CD-R (at least that’s what I got. And a manky old ‘colour zerox’ insert)
Thursday 24th October 2002
Rape Day!!!! (1)
Fucking sick of having to hear about that stupid dumb-ass bitch Ulrika Jonsson! Sick of them all!! These over-paid, over-dosed ‘stars’ and ‘celebrities’…just what the fuck has this wrinkled-up old sow done to attract so much cunting attention? It all goes hand-in-hand with the needs of the submissive mindless masses, a question of balance you see, ultra-idiot dance for ultra-idiot audience. Lap it up, fuckwits! They pissed and shat on a cold white tiled floor, on your knees, head down…fucking shut up!!! No I don’t care if it’s messing your hair!!! Tongue out, rub the fucking floor with it!!! I smash your face into it, smash dull sickening thud and crack of malenky bone. Bastards! Who, with a urine sample jar of intelligence, cares about these attention seeking gapping 3-holed doll jizz skips?!?! Fuck ‘em and fuck ‘em all!!!! And besides, she looks just like one of those Sea Devils in 1970’s Jon Pertwee period Doctor Shmoo…would you stick your dick into a Silurian? Star Prak’s Vulcan T’pau (T’paw, T’poo…?), yes. Silurian, no. Bow-lacks!! Where’s your style? Your decorum? Wanna go where some Mr Nobody-but-he-can-kick-a-ball-around fist in Ulrika’s face super-ape has dumped his stick’n’ball dribble? Go for it then, desperate Dan. Remember to carve-up John Leslie afterward, cut ‘em all up…like regular tchicken (silent ‘t’), Cannibal Holocaust style. How dare they waste my precious time, dragging me into their squalid, lugubrious and overblown trivialities! Nasty lot.
Sainsbury’s was good today. But Waitrose was even better. I bought gifties for Maggie Ponce’s family to deploy in Madrid…I am fucking excited! Me no travel, you see. Don’t go anywhere in fact, ‘cept North Finchley, unlike ‘orrible Ulrika and toad-face JohnBoy. Famous now? Happy now? Yucketty-yuck-yuk-yuk. Croak.
For Maggie Ponce’s mum, Pepa, I bought 50 Williamson (Bennett, tee hee) & Magor (fine teas since 1869…) Earl Grey tea bags in a ‘keepable’ silver tin and, for Antonio, Pepa’s boyfriend, I bought a Waitrose chocolate shortbread selection kit. Grandmother will receive a box of Bendicks (watch it!) mint chocolates…whether she likes it or not. I’m not playing games here!! Altogether now…’Yum fucking yum!!’ I know Pepa and Antonio are into good music so I might even do a cassette ‘disc-rape’ (just shut your fucking whingeing Ulrika, you’re famous now so just fucking shut up!!!) of this here Litterbug CD-R that was so trustingly sent to me for review by your editor Myerk Roachly…hey, Marko, how about putting some page numbers in issue#2 of Sniper Glue? And a ‘letters to thee editor’ page…whether or not you receive any, there should still be a page. Fill it with pics of contributors ‘hot’ neighbour pin-ups, photos taken from frozen-framed TV footage by obsessed maniacs. Ideas? They ooze from my inflamed Cock-Soup dispenser.
Later…2.54pm
I just returned from my appointment with my Psychiatrist, Dr Linger. He didn’t, I went straight in and up, although not in the Max Cunting Clifford ‘publicist’ sense. I’m doing fine! I told Dr Linger about the upcoming Madrid trip and showed him a copy of Gaze Into A Gloom #2, the recent issue of the Latvian industrial, ambient, gothic, Merje Lohmus/Mad Sister magazine containing 17 of my reviews. He seemed extremely interested which was a bit of a relief as I wasn’t sure if I should be pestering him with all this stuff…I just wanted to show him that I wasn’t laying about doing fuck-all all day. I’m sitting at a typewriter writing about fuck-all instead! Yeah, he seemed to be eye-glued, though not dicky-eyed, to the first ‘piece’ of my GIAG contributions, namely my ‘Suicide Note’ which attempts to convey my feelings as I was sinking into depression during the summer of 2001. Then, to my astonishment, Dr Linger asked if he could photocopy that page!!!! ‘To keep with your patients notes’ or words to that effect. Down we go, p.copy done, and I’m happily sent away! Now, if you, all nine readers of Sniper Glue, will excuse GeroGary, I’ve just got to re-read that particular p.copied page, my own work I know, with it’s section of my Gerogerigegege ‘Saturday Night Big Cock Saleryman’ CD review just to see exactly what Dr Linger will read, and try, impossible of course, to imagine his professional reaction and insight. Hey, I can hear something going on outside…a van’s pulled up…white coated figures, one of which seems to be carrying that looks like a basket weaving kit…
The old ones are usually the best, don’t you find? I’ll be forty fucking three next month.
And never judge a CD-R by its dismal cover. Litterbug’s ‘File Under….Dead’ (they couldn’t decide how many dot dot dots to use. I know the feeling well…) looks like it’s gonna be yet another Death Metal (might be good) / Nu Metal (pitiful shite, a noisy pest of a mongrel dog with no fucking teeth..or brain come to that) onslaught, with its mouldy fresh-grave-robbed green-out-of-negative face shot and terminator-like red eyes. But it’s not! Not at all. I’ve played this 5 or 6 times over now and I’ve rather got to like it. Jolly good!!
Slipping lewdly into well lubricated track 1, with not a dab of KY in sight, ‘A New Bolero’ is a slow paced guitar sustain-pedal driven piece not disimilar to something I may or may not have heard on Gary Mundy’s Ruby Kennel Club CD, lots of effects but used, er, effectively. Not gratuitously, that is to say. Goodness, could this band actually have…what was that word we used to use? Ah! TALENT!! Could be. Could well be.
‘The Garbage Man’ goes surfing with your brain (says so) and spaces you out, man, with one of the 5 actually ‘sung’ songs on this 15 track album, the others being mostly instrumental pieces, like one of my favourites here, track 3’s ‘Hoe Down Boogie’, a glittering cluster of chandelier glass tinkles and, Jesus fuckin’ Christ I never thought I’d admit to this, but is that a Peter Gabriel riff I slooshy? That awful ‘Jump’ song? Was it ‘Jump’? Fuckbust my simmering bowl disorder, it sounds superb here, with all that bass’n’shit, it is Peter Gabriel, isn’t it?
Next up we’ve got a cover of…well, whoever it was’s song ‘Lost In Music’, you know ‘caught in a trap, no going back’…and all that. Nice treatment, just don’t do it again please.
Track 5’s ‘Ultramental’ (no sarky comments please) could, again, well be ‘Ruby Kennel Club’ inspired and egypto-guitar fired (eh?!) It’s the last resort of a sinking reviewer at 10.29pm when he’s busting to go for a crap. ‘The Here And Now’ passes over my head somewhat, having little for me to latch onto, I’m glad it’s over whereas ‘Black African Woman’ slowly and seductively draws you in, the warm bass massages your rump and kneads your loins, relaxing and soothing…Radox is hopeless. Funny, I always fancied a shot in the dark. Groan.
The tone now changes completely. You’d almost think it was another band. ‘Addicted To Noise’ is your Litterbug post punk pop song, Buzzcocks/Jilted John and 20 others that I’ll most probably remember tomorrow…but that’s the closest I can get right now. It’s great…Alberto Y Lost Trios Paranoias? Nah!! ‘Blatant And Shameless’, track 9, completes the ‘A New Bolero’ / ‘Ultramental’ trilogy albeit with less impact than it’s predecessors although I suppose it does heat-up a little towards the end.
Now we’re onto something good… ‘Ode For Da Brudda’, this is what it’s all about, Litterbug’s defining moment, for this album anyway, a confident bass-at-the-helm rally drive with unidentifiable vocal samples held in place by a chugging beat and just the right amount of wow-wow-wah-wah effects…but, like my sexual performance, it’s all over before it’s begun. Maggie Ponce said I ‘couldn’t fuck a fly’ and at 2 mins 48 secs this track is hardly anything to aspire to, so, I tell her that ‘it’s quality, not quantity’. My excuses are brutally and cruelly dismissed.
Track 11 ‘Coming Round Again’ is all about problems…they’ve even sampled Johnny Rottens vocal ‘Problems’ from ‘Never Mind The Bollocks’ and it works well in this song, subtlety being the key. Original lyrics ‘I’ve got problems in my head, I’ve got problems getting out of bed’ and ‘I’ve got trouble being alone, troubled by the death of Joey Ramone’…hear that Mark? Juntaro? Terrific stuff! Why not get it made into a lathe-cut 7” by Peter King Records…(uh-uhh) if you can put up with a 14 month wait and a whole pack, literally a full fuckin’ deck, of lies and excuses. We won’t be using him again, eh, Majorky Wriggley baby, ain’t that so?! Make it so, number one.
12…’Won’t Fall Down’, a gentle atmospheric piece..that word ‘talent’ keeps bouncing off the inside of my skull, rubber ball fashion, boing boing boing it fucking goes (boing as in Zebedee, not the Seattle based aircraft manufacturer). Another gem ‘Gouge Away’ rears its head for fans of chug’a’chug’a’chug’a’chug early Public Image Limited Jah Wobble bass and guitar (lets face up to it, we are all fans of this, are we not? Oh.) and an orgiastic spaced-out organist drapped with a little night-driving-stretched-high-noted-axe. Yeah. ‘No Logo’…that’s that book by some horny university educated trollop I saw one Channel 4 News Mayday riot discussion slot. Her pretty face crops up with these Anti-Globalisation events and is calming to behold (of course, she’s far too old looking for me…) It makes me wonder; who appears on Socratisation day then? Fucking no-one! I wanna be that man. A pleasant enough ditty.
The CD-R closes with ‘The Greatest Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide’ a, by now, stereotypical Litterbugesque instrumental occasionally pierced by the recited words, not the actual voice of, J. Rotten and Malcolm McLaren from ‘The Great Rock ‘n’ Roll Swindle’ film. Funny, the Ceramic Hobs did something like this on, I don’t know, one of their umpteen releases…’Straight Outta Rampton’ possibly. I could be wrong, I could be right…more, if you close your eyes you could almost imagine this entire album has something to do with Simon Morris himself…nah, must be due to that ‘Blackpool underground’ feel and the fact that I haven’t taken my medication yet.
If you read, and agreed with as I did, Timo’s ‘The Death Of Music, Part Two’ piece in issue #1 of ‘Sniper Glue’ then this CD-R could possibly be worth your while investigating. It isn’t ‘in your face’ so much as ‘anaesthetise your urethra and slide in the flexible cystascope so as to see a different perspective on bladder and prostate gland that has been there, unseen, since cunt-sliding day.’
Contact studig@hotmail.com
(Review by Gary Simmons)