All of which is to say: what a gig. I saw em a couple of years ago at Oxegen and they were so-so, which I now reckon was more down to the crowd than anything else (plus and also, I was pretty sober… textbook error). The crowd in the Point²  ranged from hugely enthusiastic to not-quite-as-enthusiastic-but-willing-to-stand-aside, which is a-ok in my book. Age-wise, about half the people there were thirty-year-olds pretending they were 16 (as my brother put it). The rest were wans and young f’llas who assumably listen to Rage on account of they’re a cool band from back in the day, much as my generation listen to Iron Maiden. I’m somewhere in the middle, but it pleases me that I’m on course to becoming a middle-aged rocker.

One thing, however… whenever a mosh pit formed near us, not only did the bouncers not stop it, they actively helped people who lost their footing. I’ll reiterate: the bouncers contributed to the crowd having a good time. Is this a thing that happens now? Concert security have always been, and are supposed to be, the worst people in the world. If you pull that out from under kids’ feet, what the hell are they supposed to believe in? The goodness of humankind? No fucking thank you. These people’d want to sort themselves out reet smart before we all start getting notions.

1. Or, as I said in an IM conversation, “Tonight I’m going to Rage Against the Machine”. The ambiguity of that makes me want to start a band called Bang a Donkey.
2. IT IS CALLED THE POINT

Aha, though. Because it would appear it can. As soon as it finished the DJ jumped in with a remark about her “tales of woe,” and I wonder if a man released a song like would he get away with it, hmm I don’t think so somehow ha ha, but sure aren’t we men useless at everything anyway, and it’s 11 o’clock and here’s the news.

Right.

Let’s, for a moment, ignore all the squabbly noncefights about who gets to be the equalest, and concentrate on what a colossal sackbag you have to be to make comments like that. And not just to make them, but to be so horrendously glib and passive-aggressive while you’re at it. I get that you’re insecure. I get that you grew up in the midst of a lot of change and uncertainty. But surely you realise how you’re coming off? Surely you could think things through a bit more? Because I would respectfully submit that if in order for you to see a personal insult in those lyrics, your knee has to possessed of a jerkiness rarely seen outside of late-stage Parkinson’s.

So and anyway. I guess if there’s a wider point to be made, it’s that it’s pretty embarrassing to be a man sometimes. There’s a line to be skated between  victim and apologist¹, and it’s easy enough to fall off. But seriously fellas, could we at least refrain from taking a dive?

1. Cheerfully, some people have nailed it.

• I Would Do Meat Loaf
• Here Comes The Shorty Long
• I Just Called Stevie Wonder

and the reigning champion:

• She Bangs The Stone Roses¹

But I’ve discovered that it’s not limited to video jukeboxes. The wee little yokes in Eddie Rockets², with their charming old-timey tunes, are suggestive goldmines³. Witness:

• I’m Gonna Tear Your Ann Peebles
• But I Do Clarence Henry
• Tell Laura I Love Her Ray Petersen

and the plaintive

• She’s Not There, Zombies

I would have more for you, but things got a bit Jimmy Ruffin last night after some girl accused me of grabbing her Ray Petersen, at which point her boyfriend punched me right in the Ann Peebles. Bad times.

1. Tempted to say “former reigning champion”, because I’m Gonna Give Her Jimmy Ruffin is hammering on the doors like no one’s business. Incidentally, many cheers to Ruairi for refreshing my memory with these. Similarly incidentally, every man jack of you should be hitting up Futurism in Doran’s tomorrow night.
2. I had to google Eddie Rockets to check if there’s supposed to be an apostrophe. So I’m guessing the place isn’t owned by an Eddie Rocket, but is in some way connected with a guy called Eddie Rockets. Does anyone else think that would be a brilliant name for a gangster?
3. Suggestive gold: one of the few truly recession-proof commodities.

Still, I’ve found half a bottle of Malibu stuck in the back of a cupboard so I’m not completely at sea. Coconut is a type of food.

1. On my ownio this week, so I can get away with that kind of carry-on. Chess! On the other hand, cold and lonely. Boo.
2. You have to shave these things, man, it’s the only way they’ll respect you

Guy Garvey is a class act, and one of the best frontmen going, but he’s a hard man to track down. Security tend not to accept a 6-pint jug of cider as valid identification. Should have gone with the pints, obviously, or pulled some Manchester variant of the potato man routine… the plotting continues.

Going into this thing I had resigned myself to missing out on my usual Sunday evening fix of balding middle-aged men with mullets and walrus moustaches wearing suits and doing karate kicks, so imagine my delight when Grinderman turned up. As a bonus, there was a sentient beard flinging percussion instruments around the place and playing a tiny, tiny guitar. Mortal men would have just looked silly.

Much as The Sex Pistols did… either they’re hell-bent on becoming the most nonsense thing in human history or they’re just acting out Primary School: The Musical. In whatever case, when you come in from a day spent with Henry Rollins and Nick Cave – men with actual testicles – John Lydon gets pretty old pretty quick.

Muxtape will be unavailable for a brief period while we sort out a problem with the RIAA.

God damn it, the RIAA. Give us a break for once.

An interesting day overall. I made the crucial error of getting on a bus right after downing two pints, and by the time we hit the venue I was in physical pain to the point of only being able to shuffle along in a hunching limp. And bless my soul if I didn’t accidentally sass a Garda shortly afterwards. She was on a bike though and apparently didn’t feel like stopping to dispense Mighty Justice.

There was a delightful Freudian slip from an MCD announcer before Muse came onstage: “In the unlikely event of a concern for public safety…”

It was a great show. An awful lot of jumping around, but paced nicely enough so that you never quite collapsed. And I love how where other bands might say “This is a new song we’re working on,” Muse tend to go for “Yeah, so this is a badass riff we wrote, we’re gonna play that for the next minute or so. Also, I’m going to make lasers come out of my guitar.”

I’m still not remotely recovered. I’m going to trail off now if that’s all right with you.

Of course, the flip side of that particular coin was that I went in boozeless and had to rely on the on-site bars. I was expecting to be fleeced, but a fiver got you a half-litre of decent enough beer in a big shturdy cup. Eh? Drinking at a festival is cheaper than drinking in a Dublin pub?

(Yeah, I know you can easily get a pint for under a fiver. Last time I was out, though, I ordered two pints of Paulaner and was charged €12.60 for my trouble, so it still averages out to everyone being a bunch of manky grabarses.)

I don’t know if MCD pulled the thumb out or what but the organisation seemed top notch. Queueing throughout the day, including the bus home, was at a minimum and the layout didn’t cause any of the usual headaches. There was of course talk of alleged rapes, alleged beatings and general alleged thievery but shur and it wouldn’t allegedly be Oxegen otherwise.

Bands: We Are Scientists were entertaining as always (creeping towards number one on the would-have-a-pint-with list… Guy Garvey will take some shifting though). Random techno was random techno. MGMT were probably ok, I survived the cattle pen for all of 30 seconds before I decided a pint was more in order. The Raconteurs put on a good show although I did kind of fall asleep for part of their set (rock n’ roll). Everything else was a general haze until Rage came on – cracking stuff, and the main reason I was there. A great set list and the encore was only mighty.

Overall, very glad I went. I kind of wish we’d stuck with our original plan and camped, but what can you do. Roll on Electric Picnic.

[More elsewhere: B'dum B'dum is a year late but still jolly entertaining, UnaRocks is as always on the case, and Jazz Biscuit has aggregated the shit out of the bad boy. Rosie may or may not recover enough to write it up at some point too... the scamp.]

Had this happened about a week ago this post would essentially have been a link to the Dazed and Confused soundtrack on Amazon. In the intervening period there has been a certain amount of boozing, dancing, playgrounding and intermittent bouts of furious writing, so we’re now at a kind of stage of chaotic semi-unmusicalness* that almost certainly very few people will enjoy. How and ever.

1. Saul Williams – Gunshots By Computer. A “remix” (read: original song with a black man hootenannying over it) of Nine Inch Nails’ already bangin’ Hyperpower!. (Emphasis theirs. Seriously. Listen up, Irish music scene: that’s how you punctuate a song title.) There are better Saul Williams songs, but this one lodged like a bastard when I first heard it.

I missed two Saul Williams gigs over the past two weeks. This makes me unhappy.

2. Martin Grech – I Am Chromosome. Got horrendously addicted to this a couple of years ago and picked it up again at the weekend. Waily-voiced Maltese-Brit gets scared about his legacy while the world ends around him. Excellent. My mate had a few drinks with him once, apparently a very nice guy.

3. Chrome Hoof – Circus 9000. It’s, well, circusy. And also kind of sinister. I walked into Tower once and heard this song playing and, in sheer amazement at someone in Tower putting on something not entirely wankery, bought the album.

Couldn’t find it on YouTube but, as coincidence and/or me liking the song a lot would have it, it’s the first track on the muxtape I will almost certainly finish one of these days.

4. The Dillinger Escape Plan – Milk Lizard. Crazy jazz metallers listen to mix of their new album, decide this track needs more 60s-era cop show brass section. Includes a vaguely boy band-ish breakdown of the type that only The Dillinger Escape Plan can make sound cool. Even if you don’t like his singing, do listen to the whole thing.

5. April March – Chick Habit. One for the ladies. Retro faux-French lady spoons sass onto bouncy beats, gives perfect end to best film of 2007 (i.e. Death Proof. While I think of it, the theme music from Planet Terror could very easily make this list… man, I am cheating so hard here.)

6. Dan le Sac vs Scroobius Pip – The Beat That My Heart Skipped. Waaaaay behind everyone else here, but this was only shoved my way last week and it stuck most thoroughly, to the extent of actually preventing me from sleeping one night. Deadly buzz, and even though I expect yer manno’s voice to start grating at any minute, it never does.

7. Right… I was going to put Sigur Ros – Staralfur here, after hearing it the other day and being randomly afflicted with slow motion ever since, but earlier today I happened to hear some grade A choonage from America’s foremost dance auteur and… well, listen for yourself.

I’m supposed to pass this on to seven people, but I’m going to make like Dragonball Z and roll them into one. Maybury, I am taking my revenge.

*On account of I’m leaving out the needlessly depressing ohmygodwhatamIdoing inevitable-crash songs.

Firstly: good podcast on Friday. Nordies!

Secondly: the new Dark Knight trailer was put up yesterday. There are some things in it that I maybe didn’t strictly speaking want to know, so you might want to avoid it. It occurred to me after watching it that I had decided, more than a year ago when the first teaser came out, that I didn’t want to find out too much, but that seems to have fallen by the wayside. In my defence, they are throwing down a pretty relentless campaign.

Thirdly: a new Nine Inch Nails album was released today as a free download. The first few tracks are not necessarily anything special (I’m undecided) but it gets very good. Includes spiffy post-apocalyptic triptych.

Coming soon: original material!