Guest Beer - 'Hear The Baboon Shepherd'
Rising nu-rockers and friends of the 'middle-aged Grebo revival' currently sweeping toilet venues from Hartlepool to Eastbourne, these cheeky Dalston knobbers return with a song inspired by the cult of an African celebrity footballer, all set to their signature three-chord chug-a-lug toss. Currently playing upwards of a hundred gigs a year, during which they'll ultimately play to almost a thousand people (including soundmen), 'The Beer' peddle a never-reliable blend of meat and potatoes indie drek to be avoided at all costs. On this single they remind me of nothing so much as early Manic Street Preachers without the politics. Or the tunes. You almost have to admire the amount of effort these boys put into a lifestyle which achieves nothing. Almost.
Lineker - 'You Heat Up My Heart Babes'
Piano-led puss-pop from this comfortably-off three piece. Straight outta their parents' detached properties in a sought-after suburb of Aberdeen, Lineker have been getting out of an honest day's work ever since leaving school thanks to their music biz connections and good bone structure. Claiming not to be aware of the former England footballer of the same name, the band apparently adopted their monicker because lead singer Colin "liked the word". Here they concentrate on putting cloying melodies up against the kind of drumbeat my eight year old gets told off for playing in music lessons because it's too derivative. Lineker are this years' darlings of the second home brigade, those people who buy an album every year to help believe they're "still in touch". An obvious demographic, since no one under thirty could listen to the line "kiss my heart under these love-stars" without sicking up their breakfast.
By Proxy - 'Do The Huckleberry Spank'
Appalachian mountain-music from outside Barnstaple, By Proxy aim to invent a new dance craze with
their catchy fiddle-fest but, in actual fact, they're more likely to be garrotted by an increasingly moralistic
public. As far as I can tell, The Huckleberry Spank involves completing a do-se-do as if mentally deficient,
then placing your partner over one knee and 'tanning their hide' in time to the band's handclaps. May
catch on in remote West Country villages where everyone's got the same surname, but to civilized
people this whole affair is too redolent of a sexually-disturbed Wurzels. Still, the inclusion in their
twelve-strong ranks of a man who plays the beer tray by hitting himself over the head with it gains extra
points for sheer retardedness.
DJ Spazmo - 'Dem Trilinkies Be Goin' For Mi Pud'
A leading light of the South Bronx 'grink' scene, when laying down his flaming 'cuts' Spazmo chooses to ignore English and invent a separate language on the spot in his specially 'pimped-up' recording studio. Against a backdrop of surgically-distressed beats, squelching noises, and what sounds like a squirrel being castrated, Spazmo 'grinks' about how much he loves poon-tang. Or his favourite lubricant. Or possibly how 9/11 increased demand for his 'bitches'. It's difficult to tell, mainly due to Spazmo's artistically-interesting refusal to be coherent, which somewhat undermines grinkin' as a seduction technique. Luckily the traditional grink 'grunt-break' three-quarters of the way through this joint brooks no argument. Having seen the video, I can report Spazmo's accompanying visuals do an excellent job of distracting attention away from his nonsensical and upsetting song, featuring as they do straight-on-straight teabagging and hamsters being shot into the sky.
Lolletta - 'Sugar Sweet Sucky Candy Baby Sticky Sugar'
Fourteen year old Lolletta looks set to make quite an imprint on the nation's consciousness, at least until she becomes legal and her unique selling point no longer remains valid. In fact, although no one seems to have actually heard her music, Lollyetta is already a regular on the tabloid gossip pages; The Sun having digitally undressed her adolescent frame for it's slavering readership, while a recent Daily Star survey asked readers to speculate on whether they believed Lolletta was 'pubic' and ended up polling 96% in the affirmative. Unfortunately I can't tell you anything about the content of this song, because the moment my aging bachelor flatmate saw the sleeve photo (depicting Lollyetta halfway through getting changed for her swimming lesson) he had to borrow it "to get a closer look at her pout". I still haven't had the damn thing back.
The Single Points of Entry - 'Cardigans & Slagrags'
Finally, fresh out of Redneck, Nebraska, come these leading lights of the American 'free-twee' movement. The Entries take as their artistic inspiration pathetic Brits like Belle & Sebastian, The Field Mice and Chris Eubank, managing somehow to create music which, despite its lack of volume, succeeds in being absolutely bloody annoying. The phrase 'coals to Newcastle' is never far from one's mind when listening to a bad Dick Van Dyke impersonation over soporific synthesizers. Flopsy acoustic guitars and a drum kit which appears to be made from old Fruit N' Fibre boxes completes the musical picture, making me realise exactly why George W. Bush won a second term in office. Quite what this yankee twonk thinks he's doing singing about Margaret Thatcher's foreign policy and the plotlines in Mr. Benn is anybody's guess. Luckily his band are no more than an unpleasant blip in our planet's history and will all be dead soon enough.
Greetings random pop-ignorers and teenage scab-pickers, you've arrived at our irregular
update of those CDs downloads, 7-inchers and cassingles, which have penetrated the
Home Defence letterbox this year in brown cardboard envelopes we were disappointed to discover weren't porn. Read on to gain valuable music biz insights into acts soon to sweep the Grammys, gain support slots at the legendary Brixton Windmill, or even headline The Skunk Wrangler pub in Leatherhead by this time next year...