REST IN PC

Could this be the most boring day of the year? I think it must be. To prove it I've devised a formula:

Bloated post-Christmas inertia + back at parents - self-motivation or money = listless ennui + dull pangs of existential angst

To cheer you up, check out DeathSpace (strapline="MySpace doesn't end at death") a pointless but morbidly intriguing online resource compiling a list of MySpace users who've passed on from this world. Their profile pages freeze-framed forever at a moment just before their untimely deaths, their unfortunate legacy is destined to be a series of trite epitaphs posted by friends. Here are some of my personal favourites:

"Dude, so sorry to hear about your accident. It really sucks. RIP"
"Hopefully you can access MySpace in heaven"
"I feel so privileged to make your final top 8"
"Tell me in a dream how God is. I always wanted to know"
"Six months and I still can't believe you're gone. Gutting"
"You look so hot in that pic. Such a waste"

2006: AN AURAL RETROSPECTIVE

My twenty albums of the year, in alphabetical order:

Ten Years of Tears - Arab Strap
Fur and Gold - Bat for Lashes
The Life Pursuit - Belle and Sebastian
Let's Get Out of This Country - Camera Obscura
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Victory For the Common Muse - The Divine Comedy
Yes, Virginia - The Dresden Dolls
The Tragic Treasury - The Gothic Arches
Gravity Won't Get You High - The Grates
Off My Rocker at the Art School Bop - Luke Haines
Awoo - The Hidden Cameras
Under the Crooked Moon - The Hot Puppies
The Lemonheads - The Lemonheads
Someone to Drive You Home - The Long Blondes
Live It Out - Metric
Ys - Joanna Newsom
Writers Block - Peter, Bjorn and John
We Are the Pipettes - The Pipettes
White Bread Black Beer - Scritti Politti
Show Your Bones - Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs

PUPPY LOVE

Have I mentioned how absurdly ace the Hot Puppies are yet? Read my review of their Water Rats gig here >>

HOW THE MUSIC INDUSTRY WORKS

The Kooks are one of those bands I've harboured a mild antipathy towards for a while now without being able to put my finger on precisely why. This review from the fearlessly incisive Stylus Magazine helps to clarify matters a great deal.

For anyone under any illusions as to the cynical machinations deployed by major labels in promoting their 'talent', I suggest you take a seat before reading on...

Review of 'Inside In/Inside Out' by the Kooks >>

(*SPOILER WARNING* It's a hoax alas, but why let that stand in the way of a good stitch-up?)

UNITED THEY FALL

Luke Haines has always prided himself on being heroically out-of-kilter with the musical Zeitgeist (at the height of Britpop his former charges the Auteurs released a single with the daytime radio-friendly title 'Unsolved Child Murder') so his new concept album about the 70's makes a perverse kind of sense.

An early standout track - indeed one of my songs of the year - is 'Leeds United', a work of minor genius which uses Don Revie's all-conquering but controversial team as a microcosm for the singer's ambivalent emotions towards the decade.

Football and pop music have traditionally made for uneasy bedfellows, and for every 'World In Motion' there's at least a dozen musical abominations of the calibre of 'The Anfield Rap' or (gulp) 'World At Your Feet'. The reason 'Leeds United' works is less to do with any dewey-eyed nostalgia for the "beautiful game" and more for its visceral evocation of 70's life, referencing Peter Sutcliffe ("the devil came to Yorkshire in the silver Jubilee"), teddy boy discos and Jimmy Saville. Caustic, insidious, drenched in melodrama, it's the sort of record you wish that Morrissey was still making.

Ten other great football-referencing songs:

1. The Boy Done Good - Billy Bragg
2. Strachan - The Hitchers
3. Sparky's Dream - Teenage Fanclub
4. The First Big Weekend - Arab Strap
5. Munich Air Disaster 1958 - Morrissey
6. Theme From Sparta FC - The Fall
7. England 2 Colombia 0 - Kirsty MacColl
8. All I Want For Christmas is a Dukla Prague Away Kit - Half Man, Half Biscuit
9. I Don't Want to Play Football - Belle and Sebastian
10. (Oh, go on then) World in Motion - New Order

Listen to Leeds United >>

LIVE AND LET DIRE

I.JUST.DO.NOT.GET all the current Bond hysteria. I mean, isn't the whole franchise just marketed towards inadequate males desparate to live out their action hero wank fantasies vicariously through a celluloid cipher? And, with its intensive product placement and branded entertainment deals, doesn't it merely represent Hollywood at its shallow, bloated, mercenary worst?

The received wisdom, destined to snowball and become nigh-on irresistable by the time anyone gets round to actually seeing the film, is that Casino Royale represents a barnstorming return to form, with Daniel Craig breathing fresh life into a role which had become lumpen and listless in recent outings. The exact same platitudes wheeled out when Pierce Brosnan first took on the role in other words.

I don't know, maybe I'm just being humourless about this, but I sort of thought any credibility Bond had went out the window with Austin Powers?

Read Will's blog for things to say about Daniel Craig.

PLEASE HUMOUR ME HERE...

Bobby Charlton, David Beckham, Georgie Best, Fergie, Eric Cantona, Roy Keane, Wayne Rooney, Sir Matt Busby, Denis Law, Mark Hughes, Ryan Giggs, Bryan Robson, Gordon Strachan, Peter Schmeichel, Steve Bruce, Paul McGrath, Neil Webb, Andy Cole, Dwight Yorke, Jim Leighton, Joe Jordan, Teddy Sheringham, Mark Robbins, Kevin Moran, Lou Macari, Duncan Edwards, Gary Pallister, Norman Whiteside, Brian McClair, Ruud van Nistelrooy, Paul Ince, Dennis Irwin, Malcolm Glazer, Gary Neville, your boys took one hell of a beating...

BACK TO LIFE

This Life has a lot to answer for - namely persuading me to embark on an ill-advised law degree on the misguided assumption that it offered a passport to a life of intoxicating hedonistic excess soundtracked by the first Marion LP. Nevertheless, the prospect of the series returning next month for a one-off tenth anniversary special is a genuinely mouthwatering one.

Countless lazy and witless imitations have not quite managed to cheapen the legacy of what was the definitive Britpop-era drama.
Early indicators for the new episode aren't altogether promising: they've bumped off Ferdy in order to engineer a somewhat contrived reunion ("If it's AIDS I'm throwing stuff at the TV," remarked my friend Simon) and most of the action takes place in Miles' country manor estate - conjuring unwelcome images of ghastly toff flick Peter's Friends. But as Christmas telly goes, it's gotta beat Dragon's Den: kids' special or Richard Hammond's alternative Christmas message.

A WORLD WITHOUT DAVE

The hostile reception to Sion Simon's Web Cameron YouTube spoof was indicative of the mystifying bubble of sycophancy currently surrounding everyone's favourite hoodie-hugging reformed gakhead. I've always been suspicious of cuddly One Nation Tories (at least pantomime villains like Norman Tebbit were self-styled draconian monsters) but David Cameron's touchy-feely brand of everyman populism is particularly risible. Hilariously, Dave cites his favourite album as The Queen is Dead by the Smiths, but admits to finding its author's militant vegetarianism and anti-royalist sentiments 'troubling'. Presumably he regards the lyrics to Margaret on a Guillotine ("When will you die?") as a riotous laugh too.

If, as seems depressingly inevitable, Cameron becomes PM, expect him to eventually be despised for the very same qualities he's currently championed for a la Blair. And expect the illiberal, socially regressive Tory Party, with its vehemently anti-youth, anti-hedonism and anti-arts agenda, to quickly reawaken from its slumber...

FOR TOMORROW

"And the view's so nice" the graffitied slogan had promised on the way up, the dot on the 'i' replaced (rather soppily, William felt) with a love heart. The gentle ascent to the top of Primrose Hill had taken no time at all, and his spirits had been lifted by an unexpected burst of sunshine as they approached the summit. A small crowd awaited them, tourists mostly, there to sample the views afforded of the London skyline. He stopped for a moment to take in the familiar panorama, a rather awkward blend of high-rise monoliths, domes and spires.

"Let's take a picture," Alison announced, tugging excitedly at his arm, skipping in front of him. "Let's get someone to take one of us together."

"Not now darling," he said, brushing her aside, "later maybe."

"But I might not be in the mood later," she pouted "and then I won't have anything to remind me of how happy we were."

"We've got lots of pictures of us together. Won't they suffice?"

"But I want one of us now," she insisted, "not then, not at some point in the future when we can't stand the sight of each other, right this second."

She stood in front of him, assuming a starfish position to block his path.

"I don't understand why you need a photo to remember everything," he said, unimpressed by her attempts at playfulness, "isn't it enough to remember and be done with it? Won't that be fresher than some photo which has been buried in the attic for twenty years?"

"Certainly not! When I'm old and grey and have lost my looks, and maybe I won't have you, and maybe I won't even have anyone, and my memories won't be what they once were; then, I shall look back and want to remember what it felt like to be young, desirable and in love."

"Why on earth would you want to do that?" he scoffed, his irritation now getting the better of him, "that's madness. You'll just end up feeling bitter and resentful. You should count it as a blessing if your memories fade."

"Oh William," she frowned "I've no doubt I'll feel maudlin and maybe a little tearful. But I will remember, and that's the most important thing." She allowed her gaze to dip before adding: "but I don't suppose I could possibly expect you to understand."

Alison walked a little ahead now, her energy temporarily sapped, humming a tune which William couldn't make out through the background noise. An aeroplane roared overhead, trailblazing its way beyond the precipice. He looked at her familiar figure in front of him, now hunched in a rather affected show of nonchalance. A bracing wind had picked up and he could see she was shivering slightly, arms folded inside her cardigan. Ashamed at himself for having allowed his temper to show earlier, William bounded up behind her and swept her body into his arms. He clung tightly, as if seeking reassurance, before giving her a repentant peck on the cheek:

"We can take a picture if you like. I really don't mind."

"No, I don't think I really want to. I think it will feel a bit forced now, don't you?" she said, passive and distracted, "let's go and get something to eat."

NOEL EDMONDS... THE WILDERNESS YEARS

Probably the most surreal moment in the vortex of craziness which was this year’s Celebrity Big Brother was the fleeting friendship between fellow tabloid pariahs George Galloway and Michael Barrymore. At one point the maverick MP even expressed his sincere hope that the embattled TV legend would ‘dazzle’ in the house and subsequently be restored to his rightful position as king of light entertainment. The odds on this happening seemed pretty remote at the time, and still do. But given the news this week that Noel Edmonds is once again to become the highest paid presenter on television, perhaps the prospects of a Barrymore comeback aren't as far-fetched as we might have hoped...

Since the Beeb called time on Noel’s House Party six years ago its eponymous star has shown all the classic signs of a post-career breakdown , retreating from the media spotlight except to take occasional exasperated pot-shots at the government over fringe issues such as wind farms and fox hunting. But now he's back, fronting Channel 4's pointless but infuriatingly addictive gameshow 'Deal or No Deal?' and pushing facial hair fashion back two decades...

Personally, I can't say I'm exactly enthralled by the prospect of Noel's Lazarus-style career renaissance... During his initial reign of terror in the late 80's/early 90's he was to TV what Phil Collins was to music - irksome, reactionary, ubiquitous . His brand of juvenile light entertainment might seem rather quaint and anachronistic now (Mr Blobby, Telly Addicts, gunge tanks, freak helicopter accidents) but at the time seemed to represent the worst aspects of Thatcherite lowbrow hegemony.

Anyway, the only reason I'm really bothering to mention this at all is that Noel and myself do share a tenuous connection, both being former pupils of Brentwood School in Essex. Other slightly unappetising alumni include Holocaust denier David Irving (who was actually invited back to speak!), Foreign Secretary Jack Straw, Britart irritant Keith Allen and the entertainingly unhinged Jodie Marsh who, word has it, doesn't hold particularly fond memories of the place...

SINGAPORE'S INFAMOUS MERLION

This imposing beast is the Merlion, Singapore's semi-official national symbol, a freak of nature which boasts the head of a lion and the body of a fish. As faintly ludicrous as this mythical hybrid might sound (calling to mind Napoleon Dynamite's definition of a liger: "It's pretty much my favorite animal. It's like a lion and a tiger mixed... bred for its skills in magic") the story behind its creation is mildly amusing.

Concerned by the lack of authentic nationalist mythology, the Singapore Tourism Board contrived instead to invent their own, commissioning designer Fraser Brunner to build the original Merlion statue in 1964. Tourism brochures of the time peddled some spurious yarn about the legendary Sang Nila Utama, who saw a lion while hunting on an island believed to have been Singapore.

Unfazed by the widespread derision which greeted the Merlion for its perceived artificiality, the Tourism Board persisted with the project, even enlisting unofficial poet laureate Edwin Thumboo to immortalize the Merlion in one of his poems. Employing the Merlion as a laboured allegory for Singapore's post-war economic miracle, his verse is stirring stuff indeed . Below is an abridged version of the meisterwerk:

'Ulysees by the Merlion'

I have sailed many waters,
Skirted islands of fire,
Contended with Circe
Who loved the squeal of pigs;
Passed Scylla and Charybdis
To seven years with Calypso,
Heaved in battle against the gods.

But this lion of the sea
Salt-maned, scaly, wondrous of tail,
Touched with power, insistent
On this brief promontory... Puzzles

Nothing, nothing in my days
Foreshadowed this
Half-beast, half-fish,
This powerful creature of land and sea

Perhaps having dealt in things,
Surfeited on them,
Their spirits yearn again for images,
Adding to the dragon, phoenix,
Garuda, naga those horses of the sun,
This lion of the sea,
This image of themselves.

SINGAPORE SLINGER

The last time I went on a proper holiday the Internet hadn't even been invented yet*, which meant that alas I couldn't chronicle my globe-trotting adventures in florid,self-aggrandizing prose, or post lots of glamorous photos of me swimming with dolphins/ pensively conversing with mountain folk in Laos/ catching yet another 'transcendental' sunrise, etc...

Now that I'm abroad I really can't be arsed with it all, and have come to the conclusion that there's a time-and-place for blogging: namely, when you're at work and trying to put off doing something infinitely more tedious. Here's a picture of me in front of Singapore Harbour anyway (taken with my mobile, hence the rather awkward pose)

* This may not be strictly historically accurate.

GUILTY PLEASURES

Ever find yourself feeling smugly self-satisfied about what unimpeachably great taste you have in music? I do. Quite a bit in fact. So it came as something of a shock last night when loading up my iPod Nano with some of my favourite songs in anticipation of my two-week holiday to discover that many of them are actually irredeemably naff, to the extent that they can’t even be passed off as a kitsch indulgence or hil-arious ironic joke. Some choice examples below:

Bright Eyes – Art Garfunkel
Goodbye – Spice Girls
Time After Time – Cyndi Lauper
Going Home (Theme from Local Hero) – Mark Knopfler
Still the One – Shania Twain
The Last Unicorn – America
At the River – Groove Armada
November Rain – Guns ‘n’ Roses
The Miss Saigon soundtrack

Your own guilty pleasures gratefully received, if only to make me feel a bit better about confessing to the above…

MOTHER'S LITTLE HELPER

Now that Fathers 4 Justice have chosen to hang up their capes, you may have been forced to reluctantly conclude that the era of endearingly unhinged single-issue parties was drawing to a close. Not so! The latest bunch of have-a-go hero(ines) railing against the evil spectre of political correctness are Mum’s Army, a political party set up by best-selling women’s weekly Take a Break.

With plans afoot to enter 54 candidates in local council elections on a platform of zero tolerance towards anti-social behaviour, violent video games and ‘swarthy Eastern European sorts with hairy palms’, the Tunbridge Wells vote is already seemingly in the bag. Only problem is, caught up in the self-righteous fervour of it all, it seems no-one has actually bothered to check whether there’s an election taking place. See this quote from the Guardian:

“Random calls to two of the four candidates put forward for interview by Take a Break reveals that planning may have been a bit slack. One of the candidates is based in Dyfed, where there are no local elections this year.

The other is a well-intentioned widowed father of seven living in Cambridgeshire, where again, no local elections are due. One hazards a guess at how many other candidates are likely to bewilder local residents as they canvass for a non-existent local election.

Yet another example of the metropolitan elite conspiring to drown out the voice of the ordinary people of Great Britain?

MOGWAI: YOUNG TEAM GROW UP

(Originally published in Disorder, March 2006)

Mogwai have sold out: words we thought we'd never hear applied to arguably indie's most notoriously prickly dogmatists. Easy, though; The band haven't set fire to their kappa tracksuits, abandoned their DIY rock action ethos or buried the hatchet and collaborated with Damon Albarn on a Gorillaz b-side. They've merely performed a capacity-filled five-day residency at London's illustrious ICA to promote forthcoming album 'Mr Beast', their fifth album in a career spanning over a decade.

Hard as it is to conceive of the polemical Scottish five-piece as elder statesmen of post-rock, this record sees them, if not maturing exactly, than certainly coming of age. The band’s manager Alan McGee has already been moved to describe the album as "probably the greatest art rock record that I’ve been involved in since My Bloody Valentine’s ‘Loveless‘", something Mogwai frontman Stuart Braithwaite readily dismisses as just another example of the former Creation guru's gift for hyperbole: "I think people just take everything Alan says with a pinch of salt," he smirks "I don't think anyone's going to take it that literally. I was talking to Kevin Shields about it and he just pissed himself laughing!"

Nevertheless you sense an intense pride in the way which Mogwai speak of the new album, and an eagerness to share with the public the fruits of their labour:

“It's definitely an exciting point before you're record comes out,” agrees bassist Dom Aitchison, “it's frustrating the time between finishing your record and waiting for it to come out.”

Though the album is in the shops this month, it was leaked as long ago as early December on P2P program Soulseek. Not that the band seem too begrudging of fans taking the initiative and downloading tracks unofficially:

“We always knew it was going to get leaked, but we just didn't expect it to be on the Net as quickly as it was,” says Dom “it's inevitable so we didn’t get that pissed off about it. We're definitely not like Metallica who moan about the Internet. It's a great ways of hearing new bands.”

‘Mr Beast’ was originally envisaged as a return to the ear-splitting intensity of Mogwai’s earlier material following two relatively subdued efforts (‘Rock Action and ‘Happy Songs for Happy People’ respectively). But, as Stuart explains, it was never as calculated as simply choosing to 'rock out' again:

“We’ve always enjoyed playing pretty loud live but we've been moving away from that when we've been in the studio. We were just trying to bring the two a bit closer together.

“But the writing process is pretty organic to be honest, we do have small ideas in the back of our head that we want to do and don't want to do, but it's never really that planned.”

Do you see each new album as a reaction against the last one you released?

“To start with that was certainly the case,” admits Stuart “for instance we made a big effort on ‘Come On Die Young’ to not just repeat the quiet-loud template, because we were bored silly with it. On ‘Rock Action’ we tried to do something totally different again. After that we just thought, fuck it, we'll just try and write 10 really good songs.

“Trying to second guess yourself can be pointless I think. It's hard enough to make good music.”

Certainly, tracks such as ‘Glasgow Mega-Snake’ and the epic ‘We’re No Here’ showcase the band’s love of head-crushing white noise crescendo, but the album is also defined by moments of sparse poetic beauty, not least on the sublime ‘I Chose Horses’, which features Japanese singer Tetsuya Fukagawa on guest vocals.

“He’s the singer for a Japanese band we really rate called Envy,” explains Stuart “with that song we just thought it needed something to make it a bit more interesting and we thought with his voice, a non-English vocal part would be good. It's a non-specific, quite abstract lyric which just suit’s the track perfectly.”

Mogwai’s early interviews were characterised by a snotty belligerence which earned them fleeting notoriety, especially in the wake of those infamous ‘Blur are shite’ T-shirts. Recent sharp-tongued tirades against the NME and FHM on the band’s blog suggest that the boys have lost none of their appetite for controversy, even if today finds them in more subdued mood:

“I don't think age has mellowed us at all, if anything we have even more deranged views now than we had then,” insists Stuart “but in those early interviews we were usually drunk and just came out with whatever we thought. Now we’re more cautious maybe.

"Ultimately I'd rather be known as a band that likes music rather than a band that hates music. Inviting bands we like along to support us is a whole lot more constructive than slagging off generic indie bands that people who like us probably don't like anyway.”

Dom agrees:

“There’s a danger you can come across as bitter, especially if you’ve been going for quite a long time.

“There have been a few people in bands over the years who just start yakking away, and it's almost like they can't handle the attention going to someone else. It doesn't look cool when Liam Gallagher says 'they're shite, they're shite' you know very well that it's stemmed in jealousy rather than superiority.”

Mogwai are guardedly positive about the current musical climate. Stuart even praises fellow Scots Franz Ferdinand for the impact they’ve had on the Glasgow music scene:

“We’re really pleased for them because they’ve literally gone from playing the local art scene to becoming huge superstars in a matter of months. There are similarities between what is happening now in the city and what was happening in the days of Chemikal Underground.”

Do you hear bands cropping up now who you suspect have been influenced by you?

“Quite a few, yeah. It's quite flattering. When we started we were unbelievably influenced by a lot of bands, the God Machine, Joy Division, My Bloody Valentine, etc. As long as you find your feet after a while it’s fine.”

Since their last album, Mogwai have been asked to support two of arguably their biggest influences, the Pixies and the Cure. Stuart enthuses about being given the opportunity to tour with his heroes:

“It was great, yeah. The Pixies was just a few shows, but an amazing experience. They’re one of those bands who've been going a long time and stayed good. The Cure was a proper tour, so we got to meet and spend more time with them. They’re such nice people.”

“I wasn’t really a Cure fan before I went to do the tour,” admits Dom “I didn't really know a lot of the stuff, just the cheesy pop singles. I actually really enjoyed getting to hear them and discovering they have some really brilliant songs.

“Playing with the Pixies in Paris was amazing, people were just going nuts and it's been a while since I've been to a gig like that.”

Mogwai seem as surprised as anyone that they still inspire such a fanatical following a decade on from those seminal early EPs. The not-so young team have defied the critics who labelled them one-trick-ponies, destined to enjoy fleeting acclaim before disappearing from the radar. Stuart attributes the band’s longevity to their fiercely independent spirit:

“I think when you’re constantly being told what to do it causes a lot of tension within the band because you’re forced to compromise. When something does happen and you're not happy about relationships suffer.

“It's pretty weird,” admits Dom “I never thought we'd still be doing this 10 years after we started, but it's something I've never really thought about until we started being asked about it for this record.

“Ultimately we've made an effort to not just remake the same record over and over again. I think that’s a really easy way for a band to die on its arse.”

CURMUDGEON

From Simon Hoggart's unfailingly entertaining column in the Guardian on Saturday:

My favourite letter this year comes from quite a well-known biographer, who would probably be happy for me to print his name, but I have a strict rule about that. Anyhow, his four-page letter is monumentally, magnificently dyspeptic, from the first line: "Another spirit-crushing year. Criminally underpaid and underemployed, derided by the critics, betrayed by friends, disrespected and humiliated - the usual stuff."

He soon cheers up at a Francis Bacon exhibition.

"What a useless painter Bacon was. He had one idea - to paint people inside out ... the slaughterhouse screams are adolescent."

He is utterly unmoved by Live8 and Bob Geldof. "As regards food shortages, you try getting a fresh lemon in the Co-op on a Sunday night when all that matters is a gin and tonic. In giving my donation I will just ask for the Swiss bank accounts of the African prime ministers. This will save on postage ..." But this cheery mood soon evaporates when he goes to his son's girlfriend's 18th birthday party.

"I nearly had a heart attack when, on going up to the bar, and asking for a large red wine, the barman said: 'That'll be £4.95.' This was a new experience for me, paying for drinks at a private party ..."

CHAMPAGNE CHARLIE POPS HIS CORK

Poor Charles Kennedy. You'd think the British electorate would have taken a piss artist to their hearts, what with their recent deification of George Best. And isn't the affable Scottish drunk one of those hackneyed national stereotypes we're meant to adore? Given the choice between that and a coke-addled posh spaz with all the political gravitas of Tim Henman, I know which way I'd turn in a time of national crisis...

Poor Graeme Souness. Another Scottish stereotype made flesh (this time the 'fierce disciplinarian'), he too could be shown the door due to an invariably losing mix of arrogance and ineptitude. This is the man who inherited the most successful team in the history of the football league and bestowed upon it the calamitous footballing triumvirate of Phill Babb, Jason McAteer and David James. Whilst manager of Southampton, he also famously brought on a player with no professional footballing experience on the dubious basis that he claimed to be George Weah's cousin.

Both men must be cursing their luck. If only they'd be handed their P45s a few weeks earlier, a place in the new series of Celebrity Big Brother would have been a dead cert. As it is, George Galloway gets to do battle with Dennis Rodman over who cops a blow job from Jodie Marsh in the Big Brother diary room. Oh, and Michael Barrymore's in there too. Better hope Preston from the Ordinary Boys doesn't meet an unfortunate end in the Jacuzzi...

YOU SAY YOU WANNA RESOLUTION...

New Year's Resolutions...

- To read more novels
- To go to more gigs
- To abandon posturing cynicism (as distinguished from healthy cynicism of the sort which might reasonably be applied to politicians, reality TV shows and the forthcoming Nicky Wire solo album)
- To write the first Wrong Angle meisterwerk
- To drink less coffee
- To have a 'healthy' relationship with alcohol
- To stop laughing and start worrying about David Cameron
- To not slip so complacently into the cosy self-parody of disaffected Gen-Xy dilettante I have sub-consciously cultivated on this blog
- To blog at least once a week
- To do enough interesting things to justify me blogging once a week
- To not just listen to the same seven songs on my iPod Nano
- To write a follow-up to my Gary Glitter Greatest Hits musical "Another Rock 'n' Roll Christmas" in time for next Christmas
- To ignore Razorlight and hope they go away