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Wednesday, 21 July 2004

La La La LaLaaaaaaaaa, I can't hear you

Topic: BillyWorld

A musical meme pinched from the beloved and delectable Bandhag, who in turn pinched it from Dearie Me or Maffydoo. It's one of those 'randomise the shitty mp3s on your pc and confess to the crap that floats to the top' efforts.

Done with some reservations, as this is a frigging laptop, so I'm not going to spend large amounts of time destroying good music by feeding it through these tinny one inch speakers. But I've failed massively to blog lots about music on here, as was one of my original intentions last July - largely because events overtook me, in the form of my own seven month self -imposed ban on listening to any music at all beyond Estonian classical improv, which has made me very few, though treasured, friends. :)
So, a randomise reveals one demo by a fellow blogger, two Gray Album tracks, one track from a CD I actually own (Endreson) after fellow blogger Jez recommended it, and the rest are all downloads taken from Van Mega's now defunct mixtapes, or the odd link from Large Hearted Boy's mp3 multitudes.
So I'll actually have to listen again to even have a clue of what's on there. In compensation for the shite writing, I might as well really fucking annoy my ISP by whacking up the mp3s themselves for your delectation. Yes even the two really really embarrassing ones.
(If you're downloading, right click and save, there's no handy webpage; I can't be bothered, because they always end up looking really embarrassing afterwards)

Metric - Hustle Rose
Fucking awful intro that always makes me laugh. It's like a bad dream that you're shagging Phil Oakey. Aren't all the best songs like that? (More)

Sidsel Endresen & Bugge Wesseltoft - Truth
Gorgeously dykey. Of course it's dykey, you never heard kd lang? A million lesbians bite pillows to this sort of music. Imagine Bjork having a multiple in the room next to her parents. This is the only track that turned up from an album I actually possess, therefore this is the clearest indication of what I actually listen to.
Except it sends me to sleep. I only listen to music in the car at the moment, so I had resolved to ban it from my playlist. Sorry, Jez. (More)

Lemonpillows - Heartbeat demo
Very sweet, and reminds me of Darling Violetta a little. Like the overdubbing. What I don't get is why people sing with a different accent than the one they speak with? Lemon sounds like a wee angel from Surrey here. (More)

Jay-Z and DJ Danger Mouse - Moment of Clarity
Love the intro and fadeout to this one. It's so Beatlesy. Well, erm. Obviously. Other than that, it's not my favourite off the album; though the samples are used beautifully, the actual vocals are bollocks. "Nigga feel my juice"?
Overall, though I much preferred tracks like 'My First Song' off the Grey Album. In fact, I'll upload that one too. [Cue grievous attempt number one to sway the ranomised list off onto a list that makes some bloody sense.]
Speaks for itself. Lovely old skool interpretation. Musically not as satisfying a use of a classic as 'Moment of Clarity', but curiously far more listenable. Sounds like there's some bloody emotion and passion to it, anyway. Unsurprisingly, it's about the crass self-destroying commercialisation that wankers like 50 Cent represent in music. (More)

The Animals - Rising Sun
Well, this is two bloody seconds of the intro (why do I have two seconds of the intro?), so I'm going to pretend it was number 11 on the list instead:
Tom Waits - Books of Moses.
Now this is a song that begs to be remixed. Lovely, but myself, I'd prefer a few tracks from 'At Their Satanic Majesties' Requests' if I feel like some hoary old fucker groaning in my ear, but I'm dead conventional like that. Still, it's pretty meaty, growly, bluesy grumpy oldbloke gurning, and it's holding it's randomised place in the list with pride, especially after the execrable 'Moment of Clarity'. (More)

Jay-Z and DJ Danger Mouse - Interlude
Way better than the previous one. A genuine rethinking of the original. Good running music, or morning driving tunes. Ah but, I would say that, I'm into modern Estonian classical improv, remember? An interlude is the only damn thing I'm used to listening to. On second thoughts, I'm the only human alive who would enjoy this track, beware.
Therefore, I'm going to give you track number 12 as a substitute:
Dilated Peoples feat Kanye West - This Way
This is the sort of thing I play on the car radio, and tap me auld feet to, and get shitloads of criticism from everyone I know over. They namecheck some of the best corny old hiphop favourites in my vinyl collection in there, and I'm a dirty great sucker for that sort of thing. Okay it's a bit feelgood/easylistening, but it's still gospelish, too. (More)

The Flaming Lips - Do You Realise?
It just wouldn't be an entirely randomised playlist without some jingly jangly shoegazer idiots on the coat tails, would it?
This is from a Van Mega mixtape, and in the context of Tegan and Sara, Iron and Wine, Starsailor, etc, it makes a really good segue from harsh track to smoother paced track. On its own, I'd turn the radio over, I'm afraid. In fact I accidentally muted it while listening. A Freudian finger-slip, I'm sure. The poor auld Flaming Lips. Ah well. They just don't realise. (More)

Calexico - Quattro
I actually like this one. I've listened to it while reading blogs many a time - mostly because its tinny whiny meteallic guitars really suit the tinny effect of the tinny laptop speaker, and contrast beautifully against the spiralling chords, burped trumpet peals and crooner-vocals. It's what I'd call a travelling song: rhythmic as fuck, and it builds, so you can attempt to impute progress where there is possibly none. (More)

Elliot Smith - Waltz #2
Again, I've barely ever heard this one before, but it's nice. The big band drums are slightly annoying, but the sub Beach Boys harmonies make up for it. Harmless. Quite nice, in a way. Great ending. (More)

Damien Rice - Amie
Argh! Number ten! Why couldn't it have been Jacques Brel? I've tried randomising another ten times, but each time it's something even more embarrassing and further up the list.
Okay, having slagged it off no end, it's not that bad. Bland as expected, like the Corrs had a sex change and took on Barry Manilow's old act. But pretty polished for all that. Although I always still expect him to sing "Amie, come sit on my face".
You know what the hideously embarrassing truth is? Melons told me to stop listening to this guy after someone at work lent me the CD. And yet still I got an email asking me if I wanted free tickets to his show this Saturday. (I don't! Not unless he promises to sing my lyrics)
Thank god it wasn't 'Cannonball'. (More)
In fact, I'm just going to reject this Rice nonsense and pretend it's actually number 13 on the list instead - why break the habit of a list-time?
Pilate - Melt Into the Walls
I love this sort of soaring indie guitar music. I like it even more when it's over the top miserable - great for people who're trying to endlessly stretch out two break ups in one year to infinity to excuse their patent inability to move on. Ahem. Like me. Just imagine how Muse could do this track.... (More)

Aah, fuckit, that didn't work. Did it?

Best Blo'te of the Day So Far: Watching London Burn
Visual traits: None. Highly dangerous. Actually, one possible clue: wearing a Blogger T-Shirt. Unf.
Aural clues: talk about it continuously. All the f*cking time.
Dangerous aspects: all bloggers are obsessive. Anyone, who regularly writes down their most intimate thoughts to a PC must be slightly psychotic. Especially anyone who writes their views on politics, as these blogs are typically links to news articles with some of the bloggers own deranged commentary. They only do this beacuse they are unable to talk to people and engage in conversation, which would expose their lunacy. Socially retarded, one and all. Worst of all they all think they are going to be multimillionaire authors once penguin or random house find their blog. Yeah, right."

This page graced by sarsparilla at 1:58 AM BST
Updated: Wednesday, 21 July 2004 5:32 AM BST
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Thursday, 15 July 2004

Yeh, so about Not Watching BB, right

Now Playing: Jason singing on the live feed - He Just Wants To Feel Real Love, apparently

Topic: BillyWorld
I love the nervous pre-eviction night chats - suddenly they switch out of their delirium and start to ask each other questions. Jason and Victor are like those comedy cockney blokes talking shite on Smith and Jones years ago.
And Ahmed chips in just to be talking, completely missing the point:

Jason: Do you feel like home is just an hour away, or is it another world?
Victor: It's another world.
Ahmed : Ees not an hour. Ees thirty minutes. Forrim. Ees haf' an hour.
Jason: Aye, even from Manchester.
Vic: It's half an hour.
Ahmed: Unless it's rush hour.
Jason: It's another world.
Ahmed: (firmly) Haf' an hour.

Then they chat about London.
Jay starts repeatedly mouthing "It's a harsssh worrrrld, London, a harsssh worrrrld."
Inbetween the dips in sound caused by the potential for the entirety of London to take offence at Ahmed's suggestion that people who live as near to Heathrow as Elstree Studios must endure a living hell (sic), you garner the information that Jason's worldly knowledge of London comes from a journey once where the bus was rather crowded.

Vic, of course, sticks to unintelligible "pfft", "pshaw", and lip sucking responses, thus coming across as 'street', as 'London', and simultaneously being careful never to challenge Jason's interpretation that complete bollocks-talking is justified.

Ahmed proffers the wisdom that you should never buy a woman a drink because all women earn more than men, who are all on the dole. Jason points out that he only buys people drinks for twenty minutes of chat, or if he really really fancies someone. Vic says he doesn't buy people drinks (the charmer), and Ahmed goes on to issue his direst warning of the evils of the female species yet - if you buy a woman a drink, she will expect another drink the next time (unless you warn her, buts in Victor - nice technique, you smooth talking lad you), and before you know it she will be used to you opening the car door for her. Jason points out that it's only gentlemanly to open a car door, and the others dissolve into giggles at this break in ranks from the pussywhipped pompadour. "Doorman! Doorman!" they giggle.

Even the jungle codgers get bored of their own mutual wank society, though, and fall into mumbling and gently singing their favourite songs. And what a choice of songs! Jay's off in his own world, singing Madonna's latest, enthusing about her past albums, then quietly segues into Kylie Minogue's early hits. Can he act any more gay?
Victor tries to rescue Jay's masculinity by gently crooning a little R&B, but the Jungle Codger is oblivious to Victor's subtle remonstrations - he fires up the Kylie, and turns up the volume on his voice.

Brilliant. Please please please vote out the boring ones, and leave these self deluding nutters where they are this week.

Best Blo'te of the Day So Far: Breakfast Any Time
"There's a lot of things I've been meaning to tell you, but I lost my notebook and now I can't remember how to spell any of those things. If you're in the Chicago area, be on the lookout for a small black notebook. Then start your own website where you just keep posting the things I've written down in my notebook. Then give me the address. Seriously, it'll save me alot of time."

This page graced by sarsparilla at 9:34 PM BST
Updated: Saturday, 17 July 2004 4:06 PM BST
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Tuesday, 22 June 2004

Tidying Up the Place

Topic: BillyWorld

Having been throwing Gmail invites all around usenet, I have 8 spare invites. If you want one, leave an email address (if you mung it, please make it obvious) in the comments.

Big Brother is a bit boring at the moment, isn't it? Is it only me who prefers it when they're fighting [sic]? So much for their TV Psychs - a child with a poo fetish and a spare pack of Crayolas could draw more psychological insights from the programme than this lot of overpaid media whores did.
What I'd really like is an in-depth analysis of Jason and Victor. I know a lot of people like Victor, the Butter Knife Avenger, and I'm inclined to forgive, and look for clues as to whether his behaviour is motivated by nastiness or not. I think not. Jason, on the other hand, I find repellent. I'd gneuinely like to know if he represents a type of human who's common, or even acceptable.
In the meantime, if you miss a programme, and have broadband, as well as all the progs you miss, there's some really really funny clips on Kazaa and on bit torrent. Ways of downloading torrents are here, here, and here. Ways of watching them are here.
The BookClubBlog suggests an alternative. At least Wimbledon has just started.
And isn't there some football on, somewhere? ;o)

Best Blo'te of the Day So Far: Cyber Vassals
"Open letter to the woman I saw on the street yesterday:
I'm sorry. But if you can fit the word "DANCER" across your ass, you probably aren't one."

This page graced by sarsparilla at 2:01 AM BST
Updated: Tuesday, 22 June 2004 11:00 PM BST
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Sunday, 23 May 2004

Moments from the Weekend

Topic: BillyWorld

Three much cherished ex-pats revisited Blighty this weekend, so it was busy, seeing them and seeing everyone else as well. I'm like a mole blinking in the sunlight when I go out, right now, so it was nice, but exhausting, particularly with a stinking cold borne of walking to work in an extremely skimpy t shirt and jeans on the rainiest day since Easter.

Moment: rushing past The Clink, trying to find an anonymous wine bar, my German was just resilient enough to overhear the bored campy tour guide directing his party of pensioners along the less salubrious banks of the Thames. Pausing in a dark cobbled tunnel by the old skeleton in a steel cage above the Clink, he stretched his arms wide, and declaimed imperiously: "Old. Cold. Lovely."

Moment: an argument I stirred once upon a time resurfaced to bite me on the bum. I was handed an old email from several years back. It was bitchy and nasty and the writer of the email was plainly too stupid to see that they were unhappy with their life. It was pointlessly offensively troublesome in content. It was written by me. I might as well commit genocide now, my karma's shot to fuck.

Moment: instructing a waiter in a garden cafe to Bring More Stuff, I noticed that the reason I was having to be so fucking insistent was there in his toffee coloured steady eyes. They didn't change focus at all, not when he said yes, not when he said no, not when he listened, not when he ignored. Bloody waiters, mashed off their heads to cope with the boredom. Wonder if Jennifer Aniston was like that once?

Moment: Arriving at a frou frou wine bar with fingers so cold they'd gone a waxy dead looking yellow, Melons insisted on vigorously rubbing them between her palms until they were entirely shocked pink spots, and the feeling returned. Turning to Lettuce, I made the second stupidest remark of the evening, just as it went rather quiet. "That's the most sex I've had all year."
Seeing the widened eyes, realising it wasn't the most, erm, inviting comment to make to someone warming your fingers up, and hoping to laugh it off, I dug the hole miles deeper.
"Oh don't worry, by next week the most sex I'll have will be holding onto a safety pole on the tube."

Moment: Talking to an old university friend of an ex of theirs - 'yes he's addicted to your blog'. Different day, different bar, talking to an old friend about an old ex of an old university friend, and his ex - 'yes, he was in stitches over what you wrote about x's fit about y on your blog'. Strange. Yet I haven't spoken to one of these people for ten years, and the other I've only said hello to and made party chat to in the past five or so. Very strange feeling.

Moment: The moblog is making me a public nuisance.

And I blame Rose Madder for telling me I should shove the camera into people's faces without fear of their reprisals. I can't bloody walk anywhere without dropping to one knee to capture the sun on the dog turd glistening by the wayside. The poor bloody three fellas trying to eat their Sunday breakfast in peace in a Walthamstow deli this morning suffered around an hour of me trying to quell hangover shakiness to take something in focus of their snarfing.

Best Blo'te of the Day so far: CGP

"I understand that it is necessary to have a penny, because it is the smallest unit of currency, but why-oh-why a coin that represents two of the smallest unit? It's useless as I have yet to find a price that ends in .98 and, worst of all, the two pence coin is huge. As the second most valueless coin, it's also the third biggest"

This page graced by sarsparilla at 10:54 PM BST
Updated: Monday, 24 May 2004 5:47 PM BST
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Sunday, 9 May 2004

Fractured Moments

Topic: BillyWorld

Last time I dated - as opposed to picking people up accidentally and shagging them at intervals with no real commitment - there was no mobile phone. Nor any email or internet, for that matter. Texting is an addition to dating that I can do without - in the run up to a date, who wants a 40 word daily update of someone trying to pretend to be someone better, cooler and sexier than they are? Leave it for a telephone call, or better still, maintain the damn mystery till it's life story time, four drinks in.

I got on one of those rickshaw things in Soho on Friday night, in the small hours. They're disturbingly rickety, run slower than a fast walking pace, and have you worrying for the health of the obviously dazed and disoriented drivers, who wheeze and grunt their way up the wrong streets so predictably that you can't bear to let them know they've gone the wrong way, and eventually just plead to be let out somewhere. Anywhere.
Also not helping: your position prone on the freezing, jalopy seat provides a perfect view of the car air freshener that dangles just below the arse of the driver.

I've always been good at two timing, and have only ever faintly worried that I don't seem to have the moral guilt that others experience - in fact, the only times I've come clean (so to speak) were when I worried that being so successful at lying to everybody concerned might go to my head, and I'd become uncontrollable. A little freedom being a bad thing. So on a date last week, it was a nice coincidence that the bar set for the venue was downstairs from a gig performed by a folksy singer-songwriter I'd chatted to online. I messaged her that I'd pop in. Partway through the date, under the guise of popping out to the toilet, I managed to appear onstage for two numbers next door.
Excellent. A moment within a moment. If it returned to my seat near the bar a little late, and looking flushed, I could always blame the oysters.

Spending the night at an undisclosed location in the city, I expected to be overcome with nostalgia for the days when I lived in Soho and Bloomsbury. Not so. It struck me that there was nowhere to shop, nowhere to buy shite coffee and a plate of beans on a hangover morning, and most of all, no park to lie in the sun and pretend yesterday didn't happen at all. I think I'm getting seduced by the leafy suburbs. Morphing horribly into a character from Coming Up For Air.

I was meant to go for a curry with all my colleagues on Friday. I was never going to turn up, but couldn't be bothered to formulate an excuse, then forgot to cancel at all. So I stood the boss up. Oopsy. Bad move. And even worse, nobody rang to ask where I was. This is not a good sign. What excuse can I use? Shall I fake a road accident? I could probably remember to limp for half a day at most.

This page graced by sarsparilla at 2:39 PM BST
Updated: Sunday, 9 May 2004 2:59 PM BST
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