stuff up before the laptop and master tapes get boxed, packed,
mislaid, dropped, soaked in knocked over Pot Noodle and then
trampled on. Passed a tempting abandoned vehicle today and whaddya
know?- airy, space for guests, great acoustics. Plug into the
cigarette lighter and away we go. Punk rock. And what a closer
for the CD - genuine screams, freewheelin street poet repeatedly
compacted by industrial crunch, then - an awful silence that
says so much. So so much.
I'm down in this basement mixing up some incisive and freeform
journal/ism, and ripping and burning wild MP3 gold. And I pause
for a second - lean back, glance around and am forced to admit
"Archway bunker, you're damp and have broken windows and
at times you would unnerve Fred West, and I feel like apologising
when people come round but I've grown accustomed to your jazz,
man. You've been good to me over th -" when the phone goes
and it's the housing co-op and it's like this and like that
and they're not sure why and they're sorry but the quit letter
was addressed to the wrong flat so unfortunately it's really
short notice. So start packing, pal. Superb. Any interesting
places-to-let in London most welcome.
but sane. On this site's statistics, I can see a list
of phrases typed into search engines which have produced the
DPS address as a result. Over the past few weeks, people have
come to this site whilst searching for, amongst other things,
"dogs with ladies"
and, bafflingly, "the
aroused cock." I gasped audibly, and had to bite
my knuckles, however, at the following search entered into Lycos
UK just last week - "martin
amis fucking" Lovely. Is this a live webcam? Does
it make him any money? Is it a style? A new book? The
internet sure is a piss-soaked stairwell towards our moral collapse.
Entries slowly down on the DPS website until the final group
of songs hits Peoplesound later in the summer. This one's a
mere diary entry - a strange yet beautiful realisation. Concentrating
energies. Also fiddling around with a Quicktime movie taster.
Drop a line.
this week. Love it. Usual decision-making process is to log
all tactical possibilities, draw flowcharts on a whiteboard
and graphs on an overhead projector, have heated exchanges in
coffeeshops and then charge into the polling booth and plant
an x beside anyone at all left of new Labour. Round our
way that'd be Socialist
Alliance's Louise Christian.
the name of the game. Spent the day chez great friend Vic 20,
helping myself to analog warble and acid squelch. Middish way
in the third act of the DPS. "If I could remove any word
from the English language it would be closure", said
James Ellroy. But I'm optimistic. The
structure you love - songs that had to get out somehow, doo lally
palette of styles, DIY production and, I hope, scope record co's
don't believe the public would fancy these days; I blame the dumb-down
JLG season at the
NFT. Even the French folk I know can't stand Jean-Luc Godard
films. But I like them - for the audaciousness of things like
the traffic jam sequence in Weekend, the oblique and political
cut through with moments of poetic brilliance, the sense of
play, the editing, the style. These days, of course, he looks
like we've frightened him out of an afternoon nap, his beer
gut's bigger than a bouncy castle and he has all his maverick
genius needs taken care of by a low-maintenance oriental 'maid'.
Oh and the films are just filler, output. Dear JLG - why did
you fuggin bother sleuthing out the female heart in Two Or Three
Things I Know About Her? All that insight must come in real
handy while Yoko's changing your Pampers.
you, with your eclectic occasionally uptight pop, I bet you're a big
fan of the Beatles White Album." Apart from the key songs, I
didn't know it that well - until a friend gave me a copy for my birthday.
Interesting recurring themes, I rubbed my chin as I listened. Lennon
had some 'mommy was a hard woman to love and squeeze love from' thing
starting to happen, and McCartney must've been getting broody with
all those songs of simple folk living simple lives, replete with merry
infants. 'Savoy Truffle' has the Louis Sclavis-style horns I'd love
to crank up on 'Uberbaby'.
But anyone who creates enough of anything ends up with recurring themes.
So, it's time to peep further into one of the Dog
And Pony Show's - the Loveless.
recounts an anecdote regarding a dinner party held in Richmond, Surrey
before the last election. The hosts were Mick Jagger and Jerry Hall
- with guests Tony and Cherie Blair. After several bottles of Pinot
Noir, Jagger pops the question he's be dying to ask all night - 'ere
listen, Tone, what about wangling an honour this direction so I can
give it the old Sir Mick for a bit. The future prime minister, however,
suddenly voices his private disenchantment with the monarchy. Devout
royalist Mick takes offence and the Blairs find themselves reversing
out the drive long before the arctic roll.
story might be just a mischievous new form of street-spin, an attempt
to leak an image of Tony Blair as a closet radical. True, it's a potted
example, if you really need one, of how inherently servicing and risk-free
the high-end of pop has become. And certainly of the Stones: the first
band to accept complete sponsorship to a corporation - clothes, advertising,
the whole kaboodle.
convertable. Guess what
The Uberground for los anarchistos. More than substantial website
content if you ask me, and happy to give my gob a rest quite frankly.
There's a stand-off on
Oxford Street as I type. Anarchistos - we'd probably be on your side
if you, y'know, believed in them. We'd vote you in if we could vote
you out again someday. I've ate your stinking tofu and kipped against
your amps and chewed over Proudhon. You're all heart really, cut out
and thrown around in the street. Not that I claim insiderdom, if that
even exists. Just people are bound to ask, whatever you do - is that
it? Is that what we do with total freedom? You'll always be Shot By
Both Sides. But then you kids are used to that.
once said, of lyric writing, that she couldn't just coldly confront
a blank page - she had to scream, jump about and even masturbate whilst
attacking it. I took this approach once down the Kingfisher
Fish Bar. No-one batted an eyelid. But that's Archway, where they
never stopped drawing a circle round the A. And where property really
is theft. Most of mine is. Boom boom. (i.e. a joke).