Toadcast #53 – Shiny!
This is just an overspilling of all the shiny new things I have in my inbox this week. It’s so fabulously up to the minute that there are songs in here which only landed in my inbox yesterday. There’s a slightly sneaky legend making an appearance as well, in the shape of Jason Lytle. Jason was the lead singer of Grandaddy, a legendary group who disbanded back in about, erm, 2006 or so, leading to Jason moving to a house out in Montana and apparently giving up on the idea of making a living out of music altogether.
The thing is, music is an art form, and no-one makes a fucking living out of making art. The only exceptions are deplorable cunts like Tracey Emin, Damien Hirst and fucking Bono, so please can we dispel the idea that art is a profession. It’s not a job, nor a career, it’s a fucking calling; an obsession. Of course, the good news for us fans is that, because it’s a calling rather than a job, Mr. Lytle was never likely to stay away forever. If you care about something it’s almost impossible to stop yourself doing it. Believe me, I know – I feel the same way about masturbation (sorry, not that funny, I know).
Oooh, by the way, I was very macho this evening. I got home and I opened the gate to find some random chump sitting on our steps drinking beer. So I bellowed with rage, grabbed him by the lapels and flung him out into the street, shouting angry man things like ‘get the fuck out of my fucking house you cunt or I’ll fucking batter you fucking senseless’ and other well known aristotelian arguments. Unfortunately, as is often the case with fighting, one proved vastly less capable than the other, and he apologised and asked for the rest of his beer back and acknowledged that he was in the wrong. Christ that made me feel like a prick and a bully. So I ended up pointing out that my wife was small and that if she came home and found someone sitting on our steps drinking beer she’d have been scared, and that I was sorry for being so violent and please just bugger off etc etc. He agreed and apologised and basically took all the fun out of being an alpha male, the bastard. Christ, I might have to wait ten years to be that macho again, why did he have to ruin it for me?
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01. Orouni – A Greased & Golden Palm (05.47)
02. The Gillyflowers – Country Boy (09.25)
03. Trips & Falls – And in Real Life He Wears Corduroy Pants (16.45)
04. Ragged Claws – On the Death of an Emperor (25.00)
05. Findo Gask – Wrapped in Plastic (Live) (32.00)
06. Enfant Bastard – Landscape Painting is Easy (36.23)
07. Scuff – Sailing Three Sheets to the Wind (40.56)
08. Jason Lytle – Birds Encouraged Him (Live at Maps) (47.34)
09. Auld Lang Syne – Where My Fortune Lies (51.01)
10. Scott Pinkmountain & the Golden Bolts of Tone – Abyssinia (58.24)
Pussy. You should’ve shot him.
And remind to call ahead if I’m ever passing through Edinburgh.
Maybe better off going to Cardiff to visit DC instead, mate.
Cheers on Auld Lang Syne. Good stuff innit?
Erm, how much did you pay to see Tom Waits last year? Nick Cave? And did they appear hungry or ill-clothed to you? Have they been reduced to beggary? Yet they are not Coldplay surely.
I love grandaddy, thanks. Just a quick aside, Toad. While I sympathise with your comments about art and commerce, I must say the following…when you are working at a shit cafe 10 hours a day and it takes you an hour and a half to get home, and music is brewing up in half your head while the other half is afflicted by a splitting headache and a memory of a deplorable customer condescending to you…well, at those moments the calling, or obsession just might involve a dream to escape that dredge through, erm, the potential for your artform to bring you some success…just sayin….
See?! This is what happens when you go all soft on your blog trolls, you end out taking it out on poor drunken sots on your doorstep who don’t know where they are. And what a sorry excuse to use the little lady as the reason for your depraved and cavemanish ways. We all know she’d have taken him out far less time than you and with far more entertaining language (no offense, only adoration, Mrs.T!)
As for calling your wanking habits “art”, well, well now, as C&B indirectly says, none of us are willing to shell out fifty quid to watch THAT
xoxo
Tart
C&B, that’s like asking if George Clooney or Johnny Depp make any money. Of course they do, but it’s not really about them, is it? The pinnacle of more or less any career path makes plenty. Normal, competent, talented people don’t because money just doesn’t flow into the arts. People do this out of compulsion and hope, not because there is in reality anything much in it for them.
Tart, I’d have ripped the cunt’s head off if he’d have been there when Mrs. Toad came home. Scaring my wench is simply not on. I scrap with enough of these fuckers every Sunday on the football pitch without having to take this sort of shit.
British cities aren’t like American cities, the dynamic is fundamentally different. We’re all much closer together and this kind of thing happens from time to time, but you do not have to tolerate it.
Fucking hell. Imagine if Kate had come home and some cunt had been sat on the steps drinking beer? Fuck the little weasel, he deserved a right fucking kicking.
Well he wasn’t and she didn’t and even here we don’t put up with strangers on our doorsteps, inside our gardens so all’s well, sweetie. Tho it does make us wonder what the world will come to as the economy gets worser and worser, eh? I’ve invested over $400 in car alarms in the past 8 weeks after having one of ours stolen (and found!) because crime is up everywhere here, even in our “nice” neighborhood. Do take care, xoxo
My not-so-recently stolen and more-recently recovered bicycle is now secured with a bike lock that is apparently rated for New York. The damn thing is sufficiently weighty that I could, at a pinch, employ it for self-defence (unlikely) or upper body toning (less likely).
Nice work on the playlist, by the way. Don’t worry: for some of us at least, not recognising a single name is an attraction.
Hello this is Mrs Toad.
My well trodden path for dealing with drunken neds is “Haw cuntybaws, get off wir fuckin steps before ma man come home and punches yir fuckin ticket like” but Matthew seems to have taken it to a level beyond where he not only throws out the ned but explains to him exactly where he went wrong in life to deserve the proto kicking that he is in line to receive.
Clearly, a social worker resides within.
I was kind enough to explain exactly why it wasn’t nice to go drinking beer on people’s steps. But that was after he’d taken the fun out of being macho by sniveling and apologising. He was a rubbish ned.
And if that doesn’t work, then show him this handy wallet-sized photo of “yir man.”
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=106969&id=1532774882
That link doesn’t work. And you know what, I think that’s a good thing.
That’s a damn shame. A damn shame.
How’s about now?
http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3117/3206897666_65c5063fdd.jpg?v=0
Better?
Erm. Not exactly.
Oh that was so unsatisfying…
That guy looks like he’s about to kill himself by firing into his own crotch!
Oh, and nice to see the Gillyflowers on here, too
: )
Although thats a horrible picture I couldn’t help stairing at it, like a carcrash.
I really enjoyed that podcast, a great way to start my monday.
enfant bastard played last night at city cafe and it was incredible.
i strongly urge anyone with even a vague interest to get along to his next show wherever it may be as his new material is his best yet . do it do it.x
I was intending to go along to that, but I was just so tired I didn’t leave the house. Seems like a nice night though – what did you make of it?
You fuck with me, you fuck with you! Yaaaaarrrr!
It was very excting, Martin, honestly.
shamefully didn’t stay for any of the other acts (not really my cup of tea). but it was a delight to see one timid folky couple sit through cammys whole set with their fingers in their ears looking like they wanted to cry. fee’s got a great picture of them and it would make a fucking amazing poster for his next gig.
seriously though, nice venue, just above average sound, free entry, pricey bar…the night on a whole scores a decent 78% on my bearometer.
oh i do love hearing a bit of new music.
Cheers Michael. I always wonder a bit about that. I much prefer the new stuff but the stats, as I say in the podcast, are quite straightforward: famous names on playlist = more downloads. That makes sense of course – why would you bother to download a massive podcast if you had no idea what you were in for?
But that equation about is presumably the simple reason why commercial radio and television is so fucking woeful. No-one is happy with ‘enough’ listeners, they want as many as they can possibly manage. And then someone picks up a Coldplay record.
[...] as those of you who listened to this week’s podcast will know, he couldn’t stay away from music forever, nor did I think he was likely to. Well [...]