I have returned from ATP. It was pretty good, not as good as The Fans Strike Back in May (which I never wrote up on), possibly because there was a bit too much drone and I didn't go to bed on the saturday night which led to me being in splashworld at 10am, knackered, confused and wondering if I would make it through to 1230am to see Lightning Bolt in tiny, tiny Reds. I didn't; fell asleep watching Blade Runner in the chalet. So, I did manage to see the following:
Friday
Bardo Pond
Growing
Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks
J. Mascis & The Fog (an entire guitar solo, then I gave up)
Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Jim Sclavunos DJ set (drummer in Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds)
Múm
Fuck Buttons
Edan Dee Jay Set
Saturday
Afrirampo
Dirty Three
Battles
Melvins
Modest Mouse
Sunn O))) (about 3 minutes worth, all one note, the vibrations went through me, so I went next door)
Belle & Sebastian DJs
Justin Spear
Sunday
Josh T. Pearson
Deerhoof
Mudhoney
Explosions in the Sky
The Mars Volta (playing Inertiatic esp; can't stand them so literally saw this in passing)
Some of these clashed with each other plus weird timetabling meant I didn't see The Breeders (exact sane time as Modest Mouse) and some others I missed because I was knackered (Shellac) or watching awesome TV (Papa M) or couldn't be fussed (Sleepy Sun).
I've stated elsewhere that Sunn O))) were bad but its more just a case of I don't get drone. After watching Fuck Buttons and EITS live I can't say I get them either. EITS are just boring and Fuck Buttons are best on record when you are journeying. I can't just sit and listen to them in my house, I always turn it off. They are blaaaaaah.
Saw Afrirampo as Barry Hogan (ATP founder) claims they put on the best show at ATP ever (a direct tie with Lightning Bolt, for him) and he wasn't wrong. Mental Japanese girls. Bit like a more, er, melodic Melt Banana, I suppose. Great drumming and great audience interaction. Warren Ellis had them on to give out balloons to the crowd during Dirty Three's set. Yeah Yeah Yeahs were excellent, even though they were half an hour late. Karen O responded to the boos with a sweary riposte; "fuck you we just got here you motherfuckerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrs. I love you ATP. I hate you ATP!" Then she spat water everywhere whilst the entire band proceeded to be 100% awesome for the next hour or so. Best song was either Maps or Modern Romance.
Múm were superb, seemed like they were on at the wrong time of day (10-11pm) but they were pretty soothing following on from Yeah Yeah Yeahs and coming before Fuck Buttons, who almost broke my ears. Drone dance is worse than drone, yeah?
Dirty Three and Battles were a bit up and down. Too much off Ocean Songs and not enough of Indian Love Song, which is absolutely bonkers. Battles were Battles. John Stanier has a really high cymbal and looks like Gordon Brown. The nerds done good.
Melvins are weird. Good but weird. Not sure I'd ever listen to them by choice, The Bloat aside. Four drummers made for a pretty weird experience, with two of them coming from Modest Mouse. The last ten minutes were literally just drumming with Dale Crover shouting "DEATH. PLAYS. FOR. KEEPS." Mental.
Modest Mouse were loud as crikey and played a good mix of new and old stuff as Isaac Brock drank cayenne and vinegar for a sore throat... Josh T. Pearson was a weird, great folk man and Deerhoof were as odd as you'd expect from a programme note that said:
Basket Ball Basket Ball Basket
Dribble
Pivot Pivot Pivot Pivot Escape
Dribble
Bunny Jump Bunny Jump
Bunny Bunny Bunny Jump
Go Go Champyong
Speed Speed Champyong
Rebound Rebound
Rebound Rebound Ready OK?
Rah Rah Rah Rah Rah
The only other thing to report is that you should, readers all, go on youtube, or download, Brad Neely's Wizard People, Dear Reader, which is sublime. Its the first Harry Potter film overdubbed with a narration by this Texan chap, Neely. Bizarre, hilarious and divine. "YOU WILL BE A WIZARD, IN-FUCKIN'-DEED"!
PS: It is pretty damn chilly in Minehead at this time of year. Next year's Nightmare Before Christmas headliner will have to be Pearl Jam or something for me to commit...
Tuesday 15 December 2009
We Call Upon The Author
The rest of them albums of the decade that I can't be bothered to write about as the whole process has become a bit boring all over the net and telly.
In no particular order, the other 8 were/are:
Panda Bear - Person Pitch
LCD Soundsystem - Sound of Silver
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Fever to Tell
Death From Above 1979 - You're a Woman, I'm a Machine
Sufjan Stevens - Michigan
My Morning Jacket - Z (Fuck Fleet Foxes)
No Age - Nouns
The National - Alligator
Perhaps!
In no particular order, the other 8 were/are:
Panda Bear - Person Pitch
LCD Soundsystem - Sound of Silver
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Fever to Tell
Death From Above 1979 - You're a Woman, I'm a Machine
Sufjan Stevens - Michigan
My Morning Jacket - Z (Fuck Fleet Foxes)
No Age - Nouns
The National - Alligator
Perhaps!
Sunday 22 November 2009
History of a Boring Town
If the last one was somewhat obvious, then this shouldn't be too much of a surprise either. The second in the tedious series of my ten favourite albums of the decade is...
Arcade Fire - Funeral
"There's something wrong; in the heart of man."
Arcade Fire came out of nowhere. Funeral was released in the U.S. as 2004 was petering out and hit the UK in early 2005. They might not be the same band in 2009 (take Lenin from this year's Dark was the Night compilation for Red Hot) but their place in the musical landscape of this decade is assured.
The story behind Funeral is well-versed now. Named so because of the deaths of family members in the recording process, the record takes a long look at life, death and the altogether. How else do you end up with songs like Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)? A blissful look at relationships in towns: "And if my parents are crying, then I'll dig a tunnel from my window to yours." As Funeral moves up and down between emotional turbulence and excessive introspection, it climbs from wall to another, with sweet, pensive missives in Une Année Sans Lumière and Neighborhood #4 (7 Kettles) to the madness of Neighborhood #3 (Power Out). As the emotion starts to drag you down the pit, a burst of life breaks out from somewhere in this discord of instruments and sets you straight again.
The spiralling angst of Crown of Love and Wake Up remain the peak of the album and the band itself. A right kicking to death on several adverts hasn't diluted the potency of the latter, which remains the best song in an Arcade Fire live set. The chugging guitar motors through the song like a tug boat, people scream and wail for some unknown loss, summer disappears... A shout of discord; "I guess we'll just have to adjust!" Whereas Crown of Love wallows in guilt and self-pity before a controlled explosion of violin takes it off the meds, Wake Up bursts forth straight after, a release of pent up hurt and woe.
The Regine-led tracks seems to get a buffeting in some circles but they are a perfect back-end road block to separate Wake Up from Rebellion (Lies)'s rallying call, "sleepin' in is givin' in, so lift those heavy eyelids." Rebellion (Lies), as with Funeral on the whole, is so intense that it seems to pass in a flash, a spark. This is dispelled byIn The Backseat which moves from a tense build of strings and piano and becomes an absolute shitstorm of noise, akin to something from Björk's Post.
What should be a mess is a swirling love letter to the people and places that inspired it. Funeral sounds like nothing else and expels years of universal anguish in less than 45 minutes. There have been imitators since, but they'll never achieve that.
Arcade Fire - Funeral
"There's something wrong; in the heart of man."
Arcade Fire came out of nowhere. Funeral was released in the U.S. as 2004 was petering out and hit the UK in early 2005. They might not be the same band in 2009 (take Lenin from this year's Dark was the Night compilation for Red Hot) but their place in the musical landscape of this decade is assured.
The story behind Funeral is well-versed now. Named so because of the deaths of family members in the recording process, the record takes a long look at life, death and the altogether. How else do you end up with songs like Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)? A blissful look at relationships in towns: "And if my parents are crying, then I'll dig a tunnel from my window to yours." As Funeral moves up and down between emotional turbulence and excessive introspection, it climbs from wall to another, with sweet, pensive missives in Une Année Sans Lumière and Neighborhood #4 (7 Kettles) to the madness of Neighborhood #3 (Power Out). As the emotion starts to drag you down the pit, a burst of life breaks out from somewhere in this discord of instruments and sets you straight again.
The spiralling angst of Crown of Love and Wake Up remain the peak of the album and the band itself. A right kicking to death on several adverts hasn't diluted the potency of the latter, which remains the best song in an Arcade Fire live set. The chugging guitar motors through the song like a tug boat, people scream and wail for some unknown loss, summer disappears... A shout of discord; "I guess we'll just have to adjust!" Whereas Crown of Love wallows in guilt and self-pity before a controlled explosion of violin takes it off the meds, Wake Up bursts forth straight after, a release of pent up hurt and woe.
The Regine-led tracks seems to get a buffeting in some circles but they are a perfect back-end road block to separate Wake Up from Rebellion (Lies)'s rallying call, "sleepin' in is givin' in, so lift those heavy eyelids." Rebellion (Lies), as with Funeral on the whole, is so intense that it seems to pass in a flash, a spark. This is dispelled byIn The Backseat which moves from a tense build of strings and piano and becomes an absolute shitstorm of noise, akin to something from Björk's Post.
What should be a mess is a swirling love letter to the people and places that inspired it. Funeral sounds like nothing else and expels years of universal anguish in less than 45 minutes. There have been imitators since, but they'll never achieve that.
Wednesday 18 November 2009
I'm Affected
Thierry Henry is a cheat. I hope the Irish have the gall to say it. They may not for fear of being charged with bringing the game into disrepute. Cheating prospers. Cheating gets you what you want. How does this crap not bring football into disrepute, instead, then?
Bring on the technology. It would have taken about 30 seconds to a minute to see that not only did Henry handle the ball, but then tapped the ball with his palm to keep it in play. Pathetic. He then tells Richard Dunne at the final whistle that Ireland 'didn't deserve it.'
Shameless bastards.
Shay was super. Super Shay Given.
Bring on the technology. It would have taken about 30 seconds to a minute to see that not only did Henry handle the ball, but then tapped the ball with his palm to keep it in play. Pathetic. He then tells Richard Dunne at the final whistle that Ireland 'didn't deserve it.'
Shameless bastards.
Shay was super. Super Shay Given.
Thursday 12 November 2009
Brink of the Clouds
With the end of the decade approaching, its about time to evaluate what has made it exciting. Ten records for ten years, not that this means every year will be represented, necessarily. The term best has been precluded by favourite as that makes it a bit more subjective. Which is nice. So, onwards and upwards, in no particular order. To start us off, an under-appreciated gem...
Pearl Jam - Binaural
Not a surprise. The second best rock album of the decade saw Eddie Vedder and the crew at the peak of their powers with an album that distils all of the band's influences to create something that wouldn't be out of place in the back catalogues of Pink Floyd or The Who. Sleight of Hand is a brooding, sonic masterpiece that ebbs and flows like cross-town traffic, culminating in a crescendo of Vedder's cracked vocal and wailing guitars; it sounds like it could knock down buildings. Breakerfall is over before its even begun, a smash'n'grab track, swirling by in a cluster of charged aggression and pinpoint noise.
"When we looked up the word 'binaural,' it meant to listen with both ears. So it seemed like a fitting title for the album" / Stone Gossard
Binaural sees Gossard produce some of his best work on a Pearl Jam album, in terms of feelings as well as riffs. Gossard creates polar opposites in Thin Air and Rival; as Thin Air explores the emotional release of being in love, Rival is Gossard reflecting, an attempt to understand the mindset of a killer and those they touch, on the barren aftermath of the Columbine massacre.
While the naysayers would point to tracks such as Gods' Dice or Evacuation as a sign of the album's inconsistency, it is worth understanding the fragility of the band in the face of uncertainty and change, something which is approached in both Light Years and Nothing as It Seems. While Gods' Dice is by no means Jeff Ament's key contribution to Pearl Jam's history (that would be Nothing As It Seems), the swirling mess it became is emblematic of a band cutting loose and playing their full hand.
"There is a lot of music out there that is very easy to digest but we never wanted to be part of it" / Eddie Vedder
This is not to say that the album didn't suffer a troubled genesis. Jack Irons' departure saw Pearl Jam recruit their fourth drummer in six albums, former Soundgarden drummer Matt Cameron, whilst lead guitarist Mike McCready went into rehab for an addiction to prescription drugs. To top it all off, Vedder had the music for the songs that would become Insignificance and Grievance, but no lyrics. Nothing was forthcoming. Vedder swore himself off the guitar, then he set eyes on a ukelele...
Soon Forget would be forgotten, sandwiched as it is between Sleight of Hand and the focussed, destructive distortion of Parting Ways, but for its innocent uke jangle, Soon Forget is betrayed by a darker set of lyrics as Vedder waves goodbye to a man of destitute greed. He holds wealth, but he is a man without purpose, truly insignificant.
At the prompting of producer Tchad Blake (Binaural was the first Pearl Jam album not produced by Brendan O'Brien), the album focusses wholeheartedly on moods and feelings, whether those are the highest highs (Thin Air) or the crushing lows (Light Years, Parting Ways). Indeed, the mood of fan favourite Sad (originally called Letter to the Dead) was deemed too "pop" by the band, according to Ament, and was cut, as was the Blake-endorsed Fatal. Although both of these tracks would get the eventual release they deserved on Lost Dogs, its difficult to see how the album could have been considered poorer for the inclusion of these songs. A straight swap with Gods' Dice and Evacuation would see little argument about which is Pearl Jam's best studio album - Binaural by a knockout.
Binaural's original tracklisting:
01 Breakerfall
02 Insignificance
03 Evacuation
04 Letter to the Dead (Later renamed Sad)
05 Rival *
06 Grievance
07 Light Years
08 Of the Girl *
09 Thin Air
10 Nothing as It Seems *
11 Fatal
12 Sleight of Hand *
13 Soon Forget *
14 In the Moonlight
15 Parting Ways
16 Education
* indicates use of binaural recording
The pressed album certainly flows better, but whether this is due to familiarity is not so clear. At sixteen tracks, however, a cull was inevitable, as 2002's Riot Act feels bloated at fifteen; as above, whether the right tracks remained in place is an issue of personal preference, but the album's quality remains undiminished. The Guardian's dismissal of the album's "duds" in its 2000 review could well include tracks like Grievance and Rival, but the anger and emotion that is prevalent in the tracks lifts them high above Gods' Dice or Evacuation; as Vedder wails on Grievance, "you don't give blood, then take it back again. We're all deserving something more".
"Because Mike wasn't all there, and there was a 'get-to-know-you' thing with Matt, everyone wasn't on the same page" / Stone Gossard
The evolution of Pearl Jam has continued because of their embrace of the past and a burning hope for a better future and this is apparent in the use of binaural recording techniques on some of the songs, one of the most successful of which is the Gossard-penned Of the Girl. A love story brimming with sweeping guitars that sound like trains edging away from a station platform, a juddering, bluesy mid-section sees the occasional jams of a Pearl Jam live show brought into the studio. Small tremblings of guitar not dissimilar to Jimi Hendrix echo all over the backdrop; like finding buried treasure. Of The Girl is full of mystery, even after the seven or so years that I've been listening to Binaural, I've never truly gotten to the bottom of the track, never completely discerned just what it is that creates such an air of abstract detachment that draws you in completely, not unlike the album itself.
"The reason that we went with Tchad Blake is because he provides an amazing atmosphere to songs.... So, I think we wanted the artwork to represent that" / Jeff Ament
The emptiness of giant spaces and the feeling of being a miniscule something within them prompted the use of photographs from NASA's Hubble Telescope for the album's cover, inserts and liner notes. Examining these with a soundtrack of Nothing As It Seems creates a dense, crushing feeling that Pearl Jam never captured before or since, encapsulated by Vedder's mutter, "a scratching voice all alone, its nothing like your baritone".
Ultimately, as highlighted by the selection below, Binaural is about a band examining a new direction, and although Pearl Jam didn't reinvent themselves to the extent that Radiohead did with Kid A, the progression from Yield, a balls-out rock'n'roll album, to an introspective work full of elongated tracks and spacial arrangements (the beautiful juxtaposition of April Cameron's viola and Justine Foy's cello against the guitars on Parting Ways) helped Pearl Jam to create their most atmospheric work.
A fractured, aching masterpiece.
The true meaning of Light Years
Pearl Jam - Binaural
Not a surprise. The second best rock album of the decade saw Eddie Vedder and the crew at the peak of their powers with an album that distils all of the band's influences to create something that wouldn't be out of place in the back catalogues of Pink Floyd or The Who. Sleight of Hand is a brooding, sonic masterpiece that ebbs and flows like cross-town traffic, culminating in a crescendo of Vedder's cracked vocal and wailing guitars; it sounds like it could knock down buildings. Breakerfall is over before its even begun, a smash'n'grab track, swirling by in a cluster of charged aggression and pinpoint noise.
"When we looked up the word 'binaural,' it meant to listen with both ears. So it seemed like a fitting title for the album" / Stone Gossard
Binaural sees Gossard produce some of his best work on a Pearl Jam album, in terms of feelings as well as riffs. Gossard creates polar opposites in Thin Air and Rival; as Thin Air explores the emotional release of being in love, Rival is Gossard reflecting, an attempt to understand the mindset of a killer and those they touch, on the barren aftermath of the Columbine massacre.
While the naysayers would point to tracks such as Gods' Dice or Evacuation as a sign of the album's inconsistency, it is worth understanding the fragility of the band in the face of uncertainty and change, something which is approached in both Light Years and Nothing as It Seems. While Gods' Dice is by no means Jeff Ament's key contribution to Pearl Jam's history (that would be Nothing As It Seems), the swirling mess it became is emblematic of a band cutting loose and playing their full hand.
"There is a lot of music out there that is very easy to digest but we never wanted to be part of it" / Eddie Vedder
This is not to say that the album didn't suffer a troubled genesis. Jack Irons' departure saw Pearl Jam recruit their fourth drummer in six albums, former Soundgarden drummer Matt Cameron, whilst lead guitarist Mike McCready went into rehab for an addiction to prescription drugs. To top it all off, Vedder had the music for the songs that would become Insignificance and Grievance, but no lyrics. Nothing was forthcoming. Vedder swore himself off the guitar, then he set eyes on a ukelele...
Soon Forget would be forgotten, sandwiched as it is between Sleight of Hand and the focussed, destructive distortion of Parting Ways, but for its innocent uke jangle, Soon Forget is betrayed by a darker set of lyrics as Vedder waves goodbye to a man of destitute greed. He holds wealth, but he is a man without purpose, truly insignificant.
At the prompting of producer Tchad Blake (Binaural was the first Pearl Jam album not produced by Brendan O'Brien), the album focusses wholeheartedly on moods and feelings, whether those are the highest highs (Thin Air) or the crushing lows (Light Years, Parting Ways). Indeed, the mood of fan favourite Sad (originally called Letter to the Dead) was deemed too "pop" by the band, according to Ament, and was cut, as was the Blake-endorsed Fatal. Although both of these tracks would get the eventual release they deserved on Lost Dogs, its difficult to see how the album could have been considered poorer for the inclusion of these songs. A straight swap with Gods' Dice and Evacuation would see little argument about which is Pearl Jam's best studio album - Binaural by a knockout.
Binaural's original tracklisting:
01 Breakerfall
02 Insignificance
03 Evacuation
04 Letter to the Dead (Later renamed Sad)
05 Rival *
06 Grievance
07 Light Years
08 Of the Girl *
09 Thin Air
10 Nothing as It Seems *
11 Fatal
12 Sleight of Hand *
13 Soon Forget *
14 In the Moonlight
15 Parting Ways
16 Education
* indicates use of binaural recording
The pressed album certainly flows better, but whether this is due to familiarity is not so clear. At sixteen tracks, however, a cull was inevitable, as 2002's Riot Act feels bloated at fifteen; as above, whether the right tracks remained in place is an issue of personal preference, but the album's quality remains undiminished. The Guardian's dismissal of the album's "duds" in its 2000 review could well include tracks like Grievance and Rival, but the anger and emotion that is prevalent in the tracks lifts them high above Gods' Dice or Evacuation; as Vedder wails on Grievance, "you don't give blood, then take it back again. We're all deserving something more".
"Because Mike wasn't all there, and there was a 'get-to-know-you' thing with Matt, everyone wasn't on the same page" / Stone Gossard
The evolution of Pearl Jam has continued because of their embrace of the past and a burning hope for a better future and this is apparent in the use of binaural recording techniques on some of the songs, one of the most successful of which is the Gossard-penned Of the Girl. A love story brimming with sweeping guitars that sound like trains edging away from a station platform, a juddering, bluesy mid-section sees the occasional jams of a Pearl Jam live show brought into the studio. Small tremblings of guitar not dissimilar to Jimi Hendrix echo all over the backdrop; like finding buried treasure. Of The Girl is full of mystery, even after the seven or so years that I've been listening to Binaural, I've never truly gotten to the bottom of the track, never completely discerned just what it is that creates such an air of abstract detachment that draws you in completely, not unlike the album itself.
"The reason that we went with Tchad Blake is because he provides an amazing atmosphere to songs.... So, I think we wanted the artwork to represent that" / Jeff Ament
The emptiness of giant spaces and the feeling of being a miniscule something within them prompted the use of photographs from NASA's Hubble Telescope for the album's cover, inserts and liner notes. Examining these with a soundtrack of Nothing As It Seems creates a dense, crushing feeling that Pearl Jam never captured before or since, encapsulated by Vedder's mutter, "a scratching voice all alone, its nothing like your baritone".
Ultimately, as highlighted by the selection below, Binaural is about a band examining a new direction, and although Pearl Jam didn't reinvent themselves to the extent that Radiohead did with Kid A, the progression from Yield, a balls-out rock'n'roll album, to an introspective work full of elongated tracks and spacial arrangements (the beautiful juxtaposition of April Cameron's viola and Justine Foy's cello against the guitars on Parting Ways) helped Pearl Jam to create their most atmospheric work.
A fractured, aching masterpiece.
The true meaning of Light Years
Tuesday 10 November 2009
The Twist
NUST have unveiled their plan to buy the club from the sociopath in charge.
Read an in-depth Q&A with George Caulkin of The Times here.
If you haven't seen Jonas Gutierrez's goal of truly ridiculous (by his nature) proportions, then do so now. Kudos to Danny Simpson too for a remarkable finish.
Read an in-depth Q&A with George Caulkin of The Times here.
If you haven't seen Jonas Gutierrez's goal of truly ridiculous (by his nature) proportions, then do so now. Kudos to Danny Simpson too for a remarkable finish.
Wednesday 4 November 2009
Green Disease
So these contemptible mugs have made their big plan. sportsdirect.com@stjames'park. What?! Where does that make sense? Apparently it is the cheapest way to take cash out of NUFC (second email on the page) and the FCB's other company at a low tax rate.
I always dreamed of the day the club would be used as a tax haven. Jesus.
PROTEST PROTEST PROTEST. They might have ignored this so far but it'll be hard to ignore 10k plus outside the ground having a yell at these utter scabs.
STAND UP FOR ST JAMES'!
I always dreamed of the day the club would be used as a tax haven. Jesus.
PROTEST PROTEST PROTEST. They might have ignored this so far but it'll be hard to ignore 10k plus outside the ground having a yell at these utter scabs.
STAND UP FOR ST JAMES'!
Tuesday 3 November 2009
Monday 2 November 2009
Run to the Facts
Dear Sheffield United,
What goes around, comes around.
Here's another cliché! If you can't take it, don't dish it out.
Dirtier than Leeds, who would have thought... Henderson hitting Coloccini, Morgan assaulting Carroll minute after minute, Nolan and Butt whistled all game, Smith talked to for attempting a slide tackle on a 'keeper who didn't have the ball under control and was fair game...
Shay Given in the Shite Sports studio. LEGEND.
Best,
Wonderful Restaurant.
What goes around, comes around.
Here's another cliché! If you can't take it, don't dish it out.
Dirtier than Leeds, who would have thought... Henderson hitting Coloccini, Morgan assaulting Carroll minute after minute, Nolan and Butt whistled all game, Smith talked to for attempting a slide tackle on a 'keeper who didn't have the ball under control and was fair game...
Shay Given in the Shite Sports studio. LEGEND.
Best,
Wonderful Restaurant.
Stadiums and Shrines II
Nexus (metro chaps) have stated they will not be renaming SJP metro station whatever the outcome of this fiasco:
"Dear Nick,
Our media department have made a statement regarding this matter which is:
NEXUS STATEMENT ON ST JAMES METRO STATION
Statement from Nexus about St James Metro station.
Nexus can today confirm we would not seek to change the name of St James Metro station in the centre of Newcastle, regardless of any plans by Newcastle United Football Club.
Regards,
Mark Chenylle-Proctor
Metro-Communications Assistant
Metro Control Centre, Station Road, South Gosforth, Newcastle Upon Tyne, NE3 1PZ
Tel. 0191 2033199/Fax 2033319
Mark.Chenylle-Proctor"
Adidas confirm that they're not interested in taking part in this twatfest either:
"Dear Sir
Thank you for your recent email regarding Newcastle United Football Club.
adidas can confirm that we have not been offered the naming rights to St James’ Park and, if offered, would not consider taking the naming rights.
adidas remains committed to our on-pitch partnership with the club.
Yours sincerely
Lauren Cruse
Customer Care Manager
For and on behalf of adidas (UK) Limited"
A shift in momentum. Keep on keepin' on.
"Dear Nick,
Our media department have made a statement regarding this matter which is:
NEXUS STATEMENT ON ST JAMES METRO STATION
Statement from Nexus about St James Metro station.
Nexus can today confirm we would not seek to change the name of St James Metro station in the centre of Newcastle, regardless of any plans by Newcastle United Football Club.
Regards,
Mark Chenylle-Proctor
Metro-Communications Assistant
Metro Control Centre, Station Road, South Gosforth, Newcastle Upon Tyne, NE3 1PZ
Tel. 0191 2033199/Fax 2033319
Mark.Chenylle-Proctor"
Adidas confirm that they're not interested in taking part in this twatfest either:
"Dear Sir
Thank you for your recent email regarding Newcastle United Football Club.
adidas can confirm that we have not been offered the naming rights to St James’ Park and, if offered, would not consider taking the naming rights.
adidas remains committed to our on-pitch partnership with the club.
Yours sincerely
Lauren Cruse
Customer Care Manager
For and on behalf of adidas (UK) Limited"
A shift in momentum. Keep on keepin' on.
Sunday 1 November 2009
No One Would Riot for Less
You may or may not know that the Fat Cockney Bastard, Mike Ashley, has put the rights to name St James Park up for grabs. A stadium that has grown to a monolith of the football world over the last century (and a bit) may well be The Adidas Arena very soon if the good people of the world do nothing. So let's do our bit. You can go to the Newcastle United's Supporters Trust website and sign the petition against the name change, member or no, fan or misguided soul. If you don't see why this isn't a big deal, then feel free to ask.
Or I can tell you, providing you're still reading this drivel. This is the link between the club and city that has endured all the bullshit of the last 13 years (minus a few under SBR) and is about to be extinguished in the name of corporate vestige.
Mike Ashley has burnt the final bridge. There is no turning back.
This is war. No more hiding.
Or I can tell you, providing you're still reading this drivel. This is the link between the club and city that has endured all the bullshit of the last 13 years (minus a few under SBR) and is about to be extinguished in the name of corporate vestige.
Mike Ashley has burnt the final bridge. There is no turning back.
This is war. No more hiding.
Wednesday 9 September 2009
To Hell with Good Intentions
The Dodos, Live@Bush Hall, London, 3/09/09
It often smacks of a lack of confidence or ability when a writer reverts to trite comparisons with a band’s larger peers in ‘the great scheme of things’ but when you’re talking about a band like The Dodos it just happens to be the sensible course of action. Sensibility does not always seem to come to the fore tonight, songs seem to stretch out and on forever when they might just be over a terse six or seven minutes (and they aren’t all Red and Purple, either). It all ends up as an over-complicated mess of simplified-folk mugging. The rolling plains atmosphere of opener Paint the Rust recalls Okkervil River or The Shins at their peak but those heights aren’t scaled again until the evening draws to a close with a peachy transition from Fools through to Walking and a furious Red and Purple.
Chances are you’ll see where I’m going with this. The critics haven’t been very loud in vociferous praise for new LP Time to Die and as an onlooker versed in the ways of their lopsided precursor, Visiter, it probably won’t get a look in at the next spotify session (just checked and the first album isn’t on there). There are times where the songs just seem to draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag and the chatter at the back of the hall becomes a little more pronounced with each passing track. Everyone quiets down when God? busts out, all picked out on Meric Long’s gross finger nail (rather long) and explodes, as they do all night, at its conclusion but all the dancing is reserved for the encore. The intimacy of the surrounds and the skills of the duo (plus friend on vibraphone!) married to their collegiate looks evokes a similarity to Vampire Weekend in every sense; the misjudged pacing of the set is forgivable but there are simply too many songs that exit the memory stage left as soon as the final strains disappear.
A conscious build-up of energy between artist and audience is rare to see these days and it does seem to take place this evening but the captivation seems, at times, wasted or, worse, ignored. Support band Coastguards had remarked earlier in the evening that this was their third night on the tour, “on the first night, they were jetlagged and they put on an awesome show, last night they were tired and tore the shit out of the place… so tonight ought to be pretty special”; the environment portended this modest soothsaying to be true but in reality it sinks into more of a dispirited ebb and flow between the magnificent and the must-try-harder. There are moments when the roof really does come close to blowing off and then it seems like lullaby time, let’s all get ready for bed. Nothing else momentous, just a tad more finger-picking and a slump into mediocrity, until an ornate construction leads into a billowing Fools and everyone involved shakes the lead out, a little late, but the crowd go ballistic anyway.
The Dodos have chosen a perfect moniker, as they come close to signing their own execution notices at the midway stage after a promising opening fifteen or so minutes, which no band can afford to do in a saturated market where the punters are starting to count their pennies. It might be a(nother) lazy cliché but… The Dodos seem to want to have their cake and eat it but that just seems like a one-eyed approach when everybody can tell you the icing is what you ought to savour. Who’s the fool now?
It often smacks of a lack of confidence or ability when a writer reverts to trite comparisons with a band’s larger peers in ‘the great scheme of things’ but when you’re talking about a band like The Dodos it just happens to be the sensible course of action. Sensibility does not always seem to come to the fore tonight, songs seem to stretch out and on forever when they might just be over a terse six or seven minutes (and they aren’t all Red and Purple, either). It all ends up as an over-complicated mess of simplified-folk mugging. The rolling plains atmosphere of opener Paint the Rust recalls Okkervil River or The Shins at their peak but those heights aren’t scaled again until the evening draws to a close with a peachy transition from Fools through to Walking and a furious Red and Purple.
Chances are you’ll see where I’m going with this. The critics haven’t been very loud in vociferous praise for new LP Time to Die and as an onlooker versed in the ways of their lopsided precursor, Visiter, it probably won’t get a look in at the next spotify session (just checked and the first album isn’t on there). There are times where the songs just seem to draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag and the chatter at the back of the hall becomes a little more pronounced with each passing track. Everyone quiets down when God? busts out, all picked out on Meric Long’s gross finger nail (rather long) and explodes, as they do all night, at its conclusion but all the dancing is reserved for the encore. The intimacy of the surrounds and the skills of the duo (plus friend on vibraphone!) married to their collegiate looks evokes a similarity to Vampire Weekend in every sense; the misjudged pacing of the set is forgivable but there are simply too many songs that exit the memory stage left as soon as the final strains disappear.
A conscious build-up of energy between artist and audience is rare to see these days and it does seem to take place this evening but the captivation seems, at times, wasted or, worse, ignored. Support band Coastguards had remarked earlier in the evening that this was their third night on the tour, “on the first night, they were jetlagged and they put on an awesome show, last night they were tired and tore the shit out of the place… so tonight ought to be pretty special”; the environment portended this modest soothsaying to be true but in reality it sinks into more of a dispirited ebb and flow between the magnificent and the must-try-harder. There are moments when the roof really does come close to blowing off and then it seems like lullaby time, let’s all get ready for bed. Nothing else momentous, just a tad more finger-picking and a slump into mediocrity, until an ornate construction leads into a billowing Fools and everyone involved shakes the lead out, a little late, but the crowd go ballistic anyway.
The Dodos have chosen a perfect moniker, as they come close to signing their own execution notices at the midway stage after a promising opening fifteen or so minutes, which no band can afford to do in a saturated market where the punters are starting to count their pennies. It might be a(nother) lazy cliché but… The Dodos seem to want to have their cake and eat it but that just seems like a one-eyed approach when everybody can tell you the icing is what you ought to savour. Who’s the fool now?
Almost Ready
Hello folks.
The new Pearl Jam album is out soon. Click on the link to see the video to new single, The Fixer.
Listen to the song I pinched the blog title to this time here.
Check the side bar for the Cynical-C blog, saw it in The Guardian a few weeks ago and only just looked it up again. Priceless.
The new Pearl Jam album is out soon. Click on the link to see the video to new single, The Fixer.
Listen to the song I pinched the blog title to this time here.
Check the side bar for the Cynical-C blog, saw it in The Guardian a few weeks ago and only just looked it up again. Priceless.
Wednesday 29 April 2009
The Real Thing
The indie guitar template is being dispensed with! First The Horrors, now The Maccabees! There is hyperbole all over the place about Primary Colours (listen free here) but with a powerhouse independent like XL (Thom Yorke, White Stripes, Vampire Weekend) behind them then you ought to expect it. This isn't to discredit what they're doing, Sea Within A Sea is a monster, it's just a bit different with The Maccabees. The first album was chocker with poppy singles but there was a lack of bite; no real substance.
Love You Better is a new beast. They've added horns and keys to their arsenal and sculpted a track full of self-doubt and longing that makes better use of those yelpy vocals. Its a lot more fulfilling and there is a greater maturity about the band themselves. The song builds and you expect some sort of woolly, overwrought machismo to burst forward but the song maintains the tenderness of the opening bars and climaxes with a tidy flourish. Nothing over the top, no bolshy megalomania, just a well-weighted pop song. The majority of the guitar bands that have come and gone since the turn of the century have faded away because they have failed to match the initial hype/buzz/whatever (thanks, internet) or because they were always a bit crap and people just love finding new things these days rather than stuff they genuinely enjoy. Love You Better is a captivating listen and ranks with Glass and Hysteric as my favourite track of the year so far.
Shame that I can't listen to them more, but The Power of Lard is taking up the majority of my time at the moment...
Love You Better is a new beast. They've added horns and keys to their arsenal and sculpted a track full of self-doubt and longing that makes better use of those yelpy vocals. Its a lot more fulfilling and there is a greater maturity about the band themselves. The song builds and you expect some sort of woolly, overwrought machismo to burst forward but the song maintains the tenderness of the opening bars and climaxes with a tidy flourish. Nothing over the top, no bolshy megalomania, just a well-weighted pop song. The majority of the guitar bands that have come and gone since the turn of the century have faded away because they have failed to match the initial hype/buzz/whatever (thanks, internet) or because they were always a bit crap and people just love finding new things these days rather than stuff they genuinely enjoy. Love You Better is a captivating listen and ranks with Glass and Hysteric as my favourite track of the year so far.
Shame that I can't listen to them more, but The Power of Lard is taking up the majority of my time at the moment...
Friday 24 April 2009
Flood Pt. 2
Interesting article on DiS by their music industry 'insider', this week on how the audience is not blameless in the p2p argument and the additional comments beneath the piece are a cut above the usual squawking you might encounter on the internet. I like to think (in a narcissistic manner) that this ties in, to a point, with my mixtape musings from a couple of weeks ago. I started using Spotify yesterday and it has given me access to the Bowerbirds album (at last!) and, in tandem with my last.fm recommendations, introduced me to the utter beauty of Port O'Brien, who might be one of the best bands I have heard in bloody ages. Of course, I could have downloaded Bowerbirds (lord knows I tried) or bought it (never in stock in Rough Trade...) but then the sense of excitement, that first time, would have been diluted. On a personal level, waiting to hear it for so long made it refreshing on that first listen and I will be going out of my way to get a copy in the near future (at a reasonable price; the days of me paying any more than £10.99 are over).
So does downloading devalue music? I know people who stuff their computers with it, but shouldn't they, we, wait? Its more satisfying for me to have a new cd in my hands, to have a little book to flip through (for example, if you downloaded No Age's Nouns then you missed out on one of last year's neatest inserts) and to bask in their reflective glory on my shelves at home. Collecting music is the pinnacle of capitalism, right? You can do it for the right price, if you're prepared to shop around. Browsing bundles of torrent sites just isn't as satisfying as pulling the Superman version of Illinois out of the racks in Rough Trade East. Is it? Of course, I don't have an answer and until someone comes up with a satisfactory one, this is all just pointless pontificating. It is something to think about the next time you unpack that rar. file though. Maybe that little band you love would do a bit better if people paid for it. You can't rail against faceless 'evil conglomerates' for ever; its real life, not Blade Runner.
So does downloading devalue music? I know people who stuff their computers with it, but shouldn't they, we, wait? Its more satisfying for me to have a new cd in my hands, to have a little book to flip through (for example, if you downloaded No Age's Nouns then you missed out on one of last year's neatest inserts) and to bask in their reflective glory on my shelves at home. Collecting music is the pinnacle of capitalism, right? You can do it for the right price, if you're prepared to shop around. Browsing bundles of torrent sites just isn't as satisfying as pulling the Superman version of Illinois out of the racks in Rough Trade East. Is it? Of course, I don't have an answer and until someone comes up with a satisfactory one, this is all just pointless pontificating. It is something to think about the next time you unpack that rar. file though. Maybe that little band you love would do a bit better if people paid for it. You can't rail against faceless 'evil conglomerates' for ever; its real life, not Blade Runner.
Thursday 23 April 2009
Indifference
That poor dog is safe for another few weeks, then.
Roy Keane is back in football at another club with lots of money to waste on crap players until something, somewhere, sticks: Tobias Hysen, Roy O'Donovan, Rade Prica, Michael Chopra (who Keane bought from Cardiff for ten times his previous transfer fee) and God knows how many more that I can't remember. Alex Ferguson might call Rafa Benitez a chequebook manager (I'll come back to the hypocrisy of this statement by King Bluster) but his former captain is the new breed of money and how it talks in football. A pity, then, that all Keane can talk is absolute shit. He bottled it at the first sign of someone (the majority shareholder at S*nderland) questioning his bizarro-zarro transfer policy and the players in the mackem wastelands seem far happier without him, so why, oh why are Ipswich Town fooled by this guy? It'll all end in tears, albeit in the Premier League. Maybe.
So, the great sideshow of who will finish top of the Premier League is (more or less) over and we can talk about who is and isn't a cock-end (more entertaining when Mourinho was kicking about, this). Alex Ferguson wins! His sustained attacks on Rafa Benitez, no matter how easy it is to dislike the spaniard, are tiresome and ill-informed. Ferguson crows on that Liverpool produce no young players. Excuse me if I am smelling the wrong pot of pease pudding for a minute but, well, did Manchester United produce Federico Macheda, Anderson, Nani or Cristiano so bronze I am a statue now Ronaldo? No. One generation of (yes, exceptional, we know) British players doesn't redeem you for the lack of any since. Myopia is a wonderful thing but it is quite alarming how many managers seem to suffer from the condition these days. What would Brian Clough have made of it all?
With the mention of Brian Clough, my copy of The Damned United arrived on monday, so I think I will alternate it with reading Phil Scraton's Hillsborough: The Truth, which I mentioned last week. Yet to finish the first chapter and its already evident (as if people didn't know this already) that the events of April 15 1989 should never have happened; it makes it all the more galling that noone has been made accountable. I hope that anyone who looked at this blog last week took some time to at least peruse some of the stuff I hyperlinked and see what a massive injustice it is (if you didn't know, I know some readers are more than aware). At least a step in the right direction was taken last week. Then again, Jacqui Smith has little or no choice if she wants to stay in the job...
Newcastle United newsflash: Obafemi Martins is not the messiah, he's just very fast and a crap finisher. If Alan Shearer saves the day now, he is a genius. Let's explain, he needs to win the last three home games of the season and even then we might not survive. We've won four home matches out of sixteen this season. Easy, then.
Come back today or tomorrow and I'll look at something a little less asinine than the pricks and pantomime villains that inhabit football: ATP stage times!
Wednesday 15 April 2009
The Memory Remains
Twenty years ago today, ninety-six Liverpool fans died at Hillsborough; I was two years old. I have read many articles covering the anniversary and the outpouring of emotions in the media for the last few weeks shows the fury, indignation and bitterness that people feel; it is always simmering. Reading about the event and the aftermath makes me furious and upset. These feelings come around for the majority of football fans at this time every year, but it is just inconcievable to try and imagine the feelings of those who survived the crush and those who saw it at the ground, like Alan Green, or on television, let alone the feelings of the families of the victims. This is with them every day and justice has still not been done for the ninety-six.
Someone must be held to account. Hillsborough was an accident waiting to happen, the South Yorkshire Police covered up their incompetence by altering the witness reports of junior officers and the men in command on the day have been close to exonerated thanks to malicious and unsubstantiated coverage at the time of the incident in addition to the enquiries in 1989 and 1998, which condemned police action but only two officers have been tried and no one has ever apologised. The families need closure and Gordon Brown and Jack Straw have denied it to them not once but twice.
David Conn's piece in this monday's Guardian shows just how much went wrong and how much is still to do.
For more on Hillsborough, Dr Phil Scraton's Hillsborough: The Truth is seen as the definitive account and is available here.
Words alone are not enough but awareness and remembrance will see justice done. Days like today make football itself insignificant, it has changed forever, for good and ill. There's nothing else to say.
Someone must be held to account. Hillsborough was an accident waiting to happen, the South Yorkshire Police covered up their incompetence by altering the witness reports of junior officers and the men in command on the day have been close to exonerated thanks to malicious and unsubstantiated coverage at the time of the incident in addition to the enquiries in 1989 and 1998, which condemned police action but only two officers have been tried and no one has ever apologised. The families need closure and Gordon Brown and Jack Straw have denied it to them not once but twice.
David Conn's piece in this monday's Guardian shows just how much went wrong and how much is still to do.
For more on Hillsborough, Dr Phil Scraton's Hillsborough: The Truth is seen as the definitive account and is available here.
Words alone are not enough but awareness and remembrance will see justice done. Days like today make football itself insignificant, it has changed forever, for good and ill. There's nothing else to say.
Sunday 12 April 2009
Lets Not Shit Ourselves (To Love And To Be Loved)
Andy Carroll in the cornrow days of January
Thank you, Andy Carroll. The sinews in the lad's neck may go a long way to keeping Newcastle United in the Premier League after his headed equaliser in yesterday's 1-1 draw with Stoke at that fortress of Total Football, the Britannia Stadium. His headers may be as important to us as Carlos Tevez's were for Man United last season. The paucity of the Premier League is exposed by the malaise of the majority of clubs in the bottom half of the table and ought to be further exemplified by Aston Villa and Everton's showdown at 1330 today (which I am going to the pub to watch, hence the short-term nature of today's blog).
As ever, the clue is in the title. There are some long strides to be taken to keep this club in the league and it all starts again next sunday at White Hart Lane. We've done well against Spurs for a long time now (barring the aberration in this season's League Cup, though when you look at the team we put out...) and that run can continue next week if the players add a bit of skill to the graft that has begun to creep in. Nothing is achieved yet, but all is not lost.
Thank you, Andy Carroll. The sinews in the lad's neck may go a long way to keeping Newcastle United in the Premier League after his headed equaliser in yesterday's 1-1 draw with Stoke at that fortress of Total Football, the Britannia Stadium. His headers may be as important to us as Carlos Tevez's were for Man United last season. The paucity of the Premier League is exposed by the malaise of the majority of clubs in the bottom half of the table and ought to be further exemplified by Aston Villa and Everton's showdown at 1330 today (which I am going to the pub to watch, hence the short-term nature of today's blog).
As ever, the clue is in the title. There are some long strides to be taken to keep this club in the league and it all starts again next sunday at White Hart Lane. We've done well against Spurs for a long time now (barring the aberration in this season's League Cup, though when you look at the team we put out...) and that run can continue next week if the players add a bit of skill to the graft that has begun to creep in. Nothing is achieved yet, but all is not lost.
Monday 6 April 2009
Flood/Ramble On
I've been contemplating starting/finishing off some mixtapes (read: cds with playlists on) for various friends for weeks, months and years now. Now, though, I have encountered an enemy who I had always believed to be an ally; the internet. Oh yeah, I love last.fm like the little brother I never had but combine it with the spectacular service provided by Spotify and, to a less stellar extent, myspace and you might find yourself in a bit of a pickle next time you're compiling a fresh mix. Its a deflating feeling to give someone a cd and their inital reaction being 'I've heard this one... and this one...', all of a sudden you feel your music research gene being deprived of oxygen. You have FAILED. Noone wants a mix with The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song on it anymore.
Album tracks would seem to be the order of the day but if you're trying to show someone something they might not have heard before then you want the immediacy of a single, right? Maybe. Perhaps a remix will give you a fresh new take on something but with Hype Machine being in there with all the hot tips you could ever want and last.fm's similar artists you might find your options narrowed. Where do you go from there? DiS founder Sean Adams has hit the nail on the head, where can we go in our own leisure pursuit, let alone in proffering a new direction to anyone else's? Who knew that listening to music had to be so effing organised? Must we all show off each week with our last.fm charts? Can't we all just get along?
If everyone can get access to, and is being recommended, everything then what's the point in recommending anything ourselves? Where will it end? There's an endless stream (!) to consume (nasty but appropriate) and the majority of people I know seem to have their pcs, macs or whatever bloated with more music than they can, or want to, even, ever listen to. So where will my little gift fit in there? Will they languish on a shelf with all the other CDs and vinyl noone cares for anymore, gathering dust as the art within withers and disintegrates?
Album tracks would seem to be the order of the day but if you're trying to show someone something they might not have heard before then you want the immediacy of a single, right? Maybe. Perhaps a remix will give you a fresh new take on something but with Hype Machine being in there with all the hot tips you could ever want and last.fm's similar artists you might find your options narrowed. Where do you go from there? DiS founder Sean Adams has hit the nail on the head, where can we go in our own leisure pursuit, let alone in proffering a new direction to anyone else's? Who knew that listening to music had to be so effing organised? Must we all show off each week with our last.fm charts? Can't we all just get along?
If everyone can get access to, and is being recommended, everything then what's the point in recommending anything ourselves? Where will it end? There's an endless stream (!) to consume (nasty but appropriate) and the majority of people I know seem to have their pcs, macs or whatever bloated with more music than they can, or want to, even, ever listen to. So where will my little gift fit in there? Will they languish on a shelf with all the other CDs and vinyl noone cares for anymore, gathering dust as the art within withers and disintegrates?
Knowing How The World Works
Last week I was treated to a free cinema pass. That this was used on Knowing is something that is still affecting me four days later. If something seems too good to be true, that is because it is. Surprise at the film's high IMDb rating is matched by the shock that Nicolas Cage is still seen as employable. He looks like he has become the plaything of one of the creepy plastic surgeons from Louis Theroux. The mind boggles. Add the worst child actor ever and a final 'twist' that seems to be in every fucking film in the last year and it makes you want to jizz your overdraft on a plane ticket to LA just so that you can make someone accountable for this absolute cobblers.
Is it a sci-fi? Is it a horror? WHAT IS KNOWING? It is people looking at some scribbles and going, 'oh, look, someone predicted 9/11, if we had known we could have stopped it'. I'm not American and found that to be a bit crass. The whole point of natural disasters is that they are natural, you can't predict them, even if you have got a bunch of albino aliens (was Paul Bettany unavailable? Or is it that the script is so strained that shit actors are all they could get?) telling you every bad thing ever ever ever. The score was ok but it just ended up heaping confusion on every thing as the 'action' was straddled by terror and noise.
The disaster scenes were more or less pornographic; I don't go to the cinema to watch commuters get squished one by one under a renegade subway carriage. As one friend pointed out, one of the flaming men from the aeroplane sequence was right next to some water... Why didn't you help him, Nic?! Why didn't you push him in?! He was too subdued by the disaster porn all around him, that's why. If the authors had ignored the laws of engineering and physics, like in the first episode of Lost, he could have gone through the stray turbine leaving just his mangled hair folicles behind. That would have been worth paying for.
No matter how bored you are, you're not bored enough to see Knowing. Complete and utter gubbins.
Is it a sci-fi? Is it a horror? WHAT IS KNOWING? It is people looking at some scribbles and going, 'oh, look, someone predicted 9/11, if we had known we could have stopped it'. I'm not American and found that to be a bit crass. The whole point of natural disasters is that they are natural, you can't predict them, even if you have got a bunch of albino aliens (was Paul Bettany unavailable? Or is it that the script is so strained that shit actors are all they could get?) telling you every bad thing ever ever ever. The score was ok but it just ended up heaping confusion on every thing as the 'action' was straddled by terror and noise.
The disaster scenes were more or less pornographic; I don't go to the cinema to watch commuters get squished one by one under a renegade subway carriage. As one friend pointed out, one of the flaming men from the aeroplane sequence was right next to some water... Why didn't you help him, Nic?! Why didn't you push him in?! He was too subdued by the disaster porn all around him, that's why. If the authors had ignored the laws of engineering and physics, like in the first episode of Lost, he could have gone through the stray turbine leaving just his mangled hair folicles behind. That would have been worth paying for.
No matter how bored you are, you're not bored enough to see Knowing. Complete and utter gubbins.
Friday 3 April 2009
Doesn't Matter Much
To be considered for the position of manager, should Alan Shearer make good on his promise to leave after eight games...
Thursday 2 April 2009
A Hand to Take Hold of the Scene
Now that we're all aware it wasn't an April Fool and that Alan Shearer is the new Newcastle United manager, let's get down to it.
This is the last roll of the dice for Mike Ashley and the jokers in charge of the club; Alan Shearer has nothing to lose. By stating that he is in charge for the last eight games and the last eight games only he risks no long-term damage to his place in the hearts of supporters and protects himself from any criticism if he decides to walk away rather than continue next season, regardless of which division Newcastle United find themselves in. The promise of no emotion stretched as far as my personal feelings when the news broke as it isn't, for me, in the same league as Kevin Keegan's mental return last season. Shearer means as much to me as anyone associated with the club but the board's incompetence regarding this season meant any initial wave of optimism has taken more than a day to register. The departure of Dennis Wise from his position of Executive Director/Meddler (Football) late last night helped and left me feeling something like this.
The usual crows of 'no experience' are resonating but if Alan Shearer has half the success of Jurgen Klinsmann or Trevor Brooking then I think every Newcastle fan will be happy come May 24th. Villa and Tottenham fans are having a whinge via email and all the other tat that modern football has encouraged but this is the draw this club and this man has. People always want to have an opinion on Newcastle United be it good or ill but it has never mattered and it won't matter now. Eight games equals twenty-four points and Newcastle United need another fourteen to be sure of survival. If anyone can inspire this group of journeymen, has-beens and never-will-bes then it is Alan Shearer and it will be up there with Keegan's great escape from the jaws of the third tier if he pulls it off. The ability is there, desire and focus are needed.
Will Joe Kinnear be back? Ever the diplomat, Shearer is saying yes. The club has issued a statement stating that Wise will not be replaced. This, plus a successful stewardship for Shearer, ought to see the departure of JFK. Cheers Joe but goodbye. Onwards and upwards. In some respects.
"I envisage sitting in the stand next season watching Newcastle as a Premier League football club" - Alan Shearer, 2/4/09
This is the last roll of the dice for Mike Ashley and the jokers in charge of the club; Alan Shearer has nothing to lose. By stating that he is in charge for the last eight games and the last eight games only he risks no long-term damage to his place in the hearts of supporters and protects himself from any criticism if he decides to walk away rather than continue next season, regardless of which division Newcastle United find themselves in. The promise of no emotion stretched as far as my personal feelings when the news broke as it isn't, for me, in the same league as Kevin Keegan's mental return last season. Shearer means as much to me as anyone associated with the club but the board's incompetence regarding this season meant any initial wave of optimism has taken more than a day to register. The departure of Dennis Wise from his position of Executive Director/Meddler (Football) late last night helped and left me feeling something like this.
The usual crows of 'no experience' are resonating but if Alan Shearer has half the success of Jurgen Klinsmann or Trevor Brooking then I think every Newcastle fan will be happy come May 24th. Villa and Tottenham fans are having a whinge via email and all the other tat that modern football has encouraged but this is the draw this club and this man has. People always want to have an opinion on Newcastle United be it good or ill but it has never mattered and it won't matter now. Eight games equals twenty-four points and Newcastle United need another fourteen to be sure of survival. If anyone can inspire this group of journeymen, has-beens and never-will-bes then it is Alan Shearer and it will be up there with Keegan's great escape from the jaws of the third tier if he pulls it off. The ability is there, desire and focus are needed.
Will Joe Kinnear be back? Ever the diplomat, Shearer is saying yes. The club has issued a statement stating that Wise will not be replaced. This, plus a successful stewardship for Shearer, ought to see the departure of JFK. Cheers Joe but goodbye. Onwards and upwards. In some respects.
"I envisage sitting in the stand next season watching Newcastle as a Premier League football club" - Alan Shearer, 2/4/09
Tuesday 31 March 2009
Stuck Between Stations
The Loneliness of the Long Distance Supporter
An extortionate public transport system provides cheap fares that run out before match tickets go on sale while the suits make it even harder to support the club. To call it difficult being a long-distance fan is sad and self-indulgent. It is just different. It makes seeing matches difficult, my last being Lillestrom at home (with the chap next to me berating Stephen Carr for 90 minutes…) and the last before that was the 3-3 draw at Southampton. Even then I had to sit in the Southampton end, right next to the Newcastle fans; I must have been the only person sat down when Kevin Phillips came on.
Isolation breeds contempt, which creates solidarity. My best friend supports Leeds United and I yearn for the days we play them again, those games mattered, what does Wigan away even mean? Crap football, crap fans, crap town. Another good friend is from Norwich and I went with him to Carrow Road for the Birmingham match, Kevin Phillips joined us and I revelled in the fact 20,000 others were willing him to fail. The trouble with the SKY generation, of which I am a paid-up member, is that while it has seen an improvement in the quality of player on show it has created the ‘hybrid’ football fan who has too much time on their hands and foams at the mouth as they hammer at keyboards and text the ‘cracking banter’ brigade on the BBC website’s Live Text.
These morons encircle local boozers when you just want to keep your head down during the Chelsea home match as every taxi driver in Canterbury sneers at your back that Damien Duff knows which side his bread is buttered on. The press frustrate with their clamouring ridicule but it is nothing compared to hearing these ‘opinions’ filter through the masses. They can’t string together a semblance of an argument, during the 4-1 Villa defeat last season I was distracted from the match by a volley of questions about Dennis Wise and his legions of orcs. Wearing the shirt south of Washington seems to encourage these people and their unrepentant missive of bile and ignorance.
I have no love for southern football fans, whenever I visit Portsmouth I am aware of it teeming with wannabe east-enders, the same people who tormented my youth with accusatory questions at birthday parties and tea-time visits as my non-support for Southampton, Chelsea or Manchester United became a sticking point for friends and parents alike. Darren Peacock is swift to point out that the 95/96 defence weren’t rubbish but this didn’t stop the Spanish inquisition at school (again, from Southampton fans). Despite my dad being a Geordie supporting the club has always been an intense, personal, affair, whether it is my first live match, of which I remember nothing bar the chap behind me apologising to my dad at half-time for swearing too much, or Ian Woan, the shot of doom and my subsequent tantrum. I am still ashamed to this day that my reaction upon arriving home from the pub was to hurl my shirt on the ground then kick and spit on it. My mother, appalled, said I wasn’t going to watch football any more if this is how I behaved. I am the same now, minus the delinquency.
The decline of the last few years has seen a strange coincidence with my first real forays into the club’s history. I had ridden on my blood ties to the club for too long and realised there was more to Newcastle United than Alan Shearer, Kevin Keegan and the Champions League. Not growing up in the area has made me question whether I deserve the club in the past, I sulked after losing 3-0 to West Ham but what did the club owe me, what had I invested in it? When I was growing up there were only one or two other Newcastle fans at school, hangers on from the Keegan years who soon tailed off with Dalglish and Gullit, claiming they weren’t interested anymore.
It is difficult to decide whether supporting Newcastle United has made me better or bitter. My Alan Shearer poster reminded me of my responsibilities as a boy and Mike Ashley reinforces them within me now. The apathy that this regime has created hasn’t taken hold of me (although I no longer expect wins against teams with smaller grounds than ours), desire to own the purple shirt dissipates and I am happy to buy tickets and nothing else. Sticking with the club whilst people posture how many years since Newcastle won the league?, you lot think you’re a big club, makes abandoning it now seem a churlish idea. I’ve taken on southern football fans for years, I can take on Mike Ashley. They’re all bottlers anyway.
An extortionate public transport system provides cheap fares that run out before match tickets go on sale while the suits make it even harder to support the club. To call it difficult being a long-distance fan is sad and self-indulgent. It is just different. It makes seeing matches difficult, my last being Lillestrom at home (with the chap next to me berating Stephen Carr for 90 minutes…) and the last before that was the 3-3 draw at Southampton. Even then I had to sit in the Southampton end, right next to the Newcastle fans; I must have been the only person sat down when Kevin Phillips came on.
Isolation breeds contempt, which creates solidarity. My best friend supports Leeds United and I yearn for the days we play them again, those games mattered, what does Wigan away even mean? Crap football, crap fans, crap town. Another good friend is from Norwich and I went with him to Carrow Road for the Birmingham match, Kevin Phillips joined us and I revelled in the fact 20,000 others were willing him to fail. The trouble with the SKY generation, of which I am a paid-up member, is that while it has seen an improvement in the quality of player on show it has created the ‘hybrid’ football fan who has too much time on their hands and foams at the mouth as they hammer at keyboards and text the ‘cracking banter’ brigade on the BBC website’s Live Text.
These morons encircle local boozers when you just want to keep your head down during the Chelsea home match as every taxi driver in Canterbury sneers at your back that Damien Duff knows which side his bread is buttered on. The press frustrate with their clamouring ridicule but it is nothing compared to hearing these ‘opinions’ filter through the masses. They can’t string together a semblance of an argument, during the 4-1 Villa defeat last season I was distracted from the match by a volley of questions about Dennis Wise and his legions of orcs. Wearing the shirt south of Washington seems to encourage these people and their unrepentant missive of bile and ignorance.
I have no love for southern football fans, whenever I visit Portsmouth I am aware of it teeming with wannabe east-enders, the same people who tormented my youth with accusatory questions at birthday parties and tea-time visits as my non-support for Southampton, Chelsea or Manchester United became a sticking point for friends and parents alike. Darren Peacock is swift to point out that the 95/96 defence weren’t rubbish but this didn’t stop the Spanish inquisition at school (again, from Southampton fans). Despite my dad being a Geordie supporting the club has always been an intense, personal, affair, whether it is my first live match, of which I remember nothing bar the chap behind me apologising to my dad at half-time for swearing too much, or Ian Woan, the shot of doom and my subsequent tantrum. I am still ashamed to this day that my reaction upon arriving home from the pub was to hurl my shirt on the ground then kick and spit on it. My mother, appalled, said I wasn’t going to watch football any more if this is how I behaved. I am the same now, minus the delinquency.
The decline of the last few years has seen a strange coincidence with my first real forays into the club’s history. I had ridden on my blood ties to the club for too long and realised there was more to Newcastle United than Alan Shearer, Kevin Keegan and the Champions League. Not growing up in the area has made me question whether I deserve the club in the past, I sulked after losing 3-0 to West Ham but what did the club owe me, what had I invested in it? When I was growing up there were only one or two other Newcastle fans at school, hangers on from the Keegan years who soon tailed off with Dalglish and Gullit, claiming they weren’t interested anymore.
It is difficult to decide whether supporting Newcastle United has made me better or bitter. My Alan Shearer poster reminded me of my responsibilities as a boy and Mike Ashley reinforces them within me now. The apathy that this regime has created hasn’t taken hold of me (although I no longer expect wins against teams with smaller grounds than ours), desire to own the purple shirt dissipates and I am happy to buy tickets and nothing else. Sticking with the club whilst people posture how many years since Newcastle won the league?, you lot think you’re a big club, makes abandoning it now seem a churlish idea. I’ve taken on southern football fans for years, I can take on Mike Ashley. They’re all bottlers anyway.
Brighter Days
Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion
Saccharine.
Buy here or here if you want an exclusive bonus disc mixed by the band.
Throw Away Your Television
How queer that after watching the second part (television) of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle on iPlayer yesterday I chose to watch the venereal stain that was The Sex Education Show vs Pornography on Channel 4. I ought to explain. Lee dismissed Channel 4 as a deluge of faecal matter that descends upon people, as shown through the sketches that interject between his missives (the majority of which are performed by Kevin Eldon and that fat man from the Little Britain Fat Fighters sketches who wasn't funny then and still, wow, isn't); Anna Richardson seems to be making television programmes to support this view.
Anna decided to ignite a debate by visting a school made up from the mongoloid handfuls of Sheringham, which is in Norfolk (hey... I used to live there!) She spent the next fifty minutes (I turned over before the end, sorry) disecting the seedy world that school children inhabit on the internet. Well, she might have called it seedy, she spent a lot of time repeating herself which was pretty pointless as I think most people spent their time watching it hoping to see some wank material.
The best bit was her reporting a child pornography website after she clicked on a link whilst watching some other porn. She must have mentioned that it shocked her at least five times in twenty to thirty seconds. It grated so much that I answered her aloud, "I get it, you're shocked", then again, I talk to myself a lot, conducting imaginary pre-match interviews for Football Focus on Football Manager, so I suppose an analyst would call talking at an animate object a 'breakthrough'. She also spoke for the crew (of course, if she hadn't, I'd have assumed they were all massive raging paedos spaffing off into the boom, so I applaud her for this) and questioned whether children were being exposed to this.
I question whether Jacqui Smith is being exposed to it, Anna.
The answer is quite obvious, for this is Channel 4. Don't click on it. She's talking to a bunch of porn vets and wonders if they're being exposed. Probably not, Anna, people know not to click on those things because they're not as stupid or weird as you are. Apart from in Sheringham, where The Darkness still seem to be de rigeur in the style stakes. Or was that the Welsh porn star she interviewed? Sorry for not giving a solitary spazzy fuck.
Don't show sixteen year olds naked grown women and be surprised they don't like how they look. You can be surprised at the boys' shit hair styles and the silly things the girls say when looking at tits (even they like the fake ones!) but being flabbergasted that kids don't like saggy boobs of a woman who has had two children is thicky on a bike at the post office. I don't even know what demographic they're going for. The same people that watch all the spew that Channel 4 gag on as they brush their tongues with their toothbrushes, I expect.
Anna visited three computing retailers and was shocked to find that the filters inbuilt in all mobile phones were available on computers but had to be activated by consumers themselves. She was also shocked (there it is again) that each retailer gave her different advice. Welcome to the modern high street, Anna. The obvious answer, from someone who can't even hyperlink or fix their DVD drive, is google. I wonder if she's heard of it? Ah, she fucking has as well! She used it to find porn sites! Hooray. Why not google admin and filters as well then? ARGGGGGGH. Like cutting yourself with a knife to test the sharpness of a blade. I assume she does that too. Just get AVG free, Anna, and sit down.
So, then... Risible, ugly and pedantic television with a bizarre number of ad breaks. It made me sad that my phone was too shit to browse for porn to pass the time while I wait for Stewart Lee to start on BBC2. The entire experience made me feel the need to dig a moat around my house, fill it up with petrol and spend my remaining days tending to a wall of flame to keep these idiots and their mutant spawn from posting me my letters.
Then I watched the aforementioned Comedy Vehicle. Calling it a vehicle seems about right as it seems to exist to propel Stewart Lee in to the same bracket of 'modern life is shit and this is why' as Mitchell and Webb and Frankie Boyle blah blah blah. This would work better if Lee didn't repeat himself so often to make the jokes last longer (and less funny) and if the programme's theme music wasn't that piece of filth that Bolton Wanderers play when (!) they score a goal at home. I watch comedy to be entertained, not to be reminded of the existence of Gavin McCann, Gary Megson and Sam Allardyce. In fact, Sam Allardyce's interviews on why he should be England manager were funnier than the entirety of last night's Comedy Vehicle. Stewart Lee is like Morrissey; only half as good as he thinks he is. He has some wonderful moments which you can forget as soon as he opens his mouth to spout out the next bit of rubbish. For every How Soon Is Now? or diatribe against Dan Brown (from the first programme, on Books) there is some shit about veganism or a shit joke about a maudlin, solitary ballet shoe which culminates in a poor joke about people complaining to the BBC about everything.
He also looks a bit like Morrissey, which is really where the comparison came from in the first place.
However, The Wire started last night and if you missed that you're fucked, well and truly. There's no more to say on that, in all honesty.
Come back later for some appalling creative writing and a one-word review of Animal Collective's Merriweather Post Pavilion, if you fancy.
Anna decided to ignite a debate by visting a school made up from the mongoloid handfuls of Sheringham, which is in Norfolk (hey... I used to live there!) She spent the next fifty minutes (I turned over before the end, sorry) disecting the seedy world that school children inhabit on the internet. Well, she might have called it seedy, she spent a lot of time repeating herself which was pretty pointless as I think most people spent their time watching it hoping to see some wank material.
The best bit was her reporting a child pornography website after she clicked on a link whilst watching some other porn. She must have mentioned that it shocked her at least five times in twenty to thirty seconds. It grated so much that I answered her aloud, "I get it, you're shocked", then again, I talk to myself a lot, conducting imaginary pre-match interviews for Football Focus on Football Manager, so I suppose an analyst would call talking at an animate object a 'breakthrough'. She also spoke for the crew (of course, if she hadn't, I'd have assumed they were all massive raging paedos spaffing off into the boom, so I applaud her for this) and questioned whether children were being exposed to this.
I question whether Jacqui Smith is being exposed to it, Anna.
The answer is quite obvious, for this is Channel 4. Don't click on it. She's talking to a bunch of porn vets and wonders if they're being exposed. Probably not, Anna, people know not to click on those things because they're not as stupid or weird as you are. Apart from in Sheringham, where The Darkness still seem to be de rigeur in the style stakes. Or was that the Welsh porn star she interviewed? Sorry for not giving a solitary spazzy fuck.
Don't show sixteen year olds naked grown women and be surprised they don't like how they look. You can be surprised at the boys' shit hair styles and the silly things the girls say when looking at tits (even they like the fake ones!) but being flabbergasted that kids don't like saggy boobs of a woman who has had two children is thicky on a bike at the post office. I don't even know what demographic they're going for. The same people that watch all the spew that Channel 4 gag on as they brush their tongues with their toothbrushes, I expect.
Anna visited three computing retailers and was shocked to find that the filters inbuilt in all mobile phones were available on computers but had to be activated by consumers themselves. She was also shocked (there it is again) that each retailer gave her different advice. Welcome to the modern high street, Anna. The obvious answer, from someone who can't even hyperlink or fix their DVD drive, is google. I wonder if she's heard of it? Ah, she fucking has as well! She used it to find porn sites! Hooray. Why not google admin and filters as well then? ARGGGGGGH. Like cutting yourself with a knife to test the sharpness of a blade. I assume she does that too. Just get AVG free, Anna, and sit down.
So, then... Risible, ugly and pedantic television with a bizarre number of ad breaks. It made me sad that my phone was too shit to browse for porn to pass the time while I wait for Stewart Lee to start on BBC2. The entire experience made me feel the need to dig a moat around my house, fill it up with petrol and spend my remaining days tending to a wall of flame to keep these idiots and their mutant spawn from posting me my letters.
Then I watched the aforementioned Comedy Vehicle. Calling it a vehicle seems about right as it seems to exist to propel Stewart Lee in to the same bracket of 'modern life is shit and this is why' as Mitchell and Webb and Frankie Boyle blah blah blah. This would work better if Lee didn't repeat himself so often to make the jokes last longer (and less funny) and if the programme's theme music wasn't that piece of filth that Bolton Wanderers play when (!) they score a goal at home. I watch comedy to be entertained, not to be reminded of the existence of Gavin McCann, Gary Megson and Sam Allardyce. In fact, Sam Allardyce's interviews on why he should be England manager were funnier than the entirety of last night's Comedy Vehicle. Stewart Lee is like Morrissey; only half as good as he thinks he is. He has some wonderful moments which you can forget as soon as he opens his mouth to spout out the next bit of rubbish. For every How Soon Is Now? or diatribe against Dan Brown (from the first programme, on Books) there is some shit about veganism or a shit joke about a maudlin, solitary ballet shoe which culminates in a poor joke about people complaining to the BBC about everything.
He also looks a bit like Morrissey, which is really where the comparison came from in the first place.
However, The Wire started last night and if you missed that you're fucked, well and truly. There's no more to say on that, in all honesty.
Come back later for some appalling creative writing and a one-word review of Animal Collective's Merriweather Post Pavilion, if you fancy.
Monday 30 March 2009
Been A While Since I Went Away
Just returned from a sabbatical to see old friends from university and never wish to use National Express again. The utter crap-fest that is my mobile phone's mp3 function has brought me to a crossroads as to what to buy. No desire to have an iPod and my previous Creative broke about three days after the warranty expired so I am wary of them (despite the fact that the Zen Touch was the best thing ever).
A Sansa, then? Hurm, as Rorschach would say.
I will write something far more exciting and interesting soon. I promise.
A Sansa, then? Hurm, as Rorschach would say.
I will write something far more exciting and interesting soon. I promise.
Friday 6 February 2009
Everybody's Down
Match Preview: West Bromwich Albion v Newcastle United - 7/2/09 @ 3pm
While the never ending uncertainty continues at St James' Park there's actually a game to be played this weekend. I'm not going to go into the depth that the lads at True Faith do on this occasion, suffice to say that noone is particularly pleased at the fact the club has made a profit in the transfer window and now the players that have left have nothing good to say about the 'men' in charge. That one of the departed is Shay Given, third in the club's all-time appearance list, leaves no doubt that the club is in a complete mess. Perhaps instead of slagging off players that have left the club, Joe Kinnear could concentrate on preparing the players for the match? What does Rafael Benitez call it? Training the players and focussing on the next match? No chance of that from the man who cannot walk away from a camera or a microphone.
Obafemi Martins is due back from a hernia operation for this one and ankle biter/position unknown Alan Smith returns to add nothing to the side but "passion" and "guts"; qualities supposedly on display throughout this week's Merseyside derby. These words are symptoms of a lack of quality and nothing more. Jonas Gutierrez is suspended, so the travelling support can look forward to Damien Duff on the left and a possible start for Peter Lovenkrands. Passing the ball ought to be a feature against a team as open as West Brom; sadly JFK lives in 1989 and Wimbledon's FA Cup win is still fresh in the mind, so lumping it on to the head of the Fenham Eusebio is all that will be seen.
Defence wise, Coloccini has a knock so Taylor the lesser will play at centre-back with Bassong, whilst Beckham Taylor ought to play at right-back. By all accounts Enrique had a barnstomer against the mackems, so hopefully he can take that performance into this match. Butt and Nolan will probably snarl about the centre circle, with Nolan driving onward, hopefully.
West Brom pass it around and look to bring their wingers into the game. Not sure if they'll opt for 4-5-1 or 4-4-2. 4-5-1 would be a safe bet to give them a good chance of bypassing the midfield swiftly and isolating our strikers. They'll be confident despite their thrashing by Manyoo a few weeks ago, with decent wins over the Smoggies, Spurs and Man City at home recently, although their legs might be streched after the midweek cup match.
NUFC Line-up (predicted): Harper; R. Taylor, S. Taylor, Bassong, Jose Enrique; Lovenkrands, Nolan, Butt, Duff; Martins, Ameobi (Subs) Krul, Coloccini, Edgar, Geremi, Lua Lua, Smith/Xisco, Carroll
WBA Line-up (predicted): Carson; Hoefkens, Meite, Donk, Robinson; Morrison, Borja Valero, Koren, Kim Do-Heon, Brunt; Bednar (Subs) Kiely, Cech, Pele (if only it was Cech and Pele), Mesenguez, Filipe Teixeira, Simpson, Fortune
Prediction: WBA 1 - 2 Newcastle (ever the optimist...)
While the never ending uncertainty continues at St James' Park there's actually a game to be played this weekend. I'm not going to go into the depth that the lads at True Faith do on this occasion, suffice to say that noone is particularly pleased at the fact the club has made a profit in the transfer window and now the players that have left have nothing good to say about the 'men' in charge. That one of the departed is Shay Given, third in the club's all-time appearance list, leaves no doubt that the club is in a complete mess. Perhaps instead of slagging off players that have left the club, Joe Kinnear could concentrate on preparing the players for the match? What does Rafael Benitez call it? Training the players and focussing on the next match? No chance of that from the man who cannot walk away from a camera or a microphone.
Obafemi Martins is due back from a hernia operation for this one and ankle biter/position unknown Alan Smith returns to add nothing to the side but "passion" and "guts"; qualities supposedly on display throughout this week's Merseyside derby. These words are symptoms of a lack of quality and nothing more. Jonas Gutierrez is suspended, so the travelling support can look forward to Damien Duff on the left and a possible start for Peter Lovenkrands. Passing the ball ought to be a feature against a team as open as West Brom; sadly JFK lives in 1989 and Wimbledon's FA Cup win is still fresh in the mind, so lumping it on to the head of the Fenham Eusebio is all that will be seen.
Defence wise, Coloccini has a knock so Taylor the lesser will play at centre-back with Bassong, whilst Beckham Taylor ought to play at right-back. By all accounts Enrique had a barnstomer against the mackems, so hopefully he can take that performance into this match. Butt and Nolan will probably snarl about the centre circle, with Nolan driving onward, hopefully.
West Brom pass it around and look to bring their wingers into the game. Not sure if they'll opt for 4-5-1 or 4-4-2. 4-5-1 would be a safe bet to give them a good chance of bypassing the midfield swiftly and isolating our strikers. They'll be confident despite their thrashing by Manyoo a few weeks ago, with decent wins over the Smoggies, Spurs and Man City at home recently, although their legs might be streched after the midweek cup match.
NUFC Line-up (predicted): Harper; R. Taylor, S. Taylor, Bassong, Jose Enrique; Lovenkrands, Nolan, Butt, Duff; Martins, Ameobi (Subs) Krul, Coloccini, Edgar, Geremi, Lua Lua, Smith/Xisco, Carroll
WBA Line-up (predicted): Carson; Hoefkens, Meite, Donk, Robinson; Morrison, Borja Valero, Koren, Kim Do-Heon, Brunt; Bednar (Subs) Kiely, Cech, Pele (if only it was Cech and Pele), Mesenguez, Filipe Teixeira, Simpson, Fortune
Prediction: WBA 1 - 2 Newcastle (ever the optimist...)
Shine a Light
ATP is fast approaching and I am getting excited. There's a good mixture of bands on the bill now and with offers currently out to Wolf Parade, MGMT, Jesus and Mary Chain, Beck, Harvey Milk, Jeffrey Lewis, Errors, Xiu Xiu and Parts & Labor, it could be even better still. Having seen Beck and Errors before I'd rather see some of the others, but Wolf Parade are my top choice. I don't like MGMT though, so I hope they see themselves as too big for this sort of mission, quest, thing...
Main Site
Playlist
Wednesday 4 February 2009
Rad
What is this? What is THIS? This is a lovely widget from the lovely people at 4AD, which I have pilfered to highlight the intense Castanets cover that Sufjan Stevens has recorded for their Red Hot compilation. Its got lots of other great bands on it too, and you can make your own widget too by simply clicking on the one above, with other songs to pick from. I plumped for The National and Bon Iver because, well, they're The National and Bon Iver.
You can get the album in less than a fortnight, and its pretty cheap on amazon, considering its a double disc. Its for AIDS, so you should probably buy it. If you download it it makes you a chump, I reckon.
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