"Arrivederci...........Oh I Meant Ciao"

I went to see Maximo Park last night. Heard a deejay on X-Fm the other night just calling them "Maxeemo". I hate when it suddenly becomes the muso vernacular to ditch half of the band's name. It's crass. So this gig was pretty good. I had to review it for a magazine but I dunno are they using it or not so here's a sneak preview:

Maximo Park, 22nd January 2006

Maximo Park could have easily disappeared into the slew of angular, affected guitar bands that emerged in the UK last year, but two factors helped them stay on the muso radar. One was that they were signed to Warp Records, previously best associated with hothousing the cream of British electronica. The second was their enigmatic frontman Paul Smith with his candid/overwrought lyrics - whichever side of the fence you sit on - and labour intensive stage workout. While the first element has since been relegated to a mere industry curio, the relentless, perpetual motion of Smith is bound to cultivate the sort of veneration reserved for his more celebrated peers.

That's not to belittle the rest of the band, whose cannily crafted hooks and furious instrumentation create wiry, melodic post-punk, but their collective energies and drive seem to be channelled through Smith's high-wire rock posturing. He bounds around the stage like a marionette in a whirlwind, throwing shapes and scowls and wide-eyed stares at the audience. His love-lorn lyrics dictate a tale of a man scorned, and he treats the audience as the object of this unrequited, desirous passion. When not scorning them with pointed fingers, he's pleading with begging arms or coquettishly offering sexual advances with clumsy hip-swivels. Keyboardist Lukas Wooller occasionally deflects some of the attention away from Smith with his own syncopated convulsions and karate chops, but it's no use. There's only one rock star demagogue on show tonight.

Smith's contortions and facial tics help give the music a frenetic gee-up. The first half of the show is breathless. The band race through Signal and Sign, The Coast Is Always Changing and Graffiti. The Heineken Green Room crowd is the usual ragbag of lickspittle fanboys/girls and benign freeloaders, but the spiky rhythms and frenzied synths coerce everyone into nodding approvingly. Perhaps after the hectic opening it is pause for breath allowed by the softer new single I Want You To Stay that helps make it one of the nights highlights.

It's a brief respite. The rousing Limassol provides one more opportunity for flailing limbs to collide with verbose lyricism as does Now I'm All Over the Shop with it's very modern tale of romance in the gutter. It still doesn't prepare you for the prolonged bout of applause that greeted Apply Some Pressure, which made even Smyth look bashful.

The audience's clamour for an encore is rewarded with newbie Nosebleed and the relative serenity of Going Missing. The band departs to more sustained applause, with Smith's face a shape-shifting collage of bowled over grimaces and ear to ear grins. If he's not sure what to make of it all, then at least the crowd most certainly are.

end

See how much nicer a gent I am when not frothing at the mouth? So it was a good night. Had to curtail my debauchery because I was 'working', but bumped into some peeps i met at ATP and got a bit drunk, before staying up writing. Maximo put on a good show. Sorry Maximo Park put on a good show. The singer Paul Smith really is a manic performer; it's cringey and entertaining in equal measure. A couple of Italian accolytes up at the front of the stage were cooing at him, and he responded with "Arrivederci........(long pause) oops I mean ciao" It was funny. Afterwards he belatedly arrived upstairs at the indie-disco and was beseiged by loads of cling-ons who demanded photos on their mobiles. He wore a not especially flattering trilby and then went up dancing when the Dj played one of his songs. You began to understand why his lyrics are so hopelessly love-lorn. He is the Pepe le Peu of pop.

Here's Maximo (Park) and their current single - I want you to stay - from their pretty fine debut record A Certain Trigger. http://rapidshare.de/files/11694505/06_i_want_you_to_stay.mp3.html

Cheers for the crashpad Donut!

Cloak and Dagger Stuff.

So I cruised over to Popsheep - yeah I'm still on neighbourhood watch - and they're running a "Canadian Election Result Prediction" contest. No chance of such politicised rhetoric here. Politics is a cruel mistress. I'll give you my tunes instead. These aren't especially new or anything. I think this is viewed as a bit uncouth in the musoblogisphere. Old, old stuff like grampa's nose-flute sessions recorded with two cups and a piece of string, that's cool, and new, new stuff like some lo-fi Scandinavian "sound artist" hermit who lives in a nice loft in Stockholm and communicates only through semaphore that's cool, but stuff released between six and eighteen months ago? Poo-ey! "I heard that song on the radio you fool. Cease and desist your blog immediately". Anyways, here's some tunes that have been released between six and eighteen months ago. Thumbing my nose at all a y'alls.

I really like this tune by Aberfeldy, an Edinburgh twee-pop group. It's sickly sweet, fey, winsome, all that jazz, but gets away with it. The album "Young Forever" is great too. Dig it out.

Aberfeldy - Love Is An Arrow http://rapidshare.de/files/11689396/03_-_love_is_an_arrow.mp3.html

New(ish), doing the rounds a bit, and gonna be big(ish) soon. New project from Dangermouse and Cee Lo Green.

Gnarls Barkley - Crazy http://rapidshare.de/files/6212444/Gnarls_Barkley_-_Crazy.mp3.html

Happy Weekend!

Weekend Sport: Gaelic Football Match Descends Into Fair Play and Sportsmanship

Officials at the Kilalallagh Junior B Third Round clash between Tullyodea and St. Breemstacks were caught unawares as the game rapidly and unexpectedly descended into a good natured and sporting occasion.

The contest between the two fierce local rivals began with the traditional brutal physical intensity. The opening exchanges of play included a melee, a fracas, a brouhaha, "handbags", a few
hefty challenges, "jostling", general over-enthusiasm and bad-tempered gamesmanship, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Then as quickly as all that had developed, the game took an unexpected turn. An unprovoked air of calm and camaraderie overcame both players as they began to fairly compete for the ball and disengaged in off the ball incidents. No old sores were reopened and no old scores were settled.

Both supporters and officials were shocked at some of the on-field antics by the players, which included handing the ball to their opponent when it had gone out of play, inquiring about the extent of their opponent's injuries, and graciously commenting on their opposite numbers' girlfriend/wife/sister/mother.

"There was no crut to that at all." commented local St. Breemstacks supporter Gerry MacWaterford. "In all my years I've never come across a match with such a lack in ugly incidents, pointless clashes, petty squabbling, and nasty, cynical football. It's shocking."

Neither teams management would comment after the game. Both coaches were not required to remonstrate with officials during the match, neither did they exchange words with each other, or have to take aside any of their players to cool them down.

The referee, Mickie 'Joe Mickie' Masters couldn't pinpoint what exactly sparked the outbreak of brotherhood and humanity amongst the players, but did admit that the "top brass" would be taking a look at the game and that it wouldn't not be the last we heard of it. He left to fill out his referees report which he said he would "probably be able to text in".

Bin Laden Tape Bookended By New Arctic Monkeys Record

The new audio recording of wanted terrorist Osama Bin Laden was recorded over a bootleg of the new Arctic Monkey's record, sources revealed today.

The tape, which was aired on the Arabic TV station al-Jazeera yesterday, offered a stern warning to the USA of "further attacks", but also hinted that the leader of al-Qaeda is up to speed with the latest indie wunderkind.

It is the first time Bin-Laden had been heard from since September 2004, and the first time he has displayed any inclination towards sprightly, northern indie-rock.

Analysts have dated the tape to late 2006, around the same time when Arctic Monkey's fever was hitting the British music press. The recording begins with the number one single 'I Bet That You Look Good On The Dancefloor' and is followed by a brief snippet of BBC radio dj Zane Lowe saying "SoftlysoftlycatchyArticMonkeywowieee-".

This excerpt, clearly recorded from the radio, is followed by the first two tracks of the Arctic Monkey's debut record "Whatever people say I am, That's What I'm Not". Half way through track number three, "Fake Tales Of San Francisco", Bin Laden interrupts and begins his 25 minute speech.

Although Bin Laden warns of further attacks, he also offers the possibility of a "long term truce" with America. Clearly smitten by his new musical discovery, he even punctuates his sentences with typical northern English vernacular such as 'nowt' and 'owt'.

"Your president is misinterpreting public opinion polls which show the vast majority of you want withdrawal from Iraq. Yous owt to get shot of 'im", Bin Laden warns.

Vice President Dick Cheney responded by calling the surreptitious planting of the Arctic Monkey's record on the tape "a ploy, designed to curry favour with the British public."

"Besides," Cheney continued, "Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! are clearly a much better prospect for 2006, with greater musical scope and Alec Ounsworths haunting timbre to boot."

Meet The Competition.

We're not really competing really. I mean there's a real camaraderie between all us Mp3 blogger dudes and dudettes. It's all about spreading the good word, preaching our universal secular creed, turning stoopid regular folks onto good music. Well not FM folks, just our nice mates. Anyways all these other blogs are a lot better than mine. But they each has a slew of different contributors, and I'm here slogging away, like King Cnut - yeah it's King Cnut - ordering the tide not to come in or like the little boy with his finger in the dyke. What I'm trying to say is that I'm fighting a losing battle here, but you guys are gonna stick with me. Ain't ya?

so I went to Said the Gramophone and clicked on a few random blogs from there.

http://www.saidthegramophone.com/
This place is just so nice. It's like calling round to a sound mate who always looks out for you and gives you a cup of tea, and offers advice in a sweet, but not pushy, manner and generally is someone you can count on. The only thing that will derail this sanguine venture is if all it's contributors get busted for grooming eleven year old scenester kids, suffer the ingnomy of having their computers carted off in clear plastic bags by some Operation Ore head honcho. Or maybe some deludedteen in the mid west goes on a shooting spree and tells everyone "The gramophone told me to do it". Neither are going to happen soon.

http://popdrivel.blogspot.com/
Called 'The Smudge Of Ashen Fluff' - means something to someone, somewhere, but alas not to me- this place is a predictably competent blog, maybe a bit stoic for my tastes, but I am as of yet to uncover the Father Ted/music blog crossover that I desperately yearn for, I guess I should just get used to earnest, intelligent, thoughful places like this. fuck it anyways. Where are all the shit blogs?..........Oh, you're looking at me aren't you?

http://www.hutten.org/lsh/
'Long Sought Home' - a blog about music about the afterlife. I can't help but think about that scene in 'Bananas' with Woody Allen product testing the coffin with the headphones and he sits up and says "this will be a good seller in California". This place looks just like mine! Actually his looks a bit more spruced up, like he got that guy in from that show who helps you add value to you house before you sell it to some gullible unsuspecting cunt who didn't realise the place had no roof cos you pointed out the freshly painted skirting board. Nice blog though, serene, soulful, uplifting. I'm gonna forward the URL to Pope Benedict.

http://prewarblues.org/
"Honey, where you been so long" is dedicated to pre war blues. John Kelly would cream himself here. It's just getting depressing now. This guy has probably thenceforth some 78s the size of a tractor tire into mp3s and yesterday I didn't know how to convert an mp3 into a mp3. Way to go guys for killing my carefully nurtured naivete.

http://www.lemon-red.org/blog/
a blog that's so hip it should be behind a velvet rope. I nearly didn't get in cos I'm sitting here in a dodgy amalgam of my football gear and my pajamas - who am I fucking kidding, I'm wearing a fire-damaged pink dressingown and I'm covered in Jacobs cream crackers detritus. Happy now? Anyways, this place is shitcool, leaning towards electronica and hip-hop, and I'm guessing I'm not on the guestlist. It's got a Diplo exclusive. Well, fuck that, next week I'll have Horsebox and the Singing Brickie doing that Westlife/Guns n roses medley live from The Greasy Ball, Cranny, East Clare.

So, I've learnt I'm way out of my depth. Here's some tunes, if you like them, look the artist up on the interweb, and stop looking at me like a gormless tit. Okay, sorry for been a grumpy bollix. First up is Tim Fite. Saw him play support to Buck 65 a few months back, blew me away, his album from last is good but a bit of a mixed bag, This song is sweet but with a pleasantly caustic undertone.

Tim Fite, "away from the snakes" http://www.bigupload.com/d=593557F2


Next up The Brakes. Short, snappy, funny, great. First song is about tinkers, second about bullshitters.

The Brakes "the best fun" http://www.bigupload.com/d=078D13DA

The Brakes"heard about your band"http://www.bigupload.com/d=AE0AB6D8


And Finally.......http://www.grapheine.com/bombaytv/playuk.php?id=552402
(it may well become a regular feature)


Laters!

!Forward Russia!

Nice t-shirts.

How do you do it on Word though?

ATP: The Nightmare Before Christmas

this is sort of lazy. well, it's not my fault i couldn't find a better home for it. Actually it is, but let's not go there. i went to the mighty All Tomorrow's Parties festival in Sussex before Christmas........eugh, Christmas.... it's such a dirty word in January innit? Long winded review of said festival here:

All Tomorrow’s Parties: The Nightmare Before Christmas
Curated by the
Mars Volta
2nd – 4th December 2005

By the time you’ve got there, bought booze, carted copious amounts of food that will remain uneaten, found mates, lost mates, found mates, imbibed some imported Buckfast, you’ve missed the far too early scheduled Battles. Dang. We should have driven. We should have gotten an earlier flight. Wait, forget it. Jaga Jazzist is starting. Nice. Actually these guys are quite boring, I wish they’d stop doing their en masse shoegazing stuff and pick it up a bit. And they do. A rousing second half rescues Jaga Jazzist’s set from a stodgy quagmire, placing it firmly in the ‘that was worth sticking through’ category. Now who’s next?

All Tomorrow’s Parties always begins with many of its patrons in a state of flux. Well the non native ones anyways. It temporarily combines the worst elements of going on holiday, moving into a new gaff, and trying to get to a gig on time. There is no respite. By the time you’ve set up shop in the chalet, it’s time to haul buns into the venues and check out what’s on. That electro-post rockers Battles had to be sacrificed in this maelstrom of activity was an aberration, but mercifully only a temporary one. Tick Jaga Jazzist off and take stock. Maybe even sit down. There is a weekend ahead and it cannot be this breathless. Bit it may just have to be.

The first rule of every festival is: you can’t see everything. It’s a toughie, and it hits especially hard when you peruse the schedule and spot unsightly clashes left, right and centre. The blow is lessened at ATP by the it’s compact layout. There is stage one downstairs, and the larger stage two upstairs. Still, dashing between shows to savour their best parts inevitably leads to a distinctly underwheming impression of both artists. It’s like flicking between two football matches on the telly: you maybe lucky and snatch a goal here and there, but you’ll never get the context in which it was scored.

So Dälëk were the first to get the cold shoulder. I vouched for The Locust. It was a good bet that I’d see something here that I wouldn’t see for the rest of the weekend. I was right. The Locust apocalyptic tumult fires spastic synths, primal screams, and dirt-pool guitars at the audience in short spasmodic waves. Their songs begin and end randomly, a melange of staccato noise building up and quickly destroying any hint of rhythm or song structure. They remain incommunicado and motionless on stage, bedecked in one-piece ‘Spiderman-in-mourning’ outfits, looking like Kraftwerk from Hades. It’s a compelling sight and sound. One slight flaw: it’s not music. But who cares when the outfits look that good?

If you thought there was going to be any respite from then sonic assaults, you’d be wrong. Next up was über-caterwauler Diamanda Galas. Her bone jarring, air-siren, banshee wail and piano pounding proved too much for my already softened up eardrums. Sure, it was an extremely intense and provocative performance, but one lacking in any real empathy for…ah…..the audience. Saul Williams, on the other hand, proved to be a more welcoming distraction. As compelling and intense as Ms Galas but easier on the ear, his ‘spoken word remix’ show was undoubtedly one of the weekend highlights, combining mellifluous beats with sharp, polemic prose.

The Kills tuneful man/woman duopoly was always going to struggle against some of the new weirdness heavyweights on show, and they conjured up little spark in front of a demonstrably passive audience. It just seemed so dull in comparison to what had gone on previous. The crowd filtered away only to be greeted by Battles ad hoc late night show down stairs, a special treat for all us latecomers. It quickly dissipated the torpor lingering from the Kills abject show. With the ink barely dry on their Warp records contracts, Battles put on a blinding show, sounding somewhere between Daft Punk and the Redneck Manifesto, it was a fantastic way to end the day. Well, apart from boozing all night in the pub….

400 Blows performance had all the menace and ruthless efficiency that their weedy counterparts JR Ewing lacked earlier Saturday afternoon. Maybe it was simply that 400 Blows stark black military fatigues gave them this sort of campy bad cop/bad cop omnipotence, but their tunes were still headstrong and abrasive, fusing hard-edged punk and firebrand no-wave. Even the fire alarm, which subsequently evacuated the building, had a hard time clearing these guys. An incendiary show.

It was followed was an equally eviscerating performance by lippy fire-breather, Lydia Lunch. Without her full band in tow – only accompanied by some blow-life sax dude – she lacked certain oomph, but her ire and brimstone poetry still packed a kick in the nuts. Those hoping she’d pull out a flaming tampon and fuck it at the crowd were surprisingly disappointed.

The Fucking Champs geekish pseudo-metal took a while to get going, but proved more than an embellished sidenote on the weekend. Ironically that’s all they get though, because the hyperactive Quintron and Miss Pussycat – think B52s/LCD Soundsystem soundclash – brought a desperately needed air of frivolity to the evenings proceedings, rendering the more sombre preceding acts look a bit po-faced.

The fun-size pop frolics soon got squashed. A certain utterly merciless raging torrent of heavy metal named High On Fire ploughed through ATP leaving a trail of flailing limbs and perforated eardrums. It was a rousing juggernaut – frontman Matt Pike showering up close fanboys in wife beater sweat, George Rice’s slobberknocker basslines, and drummer Des Kensel obstructed by the hereditary sea of toms. This was hard, hard, unyieldingly hard. To paraphrase George Orwell, it was like getting stamped on the face forever. But in a nice way, if you get me.

And ditto for Mastodon.

In between there was a stint at psychedelic-indie-rockers Weird War being funky and engaging. Enigmatic frontman Ian Svenonius sashayed about the stage, amongst other places during the weekend, and acted the spazed-out shaman. A captivating performance. Yeah, and before you go all nuts on me and say I’m forgetting to mention one of the best shows all weekend, I only saw ten minutes of Les Savy Fav and they were great but I had to attend a chalet meeting to negotiate the sleeping arrangements. Would there be sleep or not was the gist of the minutes of said chalet meeting.

I returned more out of courtesy than any great overriding desire to watch the Mars Volta. It was their weekend, their Nightmare, their bash. I give them their dues, they put on a fine jamboree, but they remain an acquired taste. Moments of prog-metal inspiration were repeatedly ram-raided by guitarist Omar Rodriguez-Lopez indulgent guitar noodling. Often just when they clicked, they crumbled. Maybe it’s me. I just don’t get these guys.

Sunday brought carpet tongue and septic stomach. The perfect antidote was supplied by the Cinematic Orchestra, providing the live score to Dziga Vertov’s seminal documentary ‘Man With A Movie Camera.” The images and jazzy-trip-hop sounds melded into a unique synergy, and it was at times both languorous and beautiful. The viewer could drift in an out, coaxed into a soporific state by the sultry sounds, yet captivated by the sprightly rhythm of the visuals.

By this stage the timetable went into meltdown. Ex-Can member Holger Czukay disappeared, Acid Mothers Temple got bumped until evening, and Micheal Rother was left holding the baby. The former NEU-man’s set was plagued by dodgy sound, but he still carried off an impressive and vital performance of hallowed tick-tock-krautrock. The Eternals, who followed him, were terrible, in many different ways, but mostly by denying people opportune time to play this irrepressible boxing game in the arcade. Or eat some ‘toad in the hole’. Or decimate the guy’s toilets – you naughty, naughty boys. Such peccadilloes make ATP.

And by now CocoRosie were stealing everyone’s show. A really quite special performance, with Sierras Cassady’s voice soaring in all sorts of unforeseen directions and her sister, Bianca, dueting with her ‘little-girl-lost’ timbre. A beat-boxing mc provided backing for this powerhouse of freak-folk lullabies. Audience enraptured, they disappeared, and it was left to Antony and the Johnsons to gather them into his affections. What he did was sweet, amiable and affecting, but maybe a little maudlin in comparison to what had gone before. It didn’t stop some burly chaps blubbering in the front row though. Maybe those tears were shed because the weekend was over?

The Russians are coming.

okay, i exhausted all my vitriol in yesterday's post, made some friends (hey adriane!) some enemies (the lunch bunch) and got a worrying seal of approval from the Militia - shout-outs to all my crew hanging on the Far-Right. So let's get down to brass tacks. this blog will feature, along with poorly punctuated sentances and occasional spittle laced frothy mouthed diatribes, songs you should check out, hand picked from across the musical vista. there are blogs that do this better - take a bow Said the Gramophone - and one's that will give you lots more music - heres looking at you reagan youth - but mine will not be:
a) po-faced, serious and overly sincere. it's music goddammit - the soundtrack to our lives, not our lives in totality
b) heavy with waffling erudite descriptions of songs
c) a free for all with no quality control, and way too much music to download so you end up paralysed by choice.

Plus you can probably tell my web skills are pretty remedial, so suggestions from either of the two people who irregularly perused this place may be considered, but will probably be dismissed with a waspish wave of the hand.

Right, less of the pontificating. here's a new band called !Forward Russia! (the first exclamation mark is supposed to be upside down; no idea how to do that sorry). they're from Leeds in England and sound like a punky Bloc Party.

!Forward Russia! - Twelve http://www.bigupload.com/d=B0645509 (because i'm a poor miscreant who can't splash out on web hosting, you gotta fetch it from big upload)

and here's some techno. this was Pitchforks no.1 techno track of last year. not sure if i agree with that but it's decent. (my techno mate tells me it's trance. what a nonce.) :

booka shade - mandarine girl http://www.bigupload.com/d=F6776EBE

Highfive!

Meet The Neighbours!

So, before I start settling into any sort of regular correspondence, it's only polite, I decided, to visit my fellow bloggers, and introduce myself. I mean that's what a nice neighbour does isn't it? I clicked 'next blog' a few times to see what kind of reprobates are channeling futile energies into garbled rubbish, like me. Here's who I met:

http://friendofrjsix.blogspot.com/
A really worthy, safe, PG-13 kinda place run by a bunch of Asian girls. Full of wholesome ditties like, 'Friendship..The ship that never sinks' and lots of other pseudo-"chicken soup for the twee cunt" claptrap. Not my sort of place, but nice to know that people are deluded enough to think that they live in a disneyworld snowglobe full of sugar and spice and all things nice. The newest entry has is some sort of effete 'Kids say the funniest things' motif, which is so niminy-piminy that if you were employed by Hallmark they would immediately order a body cavity search for two fairydust coated bunny rabbits using your arse as a burrow. What's going on gals? I'll tell you what's going on: war, genocide, famine, "extreme rendition", oppression, rape, murder. If you fuck off now you might just catch the end of the sales.

http://squigee.blogspot.com/
the next target for my ribald dissemination is this inept but slightly endearing attempt by some woman to keep to an 'Oprah and Mom' sanctioned diet. Each entry consists of a recipe and some cathartic absolution about how she will never go on the piss at the weekend cos she might become a dipso, or how there's this pair of skinny jeans lurking in her cupboard that she swears she can squeeze in to. I thinking she should just apply for that frankensteins-monster-meets-Head -to-toe makeover show 'The Swan' and set the job done in a few weeks. Then she can weep uncontrollably when she looks at herself in the mirror and sees an exact replica of all the other chimeras who've appeared on the show. Fuck it love, just go on Dr. Phil again.

http://updatereportbybro.blogspot.com/
Too boring for words. I'll let the guy try and explain it himself: "It is a memo of the software installed in my PC. Because it is a record for me, it is conscious that the explanation is considerably insufficient. It considers it if it comments." See? Even he doesn't have a fucking clue what it's about.

http://degrassioldskool.blogspot.com/
noo yawk hipster dollybird, self consicously kooky, who I'm guessing......reads pitchfork, makes her own clothes, wishes she could play the theremin, favourite move is something French...say jean de florette, is part of a "collective", is kinda seeing this guy, but they're really good friends and she doesn't want to ruin it, owns some DFA vinyl, met chloe sevingny once and she's so nice, wants to live in Berlin, makes this really great gazpacho, cycles a bike, likes the smell of old things, watches reruns of my so called life, is forgetful....Clap Your Hands and Say Meh.

http://antiracistlosers.blogspot.com/
oo-er, it was only a matter on time before we stumbled across some lobotomised nazi fruitcake. Well, he claims to be highlighting 'the far-left bias and PC madness that has enslaved the white man' or something - I tend to misquote liberally - but we all know that he's a seething - but impressively literate -travis bickell, preening at himself in the mirror and imagining what it would feel like to garrott that black dude that delivers his pizza. Hey mister, so your not allowed say 'nigger' but you can say 'cracker'. So your demonised for being straight, white, and conservative. What's the big deal? You guys run the world, ain't that enough?

So there you go. surprise, surprise, the neighbours are crazy.

I post therefore I am

fuck it, i said recently. i might aswell revieve that ill-fated blog that no-one read. I'll vow to be sharper, wittier, more sardonic. This ain't no new years resolution; it's a new year's revolution. 2006 is the year of the Zeitghost. ah, quit this tub-thumping bullshit. i give it up in two weeks. so what have the next two weeks of over-eager blogging in store? limp-wristed, cockamamie, half-baked pseudo-shitster speak, some trenchent insights into nothing and over indulgent ego driven rants all for you mealy-mouthed, milquetoast faggits who are too busy gawking at each other and at me to even reasilse that you fucking shoe laces are velcro.

Enjoy!