Christmas 2005

Filled with festive cheer and all that cobblers, Scattergun would like to wish a Merry Bloody Christmas and a Happy Bastard New Year to one and all...

The Mighty Boosh Post - the post that hurts the most...

On Monday, headed out to Shillibeers off Caledonian Rd, North London with Cursor for few pints of Guinness, prior to nipping next door to the Pleasance Theatre to see the first warm-up gig for The Mighty Boosh tour.
It was wildy shambolic and f**king brilliant. Highlights included a monologue from The Moon explaining how Saturn is always pissed but a good cook, Naboo the shaman, a Russian-style mini-play about pies, a fan-letter from Tom Paulin, faulty / missing props, an audience member having his eyes gouged out, using membership of Ronnie Scott's to impress ladies, and some songs. Top notch comedy from them - as always.
Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding had a little chat to the audience at the end to explain that it was all still coming together...

Aside: Would you believe, I bumped into Julian Barratt in a pub on Friday. Lovely feller. Bought him a pint as a way of saying thanks for all the good comedy. I wish I'd bought him a few more now...

Boosh fan site, here and here. Also check out the great Boosh Forum, here.

Harold Pinter & The Prize of Nobel

Watched the Nobel Lecture of the playwright Harold Pinter on More4 last night - a brutal, coruscating speech which started with him giving unusual insights into his writing, then making a witheringly detailed attack on recent British-American foreign policy and closing with a quote from Pablo Neruda that pretty much explained his reasons for delivering such an address;
"why doesn't his poetry speak of dreams and leaves
and the great volcanoes of his native land?
Come and see the blood in the streets.
Come and see.
The blood in the streets.
Come and see the blood.
In the streets!"

Watch and read the lecture at Nobelprize.org.

Guardian article: "Shades of Beckett..."

Full text of Pablo Neruda's "I'm Explaining A Few Things."
Neruda also won the Nobel Prize in Literature, back in 1971. You can read his speech, here.

Sleeping with the NME*

Is the music press a bunch of lick-spittle lackeys who bow to the corporate c*ck?

I have no idea. However, a lively debate touching on the subject is going on over at The Londonist regarding the NME Album of The Year.
Click on the link - it's an interesting tale. Much argy-bargy of the "show your sources!", "why aren't you denying it?" ilk. Nice.

Further reading: the 'I-Sky' column in Private Eye, devoted to instances of shameless cross-plugging in the Murdoch Empire.


*OK, title doesn't really work but it does bring back memories of that Manic Street Preachers B-side to 'Suicide Is Painless' which took the form of an excerpt from a BBC documentary on the NME, transcript here.
It featured such future luminaries as Steve Lamacq ("beginning to stain the carpet"), Mary-Anne Hobbs ("I'm only the scum assistant"), James Brown ("It doesn't say T-Rex"), Andrew Collins ("Print it!") and that Danny Wotsisname who presented that football programme on Channel 5.

Who says the media is just an incestuous old-pals network? (That slur excludes Andrew Collins, because I like him.)