from the dog and pony show
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Sleaze. Junk. Trash. They've always found a good home in rock and popular. Lurid made culture becomes urbane irony gets sales-flattened for Ikea and Top Shop and HMV becomes trash again. What's left out there to tickle hipsters - what's not already spinning around in this wash-cycle? Cool is cool and uncool is ironic. So what colours are left to throw into the bleach? Welcome .. in Razzle. A guilty pleasure. But since when did guilt ever stop anyone doing anything? Written and recorded spring and summer 2000.
independent truckin
Free love anthem. "To forsake all others" follows "to obey" and becomes a completely unreasonable wedding vow. Wrote "I Wanna Get Worse" during the pre-millenium rush to settle down: this written in a post-millenium loosen-up frenzy. Similar to the country song "Blanket On The Ground" written when hippy ideas had started to battle their way from radical thinkers to common folk. Always thought that trying to convince truckers to put it about a bit was like trying to teach a dog to wag its tail. Honk if yer pro-adultery..
the sex of war
Whips of ice-cold synth over stoner guitar. About a beauty salon in London's Archway, were local ladies go to prepare for battle every Friday evening. Lyrics are tips pulled from Machiavelli's The Art Of War.
ukranian cherry
Scuzzy 70s NYC funk punk. Youth-Vampire lyrics based on conversations with a guy called Louis, who works in Soho.
rubber lover
Meaty, beaty, big and bouncy. Recorded with special Pneumatic Bass. No Satisfaction as a Republican Party Reptile sex fiend tries every single 'perversion' there is. I just might burn in hell yet. But unfortunately ...
gas mask
... hell ain't a bad place to be.
Choc-a-block Saxon cock-rock turned into a hyperactive kids TV theme. Mark E Smith flies around dressed as Baron Von Richthofen but gets shot down in flames by my flatmate. Lyrics are not designed for idiots, but then I don't think you are. Masterly blitz of beats by Death In Vegas batter-meister, Simon Hanson.
there are no stars
Marianne Faithfull was asked why, in retrospect, she took too many drugs. Didn't they sap her youth and destroy her vibrancy? She replied that that was why she took them. To shut her up. People liked her more when she shut up. Sad. This is about celebrities getting over-drugged and forgetting they're famous.
Monster roots of super egos. Childhood feeling of being 'special', either through being spoilt rotten or too much telly or being told that absolutely everything you do is the finest thing since Picasso. Then the crazies it makes people when this hits the oxygen of real life.  Burn baby burn.
white fiat
The ghost of Serge Gainsbourg reading London Fields. The East End at night, cars, sex, explicit danger. The need for danger brought on by intellectual boredom. Belle Du Jour.
"..and this bird you cannot chaaange" Whisper grows in intensity Freebird-style. Buckley father and son jam around in the stars, then Royal Trux knock them for six. It's meant to end that way, your player hasn't imploded. Very beautiful. My favourite, for some reason.
the outriders
A 70s British horror movie. Handsome Devil-era Smiths motorcycle murder ballad. A Macbeth of a tune that erased itself several times. Lyrics have frozen PCs. This song is bad luck. No liability accepted.
last british love song
This sounds highly inflammatory and dangerous but remains politically neutral. A warning about toying with the "post-liberal", as pure deliberated nastiness is now called. Sad and pretty, sweeping.
universal use of blue
47 seconds, edits recorded on Brighton beach. During some portastudio-in-a-briefcase point-and-shoot songwriting.
"I will rise up and go / Through the neon courts of Soho / Will rise up to open windows / Pass through them like a sparrow" Razzle = Spectacle. Zen + Porn = Zorn? Something of the Naked City about the whole thing, anyway. Dedicated to all the media workers of Soho. Defining our dreams and aspirations, advertising, quantifying, pricing, pushing our buttons as directly and quickly and universally as they can. What would we do without you?
Songs Of the Free Gang Of Four across 110th Street.