nme

What would you do with £148 million…?

The lucky winner of last Friday’s EuroMillions lottery, Adrian Bayford, netted nearly 150 million quid – and has announced he’d love to spend some of that money re-uniting the original line-up of Guns ‘N’ Roses.

I think this is brilliant. It would never happen of course (the original members probably don’t need the cash and, quite simply, all hate Axl just a bit too much), but I love the fact that he came up with the idea in the first place. Most lottery winners come out in the press with the usual ‘I’ll buy a new house for my parents, and maybe start a charity’ spiel, but Bayford’s just gone straight for the bonkers, and I think he should be lauded for that. If more people with absurd fortunes started spending their money on ridiculously pointlessly wonderful things, the world would probably be a happier place.

So my question to you folks is this – what mad thing would you with 150 mill?

Taking Adrian Bayford’s musical pipe-dream as an inspiration, I’ve come up with my top three Mental Things I Would Do With A Gigantic Fortune:

1) Build my very own Keyboard Roller-Coaster for use at gigs. You know, for solos and that. Time for a solo, get on the coaster. Boom.
2) Hire legendary film composer John Williams for a month and get him to soundtrack everything I do with an epic string section.
3) Pay Nicki Minaj to stop. Just that – stop. I don’t care how much money it takes, as long as she stops.

I wish people would slag us off more often

Today I found myself reading an article on the NME website that conscientiously archived all the best and most vicious put-downs in music (only in the NME, right?) – because there’s nothing more entertaining than egotistical rockstars slagging each other off.

This got me thinking about how being trashed by people is kind of a badge of honour in rock ‘n’ roll and, in fact, about how disappointed I am with the paltry number of put-downs The Lightyears have attracted in our careers so far (and if that isn’t an invitation to internet trolls, I’m not sure what is).

I suppose there was the time the London Metro wrote us a bit of a dud review after the INDY Awards and said we looked like McFly wearing The Libertines’ old stage outfits – but then, that might have been worth getting all worked up over had it not been basically entirely true.

Oh, and I was subjected to a fairly vicious attack in the LYs comments section back in 2010 when one of our songs was being used on a T-Mobile advert and some poor chap, infuriated by the ubiquity of the ad, let leash with something along the lines of ‘I hope you end up under a bus, you floppy-haired wanker’. I wrote him a witty riposte (eruditely correcting his grammar, obviously) and, lo and behold, the bugger came back the next day and apologised. That’s not supposed to happen on the internet! That’s the whole point, you can say what you want and there aren’t any consequences (well, unless you’re Daniel Thomas).

And while we’re on the subject of the T-Mobile song, I recently learned that ‘Come With Me’ popped up on the stereo in a hospital operating theatre earlier this year and, a minute or two into the song, the surgeon – looking up from (as I imagine it) the gaping chasm of some poor fella’s mutilated bowels – commented: ‘They sound like S Club 7 on speed’. Again – not really rude, ‘cos it’s basically true.

Anyhow, I thought I’d save you a bit of time and cherry-pick the five best insults from the NME’s list (expletives coming up, folks – cover the little ones’ ears):

Bono on Chris Martin:
“[He’s] a completely dysfunctional character and a cretin. But he happens to be a great melodist.”
– Wins points for… being so polite.

Johnny Borrell on The Kooks:
“That record is the most horrible thing I’ve ever heard. It sounds like the band are literally rolling over, sticking their arse in the air and begging Radio 1 to f*ck them.”
– Wins points for… Hello, Kettle? This is Pot. You’re black.

Paul Weller on Freddie Mercury:
“He said he wanted to bring ballet to the working classes. What a c*nt.”
– Wins points for… succinctness. And if only you had half Freddie’s talent, Paul, you might have got away with it.

Liam Gallagher on Radiohead’s album ‘The King Of Limbs’:
“Them writing a song about a f*cking tree? Give me a f*cking break! A thousand year old tree? Go f*ck yourself!”
– Wins points for… sheer idiocy.

Noel Gallagher on The Kaiser Chiefs:
“I did drugs for 18 years and I never got that bad as to say, ‘You know what? I think the Kaiser Chiefs are brilliant.'”
– Wins points for… the opposite reason to his brother.

The Sound Of 2009…?

Whilst perusing the BBC website recently I came across a story on the BBC’s search for the “Sound Of 2009“. A winner had been crowned – Little Boots, proclaimed the pundits, will be the sound of 2009. She is apparently being hailed by some as the saviour of pop music. To be frank I hadn’t spotted that pop music needed saving (Gwen Stefani aside) but I followed the link nonetheless and diligently sat through the video of Victoria Hesketh, AKA Little Boots, playing live in the BBC6 studio. Predecessors of this sweeping accolade include Keane and Duffy, both of whom went on to release best-selling albums, so the odds are on that Little Boots is in for a cracking year.

Like most people, my natural instinct when confronted with the supposed “Next Big Thing” is to join the long list of detractors and dismiss it all as a load of old hype. Unfortunately, in this case, I couldn’t summon up a reaction nearly as extreme as that. As it turns out her performance left me kind of indifferent. I think “saviour of pop music” might be a bit strong but I have to admit the song stuck in my head for ages afterwards. I suppose if I had to sum up Little Boots in seven words I’d probably go for “not as bad as The Ting Tings”.

Speaking of which, has anybody else noticed that The Tings Tings are, well…. to borrow an industry term…. a little bit rubbish? I mean, yes, it’s inventive – but then a Japanese Spider Crab wearing ladies pants and sucking scrambled eggs through a straw could be considered inventive but you wouldn’t buy his music, would you?

I remember when I first heard We Started Nothing, the band’s debut album. I had been downright nonplussed by the furore surrounding the ubiquitous hit single “That’s Not My Name” but intially concluded I must have just been missing the point. “They’re an ‘It’ band, I thought. A zeitgeist band. I just don’t get it. I’ve listened to too many Ben Folds and Jellyfish albums and now I’m just not Le Cool enough to understand this music”. Thing is, everyone was raving about it. Jools Holland, NME, The Independent On Sunday. I figured they knew a heck of a lot more about music than I did so I’d probably best keep my mouth shut – or at least give the album a listen before I issued judgment.

So I listened to the album and slumped deeper into a feeling that everybody – literally, everybody – was in on something that I wasn’t. I stood in my kitchen for 38 solid minutes, open-mouthed, wondering why I was the only person who’d noticed. Remember that story about the Emperor’s Clothes? Y’know, this Emperor dude is running around the streets with his arse hanging out and everyone’s so keen to fit in that they just go along with it and pretend he’s wearing clothes? Yeah? Well, it’s kinda like that.

Anyhow, ranting aside, 2009 has some exciting treats in store for music fans, I reckon. The sublime Glasvegas broke spectacularly last year and it looks like they could go stellar in the next twelve months. Think The Killers meets The Proclaimers singing songs about the drudgery of life, social workers and crippling paranoia. Check out their eponymous debut album and revel in its haunting beauty (disclaimer: most of the songs sound the same to me but then that seems to be fashionable these days).

Tipped alongside Little Boots for world domination are the glorious Mumford & Sons, purveyors of a folky Americana sound that has been described as “Coldplay reincarnated as hillbillies”. We caught them on the Park Stage at Glastonbury last summer and found their music to be charming, bittersweet and uplifting. One to watch…

Oh, and I know I’m hopelessly late noticing this but Beth Ditto rocks!! I caught her on the BBC6 Hub Sessions the other day and she has a wicked sense of humour. Yes, I know NME already voted her Most Super-Coolest Person On The Planet Of All Time Ever in, like, 1992, and I’m behind the times, but there you go. I was well impressed.

Oh, and for an alternative point of view, check this out – it’s Neil McCormick’s list of 2009’s Next Small Things. I like it. Very wry.

250 people squeezed into the Barfly…

On Thursday night we supported the Mystery Jets at a sold-out Camden Barfly. It was a hot August evening and the punters were packed into the Barfly’s intimate dimensions like moist sardines. The Jets had been forced to cancel a few weeks’ worth of festivals due to lead singer Blaine being in hospital and Thursday represented the band’s comeback gig, as well as a warm-up for their impending main stage performances at Reading and Leeds Festivals. Anticipation was high and Jets fans were clearly excited at the prospect of seeing their favourite band close-up. With the place also buzzing with an ample turn-out of LYs fans, the stage was set for a cracking night. 

Upstairs in the dressing room we were making our way through a bank of sandwiches and beers and listening to the Mystery Jets warming up through the wall. The incredibly well-kept appearance of our dressing room seemed suspicious until it was explained to us that the Barfly had just redecorated the place and given it a fresh lick of paint. Brilliant – we were the first band in and therefore it was our duty to trash it. This is, of course, something that we’re accustomed to doing and so I set to work straight away by putting my chewing gum in the bin even though it didn’t have a plastic bag lining. I’d like to see the staff get that out in the morning.    

Incidentally, whilst I’m on the subject of backstage antics, hats off to the Mystery Jets for their satisfyingly indulgent rider, which apparently included two bottles of Moet & Chandon, assorted crudites and a couple of roast chickens. This encouraged me to spend a little time working on my Fantasy Rider for when we reach the kind of celebrity strata normally reserved only for glamour models and Davina McColl. If you’re reading this and you promote for, I don’t know, let’s say Wembley Stadium or the Memphis Enormodome, here’s a heads-up on our backstage rider for the 2011 double-headline show with Whitesnake (T.B.C.):

– 2 eggcups of freshly distilled Peruvian mountain spring water faintly infused with the tears of a virgin
– A copy of 80s robot-comedy Short Circuit on VHS
– Clippings from Des Lynam’s beard
– A bag of eels
– 1 metric ton of paprika Snack-A-Jacks
– A 10-foot high decorative tapestry depicting the Norman Invasion of Ireland in 1169 made from Faberge Eggs and snowflakes
– A box of damp otters
– Chesney Hawkes
– A speedboat

Some of these things may take a while to source so I suggest you make a start now.

Once fed and watered we made our way downstairs to the main room which, by this point, was heaving with people. The gig had got coverage on Radio NME as well as on the front-page of the NME website and tickets had sold out over a week in advance. If you’ve never been there, you can take my word for it that 250 people squeezed into the Barfly made for quite an atmosphere. It was starting to heat up as well under the glare of the lights and the steady pulse of the August sun and so the circumstances were primed for a pretty intense show.   

We’d decided to mix things up a bit for this gig and so set aside our usual opening numbers for This House Will Burn and Sleepless. The gig really got going for me, however, during Beat Alive, which we played third. Normally I use this song as an opportunity to run around and jump off things but unfortunately, in this case, I didn’t have a lot of room for maneouvre onstage, given that I was hemmed in amongst the Jets’ extensive bank of vintage keyboards. Despite having reached the easy conclusion that knocking one of these over would not be a good move, I must admit to having accidentally given the lead singer’s synthesizer a little kick during the Beat Alive solo. Blaine, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I don’t think I caused any permanent damage. Which is good news, because I met your roadie and he looked like he could open up a serious can of whoop-ass.

We played Run next, which I think represented the song’s debut for many of our London fans. This was followed by She’s The One, a song actually based in Chalk Farm, home to the Barfly. Our cheeky cover of Lovecats went down pretty well, I thought, and we followed it up with high-energy performances of Banana Republic and Emily, ending on new song Brightest Star. Cheers were forthcoming from both the home fans and the away fans and we left the stage buzzing. By the time the gig had finished I think I’d sweated out around a stone in body weight, which actually doesn’t leave me with a lot in reserve. I’ll have to keep an eye on that. Wouldn’t want to evaporate one night during a gig. Could be embarrassing.

The Mystery Jets put on a great show, knocking out a mix of material from their first and second albums including new single Two Doors Down, which I happen to believe is quite genius, if almost eye-wateringly kitsch. They’re a really unique band – check out the Mystery Jets website if you’re not familiar.

We took the party back to our house in South London afterwards and began the warm-up to a blistering Bank Holiday weekend that involved playing to a packed lock-in crowd at our local pub, champagne arm-wrestling and a mustard-drinking competition. But that’s another story.

Chris Lightyear