Saturday, November 05, 2005


For Circle Brophy:

Listen up, you fuckers, we don' need yr fuckin Pink object Parodies...

Attention, monkey-bunnies: Revolt now! Move out of Grey Space!

We're in Meme-disease Denial down here in tha West Cuntry...outside the bushes are moving, so get wit the project: Slow yr Life Down!

Check out "Fohhoh Bohob" by The Patron Saints. It's been back in circulation on vinyl (hurrah!) for the last few months, so there's no excuse for not owning it...

Griiiin and bear it, my yellow people People: Itz a bit loike a white suburban version of Love meets early Zappa meets Inglish Psych meets the inside o'your head at a dozen miles an hour. E-magine: the slower bits of "Head" by The Monkees recorded in yr Dad's garage, by yr Dad. Gentle, but Mental.

"You can tell by the way I smile whenever you're near".

Dig it, y'all.


(Apologies to the staff of Acorn Records, Yeovil, who've already suffered this rant earlier today):

Lord, but how bloody awful is the new Robert Fripp LP "Love Cannot Bear (Soundscapes Live in the USA)": syrupy, digital New-Age bollocks, washes of Korg rack-synth butt-crack ooze that threaten to envelop the listener in a cage of sugar. Truly dreadful.

"Love cannot bear"? No, Robert, I cannot bear.

Bob should be congratulated, though, for his effortless remote-control reproduction of the soundtrack to a visit to a crystal-shop in Glastonbury...and, normally, I don't have a problem w/ this when accompanied by my 5yr old daughter, but, disconnected from the back-lit miniature waterfall/fountain features that you normally find in such places, along with the displays of cut agate and amythst, the tinkling mobiles, the pungent aromatherapy candles and similar doodahs, the music sounds, well, well shit.

Okay, so maybe I'm being unfair: the third track does try and break the template and attempt a Discordant Bad Horror Film Tonal Undertow kinda thing for a coupla minutes before some sort of ghastly guitar-trigger'd MIDI-piano nonsense completely fails to engage the listener. Man, this is sooo bad it would melt yr bong. It's not even funny.

I'm only surprised he didn't put some pan-pipes or 'Celtic' singing on it too, but it's a solo (live) performance, just Bob and his monstrous FX rack-mount...some yodelling might've helped. Maybe.

The sleeve-notes to the CD are, well, Robert being Robert...pretty much the same as his tour journal...basically, lots of complaints that people aren't listening to the music. They dare to talk and drink while he's playing. Well, I can see why. I'm told he's got a v. dry sense of humour, but it doesn't come over very well; in fact, he sounds like a spolit intelligent child whose head is up his own arse almost as much as mine is. And that's a shame.

Fripp's done some great stuff that's touched me in all sorts of ways down thru the years, and maybe he will again.

This, though, is the sound of a major talent coasting (and complaining about the hotels he has to stay in). Maybe he should've taken out a pension-plan like the rest of us.