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Skunk Anansie: Wonderlustre

Last night I had a music dream about Grant Nicholas. There I was, stroking his guitar, licking his microphone, running my hand up and down his G-string. It was the most stimulating night’s sleep I’d had since Freddy Mercury was alive.

Then, The Taxman had to go ruin it by ringing me up at ridiculous’o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon, asking me to review the new Skunk Anansie album, Wonderlustre.


Feeder: Renegades

What do you do when a band you’ve been slating for five years makes a rollicking album of unrelenting bombast and guile, harking back to the roots you’ve been yearning for and romanticising over, while also outshining every last one of the new rock acts that you’ve elevated to an undeserved pedestal in the same period?

What do you do, brother, when a band that’s become unfashionable, forgotten about, makes the kind of album that gets glued to your gramophone for a month, before ceasing up, forcing you to buy another copy? Slate it of course.


Simon Cowell: Helping Haiti

What? What’s this? Simon Cowell is doing something selfless? Out of the goodness of his heart? What?

Surely, there must be some mistake. This can’t possibly be a not-for-profit charity single in aid of the Haiti earthquake fund. This is a Simon Cowell project.


Cheryl Cole: 3 Words

Michael Jackson. Cheryl Cole is obsessed with Michael Jackson. Michael Jackson. King of Pop. Michael Jackson. But her album’s no thriller.

She’s probably seen This Is It a thousand times in two weeks. Probably went to the 20.30 showing at South Woodford Odeon last night. And the Leicester Square showing earlier the same day. While listening to Off the Wall on the Central line.


Arctic Monkeys: Humbug

Those fine gentleman at The Taxman were so delighted with my considered tribute to Michael Jackson that they asked me to write some more long-player reviews for them.

Who am I to argue with that? Well, I told them to go shove it at first, but after an hour of shock therapy I came round.


RIP Michael Jackson

The death of Michael Jackson has shocked me to my core, but that was nothing compared to the shock I had picking up the phone last night. “We’ve just heard that Jacko’s popped it,” the voice said. “Who’s this?” I asked. “Oh yeah, it’s The Taxman,” they replied.

Why was this shocking? Well, last time I had a call from this puplication I was told in no uncertain terms that my puerile, fatuous backside was no longer welcome around The Taxman‘s dark, cold and disease-ridden newsroom. Something about music critics, arses, elbows and rappers, I think they also said.


Glastonbury 2008

Yes, that’s right, I’ve spent the last two days at Glastonbury Festival, in Somerset, England.

Mark Ronson, The Pigeon Detectives, Neil Diamond, Groove Armada, The Verve – I missed them all because I decided to leave early.

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