Monthly Archive for June, 2006

some things you lose, some things you give away;

Published on June 28, 2006 in a little more personal and music. 12 Comments Tags: .

Bands break your heart worse than boys do. It’s a line that strikes a chord, which makes me think I’ve written it before. The thing is I’ve been fairly lucky and it’s not that often I’ve had to experience the breaking up of a band I love first-hand. Hole, one of the first bands I really cared about properly, were on their final album before I even got there. R.E.M. were perhaps the only other band I had that childhood affection for and they’re still going strong, much as I sometimes love to pretend the last ten years never happened. Other bands have come and gone and I’ve appreciated them for what they were, enjoyed their songs at the time and moved on.

A spectacular implosion would really have been in keeping with the ethos of the Libertines, who I have a sneaking suspicion I wrote the line above for. I doubt I will ever forgive Pete Doherty for the way that band hurt me, and I suppose there’s no shame in admitting there were a couple of times I cried, and probably several hundred times I tried to convince myself that the articles I was reading were false or exaggerated. When the end came though, it was a pathetic drawn-out process and by that stage I was past caring.

That’s why it’s something of a novel experience to read that Sleater-Kinney, the Girls Most Likely To lay claim to the title of My Most Favourite Band, split yesterday in the most quiet, dignified of ways and with what many people would argue is the world at their feet. They’ve been going strong for eleven years, and six albums, and in that time have established and maintained their position not only as the greatest girl band the world has ever seen but as one of our greatest contemporary rock bands. They were true pioneers – not for them “riot grrl” or any of those other condescending labels thrown out by the male-dominated music press. They garnered a respect and a longevity that many of their peers could only have dreamed about. Last year’s The Woods kicked the rawk back into an industry saturated with fucking James Blunts and Sandi Thoms and seemed to herald an exciting new direction for the band. Sadly it was not to be, and they will be missed.

I had to spend today in an office with people who – gawd bless ‘em – just don’t get it; who have never experienced that intense love for a band who have soundtracked and shaped your life and grown into almost an extension of yourself. I’ve been getting messages all day from the people who do though, so thanks for that :)

It’s weird to think that this was only a month ago, but perhaps on of the greatest nights of my life was the best way possible to end this chapter of my life. What now? Well, as I said to Jason over lunch – there’s always boy bands. They break up to mass hysteria all the time, and there’s always a new one along in ten minutes. There’ll never be another Sleater-Kinney though.

[mp3s hosted on pixlet, right-click-save-target-as pls]
Sleater-Kinney – I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone
Sleater-Kinney – Little Babies
Sleater-Kinney – You’re No Rock ‘n’ Roll Fun
Sleater-Kinney – Oh!
Sleater-Kinney – Modern Girl

listen to the girl as she takes on half the world;

Published on June 24, 2006 in a little more personal, film and work & writing. 3 Comments Tags: , , , , , , .

Glasgow’s rebirth as a commercial city has been so dramatic that sometimes it’s easy to forget that, not so far from my own lifetime, its docks and shipyards made it one of the industrial capitals of Europe. The bezzer would, I’m sure, scoff at my city’s attempts at gleaming neon and chrome, but I’ve been in offices this week that have impressed with their shiny newness. The cracks in the facade start to appear the further you get from the city centre – even the further you head up the box-etching of perpendicular streets that in New York would be labelled by letters and numbers for simplicity that make up its heart. Yesterday I was meeting with an IT firm and potential advertiser in what appeared to be a converted apartment building, one of those ones with stone staircases and high ceilings, and I had to pause in the foyer to allow myself to adjust before putting on my business head.

As of yesterday I have become the editor of a self-funded professional magazine, and even for somebody whose self-confidence is as lacking as mine I can’t deny the shiny little assurance that I am actually good at my job!! Even the aspect of it that I had no experience in when I started, and was convinced I was going to completely suck at!! I know what I want now, and talk a good game, and to be honest I think it’s better for me that the type of writing I enjoy the most – the music reviews, the blogging, maybe one day gawdforbid that bloody novel – stays on the sidelines. It means that I can enjoy and appreciate it more rather than if I was doing it for a living, even if we’re now at that stage where my quarterly production cycle precludes me finding the time, and I’m rather looking forward to building a proper career out of this. One where my credit card actually gets paid off over time.

Yeah, I should warn you – I’ll be a gibbering wreck until the latter half of July now. Next week I’ll be writing, the following I’ll be chasing advertisers who will doubtless all pull out at the last minute again leaving me hanging by the office windows screaming I’M GOING TO JUMP!! I’M GOING TO JUMP!! while my colleagues talk me down with promises of cake and fast food, and then I’ll be proofing to death and coming up with front covers that I’ll end up hating before the finished product is delivered to me and I attempt to locate that one typo that slipped through the net so I can laugh it off when somebody else does while inwardly seething. But I wouldn’t have it any other way, and there are plenty of lovely things – graduations and invasions and weddings and festivals – happening in between times.

Sometimes I really love my job, as opposed to sketching out its remit on paper and reminding myself that I really should love my job. I love skipping off to meetings in that look of mine that I’ve dubbed suit-goes-indie (I reserve actual suit for special occasions, like awards lunches at the Hilton – there’s dressing appropriately for your job and the company you keep, and there’s losing your identity entirely and I think I can safely say there’s no danger of the latter – and I love that people can look at me however they like; this is still my product and it’s still a bloody brilliant one.

What else have I been up to (other than a typical lazy Saturday morning and missing your soft voice on the phone)? Well, the greatest thing to happen to me this week is discovering this site to manage my blog subscriptions (down with LJ!!) thanks to my favourite Yorkshireman (by birth). Life isn’t so exciting these days – I’m so tired that when I heard the bands weren’t going to be on until ten o’clock on Thursday night I wandered off home instead. David and I went to see Thank You For Smoking which is clever and hilarious and thoroughly recommended. Even if the characters felt as though they had to keep reminding us of Katie Holmes’ “magnificent breasts”, something I couldn’t see myself. Perhaps that was on purpose in a film that dealt with spin and suggestion, I dunno. Also – Rob Lowe’s skin!! The man doesn’t even have a crease on his face!! It’s positively freaky… I have a new phone, which I can’t get to sync with my PC and so am having trouble installing a decent wallpaper or ringtone for, but it’s certainly an improvement over the last one in that it, er, works. Today I’m picking up new glasses before heading out to deepest darkest Lanarkshire to see how much leftover birthday party gin Bob and I can get through (and it will be about 5 o’clock I get there at this rate m’dear). And I think that’s about it! Other than to wish Lola and Kaite good luck on their return to the City, and my sister even better luck for her audition tomorrow. Like I said kitten, if you don’t get it it’s not because you’re not fantastic. So there.

PS Jo – I just found that Christmas card you gave me for Rob… er… at least she’s getting it eventually?? My bad… xx

“i feel like a refugee from a douglas coupland novel”;

Published on June 20, 2006 in books & literature and the media. 9 Comments Tags: , , , , , , , , .

This is fantastic – Q magazine create a fictitious band, make them a Myspace and the next thing you know Alan McGee’s signed them up for Death Disco.

Hype over product. How very post-modern. Much like Douglas Coupland’s latest novel: jPod. At one point in the book the narrator, Ethan, muses that people in 2020 might feel nostalgic for the days when it was still possible to feel clueless – before you could plug anything you didn’t know into Google and have it make sense in seconds. I’m one of these unbearable people who can’t stand to not know things be it gossip, computing terminology or a renegade song title. My friends are constantly having to detail the most tedious things, and I have a mammoth phone bill due to my tendency to Google mid-conversation (not so much now that my phone is bust, but generally). In fact, let’s see what I’ve been Googling of late on my work PC:

- barkers advertising agency glasgow
- answeringbell.com hockey
- doctor who regeneration female
- tibetan buddhism superman
- x factor auditions
- tehinterwebs.com
- *my name*
- *a friend’s name real name

I’m willing to bet there’s somebody reading this who can tell me the conversational context in which I Googled every one of those (except maybe the top one, which is fairly obviously a work thing).

Do my vast knowledge banks of forgettable trivia – easily re-Googled if the need arises – make me feel any less clueless? Do they hell. I think I’m “emotionally clueless”, for want of a better term, which isn’t something that tends to occur to your typical Douglas Coupland character. The “Mircrosefs” and the “jPodders” aren’t known for their emotional depth – they’re caricatures, comprised of pop culture references and techno geekery and lists and in-jokes. Their relationships are perfunctory, consisting of little more than two people in an out-geeking verbal combat to the depth.

Which is in no way a criticism of this book, which was a fantastic read I devoured in an afternoon. Much as I loved the more introspective, almost spiritual tone of Hey, Nostradamus! and Eleanor Rigby it’s the random Coupland that I love, and where I see reflections of many of my own conversations. Bookish types might sneer at it and say it’s an empty book – I don’t care. It’s like a literary cheeseburger. And we all know how much I love cheeseburgers.

[Incidentally, if you perhaps read that cheeseburger line on a book review card in a certain bookshop in Solihull I would like it known that it is in fact mine, and the self-styled Last Action Bookseller is nothing but a dirty rotten thief and I will be punishing him severely, possibly by forcing him to ingest the alcoholic beverage commonly known as gin until he collapses.]

Sticking with the geek theme – and using “geek” in its “obsessive” meaning – HOW GOOD WAS THIS WEEKEND’S DOCTOR WHO??? It was a quirky, silly story that just felt like a big present for the fans while still being accessible to the casual viewer – reminiscent of some fantastic episodes The X-Files threw out in later years. Plus two of the band of reprobates who carried the episode seemed to be based on myself and Jay, so what was not to love?

I concede that the purists must be up in arms about a story told from anything other than the Doctor’s PoV, and the comedy element wouldn’t have helped, and it certainly wasn’t to everybody’s tastes. Take this commentary from my email this morning (spoilers! sorta…):

If I wanted to watch a British drama about some guy who meets some people who become friends, form a band, get eaten by an intergalactic version of Peter Kay (Gawd! Can you imagine there being more than one Peter Kay? Gaaahhhh!) and then proceeds to have a relationship with a piece of slab I would watch Eastenders or something. Casualty at a stretch maybe.

But it gets better…

I suppose it was good in that we didn’t have to hear another one of Ten’s pretentious monologues. “I am the Doctor therefore I must display my otherwordly intelligence by espousing a bunch of crap and explaining the plot to the audience because thats what time-travelling aliens with a penchant for corny/crappy exclamations would do. Brilliant! Amaaazing! You humans are so bloody wonderful! Have I told you humans that you’re great? A chip of the old block as I always used to say. Brilliant! That’s brilliant! You’re brilliant! It’s all so fucking brilliantI’mgonnaripyourgoddamnheadsoffandshitdownyourthroatsbrilliant!

Cheers, Ian ;)

bittersweet me;

Published on June 18, 2006 in a little more personal. 9 Comments Tags: , .


Contrary to popular belief, I do not choose my friends on the basis of them making me look tall.”>

My laptop is screaming for lack of virtual memory (plus I hate being on the interwebs this late) and so I shall make this brief: yesterday as you may have gathered was my annual birthday festival as well as being my mummy’s birthday and it was celebrated with a birthday barbecue at my house which was marvelous, thank-you to everybody who came in particular Gregg for his makeshift marinade skills [chicken soaked in Magners, olive oil and Worcester sauce with a pinch of salt and pepper? Don't knock it until you've tried it...] and Neil for manning the barbecue so masterfully on two hours’ sleep. Oh, and my sister. Just because.

At the risk of sounding pathetic after such a fantastic weekend, 23 was such an ace year and I have no idea how 24 is going to be able to top it. But this was a good start.

Coming this week, in between me putting out a magazine single-handedly (before the whining begins I’ll just tell you all how much I love being kept busy): an essay inspired by jPod – read in under six hours!! – and Why Real Life Is Not Like The Sims. For now though – BED!

NOTE: Thumbnails removed due to loading issues – however, the pictures are the numbered files in this directory. Sorry!

who left the lights off, baby;

Published on June 13, 2006 in campaigns & charities, music and the media. Closed Tags: , , , , , , , , , .

I may have missed them live about five times now, but I do love the Guillemots. I could love you baby ’til the cows come home//and what’s that noise, it’s the cows knocking on our door… Brilliance, so it is. Loads of Guillemots goodies up for grabs at m3 online just now – hosting troubles have forced them on hiatus, so even if you’re not interested you should drop by and wish them all the best.

Hey, I feel a rant coming on: I get the impression that the trouble stems from some sample tracks from Thom Yorke’s forthcoming solo album The Eraser that were posted on the blog. Obviously the whole album’s on a file-sharing programme near you, if you’re into that sort of thing. Personally, I’m not – I’ve never used a peer to peer programme and nor will I in the future, which is not to say that I am a complete angel who has never naughtily downloaded an album from LiveJournal filesharing communities and the like. I’m a huge music fan – if you know me at all, you’ll know that much – but I don’t have a lot of money. I buy as much music as I can afford to, get out to gigs and try to limit myself to downloading samples of stuff I’m interested in, before going out and buying the album. And if I like it, I’ll tell you guys about it in the hope that you’ll do the same. Of course musicians need to eat – I want my favourites to be able to keep making records rather than being forced to work crappy office jobs because their so-called fans preferred to scam their stuff off LimeWire. Occasionally something that I’m incredibly excited about will leak and yes, of course I’ll download it given the opportunity. That, however, is because I am a FAN, and doesn’t mean I won’t be buying the CD as soon as it is in the shops.

The RIAA and BMA seem to have their priorities completely wrong. Rather than targetting the people who couldn’t care less about musicians – the people selling pirated CDs down the Barras or ripping off whole albums just because they can – we see case after case of genuine music fans being indicted, or music bloggers persecuted for doing what they do best. You can’t buy the sort of PR that comes with an articulate and genuinely interested Eraser review like Everett’s. God knows the major labels have tried – I could name and shame a couple of bands who have shamelessly tried to manipulate the kidz on Myspace into generating some faux-hype with promises of stickers and promo CDs *coughsecretmachinescough* – clearly they’re not so arrogant as to not be able to recognise that they wouldn’t get anywhere without us, but it seems as if it has to be on their terms. Music is too important, and too personal, to be a commodity you can buy or sell like sportswear or fizzy drinks. I understand that it has to be to a certain extent, but it shouldn’t.

Oh, and yes, I DO have a track from the album on my iPod. I haven’t listened to it, I have no particular desire to. My apathy for everything Radiohead-related post-OK Computer is legend. But it’s staying there in principle.

I’ll finish with this comment from the “offending” post itself:

This whole thing goes to show that Radiohead fans are joyless bastards. If the album were good, people would buy it. But, it’s boring as hell. Sounds like it should have come out on Warp about 6 or 7 years ago. Whatever.

You know, it would help as well if Virgin and HMV didn’t stick a huge markup on everything I’d want to buy. If I had no taste this wouldn’t even be an issue. As it was, Don’t You Know Who I Think I Was cost me most of my birthday vouchers from the work, and I had to suffer that ear-bleedingingly awful Ronan Keating cover of “Iris” in the process.

(Aside from name-checking Ryan Adams and Wilco by the way, the liner notes are guff and a disgrace to the band and should actually have read a little something like this.)

Hey, anybody fancy taking out an ad in the next issue of the mag? (Apart from Married Andy?) I’m £25 off my target and it’s DOING MY HEAD IN.

i’m in love with that song;

Published on June 12, 2006 in a little more personal, aff the telly and mmm... food. 6 Comments Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , .

I dont believe that. I bet you’re good. Like the BBC will want you as their new chat show host, but you’ll be “only if I can wear my wings”, and they’ll say “okay”, then you’ll say “only if you give me free gin” and they’ll say “okay” and then you’ll say and I want Ryan Adams as the guest EVERY week, and they’ll give you the number of BidupTV.

- JAY

The Neil-bear says that the voicemail message on my new phone sounds really gay. I really hate listening to recordings of my voice – it sounds much more melodic from inside my head than the nasal whine I’m having to type up from last week’s interviews. it doesn’t help matters anyway that I happen to think I’m not a very good interviewer. There are more “um”s and “er”s in my questions than in my victims’ answers! I’m not much of a talker at all really, although that twenty quid phonecall to one of the few people I know who’s worth a twenty quid phonecall the other night might attest otherwise. My strength really lies in getting the other person to talk about themself, and in picking up insights from and steering the conversation along from that rather than going in with a list of questions, although that’s a course of action that can go horribly wrong if the person being interviewed isn’t much of a talker either. I’m supposed to be interviewing Ben Gibbard in a couple of weeks (FI THE PR WUMMIN JUST CALLED ME IT’S ALL HAPPENING AAAAAARRGH) and I can just see myself breaking down and spluttering, “So have you ever considered paralegal training?”

The sun has come out again, and there goes my work ethic. I swear, my birthday weekend has been so full of fun and sunshine that the only thing that got me out to work this morning was the rain (well, that and a certain person’s 6:45am textage). It put a full-stop on everything I guess, and so I didn’t feel like I should be doing something more fun than heading for a crowded commuter train. Although I suppose it’s more like a semi-colon really, since I’m the sort of greedy beggar who’s having two birthday weekends.

I’m stuck in knee-high boots in the sunshine now. Wah.

Friday night was lovely; rather than a big drunken night out I had a couple of pitchers of raspberry-heavy cocktail with most of my absolute best friends (up here at least, stop pouting you two) with free nachos and football in the background, before heading home at a fairly civilised hour for pretty presents from the Cha. I ordered some new glasses on Saturday – and was a little taken aback at just how much it costs for lenses thinner than the end of a milk bottle when you’re this blin’. It was actually a relatively painless experience – choosing something you know you’re going to have to wear nearly every day can be quite pressurised – thanks to an awesome optical assistant by the name of Emad (emphasis on the mad) with a decent line in flattery and enough lines about face shapes and whatever to sound as if he knew what he was talking about. I’ll be picking up an olive-green half-frame and some funky purple ones in a couple of weeks, and if they look silly you’ll know who to blame.

Later on there was a sandwich in the park, a singing Big Issue seller, ice cream, barbecue, presents and the lamest Doctor Who two-parter of all time: it had it all, from employing every sci-fi get-out cliche in existence to a great big cheesy CGI demon (“he did look a bit like a goat,” even Jo, who liked the episodes, was forced to admit) via enough shippiness to make all the kidz squee. Except where the Ten-h8rs like myself are concerned. So, um, there. OMG BRING BACK TEH DALEKS PLZ.

And don’t get me started on Casualty, and the new “hunky” paramedic who’s good with dogs and children AKA Farmfoods-brand Luke. I might have to start actually getting a life on a Saturday night if this goes on much longer.

Sunday would have been a bust were it not for the sterling efforts of wee Sherbet, one of my best mates from uni who I haven’t actually seen in like two years or something. After going into a sulk and declaring I wasn’t going to bother with the West End Festival, and changing my mind so many times that the Neil-bear was ready for kicking my head in, we headed up there in the end and had a couple of beers (YES BEERS. ME. okayitwasjusttheonebutstill) in the sun. I spent much of the evening wandering around with a small puppy dog (not a real one) with a Scuffers badge on tucked in my cleavage, and you could practically smell cooking flesh off me by the time I got in the house.

Oh, the Neil-bear ordered me to post this:


If you look closely you might just about be able to spot the secret message I am communicating to Rick.

Can I just say that, supportive as I am of all my writer friends’ efforts, your new blogs and projects are making me incredibly envious? I guess when you find yourself writing all day it’s the last thing you want to do when you get home. All those blogathons you’re volunteering me for will probably do me the world of good. And I suppose, as November’s a prep month for me, it might even suit me this year.

“you are now a global television phenomenon. well done.”

Published on June 9, 2006 in a little more personal and music. 21 Comments Tags: , .

Another year older, another year wiser, another year I go to check my reflection and realise I have chocolate on my face.

You know you’re getting old when nobody stays up to send you midnight texts anymore. Although, even if people had done, James’ sterling 00:00:02 effort would probably have kicked all their asses.

Highlights of today so far have included:
- A sleepy phonecall to the twin in Oz – she was just getting up, I was just going to bed. Eye heart timezones;
- Chacha on the phone this morning: “I don’t want to hear it, just pretend I said it first, okay?”;
- A wee birthday kiss off Wallace at the DX, haha;
- A completely unexpected birthday mix CD from Eddie, who works for one of the recruitment companies that advertise in tSPAM. See, I’d told him to make me one but I thought there was no way he actually WOULD!
- Reading about a new German girls-only pr0n mag featuring “no classically beautiful Adonises… just pale, skinny, sometimes hairy, indie boys”. Hee, I kid.
- TOP GEAR WINTER OLYMPICS ON DVD FROM DOM. BEST. PRESENT. EVRRRRRR.

PPS The Scotsman’s Fifty ways to avoid the World Cup are all either so dull, or so gender-stereotypical, that as your lawyer I would advise you all to stop whining and just watch the games.

PPS This is the greatest thing I have read all day:

I’ve not heard that Sandi Thom single all the way through yet, but I’ve seen the TV ad about six billion times, and the short, poxy burst on that is more than enough to convince me that if her sudden rise to stardom WASN’T the end result of a shrewd marketing campaign, the implications are terrifying. Because to believe the official story – that thousands of people voluntarily subjected themselves to this shit online, then recommended it to their friends – is to lose your faith in mankind completely.

come for the art, stay for the pie;

Published on June 8, 2006 in a little more personal, blogging & pixlet and music. 6 Comments Tags: , , , , , , , , .

Happy birthday to you, pixlet [dot] net. My little corner of the internet is now four years old. Domain renewal always takes me by surprise, and I was prepared to rant and rave about it until my hosting company pointed out to me that the email address they had on file for me was… about four years old. So apologies for that little disruption in service yesterday. You can guarantee that whenever there’s a problem with your website, you’re a million miles from internet access and unable to sort it.

See yesterday I was off being a proper grown-up; something which appears to consist of eating M&S sushi in your best suit on the train on company time. In the morning I’d been at a seminar on – actually I’m not going to tell you because it would bore you to tears, but it was very useful regardless. I have to confess to having three chocolate biscuits with my coffee but to be fair I wasn’t staying for the buffet lunch.

I’m feeling pretty run-down this week hence my quietness; it’s like with the big 2-4 fast approaching every cell in my body is aging and breaking down. Yeah, whatever. I’ve had the same headache for a week now. It’s not nice.

Elsewhere in my glamorous and exciting life: there was family stuff and a taste of the Swindon nightlife at the weekend, plus a succession of increasingly blurry cameraphone pictures of my brother smoking in as many public places as he had cigarettes.

I spent 060606 on the 13th floor of the Met checking out Ian’s college exhibition – he’d done some pretty awesome Jesus-themed artwork (my favourite of which was a sketch of Jesus hanging on the cross surrounded by a crowd with their camera phones) as well as these guys:

I’m not really an art appreciator as such, so the only other exhibits I really liked were the photography and product design classes. Besides, they had a better class of free food. Cheese and salsa!

Ian’s doing really well though, and I’m proud of him.

Last night Fi and I went to see former Fame Academy star Ainslie Henderson back where he belongs – in front of an appreciative audience – at the Cabaret Voltaire. While Ainslie was always able to pull off the prettyboy popstar-gone-indie look no bother, you always got the impression that it wasn’t really his scene. It’s a shame, therefore, that his homecoming audience were a little more Dorothy Perkins than TopShop. Still, the new material sounds great (if a little more my scene than Fi’s, particularly the more acoustic numbers) and I can’t wait for the album. What a voice!

If you haven’t got me a birthday present yet here are some things I would like:

- MY CREDIT CARDS PAID OFF FOR ME;
- a monkey;
- season one of the “new” Doctor Who on DVD;
- some summery dresses that aren’t too fancy I can wear to work;
- a pair of cute yet extremely comfortable (ie no need for complicated footcare regimes involving plasters) sandals for everyday wear;
- Urban Decay lip gunk in SWF (my last one ran out);
- Urban Decay cherry lemonade body powder;
- Benefit face powder in Dandelion;
- Benefit Non-Fiction foundation vol. 1;
- Walk The Line or The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy on DVD (special editions plz);
- the new Douglas Coupland and Neil Gaiman books;
- a tiara;
- a record player;
- long plastic beads, preferably black (I broke mine);
- a standalone hard drive;
- an anti-virus programme (mine has expired and I can’t afford to renew it);
- a thick belt with polka dots on it;
- the Camera Obscura album (oh wait, I’m getting it for free – ha ha!)

Until tomorrow then. Never mind the World Cup countdown in the papers – it’s LIS AND LYNS DAY!!!

PS If you’re out and about in Glasgow on Sunday afternoon, my favourite country band that haven’t split up due to the singer pursuing a solo career are headlining the Russell Stage at the West End Festival and I have it on very good authority that it will be ace.

PPS With impeccable timing, I’m going to be uncontactable tomorrow night after work as my phone number will be – finally – transferring over. If anybody fancies buying me a birthday raspberry mojito, I’ll try to get in touch in the morning and let you know if thaar be plans.

we’re not here because we want to be entertained;

Published on June 2, 2006 in a little more personal, aff the telly and music. 6 Comments Tags: , , , , , , , , .

Sleater-Kinney? Are they not estate agents? You’ll be disappointed if you show up and they try to sell you a flat.

I reckon I should take every Thursday off from here on in; I came into mammoth amounts of work today – but that’s a good thing. “I seriously think you’re going to end up like one of THOSE important people who get invited to industry conferences to PRESIDE over them. While maintaining your journalistic intergrity of course,” says the bezzer. But that’s why I love her more than I love you.

It’s a sunny day in Glasgow and apparently there isn’t a hotel room left in the city because Bon Jovi are playing. Life is good. Well, apart from the migraine. And the birthday party dress arrived – I know this because when I was waiting on a train to David’s yesterday I got a picture message, and it was the Cha and she was wearing it.

Oh, and I’m halfway decent at Guitar Hero. Well, until I start attempting to play Queen.

There’s rarely a point in attempting to review one of your favourite bands. I’m sure you’ve noticed it before – I begin, safely under my impartial reviewer hat before descending into a clutter of omgSQUEEs. It is for this reason that there’s probably little I can say, musically, about seeing Sleater-Kinney on Wednesday night. I can’t even tell you much about the support band, Flying Matchstick Men. I think they were good. I think I tried to dance. But to be honest, my legs were still shaking and I was still too busy trembling from this:

Yes, folks – that is indeed Corin Tucker.

I suppose I may as well be honest with you here. Far from the unflappable picture of indie cool I like to present myself as (oh go on, laugh), I am really the sort of giggling dork who will hover in wait outside of the ladies’ loos after seeing her musical hero disappear therein, and who will then get said musical hero to sign her ticket in eyeliner because she couldn’t find a pen.

The performance itself was amazing. Last year’s The Woods album (THE album of 2005) was a winding punch to the stomach, and album that couldn’t have screamed RAWK any louder if it tried and the main set showcased that perfectly. It was the encore that slayed me though. THEY PLAYED TURN IT ON.


As if my night wasn’t ace enough, I also got to meet Sharon – the first friend I made after I quit LiveJournal. And she’s absolutely lovely, even if she wasn’t too impressed by my serenading her with Robbie Williams in the taxi.

And Jackie? You – me – T in the Park. IF NOT BEFORE.

Public service announcement: The Friday Thing goes free from this week. So you should all go and sign up and save me a heck of a lot of email forwarding because it is nine million times more ace than the rest of that crap you get in your inbox on a Friday *cough* popbitch *cough*.

I have, incidentally, just purchased one of these for when the inevitable backlash begins.*

Tonight – Jeremy Clarkson is guest presenter on Have I Got News For You. It’s like televisual crack, so it is. No Doctor Who spoilers please, I’ll be spending my weekend in Wiltshire. TTYL, dudes.

*Aye, my absolute favourite webcomic is celebrating 1,500 issues by offering fifteen classic t-shirts for $15. Even with international shipping charges, that’s not very much at all. Hurrah!