Alternative titles:
- Bathroom 51
- X Flies
- Kinkiest threesome ever
- "Honey, are you sure the child is mine?"
I struggled getting started writing this week's 90MM because I don't actually have the vocabulary to describe The KLF.
I started off trying to write something comparing them to that scene in [insert name of practically any teen movie here] in which the cool kids are pretending to agree with the uncool kid but actually they're just taking the piss out of them - but that didn't quite work.
Then, worrying that I was revealing a bit too much of my not-so-secret enjoyment of trashy teen movies, I thought about Marcel Duchamps and his dubbing of a urinal 'art' and what it meant when one of the leading lights of art starts, if not rejecting the concepts but at least examining the more self-evident absurdities.
Then I started off on a tract about style-vs-fashion and how some people are able to make whatever they do look good no matter what.
What it comes down to though is that Bill Drummond and Jimmy Cauty in their incarnations as The KLF, The Kopyright Liberation Front/Kings of the Low Frequencies, The Jams, the Justified Ancients of Mummu, The Timelords, The K Foundation, One World Orchestra, 2K etc etc managed to simultaneously mock the whole music and art industry whilst also changing the entire face of the industry and putting out storming, anthemic tracks like this
and this
They practically invented the modern bootleg with "Whitney Joins The JAMs" whcih mashed "Mission: Impossible" samples with Whitney Houstons "I wanna dance with somebody". Then, as The Timelords they deliberately wrote a nauseatingly catchy "lowest common denominator, something that Timmy Mallet would understand" song which took samples from Doctor Who and crashed them into Garry Glitter's "Rock and Roll (Part 2)" and The Sweet's "Blockbuster!" with the explicit intention of getting a number 1 single. Which they did with "Doctorin The Tardis". Then they wrote a book called "The Manual (How to have a number 1 the easy way)" which told you how they did it and gave the guarantee that if you followed the book to the letter and didn't get a number 1 they'd refund the cost of the book.
They 'retired' in the most spectacular form possible - at the 1992 Brit Awards they performed a live "violently antagonistic performance" of "3 A.M Eternal" in front of "a stunned music-business audience" with crust punk group Etreme Noise Terror. Prevented from throwing buckets of Sheep entrails over the audience a bekilted Bill Drummond theatrically limped on stage and fired blanks from a machine gun into the air
After which they burnt their last million pounds on the Isle of Jura and filmed it.
Every time someone tries to tell you that Green Day or Limp Bizkit or Sum 41 or god-forbid Avril Lavigne are punk I want you to think of this. I'm not saying that their music is bad necessarily I'm just saying that if some one tries to straight faced tell you that those or similar artists are "punk" then I want you to cock slap them. I want you to physically either punch them in the penile or vaginal area and/or lay about their face with your penis or other similarly degrading appendage - work with what both you and they have people. Get creative. Make sure they REALLY TRULY understand.
Because it's important.
Except when it's not.
Where I work, we're engaged with guiding low-income families through the nation's blighted education system. As you might expect, we often toe the line between cooperation and condescension. And this morning I caught myself in a quietly awkward situation. In quoting a parent we work with, I considered writing "[sic]" three times — in just three sentences. No one was around to witness it, but my shame was thick and immediate.
Don't get me wrong, I know I'm luckier than most. I pass homeless men and women wherever I go in this city, and I've faced no adversity worse than my parents' divorce. But I don't like to see myself as above or better than anyone else. When I volunteer at a local SRO in the Tenderloin, I see the occupants as just people without enough family or education to work through their broken psychology. I'd probably be right there with them, if not for my sisters and a high school diploma. My inclination to skirt the blame of grammatical errors, though, was different. I truly felt uncomfortable publishing a double negative without calling attention to it as not my mistake. And once I realized what I was thinking, it was like suddenly noticing just how far away the ground is from the saddle of this horse.
Perhaps there is no such thing as equality. We strive for it, we fight wars for it, but even a bleeding heart like me can't achieve it.
I enjoyed this more than I thought I would...and I really enjoyed the last third as all of the seemingly disconnected bits came together. I haven't read a book this strongly about "identity" since the Auster binge I went on about 15 years ago. (Speaking of which, his new book is next up in the queue...)
House music has always veered between having a sense of humour about itself and being thoroughly up its own arse. Tracks have trodden the very thin line between novelty, kitsch and playfulness - witness the differences between The Prodigy's "Charlie" (which, even at 180bpm, sounds twice as slow now as it did in my head at the time), Urban Hype's "Trip To Trumpton" and plummeting to new depths with Doctor Spin's "Tetris".
Set against this backdrop was N-Trance who are an odd datum on the arc of early to mid nineties techno. Their first demo was an (unreleased?) rave version of the theme tune to kids' tv program "Roobarb and Custard" but in '92 they put out "Set You Free" - a genuine, euphoric, hands in air rave anthem.
and then the slightly less goofy (but only just) with their take on Rod Stewart's "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?"
But more on that next week ...
Also: by date myself I mean - "give clues as to my age" not "pick myself up, take myself out to dinner and then hence to watch a movie before attempting to indulge in a little light self-frottaging and then ending the evening early because I have a headache and I have to get up early and telling myself that I really like me but I'm not really in a relationship place right now"
Gosh, I'm glad we got that cleared up.
Apparently #musicmonday is a trending topic on the Twitters - bunch of bloody Johnny Come Latelys. Some of us have been here every Monday morning (for various definitions of 'every', 'monday' and 'morning'), mining the rich vein of at-least-a-decade-old music for nuggets and gems to present you with. Although I'll concede that it may be closer to a family cat, possibly elderly and constantly smelling faintly of urine, 'presenting' you with a the mutilated carcass of a songbird than to a lover presenting you with a platter of the finest silks, gems and perfumes purchasable.
Either way - I forge on, secure in the knowledge that I'll be here long after those young whipper snappers have got tired and moved on to new things.
Anyway - my American friends will be blissfully unaware that for British soap operas are completely unlike their Yankee brethren. For a start there are no impossibly glamorous people or complicated plots involving hitherto unknown twin siblings, murders and lengthy comas. Or vampires. No British soaps, such as "East Enders" are mostly populated by grim, ugly people living grim, ugly lives in grim, ugly surroundings. See this comparison for example:
Anyway, when we want to import a little glamour we instead turned to two Australian soaps - "Neighbours" (24 years old this year) and "Home and Away" (22 years old this year). I mean, when I say glamour it's still no "Stairwells of Time" they're are still set in mundane locations - a Melbourne suburb and small, coastal town near Sydney respectively - after all, and the people them selves are pretty ordinary.
But they boast a startlingly accomplished and wide spread alumni amongst the cast. Probably the most famous, is of course, Ms Kylie Minogue, now so famous that her surname has withered and dropped off with disuse, like an unused appendix. Kylie played tomboyish greasemonkey Charlene Ramsey in Neighbours
Which is, to say, you probably didn't realise it but there are Australians everywhere. Do you really know your friends and neighbours? Do they ever casually "chuck" a "shrimp" on the "barbie"? Do you ever see them with faint traces on zinc on their noses? These and more may be an indication that you have an Australian infestation. You have been warned.
Anyway - so on to the main point of this increasingly rambling and incoherent post. 90s music. And Australians. Who were in soap operas.
Oh, look it's adorable elfin faced pixie Natalie Imbrugliagaliagala looking all quirky and alternative
Christ, bet you'd never thought you'd find a musical blog which mentioned Natalie Imbruglalalaiglia and Wolfsheim in the same post.
Anyway, somewhat little known fact - Ms Imbruglaglaglala didn't write (and by 'write' I mean, 'was given the song by one of the 5 pop composer supremos who secretely write about 90% of stuff that's in the charts these days') "Torn" it was originally a 1991 track by a Swedish band called Ednaswap
which was then covered by Danish singer Lis Sørensen as "Burnt" in 1993 (in Danish - listen to it, it will mildly freak you out)
Of course the best version ever done was Johann Lippowitz's mime version
Placebo are one of those bands that I always feel oddly guilty about enjoying which is odd because "Nancy Boy" is damn fine blistering 3 minute pop song which lovely crunchy guitars and a thumping bass line. I mean the video's a little bit "Art school student gets his 'alternative' friends together and then gets a bit enthusiastic with the Inferno effects plugins" but I never seem to get tired of listening to the song itself
As a bonus track - not strictly 90s but I really like the Placebo cover of Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill" which Q magazine memorably described as "sound[ing] more like a 'pact with the Devil' than the original 'deal with God'"
even if the video is like a better dressed emo version of Feeder's "Just A Day" (which for some reason I can't help watching every time it comes on)
Hmm - no nerdy music factoids so far. Errm. Ok - the reason why drummer Steve Hewitt is blurred out in the Nancy Boy video is because he was still contractually obliged to a band on another label at the time.
