If the video doesn’t work for you either click anywhere in the window (which John Wagonwheel’s too thick to work out for himself) or click here.
Researching what’s happening in the charts for Watch With Mother’s Music Week is truly fucking depressing.
First we had Vampire Weekend who I thought were rubbish, but then The Metros (who are about one hundred times worse) come along and spoiled my day. And then The fucking Ting Tings, just to put the icing on the cake, go and infested my ears with this piece of shit. Honestly, this rot just about takes the biscuit.
I freely admit I’m getting old but I’ve still got an ear for good music, you bastards, and this shit just won’t cut it. It’s so dire I can’t even be anused to go into WHY it’s dire. But I must. I MUST fight through the pain.
Here’s why it’s rubbish:
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The ‘knocked up in two minutes on garageband’ shit synth / beats.
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The couple of spare pricks in the video who I assume made this monstrosity – who, by the way – look far too old to be involved in such a caper.
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The fact that I’ve seen this rubbish raved about in broadsheet newspapers by writers who should clearly be sacked.
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The ‘knocked up in two minutes on iMovie’ shit video.
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The ‘knocked up in one minute’ lyrics.
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Everything about it. Absolutely everything about it.
I’m off to find more modern pop music to slag off.
En guard!
33 Comments
Video doesn’t work.
Put a link in because you clearly don’t know how computers work you FLAMING HOON.
No, not more please… please stop, I’m of an age where my heart can’t take the stress
It’s MUSIC week.
Music!
Music, music, music!
Music.
This is disgusting. What are you doing? This fucker’s just splattered my ear canal up the wall.
STOP! For God’s sake, man!
I knew you old fuckers wouldn’t be able to hack it.
This is serious music journalism.
For music week, y’see?
You’re welcome to try and join me in the ball-busting world of music journalism if you want. But remember the kitchen is hot, so if you cannot take the heat of the kitchen you shouldn’t be in the kitchen* in the first place.
*kitchen meaning the world of music journalism.
I’m in the world of music journalism, in it. Properly. I’ve seen Thunder live twice and everything.
But even I, a seasoned and highly respected music journalist, can’t stand the heat coming from this kitchen*. This is a kitchen you’d find in Hell. A kitchen where the chef’s throwing knives about. I’m getting out of this kitchen**.
*music journalism
**music journalism taken to the Xtreme
That’s because you dig old crap. I’m investigating the hippest sounds the kids are down with (ie shit that’s on a loop on Jo Whiley’s shitty radio show)
I dig that old crap, daddio, because that old crap’s groovy, baby. How the hell am I meant to tune in, turn on, and drop out to the shit you’re posting? It’s freaking me out, man. I’m getting bad vibes. And now I can’t get this doobie to light, so that’s a whole afternoon listening to Jethro Tull WITHOUT pot. That’s a bad trip, sugartits.
You’re a menace, y’dig?
Fucking hell man, you’re WACK.
Don’t disrespec my tracks, yeah? You disrespeckin me?
I’M ARKSIN YOU A QUESTION, BLOOD
Dis shit is gash man. But dat song is like wicked-sick.
Signed: FANBOIIII
I’m sorry, brother. I don’t speak Chinese. Shit! Gotta go! I have to get Dark Side of the Moon on the turntable before the acid kicks in, man.
Also, clicking in the window doesn’t work, you saggy nonce.
Does on my computer, mongboy.
Not the play button, just anywhere else in the window.
Nope, nothing doing. Clearly your computer is shitted up.
John’s a boob.
From personal experience I can say that the girl is the living embodiment of a slowly unravelling woollen mitten and the boy just got taken on to write a column about funny shit in Sugarape, yeah?
Pair of goons.
John is a boob.
And Ting Tings are bloody awful.
They are appalling.
And you’re a pair of jugs.
’tis truly terrible, although not quite as monstrously awful as the Mystery Jets new song – Young Love. In every way the sound of the impending apocalypse.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qz-FoGp3p0s
I’ve been recommended their new album. I’ll reserve judgement till I get home. Besides, everyone knows you only like American things, Medlo, you bloody twerp.
I like Mars Bras. And Lilt. And Dr. Pepper.
It’s alright this, but I’ve heard better songs by them.
Just out of interest, how old must one be to make this kind of music? And what are you supposed to perform at which age?
a.) I disagree
b.) You can only make this sort of music if you are under 8 years old. I don’t make the rules.
You enforce them though, don’t you, like some unthinking bureaucrat! It’s like Kafka never existed! Honestly.
Kafka didn’t ever exist. His novels are an invention by libertarians attempting to incite revolution.
Your mind has become enslaved by the vicious jackboot of the facist bullyboy state. Only the Ting Tings can free you.
Wrong, for the Ting Tings are an invention of the NME and the Jo Whiley radio show, designed to enslave children.
Why do the NME and Jo Whiley want to enslave children? Have the authorities been called? And more to the point, how does this system work?
Have you not heard about the conspiracy to bring back the workhouses using indie / alternative music as bait?
The workhouses will be part of a secret industry to enforce manual child labour – thus lowering carbon emmissions and making the government look like they’re good at hitting targets. Bands like the Ting Tings play gigs attended by children and then the youngsters get rounded up and put to use in factories.
I’m surprised you didn’t know about this.
It happened in the 90s as well, but the plan fell at the first hurdle when the government realised that Thousand Yard Stare weren’t nearly as popular as calculated, so no kids turned up at the gigs.
In 1992 I bought a compilation casette tape from the Lincoln branch of Woolworths in the newly opened Riverside shopping centre called Reading – The Indie Album, as advertised on TV. The attraction was an exlusive Wonder Stuff song, Room 512, and a fine tune it was.
But who was that, towards the end of side 2? It was Thousand Yard Stare. What business had they on a fashionable indie compilation alongside The Wedding Prersent, The Sugarcubes and The House of Love? None that my childish eyes could see. Fortunately, that end of the tape also featured The Mission, and was hardly ever ventured into. In fact, it rarely made it past the aforementioned Stuffies track.
Now I see the truth, I thank my lucky charms that that which nearly came to pass was so narrowly avoided. To think that by simply listening to poor quality alternative music I would end up manacled to some pointless, soul destroying job for the rest of life makes me near pass water in terror.
Wait a minute that face it’s my face MY FACE etc.
Swinseshead, you know I love you and all, but that is a cracking l’il song.
It’s got beats! It’s got a shouty chorus! Come on Man!!
Still a shite name for a band, right enough.