Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts

Friday, August 14, 2009

Bloomin' Article

It vexes me much when folks refer to bands improper-like.

Take those moody coves from my manor, The Manic Street Preachers. Now, let's think for a moment about what their name means. They are likening themselves to preachers, who practice their vocation on the street, in a fashion characterized as "manic". They are, thus, "Manic Street Preachers". There is no such place, either in the real world or the imagination of Nicky Wire, as "Manic Street", and thus no-one is known or even believed to preach there. There are no "Manic Street Preachers".

Manic, Street Preachers. Say it to yourself a few times. It will be like a cloud lifting from your mind.

While we're at it, check out Eagles. They are also a band. They liken their spirits to birds of prey circling in the dry, clear skies of their homeland. They do not, however, profess themselves, as individuals, to be birds. They have never been "The Eagles". They are just a band, called Eagles.

To my dismay, I note that "The" Bangles have recently given in on this issue. Darn it. Their proper name conjured a pile of cheap sparkly jewelry, lying piled in a box or strewn on an unmade bed, awaiting selection by a girl (or boy) off on a hot night out. It's a great name for a band. But Susannah Hoffs is not "a Bangle" - that's just plain silly. One can understand the symbolism of four Beatles, three Thompson Twins or two Krankies; but four Bangles? That's just like the contents of a Royal Wedding mug at your local car boot sale.

None of my old albums say "The Bangles" on them. So there.




Sunday, August 05, 2007

Tales & Ballads


Shock Rock
Originally uploaded by Brainless Angel
Sunday's inherent, inescapable Sundayness meant a curtailed final day of the Big Weekend for us, but we got our £0.00's worth for sure. Pictured is Dai Smith of Swansea's The Storys (sic.), a kind of celtic Eagles with touches of other Californian influences like The Doors, and the occasional Floydesque twang. Super stuff.

We also caught Ben Taylor, who I'd been looking forward to. He's the son of James Taylor and Carly Simon, which is a fairly tough pedigree to live up to. He's doing just fine, it seems - mellow acoustic crooning with a touch of whimsy. Not quite his father's gorgeous voice but good enough, with an edgier, sometimes satirical lyric style.

And so to bed for another year. At least I'll have something to hum.