Whaddyamean, it is fucking hot in London tonight! And this mixtape Mark Ronson hit me off with when I visited him in his Chinatown studio last week is HOT like FIY-AH! Similarly hot is a beat he hit me off with, the beginning of which I used as my intro music at that Club NME gig last night. Man, that was some crazy ish. I used to go to that place when it was the Camden Palace back in the day. It hasn’t really changed, apart from they’ve renamed it Koko and painted it all red, so there’s this extra-psychotic air hanging over the place. I have never seen so many drunk children in my life. Well, not since I was a drunk child. Anyway, I rocked solo last night, did Liverpool, Clones, London, Cut You In The Face and Oh! and shit was beautiful. Did battle with some beer throwing heckling meatheads (you London dude’s aint got shit on my rowdy Welsh bredren!), did some of that Morrissey hand touching weirdness with my peoples in the front row, played with my vocal effects stomp box, and scuffed my trainers. BITCH!
Whaddya mean bloody Babyshambles left fucking torched up bacofoil all over backstage? Losers! I’m told by my boy Golden their drummer is a safe non-crackhead good-tug getting a deposit together for a house, so I’ll leave dude out of that. The rest of you cats is fools! REAL! I met a bunch of your fucking followers last night, fucking cheruby little teenagers talking about crack like it was fucking lollipops. You people are lucky there isn’t a hell! You’d SO BE THERE! But then again, you ARE… I guess. Poor you. Problem is, you don’t burn bright with a fucking glass cock in your face dude. You shrivel like boozey cocks at 6am.
Speaking of which…
HAHAHAHA! My glasses is all bust up. I look like a catfish, serious. I got some blood on my hat too. Blood! That’s no good. I dunno how this shit comes to pass. I blame the rum.
Oh, and you can call me all the paranoid freaks under the sun, but seriously people, don’t let your babies out of your site. Because They will break their brains.
Oh, and that poor mangled little dude at the top there? That’s one of our little brothers just born into the new Iraq. Aren’t we amazing? I bet that crazy Sky God is pleased! A miracle! Praise be to the big beard in the clouds, we rule!
So, I am busy doing promoey things right now – I did an interview for the NME yesterday, with, like, this really fucking safe dude, and did the photoshoot today with a safe dude and safe lady who knows Wade, cos everybody knows Wade.
Also soundchecked for tonight’s NME gig at Coco in Bumden. IT WAS GOOD! BIG PLACE! I am on at 11:15, so come and hear my awesome new sounds. I shall be all alone and sans Birddogg, as he missed soundcheck, the big flappy tweeter. I do have a vocal effects pedal thing though. Maybe I can fuck that up, hmm?
PS – I am sharing a dressing room with Babyshambles. So I am not leaving anything in my dressing room. The soundman was like, really, I wouldn’t advide it. They like to party hard, maybe they wouldn’t nick stuff, but they would break it. NO SHIT!!!!
Did I mention that? I can’t remeber if I did. But it is. It is so awesome. It is the best looking movie I have seen since fucking It’s a Wonderful LIfe or something. It is so lush. SO so so so so so so so so so so so so so LUSH.
UNLUSH! They’re on about privatising al-Zazeera! Piss off! It get’s 40 million viewers, you know. That’s more than Sky News.
So, toryscum.com has nice pictures of defaced “are you thinking what we’re thinking” posters, but none of them are as funny as that Private Eye gag with Michael Howard thinking about fresh blood or whatver it was. Anyway, from my recent research, it seems that most right wing leaders think about little other than prepubecent children. So I hope none of you are thinking what they’re thinking. Cos that wuld make you SICK.
My bandwith’s all dissapearing like Britney’s nose cartelidge, and I have found the reason – bloody The Others fans flocking en masse to get pissed off and mail me angriness, failing to see that I DO NOT HATE THAT SINGER BEACUSE HE IS GAY (duh!), but because he insists on SELLING CRACK AND HEROIN TO BABY CHIDDLERS… and the line “get that cock out your gob drop the lighter” reffers to his hugely self-publicised crack habbit. DUH! So stop emailing me silly questions now The Others fans please, and email some sensible ones, like, how can we help the blessed poo-wer? ANSWER: stop spending thousands and thousands of pounds on fucking CRACK and fucking HEROIN and fucking GIVE IT TO THEM!
In case you are confused, the kerfuffle reffers to that relatively new MP3 on the music page called Rick Witter. The Others are a fairly competent English band with a very bad singer who tells lies about the Trash club in London and sets a terrible example to his exteremly young fan base what with his scaggery and all.
I’m reading Shane MacGowan’s biography at the moment, it is quite amazing. He had dreams like me as a baban, and the IRA used to hide behind his uncle’s piss pots.
So, we’ve nearly finished London. James is sussing out the “could’vedoneshould’vedones”, then I shall return to Brooklyn for my last night, and fly back to Llindain at 6 on the morrow.
Today my elbow is a raw wound, my right knee is twice the size it usually is, my back appears to have been stomped upon, a strange bruise illuminates my right cheek, and numerous aches and pains plague my bones. Last night was, obviously ace. It was so ace, I remember most of it, and despite feeling like fluey shit all day yesterday, last night was fucking AMAZING. I had the best time. I basically played my favourite records ALL NIGHT… and did some rapping. I played A 15 minute live set, airing out the new versions of Liverpool, London, and Oh! (What A Glorious Thing), and Clones got its first airing. IT WAS DOPE! After Spiky and David Deejayed for a bit, and then I did again, and I freestyled over the Pet Shop Boys and Ozzy and Nirvana and Lil Flip and PRIME WU… and people went off it to Chris De Burgh and 99 red Balloons and that Sage/Verve mashup and danced right to the end. Safesafesafe. I wanna do that every day.
So, I’m with James and Jeff in this nice studio in Manhattan, and Liverpool’s basically DONE, and it sounds amazing, so there.
Whaddya mean I left my laptop charger there though? Gayme.
OK, I know from experience reading Nicholas Stix is stupid, but for some reason I did again. I should have guessed he’d have an opinion on Palestine, but what an opinion! I haven’t seen such a spastic and folorn arrangement of words since I read the lyrics to that The Others album.