it's my party

more acts have just been added to the line-up for April's ATP festival. so far it's looking far too entertaining - pj harvey, lydia lunch, peaches, suicide...

but isn't atp meant to be earnest, worthy, boring and confusing (as in 'what???')? the highlight of last year (weeekend 1, not the 'ladies' day') was the 24-hour Queen vic pub which saw proper indie discos hook up after the bands unplugged. that's what it's all about.

all sexed down

oh david sexton, one day we will meet and you can tell me ALL about it. no one can be this BITTER, this JOYLESS, this DEFEATIST and ELITIST - i hope. i pick up your newspaper with a wry smile every monday, knowing that once the rest of the news is through and laura craik's had her say on what to wear this week, i still have you to look forward to. monday 14th june west end final page 69. your look says 'yes, you would think so, wouldn't you', not scowling or serious, you sigh across the arts. a sigh that wheezes, 'this is as good as it gets, readers.' although you would never address your readers so directly. i mean, you probably find this terribly crass, don't you?

your best piece last year (ever) was on jessica, the original and prolific bookslut. why? because by covering the literary blogger you hinted that publishing has a future. that books have a place in this world beyond amazon. this singular interview; enthusiastic, optimistic and inspiring (YES, YES you can be ALL THESE THINGS david), won me over (hear my cliches, how you disapprove!).

for me, the future of literary journalism, if there is to be one, must be manifested in a progression beyond the traditional review/interview format. in today's paper a boxed review of Nick Hornby's The Polysyllabic Spree is highlighted on the front page of the arts section. fine. i think. Hornby - native londoner, already overexposed and growing complacent, as his last bloated work demonstrated, but ok, i see what you've done here. the paperback is published by an imprint of the ambitious and earnest young new york journal the believer, edited by vendela vida. how did you describe it, david? '... a division of McSweeney's, the publishing enterprise that believes if you can't say anything nice about books, say nothing at all.' i know you only reviewed Hornby to get this 'dig' in. McSweeney's/McSmug - whatever.

the book world is small. small enough for our paths to cross sooner or later. until next week.

footsie

finding their feet

back in 2004 IDM's original boy band, the Wheels Instead of Hooves collective rolled dejectedly into early retirement. on the cusp of a mid-20-something wilderness of party debts and mcjobs, it looked as though the end was nigh - they'd run out of ideas, patience, and - perhaps most crucially - decent talent to showcase.

now, just three years after the boistrous absurdity of their london debut, they're making a comeback, first in NYC, then in March at their Islington townhouse, Elektrowerkz.

me and my band - march 2002

redwood lustre shimmer

I glance across the rows non-committedly. Hmmm. Too many to choose from.
'Can I help you?'
'Er, yes. I'm looking for some red lipstick. Not really red. Well, dark red.'
'Do you want a sheer look or a matt? We have several...'
She selects a tube of waxy camouflage from the rows stacked like Battleship pins.
I've already made a decision based on an assesment of the price list. I am going to buy something. Anything. Berry Boost. Lady Danger.

...

the first thing i did was reach for something on my bookshelf. nancy pearl's book lust for the neatness of its lists and categories and geoffrey grigson's faber anthology of love poems for some attempt at vicarious articulation. which failed, obivously.

broadcast as you please

I got into journalism because no other industry would have taken me. I don't know why I'm really doing this and still don't know what I want to do 'for a living'. My talents include taking the piss, writing and not caring. I guess that makes me an ideal worker for the media.

I bungled my English A-level first time around and had to go to Cardiff, which was my insurance offer. This upset me. As I am arrogant I refused to accept I would not be going to London, I re-took the exams I fucked up and passed them. I got an offer to UCL and went there.

I was thrilled to to be living on Gower Street in Bloomsbury and walking in front of the famous dome in WC1. It was amazing to think I was the 'best of the best' - the top few per cent. It fuelled my ego and sent me into a spiral of self love.

Sadly a prolonged bout of mental ilness dented my joy. That period is ongoing.

I got a job at a provincial news agency. This means I do jobs for national papers such as knock on people's door's when their kids dies, or go to the scene of serious accidents. Or speak with corners. Which is nice. I don't give a fuck about anyone I write about. I don't care about their families, if they have died, their kids have died or if anyone has died, including possibly my family (although I've yet to properly test this out.) I pretened to be upset when my grandparents died - that's not bravado or bragging by the way. Please try and believe me.

I didn't pay for university as I was too poor but left with massive debts. My inheritance from the death of my grandparents cleared some of it but there's still a five-figure sum, which is nice.

My job is getting me where I want to be. Where that is is respect and money.

Totally and truly, without and hint of irony whatsover, I can really say that I don't give a fuck about anyone but myself. I have pangs of 'stuff' but I just don't give a rat's arse.

This is an entirely pointless confession.

by 'Budding Journo' december 2004

the ordinary world

Came in from a rainy Thursday
On the avenue
Thought I heard you talking softly

I turned on the lights, the TV
And the radio
Still I can't escape the ghost of you

What has happened to it all?
Crazy, some are saying
Where is the life that I recognize?
Gone away

But I won't cry for yesterday
There's an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive

Passion or coincidence
Once prompted you to say
"Pride will tear us both apart"
Well now pride's gone out the window
Cross the rooftops
Run away
Left me in the vacuum of my heart

What is happening to me?
Crazy, some'd say
Where is my friend when I need you most?
Gone away

But I won't cry for yesterday
There's an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive

Papers in the roadside
Tell of suffering and greed
Here today, forgot tomorrow
Ooh, here besides the news
Of holy war and holy need
Ours is just a little sorrow
It's all gone away

And I don't cry for yesterday
There's an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive

Every one
Is my world, I will learn to survive
Any one
Is my world, I will learn to survive
Any one
Is my world
Every one
Is my world

interpretation

according to one of the belated obituaries of susan sontag last weekend, she was someone who made 'seeeing every film worth seeing and reading every book worth reading sexy'. sounds like a way to live your life...