The return of Everett True | 18. Cruising
Everything is awesome. Everything is cool. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the jetlag kicking in full-time. Maybe I’ve missed the jetlag and the enforced sleep deprivation (so fucking different to the insistent sleep deprivation you get for years without end as a parent). Maybe I’ve missed the hangovers, and the knowledge that nothing will feel […]
The return of Everett True | 9. Beverley Kills
So yesterday’s choice was unpopular, then; or more accurately, widely ignored. No matter. I have but to flex my arms and surely a whole array of feathers will come cascading down. Sooner or later. Perhaps people prefer it when I remain silent. No matter. This is a cover of a song I don’t particularly like, […]
48 female-led pop/punk rock recommendations from Facebook
I ask this question on Facebook: Can anyone recommend me some female-led indie/punk rock from 2014? And I get the following in response… As with yesterday’s post, all of these come recommended – i.e. this isn’t just some random list of female-led pop/punk rock – but if they have stars next to their names it means I’m […]
Song of the day – 676: Childbirth
“I only fucked you as a joke!” sing the ladies in Seattle’s Childbirth. Ow.
Christopher J. Ott | The other Guv’ner (pt 2)
The system is bullshit. The system isn’t about music. The system is about marketing.
Basically, Johnny Moped
A foghorn of a Croydon singing voice, Quality Street-tin drums and curiously deft and layered guitars, almost tripping over themselves in their distorted rush to get to the end.
We Need to Talk about Racism in Punk
If a white man advertised for white bassist that would be seen as racist. Well, yeah it would, and they do.
Song of the day – 598: Dogtower
Sleater-Kinney with a sense of humour but no loss of girl-girl power
Song of the day – 584: Fully Cooked
In music, as in writing, brevity is a virtue. This song is 27 seconds long and it does more in 27 seconds than most bands manage in 27 years.
“Cute for a while… but then it gets boring”
In summation, he mused, I was comparable to the vacant, mannequin-esque women in Robert Palmer’s video for ‘Addicted To Love’.
