I do love how that bone cancer patient lookin’ boy has just oh-so-casually got a bottle of Highland Spring dead centre of his profile there, as if he just needed to remind people that he was Scottish and wasn’t sure if some tiffin and a bag of heroin would show up in photos taken with a flash. Anyway, Alan McGee was a man from the 90s who was responsible for some bad music and is now an “industry figure” who exists mainly to cosign bullshit like The Holloways and occasionally turns up in The Guardian’s music section claiming that some random recently deceased British music figure was “the original punk rocker”. Big Al also maintained a Twitter account which, until this week, nobody had absolutely any reason to follow unless you were one of those weird fucks who will follow any “industry” “figure” regardless of if you like them or care for what they say (also, shitmydadsays isn’t funny. Just want to throw that out there). However, for one solitary week, he became entertaining. Read more…
Another entry in IchLugeBullets’ occasional series of reviews from websites that nobody ever read that deserve a wider audience. This one in particular sparked some of the funniest reactions to my work outside of Tori Amos’ fans and clapped out Brummie romos, this comment kills it:
Because it’s certainly not a fucking review.
Regardless of what the album sounds like, that is one of the laziest, ill-informed pieces of shit I’ve read all year.
How this gob-shite got a job I’ll never know, but he’s clearly got issues with having to ‘review’ stuff that might be considered remotely commercial.
Plus, despite his best efforts, it’s not even funny. “Look: I used the words “fucking idiots” and chastised people with differing opinions in a review.”
What a fucking prick.
I hope the album is shit to at least make sure the reviewer isn’t totally fucking useless, but if the CD is so terrible, why did it get 3/10?
Fantastic work all round. Read more…
Although we’ve done the Mexican arm drag exchange thing before, this isn’t about my previous exchange of words with 90s alopecia poster boy Steven Wells, nor about his recently acquired belief that second generation immigrants like myself are apparently some kind of elaborate fucking song-and-dance spectacle put on for the benefit of blue-eyed devils like himself. Nope, it’s August 18, 2008 and Stevie Boy’s crotch is bleeding over twee pop and, in particular, Los Campesinos!. Read more…