Jonathan Coulton & Paul and Storm, Manchester Academy
So yesterday was the Jonathan Coulton(website) and Paul & Storm(website) concert at Manchester Academy. I’ve been waiting a long time for Coulton to come over this way (he never writes, he never calls…) but it’s got to be said, it was worth it. Call me shortsighted, but I’d never realised just how much his audience is biased towards the Y chromosome; admittedly, he sings about robots, evil overlords and mathematical functions but yeah, whatever.
Paul & Storm were a surprise for me. I mean, their songs didn’t have the geekily identifiable vulnerability of Coulton’s, but they made up for it with pirates. It was a beautiful, beautiful moment when they asked for a “dejected arr”, “surprised arr”, as well as “perverted arr”, and the audience to a man nailed it. When they asked for a “William Shatner arr” the guy on the front row was rightly presented with a packet of Haribo Starmix (Starrrrmix?) when he correctly stood up and screamed “Kharrrrrrrrn!“, and I think we’re getting an accurate image of the atmosphere here. The only thing that surpassed the chaos of pirates (new james bond title?) was the Rickroll at some point in the gig, though I’m not going to let slip where.
Another thing I’m not going to tell you is who the surprising celebrity guest was, though I’ve no idea if it’s even recurring. Put it this way though, there was a squeeeeee from the few female members of the audience that was just about audible over the roar of approval from the guys. Who knows, if you pay careful attention you might be able to figure out who it is from this blog. And if I’m impressed by a celebrity, you know it’s good.
Coming soon, possibly; blurry pictures of Coulton performing that could equally be bigfoot.
Put’choo onnit (kill me)
I’m spending a lot of time lately listening to Fuckbuttons (myspace, media heavy, duh), a duo from dahn sahf bringing a kind of harmonic tribal white noise to my ears; it’s hard to describe beyond “ambient electronica” which frankly fails to capture it; if you’ve got a better description then feel free to tell it to your own backside. The best suggestion I can give is to head over to their Myspace page and listen to Sweet Love for Planet Earth. Go on; fuck off, you’ve got my permission. Then come back.
It’s nice to see Late of the Pier (myspace, website) getting some mainstream recognition lately. I’m not actually much of a music wanker (my reasons for being a bit of a wanker are completely distinct) but it’s gratifying to see a band that I’ve already discovered, listened to and grown bored of gracing the cover of the NME under the title “next big thing”. To be honest, I’ve had trouble getting into anything of theirs as much as Bears Are Coming, which sounds like an epileptic in a pan shop with a keyboard. I also think it’s going to be my new favourite thing to scream while running naked through the local park.
Anonymau5?
Furthermore, Deadmau5 (website, media heavy). The guy’s clearly a fantastic house musician with an awesome helmet and solid geek credentials. Why haven’t I heard of him before this week? I was against Dave Pierce’s insurgence on BBC 6 Music, but maybe it’s what I need if I’m going to hear Sometimes Things Get… Yeah for the first time when I’m shopping in a music store. Last week I asked the cashier who was on the stereo and it was Soulwax. And I didn’t know it. I live in Manchester, she gave me a look as if she was expecting me to commit seppuku.
For the unaware, Manchester’s vibrant, youthful, progressive image can basically be interpreted as follows; at any point in Britain, you are, allegedly, at most five feet from a rat. Rats in Manchester complain that they’re being swamped by fourteen year old Amy Winehouse dressalikes, swarming around the shopping centres and showing off the latest fashions. The kids, not the rats. As far as I can tell the latest fashions – for the image conscious reader – all involve a charity shop and a random number generator.
Get me out of here.
Maverick
Something occurs to me about the word “Maverick”. The definition of the word’s been bounching round the last week or two:
- someone who exhibits great independence in thought and action
- an unbranded range animal (especially a stray calf); belongs to the first person who puts a brand on it
- irregular: independent in behavior or thought; “she led a somewhat irregular private life”; “maverick politicians”
Of course, it’s John “Get My Medication Or Motherfuckers Are Going To Get Called Cunts” McCain’s word of the year; he’s a maverick, his lunch is a Maverick, his VP’s a Maverick with tits (and a really hot pussy)… but the last thing any presidential candidate wants to do is actually define meaning in their statements. Which, given the stakes, would be understandable if they were in any concrete way held responsible for their claims. Maverick’s one of those words that carries an impression with it that isn’t quite the definition.
When I think “maverick”, I think of someone who’s not afraid to bend the rules to get the job done. Who doesn’t give a damn what people think, and dances round the law like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon. You won’t get hurt so long as you play the game his way. Which sounds cool, until I realise that I’m actually thinking of the guy who’s been shitting in the White House toilets for the past eight years. Maverick’s a tough, sexy word. But not when used in reference to a leading official.
