old relic dinosaurs redundancy/the astonished Squirrel

One day I will open a bar and it will be called “The Astonished Squirrel.”

If you steal this name, I will burn your bar down, but first I will call you and organise some kind of financial situation.

If you own a bar called “The Astonished Squirrel,” prepare for the fires of hellllllllll

weeeeeeeeeee

staring at the stars: stars staring at me

This evening I watched an interview between Una “Leaning face” Mullaly and Lisa Hannigan. Swear to God, it was like watching two extras from Girl Interrupted. If you looked carefully they were really wearing smocks and hiding the bandages on their wrists. They were so breathy that I was placing bets on who was going to hyperventilate first. Why do these people not get more shit from the media? Dinosaur Jr, Husker Du and early Pixies would be spinning in their graves. Is this the end result of Morrissey’s daffodils? Well is it? I just need to be loved.

Gus Gus – Starlovers

Stretch Songs of Joy 2009 (Parto duo of threeo)

Stretchereagainandagainandagain….

Not a good day to be on a diet. Vicious feelings of anger now that Rage Against the Machine are the Christmas Number One…Feel duped by the Sony Corporation. I apologise to all concerned…Stomach sick. Indeed!I won’t even mention the Irishing Times description of RATM as a “little known punk metal band.” The standards have hit the floor in that pretentious tome.

Over it. Woohoo. Feeling mental for quite a long time now but the wave has crashed agin the shore and I am ready to blow the cobwebs away with a 400-kilo industrial blower thingy. Being mindfucked for this long has meant the loathing I feel for most things (Michael Buble) has slowed and a calm peaceful worldview has replaced this. Ya Feel me.

Heart attack, no?

The Evil was in danger of taking over. Well, NO. That shit’s over. I am primed. My fist has four lengths of ‘FARMERS’ BEST’ barbed wire wrapped around it. Soon, I’ll be carrying Susan Boyle around with me like a puppet and screaming, “Can you sing now, Mental?” Next, I will use this fist of justice to stop that twitchy bastard Buble’s vocal chords from ever bothering middle-to-old-age ladies again. Oh you best know it! Angry and stupid Stretch! my shit lately has become really dumb. Apologies. I ain’t been readin!

Finally, as I remove the last of the spikes and Jack Russell teeth from the rotting Cowell, I will do something which won’t be popular. I’m going after Peter Kay. I’m sorry, but I’m sick of him. Why can’t he just be a comedian? Why does he have to do charity records and Coronation Street? Why Peter, why? I’ll wipe that smug sense of fulfillment off your pudgy face with my honest-to-jaysus twisted wires of righteousness. Shut up. I ain’t an equivocating muthafucka…..

Brandon Flowers, you just escaped this time. Mos def.

Anyway this is just lovely.

Nathan Fake – Basic Mountain

A piece of ambient electronica dropped into a pan of hot oil, Nathan Fake, if that is his real name, did things in 2009 with music that would excite a small child or one large infant. This song is about a mountain, not one of those fancy mountains with Ugg boots and a sense of entitlement you may see in Dundrum shopping centre. Think more of a mountain walking around Northside wearing a dirty grey tracksuit, covered in stains from its fry that morning. The mountain will be carrying a blue plastic bag containing the Star, a two-litre bottle of coke, skins and a Twix. The mountain’s skin will be slightly grey too from staying up all night smoking spliffs watching some low-rent porn with its friends, all the time wishing they’d go home, so he can rub one off… Later this day, the mountain will run into a burning Marathon Sports and save an old woman called Mags and four pairs of Nikes, thus making it not so basic a mountain after all. Ya feel me.

Alice in Chains – The looking in view

Layne Staley’s dead. Long live Layne Staley’s non dead replacement. Alice in Chains arrived back in the ether this year with a damn fine album. Jerry Cantrell took time out from being an elf in Rivendell to sing sickly harmonies with newbie William DuVall, who himself had a great career as the villainous Greg Sumner on Knots Landing. Black Gives Way to Blue, like all Alice in Chains albums, is about the struggle a man has to keep his hair blonde despite being ravaged with age and mites. It happens too often, too often…

Fink – Sort of Revolution

My partner-in-crime hateses this dude. Not sure why…his voice annoys her..Anyway, Fink’s first album Biscuits for Breakfast was an excellent piece of work… This from his new album is sort of the only track worth listening to…sort of…but it’s great, despite the stupid vid. Maybe I don’t like it..sorta, yeah…aw fuck, I don’t know, anyway…Shoddy.

Dinosaur Jr – Pieces

J. Mascis looks really really old…I am one of those Dinosaur Jr fans who believes that fuck all good has happened since Green Mind, but this new album is pretty good and this tune is what you want if you are y’know into it. What am I saying? Fucking Lou Barlow. I once pinched his ass. Not stole, just pinched. He wasn’t annoyed, actually seemed happy, like he’d been expecting it. Gave me the fear, it did. The fear. Sometimes when I wake up with night terrors, my eyes unaccustomed to the dark, my vision dancing with lights. Sometimes on the periphery, right on the edge of my vision, he lurks. With grinning evil intent, he lies. Lou fucking Barlow.

Revolting Cocks – Touch Screen

So, essentially what was a project set up by Al Jourgensen, Luc Van Acker and Richard 23 has mutated into something scuzzier than a Baileys ad. Although it was pretty scuzzy to begin with. Think of the creepy guy at the end of the bar. You just think he’s creepy. He leaves the bar and goes to his home studio, where he spends the next 18 hours recording with an array of instruments, while you are still at the bar calling him a sad bastard. The joke is on…nah fuck it..you’re drunk, so, result! Anyway, there’s no point introducing these peoples BEcoz the vid is fairly self explanatory…That’s the great thing about life. If your expectations are rock bottom, everyday is filled with glorious sunshine and puppies. People with high expectations: clouds and fucking cats!

Happy JesusFest 2009! If he wasn’t born on this day, then why do I have a fucking Christmas tree blocking all the light to my living room? Well?

In 2010, I will not curse or drink for a living. Oh you know it! Indeed!

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