The Fractal Hall Journal

And then the Funvee gets blown up.

The economy may be collapsing, climate change accelerating, and Cthulhu may be turning up soon to eat everyone’s heads, but none of that matters because, with a big old load of cockrock, the Journal lurches back into existence. I’ll skip the deadly sin of blogging-about-blogging; needless to say, I haven’t been around for a bit, but now I am. Probably weekly from now on.

A couple of things of note:

Council leaders have compiled a banned list of the 200 worst uses of jargon, proving once again that people have too much time on their hands, despite the best efforts of Twitter, Facebook, and people who play with their toys on the internet. While there’s a lot of management bollocks on there, I’m not sure we should start banning various terms because people are too fick to know what words mean. Councils in Scotland are going to have a bastard of a time instructing lawyers if they can’t use “Advocate”, for a start.

Also, by implication the following unlisted phrases must be perfectly acceptable for everyday use in Local Government: “Willy-wobbling”. “Turdfaced fuckwit”. “Felch”.

2009 film previews: Only one thing could top not only a new Trek film, but also the Transformers sequel. And that’s THIS:

SO RIGHTEOUS.

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Why split this post into two? Because I can, internet. Because I can.

4. Shine On You Crazy Diamond – Pink Floyd: Buddy Paul is entirely correct in pointing out this as probably the most patronising song title in rock history. Syd Barrett goes stark staring bugnuts, and the rest of the band spend their careers making money by singing about his breakdown. And even as they’re making vast wodges of cash, they can’t bring themselves to talk to the guy because he’s so fucking crazy. But all that aside, this is a great track, and I’ve been feeling a bit proggy lately, and it goes without saying that Dave Gilmour is flat out brilliant.

5. Back In Black – AC/DC: For balls-out cockrocking it’s either this one or You Shook Me All Night Long, the former being the one I’ve been listening to most often recently. Its inclusion in the opening of Iron Man just makes a great film better.

While I’m writing about guitarists, Angus Young really is fantastic. Sure, he doesn’t tend to make it to the top of many “Greatest” lists because he has a signature style and he sticks to it, but then again why on earth would you change up something you’re able to nail every single time? After all, he’s one of the few guitarists in the world who can be identified on solo style alone. The beauty of this track is in the rhythm of the work, from the stop-start-time-change riffing of the opening to the huge chorus.

6. I’ll Feel A Whole Lot Better – The Byrds: Jangly Sixties guitar pop at its very, very best. Does it have the depth or experimentation of later work? God no. Is it easily exchangable with a fuck-ton of other, similar contemporary tracks? Yes. Is it hummable as all hell, and has it been lodged in my head for two fucking months now? Abso-fragging-lutely.

7. Disco Down – Shed Seven: Well, what other slot was I going to give them?

That crinkley noise you’re hearing is anyone who has a taste for mid-90s britpop raising their eyebrows. Shed Seven are usually considered derivative also-rans of the indie set from ten years ago, the argument being that there’s nothing they did that other bands couldn’t do better. They started off copying Morrisey, and ended copying Oasis, but I’ve always really liked them, and I don’t care what Kieron Gillen says in the Phonogram endnotes.

There are few bands that I associate as closely with a particular span of time as this lot, and damn it there are times when I need jangly Sixties guitar pop that isn’t necessarily from the actual Sixties. Having mentioned that, this track doesn’t follow the band’s usual musical template, and I’ve picked this one because of the surprisingly funky baseline.

Right then, let’s do the taggy thing. I nominate Mick, Brother Paul, Brother Trigg (who is welcome to use the Journal for the purpose), Evie, Siskoid, Rob and finally, magic Number Seven, I nominate you. Yup, that’s right, you.

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