�Don�t be a mountaineer. Be a mountain.
And shrug off a few with an avalanche.�
(Dick Dorworth)
I�m on a train, passing through all the crappy, dark little towns of Lanarkshire. Carluke, where I went to high school, started my 1st band and learned how to drink; Wishaw, where we all used to go to the only �alternative� pub in the area every Friday night, a whole gang of us; Motherwell, where I went to college. They all look so very sad on this cold grey day in late December. This bleak period of limbo between Christmas and new year. Would I feel any different if I lived in California? I�ve never much cared for too much sunshine but, right now, it would beat this miserable weather hands down. It seems like it�s dark all the time. Even in the mornings, there are clouds covering up the sky and raining down on everything. There�s scaffolding outside my window too, which shuts off even more light. This is the season which evokes the sad poetry of Philip Larkin, the melancholic music of Tindersticks and Dakota Suite.. all the people whose art is seeped forever in the misery and sorrow of living in this small, sad country. Is it any wonder I usually prefer American writers and bands? At least they use the language of a different landscape, which seems somehow romantic, alluring and alien to me, who has only ever been outside this septic isle 3 times in my whole life. When I was a kid, I found the darkness and the rain so full of romance and wonder. I used to love the poetry of the empty streets, sit on the wet benches and dream. Now I feel just like everyone else. I complain about the weather. The cold makes my left knee ache where I fractured it 2 years ago. Now I don�t see the romance in anything much. Now it all just looks so very, very sad and hollow and hopeless. But this is all there is now. This is all I�ve got.
>>>>>>>>
So, �Sniper Glue� is dead. 12 issues is quite enough for any zine. Welcome to �Hiroshima Yeah!� The name change alone makes doing this zine more interesting to me, somehow, even though this will contain the same shit as SG. The same going-nowhere rants, the same useless reviews of useless music you will never hear. The same ego-mania and self-immolation. What a fun way to waste your worthless life, eh? In the company of others who are even more worthless than you! Imagine that! �Hiroshima Yeah!� is the Yoko to your John, the Rose to your Fred. We�re always gonna be here to look down upon so, no matter how sad and desperate your fucking useless life gets, you�ll never be as low as �HY!� So, hey, all you doctors, lawyers, music industry parasites, raise a champagne or cocaine filled glass to �HY!� It could change your life if you had one in the 1st place.
>>>>>>>>
Was talking to someone about charity tonight and Band Aid and shit and he couldn�t understand how I was so against the idea of �normal� people doing charity like that � couldn�t understand how it�s the governments of the world who should be solving these problems, who could if they wanted to, who could if it wasn�t gonna conflict with their much more important business and money-making interests. I said I�d have more respect for a pop star who assassinated a world leader instead of making a shitty record and that comment was treated with shock. But, yeah, why not? We could allocate it fair and square � Boy George could shoot George W in his stupid, redneck mouth, Elton Yawn could have the wonderous job of beheading good old Tony Blair, and let�s get some real old has-beens in on the act too.. How do you feel about Midge Ure suicide-bombing the Iraqi parliament?! Sounds good to me! Politicians/the rich are the enemy. Don�t be fooled by the guilt-trip TV ads. They have the power to end poverty/homelessness/all the ills in the world, but they don�t �cos all they care about is themselves. They are cunts. They are liars. Every politician is a fucking cunt � except maybe Tony Benn, maybe George Galloway, except maybe a few others � but most of them are self-serving, self-obsessed tossers. So either don�t vote or vote for someone who�ll never win or spoil your vote, if they haven�t made that a crime yet. It�s all the same. It doesn�t matter. These people stink of shit. You have to be rich to even stand for parliament, so fuck �em all! Go down the pub instead of voting. Forget the Pankhurst sisters. They were all a load of uptight dykes anyway. Think about you. You�re the only one who matters. Be selfish. Everyone else is. Live for yourself �cos when you�re dead and gone it�ll all be too late.
�.
Spent new year�s day dog-sitting for my cousin (FOR my cousin, not dog-sitting my ACTUAL cousin! She�s no dog, despite what some of her ex-boyfriends might tell you!) and 5 � hours of sheer mind-corroding boredom were only alleviated very slightly � but not quitely � by watching Sky TV (Oh, and FUCK the polite italics I was using earlier. Do you KNOW how long it takes to do them on a computer? Big CAPITAL LETTERS look far more shouty and angry then stupid little pussy-boy italics EVER could!) It never ceases to amaze me just HOW many channels there are � and they seem to be multiplying at a frightening speed. There were all these gambling channels I�d never seen before and something called The Horror channel which showed crap old movies like �The Bat�, etc. I watched a couple of old 70�s sitcoms � �Robin�s Nest�, which I used to LURVE as a kid (I LURVED just about everything, �cos there were only 3 channels back then � that�s why shows like fucking shitty �Robin�s Nest� used to get about 10 million viewers a week) and �Soap�, which I lurved as well � as I was JUST old enough to appreciate the irony and silliness of it all (whoever invented the clich� that Americans can�t �do� irony should be shot � but they�re probably already dead.. in which case their corpse should be dug up and shot!) But the channel that REALLY turned me on � and eased me through the long, boring day � was called The Amp, an �alternative� music video channel which really DID seem to live up to it�s promise of being �alternative�. Unlike MTV2, which was only sporadically good, The Amp showed vids by the likes of The Jesus and Mary Chain (which provoked near hysteria from me and made me realise just WHY I used to get slagged so much at school for wearing their T-shirts.. �miserable as fuck and THEN some� doesn�t even BEGIN to cover it, I tell thee!), Johnny Cash (his last video � �Hurt� � a Nine Inch Nails song rendered so unrecognisable and beautiful, you can�t believe it. That video makes me cry every time. Watch it and you�ll see what I mean. If it doesn�t move you, go to your doctor and be officially pronounced dead), The Libertines (a song I actually liked! Which seemed to hint at the promise all the press hype which has built up around this band. This was an earlier song called �Up The Bracket� and it was a zillion times better than the crap-ola I�ve heard from their recent, final album which sounded tuneless, soulless and spunkless. Even Pete �thieving junkie bastard� (� Mark Lamaar) Docherty�s new �genius� band, Babyshambles, sound like watered down poo to these ears (I just read that their recent no-show at London�s Astoria degenerated into a full-scale riot, with angry punters destroying half the venue! If only the music wasn�t so SHIT, they�d be BRILLIANT! It has all the self-destructive elements I LOVE, if only the songs didn�t make me scream out �I�ve heard all this before and done much, much better�, but if you�re really young it must be really exciting, I suppose) So, anyway, that Libertines songs proved quite a revelation, as I actually rather liked it! The Amp also played that song Docherty did with Wolfman - �For Lovers� � which I thought was rather lovely.) .. This is just degenerating into a list and I kinda HATE lists, although I�ve still been watching all those best of/worst of end of year list shows which TV loves so much now �cos they�re so cheap to produce. What I REALLY want to say about satellite TV is that it�s SHIT and the huge amount of channels actually LIMITS your choice of viewing because all you end up doing is flicking between channels, thinking �There MUST be SOMETHING better on than THIS shit!� But, in actual fact, there ISN�T! And there NEVER WAS! And there NEVER WILL BE! Television really shouldn�t be the focal point of ANYone�s life, unless they�re housebound or something like that. We�ve just become used to it and rely on it like a friend who is always there when we need them but who doesn�t demand anything in return (unless you�re stupid enough to pay your license fee!) I do it myself.. I have the TV on constantly, even when I�m not watching it. I usually have it on, on �mute�, when I�, playing music, even! But TV, for all it�s faults, saved my life on new year�s day, alone in a house with a dog. And, actually, �Robin�s Nest� is STILL quite funny!
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Who am I?
I am a voice on the
end of a phone-line.
I am a friend, a son,
a nephew, a cousin.
I am someone to
look down upon,
to pity or to love
(sometimes both the
same thing).
I am between young
and old.
Neither here nor there.
A train stopped
for several minutes
between stations with
no clear destination
in mind.
My name is an
anagram of a word
that doesn't even exist.
My name is dark,
empty streets,
it's too many pints
of cider on an
empty stomach.
My name is the creaking
door of doom,
of fate,
of somebody entering
an empty room.
My name is the annoyance
of strangers
who cloud my frame
of vision,
who chatter and laugh.
My name is living
and breathing,
it is in the taxis
and buses whizzing by.
My name is in your blood,
it's a green hat.
It's a song by Nick Drake.
It's a plastic bag floating
away in the winter breeze.
But who the hell AM I?
???????????????
MUSIC SHIT
BRIGHT EYES � �I�M WIDE AWAKE, IT�S MORNING� (SADDLE CREEK) www.saddle-creek.com
After a pretty much sleepless night, I �woke� after 9, turned �The Wright Stuff� on, shaved my head, jumped in the shower, hoovered my room and mum�s room, had my breakfast then sat down in front of the digi-box to wait for Mark Eitzel�s session on 6 Music, which didn�t happen till 11.40. But it was good! Then I watched �Clive James � Postcard from New York�. Went next door to say bye. Got the 1.45 bus to Glasgow. The driver was playing some shit muzak tape or something but some Motown eventually came on it. When I got back to the city, I had to stand in a HUGE queue in the post office to send some stuff away. I went to the Horseshoe at 3.30 and had a pint, sitting at a table on my own reading The Metro. Some couple were lovingly looking into each other�s eyes, making me feel slightly sick. Jealousy? Bitterness? I don�t know. Then I went to the Auctioneers and had another pint. There weren�t any tables free and no one I knew was in so I fucked off to buy the new Bright Eyes album. A few fire engines were on the corner but I didn�t see any smoke. Got the B.E. CD in Avalanche for �9.99 then went to the Counting House. John M was in, sitting on his own, and then Michael came in and said hi, but he was �in conference� with some work-mates at another table (as usual). John had been to the housing benefit office with his dodgy claim. We talked a lot about that recent murder case in Midlothian. Then we went to the Auctioneers. There were some free tables by this time and Michael and his pals were there too. John said, on Friday night, he�d been so drunk after leaving Sir John�s and the Bay Horse that he literally crawled on his hands and knees for part of the way home and a neighbour helped him into his flat. Drunken Eyes came in! First time I�d seen him in the Auctioneers! He had his usual several pints at the bar and left at 7pm. John said he looked like a �bevvy merchant�. We left at 11pm and I got a subway back. Knocked on John B�s door but got no reply so had a beer and slipped my new purchase into the CD player.
I instantly loved it. It starts, as Bright Eyes albums usually do, with some spoken word stuff (about a bored woman on a plane which then crashes). Then there�s that perfect blend of acoustic guitars, pedal steel, swoon-some female backing vocals (provided by EMMYLOU HARRIS, no less!) and tortured, twisted, brilliant lyrics, all delivered in Conor Obert�s trademark nasal whine so loved (and hated) by so many. Me? Why, I LOVE it, of course! I thought the NME were having an early April Fool�s joke when they said that Bright Eyes recently held both the number one AND number two spots in the US single�s chart but apparently it�s true! How THAT happened, I�ll NEVER know � did the American public suddenly acquire some taste and good sense after voting their wanker president in for a 2nd term? Whatever the reason, it can only increase the profile of a really amazing songwriter who some people are calling �the new Dylan�. You can see what they mean, but the handful of albums Oberst has produced under this moniker already mean more to me than a dusty old relic like Dylan EVER could. Sure, music would be a sorrier state if he hadn�t existed and I DO like a lot of his older stuff, but I don�t get this �the new this� and �the new that� shit�. It�s just a lazy journalist trap which people always fall into. I guarantee that songs as lovely as �Another Travelin� Song� (I know that�s spelt wrong � but that�s how it�s written on the sleeve.. Oberst may be a great songwriter but he can�t fuckin� spell!), �Train Under Water� and the other 8 tracks here (this being the shortest Bright Eyes full-lengther EVER; but only �cos a 2nd album of completely new material was also released on the same day!) won�t have you searching your brain for comparison points �cos you�ll be too busy immersing yourself in the beautiful, scary world of Bright Eyes.
TSUNAMI BENEFIT, ORAN MOR, GLASGOW, 27TH JANUARY 2005
Awoke at 5.30am then slept on and off till 10.30. Had a shower. Went and posted Gary�s letter then got a couple of things from Greggs which I ate while going �back to the old house� in Crown Road North. It looks so posh now! It was a nice and sunny day so I felt like a walk. Got the new �What�s on TV� (the price is DOWN to 35p) and a can of Coke. My rent cash was in my account too. When I got back, John knocked my door and asked if I fancied walking into town �cos he wanted to buy some new clothes. I said I�d rather meet him in Tennent�s bar at 3.30. He didn�t go out, though, �cos I heard him playing his guitar. I played the Manic�s �Holy Bible� then went out after 2pm to walk about. Got a pasty and some Lucozade from the Co-op and walked down the Kelvin Walkway through the park and along past the Kelvin Hall. A BBC crew were filming near the transport museum. I went into what used to be the Salvatian Army shop but now it�s changed it�s name. Had a browse then looked in more charity shops on Byres Road. Picked up a copy of Uncle Tupelo�s 2nd last album on CD in Oxfam Music for only �4.99. Then it was time to meet John so I got a cider in Tennents and sat down. He came in around 5 minutes later and got himself a Carling (which was only �1.70!) Some old guy sat at our table and started chatting about folk music and shit. He was actually really nice once I got past my usual reticence about people. He bought us drinks! His name was Adam and he was 70 and originally from up North somewhere and is some sort of Scots folk singer.. he was going on about Celtic Connections and the MOD, etc. I couldn�t make out a lot of what he was saying as he was really soft spoken and partly due to his accent too. But he was saying things about spring is coming and the renewal of life, etc. That crazy guy John M knows was in too, sitting at the bar. This other guy sat at our table for one drink only and was going on about stuff like Tony Benn, etc. He actually seemed OK as well. Me and John were going to leave at 7.30 for the tsunami benefit gig but Adam bought us another drink each even though he himself was leaving! So, we felt humbled and were saying that, if we�d been skint, there is NO WAY anyone would have bought us free drinks like that! So, we left the pub at 8pm and John stopped off in Threshers to buy cigs and he was taking ages. Then he came out and beckoned me to go in then introduced me to the guy behind the counter, etc, and I was like �Let�s go. We�re late�, a bit pissed off whereas he was just PISSED.
When we got into Oran Mor (the upstairs bit) the guy who wrote some hits for Sandie Shaw was on � Chris Andrews (??) It was like a bad karaoke night in Benidorm � just him and a backing track. He was really cheesy and even unbuttoned his shirt during the last song, a version of �Whole Lotta Shakin� Goin� On�. I felt better when I eventually got served (the place was busy) and John gave me 2 librium pills. The place looked great (I had only been in the bar before) with nice Alasdair Gray paintings on the ceiling, etc. Next on were Middle of the Road � although John said only the female singer had been in the ORIGINAL �60s line up. They did their big hit, �Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep� first. BIG mistake! The rest of their set was just bland pub rock, including the �classic� �Michael Row the Boat Ashore�! I kid you not! Middle of the Road? TOO FUCKING RIGHT! The guy who organised the event kept coming on stage to tell us about all the orphanages our cash would help build and to urge us all to �bring the guys back on for one more song�.. Next up, thankfully, was the one person I actually really wanted to see � Paul Buchanan of the Blue Nile. His bassist was the same guy who�d just been on with Middle of the Road and they had some sound problems, but when they launched into a version of �Strangers in the Night�, it was pretty clear who was going to be the star of the evening. Next song was a suitably slow version of �You to Me Are Everything� and I couldn�t tell if he was being ironic or not. But then the compere guy came up and said an audience member had pledged �1000 if Paul would do a song from the latest Blue Nile album. Even though the band had apparently �only met today�, they all knew the song (which made me suspect something fishy was going on, especially as Paul seemed to have lots of friends and neighbours in the crowd, as well as many ecstatic, cheering fans). I didn�t recognise the song but it was very lovely. Then the exact same thing happened AGAIN � another �1000 pledge for another Blue Nile song (AGAIN from the latest album � this was fishy like a million sharks at a drive-in cinema watching �A Fish Called Wanda�!) Then it was all over and, this time, the compere cunt didn�t ask us to �bring the guys back for one more song�. I walked back to where John was standing and he told me he�d just fallen on the floor (he was sitting on a BIN) and some woman had helped him up. I went to the bar downstairs � �cos I had my stupid green wristband on � and then we watched Nazareth, who John had really wanted to see. I enjoyed them, actually. They were HEAVY METAL and the guy�s voice was good even if he did look like a bank manager. When they�d done (no encore for them either), �special celebrity guest� Carol Laula came on and treated us to 2 rather dull acoustic songs. We left after that. Don�t think anyone else was coming on and it was midnight. We got a roll each from the van then John came over all funny and I had to help him home. He puked up and kept falling over and shit. I�d had much more to drink than him but he was also on pills. I eventually got him into his room and told him to let me know if he needed anything. Back in my room, at 12.35, I finished off the cider I had while reading some bits and pieces, till 2am.
AMERICAN MUSIC CLUB, KING TUT�S WAH WAH HUT, GLASGOW, 2ND FEBRUARY 2005
Felt like shit. Walked into town after 11am and got a call from Rob saying he'd missed his train and wouldn't be in Glasgow till '4.30 or 5.30'. So I walked around for a while, looking at things. Got a can of Coke and felt like puking up but didn't. Walked all the way back home again. Got the new 'What's on TV'. When I was back at the flat, John knocked on my door to see how I was. I asked if he'd been in my room last night after the pub and he said no - he'd gone straight back to his room, eaten his pizza and fallen asleep. I lay around for a while with my TV mag then walked into town again. Rob rang again, at around 3.30pm, saying he'd arrived at Central station, so I said I would see him in about 15 minutes. I looked around inside the station for a while and couldn't see him but then I went outside to the taxi rank and there he was, with his bag and his guitar. We shook hands and went to get a subway back to mine. He told me he didn't have to pay any extra for his train journey 'cos no one came to collect the tickets (although he'd fallen asleep, so they MAY have been round, I suppose). We got off at Kelvinbridge (I'd avoided the gaze of my ex-neighbour Ross on the subway - dressed in a suit and looking as fucking miserable as ever) and walked back to the flat. Rob gave me some CD and DVD bootlegs he'd done for me and I gave him the 2 Smiths DVDs for him to copy. We put on the Nirvana DVD and watched it while drinking cans of Coke. Then we tried to record a couple of songs on his mini-disc recorder. I did a Red House Painters one for the 'tribute' CD Rob is putting together and he did an old Shy Rights Movement song, 'Semi-Precious', which I showed him the chords for 'cos he said he likes that song. Then I was pretty anxious to get going so I could have a few beers. We walked to Hillhead subway station and I picked up a copy of The Metro onboard, which had a bit about AMC in it. We got off at Cowcaddens then walked to Nice 'n' Sleazy. They were doing a 'January Sale' - cider reserve for only �1.50, so I bought a pint of that and a Coke for Rob. We sat at a table by the door, near 'the best jukebox in the world', according to John Peel. Colin from Eska and Michael both said hello and we went over to join Michael and Thomas, who I'd not seen in YEARS. Thomas was really chatty, said he's a regular visitor to the KAW website and that he's only been to one gig since seeing SRM in 1998! I told them how much I liked the recent EP they'd sent me and they said they'd accidentally deleted 18 songs which they did on a PC! Me and Rob left to go to King Tut's at around 8pm. It was pretty busy. I got a cider. Paul and his mate Johnson showed up before long. Paul's got a new digital recording type thing now and he's given up smoking! We went upstairs as soon as the doors opened and some woman was collecting for a tsunami appeal. I put some money into her bucket and asked if she was Nancy. She said she was and how did I know? I said I knew her name from the Firefly email list. We went up the back and watched the support band, My Latest Novel, a local band who were like a cross between Belle and Sebastian and Arab Strap. Not BAD but not GREAT either. Paul bought us some drinks. When the support band had done their bit, I went to the loo then to the bar and ran into Scot from the Firefly list. Said hi. I went right down the front and watched Vudi setting up the guitars. Some guy in a Henry Rollins T-shirt came and stood next to me and said he had never seen AMC or Eitzel before but was a fan of Uncut magazine and stuff. I raved about AMC and said he was in for a special treat. I wasn't wrong. They were truly awesome. I stood right in front of Danny Pearson. The whole set was brilliant but I had an all over tingly feeling when they did 'Outside This Bar' as an encore. When Eitzel introduced it as being about his old friend who was an angel dust addict, I KNEW they were gonna do that song. I took some photos during the show and nicked Danny's set-list after they were done. He had to lift up his bass so I could take it! Then I met Gary from Edinburgh at the bar and we caught up a little bit. Not seen HIM since 1997, at Eitzel's show in Edinburgh, I believe. Then I bought a couple of CDs from Danny Pearson, who was manning the merch stall and told him he looked like David Soul which he DOES. Then I noticed Eitzel had emerged from the backstage area, in a different hat and a warm winter coat. A few people were getting him to sign stuff and I asked if I could take a photo of him with his scarf on, so of course, in typical Eitzel fashion, he immediately took the scarf OFF. It was some sort of football scarf which folk on the Firefly list had been debating about for a while. I snapped a photo of him and then said I was going to offer him a blowjob if he played 'Outside This Bar', but then they played it anyway, which he laughed at. Then I spoke to Thomas and Gary a bit then went downstairs to find Rob. Just before we left, I said goodbye to Michael and Gary. We walked back to mine, talking about the gig and music in general, bootlegs, etc.. geeky shit for sure but fun! Got a pasty in the Co-op on Great Western Road and he got a can of Red Bull. Back in my room, we listened to CDs and chatted. I drank all the booze in my possession (which was only a tiny little bottle of Schnapps and a bottle of Budweiser which I nicked from the fridge). He didn't want to go to sleep as his train was so early in the morning, so we sat up till 6.15am, with a �Jamie and the Magic Torch� DVD on. I walked him to the taxi rank and we said goodbye. I was back in my room and asleep in bed by 6.40am.
DANNY PEARSON � �THE OBLIVION SEEKER� (FROZEN RECORDS) [email protected]
Listened to this for the 1st time the day after the above gig and it wasn�t just the drink talking �cos Danny really DOES look like David Soul on the back cover of this CD! If the music career stalls he could easily make a fortune as a lookalike! Anyway, enough frivolity, �cos this 8 tracker is a glorious treat for the ears. Perhaps taking a cue from long time band-mate Mark Eitzel, Danny�s heavily into his looooong song titles (witness �Won�t You Suspend Your Disbelief For Just One More Day�, �You Drank Some Darkness And Have Become Visible� and the wonderfully named, and just pure fucking WONDERFUL, �Broken Hearts Are For Assholes�). He�s joined on �Be Here Now� (thankfully, nothing to do with the Oasis LP of the same name) by fellow San Franciscan mope rock boy Mark Kozelek who brings some nice backing vocals and fuzz guitar to the party. Tracks like �Stalker� hark back to the album Danny made a few years back with Clodhopper which was VERY nice and underrated stuff indeed. Then, on �The Shining Path�, he gets all George Harrison on us and breaks out the dumbeks (?) and the tars (??) and the katalas (???) This is the longest, weirdest track on the CD and is very atmospheric and generally fab. The biggest selling point here, though, is the previously unreleased Eitzel-penned song �Vulture and Hyena� which is as lyrically oblique, intriguing and beautiful as one would expect. Perhaps my personal favourite of all, however, is closing track �City Lights Bookstore� which, as well as being a kind of travelogue of San Francisco, ends the album on a note of reconciliatory sadness and leaves you wanting to hear more of this guy who not ONLY plays bass in the greatest band in the world, has photos of himself kissing a goat on his CD and looks like one of �Starsky and Hutch�, but ALSO writes startlingly lovely songs which deserve to be heard by anyone who likes timeless, heartfelt American music. This CD is available at gigs and from the website, www.american-music-club.com. What are you waiting for?!
HANK WILLIAMS / TIM HARDIN DOCUMENTARIES (BBC TV & RADIO)
Ain�t it always the way? You wait ages for a good documentary about a genius alcoholic, drug-addicted singer-songwriter and then two come along at once! That�s exactly what happened on Saturday February the 5th 2005 when, simultaneously, BBC2 were screening a paean to the King of Country Music himself, Hank Williams and BBC Radio 2 were dropping some knowledge about the, lesser known but still utterly brilliant, folkie dude Tim Hardin.
The Hank Williams docu was narrated by his very own grandson, the originally-named Hank Williams III, who shares with his famous grandpa a love of OTT C & W outfits, some nicely chiseled cheekbones and that spooky yodel. Hank III also likes to play punk rock sometimes, too, which I would LOVE to see � especially if everyone�s expecting him to be all reverential to the true essence of the country sound (yeah, just like all the country stars of today. Ha fucking ha. Any one of those MTV-reared shit-for-brains would have a heart attack if they had to veer from the well-trodden path of watered-down safe Career Rock). It�s nice to see the family line continuing in such fine tradition in the shape of this young firebrand �cos also on this tribute was Hank Williams II, who, besides the obligatory cowboy hat, likes to hide behind a Long John Silver style beard and rock star shades. Hank II used to make (and probably still does make) some truly hideous music too, even �resurrecting� his legend of a father for a rendition of �There�s A Tear In My Beer�, complete with cringe-inducing video of him singing beside dear old dead dad (just like Natalie Cole did, in fact). Scary stuff indeed. Can�t imagine (geddit?) Sean Lennon doing THAT, somehow. Anyway, as is the nature of these things, the programme charted Hank�s path from troubled youth (hanging out on the street learning how to play guitar from assorted colourful characters and living with his mum in her brothel) to country music superstar to corpse in the back seat of a limousine on new year�s eve 1952. Some great clips included Hank doing his thing on various TV shows of the time and his wife Audrey�s absolutely fucking appalling singing. Surprisingly, perhaps, many members of his band the Drifting Cowboys are still alive and featured heavily, recalling what a nice and generous guy their old buddy was but how he also had spooky premonitions of his own early demise, partly brought about by an addiction to dodgily-prescribed painkillers such as morphine for his crippling back condition. At 1 hour 20 minutes this long overdue tribute to one of the true originators of the heart-on-sleeve tearjerker was an extremely satisfying viewing experience.
Tim Hardin is someone I�ve only really been listening to very recently. I�ve long been aware of his name, and some of his songs as covered by other people (most notably, �If I Were A Carpenter�) but it was only when I was given his live album �The Homecoming Concert� (as reviewed in �Sniper Glue� #12) that I really began to fall in love with his songwriting and emotional delivery. His is truly a heartbreaker of a tale � early success on the burgeoning folk scene of New York in the 1960s, an addiction to heroin which left him practically incapable of performing live and a tragically early death caused by a batch of �bad� smack (like there�s �good� smack). But what songs! He was doing that whole Leonard Cohen �I�m-sensitive-and-poetic-and-I�ve-got-an-acoustic-guitar� thing even BEFORE Leonard Cohen! What a guy! Listening to this well-done documentary made me want to go out and explore more of Tim Hardin�s work. So that�s exactly what I�m gonna do! RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!
SOPHIA � �PEOPLE ARE LIKE SEASONS� (CITY SLANG) www.theflowershoprecordings.com
Walked into town in the early afternoon and was in Sleazys by 1.30pm. I had a pint of cider and sat at a table near the jukebox. It was nice and quiet (well, there weren't many people in, but they had stuff like Minor Threat on the jukebox so it wasn't QUIET!) I texted Andrew. Had a quick look in a charity shop after that then saw my ex-neighbour Donald coming out of ANOTHER charity shop. We said hello. Then I went into the Brunswick Cellars 'cos I noticed they had cheap Miller on. It was only �1.70 a pint and I sat next to the fish tank and admired the beautiful tropical fish. They were playing stuff like Joy Division and Cat Power! Then I had a look in Music Zone. Then I listened to a voice message Andrew had sent in reply to my text. Something about 'get fucking shit-faced'. Went to Fopp and bought the 'new' Sophia CD for �5. Then went to Missing and Greggs the bakers. Went into the Crystal Palace at 3.40pm for a pint of Carling. Saw Rodger walking down Jamaica Street from my vantage point in the upstairs bar! After that, I went to the Horseshoe for another Carling. Sat at the bar. Ended up in Failte again - the barmaid knew what I wanted - for 3 pints of cider. Read the Daily Record and listened to a full Neil Young album. I got a subway back and picked up some wine and a pizza on my way. Was in at 8.20pm. After I ate the pizza, I went out for a bottle of Merrydown and a TV mag. Watched 2 Smiths live gigs which Scott in Newcastle had sent me (got them this morning). Good, they were. Then I unwrapped my latest precious purchase and slid it into the slot of my trusty 12 year-old CD player. First track = last year�s fab single �Oh My Love� (as reviewed in �Sniper Glue� #5, fact fans) and then the album continues in a similar vein with �Swept Back� and �Fool�. It�s on tracks like �Darkness (Another Shade in Your Black)� and �If A Change Is Gonna Come�� where Sophia veer into rawk territory and sound more than a little like the God Machine (which is fair enough considering their main man used to be IN the God Machine!) Trouble is, I never liked the God Machine, so tracks which are reminiscent of the God Machine are not likely to win any prizes in MY �Vegetable of the Year� competition. EXCEPT the 2 aforesaid tracks, like prize marrows, are growers. Er, what AM I on about? Sophia don�t TOTALLY disappoint, thankfully, and really pull out all the stops on the final few heartbreakers on this disc � �Holidays Are Nice� (what a title!), �I Left You� and �Another Trauma� are all as lovely as being thrown into a pit of cotton wool and having a small puppy lick your face. This is an �enhanced� CD too, so let�s �check out� the, er, enhancements, shall we? OK, so into my PC the little brown disc goes. Whirr, whirr.. Oh THAT was disappointing. Seems my ancient and crap PC doesn�t have the horsepower required to run the exciting �extras� on this disc. Ah well, fuck it. Think I�ll go and watch the BAFTAs instead.
GALACTIC FEDERATION OF LOVE � �CONSPIRASOUNDS� (SELF-RELEASED) www.galacticfederationoflove.com
Dust down your kaftan, break out the joss-sticks and prepare to feel the LURVE, �cos here�s Tucson, Arizona�s Galactic Federation of Love and they wanna transport you back to a time when everything was �cool� and �groovy� and shit like that. Their biog sheet reveals affiliations with the likes of Calexico, Mecca Normal and LINDA RONDSTADT (!!) to name but three and they�ve played ALL OVER the USA, spreading good vibes like a travelling medicine show. Their biog also reveals that their live show includes �life size figures of interplanetary landscapes, functioning pyramids and an assortment of UFO conspiracies on the group�s teleprompter�, which is all well and good. But then the info sheet goes on to say �The group is more than music and rock. It is a philosophy. With one release to the Gregorian calendar and an impending one due by the late spring of the Mayan calendar, GFOL is on its way in, on and up the elevator to the brain hotel�, which sounds a tad too close to Julian Cope stylee hippie bollocks to ME, but we�ll let them off just this once. Also, the badge they sent with the CD is so poorly laid out that it looks like it reads �Galactic of Love Federation� but I grew out of wearing badges YEARS ago, so THERE! Anyway, onto the actual MUSIC.. This 8 track, 23 minutes and 13 seconds long disc (which comes packaged in a colour sleeve bearing the kind of psychedelic images one might expect) begins with �Drill a Hole�, a plinky plonky, fucking-a-donkey piano, bass and bird noise fest with some highly strung vocal warblings and a 60�s-esque, garage band, psychedelic feel. And it�s not bad! �Little Bit of Light� sounds like the Beach Boys minus the soaring harmonies and the distasteful urge to suck corporate cock. I bet these horny goats get a load of �free love� action with all this kinda gear. The �chicks� just LOVE that kinda thing, maaan! �Library of Alexandria� inhabits a similar patio but with some discordant piano tagging along for good measure while �This Little Boy� cranks up the electric cellos, bringing to mind ELO. The final three �proper� songs seem to share the same theme, making me wonder if this is a concept album, as they all include the word �reptiles� and two of them mention �great big hugs�. Er, right on! Finally, track #8, an un-credited track, is a jokey sing-a-long brought about by too much waccy baccy, I expect. But it�s all rather charming, really.
THE DANNY SAYS � �HONEST APOLOGY� (SELF-RELEASED) http://kiss.to/thedannysays
The curiously-named The Danny Says is a one man project by a guy from Malmo, Sweden called Mattias Bengtsson and this short, sharp six-tracker is a playful burst of fast jangly indie-pop like something straight from the pages of the mid-80s fanzines I used to read religiously. Even the cover art looks like it�s from a flexi-disc! It�s good to know people are still making music like this and there is much to like in these songs. The spunky title track is the biggest winner, while �The Boy Formerly Known As Me Vs The Girl Formerly Known As You� scoops top prize for the longest song title in this issue of �Hiroshima Yeah!� �So Do I� sees Mattias getting all electro-pop on our asses and it kinda sounds a bit like Soft Cell crossed with that Robbie Williams track that rips off Kraftwerk. �Nighttime Tears� rounds off proceedings nicely, with some synth / guitar duelling, �Banjos at Dawn� style. The fact that the longest track comes in at 3 minutes 4 seconds also makes this a good bet for people with short attention spans! If you like 1980s style indie-pop that does the job then gets out quick, you could do worse than getting a copy of this.
HIROSHIMA YEAH!
a personal/music zine
issue 2 / April 2005
[email protected] for a paper copy of this (including more stuff)
Everything here written by Mark Ritchie �2005
Except the DVD review which is by Gary Simmons
This issue is dedicated to Hunter S. Thompson and Dave Allen
It�s all getting on top of me.. all those years of low-level depression, alcoholism, drug abuse.. they�re coming back to haunt me. Now I can�t get stupidly drunk and falsely happy and forget everything the way I used to. I see no way out. I see my future and it�s jumping off a bridge or under a train. The life I�ve chosen offers no other options. Everything I like.. music, books, films.. is bleak. I didn�t CHOOSE depression, it chose me. I laughed at those �Choose Life� T-shirts people used to wear in the 80s and wore a �Frankie Say War! Hide Yourself� one instead and that�s exactly what I�ve been doing all my life. I�ve chosen war and I�ve been hiding myself.. in bottles, in the pages of books, in dreams that I�m an �artist�, that I�d �make it� someday.. but the truth is I�m a 33 year old guy living in a bedsit and on the dole. I�m a fucking failure. I get so drunk I argue with people, forget what I�ve done (did I REALLY say that last night or was it a dream? Dreams merge with reality when you�re constantly drunk.. if you sit in a pub for 8 hours a day, you go home, fall asleep and dream you�re still there..) I walk around the streets in an aimless daze, look in shops, read paragraphs in books, always trying to find SOMETHING, ANYTHING that promises escape. But what exactly is it I�m trying to escape FROM? I know it�s probably myself and how the fuck can you ever escape from THAT? I can understand why people become junkies. I want the feeling of numbness to overtake my whole self.. like the dentist�s novocaine, only injected straight into the veins. I don�t want to feel anything.. not pain, not even love because that hurts too much as well. Everything seems to be crumbling away here, drinking wine at 1.15 on a Friday afternoon.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxx
OK, so issue #1 WAS shit but 1st issues are ALWAYS shit. Do you remember your 1st birthday party? Well, no �cos you were probably DRUNK and SO WAS I! Never mind, here�s #2 and it�s a blank page, a chance to start again, to embrace the world, to bellow like a cow, to put all those empty wine bottles to good use and build a WINE BOTTLE DOME which will house the homeless, feed the hungry, enrich the poor, button the unbuttoned.. FUCK Labore, FUCK Tories, Lib Dems, FUCK George W � VOTE �HIROSHIMA YEAH!� We are the ONLY party to GUARANTEE disappointment, anger, mild shame, lunacy, irrational jealousy.. we are the ONLY party to guarantee, in fact, a PARTY! With drink and drugs (Babycham is all I�ve got left, though, and some old dog-worming tablets) and MUSIC (I have Radio 2 on permenant stand-by!) Yeah, FUCK IT! LET�S GO, CHILDREN!!
Xxxxx
MICHAEL
It was a hot summer day when I first met my transvestite flatmate. He sashayed into the kitchen of the flat in a heavy fur coat and introduced himself.
"I've just moved in. My name�s Michael.�
We shook hands and I told him my name.
�I�ve been living in New York and Japan for a while. I run a record company, Vague Discs. Maybe you've heard of it."
I told him that I hadn't but he didn't seem to be listening.
�Doesn�t anybody ever clean up this kitchen? It�s disgusting. The windows look like they�ve not been cleaned in years. We could get a disease or something. I�m going to speak to the landlord about it. I know him. We went to university together 20 years ago.�
I began to wonder if the guy was on drugs. I noticed he was carrying a very dirty looking duvet with no cover on it.
�Anyway, nice to meet you,� he said as he went back to his room.
Later that day Charlie, who also lived in the flat, told me that Michael was a transvestite and he had seen him in the street wearing a dress, high heels and full make-up.
�No way!� I said. �He doesn�t look the type.�
�Well, he is,� Charlie assured me. �I�ve seen him around for a while and it really freaked me out when I found out he�d moved in here.�
I started laughing.
�It�s not funny,� Charlie said. �How would you feel if a guy wearing a dress came up to you in the pub?�
�It wouldn�t really bother me, to be honest,� I replied. �I don�t give a shit what other people do, as long as they�re not effecting me.�
Charlie seemed disgusted, both by our new flatmate�s transvestitism and my liberal attitude towards it.
The next time I encountered Michael was the following evening. I had spent the afternoon trawling around local charity shops for cheap vinyl LPs and was playing my newly purchased copy of Neil Diamond�s �Love at the Greek� loudly while drinking cider when there was a knock on my door.
�Hi. Sorry to bother you but do you know the phone number for this place?�
�No, I don�t sorry. I�ve got a mobile so I�ve never had to use it. Ask Charlie though. I�m sure he�ll know.�
Michael thanked me and went to knock on Charlie�s door. I returned to my cider and Neil Diamond LP, chuckling to myself.
Over the next few weeks, I bumped into Michael many times, although I never saw him dressed in women�s clothes. He wore stuff which I considered to be slightly girlie but that was about the extent of it. He would often forget his keys and I�d have to let him in and, one day, I found him attacking the freezer with a huge knife.
�Do you know when this was last defrosted? There�s stuff in here that�s been out of date for months.�
�I�ve no idea. I don�t keep anything in the freezer. I usually get takeaways.�
�Well, I�m going to throw all this stuff out, then.�
�OK. Fine by me.�
A few weeks later, Michael left a notepad by the phone in the hall and, on it, he�d written "I am asking politely for messages to be taken for me, Michael, care of Vague Discs�. Charlie and me thought that was a bit of a cheek. If he wanted a personal secretary, he should fucking hire one.
It wasn�t long before mysterious notes started appearing on the notepad. They said things like �Michael, pay your rent you weirdo� and �Michael is a trannie�. It was pretty obvious they�d been written by the landlord.
It turns out that Michael had not paid any rent since moving in. He had even got some guy from the council to come round and assess the place to see if it was worth the amount of rent the landlord was charging.
A couple of times, the lock was even removed from his door. A none-too-subtle way of saying he was being evicted. But it didn�t do any good. Michael continued to live there, even without a lock on his door.
The last time I saw him was a Friday. When I left my room to go to the toilet, the landlord and some woman were sitting silently on chairs in the hall.
�Do you know who these bikes belong to?� the woman asked.
�No, sorry, I don�t. But they�re not mine.�
Since Michael arrived, various junk had accumulated in the communal areas of the flat. Bikes without wheels, broken television sets, old hoovers.
After I had been back in my room for a while, I heard Michael�s voice in the hall. I pressed my ear to the door and listened.
�I�ll pay the rent when you clean this place up. It�s disgusting.�
There was a long silence.
�If you come near me, I�ll put you into another cosmos.�
If I didn�t know that there were two other people in the hall with him, I would have sworn Michael was talking to himself.
A couple of minutes later, I heard the outside door slam and then heard Michael knocking on Charlie�s door. His room was right next to mine so I could easily hear their conversation.
�I�m going to phone the police because the landlord was threatening me and I�m giving them your name as a witness.�
�I didn�t witness anything,� Charlie said. �I�ve been in bed asleep.�
Later on, as I was leaving the flat, Michael was standing on the doorstep.
�Did you hear what happened earlier?� he asked.
I said I hadn�t heard anything.
�Can I give your name as a witness? Come on, I�d do the same for you.�
�I�m not lying to the police. Especially about something I didn�t even see.�
�Are you scared of them or something?�
�I�m more scared of being made homeless.�
�Oh, well, thanks anyway. My security team�s here anyway. Have a nice day.�
As I walked away, I noticed a large white van coming down the street. His �security team�, I suppose.
Michael must have moved out that same day because I never saw him again. But various people have since told me stories about how he had been banned from various local libraries and art galleries for causing trouble. He seemed to be a compulsive liar and a bit of a nut-case.
But he made an interesting flatmate!
STUFF ABOUT MUSIC..
CDS
PERNICE BROTHERS � NOBODY�S WATCHING (ASHMONT RECORDS) www.pernicebrothers.com
Well, the cover makes it look like a dodgy Sex Pistols bootleg or The Chesterfield�s fab 1987 LP �Kettle� and I didn�t even know it existed till I saw it one snowy Wednesday PM in HMV in Sauchiehall Street but �Nobody�s Watching� has become a firm friend since Madame Fate flung us together. All the classics are here � �Flaming Wreck�, �Wait to Stop�, �Monkey Suit� and �Grudge Fuck� (which Joe Pernice originally recorded in Scud Mountain Boys). My only quibble (I love the word �quibble�, don�t you?!) is that, at 12 songs, it�s far too SHORT. The DVD you get free with the CD is rather fab too. It�s an hour of tour diary and promo video gold. WITNESS the japes of being on-the-road with one of the most geeky bands in rock! FEEL the claustrophobia of the tour van! MARVEL at some really fine facial hair! Yes, indeed, this is yet another great release from the brothers Pernice!
MOON � 3 track untitled CD with no covering letter (although they probably emailed me, to be fair) Contact: [email protected]
OK, I�ve had a SHIT week.. a shit LIFE even, if I wanna be all melodramatic, so this French discie�d better be good �cos I ain�t pulling NO punches.. PLUS I�ve had about 8 pints of lager soooo.. it starts sort of Aphex Twin-y (when Aphex Twin is asleep, I mean) with �Dopamine�.. instrumentally on it goes then, at 2.07, there�s FINALLY some spoken words, all about lab rats.. probably ironic but with the French, you never know. That�s it! Short and, er, �sweet�. Track 2, �Over Mars�, is longer and don�t we just know it! It�s kinda like being lost in a realm of fantasy where unicorns prance to the pipes of Pan and chavs stab each other to the music of Wham! There is backwards shit, keyboard shit, guitar shit, thumping �techno� shit. Yeah, yeah and it�s ALL shit. But not THAT shit. Could probably be peaceful in an elevator stuck between certain levels of Hell (For �Hell�, read �Job Centre� or �Le Job Centre�, even, if that�s how Moon would say it. I never even got my French O Grade! That�s why I�m writing a stupid and crap personal/music zine which no one reads. Not even ME!) 3rd and final track is �Plasma Cooler� and it IS �cooler� with it�s ambient soundscapes and yeah, it IS kinda like being on the moon, if you�re on the right medication (I�d ask my flatmate but he�s busy lying in a darkened room, totally fucked-up on various prescription pills). It�s quite long and mellow and would make a great soundtrack to a film with no soundtrack (even though the last bit sounds like an over-loaded washing machine!) This is the one I like the best. I could happily DIE to this song.. but, then, I could happily die right now ANYWAY. As long as this is played at my funeral.. and I bet even Moon wouldn�t come.
BILLY & THE BENDERS � COCKS OF MASS DESTRUCTION (MADE UP RECORDS) www.billyandthebenders.co.uk
Well, what can be said about THIS? For a start, it�s a CDR EP and is another one of those unsolicited things I�m SO FUCKING LUCKY to receive just �cos I happen to �do� a zine and an unbelievably unsuccessful DIY music label. The 3 tracks here are obviously trying their hardest to be funny, but they just AIN�T! �Anal Tusk� is ultra fast hardcore punk SHIT, while �Dwarf Tossing� would probably be shocking if you hadn�t heard about a ZILLION other more shocking things in your life (like, say, you�d been locked away in an attic for 50 years and hadn�t heard ANY music other than Cole Porter or something). Final track (and, thankfully, all these �songs� clock in at 2 minutes or less each), �Fellating David Blunkett�s Dog� is like Napalm Death covering Pinky and Perky. Good luck with the �career�, guys. You�ll fucking need it!
DVD
FCKN�BSTRDS � NOISE TRASH (Reviewed by GARY SIMMONS)
It is the first of Marts 2005. I have just screened a DVD copy of John Waters� 1974 trash film classic �Female Trouble�, starring the brilliantly effervescent Divine, to my 14� year old niece. THAT�LL further her education�heh, heh, heh, heh. Heh. See, not only are British kids fed SHIT in the school canteen and the actual classroom, but they are also given a diet of SHIT to digest at home in front of the TV. Result? A generation of Glaxo-label clad MORONS who can barely talk, let alone string a sentence together. Fortunately, my niece, Toni, is one of the more inquisitive and individualistic members of this terminally FUCKED crop of half-witted mental defectives! ! Blame? It�s Blair and his gang of viscous, lying, suited THEIVES and all the previous government CUNTS before them. These �people� are the REAL instigators of child abuse�an abuse that is on an unimaginably MASSIVE scale and one that is increasing at an ever accelerating pace. How is it that the seemingly oh-so-generous British public can manage to raise �300 million for the South East Asian Tsunami victims yet �we� can�t even provide decent food in schools for the children of this glorious, happy and, let�s not deny it, VICTORIOUS damn nation? These children, I say, who are in their multitudes living below the poverty line right here in the year 2005 in THE 4TH RICHEST CUNT-RY IN THE WORLD!!!! Does Her Right Royal Majesty CARE for her luscious young subjects? Is HIS Right Royal Majesty only interested in his life of Riley with that wrinkled-up old corpse he�s been stale-cunt-fucking these last 50 years?? Just what-the-fuck IS going on in this topsyturvy, upside down and inside out fucking insipid kingdom of ours?! I don�t get it! I JUST DON�T FUCKING GET IT!!!! And I�ll tell you, I SWEAR, by Gods� very own FUCK, that these disingenuous BASTARDS will pay, and pay HEAVILY, for this outrage. They will pay with their LIVES!!! Every single vapid-sow-fucking one of them, along with mine own personal enemies; I came across time for you ancient SPUTUM brains. Yeah you! Yeeeesss yoooouuuuu, Adam Braithwait!! Yoouu, Clive Hains!!! And YOOOOUUUU, Mr Malcolm Steele!!!! I�ve got the weapons, I got the guns and I got thee explosives!!!! And I�ve got NOTHING LEFT NOW TO FUCKIN� LOSE and I remember EV-ER-REE-THING!! Hail victory to Al-Qaeda!!! Triumph to thee Iraqi insurgents!!! ASSASSINATE THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES!!!! God is great!! I shall not have your so-called �Freedom and Democracy� FORCED upon me!! Because if THIS is what �they� call Freedom AND the fucking twisted idea of some form of government in which the supreme power is vested in the people collectively, here in the �United� (that�s one hell of a fucking JOKE, if ever I did hear one!!) Kingdom in the insufferable year of 2005�then I�M Michael Jackson.
And, in a way, I suppose I kinda AM.
Yeah, so while I�m on this run, the Fckn�bstrds have a lot to answer for too. In a previous review of their 2 CDs, �Baggernoise Voor Borderliners� and �Total Security 2003�, I described this projects� dire attempts at hilarity as ��ultra-sad infantile cunts��, ��some retarded dolt blabbering off the same diarroeic bilge�� and, simply, the old clich� �words fail me�. Four Job Centre Plus training scheme avoiding months latus and I�m sat here at my desky holding a DVD+R of this Fckn�bstrds lot which the flyer states is �One and a half hours of chaos, noise, animations, crazy outfits and madness�. Hmmm� I only have to venture into the centre of London to �experience� 4 out of 5 of THOSE particular descriptions�the 5th, that is �crazy outfits�, having been outlawed by the born-middle-aged imbecilic FUCKS of a millennium generation YEARS ago�unless it�s the cunting �footie� you�re a�going to, SILICON TIT HEAD!!!
If this release is anything remotely like the highly praised and recommended (by ME!) De Hondenkoekjesfabriek Various Artists DVD+R offering then, I promise you, I will come clean and freely admit to those nasty charges of child molestation, incitement to commit mass murdrake and of intentionally spreading a particularly disagreeable strain of pusy-green venereal disease�the kind that makes mens� piss-flaps fall off, willy-nilly. Bennett-hennett. Sotos-botos.
The TDK DVD+R comes in a proper DVD box with the expected De Hondenkoekjesfabriek off-yer-face-on-druuuugs-and-commited-to-a-long-stay-in-psychiatric-hospital artwork�which IS good, but somehow seems to always be pretty much the same on each issue and therefore becomes a trifle predictable and boring. A bit like those Gary Simmons� reviews. I insert the naked and innocent plain-jane of a disk into my YELO800 DVD player�I�m actually after the Cambridge Audio 540D �piece of kit� next (and Summer from �Neighbours� �piece of skirt�, if the truth be told�) but, being the long-haired lazy layabout outlaw doley tosser (by default), I ain�t got the cash available for yet MORE superfluous electronic TOYS!! Still, at least I�m enjoying my long, long stint of government (i.e.: the Blitish taxpayer) sponsored �Freedom and Democracy�, it beats work. Oooh, that WORD!!
Six chapters here, an excellent looking, if slightly hard to navigate. �menu� and�oh dear, after the initial adrenalin rush of the first section it�s essentially business as usual for these fucking bastards, that is: loads of not particularly commendable noise, nauseating camera work, ree-dick-you-larse home-made costumes and mega-crazy antics, but, as the dreary old saying goes, �if you�ve seen one, you�ve seen �em all�. Don�t they get FED UP of doing this because, and I can tell you this in private, I�M fed up with MY little cosy pastime, that is JERKING OFF to (20GB hard disk recording) school uniformed 14 year old nymphets in �Grange Hill� twice a fucking week, I declare, but�I STILL do it, it�s MY thing and, so, this surreal Fckn�bstrds presentation is presumably THEIRS. Only, I�M not putting MY jizzy efforts onto DVD+R and charging 10 Euros a throw. I�ll wait for HD-DVD or, preferable Blu-Ray, before I commit MY unmissable performace to the domain of digital entertainment, I can ass-your-you. The Fckn�bstrds on optical disk is a little like the current state of the development of Nuclear Fusion (and why does that idiotic FUCK George Dough Ball Ya Bush, pronounce it �Newkahlah�? Of all people HE should at least be able �tah� get it right. Okay, stupid fuckin� presumption on my part), more energy and effort is put INTO the enterprise than comes out the other end. But, boy, do these nutters TRY!!!!
I did spy a guy wearing a Manowar T-shirt in one of the several audiences herein. Mate, you know your music, maan!! Sign of the Hammer, Hail to England and DEATH TO FALSE METAL!!! Death to false noise too, come to that. I suggest a Manowar DVD would in fact fare far better in the 1� hour watchability stakes than this, sad to say it, tedious �art� effort. Hail Eric Adams!! Salute Scott Columbus!! Honour Joey DeMaio!! Go down on Ross The Boss. I would gladly kill for you, my brothers. It�s been a long time�over 20 fucking years and my �Hail to England� T-shirt has well been turned into an old rag by mummy. We Are Invincible.
The Fckn�bstrds �Noise Trash� DVD is not a patch on the ultra-original and quite astonishing De Hondenkoekjesfabriek v/a DVD and I strongly advise that you at least try THAT one first. Or, even, INSTEAD of.
(Contact: De Hondenkoekjesfabriek, PO Box 68, 7700AB, Dedemsvaart, Netherlands. www.xs4all.nl/-tellab. For classic John Waters films such as �Pink Flamingoes�, �Female Trouble�, �Desperate Living�, etc, go to www.usdirect.co.uk Excellent service should be recommended always� there�s too many useless fucking rip-off cunts out there; British Telecom, The Post Office, Curry�s, B & Fucking Q, Sainsbury�s, American Express, British Airways� these and others like them, your time is almost up.)
BOOK
�ELLIOTT SMITH AND THE BIG NOTHING� BY BENJAMIN NUGENT (DA CAPO)
The great thing about modern bookshops is that you don�t have to actually BUY anything � you can just sit on their comfy sofas all day and read. They�re like the best libraries in the world! And that�s how I read this biography of Elliott Smith (�cos, at 16 quid, I wasn�t gonna fucking buy it!) It seems pretty well researched, with vivid descriptions of the various neighbourhoods Smith lived during his short 34 years on this earth. Nugent (wonder if he�s related to Ted?!) also had access to many of Smith�s friends, girlfriends, band-mates, etc, which adds some weight to the whole thing. The book never comes across as exploitative, cheap or sensational either, which is a surprise, especially as it was published only a year after Smith�s death in October 2003. Although, to be fair, a year seems like a long time when you consider the recent before-the-body-was-cold cash-in biographies of John Peel, which must have been 99% written before the guy even died. Also, Nugent has an obvious love for his subject and the stunning music he made.
GIG
BRIGHT EYES / RILO KILEY � GLASGOW UNIVERSITY UNION, 11TH MARCH 2005
Was in the Crosslands with John from 11.20am. There were hardly any other customers, as it only opened at 11. We drank Magners cider and listened to shitty Radio Clyde for hours. It came on the news that Dave Allen had died. We left at about 4pm-ish and each got a carry-out from Haddows then went back to the flat. I just dumped my cider and left straight away to meet Grant in Byres Road. We went to Curlers and had a burger and chips each with lager which tasted far too gassy. Then we went to Oran Mor and had another drink but I couldn�t even finish my Magners as I was feeling queasy (whether it was from the gassy lager or not, I don�t know but Grant said he�d never seen me NOT finish a drink before EVER!) We were meant to be meeting Kenny outside the Union at 7.30 but he sent me a text to say he�d get me inside, on the balcony, at 8. Grant never had a ticket so we hung around outside for a bit in the vain hope of seeing a ticket tout, so he ended up having to go home. I went in, and luckily it was really dark so I didn�t feel too bad about being a Billy No Mates. I found myself a seat on the balcony and Rilo Kiley came onstage at 8. They were good, actually, with boy/girl vocals, piano, guitars and the occasional trumpet interlude. I looked around for Kenny but couldn�t see him, then I found out WHY when he texted to say he�d gone to see The Mars Volta at the Barrowlands instead, so then I really WAS Billy No Mates! I didn�t even have anything to drink and was totally sober by this point. Bright Eyes made it ALL worthwhile, though. They were amazing! A 7 piece band - including pedal steel guru Mike Mogis and the drummer from Rilo Kiley � interpreted Conor Obert�s songs beautifully. They played all 10 songs from latest album, �I�m Wide Awake, It�s Morning� (as reviewed in the last issue of this zine) plus some mouth-wateringly fine newies such as the sweet nursery rhyme-like �True Blue�, �I Must Belong Somewhere� and the UNBELIEVABLE �When the President Talks to God� (which, along with �Lua�, Oberst performed solo acoustic). This is THE song where all those Dylan comparisons really come home to roost and it received enthusiastic whoops from the sell-out crowd. There was a LOT of enthusiastic whooping going on, actually. Boys AND girls. Conor Oberst could probably run for President HIMSELF, such is the devotion of his fan base and, if I hadn�t been sober, I�d probably have joined in! After a very long pause, they did a 3 or 4 song encore, which ended with party poppers being set off during finale �Road to Joy� and a feedback frenzy worthy of Hendrix. I think I can safely say that everyone left feeling VERY satisfied. I walked home and drank a strawberry milkshake, watched a bit of Comic Relief on TV then went to bed.
Waving Goodbye
Martha turned on her side so that she was facing the wall. She could feel Jack move on the other side of the bed and smell the beer on his breath from last night�s drinking session. They had spent half the night arguing about why he had not called to tell her he would be late home from work. That and various other things, until Martha was so tired that she simply HAD to go to bed. It seemed like they were always arguing these days. About whose turn it was to do the washing-up, about what television programme to watch. Sometimes it seemed like all they ever did together anymore was argue.
�I TOLD you I�d wanted you home early,� she had yelled. �You�re going on that fucking stupid course tomorrow and I won�t get to see you for a whole week! I wanted to spend some TIME with you, you BASTARD!�
Even in the midst of the row (which hadn�t even seemed like a proper row because Jack never shouted back; instead, he�d simply shrug and sigh which only infuriated his wife more), Martha had felt bad because she had wanted the night to be special; a few candles with a nice meal and some wine. The last thing she had wanted was to have Jack go away with such a negative image in his mind. The nagging wife! God, it was SUCH a clich� that Martha felt ashamed of herself. It wasn�t a �stupid course� either. Jack was being promoted to Office Manager and that would mean a lot more money coming in.
So now, in the agonising half hour before their radio alarm went off, she was forced to lie and pretend to be asleep, knowing full well that, way over on the other side of the bed, her husband was doing exactly the same thing.
They ate breakfast in relative silence. As usual, Radio 2 distracted their attention and stopped them saying anything they may come to regret (and they had both been doing a good deal of regretting lately.)
�When�s your train again?� Martha asked.
�10.15.�
�I�d better drive. You�re probably still over the limit.�
Jack sighed and said �I wasn�t all THAT drunk�, directing the words to somewhere a few inches above his wife�s left shoulder.
Martha wished she had kept her mouth shut. Again.
They hardly spoke on the 10 minute drive to the station. It felt like they were complete strangers rather than husband and wife. In the three years since they married, they had never spent a single night apart. Even in the months leading up to the wedding, they were inseparable. Phone calls from old friends had been picked up by the answering machine and went unanswered. Even family members had stopped coming round, so all they were left with was each other, which has seemed fine at first but had, in recent months, become suffocating.
�Won�t you be late for work?� Jack asked, staring out of the window.
�I took the morning off. I told you last night.�
�Oh. Sorry.�
Martha parked the car and they walked in silence into the railway station.
�There�s no need to wait,� Jack said, looking at his suitcase. �You�d better get to work.�
�Okay, then. Remember to call me when you get there, won�t you?�
�Yeah, of course. I�ll see you in a week.�
They kissed each other awkwardly and Martha walked back upstairs into the bright morning rush of the station. She paused a while and looked up at the huge clock. It was still too early to go into work so she went into a newsagents and began flicking absently through some magazines.
But she wasn�t paying any attention to the glossy smiles and celebrity gossip. All she could think about was Jack. Why had she been so angry with him last night? It wasn�t as if he even went out drinking much. Was he seeing someone else? Someone at work, perhaps? The thought had often crossed her mind, even before their wedding day. She could never really believe her luck, meeting a guy like that. Good looking, plenty of money, nice car. They�d never talked about it much but it was always at the back of her mind, that jealousy, and it would sometimes explode in long, drawn out shouting matches and thrown household objects. That is, until one night Jack simply stopped arguing back. Instead, he would sit silently and stare off into space. It was like he wasn�t even there anymore, as if he had walked out of the room and gone somewhere unreachable.
Martha felt like bursting into tears. She noticed that the station bar was open, so she decided to go in and use their bathroom, so that she could check her make up.
Inside, the bar was dark and almost empty. There was a calmness to the place which made Martha feel immediately at ease.
She walked up to the bar and asked for a cappuccino.
�Certainly, miss,� said the barman. He was a kindly looking man with a pink face and a grey moustache which put Martha in mind of some old film star whose name she couldn�t seem to place.
�Where is the ladies�?� she asked and the man pointed to a door across the room.
As Martha walked towards the bathroom, the patrons of the bar all glanced up at her in turn. There was an old woman who looked sad and was wearing incredibly thick spectacles, a young man in a crumpled suit reading a newspaper and a couple of older men who appeared to be drunk.
Looking at her face in the mirror, Martha wondered how she would cope with the week ahead. If Jack even came home late she felt like screaming, so how would she be able to handle seven whole days of separation? Without knowing where he was, who he was with, what he was doing?
Suddenly, she rushed from the bathroom, straight out of the bar and back into the glare of the station. She didn�t hear the barman calling behind her, �Miss! Miss! Come back!�
She ran down the stairs to platform two and frantically looked around for Jack. The platform was busier now and she had to push past several people to get to the place where she had left him earlier.
A train had just started to pull away from the platform when Martha caught site of Jack sitting by one of its� windows, deeply engrossed in a newspaper. She began to call out his name and wave wildly in the direction of his ever-receding image through the window of the train carriage. She kept calling and waving but he did not look up from his paper. In a few seconds, the train had turned a corner and was out of sight.
Martha was out of breath and had to sit down on a bench to compose herself. She could sense someone edging up to her and tried to look away, as if admiring the view. But, then, a hand was placed on her shoulder and she was forced to look up. It was the barman. In his outstretched hand was Martha�s purse.
�Miss, I tried to tell you. You left your purse on the bar. Is anything the matter? Did you miss your train?�
�Oh no, no,� Martha said, taking the purse from the old man. �I had wanted to see my husband off, that�s all. But I just missed him.�
�That�s a shame,� the barman said. �You see a lot of that here. People saying goodbye to each other. It�s sad. But I wouldn�t worry. I�m sure you�ll see your husband again soon enough. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know.�
�I�m sure you�re probably right,� Martha smiled. �Thank you for returning my purse.�
�No problem. Anyway, I had better get back. I left old Mary in charge and she�s probably drank half the vodka by now!�
And then he was gone.