If you’re the sort of person – and I know I am – who enjoys watching leading figures from a much-despised political party batter each other, like competitors in a real-life version of Tekken, then it’s been a pretty good week.
First, popular rhyming slang Jeremy Hunt and subject of an HMRC investigation Nadhim Zahawi were eliminated from the chase to be the new PM, swiftly followed by current Attorney General Suella Braverman, who seems to have no understanding of what the term ‘legal precedence’ means.
And then there were five: Kemi Badenoch (former Northern Ireland minister who once had to ask if she needed a passport to go to Belfast), Penny Mordaunt (former TV belly-flop expert), Rishi Sunak (less said the better), Liz Truss (Thatcher cosplayer) and Tom Tugendhat (ex-forces, but rarely mentions it), all of whom appeared on a Leadership Debate on Channel 4 last night.
I couldn’t help but wonder if, given that the Conservatives seem hell-bent on selling the broadcasting channel off, this was some kind of trap, but the event seemed to pass relatively uneventfully.
By which I mean: each candidate said almost exactly what you expected them to say.
Resigned to the fact that I’ll hate whoever wins, I have moved to a position where I can just enjoy the spectacle of MPs rounding on each other.
For example: former Brexit minister Lord David Frost (not that one) said Ms Mordaunt was not up to the job when she was his deputy in the EU talks. He told TalkTV (so we’re told, no one can corroborate) that he had ‘grave reservations’ about whether the international trade minister is fit to be Prime Minister, that he was ‘surprised’ by her success in the contest so far and that she ‘did not master the detail that was necessary’ in negotiations with Brussels.
You know, like he did.
The remarks were seized on by the Truss campaign, with Treasury Chief Secretary Simon Clarke saying: ‘Lord Frost’s warning is a really serious one. Conservatives – and far more importantly our country – need a leader who is tested and ready.’ We’ll come back to this later.
But I come here not to defend or champion any one of them.
The telling point in the candidate’s debate was when they were asked a simple question: do you think that Boris Johnson is an honest person? All dodged the question, with the exception of Tugendhat, who, in a move previously unrecognised by MPs, actually answered the question.
“No,” he said.
In other, unrelated news, the other candidates all enjoyed promotions under Johnson’s leadership, and many of them say that they wish to carry on (or should that be Carrie on) the *ahem* good work he did.
This is my big beef with them, that they keep churning out the lie that Johnson “got all the big decisions right”. Did he? Are they talking about a different Johnson in a parallel universe that I’m unaware of? Because from where I’m sitting I can’t see a single thing that he did get right.
Brexit: not done, not “oven ready”, so poorly negotiated that even he admitted the Withdrawal Agreement needed to be renegotiated.
Covid vaccination roll-out: claimed as a Brexit victory, it had nothing to do with Brexit whatsoever; the UK medicines regulator confirmed that we approved the vaccine under EU rules
Err, that’s about it as far as “big decisions” go, I think.
And then you look at the candidates. Take Rishi Sunak, Chancellor of the Exchequer throughout Johnson’s tenure. He’s now trying to pitch himself as something new and different to what has gone before. He has a plan, apparently, to get us out of the economic hole we find ourselves in, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it was his economic policies in his previous role which got us here in the first place.
Yes, Rishi, you did resign, but only in a desperate attempt to distance yourself from the Boris stink. Up until then you supported and emboldened him. Heck, you even took a fine for attending the same lock-down party as him. Different? Not so much.
Think about all the issues that this country currently faces, and then consider that future power lies in the hands of one of these five candidates, all claiming they have the solution whilst all the time avoiding the real question: who has been in Government for the past 12 years?
It’s like they think we’ve all forgotten how they supported and empowered Johnson…
Apparently, chief forgetfulhead Liz “Pork Markets” Truss seems to be the bookies favourite. But bear in mind the Tory faithful – who actually get to decide who our next PM will be, not you or I – will want someone “tested and ready” at the controls to steer us unwaveringly through the final stages of Brexit…
Oh. Ooops.
No matter who wins, Jarvis is still right (effing and jeffing warning):
We’re not yet at 2016 proportions – maybe the coronavirus will push numbers up a bit – but I was sad to read of another musician passing away earlier this week.
The focus on Mazzy Star is often lead singer Hope Sandoval, and her gorgeous, laconic drawl, rather than the rest of the band.
But David Roback, co-founder of the band who passed away on Tuesday, wrote and produced most of their most beautifully bewitching songs.
Celebrity tributes were lead by ex-Bangle Susannah Hoffs, who used to be in a band with Roback, Unconscious, before either of them had a sniff of success. (Imagine knowing Hoffs and Sandoval? Jeez, I think I’d just melt). Anyway, Hoffs posted that Roback would be “eternally missed”, which, whilst I’m sure is entirely sincere, has the teensiest whiff of a comment she had lined up ready to go for a while.
Steve Wynn of The Dream Syndicate, J Mascis of Dinosuar Jr, and Andy Bell of Erasure Ride and Oasis joined in, with Alexis Krauss of Sleigh Bellsadding: “I don’t know what I would do without Fade Into You.”
And as a special treat, a song from an album of absolute pop bangers, this one relying heavily on Fade Into You, from title to musical track to the occasional Sandoval vocal snippet:
I’m going to use the word “You” a lot today. I don’t mean you. I mean You. Yes: You.
I’m one of those (North London) Lefties you hear about in the mostly right-wing press and media, the ones who sneer at the likes of Hugh Grant or Steve Coogan for daring to voice an opinion.
I’ve not always been a (North London) Leftie; for a while I was a Cambridgeshire Leftie, living in John Major’s constituency and arguing on the bus home from 6th Form; and then a South Wales Leftie, where frankly I didn’t stand out from the crowd all that much.
But always a Leftie. I’ve never voted Tory. Never have, never will.
I’m the sort of person who, the red tops would have you believe, lives in a bubble, divorced from the realities of modern life.
That may be true. (Narrator: It’s not true.)
But one thing I can say is that I lived in London for the two terms that Anthony Boris Pfeiffer Oxbowlake Jerusalem Wiffwaff Johnson somehow managed to gain consent to act as our Mayor. And I know what he is. I’ve told you before.
But let’s pretend You knew nothing of his past, of his being fired from two (three?) jobs for lying, of his agreeing to have a fellow journalist beaten up, of his – to use his vernacular – “spaffing up the wall” public funds on an unbuilt bridge, or an unusable water cannon.
Yesterday You all looked at Johnson and somehow, despite everything You saw and heard, You went and voted for him anyway.
You ignored his refusal to go head to head with Andrew Neil in an interview, and thought, “Yeh, that’s okay – why should he be scrutinsed in the same way that every other party leader has done? He’s just our Prime Minister, he doesn’t need to be held accountable. Leave him alone, he has funny hair!”
You ignored that he shrugged off the televised Leader’s Climate Conference, which he failed to attend, but sent his Dad instead, thinking that was an entirely reasonable thing to do. Oh, and rubber faced gimp mask Frodo Michael Gove, like that’s any better.
You ignored the allegations of improper conduct in public office with a lapdancer business woman.
You ignored the allegations of spousal abuse.
You ignored the lies about the number of hospitals he says he’ll build.
You ignored the lies about the number of additonal nurses that would fill them.
You ignored him not even knowing – or at least being prepared to admit, or even discuss – how many children he has.
You ignored him giving the “cut” signal to a semi-hostile radio interviewer asking a difficult question, forgetting it was also being filmed.
You ignored him wrestling a mobile phone from a journalist, pocketing it because it was showing a photograph of a child laying on coats in a hospital in Leeds.
You ignored his part in the Vote Leave law-breaking.
You ignored that bus.
You ignored the tossed-off-the-cuff racism and homophobia.
You ignored him blundering into the Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe affair and getting her sentence increased.
You ignored him hiding in a fridge, for fuck sake.
Did I miss anything? Probably. It’s a really long list.
And You thought: this man, he, who has been at the heart of Conservative politics for many years, their champion, who has with relentless relish sought out every dogturd, stepped in it and then waved it in our faces, this proven liar, full of bullshit and bluster, he is the man to lead us.
Well done You.
Do You remember when we laughed about how stupid Americans must be to vote in Trump? Something like that couldn’t happen here, could it. You said.
Except it just has.
So many people I know – my family, my friends, me – have had to rely on our wonderful NHS recently. I literally would not be here were it not for them. And they gave me almost 15 years with my now passed best friend, 15 years I will always cherish and be thankful for.
You saw the NHS on its knees, crying out for help, and You said: I like the bloke with the funny hair that knows some Latin.
And we all know what is likely to happen to the NHS now. Don’t pretend You don’t.
You had documents proving the NHS is up for sale in post-Brexit negotiations waved in Your face. You had Trump admitting it (and then denying it, but let’s not get into his consistency issues). And You ignored it.
I hope you and your families never get ill and need to rely on our beautiful NHS.
I hope none of them ever have to visit a food bank.
Sloganslogansloganbullshitbullshitbullshit.
Swallow.
But of course, I can’t look away from Labour’s leadership either.
For had there been a credible alternative, I don’t think Johnson would be where he is this morning.
I’ve written about them here before; initially in glowing terms (though with a caveat: I made reference way back when he got elected as Party Leader that Corbyn could be as disasterous as Michael Foot – and so it has proved, only more so) and more recently relinquished my support for him.
Me? I’m doing (kinda) okay, but I work in the public sector, and I’ve seen jobs and budgets chipped away, jobs amalgamated, people let go. I saw a friend be told he had to take a (significant) pay cut to continue his work – do the same, but for less, or be off – and so he had to leave.
It might be me next. Nothing I can do it about it if it is. I’ll join the three-year waiting list for a council house, no bother.
It’s austerity, see? Cuts need to be made.
Meanwhile, here’s a £billion for the DUP to buy their compliance. Here’s £140m on an advertising campaign for a No Deal Brexit which hasn’t happened (yet).
But can we spend some money putting proper cladding on a tower block so that our brothers and sisters from ethnic minorities and/or poor people don’t burn to death? Or compensate the families of those who did? Of course not. Too busy deporting them in the Windrush scandal.
I’m angry.
I’m angry I fell for Corbyn, back then.
I’m angry I saw the light (too) late.
I’m angry that the people who so desperately needed a lift will have another five years under the heel.
Because that’s what voting Tory is: a flagrant disregard for others. “I’m Alright Jack”, and sod the rest of you.
But one day, trust me, You will be angry too. You probably already have been, but didn’t realise it.
I voted Labour yesterday, but I didn’t vote for Corbyn. I voted Not Tory.
We’ve all known for a long time that this election was going to be a maelstrom of messed-up; the unreliable versus the unelectable.
Because that’s what Corbyn is. Unelectable. No more questions. No more doubt. No more debate. Get rid.
Had there been a better Leader of the Labour Party – Phillips, Starmer, Thornberry – last night would not have happened.
This day has been coming for a long time. It’s just such a shame it happened at exactly the point where the country most needed the opposite.
I had a lot of fun doing the sweary edition of Friday Night Music Club last week, so much so that, devoid of anything approaching an original idea, I thought I’d simply repeat the same trick tonight. If it works for the Quo, then why can’t it work for me?
So – be careful where you read this or listen to tonight’s post, for it is definitely NSFW, as I believe they say in some of the slightly bluer areas of the internet which I have definitely never visited and have only heard about, honest Officer.
But we’ll take it gently for a start. Well, gentle sounding anyway.
Darren Hayman is perhaps best known as the main man from Hefner, who gained a whole lot of airplay and blog-inches a couple of years ago because of their track “The Day Thatcher Dies”. Just as Prince wrote “1999”, Jarvis wrote “Disco 2000” and whoever it was that used to write Robbie Williams’ songs wrote “Millenium” all played the long-game and wrote singles about, end of the world excepted, fixed points in time in the future that would definitely happen (and their record would be played) so Hayman knew his ker-ching day would come soon enough.
But I’m not posting that song. I’m posting this rather lovely sounding track from his “January Songs” album, featuring Elizabeth Morris from indie-pop darlings and inverted comma users nightmare “Allo’ Darlin'”:
Keeping it in a similar vein, here’s Jenny Owen Youngs from her debut album “Batten the Hatches”, which implies a pending storm, whirlwind, or hurricane, and is, I’m sure you’ll agree once you hear this, rather mistitled:
Now it’s not often you get a song with a four word title where three of the four words are swears. But here’s one from a rather unlikely source: daughter of Canadian American folk rock singer/songwriter Loudon Wainwright III (who older readers might recall used to have a guest slot on one of Jasper Carrott’s TV shows in the 1970s/1980s), daughter of folk legend Kate McGarrigle and brother of Rufus, here’s Martha Wainwright at her potty-mouthed best:
This gives me an excellent excuse to post the time that she appeared as a panellist on “Never Mind The Buzzcocks” where she met the man with both the mind and the cock of a horse, Dappy, and…well, let’s just say it’s a little awkward (head to 11:24 of the clip):
Moving on, a song which surely needs no introduction:
Two memories from this: firstly, of the time the video appeared on Beavis and Butthead which rather annoyingly has been blocked on that there YouTube, but which I’ve managed to track down here. Actually, make that three memories, as watching that has just brought back lots of dial-up experiences of “buffering” (it works better the second time you try to watch it, honest). “If they didn’t have a part of the song that sucked, then the rest of the song wouldn’t be as cool.” Genius.
Secondly, or thirdly depending how you want to look at it, I was working in a video shop in Cardiff in the early 1990s when this came out, and I had, you’ll be totally unsurprised to hear, prepared a load of mix-tapes to play in store, one of which included this, but the clean, radio-friendly version. One of the chaps who worked in the store with me was unaware of this, and was at the front of the shop one evening helping someone pick a movie, when he heard the opening bars of this come on and thought to himself “There’s a very good reason why this should not get played in the store” but couldn’t quite remember what that reason was. The penny dropped just as it got to the bit where chainsaw guitars get cranked up (the cool bit), and he ran the length of the shop, vaulted over the counter, crashed into the bank of TVs and slid down to where the tape player was, just in time of the sanitised “…so very special…” came through the speakers.
Anyway, Radiohead recorded a clean version of “Creep” to ensure it finally got airplay, but there’s another way to ensure you get a single with a swear word on it played: have just one swear word, sung once, right at the end, when radio DJs are concentrating more on what they’re going to say next than on what is being played.
Step up to the mic Michael Stipe and his R.E.M. chums for this, the lead single and opening track from their 1994 “Monster” album. The final departing lyrical salvo, in case you don’t quite catch it, is “Don’t fuck with me”:
A short non-musical interlude now. The relationship between Black Francis and Kim Deal of Pixies fame was notoriously fractious, and nowhere was that better illustrated than with this sound-clip which features as a track on the glorious “Surfer Rosa” album.
Moving on, I mentioned Jarvis Cocker earlier, so here’s something from his second solo album, “Further Complications” where Jarvis goes down the R.E.M. route of steadfastly not swearing until right at the end, but kind of misses the point by a) putting the offending word in the title, and b) not actually releasing it as a single anyway so it didn’t really matter:
Now: a band I adore, who John Peel loved, who are vastly under-rated, have never achieved anything like the commercial success they deserve, and have produced a whole host of songs which will unquestionably feature in my “Name That Tune” thread. I speak, of course, of none other than Half Man Half Biscuit, and this features as one of three songs on the “Dickie Davies Eyes” EP:
And in case you were wondering who Dean Friedman is:
Dean is the one playing the piano. Quite the dish, eh ladies?
If you think Half Man Half Biscuit have a daft name, then you’ll probably not be much of a fan of Pop Will Eat Itself’s name either, but that’s where we’re heading next, so tough titties. No swears in the title this time, but if you ever want to hear two former crusties/UK sampling pioneers from the Black Country bellowing the word “Motherfuckers!” then this is your go-to record:
And since we seem to have strayed into kinda dancey territory, here’s some pure filth courtesy of John Creamer, a name which always makes me giggle like a naughty schoolboy, same as when anyone ever mentions the band “Tool”. We’re back in Beavis and Butthead territory I’m afraid, or more specifically, this chap:
Anyway, I digress. The next song is without doubt the filthiest thing I will be posting tonight, so please do not listen if you are under 18, easily offended, or sitting at your desk at work:
There was a trend on club records about 10 – 12 years ago or so – probably still is for all I know, it’s that long since I’ve been to one – for the vocal part to just be just a deep voiced bloke spouting all sorts of sauciness. There is one in particular that I’d love to track down, which I won’t bore you with here, but if you know someone who really knows their dance tunes that fit that vague description, I’d really appreciate it if they got in touch.
Public service request dispensed with, here’s someone neither you nor I ever expected to pop up here:
No wait, come back! This is lifted from her 2015 album where she collaborated with The Flaming Lips, and you can spot their wonderfully weird influence all over this. Plus, it’s only 50 seconds long so…y’know…suck it up and give it a go.
Time for a classic. This next song was the first ever song to get into the UK Top 40 that had the word “Fuck” in the title. The BBC banned it, of course; when they simply had to refer to it, they did so as “Too Drunk To…” and Top 40 host Tony Blackburn, who the BBC also banned from their airwaves last week just said it was a “a record by a group calling themselves The Dead Kennedys”. It is, of course:
Which reminds me, I must watch the movie sometime.
Anyway, thank goodness for Adam Buxton’s cleaned up version:
Some of you may recognise the driver as Kerry Godliman, perhaps best known as playing Hannah in the Ricky Gervais comedy “Derek”, but a fantastic stand-up in her own right:
Back to the music, and a band much loved by Super Furry Animals, who they sampled on their indie-club classic “The Man Don’t Give a Fuck” single, the sample being lifted from this very song:
Personally, I’m not all that fussed about that; I find myself not really paying attention until it gets to the bit that SFA sampled, at which point I suddenly perk up and start listening again.
On to a band whose debut eponymous album I was introduced to at college by a friend ringing me up, saying “You have to hear this” and playing this track down the phone to me:
This is one of my favourite albums ever, all killer no filler, but most people only seem to know “Blister in the Sun”, the opening song from the album. For me, though, “Add It Up” is the best thing on there, partly because of that phone call, but mostly, if I’m honest, because it pretty much describes my life at the time. And a disappointingly large amount of it afterwards too, now I think about it.
Which makes the next song title rather apt. The B-side to their wonderful and without peer 7″ single “What Do I Get?” – which we used to do a cover of in the band I was in at college:
Penultimately, a song by a group – no, by two groups – no, by a super-group that I waxed lyrical about after seeing them at Glastonbury last year. The amalgamation of Franz Ferdinand and Sparks into FFS:
And finally a song by an artiste/band that I own only this by, and even this I only own on “Sharks Patrol These Waters”, a CD featuring the best of those “Volume” compilations that came out in the 1990s (you remember them – they always came with a quite meaty book which talked about all of the acts contained therein and without fail had a picture of tropical fish on the cover)
All I can tell you about them (him?) is that they (he?) released one album in 1997 called “Don’t Take Ecstacy” which sounds like a terrible idea to me, and probably explains why I never bought anything else by them (him?)
A History of Dubious Taste 