Time for a lick of guest-blogging, don’t you think? This despairing little despatch is from Nik Johnson, who writes angryfunny things on the reglear at his site Shouting at Cows, and every darn day on Twitter.

So, Nik – what do you think of Radio 1?

I somewhat frequently blog about how I receive regular, wearying reminders that I’m getting old. This particular reminder has snuck up on me gradually over the last few months: I’ve just noticed that when I turn the radio on, I automatically switch to Radio 2, and not Radio 1.

As a child you’re hardwired to listen to Radio 1, mostly because your parents don’t like it and they play popular music. And when you’re a kid, that’s a good thing.

Nowadays, a regular commute to work sharing lifts with a Radio 1 devotee is on the verge of causing me serious mental health problems. It seems to me that forty-five minutes a day of Chris Moyles, and another forty-five minutes of Scott Mills (or Greg James when either of them are on holiday), is too much for even the most mild-mannered person to cope with.

Now, clearly Radio 1 – being a radio station – has to work within certain limitations. The most obvious being that everything has to be conveyed through speech, music or sound effects. There’s not much room for interpretative dance.

This doesn’t deter the DJs, however, as they assume everyone listening is sat in front of a computer or has a burning desire to rush to Radio 1′s online presence and check out the hilarious pictures of newsreader Dominic Byrne wearing a silly jacket.

We aren’t, and we don’t. We’re in a car. A car I wish was moving a lot more quickly. Towards the sea. Hilarious hi-jinx that rely on video will just have to wait for a version of the radio that comes along that has pictures as well. When will they invent that?

The presenters as a whole are a parade of witless morons, giggling their idiotic way through banal chat and irritating banter. The Chris Moyles show has no fewer than 7 people regularly talking, and between them they sound like they’d have problems buttoning up a shirt or spelling their names. Their idiotic conversations are a giggle-a-thon of hilarious “look how thick we are, we don’t even know where Stoke is”-style gurning.

Mills runs a daily “what happens next”-style quiz, and if the question is “how many…” and the answer is above 10, he runs out of fingers and can’t calculate the answer.

If any of the team are doing something even vaguely interesting in the real world – Chris Moyles climbing Kilimanjaro, or the “crew” doing a karaoke night in some shit-hole town – then there is week after week of hype building up to it, making the most of the opportunity to bang on and on about the same bloody thing until the existence of this momentous event has been sufficiently hammered home.

And afterwards, of course, it’s “hey, wasn’t last night hilarious????” accompanied by wanky in-jokes the like of which you’d expect from a bunch of idiot students.

Musically, the playlist is a repetitive churn of the same eight songs every day, forced down your throat until you accidentally catch yourself humming the latest Pink song and want to slit your wrists. Once it’s been in the charts for more than a couple of weeks, the song is forgotten about and never played again.

And that’s it – you’ll almost never hear a song more than a few weeks old and definitely not one that’s years old. Although amazingly, on Friday, Scott Mills plays a selection of old tracks and barely talks, and the whole thing is pretty good, or at least a cut above the usual dross.

Is it because I’m getting old and Radio 1 has stayed at the same level? Would I have laughed at the current crop if I were 10 again? It can’t always have been as toss as “Comedy” Dave and Mark Chapman (not the one who shot John Lennon, but I suspect he’d be more entertaining). Can there be a more degrading job than having to laugh at Scott Mills’ jokes for money? At least whores get to pick their own hours.

The answer is no, it hasn’t always been this bad. Lots of former presenters are now on Radio 2, notably Chris Evans and Steve Wright, and they’re still funny. And none of the current crop are a patch on the legends that were Mark and Lard, who have sadly split up and are now appearing on Radio 2

A new Passion Pit tune, “Moth’s Wings”, hit the internet the other day. If I was a delusional paranoid maniac I’d swear it exists purely to piss me off; my flat’s currently infested with moths eating my clothes, and my internet’s infested with Passion Pit eating my attention.

At the time of writing Passion Pit seem to appear in my RSS feeds more than any other act, and casting an eye over the “Top Artists” at music aggregator Elbo.ws you’ll see Passion Pit above Kanye West, Lady GaGa and Little Boots. How did this happen?

“Sleepyhead”, the first single to spring from the Chunk Of Change EP, was quite a lovely thing: a psychedelic collage of samples, sighs, synths and beats which sent music bloggers into paroxysms of ear lust.

That the EP from which it came was originally a mixtape for main guy Michael Angelakos’s college girlfriend added a youthfully romantic dimension to the release which lovelorn indie nerds were helpless to resist.

“Sleepyhead” was near the top of numerous “Best Of” lists for 2008, which naturally fed anticipation for an album. Over the last month or so tracks have started to appear online hinting at the direction Passion Pit’s debut album Manners will take.

In my opinion it’s at this point that the almost unavoidable buzz should have started to level out. Next single “The Reeling” suggests Passion Pit might be one of those bands who detractors are destined to blithely dismiss with that dreaded adjective: “samey”.

Passion Pit – The Reeling

The song’s pleasant enough, but it doesn’t have the infectious quality of “Sleepyhead” and as a result you’re left to focus on the other elements; the most prominent for me being Angelakos’s voice, which strikes me as always over-reaching and which I can imagine disappointing in a live setting.

But “Sleepyhead” was a hard act to follow so you can forgive the band for not quite matching up to it. The aforementioned “Moth’s Wings”, then, is a chance to win over sceptics. And if your doubts are likely to be swept away by the sound of a band combining Animal Collective’s pastoral psych-pop and Arcade Fire’s ambitious anthem-building, you’ll be appropriately converted.

I like it more than “The Reeling”, that’s for sure – but two decent songs doesn’t justify Passion Pit’s vaunted status in the blogosphere. Although, to be fair to the band, very few artists who find themselves the subject of endless, breathless blog posts are worthy of such attention. People don’t want to be seen to be sleeping when the next big thing arrives, and so the MP3 blog feedback loop begins. I’m not saying that I’m immune to the phenomenon, just that when it occurs it’s worth noting the fact and trying to get a little perspective.

Another new track, “Little Secrets”, has surfaced recently. It adds an electro-funk dimension to the band’s anthemic ambitions, but like “The Reeling” it lacks a melody strong enough to convince me they’re likely to be much more than another hipster plaything to be cherished and swiftly discarded.

I read someone the other day remarking that the backlash for Passion Pit should come around in May when the album’s released, and that’s probably true. It shouldn’t really be a backlash, though – there should never have been as much hype surrounding Passion Pit as there is, and to me they look like just another band waiting to be chewed up and spat out by the (literal and figurative) Hype Machine.

Only time will tell of course, but the likelihood that the exposure they’ve received will translate into record sales seems small. Then again, their Wikipedia page states that they’re going to appear on The O.C. creator Josh Schwartz’s new show Rockville, so that will certainly help expose them to people who actually buy music.

None of this is meant as a dig at Passion Pit – if their album is as good as people want it to be I can see it being the best way to soundtrack the summer of ’09. But if it’s not, the marketing folk gaining all these acres of exposure are going to need to think of a way to convince us otherwise.

- *yawn*
- “Huh. Nice suit.”
- *yawn*
- “So… is anything going to happen?”
- “I’m hungry.”
- “Ha ha, someone in the office just tripped over a cable.”
- *yawn*
- “Ooh look, my Twitter updates.”
- “Ooh look, I received an email. It’s only from a mailing list I never look at, but it’s more interesting than this pretentious piece of nonsense.”
- “God, it’s STILL GOING?”
- “Finally. Do I need to pretend I enjoyed that?”

[video: CarParkRecords]

Why? Well let’s see what Observerman had to say about the album:
… an album was created that has since come to be regarded as perhaps the greatest work of art to emerge out of the pop tradition. Released in November 1968, Astral Weeks is a work of such singular beauty, such sustained emotional intensity, that nothing recorded before or since sounds even remotely similar – or, indeed, comparable.
The article goes on to quote all manner of grown-ups who voice admiration for the album’s “emotional atmosphere”, “integrity and conviction”, and various other beard-strokey characteristics.
Well, I just finished listening to it for the first time. Now, this was a first listen. And many of the tracks are pretty long. And it’s probably not the ideal album to listen to in an office. And my horoscope says-
ENOUGH. It’s rubbish, OK? For a kick-off it has only eight tracks, and four of those are over seven minutes long. Now, I’m not against long tracks if they’re any good – you know, a good “progressive” dance tune, or a proggy number with some well-placed widdliness can hit the spot nicely if done proper.
But when it’s some drunk-sounding chap who seems to repeat the same bits of the song over and over, to a tune of negligible tunefulness, my teeth are always likely to end up gritted.
“Madame George” is fifteen seconds shy of being ten mintes long, and you know what? IT FEELS EVEN LONGER.
So I suppose this means I need to listen to the album a few more times. I am to presume it’s “a grower”. Which is fair enough I suppose – it was recorded in an age when your every second of attention wasn’t commandeered by Facebook and Starbucks and DVD boxsets of My So-Called Life.
But that’s the world we’re living in now, readers – and if I have the choice of devoting forty-five minutes to a straw-haired Irishman mewling over an acoustic guitar, or hopping onto The Hype Machine to see what fabnooshit I can encounter, well, at the risk of sounding like an ignorant A.D.D-er, I’m afraid it’s the latter that will win my minutes.
Perhaps the answer is to start up some kind of Music Boot Camp, where Clarkson-dressed dads lock you in a cell and blast your ears with “classics” from “the canon” until you appreciate them accordingly. To be honest, it’s hard to see how some more “challenging” recordings are going to stand the test of time otherwise. People like to refer to “the MTV generation” as one with a non-existent attention span, but try getting the iTunes generation to give things a fair go.

You’d think that might have cheered up some of the poor blighters who’d foolishly parted with money to listen to the band’s aural cack, but no – it seems some people were actually upset at not hearing him sing.
Apparently he managed to dry-heave his way through a couple of tunes before the lead singer of support band The Law stepped in to cover singing duties.
It doesn’t show a great deal of respect for your audience when you turn up off your cranium, and when you’re a lightweight indie-pop band who got where you are by pretty fortuitous music press backing, it doesn’t look especially good for your prospects.
I was going to post the video for “5 Rebecca’s” below, but the versions I’ve encountered have the embed function disabled. However you will gain a similar sense of excitement from watching this video of paint drying:

[video: ibox1]
[source: NME]

70 fucking million! I find that fascinating, especially since I have heard of none of these works, save 1988′s Watermark. Have you heard of them? A Day Without Rain? The Memory Of Trees? Paint The Sky With Stars?
Here’s another mindblower for you – in 2001, Enya was the world’s biggest-selling artist. Jennifer Lopez, LeAnn Rimes, Dave Matthews Band, Aerosmith, Savage Garden, U2 – they were all outsold by Enya’s A Day Without Rain. The only act that outsold Enya was The Beatles’ compilation 1, which doesn’t count because it was a kerchingtastic cash-in compilation.
I guess you could a fair amount of her success in the noughties down to her association with all that The Lord Of The Rings nonsense, but that doesn’t explain 70 million records. Who bought the rest? Was it you?
Anyway, on this particular day I am feeling very respectful to Enya for this achievement. On another day I might have torn into her easily-digestible cooing. But not today.
So, well done Enya. As YouTube commenter JazzUnibrow sagely remarks: “Enya is fucking brutal.”

[video: edumatte]

Given the chart domination Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo achieved as uber-producers The Neptunes, it was assumed by most folk that their studio virtuosity would transfer pretty easily to their output as the genre-straddling N*E*R*D.
Now, don’t misunderstand me – I get that the N*E*R*D project is intended to be somewhat experimental, and not necessarily tailored for number one singles. But does stylistic experimentation have to be at the expense of killer melodies? Latest album Seeing Sounds might be marginally better than predecessor Fly Or Die, but it still left me feeling disappointed.
Perhaps the artists The Neptunes worked with brought their own tunes, and Pharrell and Chad’s input was purely to add the magnificent bells and whistles that made the tracks stand out.
Or maybe, in an attempt to do an “urban Radiohead”, N*E*R*D are more concerned with the texture of their albums, and the message they’re trying to put across. I’d rather not entertain the possibility that the fame and money has blunted their edge, although it has to be considered when one of the pair spends time making glorified ads for Converse (see video below) and sporting an 18-carat gold Blackberry.
Either way, as a genuine fan of their output I can’t help but feel let down that the band’s output hasn’t delivered on its potential. But then when you’ve made it to the top, there’s really only one way to go, isn’t there? Fly or die indeed…
Santogold, Julian Casablancas, N*E*R*D – My Drive Thru
Produced By Pharrell – Santogold, Julian Casablancas, N.E.R.D.

[video: MyDriveThru]

Now I’ll willingly admit that that track (whatever it was called) used in David Attenborough’s series “Planet Earth” worked like a charm. And as music to soundtrack films, ads and those uplifting true-story segments in TV talent shows, Sigur Ros are nigh-on perfect. But as something to get your teeth into? Sorry, but to me the band remains lacking.
So could releasing a track I can actually understand flip my opinion? Well, we’ll see. Perhaps its searing insight and lyrical beauty will compensate for all those years of, effectively, saying nothing.
I have to be honest, though – there’s a cruel part of me that hopes these much-anticipated English lyrics turn out to be as lumpen as Oasis’s “Roll With It”, if only to see the reaction of the fans.
[source: Guardian.co.uk]

Thing is, with every shit-slinger and his dog prattling on about Joy Division, it’s made me turn away from their entire back catalogue. Don’t worry. I’ll go back to it in time, I just need everyone to stop talking about it. Y’see, Joy Division fall into the special rock ‘n’ roll place that is also enjoyed by Nick Drake, Kurt Cobain and every other introverted singer who topped ‘emself. Ian Curtis, along with the other choir invisible, is not so much a dead singer, more, a martyr to rock ‘n’ roll.
Bollocks.
Ian Curtis wasn’t exactly a flawed genius. Of course, some of his records are brilliant, but then again, the Bee Gee’s 1st is an amazing LP. The main difference in quality control is the width of a noose. Nope, Curtis voted Tory (and all the baggage that comes with it) and continually cheated on his wife. He was violent and cruel… but still… little schmucks in Joy Division t-shirts really get his pain… maaaaan.
Of course, what came after Joy Division was New Order, which haven’t been canonised in the same way at all, making me think that many fans see some faux-glamour in Curtis which simply doesn’t exist in a band that are still very much alive and well. This fawning over Ian Curtis and a band that, at best, created one LP’s worth of real genius, is making me grind my teeth to dust.

When I was at school, I used to do impressions of Rick Witter, much to the mirth of my mates. Listen to ‘Speakeasy’ and listen to the way he sings “one in a million” or “wunnina mill-yurn”. As daft as it may sound to the Arctic Monkey-ite, I can hear that same cartoon delivery. I guess that, geographically, the two bands aren’t that far apart and I’m aware that musically, they couldn’t be more different. However, I can’t ever love a band that reminds me of Shed Seven. Ver Monkeys don’t inspire the same ire that many of their peers do, so I don’t get all angry when they do well or release a single or [insert absolutely anything here]. I just don’t like them as much as I’m supposed to…