July 2005 Archives

(look, I'm really sorry about the continued use of Electric Six lyrics. It's not big or clever, I know, but it is fairly germane to today's entry)

So, last night I went to a gay club in Raleigh, as the token straight guy with my friends. It was…an interesting night out; I was told by Mandy (assume spelling correction to come) before we left for Raleigh which toilets to avoid (i.e. the ones without a lock on them), and a little about what to expect.

To whit: lots of men with no shirts sweating on a dance floor. As you'd expect, really. I have to say that I wasn't the greatest fan of the music, which seemed to follow the tried and tested formula of "stick a thumping house beat on, our kid, and change the singer every now and then, you know, for variety", but I guess that it did its job well enough.

I can't say that I have too many enlightening comments on the night; although it was funny to hear the girls complain about the lesbians in the corner who were just talking rather than dancing, and their bartenders are quite annoying and rude. I did feel a trifle out of place, although I know I wasn't the only one, so that made me feel better a little.

Anyway, after discovering more detail than I perhaps needed about Mandy's piercings, and avoiding lots of broken glass, we headed off to the essential destination after a night out: yes, the Waffle House. Waffles and hashbrowns for all! Or something. Eventually, just as the sun was coming up, we got back to Chapel Hill, ready to sleep away a rainy Sunday. And my last full Sunday here. Boooo…

Went to A YARD SALE!

For Stacie's birthday, we went to a vegetarian Indian restaurant in Cary, where we struggled with the menu (well, aside from Srav, Stacie, and Rachel) and ended up with huge amounts of food, in various different shapes and sizes; Stacie's dosai in particular could have easily have doubled as a diggery-doo. After attempting (and failing) to eat our way through colossal amounts of Indian food, we went on to the perfect post-dinner venue: crazy golf! At 10pm!

It's been a very long time since I played crazy golf, and I wasn't very good at it back then, either. I surprised myself more than everybody else when I started out being quite good. Unfortunately, it was more luck than judgement; in most sports I can never learn how to repeat doing the right thing, so I varied from jammy to incredibly bad. I ended up finishing joint first with the birthday girl though (she likes it when you sing Stacie's Mom. No, really, she does. That look of death that she gives you is an exchange of thanks, or so I'm told).

So that was Wednesday (with added chocolate cake and Collin being his amusing self. Oh, and apparently Simon is a very British name). Thursday was a lazy day again, hanging out with Srav and Stacie at the Apple Store again, before being dropped off in Borders (by myself! KID IN SWEET SHOP!). The night was swallowed up by a huge storm; huge crackles of thunder seemingly inches away from us, and lightning that lit up the sky just like day. And I was in the laundry room at the time. Eep. Thankfully, it didn't last too long (and American washers and tumble driers still suck by the way), but we didn't do too much else last night, aside from watching a few episodes of Six Feet Under with Collin (and me remembering how much the show depresses me).

But today! Well, not too much either, so far. I did meet up with Kavi this afternoon though, which was lots of fun. She's spent the last year in Japan, so I haven't seen for a long time. Bunches of hugs and animated conversation about her last few days overseas (including a drunken karaoke session and The Club With Three People). Sadly, I probably won't see her again on this trip, but it was good to spend a few hours with her at least.

I note with some regret that the new edition of Elizabeth Wurtzel's Bitch has a new cover.

On Tuesday night, a fence behind Cat's Cradle was energised by a nearby power line that was struggling under the strain of everybody's air conditioning needs. There was a BOOOM!, and central Carrboro plunged into darkness. Panic! Riot! Looting!

But no, everybody was very restrained, even when we pointed out that the cheesecakes in Weaver Street Market were just melting away. In the event, we did the only thing acceptable: we went to a bar in Chapel Hill and started drinking. And we learnt that a crash course in American life can be gleaned from watching VH-1, that Transformers melt in the sunlight, and that Fuse has a chalkboard in the men's toilet, but not the women's.

Following from afar: has Pete Doherty gone on a machine-gun rampage yet?

More to come, including crazy golf at night and…oh, I forgot, I have been requested to point out that, on Monday, a guy in a petrol station recognised Laura's Liverpool 2005 Champions t-shirt. He mentioned something about Michael Owen, which made me think of Bonnie's cackling laughter the day after Liverpool won the Champion's League…

Also, I think it's wise to spend at least part of today giggling at Ian Paisley, who has just been checkmated…hohoho.

We should get t-shirts made: "I survived the Carrboro blackout of July 2005"…

Today, the heat index has been 120˚F. You may kill me. If the heat doesn't first.

In order to escape, I did the only sane thing I could in the circumstances; I went shopping. I always feel a little guilty when I go on my epic clothes shops on holiday, coming out with huge bags of stuff, but as I seen to have inherited the sale gene from my mother, I never buy anything unless it's on the sale rack (hurrah for JC Penney and its seemingly perpetual sale!), and stay away from the stupidly expensive stores. So I've done all my clothes shopping, unless I see something nice at Club Nova (and yes, new socks!).

But anyway, yes, it's hot. It's been a fun couple of days; I was Ian-napped on Sunday night, heading out to watch Charlie & The Chocolate Factory, before going to Durham to eat at the goooooooodness that is Francesca's in Durham. We then lost Hannah, but continued on our quest to find karaoke. Thankfully, for all concerned, we failed, although we did have an interesting meeting with a security guard who: mistook Laura for a boy, was very concerned about licensing laws, and who warned us all about attacks that had taken place recently, but reassuring the girls that because I was there, they'd probably be okay (it was all I could do to not burst out laughing).

Then we went to Hell.

Hell, of course, being a bar in Chapel Hill. Ho ho ho. Had you going there for a moment. Okay, perhaps not. I discovered that I suck at air hockey, and treated the bar to Joy Division and The Buzzcocks. Because I'm not predictable or anything.

Yesterday! Lemurs! Apple Store! Another Apple Store but with apples you can eat! Swimming! A knife in a tree! Spider-webs! The Incredibles! And enough Chinese food to last a week, it seems…

The problem with Charlie & The Chocolate Factory is that it's actually a fairly boring story; Charlie finds a Golden Ticket (after a too-long process of looking for the ticket and not finding it - thankfully the film cuts out a small part of the book here), turns up to the factory, and then does very little while the rest of the children vanish. Charlie is then declared the winner and gets the factory. The only thing that holds the book and other versions together is how fun the ride is; seeing all the sights, watching the other children get their comeuppance in spectacular ways, and just how crazy Wonka can be.

So, happy to report that Johnny Depp's Willy Wonka is madder than two boxes of frogs. Lots of wonderful, trippy designs, odd Oompa-Lumpas who go metal, psychedelic, and funky at the drop of a hat, and the cotton wool room. The four of us who went to see it (Laura, Naomi, Hannah, and myself) spent most of the time giggling at the silliness. Not bad, then; a couple of annoying niggly niggles (why use 'dollars' when it's so clearly set in Britain? Why change Mike Teevee so he's actually clever now?), but fun.

Oh! And includes a cameo from The Actor Kevin Eldon. Which is why I laughed when nobody else did…

Sarah Vowell is my new hero. Let us all worship at her feet…

No indie karaoke last night in the end, but apparently I'm not quite off the hook yet.

There's loads of stickers around the town advertising a band or website with the image of Myra Hindley, which seems a little weird; there's probably little shock value from that, considering I guess that most people here won't know about the Moors Murderers.

My feet have once again broken out in blisters, with extra blisters on top of those. You know, you'd think that I'd learn, but nooo. Today, I'm wearing chunky socks which seems to make walking bearable.

Panera Bread has wonderful hot chocolate.

Squirrels don't like having their picture taken.

I saw somebody coming out of University Massage yesterday. Ewwwwwwww.

I've only seen the UNC campus be so empty once before, and that was on the Fall Break. It's like a ghost town, albeit a ghost town under heavy construction. The fountain is still running, although I've resisted the temptation to run through it.

Singing A New Engand and Regret at the top of your voice while walking down the street is guaranteed to get you some odd looks.

It's going to be 40˚C on Tuesday. This will probably mean that Bonnie is going to put a price on my head, but I'm more concerned, right now, with how to survive the day itself. I think I might decamp to Southpoint and stay in the cool air of the shops and movie screens until the temperature dies down to something reasonable.

Anyway, after waking up late in Naomi's apartment yesterday, we decided to head to the Spotted Dog, where Laura works, to see how she was handling the morning & afternoon after. Oh, and get something to eat of course. We made plans to go see Charlie & The Chocolate Factory later (and drool at the Apple Store, naturally), but these fell through after everybody else either had other things to do, or passed out through lack of sleep. So yesterday was a lazy day; through the magic of Kinko's I managed to recreate the half of Stacie's birthday present that I'd left at home, and a bit later on, I watched Mean Girls with Christa, Hannah, and Collin, before chasing a cat around a housing estate (trying to catch it, but failing miserably).

The comic shop has moved! I went behind the Bank of America complex as normal, only to find an empty shopfront. The usual thoughts of 'oh no, I've killed another comic shop! And I liked this one!' went through my head, but as I walked back to Carrboro, I found a new comic shop on Franklin Street. I went inside, and hurrah! The old owner! Apparently they moved four months ago; the new location doesn't flood, and as they're now on Chapel Hill's main road, they're getting more walk-in traffic. Good news there then, even if the new location feels a tiny bit smaller.

Finally for today - two years ago, I left a bunch of mix CDs dotted around Chapel Hill, with my email address on. I got one reply from a girl, Rachel, who found one of them. Since then, we've become quite good friends, chatting over the internet inbetween work and classes. She goes to university in a different state, so she hasn't been around when I've been visiting. But it appears that we were in the same shop during roughly the timeframe yesterday, which is a little spooky…

Now, I would tell you what happened last night, but firstly, I don't think anybody would believe me if I told you where I ended up, and secondly, it's a little embarrassing. I think we can sum up with this though:

Laura (and Naomi as well), is a bad influence.

Tomorrow night: Indie Karaoke. Any suggestions?

Ah, Collin. Life is so much weirder with him around. Or even when he's not, as suggested by the title of today's entry.

So, to sum up: HOT, but alive. I do have entries written on paper for Atlanta, which I will endeavour to get typed up in the next couple of days. Just to be confusing, though, I'll be posting them during the dates of last week, to plug up the big gap for future readers. I'll post links to them at the top of the blog when they're up so you don't miss them (I know, you're all on tenterhooks concerning my thoughts on the Atlanta public transport system).

Anyway, I'm in Chapel Hill. Portland was good fun, if a little short. Lovely trains and buses criss-crossing the city, a fabulous book store (yay Powells!) that I could live in if only they provided beds, wonderful waterfalls outside the city, and a lovely tour-guide who made sure I got to see everything and have a good time while doing so. Hurrah for Portland, then.

Chapel Hill is, of course, much the same as before; a few places have closed, some new shops have appeared, and the Southpoint Mall is currently getting a new Super Target. The campus is under construction awaiting the new students of 2005, and it's hot. Really hot. Even the residents are complaining about the heat, so I don't feel too bad about dying when walking outside.

Still to come! More wanderings, pictures of Chapel Hill, Atlanta and Portland, plus a Refreshers bar stuck to the front page of the blog (warning: perhaps a lie).

A new personal record: 90 minutes with Homeland Security!

Oh, I've been meaning to ask this for a week or so, but kept on forgetting:

Does anybody have, or know somebody who might have, any Kenickie appearances that they're willing to allow me to copy? I'm particularly looking for radio interviews, TV segments, and most of all, their music videos (preferably VHS). This is for Secret Project No.3, and I'd be most grateful if anybody could help me. I've had a look on eBay with no luck; I suppose I could ping the mailing list, but seeing as how it's been moribund for several years now, I thought asking here might be more useful.

If you can help, either post in the comments on this entry, or send me an email at ian@snappishproductions.com. Thanks!

I'm heading to Atlanta tomorrow, then, Portland, Oregon on Sunday, and I'll be in Chapel Hill, next Wednesday. Now, normally, this is where the blog becomes something more than me taking random potshots at music and politics from the safety of my armchair, but this time might be a little different.

I'm not going to have reliable access to an Internet connection, so updates will be less frequent, although I still intend to make them (I know a few places in Chapel Hill that offer free wi-fi, so I won't be completely cut off). This also means that if you're emailing me, I may be a little slow to respond.

Anyway, off to America again. Take care of Rachel Steven's gloves while I'm gone…

Baby Pandas…eh, not so much…

And in the end, it never even got to go out in the slot it has occupied for the last few years; instead, Top of The Pops was tonight quietly taken out behind Television Centre, and shot through the head.

You could argue that it went out fighting, with a strong final line-up. But the top draws were Crazy Frog and James Blunt, so we'll discount that, shall we?

Excuse me, Pan's People are dancing to the Crazy Frog's new single. I'll be out back with my shotgun. Oh, and Pan's People 2000 don't seem to like clothes. Skirts and tops in particular…

I wonder part of the decline in TOTP over the past how many years (10? 15?) is due to the other crisis in Pop that reared its head in yesterday's chart. Yes, I'm talking about how Rachel Steven's So Good only managed to make it to Number 10 this week. Both Popjustice and Sweeping The Nation have covered the issue in greater depth than I will, but to sum up: there are very few pop stars that sell records. And that led me to think - the most recent UK female pop star who can still have guaranteed hits is Kylie Minogue (yeah, yeah, I know, but despite not actually being British, she is a British-made act). Which is a little depressing. For the men, you have Robbie Williams; but having little to no new stars with staying power in the past ten years is very worrying.

But what can be done? Some might say that the internet can come to our rescue, by building up new acts and fulfilling a role previously occupied by the music press (c.f. the last post on the NME, and Smash Hits). And to be fair, people are giving that a shot. Unfortunately, the internet is all hype and no trousers itself at the moment (ask the eight people who bought Annie's Anniemal, for example).

I might be a music fascist, but there is no place in any just world for Heather Small.

Popjustice is heartened by the departure of Radio 1's music head, Alex Jones-Donelly, but I wonder whether how much power Radio 1 has anymore, with the rise of Radio 2 and the increasing power of the music channels on digital satellite. I don't think one station, channel, or paper is as important as it used to be, and perhaps the big fads and followings of the past will never happen again.

TOTP is dead. And maybe it's just as well.

The most telling thing about BBC4's Inky Fingers and its look back on the past 50 years of the NME, is how little they dwelled on the present. Conor McNicholas was given two minutes to dismiss critics of the current era as 'granddads', and the Steve Sutherland era of the 1990s wasn't even mentioned. A shame really, as Andrew Collins' recollection of Sutherland's appointment is fairly amusing:

1992. Popular, rotund, football loving NME editor Danny Kelly leaves for pastures Q. Various NME staffers publicly apply for job - in name of continuity at what was a great time for the NME - Steve Lamacq, Stuart Maconie, Andrew Collins, Gavin Martin, James Brown and Brendan Fitzgerald (the people's choice, non-nonsense Antipodean Deputy Ed). None of whom even got the courtesy of a second interview - instead we were all shocked to find that MM deputy ed Steve Sutherland would be "crossing the floor" from Melody Maker to be our new boss - just weeks after a pathetic live review in MM which he wrote saying that Suede were all that MM stood for (grace, glamour, originality) and Kingmaker were all that NME stood for (lumpen, crappy stude rock). It was typical of his useless writing style and his imagined "feud" between the papers - both owned by IPC and one floor apart in the same building. We at NME did hate the MM, but mainly because they all crossed an NUJ picket line that very year, despite our pleading of solidarity. So we were going to be run by a scab who'd tried to turn NME vs MM into column inches for cheap effect. And we'd heard he was a tosser.

For an hour-long documentary, it did its job fairly well, although as expected, events had to be compressed and details left out; the programme covered the 'hip-hop' wars of the 1980s in a rather jaunty tone, neglecting to just how serious it was - rumour has it that the police got involved over anti-editorial graffiti sprayed onto the office building.

As expected, it left me nostalgic for a time I never really knew. Danny Baker says that the best era of the NME is whenever you started reading, but I know that's not true for me. During the 1980s, IPC found itself publishing a music paper that reviewed music from a philosophical point of view, a New Pop point of view, and all the others it could find, never compromising in the face of label pressure. When I was reading the NME, Be Here Now was passed around the office; the requirement of taking the album was that you had to write a positive review.

Admittedly, there was still interesting bits and pieces throughout the 1990s, as issue-based features crept back into the paper, and yes, I used to find Steven Wells entertaining at times (far too in love with Hunter S. Thompson, but his review of Sleater-Kinney's The Hot Rock made me rush out to a Manchester record shop and buy the album, so I do have a little soft spot for him, although I imagine he wouldn't approve).

As for 'granddads', well, sure Conor, if you say so. It's not that we've too old for your paper. It's that the NME is now little more than a multimedia brand, designed only to cosy up to record labels and rubberstamp their new acts (while at the same time, blackmailing the labels not to talk to any magazines). The quality of the writing has plummeted, with the reviews section in particular being a pale shadow of even its 1990s self. It was better; even accounting for the most rosiest of lenses.

One final note: Charles Shaar Murray's TEETH! MY GOD!

Tim Westwood on Pimp My Ride, taking the mickey out of somebody for their use of slang.

Tim then went on to use the phrase "you're packing crazy heat". The man is a national treasure…

A Sky News feed of Michael Howard is playing. Then, a cut back to the Fox & Friends studio:

"That was Ken Livingstone, Mayor of London, looking more depressed, obviously, than he was yesterday in Singapore"

Also, earlier: "Well, the English don't have any experience with terrorism…"

And…

KILMEADE: And he [British Prime Minister Tony Blair] made the statement, clearly shaken, but clearly determined. This is his second address in the last hour. First to the people of London, and now at the G8 summit, where their topic Number 1 --believe it or not-- was global warming, the second was African aid. And that was the first time since 9-11 when they should know, and they do know now, that terrorism should be Number 1. But it's important for them all to be together. I think that works to our advantage, in the Western world's advantage, for people to experience something like this together, just 500 miles from where the attacks have happened.

Archery in Bow Street, anybody?

(I'm so, so sorry)

…but then I looked again, and it was Paul Morley.

(I may have a problem concerning music journalists from the 1980s. Perhaps)

Live 8 wrap-up!

Looking at the audience figures for last Saturday here in the UK, it seems that Live 8 wasn't quite the crowd-puller that we all thought it would be. A peak of 9.6 million people pales into comparison with important footballing events, Diana's funeral, and probably the original Live Aid concert (I can't find real figures, but I'll be amazed if the peak audience in 1985 was anything less than 15 million). This can be partly explained by the decline in TV watching generally (and the effect of multi-channels on the terrestrial five), but it only just beat the first episode of Doctor Who!

Meanwhile, HMV is rubbing its hands together as the acts that played Live 8 experience a huge sales increase (except for Mr. Doherty, who gets sent home with a "Must Do Better" note). Hurrah for Dave Gilmour, then, who throws a Geldof-like spanner in the works. I've also heard a rumour that Pink Floyd have turned down a $150m offer to tour America…

Also, the concert organisers are trying to clamp down on people selling bootlegs of the concert. As ever, I have a few semantic games to play with this: I take it that giving bootlegs away is okay? Seeing as how no money is lost (as the performers weren't compensated for their time), and all it could possibly do is raise awareness about Live 8? Hmm? Also, if Universal ever stop giving the proceeds of their digital download of U2 and Paul McCartney to Live 8, I trust that they will be branded as scum too (also, why is Universal credited with the copyright? Sure, U2 are on Universal, but Apple Records/Northern Music/Sony Music/Michael Jackson should also share the credit, right?)

And finally, Lexicon of Love by ABC is £2.99 in HMV. If you don't have a copy of this, beg forgiveness from the gods, and get to your local music emporium post-haste…

George Bush: My scientists tell me that global warming is actually caused by a concentration of midichlorians!

Sail 8! Umm, well, yes, Bob, it was a dumb idea…

New Top of The Pops being engineered to be the worst chart show since The Roxy, complete with Jeremy Clarkson guest presenting.

Woohoo! Aren't you looking forward to EDS building the ID Card system?

Jackanory is coming back! Plus a call for more drama on CBBC! Excellent! (And moving to Manchester too!) Time to try and come up with another proposal, I think…

Simon Sweeping The Nation (apologies, but I'm adopting the Smash Hits naming technique, which appears to be a little unwieldy for blogs, I'll admit, but a running gag is a running gag) sums up Live 8 in a more concise and correct manner than my ramblings yesterday. (Number 2 is so true…)

Starting off with highlights from Live Aid: Message from the BBC: It's not going to be half as good, suckers!

Boo! I was expecting U2 and Thumbs Aloft Macca (doing my bit to relive old Smash Hits catchphrases) to be dressed up as the Lonely Hearts Band…a few instrument players don't count!

BRING BACK THE QUO!

"The sun always sshinnnneees on TV!" It's a good thing A-Ha are playing in a different venue, Bono…

And now…for a very special message…

Warren Ellis is offering cash money for an air strike.

Sting's wife sounds like Paula Yates…which gave old flashbacks when not paying attention to the TV.

OOoh. Time for Coldplay. Hold me. Yawning for Africa, with After Effects fractal lines in the background. Chris tries to bring the Quo, but the crowd either doesn't recognise it, or are getting ready to bottle him off…

OH FOR A GUN. YOU ARE NOT FREDDIE MERCURY.

The best song in the world has a Rolling Stones sample? Who knew? (But at least the presence of Ashcroft means that Chris Martin is thrown in the background for a while)

The greatest thing ever organised ever apparently. The UN, the invasion of Normandy, the eradication of polio, the Magna Carta, all pale into comparison when set against a rock concert (honest, I'm not this cynical normally, but I resent being called stupid because I don't buy into something without question). And Kenickie's "I Would Fix You" is approximately 12,345 times better than "Fix You".

HAHAHAHA. I love the BBC. I hope the engineers cut away from that on purpose; just to dent Chris Martin's insufferable "If the BBC switch this off, they're not doing their jobs properly" speech

Andrew Marr for the new TOTP! Or at least a duet with Snoop Dogg!

My sister: "Philadelphia gets Brad Pitt and Will Smith, and we get Little Britain???"

Elton John looking fairly reserved, which is a shame. We could really do with a silly wig or two to liven things up. But don't worry! Keane are on later!

Marchers in London's Gay Pride asked to think of Africa by Bob Geldof. He won't be happy until he's overshadowed every political event in the next two weeks, will he?

OH GOD, Pete Doherty has made it on time! And not looking like he applied his make-up while out of his mind on heroin. No, not at all. Good God, he looks absolutely terrible. Back on the drugs again, it seems.

YAY BJÖRK! BOO! NO MORE BJÖRK!

We were hoping for Bruce Springsteen, but all we get is Bob.

BILL SODDING GATES? BILL —— I…I

oh sure, a convicted monopolist! That's a good spokesman! In charge of a company that imposes heavy trade restrictions on companies shipping its products, that campaigns for absurdly restrictive copyright laws, and does its utmost to undermine free alternatives to its expensive products. Just wonderful…coming up next, Pope Benedict XIV on birth control! Although the payback is that he has to introduce Dido. Which is a fairly worthy punishment for restricting us to 8.3 filenames for fifteen years.

Luckily, Dido is drawing all the rage out of me. She's a great soporific…

Youssou N'Dour is designated Official African Music Talent of Live 8, it seems, and he, one of the biggest selling African artists ever…is doing backing vocals for Dido. Nice one! Aha, 7 Seconds now, so he gets a bigger part.

And now we're going across the world! Zucchero! Katherine Jenkins in Berlin (crowd wanting her to do 99 Red Balloons), Thomas Mapfumo in Eden (which doesn't sound bad, actually), Duran Durah living it up in Rome (Spandau forever!), and that's it.

Either the G8 drops the debt or Stereophonics play FOREVER! At this point, we're making an executive decision to watch the Women's Final at Wimbeldon, as Kelly Jones is not welcome in this house. Why couldn't they get the Manics? I'm sure Nicky Wire would have enlivened the event somewhat.

Oh look! Celebs didn't have to go through a text-message lottery!

Back to the tennis because Ricky Gervias isn't funny, and Lindsay Davenport is fighting with an umpire! Much more exciting!

Michael Stipe is auditioning for the Blue Man Group! I think he's going to win today's make-up prize, doing an impression of Leonardo from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, in a rather low-key version of Imitation of Life (lots of stray feedback and mic pops).

I really don't like Everybody Hurts. But everybody else seems to be having a good sway, so I can deal with it. Plus it's the first time today that the crowd sounds excited.

WHAT? Cut back TO R.E.M., I don't want to see Razorlight! WHO PUT COLIN AND EDITH IN CHARGE OF THE VIDEO AGAIN!?? R.E.M. are doing Man in The Moon for crying out loud!

Ah, that's better. *anger levels subside*

Meanwhile, in Japan, Björk begins to devour Tokyo:

KOFI! KOFI! ANNAN!

Ms. Dynamite is suffering from more sound problems. And the crowd not joining in.

(erm, what happened to Kofi Annan? Bob Geldof all but goes down on his knees for Bill Gates, but the leader of the UN just gets to shuffle on and off? Nice!)

Graham Norton tells us that the Kaiser Chiefs are amazingly calm. Well, a world breathes easier with that knowledge…

Meanwhile, Jonathan Ross and Ricky Gervais make condescending comments about acts all over the world, while Hyde Park gets ready for Keane. Ah, Keane. A band that makes you yearn for the hard-edge and dangerous sound of Sarah Records.

Venus Williams v. Lindsay Davenport is 2-3 in the final set, by the way.

Oh look, it's Bob. And WILL SMITH! Yay! Working all the crowds. Because he can. DUDE! HE'S GOT THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE ONSTAGE! Best Prop Ever!

Do we have to go back to London? Philadelphia looks quite fun! But no, Travis is doing their "We were like Coldplay first, dammit!" act, comprising of Sing, Side, and Why Does It Always On Me. Oh, for the halcyon days of U16 Girls.

Fran, you can't sing Staying Alive. You let us down, you've let Britain down, but most of all, you've let yourselves down. And nice juxtaposition with African desert scenes during Rain on me!

Oho. "Only The Biggest Acts Can Apply!" That would be Bob Geldof onstage, then. Where are the rest of the Boomtown Rats, Bob? And not a shameful attempt to recreate the 1985 performance, oh no…and back to Midge Ure. Who seems a little annoyed, but then recovers when talking to Fearne Cotton, although somewhere Annabel Giles is warming up her boxing gloves.

Oh, Brad Pitt is in London! Could he possibly mention pharmaceutical companies and generic drugs? Probably not.

It's Brits' Best Female Artist Annie Lennox! Yawwwwn.8-7 Venus in final set, Or. Venus wins!

Going to take a little break for dinner. Back soon.

I was a bit mean to Annie Lennox; she turned in an impressive performance. But the highlight of the whole concert so far has got to be Snoop Dogg showing how cool it is to go on BBC1 at 18:30 and spend fifteen minutes going through all the swear words in his little rhyming dictionary. Top class entertainment! Plus, the sight of Paul McCartney getting down to Drop It Like It's Hot was wonderful.

Meanwhile, Will Smith is performing with DJ Jazzy Jeff in Philly! We laugh at the Americans, but their line-up seems much more diverse, plus they've got over 1.5m people there, which is a damn site more than the 200,000 or so in Hyde Park…(warning, I have a huge soft spot for Will Smith, so I loved the whole Switch / Fresh Prince / Summertime triptych)

Natalie Portman still has no hair! Evey Evey Evey! And the 'Drive' video that I mentioned a few days ago. And then, the girl in the video on stage, all grown up and looking well. An example of what Live Aid did. Of course, as Bob continues to point out, Live Aid was a completely different affair to this one.

MADONNA IS GOING TO EAT HER SOUL!

Okay, the girl has her translator with her now; she looked a little lost while Madonna was calling for a revolution.

MORE SWEARING! That quiet sobbing is the poor sap who is manning the BBC Duty Log tonight…

(I hope this continues to the point where Sir Macca decides to cover an NWA song by the end of the night)

A fairly average (although Ray of Light was nice and fast) set by Madonna, although she's now get a cast of about forty on stage to liven things up a little. Oh, Jacques Lu Cont!

Boo! More Pet Shop Boys! Come back!

An interesting running order at London. No harm to Snow Patrol, obviously, but above Madonna? Arg. Forgetting the words to your song to an audience of 5 billion is probably a little embarrassing.

Pet Shop Boys an BBCi allows us to escape Jimmy Carr. We turn over at the exact point where their set ends. Wonderful.

Meanwhile, in other wonderful feats! My favourite part is that he lost his place three hours in, and had to start all over again. That man has stamina.

The Killers! For one song! Somebody got a raw deal…but they're making the best of it. Although, if Bob Geldof hadn't done I Don't Like Mondays, they could have done two! Boo to Bob!

Or…we could have skipped Joss Stone's set. We're switching over to Alicia Keys, perhaps you might join us…although she's not too interesting either.

Wow, the Philly concert looks like bunches of fun; poets, beach balls, pyro, and sun!

Erm, Peter Kay is either drunk, or incredibly pissed-off with Jonathan Ross. The look he gave Ross when he mentioned Amarillo was deathly.

Boo! Jake is dressed! But a stylish cowboy outfit nonetheless. And Ana Matronic's microphone isn't working. Grrr. Oooh! New song! I do think we should adopt the Sisters as artists in residence, especially since the Americans aren't that interested. They'd make the VJ-Day celebrations more enjoyable, for a start.

Peter Kay is drunk. Highlight: "You will burn!" to Joss Stone, after accusing her of selling her soul to the Devil. It's all coming apart.

Velvet Revolver - doing the camp Nazi thing?

Kieron should have started a campaign to get Daphne & Celeste to reform…

Slash never gets older. He's like Cousin It; there's too much hair to determine even an approximate age.

Scott Weiland is shirtless. We wanted Jake topless! Not you!

DJ in Philly: "Put your hands in the air for Michael Jackson!" Response: Silence.

John McEnroe on stage! Put us out of our misery, John!

Hyde Park Must Die For Halifax Dropping.

Sting on next. There is no way this is going to end by ten. Especially since we've got Pink Floyd AND The Who still to come.

The background video effects are very Peter Saville-y tonight, aren't they?

Sting is worryingly becoming a Jeffery Archer lookalike. But thank goodness that the Spitting Image puppets rumour seems to have been just a gag (the world leaders during Every Breath You Take are on video screens instead)

He's the M-A DOUBLE R! Andrew Marr! Talking sense.

Mariah Carey, going back to her first album, of all things for tonight. Meanwhile, in Philly, Sarah McLachlan is bringing everybody down. CHOIR ALERT BACK IN LONDON! Mariah is also looking quite uncomfortable in those shoes. Oh dear. Oh dear. Embarrassing Mariah speech about THE CHILDREN. Watch those notes, Mariah!

John McEnroe is STREET.

David Beckham has THE FEAR in his eyes. And now, Robin Williams. With Queen. Oh how we laughed. If he was going to do a cover, then why not "Could It Be Magic", eh? (And notice how he's not actually singing half of his songs?). I'm conflicted over Robbie; I want to like him, but his performances make it very hard (plus, the whole swing era made me want to beat him to death with a microphone stand). And attempting to be 1984's Bono doesn't win any points either. But at least he mentioned Midge Ure!

Oh dear. Peter Kay is walking. Just. And now for an a cappella version of Amarillo. And no, we don't want to see the Hairy-Toed She-Beast interviewing George Michael.

And now, the MOR part of the evening! The Who look better preserved than The Roling Stones, but, ah, they're showing their age a little (but still, who's hoping for a CSI medley?).Won't Get Fooled Again isn't bad, though. Time for a quick drink during the instrumental, Pete!

The Cure are on in Paris. Boy, Robert Smith has filled out a little!

And now! Appropriately in the dark! It's Da Floyd! With The Scissor Sisters! (a-ha!) Pig sighting! And we still have a Beatle to go, remember! Okay, I promise to refrain from using exclamation marks for about ten minutes. Not too much to say really; I can't claim to being a big Pink Floyd fan. But they're not doing anything wrong here. Aho, I have heard Wish You Were Here though, and that was quite good. BIG HUG AT THE END!

Only Sir Paul to go now - looks like they're going to overstep their licence by two hours, although I doubt that Westminster Council will complain too much. Sucks if you had to make the last train!

And here he is - I take it that he's not playing the Spector arrangements tonight, though? First special guest is George Michael on Baby, You Can Drive My Car. Well, I would tell you more, but it's been switched over to Stevie Wonder. Apparently though, I missed him stealing Helter Skelter back from Bono. Anyway, back to The Long And Winding Road, always one of the lesser Beatles songs (and not improved by Paul junking Phil's work, either). And hey! Hey Jude singalong! (just the end though, which is a bit of a cop-out)

(who knows what Paul whispered into Mariah's ear. And Jake is gazing longingly at Fran Healy (Woo!))

Something of a damp squib ending, I thought. But don't worry! Here come the Kaiser Chiefs! (secretly ironic, of course)

Just mopping up now. Best bits of the day? Probably R.E.M., Will Smith, and Snoop Dogg enlivening tea-times all over Britain. And that they didn't show a new soundtracked video of Africa like ITN said they were. Hurrah!

Shamelessly stolen from Sweeping The Nation!

They're never going to make another Technique again. Once you've accepted that fact, all of New Order's post-1988 output is more palatable, somehow. Waiting For The Sirens' Call is a elegiac collection of songs that hits all of my New Order buttons. though I concede that they could sing out-of-tune with bad mikes while a pantomime horse dances on stage, and I'd be happy…

"What can I get for ten dollar?" I don't care if she's real, a fake art student who works with Justine Elastica, or a time-displaced Neneh Cherry; this album is fantastic. Wonderful beats, some fun and weird vocals, plus "I salt and pepper my mango", which is my favourite lyric of the year so far (Apart from "bing-bong-bing-bong", naturally).

Their first record on Sanctuary saw them crashing in at the charts at No. 72 (I mean, really, what with the charts the way they are, I don't want to know how many albums you have to sell to reach those lofty heights). It's a shame, as it's the most accessible album they've made for years. I want to find the time to write a full post on it, to be honest, but highlights include: Sarah Cracknell's almost perfect Kylie impression on Stars Above Us, the backing vocals that drench the album, the final minute of Milk Bottle Symphony, and all of Teenage Winter.

They were up in Manchester when I was there in April; I could have got my copy of the album signed, you know. Anyway, easily the best of the current post-punk revival bands, even if the BBC is trying to wear out So Here We Are by playing it all over their Wimbledon coverage.

Pips Sleater-Kinney's The Woods to the list. Both have heavy Dave Fridmann production, but I think it works better in Low's case than with S-K. You have to love an album that starts with "Tonight the monkey dies"…