Filed under: Uncategorized
So I’m off around the world soon. I say the world, I mean Oceania. It’s a start.
I’m hyped about getting out of England. I’m hyped about sun (you know, that big orange thing that glows in the sky from time to time?). I’m hyped about new people. New food (and real Thai food!). I’m hyped about a great many things. Apart from the spiders. They do not hype me.
To celebrate my move away I think I shall move to another blogsite. Don’t really know why, just want to. I’m hoping I’ll get more traffic and have reason to blog more often. So I guess I do know why.
From here on in you will find me at http://lovingmouthfuls.blogspot.com/.
Tara for now…
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Today’s post is sponsored by the words “dumb” and “cock-thought”.
I went to Saeed’s blog (wellonaperchinside) as last I checked there hadn’t been anything new for a while.
Not only has he recently written a wealth of posts but they’re all awesome and about good things, things which I’d never blog about as I wouldn’t know where to start. Which makes this post all the more dumb as it is about Katy Perry.
I never knew she would be such a runaway phenomena in my head but it all started on a trip to a TVOTR show in Birmingham. Sat munching on burgers at a service station I bring up that I find her strangely attractive when I feel that I shouldn’t. Leo and Emma both agree that I shouldn’t but I’m not convinced. There’s just something about her.
A few days earlier whilst perusing the paper left in the bathroom I come across a double page spread of Katy and her myriad outfits when presenting the MTV awards. There’s something about an out-of-nowhere pop star dresed in a giant banana skin with a psychotic glint in her eye that causes quite a commotion in and around my groinal region. Add to that the, uh, “controversial” nature of her music (which, let’s face it, is pretty risque for pop these days) and some ridiculous outfits and I’m sold.
Kick her out of bed? I’d kick myself out so I could watch her sleep. You know, the more I think about it the more I consider becoming her stalker.
I’m only joking, Katy, if you’re reading this. But if you are, how about we hang out? I promise to be awesome at all times.
Seriously though, do you know how much fun she looks? Check out this youtube video I randomly came across (I swear to you, I am not obssessesd, I did just randomly find it).
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=77J625dxHhE
Okay, so the actual Beyonce video is smoking hot and has my trousers all a fluster everytime i come across it (easy, tiger) but does she not seem like the most awesome person to party with? In fact, she’s so awesome I don’t know if I want to bang or hang with her.
A list of my favourite songs called hot and cold or a variation of:
Basement Jaxx – Hot ‘n Cold
Katy Perry – Hot n Cold
That’s all I can think of right now.
Consider the following:
-Her dress sense is ace.
-She clearly has an awesome sense of humour.
-She looks like she would take it as bad as you would want to give it. AND love it.
-She kisses girls AND likes it.
-And as Saeed said, “ she looks like she’d play Mortal Kombat with you.”
Who doesn’t want these things in a girl?
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Add new tag, alcohol, drugs, enlightenment, Music, sick, words
I’d been talking with some friends, you see, about my restlessness and bouncing leg dance at work and when concentrating and all these things that seem rooted in anxiety and that’s when Molly suggested Adderall. Said it helped her focus when painting. Naturally, this intrigued me…
Amina works in a clinic so in my quest for drugs I asked if she could get hold of any. It turns out they don’t dispense amphetamine based drugs at MRI clinics so she recommended seeing my GP instead.
“Yeah, but he’ll probably think I’m being stupid or a hypochondriac.” I didn’t realise until yesterday that hypochondria is a condition in itself. Words are horribly mistreated these days.
Convinced that it wouldn’t hurt to visit the wonderfully moustached Dr. Arnold, I booked an appointment.
Sitting in the waiting room it dawned on me how stupid this whole situation seemed. The lure of amphetamines had a firm grip on my lapels and was sat watching the doorway whilst my better judgement slumped in the chair and watched my ipod. What would he say? A 25 year old man, because that’s what I technically am, walking into his office and requesting to be put on amphetamines. I had to think of some other affliction, maybe ask about a sexual health check up, that’s feasible, or enquire about a general health check…
My name is called. I shouldn’t have bothered. My train comes in 20 minutes, I’m never going to make it to Victoria station in time.
Dr. Arnold is sat in his chair as he always is, offers me a seat.
“I’m having trouble concentrating. Well, I always have but it gets worse sometimes, especially when I have to really concentrate and my legs bounce uncontrollably and a friend told me about this drug that helps you concentrate and, I’m not saying that I have ADHD, but it’s called Adderall and it’s normally prescribed to kids with ADHD in America…”
He asks me a series of questions which I answer truthfully and thinking it a tangent but semi-relevant I tell him about school and how teachers always credited me with more intelligence than i believed myself to have etc. It surprises me a little when he continues the line of questions based on this minor revelation and goes on to mention anxiety and minor OCD and all these little bits and pieces come together and for the first time in a long time, all these little straggler problems throughout my life are snatched out of the air like butterflies in a net and he tells me, “well it does sound like you may have adult ADD, only it’s not recognised in this country.”
I’ve always known there was something amiss. As a kid I didn’t know what AD/HD was, wouldn’t have ever considered the possibility that I had it. I thought I was being stupid and looking for a quick-fix solution to an insignificant problem but when he said it I felt a wave of dizzying clarity. It all made sense. I can’t read a book without reading and re-reading lines, sometimes entire pages. I’m constantly fidgeting and I can’t sit down at work all day. I write best when I’m hungover or drunk or stoned and it makes sense. That’s when I’m most focused. I can’t deal with anything else so I focus. That’s where the amphetamines come in!
And that’s when the realisation set in. My favourite writers and musicians and artists have all been alcoholics or drug dependant and I always joked about how I was destined to go the same route as Bukowski or Hemingway but maybe I am. Awesome. Can’t get the drugs though. Meh.
I’ve been on a bit of a bender this week. I’m a little bit addicted to guitars. I have spent every day of the past week scouring the internet for them, mainly vintage, mainly unaffordable. Then I got thinking about building my own and things got out of hand… all this 2 months before i set off on a round the world trip. I’m a clever boy.
I don’t neeeed a new guitar but it would be most welcome and provide the perfect accompaniment to my renewed drive to become a wicked- bad guitarist (by which of course I mean good). My binge buddies have mainly been Eastwoods (particularly the Airline Map), Fender Jazzmasters, Telecasters (with a Bigsby *drools*) and Jaguars.
Guitars always look better when they’re gigged and loved. Every new chip on my guitar’s paintwork is cherished, blood splatters on my bass are rarely wiped off. They’re like memories, emotive triggers like that song that reminds you of that road trip or that place that reminds you of your ex. So whilst looking at all these worn out wonders, I came across this beautiful beast…
Sexy. The wear on the forearm cut at the top of the body, probably from years of relentless chugs and thrashes, the chips from countless smacks and bangs of floors and amps and drums and general band havoc. This beautiful little Jaguar is that random old guy you meet drunk in the pub wearing the most awesome trilby and tweed jacket, sat at the bar with a whiskey on ice tapping his thighs and bopping his head along to the most unlikely songs, telling you all these amazing stories about the bands he used to hang out with in the 60s and 70s who’s probably fathered at least 10 children he’s unaware of and probably unwittingly killed more.
I show Martin the new object of my affections to which he responds:
“Yeah, it’s beautiful but I wouldn’t buy it. If she was your girlfriend she’d be saying “I’ve had some amazing sex but none of it was with you”
He’s got a point.
Slut.
I’m sat at work again. Bored. Nothing to do. Just been in trouble for calling a customer a muppet via e-mail. He wasn’t supposed to see of course.
Tappity tappity tap. Little black keys. They turn into words. I’m running out of things to sell. Always taking the longest time to answer the phone. Her face changes shape every time I turn around. The phone slams harsh. My computer fails, for a change. The faint, low sun lights up a list on the wall, gives it a golden hue, makes it look important for a fleeting moment when it realises its crown of light is painted on air. And there it remains, a selotape crucifixion on the stationery cupboard.
Oh boredom.
Don’t get me wrong, I think Kings of Leon are some of the finest tunesmiths around and ‘Sex On Fire’ is great in its popped up simplicity and hey, I’m all up for them doing whatever the hell they want in their videos but… really? Really?
A friend was telling me about the new album and the video. “‘Sex On Fire’ is sooooo good,” she said “and the video is even better. He’s lying around all naked and he looks so hot!!”
So I’ve just watched the video. I won’t deny that he looks good in it, they’re a good looking bunch of guys, I’m sure the whole family is beautiful, but… really? For those of you who haven’t seen it, here’s a brief synopsis.
Caleb lies on a table in the middle of what looks like an old barn/warehouse.
The other boys stand around looking confused but with purpose. They’re all dressed in black.
Matthew chases a chicken. Also black.
Jared reads a book. Probably with a black cover.
Torn pieces of pages from the book blow about. So do black feathers.
Now the band are playing. They’re wearing different clothes. Still black.
Jared slaps Matthew in the face.
They play some more.
Matthew wipes his mouth.
They all hold Caleb down on the table.
Matthew is eating chicken.
Nathan sticks his head in some dirty water
Caleb writhes around on his table looking pained.
Nathan is now taking a shower with his trousers on under what looks a really long bucket of water being poured on his head from a height. Said bucket is out of shot but probably black too.
Caleb struggles against the boys pinning him down.
Someone draws a curtain on a ring that seems to surround a load of gloves on sticks, their silhouettes visible on the curtain.
More quick shots of the same wiping of mouths, reading of books, eating of chicken, broody faces, some dead chickens hanging from a ceiling, Caleb writhing some more, the boys walking around being mysterious as you like and then Caleb spits out a black cloud.
Yes. A black cloud. Spat out. Of his mouth.
Then the video ends.
Right.
So, who’s sex is on fire? Why has Caleb been eating clouds? Why do they all now look like hairdressers? What the hell were the gloves on sticks about? Why did anyone think this was a good video to accompany the song and why oh why are there so many close-ups of Matthew eating chicken?!
I tell you what the video should have been. The Kings of Leon helping old ladies cross the road who thank them by taking out their teeth and gumming the Kings’ ear lobes. A King sucks on a lolly pop for a really long time. Another stands in front of a mirror wearing full plate mail armour, only without the legs because he is now actually a faun. One of them sits on the toilet reading Viz and the other is stood in the middle of a barn crying from a paper cut wound. At the end of the video they all sit down to a nice Followill family meal of roast grass. One of them spits out a baby pig who suddenly mutates into a winged four necked guitarhog and they all start wailing on the pig’s necks as they float up into the sky.
All that said I am not ashamed to agree that Caleb does have a sexy voice although I do hate that it can make me admit to that. Oh my god, I just said a guy was ’sexy’. I am honestly not gay.
Today is a scary day. When I wake up tomorrow the world will be subject to a shift of incredible power and I’m scared it could shift the wrong way.
So many people on Facebook have ‘donated their status’ to Obama for what good it’s worth as they all live in England but it’s a sign of goodwill, I guess. Either way, it’s history. First black president or first female VP.
But thinking about it… it’s highly probable that either Obama will be assasinated or that after the inevitable croaking of McCain, Palin will run the country into the ground. In this respect, Obama has already made a martyr of himself. For all the accusations of socialist this and terrorist that, the man has a game plan and he fully intends on seeing it through. He and his family are aware of what they are facing but they march on, hopeful and proud. This alone is inspiring enough for me to put my faith in him, a man so set in his conviction that he follows his path with great strides, merely brushing aside any obstacles and not getting stuck in the mud.
Palin, however… well, just youtube her. She just wants to be liked. This is not a quality that a potential president should have. After last election’s fiasco and everything that happened as a result I am genuinely worried that Obama will not get in. Of course there are arguments against Obama which I’m clearly not going to go into (http://www.blackagendareport.com if you’re interested) but in my humble layman’s political opinion (and to quote the Obama propoganda machine), it’s time for change.
I don’t know. Maybe it’s a case of grass is greener. Maybe it’s lesser of two evils, after all, Obama is still a politician. Either way, if my vote counted for anything it would go to Obama.
In other news, I started biting my nails again today. Coincidence?
Eeesh.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: awesome, band, enlightenment, friends, Music, wanted
I try not to moan but this one’s been a long time coming.
Let me tell you about what bugs me more than most things right now. More than Boris Johnson, more than the thought of hardcore republicans and the idiot that is Palin, more than the fact you can’t find non-anti-perspirant roll on deodorant in England (or since we’re now on that subject, giant cans of Arizona Green Tea with Honey and Ginseng for 99 cents) and more than intellectually degrading adverts.
My dear people, let me tell you what really grinds my gears right now- “musicians”.
Why is it that with all the “musicians” I know, no one seems to be up for doing anything new. I’ve got a shit ton of ideas and the will to be as ace as humanly possible. All I want is at least one other person to share this with and to create something awesome. So why can I not find anyone?
I know my music isn’t shit. I know it. It’s not perfect but the ideas are there. All I need is a kindred soul to cultivate them. It’s not that I can’t do it on my own, I want to share it with someone to make it even better than I can make it by myself. Not to dick on single parents but kids stand a better chance when raised in a loving mother/father family environment.
I need a musicwife. Or musichusband. Whatever.
Now I’m tempted to say that Britain is making great music again but did it ever stop? I mean I only recently heard bands like The Pop Group and A Certain Ratio but they were making music before I was Born.
I remember being in my local record store a few years back (www.banquetrecords.com) and overhearing a guy lamenting the lack of decent music coming out of England. This at a time Travis and other inoffensive guitar music topped the charts. So maybe he was right but maybe it’s because we couldn’t get to the decent stuff. Music blogs weren’t quite like they are today, the industry (for the artists) was in a shambles which as a result put major labels in an incredible position of power. Back then the only real innovations in British music were in electronica. Warp Records made the move to London, Basement Jaxx were killing it chartwise, Radiohead had released Kid A. The general post-britpop feeling was that guitar music had gone as far as it was going to go, and it had really.
Back then I didn’t know what to think. He was right, wasn’t he? As is the nature of these musical cycles in Britain, the people gorge on whatever is on the major label banquet table until they are fat, bloated, spewing vile words like Travis and Standing On the Shoulders of Giants. Sorry times indeed.
With the benefit of hindsight I see how wrong we were. Britpop was a great time for British music and it was necessary for progression. I was too naive to dig out the real obscure gems so I stuck with Pulp, Blur, Mansun, Supergrass, even Skunk Anansie and I’m kind of ashamed to say One Minute Silence (even though those last two aren’t ‘britpop’ but hey, they were British and hey (x2), I was just discovering guitar music and hey (x3), these were my salad days).
So I tentatively say that Britain is making great music again. Now that I am in a more privileged position I get to hear untainted beauties like Bat For Lashes, Wild Beasts, Angel Tech, Friendly Fires, friends’ and underground bands, whether defunct or current, such as the magnificent Strobe 45, Meet Me In St. Louis, Hikikimori Broadcast (R.I.P. the lot) and the equally awesome The Siegfried Sassoon, Cats and Cats and Cats, Tired Irie and so many more I can’t be bothered to type them out. The only thing now is the saturation of jangle jangle heroin spangle bands that sprung from the highly overrated The Libertines. You win some, you lose some.
So after that major digression I return to my original point. I want to start working towards my Mezzanine, my Dummy, my OK Computer, my Drums and Wires, my Revolver, but it’s hard without my Daddy G, my Lennon, my Greenwood… I think you get the idea.
So this is a long, moany call to arms.
Who want’s to help me create something awesome?
No one has called me back.
The job agency said they would get the temps lady to call when she was back from lunch.
I’m still waiting.
Christian called to ask how he should tell Mum that he wants to move in with his girlfriend. He asked how I handled leaving home and I told him “it’s not that easy, you know how Mum will react. I’m cooking, can I call you back?” I called him back and he couldn’t talk. He said he’d call me back.
I called my girlfriend.
We spoke for three minutes then she told me “I’m cooking, can I call you back?”
The next day I phoned Christian again. He said he was at work, he’d call me back.
The agency still hasn’t called.
Christian calls for the answer to a pub quiz question. “Who did Bowie play in Labyrinth?” I answer him and he says he has to go. He’s not supposed to be on the phone during the quiz. It wasn’t the call I was expecting.
The next day Christian calls about something different. He still hasn’t called back about the first call.
He has to go and says he’ll call me back. I’m beginning to doubt him.
The lady at the agency hasn’t yet called. She must be taking a really long lunch.
My girlfriend must be too.
Do I eat too quickly?
I sit down and try to write but can only concentrate on the phone. I tell myself I will not write another story about waiting for phone calls.
