Вот я и добралась до бложика Foals на MySpace. (Big Big Love никогда не будет прежней! )
Начала читать с самого начала (2006 год, на минутку) и сразу же поняла, что без цитатника мне никак не обойтись. Потому что Эдвин, мать вашу, это сила!
И, черт возьми, когда читаешь записи Янниса времен работы над TLF, то видишь комбинации слов и даже целые строчки из песен. Потрясающе.
Жаль, конечно, что забросили они это дело...
про Рождество, профессионализм (хаха) и издевательства друг над другомon saturday our keyboard "blew up" (perhaps the result of the russian fsb? we have no idea) mid-set, causing edwin to run around like a small panicking, er, foal, on the search for a replacement. unfortunately he doesn't know how to play other keyboards, so the result was somewhat, shall we say, lacking.
(написано, ха-ха, самим Эдвином)
at one point during the set both guitars and the keyboard had simultaneously unplugged themselves, leaving walter and jack playing some sort of drum and bass medley breakdown. the kids loved it, though--arguably in their state they would have loved anything
brighton, where most of us moved two days ago, is a bit shit. but--and this is a big but--our house is beautiful. really fucking lovely. it's a lot nicer now that we have beds (by which i mean cheap mattresses), and one or two select tasteful rugs. so far we've eaten two whole proper meals, with like... vegetables on the side
this is what we are doing for christmas.
yannis: single-handedly rowing to his family's private greek island, hunting wild goat, gathering berries, and earling morning naked wrestling
walter: gathering together with his extended family at the gervers' ancient country seat, shooting a brace or two of partridge, relaxing with some vintage port, perhaps handing out alms to the tenants
edwin: reading a selection of nigel slater's christmas dinner recipes, dribbling a little, feeling hollow, scrabbling around at the back of the cupboard for a box of stale oatcakes, texting friends sanctimoniously about how he feels hollow and has only a box of stale oatcakes to enjoy, and going back to sleep
jimmy: buying meat, preparing meat, roasting meat, carving meat, eating meat, pushing vegetables to side of plate
jack: nintendo
7) releasing our first single sometime... soon... maybe... hitting the charts somewhere between 1,656 and 1,658.
Pro : + Edwin looking like a man-sized fly when growing facial hair.
Con : - him losing the sunglasses which perfected that look
Pro : + the arrival of Spring!!!
Con : - it then snowing a week later
+ Jack's official new membership of Travelodge 'smoking + partying room' joining myself, Walty and Jimmy. n.b. Jack doesn't smoke but was forced to switch rooms after some aggressive flirting by a not-to-be-named member of the team.
- Edwin being exposed as the flirter. He claims he's asleep when it occurs... would yo believe that? no. exactly.
- My inability to get that Mark Ronson 'stop me' track outta my head (это просто вин!)
le lov massif
le foal non-sportif
yanni
xx
Josh Homme is a pretty much Herculean..jack talked to him about being ginger and famous and pretty. as you do
+ Walter's admission that : yes, when naked he looks like ' a rat in a bad suit'.
- the soon to be shit-eater who stole my Kompressor pedal off the stage in Bristol. Mossad already know where you live and are just waiting, in their words, not mine, to make yr body like ha ha funny when it's found by yr grieving toothless parents. p.s. if you wanna come and actually have a street fight one-on-one in Bristol please let me know.
yannis has grown a judeo-greco studio beard. jack is well drunk after two pints. walter is on his eighth pint and is still curiously coherent. jimmy is dressed entirely in black and thinks his retinas have become detached.
- Walter's actual worrying chronic alcoholism. we are worried. are you? this is the stuff that ends bands.
+ finishing drum takes. jack is almost ' free as a bird' for the rest of our stay. lucky bastard.
- everyone else gets ready to fluff their parts over and over until Sitek stabs us.all.
- Edwin's room. now christened the 'deathpit' cause it has no natural light or aeration.
+ this leading to his new nickname of 'slowworm' as he's like a naked blind segmented thing in its cave.
yes, that is a squid. and as anyone who has studied representational art will appreciate, squids commonly symbolise the academic establishment in its many-tentacled monstrosity. and as yannis sings, the academic establishment is not your friend. sure, it'll take you by the hand and lift you out of whatever water-logged depression you're in, but it's not going to let go any time soon, and before long it'll have arms everywhere--round your neck, legs, and ankles. and then it'll be pissing ink in your face. trust us: we've been there; we know all about these things; we're the wisest drop-out bums you'll ever know.
in other news, we've run out of money. or at least our bank card isn't working anymore. it keeps saying "unauthorised use". does this mean we've had a few too many streak frites, or that someone shifty-eyed has been stealing our dollars? today we're eating $1.50 bagels; tomorrow we'll be eating our socks. if anyone reading this works at lloyds tsb can you tell them we're dying out here. thanks.
*Jimmy has been pretty drunk since....well....forever.
* i was asked yesterday " Oi, little man! have you had a nice life ?" by an icelandic man in a wheelchair. HOW DO YOU ANSWER THAT ?
- yannis' super massive cigarette consumption.
+ that it's going to give him a voice like tom waits.
- me not leaving the studio for three days. now looking and smelling very mediterranean.
* songtitles suck.
* like trying to think of them.
- my procrastination over songtitles still.
some more real news: we've had to cancel our carlisle show tomorrow. following on from our near farcical cancellation of the wrexham, this is turning out to be a really professional tour.
+ hailing a limo in Manhattan and listening to Michael Jackson and feeling like proper dicks. it was cheaper than 2 taxis though.
ordering them at 9:00:04 is fast, and for that we will commend you. trying to order them at 9:00:17, however, is just not fast enough, and you'll only have yourself to blame when you reel away crying, vomiting, and perhaps bleeding in horror as you realise you won't be able to see our unique and life-affirming take on indie rock and roll yet again. shit!
- bruises after a 2 hour game of ’pass it on’ which started quietly and sweetly and ended with us punching each other in the face. hard.
...to fill the stage with so many free-wheeling jazz-hand experimental multi-instrumentalists that no-one can work out who is playing what, so that in turn no-one can accuse us individually of messing anything up. this, my friends and relations, is called, to wit, wisdom.
and what better way to celebrate as a band, can you think, than driving all the way to austria to play a snowboarding festival attended mostly by holidaying students from buckinghamshire!? no, we couldn’t think of one better.
jimmy broke his guitar again last night. the head came clean off. our lovely guitar tech will had fixed it just days earlier. heroic. for the rest of the tour jimmy will be playing replacement banjo.
further to his entertainingly preposterous attempts to destroy the music industry, yannis recently attempted to destroy not just syntax, but sign, signifier, and synapses everywhere.
but it's good to play outside of your comfort zone, i think. i mean, i guess. we're so far outside our comfort zone right now we're basically floating dead in sorry solitary space, but, you know, hopefully the show will be okay.
i wish i could say i used to miss classes and smoke there, but i was a good christian, and my only sin was sitting down and picking daisies while pretending to field. sounds romantic, doesn't it? yeah, i made it sound that way. it's called revisionism.
and after one hour of sleep, after eight hours of drinking, this was how some of us decided to queue for the flight to new york. yannis only turned up about twenty minutes before the flight was due to leave, having no real idea where he'd been or was supposed to be going.
my keyboard wasn't working, for what i initially thought was voltage-conversion problems but has since transpired to be some weird circuit fault, the guitars kept breaking, and electric shocks ("oh"...) were putting yannis within an inch of his life almost every show. it could have been worse, i guess, somehow. like if one us lost our legs, or suddenly without any warning aged forty years and lost our youth. thank god for small mercies, right?
he's been helping us on tour. mostly by scoring pot for yannis.
Me...i'm in Greece. i flew here on Olympic Airways (tsh!) where the service still sucked and listened to my Grandma tell the same stories she has told for the past aeon while her peacocks ran around fucking each other. no joke. she has peacocks. and its mating season. i wish you could all, every single one of you, be here. with. me.
- watching Edwin get lured by Middnight Juggernaut's tour manager into some pleasurably macho mano a mano eating games involving ( Scroll Down Now Vegeterians): raw horse. squid intestine. & eel intestines.
+ Edwin's totally unfazed facial expression whilst doing so.
- shame the same can't be said for the following facial expressions:
: Jimmy, when he fractured his foot and woke in the shower getting scalded by burning water.
: Walter when we buzzcutted his hair.
: Jack, anytime anyone mentioned his death and/or food poisoning.
: My face probably around the 18th time one of our things broke on tour.
Keep an eye out for the following sideprojects:
Jimmy + Walty = Infinity Penis
Me + Andrew Mears = Bins Are For Bombs
Edwin + Jack = Boring Room. heh heh. heh
our house of supine athletics is pretty grizzly. imagine the inside of a tour bus. imagine a tour bus after weeks of solid and sweaty touring with several disgusting young men. then imagine that tour bus veering off the road and crashing into a row of terraced houses on an otherwise clean and cheerful oxford street. then imagine no-one doing anything about it and letting nature take its course. that's what our house is like. a sort of midway point between crime, carnival, and catastrophe.
Sunday evenings are kind of awful aren't they? i think i've learnt to enjoy them more recently but there is still that slight metallic, nauseous feeling of 'the-night-before- school-and-i-haven't-done-any-work and-i-am-so-fucking-anxious-i-have-no-nails-left-to-eat".
stuff we're not digging:
- sweden's weird-ass puritanical alcohol regulations.
- that feeling on a ship after months at sea when you figure you may as well start having sex with each other.
izvestiya!
the title is ?! and the tracklisting is ..^.. and the release date is 32/47/3992.
playing shows is exciting, but being on tour is very, very boring. while it's true that only boring people get bored, it's also true that the disjuncture between playing a show and sitting around aimlessly for hours not playing a show is so enormous as to almost demand serious, crushing boredom. physically and mentally destructive boredom. boredom to bore down upon the soul. that kind of boredom.
that doesn't even really need to be said, does it. the thing about boredom is that it's really boring. really fucking boring. i'm boring myself.
(зато теперь мне понятно, зачем они себе такое адовое расписание составляют. Чтобы скучно не было!)
- then having to play crack-a-sparrow early the next morning. Singing in the morning is probably my least favourite thing unless it's accompanied by a loofah and a shower.
- bruises all over my body every night.
+ getting high with policemen, my new favourite pastime.
before we get our sabbatical the NME awards are up so, y'know, feel free to vote for us in every category, especially Best Female Artist. i think we have an outside-shot. voting only last two more days so DO IT. i don't wanna to sit there like a long faced loser w/toothache for 6 hours...
Lastly, another final thanks to everyone who voted for us at the NME awards, we felt like heroes; briefly, then the booze hit and i wanted to curl up in the broomcupboard and weep with the cast of Misfits...good times.
Цитатник, да (я жалкая личность!)
Вот я и добралась до бложика Foals на MySpace. (Big Big Love никогда не будет прежней! )
Начала читать с самого начала (2006 год, на минутку) и сразу же поняла, что без цитатника мне никак не обойтись. Потому что Эдвин, мать вашу, это сила!
И, черт возьми, когда читаешь записи Янниса времен работы над TLF, то видишь комбинации слов и даже целые строчки из песен. Потрясающе.
Жаль, конечно, что забросили они это дело...
про Рождество, профессионализм (хаха) и издевательства друг над другом
Начала читать с самого начала (2006 год, на минутку) и сразу же поняла, что без цитатника мне никак не обойтись. Потому что Эдвин, мать вашу, это сила!
И, черт возьми, когда читаешь записи Янниса времен работы над TLF, то видишь комбинации слов и даже целые строчки из песен. Потрясающе.
Жаль, конечно, что забросили они это дело...
про Рождество, профессионализм (хаха) и издевательства друг над другом