0

Giving Offense

Once, Professor Petworth goes to Slaka to deliver a lecture at the university and meets Ms. M, one of the brightest undergraduate students there. Ms. M is most eager to seek criticism of her work; she is proud of the culture of criticism she comes from. “I come from a great culture of criticism,” she says – “I eagerly seek your criticism so that I can incorporate it into my work.” Petworth asks her what her thesis is called. “Critical Analysis of the Poetic Technique of Woolworth.” “Ah, you mean Wordsworth!”

Upon which criticism, Ms. M promptly bursts into tears, swears that the Professor’s lecture has been an utter monstrosity, and runs away, refusing to engage with such a spiteful man any further.

Continue reading

Advertisements
4

The Hot Air Balloon

Pay heed, O ye artists: The next time you choose to foist another of your “projects” upon the world, don’t start off with a bio which reads like this: “The Whores of Babylon are an eclectic collective of musicians forging unique sounds and charting hitherto undreamt of frontiers with their groundbreaking blend of electronica and jazz“. Using words like “eclectic” automatically qualifies you for a cunt; besides – I don’t know if it’s ignorance, or hubris, or both – carrying on about yourself like that won’t make you any friends, not if you haven’t the beans to show for it.

Continue reading

3

Moop City, Schmoop City – The Greatest Hits

Right, everyone: it’s time for all your secrets to be aired. I’ve spent an entire year slaving my arse off to keep you lot on your toes, but Slayer’s recent show still sold out, and the metropolitan phonies in Bangalore continue to grow goatees at the ends of their chins, so all this has obviously not been a thumping success. But – in the spirit of lighting a little candle – I intend to go on trying to hammer the correct way of thinking into your unreceptive skulls, even if cool of any kind seems terminally beyond you.

Continue reading

7

Pop for Flakes

Back when I used to roam the internet picking fights with strangers over records, one of my favourite things to do was to throw flaker pop in the faces of middle-aged American men. Flaker pop is my name for a specific kind of music made in the 2000s. Flaker pop records were made by slightly obscure bands, tended to be good-humoured and cleverly crafted, often erred on the side of prettiness, and – crucially and without exception – hadn’t a hint of originality about them. Indeed, it looked as though they had been deliberately made to eschew anything new or difficult.

Continue reading