Worst Albums of the year 2011

This kind of falls into a couple of distinctly different categories -those albums which are not terrible but a bit dull, those which are disappointing because they've been made by bands who are usually ok and those which are frankly, poo.

In the "not terrible but a bit dull" section first up, it's the Subways.
Their album "Money and Celebrity" can best be summed up as a party album for people who like rock. It's not all bad -indeed, the first single from the album " We don't need money to have a good time" is quite good, but everything else on the album sounds the same to the point where they all meld into one whiny singalong mess. Not good.
In the next category are Kasabian, which I have to say came as a bit of a surprise.
To my mind at least, Kasabian had been steadily improving, each album showing some progression -but "Velociraptor!" is a massive leap backwards. It also features some of the worst lyrics I've ever heard. The album comes across as an incoherent mess. Must do better lads.

Ok, now we're into the "Poo" section.
Normally, in any other year I could think of, Gold Cobra would have run away with the worst album of the year award, for reasons I -and quite a lot of the rest of the web- have discussed before (hint ; He stands at the front and wears a cap).
Sorry Fred, this year you've been blown away in the crap stakes.

Enter Metallica and Lou Reed with "Lulu".
A double album, no less.

I'm not a Metallica fan, but I can't imagine many of their fanbase will be happy with this. Kirk Hammett's signature guitar solos are largely missing, and bassist Rob Trujillo seems to have been on holiday at the time of recording, so the whole thing is driven along by James Hetfield's chugging rythmn guitar. Terrific. Never mind though, here comes Super Lars and his pet Snare Drum to save the day!
Um, no. Lars' answer to the assault on your ears is to hit everything very hard. All the time. Thanks.
Lou mumbles and stumbles his way through the lyrics at one point shouting "JACK" for what seems like forever. He also pretends to be a girl in one song. No, I'm not making it up.
In what appears to be a desperate attempt to distract the listener, James Hetfield tries to convince us that he's a table. Yes, you read that correctly. Listen

Sadly, and remarkably, these are the better efforts on an album that's best quickly forgotten.

Lou Reed and Metallica yesterday, being poo.

RIP,Legends.

Hello all, I'm back. I'm refreshed, recuperated , re-energised and several other things that begin with "R" as well. And, as a copy of El Camino is in my possession, I'll be doing my top ten albums of the year in  a couple of days -shortly after my worst albums of the year, there's some crackers in that one- and this post which is neccessarily sombre in tone.

In the space of little more than a week, 3 of my favourite sportsmen ever have died.

Last weekend former Everton captain Gary Speed took his own life, seemingly with everything to live for. He was 42. Gary was a husband, father, gentlemen and an Evertonian. That's as fitting an epitaph as you can have.

A couple of days after Gary, Rugby League great Arthur Beetson passed away from a heart attack, aged 66.
In a sport filled with remarkable athletes and tough men, Artie was the most remarkable, the toughest, and -in his position- the best.
Just to let you know how good he was, he played for Queensland and I still loved him-that's something no-one else has managed since.

And this weekend, brazilian football legend Socrates has died.  He was a chain smoker, a qualified doctor and , in a time where the word is overused to describe people , he was truly unique. He was a big man -maybe 6'4- yet he danced and skipped around the pitch with more grace than any footballer I've seen before or after, he had a mass of curly hair, often enhanced with a bandana and a raggedy beard. He was also one of the shining lights of the best national team I've ever seen.

Short thoughts.

The London Olympics -even though they are still some 8 and a bit months away- are managing to piss me off.
To be fair, the olympics always piss me off -what seems like 24 hour coverage of skinny men running in circles for hours at a time, not really my thing- but it's never been this bad before.
Every time an ad arrives on the TV whatever the product is, it's suddenly become the official 2012 Olympic version of it's former self.
So far this morning I've spotted the Panasonic Smart Viera tv - the official tv of the olympic games, Cadburys Dairy Milk - the official tooth rotter of London 2012 and a couple of others as well.
I understand the need for corporate sponsorship, but does everything have to have a commercial tie-in? Really?
Tampax, the official feminine hygiene product of the 2012 Olympic Games.

Scott Weiland, erstwhile singer, professional substance abuser and frontman for the Stone Temple Pilots -who were alright- and Velvet revolver -who were shit- has a new album out. Nothing remarkable about that you might think, and, in a sense, you're right. But Scott has released a Christmas album full of yuletide favourites like White Christmas and such. Are things really that bad Scott?
Is this a desperate attempt to cash in on a seasonal event or a new career direction as a lounge singer? Take a guess.

It's generally around this time of year I do my top 10 albums of the year, but I'm going to hold it off until the new Black Keys album lands through my letterbox. It's due out on December 6th but hopefully I'll get it a bit before that.
If you've no idea who I'm talking about, have a listen to this -it's a great video too.

Jim White Ruined my Birthday. Again.

Yesterday was my birthday -no, I'm not telling you how old I am- it also happens to be the football (soccer for you, my american cousins) transfer deadline day. And every year on August 31st, Jim White ruins my birthday.
I know what you're thinking -"Ok Fizz, who the fuck is Jim White?" and it's a fair enough question if A) you don't like football, or B) you don't live in the UK.
Jim White is Sky TV's equivalent of the transfer deadline day's Grim Reaper, Megatron and Hannibal Lecter all rolled into one. If you're an Evertonian, that is.
This year, big Jim gleefully told me that we'd just sold arguably our best player to Arsenal. Thanks Jim. Fucker. Stop smiling.
In between shots of Peter Crouch's people carrier, Yakubu smiling like he'd just been given the keys to Pizza Hut and strangely large mobs of youths behind reporters in car parks, it came to pass that Everton had sold 3 players and bought none -bar a couple of "interesting" loan deals, one an argentinian striker who appears to be more Martin Palermo than Leo Messi, and a famously mad dutchman. Brilliant.
Jim white ruined my birthday. Again.

Jim White yesterday, shortly after ruining my birthday.

Swagger Jagger

As difficult as it maybe to comprehend, I , on occasion, have been accused of being a music snob. Yes, I know dear readers, it's scarcely believable isn't it, but it is true.
I'm telling you this because this week, my snobberry has reached new heights. I'll admit to hating most pop music and to not really understanding how anyone can enjoy the vapid warblings of Dustbin Beaver, Take That, Pitbull, Jason DeRuuuuuuuuuuuul-o and the seeming millions of others who assault my ears on a irritatingly regular basis.
This week though, Bieber is suddenly sounding like Nirvana, and Pitbull is sounding suspiciously like Chino Moreno. Take That, comparatively are Tool, Tricky and Sonic Youth all rolled into one.

Because this week, I heard "Swagger Jagger". It is -and I'm not joking here- the worst thing I've ever heard. Ever...............Evvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvverrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

It's also due to be No1 in the UK when the new charts come out. I wonder what that says about our society, or is the only thing it says is how far out of touch I am?
I don't know really, but if not being a music snob means listening to this I'm glad I'm a snob. Now, where are those Pink Floyd albums?


Prepare yourselves.

Limp Bizkit - Gold Cobra

Just recently I've been having a bit of a listen to Gold Cobra, the comeback album by Limp Bizkit -hey, everyone has to punish themselves from time to time- and it's not exactly brilliant.
To be fair, I don't think anyone was expecting a White Pony from Florida's finest, but this is....well, as the French would say, merde.
Actually, let me qualify that abit. Four fifths of LB are fine with Wes Borland proving beyond any doubt that he's an excellent guitarist, a solid rythmn section and even poor old DJ Lethal lazily scratching away, no doubt reminiscing about the glory days in House of Pain. The problem with Limp Bizkit is Fred Durst.
Moby once described them as "Rape Rock" but I think "Idiot Rock" or maybe "Retard Rock" is far more appropriate. Durst is a man with little to say and a singularly unappealing way of saying it, hearing a 40 year old singing (sort of) about "Haters" and skateboarding is heading into the realms of ridiculousness, and if I think you're ridiculous, you're in serious trouble.
This is by far the worst thing I've heard this year. Well Done.

A gold Cobra, yesterday

State of Origin

Yes, I know its several days after the fact but I don't care.

We lost. They won. The same as it's been for 6 long -really long- years now.
There is however more reason for optimism next year than there has been for quite a while. Firstly, on the back of what may have been the worst SOO performance ever -although Justin Hodges' debut runs it close- Anthony Minichiello won't be there. I'm not sure what Ricky Stuart was thinking including him in the first place, does he really not rate Hayne that much as a fullback? Even if he doesn't, wouldn't Brett Stewart have been the better option?
Yes, yes he would.
There are a few other blues whose spots will be under severe pressure too - Mark Gasnier, Ben Creagh and Mitchell "I've got a tattoo of my own name on my arm" Pearce. In fact, if I was the coach, the only people guaranteed their spot in the 17 would be Gallen, Lewis, Hayne, Uate, Soward and Scott.
Next year NSW will be stronger, Queensland will be weaker. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

Meh

Wimbledon

In case you somehow haven't noticed, here in the UK we're about halfway through the annual snoozefest from London.
And, as every year, the few people who follow tennis will run around excitedly telling everyone in earshot that this year Andy Murray -he's bottled charisma that boy- will win. Hang on, didn't you say that last year? And the year before?
He'll lose as soon as he faces someone good and Nadal will probably win the whole thing. There's a few sports I really hate -Rugby union, a sport played exclusively by homosexuals and the Welsh, during which you kick the ball backwards and forwards until someone lumps it over the sideline, and Synchronised swimming, which appears to be a kind of ballet. In a swimming pool. Without the story. Brilliant. Take something that isn't wonderful in the first place and make it much worse- but tennis is the one I hate the most.
This may be a case of rose tinted spectacles, but wasn't it almost bearable to watch once? You know, back in the late 70's/early 80's in the McEnroe/Borg/Connors and Navratilova/Evert era.
Nowadays, tennis -Wimbledon at least- has been reduced to a series of Stepford wives style grunty Eastern European women and men so dull if they were salesmen they'd have titles akin to Head of Photocopiers, Toners and Inks (East Midlands).

Does anyone else feel the same way?

Captain Charisma, yesterday

State of Origin

It's the day after the first game in the series, (if you've no idea what I'm on about, it's rugby league played between New South Wales -the good guys- and Queensland -beer drinking rednecks, lovers of pickup trucks and cowboy hats- and it's possibly the most intense sporting contest there is) and with 24 hours reflection on the events at Suncorp, I've come to the following conclusion. We (NSW) can win this series.

Stop laughing at the back.

With a day's worth of objectivism in place it's much easier for me to analyse the game, and  I've come to the following conclusions.

1. Jason King. With a massive 4 hit-ups and 25 metres he must start game 2. Not really. I can't actually remember a worse origin performance than his. Tolman or Galloway in for round 2.

2. Michael Jennings. Made a couple of errors but looked very dangerous with the ball -deserves to keep his spot.

3. Brett Morris, Mark Gasnier, Dean Young, Trent Merrin. All of these guys play their club footy for St George -the club I support- none of them should be picked for game 2. Hayne, Idris, Lewis and Learoyd-Lahrs as their replacements seems to make sense to me.

And yet, despite some poor performances, we were winning with 10 minutes to go.

6 in a row? Not quite time to celebrate yet.

PS. If anyone is going to get pissy about my Queenslander stereotype, be aware that I love all of god's creations. Even the ones in cowboy hats.

New South Wales, yesterday

Short thoughts

Nathan Van Someren, a not particularly well known participant in Australia's 2nd best team sport -AFL- was sent off on saturday. Why am I telling you this? Surely being sent of in the rufty-tufty world of Aussie Rules can't be that rare? Well, no. No it isn't.  But this guy was sent off for having a dangerous haircut. I'm not even making it up. hahahaha

Here's the offending do in all it's dangerousness.

Nathan yesterday, being dangerous.

A man from Brighton has been fined £80 by some particularly joyless bastard from the local council for allowing his terrier to skateboard around the streets of the town -again, I'm not making this up- He was fined for the dog being "Out of control". What, couldn't it land a kickflip properly? Too much rotation on a 360? No, apparently his Lakeland Terrier was a "Risk" because 2 women tripped over his skateboard. Sorry, but if you can't get out of the way of a dog on a skateboard, you should be worrying about other shit before reporting the canine and it's owner to the council.

Not the dog in question, yesterday.

The last week saw the death of Severiano Ballesteros, who I'm shocked to learn, was widely considered "The Greatest" amongst his peers. I'm no golf fan, but this guy's death struck a chord with me for a couple of reasons. Firstly, we're the same age -and this has made me think about my own mortality really for the first time- and secondly, the man simply transcended his sport. Even people who have no interest in golf -like me- knew who he was and had nothing bad to say about him -and I have plenty of bad things to say about almost everyone.

Most sports have a star who becomes bigger than the game -Babe Ruth, Michael Jordan, Don Bradman- in golf it was Seve.

Wedding? You should have publicised it more.

Apparently, there's some sort of Royal wedding malarkey -don't you just love that word?- taking place quite soon. Strangely, it's hardly been mentioned on the news, in the papers on the web, anywhere at all really. Because of the remarkably low profile being taken by the UK -and I'm sure every other country in the entire world- I thought that you might have been missing out on some of the frankly wonderful collectibles and assorted shit,  sorry, memorabilia that is available to the discerning simpleton consumer.

How about a nice commemorative mug? With the wrong Prince on it.

A tasteful crockery set, with what appears to be a mini FA Cup in it?

Anyone feeling hungry? Have a Royal Wedding Pizza

 Or perhaps best of all, and possibly the most fitting piece of tat I've found -I give you Royal Wedding Tea Bags. Brilliant.

But despite all this........erm........stuff, most peoples attitudes to the wedding and indeed the Royal family in general are best summed up by this plate. Oh well, no knighthood for me.

Killzone 3

So, as I mentioned in my last post I got myself a shiny new PS3 and some games to go with it. Gran Turismo, Tekken, Fifa, COD -all the usual ones. I quite enjoyed COD so decided to get another game in the same genre, the titular Killzone 3.
I get home, fire up the playstation and slide the game into the machine -so far, so good. I have a bit of a run around on the practise mode -hilariously entitled "Botzone"- after 10 minutes or so I'm starting to feel a bit funny. Not good funny, bad funny. As in "If I keep going I'm going to spew" bad.
Now I'm assuming this effect -a kind of motion sickness- is down to the fact that I'm old and a bit crap, but if that's the case, why didn't COD affect me the same way?
Does anyone else suffer from this, and if they do, is there anyway around it?

equals

Shoes

I have a complaint. Actually, I have several -some of which are quite nasty, but you don't want to know about that- this complaint is about shoes.
This post was brought about by complete and total envy of the amount of different styles and types available to women compared to men. We have two styles, trainers or shoes -in brown, black or white. Wow, you guys have a million different styles in every shade imaginable, and I want to know why there's such great disparity in the ranges. Do the manufacturers think men don't care? Maybe most of us don't, but I do -I want better shoes, now!

My daughter bought these recently, you wouldn't believe how jealous I am.

Just .......WTF. Part 2, 371.

Most famous faces never get to see their biopics, as there seems to be some kind of unwritten Hollywood rule that the star in question is dead before he or she is immortalised on the silver screen. Yes, I know -you're sitting thinking "What the hell is he wittering on about?" - but you'll never guess who has their screen epic about to hit the big screen. Actually, you probably know already as it's been advertised pretty much non-stop for about a week or so now.

Yes, it's the child with hair that looks like I cut it -with a strimmer- the tiny antichrist himself, Dustbin Beaver.
Sorry, Justin Bieber.

Now, is it just me but doesn't a film chronicling the lifetime achievements of a 16 year old seem a tad premature? I mean, he's only been well known for a year or so -and I'm guessing that he's not Johnny Cash in his off screen/stage life- so what's the incentive to go to the film?  What's that, there is no incentive and it's a cynical marketing ploy to separate young girls from their pocket money? Oh, that's ok then.

There's no homosexual subtext to this picture, none whatsoever.

Short thoughts

As I mentioned in my "bored" post below, last week my wife and daughter went to see a car and my sister in laws' newly arrived twins. As I anticipated, the twins -Robert and Gemma- were, in fact, exceedingly cute. There's a shock, all babies are cute. Well almost all babies. A few years back when our girls were babies themselves there was this unfortunate kid called William and boy, cute was the last word you'd use to describe him. If you'd painted the top of his head green people would've thought it was a watermelon, it was that massive. Anyway I digress. The car she went to look at was a grey Ford Focus, the car that'll be here soon is a green Renault Megane. OK. Close enough.

A green Renault Megane, yesterday

The football transfer window came to a close and in a totally unexpected turn of events, Liverpool fans proved themselves to be utter tools. Again. I know, it's a terrible shock and totally out of character, but there you go.

Instead of celebrating the fact they'd just signed Uruguay's second best striker to replace Spain's second best striker, they showed their displeasure in a more....... incendiary manner. Mind, you, their mood may not have been helped by the fact they'd just spent £35 million on a stupid looking geordie with a crap haircut and a prison record longer than Lee Bowyers'.

"Cry-y-ying, Over You...."

And in Queensland, which has been through a bit of a rough time lately -the terrible floods which cost a lot of lives have barely subsided, the locals predilection for wearing cowboy hats in public- they may have finally gotten a bit of a break with the news that Cyclone Yasi missed the two largest population centres in it's path -Townsville and Cairns- and slammed in to the coastline between the two. It's about time something went right up there. Now, if we can just sort out the cowboy hat thing.......

Cyclone Yasi yesterday, robbing Queenslanders of their hats

I'm bored

I'm bored. Bored I tell you. Bored bored bored.

It's saturday lunch time-ish and I'm here all alone -all alone except for the dog - who is asleep, and the cat - who is out doing whatever cats do all day, chasing birds or something, I don't know - My wife and daughter are off looking at a car and then going to Edinburgh to see my sister in laws new twin babies. Aah, sweet. The babies, not the Focus-although that's not bad either as it goes-but me, I'm bored.
I have nothing to do -well nothing that I want to do anyway- there's almost 1000 TV channels at my disposal, and there's nothing that I want to watch on any of them. Whether that's an indictment of me or the current state of TV programming in the UK, well, you guys can decide. Actually, it seems that around 700 out of the 1000 are either showing football or a cookery show and the rest seem to be comprised of Britains Greatest Celebrity Bathroom Disasters 8 or something similar, so maybe I don't have as much choice as I thought. Ho hum.
I could read I suppose -but I don't have anything I haven't already read. Damn.

I think I'll wake the dog up and go for a walk with her.

PS. I'm quite bored you know.

A Story

About 18 months ago, our youngest daughter came home from school and announced that one of her friends' cats was going to have kittens. "Terrific" I thought, "I'm very happy for it". Not being much of a cat person myself, I gave it barely anymore thought until one day she came home and asked if she could have one. Around about this point I was acutely aware of everyones eyes being on me. "Sure, why not?" says I - three little words that produced a moment that a parent will always remember, a look of pure joy on your kid's face. Brilliant.
A few weeks pass, and it turns out that the kitty is to be her Christmas present from her mate. Great, we're all prepared for the new arrival, then she drops the bombshell......."Can I have two?" "Two?" It turns out that no-one wants the last remaining kitten of the litter, a frankly gorgeous little grey cat.
Of course we relent, and are treated to another moment like the one I mentioned above. So, a week or so before Christmas we recieve two kittens, a black one named Patton -after the lead singer of Faith No More- and the grey one, named Dixie -after Everton legend Dixie Dean. I'm guessing you must be wondering what the point of this story is by now, and sadly I'm going to have to tell you.
A couple of days ago it seems Dixie was hit by a car and dragged along by it. He died in our house last night at about half past midnight. My wife and daughter are distraught, and frankly, despite my best efforts to hide it, so am I. You wouldn't believe how long it's taken me to type this.

So long little guy, I'll miss you. We all will.

The EDL

That's the English Defence League, if you're wondering. In the past few years, various far right groups have sprung up -mostly in the old Soviet Bloc countries and Russia itself- a few have even gained various minor forms of political office but mostly they were dismissed as racists with unnecessarily short haircuts and a bad attitude, you know, "if we ignore them, they'll go away" And by and large, they did go away, or at least, lost interest in their "cause" and faded into the background.
Great. All is well in the world.
Well...........no.
The far right has been experiencing an upturn in popularity in the past 18 months or so, with groups in Italy and France -whilst not being exactly what you would call prominent, they have definitely been making themselves heard, and making themselves known. And most worryingly, they've been gaining support. Which leads me to the EDL. When I first heard of these guys, maybe 18 months ago, they presented themselves as a non-violent organisation opposed to extremism in all it's forms. Sounds good, doesn't it? Ok, I had misgivings about the name and use of overly patriotic/nationalistic imagery -but I thought, you know, that was just me (I'm never one you could accuse of being overly nationalistic, I think it's a silly concept, frankly).

The reality of the EDL is somewhat different. Here's a member opposing extremism in all forms, and without the slightest hint of irony in his actions.

These idiots are nothing more than a rebranding of the old National Front, Nick Griffins foot soldiers.
The sad thing is, people are supporting these "people" and their actions, whether that's due to economic pressure, peer influences or good old fashioned stupidity, I don't know.  But if you're out there on the interweb and happen to run across this, look at that picture and ask yourself if he's who you want to associate yourself with.
Oh, by the way, there's also a Scottish Defence League. I won't be joining. They probably wouldn't want me anyway.

Not even a hint of comedy

Top 10 overrated things

10. The Foo Fighters.
They started out well enough and were ok up until the point Pat Smear decided to do something else, now though they seem intent on proving how "nice" Dave Grohl is and being seen to be wacky, to the detriment of their music.

9. Ugg Boots. Wildly unattractive footwear worn exclusively by people who watch Jeremy Kyle.

8. Reality TV. Has spawned such Luminaries as Jedward, Cheryl Cole and Jade Goody. That's more than enough reason to hate it.

7. Blue Cheese. I love cheese, all types of it. Stilton and Gorgonzola though make me heave. They have an awful rancid metallic taste that I just can't stomach.

6. Jared Leto's dancing. No matter what you might think of 30 Seconds to Mars musically, Mr Leto dances like an octogenarian ballerina. Give it up.

5. Christmas. I don't know what it's like where you are, but Christmas here starts about mid September. Too much. I'm refusing to say Happy Christmas to anyone until the week before the actual event. And no, I don't want a fecking mince pie.

4. Twilight. I mean really?  He lives in a forest and sparkles in the sunlight? That's a fairy, not a vampire. And he drives a Volvo.

3. McDonalds. I heard someone refer to McDonalds as a restaurant. I might start calling my back garden The Serengeti, or Kakadu, maybe Monument Valley. It's as close to any of them as McDonalds is to a restaurant.

2. The Daily Mail. Possibly the worst newspaper in the world. Why? A newspapers job is to inform us of the news, not tell us what our opinions on it should be. The DM's ideal headline would be along the lines of "Gay Islamic terrorist devil dog in plot to burn Union Jack".

1. The Beatles. The Beatles music can be split into 2 categories. Nursery rhyme crap and pretentious crap. It is, however, all crap.

Short thoughts

First up, Jedward.
Now I realise this may not be the best news you've had all week, but bear with me. I was blissfully unaware of these two cretins until a short while ago when I saw them murdering "Ice-Ice Baby" (Yes, that is possible) and as I don't watch reality TV, I thought that would be my thankfully brief journey to planet Jedward at an end.
Alas friends, I was mistaken. Nintendo have employed the pair of strangely coiffed belters in their christmas advertising campaign.
Get ready to cry. To be honest, I'm still not entirely convinced there's 2 of them - I think it might all be done with mirrors.





Cat vs alligators. Guess what happens here. Yes, that's right.
The feline fighter fends off the gator with a jab Manny Pacquiao would be proud of, so the gator goes and gets it's mate. The cat then proceeds tyo see both gators off the premises. Ace.





Finally today, a music video. I think you'd better get used to this, because in my opinion it's going to be huge very soon.
The world needs more women in school uniform swinging baseball bats.