No Rock And Roll Fun

WHAT THE POP PAPERS SAY: Declaration of war
We're now at war with Belle and Sebastian. The reason, as you've probably already guessed, is the feature on 'records you're ashamed to admit liking' from the Guardian Guide. Most people tried to answer the question and keep their cool intact, so Tim Burgess chose A Song For You by The Carpenters, a band so "uncool" they had a whole album of tribute songs recorded by the likes of Sonic Youth in their honour; some actually did own up to liking something truly terrible - our mucky little daydreams about Charlotte Hatherley have taken on sinister overtones in which she breaks out Paul McCartney's Say Say Say to create the mood. But Stuart Murdoch? His shame - his need to confess - is to liking Tallulah Gosh by Tallulah Gosh. He does ruefully admit that there's an element of the pot calling the kettle black involved here, but even so: Tallulah Gosh is nothing to be ashamed of. Tallulah Gosh is twice the men you'll ever be. They are all pleasure, no guilt. They are pop, and the pop is good.

Talking of pop, it's time for the Popjustice.com twenty quid music prize again, this year coming with a lavish brochure to promote the shortlist. Most spoof awards ceremonies are usually dedicated purely to the debunking - the Razzies, the KLF's Turner Prize alternative. What makes the pj.c20qmp unique is that while it cocks its snook in the direction of the slightly more well-funded Nationwide Mercury award, it's motivated not by malice but pure love; love of the single as an art-form, and the love of pop as a force that makes your life better, if only for as long as it takes to dance about waving your fag in the air and spilling your drink. The brochure - some say programme, some say collector's edition magazine - interviews each of the shortlisted makers of the contenders, and asks a bloke with an accordion to choose his favourite. It manages, along the way, to show the current slew of "proper" pop magazines for the poorly-written, uninspired works they are. And they even make us change direction entirely and consider doing rude things with Will Young and Cheryl Tweedy at the same time, which is quite a feat. Cheryl apparently once saved a dog from some bad boys who were going to kill it, which... excuse us while we wipe a tear from our eye. Unfortunately, neither of their singles are any cop, so we're backing Sweet Dreams My LA Ex, because it just is the best single of, like, since Tallulah Gosh, probably. Rachel Stevens is pretty honest about what she brings to the song, too: "A good song is a good song... a lot of the time it doesn't matter who's singing something, as long as it's a good song." Which, we'd suggest, explains Whole Again, too.

The Top 10 Stage Sins and Crimes. It can only mean one thing - it's Observer Music Monthly time again, although it can also mean that they're already running out of ideas for their top tens. The number one is Bowie being hit in the eye with that lolly - although since that was an accident, and it was thrown from the crowd, so we're not sure how that's a stage crime at all. What about L7 tossing tampons out at Reading audiences? What about anyone - but especially De La Soul - making festival audiences sing bloody rounds?

Patsy Kensit reveals she puts on Strict Machine and pretends she's Debbie Harry - well, at least she's doing it in the privacy of her own home these days and not at the front of Eighth Wonder.

The Record Doctor visits Krishnan Guru-Murthy, who reveals a murky indie past - although not that murky; he knows the difference between 'Between The Wars' and Paul Weller. The doctor hits his spot with NERD, Skinnyman and Four Tet, although Guru-Murthy worries they might be a bit pretentious.

"You can't hear a catsuit" says Justin Hawkins, defending the Darkness as being more than a spoof act. Actually, you know, you can, if it's properly tight and made from the right material. As a girl faints just from being near him, he muses that "they wouldn't look twice at me, if I wasn't famous", while Dan - having been thwarted in his attempts to buy a belt he likes - observes that he's been getting his way too much because he's been put in a mood by being told "No." They seem - as a group - to just about be keeping their feet on the ground.

Mary Lou Lord pops up as part of a feature on buskers - you'll recall her, of course, as having been the woman in Kurt's life before Courtney; Courtney, certainly, has never forgotten. She seems to be a lot happier and more in perspective than the woman who came after her, and then went for her.

"When my mother died, it was because she finished her time on Earth. I know that when I die I'll see her again, so how can I fear death?" says Fela Kuti. Depends, I guess, on how you got on with your mother.

Paul Morley has seen the current Coke advert: "She sings, insipidly, the 1954 protest song 'I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free' that the fabulous Nina Simone would make her own. A song that was once a powerful, delicate cry for equality and freedom has its guts ripped out and is presented as if it Coke that can be the ticket to a higher spiritual place."

Howard Marks goes to Manumission, which, if they had managed to persuade him to carry a traffic cone and a poster of Bob Marley, would have been the most studenty thing ever.

It's a special V Festival preview NME. We know just blurting that out is going to have you abandon your monitors and rush down to the shops to pick up your copies straight away. There's The Killers on the front, too, you know.

There's a meeting of Manchester legends Ian Brown and Noel Gallagher - Noel does the guitar on Brown's new single, and they were making the video. A kid mistakes Ian for Liam, which is funny. More closer to the current year, there's a picture of Michael McGaughrin, who was the inspiration for Franz Ferdinand's Michael. Cute enough, we guess, but he does have that slight air of someone who'll be banging on about themselves the next morning while you're trying to dump them.

Peter Robinson takes on Natasha Bedingfield, managing to confuse her by asking her if she got permission from the copyright holder to put her own album onto her iPod. She seems easy to confuse - "you've got to put all the names in and everything." Or... you could use CDDB...

Kaiser Chiefs go to Moscow with radar in tow.

There's a big picture of Brandon Flowers from the Killers standing in a lily where the stamen would be, which makes him actually being a kind of floral penis, doesn't it? He aims to "beat U2" by getting his songs as part of the collective psyche, which is better than trying to beat U2 by getting to lick the assholes of the leaders of all the countries with permanent seats on the UN Security Council.

Hope of the States' Sam had a teenage drug hell - or, rather, a teenage drug purgatory, but he doesn't want to talk about it. The Kings of Leon, however, are more than happy to talk about Mushrooms. Apparently they saw a man piss himself on them, and that's enough for them to Just Say No.

Mani turns up alongside Kasbian, which gives him a chance to sound off about Ian Brown's "reclamation" of the Roses' back catalogue: "he could have phoned me - I'm a better bass player than the one out of Fools Gold. And prettier."

The votes were counted, and these were the eight posters chosen by readers: Razorlight, Matt Bellamy, The Killers, The Streets, Franz Ferdinand, The Strokes, Pete Doherty and Morrissey. No Charlotte Hatherley, then? That'd be the Paul McCartney effect.

reviews
live
curiosa festival - new york - "[Robert Smith] cements his status as an icon for a generation"
lcd soundsystem - ibiza - "the 80s viewed in a mirror warped by the 90s"

albums
soulwax - any minute now - "solid but conservative", 5
the rocks - asking for trouble - "throw this lot on top of the bonfire", 3
30 Odd Foot of Grunts - other ways of speaking - "Russell Crowe's voice is pleasant, but his songwriting sucks", 3

singles
sotw - the dears - we can have it - "optimism, light, joy"
jet - cold hard bitch - "All Right Now"

and finally, Johnny Borrell from Razorlight chooses his 'Why I Love' band... it's the Kinks.