Stretch Songs of Joy 2010 parto duo:Home invasion

Stretch songs of joy pretty late yeah

Mad things…mad things….mad things… dad things… galahad things… fad things. spootnik

Well it had to happen, the angel is leaving and I am feeling prematurely bereft. Had to happen s’pose. Yi can’t want something and then deny yourself it at the same time…Jus doesn’t compute..

This one's broken. Ann, where's Nancy? Well, did you eat her? Annnn!

Stretch MacGibbon is generally a right thinking individual with a wrong thinking brain. Over the last year and a half the wrong thinking brain has been in control, or has it? Well? You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you? Well, if you do contact me and explain it…If you really want me, I am here.

The ruination of the situation is the stagnation of the alternative…BBBBUt this is where my music taste comes from… the constantly evolving mind bubble that sends forth these great songs that have an essence that appeals to the Stretch mind, like what a Kylie song does for a guy in a denim shirt, what Coldplay does for unemployed accountants or what gangsta rap does for spotty Irlanda youths. When it plays, it travels deep inside you and you are that demographic….yi ken?

Anyway, here some more reasons why my musical mind was tickled in 2010…

The happiest of Valentinoness to you all. I hope your big red heart pumps more blood than mine will….ciao

Flying Lotus – Mmmhmm

It’s kinda weird to have the Suicidal Tendencies bassist sitting on a rock in the middle of some cosmic acid trip… But in the washing machine world that exists around Flying Lotus, anything is possible. Although critics have been dribbling about Cosmagramma this year, it is to me anyways, nowhere near as good as Los Angeles or indeed 1983. Indeed.  But that could be just me. When I stood on the hip-o-meter in my local chemist, it turned out to be a weighing scales. I am 12 and a half stone and unsure whether I am hip or not… That hip factor reminds me of the gushings that greeted every Prefuse 73 album a couple of years back. It is my mandate not to gush. If I am ever shot blood will seep or languish around my wound, but never gush. There’ll be no gushing on my munki watch.

Anodyne – Close your eyes (Autechre remix)

Imagine you are in a post nuclear wilderness, you haven’t eaten for days. You don’t want to, because you are too sick to eat. The blinding wind feels like a knife against you face. The distance fills you with fear, the future is uncertain. Shadows make you jump. There are threats everywhere, but you must go on. You must drive forward through this nuclear winter. That’s what “Close your eyes” feels like. Then Autechre come along and remix it, turning the post apocalyptic wilderness into a cool urban nightclub where people drink cosmopolitans and don’t eat bombay mix and are listening to old-skool hip hop beats over various depressing techno tunes. The waiter asks you what you would like to drink. You say “Close your eyes.” He says he doesn’t know that one, so you leave in disgust and vow never to return.

Pan Sonic – Pan finale

The great Pan Sonic released their last album in that year that I’m talking about. A really coherent piece of work with the usual mix of vibe and noises to wring out your mind. The world in which they inhabit must be fun. I’d say their wives/girlfriends/friends/childers must wince when the boys shout, “It’s finished! Come listen.” Into the garage they go with a earplugs and some Xanax, while the speakers are turned up real loud and the Finnish boys push a button on the homebuilt chainsaw/synthesiser/doomsday device. Having seen them live, I know that the experience is similar to that part of an acid trip when you’ve just realised you are actually on acid and the reason that gravity is upside down is because your mind has taken leave of your head. It’s fun, and only costs about a tenner usually. Try them, Pan Sonic and some Advil for a mighty fine time.

Meat Beat Manifesto – Quietus

More sub-bass explorations from the Jack Dangers, who has made Meat Beat Manifesto a genre unto itself. There is simply nothing that sounds like it. It sounds like the last music you will hear just before a particularly intelligent psychopath stalks and murders you. Kinda like SAW, but without the ridiculous attempts to drag out the flimsy plot. Anyway, this music is best listened in the quietness of your own quietness, and feel the queasy claustrophobia that this music creates. Not one for everyone’s tastes, but for those w2ho hate God and all his evil works will appreciate the dark undercurrents in this work. Those who like GOD, get down on your knees in front of Michael Bubbly and pray he’s eaten.

Adriana Triana – Lost where I belong & Flying Lotus remix

This wonderful artist gets two mentions this year, because her output has been of such high quality. This 21-year old has an amazingly powerful voice, and with a little help from Simon Green proves that doing it early is a good idea. I started doing everything very early, smoking at 11, drinking at 12, drugging at 14, yet when it came to the important things like starting a band, mating with women who looked like women, writing a novel, travellating, I somehow screwed that up. Now I am 35 years, made mostly of water, on this ball made mostly of water and still mentally 14. That can’t be good.

I resolve to orienteer in space…That bring happiness methinks….yeah? You love me don’t you? I am…

sing bitches

must remain sober… thoughts like clouds… disappearing over the horizon… clouds like Coldplay and that kind of rubbish… clouds are assholes

Normally don’t like thingsys like this but the song is just a classic. Also going to the Grand Canyon next year to get my hole action on…and that’s got the Colorado river running through, on, under it? Right?

and here’s the studio version for people who think that live versions of stuff tend to be overrated

Stretch Songs of Joy 2009 (third o’treeeeee)

Here I go again on my own!

Going down the only road I’ve ever known!

Like a sister, nuns know how to walk in line!

But I’ve made up my mind!

I ain’t wearing this habit one more time!

Hello everyone or YOU!

I’m still laughing at the falling Pope…that was funny. The Santa brought me alcohol and the Buddha machine. He read my letter. He did. He did! Kids, send by registered post. Works a treat. However, the Santa pointed out that I’ve been a bad little monkey this year. Nothing to do with nuns. I just like the pic.

And it’s true, I have been a bad monkey. I haven’t really been all I could be this year. I’ve been drinking since January and this has affected my ability to construct meaningful mlogs. Next year, every speech I shall give will start out from the brain stem of Debbie Harry, flow through the blood vessels of Gary Barlow, meet at the colon of Mariah Carey, then be catapulted through Morten Harkett’s innards and like the sound of a dog retching be released through Celine Dion’s withered oesophagus into the ether where you, all of you, will say:

“Stretch really has changed..He’s a good monkey after all.”

Until then! Fuck a Nun! Oh yeah!

Nathan Fake – Fentiger

He’s back again. Yes, the man who likes to write music about architectural structures throws out this beast about a misspelled font. It’s his second entry in my SSOJ or sausage for short. Nathan says he’s very happy to be included in my list. “I’m very happy to be included in your list,” said Nathan balefully. Watch out 2010, this is a man on the rise. Expect him to work with Madonna, the Killers and pests Coldplay as he balefully drags their equipment around Europe as a roadie. Christian Balefully. Ha! No, he really is special and should be experienced. Kudos

Sonic Youth – Antenna

Tommy Tiernan described them as “Old people dressed up as teenagers.” The Gandalfesque Sonic Youth made a really good album this year. The Eternal gave back a clarity and consistency to SY fans that hasn’t been heard in a while. I’ve always been a huge Sonic fan, but some of their albums bored the piss outame…Most prolific bands will be hit or miss, but the disappearance of Jim O’Rourke and the arrival of ex/current Pavement bassist Mark Ibold seems to have freed them from the experimental hole they have been languishing in for quite a while now. Some of their more ‘out there’ stuff was really good, but like most people who smoke pot constantly, reality can seem more of a buzz sometimes. Expect the next album to be the sound of chipmunks fed through 200w speakers on the end of a Theremin.

Anti-Pop Consortium – Volcano

Fluorescent Black is the new album. My favourite hipper-hoppers brought out this gem to make me look at people and cross my arms, live my life like Bodie Broadus and deliver lines from The Wire until it annoys people. Not sure I understand the video. Something to do, actually I don’t understand. Do you? There’s a great remix of the song by that Four Tet dude right here. *****CLICKMEBABY****** Might be better than the original, not sure. Both classics…Yo

The XX – Crystalised

Speaking 0f Four Tet, these oh-so-hot-right-now dudees went to the same school as him and other famous unknowns. Anyway, although I avoid bands that make NME journalists cream themselves and others, I kinda like these. There’s a nice feel to them and they probably deserve the hype, unlike the ridiculously overrated Arctic Monkeys. The Monkeys (no relation) are a good band, but it is weird to see them at the top of stupid journalists’ endless top bands/albums of the decade lists. It’s weird. They’re good, but y’know, c’mon, that’s fucked. Makes me angry. Still if The XX still exist in two years, I’ll be amazed. When I’m amazed. my bum goes bright purple and you will all know why.

Fuck Buttons – Flight of the Feathered Serpent

If anyone would like to buy me a nice Gibson geeetar, I would much appreciate it. This last one is pure gold. Two men making noise and forcing your eardrums to co-exist happily with this sonic mind-fuck. The album Tarot Sport was produced by your favourite and mine, Andrew Weatherall. The whole album is exhilarating and worth an enormous listen. Ignore the video. it was made by one of those narcissistic YouTube types who must, I mean must show their art to the planet.

And now, the Pope…

Happy Fucking New Year

Bang Bang Bang/Don’t confuse Alias with Alias…

Stretch did…

bored the other day…went and got the laptop and plonked it on my Gibbon equivalent of a lap…forgot how small I am and almost crushed me knees…puuhhh.

As part of my musical education, I download a lot of music per month from, which is a handy source for all the albums you meant to buy when you were younger but didnae have the money to. Ya ken. So, I downloaded an album from Anticon artist Sole. Good rap with fucked up beats and indicative of the quality that comes from most of the artists on this record label, like Why?, Sage Francis, Alias and Odd Nosdam. I decided to get some Alias stuff as Brendon Whitney’s music is really cool, but I had no albums of his.

Stretch searches for Alias, and due to the laptop incident, is legless. Click here, click there, download…okay…settle back, press play and listen….oh shit..this is what I heard. PRESS PLAY

What the fuck is this? What have I done? This isn’t Alias. Aw shit, this is ALIAS, the 1980s Canadian Whitesnake rip-offs, not the obscure hip-hop artist which I was expecting. Apart from the obvious revulsion I felt, me being only a little smished monkey, I had wasted precious downloads on this muck. I forced myself to watch this video, which is frame-for-frame the same as Whitesnake’s “Is this Love?” In fact, these dripping-on-your-shirt-from-the-big-dirty-bowl-of-primordial-soup bastards are so crass, they make Whitesnake seem like high art. After vomiting a few times from the sheer AORness of it all, I stopped, relaxed myself and then fucked the laptop out of the top floor window of the tower I live in. The laptop flew across the pit, reminiscent of that aerial shot in La Haine, which is an homage to the opening shot in A Touch of Evil. The laptop ironically lodged itself in Freddy Curci’s skull and I laughed and laughed. Well worth the money then. Anyway, here’s the kinda stuff I meant to download. (Basically a man playing an instrument called a table. You could eat yer dinner off it).

Things I learned yesterday: Jah Wobble is a good guy. Richard Murphy isn’t. Eircom’s deal with EMI, Sony, Universal and Warner means that you will now get called up by a rep asking, “Are you happy with your broadband? Would you like to get cheaper calls to the five friends you pretend to have? Isn’t Coldplay’s new album only gorgeous? Wanta downloaded it while we’re on da phone?” Shudddddderrrrr.

2009 – The Year of the U2 Virus

An excerxise in Beautiousness

An exercise in Beautiousness

Stretch in the age of Aquarius.

So Little Man Bono recently said that he wanted 2009 to be the Year of U2. Oh really. This causes a problem for Stretch. With the release of next month’s No Line on the Horizon, they will be smack bang in the consciousness of the planet. Perfect timing really. In fact, suspiciously perfect timing. Obamaman making his first cup of tea in the White House; Israel mismanaging the unmicromanageable situation in Gaza by killing everyone in sight; the collapse of the global economy and the inevitable self-destruction of Givo Trapper-Toni. What the world needs now is a gobby Little Man Bono with a whole projectile vomit of righteousness and indignation, separation, condemnation, revelation, isolation, desolation, mechanisation, etc etc.

Here’s my existential issue. Say I live to be at least 50, which would seem like quite an achievement considering the self-abuse this monkey indulges in, Little Man Bono will have taken up one year of that by demanding ownership of 2009. He will achieve this through the release of the album, the endless tour, the interviews, appearances on Jonathan Ross (minus the bad language, ohhhh you), the incessant award ceremonies like the Grammys and the Mofo mofo and that’s before the benefit gigs….There will be a new image, a new set of values and a new tint in those glasses. They will have taken up more than a fiftieth of my life. Violating it more like with their media machine. Horrible hangers on will be draped across their Lillies booth and paid assholes Guggi and Gavin Friday (remember the Fall, Gavin) will be wheeled out from storage to drink cocktails and simper about.

I always get the feeling that the Larry guy keeps all the rest down in a pit just like Buffalo Bill in that film

Bono, rub this here lotion on your body!

Bono, rub this here lotion on your body!

about sheepies. Stretch feels frightened by the sheepies. Why is that? Maybe I should see someone? Or is it CowFear, Bovinebloodcurdlingbollox? I see the Larry guy screaming down the hole, waking up his school-gimps and ordering the Edge (stoopid, stoopid Edge) and the guy with the perm to jam and come up with some new rawk. The Uber-undead, Lanois and Eno, are released from their cryogenic chamber, thawed and given gitanes. This makes them happy which in turn creates noise. But the Larry guy is the key, the reason it all exists, and he is the Keyser Soze element. Beating the band into shape and getting them on the road again. Shaping Little Man Bono requires a Rocky Balboa-style training montage.

Little Man Bono, tired of this process, steals the tapes and flees to the South of France, holing up in a chateau and brooding. After a month of dismay and some sex with Rebecca de Mornay, he sticks the mastertape on and begins to dance around his house in a very theatrical way dressed only in his underpants, screaming to himself.

“This is my Year, this is my Year!”

A very strange boy wanders from the Netherlands to the South of France after being sent to the shop for milk and fags. Overhears Little Man Bono crooning in his Y-fronts, freaks out and hits RECORD. This recording ends up on the internet, scaring the shit out of sweat-shop owner and wet dream of Lars Ulrich, Paul McGuinness. However, listening to the tape, all he can hear is a drunk and bitter Little Man Bono crying the words of various Coldplay songs and a nasty vomiting sound. Crying in the corner Little Man Bono confesses to his dictaphone that he still doesn’t get that joke, “Why did Bono fall off the stage? Coz he was standing too close to the Edge.”

Anyway Stretch is worried. It hasn’t started yet, but it’s in the post and we know where we’re going to end up by the end of the year. It is necessary in one way for them to keep going. In the land of Richard Corrigan and strap-on Corrs, U2 may resemble the closest thing that increasingly bland little country is going to get to counter-culture. They may be a bright spot in a media sponsored recession. I may even grow to love them like I did as a child, but I doubt it. For all the good they do, they have a habit of pissing Stretch off and as Steve Buscemi would say,

“that can’t happen!”

Mad mad joisey

Stretch pants.

Stade Francais make a mockery of the non-french

Stade Francais make a mockery of the non-french

Oh la la! Ici un jersey magnifique, que l’equipe Stade Francais porte!  Ma tete est fou!

Ma femme mange souris pour petit-dejeuner! Aruya!

I have a lot of thoughts about Metallica but refuse to share them with you now.

I have one thought about the Coldplay.  I know it is cool to slag them off, I think, but Jesus, what is going on?  How mad is their singer?  The stylised comeback thing. The ridiculous clothes, yet people eat it all up.  I’m not sure I get it.  My idea of hell would be waking up one morning and being Apple Martin-Paltrow.

“Good morning Apple. Here is an apple, eat it.”

How does that work?  The amount of times that child hears its own name and looks up only to find that people are talking about a fruit or a large computer manufacturer.  I know other people have names that cause this kind of problem, but they are usually not rich fur-supporting freaks.

Anyway, I will not talk about Coldplay’s music and maybe they will go away.

Go away Coldplay!  Go away!