Song, by Toad

On Sunday I make my DJ debut at the Flying Duck in Glasgow, where I have rather foolishly agreed to play records after a Men Diamler, Animal Magic Tricks, Withered Hand and Meursault gig.  That’s some lineup, but I will probably spend most of it convinced that the simple task of playing one record after another will for some reason prove to be beyond me.  Lets face it, DJs are fucking idiots, so if they can do it then surely to fucking god I can do it.  Presumably you have to do something clever every once in a while just to prove that you are somehow better than the shuffle function on a discerningly stocked iPod, but I doubt I’ll bother.

Mrs. Toad is around this weekend for a little while, before buggering off to Australia for ten days, which is crap (the buggering off, not the being around).  Still, it should help me get the Pictish Trail Toad Session finished, which would be fun.  We’re going out for a meal tonight in a half-hearted attempt to spend some time together before she vanishes again, so there should be a late, drunken podcast and plenty of swearing by lunch time tomorrow.

On the subject of tomorrow, we will be collecting our beloved old Volvo (and by old I mean 1971, so yes, old) and putting her on sale and also checking on the state of repair of the Toad van – our fucking ludicrous Toad Mobile.  I don’t know if I’m just excited or if I think we as big a pair of fucking idiots as you probably do.  I think we’ll call her Charlene.

This week I have spent a lot of time in the workshop here at Proper Job, listening to the radio.  A lot of it has centred around the state of the banks in the UK and particluarly the spectacular chutzpah of Fred Goodwin, who had the gall to run one of the world’s largest banks into the ground, and then resign on a £650k per year pension.  It’s a bit like being caught shagging someone’s wife and asking for a cup of tea and a biscuit before they throw you out.  The problem really is that for all the discussion about all this bollocks, the whole debate really boils down to this:

Why did it happen?  Because the decisions are made by blinkered, avaricious cunts with no regard for anything other than enriching themselves in a spectacular fashion.  Why aren’t you doing anything about it?  Because they still have all the fucking money – what’s left of it anyway – so there’s really fuck all we can do because the whores still have us by the short and curlies.  End. Of.  Story.

So, on that perky little note, this is the weekly opportunity for random participation and nonsense.  Please don’t feel you have to be a comedy genius, or contribute all that much, but do take this opportunity to de-lurk and say hello, particularly if it’s for the first time.

1. Favourite excuse for the credit crunch made by some snivelling financial type.
2. Worst ‘poor meal’ you ever had.
3. Something you’re going to spend money on this weekend which you really shouldn’t.
4. Canny saving trick you recently discovered, making you all pleased with yourself.
5. Cheapest thing you’ve ever bought which should be really expensive.

Dan Bern & the IJBC – Crow (IJBC stands for International Jewish Banking Conspiracy, so it is slightly fitting!)

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Hawksley Workman – Bankrobber

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REM – What if We Give it Away

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Richmond Fontaine  – $87 and a Guilty Consience That Gets Worse the Longer I Go

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The Welcome Wagon – Sold! To the Nice Rich Man

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Well, kids, it’s been a strange old sleepless week & a bit. Of course, what with the Presidential pageant all a hoo-ing & a hah-ing at every turn, I managed to mince about pretty much unnoticed for the most part.

The weather has been atrocious to say the very least. Did I pack for ground frost? Torrential rain? Near hurricane-strength winds? Like fuck I did. Added to that, I’ve been averaging 2am to bed (a foldout in the livingroom of the rented space – sharing with 4 others) & 5.30am wake up calls.

Ed, my (un)usual USof travel companion, has insisted on cooking breakfast for us every morning at 5-cunting-am. The smell of slowly charring bacon has gagged me awake every fucking day – including my one & only day off. On Monday, at 6am, he set the smoke & fire alarms off in the whole apartment complex as he set fire to the electric oven hob with another of his dodgy homegrown concoctions.

The cooker was ruined &, as the rental is billed to my credit card, I’m expecting a sizable bill in the near distant to repair or replace. I’ll go into the finer details of our latest adventure on next week’s show.

So, then, to this week’s show, which has been done on the hoof, via laptop, as I flitted about the States like a ninny. There’s not so much chatter – I was knackered most of the time & the mic I had wasn’t up to much & I am to much of a tight arse to buy another just for one show – but the music more than makes up for it. Some of it, in my humble, is nothing short of astonishing.

Expect, then, many brand new tracks from as yet unreleased albums by the likes of: hillary & the democrats, brooke waggoner, little boots, anna kramer & the lost cause, pete & the pirates, meursault, babian, the welcome wagon, hurray for the riff raff, the cotton jones basket ride, andrew bird, plants & animals, raise high the roof beams, jolie holland, bobby bare jr., hari & aino, the kazoo funk orchestra, warpaint, climber, alela diane, anya marina, the decemberists, basket of figs, miss emily brown, ragged claws, clem snide, & samantha crain & the midnight shivers.

You know what to do.

The Waiting Room: Wednesday 21st January

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