June 30th, 2005
|02:06 pm - just keep moving...|
I'm going to Spain for two weeks tomorrow, so this is my last post in this journal. I'm moving to pandatronic, add it if you want to keep up with me. I'll add anyone who adds the new username when I get back of my hols.
Well, speak to y'all in a fortnight then...
Current Mood: busy
Current Music: Maybe I Dried My Teardrops For The Last Time - Marvelettes
|07:15 am - Music I don't like|
Okay, my Dad is always saying 'I hate opinionated people'. WTF is wrong with having opinions? If you don't know where you stand on an issue, you fall over - especially on matters like subjective artistic taste. I normally use this journal to (amongst other things), talk about music and books that I like. Now, I just wanna rant...
Coldplay. Chris Martin's fucking voice. It's so bland it's like a digestive biscuit with no chocolate on and no tea to dip it into. He does have a discernibly North London accent, but he's hardly Ray Davies or Suggs in the way he uses it. All the lyrics are like:
'I am scared.
I do not want to hurt you.
You are all yellow,
In my beautiful world.'
Ew. They're so introverted and they don't actually say anything in particular. Compare it to, 'I woke up in a Soho doorway, a policeman knew my name', or 'punctured bicycle on a hillside desolate' - those lyrics instantly set a scene. Or even compare Coldplay lyrics to really dumb openers like, 'if you like to gamble, I tell you I'm you're man' - and they look vague and floppy.
Another thing that irritates me about Coldplay is those one-note riffs that go 'doo doo doo doo doo doo', designed to ring through stadium air over Chris Martin's zombie-like voice. Coldplay are such a stadium band. They have such a clean, expansive sound. No baroque basslines a la Entwistle, no wild drumming to distract from the singing - it's all designed to feel just as intimate on row ZZZ as it does on the car stereo. I realise that quite a few bands I like filled some colossal venues in their time - but for sonically totally different reasons. The Who were always competing with each other instrumentally, they were all volume and destruction and dissonance. Everything at a Coldplay concert has to be a nice complement to Chris Martin's whine and piano routine.
They're such a car stereo band as well. You can't drive around to My Generation (though you probably could to Baba O Riley). Coldplay are designed to avoid stressing people out or making them think deeply or get involved in the listening. Pete Townshend used to say in the 60s that good pop music should be something barely noticeable, that doesn't trouble the brain too much. That's a funny thing for him to say because he never wrote a song about jackshit, he's very conceptual. Chris Martin, on the other hand, writes about jackshit.
Well, not jackshit exactly, but always some vague melancholy state - with no discernible cause - perhaps it's an existential or relationship problem, but the lyrics don't give too many clues away. 60s pop comes straight out with it, the girlgroups are like, 'my man's left me, so now I'm going to die' and the rock groups were all about not getting your satisfaction - and being able to tell everyone why. Even with the blues it's, 'I woke up this morning, the dog was dying, the house was on fire' - you can always tell why someone's in a funk.
All Coldplay, and so many other groups like them (Keane, The Doves, Embrace, Aqualung, Athlete, Radiohead etc) do is say 'mmm, well I feel a bit sad'. Boo-hoo-bloody-hoo, doesn't EVERYONE at some time or other?
Fuck, I hate The Doves so much as well. I know a few people on my friends list actually like them, but they're worse than Coldplay in my books. They get kudos round here for being a local group, and so do Starsailor, who also make me sick. Elbow are Lancastrian as well, aren't they? *gags*. You know, I've always like London groups better than Manchester groups, even going back to the 60s. But Coldplay ruin it by coming from London.
My original pet hate is Radiohead. I have hated Radiohead from a very young age, and nothing will budge me from the position. I hate Bjork even more than I hate Radiohead, but she doesn't quite fit into this argument, because she's an Icelandic smurf and not a whingy, Prozaced-up, public schoolboy making a living out of depression.
My definition of rock is that it's a type of raucous black music played by white people. Rhythm and Blues given a cross-cultural analysis by Caucasian tonsils. I think since the 80s, and even before then, rock has undergone a process similar to that of Michael Jackson's skin. Shit, even the black music these days doesn't sound very black to my ears - hip hop and modern RnB are more about studio-wizardry than anything else.
Rock is all about re-invention and re-application of existing formulae as well. John Mayall singing about the Parchman Farm is okay, because he doesn't really sound like he's singing about the Parchman Farm. Just through the way he sounds it's given a British context. But these haircut bands who try to do facsimiles 80s New Wave are nearly worse than the drony, Prozac-fuelled, piano-thumping groups. I was watching Glastonbury and they were trying to be Joy Division/Blondie/Boomtown Rats note for note. No re-interpretation necessary. Gah!
Another thing that pisses me off is rock-kids who try to condescend to dance music. They say things like, 'Well I don't mind good dance, when it's done properly and it's catchy, like Bassment Jaxx'. No, Bassment Jaxx are manure. All dance music sucks gorilla cock, stop pretending to like it. Leave dance music to scallies and ravers and morons from Brighton who don't know any better.
As for fake Celtic-music and 'chill-out' versions of any type of World/folk music. Don't get me started. My brain will explode from disdain.
My Dad is really into Coldplay. I, however, am turning into one of those old farts who thinks all music after a certain date is rubbish.
Current Mood: ranty
Current Music: Mum in the shower
June 26th, 2005
|01:18 pm - Find me a woman, and lay down on the ground|
Been reading the book of Genesis. My Mum summarised the Old Testament as:
'begat, begat, kill, kill, kill, lust, begat, begat, prophetic vision, begat, begat, lust, 10 commandments, kill, kill, plague, begat, begat'. LOL
And reading about Sarah and Hagar, and Issac and Ishmael - made me think of Judaism vs Islam today. It's a sad situation, but I'm not sure where I fit into it, since I'm not descended from Isaac or Ishmael. In biblical times, my ancestors were sacrificing each other to trees and painting themselves with woad. Funny that, although I'm largely of Celtic extraction, I have no desire to follow any Neo-pagan/earth-based religion. Quite the opposite.
And now for a quote from my dear sister:
'Bill and Ted was Keanu Reeves best role, because it was the only one in which he actually acted'.
I'm gonna get Rachael to go gay village with me. I think I'm gayer than my conscious mind lets on. I just repressed a lot of it as I was growing up. I had a religious upbringing and I thought being gay was something you should hide or avoid. I was really quite young when I first started to notice women's bodies, I wasn't interested in boys until later. When I was little I thought, 'well if I grow up to be bi, I can always just get married and ignore the gay feelings. No-one has to find out'. And now I feel so different. I feel like I need to wrench all these things out of my soul and crack my mind open to see what's really there.
Thing is, I'm a relationships person, and I don't think it'd be easy to get a girlfriend. I know girls who are curious, but they're not curious enough, if you know what I mean. Plus, I don't want to wreck any of my existing friendships. I'll probably get another boyfriend when I'm older, but I just don't want one right now.
Current Mood: contemplative
Current Music: Looking Back - John Mayall
June 24th, 2005
|12:02 am - mashed potato moors and faffing about with daffodils|
Moved back home today. Carried lots of heavy cases down 4 flights of stairs, then across the carpark in beating sun. The place was starting to get rat-infested, so I was glad to leave. Whenever I emptied the rubbish, I'd see these fat, scraggy rodents lying around the bins, covered in flies.
I'm frightened of growing up. Feels safer to be back in the familial bosom, but I'm still scared of life. I try to remove it from my mind's display and put Coleridge and Wordsworth there instead, for my resit. But I fret.
Had a £120 fine on overdue library books, but I managed to get it waived. Drove past Saddleworth Moors on the motorway; looks like someone slapped a tonne of grassy mashed-potato onto the earth and sculpted it.
I like Coleridge as a critic. I like his spirituality - the poet brings love to all things and every act of creativity is an act of worship. I mean, Wordsworth was a better poet; but I like his sonnets better than his lyrical ballads. The serenity Westminster Bridge in the morning, a sonnet to a black lady being expelled from Calais - much better than the fake rustic routine he does in some of the ballads. He's slightly patronising and sentimental in them.
I've found it very hard to comprehend metre. Telling iambs from trochees is difficult for me. I really need to pass these re-sits, or my Dad will skin me alive. I can't afford to redo the year.
Missed Ray's b/day. I've been busy! That's why I haven't been updating. I didn't even get to say goodbye to Quaker Peter properly. Though I did hear the Pretenders version of 'I Go To Sleep' on the radio driving home, and took great pleasure in thinking 'that's a Ray Davies song!'
Oh, and my cousin Paul's girlfriend miscarried the baby. Her third miscarriage. I can't even imagine that situation for myself.
Current Mood: worried
Current Music: Prayer (Oh Doctor Jesus) - Miles Davis
June 16th, 2005
Okay it's a bit of an in-joke between me and Becky, but you have to admit, Heino is hilarious! Mod fantastiche, ja?
I've failed my Reading Poetry module, which means I've prolly failed my electives, too. 3 resits! Aye. I've become such a bad student.
Oh and it's truly, 600% over between me and Damo. Which is extremely sad. He told me he has mild Aspergers. I suspected as much. He can't deal with the emotional involvement that goes into a relationship. He's a lovely boy, but he can't express himself at all.
My dear sis used to pronounce Aspergers (unintentionally) as 'ass-burgers', lol. I used to actually have nearly all the symptoms of Assburgers when I was little, and then I kinda grew out of it. I heard a rumour Keith Moon had it too. Keith had something, but I don't know about that.
I've got Waterstones vouchers to burn, so I might buy Moon and try to psycho-analyze him...
Current Mood: indifferent
Current Music: I Can't Get Next To You - The Temptations
June 13th, 2005
|07:42 pm - Hava nagila hava...|
Damo couldn't make it so I spent a few days with Rachael. We didn't go out. We sat in, talking and drinking. I made paella. We came up with this idea called 'the naff philosopher' - i.e. one whose precepts are all illogical and who couldn't do his job. It seemed very funny at 4 in the morning. We watched the sun come up every night and tried to seriously analyze System of a Down lyrics for a laugh. We also sang Hava Nagila and talked about how the groovy thing to do was combine Christianity with Eastern religion. Alcohol has that effect.
I made her miss a Freddy Mercury themed fancy dress party by bringing her up here. For this, I feel guilty. We talked about astrology. I played her some records and she ended up falling in love with Roger Daltrey on the album covers - her taste is odd (lol, like I can talk!). She called Leeds a 'wannabe Manchester', which is true. Drank Glenfiddich. Gelnfiddich is overrated.
I've bought a very nice khaki dress. Also some more CDs. My copy of Miles Davis' Porgy and Bess won't work on my CD player for the last 4 tracks - but it works in the shop, so they won't refund it. I'd like to thank uberbuu for mentioning Son House to me. Delta Blues I actually like!
Also bought some sew on badges: A kitsch Virgin Mary, Che Guevara with a mullet saying 'HASTA EL MULLET SIEMPRE', and some woman with red hair in hellfire. Two t-shirts, a pair of brown suedette flares, a cheesecloth shirt, some mules, some two tone shoes, an Indian style necklace, hot-pink hair straighteners, a blue long-sleeve shirt with a train on the front and some postcards with 50s B-movie adverts on them.
Rachael's dumped that crap hippie bf of hers and now she's interested in this handsome Welsh metalhead. All is well.
Current Mood: content
Current Music: Broken Wings - John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers
June 2nd, 2005
Becky just mailed me this link:
Sat my Politics Exam today. I don't think I did that badly. I ran out of things to say towards the end, but my revision proved fruitful. I just wrote about the survival and employment strategies of the urban poor in the third world.
I'm making a mix CD for when I'm wired. Any suggestions? I'm thinking about stuff that's as fast as Hey Bo Diddley or Ace of Spades by Motorhead. I once heard someone on a radio show say that song had a bpm of about 270. It's a shame I don't like house music, because then I would have all the fast tunes my ears could handle, but I don't even consider that stuff to be music.
I might have Damian up here next Tuesday. I'm so hung up on him.
Looks like I'll be living in Manchester and commuting next year.
Current Mood: I love ephedrine
Current Music: Sitting In The Midday Sun - The Kinks
May 30th, 2005
|09:34 pm - I had a nice fantasy today...|
Damian in a white boiler suit...
...Argh. Sarah, he doesn't want you right now! I'm a stupid girl. Would make a nice birthday present though. But even if I did get him back, he wouldn't do it for me. He's no fun sometimes.
I'd like to thank Benjy, castlerigger for sending me The Two Mile Time Machine. Would you like it posted back when I'm done?
Been having some wonderfully escapist dreams lately. Like flying around in my own personal airplane with my Mum and sister. Doesn't sound like much, but oh, it was beautiful scenically. I felt like all my worries were in another universe. Just dreams about being in another world, on the other side of the planet, airy, far-flung dreams.
Although last night I was a warrior in a dungeon and got killed by a one eyed blob monster, although I stabbed it about 600 times with my sword. The dream was in retro Amiga graphics too. I'm thinking of writing a kids fantasy story about a little girl who has Herculean strength and saves her tribe from being enslaved. Ugh, that's a dumb idea and would make for a very violent kids story. Never mind.
May 27th, 2005
|12:14 pm - How far did male homosexual relationships conform to the ideal described by writers such as Plato?|
Just sat my Classics exam. It did not go well at all. I was up all night revising, no sleep, 10 hours straight.
Kirsty and Jennifer are shagging their boyfriends every night as well. They're not really that loud though. I can get to sleep if I'm drunk.
Current Mood: tired
Current Music: Harry Rag - The Kinks