I remember the Christmas I got Prolapse’s The Italian Flag. Our family were doing that Kris Kindle thingy and my Mam had me. So there I am opening my pressies and Mama Stretch goes,
“Oh you’ll like this one.”
I ripped the paper open and there it was, The Italian Flag.
“Oh Mama Stretch, you shouldn’t have!”
She sat there with that knowing smile. She had just made little Stretch happy and it made her proud. Needless to say, she hadn’t a fucking clue what she had just bought me, nor where you would go about finding something like that, but the little white lie was worth it. Although, through my munkihood, she had been forced to listen to everything from Napalm Death to Nine Inch Nails to Ninety-fucking-nine Red
Balloons, so she had a better knowledge than most.
Anyway, Prolapse were from Leicester in Britainland, and started life in an attempt to make the most depressing music ever made. This was futile as they had forgotten about Pepsi and Shirley. One of the best Brittaille bands to come out of the nineties and pretty much unknown to this day. They did get one or two vids on MTV, but that was during the Alternative Nation days, when most of middle-Europe was controlled by Thurston Moore and the Orcs.
I first came across them when listening to the excellent Dubalin pirate station XFM. The dreaded Phantom Wanker FM took over as the “alternative” shlock for the masses, but Xfm was the real alternative. Their DJs really knew what worked with what back then, so Prolapse would fit in nicely in a playlist of Truman’s Water, the Idiots (another lost band) and even Bosshog. The first Prolapse song I heard was the bruising “Tina This is Matthew Stone,” from Pointless Walks to Dismal Places, a row in musical form between singers Linda and Scottish Mick. A thing of beauty.
Here are some reasons why they should be forced to return.
Oh, before that, I propose a ban on the expression “One More Tune” being shouted at gigs. It’s the use of the word “tunes.” It’s so very very, isn’t it?
“Hey dude, you wanna listen to some tunes?”
You’ve all had that one, yeah? Tune, it’s a fucking song, for fuck’s sake.
“One more tune! One more tune! One more tune!”
Next time you are at a gig, tell me it doesn’t sound slow and retarded. I’m ol’ school. I prefer a congenial smattering of applause and a gentle call of “more, more” or even “encore maestro.” That’s not pretentious now, is it?