“Oh Damien, your music touches me so" (Some chick magazine)
“It makes me feel, not listen… feel†(Jo wiley. Radio 1. Possibly)
“The finest talent of his generation†(Woolworths’ Hit 40 store display)
Fans love to say this type of guff about Damien Rice. I hope he actually gets to hear some of it before he disappears up his own arse.
Victoria ‘Posh’ Beckham has delivered once again, not another excruciatingly bad pop song, but another boy to add to the Beckham family. Victoria seems to have taken it upon herself to pursue a career in producing babies instead of attempting to resurrect her singing career. Good move.
Britain - let’s face it - is not great at very much. Where once we could hold our heads high and say that this was the birthplace of Darwin, Dickins and Churchill, who do we have for heroes now? Ellen MacArthur, a woman who can sail right round the world, all by herself, but still manages to appear less interesting than Steve Ryder? Or Paula Radcliffe, a woman who actually admits to shitting in her knickers during marathons and other race events?
More indescribable toilet fodder heading our way from the techno pillock of pop, aka Moby, who has released ‘Lift Me Up’, forgetting to add (and hurl me far, far away).
Not to go so far as supporting the similarly bland and fading Eminem, but people really do not, must not, listen to techno anymore. Except Moby insists on continuing to make it.
The soggy earwaxed-to-the-max gene of music refuses to die, thanks principally to uninspired advertising executives using Moby’s damn tunes on their latest promos for high street banking or whatever.
Moby is someone who should have taken an overdose a long time ago. Quite what it takes to convince this man his banal placid pop is unwanted is beyond contemplation.
His latest cry for help ‘Lift Me Up’ (even Halliwell has the decency to keep disappearing under her rock) is due out on 28th February. Buy it and burn it. It’ll make you feel better.
Stoking the fires of hated can only do good for things for Moby. He might get all riled up and have a pop at the deliriously overcompensating Eminem. Please Moby, please. And start eating meat dammit.
Moby’s album ‘Hotel’ is out on 14th March. With any luck he’ll be promoting it at the Virgin Megastore. If you get a clear shot, take it…
There now follows a hecklerspray public warning. If you’re a regular cinema-goer, you’ll know the feeling - having to watch the same godforsaken adverts over and over as they play out their two-month stretch. Remember that BMV promo, directed by Tony Scott and ’starring’ walking charisma bypass Clive Owen? Remember thinking: this is about as bad as it gets…
Sorry, folks. The bottom of the barrel is still being scraped. Shampoo saleswoman Beyonce, professional arse-wobbler Jennifer Lopez and ball-kicking village genius David Beckham are obviously all a bit short of cash. That’s why they’ve clubbed together and made a Pepsi Commercial …
Oh, but don’t despair! This isn’t some lame Fanta beach-party affair. This is a far classier, ‘noirish’, two-minute mini-movie set in Hong Kong and featuring kung-fu fights, motorcycles and seedy underworld clubs.
Beyonce even claims that the advert ‘looks great’, while Beckham describes it as ‘incredible‘. Would they lie to us? Those two?
So put your worries aside. You won’t be vomiting up your popcorn after all. That’s because - as soon as this starts showing - you’ll probably be avoiding the cinema like a Michael Barrymore Pool Party.
There’s misguided. There’s very misguided. There’s ‘let’s liberate Iraq’ misguided. And then there’s this. Anyone with cherished childhood memories might want to look away now, for Bugs Bunny has had a makeover, and it ain’t pretty…
Loonish rapping cowboy Kid Rock has been arrested on assault charges after an altercation with a strip club DJ. He allegedly punched resident spinner Jerry Campos twice inside the disc jockey booth at 2:50 am on Friday morning.
Seeking a novel way of looking like an idiot? Tired of being respected and taken seriously? Sick to the back teeth of ‘dignity’ dragging down your ’self-respect’? Well, lucky, lucky, lucky you. The NME is here to save your soul…
Well. it looks nice. Infact, it looks great - all shimmering sepia tones and grainy Nineteen-Forties loveliness. But that’s hardly the point. A steaming plate of rat poison pies may look nice with a little garnish sprinkled here and there. It still wouldn’t be very advisable to eat them.
Little things, it transpires, make a difference. Plot, character, cohesive narrative structure … ever notice how films generally held up as being ‘good’ seem to take these novel concepts on board? Funny, that.
The greatest trick the devil ever played was convincing the world that he doesn’t exist. So said someone who has never seen a piece of musical theatre.
Everyone else who has been dragged to see a show - probably by their partner - knows full well the devil doesn’t just exist, but is making a healthy income selling Cats T-shirts in the foyer…
