You know, wouldn't it be comforting to know that somewhere out there, if someone, some force or entity, supernatural or otherwise was controlling things and keeping watch, and keeping everyone from harm it would in fact be Oliver Postgate? This was certainly the case in the universe of The Clangers, essential night-time viewing these days.

I didn't watch Bagpuss so much although I felt its presence in the corner of the room, snoozing on the family black and white television. It's not only sad to see the passing of a true legend but it's sad when pieces of your past and people from your childhood pass away. Smallfilms will be a little bit smaller for now.

The Peter Principle or Pop! Goes Peter Kay's Career

Following yet another DVD of 'recent' material with its unforgettable jokes and his appearances on Michael Parkinson chat show, 'Best Before' can bring you an exclusive extract from Kay's new routine.

Peter Kay: Alternative comedy? Eh? What's that about? Can't be doing wi it! It's all Japanese to me! Remember that song, 'Turning Japanese'? There was this kid at our school who looked Japanese. Remember them?

No laughter.

Garlic bread! Big light! Mr T, eh? Remember that? Mobile discos? It's all mobile phones now innit? Aren't northerners funny? The things they say in our street. Home bargains, eh? What's all that about? Saint and Greavsie? He couldn't stop laughing at Greavsie could our Saint? Remember 12 " singles! They went on FOREVER! Michael Knight , eh? Remember Kitt? He were right snooty weren't he? Remember the 70s? We used to ask Ice Cream man for any broken cornets! 'Hey! Got any broken cornets?' Brass buttons! Best butter! Aren't old people funny? The things they say! You have to speak up!

The silence is deafening. Forever more.

Smirnov: Having had the misfortune to catch Kay's 'Pop Goes The X Factor...' recently it's clear that as many have said, he is just another one trick pony. Sure many critics have claimed that this show largely failed because, well the original target, was far funnier and desperate. Those who enjoyed the show have claimed that it's a bit of fun, and the malcontents just didn't 'get it'. Ah, that old phrase. 'didn't get it.' What's to 'get'? Yes we are aware that it resembled a satire, yes we are plainly simplistically aware of its perceived 'target.'. We know, although it's five years out of date it is a worthy target. But why is it not funny? Why is it not more harsh? I'm sick of toothsome soft comedy. And if the single release from the show 'The Winner's Song' is not supposed to be lapped up by squealing Kaylites, why are they buying it? Is this all part of the satire. 'We hate the X-Factor but what the hell...might as well get the single and DVD?' Don't those fuckers 'get it'!?

As you can guess I've never been a fan of this sacred cow, although I can acknowledge when my arm's been twisted, that Phoenix Nights does have it's moments. To me that's where Kay could work. He can clearly play comic characters to some average and competent extent when the material is well written, 'Max and Paddy' aside. But he'll never be Peter Sellers. You have to wonder if there is anything new, progressive and original in there. Especially his stand up stuff. What's left after all the observational stuff about the 80s, old adverts, music, big lights and garlic bread? Like the X-Factor which is very much a parody of itself, will the same fate await Kay? Will there be an endless season of Peter Kay stand-up at the Bolton Albert Halls, a one man tribute to himself, a kind of low level Elvis in Vegas where night after night Kay just recounts his weary gags night week after week, until someone does us all a favour and knocks down the Bolton Albert Halls and the council it's attached to, just to give us some peace? I'm already tired of Kay trying to create historic chat show moments by being prickish on Parky. I can't bear to think that there'll be more. I can't bear it. But that's not all. You too can re-experience his wit time and time again with the announcement of yet ANOTHER DVD Christmas release of 'Special K', a compilation of old material, Parky appearances and the naff Geraldine McQueen skit, accompanied by his shit eating gurn. It's good to be the Kay.

Electric Dreams Part 5: Phil Oakey goes shopping!

Hi-ya!

I love shopping, me. Always loved it, ever since my first visit to Wigan Centre Arcade in 78. I remember marvelling at the then futuristic escalators ferrying people to and from the delights of D/E/R and the Gas showrooms. The lights and glass. It was like I was inside 'Logans Run' or something. You know, some people have problems with shopping malls, especially these days but I think they're fascinating places. They still bewitch me today. They attract all the dregs, the alienated, the deluded, the fashionatas, the wannabe's, the lost and loose...it's basically a patchwork of post 20th century society. (Christ I sound like I've been at the Yorkshire booze again!) In fact me and the girls wanted to record the lost Abba song, 'I am the city' in 93. We never did though. Couldn't be arsed.

When I was growing up there was nowt around. Most pubs were full of old blokes drinking pints o' mild and the town centre was full of butcher's, fishmongers and rolling fruit and veg stalls. Older generations often moan when a big supermarket is built over a stadium or a field but they're the first one's through the door when it opens. When the shopping centre in Leeds was modernised sometime in the late 70s, early 80s it was as if someone had dropped a piece of New York into the place. It was like going from three channels on TV to about a thousand! It would no longer be like 1962 everyday! Now when I go into Leeds every fortnight to get me mix CD's, a few science fiction DVD's and a couple of mags I like it. It's like I'm still going out with me pocket money and buying the things I've earned the right to buy. I do miss the old 12" singles it has to be said but what can yer do? The last DVD's I bought were 'The Ghost Whisperer', 'Supernatural', the last season of 'Doctor Who' and season one of 'Ashes To Ashes'. I lap 'em all up, me! Magwise I buy 'Dreamwatch' and 'Word' magazine.

As for Crimbo shopping, I'm not so keen wi' it. All those people panic buying bread and milk just for one soddin' day. Doesn't make sense to me. It sickens me actually. All the crap that goes to waste because a few piss pots with eyes bigger than their bellys, wi wallets more packed than their heads, don't give a fuck. It isn't fucking 'Threads' you know. Even when there's more than a few times when you pray it was. You practically will the apocoplypse.

This will be my last entry till 2009. I've got a tour and a new album to concentrate on for now. I'd like to thank Smirnov Kool for offering me a place to vent, give advice and to talk about stuff and to Richard Hawley for giving 'Louise' a new lease of life with Tony Christie. You should buy his album, 'Made in Sheffield' It's boss. Lastly thank you to all the visistors of this blog for making me feel right welcome. As Arnie said, 'I'll be back...believe it baby...' or something like that.

We'll always be together.
x

Phil

Philip Oakey's Electric Dreams Part 4: Technology

Hi Ya!
Been a while, 'an't' it? I've been rehearsing with the League for a tour in November/December. I want to talk to you about computers and technology. I'll try my hand at anything me, cooking, surfing, swimming and driving, even pie eating but technology and me don't mix that much. Just because I know my way around a synth or two you'd be forgiven for thinking that I'd be well into computers. Wrong!

Like most of yer us simple Yorkshire folk still get wound up big time by computer viruses, printer problems and internets. For this blogsode I'm gonna do my best to give you clinical, Human League advice on how to tackle problems with yer computers and wi new technology in general. This blog entry has been programmed with you in mind. The solutions normally sort my problems out.

FISHING
You might see this term misspelt as 'phishing'. But it's wrong. Because it's actually people who email you and 'fish' for information such as your bank details, birthdates, phone numbers and star signs. Nowt to with 'Ph'. It's FISH.

Solution. Tell them to fuck off. Send a virus to them. Then do what my mate calls a 'system restore'.

Computer Hijacks
I'm not suggesting for a minute that someone's gonna make your computer fly itself to Libya or throw itself at a building. But some sad bastard from Malayasia, Moscow or Miami, some low-life with spots, bad wind and no girlfriend have the technology to take over your compewters and can easealy direct your broswrs to porn sites, casinos or even dick about in your blog accounts making you slpell fings wrong cause phil oakley is a bastard...Don't worry you haven't been hacked. I was just joking. Course I know how to spell. And I'm not really a bastard.

Solution. System restore. Or go to download.com. There are things there. You baSAtards.

Viruses/Worms
These little bastards, once in your system are difficult to flush out. You can drink as much water as possible and take loads of headache tablets but the virus is still there, hiding away, and messing up your insides. Now I'm told if you reinstall your computer it pretty much has the same effect. I've had to replace a few computers because of these monsters. Some of you will be aware that it's these so called anti-virus firms that offer the solution. That's kind of like some drug pusher offering able get your kids off smack.

Solution. Invest in an Apple Computer. And Don't take smack.

GUITAR HERO
Don't get me started on this. I'm sick of hearing about it. I blame Guitar Hero for the spate of dinosaur rock acts infecting the album charts and the television. I blame Guitar Hero for the shite that's Nickelback or Kid Rock. Where's the fun in mauling a plastic thing and getting some screeching, unrestrained notes out of it? How rock n roll is a computer game for kids anyway? Can't imagine a 'Punk Hero' or 'Vocal Hero' or 'Porn Hero' meself. What about 'Synth Star'? Thought not. Face it, Guitar Hero is karaoke for failed rock stars. It's shit as well.

iPhone
i know. It's been out for ages. Haven't got one. Well...all right. I have. Fuckin' love it. Don't know how to work the thing or make calls...but it can time my egg for me.

Wii
Old news. I've been hearing of folk getting 'wii elbows'. Honest to God. On Sarah Palin's life! Fraid it's a bit like Guitar Hero for me this white rabbit. I did pop into Leeds a month ago and pick myself one up. But it's a lot of nonsense, not as infectious or romantic as Ping Pong or Asteriods. That's the problem with computer games culture it's taken youth culture out of the amusement arcades. They were great places to meet up, date girls, have a smoke, tap your mates for cash and ask the lady at the change counter for a coffee! And you could listen to the latest pop songs by The Human League.

Well that's it for today. I'm off to Zavvi in Leeds. Well tomorrow. When it's open. If it's not raining.

Philip Oakey is currently listening to Neon Neon's 'Stainless Style' album. He has also provided the song 'Louise' for Tony Christie's forthcoming album 'Made in Sheffield'.

For more info about the tour
http://www.nme.com/news/human-league/40523

Martin Creed: Work Shy

I like art, its meaningless, its sincerity, how it evolves, devolves, explores, implores, holds up mirrors, smashes them to pieces, distorts time, space and place, distrusts, confesses, rejects, confronts, entertains and enlightens. I love it. Honest. I like art when it's beautiful, when it's ugly, how it can arouse or molest the senses. I've seen it in Rothko, in Gormley, with Hopper, Caulfield among quite a long list of others...but I've yet to feel anything significant about Martin Creed, particularly in his recent installation Work 850. I wasn't exactly endeared when I came across Work 227: Lights going on and off. I'll allow Channel 4's Jon Snow and Nicholas Glass to take up the background, for those of you who have been buried under Martian ice.

http://link.brightcove.com/services/player/bcpid1529573111?bclid=1640055074&bctid=1640111623

I'm not the first and I won't be the last to stake the claim that Creed comes across as a lazy, self-indulgent, bullied, cop out, that his work embodies everything that is just plain wrong about The Turner Prize and all those 90s Brit artists that were fashionable for about two hours. I just find his work mediorce. Why the press interest? Why the hype? I can see that, beyond, the lack of concept, there is something vaguely intriguing, if not unoriginal, about people running through art galleries like arseholes, especially if they are pretentious artists being chased by masked knife men.

If this project had been conceived by someone else, say Bob Champion or Mary Decker, then it would have some mileage. But from the prism of Creed's psyche, and we know he has form, you get the understandable inkling that his cynical, smug, bad judgement has got the better of him again. It feels as if he gives most of his projects about 5 seconds thought while he's on the bog, which incidentally, I reckon he rather enjoys a bit too much.

It's OK to evolve, Martin! Try it someday. He should do a video installation, a self-portrait called Being Repeatedly Punched In The Face.

BEST BEFORE USA: You The Jury

I'm on my way back from the land of the free, having secured two more interviews with two more of the US's contributions to popular culture. In this final episode I managed to catch up with Judge Judy and star of 80s sit-com, Different Strokes, Gary 'what you talkin' bout Mr D' Coleman.

First up, all rise for Judge Judy.

On accusations that her show is nothing but smoke and shadows
Baloney! You got that. Bal-on-ey!

On Judge John Deed
You kiddin' me? I don't get it. Judge John Deed. You blowin' smoke up my ass? I don't get it. It's a joke right?

On Charlie Bucket
You stole fizzy lifting drinks! You bumped into the ceiling which has to be washed and sterilised! So you LOSE! You get NOTHING! Good day sir!

On the Golden Girls
Ssh...ssh.. listen up! I ain't no golden girl, dumb ass! I never been on that dumb show, got that?

On Justice
You want the death penalty then you flick the switch! Go ahead sunshine! Knock yourself out!

On me and my blog
Get a job, punk! What! You mean to say people actually read this stuff? They don't? Take my advice tough guy, you wanna be a big shot, then watch your mouth! Zip it! Security!

I was then escorted away from the hotel lobby.


Gary Coleman. The Starbucks Years.

On Fame
You know...it's one thing being that cute freakshow kid on TV in the 80s but I gotta live too. I have a life. I gotta bring home the bacon. Even when the pigs are laughing at me.

Whatchatalkin'bout...
I kinda hate that thing. I can still make five hundred bucks everytime I say that phrase but you know...Mr T makes more cash than I do...and now they get someone else to pretend to be me for cell phones. You want me to say it, dontcha? You don't? C'mon, man! Here's the deal...a hundred bucks and I'll say it here and now, right in this shopping mall...C'mon! Tell ya what! Special discount...five bucks...just five bucks...Whass the matter...c'mon! I need this. I really need this. Where you at?

(By now I've grown bored and vacant so I take my leave)
Sorry Gary, I have a plane to catch.

BEST BEFORE USA: Millan Dollar Man

Continuing with our US edition of Best Before December, today we caught up with Cesar Millan of The Dog Whisperer fame to ask him for his views on the state of America, Sarah Palin, cats, Lacoste and the American race for President.

On The New World Order
It's like Planet of the Apes, you know...but one day, as sure as I am of the beard on my face, the new world order shall come. Dogs will be our masters and we will all have to be kept on a leash.

On Sarah Palin
You know, pit bull's shouldn't wear lipstick. Her temperament is all wrong. She needs to learn respect the hard way. Then one day she could get her rewards and join the pack of dogs in the White House. Maybe. Til then her master has to be brave and put a muzzle over her stupid yankee mouth.

On Cats
They should be exterminated. They are cold, selfish, verminous creatures. You know, they distract the Canines in a way that I don't like. You can't domesticate them, you know? Cats are not smart , funny or cute. Their owners have no control or self-discipline. They're a bit strange, no? I guess they brought Aids into this world.

On religion
God is a dog, no? Think about it. (Cesar beams for a long time)

On Lacoste
Lacoste is my friend. Lacoste doesn't judge. I never wear the same shirt for than one day in my life. If I could never buy Lacoste I would kill something.

Eating habits
If you wanna be the natural pack leader you have to eat from the same bowl as your dogs. You have to live like a dog to conquer the divine species. I do this all the time. Dogs.

Obama/McCain
You know, I'm not so sure they are brave enough to make the US a state of Mexico. Don't think they are ready for that challenge. I hope I live to see the day when the future president of the United States is a German shepard dog or a Beagle. In Mexico.

On the near future
I can't see myself doing ths forever. Something's calling me, you know, to the wild. I see the sunset of my life being the leader of a pack of wolves...in the mountains...before I am killed by a silver bullet one careless winter day...

BEST BEFORE USA: Bunnel of a gun

For the next couple of posts America's cultural icons give us an overview of what it means to be an American in the Election year, and importantly, what they would do if they were the President of the USA. We start with Sheriff (Retired) John Bunnel.

On Religion
That slammer in the sky is sure gonna be full come the day of Judgement.

On Security
What concerns me, when I lock up my car, or say goodnight to my kids, are punks, tramps, hobos, homos, yakking liberals and commies. Every country in the world has issues with shankings, ammo sandwiches, Jesus juice and abortions but how many 'o these crazy 'lil places would be man enough to put Tasers under their child's pillows at night, or give them a darn cold Uzi to pack into their luncnbox for their first day at Junior High, huh?

On fame
In the US, 'celebrity' is a dirty word right now. But try tellin' that to the lowlife's who come up to me and bug me for my autograph's, only to mistake me for that Frankenstein guy outta 'The Munsters'! Go figure!

McCain or Obama
Would you guys be comfortable voting for a guy who's name rhymes with Osama?I ain't met a soul who disagrees with me. I know what box I'll be checking, and if you're in any doubt where my loyalty lies just come and take a look in my refrigerator. What does it say on my packet of fries, huh? Can you see it? McCain. Everytime!

Guiltiest pleasure
Shooting pool with Hilary Clinton. Man that gal's got good eyes!

How do you relax?
I kinda get a kick outta chasing punks on the freeway in my helicopter and then goin' back to my crib an' layin' down some cold, hard freestylin' rhymes! My favourite line is 'that good kid gone bad is gonna be a dead punk well done'.

Sheriff John Bunnel has not approved this message.

(Phil Oakey is rehearsing with the Human League. He'll return in a couple of weeks-Ed)

Balls to you!

I don't normally DO politics. But this prick might as well be the Jack Straw that broke the camel's back. Nothing personal but it's the last (Jack) Straw for this pantheon of sterile, hateful, spineless, grey pieces of crap that have fucked the country in the arse and proceeded to defend their back door totalitarian manifesto.

To be fair he's probably no more awful than the Milliband's, the Hewitt's, the Hodge's, the Blears', the Smith's and the Burnham's. The jury is out to whether he's more awful than James Purnell, and all the other sixth form simpletons that make up this weak excuse for a government. Let's be under no illusion as to the opposition. They are no more relevant. David Cameron has realised he best stands a chance by his own pale imitation of New Labour. I'm sure the Tories will get in not on their own merits but because New Labour are so fucking piss poor!

But with Balls...I don't know. Something cuts deeper. I've always found that man deeply, deeply unpleasant. It's not that he would look like a Nazi if his terrible hairstyle was shaved off, it's not the disdainful way he comes across in interviews when he's losing always losing the arguments. His defensive and aggressive nature are behind his eyes when challenged with reasonable questions. Unlike most New Labour MP's, who shrug off questions with irrelevant and patronising statistics and untruths, Balls has that twinkle of murder in his eyes as he tries to maintain his dignity. I don't like it. I wouldn't be surprised if it was discovered that he'd beaten up women or bullied old people. I don't like his ass kissing of Gordon Brown. I hate his speeches, his pretentious language. I don't want a future where Ed Balls' visions of education has come to pass. I don't TRUST him. I want him out. There's something creepy about him as well. I don't want him coming to my school and asking me boring questions that not even he cares about, such as 'Do you kids ever self-harm in your spare time?'

Even if we were to discount his lack of charisma, as with the above politicians, he still has no substance or progressive argument. He's no more than an automaton. Essentially that is what kind of society this government wants, and what kind of government they want. In their hands your lives are nothing but casinos.

Philip Oakey's Electric Dreams Part 3: Sex and Relationships

Hi-ya! Now then. How are yer? Not so bad, eh? I wouldn't normally do this unless you were my niece or nephew but for the benefit of this episode I'd like you to call me Uncle Phil, right? Because I'm gonna be your agony uncle for the next few hundred and odd words.

Here's some quick advice. Forget all that stuff in girly glam mags. They know nowt about relationships much less about sex. All that lot weren't brought up wi Ready Brek and Marmite like us normal folk. They're staffed by test tube babies, spinsters, common lesbians amd saturday girls. Trust me. I'm a popstar! Been there, done it, got the scars and cheap t-shirts to prove it. There's not much that you haven't seen in a cheap porno that I haven't done in me time, I can tell yer. As for love affairs well I've had my heart broken on the four corners of the globe in different time zones and it ain't been too pretty. I've written about love, obsession, sex...sung about 'em. When I stepped out to perform 'Don't You Want Me' in '81 I fucking lived it! So today I'm gonna answer some of the questions I often get asked about relationship issues, and help sort your love lives out.

1. MY FELLA'S A BIT OF A PONCE. SHOULD I SEND HIM PACKING?

Well, love. Some folks used to say I was a bit of a ponce in my youth what wi me make-up and that... but let me tell yer...I soon had a nice surprise for the more curious of them in the bedroom! If some of those bedsits in Leeds could talk! No, but seriously you have to look deeper. Folk are complex things. Does he put shelves up for yer? Does he like a pint and a pie with the lads once in a while at the Sheffield match? There you go then! I'll think you'll find, love, that down south 'ponce' means something completely different entirely and I'm sure we wouldn't judge you on this basis, would we?

2. I'M A BIT WORRIED THAT I CAN'T PLEASE THE MISSUS...AS I DON'T HAVE WHAT IT TAKES. DOES THIS MAKE ME ANY LESS OF A BLOKE?

Don't be daft. I've met blokes who can't hold a snooker cue or cricket bat properly. It's like owt else. You need practise...lots of it...and an understanding wench who doesn't laugh at yer, who you can trust completely. If she laughs at yer, chuck her and get a bird who is totally open, honest and can share a pint and a pie wi. Get some practice, mate, and don't be afraid of getting yer yed down once in a while. You'd be surprised what she'll do for you in return.

3. I'VE ALWAYS WANTED A THREESOME BUT I'M NOT SURE MY WIFE WOULD BE UP FOR IT. WHAT CAN I SAY TO PERSUADE HER?

You're not missing much. Nothing's ever good as it's cracked up to be in reality. The guilt, the regret, the shame and feelings of inadequacy never really go away. Use your imagination instead. It's safe, it's discreet, it's clean, and with regards to prospective partners, well, the world's your oyster alive or dead. Just the other day I had a threesome with Steffi Graff and Dr Miriam Stoppard. It were different!

4. I THINK I'M ATTRACTED TO SOMEONE OF THE SAME SEX. I FEEL A BIT REPULSED.

The only member of the same sex I've ever fancied was yours truly when I once caught my reflection in the dressing room mirror in 1980 before I was due onstage. I felt no guilt or shame about it at all...and let's face it, most of my sex life, like many blokes, has been spending many a night and day playing pocket billiards...and that's far from repulsive. I don't care who you are, where you are, what you are, what you're supposed to believe and how you're told to feel, you can't change nature or who or what turns you on. No two ways about it. Human nature.

5. IT'S MY FIRST DATE NEXT WEEK. I'M NERVOUS. ANY ADVICE. I REALLY LIKE THIS BOY BUT I DON'T WANT TO MESS IT UP. WHAT IF HE ASKS FOR A KISS?

Relationships and dates aren't always about shagging and blow jobs. Whatever you do, whether you're a boy or girl, gay or straight, is to make your partner feel good about themselves. You don't have to have money or as my old mate Jermaine Stewart once said, take your clothes off to have a good time. Make 'em something to eat now and again, like a butty with a cuppa. Do something nice for them like pick them up ten Bensons from the seven o'clock shop. Take them for a walk somewhere nice like the Trafford Centre. Don't tell 'em you care. SHOW them!

As for first dates, well, greet them with a peck on the cheek at the start, get all that nervous tension out your system. If they wanna go further and you're comfortable wi it, then take it slowly. Maybe you could bring each other a little bag of sweets, like some jelly babies or a packet of Mentos, or make them a mixtape of your favourite Human League tunes. Little things like that will go a long way. In most cases first dates never lead anywhere so don't worry too much, just have a nice day out. You'll meet the right person when you least expect it.

As for those of you who have had it up to here with relationships and all that palava, or don't ever think you'll meet anyone and will spend your days being lonely, well, just think of the cash you can save, and it'll mean you have extra time to go into Leeds every fortnight to buy some mix CD'S.

See yer!

NEXT TIME: Phil Oakey solves your computer problems.

Bored Bitch

I've always found Melanie Philips (pictured) for any number of reasons a bit of a bore. Haven't you? Why not tell her? http://www.spectator.co.uk/melaniephillips/

Philip Oakey's 'Electric Dreams' Part 2: Drugs

Hi-ya. Old muggins is back. I've been commissioned by Smirnov Kool, to write a regular lifestyle feature for this blog. He says he can't be arsed as much these days because no fucker wants to read it, and they don't have much time to read it because they'd rather spend all of five seconds from their small, unimportant lives, updating their status' on social networking websites, and learning very little in general about other people and subjects, because they're so obsessed with themselves...(Phew!)

Any road! If some of you are still here after that propaganda plug...I said I'd do this because I don't do nowt these days. Me and the girls only tour every chrimbo with The League. Now on to today's feature...

Last fortnight when our swords crossed I gave thi boss advice about making it in the cruel world of pop music. Well, now that's under your belt, and by now, you've realised that it's pointless and your tiny minds have turned to the promises of escapism that drugs have in store for you...you'll find this piece about de-toxing is aimed at you. This is free advice so don't come running to me if the shit hits the fan.

I was thinking about drugs the other day actually. In the old days it was your dinosaur rock acts, queens and celebrities that used to drop acid, mess about with charlie and angel dust. Now they're everywhere! And they have all sorts of names but we won't get bogged down in all that fluff. Drugs have come out of nightclubs and into our playgrounds. And they're not just pushed onto us by blacks and Asians anymore. There's a new enemy on the block. Parents have become the new pushers. I nearly choked on my pie the other day as I was reading about it. That's right. Parents are giving this crap to their kids now. Don't believe me? You don't have to. It was in all the papers. They're getting the good shit in lunch boxes. I tell yer! It's a right sinister sight, seeing those poor little shits getting out of the four wheel drives, their mummy's and daddy's sending them on their way with a couple of bags in their lunch boxes. They pick 'em up after school a couple o' tonnes richer, thanks very much. It saddens me, seeing all those posh kids pumping, pimping the poor kids from the estates full of booze, piss, bongos and kems. I'm wi Ian Brown on this. He texted me 'tother day to ask what's wrong wi our beautiful world. So I'm opening my heart.


ADDICTION

Let me tell yer! I had a bad do wi Yorkshire tea donkey's years ago. At one point during the making of the 'Octopus' album I was doin' about 18 bags a day!! So I KNOW more than most what it's like to be an addict. It's in your bones. No good trying to scrub it away...it won't move. It's society's stain...it's nature's stain and the cloth you need to scrub off the muck is your patience. That's why I'm pointing my finger at you now! Yeah, you there, staring in your laptop, you sad bastard. Get a bloody new life! It's not easy to stop, is it? If you've an addictive personality you'll latch onto something, whether it's collecting world cup 1982 panini football stickers or, like I do, going into Leeds every fortnight to buy a mix CD or a Doctor Who DVD EVERY TIME I fancied a cuppa. It soon sorted me out. I suggest you find something to replace the addiction. I don't care what reason you have to turn to your vices, just use something else to escape. I suggest you lot listen to a Human League album or something before you get smacked up and eventually end up soiling yourself in Sainsbury's or knifing a face in Boots.

There's loadsa types of addictions. People shop too much, eat too much chocolate, get pissed up on booze, smoke, fist fight, slap their wench about, wank off, vomit, give blood, back the hounds, sleep too much. I know one poor fucker who's addicted to driving lessons. Honest to god he keeps failing his tests! Mad or what?

Sometimes people stop me on the street and say all sorts of things. You know like, 'Phil, when are we gonna get a new album from The League?' or 'Oakey! Where did you get those boots from?' 'Tother day this old bidy says to me, 'Do you think stinking drugs should be legalised?' And I'll tell yer now what I told her. When I stepped out to perform 'Don't You Want Me?' on Top of The Pops, do you think I was off my face on coke and chips? I don't want my kids growing up with smackheads and methodone toothfaces teaching them, pushing them on swings, fathering them, serving them, doctoring them, policing them, entertaining 'em, registering them, billing 'um...Not just MY kids. YOUR kids. Sheffield's kids! Dawlish's kids, Darwin's kids, Bristol's kids, Dublin's kids, Dusseldorf's kids, Harrison Ford's kids. I don't feel good about being managed by a Prime Minister off his rocker on ketamine substitute. If you can't make your own entertainment and get high on life on a good pop record, or a cuppa and a pie then what is the point?

I want the person who operates on my son's brain to have a steady hand and fresh breath, thanks very much. If you don't mind leave the illegal substances to the popstars and piss artists on the edges of today's society. Because they are sure in hell not role models in the Oakey household. Not in my book.

'We'll always be together.'
x
Phil

Next Time: Sex and relationships

Philip Oakey's 'Electric Dreams' Part 1: Pop Music

You probably know me as the lead singer of the popular synth pop/new wave/post punk band known as The Human League. In my new regular column I hope to be giving all kinds of advice from how to get ahead in the world of pop music, cookery ideas, sorting out your love life and dealing with your computer problems.

Before I give you an introduction on how to put a match to the charts and watch it burn to the sound of your crowd let me tell you a bit more about me. I love pop music, I do. I live and breathe pop music. And I love technology. I won't even think of starting the day and getting out of bed unless I've had a good dollop of mp3s on toast. Then I get on the bus with me iPod and nod ma yed to some right good playlists I've compiled, like 'Music to Wait For The Bus To' or the classic, 'To Imagine What It's Like Not To Be Me.' When I'm not bathing in pop music, having sex to it, or making it, I love going into Leeds once a fortnight and getting me mix CD's and Doctor Who DVD's. In the late 70s, early 80s I used to knock about with local lad John Foxx. I bumped into him the other day as a matter of fact. We shared a pint and a joke as we recalled the time we talked about forming an Ultravoxx/Human League spin off project but couldn't agree on the name. My camp wanted John League and Foxxy wanted Human Foxx. It almost came to blows, so we decided to leave it, and made up with a packet of biscuits and Yorkshire tea. Shame, we could have made a couple of top selling discs.

You don't need me to tell you how shit the charts are as you must be aware. I mean, come on, who the fuck are the Arctic Rolls?! Back in the 80s synth pop and new wave dominated the charts like Nazi Germany. It wasn't unsual for a top ten to feature OMD, Kraftwerk, Soft Cell, Japan, Ultravoxx, and us of course...often at the same time. Many people say 'well your music is cold. People want fun and good times. They don't want to think. Thinking is for boring people'. Of course this is bollocks but you try living under Thatcher's iron fist. She practically did her best to club all the thought out of our tiny Northern minds in those days. But I don't want to get political here, the bloke who keeps this site is already doing a job of buggering that up already! But there will be a change and in anticipation of this I thought I'd use the wealth of my experience in this shit business in helping you carve a career in proper pop music or Propop, as I have just decided to call it right this minute. Let me finish me pie and I'll carry on...

Right I've had me pie now, let's crack on...

ATTITUDE/IMAGE

When I stepped out to perform 'Don't you want me?' on Top of The Pops in 1981 I became the central hard done by character in the song. People think it was autobiographical but that was rubbish. Same goes for the girls. People ask me 'Phil, are they really that bored and slaggy in real life?' They're lovely. Trust me. I took loads of leads, mainly from Bowie and Diana Ross, on how to build an aura around my stage presence. Even though I have respect for bands like Abba, we didn't DARE smile or show much emotion. Let your audience fill in the blanks. You can still be a popstar without acting the goat and pretending life is all flowery, about cars, champagne and girls. Cars kill people and cause injury, brain damage and disfigurement. Flowers can cause allergies. Champagne can lead to binge drinking. You see what I'm saying? Appearences can be deceptive, but start with some sense of realism. And don't make the mistake that Sting once made when he went on stage with half a packet of Bovril flavoured crisps. Those kind of errors tend to leave a bad taste in the mouth, take my word for it.

It's like in interviews, you don't have to be polite if you don't feel like it. If you've got nothing intelligent to say or your opinions are a bit simple just keep your mouth shut. Believe me people will love you for it. They'll think you're mysterious and intelligent. If you are a brain box then keep it to yersel'! Educate your fans without giving yerself away. Reference Lynch, Kubrick, Goddard, Fellini, reference, Burroughs, Ballard, Dick, reference Bacon, Dali, Escher, Rothko, reference Stokhausen, Cage, Throbbing Gristle and the rest of it without saying owt...but also add a few popular culture references to show that you haven't lost touch with the general public. Check out my song, 'These Are The Things That Dreams Are Made Of.' It's a knockabout song about the simple pleasures in life. Smashing. It's always fun to speak in metaphor or give glib answers. I've always wanted to go into interviews imaging how Samual Beckett would answer questions. If you can do this without giving too much information about yourself than a successful career in pop or politics is only months away.

There is a lot to be said for the phrase 'Too much information.' I'm always saying it. For example-

Fan. Hey Phil you're looking a bit rough.
Me. Too much information.
Fan. I'm a bit rough mesel'...my stomach's playin' up!
Me. Too much information.
Fan. Oh yeah...haven't told yer...our Maureen's had her baby, it's-
Me. Too much information!

Pop stars should also look like popstars. And some of them, to some extent, do, but a new wave artist should look more glamourous and sexy like the character Pris from 'Blade Runner'. Or Davros. But a lot of artists nowadays look so ordinary that you could take them home to steal a couple of quid off your mother after she's just had the courtesy to offer you a couple of Mr Kipling cakes and tea. A popstar shouldn't look like they could blend in at Starbucks or in a queue at the cinema for the latest US Romcom. Like I used to, they should look otherworldy, or like Bowie (again), as if he's come from Mars, if Mars were able to support some form of human life. It's all so safe and sugary these days. Everyone wants to look like a 12 year old. Take Rhianna or Girls Aloud or even My Chemical Romance? Can you imagine sleeping with them? It'd be like taking the virginity of a nun, by force. You want a kind of anti-glamour of someone who looks as if they've beent through it (without the mankiness of Doherty), they have a brain which means imaginaiton and creativity, which means that they are likely to fulfill the dark recesses of your twisted sexuality. Just ask yourself who would you rather lose your virginity to? Someone like Kate Bush, Alison Goldfrapp, Shirley Mansun, Siouxsie Sioux. Or someone like Carol Vorderman? Dying your hair black, wearing a black t-shirt with a retro/ironic slogan, black eyeliner, lipstick, boots and fishnets isn't a passport unless you can back it up with the noggin. Not in my book, pals. You can go round Sheffield or any town today and see these goth/emo kids and I just point and say 'TTH' which means Trying Too Hard. Because they do. Develop your own look and your own ideas. When I wrote 'The Sound of the Crowd' it was about being part of a clique that no-one else cared about. These days cliques are the mainstream, drowned by mediocre sub-Nirvana's, sub-Green Day's, sub-Smashing Pumkins and the like. If you want to use an influence use the orginal sources rather than the photocopies, because every generation loses something when constantly reproduced. Just think of it like this. Would you rather eat a decent Yorkshire pudding or a photocopy of it? Because it's the same difference, I don't care what you say. Mix it up, mess around with people's expectations. But be subtle. Look at the artwork and imagery that surround 'Client'. Compare the subtle use of leg fetishism, without all these not so subtle sexism of pop videos about jocks and shaking fat arses for the grotesque hip hoppers with all the bling. You could look at these vile videos as empowerment but to me these patronising showreels are a retarded view of the world, and it disappoints me. It sickens me actually. Which leads me to...

ORIGINALITY

I was watching The Hits the other night and this song comes on by Sean Kingston. I tell you, I couldn't finish my pie. It put me right off it. How you can rape a song like Stand By Me is beyond me, and while I'm not adverse to sampling in music, I have to say that this fella needs to go before The Hague and answer to charges against crimes against humanity. His voice alone is enough to inspire murder. But isn't all this, the sound, the boring lyrics and the vocals all just part of this trend for true clean cut, easy listening these days? All the lasses sound the same. They want to warble like Alicia Keys, that lass out of Sugababes, and Mariah Carey. The lads want to affect Irish whines like that Fall Out Boy and Green Day (them again). They get it off each other, off TV, off talent shows.

I had me own voice, so did Mark E. Smith, Jarvis Cocker, Andy Bell, Marc Alond, loads of us. You might have not liked each one but it was part of the character of the band. If you're thinking of forming a band because you want to sound just like someone else, with the same lyrics, style and themes then give up now if you want to achieve credibility. Kraftwerk may have sung about calculators and robots but at least its placed them in the position of being one of the most influencial bands of all fucking time. Don't get me wrong, I love the acts who like to redefine their influences like Client, Goldfrapp, Ladytron and Fischerspooner but apart from me Mix CDs I listen to experimental music. I've got this interesting CD called 'Conversations With Rice and Coulter' by The Digestive System and for 70 minutes it features nowt but the sound of vomiting. Very thought provoking.


I think that's about it for now. You've got a chance to succeed in this climate of conservative music. Educate yersel'! Decent stuff. Think for yersel'! Get out there and explore, read, live...do the opposite to your mates and what the TV tells yer! Don't think about being cool. Cool people don't tell you you're cool. Work it out for yersel'!



'We'll always be together'

x
Phil

The Cult of The Clique

I am a member of a very unique clique. This clique doesn’t conform to any dress code or gather its members around regular events. We don’t discriminate based on age, racial, cultural grounds or beauty. We don’t pretend to be a haven for the alienated, bewildered, the outsiders and those who were considered geeky and nerdy at school. We refuse to pretend that we’re something that we are not. We’re not interested in the likes of Oscar Wilde, Marquis de Sade or Byron. We don’t follow the literature of Kafka or indeed any figurehead. We’re not misunderstood because we want to be but because we make no sense. Although we say we don’t impose any rules on membership, this is a lie. We discourage outrageous dress sense and outlandish make up. If we have any taboos it’s more likely to be a liking for the musical ‘Taboo’, but not its characters. Any irrational hatred that we have is of the Primrose Hill pretenders or gay emo kids. We don’t feel the need to adopt ‘bunburyist’ pseudonyms or to have a select group of friends when it suits us. As for language, we don't have to hide behind the Anonymous tongue that is 4chan, ebaums world with their twatty, petty, clueless, misunderstood, demented, gullible flash mobbing scientologists, another pointless clique. ('Ooh, look at the point we're making with our V for Vendetta masks. Clever, thought provoking, aren't we? No we're not copying what Armando Iannucci did with those Princess Diana masks in 1996.' Dicks. 'Um, aren't cats cute? Caturdays, eh?' Cunts)

This clique would be unsuitable for Boy George and too brusque for Noel Fielding. Peaches Geldoff wouldn’t find it kooky or chameleon enough. It’s not as offensive as the ‘Glitter Children’ sect or as commercial as the ‘Neo-Gothic Suicide Forum’. It’s not as prejudiced as the ‘Iranian Dykes’ clique or does it hold regular ‘Gnectroclash’ soirees as the French ‘Nife Club’ in Newcastle. It doesn’t even consider itself as progressive as Alderley Edge’s ‘Watersport Wives’. In fact this clique is unique as it only has the sole member of myself involved and I wouldn’t change it for anything. Even though most of you must be aware of the famous Groucho Marx quote regarding membership of clubs, there is also a more perceptive one by Quentin Crisp which goes along the lines of ‘How can I be out of fashion when I was never ‘in?’ In an increasingly self-obsessed world, even more so on the web (guilty as charged) it’s more difficult to fit in or belong to anything without competing with each other to see who’s having the best life. It’s like the Jone’s next door, scenario. Sometimes it’s best not knowing all the tacky things your friends on Facebook are into. It only serves to disappoint. You turn into a culture snob, a whore, and might as well be in a reality television programme. All the while the delusion and self-denial cuts deeper and you find that you end up resenting everyone, including your family and friends. The clique, its concept which has been around since the birth of the Homo sapiens, has gone beyond jocks, new romantics, emos and the Nathan Barley’s. It’s become a clique of one. You. Thatcher is laughing at you.

Much Ado About Nothing

Two Face

I might as well lump these two clowns, seperated at birth, shit faced-discharged haired queens together. Not because they resemble the evil lovechild of Russell Grant and Vanessa Feltz, not because they epitomise the dumbed down media, not only because the trite unimportant gossip they inspire makes Lorraine Kelly wet in her tights but because they look like a couple of cunts. Who are they, you might wonder. Darren Lyons (Mr Papparazi) and Perez Hilton. Don't know who gave him the black eye. Maybe it was the Black Eyed Peas.

This is what they actually look like when they step out of the house everyday. Perhaps they believe they look good and 'edgy', that there's something rather zany and playful about them. Perhaps they aren't aware of the irony of appearance when they don't afford the same effort to personal appearence, health and hygiene that they expect of the minor no mark celebraties they regularly exploit/masturbate/hound/torture/witch hunt. Perhaps hypocrisy means fuck all to the fat cunts, or indeed to myself for writing this. Maybe soemday we too can exchange high fives with our friends and colleagues when one or both of them are found dead, empty tubs of Ben and Jerry's strewn around the tear stained Liberace inspired crib, sticky bibs on their chests and a pile of shit smeared into the seat of their fluffy pyjamas, as their pooches sniff around there corpses. Who knows?

Diane Appleyard:An Appeal

Let's have a whip round for our poor middle class angst-ridden lady.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1024403/The-credit-crunch-hits-home.html

It appears that the credit crunch has affected mediorce novelists and 'journalists' too. Look at what it's done to her. Poor thing blames Gordon Brown for all her financial problems and not the world market. What a shame that she might only have one luxury holiday this year instead of two. And there's the shame of having to suggest that her privately educated kids might have to get summer jobs instead of pocket money? I mean, summer jobs for children, it's hardly middle class, is it?

Come on, everyone. Let's show Ms Appleyard that we care, that her self-rigteous, sel-entitled, inflated figures are justified and send her a pound. She would love to hear from you. Especially if you're Polish.

Sex And The Stupid

Sex And The City. Sex And The City.Sex And The City.Sex And The City.Sex And The City. Sex And The City.Sex And The City.Sex And The City. Sex And The City. Sex And The City.Sex And The City.Sex And The City.Sex And The City. Sex And The City.Sex And The City.Sex And The City.

Sick of it, yet? According to its fans it's a liberating account of the independent, assertive woman, unashamed to hide her female charms to get what she wants. It's a brutal, headlong escapist monologue of the modern American middle aged female. It's a theraputic thought experiment in how to be happy and to not settle for anything less than bagging a rich white male. Maybe I've got this show mixed up with something else all these years. From what I can make out this has been my experience.

For from a feminist exploration of the life and loves of the independent woman, of friendship, it's a piece of shit that shamelessly revels in its own self-importance and outrageouness. In its execution it comes across as smug, vain and the writing reveals that far from being witty or particularly sexy, it uses aspiration as a mask to justify hedonism, anti-intellectualism and consumerism and undeserved fake prosperity, surely some of the worst human qualities. Even further from the accusation and implication that it's culturally significant and has done much for the modern woman, it actually reinforces the myth of the modern woman as obsessed by shopping and hollow relationships. Far from being a harmless escapist piece of entertainment you can't help feel that the money used to fund this crap would have been better spent on actresses who can deilver stronger performances in a film that actually would be more entertaining, cultural and educational.

It has never been hysterically outrageous. It's always been a self-indulgent, soft targeted, slice of frozen jism.

Is She Normal?

I can't quite put my finger on what it is I hate about Dr Tanya Byron. It's not an irrational hatred. I don't feel in any way intimadted or threatened by her, nor am I particularly envious of the fame she has received, even if it escapes me. Perhaps it's her incompetence and delivery. Perhaps it's her stupidity. (After all one must be stupid if they think that computer games would turn a kid into a serial killer anymore than watching Superman would turn me into a delusional super hero, I mean come on!)

Watching the BBC 2 show 'Am I Normal?' the final episode exploring atttitudes to sex, I was struck, not by her pretend naivety or understated finger wagging, but with her condesending treatment of some of the sexual behaviours featured. It was as if the show's intended audience were the Richard and Judy/Daily Mail clan. It's not as if some of the things she tried to explore were my cup of tea, far from it, in some cases, but for a so called clinician, I expected someone to 'really' engage with the issues rather than take a detahced, theoretical look at it from the confines of her academic text books and training. How can anyone actually, ever understand what motivates doggers, watersports enthusiasts, cottages, New York studettes, when you haven't occasionally dipped your toe in? Maybe I'm wrong, maybe she has swung a few times and has an insider knowledge, but she seemed to dismiss a lot of the material she encountered for a congnitive point of view rather than addressing the instinctive, physical aspect of people's fetishes. I wouldn't condone the Milli Vanilli pedo-clone for a minute but it was all too easy and predicatable for her to look concerned, aided by theatrical pauses and close-up's of her hatred and loathing of this individual. Society is a very complex beast as is the human being and mind, so by what definition is anyone qualified to define what normality is, let alone abnormality? Is it a cases of moving goal posts, a class thing, conventional versus unconventional behaviour, survivial instinct? I don't know the answers but it wouldn't have been too bad if Dr Byron would have asked the questions.
Instead we got a few stunted interviews, an inapproriate conversation with kids about tits and sexuality and lots of shots of her fat arse (not entirely a bad thing). On the basis of this I wouldn't trust her parenting skills.

No, don't like her.

Party Like its 1981 (Whatdya mean! It is!)

Previously on Best Before I wrote a piece on John Simm. The only drawback of this was that I said 'edgy' when it is such an awful word to use, especially in the context of television. For that I am sorry. However, I am not sorry for singing his praises, as he gave a fantastic and focused performance in both series of Life on Mars, which ended last year. But has it really ended?

Recently the BBC have done another thing right and brought us it's spin off Ashes To Ashes, which has just finished it's first season. It's premise of yet another character seemingly going into another coma and ending up in 1981 is a little far fetched, and the first episode did have some daft moments, but I enjoyed its slightly darker tone. (There I go again. 'Darker' is becoming the new 'edgy'. Let's settle for 'reflective'.)Apparently it's an example of 'high concept' television which just basically means that it's fantasy. And it's yet another nostalgic trip into a time when things were really great, when the London Met tried to stamp out police brutality...no that can't be right. Wasn't the same police force responsible for knocking the fuck out of people in Brixton and some of the Yorskshire miners?

Still Gene Hunt is back. A loveable racist, bigoted, sexist rouge with no respect for authority, or Scarman. A guilty pleasure if you like, for squealing, overweight women in their late thirties to swoon over. (No that's not right, is it?)Well you'd be forgive for thinking that if you drifted over to the fan forum at The Railway Arms, and witnessed the desire for the soap opera love affair with Gene Hunt, and the wish for him to peel off Keely Hawes skintight jeans wearing character Alex Drake so they can get it on. Call me cynical by all means but isn't the show much bigger than that? Does high concept actually mean a cheap remake of 'Moonlighting' crossed with 'The Sweeney'? One hopes not.


The fun for me however is the speculation and theories. Just as there was with Life on Mars. Is Alex really in 1981? Is Gene a construct? Or is he in fact Jesus? What if everybody's dead? What if Sam Tyler is really imagining everything? Maybe the snotty, Blackberry loving unsympathetic and poorly drawn daughter, Molly, is the one who's in the coma? Or perhaps she is the construct. Or they could all be in comas, lying next to each other, in 2018? Theories, theories...Despite my reservations, and the reservations of others, I'm enjoying the nostalgia, the daftness and the desire for it to have a more science ficition conclusion. I love the bonkers flashbacks, the soundtrack and imagining what I would do if I was transported back to the 1980s as I am now. Oh the fun I would have. Thumping people who bugged (yes, bugged) me, getting arrested for assualt and spending a few months in a 1980s prison. But I love the darkness. Not the band obviously. There are moments and signs when you feel there will be a twist and a major headfuck. With Life on Mars we didn't want to believe that Sam Tyler was in a coma. It was much to obvious. But with Ashes to Ashes you wonder if there is something more going on with Gene and if at times he is aware of it. Maybe it's a quirk of the director but in Episode Two there is a moment with Gene in the office, a long, introspective glance. It's unnerving, it's slightly spooky, and it's incredibly sad. What will it mean?



Ashes To Ashes is out soon on DVD. Speculate away. Series 2 will follow in 2009.

CRUNCH time!

Feeling the pinch are we? Tightening those purse strings? What, no? Don't worry it could either be because not only are you as bored as I am by the whole thing and even the annoying phrase 'credit crunch' that's been haunting the lazy media for months, but also if you're as poor as me, or no doubt in the dire situation citizens of Zimbabwe or Iraq, then there really are more pressing matters.

Now it won't come as any surprise to those of you who even bother to come here, that I don't claim to be a financial expert and indeed, am a bit reluctant and suspicious to believe media appointed financial experts to explain complex mathamatics about how fucked Britain, the US and the rest of the world will be, and the theories as to why that might be. I do know, however, and wonder whether fatcats will still give themselves 300% pay rises, often for chairing failing compaanies, or why when energy providers still make huge profits, they could defer any big rises, or why much money and resouces is spent on defence, but hey, that's just my gullibility in these matters, and I hold my hands up if these are not important factors.

Another crazy theory I have, which is long winded, but for the benefit of you, readers, I'll spare some of your precious time, is that people might just be wising up to forking out for shitty products and services. Or on occasion not paying for them at all because they can get them for free, because whether or not they're any good, is immaterial. So it's a cultural slow down, more than a finacial one, isn't it? But isn't there a cultural slow down, though? Really? Don't things seem culturally questionable? Is there much value in music and art today? Is it sustainable or even justifiable in this cynical age when companies want to mass produce cheap shite to make a fast buck? Something to think about before you continue on your day or pop out to Tescos...

Kool As Fuck

With all the cool lists and hype going around at the moment it’s difficult to know what to trust from those who don’t have an immediate agenda and well, a-hem, friends in high places.

If the NME is to be believed then any cunt from the Nathan Barely part of London with a mockney accent, complete with shit hairstyles and guitars, are obviously going to be cool as fuck. If we follow the example of the ‘liberal’ newspapers, such as The Guardian and The Indie, then anyone who has a hint of foreign blood in them, or anything in their past that can contribute to the charitable nature of these newspapers, then these by proxy are cool as fuck as well. (It also helps if you work for the newspaper if you wish your project to be actually taken seriously). As for the right wing rags, they’ll be happy with any pretty face, as long as its white, middle class and would be seen as cutting edge in the Radio 2 or Classic FM universe. Who else would pay real money for James Cunt records? Probably the same fuckers who buy Nigella Lawson and Oliver cook books, and get their cigs from abroad. You know, the type who moan about shity public services while scouting for private schools and ripping off the tax system. Jeremy Clarkson types in fact. Cool? Fuck that.

Not that being cool is actually a validation anyway in times when most things are shit. Each to his own. But if it’s cool you actually want, you could do a lot worse than my ‘Kool’ list.

Kraftwerk
Uber-cool. The mensch machine from Düsseldorf have been perennially cool for decades, not just because they don’t give a fuck for anything other than technology and its relationship to humanity, not because they call you, you don’t call them, not because on stage behind four laptops, side by side, as if they’ve flown in, taken to their cycles and look as if they have just arrived on stage direct from a business meeting in Berlin, not because their influence is second only to The Beatles for inspiring almost every modern movement of dance music. But because, when I saw them live, ever precise and in control, they came on stage at 8 P.M. sharp.



Patrick McGoohan
He is not only a free man but you wouldn’t want to fuck with a guy who not only dreamed up The Prisoner, not only took the piss out of contemporary culture and the ever increasing CCTV state, and made a truly iconic figure say no to mediocrity when everyone else was saying ‘Yes, please, ooh it’s the sixties, love, love..’ but also for taking a stand against authority and the powers that be, especially in the opening credits when he slams his fist down on the table. How many of us have dreamed of doing this to our boss?



McEwans Lager Advert
Sure there have been ‘cool’ campaigns like the Guinness past and present, the odd car ad, the pretty Bravia stuff, and the majority of adverts are so smug and pleased with themselves it's untrue, and 99% of them are just inconvenient pieces of crap, especially BBC adverts. (Just witness the shower of shit that is the Radio 1 adverts. For fuck’s sake they’re supposed to be getting you to switch on! You’d be forgiven for thinking that Radio 1 presenters are a set of cunts from the way they are portrayed. This advert from the 1980s is one of the few you wouldn't mind seeing again and again. It gives you shivers. It's not as smug, but almost a dark predication of what adverts will reduce the human race to one day. Along with the music, the sense of scale, based on the myth of Sisyphus, this renders it more exciting than the programmes it often came between. Oh yes, and it's Kool as fuck.


The Equaliser (Opening Credits)
Not only would you never want to venture down New York's subway at night but you wouldn't fuck with Woodward. Doesnt he cast a badass shadow?