The best song ever is Keep Right On Till The End Of The Road. And it has been the best song ever since 4:45 this afternoon.
Will resume normal posting pattern on Monday.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Right, now that nonsense is out of the way (may contain nuts)
No, it's not Please Sir. Or To Sir With Love. Or Don't Stand So Close To Me. Er, running out of teacher related music (thankfully). No, this one is strictly sentimental I'm afraid.
Look, I like the Beatles. And yes, I am aware that each Beatles has a solo output this is, at best, patchy. Expect Maybe I'm Amazed to be the best song ever at song point. and Tug of War. I really liked All Things Must Pass and have kept my vinal copy in quite decent condition. kept the poster, hope to get some money for it one day. And of course I'm sure Ringo did one or two ok things as well.
And then there's John. And, of course, Yoko. And Imagine which is the biggest pile of non-Simon Cowell related shit ever released.
Fact.
And yes, I know he was pretty good at times too.
But the Rock 'n' Roll album? Yeah man, roots, get back to where you once belong (or was that Paul's song) but for fuck's sake admit that you forgot how to right songs and you thought you'd do some covers to keep yourself in Rolls Royces and mansion (no possessions my arse).
But Double Fantasy is important to me because it is a record I associate with my nan. And in old tradition, as one enters the family so another one seeks to leave it. As we have got Ben and consider ourselves blessed, so too are we coming to terms that nan may be about to depart. Well, twenty six years ago she bought a copy of Double Fantasy and I remember listening to some of it as a youngster. The song that is the current best song ever is the one that still sometimes does it for, especially as it reminds me of I'm Only Sleeping, which is a good thing.
So, sleep well tonight. I'll see you in the morning to continue this very strange week for our family. But for now, the best song ever for the next fifteen minutes is:
Watching the Wheels by John Lennon.
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Look, I like the Beatles. And yes, I am aware that each Beatles has a solo output this is, at best, patchy. Expect Maybe I'm Amazed to be the best song ever at song point. and Tug of War. I really liked All Things Must Pass and have kept my vinal copy in quite decent condition. kept the poster, hope to get some money for it one day. And of course I'm sure Ringo did one or two ok things as well.
And then there's John. And, of course, Yoko. And Imagine which is the biggest pile of non-Simon Cowell related shit ever released.
Fact.
And yes, I know he was pretty good at times too.
But the Rock 'n' Roll album? Yeah man, roots, get back to where you once belong (or was that Paul's song) but for fuck's sake admit that you forgot how to right songs and you thought you'd do some covers to keep yourself in Rolls Royces and mansion (no possessions my arse).
But Double Fantasy is important to me because it is a record I associate with my nan. And in old tradition, as one enters the family so another one seeks to leave it. As we have got Ben and consider ourselves blessed, so too are we coming to terms that nan may be about to depart. Well, twenty six years ago she bought a copy of Double Fantasy and I remember listening to some of it as a youngster. The song that is the current best song ever is the one that still sometimes does it for, especially as it reminds me of I'm Only Sleeping, which is a good thing.
So, sleep well tonight. I'll see you in the morning to continue this very strange week for our family. But for now, the best song ever for the next fifteen minutes is:
Watching the Wheels by John Lennon.
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Tread carefully
Er, this wont make any sense. This is both the best and the worst sound. Went back into work to organise my return having been off sick since Oct 3rd. You can probably sense how awkward I felt, nervous perhaps. but it turned out that everyone was lovely and welcoming and wanting to know how I was.
And although it's not a song, it is only a sound, it is a sound that will once more rule my working day. I now feel better about hearing it although the first time today it made me jump. So, yes, earlier today the best and the worst sound ever, I give you the school bell.
And although it's not a song, it is only a sound, it is a sound that will once more rule my working day. I now feel better about hearing it although the first time today it made me jump. So, yes, earlier today the best and the worst sound ever, I give you the school bell.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Faster than a speeding bullet
At 5604 beats per minute I give you Saint Etienne.
When I was a kid pop music did two things. It gave you something to talk about with friends and it stimulated those first flushes of sexual desire. For a lot of boys in their teenage years the sex thing is replaced by this pathethic attempt to appear culturally valid and so the guitars and moody singers dressed in black become all important. But even that is about a shared identity, about fitting in, they just don't realise it at the time.
Eventually we all hit the adult music and the second flushes of musical sexual desire.
For pretty much every boy of my age is was Debbie Harry first of all. Some then branched of into Madonna others into the Smiths. Many branched off into the Smiths whilst secretly hoping that no one would twig their Madonna fixation (see what I did there? Branch, twig? Oh, come on)
And yes, eventually everyone seemed to get the Kylie thing for their second flush although there seem to be a lot more nubile, scantily clad young female singers around these days. Remember the time when the height of sexual excitement in music was Buck's Fizz at the Eurovision song contest and two strikingly plain woman revealing something called legs? Excuse me while I wipe the cold sweat away.
But for me, one stood out above the others. And I think you can tell where I'm going with this. Sarah Cracknell.
I loved her when music started going a bit haywire in the early nineties, when the split between grungey pop (face it Nirvana were pop) and dancey pop opened up forever. She sat somewhere in between. You could tell that if she really wanted to then rocking out was a possibility, though she never did. You could tell from her voice that she possessed all the charm anyone ever needed to fall in love with her and the band.
And here I am fifteen years on, still listening, still thinking "if only", still wondering why it took so long to find a decent picture of her and amused to think that the best ones I found all had her alongside Wiggs and Stanley (who are the brains behind the band after all).
Which proves that like all of these fixations, I'm only human. And it's only pop.
And for the next fifteen minutes the best song ever is the forlon fun fuelled frenzy of He's On The Phone by Saint Etienne.
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When I was a kid pop music did two things. It gave you something to talk about with friends and it stimulated those first flushes of sexual desire. For a lot of boys in their teenage years the sex thing is replaced by this pathethic attempt to appear culturally valid and so the guitars and moody singers dressed in black become all important. But even that is about a shared identity, about fitting in, they just don't realise it at the time.
Eventually we all hit the adult music and the second flushes of musical sexual desire.
For pretty much every boy of my age is was Debbie Harry first of all. Some then branched of into Madonna others into the Smiths. Many branched off into the Smiths whilst secretly hoping that no one would twig their Madonna fixation (see what I did there? Branch, twig? Oh, come on)
And yes, eventually everyone seemed to get the Kylie thing for their second flush although there seem to be a lot more nubile, scantily clad young female singers around these days. Remember the time when the height of sexual excitement in music was Buck's Fizz at the Eurovision song contest and two strikingly plain woman revealing something called legs? Excuse me while I wipe the cold sweat away.
But for me, one stood out above the others. And I think you can tell where I'm going with this. Sarah Cracknell.
I loved her when music started going a bit haywire in the early nineties, when the split between grungey pop (face it Nirvana were pop) and dancey pop opened up forever. She sat somewhere in between. You could tell that if she really wanted to then rocking out was a possibility, though she never did. You could tell from her voice that she possessed all the charm anyone ever needed to fall in love with her and the band.
And here I am fifteen years on, still listening, still thinking "if only", still wondering why it took so long to find a decent picture of her and amused to think that the best ones I found all had her alongside Wiggs and Stanley (who are the brains behind the band after all).
Which proves that like all of these fixations, I'm only human. And it's only pop.
And for the next fifteen minutes the best song ever is the forlon fun fuelled frenzy of He's On The Phone by Saint Etienne.
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Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Camp Freddy, everybody in the world is bent
Well, really. Anyway, welcome to today's instalment of musical waffle, piffle and inaccuracy which aims to prove that the best music in the world ever is somehow slightly bent in the Italian Job sense.
I love Teenage Fanclub. No really, I do. But they have to be one of the most maligned bands around. Too many people remember the hair and noise and heavy production of the early days and not enough know about the light, deft poppy touch of everything after the first two and a half albums. If I were to start another blog if would be called Things That Should Be Massive But Are Generally Ignored By The Public. First up would be Teenage Fanclub.
That said, for the next fifteen minutes, the best song ever is Mount Everest which unusually for them has a lead guitar line that wanders behind the harmonies and a tempo that drives the song rather than supports its beauty. Ooooh look at me, trying to get all post with my writing. Bugger that, it's a beauty.
More odd British pop to follow.
I love Teenage Fanclub. No really, I do. But they have to be one of the most maligned bands around. Too many people remember the hair and noise and heavy production of the early days and not enough know about the light, deft poppy touch of everything after the first two and a half albums. If I were to start another blog if would be called Things That Should Be Massive But Are Generally Ignored By The Public. First up would be Teenage Fanclub.
That said, for the next fifteen minutes, the best song ever is Mount Everest which unusually for them has a lead guitar line that wanders behind the harmonies and a tempo that drives the song rather than supports its beauty. Ooooh look at me, trying to get all post with my writing. Bugger that, it's a beauty.
More odd British pop to follow.
What do ya wanna make those eyes at me for?
Ah, pop music, a pedant's paradise. Well, Shaky, where shall we begin. Oh hang on a minute, that sounds like a really bad link into the best song ever. Shaking Stevens to Neil Young. Any eagle eyed sad geeks out there with that kind of knowledge need to be, oh hang, that's me too.
Any way, as I own seven hundred and forty-two of Neil Young's two thousand and twenty-six albums (or is just that the similar sounding acoustic make it feel that way, well done Neil, Harvest VI - Revenge of the Tractors - coming soon) it was inevitable that Neil would find his way on here. Chuck in last night's character assassination (see below) and even an idiot (hello)could see that his back catalogue would be on my mind.
So here it is, whiny Canadian singing about what it's like to be a Native American and how beastly the settlers were by killing us all before randomly wanting to talk to Marlon Brando (have you got any Native American in you? Do you want some?).
Disclaimer - any jokes relating to sex with obese dead American men are purely the result of over-wrought emotion and a lack of sleep.
The thing is that even Neil Young's inability to sing without his voice giving up the ghost and packing its bags can't spoil the beauty of the best song ever (for at least the next fifteen minutes):
Pocahontas from Rust Never Sleeps.
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Any way, as I own seven hundred and forty-two of Neil Young's two thousand and twenty-six albums (or is just that the similar sounding acoustic make it feel that way, well done Neil, Harvest VI - Revenge of the Tractors - coming soon) it was inevitable that Neil would find his way on here. Chuck in last night's character assassination (see below) and even an idiot (hello)could see that his back catalogue would be on my mind.
So here it is, whiny Canadian singing about what it's like to be a Native American and how beastly the settlers were by killing us all before randomly wanting to talk to Marlon Brando (have you got any Native American in you? Do you want some?).
Disclaimer - any jokes relating to sex with obese dead American men are purely the result of over-wrought emotion and a lack of sleep.
The thing is that even Neil Young's inability to sing without his voice giving up the ghost and packing its bags can't spoil the beauty of the best song ever (for at least the next fifteen minutes):
Pocahontas from Rust Never Sleeps.
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Well, did you evah!
I did warn you he would crop up again and again.
Before I finally go to bed I have time to inform you that the song that will stay with me until sleep arrives in another by Julian Cope. Tonight I know that the electrify, chilling, climatic, sensuous, If You Loved Me At All from Peggy Suicide is the greatest song ever. And in the words of, amongst others, whinny Canadian rock hombre, Neil Young, long may you run.
That made no sense.
It mirrors Julian Cope's career perfectly then.
Next Day Edit: For those of you who disagree with my description of Neil Young, I should of course typed whiny, not whinny. I am certain that clears up any disagreements.
Before I finally go to bed I have time to inform you that the song that will stay with me until sleep arrives in another by Julian Cope. Tonight I know that the electrify, chilling, climatic, sensuous, If You Loved Me At All from Peggy Suicide is the greatest song ever. And in the words of, amongst others, whinny Canadian rock hombre, Neil Young, long may you run.
That made no sense.
It mirrors Julian Cope's career perfectly then.
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Next Day Edit: For those of you who disagree with my description of Neil Young, I should of course typed whiny, not whinny. I am certain that clears up any disagreements.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Look at me ma, I'm on top of the world.
And sometimes it's the feel of the song that is all so important. Case in point: currently the best song in the world ever (for the next fifteen minutes) is Bread and Circuses by Billy Bragg and Natalie Merchant. It has nothing to do with the lyrics which look unintelligable (which is not exactly a surprise for anything that our Nat had a hand in) but it has a lot to do with the warmth of her voice which fits around me like the warmest coat. And Billy Bragg's has become familiar to me, an old friend you like despite, because of, its quirks. Put the two of them together and you get one of my favourite b-sides. I haven't listened to it in months and my copy of it is about 12 miles away but right now my head says it's the greatest song ever, therefore it is. Fact.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
It's not the size of the dog in the fight (part one)
They are only songs. The only meaning they have is the meaning you give to them. They mean what you want them to mean, if you want a song to remind you of meeting your partner and that's fine. If you want it to give you hope then it can do that.
I like songs, I like music. I try not to think about the words and attach meaning to them. But today one song has primarily swum around my head. It's not a great song. I'm not even certain that it's a good song. But what with everything that's going on and my two day old nephew still in intensive care in Belfast, REM - I'll Take The Rain is the best song ever, if only for its sentiment that if the this is the best it will get then I'll take that. You know, if two days, three days, a week is what we get then so be it. If we get a member of our family who lives but is weak or ill or disabled then so be it, we'll take that.
I wont quote lyrics often on this site. It gives me comfort to do so now.
I used to think/As birds take wing/They sing through life so why can't we?/You cling to this/You claim the best/If this is what you're offering/I'll take the rain.
I like songs, I like music. I try not to think about the words and attach meaning to them. But today one song has primarily swum around my head. It's not a great song. I'm not even certain that it's a good song. But what with everything that's going on and my two day old nephew still in intensive care in Belfast, REM - I'll Take The Rain is the best song ever, if only for its sentiment that if the this is the best it will get then I'll take that. You know, if two days, three days, a week is what we get then so be it. If we get a member of our family who lives but is weak or ill or disabled then so be it, we'll take that.
I wont quote lyrics often on this site. It gives me comfort to do so now.
I used to think/As birds take wing/They sing through life so why can't we?/You cling to this/You claim the best/If this is what you're offering/I'll take the rain.
Friday, April 14, 2006
When there's nothing you can do, there's nothing you can do
No further news on Ben yet (see last post on Furrowed Brow, link to the right for full details). Apparently he wasn't expected to last past the hour so to be nearly six hours old is a good sign.
At times like this when loved ones are so far away and I'm on my own in the flat, sitting around waiting for calls, not a hope of getting any sleep, there's nothing better than switching on E4 to find that Ghostbusters is on, putting on the subtitles and playing Lyle Lovett's I Love Everybody.
For the sheer bear faced audacity, much needed when all seems lost I would like to nominate the following as the greatest song ever written.
Penguins by Lyle Lovett.
Thank you Lyle. In saying nothing you've said everything for me.
Come on Ben. Keep fighting.
At times like this when loved ones are so far away and I'm on my own in the flat, sitting around waiting for calls, not a hope of getting any sleep, there's nothing better than switching on E4 to find that Ghostbusters is on, putting on the subtitles and playing Lyle Lovett's I Love Everybody.
For the sheer bear faced audacity, much needed when all seems lost I would like to nominate the following as the greatest song ever written.
Penguins by Lyle Lovett.
Thank you Lyle. In saying nothing you've said everything for me.
Come on Ben. Keep fighting.
Guiness Interruptus
So, the guiness thing did happen but only for a couple of hours and now I'm back at the flat waiting for a phone call. Big Bruv lives in Northern Ireland and today his wife went into hospital for an emergency c-section, a month ahead of time. It may be nothing serious, it may simply be a precaution but the distance between him and us has made everyone here jumpy and rushing around to find the quickest way to get there from here. With lines of communication stretched we are in the dark and hoping it's all for the best.
With my recent health problems I may not be going in a hurry and I hate that (sorry for turning this into something about me, it wasn't intentional).
On the way back from meeting friends in Greenwich the ipod did it's best to pound away miserable sounding songs, Such A Shame, The Masterplan, Say Something, The Harder They Come and so on. All of them seemingly inappropriate but then I remembered. They're just songs. They mean as much as a bag of chips or a really nice pen. The songs I write about on here do mean something to me, they make me happy for the period of time they are in my head. And so these songs, the titles and their sentiments wont upset me because that's not what popular culture is all about. Disposable, fluffy, hypodermic needle, positive, uplifting popular culture. I feel better knowing that it's there, bugger the message.
Thinking of you.
With my recent health problems I may not be going in a hurry and I hate that (sorry for turning this into something about me, it wasn't intentional).
On the way back from meeting friends in Greenwich the ipod did it's best to pound away miserable sounding songs, Such A Shame, The Masterplan, Say Something, The Harder They Come and so on. All of them seemingly inappropriate but then I remembered. They're just songs. They mean as much as a bag of chips or a really nice pen. The songs I write about on here do mean something to me, they make me happy for the period of time they are in my head. And so these songs, the titles and their sentiments wont upset me because that's not what popular culture is all about. Disposable, fluffy, hypodermic needle, positive, uplifting popular culture. I feel better knowing that it's there, bugger the message.
Thinking of you.
So, this irony thing like, you know? (Dave Eggers fans look away now)
Well, I'm not sure if this is ironic as the definition seems to be shifting around. I'd ask that bloke Eggers but he's turning into a strange beast, especially if anyone read that awful piece on football published in the observer at the start of the month. And if I want advice on writing a novel I'll avoid asking you because yours if such a major disappointment. I mean, I liked that first book AHBWOSG and the short stories are kind of ok (but not AHBWOSG) but the novel sucks the root my good man. Did you even finish writing it? It feels like an attempt to put all the ideas swirling around inside your head for the last thirty years into 120,000 without bothering to check on whether anyone wants to listen or not.
Face it, the best writing you will ever put on paper happens to be the introductions to MacSweeney's.
But irony. You know about that.
Which leads me to my point (cue thunderous applause or tumbleweed delete as appropriate).
For the next fifteen minutes (although maybe all day, I do have pool to play, guiness to drink and three good Star Wars films to watch) the best song ever really is a belter.
If I Should Fall From The Grace Of God (geddit) by The Pogues
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Face it, the best writing you will ever put on paper happens to be the introductions to MacSweeney's.
But irony. You know about that.
Which leads me to my point (cue thunderous applause or tumbleweed delete as appropriate).
For the next fifteen minutes (although maybe all day, I do have pool to play, guiness to drink and three good Star Wars films to watch) the best song ever really is a belter.
If I Should Fall From The Grace Of God (geddit) by The Pogues
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Quoth Lennon to Neil Innes
Nevermore.
Or did he? Did Neil Innes ever ask Lennon or McCartney for his opinion on the Rutles? Do you think they were annoyed that they hadn't added such sublime songs to their own back catelogue? Or were they happy that a pastiche put them back in the spotlight in the mid-seventies when their solo torches were burning.
It doesn't matter anymore really. Just please respect the song writing genius of Neil Innes. Anyone who can write a song called Cheese and Onion is pretty special. Anyone who can make a song called Cheese and Onion sound like A Day In The Life is a legend.
And so to get you through the night I would like to take this moment to inform those of you who can read to sing along with me.
"I have always thought in the back of my mind, Cheese and Onion."
Because the Rutles have given us the best song ever. Guess what it's called?
That's right. Get Up And Go which sounds more like Get Back than Get Back does.
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Or did he? Did Neil Innes ever ask Lennon or McCartney for his opinion on the Rutles? Do you think they were annoyed that they hadn't added such sublime songs to their own back catelogue? Or were they happy that a pastiche put them back in the spotlight in the mid-seventies when their solo torches were burning.
It doesn't matter anymore really. Just please respect the song writing genius of Neil Innes. Anyone who can write a song called Cheese and Onion is pretty special. Anyone who can make a song called Cheese and Onion sound like A Day In The Life is a legend.
And so to get you through the night I would like to take this moment to inform those of you who can read to sing along with me.
"I have always thought in the back of my mind, Cheese and Onion."
Because the Rutles have given us the best song ever. Guess what it's called?
That's right. Get Up And Go which sounds more like Get Back than Get Back does.
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Thursday, April 13, 2006
Keep it simple stupid
Yup. These posts are getting too long baby. Short, sweet, throwaway. Just like the music. That's the point.
(I'm in danger of going off on one again).
Right, here's my exit strategy. For the next fifteen minutes the best song ever is:
Unbearable by The Wonderstuff.
Find a copy. Have a listen. If you think it might possible be about you then it probably is.
(I'm in danger of going off on one again).
Right, here's my exit strategy. For the next fifteen minutes the best song ever is:
Unbearable by The Wonderstuff.
Find a copy. Have a listen. If you think it might possible be about you then it probably is.
Music to watch Pol Pot by
I love Americans. All of them. Especially those who think that everyone on the left of what is laughingly called a political spectrum will ensure that Mao and Lenin will come storming back from the dead to implement a fifty year plan that involves chains, whips and factories churning out pollution and really stale bread.
So, when I had a look at Amazon.com (not .co.uk) out of simply minded (bored) interest to see how they review London 0 Hull 4 by the Housemartins (see below, below, below I think, maybe too many belows) I was shocked and stunned to find that most of the reviews posted were incredibly positive. Then I remembered that, stupid boy, no one is going to post an average review unless scoring highly on the newly invented anal scale (well, I invented it, just now, I scored seven!). But there was one and it was so funny as to be a pastiche, surely?
Because in a review entitled "Boring Communist Pop" anon wrote "Oh how boring. Some whining brat in a cardigan preaching about the evils of capitalism. Sure, he's got a nice soft, effeminate voice and some catchy tunes, but are you prepared to hear these same tunes as the next Pol Pot kills us for wearing glasses? This is music for sheep."
Well, for the next fifteen minutes boring communist pop is the greatest form of pop ever. In particular I give you the Housemartins and boring communist pop laced with gospel for:
I'll Be Your Shelter (Just Like A Shelter)
I'm having this song played at my funeral. More on that later.
So, when I had a look at Amazon.com (not .co.uk) out of simply minded (bored) interest to see how they review London 0 Hull 4 by the Housemartins (see below, below, below I think, maybe too many belows) I was shocked and stunned to find that most of the reviews posted were incredibly positive. Then I remembered that, stupid boy, no one is going to post an average review unless scoring highly on the newly invented anal scale (well, I invented it, just now, I scored seven!). But there was one and it was so funny as to be a pastiche, surely?
Because in a review entitled "Boring Communist Pop" anon wrote "Oh how boring. Some whining brat in a cardigan preaching about the evils of capitalism. Sure, he's got a nice soft, effeminate voice and some catchy tunes, but are you prepared to hear these same tunes as the next Pol Pot kills us for wearing glasses? This is music for sheep."
Well, for the next fifteen minutes boring communist pop is the greatest form of pop ever. In particular I give you the Housemartins and boring communist pop laced with gospel for:
I'll Be Your Shelter (Just Like A Shelter)
I'm having this song played at my funeral. More on that later.
Wihile Rome fiddles and Nero burns
Or something like that.
Anyway, as Martin Fry once sang on the distincly average thrid ABC album "There's so much panic in the world." And while a couple of people care about whether Iran are going to use nuclear power to create atomic beards and as a couple of people wince about some bad things happening in other places while lots of people get wound up about whether or not they are a lot better off or just a reasonable amount better off since 1997, I have been listening to Japan's premier beat combo.
Oh yes, while the world worries I suggest you crack onto itunes (or download thingy of your choice) and find the Pizzicato Five. If you like pop music, you'll probably roll your eyes in disgust at their sheer bombast. But in particular check out their "Made in the USA" album.
I originally came across this song back in about 1994 when Mark Lamarrrrrrrrr was in charge of GLR's Sunday morning show (It's BBC London now folks and totally bland these days). He kept playing this song each week and each week I trawlled the record shops of south London (never north you evil vile nasty people) until I found the "Five by Five" ep.
Ladies and gentlemen. I urge you to go and find the greastest song ever (at least for the next fifteen minutes).
Twiggy Twiggy / Twiggy vs James Bond by Pizzicato Five
Anyway, as Martin Fry once sang on the distincly average thrid ABC album "There's so much panic in the world." And while a couple of people care about whether Iran are going to use nuclear power to create atomic beards and as a couple of people wince about some bad things happening in other places while lots of people get wound up about whether or not they are a lot better off or just a reasonable amount better off since 1997, I have been listening to Japan's premier beat combo.
Oh yes, while the world worries I suggest you crack onto itunes (or download thingy of your choice) and find the Pizzicato Five. If you like pop music, you'll probably roll your eyes in disgust at their sheer bombast. But in particular check out their "Made in the USA" album.
I originally came across this song back in about 1994 when Mark Lamarrrrrrrrr was in charge of GLR's Sunday morning show (It's BBC London now folks and totally bland these days). He kept playing this song each week and each week I trawlled the record shops of south London (never north you evil vile nasty people) until I found the "Five by Five" ep.
Ladies and gentlemen. I urge you to go and find the greastest song ever (at least for the next fifteen minutes).
Twiggy Twiggy / Twiggy vs James Bond by Pizzicato Five
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Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Damn this new obsession
Most pointlessly underrated band ever (well, ok, maybe not, but they're probably in the top 100) with, I'm sorry to say, a cover.
For the next fifteen minutes the greatest song ever is Our Lips Are Sealed by Fun Boy Three.
(And yes, I'm aware that the image is from a different single/album/whatever but it's not always easy to get exactly what you want a this time of the day when you've had your contact lenses in for 144 hours straight and you're worried about whether or not you should really admit you thought that John Lennon was a bit shit really - especially Imagine you fools!)
For the next fifteen minutes the greatest song ever is Our Lips Are Sealed by Fun Boy Three.
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(And yes, I'm aware that the image is from a different single/album/whatever but it's not always easy to get exactly what you want a this time of the day when you've had your contact lenses in for 144 hours straight and you're worried about whether or not you should really admit you thought that John Lennon was a bit shit really - especially Imagine you fools!)
Really, it's about time I went to bed. Or read a book. Or did anything other than this.
Slight variation on a theme. Found this on another blog (a good one too but forgot to note the bloody address down) put up by someone with the balls to go pop crazy and proper pop too. I thought I'd have a pop (do you see what I did there?) at rustling up a few of my favourite albums and covers. So, for the next fifteen minutes, these are the greatest albums ever.
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With the benefit of hindsight
Previous best songs ever today include:
Girls want to be with the girls - Talking Heads
Stand by me - Oasis (please don't judge me, it wormed its way into my brain by being on the soundtrack of a programme on TV although now I can't remember which one)
Just - Radiohead. If only these boys could get their act together and write more songs like this it would make this self-indulgent blog thing an awful lot easier. All day long I'd write, Radiohead followed by Radiohead. The secret's in the guitars you know. Two lead guitars, two different styles, two different sounds in the one song. Beautiful. Damn your integrity, can't you leave that to Chris Martin? He's got more than enough to make up for the rest of us.
Girls want to be with the girls - Talking Heads
Stand by me - Oasis (please don't judge me, it wormed its way into my brain by being on the soundtrack of a programme on TV although now I can't remember which one)
Just - Radiohead. If only these boys could get their act together and write more songs like this it would make this self-indulgent blog thing an awful lot easier. All day long I'd write, Radiohead followed by Radiohead. The secret's in the guitars you know. Two lead guitars, two different styles, two different sounds in the one song. Beautiful. Damn your integrity, can't you leave that to Chris Martin? He's got more than enough to make up for the rest of us.
And the radio said.
Having taken an extended lunchbreak to watch Star Wars (episode four of course, the one everyone should know as Star Wars unless, like Sky Sports wants them to, they believe that history began in 1992) I started the tidying up of the spare room this afternoon. I put on BBC 6music and began the work. Half way through one of Aretha's Foghorn Leghorn impressions, the power cut. After five minutes of dalliance (ho ho ho) it returned to much relief (I wasn't sure that the door entry system would work with electricity for a start).
And as it returned the radio played what is currently the best song ever.
I give you the much underrated (have I said that before?) Julian Cope, a man who will often appear on here as long as I don't lose interest in the damned thing.
The song: Eve's Volcano.
I thank you.
And as it returned the radio played what is currently the best song ever.
I give you the much underrated (have I said that before?) Julian Cope, a man who will often appear on here as long as I don't lose interest in the damned thing.
The song: Eve's Volcano.
I thank you.
You know the annoying thing is
that any song could take over at any time and go unrecorded on here. I just happened to be checking my emails when suddenly the brass kicks in and Natalie Merchant growls over the top and low and behold one of the worst 10,000 Maniacs songs (and face it, there were loads of poor 10,000 Maniacs songs) transforms into the best song ever.
I give you Candy Everybody Wants (at least I have a rough idea it may be called something approximately close to it, if I wasn't so certain that I'll want to kill it in thirteen and a half minutes I'd try and check).
If I can ever remember what the songs are when I'm not on line I'll post them up but that would go against the grain of the whole disposable nature of the genre.
I give you Candy Everybody Wants (at least I have a rough idea it may be called something approximately close to it, if I wasn't so certain that I'll want to kill it in thirteen and a half minutes I'd try and check).
If I can ever remember what the songs are when I'm not on line I'll post them up but that would go against the grain of the whole disposable nature of the genre.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
It's a bit quick of the mark but
for the next fifteen minutes the greatest song ever is Lazarus by (baited breath) The Boo Radleys.
Damn you bald singers of the world!
Damn you bald singers of the world!
No, still hurting.
Which is why the song floating through the I-spy of my tiny little mind's eye is the little known jelly pop of Edward Ball's Mill Hill Self Hate Club. If you haven't heard it, don't bother because it is as irritatingly catchy as the Boo Radleys' song that was totally unrepresentative of their ouvre (look at all these clever words, aint I smart like). Mind you this now means that pretty soon (in about fifteen minutes perhaps?) expect to see a new post with the self same Boo Radleys pasted up here. God I hate Tuesdays. And George Lucas, I really hate him too. But that's another story (which ironically is something he will struggle with although with his money he probably wont care).
My brain hurts
Which is why it currently thinks that the greatest song ever is the theme tune from The Munsters.
Damn. It's The Wedding Present
And their perky little number Dalliance. It's annoying, Dave Gedge has the kind of voice you want to throw rock at if only to cheer the miserable bastard up, it doesn't really go anywhere it simply gets louder, it contains the flatest, atonal melody in history but for the next fifteen minutes it is the best song ever.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Last one for tonight
Unless I struggle to sleep that is.
It really needs to be something short and snappy but instead my brain is following the mellow theme and reaching back into Talk Talk's The Colour of Spring. So, for the next fifteen minutes, the greatest song ever is:
Happiness is Easy - six minutes plus of trippy mid eighties pop.
It really needs to be something short and snappy but instead my brain is following the mellow theme and reaching back into Talk Talk's The Colour of Spring. So, for the next fifteen minutes, the greatest song ever is:
Happiness is Easy - six minutes plus of trippy mid eighties pop.
Next please
Ok, time's up for the Stone Roses which is a shame because it really is a much underrated song.
Right, this is the way my brain works. I started putting this together while Man Stroke Woman was on BBC2. It stars Nick Frost. Nick Frost was also in Spaced. The end of series two ends with what will be for the next fifteen minutes the greatest ever song.
I give you, The Staunton Lick by Lemon Jelly.
I better not do too many like this or pretty song the greatest song ever will be the theme tune to Newsnight. And no one will be happy about that.
Right, this is the way my brain works. I started putting this together while Man Stroke Woman was on BBC2. It stars Nick Frost. Nick Frost was also in Spaced. The end of series two ends with what will be for the next fifteen minutes the greatest ever song.
I give you, The Staunton Lick by Lemon Jelly.
I better not do too many like this or pretty song the greatest song ever will be the theme tune to Newsnight. And no one will be happy about that.
In case you care
This is a spin-off blog. This is Frazier to my Cheers. My Joni Love Cha Chi (or whatever the git was called) to my Happy Days. I'm sure the point is fairly understandable.
Anyway, I'm testing a pointless opinion on the disposable nature of popular culture. Modern music is fantastic but flexible and fairly forgettable. In salute to Andy Warhol, each song takes its turn at the top of the tree for as long as it sticks in my brain. This is roughly fifteen minutes.
As and when I'm by a computer and such a song radiates my very being I'll put it up here. If anyone reads it and wants to totally rip my choices to pieces, knock yourself out with a telling comment.
Otherwise, move along, there's nothing for you to see here.
Oh, and be aware, because of my restricted cultural experiences (as indeed are most people's) the choice will reflect my white middle classness. Sorry about that. Any choices that stray outside these experiences will inevitably seem awkward or even patronising so I'll try to play it straight, if you see what I mean.
Is the fifteen minutes up yet?
Anyway, I'm testing a pointless opinion on the disposable nature of popular culture. Modern music is fantastic but flexible and fairly forgettable. In salute to Andy Warhol, each song takes its turn at the top of the tree for as long as it sticks in my brain. This is roughly fifteen minutes.
As and when I'm by a computer and such a song radiates my very being I'll put it up here. If anyone reads it and wants to totally rip my choices to pieces, knock yourself out with a telling comment.
Otherwise, move along, there's nothing for you to see here.
Oh, and be aware, because of my restricted cultural experiences (as indeed are most people's) the choice will reflect my white middle classness. Sorry about that. Any choices that stray outside these experiences will inevitably seem awkward or even patronising so I'll try to play it straight, if you see what I mean.
Is the fifteen minutes up yet?
For the next fifteen minutes...
The greatest song ever written is
Ten Storey Love Song by The Stone Roses.
Ten Storey Love Song by The Stone Roses.
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