Munkyfest memoirs

Well well... let me be the first to thank and congratulate the munkyfest organisers on another resounding success. Voo, Tokyo Adventures and Hot Club de Paris stole top honours this year, and though the overall bill was perhaps not quite as inspired as in previous years those last three sets were nothing short of awesome. The new site in Kingsley was a massive improvement, the only problem being that although the turnout was (probably) higher than ever it looked a bit sparse in a much larger area than usual. Apart from the aforementioned acts special mention has to go to revelation of the day (for me) Umlaut, with their teasingly sensuous emo pop, and Joe Tucker's Vegetables. That's the sinister sociological humour act consisting of Joe and drummer Ruth Smith, not his testicles.

Due to misinformation/ compromised hearing I left Munkyfest under the impression that Roger Cook had died. It wasn't until this morning that I discovered the real, sad truth. Whenever a politician dies they tend to be described as "a man (or woman) of the highest principles", but in Robin Cook's case I feel this is an entirely appropriate epitath. He was not only a bastion of old fashioned Labour principles but also came to represent all that is fair and reasonable about new Labour. Not much there to represent, you might say, but there's no doubt in my mind that the party, and British politics in general, became much poorer following his resignation over the Iraq war. This loss is only magnified by his untimely death.

Slight return

As one anachronism* all but hands in its notice, another rears its vile head in Huyton. Anyone who wasn't shocked and appalled by the murder of Anthony Walker probably should be concerned for themselves. The sheer medieval brutality of it all just chills me.

Just chills me.



I haven't been much arsed to write this blog lately, but I see I'm in good company- no fucker's been blogging these past couple of weeks. Hopefully they've all, like me, found a few better things to do with their time. Not that I'm down on the whole blog "scene", heavens no- there are far too many self-loathing twats in the world who take up vast amounts of net space explaining why the internet in general, and blogging in particular, is a completely sad waste of time. The irony is that in their case it's entirely true. Aaaanyway....

My reticence in writing of late has not been due to having nothing going on to write about- quite the opposite, in fact. But this blog has never been a diary and isn't about to become one, so a direct consequence of my life being full and exciting for the first time in eons is that I've had no time to log the wry observations with which I usually fill these pages. I'm sure that all this will change in due course, and I'll be back to three posts a week.

BTW

How dreadful is that Roll Deep song "Shake a leg"?? I'll "areba" you, you tosspot. Rest of the album bangs though. Well, most of it. "Show you" is just gorgeous, and even the potentially puke-inducing "Remember the days" is pulled off with a lot of style. A healthy sense of humour does the group plenty of favours. With the best will in the world, grime is never going to be album-based music and I get the distinct impression that the jump to cd has failed to capture much of the excitement that an act like Roll Deep would generate in a club. However, seeing as grime as a scene doesn't really exist outside London, I missed out on all the aforementioned excitement anyway. I see a pattern emerging here- too young for acid house, too provincial for grime- let's face it, the only thing I was ever any good for was metal.




*I was talking about the IRA there, in case you didn't spot it.