Razorlightning rod. White jean wearing crocks of cack. In the morning you know you won’t remember a thing is a gleeful telling of date rape, as Johnny crows and dances round the semi conscious naked form of some drugged girl he’s about to plough. Disgusting. And they play it on the radio. I hope the… Read more

I love Lily Allen. She’s fucking fantastic. I would eat her if I could. On bread with a little brown sauce. She has a damn sweet voice, a beautiful turn of phrase, and a wildly misjudged sense of style. Fuck it I’m not going into any greater details, it’s a good album and she is… Read more

The record stomps and drags you through it, it passes you by so quickly you don’t notice the time past- your head full of the gory details, like driving past a nasty car smash at 90mph on a freeway, and you swear that you saw a half dead guy trying to pull his decapitated girls… Read more

Hot damn this was like having my head dunked into joy, take this image and run with it, and some money and buy this little brilliance, this unsurpassed sample of heavens elevator music and smile, smile like a Cheshire cat manufacturer whose just replaced his entire work force with a machine. You will be listening… Read more

Like finding an old sock, that still fits perfectly at last a little something from my youth, to yours. If you don’t know this band, you are not alone, such a treasure as this is usually well hidden, under the ocean, in a rusting hulk, called the French music industry. The hoopty-doopty swingsong songs are… Read more

The album – helpfully titled f #a #* – was strikingly cinematic, recalling Ry Cooder’s soundtrack to Paris, Texas and Terrence Malick’s films Badlands and Days Of Heaven. Their style of splicing tape recordings of the angry disenfranchised and the mutterings of militias into their music echoes ’60s libertarian outsider counter-culture. Their use of ”authentic”… Read more