BAD MANNERS - THE HEIGHT OF BAD MANNERS

Welcome, once again, to Drunken Vinyls

You have inadvertently stumbled upon the most important scientific study known to man since Darwin set sail on the Beagle.

This is our serious scientific attempt to review all vinyl releases in the world ever since 1955, starting at A and ending at Z. Remember this is not for the IPOD generation – if you own an IPOD, leave now, because after this there will be no turning back. Trade in your POD for a seriously good sound system and some black plastic circles.

Our hope, as we write this, is that we will leave a lasting ‘record’ of how music was meant to be heard, a footprint, a true document of life, as it was, in the early 21st Century.

However, in order that we might avoid accusations of pretentiousness or being phoney is that the survey MUST take place on a Friday – or any other suitable day of the week except Tuesdays - we hate Tuesdays – and furthermore that we must drink a can of Fosters or its alcohol equivalent per each track reviewed. We think a can a track is a pretty decent painkiller.

And we might not start at A.

Although we did.

Sort of.

BAD MANNERS: THE HEIGHT OF BAD MANNERS

SIDE 1

THE VERY WORST RECORD EVER! (Possibly)

We had second thoughts, in any case, and came up with a new concept. What if, instead of every record ever made being reviewed once a week, we reviewed the SAME record every week but drank every booze known to man from A to Z, starting with …er…Asti Spewmante and ending with Zod’s Special Ale?

That would mean, however, listening to Abacab again – and therefore a clandestine trip in order to retrieve it from the neighbour's skip at the bottom of our street where it now resides underneath a rusty bicycle and several empty tins of decking paint. And neither of us could be bothered.

Therefore, future-dudes, we move on to the first record ever made beginning with B, which, as it happens is Bad Manners – and it's a corker. 

No it's a stinker, but for the purposes of creating an accurate ahem ‘record’ we must do this one – then a whole pile of dog eared well thumbed and sticky looking – I mean PILE – loads of them – we’re talking no sleep till Christmas – big heap – honest injun – stash - by some toothy grinsters called Beadles. Will the line stretch out till the crack of doom? Ask George Michael. I ain’t looking forward to them Beadwits, I can tell you, or their brothers the Beach Balls and Bee Jams. There's a whole box of them.

Am I procrastinating? Well YES!

A)    Don't want to go to Chelsea

B)     Waiting for Charlton v Cardiff to finish

And I’m on can 3 from the big heap in the picture above. That was a cool tower, though, wasn't it? Quite literally, straight out of the fridge, very cool. Ahahaha - come on you Addicks

Thank GOD for TWITTER, though – Lorraine Kelly has just informed the Twitterati that ‘Janine is wearing my top in Eastenders’ – and susddenly death loses its sting. Bad Manners? Yes, we CAN do it!

Track 1

And can 4.  – We really must do this scientifically next time, following the clearly laid down rules of research. By the end of this record I’ll be trashed. As ever – what follows are our vague daubings about the experienced pleasures whilst listening to this magnus opus. Here we go. Excited? I am! It’s live viewers! Here it comes!

Ah – bugger, the record’s scratched again. Hang on.

Bloody back’s hurting. I’ll just give it a nudge…

Few crackles: I love you do, yes I do. This is pleasant. Sort of mouth organ playing – he says ‘love-a-me’ instead of love me This is totally inoffensive, washing over you like the river Tiber if you were to breast it with a lean and hungry man and, getting to the other side, then say ‘Help me Cassius, ere I sink’. And this man is now become a GOD! He BESTRIDES the world like a COLOSSUS – and we petty men, why we cringe and peep, cringe and peep from BENEATH his legs!

Track 2

Hmmm. This one is a bit dancey with a farting saxophone. And some berk going 'Ninny Ninny NaNa, Ninny Ninny Na Na' a bit. The sax player is a genius at producing a sound that is genuinely reminiscent of that morning after the curry you shouldn't have had. Farty fart fart.

Track 3

This is a bit like the last one. The words have changed to Fatty Fatty Reggae or Farty Farty Reggae - we can't be sure. The tune is almost exactly the same. 'Lip up Farty Reggae'. What’s that about, eh? Better have another can. 

Track 4

This one is exactly the same as the last two. There’s some ADHD keyboard playing. As we sit here, we’re jerking about a bit in a vaguely offensive thrusting motion and then the fat shouty bloke is singing something about 'Bully Bully'. I wonder if he knows Jim Bowen? Talking of bullies, and why wouldn't I, I was picked on when I was at school and it was no joke, I can tell you. Later I joined the Royal Navy. On HMS Beagle there was this nutter called Buck Taylor who wanted to be in the Field Gun…

Track 5

…and one day I was painting on the upper deck over the rust, and he threw my chipping hammer, punched me into the sea and called me a dopey c*nt. And Sub Lieutenant Tynan didn’t even tell him off. He was too busy telling the Captain that he wanted to take pot shots at a barrel in the Irish Sea in case it was a mine!

Track 6

I think there was a reference to slapping a girl about during track 5 but quite honestly I’ve drifted off and went to the toilet. If there was, I apologise. Totally wrong and not the sort of thing that we expect in this day and age. After HMS Beagle…

Track 7

…I was never the same again. I met this guy called Annie Oakley and his father used to give jellied eels on a Friday. Have you ever had jellied eels? You probably think you get the whole eel in some jelly. My preference would be raspberry – or lemon…

Track 8

…but, one day, after a pretty good game up The Valley, we was in that club up the hill a bit opposite the Valley Café, you know the one, and in comes the fish seller. ‘Jellied Eels!’ he cries, ‘Jellied Eels! Get them while they’re hot, they’re lovely!’…

Track 9

…so naturally, me and your fellow reviewer – me – we swap you know – charming, ain’t it? Who’s typing? I don’t know! Neither do I! Shall we do it together? Oh, alright. We could have two keyboards like in the Rubettes. Opposite pianos. Another can? Don’t mind if I do! Thank you! You’re too kind! Well…

Track 10

…Woah! Get you! We’ve woken up! CAN CAN! Just what we was thinking - let's have another can! I saw Madness do this; doing the old Yosser Hughes – they was tough. Why ain’t we listening to Madness? Who bought this excremental record?

Track 11

Something about Romeo and Juliet. Who cares? Toilet time.

Track 12

Could’ve sworn I had something important to say. ‘IS THERE ANYONE HERE FROM TARPORLEY?’ Something like that. The fish vendor. Does anyone remember MacFisheries, or is it just me. Will I take Macfisheries to my grave? The skip, just round the corner, could be worth a visit…

Track 13

Shitty shitty shit shit ad nauseum. I hope future-kind appreciate this level of analysis. He is genuinely and actually singing ‘I Got No Brains’. Well you said it mate. ‘I got no brains in my jeans.’

Track 14

This track reminds me that in Reginald Perrin – by David Nobbs – the town of Godalming was the most mentioned in the entire book. Reggie drove off to commit suicide in a wobbly jelly lorry which is ironic, really, in its way, because if this record doesn’t end soon I’m throwing myself off the viaduct above St George’s Road.

Track 15

Now now now now. This one is the first track with a modicum of tunefulness and musical interest – it mentions suicide, too. It’s called ‘Falling Out Of Love’ and, to be fair, we could give this five out of ten and a jellied eel.

Track 16

Christ. Track 16. Sixteen! They had sixteen hits? Nuff said

Oh God. It’s stuck.

That’s it, shite-o-record, you have passed the limits of human patience. We gave you a chance, don’t say we didn’t. But it’s skip time for you , along with Abacab, and them tins of Effing decking paint.

Bloody hell. That don’t happen often. Just tipped my can up and it went right up my nose, like an unpleasantly fizzier version of Vicks Sinex Nasal spray. Just about sums this evening’s research up.

Can I do it again next week?

Course you can, Malcolm.

GENESIS ABACAB

Welcome, intrepid voyager, to Drunken Vinyls

You have inadvertently stumbled upon the most important scientific study known to man since Darwin invented something about Galagapos Tortoises.

This is our serious scientific attempt to review all vinyl releases in the world ever since 1955, starting at A and ending at Z. This is an experiment in sound, a sonic adventure and the findings should only be read by those amongst you who are ready to have the very world around you rocked to its very core.

Our rules are very simple. The record must be on vinyl as the artist intended. No IPODS are welcome here, no downloads, no mobile phone accoutrements, no falseness in any way. All we have is a seriously good sound system and some black plastic circles.

Our fervent hope, as we write this, is that we will leave a lasting ‘record’ of how music was meant to be heard so that future generations; those who come after us, might read this footprint as a true document of life, as it was, in the early 21^st Century.

Our only concession or compromise, if you like, to the download generation, is that our reviews are tempered (in order that we might avoid accusations of pretentiousness, or being phoney) in that the survey must take place on a Friday – or any other suitable day of the week except Tuesdays - we hate Tuesdays – and furthermore that we must drink a can of Fosters or its alcohol equivalent per each track reviewed. This, we feel, will lend true veracity to our appreciation of the music as it was truly meant to be.

And we might not start at A.

ABACAB by GENESIS

SIDE 1
THE VERY FIRST RECORD EVER! (Possibly) 

The thing is that Abacab has an A – so what better place to start.

Well anyway, have to admit I have had a couple of sherberts before reviewing this one. Finished off some really nasty penis colada. When I was at school there was this scare about the Colorado beetle and if you found one in your mash potatoes you were supposed to ring the Colorado hotline and tell your farmer about it. That was some time ago, I admit it now, about the time of plant a tree in 73. Reuse your envelopes and save paper.

Anyway, I’m just putting the needle on now.

Track 1

There was a couple of crackles but nothing drastic. Then this loud WHOOSH and Na na na na.

Before you know it Phil’s adenoidal voice has started going on about 'is he to blame?' Well I think he is to blame for some truly nasty records like ‘One More Night’, actually. Abacab doesn’t really care. Well I do, because One More Night was dismal. It’s an illusion you say? I don’t think so because I’m telling you I got the 45 and it’s an effing dirge, mate. There’s a hole in there somewhere – quite right, it’s at the centre of the record.

This first track doesn’t actually end, it just sort of goes on. The drums are pounding away quite nicely, it’s percussive aimless noodling.

Track 2

Quick snifter and we’re up for the second track. I’ve got an appointment with the bank tomorrow. That skipped. I’m telling you that was a definite skip. I’m starting that again. No, it’s alright, a bit of fluff on the needle. Don’t think I’m gonna make the bank. The chord progression goes major to minor. Some parpy brass from them horny Earth Wind and Fire parpers. Tell you what, the lyrics are totally meaningless – be with me, you’ll never be with me – what’s that about? No wonder there’s no reply at all. No this one’s a bit dull. Getting ADHD tendencies – I’d mix out of this if I had the other deck set up. Parp. Parp. Parp. No reply. Parp de parp. Is anybody listening?

Well not me, obviously.

Track 3

I’ll tell you a better Genesis record than this. Duke. Wish I was listening to that one. Hang on – I’m starting to like this. Oh this is cathartic – nice – like this. Reminds me of that spine tingling track ‘Down And Out’ off 'Then There Were Three'. Me and Sarah Jane. Yes – that was Doctor Who’s girlfriend. She was very spunky. A sort of women's libber with the figure.

Track 3 reprise

And there was that bit in the TARDIS where the Doctor drops her off in Croydon. ‘Don’t you forget me!’ He smiles, enigmatically. There’s a bit of reggae in this track – just noticed it with the better half of my ear. I turned it up louder – no, this one’s great. Why do they walk along the shore in silence, though? I’d most probably pick up a couple of shells or throw a football, if it were me.

Track 4

WOW! This one’s great. The drums just pound right in – I tell you what it’s crystal clear too – the drums are over hear on the left channel – the synths are right over there and it’s rhythmically challenging. Oh, Phil, RIDE that high hat! He learnt that from Ringo! This one’s going on again. And the Sarah Jane one, too. This is worth the price of the admission alone. Back to Sarah Jane.

Track 4 reprise

Oh yes – the booze's kicking in now. Those drums are sounding pretty damn good – they bring a smile to the face – a smile, a wry smile. So they let him go again. I bet you don’t get this sound from downloads and docking stations. Docking stations? In my day that was something what you put on nettle stings. Good old Sarah Jane. I think we’re going to miss her you know. Sarah Jane leaves. Dock leaves.

SIDE TWO

Track 1

Bloody hell. 33 new tweets whilst I've been composing? Don’t people have something better to do? Oh this track is shitty shit shit. No melody, grim minor keys – urgh. Can we go back – no! We must forge ahead, my dears. Whilst this track plods on – review those tweets: Boy George – four – I WISH he’d stop pestering me, no George, I say, keep away from me. Hi George meet my fiancee. I keep looking at the vinyl for hope of a conclusion but it ain’t good news – still plenty to go, I’m afraid. Oh Genesis. Oh Woman. Oh Why? This is ‘One More Night’ all over again. Oh there's lovely. It just faded away like the Beatles on Hey Jude.

Track 2

Aaargh! On my gravy! EFFING CRAP! That's sh*t that is! Pon my soul! 'Was it me, was it A or B or she or me? We know, we know, we know…' And not helped by the lack of a tune. What were they thinking?

Track 3

This LP has now almost ground to a halt – how can I describe this one? Well it’s a synthy thing – lonely man on a corner, nobody knows what he’s waiting for, nobody cares. Didn’t Lennon write this? But WITH a tune?!!!!! Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Track 4

We’re a very long way from anywhere now, dear reader. A long time since the heights of ‘Sarah Jane’ or ‘Keep it Dark’. Still let’s keep believing. And what do you know? A drum roll and the first appearance of a melody on this side of the LP. There is still a chance to hold on to her love. I think the needle’s getting clogged up now, but the finishing post is in sight. No this one ain’t much cop. Phil gave her everything he had, you see, and I think that includes his inspiration for Side Two of Abacab. We’re back in ‘One More Night’ territory. I don’t think, at the age of 50, that I’ll ever play this side of Abacab ever again. A sobering though – therefore I’ll have another vodka and think about Sarah Jane’s tits. We’ll do a better one next week. I promise. Let me know. I quite fancy Andrew Gold. No? Oh, all right, ‘Rio’ by Duran Duran, then.

Track 5

Bugger this one just started with no fanfare at all, never mind no reply at all. Okay – here’s hoping. And it skipped, too. Oh dear. Another dire track. Side two turned out to be the gravy underneath the plate. So sorry. Such high hopes.

So, in the end, what have we discovered this week? I’m a bit drunk, I’ve said it – I’ll put the punctuation in tomorrow but I’ll tell you something for nothing – at this rate it’ll be a bloody long way to the end of the alphabet. Thanks Phil for kicking us off.

Another classic next week?