Barry Egan Is An Idiot

(Couldn't find a picture of the worthless tosser but he looks a bit like Mick Hucknall. Same beady eyes, ginger barnet and ridiculous facial hair. Use your imagination)

Barry Egan, so called journalist with the Independent newspaper, is an ugly man. So ugly in fact that upon encountering him in the street you would reflexively vomit up the contents of your stomach while simultaneously trying to claw your eyes out. He looks like some kind of root vegetable that has been crossbred with a particularly vile looking rodent and has somehow managed to worm his way into writing for a national newspaper. His obnoxiousness knows no bounds.

The human equivalent of a wet fart Egan's creepy, sycophantic articles exude the rancid odour of hysterical celebrity worship and shallow status anxiety. Never in my life have I come across a writer so singularly devoid of talent, originality or insight. In a just world, a ridiculous fuckhead like this would be marched out into the middle of a crowded street, shackled to a stock and pelted with rotting fruit for eternity.

Egan's writing seems to consist mainly of articles where he fawns over some airhead celebrity tart, plies them with alcohol and badgers them into spouting salacious comments which he then plasters all over his column in massive typeface. Its an indescribebly creepy experience to read one of his pieces from start to finish. His slurping crawling prose reads like a mixture between a horny teenage boy and a deeply disturbed "bad" uncle. Take this extract from his widely renowned think piece on deranged, jackal faced coke whore Tara Plamer-Tomkinson:

Like an ab fab and size-zero Bessie Bunter on LSD, Tara wolfs down a ham-and-cheese panini before just as quickly ordering another one ("They are amazingly naughty," she exclaims, like Bessie Bunter in the throes of a food orgasm). Like an ab fab Sue Ellen Ewing in YSL shoulderpads, TPT lorries back a Bloody Mary before just as quickly ordering another one.

The show is only beginning. When it is time to leave for the airport, she wants to change her clothes. The PR girl tells her to change in the other room. Tara decides to change in front of me. She strips down to her bra and knickers and puts on jeans and a top.

See what I mean? Both creepy and nonsensical.

When not mentally raping addled IT girls, Egan spends his days documenting the worthless lives of Dublin's biggest pricks. Rosanna Davison, Robbie Fox, some ugly slag called Roz Lipsett (anyone?), Egan seems to think dispicable shits like this somehow represent the pinnacle of modern culture because they have rich parents or own crappy nightclubs.

Egan's crowning achivement thus far has been ghostwriting a weekly column for self styled Dublin socialite/waiter and reality tv star Gavin Lambe-Murphy, a man so utterly detestable that were you to gun him down in a crowded resturant, you would probably be given freedom of the city. Seriously, his grinning twattish features practically invite you to punch him in the throat.

I was going to finish this article with the word cunt typed over and over but I realized that might be boring for the reader and make me look like some kind of deranged mental case so I decided instead to type the word prick over and over.

Prick, Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick, FUCKING PRICK!!

S.B.

Herman Düne / Jeff Lewis Band Crawdaddy 14th & 18th Sept

How do you write a gig review? How do write two gig reviews at once? What is a gig review for? The only people I can see benefiting from a gig review are, the writer who writes it (if they're getting paid to do so) and the artist (if they can actually gleam even the smallest piece of good advice from it, this never happens, it shouldn't). Have you ever gone to a gig on the strength of a review alone? Have you ever read a gig review by a band you've never heard of? Here's the gist of the reviews I imagine I would've wrote had I been bothered:

Herman Düne - Crawdaddy Friday 14th September ::
Excited. Support sucked. Yay! new songs are great. Yay! some of my favorite older songs. Nice distortion.

Jeff Lewis Band - Crawdaddy Tuesday 18th September ::
Excited. Support sucked. Yay! new songs are great. Yay! some of my favorite older songs. Nice bickering.

See! Gig reviews are the cookery-shows of the writing / dancing about music / architecture scene. Yep, this is the most right I've ever been about anything ever.

Jeff Lewis - Life mp3
Herman Düne - This Will Never Happen mp3
Jeff Lewis - The Man With The Golden Arm (Peel Session) mp3
Herman Düne - Suburbs With You (Peel Session) mp3

Jeffrey Lewis - 'Williamsburg Will Oldham Horror'


Herman Düne - Not On Top


- RV.

Funny? Not Really...

Just read this amusing little tidbit. Nick Diamonds, chief songwriter with Islands, recently recorded a song for charity with some friends under the name Internet. Unbeknownst to Diamonds, Final Fantasy's Owen Pallet had already claimed this moniker for a side project of his own. Pompous little shit that he is, Pallet threatened legal action when he found out, despite the fact that the Internet single was a once off for charity. Rather than go through a messy legal battle, Internet decided to change their name to, wait for it, Final Fantasy: Online AKA Internet...

...ermmmmm...

...It's been a quiet day on the old news front...

...I'm hungry...

Islands - Don't Call Me Whitney, Bobby mp3

Final Fantasy (Owen Pallet's FF) - This Lamb Sells Condos mp3

Final Fantasy Online aka Internet covering 'Dumb Dog' from Annie:



S.B.

Leslie Feist. Mmmmmmmmmm

Here's poem about Canadian chantause Leslie Feist that I found on the bus. It was signed K.Drew.

Feisty, Feisty, Feist
Your songs are very nice
Your hair is also nice
Will you be my wife?

Feisty, Feisty, Feist
Your album's very nice
I bet your eyes are nice
Will you be my wife?

Feisty, Feisty, Feist
Do you like my cat?
His fur is very nice
Will you be my wife?

Fesity, Feisty, Feist
My favourite is track 9
It's lovely and your nice
Will you be my wife?

Feist's latest LP The Reminder is the kind of goosebumpy, 5 in the morning gem of an album that most intelligent people would adore if they bothered to get off their fat fucking arses and took an interest in some of the wonderful music that's currently being released. But oh noooo! Instead they listen to Bloc Party, Timbaland and Wishbone Ash. Honestly, I don't know why I bother sometimes.

Here's the lady herself, performing on Letterman with a choir featuring menbers of Grizzly Bear, Mates of State, Broken Social Scene and The New Porographers:



Feist Myspace

S.B.

Holy Shrieking Shit! Led Zeppelin To Reform! (Oh, Who Fucking Cares?!)

(Legendary Rocker Robert Plant Pictured With Either B.P. Fallon Or A Terminally Ill Boy)

So they went through more groupies than the Who, took more drugs than the Who and supposedly stuffed a Great White Shark up a girl's front bottom (although I think that may have been the Who) but for me the news of a Zeppelin reunion is about as exciting as a Who concert, i.e., not very.

It's very likely that Page and Plant were spurred on by the huge success of the Rolling Stones'recent Forty Licks Tour, the greedy whores. But whereas the Stones'music means so much to so many people, Zeppelin, with the benefit of hindsight, seem clumsy, oafish and embarrassing to all but a few sweaty males over the age of 25. I will admit Battle of Evermore is a quite good, as is most of Zeppelin IV, but all the silly Tolkienesque mythology and songs about marauding Vikings appear downright laughable now. But as with every other one of these over the hill reunion shows you can guarantee that the tickets will be snapped up in about forty seconds flat.

Okay, I did go through a big Zeppelin phase in my late teens/early twenties but that was also around the time I was setting warehouse fires so there you go. I once read that during Zeppelin's groupie defiling heyday an increasingly deranged Jimmy Page liked to travel with a special suitcase filled with whips and other bondage gear. Page was also particularly fond of dressing up in full Nazi regalia and nipping out to indulge in a spot of recreational heroin abuse with the drag queens at his local transvestite club. Sounds like what I got up to this weekend! I kid, I kid.

The show is a tribute some dead person called Ahmet Ertegün* whoever he was (shit name mate! and if he's dead then why does he need a benefit?) so I can't even slag it off without looking like a prick. Actually fuck that, I'll give it a shot. Paolo "Somebody Please Stamp On My Larynx" Nutini is on the line-up. I suppose I could go along to heave a large rock in the direction of his head but that would require my actual bodily presence. Anyway, the Who reunion concert will take place on the 26th November at London's O2 arena. You can register for tickets here:

www.ahmettribute.com

S.B.

*Ed - Ahmet Ertegün co-founded Atlantic Records in 1947 and introduced the world to many wonderful artists including The Drifters, Ray Charles and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. What have you done you worthless internet hack?

Cass McCombs - Dropping the Writ

Me: Hey have you heard the new Cass McCombs?

My best friend: Yeah we listened to it together remember?

Me: I can't stop listening to it, it's so damn lovely!

My best friend: Yeah me neither, I've heard it just as much as you have and yes it is damn lovely, possibly the loveliest record of the year, but then, I'm mad for the soft rock.

Me: It is very 'soft rock' isn't it? All super shiny guitar parts and echo-laden howls of joy, quite 80's?

My best friend: Quite. Who says 'echo-laden howls of joy' anyway?

Me: I do. I'm a music writer don't you know? Terms like that just force their way out of my mouth, remember I called that cereal this morning 'transcendental' and I said sophomore when talking about my second piece of toast, it's so people know I'm a music writer.

My best friend: Whatever. I've got Cass' first album A but never heard the one between that and this, PREfection. A is really good.

Me: Yes it is, love that song 'Aids in Africa', love the whole album really, so funereal, really makes a virtue out of every song sounding the same, slow as a glacier or some other really slow thing, I might save the glacier analogy for the next Sigur Ros Album. I've not heard Cass' sophomore effort either.

My best friend: I know.

Me: Yeah? Hard man to get any info on, is our Cass, dunno when the albums even coming out. His website just has the words 'Fire in the hole' and nothing else.

My best friend: Yeah I've been there.

Me: We're very similar, you and me. Have you seen those cute kids singing 'Stereo' by Pavement?

My best friend: Yeah I get the popbitch mailout too. You don't really understand it do you?

Me: Understand what?

My best friend: I'm not your best friend, you're writing this all yourself, I'm just a small part of your mental make up.

Me: Huh?

My best friend: For God's sake, you really are a lost cause. I'm the sensible part of you, I think you should stop smoking, get some exercise, return old friend's calls and please please please stop calling yourself a 'music writer' it's embarrassing for all of us, you don't even know what transcendental means!

Me: I don't like this, I'm putting you back in the box with Gay Me and Pro-active Me. Yr a lacerated willyhole.

My best friend: Very mature, You know....

Me: NANANANANANANANANANANANANANAH shit off! I'm listening to Dropping the Writ.

Cass McCombs - Petrified Forest mp3

Cass McCombs - Morning Shadows mp3

- RV & SRV

Thomas Hansen 1976 - 2007

Weird thing happened to me tonight. The plan was to do some work on a website and then do a piece on the new Cass McCombs album (this'll come tomorrow) for gimcrack. Searching through my cd's for something to distract me from my work I laid eyes on 'There's Only One of Me' by Saint Thomas, the sixth and regretfully last album by this Norwegian ex-postman.

I hadn't heard it in a while, when I picked it up earlier this summer I played it (particularly one song) non-stop for a week and had grown tired of it. In parts it can be a fairly harrowing and desolate listen, with Hansen singing honestly and bravely about his mental problems and struggles with drink and anti-depressants.

Track 7 got me again tonight, I love it so much, can't explain why it's any better than the other songs on the album or any other album by any other artist but tonight this song was all I wanted to listen to. I stuck it on repeat and started sketching away ideas for the website, I must've listened to it over 25 times. I headed over to the Saint Thomas website so see what's up, any new recordings on the horizon, only to be punched in the gut by this message:

Last night, my incredibly dear friend Thomas Hansen was found passed away in his apartment in Oslo. He was 31 years old.

Today is a tough day for his friends and family, and for all of those who were touched by the music he created. Many sang better than him or knew more chords on the guitar, but Thomas had a fantastic sense for melody that was surpassed by few. He would phone you up and ask for a suggestion for a song title, and thirty minutes later he would call again and play you the incredible song that he had just written and recorded for you.

Thomas struggled at many points in his life, his mental problems and addictions were public knowledge because he dared to speak about them. What would be his latest record was recorded at the lowest point of his life, a brutally honest album detailing the struggles of addiction and pain that he was experiencing. He got help and he got better, but there was always the struggle in his life between the shy boy who just wanted to be left alone and the artist who had to look his audience in the eye.

Hopefully, he has finally found peace.

My deepest sympathies to Beth, Terje and Kate. Getting to know your son and your brother was the most important thing that ever happened in my life. I miss him so much.

See you on the other side, Thomas.

Reidar A. Eik
September 11th 2007

This is the worst I've felt in a long while.
Here's the song I couldn't stop playing tonight which, to me, will never sound the same again.
R.I.P Saint Thomas.

Saint Thomas - My Morning mp3

Saint Thomas Website
Yes Boy Ice Cream Records

- RV.

Speak The Hungarian Rapper

So a friend hipped me to this You Tube Clip from Hungarian Rap Sensation Tamás Deák aka Speak. From the outset it's hard to tell if this is serious or not, it's one of those things that's so belly slappingly unintentionally hilarious that it's hard to believe it isn't the work of a comic genius.

You'll laugh at the way he says 'check this', you'll laugh when he mentions his 'black brudders', you'll laugh when he says 'yee c'mon', you'll laugh at the chorus and the men singing it, you'll laugh at the word 'business' you'll laugh when you realize he doesn't actually rap (hence the name dummy), you'll laugh at the fact he's holding a gickna pigeon in his hands rather than a dove, you'll laugh.

But seeing as Team Gimcrack are all about the love these day's and the fact that it was the somethingth anniversary of 9/11 43 minutes ago maybe we could all take a leaf out of Speak's book and try to 'live and love each other'. Tomorrow, why not wave at randomers and say hi, children and drunks do this all the time and they seem to be the happiest out of the lot of us.

Stop the War!

Speak Website

- RV.

A Few Good Reads

(Me writing this article)

Being a miserable bitter git is awful tiring work. I know everyone loves a good laugh, but honestly, if I have to write another story about Britney shitting on stage or Amy Winehouse sawing her husband's elbows off I'm going fuck my laptop out the window. I really do feel horrible inside writing about this bollocks sometimes. Rather than spend an evening trawling through grotesque peepshow that is fame, today I'm going to recommend a few good books I've picked up recently.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon

A rollicking good tale from the Author of Wonder Boys. Tells the story of Josef Kavalier, an aspiring magician and talented artist, who flees Nazi occupied Prauge and goes on to create one of the most enduring superheroes of the golden age of comics, The Escapist, with his cousin Sammy. The characterization in this novel is particularly strong with both Joe and Sammy being infuriating and lovable in equal measures. Full of wry humour and impeccable set pieces this has more heart than a four chested mountain goat.

The Road, Cormac McCarthy

Cormac McCarthy has long been one of my favourite writers. His epic novels about the unrelenting savagery of man are full of passages of such breathtaking beauty you almost want ingest the book. That would be unwise but probably not fatal. So go ahead, eat one. In the meantime, check out his latest novel set in the aftermath of a Nuclear Holocaust. It tales the tale of a dying man trying to protect his young son from gangs of marauding cannibals as they make their way across a burned America. Haunting and beautiful.

Jesus Son, Denis Johnson

This was made into a forgettable film which was actually co-scripted by the author himself. While the film was dull, the book on the other hand is a captivating read. Not so much a novel as a series of loosely interconnected stories as told by a staggeringly eloquent junkie. Full of passages of such poetic grace that I actually wrote one down and used it on a chick one night. I got a ride. Score!

The People's Act Of Love, James Meek

Wow! This was my find of the year. Wouldn't want to give to much away by revealing the story (and what a story!) but let me just say I have not been gripped by a novel like this in a long time. Without saying too much I can tell you that it involves a mysterious stranger arriving in a small Siberian town during the Russian Civil War of 1919 with astonishing and terrifying consequences. A minor masterpiece.

Everything Is Illuminated, Jonathan Safran Foer

I wasn't as blown away by this as some people were. I found the passages relating to the Author's grandmother slightly boring and the whole thing gets a bit sickly sweet at times. Perhaps the hype surrounding the book put me off somewhat but I finished saying, "so what?" Having said that the character of Alex, the word mangling interpreter, makes it worth buying alone. Hilarious in places but deathly dull in others.

Drop City, T.C. Boyle

Many consider this to be the prolific American author's masterpiece. Set at the tail end of the 60's when the dream was beginning to turn sour Boyle brilliantly weaves the tale of a burnt out hippy commune that ups sticks and heads for the wilds of Alaska. As life falls apart during the harsh winter months tempers flare and strange friendships are borne. Boyle is a fantastically descriptive writer and spins a brilliantly atmospheric tale. Sort of like a Robert Altman movie if it was a T.C. Boyle book.

Phew! That was pretty cathartic. I feel like a new man cleansed of all my hate. Having said that I'm sure my next post will probably be some sordid tale about Kerry Katona eating one of her babies. In the meantime I hope you enjoy my recommendations.

S.B.

The VMA's Turned Me into a Blabbering Wreck

Ok so here's a minute by minute, sap by spa rundown of The 2007 Video Music Awards as they were broadcast last night on MTV. It basically degenerates into a list of rude words by the end but you try and watch this thing and remain composed and witty, I'm surprised I didn't stick two pencils up my nose and slam my head on my laptop at some points.


21:00 :: Show starts! Britney's stumbling around, clearly confused. The damage is worse than we may have previously thought, she's forgotten how to lip-sync! Crowd looks like they may as well be watching Daniel Johnston. I wish Cypress Hill were making a comeback instead. Is it possible to applaud with a question mark? Everyone looks sad, which is understandable.

21:04 :: Nice one! Sarah Silverman, she'll make things right. Idiot crowd doesn't know whether to laugh or not, this is kinda uncomfortable. Shaved vagina's, diarrhoea, racist jokes! Silverman looks at the crowd like they're runny poo as she leaves, this will probably be the only good part.

21:14 :: Mark Ronson is leading the cunting house band for the night. He's so shit right now. Dunno who's talking now, some shit about v.i.p party's??? Kanye West's Good Life Party? Timberlake & Timbaland's Southern Hospitality Party? R. Kelly & DMX's Doggy-fiddling Party? Load of Barse.

21:16 :: First award! The alpha-slag from Pussy Cat Dolls and Paw Boobed Eve: Bumbling Clods. Monster Single of the Year. Too many nominees to care. Rhianna wins. She says this is heavy but I don't think she's talking about anything other than the weight of the award, would have been nice if she had some sort of psychological breakdown or something. Didn't thank God, She'll get hers!

21:19 :: Back to Kanye's party, everyone's wearing shit shades but it actually looks kinda fun. Kanye's not all that bad bad tho, he's no guy from Alabama 3, hate that guy.

21:20 :: Fucking Akon comes on from out of no where for pretty much 10 seconds. I don't need shit like this.

21:21 :: Quadruple Threat award??? What does that even mean? Oh it's the Best Musician Who Also Does Other Shit Award! Dancer/singer/actor/clothing line Justin wins, seems like a prick.

21:23 :: Fall Out Boy's private party. Whats with this? My brains starting to melt. Always thought the good looking one would be the singer. Wooo they're smashing their equipment hopefully that's all they brought.

21:25 :: Now we're at The Foo Fighters party. Pat smear!!!! whats he doing back? I hate cello's. These private parties are giving the show a weird feel.

21:27 :: Best Earth Shattering Collaboration? Shittering more like HA! Bollix barse felch Fiddy and Kanye hype rubbish. Quite like that Gwen Steffani song, want that to win, Timbaland has become such an embarrassing fart bubble.
Beyonce/Shakira win, Beyonce's boobs are like jelly.

21:30 :: Ronson and arse voiced tossbag from Maroon 5, feel nauseous. Once again they only get about 30 seconds so its not all bad.

21:36 :: Performance from Chris Brown, Charlie Chaplin in a world where random rules, miming. I'd kill him if he jumped on my table like that, hope he falls.
Prick.

21:40 :: Rhianna interrupts for a lame version of Umbrella that sounds like she has Evanescence or Night Wish for a backing band, now Chris Brown is doing 'billie jean' for a second, then dances more useless dances.

21:43 :: Back to Kanye's party, dunno who this is, someone who's a horrible shit possibly.

21:43 :: Stars of some show I've never heard of. Male Artist of the Year. Timberlake wins, Timbamuppet makes the speech its so fucking touching, touching balls!!! Ahahahahahahahahahahahah. Speech goes: 'fuckity fuck fuck barse boring blah blah i love you all but don't wanna see The Simpsons on reality television' Odd ball.

21:47 :: Cee-lo and Foo Fighters butcher Prince. Doesn't seem to be any black people at these private parties, just blonde white girls.

21:48 :: Fiddy, J.T and Timbaland. Infinity-bollix Product Placement Rap. Worst. Shit. Ever. Fiddy looks exhausted from having to 'rap' and move at the same time.

21:50 :: Shia leBoeuf announces the name of the new Indiana Jones movie to the most uncaring bunch of half wits ever assembled (it's called 'Indiana Jones and the Mega Badger' if you care). Presents Female Artist of the Year. Fergie wins but has wet her pants, can't come to the stage. Ludacris supposed to come get it but doesn't bother. Shia LeBoeuf wins Best Female.

21:57 :: Pamela Anderson points us in the direction of Kanye's party once again, how much screen time does this guy get?? Party looks far to orderly, cant help wishing for a natural disaster to hit Vegas, a piss vortex perhaps.

22:00 :: Fall Out Boy and Lil Wayne, really??? That's actually baloobas enough to be semi-interesting. I'm wrong.

22:02 :: Someone called Megan Fox dressed as a hooker, Timbaland and Linkin Park, this can't get much worse. This is worse than cot-death, well probably not. Actually they don't even deserve to be blah fuckity fuck fart blah.

22:06 :: Stars of Entourage, look like coke heads, present Best Band. Fall Out Boy win, seem to be surrounded by people pulling mooner's turns out they're muppets trying to get on camera.

22:09 :: Foo's and Serj Tankian covering 'Holiday in Cambodia' someone here must have a sense of humour.

22:15 :: Rhianna's back, singing with Fall Out Boy now, worthless ball sweat.

22:16 :: Nelly introduces Alicia Keys, forgot both of them existed, doing some sort of power ballad that sounds just like 'Where is the Love' by Black Eyed Peas, that's how bad it is. Seems to be taking forever to end, now she's covering George Michael via Stevie Wonder, whats the fucking point, mud shitting ball noise severed limb sex fantasy music overblown herpes soul.

22:22 :: Fall Out Boy party, doing that 'We don't have to take out clothes of to have a good time' song. Please take yr skin off and roll around in battery acid you pricks.

22:23 :: Jamie Foxx breaks news of a Tommy Lee / Kid Rock fight! Stop white on white crime!! Jamie Foxx must be on drugs he's all over the gaff. Jennifer Garner's there as well. best new artist Gym Class Heroes win, the Bjorn Again of emo-hop.

22:26 :: Fiddy's back 'rapping' along with himself.

22:27 :: Idiot Miss South Carolina makes fun of her self I think, maybe she just fucked up again. More Ronson bilge.

22:28 :: Mary J. Blige is looking old, talking bout raw, real music. She's talking about Dr. Dre, he's done some good shit but seriously this is laughable, muscle bound mumbling weirdo tries to make some tenuous link between being a great producer and the Best Video Award.

22:31 Best Video! Justice nominated again? Kanye too, maybe this is just so Kanye can get his own back for last year. Ha! No Rhianna wins! Hardly the best video ever. Rubbish no brain speech.

22:33 :: Fucking Mastodon, how it does it feel, playing to a bunch of star fucker gowls politely bopping their empty skulls?

22:39 :: Timbagain Justin & Nelly Furtado, fuck this I'm going for a wee.

22:44 :: Back, this shite is still on, honestly just had a chat with my dad about why Kraftwerk are better than Joan Armatrading.

22:46 :: Thank Allah it's finally over. That wasn't worth it at all.

So there we have it, terrible things said and done by horrible people infront of gormless fucktards and Kanye stll didn't get an award, can't wait till next year.

- RV.

Crack Cat Makes Me Sad

It's been a very slow week for arsehead celebrity shenanigans. However, trawling through the interweb, I came across this little gem. It has been alleged by the Sun newspaper that cadaver in waiting Pete Doherty has been feeding his cat crack cocaine. Sources claim that the clearly disturbed Babyshambles frontman regularly sucks the glass dick with his cat Dinger, even fashioning the cat its very own miniature crack pipe. The slightly dubious sounding article goes on to claim that the cat now suffers from mood swings and believes it can fly. Apparently Doherty thinks this is hilarious.

Not to be outdone, I decided to try a little experiment of my own. My dog Hendrix has always had a fondness for mind bending chemicals. As students, my chums and I would spend many a mirthful evening force feeding poor Hendrix speed and magic mushrooms and collapsing in hysterics as the pooch, clearly fucked out of his mind, barked at a plant for six hours. Upon hearing Doherty's latest crack crazed antics it felt it was my duty, no my obligation, to outdo the fucker. I really was not prepared for what happened next.

Crack is a wimp's drug Doherty, you git! You ever see a King Charles Terrier fucked to the eyeballs on smack? Let me tell you it's not a pretty sight. I carefully loaded the spike with 60mgs of the finest China White Euros could by and spiked little Hendrix on the left paw. After the initial puking, Hendrix started to feel the rush. Being ever the caring owner I set the mood by putting on The Velvet Underground's soaring paeon to the brown love, the aptly titled Heroin. Hendrix was on Cloud-Fucking-Nine! Little doggy eyes rolling back in his skull. I cranked up the music and let Hendrix drift off into the needlebliss.

It's been almost a week now and Hendrix is already into the first stages of a habit. He's been moody and secretive and I've noticed money going missing from the house. What started out as a bit of fun has ended up causing a massive rift between us. Hendrix blames me for his habit but refuses to accept any help from me. I've offered to pay for rehab and even organized an unsuccessful intervention. Now I'm drinking too much and blaming myself for Hendrix's habit and the situation has hit crisis point.

Doherty you twat! Look what fucking misery you've caused! I hold you personally responsible for my dog's heroin addiction! In all seriousness though if this is true then Doherty is bigger cunt than I previously thought. He must be due another court appearance soon, surely? Let's hope the next judge is not so lenient and doles out a well deserved spell in the chokey. I don't know about you but the news of a prolonged campaign of shower beatings directed towards Doherty would cheer me up no end.

Read the full story here

S.B.

(Note - The Author has never given a pet drugs, hard or ortherwise)

The Z-List Irish Celebrity Bebo Wars!

If yr a dickhead like me you probably leaf through someone else's copy of the Evening Herald most days of the week. Well you should have noticed a barely tolerable news story on page 11 of today's edition (Weds 5th), how could you not stop to read an article headlined 'Rosanna's Bebo Pool Pic Holocaust'(well it actually wasn't that, but something similar). Seems like former Missus World and daughter of nanny-bopping Demigod Chris De Blurggh (psyche!- I'm so funny) Rosanna Davison is having a little bit of trouble on her Bebo page.

According to the Herald some nasty bint criticized sweet/smart/charitable Rosanna for wearing make-up in the swimming pool! And then, and then...Oh fucking stick it up yr barse. Shit story, sorry my brains not working this week. She was slagged, she remained reposed and gave a polite yet cutting remark, some supposed celebrity friends (pippa o'connor?, paul byrom?, me neither) and hangers-on weigh in with support and potentially libelous rebuttals, supposed jealous coke head nasty bint takes it back. Whoopdee-shitting-doo. You can read the whole word-swill here but ask yrself, 'Am I really prepared to give up half an hour of my life to read some people I've never met and couldn't even comprehend caring abouts inane blatherings?'

Seriously, I did and I feel atrocious right now. I've spent 45 mins flicking between Bebo and this yoke, sitting in bed getting stoned and eating crackers with hummus and I'm supposed to make fun of these people? It's high time I started letting the love out. Rosanna probably is a really nice, clever person. She does a lot of charity work and has tips for living a greener life on her page, Pippa O'Connor's page is private so i can't have a look but she's more than likely as sound as Jesus, Paul Byrom... actually he does seem like a bit of an absolute blurtch mangler, fuck him.

- RV.

Oh The Humanity!

(A War Child, Yesterday)

"War, huh, what is it good for? Absolutely nothin'" Sang Edwin Starr in 1969. Well for one you get to see really cool explosions on the telly. Seriously though, war is a terrible thing and it has filled countless people's lives with needless suffering. If you need any further proof than that then recoil in horror at the news that Keane are to release a single for the charity War Child on October 29th.

The Night Sky, according to NME.com, is written from the perspective of a child living in a war zone. Growing up in notorious conflict area East Sussex, this is a harrowing subject Keane frontman Tom Chaplin knows only too well. Having spent many a morning avoiding unexploded landmines on his way to class at the £8404 a year Tonbridge Boarding School in Kent, Chaplin is not only the perfect candidate to write about the horrors of living in a war zone, but he's also a big fat arsehole.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for charities such as War Child helping to stop bloodshed across the globe but this whole culture of celebrities trying to save the planet sticks in my craw. If you criticize for a second the self congratulatory actions of these pompous egoists then you get labeled a despicable swine. The worst offender of this lot is fat mouthed bully Bob Geldof. Despite the fact that his overblown Live 8 extravaganza was organized to raise awareness of the plight of African Nations, the entire event suffered from a glaring lack of any minority artists on the bill. Certain hard bitten cynics argued that the event was merely staged to rehabilitate the careers of certain faded rock stars.

While these claims are unfounded and petty even by my standards I cannot help get wound up every time pampered jet-setting hypocritical dungheaps like Keane release a song for charity. Rather than buying the garraunteed awful single, just give the money straight to War Child if you really want to contribute to the cause. Simple as. I won't be doing it though seeing as there's nothing I hate more than war children. Well possibly Keane.

S.B.

I Heart Mice Parade.

Hi friend. Are you seeking a purveyor of magical electro-folk guaranteed to make you weep out your pituitary gland? Searching for some dizzying, gorgeous music that would have you beaten bloody for playing in a convent? Well my effeminate chum, it seems that your prayers have been answered. Mice Parade offer up the kind of dreamy, blissful, lo-fi tunefulness that will have you blubbing freely into your wasabe ripened organic double half-caff mochachino. But in a good way.

Signed to FatCat Records, home to among others the peerless Animal Collective and the slightly less fantastic but still really quite charming Múm, Mice Parade is essentially the alter ego of New York based multi-instrumentalist Adam Pierce. Latest album, ingeniously titled Mice Parade, is a strong contender for one of my records of the year. Using plainly strummed acoustic guitars as his foundation, Pierce adds layers of swirling synths, skittering beats and haunting vocals to create a beautiful and intimate collection of songs. I became so enamoured with this album that I quit my job and got a Mice Parade tattoo on my arse. In hindsight this was probably a bad idea.

Anyway, Mice Parade play The Village this Thursday 6th September. I'm going to be there. So will my fellow Gimcracker RV. Will you? Tickets cost €16.50 and are available from WaV Box Office 1890 2000 78.

Mice Parade - The Last Ten Homes mp3

Mice Parade FatCat Profile

S.B.

Madonna Directs A Film... Unfortunately Not A Sequel To Hubby's Masterpiece Swept Away.

(Eurgh!)

Jesus Christ! Who the fuck thought this was a good idea? It has been revealed that the Queen of Pop's directorial debut, the 50 minute short movie Filth and Wisdom, will get it's world premiere at the 2008 Sundance Film Festival.

Described as a comedy/drama/musical/romance, the story follows the exploits of a washed up, ageing transvestite as he/she desperately clings to his/her last dying traces of credibility while living out a marriage of convenience with a similarly talentless and hateful Brit mockney film director. Sorry, sorry, sorry! That's not actually the synopsis. Don't know where I got that rubbish from. Apparently it has something to do with the following: A Russian immigrant, ballet school, lap dancing, cultural revolution, poetry, night club, punk rock band, book writer, dominatrix and gypsy. Like a drunken Aunty getting off with one of your friends at a wedding, this is bound to be cringe inducingly awful.

The film, currently in post preduction, is not released until February next year. In the meantime, I have provided you with a clip from one of Madge's earlier cinematic masterpieces, In Bed With Madonna. This is the scene where she gives a water bottle a blowjob. Classy!

S.B.