Best news I have heard in weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks... etc.
Kenneth Lay and Jeffrey Skilling were convicted of conspiracy and fraud Thursday by a federal jury that laid blame for one of the biggest business scandals in U.S. history squarely on Enron Corp.'s two former top executives.
currently listening to:
Friday, May 26, 2006
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Go, Go! Sheffo!
The Go Sheffo boys were front page of the Society Guardian today. Click here to read the article.
In Cardiff tonight. Saw the little sister, Was great.
currently listening to: Morning After Girls live
In Cardiff tonight. Saw the little sister, Was great.
currently listening to: Morning After Girls live
Monday, May 22, 2006
Just one more thing...
We were sitting in an Edwards chain restaurant in Liverpool last night and I gots ta thinkin'.
Edwards isn't a terrible restaurant, maybe a step up from Wetherspoons (so, actually, yes, a truly terrible restaurant as Wetherspoons is officially the 7th level of culinary hell) but its dedicated to consumer culture is quite overwhelming, it should get an award or something. Ignoring the neutral decor, child like squishy seats and beautiful-from-a-distance-yet-horrific-close-up bar staff, the chain has become a real-life representation of Aldous Huxleys Brave New World.
I know that popular culture and Huxley have oft been compared so I know I'm not saying anything original here but... wow, did I have a revelationary moment. There were video screens in a line on every wall, each showing the same turgid content - and this was the clinched - random, repeated, shots of celebrities, intercut with adverts for exotic drinks. That's it, nothing more, nothing less - no purpose to the celebrity shots, no break for anything - just a relentless barrage of celebrity and drink.
Now, it's very easy to write this off as another example of the "Heat Magazine Generation" (copywrite: Heat Magazine) but I see something far more sinister. I see a slow form of solicialisation, of thought control. Much more subtle than the Ministry that Bernard Marx worked in, but equally as effective. Instead of Soma for the Edwards patrons to consume they offer Bacardi, instead of the competitive classes to discuss they have celebs they do and don't like...
Edwards Restuarant reminded me of the bastard spawn of Aldous Huxley and Anthony Burgess, midwifed by Rupert Murdoch. Soon we were all depressed and starring vacantly at the screen. It is a dangerous place.
The best description I ever heard of our current society is that we are "not a democracy, but a capitalist dictatorshhip." I can't remember where I heard it, which is a shame as I think it is a perfect phrase to descibe the world I see around me. The problem with using phrases like "capitalist dictatorship" is that you immediately lose any credibility because you sound like a 14 year old radical.
They've got us any which way we turn.
currently listening to: general requests to use my computer
Edwards isn't a terrible restaurant, maybe a step up from Wetherspoons (so, actually, yes, a truly terrible restaurant as Wetherspoons is officially the 7th level of culinary hell) but its dedicated to consumer culture is quite overwhelming, it should get an award or something. Ignoring the neutral decor, child like squishy seats and beautiful-from-a-distance-yet-horrific-close-up bar staff, the chain has become a real-life representation of Aldous Huxleys Brave New World.
I know that popular culture and Huxley have oft been compared so I know I'm not saying anything original here but... wow, did I have a revelationary moment. There were video screens in a line on every wall, each showing the same turgid content - and this was the clinched - random, repeated, shots of celebrities, intercut with adverts for exotic drinks. That's it, nothing more, nothing less - no purpose to the celebrity shots, no break for anything - just a relentless barrage of celebrity and drink.
Now, it's very easy to write this off as another example of the "Heat Magazine Generation" (copywrite: Heat Magazine) but I see something far more sinister. I see a slow form of solicialisation, of thought control. Much more subtle than the Ministry that Bernard Marx worked in, but equally as effective. Instead of Soma for the Edwards patrons to consume they offer Bacardi, instead of the competitive classes to discuss they have celebs they do and don't like...
Edwards Restuarant reminded me of the bastard spawn of Aldous Huxley and Anthony Burgess, midwifed by Rupert Murdoch. Soon we were all depressed and starring vacantly at the screen. It is a dangerous place.
The best description I ever heard of our current society is that we are "not a democracy, but a capitalist dictatorshhip." I can't remember where I heard it, which is a shame as I think it is a perfect phrase to descibe the world I see around me. The problem with using phrases like "capitalist dictatorship" is that you immediately lose any credibility because you sound like a 14 year old radical.
They've got us any which way we turn.
currently listening to: general requests to use my computer
Playing catch up...
It's been a hectic few days... in fact since we started touring back in the UK it's been almost unrelentingly hectic. The most notable difference I have spotted between mainland Europe and the UK (aside that is from the rain, bad food, expensive services and rude, if not completely absent, promoters) is the lack of wireless connections. Actually, I stand corrected, there are plenty of wireless connections, just none that are easy to hack into.
It was grand to be back at the Brighton Concorde - a wonderfully run down little seafront venue. I spent a great few hours sat on the pier reading Don Quixote, then numerous hours sat behind a merchandise stand listening to a procession of bad teenage rock bands. After the gig we stood on the beach in the midst of a torrential downpour and screamed at the ocean... despite it being more than a little Home and Away, it was very therapeutic and immensely satisfying.
The next day, Saturday, has quickly entered lore as the day in which everything went wrong. Best described as a series of unfortunate events that quickly turned into a catalogue of disasters before morphing quite impressively into a unprecedented run of acts from a vengeful God. Involving snapped car keys, the pouring rain, terrible venues, late nights, tow trucks, irate London drivers, parking fines, parking clamps, missing equipment and London traffic on a Saturday it will not be forgotten in a hurry.
There is an old Garfield sketch that I remember from years ago; Garfield has woken up and says something akin to "it's Monday morning, the floor is cold, the heating doesn't work, my breakfast isn't ready and there's some dude wailing the blues on the radio. It's all so perfectly depressing I can't wipe the grin off my face." That's kind of how I felt about the whole affair.
The main support band for this tour are a lovely bunch of Aussies called The Morning After Girls. It's always much more fun if you like the bands you're touring with... on the Hundred Reasons tour we were stuck with a band called Keiko who, a few nice personalities aside, were largely insufferable and made terrible music. Morning After Girls, luckily, are great on both accounts. They were alot of help when we got to Liverpool which, as is the custom is whenever we play there, was pissing it down and was largely empty.
Now we're in Glasgow after leaving the hotel way too early this morning. Damo is trying to sleep next to me, but has just said that he's "really tired and is trying to not let the taping annoy me but how long will you be?"
I'm done.
currently listening to: Murder She Wrote
It was grand to be back at the Brighton Concorde - a wonderfully run down little seafront venue. I spent a great few hours sat on the pier reading Don Quixote, then numerous hours sat behind a merchandise stand listening to a procession of bad teenage rock bands. After the gig we stood on the beach in the midst of a torrential downpour and screamed at the ocean... despite it being more than a little Home and Away, it was very therapeutic and immensely satisfying.
The next day, Saturday, has quickly entered lore as the day in which everything went wrong. Best described as a series of unfortunate events that quickly turned into a catalogue of disasters before morphing quite impressively into a unprecedented run of acts from a vengeful God. Involving snapped car keys, the pouring rain, terrible venues, late nights, tow trucks, irate London drivers, parking fines, parking clamps, missing equipment and London traffic on a Saturday it will not be forgotten in a hurry.
There is an old Garfield sketch that I remember from years ago; Garfield has woken up and says something akin to "it's Monday morning, the floor is cold, the heating doesn't work, my breakfast isn't ready and there's some dude wailing the blues on the radio. It's all so perfectly depressing I can't wipe the grin off my face." That's kind of how I felt about the whole affair.
The main support band for this tour are a lovely bunch of Aussies called The Morning After Girls. It's always much more fun if you like the bands you're touring with... on the Hundred Reasons tour we were stuck with a band called Keiko who, a few nice personalities aside, were largely insufferable and made terrible music. Morning After Girls, luckily, are great on both accounts. They were alot of help when we got to Liverpool which, as is the custom is whenever we play there, was pissing it down and was largely empty.
Now we're in Glasgow after leaving the hotel way too early this morning. Damo is trying to sleep next to me, but has just said that he's "really tired and is trying to not let the taping annoy me but how long will you be?"
I'm done.
currently listening to: Murder She Wrote
Some more phone snaps...
Ampitheatre at Pompei...
A renegade of funk. And cushions.
65squared.
Vote Communista!
Fist of defiance.
Disturbing likeness of me as a book cover.
Hip Hop star Simon W
Paul relaxes...
currently listening to: nowt but the voices in my head. That's not a band.
The Lost Post
This was found on my machine shortly after we returned from the European tour. Written but never read, whimiscal but nauseating, aspiring but cliched. At my very best.
Well, it's almost over. The first 65dos Europe tour has reached its final night. I write this from an exceptionally nice venue in Brugge where we have been afforded every courtesy and had a very mellow lead up to the last show. Typically we are full of either distant melancholy or a kind of psychotic happiness, a few of us are choosing to simply switch between the two in a spirited attempt to ignore the inevitable; tomorrow we are going home.
It is only for a few days to give us time to sleep in our own beds, see our very tolerant nearest and dearest, sort out a spot of business and maybe let the burnt skin peel off. I for one am looking forward to shaving my head. The tour continues in the UK but Europe is now over, and I think that's why I feel more regret at leaving than anticipation at returning. It has been an awesome few weeks - at once stressful, hectic, hilarious, inspiring, educational, testing, exhausting and more than a little gross. I feel I have seen the parts of Europe that I would never had as a traveller or a tourist, and met so many different people who would never have crossed my path in any way.
It teaches you alot - about how well you relate to other people, about what comforts you need to survive, and what you can do without. It streamlines your thoughts and gives you an insight into what is really important, and what is just surplus in the real world. It also forces you to try new experiences, to improvise when most necessary and to keep yourself on your toes. That's what I'll most miss.
Hmmm. Seemingly not finished either.
currently listening to: Paul typing next to me
Well, it's almost over. The first 65dos Europe tour has reached its final night. I write this from an exceptionally nice venue in Brugge where we have been afforded every courtesy and had a very mellow lead up to the last show. Typically we are full of either distant melancholy or a kind of psychotic happiness, a few of us are choosing to simply switch between the two in a spirited attempt to ignore the inevitable; tomorrow we are going home.
It is only for a few days to give us time to sleep in our own beds, see our very tolerant nearest and dearest, sort out a spot of business and maybe let the burnt skin peel off. I for one am looking forward to shaving my head. The tour continues in the UK but Europe is now over, and I think that's why I feel more regret at leaving than anticipation at returning. It has been an awesome few weeks - at once stressful, hectic, hilarious, inspiring, educational, testing, exhausting and more than a little gross. I feel I have seen the parts of Europe that I would never had as a traveller or a tourist, and met so many different people who would never have crossed my path in any way.
It teaches you alot - about how well you relate to other people, about what comforts you need to survive, and what you can do without. It streamlines your thoughts and gives you an insight into what is really important, and what is just surplus in the real world. It also forces you to try new experiences, to improvise when most necessary and to keep yourself on your toes. That's what I'll most miss.
Hmmm. Seemingly not finished either.
currently listening to: Paul typing next to me
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Aaaaand we're back...
...on tour.
After the briefest of sojurns at home with friends and a glimmer of a moment spent with my girlfriend we left bright this morning for Brighton on a week long Kerrang / Barfly / Travelodge tour. I wish I could grumble about that as I dislike at least two if not all of those but truth be told, I'm by the sea and the sun is shining. That tends to take away any political / cultural / personal differences you may have.
While I did manage to get a fair amount done during my time at home, the thing I am most proud of is reorganising my bookshelf to look an appropriate level of disary whilst simultaneously remaining perfectly balanced. I feel I seized that day!
currently listening to: Tetris
After the briefest of sojurns at home with friends and a glimmer of a moment spent with my girlfriend we left bright this morning for Brighton on a week long Kerrang / Barfly / Travelodge tour. I wish I could grumble about that as I dislike at least two if not all of those but truth be told, I'm by the sea and the sun is shining. That tends to take away any political / cultural / personal differences you may have.
While I did manage to get a fair amount done during my time at home, the thing I am most proud of is reorganising my bookshelf to look an appropriate level of disary whilst simultaneously remaining perfectly balanced. I feel I seized that day!
currently listening to: Tetris
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
animated
Media Lounge has almost entirely been working for 65 for the last month or so. While I was away doing the ol' driving thing Tza has been hard at work on their newest music video - Drove Thru Ghosts to Get Here. It's a collaborative effort, combining the collective talents of the ML and Lord Bunn who is an old friend of ours and does all the 65 merchandise designs.
currently listening to: Tie Your Mother Down by Queen
Drove Thru Ghosts is a free download single hosted by Kerrang and is available here.
We got back fine and dandy from the tour, have had 3 days off and tomorrow morning we're back on the road for a week long jaunt around the UK. That's the good news, the bad news is that it's a Kerrang Tour of Barfly venues - something that doesn't fill me full of confidence.
Watch me be wrong.
currently listening to: Tie Your Mother Down by Queen
Monday, May 08, 2006
A lost QWERTY opportunity
It was a day off yesterday and whilst holed up in a seemingly very nice (but actually overwhelmingly strict and disturbingly jobsworthy) hostel I endeavoured to write a blog entry on an unattended computer in the lobby. Being a Belgian machine (I forgot to mention, we stayed over in Belgium despite not playing any gigs there for another 5 days) it was a Belgian keyboard layout which confused the bejeezus out of me as I tried to come to terms with the Z being elsewhere and having to use the shift key to get a full stop.
After a good half an hour of typing with a singular finger I realised that were I to touch-type as normal I could create a new language - a modern version of the Burroughs cut up method, if you will - and proceeded to type an epic description of Belgium in my new half-words. Alas, being a Belgian machine from 1985 it was also a bit rubbish and it promptly crashed, losing my own personal version of Esperanto.
So instead of trying to recreate another babel, I shall simply list a number of things that have happened to me in the last few days.
- I found some blue Rizla, something sorely missing in both Italy and Germany.
- Stormed down a high street with a bag of dripping clothes muttering "fucking Belgian laundromats" - a sentence I am unlikely to to repeat again.
- Drank my bodyweight in lovely, but very strong, European beers.
- Watched the Oprah Winfrey / Tom Cruise interview in the company of 30 Downs Syndrome teenagers.
- Accidentally exposed myself to two chambermaids, one male & one female (total accidents, I swear).
- Saw Alan Titchmarsh, Stephen Fry and Bill Oddie in a Belgian plaza.
- Ate the worst chicken burger in all of humanity
- Ate the best vegetarian lasagne in all of humanity
- Watched the 65 road crew beat the Arctic Monkeys road crew at table football.
- Run out of books to read.
- Dreamt the entire story of the Da Vinci Code.
- Reversed a two-tonne van into someones car (not even the 65 boys know about that one).
- Sweated away all my excess fat in a Koln nightclub.
So, all in all a good few days...
currently listening to: Neko live
After a good half an hour of typing with a singular finger I realised that were I to touch-type as normal I could create a new language - a modern version of the Burroughs cut up method, if you will - and proceeded to type an epic description of Belgium in my new half-words. Alas, being a Belgian machine from 1985 it was also a bit rubbish and it promptly crashed, losing my own personal version of Esperanto.
So instead of trying to recreate another babel, I shall simply list a number of things that have happened to me in the last few days.
- I found some blue Rizla, something sorely missing in both Italy and Germany.
- Stormed down a high street with a bag of dripping clothes muttering "fucking Belgian laundromats" - a sentence I am unlikely to to repeat again.
- Drank my bodyweight in lovely, but very strong, European beers.
- Watched the Oprah Winfrey / Tom Cruise interview in the company of 30 Downs Syndrome teenagers.
- Accidentally exposed myself to two chambermaids, one male & one female (total accidents, I swear).
- Saw Alan Titchmarsh, Stephen Fry and Bill Oddie in a Belgian plaza.
- Ate the worst chicken burger in all of humanity
- Ate the best vegetarian lasagne in all of humanity
- Watched the 65 road crew beat the Arctic Monkeys road crew at table football.
- Run out of books to read.
- Dreamt the entire story of the Da Vinci Code.
- Reversed a two-tonne van into someones car (not even the 65 boys know about that one).
- Sweated away all my excess fat in a Koln nightclub.
So, all in all a good few days...
currently listening to: Neko live
Friday, May 05, 2006
Swearing in German
Most people in Germany speak English in some shape or form... not always terrific English (although always infinitely better than my German) but enough for us to have a conversation. Many many people talk to me at the merch table in English and I have become fascinated by their choice of where and when to swear.
When English is your first language these curse words tend to lose their intended effect, they are dropped into conversation so frequently (or at least they are on a 5 week tour with 7 guys in a bus) that they become part of your everyday lexicon and are no more notable than any of the other words you use. When a German person swears in English it is because they have conciously chosen to include that expleative to further illustrate their point, and you must take that chosen swear at the level they intended it.
For example, in Hamburg when this crazy guy kept yelling at me "yah, that was great, mu-th-a-fac-a" he really wanted to emphasise how great it was. Equally in Munich when the promoter told us that there was "no fa-cking way" we could park outside the venue, I had to take that as a definate no. In Berlin the promoter helped us pack up and then declared we had to join him so we could "get totally faacked" we took his intentions as genuine and duely got totally faacked.
Ah, the pitfalls of international communication...
currently listening to: Katatonia sound checking (who you may ask, well exactly)
When English is your first language these curse words tend to lose their intended effect, they are dropped into conversation so frequently (or at least they are on a 5 week tour with 7 guys in a bus) that they become part of your everyday lexicon and are no more notable than any of the other words you use. When a German person swears in English it is because they have conciously chosen to include that expleative to further illustrate their point, and you must take that chosen swear at the level they intended it.
For example, in Hamburg when this crazy guy kept yelling at me "yah, that was great, mu-th-a-fac-a" he really wanted to emphasise how great it was. Equally in Munich when the promoter told us that there was "no fa-cking way" we could park outside the venue, I had to take that as a definate no. In Berlin the promoter helped us pack up and then declared we had to join him so we could "get totally faacked" we took his intentions as genuine and duely got totally faacked.
Ah, the pitfalls of international communication...
currently listening to: Katatonia sound checking (who you may ask, well exactly)
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
We live in a beautiful world
Earlier tonight in the Berlin venue...
currently listening to: Coldpaly. Against my will.
Monday, May 01, 2006
German Dreamz
Last night I went to a garden party at some kind of French Riviera villa. Some of the band were there, not all, but some. Also present was George W. Bush who spent the evening milling with the rich and the famous. At some point the secret service left him on his own for a couple of minutes and Avalon Gold, our sound engineer decided we should take advantage of the opportunity.
"Lets get the bastard" he said, reminding me of a school bully seeing a vunerable target "now's our chance." He headed over the world leader and began a slightly childish fight with him which culminated in them both locked together like boxers slowly pounding at the others skull. Suddenly the secret service reappeared and Avalon had to beat a hasty retreat. This lead, as you can imagine, to quite a controversy and was the talk of the garden party.
The next day I received a plethora of phone calls about the subject as, obviously, I was the logical connection between Avalon and George W. Particulary pissed was Fantastic Four director Tim Story who called me no less that 3 times trying to find out the whereabouts of the Avalon. Being in the middle as I was I found it very hard to protect Gold and at the same time placate the Bush adminstration who were baying for blood.
Finding the pressure too much I realised I had to go into hiding myself and moved in with 2 middle aged ladies who at first I thought were lesbians but later realised weren't. During the interview for the room I met their daughter, Uma Thurman, but since she was dressed in the outfit of her new movie I dismissed her (resenting the fact that film marketing could permiate my dreams) and set about decorating my new gaff. It was during the painting of my walls that my old film lecturer Sheldon Hall popped by to say hello - I was polite but had alot to do so we couldn't speak for more than a few moments.
Avalon called me. The Bush administration were really piling on the pressure and he needed to leave the country. I made a few phone calls and drove through some remarkably narrow meditterean streets to meet Gus from Eastenders to buy some fake number plates. After a very long 'getting to know you' period where he assessed the liklihood of me being a narc we drove to a rainy industrial estate where he gave me an Asda bag filled with 50 different number plates - all blank except for regional logos.
I gave him €50. "We had better be careful" I said to him "people might see us and think the wrong thing."
"Nah" he replied "in this neighbourhood we're fine." Suddenly I felt like a racist.
currently listening to: Europop in a Berlin hostel.
"Lets get the bastard" he said, reminding me of a school bully seeing a vunerable target "now's our chance." He headed over the world leader and began a slightly childish fight with him which culminated in them both locked together like boxers slowly pounding at the others skull. Suddenly the secret service reappeared and Avalon had to beat a hasty retreat. This lead, as you can imagine, to quite a controversy and was the talk of the garden party.
The next day I received a plethora of phone calls about the subject as, obviously, I was the logical connection between Avalon and George W. Particulary pissed was Fantastic Four director Tim Story who called me no less that 3 times trying to find out the whereabouts of the Avalon. Being in the middle as I was I found it very hard to protect Gold and at the same time placate the Bush adminstration who were baying for blood.
Finding the pressure too much I realised I had to go into hiding myself and moved in with 2 middle aged ladies who at first I thought were lesbians but later realised weren't. During the interview for the room I met their daughter, Uma Thurman, but since she was dressed in the outfit of her new movie I dismissed her (resenting the fact that film marketing could permiate my dreams) and set about decorating my new gaff. It was during the painting of my walls that my old film lecturer Sheldon Hall popped by to say hello - I was polite but had alot to do so we couldn't speak for more than a few moments.
Avalon called me. The Bush administration were really piling on the pressure and he needed to leave the country. I made a few phone calls and drove through some remarkably narrow meditterean streets to meet Gus from Eastenders to buy some fake number plates. After a very long 'getting to know you' period where he assessed the liklihood of me being a narc we drove to a rainy industrial estate where he gave me an Asda bag filled with 50 different number plates - all blank except for regional logos.
I gave him €50. "We had better be careful" I said to him "people might see us and think the wrong thing."
"Nah" he replied "in this neighbourhood we're fine." Suddenly I felt like a racist.
currently listening to: Europop in a Berlin hostel.
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