1984’s ‘Let’s go crazy’ signals the onset of the reign of the Purple One. This album sent Prince to his destiny; the realms of rock monarchy. The attendant LP ‘Purple Rain’ so irked moralising matriarch Tipper Gore with risqué ditties of masturbation (aside from this there is ‘Darling Nikki’) it led to ‘Parental Advisory’ stickers that only further aroused interest.
Opening with the preachy ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life … ‘ a sermon that decrees we should live in the present and going crazy (even alone) is the only remedy for daily existence. Better out than in.
The guitar solo is oft articulated in sexual cunny lingo, a subject deeply delved into by Prince Rogers Nelson on every album released, overtly and (under the) covertly. Here, two minutes forty one into foreplay, the guitar as phallus ascends to passion for 20 seconds before the rhythm steadies until three minutes thirty seconds when our narrator exhorts ‘He’s comin …’ for a further sixteen seconds before we are privy to frenetic fret wanking, mono-masturbation and onanistic orgasm climaxing with our hero ejaculating ‘Take me away!’ *ciggy break*
Prince himself has said the song’s coded message is about the age-old dichotomy between the Devil (the de-elevator) and God, the light and the shade, sexuality and spirituality. As ever, the Imp of the Perverse’s use of metaphwooar is second to none. Amen.
‘Kiss’ by Prince released in 1986 is the epitome of someone at the top of their game: vibrant, sexy and funky, this cat’s got it. Appropriating parts of Marvin Gaye’s Got to give it up’ and the guitar strum from James Brown’s ‘Papa’s got a brand new bag’ it still astounds to this day. Simple, spartan and seductive.
*Prince Rogers Nelson forbids the use of his art on the platform known as Youtube*
In 1988 Tom Jones (like most of his contemporaries) was a fogey, a relic, past-it, irrelevant, the stars of yesteryear yet to be reaccepted back by the cognoscenti and recused from the wilderness. Post-modern avant-garde-collagists The Art of Noise had already venerated Duane Eddy with a revamped ‘Peter Gunn’ and PSB had released the superlative ‘What have I done to deserve this’ with Dusty Springfield, the 60s were back … to stay.
Th’ Noise once had arch-critic Paul Morley and Buggles man Trevor Horn in their ranks, but for this one-off abomination it was mainly Anne Dudley. The result seems like a critical assessment of pop’s state: devoid, depopped and defunked: a deesgrace that outsold the original. Never underestimate the stupidity of …
Coming across like a malfunctioning borg from Westworld, Tom’s swaying and swooing is reminiscent of Prince Charles being forced to attend a Supertramp show with Lady Dead. ‘One is not arsed, baby machine’.
When Tom croaks ‘Think we’d better dance now’ this is the sound of a corpse shitting its last, proving that this white man can’t funk. Prince was heard to mutter ‘Tom, you is sure one unsexy mutha-fucker’ thus inspiring his 1993 hit, ‘Quit it, Jonesy’.
P.M. TB: ‘Chocolate brown Roller, you say? And you don’t drive? That’s ‘working class’ street smarts right there’
NG: I’ve only just begun, my Master’
Working class hero, Britpop’s Wolfie Smith, Neu Labour’s Che has got an album and global tour looming so he’s got his opinion box out and started bemoaning the groups that followed the turgid ‘act’ that was Oasis for not leading to the creation of ‘working class/street music’.
Seemingly oblivious that it is as a result of him and his ilk (like his chum, Tony Baloney) pulling the ladder up behind them, obsessed with their legacy, cementing and protecting their bizarrely exalted positions.
At £60+ a ticket, looking after your ‘people’ there aren’t you, comrade.
If it wasn’t for political manoeuvring and culture grab, absolute fortune and the gullibility of the masses (‘Eere, y’ar, take these recycled riffs and put a puncture on top = lucre’)
In a parallel universe ‘Noelly G’ (as per BBC 6 Music: another end-product of the culture grab) would be Munchkin Number 13 (again) in the annual Burnage staging of The Wizard of Oz)
To paraphrase: ‘Keep you doped with shit music, primary school rhyming and the NME’.
What is a twat? The ‘Net has it as vulgar slang for ‘vulva’, an ‘obnoxious person’ or ‘to hit or punch, UKIP uber-lord Nigel Façade encompasses all of these (apologies to Andrea Dworkin). He’s had some serious competition this year beating off (fnar) Ewe-Too’s Bozo, Messy-Ire Russell Brand, Jacob Bugger-Off, Rita No-Aura, Ken Ya’Waster et al)
He‘s UKIP’s answer to the Rebel Alliance’s Admiral Ackbar with his exhortations of it all being a ‘trap’ ignoring the fact that the only alliance (and allegiance) he has is with the other pawns in the defunct game. With apathy rife, Nigel Mirage is the jester that illustrates that the much publicised polarisation of the electorate is less a sign of division than of a politics devised and prescribed to prevent the expression of substantive differences. Ignorance is crucial in a game of charades.
Beware of the fish-faced one (sorry, Admiral)
An MEP who wants extraction from Europe, a little islander who’s married to a German, an anti-banking millionaire ex-banker, now there’s hypocritical contradictory behaviour but ..
He’s the counter to other G-lister Brand; one’s highlighting an illusory, fait accompli aspect to the system the other’s providing a shot in the veins to a moribund , elite dominated corporate carve-up … just in time for another round of ‘No matter who you vote for, the government always gets in’.
Here comes the trickster with his mono-cultural purview shaking up an apathetic populace, stirring prejudice and discontent with his ale-swilling, smoke exhaling and whoopee cushion antics apparently showing up the three unwise monkeys and their election-selection palaver. Nige Farrago is the new ally in the politics of managed democracy and fostered fear, THEM, THEY, YOU, US, THEM.
Positioning himself as a man of the people, ‘our’ people, a yeoman with his fag and pint, see, he’s just like ‘US’, a latter-day Wat Tyler. Wat Alyer more like.
Beware of The Joker in the pack of no aces.
The legendary 12 Bar in Soho’s Denmark Street (soon to be demolished in the name of progress) played host to a celebration of two years of Street Sounds, the magazine with the scourge of the music press cognoscenti, Garry Bushell, at the helm. Champion of the much misunderstood ‘Oi’ movement and the man who prophesised that “In the future all music will be light entertainment” was also one of the first to write extensively about popular culture in the national press and to foresee its dominance over the nation for better and worse. (Visionary polymath Bushell is also starring as an abusive alpha-male in the forthcoming ‘Brit-grit-flick’ A Fool’s Circle written, produced and starring Suzanne Seddon, who was also in attendance.)
Manchester band The Backhanders, with their mod cuts and scally attire supplied the live entertainment. Their Joe Strummer-inspired song ‘Campfire’ is a great, rocking number, reminiscent of a ‘2-4-6-8’ by The Tom Robinson Band. They also played a cover of The Doors’ ‘People Are Strange’, which started out all classic 60s psyche until the vocals went all Manc-standard Gallagher/Meighan, too whiney and all-shouty. C’mon lads, progress not no-gress. (Fun fact: the band are managed by renowned gate-crasher and subject of the eponymous Black Grape song, ‘Fatneck’.)
In keeping with the London feel, free pie and mash was laid on courtesy of the London Pie and Mash Company. Finger liquorin’ tasty and coming soon to a town near you. The crowd was a heady mix of ages, from aesthetes to try-hards and what surely has to be Keith Lemon’s template: bewildering, and in many ways in keeping with Bushell’s nightmarish premonitions.
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