Ruraidh (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} harmonyrocket) wrote,@ 2007-09-23 18:03:00 |
|
Northern girls love gravy.
***
Summer results:
Electric Picnic League, 2007 Season
Phil Hartnoll's Ideal Condition 2-0 Ruraidh
Manic Street Preachers 2-1 Ruraidh
The Good, The Bad And The Queen 2-0 Ruraidh
The Jimmy Cake 1-1 Ruraidh
The Undertones 3-0 Ruraidh
Ladytron 2-1 Ruraidh
Brontosaurus Chorus 50-0 Ruraidh
Jarvis Cocker 3-0 Ruraidh
Spiritualized Acoustic Mainline 4-2 Ruraidh
The Jesus And Mary Chain 1-0 Ruraidh
Bat For Lashes 2-0 Ruraidh
Sons And Daughters 1-0 Ruraidh
The Fall 3-1 Ruraidh
Serena-Maneesh 0-2 Ruraidh
Sonic Youth 0-2 Ruraidh
Primal Scream 2-2 Ruraidh
Glastonbury Cup, 2007 Season
Neck 1-1 Ruraidh
Seasick Steve 1-0 Ruraidh
Bloc Party 1-2 Ruraidh
Modest Mouse (feat. Johnny Marr) 2-1 Ruraidh
Bright Eyes 1-1 Ruraidh
Super Furry Animals 2-1 Ruraidh
Rufus Wainwright 2-0 Ruraidh
Arcade Fire 2-0 Ruraidh
Spiritualized Acoustic Mainline 3-0 Ruraidh
Brakes2-0 Ruraidh
The Long Blondes 2-1 Ruraidh
Dirty Pretty Things 1-3 Ruraidh
Lily Allen 2-0 Ruraidh
Paul Weller 1-1 Ruraidh
Editors 1-2 Ruraidh
Madness 3-3 Ruraidh
Get Cape, Wear Cape, Fly 0-2 Ruraidh
The Rakes 0-3 Ruraidh
Dame Shirley Bassey 3-0 Ruraidh
Manic Street Preachers 3-1 Ruraidh
Kaiser Chiefs 1-4 Ruraidh
The Who 4-0 Ruraidh
Off-season friendlies to be played: Richard Hawley vs. Ruraidh, Manic Street Preachers vs. Ruraidh. Bookies are no longer accepting bets on either fixture.
***
We now know:
Phil Lynott once kicked the shit out of my uncle.
***
Electric Picnic was full of drugs wankers. I was taught that phrase by a gent who was on MDMA, but it didn't particularly show and I thank him for that. He was worried that it would make him behave like what seemed like the great majority of punters all weekend: completely out of their faces and interfering with others' good times. Like banging a tambourine during Spiritualized, talking loudly over each-and-every band and showing sod all interest in taking in some decent music. It all seemed completely unnecessary: everything's in place to have a hell of a good time. Why pile so much booze and drugs on top of it all?
The worst was probably the aggravation I got on Friday night just because I was wearing a decent shirt. A shell of a drugged up moron came up to me making friendly conversation at first, before aggressively asking if I was gay, or “some kind of faggot”. There aren't many witty come-backs against that kind of behaviour, so I told him to fuck off - at which point he became friendly again. Two sentences later it turned nasty once more. And so on, and so forth. Take all the drugs you want, alcohol included. I just don't like being interfered with by numbed-out zombies. Nor do I understand how a festival with such a lefty identity of Amnesty International and Fair Trade stalls attracts a drug element dependent, in the hazy background, on guns, exploitation and impoverishing the vulnerable. That's a rotten hypocrisy. But I suppose it's OK if you're middle class.
Idiots aside, the weekend was a blast – the only other drawback was the poor sound, which did its best to ruin decent sets by all but the most stripped-down of bands. Ladytron was a particular mess. Yet all the bands I wanted to see delivered, as per the results above. The company all weekend was top-class. The drive down, in Ciaran's warhorse of an Opel, was pure entertainment and the camping aspect was a walk in the park compared to Glastonbury. There was plenty of messing, most notably playing 'Motorcycle Emptiness' on a piano in a fake western saloon with a Alan, Ariel and Jodie. Four-person piano. Came up with a theme song for messin' too, at some point. More on that some other time though. Going to turn it into an unofficial national anthem. Top weekend. Sadly, a wasp named Bollocksface stung me as I was sitting about minding my own business on my return to Dublin. Druggy stupid wasp.
Let's hope for My Bloody Valentine and Blur to headline next year, eh? The former isn't beyond all possibility, I reckon. The latter? Maybe music isn't as doomed as I think it is, with Coxon back on board. British Sea Power too. And the Brontosaurus Chorus, who played this year and are a band apart. They should headline too. Why on earth not?
***
I was just about to write about Glastonbury, since I haven't actually written about the festival despite it occurring nearly three months ago. Three months. That's terrifying... What's needed is a lengthy post of thoughts and photographs which have fallen between the stools, and – in the spirit of starting again (see below) – a new reason for this journal being.
***
Without being particularly glib about the whole thing, this week signified the end of an era – for better or for worse. Tonight I go to see Richard Hawley (I am considering making a commitment on mentioning Richard Hawley in every future post on this journal, just to see how long I can keep it going). Tomorrow morning I head up to the northside to begin a course in journalism. The northside is a big deal for a lot of people. Not really me; my office is there. But I'm still going to bring my passport and, of course, arm myself formidably.
In a way, it's all a bit of a surprise. The interview was in May; and I buggered it up severely, being late, sleepless and clueless. Feelings are quite mixed on the whole affair – on the one hand, it will get me writing and give me a qualification that people will take very seriously (remember Hunter S. Thompson going on about how he was “a Doctor of Journalism, goddammit”? It's not quite a doctorate, and in any case his doctorate was a bit of a cod).
The other side of the coin is that – firstly - I'll still not be a rock star in a year's time, and – secondly - that I don't want to be in Dublin at the moment. Interesting people are fleeing it like it is a charity collector on a busy shopping street. Its middle classes eat children and its lower classes mug them. Its musicians bore them. It is often difficult to get beyond the front door, so thick is the human soup, and stars in other cities are blinking more brightly. Nightlife is completely unappealing. Venues are too loud for conversation and too cramped for dancing. Just sit there wondering why you're not having a good time.
Maybe training as a journalist will give me the evidence I need to bring the whole thing down.
Yeah.
If one likes this college, it's in Drumcondra. If not, it's in Ballymun. If you're somewhat neutral, or otherwise mature, it's in Glasnevin. Expect this three-way dynamic to feature prominently in my life from tomorrow onwards.
***
Life in the flat seems to revolve around screaming at the rugby in outrage and watching Pete Townshend rock it up at the Isle of Wight. The former I mostly couldn't care for, but the latter is really doing it. Next weekend the Parliament Street Film Club meets to watch my favourite film 2001: A Space Odyssey. The last time I saw it was in the Irish Film Centre, when it was a Centre, with my dad on 27 December 2001. There was snow about the place and no-one on the roads. There were five people in the theatre, including us. A couple down the back, us in the middle and a guy with lanky hair and a huge parka sitting down the front in the very middle just staring up at the screen in dazed wonderment.
***
Wrote a song. It's class.
***
Summer results:
Electric Picnic League, 2007 Season
Phil Hartnoll's Ideal Condition 2-0 Ruraidh
Manic Street Preachers 2-1 Ruraidh
The Good, The Bad And The Queen 2-0 Ruraidh
The Jimmy Cake 1-1 Ruraidh
The Undertones 3-0 Ruraidh
Ladytron 2-1 Ruraidh
Brontosaurus Chorus 50-0 Ruraidh
Jarvis Cocker 3-0 Ruraidh
Spiritualized Acoustic Mainline 4-2 Ruraidh
The Jesus And Mary Chain 1-0 Ruraidh
Bat For Lashes 2-0 Ruraidh
Sons And Daughters 1-0 Ruraidh
The Fall 3-1 Ruraidh
Serena-Maneesh 0-2 Ruraidh
Sonic Youth 0-2 Ruraidh
Primal Scream 2-2 Ruraidh
Glastonbury Cup, 2007 Season
Neck 1-1 Ruraidh
Seasick Steve 1-0 Ruraidh
Bloc Party 1-2 Ruraidh
Modest Mouse (feat. Johnny Marr) 2-1 Ruraidh
Bright Eyes 1-1 Ruraidh
Super Furry Animals 2-1 Ruraidh
Rufus Wainwright 2-0 Ruraidh
Arcade Fire 2-0 Ruraidh
Spiritualized Acoustic Mainline 3-0 Ruraidh
Brakes2-0 Ruraidh
The Long Blondes 2-1 Ruraidh
Dirty Pretty Things 1-3 Ruraidh
Lily Allen 2-0 Ruraidh
Paul Weller 1-1 Ruraidh
Editors 1-2 Ruraidh
Madness 3-3 Ruraidh
Get Cape, Wear Cape, Fly 0-2 Ruraidh
The Rakes 0-3 Ruraidh
Dame Shirley Bassey 3-0 Ruraidh
Manic Street Preachers 3-1 Ruraidh
Kaiser Chiefs 1-4 Ruraidh
The Who 4-0 Ruraidh
Off-season friendlies to be played: Richard Hawley vs. Ruraidh, Manic Street Preachers vs. Ruraidh. Bookies are no longer accepting bets on either fixture.
***
We now know:
Phil Lynott once kicked the shit out of my uncle.
***
Electric Picnic was full of drugs wankers. I was taught that phrase by a gent who was on MDMA, but it didn't particularly show and I thank him for that. He was worried that it would make him behave like what seemed like the great majority of punters all weekend: completely out of their faces and interfering with others' good times. Like banging a tambourine during Spiritualized, talking loudly over each-and-every band and showing sod all interest in taking in some decent music. It all seemed completely unnecessary: everything's in place to have a hell of a good time. Why pile so much booze and drugs on top of it all?
The worst was probably the aggravation I got on Friday night just because I was wearing a decent shirt. A shell of a drugged up moron came up to me making friendly conversation at first, before aggressively asking if I was gay, or “some kind of faggot”. There aren't many witty come-backs against that kind of behaviour, so I told him to fuck off - at which point he became friendly again. Two sentences later it turned nasty once more. And so on, and so forth. Take all the drugs you want, alcohol included. I just don't like being interfered with by numbed-out zombies. Nor do I understand how a festival with such a lefty identity of Amnesty International and Fair Trade stalls attracts a drug element dependent, in the hazy background, on guns, exploitation and impoverishing the vulnerable. That's a rotten hypocrisy. But I suppose it's OK if you're middle class.
Idiots aside, the weekend was a blast – the only other drawback was the poor sound, which did its best to ruin decent sets by all but the most stripped-down of bands. Ladytron was a particular mess. Yet all the bands I wanted to see delivered, as per the results above. The company all weekend was top-class. The drive down, in Ciaran's warhorse of an Opel, was pure entertainment and the camping aspect was a walk in the park compared to Glastonbury. There was plenty of messing, most notably playing 'Motorcycle Emptiness' on a piano in a fake western saloon with a Alan, Ariel and Jodie. Four-person piano. Came up with a theme song for messin' too, at some point. More on that some other time though. Going to turn it into an unofficial national anthem. Top weekend. Sadly, a wasp named Bollocksface stung me as I was sitting about minding my own business on my return to Dublin. Druggy stupid wasp.
Let's hope for My Bloody Valentine and Blur to headline next year, eh? The former isn't beyond all possibility, I reckon. The latter? Maybe music isn't as doomed as I think it is, with Coxon back on board. British Sea Power too. And the Brontosaurus Chorus, who played this year and are a band apart. They should headline too. Why on earth not?
***
I was just about to write about Glastonbury, since I haven't actually written about the festival despite it occurring nearly three months ago. Three months. That's terrifying... What's needed is a lengthy post of thoughts and photographs which have fallen between the stools, and – in the spirit of starting again (see below) – a new reason for this journal being.
***
Without being particularly glib about the whole thing, this week signified the end of an era – for better or for worse. Tonight I go to see Richard Hawley (I am considering making a commitment on mentioning Richard Hawley in every future post on this journal, just to see how long I can keep it going). Tomorrow morning I head up to the northside to begin a course in journalism. The northside is a big deal for a lot of people. Not really me; my office is there. But I'm still going to bring my passport and, of course, arm myself formidably.
In a way, it's all a bit of a surprise. The interview was in May; and I buggered it up severely, being late, sleepless and clueless. Feelings are quite mixed on the whole affair – on the one hand, it will get me writing and give me a qualification that people will take very seriously (remember Hunter S. Thompson going on about how he was “a Doctor of Journalism, goddammit”? It's not quite a doctorate, and in any case his doctorate was a bit of a cod).
The other side of the coin is that – firstly - I'll still not be a rock star in a year's time, and – secondly - that I don't want to be in Dublin at the moment. Interesting people are fleeing it like it is a charity collector on a busy shopping street. Its middle classes eat children and its lower classes mug them. Its musicians bore them. It is often difficult to get beyond the front door, so thick is the human soup, and stars in other cities are blinking more brightly. Nightlife is completely unappealing. Venues are too loud for conversation and too cramped for dancing. Just sit there wondering why you're not having a good time.
Maybe training as a journalist will give me the evidence I need to bring the whole thing down.
Yeah.
If one likes this college, it's in Drumcondra. If not, it's in Ballymun. If you're somewhat neutral, or otherwise mature, it's in Glasnevin. Expect this three-way dynamic to feature prominently in my life from tomorrow onwards.
***
Life in the flat seems to revolve around screaming at the rugby in outrage and watching Pete Townshend rock it up at the Isle of Wight. The former I mostly couldn't care for, but the latter is really doing it. Next weekend the Parliament Street Film Club meets to watch my favourite film 2001: A Space Odyssey. The last time I saw it was in the Irish Film Centre, when it was a Centre, with my dad on 27 December 2001. There was snow about the place and no-one on the roads. There were five people in the theatre, including us. A couple down the back, us in the middle and a guy with lanky hair and a huge parka sitting down the front in the very middle just staring up at the screen in dazed wonderment.
***
Wrote a song. It's class.
