When I die, I want Bill Wells and Aidan Moffatt to bury me.
THE COPPER TOP (from the album Everything’s Getting Older – Chemikal Underground Records) is a song that stopped me in my tracks today and made me cry.
Sad and beautiful but also honest through the blackness of its humour.
Goat play Voodoo Funk!
Short post today just to plug an amazing new album from Goat called World Music out on Rocket Recordings.
Who’d have thought that one one of the best freak/psych albums of the year would come from Sweden! They’re from a village with the unlikely name of Korpilombolo with no prior history of voodoo funk as far as I’m aware.
I’m intrigued to learn more of their background but at the same time it’s a nice change when an album seems to come out the blue and hits the bulls eye.
This is the trailer with some of the great press quotes they’ve inspired so far.
Related link:
Goat interview (The Quietus)
Coldplay won three awards at the Grammys:
– Song Of The Year (Viva La Vida)
– Best Pop Performance By A Duo Or Group With Vocals (Viva La Vida)
– Best Rock Album.
Occasion to celebrate? I think not!
Here’s the last word on the band courtesy of an inspired piece by Mr Agreeable in The Quietus:
Finally, Coldplay have released their latest album, Viva La Vida, to some laudatory reviews. Is it time, perhaps, that we get past his celebrity marriage and fruit-based policy of child naming and recognise the towering genius of our age that is Chris Martin? Yeah, well, it’s been some fing decade! Let’s go back. The Fifties brought us rock’n’roll. The Sixties brought us The Beatles, flower power, the countercultural revolution. The Seventies brought us punk, the Eighties post-punk, Acid and Techno, the Nineties grunge, jungle, triphop. And what has this fing decade given us? Kids with their trousers half way down their fing arses and fing Coldplay, in that order of fing merit! A handwringing guppyfaced, snivelling streak of fing cock all like Martin would have been laughed out any other fing decade! Coldplay are fing homeopathic music a gnat’s kneecap-sized particle of fing substance diluted to the fing power of 10 zillion gazillion! Fretting vaguely about the fing environment over a fing piano tinkling like water dripping from a piece of fing ten year old wet lettuce, then blasting your own China-sized hole in the fing ozone player with your private jet? Arsehole! And those fing lyrics! “Those who are dead, are not dead, they’re just living in my head.” What, that’s where we fing go after we peg it? I tell you this, I’d rather be griddled by Satan’s most malicious minions for all fing eternity than spend it in the vaporous fing drivel generator that is fing Chris Martin’s head! Truly, the c to end all c*s!
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