the sound of madness

Much busy. But clever Bear. I am using the sound of Madness to block out the sound of madness.

Madness are a funny old band. It may be unfair but they have had a strange image. Chirpy songs about baggy trousers. Crazy dances. Wacky videos. A touch of the novelty act? Not "serious" musicians like, bless him, Weller or (small bear runs screaming from the room) Waits ?

She brings home Madness - The heavy heavy hits. It was going cheap in Avalanche Records.

We all know the deal with "Greatest Hits" selections? They're for lazy, indecisive people (so we have a lot of them) who can't deal with that scary downloading lark.

There will be the couple of songs that you buy it for - the Greatest Hits. Maybe four or five if you're lucky. Then the OK/Skippable Hits. Bit of filler - dodgy 12" remix of the Greatest Hit? Then something "special" for the fans - obscure B side or quirky little cover - because they have everything three times over already and need an excuse to shell out more dosh (*cough* Elvis Costello reissues *cough*).

Naughty cynical bear ...

Back to Madness. Twenty three songs. And not a single duff one. A big surprise to be honest. There is the big upbeat noise. But there is also sweetness and light. Darkness and disappointment. Worth revisiting if you only remember nutty boys and the heavy, heavy sound.

Or if you need to block out the sound of a deranged and demented woman.

That Wainwright, in what I can only consider a personal vendetta against me, has announced an extra gig. Here. Not somewhere nice and far away. Here. In this city.

Yes. She is going to both nights. No man or small bear can stop her.

I just happened to make a passing query about the cost of the ticket. Sniffle. Some things should never be said. Even in jest. And "I could sell a much loved old friend on Ebay so that I can afford to see some boyish fop and his stupid floppy hair poncing about for two nights in a row in October" is one of them.

She may have phrased it a little differently but I knew what she was saying. Sniffle.

So I've been singing "It must be love" to myself while she reads out highlights from Uncut's audience with RW.

Hang on.

Oh.

She'll have to repeat that last one - hum - Wainwright reckons that Gordon Brown is considerably more sexy than Tiny Blur. To quote the Rufus person - "I think Gordon Brown's really sexy. I think most most women I know feel the same."

Hum. Indeed. Well, that's a thought ...

That's something that will take a bit of pondering. Unfortunately.

Madness. It's all madness.

neti, halp and ponyhof

Her new toy has arrived. I tried rubbing but no genie. Not even the tiniest purple plastic pixie. Bit disappointing. She claims that it's for pouring salt water up her snout. Honestly. It's called a neti pot and she read about it on MonkeyFilter. *snork*

Meanwhile, back in the real world ... well, the realish world ...

The Great She Elephant is trying to get us Bloggers to halp each other. Good idea. Because Beth Ditto won't always be there to help.

Bowleserised has added the Ponyhof to her, um, stable. For all your pony picture needs!

Off to watch the fun - a mad woman, a tiny teapot, and a pinch of salt ...

Rufus Thing ... blah, blah, blah ...

So the Wainwright album arrived on Thursday. The special "limited edition" with dvd. The excitement causes her to skip about like a drunk flump. She is wearing a posh frock.



The purification rituals are performed (bit of hoovering, bit of dusting). Bear is "made comfortable". Finally the blessed disc is listened to. Cake is eaten.

Everything is ok. The album is wonderful. A triumph. Bear agrees. Probably. It's a bit hard to tell, what with the gag and everything.




More cake is eaten. Bear is untied and the order is made - "entertain us, Fluff Boy". He dances.

crimes against music, meanwhile, a bear is ignored

Do you know how many photos there are of that Rufus bloke on the Interknit? A lot. Him with long hair. Him with short hair. Him looking serious. Him looking extremely mad. Him in posh suits. Him in leather trousers, just. I think she has looked at all of them this evening. Especially the just leather trousers ones. Humpf. I might as well be chopped socks.

I have mentioned that my head is coming loose. And now my bell is falling out. And it's all Wainwright's fault.

I don't use her name in this blog for several reasons. For instance, if anyone is going to become famous and exploit this for a major merchandising deal then it's going to be me so no point in confusing things.

And she is wanted by Interpol for crimes against Belle and Sebastian. She has, in the past, sneered at the gods of indie pop loveliness. In this town that still carries a mandatory death sentence. You will be taken out to the Botanic Gardens, tied to a tree, smeared with peanut butter and left to the squirrels.

I suggested we try for an insanity plea. She's got the special edition of that "Tatu" album somewhere. That should be plenty of evidence.

But now she's going round dissing Sufjan Stevens. "The musical equivalent of carob". Her words - not mine. She's a goner.

I'd be calling for help but she's got a copy of "Too much" by The Spice Girls (with collectable postcard) and she's not afraid to use it. I think if we all just back away quietly and leave her to her Rufus slideshow ...

wrong

She's been out to see a film. She looks at me. Menacing gleam in her eyes.

"Do you think that you'd look like Robert Downey Jnr. if we shaved off all your fur?"

This is the film.

No.