Fashion Fix #1

Hello lovers, I wanna talk about fashion today. Yes I know I ain’t no Tavi or no Patricija even, but fuck it, let’s do it anyway. My frequent readers will know that I am, on top of that, not particularly fond of Topshop either, so this will be an interesting one.

So my fashion musts for the coming spring in no way reflect what’s in Vogue or Dazed, but solely my random colourful and utterly DIY style opinion . I rate tropical Aztec and Egyptian happy grunge style with twee, colour explosion pastel chic at the mo. In your face.

Loving those Melon Vans but obviously not for me but for the boyfriend. Loving those Courtney Love fucked-up dark flowery grunge numbers and as always band T-Shirts in as many varieties as possible. Also loving good illustrations on T-shirts and vibrant patterns. Have a look below to see what tickles my fancy.

Laters Lovers x

Terry and Michael

Hi lovers, I don't have much to say today. Only a few things.

So apparently Dream-Wave and Cuddle-Core are the new shit-hot genres. Okay.

So apparently blind optimism is so much more en vogue than sober and realistic cynicism. Okay.

So apparently, we all have to be honest with each other. Okay.

So apparently computers break all the time. Okay.

So apparently if you don't like what it says on this blog, don't read it. Okay.

So apparently, some people are nicer than others. Okay.

So apparently, sometimes you just have to get over it and cut it out. Okay.

So apparently, these two are the epitome of all I need in my life. Yes!




Laters lovers x

I'm pissed off today.

Yo lovers. I am pissed off today. Pissed off with how fucking unreliable, two-faced and generally annoying some people are, but hey that won’t get me down, like duh!

I also engaged in some retail therapy in order to uplift my spirit and bought a T-shirt with a dinosaur on it from Blood Is The New Black, which fucking rocks, let’s face it.

So anyway didn’t really feel like blogging today but then a heart-warming email reached me from my husband Mark Adlington with a call to action. It said: “all six of us are waiting for more golden nuggets. (dixie style). maybe you could write about boys for a change!”

And yes he means my six followers, Dixie Chicken and, ermmm, boys, he’s my future husband for a reason, y’all!

So today is the day that I will turn all the anger into love and all the frustration into inspiration. In other words, I will simply list loads of random shit popping into my head at this very moment.

Put your set belts on. No I mean seriously. That’s my first point.

If you’ve got no kinds words to say, you should say nothing more at all.

If you wanna know something, just ask. And if someone asks you something straight up, just answer and be honest. Easy.

She spoke words that would melt in your hands, and she spoke words of wisdom.

My three favourite Fried Chicken Places are, in that order, Halal Fried Chicken on Brick Lane, Dixie Chicken anywhere and KFC, especially the massive one in Brixton (ganstaaaa). I know it’s wrong, but I don’t really care.

If you don’t mean shit, don’t say shit.

Urban Outfitters eats Topshop for breakfast any day.

Your parents and/or siblings will always the most honest with you. That honesty can be painful, but it’s the most valuable thing you have. Get real.

Like Diane von Furstenberg says: (and yes I got that from MTV’s The City) “The most important relationship you have in your life, is the relationship you have with yourself, because no matter what happens, you will always be with yourself.” True sister!

Sleigh Bells fucking rock.

Laters, lovers xx

The Drums, The Big Pink, The Maccabees

Hello lovers, here some shit about some shit hot bands. It's loads of writing, see I promised more verbalisation from me! Woooooo.

The annual NME Awards Tour can be a tricky one. Most of the time, the line-up is a random selection of good looking people with guitars, who are hyped as the new ‘it’ band of the moment by the ubiquitous magazine. This, you might say, really isn’t a testament to greatness.

However, this year the tour dropped a stellar line-up ranging from cheerful pop enthusiasts Bombay Bicycle Club and The Drums to Doom-Noise-Rockers The Big Pink and everybody’s favourite band The Maccabees.




Stepping inside the Bristol Academy to find first band of the night The Drums in full swing, one might wonder who singer Jonathan Pierce is trying harder to impersonate: Brandon Flowers or Ian Curtis. Either way, he knows how to command the crowd, who neither get distracted by his odd mannerisms nor by his extremely effeminate stage persona. Pierce’s voice sounds brisk and razor-sharp and guitarist Jacob Graham’s pleasingly catchy guitar hooks jingle just as hypnotically as on their debut E.P. ‘Summertime’. First single ‘I Wanna Go Surfing’ goes down a treat all the more for it creating an instant crowd singalong.

The Drums play an intensely tight set with a frontman, who bounces around on stage like a combination of the Duracel rabbit and an overly animated frat-boy. The band’s non-stop energy and Pierce’s fiercely emotional musical renditions of the misery that is his love-life entice the crowd from the very first note. One can only thank God that the singer got his heart broken if these uplifting and utterly blissful tunes are the result of it.

‘Saddest Summer’ deals with the loss of innocence and hope, nonetheless it is a breezy west-coast anthem injected with pure sunshine and pop-tastic melodies in the style of a more cheerful Weezer. During set-closer ‘Me and The Moon’ Pierce projects “It’s forever and forever and forever” into the audience and for just a moment you wholeheartedly want to believe him.



Next on the bill are The Big Pink, who with their dark-fuzz-distortion and even darker outfits are the polar opposite of The Drums’ anthemic sunshine pop. Admittedly, they are hard to get into if you’ve just been on vacation in pop-heaven, but after a while of noise terrorism a la Atari Teenage Riot, you find yourself strangely entranced by their hazy and somewhat self-indulgently obscure noise-fest. Haters would label them as Black Rebel Motorcycle Club just fuzzier, but everybody in their right mind can appreciate the wall-of-sound immensity that The Big Pink sonically assault you with. It’s the SBTKRT-like menacing booms and blips that make The Big Pink special not that ‘Dominoes’ crap though.

Even though that comparison stinks, next band Bombay Bicycle Club are like Bombay Sapphire Gin, watered-down, bland and utterly head-ache inducing, so let’s move on to the highlight of the night: The Maccabees.



Now I don’t want to sound soppy, but The Maccabees are really onto something. It’s in the gyrating dance moves of remarkably handsome lead-singer Orlando. It’s in the perfectly-timed staccato riffs of guitar-man Hugo White and most of all it’s in the quirky imagery and wide-eyed sensitivity of their lyrics. ‘First Love’ must be one of the most unusual and idiosyncratic love songs of all time thriving on a wonderfully tongue-in-cheek naivety, whilst ‘X-Ray’ is a bona-fide dance-floor filler with high-powered, forceful riffs and chirpy melodies. Songs from the second album ‘Wall of Arms’ are similarly warmly received as the ones from the debut with set-closer ‘No Kind Words’ standing out in particular. It showcases a gloomier and more subtle version of The Maccabees, which proves that they aren’t only versatile and extremely gifted, but that the next album coming from this indie-outfit is really something to look forward to.

Michael Pitt

Hi lovers I know I have been very photo-heavy in my posts recently…and I promise that I will bore you with the magic coming from my brain again next week. But since it’s Friday, I thought we can simply dive head into some gorgeousness.

The gorgeousness that is Michael Pitt.

Everybody, who read my Dawson Reeks post might know that I have just a slight obsession with Michael Pitt. He is everything I love. Fucked-up, in looks and the head. Singer and guitarist in a shit band. Different. Not bothered. Promiscuous. Self-destructive. Self-doubting. Artistic. Weird. Anti-social. Young-looking but old-souled. Slightly menacing.

I love Michael Pitt, but he also freaks the shit outta me.

laters lovers x

Things that don't rule

Hi lovers, today it's another easy one. I think all this stuff sucks. Obvious. Check it.



























Laters Lovers x

Things that rule

Hi lovers, today it's an easy one. I think all this stuff is the shizz. Check it.





















laters lovers

Boys in Bands

Hello lovers today it’s time the ubiquitous, obvious post. Let’s talk about boys in bands. You have been there, I have been there, we probably all have been there, cause boys in bands tend to fuck around more than the average guy. And it never ends well. It can end in heart-break – the best ending. It can also end in death – Nancy Spungen or even worse it can end in waking up next to this guy with puke everywhere.

Erghhhhhh! Who's playing a 'Flying V' these days anyway?

Overall, there are hardly any positive stories about relationships with boys in bands to tell, well maybe except for that Interpol guy and Helena Christensen, but you know what I mean. Boys in bands are baaaaaaaaaad.

Well let’s discuss this then. Yes I know most musicians look damn hot on stage and we love to look up to our man, but really just because they managed to play two chords doesn’t justify being thick as fuck (in most cases, otherwise they would have got a proper job), fickle (otherwise they would have got a proper job), narcissistic (but a bit too fucked-up looking to become a male model/escort), and selfish. Man, I sound bitter.

I know, I know being ‘adored’ by a lot of (mostly female) fans does something to your ego and self-perception, being awake at night does something to your brain and body clock, and drinking 24/7 does something to your body, but why oh why do boys in bands think they are the shizzle? Literally even the smallest bands, who only play toilet circus venues have this swagger about them that screams “Look at me I’m in a band”….yes mate I know but your band is shite and nobody gives a fine fuck.

Anyway, despite all my ranting, I have to admit that I get it. Being with a musician means that you managed to be with the ‘in’ crowd, to hang out with the ‘cool’ people and to stand on the side of the stage as opposed to the plebs in the moshpit, but once the tour is over and your musician boyfriend is on the worst come-down ever and all your tour-friends have gone, it’s a damn lonely place to be.

Furthermore, if I hate one thing about boys in bands it’s that their fucking guitar/accordion/cymbals are always more important than you. If we are talking on the phone, could you please not strum around on your guitar and concentrate instead? If we are having an argument, could you please not terminate it saying that you have to attend rehearsal? If we are listening to one my favourite songs, could you please not criticise its chord structure? What the fuck is your problem?

There are also some further things to take into consideration when planning to go out with a boy in a band.

He will have some sort of addiction. It’s undeniable. Face it.

He will have very bad tattoos. It’s undeniable. Face it.

You might think all the beautifully crafted, deep songs he writes are about you, when they are in fact about his other girlfriend. It’s undeniable. Face it.

You will never see him and if you see him he will be high. It’s undeniable. Face it.

He will be fucking some 16 year old groupie somewhere. Maybe your younger sister, if you have one. It’s undeniable. Face it.

He will have a God complex. It’s undeniable. Face it.

He is a waste of space. It’s undeniable. Face it.

He will still be living at home when he comes home from tour. His mum is still washing his underwear and he is still hiding his bong under his bed. It’s undeniable. Face it.

So lovers, let me give you one well-meant piece of advice. If you see a boy with a guitar, run for your life! You might also want to listen to this playlist, which lists all the boys in bands that should strictly be avoided. Safe.

Laters.

Engineering

Hello lovers, today’s post is about engineering. And I am not talking engineering as the discipline, art and profession of acquiring and applying technical, scientific, and mathematical knowledge to design and implement materials, structures, machines, devices, systems, and processes that safely realise a desired objective or invention. Ermmmm no, I am talking social engineering. Ya get it?

I hung out with super-duper social engineers on the weekend and I like to believe that I picked up some tricks. Let me elaborate. Looking back at my last post you might remember that being open about feelings is a no-go. Not a no-go in general, but in terms of getting with someone you like. Boys get scared, freaked out, terrified and paranoid if you say “I like you”. However, there are ways of showing them you like them without being too bold or obvious.

First thing to master the art of engineering would be staying sober and not get pissed at social events cause once you are pissed you’re telling anybody that you like them. Yes even the beefcake in the corner.

The second tip is that you have to lull them into some kind of comfort, you know a bit like a baby on a mum’s breast, in order to make them feel good about themselves and even more crucial make them feel comfortable about approaching you. That is the tricky thing. Boys are insecure. You know it, I know it. How can we avoid it? We can’t. So your mission will be to seem genuine and to compliment them on their face, hair, wit and bad jokes. Generally making them feel good, will make them feel good about you, too.

Third tip is that you have to ‘forget’ your phone/keys/sweater in his bag. Yeah I know, I know not very subtle but very effective, because not only will you have to meet him to get your stuff back, but you will probably also meet him alone and be able to invite him for a drink to say ‘thanks’ for keeping your stuff. Be smart, play dumb(-ish). I don’t mean dropped-on-the-head-as-a-baby Paris Hilton dumb, just adorably forgetful.

Finally, you have to engineer a situation where you seem mysterious and yet approachable, unattainably sexy and yet girl-next-door. You have to have fun but not too much fun without him. You have to enjoy yourself but signal that you would be enjoying yourself more with him. What I am trying to say is that social engineering is fucking hard work and the boy better be worth this time-consuming, nerve-wrecking chore.

Now if all of the above seems very manipulative and not very genuine, then that’s because it is, but you know the romance game is a tough one. You could also just go and say “Hey, I really wanna snog you” – which might just work too.

Laters lovers

Touch knees, touch hearts

Hello lovers, no more posting ‘credible’ reviews of bands, making pie charts, putting qualitative photos up. Enough of that.

Today, I am going back to grade 9 attempting to evaluate ‘signals’ from boys. You know the whole ‘does-he-like-me-or-doesn’t-he-like-me’ shebang. In pre-school everything was so easy, he pushed you over on the playground, he was into you big time. That he sat with you on the swings meant he ‘only liked you as a friend’. But since those playful days, things have changed dramatically. Gender politics, venereal diseases, broken hearts, broken phones, and broken noses…Boom.

I know, I know my frequent readers will be able to testify that I believe boys don’t even know what ‘signals’ are, let alone that they consciously use them to pull/find love/find something/someone, but I thought it’s still a good idea to try and figure out what’s going on, cause you know openly saying ‘I like you’ to someone these days can single-handedly be equated with desperation. Heaven forbid that we are honest and open about our feelings, I mean hello?

So after getting together with my focus group and discussing the topic in depth, here are the results. Things that clearly indicate he likes you. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

If he ignores you completely and talks to a slutty, fake-tanned blonde instead, he likes you! He’s also a douche-bag.

If he makes you a playlist, he likes you. If there is Pixie Lott on his playlist, he’s got issues.

If he tells you straight to your face that he has never met anyone like you and that he wants to be with you in a romantic relationship way, he wants to shag you.

If he doesn’t add you on Facebook even though he perfectly well knows you’re on it, he’s into you. It’s a game about power though.

If he calls you ‘matey’, 'mate', 'bro' or 'hey you there', forget about him.

So this is the ultimate tip. If you don’t know a guy and get chatting to him and he keeps casually touching your knee with his knee, he likes you in a good way. If you wanna figure out if someone likes you, do the ‘knee-touching-trick’ and if he pulls away, shizzle, but if he keeps touching back, jackpot! If your legs are glued together by the end of the night, girl you worked the magic!

If he keeps looking at you thinking that you’re not seeing him look, he’s into you but he’s also shy. It’s the peek-a-boo of flirting.

However, on most parts, it’s true boys don’t do anything like EVER. They don’t even know that you are on a date until you put your tongue in their mouth. Deal with it. Touch knees. Touch hearts.

Laters Linda

Ke$ha - Animal

Hello lovers, here is a little review I wrote for Gigwise about 'parteeee' girl Kesha.




There’s no escaping Kesha’s first single ‘Tik Tok’. It’s being played on heavy rotation at every single R’n’B radio station, in every mainstream club and, lest we forget, in every fourteen year old girl’s bedroom.

She partly raps like a white girl and partly sings like Katy Perry on E stating words of wisdom like: “Wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy”. Now the girl’s got it all, right? The attitude, the catchiness, the looks?

Well, admittedly the tunes on ‘Animal’ make you tap along and, with a beer or two, they certainly make you dance as well, but it’s the kind of dancing that you feel embarrassed for afterwards. You know like dancing to Chris Brown. Kesha’s ‘Kiss and Tell’ is Right Said Fred in the form of a hot 22-year-old instead of two fat bald guys.

The album opening stomper ‘Your Love Is My Drug’ first tastes like a shiny popsicle in the sun, but soon turns into a saccharine and rather sickening affair. ‘Your Love Is My Drug’ is a ‘serenade’ to some hot guy giving us insight into Kesha’s wonderful world including her thoughtful and profound stance on love. In Kesha’s universe it works bit like that: “Won't listen to any advice, mamma's telling me to think twice/But left to my own devices I'm addicted it’s a crisis! My friends think I've gone crazy, my judgment is getting kinda hazy/ My status is gonna be affected if I keep it up like a love sick crackhead.” Deep!

In today’s artificial pop-world I guess you have to give Kesha credit for at least writing all the songs herself. Trying to be Lady Gaga doesn’t quite work out for Kesha as she neither possesses the lyrical talent nor the artistic creativeness of our favourite freak-pop queen. Kesha has got an ear for enticing tunes and danceable radio-friendly beats, but unfortunately she is lacking vocal ability as well as lyricism to pull it all together properly, which is why we end up with songs called ‘Boots and Boys’ or ‘Party At A Rich Dude’s House’. Fantastic.

Kesha’s potty mouth and questionable sense of humour are entertaining for the first three listens but her signature sound is a bit too Euro pop to actually stay hooked after this.

Laters lovers

A Pie Chart of my Brain

Hello lovers, so two days ago something strange happened. I found a Maoam Fruit Chew Stripe in my jacket pocket, which I, fo shizzle, didn’t put in there. And then I found another one in my bag. Now either I am losing my mind, or I have a secret admirer, who keeps supplying me with Maoam Stripes. Maybe he’s a feeder, maybe he thinks it’s sweet. He possibly doesn’t even exist and I have delusions. Just that it confused me slightly. I mean where do these Stripes come from?? How did they get in my pocket and then in my bag? Very suspicious. Anyway I ate them and they were nice. Strawberry flavour. My favourite. So thanks secret Maoam supplier. Next time I would love to have some lemon ones, please.

On a different and slightly less obscure note, today I have produced a pie chart of my brain. I know. There you go! I hope the legend is not too small to decipher, you would miss out!

Laters, Linda

Pulled Apart By Horses

Hello lovers, so last Friday Pulled Apart By Horses totally, like totally, killed it at the Old Firestation in Bristol. Here are some photos my friend and inexplicably talented photographic genius Mark Adlington took. Oh and the pics are a bit shit because he got continously punched in the face in the moshpit. Boom!
















Laters, lovers