Let's Get Serious. Darkwing Duck fucken Serious.

Because using PAINT badly is mysterious and sexy
and often leads to drinking and rough sex with multiple partners.

I was thinking about Radiohead today, deeply: pensive, of course. I didn't have a gun. Or sandwiches. But my brow was wrinkled, seriously wrinkled - and, well, serious thought was required: Because, Radiohead are serious musicians who deserve to be taken seriously.
And there's alot to be serious about because, clearly, Radiohead are 'N 2 IT' and viciously engaged on all the levels. Especially the ones that only Elvis Costello knows about - and he's got All The Angles.

Well... honestly, boys...
I disengaged. I lost interest. It was a couple - read 2 - albums back because, well... heavy lies the crown, right? Right.
And you certainly are heavyweights. You're basically matrics, big kids - wizardy seniors to all us paupery juniors - playing Rugby against the U14C team and, well, playing hard, no holds, and taking the game as seriously as super serious is serious.
Big Fish. Small Pond.
Heavy Crownz.
FACT: It cannot be terrifically easy being the world's most famousest, forward-thinking, self-conscious, socially aware, politically radical, introspective, interrogative, intelligent, politely conscientious & all round dilligent bands in the ever.

So, WELL.. I guess this slightly drunk on gin nips behind the desk teacher NEEDS to go to the school cupboard...
I think I smell pee. Oh. Wait. It's me. Fuck... ... ... 

Anyway, look, I can mostly imagine that it's largely terrifying beyond an unequal measure being Radiohead.
Or perhaps it isn't. ...Perhaps it's so abysmally easy it defies logic.
Only Thom's dystopically winking lazy eye in it's omniscient and omnipotent glory knows.
I can hear the band softly sniggering, behind their hands, at their meticulously constructed fuckery, smug as dolphins. My butthurts.

But, really, no more funsies. FOR REALSIES. Let's get MAD serious. Brass fucken tacks, black cunting hole, Higgs father-fucken Boson Serious.
So... Radio-fucken-head.
[[And, yes, they get a "fucken." Hey. Fuck y'all. Stop booing before I squirt you with warm gin and throw pens at you.]]

Man, look, it's just too much.They've gotten so used to the crown the we, the cunts of this tale, put on their heads, and just so ok with it all, that they became too afraid to - to rigidly careful about it staying there - to let it slip and clatter to the floor whilst they (throwing off cloaks, or something [aesthetics, aesthetics]) - strode up to and clanked open the doors of their Ivory Tower, viciously, purposefully and with menace and trudged down steps and steps and steps:- down to the stink and noise and shit and piss and sweet garbage and booze-stained jeans, the vomit-flecked hair, the drug-addled eyes, the wild talk, the flame, the fire, the light, the blood-rinsed snare, the bleeding knuckles, the casually revelled in shame... the stolen, broken, jury-rigged gear, the utter beautiful stench and wet and THERE of a band, killing themselves, in a dark place, jostling - mind, body, heart - with the six humans who want it as much as they do:
us commoners.
us fuzz-drenched idiot-savants; clutching fear and pain and hope and light: We suck. HARD. And we swallow. All of it. Seriously, sucking the dick of rockenroll never tastes sweeter when spitting the load at our fear and hate or when spitting at a copy, a facsimile, of the same self-indulgent derivative drivel we hope we can make afeared of our awful enought to let us the fuck alone.
Or just spit the cum at the drummer's face. Chances are he likes it.

I want sweat.
I want that broken pedal that is now, somehow, perfect.
I want you to fetch me at 2 for some binge: getting productive whilst effed in the ay with you has never felt better.
I want that 3 o' clock track or sketch or fleshed action, made, on the factory floor, in the dust: dripping your effort off the tip of your nose as you smile at me.

I want humm & buzz & obviously, tits out, because because - because um like, it's totes cool... it's not, you know, sexual or nothing... just like, you know, walk around and do stuff. Like anything. Smoke cigarettes... make some tea... play scrabble... read DUNE... only just, well, with your top off... It's be so mad cool and bohemian and if you NEED a reason other than Life Aquatic - as if you would - well... fuck. Ok. Don't. Fine. Everyone hates you.

Then I want you to slap me, hard, to LCD's Losing My Edge, for EVERY SENTENCE IN THIS RAMBLE... and then, perhaps, fix me a strong drink - thanks, dear - and tell me, earnestly and with a dash of lemonade, how self-aware and intelligent I am. Then we could kiss, here, depending, you know - just let me put on Chelsea Girls' #2.
But I want it to sting, on my cheeks, so slap hard, BITCH.

I want it wrong.
I want it integral, I want it earnest, I want to delicate or cruel intent and will and, with pain, I want it thrust into the world. I want you to care.
I want you to punch me in the mouth, then put a lit cigarette between my lips; then let us talk.

Forgetting to remember to forget is tough as all hell: but somehow, some cunts, secretely superglued that crown to Their fatherfucken heads.
We forced their hands.

They had no chance after Kid A.
It was a bloodbath of soaring expectations. -------------------------------
-----------It was mafuggen Amnesiac.


Ok. -------------FUCK, OK..........

Ok. Breath here.
 *sips beverage, wipes dribble on chin*
*crosses arms seriously, leans in*
Let's get down to nails.

--->Radiohead are important.
Important enough to need more "categories' if we're going to do a best of Them, of their works.
IT's not just Best Album, KIDZ! IT's MOAR MOAR MOAR........

SO... Grab Your Fucken Crayonz, CUNTZ, let's GO.

Best Radiohead Album

And I do, punch you in the gut real hard, I really do mean AL-fucken-BUM. A true album.
It's a strangely falling into shadows art-form, the fully-realised and holistically crafted album in this blog-buzz-dominated twist in the temporal relativistics and half-hearted swift gobbly consumption: artists spewing out EPs and digital singles with no LP-length repsite.
Maybe I've been blinded by all the crosses and triangles and faux-hip forced ASCII symbols as I say this, choking on my whisky, and I hate it BUT: coins flip. And all statements have grey in them. ALL.
The MoreMore DL cult has forced a amphet-quickening into music veins and now we fuck every genre, fuck with wild abandon and haste, gestating, too quick for belief, idiotically articulate cross-boundary babies, hatching in their MANY like mounds of fucken spider eggs in your aural holes, hatching all over your brainbox's meat till you pass out from TOO MUCH.
One day all music will be coloured.

IT's OBVS KID fucken A.

That is all.
No RUDDY questions.


Best collection of songs?

Amnesiac, fucker. 

[[*lights fag, happily, smirks at J, sips juice - which OBVS contains triple gin: cos I'm LaidBack like HotChips, warning, with no emote: I'll break your legs, I'll snap off your head... from my chair, thinking, always, of boys and girls who sure look good in uniform... on dancefloors*]]

Most Enjoyable Work

Why, it's The BENDS of course. What else?
It's straight fucken up RH just being the talented cunts they are.
They're shitting good, aren't they fuck? Fuck. Holy pissing whiskey Jesus, this band isn't even trying: It's just flowing out of them, seemingly, like ADVERB SHITTING VERB ADJECTIVE EXCLAMATION CUTING NOUNS.

Most Revolutionary Release

Ok, Computer.
It's RADIOHEAD (in caps, now, urgently stretchin and flexing, glowing blue screen flicker, fluxing, posing, diving into the VOID, into the black: only to emerge as Kid A, grown into a super-humanoid android crystal glowing energy and OTHER).
YAH, that sounds fucken wack. What was I thinking?
But me, I'm ever purposeful: 
How infinite wack was the wizardly spot-off timing of the release of Amnesiac?
How infinitely fucked were people's heads?


[[~~I think someone at Rolling Stone, or something,]]

[[~~literally shat rainbows from sheer HOLYFUCK.]]
[[~~True as fuck fucken Story.]]


And, now, I REALLY JUST CAN'T be SRS anymores.
I'm donesies.
This explosive-verbosity is stenching. Each word, sentence, sentiment... opinion... FUCT...STAHP... Shit............

Oh, and just saying:
*Released '99, fucks. IT'S A GODAMN 90s SONG. Jesus. Lesbians. Girls Moustaches of Dance-Punk Awesome.