The Home of Bad Music, Art and Culture. I make music, some folk don't particularly like it - oh dear, whatever shall I do..? Generally a third rate musician, writer, promoter, weatherman and gentleman - what more could you ask for?? Also happen to be a very cynical person. These are my thoughts...
Nialler has thrown together a blog about the latest Kitsune release here and while I agree Kitsune releases can be hit and miss from time to time, Heartsrevolution have always been a hit with me. The Rose and Her Prince is taken Kitsune Maison 7 and although it is not as hard-electro as Choose Your Own Adventure or Ultraviolence, it still more than tickles the pit of my belly. KM7 can be picked up from their online shop from June 9th- good stuff.
I was meant to put this up at the weekend, but am only getting around to it now. Anyhoo, this is the "Ultraviolence EP" by Heartsrevolution, released on Kitsune late last year - pure electro class - and the second disc I got was "Movement" by New Order (their first album following Ian Curtis's suicide).
You just have to love Peter Saville's minimalist approach - in fact the large inlay card of this special edition release is just white...
The only thing that pissed me off was that it took 3-and-a-half weeks for the Heartsrevolution record to arrive - for anything to take that long to arrive (Preston to London) rips the fucking piss. Get your arse in gear Royal Mail!! The new Green Day CD arrived on my desk on Friday, but I'm not really bothered by that too much.
There are times when I look at the state of the music industry and Ireland and its relationship with television and laugh - mostly it makes me cry, but sometimes I laugh. If anything, it's a coupling that has never quite taken off; whether that has to do with any Irish music show being broadcast invariably late or having little Irish music to show and thus filling it with material from elsewhere. For the first point, realistically these shows are mostly going to be shown late as there is such a tiny audience for them that many advertisers just would not be bothered. On the other hand, although it would be fantastic if a music show could be filled with just Irish artists, the simple fact is that the Irish music machine (like all other countries) contains a high amount of dross - never mind the amount of poorly made, on the cheap, videos circulating around.
Imagine my surprise when I came across this promo on Friday afternoon for a new show on RTE 2 called the Raw Sessions. What seems like a really great idea, taking artists into studios for jam sessions and recording the progress, etc - backed up by the usual talking heads who talk about these things for some reason - was eventually kicked into touch when the immortal line
"...you decide the outcome at the end of every episode..."
Suddenly my heart fell and it fell again when the promo started going on about viewer text votes and my mind drifts once again to missed opportunities and lowest common denominator outputs. Is there something so difficult about music shows that they can't simply present an artist within a credible format or are we so stupid that we simply can't handle it? Irish television has a very bad history when it comes to producing shoddy, shoddy programmes and it's just a shame that this adds to a very long list. Missed opportunities... anyway it starts on RTE 2 at 7pm tomorrow night.
Excellent - the Microtronics EP by Broadcast has just arrived on my metaphorical doormat this morning.
Unfortunately it is a limited edition 10 track 3" CD, so I may have to wait until during the week before I get a chance to hear it; but my love for Broadcast shall not be dimmed by such minor quibbles. I will report once I actually listen to the thing.
Currently watching: Formula 1 "2009 Spanish Grand Prix, Rd 3 Qualifying Session"
A short post here. Public Image Ltd at their absolute (and short lived) peak with John Lydon, Keith Levene and Jah Wobble - they never quite recovered once Wobble left during the recording of their third full length effort Flowers of Romance (1981).
These two tracks are taken from their 1980 performance on the Old Grey Whistle Test and showcase their intensity and unease - it only makes me wish I came across more bands with such formidable imagination, as opposed to the conveyor belt of bland meandering bullshit that seeps out of Ireland and the UK right now.
"Poptones"
"Careering"
Currently watching: Formula 1 "2009 Spanish Grand Prix (Round 5, Saturday Morning Free Practice Session)"
While weak limbed, I have to say that one has grown used to the throbbing – in fact in a most bizarre sense this body has come to expect it; comforted by the regularity to the point when sullen evenings free of some sort of discomfort are nearly a disappointment. I swear I have lost a close friend.
Weak limbed (on repeat!!) and bedraggled of mind, if someone can give me a reason to bask in the warm, hazy oasis of [can’t even think of a word to here and I only see blank eyes and vacant smiles – a sea of dead boys and dead girls, especially sculpted; while Damien Hirst would be proud, I probably wouldn’t]
…if you know what I mean. Mish, mosh, mash, kill keyboard smash – like fists against my head whilst simultaneously butting a wall.
*Crack* *Crack* *Crack* *Crack* *Crack*
Maybe this is how dead boys get to be dead boys and how dead girls become dead girls; as if fashion represents the subtle elimination of intelligence by instigating a purely cultural lobotomy – an intellectual battle to reduce wit, while committing satirical suicide. Death by word of mouth – I suppose there could be worse things in life… I might actually be alive!!
Fuccck you LOL cat – it’s about time you drowned in a sea of your own piss!! Any chance someone could photoshop that for me? Thank you in advance, the resident cock.
I originally posted this at the end of January and with today being the 15th anniversary of Ayrton Senna's Death, it seems apt to repost this entry as - quite frankly - I don't think there is anything that I could add to this. Let us also remember that yesterday (April 30th) was also the 15th anniversary of the death of rookie Roland Ratzenberger during Saturday qualifying for the 1994 San Marino Grand Prix.
It's odd that their deaths actually feel like they happened longer ago. Formula 1 (and motor sport in general) has changed massively in the past 15 years - it had too. The safety of drivers, fans and mechanics have become paramount and the days of 180 mph corners lined only with concrete walls are gone. Where once the drivers were fairly exposed, they are now cocooned in their cockpits; where mechanics once wore shorts and t-shirts whilst hanging around the pitlane, they now all wear fire protective attire and for better or for worse where fans once could get relatively close to the action and leave messages on the track for drivers and teams (dead or alive), they are now sat behind distant fences watching sporting royalty from afar.
There will always be people who watch motor racing for the thrill of seeing a big accident, but even then everyone wants the driver to jump out and walk away - just as sure as there no worse PR for motor sport than a dead driver sat limp in the cockpit of his car.
---------- Ayrton Senna "The Whole Story" (by Christopher Hilton) A few days ago I mumbled on about how Franz Ferdinand's new album felt like a cheap biography - there would be an excellent opening section that would inform the reader/listener about the subject's youth, determination and ultimate motivation. The next chapters would tell of the struggles as well as the success' and eventually the next section would dwell on the peaks before the inevitable epilogue.
The very best biographies will weave stories continuously throughout a book, while some lamentable efforts slot into a recession of stop/start storytelling that relies specifically on blow-by-blow, date-by-date entries. It is possible that it's just me, but biographies are a lot less fun when they steer away from the subject as a person and instead follow a path of results and short quotations.
While Ayrton Senna: the Whole Story is not a bad book by any stretch of the imagination, it does fall ever so slightly into statistical storytelling during the latter half of Senna's career rather than regaling the reader. While this in itself isn't too bad, it means that closeness of the subject is lost. Soon it begins to read a little like a memo and as a result detaches itself from the reader somewhat. Inevitably, the tragic weekend of Imola 1994 is covered in great depth, covering, not just the many accidents of the meeting, but also the feelings of around the paddock over the course of the four days and it is in these chapters that the author excels. The book covers Senna's near obsession with religion with a deft hand and avoids any temptation to be overzealous in favour of subtlety.
Although I already admired and knew a great deal about the man, many of the interviews show a much greater insight into Senna and reveal the passion and intelligence through which his mind worked. To be honest, I don't think any words that I can come up would ever truly describe Senna, but hopefully this two-part interview with Steve Rider in February 1990 can delve ever so slightly into his person.
May the 1st, 1994 is a date that is burned deep into my head. I remember getting up on Sunday morning and I remember the picture of Roland Ratzenberger on the back of the Sunday World (killed the previous day in Qualifying - followed by imagining the spluttering morons claiming the motor racing was a disgrace and should be banned - let's not forget the gobshites that chose to speak following Richard Hammond's Top Gear accident). There was the start-line accident between Pedro Lamy and JJ Lehto and fifteen-minutes later, the accident.
I remember my Dad and I used to go for drives to the Curragh on occasional Sunday's as soon as the race was over - but I recollect that on this particular Sunday, we didn't watch the rest of the race. A time later my Dad turned on the radio in the car and it was the death of Senna that governed the conversation of the weekend sports show (Ireland doesn't have weekends - it has 48-hour long Sundays). I also remember another neighbour coming out that evening playfully announcing that "...your mate got in the head, just like that guy yesterday..."
This year will be the 15th anniversary of Senna's death; however this book did not remind of his death - in fact, it reminded me of a wonderfully passionate life. I often look at modern musicians and racing drivers and so many look devoid of passion for they are more often than not PR controlled - in order to offend no one, you must show no passion.
There is a moment, a facial expression and a feeling that is frozen time time. I had the same feeling when I stayed up all night listening to reports of Princess Diana's death (although I am no royalist, it was such news) and that feeling emerged again when I learned of Joe Strummer's death, but nothing burns quite like that accident. I will never forget that day as long as I live. Rating: 3.5 out of 5
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