Day One
I pulled on my sturdy boots and took a peek through the flaps. It was eerily quiet as I made the long journey to the outdoor toilets with my muddy toothbrush. Soon I was drinking black coffee from a plastic cup and watching the hillside slowly come to life. Above me, the crackle of electricity pylons, somewhere nearby a forlorn guitar heralded the dawn of another day at Glastonbury... And so, as I inhaled the reassuring waft of cowsheds, I thought back on the highlights of the first day's music.
-- The first thing I saw was the end of some skinny indie band I didn't recognise making a pointless shawl (What, they were knitting an unnecessary garment? No the spellchecker made me change it from squawl. It MADE me.) It was Idlewild.
But then Beth Orton was singing Someone's Daughter in a new choppy up way, her voice breaking up and really attacking it with passion. So early on, and it's my festival highlight so far!
I'm afraid my musical prejudices came to the fore when David Gray was on, as I attended to domestic tasks before returning to see Athlete. 'Doleful drippy piss' read the singer's t-shirt, presumably a reclamation of some comment directed at the band, who are derided by deluded hipsters for not being rock n roll enough, of for being fat Christians from Kent or whatever they are (I clearly have no idea). I like them!
Gawd - it's Suede! They haven't played Glastonbury for ten years! I went there ten years ago (long story - leave it for another time, or better still, just leave it). But they're back, looking gaunter (Brett) and balder (Mat). They seem out of time or stuck in time, which I can sympathise with, but they sounded punchy and eager. The Beautiful Ones, She's in Fashion, Film Star - it looked like a sunny and celebratory set .
Then Idlewild came back on, and did that Shapes one about 'conversational skills.'
The Darkness were amusing interviewees though they could probably do with a slap. We were spared the ghastly spectacle of them Rocking, which I have witnessed on two occasions too many.
Of course, you understand that first paragraph was merely a little scene setting. I shall be watching this year's festival from the comfort of my own bed, high on nothing stronger than Life Itself.
The Music, we were told, were replacing Zwan. I'm sure most people would feel short-changed but I confess to a guilty affection for the Music, and their brand of cheesecloth shirted dandruff shaking bell bottomed cosmic rocking. One song's enough though in my mix-and-match sampler CD couch potato music consumerist role.
Royksopp played, but I'd rather listen to the CD. Oh you're missing the point, it's all about the experience, about being there in the crowd, revelling in the beat and the people and the whole VIBE. I know.
Junior Senior play backstage (guess what) just for me and it's a lovely lovely thing.
Gen obs: every presenter on BBC Two and BBC Three is fabulously annoying (except one).
Primal Scream are cock. Like DJ Shadow says in the notes to The Private Press: "There's a lot more I could say, but negativity is the language of haters, so..."
Morcheeba do a turn. More coffee I say! Ha ha, I'm so...
I've grown weary of REM several times in the past - 1988, 1995, 1999 - but they can still win me back even if Losing My Religion washes over me like a David Gray song and the intro to Man on the Moon provokes an instant aversion. "We're musically and creatively extremely limited people, and we've taken what we have and pushed it as far as we can" says Stipe. But I come around. It's the hairy old mistake of confusing band and audience, music and hype. They did Bandwagon which was, er, nice. (Is that all you come up with - nice? Look, I've got to get out of the tent - I mean house - in half an hour and I've got a lot to do so shut up and let me post this okay.)
Damien Rice and female friend were a soothing end to the first day (i.e. they sent me sleep).

Ever
As you know, the NME did another Top 100 Albums of All Time ever list and because I have some spare time here, I thought I would see if I could write something about what I think about each of their selections, even though by doing so I am legitimising the NME's self-appointed status as canonisers and arbiters of good taste, when it is clear that only I possess the authority to compile the definitive all time list of the most Fabulous Hipster Twat records of all time ever list.
I'm guessing I'll write about six of the albums and then get distracted, because my powers of concentration are very poor and my confidence in my own writing and the value of my opinions can only survive for about 20 minutes before they are drowned out by negativity and an overwhelming sense of futility that I really should have dealt with by now.
I shall use no flights of fancy. I shall attempt to avoid overdoing the irritating flippancy to which I am prone. I shall stick to the subject and state my case in simple language and then move on. I shall not be referring to the albums or looking up any details so I may get some titles and track listings confused.

Buoying the leaden spirits on this vile toxic pointless agonisingly senseless and unasked for Monday morning was the sound of The Parker Tapes by Cassette Boy, seven years in the making, 'rich in highly slanderous spurts', 'quite exhilarating', 'deeply disturbing', all of that and more. The track listing (all 98 of them) is a lovely thing on its own.

Tangents sees the Clientele (I say Clee) in what sounds like ideal surroundings - a village music festival in North Devon witnessed by a bunch of indifferent locals that haven't the faintest idea who they are. "Kids held balloons and rode down the hill on an odd red machine... white headed old ladies sat in window seats, looking bemusedly out on the proceedings."

Last night I was laying down... actually, I was in the bathroom, and it was nearly midnight, when I heard the music start up. Ah! Ah! Stayin alive stayin alive! It was LOUDer than inside but it was outside. Now, this is a quiet street - I nearly said it's a local street for local people - and this sort of noise is unprecedented.
Apart fom that party on Saturday night which everyone must have heard for miles around and I still don't know what kind of music they were playing - some sort of Slavic knees up. My lawn the following morning festooned in balloons.
I say lawn, I mean thin line of gravel and weeds.
Anyway, I peeked out the window and saw a people carrier/ SUV with a disco ball/ glitterball/ mirrorball suspended from the open boot/ trunk/ back end. A group of eight young people were gathered at the rear of the vehicle, and they were partying! Paper/ plastic cups were raised, bottles were being passed around, merriment was being made. Why had they stopped there, what was being celebrated? Could I join in? I would like it to be known that I am available for impromptu mischief at any time of the day or night. Few people understand this, but I am easily led into temptation and, like Paul Clarke of Big Brother 2, I also try to live my life like I'm an international pop star. Not that anyone would notice.
After the Bee Gees, there was a Michael Jackson song and they were all singing along, oblivious to the lateness of the hour and the silence of their surroundings. Then as soon as they arrived...

(Talking to myself) There's a lot of music to listen to but I really must pay more attention. Don't give up after one listen and move on to the next novelty. There can be rich rewards buried deep - sometimes it takes six or seven plays before anything grips you, or starts to take shape. You snack on a lot of fast food and have come to expect an instant rush. You should know better than to discard something after lending one half-cocked ear to it.
This is being said because The Magnolia Electric Co is shaping up as my #1 of the year so far. It sounds better with each new play. At some point it's going to sound too familiar and I'll put it away and might not think about it for months, or even years.
I'm happy with it sounding like it could have been made in 1974. I'm happy with the guest vocalists which didn't seem like such a good idea the first time around. And certain lines are standing out, certain moments lift me - a change of pace or a haunting melody.
The overwhelming feeling I get from these songs is that destiny is out of one's hands. The same mistakes will be made, the same scenes played out. Resignation, together with a stubborn desire to keep pressing on.

The quote at the top of the page is by 'Midget' in Gummo, which I mentioned yesterday. As it reflects my life and philosophy with uncanny accuracy I thought I would insert it in my Settings> Desciption box and see if it fits. It does.

You've been so busy lately that you haven't found the time...... Saw the Junior Senior video in Toni & Guy. Irresistible on a bright morning. Like me in my new red t-shirt. Hairdressers or whatever they're called nowadays make me nervous. Keep hearing the Pink (can't write P!nk) song and feel an urge to point out the Fresh Garbage hook, plus must mention Beck. How we laughed at Evanescence which is simply no good. Something about candles that suggests the desire for martyrdom, a fiery yet transcendent death. Such a sorry display. The Fast Food Rockers will be in the charts soon. Then you'll be really sorry. A nun in the bookshop which was playing Public Image Ltd. I can't place that tune on the telly. English people say telly... Jets. Graham Coxon rereads JD Salinger. Hail to the Thief cover like 'The Hot One Hundred' by Peter Davies. Lube Donut VCR Loss Bacon. Z's friend's cat is called Foot Foot, she looked at me like I'd know where the name came from. I did. Foot Foot is the cat in Gummo too. Bobby Crush wrote the Orville song. Pamela Des Barres' voice on the radio as delightful as it is on the GTOs album. Chancing upon Trevor Nelson TV show about northern soul scene. What larks they had in Tommy's holiday camp. It is poor etiquette when in public places to acknowledge favourite songs by mouthing the lyrics, tapping the fingers, shaking the hip and generally drawing attention to the fact that you know what this song is, and are beneath its spell, because you have the music in you like Kiki Dee once did. How come Moloko were allowed to sing three songs on Later. Holland-Jupitus-Laverne - let's leave it at disheartening. A Baconesque triptych if ever. But negatives are not to be processed here. Stick to the path! "What kind of music do you like then?" You cannot ask that. Also, you are not permitted to intervene when you overhear the young people discussing how Sigur Ros are from Sweden and are very influenced by Radiohead. I'm not judging you I'm judging me.....

-- Kraftwerk - The Robots.mpg (38Mb movie)

-- Three clips from Channel 4's recent Morrissey documentary.

-- Download every episode of Seinfeld - go on.

Virus of Wing Week
1. Email saying you must download Wing mp3s
2. Graham Norton features Wing website on his chat show and rings her up in New Zealand for impromptu sing-song
3. Wing site mentioned in b3ta.com newsletter
4. "What's the address of that Wing website again? I've got to have those songs!" (Overheard.)

Get a grip. You'd think the kids of today had never heard Mrs Miller! That's what I'd say if it could be said in any way that doesn't make me sound like a pompous old fart.

It don't mean nothing. It means whatever you like.
Nothing... Whatever you like...
Don't get the wrong idea. Get an idea.
Come on is such a joy.

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I rode with him in a taxi once, only for a mile and a half
Before even Robert Anton Wilson there was Lenny Bruce. At 13 I became a regular visitor to the local library, which had just introduced the extraordinary measure of lending records [yes, like you said in that Neil Young post recently - stop repeating yourself!]. As a music-seeking cash-starved little goof this was a godsend and I was soon borrowing five or six albums a week.
I got a very funny look from the librarian when I took out a Lenny Bruce album. I also recall she was hot! But obv would been much older than me at the time. Perhaps it was a disapproving look - should this angelic looking small boy who looks about nine be permitted to expose himself to the foul mouthed routines of this notoriously dead comedian? Luckily there were no parental controls in them days and I was thrilled to be exposed to Lenny Bruce's hipster rhythms and exotic argot. As well as a lot of talk about tits and ass (and ass and tits), pissing in the sink and a bunch of cocksuckers. God bless him.
There was also the time another hot librarian gave me a long strange look on checking out Something Leather by Alasdair Gray, but that was generations later and nothing happened there either.
Why I started this... there was a documentary on Lenny Bruce on TV a few days ago, narrated by Robert De Niro. It was pretty wonderful stuff, and it led me to track down some real audio files here. The Live 1961/62 file has the best material on.

Uberhipster individual ballots.
A checklist for the damned. Got got got swap swap got.
Dangling testicular foolishness of the wettest water.
Don't rise to the... resist the urge to... got to rise above... beyond.

World of Stelfox had an entry that seems to have disappeared about how the Blogger ad server looks at what you're writing about, checks the word-hits against the list associated with their advertisers and serves up a targeted set of commercial messages (see banner ad on top of page).

Today I am getting something about Graham Island, which appears to be near Sicily - who'd have thought it! And a documentary about Robert Anton Wilson. Have I ever mentioned him here? I doubt it. As a teenager I was very taken by the Illuminatus books and he was a great influence on my thinking. It may sound gauche, but he really did make me look at the world in an entirely different way (and not in terms of loopy conspiracies I should point out). So I am pleased that the blogger admind thought that one up.

-- Vitamin B Glandular Show - a blog named after a Fall lyric. Very good.

-- Direct RA download (1.8Mb) of Camden Joy reading from his Fall-related novel Pan. Or stream it from this page.

-- The author presents pics from Mark E Smith's only appearance on Top of the Pops - as the guest vocalist on the Inspiral Carpets' I Want You back in 1994.

There's a scene in In America when a ten year-old girl sings Desperado at a school function. (How do you call it - it's an evening of entertainment, not a play or a talent competition.) Anyway, the opening chords start at the end of the previous scene and I thought 'Ugh they've chosen that yucky old Eagles song' and then we see it's a nun playing the piano and the girl starts to sing, and it's a beautiful thing, and surely inconceivable without the Langley Schools Music Project.

How come in Boys Don't Cry the song which the film takes its name from isn't performed by the Cure like you'd expect. And the cover, whoever it's by (lookitup: Nathan Larson of Shudder to Think), isn't even on the soundtrack CD.
re: the Cure. This conversation between a confused Cure-loving teen and Christian talk radio shithead Bob Larson is the most profoundly dispiriting thing I've heard in a long time.

Last Plane to Jakarta on why the White Stripes sound like pop to kids and the answer to 'why them?'

"I saw the best minds of my generation/ accept jobs on the fringes of the entertainment industry" - Zadie Smith, The Autograph Man.

Fierce People by Dirk Wittenborn is largely, even hugely enjoyable. And yet one thing stuck in my craw (the crop, throat, or first stomach of fowls). It's set in 1978, but one of the characters refers to the Dead Kennedys and sings Kill the Poor and Holiday in Cambodia which didn't come out till 1980. Of course I notice these things, someone has to. Editors and publishers certainly don't.
Thus the strings are revealed, the puppets fall to the floor. My heart sinks and I consider tossing the book out of the train window, except they're the kind of windows you can't open.
There are a pack of other incongruous 80s references in it, but only one musical one. So three cheers for me.

And that was Shopliftin' Gabba by SHITMAT.

"What the heck happened to Paul "Wine" Jones? Why did he abandon his beloved "Wine"? And look at him! Gone is the sneering, badass Jones wielding his guitar like a shotgun; this cover photo has him grinning in his Sunday best, thoughtful enough to bring flowers, and calling us "Buttercup"!"
I'll call you buttercup. You can call me ...whatever you like. That was my name once.
"By the closing stomp of "Guess I'm Gonna Fuck Things Up," you'll know that Jones's quest for spiritual goodness has only helped him channel his mortal badness, and the ultimate winner is the blues."
I have abandoned my wine. The ultimate winner is... YOU>>>

Are you interested in post-punk bands from Sydney? I didn't think I was, but I ended up at this page somehow. Try the mp3s of Seems Twice - "Like the bastard sons of early Wire and The Ramones, Seems Twice played incredibly short, fast and loud. Hardly ever more than a minute long, their songs define a most usefull kind of minimalism".

But since it's 2003 now, listen to Prewar Yardsale. "We're just 2 bums with guitar (Mike) and buckets and can drums (Dina)" they say.

A fine collection of online legit mp3 links:
-- downtempo/chillout/groove
-- hip hop/funk/ragga/r'n'b/turntablism
-- metal/hardcore/punk

And here is all, or most of, the music played on the show The Gilmore Girls, which I've never seen cause we don't have it here, but I'd like to, it sounds good (via Fluxblog). Lots of Grant Lee Buffalo/ Grant Lee Phillips who I used to like.

And who could ever forget this one? Mighty Mighty were the new Smiths for five minutes. I can't stand another summer, they sang.
I CAN'T STAND ANOTHER SUMMER.
Plate of shrimp, crazy golf.

On the hottest day of the year (so far)
Please don't be in when I get back. Please be out with your brother, drinking warm cooking lager with your shirts off. Discussing who's best - Oasis or the Jam.

"Lou Reed came in. He was very short. he had this huge leather coat on, and it was boiling. Everyone was like 'It's Lou Reed.'"

"Billy Corgan came in - huge man. Very, very tall. Didn't look at anyone. You couldn't get near him, everyone came to have a look."

"You would not believe how tiny Thom Yorke is! He's tiny! And they're so posh. I don't know what he thinks his problem is."