Tiny Dan investigates Super-Posh Rufus’s mind #2

Back in January I launched the quiz which abjectly failed to set the internet ablaze.

And now it’s back! I, Tiny Dan, with my limited height and ropey command of English will present to you some lyrics from popular music rewritten, as I imagine, by the mind of Super-Posh Rufus.

Rufus quite rightly pointed out to me that the last attempt was rather more like Viz legend Mr Logic with words simply substituted for other words – so, this time, I’ve tried to genuinely ‘Posh It Up’. Once-listeners to the Steve Show, imagine S-P Rufus reading these lyrical conundrums to you.

Also, last time, the quiz was frankly far too easy – especially since I’d suggested the winner might win a million quid. So, this time I think it’s tougher.

The prize is either a mention in the comments section at the bottom of this page, or a Tropical Ireland. Yes, that’s right, a Tropical Ireland. Because I’m a bit drunk, I’ve typed it wrong. But I’ll stick with it – a Tropical Ireland. So, get this right and you might win the country of Ireland which I will then tow towards the equator for the favourable climate contained therein*.

Same rules as before. Here follows four song lyrics rendered in Super-Posh language. If you can return them to their original state, tell me about it, using the form at the bottom of the page.

UPDATE 12-03-10 – this exciting internet-inferno-ising competition is now closed. Answers below.

Super-Posh Lyric #1 – Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car by William “Billy” Ocean
I say! (I say!) You! (You!) You there! Young lady! Young lady! I say! Young lady! I say!
(Hey! (Hey!) You! (You!))
Are you referring to my own person?
(Who me?)
I am! Indubitably! Enter my motorised vehicle immediately – and without delay.
(Yes you! Get into my car)
Woo! Wah! Affirmative!
(Woo! Wah! Yeah!)

Super-Posh Lyric #2 – Pull Up To The Bumper by Graceford “Grace” Jones
Perambulating around this urban environment
(Driving down those city streets)
Currently in abeyance ahead of future cavorting
(Waiting to get down)
Would you be awfully kind and produce your hulking apparatus?
(Won’t you get your big machine?)
Which is, I believe, located with this conurbation?
(Somewhere in this town)

Super Posh Lyric #3 – Because I Got High by Alfred “Afroman” Moorthwaite
It was my intention to engage in conjugal relations with you – but I became intoxicated
(I was gonna make love to you but then I got high)
I fully intended to devour your kitten as well – but, regretfully, I entered a state of inebriation
(I was gonna eat yo pussy too – but then I got high)
At this moment, I am currently involved in an act of onanism, and I am fully aware of how this situation came to pass
(Now I’m jacking off and I know why)
It came to pass because I became delirious on a form of either Colombian, Jamaican, Maui or Panamanian wowie and I fear it caused some kind of freak out
(Because I got high, because I got high, because I got high)

Super-Posh Lyric #4 – Peaches by The Stranglers
I have obtained from somewhere (precisely whencetofore, I am regretfully unsure) young lady, the idea that you are in possession of a chemical unguent which will enable me to filter harmful UV rays – and that said embrocation is currently situated within the carafe which is currently about you
(Well I got the notion girl that you got some suntan lotion in that bottle of yours)
Would you be so kind as to extend and proliferate some of the aforementioned liniment upon my desquamating epidermis?
(Spread it all over my peeling skin baby)
Ah, that is a most satisfactory sensation
(That feels real good)
Goodness. A preponderance of doxies appear to be revelling in the brilliance of the day
(All this skirt – lapping up the sun)
Make whoopee with me, I implore!
(Lap me up)
What good reason can there be for not engaging with this?
Go on a spree with my own self!
(Why don’t you come on and lap me up?)

(* Please note, the prize will be either a Tropical Ireland, as described above, or a mention in the space below this article on the page. I’ll decide on the day, but given the logistics of moving an entire country half-way around the globe, it’s likely to be the mention, to be fair)
~(Addition 12-03-10 – yup, it was the mention)~

Songs Steve never let me play #4

No one would have believed in the early years of the 21st century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences far weaker than those of most people.

But they were – on Sunday afternoons, by a little-loved posse on obscure digital radio station 6Music hoping for something in the news they could take a sideways glance at in order to please celebrity show overlord Stephen Merchant.

I, dear reader, I, Tiny Dan, was the most unpopular of that posse. Yet despite the vitriol, the protests and the car bombs sent my way it was my dream job – because I got to occasionally play one record during the show (which I couldn’t always attend owing to other work commitments).

Steve was famously stern about what was and what wasn’t acceptable, but I always thought his need for things like ‘melody’ and ‘meaning’ were foolish.

After all, what use is pop music if it can’t occasionally be overblown, pretentious, nonsensical and brilliant.

Jeff Wayne’s Musical Version of War of the Worlds is all of these.

It’s a stupid concept. A prog-rock influenced take on a Victorian novel imagining an attack by Martians. Him off of The Moody Blues is involved. David Essex too. Phil Lynott. Richard Burton. Richard fricking Burton! Seriously, if the album wasn’t so well-known, you’d assume I’d used a random name generator to help me make this up.

The final work is utterly, insanely, gloriously, wonderfully over the top. I’d not heard it since the days my dad’s vinyl copy was on heavy rotation on the family Tiny Dan turntable (yes, I used to sit on it, like it was all some kind of dang playground roundabout).

I’ve since digitally downloaded it and was struck by how J.Wayne absolutely goes for it. Twelve-minute D. Essex track with military electronic percussion? Check (Brave New World). Tear-jerking bona fide hit for ex Moody Blue? Check (Forever Autumn). Staggeringly brilliant opener with orchestral riff to die for? Check (The Eve of the War).

Sure, he must have got a bit lucky. I’ve no idea how he got R.Burton on board, but the many-wived Welshman could invest a Chicken Cottage takeaway menu with gravitas, if he recited it. He also gets some magnificent yelping from P.Lynott and he must have rustled up an extraordinary synthesizer budget from somewhere.

That last one brings me to this particular track (at last – word count Ed). As well as being bonkers, JWMVOWOTW is undeniably influential.

And The Red Weed is as beautiful and unsettling a piece of electronica as you’ll have heard before or since.

There’s a genuine strangeness to it – an unearthliness if you will (Nice – Martian-themed puns Ed) – perfect given the context of the tune (at the point in the story where Martian ‘red weed’ begins to take over the English countryside).

I’m not aware of any subtext, any hidden meanings here. Just a spooky refrain aurally illustrating an imagined spooky view. And weirdly lovely with it.

* Tiny Dan postscript – fans of live performances of crazy prog-rockish concept albums based on Victorian novels might like to know that they’re still doing this thing live. Sadly, they’ve brought in an Atomic Kitten and a Neighbours. Him off the Moody Blues is still there mind, while Richard Burton has been replaced by, er, an 11-foot hologram of Richard Burton.

Have you ever been replaced by an 11-foot hologram of Richard Burton? Maybe you were obliterated by a martian heat-ray in the late 19th Century? Or perhaps you led a hostile invasion of another world and set about exterminating the dominant race before falling foul of the new world’s tiny bacteria. D’oh! Tell me about it. Go on. Dare you.

Tiny Dan investigates Super-Posh Rufus’s mind

It was a wise, prescient man who once wrote: “January is a bleak, depressing month, brightened only by the occasional snowball fight and the fact there are no wasps.”

Well, as an antidote to this rubbish one-twelfth of the year, here’s a fun activity which will help you pass up to and including five minutes of the month.

Last year, before I lost my dream job of occasionally appearing as an unpopular fourth member of a little-loved posse which made comments in the background on a Sunday afternoon radio show on a DAB station hosted by Stephen Merchant off of the telly, I forged an unlikely friendship with the far-more likeable Super-Posh Rufus.

It was an unusual bond, certainly. There I was, an open-mouthed bumpkin with straw in my ears, alongside the urbane, witty actor. I’m pretty sure I was little more than a Pygmalion-type experiment for him, or maybe a bet, like Eddie Murphy was to Ralph Bellamy in Trading Places. In any event, we had a few laughs.

And I took to wondering: What would today’s slang-filled, superficial pop lyrics sound like to his super-refined ears?

To that end, I built a massive supercomputer, which could translate said lyrics into the language of ‘Super-Posh’.

Here, I present four well-known lyrics after they have been fed through the translator. Your task is to translate them back into the original English. I’ll smash up the actual answers here on Monday.

Post your answers below, and I’ll give the winner either a million pounds or a short sentence explaining why they won (it’s a 50/50 chance, I’ll choose on the day).

UPDATE 18/01/10 – This competition has now closed, the answers are below.

Super-Posh Lyric #1 – Billie Jean by Michael Jackson
I’m rather afraid it’s my solemn duty to report that Ms William Jeannette is not, as has been stated elsewhere, my paramour
(Billie Jean is not my lover)

Rather, she is merely a damsel, and furthermore, one who has made a false claim to my exclusivity
(She’s just a girl who claims that I am the one)

Unfortunately, for the purposes of clarity and veracity, I must stress that the infant to which Ms Jeannette refers is most indubitably not my male offspring
(But the kid is not my son)

Once again – Ms Jeannette has made a claim uponst my exclusivity, but sirs, I reinforce the sentiment that the juvenile has little or nothing in the way of blood ties to my own good self
(She says I am the one, but the kid is not my son)

Super-Posh Lyric #2 – Three is the Magic Number by De La Soul
Thrice
(3)
That amount, sir, is – to my mind – an amount equivalent to an act of conjuring
(That’s the magic number)
Indeed!
(Yes it is)
It is an amount pertaining to wonderousness and extraordinarytude
(It’s the magic number)
It is understood by myself that there is a location within this youthful body politic (which accommodates the music of rap, the dancing of break, and also the art of graffito)
(Somewhere in this hip-hop soul community)
Wherein the natal day of thrice and my most excellent companions Mase and Dove took place – alongside my own
(Was born 3, Mase, Dove and me)
And that is the numerical which mystifies
(And that’s the magic number)

(I say, I’m awfully confused by this)
(What does it all mean?)

Super-Posh Lyric #3 – Girls and Boys by Blur
Lassies, who are chaps, who are well-disposed to striplings resembling doxies, who perform whippersnappers as though they were sweet things, who take on the form of tootsies to all ends and purposes resembling fellows
(Girls who want boys who like boys to be girls who do boys like they’re girls who do girls like they’re boys)

Perenially, one must ensure that one’s heart is a-flutter
(Always should be someone you really love)

(I say, I say, I say, I say, I say, I say, I say, I say, I say, I say, I say, I say, I say, I say, I say, I say)
(oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

Super-Posh Lyric #4 – Forgot about Dre by Eminem
The current fashion is for people to indulge in vehement oratory, creating the impression of pertinence
(Nowadays everybody wanna talk like they got somethin’ to say)
However, the motion of their lips is moot; they produce little in the way of improvement
(But nothin’ comes out when they move their lips)
Rather, they emit pure, unadulterated balderdash
(Just a bunch of gibberish)
Also, these mater fornicaters foolishly appear to have forgotten about Dre
(And these rotten eggs act like they forgot about Dre)

Tune in for more preposterous translations of popular music next time!

Five moderately disappointing things about the Noughties

The trouble with these internet lists is that they’re so hysterical and needy. It’s always ‘The 10 best this’, or ‘The 15 worst that’ – or the ’10 weirdest sexual the other’.

‘What about the middle ground?’, you reasonably suggest, at an audible – but not excessive – volume. ‘Where’s the list for the non-extreme?’ you add, always being aware of other viewpoints as you aim to come to a rational, fair conclusion.

Well, moderation fans. It’s time for you to rejoice (or at least feel suitably pleased, whatever it is you do to celebrate).

I, Tiny Dan off of Stephen Merchant’s now-defunct BBC 6 Music Radio Show (I was often referred to as the John Lennon Pete Best of the show’s posse, you know) have spent a certain amount of time, not too much, recalling a few things about the period 2000-2009 which are a bit of a letdown. 

And, in a first for the internet, my thoughts are being presented in list form.

It’s what the 3,653-day period which made up ‘The Noughties’ would have wanted if he/she was still alive and/or a person.

TEN YEARS – FIVE HURTS 

5 – Me stopping being young
One of the many great evils about life is that it must be lived chronologically. Thus, having forever been young and inexperienced, you don’t have the experience to deal with finding yourself no longer young and inexperienced.

It’s difficult to put an exact date on when I realised I was no spring chicken. But the first tiny sign was in August 2001 when So Solid Crew’s ’21 Seconds’ got to number one. It was the first chart song I genuinely didn’t get.

‘But it’s crap’, ‘It’s so boring’, ‘It’s just annoying’ is what my 27-year-old self would say before realising with horror that was exactly what the older generation always said about my music. (Although I did quite fancy Lisa Maffia.)

That tiny, but so solid drip of doubt soon became a gushing torrent of bewilderment at the whole of youth culture – before long I was wandering the streets, tears streaming down my face, brandishing a printout of the latest Top 40 while bellowing ‘Do you understand?!? DO YOU?!?!? No? NO? NEITHER DO I?!?!! HAHAHAHAHA!!!! NEITHER DO I?!?!?!!!!11111!!!1!111!11111!!!!!11!!!11’ at innocent passers-by.

4 – The England Football Team
Ten years of football, of course, could fill this list a million times over – or one uber-long list with five million entries. I’ll keep this one brief. Please, England Football Team, can you stop being so well-paid, pampered and rubbish at major tournaments? Cheers ta.

3 – The continuing appropriation by corporations of great soul music in their adverts
I famously played Ernie K Doe’s brilliant funk up ‘Here Come The Girls’ on Stephen Merchant’s 6 Music Radio Show on September 2007 – I can prove it.

Two months later, popular pharmaceutical combo Boots used it to soundtrack their Christmas TV ad campaign.

Coincidence?

Yes. Of course it was. Don’t be ridiculous*. But how annoying was that, then?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for the wider dispersal of music within our culture. I’m not one of these awful people who thinks obscure=good and popular=bad while ironically wearing a flat cap in Hoxton eating ciabatta and making ‘lifestyle choices’ with my latest app and laughing too loudly with my hairstyled friends. That sort can bum off. But look:

• In 2003, fast foodsters KFC used Marlena Shaw’s California Soul to sell their fried chicken product
• In 2005, stubby pen-utilising retailer Argos used Jean Knight’s Mr Big Stuff to sell their bafflingly broad range of consumer durables
• In 2004, creamy alcohol pushers Baileys used 4Hero’s sublime cover of Les Fleur to sell their brown booze
• In 2001, Panthenol Pro-Vitaimin B5 lovers Pantene used Jackie Wilson’s Higher and Higher to promote their plastic tubes of hair goo
• And in 2003, perennial ‘We’re healthy, us!’ tryhards McDonald’s used Booker T and the MGs’ Green Onions to promote their plastic tubes of hair goo, sorry, food.

This list could go on (yeah, and you could’ve put some bloody jokes in it too – Ed), but I’ve got a home to go to. The point is, there is nothing less cool than aligning music with a specific consumer product. And I shudder at the thought of the foaming mouths of the Marketing Brand Promotion Audience Impact Re-Imaginers as they cackle over their next Tune/Product Alliance Initiative. 

Naturally, it’s not so simple as what I’ve done gone put there. Those Capital Analyst Product Synergy Advertiser Pro-Actives do indeed foam at the mouth (and they’ve got funny, small, beady eyes), but their relation with the art isn’t all one-way.

Yes, many bands are happy to have their music used, yes, the financial rewards have helped many subsequently produce good work, yes, some of these ads are genuinely good/interesting/funny and, yes, the exposure will introduce some new fans to music and, hey, doesn’t the end justify the means?

And yes, if Boots want to pay me to use this blog to advertise their EK Doe-themed wares, I will of course listen to their offer and almost certainly accept (Tenner a word Mr Boots? Just in case you say yes – here – are – some – utterly – unnecessary – words – which – have – just  – earned – me – an – extra – one – hundred – and – eighty – quid. Ace (£190)).

But I’ve always had a deeply personal relationship with my music – it connects uniquely with me, it will evoke a particular time and place which is special to me. To have that same music co-opted by homogenous multi-national corporations in the interest of generic product promotion simply strikes a bum note.

(* If you know otherwise, drop me a line. I don’t think there are any conspiracy theories out there on the internet at the moment, so we’ll be breaking more new ground)

2 Breaking News; the devaluement thereof
When I was a nipper, a newsflash was a rare event, requiring something truly epochal to be occurring. I remember the feeling of dread as a terrifyingly stark title card was accompanied by the emotionless words ‘We interrupt our regular broadcast…’ along with a sudden lurch in my bowels.

Now, our multitude of 24-hour news broadcast operations will flash their ‘breaking news’ graphics – the modern-day equivalent of sombre grey-suited Leonard Parkin busting in to the 1980s telly schedules – quite literally at the drop of a hat. ‘Queen drops hat while fishing’ is one I saw the other day.  I didn’t see that the other day.

Seriously, if the quarterly pre-tax sales overhead analysis budget of every single two-bit retailer is gonna be flashed across the screen as though King Edward had just abdicated the throne to make love with Marilyn Monroe before being shot by Hitler – the benchmark of ‘Newsflash’ status in the 20^th Century – then how am I going to know when something really important has happened?

I’m not, dear reader (Surely ‘readers’? – Ed). That’s the simple truth. I’m not. 

Answer? They’ll have to flash ‘NO, SERIOUSLY, PROPER BREAKING NEWS’ to make us take note in the future. Or wobble the camera a bit in the studio and play a low rumbling noise underneath, to emphasise the utter newsy-ness of what’s occurring. They could flash ‘NEWSQUAKE’ in double-height letters. The presenters would have to shout details of the world-changing events while huddling under their desks from bits of rubble being thrown around by stagehands. And post-bulletin, I’d like the newsreaders to be helped, exhausted and beaten, from the studio, before theatrically returning James Brown style to deliver an ‘And finally…’ item.

1 The disappearance of The Neptunes from the charts
It’s easily forgotten now, but earlier in the decade, The Neptunes more or less produced every brilliant record in the UK charts. They made some of the naughtiest Noughties music – and it was properly subversive in that the mass population is rarely exposed to stuff that be so damn all up in yo ass phonky.

Rather than bore you with chat about who they are, who I am, why they’re great, why I’m not and why you need to get more of their stuff, here’s a link to wikipedia and, in no particular order, 10 brilliant Neptunes bits of the Noughties:

• Britney Spears – I’m A Slave 4U
• Justin Timberlake – Like I Love You
• Jay Z – Excuse Me Miss
• Common (featuring Mary J Blige) – Come Close
• Pharrell (featuring Jay Z) – Frontin’
• Jay Z (featuring Pharrell) – Change Clothes
• Kelis – Milkshake
• N*E*R*D – She Wants To Move
• Snoop Dogg (featuring Pharrell) – Drop It Like It’s Hot
• Snoop Dogg (featuring Charlie Wilson & Justin Timberlake) – Signs

Get them all, Teds, and maybe the next bit of this Millennium will be marginally less horrific.

 

Infuriated by my choices? Can’t wait to vent your anger about them? That’s odd – I said at the start this list was going to be mild. That was kind of the point. How did you mis-read that? How did you get it so badly wrong? Are you just someone with anger issues? Maybe you need to calm down. It’s not doing anything for your blood pressure you know. Perhaps just log off, eh, and go for a walk round the park. Then come back, log in and tell me how much you enjoyed my list! Hooray for everyone!

Steve’s Musical Highlights of 2009

My Five And A Bit Musical Highlights of 2009

by

Stephen Merchant

5. This Tornado Loves You – Neko Case

I always think Neko Case sounds like a small piece of carry-on luggage you might find for sale in Muji.

Oh, what a charming fool I am. Ms Case is of course the flame-haired alt-country siren and sometime vocalist with The New Pornographers.

This, the opening track from her fifth album Middle Cyclone, sees Neko as a destructive tornado rampaging across the States in search of some missing beau.

Lovely.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FhVbyeWFvo

4. Leeds United –  Amanda Palmer

On February 1^st, as The Steve Show limped towards it’s unmourned end, we played host to a live session from Amanda Palmer of the Dresden Dolls.

Amanda is a wild, wonderful presence, full of the same energy and eccentricity that infuses her solo album Who Killed Amanda Palmer.

One of the highlights of the album is the song Leeds United, which she bashed out live on a keyboard in the studio and dazzled us all with her fiery performance.

On the album version, Amanda’s voice is frazzled by a long day in the recording studio, which injects a wild, ravaged passion to a song that feels like it’s lifted from some great gothic cabaret.

It’s on constant rotation round my way. Tremendous.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i62UF7uROGU

3b. Say Please – Monsters of Folk

Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst and Mike Mogis, Jim James from My Morning Jacket and sing/songwriter M. Ward have formed Monsters of Folk, an alt-country super-group with a terrible name but some cracking tunes, including this rollicking indie/folk/rock/pop nugget.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_BgIUJpugr0

3a. Two Weeks – Grizzly Bear

My mate was like, “You should listen to Grizzly Bear’s new album” and I was like, “No, it’s not my thing” and he’s like, “No, I reckon it is” and I was like, “Yeah?” and he was like, “Yeah, totally” and I listened to it and I was like, “Yeah, it’s good, nice one” and he’s like, “Yeah, no problem”

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tjecYugTbIQ

2. The Breeze/My Baby Cries  –  Bill Callahan

As former listeners of The Steve Show will know, Tiny Dan believes we should all adore mindless pseudo-jazz electro-twaddle, Harry gets off on shouty American men and who knows what the heck Sammy is listening to in any given week.

They are all idiots, which is the reason I fired them all and quit the show.

The truth is there is nothing more affecting than a talented person, their voice, a guitar or piano, some quality lyrics and, if needs absolutely must, one or two session men. That’s why Bob Dylan’s Blood On The Tracks and Neil Young’s On The Beach are two albums I carry on my person at all times.

Sadly, in our age of retro 80s synths and R n B loudmouths, it’s increasingly hard to wheedle out the raw beauty of a talented singer/songwriter.

My vampiric bloodlust for fresh singer/songwriter meat is rarely sated, so imagine how thrilled I was to stumble across Loving Takes This Course: A Tribute to the Songs of Kath Bloom.

Kath Bloom was a folkie with many admirers but no great commercial success who retreated to Conneticut to raise kids sometime in the 1980s.

The seductive, six-minute stand-out track from this recent tribute album is by Smog main-man Bill Callahan.

Over simple guitar, keyboard and low-key percussion, Bill’s whispering growl of a voice and Bloom’s heartfelt lyrics hypnotise me on every listen. “I’d like to touch you, but I’ve forgotten how…And said I didn’t need you, but look at me now…”.

I promise it will melt even the coldest of hearts. (Harry, that means you)

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nBiEMPXDAXM&feature=related

Start the video at 1.25, ignore someone falling over out of shot at 2.43…

1. Because The Night – Bruce Springsteen Live At Glastonbury, 2009.

I nearly missed Bruce Springsteen at Glastonbury.

The plan was simple : race down to the festival Saturday morning, worship The Boss when he headlined the main stage that night, then crash-out in a tent for a few hours and drive home again the next day.

I woke up Saturday morning as excited as an orphan on Christmas Day when he knows Noel Edmonds is on his way round with a camera crew and a trip to Legoland in his back pocket.

I leapt in the car – and the bastard wouldn’t start. It just spluttered and choked and did nothing. Bastard.

I began a frantic dash around local car-hire shops to find a replacement, all the while sweating at the thought of poor Bruce saying “Good evening Glass-ton-bury” and not seeing my beaming face staring back at him. How would he get through the show?

Finally I paid some crazy price for a tiny car my 6’7” frame could barely squeeze into, picked up a pal en route and drove south like a demon (a demon who obeyed all speed regulations, naturally).

I made it to Glasto mere hours before Bruce and the E Street Band took to the stage but I couldn’t relax as I needed to pitch the tent before darkness fell. From bitter past experience I knew you don’t want to be erecting a tent in the dark at Glastonbury.

My friend had promised to pack his tent but he’d let me down. Luckily I’d had a distant memory of a tent that I had bought years ago for a previous festival but never used.

I had found it, unopened, in the back of a cupboard and thrown in the car. Now, as the sun began to set, I unfurled the tent and out fell ground sheets and metal poles and rubber hoops – and everyone around me started laughing.

Apparently, tents have changed a lot since I last slept under canvas. Now they are all bendy and pop-up. Mine looked like a proper old school Carry On Camping tent minus bubbly Babs Windsor and her poorly fastened bikini top.

“Nick that off some Brownies?” chortled a passer-by.

“Fuck off!” I said, brilliantly.

As more pointing and laughing rippled around the field, I slipped off into the night and tramped my way over to the main stage.

The Boss divided opinion. He played an uncompromising set, which was a thrill for die-hard fans but probably featured too few sing-a-long hits to convert all the heathens.

Some of the strangers around me seemed suitably impressed by Bruce’s unparalleled showmanship; others said they found his hard-working rock ‘n’ roll schtick corny, which I didn’t understand.

Oh well. I wasn’t going to defend the man.

For me it was an electrifying performance.

At one point, the cool night air hit Bruce’s over-heating body and he began to steam. Actual steam rose up from him. Backlit by the stage lights he looked like some glorious rock ‘n’ roll demon/angel and for believers like myself he seemed even more Messianic than usual.

There is nothing quite like Saturday night in front of the main stage at Glasto.

That vast, seemingly never-ending sea of expectant faces, the homemade signs, the setting sun, the overpriced beer — it’s joyful.

And as I finished hollering along to the chorus of Because The Night I remember actually shouting “This is the greatest night of my life.”

And I believed it.

But it wasn’t the greatest night of my life because I had to sleep in a tent that was 25 years old. With people constantly unzipping the flaps and peering in and saying, “Look, I told you, it’s that bloke off the telly. He’s nicked this off some Girl Guides”, and then swaying off into the night to tell more drugged up knuckle-heads where they could laugh at me.

But as their jeers and taunts spoiled my sleep I thought back to Bruce’s performance :

“They can’t hurt you now / can’t hurt you now / Because the night belongs to lovers…”

And everything was okay.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pDiS33rxSG0

 

MERRY CHRISTMAS ONE AND ALL…

.

2009 – Ten Tiny Dan opinions

by Tiny Dan

I was online the other day and thought – you know what this web thing needs? A list of stuff that happened during the past 12 months! Yeah!

Well, in order to provide one and thus complete the internet, here’s Tiny Dan’s sideways take on the lousy good-for-nothing complete and utter annus that is 2009…

A LIST OF TEN 2009 THINGS

10 Most unexpected bout of tears
Oh yeah, Tiny Dan is tough. I got locked out of my house once – didn’t even think about crying. At an Indian Restaurant, I’ll always go for the lime pickle. Drinks? ‘A half?’ ‘No sir! Tiny Dan will have a PINT!’ – that’s the sort of level we’re talking. A Tiny, Tiny condensed ball that will not yield – I am possibly the densest matter in the universe (apart from this).

All the more wonder then, that during that opening bit of the Pixar film ‘Up’, a watery substance – later diagnosed as ‘cry’ – began to leak from my eye ducts. If you’ve seen it, you’ll know why. Near the start of the movie is that incredible animated montage of two lives passing by – it’s so simple, yet utterly beautiful and totally heartbreaking.

9) Most complete demise of the final vestiges of any interest I retained in a particular genre of TV: Reality
Perhaps it was the horribly overblown coverage of the tragic death of Jade Goody that did it. Perhaps it is the ongoing media portrayal of Susan Boyle as some sort of ‘wacky celeb’, rather than a troubled woman struggling with an intense media spotlight which is utterly out of proportion with her talent. Perhaps I’m just jealous of Ant ‘n’ Dec. Whatever, I extracted no joy whatsoever from reality TV this year and couldn’t even tell you who won what.

Except the Apprentice. I bloody love the Apprentice.

8 ) Best hip-hop album you didn’t hear in 2009: Doom – Born Like This
Brother, I would like to know why all of you haters be sleeping on this one (kindly inform me with a comment at the end of the article). I’ve already bored most of my chums telling them how brilliant Doom (AKA MF Doom AKA Metal Fingers AKA Danger Doom AKA Madvillain) is. This album is by turns leftfield (Thank Yah), inventive (Lightworks), dubious (Batty Boyz) and intense (Cellz) – you basically need this.

7) Tiny Dan’s Glastonbury break-out moment: The XX
I’ll front up. I wasn’t there. I watched it on the telly.

Now, I was aware that there was some kind of ‘buzz’ around new music combo The XX and lo and behold, they were about to do one of those little backstage performances that you get on BBC Three. I dunno why but I expected it to be some overblown pompous load of old crud. Turns out it was all like early ‘80s Cure B-sides and New Order done gone be playing up in my head. Cue big Tiny Dan grin and XX on heavy rotation from thence onwards.

6) Best Me Nearly Getting Harry off of Stephen Merchant’s 6Music Radio Show into Big Trouble Moment of ‘09
It’s a toss-up. Either
a) Bumping into him at the Oval during the World Twenty20 cricket and discussing the event using some pretty robust and earthy language – only to subsequently discover that the older types nearby were in fact his girlfriend’s parents, or
b) Having a delightful summer pint at the Thames-side pub the White Cross in Richmond and using the exceptionally high tide which cut us off as an excuse to stay out for several more (even though, really, we could have escaped with little danger to life and limb despite claims to the contrary) when he was already overdue a return home to get the dinner on

5) Best hip-hop album you may have heard in 2009: Mos Def – The Ecstatic
Basically, when hip-hopsters start getting into acting, that’s pretty much the end of their useful musical output. Mr M.Def, who you might remember from such films as The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and Be Kind Rewind, bucked that trend in style with this little beauty which featured thunderingly good grooves alongside some hefty messages. If you haven’t got this yet, go and get it now and come back and read the last four when you’ve done it.

I can wait….

Still waiting… Here’s a bit of the album to pass the time…

Got it… No? Then go back and get it….

Got it now? Good. Well done. Here’s number 4.

4) Show I slept on until 2009 then couldn’t get enough of – The Inbetweeners
I smashed down both series of this on DVD over a handful of very enjoyable days in autumn. It’s tremendo. You either already know this ‘cos you watched it or you don’t because you haven’t – in which case go out and get it immediately and watch it. Done it? Good.

Am worried for the future though (no spoilers, don’t panic). The main characters are at that difficult age – surely the show will quickly need them to leave school (but we don’t want them to mature or grow up) or it will look increasingly unrealistic and go a bit Luke Perry Beverly Hills 90210. Hey! Why not Twitter how you think the show should continue?

3) Best song from the second series of Flight of the Conchords: Sugalumps
Also the best song Prince never recorded.

2) Most unexpected emotion/event combination of the year (apart from crying at a kids’ film (see number 10)): Medium pleasure/England regain the Ashes
Back in 2005 I went what is commonly referred to as ‘nutbag’ for the Ashes. This time around it was ‘meh-bag’ at best. Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoyed it, it just wasn’t quite as, you know, vital. Why? I’m not even motivated enough to tell you. Just google it (surely ‘googly’ it – cricket pun ed).

1) Most premature cancellation of a radio show just when I thought the hilarious ‘posse’ behind the main star were really hitting their stride: Stephen Merchant’s 6Music show on Sundays 3-5pm (latterly 3.30-5.30pm)

It was a sad day indeed when the mics were hung up on this broadcasting instiution in May. If I was capable of writing emoticons I’d probably do something like this :O( here.

Mind you, I was never really all that into the deservedly-unpopular Dan. His attendance was appalling and his contributions perfunctory. Still at least there’s this website, where you can log on and abuse him.

Did anything happen to you in 2009? Why not let a very, very small percentage of the world know about what happened to you in 2009, by writing about it underneath here! It’s the perfect way to pay tribute to 2009! It’s what 2009 would have wanted. 2009! 2009!

Moose …xyz

When you’re writing a blog that’s predominantly about music, you’ve got to pay your dues.  Knowing your blog onions is essential.  You can’t just start typing any half-baked thought, as there’s always someone out there who has already baked a similar thought for slightly longer.

For a band who had the radar-avoiding qualities of a submarine shaped like a bloody big fish, the blogosphere is surprisingly awash with lovers of Moose.   So here is my three-quarter-baked Moose item, hopefully with a slightly different take on proceedings.

X Factor Dead Eastender Shocker

The world of bloody awful Saturday night dross was shocked to it’s soulless core tonight as Simon Cowell unleashed his latest weapon in the reality TV ratings war – a dead ex-Eastender coupled with a pop legend.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

X Factor became more like Ex Actor as deceased Mike Reid, of no living age, appeared alongside Whitney Houston in one of the most astonishing comebacks in TV history.  Having played the nation’s favourite dodgy car dealer Frank Butcher in Eastenders, Reid was ideally placed to rise from his grave and assess the singing talents of the bright young popstrels, all hoping to be the next big thing.

If the nation accepts this unprecedented return to life from an ex-soap star, Cowell has secretly lined up a number of similar voice-coach grave-rob double acts for future editions of this derivative, ball-achingly mindless slop.