wonder twin powers activate!

http://didntmakeit.wordpress.com/

This is were I am now, probably cheeky to be advertising it on blogspot but let's just kee it between me and you aye.

Ay that's sick mayte

I don't know what a donk is but I think it might well be the future of music, call me a liar if it isn't so.



ahhh it makes me feel warm all over listening to it.

Joy and despair,


Chris

Damn you Katy Perry

Thanks to you a trend, which while never waning had at least drifted slightly from my eyeline, has been resurrected stronger than ever.
I speak of course of the trend of girls snogging each others faces off in public because it's 'taboo'
I don't deny the catchyness of the song and I can see why it is so popular, but the subject of the song is so damn dull and about as shocking as finding out you're wearing odd socks. Turns out certain members of the public have been kissing people of the same sex for a few years and enjoying it, who knew aye?
But I'm not really worried about whether the song is shocking, as a good song is a good song regardless. But I hate seeing people trying to devour each others faces in clubs regardless of gender, not that I haven't done it but I'm damn sure I look unappealing aswell, rolling tongues around in anothers mouth simply is as unappealling as it comes. But now there is a call to arms for girls in clubs to start attacking each others tonsils as I recently witnessed while out in Manchester when this tune was played.
It's not shocking, it's not attractive, it's not liberating and anyone under the misaprehension that it attracts the opposite sex should look around afterwards and notice exactly who has been impressed by your 'erotic' display. The elbow nudgers, the simple and the old men against the walls who'll probably use you for wank fodder, feel sexy now?


Shoes and Circles,

Chris.

I'm not doing this alone

Couldn't really be arsed to do a sunday review in the end, partly because I have been drinking heavily since then and any writing I could have attempted would have been gibberish at best. Secondly because the sunday coverage on BBC was shocking and interrupted by Spooks and two epsiodes of Family Guy, I imagine because people who still find Family Guy episodes funny are the type of morons that would complain if their weekly fix of the now sub-par cartoon series was delayed.

However three word reviews abound:
Metallica- loud metal bastards
Lightspeed Champion- wonderful hat magnificence
Pendulum- Prodigy rip off
Conor Oberst- strange but enjoyable

And I didn't really catch anything else, next year we demand equal coverage to the visual gash fest that is televised Glastonbury.

While I'm here I'll just say a few words about the new Bloc Party album that I got today. Intimacy it's called and it is thankfully much more energetic than Day In The City, and mercifully it hasn't taken the electronic path of so many indie bands and simply included bloops and bleeps into an already tried, tested and boring path. The album sounds more like an electronic album with indie elements, which I suppose is where they wanted to be and luckily for them they have the talent to not make this sound like the Ting Tings. Although that doesn't really go for Halo, which is a realitvely old sounding track with a forceful guitar pushing it along, edging ever so slightly into straight rock on the chorus, but with enough of a melodic lift during the verse to stop it from being too kerrang appealing.

And finally while I generally disagree with the NME, more out of habit than any actual qualms with their writing, I think point 7 of the 39 things they learned at festivals is bang on. There are a LOT of shit comedians in this world, simply swearing doesn't equal funny. BBC3 would do well to remember that before comissioning anymore 'comedy' shows.

Time and Figures,

Chris

I think I'm too tired for this

I'll get sundays Reading TV done once I'm back from the Hollow of Satan himself, till then as Otto said:

"Metallica rule!!!"

Bonnets and Flowers,

Chris.

Go crazy backwards

I think I may have been unnecessarily harsh on Edith Bowman in my last blog, she put up bravely with an arogant banana eating danish drummer and could tell that cage the elephant had a guitarist, bravo madame. So on with saturday of Reading on TV if anyone is interested, which if they aren't I'm gonna facking do it anyway. Oh and to read these in weekend order you're going to need to scroll down more then go crazy backwards, but that may have just been patronising.

Saturday:
After this evenings viewing if I have to see the Editors or the Racounteurs again I might well go insane and strangle the first person I see that look likes Jack White. From what I could tell both bands were as boring as they normally are, with an extra dollop of that from the Editors. At some point Interpol are going to ask for this poor quality imitation of them to be called off, and those musical knock off nigels will be no more.
But it wasn't all doom and gloom on the saturday with Bloc Party tearing the main stage a new electrolised indie arse. Starting off with new single Mercury, which sounds much better live without so much electronic intrusion, it seems that much of their set was classics or singles, which is quite astounding for a band which hasn't achieved a third album yet. Sticking with an electronic theme, and even working in a bit of Jesus were the electronic gods Justice. Their decks position behind a huge glowing cross they sent the festival a new electrical way a few feet over from where it would normally be housed. Strange that they should be on before Bullet For My Valentine, but they were infinitely more dancable and had slightly less pyrotechnics.
Dirty pretty things performed the same set they have been doing for the past few years as Carl Barat continues to look moody and bored as do a lot of the audience, but then they have just been bludgened around the ears by Welwyn garden cities 'finest' the Subways. It's a shame that I didn't really like their set as they have always put on a good performance whenever I have seen them before, but the mainstage seem to bring out the poor singer in Billy Lunn, who opted to simply shout the lyrics to the song without worrying really about tone, possibly nerves or left over illness but it did not seem to be their finest moment.
However beared and bracered, Seasick Steve put in more than a fine show. Helped by his son he played a collection of his hobo blues on 6,3,2,1 and one string guitars (strangely I can see him working well on sesame street) performing his new single with a member of the audience sitting next to him who look very embarrassed. When he asked though if the audience would make this slow new black keys-esque composition the next big pop song it seemed only fair that they should. Unfortunately the crowd only got the cut down dog house boogie, poor them. Also putting on a great show, but with decidely less dad than seasick steve..or than before, were the Mystery Jets looking as 80s as you like in a pastel ensemble which would put Patrick Swayze to shame. But performing 2 Doors Down, the outfits seemed perfectly apt (A.P.T, thankyou Big Brother for spelling it for me) as the eighties tones drifted out and got the crowd dancing while the cameraman had an affair with the bassists glasses.
Finally the Killers and the Manics closing the day, and if I were there I would of gone for the Manics but probably have regretted missing the Killers. Replete with impressive stage toys and a much tighter set than before, with no sign of the old Killers ways of getting all their rubbish songs out the way first leaving their setlist feeling massively uneven. They closed the festival well and covered everyone in confetti. Whereas the Manics, who seemed to still be in mourning over the loss of Richey (James, ex guitarist) dedicated a lot of the set his way, and left the audience covered in sorrow. Penny Royalty (as the BBC referred to it) however was possibly the best Nirvana cover of the weekend, but then I haven't heard Feeder's version of Breed yet so we shall see.

Anyway that was my TV Reading saturday, roll on the rock day sunday and the thousands of dissapointed 'maggots' who haven't yet heard Slipknot will be absent.

Cheese and Tea,

Chris.

Express an opinion Bowman!

Edith Bowman appears to have the musical knowledge of a small child who has just wondered into a record store, this is what BBC3's coverage of the Reading Festival coverage has taught me. So here's an armchair viewers guide to the Reading and Leeds festival anyway, I could of just called it Reading as so far Leeds coverage has consisted of one song by Cage The Elephant. If you only learn one thing from reading this, and it's highly unlikely you'll learn much else, it's that watching festivals on TV is infinitely worse than actually being there. But then actual festivals never featured a red button...

Friday:
This day has the best chance of being the outstanding day, if only for it's combination of Queens of the Stone Age and Rage Against the Machine. In terms of TV coverage it was probably the most dissapointing, focussing mostly on MGMT and One Night Only with a smattering of Vampire Weekend. Now while Vampire Weekend appear to posses a certain degree of talent, A-Punk being so catchy and jangly that its impossible to remove from your head once you've heard it, but MGMT's schtick seems to be their wacky stage attire, as Electric Feel makes me feel like I'm walking through a supermarket listening to their own personal radio station and the set represented a whole range of instantly forgettable melodies. Apart from this we had Biffy Clyro putting in an enjoyable set comprising mainly of newer material, but that doesn't really matter as the new material is as powerful as their old material if a little more polished. Set opener Saturday Superhouse appearing to destroy most of the crowd.
Highlight of the friday visually was Dizzee rascal, although his set was only really viewable HERE thanks to Mr. Rascals foul mouth. But he certainly got the crowd moving with a lot of Boy in the Corner material, aswell as obviously his current number 1, sans Calvin Harris making a whole fuck-all amount of difference. His interview with Huw Stephens however was much more enjoyable as Huw seems to be so apprehensive even his questionable facial hair is trying to escape, and he can only ask tired questions about a rock festivals reception to Hip-Hop.
The Fratellis must hate Chelsea Dagger, there is no way for them to escape it and for the rest of their career they will be dogged by loutish football chants of it's uber catchy chorus. Still a lot of their material has always been a big sing-a-long from when I first saw them for free a few years ago up until the present day, and the main stage seems the perfect place for this type of behaviour.
Skimming over the Enemy (as I find them an irritating mix of Simple Minds and 90's britpop, minus everything that made those things enjoyable) we were finally treated to some of the Queens of the Stone Age set. As I missed them at Reading a few years ago I was interested to see what they did. However while I was impressed with what they did, a storming solo rendition of the first few verses of Go With The Flow which exploded into Sick, Sick, Sick, the BBC's coverage was not quite as impressive. Choosing to ignore perennial favourite Regular John and showing a rather reserved version of In My Head, get it together Mr. Broadcasting House.
Dissapointment of the day rests with Rage Against The Machine, whose music might well be as important as it was when it was first released but the band themself seem to be decidely less than that. Choosing to not allow filming of their show they are still fighting the evil corporate mechanations of capitalism, which doesn't seem to really worry them so much when accepting world tours in order to pay the bills. Their comeback was certainly not to coincide with any big political movement and their statements live now are tired and not really saying anything (proven by their attempts at satire by entering shows dressed as Guantanamo prisoners, which says what exactly?) It must be depressing when your music has outgrown you. Still I imagine the set was a blinder as their music is still highly enjoyable and would kick up a proverbial crowd shit-storm.

And that was the friday, I'm too finger tired for saturday now and sunday is fast catching up with me so I'll probably slam some more words about later. If you want to watch any of the perfomances go HERE, the BBC are hella efficient at putting the music up on there.

Sun and Trees,

Chris.

Death by falling piano

I like being nice, with it comes the rewards of hopefully people not detesting you and actually not retching at the sight of your face. However in the world of the nice it isn't all smiles and sunshines, although in the land of smiles and sunshines ironically everyone hates each other and it's all some sort of deceptive facade to bring more victims into their circle of disgust.

Maybe it's foolish to complain as niceness is a very applaudable quality that can't be pulled off by all. Unfortunately in a world where people aren't nice, and these people outnumber the nice ones, the nice people are often simply used as crutches for people who have fallen prey to bastards. In this scenario however you can get tired of being nice and like the Christian who loses faith in Jesus, you often wonder if it'd be easier to just be a bastard.

That was how I thought until I read a wonderful piece of writing done by our proverbial lord and saviour Mr. Charlie Brooker. To paraphase it simply stated that we see life as something much greater than it actually is, and we aspire to wonderful visions of life where we are rewarded for our actions immediately and that we deserve the perfect celluloid dream, and in this respect we become a bastard striving for this and knocking over any unlucky fucker in our way of that holy grail. In my own interpretation I have found this to be most useful as now instead of reaching for the stars, I'm simply reaching for naff all and am grateful for simply being a blip in the massive scale in existance. Whatever happens is a bonus as I am not some special creation destined for grand things, I'm one in a few billion and it feels good to life in insignificance. Enjoy the nice things that happen because its probably just a bonus to have lived long enough to read this without being mauled by something big and scary. That's what I took from it and I don't know if I got this right but it works for me.

Hopefully this blog sounded like the ramblings of a born again Christian, as aposed to the ramblings of a born again pessimist. For the record I don't believe in god and I do not thank him for my existence, I simply know my parents are sexually active and I'm lucky to have avoided death by falling piano for an ongoing 21 years.

Falls and Epiphanies,

Chris


[The original article resides here if you feel the need for enlightenment: Charlie Brooker]

X-Files 2 review, don't believe the hype

There has obviously always a little bit more than whiff of paranormal activity and bizarre happenings in the history of the X-Files, so it may come as a surprise to regulars that the most out of the world thing you’ll encounter in this film is Fox Mulder’s dubious beard.

It’s been a decade since Mulder and Scully bounded across the big screen in the name of extraterrestrial discovery, and quite a bit has changed in their absence. They are now a couple, although this is only quickly addressed by a scene with them sleeping together, and they have moved on from their alien callings to continue with slightly more down to earth pursuits. In the case of Dana Scully this involves trying to find a cure for a terminally ill patient in a religious hospital, and in the case of Mulder it involves retreating to a shack filled with newspaper cuttings. However with a few quick lines to skim over any plot holes lying about they fall back into their detective ways, this time working on the psychic visions of a paedophilic priest as they race to save the lives of missing FBI agents.

The lack of paranormal activity in the film, save for the visions of Billy Connoly’s sinister priest, has made the film feel much more like a regular drama than an X-Files film. Obviously not wanting to go down the same over the top path as the last film, the action has been dialed down almost entirely now relying on the tension in the dark to keep the audience interested. Unfortunately while exploding skyscrapers and UFO’s were a bit too much, the sight of a hundred FBI agents solemnly trudging repeatedly over snow poking at the ground with sticks is definitely too little. The film itself seems as if it is missing something inherently X-Files. It is a reasonably thrilling mystery with a suitably sinister ending but you get the feeling that the FBI could have probably got one of the other agents to cover it, Xzibit’s Mosley Drummer or Amanda Peets underused Dakota Whitney.

However this is not a film so concerned with action and with X-Files 2 Chris Carter has nailed his colours firmly to the mast. The film, while outwardly scientific, has set its focus firmly on the equally stick subject: religion. From the title onwards this film is laced with religious references, starting off early by questioning Scully’s scepticism and waning catholic beliefs in the face of Father Joe’s incredibly dubious past. The concern over whether God will judge her as he would judge a man, who in her words ‘Buggered 37 altar boys’ stays with her throughout. There is also the obvious battle between science and religion, with Scully fighting to use stem cell research in the face of opposition from the highly religious hospital board to save a small boys life. Ultimately the answers to the questions asked in this film of religion are about as answerable as the questions of little green men.

It is nice to see a return for Mulder and Scully, Duchovny and Anderson sinking easily back into their roles and giving very solid performances. But with the removal of the sexual tension between the two characters and replacing it with vague pillow this has taken away an essential part of the dynamic. Overall this feels like an extended episode from the later series; with the addition of a relationship dynamic that makes the characters appear more whiny than sympathetic and religious overtones implied yet not explored. If this is the last X-Files we will see, it’s a sad goodbye and there is no boat involved this time.

Chocs away buster!

So I'm undertaking a challenge, can I write a blog based on the fact my friend is considering writing a blog? I say yes as what I plan to do is an elaborate cop-out, just watch me folks!

So what exactly could my friend write about? The changing climate taking a shift towards unbearably hot to the point where pants alone is suitable attire? Whether Rustlers are actually the fastest way to a heart attack(horrible tasting card-like death in only 70 seconds!!!)? Or could he write a letter like the good old days expressing recent events in his life and feelings?

I'd go with the last one as that is what the modern blog has become, removing the need for such skills as good handwriting and grammar. The first one being a god-send as my personal hand-writing looks like a spider has fell into ink and then in his final death throse tried to spell out words with his broken legs while choking for that vital oxygen. I am shit hot at metaphors though.

I do miss letters though, they allowed for margin doodles and the ability to see how someone had spelt a word before correction, always hoping for that mis-inserted anus (in all aspects of my life). But we can't bring back the letter, it is a dead art form akin to fuzzy felt and play-doh structure, one day pens will fall into disuse and everyone will tap away mindlessly on their I-Books with the almighty American spell check correcting our English you self important computerised pricks!

Although it seems slightly pointless complaining about the lack of physical letter writing in computerised form, but hey you try getting a memo out with this damn secretary!

and there you go a blog about a blog, sort of.

Words and Fish,

Chris.

Duck Tales

Seen as I have had nothing else to do with my time over the past few days I've decided that all the greatest crimes of the last few centuries were committed by Ducks, Duck tse Tung, Duck the Ripper and other fowl fiends. To save myself from being insensitive I have not included ducks in certain crimes, however I might infer that ducks had a hand (or wing) involved.

Although on the subject of Duck the Ripper, to make it slightly more plausible and to make sure my story is inkeeping with certain rumours, we could suppose that Duck the Ripper was actually a Swan. But the waterborne prostitute killer was never found so we may never know the truth...unless he is still out there terrorising otherwise pleasant pensioner and child filled wetland areas. Not literally filled of course, although as we all know unauthorised pensioner swimming is killing at least 4 ducks a day. This kind of unrealised aggression must be halted.



Quack.


This is what happens when my mind is allowed to stagnate, it starts duck conspiracy theories and gives me urges for milky bar ice cream. Which is actually the best Ice Cream existing for a summer day, yum yum indeed. Will someone please save me from my own brain.

Theories and Fears,

Christy.