SCRAPBOOK OF OUR DREAMS:
this has gotta hurt - not only has one of "ooh scary clowns" Insane Clown Posse been given a suspended prison sentence, the nme have had to use "Eminem's enemy" rather than "Insane Clown" in the headline, because otherwise nobody would give a shit...
-"In five years, Liam will be the best songwriter in Britain", predicts
Noel. Only if the smallpox outbreak claims more people than the BBC were predicting. Noel also boldly "predicts" that Gareth will win PopIdol. Well, d'uh, the only people who don't seem to know that are the flippers at home who are going to pay money to vote between two people already signed up and working on their debut singles...
Talking of fix-ups the funniest thing is the way hear'say are denying that they "knew" their new member was "a known face." He isn't, for porking out loud - he's some topsy dancer who is dangling from Lisa Step's index finger while she waits to see if she has a solo career (and thus can get to try for a David Duchovny) or if she's about to bomb, and will have to stay lumbered to him.
No Doubt and REM praise Bono with a big show held in his ego, um, honour. Jesus Christ, couldn't they just send a couple of hookers and a picture of him with "You're like a God to us - you're like a God to God" scrawled across it. I mean, No Doubt are and always will be an eager-to-please, punch us we like it band of shite, but REM fawning about the Me Machine? Michael Stipe bending a knee to the Ian Beale of rock? God, it's worse than Grant Hart turning up for a Geri Halliwell love-in, isn't it? Y'see, i can feel a bit sorry for Geri, because when she tramples about through minefields and rubs shoulders with starving children, too dumb to do the "You look like my old mate Victoria" gag, everyone points at her and says "You stupid clunker, you are a silly pop singer, what do you think you're doing?" Which is a fair point, except, when Bono does it, the lickspittles in the media suggest we get together and dig up Alfred Nobel's body to show him the Good That Bono Does. Can't you get it, people - his ego does not need to be poled any more. The man couldn't think any better of himself, couldn't get any smugger, couldn't squeeze any more satisfaction of self into his oh-so-amusing character stage clothes if he'd come up with a cure for cancer or paid off Lesotho's foreign debt or, in short, done something that contributed to the gaiety of nations in any way since The Tube was taken off air. Great Voice ? Great cock, more like it. And don't try and tell me that he raises issues in the minds of his audience, because his gangling ranks of Minidisc chomping underwriters are the sort of Guardian-grazing, wine guzzling chumps who think they know the facts already and aren't going to get off their large, ally mcbeal worshipping arses to do anything about it anyway because they've mistaken the slogan "knowledge is power" for the lie "knowing about an injustice is a step towards correcting it."
Thursday, February 07, 2002
SCRAPBOOK OF OUR DREAMS: