivered in more ways than one - see review here) and 14 Carat Grapefruit (the Derek & Clive of punk), it was an honour to be there. Unfortunately, the brilliant Punks Not Dad couldn't make it due to weather restrictions which was a shame. Still, I'm sure the prospect of supporting The Buzzcocks will not dampen their festive spirits too much.

You can read a review of the event (penned by Toby Burton) here and here.

Have a great Xmas everyone, Brrrr!

Got Any Quo?

2009-11-21T14:30:00.005Z

Croydon had loads of it at the start of the week and it was all contained within the concrete carbuncle of The Fairfield Halls. I shan't waffle on too much about Quo's performance other than they were the consumate professionals that you'd expect them to be after such longevity in the biz. Christ, they've been around for longer than I've walked this earth and I suppose that's one of the reasons why their audience 'has become more select', most of them having since died. Also, being shunned by lots of popular radio stations over the years since the late eighties certainly doesn't help matters when it comes to maintaining popularity.
They're an easy target for ridicule (much like Cliff Richard) and if it wasn't for their hardcore fanbase they'd be driving taxis for a living. What a lot of Quo ridiculistas fail to remember is that this lot are a good time party band. Let's face it, you must be one of life's miserable cunts if you fail to raise a smile when you see and hear these gents perform "Rockin' All Over The World" or "Down Down". No? Oh bugger off back to your Cocteau Twins and Leonard Cohen and draw the curtains on the world while you're at it. Quo provide the soundtrack for a shindig and unlike Jools bleedin' Holland, their boogie comes naturally. C'mon, live a little and let whatever hair you have down. Gawd bless 'em.
More pictures here.

Nostalgia For An Age That Never Existed

2009-11-04T12:11:00.003Z

Back in the day...

Before the Internet...
Before semi-automatics and joyriders
Before SEGA or Super Nintendo...
Way back...
I'm talking about Hide and Seek in the park.
The corner shop.
Hopscotch.
Butterscotch.
Skipping.
Handstands.
KISS CHASE
Football with an old can.
Fingerbob.
Beano, Dandy, Buster, Twinkle and Dennis the Menace.
Roly Poly.
Hula Hoops, jumping the stream, building dams.
The smell of the sun and fresh cut grass.
Bazooka bubble gum.
Soda stream (get bizzy with the fizzy)
An ice cream cone on a warm summer night from the van that plays a tune.
Chocolate or vanilla or strawberry or maybe Neapolitan or perhaps screwball.
Wait...
Watching Saturday morning cartoons, short commercials or the flicks.
Red Hand Gang, Tomorrow People, Tiswas or Swapshop?, and 'Why Don't You'?

or staying up for Doctor Who.
When around the corner seemed far away and going into town seemed like going somewhere.
Earwigs, wasps, stinging nettles and bee stings.
Sticky fingers.
Playing Marbles. Ball bearings. Big 'uns and Little 'uns.
Cops and Robbers, Cowboys and Indians.
Climbing trees.
Making igloos out of snow banks.
Walking to school, no matter what the weather.
Running till you were out of breath, laughing so hard that your stomach hurt.
Jumping on the bed. Pillow fights. Spinning around on roundabouts,
getting dizzy and falling down was cause for giggles. Being tired from playing...remember that?
The worst embarrassment was being picked last for a team.
Water balloons were the ultimate weapon.
Choppers and Grifters.
Eating raw jelly. Orange squash ice pops.
Vimto and Jubbly lollies
Remember when...
There were two types of trainers - girls and boys, and Dunlop Green Flash
The only time you wore them at School was for P.E.
And they were called gym shoes or if you are older, plimsoles or Daps.
You knew everyone in your street - and so did your parents.
It wasn't odd to have two or three 'best' friends.
You didn't sleep a wink on Christmas Eve.
When nobody owned a pure-bred dog.
When 25p was decent pocket money
Curly Wurlys. Space Dust. Toffo's, cola cubes.
When you'd reach into a muddy gutter for a penny.
When any parent could discipline any kid, or use him to carry groceries and nobody,

not even the kid, thought a thing of it.
When being sent to the head's office was nothing compared

to the fate that awaited a misbehaving pupil at home.

Basically, we were in fear for our lives but it wasn't because of drive-by shootings, gangs etc.
Remember when...
Decisions were made by going "Ip, Dip, Dog Sh*t"
Race issue" meant arguing about who ran the fastest.
Money issues were handled by whoever was the banker in Monopoly
The worst thing you could catch from the opposite sex was germs.
And the worst thing in your day was having to sit next to one.
It was unbelievable that 'British Bulldog 123' wasn't an Olympic event.
Having a weapon in school, meant being caught with a catapult.
Scrapes and bruises were kissed and made better.
Taking drugs meant orange-flavoured chewable aspirin.
Ice cream was considered a basic food group.
Getting a foot of snow was a dream come true.
Older siblings were the worst tormentors, but also the fiercest protectors.

Pass this on to anyone who may need a break from their grown up life...

COLON-CAST!

2009-09-18T14:45:00.005+01:00

Colin Gillman is my guest on this podcast.
COL is ON this CAST.
COL-ON-CAST...geddit?!?

Oh, please yourselves.

To download this audio butt nugget, click here.

09.09.09 New Beatles Re-Releases!

2009-09-09T16:31:00.007+01:00

Cor, blimey! I don't know about you lot, but I'm looking forward to hearing these re-mastered Beatles albums. Play.com are flogging 'em as a boxset for around £170. My mate Pedro Scrote (name changed to avoid criminal prosecution) will be passing me the whole gamut of songs in mp3ified glory!

And only then will I decide wether to invest in a corporate money making exercise.

"Would that be in mono or stereo, sir?"

Quick Update: Toby from Rock Til You Drop has done a show, listen here...

Old Wave

2009-09-04T16:52:00.010+01:00

Revisiting nostalgia can either be a good or a bad thing depending on who you talk to (and how old they happen to be), so as soon as I heard that Magazine had reformed, I decided to pay them a visit at The Royal Festival Hall to see what all the fuss used to be about. I downloaded their first two albums just so that I'd be well versed with their songs only to be treated with a full rendition of 1980's The Correct Use Of Soap. Shite, I wasn't aware that album existed, not being a huge fan of the band an' all. I decided to sit this out politely which took us all the way to the interval.
An interval? At a rock gig?!? That's one of the things about the RFH that bugs me along with a distinct lack of ticket touts hanging about in a shifty way outside the building. This isn't your typical rock venue that's for sure, but an arts complex that seems purpose built for middle class Guardian reading trendies who say "ya mkay" a lot (so I'm isolating what audience I have left with that last remark. Get yourselves a sense of humour, you fake Commies). Not that it matters much once you've managed to get a few of their pricey Bourbon shots down your gullet in time for the polite notice announcing that "...the performance will be starting in ten minutes...".
Having been assigned seats slap bang in the middle of the rear stalls just above the mixing desk, I was actually delighted to find that this was the best sound I'd ever heard at this particular venue. Howard Devoto's vocals were clear, Dave Formula's synths were well balanced with guitar and drums although Barry Adamson's bass did get sporadically lost during the first half. After adjusting the overall sound to louder in the 'second act', we were treated to such marvels as "Permafrost" and "Rhythm Of Cruelty" amongst others. They returned for an encore of "Definitive Gaze" before finally buggering off after "Give Me Everything". The last track, being one of their stronger songs, was a sound inclusion but to play a full gig without "Shot By Both Sides" had the effect of a serious anti-climax. 7 out of 10.

How did I ever miss this?!? Last year, The Monochrome Set briefly reformed for the 30th anniversary of Cherry Red Records and gigged at a private party to celebrate the fact. Not that I would've been able to gatecrash the event although I would've tried my damned best to do so had anything been written on their MySpace site - bah! Still, those wonderful people at Cherry Red have filmed the event and even recorded a fifty minute interview with lead singer Bid (the latter being a must watch for hardcore M-Set fans).
If, after all that, you still have a hankering for all things Set, here's Iggy Pop's version of "He's Frank" recorded for The Brighton Port Authority album. Oh yes, even the mighty Iggy bows down to the cult status of Bid, Lester, Andy and co.

Les Paul R.I.P

2009-08-14T14:25:00.003+01:00

More people were affected by Les Paul's inventions and all round talent than they realise. The inventor of multitrack recording and the innovator of one of the most beautiful guitars in history will be missed. Gawd bless his soul.

There's a better tribute to Les over at Planet Mondo's.

Gossip Columnists? I Shit 'Em

2009-07-27T14:00:00.006+01:00

I started to write this post with a view to explaining why I haven't recently written anything when, on reading back it resembled something pathetically akin to Amanda Holden's new weekly diary column in Fabulous mag (free with The Screws of the World). I don't exactly know why I read it, in fact I don't even know why I watch a lot of the shite that's on telly nowadays - "Young, Dumb and Living With Mum" being a prime example - but I did. Time wasted that I shall never get back and only worthy of a sigh of despair.
Back to Amanda's column. Christ, this is exactly the type of drivel fit for its target audience, stuffed full of glamourous situations and name dropping. Name dropping is something Amanda does well. But what does she do apart from that? What's her particular talent? Should I be asking Simon Cowell? Should I ask the casting director of that hairdressing sitcom she was in? Or shall I just ask Les Dennis?
"I've just had dinner at the swanky Ivy Club", she writes "David Coulthard...Adrian Chiles and Christine Bleakley - my new best friend". She goes on to mention having dinner with Cowell, Bleakley and Piers Morgan at Number 10 with Sarah and Gordon. In other entries for her star-packed month of July she goes on to mention Katie Price and Mel B. All of the above in just 3 days.
Wow, wish I had her busy social life.
Good luck to her though, if that's what feeds her soul an' all. Mixing with VIPs is a natural tonic which soothes insecurities of being a nobody and you're nobody if you're not famous or know someone who is - it's what the current media fashionistas would have us all believe according to the content it peddles. And we suck it all in like ravenous Dysons. It gives us something to talk about, something to moan about, someone to praise, someone to slag off and we keep going back to this merry-go-round of puss, revisiting each other's own home made pavement pizzas like a dog going back to its own vomit.
Amanda Holden on autopilot, if you will.

So, here's why I've been away, but with extra added new-improved censured name dropping:

After being privy to a scorching showcase gig by hip young indie up-starts W**** M** K******* last month, I was personally informed that they were to be supporting vintage punk band T** S********* at a prestigeous venue on the I*** O* W****. Of course, I managed to procure tickets on the day of the gig thanks to my contacts and we headed south to P********* to catch the boat. Imagine my utter surprise at nearly bumping into bass player J*** J****** outside the ferry terminal building and that we'd actually be cruising on the same, actual boat!!! On arrival after our trip across T** S*****, we headed for the venue where I mingled with the plebs, er, I mean the valued roadies, while some lackey fetched my tickets. Afterwards, we secured ourselves a hotel room in a prime location in town which had a trendy Morroccan flavour to it (no *silly*...the hotel, not the town).
Of course, the concert was absolutely fab dahlings and we all retired back to the hotel bar for a nightcap or two and guess what? So did most of T** S*********! J*** J****** was quoffing beer with the best of 'em, B** W**** was attempting to chat up anything in a skirt and I congratulated D*** G********* on a marvellous performance. I like D***, he's like some sort of eternal smiley face.
Back on the mainland, I had an appointment with the talented M**** S*** (whose songs have been played all over Radio C*******) and they thrashed out an intimate performance in an exclusive club in W*** L*****. It was nice to catch up with all the boys, as well as T*** B*****, who just happens to be le grande fromage from R*** T** Y** D***. Oh, how we all laughed at what some of the audience were wearing...I mean, how did they even manage to get into the place?!? And then we realised she was the promoter! Cue much more raucous laughter.
And before we knew it, we simply had to go to V******* P*** to cheer on T** P***** (S**** singing sans teeth!) and M****** were simply devine and it seemed everyone who was anyone ended up on the stage for the encore including R**** and J****! Oh my G**, how utterly awesome was that?!?
Before I go, I must thank my dear friend C**** W*** for sending me his fantastic book which he personally signed for little old me. I've only just managed to find the time to start reading it. That A***** character seems a right card, doesn't he?
Anyway, I can't sit around gossiping as I've got to learn a gazillion songs by tomorrow. I'll be having a jam with L*****'s premier punk act T** S********** with the aim of being their next guitarist...
Must dash luvvies,
mwah - mwah.
Ister x

PS - Here's some more of A******* S***** with their song "Top International Celebrities":

An Appeal

2009-07-06T15:53:00.007+01:00

Getting involved with Mick's recently released work reminded me of The Camodes' early effort "Wot U Lookin' At?" from seven years ago which was also a concept album. That thing was dodgier than an entire jammy dodger biscuit factory. The songs came first followed by the concept, which was a half-arsed attempt at stringing a few songs together into some kind of coherent tale. The narrative went something like this:

"...I remember him as a very curious fellow. His name was Jack Raffles and he was born in Wiltshire in the early seventies. Sometime during his teenage years, the whole family moved to the east end of London - not that he had any choice in the matter - his parents were getting more concerned that the local yokels of the village were starting to have a bad influence on a young and impressionable Jack. A clean break from those weird inbred antics was what they all needed.
As soon as Jack was old enough to leave school empty handed of any qualifications, he promptly enlisted into the army. That was the first of many mistakes that he would come to make in his adult life. He became a Gulf War veteran and contracted the syndrome that plagued some of the squaddies who had come back alive from Operation Desert Storm. But on his return Jack was still being bullied by his superior, a large meat-headed shit known to his privates as Corporal Bastard. The usual idiotic shenanigans of heads held down the toilet and flushed were de rigueur and it went on because the officers still turned a blind eye to that sort of entertainment.
Jack hatched a plan to escape. Had he lost his senses? After all, he could've waited for a medical discharge. But his suffering had brought on an urgent impatience which meant he was soon AWOL and on the run. Jack decided to seek refuge with an old forces' sweetheart, a comely middle-aged woman the lads knew as "Welcoming Wendy" who was no stranger to the barracks. However, Wendy had found herself another regular 'passenger' in the shape of Corporal Bastard. On discovering this abysmal news, Jack's temper erupted like an uncontrollable Vesuvius (he had actually caught the two of them in the act, you know...cavorting with each other!) and bursting at the seams with rage he killed them. In addition to this carnage, Jack accidentally murdered Wendy's mother who had only popped by to pick up the laundry. Great. On the run again, that's what falling head over heels in love does to you. Silly bugger. This time it was more difficult to remain invisible. Army, police and journalists were on his tail.
A chance meeting with Georgie, an illiterate scaffolder, seemed promising. One day, whilst working on the roof of the local Freemason's lodge, Georgie had ear-wigged in on a conversation involving a plan for a gold bullion heist. Having had previous experience of arson and on remembering the blabbermouths' illegal scheme, Georgie proceeded to set fire to the building with the would-be masonic robbers trapped inside. Surely this would be a win-win situation? Georgie, who was a few grapes short of a decent Beaujolais, had a general, carefree attitude but 'carefree' can go hand-in-hand with 'stupidity'. "Bollocks" he thought. Why sacrifice the rest of your life as someone else's donkey? Take a chance and do something worthwhile with it. Georgie thought he had a sure fire winner on his hands. "Get in there, my son".
It was now down to Jack, Georgie and a ragtag bunch of associates to swipe the gold that was en route by train to the smelting plant. The dream was to launder the booty into Spanish timeshare villas where they would retire comfortably in the arid and anonymous scrub land of the Andalusian mountains, though not too far from the coast.
And do you know what? To this day I've never found out whether they made it."

As you can see, the ending has been left open and it will soon be time to write the follow up. What do you think should happen to the characters (the ones that are alive)? Anything can happen, in fact, the more bizarre the storyline is, the better. But this time the story will be worked on fully before the music gets shat out. I did have an idea about a John Motson type character who time travelled back and forth in a banana shaped space ship to interact with the characters but I think that's already been done...

You can download the album free of charge below. God help you.

1. Morbid Corpse 2. H.S.P 3. Corn On The Cob 4. Muckabout 5. Sleeptalking

6. Today's Headlines 7. Fortune 8. At The Lodge 9. The Pyromaniac 10. Exile Express

Railway Safety Video

2009-06-27T12:29:00.002+01:00

WARNING: Not for the squeamish! This is how us professional railway operatives are taught not to meddle with overhead lines, kids. It's a good job that I only have to step cautiously over third rails otherwise I'd get really confused...

Good Mourning Black Friday

2009-06-26T00:18:00.003+01:00

Steven Wells
Sky Saxon
Farrah Fawcett
Michael Jackson

Anymore for anymore?

Slipknot 2 - Anvil 0

2009-06-18T14:45:00.007+01:00

Let's face it; it was never going to be much of a competition between the two bands. Slipknot simply had to be the winners, dahling. To find out why and to hear what else was hot or not at this year's Donington festival, you can CLICK HERE to download the Download @ Donington depcast which was recorded with my mate Stu on the festival site last Monday (in the massive south car park, actually).

Pictures of the atmosphere can be found here.

Have a great weekend folks, we certainly did!

Mapletastic Metal

2009-06-09T16:05:00.013+01:00

Rock fans have noted the numerous similarities between "This Is Spinal Tap" and "Anvil! The Story Of Anvil", the only difference to many being that Spinal Tap is the more famous of the two. While the first of these bands is a spoof heavy rock outfit, Anvil are a real ongoing concern who have been down on their luck since the late eighties - a factor that vocalist and lead guitarist Steve "Lips" Kudlow blames on shoddy production values and record companies who have been less than non-committal to their cause. Trying to fabricate their own lucky horseshoe was tough without a proper blacksmith (or manager) to guide them along the way.

The film introduces us to the Canadian demi-gods of maple leaf metal with a vintage clip of them in happier times playing a Japanese stadium rock festival on the same bill as Whitesnake and Bon Jovi in front of a large but far from sold out crowd. The dated stage outfits are hilarious, all spandex pants and bondage body harnesses which accompany arm-length fishnet gloves. The viewer is soon brought back to the present with soundbites from rock luminaries such as Slash, Lars Ulrich, Lemmy, Tom Araya and Scott Ian, all gushing buckets of respect and praise upon a group who are currently residing in the "where are they now?" file.A horrendously organised European tour by the second guitarist's fiancee (Anvil would go on to play at their wedding reception) sees the metal outsiders perform to audiences of thousands, diminishing to hundreds and eventually to no more than five people at one particular venue. It's at this point that you stop laughing at the band and you start sympathising with them and at what is a highly demoralising exercise in entertainment. How despairing it must feel to have a manager as useless as Ian Faith when your audience becomes "more selective".

But it's tough to distinguish whether this is an authentic portrayal of the group. Director and long term fan Sacha Gervasi has a passing resemblance to one of the film's larger than life characters, a telesales boss by the name of "Cut Loose" who gives Kudlow a job in his company in order for the band to raise the thirteen grand needed to record their next album. Not being a natural salesman, Kudlow fails to raise any interest whatsoever but is instead loaned the money by his loving sister in a very touching moment when he concludes that "...family is important shit, man". Indeed.
The Tapisms come at you thick and fast; the flavour of the cinematography and editing are all done in that familiar rockumentary style. The talking of utter bollocks (describing the first song they wrote together whilst being filmed in a restaurant), the disastrous gig promotion, the unsupportive record companies, the lukewarm water personality of the studio producer in between the two bickering original members who love each other like brothers, the visit to Stonehenge...I could go on. During all this adversity, Kudlow keeps true to his unwavering vision and strong belief in his band that it leaves the viewer wondering whether he's amazingly focused or just truly deluded. Best line comes from drummer Robb Reiner after a bad gig: "I'm doing everything right and I'm getting shit on".
The film successfully explores the social interaction around relationships between band and family members and how they stick together through rough times but beware, watching this could make you feel more gooey than maple syrup. I admired the comically heartwarming tone and as Anvil's adventures unravelled before me, feelings of mirth turned to compassion and support for these underdogs of thrash. Forget Slumdog Millionaire's feel good factor, this is far more enjoyable.
Anvil! The Story Of Anvil has its UK DVD release next Monday 15th June and they play the Download festival on Saturday 13th June.

More Porn

2009-06-05T12:23:00.008+01:00

I'm at a loss of what to write about, so it's back to posting guitar porn filler, hurrah! So what've we got here then? A Dean VMNT Dave Mustaine "Rust In Peace" special. Nice graphics, shame it isn't a Jackson.

Apologies for the lack of blogging action, I've had a dodgy eye, itchy leg and I'm still a Sudafed junkie. I'm also addressing the ongoing links widget problem (to the right of this blog) - if I've left any of you from the list by mistake, please pop by and burn my lug'ole about it. Time at the internet cafe is at a premium and although having net access at home is convenient, I don't want to end up a slave to it like I have in the past. This way I can prioritise what I need to do and be more efficient as opposed to logging on and having a six hour YouTube fest. Never again.

It's not all crap though. Donington is upon us once more and I for one can't chuffing wait for it. I'm also considering a trip to Ullapool for Britain's most remote festival and I'm toying with the idea of Cornbury (recently described by someone as a "boutique festival", ie; fit for all those Daily Express reading middle class suburbanites and their 2.4 children) but the only decent bands that are playing at the latter are The Damned and Joe Jackson so I'm not sure that the ticket price would be justified for just two good acts. Had I been a fan of the Sugababes on the other hand...

Warning - Hippy Stuff

2009-05-29T17:07:00.009+01:00

MICK O'ROURKE PRESENTS

It's a mini-album. Or a long EP. Mick prefers to call it a suite. It's anything you want it to be because it's free to download - which might make it disposable. Some call it folk, others might not. I do know this; it's available to you right now in all its 320kbps gory glory. The artwork is above (that's all you're getting - no front and back labels for CD burning - make your own) so download these scrummy audio vignettes to your mp3 player for your listening pleasure at your leisure. Forward your insults / complaints / gushing mumbles into the comments section.

1.Forest 2. Gathering 3. Hoofprints 4. Dorcas 1 5. Choir 1

6. Dorcas 2 7. Choir 2 8. Warning 9. Pan Has Gone

Backslaps All Round

2009-05-18T10:41:00.005+01:00

The Noblisse Oblige Award
1) The Blogger manifests exemplary attitude, respecting the nuances that pervades amongst different cultures and beliefs.
2) The Blog contents inspire; strives to encourage and offers solutions.
3) There is a clear purpose of the blog; one that fosters a better understanding on Social, Political, Economic, the Arts, Culture and Sciences and Beliefs.
4) The Blog is refreshing and creative.
5) The Blogger promotes friendship and positive thinking.

The Blogger who receives this award will need to perform the following steps:

1) Create a post with a mention and a link to the person who presented the Noblisse Oblige Award.
2) The Award Conditions must be displayed at the Post.
3) Write a short article about what the blog has achieved - preferably citing one or more older pos(s) to support.
4) The Blogger must present the Noblisse Oblige Award in concurrence with the Award conditions.
5) Blogger must display the Award at any location at the Blog.

This award was presented to me by Savannah over at Savmarshmama. God knows why, but bless her heart, she's very kind. I think she likes my rough London accent whenever she listens to one of my podcasts, but then again, who wouldn't? Apart from that, this blog has two sides to it; music and football. When it comes to subject matter, I'd try being more diverse if I could but music and football is all I know and I'm no expert in either. That must make me a right jammy cunt when it comes to receiving this award, 'cos I know bugger-all about "Social, Political, Economic, the Arts, Culture, Sciences and Beliefs" etc...
Not sure as to the clear purpose of this blog, vanity publishing perhaps? Therefore I shall swiftly move on to passing the buck...er, I mean, baton to 5 bloggers who I think are far more deserving than me:

1) Joanne - I Have Seen The Whole of the Internet
This self-styled internet caretaker has proved herself to be an invaluable source of hilarity with her posts. Joanne sorts out the web wheat from the chaff so you don't have to! It's the ideal place to go for light relief everytime you feel bored of the net. Great entertainment and more wholesome than Bebo.

2) Dick Headley - The Voyage of...
Quality writing should come at a price, but Dick has very kindly given us hours and hours worth of reading pleasure for gratis. He is cultured, astute, well travelled and has a knowledge of sixties culture that I'm envious of. Better than Chuck Woww ;-)

3) Slaminsky - Slaminsky
The debate that this blogger generates is invaluable, from politics to clothes and although I don't always agree with certain viewpoints, most posts are thoroughly thought provoking as well as educational. Culture comes from her photography of east end street art, the stuff that you'd walk right past without noticing. But thanks to Slammers' eagle-eyed observation, this high-brow form of graffitti is available for everyone to see.

4) Dive - Small Glass Planet
Unfortunately for his readers, Dive has decided to post less frequently but he is enjoying his freedom from being chained to a PC and why shouldn't he? The summer is upon us and we have to make the most of our short-lived weather by venturing outdoors for some natural vitamin C and let's leave the laptops at home...sorry, I've gone off on one. Dive's posts are full of cultural joy; cooking, architecture, guitars. What more do you need?

5) Stray Photon - Spraying The Rays
My all time favourite blog and third time award winner. Stray has got a lot of mileage from Hull City AFC, following their trials and tribulations and presenting them to us in a well written and concise manner. I loved that post he wrote regarding Leeds United's relegation a few seasons ago and I'm sure he'll come up with something just as good very soon, he always does.

Thanks again to Savannah and thanks to everyone who has stopped by to read this blog.

Sailing The Seas Of Ska

2009-05-09T12:34:00.009+01:00

8 out of 10 Specials' fans said they'd have preferred Jerry Dammers to be present, but it didn't stop the ska revival-revivalists from packing them in for five nights at the Brixton Academy. For some of the audience it was nostalgic, for others it was about having a great night out. Quality music provides the smokescreen that blocks out the treacherous stormy politics of internal band relationships.
Much has been speculated regarding Dammers' absence from this particular reunion, and Kent's finest wrote "...Dammers sensibly doesn't want anything to do with it" and went on to write that this was "chicken-in-a-basket circuit" entertainment. That's a very fair description and one that I agree with.
Dammers did turn up for two pre-tour get-together-see-how-things-go rehearsals which tells us he wanted to be part of it - as long as Captain Jerry had total control to steer his own vessel, that is. Sure, he was the founder and driving force behind 2-Tone and the band, but his authoritarian nature conflicted with a social democratic stance that fuelled the band's political idealism which, on this occasion, led to Dammers being out-voted by the other members. Any chance of a reconciliation between the organist and the rest of the band was hindered when Roddy Radiation's personal attacks towards their former band leader were published on his own forum. It seems that Radiation relished slagging Dammers off in public with any chance he got, an urge which should've been nipped in the bud at the start. A case of Roddy putting the "rude" into "rude boy" perhaps?
According to one report, Dammers allegedly wanted to do a couple of London shows and a one-off 30th anniversary gig at Coventry's Ricoh Arena, perhaps not a lucrative proposition as a multi-date tour could be (it wasn't always about the money with Jerry), but it was potentially disastrous for the fans. A country-wide tour conveniently enables a nation of ska enthusiasts to be able to attend different, suitable dates in more intimate venues. Five nights at the Brixton Academy? There's no excuse for Dammers not to be there, he lives in the same area. Not to worry, when it comes to reproducing the live keyboard sound, they can simply get someone else in. Being expendable and finding yourself out of a job hurts, more so if it's the result of mutinous behaviour.
Any more takers for the "chicken-in-a-basket" merry-go-round? Count me in but not because of Lily Allen's or Simon Jordan's involvement. Regular readers of this blog are well aware that I've written reviews for similar gigs. A Feargal-less Undertones knocking out "Teenage Kicks" to its middle-aged fans, a Hugh-less Stranglers firing "Tank" and "Nuclear Device" in Shepherd's Bush not to mention the many times I've seen The Damned. How those bleedin' comedy punx have the gall to play "New Rose" and "Neat Neat Neat" on stage without Brian James and Rat Scabies is beyond me. You could argue that they've had two singers (not including Gary Holton) if you compare Vanian's early vocal style to his faux Elvis crooner voice, the latter being far removed from the vibe of '76. Tut-tut. It's sacrilege.
Well, is it? Not really, it's evolution, baby! Is the existence of such bands more justified if they release new material once in a blue moon like The Stones do? A big ass horn section complete with pretty female backing singers onstage will never replace Brian Jones (yes alright, I know he's dead, but you know what I'm getting at). Yet thousands will turn up to see Jagger posture all over a stadium's floorboards and love it, while others will stay at home to avoid any embarrassment. Most people who attend such gigs mainly do so to hear the old songs - it's not the same, but no one should expect it to be after 30+ years. On the other hand, one could also argue that if original line-ups aren't important to us we might as well go and see tribute bands, ticket prices are cheaper too. Anyone for AB/CD? You have a choice between a tribute Bon Scott or a tribute Brian Johnson...aren't we forgetting Dave Evans? No, I'm just being pedantic. So, to last night in south London. Was it the same without Dammers? I can only compare it musically with live film and video footage of the band in their heyday and to be honest, it didn't make any difference. The keyboard player that stood in danced about in the same manner, played all the right notes and even the "skating rink" keyboard sound on "Do Nothing" was there. Electro-mechanical organs aren't as emotionally responsive as other instruments - you press down on a key and a sine wave is emitted so it's a lot easier to copy someone's individual playing style. Back in the day, The Specials' energy came from the drums and bass and nothing's changed 27 years down the line. Terry Hall had a brief moan about Lockets being crap but his voice stood up the whole night and Lynval's rhythm playing was bang on. The only problem I had was with Roddy Radiation's guitar sound which was bathed in too much echo allowing the notes to get lost. In fact, Roddy's playing got lost during "Longshot Kick De Bucket", he just couldn't keep up to speed. Highlights of the night were a haunting "Man From C & A", "Friday Night, Saturday Morning" and an amazing "Too Much, Too Young", the opening drum roll of the latter sending the entire audience into a dancing frenzy. It was the biggest party in Brixton.
After the gig, the venue lights came on and that's when I saw all the fat, middle-aged skins mopping their brows with their Fred Perry polo shirts which were already drenched in sweat to begin with. All of us were absolutely fucked from so much dancing but we all made our way home with silly, idiotic grins on our faces, the knowing type of grin that's displayed when you've had a fantastic time and you know you're alive. Scores on the doors for last night's entertainment? It has to be 6 out of 7, much better than watching them on Later With Jools which means I'll be boarding the good ship ska next week for another cruise to Nostalgialand.
More chicken-in-a-basket band reviews coming soon including Faith No More, Anvil, Magazine and Cliff Richard and The Shadows (without Jet Harris).
You think I'm joking, don't you?

I ♥ Seal Clubbing

2009-05-05T17:47:00.010+01:00

I need a dream analyst.
A few nights ago, I dreamt that I was on an oil rig in the middle of what was a very calm sea. I turned to look out of one of the windows and saw a humungus tidal wave heading towards the rig. Not only did this powerful tidal wave engulf the structure but it knocked it sideways into the sea.
I managed to escape through one of the broken windows where I swam to a small island that was occupied entirely by seals. Thousands of them. Realising that I needed food to survive, I started looking for a broken tree branch which would enable me to kill one of the beasts before roasting it over a campfire.
Fortunately, a passing amphibious Citroen 2CV pulled over and offered me a lift to the mainland, which I greatly accepted. I had trouble clambering into the vehicle but just as I made myself comfortable, I woke up.
What does it mean?
I reckon I'm due for a massive heart attack.

Moving on from fears of cardiac arrest, I'd like to wish League Two Champions Brentford FC all the best for next season (coronary inducing pitch invasion celebratory pictures here) and I'd wish Palace even more but I can't muster any enthusiasm.
Something that did raise the spirits over the bank holiday weekend was the yearly but ever-so-humble Annual Beddington Fete. Lots of stalls selling bric-a-brac, raffle tickets, tombola, etc but the real attraction of all of this was the open day at the Wildlife Hospital. Set on the edge of Beddington Park, this "charidable" organisation helps restore the health of many animals that can be found in the nearby surroundings, such as foxes, pigeons, ducks and squirrels. They've rescued an albino squirrel from being beaten to death by the more common grey squirrels that infest the locality. I say infest, because to some folk they're classed as vermin. I was once told of an ancient law: if you capture a grey squirrel you are not supposed to let it go and you must kill it to stop the genetic spread of these creatures. I'll be sure to do that next time one of the little gits get into my vehicle through the open sunroof.
St Mary's of Beddington is a small, picturesque church which stands to the right of Carew Manor and had opened its doors to the local sight seers. The inside is decorated with beautiful medieval style biblical illustrations which cover the walls in a similar style to that of the classic eastern European icon painters. The bell tower was open, enabling us to see the bell ringers in action as well as being nearly deafened after we climbed the narrow steps further up into the belfry to hear the loud, clanging bells.
And then we went to Hastings. The place was crammed full of youngsters who had painted themselves green. Some were playing snare drums, some were throwing shoes. We didn't know what the significance of all this was, so we went in search of a fish'n'chip restaurant. The one we encountered served re-fried chips and I ate every one of them.
I reckon I'm due for a massive heart attack.

Rock The Vote

2009-05-01T16:41:00.010+01:00

When was the last time you got involved in a Battle of the Bands style contest? Not as part of the band itself, but as a participating audience member or part of a musical electorate? Well why not give some moments of your time and get stuck in? West London types Magic Ship have been set against a Scouse band called The Fare Evaders (and you would too if you came from that neck of the woods). Anyway, I hear the latter are fans of Stevie Gerrard's team so I'll be voting for the band whose bass player's footy club will be collecting the cup as champions this Saturday afternoon. I'll be there to watch the glamour unfold at Griffin Park when the Mighty Bees will be awarded their much deserved cup. Anyone who votes for Magic Ship tonight and sees me at the ground tomorrow will be rewarded with a free drink. Editor's decision is usually final - so don't push your luck by saying you managed to vote more than once. This competition is being held by none other than the old fogeys' favourite hairy-arsed music magazine Classic Rock. If you have a heart, spare a few precious minutes from your hectic lifestyle and amble on over here to vote for the Magic Ship boys. Otherwise Rover (above) ends up as kebab meat.

If, however, you are a bit pressed for time you can simply register a vote for them by sending an email with the subject line ‘Magic’ to classicrock@futurenet.co.uk.

Luv'n'hugs,

I'mnotHowesysoI'llshutthehellup.

1950's Facebook Tech Shit

2009-04-25T15:36:00.005+01:00

Thanks to Joanne for this:

And thanks to Col for finding this:

Sony Releases New Stupid Piece Of Shit That Doesn't Fucking Work

The Teddington To Beddington Tour De Farce

2009-04-21T16:31:00.011+01:00

My crotch is fucked, but not in a way I'd like it to be. I'm talking about riding a bike. No, not that type of bike, but a push bike, as I tried to get to grips with a journey that perhaps, in hindsight, I could've done without.

It's a journey that has been succesfully completed a few times before, perhaps a couple of years ago but using a bike with a heavier steel frame and those clunky, knobbly, thick tyres that are often found on mountain bikes. The Shimano eight speed twist grip gear system was hardly used to its full extent, settling on just three settings that I referred to as 'uphill', 'downhill' and 'flat'. Carrying that beast up a flight of stairs at railway stations after a long slog - which resulted in "jellied legs syndrome" - proved tough going, although still better than feeling nauseous after a punishing session of physical exercise. But as I said before, all that happened a while ago.
Yesterday, after a few minutes of car-less journey planning (in which the main challenge was to get home after doing the twilight shift at work), I checked the weather forecast, which appeared favourable for cycling conditions and decided to pedal home. I kept reassuring myself that it would be easier than previous efforts, what with a different bike that had a lighter aluminium frame, a three speed hub and skinnier tyres - ideal for on-road handling.
Being very much the anti-athlete that I am with a weight problem that has more ups and downs than a whore's drawers, I welcomed the fresh mid-morning air at the start of the journey, it's nature's own cooling system. Decked out only in combat cargo pants, an Adidas polo shirt and Converse high tops, this would be a decent combination of clobber that would make me sweat less and avoid any premature physical burn-out. Or so I thought.
3.40am
I leave work with a resigned determination in the knowledge that what lies ahead can be done but will take some time to achieve. A ride of this calibre is a walk in the park for the likes of Lance Armstrong, but to me it's just a timely inconvenience. I've completed this trip in one hour and fifteen minutes in the past (including stopping for a 10 minute break around the half way point), but I wanted to see how my present heavier human frame would cope this time round. So off I go at a leisurely pace, making my way towards Teddington through the back roads. The only thing that helps me overcome the thought of the mammoth task ahead lies in the stillness of the streets, the relative quietness of minimal motorised traffic which is only spoiled by the boy racers that occasionally roar and charge down Sandy Lane. They be worryin' the deer in Bushey Park, the bastards.
4.00am
I'm feeling fine as I sail through the pedestrianised high street of Kingston-upon-Thames. Late night revellers haggle over prices with unlicensed minicab drivers as I weave around lone drunkards staggering home or trying to find a public bench to crash out on, whichever is the nearest. After passing a colleague cycling the other way into work, I smile and climb the slight hill of Cambridge Road that runs alongside the dodgy estate of the same name towards The Peel. The air is cruelly fresh, and I haven't even warmed myself up. I pass a gang of youths that seem to be pretend-fighting each other on the pavement and give them a wide berth, my advancing years automatically giving me a sense of self-preservation as I avoid anything that looks like dangerous confrontation. One of them looks at me and smirks.
4.20am
I arrive at New Malden roundabout and head straight for the A3 along Burlington Rd. There's an enormous new B&Q that has been erected, all three floors catering for the inner cowboy that is sometimes found within us. I zip under the A3's flyover at Beverley Way, pass what I think is a 24 hour Dunkin' Donuts shop. The smell of fresh donuts hits the cold air and tempts me to make a stop for a little snack-i-poo, which in the end is resisted as it would defeat the purpose. At West Barnes Lane, I get off the saddle, that bastard saddle, the one that remindes my forty year old arse that it's being laughed at by other road users. My bones creak with every step that I take as I carry the bike up a flight of stairs leading towards Bushey Road in Raynes Park. I get to the top and I'm rudely woken out of cycle mode by the flashing blue lights of an ambulance on its way to an important call out. Or maybe the paramedics are making their way to Dunkin' Donuts for a tea break? God knows.
4.30am
I still haven't warmed up, the bitter night air with its vice-like grip refuses to let go and the blubber around my stomach is of no help whatsoever. How do whales do it? My attention is soon diverted by a familiar landmark: Morden underground station, the southern most tip on the Northern line and I start to feel at home. I turn into Morden Hall Road where a motorist is routinely pulled over by a police patrol van. There are three coppers in the van and I start to wonder where they were on April 1st. I decide against a crafty shortcut towards Middleton Road that runs parallel to Tooting and Mitcham United's football ground (c'mon you Terrors!) and along the Wandle river's towpath because of the total absence of lighting. I choose Peterborough Road instead, much safer and probably much drier too. It's a road that's longer than it looks on the map, but soon I arrive at its end and glide into the Hackbridge morning mist.
4.50am
On passing Hackbridge station, I walk the bike up the railway bridge and once I reach the top, I sorely clamber back onto that unforgiving saddle and lazily coast my way into Beddington Park where the air gets spitefully colder. I glance at my watch and decide to set myself a deadline arrival of 5.00am. Fortunately I'm not too far from home and I start pedalling like a possessed maniac through the thick mist that has eerily settled in the park, floating menacingly above the grass like it does in any Hammer House of Horror film. The old graveyard surrounding St Mary's church looks equally as spooky but also welcoming as I hit the last 50 yards and suddenley I'm home, dead on five o'clock.
5.00am
Mission Accomplished. One hour and twenty minutes later of non-stop physical endurance and not a single bead of sweat has left a pore, I don't even stink of hard earned B.O. My body is still cold from the experience as I clamber under the duvet and thoughts of getting pneumonia fade away as a chirpy dawn chorus helps me fall asleep. Not that I ever needed much help after eleven, shivering miles.

Earache

2009-04-18T12:53:00.004+01:00

Have you heard the one about the Aussie-Cypriot performance artist who had an ear implanted into his arm? I SAID HAVE YOU HEARD...oh never mind, go get yours syringed, why don't you.
Why on earth would anyone get another ear and place it halfway down their arm? To listen closely to their own farts? If so, they'd be a brave soul if they decided to implant a nose next to it just for the full sensory effect after a night on the Guinness. Perhaps, instead of implanting a nose on his other arm, Stelios Arcadious could plant a fourth ear to it which would enable him to listen to the quadrophonic mix of the new re-release from Black Sabbath in greater detail. That'll be handy.
Stelios, who looks uncannily like the late actor Peter Boyle, managed to find a kindred nutter to do the op after a ten year search but he is looking to fit the ear with Bluetooth capabilities. This is of course a similar stunt that was originally executed by the Vacanti mouse who had a human ear grafted to its back but without Bluetooth. Nor did it have Wifi, although rumours suggest that it had a USB port wedged up its arse.
As an artist, Stelios plans to go one further by getting a donkey's penis grafted to his forehead and wiring it up to receive Sky Sports so that he can watch Soccer Saturday during downtime on his lucrative weekend tours of Hoxton.
What a class act.

Spunking Up The Bush

2009-04-06T10:38:00.008+01:00

The score bore at QPR left me feeling deflated, so come the final whistle I went in search of consumer enlightenment via Wood Lane and into Westfield shopping centre. On approaching the building I clocked its architecture - lots of modern clean lines and lots of glass, nice. Inside, the smooth stone paving with its patterned glass roof above made it resemble a retail arcade in Centre Parcs. There's a bright, airy and spacious feel to this place, it's as if you're doing your shopping within a huge biosphere without the plants. Pleasant, but quite clinical which is fine if you like 'new' over 'worn-in but familiar'.

I was curious to see wether the tough commercial climate presented many vacant units within the complex but to my surprise, all were filled. The place was also filled with people, some of whom actually bought stuff. I suspect there were more window shoppers than regular spending spree types, as I didn't see many people with a whole gamut of designer carrier bags in their possession. There were quite a few scrote-coat wearers about the place.
I made my way straight to the busy Apple store which was staffed by people looking like character rejects from The Big Bang Theory (American geek sitcom). It had a 'Genius Bar' which, unlike the name suggests, is not a drinks bar for those with a high IQ, but a counter manned by experts ready to assist you with advice regarding all your Apple related techie quieries. Most of the sleek products were readily displayed so I decided to try an iPod. They had Bose headphones plugged into all demo iPods - they wouldn't sell any if Apple's own headphones were used with the display models - and they still sounded shit! I couldn't even get the new Shuffle to work (I may have broken it) so I shuffled out of the shop as quickly as I came in.
What made me smile was the giant balloon that was the Lindt Easter bunny situated in The Atrium. I'm more of a Cadbury's man myself but ten out of ten to Lindt for a fun marketing idea, I'm sure there'll be plenty of choccie bunnies sold because of it.

Of the nineteen footwear shops found in the centre, the ones that stuck out were Aussie UGGs, the ghastly Crocs and more notably the trendy Vans boutique, which had a nice line in Bad Brains merchandise. Is a Vans shop too cool for Westfield or are they simply acknowledging the hoody element of a west London past within the realms of the new and improved up-market Shepherd's Bush? There seems to be a snobby contradiction of wares for sale in Westfield although the absence of Matalans and TK Maxx didn't go entirely unnoticed.
On the lower and upper levels of a section called The Balcony, there are no less than thirteen eateries such as Yo! Sushi and Pho, the latter specialising in Vietnamese street food where I tried a steak based noodle soup. Nothing to write home about but the mixed apple, mint and lime juice was refreshing. More than ten restaurants can be found on the Southern Terrace and with nearly twenty cafes scattered around the premises, you should have no trouble finding refreshments to suit.

Many ladies love to shop, and the management of Westfield have wised up to this big time. There's a large assortment of female clothes emporiums ranging from shoes and lingerie to more than twenty women's fashion boutiques like Blanco, Laura Ashley, New Look, La Senza, Wag Express, etc. They're all here - all ready to beat your plastic into a pulp.
If you're feeling really flush, there is an area called The Village which caters for 'Luxury Retail' outlets such as Louis Vitton, Gucci, Dior and other posh shops that specialise in expensive pieces of useless tat. Throw in a few banks, bookshops, the obligatory department stores, sports, toys, jewellery (fourty-seven grand Rolex anyone?), gadget shops and that's pretty much the make up of Westfield. No musical instrument shops though, can't have everything I s'pose.
To have recently launched the biggest mall in London was a very brave move despite all the 'green shoots of recovery' bollocks we're hearing. It's a venture that has, in the long term at least, the potential for serving a large catchment area of shoppers who are fed up with having to travel to Oxford Street, Bluewater and Lakeside. The excellent transport links will also beguile away-supporters visiting Loftus Road into parting with a few of their pennies at Westfield.
Either that, or it might get trashed to fuck by Millwall fans next season.

Links: Westfield Shopping Mall
More pictures here.

Brentford: The Brutal Truth

2009-04-01T09:27:00.004+01:00

Brentford's 1 - 1 draw last Saturday against Kentish rivals Gillingham was marred by an ugly under-current of anti-traveller songs emanating from the Bill Axbey stand. Chants such as Where's Your Caravan (Where's Your Caravan)? sung to the tune of "Where's Your Mama Gone?" and The Wheels on Your House Go Round and Around were aimed at the Gills fans who, clearly upset at this display of terrace tribalism, retaliated by making wanker signs with their hands which were directed at the home supporters.

"Does Your Carer Know You're Here?"

Rick Tizer, 74, a senior refugee from the east Midlands claimed "I've never seen anything like this since witnessing the pitch wars between Saffron Dynamo and the Leicestershire Constabulary in the Everards Cup. They were like animals".
BNP leader Nick Griffin-Park noted that such banter "...has existed ever since the mid 1970s and is a normal part of the traditional British football outing on a Saturday afternoon". On the subject of outings, Mr Griffin-Park also said that the chant Does Your Boyfriend Know You're Here? sung by home crowds when Brighton and Hove Albion FC have participated in away games, as well as the recent blackout at Dagenham and Redbridge, to be "totally normal under each of their respective circumstances 'cos it sends out a message, innit?".
However, Curtis Fuller, spokeperson for the No Sticks and Stones in League Two Campaign, made it clear that such discrimination should not to be tolerated. "This discrimination should not be tolerated" he said, and, after spilling Bovril on himself, went on to say "that's extremely hot...and very wet".
Our dossier has been forwarded to the FA for further investigation.

Links: Brentford FC, Gillingham FC

Today's Weather: Overcast, rioting predicted

Culinary Review

2009-03-25T10:00:00.015Z

Unilever Pot Noodle - Southern Fried Chicken Flavour

After The Daily Telegraph's preview of Pot Noodle's Doner Kebab snack, I thought it would be fitting for this high-brow blog to expand on the subject and conduct a taste test with its Southern Fried Chicken flavour (no chips included - come on Unilever, you're losing your audience already).

We've all been victim, er, privy to this curious hole filler at some point in our lives, wether it's been used to kill hunger pangs during times spent as an impoverished student or as a short stop gap snack during a rushed lunch break at work.

To celebrate a successful 25 year history, the makers of Pot Noodle have decided to move with the junk food times and have released new flavours based on Britain's trashy take aways of choice.

The presentation of this exquisite dish is in keeping with the usual fare of bright garish colours, just enough to alert pissheads and potheads looking to quench their munchies to its existence on the shelf of a late night garage without having to focus a stoned, bleary eye on the writing that's printed on the container. "Bright coloured plasshhtic tub...thash'll be Pot Noodle then...hic!"

On peeling back the stiff silver foil, the usual welcoming sight of dried noodles and brown-reddish powder come into sight. So it's a matter of putting the kettle on and filling up to the arrow mark once the water has boiled. Garnish with a sprig of parsley (or apply the included satchet of tomato sauce) to taste.

Throughout history, man has been forever impressed with complexity, but a wise man will be impressed by simplicity and that's exactly what you get with the Pot Noodle concept. No waiting in rowdy queues on a Friday night at KFC, Morley's or any other greasy Dixie Fried Chicken type eaterie once you've got a few of these stocked in your larder and ready for action. If you have a relatively clean water supply and an electric kettle, you're on a one way ticket to Hasslefreetown for post-closing time grub.

But what does it actually taste like?

Here's the problem. If you are sober, stay away. I repeat, STAY THE FUCK AWAY! I made the grave mistake of trying this without having consumed at least half a bottle of bourbon prior to shoving a forkfull of this stuff into my gob. I gave it a chance, I really did, but I duly resigned this gruesome shit to the kitchen's bin before I got the chance to get through a quarter of it.

It's no Bombay Bad Boy - you have been warned.

Goodbye Champ

2009-03-17T11:32:00.008Z

He was constantly hungry and, it seems, constantly naughty. Not content with puking, pissing and shitting everywhere except into his litter tray, he'd test your patience by getting under your feet and eventually you'd end up accidentally treading on his tail as you tried to keep your balance in order to avoid him.

He recently developed what the vet thought was a thyroid problem, his rear paws had swollen up and I guess it was inevitable that his last couple of days were upon us as he'd taken to hiding in the cubby hole that was underneath the telly's stage in the living room. It seemed as if he'd gone there knowing that he was going to die.

But we managed to coax him out, hoping that we could feed him and restore him back to his natural naughty self. He just had no energy left, his eyes were wide open but they weren't registering anything that was going on in front. He lay frighteningly still during his last few hours, only to give an unsettling cry of pain as we tried to turn him over to clean him up after he had messed himself.

During this morning's early hours, around 3am, he tried to stretch / contort himself in a futile attempt at shaking away the pain and with that he took his last few breaths and passed away. For all his faults, he was one of the most affectionate cats I have ever known and I'll miss snuggling up to him in bed.

God rest his little furry soul.

Whose Line 6 Is It Anyway?

2009-03-14T16:30:00.008Z

There are three types of loud;
1. Loud (someone shouting in your ear),
2. Very Loud (sticking your head in the belfry of Big Ben at noon) and...
3. Fucking Loud (listening to Slayer live at Donnington).

Another definition for the latter could be: Spider Valve HD100 guitar amplifier by Line 6. You can pick these up for a song thanks to our current economic climate and also because it is made in China. But don't let China's low wage levels cast you into a vortex of guilt, because the instruction manual that's included is a doddle to understand and that's a bonus for products that are manufactured in the far east. If you happen to be in the market for such an item and you're looking for something complete with valves and effects, then you should give this a try.
Hold on...valves and effects? What rubbish is this? Aren't all proper guitarists worth their salt only supposed to be into class A amplification without bells and whistles so as to ensure a clean and natural signal path which benefits the overall tone?

It's a good job I'm not a proper guitarist and I'm here to irk the purists ('cos it's a right good laugh). Listen up all you stick-in-the-mud direct-injection wallies, you only think that nowt but valve sound is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. That's probably because you are;
A. someone who mostly listens to pre-eighties music,
B. deluded or
C. an old fart.

Pull your heads out of your botties and listen to some of the convincing tones that today's world of digital modelling can offer. For those not in the know, digital modelling is the process of impersonating the sound of various vintage and popular amplifiers using software algorithms and putting it all into one neat package, saving you the hassle of having to own, and more importantly, lug around all those different and heavy amplifiers to studios and gig venues. Line 6 has been at the forefront of modelling technology for quite a while and they have an excellent track record in this field. But they've gone one further by joining up with boutique amp manufacturer Bogner, and together both companies have combined their expertise to produce the Spider series (available in head and combo units). So not only do you get a couple of 12AX7 valves in the pre-amp, you also get four 6L6 valves helping out in the power section. It's class AB to be technical and yes, it comes with quality digital effects such as reverb, delay, flange (I like that word), chorus etc - all the usual sonic flavours that should satisfy many a guitarist's pallette.

The only downside to this product is the costly pedal needed for gigs (FBV2, FBV Express or FBV Shortboard) which is available as an optional extra. They at least should include the budget version which would present this as a well built and well thought out package.
You can read more details here, but I've decided to record some of the settings myself using a cheap Sennheiser dynamic microphone placed in front of a Celestion Vintage 30 speaker (that's why there is slight background hiss in the clean tones). Here's a mix of various riffs - some you may recognise - to help showcase what this baby can do.

In other guitar related news; Howesy has built his own Telecaster.

For Colin & His Bad Back...

2009-02-27T15:16:00.002Z

ALSO: Is this the return of our beloved Bob?

I Haz No Salami

2009-02-26T11:23:00.010Z

Due to the ongoing redevelopment in Surrey Street, my local delicatessen has been demolished which means I have been left without my favourite Pick produced Hungarian Salami. I'm having serious withdrawal symptoms as I locate eastern European grocers in vain, only to be told that they don't stock this product. I can buy it online but I like to examine a shop before buying my meat - you can't be too careful these days. Are any of my lovely readers aware of such an establishment that stocks sticks of Pick's finest? Obviously it has to be London based, preferably south, but I get nose bleeds if I venture too far north.

While we're on the subject of Hungarian food, has anyone ever had a meal at The Gay Hussar? According to most of these reviews, this over-priced establishment makes a mockery of Magyar tucker and their grub is only fit for the likes of sex tourists and politicians. Additional feedback will be much appreciated, so as a reward for all your generous input in the comments section, here's a clip of King Salami and the Cumberland Three.

I'm off to buy a chisel, a wonderful chisel for wood.

On Committing Twitter Hari-Kari

2009-02-21T13:20:00.007Z

It seems that the "microblogging" site known as Twitter is something that you just can't get away from. It's suddenly been the talk of the web and mentioned everywhere from newspapers to television and radio. It's the "in-thing", the flavour of the season, the geeky emperor's new clothes, it's even a new type of status symbol. After all, you, the Twitterer (Twiteree?), are informing those that "follow" you of your current status every time you can be bothered to update your profile. I'm a bit concerned by the term "follow" even in the Twit sense, it sounds dangerously cultish and I shall be informing The Daily Mail as soon as possible.

Twitter is popular in a similar way that Facebook was last year. I've always had my reservations about Facebook. Just like a dodgy religious order, it's easy to join but a hassle to leave. I've read that if you decide to delete your Facebook account, your personal information that you've typed onto your "page" is kept on their servers (unless you've deleted everything manually on your actual profile prior to terminating your membership - or so they say). Libertarians may well carp on about CCTV and Oyster cards keeping tabs on our "freedom of movement" but we're quite willing to sign up to daft networking sites that display our real names at the top of our profiles and then we proceed to inform everyone that we're going to Waitrose.

Top Tip: why not sign up using a false name?

Status: "Bruiser McHuge is playing away with Elton at The Withdean."

Hang on; MySpaz, Fartbook and Twatter - they're just a laugh, aren't they? What's that? You want to send me a virtual marijuana plant through Facebook? That's really funny. Send me a real one or nothing at all. So are these sites really pointless and daft? Horses for courses, me dearies. People keep in touch with each other through various means, some prefer hand written letters, others prefer text messages by phone. Some stick to plain email, others use Bebo. But Twitter is not just another means of communication, it's another networking site.

So when it comes to the plethora of such sites available, why do many of us sign up to more than just one? In theory, I could scrap all the sites I have an account with and just stick to MySpace as an overall solution for my web needs; it allows me to blog (goodbye Blogger), upload photos (ta-ta Flickr), post videos (cheerio YouTube) and I can even update my status (see ya later, Twitter-ator). After all, there can only be so much attention that anyone can gain by plastering themselves all over the 'net in order to get it. (Incidentally, who are these sad bastards who've Googled themselves? Bruiser McHuge, c'mon down!)

Here lies my problem and it's a worrying one. Choice is a wonderful thing, but as I get older I feel compelled to want to cut the bullshit and compartmentalise everything into one box similar to what Generalissimo Franco tried to do with most of the Iberian languages of Spain - he banned all but one. Rest assured, I shall refrain from doing so (I ain't got the power, see?) but checking for updates on all these sites means more time spent in front of a VDU instead of getting on with more important things like...like...what did we do before the internet?

If I were to delete my various online accounts, I'd have to save any work that I've already uploaded (posts, pictures, videos etc - and there's plenty of 'em), and then re-upload it all to the one site so that everything can be accessible for anyone that wants it. But I can't be bothered with all that crap, it'll only take ages which means more time spent in front of a VDU instead of getting on with more important things like...like...well, you get the picture.

So even though I've been part of it, I view Twitter as slang similar both in rhyme and meaning as to what "Gary Glitter" and "council gritter" is.
Nowt but arse.

Biscuit-cast!

2009-02-11T14:58:00.007Z

About bloody time too. A year spent talking about it and it took just half an hour to record the links to all the songs. Worth it though, 'cos what we have here is a podcast featuring choice cuts from Britain's finest folk band Half Man Half Biscuit.

It also features Howesy rabbiting on about Brentford FC, so it's understandable if any of you decide to give this one a miss. In spite of that, you should give this band a chance if you're unfamiliar with them, and if their pearls of wisdom fail to raise a titter then surely you are made of stone.

And now for the science part: 49.02 minutes long, 67.something megabytes worth of data and a terrific lot of fun. So, what are you waiting for?

Download now by clicking here.

Alternatively, copy and paste the following;

http://istvanski.jellycast.com/files/audio/DEPCAST%2011.mp3

into your browser, press enter and it should start doing its stuff.

You can go here for the HMHB Lyrics Project!

Dance, DANCE, Dance, DANCE!!!!

Sod The Walk, I'll Take The Car

2009-02-02T10:03:00.003Z

Oh You Pretty Things

2009-01-31T12:22:00.015Z

There was some confusion in the lead up to this gig. Some websites said that The Pretty Things were playing at a venue in Birmingham on the same night as they were due to play London's 100 Club. An entire performance of SF Sorrow with the original line up at The Shepherd's Bush Empire for tonight has been cancelled. Rumours of poor ticket sales and original members' more pressing commitments were floating around so it was inevitable that the audience at the 100 Club may have been slightly apprehensive as to what they might expect.

What they got was a raucous night of fine Garage R'n'B (sixties style, of course) with original members Phil May (vocals and maracas) and Dick Taylor (lead guitar). Dick Taylor is something of a legend in sixties influenced garage circles as he has quite a pedigree, longevity and loyalty as far as this band is concerned. Originally, he was part of an early incarnation of The Rolling Stones featuring fellow Sidcup art college student Keith Richards. Taylor, not fancying a move to bass guitar duties, decided to leave The Stones after Brian Jones was recruited and has since said in interviews that he's not bitter about missing out on the mega-party of The Stones' multi-platinum success...of course you're not, Dick.

What is true is that there'd be no Pretty Things without Mr Taylor and the same can be said about Phil May, whose voice is fucking powerful as well as tuneful - years of gigging experience bearing the fruit of such an awesome instrument that go hand in hand with natural talent. Both men are essential for a Pretty Things' gig.

I was hoping for the SF Sorrow concert (the groups' psychedelic release from '68) although they played the opening number ("SF Sorrow is Born"), hoping at least for a blast of "Baron Saturday" but it's hard to do a track like that without a Mellotron on stage. All was not lost though, when Dick played the most powerful and rousing blues on slide guitar; let's face it, he has all the mileage for this style of music and on listening to him play - I mean, to really listen to him play slide - you just think "Seasick Steve, who's that?". Although not always note perfect, Ry Cooder would be well pleased with the soul that Taylor puts into his guitar playing.

An encore of early favourite "Rosalyn" proceeded gems like "LSD" and something from "Freeway Madness" and something else from the band's Electric Banana period. Electric Banana was a pseudonymous 1967 album of the band, they recorded this album and two subsequent ones for the DeWolfe Music Library. DeWolfe provided stock music for film soundtracks and their music wound up on various horror and soft-porn films of the late 1960s, such as What's Good for the Goose (1969). When the album was released, the stage name The Electric Banana was used to hide the band's identity.

Great variation, great stuff.

And then suddenly, it was time to go home.

Wood That Gives Wood

2009-01-23T12:38:00.004Z

Another post for Guitargonauts (or any guitar anoraks): Following on from Furtheron's superb purchase, us players of tree and steel continue to waste our valuable savings (what's left of them) on fine quality axes and expensive guitar straps. Here for your delectation is a Gibson Les Paul Limited Edition Pacific Reef (because I can't afford this one). Manufactured in 2004 - Gibson's centenary year (although there seems to be some dispute over actual start dates) - it's one that seems to be well admired by many that have bought one.

After picking this near mint example up from Birmingham recently (never thought I'd actually see signs to Digbeth Coach Station in the flesh), I took it to my local guitar shop for a fret dress and set up as some of the frets are quite flat at the top and the action needs to come down a tad. It's still there and I can't wait to get it back. In the meantime I'll just have to sit and watch cats in a moshpit.

Goodbye Astoria

2009-01-15T12:26:00.005Z

It's sad to see the disapearance of another live music venue, more so when it's The Astoria on Charing Cross Road. Not only is it a building that's aesthetically pleasing, but it had such a characteristic vibe to it. Vibes come from an interesting history and in this case, The Astoria was host to many a great gig.

We've all heard how it's been the venue to see The Rolling Stones as well as being the place where Richey Edwards did his last UK gig with The Manic Street Preachers, but for a London venue it was ideally placed in a central position within the capital with adequate transport links - which is fine if you happen to live in or around London itself - though not much of a great venue if you happen to live the wrong side of the home counties. Oh yes, I've seen all the greats at this place. Focus, The Damned, Sham 69, Slayer, Mr. Bungle - you name 'em.

Focus was one of the best gigs. They supported Camel or Caravan (I can't remember which, but whoever they were, they were crap), but Thjis Van Leer's Hammond B3 was a sound so joyful to behold that night that no other organ has come close to delivering such a sonic delight at any other gig I've been to. Leer's quite accomplished on the flute too.

Seeing The Damned here wasn't that great. It was during what I call their 'pub rock' period, a line up featuring Vanian, Scabies, Chris Dollimore (of The Godfathers), Allan Lee Shaw (who he?) and Moose (New Model Army). They played well and with confidence (Rat was exceptional on drums that night) but it lacked the chaos that comes with a Sensible line-up. Best to put that one down to experience then.

Sham 69, who played as part of a punk all-dayer, was entertaining and Jimmy Pursey was every inch the stage clown as he belted out Hurry Up 'Arry. It was the first and last time I ever saw them, and it was just enough.

Slayer at The Astoria was something else. More punters were let in than Health and Safety regulations would've legally allowed and the sweat from the mob was literally dripping from the ceiling, the venue clearly wasn't built to cope with such condensation. This was also the gig which heralded the return of Dave Lombardo to Slayer's drumstool, another skinsman that I regard very highly. Caught in a mosh and nearly crushed to death, gigs like these rarely get any better.

Except of course when it came to seeing Mr Bungle, who stopped off at The Astoria as part of their "California" tour. "California" was their third, last and most succesful album, both the recording and live gig was so overwhelming that I was buzzing for weeks after hearing them. There must've been at least nine people on stage, each member doubling up with other instruments when needed - the high level of talent that trod the boards that night was amazing. It was their second night in a row there and I believe it was on their first night that The Astoria managed to sell the most amount of beer, ever. Well, that's what Mike Patton told us anyway.

I've seen numerous other bands at that place but these were highlights for me and it'll be a shame to see the old place go, especially if it's going to be replaced by yet another faceless office block.

For The Benefit Of Trainspotters

2009-01-11T12:55:00.005Z

A vintage shot of Waterloo station taken around 1904. Click on photo to enlarge - Thanks to Butch for the pic.

Skin(t) Flynt

2009-01-09T14:04:00.009Z

Bizarre begging requests of our time # 312 - Big cheese porngrapher Larry Flynt is but one of the few US porn barons trying to petition Congress for a £3.3 billion bail-out of the adult entertainment industry. Flynt justifies this request by saying "Americans need sex but they can do without cars" - a reference to Congress' recent cash injection into the motor industry.

What kind of drugs is Larry taking? People need both, and he should know this. Don't kerb crawlers exist in Flynt's world? And what of the car driver that can't be arsed to walk or take the bus to the local sex shop?

But fair play to him, he's only speaking out for the people who willingly get paid to shag in front of a camera and he can be seen as an unelected union speaker for the porn world. It's a dirty job and someone's got to do it 'cos times is hard (and other predictable puns).

But then I turn the page of today's paper to read that the creator of the Ken and Barbie dolls, Jack Ryan, used to be a kinky swinger who held orgies at his Bellend...sorry, BelAir mansion. This is a bloke who was once hitched to Zsa Zsa Gabor and, and...well guess what? It's the subject of a new book. 'Scuse me for being so presumptious, but who'd have thought that people would want to read about the private life of a toy manufacturer?

On the same page, I read of some dozy old bint of a shopaholic who bought so much stuff that she was crushed to death by some of her unopened purchases. This news story has been given coverage of half a page which is odd as I've yet to read a decent obituary of the recently departed Ron Asheton. I wonder what they'll say about Dave Dee?

You'd be forgiven if this was a rag like The Sun, The Star or The Sport, but it was all in today's Metro which can be obtained freely at many railway stations in and around the capital. The worrying thing is that many people read this stuff to pass the time of the journey as they go to work and I can't help feeling that apathy towards buying decent papers (are there any left?) is growing because of the number of free news rags that exist.

So, the challenge is: can any of you recommend a reliable and politically unbiased news source?

Nauseating Nostalgia

2008-12-31T15:18:00.006Z

Was it last night's Mexican Heatwave pizza that made me discharge violently from both ends? Perhaps it may have been the yummy but undercooked Fillet-O-Fish from Guildford's Maccie D's?
No, it must've been Ulrika Jonsson's appearance on BBC2's Shooting Stars. She opted for the frizzy perm and thick black eyeliner look that was popular with younger women from Britain's inner city housing estates circa. the early eighties. Still, that should get a lot of the older male horny viewers tuning in to Big Brother this coming Friday.

Ulrika aside, it was mighty fine to see the once popular quiz show back on our screens and I was pleasantly surprised to find the format not looking out dated in the least, producers of other television quiz shows should take note. The inclusion of dead pan comic Jack Dee as team captain was a worthy replacement for Lamar and Self and it was a laugh trying to work out what must've been going through his mind as he stood face to face with an opera singer who belted out a rendition of that famous song that Pavarotti was best known for. Great stuff - and almost as funny as seeing one of many of Matt Lucas' alter-egos singing The Peanut Song in the program that preceeded it.

Which means that last night's Shooting Stars has been voted the best quiz show of 2008. Sorted.
My other top personal picks of the year are as follows (based on personal taste and not necessarily items that have been released in 2008);

Best Album of 2008 - This award goes to Metallica's "Death Magnetic". Only because it's one of the few albums that I have actually bought this year that was quite passable. It marked a cliched return to Metallica's roots of the thrash metal genre and it proves that, even at their age, they can still cut the mustard for playing a fast song or two. Runners up include Anal Beard's "We, The Dreg" (a compendium of greatest hits from 1997 - 2001) and Kevin Ayers' "The Unfairground". Perhaps it's a good job that Megadeth have yet to release their album, as I would've automatically given the award to Mustaine's metal, 'cos I'm fucking biased like that, OK?

Best Book of 2008 - I've been too busy catching up with other peoples' blogs and burying my hooter in the back pages of the gutter press to do any real reading, but this year's prize goes to The DVD Book Of West Ham United (Open Umbrella Publishing in conjuction with ILC Media). It actually comes with a (yes, you've guessed it) two hour DVD displaying no less than 250 of the Hammers' top goals from the last twenty years. The actual book is the winner, author Martin Godleman writes in a concise and occasionally opinionated but witty style (describing the hooligan element of the seventies and eighties as "...a golden age of mental health issues in football supporters around the country"). The good thing about this is that you can pick up the book on a whim, flick through its individual chapters without actually having to read it in any particular order as chapters are named aphabetically from Allen, Allen, Ashton to Zamora.

Best Gig of 2008 - There have been many, from The Stooges to The Stranglers but the award goes to Half Man Half Biscuit at The Cornbury Festival. The Wirral's most famous foursome turned this blogger's gig going activities of the year into a religious experience without them even trying. Not only was this the first of two HMHB gigs that I attended in 2008, but it was their first gig that saw them play "Took Problem Chimp To The Ideal Homeshow" from 2008's seminal CSI:Ambleside album. The second gig I saw them at has been marvellously reviewed here.

Best Blog of 2008 - He's only gone and done it again, but Stray Photon of Spraying The Rays is the winner for the third year in a row just for the many and varied topics that he has covered. Will someone please return his hat? The entire future of Hull City AFC depends on it.

Best Podcast of 2008 - Not that many in the running this year (OK, not many that I've listened to), but it was a well deserved win for Bobcast 58 by Robert Swipe. This is essential listening for anyone heavily into cult tv themes (Barry Gray fanatics generously catered for).

Best Waste of Money 2008 - Leyton Orient vs Swindon Town, Boxing Day. Seventy quid for two tickets in the gallery of the west stand at the Matchroom stadium. If only I'd known earlier that day that Palace vs Norwich was a one o'clock kick off, the money would've been going into Simon Jordan's fat wallet instead of Barry Hearn's. Not even Brisbane Road's complementary tea and coffee made up for it, but the salt beef sandwiches were good. The O's played more poorly than how I felt last night.

Best Guitar of 2008 - The Epiphone Joe Perry signature Les Paul supersedes last year's Epiphone Zakk Wylde signature Les Paul solely on the basis of its eccentric finish. Wether it's the amber coloured faux flame maple top or its plasticy back and neck, it's the one that has been mostly played at Ister Towers. What a downright dirty, sexy beast. Cheap, too.

Best Film of 2008 - Heath Ledger's portrayal as The Joker in The Dark Knight was a hard act to follow and would've won it (There Will Be Blood was another serious contender), but by a narrow margin, the clincher was Bubba Ho Tep. Although this film was released a few years ago, it's easily the silliest, most daftest and one of the funniest films I've seen all year. Trooly stoopid, but worthy.

Best Gadget of 2008 - Sudafed Nasal Decongestant spray or Boss BR600 multitrack machine? Close, but no cigar. The Nokia N96 has helped me to access the net in lieu of proper home internet access. Not only is it wi-fi compatible, but it has an internal memory of 16GB for all your portable media needs and it also comes with a 5 megapixel camera sporting a Carl Zeiss lens. There's also a 3.5mm jack for headphones and a large screen so you can view those Top Gear episodes on the way to work.

Funniest Thing of 2008 - The ongoing credit crunch, but only if you're a communist.

Have I missed anything out? What say you?

Warnock Confused

2008-12-20T12:14:00.006Z

Today, Neil Warnock takes "his boys" for an away fixture at Bramall Lane.

Small wonder he looks confused, eh readers? Not to worry though, whatever the result, win, lose or draw, Neil and the lads can relax on the long coach trip home by listening to DEPCAST 10, a brand new podcast that's been made in the location of Croydon. You too can listen in by CLICKING HERE.

UPDATE - The Damned at Brighton were fucking great. The venue was just right for them too (size-wise) and they managed to make the improv section in new song "Dark Asteroid" more interesting. Also check out support band Slick's Kitchen - not bad for a kraut band. Here are Froggy's pictures from that night. Cheers, Froggy. The set list was as follows:

There'll Come A Day, Neat Neat Neat, Under The Wheels, Fan Club, Dr Woofenstein, Democracy, Under The Floor Again, Love Song, Second Time Around, Shallow Diamonds, Alone Again Or, Danger To Yourself, Curtain Call, New Rose, Dark Asteroid - encore - Sanity Clause (including messed up start, most amusing), Stretcher Case, Ignite, Smash It Up & after half the crowd had left, Happy Talk .

In the meantime, I hope you all have a spiffing Chrimbo and a jolly reasonable New Year. As me old mate Stac used to say: "mind the road..."

Why Costco Kicks Ass

2008-12-17T16:26:00.018Z

To celebrate the recent opening of Costco's Croydon branch, the management of this blog have decided to dedicate this post to one of the best shopping environments in the known universe by displaying just a few of the many products that may be purchased from this store. Railway employees are allowed to become members of this establishment, unlike Makro. Cunts.

But hey! Enough of my yakking, let's all boogie down the aisles of consumer heaven...

1. Indulge yourself in this luxurious steam shower;

2. Chandeliers for every room in your gaff;

3. Car tyres that make lovely thick black smoke when you burn them;

4. Decorative soldiers that scare pet cats;

5. Mobility chairs for lazy bastards;

6. Jack Daniels themed hampers for the discerning drunkard;

6. Beautiful red meat to be used as ammo for throwing at vegetarians;

7. Scrummy cottage pies are served in the cafe;

8. Plenty of alcohol to wash down the scrummy cottage pies;

9. One-off custom Fender Stratocaster - a snip at just under ten grand;
10. But if you can't afford the Strat, there's always a great Costco cake for a tenner.

Push, Push, In The Bush

2008-12-09T11:01:00.005Z

Not exactly hot-off-the-press news, but last Wednesday's gig by Alabama 3 at the Shepherd's Bush Empire was a dance-athon winner by a country mile. There's loads of 'em in the band, I don't know their names and I hardly know the songs but it didn't really matter.

Col (whose other 'arf couldn't make it due to a child nose-butting incident - hence him kindly offering me first dibs on the spare ticket, much obliged), describes this band as country acid house or summat, but I prefer the term 'Timewarp Disco with a sly nod to renegade Kinky Friedman'. Erm...well, not exactly that, but if you're a fan of The Soprano's you'll be familiar with the "Woke Up This Morning" tune (AKA "The Chosen One") which they performed just before their three encores and were joined by Mick Jones and Tony James of Carbon/Silicon on guitar duties. Why? Why not. It's quite clear that Big Audio Dynamite are a major influence on this lot. Sister Francesca Love has a fantastic set of pipes.

Mmmm, what pipes indeed.

Histon Make History

2008-11-30T14:12:00.011Z

Congratulations to Blue Square / Conference league team Histon for today's giant killing display against former European champions Leeds United.

It was only seventeen years ago that Histon, a village with a population of 4000, had a small club which comprised just a field and a shed but has since grown into a respectable non-league affair with a following that's sure to increase after today's result (they now face Swansea in the next round).

Today's result will no doubt please Stray Photon who celebrated his 50th birthday yesterday (go and wish him well over at www.sprayingtherays.blogspot.com). Neil Warnock will celebrate his 60th tomorrow after a frustrating 0 - 0 home draw against west London pikeys QPR. Oh how we laughed as we sang: "You're rich, and you're fucking shit...", a chant which must be sweet music to the lugholes of any seasoned Bees fan - and God knows they need cheering up after being knocked out of the FA Cup by Barrow. Mind you, Ben Hamer should know better not to foul in the box - but at least it shows that he's been house trained. Perhaps it's a case of bad karma after their shirt pulling antics in the previous round?

Palace will play Leicester City in the next round, 'cos we likes the dirty sex.

Keith - Good, "Hey Keef" - Bad

2008-11-20T16:01:00.007Z

The attempt at writing a review for The Damned's new album "So, Who's Paranoid?" has been aborted due to a lack of interest. After the first few plays of an otherwise forgetable album, I've decided to put it on the shelf where it's to be filed under "could do better".

Instead, this post will deal with last night's entertainment - a bunch of lads that tried their best on a stage with a considerably good turn out in front of a loyal following who just about managed to pass the test by the skin of their teeth even though they displayed a shaky performance alongside their peers. Personally, I wasn't entirely convinced by what happened last night and that's all I'm going to say about the Germany V England game.

Kings Cross was once a den of kerb-crawlers, a run down area of the capital where nearly every grimy alleyway temporarily housed a sad brass flaked out in the gutter with a needle dangling precariously from her arm. Indeed, there was a time when even Maccie D's wouldn't move into the place due to the overpowering stench of slum. Things are better now, what with the recent regeneration and the renovated building of St Pancras station, which means that a safer social scene has arrived for people of most ages.

The Water Rats theatre, a small venue with a pleasant atmosphere (reminiscent of the Sir George Robey of old - but without the sawdust), provided the right setting for a showcase of bands. The group topping the bill was a quartet called Keith, which is a great name for a band and Mark the guitarist filled us in on how they came to be christened with such a monicker, but that's another story. With Keith, you get the tried and tested four piece of drums, bass, guitar and a lead vocalist who doubles up on keyboards (note to organ freaks; if you fancy, but can't afford a Fender Rhodes, get yourself a Nord Electro 2 as used by this band as well as The Vandebilts). Keith made excellent use of their forty five minute slot with songs that immersed you in some very imaginative soundscapes, they use their instruments unconventionally as well as traditionally to great effect. I must admit, I'd never heard any of the songs before - some were showcased from a recent studio session - the only song I know has a title that I always have difficulty remembering and was one that was played on an old Depcast.

You can't go too far wrong with this lot, to my dogged ears they were well rehearsed, well received and they managed to have a sympathetic soundman manning the desk. The other good thing about them is their degree of individuality and creativity, so with more promotion they certainly have the potential of grabbing a much larger audience. Already winners of an XFM competition, I'll wager that we haven't heard the last of Keith.

Bush-wacked!

2008-11-17T16:45:00.009Z

"What do you mean there's a new railway station called Shepherd's Bush?" asked the railway employee. Workwise, I've been off track for so long that I've lost track of on-track developments. Does that make any sense?
I am of course talking about the newly opened London Overground station which will help commuters venture towards the equally newly opened shopping centre in the same area. Being a bloke, regular shopping bores me rigid. I'm a stealth shopper - list at hand, ready to barge into the supermarket with expert trolley skills which help me navigate the aisles with economic precision, sharp of mind and plain of purpose. Regular shopping needs to be done with minimal fuss with the aim of getting it out of the way ASAP. But I digress.
Meeting up with Col at Clapham Junction was the straightforward solution for the night's event last Saturday. At the time, he wasn't looking forward to seeing The Stranglers, not being his bag and stuff, but one way of looking at it would be as a night out on the piss with live music. After a few pints at a less crowded boozer just around the corner from the venue, we decided to make our way for some bass thumping tunes. Tickets checked, we were ushered towards being physically searched (something Col got a kick out of) and then we were directed to the upper balcony on the right facing the stage. We arrived too late for access to the stalls but this wasn't a bad thing. We had a good view of the proceedings from where we ended up, although it did affect the stereo sound we would've been privvy to had we been in the centre facing the PA. Sound quality wasn't that great throughout the concert, but that's perhaps due to the nature of the theatre.
It's a fantastic feeling when the lights go down just before the main band arrives onstage and the "Waltzinblack" backing tape starts playing. Look, here they are! Three original members and a bald Geordie to entertain us. It was then that I realised that poor old Jet Black is getting on, back from recovery (he missed the Hyde Park gig in the summer due to ill health), and with the news that Mitch Mitchell had popped his clogs made me think that this could be the last time I'd get to seeing Jet on the stage. I hope not, but a sense of mortality has really kicked in with me of late. Better to enjoy it while it's there.
First song of the night was "Get A Grip", always a storming set opener, followed by "5 Minutes". The order of the songs played after that evades me as I just decided to get into it. It was a greatest hits set with lots of familiar fodder to please their hardcore following ("Straighten Out", "Thrown Away" and the marvellous "Tank") as well as the more recognisable stuff ("Golden Brown", "Always The Sun", "Duchess", a sprightly "Nuclear Device" and the marvellous "Walk On By", Dionne Warwick eat your heart out).
Two encores were played, the last being the obligatory "No More Heroes" and then they were off. A good basic no-frills gig, low on bullshit, high on entertainment. Even that drunken Dutch bint who was dancing next to us seemed to be enjoying herself after being chucked out from the lower standing area.
Do you know what? I didn't miss Hugh, not in the slightest. Bald Geordie bloke (AKA Baz Warne) did a damn fine job of taking over where John Ellis and Paul Roberts had left off. The last time I saw The Stranglers with Hugh in the line up proved to be a dire affair, the guy was just not into it so it was just aswell that he left shortly after their Ally Pally gig back in 1990. Hugh's been out of the band for longer than he's been in it and I think it's been a similar case with The Undertones, Feargal felt that he couldn't go on singing "Teenage Kicks" as a middle aged man. His replacement, Paul McClune (another middle aged man) went on to do the job very nicely, thank you very much. Hugh and Feargal aren't that charismatic as frontmen, although you'd have trouble replacing the lead singers in bands like The Sex Pistols and The Dead Kennedys.
Queen with Paul Rogers? Who are they trying to kid? It can work with some bands though, and The Stranglers seem to get away with it. Below is a YouTube clip of the current line up doing a rendition of "Bitching", make your own minds up.
The rest of the evening remains rather hazy but it involved more drink, half pound burgers and a post box.
"Taxi"!

Puppets Not Muppets

2008-11-14T14:23:00.010Z

Above left to right: John Holdsworth, Gerry Anderson, Parsley, Jim and Ravi LowBeer

UPDATE: Parsley's review of this event can be found here.

I was lucky enough to have a very pleasant and delightful evening recently with those nutty Adventures of Parsley types at The Royal Festival Hall. They turned out in full regalia to promote themselves as a live band who play cult TV theme tunes (weddings, parties, barmitzvahs, etc all catered for). It was just the right type of event for this kind of promotion as the RFH was hosting a night of Barry Gray themes played by a 70 piece orchestra and compered by none other than the rather loud and jolly Brian Blessed.

To hear the Thunderbirds music routinely on the telly is a call for every child to stop what they're doing and avert their little minces towards the screen. To hear a real live orchestra playing it is nothing short of magical. It really is hair raising stuff as you get to hear the full dynamics of such a grand composition and I was sure that most of the Gerry Anderson geeks in the nearly sold out venue were expecting a very special night.

The Space 1999 theme was my personal favorite of all the ones played although it was a trifle short in duration. Joe 90 suffered from initial timing problems but I'm just nit-picking. After the concert I bumped into Sir Brian of Blessed who was just leaving the venue himself and was lapping up the praise that the enthusiasts were throwing him.

"Nice job, Bri" I say.

"Bless you dear boy, thank you, thank you, thaaannnkkk you..." he bellows.

FIVE....(Duuhhh!), FOUR....(Daahhh!), THREE....(Deehhh!), TWO....(Deerrr!), ONE!

THUNDERBIRDS ARE GO!

Next Week: I get to drive my very own tank.

Serenity

2008-08-28T16:42:00.003+01:00

There's something reassuringly calming about embarking on a 5+ mile bicycle journey at four in the morning, weather permitting of course. Personally, I like a gentle breeze and a spot of drizzle to counteract the body heat caused by strenous exercise. I believe it also helps you keep cool of mind and body as you mentally will your jellied thighs to keep pedalling up that bastard of a hill on that last mile.

If long push bike journeys are not normally your bag, then you should give it a try. You will inevitably curse your initial attempt long after your first breather as the sweat continues to seep from every pore in your body, thighs still of jelly as you contemplate hiring the skills of an expert scaffolder to keep you propped up. You think that's bad? Wait 'til you start aching all over the following day.

But as with every ongoing endeavour, it's something that you'll get used to with time. With any journey, the cyclist can be prone to certain stumbling blocks. Shit weather and punctures are the two most common problems encountered and while they are a pain in the arse, they don't present too much of a challenge, providing the cyclist wears waterproofs and carries a puncture repair kit. A less common occurence can be the snapping of the frame. This usually happens due to poor manufacturing standards or mind trickery. Shoddy workmanship needs no further explanation, but mind trickery is the phenomena when you momentarily believe that you still have the young, agile and considerably lighter body that you once had instead of your unfit middle-aged mass of fat and protein that you're currently hulking around. So, with that in mind, you approach a steep curb that you intend to mount and you decide that a bunny hop is your best option, after all, those two foot bunny hops that you did as a teenager on a BMX bike were of no effort whatsoever back in the day - ha! Twenty five years on and I'm sure I haven't lost that magic. Don't kid yourself, you'll end up tasting the dirt sooner than you think.

Other cyclists undertake their journeys out of neccessity. A bicycle is more cost effective to run than a car and at certain times of the year (I speak of those seasons that we laughably label 'Summer') are more pleasurable than using public transport. You know this type of cyclist as you see them every morning, faces as long as Sarah Jessica Parker because they know, that at the end of their journey they'll have to start work. They pedal towards their impending misery day in, day out and the music that they listen to tricks them into believing that a better time will come as they puff 'n' pant to Kraftwerks' Tour de France on their jog proof iPods. Of course, times never do change for many of them, but the daydream that we all share provides a pleasant distraction from the daily drudgery that we can all too easily succumb to.

The summer-only cycling family are a curious bunch. A nuclear package on wheels that carefully adhere to the designated cycle paths that run through the local park like veins in a gangrenous body. The kids will be adventurous by veering off the beaten path, not only to sample the delights of cross country two wheeled pursuits (four wheels if you count the toddler using stabilisers) but also from their curiosity to see what's behind that unruly hedge that the local council always seem to neglect. A lot of parents tend to hold their kids back from this innocent exploration as they can't be bothered to follow in their child's wonderment of life. These are the parents of the takeaway generation.

As the toddlers grow up, some may stick with their cycling hobby and make friends with other teenage bike enthusiasts. They do less cycling, preferring to hang around in packs, laughing and joking, looking menacing and sharing the odd crafty B&H behind their parents' backs. They talk nerdily to each other about their next eBay purchase of Shimano components and how their dads are hoping to buy them a vintage VW Golf GTI that will be customised with a walnut dash and an under body light that looks really cool and sophisticated which will be "...a sure-fire bird puller". They secretly detest their current push bike ownership status and will quite happily settle for a stolen scooter which will make them acceptable as members of an older boys' gang who in turn are currently trashing their own stolen scooters over at the local dirt track. Many will fail to realise that this type of materialistic coveting and gang acceptance will be a reccuring theme throughout their lives.

But a few good apples emerge from the teenage cycle gangs and develop a real love for cycling even when they reach middle age. They've had their wild nights of pubbing and clubbing, so they've settled themselves into an average happy family with kids and semi-D complete with south facing garden. This boredom is kept at bay by the occasional pleasure bike ride, some of whom take so seriously that they shave their legs and wear plastic cycling helmets as well as those horrible faux-Oakley aerodynamic shades that make them look like twats. Remember, safety first, if you're a responsible parent. They say the exercise is better than popping an aspirin every day to thin the blood. I wonder how many calories you'd lose shouting at your kids after you've found out that they've stolen another scooter?

I knew a bloke called Len who came from Swindon. He was over eighty years of age and he cycled eight kilometres on his Claud Butler racer to the nearest town and then back just to get the papers. Sure, it was something for him to do to alleviate the onset of retirement boredom as well as keeping his fitness levels up. He managed to do it every day only because he had retired in Spain where the weather sustained his life more than living in Swindon would've.

Well, there you have it, fun for all ages, from the cradle to the grave.

But back to the point of night time cycling. Not only is it more enjoyable due to the deserted streets, the actual lack of noise that you encounter (squeaky chain? WD40, mate) helps your mind focus on how free you feel at that moment. Free from the pressures, bad relationships and all the other bullshit that interupts your enjoyment of life. Think for a moment of all the injustices that plague the world - you could spend a lifetime campaigning against them - and in turn miss out on other stuff. Remember, shit happens so that you can appreciate the good things in life. And if I ever find out the author of that last sentence, I'll kill the cunt.

But one good thing for me will always be riding a push bike in the dead of night, carefree in the sense that I will not meet the plastic people that I usually encounter during the day and feeling as free as the two blokes from Easy Rider before they got shot. Yep, cycling on my way home to the welcome and open arms of a single rug and a setee. And a cat that purrs louder than a two stroke MZ. Strange as it may seem, I've rarely felt happier than when I'm experiencing the cycling solace through the back streets of south London.

The night time ride provides a glimmer of peace, a taster of serenity that we all occasionally seek and need. We all know what a valuable commodity serenity can be in these troubled times. If you're lucky enough to already have it, make sure you cherish every single moment.

Iggy, Iggy, Iggy!

2008-08-26T12:44:00.007+01:00

If you weren't here last Sunday;

Then you were probably here;

Marvellous. More pics here.

Next Week: Amy Edwards - who are ya, who are ya, who are ya?

On Visiting Twickenham

2008-08-14T14:37:00.005+01:00

Twas last Tuesday night when Jif bought Mick's 12 string Aria acoustic which came in a hard case for a very reasonable fifty knicker. So we celebrated by going down to The Prince of Wales pub in Twickers for an acoustic jam. The large room at the back of the pub housed an assortment of local folkies and beatniks who were all too eager to spread the word of the unplugged. Old and new tunes were aired along with a few original compositions by some of the enthusiasts. Of course, I had to lower the tone of the evening by strumming a Half Man Half Biscuit song. So, specially for Axe Victim, here's that rendition of "Blue Badge Abuser" (simply because he'll get the joke - I'm not implying anything, honest!).

On Visiting Camden

2008-08-06T13:09:00.004+01:00

It was recently reported in one of the capital's free newspapers that "Croydon tops chav poll", meaning that the south London 'burb is the chavviest place in the UK. Kate Moss' hometown received 4,000 votes, placing it well ahead of nearest rival Hull, on 2,853 votes. Hull may have Premiership status, but according to Chavtowns, the south is where it's at for Burberry accessories and Staffordshire Bull Terrier ownership. Even Croydon's nearby neighbour, Bromley, won a place in the top ten.

A lot of people slag off Croydon, perhaps rightly so, but on visiting Camden the other night (see here and here for further details), I was shocked by what I saw. The place is full of so-called 'trendies'. Yes, it was a case of spot the hermaphrodite / drug dealer / prostitute. Live and let live you say? Absolutely. Besides, it gives the squares great entertainment value. For as long as I can remember, everytime I've ventured up to Trendyville I've been accosted by one of these types and the other night was no different. 'Michelle', a twenty something lass with no teeth from Manchester asked wether I was a policeman. After being initially insulted, I replied that I wasn't and she then asked me if 'I wanted any business'. She said that she'd 'lick my balls and everything for a tenner'.

Taking a leaf from a News of the World reporter's book, I made my excuses and left, but not before telling her that it would cost her a lot more than a tenner for her to do that to me.

You'll never get that kind of offer in Croydon.

The Great Flood Of Wimbledon

2008-07-28T12:33:00.006+01:00

In the early hours of Sunday morning, a burst water main affected residents in Kingston, Merton, Wimbledon and Surbiton. Why did it have to happen on one of the warmest days of the year? Sod's Law, I guess.

The local Guardian reporters were all over this incident. It'll certainly make a change when reading the letters page where local residents usually moan about the shabby refuse collection service or the recent youth stabbings.

Click here for the news report and here for more pics.

Friday's Doodle

2008-07-25T22:21:00.004+01:00

Thursday's Doodle

2008-07-24T14:55:00.002+01:00

Wednesday's Doodle

2008-07-23T22:18:00.003+01:00

Tuesday's Doodle

2008-07-22T19:43:00.005+01:00

Monday's Doodle

2008-07-21T14:39:00.006+01:00

Before The World Went Strange

2008-07-19T12:26:00.004+01:00

News reaches me that they've made a film documentary (which has already won a few awards) regarding Philippe Petit, the man who, 24 years ago, accomplished the tightrope walk between the two towers of The World Trade Centre in New York. The film centres on what is undoubtedly his most famous stunt (or, as Petit may call it, 'performance art').

He was a very naughty boy and for many people it makes him a cultural hero of sorts. The stunt was illegal which renders Petit's six year pre-planning all the more intriguing. How would they get the 450 pound cable from one structure to the other, by using a bow and arrow perhaps? How did he even get clearance for his many visits to the top to assess his achievement to be? How did they stabilise the 'tightrope' between the two buildings considering various problems like swaying of the towers due to wind at that high altitude?

I can't wait to see this, but in the meantime, you can read more about this here and here.

Everything And The Kitchen Sink

2008-07-11T17:28:00.011+01:00

Items of interest from the net;
Up first is a skeleton crafted from old cassette tapes, a very suitable metaphor I think. The name of the skeleton is Dubley, I mean Dudley.

Very clever. Next up is this from I heart Chaos:

GORBACHOV: THE MUSIC VIDEO - BIGGER AND RUSSIANER from Tom Stern on Vimeo.

In this awesome video for the song “Gorbachov” by Russian metal band ANJ, former Russian Prime Minister Mikhail Gorbachev is an axe-wielding barbarian, destroying zombies who attack the hard working big breasted women of Mother Russia. It really is a thing of beauty. Actually it’s more than that. It’s the best damn music video ever created.

Finally, if you're contemplating installing a new kitchen, make sure you include this particularly tasteful ammonite fossil design sink. It's all the rage in Belgravia. They've even got them in their cloackrooms. Mmmm, nice.
Not from the net, but here's a picture of a very rude looking doll that was tied to a crossbar of a scrap metal merchant's pick-up truck that was parked in the backwaters of Beddington.

Hull City Launch New Merchandise

2008-07-10T00:08:00.014+01:00

Things are certainly looking up for East Riding's former Sunday League hopefuls Hull City AFC. Not only have they fluked, er...I mean, competitively won a place in the premier tier of English football - and in doing so have sold out all 63 allocated season ticket placements for the forthcoming season - but player/manager Gay Photon (née Ellis) was present at a special press conference to help launch a new range of merchandise for the club.

"I'm extremely proud to be part of all this excitement" said Mrs Photon, "we have been consulting with the best marketing experts that money can buy from Yorkshire, and we feel that we can now finally offer our fans quality product at a reasonable cost".

Among the fresh items on display was the much awaited new replica kit.

"The shirt is something that has the whole ground buzzing with anticipation, we've had eight pre-orders for it already!" cried Gay. "As we're often seen as a backward fishing village from oop norf, we've decided to introduce articles that will be sold from our club shop as objets d'art to prove that there is a level of high brow culture in Hull. Our team have come up with a most intriguing and novel inclusion with the Nick Barmby Toby Jug".However, sharp intakes of breaths were simultaneously sucked in by all sports reporters at the conference for the unveiling of the most daring item yet.

Gay Photon: "As this is our first time in one of the most prestigeous leagues in Europe - if not the whole world - we have decided to pull out all the stops for our most ambitious product yet; a limited edition Dean Windass signature Les Paul".

The guitar features a AAA+ grade plywood body with balsa wood neck and the obligatory rosewood fingerboard. The Dean Windass LP comes in only one finish, a black and amber (or "blamber-burst") tiger stripe top which is to be a sure fire hit with any former Welly Club gig goers. But even this was outdone by the next merchandise item on display; the life-size Gay Photon action figure with life-like hair and no less than three soft orifices.

Spraying The Rays beer and football correspondent Stray Photon said "This is a business triumph for our club. I can't wait until we get our hands on the full £60 million to see what we'll come up with then! I particularly love the 'action figures', I've ordered one for every day of the week!"

Next week: 2009/10 Championship league game predictions: Hull vs Palace - another draw?

Mud Pack

2008-07-07T15:25:00.009+01:00

What's the first thing you think of when someone mentions the word "fezzie"? Mud? Well done, you've read my mind. Glastonbury or Reading, whatever the event, it makes absolutely no difference whatsoever that most of these performing arts / music festivals will be a weathertastic wash-out. Perhaps we should start holding them in Winter as it's sod's law that we'll get warm, sunny weather in the middle of January.
Cornbury is a small place quite close to 'the historic village Woodstock' in Oxfordshire and it is in this very same location that The Cornbury Music Festival is held. It's a two day event with emphasis on a family orientated type vibe which means children of all ages are catered for, making for a very civilised but fun atmosphere. You could say it's different from The Bulldog Bash (roaring Harleys and greasy strippers), but where Cornbury wins out is the sheer variety of music acts they have on the bill. The second day included appearances by Joe Bonamassa, 10cc, KT Tunstall and headliners for the main stage, Crowded House. Unfortunately, I never paid much attention to any of these as I was too busy recovering from Saturday. But that's ok, 'cos it was worth it.

So, it's a weekend of camping with entertainment which means you need a camper van or a tent. If you can't be bothered with either, you can even hire a teepee or a Mongolian style yurt to live for the duration of the course. Looking back on our rain soaked and leaking tent it may be a wise idea to rent one of those next time. Facilities on the site were adequate, there was a separate family camping area, showers (mostly cold, but invigorating), lots of food stalls and even the chemical flushing toilets were bareable. Oh yes, technology's come along way since Glasto '90 - I still have nightmares about having to force myself to sit down in a 'filled' cubicle to find myself horrendously 'tickled' by someone else's feces. Imagine what that's like when you're sober? Urgghhh!

Congratulations must go to the team from The Word magazine for organizing Saturday's line up on the second stage. Unfortunately, I missed The Love Trousers, a band featuring Word editor Mark Ellen, so I can't tell you what they're like. I'm sure they had a good time though, as Mr Ellen was spotted later that night drunkenly shouting a request for "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" to covers band Brainchild in the Cornbury tent. Tsk, tsk, disgraceful hack.

It was an unusually early spot for The Beat to come onstage (12.30pm), and I did wonder if this was the actual ska Beat that I know and love - I would've thought they would be on at a later time as they have a knack of warming up a crowd with the greatest of ease. Perhaps they were the warm up band for Half Man Half Biscuit? The 2008 Beat features a few line up changes, namely Mickey Billingham (ex Dexy's Midnight Runners keyboard player) and Ranking Junior (Roger's son) on toasting duties but original members Ranking Roger and drummer Everett Moreton were there enjoying every minute of their time on stage, and when a band are enjoying themselves, then so will the audience likewise with their particularly infectious dance tunes that get so many punters up on their feet. An effortless crowd pleasing set was augmented by a twenty minute encore due to a timing confusion, but no one complained. "Stand Down Margaret / George / Gordon", "Mirror In The Bathroom", "Tears Of A Clown", "Too Nice To Talk To" - they did them all. Top marks.

Half Man Half Biscuit, the third band on The Word stage, were an addition to the bill which swung it for me. If you're not familiar with them, they're a Tranmere Rovers supporting bunch from The Wirral who write the most lyricially humourous songs out there, which is why you can forgive their lack of polished musicality. A HMHB gig is about fun and these boys were on good form. They played some of their newer stuff like "Took Problem Chimp To The Ideal Home Show" (a live debut for that one), "Blue Badge Abuser", "Evening Of Swing" and "Petty Sessions" from their recent album CSI:Ambleside as well as "Corgi Registered Friends", "Restless Legs", "For What Is Chatteris" and "Joy Division Oven Gloves" from Achtung Bono and personal favourite "Running Order Squabble Fest" brought a big cheesy grin to my face. "Trumpton Riots" was served up as an encore for the old, faithful fans and then they were gone. No "All I Want For Christmas Is A Dukla Prague Away Kit" this time, perhaps when the Biscuits play London in October we'll get to hear it. To be fair though, it was a very pleasing set list which was lapped up by the audience. I feel a HMHB podcast coming on...

Sauntering towards the main stage where The Bangles performed an identical set to the one they churned out the weekend before at Hyde Park. Saves me doing another review on them, although they did do a better version of "Mrs Robinson", quite cheeky of them since Paul Simon was headlining the main stage later that night. I like cheeky. And I like Susanna Hoffs, but you already knew that, didn't you?

Back to The Word stage for Carbon / Silicon who also played at the Hard Rock Calling event of last Sunday. When I first listened to their songs I wasn't overly impressed, but I have warmed to them just by seeing them twice in quick succession. They're another live act with a 'feel good factor' about them, all cheeky smiles and enjoyment. Couple that with loud, raucous guitar and it's no wonder that Alan McGee described them as "sounding like The Stones jamming with a laptop". They give away their music for free and make their money on gigs, that's the music revolution right there. Pay 'em a visit, squire.

During all this, I also listened to two songs worth of Toots & The Maytals (adequate), queued up for half an hour just for a coffee as Paul Simon played, tried and failed to get a fiver off a bowler hat at a clothes stall (would you pay £25 for a Chinese made bowler?) and I got soaked because of the rainfall. We even went as far as buying a portable flushing toilet prior to this festival attendance, when we should've invested in waterproof clothing and tents instead. Special mention goes to Nick Lowe for a classy set of knockout numbers, it's great to see an entertainer of his ilk at an event like this and an ideal headliner for the second stage.

As I mentioned earlier, Sunday was a day of rest and recouperation which was spent drying out in The Word tent and drinking healthy and delicious smoothies as 10cc played their lullabies in the background. As for Joe Bonamassa; technically he's a good player but I do wonder where his 'feel' went or wether he had any to start off with. Crowded House? We were too busy with a crowded tent to bother with them (2 berth my arse).

If you want to go to an easy going yet very pleasant festival with great acts, I'd recommend Cornbury. If you want to get absolutely blotto on illegal substances, stick to the dodgy unadvertised fezzies that you'll find hidden just off the A3.

More blurry out-of-focus cameraphone pictures here.

Bangle Strangler Nicked

2008-07-01T17:25:00.021+01:00

Skillfull skaters love Hyde Park. You're sure to see them there on any sunny London day, weaving and bobbing inbetween discarded screwball containers that have been laid out precisely in an orderly queue, waiting to be knocked over by the odd clumsy rollerblade manouvere. But on certain days you may find other types of bobbers and weavers making their way to the arena, an arena which is specially constructed just for the odd day or two. In this instance, the bobbing and weaving can loosely be described as dancing.
Most of us are aware of the Hard Rock organisation, a chain of rock'n'roll themed restaurants that are scattered across the globe from London to Lebanon, Holland to Honolulu and Caracas to Cardiff (...Cardiff?!?). You may have consumed the odd burger or beverage in one, you may even own one of their tres-chic pin badges, the fact is there's usually one in every tourist invaded city. Therefore, because this chain is so internationally well known, it makes sense for the company to sponser a weekend of rawk music featuring none other than The Charlatans, Sheryl Crow and, er...Mr Eric Clapton. Thank fuck I'm not reviewing Saturday night's entertainment - I would've fallen asleep.

So, Sunday Sunday - looks good to me. Sixty five of your hard earned nuggets would've given you admission to a variety of acts ranging from unknown to mega-star city. We're talking primarily about the Gene Simmons' discovered Micki Free Electric Blues Experience (previously unknown to me, although not due to lack of musical mileage. Micki's CV is impressive - he was in Shalamar!). Micki is a self-confessed Hendrix nut, and there were a few of the great man's songs in the set. It reminded me of a Jimi-a-like band I used to see twenty years ago called Voodoo Child who performed their own material but they were heavily influenced style-wise by Hendrix. So, like them but not as good.

At this time, it's usually a good idea to explore what Hard Rock Calling offered by taking a walk around the site. The inevitable Cafe was there for drinks and meals, displaying the usual pop memorabillia of rock star's broken guitars and signed photos ("Oh looook, it's Todd Rundgren!"), all attempting to glamourise the walls of this prefab eaterie.

But if the sun is out, then so should you be. In the distance, The Bangles started playing a botched version of "Hazy Shade of Winter", but I'll forgive them because Susannah Hoffs is still as foxy as ever. They obliged us by playing their well known hits ("Manic Monday", "Going Down to Liverpool" and "Eternal Flame") and then they go and blow their credibility sky high by using a drum machine on "Walk Like an Egyptian", tsk, tsk. Cue to see what's going on over at the second stage.
The last time I saw Mick Jones must've been around nineteen years ago when he was fronting Big Audio Dynamite, touring on the back of their killer album "Megatop Pheonix" at Notting Hill's Subterania. But here in Hyde Park, Mick teamed up with his old chum and co-punk legend Tony James who, along with ex-B.A.D bassist Leo Williams, performed as Carbon/Silicon. You can download their music free of charge from their website, it's not too challenging to listen to but I decided to give them a live test to see wether they were worth it. Good news is; they are! Mick and T.J looked very happy and comfortable on stage, and their enjoyment transferred effortlessly onto the audience which were sheltering from the sun's rays under a big top which started filling up very quickly. It's good to know that simple, catchy tunes still seem to win people over, even those hard-nosed Clash fans. I'll look forward to seeing these guys again very soon.

Earlier in the day, it was noted that The Stranglers (who were billed to headline the second stage) were due to perform at the same time as the main stage headliners. The website line-up times were different to what a poster was displaying on the day, which made me think that Hard Rock had seriously fucked up. That's why it seemed wise to tuck into a pleasantly cooked portion of fish'n'chips before barging our way into a good position in front of that behemoth of a stage for the mega-star countdown. Cod in crusty batter - hard to beat and better when it's soaked in Sarsons, but absolutely unbeatable when you start hearing the inimitable theme tune that is "Waltzinblack" playing from the second stage. This is a signal from the gods that The Stranglers are about to appear, and they had arrived a whole hour before their onstage time, meaning that they wouldn't be playing to an empty tent if people decided to watch the headliners instead. Cast those chips aside, we're storming the big top!

Fucking relentless they were, sucker punching us with potent versions of hit after hit. Opener "5 Minutes" is a song with a very dark subject matter lyrically speaking (it's all about breaking, entering and rape based on a true story) to menacingly start with that only proves which band have the biggest cojones. Jet Black, currently plagued with ill health, was notably absent from his rhythm duties that night but Stranglers' drum tech Ian Barnard got on with it and did a sound impression of Jet's style - close your eyes and it sounded like the man himself. We all know that Hugh Cornwell has long since parted company with the band, and even Hugh's vocal replacement Paul Roberts went onto pastures new, so singing duties were shared between JJ Burnel and guitarist Baz Warne. Ex-Toy Dolls / Smalltown Heroes member Baz doesn't do too bad a job, although it's strange hearing some of those lyrics repeated in a Sunderland accent. But Baz is no new-boy, he's been with the band for eight years and he got stuck in - with extra added chilli flavour gusto. Even with the lighter-igniting song inclusions of "Strange Little Girl", "Always The Sun" and "Golden Brown" the set never waivered. A Stranglerised version of "All Day & All Of The Night" was boldly belted out and they ended with "No More Heroes" (it would've been rude not to), and then they were gone. No time for a well deserved encore, it was time to take the pegs from the tent's guide ropes as a mass exodus made for the main stage. How do you follow a performance like that?

With great difficulty.

Here come The Police and now we're talking about a real circus. There's been a huge fuss made about them and their wonga-spinning world tour over these past 12+ months, so much so that anyone would think that these boys were really special. I remember watching their Rock Goes To College gig and found myself somehow wanting more. Brilliant songs, loads of brilliant songs and still their performances were a little on the dour side. I felt that I had to see The Police at least once but I was adamant not to see them in a stadium environment, a festival type set up being preferable as allocated seating is the pits. Shit sound at Glasto? Move among the crowd 'til it improves! You can't do that in a stadium unless you're lucky enough to have a V.I.P press pass (so I'm told).

They came on and started with the instantly recognisable "Message in a Bottle" followed by "Walking on the Moon". So far, so good. God knows what they played next, my problem being that I've failed to acknowledge any song of theirs that's not on the first three albums ("King of Pain" and "Invisible Sun" being the only two exceptions). I don't know what happened, but during one of their songs, Andy Summers went into a dreadful Jazz Oddessy guitar solo which would've made Nigel Tufnell cringe. Naturally, Stuart Copeland sped up the tempo during a few of the songs (it wouldn't have been a Police gig had he not done so) and then...more drum machine! At least Stu's not insecure about a machine taking his place.

Then it was Sting shouting "LONDON! SING; YEAH!!"

Bollix to that. I'm not the one getting paid mega fat wallets of notes to entertain you, it's supposed to be the other way around. We'll sing along when we want to, when it suits us. I must've been in the minority harbouring that thought on the night though as alcohol had taken control of the masses and they were more than willing to pander to Sting's every word. Oh well, if you can't beat 'em...

So this is why The Stranglers were the best band of the day. They came on and played their songs well without having to resort to the banal inter-song chit-chat and bad jazz improvisations and then they fucked off. As for The Police, they played an acceptable rendition of "So Lonely" as an encore and we all piled out of the park afterwards.
On leaving the concert's compound, an idiot gig-goer (supposed 'fan') wearing a Spanish football shirt started singing "Campeones, Ole, Ole, Ole!". I was looking forward to watching that game when I got home. Tosser.

More pictures here.

But Is It Art, Annie?

2008-06-22T01:02:00.004+01:00

Well, this was meant to be a post advertising Wordle.net, but that particular site seemed to be malfunctioning at the time of writing - it's probably fixed now, but I've found some more interesting stuff to look at since. First up, a party political broadcast for the Stuckists.

And for those who can't see what all the fuss is about with new trendy band Robots In Disguise, then perhaps you'd like to see the real thing at work (video nicked from Joanne, cheers mate).

Oh, and while we're all waiting for Wordle to pull their collective fingers out, you must listen to Ad's first ever podcast (Ad is the Brentford FC loving bass player of Magic Ship - their debut album 'LoveTel Motel' is available to buy now). The pod's called Radio Wunderbar and he takes the listener on a journey of class punk wilderness.

Now That's Magic! (Part 2)

2008-06-20T15:20:00.009+01:00

The Trick Noise Makers are a band you may have heard of. Back on the scene after a recent sabbatical, the trio of Louise Howlett (lead vocals, guitar), Alan Walshe (bass, vocals) and Greg Pugh (drums) have got back together for the first gig with a fourth member, Parsley, on keyboards.

Armed with Danelectros and a part-functioning Vox Continental that was swapped at the last minute for a less-than-vintage Yamaha synth, they took to the stage a little apprehensively. Not to worry though, whatever it takes to do the gig will do wether it's a bit of Dutch courage or a fake vox, there's no need to maintain an image for the sake of it, especially when you've got songs as good as the Tricksters have.

So, where were we? Ah yes, at The Fiddler's Elbow last Saturday, a live venue type of pub in Camden, London where near enough any band can secure a gig which is great for a lot of up'n'coming new bands but also unfortunate as there's a lot of dross around. Needless to say I never bothered sticking around to watch those thrash metallers who proceeded to bore me shitless during their sound check. There's only ever going to be one Megadeth anyway.

The Noise Makers kicked off with a stonking version of 'Feel Good Words' (the promo of which can be seen below) and then went on to do 'Time Will Tell' followed by 'Dirty Hands'. Here's a band that really deserve a larger audience for their "spikey, angular and angsty punk pop garage sound" as they themselves describe it.

Unfortunately for them, the sound at The Fiddler's was less than flattering. If you didn't know the songs it may have been a tough gig to listen to as Louise's vocals were occasionally lost amongst the sonic frequencies of the rhythm and bass guitars. It's a situation that certainly doesn't do them any justice, the in-house sound engineer seemed indifferent to this problem as the band did "Pick Me Up, Put Me Down" - a superb song with a large dollop of Monochrome Set influence (not a bad thing).

They managed to fit twelve songs into an energetic set, energetic enough for Greg to shift his cold I would have thought. They're a band worth seeing solely on the strength of their songs and I reckon they'll get better as a live act once they get a decent sound. Their next gig is at Islington's Hope & Anchor on Friday 11th July 2008, and you really ought to go and show your support for a good, honest, no nonsense band like The Trick Noise Makers.

The Trick Noise Makers Feel Good Words

Now That's Magic!

2008-06-10T21:09:00.012+01:00

Ye White Heart is a good pub in the summer. With a balcony and a large porch overlooking the River Thames, it's a venue that can be enjoyed not only by the smokers of the drinking fraternity, but also those that relish a nice cold pint out in the open on a mild evening. They also have live music every now and then, as they did last Friday. The only downside is that it's full of Fulham FC fans, probably.

If you were lucky enough to have been there, you would have witnessed the first ever gig by a band known as Magic Ship. Not only was it their first gig as a collective, it was also quite sometime that most of the individual members had gigged with anyone in a long while (I won't mention how many years for the sake of any younger readers, ageism is still alive and well unfortunately). It's a good job then that these fellows showed no signs of displaying any nervous cobwebs and they managed to deliver their brand of classic rock with consumate ease, professionalism and above all else they had a lot of fun in doing so. That last point is important, if the band are having a good time onstage, chances are the audience will too - and they did. Some even risked the dance floor!

Magic Ship, left to right; LEB, Dave Lombardi (ex-Slayer?), Axe Victim & Abraham Love in psudonym heaven

The performance was good, the songs are good, the sound was good (more of that in a mo). The purpose of the gig was certainly valid - a showcase for the release of the lads' new album 'LoveTel Motel'. If the quality of their live set is anything to go by, then you really should treat yourself and buy the studio recorded version of these songs. And I'm not just saying that were it not for the fact that Colin is giving me his Firebird...go buy it.

For those of you who were unfortunate enough to miss this gig, this is available as a free MP3 download (the file size is 58.7 MB at 192 kbps). See how gracious this lot are? They're treating you, the potential album buyer, to stuff that's absolutely gratis!

Download the gig. (To save, right click and select "save target as" or to listen as a stream just left click on the link)

(...and here's the set list: 1. Fly! 2. Lucky Lost 3. Headaches and Heartaches 4. Black Holes Don't Eat Everything 5. Monkeyphonic Alphabets 6. Standing Taller 7. Love and Glory 8. LoveTel Motel 9. Tumbling and Falling 10. Walking With a Mountain)

Listen to the gig on Switchpod

Listen to the podcast.

Pay them an interweb visit.

Add them as your mates on Munterspace.

Now buy the album.

From Rudebox

2008-06-05T15:54:00.001+01:00

Underground, Overground, Vomitting Free?

2008-06-03T00:41:00.001+01:00

I wonder if this will have actually achieved anything apart from a few arrests / assualts, a handful of injuries and (depending on which reports you may have read) up to fifty members of tube staff being spat at. Oh yes, let's not forget the slippery drink-spilled platforms and service delays. What it actually achieved on the night was a lot of folk on the right side of being middle-aged having a lot of fun. Let's face it, do you think Boris will change his mind and over-turn the Underground drinks ban after this protest / party? If he does, I'll start a new band that uses empty Tennents Extra beer cans as slides and plectrums and call it "Rainbow Kiss" (fuck it, I might just do that anyway - I can picture the band's logo now...).

Below is Alexandre Graham, 26, who works for the Royal Bank of Scotland and was one of the organisers of the party. He now fears for his job after being caught posturing in front of a camera.

Unfortunately (or hopefully according to many Evening Standard readers) losing his job may become a reality for him. Nevermind Al, it's all part and parcel of growing up and lessons learned in life etc, and on that score it's mission accomplished, you idiot. But hey, what a way to get the sack, eh? Now that's real anarchy!

200 IN 2

2008-06-01T02:26:00.003+01:00

More Medway Magic

2008-05-26T16:11:00.012+01:00

Hey, you - yes, you! Ever heard of the Len Price 3? No?!? Of course you have! You've heard their music, it's been used (albeit slightly doctored) on a recent television advert for Southern Comfort;

See? You do remember! And for the benefit of my lovely readers Stateside, their music appeared in this made-for-TV commercial for KFC.

I had to laugh when I first heard their songs, I just thought they were a spoof Who band. The rough and ready garage sound from this three piece borrows heavily from Pete Townsend's early songwriting style. In fact, Rolling Stone magazine described them as;

"...bare-bones guitar, bass and drums; classic British-freak-beat song hooks and vocal harmonies; ...songs that roll over you like a mono copy of The Who Sing My Generation, in just half an hour. And no one in the 3 is named Len. Or Price."

The drummer even looks similar to Keith Moon - see this picture of their second album cover for proof (he's the short one). Yes, all very pleasant, poppy and sixties tinged, but can they really sound that good live? Does Roger Daltrey own a trout farm? In a word - yes.

I walked through the doors of The Dirty Water club towards the start of their set and they were already making the whole place vibrate on their enthusiastic performance alone. Not only do they play tighter than a gnat's chuff, but they're an exhilarating band to watch. A loyal Medway following made the journey from Kent to support their local boys who helped forge the rousing atmosphere of the gig which was clearly seen and heard during the band's rendition of "Comanche". By the end of their set they got a big thumbs up, a hearty round of applause and warm cheers all round. It'll be interesting to hear how the newer songs that were played live that night turn out in the studio, I suspect they'll be quite satisfying, seeing as though Graham Day has been sitting in the producer's chair. Quite fitting then, that the next band on stage where Graham Day & the Gaolers. Funny, that.

Not to worry though. Mr Day has plenty of experience when it comes to top notch songcrafting, the proof is there for all to hear if you've had the good fortune of listening to their first album. For those unfamiliar with Graham's garage past, here's a clip (from a Friday night music show that was known as The Tube) of British garage bands from the mid-eighties. This shows Graham when he fronted The Prisoners featuring Jamie Taylor on keys (later of James Taylor Quartet fame) and all resplendent in rather fetching Star Trek suits. Also featured are The Stingrays, The Tall Boys and Billy Childish and The Milkshakes - see if you can spot Tracey Emin in the audience / hanging from Billy's neck.

OK, that's the history lesson over with. I didn't want to hark on about the past, it's just something for the younger readers to get an idea of where this type of music came from and how it's developed over the years.

Back to the present (Graham) day at last Friday's proceedings at The Dirty Water Club. For this group, Graham is joined by Dan Elektro on drums and Buzz Hagstrom on bass (both members of The Woggles). It's yet another stonking trio that know how to throw forth a joyous noise from the club PA, noise which the audience feel right at home with and no mistake. Spirited renditions of "Soundtrack to the Daily Grind" and "Part Time Dad" (as well as newer material) was enjoyed by a sizeable (Dick Scum was spotted) and grateful crowd. Unfortunately I had to make a beeline for the last train home so I missed the end of their set, shame.

In other news: Congratulations go to Stray Photon who had 3 reasons to be cheerful this weekend.

1. His team Hull City AFC got promoted to The Premiership.

2. His hero Dean "steamy" Windass scored the £60 million goal.

3. His team's Yorkshire rivals Leeds United FC (AKA: the white shite) didn't even make it to The Championship.

Watch out for those top clubs, matey. Apart from Chelsea - No need to worry there. When John Terry's missus is not in the mood, she makes him wear his Chelsea shirt to bed; No chance of him scoring.

The chestnuts are the best...

National Shite Day

2008-05-14T15:28:00.002+01:00

It came down to this; waiting for five hours in a queue to purchase tickets for the first leg of the play-offs at Selhurst Park on a bank holiday afternoon.

When Saturday came; we lost by two goals to one at home to the boys from Ashton Gate. The electric atmosphere we generated to cheer the Palace team on came to nothing. Nevermind, we'll get 'em back on the second leg - Warnock seems quite confident, as does one other brave fan I talk to who insists on keeping a positive frame of mind. Others don't seem too sure and neither do I. But hang on a mo, all we need to do is beat Brizzle two - nil and then we'll be queing for another five hours to buy tickets for the play-off final at Wembley. It can't be that difficult, can it?

SELHURST PARK - SATURDAY 12:15

(Film courtesy of the You Say That You Love Me Film Company)

Oh yes it was! Last night proved how lucky Brizzle were in having Lee Trundle as a player and Gary Johnson as a manager (no disrespect, Neil, you've done wonders for us since joining up and scooping us off from the relegation zone floor - cheers). Work commitments meant that I only saw the second half of the first half of the game on the telly, which was enough to give me some hope as I watched Ben Watson header in the aggragate equaliser. In the second half, Benny boy was awarded a penalty which was saved by the goalkeeper / goalpost. The game went into extra time where Brizzle scored two more goals and won themselves a May 24th appointment at Wembley. The winner of the Wembley game will be promoted to the Premiership where they will get what's known as a parachute payment of sixty million quid over a three year period. That'll be Hull City then.

As for the rest of us that are left missing out on promotion or those suffering the pain of relegation, here's a song just for you.

No Pointing Allowed!

2008-04-23T14:38:00.023+01:00

Has it really been a whole two months since I've posted up some guitar porn? Well it's about time someone's published a bit of six string sexiness, especially after Howesy's lame attempt. Pathetic.

So, from the vaults of Istvanski's armoury, let us commence with;

The Bluegrass / Acoustic / Antique section

From left to right, we have a Fender Banjo, Vox semi-acoustic bass, Washburn Augusta, and a Hofner President. The banjo has already been used by Howesy in the studio and to good effect. I swapped my Hondo Les Paul copy for the Vox bass and it has been used on a Scorseses song (I forgot which song exactly, I was too busy trying to prevent Brad from "pumping lead" into the guitarist at the tense recording session). The Washburn electro acoustic plays like a dream, was made in China and is a good all round studio acoustic which can be heard all over "Russian Brides" (still available on Depcast No 2, folks!). As for the Hofner President, ahh, the Ister heirloom. My dad bought this in 1957 / 58 - I still have the receipt somewhere (written out in pounds, shillings and pence). This one plays like a dog, the neck needs to be re-set and there's no truss rod to adjust any bowing. Apart from his saxaphone, the Hofner is the only thing left of my dad's that I own and therefore it has priceless sentimental value to me. It smells old. Shall we move on? Let's bring things up to date, shall we?

The Ibanez Triplets

Basically three identical Ibanez SZ720s with different pickup configurations. The one on the left is loaded with Steve Stevens (good choice of name...) Bare Knuckle pickups, the centre one has an Ibanez Flying Finger pickup by the neck (which I "found" somewhere - it turned up in the end, Stac...shall we call it payment for services rendered?) and it has a Bare Knuckle Warpig pickup by the bridge. Loud bastard. The guitar on the right has stock Duncan Designed pickups which were factory fitted. These are good, sturdy guitars with bridges to die for, really comfortable to rest your sweaty palms on. Please excuse the fuzzy photo above, I don't know what happened there...*hic*! Now, where was I? Oh yes, put up the barricades, it's time for...

The Metal Militia!

Let's Rawk, Mofos! Legs akimbo, power chords, Marshall stacks, skinny necks, Saxon at The Shepherds Bush Empire tonight...(see Howesy for the review). These axes are just what the rock'n'roll doctor prescribed. On the left is a (15 year old?) Jackson King V Dave Mustaine signature "jobby" - all though it's far from shit. Loaded with Seymour Duncan Jeff Becks and a really nice ebony finger board. The Kahler fine tune bridge tends to suck a lot of the tone out but check out those LSR tuners on the headstock - nifty! Fiddly when changing strings, mind. Next to it is a Jackson Soloist with the same pickups as the V but with a Floyd Rose licensed vibrato, essential for those screeching dive bombs and pinch harmonic pull-ups. It has a gorgeous natural figured maple top which can make you descend into a dream-like state if you look too deep into it. Moving on to the Peavey V-Type which is a strat-a-like guitar with a fancy reverse headstock. I guess I bought this to replace my Palm Bay which I sold to Stu who, in turn recently sold it to someone else on eBay. Nice guitar, plays well, sustains long enough so that you can go for a bite. Finally, a limited edition BC Rich Draco gothic flying V. Only 100 of these exist, and it looks as goofy as hell. This was a bit of an impulse buy and when it comes to rock guitars, there is none more metal (or Goth?). All these guitars have neck-through-body construction and are loud fuckers. Right then, shall we haul ourselves from the Belly of the Beast? Moving on to the...

Odds'n'Sods section

The Rickenbacker bass guitar. A vision of pure lovliness with its hourglass curves and trebly overtones. It's comfy to wear and that neck will turn you into an habitual Boston strangler - it's that addictive to play. Bought brand new at a reasonable price from Peter Cook's Guitar World ("what a fahkin' cunt!" - where's Dud?) in Hanwell, west London. Lemmy uses these, 'nuff said. Next up is an Aria Supertwin (6 & 12 string neck through) which I bought from Stu for two hundred nuggets including case. Heavy as forced buggery to wear, but the twelve string comes in handy as does the various switching options. Used for a Byrds type tone on the intro to "Blow It Outcha Ass". Next to that is a re-issue Washburn A20 (all the way from Indonesia) and christened "Barnesy". We all know about Barnesy, don't we? And now for the finale...

The Contemporary Classics section

Colourful bunch, aren't they? Welcome to known model cheapo heaven! On the left is an Epiphone Zakk Wylde Les Paul Custom with passive EMG pickups and a very silky maple neck / fingerboard (a particular favourite type of neck for Stray Photon). Set up just right for pinch harmonic ecstacy, you can't miss doing them when you're thrashing out those Machine Head riffs. Next to this is the Eagle Telecaster of unknown origin which was posted about here, so we can move on to the next one. A Japanese made Fender Paisley Stratocaster and manufactured in the late eighties. It's got a typically thin sound and it's hardly played, but I love it. I think it used to belong to Squire Maguire and it was passed on to me after they found him frozen to death in the meat truck. Finally we have a Gibson SG Voodoo which I bought from Sam Ash in Manhatten when I was helping The Scorseses out with keyboards. It's the best sounding electric guitar out of all my collection but it's cursed. A loose string poked Stu in the eyeball when I swapped it for his Arsenal season ticket for a day and the case bashed me in the nose when I was trying to get it out of storage. Having said that, it is signed by Mountain (theme tune to "Weekend World" anyone?) guitarist Leslie West, and I'll probably sell it when he pops his clogs (he's worth more dead than alive, sorry Les).

There ya have it, I'm all Kleenexed out and ready to sell the bloody lot. But which five shall I keep (not including the Washburn Augusta and the Ricky bass)? More pictures here.

Here for your viewing pleasure, is the famous guitar scene with Nigel Tufnell from the film "Spinal Tap".

Playing The Toilets

2008-04-17T15:06:00.012+01:00

OK, that title's a daft and unfair pun on the gig I attended last Friday. The Nag's Head is most definately not a toilet (although they do have such facilities which is handy for a pub) and Rochester (AKA Canterbury's little sister) seems to be quite a posh place, proof of this was obtained as we walked down the high street. Among all the upmarket pubs, wine bars, posh hairdressers with champagne drinking customers (I shit you not) and Italian restaurants there seemed to be only the one fake KFC junk food eaterie. "Favourite Fried Chicken" it was called, with a cartoon logo of a chicken gawping at you, smiling, beguiling (great Jam lyric - couldn't resist including it), almost inviting you to come in from the bitter cold and eat one of its poultry brethren. So we did.

We had parked up nearby to the high street after asking for directions to the venue (we got sent in the opposite way by a dozy bitch who should've known better). After asking an actual native, we were on our way to what must be one of the cosiest pubs I've been in for a long time. For those that know The Nag's Head and say that it's anything but cosy, then you should compare it to the Anne Boleyn on the Barking Road or the now defunct and very non-existent St Helliers Tavern that used to be perched on the interchange between Goat Road and Green Wrythe Lane, Carlshalton (not so much a pub, more a den of knives and gunfire). Plus the fact that I don't manage to get out much these days indicates that I think I'm justified in being correct with the description.

The place started to get busy half an hour before Armitage Shanks took to the stage and when they did, things did not bode well for our ears. Strange looking guitars were wielded and they started tuning up very badly by ear. Some impatient gig-goers may have thought "what's the point?" and more so if you know they're a punk band. But there they were dressed in smart black and white suits, all Tarantino'd up and they were ready to let rip.

Saints preserve us, they sounded as rough as industrial strength brillo pads.

But here's where I failed to get it. I've been judging gigs for quite a while now on the technical abilities of the band and their sound engineers, that I've possibly been missing the point. Once I received this epiphany, I quickly warmed to the band. These are a bunch of gentlemen that actually enjoy themselves and once they get up on the stage they enthusiastically endeavour to hit you hard with this glorious racket. Who are they to worry about the pettiness of technicalities? It's not something that's bothered this band for the last 18 years of its existence, so why should it bother them now?

They knocked out audience faves such as "Jack Regan", "Ambulance", "Shirts Off" as well as their fondly appreciated cover versions of The Clash's "1977" and "Keys to your Heart" by The 101ers. I wished I'd listened to some more of their stuff prior to their gig as it would've been more enjoyable.

But enjoyable it was and possibly more so for their drummer Vic Flange (owner of undoubtedly the best punk name in showbiz) who celebrated his birthday too...so, many happy returns to Vic.

If you like scrappy punk with attitude and laughs, then look no further. If you're a technical snob, then fuck off now. For those that are still reading, here's a clip of Armitage Shanks performing "Jack Regan (broken on the floor)" from the Art Fein show, recorded during the 2006 USA tour.

Zimbabwe Election Update

2008-04-08T04:00:00.001+01:00

A Day In The Life

2008-04-06T03:52:00.012+01:00

As professional transport operatives, we are often asked what else we do apart from "sit around on our fat arses all day pressing buttons and pulling levers". Unsurprisingly, that's what most of our working day entails, but there are other tasks we have to attend to within our normal course of duties.

Must remember to book on duty at the right time and place.

Catering for either the morning or evening rush hours means an early start or a late finish. Loud, multiple alarm clocks rudely wake us at 3.00am or we arrive home at 3.00am.

Must remember to adjust clocks for daylight saving time.

Getting to the depot on time and in a sober state is a legal requirement. Failure to do so means that should a positive result from the breathaliser or wee wee analysis means that even ASLEF will wave goodbye to you as you walk out the gate for the last time.

Must remember to polish off that last quart of Toilet Duck.

You arrive, you check your equipment, your schedule card, your notices, where your train is and wether you have enough tea in your flask (which is the most important part of a driver's equipment) to last you until your break. Study that schedule card. Is that a ten hour day you're doing? Unlucky, sunshine. Still, could be worse - at least you're in some form of gainful employment.

Must remember to read the situations vacant ads.

Let's get on that train. Hang on, haven't I forgotten something? Ah yes, the guard! Who is it? Why, it's "Aberdeen" Angus. Top bloke, always up for a coffee when the time is right. Get on board, stick the EP key on which energises the gubbins and illuminate the front of the train. Five minutes after the departure time, we've not moved an inch. Control says "no". An earlier train with door problems takes priority over our right of way. More paperwork.

Must remember to make sure my pen hasn't run out of ink.

Finally, we budge and approach a station. Blimey, it's packed to the rafters with passengers that are waiting to board the cattle truck. When it comes to personal space, a cattle truck would be luxurious. There is a law which limits the amount of cows in one compartment that are heading off to the slaughter house, but there is no law limiting the amount of human beings that can be crammed into one coach of a train. Human rights? Yeah, right.

Must remember to feed those tinned sardines to the cats.

Is it time for a break already? Yum!

You can't help doing the "people watching" thing on this job. You get to see allsorts. Suited alpha males in middle management positions that frown at you and tap their wristwatches to indicate the train's five minute late arrival as you crawl into the platform. Cheers, mate - I'm well aware of the time, but it's not my fault. Would sir like to make an official complaint? What do you mean "there's no point"? There's no point tapping your bloody wristwatch at me then, is there? Best look forward to your after office hours drink with your colleagues, get drunk, miss your stop on the last train home and end up sitting in your own puddle of vomit. Your wife's gonna give you some aural GBH when she sees the state of your Hugo Boss suit when - and if - you get home tonight.

Must remember to visit the dry cleaners.

Chavs in scrote coats take pleasure in refusing to buy tickets and happily mouth off to Revenue Protection Officers when asked for proof of ticket purchase. Chav girlfriends accompany them wearing short skirts or wait - is that just a belt she's wearing? I wouldn't let any pregnant sixteen year old daughter of mine leave the house in that state, blah-di-blah...

Must remember to stop at that red light.

"Come on, mate. Wakey, wakey this is the end of the line". Surprise, surprise, it's Hugo Boss suit man who has been incapable of alighting at his stop because yes, you've guessed it, he was too busy sleeping off the effects of his after work drinky-poos with his office buddies. "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here, end of the line mate". Bless, he's a fully fledged member of the living dead looking like an extra from a George A. Romero zombie flick. We may have to call British Transport Police to man-handle him off the train. They should be here in about an hour.

Must remember to book the overtime.

So there you have it, a typical day at work. Sometimes other exciting things can happen like signal and points failures, traincrew errors, suicides and collisions (the last two not so often thankfully). The romance of rail travel died a loveless death after it ran out of steam, pun intended. It's all about making money nowadays.

Must remember to check my shares.

Mixed Cheese

2008-03-29T21:52:00.006Z

I was thinking of writing a deep post on psychological warfare and its impact on today's international confrontations that are occuring worldwide. Instead, I've decided to copy Savmarshmama (what the hell, she copied it from someone else anyway) and so we have an assortment of pop favourites covered by Richard Cheese - all on one handy tape! There's even a Barry Manilow song somewhere in the mix. I hope there'll be something for everyone's taste on this cassette.

SKA UPDATE: There's loads of current media interest regarding The Specials & The Beat.
Interview with Terry Hall & Lynval Golding on the listen again feature of 94.9FM (the interview starts one hour after the show starts - you can fast forward in 5-15 minute increments).
ITV video interview with Neville Staple & Ranking Roger. Also, have a read of Roddy Radiation's forum for further news of that Specials reunion. He answers questions you might have for him.

Puppet In Race Row

2008-03-21T01:41:00.008Z

War! Famine! Pestilence! All serious issues that affect humanity's need for peace, harmony and survival in today's troubled times. As I drove home from work last night I listened in to my usual radio station and was amazed to hear that one of the main news item bullet points being read out was: "Basil Brush has been cleared of racism."

Brush: white supremacy accusations thrown out

Now, being that Mr Brush was usually displayed sitting next to Mr Roy, I for one never got to see his jack boots. Of course, there's more to this children's social story than meets the eye. The allegations of cuddly toy racism came from a member of the Northamptonshire traveller's community over an episode originally broadcast six years ago. In the episode, a gypsy woman offers the furry fox some lucky heather and wooden clothes pegs whilst a fortune teller steals Basil's wallet.

Joseph Jones, vice-chairman of the Southern England Romany, Gypsy and Irish Traveller Network had compared the programme with the Black and White Minstrel Show. He may well have a point, but what exactly was it that he was complaining about? Was it the stereotype of a dishonest gypsy or was Mr Jones upset that the writer of the sketch, Colin Bostock Smith, portrayed the heather selling woman as dumb. After all, who in their right mind would want to sell dead vegetation to a bloody puppet?

The link that I've given above will take you to The Daily Torygraph's version of events and views the whole topic as being risible. In a way I don't blame them, as 90% of humour is based on other people's misfortune and the laughter comes from people who are relieved at not being in that situation. But this sort of thing can open a huge can of worms if more people become offended at entertainers that mock any stereotype and this means that other comedy programmes written in past times are liable for investigation. And there's loads of stuff out there that may be brought to trial, from the racist tongue of Alf Garnett to the sexist overtones of 'Carry On', 'Confessions' and 'On The Buses' films.

So, where do we draw the line?

COMING SOON TO A PC SCREEN NEAR YOU

Ska'd For Life...

2008-03-11T18:36:00.014Z

...is the title of a recent Pan Macmillan published book. Essentially, it's a biography of Britain's best ska-revival band, The Specials, and it's written by Specials' bass player Horace Panter. Panter these days is a special needs teacher although he can still be found doing weekend gigs in and around the Coventry area. It's good to be close to your roots.

Lucky you, dear reader, if you're old and ugly enough to remember this lot. They had the best songs and (according to many reports) were the best live band going at the time. Being at primary school at the height of their fame, I never got to see them and I would've had to be accompanied by one of my parents had I went, which would not have been cool. They then split up in October 1981 leaving me more than pissed off.

This book is a must-have historical document for any fan of the band, ska and the 2-Tone movement. It's also a valuable wealth of information for pop culture historians. Not only does Panter give his version of events in an openly honest manner, he describes the frictional and often ugly political culture that was very much a part of British life back in the late seventies and early eighties. Run-ins with right-wing "fans" that seig-heiled the band at venues occured but sometimes these thugs went further. Panter describes the time when rhythm guitarist Lynval Golding got a race-related beating on leaving The Moonlight Club in London by three men. Golding's unfortunate experience eventually lead to the composition of the song "Why?" which ended up as a b-side of "Ghost Town" (Horace gets to drive the 1962 Vauxhall Cresta in the promo video of the latter).

Clothes fashions of the time are reflected on with fondness. The sharp suits, the loafers and Doc Martens, the pork pie hats are all remembered here. Oh, and let's not forget the ridiculous garish woollen jumpers that they wore for their mimed performance of "Do Nothing" on Top of the Pops (our Horace got away with not wearing one as David Steele, The Beat's bass player, stood in for him while Panter bass-mimed to The Beat's "Too Nice To Talk To" on the same show).

Well written with a unique style that's easy to get into, "Ska'd For Life" gives a funny, brutal and shocking insight into what life was really like as The Specials' bassist. The camaraderie, the friendships, the cliques, the arguments as well as the gigs, the tours, the drugs - it's all here along with insights of the band's origins and rise to their decline and inevitable split.

This Coventry rude boy wrote a book and he did well.

I hope all you die-hard Specials fans are ready for the following clip:

All Souped Up

2008-03-05T11:41:00.013Z

God I had a weird dream last night. Very fucking weird. I dreamt that Crystal Palace FC was playing in the Champions' League and that I was about to watch the match live on the telly, when I remembered that I had to go to work. Stranger still, was the fact that I was working in an office that overlooked Selhurst Park (Palace's ground) and my desk was next to Howesy's. I can't remember who Palace's opponents were, but it wasn't Brentford FC. Or Hull. It may have been Arsenal though, as I have a faint recollection that Arsene Wenger was sniffing around the place.
So, Howesy and I are sitting at our desks which are positioned right next to the office balcony. We're pretending to get on with some sort of paperwork whilst really waiting for the sporting entertainment to start, when suddenly Neil Warnock walks on stage and announces the pre-match entertainment gig.

"Ladies and Gentlemen", says our Neil. "I'd like you all to give a very warm welcome for today's warm-up act" (see, this is how weird this dream was; a bloody warm-up act at a Champions' league game?!?).

"Put your hands together for...Paul McCartney and the Brian Moore Band".
McCartney swaggers onto the stage in his own inimitable way doing all the thumbs-up-all-right-our-kid malarkey, closely followed by four identical Brian Moores weilding custom Brian Moore guitars. The Brians were dishing out free Gillingham FC fanzines which were called "Brian Moore's Head Looks Uncannily Like The London Planetarium" (which is an actual fanzine that I've encountered in real life). I can't remember what songs they played, but they were alright for an old band.

They finished the set and Howesy and I joined McCartney on stage for an expresso as all the roadies rushed around us, packing up all the gear in time for kick-off.
"Ahright lads, whadya reckon o' the gig?" asked Paul.
"You should start using a Mellotron again. Oasis have nicked your sound" I said.
"Who the fuck are Oasis?"
"Exactly."

Noodle bars - cheap health food or just cheap food? Every now and then I get the urge to stick my nose into a large bowl of fish stock flavoured soup, which also contains cabbage, squid, fish balls, and erm, lots of other unidentified stuff (supposedly edible) that is covered in black pepper. It tastes great, it really does but the only decent noodle bar round here that serves it is in Beckenham. Bit of a trek really, so this was conjoured up really quickly the other night in the kitchen. Perhaps it was some fermented ingredient in that brew which triggered the weird dream process.

"Kill Mick"

2008-03-03T13:58:00.013Z

Yahoo! informs me that Mick Jagger escaped an assassination attempt by a gang of Hells Angels in the '60s. The news is revealed in a new radio documentary about the history of the FBI, with a former agent explaining how Jagger became a target.
It all goes back to when The Stones 'commissioned' the Hells Angels to provide the security at the Altamont free concert, California in December 1969. It also featured, in order of performance: Santana, Jefferson Airplane, The Flying Burrito Brothers, and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, with the Stones taking the stage as the final 'surprise' act in front of an audience thought to number 300,000 people.

Meredith Hunter, an 18-year-old fezzie reveller, became involved in an altercation with some Hells Angels and drew a long-barreled revolver. It is clear that Hunter drew and fired his weapon before he was stabbed the first time. He was stabbed five times in total and kicked to death during the Rolling Stones' performance. His graphic death near the stage was clearly captured on film by three separate cameras. The killer, Alan Passaro, was arrested and tried for murder in the summer of 1972, but was acquitted after a jury concluded he acted in self-defence because Hunter was carrying a handgun, drew it, and allegedly pointed it at the stage.

Mick Jagger was said to be furious about the uprising in the crowd, blaming the biker group, who had been employed to quell any trouble. In turn, the Hells Angels were so angered by Jagger's treatment of them that they decided to kill him. A boatload of gang members set-off to attack the rock icon at his holiday home in the Hamptons, New York City, but were thwarted by bad weather.

It's always an eye-opener to see official government secrets eventually being 'outed' or released and with "The FBI at 100" (aired on BBC Radio 4 today), this should be one of those programmes. The first 15 minute short explains the organization's beginnings.

Don't worry if you miss it, it'll hopefully be available as a listen again feature on their site.

Pity The Poor Northerners

2008-02-26T00:31:00.010Z

And so should you. To read the true facts about that UK earthquake, click here.