Sinister: pigeon-toed dandelion-puff whimsy

[Rachel Playforth]

if how you spend new year = how you're going to die, i'm very worried. 
watching edward woodward being burnt alive is not in my top ten of
'things to do with my final moments on this earth'.

i don't think this has been mentioned yet - the january issue of
careless talk costs lives includes the following b&s content:
1. spoof news item on the band being deployed to afghanistan. sample
sentence "we need a morale booster - and what better than the thought of
these fey, mimsy little milquetoasts fetching up against the ruthless,
battle-hardened zealots of the Taliban?"
they obviously don't know about struan's boxing skills... 
2. non-review of the september washington gig by a jonathan richman fan.
3. (best bit) a two-page brazilian journal by stuart murdoch, bless him.

plus of course the usual spattering of music journalese references in
the rest of the magazine: "belle and sebastian on <insert drug here>";
the lovechild of <insert band name here> and belle and sebastian" etc
etc

i really don't like the music press.  including so-called saviours of it
such as ctcl.  (it's significant that the best writing in this issue was
by struan.)  i don't feel that any of these writers are talking to me,
that's the problem.  i hardly need to mention the nme, but even
magazines like uncut and ctcl which purport to have some kind of
intelligence and integrity make me feel like a hopelessly uncool
outsider - everett true is in bed with all the artists for a start.  i
begin to think that if you're passionate about music, the last thing you
should do is write about it, because you will inevitably disappear up
your own arse before you can say 'i hate starsailor, me'.

blah, anyway.  lots of deep thoughtful posts lately, something
guaranteed to make me feel dull and mentally feeble.  perhaps i should
retreat to #sinister, where paragraphs do not exist...

luv archel xxx

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