THE OBAMA ISSUE JANUARY 2009 WWW.BADFORMAT.CO.UK/MAG INFO@BADFORMAT.CO.

UK

(1)

PretendFriends

Thumbnails

Editoral Kjell Sebastian

The world is changing around us folks, have you noticed?
America has its first black President, the BNP are taking
over Liverpool and Sayers are battling the growling
stomachs of the economic decline with the worlds first
Credit Crunch Lunch ... But most poignant of all events
in the cycle of world change:
BadFormat! is taking its first breath of life (as the Capital of
Culture chokes on its last).

2. Thumbnails
3. Contents
4. In Defence Of Breakcore
5. The Dark Side Of Fame And Fantasy
6. The Joy Of Retrospection
7. Tracksuited Soldiers
8. Should We Really Stand Up For The Rights Of The BNP
9. Charts Versus Choice
10/11. Fat Patroit Poster
12/13. Sunday Bloody Sunday
14. Give Us Some Credit
15. You Get Smug You Get Dead
16. Signed By 4Music
17. Wording Around Europe
18/19.Regulars And Reviews
22. Reviews and Regulars

1. Codrophenia
2. FAJ - Jane Jackson
3. French Band - Phil Sim
4. Woolworths Closes - Mike
Moore
5. Litter Bin - Vicky
6. No Milk - Marina Blugh
7. Someones Slogan
8. Hippo
9. Feet in Doorway
10. Eye

11. Surprised Dog

12. Mercedes
13. I Love Pills
14. Sunday Lunch
15. Heather Angel
16. Taking A Break
17. Santa Slips
18. Entrance
19. Leopard Girl
20. Peace
21. Halloween

22. Someone Will Care

23. Statue
24. Plastic Cup Puppets
25. Codrophenia
26. FAJ
27. French Band
28. Woolworths Closes
29. Litter Bin
30. No Milk
31. Someones Slogan
32. Hippo

33. Feet in Doorway

34. Eye
35. Surprised Dog
36. Mercedes
37. I Love Pills
38. Sunday Lunch
39. Heather Angel
40. Taking A Break
41. Santa Slips
42. Entrance
43. Leopard Girl

44. Peace
45. Halloween
46. Someone Will Care
47. Statue
48. Plastic Cup Puppets
49. Peace
50. Halloween
51. Someone Will Care
52. Statue
53. Plastic Cup Puppets
54. Plastic Cup Puppets

If you would like to win a tickets

to a gig, send in your photos to
thumbnails@badformat.co.uk.
The best one chosen by the
editor wins the prize.
This issues winner is Debbie
Morgan who is off to see Animal
Collective.

EDITOR Kjell Sebastian (kjell@badformat.co.uk PRODUCTION MANAGEMENT Scott Jones (scott@badformat.co.uk) Laurence Easemen
(Laurence@badformat.co.uk) SUB-EDITOR Leo Nikolaidis (leo@badformat.co.uk) WORDS Vicky Brocklehurst, Mike Cotgreave, Lawrence
Donaldson, Dylan Eldor, Joe Fearon, Niall Griffiths, Fiona Innes, Scott Jones, Ross Morrison , Gavin Whitfield, Denise Pendleton, Rosa
Parker, Thom Shannon, Mia Tagg PICTURES Scott Jones, Pickled Church DESIGN AND LAYOUT Scott BadFormat! (info@badformat.
co.uk) THANKS Mark Eldor, Melissa Bolsen, Laura McGann, Heather Purcell, Reuben Wu, Kevin McManus at ACME.

Badformat! Magazine ill not be held responsible for the opinions and arguments published by its individual wirters and artists. Any
reproduction in any way whatsoever must be agreed with prior consent by a BadFormat representatiive. Published by BadFormat!
Magazine, The Elevator Building, 25-27 Parliament Street, Liverpool. L8 5RN.

As we all sat basking and complaining in the anticlimax of 2008 (the year we celebrated creativity with all
the free wine they were handing out, but didnt actually get
any work done) the New Year arrived. Change has come
to America were the first words of the new President to
the world just twenty days into 2009, the day that the
promising momentum of change seemed to be gathering
and even filtered into the update feeds of Facebook and
Twitter (representatives of the front line of post-modern
politics) we saw status like Johnny No-One Says, Hes
fucking in, is right! We had decided long ago to create
a paper with BIG world changing ideas a paper that
digested the current climate and broke it down. A voice
for truth, un-censorship, freedom, and here was this
American guy having it off with our idea. Just imagine the
parties he must have had. The urge for revolution started
seeping in and I finally got round to begging people to
write a few articles for us on the premise that Id go to
Sayers and get the lunch in.


Our team of trusty alternatives will be littering the
pages of BadFormat! across the city every other month
to fill you with a range of diversions from the grind, as
well as taking on the odd issue, dragging it round a bit
and possibly seeing what happens when we set it on
fire (you think Im joking). This month we have grappled
with the people of Signed By 4Music who stay up until
all hours to rock out, equal opps style. We consider how
not being shit is not the same as being great in YOU GET
SMUG, YOU GET DEAD and we are swayed to believe
that Breakcore, the musical genre with more BPM than
sense is a credible form of taste. But of course youll
soon know all that, because you appreciate our efforts
and are going to meticulously plough through every page,
right?

BadFormat! will shout with its gravelly, smokeda-little-too-much voice all the way through 2009 and stir
the thoughts of the counter culture up to the surface. This
is collaboration without censorship and we want YOUR
involvement. By having faith in the views you offer and
being prepared to be challenged on what we say were
aiming to provoke other people into opinion instead of
sitting back and having another half-cut year of accepting
what John Snow says as the ultimate truth, because
hes a twat. We want Moira Stewart on our side, planet
Stewart is full of un-judgemental coverage, but look
what they did with her in the end? They sent her back
into space to age as gracefully as she had on the BBC
over the years, just making sure it was not happening
on our screens. (The same happened to Anna Ford but
she was smug, and if you get smug you get dead). We
want you to join our community, rather like signing up
to a commie camp only without the constant sense
of regime, children dancing with flags eighteen hours
a day and of course any brainwashing. Were a kind of
Beijing Olympics without the trauma. By that I am making
abstract reference to the cute nine year old who sang to
her Motherland at the opening ceremony, remember her?
Turns out she was a fake miming because the girl who
sang really the song was too ugly to foot the performance
and had to sit at home crying about the fame she nearly
had.

If you have something to say then we want you
to say it, write it down, make sure you have a general
grasp of the English Language and then send it in. We
will print your gripes, idiosyncrasies and anecdotes. We
will voice you versions of life and, hopefully, take us all a
little bit closer to our own version of world change. Either
that or well all waste each others time, but at least we
wont be wasting it to benefit of Facebooks advertisement
sales.
Welcome to BadFormat!

InDefenceOfBreakcore
By Leo Nikolaidis.

TheDarkSide
OfFame&Fantasy
By Denise Pendleton

fizzes, clacks, durszshes, cuhrszsches and whistles. There might

be a general tune/beat/groove, there might not, but what definitely
exists are individuals dumb enough to commit a lot of time to what
sounds like a malfunction in the cheek, tongue and vocal cords of
a beatboxing robot.

Girls heart Breakcore. Breakcore is seen as a form of

musical marmite or perhaps more like a weird fetish; irresistible

to those who practice it but incomprehensible to those without
the correct disposition for the dildo shoes. I however, think that
Breakcore could unite the unruly teenage masses that threaten the
stability of the state.

Some takes on the genre (see Bong-Ra) combine

guitar riffs with the impossibly fast drumming to make guitar music
thats infinitely more technical than any bunch of smelly metallers
could churn out. No matter how hairy they are nor how far into the
distance their eyes naturally focus, their attempts at offensive music
are limited by their drummers limbs and heartbeat. If someone could
persuade all the kids out the back of Grand Central that its ok to
use computers in music once in a while, it would be the beginning
of breaking down some boundaries.

The next time a tracksuited mass at the back of the bus

treat you to twenty minutes of swearing and gunshots from their

phones, turn around and offer them a hefty chunk of Gabba or
Jungle and watch them change their old ways. With all their energy
used in trying to keep up mentally with the music, theyll be more

Well, here I am, finally after many years of deliberating (sorry that
should be drug taking) and the fast approaching end of the world,
other wise known as my 30th; I have decided to write my memoirs.
A very exciting, heart retching, some times traumatic series of events
that make up my life.
Homelessness,
lesbianism,
depression,
parties
and
glamour will be laid bare for
all to see. During my career as a
professional popular person I have
been a stow away on tour with
bands old and new, Djd at
the worlds biggest club, sold
drugs to the stars and had many a
passionate night with a few of them.
Ive met some amazing and some
not so amazing people (including
a very nasty man from Manchester
who wanted me dead) Ive worked
as a cleaner, waitress, Dj, promoter,
designer and a receptionist at a
brothel and Ive had a different address
for as many years as Ive been alive.
Coming from one of twelve children my life
was always set up to be larger then life but I
always maintain the key to keeping happy is to fill
each living moment with as much fun as you can fit in.
Ive got the scars to prove it, including a nasty little one in the shape of
a cross, which I obtained at a primal scream gig. The breaking of a few ribs
and toes (yoga when pissed does not make you look cool) Ive shaved off
my hair and Ive dressed up as Paddington bear (oh and a big pink thing) for
the artic monkeys. I have never paid for a gig in my life and never intend to,
but now I pass on my secrets to you to go on and use, as you
will. Will these tales change the world? Probably not, but its
cheaper than therapy. You better get a tissue as youll be
crying, with laughter

prepared to leave the street corner early and get a nice early night,
ready to make their Mums breakfast in bed before skipping off to
school. With a common goal in sight, the newly united teenage
hordes can use the energy of their hormonal imbalances to diffuse
the pension time bomb, stop climate change and end the terrorist
threats that keeps us awake at night.
So those of you who have already heard of it, already hate it. This

extra step, half the BPM of Breakbeat. To get my point across,

represents my feeble attempt to increase the listenership of a music

I had to raise the pitch of my voice, so as not to compete with

genre with better song titles than songs; with exponentially more

the deafening sub-bass octaves that were shaking our insides to

beloved House/Neil Young/indie-shmindie music just wont cut

BPM than sense; and with very little regard for melody, timing or

pieces. I neglected to tell her that its cool because its really loud,

your audible mustard once you get used to the scatty, cascading,

meaning. Not only can I picture a world where no other music exists,

slow and simple; this I now regret, but I think she got the general

robotic, impossible sounds. It takes a bit of re-evaluation to get

I can envisage a utopia where the only form of aggression is found

idea by the end of the nightkneeling on the extra XXkW of subs

back to a previous stage, a lot of music now lacks its punch and

flying out of the speakers, against the eardrums of the population.

they had ordered in, stacked up against the front, swinging her hair

overflows with needless repetition.

Pointlessly offbeat, snarey tongue firmly in its deaf and blind cheek;

to the simple riddims and plunging, tubular bass noises.

Breakcore will save the world at a thousand, million miles-an-hour.

Breakcore eats your face for lunch.

Perhaps I am stuck in a worthless rut, perhaps not, but Im lost to

Dubstep appeals to those who want to dance, as well as

those who want to be massaged by very low frequencies. If I can

Some of you will have been exposed to some dubstep

rationally persuade anyone to get into Breakcore, it will be along the

in your time. Very cool but very slow. Over the summer, at a

route of technological admiration, with a bit of post-dance thrown in

dreadnought night, I had to explain the concept of dubstep to a

and a hefty dose of pure, dumb, ears-aesthetic enjoyment.

Of course there is the problem that your previously

woman who didnt think that she stood out as too old to be there.

the darkside now and I cant honestly recommend that you save
yourself.
This article is multimedia enhanced:
A good place to start:

Well, I only ask these questions cos Im a journalist you see.

I played some to my grandparents off my phone once.

I went along with her idea that it was a new craze, sweeping the

They werent horrified; they were more amazed by the way that a

nation (it might be, its popularity is increasing, sneaking its way

little plastic thing in my hand could make whatever noise I choose.

The Art of Noises by Luigi Russolo:

into Chibuku and into the relatively recent compilation album Pure

Isnt that the point in a way though? That we have these big black

http://everything2.com/index.pl?node_id=377044

Garage Rewind Back to the Old Skool (The Sound of Baseline). I

fuzzy boxes in clubs which can make people desirably deaf; and

tried to gloss over certain things I like about it by explainingsince

that someone has got to push them, computers and human

Video explains the worlds most important 6-sec drum loop: http://

she was a journalist n all that, that its like dub music with an

tolerance to a superhuman level? No real reason other than the

www.youtube.com/watch?v=5SaFTm2bcac

pure enjoyment of the sounds: rapid, unrelenting clicks, beeps,

http://www.myspace.com/venetiansnares

Part One
Although I may not be the prettiest person in the world I
do seem to have a face that fits. It must have something
to do with my big hair and huge mischievous smile.
I attract cranks, weirdoes and people you would
not consider to be the norm. You may want to
call these people the creative types? Poets?
Musicians? But I like to call them dole-ites.
One evening I was minding my own business
in Keiths on Lark Lane (a haven for misfits alike)
downing glass after glass of South African red,
when a rather old but funky looking gentleman
walked in. Eye contact was made instantly and
I just knew that my night was about to step up a
notch. Within minutes he was at my table giving
it Mr big licks, popping his collar at every available
opportunity. I let him go on about how he worked
for Manumission in Ibiza. They were looking for a
hostess to look after the bands and V.I.Ps at Ibiza
Rocks. At this point I would have felt rude to intervene
and interrupt his rant. In telling him that was my old job
and I worked for Manumission for many years
might lead to coronary thrombosis at his
age, and I didnt want that on my hands.
Besides he was buying my drinks and plying
me with drugs so it would surely bring an end to
the evening? I let him waffle on a bit more about how
they wanted some one a bit more edgy with a
rock and roll look. Well I was only sat there in a rolling stones T-shirt,
skinny jeans (I was anorexic back then) and stupidly high vintage

shoes, so he had hit the nail on the head with me!

He did begin to bore me so I let him in to my little secret. The rest of
the evening was filled with exciting stories being exchanged about
our tales of debauchery and quite a lot of name-dropping on his
part. Kate moss being his favourite, mine being the time I found Jay
Kay in a wheelie bin out side the club in nothing more then his under
pants and an Indian headdress, totally out of the game. I had to get
one of the showgirls to drive him home in his Ferrari. She turned up
a week later with bunch of flowers in hand and a thank you for not
taking pictures note. Truth is if I had had a camera, and in fact my
mind that night, I would have taken loads. But back to the old guy.
His friends are having a party in their house, so he is taking me there
all the time drugging me up (Note for the shocked: Although Im
petit, Im hard core and well aware of the danger I might be putting
myself in) The party is filled with chav dealers, ex cons and some
bird from cricket, all with nasty faces carved like horrible Halloween
masks. Regardless of the clientele I had a good time. I spectacularly
ended that night with a dramatic fall down three flights of stairs and
a trip to A&E. Only three cracked ribs assured my new OAP friend
that I was the right woman for the job. A month past until the phone
call came, he had spoken with Mike and Claire and wanted me to
fly over ASAP. I celebrated with a leaving party that lasted two days
right up until the moment I flew over to Ibiza, still in the same dress
Id had on for three days. I arrive on a Saturday night, meeting him at
a swanky bar in the old town to discuss the next move. Drinks and
drugs were my breakfast lunch and dinner back then. We danced
the night away in Pashas V.I.P lounge and I dont remember ever
getting home, or even where home was.
I woke up early the next morning to find myself naked with him all
over me, cock in hand saying, and youve got the body of a twelve
year old.

Now most girls in this situation would shit themselves, but
I just laughed in his face and gave him a good telling off. I was swiftly
ejected from his gaff on to the streets. With my last euros I had to
get a taxi to my old haunts in the hope some old friends still worked
out there. The England match was on and the beaches were filled
with pink English tourists and Im drowning my sorrows still in my
skanky dress (now on its forth day) There was nothing I could do
but wait, for what; I dont know. Ibiza Rocks were throwing a karaoke
party and after a couple of Es off my mates (and a rendition of I am
the Anti-Christ later) life was good again. The Manumission bosses
turned up all smiles and my tale of woe shocked and bemused
them. In fact this OAP that tried to sex me didnt even work for them.
He was just some drug dealing creep from the old town. Nice. They
took me under their wing and we spent the rest of the night in a lap
dancing
bar chatting about old times. They put me up in a hotel and paid
for my flight home. Three days I was way for. Three bloody days! I
made such a fuss about leaving only to return home seventy-two
hours later. It seemed normal to my friends, apparently Im always
doing things like this and as I said before I attract cranks. Two days
home, back at my old job and with a come down to end all come
downs coming on thick and fast. Then my phone rings and its
Manumission Heyyyyy, you know that job the OAP made up and
offered to you? Yeh, Do you want it?
Eeeeeeerrrrrmmmmm??????????
Well I realised I dont have to leave my great city in order to have a
good time. And that was the end of that.

TracksuitedSoldiers
By Gavin Whitfield

TheJoyOfRetrospection
By Owain Bevan

Weve all been there, were there right now, or were well on the

down by this way of life is steadily growing, and that is not made

way to being there. Our teenage years and our twenties are a

up by the papers.

time of development, experimentation, drugs, sex, alcohol, various

How did all this happen? We could write a whole thesis about how

curable diseases and innumerable regrets.

Encapsulated, we

and why. Im sure someone with the time and inclination has, but

are the youth of today. A handy little term for both the press and

an obvious starting point is the fifties. It would be difficult to ignore

older generations to describe a whole group of people, usually in

the fact that the gang culture as we know it burst into life with the

a negative context. A term that brings many connotations and

rockers of this time, which also coincides with the eradication of

stereotypes. As with all stereotypes, it is false and doesnt actually

national service and the end of traditional warfare. Perhaps the

exist at all.

young people of this nation need to feel wanted? To feel part of

Perhaps in previous generations the youth of today was more

something, anything, that will give them focus and something to

easily applied to the younger public, but with our own worldly

strive for, even someone to perform for. There is no substitute for

wise and technologically savvy generation, the term is more

the sense of comradeship when youre young, with the old adage

redundant than ever. People travel the World in their youth,

us against the World ringing in the ears. With the army no longer a

learn new things, have more money, and make contact with

necessary outlet for this need, the gangs took to the streets instead,

new people, faiths and cultures.

and thus a hundred miniature wars flared up, with new battles and

To a certain extent of course this has always been true, but

war stories with every generation.

unfortunately history tends to forget these little things and

instead groups the youth into one homogenous lump. If you

deeper? Throughout the ages a man has had a chance at some

werent a mod or rocker in the sixties, and certainly if you

point in his life to prove his masculinity, his worth as a person. In the

Maybe the violent tendencies of the relative few goes

werent swinging, then you have lost your place.

dark ages it was hunting food, then fighting animals swiftly followed

So what will our youth of today be remembered for? A

by kicking the shit out of each other. In addition to this you have

multi cultured internet surfing eloquent bunch? Perhaps

the long tradition of battling for the good of the country. All of this

even a nation of X-Factor wannabes on our knees waiting

has long since passed of course. The country has a highly trained

to suck the jizz of success from Simon Cowells Holy grail (Im

army for our International spats and has no immediate need at the

sure Ive heard him call it that, I know I would if I was a twat like

moment to recruit any old oik off the streets. As far as Im aware

him). Seeing as our history is now written by the likes of The Sun

fights involving men and animals no longer exist (though Ive heard a

and Daily Mail, I fear we will be remembered as generation of knife

rumour about Norwich). There is no need for hunting these days as

wielding track suited Neanderthal throwbacks, dealing in drugs and

all of your favourite animal corpses are carefully and neatly laid out

weapons, communicating in grunts and wafts of our own body

for you in the aisles of the supermarkets. So whats left?

odour mixed with a plethora of alcohol based fragrances that all

We cant discount the effect of the rise of the female of

The year was 1993. John Majors traffic cone

sooner or later and I would then be able to have

Why did I allow myself to get into debt? Im still

roughly assimilate Brut.

the species (cue dramatic music) that has been gaining momentum

hotline was keeping Britain moving, 2 Unlimited

all the things I wanted in life.

not altogether sure, but I do know that at least

job on offer: the money. By accepting the trainee

It is a shame that our generation will be defined by the youth crime

ever since the suffragettes. With few exceptions women are now

part of it was a compulsion to live up to the

journalist position, I would also be accepting a

that seems to be growing by the day. Is this epidemic something

completely equal to their male counterparts; same jobs, same

Fast-forward ten years. Older, but not all that

promise I had made to myself years before: to

400 a month pay cut. I simply could not afford

of a tabloid induced moral panic or is it for real? The sad fact is the

wages, same cars, same widescreen televisions, these days they

Trophy - it was a hell of a time to be alive. I was

wiser, whatever it was I was expecting to come

give myself all the things I wanted in life. At one

to do this because, as irony would have it, that

latter seems to ring true; the metaphorical pile of bodies brought

even have social lives. The new man and the ladette have merged

eighteen years old, skinny, fresh-faced and

up didnt. I was now working my arse off in a

point, I even bought myself a rickety Commodore

was exactly how much my debt repayments

men and women into one metrosexual abyss. So what happened

factory for peanuts, scraping by hardly enough

Amiga home computer; for no reason other than

were each month. The newspaper couldnt justify

to these brave warriors primed for battle? Well, nothing. In the last

to keep myself and my wife housed and clothed.

I wanted one back in the late Eighties (when they

paying more than they were offering for a trainee

hundred years times have changed quickly, and perhaps the young

Throughout my entire school life, I shuddered as

It was depressing, but there were ways around

were on every young boys Christmas list) but my

with no relevant qualifications, so I was left to

men havent had chance to catch up yet. Its obvious that this

I saw adulthood- a dark mass of responsibilities

our financial issues and the easiest of these was

parents couldnt afford one.

make the most depressing Hobsons choice of

free society will evolve quicker than mankind itself, and so perhaps

and expectations - loom ever larger on the

credit.

my life. I had to turn down my dream job. Now I

these feral young men littering our streets are simply the forgotten

horizon. In 1993, with my compulsory education

This was the early Noughties, the height of Tony

This was the way things were until 2006,

understood what it meant to be a wage slave.

men of a previous age, ready for their own battles and heading a

and sixth form now completed, it was time came

Blair and Gordon Browns economic miracle.

when something happened to finally make me

to face the real world; but I just couldnt do it. I

This miracle was being fuelled entirely by the

understand the folly of my actions - and I mean

The most galling thing about this little episode was

anyone else.

simply wasnt mentally mature enough to make

easy availability of cheap credit. Everybody,

all my actions, going back to my school days.

that it was my fault, really. If I had demonstrated

It is doubtful that there is any real explanation for these young chaps,

the life changing decisions most of us get round

from multi-national corporations to Mr. and Mrs.

more maturity in my teenage years, I would have

as lovely as they are, strutting the streets with their shiny little toys

to making at that time. I should have gone to

Peasant on the street found that they could

I had always wanted to be a journalist, or a writer,

got myself the education I needed to follow the

that cause so much harm. They are on pretty much every street

university, or gone on an apprenticeship to learn

borrow as much money as they needed to buy

in some capacity. Unfortunately, being lazy and

career of my choice. If I had understood the futility

corner, like some throwback from the film 28 Days Later. Same

a trade, or at least got any old job just to get

anything that they wanted.

impatient, I never took the necessary steps to

of my spending in my late twenties, I could have

glazed look in their eye, a little bit of drool forming perfectly at each

get myself qualified for that line of work. As ever, I

avoided the debt that crippled my dreams.

side of the lip, in a slightly snarling and spasticated version of Elvis

topped the charts with No Limit and Port Vale

were on their way to victory in the AutoGlass

utterly, utterly unprepared for the adult world.

some money coming in, but all these things

seemed too much like hard work.

was never in a position to profit from the

You see, there was one major problem with the

backlash to prove their own masculinity, to themselves more than

simply hoped something would fall in my lap. In

trademark manoeuvre. Even as I look out of my window now, there

excesses of the time in the way that some were

2006, as unlikely as it seemed, this

Still, live and learn. I know now that there is

are some chaps on the opposite corner, like upright poorly dressed

So I hid from the world. I left school, signed on

able to. While the buy-to-let parasites were

looked like it might actually happen. A local

simply no substitute for a good education. I also

versions of the tiger I just mentioned, ready to pounce on someone

the dole and spent my time watching television,

inflating the property bubble and junior admin

newspaper was looking for a trainee journalist, no

understand that money is best used to keep

or something. I am not like those people, yet in a few years I will

playing videogames and going to the pub.

assistants were driving Audis, my dodgy

specific qualifications required; just enthusiasm

what I need, not to buy what I want.

be lumped in the same generalised category as them. Time will

It was an easy and simple life, but it was also

credit record and low income meant that my

for the work. I fired off an application with as

monotonous and empty. Money was always tight

access to credit was relatively limited. Even so,

elaborate a covering letter as I could muster, got

So, heres a note to myself of 1993:

I can almost hear it now. Ahh the youth of today, what a set of

and dealing with the stigma of unemployment

during 2003 and 2004 I still managed to run up

myself an interview, absolutely nailed it and was

Get your bony arse to university, stop buying

bastards.

could be uncomfortable, but I consoled myself

debts of 11,000 taking the easy money on

offered the position. A dream come true, right?

crap, and for Gods sake have more sex. Much,

Gavin Whitfield

with the thought that something would come up,

offer.

Not quite.

much more.

somehow have dressed me in a tracksuit and handed me a knife.

ChartsVersus
Choice

ShouldWeReallyStandUp
ForTheRightsOfTheBNP?

By Thom Shannon

By Leo Nikoladis

Once upon a time recording a single involved a WHOLE studio,

engineers and vinyl cutters but now anyone with a little cash
and time to burn can set themselves up with a state-of-the-arthome-studio. Artists like Mylo have had massive hits with albums
put together entirely from bed sits, bedrooms and basements. He
supposedly did it on an old G4 Mac with some stolen software.

The British National Partys March

on Liverpool took place on a cold,
foggy Saturday at the fag-end of
November. They had come to
protest against the recent arrest
of 13 members of their Liverpool
branch for handing out allegedly
racist literature.

Liverpool city centre was
awash with police. In rather timely
fashion, the front page of the Daily Mail
(which once praised Oswald Mosleys
fascist Blackshirts) proclaimed POLICE
STATE BRITAIN in response to the arrest of Tory
frontbencher Damien Green.

By the time I arrived in town, the BNP had
already dispersed, leaving behind a crowd of counterdemonstrators waving placards provided by the Socialist
Workers Party and chanting Smash the Nazi BNP and How
many police are in the BNP? (a reference to the leaked members
list which revealed that one employee of Merseyside police was in
the party).

Claiming that the BNP are Nazis is a particularly infantile
response to what is an unpleasant, but very real, presence in British
democratic politics. Its a bit like claiming (as some commentators
have done) that the Labour Party is Stalinist. Despite the often
authoritarian flavour of the Labour governments policies, there are
no gulags in the United Kingdom and we are, by and large, free to
say what we want. The same could not be said for Russia under
Stalin.

Some people call for the BNP to be banned or no
platformed (these people tend to be of the orthodox, middle-class
Left, and the only thing theyre good at is navel-gazing and

alienating working-class people).

This strategy risks turning the
BNP
into
political
martyrs
and
boosting their anti-Establishment
credentials or, even worse, driving
them underground and provoking a
re-emergence of violent organisation
such as Combat 18.
A quote often attributed to the
philosopher Voltaire goes along the lines
of: I disagree with what you say, but I will
defend your right to say it. By rejecting this
fundamental principle, we immediately vacate
the moral high ground and admit defeat in the
battle of ideas against the neo-nationalist Right.

Its also important to recognise that whilst the
the BNP are a racially divisive party, there are two other
things that pose a much greater risk to democracy and social
cohesion.

The first is Islamofascism, the great threat of our time
which aims to completely destroy Western civilisation, replacing it
with a Caliphate, whilst murdering as many infidels as possible in
the process.

The second threat is political apathy. It is sometimes said
that people get the government they deserve. British politics is dull
and uninspiring precisely because we have a decaying political
system that few people can be bothered taking part in.

In the final analysis, the only way to politically disarm
the BNP is to remove the language of race from politics, promote
inclusion and equality over the divisive ideology of multiculturalism
and ultimately reclaim our democracy from the vacuous, careerist
automatons who currently govern us.

Its a bit like claiming that the Labour Party is Stalinist

Of course this steady revolution has been going on for
some time, cheaper electronics and more powerful computers
have been added to the mix. Even the wannabe moviemakers
are getting a chance to prove themselves with zero budget. There
was once a time when putting together a decent amateur was only
for film students with access to an editing suite. But cheaper and
better camcorders and computers that people can actually afford
has resulted in an explosion of amateur content. The TV people
were quick to spot this new grassroots content production too of
course (what would we do without them) and put out programming
like Channel 4s Takeover TV which launched the careers of Adam
Buxton and Edgar Wright (and supposedly Graham Norton but we
wont talk about that).

But it was still the TV yuppie fat cats that had control over
what we were being shown and it was a few years before YouTube.
com rocked up and changed it all. The spread of broadband
connection and yes even more improvements in technology meant
that anyone could post and view videos online when the site
launched in 2005. Now every single movie maker has a chance
to make their work available to the masses and the viewers can
decide for themselves whether it was any good, or not.

But none of us really settle down for an evening in front
of YouTube do we? (or admit to it) but it is an example of a bigger
change happening in the way we consume our entertainment. At
the last count YouTube had around 90 million videos, the most
watched could have over 100 million views, but youve probably
not even seen those. The last few videos youve watched probably
involved some kittens (most do), or they may have been about
surfing if youre into that, or someone tripping over a dog, or a band
youre into, or any number of random things I couldnt even imagine.
The point is that the things you chose to watch are going to be quite
different to what Ive been watching.

This is a major change from the way media has worked
for centuries, from the first newspapers to television there was a
bottleneck to how much choice and variety there could be. When
I was a kid there were only four TV channels, and out of all of them
there was always going to be one programme that everyone at
school will have seen the night before. But we werent watching
that programme because it was the one thing we most wanted
to watch, no, it was just the best that was on offer out of the tiny
amount available.

The effects of huge amounts of choice are causing ripples
in many other industries. Your average Waterstones bookshop may
carry up to 20,000 titles, most of them will have been listed on the
bestseller charts or tipped to be and every one of them will sell
a minimum number of copies. It has to sell to earn its space on
the shelf, to cover the rent, the electricity, the salaries of the staff.

Amazon.com lists millions and millions of books, some of

them may only sell one copy a year, spending the rest of
their time tucked away in a warehouse. In fact many of the
books listed on Amazon dont even exist as stock, they
are printed and bound as and when theyre ordered

Catalogue shopping is nothing new, Argos
have been using the efficiency of warehouses
to offer a large product range cheaply for many
years, but a catalogue of Amazons whole product
range would weigh the same as an adult elephant
(honestly, I worked it out!). What makes Amazon
different is that you dont have to wrestle with
a catalogue, working your way down an index
and trying to second guess what category
they put torches in. Amazon has a search
box, and on top of that they have customer
reviews and ratings, but one of the most
useful features is customers who bought
this also bought.... This is where things
get really clever, their catalogue starts to
organize itself based on what people are
actually looking for and buying. Rather
than trying to guess what category or keywords Amazon have
chosen, youre looking for things based on what the market has
chosen.

The disruption is more apparent in one industry above
all other, the music business. The music that makes it to the top
of the charts has traditionally gone through many layers of filtering
and selection. To make any sales at all an artist used to have to rely
on a record label to sign them up and start pressing copies, which
meant being seen by scouts or getting their demos recorded and
sending them to labels or getting played on radio. Many potentially
great bands have vanished into obscurity unable to put together
the demos or failing to reach the scouts (dont ask me who, but Im
certain they exist!). Now the barriers to entry have dropped, people
can produce professional music at home with a minimum budget,
which gives the labels a huge choice of artists, more than they can
handle in fact! And of the ones they do choose, some will succeed,
many will flop. The problem is that the A&R men are just trying to
second guess the market, based on what was successful before
but completely missing the crazy new stuff that no sane person
would expect to be popular (See Alright Breakcore (in defense of).
This is where the MySpace generation come in, whats successful

on MySpace isnt
down to some suit
deciding,
its
a
decision made on
mass, the weight of
people befriending
and talking about a
band. Theyre not
trying to secondguess the market,
they are the market.
Now bands and producers arent just bypassing the recording
studio funded by the labels, theyre starting to bypass the marketing
funded by the labels and reaching their own audiences directly. The
only thing the labels will be good for then is funding the pressing of
CDs, but even this is dying off. We all know CD sales are falling and
download sales are climbing, but downloads arent just replacing
the CD, theyre changing the whole economics of music sales.
iTunes are doing exactly the same thing to HMV as Amazon are
doing to Waterstones. There is a massive amount of choice and
people arent just buying the top sellers, theyre digging down into
the obscure, or theyre getting linked in to it from peoples MySpace
pages.
Soon fans will decide what music is good or not, new music will
be discovered through personalised radio stations like last.fm and
Pandora. Recommendations from friends and strangers or just
browsing and sampling the endless online stores listing all the
music under the sun will be the path of discovery.
Itll be about personal choice and not charts.

Fat Patriot

Sunday
BloodySunday
By Leo Nikolaidis

Most people would agree that The Troubles are over, and that
despite the obvious differences of opinion and even violence still
contributing to the ongoing issue, the actions of twenty years ago
neednt affect lives lived today.
However, Dec Nixon, a 21year-old from Derry currently living
in Liverpool has recently left his job over a remark made by his
employer regarding those killed on Bloody Sunday:
Yeah, well they were all IRA scum anyway.
And its not like he had nothing to lose by making this stand: three
years of hard work had been put into this job, with an upcoming
promotion just round the corner. He also has the owner begging
to have him back, knowing that no one else can actually make the
place function, or even change a barrel. You have to admire the
staunch determination of this guys integrity even if you dont fully
understand his reasons.
Bloody Sunday is the term for the incidents which took place in
Derry, Northern Ireland 30th January 1972. Members of the British
Armys 1st Parachute Regiment shot 26 civil rights protesters,
during a Northern Ireland Civil Rights Association march. Among
the13 shot dead that day, seven were teenagers and five were shot
in the back.
Decs father, Damian, was in Derry at the time and has some vivid
memories:
Everyone had started off in good spirits, singing We shall Overcome.
They didnt know that it was the beginning of The Troubles. Anyone
that wasnt on the march couldnt believe the news that evening.
Even the birds and the dogs were subdued. If silence had a smell,
it was strong that day. I was only 10 but I knew it was bad because
of the number of adults I saw crying their hearts out.
Maybe older generations have some brutal stories about hardships
in the war but those are distant memories, alienated from now by
half a century, study in history books and glorification in films. By
taking just a short ferry ride, a few decades back we can get some
very raw instances which feel a bit more familiar.
About a year after Bloody Sunday, Damian lived with his family near
a supermarket where he and his friends used to return shoppers

trolleys for a slight fee. One day, while at home on a lunch break, a
major incident occurred nearby.
The air disappeared for a nano-second. Then, a deafening sonic
boom; then the house cascaded with shudders from its shoulders
to the ground and the earth continued rumbling for a second.
Stunned, silky silence then: BOMB! We children screeched and
with a bound were at the door, looking into the horizon for tell-tale
smoke. Superfare we roared again and set off running towards
the bomb scene.
A bomber had tried to plant a bomb in the supermarket, intending
to retreat and call a threat. But, the automatic doors had set off the
mercury tilt-switch, blowing up him, the doors and anyone nearby.

His head had landed on a green across the street where we played
football. A Brit dog-handler was trying to hold his mutt from chewing
it, whilst gagging and finally throwing up when he realised what it
was. I remember vividly cos we were pointing at him and laughing
raucously, because it wouldnt make us sick and we werent even
twelve yet.
On my head son! To me! To me! we taunted in our best English
accents. A cop ushered us away. There was a child in a pram by
the door (in days when it was safe to park your pram at the door for
ten minutes while you shopped!). She was disintegrated.
Regularly living through scenes like this must have hardened people
up. This isnt to say that there isnt any hardship experienced these
days. Many families live in actual poverty, many peoples opportunities
for happy and fulfilling lives are few to none. The problem is that we
can be too quick to take a stable society for granted, people will
criticise the evils of political correctness gone mad before they get
angry about people who are so unhappy with their lot that they are
forced to plan such seditious behaviour.

When are the impoverished people in England going
to get of their backsides and fight back? The miners strike came
close. People were nearly shot at the time. If the populace had
backed the miners outright and cared enough demonstrably, there
would have been deaths.

Imagine if soldiers from the Irish Republic landed on your shores,

at the request of the British government, to aid them in controlling
civil unrest--- or even worse: your own troops appear in riot gearand then, after having been welcomed, started killing young fellow
countrymen of yours because these youth wouldnt stop protesting
and rioting because of their hopeless situation and life outlook.
Before long they will arm themselves and tell the Army to get home
pronto or itll be war. The split will be the usual one: rich and poor,
power-hungry and socialist. Half of the population would back the
peace-keepers even if they were foreign nationals. The other half
will back the disaffected, who by now will be called terrorists. Al
Qaeda will be blamed for the unrest so that it cant be said that the
dead were British.
Thus, the Bloody Sunday victims were not British citizens marching
for civil rights. No. They were IRA scum. A belief that this is true acts
as a protective sheath for certain peoples blunted conscience........
in my humble opinion.

Perhaps people can be very spoilt in England. The most dangerous

poisonous thing anyone is likely to encounter is a stinging nettle, the
most violent separatist movement on the mainland is the Cornish
one, the police dont use guns, and anyone facing unemployment
can be reimbursed for their jobseeking trouble Politics can be a
huge joke at times (Private Eye, Have I Got News for You.) or even
reduced to just a series of sarcastic, 30-second conversations in
the pub. Its possible to take a relaxed, detached view and see the
soap opera unfold on TV without much impact on daily life.
Current wars take place in strange faraway lands people are never
likely to visit or even meet someone from; and short of a deceased
army relative or the instigation of rationing it would take a lot for
people to change the course of their lives due to politics and the
associated lofty ideals. But, some people in parts of Ireland and
the rest of the world have to deal with this horrible stuff everyday:
imagine having streets in towns where Liberal Democrats cant go.
Imagine if a hostile state had insisted on its capital citys name being
tacked onto the beginning of yours.
The privilege of our relaxed attitude requires that we are more
sympathetic to those who cant have one.

DoYouLoveMeEnoughToTellMeYourPIN?

YouGetSmugYouGetDead!
By Mia Tagg

GiveUsSomeCredit
By Leo Nickoladis

voltage tieclips on their nipples.

Walking around the new Northwest shopping centre. Named after a

Nandross. And Hugh Fernley in Subbers: YOU CAN PICK YOUR

whole postcode. And I wonder if anyones told them theres a crunch

OWN VEG! And there was this weird guy scrabbling around by

on, or if anyone has done market research on the compatibility

the bins talking to himself about the sustaining moisture one can

Chavassse park has false greengrocer grass. And a central

between Scousers and sushi.

find in discarded moist towelettes, using chicken bones to make a

blueglass fountainesque feature which kids instinctively try to

lemon- stock bucket.

animate by jumping into the centre of the earth. It sits on a fake turf
hill overlooking one of the oldest artificial harbours in the world.

Feeling like were stood on the edge of something looking over.

Though the same, of course, could be said of all times in history.

But yeah we got Maracas Obama setting an example or at least

This time there are two queues by the banks:

illustrating a paradigm shift, hopefully. And there will be more

Industry is dead. Long live retail and consumer spending.

government control of a lot of these missing numbers in the future.

Oh right, credit crunch. No one needs moo-ing toasters or designer

Those stood while the cashpoints take their time in churning out

So the end of the world is nigh, and capitalisms destruction could

disposable contact lenses in this wintery clime. And so could this

piles of worthless notes; trying to make sure the person behind

finally germinate and subsume and we could be forced to appreciate

mally monstrosity ruin the L I V? Featureless shops; new united

them doesnt snatch their advice slip: Youre fucked. We would

some new values, learn some new skills and not be so spoilt.

brands of generica descend on a city of boutiques, bargains, makedos and mends. Dont get too cocky.

apologise sincerely but there is nothing we can do. Why not join
club class banking?
The second queue has the homeowner militia with their lawn

So my new birdfeeder is a stockbroker. Dipped in honey from next

doors bees; then custom muesli from the internet; then strung-up

Hopefully the high street empties down to the L and refills

by his silky retirement gift tie.

with businesses and people well equipped to make our postcrunchalyptic lives more fruity and sparkly. I saw Mad Max in

strimmers, screaming like men repossessed, marching the bankers

out to the firing wall by the night safe. Briefcases in hand. High

Walking around the new Northwest shopping centre. Named after a

Nandross. And Hugh Fernley in Subbers: YOU CAN PICK YOUR

voltage tieclips on their nipples.

whole postcode. And I wonder if anyones told them theres a crunch

OWN VEG! And there was this weird guy scrabbling around by

on, or if anyone has done market research on the compatibility

the bins talking to himself about the sustaining moisture one can

between Scousers and sushi.

find in discarded moist towelettes, using chicken bones to make a

Chavassse park has false greengrocer grass. And a central

lemon- stock bucket.

blueglass fountainesque feature which kids instinctively try to

animate by jumping into the centre of the earth. It sits on a fake turf

Feeling like were stood on the edge of something looking over.

hill overlooking one of the oldest artificial harbours in the world.

Though the same, of course, could be said of all times in history.

But yeah we got Maracas Obama setting an example or at least

Industry is dead. Long live retail and consumer spending.

This time there are two queues by the banks:

illustrating a paradigm shift, hopefully. And there will be more

government control of a lot of these missing numbers in the future.

Oh right, credit crunch. No one needs moo-ing toasters or designer

Those stood while the cashpoints take their time in churning out

So the end of the world is nigh, and capitalisms destruction could

disposable contact lenses in this wintery clime. And so could this

piles of worthless notes; trying to make sure the person behind

finally germinate and subsume and we could be forced to appreciate

mally monstrosity ruin the L I V? Featureless shops; new united

them doesnt snatch their advice slip: Youre fucked. We would

some new values, learn some new skills and not be so spoilt.

brands of generica descend on a city of boutiques, bargains, make-

apologise sincerely but there is nothing we can do. Why not join

dos and mends. Dont get too cocky.

club class banking?

So my new birdfeeder is a stockbroker. Dipped in honey from next

doors bees; then custom muesli from the internet; then strung-up

Hopefully the high street empties down to the L and refills

The second queue has the homeowner militia with their lawn

with businesses and people well equipped to make our post-

strimmers, screaming like men repossessed, marching the bankers

crunchalyptic lives more fruity and sparkly. I saw Mad Max in

out to the firing wall by the night safe. Briefcases in hand. High

by his silky retirement gift tie.

Smug. What a word. What a notion. It sounds smug. It looks smug.

In this way it may be the perfect word. For me, it has very much
been the word of the autumn/winter season of 2008, and it seems
that I am not the only one who has been grappling with it lately.

the Nobel fucking peace prize, because the state of play is just not
satisfactory, by anyones standards. Also, if you are satisfied, you
are without a doubt a complete bore and of no use to anyone. In
fact, you are barely human, if at all.

My use of it began towards the end of the summer. I run a bar witch
is awkwardly situated under a fabulously pretentious jazz club. The
kind of jazz club where you sit down at tables with red wine and
stroke your beard (whether you have one or not) to, what to me
sounds like the sonic equivalent of someone having a desperate,
frustrated wank. If you, during a performance have the temerity to
make the smallest sound, someone old with an impossibly thin
ponytail will turn around and very loudly shh you.

It is after all the dissatisfaction intrinsic to human beings that make us

special; makes us innovate, learn and experiment. In fact, monkeys
and great apes indulge in the aforementioned activities, so if you are
not making stuff, acquiring some knowledge or trying some shit out,
you are definitely a bit crap, like a whelk or an asparagus perhaps.
Youre not as fun as monkeys, thats for sure.

Anyway, the place is run by a gaggle of jazz heads that are very
serious about their joyless cacophony, in the way that youd expect
a bunch of half-baked, pseudo-educated pedants would be. They
are so purist about jizz-jazz that theyve ended up with the polar
opposite of the original idea of jazz, leaving it all wet, white and
wank. The point is that they are so convinced that, because of their
taste in music, they have some sort of moral high ground that those
who do not share it, should fear it, and respect them on the grounds
of their preference. Its aesthetic blackmail, which is absurd.

Lets return to the paradox that is smug though; as you may

have noticed, I by writing this, appear unbearably smug. I am not
surprised; I was once accused of being an Olympic Narcissist.
Narcissism is often confused with smugness, even though they both
display similar attributes in a social context, their root causes are
completely unrelated to one another. Narcissists are fundamentally
insecure and wrestle with a perpetual sense of social inadequacy;
they are obsessed with how they come across. Unfortunately, this
obsession has the opposite of the desired effect, narcissists are
usually too busy having the right haircut to pay attention to anyone
else, as a consequence, narcissists do not come across well at
all. On a happy note, most narcissists grow out of it, usually their
self-obsession is an expression of immaturity and most people do
eventually grow up and get over themselves.

I dont take kindly to being spoken to in a condescending manner

because I like pop and think its as important to dance, fuck and get
wasted, as it is to read, listen and think. My point is that that kind of
elitist, purist twaddle is really smug, and Im sick of dealing with it.
However, and this is my absolute favourite aspect to the beautifully
complex smug: it is impossible to use it in the way it is intended
without implicating yourself; accusing someone of being smug is a
fantastically smug thing to do - The Curse of Smug.
Lets face it, it is impossible to criticise someone for congratulating
themself, without implicitly congratulating yourself, for not
congratulating yourself.
I like pop and think its as important to dance, fuck and get wasted,
as it is to read, listen and think.
In my mind there is absolutely nothing wrong with congratulating
yourself on occasion, especially if, as in my case, your achievements
are generally quite small and insignificant and no one else is likely
to acknowledge them. But lets tackle another word listed as a
synonym to smug: self-satisfied. No human being living in this world
could ever deserve to feel self-satisfied, not even if youve just won

not being shit is not the same as being great

Once you discover that no one you want to hang out with gives a
flying monkeys fuck about whether your shoes go with their look,
narcissistic tendencies melt away, you are then free and you can go
forth and flourish in the world.
In a galaxy millions of light years away from insecurity and a sense
of social inadequacy, smug does not doubt itself and is confident
that it is socially superior. Smug is a gaseous giant, rotating on its
own axis, smelling its own gassy explosions and loving it: smug
revolves around what looks like a star, but it is in fact Satans
arsehole, from which he (the dark lord himself) dazzles the planet
Smug with glaring sunbeams. Planet Smug shares a solar system
with the planet Arrogance, but Arrogance is a cold, lonely rock at
the very outskirts, unable to enjoy the warmth or light of Satans
rectal radiance.
The notion of smugness is beautifully illustrated through the

medium of animated metaphor in Episode 1002, Season 10 of

South Park (Original Air Date: 29th March, 2006). Entitled Smug
Alert, it is available to watch on-line , and youtube offer clips from
the episode with commentary from Trey Parker and Matt Stone .
Parker and Stone manage to escape The Curse of Smug through
groundbreaking, irreverent satire.
Smugness, like ragwort, is incredibly difficult to get rid of once its
taken root. The hot bath of achievement may have long disappeared
down the plug hole of life, but the scum line of smugness will last
until its scoured off by the Brillo of ridicule.
Fighting smug and its curse is a tricky one: first of all, smug
loves company. Smug achievers will stick together: recyclers,
cyclists with helmets, parents with gifted offspring, and spiritual
people. They will sit around and congratulate each other endlessly,
exaggerating the value of one anothers achievements until they
have blown so much smoke up each others arses that they loose
all perspective. If this is allowed to carry on the layer of smug-smoke
becomes noxious and impenetrable, the only ones able to survive in
these foul conditions are the sanctimoniously extreme; people like
Oprah Winfrey, Jeremy Kyle, Sarah Ferguson, Trevor McDonald,
Tom Cruise or Robert Kilroy Silk. These people are beyond any
redemption; they have become immune even to the most advanced
satire. I call this phenomenon the Talk Show Host Complex, it takes
hold in those who live their lives patronising others, those whose
opinions are never questioned, whose advice is never rejected:
the self-appointed anointers. Ignore them, theyre screwed anyway
and so is anyone who pays them more than strictly anthropological
mind.
Secondly, you cannot fight smug with any degree of earnestness
what so ever, which means that Canada is doomed (oh well, never
mind), the war must be fought in the style of a satirical ninja: close,
hand-to-hand combat, peppered with swift blows. There can be no
heroics, grand gestures or parades in the war on smug, for obvious
reasons, but the next time someone in your vicinity talks to you
with their eyes closed, tells you that youd be much better off doing
things their way or lets you know how good their insurance is when
youve just been burgled, rip the shit out of them immediately. The
future of the human race depends on it.
If you remember only one thing, remember this: Not being shit, is
not the same as being great. At least if youre shit, youre probably
interesting.

WordingAroundEurope
By Rosa Parker

Slavonic mashed up

languages. But do I take the initiative? I can tell you for

certain I constantly, absolutely, defiantly always mean to.

Initially theres a feeling of complete alienation- what in Gods name

So I, like everyone else, must be full of shit! At twenty-one

are they saying? Surely this noise is Russian, and this dear taxi

Ive not been so busy that Id be unable to fit it in.

driver means to steal my kidneys. . . Yet slowly, hearing the aesthetic

of the Czech language, the sounds become more familiar, falling

upon my ears daily. Sadly still with little meaning or use. In my three

mouth, blurt out your English mother tongue and be heard,

months living in the city of Prague I did not learn the lingo beyond

and furthermore, understood.

The reason: its just too easy to open your

your extremely primary conversation level.

SignedBy4Music

Fiona Innes considers the weird world of after hours entertainment

Along with the Mario-game made-flesh psychedelia that is Takeshis

Castle, the Signed by 4 Music people are an esoteric treasure
known only to the students, late-night clubbers and night-shift
workers of this nation. Having spent not enough time in the first
group and far too much time in the second, I am now in the third
and watching them with their strange gesticulations has taken on a
new significance. They are no longer there only to stare at in wonder
and laugh at; they now signal the close of a twelve hour-shift and,
hurrah, nearly-home time.
Youll know them, they pop up after re-runs of Gladiators when we
are all in a good mood (Ulrikas 90s hair never fails to rally the troops).
The TV has to be muted in our work place, so were not distracted
by anything as meaningless and throwaway as the music, we
simply watch them. Conversation always turns to the unanswerable
questions; Who ARE these strange people? How do you get a
gig like this? Why are that womans nipples so pronounced every
morning? Is this their full-time job? They are exotic and fascinating.

The songs they are signing to are invariably shit, but you have to
wonder; do they really learn all the words to that 50 Cent rap? What
is the sign language for fo shizzle? How do they translate say, a
Dizzee Rascal verse which is mostly impenetrable for anyone over
thirty and not from East London? No matter how cheesy or annoying
the track, the Signers always sign with relish. Such enthusiasm
really is a sight to behold; they give it loads.
We all have our favourite Signer in work, the big one with the short
dark hair, she of the note-worthy bosoms. The vigour that she puts
into the job at hand is remarkable, whether it be some god-awful
indie landfill drivel like The Kooks or The Fratellis, or a bit of ChristI-envy-the-deaf Basshunter, shes all over it like a lamp-shade,
waving and flapping, gurning and shaking what her momma gave
her. All in all captivating, emoting with more passion than most of
these songs deserve.
There are just a handful of Signers, and one wonders about how

these lucky few came to do what they do. The basic concept of it
all seems a bit iffy; you know, it is a music video, and the supposed
demographic is deaf people. How many deaf people were picketing
the television networks demanding a signed music show? I dont
know many deaf people, but surely the on their CVs under Interests
and Hobbies the first entry isnt music. Or maybe this is a prejudice,
a common misconception. Maybe the relationship between the
brain and music transcends conventional aural capabilities; perhaps
the complexities and mysteries of musical compositions conjure a
magical osmosis going beyond the ears and into the soul, but surely
not through. The fucking Kooks at 6am on a Wednesday?
Signed programmes appear on most channels now, and its a
jolly good thing that they do; our deaf brothers and sisters have
as much right to enjoy Midsomer Murders as any one of us, but I
believe that Signed by 4Music has a different agenda; ostensibly
its for the deaf, but Ill wager that the concept germinated through
a series of late-night coked-up London meeeeja dinner parties, like,

The most remarkable thing in my experience, is that your

Language classes and social orientation:

viewed as a natural advantage that we as native

Do I feel orientated in this new place? Not immediately! Jak se

English speakers have a greater opportunity

mate? How are you? I wonder, as I find even the most basic

to travel and work abroad. I am grateful

language a challenge. This sentence takes on a rather more beautiful

for this advantage but I would like

pronunciation than my pseudo scouse accent fails to provide- its

to better myself and engage

not Jack see Mate but a rather pleasant yak se marta. As I moved

in another lingo. So we as the

rapidly forward into my new life in Prague the language classes I was

new generation, the nomadic

forced to experience on arrival ended, as did my daily consumption

sub-culture that is the travelling

of traditional dumplings- believing neither of these things would be

youth of today, should make

good for me in the long run! However, I wished to continue using the

an effort to get talking in other

little Czech I had in every day life- communicating with the public,

languages. It is embarrassing

my new colleagues and the wonderfully chatty vagrants in the city

when you attempt to talk in

centre.

another language and you

As a Briton and not a mainland European I feel the great gulf

may sound incorrect, but

between complete freedoms to travel and live anywhere in Europe.

amongst my Czech friends

I feel this, but at the same time make no effort to take on another

I met, the elements of their

language. When challenged or questioned in regard to my own

English speech I found most

language skills, or those of British people in general, a reason I

endearing were the mistakes

might offer (not as an excuse but a cause) is that there is a lack of

and I can only hope that

foreign languages taught in primary schools to our young.

once I begin my infantile

speech in another tongue

The majority of our young folk first hear Bonjour at the

age of eleven in which they reply what the fuck? and proceed to

Whatisthesignlanguageforfoshizzle?
yknow, wouldnt it be reeeeally funny, to like, yknow, get a bunch
of middle-aged social workers in dangly earrings to sign along to I
love to pump crack/I love to squeeze gats/I love to stay strapped
har har har. Fast forward to the development meeting in a
Channel 4 board room the next day and the idea doesnt seem so

ridiculous when last nights schedule included The Woman Whose

Elbow Spoke German and When Good Lunches Go Bad. So
postmodern. So Nathan Barley.
Not that Im complaining though. I love the Signers, Id love to meet
them and find out what they really think of the music, what they

listen to in their own time, what the sign language is for fo shizzle,
if they ever just make the words up, and Id have to ask about those
nips.

ignorance is not always frowned upon; it is often just

it will sound as comic as

statements like this:

continue whichever class room activity suites them best: texting

their mates, foundling themselves or someone else, or bitching

I found out what tells

about the fat kids which Jamie Oliver has been unsuccessful in

you that nature doctor

weaning off space raiders. So this is my first and last reason,

at my fathers. . . . he

excuse, argument - for my own and the nations attitude to foreign

says you have bad

language.

THYROID, and he
look quite serious,

Then there is the age-old Imperial excuse- I mean

everyone talks English because we conquered the bastards right?

I for one would prefer to stem away from this attitude. Id like to be
more like the mainland European intellectuals and speak several

he thyroid is serious
about all this.

Che
PartOne
At F.A.C.T., Liverpool.
By Rosa M J Parker.
Che Guevara, revolutionary, author, physician, hero. This list could

Boeing
Boeing
At The Playhouse, Liverpool.
By Vicky Brocklehurst

go on. The much eulogised and often controversial Ches image

The action takes place in Architect Bernards luxury apartment

adorns t-shirts and posters throughout the world. For many, his

where, much to the fury of his under appreciated house keeper,

image stands for all that is romantic, rebellious and revolutionary.

Bernard manages to juggle affairs between his three air hostess

Soderberghs film in many ways seeks to break down this image.

fiancs Gabriella, Gloria and Gertrude. The arrival of Bernards shy

Che: Part One builds layer-upon-layer of the day-to-day elements of

friend Robert and a change in flight timetables wreaks havoc and

the events leading up to the 1956 Cuban Revolution.

signals the start of this highly funny fast-paced farce.

We follow Guevera deep into the jungles as he asthmatically

The show itself proves to be smart, smooth and sexy. The entire

wheezes his way through the vines; dealing with drunken troops

cast compliment each other to create a stage chemistry which

and deserters; and volunteers who cannot read or write. Slowly

leaves the audience both involved, bedazzled and entertained.

Its nothing-new just naming a product or service after its literal

and unglamorously the film portrays the rag-tag foundations of the

Warclus has masterfully directed his team with stylized, specific

purpose. Weve seen Ready Brek, Kwik Save, Kwik Fit - but it seems

Cuban revolution and Ches involvement in it. These scenes are

directions and his continuously energized rhythm combines to offer

that nobody at all these days can be bothered to come up with a

intercut with Ches famous appearance at the UN in New York 1964,

an example of astute comic timing. It is plain enough to see that

By Dylan Eldor

decent name for themselves.

further highlighting the scope of his journey, without resorting to false

the cast are clearly enjoying themselves! The stage set is a simple

romanticism.

white penthouse that creates a wonderful sense of air, light and

I never saw oceans, or told stories. The only drama I got was from

While watching another repeat of Top Gear (cos theres

Benicio Del Torro is superb as a cool and calculated Che, chain

space. A white canvas acts as the backdrop for the three scantily

the mob on the eighty-two that took the weeks weather to grips,

fuck all else on) I saw a TV advert for a new website, webuyanycar.

smoking Havanas, rifle slung over his back- a highly dedicated and

clad air hostesses to parade about in their well cut brightly colored

consumed it and gave a detailed breakdown of each possible

com. Now I know that you have to appeal to the mass public, but

hard working guerrilla. His charisma fills the screen and his look is

uniforms. Sarah Jane Dunn (Mandy from Hollyoaks) emits light in her

climate that could affect their self important lives. The only rivers I

surely we can deal with associating a name with a service rather

suitably iconic- the dark features, thick beard and long hair poking

stage debut, boasting a powerful energy and presence in addition

saw were of cracked concrete and old packets of crisps rolling like

than just describing the service itself. This is down to someone,

from under an ever-present beret. However iconic, Del Torro at the

to a well supported, effortlessly lustrous voice.

tumbleweed down Netherby Lane. You can see it all from the eighty-

somewhere, deciding that the demographic of this service or product

same time manages an air of fragility and detachment. The other

two. Sometimes the steamed windows un-steamed themselves,

are uneducated, track-suited, dressing gown wearing benefit-eaters.

characters are warm and humane portraying a realistic sense

Gemma Broderick secures another ruby in the Playhouses Crown

and each neck would winch towards the scene, whatever the

Its sort of insulting to be thought of as that fucking stupid.

of camaraderie and brotherhood that bound the revolution. Two

as this classic west-end production ensured a mid-week full house.

teenage volunteers sit down and refuse to move when Che sends

Boeing Boeing is shamelessly fun and definitely a guilty pleasure.

them home for being too young.

Think sexy secretaries; rich men and fit women. The show is about

PopTart

Flash

By Scott Jones

Literal Brand Names

Netherby Lane

scene was, as if a bright torch had been shone into the dark of
a battery farm. They cluck on the eighty-two, they peck up each

detail like wholegrain and they take too much. Like the day it was

sitting in an office in Milton Keynes trying to maximise hits and

Che and his commanders, including Castro, are shown as best

sex and as we know, sex sells. The film industry took note of this

ultimately revenue by coming up with the most banal name possible,

mates hugging each other and sharing jokes, lifelong companions

long ago and perhaps theatre needs to adopt this philosophy in

in order for the masses to understand the service or the product on

fighting for their cause. We also see the other side to this character,

attempt to appeal to a wider-audience and increase box office

offer. What happened to taglines that described the service?

such as the strict and ruthless discipline of his troops and his request

attendance.

British Airways, the worlds favourite airline. Ok, quite literal, it is

for make up for a television interview.

British and they do fly planes, yes, but the tag uses specific words

The film is beautiful and well shot- the jungle looks lush and green and

In any event who cares! As long as shows like Boeing Boeing are

to let us know that it is an airline. Minimal effort!

the guerrilla warfare is suitably frenetic and scrappy, grainy black and

placing bums on theatre seats and ensuring customer satisfaction

white film changes the atmosphere of Che talking at the UN in New

and value for money, it is a fantastic achievement, even if they were

Im just waiting to see a new product with a great new

York . Overall some may find this sporadic approach rather plodding,

mostly middle aged men or not

brand name. I suppose the closest thing is Google, which turned a

wishing Soderbergh to cut to the chase. Throughout Che: Part One

Boeing departed Liverpool on the 17th January but is due to land

brand name into a verb, like Hoover, which is good but I think youll

we dont see the blockbuster moments of Ches revolutionary life, but

at theatres in Nottingham, Sheffield, Manchester, Cheltenham,

Italian composer, Piero Umiliani is a prolific talent better known for

agree that Google sounds a bit too much like Goolies... know what

rather the reality. At times small, seemingly insignificant; and at times

London, Bath and Glasgow, Brighton and Birmingham in the

his earlier works making soundtracks for low budget exploitation

i mean?

exciting and dangerous. Che: Part One allows an objectivity that so

upcoming months.

eleven minutes late, and they were frozen and opinionated at the
stop. The day Colette, who walked to school, had left her complete
homework next to the mirror where shed combed her white-blond
hair, and knew the teacher wouldnt believe her. It didnt rain, so
the women where restless on the eighty-two, taking in their journey
and waiting for something to happen. Something to talk about.
Something to take to Church on Sunday, or to pass to Meave
in Eat More Fruit. To use as an excuse to get the phone book
out, or just so they could feast greedily on the ins and outs of
something and add some spice to their unseasoned lives. The road
works were back, and how that ignited them! Already late, now held
up they flapped over each other too see what the problem was,
yearning for a problem to exist. It was nothing but the let down of
routine maintenance. A motorbike nearly gave them something, as
with the growl of its revving engine they all thought the young rogue
would blast through the traffic lights and cause a fatal accident for
sure. But unfortunately he stopped, manovered and waited like the
disappointing and careful motorist he was for the lights to change.
Even The Strand had nothing to offer. None of the shirtless and
homeless were drinking White Lightening outside Tesco. No school
children had cigarettes in their mouths and not one police car,
ambulance or fire engine had gone past the entire time. They get
nervous on the eighty-two when the circular noise of the emergency
services doesnt interrupt and entertain them.

But then Colette, in her pressed brown blazer stepped

onto Netherby Lane and the eighty-two with its tar black wheels
turned onto the long grey stretch itself. Each window was tuned in
and transmitting as the bus hovered past her. As the bullmastiff flew
over the wall. As there was jaw and air and nothing else. Not even
a scream, just the thick red eradicating the white blond and the

The
TuneTomb
By Joe Fearon

Tra Scienza E Fantascienza

Moggi - AKA Piero Umiliani

I can just imagine the marketeers and PR people now,

often evades the intriguing historical figure that is Che Guevara.

films and sound library records for italian TV.

So whats the solution? Are we doomed to suffer the literal

Piero formed his own label Omicron in the early 1970s on which he

brand name? Maybe we should revert back to describing everything

released the album Tra Scienza E Fantascienza under the psudenum

in the same way. Like calling a bus bigredthingthattakesustowork or

Moggi, here Piero experiements in moog electronic music making

the lavatory a holetoshitinto just to ensure that nobody is left in the

a departure from his earlier jazz funky lounge soundtracks and into

dark.

a musical direction more influenced by early 70s german electronic

pioneers, such as Cluster and early Kraftwerk.

Facebook.com, a book with faces in it? I know its a

cheap shot but it should really be called spyonallyourfriends.com a

Tra Scienza E Fantascienza musically conjures up a visual electronic

concept that has been even more refined with the growing success

world close to the sci-fi movies of Logans Run, Westworld, and

of Twitter. I mean, do we really want to know?

Clockwork Orange from the futuristic analogue of tracks like

Danza Gallitica and Saltarello Marziano to the hypnotic melodic

arrangements of Soundmaker and Officina Stellare this album

Factor. Girl Band, yes, thats right they were a girl band ... fucking

is truly a classic amongst early 1970s electronic music and still

hell the single should be called Hit Single and the album should

sounds great, if you want a copy, you can get it on the Easy Tempo

be called Number One Album. Peter Kay was on it when he called

label for a tenner, the original will tax you a ton, definately worth

Geraldines single Winners Song.

A great example of lethargy with naming shit was on X

having in your collection if youre into moog electronica

glare of blazing teeth. They got what they wanted that day on the

eighty-two. They got exactly what they where looking for, the wheels

support site for rape victims, which is great of course - but for fucks

spun on, the journey continued and for once there was heavenly

sake.

silence.

Most recently I saw one called ivebeenraped.com, a

Kris Kelly It Was Time For Aunt Mary To Go

VOTE YES