REVOLUTION REVOLUTION REVOLUTION REVOLUTION
Here I am. Blogger's been arsing about, and I was too busy to update this load of rubbish regularly, so here's a quick entry for no reason at all.
On Friday, whilst I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour, a load of poorly stapled sheets of paper were thrust into my hand. Being as I was too drunk to read, I stuffed it in my pocket and gave no further thought to the matter. The following morning, as I rolled over to the sound of a million tiny pixes dancing on my head, I picked up said poorly stapled sheets of paper.
This fanzine has become somewhat of an inspiration, and the realisation has hit me that they are my NME, and I am the pre-Smiths Morrissey figure. If you don't know who I am, no doubt you believe I have nowhere near as classy a writing style as SPM, but that's cos this computer hurts my brain. Mr Fanzine Man, expect a written manifesto/letter/whatever to arrive on your doorstep sometime soon. I always believed this dirty old town was too small and backwards looking to do anything original, but you have given me some hope. Our musical tastes are irrelevant. The point is something is coming, and I refuse to wallow in apathy any longer. People are sick of bland pop. We may not be a London, NYC or Manchester, but if Seattle, Detroit, Omaha, New Fucking Zealand (I know it's a country, but you get what I mean) can put together movements that are relevant and exciting, I don't see why we can't.
Everyone has their 15 minutes, I think it's time for ours.

I'M SO LONESOME I COULD CRY
God bless June Carter Cash.
Johnny Cash has quickly become one of my favourite singers ever, and without June, Johnny just wouldn't have been Johnny. I know I'm a bit late with the condolences, but this has really made me sad. Thoughts are with Johnny, and the rest of the Carter/Cash family. A beautiful woman will be missed. Leave messages at johnnycash.com to show how much you care.

To cheer myself up, I found Toothpaste For Dinner. A wonderful site, it's as inspiriational as any art I have recently beholdeded. So this applies to me. So what? At least I can laugh at myself and my trucker hat.

(Disclaimer: I do not own a trucker hat.)

DRESS UP
So then. For some unknown reason, I still get hits, and recently I've had a few referrels for "How to dress like The Strokes/Libertines/Whoevers". Since my vacous mind is completely lacking an original thought (I have a theory that college has destroyed all my imagination and ability to create, but that's another matter), I think I'll have a go at helping people like you (yes YOU!) dress up all nice and indie likes.
I have a feeling, like most other plans I make, that there's no way I'll ever do this. So you have to keep nagging me to do it until I do and then you can all either disagree with me or go down to Oxfam and buy everything I tell you and then you'll be happy and this sentence is far too long but I can't stop writing it now because I'm afraid that if i stop typing then I'll never be able to start again except for writing in another stupid exam but they aren't for a month or so so that's ok and I'd really better stop now because The Simpsons has started and I have to go put it on I hope it's that episode where Lisa's sad cos I think that one's dead cute and stuff and I could go off on a rant about how The Simpsons has changed over the years and whether that's good or not but you probably stopped reading as soon as I went off on one didn't you and you're not even reading this now so I can say stuff like ha you smell of cheese and I've always thought so and you wouldn't even know cos you aren't reading anymore so there who's laughing now I'll tell you who...
Me! Look! Ha!

I'm so very, very lonely...

MAN IN BLACK
Hey. Woah. What happened? Where am I? Where have I been? Memories. Flooding back...
Birthday. Alcohol. Boys. Girls. Drugs. Lights. Music. Darkness. Minicabs. Black Hair. Doorstep. Bedroom. Morning After. Repeat. Friday. Daytime. Kings Of Leon. Hazy. Leather. Brothel. More Girls. More Substances. Beware Of Sharp Edges. Spring. Flowers. Police Cell. Johnny Cash. Guitar. Candles. Hangover. Last Nite. She Said.

Ok, so I made all that up. I just couldn't be arsed blogging for a few weeks, but you could always pretend I spent a few weeks celebrating the memories or William Burroughs and Hunter S. Thompson. Wait, Thompson isn't dead, is he? Oh well.
However, Kings Of Leon were round my way, but I didn't see them cos they were on with A Shit Band. However, from what I've heard, ver Kings were super smashing great.
And NME people; Blackpool is shit. It isn't some Northern indie mecca, it's a dive.
And The Charlatans are rubbish.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY
Yep. Sing the start to that 50 Cent record, cos 18 years ago today, I graced this earth with my presence.
You may be interested to know that I share my birthday with such greats as Charlie Chaplin, Spike Milligan, Peter Ustinov and, ummm, Nick Berry.
Also, my birthday is exactly a week after Albert Hammond Jr.
Wow.
Touched by greatness.

WHITE STRIPES/WHITE HEAT
So then, last night, The White Stripes at the Manchester Apollo (or the fancy Carling Apollo that it's been changed to since I was last there). Wow. Jack White is surely the most talented person I've ever seen. Except maybe that circus guy I saw once. But it's a different kind of talent, so I'll let it go.
Support came from Jack's old band The Go and "hotly tipped newcomers" (how I love saying that, makes me feel all journalistic) Whirlwind Heat. I arrived too late and missed The Go, but I did buy a big pink Whirlwind Heat pin badge of the girl on the record cover. So that's ok. However, they did seem to go on a bit. Maybe it was just me.
Apparently, The Stripes like to forego all that weird music-you've-never-heard that bands normally play before they come onstage, instead prefering to show Felix The Cat cartoons. Unfortunately, the sound was a bit rubbish and we couldn't hear what was going on. But still, Felix. Good.
Then the lights go down, and the audience (who I have to admit was one of the coolest I've been in attendance with) start a-hootin and a-hollerin. Meg walks out in a white top and red pants (or maybe it was a red top and white pants. I forget, but she looked pretty damn beautiful) and sits at her drumstool.
But where's Jack? You can hear people's thoughts. "Meg's all well and good, but where's the wonderkid?" Then... a flash of pale skin from the darkness of the back stage. A cigarette lights up underneath a dark floppy fringe. And he emerges.
Both sit back to back on Meg's stool, and everything is right in the world. There's only one word to describe the two of them, sat there exchanging sly glances:
SEX.
Jack saddles up his guitar and they launch into "Black Math". It's great. People jump up and down, people dance, people stand still and try to look cool. But nothing matters except Jack 'n' Meg.
The Stripes play a good balance of stuff from all four albums, highlights being the "Jolene" cover, a sweet "In The Cold, Cold Night", singalong style "You're Pretty Good Looking (For A Girl)", and a lovely lovely a cappella "Hotel Yorba", where Jack stops half way through and gets Meg to go sit at the front of the stage with him.
The tightness is amazing, so much so that you kinda forget there's only two of them. It's like Jack is always trying to fuck around and catch Meg out, but she's one step ahead, looking into his eyes as though she's telling him off but she can't help loving him all the same.
Like most good things, it's over all too soon. Sweetly, Jack 'n' Meg come back out after they've finished to apologise. Jack got carried away and it's way past 11, so they gotta go. Damn stupid licensing laws. Still, it was an amazing night.
Some minor grievances; the guitar Jack uses to play the bass bits on "Seven Nation Army" and such like is brown, and kinda clashes with the whole red, white, black thing. Also, those pants were just wrong. Red on one leg. Black on the other. And so tight around the crotch, my eyes just kept getting drawn to that bulge. Jack, put it away.
However, it was definitely one of the best gigs I've ever been to. Good times indeed.

ELEPHANT
Listening to it right now. Fucking hell. I'm scared and excited in equal measures.

Oh yeah, due to artistic differences, "we" have split up, so it's just me now.



Dear Nick is a bit of a slut, but you've got him for now -- are you, by any chance, blonde? Chances are you met at a party, and spend all of your time continuing to party. Nothing saying love like sharing a line. Not a bad existence, if you ask me. This should definitely be fun while it lasts.
Surprise surprise. Which Stroke is Your Secret Lover? Link from The Modern Age.
I'm straight by the way.

Straight.

Totally.