Given that my mostly unread gushings of support generally signal the end of a recording artist's career, I've been taking care not to talk too much about Norwegian popstrel Annie. My selfless restraint was finally rewarded last week when her much-delayed second album Don't Stop arrived on my doormat, and I can now spew forth torrents of hyperbolic praise safe in the knowledge that its release won't get cancelled and I can listen to it without having to spend ridiculous amounts of money obtaining a promotional copy off eBay (see the post about Captain for further details).
Best known in the UK for 2004's top 20 and in no way irritating semi-hit single Chewing Gum, she is more fondly remembered by the internet as the perky blonde genius behind 2005's top 50 and utterly amazing non-hit Heartbeat. CUE THREE MINUTES AND SIX SECONDS OF COMPLETE AURAL PERFECTION (and then a minute or so of complete silence to assist your return to the mediocrity of everyday existence)
The new album's quite good too, probably a 4/5 sort of affair.
There's an easy way to avoid being savaged for disrespectfully insulting the memories of dead soldiers - in future don't bother hand-writing letters to their bereaved families. I can't imagine it ever took you much time or effort, being blind in one eye and the PRIME MINISTER OF THE UNITED KINGDOM and all, but no matter how much fun you were having maliciously misspelling surnames, you could probably do without the Sun kicking up a stink every time you mix up an M and an N.
I have been trying to download an EP from iTunes for 20 minutes now. It is taking forever because your internet service is shit. It is always shit, has been shit since we got it, and despite a number of phonecalls you seem to have no idea how to make it any less shit. Finding myself powerless and angry, I did what all liberal-leaning dorks do in such situations and did some venting over Twitter last night. I was less than impressed to get a reply.
Hmm, yes, or, here's another idea - STOP WASTING TIME SCOURING TWITTER FOR ANY SIGN OF DISSENT FROM BT CUSTOMERS AND REPLY TO THE PHONECALL WE MADE TO YOU EARLIER IN THE WEEK YOU EVIL BASTARDS
One. Watch my usual selection of appalling (AMAZING) television shows. A massive backload of Ugly Betty, 30 Rock and Gossip Girl is gathering virtual dust somewhere and it's very upsetting. I have been making time for Merlin at the expense of my shorthand, but only because I love him more than anything in the entire world. (see weird Lovefest post for further details)
Two. Sit pointlessly awake into the early hours of the morning blinking at Wikipedia articles about various man-made disasters while listening to forlorn tunes by Anthony & the Johnsons or Leona Lewis. In a completely unrelated development, recently I've been filled with hope and general wellbeing.
Three. Drink at inappropriate times of day for no reason other than a mild but persistent boredom. In a completely unrelated development, recently I've been filled with hope and general wellbeing.
Four. Deal with the increasingly pressing issue of my ramshackle appearance. In an ideal world I would have lots of time to get my hair sheared back into something less hedge-like, buy a new coat, new boots and some new woolly things to wrap myself in when I feel pathetic, but I don't, so I haven't. I'M A COMPLETE MESS.
Five. Blog This post has taken me three days and there are about twelve half-finished drafts below it, all of which are now hideously out of date. Yes, too much of anything can make you sick, but I fear for the future of Woss on the Web, readers. Sometimes I feel like we're sitting in reverse. Just like we're going backwards. We can only hope that as various deadlines approach I have a sudden desire to procrastinate with self-obsessed rubbish again, and find a place here that I can call home. I don't know where we're heading, but quitting's out of the question. We gotta fightfightfightfightfight for this blog. If it's worth having it's worth fighting foooooor.
I was staggering home last Friday morning after a brutal night of vodka and Red Bull when something strange happened, and I felt myself reaching for my cocktail-drenched phone. It might have just been the hangover talking, but for that one bleary moment at 7:57am, Falkirk actually looked like somewhere you'd want to live.
This also happens to be my 500th post. I don't know whether to hang out the bunting or weep with shame.
I don't believe in guilty pleasures. If you like something you like it and there's really nothing more to it, unless you're one of those tedious people who spend their days sneering at the contents of other peoples' iPods before crawling home to sob alone with their Atomic Kitten backcatalogues. Having said that, I'm currently battling a fondness for two of the most awful albums to ever lurch out of Canada. The Listening and Ocean Eyes- by Lights and Owl City respectively - are alarmingly similar. Both are laden with catchy hooks, electro-pop pulses, and general likability. Less fortunately, they booth ooze with insufferable sugary sweetness, some of the most horrendous lyrics known to man ("I get a thousand hugs from ten thousand lightning bugs", trills Owl City at one point) and, well, general unlikeability. They may be going on tour together later this year, a pop culture apocalypse if ever there was one, but there is only room for one of them in my iTunes. How to decide? It's finally time to resurrect my much loved and 100% original school magazine feature VERSUS!
Round One:Name Lights - Changed her name by deed poll to Lights this year. Lame? Yes, but less so when you realise she was originally saddled with 'Valerie Poxleitner'. Lights Poxleitner doesn't exactly work either though. 0 Owl City - Amazing. His off-stage name is irrelevant. +4
Round Two:Attractiveness Lights - Glossy hair, shiny teeth, winning - though slightly robotic - charm +3 Owl City - Spends videos lurking in shadow, possibly deformed. Minus points for dated emo-teen hair. -2
Round Three:Best Lyric? Lights - "The night is deafening when the silence is listening" +3 Owl City - "With fronds like these who needs anemones" +7
Round Four:Worst Lyric? Lights - "We drank soda for wine" and a whole load of other repetitive I WISH I WAS A CHILD themed nonsense. -2 Owl City - "With fronds like these who needs anemones" -7
Round Five:Album Covers Lights - Bad fonts. Bad colours. Inexplicable omission of nose. Bad. -5 Owl City - Vaguely relevant to the title but incredibly boring. Inexcusable omission of owls. -2
Round Six:Best Song? Lights - 'Saviour' - An impressive piece of melancholic electropop magic +10 Owl City - 'On The Wing' - Very like the Postal Service. Nice guest vocals. +4
Round Seven:Worst Song? Lights - 'Pretend' - Loathesome ode to childhood. -4 Owl City - 'Dental Care' - YES IT'S A WHOLE FUCKING SONG ABOUT DENTISTS -50
Round Seven:Twitter 'presence' Lights - A stream of tiresome niceties. -4 Owl City - Mundane happenings interspersed with occasionally entertaining vegetable puns +1
Round Eight:Would I sleep with them? Lights - No. 0 Owl City - No. 0
Round Nine:Would I listen to them if someone else was in the room? Lights - Depending on how drunk we were, maybe. -5 Owl City - CHRIST NO. -10
Round Ten:Number of tolerable tracks on the album? Lights - An impressive 13/13. About 6 of them are actually good too. +13 Owl City - 7/14. The other half of the record is beyond appalling. +7
What were you doing last night? Something pleasant and enjoyable I hope? Here in the dog-ravaged halls of Haig Manor I spent the evening screaming and ripping out clumps of my own hair as I attempted to decipher what is without a doubt the most evil page in the history of the universe.
I spent about twenty minutes staring at the fifth hieroglyph before I realised that rather than being some weird N-S-A blend it was just a number 2. I HATE SHORTHAND WITH EVERY FIBRE OF MY BEING
Given that they were jettisoned from the good ship EMI last summer and only managed to sell around seven records over their four years together, it probably shouldn't come as too much of a surprise to learn that Captain have thrown in the towel. Well, not exactly - the five former band members are still working together under new moniker 'More Diamonds' - though how anyone with 2006's glittering This is Hazelville under their belt could think this is a good idea is beyond me.
Captain are by no means the first, last or most talented group to fall victim to the machinations of the music industry, but their untimely demise is still a goddamned shame. Unreleased second album Distraction may not quite match the quality of their first, but the number of hits I get every month via google searches for "Captain Distraction rapidshare megaupload torrent leakplzdammitalltohellll" is proof that there's still plenty of interest out there, and perhaps the members of More Diamonds should think about capitalising on that instead of whatever it is they think they're doing at the moment.
Before heading out this morning I had the misfortune to stumble upon this snide, revolting and poisonous piece of 'journalism' by portly Mail columnist Jan Moir. Not having time to vent my self-righteous anger on here, I made do with snarling into my muesli and plotting a vitriolic response on a piece of kitchen roll, replete with defaced profile photos and the return of the vomitometer - oh how Jan Moir would pay.
Pleasingly there is no longer any need for me to stick my oar in, since while I was out and about the internet exploded. She is currently trending on twitter ("Jan Moir manages to walk the difficult tightrope between being a bitch and a cunt" muses @disappointment, "JAN MOIR IS A FAT COW" adds @rabryst), Facebook groups have been set up, lengthy parodies penned, the Press Complaints Commission's website seems to have crashed, and with any luck, somewhere in the real world, the former Mail columnist Jan Moir is being slowly throttled by her editor for crimes against humanity.
Update #1: The PCC have now had over 1000 complaints. "Approaching a new record" apparently. Update #2: The Mail has removed all advertising from around the online version of the article following requests by Marks & Spencer and Nestle. Update #3: Jan Moir has issued a response, which is just as bad as the original article. The Daily Mail seems indignant that some people might be complaining without reading the original article, which is rich coming from the publication responsible for Sachsgate. Update #4: Charlie Brooker sums it all up rather nicely.
I have been falling in love rather a lot over the last few months. Not actually, but sort of, in a creepy I WANT TO BUY POSTERS OF YOU AND STICK THEM ALL OVER MY ROOM kind of way. Thankfully I have been spared the ordeal of bumping into any of them in the street because we all know how badly I embarrass myself in those kinds of situations, and since I haven't been able to slur my sonnets of adoration to their faces, here's a blog about my favourite people of what I shall in future years refer back to as the Summer Of Weird Poster-Love 2009.
Florence Welchfrom Florence + the Machine
She's this year's Siobhan Donaghy - a flame-haired quirky popstrel with interesting album art and killer tunes. Her banshee wails about stars and moons melt my heart, and I live in hope that one day she will stomp all over the faces of Little Boots and La Roux in the ultimate declaration of her own amazingness.
Lovability:
Bret & Jemainefrom Flight of the Conchords
I am but a few creepy cookies away from turning into a male version of their crazed onscreen superfan Mel. I spent countless hours in between naps over the summer trying to work out which one I loved the most - an excruciatingly difficult question until I realised just how much Jemaine resembles my former flatmate and occasional friend Murray. #TEAMBRET
Lovability:
My New Laptopfrom The Best Supermarket in the World
Finally driven over the edge of insanity by old laptop's inability to run more than one program at once, I decide to splurge my re-acquired flat deposit on a new one. Apparently Acers break quite a lot, but there's been no sign of trouble so far, and the lid's a pleasingly shiny blue. MONEY WELL SPENT I THINK.
Lovability:
Emily Hainesof both Metric and Soft Skeleton fame
She is a Canadian ice queen. A queen among ice queens. When I saw her live a few weeks ago she was jetlagged, mildly irritable and clearly bored with both the crowd and her own music. My eyes frosted over and I wanted nothing more than to eat enchanted turkish delight with her in a Narnian sledge.
Lovability:
Lena Headeyin sweet if forgettable rom-com Imagine Me & You
Imagine Me & You is the story of Lena Headey's gay romance with a smiley but vacant married woman whose name and occupation I forget. Nevertheless, Lena's character wears a lot of attractive knitwear, enjoys strolling around in autumnal parks, works as a florist and is generally pretty great. #IWISHIWASALESBIAN
Lovability:
Simon Amstellfrom Preston's worst nightmare
It was only earlier this week that I finally managed to stop sobbing about his untimely departure from Never Mind the Buzzcocks, when fellow MyOpera blogger P*Nut tweeted me the most welcome piece of twittery in the entire history of the twittersphere. I'm also going to see him live in less than 30 days, and fully expect to spontaneously combust with delight at some point during his standup routine.
Lovability:
Merlinfrom BBC1's Merlin
Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and while the last 12 months have done nothing to improve his show's shonky CGI or plodding storylines, Merlin's own adorability has multiplied tenfold. His next step - in the unlikely event that my love is not reciprocated when I finally track him down - should be to get himself a place on the X Factor judging panel, where he and Cheryl can weep prettily together for the rest of the autumn before getting married, raising a family of all singing, all dancing, L'oreal wizard models and then assuming their rightful places as King and Queen of the World, but maybe that's just the hangover talking. A special mention should go to Morgana, who might get her own space on my bedroom wall if she goes all Dark Willow and flays 'Gwen'ivere.
Given that my mostly unread gushings of support generally signal the end of a recording artist's career, I've been taking care not to talk too much about Norwegian popstrel Annie. My selfless restraint was finally rewarded last week when her much-delayed second album Don't Stop arrived on my doormat, and I can now spew forth torrents of hyperbolic praise safe in the knowledge that its release won't get cancelled and I can listen to it without having to spend ridiculous amounts of money obtaining a promotional copy off eBay (see the post about Captain for further details).
This post has taken me three days and there are about twelve half-finished drafts below it, all of which are now hideously out of date. Yes, too much of anything can make you sick, but I fear for the future of Woss on the Web, readers. Sometimes I feel like we're sitting in reverse. Just like we're going backwards. We can only hope that as various deadlines approach I have a sudden desire to procrastinate with self-obsessed rubbish again, and find a place here that I can call home. I don't know where we're heading, but quitting's out of the question. We gotta fightfightfightfightfight for this blog. If it's worth having it's worth fighting foooooor.
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