Saturday, October 31, 2009

Saturday 31 October 2009

Jeepers. Today is the thirteenth anniversary of the birth of Gringo Records. This is the unlucky anniversary. It is now terrifying to think that it was both that long ago that we met at the Urusei Yatsura gig and that the period in which I haven’t been involved with the label is now longer than the period in which I was involved.

This morning I awaken at 5.30AM. This is some kind of bad joke. I find myself starving and yearning cocktail sausages. Oh yeah, I didn’t have any dinner last night after my extended session of business drunk.

After pottering about the internet on my own for a bit and failing to fall back to sleep I decide I should take the opportunity to watch one of the many DVDs that, still in shrink-wrap, are spread around my flat. I figure good time to watch a music movie so I plump for Velvet Goldmine.

This movie is dross. It is plainly the story of David Bowie and Iggy Pop put through some kind of MTV beer goggles with pretty faces looking to overact and be very dramatic. It is bobbins. Complete and utter tripe but compulsive viewing just too see how overblown and camp it can possibly get. Jonathan Rhys Meyers is just a cock and everything he is in or touches turns to shit with his every appearance. Ewan McGregor does a little better cleverly aping Iggy’s posture and spasms but eventually his hair turns into a Kurt Cobain wig complete with facial grimaces and suddenly it all gets confused, not least when his Iggy character takes on the roll of Lou Reed getting electro shock therapy and doing the famous Mick Ronson solo while Bowie gets on his knees and gulps for the cameras. And then fucking Placebo turn up. Placebo were always awful and their performance here is both cheesy and embarrassing. Christian Bale is interesting as a wussy reporter long before he turned into the mother beating piece of meaty testosterone that is Batman and Terminator. Even more interesting is the fact that the story is set in 1984 as he does a retrospective news piece in a vague Citizen Kane style. The 1984 represented in this movie looks almost Orwellian, it’s dark and weird. Ultimately the whole thing is just a fucking mess seemingly constructed by a person (Todd Haynes) that didn’t really understand the source material in the first place. To think some amazing musicians were vaguely linked to this film via the Wylde Ratttz songs causes me to shudder. As I look the movie up on Wikipedia to gain some kind of understanding on the plundering time changes it is with a sigh of relief that it appears Bowie did not look the movie.

As soon as the movie ends it is past 8AM and I need to get to the post office to collect a parcel they are holding for me. I suspect it is a book about No Wave co-authored by Thurston Moore that I ordered in an HMV sale last week.

Pulling into the post office I see the picket lines. There can only be about a dozen people there but they are standing in solidarity and are very noticeable. There are post vans coming in and out of the depot (the scabs!) but it would appear there is a lot of internal support for the strikers. This certainly is a year of unrest; I have never known so many strikes in my life.

With my book collected being in the vicinity I head to Tesco at the Hythe part of Colchester. This is a really depressing supermarket. While the other day I was expressing my acceptance of Asda being the chav superstore this place just feels much more oppressive. I am two thirds of the way through the store before it hits: there is no music or muzak being pumped. Suddenly I am startled to realise what a big difference the lack of such inane noise makes.

Keeping up with the bad music memories motif of the day The Independent today is toasting and whoring a free Brett Anderson compilation. Upon closer inspection these are eight free downloads. I wonder if Moriarty is still involved with the dead horse flogging.

For my life I cannot find any pitta bread in this place. As I pass yet another person seemingly from the Greenstead (rough) part of town I make sure I have the essentials before leaving the store quickly.

I get back to Bohemian Grove just after 9AM in time for the beginning of this week’s Danny Baker show. It’s another good one. One of the first calls is from a Colchester United supporter asking him to save the Layer Road for the totalitarian league. Living on Layer Road this makes my moobs swell with pride, especially when he saves the ground.

Halfway through listening to the show I hear my MSN messenger beep and it is Iain getting in touch. He asks me if I have seen the latest photos from Baker Street posted on Facebook and I have to say I hadn’t. After a quick scour I find them via Zoe’s profile and the visuals are Wernham Hogg incarnate as the Stepford staff celebrate both pink tit cancer day and Halloween. Quite frankly it is a horrific and depressing sight. I count six full size cakes having been baked to celebrate pink tit cancer. Surely the money spent on baking these cakes would have been better put towards donations for pink tit cancer? Once more I come away from the photos with the opinion that I had a lucky escape.

Shortly after 11AM dad phones to ask me if I am heading over to see them today. I wasn’t planning to, half planning to even go to Millwall, but he tells me his computer has stopped working and is half asking me if I will go over and mend it for him.

I have no go today. I had so much writing I wanted to get done and really I wanted to start it last night but I got held up.

In the afternoon I begin watching the Nick Broomfield documentary on Heidi Fleiss but the DVD sound is screwed. I guess this disc was £3 at Fopp for a reason.

Big noise comes from next door today as initially Beyonce emits at a screeching level to which I respond to by doing a sexy dance having just watched Californication. If she could see my dancing she wouldn’t be playing the music so enthusiastically. Later it turns out that the nurse is soon moving out.

Today Colchester United are playing at Millwall which is a game I should really be attending. My cousin Phil (from the wedding) points me towards commentary of it on BBC Radio Essex. As I begin listening Millwall are already 1-0 down.

Responding to Phil I point out that we have a strong bench today with Jason Price and James Henry ready to come on and turn the game so when Henry scores in the 93rd minute after Alan Dunne equalises I begin to feel like some kind of football genius as Millwall win 2-1.

Afterwards semi elated I wind up watching Star Wars 2 which actually turns out to be a pretty decent movie removed from all the hype.

I sail out the evening attempting some writing and hiding from Trick Or Treaters. Stupid fucking Americans bringing their stupid fucking traditions over to our country and dropping their wanky shit Hallmark traditions onto us.

Eventually I fall asleep during the Have I Got News For You repeat meaning for a second week running I sleep through the new series of The Thick Of It.

I need a girlfriend.

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