Cunt Of The Month
Welcome to the revolutionary new feature that tells "them" where to get off. Traitors, exploiters & corporate cocksuckers - hang em high, baby - it's CUNT OF THE MONTH.
1. Alan (Mr) Magoo; Not satisfied with inflicting Biff Bang Pow on an unsuspecting public, or naming a rekkid label after a group of 2cnd rate Who copyists, Mr Magoo felt he'd done enuff to last a lifetime after stumbling accross the JAMC & rekkording their blistering 45, "Upside Down", in the mid 80's. Unfortunately it was all down hill from then on (rama lama lama, Loft fans).
Having the talent to spot Emporers New Clothes (unfortunately NOT a CREATED band) from the merest of distances enabled wee Alan to keep well ahead of the pack when it came to releasing gutless generic indie shite for almost a decade (with the possible exception of My Bloody VaricoseVeins, who weren't shite but who were vastly overated and the Godlikr genius of Teenage Fanclub who we genuinely lurv - honest). Almost taken to the wire by the wildly escalating costs of recording MBV's "Loveless" at the start of the 90's, Magoo needed a serious injection of cash to keep his wibbly wobbly empire afloat.
Genre welding from Boaby Gillepee's Pwimary Skool Ltd (I am my rekkid collektion, my rekkid collektion is me, my band is my rekkid collektion etc etc) brought a few readies into the coffers but confusion surrounding the looks or the lifestyle lead them to rekord a Rolling Stones lp by mistake & their new found dance crossover appeal crossed over to someone else. Boaby always talked a good job & had no qualms with dressing up like second rate Combat Rock era Clash extras but even this was not enuff to to secure stardom. Boaby sucked the big one.
Even some "chart aktion" for the mind numbingly appaling Doo Badleys (who, twee?) failed to stop the ship from taking on water - something had to give.
Myth writing has always been high on Magoo's agenda. He was desperate enuff to shamble into a Manchester support band with a gobby lead thug that took their name from a clothing chain (as opposed to a marychain). Describing them as the Sex Beatles, the hype machine began to wind up in ernest. The greatest new English band since the last great English band had finally arrived. The Stoned Roses were just begining their 3rd unproductive year in the studio, wanking their fretboards & collecting ski apparrel, when Oasis stole their working class roots thunder (& their singer's poise & delivery) & turned it into stadium sulk. Unfortunately, the inclusion of the cringeworthy "Digsy's Dinner" on their debut lp gave the game away way too early - these boys were about as intelligent as yer average farmworker, but with far less compassion & tenderness when dealing with livestock. The world went Britpop mad, some wag had the idea for a "war" with Blurred (one of cockerney London's most impressive Nuggets tribute bands) & Mr Magoo attempted to move Columbia closer to London. Snow blinded, morally corrupt & in bed with Nu Labour - punk's not dead Mr Magoo, surely.
Mr Magoo's legacy was complete. UK rock music has still not fully recovered from being dumbed down dumber to this day: will this do lyrics, someone else's music & an overpowering ambition to snort cocaine, play football stadia & lose it all within 10 years of starting out. The only thing sadder than them is their women - Magoo should have got Kensitt & Matthews to rekord together - now that woulda been special.
Magoo retreated back to Scotland to lick his wounds, rue the day & launch his new venture; Ploptones. Ripping the name from a PIL trak & his prefix from the MC5, Magoo was determined to keep up his impressive rekkid of never having had an original idea in his life (ever). Thankfully the "kids" spektakularly failed to embrace Ploptones fully (those hideous pastel shades) & despite a late attempted cred-cash-in with Burning Heart & Sweeden's excellent Hives (he seems to have a thing about parody acts), the label looks set to sink beneath waves any day now (we will be released). Hopefully Magoo will stick to what he does best from now on; standing in direct sunlight reflecting rays off of his palate. Failing that, he could always ring his old buddy Tony Blair - he's always looking out for sincere, honest people to party with. Cunt.
Jack Bukowski Jan 2002