Pegasuses XL - The Antiphon

The first time I put this record on I thought it was a crock of shit. Crystalline but familiar synth sounds of yesterfuckinmillennium plus agonised yelping and blah blah blah. After a few more spins, I’m still not convinced that it ain’t a crock of shit; for all I know that may be the whole point. But what I do know is that it tears my guts out and lays ‘em down on the tarmac in nightmarishly weird new forms that’d make HR Giger vomit up his cornflakes, and I want more. It’s puke ugly and blood violent, yet strangely beautiful, like a chemical burn in the shape of a snowflake. It’s blowing my fucking mind.
(Ernest Jenning Recording Co.)

Sentences You Don't Often Hear In Work #3

"Do you know what this reminds me of? When Noah built that ark. Do you remember that?"

Sentences You Don't Often Hear In Work #2

Strictly speaking, this is dialogue rather than a sentence. But anyway:

Girl (after some deliberation):"I don't know who Eamonn Holmes is."

'Hilarious' chap next to her: "Sherlock's brother."

Girl (after much, much more deliberation): "I don't know who Sherlock Holmes is either."

The Bombed-Out Church

St Luke's, Liverpool

On the edge of Liverpool city centre, on the corner of Leece Street and Berry Street, lies the hollow shell of St Luke's church. Struck by an incendiary bomb towards the end of the Second World War, the building (known affectionately to locals as 'the bombed-out church') remained largely unused until 2003, when arts collective Urban Strawberry Lunch began hosting musical events, photography installations and film nights.

It's a brilliant reinvention for one of the city's lesser-widely-known, but potentially more recognisable landmarks. WHTB spent a long time wondering why they hadn't gone one step further and simply opened it up as an open-air club called The Bombed-Out Church, until finally managing to haul some flabby backside down there for a showing of cold-war-paranoia-sci-fi-classic The Day The Earch Stood Still. As magnificent as the structure is, all attendees to these events have to sign a form declaring their awareness that the whole thing could, like, collapse around us. AT ANY GIVEN MOMENT. Sheesh! Ok, possibly not the best home for a club full of pissed idiots twitching and jerking to floor-shakingly-loud bass and beats. But as long as you bring a jacket (even on these delightful summer evenings, it can get pretty nippy) it's a lovely place to take in a movie.

Forthcoming screenings, should you catch this blog in time, include FW Murnau's Nosferatu (4th July) and Jean Cocteau's La Belle Et La Bête (5th July). There's also a plethora of other stuff coming up, which you're advised to check out. Hooray!

Sentences You Don't Often Hear In Work #1

The first in an occasional series! First entry:

"...and that's why my dentist is in jail."

...Like a shit-eating rabbit on speed! OFFICIAL!

It's entirely in keeping with WHTB's work ethic thus far that it should take this long to produce a piece on the sad passing of former NME journo Steven Wells last week. The web is currently bulging with tributes to the man (Swells to his friends, fans and indeed foes), and in any case I'm sure it would fill him with disgust to think of anyone still preoccupying themselves with his death a week after the event, so I'm not going to even attempt anything approaching an obituary or anything of the kind. Similar but better sentiments can be found on the sterling Old Rope blog, along with links to some other great pieces, all of which which you are sincerely advised to check out instead. Not to mention his final column for the Philadelphia Weekly.

What i will say is that, as a mere reader, I learned a lot from Swells. His writing style was frenetic, breathless, hugely imaginative, supremely daft, intensely clever, often provocative and always entertaining. He also enjoyed capital letters an awful lot. But as a music hack, he frequently challenged the status quo and heartily encouraged people to make up their own minds.

This is important. Because, when you think about it, (whisper it) pop music doesn't actually matter that much. But for fuck's sake, don't tell anyone that! Ideas and opinions are essential, because they define who we are - and what's more, they can be really fucking exciting. So why waste your time devoting yourself to ideas you only half-believe in? If you like pop music, scream it from the rooftops! Defend it to the hilt! Pour forth your venom onto the charlatans and nay-sayers and tedious notions of 'taste'! COMMIT!

So there you go. I know it's not an especially heartfelt tribute, but I think I'd only end up repeating things that other folk have already said far more eloquently than I could hope to. Instead, I'll sign off with a couple of great tunes that the great man would approve of.

Thanks again, Swells.

Daphne & Celeste - Ooh! Stick You!


Butthole Surfers - Sweat Loaf

Start all over again

While i'm on the subject of comics, and by extension cartoonists, here's a great short by Lev Yilmaz. My girlfriend (the right honourable and most righteous Sazzlebox) introduced me to his work a couple of years ago. It's rather good.

I suspect I relate to this one rather too much: