Random News and Chat

Hey, I'm back.

I'm sorry I know you missed me, I have just been recovering from Hospitality at matter... Which was errrrrrr like 3 weeks ago? Oops, bare shoulda reviewed it for you. In fact I will do it now;
TOO GOOD FOR WORDS TO DESCRIBE!!!

I wanted to quickly share 2 things with you.

One: Pendulums first remix since timeeeeee ago, who do they remix... Plan B. It is such an immense choon, a complete journey as the track unfolds, check it out please Plan B stay too long Pendulum remix.

Two: Web techy shizzle... UK Radioplayer to give web users access to every station in Britain
HOORAYYYYY FOR RADIO LAND
http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/tv_and_radio/article6924280.ece

Enjoy

Peace and Love I will be back with more soon No doubt.

Michele Angelo

SUB FOCUS - could be real

You know what music is about adapting. Diversity, flexibility, showing how skilled you are in as many ways as possible.

All I have to say is waiting for the beat is well worth it... The drop is intense!

At the begining of this track, pianos and all that jazz; you will be saying 'sub focus is this fo' real?!' By the end its

'YES, I'm feeling like this could be REAL!!'

Peace out

Michele angelo

“Taking Woodstock” and the Spirit of Love 40 years later…

Contrary to hopes and expectations, the summer of 2009 passed without the anniversary resurgence of the legendary Woodstock Festival of August ’69. After a few not-so-successful attempts (apart from maybe ‘Mudstock’ in ‘94) and the disastrous 30-year celebration still fresh -which ended in riots, arrests and injury- there’s been a lot of apprehension to any further endeavour to revive the ‘3 days of peace & music’. Lack of motivation from sponsors and producers concerned with the major dilemmas marking our time (free entry, old or new bands, before or after the crisis etc.) lead to withering of the reviving tradition.

However, on the penultimate day of the London Film Festival I did get a chance to ‘relive the love’.

“Taking Woodstock” (by Ang Lee) depicts the true story of how a young man suddenly got the festival back on track after it had been turned down by locals in the original site and effectively changes the lives of his family, neighbours and practically the entire American generation who experienced it. It is a beautiful film; funny, touching and inspirational with gorgeous scenes of the ‘flower children’ and the lifestyle they followed. Although the actual concert is never shown (the closest you get is a mud slope some 500m out), the music and art are always present, underlying the culture and mentality of the ‘60s in the US.

And 40 years later you can still relate to this hope and journey to self-awareness through philanthropy (sometimes drugs too) and of course through the love of music and all it represents.

So is all the love and altruism and inspiration and vision drowned by cynicism and the consuming nature of the modern ‘achiever’?

Our world is fucked up, this is certain and the future is scary and uncertain but there are some things that can still fight against the dystopias we might be heading towards.

I did not come out of the theatre thinking ‘what a shame it’s all changed’, I actually was loving everything too –though am usually a bit pessimistic.

Music and art are still very much alive, especially in London – well I know about the music at least. They keep the world turning, evolving in a beautiful and productive way and they keep this city vibrant. Through our student radio alone you’ll get to live it first hand, meet and listen to talented artists on their way up or even ones you already admire.

So go out and seek these treasures you’re offered!

When going through London you’ll come across the drunks, the homeless, the trash spread everywhere but, like me today, you might also get to go to a film festival, stumble into a free art gallery, walk past the love-preaching artwork on the pavement of Trafalgar Square and witness over 100 people giving money –not walking away- from a street performer. Yes, sometimes life is nice, and music and art keep it going.

Photo taken in front of National Gallery in Trafalgar Square

Btw, I should mention the annual ‘Woodstock Festival’ in Poland which is a musical and social success, bringing forward up-and-coming bands; if you’re ever around there in the summer, do check it out!

A Tribute to Stephen Gately and My Boyzone Experience

Image from http://news.softpedia.com/images/news2/Mark-Feehily-Reveals-Homosexuality-Stephen-Gately-Supports-Him-2.gif


Stephen Gately was my first crush. When I was 7 I met a girl named Aisha who introduced Boyzone to me. They were a concoction of pre-pubescent dreaminess, tied together with harmony and sporting white t-shirts and denim overalls. Before N-sync strutted in with their dirrrty bubblegum pop and poor-grade CGI futuredome videos, there was Boyzone. Before Simon Cowell decided to show his potato-sculpted face on screen, revealing, like some fantastic magician, the audition process for merry-band-making which was previously hidden behind pages of The Stage, 5 Irish lads were selected to be Boyzone. Before the Internet there was Boyzone. Before Barack Obama there was Boyzone. And they rocked my little world.

The first ever live show I ever didst see was a Boyzone one. It was in Cardiff Arena. Aisha, me and her mum took a train from Bristol to the welcoming arms of a sold out 2000 capacity dream-sanctuary where I was to come face to face, separated by 100meters or so, with my hero. He was almost angelic, perhaps due to the overwhelming use of white polyester, or the overkill of 100W bulb usage (oh the good old days when it was legal to mimic the almighty power of the sun). I look back and realise how wrong it was, for me, as a child, to count how old Stephen would be when I turned 18, just to make sure he could have his wild marriage way with me yet still not be old-man-creepy and get sent to prison. Ok, so what if I didn’t know the legal age for ‘love’ was 16, in those days sex was still the icky with the finger going into the hoop made out of the other hands’ fingers. But at least I was willing to wait; young girls these days would scratch each other’s eyes out with a good size cactus, or hedgehog, to get the 2-finger-deal with Robert Pattinson, of Twilight (lets spend 2 hrs gazing into eyes intensely) fame, or one of the Jonas brothers (not the one who is now married although well done him..with that face...). In my day, it was a little bit more innocent. As we sat on that train to Cardiff, painting our nails, although in hindsight, what a retarded idea that was; strong fumes in a confined space, we literally counted down the seconds until we would see our beloved Boyzone. There was a moment when I swear Stephen caught my eye and yes, hear these words and laugh; it...was...like...he...was...singing...only...to...me. Golly. I don’t remember much else, not even my favourite song or how long the set was. Only that me and Aisha brought matching Boyzone dogtags and thought this was awesome-gee-wiz-cool.

I also remember that the only copy of a Boyzone album I had was a tape, with two sides and everything; they were called side A and side B dontchaknow and it was totally pirated and sold to my Dad at Easton market. I always did feel the shame of my non-legit copy. The printing was a fail on both paper gsm and ink and there wasn’t even any lyrics printed, lyrics as classic as ‘love me for a reason, let that reason be love’.

I grew up and at the age of 13 rejected all my Boyzone love to turn grunge... then slightly goth, then a bit new-age 80’s finally ending my teenage years as very much 50’s. I denounced ever liking pop music; the trout of the fish-aisle, and never did the story of my first gig escape my lips. It was only after the last dreads of Fresher-mentality escaped my being that I truly appreciated my childhood and all the god-awful music that came with it; N-sync, Britney Spears, the Spice Girls (although for some reason Steps will always lurk below appreciation, much like everything that ‘H’ stood for...seriously, it’s like Cluedo with the card in the middle stuck on your opponent’s head, gaping at you...H...H...H...stands for...??? During the time it took me to grow up, Boyzone split up, Ronan declared that life is a rollercoaster and Stephen became Prince Charming in musical theatre. He also came out of closest, shocking girls everywhere and making me question how much tail he got in his Boyzone years, if any, before he decided to bat for the other team. People named him as a hero for gay rights although in my opinion being smoked out of the closest makes you more a hero for battling career-blackmail; an epidemic in our times. Since then, Stephen kept to himself, only releasing singles in sporadic periods of his life, but faithfully did not parade himself in celebrity big brother-stuck-in-a-jungle-cootie-love-island . Ok, so he did go on Celebrity Ice Skating, but that travesty was on ITV which is practically like broadcasting in a desert.

It was only until last week when his name even crossed my mind, and for all the wrong reasons. As I did my daily breakfast routine of a cigarette and reading Sky news on my mobile phone it was announced that Stephen Gately had tragically died on holiday. There were no suspicious causes and an underlying heart condition was suspected. Even though his death has shocked and saddened me, I firmly believe that it was accidental. However I cannot believe that Jan Moir of the Daily Mail managed to squeeze out of her column (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1220756/A-strange-lonely-troubling-death--.html) a large turd of conspiracy theory about drugs, sexual deviance and full on gay-bashing. I shan’t say anymore than what Charlie Brooker has very eloquently put in his comment (http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/oct/16/stephen-gately-jan-moir ) except Jan, get back into the kitchen. And I don’t mean that in an anti-feminist way, but in a ‘you’re a friggin cookery writer’ way (for example here is an excerpt of her faboosh writing; ‘incidentally, a Scottish muffin is very different from an English muffin, while the one Americans call and English muffin is what the Scots call a crumpet....Perhaps this baked goods confusion is what lady Gaga is referring to in her song Poker Face, when she sings about ‘bluffin with my muffin’)...well done Jan, well done. (To read the whole of that riveting article about different muff’s – head to Jan’s page in the link above).

Lia

Sweet sweet music

This little gem was written when I was a Fresher - you can tell because of the over-use of genitalia slang and the fact that I actually sound like Imperial hasn't raped me of all my time

It’s a well known fact that music can be sexy (Genie in a Bottle), romantic (I am Beeeeeeeeeeautiful), and down right dirty (DiRRRty). Oh Xtina, music goddess of the vag. However, choose the wrong music for your nookie session, and it suddenly has the unbelievable power to make even Lexington Steele get the beerpussy. No one likes silence, and most people don’t want to listen to the smacking, popping or chuffing sounds of the ‘intercourse’, so reaching for the CD player/Ipod station/Tape (wat ist das?!) or even live orchestra is a natural thing to do. And I know for a fact that everyone has had an awkward experience trying to squirt the spooge whilst simultaneously ignoring the ugly sounds filling the room. So after much deliberation (and the decision to horribly embarrass my own boyfriend) I’ve come up with a nice little list of good and bad ambience music for whatever tat des geschlechtes takes you.

Lets start with the least painful recollections; the music that made that moment a bit more special; even if he did give you a dirty sanchez afterwards:

A friend once told me that Damien Rice ‘O’ (like the whole album, stamina or what) was a sweet little ditty to play, and if your biatch don’t start crying half way, I say that’s a hit for you relationship types. Personally, there are songs which I’d stay away from; Woman like a man starts off with ‘I need a piss, wanna hate, fuck it up, calm’. NICE.
Then there’s classical music. My boyo once put on Chopin’s nocturnes, and that makes any biscuit crumbed bed seem like a four poster. However, careful with the pretentious arty persona; rules still apply: most piano music yes, some string quartets (bar Debussy) still work; but orchestral works, leave that to the pros. You don’t want to be struggling with some Nazi Wagner or Steve Reich. Or even worse, Schoenberg. God no.
Weezer (Green Album) is damn cute, and you’ll find that most girls adore Rivers anyway. It’s the math-rock-geek-emo thing that came before scenester-hair-gelled-asymmetrical-hair cut-studded belt types spawned the earth. Sexy as.
And to bring the rock to your cock. Its gotta be a bit of the heavy stuff, ya know, the drum beats for the tush push, guitar licks and flicks. All that is awesomo. Motley Crue, I will admit, ranks thigh high (bring on the trailer trash insults) and anything during the mad-crazy-your-parents-conceived-you period of the 70-80’s still rules! ZZ Top, INXS, Deep Purple, Dinosaur Jr…take me up to the 90’s for us young uns and it’s the likes of Smashing Pumpkins (just too many songs to mention, oh, go on then; today, perfect, tonight tonight, thirty three, cupid de locke) and Pearl Jam (because we all watched Clarissa and totally fell for ladder Sam).


Ho ho ho. Santa here bringing you the goodies. Bad bad bad encounters. The worst; gotta be Zappa (we didn’t have time to change the CD)…not the easiest thing to ignore when you hear ‘I’M IN YOU!’ on the surround sound. The cringe gradient slowly decreases to PWEI (get me a big mac, get me fries to go, watchman!) then something lame from a few years ago like the James Blunter. I’d like think any girl sounds I heard were from me and not some army tosser with a guitar. Oh and even though it hasn’t happened to me yet, (despite being referred to as liking cuntcore music), stay well away from Peaches! ‘Sucking on titties like you wanted me’ and ‘I keep my self respect hidden in my cervix’ are not for the approachable modern lady.

So my little raccoons, may you procreate like bunnies! Be safe by wrapping the piggy in his blanket! Listen to the soundtrack of your life! Steel clear of J pop! Avoid the Westlife for it is all LIES (the ugly one with the huge spam went and knobbed Delta Goodrem)! And never never never ever go ass to mouth.


Love you long time,
Lia

F.Y.I: Go on lads, put on Smack my Bitch Up and watch her transform into a right little minxy freak. I wanna freak in the morning, freak in the evening. Sugababes had it down.