Don’t be mistaken, this bond isn’t one forged by nights of spiralling sexual orientation and a proclivity for drug use whilst being free from the shackles of underwear, It’s more of an avuncular relationship, or what ever the feminine equivalent of that word is. The Ladies and the Dames aren’t going to be there on the front line with you when you’re troubleshooting suitable burial spots for the Taiwanese rent boy who’s enjoyment of asphixatian in the bedroom ‘would always be the death of him’ (his mother told him countless times!) Hoewever, these stoical bastions of the silver screen will defend your honour at every given opportunity, and assure the public that you have never been anything short of a fucking saint.

9. Kanye West hates you.

He claims to have walked with Jesus, which is probably why Jesus acquiesced so pithily when the boys in blue came to arrest him. Who suffered worse from their association with Kanye West: Jesus, or Autotune? A matter for another time perhaps.  Taylor Swift must’ve cursed her considerably inactive peripheral vision at the Video Music Awards as Kayne came walking (Minus Jesus- he was in the 16th row with his head in hands thinking ‘Why did I walk with that prick’) onto stage. Although it was at that moment Taylor knew in her heart she’d made it. Fin.

8. You record a song with Kanye West.

You don’t know it how it happened, but it did. You’re at the top of the charts pontificating to girls about the benefits of having a fat arse (for dancing, yo!) alongside the man who not weeks before was giving you a right dressing down. You stand beside him in front of a white backdrop in the video, ostentatiously performing an exaggerated nod to the beat of the track while he points angrily down the lens with his next victim already in mind, and your mind wanders to those happy days with your garage band when the world didn’t seem such a hellish circus of lost hope.

7. You’re barefoot often

The independant is doing a piece on your diverse acting roles. The piece is called ‘Behind The Masks: Finding the Constant of Lester Goulding.’ You meet in the lobby of the Parker Merridian Hotel. The young journalist is nervous so she’s there earlier. Fidgeting with her pen, she hears the unmistakable sound of flesh on marble, a noise she remarks silently, not unlike the sound of wet testicles against a shop window. You swan gracefully across the floor, your bare feet symbolic of your constant questioning of society’s conventions, evident in your magnificent body of work as well as your lack of footwear.

6. You develop facetious political views.

People ask your opinion on matters of grave magnitude, and you being vastly important offer up a gem like: “I personally believe that U.S. Americans are unable to do so because, uh, some people out there in our nation don’t have maps and, uh, I believe that our, uh, education like such as in, uh, South Africa and, uh, the Iraq and everywhere like such as, and I believe that they should, uh, our education over here in the U.S. should help the U.S., uh, should help South Africa and should help Iraq and the Asian countries, so we will be able to build up our future for our children.”

5. You’re on Eastenders.FM!

The sound of mass desperation often manifests itself as perpetual cockney drone, eating at the soul until it’s rendered as vacuous as the wretched eyes that bobble in Dot Cotton’s weary sockets. The Eastender’s writers soon got wise to this existential hell and decided that an incongruous soundtrack would lift the spirits of the viewers. Careful not to lift them too much (suicidal contemplation are considered the most desirable emotion in the Eastenders viewer) they pepper smash pop hits throughout the cafe’s and bars via awful tinny radio speakers. If you find your music documenting domestic abuse, alcoholism, rape, murder, gang war and Phil Mitchell’s bizarrely prolific sex life, you know you’ve made it.

4. You press your fingers together during interviews.

This is the internationally recognized symbol of serene contemplation, which is only afforded to those who have honed there craft. Even Simon Amstell wouldn’t dare break the intense silence that accompanies this gesture if it were Al Pacino opposite him. Although it would be strange because Pacino would never appear on Never Mind the Buzzcocks, and even stranger because Amstell doesn’t present it anymore. I don’t know why but I can’t see John Cusack getting away with this gesture. Has he not made it?

3. You don’t bring a towel anywhere.

cloth or towel. Know the difference, it could save your life

…Because there’ll always be towels supplied for you. Fact.

2. People come to your gigs solely to get pished.

For this segment, I have included an extract from the (at the time of publication yet unreleased) autobiography of Liam Gallagher, an esteemed poet and philosopher of the mid 90′s:

The sky had draped a celestial canopy of reverential beauty that only increased in splendour as the desperate sun sunk to its repose beyond the horizon. I took this as an omen of good fortune and my mood was lifted somewhat by Nature’s wondrous temperament.  Noel, my elder sibling in both age and contentment, expressed a similar sentiment to my own – not physically, I hasten to add: there was something in his countenance that suggested to me a serene satisfaction with how the night would inevitably proceed. With our hearts content we made forth to the performance stage, were invariably our spirits would intertwine with those who had made their way to the arena, the intoxicating camaraderie of joviality and youth fuelling their already joyful energy. I endeavoured to the front of the stage to furtively view the state of our company, and as I did I caught a glance of something cascade through the crisp night air. A bird perhaps? Surely no creature of the avian world would brave the cacophony of a bold number of men in close proximity. I put it down to a trick of the senses, and waited with ardent fervour for our lights to bask the audience in their glorious power. When the lights eventually burst forth, I almost lost my footing, as what I can only describe as Hades appeared before my eyes – Demon’s of the underworld surely had woken from their terrible slumber, and infested their foul souls into these good men before me. A wrenching, pulsating heart of indignity, pugnaciously rippling back and forth manifested itself before me. I dropped to my knees and wept, for the futile thoughts of love, kinship and peace that I had exercised seemed like knotted threads in a tragic dream.

1. You’re hanging out with Elmo.

It’s a wonder the furry magnificent bastard hasn’t been photographed at the end of a powdery white line, his endearing orange nose dusted in coke so it resembles an over-salted sweet potato, for this is precisely the sort of behaviour a celebrity socialite of Elmo’s status should be partaking in. Elmo hangs with the elite, you gots to earn that privilege. Ricky Gervais cites meeting Elmo as the highlight of his career, and if you ever find yourself rubbing furry shoulders with him, know you’ve  nowhere to go from there, and you might as well die.

Guest artwork by Ian Shearer!

‘If you’ve got enough courage to make porno films go ahead and be creative about it. You’ve jumped the chasm here. “We’re gonna film people fuckin’ and suckin’.” Cool. Now go crazy, you already made the jump. You are within the dark lord’s terrain at this point. There’s no reason to get coy.’

Bill Hicks

Finally I feel like someone up there has been listening to my prayers. Actually a lot of my prayers are so lurid I very often hope there’s no one listening, but in this case I really feel like there might be a few other people in this lonely world who are actually singing from the same hymn sheet as me.

Horror movies took a strange turn somewhere along the way. There has always been a certain type of horror film maker whose only goal, it seemed, was to push the boundaries of violence and gore. For a long time, though, these guys were working on an almost underground level, churning out piss poor, straight to VHS (yeah, that long ago) movies that were always either about cannibals or zombies. Then some suit in Hollywood realised the box office potential of seeing a woman get her face blow-torched off, and guys like Eli Roth got their big break. Guys like Alexandre Aja, who directed Piranha 3D.

I have to admit it, I’ve ever been much of a gore-hound. I love horror movies, and I can buy the whole roller coaster analogy about enjoying the sensation of being frightened in what is essentially a safe, controlled environment. I also enjoyed the fact that horror movies shared my fascination with completely extraneous shower scenes, or indeed any sort of scene that involved titties. What I could never understand, though, was why anyone would enjoy watching bleak, explicit torture scenes for a couple of hours. Or indeed how that sort of violence came to pass for horror. Don’t bother with a scary story, or silly things like suspense, just give some hack with a history of unresolved bullying issues a pen and paper and let him come up with the sickest shit that will pass the censors. Sorry dude, no dice. I’ve got nothing against gore, but I like my horror movies with boobs-a-plenty, and a good dose of humour. You know, just as a counterpoint to all the guts. Just makes it all more enjoyable, if you ask me.

[Editor's Note: No one asked you.]

Alas, I had all but given up on ever seeing this particular brand of horror movie in the cinema ever again, and then BOOM, like a crumpled fiver in an old pair of jeans I came across Piranha 3D and it cheered me up more than it really should have.

I weighed in on the 3D fad a few months back in this article after being disappointed by Clash Of The Titans. This movie, folks, changes everything. This movie would have been awesome even in regular old 2D. It ticks all the boxes, and does so very self-consciously. Everybody involved knew they were making a low budget turd of a movie about killer piranhas turned loose on a bunch of snotty college kids on Spring Break. What they didn’t do, crucially, was dress the turd up in a little dress and blonde wig and try to pass it off as a fucking Barbie doll. No, they embraced the shittiness of it all. They turned the shittiness to their advantage, and made a terrifically shitty movie. It should come as no surprise that I am a fan of embracing the shittiness, since embracing poor quality, trashy writing is what This Is Not A Review is all about. What is interesting about this film, though, is that 3D has finally found its rightful home. Fuck Avatar, and fuck Sky 3D coming in Autumn. 3D is not the future of cinema. It’s a gimmick, and not even a very good one at that. EXCEPT in the case of Kelly Brook’s breasts.

3D technology was fucking MADE for titty-filled horror movies. It’s a crappy, pointless gimmick designed to hide the very obvious lack of quality in poor films. Horror movies hide their lack of quality behind walls of violence, hilarity and sleaze. Well, now there is a whole new dimension to the sleaze!

[Editor's Note: (face palm)]

And it couldn’t be more perfect for guys like me. Do you know the last time I saw a breast in more than two dimensions? It was two years ago at a life drawing class, which I got ejected from after insisting that I needed ‘a more intimate knowledge of my subject’, who was a 47 year old Russian woman named Greta. You get me? I’m fucking lonely. It gets hard, and not just in the mornings. I know it might not sound like much to you, but even just the illusion of a rack that I could – hypothetically – nuzzle like a tired puppy, is enough to keep me going.

Ah hell, who am I kidding? It’s not enough, but I can’t afford a hooker so for now 3D movies will have to suffice. Piranha 3D is super gory, ultra trashy fun – you will probably enjoy it – even if you aren’t as lonely as I am.

Summer rolls on and Bandwidth continues to bring you the best of the festivals from around Northern Ireland. A fortnight ago we brought you our view of the Glasgowbury Festival in the Sperrin Mountains – today, the van rolls up in picturesque South Down.

Once upon a time, it was the Innishfree festival, it was run by a small group of enthusiastic music fans – and it was like nothing else. Then in 2009, the feat was repeated, and this time it had moved to a walled garden in Delamont Country park. Willowstone Festival was born, and it was a good thing.

20 or so musicians, art installations, decent food, families running around unembarrassed – not a Diageo banner in sight – Willowstone is an original independent boutique festival run by those who care about festivals – set in the most beautiful place in Ireland. Its a sight to behold. And here’s the highlights.

Colenso Parade kick off the proceedings – lowering the tone as always. Last time we met up was on top of Belfast’s iconic big wheel structure – this time we went for a something a little more sedate.

[download for ipod]

Scorpion Jack are self styled Pirate Folk musicians. They’re currently making waves, splicing manbraces and raping our venues and pillaging our ears. Hoist the flag.

[download for ipod]

John Shelly & The Creatures are old favourites to the Bandwidth stable – they never disappoint. In our search for venues in and around the park, we found a disparate group of fans, put outside for bad behaviour. We thought it was only right to stage a benefit gig, and promptly attempted to sneak them back in. Only fair.

[download for ipod]

Here representing the Republic of Ireland, Wicklow’s own Bocs Social finally brought a bit of class to the proceedings. Coming hotly recommended as they do, even when a particularly angsty security guard insisted on barging past us to boil a kettle for his tea, we just knew they couldn’t stop the bop.

[download for ipod]

Bored? Nothing on TV? Thank Stoke Newington International Airport for inspiration on this one. Willowstone 2010 was somewhat of a Bandwidth-extended-family affair all of a sudden when Katie & The Carnival turned up – but this incarnation of the group is nearly totally different from previous versions (apart from 2 core members) – expect new tunes, news instruments, 250% more puppets and an album in the cming months. Bandwidth is very pleased.

[download for ipod]

Oh yes and you might of heard of this lot, they’re called Cashier No.9 and everyone thinks they’re just great. Thanks then go to Pony Dance Theatre Company for enlightening us in the end, and thanks also to everyone involved in the Willowstone Festival. Long may you reign.

[download for ipod]

Filmed at Delamont Country Park, Killyleagh, July 2010
Camera/Edit: Will McConnell
Camera/Sound: Sean Duncan

We caught up with them all together and filmed two wholly separate sessions. They share duties on some tracks in their set, but they’re also two distinct identities. Paul Pilot’s session will be ready in a few weeks, bu first up, two tracks from Rue Royale.

[Download "Rue Royale - Halfway Blind" for iPod (167.6 MB)]

Listen to “Rue Royale – Halfway Blind”

[Download (Mp3, 5.4 MB)]

[Download "Rue Royale - Walls" for iPod (221.1 MB)]

Listen to “Rue Royale – Walls”

[Download (Mp3, 6.2 MB)]

Filmed in Belfast, July 2010
Camera/Edit: Will McConnell
Thanks to Matthew Rodger

Artwork by Will McConnell.

Ian: I was so stumped this week I seriously considered using the Dave Channel technique…

Readers: Why Ian, whatever do you mean?

Ian: I mean rather than coming up with something new, just doing a re-run!

Readers: (laughter and applause).

Man I’m good…

I had to do some serious thinking about this piece, so I went to a coffee shop and sat, looking very serious, pondering many things about life, love, art and philosophy. After four cups of coffee, though, the only thing I had managed to create was a full bladder, so after a piss that could have bored a hole in a fence I gave up and went to the movies. Inspiration, I decided, would have to wait. Sometimes, though, inspiration comes from the strangest of sources, and this time it came from Tom Cruise’s mighty grin. I went to see Knight And Day, as you may have guessed. Not because I wanted to, but because I have seen the trailer every time I’ve been to the cinema for the past four months and by now, not seeing the film seemed like an impossibility. This might be the most cunning marketing technique ever conceived. Anyway, I came away from the film thinking about Tom Cruise’s big, Hollywood-gnasher filled smile, and how so many people just can’t stand it, or him. He’s like Noel Edmonds in many ways…

[Editor's Note: WHAT?]

…with his mane of impossible hair and that certain je ne sais quoi that just makes people want to throttle him. Well, I don’t mind Tom Cruise and even though it’s total, utter nonsense, I didn’t mind Knight And Day either. It has almost no redeeming qualities whatsoever, except for being rather good fun, and in my humble opinion, sometimes that is enough in this miserable world of ours. I can almost hear you asking, where am I going with this?

[Editor's Note: Actually that's me, telepathically insisting that you get to the point.]

Well, for some reason my mind made a connection between my enjoyment of these shallow blockbuster type movies, and a question someone asked me recently: ‘What are the most embarrassing albums in your CD collection?’ And there you have it – inspiration for this article. But far from apologising for my occasionally questionable taste in music, I am here to proclaim my love for some bands/artists that so many of you music snobs just can’t stand. Will is going to fucking fire me for this.

Nickelback

‘It’s hard to steer when you’re breathing in my ear

But I got both hands on the wheel while you got both hands on my gears

By now, no doubt that we were heading south

I guess nobody ever taught her not to speak with a full mouth’

I don’t want to spend too long on Nickelback because, frankly, I fucking hate them most of the time. I can’t bring myself to join the ranks of the Nickelback haters though, because sometimes I just can’t deny a good rock n roll song. It’s a difficult issue to reconcile because on one hand I can agree that Nickelback are, in fact, balls. On the other hand, songs like ‘Animals’ and ‘Burn It To The Ground’ are fucking kick ass rock songs. And since I care more about how a band sounds than how they look, or act, I have to admit it: sometimes I like Nickelback. And I’m sorry, but I won’t apologise for it.

Exhibit A: Nickelback – Burn It To The Ground

Kid Rock

‘I’m an American Bad Ass

Watch me kick

You can roll with Rock

Or you can suck my dick

I’m a porno flick, I’m like amazing grace

I’m gonna fuck some hoes after I rock this place’

Kid Rock is kinda like Mickey Rourke. Either you think he’s one of the most awesome people walking the planet, or you think he’s a complete douche. The problem is people just don’t seem to get it. Kid Rock loves hip hop but shit, he knows he can’t rap like Jay-Z. He loves country music, but he knows he’ll never be George Jones. He likes rock n roll, and blues and soul and all those things, and knows he’ll never master any of them. He’s not trying. He’s just Kid Rock, and if you don’t like him, fuck you. He likes money and bitches and fur coats and getting drunk, and if you don’t like it? Fuck you again. Say what you want about him, but the Kid is a real fucking rock star.

Exhibit B: Kid Rock – So Hott.

Bon Jovi

‘If the love that I’ve got for you’s gone

If the river I’ve cried ain’t that long

Then I’m wrong

Yeah I’m wrong

This ain’t a love song’

It seems that it is only acceptable to admit to liking Bon Jovi if you are a thirty-something female with a broken heart and all of the Twilight books. I personally think that men are threatened by Jon Bon Jovi because he is every woman’s dream: a total fucking hunk, in touch with his feelings with a great voice and even better hair. Me? I’m so far down the food chain I feel threatened by Kenneth Williams when I watch a Carry On film, so this feeling is fairly redundant to me. The point is, if you take music too seriously to rock out to Bon Jovi that’s cool with me. But I say this with utmost sincerity – without those rock n roll ballads that send most people scrambling for a sick bag, my wee world just wouldn’t be as much fun. And I will love them, aallwwwwaaaaaayyyyysss!

Exhibit C: Bon Jovi – Always

Garth Brooks

‘Operator won’t you put me on through

I gotta send my love down to Baton Rouge

Hurry up won’t you put her on the line

I gotta talk to the girl just one more time’

You think I’m taking the piss now, right? Surely not. Surely this is a sin too far. Ladies and gentlemen, I do not jest. I like Garth Brooks. I understand why people don’t, believe me. The stars n stripes shirt, the sissy little microphone headset, the penchant for flying around the stage as if he was livin’ on a prayer… I get it. But I don’t give a shit. If I tried to pretend I didn’t like him I wouldn’t just be lying to you, I’d be lying to myself. I’d be denying a part of my own soul, damn it! I’m a major country music fan, and of course Garth ain’t got shit on Waylon and Willie, or Johnny, Hank or Merle, but his special brand of all-American soppishness…

[Editor's Note: 'soppishness' is not a word, but it works so well here I’m going to leave it.]

…fills my lonesome heart with joy and makes my two left feet line-dance uncontrollably. God bless old Garth Brooks.

Exhibit D: [Video link deleted by Editor for 'unacceptable levels of soppishness']

Neil Diamond

‘Me and you are subject to

The blues now and then

But when you take the blues

And make a song

You sing ‘em out again

You sing ‘em out again’

Until now I have been a little defensive about my taste, but I’m not budging on this one. Neil Diamond is one of the greatest singer-songwriters of all time, and if you disagree you can fuck off. I pity you unenlightened fools who look upon his sequinned jackets and awesome hair with disdain, for you will never know what you are missing. Namely, some of the most rousing and powerful pop music ever recorded. I can’t even put my love for Neil Diamond into words, because he already has monopoly on verbal expressions of love, and I can’t play piano or guitar.

Exhibit E: Neil Diamond – I Am, I Said

Please use the comments section to admit your unguilty pleasures, or just to cruelly mock me. It won’t faze me – I’ll be playing air-piano and belting out my best version of ‘Hello Again’…

Each year, on a quiet hill, in the middle of a quiet valley, near a not so quiet town, a man named Paddy Glasgow invites some friends over for the biggest celebration of Northern Irish musical talent of the year. This event is called Glasgowbury.

We filmed up there last year, and this year we’re back with our pick of our favourite bands from the festival, all from the back of the Bandwidth Van.

Watch out for more from Bandwidth at Northern Ireland’s festivals this summer.

The Q

[download for ipod]

Listen to “The Q – Magpie”
[download audio]

Team Fresh

[download for ipod]

Listen to “Team Fresh – Rhythm Tradition”
[download audio]

Furlo

[download for ipod]

Listen to “Furlo – Your Entire Glows”
[download audio]

Here Comes The Landed Gentry

[download for ipod]

Listen to “Here Comes The Landed Gentry – Evil Woman/Leadbelly”
[download audio]

Camera/Edit: Will McConnell
Sound: Sean Duncan
Filmed at Eagles Rock in Draperstown, July 2010

The Bandwidth New Music Podcast is a free mp3 podcast of our favourite new unsigned music from Ireland North and South. Unlike many other new music podcasts, Bandwidth brings you the whole unadulterated mp3 track as the artist intended, with no extended intros or talky bits.

If you’d like Bandwidth to feature your music on the podcast, email us an mp3, complete with artwork attached to: mp3@bandwidthsessions.com

>> To subscribe to the podcast feed click here

>> Or to subscribe on iTunes click here

We’ve been away on holiday the past few weeks, but now we’re back with lots to see and do..

Paul Pilot used to play in Duke Specials band – so fans of the Duke should know what to expect – and much more. We love him. And watch out for a video session in the next few weeks.
Visit http://www.myspace.com/paulpilotmusic

Download Mp3 (3.1 MB)

Swampscott is the name of Shay from Jackson Cages new project. Tune in fans of Dinosaur Jnr and Pavement – yes really – its beautiful – and its not quite country.
Visit: http://swampscottmusic.blogspot.com/

Download Mp3 (7.2 MB)

Isobel Anderson is what they call a Bandwidth veteran – having performed for IN STORES NOW and the THANK YOU FOR WATCHING gig last year. She is amazing. We-ve been waiting for new material for ages and we-re thrilled to offer you this new track – so exclusive its not even appearing on the new album COLD WATER MUSIC which is out next month by the way.
Visit http://isobelanderson.com

Download Mp3 (5.5 MB)

Isobel Anderson is what they call a Bandwidth veteran – having performed for IN STORES NOW and the THANK YOU FOR WATCHING gig last year. She is amazing. We-ve been waiting for new material for ages and we-re thrilled to offer you this new track – so exclusive its not even appearing on the new album COLD WATER MUSIC which is out next month by the way.
Visit http://isobelanderson.com

Download Mp3 (5.5 MB)

Swampscott is the name of Shay from Jackson Cages new project. Tune in fans of Dinosaur Jnr and Pavement – yes really – its beautiful – and its not quite country.
Visit: http://swampscottmusic.blogspot.com/

Download Mp3 (7.2 MB)

Paul Pilot used to play in Duke Specials band – so fans of the Duke should know what to expect – and much more. We love him. And watch out for a video session in the next few weeks.
Visit http://www.myspace.com/paulpilotmusic

Download Mp3 (3.1 MB)

Johnny called me at work to ask if I was going to the Dirty DC gig in the Empire last week.  I told him of course fucking of course, I was going.  He then told me that my usual shtick about getting shitty drunk and rocking out is getting old, and I should at least try and make these things more relevant to the rest of the Bandwidth site.  I told him no problem – all I would need is a backstage press pass and an exclusive interview with the singer from Ajenda and by God I’d write the best piece of local music journalism since whatever Will did last.  He said he’d see what he could do, and put the phone down.  Content that my ingenious and devious plan was in action, I laughed my best ’haw, haw, haw’ sort of evil laugh, and went back to the dishes, since my boss was due back soon.
Before the end of my shift Johnny called back and okayed my idea. He had a date lined up for me, but told me if I wanted to do an interview I’d have to line it up myself.  I almost shat myself with excitement.
‘Hey boss lady,’ I shouted across the shop.
‘Yes Ian?’
‘You can stick your job,’ I said, ’I’m onto a piece that’s gonna break me into the big time!’  I threw my apron at her and stormed out, throwing up the horns at the queue of gob-smacked customers.  Unfortunately my badass exit was spoiled slightly when I had to duck back in again to get my Neil Diamond CD.

The night of the gig I pulled on my dancing boots, had a few crafty slugs of Jack and headed off into town.  When I got to The Empire I realised I had forgotten the list of questions I had prepared for the interview, so I ordered up a shot and a brew and tried to remember what they were.  Looking at them now I realise they wouldn’t have been much help anyway.  In an obvious drunken scrawl it reads COMPLIMENT HER (underlined so heavily in red that I actually scored through the paper), EXAGGERATE POSITION AT BANDWIDTH, and DON’T GET TOO DRUNK.  It then says something about hair, that even I can’t really make out.  My only guess is that it was a memo to myself to get a haircut.  Anyway as tends to happen, one shot and a brew became two, and then three, before I went upstairs to the music hall to get a good seat.  Somehow I always arrive at these things either too late to even get near the bar, or so early I have to sit for hours staring at an empty stage.  This night I was early and, unfortunately, that meant more drinking.  I seemed to be drinking alone for a long time before the hall really filled up, and with the support act way overdue I was itching to do some rocking.  I was already head banging half-assedly in my chair to Crazy Nights by Kiss and sneaking glances at a fucking knockout who was… well… propped up on the bar ordering a drink.  Then she caught me looking and gave me a puzzled look.  Bugger.  She got her beer and started walking towards me.  I almost shat myself with fear.  I necked the whiskey and before she could say a word blurted out,
‘Sorry I wasn’t staring at you.  It was the guy behind you.  Looked like he had something… growing out of his head.  It was just his hair.  Which technically is growing out of his head, I suppose, but what I mean was I wasn’t actually looking at your tits.  You, I mean.  Not that your tits aren’t worth looking at.  Just…’
And luckily she cut me off, ‘It’s okay, I don’t wear this top so people will notice my shoes.’  I was speechless, so I took a long pull at my beer.  She didn’t go away.  ‘And since I’m supposed to be here with you, I think it’s okay for you to check out my tits.’  No.  Fucking.  Way.
‘Johnny set you up with me?’ I asked.
‘Yep.’
‘I’m going to kiss that man.  Right on the mouth.’  That made her laugh, and when she giggled, they jiggled, and I almost wept.

When the band finally came on it wasn’t Ajenda at all, but Dirty DC themselves.  I can only guess that something came up, because there was no explanation as to why they didn’t play.  That’s not going to stop me mentioning them, though, because honestly I was as excited to see them as I was to see Dirty DC.  I first saw Ajenda last year at, incidentally, a Dirty DC gig in The Empire.  Since then I’ve been trying to make it to one of their own shows, but something always got in the way.  I really don’t think I have ever been as knocked out by a local band as I was by Ajenda.  Their sound is right up my street – hooky, guitar-driven rock with, crucially, dynamite vocals.  I like a fairly broad range of music but I will always have a soft spot for anything that makes me bop my head and involuntarily form a fist with my right hand.  Shit, I was at an AC/DC tribute gig, this much should be clear.  I was fucking disappointed that I didn’t get to see them again, but I’ll make it to a show some day.  Until then I have their EP, which is excellent, and which you can listen to on their MySpace page.  You can do that right after you finish reading this.  As for Dirty DC, well the best advertisement for them would have been a photo of me after the gig.  But since nobody should ever have to look at a photo of me – especially in that state – I’ll settle for letting you know I was drunk, sweaty, deaf and generally loving life.  As faithful as the band are to AC/DC’s sound, it’s really the energy of the original band that they mimic so well.  It’s no mean feat to match Angus Young for sheer balls out, blistering rocking, but this guy does, and does it well.  And a bunch of dudes having that much fun playing unashamedly simple, badass rock n roll is a joy to behold.  Since they’ve been here two years in a row I’m guessing Dirty DC should be a regular fixture at The Empire.  Next time they’re here, don’t waste your Saturday night in some godforsaken nightclub.  Go and have your balls rocked off.

It was a breath of fresh air, not having to steal covert glances at the chick’s cleavage.

[Editor’s Note: You don’t even know her name, do you?]

[Ian: Don’t interrupt me man, I’m wrapping this shit up.]

The band appeared to take full advantage of her generosity and spent a good amount of time staring themselves.  Angus even gave me a sly wink, acknowledging that he was impressed by my impeccable taste in women.  At the end of the gig the singer kissed her hand and the bassist gave her a pick, which delighted her.  When we parted ways she said we should meet up again some time, but in my drunken, breast-fixated state I didn’t even realise I didn’t have a name or a number.  I’m still waiting on Johnny to get back to me with her contact details.

[Johnny: No way.  Take a look at those rules you wrote for yourself - see what you did wrong.]

Damn it, you’re right.  I still need a haircut.

10. Jack Black – High Fidelity

Every so often, an actor is said to have been born to play a certain role. For a Mr. J Black of Hollywood (presumably, my depth of research is invariably linked to how bothered I am on the day) this role was Barry, the air guitar wielding prat from High Fidelity. This role was made for Black so much he inexorably portrayed it in everyone of his films to date. Ho ho, such wit. When I watch High Fidelity I romanticize the notion and believe being friends with Barry would be fun. The truth is it would probably be tiresome, as I imagine a friendship with Black would be. Again with the wit…

9. Steve Carrell – Anchorman

Quoted by everyone, everywhere. Even the Queen dropped one of Brick’s lines in her annual Christmas speech: “I am sure that we have all been affected by events in Afghanistan and saddened by the casualties suffered by our forces serving there. Our thoughts go out to their relations and friends who have shown immense dignity in the face of great personal loss. I ate a big red candle!”. Every character in the film has great lines, but Carrell’s comic timing and delivery – awkward and incongruous for the entire film allows him to take the mantle of Anchorman’s most memorable character.

8. Ralph Brown – Withnail and I

The curiously accented drug dealer Danny- perhaps the most endearing proprietor of hard drugs that’s ever been committed to film. In an unusual turn of intertextual writing, Mike Myers deployed Ralph Brown as a suspiciously similar character in Wayne’s World 2, the road-worn roadie Del Preston. He did a good job stealing the scenes in that film too – particularly when he regales a group of teens about having to beat a man to death with his own shoe so Ozzy could play on stage that night. A unique character and direct inspiration for the character in this next entry…

7. Matt King – (Super hans) Peep Show

Super Hans, the Danny/Del Preston of the Noughties. A proclivity for hard drugs in casual situations, in his head Super Hans is perpetually sticking it to the man. If it’s by smoking his crack pipe at a wedding or demanding his band are named ‘Free The Paedo’s', he is the last bastion of anarchy in a sea of the mundane. Hans, I salute ye.

6. Chloë Grace Moretz – (500) days of summer & Kick-Ass

So good she stoles it twice so she done- her turn as Tom’s little sister was hilarious and understated. Subversive relationships have been done a lot; sitcoms rely on the shtick so much so that it can feel tiresome and dated but Moretz’s stoical interactions with the melancholic Gordon-Levitt are natural and endearing. These scenes make a quirky film that bit more charming. Then she goes and drops the c-word as Hit-Girl in Kick-Ass. A natural, methinks.

5. Rhys Darby – Flight of the Conchords

In a show littered with bit part scene-stealer’s Darby’s portrayal of Murray Hewitt ‘of the New Zealand Consulate’ beats off tough competition from ‘Mel the Stalker’ or Dave ‘The Best Friend’ in Flight of the Conchords’ quirky world of prosaic nonsense. His minuscule knowledge of music, the music industry and indeed modern technology in general serves to project him as a millstone around the necks of Bret and Jemaine – the comedy arises from his lack of self awareness, and the belief that if the Conchords didn’t have him as a manager they’d be nobodies (which as it happens, they still are). Enjoy this improvised scene were Murray displays his limited knowledge of musical instruments.

4. Mark Wahlberg- The Departed

Staff Sergeant Sean Dignam – Wahlberg’s character is so obnoxious, unwilling and obstinate that it should be impossible to be excited when his character appears on screen, but his sporadic bursts of foul mouthed screen time act as comic relief (not in an overt or crass way) in a film that otherwise would begin feel weighted down with the outlandish plot. His delivery is so self-assured it makes me want to punch him, which I reckon was precisely the intended desire.

3. Jeff Goldblum- Jurassic Park

Dr Ian Malcolm- Tall, swarthy, nonchalant, chaos theorist and suffering from extreme excess of personality. How Jeff steals a film that has Dinosaurs losing the plot and generally being class is beyond me, but he does. Sam Neil is from Omagh, which is cool, but not as cool Goldblum’s charismatic scientist. His shirt’s open for most of the film, as was the style at the time.

2. Robert Carlyle – Trainspotting

Carlyle’s depiction of Begbie is terrifyingly unstable. It’s hard to choose a particular scene because he’s enthralling throughout – so much so that someone has uploaded ‘The best of Begbie’ moments on Youtube. Here’s a sample. Shit yourself at your leisure.

1. Alec Baldwin – Glengarry Glen Ross

For Alec Baldwin to occupy the best 7 minutes of a film that lists Kevin Spacey, Ed Harris, Al Pacino and Jack Lemmon among its ensemble cast is no small feat. His character Blake was created specifically for Baldwin and didn’t exist in David Mamet’s original stage production. Baldwin’s character measures virility through his capitalist successes and berates the rest of the cast for not having the balls (his words not mine) to close their prospective deals. His interaction with Ed Harris in this scene is a particular highlight.

Honourable mention: Christopher Walken, in everything.

State Intervention is a collaboration between Bandwidth and State webzine in Dublin. Flash gigs in Dublin’s shops, bars, parks and street corners, promoted purely online through State’s Twitter and Facebook profiles. Details are announced on the day, so keep up to date and find your way down.

This is the 5th State Intervention gig, a walk in the park with Mountain Man. We brought strawberries and umbrellas, and the rain was warm – a typical Irish summer. Watch out for more Interventions in the great outdoors, and consider bringing your wellies if you fancy coming along to the next one?

Subscribe to the State Twitter feed and watch out for the next gig!

Tracklist
1. Mouthwings
2. Arabella
3. Whale Song
4. Animal Tracks

Read all about it on State.ie

Camera/Edit: Will McConnell
Sound/Mix: Ian Maleny

The first track from a series of 3, will be a ‘Touch of Cold’ – and here, after the clip, is an exclusive sneaky peak of how it’ll sound. Check back in August for more..

http://www.myspace.com/silhouetteofficial

Watch a 30 sec clip:

Listen to all of “Silhouette – Touch Of Cold”

Download (Mp3, 7.3 MB)

Camera: Will McConnell
Sound Mix: Walter Thee Goon

Welcome to the Bandwidth New Music Podcast – a free mp3 podcast of our favourite new unsigned music from Ireland North and South. Unlike many other new music podcasts, Bandwidth brings you the whole unadulterated mp3 track as the artist intended, with no extended intros or talky bits.

If you’d like Bandwidth to feature your music on the podcast, email us an mp3, complete with artwork attached to: mp3@bandwidthsessions.com

>> To subscribe to the podcast feed click here

>> Or to subscribe on iTunes click here

Exclusively taken from Rachel Austins new album – which you can buy here – http://rachelaustinmusic.com/

Download Mp3 (11 MB)

Building Pictures is the pseudonym of John Gribben – and very good he is too.
Visit http://www.myspace.com/buildingpictures

Download Mp3 (7.4 MB)

Wicked Child is the stage name of an amazing new talent Dave Cullen. Dave got in touch through the website – we loved his stuff – and its our privilege to bring you this track – its that easy.
Visit http://www.myspace.com/wicked-child

Download Mp3 (6.1 MB)

Wicked Child is the stage name of an amazing new talent Dave Cullen. Dave got in touch through the website – we loved his stuff – and its our privilege to bring you this track – its that easy.
Visit http://www.myspace.com/wicked-child

Download Mp3 (10.1 MB)

Building Pictures is the pseudonym of John Gribben – and very good he is too.
Visit http://www.myspace.com/buildingpictures

Download Mp3 (7.4 MB)

Exclusively taken from Rachel Austins new album – which you can buy here – http://rachelaustinmusic.com/

Download Mp3 (11 MB)

10.  Archaic Computer Consoles

The first computer to feel love

Oh irony of ironies – the first thing on my list and i realise I have a genuine love for old computer consoles. So maybe I should stop being an elitist prick and accept maybe other people do to. Is it ironic that the first thing on this list isn’t ironic? I have gone crossed eyed.

9.  The Eighties

Things were so much better back then

The 80′s were truly a golden age of cultural iconography and significance. Even now the advancements made in the 80′s can still be felt today. It gave the world it’s first reality TV show (Knight Rider), brought the world together with a common disease (AIDS) and the eternally fashionable piano key neck tie. YET, those pesky ironists want to diminish those grandiose achievements by only appreciating them in an ironic fashion. Am I being ironic? I don’t know. My nose is bleeding.

8.  Children’s Toys

Inflamed testicle

There’s a space hopper in my house. I fucking hate myself. My only defense is it appeared after a party- I can only presume it was Nathan Barley’s chosen mode of transport the previous evening. Why was I hanging around with Nathan Barely you ask? I was being ironic. I am a dick.

7. Doing the MySpace Pose (ironically)

Turdspace.com

What better way to display your disdain for something than perpetuating it ironically? Ow, my head. This was the worst idea for a top ten. Too late to turn back now.

6. Dancing Awkward On Purpose, In An Attempt To Disguise Their Awkwardness

Abba

Not all of you are blessed with the groove that resides in my soul. I have been described as Ireland’s answer to Torville & Dean, somehow. Dancing awkwardly on purpose is definitely an improvement than just dancing awkwardly – take it from this cat, when I be splitting posture bombs on the dancefloor of the Copa Ramada (behind Spar) the last thing I want is for some funk-killing tile turkey handing out nega-vibes. You dig? Me neither.

5. Appreciating ‘Skins’ (but not understanding why)

Gritty teen drama

it’s as bad as appreciating irony but not understanding why, as demonstrated by this list.

4. Chuck Norris

Definitely Chuck Norris

Chuck Norris is so Adjective that when he Verbs, implausible conclusion asserting his toughness. Times fucking infinity. He also told Haley Joel Osmond he had aids in this touching scene:

3. David Hasselhoff

Look how terrified the dogs are

‘Don’t you wish your boyfriend was Hoff like me?’ mused the hilarious t-shirt’s abundant in campsite B of the Oxygen festival circa 2007. ‘Perhaps,’ was my retort, ‘If I was that way inclined – I would lke my boyfriend to be filmed devouring a burger by his long suffering daughter whilst simultaneously retaining the adoration of the German people. Who wouldn’t? Actually don’t answer that, you’re just a t-shirt.’

2. Using variants of ‘LOL’ in real conversations

A person saying 'lol'

Don’t be afraid to delight in the natural occurence of laughter, for it pleasing to hear across the fields and in the taverns of our great nation. No-one wants to hear the ROFL-copter coming in for landing after a particularly hilarious anecdote, or hear the abbreviation pronounced ‘Lawl’. Declare that it’s Lolz-o-clock at your peril, fiendish cur.

1. Top Ten Lists

Top Tizzle

How witty and clever are me?  This list was doomed from the start, yet such is my obstinance I carried on and ended it with ‘Top Ten Lists’- the sort pseudo-paradoxical irony nonsense that may end up tearing a the time space continuum a new one. So I’ll see you all in November 5th 1955. May God have mercy on us all.

Forgive the poor quality of this article…

[Editor’s Note: Every one of your articles should start like that.]

… but to be honest it almost didn’t get written at all.  Every time I tried putting pen to paper, for the past six days, the only thing that would come out was romantic poetry about Cara Cowan.  I say romantic poetry, I kind of just wrote out the lyrics to the soppiest Bon Jovi songs while slugging from a bottle of Jack.  But that wasn’t even the main reason.  I heard about this show in the morning of the day it was on, and immediately called Johnny.
‘Johnny I’m going to the gig at the Black Box tonight.  Ever since I saw Cara Cowan on In Stores Now I have wanted to see her live.  It’ll make a good This Is Not A Review, too, which is handy.’
‘That won’t be necessary Ian.’
‘What do you mean not necessary?’
‘I mean we’ve already got a Bandwidth representative covering that show,’ he said.
‘What?  Who?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘Well now I REALLY fucking want to know.’
He paused.  ‘It’s Nicola.’
It was my turn to pause.  ‘You’re fucking with me.’
‘Told you you didn’t want to know.  She’s just joined us and she’s got the gig.  I’m sure you’ll think of something else to write about.’  And he just hung up.  I reached for the bottle of whiskey and turned up the Bon Jovi.
Nicola.  The only woman I ever truly loved.  It was a love that was never to be though.  We met when I started working for the Belfast Telegraph, and I knew I loved her from the first time I ever laid eyes on her awesome tits.  Of course she was beautiful too, and seriously, seriously cool.

[Editor’s Note: Ah, that’s why it never worked out between you then…]

But she was with a senior editor at the paper, and I was just a lowly critic.  My angle was to critique entire establishments based on the quality of their toilet facilities.  We hung out a lot and despite the obvious chemistry, our dynamic never got past me telling her about toilets.  Recommending good ones, warning against the bad ones.

[Editor’s Note: How did you know what the ladies’ toilets were like?]

God, it hurts even to think about it now.  It was the happiest time in my life.  But like I said, we both knew it could never happen, and eventually the pain got too much for me and one day I just didn’t go back to work.  I never saw her again since then, and you know the rest.  I moved on to bigger, better things with Bandwidth and tried to forget about her.  And now of all the music sites in all the world, she had to start working for mine.

When I ran out of whiskey, I headed into town.  Most of what followed is just a haze but after getting kicked out of a bar for yammering loudly about how terrible the men’s toilet was, I spent my last couple of quid on a bottle of Bucky and lay down in the gutter to die.  In my dreams I was visited by an old man, whom I assumed to be a ghost from the future.  We had a long, drunken conversation about the situation that culminated in him telling me I had to get up, goddamnit, clean myself up and go to that gig.  It was my final chance for closure.  I came around and realised it was just some old tramp waking me up because I was in his favourite spot.  I handed him what was left of the booze and shambled off.

It was getting late, so I employed the age-old cinematic technique of montage to get home, wash up, shave, put on my finest threads and get to the Black Box on time for the gig, all in the running time of one Foreigner song.  Obviously nobody else there knew about the montage trick, because besides the bands, I was the first person there.

‘That’s five pounds please,’ said one of the women at the entrance.  I handed her a ten, the other one stamped my wrist, and they went back to their conversation.  I stood, awkwardly silent, until they looked up at me again.
‘I think that was a ten I gave you,’ I said.

‘Oh, so it was,’ she said, and gave me back a five.  Then I remembered it was a fundraiser gig and they probably assumed I was being charitable.  Asking for change from a charitable donation, what a classy start to the evening.  I hit the bar and, not wanting to take a table all to myself I stood there like an awkward twat, watching as people trickled in.  I was three drinks in when she swayed in and my heart swelled up so much my chest looked almost as big as hers.  She didn’t notice me, of course, and I stayed in the shadowed corner of the bar, hoping she never would.  Then she did, and came right on over to say hello.  Like nothing had ever happened!  I jabbered a pathetic hello-how-are-ya and almost fucking died when she suggested we sit together.  The music hadn’t started yet and the small talk was painful.

‘So what are the toilers like in here?’ she asked, with a big cheery grin.
‘Pretty good, actually,’ I said.
‘Wow, you usually have more to say about them than that.  How are you gonna fill a review?’
‘I’m not doing the toilet thing any more,’ I said.
‘Oh, what is it you’re doing now?’ I opened my mouth to speak, and the music started.  I looked over at the stage as Cara Cowan started into her first song, and all of a sudden I forgot all about Nicola.

The music scene in Belfast is a sham and a disgrace.  Sometimes, anyway.  People leave here in their droves to sit in a tent in some godforsaken field in Punchestown for the Oxegen festival.  They pay 24 Euro for a mangy burger and crap in port-a-loos for a few days.  They stand in a field full of muck and smelly people.  They do all that, just to see The Black Eyed Peas.  But put on a charity fundraiser with some of the best local bands we’ve got and you couldn’t fill a small room with fat people.  It was kind of a shame, and the room did fill up a bit more as the night went on, but for me it just made Cara’s performance all the more impressive.  I already knew she was original and innovative and has a great voice because I saw her on In Stores Now, so I’m going to assume you know all those things too and I’ll settle for saying hers was the best set of the night.  Which is high praise, because there was some stiff competition.  If you haven’t already heard her music and fallen in love with Cara Cowan, go do it now.  Your life will be better.

Next up was Uber Glitterati, an electropop band whom I really didn’t expect to like as much as I did.  I’m no techno fan.  In fact I know so little about it I don’t even know if techno and electro are the same thing.  Point is, I’m no fan of the genre but even I couldn’t deny the sheer catchiness of their weirdly wonderful sound.  They’re already making waves on the scene, and rightly so.  The following two acts are at a slight disadvantage because by this point in the night I was really, really hammered and don’t remember anything with too much clarity.  The upside is that I like to rock out when I’m pissed, and I remember that the music went down pretty damn well.  Lucky for you, you don’t have to take my word about Kitty And The Can Openers or Jackson Cage because they both have their own spot on In Stores Now too!  Check them both out here, and here.  Is Will’s finger on the pulse of the Belfast music scene or what?  Again, folk-indie bands with pretty female singers just aren’t my speciality, but Kitty And The Can Openers are fucking excellent, simple as that.  Last up was Jackson Cage and, frankly, everything Will said about them is bang on target – they’re just chock full of energy, have a sound very much their own and most important of all – they play the shit out of their songs and have a really great time doing it.  When they closed their set I was genuinely disappointed that the night was over, and not just because that meant the bar was closed.  It was a cool, low-key night with the kind of good vibes and great music you would expect.  It was also for a genuinely worthy cause, which you can help out with here.  As one of the singers very aptly put it on the night, what happened was a fucking shitty thing.  I can’t top that – ‘fucking shitty’ just sums it up – so help out, if you can.

If you can learn anything from this crap I write it is that Will McConnell is a fucking oracle – pay attention to what he says, for he will not steer you wrong – and don’t be a fucking cheapskate.  Pay some money and go see these bands live.  Buy their albums and E.P.s and remind them that what they’re doing is special and worthwhile.  And what about Nicola, I hear you ask?

‘So what about you?’ I asked her during a break between sets.  ‘How come you started working for Bandwidth?’
‘Oh I’m sleeping with Will now,’ she said.  After all the lovely stuff I said about him!  Oh well, I suppose some things never change, so I never did get my closure and I’ll probably just stay hopelessly in love.  In the absence of closure, though, childish satisfaction will do, and as you may have noticed, Will ran my article and not hers.  Either I’m a better writer, or she’s not a very good lay.  Whichever it is, it’s good enough for me.

Welcome to the Bandwidth New Music Podcast – a free mp3 podcast of our favourite new unsigned music from Ireland North and South. Unlike many other new music podcasts, Bandwidth brings you the whole unadulterated mp3 track as the artist intended, with no extended intros or talky bits.

If you’d like Bandwidth to feature your music on the podcast, email us an mp3, complete with artwork attached to: sendyourmp3s@bandwidthfilms.com

>> To subscribe to the podcast feed click here

>> Or to subscribe on iTunes click here

Paul Shevlin is an incredible new talent – check back to the site for his exclusive session video for Bandwidth.
Visit http://www.myspace.com/paulshevlin

Download Mp3 (6.1 MB)

A Virginian migrant to these islands – and how welcome he is too. Heres an exclusive taster from his new album.
Visit http://www.gentrymorris.com

Download Mp3 (5 MB)

An amazing new band from Belfast who are already IN STORES NOW veterans.
Visit http://www.myspace.com/polarbeyond

Download Mp3 (3.8 MB)

Paul Shevlin is an incredible new talent – check back to the site for his exclusive session video for Bandwidth.
Visit http://www.myspace.com/paulshevlin

Download Mp3 (6.1 MB)

A Virginian migrant to these islands – and how welcome he is too. Heres an exclusive taster from his new album.
Visit http://www.gentrymorris.com

Download Mp3 (5 MB)

An amazing new band from Belfast who are already IN STORES NOW veterans.
Visit http://www.myspace.com/polarbeyond

Download Mp3 (3.8 MB)

State Intervention is a collaboration between Bandwidth and State webzine in Dublin. Flash gigs in Dublin’s shops, bars, parks and street corners, promoted purely online through State’s Twitter and Facebook profiles. Details are announced on the day, so keep up to date and find your way down.

This is the 4th ever State Intervention gig. This time around it’s Waterford’s very own O Emperor, competing with the crowd at the Twisted Pepper against the Brazil-Holland match. It ended 2-1 Holland people, eyes front.

Subscribe to the State Twitter feed and watch out for the next gig!

Tracklist
1. Po
2. Into The Sea
3. Don’t Mind Me

Read all about it on State.ie

Camera/Edit: Will McConnell
Sound/Mix: Ian Maleny

So where else is better to take the band than the roof of Belfast’s most famous building – the totemic Europa Hotel – still standing after all that nasty violence. And here Polar Beyond came alive. Standing on that rooftop overlooking the wee city turn to twilight, I all of a sudden came over all emotional.

The mood was hardly even ruined by the small point that we had to all sign death wavers before being allowed up there.

Download “Polar Beyond – Suns” for iPod (62.6 MB)

Listen to “Polar Beyond – Suns”

Download (Mp3, 4.1 MB)

Download “Polar Beyond – Chapter Two” for iPod (88.2 MB)

Listen to “Polar Beyond – Chapter Two”

Download (Mp3, 6.9 MB)

Camera: Will McConnell
Filmed in Belfast, April 2010

Welcome to the Bandwidth New Music Podcast – a free mp3 podcast of our favourite new unsigned music from Ireland North and South. Unlike many other new music podcasts, Bandwidth brings you the whole unadulterated mp3 track as the artist intended, with no extended intros or talky bits.

If you’d like Bandwidth to feature your music on the podcast, email us an mp3, complete with artwork attached to: sendyourmp3s@bandwidthfilms.com

>> To subscribe to the podcast feed click here

>> Or to subscribe on iTunes click here

An oldies but a goodie from the amazing Belfast dance/party act – Not Squares.
Visit http://www.myspace.com/notsquares

Download Mp3 (10 MB)

The amazing Skp Gibson creates music using only nintendo gameboys. Heres a sample of his work.
Visit http://www.myspace.com/skppp

Download Mp3 (10.2 MB)

From Lisburn – this track is taken from Clown Parlours debut album which is available for free on bandcamp.
Visit hhttp: //clownparlour.bandcamp.com/

Download Mp3 (9.3 MB)

From Lisburn – this track is taken from Clown Parlours debut album which is available for free on bandcamp.
Visit hhttp: //clownparlour.bandcamp.com/

Download Mp3 (9.3 MB)

The amazing Skp Gibson creates music using only nintendo gameboys. Heres a sample of his work.
Visit http://www.myspace.com/skppp

Download Mp3 (10.2 MB)

An oldies but a goodie from the amazing Belfast dance/party act – Not Squares.
Visit http://www.myspace.com/notsquares

Download Mp3 (10 MB)

10. Oppenheimer

Rest in Peace, sweet Princes

The aural equivalent of  of hokin’ a bag full of skittles into a bottle of coke and spraying the ensuing fizzy tsunami into a playground, the two-peice purveyors of pop are now sadly defunct. ‘Pop music, you know you’re gonna lose it soon‘ turned out to be a self fulfilling prophecy, as the duo have now gone their seperate ways. It was a messy break up, with Rocky snapped by the papparazzi getting out of a taxi in London with no knickers on; Shaun was last seen splayed across the centre pages of Nuts magazine.*

*Or so i’m told, in my head.

9. McFly

Squinty bastards

I was at a McFly concert once, and I found myself alone, the only stoical bastion of silent nobility in a sea of crazed, pepsi fuelled, screaming pre-teen girls. With a steely resolve I stuck the concert out, and found the event not displeasing to the ears. McFly are the band Busted could’ve been, and in the general context of modern Western society, that is a bold imposing statement. Try not to enjoy the brilliant ‘All About You’ sang by the pillow-tongued doughface and the Eoin Strathern lookalike.

8. Lily Allen

I would go through Keith to get to her

Mrs. Myspace is the gobby yet ultimatley endearing princess of twee-pop. Allen was also the first girl in the history of civilization to wear trainers with a dress, although she did steal the idea off that twat Nicky Wire. She’s so good she even comes with a bonus nipple that gets more air time than any of her contemporaries. In a survey I just made up, 78% of women believe she should be Prime Minister. You can’t argue with cold hard facts. They never listen.

7. Girls Aloud

One is from Derry, hi!

‘Here’s the idea‘ Pete Waterman said to barman of the Ivy Lodge. ‘We get five class lookin’ girls, right. They all have to be able to sing, have legs up to their arse and moves to go with it.’  The Barman is visibly interested as he tops up Waterman’s Baileys. ‘They’ll all look different, and have their own personalities.’ ‘Like the Power Rangers!’ the barman thought, but didn’t vocalize. ‘Yes.’ answered Pete, somehow. ‘It’ll never work.‘ thought the barman. And it never did.

6. Shakira

Shakira on her recent trip to Lough Neagh

She’s just too perfect. You’d never catch Shakira stumbling out of a London nightclub, legs like bambi and not a stitch of cloth between them, no no no. She’s too busy saving the lives of impoverished children, writing the most bizzare lyrics to the coolest pop tunes and smiling like a mad bitch. And she still has time to be fabulous, as they say in the business. They erected a statue of her in her hometown of Barranquilla, which is a small village near Carrickfergus. That’s our Shakira all right.

5. Sugababes

In the rare ould times, before it went tits up

The natural successors to All Saints’ ‘Edgy-yet-Mainstream-Groove-Pop-with-Sexually-Agressive-Females’ crown, Sugababes have managed to stay edgy and mainstream with a continuous revolving door policy were the members are concerned. They’ve managed to knock off a few good tunes, without ever feeling the need to deploy the definite article at the beginning of their name. And for that I salute them.

4. The Beatles

Podge, Saul, Bingo and Ron

You mightn’t have heard of these scouse scamps*, I know I hadn’t before I began my tedious and exact research for this article. Apparently they were big in the 1960′s, which was like a hundred years ago so their impact couldn’t possibly resonate today in every aspect of popular music digestable to the human ear. They gave Ed Sullivan his big break in America: it should be noted that their was no recorded crime anywere in the world when their performance on his show went out, and that alone makes them credible, nay, INCREDIBLE.

*They changed their name soon after to the Beatles

3. The Beach Boys

Band camp

Seen here posing for the pre-season West Bromich Albion team photograph (3 of them are regular starters for the Baggies), the Beach Boys made girls, surfing and driving fast cars cool. This is no small achievement, as these things were widely regarded as social kryptonite at the time.

2. Michael Jackson

:)

Pictured above minutes before his death, the King of Pop was snatched from our oily tentacles at the tender young age of 50. He made Neil Armstrong look like a floating twat with his dancing (Moonwalk my hole Neil), and he also starred in a subversive video game came in which he rescued young kids from predators – so take that Gavin Arvizo. It’s widely accepted in my head that he managed to maintain a zoo in his garden singlehandedly, so that makes him better than any of us.

1. The Kooky Plops

Kooky Plops

Fuck the Ting Tings, the Kooky Plops are music. Was it not Jon Landau who waxed lyrical ‘I have seen the future of pop and it’s name is the Kooky Plops‘? I believe it was, and their worldwide smash ‘This is a song I wrote’ justifies this hyperbolic madness. Alan Hansen got the album and he listed it’s attritubes on Match of the Day 2: ‘It has pace, power, accuracy and timing. An all round spectular performance from a real talent. They keep possession really well’.

Anyone who reads this shit on a regular basis…

[Editor’s Note: Ha!  That’s a list I’d like to see.]

… will have noticed that I haven’t been to a gig in a while.  To be honest I’ve been avoiding the Bandwidth building altogether.  Every time I’m in there it’s the same bloody thing from Will: ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got that money you owe me Ian?’  I mean talk about fucking rude.  Anyway I finally ran out of ideas for articles, and with no money to take myself to a gig, I gave in.  So, with my tail between my legs and my best attempt at a sincere expression on my face, I texted Johnny and told him I was resigning.  He must have been in Will’s office because within seconds I got an irate text from him, demanding he get his money back.  I tried to explain to him that that would not be possible, as the 28 day money back guarantee I got with the hot tub was voided when the filters became clogged with sodden Jaffa Cakes.  He didn’t seem to accept this as a valid excuse.
So with sorrow in my heart I went to the bar, ordered up my first shot and brew of the day and tried to zone out in front of the football.  By my third round I was close to broke and even closer to tears, and then I got a text.  It was from my friend Gill, which is strange because the only time she ever texts me is to ask about money I owe her.  This one was different.  ‘Want to go see Pearl Jam on Wed?’ is all it said.  You’re goddamn right I did.
‘You’re goddamn right I do,’ I replied.  Then I remembered she’s a Christian and I might have offended her.  ’Fuck, sorry about that,’ I added, and ordered up another drink.  This was my chance.  I’d write my way back into Bandwidth’s heart with the best This Is Not A Review article they’ve ever read!  Hell, Will might even forget all about that five hundred…

[Will: It’s six motherfucker!]

Wanting to make sure I had an exciting, eventful night so the article would be the best ever written, I decided to get good and loaded before the gig.  Having drank the last of my money in the bar celebrating my good fortune, though, I couldn’t afford any more booze.  I hunted through the house and all I found was half a bottle of peach schnapps and a bottle of Pimms.  Jesus, even I don’t sink that low.  So I went to visit my granddad and stole a bottle of his whiskey.  I laid into it with serious vigour – brought on by my deep-seated loathing of the Odyssey Arena.  The entire complex, in fact, can suck it.  It is without a doubt the most vomitous, scum sucking night spot in all of Belfast.  The only reason I went is that I was so desperate for something to write about, and I rationalised that on a Wednesday night, with a proper rock n roll crowd, it couldn’t be that bad.  The rationalising didn’t help much though, and I arrived with a heart full of hate and a belly full of whiskey.
I was instantly herded into an abattoir-esque queue so the security people could pat me down.  ‘Lucky I put my knife in my shoe,’ I joked to the girl next to me in line.  She looked at me stony-faced.
‘My best friend was stabbed to death,’ she said.  Anyone who knows of a suitable response to this is welcome to let me know in the comments section.  I’ll be fucked if I’m giving up my knife in the shoe joke – I use it all the time!  I just stared blankly at her and shuffled along.
‘Remove your shoes please sir,’ said the security guard.
‘You have got to be kidding me!’  To add insult to injury they took my whole ticket, instead of giving me back the stub, which infuriated me.  Tickets are designed to be ripped, so that each party can retain one half, and losers like me can collect all their tickets from every event they ever go to.  I digress…
Finally inside I located Gill, whom I’m sure is delighted to feature in this article.  I suspect, in fact, that it is the only reason she invited me, because she didn’t even try to act happy to see me.
‘You look drunk,’ was her greeting.
‘How would you know what I look like drunk?’
‘Because I have that picture on my phone of you wearing a nurse’s outfit and a cowboy hat.’  Touché.
‘Well anyway, how come you invited me?’ I asked.
‘Oh you were literally the last person left to ask,’ she said.  And she wasn’t even joking.  I thanked her for her honesty and told her I was off to find the bar.
‘Oh this round’s on me,’ she said.
‘No, I couldn’t possibly…’
‘It’s no problem.’
‘Okay then I’ll have four pints,’ I said.  And I wasn’t even joking.
The joke was on me, though, when she returned with four pints of Harp.  I could have mistaken it for piss but for the temperature, because as everyone knows – it’s not the quality of the beer, it’s how cold you can make it that counts.  I downed the first one and it was so bad I gave the other three away to a couple of hipster chicks, whom Gill informed me looked too young to be in the standing area, let alone be drinking.
‘Lucky the only thing I tried to give them was beer, huh?’ I said.  And that joke went down about as well as the knife in the shoe one.
Gill dragged me to the front, got herself a good space and let me wedge myself between two couples who were none too happy about my intrusion.  One of them was the chick from the queue and her boyfriend.  She gave me a dirty look and tried to move away but the crowd was too tightly packed for anyone other than small chicks with innocent smiles and a complete disregard for common courtesy.  Like Gill, who shouted ‘That’s Ben Harper.  I love him,’ and ducked under some guy’s arm, disappearing into the crowd.  And that was the last I saw of her that night.  She presumably spent the rest of the evening front and centre, gawking at Eddie Vedder.  Ben Harper was the support act, of course, and he was admittedly very good.  If you don’t believe me, check him out for yourself.  Gill’s space was quickly nabbed by the two hipster chicks with innocent smiles, a complete disregard for common courtesy, and three pints of Harp between them.  I considered asking for one of my pints back and couldn’t bring myself to, so I spent the rest of the gig trying to decide whether giving up my good view was worth an over-priced pint of shitty beer and never quite making my mind up.  So I stood there like a thirsty fool, watching the two underage boppers drinking my beer and wondering why the hell I ever bother leaving the house.
Pearl Jam took their time about coming on.  When they did, and Eddie Vedder said something about having a long set planned, I a have to admit my heart sank a bit.  I was already bored of standing, much too sober, and soaked with sweat – only some of which was my own.  It would have been a different matter altogether in a different venue with easy access to a proper bar, which is why I will never go to the Odyssey ever again.  That’s my complaining all done, though, because as for the actual show, I couldn’t fault it.  For some reason I was expecting something rather tame.  What I got was balls out rock n roll.  I obviously underestimated the band because despite the fact that they’ve been doing this for about as long as I’ve been alive, they haven’t lost any of their energy and stage presence.  Eddie wasn’t climbing the rafters, of course, but he still smashed around the stage swilling champagne and interacting with the crowd the way any good front man should.  I can’t help but smile when I see that sort of enthusiasm – obviously a band still enjoying what they’re doing.  The set list was indeed long and pleasantly varied – lots of songs I knew well and lots of ones I’ve never even heard before that were surprisingly badass.  They also dedicated a song to a couple in the audience who just gotten married, and got everyone in the arena to sing Happy Birthday to their producer Brendan O’Brien, which sounds like a bunch of soppy shit but was actually a lot of fun.  I admit it – even though I’ve liked Pearl Jam for years, I didn’t expect to enjoy the show quite as much as I did.  Our wee town isn’t exactly a high profile gig but they honestly put their heart and soul into putting on a damn fine show, and that’s all I ever really ask of a band.  That and strippers, but no band I’ve seen has ever come through with the strippers, so I tend not to hold it against them.
By the time they came back out for the encore I was dying of thirst.  The security guards had been handing out cups of water all night and I had failed to get my hands on one.  When they started floating around again I grabbed for one and, in my excitement, bumped into one of the drunken hipsters, knocking her camera out of her hand.  I necked the water, never having tasted anything so refreshing in my life, and quickly stooped down to pick up the camera.  ‘Look out, he’s got a knife!’ screamed the girl from the queue earlier, and went scrambling off through the crowd leaving her bewildered boyfriend behind.  Luckily Pearl Jam were still blasting away and no one took any notice of her.  I smiled a smug, vengeful smile, and handed the camera back to the hammered hipster honey (Huh? Huh?).

[Editor’s Note: (cringing) Oh my God…]

Almost tearful with gratitude she said ‘Awww, thank y…’ and puked beer all over me.  Amazingly, it was still kind of cold.

Subscribe to the State Twitter feed and watch out for the next gig!

Tracklist
1. Mirror
2. Feeling Oblivion
3. Painkiller
4. Underdog (Save Me)

Read all about it on State.ie

Camera/Edit: Will McConnell
Camera: James Goulden
Sound: Ian Maleny

Photo by Kieran Frost.

There’ll be an update every monday for the whole of June and then we’ll launch them as we get ‘em, so it’s over to you now.

If you’d like Bandwidth to feature your music on the podcast, email us an mp3, complete with artwork attached to: sendyourmp3s@bandwidthfilms.com

>> To subscribe to the podcast feed click here

>> Or to subscribe on iTunes click here

Cork Citys very own Bill Coleman – taken from THE BLACK AND GREEN EP.
Visit http://www.myspace.com/billcolemanmusic

Download Mp3 (6.5 MB)

Visit http://www.myspace.com/elspethmusic

Download Mp3 (10.1 MB)

From the EP Let The Silence Go.
Visit http://heliopause.bandcamp.com/

Download Mp3 (8.6 MB)

From the EP Let The Silence Go.
Visit http://heliopause.bandcamp.com/

Download Mp3 (8.6 MB)

Visit http://www.myspace.com/elspethmusic

Download Mp3 (10.1 MB)

Download Mp3 (6.5 MB)

When the series first started we had a list of bands in mind who would suit the style of the series perfectly. Pretty much top of that list was The Lowly Knights, and its a great privilege to finally present this session – and it was worth the wait.

So, better late than never, here’s 4 tracks recorded in Belfast’s Common Grounds Café. Two tracks, Even Keel and This Other Boy will feature on the new EP coming this September, so this is an exclusive first listen.

The Lowly Knights play Belfast Empire Music Hall on Thursday 1 July with Queer Giraffes, Rams’ Pocket Radio and Farriers. Babysweet Session’s Gregg Houston will MC the proceedings.

Download “The Lowly Knights – Even Keel” for iPod (57.7 MB)

Listen to The Lowly Knights – “Even Keel”

Download “The Lowly Knights – Hollow” for iPod (49.5 MB)

Listen to The Lowly Knights – “Hollow”

Download “The Lowly Knights – This Other Boy” for iPod (58.7 MB)

Listen to The Lowly Knights – “This Other Boy”

Download “The Lowly Knights – You Can’t Help Who You Love” for iPod (58.8 MB)

Listen to The Lowly Knights – “You Can’t Help Who You Love”

Filmed by Will McConnell in Belfast, May 2010

Daniel Robson is a British music journalist and events organiser based in Tokyo.
For info about Japanese bands playing in the UK and a free podcast, visit his site It Came From Japan.

Natccu photographed by Masako Miyazaki

It’s a volume thing. As we all know, the most oft-used phrase in the international dictionary of rock’n’roll is ‘turn it up’ – and music venues don’t come much louder than those here in Tokyo.

It’s not only the Budokan-sized mega-halls that are pushing air: even the venues on the toilet circuit are merciless ear-crushers. It’s a combination of the fact that these ‘live houses’ are usually underground and soundproofed to the teeth, that Japanese people are world-class obsessives for pro technology, and that bands have to pay to play there. The result is a glorious cacophony of visceral live bands – take grrrl-punk trio Bo-Peep, whose fierce show has battered stages not only around Japan but also the UK and US. Or Guitar Wolf, the chaotic garage band whose 1999 album ‘Jet Generation’ was touted by Matador Records as the loudest CD ever made.

It’s not only the punks who get to make a racket. Chart-friendly bands such as GO!GO!7188, whose albums of genre-hopping leftfield pop are recorded with painstaking restraint, leap several decibels when they take the stage. Meanwhile, velvet-voiced post-pop class act Natccu (pictured above) has honed such a sharp edge recently that she’s even coerced Stooges bassist Mike Watt to guest on her forthcoming album.

This is not to suggest that Japan is the most rock’n’roll country on earth. In daily life, conformity is king, and most Japanese conduct themselves with dignity, care and grace. Rules are everywhere, whether explicit or otherwise – don’t eat on the street, don’t litter, don’t use your phone on the train, don’t wear dowdy clothes, don’t disrespect your superiors or elders, don’t use your paid holidays, don’t leave the office before the boss. The music industry is tightly controlled, and the media bends to the will of the major management companies and talent agencies, which wield extraordinary power.

But to judge Japan’s music industry by the Western definition of rock’n’roll is of course as ludicrous and ignorant as comparing sushi with a Sunday roast. The culture is just too different. There’s virtually no crime or poverty here – great staples of rock’n’roll zeitgeist. There’s very little to worry about, and if everybody lives in comfort, why rebel? Why complain? So the vast majority of bands here play positive music untinged by the heavy cynicism that is so essential to us Brits. It’s actually quite refreshing, because it’s more honest. After all, it’s not like Arctic Monkeys or The Enemy are about to lead us into revolution.

Of course, life isn’t perfect here, and the best artists are those who buck convention and address society’s darker elements. Originally hailing from Osaka but now based in Tokyo, jazz-punk band Midori combine tight musicianship with an anti-conformist message and the most disturbing frontwoman you’ve ever seen. Soutaiseiriron, meanwhile, take a subtler route, with gorgeously crafted songs about Japan’s seedier side – schoolgirls seducing their teachers, spoiled princesses turning sour, weird cults and superficial relationships. The band make a further point about their distaste for celebrity society by refusing to ever do interviews and forbidding photography at their live shows.

Japan’s music scene is one of the most diverse and vibrant in the world (and also the only one that’s still making money). Genre boundaries are often less strict than in the West, and you’ll hear bands here that turn your ears to jelly. Sure, 90% of the music in the charts is shite – just like in the UK, or anywhere else. But do a little digging and you might just find something that steals your heart – and ruins your hearing.

Subscribe to It Came From Japan on itunes
or listen here:

All tracks used with permission.
©2010 It Came From Japan

12 Months ago today, Bandwidth launched a little series called IN STORES NOW, and we started as we meant to go on with two superb sessions from Escape Act and Clown Parlour. Originally the series was meant to run once a week for 12 weeks, all based around the Cathedral Quarter. 41 episodes later and we’re still going strong..

The Cathedral Quarter golden rule went out the window by about episode 9, and by the time we broke episode 13 we were already developing a reputation for uncovering major new talent.

During 2009 we made movies, got arty, had festive fun, things got a bit freaky at points – there are also fan favourites and personal favourites.

So after a year, the plan for IN STORES NOW is to continue documenting new Irish music North & South – and we’ll be taking it on the road to other towns outside Belfast over the summer. There’s an infinite amount of great talent on this wee island. But seeing as there’s only so many of these things in the world, I just can’t promise they’ll always take place in stores per se….

Aaron Shanley – Cotton Fields
(B-Side of In Stores now#25: AARON SHANLEY)

Download “Aaron Shanley – Cotton Fields” for iPod (53.7 MB)

Furlo – Logic Too Late (Take 1)
(B-Side of IN STORES NOW#22: FURLO)

Download “Furlo – Logic Too Late (Take 1)” for iPod (88 MB)

Maguire & I – On Time
(B-Side of IN STORES NOW#10: MAGUIRE & I)

Download “Maguire & I – On Time” for iPod (74.1 MB)

Colenso Parade – Find Your Mother
(B-Side of IN STORES NOW#35: COLENSO PARADE)

Download for “Colenso Parade – Find Your Mother” iPod (83.1 MB)

Filmed in Belfast 2009-2010 by Will McConnell
Sound recorded by Will McConnell & Sean Duncan

Download the isolated audio tracks from these sessions for your listening pleasure – as individual tracks or download the entire EP as a zip file

→ Download Audio Zip file here (4x Mp3s 22.1 MB)

—————————————————————————–

1. Aaron Shanley – Cotton Fields

→ Download “Cotton Fields” Mp3 (3.9 MB)

2. Colenso Parade – Find Your Mother

→ Download “Find Your Mother” Mp3 (6.2 MB)

3. Furlo – Logic Too Late

→ Download “Logic Too Late” Mp3 (6.4 MB)

4. Maguire & I – On Time

→ Download “On Time” Mp3 (6 MB)

All Content:

You can hear a track from A National Light on this week’s new music podcast.

Read more here: THERAGS.COM

There’ll be an update every monday for the whole of June and then we’ll launch them as we get ‘em, so it’s over to you now.

If you’d like Bandwidth to feature your music on the podcast, email us an mp3, complete with artwork attached to: sendyourmp3s@bandwidthfilms.com

>> To subscribe to the podcast feed click here

>> Or to subscribe on iTunes click here

From their latest EP – Pieces.Ripcord.Words. Visit: http://deadlights.bandcamp.com/album/pieces-ripcord-words

Download Mp3 (7.3 MB)

Amazing crazy music from Banbridge Northern Ireland.

Visit http://www.myspace.com/abandcalledboy.

Download Mp3 (8.9 MB)

A band from Dublin called The Rags who have just put out a new album called A National Light. Check it out. Visit http://therags.com/.

Download Mp3 (3.9 MB)

A band from Dublin called The Rags who have just put out a new album called A National Light. Check it out. Visit http://therags.com/.

Download Mp3 (3.9 MB)

Amazing crazy music from Banbridge Northern Ireland.

Visit http://www.myspace.com/abandcalledboy.

Download Mp3 (8.9 MB)

From their latest EP – Pieces.Ripcord.Words. Visit: http://deadlights.bandcamp.com/album/pieces-ripcord-words

Download Mp3 (7.3 MB)

10. ‘Please please me/Like I please you‘-  The Beatles

The implicit meaning of aformentioned lyric

on a superficial listen ‘Please Please Me’ boasts a nice little word play in the chorus; a catchy use of the semantic differences of the word ‘please’. On an uncalled for analytical level, the lyric becomes a depraved beg for the reciprocation of a certain sexual act that I will not sully the good nature of this website my mentioning. To be honest, I just wanted a lyric that I could use in context with the above picture, because it’s hilarious.

9. ‘Lucky that my breasts are small and humble/So you don’t confuse them with mountains’ – Shakira

Mountains, not to be confused with Sharkira's boobs

Have you ever sat in with the other half on a friday night; the curry half n’half and a bottle of Paul Mason have went down well, you and your partner both laugh at the wacky friend in the latest Sandra Bullock movie – and then it happens. Your eyes meet, you lock lips, things get passionate. Your hand slides up her poncho to get a grip of her… hard rocky terrain? ‘IT’S NOT MY LOVER’S BREAST’ you scream, ‘IT’S A MOUNTAIN!’  You open your eyes and you’re kissing a tuft of moss on the side of the Black Mountain. Happens all the time.

8. ‘Lucky I have strong legs like my mother/To run for cover when i need it‘ – Shakira, again.

Shakira and her ma, legs like lamb shanks.

This lyric is disconcerting to thine ear, no? It suggests to me that, like her mother, Shakira gravitates towards violent men. Which is a pity for us limp-wristed dandies, because she is a lovely. A big lovely.

7. ‘Someday you will find me/Caught beneath a landslide‘ – Oasis

Hilarious caption

Champagne Supernova boasts some of the best (worst?) psuedo-profound bollocks ever penned, yet the opening line of the chorus is often overlooked. It sounds like the threat of a man on a suicide mission. You can imagine Noel Gallagher shaking his fist Liamward and prodigously speaking this line. He’ll be found a few days later trapped under a few rocks on the side of the Black Mountain.*

*He was over visiting relatives in Belfast and went for a climb.

6. ‘I read in rap pages they refer to me as soft/Yeah, more like MicroSoft!’ – Will Smith

All the clues are there, you just gotta look for 'em...

Will Smith has been dropping us hints for the best part of his career. This portentous little ditty may seem just like means to an end on first listen; a capricious flight of fancy that wouldn’t alert the reader to the ominous danger that lurked in it’s meaning. That’s write, gentle reader, Will Smith is a robot. His lyrics are rendered by a word processing system made my Microsoft, which is probably why they are so rubbish. Oh and he blatantly admits to being a robot in the above poster. ‘I, Robot’. Aye, robot!

5. ‘Now we go steady to the pictures/I always get chocolate stains on my pants’ – Thin Lizzy

Definitely Phil Lynott

What does he be doing?  Think about it.

4. ‘Well, my heart went “boom,”/When I crossed that room,’ – The Beatles

The ominous effects of lusting after a 17 year old

There is two ways one can deconstruct this lyric. Either Paul McCartney is a young buck suffering an attack of Sudden Cardiac Arrest at the sight of a barely legal teenage girl, or he’s adopted a character narrative and is singing through the eyes of a more appropriatley aged elder man, who would be liable to such an attack. I can’t decide which is more terrifying. The next line of the song ‘and I held her hand in mine‘ conjures up images of the protagonist lying on the floor, clutching at his teenage love’s hand in his last moments. Or so I think anyway.

3. ‘Kids don’t behave like this‘ – A Plastic Rose

I asked for Tennants not Carlsberg, pathetic seed of mine

A bit of a local entry from young blow-in’s A Plastic Rose. The anthemic chorus has everybody in belfast wetting their frillies, and rightly so- it’s a great tune. However, the meaning of the chorus is lost on me so I conjured up my own, AS IS MY WONT. So here it is: Gerry Norman is a strict disciplinarian but remains unscrupulous with his deployment of diction. Thus, when berating his children, he retains a sense of unspecificity in his choice of noun – just to fuck with their heads. Are they being punished for what they have done specifically, or what kids the world over have done. Only A Plastic Rose truely know.

2. ‘Boom shake-shake-shake the room‘- Jazzy Jeff

Osama, or Jazzy Jeff? You decide

This feel good hit took over the world in the summer of 93. I was a but a young pup, but I remember the room being shaken, or shuck depending where you’re from, like it was yesterday. Alas, that was a more innocent life and now due to these terror stricken uncertain times we live in, the lyric has been hideously transformed into a feel good call to arms for generation T. For ‘terrorist’.

1. ‘Do Do Do Do Do/Do Do Do Do Do/Do Do Do Do Do/This is Insania‘ – Peter Andre

Spazzing out like a mad huer at the latest Andre-Fest

If you ever catch yourself singing along to this, take yourself to the side and have word with yourself. Would you mock a mentally unstable person, repeating what they said? Yes No you wouldn’t, so don’t do it to poor Pierre, even if he does qualify his chorus with the bizzarre ephiphany ‘this is insania’. The song is clearly the ramblings of a mentally unstable madman, the chorus’ serving as an incomprehensible crescendo to even stranger verses:

Take a look around
At what technology has found
Is it what we need?
Or are we killing the seed?
Dictated by the screen
No more following your dreams
The world’s become a difficult place to be

Cloning will diverse
Aging will reverse
Insanity is slowly, creeping into our lives, yeah
Where is yesterday? Cause people ain’t the same
Have we lost the faith? Or have we lost our minds

Terrifying.

With the recent release of the documentary American: The Bill Hicks Story I was tempted to write something about Bill for Bandwidth.  I was hesitant though, thinking I may not be worthy, and also concerned that there just might not be anything left to say about him.  Then Will went to see the movie too and, being a big fan himself, suggested I write something.  And who am I to argue with the boss?  At worst this will be a long winded movie recommended.  At best, I might introduce you to not only one of the funniest stand up comics ever, but one of the best thinkers of our time.

[Editor’s Note: Derisive scoff.]

[Bill Hicks’s spirit: Shut the fuck up!]

Stand up comedy requires some serious balls.  There’s just no place to hide.  No backing music, no second takes, no fellow performers to feed you lines.  Just a microphone, a spotlight, and a pair of balls bigger even than those of Officer Nigger-Hater from Bill’s Arizona Bay CD.  And that’s probably why so many stand up comedians suck.  From the pathetically offensive Jim Davidson to the offensively pathetic Patrick Kielty, a lot of these motherfuckers just aren’t funny.  Even the good ones – Peter Kay, Ricky Gervais and Michael McIntyre – are joke blowers at best.  Those guys are good at what they do, and what they do is make people laugh, but comparing modern stand up comedy to what Bill Hicks did is like comparing Joe Satriani to Jimmy Page.  Joe is a goddamn blistering guitarist, but he didn’t change rock n roll music like Jimmy did.  Like Bill Hicks changed comedy.  His act wasn’t just about making people laugh, it was about spreading truth, no matter how controversial that truth may be.  It was about saying what he wanted to say and not giving a shit what anyone thought about it.  In fact, Bill said it best, when he demanded of musicians: ‘PLAY IT FROM YOUR FUCKING HEART!’

This was not just entertainment.  Bill was not interested in letting you zone out or giving you a cheap chuckle.  In fact, he waged war against the sort of television that did just that.  Bill wanted you engaged, ready to re-evaluate some of your thoughts on life.  And Bill wanted to save our souls – from the government, from religion, from the media, and from ourselves.  But as well as being the thing that set him apart from so many other comedians, this is the very thing that critics of his work deride.  Some people dismissed his philosophy as leftist, acid-induced liberalism.  And some people just don’t like being told that their way of life is fucked.  These people are commonly known as ’Americans’.  Just kidding.  I know a few Americans and they’re all way smarter than I am.  But it’s true that, at least while he was alive, Bill never really found a mainstream audience in America.  He had much more success in the UK, where audiences were (perhaps understandably) more receptive to his America-bashing.  I think he was misunderstood though.  He sure as shit wasn’t a patriot – he made his thoughts on patriotism very clear – but he didn’t hate America.  He didn’t hate people, either, despite often coming across as a cynic and a misanthrope.  He was just disillusioned with how things were going and had his own brand of medicine for it called ‘the truth’.  The problem for most people is, his medicine didn’t come with a spoonful of sugar to help it go down.  It did come with a few dick jokes though.

You know who Socrates was, right?  Yeah, that Greek philosopher dude.  But do you know how Socrates spent most of his days?  Not in his study, staring at the clouds and writing down vague, abstract ideas.  He walked around the agora, talking to the public and asking them open ended questions like ‘What is justice?’  Not because he wanted an answer, but because he realised that most people just don’t think about this stuff.  We’re content to let others worry about that shit and tend to just buy whatever they tell us.  Socrates was having none of that shit.  He went out and challenged people; made them think.

[Readers: You’re not really going to compare Bill Hicks to Socrates, one of the most influential philosophers of all time, are you?]

You’re goddamn right I am.  Sure, Socrates probably didn’t have an alter ego called Goat Boy, who had a penchant for underage girls, but who knows?  The fact is rather than walking the streets talking to strangers, Bill was pacing around a dark little stage, chain-smoking and offering up some new perspectives on life.  He believed, like Socrates did, that people should lead an examined life.  Question things.  In Bill’s own words: ’evolve ideas’.  It might be a little rough and ready, but it’s pure philosophy, and the fact that he made everybody laugh shouldn’t diminish that.

When Hunter S. Thompson came along they coined a phrase.  Okay so they coined a lot of phrases for Hunter, but the one I’m referring to is ’outlaw journalism’.  Well if Hunter was an outlaw journalist, Bill Hicks was an outlaw comic.  He was an outlaw because he just was not afraid.  He wasn’t afraid to choose a life that meant scratching out a living travelling the county to do shows in tiny comedy clubs and bars.  And he wasn’t afraid to tell the truth.  Whether it be the truth about the Gulf war – when no other comedian would touch it – his under voiced opinion on drugs, or just his ‘sucking your own dick’ bit, never mind getting on stage and saying this stuff out loud, most of us would never get past ‘Jesus, what would my mum think?’

Bill’s mum didn’t really know what to think, but even she told him he wasn’t too far off being a preacher.  His answer, ‘I am a preacher.’  He preached his own gospel, and used language you’d never hear in church, but I agree – he was a preacher.  There’s a reason that every time someone mentions the best stand up comedians of all time the same names crop up: Lenny Bruce, Richard Pryor, George Carlin, and Bill Hicks.  It’s a brand of comedy that resonates with you long after the laughter dies down, because there’s a point to it.  An honesty to it.  Bill Hicks was a preacher, and he practiced what he preached.  He never sold out.  Never did an advertisement.  Never censored his own material to reach a wider audience.  This level of integrity is very rare, and that’s what makes him special.  Even if you don’t agree with everything he had to say – he wouldn’t ask you to – you can trust that Bill Hicks would never bullshit you.  And if he’s a little harsh with you, it’s for your own good.  American: The Bill Hicks Story wouldn’t be a bad place to start with Bill.  A sort of ’easing in’ approach.  Or you could do it like I did and jump in the deep end with his Rant In E-Minor.  Bill’s not with us any more – which is shame because something tells me 8 years of George W. would have brought about some good material – so it’s important to keep his word alive.  If you’ve never seen or heard one of Bill’s shows I urge you to do so.  You might find you don’t even need the mushrooms – your third eye will be quite cleanly squee-geed (Damn, I never thought I’d have to write that word) just listening to him.  But a warning for those easily offended, and those too mired in their own self-belief to even want to think differently – Bill’s a divisive guy – so some of you probably won’t like him.  Well, there’s always Lee Evans, right?

Of course I couldn’t do this thing justice, so I’ll let Bill close the show.

Suggested Listening: The Bill Hicks Discography
Dangerous (1990)
Relentless (1992)
Arizona Bay (1997)
Rant in E-Minor (1997)
Philosophy: The Best of Bill Hicks (2001)
Love, Laughter and Truth (2002)
Flying Saucer Tour Vol. 1 (2002)
Shock and Awe (2003)
Salvation (2005)

Bandwidth had a hand in a unique exhibition based in Belfast Oh Yeah Centre. The project was called True Confessions and the idea was to record the musical memories of Northern Ireland’s gig going population for future posterity. Steven Rainey was dutifully dispatched to share his own.

Illustration by Stephen Graham.
Photos by Liz Wade.

I was sitting in a shed, lit by candles. The walls were decorated with clippings from the music press from the last ten years or so. A curtain was pulled back, and a cardboard cut-out of Fergal Sharkey’s face appeared.

The former Undertone’s voice crackled through a tiny amplifier, and I was instructed to reveal my musical “guilty secret”, the one band that is indefensible in my musical collection.

Stumbling over my words, I cast my mind through the hundreds of records I’ve owned over the years, struggling to recall the most horrifically embarrassing choice. Images of Simple Minds’ Jim Kerr wearing a white trenchcoat with the sleeves rolled up, releasing a white dove of peace into the sky, flashed before my eyes. Paddy MacAloon, the bard of the bedsit, singing the lines, “Hot dog, jumping frog, Albuquerque”. Bob Dylan, struggling to cope with the stylistic changes of the 80s, wearing a grey suit jacket, looking lost, whilst mumbling, “Wiggle wiggle, like a can of soup.”

I’ve owned them all, and – in their own way – I love them.

Without thinking, I blurted out my answer:

“Yes!”

Instantly, I recoiled. How could I tarnish my beloved Yes? What compelled me to say that this band, which has given me so much pleasure, is musically indefensible? A guilty secret? Was I implying that Yes, perhaps the greatest band on the planet, were somehow terrible? And – even more damningly – that I was EMBARRASSED of them?

In many respects, it’s hard to be a Yes fan. Most people only recall the phenomenally popular 1983 hit, ‘Owner of a Lonely Heart’, but the “true” fans (ie. Me) aren’t interested in that one. We delve further back through the mists of time, sailing on the Topographic Ocean, going Closer to the Edge.

These were the glory days of progressive rock.

It’s the year 2010, and in the last three years, I’ve managed to write not one, but two articles on this most derided of musical genres. One of them had an affectionate, yet mocking tone, whilst the other was an interview with the legendary album cover artist Roger Dean, and afforded me the opportunity to be a little more serious and analytical, treating the music with a degree of the respect I felt it should be awarded.

But even still, I felt the need to hide behind a masque of irony, never revealing my true feelings. There’s just something so unbelievably naff about the very idea of prog, that admitting to liking it in any genuine way is akin to revealing that your favourite pastime is masturbating whilst wearing a woollen cardigan, looking at a picture of Dame Thora Hird. Ie. Something that you don’t share with people in public.

After making my confession to Rev. Sharkey, I felt saddened that I had betrayed my secret prog rock heritage, and perhaps inspired by the golden spirit of Wakeman, a newfound pride swelled within my breast…

“Actually,” I started, taking my first steps upon the Golden Path, “I take that back. I’m not ashamed of Yes. They were amazing. And ‘Gates of Delirium’, from their 1974 masterpiece Relayer, is AWESOME!”

Or words to that effect. I was caught up in a moment of evangelical fury, and couldn’t keep track of what I was saying.

When push comes to shove, some of this stuff is brilliant, a pure distillation of all that is good and great in rock music. It gets a rough ride for being overblown and pompous, but in the right context, this is precisely what makes it great. Punk was perhaps the most seismic shift in Western musical history (on both sides of the Atlantic), and in its wake lots of what went before was instantly declared extinct, off limits –VERBOTEN!

And this musical climate continues to exert its influence today, with certain things being so inherently uncool, that they just don’t feature in the world of pop music anymore. With the all conquering dominance of the internet, music has never been more accessible, and the boundaries between genres have never mattered less. Bands can draw upon a seemingly limitless spectrum of influences, and mix them all together in one giant contemporary pot.

But you’d be hard pressed to find that many people shouting from the rooftops about the strong influence of ELP in their music. Or how the lyrical concerns of Rush are relevant in today’s society (possibly beacasue they’re not….sorry, Neil Peart).

Sure, some bands do risk it from time to time, but even then, it’s slipped in under the radar, as some kind of post-ironic gesture, to confound and irritate. And even then, they are rarely that vocal about it, lest someone actually call them on it, and they have to reveal that the primary motivation to form this new, uber-hip band, was Camel’s Music Inspired by the Snow Goose.

(That scenario would never happen, by the way.)

However, during the Stalinist purges that happened in the post-punk years, many pre-punk prog rock fans simply kept their obsession private, hiding a worn out copy of The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway (Genesis, 1974) underneath a brand spanking new copy of Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasures, and Meat is Murder by The Smiths. The Jam sang of “Going Underground”, but prog fans actually lived it.

Thus existed a culture of surface level futurism, with people obsessing over new musical movements, the lack of pretention that punk had ushered in, and the DIY “anyone can do this” spirit that allowed gleeful amateurs – such as myself – to have a go at music, and be allowed to attempt creativity, without having the technical expertise previously required.

And all the while, we were listening to lightning fast guitar solos, sounding like they’d blasted on to the earth from outer space, whilst Rick Wakeman used Moogs, Mellotrons, and other strange and alien devices, to let us hear the VERY SOUND OF CREATION ITSELF!

Yes, Rick Wakeman – the Lord of Prog.

With his golden locks, his propensity for playing as many simultaneous keyboard solos as humanly possible (ie. Two), and his well documented love of beer and curry, he was an icon to many, reviled in equal measure. Wakeman was the personification of “Flash”, and that’s ultimately what led to him being written out of history, with the post-punk shunning of materialism and flamboyance. But this is precisely what made him great, a larger than life ability to be LARGER THAN LIFE, and innate understanding that rock music should be stupid – gloriously so – and an incredible musical alchemy that allowed him to take Yes in new and uncharted directions. He is a celebration of the ridiculous, in the purest possible way, and was smart enough to know that the best rock music shouldn’t be scared to be silly.

On the other hand, there’s the studied cerebral intensity of Robert Fripp, the man behind King Crimson. They’ve not suffered as much as some of their other astral travellers (stand up: Rush), perhaps because they had the good grace to split up BEFORE punk, and were therefore spared the cull. But much of their music still stands up today as incredibly vital, a dark pulsating beast of pure evil. Just listen to the surges of guitar and bass on their ‘final’ album, 1974’s Red (They reformed in the 80s and release a series of impressive, if inessential art-rock albums. Kinda like a more ‘arty’ Talking Heads, if such a thing were possible. Which it is, clearly). This was music made by men who had glimpsed a darkness that we mere mortals could only dream of in our worst nightmares. More importantly, there’s nothing bloated or pretentious about this music, giving lie to the claim that all prog was this flabby indulgent beast. Turn the lights off, bolt the door, and let Fripp and co scare the shit out of you.

And all along the way, there’s many moments of pure, unbridled musical enjoyment. From Chris Squire’s impossibly versatile and funky bass sound in Yes, to the throbbing electronic pulse and sludgy guitar dirt of Hawkwind, there’s always moments that are worth waiting for. And given the pure intentions of the majority of the players involved – a genuinely exploratory approach to music, a desire to push things forward, and a conviction that the thuggish sexism of yore should be left behind (although there are exceptions to this, it must be said…) – it appears that prog has been given an unjustly rough ride in the last 30 years.

So perhaps it’s time to throw off the shackles of ‘style’ (and perhaps  even ‘taste’, if I’m being truly honest…) and re-assess progressive rock, giving it a second chance to peacefully exist in this supposedly ‘enlightened’ age? Its been many years since the Punk Wars, and perhaps it’s time to forgive? Looking out over the precipice of a new dawn, can we not just let the healing begin?

As for me, I’ll be leading the charge, flying above my armies using a gatefold edition of Tales From Topographic Oceans as a magic carpet, Wakeman-esque gold cape atop my shoulders.

Anyone care to join me?

True Confessions is currently showing 9am-5pm at the Oh Yeah Centre, admission is free

“An artist with true character, captivating creativty and enough imagnation to run for years and years. This is just the beginning.”

One year on and its just getting better and better. Cara has a full band behind her now and is developing a unique and magical voice of her very own. So it’s with great pleasure we present this In Stores gig with Cara and her new band.

It took place on April saturday, a busy shopping day in Belfast. Wehre else to start but in cococouture, a luxury chocolate shop in Donegal Square?

Download ‘Surprise Surprise’ for iPod (46.7 MB)

Full credit to Joe Laverty for spotting this one. We were on our way to the next location when he pointed out this place. Sliiiiiiide as it’s so affectionately known in Belfast is.. well, its not the kind of place I’d be caught dead in, unless its from an ecstasy overdose or something. But damn it if they don’t have a pretty bar and a great looking 30s-speakeasy-type-dancefloor. Cue Cara.

Download ‘Names’ for iPod (45.3 MB)

And finally thanks to all the staff at Best Vintage for providing this video with some well deserved classy nudes, and Cat Power laying in the background on vinyl (vinyl!!). A very classy conclusion to the most enjoyable session Bandwidth has done in months!

Download ‘Go Quietly’ for iPod (45 MB)

Filmed by Will McConnell in Belfast, April 2010
Sound recorded/ Mixed by Joe Laverty

There’ll be an update every monday for the whole of June and then we’ll launch them as we get ‘em, so it’s over to you now.

If you’d like Bandwidth to feature your music on the podcast, email us an mp3, complete with artwork attached to: sendyourmp3s@bandwidthfilms.com

>> To subscribe to the podcast feed click here

>> Or to subscribe on iTunes click here

Before Machines launched two new tracks on their bandcamp page last week – this track and another Hearts. Check it out here: http://beforemachines.bandcamp.com/

Download (7.6MB)

Its great to see new material from the fabulous Patiosounds. This is a free sample from their new EP Walking For Days which you can buy for a very reasonable 2 pounds here http://patiosounds.bandcamp.com/

Download Mp3 (6.6MB)

An amazing band from Coleraine called The Good Fight launch their latest single Hats On Sticks for download Monday 14th June. Heres the B-Side – Hospitals. Visit: http://thegoodfight.bandcamp.com/

Download Mp3 (6 MB)

An amazing band from Coleraine called The Good Fight launch their latest single Hats On Sticks for download Monday 14th June. Heres the B-Side – Hospitals. Visit: http://thegoodfight.bandcamp.com/

Download Mp3 (6 MB)

Each night a different support act were invited – and there were some great acts like Fighting With Wire and Jetplane Landing. Bandwidth was there the third night, where the admittedly unexpected announcement was made that Farriers would fill the final support slot.

Bandwidth is totally gay for La Faro and our friends will be no strangers to Farriers, so it goes without saying how excited we were to be there. Let the videos commence.

Download for iPod (89.3 MB)

Download for iPod (71.8 MB)

Download for iPod (72 MB)

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No we couldn’t resist this opportunity. A little kept secret of this century is that La Faro frontman Johnny Black is partial to a little bluegrass and folk – and that he and Farriers’ male singer Stephen McCartney share a fancy for a little Old Crow Medecine Show.

So this film was in the half an hour between soundcheck and doors open. Prizes to the person who names every folk and blues reference in this acoustic jam. Not really.

Download for iPod (163.1 MB)

Filmed by Will McConnell & Sean Duncan in Belfast, April 2010

Its great to see new material from the fabulous Patiosounds. This is a free sample from their new EP Walking For Days which you can buy for a very reasonable 2 pounds here http://patiosounds.bandcamp.com/

Download Mp3 (6.6MB)

Before Machines launched two new tracks on their bandcamp page last week – this track and another Hearts. Check it out here: http://beforemachines.bandcamp.com/

Download (7.6MB)

Say No More is taken from the 2006 album Not Fade Away. Listen to how the song comes alive with the reverb of David’s voice in the pedestrian tunnel on High Street. Belfast residents are quite used to hearing buskers in this spot because of the great acoustics there – maybe we should start a clubnight there.

The Nightsaver is out now and David Kitt plays with Tindersticks who will be touring Europe in August.

Download for iPod (77.6 MB)

Filmed by Will McConnell
in Belfast, April 2010

If you’d like Bandwidth to feature your music on the podcast, email us an mp3, complete with artwork attached to: sendyourmp3s@bandwidthfilms.com

>> To subscribe to the podcast feed click here

>> Or to subscribe on iTunes click here

The Frigates – “Cast A Net”

A north-south college rock combo, The Frigates have more than a little Pavement and Sebadoh about them – Cast A Net is a new and exclusive track from an upcoming EP.

Download (2.3MB)

More Than Conquerors – “I’ve Done Nothing / I’ve Done It All”

More Than Conquerors are going from strength – they’ve just launched an amazing EP and their live show is unmissable. They’re still only youngsters too..

Download (3.4MB)

Robyn G Shiels – “Lastest Greatest Comedienne”

Robyn G Shiels needs hardly any introduction to a Belfast audience. He’s quite simply Bandwidth’s favourite artist, sombre, intense, joyful, cerebral, manic – he’ll do it all to you. There’s an EP coming up this summer, from which this is an exclusive cut – and an album to follow later in the year.

Download (4.8MB)

Robyn G Shiels needs hardly any introduction to a Belfast audience. He’s quite simply Bandwidth’s favourite artist, sombre, intense, joyful, cerebral, manic – he’ll do it all to you. There’s an EP coming up this summer, from which this is an exclusive cut – and an album to follow later in the year.

Download (4.8MB)

More Than Conquerors are going from strength – they’ve just launched an amazing EP and their live show is unmissable. They’re still only youngsters too..

Download (3.4MB)

A north-south college rock combo, The Frigates have more than a little Pavement and Sebadoh about them – Cast A Net is a new and exclusive track from an upcoming EP.

Download (2.3MB)

Coked off her tits, eyeing up the window of Travel Inn

 Thankfully this old staple has had it’s day. Due to the ever more slimline design of the present day picture-lantern, throwing a television set out of a window has lost some of it’s charm. It loses some of it’s spontaneity when you have to carry around a few tools just so you can dislodge it from it’s wall mount.  They are now so sleek that if you were so inclined to hoke it out the window of a premier travel inn it’d probably ride the sweet summer breeze and descend gently like a leaf onto the welcoming pavement below. Yer man from American Beauty will record the whole thing on his camera, proclaim it to be one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen and Mena Suvari will take off all her clothes. Rejoice.

9. Groupies

She'll only break your heart, on an internet forum

 The Holy Grail. A woman who, despite your greasy hair, questionable odour and the fact your amp weighs more than you , will still want to you to defile her simply because you’ve barely mastered the C – D – Eminor chord progression and penned a cult anthem ‘The Smell of Your Dreams’. THE WHORE IS NO MORE! At least not as we’ve come to know and lust anyway. The internet has created a paradigm shift within the realm of rock n’ roll – discussion forums have been specifically set up for the groupie, were they can boast of their sexual achievements to their brethren. The groupie/musician relationship has been subverted to the extent that the musician is now the trophy. Which can only be a good thing, monogamy is underrated you decadent heathens. There is a lot of post-match analysis on these boards (so I’m told, I swear), so if you plan on letting your testicles make some important decisions in the future, make sure you bring your best game.

8. What Goes On The Road, Stays On The Road

"I was so wasted on our tour"

 Bollocks. If what goes on the road stays on the road, why do we know so much about what goes on the road? Someone in administration needs to step back and question whether they are adhering to the business ethos. The only thing that stays on the road is the scrabble marathons, because apparently they don’t  make for good stories. ‘Oh man I was so wasted, I thought my hands were my feet and I woke up with my shoes on them. But I can’t tell you about it. What goes on the road stays on the road and all that. I’ve got that motto tattooed on my back, got it done when I was on the road in France, but I can’t talk about it, what goes on the road stays on the road’. Pfft!

7. Encores

The Ultimate Encore

 This is the rock n’ roll equivalent of refusing tea at a wake:

‘Ach no, I couldn’t possibly, sure I just had a glass of milk before I left the house. Ach sure maybe a wee one, where are the sandwiches? Oh never mind, here they are, left of the cadaver…’

This roughly* translates into the band’s flourish and stage exeunt followed by their inevitable return. This is a cliché I am willing to indulge though. It’s familiarity is comforting in these unsure times.**

*very roughly, so rough that it doesn’t at all.

**for further reading, see my views on monogamy in ‘Groupies’.

 

6. The Crazy Drummer

Mad as a bag of spiders

This slightly unhinged yet undeniably charming creature has been causing havoc for the best part of a century now, but as delineated in ‘10. Throwing the tv out of the window’, their natural habits have been found to be somewhat less indulged as of late. The precarious state of the music industry has rendered the former wildman a polite, straight 4/4 to the floor sort of fella. Hotel room cleaners the world over rejoice and in the end that’s what we want, don’t we? Because they are usually foreign, and if you don’t want them happy that makes you a xenophobe. So there.

5. The ‘Man’  

The Man

 STICK IT TO THE MAN! YEAH STICK IT! LOOK AT HIM THERE WITH HIS SUIT AND TIE HE PROBABLY EARNED THROUGH HARD WORK – CONFORMIST! Rage Against The Machine stuck it to the man once, inadvertently of course, being the shy types. They became the horse in which the internet cavalry trampled down the man (the man being affable Joe McElderry off thon X-Factor). The pleasant young chap was denied his Christmas number 1 by the RATM’s ‘Killing In The Name Off’. Take that, the man! GRRR.

4. Dying Aged 27 

Club 27 drinks are free...

‘Forever 27‘ or ‘The  27 club‘ makes it sound like an 18-30′s holiday rep drinking game, and in a way it is. Everyone ends up the same – in a pool covered in vomit and other fluidly unmentionables, just like that fondly remembered weekend in Ibiza. Notable patrons of the club left behind by the rep’s after a mad night hard trancin’ are: Robert Johnson, Brian Jones, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain. Richey Edwards of Manic Street Preachers is presumed dead 1st February 1995 which would make him forever 27, although according to one of the reps he was last seen wearing a lady’s dress and heading towards Amnesia completely wiped out. Could’ve been Nicky Wire though.

3. Defining A Generation

Hilarious caption

Webster’s dictionary defines a generation as ‘coevals: all the people living at the same time or of approximately the same age’. As simple as that, they didn’t even have to release the difficult second album, the mainstream friendly third and the cocaine fuelled fourth to define a generation either. I bet the Webster’s are still happily married too.

2. The Guitarist/Singer Relationship   

World's worst hen party

 As sexually ambiguous as an adrogynous man giving Desperate Houswives a lukewarm review, this relationship is often pivotal to the dynamic of the band. There ambivalence towards eachother is heightened more by the innate power struggle betwixt them. Keith is thinking- ‘Why does he get the attention of all the ladies? he looks like Leslie Ash.’ Mick is thinking- ‘I can’t help feel the phallic nature of Keith’s guitar is a double edged sword. It’s sexual imagery must certainly divert the attention from me. On the other hand, it’s distracted people from noticing the whole Leslie Ash thing.’ So as you can see, it is entirely essential.

  1.The Tortured Artist

You couldn't rely on him to fix your car

Because we just don’t see the world as clear they do. They know, man. THEY KNOW. as poet Alison Monet Megan Fox’s abdomen recently preached-  ‘Those who danced were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.’ Shine on you crazy diamonds and all that, but don’t fall into to the trap of thinking that it’s a necessity to be tortured to be an artist. Bruce Springsteen isn’t, and he is simply swell. He’s so in touch with the common man he’s probably washing your windows as you read this, recognizing the quiet yet noble heroism of such an everyday task. He is class, so he is.

I know what you’re all thinking.  ‘Ian, we realise you’re an expert on film and we appreciate your infallible opinion on all things movie-related.’  Well thank you.  ‘But we’d love to hear what you think about other stuff too, so stop being so modest and start throwing your opinion on random shit out there too!’  Well, okay.  It’s true, I am somewhat of a renaissance man.  Sure, I see a lot of movies, hold down a part-time job in a chocolate shop and write an entertaining and informative article once every two weeks for Bandwidth, but I also find time in my life to listen to music, eat food and drink coffee.  So to give you a more well-rounded picture of who the real Ian is, I thought I’d mention a few of the things currently rocking my world.  And to make it (just barely) relevant to this site, all these things are based in Belfast, so you can all enjoy them too.

1. Harlem Café.

Harlem Café doesn’t need a plug from me.  It is already full to capacity every lunch time.  It is, however, my favourite haunt outside of, well, any kind of bar.  They make a dynamite cup of coffee and the food is awesome.  The walls are adorned with cool vintage photos of cool people like Johnny Cash, David Bowie, and The Beatles, and they play Sinatra.  As if it weren’t enough that I can have a double espresso and listen to Frank, the staff are all exceptionally friendly, and unnervingly beautiful.  Either you have to pass some sort of attractiveness test before they give you a job or they just run these people off some production line somewhere – either way I’m not complaining.  It has also come to my attention that they are soon to begin staying open late to offer an evening menu, which, if the lunch menu is anything to go by, is sure to be fantastic.  They’re also getting an alcohol license.  When that happens, my life will resemble an episode of Cheers.  Every day.

2. Eilis Phillips.

I’m not usually a fan of female singers.  Not that I don’t like the female voice, I’m just a sexist pig and don’t like the idea of women doing anything outside the confines of the kitchen or bedroom.  Sometimes I have to overlook my beliefs though, and this was one such case.  Maybe I just had too much sun and beer, but on a recent toasty Sunday afternoon I cooked myself like a goddamn lobster at Botanic gardens before retiring to The Kitchen Bar to cool off, just in time to catch an acoustic set by Jackie Rainey and Ms. Phillips.  They’re both great singers, and since I’d had a few, I decided to be that guy.  You know the one who goes up to the band after the set and bothers them for a while?  Yeah, that one.  Anyway they were both very nice to me and Eilis told me she’s releasing an album soon.  Later that night I told Will about her, in a vain attempt to impress both him, and her, with my savvy.  Will told me to get the fuck out of his house, claiming that 3.30am was not a reasonable time to be dropping by.

I was honestly impressed by Eilis, even though it’s not usually my sort of music, I think she’s going places.  Check her out at: http://www.myspace.com/eilisphillips and you can see her play with Jackie on Sundays at The Kitchen Bar.  Play music, I mean.  Go to one of her gigs.  Support local music.  Tell her I sent you.  Inflate my already considerable ego.

3. Bangla Fusion.

This is a (relatively) new Indian restaurant just off Shaftesbury Square on Great Victoria St.  I went there with a group of people who assured me it was ‘the best Indian food they’ve had in Belfast’.  I admit it, I had my doubts.  Halfway through my meal I agreed with them all – best Indian food I’ve had in Belfast.  It’s a small place and blends into the street a little too well to be easily noticed, which is probably one reason for its seeming lack of business.  Granted, I’m going by one visit, but it was a Saturday evening and we were the only table seated, which seemed like a damn shame.  It would be an even worse shame if they closed due to lack of business, since I fully intend to eat there again.  Service was great, the prices very reasonable, and the food was fucking exceptional.  They don’t have a license, so bring your own beer, enjoy the complimentary poppadoms with dip, then forget that muck you slather on your chips and get yourself a real curry.  You won’t be disappointed.  And if you are, don’t blame me – what am I, some sort of fucking food critic?

4. Women in sexy nurse outfits.

I’m such a fan of the nurse outfit that I recently got very drunk at a friend’s house and put one on, adding a white cowboy hat to complete the look.  If you’re wondering why I thought that seemed like a good idea at the time, the answer is the same reason I thought it would be a good idea to drink red wine, whiskey, beer and Jager on the same night.  Also, since I have now mentioned women in nurse’s outfits, Will is entirely justified in using a photo of one in the illustration for this article.

So the plan is there’ll be one clip a week for the next few weeks featuring tracks from their new album A National Light, which is stonking.

Thanks again to the lads and to Colm Russell, and here’s the first clip:

Read more here: THERAGS.COM

When I met Paul we spent the afternoon in Belfast searching for pianos – first Marcus Music obliged, then the Black Box, only to find their piano is pretty badly out of key. No matter, they didn’t kick us out. Then the Oh Yeah centre came to the rescue (for the 2nd time in a month), and before we got kicked out of there (only joking), we recorded another little number..

Download for iPod (48.5 MB) / Watch on Youtube

Download for iPod (38.2 MB) / Watch on Youtube

Paul plays Laverys bunker tonight and again on the 4th, 5th and 6th June at Queens University as part of the Keynote mini-fest.

In the meantime, you can stream the video right here:

Camera/Edit: Will McConnell

10. Eyeball Paul

well mental

Everyone’s favourite “rinsing geezer” – Eyeball Paul epitomized the decadent lifestyle of a famous Ibiza DJ – Bog-clogger extraordinaire and ocular-imbibing enthusiast, his bare faced arrogance to his biggest fans is something that fictional musicians the world over can aspire to. “How’s your mummy ginger pubes?” – the voice of a generation.

9. Zack Attack

Wanker

‘Friends forever/ We’ll be friends forever’  - A timeless message that stands tall in the face of adversity, you must certainly agree. This fictional group of fictional friends from a fictional school in a fictional country  had it all – in the lead singer Zack’s head that is. Yes, this band were so fictional they didn’t even appear in the cohesive narrative of the Saved By the Bell storylines. They appeared in an episode which was set in the protagonist’s dreams, the mentalist. One wonders where the ‘friends forever’ ethos was when Dustin Diamond aka Screech was forced to make a porno just to make ends meet; although with a name like Dustin Diamond, it seemed like an obvious enough career path.

8. The Marvin Berry Four

Stoned to bits, trying to talk into his bloody hand

Thank your lucky stars that jive talkin’ Marv had the foresight to realise the potency of Marty’s ‘rock n’ roll riff in B  from the future’, otherwise Chuck Berry would just be another nobody with the best the name in the world.  He mightn’t have comprehended the complexities of the paradoxical head-melting phone call but he acted on his gut instinct, his thought process entirely uninhibited by the reefer he was seen smoking in the car with his bandmates earlier.

7. The Commitments

Deep seeded urban decay

‘They Had Absolutely Nothing. But They Were Willing To Risk It All’ - A tag-line that means nothing, but is willing to allude to it all. It should really have said ‘A bunch of knackers waste their time because a gobby knacker charmed them’. It’s strange though, The Commitments couldn’t get their act together in the fictional world so they broke through the fourth wall in spectacular fashion and engaged the audience by becoming a real, moderately successful soul band. Not a looker among ‘em though.

6. California Dreams

We’re from different backgrounds, but hey WHO CARES!? LOL

A band with no such problem in the aesthetics department were fresh faced west-coasters ‘California Dreams’. these surf dudes with attitudes were kinda groovy indeed. They had sky above and sand below, not to mention good vibrations – all of which were laid out in possibly the best theme song of any sitcom.
Another band that were an inspiration, their lack of ethnic discrimination was commendable: Season three had THREE  ethnic minorities, not to mention a punk from the wrong side of the tracks working for the money grabbing middle class white boy. I salute you, Sly Winkle.

5. Stillwater

The genital warts were thriving on that bus

You know you are a good rock n’ roll band when Led Zeppelin steal your riffs, your nonsensical song ideas (Fever Dog/Black Dog anyone?) and even steal the best thing you ever said at a party and use it as their own. Robert Plant has a lot to answer for! ‘Golden God’  indeed Bob, anyone who’s anyone knows that it was axeman Russel Hammond who pontificated that gem, prick.

4. Chris Gaines

I fuckin’ love Paramore

Just when you thought the portly guitar twanging Garth Brooks couldn’t get any more annoying, he went and hit puberty. Tired of singing out the side of his mouth to thousands of people he decided to grow a tuft of alt-fluff on his bottom lip and grow an oft maligned emo-fringe for an alter-ego album.  It must’ve been a case of the emperors new clothes within Brooks’/Gaines’ entourage, because no-one pointed out he was being an absolute idiot. Whoever let that ball bag into Croke Park needs to have a serious word with themself.

3. The Shitty Beatles

All you need is shit.

Tiny: Wanye! How you doin’?

Wayne Campbell: Hey Tiny, who’s playing today?
Tiny: Jolly Green Giants and the Shitty Beatles.
Wayne Campbell: Shitty Beatles? Are they any good?
Tiny: They suck!
Wayne Campbell: Then it’s not just a clever name.

I refuse to adhere to the notion that the Shitty Beatles were as bad as Tiny claims. I’m basing this on the fact that he claims ‘Crucial Taunt’ can ‘really wail’. Balls, they were all right at best, and wouldn’t have got half as far if they didn’t have smokin’ fox Cassandra giving it loads at the front.

2. Spinal Tap

its not fuckin barbershop

Purveyors of the redundant qualifier- (Tonight I’m Gonna Rock you Tonight), this little known rock n’ roll group made the cliche their own – so much so every band interview since the release of ‘Spinal Tap’ almost invariably mentions a ‘Spinal Tap’ moment in the career, a heightened moment of bathos which puts the ridiculous nature of the rock n’ roll lifestyle in stark perspective.  My own particular Spinal Tap moment was when I woke up in the middle of the night screaming, realising my dreams of becoming a musician were dying with every passing day. Oh how I laughed.

1. The Wonders

Five wankers blocking my path to Liv

A shock entry at number one this, but I’ll stick by it. What other band can you name that was managed by the most affable man in Hollywood (Not Bill Murray, Tom hanks – though they should really battle it out for that title) , and what other band can you name were not one, but two of the members have an ould grope at Liv Tyler. LIV TYLER! that’s what it’s all about – that’s the only reason anyone ever anywhere has ever joined a band, because it increases their possibility of getting closer to her. I know that’s why I did anyway. She looks like she’d smell class.

* I am aware that my grasp on fiction and reality in this article is somewhat blurred.

Artwork by Will McConnell

This was supposed to be a review of The Undertones gig at Mandela Hall last Saturday.  I even had a ticket.  I had such a bad hangover though (that’s right – at 8pm, the next day) I couldn’t face the loud music and crowds, so I just went to a cocktail party I had been invited to.  I figured a few nice strong cocktails would either kill me or straighten me right out, so I took a chance.  Turns out the very thing I needed was a Manhattan (my stupid title might make sense now, but from here on in there will be no references to dogs or Manhattan.  That’s just how I roll.)

So there I was, vowing with every sip to take it easy, and surrounded by beautiful women dressed in classy 50’s styling and it struck me that maybe my overindulgence the previous night had actually finished me off and I had found my way to heaven.  Of course I wasn’t in heaven, but if one day I do go, and it’s not exactly like that party, I don’t figure I’ll hang around very long.  The party started out the way all good cocktail parties do – fancy food, Bobby Darin playing, sophisticated conversation and, of course, delicious drinks.  It also ended the way all good cocktail parties end – at 4am with a few stragglers scavenging the empties for dregs, and some guy passed out on the stairs.  Somewhere along the way – my promises of abstinence drowned in bourbon – a couple of guys showed up already half smashed.  One had an acoustic guitar, the other had fifteen bottles of beer.  They had been out busking for charity and the results had been fairly poor, so they hit the pub and then headed back to the party.  I got talking to them both about the sorry state of busking on our streets and hey voila, our conversation inspired this article.

[Editor’s Note: No Ian, you getting totally fucked up and missing the gig is what inspired this article.]

Sometimes I hate walking through the streets in Belfast.  It can just be a depressing place to be.  People rushing from shop to shop, crossing the street any old time they please – dodging buses like it wasn’t potentially fucking lethal – and trampling anyone too slow-moving to keep up.  It’s no wonder I so often duck into a pub for a pint to calm my jangled nerves.  But I’m concentrating on the negatives here, as I so often do, and my conversation with the musicians highlighted this for me.

Think about it.  In a street bustling with ignorant shoppers, droning with the sound of traffic and smelling like one big recently-pissed-in alley, there are actually people who stand there just to play music.  Music!  Was there ever a more beautiful metaphor for the light in the darkness?  Just a guy…

[Editor’s Note: Or gal.]

…his guitar, and enough balls to sing in front of everybody.   And was there ever a more apt metaphor for human apathy than the fact that nearly all of us just ignore these guys?  Like they’re standing in the street trying to sign you up for a credit card or something.  In a world of noise, a rare few go out and play something that sounds nice, and no one gives a shit.  Seems like a damn shame to me.  Seems like a fucking crime when the guy in question has a banner saying he’s collecting for charity.  I mean even if you’re as sick of hearing Wonderwall as I am, throw the guy 50p for a good cause.  Am I wrong?

Hell, I know I’m preaching to the choir.  You are reading this site because you like and support local music, so you’re probably also the people cool enough to have dropped some change into a guitar case once or twice.  And it’s not like I’m walking the streets of Belfast throwing money at every busker I pass.  But when you hear some guy…

[Editor’s Note: Or gal.]

…and you’re impressed by their voice, or they’re playing a song you love that never gets played on the radio, or shit, even if it’s raining and they just look wet and lonely, throw in a couple of coins.  Trust me, they’ll appreciate it, because 99% of people just won’t bother, and it’s really a much tougher gig than most people think.

In a world where people can make six figure salaries hawking insurance, it only seems right that a guy…

[Editor’s Note: Or gal.]

[Ian: Shut the fuck up man!]

…should be able to make a few quid playing the musical equivalent of seeing a pretty girl in a summer dress.  It may only last a moment, but on these sad, grey streets, it’s still gotta be worth something.

This is In Stores Now, after all – so we were luck on a busy Saturday in Belfast to find 3 accommodating stores – firstly the record fair at Bandwidth’s alama mater, the Oh Yeah Music Centre. Then to two distinctly… nautically themed locales. Let’s see if you can spot the irony of it all.

Since then things have moved apace. The band got in touch to arrange a session – I love everything about them – and before you could say 10 Downing Street a partnership was made.

Download for iPod (29.4 MB)

Download for iPod (42.4 MB)

Download for iPod (76.3 MB)

Filmed by Will McConnell in Belfast, March 2010

State Intervention is a series of flash gigs organised around Ireland. Again, all the gigs are free, and you’ll be able to come along to any one of them by keeping up to date with State’s twitter and facebook feeds, where the gig will be anounced on the day.

Without further ado, here’s Scroobius Pip.

Read all about it here on State.ie.

Little known fact: my adventures are not written from memory.  I actually have a small team of reporters who follow me around and document the events of the night and I just embellish their notes with my winning prose.  This is so I don’t have to ruin my night by staying sober enough to recall specificities, and also to look after me in case something horrible happens.  They’re all trained in things like first aid, basic law, mixed martial arts, and advanced sandwich making, so that all of my basic needs can be taken care of at the drop of a hat.  Unfortunately, no one in my entourage knows Mark Lanegan and I couldn’t convince any of them to go to his gig in The Empire last week.  No problem, I thought, I’ll just call Johnny and have him arrange me a date.

‘Hey Johnny I need a date.  Wednesday.  8pm.  Mark Lanegan.  This one should be cool.’
‘Who the hell is Mark Lanegan?’
‘He’s a cool singer songwriter.  Used to be in Screaming Trees.  Real deep voice, like “uuurrrrggggghhhh….’

[Editor’s Note: I deleted four lines of ‘uurrrggghhh’.]

‘Jesus, enough.  Look I don’t think I’m gonna be able to set you up,’ said Johnny.
‘What?  Why not?’
‘Because your last date got trampled to death Ian.  Interest has kind of dropped off.’
‘Shit, yeah.  Michioku.  How was the funeral?’
‘It was a barrel of laughs Ian.  Singing, dancing, great food.  It was a fucking funeral, how do you think it was?’
‘No need to get snippy with my Johnny.’
‘Well you weren’t the one trying to fend off 23 Japanese schoolgirls, crying and asking “Why, why?”’
‘That sounds kinda hot actually.’
‘I’m hanging up Ian.’
‘Any of those schoolgirls still in town man?’  Dial tone.  Shit.

A couple of days later I went to see The Disappearance Of Alice Creed and I had a fucking great idea.  I should go home and look at nude pictures of Gemma Arterton online.  Three hours later I was spent, lying in bed with a cold beer, and I realised I still didn’t have anyone to go to the show with.  I decided fuck it, I would go alone.

I do this quite a lot, actually.  People think I’m weird, and they’re right, but my attitude is that if I want to see a show I’m gonna go regardless of whether or not anyone wants to come with me.  I don’t see why me having a good time should be dependent on other people, hence my oft-quoted catchphrase: ‘why compromise?’, which I hope someone inscribes on my grave stone.  Anyway, I go to the movies alone all the time and I quite often end up going to gigs alone too.  If you should ever be unfortunate enough to see me at a gig, standing off to one side with a surly look on my face, a beer in one hand and a whiskey in the other, come on over and say hello.  If you say something nice I promise I’ll buy you a drink.  Of course that’s an easy promise to make since probability-wise, this is very, very unlikely to happen.  I should also advise extreme caution – surly people who are drunk on whiskey are rarely friendly – I am the exception.

[Editor’s Note: Friendly?  Ha!]
[Ian: Shut the fuck up, Ed.  I’m the friendliest person I know.]

Anyway I know a lot of you expect certain formalities from these things, so I should really say something about the Mark Lanegan gig.

[Editor’s Note: Don’t let us put you to any trouble.]

Luckily it was just my little circle of friends and acquaintances who didn’t know Mark Lanegan and the Music Hall was totally sold out.  The first dude to come on was Duke Garwood, who was a cool character.  I couldn’t make out half of what he said but he kept referring to ‘death country’, which sounds like the greatest music genre of all time.  I liked his music – a sort of cut down, experimental sounding blues – and his songs often ended abruptly, without warning, which kept me alert despite the combined efforts of Stella and Jack.  Then Lanegan came on, launched right into the set list, and his voice blew a fucking Marshall stack deep down in my soul.  He must have the best voice I’ve ever had the privilege of hearing live – deep, deep grumbling tones but loud and almost impossibly strong – an all too uncommon combination.  I immediately regretted giving that busker a quid on my way to the show because all of a sudden, he just didn’t seem worthy.  Lanegan is a no nonsense kind of dude and he ploughed through the set list with a velocity I just couldn’t keep up with, drinks wise.  I guess either that’s just his style, or he had a hotel room, a bottle of whiskey and three groupies to get back to.  Either way, other than the occasional ‘thank you’ there wasn’t too much interaction with the audience, which would have been nice.  I like to savour a show, and my whiskey, which I couldn’t pour down fast enough.  It’s not a serious grievance though, and I was thoroughly enjoying the music, despite not knowing any of it.  He’s a great lyricist, as well as having a fucking awesome voice, and his dark, sparse brand of acoustic blues went down a treat, both with me and with everyone else in the place.  The applause after each song bled into the beginning of the next, and then everyone was quiet, listening very carefully and quietly, drinking in every word.  As Lanegan was taking the stage some crazed loon had screamed ‘Give us hell!’, and I feel fairly confident in saying that guy went home satisfied.  The show didn’t seem very long, but he got through a good number of songs and did a cool encore, and I guess what they say about how time flies is right, because when the lights went up I was still fairly sober, and didn’t even mind.  I went downstairs to continue my drinking thing, spurred on by Lanegan’s darkened croonings.

I decided to finish up the night in Annie’s, and I don’t remember much after getting there.  I remember that the barmaid was beautiful and I remember feeling like Tom Waits, sitting alone in a quiet bar at midnight, full on whiskey and the blues.  I can’t have been that drunk, though, because I also remember being painfully aware that I’m nothing like Tom Waits and I was probably creeping the barmaid out.  So, dear barmaid – I apologise if I was leering.  And dear readers, I apologise for boring the tits off you.  I didn’t quite do this thing justice.

So I was lucky enough to blag 20 minutes with the band during their soundcheck at the Black Box, and record two tracks – including the hauntingly beautiful To The Ghosts Who Write History Books.

Thanks to the band and Kate Landau for this.
Enjoy!

Download for iPod (33.6 MB)

Download for iPod (41.7 MB)

Filmed by Will McConnell
in Belfast, January 2010.

We’d promised each other we’d record a session together for months, and thought about ways of doing it. Playing in a bin, or a music shop, or anywhere near a plug so that we could keep just a little of the signature Disconnect 4 electronic/guitar sound. In the end, we settled on 20 minutes together, worryingly close to their stage time at Belfast’s free-music Radar night at the Students’ Union. And in the end, once again, an apple iphone came to the rescue, and a little £1.19 app called iSynth.

Cheapest video ever made? Perhaps. Most dangerous thing the band have ever done (letting me near them with a camera that is)? Just maybe.

Disconnect 4 play Whelan’s in Dublin 30 April with Funeral Suits.

Download for iPod (47.8 MB)

Filmed by Will McConnell
in Belfast, February 2010

So it is with great pleasure that Bandwidth can finally arrange a session performance for you, loyal readers. And it was well worth the wait.

The band had a spare 20 minutes before soundcheck at their Belfast gig in March, at the over elegantly blithe settings of the grand old Empire Music Hall – an auld church building that was an even audler Victorian Vaudeville Hall.

They cleared the tables from the floor and set up in a circle under the giant glimmer ball, brought out the electric organ, and launched into this sublime rendition of “Violent Demeanour”.

Without further ado, pour vous…

Download for iPod (53.8 MB)

Filmed by Will McConnell
in Belfast, March 2010

Photograph by Gerard O’Mahony

Brian Wilson once sang, “I just wasn’t made for these times”, and increasingly I’m inclined to think he was singing about me. As culture continues to spiral further and further out of my grasp, I increasingly feel like an anachronism, left behind watching some glittering future that I can never be part of. And as the years go by, once seemingly unshakable institutions crumble and fall into dust.

REM are no longer in the hit parade. Three of the four Ramones are dead. Jar Jar Binks ruined Star Wars. There’s a new Captain Kirk. You can’t smoke in bars anymore.

And now…the new Doctor Who is younger than me.

Admittedly, Matt Smith is only slightly younger than me, but for a character who’s central defining character is his (almost) immortality and his amassed wisdom, it’s still strange that I’m older than him, and by extension have possibly seen more than he has. Call me egocentric, but this matters to me.

As a little kid, Peter Davidson’s floppy-haired Doctor ran about, battling Cybermen and the like, not so discreetly cashing in on the whole “Post-Star Wars, isn’t Luke Skywalker great!” thing. Then, as I started to discover that scary things were slightly cooler, Colin Baker took over as a deliciously deranged Doctor, prone to bouts of unpredictable anger and schizophrenic mood changes. After that, the clownish buffoon of Sylvester McCoy slowly evolved into a Machiavellian puppet master, pulling the strings behind the scenes.

Then there was the Americanised Paul McGann’s version of the character, which nobody was too fussed on, leading to Christopher Eccleston’s bloke-ish re-start in 2005. Then came David Tennant. Nobody could have predicted the impact he’d have on the series, capitalising on the unsuspecting success of Eccleston (lest we forget, there was only one episode of the series made in the 90s), and drawing an entirely new audience into the sphere of the show.

Time for truth – the only reason I’m able to write this at all is because of David Tennant. For whatever reason, it felt like everybody liked the guy. No longer was Doctor Who the territory of the stereotypical nebbish “anorak” types, but it was seemingly adopted as a national treasure, beloved by all, and setting new standards in family entertainment. If it hadn’t been for Tennant, there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell I’d have admitted the knowledge of Doctor Who I’ve just displayed – it would be cultural suicide. Tenant made it cool to like Doctor Who, and that’s all there is to say about it.

But they were all older than me.

And now I am older than Doctor Who.

So, as I stood in the reception of the QFT cinema in Belfast, alongside dozens of school kids, all there to meet the new Doctor, I had mixed feelings as to what I was going to do. Would I wish him well? Give him a bit of advice for the journey? After all, I’d been going through this longer than he has, and there’s sure to be things I’m more experienced in dealing with. You know, Sontarans, and stuff.

Or would I attempt to attack him, causing him to re-generate again? Into someone older, hopefully.

But as the doors opened and he strode in with his new assistant, Scotland’s Karen Gillan, any thoughts of causing the Doctor to regenerate – before his first adventure, no less! – were immediately swept out of my head by the response which greeted the young time traveller.

A huge scream went up, and a palatable sense of excitement filled the room. Standing where I was, I couldn’t see anything so I was forced to draw my own conclusions as to what was taking place – judging from the hysteria evident in the room, he hadn’t bothered turning up, but had plucked the 1964-era Beatles up in the TARDIS and dropped them off in his place.

But then, he rounded the corner towards the main foyer, and I could see that it was this young Doctor who was provoking the shrieks, and not the smiling faces of Paul and Ringo, alongside the resurrected faces of John and George.

In a sense, I was both bewildered at the response – never having dared guess the kids would get that excited – and saddened, as I had briefly begun to entertain the notion that I would soon be shaking hands with the Fab Four. Signing autographs, the new Doctor Who – younger than me – was swamped by school kids, who seemed to think a titan walked amongst us, a genuine Time Lord, like Tom Baker or something, rather than some fella with indie-ish hair, and a scruffy coat.

But the kids lapped it up and continued screaming and screaming, with no evidence of them reaching their peak just yet. Looking round, I began to notice the haunted, worried looks on the faces of the adults present. Beads of sweat began forming on brows, eyes darted about, and teeth were ground – this is the passing of the torch…he is no longer ours.

Sitting in the empty cinema screen a few moments later, I steadied myself for the interview. I was assisting a colleague, and also hoped to grab a few words with the time travelling pair myself, if – ahem – time permitted. The doors swept open, and they were escorted in.

It was at this point the thought of attacking the – younger than me – Doctor completely evaporated from my mind. He seemed a likeable type, clearly aware of what an opportunity he’d been given, but intent on enjoying it as well. Any impression of him as some time travelling Johnny-Come-Lately was shattered, as he revealed himself to be a fairly regular guy, an actor, no less, who once had the opportunity to be a professional footballer, but had to give it up because of injury. There was no magic, no mystery, just a guy…round about the same ages as me, if I’m being charitable…enjoying the experience of a lifetime.

And anyway, it didn’t really matter to me as by this point, I’d begun discreetly flirting with the Doctor’s assistant, Amy Pond, aka the actress Karen Gillan. She’s from Inverness, I lived in “nearby” Aberdeen, and ultimately that was enough of a cosmic connection for me. Obviously I didn’t tempt her away from a life of exploring the expanse of the galaxy – and time itself – but it was an opportunity to flirt with a fictional character, and that’s something I’ve never been able to turn down.

And then it was all over. There wasn’t enough time for me to grab an interview, which I wasn’t too bothered about anyway, and I was handed two autographed postcards; a memento of the moment one of my great illusions was finally shattered.

For the past few months I have tried to keep my plans secret from the guys at the Bandwidth office.  It’s one thing to be sent on some horseshit assignment with a crazy broad, but quite another to have one foisted on you when all you really want to do is get drunk and have some fun.  Unfortunately I overdid it last Wednesday lunchtime and stumbled into the Bandwidth building to beg for a bus fare home.  I didn’t manage to get money off anyone, but I did manage to very loudly proclaim that I was going to see Airbourne the following week.  I did this, apparently, every time someone turned me down, so it went something like this:
‘Hey man is there any chance you could give me a tenner for the bus home?’
‘I don’t think so Ian.’
‘Well fuck you holmes!  I’m going to see Airbourne next week, so suck on that one.’  And that happened at least twenty times, so it’s really not surprising that the following day I got a phone call from Johnny.  I was sunning myself in my parent’s back garden and eating gummy bears, so you can imagine how angry I was at being interrupted.
‘Goddamnit Johnny I’m busy here!’
‘I’m looking at your Twitter page right now.  It says you’re sunbathing and eating gummy bears.’
‘That’s invasion of privacy! What do you want anyway?’
‘I hear you’re going to the Airbourne gig next Tuesday.’
‘Nope.’
‘Meet me at the office about an hour before the doors open – I’ve got a date lined up for you.  This one should make a good review.’
‘But it’s not a review.’  He hung up on me.  I updated my Twitter page again: ‘Johnny is an arse.’  Heh, that’ll show him.

On the day of the gig I woke up at the crack of dawn and set about preparing the spread for my mates… Okay so I got up at 11am, bought a big packet of nachos and made some burgers.  But the burgers had cheese INSIDE THEM.  Blew their fucking minds, I tell ya, biting into a burger expecting regular old beef and instead finding piping hot cheese, which oozed out and scalded their unsuspecting chins.  I’m thinking about taking that shit on Dragon’s Den.  Anyway I loaded up on Jack and Coke hoping the caffeine/sugar hit would keep me going through the night, and then we split up and I headed off to the Bandwidth building to meet my date.

The lobby was full of Japanese women dressed like schoolgirls.  As well as the obvious thoughts a scene like this might inspire in a twenty-two year old guy, I thought maybe Will had taken a new direction with his music videos and made a mental note to check the site for updates over the next couple of days.  They all started giggling and taking photos of me with their phones, which made me seriously paranoid, but after checking that I was all zipped up and there were no remnants of burger cheese on my face I decided it must be because I am fucking awesome.  I stepped into the lift thinking this must be how Mickey Rourke feels, all day, every day, so I threw up the peace sign and the doors closed in front of me.

I opened Johnny’s office door without knocking, hoping to stumble in on a compromising situation involving more Asian schoolgirls.  Alas, there was only one in there with him, and he was showing her his holiday photos, under the pretence of demonstrating how lovely Corfu is, but really because he was hoping for a comment on his tan.
‘Ah, Ian,’ he said, looking up, ‘this is Michioku.’  Oh fuck no.  It hadn’t even occurred to me.  I just stood there, speechless.  ‘Well say hello,’ he said.
‘Does she speak English?’ I asked him, and she laughed.
‘Yes I do,’ she said, ‘it’s really nice to meet you.  I’m a big fan.’
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Yes apparently you’re very big in Japan,’ said Johnny.
‘That’s because they’re all really short,’ I said, and luckily they both thought this was a very witty joke.
‘All those others downstairs applied too,’ said Johnny, ‘so we had to have a raffle to see who the lucky girl would be.’
‘Johnny I know this is some sort of joke, so yes, very funny, I get it.’  Michioku laughed.
‘It’s not a joke,’ she said, ‘look!’  She took off her backpack and turned it around for me to see.  It had a print of me on the front, taken from a photo of me saluting the camera with a bottle of beer.
‘Jesus!’ I said.
‘That’s what I said,’ said Johnny.
‘I brought you these,’ said Michioku, opening her Ian-print backpack for me to see.  It was full of miniature bottles of JD.
‘Jesus!’ I said again.  I grabbed one and downed it, still kind of enjoying how the tiny bottle makes you feel like a giant, despite the weird situation.
‘Well you two better get going,’ said Johnny.  I dipped my hand in Michioku’s bag and opened another mini JD.

So walking through the city centre with a Japanese schoolgirl I looked like a drunken pederast.  I also, however, looked taller than usual, so I decided to enjoy it while it lasted.  Then I suddenly realised something horrible.
‘Shit, Michioku, they’re not gonna let you into the gig!’
‘Why, because I only look fourteen?’ she asked.
‘Well, that could be problematic too.  But you’ve got a big bag full of whiskey!’
‘Oh shit, you’re right,’ she said.  Then, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got an idea.’  She opened her blazer and unbuttoned the first few buttons on her shirt.  At this point I entertained the very real possibility that I was sleeping, and about to have a nocturnal emission.  I decided to test it.
‘Michioku you have fabulous breasts.’
‘Thank you,’ she said with a smile, and started shovelling the miniature bottles of whiskey down her shirt.  Test number one failed.  I pinched myself.  Nothing.  I pinched harder.  Nothing.    Goddamnit.  When the bag was empty she started to button up again, stopped, and held her collar open.  ’Sorry, do you want one?’ she said.  Looking at her boobs with a few whiskey bottles nestled lovingly between them I almost started to cry.  The third and final test, sure to wake me up from even the deepest of beer sleeps: I grabbed my balls and squeezed as hard as I could. I didn’t wake up.  Praise the Lord!  I finally allowed myself to believe that what was happening was real and even on top of the pain managed a big smile.  I grabbed two whiskies from inside her shirt and had a wee sit down until the sick feeling passed and my balls stopped throbbing.

By the time we joined the queue I had drunk enough of the bottles that someone could have retraced our steps right back to the Bandwidth building by following the empties, and it just looked like she had really big boobs.  Which she did, in fact, they just looked a bit lumpier with the little bottles stuffed down there.  This also meant that I was righteously fucking hammered by the time we got inside, which was lucky because the son of a bitch security man wasn’t going to let her in without ID.  I very deftly ended the situation by loudly accusing him of racism, and of touching my willy during the pat-down he gave me.  He gave in and ushered us inside.

We quickly made our way to the front where my friends were already standing.  They were incredibly jealous, of course.  It was only natural, since none of them had a beautiful Asian schoolgirl with a bra-ful of whiskey as company, so I asked Michioku to give them all a miniature as a sign of good will.  Then she scampered off to the bar to get me a pint.  While she was gone I informed my friends of my intention to marry her, which they all agreed was a fantastic idea.  I also rocked out to Black Spiders, who were the support act.  There was another support, but I missed them.  Anyway Black Spiders did a damn good job of getting everyone’s rocking shoes on, so they deserve plenty of credit.  If anything they did too good a job, because by the time Airbourne went on the crowd had worked itself into a pit of madness, which was to be disastrous, in the end.

Michioku returned with my pint, rummaged around inside her shirt for a Jack and expertly mixed up a delicious boilermaker.  I thought about leaving with her right then, going to Vegas and making and honest woman out of her, but then Airbourne took to the stage and I decided to wait until after the show.  There is simply no other way to aptly describe Airbourne than ’balls out’.  Pretty much all of the songs are about drinking, women, having fun, being awesome, and drinking, so it’s unsurprising that I think they’re one of the best rock n roll bands in the world at the minute.  Sure, it sounds just like old school AC/DC, but how the hell can that be a bad thing?  If you want some limp-dick music go watch X-Factor.  If you want the music equivalent of banging a cheap hooker who knows her stuff, get yourself Airbourne’s new album.  And when you’re listening to it, trying to resist the urge to get up and strut around your living room, or headbang, or strut around your living room head banging, know this: it’s ten thousand times better live.  Shirtless, blistering around the stage throwing beers to the crowd and playing licks that sound like they were written by Satan himself,  this is a rock n roll show the way a rock n roll show should be.  A lot of the time I think they just don’t make ’em like they used to.  If ever there was an argument against this idea, it’s Airbourne.

Unfortunately, these sort of gigs can be a double edged sword.  I was right at the front of the stage, trying my hardest to protect Michioku from the constant barrage of ugly shirtless teenagers, drunk on their third beer and seemingly only there to launch themselves around like fucking retards.  Most of them were harmless, and admittedly it’s more my fault for not liking mosh-pits, but a select few really let the side down by just being too aggressive.  I did my best to push the fuckers away and keep my patience, but I was fighting a losing battle, and I didn’t pay my money to be fucking trampled.  Then, with my hand down Michioku’s shirt, rummaging for a whiskey, some fiend practically punched her to the ground in an attempt to force his way to the front.  I saw red and head butted the son of a bitch and he stumbled back, bleeding from the nose.  He would have killed me, I’m sure, but one of my friends who is much bigger and better at fighting than me got rid of him and the bouncers threw him out.  It was too late, though.  Poor Michioku had been thrown to the floor and trampled by the crowd, the remaining whiskey bottles in her shirt smashing and stabbing her to death.  I shoved some shirtless man out of the way and dropped to my knees to cradle her bloody corpse in my arms.  Then I let out an almighty howl and shook my fist at the heavens, but my grief was lost in the din, because everyone was shouting and pumping their fists in the air.

There are a few lessons here folks.  All you violent pigs who ruin everybody’s night because you’ve got no goddamn common courtesy, beware.  We’ve had enough of your shit, and even a puny fella like me might just fucking head butt you.  My lesson?  If you don’t like getting moshed on, stay out of the mosh pit, especially if your date is a petite Asian whiskey fairy.  And the lesson for us all – Airbourne are so fucking good, even seeing the love of your life trampled to death by a bunch of hairy rockers isn’t enough to ruin the gig.

BANDS!!

Do you have a new song or demo to share with the world?
Submit it to us in mp3 format, with artwork attached, and a way we can get in touch with you.

If we like what we hear, your music will be included on the Bandwidth New Music Podcast!

Just follow the link –
Send me your track
Or sendyourmp3s@bandwidthfilms.com

The Bandwidth New Music Podcast will be available free on itunes and the Bandwidth site – and it’s a new way to promote local music

Send your demos, singles, B-sides, session tracks and live tracks – all is welcome!

Much love, and looking forward to hearing what you got..
Will
Bandwidth

They’re all free, and you’ll be able to come along to any one of them by keeping up to date with State’s twitter and facebook feeds, where the gig will be anounced on the day.

So first up, here’s Bandwidth’s favourite son, And So I Watch You From Afar playing the Music Maker store in Dublin to a select group of 30 or so.

Read all about it here on State.ie.

I recently had my first 3D experience.  It was in the back row of the cinema and I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing and it had been built up so much I guess it was bit of a disappointment.  The movie was Clash Of The Titans, in case you’re interested, and it got me thinking.  Why is it called Clash Of The Titans if there are no Titans in the film?  Just a thought I’d like to leave you with.

See ya.

[Editor’s Note: This really is what Ian submitted this week.  When we finally tracked him down he was hammered, trying to buy a kebab on credit from the takeaway featured in this In Stores Now video by repeatedly name-dropping Will.  Unsurprisingly, he never got that kebab.  This is just a quick apology - if the rest of this seems like it was drunkenly hashed together only hours before publication, that’s because it was.]

Okay so another thing that Clash Of The Titans got me thinking about was the whole 3D thing.  And High Definition, and Blu Ray DVDs and all that fancy technology that people keep creaming themselves over these days.  It made me wonder, does any of that stuff really make a difference?  Is a movie any more enjoyable if you see it in a higher quality?  Well going by my viewing of Clash Of The Titans, the answer is no.

See ya.

[Editor’s Note: Ian!]

Jesus, okay!  Seriously, I started to think about these things because after the movie I have to admit, I really wasn’t too impressed by the 3D effect.  It’s pretty obvious they rushed out a 3D print of Clash Of The Titans just to boost ticket sales, so maybe it wasn’t the best introduction to the technology.  Maybe James Cameron’s anal-retentive obsession with special effects produced a much more impressive 3D experience in Avatar, but I had my fill of that particular fish pie the first time round and I ain’t going back for more.  The point is, that was the first thing I saw in 3D so it was new to me, and it still didn’t have much effect.  I can boil it down to this: shit in the background looks a bit further away.  That’s about it.  There was an ad before the film for some 3D television, and in the ad a tennis ball popped right out of the screen and looked like it was suspended in the air right in front of my eyes.  That was a fairly cool effect.  On the other hand, NOTHING popped out of the screen during the movie, and considering the numerous opportunities involving spears, swords, Kraken-tentacles, boobs, and Liam Neeson’s beard, I’d say that was a major fucking disappointment.  Thing is, though, I still liked the movie.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s hammier than a pig’s arse and nowhere near violent enough, but it’s still good fun.  The same amount of fun, in fact, as it would have been in 2D.  So the 3D thing really had no bearing at all.

3D is more a novelty, though, right?  It’s not really a viable option for serious dramatic films, is it?  Shit, I suppose I shouldn’t be so sure.  The HD thing is much more applicable, though.  One day everything will be high definition, same as when colour came out, black and white pretty much died.  Unless you’re Jim Jarmusch.  Or a film student who really likes Jim Jarmusch movies.  And don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against it.  If the quality improves, cool.  But there is a serious point here, because it seems like HD is being used (just like 3D) to hawk movies more as fashionable technology than good old fashioned art.  I’ll be honest, I don’t know exactly what Blu-Ray is.  I’ll be honest again, I don’t give a rat’s ass.  I just know it’s ‘better quality’ than regular DVDs and it’s more expensive.  Well unlike with the 3D thing, I don’t even need to watch a Blu-Ray movie to know I wouldn’t enjoy it any more than I would watching it on DVD or even (dare I say it!?) fucking VHS.  A good movie does not become a great movie because there are more pixels on the screen, nor does a crappy one become watchable.  Your HD footie match might look a bit prettier than it does on my TV, but when you get down to brass tacks, you’re still just watching a bunch of dudes kicking a ball around.  And I’ve got news for you about the news in high def: it’s still just the fucking news.  The only difference is, you can see your news reader’s nasal hair, which if anything is an argument for reverting to the radio.

I work in a chocolate shop.  You probably knew that, since the only people who read this shit are people who know me personally, and they only do because they feel obligated since I get upset and huffy if I find out they haven’t.  Anyway I managed to survive the emotional ass-raping that was the Easter period mostly by drinking myself silly after every shift, and spending my time in work either idly pondering on some chocolate-related theme, or just loudly complaining that my feet hurt.  One of my ponderings, though, was brought about by a gigantic chocolate bunny rabbit that we were selling.  This thing was huge.  A truly unnecessary amount of chocolate, if you ask me.  But that wasn’t the issue I had with it.  The thing is, that big bastard drew a lot of attention.  People liked looking at him (and yes, it was a ‘him’ you soppy feminist.  And no, not because it had a chocolate bunny knob.  Its name was Warren.  Which is actually quite clever because rabbits live in warrens.  I only just made that connection) and I could never figure out why they thought he was so cool because essentially, he was just a big whack of chocolate.  Sure, he’s in the shape of a big ass bunny, but to eat him you’d have to break him apart and once you do that, he’s just broken up chocolate, same as the chocolate bars and eggs and lollipops we were selling.  He just looked a bit fancier.  But of course he was really expensive and of course some airhead bought him.  Just like people will buy Blu-Ray instead of DVD and Sky HD boxes for their HD ready T.V. so when they watch Deal Or No Deal, Noel’s floral shirt will be fucking vivid, man.   And now of course anyone who has an HD TV will be getting all uppity, thinking I am launching some sort of personal attack.  I assure you, I am not.

By all means, get the fancy stuff.  If it makes you happy, get it in ultra high definition and surround sound.  But don’t get blinded by the technology.  Remember that it’s the movie that counts, not the fucking resolution of the screen, and not the fact that shit in the background looks a bit further away than normal.  Remember that if the movie sucks, you won’t enjoy it any more on your HD flat screen than you would on my regular old CRT TV.  Remember that even though you bought a two-feet tall, fifty quid chocolate bunny, when you break his ear off and start munching on it, it’s just a piece of chocolate.  Trust me, it won’t taste any different.

The rest of the guys arrived in dribs and drabs – and we ran an hour late, two hours late – and well, maybe I lied when I told the band the location was only 20 minutes away. Yet by happy accident, when we arrived in the heart of lagan valley park, the sun was setting between the trees, and all was good.

Farriers – San Remo / A Final Harvest

Download for iPod (137 MB)

Sometimes a location just speaks to you, telling you to hang around, explore, play around. This otherworldly woodland area, about a half hour from Belfast city centre, the city’s best known secret in fact, has a magical draw.

We spent another hour, chasing the sun, in a meadow that seemed to roll on forever, hiding under trees, trying that walking/playing/chewing gum thing. This was a beautiful day, even though we couldn’t feel our fingers in the end.

It was February, after all.

Farriers – Mission Hall / The Last Long Evening

Download for iPod (89.1 MB)

Photography by Liz Wade:

Camera: Will McConnell
Sound: Sean Duncan
Filmed in Belfast, February 2010

Here’s two tracks from their 16th March set in Auntie Annies.

Download for iPod (64.8 MB)

Ablespacer’s new single ‘Draw A Line’ is available free from bandcamp, so find it here.

Ablespacer play Skinny Love at Auntie Annies on 7th April, and support Blood Red Shoes, again at Auntie Annies, 24th April.

Download for iPod (58 MB)

Filmed by Will McConnell, Sean Duncan
in Belfast, March 2010

Best perhaps to sum the man up in his own words:
I write songs that I believe in. I hope that the lyrics reflect some sort of honesty from my own experience in life. I’m not trying to fool anyone. Except myself maybe.

Incidentally, on his travels, Junior picked up a song from an English singer called Andy Barnes, “The Last Of The Great Whales” (not just a song about whales, apparently) It’s a real treat – watch through to the end to catch it.

Junior Johnson – Born In The Wrong Time / City Girl / The Last Of The Great Whales (Andy Barnes)

Download for iPod (121.5 MB)

Filmed by Will McConnell
in Belfast, February 2010

I never credit these illustrations but I really should.  That saying about a picture being worth a thousand words?  Will always gets that picture.  I think you’ll all agree his artwork is the best fuckin’ thing about my posts.

We all wake up with the terrible shame now and again.  Not fully fledged regret over any particular occurrence, just a horrible sense of dread eating at your balls that says ‘you acted like a tit again last night’.  Yeah, I guess everyone knows it, but I think maybe I know it too well.  Maybe it’s because I should have been writing last night, except I didn’t have anything, so I went out drinking.  And after leaving the bar and heading back to a friend’s house for a final glass of wine I might have drunkenly encouraged her dog to hump my leg.  People wonder why it comes as such a shock to me that women aren’t interested in me.

But that’s bullshit.  It doesn’t come as a shock at all.  Sometimes even I don’t like being around me, and I’m not a beautiful woman.  Hell now I’m just stating obvious facts.  Maybe I should just keep doing that until I’ve got a couple of pages:
Grass is green.
Shit stinks.
Beer is delicious.
Kanye West is a twat.
No I really do have a point – I’m just going the long way around getting to it.  I’m not an attractive guy.  I don’t have much money.  I’m very often drunk.  And I still live with my parents.  Essentially, I’m not what is classically considered a ‘catch’.  HOWEVER.  I’m not evil.  I’m pretty good at cooking.  And I don’t listen to Kanye West.  So I’m not a total zero either.  I’m just kinda okay.  I suppose I should be content, but it’s not in my nature to settle for okay, which is why I am so often depressed and, incidentally, why I am so hard to please when it comes to movies.  See, the world is teeming with beautiful women, but I want Ava Gardner.  People who can sing are a dime a dozen.  I want Sinatra.  [Editor's Note: Jesus, there's a necro-three way I'd like to see.] And when I go to the movies, I don’t just want two hours of entertainment, I want that fucking thing to move me.  And as with my life situation, I am very often disappointed because, just like me most movies really aren’t amazing.  They’re just okay.  I usually see a couple of new movies a week so I hear the question all the time, ‘Is it any good?’  In fact the only question I hear more often is ‘Could you stop staring at my breasts please?’  Anyway I find it very telling that my default answer is ‘It’s pretty good.’  Here I am Mr. Hot Shot Film Graduate and the most insightful comment I can conjure up is ‘it’s pretty good.’  And usually that’s not lack of imagination on my part, it’s just the best way to describe most movies.

It’s like asking someone how their lunch was.  It’s lunch.  You eat it every day and usually it’s unremarkable, but when you’re hungry a sandwich still hits the spot so usually, lunch is ‘pretty good’ right?  Well I see a lot of movies and most of the time I enjoy them, but very few of them rock my world.  So you’ll ask me what I thought of it and I’ll say it’s pretty good and you will remain unenlightened until you go see it yourself and think ‘that was pretty good.’  This is not as depressing as it sounds, even for someone like me.  Movies can’t always be The Godfather.  Women can’t always be Ava Gardner.  Jackasses can’t always be Kanye West.  And that’s okay, because we need the pretty good stuff.  Just because a movie isn’t the best one I’ve ever seen doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it.  It just means when I see that movie all the other critics tell you is ‘mind-blowing’ or ‘unmissable’ or (my personal favourite) ‘the best [genre] movie in the last ten years’, I’ll probably just tell you it’s pretty good.  I’ll save the hyperbole for the movies that really deserve it.  But where the hell am I going with this?

Well, I’m trying to say you should go see the movies.  Even when I just tell you it’s pretty good and you forget about it because shit, if it was really worth seeing I would have grabbed you by the shoulders and screamed it in your face, you should go see it.  Because they all have something to offer, even if they aren’t the best movie you’ve ever seen, or even the best movie you’ve seen this week, they still have their place.  They’re still worthwhile.  I saw Green Zone yesterday, and you know what?  It was pretty good.  I won’t buy the DVD, but I’m glad I went to see it because it’s a good movie, and you should see it too, for the same reason.  Don’t wait around for the perfect movie with your favourite star – go see ‘em all, because even if it’s just pretty good, it’s worth your time.  Pretty good is what makes the world go around.  I have seriously high standards and even I understand this concept, because if pretty good was never good enough, those of us who don’t quite manage awesome – guys like me – would be fucked.  In the end life will kick you in the ass and if you’ve spent your life pissing on everything that didn’t quite measure up, that kick is gonna hurt like hell.  We’re not here long enough to have such high standards or to feel shame every time we get drunk, so go to see the pretty good movies and forgive yourself when you have one too many.  See the movie.  Have the beer.

Just don’t actively encourage a dog to hump your leg – you’ll look like a fool.

[Editor’s Note: This is just a thinly veiled apology for the fact that you had no material this week and as such turned in a sub-standard article!]

[Shearer’s Note: Shit.]

I first filmed with Colenso Parade at a very damn and very raucous Glasgowbury Festival. Crammed into the back of my van (long story) and chock full of brown wine, the lads took the whole thing surprisingly well. Have a look at the car-nage (err sorry), which features 3 other bands, right here.

So how could we top that?
Well, there’s a very special location in Belfast that I was saving for just such an occasion.

Oh and by the way – watch the video through to the end for a little surprise. Sometimes these little magic moments happen – and this really is magic. The band were on a high, they’d been strumming this little Everly Brothers ditty all day – and then they found their audience, two unsuspecting citizens just trying to walk through the grounds of the city hall.

And so it was, a case of hello darlin’, goodbye loneliness..

Colenso Parade – Fall At Your Feet / Bye Bye Love (Everly Brothers)

Download for iPod (93.9 MB)

Filmed by Will McConnell
in Belfast, February 2009

And since then the lads have secured a promotional deal, and have been touring the country up and down. Oh and then there’s the small matter of this little seen TV advert.

In february, The Creatures were invited down to play RTE’s Late Late Show. A watershed moment. And here’s the story of that, and, in a glimpse, of their career thus far.

John Shelly & The Creatures – Long May You Reign

Download for iPod (39.1 MB)

Filmed & edited by Will McConnell
Bandwidth Films 2010

Just as they were preparing for a trip over to Austin, Texas and the SXSW showcase, the band rocked into the upstairs of a tattoo parlour in Belfast city centre.

Dave had warned me the previous day that he had the lurgee and his voice was about to give any moment. So what we get in return is something like a blues version of ‘Where The Wolf Roam’ – stripped down, bare bones, just like Bandwidth likes it – and when you do it like Strait Laces do it, who needs a second take?

Strait Laces – Where The Wolf Roam

Download for iPod (32.6 MB)

Strait Laces play the Belfast Rocks Showcase at Latitude 30 in Austin, Texas tonight. They’ll hang around SXSW for the remainder of the week, and return to Northern Ireland with a show at The Limelight on 25 March.

Photography by Liz Wade:

Filmed by Will McConnell
in Belfast, February 2010

Since then, Peggy Sue have been back twice, including last week with Local Natives. This is a reminder of he first time, when I was allowed the rare luxury of spending a whole afternoon with them on a quiet Saturday morning in the Cathedral Quarter area of Belfast.

I was their host in the city for 2 hours. So where else to start than straight to the pub – the grand old ‘Duke of York’ to be exact:

Peggy Sue – Hatstand Blues

Download for iPod (74 MB)

The Cathedral Quarter in Belfast is a mixed up kind of place, caught up between council-funded gentrification and a genuine desire for artistic diversification, in a place populated by artisans and craft workshops, right beside hotels and travel agents. In short, amongst the cloy wine bars there’s still a few wee gems in the area, like the Safehouse Gallery – the entire ground floor of which has been a dedicated artist’s studio for the past few years. Play spot the icons.

Either way, this space really made an impression on the band, and we even got an audience for a while staring in through the windows..

Peggy Sue – Milk and Blood

Download for iPod (31.6 MB)

The reverb in this space was incredible – a long nondescript alleyway behind – you guessed it – a hotel, than really could be good to good use one day. A week later it was transformed into a ‘nightmare alley’, with montage clips from horror movies projected onto its white spaces But that’s another story. For now it would have to make do as a makeshift concert space for the unsuspecting office workers.
Not that they didn’t appreciate the distraction.

“Thank you. Now shut up.”

Peggy Sue is currently touring with Local Natives before heading to Europe in April with Archie Bronson.

Peggy Sue – Watchman

Download for iPod (50.9 MB)

Filmed by Will McConnell
in Belfast, September 2009

I first worked with her last winter when we the people of Bandwidth put on a show called Thank You For Watching, a free concert for subscribers to the Bandwidth world that featured Isobel and Albrecht’s Pencil.

This is an altogether different environment – a new song, so new in fact its not even yet named. Just raw, straight out of the box emotion. And an auto harp. In a kitchen.

Isobel Anderson – Untitled #1

Download for iPod (39.3 MB)

Belfast is full of wee surprises. That was kind of the spirit in which this In Stores Now series was born So sometimes a secret allotment beside a car park behind a row of houses in south Belfast comes along – and its just a the kind of place you want to film a video.

It was something about this space – the time of day with the sun setting, the freezing cold air – Isobel’s music seemed to fit – or vice versa. Her latest songs share this theme of travel, water, nature. It was all too perfect. Anyway, here’s two tracks together: one – View Out Of Sight – I’d heard on her myspace page and had specifically and humbly requested, the other a second new song, again so new it didn’t even have a name. Bliss.

Isobel Anderson – View Out Of Sight / Untitled #2

Download for iPod (119.1 MB)

Isobel Anderson’s next scheduled show is 20th March at the Black Box in Belfast – and keep an eye for her in cafés and music nights all over the city.

The brilliantly talented Gerard O’Mahony accompanied us that day, have a look at some of his photos from that day, as well as the rest of his portfolio, right here:

Filmed by Will McConnell
in Belfast, January 2010

I was in Johnny’s office.  His new office, complete with new mini bar and couch.  If I was more like Roger Sterling I would have walked in without knocking, poured myself a drink, sat on the sofa, and stolen one of his cigarettes before he could say a word.  I’d then reply with something witty and vaguely offensive.  Unfortunately I’m nothing like Roger Sterling, so it went more like this: ‘Have a seat Ian.’
‘Haven’t seen you in a while,’ I said, and sat down.
‘I only come in to make token appearances at the office.  Do most of my work from home now.’
‘So you have an office you don’t use and I still have to use reception’s printer when they’re not looking?’
‘Don’t start Ian, you’re in no position.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means no one is reading your stuff any more.  It’s embarrassing.  You know how many people read your last article?  One.  Your editor.  And he read it by accident.’
‘What’s your point?’ I asked.
‘My point is this new format just isn’t working.  We’re going back to the original idea.’
‘Fuck no.’
‘Fuck yes.  Or you won’t be working here any more.  Look I know you’re all about integrity and originality and all that bullshit, but I’m concerned with one thing and one thing only.  Readers.  And you don’t have any, so we’re gonna make a change.’
‘Really?  So what should I write about?’
‘You’ll see,’ was all he said, and told me where to be and what time.  I didn’t argue, because to be honest I had no idea what I was going to write for this article.  As I was leaving he gave me one last cryptic clue.  ‘Look out for a pink hat,’ he said.  Yeah, pink hat, red flag.

I got to the bar at 6pm, dressed a lot nicer than I’m used to.  Which just means I didn’t wear my wallet chain and I buttoned my shirt all the way up.  Everyone else in the place had made much more effort.  I sat at the bar, ordered up a bourbon neat, and kept my eye out for a pink hat.
Seven drinks passed before I saw it.  Not one pink hat, but many.  Around fifteen, actually, perched atop fifteen dolled up dames all wearing little black dresses and shoes that matched the hats.  A fat one out front suddenly pointed at me and they all looked.  I nearly fell off my goddamn stool, but immediately they surrounded me and I had no room to move.
‘Are you Ian?’ shouted the fat one.
‘Unfortunately I am,’ I said, and this seemed to please them.  ‘Who are you?’ I asked.  The fat one said her name was Tanya, and she was one of the bridesmaids.  A fucking hen party.  God damn you Johnny.  Moments later the bride-to-be plonked a pink hat on my head, threw her arms around me and gave me a big kiss.
‘I’m Claire,’ she said, ‘I’m the hen.’  This is easily the most action I’ve had for about six months and I was already half toasted on whiskey so I just smiled.
‘Well baby I guess that makes me the rooster.’  She laughed, obviously impressed by my charm and humour.  Then she leaned in close to whisper in my ear.
‘I prefer cock.’  Lord in heaven I take it back – make sure you keep a spot up there for old Johnny!

They ordered up several jugs of some fiendish cocktail and we got a table.  I usually make a point of not drinking anything that’s pink, but it was free, and I already looked like the group’s gay friend, so I made an exception.

[Editor’s Note: And you were wearing a pink hat.]

I saw Claire trying to find a space to sit, and being the gent that I am I offered her my seat.
‘That’s okay, I’ll just sit on your knee,’ she said, and I wasn’t about to pass her up.
‘I haven’t got a seat either!’ exclaimed Tanya.  Jesus no.  She arsed her way past two of the others and fell back onto my other leg.  After a couple of minutes I said I had to go to the toilet and spent about five minutes in the men’s trying to shake some blood back into my foot.  I got a pint and headed back to the table to find that Tanya had stolen my seat and Claire was now sitting on her knee.  I gave serious thought to sitting on her other leg, but realised Don Draper would never do something like that, so I just stood and lingered near Claire.
‘So what’s the plan for tonight?’ I asked her.
‘Oh we’re gonna go see a movie and then we were supposed to go for dinner but we’re just gonna go straight to the bar to get drunk!’
‘Cool.  What movie are we going to see?’
‘That one with Colin Firth in it.  I love Colin Firth.’
She was talking about A Single Man, and though I really wanted to see it, I really did not want to see it with a hen party.

I’m not quite sure what any of them made of the movie.  I don’t even know why the hell they went to see it.  They were all shitfaced before we even got to the cinema, and although they talked all the way through it the only time they actually made reference to the film was when one of them yelled, ‘Get stuck into him big lad!’  They didn’t even take their goddamn hats off.  I tried to ignore their bad manners and incessant bathroom breaks, and despite it all, managed to enjoy the film.  In fact, it blew me away.  It seems like a cop-out to say it just worked, but that’s about the best I can do.  Sometimes when a movie sucks I know it sucks, but I find it hard to explain why.  In the same way that even though I don’t know shit about music, I know when a guitar is out of tune.  On the flip side sometimes I go to see a movie and just love it, and not only would I have a hard time elucidating why exactly, part of me isn’t even interested in the why.  It’s enough to say that it is fucking great and any sort of analysis is just besides the point.  Well this movie is fucking great.  This is not just some elevator music you hear to drown out the sound of your own boredom.  It is not a flashy, expensive music video from the latest star with as much depth as a piss stain on a lamp post.  This is Clapton on guitar, blowing your mind and all the while just standing there like he’s doing nothing at all.  Like any good movie it grabs you by the balls and doesn’t let go till the credits roll.  Maybe I’m just excited because my balls rarely get more than a light fondling at the movies…

[Editor’s Note: Ian stop talking about your balls.]

…but it does all this without the use of special effects or explosions or dick jokes.  That’s real filmmaking, and it’s becoming all too rare in mainstream movies.  See it while you still can.

After the movie we went to another bar and, starting as they meant to continue, they did a round of shots.  The first casualty of the night was a girl named Chloe, whom I didn’t speak to the whole night until she said to me, very politely, ‘I’m going to be sick.’  I took off my hat and handed it to her and she filled a good third.  She gave me back the sick-filled hat and a couple of her friends carted her off.  In my state I found it very interesting how well the hue of her vomit matched the hat but none of the dames seemed to want to hear about it.  Then Claire told me she didn’t want to get married.
‘Really?  How come?’ I asked.
‘Because you’re cute,’ she said.
‘Well I really don’t think that’s…’
‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said.  I nearly broke my goddamn fingers scrambling my phone out of my pocket.  No reception.  Fuck.
‘I’ll be right back,’ I said, and went outside to phone a taxi. On my way out I passed a fireman heading in to the bar, but since the place wasn’t burning down and I was in a rush, I paid him no heed.  With a taxi booked I dashed back into the bar, knocking pink-hatted women out of my path as I went and wondering why the hell they were playing You Give Love A Bad Name by Bon Jovi.  What I found stopped me dead.  Claire was sitting in a chair at the centre of the dance floor, surrounded by jeering women.  The fireman was now only identifiable by his hat and boots – stripped to his underpants – the rest of his clothing scattered on the floor, and he was grinding his impressive, leopard print crotch in Claire’s face.  She seemed to be rather enjoying herself.  The fireman’s arse was obscenely hairless.  I turned away, went to the bar and ordered a double.

I was well into my second when the performance ended and the fireman simply gathered up his clothes and left.  Don’t Stop Believing by Journey started playing and I knew the end was near, which was lucky because by now I was only standing with assistance from the bar.  Not near enough though.  The broads had been whipped into a frenzy – they were out for cock.  I guess this time they settled for rooster.  When they started chanting ’off, off, off,’ I turned to see what all the fuss was about and realised they were cheering at me.  I started to shake my head and back away but it was all in vain.  One of the bitches tackled me from behind, and when Tanya threw herself into the mix the game was over.  I was thrown to the ground and stripped to my bare arse, infinitely hairier than Fireman Sam’s.  I’m not sure that was what they found so disappointing though.  Fearing that my measurements may anger the mob I kicked my way to my feet, nabbed a pink hat to cover my modesty, and headed for the door.

Needless to say no taxis would pick me up.  The police found me a couple of hours later.  ‘You been drinking son?’ asked the abnormally tall policeman.
‘No I’ve been fucking gardening.  It’s a Saturday night and I’m naked in the street.  Of course I’ve been fucking drinking.’  This apparently wasn’t the smart thing to say, and they booked me.  Johnny ended up having to post my bail, which is only fair if you ask me.

Lo-fi, lo-down and dirty rock. Blues so thick you could stir it with a stick.
Where else to showcase their charms?

Why a tasty kebab shop of course..

Download for iPod (71.6 MB)

Filmed by Will McConnell
in Belfast, January 2010

Some people will tell you alcohol is no good.  They’ll say it’s bad for your health, it’s a waste of money, and nobody likes a drunk.  Those things may or may not be true, but I refuse to believe alcohol never does anything good.  Two nights ago I was standing at the bar in a way too crowded Spring And Airbrake waiting to see Hayseed Dixie.  I would have been waiting for quite some time, because I was in the wrong goddamn bar.  Turns out last minute they changed the venue to the Limelight, to accommodate The Maccabees, who had been shunted out of somewhere else.  I have a sneaking suspicion that had I been there to see The Maccabees, you would all be much more interested in reading this, but I have no idea who the fucking Maccabees are and I wanted to hear some bluegrass.  Anyway, how exactly did booze get me out of this predicament?  Well there I was at the (wrong) bar, mixing up a Jack and a Becks to form the most potent and delicious of boilermakers when some fella next to me exclaimed, ‘Jesus man what are you putting in your beer!?’
‘Whiskey,’ I told him.
‘Fuck,’ he said, ‘if you do that to all your beers you’re in for some night.  I suppose you don’t have work tomorrow?’
‘Actually I do,’ I said, ‘but fuck them – they can deal with me.’  Laughing, he asked me who I was there to see.  I told him I was there to see Hayseed Dixie, and he gave me a puzzled look.  I assume you can figure the rest of the story out for yourself.  And so you see – that goddamn boilermaker saved my night.  Who knows how long I would have stood in Spring and Air listening to some shitty indie music wondering when the hell Hayseed Dixie would go on?  Not only that, after I asked the barman if I was indeed at the wrong show, he told me yes I was, and that he would take me over to the Limelight to make sure I had no trouble getting in.  I told him that was cool, but I wanted to finish my drink.  So I hurried the bugger into me (a sure sign of the direction my night would take) and he took me over to the Limelight, whereupon he gave me another Becks and another Jack, completely gratis.  I fashioned my second boilermaker of the night, gave him an appreciative nod and made my way towards the stage, where the support band where finishing up.

Incidentally, this show was not an assignment for Bandwidth, but since I have been dubbed their ‘rock n roll correspondent’ I decided it would be wrong for me to miss it, and went on my own initiative.

[Editor’s Note: Ian dubbed himself our ‘rock n roll correspondent’.]

Hayseed Dixie formed, I believe, as a bluegrass/country tribute band to AC/DC, and grew from there to the band as they are now – playing a mixture of rock n roll cover songs and their own material.  Their sound is so alien to anything I’ve ever encountered that at first I found it hard to get my ears around it.  A few songs in though, and on to my third boilermaker, it would have been impossible to not be affected by the band’s energy and enthusiasm.  Standing four abreast across the stage (no drummer, ya see) like a police line-up in a chicken rustling case and playing everything from guitar and bass to banjo, mandolin and fiddle I guess this shit is either going to be right up your street, or right off your radar.  I love country music, and though I’m more inclined towards the outlaw stuff, any kind is cool with me – bluegrass included.  And as strange as it sounds, a bluegrass (or ‘rockgrass’) version of Ace Of Spades works.  Really.  And although it is cool to hear all the classic rock tracks they cover, I’d say I enjoyed their own stuff just as much.  On top of being balls out awesome musicians they also came across as seriously cool dudes, who were very surprised and gracious about the reception they have always received in Belfast.  When they finished their set a couple of the guys came down to sign stuff and have photos taken.  I decided to buy a CD and get it signed, and only realised then I was totally tapped, so I settled for shaking their hands and telling them the show was awesome.  I’m not sure if they were perplexed because I didn’t buy anything, or want a photo or a signature, or just amused by how hammered I was, but they didn’t seem to know what to make of me.  Then again, very few do.

I spent my last two quid on a beer in Katy’s and I guess I should be glad that my lack of funds broke the vicious cycle of boilermakers I had fallen in to.  Because I then marched off to a cash machine, lifted a twenty and went to Annie’s.  By this point I was functioning on instinct alone and I just sat very quietly at the end of the bar sipping a whiskey.  I don’t know how many boilermakers I had, but on top of all the straight whiskey I think even one more could have been disastrous.  I went to sleep that night and saw a strange light at the end of a tunnel, blinding at first.  When I managed to fully open my eyes I realised it was just sunlight coming through my window, threatening to set fire to my brain like the whiskey soaked rag that it was.  I felt like I hadn’t slept at all.

** Scene Missing **

Mere coffee and painkillers weren’t going to get me through work, so I broke out the big guns and had a smoothie.  It did the trick, but by the time I got home I just wanted bed.  So, just go to bed, right?  Wrong.  Not for a dedicated arts journalist like me.  My assignment: a performance of the play ‘Rhinoceros’ by the Queen’s drama department.  If you’re anything like Larry, you might be wondering what the fuck I’m doing going to see a play.
‘What the fuck are you doing going to see a play?’ asked Larry.  I don’t follow exactly what Larry is on at any given point – I merely distinguish between ‘up’ and ‘down’, and unlike our last outing, I’m not talking about his penis.  Anyway on Tuesday he was ‘up’, and he wanted to know why we were going to see a play, instead of partying.  I told him he was a filthy philistine and we were going to see a play because I damn well felt like seeing a play.  Except I didn’t.  I didn’t figure on having a wicked hangover, and all of a sudden the whole idea seemed like folly.  Larry told me he wasn’t going and I told him I didn’t give a shit.

[Editor’s Note: It was not Ian’s decision to see Rhinoceros.  Will was supposed to go, but couldn't due to unforeseen circumstances.  See postscript.]

When I got to QFT the first thing that struck me was how beautiful everyone was.  I mean that as literally as it sounds – I have never been surrounded by so many beautiful people in my life.  This was not as fortunate as it sounds, because I felt exactly how I looked – like an ugly refugee who, less than 24 hours earlier had been mixing whiskey and beer and singing along to a bluegrass version of Green Day’s ‘Holiday’.  An impostor with a hangover and no knowledge of theatre whatsoever.  A goddamn loser.  So I had a beer.  Fuck it.

When I was shown to my seat I had to walk along the front of the stage, in front of the audience.  It hit home just how ballsy those students must be to get up there, because for three seconds I felt as awkward and exposed as I’ve ever felt in my life, and I was just walking to my seat.  Anyone who says acting is easy can kiss my ass.  So when the lights went down, I was already in a position of awe, but still hung over and still not used to the format since I am, essentially, a film guy.  It only took about two minutes for me to forget all about that, though.  This play was absolutely fucking class.  The material is a classic, which helps, I guess, but the actors totally nailed it and judging by the audience reaction I wasn’t the only person who thought so.  It was genuinely funny, and not the kind of funny that makes you think ‘oh, that’s funny’ but the kind that makes you laugh from the gut before the thought that it’s funny can cross a synapse.  What, proper funny?  Yes Tommy, proper funny.  I would go into more detail about why the show was so good but I’m not a goddamn theatre critic and I’d probably just end up talking about the frequent cleavage shots I was treated to from my second row vantage.  And that would just be far too crass for a cultured theatre-goer like me.

Maybe the whole experience happened just the way it should have.  Hayseed Dixie came just long enough after the weekend that I was ready for more serious drinking, and I saw Rhinoceros with the subsequent hangover, which only further proved how fantastic it was, because when I go out in the pissing rain with a bitch of a hangover, and come home glad I did, whatever it was must have been pretty fucking good.

PS – You might have noticed this article doesn’t have an illustration.  It is actually Will who does my illustrations (yes, he has another fucking talent) but recently he has allowed his artistic vision to spiral out of control.  For this article he insisted he could get a photo of a real live rhinoceros wearing a trucker cap and a t-shirt with a confederate flag, and promptly took a plane to Africa. Tragically (but unsurprisingly) he was gored by one of the beasts and is not expected to recover.