Cor blimey guv'ner. RADIO FREE ALBEMUTH So I didn't stay in to listen to the 'wireless' last night, but I did manage to remember to set the timer record function on my stereo (God bless Mr Technics and all his adorable little children). Correctly, to boot. This enabled me, when I returned suitably refreshed after an evening spent in a dark cellar off Fleet Street, to listen to our favourite Scottish Luddites perform a selection of their new stuff from the comforts of Mr John Peel's home (and, indeed, bathroom, in Chris' case). And my verdict, pop pickers: better than Storytelling, I say probably not at all controversially. Better than Porthcawl, even. Anyway, I found to my surprise that I am genuinely E!X!C!I!T!E!D! about this new material and its patently perceptible joie be vivre and, er, oomph. Now, this may have been due to several pints of bitter and the inevitable cloth-earedness (next sense to drunkenly go after hearing is smell; this has proven useful on occasion) that is my due in these circumstances, but I don't think so. It's all gone a bit Free Design, but I stress, in a _good_ way, for those of who you who are even now heading for the vomitarium. Really really good. SUBTERRANEAN HOMESICK BLUES Speaking (as I was) of that dark cellar off Fleet Street: this venue was host to a veritable smorgasbord of Sinister talent, a real Thornton's intercontinental selection, including those on their way home (Oon) and those who thought they were on their way home but well, probably aren't (Australian David). Beer was drunk, so were we, crap was talked. As per usual, then. It turns out that despite my own recent move to London, all the really cool kids are now moving to America. Dang, last one on the bandwagon once again. GODLIKE GENIUS Hurrah! My copy of Camera Obscura's 'Biggest Bluest HiFi' has finally arrived from Amazon (I know, I know, but I never look a gift certificate in the mouth) this morning, adding to the joy of summer. And how. Also refusing to leave the CD player: Mr David Moore (Cockernee rhyming slang: corporate whore) introduced me a while ago to Saint Low, otherwise known as Mary Lorson (late of Madder Rose or summink like that), and I picked up their latest on promotional CD the other week. Highly recommended for people who are moving into a properly grownup pop music phase. Well, after that excess of enthusiasm and actual content, I'd best go lie down for a bit before attempting to excercise some dodgy karaoke skeelz this evening. Crikey. Love, Liz :x _________________________________________________________________ MSN Photos is the easiest way to share and print your photos: http://photos.msn.com/support/worldwide.aspx +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+