The above is an indicator of the calibre of music I was subjected to in the latter half of my Saturday night. Luckily, before I was plunged head first into a rather surreal UK Garage hell, I was fortunate enough to attend the very final Why Can’t We Just All Get Along shindig at Nottingham’s Junction 7. For a somewhat amazing ?2 you got 4 bands, bargain central I say. First on was Brown Owl who did the whole math-rock thing (remember that?), plucking for crunching rather than soothing. The overall opinion of people I spoke to was that they needed more vocals, but I think they did just fine as they were, a great opening band.

Next, stepping up with less than 24 hours notice, Scout Niblett sang and played drums, and then sang and played guitar, and then shouted, and then rocked out with some big old riffs. The number of people rammed into the room meant that apart from the few in front of the stage, no one could see more than the top of a blonde wig, but the general strangeness meant she went down quite well.

After some more oddness in the form a bearded man and his rather worrying monkey friend, the spectacular Unit Ama stepped up. Not too sure how to describe them, but each song of theirs was an exercise in building things up with angular schkrings and yelping vocals, before breaking things down until the guitarist and bassist were leaping around pulling disjointed shards of noise from their instruments held at arm’s length, as if they were saying “WHY….WON’T…THIS….DAMN….GUITAR….WORK?!!” over and over again. Tremendous stuff.

More monkey things, and then curators of the evening Wolves! (Of Greece) proceeded to shred every eardrum in the room. There were two very clear signs that something special was happening. Firstly, the singer was covered in blood from the outset, and secondly, by the time they finished their relatively long set, at an epic 20 minutes, one of the speakers was smoking. Blinding was a word that sprung to mind at the time. As recently pointed out by someone at Skippy’s Cage, Wolves are a band that people will claim to like because the music is very challenging and difficult to listen to, so they can see themselves as hip or whatever, but it is obvious that the motives behind the band are a world away from fitting into any trendy new experimental/noise/hardcore clique. They do also exert more energy in one short set that most bands could in about twenty, which is no mean feat.

A wonderful evening. Thanks to Chris Thrash for introducing me to the joys of, amongst other things, The Ex-Models, and to my wisdom tooth infection (urgh) for introducing me to the sorrow of non-alcoholic beer.

I feel an attempt to discuss the current state of the word in an articulate and valid way would be an exercise in futility. Like Marceline said, it’s near impossible to take account of the whole sphere of issues and collect them into neat little sentences, and right now even thinking about it for more than 10 minutes at a time makes me very unhappy indeed. See? Even know I sound like a complete fool, so I’ll change the subject…

THE INTERNET! There’s a good one. I’ve been giving a lot of thought of late. Well, the internet in the terms of how I and probably a lot of people reading this might use it. So far I haven’t come to many solid conclusions, but there are a lot of interesting things to think about. There is pretty much one reason I will bother to look at anything on here, and that is music (dun dun duh!) and obviously this is how I stumbled across diskant and many other sites of a similar vein. Nowadays, or at least recently, this has turned into a seemingly endless pursuit to hear new things that excite me, which seems to manifest itself in the purchase of more records than I can afford. The centre of this activity for some time has rather predictably been that wretched hive of scum and villainy, Ebay. Now, it has long ago occurred to me and no doubt many of you, that spending one’s time simply acquiring possessions (which is what it is at the end of the day) does not a worthwhile existence make. I have a big list of the records I own up on Skylabcommerce, so that other people can see how great I am at what I do. I am under no illusion that this is the most horrifically anal and inexcusably geeky thing that I could be doing, but hear me out. For a long time I bought the latest CDs from latest bands that NME had decided that I should like, because that was all the exposure to anything vaguely interesting that I was exposed to in my happy little middle-class town. This lasted for some years, until I saw fit to further this pastime and invest in a shiny new computer. And lo, all of a sudden, I was given choices. There was literally a world of information at my fingertips, and I was bombarded with bold new ideas and ways of doing things that I would have probably been blissfully unaware of if I’d stuck to the safe old NME. And now, some years on, I still discover new things everyday that remind me why listening to music is exciting to me. I say listening, because I am one of the few who have never made the transition from passive spectator to a doer. I feel that this, while apparently branding me worthless in the eyes of some on the other side of the spectrum, does allow me to see things objectively. This is kind of irrelevant, and not what I was aiming at, but I do feel some minor glimmer of self importance in that I can feel how I want about a band, without the worry of having to appear to ‘do any better’. Anyway! Had it not been for the internet, I would not have been given said choices. This is why, despite the endless amounts of bilge that riddles this place, I do feel like it will always be a vitally important thing in terms of kids and music. My account with Skylab may generate many mocking remarks in those who simply see it as me ‘showing off’ in some pathetic manner, in fact I myself cringe a tiny bit everytime I look at the page, but it is one of the few ways I am able to hear the things I would otherwise not be able to. It’s very easy to condemn such activity if you come from, or live in a place where things are happening around you which excite you. Those who live in the places where stuff does appear to actually ‘happen’ (London, Nottingham, wherever) do not know the struggles of those of us shut away in our bedrooms trying desperately to be impressed, amazed, or sometimes even mildly amused. Damn, this is getting quite long. All this stuff stops me from completely condemning things like Makeoutclub, which while on the surface is solely frequented by the most despicable hipster/scenester scum, I’m sure it is for a lot of kids, the only way they have to meet people of a like mind. If there weren’t these few things which remind people that there are things going on outside in the world, then there would I’m sure be even more filthy ben sherman clad macca fuckwits roaming the streets. These things actually have the ability to save kids from the horrible inevitability of a working in a bank, going down the pub on a friday night/picking a fight on the way home, 2 weeks in Ibiza every year lifestyle that so many young people already subscribe to.

FUCK KNOWS what I’m talking about now. As usual I can’t convey how I feel with mere words. Contrary to popular belief, I’m a simple boy, and I don’t need much to make me happy. The love of a good woman, and knowing there are a few boxes of vinyl in my living room are more than enough

I went to see the gargantuan beasts of rock who go by the name of Part Chimp last night, who were really quite terrific. There were many drunken fallings over, and guitars that could level cities. Yes. When I leave this here country in (hopefully) a couple of month’s time, there will be very few things that I actually miss, but Part Chimp will certainly be one of them. As will Wolves! (Of Greece), and I’m hoping they play near here before I go. Those of you who may have some influence in these matters, get on it.

Recently I have been listening to the latest CD by Rhode Island band The Eyesores which doesn’t disappoint at all. I was very pleased to discover that it includes the song ‘Thousand Yard Stare’ which was the first song of theirs I ever heard (thanks Audiogalaxy). I’m not sure I could really even try to describe such an accomplished work with my inane comments, but if you’re a fan of Black Heart Procession, Will Oldham, Songs:Ohia and all the rest, you could do a lot worse that to pick this up. Out now on Handsome Records!

Neon Hunk, like a lot of bands, used to be called Abra Cadaver. Fuck knows what they think they’re doing. The only reference point I can think of is the music that David Amiss MP played on the cake episode of Brasseye; ridiculous jittery crashes with random blips and screeches. They do that, but with tinny speeded up vocals over the top. The term ‘Pokemon grind’ has been stuck to them, and it seems pretty accurate to me. As completely pointless and stupid as they are though, I couldn’t help but crack a smile when listening to them. They’re dumb and they know it, so there’s no pretence. It’s all good, apparently. I got a split with them and a band called My Name Is Rar Rar who are shouty and have someone from the Flying Luttenbachers in them apparently. Not much else to say about them really. For further things look at Liquid Death/Hello Pussy.

And last, but not least, it’s the return of Things I Like:

Garbage Pail Kids nostalgia

Having enough money to eat all month for the first time in ages

Diskant badges!

And Things I don’t:

The ringing in my ears

Royal Mail

The fact that no one has come round for tea and cake yet. Fuckers.

Probably no one. Well, I liked it a lot, and the lyrics of Pugwall’s band The Orange Organics gave me some much needed guidance during some very shakey pre-adolescent summer holidays. Quirky pop ditties rife with ideals of rebellion and advice on achieving one’s personal goals were very important to me and I’m sure thousands of other mixed up 80s kids. This is why I am now very dismayed to discover that Jason Torrens who played Pugwall has grown up not to be the star that he always sung about, doing things on his own terms and following his dreams, but the drummer in some shameful corporate cock-sucking nu-metal band. This is him then, in the glory days of The Organics, and here he is today, pictured third from the left. People, I’m crushed.

Further evidence:

Bugdust

Pugmania

i am currently attempting to live on my own for the first time in my life, which is very strange and not entirely pleasant. my wife kim went home to indianapolis yesterday to start work, and i will go there once my visa application is processed and all that stuff. i’m very excited at the prospect of us living comfortably for the first time, going to see some exciting bands and getting away from all the ridiculous english crap that pisses me off on a daily basis. unfortunately in order to obtain this, we now have to spend months living apart. since kim moved here ten short months ago, i had become a shadow of my former self, a walking cliche, completely co-dependent and unequipped to deal with life on my own again. now the reality of spending evenings alone, going to work alone, doing everything alone is sinking in, and it’s scary. i know no one cares, and i hate to sound so lame, but i felt the need to say something about it.

in an attempt to combat loneliness i’m throwing myself into full-on selling / trading / whatever mode. if you haven’t already seen it, look at my stuff here and tell me if you want anything. equally, if you’d like to swap some tapes of random stuff, i’m always up for that. i’m also selling some stuff here so buy it! yeah…

on a lighter note, i like that show marion and geoff a lot. anyone seen it? bewildering cringe-comedy at it’s finest. also been watching some amazing films recently (well, one amazing film) but i should save that for the column.

if anyone wants to come round for a cup of tea and some cake, or send me some nice things, i’d be very happy.

two great, two not quite as great. first on were akira who suffered from the age old snare drum rattle problem, which seemed to last throughout their whole set. i know they’ve been around for some time, and that being the first time i’d ever heard them, i don’t want to cast (too much) judgement, but they didn’t seem to really do a great deal. the first song sounded like blew by nirvana, which is probably as good an indicator as any.

next, charlottefield who were really very good indeed. i hadn’t heard of them until the day before the gig, and had no idea what to expect, but ten seconds in they were rocking out and i was loving it. they had shouts and stoppy-starty-swingy-roundy riffs and, probably most importantly, they seemed like a competent band, which the previous band sadly didn’t. i’m on the look out for their new 7″ on jonson family.

minutes to live feature three members of crs* along with one sexy bitch on bass. this was their first gig, and they played three songs. it was hard to know what to make of it, as nothing seemed that clearly defined (not that that’s a problem in itself, but there were a few times when the songs went nowhere, and left me feeling unsatisfied). still, it’s very early days…

finally, after months of anticipation, cat on form took to the stage. once i had overcome the shame of being made to feel like the tubby bastard that i am by steve and dan’s skinny shirtless antics, they proved to be my favourite band of the evening. the one thing that struck me overall is that the conviction and yes, the anger of these guys just doesn’t let up for a second. recently i mentioned how bands rarely play with that unabashed fury that first made rock music so exciting to me, and i was very pleased to see that cat on form apparently share my views. there was lots of leaping around and falling over and shouting and more shouting and sweating. i also decided when left-hand-side guitarist/shouter dan was lying at my feet scratching at the floor that he is possibly the tiniest human being i have ever seen. they played ‘back off man i’m a scientist’, my favourite song from their recent vacuous pop 7″ and it was mighty good. i hope they come back, this city needs bands like them to play here.

in other news, i just got a shitload of blood drained from my arm, and i have to go back tomorrow so they can drain some more cos they couldn’t get enough today. i’m covered in puncture wounds and i hate illness. me and marceline should start some kind of sick kids club, where you have to be pastey white and be calcium deficient to join.

well today, after months of hefty decision making, i changed my email address. it was formerly racing_the_tide@hotmail.com which was named after an old mercury rev song that i always had a certain fondness for. however, after witnessing the grotesque cabaret that was mercury rev at the junction last year, i decided a change was due.

cue 6 months of toiling over what to change it to. i wanted to steer away from obvious musical references (song titles, lyrics) but found that i really couldn’t think of anything else. yesterday, i gave in, and created miss_american_hair_pie@hotmail.com, named after a song by arab on radar. this seemed funny and cool and weird and most importantly a far cry from a mercury rev reference. everything was great. that was until last night when i was recounting the tale to kim, who kindly told me what a hair pie actually was. time for a rethink.

luckily today was a fucking slack day at work, and i had lots of time to think about this. i was reminded of a nickname i somehow picked up whilst dealing with carnyhand?! a while ago….

dibbuk

n : (jewish folklore) a demon that enters the body of a living person and controls that body’s behavior [syn: dybbuk]

…and lo, this afternoon ollie_dibbuk@hotmail.com was born. the children sang and danced in the streets while the mothers wept. “can it be true?” they cried! yes, yes it can. racing_the_tide is dead. long live ollie_dibbuk!

(all this seem a bit much to you? yes, me too, but i have to liven up my working day somehow.)

ok ok, so my plan to kick-start the blog by spurring a frenzy of blazin’ squad appreciation didn’t go completely to plan. still, people are blogging again, so i might as well join in with the ‘stuff i like’ lists…

sweet lord yes!
those new chocolate bars with smarties in
chocolate in general
the horrible christmas rush at work being over
cold crisp mornings

hell no!
cold crisp mornings
bouncing rent cheques
money/banks/the western world in general
that guy from busted’s eyebrows, terrifying

[CHORUS]
Call me baby, we can get hot
Come and get my love girl on the wo
1, 2 wacha gonna do?
Stay at mine, sounds fine
Say your gonna feel me, baby that can thrill me
Up and down
Round and round
Call my number; we’ll make love on the line [ALL]

I know you gotta go away, for quite a while
But you can pick up the phone, and you can dial
And when you’re feeling lonely, I can see you right through
And if you tell me that you want it
Then I can make love on the line with you [Rocky B]

I’m gonna miss your body, perfume on your skin
You say you’re gonna feel me, girl that can thrill me
Cos you can call me anytime
For love on the line [Reepa]
(Love on the line) [Krazy]

[CHORUS ALL]

We can chat all night and day girl
When I’m home or away girl
Just give me a call on my line girl
You can be all mine girl
And when we are talking I picture your eyes on your pretty face
With the gloss on your lips, soft mm, skin
And the body I’ll embrace [Strider]

Just make love to me
And give it to me the way you wanna
And everything you ask of me, you know I’m gonna
Cos you can be mine any time
(Any time) [Flava]
For love on the line [Kenzie]
(Love on the line) [Krazy]

[CHORUS ALL]

When I wake you in the night
Girl I’m gonna do you right
We can live a fantasy
And loves bo wo
Imagine that I’m touching you baby
Can you feel me to? [Krazy & Tommy B]
Call my number
For love on the line [Krazy]

[CHORUS x2 ALL]

not a terribly original gripe, i know, but still one i can’t help but ponder after attending yet another turgidly mediocre gig last night. bright eyes to be precise. with them, or rather him, it can be put down to good old fashioned self-indulgence (so no surprises there) but i still can’t help but feel at least a little cheated. they played, apart from maybe two exceptions, all new songs, exerting as little effort as it was possible to without falling over. we stood and waited patiently while they started a song three times, each time ending when conor forgot the words 20 seconds in. we then stood and waited some more while they arsed around, probably deciding if the audience was worthy of hearing some more songs. i don’t want to go on about it too much, but it was just the latest in a series of disappointing gigs which make me question if any of it is really worth it anymore.

went to see fugazi a couple of weeks ago, after waiting to see them for a few years. they played some of my favourite songs, but the general lack of enthusiasm in the air meant it all felt a bit pointless. and pointless is a word that i could attach to almost every band i’ve seen this year. me and kim were talking last night about how you just never see amazing bands anymore. i’m sure it has more to do with me getting older and perhaps more pessimistic, but a few years ago i would go to gigs that would seriously enrich my very being, make me feel genuinely glad to be alive. now i go to gigs, and get conor oberst throwing his mic down in a huff because he’s so misunderstood or something. i know it’s lame to be bitching about this stuff, but it just seems unfair.

the only truly great band i think i’ve seen all year was arab on radar. finally, i get to see a band who plays with that same kind of unashamed wild-eyed fury that made gigs so great a few years ago. and now rather typically, it seems as if they’ve split up. i think i’m going to have to take up a new ‘hobby’. any suggestions?

in other news, when did london get so sketchy? i’ve never felt worried walking around london at night before, but last night we couldn’t walk ten paces without being accosted by some shady character. obviously it’s always been this way, but i guess i’ve always managed to avoid it before. crazy.