Tuesday, 7 August 2012

...Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Olympics + Altamont Scary Shit





































In Dorset, where I come from, it is customary in some quaters to refer to someone as a Gert Didlo. I've never totally established what this means. Whenever I've tried to ask I get misdirected, or there'll be a little bit of a snigger and eyes will connect as if to say "He does'nt realise?"

The similiarly named Dirg Gerner has made a tune with such a fragile, elusive mystery and dim - Neon Lo-Fi soul it has caused me to reavaluate three other tunes that minutes earlier sounded promising, now rapidly forgotten. Oddly reminiscent of Shuggie Otis, it sounds unmistakeably LA: the city of broken dreams.





Maybe its the optimism in the air.

Just over a week ago, Boris' voice on the underground, helicopters sweeping over my roof, armed police. Bullshit internet reception.

And then Boyle's beautiful opening ceremony, tub-thumping abandoned in favor of a real Jerusalem. The Queen hanging with Bond. The Queen watching a giant projected image of Johnny Rotten. A huge puppet Voltemorte threatening the beauty of the NHS. Real Nurses and Patients dancing. Arctic Monkeys absolutely killing it. Rowan Atkinson funny for the first time since bullying a turnip loving simpleton in the mid eighties. And then. And then. And then the medals, then the personalities that shine through the medals. Then I end up playing a Mod set to Bradley Wiggins in a Mayfair club. Last night I find myself cheering at the sports. Jesus. If I had a hat I would eat it.




















  10%  Beach Boys
+ 30%  Weezer
+ 20% They Might Be Giants
+ 40% At least 3 listens

=






























Folk-hop, like other things that worked well for a bit in the last decade but got a tad too sickly after a while (Heroes, The Streets) has been largely exorcised from Kieron Hebden's ProTools. This reworking, beginning seductively with an AOR synth bed gradually unfurls into a Tech House beast and Mr Tet's additional production, despite its modern makeover, has all the wet, organic, almost living and breathing qualities that make you wonder how he is allowed to get away with not making an album every 6 months.

























What kind of guitar music is sexy? The Stones once knew. The Velvets most definitely knew. Nick Cave knows, which is why he formed Grinderman. Moon Duo know the answer. And it certainly helps if you sound like Alan Vega being drowned out by a one chord acid space cum Stooges groove, leaving Altamont with a really, really thin long haired chick draped in fur in a cloud of smoke.






Black Moth Super Rainbow. Same as above...





2 comments:

  1. http://zoom-gordo.blogspot.co.uk/2012/08/standing-on-shoulders-of-giants.html

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  2. Cheers for the Pumpkins buddy! Hope you're keeping well x

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