Top Five. No particular order
Oasis - Dig Out Your Soul (I really didn't think they had it in them. I really really didn't. Fair play. An immense effort)
Fleet Foxes - Eponymous Fox (I like beards and melody. These have both in abundance. If they weren't so good, i'd set my pack of beagles on them)
Vampire Wikend - Eponymous Vampire (I fuckin hated these when i first heard them. Now i don't. It's impossible not to tap your foot and whistle to these)
Duffy - Rockferry (As the mists of time blur the boundaries between Dusty Springfield etc and this pastiche, we'll be left with a QUALITY soul album)
Elbow - Seldom Seen Dudes (I used to spend hours telling my ex-drummer that elbow were shit. Just to make him cry. I was wrong. Sorry Will)
MGMT - Oracular Spectacular (Any album that contains the lyric 'We'll choke on our vomit, and that will be the end' must be a good one. The squirly wurly arrangements are rather fine as well)
That's 6 albums!
Woooooooooooo
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Blackburn Feels The Wrath Of Ofcom
Veteran broadcaster and queen of the jungle Tony Blackburn has been found guilty by Ofcom of misleading his listener by running competitions that couldn’t be won. The quizzes ran on five editions of his show on BBC London 94.9 in 2005 and 2006. The shows were pre-recorded so there was no way to take part in them. Having found him guilty, Ofcom have taken the unprecedented step of allowing I’m A Celebrity presenters Ant and Dec to choose a punishment for the former winner of the show: “Blimey man!” Said Ant and Dec: “Wor Tony’s made a right pig’s ear of that quiz man. We’re gonna get him involved in a bush-tucker trial in the next series man.” After speaking to an insider at the show, I can exclusively reveal what lies in wait for the Vietnam veteran Blackburn. The celebrities will be starved like Pavlov’s dogs and fed only on PCP and amphetamines. Whilst Blackburn, 4’3, will be dropped into the jungle armed only with a toy light-sabre and a super-soaker 2000. The celebrities will then be given one hour to stalk and capture him before punching him to death and cooking him in an antique bathtub liberated from the set of Last Of The Summer Wine. I contacted Tony with the information and he took time out of his busy schedule smearing his own shit up the walls of his bedsit to give a defiant response: “Bring it on. I spent 18 months in the bush and I could snap all their necks in a heartbeat. They haven’t considered that I might kill my hunters? Fools. They don’t call me the Rambo of radio for nothing you know.” This reporter for one, will be keeping a close eye on the proceedings down-under.
Wednesday, 9 July 2008
The Longcut
I ventured up to Manchester to see them t'other week. They were fucking outstandingly ace. The new stuff is rate groovy. Shape-throwingly so... I managed to get a video of Transition. I'd have filmed a new song, but i forgot that my camera has the memory of an alzheimer's patient... ENJOY! Woooooooooooo
Monday, 7 July 2008
People at Wimbledon
Oh you know who you are. You're the ones with that nondescript middle class, southern, home counties accent. The ones who shout "Come on Roger!" before Mr Federer serves. The ones with Union Jacks painted on your cheeks. The ones who cackle uncontrollably when a line judge takes a serve to the bonce. The ones who shout "Come on Roger" and then clap for ten seconds after the umpire has called for quiet. The ones who caused me to smash a glass with my bare hands. As my metacarpals tensed with unadulterated rage. As you failed to sing and clap in time with the following ditty: "ROGER!, clap, clap, clap" - (Repeat until Roger is about to serve, and then clap for another ten seconds after the umpire has called for quiet)
This is you - ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
And i HATE you. I hate you more than Blakey hates Butler. I hate you more than Andy Murray hates the English. I hate you more than Tom hates Jerry. I hate you more than Rick Waller hates Ry-fucking-vita. Quite frankly, i hate you more than John Leslie hates himself.
Do you want to hear my plan you fuckers? It's a good 'un. I'm going to buy a ticket for the centre court. Towards the business-end of next years Wimbledon. I'm going to get snot-flying drunk. Yes. I shall make Withnail appear to be a teetotaller. And i shall wait. I shall wait until the last of you has shouted "Come on Andy!". I shall wait whilst you clap for ten seconds after the umpire has called for quiet. And then i shall make my move. Just see if i don't. I will proceed to stand up and shout. And by shout i mean shout. It won't be the sort of shout you will be used to. The sort of shout you give to your young oiks on a Sunday morning: "Hey Sebastian! Come away from those cows!" It will be a proper shout. The sort of shout that can't be achieved without forcing a pendulum of snot from your nose. The sort of shout that soaks anyone within a ten yard radius with the stale, booze-soaked spittle of an intensely angry man. "And pray what nugget of bile shall pass your lips?" I hear you ask. Well that's simple: "MURRAY YOU JOCK CUNT, I FUCKING HAAAAATE YOUUUUUUUUU"
Cliff will be cowering behind Brucie and Tarby. Sue Barker will be covered in the shit escaping from Tim Henman's arse. Andy Murray will have a solitary tear rolling down his cheek as a tumbleweed dances gracefully past his feet. And John McEnroe will be pissing himself laughing. And my job will be done.
Be warned tennis cunts
This is you - ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
And i HATE you. I hate you more than Blakey hates Butler. I hate you more than Andy Murray hates the English. I hate you more than Tom hates Jerry. I hate you more than Rick Waller hates Ry-fucking-vita. Quite frankly, i hate you more than John Leslie hates himself.
Do you want to hear my plan you fuckers? It's a good 'un. I'm going to buy a ticket for the centre court. Towards the business-end of next years Wimbledon. I'm going to get snot-flying drunk. Yes. I shall make Withnail appear to be a teetotaller. And i shall wait. I shall wait until the last of you has shouted "Come on Andy!". I shall wait whilst you clap for ten seconds after the umpire has called for quiet. And then i shall make my move. Just see if i don't. I will proceed to stand up and shout. And by shout i mean shout. It won't be the sort of shout you will be used to. The sort of shout you give to your young oiks on a Sunday morning: "Hey Sebastian! Come away from those cows!" It will be a proper shout. The sort of shout that can't be achieved without forcing a pendulum of snot from your nose. The sort of shout that soaks anyone within a ten yard radius with the stale, booze-soaked spittle of an intensely angry man. "And pray what nugget of bile shall pass your lips?" I hear you ask. Well that's simple: "MURRAY YOU JOCK CUNT, I FUCKING HAAAAATE YOUUUUUUUUU"
Cliff will be cowering behind Brucie and Tarby. Sue Barker will be covered in the shit escaping from Tim Henman's arse. Andy Murray will have a solitary tear rolling down his cheek as a tumbleweed dances gracefully past his feet. And John McEnroe will be pissing himself laughing. And my job will be done.
Be warned tennis cunts
Friday, 13 June 2008
Primal Scream
If you're going to email me and offer an exclusive bonus track from your forthcoming album, you're not going to woo me with a Stooges rip off.
Please get your electronic machines out and get a groove on
Please get your electronic machines out and get a groove on
Friday, 9 May 2008
Songbook For Next Year
This old man,
He told me,
Wayne Rooney has got VD,
With a knick knack paddywack,
Give a dog a bone,
Man Utd
FUCK OFF HOME!
He's just a poor little scouser,
His face is all battered and torn,
He made me feel sick,
So i hit him with a brick,
And now he can't sing anymore
In your Liverpool slums,
In your Liverpool slums,
You look in the dustbin for something to eat,
You find a dead dog and you think it's a treat,
In you Liverpool slums
Oh i do like to be beside the seaside,
Oh i do like to be beside the sea,
Oh i do like to stroll along the prom prom prom,
Where the brass band plays,
Tiddly om pom pom,
Fuck off West Brom,
Fuck off West Brom
With a packet of sweets and an ice-cream van,
Arsene Wenger's got Madeline McCann
If I had the wings of a sparrow,
If I had the arse of a crow,
I'd fly over Anfield tomorrow and shit on the bastards below below,
And shit on the bastards below
Sit down Pinocchio (Gareth Southgate)
Ryan Giggs Ryan Giggs,
Takes it up the bum,
Ryan Giggs Ryan Giggs,
Ferguson's his mum,
Sponosored by Reebok,
Looks like Mr Spock,
Ryan Giggs,
Ryan Giggs,
Ryan Giggs,
Ooooooooooooh wanky wanky,
wanky wanky wanky wanderers (Bolton not Wolves.
Ha!)
we're the best behaved supporters in the land,
we're the best behaved supporters in the land,
we're the best behaved supporters
best behaved supporters,
best behaved supporters in the land...............
.....................we're a right bunch of bastards when we lose,
we're a right bunch of bastards when we lose,
We're a right bunch of bastards,
right bunch of bastards,
right bunch of bastards when we lose
all things bright and beautiful,
all creatures great and small,
STOKE CITY rule the midlands,
and the Villa rule fuck all
We're city we're barmy,
We're off our fuckin heads,
fuckin heads,
fuckin heads
He's shit he's blue,
He eats meals for two,
Fat Frank,
Fat Frank
Fat Paris Hilton,
You're just a fat Paris Hilton,
Fat Paris Hilton,
You're just a fat Paris Hilton (Liverpool's Voronin)
Congratulations if you got this far.
I clearly have too much time on my hands don't i?
Ah well.
See you all in the Premiership
Ah yes!!
He told me,
Wayne Rooney has got VD,
With a knick knack paddywack,
Give a dog a bone,
Man Utd
FUCK OFF HOME!
He's just a poor little scouser,
His face is all battered and torn,
He made me feel sick,
So i hit him with a brick,
And now he can't sing anymore
In your Liverpool slums,
In your Liverpool slums,
You look in the dustbin for something to eat,
You find a dead dog and you think it's a treat,
In you Liverpool slums
Oh i do like to be beside the seaside,
Oh i do like to be beside the sea,
Oh i do like to stroll along the prom prom prom,
Where the brass band plays,
Tiddly om pom pom,
Fuck off West Brom,
Fuck off West Brom
With a packet of sweets and an ice-cream van,
Arsene Wenger's got Madeline McCann
If I had the wings of a sparrow,
If I had the arse of a crow,
I'd fly over Anfield tomorrow and shit on the bastards below below,
And shit on the bastards below
Sit down Pinocchio (Gareth Southgate)
Ryan Giggs Ryan Giggs,
Takes it up the bum,
Ryan Giggs Ryan Giggs,
Ferguson's his mum,
Sponosored by Reebok,
Looks like Mr Spock,
Ryan Giggs,
Ryan Giggs,
Ryan Giggs,
Ooooooooooooh wanky wanky,
wanky wanky wanky wanderers (Bolton not Wolves.
Ha!)
we're the best behaved supporters in the land,
we're the best behaved supporters in the land,
we're the best behaved supporters
best behaved supporters,
best behaved supporters in the land...............
.....................we're a right bunch of bastards when we lose,
we're a right bunch of bastards when we lose,
We're a right bunch of bastards,
right bunch of bastards,
right bunch of bastards when we lose
all things bright and beautiful,
all creatures great and small,
STOKE CITY rule the midlands,
and the Villa rule fuck all
We're city we're barmy,
We're off our fuckin heads,
fuckin heads,
fuckin heads
He's shit he's blue,
He eats meals for two,
Fat Frank,
Fat Frank
Fat Paris Hilton,
You're just a fat Paris Hilton,
Fat Paris Hilton,
You're just a fat Paris Hilton (Liverpool's Voronin)
Congratulations if you got this far.
I clearly have too much time on my hands don't i?
Ah well.
See you all in the Premiership
Ah yes!!
Monday, 5 May 2008
Sunday, 13 April 2008
Osama's Jihad Bakery - EXCLUSIVE
After months of covert surveillance and undercover investigation, we here at Tom Bath's world of entertainment can exclusively reveal that Osama Bin Laden is currently based in Longton, Stoke-on-Trent - not Afghanistan as was previously believed. As a front for his terrorist activities, he has set up an independent business called 'Osama's Jihad Bakery'. Based in a residential flat, he and his cohorts bake semtex into meat pies and export them around the globe. Our intrepid reporter, Tim Stockin, has spent months tracking the operation. After gaining the group's confidence, posing as an Al Jazeera hack, he was allowed an exclusive behind-the-scenes glimpse into their seedy and dangerous world.
Bin Laden pictured here tampering with a meat pie.
Wearing the uniform
Handling an explosive pie with ruthless cool
A full-frontal pose
When quizzed about his methods, Bin Laden was succinct with his reply: "I send the pies to my friends. Then they sell them to the infidels. Whose heads then explode. I'm a genius."
Longton Police have been informed of the operation, with a police source saying: "We'll definitely check it out once we've nabbed the kids who smashed the front windows of Matalans."
With top flight detective work like that, the war on terror must be nearing a triumphant end.
As for my part in it. I think i deserve the Nobel Peace Prize. And nothing less.
Bin Laden pictured here tampering with a meat pie.
Wearing the uniform
Handling an explosive pie with ruthless cool
A full-frontal pose
When quizzed about his methods, Bin Laden was succinct with his reply: "I send the pies to my friends. Then they sell them to the infidels. Whose heads then explode. I'm a genius."
Longton Police have been informed of the operation, with a police source saying: "We'll definitely check it out once we've nabbed the kids who smashed the front windows of Matalans."
With top flight detective work like that, the war on terror must be nearing a triumphant end.
As for my part in it. I think i deserve the Nobel Peace Prize. And nothing less.
Pottermouth's Battle Cry
I'm welling up here. After 26 years of watching a load of shite at Stoke it finally seems that we may reach the promised land of the Premiership.
As Pottermouth says.
"Do it for the man who shouts "SENTINEEEEEEEL"
Ps. Osama Bin Laden has been spotted in Longton. Full details up within the next couple of days
Pps. This Stoke fan below should replace John Motson as a commentator. Profound, prophetic, proud and most importantly. Profane!
Thursday, 10 April 2008
James Noir
Sorry for the lack of activity on here recently. I've been mithered about lots of other stuff. I have found time to buy Jim Noir's latest album though. I think you want to do the same!
It's fantasmagorical
It's fantasmagorical
Thursday, 20 March 2008
Chinglish
I never knew such literal translation existed. Until today that is. As i was mindlessly thumbing through Tyson's Daily Express, desperately trying to avoid the pit of despair that is BBC 1's morning schedule. Unless you're willing to build a house entirely from antiques that you bought at an auction and then sell said house for a profit at another auction to fund a skydiving trip for your elderly mother then it's just not relevant. They should put some different programmes on. Good ones. Like 'Wake Up With Cliff'. Presented live from Cliff Richard's bedsit. Where trained experts venture in and poke him with sticks until he wakes up. And then film him as he reheats last night's chicken doner and chips whilst swigging deeply from the Carling can with the fag ash in it. With commentary from David Attenborough... Now THAT’S entertainment.
Anyhoo. I digress. The Express has carried a double page spread detailing how Chinese Olympic bosses have released a series of bizarre signs for English-speaking visitors in preparation for the Beijing games.
It features such nuggets as ‘Crap Eggs with Bamboo Flavour’. ‘Please don’t hurt the animals while teasing them’. ‘Slip carefully’. And my personal favourite. ‘Naïve Bear Paradise’. I’m thinking seriously about finding this place and getting involved. Tell the thick fuckers that I’m from the picnic basket police. And if they don’t give up their loot, I’ll be forced to sell them to a Russian man of thorough disrepute. Who’ll tie a rope to their neck and make them dance in return for a damn good flogging.
Apparently, Beijing is full of these Chinglish curiosities. Here’s a few that I’ve found on le web.
Spread to fuck the fruit. Does this mean that there is a spreadable substance which when it comes into contact with fruit will make it go rotten? Or is there a paste that must be smeared onto one's member in preparation for penetrating a pineapple? Hmmmmm
Garden with Curled Poo. Those cats are a bloody nuisance. Mind you. I think i'd leave a few presents if the owners of the garden had just cooked and eaten my Mum and Dad. That's just bad karma. They should just do what Tyson does and throw old shoes at them out of the window. That scares them off a treat.
And finally...
ICE BOY TAKEN TO THE STREETS. I really haven't got a clue about this one. Except maybe that, judging by the picture, some bizarre sexual experiment involving a bucket of ice and the Emperor's daughter has gone terribly wrong. With the protagonist being paraded through the streets and beaten as a warning to any other would-be deviants who are thinking about corrupting the head honcho's little girl.
Chinglish. It's now my favourite language. It's also this chap's favourite. He's even written a song about it. Remember kids. The answer is Chinglish. Huzzah!
Oh, and by the way. If any of you are wondering who Tyson is. He's currently walking around the house chuntering to himself because the boiler has exploded.
Throb on
Anyhoo. I digress. The Express has carried a double page spread detailing how Chinese Olympic bosses have released a series of bizarre signs for English-speaking visitors in preparation for the Beijing games.
It features such nuggets as ‘Crap Eggs with Bamboo Flavour’. ‘Please don’t hurt the animals while teasing them’. ‘Slip carefully’. And my personal favourite. ‘Naïve Bear Paradise’. I’m thinking seriously about finding this place and getting involved. Tell the thick fuckers that I’m from the picnic basket police. And if they don’t give up their loot, I’ll be forced to sell them to a Russian man of thorough disrepute. Who’ll tie a rope to their neck and make them dance in return for a damn good flogging.
Apparently, Beijing is full of these Chinglish curiosities. Here’s a few that I’ve found on le web.
Spread to fuck the fruit. Does this mean that there is a spreadable substance which when it comes into contact with fruit will make it go rotten? Or is there a paste that must be smeared onto one's member in preparation for penetrating a pineapple? Hmmmmm
Garden with Curled Poo. Those cats are a bloody nuisance. Mind you. I think i'd leave a few presents if the owners of the garden had just cooked and eaten my Mum and Dad. That's just bad karma. They should just do what Tyson does and throw old shoes at them out of the window. That scares them off a treat.
And finally...
ICE BOY TAKEN TO THE STREETS. I really haven't got a clue about this one. Except maybe that, judging by the picture, some bizarre sexual experiment involving a bucket of ice and the Emperor's daughter has gone terribly wrong. With the protagonist being paraded through the streets and beaten as a warning to any other would-be deviants who are thinking about corrupting the head honcho's little girl.
Chinglish. It's now my favourite language. It's also this chap's favourite. He's even written a song about it. Remember kids. The answer is Chinglish. Huzzah!
Oh, and by the way. If any of you are wondering who Tyson is. He's currently walking around the house chuntering to himself because the boiler has exploded.
Throb on
Sunday, 16 March 2008
Neu Muszak
Here for your viewing and listening pleasure are a few new releases to get your lugs around.
Enjoy!
Neon Neon - I Lust U
Squirly fun with Super Furry Gruff and Boom Bip. Ft Cate Le Bon on guest vox. Ba da boom ba da bing.
http://www.myspace.com/neonx2
Moby - Alice
Bald vegan hip-hop ft Aynzil and the 419 Squad on guest vox. From the forthcoming album 'Last Night.' I wonder what advert will license this song?! Something dark. Like Guinness. Or Black Magic. Or Pig Pudding. Proper Bo.
http://www.myspace.com/moby
The Whip - Trash
New 'un from the Mancs. They're trying a bit hard to be edgy here i reckon. It's no Divebomb or Sister Siam. And it's not as good as Trash by Suede.
http://www.myspace.com/thewhipmanchester
PJ Harvey - The Devil
3rd single from Polly's White Chalk album.Single of the week by a long (white) chalk. Ho ho!
http://www.myspace.com/pjharvey
Enjoy!
Neon Neon - I Lust U
Squirly fun with Super Furry Gruff and Boom Bip. Ft Cate Le Bon on guest vox. Ba da boom ba da bing.
http://www.myspace.com/neonx2
Moby - Alice
Bald vegan hip-hop ft Aynzil and the 419 Squad on guest vox. From the forthcoming album 'Last Night.' I wonder what advert will license this song?! Something dark. Like Guinness. Or Black Magic. Or Pig Pudding. Proper Bo.
http://www.myspace.com/moby
The Whip - Trash
New 'un from the Mancs. They're trying a bit hard to be edgy here i reckon. It's no Divebomb or Sister Siam. And it's not as good as Trash by Suede.
http://www.myspace.com/thewhipmanchester
PJ Harvey - The Devil
3rd single from Polly's White Chalk album.Single of the week by a long (white) chalk. Ho ho!
http://www.myspace.com/pjharvey
Tuesday, 11 March 2008
Chaos and insomnia in the chippy
I ventured down to Twigg Street Fish Bar on Friday. Bentilee's premier chish n' fip shop. I was 3rd in the queue and hank marvin. To stave off boredom i was observing the man with one arm as he loaded the deep-fryer with assorted cod and haddock fillets. They reckon that blind people develop bat-like hearing to compensate for their lack of sight. Well this fella has developed supersonic frying techniques in lieu of his left arm. It's fascinating to watch. He batters those fish with the efficiency of a terminator chef. Unfortunately i didn't have my camera with me to document this. So we'll pretend that this is him.
Admittedly our protagonist is somewhat rougher round the gills than this chap. But it's nice to have a mental picture.
You'd think a trip to the chippy couldn't possibly get any more exciting than analysing the routine of a one-armed fry-cook... Well so did i. Until this man came in.
Again, this isn't really the man from the shop. His mullet was better. And his tooth was showing considerable signs of decay.
Johnny one-arm: "Owat Tez. At orate?" (Hello Terence. How do you do?)
Tez: "Ayup John. Ah'm better nah this wik's oo'er." (Hello John. I'm feeling rather better now that this week is over.)
Johnny one-arm: "Bloody'ell shag. How's that?" (Cripes old bean. Why do you say that?)
Tez: "Ah've 'ad nite but a wik o' insomnia and chaos." (My week has been fuelled by insomnia and chaos.)
Pissed myself i did. Got my chips and beat a hasty retreat.
And i've spent the whole weekend wondering what this man has been up to. His comments have haunted me. Like i'd just watched Schindler's List or listened to Joy Division's last album. Was the insomnia caused by daytime chaos? Had he followed the milkman and swapped everybody's orders around? Then lay awake guilt ridden because number 34 have got 2 pints of sterilized instead of their orange juice?
Or did his insomnia trigger bouts of twilight madness? Had he tossed and turned once too often and snapped? Rising from his bed, taking to the streets and setting off every car alarm within a mile radius?
Either way. This man deserves to be on tv... I know where i'm going for my tea this Friday.
Admittedly our protagonist is somewhat rougher round the gills than this chap. But it's nice to have a mental picture.
You'd think a trip to the chippy couldn't possibly get any more exciting than analysing the routine of a one-armed fry-cook... Well so did i. Until this man came in.
Again, this isn't really the man from the shop. His mullet was better. And his tooth was showing considerable signs of decay.
Johnny one-arm: "Owat Tez. At orate?" (Hello Terence. How do you do?)
Tez: "Ayup John. Ah'm better nah this wik's oo'er." (Hello John. I'm feeling rather better now that this week is over.)
Johnny one-arm: "Bloody'ell shag. How's that?" (Cripes old bean. Why do you say that?)
Tez: "Ah've 'ad nite but a wik o' insomnia and chaos." (My week has been fuelled by insomnia and chaos.)
Pissed myself i did. Got my chips and beat a hasty retreat.
And i've spent the whole weekend wondering what this man has been up to. His comments have haunted me. Like i'd just watched Schindler's List or listened to Joy Division's last album. Was the insomnia caused by daytime chaos? Had he followed the milkman and swapped everybody's orders around? Then lay awake guilt ridden because number 34 have got 2 pints of sterilized instead of their orange juice?
Or did his insomnia trigger bouts of twilight madness? Had he tossed and turned once too often and snapped? Rising from his bed, taking to the streets and setting off every car alarm within a mile radius?
Either way. This man deserves to be on tv... I know where i'm going for my tea this Friday.
Friday, 7 March 2008
Vanessa & The O’s & The Free Download Extravaganza
I am poor. If I were an animal, I’d be a mouse. And if I were a mouse, I’d live in a church. And if I were a mouse that lived in a church, I’d owe the mouse bailiffs. And if the mouse bailiffs came a’ knocking, I’d have to tell them that they couldn’t have my last piece of cheese. Or my mouse babies would starve. I’d also tell them how irresponsible it was for them to give my mouse wife a credit card. Being the terrible spendthrift that she is. Ordering bloody shoes and dresses off mouse-bay. She must think I’m made of money - Anyway. The point is. I haven’t got any disposable income. Meaning that my addiction to music must be fed through illegal downloading. Which is all well and good until I can’t find what I’m looking for on le web. Which is precisely what happened yesterday.
I was tootling along the myspace highway when I came across a band. Vanessa & The O’s. From French France. I thought they were better than sliced bread that’d been sliced in half again and again and again until it was simply bread paper. They’re brilliant. More on their tunes later though. I checked my usual download sources but to no avail. I checked Amazon, where their album currently retails at £17.99. Which is precisely £17 more than I can afford. As a desperate last attempt, I typed “Vanessa & The O’s free download” into Google. More out of vain hope than anything. And there it was. On a site called we7. So I steamed in and got the album. Made myself a mug of tea and prepared myself for a jamboree of cosmopolitan French pop noir.
“THIS MUSIC IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY CAFÉ DIRECT, THE UK’S LEADING FAIR TRADE HOT DRINKS COMPANY, DELICIOUS TEA, COFFEE AND HOT CHOCOLATE….. AND NOW ON WITH YOUR SEXY POP MUSIC.” She didn’t say the last bit. I made that up. But still. I nearly fell off my chair. There’s a 10 second advert before every tune. It’s like listening to the album via a local commercial radio station. There’s an advert for a Sony Ericsson shaky walkman phone, one for some iPod speakers and ones for various other bits of expensive tat that people who have to download music for free can’t afford. Which got me thinking. They’ve missed the point here. Their target audience are essentially tight arses. Surely the ads should reflect this. “CARLING. 8 FOR A FIVER AT BARGAIN BOOZE.” “FREE BIG-MAC IF YOU PRESENT THIS DOWNLOAD AT PARTICIPATING RESTAURANTS.” “DUBIOUS GEORGE HAS GOT THE NEW INDIANA JONES FILM ON PIRATE COPY. HE’LL BE IN THE SWAN WITH 2 NECKS FROM 8PM. 3 SQUID TO YOU SIR. BARGAIN.” It makes perfect sense.
You could even take it one step further. Tailor-make the ads for the bands. Before the Keane or Coldplay album you could advertise Tena Lady for all the bed-wetters. FHM and WKD could hop onto the Kaiser Chiefs’ LP and ensnare all the self-styled ironic lads. Dulux could plug tins of magnolia paint before James Blunt starts his whinging. And as for Babyshambles. You could give your friendly neighbourhood drug-pusher a platform to air his wares. Supporting local independent businesses. That’s what it’s all about.
So what about Vanessa & The O’s? Well they are French. So you’d probably be best off plugging a beret shop. Or a City & Guilds in rudeness. Actually, I’m doing them a disservice with that last one. I love them. I could waffle on about the Velvet Underground circa Sunday Morning, or Serge Gainsbourg, or Bacharach at his loosest. But there’s no point. These are all clearly influences. Yet V & The O’s are much more than the sum of these reference points. I think the biggest compliment i could pay them would be to say that if they were a film, they’d be Amelie. That might be incredibly lazy on my behalf but i just can’t get the comparison out of my head. I think it’s the accent. Kerry Katona just couldn’t pull this album off. And nor could Janice Battersby pull the role of Amelie off. It’s the respective Frenchness of them that makes them special and gives you that warm tingly sensation. Being British, this album gives me some much needed respite from listening to lads from northern shitholes moan about how shit their particular hole is. They don’t look like this either.
I think it’d be rude if she wasn’t extremely glamorous. I don’t even know what the O’s look like. They’re probably too busy eating Polos and Honey Nut Loops to have their picture taken.
http://www.we7.com/
http://www.myspace.com/vanessaandtheos
I was tootling along the myspace highway when I came across a band. Vanessa & The O’s. From French France. I thought they were better than sliced bread that’d been sliced in half again and again and again until it was simply bread paper. They’re brilliant. More on their tunes later though. I checked my usual download sources but to no avail. I checked Amazon, where their album currently retails at £17.99. Which is precisely £17 more than I can afford. As a desperate last attempt, I typed “Vanessa & The O’s free download” into Google. More out of vain hope than anything. And there it was. On a site called we7. So I steamed in and got the album. Made myself a mug of tea and prepared myself for a jamboree of cosmopolitan French pop noir.
“THIS MUSIC IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY CAFÉ DIRECT, THE UK’S LEADING FAIR TRADE HOT DRINKS COMPANY, DELICIOUS TEA, COFFEE AND HOT CHOCOLATE….. AND NOW ON WITH YOUR SEXY POP MUSIC.” She didn’t say the last bit. I made that up. But still. I nearly fell off my chair. There’s a 10 second advert before every tune. It’s like listening to the album via a local commercial radio station. There’s an advert for a Sony Ericsson shaky walkman phone, one for some iPod speakers and ones for various other bits of expensive tat that people who have to download music for free can’t afford. Which got me thinking. They’ve missed the point here. Their target audience are essentially tight arses. Surely the ads should reflect this. “CARLING. 8 FOR A FIVER AT BARGAIN BOOZE.” “FREE BIG-MAC IF YOU PRESENT THIS DOWNLOAD AT PARTICIPATING RESTAURANTS.” “DUBIOUS GEORGE HAS GOT THE NEW INDIANA JONES FILM ON PIRATE COPY. HE’LL BE IN THE SWAN WITH 2 NECKS FROM 8PM. 3 SQUID TO YOU SIR. BARGAIN.” It makes perfect sense.
You could even take it one step further. Tailor-make the ads for the bands. Before the Keane or Coldplay album you could advertise Tena Lady for all the bed-wetters. FHM and WKD could hop onto the Kaiser Chiefs’ LP and ensnare all the self-styled ironic lads. Dulux could plug tins of magnolia paint before James Blunt starts his whinging. And as for Babyshambles. You could give your friendly neighbourhood drug-pusher a platform to air his wares. Supporting local independent businesses. That’s what it’s all about.
So what about Vanessa & The O’s? Well they are French. So you’d probably be best off plugging a beret shop. Or a City & Guilds in rudeness. Actually, I’m doing them a disservice with that last one. I love them. I could waffle on about the Velvet Underground circa Sunday Morning, or Serge Gainsbourg, or Bacharach at his loosest. But there’s no point. These are all clearly influences. Yet V & The O’s are much more than the sum of these reference points. I think the biggest compliment i could pay them would be to say that if they were a film, they’d be Amelie. That might be incredibly lazy on my behalf but i just can’t get the comparison out of my head. I think it’s the accent. Kerry Katona just couldn’t pull this album off. And nor could Janice Battersby pull the role of Amelie off. It’s the respective Frenchness of them that makes them special and gives you that warm tingly sensation. Being British, this album gives me some much needed respite from listening to lads from northern shitholes moan about how shit their particular hole is. They don’t look like this either.
I think it’d be rude if she wasn’t extremely glamorous. I don’t even know what the O’s look like. They’re probably too busy eating Polos and Honey Nut Loops to have their picture taken.
http://www.we7.com/
http://www.myspace.com/vanessaandtheos
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