I pulled a time-honoured, if slightly risky skill out of the bag last night in order to get my own way, and it came through in spades.  I was most pleased!  Jonny from the Edinburgh Man podcast happened to have a spare Arcade Fire ticket spare, so I met him in town for a quick pint and we went up to the castle to what was my first properly big gig for years.

Gig cuntery, however, made itself know in the most irritating manner as soon as the band started playing.  First off, a considerable stream of cunts started shoving their way towards the front immediately, and not with any delicacy either, literally shoving.  Cunts.  And second, a pair of prize cunts who, rather deceptively, had the good manners to ask if they could get past us, then proceeded to stand right in the space we had vacated in order to let them get past.  What utter cunts!  We said ‘get past’ you cunts, not ‘here, have our spots’.

Even more annoying than their shitty dancing was the fact that one of these was quite a tall cunt, and he happened to stand right in front of me, and next to another tall cunt.  Seeing around this pair of cunts was a bit of a fucking challenge, seeing as the back of his head was pretty much right in my face, and the stupid cunt wouldn’t stay still, so no matter where I tried to stand, he would find a way of being really fucking irritating within a minute or two.  Because he was a right fucking cunt, see?

Anyhow, after five or six songs of seething homicidal rage I decided it was time to deploy a tactic I haven’t used since I had to combat aggressive armrest territorialism on the London Underground: the cuddle-a-cunt tactic.  Yes, instead of getting shovey or passive-aggressive about it or losing my temper, at the first opportunity I just moved from right behind the cunt to a position which was a little more next to him.  In fact both next to him, and quite uncomfortably close.  Then I let our bare arms rub together every time he jumped up and down, until the silly cunt started to inch slightly to his left to get away from me.

This was exactly the plan of course, and at every opportunity I inched slightly further to my left, all the time grinning and nodding my head along to the music as if we were all just happy happy Arcade Fire fans in this together – except with an unusually high level of just slightly homoerotic skin contact.  Slowly but surely I managed to nudge the cunt far enough away from the other tall cunt that I had a wonderfully interrupted view of the band and, just as I was congratulating myself on a slow and persitent success, the poor silly cunt gave up altogether and fucked off a good two metres away from me.

Come back, you daft cunt, things were just getting fun!

Anyway, this is a slightly risky tactic of course, and I hate to imagine what would happen if I actually pulled – it would be a little awkward to let someone down after making the first move – but it worked a fucking treat last night, and I really enjoyed the gig.  The really thrilling songs, sadly, still seemed to be the ones from Funeral, but so fucking what, it was a great show.

Anyhow, umm… yes, frivolous timewasting on a Friday afternoon, let’s get the fuck on with it, eh?  De-lurking amnesty time everyone, this is the perfect time to come out of the woodwork and say hello, especially if you’ve never done so before.

1. Last really massive gig you went to.
2. Sweatiest you’ve ever been.
3. What percentage of your clothes do you actually wear regularly?
4. What did your parents insist upon, that you hated at the time, but are now kinda grateful for?
5. Does anyone ever actually bother with the songs I put on the Fives?

The Von Bondies – Shallow Grave

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The Detroit Cobras – He Did It

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Liars – We Live N.E. of Compton

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The Small Faces – All or Nothing

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The Fall – Two Librans

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 Not of course, given the business I work in, like I can’t fill it up to the brim again in a second of course. I mean, there’s the Rob St. John and Ian Humberstone as well as the All Creatures Will Make Merry vinyl artwork to finalise of course.  But that can, realistically, wait until Monday.  I think.

So that leaves me with tomorrow and nothing to do but hang out with Mrs. Toad.  The house has been so hectic with guests, and with the Festival August might well be worse, that at least one day to spend just by ourselves will be a bloody relief.

Then on Sunday I am pottering through to Glasgow for Jonnie Common’s album launch. His new record Master of None was within a whisker of being on Song, by Toad Records actually, but we didn’t move fast enough (damn you holidays!) and also didn’t really have the money to press vinyl either.  Also the record label who did end up releasing – Manchester’s Red Deer Club – are one of the best indies around and Dunk Le Chunk, who runs the label, has been one of Jonnie’s staunchest supporters from back in the days of Down the Tiny Steps, so it is rather fitting that they release his debut album.

And as much as I would have liked to have the record on Song, by Toad Records, I’d rather anyone else release it if it means I get to have a copy on vinyl.  Fookin’ lovely!  Anyway, yes, The Captain’s Rest in Glasgow this Sunday if you fancy some superlative musicfuns.

1. Which bird looks the most evil?
2. Which sea creature looks the most benign?
3. Name your death metal band.
4. Best use of an animal in a film…
5. …and the worst.

Five songs from a boisterous compilation I made in the Winter about umm… six years ago is it now?

Franz Ferdinand – Darts of Pleasure

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The Von Bondies – No Regrets

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British Sea Power – Apologies to Insect Life

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The Detroit Cobras – Ya Ya Ya (Looking For My Baby)

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The Fiery Furnaces – Crystal Clear

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Oh deary me.  A somewhat slurred podcast this week.  I recorded this on Friday night after coming home from sharing about seven pints with my boss at Proper Job, who is a thoroughly decent chap and doesn’t get out for beers as often as he used to due to an unfortunate breeding accident in which his wife had a baby, thus confining him to the house.  The lesson – gentlemen, for the love of god, don’t let them breed!

So I came back to the house and wanted to play some loud music.  I popped a bottle of beer, bought some munchies and mumbled my way through a pile of loud, rambunctious songs that I played far too loud as I sorted out the playlist, and great fun it all was too. I asked about modern rowdy music this week, and Bart kindly recommended some bands, a couple of whom I assume I may have been a little quick to dismiss in the past, so I am going to have another go at them.

Looking through the playlist, I find one thing sticking out more than anything else: how the hell can you tell a Sex Pistols demo from a Sex Pistols recording?

Toadcast #42 – Noise Please

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01. The Libertines – What a Waster (02.56)
02. The Von Bondies – Shallow Grave (08.59)
03. The Bellrays – Blues For Godzilla (12.05)
04. Ian Dury & the Blockheads – Ballad of the Sulphate Strangler (17.49)
05. The Damned – Thrill Kill (23.07)
06. Hoggboy – Left & Right (29.31)
07. Liars – Mr You’re on Fire Mr (35.33)
08. Monster Magnet – Kiss of the Scorpion (37.57)
09. The Sex Pistols – Anarchy in the UK (Demo) (43.24)
10. The Fall – Two Librans (49.47)
11. The Small Faces – All or Nothing (Live) (53.41)
12. The Detroit Cobras – Hey Sailor (59.44)

The missus and I got pished and did a podcast! Huzzah! It was a lovely Summery day on Wednesday and we sat out and had a meal in the back garden and then when it got chilly we came inside and did a podcast.

There’s not much of a theme this week because I can get a little bored of them, and from time to time it’s nice to just throw some tracks together that you like. And then get hammered and ramble on about them at interminable length. Sorry about that.

Toadcast #29 – The Summercast

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01. Lemonjelly – Nice Weather For Ducks (01.47)
02. Elbow – Station Approach (10.47)
03. The Eighteenth Day of May – Cold Early Morning (19.07)
04. Aberfeldy – Tom Weir (25.56)
05. Tiny Tim – Tiptoe Through the Tulips (27.47)
06. Uncle Moon – Pepper (34.41)
07. Lo-Fidelity Allstars – On the Pier (41.32)
08. The Boo Radleys – Find the Answer Within (48.17)
09. The Libertines – The Good Old Days (56.41)
10. The Undertones – Teenage Kicks (65.51)
11. The Von Bondies – C’Mon C’Mon (68.11)
12. The Builders & the Butchers – Spanish Death Song (76.41)
13. The Walkmen – The Rat (82.59)
14. Calexico – Corona (93.33)
15. Lloyd Cole – You’re a Big Girl Now (106.46)

Right, disclaimers first. Apparently Sasha Frere-Jones is a respected music critic, so presumably this implies that he is not this bone-headed all the time. Also, given I’ve only read one of his articles I am in no position to judge his general output, but his recent excretion ‘A Paler Shade of White‘ is just bloody thick. He manages to shoehorn needless racist divisiveness, outdated stereotyping and a truly impressive ignorance of indie music into one article which is about… yes, the racial compartmentalisation of popular music.

Generally when people write nonsense like this they defend their idiotic statements by describing it as a ‘thought piece – intended to provoke reflection and debate’. The problem I have with this is that it is possible to justify pretty much any cretinous rubbish on this basis, no matter how infantile, shallow, facile or ignorant. This is not a thought piece, it is lazy and intellectually vacant, and were it not for the fact it happens to be in the New Yorker it would merit no more than a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders, perhaps accompanied by a murmur of ‘fuckwit’ or some such similar response. Read the rest of this entry »

My dearest Toadlings it is with enormous pleasure and brimming pride that I present the light of my silly life, the bright and shining star at the centre of my universe and the bad tempered little Scottish strumpet to whom my every waking hour is devoted.  That sounds sarcastic, but it isn’t.

She treats the music I play with a sort of contemptuous indifference and has some truly shocking stuff in her rather limited collection.  But she has a punk side, she loves Bob Dylan and has taken to some unexpected groups recently, like The Sequins, The Builders & the Butchers and Grandaddy.  It slowly started to dawn on me that actually, Dolly Parton aside for the moment, she could probably put together a better playlist than I could, and I was absolutely mortified to be proved absolutely right.

So I thought I’d get her along to co-present too, which seemed like it might be fun.  It was a bit odd at first, but we warm up a bit by the end and it turns slowly into what I think it a pretty decent podcast, all told.  I’m not sure I’ll be able to talk her into doing this too often, but if it proves a success I promise to do my best.

Toadcast #13 – The Mrs. Toadcast

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01. Lambchop – Dallas Theme Song (00.00)
02. Sham 69 – Borstal Breakout (03.10)
03. The Clash – I Fought the Law (06.49)
04. Stiff Little Fingers – Alternative Ulster (10.53)
05. Depeche Mode – Just Can’t Enough (16.18)
06. The Cure – Just Like Heaven (19.50)
07. Ennio Morricone – The Good, the Bad & the Ugly (26.14)
08. Nirvana – Sliver (33.02)
09. Guns ‘n’ Roses – Get in the Ring (38.32)
10. Bob Dylan – Tangled Up in Blue (48.21)
11. Eels – Fresh Feeling (53.58)
12. The Von Bondies – No Regrets (61.31)
13. The 63 Crayons – Spoils For Survivors (66.16)
14. Honeytrap – Andy the Freefaller (71.15)
15. The Builders & the Butchers – Black Dresses (76.11)
16. Night Jar – Poor Man’s Son (81.46)
17. The Indelicates – Waiting For Pete Doherty to Die (89.54)

It’s been an utterly dismal year for highly anticipated records by the big groups in 2007, but fortunately the slack has been taken up by loads of smaller acts bringing new things to the table. Except for one thing.

A really big, angry pair of rock ‘n’ roll bollocks.

I got accused, when talking about gratingly affected furry-minged feminist hippy intellectuals as part of my St. Vincent review, of being part of the ‘testosterone-fuelled indie rock blogosphere’. The cheek! But Wendy was right – I have been reviewing sensitive, introspective, subtle and slightly eccentric albums for a depressingly long time now. Not that I don’t like the music, but what my inner Neanderthal is crying out for at the moment is some raging, furious, guitar-battering indie howl. Take the shackles off lads, get your balls out and beat the shit out of your guitars. I mean, seriously, what the fuck am I supposed to listen to when I’m three-quarters of the way through a bottle of gin, it’s three in the morning and I want to play something fucking loud?

So far this year, although there has been the odd really good ‘turn it up fucking loud’ song, it’s always in total isolation, and very few and far between to begin with. Nothing with the snarl of the Von Bondies’ first album, for example. Or the Libs’ first. Or half of The Wedding Present’s early material. Or Yo La Tengo at their most incoherent. Or early Nick Cave when he went all apocalyptic on us. Even Grandaddy have a couple. Grandaddy!

It doesn’t have to be completely mental and just making a lot of noise isn’t enough. ‘Rawk’ is dreadful and need not apply. It has to have an insistent beat, be drenched in pain, and have some real fucking menace to it. Then, at some point it has to get properly fucking loud, with guitars that drive you into spasms of lurching, drunken air guitar, face clenched like a Baptist’s buttocks at Pet Shop Boys concert.

This year’s best examples:

Parts & Labour – Fractured Skies That frenetic beat, when it gets going, is enough by itself, but when the guitar kicks in..
The Twilight Sad – And She Would Darken the Memory It may take its time to get going, but it’s well worth the fucking wait.
Kings of Leon – Charmer Not especially loud, this one, but that insistent beat and the pained screech still do it for me.
The Arcade Fire – Intervention This is a big, angry song – brilliant!
Grinderman – No Pussy Blues If you nee d this exp laining to you, then you will never understand anyway.

Some classics from yesteryear:

The Von Bondies – No Regrets
The Strokes – Juicebox Just listen to that beat – fucking marvellous – and there’s a distinctly prog-tastic guitar solo in the middle as well. Fucking great
The Wedding Present – Blonde The definitive song of wounded indie rage?