Went on a massive CD bender yesterday to celebrate PAYDAY from my thrillmongous office job. Unfortunately, due to a number of unfortunalities (failed relationships/various light-fingered gits/embittered ex-wife with a hammer) over the years, I only ever seem to end up replacing CDs I've lost in some kind of rock 'n' roll war of attrition where everyone must DIE. Anyway, I went to Sister Ray armed with my pauper's plastic and got:
The Clash - The Clash (US version*)
Rage Against The Machine - Renegades
Pearl Jam - Ten
Teenage Fanclub - Thirteen
The Charlatans - Tellin' Stories
Marvin Gaye - Very best of
Cream (the group, not the club) - Very best of
The Dandy Warhols/Brian Jonestown Massacre - DIG! (DVD)
(*The US version's way better than the UK version, and anyone who tells you otherwise is an idiot. What it lacks in '48 Hours' it more than makes up for with 'Complete Control', 'I Fought The Law' and '(White Man) In Hammersmith Palais'. Although to be fair, 'Jail Guitar Doors' could have stayed a b-side without anyone shedding a tear. All the same, song-wise it's as near to perfect as any album could possibly be without Tom Barman going anywhere near it.)
I also wanted to find 'Giant Steps' by The Boo Radleys (1993 masterpiece, forget 'Wake Up! Boo' and all that bollocks) and 'File Under: Easy Listening' by Sugar (1994 album from Bob Mould's brilliant, tragically overlooked post-Husker Du band), but they had neither. In fact, it turns out you can't get anything by Sugar in this country anymore at all, ever since Sony bought out Captain Ginger's Creation and "strategically" slimmed down the back catalogue to only include artistes who shift Supersized Units. It's a shame, because 'File Under...' is brilliant - unfairly derided by critics at the time, who inexplicably preferred the 1992 debut 'Copper Blue' - and now I'll have to order it from the States, and copy it for all my friends. Who'll probably think it's shit. It's THE WAY.
I hate "Bonus Tracks" on CDs, especially albums which stand perfectly well on their own. Great albums are hermetically-sealed works of art, which exist in their own Universe, from Big Bang to Crazy Crunch, with hours of brainwracking paid in gristle to the Gods of rock 'n' roll to decide what should happen between. Randomly sticking a dodgy live recording at the end, with a load of half-arsed b-sides, or the latest single that sounds less convincing than and completely ruins what went before it (hello, Bloc Party) tends not to improve on perfection. Mat thinks I'm an idiot 'cause "it's value for money" and I "could just press stop". But I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO PRESS STOP. I WANT TO SIT IN AWE AT HOW CLOSE I CAME TO TOUCHING GOD. Is that too much to ask?
Like most good British citizens, I like John Prescott because he once punched a pikey in the face. I really can't make up my mind whether he should be sacked. Okay, so he's been blatantly flirting with a rich American who happens to own the Dome and would benefit immensely from Prezza letting him turn it into a Casino in what could be termed a 'Conflict of Interests' but could more aptly be described as ALL-OUT NUCLEAR INTEREST ARMAGEDDON; but he's also an amusingly fat, sleazy cunt and great entertainment value-for-money. And he gets the shags in. Wahey! Thoughts on a postcard please, but not to me, I don't want to think too much about his naked, flobbly arse. D'oh, too late...