"Onions"- The Gist List

Start wearing Purple….

So it was the Leeds Festival last weekend, and boy does my liver know it.
I’ll get to the knitty gritty of what went on there later this week (when I can be arsed)- trust me there was SO incidents of disaster (like forgetting our tent). and comical/farcical conversations (Salad Cream/Sour Cream) But firstly I’d like to draw attention to the many good musical moments and have compiled a sequence of lists so that should you have been unfortunate not to attend – or just didn’t fancy it- then you may get the gist- hence the following ‘Gist List’.

Today’s Gist list:

Top 5 finest Cover Versions Performed:

1. The Raconteurs – I Like The Christian Life (Louvin’ Bros cover)
When they started this song I got overly excited and sang along to the lyrics at the top of may voice, only stopping to note that none else knew the song- which kinda’ made me feel ill at ease- but I just shrugged my shoulders and continued to wail “Whist others take pleasure in things I despise/I like the Christian Life…”

2. Semi- Finalists – I Want to Dance with somebody (Whitney cover)
Great set from this band- really good! I knew nothing about them, but given the choice of who else was playing we headed over to investigate them. They finished on this song- best band there who I didn’t know.

3. Pearl Jam- Rockin’ In the Free World (Neil Young Cover)
Loved it! Their finale- I had that Neil young style da-da-da-da-da-da dang- dang! Riff in my head for the rest of the weekend

4. Giant Drag – Wicked Games (Chris Issak cover)
I didn’t actually see them perform this as such. I was waiting near the Radio One stage for Lisa who was off to brave the toilets when this songs started- the singer’s sugary voice lifting its way over the masses to caress my ears.

5. Dresden Dolls – I predict a Riot (Kiaser Cheifs cover)
We walked past the stage thinking that it was a recording of KC’s playing in reading- then noticed the singer was in drag-which after several moments of confusion I realised wasn’t the KC’s annoying tubby singer it was Dresden Dolls- considering that there’s only two members in this band it sounded remarkably similar to the original.




Another list sometime tomorrow perhaps?

like a monkey with a miniture cymbal

It's been another successful week of doing nothing, but eventful nonetheless.
Most significantly, Lisa decided not to go into work on Monday and Tuesday with the old faithful excuse of having the trots. Of course she was fine but decided that she'd prefer to sit in bed watching such TV abominations as 'Trisha' and other shows of that ilk, whilst slurping coffee from her inexcusably large coffee mug that she loves so. Naturally, I wasn't impressed that I had to go to work whilst she stayed at home, especially knowing full well that at some point she'd get another hair brained scheme that would result in getting me further into debt. Having recently acquired tickets for pretty much every single gig that is coming to town, I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was when she called me at work to exclaim excitingly that she'd located a website that was selling tickets to this year's Carling Leeds Festival. There would be no use in me trying to worm my way out of this I thought, so in keeping with my passive idiom, I went with the flow like a twig on the shoulders of a mighty stream.

This will be my 5th (and a quarter) Leeds festival, plus two Reading Festivals, a V- Festival and Benacissism- so I've become well experienced in these matters. Every year I note with a heavy heart that the other revelers seem to get younger and more stupid. No doubt in several years from now, I shall have evolved into one of those Bergahaus clad oldies, sat on a camping stool on the fringes of one of the smaller stages, sipping tea and thumbing my way through a paperback whilst some miserablist band chunters their way through their set. Should my life pan out this way, I wouldn't become too despondent providing that I had people go with- the life of a Festival "loner" is not a good one me thinks.

I’ve been quite busy on this for me ole mucca Luke’s band Lanterns:





I've also been on GIS MAP Information Services Training in The Liver Building yesterday- only the second training course I've been on since becoming a local Government employee. As you can imagine - it was every bit as dull as it sounded, although many of the issues covered will no doubt provide great assistance in my day-to-day working practice (seriously!). Of course, as is the way with these things I was once more surrounded by the usual type of dullards who took it all far too seriously, notably three pleasant enough folks from Liverpool City Council (well; not technically Liverpool Council anymore- I learned this in an excruciatingly boring exchange during our thirty minute dinner break) plus Sally from our office.

There was two large middle aged women, and sat in between them was a skinny chap – who I’m guessing was in his late thirties and probably lived with his mum. They started immediately with the small talk when I arrived- discussing at length the Krypton Factor style elevators the building had. It wasn’t long before the conversation got more inane and we were soon discussing glasses. One of the two women- who appearance was quite bizarre announced that the ridiculously small spectacles she was wearing, only cost £1. I looked to Sally who had just arrived, with a look of polite and subtle astonishment. “I must get my eyes tested” she followed. Her female colleague who’d stated several times she didn’t have a clue with computers, reliably told her that it was the computer that was ruining her eyesight. “NO- IT’S THE EFFING £1 GLASSES YOU PURCHASED FROM HOME & BARGAIN THAT’S RUING YOUR EYES YOU FRZZY HAIRED WEIRDO” I screamed with venom in my head- and smiled politely. I joined in the conversation adding that my eyes deteriorated when I started to do my school work on my Commodore Amiga. Granted it wasn’t helped that I used a 14” reconditioned TV as a monitor which was usually only several centimeters away from my eye lids. The skinny bloke, then started to go on about his love for his Amiga, at which point I slumped in my chaior and gave up on the pretence that I was interested in what he was talking about.

The girl giving the training was pleasant enough too I suppose. She was about my age (late twenties) with ginger hair, an odd mole on her slightly flaky skinned face and a surprisingly capital pair of knockers , but this didn't stop her from getting on my wick. Firstly, I was led to believe that Tea & Coffee (which in my book also means the provision of biscuits or small cakes) was to be made available throughout the day. After 15 minutes of dull introductions etc, a large metallic flask was finally brought into the small training room along with a number of mugs by a overly happy office junior (Oh youth! I thought- when I am required to provided a meeting with beverage I look as grumpy as I can be and always chunter under my breathe "don't mention it" when I'm not thanked appropriately for my endeavors- which is more often than not).
I noted immediately the lack of biscuits but decided to be professional about it and not let it affect my day. When the trainer finally stopped reading aloud from her manual we were at last offered a drink.
"Great" I thought, noting that it was nearly 10.30 am- back in my good ole office I would usually have consumed 3 cups of varying quality tea in this time. Alas, to my astonishment and disappointment, the rest of the group all declined a hot drink. I felt awkward and didn't answer her – choosing to give her a look of sadness that I've been trying out at home in front of the mirror should an occasion such as this arise. "Would you like a drink?" She asked in a very negative manner. A bottled it - and said "No it's alright- I'll struggle on"- which was greeted with a vague titter.
I sulked a little bit, ruing my missed opportunity and naturally blaming myself! All those hours stood in front of the mirror practicing the sad puppy dog look where wasted…wasted I tell thee!
As the training continued, I noted that the trainer was sipping continually from a bottle of water. This annoyed me greatly. "I'm dying of thirst here" the echoy voice in my head screamed at her. I also noted with a degree of contempt that she was drinking from one of those bottles which had a sports cap as opposed to the traditional screw top. Not really her fault I guess, but I dislike them intently. They’re difficult to drink from and I find the spectacle of someone chugging liquid down from one of these containers most vulgar.

The training continued slowly, but I was still distracted by my thirst. Eventually close to 11.30ish we were once more given the opportunity to have a break/drink but cleverly given the option of "working through it" so we could finish earlier. "Fantastic" she wants to be home in time to watch Big Brother's little Brother and because of this I was to suffer the indignity of dehydration. I decided to make my opinion known.

Once more when this offer was made the room's occupants shook their heads and politely declined. I leaned back on my chair and asked nicely if I could have cup of tea but insisted that we continued to work- surely we can listen to her drone on whilst having a drink. After all it's hardly multitasking is it? After an hour of rolling my eyes every time she put that sport's capped bottle of Highlands Mineral Water to her slightly flaky lips I wasn't going to adopt a policy of appeasement when it came to refreshments- after all training/away days are similar to staying in a Hotel. Grab as much freebies whilst you can.

She continued talking to the group whilst she struggled to open the flask. After a minute of struggling (whereupon I noticed that she had gone red with embarrassment- he he!) I was horrified to learn that the flask did not contain tea; rather it was full of hot water. Our beloved trainer had to make me the tea in front of the group whilst still babbling on about ‘rasters’, 'vectors' and ' polygons'. Instead of passing me the cup so I could make the tea to how I like it- she ragged the tea bag around in the cup for a few seconds, squeezed the shit out of it and added the tiniest splash of milk to the cup. I tried hard to look grateful but inside I was seething. Quelle Surprise- the tea tasted like dishwater.

The meeting slowly trudged on until 1pm when we were allowed out lunch. "Ha Ha- this is what I came for!" I said to the group in jest- yet once again my hopes were dashed when I saw the pitiful display of food that was on offer. My fantasies of Onion Bargies, Samosa's, Sausage Rolls, chicken wings Etc were extinguished fast. A tray of generically obscure flavored butties, a handful of tortilla chips was the savory choices on offer. The desert options consisted of a fruit kebab and a mini muffin. Oh joy!
As a bit of a fussy eater, I loathe the generic corporate butties that turn up at nearly every business shindig I drag my carcass along to. The only two food groups I cannot eat are (as you may know) Mayonnaise/eggs and fish, and usually every little triangular sandwich contains on or both of these culinary no-nos. I reluctantly nibbled a small cheese and pickle (although I don't really like pickle) sandwich and ate my allocated bun and fruit kebab. I was starving! I was also in dire need of the toilet- and as with everything else this too proved problematic. Apparently the visitor’s pass we'd been given wouldn't give us entry to the toilets "what the...?!". Our trainer said she'd try and find us a suitable pass. Thankfully the bloke from Liverpool Council had a toilet pass "I made sure I got one when I arrived...funny tummy!" he said giving me a look of discomfort.
"Thanks for sharing that” I mumbled as I dashed out of the room.

The training slowly trudged on after an even more boring 30 minute lunch break- in which I held f the most bland and boring exchanges with the other schlums there (Council politics). Eventually lunch was over and it was just a matter of keeping awake until 4.45pm, which I thankfully managed.

Anyway, tonight should be interesting as I plan to do the monthly shop at Asda all on my own. I’m actually pretty nervous as no doubt Lisa will want to see a schedule of everything I bought…and of course I’m pretty sure I’m going to miss something important like bog roll or bread. I’m starting the psyche myself up for the task- I shall of course inform of the results sometime in the future.

In the meantime please find some random musical choices:



Jose Gonzalez’s career took off when he covered this song- but that’s no reason not to like it. It’s everything that Jose’s version isn’t…
The Knife -Heartbeats

Childhood nostalgia- best song in the Jim Henderson masterpiece ‘Labyrinth’
David Bowie- Magic Dance

One of the few occasions where the cover (Nirvana) is better than the original…erm here’s the original.
The Vaselines- Son of a Gun

I love this song (sigh of contentment) – undoubtedly one of indie rocks finest moments:
Sebadoh- The Freed Pig

I love this band and finally got to see them out in Texas at last years SXSW- also I stood behind the their bass player whilst queuing to try and get in to see Stephen Malkamus/Laura Cantrell/Dead meadow/Lou Barlow gig the next day. I made a fumbled attempt of a conversation which went badly. Great song though…

Radar Bros.- On the Line

Bad Girls & Fax Machines

Okay- I owe the Office’s Fax machine an apology. Yesterday in a fit of Office rage I punched this innocent piece of office hardware hard in the centre of its keys whilst informing it to “F*** OFF!”. Not only have I let myself down, but I let the whole office and dog’s bodies across the land down.

There had been many petty and annoying incidents that culminated in my act of unprovoked aggression, all of which are ar too churlish and petty, even for THIS blog! Suffice to say that once more the fax machine and I were ad odds with each other. Aside from this issue- yesterday was a good day, although I did miss a good fifteen minutes of Bad Girls. I took it on the chin knowing that the reason I missed the finest programme every conceived was due to the hard work and endeavours of the band- yet another fine rehearsal. I don’t tend to write about the band too much her, often because I’m aware that several of the fellow band members occasional peruse these hallowed pages, and thusly I’m unable to slag them off. So instead just let it be known that the anger and vitriol I displayed towards my superior- The Office Fax machine had subsided somewhat after last night’s rehearsal.

I’ll leave you with a news flash regarding the recent Terrorism difficulties:

Until further notice BA has halted all flights from the UK.

BA announced: "I ain't getting on no plane you crazy fool!"

…apologies.

a child molester or a mental patient.

Hair cuts…

Since an early age I’ve always hated having my ears lowered, however the trimming of one’s Barnet can often cause tremendous relief and re-acquaintance with hidden parts of one’s face. For instance, since having my haircut a lot shorter than it had been for many months, I realised that a) I’m showing more scalp than I recall and b) that my neck, alas, requires strimming on a more regular basis than I had appreciated. The blessed relief however on a hot day or more notably in the preparations one makes before leaving the house, out ways the little faults I find on my poor head.

Bad hair causes stress and worry, which I believe will ultimately be the root cause of the early stage of male pattern baldness, which if my ill thought out ethos is true means I’m screwed. Therefore I should grow my hair whilst I still have the chance. Of course growing your hair, as I’m more than sure you know already, means that you must under go many awkward stages of growth and the increase of bad hair anxiety (and therefore more hair loss). For many years I held my barber- Nathan Grassam of Crab lane in Harrogate to blame for my shoddy appearance, however after since trying many other barbers and now hairdressers (much to the shock of my father) I’ve come to realise that you can’t polish a turd and at least I’m at peace with this-that’s not to say I’m particularly happy about it.

The only way forward would seem to be keeping your fairly short at all times. In my case as I’m on the steady road to becoming a portly gentleman the short hair would only make me resemble a Phil Mitchell style bruiser. Also the V shaped scar just inside of my hairline (accrued when as a young toddler when I mistakenly ran into a coffee table) and the broken front tooth would further a thuggish image that I am so desperate to avoid. Also as a proud beard wearer, the beard but no hair look is also one, which I would hope to avoid. Sadly, as I’m a glasses wearer too (Jeez- it just get worse doesn’t it), I’m not meant to wear hats either. Despite many attempts to hide bad hair underneath a generic hat of sorts, have resulted in many ill thought out look-a-likes such as Michael bleedin’ Moore and Steven bleedin’ Spielberg. My black ‘Wayne’s World Hat’ provided much bad hair relief when I was sixteen- this look was aided by my under-cut hairstyle that was all the rage at the time but a twenty-nine year old, bearded fella with these glasses cannot sport a backwards Wayne’s World cap without either looking like a child molester or a mental patient.

Thus far in life, I’ve been plagued with bad hair, starting in my youth when I was a fully-fledged member of the ‘Gingers’ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_hair

No doubt a cheap psychiatrist will one day sit crossed legged and listen to me patiently whilst I spew a thousand tales of woe regarding the prejudice of my hair colouring, offering me simple yet vague advise about coming to terms with my anxiety and no doubt after several sessions with this quack, I’ll reach an epiphany that in fact psychiatry would not help me resolve these issues and in a moment of rage and joy, I’d confront the be-spectacled shrink about his lack of professionalism, and no doubt be called a “ginger tosser” in response. Most likely this will cause a wave of nausea and depression and I shall be forced to find another doctor to get over the jibe, however because the new psychiatrist will be more expensive I shall become destitute and bald. (Note to self: don’t go to a psychiatrist as it will result in the speeding up of one’s hair loss and lower my self-esteem). As luck would have it, in the latter part of my teenage years, my hair progressively got darker, so much so, that when I started University here in Liverpool, a friend tried to phone me on the communal hall of residence telephone. The buffoon mistakenly asked to speak to “Macca” a moniker which I was known as whilst at school (no one was called by their first name), but when I moved out of that damned one horse town I declined to inform any of my would-be acquaintances of this childish nickname. Anyway, Laura Shep who answered the phone knew not of the aforementioned “Macca”. Increasingly frustrated, my friend gave my full name, and after this avenue of investigation drew no satisfactory results (Laura at this stage was unaware of my full name- knowing me only as Matt) gave a description of me which went roughly similar to:

“Short, scruffy, ginger hair and wears trousers with paint on them”

After careful thought, Laura apologised and said that she didn’t know who this person was and terminated the call.

During this exchange I was sat in the communal TV room no doubt watching something dour that mid evening 1996 BBC would have to offer (probably ‘Sliders’ or the impossibly shite ‘Goodnight Sweetheart’ or ‘So Haunt me’*), when Laura walked in shaking her head. “What’s happened” a curious student asked her and she said “who’s Matthew McPartlan?”
“Ahhhggggg!” I exclaimed in disgust “Me!!!!!”

Laura put her hands over her mouth with embarrassment and shrieked “…but you don’t have ginger hair!”

This was one of the sweetest moments in my life. Looking back on it now, I note that she didn’t disagree with the “short” and “scruffy” elements of his description.

Anyway, going back to the original line of thought of this here ramble-(and as I recall this isn’t the first time my poor quality hair styling has been the subject matter of my un-happiness) I don’t fear baldness I just don’t look forward to the process of going bald and having to shave my fine beard off (I wouldn’t wish to resemble Mike Love of the beach boys). I would like to think that I would go to sleep one night and awaken bald with a mount of my non-ginger hair on my pillow. I can only imagine with horror the pain of slowly watching your hairline disappear slowly over the years would be similar to the breaking of one’s voice. Slow, uncomfortable and embarrassing- yet unavoidabley. So for the time being I plan to rejoice and bask in the light of scruffy, shaggy and sadly bad, hair!

Coming soon “Body hair- the beast within”


*Does anyone else remember this program? Weak plot about an elderly Jewish woman who haunts her old house, which is now occupied by a 2.4children English family where all the members suffer from the implausible Eastenders/Hollyokes syndrome where they all have different regional accents (Cockney, Manc, Posh southern English –possibly from Northampton or Brighton) The mum was Raquel from ‘Only Fools & Horses’ and the father was Bob from ‘Rita, Sue and Bob too’. A spectacularly bad programme, especially as the poor old Dad was the only member of the family who couldn’t see or hear the eccentric Ghost (Oye Vay!)

Lunch...so predictable yet so precious.

Yet another day slowly grinds it’s way to lunch time in the ole office. Thank God.
I can stop pretending to be working hard and actually relax for a short period of time, until my allotted 1-hour ceases and I am forced once more to provide administrative support for my team/department. Lunch time is the most regimented part of the daily hum-drum here. With the odd exception pay day- away days or Bob’s 60th it has been exactly the same since that cursed day I commenced working here in this God forsaken place.


11.10 am Dave gets up and writes on the White Board that he is to inspect one of the two estates- then have his lunch then visit the other estate. His estimated time of return will be 2pm

11.20 am Karen will disappear without telling anyone where she is going. The only clue as to her where about is her Mayfair fags and her trusty mobile phone.

11.55 am. Lee will watch the security footage by the rear entrance watching the clock until he can officially clock off and make haste with his mealtime.

12.15 pm. Bob will ask Tony and Sean if they’re “walking down” (this is in reference to their daily constitutional to the sandwich purveyors Tamarillos.) and then proceed to ask the team if they want anything from the shop. Tom is usually asked by Bob “You’re usual?” On the occasions that Tom isn’t there they get him a sandwich anyway. Tony will either say yes or inform them he’s going to “the Tuna Shop” (the nearest sandwich shop of lesser quality) Tony will ask me if I want anything from the Tuna Shop. I’ll say no and Tony will reply (like clockwork) “Are you on the Loop-de-Loop?” (soup) With a heavy heart I say yes and then get depressed at the thought of another can of soup.

12.20pm. Sean will be engaged in a highly-strung conversation with a solicitor or agent of some sort whilst Bob waits impatiently. Next to him complaining bitterly to the rest of the team.

12.30pm. Bob prods Sean and tells him to “get an ‘effing move on.”

12.35pm. Sean puts down the phone and asks the office if they want anything from the shop. Only to be told by Bob: “I’ve already done that-come on I’ve clocked out” and they leave.

12.36pm The office in nice and quiet.

12.40pm. I clock off and start the process of heating my dour tasting tinned soup in office’s microwave.

12.45pm. Gerry offers the team a cup of tea, to which I decline due to my soup. At this stage there is usually only three of us in the office.

12.47pm. Karen re-appears and then informs the team she’s going out to lunch- neglecting as ever to clock out.

12.50pm. Bored of the slow progressing Internet I browse Sefton and Liverpool Council’s job vacancies to very little success so decide to listen to some music on the internet. Sue (Alan’s PA) arrives and although I’m clearly eating my lunch and wearing headphones to prove that I’m not on duty, she stands next to me and talks about some boring and churlish issue- usually regarding the re-ordering of stationery. After about tens minutes she says “anyway- I’ll let you eat your lunch and I’ll e-mail you later”


1pm Lee clocks off and on route back to his desk he informs the three or four remaining staff members of some Sporting news that he’s read from the BBC website. Gerry will come around from the other side of the office and we all discuss.


1.15pm The sound of Bob swearing at Sean and being buzzed in through the Office reception- followed by an exasperated Sean whom immediately slumps in his chair shaking his head.

1.20pm Sean informs the team of some sporting news to which he’s just read from the BBC website I usually tell him that Lee has already told us in the most annoyed manner (jokingly of course). We as a team discuss this matter in depth and the allotted 15 minutes of banter ensues.

1.25 I clock off my lunch wishing to bank a few minutes the go to the toilet (there’s no point going to the loo on my own time is there?)

1.27pm A cup of tea is usually requested from some corner and begrudgingly someone will say “I’ll make the bloomin’ tea” at which point we all smile and hand over our cups.

1.40pm Tom wanders over to Sean/Bob and ask as to whom he owes the money for his sandwich. Despite ordering the same sandwich every day for the past year and a half he asks how much it was.

2pm Lunch over

2.15pm Karen strolls in and usually goes straight to the White board and writes that she’s going to a meeting and won’t be returning until tomorrow.

2.16pm The team debates the validity of Karen’s meeting.

2.20pm Sean’s momentary ‘lunch time good mood’ fades when I inform him of the countless messages I took whilst he was away from the office.

Lunch...so predictable yet so precious.


Anyway- Some perfect lunchtime office anthems:


float on -modest mouse

Woodcat - Tunng

Is This Love- Clap Your hands Say Yeah

Dim Bendith – The Super Furry Animals

Rotten device, I’ll say it twice…

After a particularly irksome bout of feeling unwell, I’m almost back to my normal self after a monging weekend of bumming around the flat watching TV, listening to records etc and two days of absence from the ole office.

Lisa returned safely from her jaunt to London to see Madonna, although when I left my deathbed to pick her up from the station she didn’t exactly look the picture of health. Once more it appears that the novelty of her and friend Emma’s accents proved pivotal in their engaging with total strangers and their demise into a drunken night which saw them arrive back at their hotel at 9.30 am, only to learn they would be required to check out of their accommodation by 10.30am- giving them both an hour to pack and resulting in a sleepless night. From what sense I managed to get out of her they slept on the platform in Euston whilst they waited several hours for their trains after using and abusing the lavatories in the nearest Starbucks.

Of course as I was a mere whisp from death, I was sadly unable to tend to my usual housework chores and Lisa was greeted to particularly messy abode upon her return. Ho hum. Then had to ask her if I could borrow some money to buy some milk and bread as we were all out and I was proper skint…..welcome home!!!

Once more I was berated by my nearest and dearest about my “alleged Man flu” – no matter how much phlegm I coughed up the look of disapproval and the slow shake of the head was directed towards me. Of course this wouldn’t be the first time that I had been unjustly accused of having this ‘man flu’, so I just bravely continued my recovery from the jaws’ of death without wishing to complain of my many ailments for fear of reprisal. Ironically Lisa was quite ill the next day and didn’t get out of bed until after 4pm- naturally she claimed it was different to what I had and was probably a result of the vast quantities of vodka she’d consumed down in London with all the other Madonna geeks and severe sleep deprivation. I chose to take the moral high ground and resisted the churlish remarks I would have usually made. Instead I provided her with breakfast in bed and copious cups of coffee whilst I retreated to the living room to continue with my work (ISS Pro Soccer Evolution 5 on the PS2) and listen to some old records; Lou Barlow and his Sentridoh and Bob Mould’s ‘Black sheets of Rain’. Apparently what I should have been doing was tidying the flat, but because of the fracas that morning involving me waking Lisa by moving some of the pots and pans in the kitchen, I thought it would have been extremely rude of me to wake her with the hoover. When I offered this reasoning as self-defence it was suggested that I could have done a quiet job like “cleaning the toilet”. I could see her point, but drinking beer and sitting on my arse seemed more appealing to me.

Anyhow, the weekend was somewhat of a write off with coughs etc, but I did manage to work my way through some music that I hadn’t heard in an age- mostly CD singles- and in honour of these (cough) mid nineties classics I have decided to post them for your pleasure: (Please not the absence of Northern Uproar’s – Roller Coaster- now safely filed under my “what was I thinking” section )



Silicon Teens- Number One Cup
B- side to their ‘Just Let Go’ single. I know this is a cover of some pretty obscure US band The Pulsars I think. I saw them at the Dutchess of York in Leeds- great and got to speak with the band before hand (as was the way with the venue).

Kewpies Like Watermelon - Urusei Yatsura
Great- the trailblazers in the short lived C96 scene. Broken guitars and toy keyboards allegedly…


Hotel lounge (Be the Death of Me) - dEUS
I saw these guys at Benacissim recently and they were really, really good. This is the only single of theirs I had, but I had some of their other songs on some mix tapes, which after a long scout out I couldn’t find.


Race - Tiger What happened to this bands? Way ahead of their time with their mullets and Jack White style vocals.


The Heart’s Filthy Lesson – David Bowie Hmmmm….my first dabble into the world of David Bowie and it was during a collaboration with Brian Eno . They used this song for the end credits of ‘Seven’, and despite me remembering it sounding great at the time, I was quite disappointed hearing it this weekend.

The Hymn For The Cigarettes - Hefner
Say no more…great!

I’m The One- The Descendents
Totally forgot about this band, and like most of the other tracks here, I heard it on the old Mark Radcliffe show.


gimmeindierock- Sebadoh I don’t have this on single unfortunately but with the re-issue of their classic album ‘III’ this and ‘The Freed Pig’ have been made available by the indie spods of the internet…Godbless them. Anyway- without sounding old and bitter- they don’t make them like this anymore.