The Beard Files Vol 2

Some more stuff we couldn't fit in the current issue...


Elizabeth Anka Vajagic
Nostalgia / Pain EP
(Constellation)

Something of a stunning if bleak chanteuse, our Liz: the hair-raising Croatian’s long, dark lamentations are expressed in a haunting, unsettling divergence of deep, yawning resonance and blistering shrieks.

Vajagic’s intoxicating sonic contortions are entwined by members of Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Silver Mt Zion and Shalabi Effect: Michel Langevin’s percussion impels and propels Vajagic’s orgasmic death-throes; Fluffy Erskine’s whistling, ephemeral, bowed miscellany incites an evanescent dread; while Sam Shalabi’s benevolent guitars deliver exquisite shimmers of hope. Vajagic’s primal, rasping emissions circumscribe the thrilling ebb and climactic resolutions of long-form mourning and instrumental overtures.

The Nostalgia / Pain EP – excellent if harrowing value at over 30 minutes, and swaddled in utterly beautifully packaging – is the follow-up to Vajagic’s 2004 debut album. It resumes her unswerving, mesmeric passage through spacious noise and onerous improv: her custom-shattering, bleeding art is leaden as terror and bright as a pin.
Nicola Meighan

The Rogers Sisters
“Three Fingers”
(Too Pure)

In the midst of the great NYC indie-rock deluge of 2002/03, real-life sisters Jennifer and Laura Rogers, plus bass-slinging non-female, unrelated honorary “sister” Miyuki Furtado, were one of the few groups who managed to keep their collective head (and shoulders) above the ever-rising waterline. This was due largely to “Purely Evil”, a debut album which not only managed to ride the angular crest of the new New Wave of New Wave wave, but also, by virtue of it’s infectious unpretentiousness and righteous disregard for the vagaries of fashion, succeeded in showing up many of their competitors and contemporaries for the clueless, cripplingly hip style-mag photo-shoot extras that many of them undoubtedly were. Here was a group intent on bringing as much B-52’s as Gang of Four to the party, and managing to pull it off while sounding like they weren’t even trying. This stop-gap follow-up (it was originally released in the States as a 7-track EP, but has been expanded to 11 songs for the UK) sees the trio eschewing the ramshackle, lo-fi aesthetic of their first full-length for slicker production values courtesy of knob-twiddler Tim Barnes, but surprisingly the new sound dulls none of their spikiness, and indeed rather becomes the more confident and mature song-writing on display throughout. “The Secrets of Civilisation” finds room for a muted string arrangement, while “5 Months” sees them flirting with low-level electronica, and “Fantasies are Nice”, a blistering attack on the walking coma of aspirational avarice that constitutes much of modern life, boasts an ace blast of sax skronk. Why their label thought this excellent little record needed expansion remains something of a mystery; the French and Japanese-language versions “Fantasies…” and “45 Prayers” respectively positively reek of filler, though only a fool wouldn’t delight in the inclusion of their wonderful take on Capt. Beefheart’s “Zig-Zag Wanderer”. If, on their second album proper, the Sisters can reconcile the growing confidence and maturity of these songs to the sense of rambunctious playfulness that characterised their debut (and which, alas, is somewhat missing from this otherwise excellent set) then they really will become a major force to be reckoned with.
Ian MacBeth

Dead Fly Buchowski
Land Of The Rough
(Beggars Banquet)

Psychedelic blues-punk? Sounds promising. But sadly, Dead Fly Buchowski are about as psychedelic as a cup of Typhoo and as punk as Michael Howard. Land Of The Rough sits somewhere between the stadium grunge of Pearl Jam’s Vs and The Doors at their most flatulent. Roddy Campbell’s puffed chest growlin’ and wailin’ (one part Robert Plant to two parts Eddie Vedder) is amusing at first, but his continual roars of “whoa yeahhharrgh” soon sap the will to live. Straight ahead rockers like ‘Russian Doll’ and ‘Blackout’ are solid, but nowhere as heavy or sludgy as they need to be. When they attempt to do swirling and epic it all gets a bit Spinal Tap. There’s a song here called ‘Ground Nero’, about the sacking of Delphi. Need I say more?
Stewart Smith

Palimpsest Festival

If you live down Cambridge way there's only one place to be this Saturday - The Palimpsest Festival. Organised by the good people at Harvest Time Recordings, this is an all day even of new music and outsider folk sounds it features Beard cover star Alasdair Roberts, Josephine Foster, Killa Mi And L'Au, Lionshare, Dan Merrill, Fuzzy Lights, UM and Djs including American Booze and Plan B's Frances May Morgan. There are even projections and a record stall. Wish I was there! It all takes place in All Saints Church, Jesus Lane, Cambridge and doors open at 2pm.

World domination continues apace...

Well, kinda. The good people of Edinburgh can now buy Beard #4 in the excellent Analogue Books and Avalanche Records, Cockburn Street.

And they should be on sale in London and Manchester by the weekend...

In further Beard developments, I've now set up a flickr site, so everyone can have a look at lovely Beard photos. Not much on there at the moment, but it'll be particularly useful for festivals, gigs and behind the scenes scandal. And there's a link to Conn's far superior photos of course!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/beardmag/

We've also finally arrived on myspace, just as Lord Of All Evil Rupert Murdoch has taken it over. Oh well, it hasn't stopped me watching the Simpsons I suppose. www.myspace.com/beardmag

Nothing to do with Beard, other than the fact we're all huge Johnny Cash fans, but here's the trailer for Walk The Line, starring Joaqin Phoenix as The Man In Black. He's too swarthy for the skinny, speed freak young Cash, but he's got the facial tics. Film looks a bit cheesy though, and why do they have pale cover versions instead of the real thing on the soundtrack? Hmmm. I'll still go see it of course.

Save Calton Studios!

Legendary Edinburgh venue Calton Studios is threatened with closure following complaints about noise from the residents of yuppie flats erected less than six months ago. Having seen the likes of Damo Suzuki there, I'd be sad to see it go. A petition has been organised. Here's what the campaigners have to say:

"This is typical of the over development of Edinburgh by property developers
who seem to think it's fine to throw up a set of badly built small flats
next to nightclub without proper sound insulation, charge a fortune and then
expect the nightclub to close as a solution to their bad planning.
Calton Studios, or Studio 24 as it is now known is one of the best
'underground scene' venues in Scotland. Currently it is home to a lot of
bands and its most popular nights are the goth/metal institutions called
the Misssion and the Mission Jr (an under 18's version) which are both
hugely popular amonst the kids in black. More famously it is known as the
home of Pure, the famous and seminal techno club of the late eighties and
early nineties. Nirvana also played their back in the day."

Here's the petition. You know what to do folks!

In other news, I've been interviewed about Beard for Diskant!

The Beard files vol 1

In the first of a series of outtakes from the new issue of Beard, here's my review of the new Fannies album.

Teenage Fanclub - Man Made (PeMa)

It’s all Nick Hornby’s fault. Teenage Fanclub remain one of our most cherished bands, but for some they can’t help but be tainted by association with the progenitor of bloke-lit. In his infuriatingly conservative 31 Songs Hornby pitches Suicide’s riveting serial killer epic ‘Frankie Teardrop’ against the Fannies’ sublime ‘Ain’t That Enough’. Being freaked out by the former’s blood-curdling screams and sleazy electro throb is fine when you’re an angry young man, he avers, but it’s something you grow out of. What he wants is a nice tune, chiming guitars and sweet harmonies. Those things the Fanclub have in abundance, but they deserve better than being lionised by the high priest of 50 quid bloke solipsism.
But I protest too much. Music isn’t about having to choose between “difficult” and “comforting”. And Teenage Fanclub, while not exactly radical, don’t fit so neatly into Hornby’s safe world of record collection rock. Collaborations with underground heroes like Jad Fair and John McEntire are not the stuff which dad rock dreams are made of. The Fanclub might make classic pop, but they’re not retro dullards. Man Made makes that point in vivid colours.
Some reviewers have sought to place the album’s sound somewhere between the lush classicism of Songs From Northern Britain and the fuzzy warmth of Grand Prix, but that only tells half the story. Mc Entire’s production is relatively spare, but each voice and instrument is deployed so deftly it sounds rich. Norman Blake’s ‘It’s All In My Mind’ may have a unforgettable Byrdsian melody but rather than jangle the clean guitars chug over an insistent floor tom beat that could almost be described as motorik. Almost. Towards the end, Raymond McGinlay returns from a trip to Joe Meek’s studio with a wobbly laser beam guitar solo. It’s not exactly Neu!, but it's ace, an instant Fannies classic.
Initially Love’s ‘Save’ sounds a little like REM’s ‘All The Way To Reno’, based as it is around a Tex-Mex flavoured chromatic chord sequence, but where the Athenians’ song sounded forced, the Fannie’s effort glides into a stomping chorus with apparent ease, given an elegent lift by John McCusker’s shimmering Philly soul violin.
REM come to mind once more in Blake’s ‘Cells’, a melancholy acoustic ballad that has a grace Stipe and co seem to have lost in their pointless bid to compete with stadium bores like U2.
It’s a perfect summer album of course. Stick this on your walkman and go for a walk in the park. Stroll along sun dappled gardens as ‘Fallen Leaves’ skips by on a shimmer of tremolo organ, offering crystalline kisses of surf guitar. Bug out to ‘Born Under A Bad Signs’ fidgety guitar spasms, McGinlay channelling the spirit of both J Mascis and Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy. And then there’s the gorgeous ‘Time Stops’, Gerry Love’s sweet vocals peeking over a bed of cotton candy guitar fuzz, while Frances McDonald bashes out a Northern Soul backbeat. There’s even a beautiful Jim O’Rourke style acoustic guitar break.
A wonderful return from Glasgow’s favourite pop uncles.

Beard #4 launch

To launch the new issue of the award winning Beard zine we’re hosting a free night of live music, fun and facial hair at Glasgow’s Mono bar on Monday July 11.

Dedicated to music, arts and facial hair, Beard was awarded Best Music Fanzine at the EMAP Fanzine Awards 2005. The judges said: "Stood out like a beacon. It has loads of great ideas, illustrations and an ingenious use of language. And very funny indeed"

Headlining the show are Beard favourites The Sky At Night. One of the finest young bands in Glasgow, TSAN combine the dreamy elegance of Galaxie 500 with a country tinged melancholy. Their self released album, Hope For Dummies, has been a word of mouth underground hit, and they’ve already supported the likes of Damon & Naomi and Belle & Sebastian’s Stevie Jackson.

Joining the party all the way from over the ocean: Atlanta, Georgia's indie-rock maestro Mack Messiah. Mack has been exploring the outer limits of the guitar-bass-drum paradigm and has promised something a bit special when he unveils his new backing band at this exclusive warm-up performance for his first full Scottish tour.

Fresh from wowing the crowds at Glasgow’s Tenement Fair, country-fried power-popsters Skeleton Bob complete the line up. Think Evan Dando, Jonathan Richman and Uncle Tupelo and smile.

Filling in the gaps will be a motley crew of Beard DJs, spinning a dazzling and perverse range of tunes. Expect anything from The Dirtbombs to Os Mutantes, MIA to Springsteen.

There will also be a chance to pick up the new issue of Beard, featuring cult artists from Scotland and beyond. Outsider legend Daniel Johnston tells us what inspires his heartbreaking songs, while fellow Texans …And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of The Dead talk politics and bling.
We delve into the mythic truths of folk bard Alasdair Roberts, discuss David Lynch with Sons And Daughters, and meet Glasgow’s most literate new band, My Latest Novel. We jet off with International Airport and find electro-popsters Multiplies dreaming of dolphins.
All this and a plethora of reviews, rants, comic strips and whiskery nonsense.

The return of Singles Club

Single of the Week!

The Pipettes
ABC
(Transgressive Records)

The Pipettes know that it’s the little touches that make the difference. An indie-pop take on the 60s girl group aesthetic, everything about them is perfect: the polka-dot dresses, the backing band’s matching tank tops, the choreographed hand movements and dance routines. The songs are witty and finely crafted nuggets of beat-pop, the lyrics an post-riot girl take on the teen melodramas of their spiritual heroines. If the Shangri-Las had gone to Grange Hill they might have come up with something like ‘Judy’, in which the protagonist falls in with the local bad girl but soon learns to see through her. ‘ABC’ wags a finger (Pips gigs involve a great deal of finger wagging, but school marms they ain’t) at bookish boys who’ve forgotten to be men. Finally, there’s Simon Says, a cheeky ode to mild S&M. Apparently Stuart Murdoch has a girl group project on the go, but he’ll be hard pressed to match the Pipettes for sassy, saucy fun.

Non-Londoners can order the single from Transgressive Records

Basement Jaxx feat Lisa Kekaula
U Don’t Know Me
(XL)

Not as good as ‘Good Luck’, their previous collaboration with Bellrays belter Lisa Kekaula, but an entertaining slab of punky disco nonetheless, even if the chorus is half-inched from Goldfrapp’s ‘Strict Machine’ (which was half-inched from Donna Summer in the first place). Kekaula’s take-no-shit vocals stand up to the slightly too polite garage guitars and bloopy synths. The ‘JaxxHouz radio edit’ is superior to the slower original, jacking up the beat and adding plenty of laser beam noises to a typically dense track.

Sons n Stripes

Thanks to Neil for keeping Beard blog alive this past month while I've been moving flat. I'm still not online at home, so Partick library has been my second office effectively. Beard 4 will be with you at the end of the month (honest!) and it's gonna blow your minds!
In the meantime, here are a couple of reviews of new albums out this week.

Sons and Daughters
The Repulsion Box
(Domino)

If David Lynch was to hold a ceilidh Sons and Daughters would be the perfect house band. This, the band’s full length debut, is a raw, energetic affair, propelled by rowdy rockabilly rhythms and bristling guitar. Adele Bethel lashes out at sleazes, cheats and killers in her marvellous Glaswegian snarl, conveying anger, mockery and hurt. Nick Cave and ‘80s roots-punks Gun Club are obvious reference points, but there are strong hints of Celtic folk in the windswept choruses of ‘Dance Me In’ and ‘Royally Used’. Dark, sinister and sexy, it’s as assured a debut as could be hoped for.

White Stripes
Get Behind Me Satan
(XL)

Elephant caught the White Stripes in their candy coloured pomp. It was their Big Rock Album, the behemoth that propelled them to headline slots and MTV Awards. As an album, however, it was a little unsatisfying, lacking the hunger or originality of their first three albums. And, man, was that squirrel song irritating. The sly references to the Jack ‘n Meg siblings or spouses debate were amusing enough, but ultimately disingenuous.
On Get Behind Me Satan the Stripes finally drop the brother and sister act and reveal themselves. In breaking their own rules they’ve produced something messier, weirder and far more engaging than Elephant. The disco-metal strut of Blue Orchid is atypical: this is largely an album of front porch strums, gospel-tinged piano and slapdash percussion.
There’s a newfound sense of mischief at work. When the spooky marimba led soiree of ‘Nurse’ is crashed by clatter of drums and distortion an illicit thrill races up the spine. It’s only the first of several noisy tricks Jack has up his sleeve. ‘Red Rain’ sees a fairground like toy piano melody morph into a ravaged blues riff, while the epic ‘Take Take Take’ has Jack’s piano fight it out with Meg’s timpani as he sings of chasing Rita Hayworth for an autograph, a clear reference to his newfound celebrity.
Hanging out with Beck seems to have put a spring in Jack’s step. ‘The Denial Twist’ is fresher and wittier than anything on the diminutive scientologist’s latest album, while ‘Doorbell’ is the Stripe’s most irresistible pop song since ‘Hotel Yorba’. Loretta Lynn’s influence looms over several tracks, notably the Appalachian knees up ‘Little Ghost’ and the closing ‘I Ain’t That Lonely Yet’. Reminiscent of Lynn’s beautiful ‘Miss Being Mrs’, itself a lament to lost love, it finds Jack alone and lovelorn at the piano, picking out a wistful gospel tinged melody.
They’ve said goodbye to the garage. Where the Stripes will go next is anyone’s guess.

Sons And Daughters will be back in Beard #4!

Competition corner!

MIA's fantastic Arular album has been kicking my ass with its cheeky chat and bouncing beats. Now you can declare your love for the album by winning a fantastic poster from us! Yes, we have a bunch of MIA album artwork posters and stickers to give away!

And that's not all! We also have album artwork posters of epic balladeers The National!

For a chance to win this top booty drop an email to beardmag@yahoo.co.uk, specifying which poster you'd be up for winning (you can go for both if you like). You'll be entered into the Beard tombola with the draw taking place at the end of next week! Huzzah!

Singles club

*Single of the week*
Electrelane – Bells/I Keep Losing Heart (Too Pure)
One of the oddest uses of music on TV came last year in an episode of the OC, where beautiful Californians could be seen cavorting to the urgent sound of Electrelane’s On Parade. That was a surprise, let me tell you. Despite their flirtation with the glossy teen drama, Electrelane haven’t turned into the Killers. And thank goodness for that.
Bells begins in Neu’s Krautrock metropolis, simple piano chords slotting between the rhythm section’s elegent motorik pulse. Verity Susman’s magnificently haughty vocals lead us to the city limits as the groove builds until the break free onto the open road, pedal to the floor. Mia Clarke’s guitar revs and lurches while Susman pounds at her piano, like a conservatory musician possessed by the spirit of Jerry Lee Lewis. It rocks.
A thoughtfully plucked banjo graces the start of I Keep Losing Heart. It’s soon joined by the full band and a choir. Electrelane of course worked with the choir on last year’s majestic The Valleys, using the grand swell of their voices to bring musical colour to a Siegfried Sassoon poem. Here, however, the choir is used sparingly, enunciating each word in staccato vamps and swelling crescendos. And the lyrics Susman has given them to sing are a little more playful than last time. Add to all this a parping trumpet and some elegiac saxophone. Inspired.
Download from www.toopure.com

Thee Moths – Ppep EP (Pet Piranha)
A Scottish underground legend, Alex Botten came to my attention on the Jockrock message board by berating various ladrockers for their petty bitchiness and small minded attitudes. The fact these morons would sniff at his “music” (their inverted commas, not mine) only made me want to investigate further. The recent Folk EP was his most experimental yet, mixing folk songs with field recordings and laptop noise. This EP incorporates those elements into Botten’s melodic lo-fi fuzzpop with charming results. Having recently relocated to Sussex, Botten begins the EP by raising two fingers to two fingers to his hometown in Dundee Is A Smothering Darkness where a pretty acoustic song emerges from the lo-fi murk. Is he invoking his escape to the bright lights of Brighton? Who knows? It’s damn good all the same. The Bright Sun is ruptures wispy female vocals with digital flatulence while The Sounds Are There is a simple acoustic ditty put through a heavy rinse cycle. Gregorian hums and bird song flutter into the mix as it segues into the catchy Sebadoh pop of Close The Blinds. Yet even that song is sabotaged by some mischievous pitch bending. In the closing Are Your Feet Tangled Up In Roots? the machines take over completely, submerging voices and loping beats in a swamp of glitch and interference. Another great wee EP from Thee Moths.
Out soon??? www.petpiranha.com


Youthmovie Soundtrack Strategies – Ores (Fierce Panda)
“Please give them the cuttlefish…there are words inside my oesophagus!” Andrew Mears barks over careening guitars. Now that’s a lyric. It’s a safe bet that any band who comes up with stuff like that won’t sound like the Stereophonics and Youthmovie Soundtrack Strategies don’t disappoint. Following in the footsteps of At The Drive In this Oxford quartet positively relish in tearing up the post-hardcore rule book, then pasting it together with pages plucked randomly from the rock history books. The result is a confounding yet tightly controlled four minutes of noise. Ores trashes into life amidst the cuttlefish before a few furious handclaps take us into a few bars of proggy noodling. Then we get a slower, moodier bit before the song settles into a melodic chorus underpinned by rumbling bass and stabbing guitars. From out of nowhere, a fuzzy synth bassline crashes the party, only to be ejected by guitar wielding bouncers.
It’s as if they’re involved in a game of one-upmanship with Yourcodenameis:milo as to how many different bits they can pack into one song. And for now, Youthmovie are on top.
Out April 25th

Tigs – And Again (Red ROAR)
Solid stab of indie rock, distinguished by cool and coquettish Chrissie Hynde style vocals. But unless they’re covering John Cage’s 4’33 this 7” could do with a b-side.
Worth checking out live if you’re in London.
Out now. www.tigofwar.com

Distro update

A new batch of Beards are in Rough Trade Covent Garden for all you Londoners to peruse.
Meanwhile I've also set up distro deals with All That Glitters from Nottingham and Ricochet from Brighton.

Meanwhile the good people from the award nominated Vanity Project zine have been saying very nice things about Beard #3 over at their Hobotread blog.

Picked up a whole bunch of cool zines in London over the weekend. Reviews and an account of my brief sojourn to the Smoke to follow.

Singles Club

At long last, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…Beard reviews the week’s new singles. Or at least the ones we were sent. All these are available to buy now! The comments option has now been enabled, so feel free to add your tuppence worth folks. Hopefully we’ll be able to bring you our web exclusive singles roundup most weeks, along with the odd album review. That’s if I’m not lynched outside the 13th Note by an angry mob of Dead Fly Buchowski fans…

Dead Fly Buchowski - Russian Doll (Beggars Banquet)
Apologies to Griel Marcus, but what is this shit? According to the NME Glasgow’s Dead Fly Buchowski are a psychedelic blues rock band. Psychedelic? Er, how? There is nothing mind expanding or synapse frazzling about DFB’s lumbering 70s rawk. Russian Doll is a dreary, watered down Kyuss, lacking both the sand-blasted power and stoner groove of Josh Homme’s old desert unit. Granted, Roddy Campbell has a powerful voice, but when you sound like the mush-mouthed bloke from Kings Of Leon impersonating Robert Plant, that’s maybe not such a good thing.
At least it’s more fun than Overcast, a would-be epic blues number that sees rock god Campbell surveying the open plains and singing “Down in the valley…” Otis Redding it ain’t.
But wait until you hear the foot-gnawingly earnest ballad One Of These Days. Or shall I save you the trouble? Over strummed guitars filched from Led Zep’s vastly superior Tangerine, Campbell puffs out his chest and does his best impression of Tenacious D’s Jack Black. This is the sort of song some old cock rockers in leather waistcoats and tight jeans would do perched on stools as part of their acoustic spot. It’s that clichéd and naff. Yet they’re the NME’s new favourite Glasgow band and have been signed to Beggars. The world’s gone mad!


YOURCODENAMEIS:MILO – 17 (Fiction)
Pretty decent post-At The Drive In rock, its discordant twists streamlined into an anthemic whole by producers Flood and Rich Costey. Mercifully free of emo whininess or shrill Muse bombast, this is pile-drivingly efficient stuff, cramming riffs both spiky and sludgy into its three minutes. On record it’s not quite raw or savage enough, but live, I’m sure this song would kick my ass.

*Single of the Week*
Field Music – Shorter Shorter (Memphis Industries)
Ah, this is more like it. From the label that brought you the candy-coloured fun riot that is the Go! Team, Field Music are brothers David and Peter Brewis and Andrew Moore. Shorter Shorter is some sweet, sweet chamber pop, recalling the lighter moments of Bowie’s Hunky Dory. Jaunty strings frollick, bright guitars hop and leap, and Andrew Moore trills in a high, slightly fruity voice reminiscent of Spark’s Russel Mael and the Raspberries’ Eric Carmen. Butterflies flutter, birds sing and for a few minutes all is right with the world. The b-sides are a pair of elegantly crafted miniatures. With its pitter-patter of brushed drums and ripples of acoustic guitar Trying To Sit Out recalls the Shins, while the charming Breakfast Song skips along on dampened bass strings that bounce with Macca like good cheer. The runaway winner of Beard’s first ever single of the week. More please!

Fannying about

Teenage Fanclub - Mitchell Theatre, Glasgow

In the polite, cosy surroundings of the Mitchell Theatre Norman Blake makes a rock ‘n roll gesture of goodwill.
“If you’re good, Francis will throw you his sticks later.”
“You can throw your stick up me anytime honey!” squawks a loud Glaswegian voice.
‘Chell and her pal Julie are having a rare old time, defying the no dancing in the aisles rule and cheering on their favourite band. It’s a harmless bit of mischief, proving that there can be life amongst a seated audience.
Mildly bemused, Norman carries on with the task in hand: delivering some of the loveliest pop songs ever written, golden nuggets of love and wisdom.
From the start, Teenage Fanclub sound absolutely splendid. Unassuming as ever, they amble on to rapturous applause. There’s a genuine sense of love for this band and when they strike up the opening chords and harmonies of ‘About You’ it’s felt all the more deeply. I feel lifted, like a big ray of sunshine has burst through my soul. It’s a sweet sensation, one you don’t from your average gig.
Hearing so many Fanclub classics back to back is just sublime. There’s something about the Fannies sound that just brings a warm glow to my soul. This is a band that has the power pop trick of rocking with grace nailed. The vocals lilt and sigh, the guitars sparkle and even when the drums stomp, they stomp with elegance.
Verisimilitude sees Raymond McGinlay utter a hesitant f-word and Norman thrash at a bright red Fender with childlike glee. Sparky’s Dream has an older gent in front of me stomping his feet and waving his arms in an air drum reverie. And Ain’t That Enough is glorious, that delightful build up leading into that most gorgeous of choruses. “Here is the sunrise, ain’t that enough?” There’s contentment there, but no complacency. It’s a song that conveys pure love and joy, and yes, that’s enough.
And the new songs? Well, the new songs sound just fine. On first listen they seem like the kind of tunes that will take a couple of listens to fully reveal themselves. (And now that I’ve listened to the album I can confirm that’s the case.) Gerry Love’s Save is intriguing, its verse based on a mildly exotic semi-tone chord change, its chorus a sweet soul stomp. Judging by some of the weird and wobbly guitar sounds Raymond McGinlay unveils tonight, the Fannies have been studying their Joe Meek records for retro-futuristic sci-fi sounds. There are almost Moog like beams of guitar on It’s All In My Mind and some far-out space-surfin’ twangs elsewhere.
A rousing Don’t Look Back ends the main set, but Norman admits they’ll be back for an encore. Of course! For that encore they go right back to Everything Flows. With the grungey noise of Dinosaur Jr and the melodic lightness of the Byrds it remains an incredible song. McGinlay is a king on guitar, his scorched solos starting somewhere between Neil Young and J Mascis and ending up on Saturn. They find time for a brief blast through Satan before the curfew and that’s it. A triumphant return. You can hardly blame people for getting up out of their seats.

Photos to follow in a few days...

More Beard love

We're a multiple choice answer in the Guardian's Weekly Quiz today, as set by EMAP Fanzine Award host Steve Lamacq. Cheers Lammo!

Corrections and clarifications

Enough of this shameless self-congratulation, it's time we fessed up to the dodgy typos in Beard #3!

The biggest clunker is in my Musical Numbers review on page 19.
"One of the most interesting items was a short film feature clips by avant-garde filmmaker...soundtracked by an excellent poem by Edwin Morgan."
Of course, the blank space should have a name in it, and that name is Benno Plassman of the excellent theatre and film company Suspect Culture. I had looked it up, honest, but forgot to actually put the name in place. What a div!

Then there's the pull quote on page 15's Sky At Night feature. "I had to do sing John Denver's 'Country Roads'".
Oops, pretty obvious what went wrong there!

Finally, more of a stylistic boo-boo in the Instal review. Discussing Baby Dee, I repeated the phrase "uncanny in a mainstream style". What I've done there is stick two versions of the review together, forgetting to smooth out the bumps. If any potential employers are reading this please don't think I'd be a sloppy sub. It was late, I was excited about getting the mag finished, I should have given it to someone else to look over...excuses, excuses.

There are a number of minor spelling mistakes and typos but we're not gonna list em all cos wee dont wont two luke lyke compleet illitarates.

new stockists...

In addition to our usual stockists in Glasgow, Beard is now available in Edinburgh's Analogue Books (Victoria St), Newcastle's Bookville (High Bridge), and London's Rough Trade Covent Garden.
We're also in the process of organising stockists in Liverpool, Leicester and Manchester.

I'll also be attending the London Zine Symposium in a few weeks, so come and get Beard then if you like! And I'm sure I can get some more copies in Rough Trade and Selectadisc while I'm down.

Celebrity Beard readers #2

...and you will know them by the trail of chewed Beards 

Media whores

Yes, we're getting much love in the press today. We're in the Independent's fanzine feature and also have a wee mention in the Herald:

 

Our pals at Diskant and Jockrock have also given us a mention. And we're in Press Gazette too!

The Indy were disappointed I didn't have a beard and instead resembled a young Paul Gambaccini. Well, what can I say?

 

it's official - we're Britain's best music zine!

Yes! Beard has triumphed at the EMAP Fanzine Awards 2005, winning best music zine category. Whoop whoop!
Congrats to runners up Satan's Fish Tank and everyone else I drunkenly chatted with.
They've yet to post the pics, but here's all the info about the winners. I love the made up quote they've attributed to me. Hilarious!

A couple of news items about the win:

Scottish Music Centre

Nemis

Not from the awards, but here's one of Beard's indie celebrity readers:



And in further awards news, Beard snapper Kieran Dodds is up for young photographer of the year! Well done that man. I particularly like the scones...

Off to the seaside

I'm off to All Tomorrow's Parties and the zine awards tomorrow, so don't worry if I don't get back to you for a few days. Beard 3 is available from Monorail and Avalanche now and Rough Trade in London by the end of the week. Edinburgh Beard fans can email or wait until I get through to Analogue.
I shall return with tales of Slint and Staremaster, and, just maybe, a lovely award.

Rock on,
Stew

Beard #3 unleashed

Music, arts and facial hair for £1.50. Featuring Park Attack, Motormark, The Sky At Night, Instal 04, Acid Mothers Temple, Political Beards, Raymond Chandler, Sonic Youth cartoon fun, Lucky Luke, Asking For Trouble, frst prsn rcds, old-school British horror, Witness the Shitness, Avant A Laugh, a beardy board-game and more. Out Monday Feb 21  

Vashti Bunyan speaks

Now, anyone who's read Beard will know I'm a great fan of my acid folk. Hell, I've been banging on about the mighty Lucky Luke for over a year now. Their new single, Fear Eats The Soul, is out next week, and blooming marvellous it is too. An album, Patrick The Survivor, follows in April. It's a hugely rewarding and evocative listen, beautifully arranged, with Robert Wyatt-esque jazzy strands amongst its rich tapestry of electric folk. A full review will appear in the next Beard.
There are few figures in acid folk as enigmatic as Vashti Bunyan. She recently came out of retirement to appear on Devendra Banhart's Rejoicing In The Hands and apparently has been recording with Four Tet's Kieran Hebden. Sounds promising: his production job on the latest James Yorkston really captures the warm and woody texture of the Fifer's live performances.
In the meantime, she's been telling Pitchfork about her top ten records.

Good news on the Orange Juice front! Domino are readying a compilation for April release. No word as to whether it's simply another greatest hits or something a bit more special, ie, Postcard reissue. We wait in hope.

The Sound Of Young Scotland

One of the most positive aspects of Franzmania is the renewed interest in Postcard Records and their roster of indie-pop gods, including Orange Juice and Josef K. It's not easy to get hold of either band's music right now, but hopefully this will change. I've been pretty much addicted to Orange Juice lately. Guitar pop is rarely so witty, romantic or deliriously wonky.
Radio Scotland begins a new series about Scotland's independent music scene at the rock 'n roll time of 11.30am tomorrow (there's a repeat on Sunday tea time) and where else could they begin but with Postcard?
Over on 6Music, Lard took a brief look at the label on his record geek show Mint last night. And as a Brucie bonus they've got a Roy Harper interview too!
Finally, you can read about the label at Stylus. F-f-f-f-frrrresh!
On another note, we've been given a nice write up by the lovely people at diskant!

Hey it's a cheap gag, but what did you expect? 

By the beard of Zeus!

The lovely people at EMAP have shortlisted Beard for best music zine in their Fanzine Awards 2005

What were they thinking?

But, really, it's a great honour and a very nice surprise. Should be a good night out at the very least.

Have a look at the shortlist to see who we're up against.

Thanks to everyone who contributed to the last issue. We couldn't have done it without you!

From the Beard archives, part one

Belle & Sebastian heid the baw at Glasgow Botanics 

Sponsor a beard!

Beard reader 90 Days Of Hair has contacted us about his sponsored beard growth. Naturally we can only applaud such a venture, especially when it's for charity.
Check out his blog to view his progress and make a donation.

Apologies for the lack of posts lately. I've been mad busy writing for Is This Music and getting the next issue of Beard together. Beard 3 is gonna blow you away. We hope...

The List Loves Beard!

From The List, 6 Jan 2004 
Infamy, infamy, they've all got in for me!
That's right folks, Beard is now famous and everything, thanks to the lovely people at The List.

Oh, happy new year by the way. This is gonna be a big one for Beard. New copies of issue two will be available shortly, so don't worry if you can't find any in the shops.

Beards of the year?

The joint winners of the official UK Beard of the Year have been announced. They are Paul Mackney, spokesman for lecturer's union NATFHE, and England cricketer Andrew "Freddie" Flintoff.
Now Mackney we admire for his nice cuddly beard and campaigning fervour, so the idea of him having to share the award with some oafish posho is a travesty. According to Beard Liberation Front uberbeard Keith Flett, "Freddie" has shown how cool beards can be. It's nice to see the young folk growing beards, but really, is this the best this country can do? It just looks like he forgot to pack his razor before going on tour. A poor, poor effort.

The Mack(ney) Daddy!

 
Andrew Flintoff? Andrew FUCK OFF more like!

 

Beard awards 2004

My albums of the year list is still being refined, so for now, here are the unique Beard awards!

Song of the year: Yeah (Crass version) – LCD Soundsystem

Beard of the Year: Devendra Banhart

Beard and ‘fro combo of the year: Kyp Malone, TV On The Radio

Crappiest beard of the year: David Blunkett

Spellbindingly beautiful gig of the year: Brian Wilson, Clyde Auditorium, Glasgow

Freaky gig of the year: Magic Band/Fire Engines, Arches, Glasgow

Non-reformed band gigs of the year: Wilco, QMU, Glasgow
Sons & Daughters/Delgados, Barrowlands, Glasgow

Festival of the year: Le Weekend, Stirling

Not quite a gig, not quite an installation of the year: Sachiko M & Anthony McCall, Kill Your Timid Notion, Dundee

Dodgy goth bollocks gig of the year: Current 93 at Instal, Glasgow

Most overrated comeback: Morrissey

Most overrated thing of the year: Lost In Translation

Best TV: Peep Show, Power Of Nightmares, Sopranoes, that Gram Parsons documentary.

Best films: Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, American Splendor, Incredibles, Hero

What is this shit award 2004: tied between Keane, Razorlight, The Others, The Libertines (bar Can't Stand Me Now).

Uter-ly brilliant!

These puns are getting worse. No wonder I didn't get that subbing job. Anyway, I've been sent a few records over the past couple of months and have been meaning to get round to reviewing them. I'll rework these for Beard 3, but for the meantime, let's get blogging. More reviews to follow over the next few days, but for now, let's rock with...

Uter
Any band with an umlaut in their name is worth a listen and Glasgow lo-fi electro pop trio Uter are no exception (if only I could work out how to get an Umlaut in Word!) The six track CD I’ve been sent isn’t a commercial release, but it includes the singles Vibrato and Tomorrow’s Clowns, alongside Jesus And Mary Chain and Kraftwerk covers.
Tomorrow’s Clowns, which appeared on Optimo’s OSCaar label earlier this year, sounds like collaboration between New Order and Kevin Shields. Melodic, driving bass and dinky Kraftwerk machine beats underpin a quite beautiful haze of bleached out guitar noise and glassy synth. The 12” is still available from Optimo’s online shop – I’d advise you head over there and snap one up pronto.
My Little Underground is cleverly reworked, with the vocals and synths sounding as if they’ve been recorded through thin walls, while pristine surface of Kraftwerk's Ohm... is dirtied by fuzzy guitar and crescendos.
Vibrato recalls Neu! in their more reflective moments, albeit transported to a post-techno landscape, while Accordination has the sort of rushy synth sequence that could see it remixed into a Detroit dancefloor monster.
Tramapoline has the kind of rinky dink organ line you’d associate with ? & The Mysterions, but far from being a departure into garage punk, this sleekit wee beauty glides off down the autobahn to some gleaming metropolis. And if they never get there? Well, that'll only make Uter’s journey all the more interesting.

Uter are on the excellent new label Asking For Trouble

Sine of the times

If you've managed to get past that groaning pun, you might have noticed that Beardblog has been updated, with new links and a counter. That's about 60 since the weekend, which is quite a surprise. Thanks for reading, we love you all xxx

Is This Music? sent me off to Kill Your Timid Notion in Dundee last weekend. A festival of experimental music and film, it was quite an experience. Film screenings during the day, including avant-classics like Kenneth Anger's Scorpio Rising (gay bikers polishing their engines and cavorting orgiastically in a church to the sounds of The Supremes, Bobby Vee and Elvis: tremendous stuff) and Invocation Of My Demon Brother (A bit silly. It might have been sinister in 1969, but now it just looks like a bunch of junkie dilletantes prancing about in daft costumes pretending to be evil nazi satanists). More about the other films in a few days.
The big name was Lee Ranaldo, performing with Text Of Light. The idea is to improvise as Stan Brakhage films are projected onto the exhibition/performance space.
This was my first encounter with Brakhage, but his films were beautiful, bringing out the beauty in everyday life through brilliant use of colours and light. The most affecting film was of a girl on a swing. Some Brakhage buffs have problems with the idea of music being added to the films, and it has to be said that the droney feeback workouts added little to the movies.
Tabula Smaragdin: Jurgen Reble + Thomas Koner wasn't one to see standing up. The trick is to lie down, propping your head up on your jacket and immerse yourself in the minamalist laptop rumble and glimmering, shimmering visuals. As the rumble build to a intense static buzz it was all red stars, with amorphous forms appearing through the haze, like a dancing human figure, or a woman floating by, like the drowned Ophelia. Who needs drugs eh?
What Sachiko M + Anthony McCall did was closer to an art installation than musical performance, but then the whole point of the festival was to blur the lines between the forms. At the centre of the room Sachiko sat hunched over a basic sampler, playing high pitched sine waves that modulated throughout the space, which at first was virtaully pitch black save for a touch of dry ice. Two projectors beamed white light from wall to wall, gradually forming a circle on the surface. You could stand in the beam, which gradually formed a tunnel of light. Everyone just strolled around, waving fingers, and poking heads through the surfaces of the beam. Despite the dark and eerie sine waves the atmosphere was one of relaxation and wonder.

More festival fun in a couple of days. In the meantime, party on and be excellent to one another.

Magazine junkie

In my bid to make this blog halfway interesting, I thought I’d introduce regular overviews of the music press, gigs, TV etc. So here’s my roundup of the latest pop mags.
For a similar exercise, albeit with some priceless quotes from the latest issue of Terrorizer, pop over to Stereosanctity for our buddy Ben’s comments.

Bloody hell, Dylan’s on the cover of Uncut again. Alan Jones really needs to get some fresh ideas. You can choose from two CDs, one of songs from artists inspired by Dylan, and one, rather cumbersomely billed as Dylan songs, covered by artists inspired by Dylan. Well, duh. Scanning the tracklisting I’ll admit there are undoubtedly some gems there, but they did this whole thing two years ago.
It’s a shame Uncut is playing things so safe, cos they certainly have a pool of great writers, including old Melody Maker favourites like Chris Roberts. The Pixies interview in last month’s issue was great, but they should have put them on the front cover. I’m sure it would have attracted far more readers than yet another Neil Young cover.
The current issue does, however, contain one small moment of subversive genius: Bob Stanley awarding the new Girls Aloud album four stars (and quite right too). To paraphrase the Girls, what will the dadrockers say? Next month’s letters page should be a hoot.

The latest Mojo has been out for a couple of week’s, but it’s another cracker, streets ahead of Uncut. The mag has gone quite a long way in dispelling its fuddy duddy image, thanks, in no small part, to them allowing Stevie Chick room to punt new bands. Hell, they even had Lloyd Bradley writing about grime a few issues back, putting it into the context of hip-hop and reggae culture to help readers understand where this strange music comes from.
The interview with Mike Love is a real scoop. Given the opportunity to dispel the commonly held notion that he’s the biggest asshole in pop history, Love puts across his side of the story well enough, but neither the writer or reader is entirely convinced.
Much of Mojo is devoted to a Peel tribute. There’s a lovely interview by Max Decharme, where Peel tells a hilarious anecdote featuring The Bay City Rollers, Tony Blackburn, scores of teenage girls, frogmen and a racing track. He then rounds it off with a withering one liner. It’s classic Peel and another sad reminder of what we’ve lost.

The most luscious of all pop mags, Loose Lips Sinks Ships returns for its fourth issue. The fold out covers feature typically stunning Steve Gullick photographs of Todd, The Hunches, and Har Mar Superstar, the latter draped with fairy lights and, er, preserving his (im)modesty by tucking away his tadger in a Silence Of The Lambs stylee. Zoinks!
Reading Sophie Headwood’s Har Mar interview, I’ve gotta say I really warm to the little fella (if not his little fella). My initial kneejerk reaction to Har Mar was that he was a fashionista in joke, but here, he comes across as an intelligent, sincere artist, disillusioned with the rock ‘n roll lifestyle. The sort of interview that’s all too rare in these PR controlled times. Bravo.
Stevie Chick is on terrific form in his Hunches and Todd features. There’s a lovely line about the “lunatics-are-driving-golf-buggies-all-over-the-asylum mania” of the Roobarb and Custard theme. Apparently Todd’s Sedan sounds like a metal version of that. Well, I’m sold.

Sister publication Plan B is also out, and a lovely thing it is too. Beard’s own Mark Connolly supplies a way cool double exposed Park Attack pic, among other things, while Andrew Clare’s illustration of a ninja slicing some poor chap in half manages to be both wonderfully cute and poignant at the same time. As always, some of the writing strains too hard in a sixth form creative writing manner, but it’s cancelled out by the brilliance of a Neil Kulkarni rant on pop versus rock. He avoids taking a reductive rockist or popist stance, instead aiming his ire at the mediocrities who make music that has none of the joy of pop, or transcendent head-fuckery of metal, punk and the avant-garde. In the process, he uses the adjective “cunting” twice in the space of a paragraph, which can only be applauded, particularly when he’s referring to Robbie Williams and U2. Sorry, Robbie Cunting Williams and cunting U2. Go on, let it all out, you know it feels good.

I intend to update this post with an appraisal of the latest Wire. The latest Wiretapper CD should be worth a listen, while their cover feature on The Riff oughta be good for a laugh. Being Wire, I doubt they’ll be extolling the virtues of Smoke On The Water or Whole Lotta Rosie. In fact, I hear they’ve got an article slagging off metal and punk! Pah! Those gits are welcome to their ridiculous Current 93 records. Let’s rock!

Four nights of rock

In an effort to make more of this blog, here are a few notes from the frontline.

Wednesday.
A friend’s band, Vancouver Deluxe was supporting Pink Grease at the Barfly. So along I went. Lucky me. If you’re unfamiliar with the Grease, you’re pretty lucky really. With their tacky junkshop outfits, poorly applied make up and generic glam rock songs, you can tell they’re itching to be the new Roxy Music or New York Dolls. And oh how they fail. They’re a dismal prospect, lacking any of those bands’ flair, wit, or originality. Everything about them is tasteless and naff – they’re not good or cool enough to pull off the peroxide hair, sleeveless denim jumpsuits or (ack!) rifle-shaped guitars. They even have a Quasimodo like creature lurking in a corner of the stage prodding some kind of giant stylophone replete with huge knobs. I’m making him sound cool. Believe me, he wasn’t.
Vancouver Deluxe weren’t bad though. Alec Empire, NIN, 80s Matchbox…they’re in thrall to all these dark electric fiends, which is no bad thing. Nasty, pummelling beats, chunky guitar and devilish vocals.

Thursday
At some point in the morning I receive a text telling me Jack Rose and Glenn Jones are playing Tchai Ovna, a lovely hippy tea-room by the River Kelvin. If you’ve got the current issue of Beard you’ll have seen my enthusiasm for their post-Fahey acoustic guitar magic. Seeing them again, in such intimate surroundings, was wonderful, especially as we worked our way right up to the front. Jones is more melodic and playful, his Appalachian pickin' infused with elements of blues, Django Reindhart gypsy jazz, and medieval madrigals. Rose is more raga influenced, playing meditative indo-folk on a 12 string. But he did more Americana folky stuff on a lap steel, joined by Jones for one last tune. Together, they fly, fingers dancing, notes tumbling sweetly from their guitars. Support came from Porch Song Anthology, a Telstar Ponies spin off. Touching acoustic loveliness, all sparkling mandolin, brushed drums and lilting female vocals.

Friday
Another last minute announcement – Swedish wonky popsters The Concretes are doing a free show at Mono. So I text a few friends and hop on the train once more. It might have been the coldest night of the year, but The Concretes music radiates warmth. It’s in the heffalump friendliness of the flugel horn, the chiming guitar and fluffy kitten vocals. Gorgeous stuff, from gorgeous Scandinavians.

Saturday and it’s back to Mono, this time to see Lucky Luke and Ohian singer-songwriter Simon Joyner. They’re both great. Last time I saw LL, they were playing a disarmingly pretty acoustic set in the Panopticon, an old Glasgow Music Hall, but this time they rocked. Simon fired off the occasional Richard Thompson tremolo prang from his strat, while the violinist lived out his John Cale fantasies with scrambled, spiralling highs.

Jandeck, Lucky Luke, Beards

Let's play spurious links...

At Sunday I arrived at Instal.04 in Glasgow to find some mysterious figure clanging out dischords on a guitar and singing atonally. He was "a representative of Corwood Industries" and last minute addition to the bill. It was none other than legendary Texan recluse Jandek, playing his first ever gig, unannounced. Avant! Accompanying our hero was Glasgow avant gardists Richard Young and drummer Alex Neilson of Scatter and Lucky Luke.

Lucky Luke are playing an acoustic set at the Panopticon in Glasgow on Saturday. This old music hall was featured in the BBC's Restoration programme and to raise funds for its refurbishment, a day of music, magic and projections is taking place. Other acts include Fence types Pinky McClure, newsreader and Syd Barret fan John Cavanagh and the ghost of a monkey.
To book tickets contact Judith Bower at the Panopticon:
Mob: 07766 775055
E-mail: judith@britanniapanopticon.fsnet.co.uk

Lucky Luke's singer is journalist and zine queen Lucy Sweet. Here's an interview from Ideas Factory!
Also check out her hilarious, award-winning, fanzine, Chica.

Cavemen and computers

Caveman Arts

Music to watch plays by

Beard #2 update

Beard #2 is now in the shops and available to order from beardmag@yahoo.co.uk

The cheap copy shop job isn't too hot - the photo repro is disappointing to say the least - but it looks sharp nevertheless. I'll throw in decent print outs of the best photos to mail order folks. Repeating the art paper, digital repro job of Beard #1 just wasn't viable with my current finances.

You can see Mark Connelly's fantastic Sons & Daughters pic in all its glory here

Orders are already coming in - one guy even bought one from me in person yesterday, on a whim. Yay!

It's back! Beard #2

Yes, yes y'all, Beard returns with a bigger, better and beardier second issue.

Interviews with Kinky Friedman, Thomas Truax and Lucky Luke.

Appreciations of Weird War, Neil Young's Trans and bad movie dialogue.

Live extravanganza featuring All Tomorrow's Parties, Le Weekend, T In The Park, Damo Suzuki and the Magic Band.

Sonic Youth and Steven Malkmus in comic form!

Top ten pop beards!

Bumper backpage beard fun!

And more, much more!

Only £1.50 from Avalance, Monorail and Missing (Glasgow) and Europa (Stirling).
Or mail order from beardmag@yahoo.co.uk

(Don't worry, I've fixed the email link to the right)

Should be in the shops later today, as long as the useless copy shop have done it. It was supposed to be Friday, but they hadn't done it and "had a wedding to go to". Fuck's sake, you're a business! So my advice is if yr in Stirling and need some reprographics...go to Glasgow.

Busy busy busy all of the time

Beard is almost finished...

In the meantime, I've been a busy boy...

Aberdeen student guide - The Herald

Stirling Student guide - The Herald

Juana Molina

Damo Suzuki

The Daily Record's sub-editors have been at my reviews, but they've chopped sentences rather than bucher the prose, so that's alright. Woo-hoo! Me in Scotland's best-selling paper.

John Kerry and The Electras

What's that wild new sound? That's right folks, it's that happening beat combo John Kerry and The Electras!

Idiot Wind

A superb review ofChristopher Ricks' preposterous attempt to place Dylan amongst the poets and professors.
Ricks's writing is hilarious and baffling in its overheated desire to intellectualise Dylan. The academic allusions are piled on thicker than the gold paint in Liberace's mansion.
A selection: "Or there's the rhyme in [the song] Mozambique of "Mozambique" with "cheek to cheek" (along with "cheek" cheekily rhyming with "cheek" there, a perfect fit). There's always something strange about place names, or persons' names, rhyming, for they don't seem to be words exactly, or at any rate are very different kinds of word from your usual word."
Yeah, like Dylan coined the phrase, "cheek to cheek"!
Compare Ricks' bletherings to Lester Bangs' brilliant excoration of the same song:
"...there are many forms of inverted, benevolent prejudice known to the liberal mentality, and I find a song like 'Mozambique" rather curious...Ah yes, a beautiful, simple people aren't they, Mr Christian? Unfettered by the corrupting complexities of civilisation, no? So primatively pure and natch'l, juck fuckin' and a'dancin' barefoot there on the beach."
Proving just how witty and erudite he is, Ricks even riffs on TS Eliot: "O o o that Dylanesque rag. So elegent. So intelligent. So Dyligent. Never negligent". Dyligent - see what he did there? Bonkers!
From the reviews and excerpts I've read, the book's glaring problem is that it fails to recognise Dylan's genius in the context of Woody Guthrie, Hank Williams, hep-cat Lord Buckley, or even John Lennon. And, making the fundamental error of lit crit readings of pop, he fails to explore the words as rock lyrics. One of the great joys of Dylan is his phrasing -the venomous spits, the sarcastic drawls, the stoned cheekiness - and its relationship with the music. Ricks ignores this - it would too easily get in the way of his flights of fancy.
The reviewer, James Wolcott, rightly argues that the book has enjoyed adoration because it flatters the narcissism of the baby boomers.
There's no doubting the brilliance of Dylan's best lyrics, but I find his singular elevation to the level of poet highly iffy. Never minding the likes of Leonard Cohen, Patti Smith or Joni Mitchell, you'd never see a similar book on, say, Gil Scott Heron, Chuck D, Captain Beefheart or Hank Williams. Yet Williams' lyrics cut to the truth in a way Dylan only mastered on Blood On The Tracks. "The silence of a falling star lights up a purple sky/ and as I wonder where you are, I'm so lonesome I could cry." Williams' simple poetry relates a beautiful and touching image of loneliness and longing. And it's in iambic pentameter. The "Hillbilly Shakespeare" epithet might not be so glib afterall.

Joanna Newsom and the Sonic Beard Appreciation Society

Music at the Edinburgh Festival has been absolutely fucking wonderful. Shame about the rest of it. Actually, I saw a very good Tempest and one day of the Book festival was like being at Uni again - discussions of politics, history and the media. I'll maybe do a summary post once I've seen some more book fest turns.
No point blogging each review from Fest. The following are mine: Alisdair Roberts, Thomas Truax, Laura Viers, Wettre, Nymo & Stronen. More to come.

Finally come round to Joanna Newsom's voice. For those of you, yet to experience the lovely Ms Newsom's pixie-folk magic, she plays gorgeous harp and sounds kinda like Victoria Williams crossed with Lisa Simpson. Squawky and squeaky. The songs are clearly lovely, but some people can't get past the voice. But after hearing the melancholy wonder that is Bridges And Balloons I'm sold.

Must update more often - I'm actually doing interesting things. But doing interesting things is kinda tiring. Aw hell, who am I kidding. It's not like I'm going through to Edinburgh and watching three shows a day. I'm still being a lazy git, getting up at 9, watching the OC and wasting many hours on the internet. And not finishing off my Wilco live review for ITM? It was five weeks ago, but I have notes from the time.
Gotta blitz Beard this week - Lucky Luke interview to write up, lay out etc.
Then I can hopefully have it ready for the first of September and hand a copy to Thurston Moore when he strolls into Mono before the Yoof's gig at the Barrowlands. He'll say, "Yeah man, that's a nice zine. Check it out guys." At which point the Yoof gather round transfixed by the magazine magic. And then when they play their triumphant gig they'll announce, "This one's for Stew. Y'all should read Beard, it's totally rad."
Or perhaps not.

writings...

From Ideas Factory and Fest

Jill Daley, radio producer

Psychotherapy Live

RIP

I'M DEAD, BITCH!

Here's to you Mr. James.

Tigerfest - Sunday Herald

Woo-hoo! It's my Tigerfest article from the Sunday Herald!

Holy fucking shit!

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!

Ferrelly

Greetings. This is the first time I dip my paddle/wet my beak/shizzle my swizzle in blog-world. I hope it will be a long and self-actualizing experience for us all. While you digest that sentence, bask in the slendour of the  inimitable genius of Mr. Will Ferrell, who is featured in Beard 2.


"And I'm Ron Burgundy. Go fuck yourself, San Diego."

Do not miss Anchorman.

About time I updated...

Yes, it is about time. I've been flitting between business and idleness. Been helping out at the Sunday Herald review a couple of times. No pay, but I got my name in print at least. Look out for my gigs of the week on Sunday. I also liberated a good pile of promo CDs from their big box of rejects. Some interesting stuff too. The new 80s Matchbox single, which is hilarious and groovy, the new Modest Mouse album (pleasant, but no Yoshimi or Deserter's Songs), White Magic (sub Cat Power whimsy), and an Estelle album sampler. The Estelle single, 1980, has been causing some controversy on the Plan B forum. Some people love it, others think it's a big pile of poo. I think it's a cracking wee tune, and being a child of 1980 I can appreciate all the references. The string and vocal loop is swish and Estelle's touches of singing are relatively understated. Unfortunately, the other tracks on the sampler aren't anywhere in the same class. A couple suffer from slick session muso soul backings. It would be a shame to see Estelle follow the Ms Dynamite route of a cracking debut followed by a patchy album. Still, she might have held back the good stuff.
I also picked up a Red Krayola singles collection, which should be interesting...
Beard #2 is coming along nicely. Two big features fully laid out, a provisional front page, some redesigns, and various bits and bobs on the go. We have far more contributors this time, bringing all kinds of goodness to the table.
Oh, yeah - T in the Park. It was a good weekend. For my reviews see Beard #2 and Is This Music?
Great to see a Beard hero get nominated for the Mercury Prize. Yes, yes, y'all it's Robert Wyatt. BEst of all he's said it would be a disgrace for him to win and he's only going for the free meal. What a hero. 

I thought this was rather good. Queer eye for the Franz guy if you will (shoot me now)...

http://www.villagevoice.com/issues/0428/sheffield.php

Fancy a brew?

Yay! I'm off to T in the Park. Was summoned at the last minute by Is This Music? The original reviewer pulled out or something, so I was asked to take his place.
What's on my list of must sees? Let's see: Pixies, PJ Harvey, Franz, Uncle John & Whitelock, Sons & Daughters, Wu Tang Clan (I don't hold high hopes though), The Rapture...
Also looking forward to Josh Wink, if only to experience Higher State of Consciousness in a club (hey, I was too young to hear it first time round), Mylo, Ben Kweller, Beta Band, Chemicals, Felix Da Housecat, Dogs Die In Hot Cars... Think I'll also catch a bit of the Scissor Sisters. Camp people romping around to Elton John disco fever can't fail to entertain. I'd like to see Orbital, but it's going to be between them and the Pixies - no contest I'm afraid. Orbital should headline instead of the Strokes man! Perfect way to finish the fest.

Oh yeah - latest Ideas Factory stuff:

Dogs Die In Hot Cars

Merchant City

High voltage man

Current listening:
Donovan - Season of the Witch
Electric Prunes - Get Me To the World On Time
The Magic Band - Peel Session
Reading:
Bruce Chatwin - The Songlines
Paul Morley - Words and Music
Evelyn Waugh - Scoop

Been a while eh? Ah well, I've been dossing around enjoying my semi-unemployment.
Beard #2 is starting to take shape. At least in my head.
Better still, it looks I'm going to be doing some reviews for the List.
My application for the BBC researcher job is in. Fingers crossed.

Fried my brain on Monday night experiencing the Magic Band at the Arches. An extraordinary gig, one of the very best I've been to. Skronkadelic baby! My review will appear in Beard #2.
THey were much better than Television, who were a little lacking in tension and energy. The playing was immaculate of course - but this is rock 'n roll, not chamber music. That said Little Johnny Jewel, Prove It and Marquee Moon (natch) sounded mighty.

Bought a scanner and spent all last night and this morning scanning in old pics. A trip down memory lane (sniffle) - I've also been able to touch up underexposed pics, or crop pics to improve the composition, which gives them new life.
I realise that talking about pictures without showing them is somewhat pointless. So here's a nice blurry shot from my January trip to Paris.


Le Metro Jan 2004 

Man, those Stirling News mooks didn't use my Le Weekend review. Mofos. At least the Tolbooth liked my photies. I'll need to scan some and post them up.

Anyway, here's a little something I did for Ideas Factory: an interview with artist and DJ
Mel Carvalho . It's a good 'un, if I do say so myself.

I'll leave you with a quote from A Mighty Wind, which continues to prove the genius of Christopher Guest and Eugene Levy.
Mitch: I feel ready for whatever the experience is that we will... take with us after the show. I'm sure it will be... an adventure... a voyage on this... magnificent vessel... into unchartered waters! What if we see sailfish... jumping... and flying across the magnificent orb of a setting sun?

It's all in the delivery, alright?

My mission to fill the Stirling News with esoteric wittering continues apace. There's another, quite different, and often better, version for Is This Music? Some sloppy bits here, but nice stuff too. I can use the two for the basis of an extended Beard account. I've got piccies too!

Is Le Weekend the best thing to have happened to Stirling? Quite possibly. Some might run screaming at the prospect of four days of experimental music. It's their loss, because this festival was an exhilarating display of the possibilities of art.
Opening the festival Paul Dunmall, Paul Rogers and Hamid Drake cooked up free jazz of tremendous rhythmic energy, Dunmall's saxophone coursing over Rogers' seven string double bass.
Borbetomagus followed with the loudest, most terrifying live performance I've ever seen. Over a relentless guitar roar, two saxophones were blasted through Marshall amps. The gonzoid onslaught of skronk never let up. Bracing, to say the least.
Friday's Weird Folk artists inhabited the point where American roots music meets outer space. Heather Leigh Murray's otherworldly pedal steel improvisations were closer to Venus than Nashville, while Pelt incorporated Indian modes into their minimalist drone. But it was the MV & EE Medicine Show who stole the show, bringing a Beat poet sensibility to Appalachian song.
Saturday was a blast. Music For Buildings was a thrilling improvisation cum sound-installion featuring local musicians. While the band played in the attic their parts were sampled and electronically manipulated before being sent to speakers throughout the building. A glorious cacophony of saxes, strings and digital chaos spiralled up the staircase. An inspired project.
Putting paid to any notions of inaccessibility Haco and Sakamoto Hiromishi combined quite beautiful songs with sonci sculpture. Hiromishi did the business on cleeo and musical saw, while Haco sang and played with her electronic gadgets and china pot.
Equally wonderful were System D, featuring Dutch cellist Ernst Reijseger and Senegalese musicians Mollay Sylla and Serigne Gueye. Pizzicato cello provided a spry counterpoint to the sublime African percussion and vocals. But there was a primal side to the music, Sylla's vocals breaking down into a series of grunts and wails at the climax. This was the sort of performance that stays with you long afterwards.
Folk guitarist Glen Jones stepped in for the Loren Mazzacane Connors and Suzanne Langille, who were unable to attend due to illness. Jones's magical pickings were made all the more special when Pelt's brilliant Jack Rose joined on lap steel for a bluesy doodle.
It was left to the Dead C to bring things to a close, and boy, did they rock. Largely instrumental, this was all about texture and dynamics, supple rhythms cutting through crystalline feedback.
Le Weekend is for everyone. I took the plunge and it blew my mind.

unemployed again...

I'm not really into the confessional blog thing, but dearie me, I'm being let go by the Alloa Advertiser once my 6 month probation period is up. So as of July I'll be a free man. It's a blow, but I'm glad in a way - I don't think news reporting is me. It's been valuable experience but my heart is in the arts and my superiors could tell that. I really enjoyed the first couple of months, and doing the Stirling News ents has been great, but lately I've not been so comfortable. But the contacts I've made with the Tolbooth and local arts people needn't be lost. As David St Hubbins says upon Spinal Tap's split, "It's a gift, a gift of freedom".
Now I can do more stuff for Channel four and Is This Music?, devote plenty of time to Beard and do the Fringe for Fest. However, only Channel Four pay me for that. But I can seek out gainful freelance. And read lots. I really miss reading time. But such is working life. Anyone want to give me a job?

Le Weekend

Stirling's Le Weekend was tremendous. You'll be able to hear my verdict soon, but for now, here's what Neil Cooper of the Herald had to say.
I had a chat with him in the bar. Nice bloke.

The Scotsman went along too.

While I'm at it, here are a couple of my Plan B reviews.

Creekdippers

Another Country

Not my best - been overdosing on the Greil Marcus - but what the hey, it's cool to be involved. The magazine is out soon and I've got a couple more reviews in there...

Current listening - Devendra Banhart - Rejoicing in the Hands
Wilco - A Ghost Is Born
M Ward - Transfigurations of Vincent
Papa M - Whatever Mortal
Sufjan Stevens - Seven Swans

Current reading - Sandy Stoddard's bonkers letter in the Herald. The Wagner loving neo-classical sculptor (if, indeed, it is he)talks of Frank McAveety's love of contemporary music which he says is crude, onanistic fodder for immature youth. Hilariously he refers to "Beat Radio" blasting out of the cars of young hooligans and that fact that young men only wish to master two instruments, the guitar (well, fair enough) and the saxophone (eh? My Mum plays sax) because the involve fiddling in the vicinity of the groin. High art is about greater things than lust, he says.
Citing Kant, he states that aesthetics and ethics are linked, thus proving that Frank McAveety is evil cos he likes, ahem, beat music. As do "snooty bitch" art types who go "also listen to contemporary music". But he never specifies what he means by this. You'd think he just means the pop he's heard in snippets, but the sax indicates he's dissing jazz.
Like, lighten up and quit reading that Schopenhauer. It's,like, bumming you out dude.
He may well be taking the piss, but something it's difficult to produce pastiche this bonkers.
Unfortunately the letters page isn't online, so you'll have to rush out and buy a paper.

What a prick

Read James Traynor's ignorant bilge from the Daily Record and weep.

That's right, dismiss people in the arts as effeminate ponces in their bow ties and tutus, as opposed to rugged working class football loving blokes like our Jim. Thinly veiled homophobia; that's the way to win an argument. Traynor's I'm-a-man-of-the-people-telling-it-like-it-is schtick is deeply phoney. He says arts folk should live in the real world and accept redundancies happen. A bit fresh for an overpaid footie pundit and gobshite tabloid columnist. No nonsense man's man Jim obviously doesn't give a stuff for Scottish Opera chorus members, but what of the hard-working carpenters, technicians and floor staff who could face the chop? What do you know, he seems to have forgotten to mention them. Readers might sympathise with them.
Of course funding the arts has to come second to the essential services, but we're a rich nation and should be able to afford sufficient funding for all these things.
Jim claims that the arts mean nothing to the Real People. That's right, Real Working Class People don't read books or go to the theatre or any of that crap. They have football, the People's Theatre. Fuck off. This is exactly the sort of pig-ignorant thinking that has destroyed the aspirations of millions of Scots for generations. We're working class, we're meant to be stupid. Fuck you Jim. Fuck you and your phoney bullshit.
This cultural attitude is more of a problem than notions of art being inaccessable. What exactly are artists suppost to do to reach out to ordinary people? Spend hundreds of thousand on one of Jack Vettriano's deeply unsexy contrivances? May I point out most tickets to Scottish Opera's La Boheme are cheaper than a good seat at Ibrox. The theatre is even cheaper. And art galleries? Free entry.
He's also quite wrong to say football doesn't get any funding. Maybe not an annual grant, but what about the millions pumped into football development at the end of last year. I have no problem with this, although you could argue that while we're shite at football, we're very good at opera so in terms of international reputation the arts deserve the money.
You're going to take poofy arts types to the mean streets of Scotland, eh? Show them what real hardship is like? Yes, cos you'd know, sitting in your flash car, filing your pompous copy from your top of the range laptop.
It also shows utter ignorance (perhaps intentionally) of what Scottish artists actually do, what they write about and make films about.
So the 55 arts leaders who wrote the open letter to Jack McConnell are pompous and arrogant whingers?
Takes one to know one.

To quote Tim from Spaced, "What a prick."

Mmmm, see me lapping up some Reel Food

Why I hate the Streets Caroline Sullivan, who I often disagree with, has read my mind this time.

Trippin' out

My Triptych...
was a good 'un. Went along to Super Furries on Thursday and last night's smorgasboard of musical goodness at the Tramway for Is This Music?
Support at the SFA gig came from Adem, who was good, although not as folky as I expected. Sure, they've got harmonium and dulcimer, but the songwriting is more conventional indie. Not a bad thing, I should add, although there is a hint of Coldplay in the likes of 'These Are Your Friends'. But I'll let that go.
Mountaineers not so good - Turin Breaks or Crowded House with laptops. Saw them last year supporting Sparklehorse, so I didn't feel the need to watch the whole thing.
The Super Furries eventually came on around 10.30, half an hour late and 40 minutes before I had to leave to make sure I got my train. Oy vey. What I heard was good though - Golden Retriever, Rings Around the World and a couple of tracks from Mwung, which they promised to play in its entirety. They also did a bit more techno and drum 'n bass stuff off Guerrilla. My scouts will fill me in on the rest.

Saturday was one of the big nights at the Tramway, with three different stages. Caught the beginning of Animal Collective's psych meanderings before heading to Andre Williams. Made the right choice: Williams is the dude, a true showman and star. Perfect r 'n b infused garage rock 'n roll, with Williams' lewd growling and absurd lyrics (a dance called the bacon fat). Despite their Al Capone suits (black shirt, white tie) and hats, his band, the Greasy Wheels (what a name! Genius) were super cool, especially the foxy rhythm guitar player Jan. Andre had a fine outfit himself - a red double breasted suit. Natty.
The only misstep was when Andre tried to hock signed posters for a tenner. It worked in Edinburgh apparently, but to cheapskate Wedgies? Not a chance.
Great banter though. Pure filth ("All the guys who like pussy raise your hands!") but delivered with enough cheeky charm to get away with it.
At the end he takes a lap of honour along the stage, shaking everyone's hand in the front row.
After all this, Four Tet was inevitably disappointing. Beautiful records, but the old problem of doing electronica live raised its head yet again. Kieran Hebden breaks the beats down, cuts things up and adds some glitches and skips, but loses the groove. Good visuals though. Matthew Dear, who follows him, is less memorable musically, but more danceable.
Huge queue to Explosions in the Sky so we only caught the end. Sounded good though.
On paper, the lineup might seem a bit cobbled together, just being a case of whoever they could fit in on the night, but it made for an excellent evening's entertainment.

Product and Plan B

Update: Is This Music? is out now, with a couple of reviews by moi.

ALt. country a-go-go! You can read my review of an alt.country compilation for Plan right here.
Should be another one up soon - I'll keep you posted.

The new issue of Product, a Scottish arts magazine, is finally out. It's been produced (groan) in collaboration with C4 Ideas Factory and I have a couple of short pieces in the Product Placement section.

It's been a while, huh? Well, I've been running back and forth to gigs the past week or so. Last week saw the inaugural Stirling:Live festival, which I attended in my capacity as Stirling News arts maestro. Had to be nice to all the local bands - it's only fair - but the main acts were quite good. Wreckless Eric was very funny, Martin Stephenson was warm and fuzzy, while Thea Gilmore, a bit earnest on record, was actually quite good live. I interviewed her, which went okay, although I'm hardly Lyn Barber yet. She's a Replacements fan, so plus points.
Also been to see - as a paying customer - Calexico and Blance (molto bene), and the Shins (nice, but shit QMU sound). I'll bash together some reviews for Beard #2, which is starting to come together. We've got some nice illustrations of Kinky Friedman to go with Neil's fantastic interview. Once they're scanned a double page spread can be laid out. That's another two down.
My mission to namecheck as many obscure bands as possible in the Stirling News continues apace. So far I've got in Fugazi, At the Drive In, Sufjan Stevens, Alisdair Roberts - I forget the rest. My favourite preview has been for some shitty Queen tribute act: "With the Darkness straddling the pop world like some hideous four headed gargoyle, you'd think the last thing anyone would want is another Queen tribute band. Think again, because Mercury are here to rock you!" A cheap shot I know, but it brightens up the day.
An exhibition of Alisdair Gray's artwork (bear with me and I'll link this later) is on display at the Smith in Stirling, which meant I could go to town and show off my knowledge of his ouvre. So I've put references to Hobbes' Leviathan and William Blake into a news story in a free paper. And why not?
My Dad, self-styled Zelig figure of the literati, says Alisdair Gray owes him a pair of car keys. He was driving the great man home from a talk my Dad had organised in Irvine. Mr Gray was somewhat worse for wear and threw my Dad's car keys into Irvine harbour. Despite my Dad's best efforts with a fishing rod and magnet the keys were never recovered. Alisdair Gray was forced to stay in Irvine as punishment. (I jest, it's a perfectly decent place)
Alisdair Gray's finest moment is complaining to the staff of a Glasgow chippie about their use of the Daily Telegraph to wrap fish suppers. Were they trying to brainwash the proletariat with right wing propaganda?

Real Shocks

My Real Shocks interview for Ideas Factory. I'm pleased with this one, although the band helped cos they can talk the talk. A shorter, pithier version will appear in the forthcoming issue of Product. They're pretty good actually. And they love Sparks, which can never be a bad thing.

My day off

Being off work on weekday is bliss. I've got a cold, so it justifies my sitting around watching Spaced DVDs and surfing the net. It's not all good, though - I felt too weak last night to go see Jonathan Richman in Glasgow. Boo. Still, he seems to play at least once a year.
Back to my daytime viewing. I hate T4 - it's reduced yoof programming to endless repeats of Friends, sycophantic interviews (June Sarpong and Vernon Kaye in a competition to see who can crawl the furthest up Robbie Williams' fundament) - and the fucking Salon, but the Simple Life is strangely fascinating. It's an MTV "reality" show which places workshy socialites Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie on a Midwestern cattle farm. Witnessing two people who are so utterly dim and removed from reality is oddly compelling. You have to feel sorry for the people trailing in the wake of their idiocy. What did decent, hard-working people do to deserve these two fuckwits?

The Beasties are finally releasing new album. Hello Nasty came out the summer between school and uni, which makes me feel real old. While the Beasties have never been the greatest lyricists, they do have moments of genius, such as Ad-Rock's adaptation of Run DMC's King of Rock to "I'm the king of Boggle, there is none higher, score eleven points from the word 'quagmire'". So it was with a heavy heart last year that I downloaded their anti-war song. "Say ooh-ah, what's the White House doing?" was one of the better lines. I've managed to purge my memory of the rest. It was painful. Unfortunately, their new album apparently continues the political theme. Public Enemy it ain't.
Here are some of the rhymes, according to Pitchfork:

"Since 911 we're still livin'/ And lovin' life we've been given/ Ain't nothing gonna take that away from us/ We're lookin' pretty and gritty 'cause in the city we trust." ["Sonic Reducer"]

"We've got a president we didn't elect/ The Kyoto treaty he decided to neglect/ And still the U.S. just wants to flex." ["Time to Build"]

Eeee.

Good news! I'm getting tried out for some reviews in Plan B, the sequel to Careless Talk Costs Lives, and I've been given a place on a reviewing masterclass, which should hopefully lead to reviewing comedy, theatre and music at the Edinburgh Fringe for Fest mag. Yay! And Beard #2 is gradually taking shape. Very gradually.

David Stubbs [Mr Agreeable]

Ah ha! David Stubbs [Mr Agreeable] has a website. Great blog entry on getting into Private Eye's pseud's corner for his florid descriptions of Hendrix.

It's also well worth checking the Sacred Cow columns he wrote as "The Reaper". These were a breath of fresh air in a dad rock mag like Uncut. It's the antithesis of their 20 page features on the time Eric Clapton and Duane Allman changed the gauge of their guitar strings from a 10 to 9-44 hybrid. I pastiche, but you get the point.

Good reading...

Cajun music

Sufjan Stevens

Christiania, as featured in Beard #1.Seems like the Man is trying to shut Denmark's commune down.

Another Ideas Factory feature added to Stuff Wot I Wrote. This one is about jazz singer and entrepreneur Alison Burns.

Plagiarising bastards pt.2

What's this? Top football beards in the Daily Record? Sounds familiar...didn't Beard #1 have the top ten literary beards, with such masterpieces such as Hemingway's nautical number and Allen Ginsberg's bristling, priapic and bracingly counter-cultural facial fuzz? (Yes it did, it's a rhetorical question)
But if we have "inspired" the Record I'm more flattered than offended. The writer Andrew McInnes has truly entered into the spirit of beard admiration with his humorous asides. Respect to you, sir.

a c u n t c o m p e n d i u m

Wonderful stuff. The adventures of TV Go Home's London meeja wankstain Nathan Barley brought together as a c u n t c o m p e n d i u m

Plagiarising bastards

It's been a few days. I've been churning out articles for Ideas Factory and the next issue of Product magazine (yay!) and being lifted and renewed by Brian Wilson's gorgeous Smile gig in Glasgow last week.
Got my first front page on the Alloa Advertiser - not bad going for 9 weeks in the job - and it's been picked up by a few nationals. Yes, I'm talking about a Clackmannanshire councillors's invitation to Elton John to marry his partner David Furnish right here. The P & J picked it up alright. They barely even bothered to change my copy. They even nicked a collaborative joke piece about possible venues that took the piss out of celebs. Now that's dirty. The P & J are notorious for this sort of thing. Bastards. The Herald actually bothered to get their reporter to do his own version from scratch. Don't mind that, but to lift the lot and not credit it - that's just rude. Suppose I should get used to it. Oy vey.