The Internet Sleeps Sundays

Notes from End of the Road 2009 #1: David Thomas Broughton

2009-09-15T20:39:00.003+01:00

David Thomas Broughton = Malcolm Middleton gone completely fucking mental.

David Thomas Broughton = Sprinting back and forth over the line that seperates “disturbing” and “hilarious”

David Thomas Broughton = never going to be Paolo Nutini and not just because he has a song that features a refrain of “Is it balls”

David Thomas Broughton appears, to the naked eye, to be a mild mannered acoustic singer/songwriter. Oh and he’s got a looper pedal, how nice, he’ll probably use that to build up some super complex guitar parts. Oh wow, his voice is a bit interesting isn’t it? Wh… What did he just sing? Well this is all just noise now! It was a song a second ago I swear. Oh and now he’s got a drummer and a double bass player and it’s still just noise and hey, woah, now it’s a new song! And now he’s sung the chorus of a Florence and the Machine song over another section of noise. And now another song. Now he’s peeling a banana. Now he’s eating it. Now he’s throwing his shoes across the stage. Now he’s got four kids on playing drums in a totally unrhythmic way. Now he’s put the banana peel on his head.

And all the while he is singing about death, about relationships breaking down, about deciding to commit suicide by drowning.

Now he’s flicking Vs at the audience and saying “Now you can go and see some real music” then SPRINTING off stage.

David Thomas Broughton = baffling

David Thomas Broughton = better live than on record

David Thomas Broughton = an actual, honest-to-god, straight up genius.

Probably.

Love, Barely

2009-06-10T22:17:00.000+01:00

Being A List of Bands, Songs, Artists and Albums (Real and Fictional) Referenced in the "Barely" Chapter of Daniel Handler's Excellent Novel "Adverbs"

The Clientele
“I Am Here” by The Unsuspecting Motorists
Katydids
“Andrea Says” by Waltzing Pneumonia
Give Up the Ghost by Fallen Airlines
“I Wasn’t Meant To Live My Life Alone (with Vince Gill)” by Tammy Wynette
“Where Were You When They Crucified Our Lord (with The Carter Family)” by Johnny Cash
“My Way” by Frank Sinatra
Salad Forks
Tish Brothers
Phil Spector
The Spinanes
“A compilation from Don’t You Love Me Records”
Brad Wooly
Burt Bacharach
Ruins In the Country
The Asking Prices
The Stone Roses
Perfect Teeth (possibly by Unrest)
Ev’rything’s Coming Up Dusty by Dusty Springfield
Bob Dylan
Barrelhopper
Elvis Costello
“Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)” by The Beatles
“I’ve Been Wrong Before” by Dusty Springfield
“How Good Are You” by The Magpies
Prince
“Manic Monday” by The Bangles
“Gota Whole Lota Shakin’ Going On” by The Bangles and Prince
How Can You Believe by The Cottontails
“Girl Hurricane” by The Cottontails (sample lyric: It was dark all day and getting darker all the time/I was sitting in a rocking chair, drinking gin and lime”)
Nick Drake
“Talk Show Host” by Radiohead
(This Is) The Dream of Evan and Chan by Dntel (with Ben Gibbard)
Sandinista! by The Clash
“Somebody Got Murdered” by The Clash
Katydids
The Marvelettes

A) And this is all in 19 pages. I love this chapter so much in part because of how the charachter’s lives are so accuratley soaked in music.

B) Here’s a Spotify playlist: http://open.spotify.com/user/sleepssundays/playlist/1ppJDsmdqK14kE5vYZ5Yru

C) You can work out which of the above aren’t real with a few quick Googles. Some notes though - “Talk Show Host” is not named (neither are Radiohead) but a lyric is quoted and it is suggested that they didn’t want their name included, but you can’t trust that Daniel Handler. He could well be joking. “The Dream of Evan and Chan” is referenced earlier in the book without mentioning the title. Magpies are a recurring theme. The Bangles and Prince are (obviously) both real but the collaborative cover is fictional.

D) Daniel Handler wrote a wonderful short story in the liner notes of the album In Our Bedroom After the War by the band Stars (featuring the excellently titled “Life 2: The Unhappy Ending”) which I really aught to type up sometimes. [Use this paragraph to work out what is what in The List]

E) I love fictional music.

Bring Out the Real Fun #2: Curse Songs of Great Beauty

2009-05-11T16:14:00.000+01:00

(In which our hero continues to have a worryingly personal relationship with a comic book about music and magic)

Let's call it a review. This blog post is a review of "Phonogram: The Singles Club" Issue 2, which is entitled "Wine and Bed and More and Again". It is written by Kieron "Amazin" Gillen with art by Jamie "Awesome" McKelvie and colouring by Matthew "Brilliant" Wilson. If you recall, the first issue was about dancing. This one's about memory. It's about one pretty indie boy's fight with a pop song which throws him, against his will, into the memory of a dead relationship. There, now, go read it. Spoilers follow, see.

On account of how Phonogram is my favourite comic book series ever (note: Scott Pilgrim comes so close that arguing the point between the two is stupid. They're both the best thing ever, at the same time. It's a qauntum-awesome thing), I got up early on Thursday (the 30th) to go find me a copy in the wastelands of Birmingham. My usual friendly independent comics place didn't have it so I ended up in Forbidden Planet (EVERYBODY MAKE A DISSAPROVING NOISE RIGHT NOW. THANK YOU) and then went to read it in Starbucks (EVERYBODY MAKE A etc. etc. I had a light mocha frappacino thing, it was "well good") with a pre-prepared mp3 player playlist of Sad Danceable Pop, because I sort of knew what I was getting into here. Sort of.

By the time I finished reading, the cute indie couples who had been sat outside the window directly in front of me had all dissapeared. I think I may actually have immediatley reread it. I don't know. More so than the first issue, "Wine and Bed and More..." will emotionally beat the shit out of you if you love music. As is right and just. It centers on the idea of "curse songs" which shouldn't need explaining. Either you're already going "Ah, yeah" or after reading it you'd go "Well OF COURSE" or you're thinking "That's silly, it's just pop music" and if you're the third type of person you can fuck right off. Our heros cursed song in question is the CSS track which the title quotes, "Let's Make Love and Listen to Death from Above" which, unfortunatley for dear Marc, is A Hit. A sizeable one, borderline inavoidable in indie clubs which is of course where the action takes place. There are three different levels of story for most of the issue - The Present (the timeframe of the previous issue, Christmas Eve), Marc's Head (featuring a mental spectre of The Girl who joins him on his journey) and The Past (where Marc is forced by The Song). Present Marc hears the song and in Marc's Head, Head Marc and Head Girl (she's nameless) venture into The Past. It's a bit like a really depressing MST3K episode except not that depressing because The Girl is really funny ("You are Emperor of Whine. Are you MCR fan now? Tell me Marc, what was your favourite time you ever cry?" seems the most qoutable line, other than a callback joke to the first series. I fuckin' love intertextuality)

Anyay [We should perhaps note that I came back to this review over a week later to write this second bit] it's a great, great issue and what makes it even better is if you then reread the first issue there is one page of it that will now have an emotional impact a good five times greater than it did the first time. We also get some hints at elements of the situation we still don't know about. Next issue is, I think, The Emily Aster One. I'm quite excited about this.

It also got me thinking about my curse songs - Oh if I must: Songs that you pretty much cannot hear without being forced into some painful memory. I was discussing this idea with a friend recently and she named a few of hers which she just cannot listen to. I put forward one of my own, or at least, I thought I had. In retrospect, I was lying, because I actually CAN hear Chicago by Sufjan Stevens without thinking about the time I listened to it for two hours on repeat after a uniquely unpleasant break up. Sometimes I recall that, sometimes I don't and just love the hell out of the song. I do, however, have a curse band. Well. No, I heard their most recent single a few weeks back and it didn't do anything to me but everything they released up to a certain point is Cursed and I'm not telling you any more than that because, as Gillen says when discussing his own in the backmatter of the comic - "That would give you power over me. That would be bad."

Luckily for me I rarely encounter them in public, but did recently have the misfortune to hear one of the Most Definitely Cursed songs in a pub. I don't think my companions noticed me wincing for 3 minutes. I'm just glad none of mine are indie dance club staples.

(God, why did this take so long? By this point said comic has probably sold out in your local emporium of sequential art narratives, but if not go and buy it already. Do feel free to discuss your own Curse Song experiences in the comments, it seems they stop working after a certain length of time so maybe one day (a few series of Phonogram down the line) we can come back to mine)

[Oh and the title is a reference to a really good Clem Snide song. Out.]

What happened here?

2009-05-06T01:04:00.001+01:00

Essays and university and being in a band all got in the way.

Tomorrow: Some writing about a comic. Maybe a gig. Maybe some stuff about the band I am in.

"Lord knows I've been trying" - Your Blues, Destroyer

APAD #26: On Returning Home To What Was Previously A Barren Wasteland To Find It Has Become A Verdant Paradise

2009-04-26T23:57:00.000+01:00

It's not unlike the feeling you would experience
if after several years of solitude,
having accepted and fully grasped the ramifications
of being ugly and unloveable,
a highly desirable member of the opposite sex
casually wandered into your cave and declared you to be "cute"
and then exitsed, leaving you feeling a desperate need to vomit.

[End. DEADLINEPANICSHORTONE. Written whilst listening to Johnny Foreigner]

APAD #25: Young Cryptology

2009-04-25T19:03:00.004+01:00

The poetboy keeps passing her notes.
"Your eyes are Marxist children,
Dressed in rags the colour of patience,
playing amongst the ruins of a bakery"
"I want you to deflate my apathy,
and digest my indifference,
and step on my intolerance"
"Skin is the least perfect tool
but yours comes closest to fulfilling it's purpose"

She looks at the ceiling,
wishing there was a God she could have a quick workd with.

(Extract - T: "Seriously?" God: "I blame the parents")

She turns the last note over and writes in perfect cursive:
"I'm more than willing to fuck you, Gerald
But no more of this nonsense, yeah?
T."

Gerald is, after all, somewhat attractive
(in a slightly sickly educational-film way)
And how else is a girl going to pass time in a town like this?
Sex and chess, she declares silently, sex and chess.

She passes the note back to him
(And wonders about "data bleed"
as it moves between the hands of teenage cattle)

Gerald's eyebrows rise up as his hands clutch the folded paper,
his fingers explore it's contours for a moment
(After all, She folded this paper)
His eyes close and he appears to mumble something
(He is, he will later claim, singing along with the Halelujah chorus in his head)
then reads it and runs out of the classroom crying and screaming something about
dreams.

T sighs and applies more eyeshadow.
The rest of the class
(AS European History, with a heavy World War 1 focus and a heavy Frace/Italy bias)
is staring and one should always look one's best for one's public.
After a silence that Mr Johnston should really have broken
were he not lost in thought -

(Extract: "Of course it was. You haven't told the kids the wrong date have you? You haven't, you really haven't. That won't happen again. It won't. It mustn't. Shit I think I gave them the wrong date. If I admit it they'll rise up and destroy me, if I don't admit it there's a chance one of them might notice and that always ends badly but... At least I have some hope this way. Oh god I can't wait to be dead.")

-T adresses the people:
"What did I do?"
(Her "I" lasts what seems like a long, long time)

[End. Not really sure, but I think I like T here. She may join forces or do battle with the Young Poet today. This started as a Young Poet number, actually, with him screaming at a girlfriend for writing incomprehensible verse about their relationship, but the whole thing was a bit meanspirited and blunt. So, um, instead you get aimless... this. Written whilst listening to: My Own Face Inside the Trees by The Clientele and Capo (South of Caspian) by Ganger. Though I imagine that T listens to a lot of Ladytron (the band, not the song) and Peaches. Five more of these to go then. I think at least one probably should be a Young Poet poem. I'll see if I can come up with anything for him. Oh, I am DEAD certain I've stolen "I can't wait to be dead" from somewhere but can't work out where.]

APAD #24: Gloss

2009-04-24T23:58:00.000+01:00

I want nothing more than to rest the head
of my finger upon your cushion lips,
to lay there as we watch daytime sitcom reruns on TV

Neither of us laughing,
Neither of us minding that

And my finger so comfortable
that there is no way in hell it's getting up to change the channel.

[End. Short because I suddenly realised I had one minute until the deadline. Britains, go see "In the Loop". I laughed so much it hurt. GOODNIGHT]

Songs Every Indie Club Should Play Once A Week By Law Until I Get Tired Of Dancing To Them Which Would Probably Never Happen

2009-04-24T01:00:00.006+01:00

1.

2.
Salt, Pepa and Spinderella by Johnny Foreigner

3.1901 by Phoenix (Free mp3 from the band's site)

4.

5.
An LCD Soundsystem song, of your choosing.

Do this, and I'll forgive all the boring ladrock. (Although really, if I were in a position to dictate global indie club playrules, I'd ban Rage Against the Machine and Pendulum. Seriously, guys, stop that) And then less enforced but wildly appreciated: M83, Spoon, Metric, Kenickie, Cut Copy, Art Brut and THOMAS TANTRUM.

Wouldn't all this make the world a better place? Yes it would.
[This post broke my blog about 8 times. Video embedding got scaled back a lot to save the post]

APAD #23: Life and How to Relive It

2009-04-23T21:38:00.002+01:00

I like to think we write a new manifesto
Every time we leave the house
Every time we ditch work to play in snow
Every time we declared "Fuck tomorrow morning"
Every time we decided to do a second encore

- but really, all we ever did
was reiterate the rules of reverie and abandon
that we'd learned from midbudget movies
(So they could afford to have your favourite band's
dumbest song soundtrack the emotional climax,
But not so they couldn't afford not to desperately appeal
to my one man demographic)

Susan doesn't care for my philosophy.
"Why give a shit about being 'original' so long as you're having fun?"
I would wonder about this,
but a smile like that is near impossible to disagree with.
If she never takes up any dangerous philosophies,
we're all fucked.

[End. Written whilst listening to The Microphones and The Weakerthans. Title in reference to the not-as-good-as-it's-title (but then, could it possibly be?) R.E.M. song "Life and How to Live It"]

APAD #22: She Said She Needed A Murderer

2009-04-22T22:15:00.003+01:00

We off roaded until we couldn't see a single thing
except fields and fields and fields and fields.
The sky here is so painfully empty and colourless -
We are the Europe of American art student fantasy.

We'd packed putty inside the seats,
coated everything in gasoline
and were told the remote would work from several miles away
(as if we wouldn't want to witness this).

So we open the doors (it sounds like a gun being loaded,
I'd preffer something less pertinent)
And take a few steps back, then a few more.
The cold, cold spring air grips our skin
and instructs us to hug each other.
So we do.

You ask (with your eyes) if this is really going to work and by way of reply
I hit the litte red cliche.

The roof blows open
and suddenly the sky is flooded
(just for a second)
and we are so so warm,
if we'd had our eyes closed
we would almost believe we were home
(as if we wouldn't want to witness it).

You turn to me as if to say:
"This is the most beautiful thing any man has ever done for me"
Except what you actually say is:
"How are we going to get home?"

[End. You're on your own with this one. I think it's my favourite of these so far but don't let that colour your judgement. Written whilst listening to: Girl Talk.]

APAD #21: Infinity, One Night Only

2009-04-21T23:47:00.004+01:00

There seems to be a shop on every corner
Selling trackers and rockets
And an open freezer waiting
For a teenage girl -
(You wish she was tagged and easy to follow)
And when you look to the skies
and see another smoke trail,
You wonder how anyone could possibly be alseep.

There seems to be a bar on every corner
Full of boys with bass guitars,
A teenage girl waiting
For something to fall in love
to or with
You wish someone would sing your song
And make you feel warm inside
And when you get a little breathless
When the music we love
starts to test us
You wonder how anyone could not
want to scream (and scream joyfully)

A club on one particular corner
Full of kids with half spilled drinks,
An open floor lit up and waiting
For us to hit our targets.
Wish they'd play something you know
Make it easier to move
And then they do

And it's seismic and it's satsifying
And it's such a good feeling.
We lock eyes and we both wonder
How could anyone not be dancing

[End. Totally cheated, this is rewrite/reedit of a poem I wrote months ago. I'm sorry. I've got absolutely nothing right now. I've failed you, NaPoWriMo. Maybe tomorrow. On the other hand this is (for entirely personal reasons I suspect rather than anything to do with the quality of the poem) one of my favourite things that I've written, so. Bleh.]

APAD #20: One Worries About These Things

2009-04-20T23:37:00.003+01:00

I no longer have bad dreams
about giant spiders
dead children
and nuclear armaggedon.

Instead I have nightmares
where I have gone mad
and am halucinating all of the above.*

But mainly?
Mainly I have bad dreams
where I cannot work out the plural form of
"apoclypse"
And resultingly have to rewrite large sections of poetry
with only 15 mintues to go before my self imposed
NaPoWriMo midnight deadline.

*Full disclosure:
I was also halucinating giant statues of Disney charachters
And fast food items.
But that doesn't sound scary, horrible or cliched
does it?

[End. One can only hope that tomorrow something interesting will happen for me to poem about. Alternatively, maybe I'll grow an imagination.]

APAD #19: The Sound of No Strings Swelling

2009-04-19T20:01:00.004+01:00

Your heart keeps beating at the same speed it always has,
The rain falls as fast and as heavy as it ever did.
There's a vile little popping sound as your lips part
And an even worse wet whack when they re-engage.

No strings swell, no soft focus, no camera spin.
You let your eyes open and look up
at the triangular window, high above the door
hoping for the moon but all you see is grey
so you close them again.
And keep kissing and keep wishing
you could stop thinking about the phrase "bacteria transfer".

Hollywood has lied to us again:
Slow mo never kicks in when you need it.

[End. Written whilst listening to Saint Etienne.]

APAD#18: Some Silent Prophet Taking Comfort

2009-04-18T23:26:00.004+01:00

When everyone I know and/or love is dead and/or gone
At least I will never have to wait outside Topshop again
Cursing the disgusting young beauties in my head
Whilst a sister or friend buys shoes.

When everyone I know and/or love is dead and/or gone
At least I will be able to stop pretending I tolerated
The bastards they hung out with when I wasn't there
The funerals will be spectacular, I assure you.
No one will walk away unscathed.
Except me: Still cussing inaudibly,
Some silent prophet, taking comfort where I can
Now that everyone I know and/or love is dead and/or gone.

[End. Written whilst listening to Destroyer's Watercolours Into the Ocean. Written in a single 4 minute burst except for the first two lines which I drafted in my head about eight hours ago. Not edited.]

APAD #17: Things That Need Naming #23

2009-04-17T23:46:00.004+01:00

The feeling where you are:

Experiencing
(watching/listening to/reading/seeing)
art that you are certain you enjoyed
(loved/adored/lived for/took as your personal Bible)
just a few years ago when you were basically* the same person you are now
(13/14/15/16/17)
And finding, much to your horror
(dismay/shock/disgust/shame/sadness/nausea)
That you no longer like it all that much.

It's disorientating, is what it is.
*And you and I know both know that THAT
is total bullshit.

[End. First person to guess which film I should never have rewatched wins something.]

APAD #16: All Those Front Row Girls Got Nothing On the Blondestreaks of My Back Up Singer

2009-04-16T17:08:00.006+01:00

Your hideous dyejob
is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen
And I try not to think about it when our set
really hits its stride
(when your voice mixing with mine sounds like nothing I can describe)
-albumtracknumber3/recent7"b-side/firstsingle/alt-classiccover/newsingle-
But inevitably I remember the look you gave me
after the first London show
(withthekidsshoutingournameswiththekidsshoutingOURnames!)
when we stumbled off stage and all collapsed onto each other in the van
And then I want to turn around,
turn down all these screaming teen girls
And sing to you and you alone.

[End. Being a love poem from an indierock frontman to the female vocalist in his band. Written whilst listening to Like A Hitman, Like A Dancer by AC Newman, edited whilst learning to No Turning Back by Gui Borrato. :)]

APAD #15: We Join Events Already In Progress

2009-04-15T23:10:00.005+01:00

"... And what's more, no one else had the courage to do (eat) what I have done (eaten bread) today, nobody else stood up (ate) and did what was necessary (ate bread) for us to carry on doing what we have been doing (eating bread) since as long ago as we can remember. I did not undertake this task (eating bread) lightly, and only after serious consideration and consultation with experts in the field (bread eating)"

///Hannah is awesome and Miles love h/e/r/////++-11Dogbarking,thunderrrrr[[[
"Either eat the biscuit or put it on your crotch, those are your options" "Can I have a... One Up?" "BOO-DOOP!".///"It's a shaver"What?""You could move it around".----+Herhairchangescolour.--"Look at her crazy face"--- Probably something about herbreasts (magnificent). Annie'scrazy. Probably.

Probably.

"... This nation (kitchen) would not be what it is today (Wednesday) without the hard work (bread eating) of me (the bread eater) and people like me (people who eat bread). What we do (bread eating) is not pleasant, is not fun, is done without thought of reward. We do it (eat bread) because we must."

[End. Written at a party whilst eating pizza. Thanks to Cai and Hannah for providing some/most of the dialogue. Normal service resumes tomorrow, no more of this abstract bollocks]

APAD #14: All Systems Red (Man as Thermometer as Man)

2009-04-14T14:30:00.004+01:00

(Notes from Poetcountry #2)

Michael wakes up and stumbles downstairs,
Somewhat (but only somewhat) surprised
to see The Young Poet
and their mutual friend Samantha interlocked -
But not, he thinks, intertwined.
(Although is that right? The Poet would probably know. And then use some weird similies:

"The two of them looked like a pair of sibling puppies
with no concept of incest, cuddling away a Sunday morning.
Samantha's sleeping breaths were the sound of a child creating the universe
and cooing in surprise when mankind turned out alright."

His eyebrows reach skyward as he catches his reflection on the microwave.
He should try this poetry business.)

Michael walks into his kitchen
and cannot help but notice the wooden
(mountain ash, he had been assured) floor
is splattered with a smattering of sick
and there are empty or nearly empty glasses on every available surface,
All accusing him of something awful.
"Well look now" he says to them "You aren't directly my FAULT,
just the end product of my IDEA"
(He's lying, he stole it)

He hears a stirring from the sitting room
As he himself stirs sugar into coffee
So he cusses at the kettle.
"Goddamnit that motherfucker knows I like Samantha.
I'll kill him if the hangover doesn't. Oh god
I hope they didn't do it on my sofa"
(Priorities come slowly to a man in the state that Michael is in)
((And don't come at all to a man in the state the Poet is in))
"I hope they didn't do it at all"

He hears laughter and he burns his tounge
and he hates, and he seethes -

Michael leans forward and opens a window.
10am Winter Morning Air (TM) rushes in
and knocks a sigh out of him.
He feels not entirely unlike a man who has just realised
that his credit card has been stolen
and then the theif has gone and ordered that
big white Talking Heads boxset that he'd been looking at
and lusting after
but decided he could not afford this month.

Michael does not think about Samntha's eyes as he drinks his coffee.
Nope.
Not even a bit.
Not even for a second.

Well. Maybe a little.
"Fuck"

He turns around to see Samantha looking all
lost-lamb-meets-giddy-teenage-girl-meets-too-much-tequila-twelve-hours-ago,
standing like a statue to his favourite kind of beauty
that someone kindly erected in his kitchen whilst he wasn't looking.

(She doesn't mean to but) she purrs:
"Coffee too hot?"

[End. You might want to go back and reread Boxticking before this (espescially as Boxticking has been edited a bit to fit with this one). I'm less sure about these now but I expect I'll come back to it again next time I've nothing real-world to write about. Written whilst listening to: Wilco. Edited whilst listening to: 2007 - The Year Punk Broke (My Heart) by Los Campesinos!]

APAD #13: Reduced Gravity

2009-04-13T23:51:00.004+01:00

Every night we die at midnight,
So we all died ten thousand times
And for each night we slept alone
We lost a little of what makes us whole.

We sought comfort in sitcoms,
Sought comfort in books
about sensitive young men
confused by their cute female friends,

Screamed songs into the silence
about how much we were in love,
Whispered sweet nothings to sweet no one
And wondered why and how
(Wondered what Those Who Had Lost knew that we didn't)

Until we realised that the prickly heat in our chests is not shame
Until we realised that our bodies are ours and ours alone
Until we realised that we are less hopeless than we thought
We can stay up all night
And we can get by -
We can be weightless
for three seconds at a time.

[End. I got nothing]

APAD #12: Ten Possible Titles For My Poetry Collection (Lazy List Poem #7)

2009-04-12T23:31:00.007+01:00

1. More Poems About Girls and Alcohol
2. Adventures in the Post-Teenage Wasteland: A Memoir in Poems*
3. POETRY IS DEAD//LONG LIVE ME.
4. These Are Not Poems*
5. All Of These Poems Are About You Yes You Yes You*
6. How I Survived The Pokemon Years
7. You and Me and What Facebook Did To Our Relationship
8. Everyone Dies At the End*
9. Nobody Dies At the End*
10. A Rope Of Sand - An Epic Historical Novel In The Form of 45 Pieces of Short Prose Poetry*

*I figure if I obviously lie in the title
People will have a good idea of exactly what it is they're getting into.
Writers owe the reader nothing.

[End. I'm too tired to be anything other than mildly amusing. Normal service resumes tomorrow, with a poem about girls or alcohol or maybe a sequel to yesterday's look into the world of the Young Poet. Who knows? I may actually use any/all of these as titles for things at some point. Written whilst listening to: Yet more Okkervil River, and some Art Brut.]

Quick Notes

2009-04-12T01:07:00.002+01:00

1. You can get the new Dirty Projector's single for free here: http://www.dominorecordco.us/usa/news/09-04-09/dirty-projectors--free-track/ for the price of an e-mail adress and it's absolutely amazing. I listened to about 9 times in a row after I downloaded it. This is what your summer is going to sound like. [Well, this and Phoenix]

2. I now have that Google Follower box thing going on (I know one of you was having trouble Following me) so scroll way down on the right for that.

If you're looking for Saturday's NaPoWriMo Poem, it's beneath this.

APAD #11: Boxticking

2009-04-11T23:24:00.009+01:00

(Notes from Poetcountry #1)

You asked if I remembered that time you caught salmonella
from the eggwhite in those homemade Chicken McNuggets
that Polly brought to my Election Results Watching Party in '04

I am pretty sure none of that ever happened so I don't say anything,
and continue poking random butons on the broken toy keyboard
my older brother got me for my birthday last week,
until I happen upon a particularly abrasive series of "notes".

"It sounds like your ex-girlfriend's band" I laugh.
"It wasn't a band" you snap "It was a perfomance project"
I stick my tounge as far into my left cheek as it'll go
and stare you straight in the eyes.

You correct yourself:
"Not that I care anymore..." A long pause.
"Anyway, I'm bored. What are we doing this evening?"
I pass on the information that Michael has invited us to his fictional cocktail party.

"... So it's not a real party?"
I explain that all the cocktails sered will be taken from fictional sources.
Resultingly some of them are incredibly dangerous and, more importantly, digusting.
"Much like some of the people drinking them" you add.

***

Dangeroulsy drunk on the Inverse Terrorism they'd shared,
They stumbled home through the snow
and had satisfactory-if-slightly-dull sex on the sofa
in front of CNN.

"The economy's still fucked then" Cath said.
"Did you REALLYget salmonella?" Jeff asked.
"Yes. I forgot that you didn't know me then." she replied.
"I did. We'd been friends for two years at that point."
"Well..."

[End. God knows, just some nonsense. TOMORROW's will be good. Her ex-girlfriend is the girl from The Young Poet Meets a Fan, obvs. (Lookitme, building a universe) Oh, the Terrorism is my favourite fictional cocktail and comes from Pictures for Sad Children. The Inverse Terrorism then is a drop of tequila in a pint of Bailey's. It does not need pointing out that a Fictional-Cocktails party would be a TERRIBLE idea. Written whilst watching Persepolis. Not edited.]

APAD #10: Supporting Cast

2009-04-10T21:26:00.006+01:00

[I am so, so sorry. There's rhyming in this one. No idea what came over, hope it won't happen again]

My favourite TV show ends
and I soon come to feel like I've lost a best friend.
I miss the overly long intro,
that awful music at the end;
All the annoying little things on which I had
come to depend -

And look I know that my very own
supporting cast
Is devastatingly attractive and constantly entertaining,
but when I'm all the way out in my hometown
and it's dark
and it's raining
(Like some Danish movie's end)
I can't help but frown
and wish I lived closer to them.
So I think this, and then:
That feeling once again -
Like I've lost a best friend,
But this time only
for the length
of the
long weekend.

[End. Written whilst listening to: Yet more Okkervil River. Plus Ones and On Tour with Zykos.
Edited whilst listening to: I Need Some Sleep by Eels. I'm home from university for the holidays and am rather missing both the usual ensemble cast of the Miles at Uni Show and the other supporting cast that I try to see when home but who mostly live in a big city a tiny bit too far away. Ho hum. Reading Jonathan Coe's book about BS Johnson, eating chocolate pie pudding from M&S and listening to the new Dirty Projectors' single way too much - These are all good ways to spend days at home with the family.]

APAD #9: Don't Start Sleeping with Nihilists

2009-04-09T22:10:00.003+01:00

You ask how I knew your boyfriend
would turn out to be a bastard.
It's very simple,
He once said to me:
"All suffering is optional
All unhappiness is voluntary."

Which is bullshit
Which is idiotic
Which is moronic -

You and I know there's always 3 or more good reasons
To lay under our beds screaming
At the sheer horror of being alive.
There's always 3 or more good reasons to cry
And if you're happy all the time...

"Then something's seriously wrong with you?"
I'd say so. I mean,
Don't start sleeping with nihilists
But remember that there's a spectrum
and sitting right at one end or the other is all wrong.

Also,
It wouldn't hurt to ask about
criminal records.

[End. Well, you're only 18 once. Written whilst listening to: Lost Coastlines by Okkervil River. Not edited]

APAD #8: Yoshi

2009-04-08T23:54:00.004+01:00

We thank god (just in case)
for shorts, as your skirt fights with the wind.
(Second dress, you said)
And the weather's not great but it's good enough
for us and we always have spent the better part of the day indoors
(so long since you've seen a human being
that you've developed your own way of eating, you said)
Then you beat me repeatedly at Mario Kart
(Except for steering and aiming,
you're amazing, you said)
I hum "Same as it ever was, same as it ever was"
Safe in the knowledge
That some things will always be good.

"You're going to write today's poem about this,
aren't you?" you said.

[End. Written 5 minutes before midnight whilst watching the Wire (DEADLINE PANIC), but influenced inevitably by the fact that I listened to Okkervil River's "Calling and Not Calling My Ex" at least five times in the last day or so. "God (just in case)" is quoted from "You'll Need Those Fingers For Crossing" by Los Campesinos! (from my favourite record ever). "Same as it ever was" is the best five-word-pop-lyric ever, from "Once in a Lifetime" by Talking Heads. Thanks to my good friend Hannah for giving all my material by hanging out with me this afternoon]

APAD #7: Some Days Are Better Than Others (Given Time)

2009-04-07T00:42:00.007+01:00

All these goddamn poets and songwriters
And screenwriters and rappers and bloggers
Keep beating to me to every single punch.
Everything I have to say has been written by twenty men and women
who wield and weld words better than I ever could.

[In one caffeine powered burst, I stand up (ill advised) and shout: And even if I had, who would listen? You’ve got your goddamn acoustic guitar and think that gives you instant credibility. But me? Just one white kid shouting words against the walls? Not so much, no, no one wants to listen to that. Well, hell, I went and GOT a backing band, so I will break into your headspace someday soon then you'll fucking swoon when I tell you to and you will hate and hurt and heal over and thank me for it]

/And breathe/Eyesclosedeyesopen +++++
What follows is a list of things can instantly turn a(ny) day around:

Or at the very least, seriously improve a mood -
Pizza. Long talks with good friends. Short arguments with bad friends which you clearly win (and others witness). Loved songs (loud ones played quietly, quiet ones played painfully loud).Lists. Unexpected e-mails or invitations from long lost much missed companions and comrades. Good poems. Dancing. Warm weather (with intermittent breezes). Sugar. Noise. You.
Did I mention the pizza? Trust me about the pizza.
\Andbreathe\Eyesclosedeyesopen +++++

We wake late
(Having been up until godknowshwhathour
Working on songs about poems and poems about songs)
And, after dislodging the dust from our eyes,
We just lay there for a long, long time.
We digest the crumbling remains of dreams
But we will rise, given time
And then do great things -
So stand back and shut up. Open a window, let in some sun,
Fetch us some water and gather your friends.

And they do. Then -

Someone raises a placard saying “FUCK LIFE, LET’S ART!”
The girl to my left pulls a face.
“Isn’t it all the same thing?”
The boy to my right leans in front of me. I move my head forward. He leans behind me. I move my head back. He leans in front of me.
“It depends on how you live, surely?”
“And more importantly” I add “what your art is like”
The crowd knows the answer to this one and answer in unison:
“IT’S PRETTY GOOD”
I grin. There is hope yet.

We rise, given time.

[End. Written whilst listening to: Wale, The Thermals. Edited whilst listening to: I Need A Life (Four Tet Remix) by Born Ruffians, which doesn't really sound much like Four Tet or Born Ruffians but does sound a lot like learning how to fly and taking off for the first time. The Eyesclosed/Eeyesopen stuff is a reference to my favourite BARR song, Half of Two Times Two. The title is partially a reference to one of my least favourite Smiths songs. "Sugar and Noise" is the name of an ol' blog of mine and generally a good description of The Best Things in Life. Thanks to Caitlin for help editing this one. Good. Night.]

APAD #6: Generic Angry Small Town Teenage Heart Break Poem 12 (Co-Habitation)

2009-04-06T21:12:00.006+01:00

i.

Back in the hometown for a religious holiday of no signifigance
I lapse back into a teenage fantasy where I can play guitar
And begin to wonder what songs I would have performed
at my first ever show with the express aim of pissing off
my least favourite ex-girlfriend.
The sun sets on a patch of grass splattered with dog shit
and I wonder where she is...

ii.

It turns out that where she is
is getting Chinese food at the same place I am
ten minutes later.
(And still dresses exactly as she used to,
which I find a little unsettling)
These small towns are minefield;
All the people you went to secondary school with who you
now never want to see again
(which is all of them, obviously)
are primed for conversastions you never want to have
are loaded with information you wish you could forget
are waiting in the long grass which you have to cross
to get home/to get to the bus stop/to get food.

I sprint home and
(not at all thinking of your skinny current boyfriend)
eat a mountain of rice and chicken
to ensure I feel bad all over.

Dear sweet jesus I hope somebody paves over this county.

(Soon I will be back in a big glowing city
With girls who've only ever been needlessly cruel
to other boys
(Not me, because I'm Just A Friend who they
Love Like A Brother)
And easy access to A) Alcohol
and B) 4am milkshake.)

There's no question of broken hearts here -
(failing bodies, maybe)
That part of me long ago moved on
and made a decision;

I will no longer mask my contempt for you:
Let the hatred stand naked
Let me live with it awhile and learn to see it's good points.
If nothing else, it's (a little) inspirational.

[End.
Bloody hell. Bad evening. This one got a bit ranty, huh? I'll try to be less of an Angsty Teen Poet tomorrow. Written whilst listening to: Casiotone for the Painfully Alone. Not edited, which shows rather doesn't it?]

APAD #5: If It Were Shared

2009-04-05T15:30:00.001+01:00

If it were shared
the unending opressive warmth (even with windows open)
the blinding white hot sunlight (even with eyes shut)
the gravity that stops me lifting my legs (even with hours of effort)
the impossibly heavy duvet that I cannot shift...

If it were shared,
the sum of this could be a damn good sunday.

As is though:
It's hell.

[End. Written and Edited whilst listening to Superchunk]

APAD #4: A Worthwhile Study (We Will Dance Yet)

2009-04-04T15:08:00.008+01:00

I say I don't believe in it
but the drinking games undeniably
build up a certain momentum after midnight,
when all you know is that you don't want to know
who you are anymore
(not that you want to lose your identity
to be clear, you just want to forget certain parts -
forget that you are timid and quiet and afraid of sex.
You want to (just for the night) forget about that and accidentally fill the space
with something confident)

We
wake up on spare matressess,
alone.
As always.
Staring at white ceilings
with microscopic black holes all over - this
is the night sky in reverse,
which makes sense because right now your head feels like it's just been turned the right way around for the first time in twelve hours.

Lessons learned: I will always catch up with myself.
I can throw my arms around anyone
but whiskey never made me something holy
and gin never made me someone lustable.
(Maybe someone laughable)
I love and I love and I love
and all I ever get is drunk -

I laugh quietly to nobody in particular
(the girls on the stairs?)
and say "Well,
you can't grope a memory"

I'm sorry but I'm not sad.
Turn down the bright lights and we can try again;
I am learning (slowly) to feel good,
I think it's a wortwhile study.

So, cue the strings -
I will swoon at the streams of moonlight that punch through the window
and dance in your kitchen
(barefoot, of course, because some cliches
... well, they work, don't they?)
And be happy and fuzzy and floaty and light and...

Maybe I should save this for another night.
The point is:
You may think I'm a serial miserablist
But I do alright, so -
Give me a hug and another shot
And I will be well on my way to enjoying this.

I do not regret my straight-edge years
But I am glad they are over.

[End
Another poem about girls and drinking. The "something holy" line is a reference to the incredible song "Patriot's Heart" by American Music Club. "You can't grope a memory" is an obvious nod to "You can't put your arm around a memory". The rest is all me (though I worry I may have subconciously stolen the "all I ever get is drunk" bit?).
Written whilst listening to: The National (Ada, Gospel, Karen and All the Wine)
Edited whilst listening to: Explosions in the Sky (The Rescue EP), Death Cab for Cutie (their cover of Superchunk's Kicked In)]

APAD #3: The Young Poet Meets A Fan

2009-04-03T02:43:00.002+01:00

Dear teenage girls:
Leave yr boyfriends.
Just because he's nice to you
doesn't mean he's nice;
You should have heard
what he was saying last night -

I was lying on my back in the dark
Listening to the popular consensus conversation outside
Drinking and getting as comfortable as a carpet allows -
Then he stumbles in, falls down and says...
" "
some things that really don't need repeating,
then he laughs into the black.
I shift so I don't have to face him.

So the girl - Blonde
Blue eyes (enough shadow to cloak a small town in darkness
for long enough that people start to ask questions)
she
says she took my advice
leaves a casette tape on my desk

(so I walk home wondering
if I still own a working tape player.
Turns out I do, it was one I had as a small child
all big red, white, yellow buttons, chunky plastic
seemed... inapropriate...)

I hit play, and her words slide out the speakers
they sound like they're trying to stay as
close to the ground as possible
And what she says is:
"I took your advice, after he came into the bedroom
and said: If you don't love me by sunrise
I will make you pregnant.
I still don't know if he was joking
But I knew it was time to leave"

Next time I saw her she was fronting some post-post-punk post-rock post-feminist post-irony musical perfomance project, reciting those same words whilst three girls in orange bikinis spat white noise out of their broken guitars through broken guitar amps.

I didn't really "get it" as a piece.
One tall guy stood next to me sighed
(mistaking my curiosity for wonder)
and said "She only dates girls now you know"
And I suddenly feel bad...
"I said some stupid things to her I just...
I just wanted her to take me seriously."
And I feel worse abo...
"Bitch"
And I don't feel so bad about what we did
when she came back to ask if I enjoyed the tape.

[End
I wrote some of this, then realise it should OBVIOUSLY be a poem by my Young Poet charachter (star of Teenage Poetry Blues Remix and Twenty Something Poetry Blues Edit, so far). I imagine the girl visits him after seeing him at an open mic event and mistaking him for a sensitive soul, or at least an artsy type. Dear fictional girls - Always remember, the Young Poet is (above all things) a total bastard. I mean, I am a bit for writing him I suppose...
Written whilst listening to: Parenthetical Girls.
Edited whilst listening to: Imperial Teen.]

APAD #2: McNulty and Me

2009-04-02T02:00:00.001+01:00

I love The Wire
(really as good as everyone says)
but have developed an unfortunate habit
of making and eating one sandwhich per episode.
The BBC are showing one every night.

You can understand my concerns then.
TV is killing me.

If my body gets much worse
then being me will become a job nobody wants
and if
(and understand, you only took it because you
absolutely had to goddamnit you needed the money)
you do take it, you quit
as soon as you fucking can
and it's not just that all your friends
have heard the stories of how awful it was,
it's that you've reached the point now
where anyone in the same building as you
just needs to reffer vaguely to the line of work
and everyone will look at you laugh

and you laugh too,
but only because you sat down one day
and let yourself breathe in the memory,
let your lungs somehow suck all the suffering
all the unrelenting horror out of those two/four/six weeks
(eighteen years)
and return the thought to your lips,
now in third person
so now you can smile at how vile the whole affair was

just so long as you don't think about it when you're alone
when it's dark
when you're trying to sleep.

[End.
Written whilst watching: The Wire
Edited whilst listening to: Yo La Tengo (specifically Last Days of Disco and Let's Save Tony Orlando's House)]

APAD #1: The Importance of Indie Rock to the British Suburban Teenager

2009-04-01T17:57:00.000+01:00

We float above our beds
Alone, held up by sheets of sound
And the white noise does cause goosebumps
but only at the very best of times
Mostly we just lay there
Glad we're not touching the ground
Thankful for the force we feel beneath us
(but cannot understand)
And always always wishing we could share the feeling
Wishing we could fly
(hands touching)

Eventually, the stars come out,
So we rememember where we are.
We turn out the lights
And in the total black that follows the curtain's fall
Our legs hang off the edges of our beds.

There could be nothing there.
If we slipped off we could just

drop.

But we never do.

[End.
Written whilst listening to: Wilco.
Edited whilst listening to: Phoenix.
Pretty sure there are at least two references to lyrics of songs I like in this one. This will be a recurring theme. I like to think there's a fine line between intertextuality and plagiarism.]

Who blogs the party that blogs the body that blogs?

2009-04-01T15:23:00.001+01:00

Me. Hello, the blog is back. At least temporarily. Sorry for being gone so long.

1. It's the Easter Holidays, after this I have Exams and then we're done with the education business til September. Assuming I pass and am allowed to progress to the next year. I'm... I'm less confident about this than I should be.

2. Currently listening to a lot of: Afghan Whigs, this, Destroyer, Kenickie, Ra Ra Riot and (as ever) Los Campesinos!. (And right now as I write this post: Outkast)

3. Just finished reading Tom Perrota's The Abstinence Teacher. Have just begun reading Tom Perrota's Election. Appear to have lost my DVD of the film of Tom Perrota's Election. [Might review Abstinence Teacher later/soon]

4. It's National Poetry Month in America and seeing as both my brilliant poetry teacher Luke Kennard and my brilliant poet friend Charlotte are doing it, I thought I'd join in with this Write A Poem Every Day For The Month of April business. First one up later.

More soon. Follow me on Twitter (over to the right in the sidebar there) for constant updates on my life and times.

I wrote about Emmy the Great

2009-01-07T18:56:00.000Z

for "Letters in Multicolour".

http://lettersinmulticolour.blogspot.com/2009/01/something-to-look-forward-to-emmy-great.html

Includes me saying silly things like: "She is cutting out hearts and taking names for embiterred ex-girlfriends everywhere, except, not everywhere because these songs are defiantly, definitely HERS and if you happen to empathise then so be it"

Anyway, go, read, comment over there.

[And then to see how it should be done, http://sweepingthenation.blogspot.com/2009/01/great-expectations.html the ever excellent Sweeping the Nation have a post up about the album which they have heard what with them being PROPER bloggers]

This Year

2009-01-04T01:05:00.000Z

Are you feeling fine in 09?
You will be. You will.

[Best of 08 stuff? Yeah, maybe. Maybe.]

Bring Out the Real Fun

2008-12-21T17:27:00.000Z

It starts with a simple plan - Meet friends who are back in the city for the winter holidays, go out, get drunk, go home.

It starts with a song that leaps out of a consistently great album and sits in my head for ever and ever.

It starts with a comic book about dancing.

It ends with a minor epiphany, another road-to-Damascus moment, life imitating art imitating life and me being ridiculously happy.

Ready? Go.

My friends are a varied bunch, with very different tastes in music and wildly different degrees of interest in the stuff. So it is that when we are drinking and talking in a student pub in Leicester, me and Adam leave the conversations we are having to high-five when Sound of Silver by LCD Soundsystem plays and then two minutes later both fume at somebody highjacking the juke box and putting on Queen or the Red Hot Chilli Peppers or something like that. Something with guitars that a teenage boy could like without having to think about it or defend it.

We break apart and head to various bars and after a short period in the great-when-it's-empty-shit-when-it's-busy Time (wherein too many shouting bald men and too much bad house music stop me from even attempting to get to the bar and buy one of their genuinely brilliant cocktail milkshakes) we arrive at Mosh, one of Leicester's very few Alternative nightclubs. Metal in the basement, emo on the ground floor, indie upstairs. Which is kind of perfect isn't it?

Firstly I have one of those odd moments where you meet someone in person for the first time that you've previously known mainly online. (In this case we have in fact crossed paths before but not really and we didn't really know each other then and now we do so). Secondly I have one of those odd moments where you are surprised by the appearance of a very close friend you haven't seen in too damn long. Thirdly I have one of those really, really odd moments where someone buys me a drink. C'est bizzare.

All of which puts me in a pretty good mood which is instantly killed when we head up into the indie room and, well...

Indie is a terrible word and if it does mean something to the kids in here, it means boyrock. There are at least two songs by Pete Doherty in some guise played. There's Killers and Kings of Leon. It's grim.

There's a glimmer of hope when a Long Blonde's song is played but it's one of my least favourite songs of theirs and the dancefloor thins out for it and I'm not drunk enough and anyway I'm not planning on dancing because I only have once before ever (You know I really WILL write up the story of Sunday at End of the Road. I'll do it soon. Promise) and I don't think I'm anywhere near drunk enough for such a thing.

So me and my trustworthy partner in indie adventuring, Ashish, find ourselves a corner and sit and talk to friends whenever they appear. You, probably more than I, know how it is with a group of friends and an establishment like this - they go to talk to people you don't know, they go to dance to records you don't like, everyone disappears occasionally to buy drinks.

Just as I'm despairing (full dancefloor for "Sex on Fire" which is one of the worst things ever), something fairly wonderful happens: The DJ plays Broken Heartbeats Sound Like Breakbeats from Hold On Now, Youngster by Los Campesinos!

Me and Ashish shout along but it's not one of my favourites (don't get me wrong, Los Campesinos! are a band I love more than almost any other band in existence but I definitely love We Are Beautiful We Are Doomed more than HON,Y) and I imagine it'd be a bit akward to dance to.

Now.

1) A week or two ago, the first issue of Phonogram: The Singles Club was published. This is the second Phonogram mini series written by Kieron Gillen and drawn by Jamie McKelvie. In the world of Phonogram, music is magic [because music IS magic]. The first series was concerned with Britpop and memory and the Manics and Blur and the Auteurs and stuff like that which I understood.
The first issue of The Singles Club is largely about dancing. The music is mostly stuff I know and like (The Pipettes, The Long Blondes, CSS, Blondie) but dancing... I've never understood. And even the one time I have done it was to a live band and was possibly the last time they'd ever do what they were doing and there was a lot of proper fans there and it was Different.
Pull Shapes (the book) is concerned with dancing in a club, with people, y'know. Properly. Kieron Gillen once wrote something along the lines of "I don't get people who don't get dancing" (I've Googled but can't find it on his blog so maybe it was in an e-mail, I don't know) to which I said "I don't get people who don't get people who don't get dancing".
Anyway. I've been thinking about Pull Shapes (the book) a lot and listening to Pull Shapes (the song) a lot and all of this praying on my mind at the time but I think I won't say any more about it for fear of spoiling the thing. Go and buy it if you can, there's a reprint due this week or so.

2) Salt, Pepa and Spinderella by Johnny Foreigner is possibly my favourite single song of the year.

It's incredible. I hadn't heard it before playing the album, Waited Up Til It Was Light, so I was listening to it in full for the first time and very much enjoying all of it. Every song had at least one memorable bit that refused to move from my memory and it rocked and was fun and great.
Hennings Favourite was ending (with a lovely big guitar bit) and this bass line emerges and creeps across stereo channels and keyboard drums bite down on my ears as Alexei's vocals enter and then it turns out to be a duet with Kelly and it's the most melodic thing on the album so far and it sounds incredible and I can't really tell what it's about (I have this problem with JoFo, I always ADORE lots of lines from songs but in many cases I can't tell you what the whole song is about. This shouldn't be a problem, obviously) but it FEELS like an infidelity anthem.

And just when I don't think I could love it any more, Alexei does some spoken word and then it ALL. GOES. MENTAL. LOUDER. BIGGER. INDESTRUCTIBLE.

So. 1+2=

3)

The slow bit at the end of Broken Heartbeats Sound Like Breakbeats fades out and me and Ashish look up as we hear a very distinctive bass guitar sound and then we look at each other. I can't even recall what words are exchanged but something along the lines of:
Him: "Is that JoFo?"
Me: "HELL. YES."
Him: "That's remarkable"
Me: "DANCEFLOOR"

And there I go. It's mostly empty, a few of the "I will dance to anything!" warriors doing their best and then me and Ashish shuffling awkwardly and singing along and then...

I don't know. What I remember is singing louder, closing my eyes, moving faster, knowing that The Loud Bit is coming and then it hits and then ERUPTING and for some reason everything seeming white and then it ends and something I don't care about fades up and I stumble to the bar exhausted and grinning and feeling amazing.

And from that moment on, I am immune. No shitty boyrock, no overheard misogyny, not even being dragged into the METAAAHL basement for 3 minutes can dull my mood. Important lessons learned I: It doesn't MATTER that I can't dance, I can flail with an energy that'd make many a skinny-jeaned I-don't-dance-cause-it-might-mess-up-my-hair type of indieboy decidedly embarrassed. I need to do this more often.

So I do! Later my very good friend Hannah enters the room just as the DJ drops Paris by Friendly Fires which is pretty much perfect because they are the only band I think Hannah has introduced me to that I've ended up loving rather than the other way around. It's a great record, all manner of Rapture-esque funky and sexy (but decidedly platonic and therefore cute).
And then just as we think we've made it away safely, my favourite MGMT song (well. Almost. It's the standard version of Kids rather than the AMAZING Soulwax remix but waddayagonnado?) so more flailing.

Lessons Learned II: Indie clubs SHOULD be small and horrible and ARE largely rubbish (I mean The Average Indie Club here, the likes of Offbeat are another plain of existence entirely) but perhaps worth it if we can get two or three songs I really love over the course of one night.

Lessons Learned III: Don't ever question Kieron Gillen? Except, actually, do, it's more fun that way. But, uh...

Anyway. That was a true story about a thing that happened on Friday night. I'm pretty much still feeling good about it. Please do buy the JoFo album if you haven't already, yeah? Yeah.

What have you done this weekend, readers? What was the first record that you danced to in public? What minor epiphanies and road-to-Damascus moments have you had recently? etc. etc.

Stay tuned

2008-11-25T19:00:00.001Z

Something like normal service may be resumed some day soon.

Um...

2008-09-28T23:33:00.000+01:00

No list this week. I am so, so sorry. It won't happen again. I start classes proper tomorrow and am terrified, so that's my get out. I feel REALLY bad about this.

I will write something in the week to make up for it, if possible. I need to get a handle on what the normal univeristy week is going to be like. I hope it includes enough time for a My Week in Lists every Sunday night from now on, that is for sure.

My Week In Lists: Week Ending 21st September

2008-09-21T22:41:00.000+01:00

Top 5 Things I'm Going To Miss Whilst at Uni [A Very Sappy MWIL]

The Friends who are not here. I mean, this is obvious, but it will be rubbish being so far from Cai and Hannah and Hannah and Lizzie and Francis and so on.
Rockaboom, The Milkshake Shop Who's Name I Shall Not Type and The Phoenix in Leicester. A good little indie record store, a great violently-pink milkshake place and a filthy little arts cinema. I salute you all.
Silence. Uppingham is a quiet, quiet town and just sometimes that was a good thing. Plus, y'know, you could walk around my neighbourhood at 3am with no fear of anything at all bad happening.
The Family and The Dog. I may complain about them but they are ok kids, y'know. It will be very odd not having them around. I guess everyone has to adjust to this. Also the swing seat in the back garden.
My Charlie Brown and Snoopy mural. I'll have to get used to going to sleep without them [and my awesome but too-big Woody Allen's Manhattan poster] watching over me. Uh. Playing baseball. Over me.

O'course it's kinda early on to know what I'm really missing but I'd say those five will be up there.

Next time: Less of this nonsense, more about THE EXCITING REALITY OF MOVING AWAY FROM HOME TO DO LEARNING. Have a good week, internet!

"What I Did This Weekend" or EOTR2008: Saturdays are Sweet

2008-09-19T23:59:00.000+01:00

[For those of you wondering why this is taking so long, stay tuned]

Saturday began, promisingly, with an excellent Breakfast Burrito [which isn't in Firefox's dictionary. Way to be racist against awesome food, Firefox] and me and Richard and Ashish and Laurence all watching Absentee [who I quite liked, in an "inoffensive" rather than "engaging" way. Their last song was very good] and then Noah and the Whale. Apparently they're "a bit popular". I've been a bit unsure about Five Years Time previously but it's great fun here, all "the kids" [in both a literal and a Stuart Murdoch sense] make noise/throw up their hands and so on. Laurence notes that they seem to have at least one "hoedown bit" per song. Which should be encouraed, frankly. Dear British indie bands, more hoedowns, less songs about birds and lads.

Bowerbirds are a band I knew absolutely nothing about beforehand except that John Darnielle had talked them up, so I was expecting some sort of lyrical-heavy stuff but what we got was very pleasant folk with wonderful vocal harmonies. I hear Bon Iver had them on later to help him out but I missed that because I was in the Bimble Inn very much enjoying Seabear, an Icelandic indie pop seven-piece who sound like they should probably be from Glasgow. Well. During their songs anyway. In between their front man's heavily-accented and ever so slightly broken English shows their roots. They're adorable and soon get the [fairly full] tent on side, even suceeding in employing most of the tent as back up vocalists on their last song. They very quickly sold out of CDs immediatley after, much to my dissapointment. Still, probably my favourite discovery of the weekend.

On the way between the 'Birds and the 'Bear [shoot me on the way out], our party saw one of the best songwriter's in the world ever hanging out at the Duke of Uke stall so we all went and said Hi. Turns out Darren Hayman is very nice as well as being constantly brilliant. Apparently he'd brought Emmy the Great with them to sing during the Darren and Jack Play Hefner Songs set but she'd gone and gotten a gig on Sunday so she wouldn't be doing it. And then we discussed how he thinks Jeremy Warmsley doesn't have a good name for rock. Right on, Darren.

Sometime after this I saw British Sea Power. I don't understand all the business with the branches and the leaves or why their fans had made banners and were, um, waving a Yoda toy arond. For one I literally do not know why they do this and for another I'm not sure what drives them to be so devoted to the band in the first place. British Sea Power are alright. I really can't think of anything interesting to say about their set because it was, y'know, Quite Good. And yet, the crowd went wild. Maybe it's just me. On the plus side, they did announce that there would be a Jonathan Richman covers band featuring two of their number, playing in the Inn at 1.30am.

A little while later, Low took to the stage. I'd been floored by their set at Summer Sundae 2007 so I was excited for this and was not dissapointed. Whilst I like Low on record, I LOVE them live. Many people made that crowd cheer but very few silenced them like Low did. It was dark and nasty and atmospheric and wonderful - the bass line of Canada creeping in made me smile more than anything else musical that had happened up to that point. Murderer was excellent too and I was really liking even the ones I didn't know [well, y'know, as much as you can enjoy the ultra-bleak stuff] but me and Richard and Ashish left early to get to Jeremy Warmsley.

See, JWarm was playing in the smallest tent of the festival so we assumed it'd be full and we'd have to get their early to get in. It was not as full as it should've been when we got there and then technical difficulties meant he started late anyway [meaning we missed the now infamous Alan-Sparhawk-throwing-a-guitar-AT-the-crowd incident]. But it was worth it, once he got going it was a joy to watch, I'd forgotten how tight his live band is. The second-album material was sounding extremely strong [Dancing With the Enemy is catchier than SARS and I love If He Breaks Your Heart more than is reasonable], the first album songs sounded better than they do on the album [I Believe In The Way You Move was never this sprightly, was it?] . He ended proceedings with my favourite cover song of all time, his version of New Order's Temptation. I told him this afterwards and he hugged me. This was all Very Very Good. He said he'd be back at 2.40 to do a covers-heavy acoustic set.

At midnight, me and Ashish went over to a tent that had been used in the day for children's activities and was now playing host to "Scarytelling", in which comedians were supposed to tell vaguely scary stories. Some of them did this, luckily not all. It ended with Robin Ince very drunk doing a series of the last lines of scary stories ("It was a child with the face of an old man! The hand wouldn't die! HE was the ghost!" etc.) and then a John Peel impression and then um, something about Stewart Lee vomiting. Then he read a very moving passage from someone's autobiography about their wife dieing. And then Darren Hanlon played a "Magical-realism Christmas murder ballad".
Seriously.

After this Ashish (perhaps wisely) went to bed and I went to see the end of the Modern Ovens [Modern Covers or Modern Others, gentlemen, surely?]. Sadly no "Since She Started To Ride" or "Dancing In the Lesbian Bar" or "Pablo Picasso" but a lovely "Ice Cream Man" and of course they finished with "Roadrunner". It's a very nice thing to see a tent full of people go mental to "Roadrunner". [RADIO ON!]

After a while, it became apparenty Jeremy Warmsley would not be playing a covers-heavy acoustic set. Here is how I could tell: There was nobody on stage, they were playing music over the PA, a dancefloor had formed, Jeremy Warmsley was on that dancefloor. So I went over and he turned out to be a bit drunk which is why he was not playing and he apologised profusely and repeatedly and sent me off with another hug. He's very nice he is. Buy his next record when it's out and definitely go see him life.

After all this excitement, I went to bed looking forward to Sunday. BUT WOULD SUNDAY BE AS GOOD?

Here is a spoiler, readers: Sunday was the best day EVER. I will write all about it soon.

"What I Did This Weekend" or End of the Road 2008: Fridays are Fine

2008-09-17T20:53:00.000+01:00

I should begin this by noting that my esteemed colleague from Sugar and Noise (and award winning young poet) has begun his write up of End of the Road festival and his will probably be loads better than mine because he's pretty good at That Writing Business. Click "Thirty Three Forever" in that list of links at the side and enjoy his view on things.

--

I've always been suspicious of music festivals. At most of them [even my beloved, local Summer Sundae] there are ten terrible bands for every one kinda-good one, the people are awful ["No, I'M more drunk right now. Anyway let's go and see the Klaxons"] and the places are worse [Mud! Mud! Massive Amounts Of Advertising! More Mud!]. But End of the Road is more than a little different. I'm fine to use up as many negative adjectives as I want in this paragraph because I'm not going to get much of a chance to for the rest of the article...

Me and the other half of Leicester's favourite interracial indie-fan duo, my good friend Ashish, arrived at the End of the Road site in fairly low spirits. We'd been up since 5am, we'd been on a series of slow, warm coaches and for some reason we'd had to go through the center of London. We'd just missed the first shuttle bus from Salisbury to the festival so we'd had to wait for most of an hour and then on they were we passed a caravan on fire in the middle of nowhere. A bad omen, if ever I saw one.

But you know what the first thing you see as you head onto the End of the Road site is? A series of big pink letters on top of the box office saying "HEY! HO! LET'S GO!". Right on. Some friendly steward complimented by band t-shirt as we got wristband'd and from there on it was almost all up. We set up tents quickly [with the aid of my internet aquaintance Laurence] and decided to eat instead of watching Laura Marling. Not that I dislike her [um. Except for that "I think he thinks it makes me weak" one which is dire. But her most recent single was pretty good!] but we were hungry and I figured there'd be pleanty of average-to-good acoustic singer/songwriters performing at any given moment from now until the end of time really. Whereas handmade oragnic pizza would only be here this weekend!

I'm not quite sure where the evening went but the only music I remember seeing properly was Robyn Hitchock and Conor Oberst. One of these was weird and funny and very enjoyable and the other was more difficult. I really didn't know what to expect with Robyn, I've heard one or two things by him before and liked them. I was kinda hoping his full Venus 3 band would be with him because that'd really be something [look it up, mighty fine backing band that occasionally includes Sean Christopher Nelson doing backup vocals. More on him some other time perhaps, but in short he is (in every sense of the phrase) one of my favourite voices in US independant music].
It was just Mr Hytchock and an acoustic guitar for the most part but the songs were great. Baffling, but great. Richard once told me he didn't like The Shins that much because James Mercer's imagery was "a bit all over the place" and I'd say that applies times ten to Robyn, and I like it (I like The Shins too of course). There was a particularly charming number performed with two female vocalists about how babies behaviour leads to their sexual preferences in later life. After it had ended Robyn declared "This is folk music!". Then there was something about how all babies are really Jesus. As I said: Baffling. And how often do you get properly baffled in a pleasant way in music? Not often enough.

Conor on the other hand... Oh I don't know. There were some good songs in there; I Don't Wanna Die In A Hospital and Soulded Out!!! were fun and performed well but so much of the set felt flat. The long, boring blues number and cliche "rrrock and rrroll" songs by other members of "The Mystic Valley Band", Conor trying to be funny and just coming off as a collosal asshole ["Hi, we're The Decemberists! Haha! Woo!". I wish, Mr Oberst, I wish] and otherwise behaving like an 8 year old playing at rock star.
The last few songs of his set were made immeasurably more enjoyable by two girls near me who found a space in the crowd and had themselves a spectacularly energetic emo/country dance off, followed by interpretive actions for all the lyrics to [the very dull] "Milk Thistle". Those of us nearby were applauding them more than Conor by the end of it. Good work, girls, whoever and wherever you are [and whatever you were on].

After this I finally managed to meet up with Richard and together we took in a few minutes of Akron/Family [I liked that one loud, rhythmic one they did with all the shouting! Oh and again. Not so much this time. Now I'm bored. The End.] and then tried to see David Thomas Broughton but soon gave up because the sound was so terrible. For a few moments though, I really could see why Plan B goes on about him. His voice and the things he does with loops and samples are pretty incredible and pretty pretty.

So Friday was alright. It was to be bettered by the days that followed but it showed promise. And that pizza was really good.

[More of this tomorrow, obviously. Oh Sweeping the Nation also has their End of the Road coverage up so read that too, they're brilliant]

Midweek Musings: Pre-EOTR, TVOTR and TNV

2008-09-11T00:13:00.001+01:00

Times New Viking are giving me a headache as I write this. The songs are so good and I do like them but I can only deal with that much noise for a certain length of time. I do respect what they do and all but... have you heard their Daytrotter session? Where you can actually hear the songs without straining so hard? It's all the fun with less of the pain. I'm not saying that's necessarily better or worse, I'm just glad that it's there.

At the very, very opposite end of the production spectrum, the new TV on the Radio album is astonishingly good. The second half in particular is amazing. I'm not going to upload any tracks for fear of being bombed by the RIAA or something but... I will be buying that record on release day and you should to. If you want to sample it before doing so, you can hear it at various places on the internet. Kyp and Tunde have two of the best voices in indie rock and they get some really wonderful vocal melodies to work with on this album (See my current favourite: Shout Me Out). Dave Sitek is still a genius and proves he can do more than glossy fuzz: Family Tree features ghostly pianos and feels like a funeral in Heaven*. Oh and Dancing Choose is... well: "He's a WHAT? He's a WHAT?! He's a newspaper man!". Sold.

As I said last post: No My Week in Lists this weekend because I will be at "End of the Road" festival in Dorset. Which is cool for me, because I get to see maybe my current favourite band ever [The Mountain Goats] and half of my favourite broken-up band ever [Hefner, Darren and Jack Play Hefner are doing their last ever (?) set at the festival] all in a field in southern England. It's going to be worth the seven hour coach journey. It'll also be cool because some of my good friends who I speak to regularly online but rarely get to see in the real world will be there. One of them is Richard who's blog is linked in the sidebar there, the wonderful Thirty Three Forever. If he does a write-up of the festival it'll probably be better than mine.
But failing that: Great big fat review/report post on Monday.

Enjoy your weekend, all. Listen to that TV on the Radio album if you get the chance and if you're a Legal Music Only Type [and I respect that, whatever] then pre-order that thing. I imagine for those of you in the same age bracket as me, this may be your last weekend before leaving for University? It's mine! Do good things. Be good people. Talk to you Monday.

*Oh god I am so sorry that is such a terrible, pretentious meaningless thing to say. BUT IT DOES!

My Week in Lists: Week Ending 7th September

2008-09-07T18:01:00.001+01:00

Top 5 Things I've Enjoyed This Week

Episodes of Student Bodies on YouTube. I (and various friends I've linked to it) have fond memories of this stupid Canadian teen sitcom from my childhood and it turns out it's just as much fun now. Flash (the amoral, mercenary, female photographer) may be the best charchter in any 90s teen sitcom. Also it is a LOT better than Saved by the Bell ever was. [Take that, Saved By The Bell . You are dumb! Student Bodies is dumb sometimes too but not on the same level. Mostly.]
My new Spoon t-shirt from Insound. Took ages to ship (to be fair, I am on the other side of the Atlantic to them) but was totally worth the wait. They sent a really cool little catalogue along with it. And, uh, a Kate Nash poster, for no apparent reason. It has been donated to one of my younger sisters. So that's two amazing Spoon related things I now own - the other being a setlist signed by Rob Pope. I am indiegeek, hear me roar.
Peppermint Smints. SO much better than the normal/blue Smints. I may never go back.
Johnny Foreigner's album Waited Up 'Til It Was Light. It's been a month or so since I last gave the thing a serious listen and it's still one of the very best albums of the year, and not just for this most recent amazing single. I think my current favourite is the sole slow/quiet number [it always is], "DJ's Get Doubts" [I will add an mp3 here within 24 hours, promise]. I will point out that if this is the only JoFo song you've heard: The rest of them are high speed, high energy, electric-guitars-to-the-walls punky indie rock/pop madness. They're amazing, obviously.
The first disc of season one of Flight of the Conchords. Pretty much worth it just for Arj Barker and Eugene Mirman and John Hodgman (no YouTube because all his best stuff has been on The Daily Show and that's all at their site and blah blah blah). I hear Aziz Ansari
turns up later on too! Yay for people employing comedians I like.

So there you go. I'll see y'all for a Midweek Musing about something but I warn you now that there will be no My Week in Lists next Sunday because I will be in a field in Dorset seeing some amazing bands.

What have YOU enjoyed this week, internet?

EPs and Housing Issues

2008-09-02T19:09:00.001+01:00

"I know you're pretty pissed, I hope you still let me kiss you" etc.

Two things of interest happened to me today: 1. I found out where I will be living when I start University in a few weeks and 2. I got the new Stars EP

Two first because it's more fun: I've long been a fan of the EP. There aren't enough of the things. Dear every band, do an EP or two. With EPs you get an equality of songs that doesn't exist in any other format. On most albums people will pay more attention and listen more to the songs near the begining (understandably just because albums take time to listen to and you don't always have it) and any singles taken from it. With EPs though, they're short enough that all songs can be judged on equal merit. Uh, unless any singles are lifted from it which does happen and is silly. I'm all for non-album singles but they should be a standalone thing.

The EP allows for an album like "arc" of songs [slow opener, mid tempo song, more intense song, climax, cool off for example] but without the time consumption, so it requires less effort on the part of the listener. For this reason alone I can't believe EPs aren't more popular. You'd think the mainstream pop kids would be all over such a format. But no, it's left to the left-of-center and the ever-so-slightly-obscure (and of course the Very Very Obscure and everyone in between) to really utilise the form.

Stars, as you should be well aware by this point, are a Canadian indie pop five-piece who formed in Toronto and currently reside in Montreal. After a series of small releases they got Indie Big with Set Yourself On Fire and followed it in 2007 with (my favourite of their albums, though the fans disagree with me) In Our Bedroom After the War.
Why do I love Stars? A few reasons: They're frequently unabashedly romantic and sexual, Torquil Campbell and Amy Milan are both excellent singers and I enjoy bands with multiple lead vocalists, the instrumentation is always interesting ranging from guitar lead pop-rock to lush electronics to a lone piano...

"Listening to Stars feels like being young and in love" is what I expect to say about this band once I'm old enough to say that without it being ridiculous. Actually that's a neat segue: There's a track on their new Sad Robots EP called "14 Forever" which, over a skipping, tapped beat and a piano that grows into a rush of full percussion and keyboards, addresses and acknowledges the joy and ridiculousness of youth. "Ten thousand drunken kids in a field can't be wrong" Torquil declares breathlessly through an old radio. He knows that he is joking and that there is some truth to his joke.

My favourite track here is called "A Thread Cut With A Carving Knife". It follows the floaty, piano-led ambi-pop intro track and starts with a swell of keyboards before an insistent little beat sneaks in, soon joined by live drums and Torquil describing a series of incidents over a few days at the height of Summer whilst keyboard lines descend in the background. The explosive chorus of "Til the next day!" has Amy joining in and a big fuzzy wall of noise backing them up. It sounds like taking a deep breath of cold air on the top of a hill as the sun rises. It sounds like being alone and perfectly peaceful in a large, noisy crowd. It feels good.

The six track set ends with "Sad Robot" itself which sees Amy singing softly in French over an acoustic guitar [up close] and cold, synthetic ambient noises [far away]. It's lovely, more than anything else, and very touching even though I don't understand a word she's saying. [Update: My mutli-talented friend Sophie has translated a few of the lyrics for me, it's sad, pretty stuff but I think it works just as well if you don't understand it. Amy's voice does a lot of the work for you.]

Which is Stars all over: Not always precise, but always effective and always affecting

Meanwhile in the real world: I'd been panicking about my University accomodation because other people I know who are going to Birmingham had been told and I had not. Today, I finally recieved an offer. It's not where I wanted to be but it does seem alright and (Drumroll!) I have my own toilet. That puts me in a relatively small percentage of the world's population, you know. Even a relatively small percentage of University students it seems. I will make sure to never take this for granted.
Anyway, I move in on Sunday the 21st. I now have a definite date to countdown to. Countdown seems the apropriate term, too: Leaving home to live alone for the first time is a lot like leaving Earth for planets and places unknown. I think there may even be a Simon Armitage poem that uses the same analogy?

Probably. I steal everything I write [today's post subtitle is a Hold Steady reference in case the top line didn't tip you off]

See you at the weekend, Internet.

My Week in Lists: Week Ending 31st August 2008

2008-08-31T16:44:00.000+01:00

Top 5 Things I Discovered This Week

That "Double Whiskey, Coke, No Ice" might be my favourite phrase in the entire of the English language.
Paul Southworth's Ugly Hill, which is a bit milder than I normally take my webcomics but good fun. Lovely art too.
The music of Burial. It's pretty good! [I know, I'm so 2005]
The White Russian. Tasty! [Discovered here meaning actually tried, I was of course familiar with the concept of the White Russian having seen The Big Lebowski a few times]
Cop Out Joke Ending: THAT IT IS HARD TO COME UP WITH FIVE THINGS A WEEK. However, I have discovered this weekend that peppermint flavour Smints are DELICIOUS.

I'm sorry, internet, I'll try harder in future. I will write SOMETHING in the week this week. You've been warned.

My Week In Lists: Week Ending 24th August 08

2008-08-24T22:32:00.001+01:00

Top 5 Things I've Done Way Too Much This Week
1. Played N. At one point I was stuck on a very short level for over an hour. That hour was 2am.

2. Listened to Intimacy by Bloc Party , the new album they rush-released [Can we stop calling it "doing a Radiohead" and start calling it that? And then if Rush ever do it, it'll be hilarious. Almost as hilarious as Rush recording new material! Hey-ooooooh] on Thursday morning. Espescially listened to Ion Square too many times. More on this in the week perhaps.

3. Watched How I Met Your Mother. Illegally, on the internets. I'm getting through Season 3 as quickly as I can. It may be my very favourite trad-sitcom ever? [Note: I've never seen Seinfeld. Yes, I know, I WILL]

4. Overthinking my reaction to Hellboy 2. It's really good but it's all kinda Big and my favourite Hellboy stories have always been smaller in scope but it's really fun and funny and [spoilarz] the bit where Hellboy and Abe get drunk is brilliant. And I love Selma Blair. In a non-creepy way.

5. Fretted about starting a blog. It'll be fiiiiiiine.