issue 33
november 2007
�Dear world, I am leaving because I am bored. I feel I have lived long enough. I am leaving you with your worries in this sweet cesspool. Good luck.� - Suicide note of actor George Sanders, 1972
Do you ever feel awash with regret and a melancholic longing to be elsewhere? Do you wish there was somewhere safe to sit and enjoy the view of the decaying buildings as you continue your long, slow, agonising march to the grave? Then THIS is the zine for YOU! The zine that will hammer a crucifix into the heart of your doubt, that will spatter paint onto the white walls of your indifference. THIS is your antidote to a world in which most people would rather waste their lives reading about celeb non-entities� latest dull rehab stints or boo-hoo over one of the endless succession of tawdry "tragic life story" books than do anything ARTISTIC, ORIGINAL or WORTHWHILE. This issue written by Mark Ritchie and Gary Simmons. Cover-�Celebstika� by Mark Ritchie and Dave Tough. Back issues can be read online at geocities.com/hiroshimayeah and also telepathically.
LOST WORLD
You always stand at the same place at the bar,
dark, unknowable,
your life as mysterious to me as the mordant stars.
I know your name
but I call you by another,
even though we have never spoke.
For you are one of the few who still remember
what it was like in that long gone place,
that bar by the station
whose eyes were eternally dry,
so used to people saying goodbye.
We�d stand in the gloom
and watch all that living go on.
Tired, torn,
human beings no more.
Lost for a little while
in some beautiful ache of smoke and jukebox music.
Perhaps that�s why I come here so often.
It�s as if we�ve found another place
where we can decay together,
like statues standing amongst the ever-changing crowd.
Yet we breathe,
we see,
we feel,
for we are the last living remnants
of a world forever gone.
THE SMITHS
Since 1984, I�ve felt this love,
this love that causes my eyes
to run with tears of hot joy
when a song comes on in a dark bar
and I�m much more than three sheets to the wind.
Not just nostalgia
but a living, breathing
kick against all the bullies
who strove to hold me down,
strip me of all self-worth.
It�s alive, this love,
and the fight continues.
The Smiths saved my life.
IT'S
It's the feeling you get
when you ease into your sorrow,
the notes on a piano
arranged in exactly the right order.
It's the hopeful flush of evening,
the way the shadows sit,
it's running into a friend on the street
and talking for a while
about everything and nothing.
It's being dive-bombed by kamikaze pigeons
as impenetrable clouds cloak the city in grey,
hobbling around on one good leg
and eating blueberry muffins
and worrying about illness, death
and all the things in between.
It's called living,
it's called life,
and it's beautiful, terrifying,
the first and final drama
for us all.
ALL THAT MATTERS
Everything about you is obvious:
the way you dress,
the things you say,
the tragedy of your life
unravelling like toilet roll
as you sit,
pants around ankles,
so sure and perfect
in the bliss of your own superiority.
Your job, your mortgage,
your haircut...
Can't you SEE it's all worthless?
Simply a stopgap between you and the grave?
It doesn't matter that no one smiles at you
on the way to work,
it doesn't matter that your roof leaks,
it doesn't matter that the spiders
seem to laugh at you from dark corners,
willing you to fail
with every fibre of their fat bodies.
All that matters is YOU,
you and the peaceful feeling of sleep,
the peaceful feeling of today,
of knowing that you are loved
despite it all.
All that matters is a pillow,
a cool, caring hand on your forehead
and soft blue light shining somewhere.
THE TERRIFYING PROPHECIES OF LILY ALLEN
Some people may think
that she�s merely a pot ugly,
Strongbow swilling career-chav
peddling sub-standard Diet Reggae
to a nation of eager sheep
but I beg to differ.
One night, while drinking the cups of my deserving,
I detected in Lily�s voice a coded message
that the world would end on the 17th of July 2023
and that the harbinger of doom would be eating popcorn
at East Kilbride ice-rink.
Lily also alerted me to the bones of missing children
hidden beneath the floorboards of the Groucho Club,
a fashionable haunt located in London�s Soho area.
Yes, the terrible truth was revealed to me
via the graceful majesty of Lily�s sainted croon
and it was bleak.
Bleaker than realising the ghastly mistake of your own existence
or having Christmas dinner at Wetherspoons.
13.7 BILLION YEARS OF HELL
Selected Dispatches from an Unwilling Player of God�s Little Game
By Gary Simmons
I had an �episode� with M+D again. Dad HATES the fact that I get pissed. HE doesn�t do it, he never DID it and he can�t understand. I may as well speak Japanese to him. They think I�m �on a high� coz I like to go out!! Coz I like to �dress up and mess up� (� Maclaren). Also� I �work too hard�!! Well, so it�s not ALL lazy, longhaired layabout then. I DO do my bit in this house, they appreciate that, but it looks like I do TOO much!! Just coz I can busy myself ALL DAY LONG without a break. I�m TOO good!?!? So, I got a bit of a talking to/lecture from my old dad who is TOTALLY out of synch with a world that I MYSELF find I�m drowning-not-waving in.
*
Three yobs in a van parked outside Greggs. One says to me, whilst a�munchie-wunchin� his bleakfast, �Nice wellies�. I made out I didn�t catch it. �Sorry?� �Nice wellies,� he repeats. �Sorry?� again. �Nice wellies�. �Oh, they�re just wellies,� I said, lifting a foot and twisting it about, Anthea Redfern twirl-like chic. �Yeah, I�m just sayin� they�re nice,� cunt grunts. I said �Ain�t you ever seen �em before?� �No,� says the subhuman in the amazing piece of motorised modern technology that we call �a van�. I said �You should get out more� and walked away. They didn�t bother to follow me. I COULD have added �You should start lookin� at girls, not 47 year-old MEN, before your driver-mate starts to think you�re QUEER!� But I didn�t. Guns are best. Lack of food and shelter is best. Pain� Fire� �Extremity is best� (� Whitehouse)
*
Sometimes I wish I was a 14 year-old Jap Bukkake star. Well, ya �gotta have an aim in life� so I�m told. I aim for my own DEATH. What IS the fuckin� point? I don�t even REALLY believe any of this is real, despite the pain. �Only� another 30-odd years to go. Or less. Or more. Or �I�m God and you�re nothing� (� Ramleh)
GEROLARRY�S �ESTWALD STEPPED FORTH AND SAID SADLY TO THE WAITING HARD ONES, BY WAY OF VIBRATING AIR WAVES, �I AM PERMENANTLY WITH YOU NOW, AND THERE IS MUCH TO DO ��� (THE GODS THEMSELVES � � ISAAC ASIMOV) PLAY-LIST
V/A � KIRKY HOSSPISS AGOGO-MORE SHITE FROM JUST GLITTERING. Cassette (�A small selection of the buried jewels found in the damp corners of Kirky Hosspiss. Featuring (maybe) The Harmontes, The Magic Organ, The Ravenswood Catholic Girlschool Choir and lots more�. Just Glittering. 199?/200?)
V/A � MFTEQ�GHAFRAN. Promo cassette (That�s Barry �Carbon Disks� Fry�s old Music From The Empty Quarter zine/mail order/label, presenting some fine contributions from artists such as Chris & Cosy, Black Tape For A Blue Girl, Eyeless In Gaza, Terminal Power Co and PLENTY more! The �actual� CD comes (came?!) with an exhaustive 120-page booklet full of interviews with all 16 bands. Nice one, Baz. Shame we lost contact. T.E.Q. Music? 1993)
V/A � NEUENGAMME. LP (The only comp album worthy enough to even be CONSIDERED as a challenger to the Come Organisation�s F�r Ilse Koch MOTHER of all compilations, this well-cute and ultra-fuckable little Nazi-BITCH of a platter is armed to the pre-teen TITS with tracks from Sutcliffe Jugend, Whitehouse, Kleistwahr, Esplendor Geometrico, Ramleh, MB, P16.D4, Krang and Consumer Electronics� Sorry, I cannot go on, I simply MUST discharge! WORRGGHH!!! Phew. Re-issued as a bootleg LP by Remote Control Records in 1990 with an add-on track by Phallus Dei. Broken Flag. 1982)
V/A � A PENIS TENSE NOT PENITENCE. Split cassette (Five CLASSICS from Ramleh on side A; Drancy, Phenol, Emaciator, Fistfuck, McCarthy� and, coupled with For The Artaman Of The Moors by Nails Ov Christ on side B, it looks like you missed-out BIG time, a�baby!! Strength Through Awareness. 199?)
V/A � PEEEEEEEP! Home taped cassette (Done for me by old Tower Records Receiving Department mate, Pip, who I STILL occasionally bump into sometimes in gig or gutter, him being one of the very few REAL music-as-a-way-of-life-�wreck-of-rock�n�roll former self�/selves (� Juntaro Yamanouchi) left in this God-forsaken age� Tracks include stuff by Brujeria, Akercocke, Voivod, Burning Witch and �20 minutes of garage punk by a band called Zeke who make the Dawarves (sic) sound like pussies�. 2000)
V/A � PHONELINE FUN. Cassette (�An audio documentary of sorts� and a �unique piece of Social Anthropology�, this collection of recorded telephone messages overseen by the awesome intellect of our wonderful Mr. Stream Angel presents a sad and at times somewhat disturbing parade of �banality, futility and emptiness� that, stacked-up, becomes the opposite, �a Zen paradox� if you please. Or if you don�t. Listen-out for Gary Pearshaped of Ed-in-boo-gar too! YEE-HAA!! Other Seed Cassettes. 199?/200?)
V/A � PORNOGRAPHY � A COLLECTION OF OBSERVATIONS. Cassette (With �bands� such as Hypnoskull, Seg, Skinflick Productions, Tofu Surprise, Costes, Another Headache, Expose Your Eyes� this nice little package comes with a jolly decent, if a trifle puerile, booklet on Pornography plus loose photos, stickers and a handy tissue. Silly and RUDE! BV Tapes. 1993)
V/A � PROPAGANDA. Bootleg cassette (Yet another one done for me by Juntaro Yamanouchi, this is a Finnish label�s comp of Russian punk. 35 tracks. So help me God. The Maxell high position WE2 74 cassette has the line �Environmentally friendly cassette tape, that connects music to the earth�. Aw, FUCK OFF!! Propaganda Records. 199?)
V/A � PUNK ROCK FOR GARY. Home taped cassette (Done for me by Mark Rich-kid. Cold Sick, Black Light Engine, Gang Green, Replacements. Innit about time Mark got a JOB? 199?/200?)
V/A � RISING FROM THE RED SAND. Cassette (Chris & Cosy, Attrition, Legendary Pink Dots, Konstruktivits, Nurse With Wound, a �song� by Sutcliffe Jugend called �Slut Meat�� Yep, that�ll do for this month. Bye (=Piss off). Statutory Tape. 198?)
MUSIC
DAN SUSNARA & MICKY SAUNDERS - CONTAGIOUS CLOUDS (SELF-RELEASED)
Contact - Dan Susnara, 7806 S. Kilpatrick, Chicago, IL 60652, USA / Micky Saunders, PO Box 1749, Chino Hills, CA 91709, USA
Long, balmy days spent dozing beneath oak trees, watching squirrels chase each other through the tangle of the branches above, the lazy burr of tractors caressing fields of waving grass, ice lollies melting into sticky puddles on freshly-laid, bubbling tarmac� just a FEW of my favourite things about summertime. Add to that list, if you will, the annual singles from Dan Susnara and Micky Saunders that have been enriching my life for several years now. However, the nature of monthly zine publishing and the slow-coach way that some of us STILL �work� in this wonderful internet/instant-access-to-everything-your-heart-could-possibly-desire age unfortunately means that this CD is being reviewed HERE, in the November issue of HY!, so you�ll just have to IMAGINE that the sun is blazing through the window while you wank your lover into a coma of bliss as BBC coverage of the Glastonbury festival plays softly in the next room. �Contagious Clouds� IS indeed contagious, but not like HIV. It�s CATCHY like the catchy bounce of the rolling verse which gives way to the chorus of expectant joy which has JUST enough weird shit going on beneath the surface to ensure that the listener doesn�t mistake this for a 100% �happy� song. Who the fuck�s EVER 100% happy ANYWAY? Only the BRAINDEAD and, perhaps, the type of cunt the next song, �Slippery Sam�, is about. It tells of a slime-ball big business type (is there any OTHER kind?) who �grease(s) the palms and open(s) doors for cash changing hands� and Dan even lets rip with a sexy �LOOK OUT!� halfway through, as if the spirit of James Brown has momentarily entered his body. Third and final track, �Esirper�, is a short, sweet and sedate journey through synth-land that brings to mind the sort of bands that used to be on the ZTT label in the mid-1980s (not Frankie, though. I�m thinking more Propaganda/Art Of Noise). If this disc were a drink, it would be Magners cider in a pint glass filled to the brim with tinkling ice cubes. Now THAT�S what I call SUMMERY!
9 ON BALI - SANUR (AUDIBLE CROPCIRCLE) www.cropcirclecollective.com
REALLY LONG SONGS! Don�t ya just LOVE �em?! �Sister Ray� by the Velvets, �Cortez the Killer� by Neil Young, �Grendel� by Marillion (no, SERIOUSLY! That one�s BRILLIANT too!) This new CD-R release by Yanky popsters 9 On Bali (this time around comprising the three Dans, Susnara, Sweigert and Van Schindel, alongside Pat Hamilton, Jim Molina and �special guest� Jah Lowman on congas) is a single 26 MINUTE LONG track which sounds a bit like an outtake from one of Genesis� early albums. It�s tough, tender and sonically adventurous as it wends its way from gentle ripples of piano to cathartic bursts of orchestration and guitar, sweet harmonies floating over the top of it all like mist on a frozen lake at dawn. The ambient section that comes in at around the 10-minute mark is LOVELY, bringing to mind John Martyn�s sublime �Small Hours�, no less. Prog-tastic!
ROBIN O�BRIEN � FORE (LUXOTONE) www.luxotone.com
Seems like California is THE place to be if you want to do the whole sensitive singer/songwriter thing and I�m a HUGE fan of that kind of music. From Neil Young and Joni Mitchell to Mark Kozelek and Paula Frazer, the list stretches on and on like the Golden Gate bridge. Santa Rosa�s Robin O�Brien fits into a similar mould and has been producing low-key releases of special-ness for many a year now. The four songs on this beautifully packaged CD were resurrected from Robin�s old Portastudio tapes (�like diaries,� she states, �except I can�t access them�) and digitally tinkered with by George Reisch (who also contributed additional guitars and instrumentation) in a Chicago studio. The recordings manage to retain their original warmth and are a testament to what a fine songwriter can do with little more than an acoustic guitar and a heart filled with angsty longing. �Finding/Losing� sees Robin �walking New York in the rain, finding my way and losing sometimes-it-feels-like everything� while �L.O.V.E. Love� is gently, sweetly melancholic with some lovely layered vocals. �So Good� has a heartbreaky verse which erupts into a stirring, redemptive chorus and �Waiting� brings to mind Suzanne Vega in her produced-by-Mitchell-Froom period of the early 1990s. If you have ANY taste at ALL, I strongly urge you to check out this release.
DON CAMPAU & DINO DIMURO � PLAYDATE (LONELY WHISTLE) www.doncampau.com
More Californian home-taper fun. Although they�ve recorded together in the past, this is the first full-length CD from Don and Dino and they�ve created a nifty collection of songs which bring to mind the spirit of the wondrous Daniel Johnston/Jad Fair collaboration �It�s Spooky� (reviewed in HY!#25 but beloved by me since the early 1990s), especially on the 45-second long �Seduced By Teachers� and �The Voice of Salli Terri�. Elsewhere, there are great songs about the home-taper scene (�Where Did Shakey Lawrence Go?� and �Greatest Roll�), bad dreams concerning anonymous jesters (�Nightmares of the Unknown Comic�) and, possibly the finest song about TV newscasters since the lost classic �Richard, Shock the Masses� (� The Librarians, 1988), �Why Can�t I Be Suave Like Peter Jennings?� Of the more serious numbers, �Be Gone� has a certain moody loveliness about it. Don and Dino have very similar singing voices which lends a nice consistency to these 17 fine songs and instrumental �Jam Fragments� and the exuberant performances and quirky, often really funny, lyrics ensure that the listener is never bored. There�s also a secret track, a kind of demo montage, to round off proceedings. But maybe I�m preaching to the converted here? Or maybe you�re one of the people who think that, if something isn�t on mainstream TV/radio, then it�s worthless. Maybe you�d rather listen to Britney or Justin or someone equally dreary, rather than explore something DIFFERENT? Run along, then, because sometimes I think I WANT to be elitist about the music I like. It�s more FUN that way, a special little secret to be cherished. Don and Dino, I HEART your album!
THE REPLACEMENTS � DON�T YOU KNOW WHO I THINK I WAS? (SIRE/REPRISE/RHINO)
Walked into town. Found a video tape lying on the grass in the little square near the Woodside Inn. It seemed to be in okay condition (it was in a plastic case, which I discarded as it was all hot from lying in the sun) so I put it in my bag. Posted some things in the Charing Cross PO and read their big sign about the latest postal strike. Found myself in the Hengler�s with a coffee just before 1pm. Enjoyed it, sitting at a window. Saw Sam returning from his lunch with a workmate. Looked in some shops but never had a chance to look properly in Avalanche as **** was in. Luckily, he didn't see me or it would've been AWKWARD. Got this �best of� Replacements CD for �6 from HMV, which I�d avoided for well over a year because I had every song on it apart from the last two. They�re new tracks and �Message to the Boys� proved to be worth the purchase alone. It�s GREAT. Went to Cairns for a pint then to the Crystal for another. Maureen texted to say the dog's ovary-removal went okay. I went to the Horseshoe next and was standing at my usual spot by the fag machine when I spied James, who'd been out for hours and was a little drunk. So I sat with him and ended up having 3 pints of Velvet. Drunken Eyes was in. James went home for dinner and I went round the corner to Failte to have a cider. Then I had a cheapo pint of Abbot ale in a QUIET Society Room. Next stop = the Brunswick for a couple pints of �1.50 Miller. I was feeling a bit drunk and the music was SO good. Someone had put LOADS of Velvet Underground on the jukebox, including �Heroin� and �I'm Sticking With You�. Some guy was saying to me in the toilet about how �all the students will just be discovering bands like this�. Got a subway from CHARING CROSS which was a bit extravagant but so what? Used the last journey on my 20-journey ticket. Bought chips and was back at 9.25pm. Played some Whitehouse on headphones and listened to a doc about Les Dawson on the radio as I drank cider.
RICHMOND FONTAINE - $87 AND A GUILTY CONSCIENCE THAT GETS WORSE THE LONGER I GO (DECOR/EL CORTEZ)
In my desperation to get a copy of this limited edition eight-song CD (which also includes a couple of CD-Rom videos that my crappy computer won�t allow me to watch), I paid 99p over-the-odds for it in the first shop I went into. Never mind, at least that 99p went to one of the only TRUE indie record shops still left in this world of big business BULLSHIT. One of the reasons I was SO anxious about getting this item is because NO record shops in Glasgow have BOTHERED to stock the new Microdisney compilation, which I find INCREDIBLE. It seems that, to HMV/Virgin etc (even Fopp, who have been taken over by HMV), the glittering careers of celebrity drug addicts like Pete Doherty and Amy Winehouse are FAR more IMPORTANT than some long-forgotten 1980s indie band. WELL, FUCK THEM ALL! Anyway, back to the Richmond Fontaine disc. The title track is lifted from their superb album �Thirteen Cities� (see HY!#25 for review) and there are also a few thrilling outtakes thrown in for good measure. Among these, I�m pleased to say, are the live faves �The Water Wars� (previously known as �West is Falling�) and �The Gits�. There�s also the sweet and funny �Moving Back Home #1� where Willy Vlautin tells of a love affair gone wrong and also how his mum would scream at him for drinking vodka in a lawn chair on her roof. More movingly, there�s the hushed �Wilson Dunlap� and �Song for James Welch�, about a hitchhiking drifter who asks �how do you go back if there�s no place from which you came?� There are also a couple of instrumental versions of tracks from the last album. This is yet another brilliant collection from a brilliant band. Long may they run.
WHITEHOUSE � USA 1 (COME ORGANISATION)
First listened to this round at Dave�s glam pad in East Kilbride. I hadn't slept well and decided it would be a GREAT idea to start drinking again at 6am, so I was pretty frazzled by the time I got round to putting this tape on. It starts off with a couple of US radio interviews with Whitehouse leader William Bennett (the other members of the band are also present but barely speak). The chirpy, pretentious DJs and Bennett�s disinterested manner annoy/amuse in equal measure and it�s fun to hear clean-cut sounding college boys enthusing about such extreme music. The rest of the tape comprises of a recording of �Live Action 9� at Sparkle Sound Studio, New York on 26th March 1983, where we�re treated to pieces with names like �Bloodfucking�, �Shitfun� and �Right to Kill�. It�s taken me a while to come around to Whitehouse and, despite �enjoying� releases like �Bird Seed� and the odd track (the quiet ones such as �Killing Hurts Give You the Secrets� are my faves and a lot of the lyrics are GREAT), they�re not a band I choose to play very often. Despite years of effort from HY! contributor (and special celebrity friend) Gary Simmons, the main turning point in my change of heart about WH came only after reading a recent-ish �Wire� article, which made me realise that, rather than being the puerile, serial killer obsessives I�d always imagined them to be (actually, sometimes I STILL think that about them!), they are in fact serious, valid artists with intelligent things to say about the nature of what they do and why they do it. Still, some of their more hysterical moments sound to me like John Lydon and Derek and Clive yelling at each other in a room filled with overheating electrical appliances and pissed-off Daleks. Much like watching �Songs of Praise�, listening to Whitehouse can be a confusing experience.
MICRODISNEY � DAUNT SQUARE TO ELSEWHERE: ANTHOLOGY 1982-88 (CASTLE)
Well, I FINALLY found a record shop SEXY enough to stock this deeply desirable item. FUCKING TYPICALLY, I got it the very same day that one of HY!�s most fragrant readers sent me CD-R copies of the first three Microdisney LPs (to be reviewed in the next issue, probably). Our crack legal team needn�t worry, though, as I PROMISE to purchase the originals just as soon as I FIND them. Or they�re reissued. Whichever comes first. Anyway, it looks like I got into Microdisney at JUST the right time �cos this is the first PROPER overview of their career, spanning from their early indie releases right up to their final, Virgin-sponsored platters. The cover and sleevenotes are just LOVELY and the music�s fucking EXCELLENT, of course. Felt good to finally be sending some royalties Cathal Coughlan�s way as well rather than picking up his music on dusty old vinyl bought for pennies in rat-infested charity shops. He�s my galaxy�s newest, brightest star.
TOM BROSSEAU � CAVALIER (FATCAT)
Heard good things about this guy so I was marginally excited to pick up a promo CD of his new album for �only� �5.99*. He ticks all the right boxes with the acoustic guitar, the mournful voice and song titles like �My Heart Belongs to the Sea�. I�m a SUCKER for that kinda shit. Initially, this 10-tracker sounds a bit flat but gradually unfurls into something gently graceful, like a Simon Joyner album (who Tom B. reminds me of a LOT). The sparse mood of guitar/voice is lightly coloured by occasional calming parps of brass, brushed drums and discreet piano tinklings. There�s nothing here that will drive the fear out of your dying union but if you like Devendra Banhart/Sparklehorse-esque mopeyness then this album is one for you. And me.
*a week later, I saw it for �2.99! AAARRRGGGHHH!
JOHNNY CASH � AMERICAN IV: THE MAN COMES AROUND (AMERICAN)
The title track sounds a little bit like Daniel Johnston and �Hurt� and �I Hung My Head� are so devastatingly BEAUTIFUL that I can hardly fucking BEAR it. What MORE do you need to know?
GIGS
BOREDOMS/MICHAEL GIRA � THE ARCHES, GLASGOW, 23RD OCTOBER 2007
Got up around 8.30am, got ready and hobbled to the doctor for my 9.30 appointment with Dr. Callahan, who I�d not seen before. The receptionist asked if I�d mind the consultation being video-taped and got me to sign something. He asked me questions about my sore knee and examined it before concluding that it was probably �just soft tissue damage� and prescribed me Ibuprofen and a course of physiotherapy. I walked into town and had breakfast/coffee in the Hengler�s Circus. I�d nipped into the Sauchiehaugh pub across the street to check out their menu but THEIR veggie brekkies are a quid DEARER so fuck THAT shit. Went to Waterstones to read more of �Fireworks�, looked in some shops, read a GG Allin piece in a posh fashion mag in Borders, got some reduced hot cross buns from Somerfield and went for a pint of Real McCoy ale in the Crystal Palace and read a �Metro�. Went to Mono to meet Grant just before 3. Had a pint of WELL dear Balthika lager and he had a soft drink. We chatted on a sofa then sauntered to the Merchant City and had a couple of DELICIOUS Warsteiner lagers in the Beer Caf� (in icy glasses). Then it was over the road to the done-up-since-I-was-last-there Blackfriars. We had a couple of pints there too. I had Fosters. Then we went to a pretty quiet Scotia. The barman used to work in the Horseshoe. I asked him. Some chick was doing an acoustic set but we couldn�t see her. Had 2 pints. I had cider. Then we went off to the gig, stopping off in KFC so Grant could get some grub. I had a hot cross bun and nicked some napkins. The last time I�d been in the Arches was to see Bonnie �Prince� Billy (a gig I�d forgotten about �til Grant reminded me). Think the only OTHER time I�d been there was to see a Bill Drummond spoken-word performance in 1994, after which my mate Stephen drunkenly ran off down the street with the headliner�s comfy armchair. (Later that night, we broke into a building site and attempted to climb up a gigantic crane). I was excited to see Michael Gira wandering around in the crowd in his cowboy hat but even MORE excited when he started his solo acoustic set with my fave ever song of his, �God Damn the Sun�. I had TEARS in my eyes! He did some other classics too, including the brilliant �Failure�. I found it strange that he took his hat OFF on stage, though. After his set, we went out into the main bar so Grant could see the end of the Rangers game they were showing on a big screen. We had a couple of Bulleit bourbon and Cokes then went back into the auditorium of rock to watch the Boredoms� set. Everyone was SO fucking TALL that we could hardly see the stage so I moved closer to the action but STILL couldn�t see so eventually went back to our original spot but Grant had left to get his train by then. Gira was hanging out by the merch stall and I was drunk enough by then to ask for his autograph and say something embarrassing. Nonetheless, shaking the hand of Gira was a shining moment in my life. Boredoms were good. More rocky than I was expecting. Loud too. Local celebs spotted in crowd = Gerry Love and Stephen Pastel. Got a subway back. Got chips. Was in at 11.45pm. Gary�s letter and Crass tape had finally arrived, nearly 2 WEEKS after he posted them.
NEVERLAND SLEEPOVERS/GODSTALKER/MURDER BURGERS � 13TH NOTE, GLASGOW, 24TH OCTOBER 2007
Got up after 9. Left the flat a little while afterwards and had a dump in Oran Mor. Looked in Oxfam Music. They had a double CD by Jonathan King, released this year. The 1st track on it�s called �Vile Pervert�. Amazing! Drank a can of Coke, picked up my drugs from a chemist on Queen Margaret Drive then went to sign on. Was told that I�ve got an interview NEXT time I go and I�ve to choose which Employment Zone �project� I want to be SENT to. I knew this was coming but it�s still depressing as FUCK. Walked into town. James from the flat waved at me from the back seat of a car as I was walking down Maryhill Road, scoffing my last 2 hot cross buns. Finished reading �Fireworks� in Waterstones after I�d eaten a posh pumpkin sandwich from Grassroots. Then I went into the new-ish Bay Horse pub on Renfield Street and had a pint of Guinness. It was pretty quiet in terms of customers but pretty LOUD in terms of ladders getting thrown about so they could put up Halloween decorations. My nerves felt a bit shot. Went to Fopp to kill some time and ended up spending �8 (on a book for someone�s Christmas pressie and a Johnny Cash CD). Then I went to MacSorleys for another Guinness. Grant appeared around 3.30-ish. Ended up having 3 pints there, listening to Elliott Smith and Will Oldham. Then we went to the Lab for dinner. I had a veggie chilli and rice and another Guinness. Went back to the Beer Caf� next but they�d ran out of Warsteiner so we had Fustenberg instead. Then we went to the slightly posh Tron Bar for a bottle of Corona each, then onto the 13th Note for an evening of punk rock. Met up with Dave T and the Godstalker lads and various other Carluke types � Marti, Dave L, etc. I started drinking cider. Went downstairs and paid �3 to get in. Erren showed up in a cool Franz Kafka T-shirt. Murders Burgers were GREAT � a really young 3-piece who sounded sort of like Screeching Weasel/Stupids. Godstalker�s debut show rocked the house in a New Wave of British Crossover stylee and their Gang Green cover (�Let�s Drink Some Beer�) went down especially well. I handed out some Ibuprofen pills to Erren and Dave L (who was his usual amusing, very drunk self) but Erren kept going on about how Vicodin�s much better which I�m sure it IS, I just can�t GET any! The room started to empty as Neverland Sleepovers� set unfolded. They all had shades on and it was all very funny and shit and they only played for about 20 minutes and then me and Erren went back upstairs (after we�d finished off Dave L�s drinks� I found out the next day he�d been chucked out!) and had a chat with Dave T before he left. I got us a bottle of nice Westons cider each but couldn�t finish mine and I puked up in the gutter when we left after closing time. Erren INSISTED I get a taxi home and even gave me �10 and hailed one for me to make sure I DID. I was back in the flat at 12.40am.
FILM
CONTROL
What BETTER way to spend a miserable, rainy John Peel Day than by going to see a black and white film about the tortured life and suicide-aged-23 (Jack Penate, take note. You don�t have much time left, you fucking TOSSER) of Joy Division singer, genius lyricist and thrower of some SERIOUSLY spazz-tastic dance shapes Ian Curtis? Based on his wife Debbie�s book �Touching from a Distance�, it certainly doesn�t flinch from any of the gory details, from squalid backstage scenes of fag ash and farts to the bleak boredom of day-to-day life trapped in a terraced house in Macclesfield. Sam Riley and Samantha Morton are stunning in the lead roles of Ian and Debbie and, although director Anton Corbijn's vision is beautifully shot, no part of it ever looks even REMOTELY glamorous. While other rock films can come across as glossy ads telling the audience how COOL it is being in a famous band, this does the OPPOSITE. Nonetheless, the live performances of Joy Division material (played by the actors themselves) are spine-tinglingly accurate, eerie and electrifying. Riley seems to inhabit his character completely, right down to every little facial twitch. I got much the same feeling from this film as I got from Debbie Curtis� book, namely that her hubby was a bit of a cunt, really, as troubled people often are. Also, he didn�t do much to help his own �Isolation� by treating his wife and young child like shit while carrying on with a posh Euro fan on the side. As I overheard some woman saying to her mate as the cinema was emptying, �Married life sucks� MEN!� Ultimately, though, you don�t NEED to love � or even LIKE � a person to love their MUSIC, as the thousands of people who once worshipped Gary Glitter would perhaps do well to remember.
BOOKS
IAN GLASPER - THE DAY THE COUNTRY DIED (CHERRY RED)
Subtitled �A History of Anarcho Punk, 1980-1984�, this is a fascinating slice of history that I found best to read in small chunks, considering many of the bands have similar stories to tell. For example, loads of them say things like �We didn�t really consider ourselves to be an anarcho punk band� before going on to say how much they loved both the ideas behind anarchy AND punk. Also, a lot of them go on and on about how wonderful and influential Crass were, which is interesting in a �scene� with supposedly no rules and no leaders. Also, inevitably, the majority of the bands split up after only a couple of years due to disillusionment and wanting to �move on�, etc. Lots of the bands in the book were unfamiliar to me but many sound worthy of further investigation (especially Rudimentary Peni, Flowers in the Dustbin, Shrapnel, Icons of Filth, Antisect, Instigators, The Cravats, who morphed into The Very Things, a band I found intriguing when I was just getting into �indie-rock�, and Symbol of Freedom, who namecheck none other than Townes Van Zandt!) Amebix also sound like a fun-loving bunch, eschewing the more political side of the scene to indulge in �valium and vodka cocktails� and other wholesome pursuits. And one of their records is described as being �like standing before the open door of a blast furnace and melting into the white-hot miasma of pagan savagery�. Wow! Contempt also deserve a mention for the title �Fuck Off Royal Parasite� ALONE! This book taught me a lot about a scene I actually knew very little about (being born in 1972, my first introduction to punk was probably Adam and the Ants) and it was interesting to hear that the Oi!/skinhead scene mostly comprised of violence-loving morons (something I�d always suspected given that odious Tory scumbag Garry Bushell is a lifelong Oi! fanatic). The youthful idealism of the anarcho bands really shines through and there are some great, inspiring quotes like �Being working class does matter because working class people must conjure up the will to disapprove of and disappoint these people who would drive abject aspirational poverty into our communities when they are overlooked by those who have agendas elsewhere� (Steve Bluemer, Symbol of Freedom), �You do what you do, no matter how many times you�re told to fuck off and die. You don�t do it for fame or recognition or money; you do it because you don�t have any other choice but to do it� (Bob Short, Blood and Roses), �When we give voice to our ideas, we give them to the world in direct contrast to the voices that would oppress us� (Bob Short, again) and �The vast majority of the problems we face as people come down to the greed and inhumanity of a ruling elite obsessed with power, wealth and control� (Sean McGhee, Psycho Faction). Right fuckin� ON!
ELIZABETH H. WINTHROP � FIREWORKS (SCEPTRE)
This, the debut novel from a young American writer, is a Carver-esque tale of Hollis Clayton, a more-or-less failed writer/dreamer, whose marriage is falling apart against the backdrop of his young son�s death. Despite claiming to be totally devoted to his wife, Hollis is having an affair with a young woman he met at a bus stop (as you DO), but he�s a likeable character despite this. Winthrop paints him as a childlike soul, forever wrestling with his own insecurities and trying to numb his pain with endless bottles of Jack Daniel�s and beers at a local bar. Hollis�s confidence in his writing begins to flounder when he realises that he prefers �non-stories� (�non-stories are better than stories, and non-stories BECOME stories in the telling�) and that �most people don�t feel that way.� I know what he means. This is excellent.
VALHALLA TOWERS
The place was massive and millions had been spent ensuring it was one of the very finest of its kind. After months of careful deliberation, the financial backers decided to name it Valhalla Towers and an expensive advertising campaign was undertaken to announce the substantial benefits it would bring to the surrounding community, including several hundred new jobs. An important dignitary had cut the red ribbon in the fourth month of the New Year and hailed it as the first step on the road to a major, and extremely exciting, regeneration project in the town. With its fine marble spires gleaming proudly in the sun, surely it was the finest shopping mall that the town of Avonbury had ever seen.
Walter had spent the winter living in a hostel for homeless men in a nearby city. He never read newspapers so it surprised him greatly to see this giant behemoth looming on the horizon as he trudged over the last steep hill between him and the town that he called home. He paused for a moment to catch his breath and, after stooping to examine the state of his worn-down boots, turned his gaze once more to the marvellous new vision before him.
�Where the bloody hell did that come from?� he muttered to himself, as he started down the road that led to his sister�s house on the outskirts of town. As he approached the crumbling cottage, he noticed a shirtless young man working with a pair of shears in the overgrown garden.
�How do?� Walter called out over the rickety wooden fence. �Is Nora around?�
Looking up from his work, the man frowned and wiped some sweat from his forehead.
�Nora? Who wants to know?�
�She�s my sister.�
�Oh, right. Sorry. She�s in hospital. Stroke.�
�A stroke?� Walter repeated. �When did this happen?�
�Months ago now. Before Christmas. The house has been re-let. I�m just here to clean up the garden before the new tenants move in.�
Walter didn�t know what to say, so he stood there silently for a few moments as the gardener returned to his labours.
�Do you know what hospital she�s in?� Walter finally asked.
�No idea. You�ll have to go and ask someone from the council, I expect.�
�Where�s that?�
�They�ve got an office in the new shopping mall,� the gardener said, pointing to Valhalla Towers, which loomed loftily over the surrounding buildings like a great colossus.
Walter didn�t recognise anything in the centre of town. There were new roads, new shops, trees and grass where once there had been nothing but concrete. And, in the middle of it all, Valhalla Towers, thronged with shoppers. How could this place have changed so quickly, Walter thought. I�ve only been away for a few months. After walking up the steps to one of the building�s many entrances, he noticed how strangely happy everyone looked. Around the edges of a large alabaster water fountain, giggling teenagers were chatting on mobile phones while groups of businessmen sat eating pre-packed sandwiches and drinking from bottles of mineral water. Even the young, shabby women pushing prams seemed to be glowing with an inner contentment as they fought their way through the crowds.
Once inside, Walter was met with the opulent vista of the building�s main hall. Exotic-looking plants climbed around mighty pillars leading up towards a glass ceiling through which brilliant sunlight shone, lending everything beneath an almost heavenly glow. He looked around for a member of staff but found himself distracted by the sheer majesty of his surroundings. After a while, though, he spotted a map with a layout of the place but there was no mention of any type of office, council or otherwise, only the names of retail outlets, wine bars and caf�s. He decided the best course of action would be to go into one of the nearby shops and simply ask about the location of the council offices.
It was a perfume shop with a French-looking name. A smartly dressed young woman was putting the finishing touches to a window display that featured brightly coloured bottles stacked into a pyramid and a life-size cardboard cutout of some smiling celebrity who Walter did not recognise. Before he had even taken two paces inside the shop, a burly security guard appeared from somewhere and looked him up and down.
�Can I help you?�
�Yes, I was wondering if you could tell me where the council offices are.�
�Ah, right,� the man said, stroking his greying moustache. �I think they might be upstairs. I�ve only just started working here myself but if you take the escalator up to the next level, you�ll be able to ask someone up there.�
The young woman had emerged from the window and was now standing behind the counter, whispering to a colleague who was staring at Walter and smirking.
The second level of Valhalla Towers was taken up with a massive food court where children ran around amongst formica tables overflowing with fast food cartons and half-finished soft drinks. After he had wandered around a while, and made himself rather hungry watching other people eat, Walter noticed a brown door marked �Administration�. That must be it, he thought. The door opened into a small stairwell which wound upwards. After struggling to the top, he found himself standing at one end of a long corridor with several doors on either side. He caught his breath and proceeded to examine each door in turn until he found the one marked �Council Offices�. There was no bell to press so he knocked hard on the door several times but, after receiving no response, he simply walked inside.
Rows of desks filled the spacious, air-conditioned room. People in suits sat idly tapping at computers while others stood chatting around photocopiers and filing cabinets. Walter waited there for a few moments but no one seemed to notice him. He was just about to alert a woman sitting behind the nearest desk to his presence when a middle-aged man with huge, puffy bags beneath his eyes approached.
�Is there something I can do for you?� the man asked, eyeing Walter suspiciously. �You do realise that this isn�t the Social Services department?�
�I know, I�m here to ask about my sister.�
�Look, I really don�t have time for this. Valerie? Can you get the address of the Social Services department for this� gentleman, please?�
�I�ve already told you, I�m not looking for Social Services, I�m here to inquire about my sister. She�s a council tenant.�
�Valerie, scrub that, will you? Sir, this office does not deal with inquiries regarding tenants. This is an administration office only. Now, I�m afraid I will have to ask you to leave.�
The man walked Walter out of the office, back along the corridor and down the stairwell, where he was placed into the hands of another security guard, this one sporting a thick black beard and a razor scar on his left cheek.
�You�re not supposed to go up there, mate. It�s private.�
�Well, why don�t they have a sign up, then?� Walter asked.
�Don�t ask me. Look, I�m going to have to throw you out of here. Sorry.�
The next thing Walter knew, he was back in the main entrance hall of Valhalla Towers, the security guard�s grip tight around his shoulder. He felt dazed and bewildered as the seemingly endless swarm of shoppers buzzed past them, each one eager to experience the many wonders of this revolutionary retail palace, this bright new world.