Wow! Beardblog is no longer a one man enterprise. I have been awaiting Neil's blogging debut and he hasn't disappointed me. Yes, yes, y'all, the Ferrell will appear in Beard #2. Neil and myself have long been aware of his genius. He's the only good thing about Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (now there's a good subject for Witness the Shitness - Kevin Smith. One good film and the rest lazy bullshit designed to placate your fanboys). I particularly like an SNL sketch where our hero plays Blue Oyster Cult's cowbell player. Christopher Walken is the producer. Now, if that isn't a recipe for comedic delictation you can go eat a Pot Noodle. While watching Vicar of Dibley. Yeah, motherfucker.
This has thrown me off my original idea for a post and I'm a bit drunk so I'm not quite sure what it was supposed to be. My apologies. Just back from seeing the mighty Fractal Jack, Glasgow's metal uberlords. They totally, like, fucken rocked, dude! But seriously, they were awesome. Having crossed the extreme noise rubicon that was Borbetomagus, I'm ready for anything. The first band on were fucking lame. They claimed to be trash, but they were feeble. The drummer was rotten. Utterly lacking a sense of rhythm. The most predictable fills - uh, just pish. But the Jack kicked it. The song titles alone should indicate their mightiness - Rock Chocolate, 5 Minute Trash Workout...
I liked the band beforehand. The singer was a diminutive trash goblin, glorifying in his premature balding. And they had a flying V. I even bumped into them on the train home. These boys are from Stirling? Where have they been hiding? They kick ass.
Anyway, my point. I had a point. (Yes, I'm aware I'm ripping off Bill Hicks, so what'cha gonna do, peckerhead. Ah, that's Pryor now. Sorry, I'm being very abusive. But it's all very affectionate. I'm not an aggresive person at all. I love puppies and pretty girls and candy floss, y'know.)
So I left a message on the Giant Sand website where the great Howe Gelb occasionally posts himself. I was simply expressing my opinion that the Sand should come and play Glasgow. They've got a London date scheduled for October, and that's it for these isles. Let's start a campaign. I'm gonna talk to Dep at Monorail about this. An instore Howe Gelb at Mono would be amazing. Maybe Steven Pastel can sort it out. Here's hoping! Power to the people.
As I write I'm playing the beautiful, elegiac Chore of Enchantment. I find it very moving. It's dedicated to Howe's buddy Rainer, the slide guitar genius, and ends with a snippet of Rainer's home recording - just a preciously sweet dobro doodle. Such a touching way to end the album. And in the context of such gorgeous songs as Bottom Line Man, Astonished, Raw, Dirty From the Rain. Howe is a great lyricist. "Something's in the water, besides a moon that don't know when to quit", the bit about the gumspots spelling out your name in Astonished...
Can't wait till the new album in September. The track on the Uncut CD is good, but I'm sure there is more, much more. I wanna go to Arizona! Feel the sand, the dust on my brow...
One last thing - Channel Four showed that shitty controversial videos show last night. Hmmph!
That fucking genetic disorder Jack Osbourne thought the Prodigy/Jonas Ackerlund's indefensibly nasty Smack My Bitch Up video was, like, brilliant, and not at all misogynist, 'cos, like, it's a WOMAN that does all that fucked up shit. Such a feeble argument. The fact that the camera/protagonist looks into the mirror to reveal it's a woman who's been snorting, fighting and fucking her way through the whole sordid affair makes it no less misogynistic - in fact, it's all the more misogynistic 'cos it's simply a pathetic male fantasy. Jonas Ackerlund said it was funny. Prick. And has anyone actually seen Jack Osbourne's god-awful, foot-suckingly bad MTV show. Where he bangs on about "chicks with big knockers". It seems that MTV has gone from presenting subversive shows like Beavis and Butthead to celebrating the very idiocy and consumer driven vacuity Mike Judge's great cartoon set out to satirise. I mean, Punk'd? What's that all about? Jeremy Beadle with trucker caps as one commentator put it. Ashton Kutcher can go get fuck'd.
Right, that's enough of my ranting. Night all!
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