so this was supposed to be a halloween doohickey but heavens i'd all but worn my poor old self out mischief nighting knock a door running hedge jumping gate meddling ooooh untold milk bottle related catastrophing and hanging around outside the chipshop so yesterday was mainly first aid vitamins and timothy spall being scared of the sea. i did manage a pop down the co-op for sweets but the local youth were clearly too pampered to brave the rain and gales so now i'm lumbered with treat sized bags of buttons and no one to frighten right back with terrifying noise... happy november
cabaret voltaire - a thousand ways
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ps
the first gggrrrrmmfffffmmnnn of this and it's thirty years ago in a teenage bedroom. in the dark. and there are few scarier places than that.
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4 comments:
gggrrrrmmfffffmmnnn treat-sized bags? Ooh she's bold.
Didn't see that one coming. And all the better for it.
Gnarled and gritty. Which I like. This is how people tried to imagine the future before they had any money or computers to do it with.
Arty post-punk was pretty good music to mope round your dark teenage bedroom feeling glum and alienated to. I liked ACR's 'Winter's Hill' for that. And The Pop Group's 'There Are No Spectators'.
i wave at winter hill and whistle the jolly tune every timevwe pass it's bleak bleakness on the way to the seaside as it goes. i played red mrcca again all the way through for the first time in decades and boy it's mean and marvelous. proper punk disco. or something
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