Monday, 21 September 2009

Pop Curious?

Roll up, roll up ...

New night Pop Curious? kicks off this Thursday at Sackville Sreet's glorious dive, the Retro Bar. All things pop - past, present and future, cheap in, cheap thrills, probably cheap punters too and me taking a turn on the decks to boot.


PLAYING POP MUSIC BY:

LA ROUX
MORRISSEY
LITTLE BOOTS
KYLIE
LADY GAGA
GRACE JONES
MINI VIVA
GIRLS ALOUD
BRITNEY SPEARS
GOLDFRAPP
THE GO! TEAM
VV BROWN
FRANZ FERDINAND
PET SHOP BOYS
MUSE
ANNIE
SUEDE
FRYARS
THE REAL HEAT
MEL AND KIM
MADONNA
KATE BUSH
BLONDIE
ROBYN
DAVID BOWIE
ST. ETIENNE

...AND MORE.


Check it out here:

http://www.myspace.com/popcurious

AND an accompanying popzine to boot:

http://www.popcurious.com/index.htm

Mine is the cover versions piece, arguments most welcome.

Get involved!

Hope to see you there.


Friday, 18 September 2009

Wisdom, wit, insight, words

“My bedroom window can be seen from the viewing deck
of the World Trade Centre. I’ve seen it.
What I saw?

My roommate experimenting with my vibrator.
She looked lovely through sheer curtains
on my creamy bed. Is she thinking of me?
Brenda Shaughnessy


“All wars are wars among thieves who are too cowardly to fight and who therefore induce the young manhood of the whole world to do the fighting for them”
Emma Goldman


“The dream is over. It's just the same, only I'm thirty, and a lot of people have got long hair. That's what it is, man, nothing happened except we grew up”
John Lennon



“If you’re a sexist, a racist, a homophobe, don’t buy this CD. I don’t care if you like me, I hate you”
Kurt Cobain


“Protect me from what I want”
Jenny Holzer




“As I became a Smith, I used flowers because Oscar Wilde always used flowers. He once went to the Colorado salt mines and addressed a mass of miners there. He started the speech with, 'Let me tell you why we worship the daffodil'. Of course, he was stoned to death”
Morrissey


“Ken is an intellect born from within. His roots lie under the cobbles and the ghosts of his family are there”
William Roache




“Pray to God and say the lines”
Bette Davis


“I’m not nothing”
Muriel Heslop


“I stood on one leg and then the other reflecting how odd it was that whereas men like Mr Schultz and me folded our money neatly, no matter if our wad was thin or thick, women like my mother and little Rebecca squeezed theirs in a ball and held it, forgetting to let go, whether they sat in a distraction of candled grief with a shawl over their heads or lay on the ground and were fucked two times for a dollar”
E. L. Doctorow, Billy Bathgate




“You’re born naked and the rest’s drag”
Lily Savage


“You really can’t be something that you’re not”
Brett Anderson


“I think computer viruses should count as life. I think it says something about human nature that the only form of life we have created so far is purely destructive. We've created life in our own image”
Stephen Hawking





“I drive a Rolls Royce, ‘cos it’s good for my voice”
Marc Bolan


“Homosexuals are hated everywhere in the world”
Larry Kramer




“I do not hesitate one second to state clearly and unmistakably: I belong to the American resistance movement which fights against American imperialism, just as the resistance movement fought against Hitler”
Paul Robeson


“All music is folk music, I ain't never heard no horse sing”
Louis Armstrong




“Know thyself and thou shall know all the mysteries of the gods and of the universe”
Socrates


“You better know yourself little girl”
Aisleyne, Big Brother

Monday, 14 September 2009

Trash-O-Rama !


New night! Thank god, I’m BORED.

Trash-O-Rama has come to rescue our over-stimulated recession-beat asses, courtesy of DJs Johnny Trash and Polly Esther.


Ethos: “We wanna have fun and look messy doing it!”

Official line:Trash-O-Rama is a brand new experience for all you club kids and deviants out there, coming to you from The Corner in Fallowfield to bring the trashiest, tackiest tracks from New York Punk, 80's Electro, Synthpop, Europop, Riot Grrrl, 60's Girl Groups, Trojan Records Reggae, Club Kid Anthems, Motown, Soul, Rock 'N' Roll, Americana, Garage, Kinderwhore, Grunge, Horrorpunk, Alt-Queer, Sock-Hop, Hardcore, Lo-Fi, She-Crunk, Lesbian Electro Rap, Songbirds, Covers, Kitsch TV Themes, Movie Soundtracks …

Cheap drinks. Second and last Friday every month, 10 till 2. £3 in £2 with a flyer.

See you all there Skrinks!!!”

Where: The Corner, 254 Wilmslow Road, Fallowfield, Manchester, M14 6LD

Web: http://www.myspace.com/trashoramaclub



Review: Honest to goodness best night for ages. First up the venue is brilliant. A cool bar in Fallowfield? Trust me, it’s happening. Blame the Trof collective, they’ve done it again. Think of your favourite Lower East Side dive bar, a mix between The Cock and Mars Bar, only it’s a 142 bus trip away. Check out venue pics here.

The crowd was the biggest surprise. We figured since it’s student heartland down there the demographic would be predictable. Wrong! Students there were of course, beautiful and up-for-it they were too, but think also a mix of queer clubbers, friendly scallies, mid-life rockabillies, sleek Cliquesters who skipped Clique for the night, booze-hounds (us), random emos, table-dancing skirty girls … everyone was up for it, the dance floor never emptied, bar staff were lovely and even the bouncers were friendly. Win win …

Best bit of course was the music. We danced to the following in one sweaty sitting:

Hallelujah (Club Mix) - Happy Mondays
Trash - New York Dolls
Express Yourself - NWA
Jump In The Line - Harry Belafonte
Paper Planes - MIA
Digital - Joy Division
Shake A Tail Feather - The Five Du-Tones
Death Disco - PiL
Give Him A Great Big Kiss - Shangri Las
Two Of Hearts - Stacey Q
Jilted John - Jilted John
Devils Haircut - Beck
Trash - Suede
Goody Two Shoes - Adam & The Ants
Upside Down - Diana Ross
Funplex - B52’s
Only Love Can Break Your Heart - Saint Etienne
Heads Will Roll - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Teardrops - Womack & Womack
Never Can Say Goodbye - Gloria Gaynor
Miss World - Hole
No Sleep Til Brooklyn - Beastie Boys
Fade To Grey - Visage
Dirty Cash - Stevie V
Heartbeats - The Knife
You Got The Love - Candi Staton

Forget flyers boasting eclectic playlists, that’s the real deal ain’t it?



Preview: I liked it so much they asked me to join the collective so I’m going to grace the rickety decks for an hour at the next party on September 25th and I NEED you all there kids. 10 pm sharp, it’s a killer from the start!

Mine’s a Pernod and black with a fistful of flying saucers …

Out of town clubbing is the new crystal meth …

That's Skrink-la-do, to you …

See you there!


Tuesday, 8 September 2009

Texts are the new novels: Part 3

Okay I'm completely addicted to these. Even when they don't start off that funny the cumulative effect just has me on the floor eventually. Go on, tuck in ...

Dry it on the curtains

Swear to god I've just seen a guy who's in Triga Scally soccer orgy pushing a fucking pram up oldham street

I had to eat quiche and look at holiday photos off my box

I'm in bed with the yorkshire ripper

I’m doing my paper round

I'm gonna learn all the words to otto titsling

do i look like a spanner?

I'm on marie's side. You're a cunt.

Come for a drink then you won't have to look at his beautiful large ass

Question: If there was a pill to take to forget about him in between would you take it?

Is that a bar? I've never heard of it or you or manchester. *kills self*

Yeah. Thought as much. You're fucked and so am I.

God i can't WAIT to have a hangover

Oh. Em. Gee. Fit. Dad. Capital of britain.

I'm not eating spray cream straight from the can are you?

Just gonna go home and play 'This time i know it's for real'

Have been roaring laughing at memory of duncan from school calling a car a ‘fanny magnet’

Every time i open a window 800 flies pour in

I'd throw a milk bottle full of piss at her

the guy in Safad is the most beautiful sad world weary kebab guy in the whole of Manchester

Please google all gay bars in scarborough and text details asap

I am so drunk that milk has come out of my eyes

I've just been at the gym for 45 minutes watching jam and Jerusalem

Do you think i should just spray cream onto maltesers?

Music emergency! Go and listen to terrorvision doing perseverance. BRILLIANT. I'd love to hear it at Bollox.

If i look at a picture of this man one more time i am going to burn a hole in my screen

The website is designed by blind interns

Please note we are no longer dealing with diarrhoea or gonorrhoea as these are causing repetitive strain in the girls typing the invoices

Am in york with the hangover from hades

Just had angel delight for breakfast

I'm having a mai tai in OUR tiki bar! Wish you were here!

Totally shameful sight of four gays flirting madly with a mixologist

Go to a sauna. Art blows.

Mostly germans and jews and gays, oh my!

Oh my god i look like steve tyler from aerosmith

Woo! Craig no smoke without fire charles!

I have repeat visions of me sitting on the edge of the nasty candlewick bedspread. Alone.

I just read the rest of your foreskin posts

I'm sorry i live in such a monstrous place

My one pint turned out to be the size of a swimming pool

She chopped up her boyfriend in the bath. She's such an inspiration.

*prepares dance of the seven veils*

Kylie's not short, she's just far away

My opening chapter has been vastly improved. I'd not only publish me, I’d fuck me over the desk at random house. Dance break!

Can't you simply procure a standard issue plexiglass disease bubble from outpatients to roll about the streets in like a big hairy hamster?

just watched the scene in league where Ross fucks Pauline

CHOCOLATE PUDDING!!! *dry humps chair*

'She looks like she might burn down a plantation' is my favourite line

One time he escaped out of the bath, ran downstairs and straight into the patio doors. Didn't speak to us for days.

Were your massive big ears burning?

Went to WHSmith, bought a card reading 'Happy birthday to a nana who's loved lots and lots' and Attitude: The sex issue. As predicted i look like a methhead.

Come off it I've got suicide written right through me like the cheap stick of blackpool rock that i am


Tuesday, 25 August 2009

Girls, girls, girls ...

After this sorry showing recently, I shook myself good and proper and delved into some much-loved lady music to redress the balance, and I'm so glad I did. Songs that have hit me like a ton of bricks include 'Dying' by Hole, 'These Colander Eyes' by Alison Moyet and the whole of PJ's Stories From The City ...once again. Outstanding newbies to me are Nina Simone's cover of 'No Woman, No Cry' (just, cry), Randy Crawford's Now We May Begin album. Madonna's first LP I haven't heard in years. and sounds amazing.. simply shit loads of great stuff. And album of the year at this halfway point? Still It's Blitz for me. Anyone heard anything better yet ...?




Sunday, 16 August 2009

Last Day In New York: “I have to maintain a calm demeanour! Somebody has to stay strong!” (Hysterical woman on cell phone, Second Avenue)

Bleary bleary morning. Following last night’s Brooklyn madness we wake late and decidedly dry of mouth. Outside is the last of our Manhattan morning birdsong, in fact everything we do today will have the melancholy ring of finality to it. Intense sunlight pushes at the slats of the blinds to remind us, as if we could forget, that the heat wave is still defiantly on. Day six, 88 degrees.


Sketchy plans for the day include finding somewhere cool, in every sense, to look at art. Our flight isn’t until much later tonight so we pack, leave suitcases at the hotel and drag our collective hungover ass streetwards. Five days of incessant schvitzing has made the populace fractious and irritable and totally New York. The quote above is one of many from people on the edge of deciding to become completely hysterical.

After a short walk we take refuge in a blissfully air-conditioned St Marks Bookstore where I peruse art journals and books about black magic and graffiti. Anticipating a park stop at some point in the day I decide I’ll need a novel and settle on Edmund White’s A Boy’s Own Story which I ought to have read immediately upon coming out, but better late than never. I also grab a New York magazine to see what scandal, gossip and events have been happening under our noses this week on the island.

From St Marks it’s a mere three or four blocks to Washington Square Park where we are unconsciously drawn by the promise of shade, running the gauntlet of punishing sunlight through Astor Place to get there. The park is inevitably buzzing with people of a similar persuasion. The swing band from earlier in the week has been replaced by a jazz ensemble and a more relaxed, if heat-stricken air. Shade is more of a premium than real estate. We bag a not especially comfy and slightly dusty spot for ourselves, but it’s beneath some beautiful blossom trees and is perfect for people/dog watching.


We both snooze, oblivious to the possible theft of our stuff, until I’m roused by piercing hollers from the enterprising girls selling iced water at a dollar a bottle to grateful punters and their hot little mutts. Leaf through New York magazine, wishing I could stay here, drink water, coffee, smoke cigs, have another nap. The jazz band appear to be playing the best parts of Miles Davis’s A Kind Of Blue and I wish for my life to be like this always.

We don’t appear to be going anywhere in a hurry so we chat idly and somehow verge into a hilarious conversation in which we attempt to decide what our drag queen names would be if we were to jack it all in, move here and make a career of it. We settle on Susan Seran-wrap for me and Tina Foil, or possibly Cilla Tape, for Joff, with dresses made from the appropriate materials of course (Cilla is to have miniature rolls of sellotape for earrings). We waste the sweet afternoon like this and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I drink it all in and save it for home.


Too too soon it’s time to leave and before we know it we’re negotiating a crippling cab fare to Newark, the radio news warning us that the lethal Mexican swine flu won’t be confined to that continent for much longer. The traffic drags to New Jersey but I don’t mind, the rear window of the cab offers one last glimpse after another of the city, teasing out the goodbyes until by the airport toll only the Empire State is once again visible above the heat haze of Manhattan.

On the plane I get a deep and horrid feeling, just like last time I left New York six years ago, that it won’t be there again when next I look, or worse, the magic will have disappeared altogether from the skyline, the store fronts, the streets. I have the feeling I’m heading for somewhere I don’t belong and leaving somewhere I do. I want to play The Raveonette’s ‘New York Was Great’ and REM’s ‘Leaving New York’ but I have neither on my player. I play random shit from the plane selection instead and find Barry Manilow’s rendition of Phil Collins’ ‘Against All Odds’ moves me intensely, which should tell you something about my mental state.


I pick up my novel as soon as the plane begins to taxi, I want to be somewhere else. A Boy’s Own Story is Edmund White’s first autobiographical novel, a young gay boy, a fractured family, a life starved of beauty and kindness. It’s 1950s America and a world away but some of the sentiments might have been lifted straight from me ten, twelve, fourteen years ago, if not the fantasies of rough trade and older men then certainly the persistent, beautiful solace of the dream of a one-way ticket to New York City. That’s when I recall distinctly what New York once meant to me, at sixteen, a lifeline out of an ill-fitting life, a fantasy bigger than the real city could ever be, even, perhaps especially, now that I have walked across it a dozen times and seen the whole of it from the sky.

I think with affection and some dread about the empty flat that’s waiting for me in England, which I can barely afford now. Edmund White writes: “’I don’t belong here!’, I shouted at them silently …” and my lip trembles a little bit.

New York is a shoal of lit fish beneath us. I touch the tiny scabs of the three day old tattoo below my hip. It reads: i am mine.