Wednesday, June 24, 2009
KNICKERLESS
The whole world is reeling in shock over the announcement that NME editor Conor McKnickerless is leaving the job after twenty seven fruitful years at the helm.
This is Conor:
Oh, hold on, that isn't Conor at all - it's one of them other mop haired *young* people in their thirties - that's television and radio's George Lamb. This is the Rill Conor:
This is Conor:
Oh, hold on, that isn't Conor at all - it's one of them other mop haired *young* people in their thirties - that's television and radio's George Lamb. This is the Rill Conor:
Conor has said on Twitter that he's "sad to leave, but it's time to move on to pastures new", and that he has "other irons in the fire" and "the sky's the limit" although he's "gutted to leave behind so many work colleagues who are worth their weight in gold" who have "become like family to me".
It emerged that he is now taking over the editorship of Family Circle - the magazine that always used to be at the supermarket checkout with baked Alaskas and summer pavlovas on the front cover, before it was replaced by Heat and its bewildering headlines about nonentities from Big Brother who are looking *curvy* in their bikini on holiday.
Conor has said that he intends to lift Circle back to the dizzying heights of its 1970's success with "the sort of bland generic journalism that has become familiar to readers of the monthly Sky magazine".
Um, anyways, Conor is editing Family Circle and music journalism has been left BEREFT.
A shame really, as British music is stronger than it has been for years. With exciting but polite new young bands such as The Dibs, The Dabs, The Dobs, and crazy bohemian flame haired "ladies" such as Florence Machine and Danny La Roux, who can really distill the excitement and sell it to nice fifteen year olds who still think going to see shit bands in shit venues is the best thing that life has to offer?
It seems appropriate that McKnickerless is leaving the NME just before indie music's blue riband event - Glastonbury. It almost seems like a protest resignation. Glastonbury is supposedly an underground festival, but this year's headliners - Joan Baez, James Taylor and Buddy Guy - make a mockery of the idea that it appeals to the young and disaffected of Britain.
The NME must lead the way and appoint an urchin from the streets who loves and knows music inside out so that there is a Brave New Dawn.
No, I haven't got a fucking clue either. I can remember when the NME used to be a broadsheet called The New Musical Express And Jazz Magazine and there used to be a 500,000 word dissertation on Cold War Paranoia by Ian MacDonald in the middle, or a diatribe by Mick Farren where he stated that "Rock 'n' roll is like The Titanic, man, it's sinking, and the only band that's gonna save us is Ducks Deluxe" etc., etc.
Shoot me. I'm old and in the way.
Labels: Buddy Guy, Conor McKnickerless, Family Circle, Glastonbury, Ian MacDonald, James Taylor, Joan Baez, NME
Monday, June 15, 2009
WOMB WITH A VIEW
In the past few days there seem to have been a few of those articles that regularly appear in newspapers by female columnists who "confess" that they don't want to have children.
These have been written as a response to a throwaway remark made by Cameron Diaz. She said that she wasn't sure if she would have children or not, and that she thought that the world didn't really need any more children. The sort of off the cuff thing that was probably said at a press junket, and isn't really worth all the fuss and attention it's been given.
It's odd that the fact that a woman decides not to have children should still be an issue today, or to be considered a controversial subject ... or that women who are childless should often seem so apologetic about the fact.
After a woman has said she doesn't want to have children, she often seems to qualify this with the words "don't get me wrong, I LOVE other people's children - I've got thirty thousand god children that I love to spend time with, and millions of nieces and nephews that I dote on," as if to suggest that, as a non parent, she must give the impression of being a cold hearted, bitter old witch with no love for humanity or the joyous enthusiasm for life that only children have. God forbid that any woman would be seen as *unfeminine* or *not NICE*.
Well, I'm here to tell you that as a childless woman I am a cold hearted bitter old witch with no love for humanity or the joyous enthusiasm for life that only children have. Keep your kids away from me and we should get along famously. Alright?
Stick that in yer pipe and smoke it, smug parents.
Hmm, I might do a follow up post on this subject - not justifying why I'm childless but looking at all of the cliches that the issue of parenting/non parenting can throw up. OoooOOOooh, bet you can't wait.
Labels: childless women, off the cuff remarks. smug parents, pointless newspaper articles
Saturday, June 06, 2009
SHE KICKED A BOY AND SHE LIKED IT
Throwaway celebrity culture lookalikes ...
Annoying fake lesbian Kate "Oops, my clothes fell off" Perry ...
... and former Minister Of State For Europe/Labour Party *window dressing* Caroline Flint.
Labels: Cabinet reshuffle, lookeeelikies, Seaside Shuffle by Terry Dactyl And The Dinosaurs
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
MOULDY OLD DOUGH
The sun has put in its annual all too brief appearance (weather reporters immediately start reassuring us that we have to *make the most of it* because gale force winds and lashing rain are around the corner in, uh, twelve hours' time).
This means that people start to wear less clothes (couldn't care less about this) but also that they start to become more touchy feely, free spirited and "Continental" (whatever the fuck that means).
I strongly disapprove of British people being touchy feely and free spirited. Or non-British people, for that matter. Do I really have to explain why?
One of the aspects of this changed behaviour involves middle aged couples.
Suddenly, they start to hold hands in the street, in broad (sunny) daylight.
Oh come on, stop blethering on about being "young at heart". Bullshit. You just look as if you're simple, clueless and need mummy to help you cross the road. Not very endearing being "young at heart" now, is it?
Ugh, I've seen loads of them out in the past few days - upwards of forty, fifty and even sixty years old. Even the bloke who lives next door to us and his missus. Mind you, perhaps they can be excused because he is a *borderline* alcoholic and she is as daft as arseholes.
Right: I never wear skirts shorter than knee length any more because I'm an old bag and don't want to cause mass spontaneous vomiting in public. Wouldn't it be nice of other people to have some consideration for others and not subject them to their luvv struck second marriage drippiness?
Oh well, as you were. I'm going outside to get skin cancered.
Labels: being young at heart - bleargh, old people, second marriages, sun in Britain - rarity of, touchy feeliness
