Whack-a-Paddy-to-Deathery Uimhir a DosieDó(2): My Bloody Valentine

Contrary to all my hypocritical bullshit, I have been drinking all fucking day. I felt compelled by the blood of my dead relatives in Dubalin Zoo.

I am ashamed, appalled and slightly happy.

A typical Irish man, with a speech impediment

A typical Irish man, with a speech impediment

All at the same time. A perfect Catholic really, only I am part Satanist and part Atheist, so one part devil worshipper, the other part ironic about my devil worshipping. Oh I am so ironic, no really. Being Catholic is great, unless you’re pretty, then you’re fucked. By the way, I AM a GIBBON (a dirty little gibbon). I seemed to have confused some people. I’m not that far off from throwing my own shit at passers-by and proclaiming independence for Bonobos in Ballybough.

So, while pissed off that St. Patrick didn’t leave me with a piece of shamrock under my pillow, under the houseplant, in an fucking egg, I decided to indulge in a lot of My Bloody Valentine, who despite being half-Irish, have been generally ignored in this pigsty up until the moment those crazy cool guys from the Electric Picnic (or the picnic, or the pic (next year)) put them on their oh so cool festival thingy…sentence finishedah!

Growing up, I got into indie kinda round the time the Smiths finished and the Pixies started and the Sundays excelled. One night while watching Antoine de Caunes in the excellent mini-show Rapido, I became a huge fan of two bands; one was Dinosaur Jr (the first time I heard “Freak Scene”) and the second was My Bloody Valentine (the first time I heard “Only Shallow” and “Soon,” I freaked out). What an amazing introduction, so I bought Loveless. What an amazing album. I wrecked everybody’s heads for months, turning up my stereo to the nth decibel so that I could get the same feeling from the opening of “Only Shallow” again and again.

Live: A drunken Irishman (watch our handbags ladies)

Live: A drunken Irishman (watch your handbags ladies)

Nobody knew what the fuck I was talking about when I talked of this band. I know that may seem wanky and “oh yer the first person to come across them,” but where I came from the evil Haddaway was a big star, the pigfucking Garth Brooks was a big star, the Bryan Adams was intent on ruining my life. I knew that I was the only person who knew these people. This was a time when I was accused of narcissism for wearing a Ride t-shirt.

Despite a chinchilla obsession, Kevin Shields is as important as Phil Lynott, Little Man Bono and Van-the-monotonous-fucker-desite-Them-who-were-really-good-Morrison. I mean that sincerely. Shields really doesn’t get enough credit in this moribund nation. An influence on so many bands, some of whom have brazenly lifted their music, (see Smashing Pumpkins Siamese Dream or anything by M83) as if they were stealing a pair of cycling shorts and a stars’n’stripes bandana and calling themselves Axl.

So, purchase Loveless, place a pair of headphones on, pour yourself a cup of mead and flake out, press play and feel the sonic rush! But don’t complain to me if your ears are fucked afterwards you louche hobbit…..and get away from my frisps, they’re mine, they may be soggy, but they’re mine. Where am I going with this?

here’s part one of a four part interview with Kevin Shields which despite Rich Hall’s weird younger brother is interesting if you’re in to that kind of thing, which I is.

and finally…no sexual innuendo was used in this mlog….and especially no gay stuff

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