The Hit Parade Volume 3 Issue Sixteen by Liam R
[Editor’s note: fuck count – 26. Back on form.]
It’s the return of the column that can seemingly survive fire, flood, earthquakes, volcanoes and asteroid collision unharmed but when it comes to personal issues goes off the rails quicker than a Virgin Train (that’s one). But you know what, despite what goes on in the background I can’t quite bring myself to kill either this column or the website from which it hath spawned. I guess it’s a case of over-familiarity or something like that. Speaking of which I extracted myself from possibly my favourite other web based hi-jinkery last week and can safely say that I’m actually quite glad to be out of it. It was a long time in coming and a decision I should have made on the 8 th of January but didn’t, and as such I’ve left a few friends behind. The few that I will miss know who they are and I miss them to bits (there are six of you for those counting). Another thorny issue which raised itself last week was Dr. Pope’s latest article. Now as editor-in-chief of this shit pit, I should have used more nous when editing but with Dr. Pope’s stuff it goes like this: he sends me the article, I take all the links out for pictures and edit them down for the article, I edit down a header, background image and icon for the main page, load it up and leave it. I don’t read it or exercise any form of editorial control because if I did, he would never get an article up as I would have to hack it to pieces so as not to offend anyone and secondly, if he wants to say it, then it’s fine and if anyone should be censored then the writer themselves should do it, not me. As far as I’m concerned it’s his stuff not mine and if you have a problem with it you speak with him, not me. Get it? Got it? Good.
He’s Like Your Drunk, Drug Addicted Uncle Who Won’t Die: Hot on the heels of admitting that he snorted his dad’s ashes like cocaine, falling out of a tree and becoming an actor, Keith Richards has slipped back into his grumpy old man persona this week. Apparently, the rubber faced six stringer with far too old rockers the Rolling Stones doesn’t like hip-hop, saying that he doesn’t understand why anyone would want some gangster from L.A. pointing their fingers in their face. He also thinks that the use of computerised trickery (or “blinding by science” as Doris that works in the Welsh Assembly would say) in producing rap records leaves him cold. Have to say that the man has a point, as most hip-hop these days is the very worst form of absolute garbage, where even the return of Jay Z hasn’t rejuvenated things. And as for the media over-saturation of all things 50 Cent and G-Unit, the less said the fucking better.
Handbags At Dawn: Now the Hit Parade has never thrived off of celebrity slanging matches to stretch its word counts, oh no. We prefer to wish death upon pop stars and call dead royals naughty names because let’s fucking face: no-one reads this bullshit. Anyway in the tabloids a war of words has erupted between Cheryl Cole of Girls Aloud and the massively foreheaded Lily Allen. No I have no idea what started this, or what’s been said but quite frankly it’s all getting a bit silly now. The management of both acts have maximised the publicity at just the right time as neither have a big release coming up but they keep themselves in the eye for long enough to spike a few extra record sales. But you know what I remember the days when bands would tour to sell records, but what the fuck do I know eh?
The Evil Will Stop Soon: A few weeks back I reported on Barbara Streisand’s upcoming tour, and who it was described as possibly the biggest musical event ever staged (well according to her publicist anyway) but also that the gigs were going to be stupidly expensive. So a huge standing ovation to the people of Italy (well consumer groups anyway) for standing up to the evil bitch and asking for her gig in the country to be cancelled due to the exorbitant prices being charged. Central to the gig getting cancelled is the notion that the Stadio Flaminio is “public property and cannot be used for immoral deals that are shameful to a civilised country”. I have to say that this is possibly both the funniest and greatest thing I’ve ever reported on, as an already obscenely rich pop star is being chastised for gouging even more money out of the general population. Now if consumer groups in this country can get on the case and get the fucking bitch’s gig here cancelled, even better.
It’s About Fucking Time: Woah, a rant concealed as a news item. Aren’t I fucking clever? No? Well fuck off then! This week supermarket chain Asda announce that it was no longer going to stock singles in its stores due to low sales. Their reasons are that cheaper album sales and the wide availability of downloads and killing the market. Now this is very, very true but the fact is that there is no such thing as a big single launch any more. In fact, I can’t even remember the hype for a first single off an album since… possibly ‘Without Me’ by Eminem and that was five years ago. All singles are are promotional tools to sell albums and in turn sell tickets to gigs and merchandise. But yet record labels continually throw insane amounts of money at bands videos ( Linkin Park I am looking squarely at you!) for singles which inevitably will turn out to be a cash loss on the band. Downloaded singles are much easier as you pay just under a quid for what you actually want, don’t get the horrific b-sides and also have one less CD case clogging up your shelves.
The Karma Whore Corner: Or not as the Karma Whore has once again absconded from the cupboard under the stairs I chain her up in and gone off to fuck knows where, leaving little old me to handle the rant-o-riffic part of the column. As you may be aware, this weekend saw the BAFTA awards, the UK equivalent of the Emmy awards, and as such rewards the cream of television and film talent. But Liam got exceptionally angry as Life On Mars not only got screwed, but bent over, had a gag put in its mouth, dosed up on Rohypnol and fucked up the arse by a load of sex starved convicts. In truth, John Simm may have lost out on the best actor award because both he and Philip ‘Gene Hunt’ Glenister’s chemistry on screen raised the other’s performance so in a just world they both would have got an award, but as for not getting Best Drama? Get the fuck out of here! Yes, they may have got the only award voted for by the public, but if you can name a better British drama that’s been made in the last ten, maybe even fifteen fucking years I’d like to know! (Editor’s note: This rant was rubbish because the Karma Whore didn’t write it, so apologies to all those who came expecting one when there wasn’t).
Quick And Dirty Hits: Ludacris appeared in last Sunday’s Simpsons (in America ) as a tube of toothpaste. Yes, a tube of fucking toothpaste… Scott Stapp , former singer in Christian rockers Creed has been charged for assault, despite no-one being injured. Does that even qualify as assault?... Rapper’s Rap Sheets: Method Man – drug possession… Liberty X have split up. Yeah, it was a shock to me too… Paula Abdul broke her nose while trying to not step on her dog. Stupid fucking cow… Kanye West has hired Madonna’s choreographer for his tour. Just think of ‘Jesus Walks’ and shudder…
You should wear a coat love
Oh do I fucking have to? I hate doing this bit of the column because the singles all suck. Well, I suppose I had better do it…
10. Booty Luv: Shine (Hed Kandi) – The label is Hed Kandi, therefore this is probably vocal led funky house. Now that in itself is not a terribly bad thing, but as it seems to provide the soundtrack to every single bar that wants to be trendy, this is not a good thing either.
9. Timbaland feat. Nelly Furtado & Justin Timberlake: Give It To Me (Interscope) – Quite possibly funky, but I’m a lazy fucker at heard and cannot be arsed to listen to the full length version.
8. Scooch: Flying The Flag (for You) (Warner Bros) – Oh for fuck’s sake. It got crucified at fucking Eurovision and now I have to fucking review it. There’s being ironic and just fucking me off, and this is the latter.
7. Akon: Don't Matter (Universal) – I thought initially this wasn’t going to be as annoying as his last one, but it sounds like R. Kelly’s ‘Ignition’ with more squeaky voices. This is not a fucking good thing now is it?
6. Gym Class Heroes: Cupid's Chokehold (Decay Dance/Fueled By) – I told you before, some of these guys contributed to the theme to ‘Snakes On A Plane’ so therefore this is awesome.
5. Hellogoodbye: Here (in Your Arms) (Drive Thru) – Imagine Daft Punk recording something while drunk and devoid of talent. You wouldn’t be halfway close to imagining just how fucking awful this is.
4. Snow Patrol: Signal Fire (Fiction) – It’s Snow Patrol alright but maybe with a bit more balls. It’s no ‘Chasing Cars’ however, and just writing that shows what sort of person I have become, and god damn it I like it.
3. Beyonce & Shakira: Beautiful Liar ( Columbia ) – I don’t think there’s even much point of continually reviewing this, because every single fucking record Shakira release seems to stay in the charts forever.
2. Maroon 5: Makes Me Wonder (A&M/Octone) – My God, it has a Parental Advisory sticker on the front! How fucking rebellious of them! Sounds like the sort of shit that even Jay Kay of Jamiroquai would think was a bad idea after a bottle of whiskey and ten grams of coke. That means it sucks.
1. Rihanna feat. Jay-Z: Umbrella (Def Jam) – I’m not really a big fan of this sort of R ‘n’ B diva crap, but this isn’t actually horrible musically, but my fucking god do the lyrics suck balls. “You can stand under my umbrella?” Get the fuck out of here!
The Final Word: “no i dont think soo as we were all up brisotl city yeovil with the csf mate soo it wernt are lot and are firm is called the t.c.c.c i.e taunton chantting chav crew” – a Taunton Town fan on their hooligan credentials. I am officially shitting myself.