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Bare Bones – issue 3


Coming to you from the cleverest, most handsomest, most loveliest and most bestest scribbler in all of the land (that’s my buddy Harry Malt for those of you too bloody stupid to not know already) is the imminent release of Bare Bones issue 3.

Now I’ve told you about this loads before but it’s getting better and better and bigger and bigger.  They’ll again be knocking out 90 A5 prints from the 30 featured artists, all for the meagre sum of twenty squids…….I’ll be looking to replace the two that bird of mine seems to have lost since the issue 2 run.

To launch they’ll again be exhibiting at the Nue Gallery near Brick Lane from 1st April and running until….I don’t know…..a bit after that…..a couple of weeks….a month….fuck knows.  It’s really worth getting yourselves along at some point though.

The paper will be available to download sometime after the 1st.  Probably when Malt recovers from the his inevitable fools hangover.  Should anyone out of London (or the local lazy’s) want a physical copy, I’ll grab you one and send it on….fuck it….I’ll even pick up the postage.  Nice guy I am.

You can download Bare Bones issue 2 here – after felching and Gerbilling vids, it’s probably the best thing you could get from the interweb…..and it won’t get you in trouble with the missus…unless she loves Maggie Thatcher and deplores banana mutilation….in which case you should probably fuck her off anyway.  Silly cow.

Perhaps I’ll see you there.  Perhaps I’ll talk to you…..but probably not.

Now piss off.



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You pricks look like you need some cheering up.

Even by my standards I’ve been a bit of a grumpy bastard recently.  I’m not usually bothered about winter but this one’s never fucking ending.  Everyone seems pissed off.  It’s made me realise that being a dour bastard is only fun when everyone else is in high spirits and I can rain on their parade a bit.  There’s no fun in kicking someone who’s already down.

To give myself a bit of a pick me up, I bought me and the good time police a couple of tickets for Bestival this morning.

So rather than having a moan about how I want to reach down the phone and crush the wind pipes of the people who tell you to “listen” when you’re talking to them on the phone, or how the next person who feels the need to pull me aside in a bar and ask me why I have my shirt buttoned to the top will get a ash tray in the face, I’ll instead fill you in on some bright and cheery things that have been making the past few weeks vaguely bearable.

All in the spirit of Bestival.  Get it?

Right then.  First up is this tune by The Strange Boys.  I’ve been hearing it a bit on 6Music recently.  I don’t know much about them but if this is anything to go by I’ll be giving them some time.  It sounds like an old 60’s garage band with a bit of Charlie Parker chucked in for good measure.  Not a bad mix!

Now don’t get me wrong.  I’m a proper geezer and not a big My Little Pony fan.  Well, not since I was caught playing with them and my Sisters Care Bears when I was about 19.  Anyway, these are the nuts and well blokey.

Just one more thing.  There’s this guy called Limmy.  He’s a bit of a hit in the blogging world.  He’s been knocking out video blogs for a long time.  Some belters including how he likes to kill prostitutes on Grand Theft Auto and shit like that.  My sort of stuff!  Anyway, BBC Scotland have given him a series.  You can catch it on Iplayer, well worth a watch it is.  Now technically I shouldn’t be promoting his stuff what with him banning me from following him on Twitter.  He might be funny, but the prick cannae take a joke.

Oh and Master Chef is back on Thursday.  I bleedin’ love Master Chef!!  I’ve missed Gregg Wallace sucking off cutlery and John Torode looking like he might stab someone in the face if they fuck up a bernaise.  It’s amazing.  I love the seriousness of it all.  “Oh no.  That is a real shame.  You’ve got lumps in your mash.”  “*sniff sniff*.” ” If you give me another chance I’ll prove to you that I can make good mash.  *sniff sniff*.”  Wicked!

Hopefully these things will bring a smile to your face and put a spring in your step.  If they do I’ll be waiting near by to trip you up.  Bye bye.

Easy now!!



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Mallorca Rocks! Ummm. No. No it doesn’t.

Incredible to believe I did this in paint.

I’ve made no secret of my dislike for The Kooks.  In some respects it’s perhaps a bit unfair.  They’re no worse than alot of other bands you would stick in their category.  A quick look at the “customers who bought this item also bought” on Amazon brings up one of the most depressing lists I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen Joseph Fritzels charge sheet:  The Fratellis, Hard-Fi, Razorlight, The Zutons, The View, The Feeling……..yadda yadda yadda.

I’ve got nothing against people who like Pop.  Pop in the modern sense of the word I mean, we’re not talking The Beatles here.  The Pussycat Dolls and all that.  They’re clearly not after anything from their music other than a bit of a sing-a-long and a good time.  Fair enough, nothing wrong with that.  Once or twice a year even I like to have a good time.  No, not to The Pussycat Dolls.  Well, unless they’re on T4 gyrating round something or other with their tits out, but even then I’ve got the volume right down so I can listen for my bird coming up the stairs *wank wank* *wink wink*.

It’s when the folk who wouldn’t listen to anything other than funky house one minute all of a sudden claim to be really “into bands”.  Nothing to do with you seeing someone in Heat at a festival wearing wellies, denim hot pants and a fucking stupid straw hat and thinking you’d like a bit of that then?  Oh no, course not.  Who are you looking forward to seeing?  Snow Patrol huh?  Cool, for a second there I thought you were just jumping on the band wagon.

I wouldn’t mind if they said; “oh I like The Kooks because I love a catchy tune” and “I like festivals because it’s fashionable”, but they don’t.  They insist on saying that they’re “indie kids”.   Don’t even get me started on “indie”.  At what point did it lose it’s meaning and become a byword for a genre of music that’s just as full of generic big label, mass marketed shite as that show with Kylie’s Sister and ‘er from Girls Aloud?

Again...paint! I know! Incredible.

The Kooks and them rest of ’em are just filler.  They were signed up quickly by record execs so they could cash in from the huge surge of dickheads that called anyone who liked a band at school a “greebo” but now want an excuse to buy a cow print tent.

Anyway.  I digress.  The point of this post was this…..I read this week that there’s to be another branch of Ibiza Rocks.  This one however is going to be called Mallorca Rocks and it’s going to be in the salubrious surroundings of Magaluf.  The Kooks are playing the opening gig.  I for one can’t wait.  I’ve been waiting since 1999 to go back, this is the perfect excuse to get the boys back together for not only a week of furious fingering like last time, but also some really great tunes!

I was listening to someone from the band talking about it on the radio yesterday.  Probably the curly haired one, I dunno.  He had this sad resignation in his voice.  Like the V Festival was The Kooks girlfriend.  She was quite stupid and didn’t really have much about her, but she was quite hot.  Now she’s given them the elbow and they’re back on the market.  They’ve tried it on with a few nice looking birds, but they’ve all told them to fuck off.  They’re gradually realising that they’d been punching above their weight and now they’re having to settle for the grubby fat chick that is Magaluf.

There’s nothing like being forced by your label to go out to some massive Spanish shit hole and have your “hits” be the soundtrack to glassings and chlamydia.

Good on yer lads!




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Richard Hawley makes grown men cry. Over and over.

Before I moved to London my route to work involved an hour on a too hot/too cold train.  For the most part it was a massive pain in the arse.  Early mornings spent avoiding the gaze of people on the platform you knew, but certainly didn’t have an hours worth of conversation for.

They’d see you.   You’d see them.  Neither of you wanted to talk to each other, but what do you do?  Just once I would’ve loved to have said:  “look, I tried to avoid your gaze, I could see you were trying to avoid mine, unfortunately we both looked up at the same time and caught each others eye.  To be honest, it’s early, and I really can’t be bothered to make the effort to talk to you.  Nothing against you, I think you’re alright when we’re in a group of people, but to be frank, a one on one is just going to be a bit awkward.  I’d rather just sit, read my book and listen to some tunes.  Either we sit together and have a comfortable silence or, and this is my preference, I can walk up the other end of the platform and we can just pretend we didn’t see each other?

Monday and Tuesday you can discuss the weekend just gone.  Thursday and Friday you can discuss the approaching weekend.  Catch them on a Wednesday and you’re really fucked.  It’s an hour of hairdresser conversations about weather and holidays.

This was back in my pre-Ipod days, so I used to grab a few CD’s for the old discman on my way out the door in the morning.  Settle in next to the window and listen to an album in it’s entirety.  Imagine that!  A whole album!

Very occasionally you’d have a day when your mood would be 100% in tune with what CD you had grabbed.  And rather than your journey be a chore, it was actually rather enjoyable.  One such day that sticks in my mind is the day I first listened to Richard Hawley.

We went to see him on Saturday.  My first time at The Royal Festival Hall.  The place is truly amazing.  No more perfect setting for someone such as Hawley.

I’m tempted to wax lyrical.  About his voice, about his amazing band, about his lyrics, and about how on a clear bright cold winters morning on a train from Essex, and again on Saturday, the fucker almost made me (a double hard bastard) ball my eyes out about a dozen times.

Please listen to this tune. Please check him out if you don’t know him.  I promise you it’ll be worth it.



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Christmarse is almost here. Joy oh joy.


I usually knock out blogs in my lunch hour….well…..lunch half hour by the time I’ve got me grub and wolfed it down.  Not for the past week or so though.  Oh no.  Lunchtime’s have been spent wandering aimlessly around the West End hoping that something jumps off a shelf, slaps me in the face and tells me that my Mum would love it.

It was a bit of an effort but the shopping’s all done and dusted.  Finished it this afternoon I did.  Just had to visit John Lewis for the sixth day on the spin to get the old girl a dressing gown (don’t worry she won’t be reading this shit).

I had no idea what department you would find a dressing gown in.  Had to call the girlfriend in the end and get some directions.  Lingerie section.  Who’da thunk it huh?  I never venture down to the lingerie section, the word doesn’t even register in my brain.  I don’t get a hard on or nuffin like that.  I just get a bit anxious looking at girls looking at pants.  It’s not so bad in John Lewis though.  It’s all middle-aged housewives so you don’t feel like a perv……or is that more pervy?…..I dunno.  Got the job done with minimum fuss though.  Unlike yesterdays trip to Selfridges.  Loads of Agent Provocateur birds handing stuff out in stockings ‘n’ that.  I was so entranced I ended up on the fourth floor.  I don’t even remember getting on the escalator.  I don’t know how blokes cope if they’ve got a half decent bird in that gear.  I’d be finished before I’ve started.

Anyway.  I realised during these traumatic days of Xmas shopping that I’m treating my girlfriend a bit too well.  I remember when we first started going out she’d be constantly saying “I want” “I need” and getting gifts was easy.  If you only remembered half the things she wanted or needed then you were good for about 58 presents.  Now days though she appears to want for nothing.  I suppose when you’ve got a fella like me what else do you need?  Lucky bitch.

Got her some stuff that could be a bit hit and miss.  It’s her birthday in Jan as well, I’ll be well and truly lost when that comes around.  Got their family a present.  They’re all grown up now so they complain a bit about Xmas being a bit boring.  They’ll probably read this so I can’t disclose what it is, but it’s got the potential to ruin their day……or at least cause a massive argument.  God that would be amazing.  If I could start ruining days without even being there I’d be so proud of myself.

It’s my last day at work today so I’m off to play Hungry Hungry Hippos and Pop Up Pirate.  I LOVE the last day of term!!!

Oh, before I go.  I was coming out of John Lewis via the food department earlier.  Some old girl knocks a jar of pickles off the shelf and they smash at my feet.  She didn’t bat an eye and fucked straight off leaving me to cop the disapproving looks. I didn’t know what to do.  Ended up just getting flustered and pointing to the poor old cow saying to strangers that “it was her, it wasn’t me……it wasn’t me…..”.  She looked back at me with this dough eyed innocence.  For a second even I thought I was lying.  I swear she smirked as she turned away.  Crafty little bastards those OAP’s.  I reckon she was on the rob as well.  She’ll probably cite her Alzheimer’s if she get’s caught.  Seriously.  Don’t trust them.  Calculating old fucks.

Have a good Xmas party people!  Mine is going to made bearable by corrupting my sweet little niece.  I think we could be spending some more time on the naughty step.



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Folk Clothing – Even makes me look half decent

It’s been a bit of a quandary for me recently deciding whether or not to blog about the clothing line that’s had me looking like such a cool mother fucker for past couple of years.  You want to let people know about something you love, but on the other hand you don’t want any old twat stealing your vibe. 

Unfortunately the good folk at errrr Folk have gone and fucked it all up by doing too well.  The bastards.

I was pleased when I heard news of them extending the flagship store on Lambs Conduit St to two floors.  They were doing well, and rightly so, but now they’ve opened a 2nd store just off Brick Lane.  There’s no point trying to keep quiet about it now is there.  Every sap’s over there at the weekend now days.

With a simple but quirky design ethic and great attention to detail, they’re consistently knocking out must have pieces.  I can’t think of another label that has me wanting pretty much everything they produce. 

These are some of my highlights from the latest line, floating my boat in a big way they are:






You really should pop in and check it out.  Some of it isn’t the cheapest, but twisted classic design won’t be heading anywhere will it.  So un-like your mates who rape the high street you won’t look like a prick when you’re checking out photos from more than 3 months ago.  The staff are a friendly bunch as well, be warned you might end up in there for a while having a chat.  If they like you they might even knock a few bob off.  Can’t say fairer than that can ya.




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Daisy Lowe makes me look at something other than her arse.

Vodpod videos no longer available.     

Sometimes when I see Daisy Lowe’s name appear up on my Twitter feeds I find it hard to justify why she’s there, other than simply to remind myself that she exists and hope there might be a picture involved.      

Completely and utterly gratuitous

I know about Black Cab Sessions.  They’ve put me on a few things over the past couple of years (check this as well it’s ace), although it’s been a while since I’ve checked in, but when Daisy tells me to check something out, I check it out*.      

I only know the name Holly Miranda because her band The Jealous Girlfriends won an iPod music comp at some point. That’s about where my knowledge ends. Pretty pathetic.      

Still. I’ll give them a proper look now. Better late than never hey.      

It’s a really beautiful cover. She’s got an incredible voice.      

Cheers Miss Lowe. All you need to do now is knock up some beautiful textiles like your Mum (I love her Mum) and you’re well on your way to my top 5.  You lucky cow.      

If anyone has a problem with me liking beautiful textiles then….well….nothing really…..fuck yourselves.      

That’s it.      


*Not entirely true


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