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...