Best Before- Christmas Ennui

This year's christmas special has come early. To celebrate there will be no long winded slating of everything that's hateful about the season and how we've nothing to celebrate, or how I want to stab everyone to death involved with the M&S Christmas adverts, how it comes earlier every year, how totally and how it all, including the shops playing carols 5 weeks early leaves me with a feeling of ennui, so I'll leave you with a repeat of Some Mother Do 'Ave 'em I saw a few years ago. There you go. If that ain't goodwill I don't  know what is. 




 

ABI BLUR FLASHFORWARD M&S NEW MOON WORLD STILL GOING MAD!?

The headlines today. Abi Titmus to play Lady Macbeth? Blur being voted best live band at UK festival awards? Flashforward still hasn't been cancelled? New Moon? M and S Christmas? Yep, it's all happening. Best Before gives it to you straight. Accept no rip off's from Charlie Brooker or anyone else.

ABI TITMUS
So some tart who shagged John Leslie and apparently enjoyed some black girl licking her arsehole (or was it the other way around) is playing Lady Macbeth? Yes, tarts can act as well. Tarts can be ambitious. But why give the role to her? Is there no other aspiring actress out there who could play the role better or has it come to getting tabloid fodder to turn Shakespeare into a freak show? I hate Shakespeare anyway. So my point is fuck off to the headline grabbing bastards who do this kind of shit. It ain't cool, it ain't fuckinfg edgy, it's simply twatty. I hope the play sinks.

Here is a link to a shit article by a shit muck raker what goes into slightly more depth and history if you can stomach the vomit. By the way, Jan Moir. You won't be getting off lightly. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-1229664/Abi-Titmuss-playing-Shakespeares-famous-villain-Lady-Macbeth.html

BLUR

I kind of like Blur. Not enough to buy their albums or care about them but to say 'Yeah, they're OK.' So imagine my surprise when they win some award for being best live act based on their shambolic gig at Glastonbury last summer at the UK festival awards. Fuck's sake! There may very well be arseholes and mother fuckers who will sit around, arms folded, nod and say 'It was spontaneous, it was emotional, Coxon...Coxon..you have to hand it to them.' To which I will say, 'You're fucking up if you really believe all that bullshit. Fact 1-It souned shit. Fact 2. It wasn't this big lovefest get together or emotional reunion. Some of them needed the money. Fact 3-They hadn't actually split up in the first place. So how many times Jo Whiley wants to wet her knickers over it, just remember there were far more desrving acts. Why couldn't Bruce Springsteen have taken the crown, even just because he took great pleasure in breaking the wanky curfew with 'It's Bruce Time!' Indeed.

NEW MOON

Uh? Vampires? With a twist? Blood/ Lust? Am I fucking missing something or what?















Marks and Spencers Christmas Campaign

Oh fuck off to everyone in them! Screw you, Twiggy!








FLASHFORWARD

I suppose some of you sad fucks might be aware of this abortion of a show. It's supposed to be cool because it's like LOST! but in the city. It's supposed to inspire water cooler moments with the tagline 'What did you see?' but 1. no one actually ever has water cooler moments 2. if you said what did you see to someone, they wouldn't have clue what you're prattling on about because in all understandable likelihood they won't have watched the show, and even if they had, what would you expect them to say, when they haven't actually had a premonition. Do you expect some cunt at the water cooler to give you a fictional premonition? Do you? But it's also quite, quite awful for other reasons. The term Flashfoward is a kind of term used by screenwriters. However in this show, every sad fucker is constantly saying 'Your flashforwards...my flashforwards' or 'Their flashforwards' even when every character wouldn't speak the same or use the terminology of a writer. I suppose this is nitpicking but it's indicative of a flawed script and series. Consider that these losers want to string you along for several years. The characters are not very well developed. I'm sure the producers will say that this is on purpose and over the season we will see them develop blah di blah fucking blah but you can't care about them because the acting is so poor, even when half of them are British. The whole premise of some global catastrophe wiping people's memories for about two minutes in which everyone has preminitions isn't intriguing or new or brave, it's just gimicky and a poor excuse on which to hang a series, buy you some thinking time while everyone involved scamper about trying to come up with a decent plot and characterisation. What did you see? I see a cancellation.

The Comedian That Doesn't Tell Funny Jokes Comedian

Why? What's the point? If he's not ripping basic stand up's and jokes off he seems to be under the impression that saying something loud enough will get laughs. Apparently, fresh from his comeback of representing the dire Children In Need single and the knowingly bad, but not really biting Pop Goes The X-Factor crap he pushed onto us, he's finally got his arse into gear and is doing more shows. He's excited because he's going to enlighten us with witty observations about Wife Swap, Deal or No Deal, iPhones, Facebook and ironically, recycling. It won't matter to the dullards who lap this shite up though, will it? It's al part of their diet of X-factor, I'm a celebrity Get me out of here! and child abuse. Good to see him with the finger on the pulse, only five years out of date, eh Pete? My toes curl at the thought of his 'new' routine.

'iPhone's! Mad aren't they? Whassthatallabout!! Deal or No Deal!! That banker's mad, eh? There's no one on the phone!! Facebook! Who has face book and looks on the pics to see how fat and old their mates are?!! I'm on the cutting edge, me! I tell it like it is!!'

I'll bet Bill Hicks and Lenny Bruce are turning in their graves.

When he dies I doubt Bolton would get over it. They'd erect a big fuck off scary statue that will scare the sensitive souls and re-release 'Armarillo' as a kind of demented 'Candle in The Wind.' Whereas if Gary Megson died there'd be a big carnival inside Reebok stadium.

Has Johann Hari Debased Modern Culture?

Beware folks! This man is a tit. He's the gay version of Quentin Letts. I'm not sure who that statement is more insulting to, Quentin or gay people. It's a valid comparison though. With Quentin Letts you already know that he's a creepy, spineless little toe rag with backward opinions, the backstabbing turd who always vowed to get the bullies back, the hand ringing, crotch rubbing perv of Westminster gossip. It's not a nice assumption, is it?

On the other hand, however, Johann Hari is a little bit worse. He's the suspicious sort that often crops up on Channel 4's 'Big Brother' spin-offs or Newsnight Review, spouting garbage just to appear contrary, therefore 'original' and (how I hate this term) 'edgy'. Example. The general consensus about 'Big Brother' is that it is TV's slop bucket. Far from actually fulfilling its Orwellian social experiment and providing something that actually educates us, it's nothing more than a mirror distorting society, a cynical producers fantasy, a sign that something is not right in TV world, hand picking misfits and plonking them in a cage and giving them rewards like seals for performing irrelevant tasks. The whole thing is as pleasant as a big fat shit on a pristine copy of 'Nineteen Eighty-Four'. So sad. But Hari and his lot would say something like ' ooh but that's not what it's about. It's not supposed to be an Orwellian nightmare...it's Shakespeare!'

So Hari is an apologist of this type of programme and while I couldn't care less what people choose to watch, accompanied with queeny squeals and bottles of wine, I do object to the idea that 'Big Brother' is discussed or reviewed as if its akin to Shakespeare. Hm, convenient isn't it, when intellectuals can compare low art to high art or are far too liberal to actually see art in its different shades of relevance. It's the only way they can justify their guilty pleasure by comparing something to Beckett or Mozart. It fucks me off. I'd have more respect if you said you were an avid viewer but you were aware its a piece of escapist shit. Please be under no illusions. Unfortunately arseholes like Hari pop up unpleasantly like last night's off treacle pudding and engage in meaningless punditry. Meanwhile in Argentina a kid is probably being raped.

What disappoints me is that Hari should know better. He writes for centre-left-liberal newspapers which aren't focused on tits and goss. He obviously has some tastes that seperate him from the average Daily Star reader, unless he keeps a stash of 'OK!' mags in the bog to whack off to in between seasons of Big Brother. (I bet he writes some self-serving, wanky obituary when Big Brother ends next year. I bet you a million quid he does!) His kind of dumbed down 'journalism' is partly the reason I've lost interest in the likes of The Guardian or The Indie. As with the low-brow me, me, 'journalism' of Deborah Orr or Peter Robinson, it feels like you're reading a Christmas newsletter from someone who'd under the impression that you give two shits about them. Maybe he reminds me in many ways of Russell T. Davies.

You wouldn't guess but I've nothing against how people waste their time as long as it doesn't hurt anyone or break any laws. But let's get things into perspective. Big Brother and its ilk is just cheap, lowest common denominator entertainment. It always was.

There Goes The Fear

What a week it's been for poor Lily Allen. Apparently motormouth has had another opinion recently, although one can't tell if it's her opinion, EMI's or Peter Mandelsons. In any case she's pulled her blog idontwanttochangetheworld.blogspot as the 'abuse' became too much. Not sure you could call 99% of people who disagree with you as abuse but anyway. So what has she been getting her leotard in a tangle all about this time?

Well Keith Allen's daughter is concerned about music piracy. It's theft, it's stealing and its damaging up and coming artists, who need that money to create and develop. That is about as eloquently as Bat For Las--sorry Lily has been putting it in a recent myspace rant which then transferred to a blog called 'It's Not Alright', accompanied with emails and posts from the likes of Glasvegas, Guy Chambers and Mark Ronson. OK...Yep, she's much more than a guilty search on google images is our Lily.

Many of the posts to her blog received many, many comments, (including a couple by myself) some were silly, some were slightly insulting but generally the vast amount were reasonably trying to engage in the debate but pointing out why Lily was a bit wrong, hypocritical and quite possibly out of her depth. For her part, Lily refused to engage, coming back with the same, poorly reasoned repetitive party line. Then, like the devil himself she was gone, or I should say, her blog was taken down. Poor Lily, cwying, cwying till she gets her own way. You see, my dear reader, what Miss Allen hadn't figured or thought through was that not only did she lift material from techdirt.com but she even includes mixtapes on her official website, thus infringing copyright. Now while these have prompted, quite rightly, accusations of hypocrisy what irked dear Mr Kool, yours truly and still the best, was her complete silliness about the whole 'music isn't free' business. Of course it's fucking free to create. How much does it cost to write some lyrics, to come up with some chords on a mate's guitar? If you want stylists, graphic designers, PR guru's, etc, you pay for them. Many artists can't afford them, nor do they get the exposure, promotion, or even have success but they don't whine. They get jobs, they still find time to write or play gigs or hammer together a difficult piece of electronic in their bedrooms. Lily and her lot are entitled to nothing.

Secondly, record companies could and should have dealt with the emerging digital technology about 14 years ago, instead of giving huge advances or discovering a dirge of mediorce 'landfill' indie or pushing manufactured pap onto kids like drug pushers. Perhaps it's the dumbing down of culture and media as well as those who feels it's acceptable to live in a reality TV, minor celebrity, cheaply produced dominated culture? Who in the right mind would wish to pay for, or even download for free 90% of the mainstream stuff in the charts anyway when you have to rely on your wits and tastebuds to discover your own music online, and with any luck, if you see it available anywhere, buy it? I can't prove this but I reckon that many of the artists who are whining about this haven't had as much stuff downloaded by whatever means, than say, um, Radiohead. I reckon that James Blunt struggles to have his stuff illegally shared, given that the majority of his audience are probably over 50. Face it he's the Chris De Burgh of the noughties.

No Lily, all this, as I said in a response to your post, smacks too much of the Lars Ulrich/Paul McGuinness school of protectionism. It makes you seem right wing, and selfish and goes against many of the ethics of your musical heroes, and, I gather your dad, who I recall on a music programme on channel four about 8 years ago had a pop at Ronan Keating and some idiot from Five when he passionately tried to explain what pop music used to mean and say something that the likes of Boyzone, Five and Richard Blackwood were failing to do. He was spot on. This is important as these standards I feel are something to do with the falling sales not just people grabbing the odd mp3. Funnily enough Lily didn't seem to have a problem with file sharing a few years ago. What she has to understand is that album sales tend to drop with every album. Most artists, unless you're Abba or The Beatles could tell you this. And Bjorn Ulvaeus should know better.

Even Matt Bellamy from Muse has tried to wade into the debate, suggesting that ISP should up their prices. As if they want to alienate the consumers, much in the same way Lily's already done. Stick to making third rate prog rock, Matt. As for Fergal Sharkey, he doesn't help the debate either. But at least he has a nice, pristine, self-important job to do since he hasn't had a hit for twenty five years. Memo to Fergal: don't use John Peel's love of 'Teenage Dreams' to highlight your cause. I highly doubt he would be with you on your anti-music stance and, more than this, its really underhand and creepy of you. x Smirnov

If you're short of cash, Lily, get yourself down to Jobcentre Plus, instead of throwing your things out of the pram. There's a few going in the Healthcare Sector. Perhaps you could aid, bathe, feed and toilet the elderly for money, and imagine how great you used to have it. Look, there has to be some content medium that doesn't involve Lars Ulrich making a twat of himself or that involves constant, brusque advertisements buggering up your listening pleasure. Here's some ideas:

1. Make better albums.
2. Bring back more focus on music television, such as Top of The Pops they way it used to be, or the Chart Show. More programmes like Jools Holland which focuses on better and more exotic music.
3. Kill Louis Walsh and Simon Cowell. In a sense it would be a spiritual death if they knew the X-Factor was cancelled and all this 'I want to be famous' nonsense would disappear.
4.Hose MTV down and return to 24 hours of music television. Re-instate Ray Cokes. Or re=classify MTV1 as MTV2 and make MTV2 the real music channel because it actually plays MUSIC VIDEOS.
5.Hang George Lamb/Radio 1 controllers/A&R deps/Schedulers/DJ's that don't actually know anything outside of Primrose Hill or Hoxton about music. We could watch them swing in Trafalgar Square. All the proceeds could go to unsigned artists on myspace who haven't had anything downloaded yet.
6.Why can't record companies actually cut their massive advances they give to mediorce artists and employ some Internet savvy people to delete mass content from torrents where they are being 'infringed'? Even though they leak material anyway.

What's the worst that could happen? Lily and her lot would have struggled to make it into the Top 50 in 1994. Be thankful you've been allowed to last this long. Free ride over.

Check out techdirt.com for some reasonable debate about this storm in a teacup.

Electric Dreams Series 2 with Phil Oakey 'Yorkshire Tea and Little Boots'

Hi-ya! How've yer been? I've had a right couple of mad months, me! I'll get to that in a bit. First of all welcome to me second series on this blog. Smirnov Kool has granted me a second season. (He's said he's not been arsed with this blog for a few months) The first series isn't out on DVD yet and Mr Kool can't afford to pay me but since I had a right laugh last time, I thought I could tell yer what I've been up to.

In the first series of 'Electric Dreams' I gave you some of my lifestyle tips and advice about a number of things...In this series I'll like to tell yer what I've been up to and get a few things off me chest.

Yorkshire tea. It's my second favourite tea, you know. When I'm in York I think nowt about popping into 'Betty's Tea' rooms and having a cuppa. You'd think that being Phil Oakey I can just push in front of the queue and shout 'Scuse me, make way...I'm Phil Oakey...here comes the Mirror Man...' but no, I'm not like that. Anyway, why couldn't the makers pick me to do the adverts instead of John Shuttleworth? Don't get me wrong, I like the bloke but come on, he's not as modern as me, is he? I wear nice shirts from Duffer, he got his from Greenwoods. As for my favourite brand of tea, well, the girls and I loved this blend of tea a fan of ours who lived in Bristol used to send us in the 80s . Can't for the life of me think what brand it is. The fan has since died so I never got to find out. Shame.

As you can from the attached pic I came across on Google images me and Little Boots have been getting down together. She was right grateful when I allowed her the privilege of laying down some vocals for our duet 'Symmetry'. She's fucking boss, though isn't she, is our Victoria? Love her album. That song called 'Symmetry' ain't too bad either? Hey, if you're reading this Little Boots how's about doing a duet on 'All I Ever Wanted' from the last League album, 'Secrets' for our next tour, or perhaps a stand alone digital single? Just give me a bell, love and we'll talk.

My talents were also added to The Pet Shop Boys album, 'Yes' on the track 'This Used To Be The Future'. Why it ended up on the second Limited edition disc instead of Legacy wasn't my decision, pal. I reckon that Brian Higgins (they all call him Hitler Higgins in the industry by the way) was responsible for the sequencing. Still folks, see if you can get hold of the mp3 79p from iTunes. It's right good. The best Pet Shop Boys track I've heard for years to be honest.

If you're all interested in electronic pop music I'll be on that programme 'Synth Britannia' in a few weeks on BBC 4. Make a note.

Right folks, that's it for now. I've got to put me tea on now...I'm havin' sweet and sour chicken and chunky chips. Boss!

'We'll always be together'
x

Phil

Hate him! I hate him!

Here's a poser for you? What is it about Mika that I hate so much? Is it the music, the annoying vocal theatrics, the fact that his face is more punchable than La Roux's, the derivative songwriting, the 'ooh I'm such a victim' he often plays? Is it his shit hairstyle? Perhaps it's all of this and more. I'm sure he's a really nice, charming guy, so why do I want to hurt him?

GUILT FEST: The Report

Ever since some rich, racist, fox-hunting farmer got rid of his gypos, Pagans and shot the faces off burglars, 'Guilt Fest' has been the only festival that all the cool twats and ageing musos wold rape Asian molesters to be seen at. This years festival was no different. Hoards of Kanye West sunglasses-wearing bleach headed fools, Gaymers pissheads and the crusty dread-locked hippies you'd otherwise kick to death if you saw on the street with their whippets, were there, all competing with each other to see who'd have the most ridiculous 'Guilt Fest Moment'. And trust me if I hear one more loser say the festival is not about the bands performing but it's about stepping over dead hippies in mud to laugh at students on stilts handing out free beer, Keith Allen's karaoke, the George Foreman Heroine Machine, Heston Blumathal's Amphibian Grotto, then I will kill them where they stand. I'll also offer five new pounds to the first person who can strangle Edith Bowman or garrott Nick Grimshaw. My feet are still peeling. I went to 'Guilt Fest' and all I brought back was these lousy blisters. Sounds like an idea for a t-shirt.

THE KNIFEFISH STAGE

Jive Bunny

Mr Scruff

Greedy Jesus

Beagle 2's Musical Version of 'Let The Right One In' in the style of Jeff Wayne.

The Mark Austins

Brian Wilson

Sean Lennon

Alphabeat

This is where it almost ended. Jive Bunny refused to leave the stage until just after 4 a.m. Only the promise of a bacon barm and Michael Eavis's shotgun seemed to arouse the rocking rabbit to stir. Early on in the night the atmosphere at Guilt Fest was given a dollop of edge when rumours had started that George Michael had died. 'Really, no, not George Mi-,' John Challis had asked with incredulity. 'Yes!' But alas the rumour was false. Brian Wilson took to the stage and performed the Pet Sounds Variations, a version of Pet Sounds in the style of Lady GaGa. 'Fuck Mike Love!' he yelled to a screaming audience. 'Everyone say fuck Mike Love!' 'Fuck Mike Love' we all shouted. Warp's Mr Scruff played a confusing fusion of electronics and tortured animal testing soundtracks much to Beagle 2's annoyance in the wings, following his ambitious version of 'Let The Right One In'. 'Next year, I'll be performing a musical version of Antichrist' he told Nick Grimshaw, 'with Edith.' Then it was Jive Bunny, one of the most successful singles acts in the UK with the 'C-c-c mon everybody' refrain and the 'One-on-on-One-o' clock, two o 'clock...' (sigh) You know the rest.

THE FIRST AID TENT

The Fat Boys

Brian Wilson

Spastics Society

Les Smith

Concentration Camp

The Wonderful Comedy of Bobby Wilson (feat. Rudd Gullit)

Love Decade

Florence and the Machine

Highlights for me had to be The Fat Boys, lured out of semi-retirement with a bucket of tripe and some of the bored girls in the Fila tracksuits from the nearby council estate. 'Wipeout' and 'The Twist', merged effortlessly and complimented their lesser known gems such as 'Rumsfeld Raunch', 'Fanny Pack', and 'Martian Chronicles 2001'. Les Smith delivered a few bitter poems and an anti-war protest song about 'that woman who's under house arrest in Indonesia or somewhere like that...this is for her.' There wasn't a dry eye in the tent. Perhaps Les Smith was not the best choice to follow Bobby Wilson. His return after 11 years in the comedy wilderness was met reasonably well, despite his 40 minute rant about Peter Kay 'stealing my fucking audience of retards' and his bizarre accordion aria about ' Swine flu on the tube.' Where was the 'Nice one!' catchphrase and what happened to Rudd Gullit?

BRONSON BEAT TENT

The JoBoxers

The Revolving Heads

Brian Wilson

Soft Cell

The Toy Dolls

Kick the Pregnant

I Have To Be In Court Tomorrow

Didn't see any of this.

THE SIMON BATES MEMORIAL STAGE

Simon Bates

Curtis Stigers

Stefan Dennis

Franz Lambert

Brian Wilson

Franz Lambert brought the much needed dalliance and sophistication to the festival with his Yamaha versions of Warp classics, including the demonic 'Come To Daddy.' No festival would be complete without Stefan Dennis puncturing the emerging sunset with his feelgood singalong to 'Don't it make feel good?' 'I kinda like being here,' he said. 'It's like my CPD quota,' he bizarrely added. Brian Wilson gave a storming version of 'Sloop John B' whilst in tears and actually backstage. Simon Bates headlined the stage with his greatest Our Tunes stories including a moving one about a Mighty Boosh fan who meets a My Chemical Romance fan who leaves him for a Green Day fan who dies but gives birth to a Brian Wilson fan who gets a bad disease, HIV and leaves home to spend her remaining years with an abusive fan of Will Smith. Not nice. Terrible actually.

CLIQUE TENT

Kool and The Gang

Benny Andersson Band

Nine Inch Nails

Kanye West

Lady Gaga

Bobby Brown

Barry George

Quite an odd one this. During Benny Andersson Band's set, he was flashmobbed by Kanye West/Kool and The Gang fans, who in unison sang 'Don't want no bald headed woman, it makes me mean, makes me mean, males me mean!' Benny continued professionally throwing in a few nods to Kool and The Gang with a note for note sonic perfect version of 'Joanna' and NIN's 'Hurt' and 'Sin'. Then he finished the set with a triumphant performance of Joy Division's 'She's Lost Control'. For his part Barry George rendered his version of events of the Jill Dando murder to a sound bed of Air's 'The Virgin Suicides'. 'I was robbed,' he sniffed at the end. Hair- lip can make you sound like you're sniffing I guess.

CARELESS WHISPER CABARET TENT

Johnny Geddes

Bryan Ferry

Billy Corgan

Saint and Greavsie

In time people who study festivals and festival disasters will look upon this one to almost rival Roskilde. Not only are the Animal Cruelty League are looking into the mysterious deaths of snakes and rabbits but the NSPCC and the West Yorkshire Police are looking into why a girls hand was set on fire. Before you ask, all this happened during the last 15 minutes of Johnny Geddes conjuring and funster show. Things already weren't going well after the first 30 seconds when Geddes told the shocked audience 'You young punks wouldn't know a good snake act if it spat in your mouth.' Then it took his the next twenty minutes to twitter this messages on Fox Tavern's iPhone. I'm not sure what trick he was trying to perform when he set the poor girl's hand alight. (There were rumours that it was Jo Whiley's daughter) This was the exchange that took place.

JG: I'd like a guest. A girl. A young, fair, pretty maiden of about ten years of age. You can get them for nowt in your local school. Don't be shy. You'll do, me dear.

(JG just grabs a girl from the side of the stage) What's your name, me little angel dust? What? Can't hear you? What? Can't hear you? What? Oh hang on, I got cloth in me ears. (JG unravels some cloth out of his ears) What's your name? What? Now then, hold out your hand. (Gives it a kiss) Very charmed. The name of this trick is 'Hand Over Matter'. If you put your mind to it you can achieve anything. You've heard all that mumbo jumbo about walking on hot ash, well you dearest child, will be able to withstand your hand in flames. Now...no, no, don't weep... I'm going to add a bit of magic dust over your delicate hand, me child of the night and wave me magic wand...and before you know it...oh shit...'

(The girls hand is on fire. She screams and is rushed by three members of St John's Ambulance. In the confusion Johnny Geddes rabbits escape and jump into the crowd)

BRANDON FLOWERS FUNHOUSE STAGE

Erasure

La Roux

Blandon Frowels (Chinese Tribute Act)

DJ Tiesto

Karen O with Steve Bruce

Brian Wilson

All the confetti, balloons and fun was to be had upon this stage, if you discount La Roux not taking to the stage at all 'Until someone, takes me and my music seriously.' Karen O and Steve Bruce seemed an unlikely pairing but with Bruce declaration that 'heads will roll!' he stole a few hearts and not just from the chavs that evening. DJ Tiesto was as you'd expect, dance music for the Jeremy Kyle generation if the Jeremy Kyle generation had jobs and Kenco. Erasure were due to do a duet with Robert Powell but had to make do with Andy Bell from Five News. Meanwhile the real Andy Bell inexplicably branded the Pet Shop Boys who recently picked up a Brit for Outstanding Achievement in Pop Music, as 'Nazi shitheads.' Charming.

All in all a fierce and challenging round up of events but unlike incest I don't think I'd be doing this again too soon.

Goodwill to All Men

Goodwill is an odd term. It's something we're supposed to have for all men and dogs. Around Christmas Dickensian people wander around muttering 'goodwill' to each other, whilst beating the cold out of their chests with their fists. They even make mediocre people 'goodwill ambassadors' these days. Their duties involve giving poorly written speeches saying how nice we should be to each other before they go back to their hotel rooms to score some coke and cock.

So what is goodwill? For me it should involve a warm glow, a happy, clueless, Ian Broudie-esque smug mood that you have when you're on holiday or in love. It's that warm anticipation in your body when you're attending some amazing event such as a Kylie Minogue concert or a Jimmy Carr burial. It's a big chorus of an ELO record, the theme to Starman but there are people, evil souls out there who want to ruin this goodwill for the rest of us. These blood sucking fuckers will use your goodwill to make you guilty, to extort money from you and drain the frivolous five minutes of love from your heart. It'll leave you slumped on the pavement wonderign where all your money and goodwill went. Here's some soul destroying examples:

Concerts.
You will be charged gob smacking prices for programmes and crappy merchandise, weak, cheap, warm beer by the venue. Yes, they have to make a living. I can accept that. No, they don't have to take the piss. This will have you reeling long after the thugs outside, the bootleggers and touts aggressively scream at you to give them money. One guy at a concert I went to years ago was cold heartedly selling those crappy luminous glow sticks. I've still no idea what the point of them are, no more than the shit toys street sellers try and push to the kids. Even though this guy had sold his last one he thrust his hand open under my nose and demanded 'Gimme some change, man!' Of course you'd well be within your rights to knife the Mos Side faced bastard in the throat in any other time for attempting to mug you, but no, not tonight, not when you have goodwill. Enough arseholes will be quite happy to pay through the nose for pieces of crap, the same hateful bastards who pay £5 on a cheap flight for beer or £4 for a bag of crisps and a bar of chocolate when the flight only actually lasts TWO FUCKING HOURS and they have already scoffed something at the airport ON TOP of breakfast.

Holiday.
Mother fucking opportunities everywhere to lick out the tourists and sell them what? Answer me this. Who the fuck in 2009, in this dimension, on this earth wants stupid fucking plastic knick-knacks, cheapo watches, bracelets, poor sun hats, poor Poundstretcher rip offs? Just leave us alone. I understand you have a living to make but don't try and make it with me. Don't. Please. Or next time I'll kick the shit out of you.

Rose sellers.
They despise us. They want a piece of your infatuation. They really couldn't give a shit if you've doped her. They want what's in your pocket. They will never stop till they get your cash. Behind their strained, tight smile, they are wishing death on you. Just ask when you see them 'Are you happy for us? Are you happy?' Tell them that you don't want a rose because you are with your sister or brother. They will get embarrassed. Good. Just look at their face. They hate you. They hate us. All of us.

Big Issue sellers.
Not all of them want to ruin our day and even if they did can you blame some of them, seeing wankers passing them, ignoring them, talking into phones, throwing half eaten sandwiches, breathing, having cosy homes to go to, the bastards? If you don't buy a magazine, even if there's nothing decent worth reading in it, if you dare not give them anything at all, you are scum. You are loathsome and worthless because you didn't have the bad fortune to keep it together, get addicted to drugs, have a nervous breakdown or through no fault of your own, end up on the streets. You callous bastards with your shopping bags and Police sunglasses.

Ghost of a chance

This woman is laughable. Having had the misfortune to see 'The Ghost Whisperer' which we know is addictively shit, it appears that Jennifer Love-Hewitt is apparently relaunching her country and western music career. WHAT CAREER? If this is the case, it's wrong on about three levels.

Level 1-It's country and western music.
Level 2-Who the 'eck has heard of her previous music career?
Level 3-It's not just country and western music. It's country and western music made by Jennifer Love-Hewitt, the same Jennifer Love-Hewitt who is in a mediocre, 'spiritualist' programme called 'The Ghost Whisperer.

Still not convinced? Just in case you never had an inkling that Jennifer Love-Hewitt is the anti-christ, she plays a self-obsessed character called Melinda who can see and communicate with dead people. In the show her pisshead mother thinks she's an attention seeking bitch and resents her for it. From the goodness of her heart, our Melinda basically helps these sad dead fuckers put their past lives back together, reconcile with their families before they go to the 'light'. Yes, the assumption is that there is a heaven, obviously and everyone in this small, white middle class town , especially young people are dying every week. There's more casualties in this place than Iraq! The bitch even has a day job (at a place called 'Same As It Never Was') that she hardly has to go to, selling crap and junk. Not sure if it's supposed to be antique or what, but it's all tacky. So yeah, week in, week out she pretty much interferes with everything, but because Jennifer Love-Hewitt is the executive producer and she is better than anyone in the world, her profound character not only has screen time in every scene, but even plays a teenage version of herself during one flashback when it could have been played by a teen actress. Oh and every week there are always tears in the eyes of the actors, and everyone is soooo emotional. I can imagine some bland suburban family weeping buckets of crocodile tears. It's hateful stuff.

Basically Love-Hewitt and Melinda are both phoneys!

The New Bland

Just stopping by to say...what exactly? No more than everyone else saying something a billion times a second all over the world via twitter, facebook and on whatever blog they're signed up to. I can't compete with so much importance, so much gossip and information. It's really good knowing every one's unsolicited opinion about High School Musical actors, Bruno and cheese sandwiches.

Truth be told I haven't had much to say about anything recently. Nothing that my brain isn't too numb to motivate me to put finger to key and translate those thoughts. Things are so stale, our critical words and put downs so banal and pointless that, unless you have a smudge of power, a significant audience, some weight, some influence you might as well burn yourself alive in Trafalgar square, after handing out leaflets just with the words 'I'n not him,' scribbled on with a stolen marker.

Bland is the new exciting. Well...it has been since 1998 hasn't it? You may not have noticed that I'm on twitter when I can be bothered, although I'm at a loss to explain what the fuss is about, especially when I only have 8 followers. It's all very well, dear Stephen Fry saying how amazing and intriguing it is, and how helpful people are when he has thousands of followers hanging on to his every word, and practically come up with any old shite with which to get his attention, knowing that they'll always be Alan Davies, the followers. So I'm glad twitter is working for Fry and he can share all the banalities of programme making and hotel staying. Good for you. But while I'm being amused I'll stay on for now.

Speaking of Blandness...how should we be reacting to the news of James Purnell, Caroline Flint, Hazel Blears, and Labour in general? Are they on the ropes? Does anyone outside of Westminster's gay village actually give two sheets of paper about the thieving cunts? Perspective please! I don't frothing loathe Hazel Blears because she looks like a rabid terrier or because she's a mediorce politician, but because she's full of dog shit. It's not personal, love. As for Purnell, Burnham, and the Millibands, they're just so bland and out of it. How they expect anyone to be able to relate to them who isn't already dribbling and brain dead, I'll never know. But very soon they won't be in government and we can open the champagne. OK, I don't think I'll hate anyone from the Labour party as much as Ed Balls but that would be a big ask.

Now Caroline Flint. Roar! Judging from your performances on Question Time, if you're not window dressing, then what are you? How else is one supposed to get his kicks if it's not from your body? Seriously.

What other bland things have been happening to me recently? Well, Eurovision was the blandest I've seen for about ten years and anyone who disagrees is just wrong...and gay. So yeah, guess it's time to reinvent the wheel with this blog. Again. Not sure what my remit was or if it's relevant anymore so we'll see how it goes. Until I can come up with some good answers I may hand over to my good friend's Philip Oakey for a new series of blogs and BBC weatherman Daniel Corbett for his 'The Hype' feature. Probably. OK. Yeah. No. Alright then. Oh yeah. Apparently 'Replika', that book all about me is now available on Amazon.com for a fantastic price. Go get it.

Review: The Revolving Heads-Cold Spaces

Oh hello! Hasn't it been a while, eh? I'm not talking 'bout me. I'm talking about the last time any of us fuckers heard a new Revolving Heads long player...um revolve. Now I'm sure there's some of you bastards out there who might not remember this genre defying band because you weren't born. Here's a potted history.

They formed in 1994 on the back of the 658 Wigan-Leigh bus service, post Stone Roses and filled the gap that was missing in modern pop music that should have been filled by John Squires and Steve Coogan's brother who was in that show Families. And boy did they challenge the music scene by making music in their own terms. Eventually this all imploded in 1998 when the and had a fight with The Beta Band on Primrose Hill and Fadge got twatted. Add to that Fadge going missing in 2001, after popping out for a Mars Bar and a copy of the Daily Telegraph, and recently being declared murdered, now is a good time as any to revisit his lost lyrics.

'Put it this way, Oasis are still fucking shit and Chinese Democracy was a 17 year let down. And Kurt Cobain was always a disappointment,' reckons Beagle 2 (an actual Beagle hound), their new manager.

So what does the new album sound like? And what of Fadge's lyrics? Lyrically it's a Nostradamus affair. 'Fadge foresaw the iPhone, Spotify, twitter, Sky Sports News and the resolution to Lost!' laughs the new band mate, Fox Tavern. Celebrity fans of the Revolving Heads include, Bobby Wilson, Luke Haines, Cut Copy, Boards of Canada, Keith Baron and Jonathan King. Having just listened to the new album on infra red 3D headphones travelling to and from Wigan on the 658 service, passing the stop, Barry Westhead used to alight after a day doing his Light Foundation in BTEC music, I can see you're in for a mixed bag of sweets. Here goes:

1. Six Not Sex, Jason
This one's as morbid as finding Maddie, only to discover that its a lost demo of a bearded Jim Morrison, in disguise as Richard Archer. It's a nervous, unpleasant start to the album. Features the line 'That sick pet duck/will be the dearth of me'

2.I Saw Thatcher Have a Fall
Although it's fashionable to write an anti-Thatcher record this track celebrates the fixation some have for seeing leggy women, tripping up, and being in distress. Features a funky James Brown drummer beat and the lyrics 'Get up! Shut up! Geet outta ma piss!'

3. Stringer Bell Has Peter Serafinowicz's Eyes
A kind of Betty Davies eyes for the 90s. This is a shit track but it represents how great Oasis could have been had they been brought up in Germany in the 70s, watched 'The Legend of Tim Tyler', listened to Neu! and been as gay as houses. Features the lyric 'I'm not your spack.'

4. Short Back And Sides
This one's obviously about Jade Goody, Features the manager, Beagle 2, barking and singing 'This one's about Jade Goody.'

5. Kevin Bacon Had a Funny Smile in 'The River Wild.'
A Boards of Canada-esque instrumental that lasts for 6 minutes. It's a charming but discordant samba number, a bit like a bestial Gotan Project/Friendly Fires project that would make Nick Grimshaw immediately want to add you to his list of cool friends.

6. God Hates Fags
This track features a duet with electroclash queen, Miss Kitten. A really chic, slice of French meets New York electro disco gloss, that would makes all the queens in Queens, queeny with envy.

7. I Want Jew
Remember that old Utah Saints track that went 'I want you-ooh-ooh-uh-ooh-uh-ooh'? Well it's like that.

8. Heavy Metal Robot
Yes, it's a cover version. Heaven knows why.

9. I've Scored!
This chunk of genius rock was inspired by the French football shirt that Maxine Carr wore during that whole dead girls spot of bother in Soham. This shimmering track is a beautiful love song, the kind which really captures the feeling where you wake up on a bright and light breezy day, where the air is fresh, there's no bills and death threats on the doormat, the flat's clean, you've just been paid, your novel's been accepted, there's a new car in the car port, Adam and Joe have just made you laugh, that girl you like will probably be in the pub later on hanging on to your every word and witticism, life is good, no-one is dying today, but for some reason you can't explain why, this track ends up sounding like 'Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometime' performed by Delphic.

10. Adrien Brody's Big German General's Jacket
This number is very much like the fear of being shot at by Russians. At first you feel warm, secure and protected in your shell, your fingertips dipped in jam, then at about three minutes in, you're in the cold, being accused of being a German and they're shooting at you. 'I accuse you/I abuse you/I'm not your sympathiser/Your Nazi synthesiser!' Sounds quite Scooterish. Stand out track of the album. The best track of 2009-2011.

11. Please be reasonable...and clean these lenses
Another one of Fadge Nostradamus tracks. It's the sonic eqivalent of Michael Douglas's cracked lenses in 'Falling Down', it's the image of the future, not as a boot stamping on a head but a bespectacled dead icon, insulting a rich beautiful Indian model on a reality TV show, with the fearful, doom-laden mantra 'Good for you! Good for you!' ringing out forever more. Our subserviance to this album and to our plight is absolute.

The Boat That Rocked

Fuck off, Richard Curtis, you boring old bastard. And you look like the Spitting Image puppet of Barry Norman.

Phil Oakey's Electric Dreams Part 6: Science fiction

Hi-ya!

Oakey's back. By popular demand. What 'ave yer been up to, then? No seriously, love. Are yer keepin' well? No-one's putting on yer, are they? If they are, Uncle Phil will have a word with 'em. Visitors of old will recall that last year I dispensed loads of advice for yer on computers, pop music and stuff like that. Just look under some old posts for a few of me gems. Why your Blogmaster has chosen to write a piece about Erasure instead of The League is beyond me.

As you may know I haven't been on 'ere in a while because I've been kind of busy, with The League and other things. I've been out wi Richard Hawley, been recording a fantastic song with The Pet Shop Boys ('This Used To Be The Future') on the bonus 'Yes' disc) and I've been working with Little Boots. She's a cracking lass. In fact I've had a right belting time, me. Hey, hey, it seems no-one can resist that Oakey magic these days! But enough about me. Today I want to share with you my true passion. And it ain't pies, lacoste aftershave or the mix CD's I buy every fortnight at HMV in Leeds!

When I were a lad, growing up in a small town in Yorkshire, television was in black and white. Sky + was but a twinkle in the eye of Sydney Youngblood. We were lucky to get two channels in those days, let alone three! Yorkshire TV didn't go live until the early 70s, nor did it go full colour until 1980, and even in those days it were full of Parky and 'Emmerdale Farm', for about three hours a day. I had to make do with rusty books from the mobile library and comics I read in the one decent newsagents just out of town, or whatever I could afford once I saved up some of my wages from me paper round and glass collecting. Course I watched Doctor Who. 'Who' didn't? But they only showed it at the local cinema once a fortnight. I always had a soft spot for Jon Pertwee's version of the timelord. I have vivid memories of watching that episode where the Doctor's mind was taken over by a fruit virus and he had to kill some kids by this old rubbish tip. Classic television!! So I lived and breated books, comics and science fiction films! Anything that made me escape from Yorkshire for a couple of hours a week. I didn't want to grow up in a place where all the ladies over 16 wore rollers and headscarves. From an early age I wanted mystery and glamour and if I couldn't go to a world inhabited with lip gloss, skimpy costumes and wild ideas, I would bring it to Yorkshire meself!

I remember watching 'Logan's Run' and thinking, 'Wow, imagine if shopping centres and discos could really be like that!' 30 odd years later, they are exactley like that! Mad or what? Then when I was about 14 or something, I discovered Dick (That's Philip K., yer dirty dickheads, lol, lol!) That's when my mind and imagination were really expanded, like. All those imaginary worlds, alternative realities, bizarre characters and demented Donna's! I wanted to live inside a Philip K. Dick novel. I wanted to take tons of Chew-Z, or use Ubik and live in a conapt among burning Earth or a hovel on Mars, fly my car across a time distorted city scape, not knowing or giving a shit where I would end up. I suppose this is one of my main influences and why I went into music. With The League. The Human League. One of our missions was to decorate this dull, grey landscape with a shimmering futuristic soundtrack that were a bit rough around the edges, like Kraftwerk but with a flash of Abba. We aimed to celebrate being European and be proud of our Yorkshire roots at the same time.

In 1983 there was this film set in Sheffield called 'Threads' where the whole place was obliterated by nuclear bombs. In 1973 I wouldn't have cared less if it had happened. But what has the future present left us with now? Sky + and 'Dancing on Ice' and Noel Edmonds. It's like living in 1980s East Germany with a smile. It's a world Alan Moore has spent many nights screaming about for hours. You can't walk the streets and eat your pie and mind your own business nowadays without someone from Google or the local council filming it and asking your business. What happened to the days when you couldn't walk the streets for fear of being sexually abused by beautiful groupies and Human League fans? Not a chance, mate.

Right. That's me done, for now. I've got some shirts to iron and some lacoste to dab onto my neck. See yer!

'We'll always be together!'

x

Phil

Album review: Christ Embassy- Conspiracies

'It's like nothing you've heard before,' the press release that accompanies an old TDK 46 cassette, states. 'By the time you will have received this, we will all be very dead.' And lo and behold, is it really a myth? Apparently not, if the grainy newspaper cutting, reporting the deaths of four band members with self-inflicted gunshot wounds to the mouths is to be believed. Whatever happens with the fate of the album it's so far the best kept secret within and outside the music industry. The music press won't certainly touch this story and those lucky few like me, who have received the promo cassette, are still left feeling that they have just had a death threat.

So what does the album sound like? Well let's look at the tracklisting and I'll attempt to decode. I was going to put up a piece of music from them but,w e'll, I'll explain later.

1. All The Freud's in All of London Town And I Had To Bump Into You

If Razorlight were formed in the 1920's and were inspired by cheese, Isaac Newton and a bar of soap, then it would sound like this. Features the phrase that will haunt you forever, 'Fandabbidozy, cat features!'

2. Grace Jones Was Behind the 2001 Massarce of the New Yorker

Starts off with a lovely acoustic guitar strum and a refrain which bemoans Nick Hancock, Nick Ross and Nick Owen, before descending into a chaotic 1989 drenched Miss Wet T shirt soakathon. It must be the only song that I've heard this year that features slowed down explosions and the tinny voice of Michael Caine crying over the phone.

3. Suicide Watch

Quite simply it features 18 minutes of sound effects of the clickings of the mouse, pressumably to a website where Welsh emos egg each other on to see who can die the fastest. The song ends with a disappointed yawn.

4. I Blame Jack Bauer

An intriguing dub mix featuring Jack Bauer's famous line's from his work with Captain Birdseye and Rosemary Ford. 'What's on the board Miss Ford?' delivered by Buaer, to the accompaniement of Christian Bale's human beatbox is simply vicious!

5. Knuckleduster

Sadly this is a really disappointing generic, sub-Prodigy, part Oasis number which doesn't do anything for anyone. It's a terrible way to start side 2 after it ended with a weeping Bruce Forsythe.

6. You Might Say That But I Couldn't Possibly Comment

This is a romantic duet between an imagined Keith Baron and Windsor Davies. Features sadism and watersports. It's a sexy, sunkissed, lush soundscape that recalls the Beach Boys experimental album, 'Boards of Xanadu' which was only released in Preston in 1971.

7. Inside We Were All Dead

A true post lifestyle anthem surrounding guilt, lost youth and laughing at the failiures of your old friends, seeing them age, etc It is about two and a half minutes in when the tape chewed up.

Credits.

Written and Produced by Svelt Undsun, Jeremy Irons, McManus McDonald, and Miss Mary Bell.

Rebel diamonds: The Killers at MEN Arena 9,10th March 2009

'The emotion it was electric,' sang Brandon over the Caribbean sun drenched 'I can't stay.' (An unlikely favourite of mine from 'Day and Age') And you believed every word. I've never been a religious person but ever since I saw them last week in Birmingham and was lucky enough to bag tickets to see them on two nights in Manchester this week I, my word, I believe in them now. I'm sure I could be forgiven by fans of The Killers for seeing the light in Brandon. In another life he could easily be a faith healer.

'We got our tickets off ebay!' two starry eyed girls at my side said to me. I could believe that. Last year when tickets went on sale there was about three people in our household on the phone for three hours on that Friday morning, with pages of ticket agents on the desktop, only to be told they had 'all' sold out. Hmm.

'The starmaker says it ain't so bad.'

'How does it happen?' I ask myself. What kind of transformation does Brandon go through before he goes onstage at every gig, every tour, every festival? Off stage the poor fragile bloke is a bag of nerves. I want to stick up for him, thump anyone who would cause him harm, and my female companions want to mother him, love him, and have him. Does he hit himself with leaves, does he slap his face in the mirror uttering 'Do it boy, do it Brandon, you can do it again.' Does he chill out with a few Slurpee's, or listen to some Stuart Price remixes? Does he slap in his old Pet Shop Boys 'Discography' cassette? Meanwhile the rest of the band are suitably chilled out as they professionally hammer out the fan favourites during the two different set lists. It's as if they could be in the studio or in the garage rather than an arena with tens of thousands of screaming fans. And boy, do the fans get all the hits. Depending on what night you've attended you're treated to two differing spectacular openings, 'Spaceman' or 'Human', followed by a mix of tracks from the new album, 'This is your life,' The world we live in', I can't stay,' 'Joyride', 'Neon Tiger' along with staple 'oldies', such as 'Mr Brightside,', 'Somebody Told Me,' 'Smile Like You mean it' and well, you know the rest.

Each set list and opening moments equally inspire enthusiastic, hysterical singalongs, bouncing boobs, air-punching and all the rock fan cliche's which are true for a good reason. Throughout, Brandon struts, preens, stands on the amps and knowingly marches along the stage, with determination, claim-staking proficiency and belts his little heart out. In short. Brandon fucking owned us all. And the new extended version of 'For Reasons Unknown'(Beautiful, whimsical butterflies) does actually threaten to raise the 'mother fucking' roof.

The Killers delivered a spectacular show featuring Vegas-like strip lightning, the surely now iconic 'K' stand by Brandon's keyboard, confetti cannon during 'All these things that I've done' and a wall of sparks, pyrotechnics and the general spectacle of Brandon's nod to Manchester's pop icons New Order and Joy Division with their version of 'Shadowplay' on the first night in Manchester and a stirring and devastatingly beautiful acoustic version of New Order's 'Bizarre Love Triangle' on the second and last night of the tour. 'There's no other city I would rather be ending the UK tour in,' said Brandon of his 'spiritual home' 'Come and live here, then!' one was tempted to shout.

As for the MEN Arena, the venue is a good place for doing Mexican waves as we were on Monday night but asking you to pay £3.80 for a pint of weak lager really does take the piss out of the fans goodwill. Some fans walked about with 'I got soul' tee shirts, others 'Are we human?' shirts and you could even buy 'Smile Like You Mean It' toothbrushes. One of the better items, I thought was the poster of the absent band in the desert.

'Would you catch me if I fall?' Brandon once asked a festival audience a couple of years ago. I would, Brandon. Every time. For reasons unknown you've turned a casual fan into a gibbering fan boy. I really should know better. (But there's nothing better) I hope you're proud of yourself.

If you can't hold on for another concert '...hold on.'

Mysteries Unanswered

There are so many unanswered questions in this life which we may never know find out the truth, you know such as who killed JFK, is Paul Burrel gay, and what it is that possess people to actually go out and take the trouble to buy a Scouting For Girls record. But here are some more questions, destined to go unanswered.

How does Kirstie Allsop manage to display blatant protctionism, have disappointing inclinations and yet remain slightly fuckable from behind?

Does anyone actually find Mark Dolan entertaining in the slightest? Really though. I mean...really. The Friday Night Project is one thing but for fuck's sake, 'Balls of Steel.' Pranks? It's so 80s, surely.

Why does George Lamb look like he's just vomited? Guilt maybe?

Charlie Brooker, why don't you say what you really think? Scared of offending celebrites, comedians, producers, commissioning editors?

How acceptable is it for the likes of Jess Cartner-Morely to offer credible fashion advice when she looks like a team of dead mice have risen from the dead to dress her, the plum faced bitch?!?

Boris...why are the type of Londoners who vote for things so fucking stoopid? What did we do import the same dicks who actually voted George Bush in?

Nick Grimshaw...why is it that this, and other Primrose Hill tossers are being given contracts to present of so very cutting fucking edge stuff? They all look like arseshitting clones!! AS IF they could be role models for anyone. AS IF.

Internets fads. Now it's the turn of some obese bastard who supposedly looks like a thumb, only he DOESN'T!!!Really where is his fucking thumb nail you dumb assess!!? Hate internet fads. Remember the Rick Rolling one? Oh, how very amusing, tee-hee.

Oh, and one mystery, flash mobbing, the 2002 fad. Are they supposed to be amusing or clever? If so, why are they rather smug seeming? And why...are they sooo shit and disorganised in reality?

Come on! Grow up people!

BEST BEFORE BITTER AWARDS and REVIEW 2008

Well another bizarre year in the realms of popular culture last year. Already the arses and so called (don't laugh) 'tastemakers' at the BBC are telling us who we should be listening to, who they are going to make sure are gonna be big and not considering that we can discover our own music, art, film and fun thanks very much. Now then, before I go into my pessimistic phase I'll give you my list of things I enjoyed last year, just to show that I'm not a misanthropic soppy git. In no particular order I enjoyed:

CUT COPY
WALL-E
THE DARK KNIGHT
LINDSTROM
THE KILLERS-HUMAN
SALLY SHAPIRO
ASHES TO ASHES
SPARKS-EXOTIC CREATURES OF THE DEEP
RICHARD HAWLEY LIVE
HEROES (Season 3 obviously)
CHANNEL 4 NEWS (Although it wasn't as good as 2007)
GOLDFRAPP
BLOC PARTY-INTIMACY
MGMT-KIDS
DEAD SET

Didn't do an awful lot of reading or film 'buffing' in 2008 though so...

In 2008 I took a bit of a sabbatical as well so thanks to Phil Oakey for filling my blog with positive lifestyle tips. He may return later this year, we'll see.

As you can expect there were some things in 2008 that I wasn't as keen on and naturally I was at a loss to why anyone would be keen on these things and people so I've decided to give them my own bitter awards which they truly deserve, as a precursor to the pointless awards they'll get anyway. My awards don't recognise or reflect significant achievement or talent, they don't change they world or progress causes, they are just something I put together in the office one day while I was bored. So now it's time for THE BEST BEFORE BITTER AWARDS 2008!!

1. Mildly Annoying Tosser Of The Moment- FAT CHRIS (Gamestation Advertisement)

2. The Lesley Douglas Award For Professionalism, Vision and Foresight- Haringey Council

3. On Yer Bike Award For Cold Hearted Bastard With Thoughtless Policies- James Purnell

4. The 'Tatu' Award for Least Controversial Song and Video of The Year- Katy Perry-I kissed a girl

5. The Woolworths Award For Most Obvious Discount Comedy And The Most Pointless Outdated Pastiche- Peter Kay as Geraldine McQueen.

6. The Russell Brand and Jonathan Ross Quality Control Award For Being a Childish, Bitter, Cuntish Wanker But Generally Getting Away With It and Not Being Suspended, You Bastard-
George Lamb (BBC 6 music, featuring his interview with Ray Davies)

7. The Why Aren't You Funny Award- Kevin Bishop

8. Most Optimistic But Ultimately Pointless Peer Pressure Group-
Get George Lamb off 6 Music

9. Most Disappointing Use of Old Friends and Colleagues Time on Facebooks-Joining very dubious groups and causes, such as vigilante groups. This doesn't make you caring or concerned, it makes you appear rather prehistoric and fick.

10. Prince Philip 'Faux Pas' Award- Boris Johnson. This oaf's whole life seems to have been a faux pas but he can swtich his oafish act off in private many people have noted.

11. The Yes We Can Award for Continual Torture, Murder, Bullying, Starvation and Tyranny- Robert Mugabe

12. I'm Alright But Balls To You Award- Bernard L. Madoff

13. The What It Means To Be British Award- Lapland

Bye.

Best Before Resolutions

Hey-ho! Christmas, eh? Didn't it come and go so quickly? So have you snapped up all those bargains yet or are you one of those trembling, sweating, piggerish masses fighting to grab a really generic and bland t-shirt from Primark, like you normally do every other Saturday along with the other gibbering wrecks? Did you panick buy about five loafs of bread this year, you serial greedy mongs, you? Why was your party cancelled? Oh you went to a virtual one instead. How very 2008! Well, well I guess it was an early night after all with the extra blanket and the unread Italo Calvino novel. So what were your highlights? The blizzards? Zavvi and Whittards not so much as going for a Burton but going the same way as Woolworths. Maybe the death of Eartha Kitt stirred up some emotion. No? Surely we're not back to that again! OK, so the weak Sterling isn't nice, I know, I know. I reckon by the end of 2009 all those jokes about left over turkey and the old nags speech will seem somehow nostalgic.

I was only thinking about a month ago how we in Britain lead the way in our promotion and endorsement of disappointment, bitterness and incompetence. We have our very own Joker's to spread chaos and confusion to the masses in its many forms so expect more disappointment, injustices, stupidity, headaches, repressed rages and body numbing depression. but let's be OPTIMISTIC. This is indeed an optimistic place, this blog, and I won't have your tears dripping on my screenshot. I'm going to be the solution, the resolution to your new year. With my guide and resolutions for the coming year, I can guarantee that there will be a smile on your face for more than five minutes at some point in 2009.

RESOLUTIONS

*We must remember that things are NEVER as bad as they seem. When the situation is dire comfort yourself with the fact that at least you don't have toothache.

*Watch 'Mamma Mia' once a week when events feel that they are getting on top of you. Life really can be as good as an Abba song. It won't make the monsters go away and the numbing effect of Meryl Streep in dungarees doing the splits won't pay your bills but you'll be able to appreciate the merits of the real Abba after this abbaration.

*Invest or 'share' the Cut Copy album 'In Ghost Colours'. It will bring joy to your and other people's lives.

* This year, why not, instead of giving up your vices, increase them. Even if you are 72.

*Continue to loathe George Lamb. It's your natural duty.

*Save money in the new year by robbing pensioners and other vulnerable people. Obviously you will find this easier and morally justified, and will get away with it if you are an energy company or an investment banker.

*Continue to despise Andy Burnham.

*Spend 12 months listening to nothing but rare b-sides and obscure 12" singles from the year of our lord 1989.

*Continue to hate James Purnell and his disgraceful overbite!

*Don't be bitter, be defensive. In 2009 be defiant!

*Try hard not to judge your own perceived success or lack of, based upon other people's social networking updates. Life is not a party. There is no triumphant soundtrack, no cool moments where you are portrayed by an actor with a stylish haircut. There is no reprieve or reward for its hero/ego. You are entitled to nothing. Grasp those moments of happiness. They are your special features. They belong to you and you alone and are not up for sale or scrutiny.

*Continue to find Melanie Philips so reactionary, boring, dull, predictable and slightly, only very slightly a bit of an object to imagine what her legs might have looked like in a short skirt in 1980. She would appreciate this no end.

*Complete that novel set in Holland that you have been working on since 1994.

*Continue to promise to yourself and to your friends that you really must meet up with them for a beer, maybe in the half-term, no Easter! No Christmas! Oh, perhaps in three years! No, make it seven. Why not compromise and not make any promises? After all you only live about 5-10 miles from each other. Why should you phone them? Bugger it, wait till you die first. At least you won't have to be arsed going to their funeral and cursing yourself that you should have taken the time to meet up more often than three times in a lifetime.

*Break your resolutions if by any chance you've actually started them.

*Continue to let festering bitterness consume you till eventually one day you've forgotten who you used to be.

*Make a new friend. A real one. Don't collect virtual one's like Pokemon.

*Try and get away for Britain at least twice a year, even if you have to steal your mother's pension book to fund the trip. You won't be surprised how good the physical and psychological distance makes you feel.

*Popularity is overrated. You'll get more results and respect from actually being competent at what you do, in the age of incompetence and cutting corners. Whether it be writing a three minute pop song or masturbating a cyclist down in a park, excel and do it competently.

*Look after your teeth. Then you won't be mistook for a drug addict or a prostitute. You'll go down better in interviews.

*Continue to find Ed Balls a massacre of contradictions.

*Learn a new language every year. This year I'm having a go at Russian and Mandarin.

*Spend one hour every day experiencing/doing something you've never done/ felt before. It can be as pleasurable or as unpleasant as you would like it to be...make sure it's not illegal though and isn't harmful to others. And it shouldn't require a risk assessment.

*Don't watch TV for a year. Go to the cinema and theatre instead. Oh and there's libraries my beautiful proles.