NEW BIFFY CLYRO NO-SHIRT SHIRT!

 

Hey kids! Are you a fan of platinum-selling, alluringly hairy rock group Biffy Clyro? Have you always wanted want to look just like your heroes? Do you want to be among the first to own an item of pioneering merchandise the likes of which has never seen before?

Then you need the new Biffy Clyro No-shirt Shirt!

The new Biffy Clyro No-shirt Shirt is spun from the highest quality magic cloth which, although definitely, definitely there, is invisible to the eyes of anybody stupid enough to not appreciate or understand the joys of Biffy Clyro. Needless to say, the result of wearing the Biffy Clyro No-shirt Shirt is exactly what you’ve always desired: to the squares who don’t value Biffy Clyro you will look just like your idols Biffy Clyro (i.e. defiantly topless and rebelliously sweaty), whereas the perceptive and intelligent members of ‘Team Biffy’ will profess recognition of your exclusive threads and welcome you into their fold.

The Biffy Clyro No-shirt Shirt retails at £39.99 plus post and packaging.

The Biffy Clyro official webshop takes no responsibility for any Biffy Clyro No-shirt Shirts that are lost in transit or mysteriously disappear from within their still-sealed boxes.

BOY DECIDES NOT TO PUT RECORD STORE DAY PURCHASES ON EBAY

 

In an unprecedented and somewhat worrying move, one music fan has decided not to put his Record Store Day purchases on eBay.

Record Store Day was founded in 2007 with the intention of boosting the profits of thriving, unscrupulous eBay sellers. Everything was going as intended last Saturday morning when record shops across the world were greeted by lengthy queues of pungent middle-aged men eagerly hoping to lay their hands on some rare, exclusively released vinyl which they would cradle lovingly in their sweaty arms before immediately auctioning online. For the most heroic of these passionate capitalists, nothing would stand between them and their profit. Queues were jumped, bribes offered, weaker, younger and politer customers were shoved, tussled and elbowed out of the way in scenes that would have made that late champion of entrepreneurism and hater of society Margaret Thatcher weep copious tears of sheer pride. Forget the audacious state-funded funeral, this display of unashamed greed and ruthlessness in the pursuit of hard cash was the real tribute to the Iron Lady.

However, one customer decided to make a mockery of this marvellous day of economic exploitation by thoughtlessly deciding to keep the records he purchased. Stephen Pond was near the front of the queue at Pickled Willy Records, Manchester, having arrived at approximately 4.30am a week last Tuesday. In a move that seems completely inexplicable to any level-headed, right-thinking person, Pond only selected releases by his favourite artists: Thurston Moore, Darren Hayman, and Moistboyz. When Pond neglected to rudely demand copies of the rarer and more lucrative products on offer, the cashier stared at the boy in total bewilderment and considered having him sectioned.

Asked what on earth he intended to do with these records, Pond said that he would listen to them regularly, file them alongside the other LPs in his collection, and lend them to his friends.

The organisers of Record Store Day have condemned Pond, saying that actions such as his have the potential to completely ruin the spirit of the event for everybody else. We have been assured that they are working round the clock to prevent a repeat of this unfortunate incident.

SPINAL BAP’S TRACK-BY-TRACK REVIEW OF DAVID BOWIE’S THE NEXT DAY

 

Sometime last week Spinal Bap was invited to an exclusive playback of David Bowie’s new album The Next Day in a dank hovel in Soho decorated with browned photographs of pre-1989 East Germany. Sony’s PR staff were wearing sinister surgical masks and Hoggle from Labyrinth kept touching my leg. Here is a brief summary of what we heard:

 

The Next Day

A brash, confident opener on which the 66-year-old demonstrates that he’s back and he means business, and if not business, then at least something. Post-ska strum patterns provide the cadence around which tempestuous cymbals crash harder than cannon fire, autotuned sirens squeal like tortured seals, and the Thin White Duke reads out the final First Division Football League positions of the 1973-74 season in reverse order. Climaxes with a 26-minute trumpet solo played using a freshly-caught jellyfish as a makeshift mute.

 

Dirty Boys

A slower-tempo futuristic Afro-ballad with a quasi-Heideggerian twist. Resembles the second Tin Machine album re-recorded by an overly oppressive sixty-man kazoo choir.

 

The Stars (Are Out Tonight)

Oscar winner Anne Hathaway provides a tearfully intense, slightly mucus-ridden verse on this unashamedly operatic number partly inspired by pseudo-fascist Danish punks Iceage. Faster than ‘Young Americans’. Fluffier than ‘Thursday’s Child’.

 

Love is Lost

Jokey filler piece featuring ex-Walker Brothers singer Scott Walker making infantile fart sounds with his armpit. Unlikely to secure the Grammy.

 

Where Are We Now?

The location is modern Berlin. Bowie once knew the city but has not visited in years. Many of the streets have changed since the late ‘70s. Besides, back then Bowie was so high that all the roads throbbed orange and the Charlottenburg Palace resembled a giant effigy of the eagle from the Muppets with thousands of tiny almonds crawling out of his eyes. It’s the present day and Bowie’s satnav has broken. He didn’t think to bring a map. “Where are we now? / Where are we now?” he croons in vain to his unresponsive computerised compass. Possibly a commentary on mankind’s emasculating reliance on technology and consequent depletion of traditional survival instincts. Would be more effective if it didn’t sound like ‘Funny Little Fat Man’ off of Derek or whatever.

 

Carnal Fecophelia Due To Prolonged Exposure To Methane

Surprisingly rootsy cover of Cattle Decapitation’s deathgrind classic. Poignantly brutal.

 

If You Can See Me

Not entirely dissimilar to Erasure’s Vince Clarke boiling the disembodied carcass of Cream’s racist Clapton in a purple G-Funk tuba.

 

I’d Rather Be High

Iggy Pop makes a welcome return to the Bowie fold, providing characteristically ragged backing vocals. However, the grizzled Stooge now sings exclusively in French while looking like a cross between Jennifer Aniston’s rotting corpse and one of the Californian Raisins. Lou Reed was also invited to jam in the studio but was denied entry when he turned up with Lars Ulrich and a several tai chi instructors.

 

Boss Of Me

On which Bowie attempts, with moderate dividends, to replicate the sound of Dillinger Escape Plan kicking Danny Elfman’s cellist down the stairs of Jay-Z’s skyscraper. Ricky Gervais contributes to the ambience. He only plays xylophone but still manages to do it in an obnoxious, bullying way.

 

Dancing Out In Space

A mind-blowing, hair-raising, masterpiece vaguely reminiscent of the song widely considered to be Bowie’s greatest musical achievement. In some respects, it may even surpass ‘Everyone Says Hi’.

 

How Does the Grass Grow?

Starts thrillingly. An underlying ‘Jean Genie’ glam-tinged stomp joins a Low-esque sense of isolated melancholia accompanied by ambiguous, post-PC hints towards China Girl’s orientalist outlook. Goes downhill towards the end when the track becomes immersed in a Sunn O)))-tinged migraine-inducing bass drone while Bowie repeatedly howls the phrase “Fluoxymesterone sandwich” until he sounds like a demonic porcupine is trying to force its way out of his throat. Was Eno involved?

 

(You Will) Set The World On Fire

Epic. Bombastic. Heroic. Inspirational. Primal. Jaw-droppingly profound. Not a million miles from Andrew WK’s ‘Make Sex’.

 

You Feel So Lonely You Could Die

Awful. Just awful. The kind of unequivocally objectionable novelty record you’d think would be below Bowie. A horrible cross between ‘Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini’, ‘Is This The Way To Amarillo’, and ‘Spiegel im Spiegel’ by Arvo Pärt. B-side material at best.

 

Heat

Covering those classic Bowie themes of alienation and identity, ‘Heat’ closes the album in style with its brilliantly odd string arrangement. The track is let down, however, by Bowie shamelessly thieving lyrics from Azealia Banks’ hit ‘212’. Did he really think he could sing “I’m a rude b****, n****, what are you made up of / I’m-a eat your food up, boo” and get away with it?

 

Conclusion

 

An admirable addition to the Bowie canon, The Next Day doesn’t quite reach the dizzy heights of Never Let Me Down, but as a disorientating cocktail of meta-panoramic Romani beats and multi-sculptural bebop pleonasms, the record would certainly have Andy Warhol saying “hmm, kinda half neat”.

 

 

CATHOLIC CHURCH IN SHOCK AS MIKE CONNELLY QUITS WOLF EYES

The Roman Catholic Church was thrown into disarray this week when it emerged that Mike Connelly was leaving the legendary Michigan noise group Wolf Eyes.

Although it is unusual for somebody to relinquish such a distinguished post, Connelly’s move is not without precedent. In 2005, Aaron Dilloway stepped down as the band’s guitarist to relocate to Nepal, whereas original Wolf Eyes drummer Pope Gregory XII resigned in July 1415 in order to end the Western Schism that had divided the Catholic Church for nearly forty years (although he also cited “musical differences”).

Connelly has proven popular with traditional Catholics but his reign has not lacked controversy. His first Wolf Eyes appearance was on Human Animal, released in 2006 by the relatively mainstream label Sub Pop. The record polarized fans with its opening side of uncharacteristically restrained music. Other critics felt that Connelly failed to use his influential position as a prominent member of Wolf Eyes to properly address the ongoing Roman Catholic child-abuse scandal.

Connelly’s departure has proven particularly traumatic to the young and teenage girls who make up the bulk of Wolf Eyes’ fanbase. In the UK, the Samaritans have even set up a special hotline for distraught fans.

Writing on the band’s Facebook page, one anguished Catholic wrote: “I haven’t been this distressed since I found out that Robbie had left Take That. Or that Stephen Gately was gay. Or that Mariah Carey was black. I’ve been a Wolf Eyes superfan for years. I’ve got an original copy of the Throat Virus Alive CD-R and I first saw them perform back in 1999, supporting Backstreet Boys at the MEN Arena. I realise that Mike will still be touring and releasing music with his other projects like Hair Police and Failing Lights, but they simply don’t match the aural splendour of Wolf Eyes. I mean, they just sound like noise to me.”

The Catholic Church is expected to announce Connelly’s successor shortly, with many predicting the appointment of Cardinal “Crazy” Jim Baljo.

SPINAL BAP’S TRACK-BY-TRACK REVIEW OF MY BLOODY VALENTINE’S NEW ALBUM

 

She Found Now
Having collaborated with the likes of Primal Scream and Patti Smith, it’s clear that Kevin Shields has an unwavering desire to keep up with the times. It’s no surprise, then, to hear Nicki Minaj and M.I.A. on m b v’s joyous opening number. First performed at My Bloody Valentine’s half-time Super Bowl extravaganza, ‘She Found Now’ is an urgently contemporary disco number which proves that even in middle age Shields remains the incontestable queen of the dance floor.

Only Tomorrow
My Bloody Valentine have been working on this album for over a decade, and apparently this track took longer than any other to complete. Like many of us, Shields developed an appreciation of dubstep in the mid-noughties and consequently became obsessed with incorporating elements of this exciting new genre into his own band’s sound. After spending two years painstakingly mastering ‘Only Tomorrow’, the track was sent to Burial for remixing. Shields then added further instrumentation before sending the song to Skrillex, who obligingly re-remixed the track. Still unhappy with the results, Shields then spent eight months without sleep overdubbing the WOBWOBWOBs with some pleasantly meditative guitar washes. The result speaks for itself.

Who Sees You
During My Bloody Valentine’s hiatus, Shields sporadically toured with Glaswegian electro-rock heroes Primal Scream. Shields returned the gesture by asking ‘Scream frontman Bobby Gillespie to supply guest vocals for this jarringly anarchic cyber-punk anthem. For this track, the lyrical themes explored by Gillespie include: “Bombs bombs bombs... Suicide Sid got a date with the reaper... He’s like a death-wish junkie Jesus with a shotgun syringe... maaan... Hey! Come on! Come aaaaaaaaawwwwn!... Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Street fightin’ satisfaction! Alright!... Revolution needle / Revolution needle... Prostitute baby burning Cadillac zombies... thriftstore, sidewalk, aluminium bluuuuuuuuues...” Aluminium is pronounced the American way. The vocals were recorded in Gillespie’s home in Islington, N1. Kate Moss attended the recording session for no reason whatsoever.

Piss Angel
A faithful cover of Pig Destroyer’s uncompromising grindcore classic. Startlingly guttural vocal turn from Bilinda Butcher.

If I Am
Ah, the nervously anticipated Chris Brown duet. Should this woman-beater be forgiven? Should Brown have shown more remorse? Should Kevin Shields have him back? Should we care? Moral qualms aside, a pleasant enough melody but Kevin overdoes it with the autotune.

New You
Ah, the nervously anticipated Lance Armstrong duet. Should this massive drug cheater be forgiven? Should Armstrong have shown more remorse? Should Kevin Shields have him back? Should we care? Moral qualms aside, a pleasant enough melody but Armstrong’s overly vigorous employment of the percussive modified handlebar bell suggests he might still be doping.

In Another Way
Finally betraying their age, My Bloody Valentine’s ‘In Another Way’ seems a little too stuck in the past. With such an inventive, unrelenting flow, Kendrick Lamar’s verse is indisputably fresh. Unfortunately, the guest chorus belted out by an unruly Heather Small is soooooo 1993.

Nothing Is
A bit of a Creation Records reunion this one. ‘Nothing Is’ features a special extended MBV line-up including the blokes from Teenage Fanclub, a couple of Boo Radleys, the drummer from Ride, Kevin Rowland (in ladies’ knickers), Alan McGee (hyperbolically grunting), and Liam Gallagher of The Beady Eyes. They don’t really gel.

Wonder 2
Semi-acoustic Hawaiian ukulele number with soft brass accompaniment. Unfortunately, the lack of feedback means you can actually hear Kevin and Bilinda’s weak, weak voices.

Conclusion

m b v is pretty similar to the band’s previous releases only with greater emphasis on post-rhythmic quasi-industrial caucasian ragga.

JESUS CHRIST COMPARES SELF TO CHRIS BROWN

 

Having already secured cultural infamy through such acts as befriending lepers, demanding a prostitute wash his feet (without even paying for her services), and staging elaborate public exorcisms, Jesus of Nazareth has caused further controversy this week by comparing himself to the much-loved singer Chris Brown.

Following an altercation with Satan over a parking space in West Hollywood, Jesus posted a picture of the R&B superstar on the internet with the rambling caption:

“Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way as you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?    Haters be haters, you feel me?”

Satan tweeted that the incident may have a detrimental effect on his performance at this month’s Grammys.

This is not the first time Jesus has divulged his God complex. He has previously likened himself to Bono (NME Godlike Genius Award winner 2001), Noel Gallagher (NME Godlike Genius Award 2012), John Lennon (NME Ultimate Musical Icon 2012), and Jonah son of Amittai (NME Best Dressed Solo Artist c. 760 BC).

To the bafflement of many, Christ’s continued indiscretions have failed to significantly diminish his popularity and he maintains a large following. The bulk of his support is said to come from pre-pubescent and teenage girls, undereducated people from poorer backgrounds, the mentally ill, and certain prominent members of the Afro-American community.

Jesus is currently working on his next studio parable, the follow-up to last year’s The Rich Fool.

STARS REACT TO YEAH YEAH YEAHS' ALBUM COVER

The cover of Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ forthcoming album Mosquito has provoked some extreme reactions among fans. We asked a selection of today’s biggest stars for their own response to the artwork...


No way mate. I’m not havin’ it. Looks like Peter Crouch tackling Weetabix Rooney with a jar of fuckin’ flubber.
Liam Gallagher

Totes amazeballs! It is well sick and proper random. It like literally blew my mind, you know? It literally melted my face off, you feelin’ me? I’m well gonna use it as my new screensaver. Massive lols! xxx
Brian Sewell

Fuckin’ freaky, man. Reminds me of that time I woke up to see a fuckin’ six foot fuckin’ psychedelic bug thing trying to bite Dom Joly’s arse off. Few years later I cleaned myself up and went on I’m a Celebrity.
Shaun Ryder

Oh boy! Jeez! I mean, when I first saw it my eyes popped out on their stalks about three feet in front of my face and my brain began spinning at a million miles an hour and my jaw dropped open like a cartoon dog looking at a massive bone and then I just stared and stared and stared at it until the image was burned onto my retinas enabling me to close my eyes and continue to stare at it some more. Intense, man, intense. Another quadruple espresso, anyone?
Henry Rollins

ohmygoditisamaaaaazingiloveititmakesmewanttojumpupanddownanddocartwheelsandstuffand
justlikeyouknowrunaroundscreamingandseeinghowloudicanshoutbeforeiamsickandthenaccidentally
weemyselforsomethingweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeweeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...
John from Jedward

I must confess that in a peculiarly befuddling way I admire the provocative tone of post-structural impudence. It’s managed to achieve an intriguing sense of unconventionality, even within the idiosyncratic, informal context of the genre it purports to inhabit. It’s almost like Salvador Dali trying to organise a Roman orgy for Jeff Koons’ birthday party in Jake and Dinos Chapman’s dustbin. It’s such a terrible pity that we can’t transport the canvas back in time to discover how Charles Baudelaire might have felt about such a vibrant piece. Now that would be positively enlightening.
Edward from Jedward

010011100110111101110100001000000110110101111001001000000110001101110
1010111000000100000011011110110011000100000011101000110010101100001
Ralf Hütter (Kraftwerk)

It’s pretty bad-ass, there’s no denying that, but what kind of message is it trying to send to impressionable young women? It’d be better if it was a picture of my naked, famished body with distant, pouting face and dead, dead eyes.
Rihanna

Eeeeeew! Gross! I can’t even look at it. It’s giving me goose-bumps all over. Put it away! Put it away, pleeeeeeease! It’s disgusting. Thanks a bunch Yeah Yeah Yeahs, I’m going to have nightmares for weeks.
Alex Webster (Cannibal Corpse)

Not bad, but there’s a bit too much going on for me. I’d have preferred a grainy black and white photograph of an abandoned shed. And what kind of title is Mosquito? They should’ve called it something catchy like Huzzah! Une élégie pour la mort de télégraphique X7E$#clic0///
Mike Moya (Godspeed You! Black Emperor)

Dude, why didn’t they put an erect cock on it? Or at the very least a big old pair of titties? Punk rock, man, punk rock.
Death Grips

OMG it’s fully monged. Is it based on a sketch of Warwick Davis that Karl Pilkington drew in crayon on the back of a napkin during a hilarious exotic holiday? Bloody love those guys. One’s small and the other pretends to be retarded. Fucking genius. ALL YOU HATERZ ARE JUST JEALOUS OF MY SUCCESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ricky Gervais

Well, we had done so many takes of ‘Helter Skelter’ that Ringo, the poor fellow, was really starting to suffer. So by the time we reached the eighteenth take or thereabouts, he’d had just about enough of the whole palaver and was absolutely dying for a mug of warm Ribena. All of a sudden, he stood up behind his kit, hurled his drumsticks across the room, and shouted “I’ve got blisters all down my thumbs” or something along those lines. We caught the outburst on tape, of course, and it seemed to fit the mood of the track quite aptly, so we included it in the final mix. What was the question again?
George Martin

Yeah... um... kinda... I dunno... I mean, cool insect, I suppose... I like purple, anyway... so... um...
J Mascis