Monday, September 11, 2006

"There's crooked po-lice that's stationed at the knees"

Hello you lot!
Sorry I've been AWOL for the past few days, but I've been hella busy doing this and that and sometimes the other, so I just plain haven't had the time for Yer Mam! I doubt I'm going to be around to post tomorrow either, so you might have to wait until Thursday now for a mixtape. To make up for it, I'll try to get another one done over the weekend. Notice how I said "try"? Reliability has never been one of my strong points.
Anyway, I was going to do my run-through of this week's new single releases, but if I don't get it done on the Monday, I kind of lose interest. However, I haven't lost interest enough to not pick a Single Of The Week. Well, two singles of the week anyway.

Two hip-hop cruiserweights (not quite heavy) weigh in with very good indeed new singles this week. One a young pretender to the throne, another a nearly-man with a couple of hits under his belt, but still with a lot to prove. First up, the new-boy, Lupe Fiasco does the unthinkable by taking a tired sample in Gunther Kallman's 'Daydream' (as used in the past by The Beta Band and I Monster, to name but two) and making a shit-hot tune out of it. He ropes in Jill Scott to coo the bit about falling asleep beneath the flowers and drops some mad decent rhymes in the verses, making what could have been a case of over-familiarity actually sound super-fresh. Good work!
Next, we have Pharoahe Monch who's quietly starting to make tentative steps back into the hip-hop scene after three years away (even then, it was just the 'Agent Orange' 12" that we got from him). 'Push' is the first single from his sophomore album, 'Desire' and it seems to mark somewhat of a change in direction from the Organised Konfusion man. Choosing to employ the croon he used in 'The Light' straight off the bat, then leaving it until late to actually, y'know, rap, he may well disappoint people expecting 'Simon Says Mk. 2', but this new soulful get-up suits him down to the ground. More smooth than rugged, but with enough meat on its bones, mainly down to the presence of the Tower Of Power horns, this self-produced entree is damn-near-perfect for this indian summer we're enjoying.

In other news, I went to see Liam Frost do an instore gig again yesterday, this time solo and acoustic (wot no Sadie?) at Manchester's branch of Fopp. I won't review it as I've spoken about Frosty enough on this blog (his head's big enough as it is), but I will say that there was one factor of yesterday's 'gig' that pretty much spoiled the whole thing for me...
An open letter to the twat stood behind me at Fopp,
I know that you probably adore Liam Frost and his music, but that doesn't give you carte blanche to whisper along to every song, right in my fucking ear, whilst making Skippy the kangaroo-type clicking noises with your tongue to fill in for the percussion! It's an acoustic gig you moron! Other people want to be able to hear what the guy is playing, they don't need a running commentary when if you just shut the fuck up, they would be able to hear it anyway. Not that you were being so loud that I couldn't hear Liam, more like every song was being bounced back in my ear by a lesser singer.
Now I'm not against singing at gigs, I do it enough myself, for christ's sake, but yesterday wasn't the kind of gig where you could get away with it. So please, if you find yourself in such a situation again, as I believe you probably will after bearing witness to your Frost-adoration, stick a fucking cork in it. Find another way, perhaps, to show Liam just how much you love his music, like maybe having plastic surgery to make yourself look like him, or perhaps cutting the lyrics for each of his songs into your torso with a rusty nail. As long as you don't do it in front of me, I really don't give a shit. After all, you were completely oblivious to my countless evil looks, choosing instead to witlessly repeat each word with an unnerving, unwavering fanboy fervour. You even had your fucking eyes closed at one point, slowly shaking your head as if in the throes of the best orgasm you've ever had!
So yeah, do what the fuck you want to express your desire for Liam Frost. I don't care as long as I'm not there to see it. Don't bother with offering to fellate him though, I don't think he swings that way. Or actually, here's a novel idea, why don't you just grow a pair of testicles and leave the slavish salivating at musicians for girls, Smiths fans and kids half your age.
James Fucking Morton
P.S. If I see you at the Academy gig next week, I'm going to scream the words to Slayer's 'Reign In Blood' at full volume, all the way through, right in your fucking shell-like. See how you like it.
If, however, you would like to read a review of this gig (and a rather glowing one at that), go see Prudence.
Back soon,


Anonymous The Ledge said...

An awesome rant about twats ruining gigs. We're gonna have to up our game here.

11:37 pm  
Blogger James said...

Ah yeah, I pretty much ripped that from your Gig-goer of the Week posts. Plagiarism being the sincerest form of flattery, and all that.

12:20 am  

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