Sharing music gets easier OR How I learnt to stop respecting people’s privacy and learnt to love playing my music everywhere

There is now a generation among us who were not alive during the CD’s lifetime. An entire generation exists that neither experienced the change over from vinyl nor MiniDisc’s failure to capture the imagination of the consumer market. You could say that this is about as important as the fact that there will soon be a generation who never witnessed Neighbours broadcast on BBC1. But one thing is for sure (for those of us feeling old now): it this makes us realize how lucky we’ve been to see so much happen in music technology in such a short period of time.

As technology becomes harder, better, faster, stronger, not a lot seems to change in terms of how we use it. From the humble beginnings of the gramophone, to the wireless radio and beyond, music has always been about sharing a passion. But at what point do things become a bit too much? The ghetto blaster may conduct images of street youth, yet it has provided manufactures with a new avenue to pursue in innovating new products. Anyone who has to ride a bus will be aware of how annoying those youth can be playing their (usually crap) music on their mobile phones. Now you can buy backpacks with built-in speakers. Where will the madness end?

And the emergence of speakers built-in to everyday objects can make us look back to the days of over hearing someone’s crap with rose tinted glasses. Pretty much as soon as Sony’s Walkman took off in the 1980s and spawned countless imitators, the great concerned (read: the media), were worried about the dangers it could do to listeners’ hearing. Although if the Daily Mail had their way music would probably be outlawed save for The Last Night of the Proms. Even now, 30 years after the birth of the Walkman, its recent death and successor in the iPod, the Daily Mail are finding things to get in a panic about like the rather amusing/scary (if somewhat unfeasible) phenomenon taking over the United States known as I-Dosing.

So where does music technology go from here? Cloned kittens that play your favourite Jedward track? A television that gets you high by playing Susan Boyle in time to Coronation Street? As long as everyone keeps their cool around sociopath music lovers on their morning commute, we should be all right.

The feature, finally

It's been a while in coming. But finally here's the Catch 22 feature...

Catch 22 Magazine Autumn Winter

2010

Or if you fancy picking up a real copy, it's available at:

Absolut Vintage
Adidas
A-Non Clothing
Bar Vinyl
Beyond Retro
Big Chill House
Boxfresh
Brook Sexual Health Clinic
Carhartt
Camberwell College of Art
Central St Martins Southampton Row
Clapham Picture House
Elbow Room
Fish Hairdressing
Goldsmiths University
Hoxton Pony
Junky Styling
Laban
London College of Fashion
London Graphics Centre
Onitsuka Tiger
Pineapple
Pure Groove Ltd
Rhythm Factory
Rich Mix
Size
Son of Stag
South London Gallery
Southbank University Student Union
Storm Watches
The Duke of Cambridge
The Generator
The Old Sweet Shop
The Westbury
Truman Brewery
Vibe Bar
Westbourne Studios
55DSL

Hope you enjoy.

Tim

Merry Christmas

Facebook is being an asshole. So instead of uploading it there it's going on here for everyone to enjoy.

Some writing for you

I know how lazy people can be when they go on the internet. It's always the same. Check email, check Facebook, look at some porn, go for a sandwich. I'm not judging you.

That's why I've decided to post a couple of reviews I've just written for Get To The Front here. To save you time in getting to that sandwich or getting off.

Artist: BYOB

Album: Everything In Moderation

Released: 25 October

Reviewed by: Tim Horner

‘Everything In Moderation’ is an apt if somewhat ironic title for BYOB’s debut album. BYOB (aka Ashley Hamilton) has combined some seriously infectious and possible chart disturbing tracks (see Peaches, Young Living and Best Shoes) with a considerable helping of filler. Moderation indeed. Add to the fact that the majority of tracks concern the copious consumption of drugs and alcohol and you can see his sense of humour at work.

At his best, BYOB combines cutting witty lyrics with pulsing electronic beats, taking influence from The Prodigy and The Streets in what could be a crossover classic. In Chillin’ BYOB is Mike Skinner-esque with a dab of social commentary, self-awareness and smart vocal interplay with the samples.

Peaches is a grime hijack of The Stranglers’s 1970 classic. Thankfully it doesn’t rely on the original sample too heavily, instead taking its own route down the beach to take in all the picturesque sights. “There’s nowhere else in the world I would rather be” chants the chorus, an escape from the winter that we all need.

At 21 years old, BYOB sounds like he’s been on the scene for half his life. In Young Living he taps into a youthful energy and confidence that many of our generation either possess or want to “I live my life how I like / Too much fun don’t make me a sinner / And too many drinks don’t make me an alcoholic”. BYOB could soon find himself Public Enemy Number One of the Daily Mail in their constant campaign to keep ‘the youth’ away from consumption of any substance other than chocolate and sweets. While I Like It shows a consciousness lacking from other artists “Why is everything bad so good for me, why is everything good so bad?” which could save him from the grip of middle England’s outrage.

Everything In Moderation is a strong first album from a promising artist who has the best chance of breaking into the mainstream. But ripping the melody from The Bangles’ Walk Like An Egyptian on a track about taking coke and exchanging it for sex is a bizarre combination for even the most hardened listener.

7/10

Artist: A Silent Film

Album: The City That Sleeps

Released: 27^th September

Reviewed by: Tim Horner

‘The City That Sleeps’ is a re-release of Oxford quartet A Silent Film’s debut album from last year. Over 10 tracks the piano led foursome produce energetic orchestral tunes that bring to mind the likes of Keane and Coldplay. Unfortunately they’re not Keane or Coldplay.

At times you can hear U2 trying to break through, but once again A Silent Film lack the magic, power or charisma of their established rivals. Their tunes are big, there’s no denying that. They’ve got some serious talent between them. But something is lacking.

Driven By Their Beating Hearts as an opener brings a tempo that is hard to follow up. Somehow they manage to keep the pace but at the same time lose any vested interest. The vocals are irritating in a grating against the brain kind of way. On top of that, there’s little variation. All the songs sound pretty much the same.

You Will Leave A Mark offers a double time drum beat that at least knocks you out of the monotony offered up to that point, while Julie June opts of the offbeat to lull you into a false sense of interest.

A Silent Film must be doing something right as the original release of the album received praise from Steve Lamacq and bagged them a spot on the BBC Introducing stage at Glastonbury. They’ve also spent a bit of time playing in the United States, supporting The Smashing Pumpkins.

If you like Coldplay but find them a bit too interesting, if you like Keane but find their tunes a bit too catchy, A Silent Film could be right up your street. But personally, this album makes me feel like a resident of The City That Sleeps. Asleep: all the way through it.

3/10

See what I mean?

Still Not Yossarian

It's been over two months since I last posted on here. What's happened? Well, what can you do in two months? Drink about 150 cups of tea, brush your teeth approximately 120 times, yeah, there's a lot you can do in two months. There's also loads you can't do.

I couldn't do my Economist internship. That fucking stung.

Seriously, talk about ripping something away from under your nose. And the mean bastard who did so? The bloody government. Benefit swiping cunts.

So the prospect of providing free labour to a prestigious newspaper was taken away from me, with all the pre-imagined dreams of a paid position in the media. Thanks for killing my dreams Department of Work and Pensions (and dream crushing).

I'm now working in a bar/restaurant for about 30-50 hours a week. It's pretty time consuming. But there's always room for hope. I'm now writing reviews for Get To The Front where I'm slowly building up a portfolio of music reviews and a nice pile of free CDs. The guys are even sending me to cover the Bizarre Ball! Must remember that I'm going there for work...

This is the best picture I could find from last year's ball

I'm also about to start a writing job with Future First. They set up school alumni networks to improve career aspirations in young people. I get to meet the inspirational ones, hear their stories and write them into inspirational articles. Inspiring eh?

So, the moral of the story? Don't let the bastards grind you down. Oh and don't spend all your time blogging when you could be writing more productive stuff.

Dream of Californication

Californication premiered about three years ago. That should be long enough for people to forget my lazy TV/RHCP reference. Anyway. It's only a headline right? Headlines are important? Yeah, I know. But this is my blog. So fuck it.

I've got a habit for getting into shit well after the hype has settled. It's a safe way of enjoying a cultural commodity without getting sucked into the surrounding shitstorm. My life is busy enough to spare a few minutes watching TV. I don't need to read about said TV show in magazines, websites or shows about the show.

So enter my newest viewing pleasure. Californication. If you saw it first time round, congratulations. I didn't. It was shown on five (uncapitalised right?), which was a channel I either a) couldn't receive in Cornwall; or b) only watched American sports on. I forget which it was.

I vaguely remember hearing murmurs about it when it first came out. But the inner cynic saw a dangerous combination and stuck to his hype avoiding ways. five didn't show any good shows (so how why would it start showing them?) and the plot of the show stank of cliché that no amount of Chanel 5 could cover up. Damn my inner cynic. (This is a note to myself.)

Californication revolves around protagonist Hank (David Duchovny) an LA based writer who can't write. [Cynical yet?] He drinks too much, has a child with his ex-girlfriend (not wife, so 21st Century) whom he's still in love with. But at the same time he has sex with everything that moves (well, they are all hot at least, well done Hank) including the 16-year old daughter of the guy that is going to marry his ex-girlfriend. He also chain smokes, confirming the old saying that smoking makes you look cool and gets you laid. There's the odd bit of coke thrown in there too, but we didn't have any old sayings about that in school. Ah... it's sounding better now.

The show could easily fall down on so many level but it doesn't. Duchovny brings charm by the crapped out Porsche load. All memories of Mulder disappear within the first five seconds. Natasha McElhone shines as his long-suffering ex (Karen) and instantly you too want to get back with her. You'll also want to be a chain smoking, chain fucking machine like Hank. To offset Hank's smooth approach is his agent Charlie (Evan Handler, Harry from Sex And The City). Charlie is a boob. A likeable boob. But a boob nonetheless. A classic Odd Couple pairing. Charlie's sub plots are as entertaining as the main event, although in Charlie's screen time he is the only boob in shot.


The guy is so cool he doesn't need to wear trousers. I'm gonna start using that as a defence: "Sorry officer, the reason I'm not wearing any trousers is because I'm a chain smoking, chain fucking, drug and coke fuelled writer."

It's good to know that Hollywood has time for narcissistic, self defeating characters WHO ACTUALLY HAVE SOME CHARACTER. I steer clear of most TV because I wouldn't want to be in the same room as most the people on TV. Yet Californication has come up with one that I'd want to be in ten years time. Screw the dreams of reality TV contestants (singers, businessmen, cunts) or the conveyor belt of spoilt American brats (The OC, The Hills, The Cunts). This show is perfect for anyone who's ever wondered quite how cool it would be to be a writer. That's everyone, right?

This is possibly the greatest advert for smoking/writing/fucking/borderline alcoholism I've ever seen. Buy me a star on the boulevard, this fictional bastard is putting us all to shame.

[And yes, I realise the irony of writing about a TV show despite not having time to read things about TV shows.]

Not Ramsey nor Oliver, but I've got a Nigella

If you've ever met me before, you'll know that I'm not the largest person in the world. Scratch that. I know what you're thinking. I'm pretty average down there to be honest.

Simply put: I'm ridiculously skinny. Like model skinny. I have a body that 16 year old girls would kill for (except the boobs, I have no chest, literally).

It's quite strange that in my dark past I've worked as a cook in several restaurants and cafés. But then that's the side of me that cares more about other people than myself. I'm lazy when it comes to cooking for one.

Olivia, my girlfriend, on the other hand, is a great cook. So much so, she's started a Tumblr of the things she puts in her mouth. She's like Nigella Lawson, but younger. She puts me to shame. Here's some of her home made sushi.



She's pretty good at deserts too.



Aren't you jealous? I am. She's gone back home for the summer. I'm suffering!

So I thought I'd upload my efforts at dinner. Where Olivia can come up with a delicious three course meal for two for under a tenner (usually less), I fail to feed myself a one course on the meagre budget I have. Except today.



Mmm... Sainsbury's reduced quarter pounder burgers on a bed of rocket, cress and lettuce, with homemade caramelised onions and chips. Heart attack inducing.

Can you come back to London now?