> Well its got to be "Je t'aime" by Serge and Jane (and many others since).
>
> ACTION: Steve looks smug and self-satisfied having finally found something
> "relevant" to say :)
>
> I think french rapping sounds well cool, although I'm always a bit worried
> that they're talking about smackin' their bitches up or something unsavory
> (but then I have that problem with opera too, haha). There's a band
> called <dodgy spelling> Ver Coquan </dodgy spelling> who are on Daft
> Punk's label and they rock (I think MC Solaar's on one track, well he
> usually is on these things, isn't he). Don't know anything else about
> them, but the tape's rilly kewl.
>
> Oh, Bridget Bardot too, for sultry French singing. And bits of Stereolab
> (Did you see the review in NME of the new album, ooh bitchy!)
> (oh, here it is http://www.nme.com/reviews/reviews/19990927163405.html
> believe me you will laugh at the sheer scale of hate one record has
> produced).
>
> Steady Mike was talking about Richard Stilgoe. According to my sources
> the programme was called, oh yes, "Stilgoe's On" hahahahaha <cough>. In
> depth research is currently been carried out to find out just how awful
> this programme was.
>
> Further reports as they come in.
>
> xoxo
>
> CarsmileSteve
>
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+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "tech-heads and students" +-+
+-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+
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+----------------------------------------------------------------------+
Get out of that bed, wash your face and hands.
If it^Òs got a sitar on it, I^Òm not bloody well buying
it. Do I look like some kind of hippy? I^Òll listen to
someone else^Òs, but only so I can pull faces and tut
disapprovingly. There is no such thing as a good pop
record with a sitar on it, anywhere. The only
appropriate use for a sitar in pop music is breaking
it in two and sticking the wide end up George
Harrison^Òs hippy Beatle arse. And shoving the jagged
end up his nose. In the words of the prophet, never
trust a hippy.
Anyway.
Welly welly well, long time no see. I^Òve been
wrestling with a beast of a cold as administered to me
by my adorable housemates, and I have been inspired to
write by the feeling of those khaki-coloured,
tobacco-stained throat oysters gliding down my neck. I
felt them and thought of you.
Well, that and poor constipated Ali Cook^Òs novel
method for using his hero to cure his condition:
> Michael Stipe sucks.
> Opening. Closing. Nothing comes out.
Marie wrote:
>sigh. can someone please explain to me how a girl is
>supposed to be Just Friends with a boy she likes very
>very much?
An unsuccessful course of bromide, then several months
of frustration followed by excessive alcohol
consumption, drunken confession, ill-considered
physical contact, hung-over horror and the swift end
of a beautiful friendship. I would guess. Not that
I^Òve any experience of such things you understand.
Oh, my Joe Jackson correspondent informs me that it^Òs
different for girls. Strike the bromide from the above
equation.
As you were.
The evolution of the word ^Ñprops^Ò is an interesting
one. It derives from the days when it was the fashion
in hip hop circles to wear many heavy gold chains.
Those sucker djs who were not street enough to be
rolling high with large incomes, or those still at
college, did not have the wherewithal to purchase such
expensive pieces of metalwork. So they resorted to
hiring costume jewellery from theatrical suppliers.
Hence they assumed the term ^Ñprops^Ò, theatrical
shorthand for stage properties. By and by ^Ñprops^Ò
stopped being something fake and started to mean
respect for the originators. ^ÑGetting your props^Ò was
shorthand for others being prepared to do anything to
keep it real. Even if it meant not keeping it real.
You see?
I read that in a book in the Stevie Trousers pop
archive.
Other exciting news includes the apparent plans of the
mighty Exeter City Football Club to name the new stand
they^Òre building (to replace the old Big Bank) The
Duke Stand, after Exeter^Òs most famous resident. I
can^Òt say I blame them. Exeter Falcons Speedway team
apparently have a hot dog stand called Piezoelectric
Unit.
I've lost my mac. If you find it, will you return it
please? My mum sewed my name and address inside it.
Mister Stevie ^ÑGor Blimey^Ò Trousers, who is a good boy
and loves ^Ñis muvvah, wrote:
>Aren^Òt mothers brilliant?
He deliberately neglected Cissy Houston to spite me.
It^Òs not surprising that Whitney has grown up so
absurd having had such a supreme soul stylist as Missy
Cissy as her old mam. I refuse to talk about Auntie
Dionne Warwick for personal reasons.
Of course you are all welcome to come round, I^Òll be
delighted to get my Judds out for you. You can only
expect to look at them, though, because if anything
other than that bleedin^Ò Spearmint LP goes anywhere
near our record player Stevie gets angry. Things get
broken. People get hurt. Know what I mean? The LP's
not too bad, actually, when it stops sounding like The
Jags.
I forget the name of June Carter^Òs mother, but she
most certainly was in the Carter family. And of
course, the extraordinarily ordinary Rosanne Cash is
the daughter of June and Mister John the flowerpicker
himself. Carlene Carter is also a catkin off one
branch or another of that particular family tree, too,
and she recorded for King Elvis Costello^Òs record
label and married Nick Lowe. Proper little parade of
X chromosomes. Has anyone noticed how all the mothers
so far have been of a higher musical quality than
their spotty offspring?
And can I add Rita Marley and Janet Ellis to the list?
Someone said:
> His **** of the ****** is not so much second to my
> own, as not even second to my own.
Love / Common People?
War / Worlds?
Battle Hymn / Republic?
Infection / groin area?
Clang / Yankee Reaper?
Last / Famous International Playboys?
Rub / green?
Abuse / Caps lock?
Gift / Gab?
Day / Jackal
Grasp / purple lovepump?
Stig / Dump?
I don^Òt understand.
What I will say, however, is that my loathing for the
Smiths is the loathing of a love betrayed. Once upon a
time I lived for them and they went and turned
themselves into the ultimate in cynical exploitation,
songs which alternated between hysterical and
self-parodic backed by a tedious rock band
_ordinaire_. That^Òs what I think. Still love those
first two singles though.
^ÑTrina wrote:
>i'm trying desperately hard to find a Scottish team
to support^Å
I recommend Berwick Rangers.
Brian wrote:
> i am in the conservatory at the university and
> nobody there
> i have met listens to anything remotely hip.
Brian, I can only sympathise. I have been living in
Rotherhithe, England for some months now and I^Òve yet
to meet anyone who likes any music that is any way
hip. Anyone in the South East London area fancy
getting together and listening to some hip sounds,
that^Òd be great. If you have any idea what is hip and
what is not, that^Òd be even better, because then you
could tell me what was hip before you came round and I
could go to the record shop and buy a record of it. We
have Spearmint, if that's any help.
Oh, and Cleon, what does UK punk in ^Ò75 consist of?
Formative Pistols covering pisspoor Who / Small Faces
songs?
Oldschrec wrote:
> ...the great current pop novel "High Fidelity" by
> Nick Hornby.
Hated it. All those *inaccuracies*. What do you mean
the joke's on me?
>I've found if one has a large record
>collection, it is very difficult to sustain an
>intimate relationship with a
>mate unless she has a good collection too or
>appreciates the importance of
>vinyl, etc...
I've found it necessary that (the possibly
hypothetical) she is prepared to put up with a
desperate obsessive more interested in label colours
and alternate outros than the pile of washing up
waiting to be done.
But maybe that's just me.
Representin da old skool.
I gotcha number written on the back of my hand.
Cheers
King Tubby
x
__________________________________________________
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+-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+
+-+ "jelly-filled danishes" +-+
+----------------------------------------------------------------------+
Hello,
As far as I know the Belle and Sebastian Sitar song is called "Legal Man",
and it's not a real Sitar I think, it's a special Sitar Guitar which is like
a normal guitar only it's got a sort of metal thing at the bridge, which
makes it sound like a Sitar. I think. Stevie plays it. I think.
So anyway my estranged chums, how have you been, are you happy? I'm about
the most miserable fucker you've ever seen, so there's no change there. I
had a Stephen Pastel dream the other night, which was quite upsetting. I
dreamt he had me by the bollocks, and said "I'll crush them If you don't get
my fucking motor fixed in two minutes." I don't know anything about motors,
so I was shafted. Luckily, I woke up quick smart. Imagine my surprise to
find Stephen Pastel in my bed with a tight grip on my swingers. Aaaaghh!
Luckily I woke up again, cause that was another dream. Imagine my surprise
to wake up with my gonads in a vice - I had fallen asleep in woodwork class
at school, and was resting on the vice handle, slowly crushing them! So I
got them out of the jaws, after a quick buff they were as good as new. Mum
warned me that if I took them to school they would get broken.
I'm going to see Robin Williamson again, on the 22nd. He's my hero. I've
decided, against my better judgement that I have to get a tacky photo of me
taken with Robin with my arm round his neck like we're best mates. He is
one of my best mates; he just doesn't know me. If I'm going to do it I'll
need to do it soon before he transmutates or dies or something. Is that
sad? He's not a scientologist anymore. Anyone who's ever got there photo
taken with someone famous, what did you say? Did you feel like a total
fanny?
ok dokay, back to corporate actions,
Mistopher Chrispoof
______________________________________________________
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+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "tech-heads and students" +-+
+-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+
+-+ "jelly-filled danishes" +-+
+----------------------------------------------------------------------+
hello again my lovelies,
first of all, apologies for posting twice in twentyfour hours blah blah.
now, it seems that my message last night made the get-together in the
spreadeagle tonight seem like an exclusive invites only do, of the type that
usually only occurs at posh embassies and the like. WELL IT'S NOT. anyone
who can make it PLEASE come and get oh so tipsy with us - it'll be a laugh
and a half. shit, the last time i made it inside the spreadeagle i nearly
snogged geoff, so if that gives you any idea...
soooo.....
WHERE: THE SPREADEAGLE, PARKWAY
WHEN: SEVEN THIRTY TONIGHT (FRIDAY)
i expect to see as many of you as possible there. THAT INCLUDES YOU, LITTLE
MISS STRANDED-IN-LEEDS ;)
right, that's enough of me,
love
Marcus XXX
mjmo2(a)cam.ac.uk
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+-+ "jelly-filled danishes" +-+
+----------------------------------------------------------------------+
