Thursday 27 November 2008
A Thanksgiving Treat.
Also at the 1.34 mark ROBOCOP~! appears from nowhere , pulls a lever and then fucks off without saying a word.
Happy Native massacre and land steal day America
Monday 24 November 2008
Charlie Brooker is my Hero.
Try as i might to not watch the X-Factor, it just seems that with EoghinMania(tm) running wild that i have to deal with ill informed 13 year olds explain to me why he is the best thing since sliced bread. Leave it to good old Brooker to sum him up in perfect fashion .
It's Eoghan Quigg. Eoghan Quigg. That's not a name, that's a Countdown Conundrum. It looks like what happens when you hastily type a URL with your fingers over the wrong keys. If they still allowed text voting, he'd have been out weeks ago.
Or maybe not. Because the moment Eoghan bounds on stage, he triggers a dormant maternal instinct in millions of grandmas up and down the nation, enough to overcome any spelling barrier. Last week an elderly neighbour aahhed herself to death halfway through his performance of Anytime You Need a Friend. Because Eoghan's got a baby face. And I mean that literally, as in someone's grafted a baby's face on to the front of his head. Tiny
little eyes and a ruby-red mouth. He's like a cross between the Test Card clown and a crayon portrait of Jamie Oliver. Weird. Eerie. Like the spectral figure of an infant chimney sweep that suddenly appears in an upstairs window, gazing sadly at your back as you walk the grounds of a remote country mansion on a silent Christmas afternoon; alerted by an indefinable chill, you turn and, for the briefest moment, his wet, sorry eyes meet yours... and then he's gone.
That's Eoghan, the ghost of X Factor present. Even if he gets voted out, I'm frightened I'll still spot him intermittently in the dead of night, popping up on screen during old black-and-white films, pleading through the glass like a kitten in a microwave. Swear to God, if he's not gone by New Year's Eve I'm having my television exorcised by a priest.
Perfect.
Tuesday 28 October 2008
Jonah Hex
Jonah Hex: Guns of Vengence
Jimmy Palmotti and Justin Gray
In 1954 a book was published called “ Seduction of the innocent.”, a controversial work that suggested that super hero and horror comic books were corrupting the minds of the young people of
Jonah Hex was a long time staple of such western books. A hideously scarred former confederate soldier turned bounty hunter who traveled across the Wild West dishing out justice to evil doers....for a price of course. Bounty hunter or not, Hex always did the right thing, fought for truth and justice, and was always polite to ladies. No wonder people stopped buying stories about him: the old Jonah Hex series portrayed him as a gimp!!!! The new Jonah Hex series portrays him as an anti hero loner, with a twisted sense of justice. A drunken, whoring, card cheating, scum bag, which sometimes does the right thing....provided the price is right.
DC has performed nothing short of a minor miracle with this relaunch of Jonah Hex taking a dead genre and a hokey character and turning it into an ideal hero for the 21st Century: an amoral loner with serious personality issues motivated solely by money. Hex along with the successful revival of the Lone Rangers comic adventures seems to indicate that the western rides again .Read this right now!!!!!!
Monday 27 October 2008
Hugo Duncan : a great man.
Try as he might, Ciaran Flanagan can’t help but be won over by ‘Uncle Hugo’.
Drunken
Uncle Hugo: The Story of the Wee Man From Strabane, Paul Evans (Blackstaff Press)
If there’s one thing that’s rubbish about living in
Hugo Duncan is one of the faces who will appear when you do this. Hugo Duncan. It is almost impossible to dislike Hugo Duncan. And believe me: I’ve tried. He’s representative of a type of music which, by his own admission has never been fashionable, but never goes out of fashion. He is a presenter of daytime country music radio and lame local It’s a Knockout rip-offs. But he’s so bloody likeable you can’t help but forgive all this.
The book is an awful lot like the man. While there is a lot of waffle, it is interspersed with a shocking frankness about his showband days, how it led to alcohol dependency and his subsequent attempts to quit drinking. There are also occasional surprises, for example the album of rebel songs that Hugo recorded in Monaghan in 1979 – which, on being reminded of it 25 years later caused him to throw up in his car. This was of course during his ‘Drunken Duncan’ period (the rebel songs I mean, the boking is an understandable reaction). Personally, I wanted a frank expose of the Town Challenge years and gossip about how much he and George Jones hated each other, but alas, this whole era is largely glossed over. Still maybe George will write a tell-all book. In the main it is a collection of fond recollections of great days growing up, and numerous music hall dances all over the country, that for people of a certain generation will go down a treat.
The scary thing about Uncle Hugo is that, in one way or another, he is exactly like all of my uncles. He’s probably exactly like your uncles too for that matter. I think that’s his secret.
Freddie and me : Mike Dawson
Queen and I
Freddie & Me, Mike Dawson (
Even at the best of times, autobiographical comics are a funny wee beastie. It might just be me, but there’s something quite disturbing about an anthropomorphic version of a real life person pouring their heart and soul onto the page for the benefit of the fan boys (who can then, presumably, enjoy the vicarious thrills of having a social life or perhaps even a girlfriend). But to tell ones life-story in comic form, using the career arc of prog-rock/opera, super group Queen, as inspiration and reference point; that takes a special kind of bravery or mania. Mike Dawson is one such courageous madman.
Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t think that there is anything wrong, per se, with slavish fan-boy devotion to either music or comics (given that I have a Rolling Stones tattoo and review graphic novels), but it seemed to me that it would be bit of a stretch to match up the events of one’s life with the career of a band like Queen - especially given that their front man snuffed it in 1991. Not so. From his humble beginnings as a child in Leighton Buzard all the way to his later life as a struggling artist in New York, Dawson is able to use Freddie Mercury and the boys (and also, curiously, George Michael’s Wham) as a point of reference, a point of discussion and, interestingly, a point of view (literally in some cases). Although there’s a little childhood trauma and teen angst, in the main its all either pleasant nonsense or George Michael based flights of fancy. The art is nice enough. Nothing flashy, just good solid work. What makes it stand out is his use of partial frames, extreme close ups and darkness; to create a sense of suspense around what is essentially mundane.
At times the ‘Queen Love’ becomes a little nauseating (especially when referring to the Ben Elton penned musical ‘sensation’ We Will Rock You) and ultimately you have to learn to live with it. But dear me, don’t say you love Queen as much as this man.
If you’re a fan of the hard rocking, apartheid cultural embargo breaking,
Tuesday 30 September 2008
Never published review
I thought this one was funny as fuck
The Beatles : A Diary
Omnibus Press
Barry Miles
There must be at least a million books about The Beatles. Seriously. One Million. In fact I’ve just checked on Amazon, and there are exactly a million, covering everything from their music and lyrics, to charting Ringos beard growth (an underrated classic). This makes one million and one. The Beatles: A Diary charts the story of the Beatles on a day by day basis from 1934 through to 1970. Day by Day. For thirty-six years. Who needs that? Who needs to know that on February the 3rd 1972 Ring visited the American embassy in
Thursday 14 August 2008
Death Of WCW Review .
The Death of WCW.
Bryan Alvarez and R.D Reynolds
ECW
ISBN-10: 1550226614
Wrestling With Disaster.
Right, let’s get this out of the way: I KNOW ITS FAKE! My interest in the pseudo sport of pro wrestling lies firmly within the realms of backstage drama and political machinations. OK? GOOD!
This is the true story of the rise and fall of a family run business that sat at the edge of bankruptcy for decades and was saved by a benevolent billionaire and ultimately rendered useless by mismanagement over ambition, stupidity and the rock band KISS
In 1998 the Ted Turner Owned World Championship Wrestling became the most successful Pro-Wrestling company ever, IN THE WORLD,EVER, turning a profit in excess of $ 80 million dollars, and attracting over six million viewers for its flagship weekly television show Monday Nitro. Three years later the company was dead, having lost over 80 million dollars and 95% of its viewing audience. How could this have happened? How could a publicly traded company be so mismanaged as to be rendered less than worthless in such a short space of time?
In many ways The Death of WCW is a whodunit although sadly one which is never resolved .Author Bryan Alvarez is well known in wrestling “insider” circles as a top journalist and approaches the subject as if it were a ‘real’ sport. His descriptions are both factual and hilarious, balancing in depth ratings information alongside descriptions of Hulk Hogan’s battle with an Egyptian mummy that has escaped from a block of ice. Really
He is not afraid to point the finger at those he sees as responsible for the companies’ destruction. . The key culprits ( some of them well known individuals like Hulk Hogan and Ted Turner ), take it in turns to point fingers at each other , never once admitting any culpability in the destruction of thousands of peoples livelihoods. Sadly Alvarez’s account comes too little too late, and the lessons learned from this book are still being ignored today by wrestling companies the world over.
Professional wrestling has been run for years by carnival hustlers, shysters, and money hungry hicks, out to trick their punters (known affectionately as marks) out of every penny they can get, all the while acting in the manner of a secret fraternity or quasi Masonic brotherhood Some of the business practices described in this book are just unbelievable. Like setting moon shine swilling hillbillies loose in the New York Stock Exchange.
For fans of the mat game Death of WCW serves as a depressing, frustrating and yet hilarious reminder of what was and what still could be. For non fans it will save as a case study in rank stupidity.
This is essential reading for anyone who wishes to know how not to run a business.