Saturday, December 11, 2010

Spudative Action

I have nothing of interest for you people today. A lunchtime baked potato has rendered me completely useless. It has the ability to do that. Today was originally filled with plans of grandeur and adventure, and in the matter of a few forkfuls it all evaporated into me sitting on the sofa watching Dave Chappelle's Block Party with Tom while we commented on what we would have as 'grills' were we to get them. Greetings seemed to be the best idea. Something like 'Good Morning' across your molars or 'Nice Tits' in gold canine caps. Its amazing how baked potatoes can do that to me. I will now be sleepy on the way to taking my brother to the airport and I will struggle at my gig tonight with this spud sedative or spudative as I like to call it, sitting in my gut. If someone wanted to take advantage of me - and I mean in a robbery or criminal way as in a sexual manner I'd be pretty useless after a tattie - they could just feed me a potato, wait an hour and then take all my belongings in front of my face while I was physically unable to do anything about it. Admittedly, they could just break in and use a knife or even just their fists and in comparison cooking me a baked potato is a several hour process that would require a severely bored thief desperate for innovation.

I had set myself today to organise my CD collection. That there is the sort of phrase that singles out the men from the boys. And by men I mean 'total OCD loser fests' and by boys I mean 'younger total OCD loser fests'. It sounds horribly dull to most people but with my - and I don't mean to boast, but boast I will - 2000+ CD collection, they need to be in order otherwise I simply can't find what I'm looking for. Today, post 'Block Party' viewing, it was pretty hard to find all the relevant artist's CDs that feature in it so that me and Tom could shout appropriate rap lyrics in our tiny urban ghetto pad. Instead the nearest grab from CD chaos is an All Saints CD (I will explain this in a minute) which when played loud, combined with the rather kitsch Christmas tree Nat bought the day adorned with all manner of camp festiveness, anyone looking in through the window will assume me and Tom are a couple. This is some way different to being hella cool Northside Gangstas which is the impression I want to give out in the Muswell Hill area. I want to be bowling down the Broadway with trousers hanging low, crips bandana wrapped round my face and hand contorted into an 'N' for Northside in a way that could only have happened if I'd had my fingers broken especially. Or not.

Back to the important matter, yes I have an All Saints CD. In fact I have two. I'm not ashamed by this. I think they were ace. 'Were' is the important word and amongst my music library, alongside the chic wonders of Madlib to Nick Drake to Four Tet etc etc, there lies a few bad moments, or guilty pleasures that will never leave. Early RnB from my school days will forever have a place in my heart no matter how wrong it feels to be a near 30 year old straight single man with a Toni Braxton album. For the first time ever I did get rid of a few real bad ones. A Rick Astley album that I was bought as a joke, along with a similarly bought Westlife and Boyzone single as a callback to a hilarious injoke that I don't remember from 6th form. There were two Billie Piper cds that I bought for 50p each specifically to play loud in a our 2nd year of university when my room was next door to my friend Mat's room. I would nearly always get up earlier than him and the sound of me playing 'Because We Want To' loudly and singing along with all the wrong words would make him angry very quickly to comical effect. I kept all of those for far too long assuming that one day, in my life of comedy, I may need them for some reason, but with the inevitable growth of iTunes I should never hold the shame of them sitting on my shelf when should I ever lower my standards to playing something like that during a show, I could just download it.

Don't get me wrong, I've kept a few. Bob Nudd's 'Maggots In Your Catapult' is never leaving my possession. A rap song by a Notts Champion Fisherman which to my mind is one of the worst tunes ever made and is therefore brilliant. It was the inspiration for my music video project in 6th Form where fishermen in yellow macs took on rappers who were happy angling. It received a very high mark and I've never felt so proud trying to body pop in a red old man's beanie hat. Its a top track and in order for you to realise why it will sit on my shelf - admittedly somewhere no one can see it till I get drunk enough to play it for them - here it is. Enjoy:


But as I'm now in a coma-toes (hmm that one doesn't really work) I'll just have to leave Bob where he is at the moment. Sandwiched between DJ Shadow and a Ed Harcourt like he's a real magician. Well I hope he enjoys that and feels proud.

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