Monthly Archives: September 2007

Your lyrics are graphic, much like your brother necro

I’m often asked* what the point is in continuing this facade, living as a talentless gypsy of a singer-songwriter, perpetually in the shadow of MC Lars. Lars, who I ‘discovered’ (thanks Clare) earlier this year, is my musical, lyrical and intellectual superior, and I’m the jealous type. So why don’t I just throw in the towel? Well, the fact is, Lars’ shadow produces a more satisfying bask than any sun you could offer me.

But if you’re unconvinced by post-punk laptop rap, I heartly invite you to check out Lars’ latest podcast. In this we find out not only that Lars plays a C F Martin & Co guitar which looks very similar to mine (oh lars im like totally your biggest fan i like have your record and like i totally love you and like we have the same guitar and man like you are just so awesome ohmigod OHMIGOD) but that he makes comedy videos as well as he writes songs. As if you could have doubted him.

I’m seeing him in Oxford in a few weeks and I couldn’t be more stoked. As long as people like Lars are getting the exposure I never will, music is safe.

/toadying

*by myself


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A Painful Case

Now I love the Black Eyed Peas as much as the next man, but you’ve got admit that this is pretty embarrasing.

I know, I know. FaceOmeter corrects another apostrophe on the postcard of life.

Edit: I’ve used punctuation to salvage some dignity for the old girl. That’s how I roll.


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ma-king good use of the things that they FIND

Avid reader as I am of BBC news, it seems I still need to rely on Parkes for digging out the gems such as this. If I’m ever a judge, this is the guy I want to be working closely with.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to get my tits out.

Their nest fell into the acid bath again.


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“Another one”, your highness?

So I’ve spent the last fourteen years putting the finishing touches on the lyrics to “Existentialism on Folk Night”, designed as the ‘sister-song’ to the one which still doesn’t have a title yet. Both are songs in which I question the courage of my convictions, though the results are different in each. Or something. Anyway. Ahem.


Speakers are blasting out bass
Massive crowds are pulling shapes
Rhymes are busted, skirts adjusted
Beverages to friends entrusted
On the Cornish cliffs tonight
No reckless wreckers hove in sight
Just fabric from a growing trend
& we’ve mixed up our means and ends
So there’s no conversation, no
Just silent animation
Looming through three-coloured smoke
Which chokes on turned-up tune vibrations
& the DJ spins some records
Which got big when we were small
& says “Music really quite unites us all”


Meanwhile on some lonesome beach,
Just out of that scene’s ear-reach
A campfire figure with guitar
Is getting freaked out by the stars
Lacking style, with poor physique
Happily deploying critique
Yet using tuning to decree
A swathe of insecurities
Maintenant ou Jamais, je sais
Far too darn much these days”
All this cerebral travelling
The hidden angst unravelling
Pinioned in opinion
& lost in history’s

Perfect

Yeahhh

Anyway, saw Thom Yorke today

Weird.

That is all.


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Siiigh

It’s pretty nasty that Anton is over two years old now. Time flies past and nothing changes. I’m helpless, moving neither forwards or backwards, getting nowhere. I’m in a complete rut, and to demonstrate this:

…I’m still playing the same game, even. Tabitha Sackbutt is a level 8 Dervish Elementalist who, fortunately, does not share Anton’s avariciousness (her armour is already nearly as good as Anton’s as a result lol), but she DOES have a scythe. Oh yes.

She’s mainly hanging out with Parkes’ muscular adonis, Ibn Al Qalanisi. Expect updates which you don’t really want, constantly.


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Something wicked this way comes


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