It began with a whinge, which developed into an annoying whine before climaxing in a major outburst of dissatisfaction before subsiding into a low, continuous grumble in the background: the lack of inspiring culture (particularly music) today, right here, right now. I’ve slagged Coldplay & Travis before for being dull and laughably big-headed about their weenie “art”, but yesterday I just wanted to take a machine gun and mow down every band in the country in the hopes of seeing some fresh, green shoots finally coming through.

Following a protracted email moan session among friends, which included trashing all their current, puny raves (“David Gray?” - “Arse!”; “Mel C?” - “Go shove your face in a blender!”; “Coldplay?” - “Bastard!”), I went home and, in desperation, dug out Q’s “Best of 2000” CD for a fresh listen, in case I had been overly hasty in dismissing it as “a stinking heap of shite”. Here’s what I found:

Muse (“Sunburn”)

Oh, so this is the music from the iMac advert! Nice chorus. Listen, there’s even spome rippling piano on it too. (Four minutes later:) Erm…nice chorus. Once. (And that voice! Ouch, my ears, my poor, bleeding ears.)

Coldplay (“Yellow”)

Yellow? YELLOW?! Fucking PURPLE with rage, more like. Is this the world’s most boring guitar part? Clang-clang-clang-clang, eight to the bar for four minutes with only the occasional uninspired chord change to ram home the monotony. And how the hell can it be “all yellow” anyway? “How’re you doing, pal?” - “Oh, turquoise with a hint of lilac, thanks!” I’ve stepped in dog turds that were more musical. “Fuck off, wankers,” I muttered, hitting the “skip” button.

Dandy Warhols (“Get Off”)

-starts- Hmmm, this is bouncy and fun! -ends- Hmmm, that was dull. Is that it?

Toploader

Toploader “sound like Jamiroquai”, I was informed. That they do, that they do…
When I lived in a college flat during the final year of my degree, my neighbour at the end of the corridor went through an unfortunate and regrettable “Dr. Hook” phase, which involved him playing aforesaid band (particularly that song about getting your face “on the cover of the Rolling Stone”, which still gives me convulsions) loudly all day, until eventually we all clubbed together, bought a nailed club, and clubbed him to death with it before going out clubbing to celebrate. (It was a great club thing…)
Jamiroquai remind me of that experience, except that Stevie Wonder is being played constantly instead, until the paperclip you are using to pick the lock on the flat door snaps at the same time as your tenuous grip on sanity.
I hate Jamiroquai.

Moby (“Porcelain”)

Dull. Dull, dull, dull. Everyone tells me Moby’s “Play” album is “great background music”, which is one of the most damning insults I can imagine. Ignore him and maybe he’ll go away.

David Gray

Ho-hum (without the “hum” or, indeed, a “ho” either).

And so on, and so on. Some of it was interesting, much of it was pleasant but none of it was inspired. Same as every book I’ve read and movie I’ve seen in the last few months. Thrills-thru-culture are dead, news at eleven.

Listen, wankfaces. I want guitars that sound like angels wielding chainsaws, I want drums that kill infants, I want choruses the size of Everest, I want melodies like heroin, I want vocals like sex, I want it yesterday and I want a job on the NME!!

(Al pointed out that what I wanted to hear then was The Sisters of Mercy. Huh, chance’d be a fine thing.)