Alan Coleman

Im at work, its Monday morning and Jason has just put Abba on the stereo.

There’s nothing wrong with that as the songs are good, it’s just that I’ve always felt that Abba is the music of tragedy. It’s the sort of thing that overpaid bankers sing at drunken Christmas parties, singing and pointing at each other like they’ll always be friends.

Simply tragic and embarrassing.

Forget Keane and Snow Patrol and all that other do gooding Band Aidesque crap that your mum listens to. This little baby is where it’s at, okay. It has the sing a-long visual sex appeal of David Beckham celebrating an England goal, the sort that makes you leap around the front room on a Friday evening when nobody’s looking. I like that feeling of abandonment that stuff like this affords, in a sense it’s just a realisation of the fantasies we live out during the day.

I like also, the idea of this record being patched together in Jan & Eds basement, probably with deliciously lo-fi early Akai samplers based around an Atari sequencer. Unbalanced cables from Maplin, not enough plug sockets, samples from TDK 60’s. One take ‘girl next door’ vocals layered over recorders and samples – shouty pop meets breakbeat and harmonica heaven. Great.

The Go Team has reminded me why buying new music on CD is still as relevant in our lives now as it’s ever been. So it cost me eleven quid when I could have hogged the bandwidth at work and downloaded it for nothing, so what?
To a certain extent we’re all pinned down by the grind of daily life, with the avenues of commerce masquerading as entertainment adding to the misery. Sometimes though, a little gem rears its head to wake you up and remind that all is not lost. Here’s to positivity.

I’m trying to put my finger what I find most offensive about Prince Charles most recent comments regarding young people and ambition.

Initially it was anger towards the use his position as a platform from which to pass comment on our society, one to which he has never made a valid contribution and quite obviously holds in deep contempt. Further reading turned my anger to a pitying amusement because like most royal outbursts, his nasty comments have a habit of turning full circle and biting him on his bony arse.

He questions people who think they are qualified to do things that are beyond their technical capabilities. By people I can only assume that he is referring to the likes of you and I, those unfortunate members of the public who really should accept the downtrodden existence that is the subject. Moreover, what qualifies this man to pass comment on the education of our young people? An individual whose sole purpose in life is to lead an existence of unparalleled privilege at the expense of the Great British people.

There’s more rhetoric that requires answering. How can he have any idea how a modern comp motivates its pupils to achieve? The education that we have afforded his own children, biological and adopted, has no need to inspire ambition when a life of wanton excess is pretty much assured.

“Teenage dreams, so hard to beat”. – The Undertones, Teenage Kicks.

Dreams are what being young is all about, and more importantly it’s all that some young people have to live for. So what if kids from Chelmsford, Kieghly and South Shields dream about bettering themselves by singing in a pop group or by playing in the Champions League. Good luck to them. For an absurdly conservative Royal to suggest that they should ignore their dreams and accept their lot in the rat run is beyond belief.

So, Charles bloody combover Windsor. Go back to those minging organic oat biscuits and leave those kids alone.

Forget Keane and Snow Patrol and all that other do gooding Band Aidesque crap that your mum listens to. This little baby is where it’s at, okay. It has the sing a-long visual sex appeal of David Beckham celebrating an England goal, the sort that makes you leap around the front room on a Friday evening when nobody’s looking. I like that feeling of abandonment that stuff like this affords, in a sense it’s just a realisation of the fantasies we live out during the day.

I like also, the idea of this record being patched together in Jan & Eds basement, probably with deliciously lo-fi early Akai samplers based around an Atari sequencer. Unbalanced cables from Maplin, not enough plug sockets, samples from TDK 60′s. One take ‘Girl next door’ vocals layered over recorders and samples – shouty pop meets breakbeat and harmonica heaven. Great.

The Go Team has reminded me why buying new music on CD is still as relevant in our lives now as it’s ever been. So it cost me eleven quid when I could have hogged the bandwidth at work and downloaded it for nothing, so what?
To a certain extent we’re all pinned down by the grind of daily life, with the avenues of commerce masquerading as entertainment adding to the misery. Sometimes though, a little gem rears its head to wake you up and remind that all is not lost. Here’s to positivity.

The worlds best kebabs are to be found at Ali Babas kebab shop on Green Lanes, Turnpike Lane. I know because I had one last night, although somehow Mandy managed to polish most of it off. The chicken donner we munched, wrapped in a round chapatti style bread instead of pitta, was probably the tastiest kebab we’ve ever eaten. So there it is. Ali Babas – A new approach to Fast food solutions in London.