Saturday, 4 April 2009

MUSIC REVIEW: "Footsteps".
By Chris de Burgh.

UK release date: 
I'm not going to tell you in case you decide to buy it.

Admit it: you thought he was dead.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you thought: "Chris De Burgh - he's dead right? Tragic accident? Involving a gardening implement? Maybe a shovel? Or a lawn mower? Didn't his monobrow crawl down and throttle him?"

But you'd be wrong.

This whole time, Chris de Burgh has been quietly, persistently making music. WITHOUT SUPERVISION. OR RESTRAINT.

Someone has to do something.

This is the man who inflicted "Lady in Red" on an unsuspecting world, a song so creepy it could be the song of choice for serial killers while acting out their most terrible fantasies*, as they force their victims to wear a red dress and strap them to their killing table** all the while singing the song over and over in an ominous falsetto*** .

And now he has the TEMERITY to release a collection of HIS intepretation of what HE considers "pop classics" including, but not limited to "Africa" by Toto and "American Pie" by Don McLean.

Why doesn't he just visit each and every one of us personally and drive a blunt ice pick through our ears?**** Why waste time with the formality of recording and releasing such cruel and unusual torture? How can such a monster be allowed to continue?

I'll tell you why. Wedding reception DJs. That's why.

Because the loved-up idiots at something like 98% of all wedding receptions insist on playing "Lady in Red", in the mistaken belief that it's a celebration of some lovely woman and not the grim voiceover to an unwanted living autopsy***** - and DJs agree to do it. Which means they have to have a copy of the song in their aresenal. Which prompts moronic guests at these weddings to buy their own copies, particularly the older folks who don't understand that all music is secretly free if you just know where to look online.******

All of this keeps the money flowing into De Burgh's soft woolen cardigan pockets and maintains the illusion that he has something worthwhile to contribute to music like fucking interpretations of "American fucking Pie" by Don fucking McLean.

And it doesn't stop with the "music". Even the album cover art gives me the creeps.

Apparently, Chris De Burgh is living on his own planet and observing the Earth, like some demented monobrowed alien. Possibly preparing for invasion. A frightening, invisible monobrow invasion.

What's more, he is so twisted that he recorded introductory videos, from deep in his Interplanetary Lair of Woolen Cruelty, that explain why and how he went about choosing this material of evil. He explains the origins of his musical footsteps of evil, which began in his clearly traumatic childhood before he was sent to public boarding school when he and his parents moved into a CASTLE. This was a tragic castle where there was no heat, no water and most tragic of all, NO TV. And they had to become FARMERS. Before they turned it into a small HOTEL! A fucking CASTLE HOTEL. Jesus.

"Many of the songs on Footsteps started right here," says the diabolical genius. If only the scientists had spent a little less time perfecting the internet and turned their attention to something more important, like time travel, we could go back and stop the madness before it begins. If only.

The day the music died, indeed. It is gruesome and vile. And it must be stopped.

* Probably. I have no data to back this up. It's just a feeling.
** Just one possible example. Not all serial killers have the same MO.
*** Speculation. Some serial killers may have lovely singing voices.
**** Satire. This is not an invitation to Mr De Burgh or anyone to stab anyone else with anything.
***** Conjecture. Not all serial killers gut their victims. For some, the killing itself is the end of the madness; there is no particular inclination to explore further. Instead of slicing and dicing, for example, some serial killers may sit down for a good cry. Or wank. It depends.
****** These are the same people who insist on playing "I Will Always Love You" at wedding receptions - completely failing to realise that it's a song about two people who DON'T GET TOGETHER. Morons.

Thursday, 2 April 2009


UK Release Date: 10 April 2009
Starring: Zac Efron (orange teen) and Matthew Perry (orange adult)

OK, full disclosure: even though I haven't seen this film (per The No Show rules), I have seen this film. Everybody has seen this film. There are isolated tribes hidden deep in the jungles of South America who, if asked for the plot of this film, would say, "Oh yeah dude, isn't that the one where this orange dude becomes a younger orange dude version of himself in a desperate quest to rediscover his inner orange dude self that used to be cool and then learns lots of life lessons and totally gets the orange girl and has awesome orange hair?"

Then they would totally shoot you with a poisonous dart before taking away your orange Golden Idol and giving it to Belloq (the French bastard).

But there are two things they will not tell you about this film and these are them:

First, the main dude character in this film, both as an adult and as a teenager and then as an adult again, is totally and completely orange both on screen and off.

Second - and this is the really important bit: we are supposed to believe that Matthew Perry - yes, the chunky orange one from the endlessly repeating TV "classic" Friends - actually looked like Zac Efron when he was 17. (And in case you're older than 14, Zac is the pretty orange girl from the High School Musicals films.)


I can accept that John Travolta and Nicolas Cage switched faces and recovered in like five minutes in Face/Off. Twice. I can accept that a team involving Bruce Willis, Ben Affleck and Owen Wilson saved the world from an asteroid by being sent into space by Billy Bob Thornton on a military space shuttle in Armageddon. I can even accept the idea of Madonna as actress in Evita.

But my belief suspenders officially snap at the idea of Matthew Perry once looking anything even slightly resembling Zac Efron.

The reasons for this are threefold:

1. Matthew Perry is an old man and Zan Efron is clearly a pretty, young girl. Very flat-chested admittedly, and a bit boyish in her clothing choices, but a girl nonetheless. It's too big a gap for my brain to cross.

2. Matthew Perry looks like someone grabbed his head and inserted it up a cow's ass, twisted it around and then popped it back out, before leaving him out in the sun to dry for several weeks. His skin is loose and a bit floppy like a hunting dog's and it may one day actually reach the ground. His hair is a weird mix of really dry and really greasy. His clothes always look like they may have fit him once, but a long time ago when he was either fatter or thinner. Zac Efron, meanwhile, is a pretty, young, well dressed girl.

3. Matthew Perry is... nope, I've got nothing. Read 1 and 2 above. It's that simple. Matthew Perry and Zac Efron. The same person. Totally ridiculous. Like having Morgan Freeman paying an older version of Scarlett Johansson. Painted orange.


Shatner Scale: Quincy cameo.
Must hear: No. For the love of God, no.