My day didn’t start well, narrowly avoiding a concussion at the hands of my shampoo bottle. My shower incident left me hoping that my Wednesday could only get better…
And it was about to! As I settled into a not-so-comfortable chair I got ready to interview Zac Hanson, drummer of Hanson. (more…)
MUSIC! NEWS?
Music is still fun to listen to.
MUSIC! PREVIEWS?
I imagine music will still be fun to listen to in the near future. Unless you go deaf. *
MUSIC! FEATURES?
Music is comprised of notes. A note is also something you can write to remind yourself of an event or anniversary of sort. Maybe Mussolini’s death. Or the first chip pan fire in Wales (it killed 75, and gave a delicious crunch to 103).
MUSIC? REVIEWS?
Yes, I can indeed do a review, as I went to my first proper live gig in a good ages donkey while. Who was it? Can you guess? I’ll give you a clue. She’s a member of a popular gothic punk duo. She plays the piano, very well. She likes stripey tights. She has very flexible legs. She also likes ukeleles (ukelele, Ikelele, we all kelele). And she is my future wife. No it wasn’t Barry George. It was the beautiful, wonderful, glorious, blissful, oh so talented Amanda Palmer, one half of vaudevillian eccentrics, Dresden Dolls. (more…)
Though probably still the most respected of music awards in the UK, it seems the Mercurys get more ridiculous year by year. There have been some eyebrows raised in the past, mainly at the lack of nominations for Up the Bracket, The Lost Riots, The Bends and Ladies and Gentlemen…, and its odd decision to have included Athlete, The Thrills, M People, Spice Girls and Take That over the years, but this year’s awards look like being the weakest, most commercial yet.
The Mercurys used to pride itself on being an alternative to the other big awards out there, recognising less well known, but just as talented acts, and awarding the prize purely on musical merit rather than any fad going around or image that was cultivated. But just look at the nominees this year.
It’s sickening. It really, really is. Where’s the innovation? Where’s the originality? For God’s sake, where the fuck is the best British album of the last year? Well, it’s in your record stores, probably in the rock/pop section under ‘T’ for Twilight Sad and entitled Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters. The judges disregard for this album, along with a whole host of others (Cherry Ghost, Jarvis Cocker, Little Man Tate, The Hours, Candie Payne etc) is just shameful, and even more so when you see who’s below. (more…)
Indian Summer
With T in the Park now suffering the way of its big brother, Glastonbury, with ticket prices like gold dust in terms of price and scarcity, and a line-up that reeked just that bit too much of NME five minute wonders, this promising young festival appealed enough to me to make it my musical extravaganza of the summer. But was it worth it? Well, read on if you want to find out. This is a review you know. (more…)
I imagine that this will not come as a shock to most who read this, but as a white, middle class, fairly liberal minded arts student, my newspaper of choice is The Guardian. Free from the horrid sensationalism of the News of the World et al, the insipid human/local interest obsession of the Record, Mirror etc and the dodgy, hypocritical politics of the Mail and the Express, it has come to be somewhat of a bastion of objective, fair reporting that deals with matters that actually matter and news that is actually new. Of course, this is impossible and this idea of The Guardian being somehow superior to all other newspapers of its ilk is just an illusion, with its history of Zionistic bias and altogether smug approach certainly letting it down on numerous occasions. However, I still read it, as it does tend to employ reporters who can write and throws up the odd feature that finds itself to be spirited and imaginative enough as to warrant a thorough reading. (more…)
Kooks got you kooky? The Automatic making you feel tragic? Futureheads making music you dread? Boy Kill Boy making you want to kill boys? (it’s hard coming up with these things you know). Well you are clearly suffering from a case of ’schmindieitis’.
All that indie mediocrity mascarading in flash suits, ties, trilbies, ‘angular’ riffs and painfully forced issue infested lyrical content, all sung with the amount of charm and passion usually only found in a Jeffrey Archer novel, yet so lovingly adored by over excitable NME types desperately seeking a true, inspirational hero in amongst the dull stereotypes that clog up Radio One’s airwaves, has become as tiresome as bashing your head against a wall repeatedly and painfully as the cracks in your head gradually get wider and the blood flows faster and soon all you’ve got left is some vapid wasteland where your enjoyment of music should be. (more…)
As Morrissey so wonderfully expressed, the little things can make a big difference. And that certainly holds true when it comes to music. Those little touches and moments that can last but merely a second, and without which a song would sound just as valid and hold together just as well, but would lack that glorious factor that made it so very special. This can be some unprecedented little extravagance of whatever instruments are on display, some great vocal flourish, some beautifully placed word or unexpected extra oral excretion. They tend to not stick in the mind when first listened to, and may seem to not matter, but after repeated listening you keep on wondering why certain songs never seem to bore you. And it’s those little things that keep you coming back. Some examples! (more…)
Every music lover out there with a sizeable record collection would like to think that each record there is of some importance and integrity a part of their development, sound tracking various stages of their lives. Tastes change, of course, as people grow and develop new ideals and ways of thinking and gain a sense of looking for something more. This leads to some records left dusty on the shelf not through lack of quality, but just because they were from a different era of a life. However, some records in my collection are just shit. Pointless, artless crap that I really have no idea what compelled me to buy them, or have them bought for me, at the time. Here are some of said records. (more…)
Often referred to as this generation’s Dylan, Conor Oberst seems to have taken that comparison just a bit too far. With more than just a nod to old Bob, this is a decent enough effort, but too over the top in its religious vitriol, and in need of a few new influences. And it completely rips off the melody of ‘Do Ron Ron’.
6.3/10
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