Personal computers gone mad

I'm sorry about this but I really must comment on leader of the so-called opposition Michael Howard's recent comments on "political correctness". This kind of ties in with what I wrote in the last post. Obviously, nobody with a clue has used the phrase "politically correct" (which, by the way, has always been a derogatory term) in any context since it was revealed that all that bollocks about banning the word "blackboard", etc was made up by the Sun. Howard, however, seems to have decided that the tired anti-pc corner is the very one fron which he wishes to fight for the forthcoming election. It hardly needs pointing out how pathetic this is, but I'm going to anyway. Howard believes that British people are "driven mad" by political correctness, citing the example of schools replacing sports days with problem solving exercises. Shit policy this may be, but can someone please explain to me what exactly is "political", or, for that matter, "correct" about it? He goes on to mention the banning of England flags, the fact that kids don't play musical chairs in school anymore, and, rather vaguely, the "red tape" that police have to deal with when they arrest someone. In other words a bunch of irrelevant, unconnected issues that he can clumsily lump together and get all Daily Mail about, dumbly groping for the lowest of common denominators. At no point in his sad little rant does he define what he means by political corectness, and at one point he worryingly states that "a culture which fails to distinguish between right and wrong, in the name of equal 'rights' for all, is a distorted culture. That's right, the sick little thatcherite throwback actually puts the word rights in inverted commas. I'm guessing (I have to guess, because it isn't made clear) that by "politically correct", he means left wing. Well if the left exerts such influence on our society, which it must, if it is dominating government policy and driving the people mad, why is it almost completely unrepresented in British politics? Why are our elections dominated by three barely distinguishable centre-right parties? I almost feel jealous of the USA- at least they have a despotic human rights abuser to get rid of. All we have is a grinning union buster to keep in. Because, tragically, Blair is the lesser of the two evils. I feel it's more likely that the British public are being "driven mad" (or at least away from the polling booths) by dishonest, vacuous politicians who refuse to address real issues in a coherent manner and instead resort to high school-style popularity contests. Maybe. Perhaps.

I suppose I should write something

Some absolute truths...

1) Anybody who begins a sentence with the words "I'm not being funny, but..." should never be allowed to finish that sentence.

2) Racism is always wrong. End of dot fucking com.

3) I'm not into over-polished singers, but Rufus Wainwright just takes the piss.

4) The people who talk the most say the least.

5) "Political correctness" has never existed. It's just a lie made up by the right-wing media to spread petty outrage and make liberals look foolish.

6) The idea of Rooney playing for a nothing team like Newcastle United is nothing short of ludicrous.

I'm talking about football

On Everton's website today, captain Alan Stubbs has given an interview urging supporters to get behind the club, and expressing disappointment that he feels some fans already believe that defeat against Arsenal on Sunday is inevitable. The odds are crazily stacked against the Blues this season- no money, not much of a squad and potentially devastating rifts in the boardroom. In Today's Guardian, all but three of the paper's eight sports writers tipped Everton to go down. Stubbs, quite rightly, believes that these people are being way too hasty in writing the team off- Everton do tend to perform under pressure and are more than capable of pulling off a few shock results. What really irks me, though, is the way that he seems to include the supporters in amongst the doubters. Last season half of the Everton players were, quite frankly, unfit to clean the bogs at Goodison, never mind represent the club on the pitch. They accrued their lowest ever premiership points total and only stayed up because there were a couple of even shittier teams in the division. In that same season, more supporters than ever before came to Goodison week in, week out, paying a minimum of twenty-four quid to watch eleven broken men look lost for ninety minutes. You don't have to tell us to get behind the club, mate. Our part of the deal is well and truly fulfilled. We will always support the club because it is our club, and as long as you can honestly say that you played to win and never gave less than your all, we will always be behind you. Yes, even if you lose.

Shystie

I've spent the past week falling in love with Shystie's debut album "Diamond in the Dirt", which I bought one the basis of one Mp3. Like all the best "urban" (ugh! sorry) music, it's practically impossible to nail down musically, incorporating Rnb, garage, ragga, hip hop and proper gospel. I've heard it referred to as "grime", but it's much more accessable and melodic than grime as I understand it. And it's fucking ace. I've rarely heard a more engaging lyricist, and her MC skills are just mindblowing. Some of the "gangsta" posturing sounds a bit far-fetched to me, but what the fuck would I know? I probably understand better what it's like to be an Inuit than what it's like to be black in South London. "You don't know who I am, you don't know what I've been through... so how can you judge me?" Fair play. What really tickles me about the lyrics, though, is how many of them are about her being thrust into the public eye, wanting the press to back off etc... When she's really not that famous yet. I get a perverse kick out of people with crazily over-inflated ideas of their public profile anyay... think Julie Burchill's autobiography, or Tricky's second album (for fuck's sake man, you had a critically acclaimed album, that's all, no-one tried to nail you to a cross!) All very entertaining. In Shystie's case, though, it could be a pre-emptive strike, cos she is going to be massive... if there's any justice in the world, and I still like to believe there is. Anyhow, the bottom line is that this girl's the best MC I've heard since Ghost Face Killah first knocked me on my sorry ass, and that ain't no bullshit.

Munkyfest 5, or is it 6? I've lost count.

I was planning to do a really professional, detailed review of Munkyfest, but I'm not a professional, so I got drunk by mid-afternoon and didn't take any notes. Here's what I remember of the day, with sincere apologies for any omissions/ inaccuracies.

Saturday was the first dry day in absolutely ages, proving that god likes munkyfest, or at least doesn't hate it. The sunshine wasn't quite enough to get me out of bed on time, so I missed the Fucks and Vegetables, although I'm told that both were fantastic. I got there just in time to catch Our Beautiful Ridiculous Plan, a guitar and Double Bass Duo whose stark, sweeping soundscapes at first washed right over me, but gradually drew me in more and more until I didn't want them to stop, especially after they brought on a clarinet player. Tigers are probably the best spazz-punk band ever to have played in Helsby wearing just tiger-print undies. Their music brings to mind several bands, including Napalm Death, Devo and squeak-core jokers Sticky. The performance was exhilarating and just the thing to get the fest properly kicked off. A couple of acts failed to turn up on time, so during a break in proceedings we were treated to a solo set from Graham. His voice is beautiful and it made me wish that Voo were playing. This Ain't Vegas were apparently not pleased at having to play almost as soon as they got out of the car from Sunderland, but they still managed one of the best performances of the whole day. The grimy guitars, sludgy bass and strangulated, emotive vocals compliment each other sublimely, and this is one band that I can see moving on to bigger stages. Flamingo 50 and Three Minute Margin did their changing over thing, which was top fun, and they played a song called "Highway to Helsby", as well as the day's first real anthem "First in Line", so boss boss boss. The Four Tomorrows, led by poster-boy slacker Ally, gave us the kind of classic rock that you can only produce on a Les Paul. Damn that boy can play. Lords wear their influences firmly on their sleeves (and the back of their shirts), but their posh psychedelica was impressive enough, particularly the drumming. Not that anyone could overshadow the drummer from The Wow, who once again showed everyone how it's done. I really don't think I could ever see too much of this band. The hits just keep coming with Tokyo Adventures, whose sound has been considerably beefed up of late. They look as if they're loving playing together, and the new songs are fantastic. A more back-to-basics approach is adopted by Hooker, whose riot-pop sensibilities tread a fairly worn path, but still manage to sound fresh and exciting. They also benefited from the clearest sound of the day. There's not a lot I can say about Victor FME that I haven't said in previous posts, and their Munkyfest set just reinforced my devotion to them. We were even treated to a couple of old favourites with Joe on keyboards, and one with him and Amo together- surely the best collaboration since Iron Maiden adopted the triple guitar attack. Zen Baseball Bat worked well late in the evening, with the crowd ready for a dance. They seem to have about 4000 band members now, but their caustic invective has not been dulled. I was fucking leathered by the time The Countryside Alliance Crew came onstage, which probably helped. They made me laugh but I think a group of city boys ripping the piss out of the rural community over a Venecian Snares-style mash-up that I might otherwise have enjoyed was an ill-advised addition, especially as the last act. I think these sentiments were echoed by the majority of people there.

One wall of the barn was decorated with a mural depicting the Munkyfest family tree. Among the names listed were extinct acts like Point 9 and pyridine, as well as those who have since evolved, like Honey Shop Screamers and Handy Jackoffs, and absent friends, like The Short Cuts and Grampus 8. At about 2 am I decided to walk home, which was much further than I thought. The worst thing about Munkyfest was that I had black shit the following morning. Black! What's that all about?