Off Message

I just accepted a friends request from another blogger on this system. No idea what that means or where it will lead, but it seemed churlish to reject them.

While we’re on the subject of all things bloggy, I never did get to the bottom of this, which is supposedly the source of a comment left about a week ago. Maybe they’re genuine, but there’s something about the internet that tends to make one automatically suspicious – even if only mildly – of anyone you meet that you you don’t already know. Having said that, I write a blog under the name Louis XIV, so, y’know, pot kettle etc. Then again, I suspect most people reading (usual caveat here: there might not be anyone following this fucker) know who I am anyway.

I may not identify myself on this blog, but that doesn’t mean I’ve got owt to hide. Apart from, y’know. The cross-dressing.

…and in with the same old, as one – possibly two – car bombs are discovered in central London. If anyone really thought the exit of Tony Blair would bring about a lessening of the terrorist threat, then here’s proof that, doesn’t matter who’s in charge of the country, there’ll still be a line of fascistic death cult lunatics queueing up to kill us. It’s not, as some seem to believe, all about Iraq: it’s about the fact that we live in a liberal democracy, and they hate us for it.

So Facebook fell over at lunchtime – there’s a notice up saying they’re doing maintenance on it. I spoke to Rachel, who’s got the afternoon off, and almost the first thing she asked me was if I was also having problems with Facebook as she couldn’t get on. And a minute ago I got an email from a friend panicking ‘cos she couldn’t get on Facebook either and asking me if mine was working. Like I had some special version of it that worked when no one else’s did, a Facebook server reserved just for me. What is going on? We’re all addicted to the bloody thing.

Seven years on from exiting the dance music industry, I have rediscovered the joys of thumping fucked up electronic sounds, courtesy of the phenomenal Justice album. For a while there after I stopped being a music journo I couldn’t listen to any music at all, let alone any dance music. Slowly I got back into indie stuff – which I’d been into before I got hooked on repetitive beats (unless you count a much younger hip hop period and subsequent flirtation with cold European electronica like Hard Corps) – but whatever dance music was up to from the year 2000 onwards, I wasn’t listening.

Having said that, the dance ‘industry’ (always an amusing misnomer: none of us were particularly industrious) was dying on its arse by the time I moved on. The heydey of superclubs and hedonism was behind us; techno had hit a dead end; big beat was buggered. The volume of records arriving in the Update/7 office seemed to be increasing, but mining the seam of gold in the vinyl mountain was getting ever tougher. I’ve no idea how things went after that, beyond hearing the rumblings of dance music being dead and learning about friends losing their jobs. But recently I’ve started picking up the odd electronic record here and there; mostly on the indie crossover tip (new rave, for want of a better description).

What marks this new iteration of dance records out from forebearers like Daft Punk is their restlessness: Justice tracks never sit still. Sure, they repeat their hooks, riffs and themes, but always with a new twist, and sometimes shooting off in a completely unexpected direction. Dance records past tended to alight on a hook and milk it for all it was worth, which obviously works in a club context but ultimately limits what you can do. Justice tracks deploy their harsh hooks sparingly or subtly, and limit the use of connective-tissue things like hi-hats, whilst constantly changing up the beats, dropping out the bass, reaching brief crescendos and then deciding to do something else entirely, like a fidgety kid throwing a strop halfway through a game of ‘Guess Who?’ and going off to surf the web instead.

All this will mean fuck all to anybody but me; it’s more a note to myself really, as I nod my head to the twisting, textured, jerking music.

Expectations have been high all morning here at Louix XIV (Sun King) Magna: furtive glances at my mobile every few minutes; an obscene variation on ‘pocket billiards’, as I rummaged in my trousers for my pager and then realised I didn’t actually have one; all for the purpose of awaiting what I believed would be the inevitable call from Gordon Brown inviting me to join his new cabinet.

And now that wait is over: the bastard didn’t call. He did, however, send me a text. No words, just this picture:

Charming. Well he can stuff his cabinet. I’m too good for it anyway.

Still…

…I suppose there’s always the chance of a junior ministerial post tomorrow…

Off Message only shows up on the UK arm of Blog.com on ‘recently updated’ when I update, not the international arm. That’s country-ist! I demand to show as ‘recently updated’ on the international Blog.com! It is my right! OK, maybe not my right. But I’m ten times funnier than any other blog that shows up there. I have been told this. By people. Well, not so much ‘people’. More ‘voices’. In my head. Wailing cacophonously. Day and night. Imploring me to do things. Bad things…

So, Tony Blair’s been to see the Queen to resign as PM, and now Gordon Brown is with her being appointed as the new PM. I imagine their meeting going something like this:

GB: Ma’am, I humbly present myself as the next Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, first lord of the Treasury, and minister for the civil service.

The Queen: Oh, jolly good. I’ve always been a fan of yours, you know.

GB: Very kind of you to say so, Ma’am.

The Queen: Yes, what was the name of that television programme you used to present?

GB: …

GB: Televison programme, Ma’am?

The Queen: Yes, you know the one. Well of course you do – you presented it! It’s the one with all the clever people on it, solving puzzles and so on.

GB (confused): I… I don’t…

The Queen: Something to do with Superman… The Krypton Factor! That was it! Philip and I used to enjoy watching that with the boys. Although Charles was never terribly interested. Andrew was keen on the assault course at the end though.

GB (falling in): …I believe you’re thinking of Gordon Burns, Ma’am.

The Queen: Yes, that’s the chappy.

GB: That’s not my name.

The Queen: Oh. Well who are you, then?

GB: Gordon Brown.

The Queen: Oh. And what do you do again?

GB: Well Ma’am, as Chancellor of the Exchequer for the past ten years, I’ve ensured that you and the rest of your family can continue to live in the lavish style to which you’ve always been accustomed.

The Queen: …

The Queen: Prime Minister Brown, how lovely to see you.

After banging on about how great Arctic Monkeys were at Glastonbury on Friday – on telly, mind – news reaches me that, for the poor sods standing in the mud listening to the band live, the PA was too quiet. That explains why the crowd reaction seemed a bit muted. On BBC3, they sounded incredible. I think we can all learn a lesson here: the best place to watch a band at a festival is on TV, whilst splayed on your sofa in the comfort of your own home. Ideally with a cup of tea.

…is the day Blair officially resigns, both as PM and as an MP. So it’s out with TB, in with GB, and the nation shrugs. Having said that, watching BBC Breakfast this morning, Blair was receiving a surprising number of supportive emails from the wider public, or at least those members of the wider public mad enough to be emailing BBC Breakfast first thing in the morning. Perhaps folk aren’t quite as blind to his achievements as I thought.

I saved that Doctor Who post as a draft, intending to publish it later when I’d fleshed it out, or possibly not post it at all depending on my mood. And then I checked out the ‘recently updated’ blogs on Blog.com, and there was Off Message, with an excerpt from the draft of the Doctor Who post! So I had to go back and finish it off and post it. Was it just me who could see that? Does this blog system not understand the concept of a draft? I mean, not that it matters really; I don’t suppose anyone’s actually reading this bollocks. But still. It’s the principal of the thing. I wasn’t finished!

Bah.

I’m blogging like a bastard today. How many posts is this so far? Anyone would think I had no life. Or job.