2009 collection from the poptastic British duo containing two new tracks: ‘Sexy Bum’ and ‘Right On The Kisser’. Though they are best known for their massive hit ‘I’m Too Sexy’, Right Said Fred (brothers Richard and Fred Fairbrass) have released some of the finest singles over the last two decades. Hits! is proof that RSF are no one-trick pony and they rival Pet Shop Boys as one of the best Dance/Pop duos in UK history. 20 tracks including ‘Stand Up (For The Champions)’, ‘Living On A Dream’, ‘Don’t Talk, Just Kiss’, ‘You’re My Mate’, ‘Deeply Dippy’ and more. EMI.

Listen Or Download

mixed-media on paper 80/50 cm 2008

Cast your mind far far back, to the dirty, filthy, sick and twisted, almost perverted, mists of olde father time.  Far, far, back, further, left…no that’s too far, your hand is on it, NO THERE…phew, yes. all the way back to the start of the week when I told you about sexy names.  I offered you the unique opportunity to sexify your own moniker, to possibly make you more attractive to the opposite sex/object of your affections.

I have been overwhelmed by the three responses that I have received declaring the excitement of this opportunity. Shadowsans on Twitter was drawn to ‘Porgy Mc Yaya’ but feared for his personal safety as to the heights of excitement this could bring, and whether he could sustain it.  My pal, Sherby 57 informed me, via telegram (he’s so modern) that he had been ‘Lord Sexathon Freakington’ but would forced to renounce his peerage as it was deemed ‘too sexy’.

I’m afraid, this position is no stranger to me.  You see, Dr. Angel is not my real name. Yes. I know. Really. Sure, I’m a real doctor, but my real name is not Angel.  I’m afraid my real name is too sexy to even say out loud.  The Angel Institute conducted a series of randomized control trials that revealed that my name being spoken aloud, or even thought silently in someone’s head, is sexy enough to permanently damage the temporal lobes of the hippocamper in the brainium vesicle.  You can see the results of this just by watching Hollyoaks.  They’ve all been told my name by evil Nick Picard aka Tony. This results in symptoms such as GCSE drama style acting, overemphasis of syllables, over use of stock phrases “at the end of the day” and other hackneyed turns of phrase such as ‘to be fair’ and not to mention ‘fair play’.

You see Gordon Ramsay’s chin?  Yeah.  Weird isn’t it?  Someone wrote my name on a piece of paper and passed it under his chin, much like the playful children’s game with a buttercup, but with heinous and chin wrinkling consequences.

In 1979 the European Court of Human Rights ruled that I was not allowed the human right of retaining my real name. I fought against this, tooth and nail, as you can imagine. The European court then responded by dealing the killer blow of passing the 1979 Right Said Fred convention which stated that any persons who may be too sexy for clothing, or their own name, that it inflicts harm on others, thereby compromising their own human rights, must be renamed a name of the court’s choosing. And so ‘Dr. Angel’ came into being. 

Stay safe, report any high levels of sexiness to:

European Court o’ Human Rights

Right Said Fred Department

Sleeveless Shirt Tower

Leatherpantsville

Syndicat D’initative

Yabbie Creek

And so, here we are: the final installment of The Kids Don’t Get It NBA 2009-10 Season Preview.

You can read the first 5 parts of “Earning Your NBA” by clicking the tab by the same name under “Categories”.

"Ha! Bein' EVIL's GREAT! Ha!"

For a brief recap, after watching the MLB playoffs which was full of some of the fattest, cheating-est sons of bitches around–and that’s just counting Guliani sitting in the stands–I thought it was high time someone tried to drum up support for the NBA.

So I’ve done a division by division, team by team breakdown of the league. Here are some highlights:

• The Atlantic Division: where we learned about Rasheed “Black Woodsman Cannibal” Wallace (Celtics), discovered an overweight Ben Affleck moonlighting as a PF (Knicks) and unlocked (?) A.I. Mudbutt (76ers).
• The Central Division: Charlie Villanueva is the first Chernobyl baby to play pro ball (Pistons), Shaq’s doughnut sweat (Cavaliers) and head coach Vinnie of the Blacks (Bulls)
• The Southeast Division: home of Hedo Turkoglu’s face (Magic), why Brendan Haywood loves riding wood (Wizards), and how the Charlotte Bobcats are destroying the African-American community.
• The Northwest Division: where tattoos=NBA contracts (Nuggets), the 80 yr-old Greg Oden and Richard Pryor re-incarnated (Blazers),  and Utah perfects cloning Karl Malone (Jazz).
• The Pacific Division: Pau Gasol escapes Che Guevara, Steve Nash’s pretty, pretty hair, and making love to Stephen Curry’s mom.

And now, the final division rears its head: the Southwest Division!

The Southwest Division (Houston Rockets, Dallas Mavericks, New Orleans Hornets, San Antonio Spurs, Memphis Grizzlies)

• Houston Rockets: I lived in Houston from 2001-03. Amazing time, and by “amazing time” I mean, “thank Batman I made it back to the East Coast”. It was my own personal Escape from New York. If you have an equal love for strippers and burritos, urban sprawl and mega-malls, then Houston’s the place for you. Anyway, because I was there from 01-03, it meant that I was there to witness the very first game of Yao Ming; the much-heralded introduction of the China man that would Change the Face of the NBA (so they thought). Anyway, I knew Yao was in trouble when, while sitting in the stands for that 1st game, every time he scored or touched the ball, one of the fans around me yelled something along the lines of, “Yeah, give it to’em Jackie Chan!”….or, “open your eyes n—a!”….or even “karate kick his ass, Jet Li!”. As if this wasn’t enough, the Rockets organization–anticipating the confusion of Houstonians seeing a 7-ft-tall Chinese man (fearing someone would say, “you sure that just ain’t a brother with that Michael Jackson disease?”)–referred to him as “Emperor Yao” and more amazingly, whenever Yao blocked a shot, hit a free throw, scored or drank Gatorade on the sideline they would make a gong sound on the overhead speakers. Amazing. I nervously waited for the day that the same marketing team would come up with the idea of having Yao bring Tracy McGrady out in a rickshaw as part of the player introductions. And poor Yao was interviewed from Day 1, initially only speaking in his native language….then eventually speaking in broken English (fitting right into the Houston scene)….then in a modified English that made him sound like an Asian Frankenstein…to his current English speech, which makes him sound closer to Marlee Matlin. At one point, the Rockets had Patrick Ewing as a big man coach, Dikembe Mutombo as back-up C for Yao and Yao Ming all under one roof–that’s 21-ft of gibberish. Want proof? Check this out.
• Dallas Mavericks: Home of Dirk Nowitzski, the German 7-ft’er with the shooting range of Larry Bird and the face of a bad police sketch. Actually, poor Dirk is quite familiar with the police lately: his pregnant fiancee Cristal Taylor was arrested on a series of outstanding warrants and revealed to have at least 8 different aliases. When questioned by reporters, Dallas detectives commented, “we haven’t seen this many warrants and name changes since Ol Dirty Bastard”. On top of that, the Mavericks prized SF, Josh Howard, who once casually told reporters “yeah, I smoke weed occasionally”, was caught on YouTube at a flag football charity event where he said in reference to the Star Spangled Banner: “I don’t celebrate that sh-t. I’m black.” He then blew a huge cloud of weed and disappeared like a ninja.
• New Orleans Hornets: how do you save a sinking city? With basketball of course! The N.O. Hornets have one of the league’s best PGs playing for them: Chris Paul. Paul is the energetic, quick, creative point guard that’s been likened to a young Isaiah Thomas, which is sort of like your daughter’s teacher telling you that she reminds the teacher of an “up and coming Jenna James”. Paul is flanked with Peja Stojakovic, who looks like a member of “Right Said Fred”, and Emeka Okafur, the PF/Cwho has now gone from black people-crushing Charlotte Bobcats, to black people-crushing New Orleans. This man’s life is clearly cursed.
• San Antonio Spurs: With little-to-no star power, the Spurs have had to rely on Tony Parker’s marriage to make them talk-able to the general public. I mean sure, people know who Tim Duncan is, but Duncan’s got about as much marketing charisma as Lipitor.  Duncan’s biggest headline will be whenever he retires because it’ll be something like, “Duncan Leaving NBA to Return to Solo, Millenium Falcon”, or, “Future Hall-of-Famer Duncan Returns to Yeti Life”. To be sure, there’s other guys: the Spurs also have The Kids’ favorite Manu Ginobili, SF Richard Jefferson and the aforementioned Tony Parker. But really, it all falls back on Tony Parker being married to Eva Longoria; it’s the only thing the Spurs have going for them. And how rough is that to consider? You’re a multi-championship-winning team that’s always competitive, boasts one of the greatest PF ever (Tim Duncan), full of likable guys on your roster…..yet your #1 asset is a chick that looks like she should be standing next to a concept car on a rotating stage. The mystery that is the public thinking that Eva Longoria is hot continues unresolved. America runs on Duncan.

• Memphis Grizzlies: Pau Gasol left and was replaced by his less-talented brother, Marc Gasol who is sorta the “Khloe” to Pau’s “Kim”–or maybe Pau should be “Khloe” since they both play ball with Lamar Odom? Ah, whatever. This puts the Grizzlies into the category of “Sibling-Shared Franchises”, earning a #4 spot:

1. Brotherly Love (starring Joey Lawrence and his mutant brothers)
2. Sweet Valley High (twins Cynthia and Brittany Daniels)
3. Anything the Duff sisters do
4. Memphis Grizzlies Pau/Marc Gasol
5. Anything the Simpson sisters do (Ashley & Jessica; Maggie & Lisa)

This season, the Grizzlies have also brought Allen Iverson onto the team, after Iverson made stops in Philadelphia, Denver and Detroit–I actually think he’s trying to recreate 50-Cent’s last tour–before landing in Memphis to play for what might be the worst team in the league. I mean, sure, the Griz have Rudy Gay, Marc Gasol and Mike Conley–but they also have Allen Iverson and Zach Randolph–a man so crazed and erratic that even Isaiah Thomas let him go. I wish David Stern would create a new franchise team in some effed-up city/town like, ttesay, Trenton, NJ. And then, he can start a team there that’s full of guys like this. It’d be a team with Zach Randolph at PF, Stephen Jackson at SG, Rasheed Wallace at C, Ricky Davis shooting craps mid-court and Ron Artest doing Ron Artest things like wearing a Scream mask during post-game interviews and hiding under the bleachers eating Snickers. The team would be called the Trenton City Dick-Punchers, and their mascot would be something douchey and punchable–but instantly obnoxious–like say Nick Lachey.

And so, that completes our Kids Don’t Get It NBA 2009-10 Season Preview (an abrupt ending, I know). Guess to make this worth something reportable, I should make some predictions for the season. Ok, here goes:

• MVP: Hedo Turkoglu’s Face
• Coach of the Year: Mikhail Prokhoro (Russian Mafia-assisted)
• GM of the Year: Mikhail Prokhorov
• Rookie of the Year: Mikhail Prokhorov (Russian Mafia-assisted)
• 6th Man of the Year: Dirk’s ex-fiancee’, baby
• Defensive Player of the Year: Ron Artest’s teeth; Stephen Jackson’s gun (tie)

There you go. Jump-ball has already started on the season, so you’d best get to watching.

The NBA: Where Magic Johnson happens.

With apologies to Right Said Fred – anyone here remember the 90s?

I'm too perfect for my laptop

I’m too perfect for my words
too perfect for my words
Words’re going to leave me

I’m too perfect for my laptop
too perfect for my laptop
So perfect it hurts
And I’m too perfect for Toshiba
too perfect for Toshiba
Lenovo and HP
And I’m too perfect for your blog posts
Too perfect for your blog posts
No way I’m writing here…

I’m a writer, you know what I mean
And I do my little turn on Habitza
Yeah on Habitza, on Habitza, yeah
I do my little turn on Habitza

I’m too perfect for my blogs
too perfect for my keyboard
Too perfect by far
And I’m too perfect for my syntax
Too perfect for my syntax
For e-mail, text and plain fax

I’m too perfect for my qualms
too perfect for my qualms
Too perfect to find a word which rhymes with qualms
And I’m too perfect for my syntax
Too perfect for my syntax
For e-mail, text and plain fax

I’m a writer, you know what I mean
And I do my little turn on Habitza
Yeah on Habitza, on Habitza, yeah
I do my little turn on Habitza

Qualms?  Me?  Not a qualm in sight…

Music has demanded that we try on sunglasses at night, start wearing purple, elevate fashion models to goddess status and, most important of all, respect the power of orange knickers. And we follow in droves, don’t we? Because most of us are ‘dedicated followers of fashion’.

We opened the show with the very fashion-forward David Bowie and the track FASHION from the 1980 album Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) and followed with the equally style-conscious Prince with RASPBERRY BERET.

Then it was something a little obscure. I’m sure there is a point to preacher’s daughter Tori Amos’ song, THE POWER OF ORANGE KNICKERS, with it’s references to terrorist attacks, bitchy girls and little pills, but I’m afraid it escapes me. Never mind, great song nevertheless. Here she is performing live:

Amy Winehouse calls the kettle black with her critique of footballer’s wives and their F….. ME PUMPS. Gotta love a good stiletto! Here’s the official video, showing a healthy, happy Amy at her best:

Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins rendition of RABBIT FUR COAT, a song that spells out a mother’s devotion to her wardrobe, is an extraordinary, dark tale of how one woman hangs on to her fur when everything else in her life is lost.

The Pipettes turn the tables on certain rock stars by pointing out how nice those little schoolboys look in their matching blazers in I LIKE A BOY IN UNIFORM. And as the Happy Mondays explain, it’s not what you wear but how you wear it – it’s got to be a LOOSE FIT. Check them out:

Bob Dylan got to wondering how your head feels under that LEOPARD SKIN PILL-BOX HAT. Thanks to listener Phil for reminding me about that one. And while I am it, thanks to Zoe, Kira and Lynden, as well, for all your suggestions this week. Keep them coming.

Disco had its own fashion statement going on and a great example of this crazy superficial genre is Amanda Lear’s 1983 recording FASHION PACK. A Vietnamese transsexual, Amanda was born male, had a sex change, became a model and for some time was Salvador Dali’s muse. Now that’s what I call an interesting life! Here’s the video clip, in all it’s camp glory, for you to enjoy:

I love the satire in Jill Sobule’s ode to the ultimate clothes-horse, the SUPERMODEL. The song was perfectly placed in the soundtrack of one of my favourite comedies, Clueless. Also pretty funny is Minor Threat’s GOOD GUYS DON’T WEAR WHITE.

When it comes to fashion victims, there’s one stand-out anthem: It’s the Kinks with DEDICATED FOLLOWER OF FASHION. Two other classics in the playlist – The Hollies with LONG COOL WOMAN IN A BLACK DRESS and Wilson Pickett’s DEVIL WITH THE BLUE DRESS ON.

Lady GaGa summed up our topic of FASHION with her song of the same name. Of all the contemporary pop singers she stands out for her obsession with her image. She claims that: “When I’m writing music, I’m thinking about the clothes I want to wear on stage. It’s all about everything altogether — performance art, pop performance art, fashion. I want the imagery to be so strong that fans will want to eat and taste and lick every part of us.” Okaaaay. Check out this news item and you’ll get an idea of her fasion sense. Or nonsense. Whatever.

Then it was time for a blast from the past: Timmy Mallett’s ITSY BITSY TEENY WEENY YELLOW POLKA DOT BIKINI, which we partnered with PINK SHOE LACES from Connie Stevens.

Fats Waller does a good job of sprucing himself up when LULU’S BACK IN TOWN. And Big Bad Voodoo Daddy gave us the low-down on the ZOOT SUIT RIOT. The Zoot Suit, in case you didn’t know, is a suit with high-waisted, wide-legged, tight-cuffed, pegged trousers, and a long coat with wide lapels and wide padded shoulders. This style of clothing was popularized in the U.S. by African Americans, Latinos and Italian Americans during the late 1930s and 1940s. In England brightly coloured zoot suits with velvet lapels, that bore a slight resemblance to Edwardian clothing, were worn by Teddy Boys.

Next up it was a triple play dedicated to the gals that fire the frenzy for all things fashionable. Yep, three songs about models: CATWALKIN’ from Tony Tisdale, GIRLS ON FILM by Duran Duran and a cover of Kraftwerk’s MODEL by Zoot Woman.

Gwen Stefani’s ode to the HARAJUKU GIRLS of Tokyo has a special meaning as her back-up dancers are exactly that. The Harajuku District is one of the fashion capitals of the world, renowned for it’s unique and influential street fashion and it’s obviously had a lot of influence on Stafani’s own fashion label. I usually wouldn’t upload a video of a slide show but this one features Stefani’s song behind lots of pics of Harajuku fashion, so worth a look:

We all know that fashion is frivolous and silly but isn’t that what makes it so appealing, surely?  In order to keep things in perspective we closed the show with a bit of satire: A tune that sums up the objectifying gaze of fashion like nothing else. Yup, it’s I’M TOO SEXY FOR MY SHIRT by Right Said Fred. Go boys:

I bet you thought I wouldn’t play that one. Nah, I have no pride or any fashion sense for that matter. But style? Well, that’s another matter.

To finish off this topic here’s something for you that I didn’t have time to mention on the show: favourite films about fashion. From my all time favourite film on the subject, a compilation of some of the best quotes from, ZOOLANDER.

If you would like to contribute your ideas for next week’s show, the topic will be: SONGS TO MAKE SANDWICHES BY. Yes I’m looking for songs about sandwiches, (has she gone completely bonkers? You may well ask!). You can include hot dogs or hamburgers. In fact, anything between bread qualifies. Or any ingredient that can go into a sandwich, like chicken or peanut butter, or honey. Come on guys, you can do it!

Here’s this week’s complete playlist:

Just a quick update, before I forget the details.

On Thursday night I did something I haven’t done in a long time, I went somewhere on my own. Probably doesn’t sound like much, but for me it was a small victory. Since it was Guy Fawkes Night there were loads of Firework displays on all over the city, and the one with Les McKeown’s Legendary Bay City Rollers playing at it appealed to my love of incredibly cheesy retro entertainment – like the time I saw Right Said Fred play The Cathouse for £5 at the end of their career, they played Deeply Dippy 3 times in the set. I decided to miss out on The MacDonald Brothers, which I reckon was the right choice since I could hear them doing a cover of Mark Ronson’s cover of The Zutons Valerie. I just don’t “get” The Zutons, it seems like 90% of their songs are comprised of the singer repeating the same line over and over again. One day I’ll make a compilation of their most repetitive songs, with the repetition edited out, I’ll put it up on torrent sites under the name “The Zutons – Fixed” in tribute to the classic NIN remix album.

When I got near the park it was like being at a carnival, but a carnival where the dress code is ‘tracksuits tucked into your socks’. Normally I’d hate walking through a large group of people dressed like that, but they were all too busy being distracted by the bright lights and sparklers being sold by roadside traders. I now suggest carrying one of those necklaces with a blinking LED in your pocket at all times. Should a tracksuited oath threaten you then simply take it out and throw it as far away as you can, that should distract him for an hour or 2 while you make your escape. The band on stage when I arrived were S Club 3, who weren’t as abysmal as I’d expected them to be. I only caught their last 2 tracks, but I can’t remember what they were – not abysmal, but not memorable.

After S Club it was time for the fireworks display, which I was quite surprised by. The whole thing was done to music, and started with The Divine Comedy’s Light Of Day. After this it went through a whole load of songs themed around the sun and the moon, like The Beatles Here Comes The Sun. The fireworks were designed to compliment the music, and occasionally went right in time with the drums – all in all it was a well thought out display. What pleased the old indie kid in me the most was when they ended on Pulp’s Sunrise, all fireworks displays should be bookended by indie songs from the 90’s. I filmed the fireworks on my phone but missed the first few minutes, you can watch the 2 part video here and here. *videos uploading right now, so be patient*

With the fireworks out of the way it was time for Les McKeown’s Legendary Bay City Rollers, my main reason for being there in the first place. When they came on at first they had a few technical problems, so the first track was like a soundcheck. Turns out this was because Les McKeown had injured his foot on the way there, so he spent the whole set sitting on a bar stool – probably a strange scenario for a recovering alcoholic. Even though the band were massive in the 70’s it didn’t seem like many young people had a clue who they were. This worked out quite good for me as a lot of the crowd wandered off and I managed to get right up the front. THe keyboard player looked a bit like you’d imagine Bill Bailey to look if he’d never discovered drugs, the guitarist was like a slimmer Ian Lavender (Pike from Dad’s Army) and the bassist looked like a grumpy Richard Digance – perhaps because his monitors weren’t working throughout the entire set. They played a good set, but it wasn’t until the end when they really seemed to get their shit together. Just as I was getting a bit bored they started a great rendition of Shang-A-Lang which temporarily morphed into Deep Purple’s Black Knight. Fortunately I filmed this, and you can see it here.

So that’s the story of my first solo visit to the outside world in many moons, hopefully it won’t be too long until my next one.

*fingers crossed*

Richard Fairbrass, singer, Right Said Fred

George W. Bush, donning black socks and Crocs on his way to Sunday morning post-church grocery shopping at the Sun City Food Lion

Island Packet — Full disclosure: I have never worn Crocs, except for that day with the unpleasant episode of the exploding garbage disposal, about which the less said, the better.

But otherwise, that’s not for any particular reason other than that Crocs don’t come up much. I’m inside all day, and regrettably, I work for a company that requires me to wear human shoes to work (they have a similar policy regarding pants, which I oppose) and what’s more, I am cursed with larger-than-average feet, so wearing Crocs has the unsubtle effect of making me appear to have a small aircraft carrier to each of my legs, which is a highly confidence-rattling way to go about your day.

But that’s OK with me, because very soon, Crocs will be known solely as the ridiculous rubber clown shoes that achieved immense popularity largely because Americans will buy anything if their neighbor has one, even if it makes you look like you’re wearing pickles on your feet.

.

• Beatles – Old Brown Shoe.mp3

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Crocs were like wearing bathrobes outside, and primarily popular in the lucrative age brackets of 0-5 and 85 and up. (Debates about Crocs, I should point out, once threatened to tear the Packet/Gazette sports department to PIECES. There was a girl who worked here who would regularly, when Crocs were mentioned, get up on her desk and start waving her gun around.)

Anyway, I make the jokes because I generally went with “shoes” that “had ties on them,” but I was in a distinct minority, because something like 100 million pairs of Crocs were sold in seven years to everyone from Steven Tyler to George W. Bush to other famous people no one likes anymore.

But that was during the boom times, and things are no longer quite so colorful and purple for the Crocs company, which lost $185.1 million last year — last year alone — cut a couple thousand jobs and has been hiding under the desk from creditors in regards to a Croc-load of loans coming due this month. There are, I hardly need mention, untold thousands of hot rubbery shoes currently baking in warehouses, mostly because, and it’s hard not to feel a little bad about this, one of the main problems was that Crocs were so durable and long-lasting that no one had to replace them. Frankly, they should have come with a time-delayed self-destruct function, like my garbage disposal.

They were also, I fear, the victims of a negative PR campaign. My son’s day care, for instance, took to sending home in his Lightning McQueen backpack a tersely worded Memorandum indicating that Crocs would no longer be welcome within its walls, due to those nebulous and ever-present Safety Concerns that seem to pop up whenever anyone is in need of a quick and inarguable justification for something minor, as though each shoe came attached to its own propane-based heating system or tiny Ziploc packet of swine flu.

At the time, of course, he had been rocking Crocs successfully for a statistical majority of his life. Crocs are, of course, perfect for children, who spend an awful lot of their days splashing about in semi-liquid materials of displeasing origin, and call me a hypocrite, but one’s own petty fashion concerns go directly down to Flushville when one is presented with a variation of childrens’ shoes that can be hosed down — so the adjustment to regular human shoes was something that was met with a solid week of good hard whining.

But on the whole, the Crocs story is one of distinctly American ragtag silliness. They were one-hit wonders, Dexy’s Midnight Runners in shoe form. Everyone knew someone who loved them, and then one afternoon at about 3:30 p.m., without so much as an informal heads-up, the collective American shoe-buying public went, and I’m quoting here, “Meh.” And, just like that, with just a hot-flash of consumer mall-time shruggery, the Crocs nightmare was over, the shoes chucked to the back of the closet, waiting for maybe the kind of smirking nostalgia trend thing that makes people still yearn for the ’80s for some reason. The lesson being: Do not get terribly attached to your shoe company. The second lesson: Do not put a lot of large vegetables down in your garbage disposal.

I’ve mentioned before that I wouldn’t have any appreciation for good music if it weren’t for my brother. My dad has good music sense, too. My Mom, the black sheep of our family when it comes to music, prefers country songs with titles like, “All My Ex’s Live in Texas,”  “All I Want From You (Is Away)” and “Billy Broke My Heart at Walgreens and I Cried All the Way to Sears.” Her musical vote has never counted for much.

When I was in high school, my brother and Dad flew to Budapest to see REM in concert. Later, Dad and I went to see the Red Hot Chili Peppers (or, The Red Hot Cheelee Peppers, as the Russians would say) play a free concert in Red Square. But before REM, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and the many other concerts that we all attended afterwards, there was the Right Said Fred concert that began it all.

On one particular Red Nose Day in England in the early nineties, one of my Dad’s good friends called him up to say that Right Said Fred was performing a free concert near his house. At that time, Right Said Fred were particularly famous for their song “I’m Too Sexy,” which has clever lyrics like this:

I’m too sexy for my shirt too sexy for my shirt
So sexy it hurts
And I’m too sexy for Milan too sexy for Milan
New York and Japan

They went on to be known for other hits such as “Don’t Talk Just Kiss,” “Hands Up (4 Lovers)” and, more recently, “Sexy Bum.” You’re probably listening to one of these songs as you read this, because, let’s face it, they are THAT good.

In those days, we were not allowed to say words like “shut-up” or “bum” in our house. Yet, for some reason, my parents thought it would be fun to take us to see Right Said Fred perform their hits, which included these and other similarly risque forbidden words, live. I remember thinking that my parents were pretty cool, although, even at that young age, I think I knew that this wasn’t a concert I would brag about seeing to my friends on the playground at school. Only now do I learn that the two members of Right Said Fred (who are brothers) appear to be homosexuals of the flaming type – the leather pants ilk. I don’t think James Dobson would have approved.

I don’t remember much about the concert; only that there was a lot of smoke, and there were some very *ahem* groupie-looking women hanging out by the stage. I also remember sitting on my dad’s shoulders so that I could get a better view.

When we got home later that night, we turned on the tv to watch the Red Nose Day coverage, and saw ourselves in the crowd at Right Said Fred concert that was being replayed on TV so that everyone could experience the musical magic. I think I was more excited about seeing myself on tv than the actual concert.

I thought about linking to a YouTube video of Right Said Fred, but I can’t bring myself to do it. However, here is a Frutella commercial from the nineties, which parodies the classic hit “I’m Too Sexy”:

Everybody knows the song. Everyone.

Anyone who hasn’t uttered the words “I’m Too Sexy” in public is secretly doing it in private when they get out of the shower and they’re flopping their man bits before the mirror. I personally never have wobbled my goodies in the mirror to this song, thank you, but that’s just because I fear giving myself a black eye.

The confession here is this; I fucking loved Right Said Fred.

Not like other kids at school who were goofing off to their hit in art class, making jokes and funking out at the school dances, oh no. I actually bought this tape. I bought the shit out of this tape.

It isn’t my fault, though. This was back before the era of isntant gratification, when if you wanted a song you could just go online and download it (which reminds me, I need “Sometimes” by Erasure…right now). No, back then, if you wanted a song you had to sit by your tape deck listening to 94.5FM with your finger on the record button, hoping your song was next, but finding every song to be something not as good. Still good enough for you to press record though, so you end up taping “Rhythm is a Dancer” and “Please Don’t Go” and “O.P.P.” until finally your song comes on and the tape runs out halfway through the fucking thing and you’re back at square one on side two.

OR…you go buy the tape. Easy enough. So I did.

This album was awesome. I fecking loved it. Swan was my favorite song I believe…wait, let me go refresh my memory.

……………….

And we have the MOST RANDOM SEGUE EVER!

T. Motherfucking REX.

Ever listened to them? Do you know of Marc Bolan’s glory?

Well, learn it!

Ride A White Swan popped up in my search for Right Said Fred and a whole new can of worms opened up. (And as I type, a huge gaggle of geese just flew overhead in a tizzy, squawking like fashionistas at a sample sale. This is turning out to be an interesting blog experience. For me anyway, I’m not worried about you. I mean…your experience means everything to me. Thank you gentle readers, you are loved. Can I get you a mint, a beverage, a warm towel perhaps?)

So, to finish my point, which I still am unsure as to whether or not I have one, I liked Right Said Fred as a child, which could lead one to believe I have terrible fluffy music tastes, but then I follow up with someone as epic as Marc Bolan and you realize, “No. I do not have terrible music taste, I just know how to find the gems where other people might fear to search.”

Being uncool never phased me, because I’m so cool I’m freezing.

Enjoy this playlist if you’re bored. It’ll learn ya some awesome.

Glider, My Bloody Valentine, 1990, Dublin — shoegaze, post-punk, noise pop.

Intimacy, Bloc Party, 2008, Londres — indie, pop, playback no VMB 2008.

Probably the most pressing concern for many of today’s Doctor’s and Scientists is trying to find a cure for swine – flu. But that shouldn’t distract from the poster child of human diseases – I’m talking of course of Cancer.

The full potency of cancer shouldn’t be dismissed appearing as it does – like a many headed hydra – in a variety of forms, Skin, Breast, Lung, Testicular, Ovarian. This is not a subject I take lightly – we at the Human Institute are dedicated to helping eliminate once and for all this terrible disease. I do however, occasionally call in to question, the wisdom of such an action.

After all – is it  not reasonable to assume that there is a vast industry of people all working towards this one common goal. All gainfully employed in the task of finding a cure. Indeed here at the Human Instiutute we recieve a substantial sum of money each year, that is to go towards the funding, of any research we undertake. I know many of the staff are grateful for the Cappucino maker we were able to install in the research laboratory due to people’s kind donations.

And so what might become of all these people and all this equipment should we achieve our ultimate goal?  I do have my eye on the Cappucino maker for the Human homestead.

However I’m sure I don’t need to spell it out for you.

So I will.

Quite simply there is too much at stake for us to be too successful. I admit to coming close to craking a vaccination on a number of occasions,  and it is with a small pang of regret that I have deliberately sabotaged such results taking myself back to square one. But as I take a sip from my double espresso, I know I am not alone in such practices – it may well be science and medicines secret shame, but a burden we bare with excellent coffee…

No, no, it’s not a reinvention. It’s called “Here, R&B, pass me your balls, for I wish to fondle them.” It’s called “Here, Timbaland, I know we couldn’t afford you, but we have nonetheless decided to honour you.” It’s called: “Hey, you’re a sexy-looking singles chart. You wanna have a good time, honey?”

So there we are. The Saturdays have disappeared into a noisy but unloved cupboard marked ‘R&B’, and now Sugababes (one of whom, let me remind you, is from Liverpool) appear to have crawled inside as well. You may well wonder if anything remotely identifiable as ‘British’ remains of them at all.

Well, there is one little thing. The lyric:

Cause I’m too sexy in this club
Too sexy in this club
So sexy it hurts

Sound familiar?

An aside: Who wants to be ’so sexy it hurts’? THAT’S TOO SEXY.

The “Euro” sound is very distinct. Anytime you hear certain techno and electro bangers you can immediately identify their European creator. The list of discernible Euro electro acts range from the legendary, Daft Punk, to the not so respectable, Scooter. Everyone has a Euro banger* they can appreciate, maybe “Sign” by Ace of Base? Or some Right Said Fred, oh oh oh, how about some Robbie Williams, apparently he has sold more music than The Beatles. Thankfully Dotstar has come along and given me at the very least a track that permits me to say the following; “I like this track, and it’s European.”

I would indulge you guys with more information about Dotstar but I would rather secure an interview or let my partners at Aspecks take care of it. Besides, he’s like 13, how much of a story does he have?

* bangers are not sausages, they’re tracks you appreciate with great fervor

Ok, the blog entry I was planning to write has been put on hold because today the Sugababes’ new single premiered on radio.  It’s called “Get Sexy” and it is very good.  It is the best thing they have released since Amelle joined the group, because it brings back the Sugababes sound of urban club pop as present on their previous songs “Freak Like Me”, “Blue”, “Whatever Makes You Happy”, “Gotta Be You” and “Future Shokk!”.  So to the people who are saying the Sugababes have sold out and are simply copying “Boom Boom Pow”, you are very 2000 and late because the Sugababes were doing this kind of music much prior to releasing Avril-lite pop such as “About You Now” (although the piano-led ballad version on Catfights and Spotlights went a long way to redeeming that song for me).

When Mutya left the group, I was very curious to see how the Sugababes would continue since, up to that point it had seemed like Mutya was the main creative energy in the group, and her attitude and swagger modified Keisha’s pop sensibilities into something much more angular.  Replaced by Amelle, it would seem that I had been correct – her voice just didn’t have that Sugababes blend (whereas when Heidi replaced Siobhan, her voice was a stellar compliment to the group – if you don’t believe me, go and listen to “Breathe Easy (Acoustic Jam)” and any live version of “Stronger”) and seemed harsh and grating.  Out went the streetwise edge, in came the high pop polish that remained for the Change album; IMO, the group’s creative nadir.  By Catfights and Spotlights, Amelle’s voice seemed to complement the others’ more and the mix of brass-led pop and R&B tracks such as “Side Chick” and “Can We Call A Truce” evoked 60s Motown as interpreted by Shola Ama.  An improvement, but still not enough for me to consider the Sugababes back in my good books.  Meanwhile, Mutya Buena dropped a fantastic solo album which underperformed and she was promptly dropped from her label.  As ever, my taste and that of the British public are very divergent.

So “Get Sexy” is not a particularly deep song; “My Love Is Pink” was hardly a lyrical revelation.  But “Get Sexy” is a song that embodies fun, attitude and club-ready flirting, and it is a song that you can act sexy to.  It has multiple hooks (one of which riffs of that classic Right Said Fred song), and Heidi’s voice in the second verse is the sexiest part of the whole thing.  I doubt very much that the Sugababes aimed to ape the Black Eyed Peas, but I don’t care if they did, because it’s better than choosing to ape Girls Aloud or the Saturdays, which is apparently what people expected.  And if the Sugababes are still defying expectations and releasing fantastic music such as this, then I might just begin following them again with renewed interest.

Oh, after all that, you might want to listen to the song.  Here you are - enjoy!

You can also stream it below:

Beim Firmenlauf 2009 in Kiel waren auch wir „Grünen“ mit einer Gruppe am Start.

Das Motto in diesem Jahr lautete „All you can run“. Das bedeutete, dass es für jede absolvierte Runde ein Armband gab, die im Ziel als Nachweis abgegeben und zusammengezählt wurden. So ganz ausgereift war das System aber noch nicht, denn so mancher Teilnehmer fand sich in der Ergebnisliste mit einer falschen Rundenzahl geführt. Egal, bei mir stimmte es jedenfalls. Ich hatte mir vorgenommen, wie in den letzten Jahren auch 3 Runden zu absolvieren.

Dadurch konnten Daniela und ich noch rechtzeitig nach Kellenhusen, wo die 125-Jahr-Feier anstand und wir schon Besuch hatten. Hier fand abends auch ein Feuerwerk am Strand statt, dass wir uns nicht entgehen ließen.

In der letzten Woche war dann endlich wieder Kieler Woche. Am ersten Samstag starteten auch wir in die KiWo. Zunächst ging es zum Alten Markt, wo wir feststellten, dass die HSHNordbank-Bühne verschwunden war. Stattdessen gab es dort nun die Bühne am Rathausmarkt. Wahrscheinlich, so erzählte uns ein Ordner, wollte unser Landesvater nach all den Turbulenzen der letzten Monate rund um die ehemalige Landesbank nicht auf deren Bühne auch noch die Kieler Woche eröffnen. Die Eröffnung selbst wollten wir aber nicht mehr abwarten und zogen schon nachmittags weiter zum Bootshafen, wo BMW seine Bühne aufgebaut hatte.

Hier testeten Daniela und ich den SEGWAY. Nach kurzer Einweisung sind wir den Parcour mit kleiner Rampe und Wippe abgefahren. Das macht Spaß.

Anschließend machten wir einige Fotos von Daniela vor dem neuen X6. Sie hatte extra für den späteren Besuch im Bayern-Zelt ein Dirndl an und zog die Blicke der vorbeigehenden Besucher auf sich. Wie sie sich da an dem Auto räkelte, war ich abgemeldet und fragte mich unwillkürlich, was der Wagen denn bloß hat, was ich habe… – auch ich bin sportlich, schnittig und schnell.

Eine chauffierte Testfahrt nahmen wir auch noch mit.

Danach ging es weiter zur Hörn ins Bayern-Zelt. Hier wurde schon um 21 Uhr auf den Bänken getanzt und geschunkelt. Wahnsinn! Wir stürzten uns ins Getümmel und machten fleißig mit. Im Laufe des Abends kam auch noch unser Ministerpräsident vorbei und machte einige Bilder für die Presse. Auch Daniela ließ es sich nicht nehmen. Ihr Statement mit einem berühmten Finger wurde auf dem Foto aber leider „abgeschnitten“. Dadurch war das Bild quasi entstellt und für sie nicht mehr zu gebrauchen. Aufgrund eines „Missverständnisses“ fand der Tag ein unglückliches Ende. Irgendwie landeten wir alle 3 an Rüdigers Auto, um unsere Sachen rauszunehmen, als er los wollte. Unsere Plätze im Zelt waren weg und Daniela und ich verloren uns aus den Augen. Es begann zu regnen und das Zelt war voll. Nach über 20 Minuten SMSen im Regen wollten dann nur noch genervt nach Hause. Da ich an dieser Entwicklung mit Schuld war, tut mir das Ende des Abends ehrlich leid. Aber die Groupies verzeihen so etwas und am 2. KiWoWE waren wir wieder dabei.

Unter der Woche besuchte ich mit einem Kollegen das Konzert von Foreigner. Mann, war das voll. Selbst eine Gruppe Hells Angels war da und ich bestaunte zunächst deren Motorräder und nach dem Konzert eine Kommando-mäßige Verkehrskontrolle der Polizei, weil sie auf dem Hinweg zur Bühne angeblich eine rote Ampel im Konvoi überfahren hatten. Plötzlich wurde die Straße vor und hinter ihnen mit Polizeiwagen versperrt ( eine Art „Kieler Kessel“ ) und ein mobiler Flutlichtmast aufgebaut. Die Gruppe zeigte bereitwillig ihre Papiere und das ganze hatte eher den Charakter eines Happenings, denn einer Verkehrskontrolle. Nach 30 Minuten war alles vorbei. Rüdiger konnte den Vorfall Dank meines Anrufs auch noch als erster twittern. Das Konzert selbst war OK. Die Akustik hätte besser sein können – die Instrumente überstimmten den Sänger doch sehr deutlich. Aber dafür waren, wie wir später erfuhren, die Azubis des NDR am Start und das Konzert ja auch umsonst.

Am zweiten Wochenende ging es freitags zu Right Said Fred. Daniela war schon einige Tage ziemlich aufgekratzt, weil der Sänger Richard eine ähnlich erotische Stimme und einen nahezu identischen Körperbau haben soll, wie ich. Der Abend wurde klasse. Nicht nur, dass Daniela nach dem Konzert 30 Euro fand, nein, sie sorgte auch für den verspäteten Beginn des nachfolgenden Konzertes der Beach Boys Cover Band. Wie konnte das geschehen? Zunächst hatte sie die Idee, das erste Mal in ihrem Leben einen BH auf die Bühne zu werfen. Ich war dagegen und auch ihre Mutter verweigerte telefonisch die Zustimmung. Aber sie sei alt genug und plötzlich hatte sie ihn ausgezogen. Das funktionierte irgendwie wie der Zaubertrick eines Entfesselungskünstlers… bei der Zugabe drängelte sie nach vorn zur Bühne und wurde von den umherstehenden Frauen gefeiert, als der BH flog. Richard hob ihn sogleich auf und hielt ihn sich vor den entblößten Oberkörper. Alles gut zu sehen auf den riesigen Leinwänden. Anschließend kam sie ziemlich aufgedreht zu uns zurück.

Nach dem Konzert schlugen wir vor, dass sie fragen sollte, ob sie backstage für ein Foto darf und sich auf den BH-Wurf berufen solle. Sie gab auch alles, aber die Ordner verstanden das so, als wolle sie ihren BH wiederhaben. Der lag noch immer auf der Bühne und mittlerweile stand das Schlagzeug der nachfolgenden Band darauf. Ralf Huber, der Moderator des Abends vom NDR musste also wieder auf die Bühne und erklärte der wartenden Menge, dass erst der BH wiedergeholt werden müsse. Dadurch verzögerte sich der Beginn der nächsten band um etwa 10 Minuten. Am Ende hatte Groupie Daniela ihren BH wieder anstatt eines Fotos mit RSF. Ein zweiter Versuch bei anderen Ordnern endete damit, dass diese Ralf Huber riefen, der etwas mit ihr plauderte und mitteilte, dass RSF nun schon wieder los seien. Schade, dass das i-Tüpfelchen nicht klappte, aber auch so war das eine denkwürdige und rundum gelungene Veranstaltung.

Am Samstag begannen Daniela und ich gegen Mittag damit, erneut bei BMW vorbei zu schauen. Vor dem M3-Simulator warteten nur 4 Leute und ich meldete mich für eine „Testfahrt“ an. Gut, dass es nur ein Simulator war. Irgendwie kam ich nicht mit ihm zurecht und hätte ihn im Ernstfall mehrmals geschrottet. Nach meiner Vorstellung war der Wagen wohl auch etwas mitgenommen, denn das System musste neu gestartet werden. Sowas.

Wir gingen weiter zur Kiellinie und deckten uns am Stand des Bundestages mit allerlei give-aways ein. Wofür zahlen wir schließlich Steuern? Nebenan bei der IG-Metall machten wir die Umfrage mit und Daniela ließ ein Foto von sich machen, dass ihr als 6 Postkarten geschenkt wurde. Dafür wurde ihre Adresse notiert und aus der „Gärtnerstraße“ machte der für die Datenerfassung zuständige Promoter die „Gerdnerstraße“. Sie brauchte einige Zeit, um sich von diesem ganz persönlichen PISA-Schock zu erholen. Immerhin unterrichtet sie ja auch deutsch.

Wir schlenderten über die Bio-Meile und in Richtung GOSCH-Schiff, wo wir in den letzten Jahren immer wieder nette Leute getroffen haben und die gefundenen 30 Euro vom Vortag in Wein umgesetzt werden sollten. Dort trafen wir auch das zweite Groupie und stellten die Vollzähligkeit her. Ein Platz an Bord war schnell gefunden und prompt trafen wir wieder auf interessante Menschen. Diesmal gesellten sich ein Paar aus Regensburg samt Schwägerin aus Rendsburg zu uns. Sie warteten auf die Abfahrt eines Kreuzfahrtschiffes am nächsten Tag und wir fanden schnell ins Gespräch. Die Zeit verging wie im Flug und wir gönnten uns anschließend eine Fahrt im Riesenrad. Was für eine Aussicht – traumhaft. Gegen 21 Uhr zogen wir um an die Hörn. Dort fand Daniela gleich wieder 5 Euro. Wir tranken ein Gläschen Sekt zum Sonnenuntergang und machten uns anschließend auf den Weg nach Hause, denn am Sonntag musste Daniela zeitig los.

Also genossen Rüdiger und ich das Feuerwerk abends von meiner Wohnung aus, weil es uns an der Kiellinie eindeutig zu voll war.

Ein prima Wochenende ging zu  Ende. Einige Bilder dazu findet Ihr hier.

Achja, gelaufen bin ich auch während der Kieler Woche – immerhin zwei kurze Einheiten von 30 und 45 Minuten. Und bis zum nächsten Termin, dem Mitternachtslauf in Heiligenhafen, ist es ja noch etwas hin…

For one of the last artists to perform at Stain, Lady Blanche was definitely a great pick!

Lady Blanche, a.k.a. Tracy Shapiro, is a singer/songwriter here in Brooklyn who is actually on tour across the east coast right now with the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players–but she’ll be back in New York playing Sidewalk Cafe on August 5. Her songs are catchy and most have pretty hilarious lyrics. She’s even got a song about wanting to be a trophy wife, for all you rich dudes out there…

…but “The Bartender Song” is awesome and perhaps the best of her demo CD. It also hits a bit close to home since I’m a bartender (she even kinda dedicated it to me when she played at Stain), although of course it’s a little exaggerated. She also does a great acoustic cover of “Too Sexy” by Right Said Fred! It’s definitely an act to catch live, though, ‘cuz the demos on her MySpace don’t really do the comedy much justice.

Check out: Lady Blanche – “The Bartender Song” (zSHARE)

If you haven’t needed your cerebrum up until now, you might want to dust it off for Mark Greif and his ambitious, self-admittedly treacherous essay, “Radiohead, or the Philosophy of Pop.” It is presented as Chapter Two of RAF but was originally published by n+1 on January 19, 2006 (teaser here). Greif is a contributing editor to n+1. Yet I need to make one last point before we launch the series in earnest. And I really mean it this time: one last point.

It may seem trivial, but I assure you it isn’t. It’s an integral distinction he makes, with which we need presumably to agree to accept his larger premise: his unwavering use of the word “pop,” as in, “pop music.” It shouldn’t take too much evidence to make the first case, that Greif does, indeed, lean too much toward this word: it’s the functioning term in the very title of the essay. You can also take this brief passage from page 31: “Pop music always tells its listeners that their feelings are real.” Or this one, from one of his minor theses, with which I’ve been struggling for well over a week: “One has to distinguish between poetry and pop [music lyrics.] The most important lines in pop are rarely poetically notable; frequently they are quite deliberately and necessarily words that are most frank, melodramatic and unredeemable. [pg. 28]” The word is certainly no elephant in the room. Try rather a cloud of mosquitoes.

And forget the local connotations for a moment. (Justin. Britney. Kevin. X-tina.) The expression “pop music” is practically used as an insult in some circles. Consider instead the extended form of the term “pop music.” Popular music. Populace, popularis, belonging to the people. Does this describe Radiohead to you? Does Radiohead really belong? To anyone?

The urge is to declare that “Creep” catapulted the band onto the world stage in 1992, but in truth none of us were quite ready for “Creep.” It would not be the last time the world was not ready for a Radiohead release: the first telltale sign of genuine talent. Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy” was more our speed in 1992, even though that ensemble’s silence ever since has been truly deafening: the first telltale sign of a bunch of hacks. (One quality that seems always to plague pop music is that the people never get it right the first time around.) Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” was more our speed. “Jump” by Kris Kross was. Just compare the lyrics…

You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You’re so f***ing special
But I’m a creep
I’m a weirdo

…to those of, say, any of the beltholders from that year:

You’d tell me this was love
It’s not the way I hoped or how I planned
But somehow it’s enough
And now we’re standing face to face
Isn’t this world a crazy place
Just when I thought our chance had passed
You go and save the best for last

The imagery in both tracks was cheesy. But in the first cut, the self-loathing was as thick as peanut butter. And while guitarist Jonny Greenwood’s quick volume and distortion checks kinda-sorta agreed with the metalhead in all of us, the whole “run run run run run” meme was desperate. It all seemed very, very real.

(By the way the second lyric sheet above comes from “Save the Best for Last” by Vanessa Williams. Speaking of fleeting artists.)

1995 brought The Bends. They were still “Creep” as far as most of us were concerned, which they described as a blessing and a bane. Recall that 1995 was all about Sheryl Crow: “All I Wanna Do”… is have some fun! Tommy Lee married Pamela Anderson. Paula Abdul released an LP. Homely romantics worldwide cheered on Lyle Lovett, although a breakup with Julia Roberts was, inevitably, in the mail. In this festive setting, Yorke & Co. show up bemoaning polymer chains and praising hyperbaric chambers? Goth much? Critical acclaim arrived with 1997’s OK Computer, but if you didn’t think “Fitter Happier” sounded like more than just an album’s playful midpoint, you simply weren’t paying attention:

will not cry in public,
less chance of illness,
tires that grip in the wet
(shot of baby strapped in back seat),
a good memory,
still cries at a good film,
still kisses with saliva,
no longer empty and frantic

And lest we forget George Reisch’s description of that totem LP: “Before I discovered [Radiohead's music], I thought these sounds were subjective and private — the particular sound of my own brain, I figured, humming, popping and stuttering through life. But when OK Computer plays, my neurons seem to hum along with music they have always known.”

Exhibit D: Kid A, released October 2000. A number one single that month: X-tina’s “Come On Over Baby (All I Want Is You).”

Exhibit E: Amnesiac, released June 2001. A number one single that month: X-tina’s “Lady Marmalade.”

Exhibit F: the ostensibly political Hail to the Thief, released June 2003. A number one single that month: Clay Aiken’s “This Is The Night.”

Exhibit G: In Rainbows. Need I say more?

Radiohead’s recent, massive give-away of intellectual property may cloud more ancient history. Maybe the urge is to revise all of those awkward, developmental years and declare In Rainbows, say, an Album of the People. Don’t give in to the urge. Coldplay’s Viva la Vida is an album of the people: grandiose, contagious, accessible. You’re hearing it here: The Muse in Music is declaring Coldplay “pop music.” (We don’t really love In Rainbows either.) U2 is popular music. Foo Fighters? Probably. Arcade Fire? Ask me after another release or two.

So as for Radiohead? They’re talented. They’re unattractive. They’re shy. They’re behind the curve and ahead of it and totally out-of-step and uncool. They’re fearless. They’re wealthy. They’re moody. They’re obnoxiously smart and tend to keep their listeners backed up against the ropes. They’re hard rock. They’re experimental. They’re electronica. They’re fashion disasters. They’re the underdogs. They’re the overlords. A fan of Radiohead v1992 is probably not a fan of Radiohead v1999 and is almost certainly not a fan of Radiohead now. (I do not exclude myself from this, although my snobbery-free wife has remained a dedicated follower. She has even bought albums that interpreted Radiohead’s music as piano sonatas and nighttime lullabies, and she dutifully hated Cleopatra Records’ Anyone Can Play Radiohead.)

They’re one of our most important bands, and that is the end of the matter (almost). So if this is the music of the people, I need to get out and offer a few more handshakes every now and again. You might go so far to say that pop music is just about everything that Radiohead isn’t. Using the old German’s terms once more — try to stifle that groan, I’ll revisit them yet again for the same chapter — popular music only lets us forget. Radiohead makes us remember first. Which of these do the people prefer? And which is ultimately more rewarding?

Note that this post is one part in a series. To view all posts in the series, start here.