keresaspa: (Nina looking a tad pertubed)
I promise I will eventually try to use this for proper updates and crap but for now one last test of this cross-posting lark to see what I can and can't do.


Last straw

Aug. 20th, 2015 08:28 pm
keresaspa: (Ivy the Terrible)
These tablets and smartphones and what have you have a lot to answer for as far as I'm concerned. Their tiny screens and limited capacities mean that they struggle to cope with proper websites and so need their own crap versions. Yet, how many websites, looking to cut costs, just think "sod it" and make one across-the-bard site with a lot fewer features aimed at the mobile market but forced on those of us still welded to desktops? Add last.fm to that list of good sites butchered to please you touchscreen sheep. Good God that new version is abysmal. a mass of pointlessly huge images, needles white space and very few actual features, all in the name of chasing the mobile moron squad. My favourite site for a long time (an accolade it has lost to rate your music in recent months, at least until they balls it up in a few months) the new version is just horrendous and so far removed from the wonderful old version that I'm actually questioning whether or not it's worth continuing to use it. God knows I love the statistical aspects of music listening (seriously, I'm very OCD about it) but it's nearly impossible to follow now and after a few days of the new site I'm finding it terribly frustrating.

OK, realistically I know stuff like this doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things but I had got very used to it the way it was and don't want that taken away from me. Reaction across the board has been negative too but I doubt they'll change it back, instead adopting the same "we know best" attitude that sites always take until finally they look around, realise they've made a total MySpace of things, but realise it's too late as everybody has already buggered off in disgust. The sad demise of a once spectacular and virile website.

So whilst it lasts I'll take this opportunity to share with you, under the cut, the ten songs I have listened to most thereon since I took up my membership in January 2009.

So long ago. )
keresaspa: (Edwige Fenech)
Well, it turns out I'll be going to France in August after more of that unorthodox holiday money turned up. Should be a grin. Staying in Montmartre too, your one-stop shop for stairs and prostitutes. Nothing much to add except you know, yay and that.

Anyway enjoy this whilst I think of something more substantial to write about:

keresaspa: (Homer rage)


Yup that just about sums it up, Yebin. Bloody English imperialist buggers and your stupid bastard governments. Get off my bloody island and take your plastic-faced, public schoolboy, monetarist tosspots with you.
keresaspa: (Karl Marx laughing)
It's May Day so sod reconstruction, sod post-modernism, sod elections, sod the running dogs, sod the whole bloody lot of it. Long live the Left and to hell with reaction. Fuck the Right and up the revolution.

keresaspa: (Dare to Believe)
Hello again. Nothing to tell you all so in lieu of any actual content let's enjoy a nice video of Tiny Tim freaking out of bunch of children and giving Ross Noble ideas of how to build a career. Wasn't he the most?

keresaspa: (Giant Haystacks pissed as a frt!)
Let's not go buck mad about Greece. Syriza are hardly the ultra left party that sections of the media in this part of the world are making them out to be (the same media that seems determined to paint the extreme right Marine LePen as a sensible conservative) and their new government is to involve a coalition with a right-wing rabble in the Greek Independents who spent the entire election making the usual noises about immigration, multiculturalism and Greek identity politics. Still, you have to take comfort where you can find it and the decision by such a sizeable section of the Greek electorate to show their displeasure with the existing political order by going to the left rather than the neo-Nazi Golden Dawn is a heartening one. If only the British left could stop wasting so much time attacking each other and organise they might present a genuine alternative to Farage's rabble but I've been saying that for years and it still hasn't happened. Given that their government is relying on the right for its existence and given that they are within the EU and the Euro it's unlikely that Syriza will be able to deliver very much in the way of change but neo-liberal monetarism has brought Greece to its knees so any alternative will be better than the present crap. Good luck to them either way and I hope they can somehow affect real change but I suspect a combination of the EU and NATO will smoosh them down and ensure they can go no further than the standard "ethical capitalism" crap that seems to be the order of the day for modern social democracy. Still, who knows, it might all turn out great in the end so let's at least try to be positive.

Still, whilst Greece is facing a potential new dawn (and thankfully not a golden one) there is a definite sadness in the air with the other big news out the country: the death of Demis Roussos. Inevitably he's remembered now as a big hairy fat man in a kaftan singing uber-cheesey pop songs in a strangely falsetto voice but as vocalist and bassist of the mighty Aphrodite's Child Demis played a leading role in one of the most creative and original bands to emerge from the psychedelic and progressive rock scenes in Europe. Inevitably Vangelis was the maestro behind their work but for me it was the very peculiar vocals that Roussos delivered which helped to mark them out as distinct from the other bands to emerge around that time. And, whisper it, but I reckoned some of his 70s solo stuff was fine too, despite its undoubted kitsch-ness. Let's enjoy the legend one last time:

keresaspa: (Türkan Şoray)
Passing bells for everybody's favourite good time girl as our Christmas has been made that little bit bleaker with the death of Mandy Rice-Davies. Regardless of what they were, her and Christine Keeler will always deserve a tip of the hat for finally exposing the seedy licentiousness of our so called masters and betters. It may have only been the tip of the iceberg and the real juicy details will always be held back (the full extent of Keeler's knowledge of the sordid goings-on of Phil the Greek will probably not be known until long after the old bigot has finally carked it) but after centuries of the misdemeanours of the rich and powerful being hushed up it took somebody to finally lift the lid a touch.

Keeler might have been the looker of the dynamic duo (you can't really blame old Profumo can you, I mean hubba hubba!) but dear Mandy was probably the gamer of the pair, even leaving us her passable go at being a sultry siren.



Janie Jones probably did it better (er, the music that is), but a good effort nevertheless. Either way, farewell to Randy Mice. As long as there are dirty old men in positions of power may there always be a stock of whistleblowers.
keresaspa: (Cynthia of Witching Hour fame)
I've had my fingers burnt a fair bit in recent years by albums by ageing artists that I've hitherto enjoyed. 13 by Black Sabbath, Kate Bush's 50 Words for Snow, Leonard Cohen's Old Ideas and Hole's Nobody's Daughter (OK, Courtney is younger than that lot but with her hard-living she might as well not be) all proved very disappointing and soured me a tad on dabbling with the old 'uns still trying to do it. As such during my recent trip to Scotland I passed on by when, whilst dawdling in the Glasgow HMV, I came across a copy of a new album by the Crazy World of Arthur Brown. Given too that Browner has dabbled with some really rather poor electronic stuff down the years I was doubly put off and let it lie.

I thought no more about it until Saturday when, over an hour too early to venture forth and witness Donegal Celtic's latest defeat (an admittedly narrow effort to a Bangor team that look a decent bet for promotion), I decided to kill a few minutes in Head. Sure enough there it was, Zim Zam Zim by the Crazy World of Arthur Brown and, after much deliberation, I succumbed and got the bloody thing. Well, colour me tickled pink because it turned out to be a belter. It's a lot more minimalist than the early classics and, inevitably given his roots as a soul singer, his voice is significantly weaker than it was but he's used that to his advantage, putting in a performance that combines his madcap antics with the worldly wisdom of age. Undoubtedly the high point is "The Unknown":



He may be looking like the love child of Catweazle and June Brown these days and I rather get the feeling that I would be very keen to get away if he sat beside me on the bus but, by jingo, he can still churn the goods out. Lemmy managed it last year with Aftershockand now Art has also shown how an old git album should be done. Brilliant stuff.
keresaspa: (Robb Wilton)
Given that videos slow my browser down to a snail's pace at the best of times I decree a big dig in the bake for the tosser who decided that every time you arrive at this site now a video will suddenly appear. Stupidest idea I've encountered in weeks.

Apart from that nothing to tell you, hence the extended silence.

Saorsa

Sep. 17th, 2014 08:20 pm
keresaspa: (James Connolly)
Rare are the times that I turn this load of old rubbish over to polemic but given that the Scottish independence referendum is tomorrow you'll forgive me if I go a little old school. I have long nursed a desire to see my cousins across the water make their own way in the world and finally the time has arrived. As once again Scotland suffers under a brutal government that it had no part in electing the opportunity is finally available for them to break that destructive old pattern and determine their own destiny.

No more living in thrall to the whims of England, no more sending off your youth to fight in foreign lands because America says so, no more having to endure grim years of Tory terror that you haven't voted for, no more being branded a Nazi for the simple demand of self-determination and resisting imperialism, no more being patronised within an inch of your life by smug imperialist tossers like Eddie Izzard telling you how much they don't want you to go. Successive Westminster governments have vilipended Scotland and dismissed it as an afterthought. Now the time has finally come to leave behind those dark days of servitude and plough your own way.

Ignore all the unionist negativity about failure and make it a success. Sure, there might be hard times but it's hardly a picnic under the cuts-happy Tories and what would it profit anybody to accept a broken status quo out of fear? Sandy Salmond's Dominion of Scotland might not be true independence but it could be the start of a journey, rather than the end. There was a time when the twenty six counties was a Free State with the treaty ports after all. That the Declaration of Calton Hill might some day be realised it's time to vote yes and let Scotland, long a province, be a nation once again. Today a Dominion, tomorrow the People's Republic.

keresaspa: (Max Miller)


See that? That's me wanting the season to start, that is. As much as I enjoy watching Crusaders labouring to a 1-0 win over Harland & Wolff Welders because every other match in Belfast has been cancelled thanks to rain (yup, summer in Northern Ireland) I want the proper season as much as Yebin wants her ice cream.

Buoyed as I am by the fact that Donegal Celtic have won all five of their pre-season friendlies (admittedly against the hardly stellar line-up of Camlough Rovers, Ballynahinch Olympic, Immaculata, Colin Valley and Newry City) I am even of the mind that the team might actually do something this season. Inevitably that will fade as the postponements start to rack up and the team huffs and puffs its way through three matches a week (or the board decides it doesn't want promotion again) but for the time being I am uncharacteristically optimistic and await Saturday's jaunt to Carrickfergus on tenterhooks. Right now nothing short of a title win and two cups will be good enough although when it's all over I suspect a season on the fringes of the promotion hunt will just about satisfy. Either way, the sooner the better.
keresaspa: (Henrietta emo)
Haemochromatosis is a cruel mistress to say the least, and she brings with her more ill than you can shake a stick at. Cirrhosis and liver cancer are the big ones, although as long as I keep getting the blood lettings and avoid the booze that shouldn't be a huge worry. Aching joints is another big one although to be fair I haven't noticed that too much as yet. Still, getting older should be a lot of fun! There's the potential of being struck down dead by being in the vicinity of shellfish although fortunately I never developed a taste for the stuff. The dizzy spells and weakness have been a part of my life for several years now and I would feel lonely without them. Which leaves one another thing, unquestionably my least favourite side-effect of the whole blasted condition - the crawl.

The crawl is essentially a nagging crawling sensation up the back of neck that leads to a small circle of searing pain above and to the side of an ear. It's usually accompanied by a general hot feeling on the skin, albeit with no discernible rise in body temperature. There are few things quite as gross as the crawl and it has me in its morbid grip right now. There's no particular pattern to its onset but when it comes it can last for a few hours or several days, although I suppose I'm back onto more frequent venesections due to a recent rise in ferritin levels. It will pass in time but for the minute I'm in grossed out mode as my body goes out of its way to give itself a hammering as ever.

Bloody stupid Viking blood. To all those idiots boasting about racial purity - this is what your purity gets you. Were I mixed raced I would be immune to this. Flaming nuisance. I believe I'll console myself with some Lolita No. 18. Well, the song is called "The Crawl", so why not?

keresaspa: (Türkan Şoray)


OK, I'm sure you've all seen this by now but frankly I can't get enough of watching the extreme right making idiots of themselves. Mind you given the knuckle-draggers who vote for this sort of trash I doubt it will do much harm to her chances.
keresaspa: (Edwige Fenech)
How much of a homophobe must somebody be to blow their own brains out in the middle of a cathedral because France is about to legalise gay marriage? No tears from me for Dominique Venner, the fascist historian who did just that. A doyen of the neo-fascist Nouvelle Droite tendency of the French extreme right, Venner was a member of the Organisation de l'armée secrète that launched attacks during Algeria's struggle for independence before becoming a big wheel in GRECE, a think tank that sought to unite Europe as a racist superstate and still has a big influence on the self-declared "intellectual" extreme right to this day, not least the National Front in Britain during its weirdo 80s period under Nick Griffin and his pals. Subsequently dropping out of active politics to become a revisionist historian his recent bugbears seemed to be gays and Muslims and seemingly the rights about to be afforded to the former proved a little too much for him. Poor diddums. Inevitably the ever so moderate Madame Le Pen was the first to rush to his praise like the good, gentle, compassionate conservative that she claims to be these days. The apple hasn't fell far from the tree there.

But enough about those rotters for something much more newsworthy happened today.

He was a four time holder of the European Middleweight Championship, with one British title and two British Welterweight titles to his name. He was one of the few British wrestlers to find his way into the prestigious Wrestling Observer Hall of Fame despite not competing on the American circuit. His rivalry with Jackie Pallo kept the fans interested for years before eventually spilling over into real life as his old school sensibilities were offended by Pallo's kayfabe breaking autobiography. Even long after his retirement he was a regular at independent wrestling shows up and down Britain, his presence lending credibility to any card on which he appeared. Not to mention that he possessed the blackest hair known to man well into his 80s and steadfastly continued to appear in public in just his trunks even when his physique went west. Yes if anybody summed up all that was good about the grand old days of the British scene (and thus was the antithesis of Big Daddy) it was Mick McManus who died today at the age of 93. A true legend of wrestling. Let's all enjoy him wrestling a long-dead Jimmy Savile lookalike.

Rufus

May. 14th, 2013 09:30 pm
keresaspa: (Lolita No. 18)
Sun, wind and horrendously fair skin caused by being Irish infused with tainted Viking blood make a less than heady combination. The weather has been practically diluvian recently but in between the sort of hailstone deluge that leaves your trousers about a stone heavier we are being blessed (?) with interludes of baking sunshine. Sitting directly in its gaze on Friday night as I watched DC limply surrender their top flight status I managed to get a sunburnt eyelid and today in the baking heat of Bangor I have completed the set with face and bald pate now shiny red. The black clouds and lashing rain fooled me into thinking that sun block would only be good for giving myself long white streaks as it ran down my face mixed with rain water but instead I am facing my second sunburn of the year already. Were I a worrier that little hard pimple that has risen up on my forehead would be giving me sleepless nights but fortunately the usual combination of insomnia and bloody unreasonable arseholes on ebay have taken care of that already.

Sod it, let's have a change of pace.

Question: Is what follows the single greatest thing in the history of the universe and everything?



Answer: Yes.
keresaspa: (Daffney)
First Hugo, then Paul and now this. Good God what a week!



See you all tomorrow for the next instalment in Celebrity Death Match.
keresaspa: (Tiger Jeet Singh)
First Hugo and now this Good God what a week!

keresaspa: (Jethro Tull)
When it came to the noodling side of progressive rock there were few who could manage it quite like the Canterbury scene. No tune? Who cares as long as it sounds weird. Depending on my mood I either eat it up or give it a miss but undoubtedly the scene produced some greatly talented and enduring individuals who have left their indelible mark on my musical taste. Not least amongst these was Kevin Ayers and so I must bow my head because of his recent death. For me his finest hour as a solo artist remains 1971's "Whatevershebringswesing", one of a slew of stone-cold classics spewed out by the Harvest label at the time, so let's bid a fond farewell with one of the weirder cuts from that opus.

keresaspa: (Fidel Castro)


Speaks for itself I reckon. All for a lousy piece of cloth.

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