Archive for June, 2006

Waiter Waiter…

Thursday, June 29th, 2006



Life comes down to a few moments. I have those moments once a while and it is invariably with fellow professionals we are trying to get work from. One of the downsides of running your own business is that you have to get work in yourself. You may slack off when the going is good but the lull will inevitably hit much later on as the current work runs out. When it does and you have no work you start to shit yourself. I mean, what happens if you have no work? You don’t eat, you question your abilities and your confidence gets fucked over. So you have to dig in and these meetings that will one day give you the work become tense and vital with no room for error. Your future depends on the next hour – the next moments. Imagine having a job interview every month. I had such a meeting today with one such fellow professional – been in the game 20 years and knew exactly who I was and where I was coming from. Saw me a mile away. However he treated me no less than an equal and was attentive and respectful to my ideas and my company and will no doubt pass work our way soon and for years to come. It was refreshing that someone as successful as he was prepared to treat me as an equal rather than pull some shitty power trip. I decided that when, in 20 years time, if I am in a similar position I will act with the same dignity and fairness he did to me. They say that you can judge a man by how he treats the staff in restaurants – I would say that is fair and I’m sure he leaves a hefty tip.

Ta Ta Spain

Tuesday, June 27th, 2006



Spain France. Good game but yet again Fat Clive Tyldesley ruined the match with his terrible verbal diarrhoea. “Yeah…it’s gone in boss” chuckled Fat Clive as a slow motion clip showing the French coach Domenech celebrating his teams second goal was being played. As the clock ticked down Fat Clive let us all know there was ten minutes left to play. And then there was a pause. And then he said “tense minutes” like it was a rhyme and there was some link or humour in this nonsense word play. Fat Clive does like a player getting hit in the family jewels and nothing makes his day more than trotting out the same old clichés when this happens;”…well he hasn’t been hit the head that’s for sure…” “ha ha ha…he’ll be alright…” ITV must think that Fat Clive cannot ruin our enjoyment of the game alone so they’ve given him David “likes a pro” Pleat as a sidekick affording some banter between these two vacuous nonces. An example of their work was so cringe-worthy my teeth feel out. As the second half started this:


Fat Clive: “tension rising”

David Pleat: “pace quickening”

Fat Clive: “exciting game”


Actual football highlights of the match was Vieira telling the odious Luis Aragones to shut it, Raul still being played despite being the worst Spanish player ever, Zidane scoring the third goal and Henry being shown to be the dirty cheat that he so palpably is by diving and face clutching and getting Puyol booked. Mind you Henry did get cunted off in the studio by El Tel and Ruud so it’s all good. In fact, the smug Spaniards being beaten was the only real highlight anyone needed to enjoy this game.

Match Point

Tuesday, June 27th, 2006



Seeing as its Wimbeldon and there is tennis in the air I thought I’d go on about Match Point, the new filum from Woody Allen. Or Dad as he is known to his adopted daughter that he married. Nice. Match Point features the kind of “brits” a middle aged American imagines the upper echelons of British society consists of. How super. The story is based around the idea of a tennis coach meeting and marrying into a well-to-do family and the subsequent choices our hero has to make when he realises marrying for money rather than love is not wise. The film rips along at a fair old pace and it does have its fair share of braying hooray Henrys being all posh and that so there’s unintentional laughs to be had. I have to say I enjoyed da movie and, like Layer Cake, Match Point is a good London film. I did find the story began to implode twords the end but thankfully it doesn’t go on too long so its not drawn out torture. So to summerise I would say there are worse ways to waste an hour and a half and although the conclusion is unsatisfactory you don’t feel dirty and used at the end. New balls please. 7/10

Enjoy The Silence – Depeche Mode

Monday, June 26th, 2006


Firstly because there are few bands from Basildon that will make any classic pop list. Secondly, Enjoy the Silence is one of many decent pop singles the Mode have knocked out over the years. I first saw the veejo to this on MTV when MTV was exciting and important. At the time I was in the midst of my hip hop fascism and straight after MTV raps they showed this – largely featuring Dave Gahan walking around some hills in a crown naturally. The video, like the song, was totally different to what was around at the time and although I wouldn’t admit it, I loved its oddness. It’s a simple thing but no less inspiring for it and there is even a bird warbling in the background which is probably Alison Moyet from Southend. When Bas Vegas meets Southend there is only one outcome – pop gold.

LP Review – Fishscale

Friday, June 23rd, 2006



If Gravel Pit, the first single of the Wu’s third album, signalled the decline of the Gambino dynasty then it also highlighted the rise in stock of Ghost Face. As the rest of the clan brag in staccato Tony Starks blesses the stodgy beat with supreme lyrical gold and a technique that is still too futuristic for today’s audience. After his classic first few albums and a label change Ghost is back. More than an MC Ghost is a soul man and this cat can rhyme over anything with soul – Marvin Gaye or the Rocky theme tune. If he can feel it then he will rock it. There’s no Dr Dre hip hop production values here and ghost is at his best with the rawest of looped soul grooves.


Ghost is a story teller a la Kool G Rap and can paint pictures in your mind as vivid as any film. One track, Beauty Jackson, concerns his meeting a laydee at a bus stop and he describes, with beauty and amazing detail, the encounter. This vividness and peerless lyrical dexterity makes him unique and savoured amongst the purists. Stand out tracks are “9 milli bros” which is a Wu Tang cut that could grace 36 chambers. Even OBD makes an appearance before his untimely passing. “Be Easy” “Jellyfish” “Major Operation” are a few standouts from an album that has been created with love for the artform and an attempt to stamp some authority on a genre dead on its arse. Even Cappadonna is back on fire fresh from cab driving duties. Fishscale further cements Ironman at the top of the game and is the benchmark not many will be able to reach. A future classic and there’s not many of those around these days. 9.5/10.

Come Fly the Shitpot Skies

Thursday, June 22nd, 2006


The A380 is a dog with fleas. The A380 is so bad even the execs at EADS are flogging their shares left right and centre before Airbus goes tits up and the company is worth zero. If you ever watch the way the A380 is put together you would understand why this whole project has doom written all over it. The “boffins” at Airbus decided to build the A380 in France. What they forgot that all the bits that make up the plane are not in France. To add to the shambles the factory is cleverly located next to a tiny, historical French village. This means once a week the wings have to be shipped from England to France and then driven at very low speeds, along miles of motorways until it gets to said village. They are then driven through the tiny streets with only centimetres of clearance as they pass 500 year old buildings. Its forward planning like this that breeds confidence at 36,000ft.


The whole project has been rushed because it is massively behind schedule and when the big white elephant does hit the mountain face they’ll be able to trace it back to technicians cutting corners and making mistakes. Even if it was delivered on time the whole thing looks doomed. The first landing at Heathrow was appalling. The plane was all over the place as it touched down. And this is when the pilot knows the world’s eyes are on him – what about when the plane is flying in less visible situations? How long will take to check in and seat 566436 passengers? Who wants to have a shower on a plane? And a Bar? More things to go wrong. Its not just me, Singapore Airlines have ordered Boeings as they have clearly run out of patience. Other airlines are cancelling too. There something not right about this plane and until it’s been in service for ten years I won’t get on one. But I doubt it will be ready in ten years time anyway.

Against All Odds

Friday, June 16th, 2006


"How can I just let you walk away, just let you leave without a trace, When I stand here taking every breath with you, ooo wee ooo".


It’s the ooo wee ooo that makes this song. Phil ran out of lyrics by line two such was his emotional turmoil and how could he fill the empty bars? What could sum up his despair? Nothing, but the raw emotion of ooo wee ooo. Make no mistake, Phil has been through tough times and he knows the dark side – this song is a tribute to those heady days. You’ve left and now look at me, happy now? Nobody has captured that moment like Collins. You can whine all day about “I love you and you please come back” but where is the honesty in that? No, look at the fucking state I’m in is a more accurate if less noble statement to make. You were too good for her anyway Phil.


16 Rocks

Friday, June 16th, 2006



16 blocks. 16 blocks. Where to begin? Fist of all I can recommend this with a capital R. The film is built around the story of Bruce “hard-drinking” Willis transporting a criminal, who is black natch, 16 blocks for his court appearance. But beneath this simple concept there are sub-plots and twists and the film quickly transforms into an emotional rollercoaster ride. This isn’t Die Hard. Willis plays yet another flawed cop with a heart of gold but it’s the co-star makes this film. Mighty Mos Def. If you’re hip-to-the-groove like me then you’ll know Mos emerged on the rap-de-rap scene over a decade ago spitting rhymes that were like firewater. Little did we know then that the cat was a closet luvvie. He dropped a few amazing, if not revolutionary singles and one very good album. Then we waited for years for the next recording. This was the New Danger LP. It was shockingly bad. Looking back he must have had his mind on other things such as the silver screen. So, now he is an actor and in 16 blocks he was great. No, he didn’t go the LL Cool J/Ice T “hip hop cop jiggaboo” route. No sir, Mos took the Forrest Gump road instead which takes some courage in light of the machismo running through hip hop over the last few years. The chemistry between Willis and Mos was clear to see and the ending almost had me in tears. It was beautiful. So I hope Mos, the thinking mans MC, now picks his future roles with care and becomes an example to all those fiddy wannabes that you can have brains and art and be respected. 16 Blocks is a great filum most definitely. 9/10.


Thursday, June 15th, 2006



So there I was, being forced to watch Harrison Fords new film Firewall. Oh dear oh dear. America comes to terms with the horrors of interweb banking. So bored was I that I passed the time counting the number of facial expressions Harrison Ford acted out in his role as uber Neo-Con Jack something-or-other. The total? One. I can only assume he has now based his entire repertoire on the look an Alzheimer’s sufferer has when they suddenly realise they are married with children. Ford should bow out now before he totally ruins his legacy. I dread to think what Raiders of the Lost Ark 4 will be like and I hope the old man isn’t fighting and jumping around because on this form it will be like watching disabled acrobats in a Victorian circus. Ford is a hero of mine but he is sullying his reputation with awful “thrillers” like Firewall. Being Americans, the villain of the piece was English of course. All villains in US films are English these days for some reason. You’d hope after our Prime Minister sold out the entire United Kingdom to fight an illegal and unjust war for George Bush we’d get cut a bit of slack. Not a bit of it. Thanks America.


So, in summary, do not bother with this thriller-by-numbers because the only potential interest in the film, Ford, is too old to know what day it is let alone what he can do to rescue this tosh. 2/10.

Death By Clive

Thursday, June 15th, 2006



15 minutes until England kick off against Trinidad and Tobago. Being in Asia right now it is dark, late evening and relaxed. I imagine the boozers in London are packed and the country is in hysterics. Being away from the hype is a good thing. You can watch the match with clarity. I don’t need a copy of a World Cup guide free with every newspaper. I don’t get in depth analysis at half time because I’m watching the game and I know what has happened. I don’t need Ian Wright telling me Becks was "well wicked". Perhaps the very best thing about the coverage over here is the commentary i.e. none. Where did the cult of the commentator come from? Well, the radio obviously. Then TV was born and broadcasting was basic so I guess there still was a need. But now? Why do we need them? What commentary has become is a sideshow to the game. I don’t require polite chit chat during the quiet passages of plays. No need for an ironic stat or matey banter – I can get that down the pub. I require only very basic information, not humour or jokes or the constant and unrelenting barrage of meaningless facts, figures, clichés and banal observations that now accompany every match of any significance. What football coverage has become now is the equivalent of Terry Wogan and the Eurovision song contest.


All that is wrong with football coverage can be summed up in two words. Clive Tyldesley. This man is football TV cancer. A walking idiot machine he is capable of ruining any match with his Daily Mail sensibilities. I hate Clive and his deformed eyes. The man is true horror. Pure evil. He has been designed to ruin football and we stand by and let him. He is determined to shout his insincere rubbish over any major match in the hope that somehow he will become associated it. Clive is the kind of person 20 years ago who thought football was vulgar and working class. Now he is all over it. I hate all Football commentators but baby-faced Clive is by far the worst. My only hope is that the advent of Digital will allow us to turn him off forever and they crash and burn like DLT did at Radio 1 all those years ago. I can’t wait.