Chocolate Kylies

 My friend and I (we're both male and straight) were disucssing Kylie as we often do. There were cliches in our conversation at first about how amazing Kylie had gone from geeky girl next door to the amazing pop star she is but it soon disgressed into how great it would be if she baked a cake for us and how wonderful it would be for Kylie to be a state, (which she is the head of) with its own currency, airport, shopping centre, post office, ice cream parlour and tea rooms. My friend had been to an exhibition of her stage outfits which made me slightly envious and queeny with er...more envy.Above all it's her pop records we love.
Her new single is everything that her last album largely wasn't. It's classic bittersweet Kylie, wrapped up in a shiny red sweet wrapper and dipped in Belgian chocolate, dusted with Italian chocolate, placed into shortbread and carefully had that wrapper extracted so you don't choke too much on how pretty and nostalgic it is to have her back. When the video comes out and her new tour begins it will inspire wide eyed fans of all persuasions, unthreatened by her sensual appeal (in a good way. Sensual but unattainable. How perfect relationships between fans and performers should be).

It's a shame that she hangs around with that William Baker who made that documentary about her. He's quite awful. He has no idea about making documentaries and doesn't do Kylie any favours, presenting her as a teenage queen of the desert, a kind of camp Aussie Abba fan who never grew up. Her fragility of course always comes through, as it does naturally, but Baker fucks it up for her but I don't want to use this 'light' blog to dwell on that. Look at this. Kylie as Agent Smith in a pleasant version of The Matrix Reloaded.

But what is it that I love about her? It's not just the fact that 'On a Night Like This' is one of the best pop records of all time or that she's made half a dozen iconic videos, but I respond to stuff like the flop of Deconstruction's albums. Which contain some interesting ideas among the missed opportunities. For me Confide in Me was the turning point, a mature, lush pop single that could have been released in the 50s by Marylin Monroe or Edith Piaf or even Doris Day. Actually I don't even know why I described Edith Piaf or Doris Day as lush. Sorry. I never bought the whole hype of Spinning Around and her short shorts...not untill On a Night Like This, with a video featuring Rutger Hauer came out.


So yes, Kylie is ace. I've made a compilation of some of her material, album tracks, singles and remixes and even designed my own CD cover. Of course I do this for many of my favourite artists when I have too much time on my hands. She's the one...love her, love her, love her...

Ja Dankety!

I was hoping that I might be able to use a font appropriate for a feature about Chris Morris but blogspot don't do rentagobfont. I've looked. They don't.

So it's 2010 in the year of our Morris, Lord of gibber, high preistly of piss archery and cocking Christ's modern dictionary of media quackery.

There's a book that's out now all about him called 'Disgusting Bliss: The Brass Eye of Chris Morris' by Lucian Randall. It's quite good. Sort of a decent overview of the man who was there and in some cases concieved On The Hour/The Day Today/Brass Eye/Blue Jam and his new film Four Lions.

What is in no doubt is that this brainy bastard is at the centre of it all and made these things what they were and what they continue to be.

I don't want to really mention Nathan Barley. The book doesn't go into much depth about it either. I don't feel it really shame faced it's targets as it might. On the contrary. The Nathan Barely's out there seemed to bloody multiply. 'That's well Garnett, yeah!'

Morris has been called many things, a spotty geek, a media terrorist, the news rapist, a matrix trained gash manned upgraded Victor Lewis -Smith and a HTV ferret. In an alternate world that I've just made up, he is the actual Aphex Twin, doing time for shanking Jas Mann's 12"s. He's the fifth member of Kraftwerk. Most of his fans love him because he pisses off the tabloids, he pisses on minor self-important celebrities, not all hard targets, granted. He fucks with the minds of members of the public and politicians who will condem anything without having seen it. We've all done that, I suppose. I haven't read or watched the Twilight series, safe in the knoweldge that I already hate them and think that they are sick affronts to the genres of teen and horror and vampire fiction. Chris Morris pretty much makes us all feel like plebs. Not just builders and black people.

Importantly he really screws with the small minds of the Daily Mail and it's loyal damaged readership. I find this the most amusing and hypocritical of of all because it's the journalists who write for these rags that are clearly in denial about the language and techniques Morris exploits to display how it manipulates its consumers. I suspect the Mail, Express, the Sun and the Mirror are fully aware and in awe of Morris but despise him for using the tools of the trade to expose how ridiculoussness, mock seriousness and frothy mouthed, sensationalist panic mongering is the order of the day...today.

Chris Morris as Wayne Carr Interviews Two Unlimited

After listening to On The Hour and/or watching Brass Eye/The Day Today it is unfailingly impossible to take any tabloid news/print media seriously ever again, much less the breasted, puffed up Nicky Campbell and Jeremy Kyle going through their quest to unite middle england and council estates with their so called hard hitting crusades. Indeed you could be forgiven if any type of manfactured controversy, sensitive news stories can ever pass you by without the temptation to stifile a giggle. In many ways it's always been this way.

What you're left with when the smoke clears and the mirrors have been smashed is a fragile, insecure society of fuck up's. Fear prevails. Pissed up on booze, medicated to the groggy eyeballs with pointlessness and hopelessness, in a permenant state of autumnal bogginess. You really have to laugh. The alternative is far too horrific to contemplate.  How could you not find not just the idea but the reality of, say, John McCririck, angrily denouncing the 'idea' of Suitcliffe! the musical about the imprisoned Yorkshire ripper? Or this?

Clive Anderson has been murdered by Noel Edmonds

The real controversial crimes out there isn't Morris exposing, observing or criticising the hypocrisy and pomp of the media but the fact that media/social monstrosities are allowed to go by unchecked, you know: Live at Studio Five, ego pieces in newspapers, Cheryl Cole and Wayne Rooney leading the news at the expense of bum rape in Burnley, X-Factor results, Balls of Steel, Danny Dyer, who killed archie? Susan Boyle...Laugh but quietly despise it all. It's the only power you have.

To be furthered

EuroMix: I love my radio, my Dee jay's, midnight, chinese radio

I have a confession to make. I love Europop/eurodance/eurobeat, italo music, call it what you will. During a recent trip abroad what calmed my nerves on the plane was listening to my 'EuroMix' playlist on the iPod. As with jetting odd somewhere on holiday it's always represented pure escapism. My holidays rarely take place on some Spanish or Greek isle, with the boozed up riff raff in their football shirts. For a track performed with girls like Bacarra, I envisage a different fantasy for myself. I'm at the piano, somewhere in Monte Carlo, perhaps on the terrace, by Grimaldi forum, over looking the sea and palm trees, with my grand piano, as women in figure hugging evening gowns hang on my every word. I know it's all a bit Dudley Moore but I find that idea of the British male, abroad, impressing shallowly impressing the girls with his debonair gait and accent just as fascinating as Milla Jovovich's eyes. So anyway, my playlist, it includes:

BWO-Temple of love
La Bouche-Be my lover
Haddaway- What is love?
Scatman John-Scatman (dodgy name, I know)
London Boys-London Nights
Falco-Rock me amadeus
Corona-Rythmn of the night
Taffy-I love my radio
Desireless-Voyage, voyage
Sabrina-Boys (summertime love)
Modern Talking-Brother Louie (see pic above)
Army of lovers-Crucified
Spangna-Call me
Alphaville-Big in Japan
Yello-The race
Ryan Paris-La dolce vita
Double-The captain of her heart

Before I defend the predictable and tired criticisms- i.e, naff lyrics, big haircuts, cheesiness, its just shit, blah, blah...let me go on record to say that I love and appreciate most types of music. I can listen to experimental, classical, indie, general pop music.

As for Europop, I just love the pomp of it, especially during the 80s, when it was fashionable to be pompous. In fact it was an art form. I love the fact that the English translations were dodgy. It makes the sentimental messages and the effort in getting them across all the more powerful. I love the big sounds, full of reverb, big drums, thumping bass, and the wash of synthetic strings and pianos. All those minor chords, key changes and hooks, not forgetting legendary multiple choruses. If you think one chorus is enough you aren't thinking big, try two. Check out Modern Talking's 'You're my heart, you're my sould' or even 'Brother Louie'. Amongst the seemingly euphoric nature that subjects ranging from nights out in london, Mozart, boys, F1 racing to...er...crucifixion, you could be sure that there was often an undercurrent of ambivalence in the songs, in the chord structure, and even, in the cases of Falco, London Boys and Scatman John, in their lives, as sadly, these are no longer with us.

There's a light that will never go out

I miss John Peel. The music industry misses him and although they don't yet know it unborn kids and future musicians/bands/artists and music lovers miss him too. We miss the man, the spirit, his passion for new and alternative music, his digressions, his sardonic derision of former Radio 1 colleagues, his love of Liverpool FC and maybe at some point, we'll miss his legacy, as 6Music struggles to stay on air. Maybe there are more DJ's like him. I'm sure there are in the world. There's very few of them on the air though that can inspire impressionable teenagers and music lovers of all ages at ten o'clock in the evening.

I first heard Peel's show in 1983. I remember it because I had a little red transisitor radio. I must have been about 9 years old. My parents couldn't afford to buy me a music centre and it would be a year before I got a 'ghetto blaster' for christmas. So I'd carry this thing around with me, whenever I went exploring the fields on my bike in the summer or when I went to to bed. I know it's become a massive cliche that every young fan of Peel remembers listening to his show with a transistor radio under the bed covers but I really did. I'd listen for about twenty minutes and I'd probably drop off. I'm not sure if I enjoyed the show in those days but it was probably the most purposeful thing on the air at that time. At 9 years old I had no major feelings that I was part of some kind of music rebellion and the records that Peel played had a major impact on my youth. They probably didn't. In fact I thought at the time that Peel was rather grumpy and brusque and not as much fun as the majority of Radio 1 DJ's of the time. But then again, I felt that way about Jimmy Saville as well. I never got the quips and the sly asides aimed at some inane record/band/DJ.

In the 90s when Radio 1 went through some changes and all the housewife's favourites left or got booted out of Radio 1, John Peel was still doing his thing. I swear I even saw him turn up in an Abba documentary on BBC 1, singing their praises in only the downbeat but humourous way Peel could. By this time I had heard of the famous Peel Sessions and knew of his love for Teenage Kicks, the constent demos tapes, his habitual exsaperation at his kids not tidying their room and I understood his passion, his quips and was entertained by his stories. Unlike DLT and that lot, Peel's stories didn't bore me rigid. In fact I loved being part of his world for however long I was listening. And that was the thing. While I couldn't claim to be a regular listener of his Radio 1 show, I always knew that among the music he played, you'd come away wanting to discovering more or even thinking 'what the fuck is that racket?' Now while this may be true of many radio shows, with Peel, the remarkable thing was many of this stuff was unsigned or barely played anywhere else. If primetime radio wasn't playing Boards of Canada as they should have been doing, you could bet Peel would, and he did. Much of the music I was getting into and all the cool kids pretended to be into, well, Peel had already been there first, often twenty years before. He was ahead of his time.

With any luck there must be a massive archive of Peel's shows. Since it's clear that Radio 1 are struggling in the night-time slot with Colin Murray, why not edit the Peel shows and out a series of 26 thrice weekly Peel programmes on for evermore...or at least untill the shows run out? 1. It would be decent and entertaining and deliver what Radio 1 is clearly failing to do. Didn't they fall over themselves saying how they would keep his spirit alive? 2. Think of all those impressionable kids who will actually get a decent music education for the first time since 2004.

There's many things about Peel I'll never forget. One image still stays with me. He was at Glastonbury doing his piece for radio and he says 'I expect you can't see it at home but the sun's setting and if you could see me I imagine that my hair would look white and I'd look sage and beautiful.'

Meet The Simm

 

I want to write about John Simm. Because he's lovely. I've followed his work for a while. I watched Sex Traffic, preferable to Human Traffic. He delivered a fantastic, loyal and honest performance in Crime and Punishment, and I enjoyed him in what I initially thought was the rather naff, Life on Mars. It's the honesty and the sensitivity he brings to many of his characters. Maybe the fact that he looks like an intellectual young offender may have something to do with it, but he's kind of gorgeous in a platonic way. I don't want to weird anyone out, and it certainly isn't my intention, but in an alternative universe, maybe a bit like the one in Life on Mars/Ashes To Ashes, I reckon John and I would have been great mates. I'm sure one of our exchanges would have been something like:

JOHN. Alright Smirnov, mate? What you been up to?

SMIRNOV. So-so. Just been to the breaker's yard, see if they have any trim for the wheel arch. You?

JOHN. My head's pretty mashed. Been reading plays all week. What you doing tonight?

SMIRNOV. I'm skint. Would have been nice to have my tea at Varsity...I can't tap you for twenty quid, can I?

JOHN. Sorry mate, I'm strapped meself. Keepin' my fingers crossed that I get the Hamlet gig.

SMIRNOV. I loved you in 'Life on Mars'

JOHN. ?...

I know. It's pretty pointless and daft having a friend who's a famous actor just to tap him for cash and say how great he was in Life On Mars.  I'm sure he would make the ubiquitos SIMS computer game franchise more exciting if all the characters were clones of him. But this old idea of mine must have been used for his role as The Master in Doctor Who, a performance I wasn't greatly keen on, mainly due to the poor writing. It's a shame that Kieslowski died before he discovered John Simm. He would have made a fetching existential Polish character. Um...that's all.

First Crush

 

Well...I was only five or six. 

Seabrooks Crisps

 

I love crisps. Can't remember the first packet I ate, probably the Golden Wonder or KP brand. There were also other brands I used to consume with my half pint of fizzy cola at the Walmsley Arms, in Wigan as a boy including Rileys, Murphy's and Wigan's own brand, Richmond Crisps. Obviously I used to eat Walkers crisps as well, they were still as ubiquitous in the 1980s. But somehow they left me slightly unsatisfied.

In the early 90s Walkers as well as other brands tinkered around with the flavours, made them less fatty and salty (marginally) and many of them lost their taste. Other brands become more prominent as well, such as Real McCoys and the delicious Brannigan's (Roast Beef and Mustard). Of course eating so called hand made, kettle fried crisps is all the rage in some parts, but I find them too expensive and hard on the gums. (Don't fear, I still have teeth) But none of them quite do it for me the way Seabrooks Crisps often do. The Prawn Cocktail have the right level of tang, the Cheese and Onion Flavour feels almost sensual on the tongue, releasing buttery, oniony and salty tings, and as for Beef, Tomato and Canadian Ham, well, what can I say? Scrumptious! Seabrooks are also aware of their own fantastic product as their quirky website reveals Here You can hand pick your own box of 48 packets for parties and the winter season if you like. (I haven't done this yet. There's a fear that the box will go to the wrong address and they'll think it's christmas and I'm aware as always that I have to watch my weight. So I try to be careful with my rations.)

During my work experience in 1988, I worked for a screen printing firm in Leigh who essentially made the boxes and packaging to hold bags of KP crisps. A driver called Frank took me with him to the KP factory in Ashby where we were amused that the place was manned with cosy looking women. Frank was an odd character anyway. If he wasn't singing to whatever was on the van radio like The Christians, he was offering me the benefit of his wordly views. 'Never swear in front of a woman,' he once said. 'What if she swears in front of you, Frank?', 'Smack her in the gob!' Charming.

I suppose there's a social aspect to crisp eating which I don't enjoy. People consume them with their beer, they crunch them in the cinemas and indulge in the rather unruly habit of munching them on the bus. At school whenever you had anything in the playground kids would form a queue, their hands held out, expecting your crisps and toffees. Maybe this was what made me eat them in secret, or contributed to my slight fear of eating in public. I don't know. Maybe it was the fact that many people can't eat them properly, without spitting bits out, or not suitably closing their mouths when devouring. Who knows? Maybe it's the sight of ugly mouths munching? Perhaps. 

But I love this brand no less.

The above artwork is courtesy of  http://www.flickr.com/photos/hwayoungjung/
You should go and visit this site for some quirky and retro designs of much loved UK brands.

This retro site has a thread about crisps  http://forums.doyouremember.co.uk/threads/2995-Crisps?p=110506

And the h2g2 site on BBC provides and enthralling History of Crisps Here

Crisps. I'm feeling peckish now.

Goldfrappuccino: Brave New World

Now this is a healthy obsession to have. Here's a pic of lovely Alison Goldfrapp. As with cappuccino, her style and sound is lovely, hot, smooth and has lots of bubbles. This could sound terribly patronising and whimsical but it's not supposed to be. I've enjoyed the music of Goldfrapp since 2000. They can do whatever they like.

Following on from classics as Felt Mountain, Black Cherry, Supernature and Seventh Tree which marries elements of JG Ballard, Barberlla The Wicker Man and John Barry comes Flight of The Navigator in a seductive clinch with Blade Runner, in the form of new album 'Head First' and new Van Halen versus Laura Brannigan, single 'Rocket'. How to make a Goldfrapp album. Throw all the above influences into a blender with Kate Bush's red shoes, some whipped cream of Oz, some sweet and sinister Brothers Grimm fairytales (I'd also add a dollop of Moomin dreams), the attitude of Studio 54, russian spies, a casino, stir in  seedy 60s peep shows and you're just about close. Pour the mixture into a skintight pair of red satin underwear, swing around for about 40 mins, and wait at the stage door to clobber Martine McCutcheon and there's your sound. Sure, Alison Goldfrapp may look  like a bored bitch who works in a sex shop in Soho but she's like a John Wyndham star child, had she had been led astray behind the bike sheds by Marlene Detritch. And she looks good riding a horse, which is important.

HIS LIGHT REVIEW 2009

Some things I enjoyed this year:

 

 

 
 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas With The Killers

I wrote a treatment for a proposed NBC The Killers Christmas Special. For some reason it wasnever realised, until now. So sit back, relax, have a mince pie and a glass of wine, or a pot of hot coffee, or a bowl of jelly babies, or peanuts, or a couple of slice of toasted bread, topped with Heinz Toast Toppers (other toppings are available) and settle down to Christmas With The Killers.

OPENING TITLES

'Viva The Killers' starring Brandon Flowers.

You have to watch the above clip to truly appreciate the feel and format of this special.

An instrumental version of 'Don't Shoot me Santa' plays over the credits as we track a plane in the sky, arriving at Honolulu airport. As the band members disembark, the music fades down and is replaced by an Hawaiian version of 'Uncle Johnny' as they are greeted by hula girls who put flowers in the band members hair and place garlands around their necks.  

Brandon looks visibly awkward whilst Mark is nonplussed. While they are disembarking we are aware of a running commentary by a bloke with a Spanish accent (the guy from Fantasy Island basically) who's telling us all about the Killers, how  many albums they've sold, when they were formed, what things they despise, etc. We then see two blokes dressed smartly in white. (From Fantasy Island basically) One of them is about three feet tall. Lots of canned applause from an audience we never see.

Small Man in White Suit With Spanish Accent: Boss, why are they called The Killers?

Man in White Suit: Who can tell what the mysteries of the universe and fate have decided but...these sweet men, looked to music and poetry to find the answers.

Small  Man: I like The Killers. They are the best band in the world. They have come to the best place in the world!

Man in White Suit With Spanish Accent: Welcome to Hawaii, my friends. In Hawaii it is always summer, it's always a place for laughter, romance and honeymoons. Fear not if you have not brought your own cocktails because we will provide all the hospitality, casinos, girls, boys, theatres, magic, lasers and  a cocktail of music, laughter, love, tears...(turns to camera and points) and tonight, ladies and gentleman, The Killers will be your hosts. Enjoy!

Scene One

'Begin the Beguine'

We are in a swanky, slightly tacky, expensive nightclub, with the guests watching on tables and chairs. The music strikes up, Brandon appears on one staircase, while Julio Iglesias appears on the other. They are both wearing glittery suits with open neck shirts and medallions. They meet in the middle and perform the songs. Many shots of disco glitter balls suffice and we see that the members of the band are dressed in white suits, as a kind of ironic house band. At the end of the song Brandon and Julio compete for the world's brightest and cheesiest smile.

Cut to;

Scene Two

'I Can't Stay'

We're on a beach, the sun is setting, the waves are rolling in, couples are walking on the sand and we track to the bar where Brandon is serving cocktails. Neil Tennant is on the bar stool with raised eyebrows as he leers and gushes, 'I say you've been raising eyebrows on both sides of the bar.' Brandon laughs nervously like Matt Damon in The Talented Mr Ripley.' As the music swells up Brandon begins shaking the cocktail shaker as the opening bars of 'I can't stay' swell up. A brass band accompany him as he sings the song, mounting the bar at one stage and evolving into cocktail waiters all on the beach in a majestic dance routine featuring giant cocktail umbrellas, twirling them, limbo dancing, and even doing the Lambada dance with each other, while Brandon refuses to dance with that bloke from Kings of Leon. The rest of the boys feature in this but only if you freeze frame the hard drive recorder and look for them on a yacht like Duran Duran, having a few beers and looking mildy bored.

Fade out to ad break

Scene Three

Music- The opening intro chords to the live version of Spaceman...

In a pastiche of 'The Snowman', the cartoon Snowman takes the young cartoon version of Brandon in his dressing gown and they fly over the British countryside to the sound of Spaceman. The young Brandon is both startled and awestruck as the magnificent Snowman takes him on a journey over snow covered fields, roads, valleys and sea.  Wild hares, foxes, cows and snow tigers look on, a tail of a whale crashes into the sea, Dolphins join them partly on their journey north. Boys and girls in their houses at night look out of the window, pissheads on ferry's at the spectacle before them. In the distance a swarm of Snowmen join them on their journey, three of them carrying Mark, Ronnie and Dave. This version of the snowman is wearing Brandon's trademark pheasant feathers on his shoulders. 

As they go higher and higher they approach the northern lights, which dance with them in this strange, haunting, beautiful sky ballet. With a sparkle of colourful dust Brandon, and his band members are all wearing space suits as they all head into space. The Snowmen don't need them obviously.On the moon there is a beacon of light in the shape of the letter 'K'. We become aware of the band set up, the keyboards, the drums and the guitar and in a Lunar module Ray looks on, waving to the Killers as they take to the surface of the Moon and perform the rest of the song while Raymond Briggs Snowmen and the grumpy and drunken Santa are all raving. Even Saint-Exupery's 'Little Prince' is there. Santa hands Brandon a  New Order CD. Brandon beams. As the music starts to fade the Snowman takes him back home. After one long, life affirming last hug and a last look back, Brandon goes into the house as The Snowman takes his position. The morning after there is nothing but a mound of snow and the pheasant feathers on the ground. Brandon is heartbroken. He checks his pocket and finds the New Order CD. The camera pans out leaving the crestfallen Brandon looking at the mound of snow.

CUT TO:

Scene Four

'Joyride'
Brandon is in an open top sports car dressed in a white suit, open necked shirt, a medallion and  white gloves. The other members of the Killers are in the car, cruising down the neon drenched sunset strip looking to score. Brandon is out looking for action. He's totally glammed up and looking like a mean motherfucker. By his side, on a leash is that wild cat from the Human video. They enter some tacky club. During the 'oh oh oh' bits the Killers take to the under floor lit dance floor, dancing a bit like John Travolta. The Wild Cat meanwhile looks pissed as he's on the lookout for prey, climbing the walls, scampering across bars and tables, creating chaos. It turns into a bar brawl. The darn wild cat attackes Matt Belamy from Muse (just in case you don't know who Muse are or how Bellamy is spelt or svelte.) Chairs and bottles get smashed over heads, the wild cat savages anyone it comes into contact with, the police arrive with Sherrif John Bunnel (retired) in tow, who puts his gun to Dave's head in a standoff. Meanwhile, throughout, Mark has been professionally playing the bass and ignoring all the chaos, like a true pro.

Scene Five

'Human'

Brandon is at a lectern at one of those big political gatherings. Before the song he giggles and says 'This is it! There ain't gonna be no more...this is it! And when I say it, I mean it!' He starts off with a stuffy suit, then half way through tears it off to reveal his preacher man look.  Maybe it's a world peace event, I don't know. Anyway he's gracing everyone with platitudes, smiling and being the optimistic American. The gathering suits are lapping up his sentiments. Behind the glare of the cameras are a troupe of guards armed with snow tigers at their sides, trained on the audience. At the climax of the song stars and stripes confetti floods the congregation and everyone starts raving, showgirls enter the stage throwing candy out to everyone and dancers with Elmo masks from Sesame Street turn up.The other members of the band are dressed as Captain America.

At the end of the song the two men from Fantasy Island enter the stage and shake Brandon's hand.

MAN IN WHITE: Ah Brandon! Welcome to my world, and welcome to your fantasy Christmas special!

BRANDON: ( with nerves) Hi!

DWARF IN WHITE: This is the best fantasy ever, amigo! I like Elmo.

MAN IN WHITE: Tell us about Elmo. You keep an Elmo pumpkin at home, yes? How does it work?

BRANDON: Um...you buy one of these Elmo stencils, carve it out and light the sucker up!

MAN IN WHITE: This is your band, right? You! (He points to Mark) You don't say much but you look Nordic, no?

MARK: ?

BRANDON: He's kinda shy. We're all kinda shy. (Giggles like a scared boy for twenty five seconds)

DWARF IN WHITE: (Hugs Brandon around the waist) Oh, this is the best Christmas ever! Much better than Cesar Millan. I don't like Cesar Millan.

MAN IN WHITE: And now, ladies, gentlemen, kings and queens, pixies and fairies, vampires and werewolves, urchins and millionaires, for their next trick The Killers will perform a song called 'Mr Brightside'...in three...dee!

Scene Six

'Mr Brightside'

Brandon and the boys are dressed as Adam and The Ants. Brandon is Adam from the Prince Charming era. They perform Mr Brightside in front of rich guests at a Cinderella ball. Gabriel Byrne stars at the King. They try the glass slipper on various guests, such as the ugly sisters played by Beth Ditto, Amy Winehouse and Fergie. Brandon is unable to find his Princess. He doesn't care. He rattles through the song, then launches himself at a swinging chandler and hurls himself through the tall windows during the 'I neverrrrrrr' refrain and escapes in a carriage at the end.

Scene Seven

'Tidal Wave'

Brandon is standing on the top deck of a lighthouse, looking at the beams hit the fog in the night as if he's waiting for his ship to come in. The light beams hit crashing waves and dark grey skies. It's like the end of the world.  At the end of the song his face is streaming with tears and the lights go out.

Scene Eight

'A Great Big Sled'

The Killers are having snowball fights, building a snowman and generally dicking about. They've invited some celebrity guests to join in with the song, like an ironic Band Aid. They are joined by Brian Wilson, Ed from Friendly Fires, and snooker player Jimmy White (becasue we couldn't get Mick Jagger) They're all wearing woolly jumpers and generally frolicking about. They retire to their log cabin to sup mulled wine and eat mince pies around the tree whilst they sing the final chorus around the piano.

Closing credits.

An instrumental version of 'Losing Touch' as played on Xylophone plays as we see the Killers aeroplane take off into the distance in slow motion. Over the image 'Merry Christmas from The Killers x' is superimposed as handwritten by one of the band, probably Brandon's but I'm sure Ronnie's will do.

Slave To The Rhythm

Grace Jones partially terrified me when I was a kid. She was in 'A View To A Kill'. went out with Rocky IV's Drago and leathered Russel Harty on his chat show for being rude to her. She frequented the clubs of New York, catwalks of Paris, her image was featured in a cool as fuck advert for some car and made a sexy record called 'Pull Up To The Bumper,' with a groove that could inspire an erection. Don't worry, Grace fans, she isn't dead or anything. If she wasn't popstar material then I don't know who is or was. She was more Gaga than Lady Gaga. For me this song is intrisically Grace Jones and it represents one of the best productions I have ever heard. On first listening you can dismiss it as a kind of wine bar, yuppie disco kind of song that Patrick Bateman might wax lyrical about. It's much more than that. It's lush, aspirational, bizarre, terryfing 'Herrre's Grace!', satirical, luxury chocolates, expensive perfume. The sound itself is spacious as a fast car whisking you off to drinks at a casino in Monte Carlo, it's an epic film , it's indescribable.


My other half can't listen to it. It brings back bad flashbacks of her perforated eardrum. The video is also absurd, exotic, sleek, sensual and also in its own way quite tormenting and traumatic. All these adjectives could easily apply to Grace herself. Listen to it...about 15 times and make up your own mind.

HEINZ TOAST TOPPERS 70p from Sainsbury's

The Hitchikers Guide to The Galaxy has this to say about toast toppers:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A855263

 

I can't keep it secret anymore. The urge to tell you is too great. I'm sure it will disgust you. It kind of disgusts me but I know in my heart it's no less than what I deserve. My name is Smirnov and I love Heinz Toast Toppers. Cheese and Ham flavour to be exact. I probably had my first slice of toast with the toppers on top sometime in 1985/86. Instant cheese on toast! I felt no shame as I fed the toasted bread into my mouth and sank my teeth into the liberally applied warm, seemingly cheese and ham topping. My taste buds felt as if they'd had casual, cheap, back street sex with someone slightly attractive. Years later as my pallet marginally, only marginally became more developed, but not much more... in fact not a lot at all, I came to understand that many people didn't actually share my illicit appreciation for this snack.

 

I've only actually eaten toast toppers about 12 times in my life, three of them because there was no other food in the cupboard, but every time I now acquire a small tin I'm transported to being 13 again, watching Thundercats on TV, taping Euro Top 20 off the radio, having no money, but suitably having that fucked up imagination of a 13 year old who imagines he's living it up with a French Bread Pizza.

Pet Shop Boys, Etc

I don't own the collectable vinyl edition of the 'Yes' album. I don't have a record player or three hundred quid to spare.  Having all their albums, CD singles, 12" singles, remixes, rarities, VHS, DVD's, books, concert programmes, the odd item signed, a mug from the Nightlife concert (you would be treated with some suspicion if you claimed you weren't a fan of the Pet Shop Boys). 

I am a fan as it happens and even if I look forward to every new PSB release, buy them, download them (legally obviously) and make my own compilations based on b-sides, remixes and album tracks, and give them my own one word titles such as 'Menagarie, 'Besides' and 'Climax', I'm not one of those obsessive fans who collect promos off ebay or give up my job to spend 6 months following them on tour, send Neil balloons, create discussion forums where I ban anyone who doesn't feed my ego or agree with me. I'm also not one of those fan's who believes the sun shine's out of their arses. I'm not wholly keen on  the 'Release album, 'Closer To Heaven' musical and  some of the dubious decisions made by their record company in selecting the wrong songs to issue as singles. I suppose I've become a bit of an unofficial share holder. The Pet Shop Boys have become a business that needs to be protected and cared for. 

 I enjoy the Pet Shop Boys for many reasons. Foremost they write beautiful, melancholy, sincere and euphoric pop music about love, loss and life. They have a distinct sound that while it borrows partially from italo/euro/techno/synth pop/SAW/modern classical, the sound is their own. As with Warp records or Kompakt they have a distinct and clean design aesthetic, an identity harvested by Eric Watson, Farrow, Weber, Sam Taylor-Wood, Scott King, Jarman or E's Devlin. Their appreciation and adoptation of modern art has lent itself to many visual treats over the years, be it smoothing your hands across the pristine, minimal artwork of 'Please' to leafing through the programme of the latest tour, even somehow, in my case, smelling the glossy pages and associating the chemical aroma with the scientific, clinicalism of the boys. I'm being a bit daft there of course.  Now if they ever produce a range of teas called 'Infusion' they will really cater to the senses of smell and taste as well as touch, sight and sound. 

When they collected the award at the Brits for Outstanding Contribution to Pop Music early in the year, in the way you'd expect, stylish, sincere, and not thanking every record exec and their mother, I suspect I wasn't one of the first people who initially felt they should refuse it. After all it's an awards ceremony. It's backslapping bullshit and who can accept an award accepted by Bob Geldoff or the Spice Girls? I was proved wrong. I never doubted they wouldn't put on a show to make everything that had ever gone before totally redundant. I'm still not sure what the award is actually for. They have never had anything to prove as far as I and all of their fans aware. I guess it was nice seeing them on prime time TV again.  Remind the people who fell off their radar how relevant they were and ARE, what truly good pop music is about, how they make you want to dance and educate you, how they can transport you to a place in a time that maybe felt happier even if it wasn't. I don't know. In comparison most pop songs, even the secondary Xenomania pop records just sound dated, poor and not forward thinking enough (forward thinking, I'm sure is a term Tennant would hate).

When I was growing up in a council estate in the mid 80s Pet Shop Boys kept me company, their music gave me aspiration when the country was being raped by the tories. When every other student was listening to grunge and conservative 'Britpop' I defied them all with 'Very', 'Billigual' and 'Alternative'. It's all there, the backdrop of my life contained in the lyrics to 'This Used To Be The Future.' I'm a fan. Perhaps not their biggest fan but their sanest one? They still have the wrong singles released (why no Fugitive?), they got into a slight debate about the nine minute version of 'This Must Be The Place I Waited Years To Leave' and you can still forgive them. Some critics think they should have split after Very, that Neil shouldn't have come out, that they should have remained mysterious and moody, that they shouldn't hobnob with the London media elite, they shouldn't name drop, they shouldn't have put out 'Release' but you know what? They can do whatever they like.

 I once had an argument at school in 1988 with a couple of boys about who was better Pet Shop Boys or Michael Jackson. They reckoned Jackson was the greatest because he'd sold millions and millions more and was fabulously famous. In the great scheme of things I still think I'm right. I don't care about sales. Just the music. Aways the music.

Pet Shop Boys will be touring in the UK in December with their fantastic Pandemonium on Tour' Their new EP 'Christmas' is available from Amazon.co.uk and their Pet Shop Boys website petshopboys.co.uk