CAPTAIN RIVERS USES THE WEEZER CRUISE TO HUNT MOBY

Call me Gener. Some time ago, having little or no money in my purse on account of illegal downloading, and nothing particular to interest me in Ween, I thought I would set sail about a little and see the watery part of the world.

I learnt that there were three ships up for voyages - the Pequod, the Poop Ship Destroyer, and the Weezer Cruise. Hopping on board the Weezer, and looking around her for a moment, with its outdoor lido deck, inside theatre, hot tubs, casino, waterslide, and spa services, I decided this was the ship for me.

For several days after leaving Miami, nothing above hatches was seen of Captain Rivers. It was speculated that Rivers was in fact studying at Harvard, or that he was stranded on an island somewhere with the fat guy from Lost. The roadies regularly relieved each other at the watches, and for aught that could be seen to the contrary, they seemed to be the only commanders of the ship; only they sometimes issued from the dressing room with orders so sudden and peremptory, that after all it was plain they but commanded vicariously. Yes, their supreme lord and dictator was there, though hitherto unseen by any eyes not permitted to penetrate the now sacred retreat of the backstage area.

It was one of those grey and gloomy mornings, when with a fair wind the ship was rushing through the water with a vindictive sort of leaping and melancholy rapidity, like the sound of ‘Why Bother?’ from the Pinkerton album, that as I mounted the deck at the call of the afternoon soundcheck, so soon as I levelled my glance towards the lighting desk, foreboding shivers ran over me. Reality outran apprehension; Captain Rivers stood upon his quarterdeck.

He cut a grim figure. Hunched, pasty-faced with cheap haircut, and wearing a short-sleeved shirt and pair of think-rimmed spectacles. So powerfully did the whole grim aspect of Rivers affect me, that for the first few moments I hardly noted that his left leg was one and three quarter inches shorter than his right leg, and that this was compensated with a barbaric white heel. It had previously come to me that this white heel had been fashioned from the polished ivory substitute of a vegan’s piano.

He advanced towards the main-mast with a hammer uplifted in one hand, and a gold disc in the other, and with a raised voice, exclaimed: “Whosoever of ye raises me a white-headed vegan with a wrinkled brow and a meek jaw; whosoever of ye raises me that white-headed vegan, with his sample-heavy disco music and wallet bulging with advertisement royalties, whosoever of ye raises me that same white vegan, he shall have this gold disc, my boys!”
“Huzza! Huzza!” cried The Antlers, Yuck, and even Boom Bip, as they hailed the act of nailing the gold disc to the mast.
All this while, the members of Sebadoh had looked on with even more intense interest and surprise than the rest, and at the mention of the wrinkled brow and sample-heavy disco music they had started as if each was separately touched by some specific recollection.
“Captain Rivers,” said Lou Barlow, “that white vegan must be the same that some call Moby.”
“Moby?” shouted Rivers. “Do you know the white vegan then, Lou?”
“Was it not Moby that you encountered at the Reading Festival ‘96 where he trod on thy spectacles and swallowed thy talent?”
“Aye, Barlow; aye my hearties all round; it was Moby that brought me to this dead music that I now churn out. Aye, aye,” he shouted with a terrific, loud, animal sob; “Aye, aye! And I’ll chase him round Glastonbury, and round Lollapalooza, and round Primavera, and round Leeds Festival’s hellish flames before I give him up. And this is what you have shipped for, men! To chase that white vegan over all sides of earth, till he spouts anaemic blood to an inoffensive, ambient synth soundtrack. What say ye, men? I think ye do look brave.”
“Aye, aye!” shouted the roadies and the security crew, running closer to the excited old dweeb, “A sharp eye for the white vegan; a sharp lance for Moby!”
“God bless ye,” he seemed to half sob and half shout, recalling his vocal take on track 6 of Maladroit. “God bless ye, men, But what’s this long face about, Mr. Barlow; wilt thou not chase the white vegan? Art not game for Moby?”
“I am game for his meek jaw, and for the jaws of Death too, Captain Rivers, if it fairly comes in the way of the business we follow; but I came here to promote the Bakesale reissue and peddle some t-shirts, not to hunt a popular ‘90s dance artist to appease the vengeance of a popular ‘90s nerd-rocker. How much will thy vengeance yield thee even if thou gettest it, Captain Rivers? Moby already sold himself to every prospective buyer, around the time of Play.”
“Marketers? Hoot! My vengeance will fetch a great premium, here!”
“He smites his chest,” whispered Jason Loewenstein, “what’s that for? Methinks it rings most vast, but hollow.”
“Vengeance on a dumb brute!” cried Lou Barlow, “that simply swallowed thy talent from blindest instinct! Madness! To be enraged with a dumb thing, Captain Rivers, seems blasphemous.”
“Talk not to me of blasphemy, man, Moby may have admitted to a fascination with the Gospels and a belief in the teachings of Christ, but I would strike the sun if it insulted me. Drink, ye Weezer cruisers! Drink and swear, ye men. Death to Moby! God hunt us all if we do not hunt Moby to his death!” Cans of beer were lifted and quaffed to cries and maledictions against the white vegan, while Paul Sprangers from Free Energy started a sarcastic rendition of ‘We Are All Made of Stars’. Barlow paled, and turned, and shivered, and retreated to his cabin to capture his despondent feelings on a 4-track tape. Another round of beers was dispersed; and Rivers retired within his dressing room.
“Huh?” asked J. Mascis.
“Dunno,” replied the guy out of Wavves, who in searching after his missing drummers, only found another bong.

CALVIN HARRIS TRIES TO HAVE SEX WITH THE WEEKEND

Electropop synth chump Calvin Harris has been handed a restraining order after he attempted to sexually assault the weekend.

It was initially presumed that Harris had insisted on mentioning the weekend in the majority of his tracks simply as the easiest way to guarantee their regular rotation on radio and in the clubs in order to secure regular royalty payments, but it now appears to have been a means for the keyboard wielding pest to vent a much darker obsession. Over time, Harris’ unquenchable fixation with the weekend swelled to the degree that he became incapable of penning lyrics on any other subject. His latest single, ‘Bounce’ (feat. Kelis), again mentions the weekend, and follows his 2009 record Ready for the Weekend, a concept album largely about the weekend.

Harris is thought to have become even more enamoured when he realised that his love would never be reciprocated, because he earns a living as a musician and thus never has a weekend, or a working week, but rather one long, continuous holiday. Others in such a position may have taken this as a blessing, but it seems to have driven Harris quite, quite mad. The insane preoccupation eventually drove Harris to violently force himself upon the object of his desires. Luckily, however, the weekend managed to distract Harris with an oversized pair of retro sunglasses and a glowstick, and managed to escape with only a few bruises.

On assigning the restraining order, which prevents Harris from coming within a thirty mile radius of the weekend, the judge encouragingly suggested that that perhaps Harris’ hopes of a 9 to 5, Monday to Friday routine were not as far off as he might think.

MEGADETH AND LAURIE ANDERSON TO RELEASE COLLABORATIVE ALBUM

Dave Mustaine has revealed that the new Megadeth record will be a collaboration with experimental musician and performance artist Laurie Anderson.

The wife of Lou Reed had originally planned to record a full album of her old numbers with the ex-Metallica guitarist, before Mustaine admitted that he’d never actually heard any. This prompted Anderson to confess that she wasn’t overly familiar with the Megadeth back catalogue either. The pair then settled on a ten-track conceptual album of original compositions loosely based upon the life of TV’s Paul Ross.

The album has been given the working title In the Shadow and will feature Megadeth’s signature thrash metal sound complemented by Anderson’s pretentiously poetic spoken-word meditations on events such as the time Paul Ross went up against his brother Jonathan in a Friday evening ratings war (Jonathan presented Friday Night with Jonathan Ross on BBC1, whilst Paul featured on rival station FlogTV advertising a DVD boxset of all the Alien films even though it’s only the first one that’s any good) and the time Jonathan bought his mother a yacht for her birthday and Paul only got her a slightly scuffed boxset of all the Alien films.

Mustaine and Anderson have also attracted a plethora of other collaborators for the record who they felt had the suitable talent and expertise to contribute to In the Shadow. They include Art Garfunkel, Krist Novoselic, Dave Davies, Spiral Stairs, Robert Webb, Richard Herring, James Belushi…

POLICE ARREST JOSS STONE ON SUSPICION OF PLANNING TO MURDER SOUL MUSIC

Police have been granted extra time to question Joss Stone over an apparent conspiracy to rob and murder the genre of soul music after they arrested the millionaire pop singer at her home this week.

The singer, aged 24, who lives in Cullompton, Devon, was caught creating a ritualistic pyre, which included a vinyl copy of Cissy Houston’s 1978 album Think it Over, the black box from the Beechcraft 18 Airplane which flew Otis Redding to his death, a vial containing the frozen semen of Eddie Floyd, along with a confused Leon Huff who had been imprisoned within a large plastic bin liner. The family of the elderly record producer Mr. Huff issued a statement claiming that he was last seen three days ago in Los Angeles having a drink with Miss Stone and that he may have been drugged and abducted by the Grammy Award Winning artist.

Police spokesmen have refused to comment on whether Stone planned to sacrifice these artifacts as part of a pagan ritual with the purpose of instigating the apocalyptic destruction of the genre’s credibility. One officer did comment, however, that such an act would be highly out of character for the normally banal Miss Stone.

The police stated that "we are unable to say anymore at this time but we would like to thank the local resident who had a copy of Stevie Wonder’s pre-1979 back catalogue and drew attention to Miss Stone’s longstanding attempts to kidnap, molest and decimate what is clearly a rich body of work."

Dorothy Blakesop, an elderly lady, whose bungalow is near to Stone’s house commented, "it is obviously a very frightening situation if there are people going around pretending to be Aretha Franklin with little understanding of the social and political circumstances from which such music emerged."

Another Devon resident, Agatha Pilchard, was more supportive, saying "whilst I always liked soul music, it has been nice to see the exact same style come out of the mouth of a nice Devon girl," before adding, "you know what I mean, a white."

PROTESTERS AT GLASTONBURY TO DEMONSTRATE AGAINST U2'S FAILURE TO PAY LARRY

Campaigners at this year’s Glastonbury Festival are planning to stage a demonstration during U2’s headlining set, voicing their opposition to the multimillionaire group’s avoidance of paying Larry Mullen, Jr.

It has recently come to light that since U2’s formation Larry has technically been under contract as an unpaid intern, with limited access to tour catering and a minimal rider allowance. When not on tour, Larry earns a living by giving drum lessons to schoolchildren in Dublin and gigging with U2 tribute band “U2(ii)”.

Campaigners have highlighted U2’s hypocrisy in pretending to care for the developing world, playing numerous high profile benefit gigs such as Live Aid, Live 8 and various other Boomtown Rats shows, and imploring their fans to donate their hard earned cash to good causes, whilst at the same time being so greedy themselves as to not even pay their own drummer. The protesters have promised to stop short of actually disrupting U2’s set, but are determined to make their demonstration highly visible by waving giant banners displaying slogans such as “Bono Pay Larry” and “Make Larry’s Poverty History” and by wearing giant cardboard cut-out masks of a sad-faced Larry with the words “Poor Larry” written across the forehead.

Chastity Goodall, an evangelical Christian, lifelong U2 enthusiast, and member of the Delirious? fan club, said “I love U2 almost as much as I love Our Lord Jesus Christ, but it is appalling that they continue to neglect Larry in this way. Larry is an integral part of the U2 dynamic and he is every bit as important as Bono, The Edge or the other one.” Then she started banging on about the eye of a needle or something.

ALEX TURNER IS THE ONLY MEMBER OF THE ARCTIC MONKEYS I CAN IDENTIFY, SAYS ALEX TURNER

“I can recognise Alex easily,” explained Alex. “He’s the one what sings and goes out with that fit bird Alexa Chung. The other members though… I mean, if the bass player from the Arctic Monkeys were to walk past you in the street, would you know who he was? I wouldn’t.”

Chris Martin suffers from a similar affliction and, as a solution, insists that during rehearsal all the other members of Coldplay must wear brightly coloured name-hats. Martin himself wears an elaborate golden crown which his wife Gwyneth Paltrow claims to have crafted herself but, like her books, didn’t.

TYLER, THE CREATOR CREATES MEDIA FRENZY BY SHOUTING THE WORDS "POO POO" AND "WEE WEE" AT THE TOP OF HIS VOICE

Not since NWA threw plasticine at the blackboard whilst their teacher’s back was turned, or since Eminem cruelly berated his then-wife Kim for being a “smelly smelly bum head”, has an emerging rap talent caused such controversy and media attention.

Tyler, the Creator, whose new record Goblin features regular use of severe expletives such as “poo”, “wee”, “willy”, “guff”, “divvy”, “toilet”, “winky” and even “mega spazz”, is now the subject of massive media attention due to his shocking taboo-busting lyricisms.

Gay rights groups have objected to his use of the terms “gay lord”, “humongous bummer” and “great big queer face” whilst feminist campaigners have denounced his continued insistence that girls whisper and they smell and they don’t like football.

As well as creating much publicity, the shocking language has produced much debate over Tyler’s outlook and intentions in the media and blogosphere. A range of opinions have been expressed on the Guardian newspaper’s message boards, where readers have discussed whether Tyler is a product of the harsh urban reality from which he doesn’t hail, whether his enthusiasm for unsavoury language is an elaborate exercise in post-modern post-PC irony, whether shouting “poo poo” and “wee wee” at the top of his voice is excusable on account of it being even funnier than that time Robert forgot his gym kit and had to do P.E. in his vest and pants, or whether rap music isn’t really of interest to them and they’d much rather listen to that new Kate Bush one.

When asked for a comment on his personal reputation, Tyler said he wasn’t allowed to talk to strangers, promptly kicked a girl he likes on the leg and ran off behind the bike sheds to eat a stolen Curly Wurly.