Okay, linkgasm.

I draw you attention especially to the phrase "It was completely primeval". Now not that I want to say I fucking called it, but this reminds me of a song called 'Mellow Drama'. And such a great pun in the title! I wonder who wrote such a brilliant piece of &c.

Actually, the crazy old fart has been around here most of the last 24 hours. I deeply love him and his many ways, for they are mighty. Amen.

Here's a conversation extract for you.

Emily: No. Do explain.
Will: basically
Will: within our pseudo religion of the vibe there are two pillars
Will: proximity to the vibe, which is controlled by the vibe
Will: and proximity to the drill
Will: which is controlled by you
Will: knowing the drill is essential to reaping the vibe
Will: but the vibe's presence isn't guaranteed by drill knowledge
Will: his absence does however, generally suggest a lack of drill
Will: either in the room
Will: or within YOURSELF
Will: because the drill is easy to forget
Emily: Um.

Went to the Academy on Cowley Road last night, and am pleased to see that Carling have stayed with their dependable "Big Black Box" venue ethic. Cos that's what music needs. The character of a big black box. Anyway, that's by the by - my visit last night reminded me of a rant i've been meaning to do for a while now.

I know the theory. Support acts ramp up crowd anticipation. The pause between support and main bands is a lot like the "putting on condom" section of foreplay. And when the band finally explodes onto the stage, their love is heightened by the wait. I know the theory.

But if putting on a condom took an hour, sex would be really really... um... flacid? OKAY let's try and talk about this in non-sexual terms.

Reasons not to piss about with a "sound test" for more than 15 minutes between bands:
1) You had all day for a "sound test". How good a sound guy are you? Plus, sound in these large venues is always shit anyway. You gaybians.
2) Standing up for an hour for no reason in a tiny room jostled to the teeth with a full capacity crowd is neither fun nor hygenic.
3) Some big artists might like to play more songs before close, and the audience might like that as well, especially given the way you ripped them off on the tickets, you heartless bastards. "But some artists only want to play a normal length set", I hear you cry. Okay, so start the whole evening later. OHMIGOD CAN IT REALLY BE THAT SIMPLE
4) If it comes to it, do you really think a crowd of Radiohead lovers (say) are going to enjoy the gig MEASURABLY MORE for the wait? It's quite probable that they'll enjoy it QUITE a lot anyway. Most people who are gonna shell out £50 to see a truly big band are going to enjoy them at 1 minute's notice at the bottom of a pit in cheshire just as much as anywhere else. Cos that's what being a fan is all about!
5) This is a serious one: being a support band is a dangerous business at the best of times, but the point of it always used to be that you got yourself out there to a similar group's established fanbase. I don't know about you, but I'm starting to deliberately turn up to gigs late so that I don't have to do this waiting around thing. So I'm missing the support bands, with their nerfed sound and imploite audiences, and my musical palate is suffering. I'm not the only person who does this. Where are tomorrow's bands going to come from? Oh wait, I forgot, the fucking X factor. I take it all back.

I know it's showmanship, I know live music is more about spectacle than music these days, but it's unpleasant, it's wrong, and it's hurting the vibe. I'd say "substance over style", but there's no style in this anyway so I'll confine myself to "playground tactics, no rabbit-in-a-hat tricks".

Just add classic rap shit from Jurassic.

Well, tomorrow my new course starts. It's a big day, eh? So how have I been preparing myself?!

Need you ask?

Yes, it's the now level SIXTEEN Tabitha Sackbutt, supported as ever by the dps/healing marathon-in-a-man that is PARKES. At the end of this evening's session I hooked Tabby up with some new armour ("armor") which cost probably about 3 platinum by the time I was done. Because I DYED IT RED.

Ooo baby.

Plus this new armour will probably be redundant in about two days. But you have to spoil a girl sometimes.

This is getting weird.

Anyway.

Yes.

I'm often asked* what the point is in continuing this facade, living as a talentless gypsy of a singer-songwriter, perpetually in the shadow of MC Lars. Lars, who I 'discovered' (thanks Clare) earlier this year, is my musical, lyrical and intellectual superior, and I'm the jealous type. So why don't I just throw in the towel? Well, the fact is, Lars' shadow produces a more satisfying bask than any sun you could offer me.

But if you're unconvinced by post-punk laptop rap, I heartly invite you to check out Lars' latest podcast. In this we find out not only that Lars plays a C F Martin & Co guitar which looks very similar to mine (oh lars im like totally your biggest fan i like have your record and like i totally love you and like we have the same guitar and man like you are just so awesome ohmigod OHMIGOD) but that he makes comedy videos as well as he writes songs. As if you could have doubted him.

I'm seeing him in Oxford in a few weeks and I couldn't be more stoked. As long as people like Lars are getting the exposure I never will, music is safe.

/toadying

*by myself

Now I love the Black Eyed Peas as much as the next man, but you've got admit that this is pretty embarrasing.

I know, I know. FaceOmeter corrects another apostrophe on the postcard of life.

Edit: I've used punctuation to salvage some dignity for the old girl. That's how I roll.

Avid reader as I am of BBC news, it seems I still need to rely on Parkes for digging out the gems such as this. If I'm ever a judge, this is the guy I want to be working closely with.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to get my tits out.

Their nest fell into the acid bath again.

So I've spent the last fourteen years putting the finishing touches on the lyrics to "Existentialism on Folk Night", designed as the 'sister-song' to the one which still doesn't have a title yet. Both are songs in which I question the courage of my convictions, though the results are different in each. Or something. Anyway. Ahem.

Speakers are blasting out bass
Massive crowds are pulling shapes
Rhymes are busted, skirts adjusted
Beverages to friends entrusted
On the Cornish cliffs tonight
No reckless wreckers hove in sight
Just fabric from a growing trend
& we've mixed up our means and ends
So there's no conversation, no
Just silent animation
Looming through three-coloured smoke
Which chokes on turned-up tune vibrations
& the DJ spins some records
Which got big when we were small
& says "Music really quite unites us all"

Meanwhile on some lonesome beach,
Just out of that scene's ear-reach
A campfire figure with guitar
Is getting freaked out by the stars
Lacking style, with poor physique
Happily deploying critique
Yet using tuning to decree
A swathe of insecurities
"Maintenant ou Jamais, je sais
Far too darn much these days"
All this cerebral travelling
The hidden angst unravelling
Pinioned in opinion
& lost in history's thrall, yeah
"If only music could unite us all"

Two scenes going on tonight,
& who's to say which one is right:
Parties shallow and distressing,
Seaside sojourns quite depressing?
Funny how our race relaxes
Funny how this shit attracts us
Surely, though, some aspiration,
Even slight, beats degradation
Let's keep idealism flowing
Let's keep music live and growing
Let's all hang out, not for sex
But just to see what happens next
Let's loud it, but not so loud
We can't hear each other call
& one day music might unite us all

Let's not take the easy road, or any road at all
Let's keep hoping music can unite us all.

Important lessons learned from the hideous writing process this time:
1) "Cerebral" doesn't rhyme with anything
2) Espresso is good
3) Lines 24-5 are really true and I need to radically revise my approach to songwriting

Forthcoming writing projects:
P G Wodehouse: A Life
Secret Chord Song (Dutch Lullaby)
As-yet-untitled-big-bruce-springsteen-power-country-melody-massive

So the other day, that was Thom Yorke. A man whose toilet habits I've written a song about. Walking past me. On the street. Then, yesterday, I met someone who had not only seen me play in Exeter about two years ago but is also in charge of lettings at the company that I'm renting my flat from. Now, today, Sam's story, which mysteriously vanished from within my soundbox shortly after having been written on the princess bride tour (see 2/8) has turned up... in my soundbox. I've cleaned that soundbox twice since the tour and IT WAS NOT THERE.

I'm just one stilton goose away from complete, overwhelming insanity. Let's hope I can get this tune lyric'd first. It might be called Existentialism on Folk Night, but I'm not sure yet.