(Clears throat. Looks around expectantly.)

I’ve switched blog providers. (Notices audience has singularly failed to pay as much attention as he’d like, sighs, goes off to make cup of tea.) I’ve moved the entire archive of this blog over to Blogspot, and will no longer be updating this site.

I will be leaving this site untouched, however – so all those thrill-seekers coming here to check out the Rammstein porn video, the latest on the Kurt Cobain/Guitar Hero debacle, or indeed Lady Gaga’s sexual orientation, can rest easy. For now. But if those selfsame thrill-seekers would like to comment on any of the above, or indeed my fine musical taste, my war with Animal Collective fans or my occasional pithy insights into the music industry, you will need to do so over here.

That’s right. Over here. And if someone with any sort of knowledge of HTML would like to help me to set up a forum, and/or article archive, there will be one of those over there soon, as well.

That is all. Thank you.

P.S. Oh, and by all means feel free to add yourself as a “follower”. That’s part of the reason I’ve switched providers.

This one was compiled for a French friend who stayed with us a few months back.

(You can read the rest of this entry at my new blog here.)

Ah yes. It’s all change now. I’ve actually been commissioned to write a bunch of reviews and features for the first time since I can remember when. I’ll make it easy for you. I’ll shove an R next to the ones I’ve been listening to for that reason…

(You can find the rest of this entry at my new blog here.)

Where are my home-boys now I need them gathered around me?

(You can read the rest of this entry on my new blog here.)

What’s going on? Is it just me, or is this version occupying the precise middle ground between Amy Winehouse and Kate Nash?

(You can find the rest of this entry at my new blog here.)

Um. Apparently. After a solid decade of rumour. I blame these guys myself. Smug, self-centered, music-hating dorks.

(You can find the rest of this entry at my new blog here.)

Thanks to Rapturous Solo for this.

If you click on the link above, you’ll find a whole array of ‘Teenage Kicks’ cover versions, including KT Turnstall’s horrendously overstated reading, Nouvelle Vague doing their whole Nouvelle Vague thing, Sahara Hotnights entirely missing the point of everything, Thee Headcoatees, Busted, The Racounteurs at least getting the guitar sound right, but it was these idiots that really pissed me off…

Dickheads. Here’s what The Undertones actually sound like.

And so we plough gamely on. Got a few for you this time, story ideas suggested by fellow Tweeters…

Incidentally, these are all written in well under 140 characters, because I have to fit in the original poster’s Twitter address.

@everetttrue Twitter folk! Send me story ideas that I can work up into a manageable 140-character tale! I’ll credit you!

————————————————————————

@angusbatey My *ideas* are >140, never mind the stories! Erm, how about: Man in pub mistakes pint of beer for his mother. That sorta thing?

@everetttrue It had been a hard day. The man was thirsty. Thirsty for love. He turned to his pint, wanting love. No luck. It was just a pint.

@angusbatey Ha! Impressive. But you forgot the mistaking it for his mother part. Is surreality compatible with the SMS format?

@everetttrue it’s like an early Ramones song – what you leave out is more important than what you put in

@angusbatey Ah! Then you could also say it’s like a Steve Albini production (sonic space). Maybe has to be approached in a similar way.

————————————————————————

@floxinthesnow a blind toothpaste company manager looks for love in all the wrong places

@everetttrue START “Floss, floss!” he said. She wouldn’t. She had no teeth. He decided the next day to leave for Rome. THE END

————————————————————————

@thehomme elderly, lonely man buries his cat & only companion of 5 years

@everetttrue Meow. Meow. (Silence) “Where have you gone, my feline – and only – friend of five years?” (Silence) “Better get out the shovel”

————————————————————————

@blindboybyhalia @VeryShortStory is good at twitter tales. Otherwise a story involving a spine of a book with eyes staring for so long.

@everetttrue He kept looking. And looking. And looking. He couldn’t understand. He looked closer. And closer. The book had no spine.

On one level, I find this morbidly fascinating.

(You can find the rest of this entry – including the link to the video – at my new blog here.)

There’s something about the simplicity and directness of this site that really appeals.

They’re proud, they’re loud and they know what shouldn’t be allowed.

Tights are not pants

A very short list.

(You can find the rest of this entry at my new blog here.)

Don’t worry about me. I’m quite happy here. No, really.

Here’s my second Twitter Tale.

Jad drank peppermint tea, laughing. The next day, he left a paper heart behind. The heart now hangs framed in silver above a Victorian bed.

The man is a genius.

I keep telling you.

I keep telling you.

Back, due to no demand at all. “The new low in music criticism” (trademark pending). You can be brief. You can be brutal. But can you cut the mustard when there’s only 60 seconds on the clock and you’ve never listened to the album before?

Kittie – In The Black
Never realised before that listening to Soundgarden gave me a hard-on. Rock that rocks yet somehow fails to rock. Weird. Maybe it’s the ridiculous “digital horses galloping over the hill” drum sound. Maybe it’s the sheer bullying mundanity of the made-to-measure guitar riffs.

El Perro Del Mar – Love Is Not Pop
Everything soothes. Love is not pop, argues the Swedish songstress succinctly – and indeed, love is not pop. Pop is not love. Guitars are not guitars. Echoes do not echo. Tinkling gentle background chimes are not wind chimes are not a substitute for a big meaty phat bass sound. Guns for love, I say. Guns for love.

Panther – Entropy
More saturation. More piano. More American bands who’ve listened to the same bloody three Beach Boys albums as Animal Collective. More boy vocals sung like they’ve been muffled by beards and woolly cardigans. This is the music your eccentric uncle Jack railed against. (Apologies to Panther if they’re not American.)

The Very Best – Warm Heart Of Africa
Features a dude from Vampire Weekend, a lady called M.I.A. and some dude from Africa. Sounds precisely like you’d expect. That’s 25 seconds of my life irretrievably wasted, never to return.

I’d be failing in my duty as a fading music critic if I didn’t link to this Guardian article (blog entry).

(You can find the rest of this entry at my new blog here.)

I was asked by this fellow to write a novel about how his generation killed art, using only 140 characters.

So I did.

START Everyone thinks Internet increased choice. It didn’t. It just reaffirmed cultural xenophobia. So art died. THE END

Oh, this one is just great.

Seems that the Man Who Loved The Lady In Red saw Red Once More following a review in The Irish Times. So he decided to pen himself an old-fashioned letter from Outraged of Oppenheim. And so the paper printed it. And so much hilarity ensued.

——————————————————————————

Dear Mr Crawley,

I rarely read reviews, but as yours was sitting on my kitchen table, and after three sold-out shows in the Gaiety Theatre, I thought I should have a look at it; after all, receiving a favourable review in The Irish Times is about as likely as . . . well, receiving a favourable review in The Irish Times!!

I was not disappointed. How the fond memories came flooding back, more than 30 years of them; you must have a Lexicon of Handy Insults, because you managed to use many of the same ones that have been used so many times before, and still they make me smile at their continued lack of imagination. “Small man . . . shudder . . . warbly tenor . . . mawkish balladeer . . . cringe factor . . . squeaky clean . . . snigger . . . cheesy” etc – yes, they were all there, as used by many of your colleagues before, such as Joe Breen (who, I note, has been put out to pasture in the wine section, and I am assured by friends in the wine trade that he knows as much about wine as he did about music – precious little. I wonder what they have in mind for you in your dotage? Searing critiques of primary school Christmas plays perhaps, or judging knife-sharpening competitions in Sligo?).

Being a theatre critic and not a music critic, you must have strayed into the Gaiety by mistake last Monday night, possibly looking for the rear entrance to Neary’s pub, but you certainly arrived with the word “prejudice” burned into your furrowed brow. How it must have galled you to hear the rapturous welcome I received at the start of the show; how you must have writhed at every standing ovation; how you must have cringed at every call of “Chris, we love you”; how you must have felt isolated as the audience rose to their feet as one, singing, dancing and shouting out for more; how you must have growled to yourself as you left, surrounded by so many happy people, to make your curmudgeonly way to the safety of the street outside. You really should look up the word “entertainment” again, you might be surprised to see that it is all about people having a GOOD TIME!! Your churlish review is an insult to all those who enjoyed their night out, and in these days of collapsing newspaper sales and an entire new generation on the way who will get their information online, you may be looking for another job sooner rather than later. Your pals in the pub must have loved your review, but it seems that you are universally loathed in the theatre world. A leading impresario has described you as “puffed up with his own self-importance”, and a much-loved and successful actress refers to you as “that loathsome little turd”. Great accolades, to be sure.

And what of you and your future ambitions? Will you continue to be an occasional critic in a country with the population of Greater Manchester, or are you, like so many of your colleagues, about to write a book/play/film script/biography? If so, I would be delighted to attend the opening/launch/ premiere. To have gone to the Gaiety with your mind made up is unprofessional of course, but to totally ignore what actually happened and launch a personal attack is so transparent that any reader can see that it was pointless even writing it, as you were the only person who attended the show that night who didn’t ACTUALLY WANT TO BE THERE!! As I have always had a very positive attitude towards life, I have sympathy for your position, as it must be so poisonous to have to lurk in the shadows, riffling through the garbage bins of despair and avoiding those who think that you are an irrelevance, an irritation to be ignored and laughed about.

I would be very happy to meet with you and pursue these ideas further, but I suspect that you, like so many others of your kind, would lack the courage, like a dog that snarls and barks from a distance yet cowers and runs away at the first sight of reaction. Anyway, the offer is there.

Finally, whatever happens in your career, let me wish you a long and happy life, all the best,

Chris de Burgh

P.S. We were wondering by way of explanation and as you seem to portray yourself as a bitter and unfulfilled man, were you much teased by your school chums in the schoolyard and called “Creepy Crawley”? I think we should be told!

——————————————————————————

Here’s the link to the full story, including the original review.

Further commentary here.

I reviewed Mr de Burgh in concert once, for the NME in the 80s. And I must say that the Irish Times dude is too kind.

Oh, for Bangs’ sake! I really didn’t intend to turn this into an ongoing series, but I can’t pretend I haven’t seen this.

Just go there and genuflect at the altar of Ms Wendy Roby, music critic extraordinaire.

For example, have a look here.

This brought a smile to my face. It might bring one to yours, too.

Reminds me of Maher Shalal Hash Baz, a little.

To celebrate the fact I’ve finally tracked down a version of The Equators‘ Hot, 28 years on, I thought I’d share this song with you.

(You can read the rest of this entry at my new blog here.)

Sorry to throw two at you the same day but…

Nah, fuck it. I’m not sorry. This blog fucking rocks. Still, what do you expect? It’s been put together by a mother who rocks.

I’ll be blunt here. These guys praised me, so I thought I’d check their shit out.

Seems like I’ve been yearning for a little of this recently.

My iTunes has been flickering between Pissed Jeans and Wavves, Crocodiles, recs of the flesh, Melbourne’s Witch Hats (who are Australia’s greatest rock band when The Drones are out the country) and Arrington de Dionyso even (The Pop Group tangled with the occult) – not that I can usually allow it because I have a family after all, and we don’t need further competition in the noise stakes, and not that No Anchor sound like any of the aforementioned.

But, as I say, it seems like there’s a part of me that is forever a Jesus Lizard fan (not that I’ve ever listened to one of their records all the way through), who likes it when the music gets heavier and the atmosphere more humid, the guitar more distorted, the drums ricochet and rattle, and every other riff sounds like it wants to break into ‘War Pigs’… that misses the camaraderie of sweat-glistening torsos and nicotine-sweet hair. That thinks perhaps Harvey Milk are pretty damn good even if they’ve got a stupid name.

Anyway, there’s two of them in No Anchor, they’re from Brisbane – and one can be seen sporting a Big Black T-shirt, which is probably an indication of something or other, damned if I can figure out what, right now.

Bring on the sludge, say I. Bring on the sludge.

(Least, I assume it was praise.)

P.S. Don’t try this at home. I usually fucking despise people who praise me.

Full of fine links, and impassioned prose.

What’s not to like?

I dunno. I can’t help thinking I’m missing something important here.

Like, if they really want to blow our tiny minds why don’t they have Kurt sing Daniel Johnston or ABBA or Shonen Knife or something? Ultimately, I’m just surprised at how little video game graphics have moved on in 20 years. And how crap Sunny Day Really Lame still sound, with or without a pixelated representation of a figure that begins to look less and less like Kurt Cobain every time I see it.

I am seriously thinking about tipping off Daniel’s manager over Activision’s use of Jeremiah The Frog, however.

Credit due to liveNirvana.com.

Trying to compile a second mix CD for another friend’s night in London.

My brief this time is that it will contribute to a sort of twee pop lucky dip on the night, and that various notables (among them favourites such as MJ Hibbett, The Lovely Eggs and The School) are playing live sets. Sweet. Wish I could be there. Takes place at one of my favourite London venues as well.

This is what I’ve nailed down to date…

Baby Is Afraid of Sharks – Herman Düne 4:31
Baby That’s Me – Cake 2:48
Behind Your Sunglasses – Les Calamités 2:11
Berlin To Poznan – Ray Rumours 4:29
Boys Are Boys – The Monks 1:53
The Cigar Song – Blind Blake and the Royal Victoria Hotel Calypsos 2:25
Fisher Of Men – M. Ward 3:13
Hey Hey Ho! – Town Bike 3:16
Holy Santis – Las Kellies 2:46
How To Make Your Girlfriend Happy – The Deadnotes + The Legend! 1:21
I’ll Keep Holding On – The Marvelettes 2:25
I’m 16 (FinalMix) – Brilliant Colors 1:46
If You Leave It Alone – The Wave Pictures 5:33
Jack Nance Hair – Comet Gain 3:57
Janine – The V.I.P.’s 2:07
La Hora Del Grillo – Hello Cuca 1:20
My Boys – Taken By Trees 3:12
The Next Time Around – Little Joy 2:37
Only For Sheep – The Bureau 3:41
Putty (In Your Hands) – The Shirelles 2:31
Real World – Buzzcocks 3:33
Soft Shock [Acoustic] – Yeah Yeah Yeahs 3:26
Stop! Your Crying – Chin Chin 4:58
Television’s People – Misty’s Big Adventure 2:25
That’s The End Of That – Trixie’s Big Red Motorbike 1:41
Time Takes Me So Back – Bill Wells & Maher Shalal Hash Baz 3:47
Two Sunsets – Pastels/Tenniscoats 4:30
We Never Sleep – The Bobby McGee’s 2:07
When I Get Famous – The Legend! 1:25
White Kid Leather – Wet Dog 2:06
Yesterday Man – Silicon Teens 2:42
Your Kisses Are Wasted On Me – The Pipettes 2:12

Comes in at 1.5 hours. Sure I can work on that…