So, I was using Pandora again the other day (I know, I know!! But it’s easy and I’m lazy!). I was outside giving my nice big grill (barbeque for all you non-Americans) it’s first clean of the new year. It was a beautiful spring day and the time seemed right so there I was.
Anyway, I had the laptop outside listening to the Lloyd Cole & The Commotions station on Pandora. Lloyd asked me his age old question as to whether I was ready to be heart broken, leading me to think about Camera Obscura (the wee twee Scots). “I really like Camera Obscura” I said to myself, as if I didn’t know, and continued to clean the grill.
Next up was Half A Person by The Smiths, I had forgotten how wonderful this song is, making the Pandora hate fade and then surge back as my predictability again shone forth. The funny thing is that Pandora then went on to play like six Smiths / Morrissey songs in a row, causing me to wonder if maybe I had changed the station. Let’s face it, if I had set up a Morrissey / Smiths station it would have played anything but Morrissey and The Smiths right? Thankfully Forest Fire then came a blasting through the speakers and I knew I was back in Lloyd land.
So, is Pandora as evil as I thought? Well, yes. But even evil things can be appreciated as bloody clever. My love / hate relationship with this IE shortcut on my desktop shall continue to evolve I suppose.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
I'm only happy when it rains.....Garbage. No, it was by Garbage silly. The song that summed up the glorification of depression in the 90's. Garbage was Butch Vig's band, Butch always sounded more like a wrestlers name than that of a grunge pioneer to me. But hey.
The culmination of all this Prozac Nation type obsessiveness was the suicide of Kurt Cobain, not a pretty closing image. And they said that 80's Goth's were miserable.
I loved grunge of course, the NME told me to. I also loved Acid House and Public Enemy. Where is it all gone? How did we get the Jonas Brothers for God's sake?
Still, it's out there if you look, Google "Lawrence Go Kart Mozart".
Wake up world!!! Oh, you did, sorry I was taking a nap.
The culmination of all this Prozac Nation type obsessiveness was the suicide of Kurt Cobain, not a pretty closing image. And they said that 80's Goth's were miserable.
I loved grunge of course, the NME told me to. I also loved Acid House and Public Enemy. Where is it all gone? How did we get the Jonas Brothers for God's sake?
Still, it's out there if you look, Google "Lawrence Go Kart Mozart".
Wake up world!!! Oh, you did, sorry I was taking a nap.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Oh no, not again!
Funny thing the digestive system. When it's running well you have no knowledge of it, then it breaks. This is why I have not written for a couple of days, not easy to blog on the toilet (twitter would be OK I guess, but that's just creepy). Oh well, back to the lav.....
Monday, March 23, 2009
Footlights Review
Several years ago I began noticing a strange trend in myself, I was getting older! How could this happen? Surely I was still 29 and rather slim, just like Bob Mould*.
The reason I mention this is that my good friend Mr. Jones sent me a wonderful old photo today of himself. Mr. Jones was clearly one of the cool kids – I didn’t meet him until the “late 9tees” – He has quite spectacular hair in the picture, as well as a very nice tie. I was a hopeless soul with grey jumpers (gray sweaters for you Americans) they were originally black but ran in the wash, and an over long fringe (bangs for you Americans). I still have the same pair of Doctor Martins Boots – well they look the same.
Age of course is relative, my relative age just happens to be quite old. Old relatives belong in nursing homes, which is where my relatively old relative age belongs, if that makes sense.
Anyway, I digress. As I was saying, I’m still 29 right? Old enough but young enough? Well my residual self image (to quote the poncy cod philosophy of the May Tricks) is still 29. The reflection in the mirror, the real self image, is 43- 50 if I drank too many Newcastle Brown Ales the night before - and looks alarmingly like my father!
The point of all this, well as always there is none - you really expect me to make sense? But thank you for the picture Mr. Jones, you definitely had much better hair than me.
*Bob Mould is also old and fat now by the way!
The reason I mention this is that my good friend Mr. Jones sent me a wonderful old photo today of himself. Mr. Jones was clearly one of the cool kids – I didn’t meet him until the “late 9tees” – He has quite spectacular hair in the picture, as well as a very nice tie. I was a hopeless soul with grey jumpers (gray sweaters for you Americans) they were originally black but ran in the wash, and an over long fringe (bangs for you Americans). I still have the same pair of Doctor Martins Boots – well they look the same.
Age of course is relative, my relative age just happens to be quite old. Old relatives belong in nursing homes, which is where my relatively old relative age belongs, if that makes sense.
Anyway, I digress. As I was saying, I’m still 29 right? Old enough but young enough? Well my residual self image (to quote the poncy cod philosophy of the May Tricks) is still 29. The reflection in the mirror, the real self image, is 43- 50 if I drank too many Newcastle Brown Ales the night before - and looks alarmingly like my father!
The point of all this, well as always there is none - you really expect me to make sense? But thank you for the picture Mr. Jones, you definitely had much better hair than me.
*Bob Mould is also old and fat now by the way!
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Shed
Been cleaning the shed.
Winter is a creationary force, this is proved by the fact that there is crap in my shed that wasn't there before the winter. I believe that the odd little things that metamorphose from the universes nada must be spontaneous.
The mower of course needs servicing, otherwise Sears cannot make a fortune by selling parts to service your mower. Sears you see has a switch that Mr. Sears hits once a year making your mower crap. Paranoid? Maybe. But at forty three years of age I have learned one thing, warranty is retail for life expectancy.
Winter is a creationary force, this is proved by the fact that there is crap in my shed that wasn't there before the winter. I believe that the odd little things that metamorphose from the universes nada must be spontaneous.
The mower of course needs servicing, otherwise Sears cannot make a fortune by selling parts to service your mower. Sears you see has a switch that Mr. Sears hits once a year making your mower crap. Paranoid? Maybe. But at forty three years of age I have learned one thing, warranty is retail for life expectancy.
Friday, March 20, 2009
You Too?
Have you listened to “Grandmaster” Flash and the Furious Five lately? I have, The Message of course. There is a subtext to this song. Apart from the (excuse pun) message, concerning the evils of cocaine and an unfair American justice system, there is an uncalled for attack on a young Irish band trying to make their way in the post punk maelstrom...listen again, "don't push me ‘cause I'm close to”...yes, The Edge. “I’m trying not to lose my head”.
The insinuation seems obvious, should someone (Bonobo perhaps) accidently push the aging rapper into the young Mr. Edge (who, in the view of the “Grandmaster”, being Irish must be homicidal lunatic), a knife would be pulled causing decapitation of said rapper.
Why the unwarranted fear? Well clearly The Egde at this time was not dressing in large, foil covered shoulder pads, maybe this was a fashion based audio hate crime. Perhaps the “Grandmaster” was jealous of the youthful fuzz box assisted guitar punksters ability to make one song sound like ten different songs. Whatever the cause of this anti Irish vitriol, it was clearly uncalled for.
While we’re on it, why was the “Grandmaster” standing so close to the young Edge anyway? I’ll let you draw your own conclusions about this, but the cocaine libido link springs to mind.
The insinuation seems obvious, should someone (Bonobo perhaps) accidently push the aging rapper into the young Mr. Edge (who, in the view of the “Grandmaster”, being Irish must be homicidal lunatic), a knife would be pulled causing decapitation of said rapper.
Why the unwarranted fear? Well clearly The Egde at this time was not dressing in large, foil covered shoulder pads, maybe this was a fashion based audio hate crime. Perhaps the “Grandmaster” was jealous of the youthful fuzz box assisted guitar punksters ability to make one song sound like ten different songs. Whatever the cause of this anti Irish vitriol, it was clearly uncalled for.
While we’re on it, why was the “Grandmaster” standing so close to the young Edge anyway? I’ll let you draw your own conclusions about this, but the cocaine libido link springs to mind.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Bloody Pandora
I recently started using an internet radio station by the name of Pandora. On first use I was most impressed. It was easy:
1. Pick an artist and generate a station of like artists.
I entered Carter USM, there it was, Carter! Great right?
2. Wrong!
I suddenly realised that all my "cool" taste and "clever" music knowledge was being calculated by an application on some distant server. This was extremely depressing, one thing I never thougt I was that predictable. Sad.
1. Pick an artist and generate a station of like artists.
I entered Carter USM, there it was, Carter! Great right?
2. Wrong!
I suddenly realised that all my "cool" taste and "clever" music knowledge was being calculated by an application on some distant server. This was extremely depressing, one thing I never thougt I was that predictable. Sad.
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