Opinion : I made war on Indie as a joke - it just got Personal: an attack on Skint and Demoralised

Disclaimer: This post is long, angry and has a tendency to ramble, for a clear concise and short summary on the article scroll to the bottom and read the footnote marked '**'

Ladies and Gentlemen, you find me in a distressed mood.

Not even mad, or angry or pissed off... I am distressed. I am more distressed than I was when Jacko's untimely (I say untimely because it was a long time coming) death eclipsed the Iranian situation and when Mrs Goody managed to pull off the biggest scam (dwarfing the one by Bernard Madoff ) by fooling the more gullible citizens of our great nation, that by exploiting her death for money, she was providing for her kids, rather than being the press-hungry, attention seeking ladette she always had been. In fact I am even more distressed than the time when my Mother threw my last Cadbury's Cream Egg out of the window, which I had been saving for two months because I wouldn't let her have a bite.

Before fully indulging in my distress, allow me to dangle the rope above your feline claws and explain about my oscillating relationship with Indie. Just like RnB, I love Indie. For me Indie started when the Kinks provided a fresh alternative to those who despised the brainless gene-carriers who screamed after the Beatles, and who in time reproduced children and grand-children who would one day sympathise with the aforementioned Goody and her plight. The genre experimented on a broad spectrum in various ways, entertaining the likes of Velvet Underground, the Clash and perhaps even Pink Flloyd in it's alternative umbrella before finally deciding to settle down in the mind of a well read boy with a prominent chin residing in the streets of Hulme, Manchester who went under the moniker of Steven Patrick Morrissey at the exact point when a young upstart rebel by the name of Marr simultaneously knocked on his door suggesting that they make music together. This duo, then decided to go against the current trend of over-complicated band names such as Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark and settled on an ordinary name of The Smiths. And as history would have it, Morrissey and Marr, joined by Rourke and Joyce, went on to create modern indie as we know it, influencing the likes of The Stone Roses, Oasis, Pulp, Libertines, Arctic Monkeys etc. Then it all became a little bit commercial and the offspring of those who had been listening to ABBA in the late 70's, decided to step into a different pair of jeans with drastically thinner legs and form bands such as The Cribs, The Holloways, The Guilemotts, The Fratellies etc etc who all have three things in common with each other:

a) their names begin in 'The'

b) At any one time on stage the following items of clothing will be sported; skinny jeans, horizontally striped shirts - probably in back and white or red and white - checkered shirts, Converse trainers, some sort of hat and/or RayBan's

c) they all have no artistic integrity.

Similarly RnB produced some wonderful music back in the day, which has now ultimately cumulated in a shit formula that Flobots have down to a cue - thusly take a repetitive 80's hit and add:

1) distortion,

2) scantily clad girls,

3)bling,

4) a muscular black guy who when rapping looks like he's having a stroke entirely centred down his right arm, *

5) high pitched women singers who certainly aren't the scantily clad 6 stone, small boy resembling, rib protruding walking vagina's prancing around upstage who were mentioned in number two,

and finally, rap over it.

I feel I just got a little carried away... back to Indie music

Now, I didn't mind about these new (or should that be nu - one should always strive to be street) Indie kids cashing in on a lucrative market. I was only mildly annoyed when frequenting my local night club to brave the waves of modern Indie in the vain hope of an odd Joy Division or Cure song, that I saw a dance floor full of identical looking teenagers in which my first thoughts were that there had been a huge fancy dress kerfuffle and everybody had came in the same lumberjack-meets-hair mousse costume - after all how could I be angry when I still had my Smiths (thanks Mark Ronson) sweetly serenading me.

But now, Indie has gone too far. And reader, it honestly pains me to carry on. Because, as you can tell, by these short, fragmented utterances, I am distressed. Very distressed.

And what worries me more is that I know that when I mention the name of this... (well, lets say the word cunt doesn't give him justice), some of you will look him up on Youtube or whatever, inadvertently making his hit rates higher and hence making him look more popular. Can I implore you to counter this by hurling abuse and rating 0 stars on this foul satanous beast? Because, Ladies and Gentleman, because, this excuse for a Northerner, has taken modern Indie, yeah fucking modern Indie, cupped that squirming gelatinous beast - and I'm currently shaking while typing - in his two grubby fucking stumps on the end of his slave-made Topman clothed arms, and unleashed it, on what I regard as the most innocently devastating form of literature... yes, that's right - poetry. He has done in three minutes what Keats took a lifetime to do - he made accessible poetry shit.

The offending creature, Matt Abbott, from the group Skint & Demoralised, has apparently stumbled upon what was his primary school book of poetry and made it into a spoken word song. So you don't have to waste any precious time or effort on this suicidal inducing paedophile of poetry, here are the lyrics from his song Red Lipstick

I like things that don´t make sense
No need for lies no false pretence
No pop-up dolls or pasted pictures
Dreams of fame or chasing riches
I like girls who like their friends
Not chasing blokes or fashion trends
She doesn´t care if she´s looking daft
That kind of girl always makes me laugh

Oh really girl I must confess
Yeah really girl I´m quite impressed

She likes red lipstick fish and chips
Orange juice and trips to the seaside
She likes red lipstick fish and chips
Oh this girl does things for me
Alright

And I don´t mind when I look a fool
When I try being nice try and stick to the rule
Your face goes blank like you´re trying to test us
And I´ve used my bank of romantic gestures
I don´t mind when you laugh at all of my lines
I´ve tried to impress you a million times
You brush them off but you still looked flattered
My minds gone blank and my brains are scattered all over all over
And then you win be back with a look of affection
Your timing was done to real perfection

Oh really girl I must confess
Yeah really girl I´m quite impressed

She likes red lipstick fish and chips
Orange juice and trips to the seaside
She likes red lipstick fish and chips
Oh this girl does things for me
Red lipstick fish and chips
Orange juice and trips to the seaside
Red lipstick fish and chips
Oh this girl does things for me
Alright
She likes red lipstick fish and chips
Orange juice and trips to the seaside

Let me reiterate, this person proclaims or has been proclaimed as a spoken word poet. Now for me a poet who makes forays into the musical world has to be extremely gifted - if he uses rhymes he has to be inventive, imaginative and exciting, he has to have good rhythm and his lyrics, as he would usually speak them, have to have a powerful meaning. Let us spend a minute dissecting Mr Abbott's song..yup it's still shit and reads like a twelve year old's love poem. If you don't believe me, listen to it... it's still shit. If even then, you are some self-pitying pig who cannot come to your own opinions without listening to Luke from the Kooks and goes to a gig to stand around on the peripheries, as not to mess up your bed head hair-do and are the kind of person who will get offended at that last sentence please take some time to listen to Mr Abbotts contemporaries. The first two who come to mind, as they are my personal favorites, are Mr Johnny Cooper Clarke and Mr Scroobius Pip.

The difference is, that in JCC's case, he is devastatingly witty and although prone to some poor rhyming he pulls it off in a cheeky manner and more than makes up for it in his rhythm and style of most of his poems, which are among the most imaginative poems I have ever read/listened to. Similarly Mr Pip, while having Dan le Sac to give an added touch of flare, sees beauty in the most obsolete places, tells harrowing parables and rhymes five syllable words that I never knew existed. Compare them now again with this wanker - I like girls who like their friends/Not chasing blokes or fashion trends - my dog writes better, it goes Woof/Woof. In fact I have decided to write a quick verse in the style of this poe... po... p... poat - Apologies reader, I can not bring myself to describe him as a poet.

Matt Abbot you are shit

If i saw you I would hit

yeah

Your face into a brick

alright

Then i would take out my tit

And force you to suckle on it

Now I realise this is slightly unfair, as I have used a two syllable word, something Mr Abbott is still striving to accomplish, but let me tell you, I wrote that without pausing and it is infinitely better than anything I have heard from the mouth of that penis-faced-cunt-tit-wanker. I plead with him to put his pen down, leave Poetry alone and return to Sheffield to make silver spoons.

* Apologies to anybody who has been affected by a victim of a stroke, a truly horrendous infliction. I can't think of anything which could be worse apart from the continuation of modern RnB

** Summary: Whilst Skint and Demoralised can create catchy music their self-proclaimed spoken word poet frontman, Matt Abbot creates the worst lyrics I have ever read. He seems to be on a vendetta to destroy poetry by making it shit - which angers me

Opinion : Politics - a farce written by egotistical meglomaniacs

I used to love politics.

As a developing young adolescent, staying up with my friends and discussing broad political issues after polishing off our shared bottles of White Lightning, Bacardi Breezers or other such intoxication's which, the friend with her sister's passport bought us through sweaty, deceitful, SPAR transactions, was my favorite activity behind; self loathing, self pity and trying to justify both of these through having sex in any place I could get it - which wasn't many.

Although most of our newly formed policies were either filtered from our fathers beliefs (the Conservatives group of my friends) or as a rebellion against them (the Communist group -no one supported Labour - why would they? They were in government) we still argued and debated with vigour, never once changing the other persons view - but more importantly respecting each others right to believe (however misguided we thought each other were) what they wanted.

This is why I decided to take Politics at A-Level, my first grasp for independence. I didn't want to be classed a Tory for nothing: I wanted to be able to defend myself when accused with those murderous eyes that one uses in accusing someone of something political, I wanted to understand why my father votes Conservative, but most importantly I wanted to craft my own views on the political spectrum.

Three years later I still haven't

But there is a good reason for this; now as a university student, when I look at politics, whether it be at PMQ's amongst politicians or in the pub amongst friends (especially, now I am in a more radical environment - well slightly more) all I am reminded of is my childhood, where my brother and I would constantly squabble on the most infantile issues.

Politics is a farce. The more important it becomes, the more farcical it is. The higher it is at a national level, the more farcical it is. But most importantly the more people look at it, the more farcical it becomes to them. It's like a Micheal Frayn play - all that is missing is the plates of sardines.

And politicians wonder why there is low voter turnout?

The parties spend so much time squabbling that they lose focus of real issues, common sense, and tragically, popular interest. Even at a university level - a nursery for people to mould and perfect their political values - the politics is so farcical that it is misrepresenting its union's students both locally and nationally. Half the students of this country believe that NUS is just a McDonald's discount shop, but the other half hold the common view that it is weak, cracked and fundamentally flawed. Week after week, it wastes money supporting those who don't need it's support, time on issues that are not relevant and effort internally squabbling which could be used to extend there McDonald's discounts to Burger King.

We are supposedly going through the worst economic period since the Great Depression. A time when people are desperate, a time when people feel trapped and a time crucially of discontent. All throughout history, at times such as these, the arts flourish - in theatre Meyerhold, Brecht and even Orton, in music the whole punk movement, The Smiths and the Jam to name a few, in comedy Charlie Chaplin, and art - well if I knew anything about art I guess I would be able to make the same connections. The point being is in time of crisis and failing politics - artists react politically. But what have we seen as of yet from the art world since the recession? Nothing of note. For me, this is a devistating sign showing how people are disenchanted with Politics

I would like to see someone stand up in politics for me - I don't care about his policies. Just a straight-talker who takes no nonsense. Somebody who is clever enough to engineer himself out of traps set by the opposition, someone who can encourage the public to be less fickle, someone who is courageous enough to go against the trend because he believes it's the right thing to do. In short I want a leader, someone who will set an example to the 646 politicians sat in the House of Commons who, although being different colours, lie in the same jelly mode labeled; 'what a politician should be'.

In short, after the next general election I want to turn on the politics channel and see 'Batman MP'

Opinion : The autobiography of Society: 'Excuses and Inaction'

Good Evening Ladies and Gentlemen

Today I share my views on the term 'society'. Especially when used in an all too flippant sense of 'We need to fix today's broken society' or 'Society is responsible for this heinous crime'.

For me, as the train of sensationalist journalism (i.e tabloids) departed from the station of 'moral righteousness', the word 'society' seemed to earn itself that lauded honour, the linguistic Victoria Cross if you will, which all impressionable and eager generalisations strive to achieve; the capital letter, society became Society. In itself it became an institution, rather than a word to describe a group of individuals - stigma was attached to it. In literary terms it exploited itself, explicitly across all national papers, where once upon a time it was once hidden, tucked away in the recesses of editorials and regular letters sent in by Mr Churchill at No. 42. It even from time to time convinced the word-pimps sat behind their desks, to allow it into the headlines reaching the orgasmic heights of full capitalisation: SOCIETY, unashamedly shedding it's modest tittle for full-frontal naked exposure.

And for what? What was it's sex-appeal? Why had it entered the vernacular orgy? Well that is simple, like religion, which can be argued existed to explain those things which science couldn't or still can't, or to give some purpose to those who struggle to believe the theory that the human race is just a freak trillion-to-one stroke of luck, 'society' came into existence as a scapegoat. It was used by those who couldn't comprehend that in a rich, civilised western nation such as ours, two boys could snatch a toddler from a mundane shopping block, torture him and trick 38 people that he was safe as they marched him to his hypothetical iron-tracked gallows, or that over more than 200 miles away in the countrie's capital, a plethora of gang wars is consuming the lives of its urban youth or that back in the North a mother would plot with a man convicted of possessing child-pornography and his uncle, a plan to kidnap her own daughter, hide her under a divan bed and reap the financial benefits drawn from the generous donations of a worried nation.

It has been used both as an explanation and an excuse to stop us from facing and confronting the humane problems with our country head-on. When we see a drug-riddled beggar clutching onto his kerb stone corner, it is easier to forget him if we pass him off as a product of a broken society. It is easier to excuse, not the villains, but the hideous crimes which they committed on being a result of an unfair and unjust society. And on a less violent scale, the nostalgic amongst us can blame the decline of neighbourhood communities, where the local street-matriarch would be firmly cemented on her doorstep - door wide open behind her - with a cup of tea, tattling to the younger, fresher housewives, on the lack of society values held by the modern dysfunctional family.

The term society is even starting to produce offspring; during the aforementioned Shannon Mathews fiasco, the less affluent end of Dewsbury was termed as a subculture. Just pause for a second and think about the meanings and connotations of the term subculture - a culture which is half-baked, more primitive than our own and one in which we can chose to ignore by blaming it on society. This word is extremely effective, in just three syllables it manages to alienate a whole population, one which our bourgeoisie thoughts can continuously pity, until we are burgled, or our Audi A4 is nicked, resulting in us sat at six person mahogany dining tables with a forkful of risotto in one hand and a £15 bottle of chardonnay in the other, debating the subculture of modern society.

As a person who has grown up for 18 years in Bradford, admittedly in one of the more comfortable suburbs, attending it's private grammar school, it pains me to see this term actually used in professional journalistic articles. If a small population of the aristocratic echelon's clustered together would that be a subculture? Is Beverly Hills in LA a subculture? Of course not, because as the ruling middle class, we strive to reach those levels of monetary frivolity. We do not need to alienate ourselves away from this type of person and we like to think we could fit in to this way of living if we ever got the chance.

Similarly there is not a division between the middle class and this so deemed subculture in places like Bradford. Although we may not fraternise or even communicate with each other due mainly to our prejudices, we use the same facilities and amenities, we go shopping in the same supermarkets, use the same parks and occasionally even go to the same pubs. It seems obvious to me, that the journalists who reported on the Matthews case may of been shocked; to them, coming from there non post-industrial cities, 'Chavs' (the stalwart of this subculture) are a joke but up in Dewsbury it's a way of life. Thus, as they are not used to the large number of chavs (and I write 'chav' devoid of any of the derogatory stereotypes associated with them but as a collective term) they believe that the middle class could and would definitely not live beside them.

I digress

Back to my original point; when we use society, it is an excuse. For what is society but a collection of individuals? In a culture where we are encouraged so much to express our individualities, why do we find ourselves herded into societies? Each man and each women is an individual, they make individual decisions and are individually responsible for their actions. I may of started taking drugs because of the peer pressure from my friends, but it was I who individually chose to hang out with those friends, it was I who ultimately individually chose to inhale those narcotic substances, and it was I who after becoming addicted, individually chose to rob that shop, steal that car or break into that house. I am not a product of a broken society because at any point I could of also chosen, as an individual to get help and break this cycle. In the same way that as a member of the middle class with too much time on my hands, I individually chose to use society as an excuse for all my and the world's problems and in doing so single-handily turn my back on those in society who need my help

I implore us all to relegate the use of 'Society' to meaning 'a collection of individuals', free it from it's current derogatory connotations and never, ever use it as an excuse for our problems and inaction