Posts Tagged ‘television’


Trying to save every last penny available for next weekend’s Electric Picnic means that alot of time has been spent lolling about the house in front of the oversized flatscreen (that actually came with the house?!) like a stroppy teenager, drinking coffee, watching shit television and getting understandably agitated at many many programmes.
I’m sure nobody reads this blog for Big Brother news but it is absolutely necessary to alert you to the fact that life-size, inflatable sleazemonkey, GI Joe Mario came back for an excruciating cameo on Sunday to propose to dead-eyed shark woman Lisa in a stunt that was so irredeemably naff it made watching the closing ceremony of the Olympics – and subsequent handover to London – seem like a wonderfully inclusive spectacle that we should all embrace while wearing United Colours of Benetton cardigans and tickling little playful monkeys on the belly. I’m lying, of course, about the Olympic thing being in any way watchable.
Mario and Lisa make me feel sick. I would rather watch my grandparents copulate loudly in front of me than ever see the two of them on a television screen again. They repel me to my very soul and I think I could probably watch 27 episodes of Grey’s Anatomy back-to-back rather than have to see a single photo from their horrendous future nuptials. Jesus Christ.
And as for the Olympic handover. What the fuck? A London red bus bungled into view with a bunch of ethnically balanced dancing Troglodytes whirling about with umbrellas until the top of said vehicle eventually peeled down to reveal the legendary Jimmy Page – now looking like a dulling, badger-like Chinese pensioner – and Leona ‘reality TV singing sensation?’ Lewis singing one of the greatest Zep songs of all time. Jesus wept. Then David shitting Beckham smiled vacuously at the little Blue Peter competition girl and booted a football into the braying masses, a football which I think one of the Chinese athletes caught and looked like he had just soiled himself with glee.
Who was this aimed at? Is there really a lobotomised collective that watched it and thought ‘yes, I am so glad to be a part of this wonderful circle of life, this championing of inclusiveness’? Maybe I’m just a bitter old bollocks and this
really was wonderful but I doubt it.
In other news, I have had interviews recently with both Calexico and Fucked Up that have made me feel glad to be alive and have helped build a little foundation of hope for the future. Joey Burns was a lovely man, full of knowledge and wit and Fucked Up’s lead singer, Pink Eyes, proved to be an outgoing, chatty, shockingly honest interviewee. And the punk gig that happened after the interview was the most fun I’ve had in Whelans in a while.
Thank god for the music.

Television: the drug of the nation.

Posted: June 11, 2008 in Uncategorized
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So I have seen my first proper slice of the 5th circle of television hell that is Big Brother and once more the viewing public is being subjected to the baffling concepts of ‘realness’ and ‘fakeness’, ‘disrespecting’ and ‘recognising’. Seriously. Fuck off.
I have absolutely no problem with the idea nor with the existence of Big Brother series 8 or 9 or whichever one this is. I have watched many of the increasingly bizarre and self-referential series as well as spending one giddy summer just watching Russell Brand (a comedic genius no matter what anyone else thinks. Listen to his radio show with Matt Morgan for proof)on the Big Mouth programme, without ever actually watching the programme.
All of we humans in our souls are both assholes and angels. We are all capable of horrific nastiness and pointless, altruistic nice-making. Editing plays the biggest part in this programme – bigger than any of the actual housemates – and it does not help the people of the Big Brother house ever look in any way intelligent or consistently diverting. Nobody ever seems to sing a song that you really like or comment on films/music/books/authors/politics and so it is abundantly clear that we are being fed exactly what the television network want us to see. As with any television programme, we are at the mercy of the editors. This must be believed because having said all that, it physically pains me to imagine that this planet, the same one on which I may some day raise little There Will Be Bloggers, could play host to such a plethora of vacuous amoebic shithouses as those that have starred on Big Brother since it first ‘kicked off’ years ago.
Anyway, that’s that.
Alan Yentob’s fantastic Imagine series is back for the last few weeks and last night he took a peek at Annie Liebowitz, photographer extraordinaire. I really love the Imagine series for it’s surprising, eclectic mix of art, architecture, music, mental illness etc., and Yentob’s presentation style has always been easy to watch; a palatable blend of pretension, curiosity and aloofness yet as calm, cool and willing to learn as you like. It’s always a top quality hour and is a fine example of a programme to proudly shove down the throats of those you have ever heard proclaim in a wanky, holier-than-thou manner: ‘ I don’t watch television’. That statement has always been one that makes my blood boil in the same way Tracey Emin’s ‘art’ does, the way that Umbrella song does, or when people try to tell me that Maxwell House IS coffee (It’s fucking not. It’s freeze-dried metal and mud).
Finally the Euro 2008 tournament. It’s a pleasure to return from a hard day at the office every day and have a football match to watch while splayed out on the couch. Thank Christ we have two TVs. Yes, decadence pays off. Football also provides the perfect excuse to stock up on an unnecessarily large amount of Lithuanian beer from the local, curiously cosmopolitan off-licence and also to catch a bit of the genius Chiles on the BBC highlights packages. Ahhhh bliss.

I’ve watched the last episode of The Wire

Posted: April 12, 2008 in Uncategorized
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And so it has ended.I will say nothing to ruin it, except to say that it ties everything up and you will not be upset…except for when it’s over because this is the end. Shit.