Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Anyway, ever since then my joy at the celluloid medium has been haemorrhaging at a rate of knots. Whatever happened to that innocent little boy who used to slump pissed in front of Big Brother at 5am and be thoroughly entertained by watching some boring people sleep? HE DIED.
So yeah, people who don't watch TV and make a point of saying they don't watch TV are the most hateful people on the planet, so I take no pleasure in suggesting that I might be done with the medium, but I watched two innocuous shows with my parents last night and they left me in a seething rage, and not the good kind.
First some programme about how people of the past coped with climate change, presented by Tony Robinson. It was beautifully shot, and clearly everyone involved had got a nice holiday out of the deal, but SERIOUSLY: the show starts with Robinson talking about this ancient Peruvian empire that had somehow profited from drought in the past: he simply refuses to tell us why for 20 fucking minutes, he's just killing time, reiterating the same thing, and I point this out, angrily, and my dad has the TEMERITY to not really mind, he's quite enjoying it. And don't get me started on the ten second establishing shot where Baldric has to stand in a church graveyard at night just so that he can say '... the Black Death' while some portentous strings play in the background. Then I watched Day of the Triffids and I hated every single thing about it. I think I swore in front of my parents for possibly the first time ever as a result of the fact that I thought a sci-fi show about giant killer plants didn't plausible explain why everyone on the planet had gone blind. Seriously, it took me about an hour to calm down afterwards.
Admittedly these were but two programmes but I don't think being taken to these summits of rage by TV that is meant to divert and entertain is really very good for me. Maybe I can get some of my license fee back.
Sunday, 27 December 2009
The magic of 2009 by MrLukowski
Saturday, 26 December 2009
Thursday, 24 December 2009
1. After a somewhat nail-biting wait, I got the job of Fringe Theatre Editor at Time Out. Which probably either sounds really impressive (if you're unsure about what Fringe Theatre technically is) or awful (if you know), but is actually somewhere in between.
2. I have a girlfriend. Called Rachael. It has now been over two months, so I suppose it 'counts'.
3. Um, I had a bit of a falling out with my ex-housemates and it was all a bit blah for a while and I thought I wasn't going to find anywhere good to live, but then I did and now I live in a large house in Clapton and it's all good.
4. Still hanging in the air is my ballsing up of the medical portion of my Canada application, had to wait a fucking age to get my GP notes transferred to London from some obscure corner of Leeds, the elusive yay or nay OUGHT to come soon, but it's now taken so long I can see the 'hilarious' scenario occurring wherein it's taken so long that I get kicked off, as they've sent me a couple of notes saying they need the information ASAP. Not really in my hands. Anyway, if I did get it, I think I'd still like to go, but probably delay by a year, at least to be in the UK for various weddings and give the Time Out job a better crack of the whip...
Yes, right, that's the self-indulgent clearing of the blockage blog, is what that is.
Sunday, 1 November 2009
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
Saturday, 26 September 2009
Ah, 2009. A year that commenced with me receiving a look of approval from Laura McDermott as she observed how impressive the lack of flying my epic backpacking trip was *supposed* to involve.
A year that reached something like its two-third mark with vague disappointment in those same eyes as I ruefully totted up how many flights I’d actually taken. Okay, my carbon footprint is considerably less than, say, Al Gore’s, but still, I’ve been appalling this year, my head quite shamelessly turned by a sickening four foreign press trips, my lo-flight backpacking escapade spiralling wildly out of control thanks to the impressive meshing of both my inefficiency and that of the Chinese. Anyway, sat here on what ought to be my last flight of the year, I apologise profusely to Mother Nature, and for the sake of all those people in posterity keen to know what weapons-grade levels of frivolity we doomed idiots in 2009 achieved, I hereby submit my thoughts and feelings on every flight I got in 2009. I was originally going to rate them out of five using images of Jimbo from Jimbo and the Jet Set, but then I realised I couldn't in any way be arsed to do the cut out. I leave you with the credit sequence. Those cows used to freak the fuck out of me.
Reykjavik Keflavik to London Stansted 02.01.09
Hugely delayed return leg of awesome New Year’s trip to lovely lovely Iceland. Would have appreciated the lie-in had we known how many millions of hours delayed our stupid am flight was going to be, but we didn’t find ourselves un-amused as we went ker-razy with our lunch vouchers and totally broke into the apology booze when we finally got into the air. If I’d actually had to be back in time for anything in particular then might have been annoyed, but on reflection this arguably wins flight of the year. FOUR JIMBOS.
London Stansted to Talinn 12.01.09
Hellish. This can mostly be put down to the fact that I’d got wasted to mark the commencement of my travels, gone straight to the airport with Powell at, like, 4am, knocked back another pint, passed out on the plane and then woke up about 30 minutes from landing to about the closest I’ve ever come to having a panic attack. While this can largely be attributed to hangover, lack of sleep etc, I do maintain EasyJet have the most cramped of all short-haul jets, though possibly this is down to the happy-go-lucky approach to reclining exhibited by the overwhelming majority of its cheapskate customers. ONE JIMBO.
Qingdao to Seoul Incheon 24.02.09
Mixed. On the one hand it was now dawning to me that my eco-friendly world tour was going to essentially be responsible for the extinction of several undiscovered species of animal, the ghosts of which would proceed to stare at me every time I went to sleep with accusing, adorable eyes. Also I ended up speaking to a really unpleasant Dutch guy who proceeded to irritate me more by the fact he had a hugely worthwhile job developing an entirely solar-powered boat, a fact that seemed cruelly designed to rub in my failure. On the other hand I’d made it out of China, and also there was free beer. THREE JIMBOS.
Seoul to Jeju 27.02.09
Jeju to Seoul 05.03.09
Hmm. The flights were less than £20 a pop, and South Korea is set up so epically impractically for anybody wishing to approach the southern island by water that I’m not sure I feel that guilty about these. They served mandarin juice, which was nice. THREE JIMBOS.
Seoul Incheon to Beijing Capital 06.03.09
While it seems silly that there was no direct flight to Hong Kong, they did show The Simpsons film in English, which was nice at the time. THREE JIMBOS.
Beijing Capital to Hong Kong 06.03.09
Hmm. I’d asked for ‘Asian Vegetarian’ as my food option, but they gave me cucumber sandwiches. I hate cucumber sandwiches. Also after the glory of TV on the first leg, this had none, plus I’d finished racist epic Gone With The Wind. Dangerously bored. TWO JIMBOS.
Hong Kong to London Heathrow 13.03.09
Was really looking forward to this – films, wine, joy of seeing friends at end of it. Had possibly built it up a bit too much/was too worried about being in a fit state to be sociable at the end – sat in cramped seat while drinking cheap wine and watching a shit film isn’t wonderful. Also I had an epic sleeping pill fail and merely pretended to be asleep as I’d informed the nice old couple next to me that sleeping pills worked without fail, and I wouldn’t want to loose face in front of some elderly folks who I’d never see again. Still, they were a nice old couple, who I actually liked (normally I absolutely despise nice old couples) and y’know, it was okay and I managed to be reasonably sociable at the end (even if it basically seemed to be an almighty drunken conversation about marriage). THREE JIMBOS.
London Stansted to Reykjavik Keflavik 08.04.09
I suppose it is irrational to hold a grudge against an airline for only having flights that preclude you from going out to the pub with Icelandic friends, but there you go, eh? TWO JIMBOS.
Reykjavik City to Isafjordur 09.04.09
Definitely the ricketiest flight I’ve ever been on, though maybe the horror stories were a bit exaggerated. Considering it only takes six hours to drive this exact same route this possibly loses out on the eco-fromt. But still, would be a bit sour to give less than THREE JIMBOS.
Reykjavik Keflavik to London Stansted 12.04.09
While the flight was fairly unremarkable, the fact Anna from Icelandic Music Export simply phoned the airport and had the plane held to accommodate the fact we arrived five minutes after it was supposed to have taken off... well that was just deliughtful. FOUR JIMBOS.
London Gatwick to Basel 03.07.09
Okay, I shouldn’t blame the airline for the fact I missed the morning flight when it largely boils down to the fact I got wasted the night before. HOWEVER a) I’d have made the flight if it wasn’t for a stupid police roadblock – GATWICK IS CLEARLY A HIVE OF DEGENERATE SCUM b) Basel is the stupidest airport in the world, straddling, as it does, two seemingly hostile countries. Also c) I demand to blame somebody else other than me. ONE JIMBO.
Basel to London Gatwick 07.07.09
Much improved, though there’s not much romance to shorthaul really, is there? Anyway, ended in small victory when I remembered how the Gatwick Express was a horrible con and bought the half price, ten minutes longer alternative far to London town. Well done me. THREE JIMBOS.
London Stansted to Katowice 06.08.09
I’d somehow managed to avoid getting a Ryanair flight all year, but finally it happened. Appalling cunts. Playing their godawful ‘this flight was on time music’ so bloody smugly. I mean. It’s the airline equivalent of ‘I went to the toilet and didn’t shit myself’, isn’t it? ISN’T IT? By the by, you would be surprised how busy the Katowice flight is. TWO JIMBOS.
Katowice to Frankfurt 10.08.09
Frankfurt to Edinburgh 10.08.09
Oh hai KLM! There is nothing more magical than drinks and snacks on short-haul. NOTHING. (Apart from 92-year-old-ladies in the year 1971). Well done to KLM for harking back to the golden age of airtravel. FOUR JIMBOS.
London Stansted to Eindhoven 18.09.09
Oh fuck you Ryanair, like 6.55am is a reasonable time. Most frustrating thing about this flight is how very short it is – something like 45 minutes, all of which I slept for. There is nothing for persuading you how awful you’ve been to the planet like a pisstakingly short flight. TWO JIMBOS.
Eindhoven to London Stansted 21.09.09
As above, really, possibly compounded by the fact there is NOTHING TO DO IN HOLLAND (that’s an exaggerated statement and one we shall not engage with). Still the flight was at a more reasonable time, and I was amused to note that they were selling those electronic cigarettes on board. Nobody bought them. THREE JIMBOS.
In conclusion: I got 18 flights this year and am a right shit and deserve to burn for all eternity, except not, 'coz I'll do ten per sent less next year, and that'll be my bit to save the planet.
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
Sunday, 13 September 2009
Monday, 7 September 2009
No fear, I shall remain as feebly undiligent as ever. Anyway, it has been a funny old month, since last we talked, oh diary mine, and here are some reasons why.
Metro Life R.I.P.-ed
I suppose you could argue that my former Metro colleagues at least managed nine months more usefulness than me and Zof did; nonetheless, the complete elimination of all regional-specific arts coverage in Metro is pretty horrible. Thirty-odd people losing their jobs is never the nicest thing, especially when many are friends, especially when none of them saw it coming, especially when so many of them had laid down roots in regional cities - in many cases purchased houses - for jobs that are now gone, with no regional equivalents.
I pretty much have to assume that if I can make a semi go of it post Metro then they'll all do better/actively take work away from me; at least the comments on this here Guardian article would suggest it was not unappreciated (though I suspect quite a lot are from staff, actually...).
I think maybe in retrospect the most depressing thing of all, though, is that Metro Life arguably looks like a weirdly implausible endeavour. Metro as a whole may be a notch or two above the afternoon freesheets and the actual gutter press, but it's hardly a forward thinking, leftfield publication. Metro Life really was, if possibly only by necessity of not filling the allotted space with Jim Davidson's latest tour or whatever, and I suppose maintaining quality regional arts coverage never seemed obviously in line with anything the paper as a whole was trying to achieve. On those grounds I suppose you could argue that it was nice it ran and was financed for the best part of a decade, though, er, that's absolutely no consolation to anyone, obviously.
Anyway, it's a big shame for the obvious reasons. I suspect if I hadn't got taken in by the Birmingham edition shortly after I'd got back from Canada I'd have either ended up some sort of intolerable hipster or - even worse - blundered into a non-arts related area of the media and become some cunt in a suit. It became quite stultifying towards the end, and I do think my writing suffered as a result of being part of that machine, but it taught me a lot of stuff, I met a lot of wonderful people, and I guess now it's gone there's little question of the fact that it was A Good Thing rather than A Bad Thing. Sigh.
Monday, 3 August 2009
A relatively cursory YouTube search suggests this is the only instance of him playing it in the presence of a camera. So let's just say he only did it once, and I was there, and you weren't, you feckless lazemonger. Er, apart from Holly, she was there.
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
I know what I should do.
But I am paralyzed.
There is nothing on the packaging of the male deodorant that says what it smells of. It just says 'male'.
I stare at it angrily.
I am going to be manipulated into the purchase of this for no reason other than I am male and it says 'male'.
I mean, should I be standing up to something here? I mean, really? REALLY? This is all I base my notional olfactory signature on? That it says 'male' and I am male? Why don't I just pick up one of the female ones? I'm a vegetarian and I eat meat flavoured crisps in the knowledge it's all basically a load of bullshit, why can't I buy a female deodorant? AM I AN IDIOT?
Then I start to think about how when I got to Boots or Superdrug or whatever, then I DO have choice, and that choice is not really a choice. Africa or Inca? I mean, the Incas likely didn't smell great, in Africa deodorant is a luxury - there's no suggestion that the name is going to convey anything. I just opt for whatever name I like the most. So in many ways opting to buy something that doesn't offer any choice and can't even be arsed to apply a fancy and entirely spurious name is me opting out of a system. Maybe.
Or maybe I have now stood in a shop for at least two minutes trying to formulate a discourse justifying why it is okay for me to buy this particular brand of inexpensive hygiene product.
Yes, that is it. I buy the deodorant. But I am not happy.
Monday, 27 July 2009
who does'nt noel gallagher slag off! he's an arsehole,needs to learn to shut his gob one day!! fair enuff,oasis are legends and have been around for ages (www.nme.com)
last nite was the best gig ever oasis are legends and will never die. live forever. Mike [Visitor] (www.nme.com)
its true oasis, it sold the least for a reason... it wasnt poppy and mainstream which is a damn good thing. OASIS are legends (blogcritics.org)
So are Papa Roach with a mint new song! woooooooo :D btw Oasis are legends! :D (www.cybergadgies.com)
ive sang it on karaoke is astonishing. my favourite song by far. oasis are legends to promote this song and ill hail their every movement for doing so (www.everyhype.com)
Greenday are a fuckin joke. Oasis are legends unlike those wannabe punk cunts. stuartyboy121285 (www.youtube.com)
Oasis are legends! Noel gallagher is one of the greatest song writers alive he is totally awsum!!! Posted by: Holly (www.q4music.com)
I love this song! Oasis are legends! (www.myspace.com)
Oasis are Legends , they shouldnt need to jump round and try keep a crowd happy (www.facebook.com)
north south divide **** it oasis are legends and southern **** will nick your gals what ever the divide. (uk.eurosport.yahoo.com)
It's great to get an endorsement like that off someone like Liam because he's pretty credible and Oasis are legends (www.dailymail.co.uk)
Shiners09: oasis are legends...that bloke deserves to have his face kicked in for nearly pushin noel off the stage. (www.noelgallagher.co.uk)
Noel Gallagher is the greatest man ever and deserves to be knighted. Oasis are legends. (www.myspace.com)
I hope it's a self titled album. Because I think it will blow people away more than even this one! Oasis are legends (www.amazon.com)
Oasis are legends. I still listen to Whats the Story regularly years after first buying it. (www.ents24.com)
OASIS are legends and they deserved the lifetime outstanding contribution award cause they are that damn good! you gotta roll with it (www.scotsman.com)
Oasis are legends and deserve every bit of fame and money they have. (www.brifta.gs)
oasis are legends wether you hate them or not. they have made influential albums, theyre album was second to the beatles lonely hearts club in top 10 albums (www.prefixmag.com)
You have a good time in Slane? Aw what a class day..didn't want it to end! Oasis are legends! hey!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (www.kingsofleon.com)
Oasis are legends, and I have been following them for years now - and Snow Patrol! Their tunes are the soundtrack to some amazing memories near and far (www.goodhopefm.co.za)
Oasis rules, get with it, America, but i think we have now, Oasis are legends, the most rocking, craziest band ever...they rule!!!!!!!!!!!! (www.amazon.com)
dazmein: i guess you like bands like the saturdays you knob noel and oasis are legends. (www.noelgallagher.com)
Oasis are legends, arctic monkeys, hard-fi, Kaiser chiefs, Kasabian, Keane, the killers, the kooks, snow patrol, maroon 5, take that (www.bebo.com)
ah lucky u id say it was unreal..i shud have went to that concert myself oasis are legends. (www.bebo.com)
I mean, it's not like everyone was exactly petrified by the thing in the first place. Sure there were people dying in Mexico a bit, but really... I mean REALLY... the original Spanish Influenza outbreak seems to generally be regarded as a sort of interesting bit of trivia - did you KNOW more people died of it than did in the Great War? Yeah? FUCKING PUSSIES WHO COULDN'T EVEN BE ARSED TO DIE IN A FUTILE POCKET OF CARTRIDGE-SODDEN FRENCH MUD - and this is like, well a) it's flu, pah, rubbish, just a cold for people causing a scene and b) it's got 'swine' in the title, it's not like some sort of alien death pox that causes flesh eating larvae the size of dogs to spew forth from one's eyeballs. Unless you're so blithely coddled as to believe physical violence and cancer are literally the only things capable of killing you, then you will have essentially sussed this is a cold with bells on. Oh, and also let's not forget how UTTERLY shit Bird Flu was, the Millennium Bug of global pandemics. I mean. More money must have actually been spend working out it existed than actually having to treat anyone. Rubbish.
Anyway, then there was a sort of lull, where we worried about MPs' expenses, and then it finally made it over here, and, like, fuck, if anything it's actually less effectual than expected. I was out with Flea the other night and her housemate had Swine Flu and I was about 80 per cent joking when I said 'I'm not going to touch you, I'm going to get Swine Flu'. There was hugging. Did I get it? NO. Has she even come down with it? Nope. Fuck, I can't even exploit it for journalistic purposes - some lucky bastard at The Times has definitely had it and written about it, probably plenty of others besides.
If this was a film half the population of the country would be DEAD by now, dead and dead with an appropriate amount of drama, DEAD and twitching suspiciously as they prepared to reanimate as something awful and of alarm to the other half of the country. As it is it's just rubbish, the only story is 'death still possible, as it turns out', a nation of people completely unbothered by regular influenza getting half-heartedly worried about the odds of them getting poorly mildly increasing.
I'm beginning to worry that I'm not going to see the Apocalypse. That'd piss me off.
Sunday, 12 July 2009
Come Friday me and Ward happen to be drinking in Soho, like the two cocks of the walk that we are.
Ward suggests we get some tinnies in and throw them at the people on the plinth in Trafalgar Square. This was, in retrospect, the right suggestion. But I, filled with piss and vinegar and the desire to share this new bar with the world, insist we head to a place I envisage to become a regular town centre haunt.
The following is more a paraphrase than a transcript, but is basically accurate.
Ward comes back from bar. He is angry, but then he is always angry
Ward: Fucking bar woman. Fuck fuck fuck. I fucking watched her make our drinks and she didn't fucking put any fucking spirits in them. So said so and asked her to taste them and she just got really angry with me and said she was pregnant, so I didn't fucking pay for them. Fuck fuck.
Me: Oh. Well I'll just go over and order again.
Ward: Fuck. Okay. Fuck.
I walk to the bar, and rather foolishly make EXACTLY the same order
Barwoman: [brightly] Oh, actually I have some of those pre-made! [pulls out what are obviously the drinks from before]
Me: Oh, I think I'd rather you made me some new ones if that's okay.
Barwoman: You're with HIM, aren't you?
Me: Um, no, I really don't know what you're talking about, is it okay if I get some new ones.
The barwoman sulkily makes them, this time adding spirits
The barwoman slams my change down, furiously. I rejoin Mark. He is scribbling notes on pieces of paper saying something like 'this place is shit'
Ward: [sipping his drink] This is fucking weak.
Me: Oh, it's okay. At least we got served.
The manager walks over, looks at Ward's notes, grabs our drinks and furiously tells us to get out, more or less hauling Ward bodily with the aid of a rather apologetic bouncer. I sort of vaguely try to reason with them/get my drink back, but the manager has worked himself up into one of those irrational rages where he simply won't engage. Which seems to more or less be the hiring policy of this place
Bouncer: I'm really sorry.
Ward: [On phone] Hello, police? Yeah, I've been assualted.
Ward: Right. I've called the fucking police, they can't fucking do that.
Me: Yeah, they're kind of dicks. Though the bouncer is quite apologetic.
Ward: Can you punch me in the back?
Me: Sure [punches Ward in back]. Why?
Ward: Need bruises for when the police arrive.
Time elapses. The manager comes out and sort of growls at us from a distance at one point. Mark calls the police back
Ward: [on phone] Yeah, alright, well I'll be coming into Stoke Newington police station tomorrow to make a complaint.
We head home, bar duly ruined
TEXT LOG NEXT DAY
Me - MW: So how was the police station?
MW - me: Just about to head over there...
Me - MW: Brilliant! Can't believe you're honestly going to do this!
MW - me: Yeah, I feel like chickening out but they were so unjustifiably cuntish
MW - me: Massive waste of time. You can't make a complaint unless you file for assault, which I'm not going to do. Oh well.
MW - me: Predicatbly the barbecue I was going to has been cancelled. Where are you and McD? I'm ready to kill some braincells.
Tuesday, 16 June 2009
Got sent the form for the medical I have to have done as part of the process. This excited me as I thought it wouldn't turn up until September.
Yeah, so turns out it has Helena (my sister)'s photo on it instead of mine. Initially I came up with a faintly insane plan to... well, not brazen it out, but just include a note or something explaining it wasn't my fault and was thus perfectly acceptable, but I sighingly sent the Canadian Consulate an email, reasonably certain they'd take the stipulated month to get back to me, but actually they responded within 24 hours and say they're sending me the correct form. Erm. Yeah. I mean, Hel is pretty boyish looking, but should I be reassured by this pretty epic fail on behalf of the people processing my future?
I think the answer is 'yes', actually - before I was dealing with a faceless, ruthless bureaucratic machine; now I'm dealing with people so offhand that they barely even look at the diocummentary evidence I'd so carefully assembled. This could be easier than I thought.
Speaking of which: I have no idea what's going on exactly, but I have to take a medical and pay my visa processing fee... I would GUESS this means that maybe my documentary evidence passed muster and that I might be okay pending a clean bill of health. I would guess that, but I have no confirmation that's what it is and certainly don't feel the elation of having done it, but, er, well, I've probably advanced a step closer to something or other. I actually even have a feel from something a friend said to me that I have to go over within a year of the medical, which would be weird if true, like I'd started some sort of countdown... hmm.
In other news, I saw The Pixies last night, at a sort of semi-industry do. Bit weird to have something like that handed to you just on a plate, but I can't deny the fundamental awesomeness, and the atmosphere was good, band having fun, crowd not yakking away... SO GOOD.
Thursday, 4 June 2009
I didn’t go to Primavera Sound last weekend. Too skint. And although I’ve masochistically perused the geyser-like spumes of adoration on the DiS thread about the festival (er, I actually started said thread), I’ve haven't read any actual reviews, either.
All I really know for a fact is that sometime after 2am last Friday morning, a young musician by the name of Nathan Williams – aka Wavves – had something of an episode, going loco on the middle sized Pitchfork stage, chucking shoes, fighting his drummer, baiting the good people of Catalunya, and generally putting on a kinda crappy show.
Or, to put that into perspective, a really really obscure indie musician played a bad gig in the small hours of the morning, at a festival that must have boasted at least a hundred bands with greater expectations on their shoulders.
And it became news. Within the online music community/blogosphere it became BIG news. Pitchfork overlord Ryan Schreiber twittered about the brouhaha as it happened, following it up the next day with a scathing seven paragraph breakdown of the set, which thus far stands as his only editorial on the festival.
Around the same time, the hapless Williams posted a distressed online apology in which he owned up to being not well and taking a somewhat inadvisable cocktail of drugs prior to his performance. In an utterly futile gesture the note was taken down shortly thereafter, but you can never retract these things from the web, and soon the bit about the drugs had merrily combusted with the most powerful indie journalist in the world's denunciation, and boom – instant scandal.
Video: Wavves: live at Primavera Sound
All the major music websites, DiS not excepted, ran with the story, many running further editorial content. NME took it perhaps the furthest, with a strident blog in which William’s antics were compared to those of Lemmy, Steve Tyler, Sly Stone, The Who’s Keith Moon, Pete Doherty, the dude from Creed and even Elvis.
I shall say it in the clearest tones: why the fuck is this news? I’m not even the first to compare the manner the online community received it to the whole is she/isn’t she a mental farrago that was playing out with Susan Boyle at the same time – those plaudits go to The Idolator. But unlike Susan Boyle or Elvis, Nathan Williams isn’t famous. The odds of his presence on the bill influencing anybody’s decision to attend Primavera are virtually nil, while it’s notable that the subsequent cancellation of his European tour – ie, the thing that would actually upset more actual Wavves fans – was by and large only mentioned as a footnote, the 'main event' having happened. And the event was nothing. Obscure musician plays poor show. Fairly humdrum drugs involved. Woo.
But news it became, and I think the worrying parallel ‘tween music websites and the tabloids – and it IS only music websites, you will not find a word about poor Nathan's antics in the print press – is that both can be whipped into hysteria over nothing, and whipped easily. Yeah, you could easily say this has been going on for decades, but think of the trajectory of this thing: Ryan Schreiber twitters. He follows up with an article. Everybody else follows suit.
Now it’s not unreasonable that Schreiber – a man whose website is broadly responsible for Wavves’ small measure of success – would be interested in events onstage. But the fact it’s spread into a cross-web clusterfuck – generally reported entirely seriously as if it was Big News – feels, I dunno, not right. Twitter reports become instant headlines. NME.com – surely the worst offender - hysterically pounces on even the slightest whiff of music-related news, notably in its classic ‘(x) to split!’ stories, wherein the actual article inevitably reveals the touring keyboardist has gone back to their dayjob. DiS’s combination of low manpower and DEFINITELY NOT A COP-OUT irony in our news coverage somewhat shields us from this world, but we’re far from exempt.
So here is the discussion: should the indie online press – who I’d imagine to a person consider themselves morally above the gossip pages, tabloid rags and freesheets that cover equivalent events to the Wavves meltdown in the ‘real world’ – feel any sort of responsibility to keep perspective and balance in their reportage of such matters? Or is it just a harmless bit of fun? Or good online business? Are we basically Pitchfork's bitches, unable to pass a story they deem to be big news? Or have I wildly missed the mark in suggesting the incident – barely commented on in the actual Primavera thread – wasn’t a big deal? We’re all familiar with the build ‘em up, knock ‘em down cycle, but is it in any way fair that Nathan Williams is going to be saddled with a rep for years - if not his entire career – because Ryan Schreiber sent a couple of tweets as something to do?
It was Wavves ferchrissake. Wavves!