Take a sideways squint at this, and tell me your words.
I've been meaning to try and write my review-type opinions of an album for some time. Cowardice has meant that it had to be about a band I knew quite well, personally even. And I betray my background in English Lit Crit quite nakedly.
But I was struck that The Nightjars were singing almost all the time about the city, the band's muse and its tormenting Furie. All Greek mythology and shit. It was the same feeling I got about the Polytechnic's LP, that it was all about them negotiating with the music business - "Won't You Come Around?", "Rain Check", and of course, "Cold-Hearted Business".
Here, here - look here!
Perhaps I should stick to penning songs about unemployed military donkeys.
Your pal,
Coc x
Showing posts with label donkeys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label donkeys. Show all posts
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
Tuesday, 25 November 2008
120 Minutes & The Night
The delights of MTVTwo, which I've neglected quite so far bit the last couple of years, are tickling my kumquats again at the moment.
Tilly & The Wall, OK. (Didn't they play instruments by kicking brick walls and sheets of steel?) Oh, dear - now some of that would-be angular stuff from Thomas Tantrum that sounds like it's after rolling bored out of some photobooth in a branch of TopShop or something. Sliding vocals, lumpen snare, tinkly pickled guitar sound... There's a sigh in my hearts and lungs the size and consistency of a broccolum.
Other than that a little Hammer aktion this evening. We've no gigs coming up in the foreseeable so we're doing a bit of writing. "Donkey Duty" it is called. Well, so far. It started out sounding quite like an Ian Dury/Stevie Wonder bleed-up, and some words about novels moving around under my skin and alphabetti on my breath. I quite like those. Goatboy has been throwing some words about pissing on bonfires as well. It all promises.
Before that my car-key declared some kind of resistance, by firstly - almostly impossibly - locking me out of my lovably dilapidated Honda Concerto - almost 18. (Key to the door, ironically enough). The AA came and sorted it out, as they were bidden. Then when I went back to the car when I got home, having left my phone on the passenger seat, the key broke in my tremulous fingers. Is this some Final Destination bullshit? I hope not, non-readers; really I do.
I'm hungry...
Your pal, Coc x
Tilly & The Wall, OK. (Didn't they play instruments by kicking brick walls and sheets of steel?) Oh, dear - now some of that would-be angular stuff from Thomas Tantrum that sounds like it's after rolling bored out of some photobooth in a branch of TopShop or something. Sliding vocals, lumpen snare, tinkly pickled guitar sound... There's a sigh in my hearts and lungs the size and consistency of a broccolum.
Other than that a little Hammer aktion this evening. We've no gigs coming up in the foreseeable so we're doing a bit of writing. "Donkey Duty" it is called. Well, so far. It started out sounding quite like an Ian Dury/Stevie Wonder bleed-up, and some words about novels moving around under my skin and alphabetti on my breath. I quite like those. Goatboy has been throwing some words about pissing on bonfires as well. It all promises.
Before that my car-key declared some kind of resistance, by firstly - almostly impossibly - locking me out of my lovably dilapidated Honda Concerto - almost 18. (Key to the door, ironically enough). The AA came and sorted it out, as they were bidden. Then when I went back to the car when I got home, having left my phone on the passenger seat, the key broke in my tremulous fingers. Is this some Final Destination bullshit? I hope not, non-readers; really I do.
I'm hungry...
Your pal, Coc x
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