What a Debaucherous Bunch of Ruddy Loons!

Yeah, lyrics again, no special pertinence. And yeah, I preferred it when it was Judge Dredd swears, too.

You know what I noticed today? Well, not just today, I've noticed lots over a large period of time. I'll start again. Next paragraph please.

You know what I clearly noticed enough to be moved to come home and type at the internets about? Well, I'll tell you. There aren't half a lot of steamingly ugly people around. I have it on good authority that it is acceptable practice to peep about the place when you're sat on the tram/bus (or whatever) with your headphones on (or not, as the case may be) clocking people and briefly, idly evaluating them. Y'know "would, wouldn't, probably would, ugh no that's a man, eight pints would", that sort of thing. Well the only words that seem to pop into my head are things like "waxen-headed harpy", "plastic-faced troll", "sow-visaged mutant", "good christ, what the FUCK is that all about", "balding, orange, ham-armed midget". Most unpleasant.

Yes, I know. It is a good job that I'm perfect.

Another box of Mr. Kipling's Mince Pies appeared in my kitchen yesterday (I think they must be on offer at the Spar or something. Well, it's actually a Nisa now, not a Spar, but whatever). Leaving aside the fact that they are criminally horrible (quite pleased that Christmas has now fucked off, to be quite astonishingly frank), the competition and prize plastered all over the offending box quite intrigued me. See, the prize for the competition (can't remember what the competition was, probably a quest to see if you eat three of them without pulling a disgusted face or something) took the form of family tickets to see your all-time favourite pantomime. Well, what if my all-time favourite pantomime happened to be "Hot Danish Festive Lesbotic Lady and the Seven Equally Lesbicious Minge-a-holic Dwarfs"? Firstly, I think it is outrageously, nay, criminally irresponsible of Mr. Kipling to want to send a family to something like that - a family might reasonably be assumed to contain children, and I hardly think that ninety minutes of lusty midget ladies having a go on each others lady bits is suitable fare for children. Secondly, I think it is a quite ludicrous proposition of Mr. Kipling to offer me tickets to something that patently doesn't exist.

And that concludes my report on Christmas 2008. I'd like to thank a bottle of Sailor Jerry's Spiced Rum for allowing me to survive it with minimal long-term damage. Thanks, Bottle of Sailor Jerry's Spiced Rum for allowing me to survive Christmas 2008 with minimal long-term damage. There, I did it.

Now all we need is for New Year's Eve to fuck off, and I'll be a happier man. Well, marginally less rancorous, at any rate. I mean, really. What is the point? What is the strange passion that grips people and sends them out in their droves, grimly determined to enjoy themselves no matter how unlikely a proposal it is? I know, let's go to a pub/bar/club/brothel that we like, one we often go to and actually do have fun. Only for this one night, let's queue up for three hours and pay £30 for the privilege of entry even though it's free the rest of the year (if you chose brothel, then that bit probably doesn't apply. You probably have to pay for, ahem, "entry" most of the rest of the year, too). And then struggle to get drunk enough to be able to delude ourselves we're having fun, failing in the struggle because getting served takes three hours because they've let about a hundred more people than the fire safety licence actually allows, and you're trapped, pressed up against hordes of grey-faced sweating retards, equally grimly determined to convince themselves and the world that they ARE HAVING FUN. So grimly determined that they may occasionally attempt to hug you, or put their arm around your shoulders with an inordinate amount of force, squeezing tightly to try and squeeze the reality out of their tiny, malfunctioning brains. In one last, stomach-turning hurrah, one final assault on the Fortress of Fun, they'll sing. But they won't just sing, they'll be possessed an urge to hold your hand with their wrong hand and pump it violently whilst bellowing out the first line of Auld Lang Syne over and over because they are too feebly mongoloidy to know the rest of it. And heaven help if you don't want to sing. They'll probably shove a chair in your face for being a SPOILSPORT, a SCROOGE (even though that's Christmas and cock all to do with New Year), and RUINING THEIR LOVELY FUN. Grim-faced twats. Then, to top it all off, you have to wait nineteen hours in a freezing cold taxi rank with the retards, get bottled and/or stabbed, and pay the driver £80 for the privilege even though the same journey only costs about £12.

Reckon I'll stay in tomorrow.

See you next year! Hahaha, haha, ha. Ha. Ohhh, I'm so FUNNY.

Black is the Colour (of my Cat's Fur)...

...is just one of the songs on this album, apparently. It's a real, actual, purchasable album. And really, you have to ask the question.

FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK WHY?

Also, neither of your cats appear to be black. Racist.

I am an Admiral of the Sea!

I am, you know. No, no of course I'm not really. I'm just regurgitating bits of Grant Hart. Well, his lyrics, at any rate (from when he decided it would be a good idea to have a band, call it Nova Mob, and employ a ludicrously rudimentary drummer, instead of doing the sensible thing and playing all the instruments himself like he did on the first solo thing), I haven't cooked and eaten him. That would be horrible. Imagine that. Me cooking and eating Grant Hart. I might get addicted to the residual traces of heroin or something. Outrageous.

Anyway, having shamed myself defending Kingmaker, I thought I better do something else. Couldn't decide what - a sPazTune is a significant time investment, but I haven't seen any films recently (my shit film downloading and watching volumes have fallen off a cliff this year, no fun anymore). I've done waffling and being musically semi-serious (explicitly, I mean. I know it annoyingly creeps into the sPazTunes & sPazAmps. I try to keep it out, but sometimes there is no denying the pompous outpourings their egress). So, we'll have some old film news (if I've done it before, tough. Ram it up your rusty sheriff badges and stop complaining) and then I'll do a sPazTune. Worst of every world!

The Mist
Was quite good, for a bit. On balance though, this review will fall into the "I've watched The Mist, now you don't have to" category. So if you're bothered by spoilers then a) don't read and b) stop being a dick and reading other people's accounts of watching films that you don't want to know things about. What are you, fucking retarded? What do you expect? Do you expect everyone to just express vaguely qualitative statements with no supporting evidence and hide any details in fluffy little spoiler tags? Get a grip. And watch better films, retard.

So yeah. First half hour or whatever was good. Ooh, strange mist! Ooh, soldiers! Doing odd things! Ooh, normal life, turned slightly to the side! Ooh, man panicking, shouting vague warnings, in the daylight, in a shop! Ooh, things getting slightly odder, mist closing in, strange creatures! Disbelief! Panic! Ooh, Thomas Jane can't act!

And then. Oh, and then. Shitty CGI. Issue of mine, that. Half-assed actual effects I don't mind - they allow the suspension of disbelief to continue more easily somehow, after all, we all know it's pretend. But CGI? Done badly, it jars in a really odd way. For some reason, my suspension of disbelief facilities work better with someone swiping convincingly at a badly realised actual thing than swiping utterly unconvincingly at a tremendously realised virtual thing. Why this should be, I don't know. Good CGI I like (very much enjoyed Cloverfield, against all my better instincts), bad CGI irks in a very particular way.

Worse was the ending (or more actually, the remainder of the film after the opening "normal world" bit). Not the brutality of the ending (he shoots everyone excepts himself, including his son. Don't complain that I've ruined it, we've been through this. HE SHOOTS HIS SON. PROBABLY IN THE HEAD). That's kinda cool, in a really severe, almost unexpected way. No, it's the way the troop-carriers trundle past shortly after, carrying all the god-bothering freaks to safety, with a lingering close up on one of the smug god-nuts looking at him (Thomas Jane), gazing on his despair, whilst being transported to happy non alien dimension based death. That's no death by alien dimension things, rather than death by any other means than that, terribly phrased I know. It turns the point of the film into "go on, believe in the nutty old testament god. Don't bother with caring for each other, or being helpful, oh no. Just go bonkers, sacrifice people with a giant knife, get giddy about it, do nothing else other than stab people and cheer, you'll be fine". Because that's what the film says. To me. And that's all that matters here, cementheads. Marcia Gay-Harden (hurr) even gets to die in a big Christ-like pose, even though she's a big god-nutter who advocates the ritual stabbing-up of random people. Tsk.

I case you missed it it, at the end of the film The Mist, Thomas Jane SHOOTS HIS OWN SON, POSSIBLY IN THE HEAD. BRUCE WILLIS IS A GHOST. IT'S KEVIN SPACEY, HE'S NOT REALLY A CRIPPLE. PEARL HARBOR IS SHIT.

In related other news, Cloverfield is quite good, as is No Country for Old Men (even though he only says "Friendo" once). Quite liked Hellboy 2, can't be fussed writing more than that about any of them, which is either faint praise or faint damns, I'm not sure. Probably won't do a sPazTune, that all depends on how bored I get in the next five minutes.

T'ra and that.

Defiled Goats

Well, what else would be the opposite of a Sacred Cow? I'll probably do a Sacred Cow thing, I have so much hate for the perceivedly wonderful (yes Bob Dylan, I'm looking at you, you massive Nuclear-Powered Whiny Nasal Astro-Tramp. I'm also looking at you, Ringo "Thomas the Tank Shit Drummer" Starr, too. And the rest of the cocking Beatles), but for now I have a urge to address the opposite. Hence, Defiled Goats. Everyone automatically says they're shit, but they aren't, and they only say that because the Herd's brain-gonads instruct them to via the power of shit thinking and cloth ears.

Kingmaker (yay! it wasn't safety matches after all!). I liked them at the time. That time being the time they were making records. I also liked them at other times, but the time they were making records is the time I'm referring to atm the minute. Then I carried on with my weird and possibly, occasionally wonderful life and forgot about them a bit. I went through a couple of financially driven record purges, went out with a few people, lost a parent (turns out he was hiding behind the sofa. Bit after that he died, that was a lot sadder), trimmed a hedge or none, became obsessed with The Dubliners, went off them a bit, went to University two and a half times, drank my own weight in Rum, drank Rik Waller's weight in Rum, decided the Rum deserved a capital letter, found enjoyed betrayed lost and lamented largely the luminous love of my life, ate some cheese, had umpteen cups of coffee, owned upwards of four cars, expanded my jacket collection towards three figures, had a feud with the retards living opposite, got threatened with a machete in the name of work, spoke to about fourteen elderly South Asian doctors, renewed my hatred of public transport, passed thirty, obtained an extensive knowledge of cryptids because of millie (yeah, thanks for that. I also know what Pareiodal means, but I probably can't spell it. It's not Jesus, it's a shit photo), passed 37 (quite recent that one), boycotted a shop because they were mean to a remaining parent, smoked a bazillion cigarettes, swanned around displaying my awesomeness to the world, lost weight, put it back on again, proved that children's literature doesn't exist, subjected myself to all but one of the Harry Potter Books, and developed a burning, deep, abiding hatred of Russell Howard.

In short, I forgot about them. Then I remembered them (somewhat before a number of the things above happened - I couldn't stop, I was having too much fun). Then I remembered them, and had a listen to them. And they were just as good as I recalled, the most British of all the American sounding bands ever. If Grant Lee Buffalo, Buffalo Tom, or any large bovine themed American "alt" rock plaid wearing band had been subjected to a childhood in Hull, they'd sound like Kingmaker. A vast swathe of subsequent bands owe a huge debt to Loz and his cohorts. Yes, even Radiohead. Fair enough, no one does irritating sub-sixth form poetry lyrics better than the demented arse-weasel Thom Yorke and his chums, but Loz managed slightly above sixth form poetry lyrics. Neither are particularly impressive or deep, but Kingmaker's are decent percentage closer to being as clever as they think they are than Radioshed's are. And tunes? They had tunes coming out of their ears. Which probably caused a signifiant problem of its own, can't have been easy recording mighty impressive songs with shit cascading from your ears.

Thing is, when I reacquainted myself with their own, inimitable wonder, an esteemed associate of mine saw fit to comment (on one of my many organs of internet expression. Yeah, I'm cool. And no, you still can't touch me) something along the lines of "Kingmaker? Even Kingmaker haven't listened to themselves for fifteen years". Said esteemed colleague has, to my mind, quite a reasonable taste in music, but this wasn't enough to prevent the parrotting of a perceived mis-wisdom. Ears of cloth, and typing fingers made of battenburg. Or possibly battenberg, I can't be arsed looking it up.

So Kingmaker. Not shit at all, when you think about it. They had their moment, and then they had to endure their anti-moment where they mattered less than Midway Still (on another day, I'll point out why their version of "You Made Me Realize" widdles on My Bloody Valentine's original from the point where the top of the WTC used to be. I'll also mention how their autographs also reduced the retail value of one of their records. What the lord gives with one hand, he has a bunch of angels mercilessly mug you for with another). And now, I reckon, they should have another moment. A Kingmaker moment. I'm having one of them right now. It's quite pleasant, if a bit disconcertinly middle class. I'll be moving on to Husker Du (umlauts. now. bitches) shortly, no chance of them being underrated. Mainly on account of Bob Mould being a football headed corporate bottom feeder. Yes, he feeds on bottoms. It's fuelled by his anger at the fact that Grant Hart did Bob Mould singing better than Bob, and wrote better songs (apart from Bob's manic wailing on Eight Miles High, that's awesome that is. Even if it's by a spherical money grabber).

But I digress.

Kingmaker. Clinging to the fading Kingmaker moment, here's a slice to tickle your sacculus with.



Yes, I'm too good for you and yes, I suspect my choices are determined by my ongoing lament.

GET OUT.

Conundrum

No, not the kind that Carol Whoreface Vorderman would do inbetween flogging debt and margerine-based phantom cholesterol cures to poor people in adverts. Do I do a post about the awesomeness of Grant Hart (erstwhile drummer from Husker Du [apply your own umlauts, fuckers], heroin addict and top-drawer musicker), or do I do a sPazTune?

Poor Grant has less than a thousand listeners on Last.fm. I find this utterly criminal, as I secretly passed a law making not registering your love for Grant Hart on Last.fm a crime. It also makes me sad, as he's a talent that your ears crave, cleave to and generally want to have ear sex with.

Well? Hurry up, cementdudes, it's already gone midnight. Oh, you can't suggest until I've posted, can you. By which time, I will doubtless have decided, and the whole matter will be redundant. Oh well, much as I hate to disappoint my readership (hi millie, if you're still reading. If you are, why? Go and have your head felt), I shall plough on regardless and you will doubtless see the fruits of my ploughing in the next post. I somehow doubt it will be a crop of turnips. Crock of shit, maybe, crop of turnips, less likely.

Alternatively I could do something about the persistent box-based irritant that is safety matches, or wibble on about Kingmaker.

Oh, decisions, decisions.

Johnny Brainstorm!

That would either be brilliant, or the worst cartoon ever. On the one hand, it could be a massively hazy and drug-fuelled superish hero romp through the galactiverse, on the other it could just be a half an hour of someone called John sat a table thinking really, really hard about something. Either way, it's a line from my favourite Mad Sin song, second best purveyors of fine German psychobilly.

So anyway, yeah. I'm not inventing a new cartoon superdrughero (again, that could be ace, or just someone preventing a robbery in an inferior Boots rip-off shop), I'm just burbling about things sloshing about my head. In type form. The burbling, that is, things aren't sloshing about my head in type form. Oh no, they slosh in lurid, sleazy, all-too-graphic detail. No matter what I'm thinking about. Thinking about red leicester cheese? Lurid, sleazy, all-too-graphic detail. It's both a blessing and curse. And a load of old tossy waffle, too.

To business, though. I reckon it's time for a sPazTune. Yes, you heard me right, a sPazTune. Not a sPazAmp, a sPazTune. Why? I heard you shout in an incredulous fashion (utilising my special set of internet enabled ears, ears that can even detect made-up sounds. Yes, I have used that line before. Sue me, bitch). Well, I'll tell you. See, my car, little Adolf the Audi A3 (1.8t sport, if you must know) is a little elderly. S reg elderly, to be precise. And, like all similarly elderly audis, he suffered from a very specific ailment. Namely, the stereo volume control. See, in their infinite teutonic desire to enslave europe wisdom, they decided that it should have an electronic volume control, one that would necessitate writing all changes to memory, to make sure the little car stereo knew how loud your ears liked your music. Nothing wrong with that, you might think. Except they wrote it to an eeprom chip permanently. Permanently. Giving you a finite number of volume changes - about 10,000 or so, to be inexact. At some point in the past year, Adolf reached his 10,000 and could only remember three volumes - average, TOTAL, and really tiny. Average was slightly too loud for sitting in your car outside your house, way too quit for the motorway and/or drowning out the unwelcome whining of car guests. So I replaced it, as a treat for Adolf on my birthday.

All well and good you might be saying (you probably aren't, because you aren't reading), but what on earth does that have to do with the price of sPazAmps? Well, see, I thought I'd be technoclever. I bought one that went with the old iPod (well, not that old, that was also a self-present, replacing the giantist original one with the vastly decrepit battery. I lent the interim replacement, a splendid little Sony thing, to a man going to Iraq). And I couldn't be fussed with sPazAmping with an iPod, so I bit the horrible Apple bullet and reinstalled sPazTunes.

So there you go. The reversion to sPazTunes. Except I took so long about this (I was distracted by facebook and things. I'm so cool. No, you can't touch me. Get off) that you don't get an actual sPazTune. I listened to lots of psychobilly, trawl back through previous efforts and compile your own. There's enough of them in there. Christ, do I have to spoonfeed you EVERYTHING, cementheads?

BEGONE.

Bim Jeam

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...the one word sPazAmp. Guaranteed longer titles than comments, all of the time. Fun, meet your redefinition. Tedious Irritation, put Fun's coat on and do your best impersonation.

1. Mark Lanegan - I'll Take Care of You
Whiskygruffgravelsex.

2. Roxy Music - Both Ends Burning
Pyroarse.

3. Robbie Williams - Life Thru a Lens
Cockfarmer.

4. Cliff Richard - Congratulations (in Spanielish)
Bumwipe.

5. The Move - Useless Information
Bostin!

6. Bryan Ferry - Piece of My Heart
Ventricle.

7. Air - Talisman
+4Str

8. Kingmaker - End of the Line
*sniff*

9. Daniel Johnston - Love is Like a Toy
Vibrofilth.

10. Hayden Thompson - Blues, Blues, Blues
Blues.

Okay so this is about as much fun as listening to the Stephen Nolan phone-in show for Angry Retards on Radio 5. Which is, in turn, about as much fun renovating your rectum with a pencil. In light of this, the second half will be a regular sPazAmp - no increase in fun for you, a two percent swing to fun for me.

11. Los Gatos Locos - Someone's Gonna Get Their Head Kicked in Tonight
Brazilian. And awesome. A bit like everybody's favourite retard-faced midfielder, the wonderful, and wonderfully gormless, Anderson.

12. Bobby "Boris" Pickett & the Cryptkickers - Monster Mash
Especially nice with Ghoulash. Sorry. Really, really sorry.

13. Blyan Felly - Tokyo Joe
Lacist.

14. Roxy Music - Serenade
Look, it's a genuine coincidence. Honest, it is. Stop it.

15. Pearl Jam - Who Are You
I'm David. Hi.

16. Soft Machine - Why am I so Short?
Because you've only got little legs, E.T.

17. Bill Allen - Please Give Me Something (to Remember you by)
How does herpes grab you?

18. Isaac Hayes - By the Time I get to Phoenix
They'll have moved it. You can practically guarantee it.

19. Psychic TV - Just Like Arcadia
Only without the former members of Duran Duran, I suspect.

20. Twilight Singers - Number Nine
It has Mark Lanegan's whiskygruffgravelsex voice noises, and then it has Greg Dulli's soulfulseedysex voice noises. It has all the sensibilities of a classically epic Dulli tune, with a seasoned dash of Laneganisms. It may lack the brutal confessionalism of "Be Sweet", and Greg may have mellowed (well, more sort of marinaded) from the urgency of "Miles iz Ded". If you need more from music than Greg letting rip at the three minute mark, then to be quite frank you don't deserve to have your own ears, you spack.

GOODBYE.

The Greatest Song in the History of the World #1

Today, that song is the one this post is about. Yesterday, it was something else. Tomorrow it will be something else. Hell, it might even be something else by the end of this post. That, my little cementheaded readers, is the infuriating beauty of music. If The Greatest Song in the History of the World was always the same song, it would be really, really dull. Duller than a barrel of cheese on a broken treadmill, in a dark room. At night. Duller than making a scale lego model of a piece of lego. Duller than the combined wits of Ashton Kutcher and Josh Hartnett. Duller even than the unnecessary bits of the Lord of the Ring trilogy (cinematic version) - and that is a whole heap of fucking dull.

But enough of the dull, onto the sparkly, shiny, seductive, engorging goodness. Today, at approaching ten in the evening, The Greatest Song in the History of the World is...





Yes, that's right. It's "Serenade" by Roxy Music and yes, it really is that good. A tiny aural slice of munificent magnificence, put on this earth to tickle your ears in a good way and occasionally make bits of your insides to try and swap places with other bits of your insides. A reasonable indicator of a contender for a temporary seat at the head of the Greatest Songs in the History of the World table is when a single listen just isn't enough. And at 2m59s, "Serenade" is one of the reasons why they invented digital music and a repeat button (they tried it with record players, but you could never be sure that the needle wouldn't slip the wrong way and end up trying to burrow to China through your slipmat).

It's one of the sneakily best kind of songs - the secretly sad song. Full to the brim of pop jauntiness, striding along Bryan's typically oblique lyrical path, you can happily trot along with it, enjoying Thommo's enthusiasm at being let of his drum leash and letting go with the occasional energetic fill, or ol' Phil's reliably strident strumming. And, for two minutes or so, this works - Bryan's archetypally individual vocal stylings (no, it isn't technically singing. At least, not as we know it. But hell, it works, so stop arguing cementhead) carry the lyrics along with a certain, seductive bravado - after all, it's a song about Bryan casually slinking off from one passionate encounter to another, isn't it. He's not bothered, he's just slying pondering whether she will be or not - although really, it doesn't matter whether she does or not. Life's too short, dude. Then, at about two minutes, the jauntiness eases, Bryan's piano driving the guitar into a melancholy-tinged moment - like the song had just caught sight of it's own reflection and felt unnerved for a second or two.

The bravado slips ever so slightly, turning on the lines "maybe I'm wrong for seeming ungrateful, unforgiving/oh how it hurts, now you're finally leaving/I couldn't take any more".

The jauntiness resumes almost immediately, but it's just not the same. It's punctured, coloured with a tiny glimpse of emotion. Not bravado anymore, it's almost clingy desperation. Posturing, but needy. Almost touching, especially in "now's the time, let's hide away/sacred hours, safe from yesterday" - it may well be a plea for one more shag, but the song's let its guard down, you know it means it. This is just driven home by the incongruity of the "boo hoo willows", rather than alleviated. It's certainly no accident that it's followed on side 2 of Stranded by "A Song for Europe". It all turns on the near-falsetto of the two minute mark and the word "finally". As derided as Mr. Ferry can be (not always without good and laudable cause, it has to be said), his genuine deftness with words and their evocation of emotion is criminally underrated to such a degree that they should open a special court in The Hague. Some songs spend tedious hours clumsily yanking on your heart-strings like a ham-fisted shot-putter trying to knit vermicelli, "Serenade" flits in, takes a scalpel to them, and flits out again.

Of course, you're free to disagree with me. But that would, of course, mean you were an idiot. Just rejoice in the new category and it's splendid new tag. And the song, rejoice in the song. But be careful, it won't always make you happy. Depends on how you feel, innit.

BYE.

You Gotta Categorize

'strue, y'know. Something to do with the Credit Crunch - so important that I've given it capitals. Not entirely sure what it is - either a tasty new cereal or a complete fabrication caused by people like Robert Sodding Peston (to give him his full name), fuelled by speculation, ill-informed media-type-hype and retarded middle-class Daily Mail readers obsessed with the relative price of their houses. In that sense, it's much like economics and capitalism in general (in the made up sense, rather than the crunchy cereal way - although if Weetabix have rebranded as Oatso-Discontinued-Line-of-Credit since I last looked, then I apologise). Like a simpleton running about a 747 shouting BOMB! BOMB! TERROR BOMB! SHOES! BOMB! only featuring all of your money and all of Iceland's money. You've no personal, attestable evidence of the SHOES! BOMBS! or TERRORS! but it's a fair bet you'll start acting like you do.

Quite where I'm going with this, I don't know. It could get worse - the mere mention of Robert "Self Aggrandising Menace to the Markets" Peston has got me all angried up about Nicky Campbell. And the idiots that populate Radio 5 Live in general. Bloody idiots.

Anyway, yes. There'll be a couple of new categories along soon. How soon, it's too soon to say, but soon. They'll be lovely, I guarantee it. I also guarantee you'll hate them/ignore them (delete as applicable), which is, after all, why I do this.

BYE.

Comments!

Comments, yeah! That's my enthusiastic way of informing you (yes, you. The nebulous you that I am entirely uncertain exists in any corporeal or measurable form. Sort of a person version of the concept of Russell Howard's alleged "talent") that I've actually responded to all the comments that had been left. Even the one I completely didn't understand (you know who you are, Flower Travellin' Band Fan). Leave more. Go on. Please? Look, I'm paying attention now, I wasn't before. I'll actually read them within about a week of being left, not the six months it was previously. Look, don't make me beg. Again.

Returning to Russell Howard. Do I mean Russell Howard? Russell someone at any rate, and I know I don't mean Brand, Grant or Harty (who are, incidentally one of the oldest law firms in New Zealand). Tell you what, I'll describe him, and then we'll see which Russell I mean.

The boz-eyed, gimp-faced horse-tickler of a comedian. The one who isn't a comedian at all, on account of him being a bazillion times more irritating than he is funny. The one who pops up on panel shows, the one who doesn't fit in, the one who seems like the fucking irritating younger brother of your mate - the really spoilt one who always had to be allowed follow his brother around and join in, despite being FUCKING IRRITATING, because if he wasn't allowed he'd tell his mam and ruin everything (including the glue-sniffing), the one that was constantly trying to show off and being embarrassing, the one desperate for approval and acceptance, but going about it all wrong and MASSIVELY PISSING YOU OFF in the process.

The one who looks like he'd be better suited to presenting Blue Peter. Blue Peter in HELL.

Is that Russell Howard?

I'm listening to Metallica. And enjoying it. Sorry. Still, at least it's off Ride the Lightning (it's "Creeping Death" if you're interested), so it has guaranteed ginger riffs. I mean RIFFZ. Sorry again.

Title!

So yeah, I stayed up and that. Watched the debate between Joe Budden and Michael Palin. Christ those two have changed a bit. Palin is a blithering flid, and Ol' Joe did really quite well, making almost no spectacular blunders of any kind. Palin refused to answer any questions, thinking that asserting "I may not be able to answer all the questions as you may expect" allows her to ignore the questions and blather slogans from a crib sheet for 90 seconds at a time. My favourite bit was Biden laying the Maverick Smacketh Down on her after she'd said "maverick" in connection with John "Freakishly Tiny Hands" McCain about 30 times. In summary, it's over to Ollie the Weatherdude:



1. Inspiral Carpets - Bitches Brew
Not fixed at all, I promise. She's a mother, you know. Her in depth policy outlines consist of yelping "I DONE A CHILD! I SPEAKED A HOCKEY!" over and over and over again. And making travelogue television series, of course. The Inspirals don't approve and entirely fail to cover Miles Davis in the process.

2. Muse - Exo Politics
Take the "o" out of the title, and you have the effect rendered on the US presidential election by Sarah Palin. There is no such person as Senator O'Biden, Palin. Muse make a muse-like sound. It's a fine line between having a distinctive sound, and all the songs sounding the bloody same you know, Matt.

3. The (St. Thomas) Pepper Smelter - Words of Pain
Oh the sweet, Peruvian garage irony. I will twist each and every song to meet my thematic ends. She does seem to finds words painful. Well, not so much the words, more the putting them into any semblance of a coherent, pertinent order. Joe did not "preference" his statement with the Bush Administration, Palin. He possibly prefaced it, but I doubt he has any Bushwards preferences. Apart from in the rude sense, of course. He looks a bit of a sly old fox, tbh/f.

4. Tony Christie - Avenues and Alleyways
Theme tune to The Protectors, dontcha know. Struggling a bit with this one, so I'll just content myself with warbling along, instead. She'd probably invade Spain if McCain took his tiny hands to the clumsy war veterans agency in the sky whilst president. They don't trust Spain. Damn Paellofascists.

5. The Cramps - You Got Good Taste (Live)
Here's hoping. You can't normally slip a gnat's chuff between American political candidates (if that's the sort of thing that turns you on, insectological chuffvert), but surely you American types can't actually vote for McCain with her on the ticket. He's old, tiny-handed and prone to carking it over the course of the four years. She'd then be in charge. She believes in the rapture - what the giddy christ would keep her finger off the button (not that button - I reckon her god frowns a bit of secret fapping).

6. Duran Duran - Come Undone
Glossing over the really quite odd selections being made by sPazAmp (although I'll not hear a word said about the Duran. Mainly because I have the world's oddest, and most specific, deafness), you'd think the Katie Couric interviews would have done this to her. But no, thick people can be so politically tribal that she's actually solidifying the core 35-40% or so, as they sit there blithely asserting that she was focused, concise and to the point in her "answers". Just so long as she carries on digusting the remainder of the world, that'll do for me.

7. The Lost Souls - Witch Hunt
It so isn't, Lost Souls. Although that's what you'd get if you were pregant after being raped by your own parent, if Palin had her way. What does she care? Jesus is flying down to collect her in his spaceship at some point!

8. The Temptations - My Girl
This is me raising an eyebrow. In type.

9. Sweet - Wig Wam Bam
Sex in a tent!

10. Furniture - Brilliant Mind
Even Furniture are taking the piss. In the past. With a mighty fucking fine song.

11. John Zorn - A Shot in the Dark
It's how they picked her. FACTUS MAXIMUS.

12. Cheater Slicks - Child of the Moon
Well, I doubt she's human.

13. Melvins - Spineless (feat. Skeleton Key)
No, just brainless.

14. Bir Yagmur Masili - Nasil ne Zaman
It's it Turklish. I don't know what it means. It's nice, though. Six minutes long, too, timefans.

15. Moaners - Chasing the Moon
Bit of a fruitless exercise I would have thought. Sadly, it's an instrumental, so we aren't privy to their views on the matter.

16. Redman - How to Roll a Blunt
Unfortunately it isn't about James Blunt, and it doesn't have "in a carpet and beat him senseless" in brackets after the title.

17. Gas Huffer - Mistake
Poor Tom Price :(

18. Pink Floyd - Lost for Words
Sadly, she wasn't . Lost for sense and direct answers, yes. Words, no. Doggone it.

19. Mad Sin - Ich Kann Nich' Schlafen
Neither can Ich. Ich think.

20. Del Raney's Umbrellas - Can Your Hossie do the Dog?
No, but she can govern Alaska and run for vice-president.


ARF.


BYE.

Sarah Palin: I SO read newspapers, dude

She reads all of them, you know. Everything in front of her. She's an expert on Heat magazine, and her knowledge of the Radio Times is unrivalled. It's a VP Debate commemorative sPazAmp, a desperate attempt to fill the time between now and 2am when I get to sit and wait for which of the vice-presidential-calamaties-in-waiting fucks up first (did Roosevelt really go on television straight after the Wall St. crash Joe, did he? in 1929, before television and before he was in power? DID HE?). Knowing me, I'll fanny about massively and only get to about #8 or so before it starts (I'm a little bored of typing this already tbf/h be fair/honest. If I cared, it'd be a miracle.


1. Demented are Go - Rubber Buccaneer
Something to do with dildonics, I think. But not cyber-dildonics (I didn't make that up, someone said it on telly once. I suspect it may have been Channel 5). It's very good (the song, not Channel 5. Or cyber-dildonics, although I wouldn't presume to cast myself as an expert on the matter). Growly psychobilly greatness, possibly about dildonics. What could go wrong?

2. Elton Motello - He's a Rebel
Bit shit, if I'm honest. Should probably have stuck with just owning Jet Boy, Jet Girl, rather than the album. Oh well. Standard, punk-tinged pop that would have threated nobody had it troubled the charts in the late 70s.

3. Pulp - Joyriders (Acoustic)
Better than the regular version. Popped up as a b-side to one of the two Common People CD singles (not that CD singles have a literal b-side, you know full well what I mean). Reminds me of the mid-nineties (fairly predictably), not a time I like to dwell on. Still pretty genius, mind (the song, not the mid-nineties).

4. Carlos Casal Jr. - Don't Meet Mr. Frankenstein
Okay. Must admit, had no plans to anyway. Also, can you go away and come back again at the end of the month, you jaunty fifties popfrightfest. Ta.

5. Curtis Mayfield - We the People Who are Darker Than Blue
Hello, mauve people. At this rate, I won't even make #8 before the debate.

6. Erasure - Love to Hate You
One of my three favourite Erasure songs. A non-existent prize to anyone naming the other two. Motivation? I got it seeping from every pore.

7. Roy "The Orb" Orbison - Pretty Paper
It's not even Christmas, you fool. As majestic as The Orb was, it's not a patch on the Reverend Horton Heat version, which is the version I'll be listening to when it actually IS Christmas. Also, sad song, bad sPazAmp. We're not to have sad songs anymore.

8. Jeff Buckley - Lover, You Should've Come Over
Yeah, and you shouldn't have gone swimming in your boots, you selfish tool. Also, what bit of "no sad songs" don't you understand sPazAmp?

9. Mark Ronson (ft. Daniel Merriweather) - Stop Me
Better than the original. Stick that in your cardigans and moon over it, Moz lovers.

10. Public Enemy - Mi Uzi Weighs a Ton
Does it, Chuck? Does it really? A ton you say? A gun weighing a whole actual ton? Bet you don't have a gun at all, never mind a ludicrously weighty one. Go home and just think about what you've done, mister. You've let me down, you've let the school down, you've let yourself down, you've let the gun-weighing-association down. Tsk.

11. Guana Batz - Saving Grace
Can't type. Misty eyed.

12. The Bees - These are the Ghosts
Thanks, Bees. Although if I'd wanted the guided tour, I'd have arranged it with Yvette and Derek.

13. Simple Sarah vs. Joe the Flid
Sorry, ran out time.


Like, BYE.

sPazAmp 8 Frillion; Take 2

After yesterday's boost to the sales of prozac, I thought I'd have another stab (not in the knifecriming way). It'll be much better, I promise. But only to the extent that Death Magnetic didn't suck as hard or as disgustingly as St. Anger. Look at me with my Metallica analogies. Anyone would think I particularly liked them or something. For the record, I don't and Lars Ulrich is a twunt who increasingly resembles Phil Collins in brain, body and (lack of) soul. Also, Mr. Hetfield - that is no way for a 45 year old bloke to act. Nob.

1. Wampas - Wampas
Splendid churning French Rockapsychobilly that sounds like a French, billy version of something off Bedtime for Democracy by the Dead Kennedys. Possibly Dear Abby. Or Triumph of the Swill. Fascinating stuff, I'm sure you'll agree.

2. Iron Maiden - Iron Maiden
Second song out and already the software is swinging its balls about the place, strutting and preening for hitting on a s/t theme. This is the sort of behaviour I expected from poncey old sPazTunes (software for people who are scared by software, designed to run on computers for people who think that the colour of the computer is the most important bit. Bunch of fannies), I expected better from you, you little llama-themed piece of orange musicality. Put them away, they're disgusting. Oh, it's the Live after Death version. You'll have to imagine the majestic Dickinson Rock Pointing. Whilst you're about it, place one of Steve Harris' feet on a mental monitor and try your hardest to be wearing a Wet Spam FC football shirt. It'll enhance the experience, trust me. TRUST ME.

3. Faith No More - The Real Thing
Nice segueway, sPazAmp. I still don't want to see your balls, though. I told you to put them away. They're not big, and you're not clever. I think it would have been only fair had The Real Thing recorded a cod-soul song called Faith No More. I initially typed that as Fatih No More and completely changed the theme from slightly off-kilter and thoroughly spunksome rock to a campaign to off the former manager of the Turkish national football team. Unfortunate.

4. Mantronix - Bassline
Slight shift there, Mr. Amp (of the sPaz variety). More electro than hip hop (or even rip rap, as me mum called it the other day, bless), with tinny, squawky "rapping" from MC Tee, former sailor and the only person to ever lose to Rodney O in a rap battle (in my head). Still, if you tune out the LL Cool J-with-rickets vocals, it's still all good. Well, not ALL good. I mean poverty and stuff is still bad. Song is far longer than it has any right to be, if you ask me. Which, theoretically, you did by reading this. Goon.

5. Sin Alley - Money
Storming psycho-inflected rockabilly thunder? Check. Balls out, full on interpretation of a song that widdles all over the original? Check. Reasonably hot lady belting out the words? Check. Unfortunately, it lets itself down with the fact that she sings as if she is trying to make sounds by forcing her adenoids out of the top of her head. Stupid moo.

6. Elton Motello - Sha La La La Lee
A thoroughly unthreatening and largely faithful rendition of the Small Faces original. Punk my arse (that isn't an instruction. Especially not if you happen to be Ashton Fucking Kutcher. Incidentally, I watched him try to act once. It upset me).

7. Mansun - Six
It's a Mansun song. But not one of the good ones. So it sounds quite a lot like all the others, only not as good as the handful of good ones. In summary: not very good, with showers drifting in from the east.

8. Screaming Trees - Transfiguration
From the time in their career where they sounded like Beatles-inflected underground sixties US garage pop (the Beatles-inflected is a bit redundant there, that's what they all sounded like. Better than the Beatles, obviously, and all of them, even the retarded ones, had a better drummer. Fuck off, Ringo, you're shit). Which means it is before the time when Mark Lanegan obtained a voice like liquid, singing sex - the kind of liquid, singing sex that smokes forty a day and gargles with Bulleit bourbon. So before the drugs, basically.

9. The Cynics - I Don't Need You
Averagely fun revivalist garage dudes. Not their best, but still ten miles better than the Mansun effort (and, thankfully, about a quarter of the length. Who told Mansun they could make eight minute long songs? Certainly wasn't me).

10. Jethro Tull - Too Old To Rock'n'Roll, Too Young To Die
I'm neither. I'm thirty-six.

11. Nick Cave & The Sad Sheeps - The Moon is in the Gutter
It's not Nick. That's your arse. Pull yourself together, man. Vaguely Roxy-esque, circa For Your Pleasure, with added Tom Waits aping. Very good, mind - three gazillion times better than he's been for about a decade (Abbatoir Blues excepted). You can fuck off with your Grinderman, it was shit. FACT. END OF. SIMPLE AS. Oh yes.

12. Divine Comedy - Becoming More Like Alfie
The pinnacle of Neil's career. Splendid, mellifluous, tunesome without question. And also slapbang in the middle of my car-a-oke singing range, which is lucky for them. Why couldn't he make more songs (or even albums) like this one? The twat.

13. Sailor - Girls, Girls, Girls
It's no "Glass of Champagne", but it'll do. Thanks, Sailor. Thailor.

14. Furniture - The Sound of the Bell
One of the finest songs ever fashioned into a form acceptable to the human ear, and a clear indication of just how often Pulp listened to Furniture and just why they should probably pay them some royalties for a number of songs. Honestly, it's a musical item of grandeur from start to finish. Belle & Sebastian should probably pay them, too. But then, they're massive musical light fingered tea-leaves magpies and even stooped to stealing a Cliff Pilchard tune. Plus I shall never forgive them ripping off Billy Awesome Ocean. The twats.

15. Andy Williams - Spooky
Not as good as the Lesbotic Panda's version, but still a quality slice of lounge. Andy even manages to sound a little sleazy (and disturbingly like Georgie Fame at times). For some reason, the Lesbotic Panda version reminds me strongly of sad times spent in a draughty Crumpsall flat with someone who deserved better. Something to do with the Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels soundtrack, I think. Hmmmn.

16. Muse - Plug-in Baby
Ah, when Muse used to be good. And shamelessly steal royalty-free classical music. I wish Muse were still this good, I love a good wildly over-the-top, massively melodramatic rock beast, I do.

17. Servotron - Rocketdog
If it turns out to be Servotron by Rocketdog, I don't care. It's pleasant garagey punky stuff, with a hint of B52s. And a bit of random electro. And it's from an Estrus benefit album for when their warehouse burnt down, which makes it essential buying (well, not now - it's deleted and they get practically no benefit from you buying it on ebay. For practically read entirely).

18. The Novas - The Crusher
I knew someone who used to sing this in the shower. TBF be fair, it is a fine shower-singing song. Aw.

19. ODB - Baby C'mon
RIP in peace, ODB dirty bastard. A curious kind of possibly retarded genius, with a unique flow without equal or compare. A nutter, but one of the good ones.

20. McCain/Obama debate
I had to turn the musics off, soz. I've got a tenner on a McCain coronary. Here's hoping!


BYE!

Yeah!

Or possibly no! It all depends on your point of view, really. Gird your loins (or possibly lions, if your a bestial welderer. Come on, keep up with the self-referential navel-gazing tugfest masquerading as a running joke), splice your mainbrace, get naked and get your sPazAmp on! All new (well, the songs probably won't be), all singing (apart from the instrumentals), all dancing (mainly me. In my chair. Like a big spacker), ALRIGHT!

Ahem.

1. Pink Floyd - Fat Old Sun
A nice, gentle, fuzzy start. One of the two John Peel versions, the shorter, not as good version. In fact, the third best version I have. Update your charts, do NOT drink your weak lemon drink.

2. Marble Sheep - Fla Fla Heaven
Has this been on before? I suspect it has. Long, slightly mentally-uncertain Japanese poprockadelia. Hugely inoffensive, distinctly endearing, sort of like mid-period Flaming Lips (if they had a bit of a clue) crossed with Captain Sensible-era Damned, seasoned with a dash of Wedding Present (c. Bizarro), and sounding nothing like the description whatsoever. You'd likely as not hate it, but then, you're stupid and your ears are nowhere near as well developed as mine. Suck on that, biotch.

3. Billy Joel - Piano Man
I AM THE PIANO MAN . Joke for two people, one being me and the other being someone who won't be reading this. Damn you Richard. WE DIDN'T START THE FIRE. Oops, sorry.

4. Pulp - Common People (peel session)
TELL HER ABOUT IT. It's Common People, by Pulp. On a Peel Session. I'm reasonably sure you can work out what that sounds like. It's not like you're totally retarded.

5. Mojo Nixon & Skid Roper - Debbie Gibson is Pregnant with my Two-Headed Lovechild
The title says it all. I feel any comment from me at this point would be entirely superfluous. OCTIN TEAR .

6. Los Manganzoides - Lluvia de Fuzztones
No idea what they're on about, don't speak spanielish. I reckon, but I might be wrong, that it's something to do with The Fuzztones. What with the word Fuzztones being in the title, and with them sounding a bit like them, in an Argentina-y way. No, I know - my insight really does know no bounds.

7. The Smiths - Hand in Glove
The heartwarming tale of mitten-based fisting. With added pointless, and irritating, harmonica.

8. Morita Doji - I Become a Lonely Wind Without You
Proof, if proof be need be , that you don't need to understand the lyrics for a song to make you want to do a cry. A tough, rugged mancry, of course. But a big slice of sad, all the same. Smothered with lashings of extra thick, double strength Upsetting Custard. What a shit overstretched analogy.

9. The Who - Glittering Girl
Proof, if proof be need be , that the lyrics don't need to make any sense or carry any sense of pertinence to make you want to do a cry. Not having the best run of sPazAmp luck, really.

10. Soundgarden - Into the Void
It's, like, Soundgarden, impersonating Slack Babbath. Probably because it's a Slack Babbath song and the tiny grunge-elf Cornell is doing his darnedest to sound like Ozzy. So there you go.

11. Chris Cornell - Fell on Black Days (live in Sweden)
Didn't take long for sPazAmp to get all cocky and start theming, did it. Not great, not horrible. It's the Heinz Tomato Soup of music.

12. Offspring - Why Don't You Get a Job
Well, why don't you stop outing the stuff I really like that makes everyone laugh at me, sPazAmp. Plus, I SO have a job. It's shit and annoys me.

13. The Singing Loins - So Long, My Old China
Oh fucking thank fucking you, sPazfuckingAmp. Yes, it's a fucking splendid fucking song, but really, on fucking top of everything fucking else, it's fucking not fucking one I want to be fucking hearing at this time of fucking year. Sorry for the swears, came over all Gordon Ramsay there (not in a rude way, urgh). Fucking.

14. R.E.M - Everybody Hurts
Oh for fuck's sale sPazAmp, you're just taking the piss now. It's not even as if I've even vaguely had a hint of liking this since about 1992 (and even then the Elvis theftery was testicle-ticklingly obvious). It's like, sung by Michael Stipe, and blablabla . Still making me do a sad, mind.

15. Edgar Broughton Band - Mr. Cosby
Probably not about Bill, sadly. Still ace though, despite the presence of fucking bongo(e)s.

16. Smog - I Was a Stranger
I seem to have acquired a sPazAmp channelling the spirit of a sPazAmp normally reserved for South Wales teenagers with a passion for emo, facebook groups and suicice. Although with different songs, natch. If I didn't know better (and I rarely do), I'd swear it was trying to do me in. Dastardly technology.

17. Roxy Music - 2HB
My favourite song about pencils. Just about one of my favourite songs ever, tbh be honest. When I have space, time and inclination, I shall have to while away hours listening to the vinyl, just like I did as an angsty, moody teen - one who thought a parting and a massive Ferry-like flick was a good idea. Personally, looking back, I don't think it was. I didn't notice at the time though, so it's all good. Except it isn't, because I was an angsty moody teen. A vicious circle of the most pointless and vacuous kind. Corking song, though.

18. Magnetic Fields - Book of Love
Look, sPazAmp, keep this up and I'll be going back to sPazTunes. I'll even buy an iPod to really rub it in. Cheer me up, for the love of grud, drokk it.

19. Husker Du - Eight Miles High
Insert your own umlauts. In your anus. This is little cheerier, sPazAmp. You well know just how inexplicably sad I find this song, you massive tool of a piece of software. Still, any excuse for a massive nihilistic scream, so I guess I'll forgive you.

20. Scissor Sisters - Return to Oz
The double whammy of outing a musical joy derided by others and persisting with depressing me. You really are heading for a life in the recycle bin, sPazAmp. Still, reminds me of two of the best gigs I've been to (no kidding), both of which have a tiny sadness attached all of their own. Oh, the boundless, untrammelled joy.



That wasn't nearly as much fun as it used to be. Like the worst comeback album ever. Hint: when your sPazAmps make St. Anger look good, give up.

This, that, but not the other.

I bet you thought I was dead. Yes, you - the mythical reader of this nonsensical voyage through nonsense. Well, I in't. So relax, you're not being typed at by a zomboid. I live, just about, much to the chagrin of many.

Also, I'm back. Here and on the musicky version of my witterings. I'm going to set myself a plan, a plan to inflict myself on the interwebworld on a far more regular basis, with a mutantbrain spurt on a thursday and a mutantrock musing on a tuesday. Knowing me, this plan will last less than a week (that only leaves me a Monday to abandon myself to the pointlessness of Spore and Wednesday to pursue a PhD. It keeps running away, the little sod).

So yeah. Suck on that, bitches. It'll be great, you'll love it. My return is the reason they had to shut down the Large Hardon Collider temporarily. Electrical fault my arse (that's not an instruction), they're just diverting all their science brain energies to deciphering this blog, the only proof they'll ever need of the existence of the Higgs Moron particle.

To celebrate, here are some Youtubes. I've chosen these from whatever Firefox suggests to me from previous browsals when I start typing youtu into the address bar. Proper random.



Shit. This was suggested as "funny" somewhere on the interwebulars. It's not. Not even the cat, the Baldwin or the Vader. Shit, with a capital wank. Which sounds like something an appreciative toff might say to a prostitute.




She's a generalist. Not a specialist, a generalist. She's also an ugly, talent vacuum with the face a horse's mother wouldn't love and a skank factor to rival Amy Whorehouse's arsecrack. Holistic vocal coach is apparently special code for deranged bint with the personal appeal of a rampaging (higgs) Bison intent on goring you with the new horns it glued on especially for the job. I love the X-factor. Until it stops showing the mouth-breathing musical bacteria and starts pretending the people are talented. Then I hate it. This is why I prefer Britain's Got Talent, they don't bother with the second bit. They let slightly "special" girls with performing dogs into the final (best bit was when he parents explained how she doesn't have many "human friends"). I like to pretend that they intend the title in an ironic fashion.

I've run out of youtubes, so in lieu of another, here's a premium comment from the youtube posting of the last one. I adore youtube comments, they seem to be inhabited by people who, by rights, should be mentally incapable of operating a computer. Or breathing unaided.

i must admit shes a bit of an ego maniac and her big desplay at the beginin did discredit her quite a lot, however she is very talented and should be credited for heer vocal ability and the fact she has taught the vocalist of one of the best bands in wales how to sing just because she uses sum techniques that arent widely loved doesnt mean she should be discredited for it and catagorised with all the shit singers because of it

Thanks, serpentofmendes! Can spell technique, can't spell her, display, or some. I bet you only feel truly alive when paintballing. I bet you also think that Neighbours is a reality show and that Digimon is a documentary. Bless.

In the words of Gary Glitter, I'm off to trawl the far east for children to mither it's good to be back. Hello, hello, it's good to be back.

The pie done gone.

I etted it.

---

A quickfire (i.e. only ten. Which isn't quickfire at all. It's just shorter) Roxy Music shuffle, including the two Bry(i)an's solo output, but sadly lacking Phil Manzanera's, 801, the Explorers or Andy Mackay (they're all still on vinyl. Which is a particular shame with regards to Andy Mackay, as it denies the chance of a saxophone based instrumental version of Ride of the Valkyries).

Enjoy it, or else. The shuffle is still at risk of getting it. IN THE SHUFFLE HEAD.


1. In Every Dream Home a Heartache
A pleasing start. Perverted nonsense about blow-up dolls and posh houses with posh taps. Nice brooding start, big Manzanera freakout at the end. Five and half minutes of nonsensical, perverted perfection. With taps!

Watch Bryan Ferry sweat and pretend to play a guitar. Witness Paul Thompson's visible delight when he finally gets to hit something properly with his drumsticks. See Brian Eno grind pepper. He's dressed as a peacock!


2. Brian Eno - Here Come the Warm Jets
Oi, you. Yes, you. Blokey out of Flaming Lips. Brian wants his tune back. And David Essex wants his early eighties head back.

3. Bryan Ferry - These Foolish Things
Admirable display of impartiality by the sPazAmp. Bryan indulging himself to splendid effect. Should be rubbish, is actually great.

See Bryan flick ash at a tiny ashtray woman.



4. Roxy Music - 2HB
The song about the acting pencil from the 40s. Still sounds slightly like music from the future. And from space. And the past. Retro space future music about pencils. It's the way forward. And back. One of my favourite songs ever.

5. Roxy Music - All I Want is You
Full-on pop tastiness mode, this time. Effortlessly cool, gloriously good fun.

See Paul Thompson try and drum his way into Mao's Communist Party. Watch Bryan Ferry try and sneak into the Gestapo. Witness Andy Mackay's audition for Showaddywaddy.



6. Bryan Ferry - What Goes On
Bryan lets me down, lets himself down, and lets the school down. He does a good job, maybe even improves the song, but he can't change the fact that it's a completely arse song by complete cocksocket [/reed heresy].

See Bryan grow a (really good) beard because Antony Price told him to. Watch him hobble up and down stairs. Worry about Bryan's congenital stoop. Marvel at his entire lack of ability to dance like a human. Wonder how he still manages to be cool.



7. Brian Eno - Dead Finks Don't Talk
Two Eno, both from Here Come the Warm Jets. Good work, sPazAmp. Have a biscuit.

8. Bryan Ferry - It's My Party
Imagine your favourite version of the song. Then multiply it by a frillion, and that's how good this is (n.b. this process doesn't work if this is already your favourite version).

Apropos of whimsy, random eighties samurai and the fact that a tiny ten year old shoelace had a massive, inexplicable crush on Barbara, here's Dave Stewart and Barbara Gaskin's version.



9. Bryan Ferry - Is Your Love Strong Enough
Yes thanks, Bryan, and I'll thank you to stop testing it out. From the film Legend which, IMDB has just told me, featured Tom Cruise. Thankfully he isn't in the video and my forgetfulness is allowed given that the 14 year old shoelace had other cast members to have a massive, inexplicable crush on. Yes, it was Tim Curry. Only kidding, it was Mia Sara. Well, to be entirely honest, I think it was Princess Lily I had the crush on, I don't recall being bothered about her in other films (Ferris Bueller, for instance).

Continue to marvel at what Bryan thinks passes for dancing on Earth. Say hello to a brief appearance by Dave Gilmour (the guitar sound is obvious, even if he isn't). See Bryan walk spastically up supposedly invisible stairs that you can clearly see. Ask yourself the question "WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE SLEEVES ALL ABOUT?" (please note that given I was 14, I know full well what those sleeves were all about and I can only apologise).



10. Roxy Music - Would You Believe?
I would. Splendid retro future past space honky tonk thing with awesome drumming. Thanks Paul Thompson.

Here's Bryan Ferry comparing beards with Kenny Everett.


Yeah, happy new year and that. BYE.

The pie is nearly here!

Scant minutes away now! Rejoice, nutrition fans! Yet another shuffle, including an opening use of a Lionel Richie "joke" that I used as the intro to that there post just before, having forgotten that I'd used it in a shuffle. Silly me. PIE!

---

Hello! Hello? Is there anybody out there? Is it me you're looking for? Shove off, you strange amalgam of Pink Floyd and Lionel Richie. Especially Lionel, stop taunting blind women in your videos.

Having gone Tom Jones crazy for most of the day, I feel it prudent to indulge in some shuffling before my closest Last FM neighbour is a sixty year old knicker-flinging woman. I'm quite aware that some people would pay good money for that sort of thing. But hey, I'm not some people. No. I'm just one. Obv.

1. Gogol Bordello - Start Wearing Purple
The version from Voi-la Intruder. It's a bit different from the other one, but still ace. They're pretty ace full stop. Such a shame that most of the acclaim ladled onto their heads from some quarters is for all the wrong reasons. Makes me want to invent a crazy gypsy cossack dance. Again.

No youtube. It'd only be perved over.

2. The Calico Wall - I'm a Living Sickness
You so aren't, Mr. Calico Wall. Unless you are actually, counter to the sleeve note indications, a germ rather than a person. Reasonably entertaining sixties garage that shoehorns in all the requisite elements, arranges them in a pleasing manner and thus ticks most of the required boxes. Not as good as "Flight Reaction", but still quite good if slightly forgettable. Meh.

No youtube. It doesn't exist and I can't think of a humorous and/or good alternative.

3. Screaming Trees - Halo of Ashes
A tiny bit eastern, a tiny bit too earnest, and a tiny bit not as good as it should be. Screaming Trees at their trying too hardest. I feel I should like it more, but I don't. Oh well. Hmph.

No youtube just because. All these comments probably seem a bit weird as I only decided on the youtube thing later when I found the ace one for Church of Misery (you'll see. If you dare).

4. The Stingrays - Joe Strummer's Wallet
Look, I've told you all about this before. I'm not going to waste my time telling you again how brain-fondlingly marvelous it is, I'm just going to sit here and thoroughly enjoy it instead.

To balance the indirect Strummer bashing, here's the one and only Clash song I truly fucking adore (live!).



5. The Revels - Foo Man Choo
A doo-wop oddity that is odd along the very obvious lines delineated in the title. Huh.

Unsurprisingly, The Revels (the band, not the chocolate) don't make it onto youtube, so here's Tom Jones dancing up a storm of leathery sex. Again.



6. Funkadelic - (Not Just) Knee Deep
Known to most people as The One That De La Soul Used On Me Myself and I. Not me. I know it as it is and prefer it in this form. Because I'm so cool, see. And I gots the funk. By the kfmotherfuckingc bargain bucketload. And I also heart Tom Jones. I AM THE ULTIMATE PERSON.

It's fifteen minutes long, doubt you want to sit through a youtube that length, so here they are in 1970 being genius on a show called "Upbeat"



7. Edgar Broughton Band - House of Turnabout
Edgar in the wistful prog mode (rather than the more rock incarnation). Bloody marvelous and if you don't like it then you're a scrotum.

Apologies for the nature of the youtube (flid makes video of stills of the band over the tune), but it's worth it for the song (the closest in spirit to the actual EBB song with actually being it).



8. Los Monstruos
Sounds like Spinal Tap as the Thamesmen (or whatever it was) with "Gimme Some Money". You know what I want, or maybe you don't. This is probably because it has the same tune. This is in foreign. Thought you might like to know that. Ah, the legend that was John "Stumpy" Pepys.


9. Dexy's Midnight Runners - Come on Eileen
I will NOT, bloody filthmongers. What a massively sexy and appealing song this is. Forget the drunkenly co-ordinated mass foot stamping it instigates towards the end of the reception for every family wedding ever. Strip away the herds of drunken morons abusing it. Focus on how unapologetically perfect a pop song it is instead. Wearing dungarees with nothing underneath was a stupid idea, this song clearly wasn't. As the video proves.


10. Church of Misery - El Topo
As most of their frankly STAGGERINGLY wonderful tunes are named after serial killers, I can only surmise that this is about the word-famous serial-killing singing puppet-mouse from Italy. Rocks like a beast, grinds like a bitch, and does lots of other things like things beginning with the letter B. All of them good. It is awesome, magnificent and totally tickles my balls. You'd hate it, mind, as you have heads of cement and entirely fail to acknowledge the massive majesty of the behemothic sabbath-on-steroids semi-Japanese masters of music. Or something. Whatever it is, you're wrong. HA.

Here's their promo for "Filth Bitch Boogie (Aileen Wuornos)". It has BORIS connections, dontcha know. I can think of nearly four people on here whose lives would be willingly enhanced by having Church of Misery in them (the lives that is, not the person).



11. Rainbow - All Night Long
A very particular kind of musical perfection. Graham Bonnet reaches his own personal talentastic zenith (just edging out "Since You've Been Gone"), Cozy does his drum thing and stays within the bounds of sense, Ritchie rocks just enough, the rest are just there. In that order. Has a video featuring a large breasted slapper jiggling away whilst Graham leches at her from behind his mammoth shades whilst singing. Contains the lines "you're sort of young / but you're all the rage / I don't care cause I like your style / don't know about your brain/but you look alright". HALLELUJAH. Here's the video. Hnggh.


You love it, you do.

12. Tony Christie - Avenues and Alleyways
I can only click my fingers with my left hand. Weird that, isn't it? I always find out during this song as it is proper finger-clickable. I heart this song massively, and have done ever since I was a tiny shoelace apparently (so my Mum says).

I was going to commemorate this with a clip of Tony riding the turd-ridden coattails of the Amarillo-based fame on "Saturday Swings", presented by Natasha "pointless" Kaplinsky. But it physically hurt. So instead, here is Tony reprising his German TV efforts on "I Did What I Did For Maria". Watch out for the VERY special dance move he busts between 40 and 44 seconds. It's mind bogglingly. The charisma-free bellend really did think he was Tom Jones, whereas in reality he was more the dancing version of Joey Deacon (google it, youngsters). The merits of the curiously Peter Kay-a-like paid to sit in the background and look vaguely cowboy-ish have been covered elsewhere.

*sadly, the youtube has been removed, so you will be forever denied the mystical wonder of Tony's christawful dancing. Soz*

Here he is doing Avenues and Alleyways in a gloriously lurid shirt and trousers combo. It's part of him doing a really bizarre big medley in the same clothes. SEVEN MINUTES OF THE TONE! Bonanza! Includes advice on not going down to Reno, shooting people on behalf of Maria, directions to Amarillo, terrible miming, even worse dancing, a camp German presenter, a gold disc presentation in forens



13. DJ Yoda - Betty Boo/Doin' the Do
It features both Betty Boo and Europe's "Final Countdown" in about a minute and a half. It's almost too much excitement for the human mind to take. It certainly is if you were a certain age at the time of the originals, ahem. To commemorate, here are both in youtube form.

The worst that eighties style videos (and cod-rapping) can offer:


The worst hair that metal could provide, and the worst metal that hair could provide:


EMBRACE THE CHEESE.

14. Humanoid - Stakker Humanoid
Immense electronic quality. Utterly, utterly peerless. All bleepy, beepy songs should be this good. But, alas, they aren't. FOR SHAME, ELECTRONIC PEOPLE. It seems to be one of the very few instances where I'm stuck in the past with what was a contemporary (to me) tune. Sorry. It's best heard in a club with it playing so loud that it feels like it is physically squeezing your head. It may also help to have taken drugs, I think.

Youtube. Sorry a) for the tiny, tiny volume. TURN IT UP and b) if you're an epileptic. Be careful. If you weren't before, you might be afterwards.



15. GLC - Half Man Half Machine
Sheer unadulterated qualitude. That isn't even a word! It is really good though. Don't believe me? Well then you must be stupid, and I know I've done this selfsame strikethrough "joke" before see for yourself. Binatone, spectrum, pacman, Commodore...sadly, there are no youtubes of Mystikal doing his patented Radio 2 announcer rapping (as witnessed on "The Alchemist").



16. Wu-Tang Clan - Gravel Pit
One of THE finest hip hop songs, and an excuse to post just about the finest hip hop videos. Especially the visual representation of ODB being in chokey. Classic (and I don't use that term lightly).



17. Kylie Minogue - Some Kind of Bliss
That's me and Jona happy, then. And probably JamieC and the Snork, given the Manics association.

Obligatory youtube, random petrol station guff.



18. Inspiral Carpets - Two Worlds Collide
One of my very favourite late-period Inspiral goodnesses, and a very easy one to youtube, given Mute's helpful hand in uploading all of the offical promos. God bless 'em.



19. Gas Huffer - Crooked Bird
Not their best, but in the top five. And easily their best video. Which makes it far better than most things you can feed to your ears. Poor Tom Price :(



20. Afghan Whigs - Miles iz Ded
Not the best quality recording of a decent version of one of the best songs in the world, ever. Typical television-at-a-festival camerawork, but you still get Greg Dulli looking oddly hot and the drummer has all of his clothes on (by no means a given with him), so it's all good when you think about it. Cashback!




Fun! Fun? Fun. Maybe. I don't know why I bother. I expect signs of appreciation, or the shuffle gets it. IN THE HEAD.

Bye!

Hurry up, pie and chips!

I'm hungry! Stupid time, standing between me and my dinner. Oh well, just time for another shuffle, then.

---

I must admit, shufflefandudes, that I'm a little loath to step back in here. But hey, I'm bored and a bit sick of youtubing weirdoes, so here goes.

Well, in a bit. It turns out that I'm not entirely sick of youtubing and besides, the Snork claims not to have seen Morecambe and Wise. And then no doubt there will be an insistence on some wrestling clips or something. It's bound to happen. Bear with me. Perhaps a joke to fill the interlude.

How do you stop a dog shagging your leg? Pick it up, and suck its cock.

I thank you. Thanks, Sean Lock.

Now, on with the shuffling.


1. The Mummies - Tall Cool One
Simultaneously an auspicious and an unauspicious start. Auspicious (I'm already sick of typing that) because it's a fucking belting song (I think it's one of their Wailers' covers, but I might be wrong), unauspicious because The Mummies always appear, and it makes it look like my musical taste hasn't moved on at all since the last time. It hasn't, but I don't need some retarded music software broadcasting it to the motherblubbing world. Hmph.

2. The Littlest Hobo Theme
Maybe tomorrow, I'll wanna settle down, until tomorrow, I'll just keep moving on. Excellent theme tune, dudes, but settle down? You're a fucking dog. A dog. What're you going to do, get a job as a data analyst, get married and raise half alsatian half human hybrid children? Fuck off you massive mental.

3. Pearl Jam - Gremmie Out of Control
It's something to do with surfing. I do like me a slice of the 'jam (I would suspect that you shouldn't actually be able to slice jam), but they don't really cover themselves in glory here. Although, that said, I do love it to bits. Me? I'm a mass of contradictions. Although some might say it was more a case of being wilfully confusing. This section was sponsored by the word although. Thankyou. Bye.

4. Nick Cave & the Bad Sheeps - Deanna
Just about my favouritest 'Sheeps song. Unfortunately, this is a live version recorded in an empty coke can. And is therefore tinnily shit. I massively heart the song, though.

5. The Adventures of Parsley - Magpie
It's theme tune night in the shoelace household. Well, theme tunes and youtubes of Billy Ocean being magnificent and Tom Jones being hnngworthy. Ah, Magpie. Presented by every young boy's dream Jenny whatserface and Mick "Keegan" Robertson. Sort of like an cheap ITV attempt to be Blue peter, only with a rocktastic theme tune. A theme tune that Parsley, erstwhile ivory-tinkler for the Solarflares does more than a massive amount of justice. Splendid.

6. Jello Biafra & the Melvins - The Lighter Side of Global Terrorism
Given the two musical behemoths involved, do you really need me telling you at length how fucking awesome it some, cementheads?

7. Los Gatos Salvajes - La Respuesta
It's all in forens. Doesn't stop it being groovetastically awesome, mind.

8. Inspiral Carpets - She Comes in the Fall
I love the Inspirals. I don't mind admitting it. A fine song. Lyrics not their strong point, though. You should learn to walk before you crawl, she comes in the fall? Fucking retards.

9. Guana Batz - Electraglide in Blue
Fuck yeah. If I weren't going to go on and plug my blog, that would suffice. A prime slice of asskicking psychobilly, by the tuneful masters of the art. But I am going to plug the blog, and it is precisely the sort of thing that can be found over at Mutant Rock

10. Gas Huffer - Release the Robots
This is also the kind of thing you'd find over there. Tom Price has Parkinsons. The world is unfair in so many fucking unfair bastard ways. That's just one of them. Best bit is the robotic, Spectrum 48 curragh uspeech (the micro thing, no the u, I couldn't be arsed finding the alt+numbers for it) right at the end. The world is a shit, horrible place.

11. Randall and Hopkirk (deceased) Theme Tune
It really is bastard theme tune night. Plus I appear to have tourette's, sorry. Not the best them, a bit plinky piano heavy. And the Vic and Bob remake was shit, which is a shame. Although Emilia Fox was in it. But that's not enough to save it, I'm afraid.

12. Deep Purple - Fireball
Winamp tells me it's 22 minutes long. If fucking only. Stupid software. Top shrieking, Ian. I was about to launch into something about Lee and Herring's Ian news (very "ian-teresting"), but it's getting late and I can't arsed. Soz.

13. Steve and the Jerks - Girl You Made a Jerk out of Me
And why are you so bothered? It's your band name! Top garaging, though.

14. The Deadly Snakes - I Heard a Voice
I heard one too. I recall distinctly, it said "NEXT". I heart The Deadly Snakes as much as the next man (providing the next man is a massive fan of The Deadly Snakes), but this is a bit poor. Soz.

15. Minous Blancs - Oh Non Jamais
It's all in the forens! But regardless, it's fantasticly bopsome. Hell yeah.

16. Belle and Sebastian - Me and the Major
I've left this in for three reasons. One, I don't cheat (much. I mean, obviously I elide multiple instances of the same band), two, it's not a terrible song and, three - mainly this one - they mention Roxy Music. TBH be honest, at the time I first heard, that was probably what sold it to me. I heart Roxy Music massively. But then, being tiny shoelace fans, you probably already know that. *blush*

17. Outkast - The Rooster
The best song on the Speakerboxx/Love Below split thing, and it wasn't on Andre's lameass effort. Oh fucking no. See, They can both rap, but only Big Boi has a fucking clue with regards to the beat. Sorry again for the tourette's. But really, this widdles all over anything on the other side. Except maybe "Hey Ya", but then that's just a pop thing. Not that being a pop thing is a bad thing, but being a big rap beast takes a certain something. The Rooster has it, in fucking spades (sorry again), and Hey Ya don't.

18. Ricky Martin - Loaded
Faster than a Sosa home run. Bet that's faster than any of you - you're probably still deluding your minds with weird thoughts of him being shit. Well I got news for you, fools. Unless you have a personal reason not to do the jiggy mamma to the break of dawn, then you have no excuse AT ALL. Cementheads. (I must admit, I cheated and listened to a bit of "La Bomba" live afterwards, and had a massive latino chairdance. I am SO fucking sexy it's untrue. I did a bit of Pegate but had to stop on account of people throwing themselves at me).

19. Anthony and the Johnsons - Divine
Yeah, way to ruin the mood, JamieC. Okay, so I like your song massively. But not after I've had a frankly enormous chairdance to Rickyness. Stop it. You're making me glum. Plus, I'd quite like it if you stopped squeezing my organs.

20. The Dubliners - The Irish Rover
I should have been typing about Julie Driscoll's "Let the Sunshine (the Flesh Failures)" - a fine song of which I know all the the words. However, we drunkenly danced the song away in the confines of the room and were thus left with this (the Les Dawson youtubes notwithstanding). Are we bothered? Arse no! It may not be prime time Dubliners, but hell, it's still arse-shiftingly wonderful, despite the involvement of Shane MacGowan.


There would actually be a 21, seeing as how much the room enjoyed the randomising of Green Day. But I've been told not to mention that, so that would be BYE.

BYE.

Bye.

Next Shuffle Please. Thankyou.

The momentous 50th shuffle. Undertaken shortly after declaring that I couldn't be arsed at the end of the last one. I LIED.

---

Turns out I could be arsed. Rather than continue the Psychobilly sPazOut! (tm), I thought I'd do another, completely and utterly and totally random one. Absolutely unbiased, with neither fear nor favour. So here it is. The fabled sleeveless sPazAmp of yore.


1. Jethro Tull - Quizz Kid
A fine opening. Can't spell "quiz", but hey, that's the crazy genius of The Tull for you. Despite loving and listening to this since about 1983, I'm not entirely sure what it's about. Hopefully not The Eggheads, because they're all twats. I could easily beat them on my own. No, really. I've been banned from upwards of one pub quiz for winning it too much. I'd particularly like to slap the one who patently wears far too much mascara, the massive nob. Like all the best Tull openers (for this was, after all, something of a concept album, like most of them), it contains a curious mix of hope, melancholy and ROCK FLUTE. It also has a slight overture-like snippet of the big near-end song. Which points to it's conceptness, but does little to explain it. The later ones do, clearly, but the opener just waffles on and on (in a musically wonderful way) about being good at quizzes. Bizarre.

2. Jethro Tull - Crazed Institution
Presumably where you end up if you obsess over pub quizzes. Not the most random of selections, being as it is the second track on Too Old to Rock'n'Roll, Too Young to Die! (the previous entry being, as stated at a belaboured length, the opening track). Really not sure how such an unrandom occurrence occurred. I shall have to investigate. Keeps the album chugging along, fitting seamlessly and tunefully into the whole, without genuinely standing out as a solo listen (despite the fine flutage). A bit like The Temple from JCS in that respect.

3. Jethro Tull - Salamander
Honestly, this is getting ridiculous. The third Jethro Tull song in a row? And, what is more, the third Jethro Tull song from Too Old to Rock'n'Roll, Too Young to Die! in a row - and in ORDER? Clearly not the most random of events, sPazAmp. People will be casting nasturtiums at me at this rate. Much in the manner of the previous song, it features a welter of excellent flutage and mood extending, with little actual development or stand alone songness. Although the fluting is TOP FUCKING NOTCH, I can tell you. As, indeed, I just did!

4. Jethro Tull - Taxi Grab
Involves having a very big hand and a mighty strong grip. I'm gathering by this point that a) it's about the impendingly middle-aged protagonist's unfulfilling night out and b) it's not random at all, I've chosen to shuffle the entirety of Too Old to Rock'n'Roll, Too Young to Die!, in a non-shuffled, non-random manner because it so fucking wonderful and gigantically, catastrophically underrated. Even by Tull fans. Which is quite some going, as they tend to worship the smallest of Ian Anderson's parps. They even like The Crest of a Knave, and that's actually been proved to be less musically enjoyable than the smallest of Ian Anderson's parps.

5. Jethro Tull - From a Deadbeat to an Old Greaser
It's a bit of a weird album. Not in a bad way, there isn't a bad note on it. It's just that it does the whole concept album thing by general tone of song. Most concept albums beat you over the head with it through lyrics and the like. Even previous Tull epics did that. All you need with this is the album title, the album on vinyl (so you have to turn it over half way through, the pause is important) and a pair of ears. After that you get the point, repeatedly, all the way through, and end up wanting to have a bit of a little mancry. Especially if you're nearly 36. This song in particular is a bit lovely. Hugely lovely, and sad, to be honest. If it wasn't for the fact they released the nearly as wonderful Songs From the Wood and Heavy Horses afterwards, it would have been a poignantly apposite album in their own career. Or, to look at it more positively, I'm good for a revival of two more metaphorical album's worth before I end up a parody of myself, whoring myself around venues filled with a steadily decreasing supply of hardcore obsessives. I'm quite aware of that metaphor dying a disturbing death about a third of the way through, ta.

6. Jethro Tull - Bad-Eyed and Loveless
About a squinting brass. Possibly. Sort of bluesy in between song. Which is a nice way of saying filler, because it's nice.

7. Jethro Tull - Big Dipper
Starting to sort of reprise the opening, only in a more downbeat fashion. Except it's not downbeat. Hard to explain (especially at two in the morning) - it's more a subtle shift, a slight inversion of the hope and melancholy, with a retention of the awesome ROCK FLUTE. As part of the second side, it forms part of the momentum. You're waiting for something more, something with a bigger point, a more potent edge, and the song leaves you in no doubt that's it is on it's way. That sounds twatty, and it very possibly is. Do I care? Do I billy bollocks, cementheads.

8. Jethro Tull - Too Old to Rock'n'Roll, Too Young to Die!
If this isn't one of the best songs in rockdom, and one third of the greatest closing three songs of any album ever, then I'll eat my hat. And I don't eat hats, as a) they aren't food and b) I'm a committed vestitarian. I recently reimmersed myself in this, and found myself wondering if it's massive appeal was down to a non-literal reflection of me staring the 36-45 age bracket square in the face. Then I remembered I loved it just as much, and in just the same way when I was 14. And 18. And 26. It's just bloody right. It's just my luck that it's now an actual for me, rather than an appreciated abstract. Oh well, I still look good in a vest. Uplifting, sad, fantastic, melancholy, undercracker splittlingly awesome, and ultimately very soddingly right. One might quibble about the lack of ROCK FLUTE but really, the song is so arse-shreddingly awesome, you just don't need it. And that's quite the claim. Note: I do not plan to end it all on the A1 by Scotch Corner. My mid-life crisis is not yet so advanced.

9. Jethro Tull - Pied Piper
Can't really be listened to on it's own, has to be right after "Too Old to Rock'n'Roll, Too Young to Die!" Another one where the lyrics really don't matter. It just works for the album - TOTRAR,TYTD! has a big, final, climactic feel to it - Ray's probably smashed his Harley into an eighteen wheeler on the foolishly small A1 by Scotch Corner and it's all over. Thus, this acts the part played by all softer songs that follow big finishes on fine albums (think Bar Italia on Different Class, cementheads). It's the gentle, slightly ethereal come down. The soothing song, easing you out of the album, wittering about pied pipers and mad bikers. But The Tull are too good for your conventions, dude. You get the third part, both climactic movement closer and ear-soothing exit. That's why you should all worship the Fucking Tull. That, and the massive ROCK FLUTE.

10. Jethro Tull - The Chequered Flag (Dead or Alive)
A quarter of a century, and I still can't make up my mind. Can't decide what the album advocates. Maybe you should end it all. Or maybe it's only a metaphorical end, and you realise that you're just different afterwards - not the same, but no worse and no better. More attention to the lyrics might solve that - I doubt it, but they might - however I wouldn't want to ruin the glorious ambiguity the title and the feel of the song provide. Maybe you should leave in one last blaze of glory, maybe you should survive the attempt, maybe it'll all be alright regardless, you just don't know. The Tull certainly didn't, and different views would give different answers regarding their career. The only downside is how music ignores their attempt to work out what the question was, even if they didn't know the answer.

If you had half a brain, you'd be off down the flea market, searching for albums with a yellow/black combination cover under "J". But, likely as not, you don't. It's your loss, cementheads, and you'll regret not taking my advice when you find yourself staring at a form and having to tick an age-bracket that slightly perturbs you. When that day comes, then spare me a thought. I'll likely as not be in a nursing home, smelling faintly of cabbage.

Bye, young'uns!

*Edit* Firstly, I think I neglected to point out how wonderful "Chequered Flag (Dead or Alive)" is on it's own, regardless of it's place in the album. All by itself, it's enough to induce a tiny mancry. As part of the closing triumvirate, well, it's a certainty every time (even if they are invisible, internal mancries). Wonderfully orchestrated, soaring wonder, in Tull form. Secondly, that is my fiftieth shuffle. I'd like to be able to mark the combination of a significant milestone and a diminishing urge to continue by swearing that I'd do no more, but I'm fairly sure that the fun of sPazAmping will have me back just as soon as I have bourbon and enough spare time. But still, I felt the occasion warranted me noticing, and I'm more than suitably proud of the resultant shuffle. Now shoo.