Let us mourn the tragic closure of The Lipster
The Lipster has shut down. I am utterly stunned that any endeavour set up by Sean Adams could end in failure, but there you go. And where now can we go for a female take on the day’s music news and events? Why, that’d be absolutely everywhere, as every single newspaper, magazine and website in the country is absolutely flooded with lithe young broads employed solely because the commissioning editor is entering his mid 30s crisis and wants to end the office Christmas party balls-deep in some slut he can go “Now you probably don’t remember Silversun, but at the time they changed everything for me”. So allow me to rephrase that. Where now will we go for a website that operated like a bunch of developmentally challenged six-year-old girls playing dress-up at being Jezebel at a slumber party? Where else will we go for the kind of inane crap that seemingly emanates from a woman spinning around on an office chair and going “Gossip Girl… The Gossip… The Gossip Girl? Is there an article there? Fuck it, that’s fune”. Where else will we go for some bullshit about Santogold written by the kind of zero-between-the-ears Oxbridge grad bint who has thankfully ended up in a career as a journalist because God forbid they take up any profession where they could actually have an impact on people’s lives. Imagine rolling up to see your old grandma in hospital and discovering that it was going to be Jude Rogers replacing her hip. Exactly. She’d spent three-quarters of the operation looking at LOLcats and the remainder going “srs post: Erykah Badu’s album accurately sums up what it’s like to be a black person absolutely everywhere on the planet right now.”
Is it funny or depressing how one solitary blog somehow ended up as the clearing house for so many awful, awful journalists? You know how we bust on mad writers over at ILB? Don’t think we’re taking down “the worst”. Take Petridish for instance: smug, self-satisfied, deluded, patronising, trapped in the past, intellectually dishonest and a hypocritical creep. But he knows how to construct a sentence, he can throw zingers into an unventilated area if need be, and he can go from 0 to “300 death threats from fans of a mid-tier indie band” in 16 seconds. We keep boying him because he’s damaging, not because he’s a bad writer.
The dramatis personae of The Lipster weren’t damaging enough, mainly because nobody read the damn thing. The Lipster had professional journos working on it, remember, people who spend their day in Starbucks, ostentatiously opening their Macbook like it was the legs of a mail order bride, as if people were going to be impressed with the fact that They Write For A Living. The kind of people who have spent their time “looking into office desk per hour rates”. Plus they had Rupert Murdoch’s money thrown at them from the start, an already established contact network, the support of three other blogs in the same farm, a professional web design… Compare that to, to take a random blog, IchLugeBullets. I work for eight hours a day, commute for an hour, sleep for eight more hours, and spend six hours a day weeping over the fact that the Northampton Town squad still contains Leon Constantine. 360 minutes of salt tears over the fact that every Saturday will consist of LC putting in another game of “100% effort, 101% gormless staring at a loose ball that’s just trickle two feet in front of him”. That leaves me with very little time to write blog posts. I have no professional web designer, and the only blogs that link to me that have more than seven readers a day are, like international media, run by Jews. I’m up against it. And yet… look at The Lipster. Post after post after post of zero comment. Can you remember a time when The Lipster broke a story? Was talk of the message boards? Seemed relevant? The Lipster is at the same fucking level as me, and I’m a zero. The Lipster was a failure on every identifiable level, and its closure today isn’t even “quitting while you’re behind”, it’s “quitting while the horse you put your bus fare home on falls at the third fence”.
Favourite memories of The Lipster? Well, there was that time they rewrote a press release and tried to pass it off as content, that was good. Or the time they referenced some TV show that was actually written for 13-year-old girls and revealing that you’re a keen follower of it would be the equivalent to me trying to pass myself off as cool by recalling Reboot plot points. Or there was the repeated white guilt toadying to the most asinine milquetoast of urban music, the kind of place where you’ll believe Tinchy Stryder actually means anything to anyone ever (you can certainly bet The Lipster was at the forefront of “There’s this new guy called Jay-Z and he’s playing a festival! Awesome!” last summer).
Look, real talk: they’re all bad people, bad excuses for human beings, creatures who have existed to make the world a worse place. Wendy Roby. Sylvia Patterson (the kind of woman responsible for Florence and the Machine getting media dap). Leonie Cooper (the kind of woman responsible for Florence and the Machine to dress like that in public without getting honour killed). The ones whose names I don’t recognise because they’ve never actually made an impact on this planet despite myriad opportunities life has afforded them. Dreadful, dreadful people.
And, really, we’ve wasted all this time, all these words trying to throw a loose ether at The Lipster, and then we realise it’s already been done. Comments box. January 20, 8:31pm from user “Cairn”:
Oh stop trying to be so popjustice and grow the fuck up, ffs
Now that’s the shit that make your soul burn slow.