Monthly Archives: February 2009

the jackhammers: the vale: glasgow

this is not roxy music. this is not well heeled and girlish. it’s stupid ugly music. stupider and uglier than josef fritzl.  they might well rehearse in some incestuous hell-cellar for all i know. like the crucifucks without brains (don’t be fooled by the amusingly titled tourettes lautrec). like the germs without darby. like the [...]

titus andronicus: king tuts: glasgow

TITUS ANDRONICUS! yes, you buggers, the hyperbole is gonna flow thick and fast like the sticky jism of god(dette) himherself today.  i don’t have much fuckbloody time so consider this a condensed version of what would have been a joyously over-exuberant outpouring, gay rambling screed of insufficiently descriptive text. utterly deserving of massive capitals.  and [...]

dublin duck dispensary: yykes basket

i’ve been puzzling a lot this week.  not in the weekly bumper crossword sense.  more in terms of relentless mulling and brooding and examining the moist foldy flaps of my brain.  a few things: i can’t quite decide if george monbiot is a coruscating genius or a deluded buffoon (update: he is a buffoon), ska [...]

the phantom band: checkmate savage

there’s a lady who sometimes travels the same bus route as m’self.  i call her the gas lady.  not because she works for a gas company or has gastric problems or because she has superpowers allowing her to change into a gaseous state to solve crime.  nope.  i call her the gas lady because she [...]

abu qatada has rights too

is this the stupidest thing the guardian’s printed? not entirely, but kind of.  the issue here is certainly not racism.  firstly and personally i don’t think there’s much wrong with demonising qatada.  he is a foul loathesome bastard.  not because of his skin colour but because his views are abhorrent.  secondly ‘aliens’ is a legal term, [...]

aidan moffat & the best-ofs: how to get to heaven from scotland

so the only valentine’s card i got this year was from a chunky, hairy scotsman called aidan moffat.  but dry those (em)pathetic tears dear reader, beggars can’t be choosers.  which isn’t strictly true, in larry david style i’ve had offers of food refused before when i’ve no change and it’s raining and i’m feeling less [...]

the flaming lips: christmas on mars

a glowing chernobyley testament to everything wonderful and pure about the lips. wonky, shonky, shoddy, shambolic, preposterous.  in the giant, puppet-fisted hands of anyone else, this would be an ugly mess of selfinduglent dribble.  with messrs drozd, coyne, salisbury and beesley it is still a mess but obviously a madly beautiful one. i’m not sure [...]

talk to frank (or reefer madness 2009)

two point two million of your shiny new pounds went on this laughable ass-backwards attempt to scare yr kids.  £2.2 million by christ.  i’m just waiting on the forty million james cameron directed anti-ketamine series coming out in the summer.   anyways i can’t tell the difference, man, between this far out shit and the far out shit below.  man. we really [...]

la traviata: theatre royal: glasgow

or for chrissakes die already. a flimsy narrative dragged out for over two hours. if it was on tee-vee or in cinemas it’s be mocked as fluff.  no doubt starring either zellweger or witherspoon. essentially it has all the meaty story and lyrical power of an avril lavigne song.  boy meets girl.  girl renounces her [...]

is this the crappiest album sleeve ever?

well is it? the picture don’t do it justice. i’d like to think it is.  certainly up there with the best(worst) of them.  not that the eighties thrash scene is known for its carefully constructed artistry.  storm thorgerson it ain’t.  i’m not expecting subtlety but frankly it’s fucking hideous. the everso madspastic attention to detail is [...]

plaaydoh: friends

playdoh’s great.  you can eat it, microwave it, fashion elaborate phalluses with it, bung up holes with it, and if you can still buy the thing i had as a youngster give wee plastic men punk rock do’s with it.  in short it is the shizz. plaaydoh’re great.  you can eat them, microwave them, fashion [...]

last days of radio (decay and disease)

decay and disease are often beautiful, like the pearly tear of the shellfish and the hectic glow of consumption. so said thoreau. and that fucker died aged forty five or thereabouts. me?  i feel as if recently i am engulfed by sickness and disease; physical, mental, genealogical, technological.  becoming very aware of mortality schneaking up [...]

lux interior is dead

come on jeebus sort it out.  first ron asheton.  then john martyn.  and now this shit.  aren’t there enough fucktoys for you to be gently disposing of before you get to these motherfuckers on your list? can’t you be like santa and sort the good from the bad? well?

the bucky rage: 13th note: glasgow

there was no bloody excuse for this.  none.  at all.  my brittle fingers shake like angry winter twigs while i type, as bruce banner would do pre-monstrous expansion.  never before have i been so abjectly disappointed by a band, by a collection of ugly thuggish miscreants so apparently loathing of their audience, of themselves and [...]

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