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

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

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.

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