Fore!

I forgot to mention in my last post about Stainforth that we took luncheon at the local cafe. Well, we actually took morning break in the cafe; McCoy and Jackson were too scared by the old battle-axe serving us to go back for Tiffin. They said she was speaking in a foreign language that they didn't understand, I told them it was normal South Yorkshire dialect and I had to stand in as translator. During this outreach program for the local community a gentleman approached us. He and his 'wife' had been sitting in the cafe drinking tea and as he was waiting for her to finish her ablutions our eyes met. He seized the chance to approach me with a stout business deal. The fellow had about his person a bag of golf clubs and asked if any of us would like to buy them. He offered no price but told us in great detail that he had just bought a new set and was wishing to rid himself of these old clubs. Curiously he told us they were not branded, although I pointed out both a Wilson and a Dunlop club to him. He quickly passed this by and proceeded to inform us that he'd recently had them re-shafted. On our refusal at such an attractive offer he told us that he and his 'wife' were heading 'down town' to offload them. He was hoping to get 'about fifteen quid' for them. I advised him to place them on EBay, an idea which was poo-pooed as too much faffing about. After he left, several aspects of the encounter played on my mind; Why would you be selling some golf clubs you have recently fixed up? Why didn't he identify at least two named brand clubs within the set? And more importantly he didn't look like a golfer, he looked more like a smack head. Just what was going on here? Were we being duped into buying stolen goods in order to give him a 'fix'? Would we have been propping up the seedy underside of Stainforth's heroin trade? In the end we wished him God Speed in his endeavour and said our farewells, he left us to our sausage sandwiches and cups of tea and I was left thinking I should have bought them and sold them on EBay...

'How much mate?'
'£15 or whatever you've got in your wallet...'

Herr Docktor Clay steered me towards this article on the BBC News website. As Clay rightly pointed out U2 made $109m last year, which is over three time MORE than the British Government gave in aid to Haiti. What has happened to that money? Has any gone to help the people suffering half way around the world, or has it just gone straight into U2's offshore accounts so the only people they are helping are themselves? Now, before you all start bleating about 'it's their money they can do what they want with it!' Yes that's true, it is their money and they can eat it, burn it or shove up their fucking collective arses for all I care. But it stinks of FUCKING HYPOCRISY when Boner is telling the rest of the world to give up our hard earned cash for charity. This money is going towards flying hats on first class seats to Italy, it goes towards impressing teenagers with a $12m yacht. What is worse is that the U2 fans stand by and support this bunch of wankers by buying more of their albums and paying to watch them prance about on stage like a bunch of Moldovan Bears on hot plates. Are you so fucking dumb? It boils down to this, if you like U2 then you are dumb and you're the kind of person that liked Avatar as well and that means you are a CUNT! A DUMB CUNT!

Ha ha, yeah I'm laughing at YOU, you DUMB FUCKING TOSSERS!!

Anglo-Saxon Peasant Metal

On Saturday, as I mentioned on my last post, I went to see a Pagan/Folk Metal gig. There were four bands, Andraste, Annwn, Ravenage, with Northern Oak headlining. I'm not going to give you a massive breakdown of what I thought about these bands. For a start it doesn't fucking matter, what I want to do is have a look at the third band Ravenage. They were a Viking Metal band from Hull, I really like some Viking Metal and I thought they were pretty good, least of all for their singer's 'comedy gold' introductions to each song in a thick East Yorkshire accent. But some of their songs were OK, the bassist's hairy moobs were a bit distracting and the keyboardist's keyboard was at a jaunty angle. The guitarist closest to us was dressed in a chainmail shirt and had pretensions of the Viking Warrior about him. This brings me on to what I want to talk about; why is that all metal bands just concentrate on the warrior aspects of the Viking Age*? I started thinking about all the other aspects of the Viking Age that haven't been covered by Viking Metal bands. Rather than sacking monasteries or mustering a great army to crush the Saxons, what about the nine or ten months of the year that 'Vikings' spent on their farms? Where are the songs about tending the pigs and chickens? Where are the concept albums about sleeping in the loft of the long hall above your livestock to benefit from the heat of the animals? Where are the nine minute epics about using the loom to make blankets and clothing? I gonna start a Loom Metal band called Spindlewhorl, we're gonna be bigger than Turisas, I tell ya!

*I obviously know the answer to this, so don't comment telling me what I already know you fucking douchebags.

Bang your fucking heads!!

In a similar vein I saw that a U2 tribute band were playing locally, they are called U2-2 and are apparently the 'most authentic U2 tribute in the world'. Now, if you've read this blog before, you probably now that I have a slight problem with U2 so the fact that why anyone would want to emulate U2 is beyond me and why you would pride yourself on being the 'most authentic' tribute? OK, OK, I can give a bit of leeway and say most people are in cover bands for money. Most people would rather hear a lame band playing songs they recognise than not. That I can understand, it's easy, it gets you gigs and money/beer tokens and the adoration of fat middle aged men when you belt out your ropey cover of Wonderwall.

"Thank yoo, that was Boogie Town, this next number is our own take on an the Artic Monkey's Mardy Bum. One, Choo, Free, Four..."

I've always thought the idea of being in a band was to create music, write new songs, get some sick jams going, not to learn a few of the easier Jimi Hendrix songs and play them as though you wrote them. Look, I'm not above doing cover versions myself as you can see here with my 'Lost Wisdom' cover version, but U2-2 take this beyond the pale (excuse the pun). Not only do they sound like U2 but they fucking look like them as well! They are all middle aged men attempting to look like someone else. Someone else in a fucking shit band. Someone else who is the biggest fucking hypocrite on the planet. What is wrong with their lives that they have to attempt to live vicariously through someone else. Can you imagine waking up every morning and checking the tinternetz to make sure your facial hair is still exactly the same as The Edge's? No, Me neither, mind you it's not that the Edge has changed his facial hair for the past ten years, he's as stuck in his own rut as the rest of his fucking band is with their music. I can guarantee you that 'Frank' (or Phony Bono, as his mates probably call him) works as a plumber but fixes toilets with those stupid fucking sunglasses and that stupid fucking hat on. Speaking of which, why can't someone nail that fucking hat to Bono's fucking head like a Turkish emissary. At least that way he won't forget it and have to fly it half way around the world at the same time as increasing his carbon footprint and spending a thousand pounds that could have been better spent on the poor kids in Africa.


I could go on and on about this, but I can feel the vein in my forehead throbbing, so I'll leave you to read the next part of the long lost Singapore Blog:

Saturday, May 26, 2007

I have just returned from the most Metallist day ever, in fact it would be difficult to get more Metal than today without, in fact, turning into Metal itself. I have returned from the Sabbat/Ironfist gig in the Gas Haus. I had been in touch with Iron Fist through myspace and Ariff, there singer, told me about this gig. I went down to the Gas Haus this morning about twelve. Ariff introduced himself and told me the gig wouldn't be starting until about 1.30pm. I wandered down to the Singapore Art Gallery, where I was assaulted and insulted by more degenerate modern art. Regular readers of this weblog will know my views on modern art, so I won't repeat myself here. Suffice to say, I only wished I had some cans of paint with me in order to cover up the monstrosoties on display.

Infuriated I returned to find the first band was on, there was seven lined up for the whole day. Holy God, how much Metal can one man take? They were a pretty good Thrash outfit who finished with Necrophobic and Raining Blood by Slayer, which always gets top points in my book. The next band were called Tormentress and were made up of three girls and a bloke on drums. Again, good thrash, starting with a good cover version of Troops of Doom by Sepultura. I think they did some Sodom covers as well, but I forget. It seems everyone in Singapore is into Sodom, I only like their first EP and the Agent Orange LP. Maybe I haven't heard enough of their stuff? Then we had the spectacle of Iron Fist, Ariff, whom seemed quite normal when I met him earlier, turned up on stage wearing just a cod piece and covered in Corpse Paint. Some transformation. This is when the crowd went berserk. They had been warming up during Temptress' show, but the shit really hit the fan during this point! Diving, surfing and slam dancing made sure there was bodies flying all over the room, it literally was like a Chinese fire drill. Iron Fist finished with War Pigs, excellent!

Sabbat came on and whipped the crowds into mad frenzies with their blackened thrash. Again everyone went berzerk. I only wish I had taken my camera so I could have shown you what it was like. The rest of the bands suffered a bit from the crowd disappearing after Sabbat had played. I met a guy in To Megatherion the other night, Mike, his band played also. They were very good, technical Death/Black Metal, not really my cup of tea, but very very good musicians.Ariff came over and gave me a Iron Fist CD, which I am listening to now. He didn't want anything for it, a present from Singapore he said. I was chatting to the sound engineer and he told me he was from Leeds, small world. He asked me if I was from Halifax with my accent, I told him to fuck off.

I was knackered this morning when I set off, I was out til three last night at St James' Power Station, it was a bit crap to be fair. I had a bit of a dance,had a few drinks then headed home. I got in the taxi and purposely got in the back to try and have a bit of a snooze, but the bloody driver kept me awake with his questions about what I was doing in Singapore etc. To be fair he was a nice guy, so I couldn't begrudge him a bit of banter. Now if I could only do that with women, I'd be beating them off with a stick.

B***, T**** and I spent Friday looking for a beach to sit on during our day off. We drove over to Changi in the east and headed for the beaches there, B*** stood in some crude oil at the shore's edge, so that put the stoppers on that idea. We headed back to a place near our site called the Orientus, a resort complex. We paid our three dollars each and swam in the pool all afternoon. Twas brilliant.

Right, I'm tired, you've all had enough, fuck off home.

Well Paid Scientist

I turned up at work late on Wednesday morning due to taking the wrong exit on the motorway (I ended up going through Horbury, the streets really are paved with gold and the roofs glitter with Bronze.). As punishment Wincey sent me off to the frozen North at the top of the site. Alice must have also done something similar to incur the wrath of Wincey as she was sent to work in the same evaluation trench as me. We were as far away from the site hut as could be and in perpetual shadow all day. It was freezing cold and I swear there was ice covering the trench and snow laid about. The gale force winds tore our normal clothes to shreds and so dressed in Arctic explorer gear we set about excavating tree roots.

Alice and I prepare Evaluation Trench 6 for excavation

I think it was something to do with the fact Alice and I are both blow-ins, she is about to start an MA at York University in something non-archaeological and I am an unknown quantity, with my constant drifting in and out of contracts. I think this is Wincey's way of breaking us both down so he can then remould us in his shape. Today Barry Onions rolled in, I was, yet again, sent to the 'Land of Thule' Eval Trench 6 to plan the natural features and Barry was given his choice of the good archaeology at the bottom of the hill. As I was drawing tree boles with frostbitten fingers, I could hear the sounds of laughter and music drifting up from around the cabin, where everybody else was working.

What I imagined was going on the bottom of the hill...

Barry also made his uncanny appearance on the day we had finished all of Sir Stanners crap biscuits and were about to make a start on the Chocolate covered Caramel digestives I had bought a couple of days previously. Sir Stanners had gone to the Supermarket (or sent his butler) and bought the kind of biscuits he thought us lowly peasant folk would enjoy. His choice was Asda's Smart Price Biscuit selection, the cheapest biscuits around. No Jaffa Cakes for us, oh no, we'd be happy with what Squire Stanners had provided and think ourselves lucky we got anything off him at all, the ungracious cunts that we are. Anyway, we'd spent two fucking days working our way through the bad stuff when Barry waltzes in and starts troughing the good biscuits with both trotters like the fucking pig he is.

Leave some for us Barry!!

On an altogether different subject I went to see Jello Biafra and the Guantanamo School of Medicine play on Wednesday night. I've waited twenty years to see Jello play live and, fuck me, it was worth every minute of waiting. He is the closest I will ever get to actually having a hero. I've been a Dead Kennedys fan since I was 14/15yrs old and Jello Biafra has shaped the way I think about the world and has to be one of the best unheard outspoken political commentators in the world today. I think his stance is best summed up by the lyrics in the DK song 'Stars and Stripes of Corruption'. A song which was written 24 years ago but is still as relevant now as it was then. Read the lyrics here and try to prove me wrong.

Fuck Censorship!

I was thinking about Jello Biafra and how he has worked tirelessly his entire life (and continues to do so) with little or no reward against corruption, censorship, misjustice and a whole host of other causes and goes completely unnoticed by the public at large. Then a little cunt like Boner pops up (pun intended...), says something trite about everybody should be giving their money to feed Africans whilst evading paying tax in Ireland in order to make himself more money and everybody flocks to worship at his temple of shit. Jello practically starves because of his beliefs whilst Boner sits on a vast fortune because of someone else's ideas. Where is the fucking justice in the world?

'So, Mister Bush, what are ye gunna do aboyt de Tird World Debt?'

'Fuck all, Mr Boner.'

'Sure, that's grand, Oi'll get de stupid peasents dat buy me fucken records to give oop dere hard earned nicker instead.'

Striving for Mediocrity!!

Tonight U2 are playing in Sheffield Arena. Normally this wouldn't be a problem. At least all the fucking Moronic U2 fans are enclosed in one place, getting them off the streets. The problem is I was going to go to a site visit and introduction to the Redmires POW camp community archaeology project. I have an active interest in Battlefield Archaeology and, more recently, community projects along these lines, so this would have been a great opportunity for me. The fact the U2 are playing tonight means that I can't get across Sheffield for the meeting as the roads will be packed with brainless oafs clamoring to sycophant in front of their idols. This is just one of another of a long list of reasons why I hate U2. Not that I needed many more anyway. I have always hated them to such a degree that I am unable to physically listen to their music in any form or another. Johnny Cash did a cover of the U2 track 'One' on his American III Solitary Man album. I immediately reach for the FWD button on my CD player when the first few notes begin, this is the only song that I ever do this with. It's like an OCD reaction to it. A Pavlovian response that has been drilled into me by a reaction against mediocrity. Because that's what U2 are, they are mediocre. No nonsense, straight line, stand up BORING. Not only is Boner a massive fucking hypocrite, what with preaching we should all be giving our hard earned money to the poor of the world, but then flying his FUCKING HAT around the world in First class to the tune of a thousand pounds, but he has no talent or originality. The band have found their rut and are staying in it. They haven't developed a single bit in the 33 long years they've been going. The shit they first recorded sounds the same as the garbage they are dragging out now. I hate them and their lack of artistic movement with every inch of my being, if my rage were a gun I'd shove it down Boner's fucking throat and pull the trigger until it goes click! Music is about dynamism, creativity, breaking barriers, just look at the brilliant Faust for Christ's Sake! U2 fans wouldn't even know bands like this exist because they're happy with their safe, inoffensive idols. U2 make music for people who don't like music. U2 are a crime against humanity, act now! It's time to make Boner History!

Stop the madness, say NO to U2!

I had the weekend off after almost collapsing on Friday and didn't return to work until Monday. Happily the site hadn't been reduced to a burning pile of rubble by Tim. He had managed to fuck up some registers in the two days I was absent however, so no change there then. The rest of the week has passed pretty quietly, except that we lost Dane through a BMX related injury and although he came close to having his leg amputated he should pull through. We all miss him on site and his lack of presence is very noticeable.

Get well soon, big man!!