Filed under: Blogroll
annoyingly enough, Eden blogged this first so it looks like I’m riding on his coat tails (which would be fucking tricky – he’s about 11ft tall). Anyway, sod it..
Martin at Beyond The Implode has finally started his in-depth exploration of the industrial scene with an exclusive interview with Ian Curtis and it’s intense stuff.
We wait with baited badgers for the next instalment (probably some time next year.. )
One day all blogs will be written this way:
PULP – “DIFFERENT CLASS” DELUXE EDITION 2XCD
You know you’ve become some pathetic middle-aged SELLOUT when you start re-buying things you had on cassette years ago. And so, here we have the ambiguous “Mis-Shapes”, which always had me thinking: if a group of physically disabled people went to a Pulp gig, would they be welcomed or cold-shouldered by the hordes of art students who’d been dolling themselves up at the Retro Clothing Exchange?
There also used to be a great scam going if you were working class and male; most female students from privileged backgrounds used to experiment with ‘a bit of rough’ at least once during their educations. As long as you a) didn’t fall in love with the rich bitch b) didn’t expect this relationship to last beyond the end of her degree, at the very longest c) certainly didn’t expect to get any real dosh or social status out of it – maybe a couple of T-shirts and some free drinks in a members’ club full of arseholes, but little else d) never felt the need to actually let on that you found her fucking dumb and boring and played up your ‘working classness’ to full effect, you were sorted. Of course, though, Jarvis Cocker was driven by the same insistence on truth, honesty and justice that powers this blog, and so he gave away the secret with the chart smash hit “Common People”. Well done, mate. No, you take a pat on the back, me old Cocker. Fucked that scam for good, you lousy little bleeder. Not that I’d know anyway, I never indulged in this trickery. I used to be open about wanting to spank the pert arses of the daughters of Lords and Ladies, while playing Whitehouse’s ErectorLP at full blast.
And then there’s “Disco 2000”, and memories of **** come flooding back, even down to that line “Martin said that you were the best”, which she used to go on about, as if the thing had some massive significance to….right, fuck this –
And “Sorted for Es and Whizz”, a sonic buffer to Faithless’ ‘revolution through E’ fantasies and all this Temporary Autonomous Zone shctick. I used to know this bloke who took loads of Es with his girlfriend, and they both ended up developing ‘E jealousy’ when either of them took it with someone else! Mad or what? He tried to write a book about E which was so unbearably bad I couldn’t bring myself to beg him to stop sending me bits. Then things all went tits-up when his girlfriend discovered we’d been passing sheets around down the pub and laughing at the bit where he has an MDMA-induced religious experience on a train between Derby and Crewe. And she cried, and made me feel like a backstabbing cunt. Later, he dumped her for some girl he’d taken an E with for the first time.
“I Spy” – self-explanatory, “there’s more than one way to fight a class war”
There’s loads more stuff, but it’s fucking brilliant, no matter what anyone says to the contrary.
VERDICT – Is it true the Pussycat Dolls are men, or is this just another urban myth? I heard about 3 separate people claiming this fact as gospel earlier in the year, but now nobody seems to mention it. Don’t take speed, it gives you blackheads
That’s the way to do it. Our hero also gives me a particularly life-affirming cameo in some Home-ric blog pulp fiction, which warmed the cockles:
PUBVERSION WAS BASHING out a venomous slag-off of the trendy bar “Meet”, situated just down the road from superclub Fabric. He laughed as he chugged on a Stella and verbally slaughtered the brainless cunts and slags who paid 4 quid for a bottle of beer in this miserable, soulless abortion of an establishment.
Suddenly – his front door flew inwards as two SO19 officers burst in.
“FREEZE!” the cops yelled, raising their guns.
“Eat lead, rozzer!” the blogger snapped back, reaching for his Luger and blasting one of the pigs’ heads off. However, as he savoured this small victory, the other cop riddled his body with bullets.