Sinister: Nicking the Universe

[poetryplace2]

Hello, you fools, I love you

Why does nobody talk about the golden age of girl groups on this list? We
were out at Da Doo Ron Ron at Po Na Na (infantile? us?) the other night to
see Beanz Geddes and the Divine Symington play Northern Soul and other
records by The Verve. It was great! They played my request (for the mighty
Doris) and Stevie Jackson said hello. And Susannah was there too! Much
better than that Dave Stewart Looper bloke on Monday and nary a techno-pagan
octopus in sight.

Why does Peter Miller never tell us when he's about to come to Britain? Does
he have something to hide?

Do you believe in life after love? Or, more importantly, in life after rock
and roll? I always thought that once you've gone down the proverbial dumper,
the only option open to a drummer is becoming a mini-cab driver. But I was
talking to a friend the other day about back problems, and she told me that
her new chiropractor is Terry Chimes AKA Tory Crimes AKA the sometime
drummer for The Clash. What a sensible chap. Chiropracty seems like a rather
perilious career path for someone who's used to bashing away at bass drums,
but fair play to the bloke. Does anyone else know of rock'n'roll animals who
have settled down to get proper jobs? I like to imagine that Slash might one
day see the error of his ways, get a pension plan and decide to become an
orthodontist.

For Simon who was asking about clubs in Lahndan on a Friday: tonight there's
another Track and Field at the Betsey Trotwood pub on Farringdon Road.

I was woken this morning by the dulcet tones of Melody Maker journalist
Whispering Ben Clancy. Fortunately he was on the radio rather than in my
bed, talking about MM on GLR. Both once-venerable institutions seem to be
heading for the dumper at the moment: the BBC plans to turn GLR into another
24-hour talk and rolling news station with phone-ins for people who like to
complain about dog mess on pavements, and this week's sampler for the
new-look MM seems to have sold its soul to sports-rock and taken its design
cue from the Innovations catalogue. Wasn't the future supposed to be all
about narrow-casting, with the media catering for finer and finer
niche-markets? In which case there should be a radio station that only
broadcasts Baxendale, Mary Margaret O'Hara and Debussy and a magazine for
Muji-wearing thirty-something Donald Barthelme fans. As it is, there isn't a
single listenable radio station and every pop/film/etc magazine in the world
seems to have a naked bird on the cover and an identical editorial policy.
What a sack of arse. Sorry  for ranting, but sometimes there's a place for
stating the bleeding obvious.

I am intrigued to hear the verdict on Nalda said - it got some kind of
amazing review in the Guardian yesterday (obviously by Dastoor under a
pseudonym). But I'd also to be interested to hear the word on Gregory's Two
Girls... anyone?

Thank you for your interest in my love life and burgeoning media career.

Joussé Troussé

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