Sorry this is a bit long. Happy new year etc. Check the links too…
A is for Aubergine Parmegana. The Aubergine is the prince of vegetables. I fried about 400 pieces of Aubergine for dinner with Ian MacKaye when the Evens played, with Neil Johnson whipping the kitchen in to shape like that weird dwarf dude with ginger hair and an underbite who’s on all the cooking shows on TV. The Evens were great too.
A is also for AOL: GO PISS UP A FUCKING ROPE YOU FUCKNUTS.
B is for Breaking my tooth on a 10p Pickled Onion Space Raider that I stole from Howe Gelbs dressing room egged on by the lovely Scout Niblett who was lifting all the booze. Serves me right for being a thief.
C is for Cass McCombs and specifically his wonderful song Not The Way. The man is a prince and after 2 beers he’s anyones.
C is also for Cunt Galactica.
D is for Damo. If someone told me in January that by the end of the year I’d be mates with Damo Suzuki from Can I’d have thought they were mental, not only that but I played guitar with him in a band that consisted of my best friends. It’s been said on diskant that watching the gig was life changing but being up there doing it was overwhelming. Mainly because I was so caned I could barely stand up.
D is also for Deerhoof, the best band on the planet, who gave us a sell out gig at a new venue in Nottingham and paved the way for Damn You!‘s best year yet, which coincidentally also begins with D.
E is for the Evil Egg. I was frying some on a Saturday morning with a very ugly head and I cracked one egg into the pan and what came out was black. I leaned over to look closer and the heavy smell hit me and I gagged. No one could get this evil out of the door because getting close to it meant instant vom. I can smell it now if I think about it. 2004 was the year of the Evil Egg.
F is for Festival. We put one on. It was fun. Still recovering. I was so stressed by the third day in that I started to grow a boil on my ass. Luckily it never blossomed.
G is for Getting so drunk that you cry for no reason. At anything. I’m talking about the kind of drunk where the end of Karate Kid can set you off on a weeping frenzy.
H is for High Heels worn with socks by ladies. The quickest way to my heart. Yeah?! Fuck you! I’m not getting any younger. Fuck subtlety. And while we’re on the subject I would get busy with Anne Widdicombe if she was wearing knee high boots. Sue me! I don’t care anymore!
H is also for Hoover who reformed, played on my birthday with Lords supporting and were amazing. Joseph McRedmond absolutely personifies the above ‘Fuck subtlety’ statement too.
I is for Insanity. I don’t want to sound like a Daily Mail reader but is it me or has the world gone apeshit?. A man gets onstage and shoots someone 4 times in front of his own brother. In the town I come from, a guy I went to school with slit a man’s throat in the town centre and then, obviously not satisfied with his night’s work, went into the park and raped a man. Yesterday, I read in the paper that 2 men kicked a man senseless and then drowned him in mud in a ditch. That’s horrific but to cap it all they then called his wife on his mobile phone and told her what they’d done. A totally random man, a father of 2, married for 20 odd years to his childhood sweetheart. That is insane. I hope the two guys spend the next 20 years of prison life getting anally ploughed on an hourly basis.
J is for James, Skip. No understatement but this man;s music sorted me out. They say the blues is healing music and I thought all that was bullshit but I’m so pleased it isn’t. Column about Skip written and on the way.
J is also for the Jazz as it is every year.
K is for Kevin Smith. In Japan all year and then finally home for Christmas and still as handsome as ever. Later on this evening I will go out in town with him and we will be beaten up by people we went to school with because of our ‘big city ways’.
L is for Lungfish. Finally got to see them and loved them to pieces. Next time I go to the beach with them in Camber Sands I will endeavour not to be ripped to the tits.
M is for Moving to Sneinton. It’s where all the hip cats are. And all the petty thieves. And all the David Lynchian bald women who urinate on shop windows.
M is also for Marshall, Chan aka Cat Power who wrote He War which is maybe the best song ever written.
N is for Nirvana and specifically the Kurt Was Murdered theory that overtook my life for about 3 months. Just got to see the DVD from the box set too and the Motor Sports show with Dan Peters on drums. I am stoked.
O is Oxbury, Kevin, an odious snivelling prick of a man who (quite rightly) sacked me from Powergen. Hey Kevin, if you’re reading this like you read all my other emails then eat a shit you retard.
O is also for Hey Ya by Outkast. That record is godlike. It is the great bringer togetherer. If it comes on the radio NO ONE will turn it off and that’s the first time a record has done that since Push It by Salt N Pepa. Please look at the link on this. Oy is just Yo backwards.
P is for John Peel.
P is also for PJ Harvey. Will someone get me the guitar job in this woman’s band? Please. What do I have to do? I’m being serious!
Q is for Quim, the most amusing and out dated piece of terminology for the female tuppence.
R is for Rockette Morton. I fucking met Rockette Morton! And Drumbo! On my wall is a Polaroid of me and Rockette and Drumbo scrawled ‘DRUMS BY DRUMBO’ across my copy of Trout Mask Replica.
S is for my 1986 Saab 900i which has rinsed my bank account of all funds in the last 10 months but will do 130 mph, has a heated drivers seat, and is the absolute SHIT.
T is for Telecaster. Not Travis Bean. This year has been the year of the 1973 Mocha Brown Telecaster Deluxe. No more broken back, no more math rock geekery. Woo hoo!
U is for Ulrich, Lars and the amazing Some Kind Of Monster documentary. FUCKIN A! I love Lars, I have loved him since A Year In The Life Of Metallica Part One and I will continue to love him forever.
V is for Very shitfaced which is what my Dad was when he vomited his false teeth down the hotel toilet on his wedding night. Chap!
W is for Woe, served up with a side salad of misery and a dessert of heart break.
W is also for 2004: Worst year of my life by some way.
X is for X-girlfriend. See above.
Y is for Y can’t I think of something beginning with Y?
Z is for ZZ Top, my bestest band in the world ever. On my bedroom wall is the 3 fold gatefold cover from Tejas with the 3 members portraits so as I snore loudly, get dressed or bang one out, Billy, Dusty and Frank are smiling down on me. 2004 was the year of ZZ Top, Cat Power and Skip James on my stereo.
