Money Don't Make My World Go 'Round

As an Aston Villa fan, most of my opinions are made through gritted teeth of frustration. Frustration at the way football, the sport that I and millions of others love, is now a complete farce of a sport in the modern age. Sport is supposed to reward effort, courage and technical ability, and football is no different. However, because it is a team sport without a wage cap, it actually rewards the rich more than anything else. And that is the price for unparalleled popularity.

The Premier League is pointless if you support any team other than Man Utd, Chelsea, Arsenal or Liverpool. The money that is thrown at our league from sponsors and TV rights goes exclusively to the Premier League clubs, and then just goes straight into the back pockets of the already overpaid players, who have little to no respect for the clubs they represent anyway. Champions League football offers an extra £20-£40 million per team. This separates the top 4 as virtually untouchable, because if ever one of them is in danger of being displaced from their pedastals, they can just dip into their spare change and buy £17 million worth of Russian wing wizard and eleviate their worries. As a fan of one of the others, I watch on enviably as the big four buy the best and win comfortably week in week out against the alsorans. The fact that their fans go into every game expecting to win is a bit of a disgrace: It's a scenario you cannot envision in many other team sports. Formula One is infamous as the most boring sport in the world, whereby Ferrari and McClaren win every race simply because they have the most money to spend on developing their car. But even F1 isn't as boring any more. Three teams' ingenuity this year lifted them above the rest, while Red Bull's well built car is keeping them second in the constructor's championship. Ferrari are chasing and McClaren are simply nowhere to be seen. Such a thing seems like an impossibility right now. Imagine the lower teams making some shrewd purchases, putting so much more effort in, and leaving Chelsea and Liverpool to battle for a Europa league spot whilst Man Utd settle for 10th place and Arsenal struggle to avoid relagation. Maybe then their fans might know what it's like to be a football fan. To feel the highs and the lows. And maybe fans like me would know the joys of topping the table and going into a season thinking that we genuinely had a chance to win it come the end of 38 games. I would like nothing more to see a FIA style wage cap enforced, or at least discussed, to perhaps have some kind of parity in England, akin to that of the MLS. At the moment, it's just not going to happen.

Manchester City, however are showing that the little guy can stand up to the footballing giants and buy the big names. This is in no small part down to the backing of a man with a personal fortune of £33billion. No doubt with the players they intend to sign, they will break into the top 4, and no doubt create a top 5 of immovable teams. Now all that is needed is for every Premier League club to be taken over by a huge multi-billionaire owner and we may have an even playing field. Only for the big boys of course, then you have to worry about the lower divisions, because there is no altruism in football, no money gets filtered down. The big boys want the gulf in class to be a chasm, and luckily for them, at the moment, it is.

At the moment, the Premier League is the mutts nuts; the puppy's scrotum of world football if you like, much like it was for Serie A in the early 90s and La Liga at the turn of the millenium. However, there's a shift on the horizon. This summer, it's already been seen that players are turning down the chance to play in the Premier League, preferring to stay with clubs like Lyon, Porto, Fiorentina, Athletico Madrid and Valencia, who would generally be considered mere feeder clubs to the might of the English league. Why this sudden change in player perspective? It may be that the major signings of Kaká and Ronaldo for Madrid has made everyone decide that La Liga is where it's at again. It may be that the loss in the final for Man Utd has transferred the air of invincibility to Barcelona and the Spanish league. The German league is always strong and seen as one with a great deal of integrity, not to mention the fascinatingly open title race for the Bundesliga last year. The Italian league is known as the most cerebral and technical of them all, in contrast to the all action physicality of the Premier League.

Or maybe, just maybe, it's that in the land of crazy money, things are not looking as rosy as they once were. Granted, there has been an economic downturn for all of the Western world, but England is in a rather unique situation. I've already established that to be the best, you have to be the richest, because you need the most money to attract the big named mercenary stars. We have recently been dealt a 50% income tax on all high wage earners, meaning that for the average player to take home £100, 000 a week (an entirely reasonable sum), the club will have to pay out £200, 000 a week. Compare this to Spain where their income tax for high earners is just 20%, a club outlay of £125, 000 per week will see the player home with the same balance. Presuming these players get paid for 52 weeks of the year, that's £3.9million extra that the club has to pay to make sure that the player goes home with the same wage that they would in Spain. Notice a lot of players suddenly going to Fenerbahcé? It's because they have an income tax of 12.5%. Mercenaries will go to the highest bidder. No wonder Manchester City are willing to pay £250, 000 to bag Eto'o, because if Barcelona wanted to pay him £156, 000 he'd get the same amount in bold on his payslip. Not that he's remotely worth it. The point is that the attraction of money isn't going to be as big now. Not to mention the collapse of Setanta, which brought so much competition to TV rights that every club in Premier League was rewarded with £40million a season. Without that competition, Sky can pay a little bit less, and the clubs in turn will receive that little bit less.

It may get difficult to continually pay the wages that so far have only increased during worldwide economic decline. Maybe all of this over indulgence that has been seen from the top 4 and Man City, who are all operating at ridiculous amounts of debt, may haunt them in the same way that it haunted RBS recently. I hope beyond all hope that they all follow the example of Leeds United, and maybe in a few seasons time we will get to see a title race, whereby any one of a handful of teams can win. I can hope, but so long as the mega rich are bankrolling such stratospheric amounts of debt, the Premier League as a competition is more dead than John Cleese's parrot.

It's pastiche, capisce?

You know that you're smack bang in the middle of a musical movement when the new talent begins to argue amongst themselves that they sound nothing alike. We've moved on from the era where everyone sounds like the Libertines and the Strokes, and now we're into the Klaxons era. I say Klaxons because they were the first ones to really bring this DIY electronic sound back from the 80s/90s, and now every good band seems to be a variant of them.

Which brings me to the latest crop of artists. Recently, Adele, Kate Nash, Lily Allen et al. have been bossing the category of female solo artists, with their sometimes witty, often spoken word lyrics and inoffensive background tones. But with the introduction of Ladhawke, the bar has not just been raised, but completely warped. The musical scene has turned full circle, with the arse end of Britpop Version 2.0 being replaced with the very soulless electropop that preceded Version 1.0. You turn on Ladyhawke, and you hear Stevie Nicks. Turn on La Roux and you get Erasure. Little Boots, a more electro Blondie. Pastiche is all well and good, but the Klaxons were great because although you got the energy and out of control feeling of early 90s rave, they actually didn't sound like anyone before them. The second wave of NuRave is witnessing pop circa 1986. But all of this is only negative in an artistic sense. The fact is, as music goes, it's great to listen to.

Take Ladyhawke's debut album; 12 perfect slices of pop with lyrical hooks that you cannot shake off. It may not be up for winning any Ivor Novello awards for "Hey, stop playing with my delirium, 'cause i'm out of my head and out of my self control", but as a chorus, it's sweeter than a nut in Tropicana, as Dizzee might suggest. This being said, you can listen to twenty minutes and have no idea how many tracks have actually been played, due to the sheer similarity of each track. Closing track Morning Dreams does hints at a real softness behind Ladyhawke's otherwise brash appearance, but it is a case of having 10 tracks at the same semi-fast tempo and then 2 ballads tacked on to the end. A lesson in how to mix it up needs to be learnt for album number two.

Lady Gaga of The Fame fame is guilty of a particularly American folly. She has created 4 stunning singles, of which Just Dance, Pokerface and Paparazzi, could quite easily make up the top 5 of the year come December, but has completely dismissed the rest of the album. To say that track 5 onwards could have been replaced better with actual horse urine in the CD case is no exaggeration. Full 16 tracks or 4 tracks and donkey piss? I'd have much preferred to have had that option in HMV. But it does not take away from the brilliance of Lady Gaga's singles as near perfection.

Little Boots' Hands offers a very similar return. The difference is that the singles, although brilliant, are not as strong as Gaga's, and the weak tracks are nowhere near as dismal. However, the confidence and competence in Little Boots' instrumentation is what is sure to elevate her above her peers. Electro Goddess wouldn't really be an overstatement of what she could achieve, with Alison Goldfrapp the obvious benchmark. Mathematics demonstrates what seems like an impossible amount of geometric puns on top of perfectly layered piano, synthesiser and big beat 80s drum machine, in what is undoubtedly the album highlight. She dabbles in the ballad and the middle of the road chug-along pop that serves as album fodder, but it is only when Victoria Hesketh really aims for the dance floor that she truly displays her potential.

The comparative early careers of these women shows a great strength in new female solo music, but each with their own shortcomings; namely of continuous pastiche (Ladyhawke), lack of quality in depth (Lady Gaga) and desperately inconsistent (Little Boots).

Enter La Roux, not entirely a solo artist (she has a silent partner) but close enough to be talked about in the same ilk as the above. The band manage to tick the boxes that are left blank by the rest of their peers. Whilst the synths have a distinctively Erasure-esque tempo and tone, there's something wholly innovative about the texture created with the high pitched, piercing nature of Elly Jackson's vocals. In for the Kill is intimidatingly seductive, illustrating the awkward feelings when lust is dangerously close to spilling into an emotional relationship. La Roux takes Gaga's simplistic assertion that (When it's love; if it isn't rough, it isn't fun), and magnifies the power struggles between boy and girl (Let's go to war to make peace, let's be cold to create heat). Clearly letting someone in was a mistake for sorry Miss Jackson (I am for real), as Bulletproof sees a hardened character develop, (I’ll never let you sweep me off my feet, I won’t let you in again). Audible sugar is the only way to describe the synths, the lyrics are perfectly weighted as to suggest the slightest chink in her armour, (Baby your time is running out) as if there is still time, and the chorus at just six words, is too simple to get out of your head. These floor filling songs though are an affront to the painfully honest heartwrencher Cover My Eyes. Okay, that may be a tad hyperbolic for a song which is about seeing a bloke you like with another girl, but it's a moment of vulnerability as she admits "I'm scared to look in your eyes, you've turned me away so many times", above a choir, which is refreshingly quiet in the background. A real moment of emotion let out on record, elevating herself above the likes of Gaga and Little Boots, who really get nowhere close to this honesty. It's not all good though, I'm Not Your Toy sees a fairly decent song ruined by what sounds like the backing tune to a shit Namco platform game circa 1994, though this is the price you pay for originality. You can either hit, or miss. The simple facts of is that La Roux have learnt from the deficiencies of their contemporaries and make sure that they hit a lot more than they miss.

Let It Die

The topic title is topical for more than one reason; obviously it links into the article below on euthanasia, but it's also a Foo Fighters song, and i like to use song titles and lyrics for titles on here and it's also the thought going through my mind about a topic that just will not die. Oh well...you win some, you lose some. Here's the article in any case.

No one is born wanting to die; this is a pretty straight forward fact about the human condition. Any suicidal tendencies are grown into through great pain and suffering. And if someone decides that they cannot cope with the pain and decide through their own volition to die, then there should not even be an argument about what the morally right thing to do is.

The latest case to spark such arguments was that of Mrs Purdy, a sufferer of multiple sclerosis, who has made a decision that she wants to die. But without the means to do so herself, she requires her husband’s help to take her to a euthanasia clinic. She appealed to the court for assurances that her husband would not be prosecuted for assisting her suicide, but this was rebuffed and the law on assisted suicide reiterated to Mrs Purdy, that her husband would be guilty of an offence which would accompany up to fourteen years in prison.

This is an absurdity. The only reasons people can possibly have for upholding the law in this case, is religious teachings, that every soul is important and that ending a life that God has given to you is a sin against Him. There are only spiritual grounds against euthanasia, because the physical, rational reasons all point towards allowing the choice to die. Forgive my blasphemy, but we live in an educated society, where God should be irrelevant, and no longer necessary in scaring the underclass to behave the way the ruling class want. If anyone thinks that God is anything more than that, then by all means, you’re entitled to your opinion, but this is mine. Show me some other laws that are only in place because of religious dictation. The difference between euthanasia and murder is the desire to die of the one who is to be deceased. So where is the crime? In war films, when someone is dying in battle, is a burden to his team and is in such excruciating pain that he wants to end his life, we watch on with admiration and acceptance for someone dying in dignity. In reality, when it is an elderly man or woman in a hospital bed dying of a painful disease who chooses to die, some people look on and say this is morally wrong, and that they will be going to hell. Is it not enough that they want to die, that some righteous man without a care in the world tells them that they will be eternally punished with flames and branding irons by Satan himself?

Think about your pet dog or cat dying and in quite a lot of noticeable pain. The only humane action is to put the pet down, to end its suffering sooner rather than the painfully inevitable later. The same logic is rarely considered with humans who can’t decide for themselves though. Why? Because, for some reason, we’ve got it into our heads that we’re more important and special than animals and a human loss is some kind of disgrace to God. This is simply not the case.

I was recently talking to a preacher, who said that the reason some people go to hell is because God gave us the faculty of ‘free will’. After scoffing at my assertion that free will is purely a political notion, without any counter-argument at all, he went on to explain that it is with this free will that we can make the choices that will lead us to heaven or hell. At this point I’m questioning why He gave us this faculty if it’s going to get us into trouble? And why doesn’t God have it if we’re made in his image? But then I thought, even if it is the ultimate sin, there is surely nothing more liberating than to put two fingers up at the supposed creator and question why the hell he thought that his perfect planet was so great when there is such pain that people go through. And even during that pain, people have to rub salt to say that endurance is the only entry to a better place. Personally, I think I’ll stick with Lucifer; at least you know where you stand with that guy.

The fact is, Mrs Purdy has had enough. She’s made the decision with her great faculty of ‘free will’; she’s weighed between continuing her life and ceasing to be completely and there’s a huge amount of bravery for the one that has weighed heaviest. Rationality, dignity and bravery were always virtuous characteristics to me. What would Jesus do?

We Are Godzilla, You Are Japan

Fujiya: A Japanese brand of record players. Miyagi: The old, mystical guy from Karate Kid. Both are facets of Japan that make up the new and the old; traditional spirit contrasted with technological advancement. You’d be forgiven at this point for thinking that this band was from somewhere a little more easterly than Brighton, but you’d be mistaken. The music is hypnotically rhythmic, nearly tribal, but constantly tinged with subtle synths that drive the music into the modern dance arena.

The band explains that the name is simply a concoction born from the fact that it looked nice written down. After listening to Lightbulbs only once, that account sounds about right. Lyrics and meaning are not high on F&M’s agenda, but rather a subtle hypnosis formulated with the rumbling drum and bass combination, the jutting synthesiser and the delicately breathed vocals, where phonology and not ideology, is paramount. How else can a song about an ice-cream be so listenable? F&M’s view for detail is microscopic. Forget about Arctic Monkey’s ability to provide social commentary on nights out on the town, and think more about the composition of a Knickbocker Glory, purely because the words “Vanilla, strawberry, Knickerbocker glory” sound nice rolling one after the other. Uh has a chorus made up almost entirely of polite grunts, beautifully in time to the beat, creating a sound so simple it’s going to take a lot of Hot Chip to get it out of your head. More impressive again is Dishwasher, with its circling chorus of “just look inside your encyclopaedia”. There’s no political message, there’s not even a message of any kind; it just makes for an enchanting repetition that almost lulls you to a gentle sleep.

There is certainly a great uniqueness to the themes and structure of F&M’s sophomore effort, but it is painfully tiresome. Some people have described Fujiya and Miyagi as a dance band. The only context that this music would be a rousing joy would probably be within a morgue, such is the tempo. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a certain repetitive beat to each song that makes them irresistible to tap your feet to, but that’s as far as the dance would go. Imagine Friendly Fire’s On Board, but without the continual progression to a delicious crescendo. On every single song. At the end of each track, you’re left waiting for something big to come, but are left constantly disappointed that the band don’t seem to have the balls to make it happen. Lightbulbs is essentially the Cold War of music.

And it is a great shame that more isn’t made of the great strengths that F&M possess musically. Closing track Hundred and Thousands, an instrumental finishing touch to an album that began with Knickerbocker, displays the band at their inventive best; synths playfully lapping one over the other, always threatening to break free of the paceless shackles that hinder the rest of this album, but again ends up limp wristed and in need of an injection of courage, guts and power.

Fujiya and Miyagi are as an intimidating force as any musically, with their ability to create mesmerizing hooks at a whim, but seem to get too involved in subtle intricacies, and forget about the song. Mr. Miyagi once said, “Man who catch fly with chopstick accomplish anything”. Well that’s all well and good, but maybe these boys should just concentrate on writing some better songs.

The Kids' Kids Are Alright

‘Extra! Extra! Boy of thirteen has a baby!’ In 1870, this would be a pretty weak story. This week however, this has got Daily Mail and Sun readers everywhere vigorously reaching for their complaint notepads. You know, the ones that come with the words “What is this country coming to?” inscribed into the letterhead. It is amazing to see the lack of reasoning and sympathy towards a young couple having a child, merely because of the frenzy that the Sun causes. I can almost see the editors of the right-wing press salivating at the thought of such a story that epitomises their entire image of ‘Broken Britain’. It was too much to ask for it to have involved an illegal immigrant and a topless model as well though, wasn’t it?

The boy in question, Alfie, looks young as it is. The fact that he is the father of a child apparently shocked Sun columnist Jane Moore “to the core”. She goes on to say that this sort of thing will “break the existing cracks in society so wide open there’ll be no hope of repair”! I’ll go back to the point I hinted at earlier. It is not so long ago in our history that a child giving birth was the conventional norm. As animals, we’re only wasting time not having offspring when we’re sexually active. This is just another example of value-setting by a vastly conservative press. If you’re going to dismiss this as the type of “liberalism that has been dismantling structured society for years”, as one Sun reader suggested, then fine, but there is a reason that the Sun are quick to pin a host of sins on the young couple. Underage sex being an obvious start to the demonization, but they go on to explain how they could claim for double benefits if they moved in, as the mother would be legally responsible for the father. The furrowed brow of many a Sun reader intensifies. Funny how the couple themselves have intimated that they would live with the mother’s parents, but the Sun felt the need to explain just how ‘crazy’ benefit schemes are under the Labour government. Added to this, her dad claims for benefits as he does not work, and his father has nine other children, some of which are not from the same mother. The ink in the disgruntled reader has now run out but wait, there’s even more. As if we weren’t already lost enough in ‘Broken Britain’, the young couple were playing an over 18 rated computer game whilst being interviewed. How can they possibly raise a child? They should be in prison three times over.

As sarcastic as that last comment was, I actually do not understand what these laws mean; surely if you have sex under age, you’re committing a crime? Oh well, they’re not apparently, as the police said it’s in nobody’s interest to prosecute. Does that not mean that the age of consent is whatever anyone likes then? If we look to our closest European counterparts, Spain, the age of consent is set at 13, and if we head to the holy land of Vatican City, it’s at an ungodly 12! Sun columnist Jan Moore would be rocking back and forth in the corner of her office if she knew.

The facts, as far as I can see them, are that, yes they are young, but they do have a lot of family around them who can all help with their somewhat premature step into parenthood. The social services have already deemed them as capable enough, and promised to give full support. So what if it’s not the normalised family life that the Sun and Mail wishes on every person? The fact is, there is nothing to say that these two, immature as they are, are going to be any worse at parenting a child than 16 year old British parents or 13 year old Spanish parents for that matter.

Is condemning this young couple going to solve anything? The right thing is for people close to them to help them out in parenthood, not just stand back from the moral high ground, preaching the Sun’s values. We spend far too much time complaining about the state of the nation to ever get up and actually make any difference to it. It’s just the British way; if you can’t be bothered to do something, just sit back in outrage and send a letter into the Sun, because they’ll understand.

It's Not New, It's Just Easy

Right, I wrote this for a different purpose than this blog, but since it's a journalistic piece, I thought I may as well add it to the other pieces on here. So, here we are...Lily Allen's It's Not Me, It's You.

A new Lily Allen album you say? Is it catchy as hell? Check. Is it abrasive as hell? Just take a cursory glance at the title, thanks. Is it a modern classic? Well, let’s not get carried away.

With Lily, you kind of know exactly what to expect, even if she has only released one album thus far. There’s going to be some moments of real emotion and there’s going to be many more moments of pure brutality against bloke kind. You only have to wait until the third track before the first moment of wince-worthy lyrics from Miss Allen. ‘Not Fair’ is about a relationship that is perfect. So far, so boring. Unfortunately for Lily, and fortunately for us, he’s a bit shit in the bedroom. And with that, another Lily Allen classic is born. Its cutting lyrics are offset with a bizarre country and western jaunt. The beat is entirely necessary, as without it lyrics like “I lie here in the wet patch in the middle of the bed feeling pretty hard done by, I spent ages giving head”, would just be plain cruel.

The variation in instrumentation throughout this album is quite inspired, crossing between delicate piano (I Could Say), shameless Take That aping (Who’d Have Known), Klaxons-esque synth hooks (Back to the Start) and pretty god-awful accordion (Never Gonna Happen). ‘Hit and miss’ is one way to describe the backing music, much like Lily’s dabble in TV presenting, but boring it most certainly is not. I was just so relieved not to hear the usual Mark Ronson brass that blights everything he’s ever touched before. To tell the truth, the music is merely a passenger. Lyrically the album is a progression on ‘Alright, Still’; still biting, still painfully honest, still comic, but still only alright. Brilliantly crafted lyrics about mass drug taking in a society that is in denial (Everyone’s At It), scathing attacks on ‘the biz’ from the inside (The Fear) and the uplifting liberation after coming out of a bad relationship (I Could Say) are let down with a nosedive that seems to come around about the same point that Ronson decided to speed up the vocals on Fuck You, creating one of the most absurd moments of shit he’s been responsible for since the Kaiser’s last album. Chinese is a pitiful attempt at social realism from Lily, who yearns for the ordinary life of “beans on toast a nice cup of tea”. For someone with a gift for immature straight talking, I don’t want to listen to the ordinary, unless it’s funny.

Unfortunately, this is where the back end of ‘…It’s You’ goes. Ridiculous as it seems, bearing in mind the two and a half year wait for the album, it seems a little bit rushed. A worrying point to note is that if Miss Allen ever does find the right man, her music will undeniably suffer. Her best moments are born from hatred and anger; without the right emotions, it all ends up with beans on toast. Maybe that’s what she’d prefer.

The Second Coming of the Ubermensch: Human Holocaust

If you thought the previous post was a bit deep, then, unfortunately this one is going to be as well. It is much a logical continuation of the ideas set out before.

You may remember that I said there is nothing that makes humans any more special than thermostats, except for the fact that we have many many more mental predicates than they do. The limit to their mental states is that of temperature distinction, followed by the action of temperature regulation. It's about as basic as mental processes can get, but we still do not have anything like a soul that distinguishes us; consciousness is only the act of being awake. The logical conclusion for this then is artificial intelligence, i.e. humans created from other means than sexual reproduction. It is often agreed that everything in the world is physical; that there is no such thing, as Descartes suggested, as a non-physical, thinking substance. Yet the idea of artificial intelligence is generally scoffed at. Well, just take a closer look at connectionist psychology with regards neural networks and the progress that can be seen in that field. Sure, at present, it takes the most powerful systems and the painstaking task of altering and tweaking parts of the network just to get the machine to read a word. But, remarkably, the machine is learning how to talk, not just repeating what it has been programmed to say, like, say in cognitive psychology, which, sorry to spoil it for everyone, is complete and utter bollocks.

Now that I've got that part of the masterplan off of my chest, I shall continue in the same vein. As a species, we're pretty shit. We are almost entirely based on individualistic gain, egotism and personal vanity resulting in cruelty. Our greatest problem is that we are barely an improvement on the apes from which we've evolved. We are constantly in a battle between ourselves to be the best, and this results in quarrels and wars. This is the human and animalistic way, and it derives from sex being the method for procreation.

At this point, you're probably thinking, "What a load of wank! This is as pointless as Stephen Hawkin's treadmill". Hear me out though. When we hone the ability to clone or create a species with as complex mental processes as us, then I suggest we should simply lay down and die. We are the only species to be able to create the conditions for a superior race to succeed us, by eradicating the natural forms of procreation. We get far too bogged down in vanity and thinking that love is something to desire. This will no doubt offend those who will not open their minds, but the notion of reducing sex to only its purest pleasures is hedonistic, but ideal. And for anyone who craves that individualism, that unique genetic code that makes you you, then I'm afraid that you'll have to get over yourselves. Individualism is a source of unhappiness, and striving for it is impossible. Identical twins do pretty well at sharing genetic codes. They manage to have separate personalities whilst maintaining a bond that is so lacking in our race.

My point for today is that when we get the opportunity to create a far better race, the only factor that will hold us back will be religion, and the myths that have been indoctrinated into all children from a young age. If we'd realise we're as defective as we are, then there would be no question when the time arises. Sadly, the likelihood of A.I. is that we will use it for our own viscious personal gain. We'll make butlers, slaves, armies, because they don't have feelings. Well, that's simply not true. If a neural network was replicated, and placed within a body, then there would be absolutely no difference between it and a human, except for its ability to reproduce. Unless it displays some type of ausserung, then it is just like us.

But the purpose for why A.I. is being developed just demonstrates my point about our species.

Death of a God

Bit of a change of tack today. I often have thoughts about things a little bit beyond the normal tone of general conversation. It's pretty difficult to crowbar Sartre into idle chit chat, unless you're at a MENSA meeting. Since that's only once a month, I thought I'd express some thoughts here.

What the fuck is the point of a God? I'm pretty sure that the idea of a deity is the most ingenius and yet destructive idea ever. A higher power seemed like a pretty good idea for early civilisations desperate to instill order upon groups that would otherwise be anarchical. But, in an age of politics, globalisation and intelligence, Neitzsche's claim that God is Dead is an apt and less shocking statement. There is no purpose for a God, it gives people false hope, a false foundation for ideologies and rids people of real responsibility. If God did not exist, then everything would be permitted. In this case, everyone makes their own decisions, and there's no justification or excuse for our actions. The buck stops with us. It's not human nature; it's you. If you're a failure, you're a failure because you haven't made something of your life. This isn't by any means a pessimistic outlook, but precisely the antithesis. God is the origin for all underachievement.

I don't really have to go into all of the disputes that the notion of a God has caused, between sets of people without a difference between them, apart from their notion of a man with a beard in the clouds is slightly different to another group. It's ludicrous that wars can be fought over an imaginary friend. If anyone wants to challenge that then be my guest. I'm not denying a first cause is a pretty special thing, but the notion of a personifed being, with similar characterisics to that of a man is ridiculous. Read some Hume if you want to know why.

The point to God, well the only one that I can think of, is the notion of faith. The notion that there is not an end to life. Unfortunately though, this is also absolute bollocks. We're physical beings, with nothing separating ourselves from plants or other animals or even thermostats. The idea of the mental can be equated to only physical processes. Our distinction is that we have more mental processes than anything else. That is our only distinction; not consciousness, not spirit, not a soul.

A lot of these assertions are commonly held, even if the logical conclusions are not always reached. The thing that baffles me is why God is still such an important part of modern life? Surely we've evolved to a point that the notion is redundant? Fortunately, the apathetic are as plentiful as the atheistic, and with any luck the theists are a dying breed.

To Lose A Synthesiser

Klaxons are great aren't they? Their debut in 2007 was mindblowing when it arrived; fully formed with 80s synth sensibilia and mythological wonderment. The problem is that, since then, every Pete Doherty aping chump has gone and bought themselves a keyboard and gone 'edgy and psychedelic'. Take the Mystery Jets' second album; a complete departure from their debut effort, deciding to follow some bizarre Duran Duran framework. Moving on to Kaiser Chiefs. I'm fully aware they were always shite and always had a keyboard, but their latest effort is embarrassing to the point of tears of laughter. The Offspring even tried it once with Splinter. The point I'm making is that bands are getting desperate to stay relevant and are beginning to be found out. Don't get me wrong, I like a filthy synthesiser as much as the next Hadouken! fan. But there are appropriate contexts.

The View's latest offering, cleverly and oh so wittily titled Which Bitch, is the band's attempt at sentimentality, clearly on the back of their once listenable track 'Face for the Radio'. The View are a band who made a quick buck off of the popularity of The Libertines' rugged minimalistic production and high energy. Devoid of this and they are merely a bunch of pot head teens who are inaudible and unintelligible. The roughness of the delivery was what masked The View's inability to play instruments and sing. Whoever is responsible for adding slick production values, including synthesised mood rythms (okay, hardly any, but I had to link this article somehow) and turning up the reverb on the vocals really does owe The View a career. Their obvious flaws are magnified and the album ends up slow, without purpose and worst of all, boring.

Boring is not a description usually associated with Franz Ferdinand, with all of the riffs that those boys have conjured from their impossible funky-feet-powered guitars (oh come on, there has to be a reason for all of that unnecessary Michael Flatley-esque dancing). Unfortunately, they've spent far too long thinking about how to squeeze another keyboard solo into this album and just completely disregarded the notion of writing a song. 'Ulysses' kicks the album off in fine fashion, the perfect funk tune that you could imagine being played at the end of a 70s-based 'Back to the Future': "Hey Stevie! It's your cousin Billy Wonder...you know that new sound you were looking for....?". From this point though, it's all much the same Franz, but with a lot of synth that after a while just becomes white noise, forcing you to listen to the lyrics, which in turn is the worst thing that you can do with a Franz Ferdinand album. The lyrics of "Oh you girls will never know, oh no you girls will never know" and "You're what she came for whoa" are simply a continuation of "Do You Want To?", a track so repetitive that it makes Alphabeat look like Crystal Castles. On to the magnum opus of the album, well according to the band, and according to the hefty run time, deep into 7 minutes, "Lucid Dreams". This track typifies the problem with this album. An early release of it was made free and was absolutely awesome, a perfect balance of groove and lyrics; so danceable, so likable. Now the album version. It starts in the middle, and cuts to a different set of lyrics; lyrics not as good as the original. There is no hint of structure to this song, there is no stability to make it danceable. Then, as it seems as though the song has been ruined far enough, a barrage of dirty synths hit you from all angles, a definite head-fuck that the band must have felt was visionary when they'd finished it. The truth is, it leaves you with the same sense as the album does: "Well, that was pointless".

The final album review for the time being is the White Lies debut, To Lose a Life. When "Death" was first released, you could tell this was a pretty special band. They encompass all of the things that The Killers did before they became painfully American and painfully shit, by which I mean a powerful voice, uplifting choruses and synths used in perfect harmony to the flow of the music. There's not much more I'd want to say about the album than that really, because it really is a triumph. However, I will note that the structure for their songs may have to be worked on for the next album. You can get away with starting quietly and building it up to a powerful crescendo on every track once, but twice is pushing your luck, as Hope of the States discovered to their peril.

I miss Hope of the States. They probably should have got a keyboardist in.

Forgive the Name

First things first, it is impossible to come up with an original blog title these days. This was the best I could conjure from my unimaginative cerebral cortex, after literally everything was rejected as 'in use'. In a way it is fitting, as this is merely the space in which I plan to sculpt my journalistic 'guns', and intend to please no one by writing it. By all means, other people are welcome to voice an opinion on what I write, however, the chances are that no one ever will write on this blog. On another note, I despise the word blog, but for the life of me cannot think of a preferrable alternative.

Content on this...site? page? scroll?... is going to be pretty varied, mainly because I have the attention span as long as a gnat's pubic hair and will not be focused enough to stick to one topic of interest. But for an idea as to the way it will go, it will probably include me reviewing any and all new albums that I hear, ranting about some football decisions (what's that? Fergie's just got another 4 minutes added on to a match?) and discussing anything else that constitutes the shmorgous board of opinions that I have.

To demonstrate the apparent lack of coherence, here's a nice guitar, played by the genius that is Jack White...just to try and break up the monotony of block text. Or is it? It's also to explain the red, white and black theme that I've got going on. The most powerful colour scheme in history some say. Communism. Nazism. Romans. Royalty. The Sun. War of the Roses (Lancaster won because of the colour scheme). I could go on, if I had the time or indeed the necessary will to bother.

But I digress, and will continue to for as long as I write this blog. So, for all one of you that may be reading this, enjoy!