December 19, 2004

Round Up - Part 1

I have to get myself a journal. I really do, because I think alot (surprising I know, but true) and I quite often think of some absolutely brilliant things to write here, that by the time I actually get around to sitting at my pc to put my brainwaves into computerworld language-speak, I've totally forgotten, and this is peeing me off. Plus I've come to the realisation, twenty years too late, that not only do I have good ideas now, but I have had good ideas, or even just ANY ideas, for years now, and I can't remember what the f**k any of them were. I'm disappointed with myself for this glaring error, so from the new year I'm going to be writing down everything and then sharing the appropriate parts (or the printable parts) with the world via this here diary thing. I don't however intend to prepare all my posts in Word. That's just anal.

I have added a new little bit to my gorgeous sidebar, which tells you what my record of the week is. This isn't going to reflect any trends in popular opinion, or what's gracing the cover of the NME (the day that happens is the day I get committed to a mental institute). It's basically telling you what's doing the rounds in my head. So this week it's Bobs' Highway 61. I haven't even listened to it. It's just there. I find myself humming Desolation Row, then I get a lyric in my head, and that's that. Give it a listen, you know you want to.

If I could put MP3's on here, this is where I'd put them.

The Guardian is doing it's standard end of year thingy this week, just like every other paper in the known universe, so I've picked out a couple of titbits that have tickled my nobblies. One is about Keane, and normally I would save it for IHK, but sod that. The truth needs to be shouted from the mountaintop!
The success of these guys in the wake of Coldplay was a bit like when someone says they're going to get you a present, and it turns out they've got you a voucher. You'd like to be all, "Hey cool voucher, it'll look great with these shoes". But you can't. It's more, "Wow, what an unrealistic amount of effort it requires of me to make this seem remotely interesting. Really, next time just don't even bother".
In other words, they're both shit, and I couldn't agree more.
The faint suspicion that Apple's mugger magnet was becoming the new Rubik's Cube or deely bopper was only confirmed by the involvement of U2. Truly: never was the bandwagon built that at some point didn't have Bono hurtling sanctimoniously after it. And that advert? It just makes you think: "I don't care if you like the Pope. Your song sounds like Jesus Jones."
Anyone want their spanking new MP3 player ruined by the addition of Adam Clayton's laser-etched signature? Me neither. And have you ever seen anyone that uses an iPod dancing like the silhouetted twonks in Apple's flashy adverts? Again, me neither.

Personally, I don't want one. I still like being able to choose the music I listen to rather than leaving some microprocessor to decide it for me. I haven't even got a clue how to create playlists on Winamp or Windows Media Player. AND I haven't got a mobile phone! I'm living in the dark ages and I don't care.
Difficult to know what will be missed most about John Peel. His self-deprecating nature. His sense of humour. And of course, the records he played, selected as they were with a devotional regard for duty, and introduced - not to mention cued up - in his own inimitable way. "Integrity" and "DJ" haven't historically gone well together. Peel changed that, and provided an implicit lesson: if you don't seek out interesting stuff, then you'll just have to accept what other people want you to hear. And that may well be crap.
Took the words right out of my mouth.


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