Girls Music

My partner in lankiness, Toddla T, and our direct anatomical opposite, Monsieur Raf Rundell, launch their new record label Girls Music this month.

I was commissioned to design them a logo to unify their web, vinyl and other output. If I recall correctly (which I do), T and Raf's brief was something pompous and complicated like...

'Some shit propa simple and not explicitly girl related... No lips, tits or ladies toilets signs.'

So, after what seemed like (and actually was) forty minutes of THINKING ABOUT IT IN MY BRAIN; I mocked-up the logo above.

The idea was that an inversion of / nod to the classic MG Motor logo would look crisp, classic and a little like the Motown / Domino Records logo style, sitting on the fence between distinctive and subtle. The link to girls is strengthened by the fact that most modern MGs are owned by hairdressers and not car enthusiasts.

They liked and used it.

The end.

Getting Stuff Did

As an unfathomably lazy idiot and fervent procrastinator, I was thrilled to heed the advice of this productivity blog.

http://productiveblog.tumblr.com/

I believe upwards of 4% of my computer-related activity is now of a worthwhile calibre; a figure I am obviously wildly proud of.

Grime & Grime Again

Last week, my good friend Political James sent me a text message, telling me that he had just heard these lyrics...

'Peter Piper picked a pepper. Put the pepper in a pot, cook it up a lot. Ain't got diddly squat, but a pepper in a pot. Not a jot. Pepper pot, Pot of pepper. Potty pepper. Peppy potter. Not a lotta pepper in a pot. Diddly squat.'

I stared at the paragraph for some time, then thought to myself...

Those grime lyrics are BRILLIANT. It takes me back to a bygone era, during which we listened to Grime loads (a bit); a time when we were fifteen (nineteen) and knew a great deal about it all (claim to); when we absolutely loved it (professed to more than was the case).

It was only after these inklings had crept across a cortex that James sent me a second, rather deflating message.

'I made that up.'

I was truly dismayed that the bars were fraudulent.

It's almost as if the lesson 'if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is' has been taught before.

I must have bunked it to swan off and imagine being an underdog Peckham rapper. At a grammar school. In Amersham.

Mabel Love

I was recently commissioned by Sheffield band Mabel Love to devise a visual identity (deepest apologies; a logo, slick MySpace and artwork) for them.

Obviously I was DELIGHTED to assist in their germination, notably because lead singer Richard 'Pilau' Rice is a lovely lad (ish); and partly due to James O'Hara, their comely manager, threatening to give me the bum's rush if I refused.

I misunderstood the term 'bum's rush' at the time, as well one might.

Nonetheless, the band's 'dazzling' new motif is emblazoned at the top of this post. The idea was that, as well as being an 'M' and an 'L' fused together, it would appear to be a pair of angels shaking hands, one kneeling. 'How wondrously ingenious', I thought. Though this has not been apparent to ANYBODY I have shown (or you, I am sure). Alas. Regardless, the rest of the visual feast can be gorged on at...

http://myspace.com/mabellovemusic

As if that wasn't enough, I was then asked to employ all of the dextrous wordsmithery at my disposal to construct a biog for the formidable scamps. I only went and did that too, didn't I? It all sounds rather serious... Which is exactly what Doctor Ricey ordered. Macabre little bastard. Peculiarly enough, this is it.

MABEL LOVE

Emerging from the still warm ashes of several bygone bands and musical projects, burgeoning Sheffield outfit Mabel Love have located their feet with an unusual briskness.

Lavish but moody soundscapes abound throughout Mabel Love’s work, comprised of songs with subtle, delicate melodies peppering strident, jarring riffs.

Having practised intensively for a six month period, the boys spent a stirring week away together writing and recording in Gardenstown, a remote coastal village in North Scotland, this year. A new and subtle lyrical focus on the natural world was clearly borne of the experience, explicitly so in the song ‘Gardenstown’.

Already noted for their tight and atmospheric live shows, Mabel Love are blessed with a wealth of harmonic vocal talent, with lead singer Richard Rice assisted by the haunting chants of bassist George Moran and backing vocals of guitarist Dan Whitehouse.

Savvy to, but not disheartened by, the formula and subsequent lifespan most local bands fall foul of, Mabel Love are creeping forward stealthily, with real bite, traction and integrity.

Developing under the radar has suited this talented but wary bunch, and arriving fully formed in the ears of the discerning is the aim.

Gently nudged out of their shells by bright young producer and lead singer of Bromheads Tim Hampton, the boys have come to realise that by sticking to their guns, being unashamed in their influences (Nick Cave, U2, Echo & The Bunnymen), and playing to their unusual but unquestionable strengths, they have become that band which they longed to be.

It will not be long until those discerning ears are pricked up.

T Willy In Ibiza

My Partner In Lankiness ®, Toddla T, recently went on a working holiday in Ibiza, which, I am sure you will agree, is quite unusual for a DJ.



Having captured his 'experience' on camera for his visual output, TTV, he asked me to come up with a logo to stick on the final cut of the 'Toddla T In Ibiza' episode. You will not believe what happened. I did. I made the logo.

This piece of visual silliness follows on from the original MTV pastiche and the 'Miami Special' version I made, shamelessly displayed below.

One Time Miracle Exemptions

A year ago, I was fortunate enough to witness one of the most phenomenal occurrences in the history of snacks and their packaging.

Andy and I were enjoying an extremely productive afternoon watching MTV Base in his living room when, to crank things up a gastronomic notch, Andy decided to collect a Crunch Corner from the fridge.

I believe Mystikal had drawn my attention away from the snack in question, but my senses were stirred as Andy embarked upon what was undoubtably a very special yoghurt. Gasping as he opened it next to me, I turned to stare at what can only be described as a vista of biblical magnitude. Andy held the lid with a trembling hand.

This unparagoned lid, though, was bereft of even the most microscopic smidge of the product it shielded. An unbroken and perfect skin of toffee yoghurt lay quivering beneath.

Had the yoghurt never even touched the lid in transit? Was the yoghurt more repellent to lids than the average? Had spiteful demigods tampered with the product solely to prevent Andy from becoming part of the lid licking majority?

These and the many, many more metaphysical questions the matter raised remain unanswered. Partly because of their ethereal and dangerous mystery, and partly because contacting Müller about such an incident is not really the sort of thing Andy likes to dabble in. But shaken and amazed we were, and still are, a year on.

To celebrate the first anniversary of this One Time Miracle Exemption, my friend Kyle and I last week decided to pray for another snack / packaging (snackaging) rarity; this time in the field of crispology.

My Father does not believe in opening crisps in the conventional fashion. Rather, he cuts the edge off a packet lengthways, so as to 'improve the ease of ingress.'

Kyle and I are from a newer school of thought, however. We relish the excitement of delving into the murky depths of a long packet. So, having discussed how incredible it would be to come across TWO packets of crisps fused together, top to tail, we got down on our knees and begged the God of Snacks to make it so.

This is what transpired...



Can you imagine? So pleased were we with our miraculous tube of crisps, that we (I) pledged our (my) allegiance to crisping with integrity forevermore.


The human mind is not capable of fathoming what we might pray for on the second anniversary of Holy Corner Day, but whispers abound that a crisp the exact size and shape of a piece of sliced bread, so perfect for a sandwich that only divine intervention could make it so, shall be willed into fruition next year.

I for one am keeping my Chipsticks, Twiglets, French Fries and fingers crossed.

The Banhartlatans

Am I wrong in thinking that Devendra Banhart...

Is very, very slowly morphing into...

Tim Burgess?

Well hellair, Lady Knowles

The exxcellent The xx have this video embedded in the 'influences' section of their MySpace.

I must admit, it has increased my affection for The Jigga Man's lady tenfold, and is certainly the best YouTube video I have seen that is under five seconds long.

If only 'British B' had been her alter ego, and not Sasquatch Fierce.

Creative Monkeys Piece

This is the second piece I wrote for Arctic Monkeys before the release of their third album. It certainly perplexed a few journalists.

ARCTIC MONKEYS RETURN

Since recording their last album and during the course of over two years, the boys had become accustomed to the routines of their everyday lives. With writing and recording paused, Nick, Matt, Jamie and Alex were each able to indulge in their own bespoke approach to enjoying life in their early twenties.

Matt, ever the sophisticat, had settled back into life in Sheffield neatly. Initially, and very happily, he spent his days devising new extreme sports, testing their quality by building prototypes for numerous watercraft, boards of all kinds, huge foam weapons and even two pocket-sized jets in his 'house of the future'. Life was sweet. He slept like a glove. After striking up a bromance with Sean Combs and subsequently agreeing to co-found a new and wildly experimental cross-Atlantic hip hop label, Good Boy Entertainment, Matt prospered further still, and was positively frothing with joie de vivre.

Jamie, who had developed a taste for all things exotic and adventurous, managed to effortlessly combine his new found interests in perilous travels to unexplored and far off lands. He felt fulfilled, notably by his discovery of not only a previously unknown and violently potent spice within the bark of a tree in a rainforest in sub-Saharan Africa, but also by his unverifed sightings of two new species of giant anteater in deepest Bolivia. After emerging from a wood near his Sheffield home (where he had lived self-sufficiently and undisturbed for nearly seven months), Jamie declared himself ready to renew his relationship with his guitar and his bandmates in the middle of last year.

Nick’s exploits during the boys’ sabbatical might well be described as the most curious. After spending the best part of 2007 embroiled in an exhausting (though ultimately fruitful) legal battle over his coining of the portmanteau word ‘chillax’, he sought to rid himself of the obsession that had plagued his time with the band. Whilst the others were content to rely on all manner of fastenings and clasps, Nick had developed such an unhealthy addiction to zips that he could not leave the house without six or seven about his person. Having weaned himself off with a cocktail of press studs, buttons and hooks, Nick was clean, and latterly vowed to ‘go velcro’.

Alex, having completed work on an ambitious audiovisual project in the form of his musical version of Enid Blyton’s well loved series ‘Binkle and Flip’, attempted to satiate himself with an interesting and novel pursuit. Having originally sought, discovered and purchased what is believed to be eleven derelict London Tube stations, Alex found himself in the privileged position of owning nearly a third of London’s underground landscape. Comprising a vast and mysterious network of tunnels, bunkers and, allegedly, an opulent and breathtakingly large hall directly beneath Berkeley Square, Alex’s secret underworld rapidly became the envy of the social elite.

And so it was, with the boys refreshed, poised and with vim, vigour and new ideas abounding, that they themselves reassembled, assembling a body of work which has now taken the form of their third album.

Recorded on both sides of the United States, initially with inspiration turned accomplice Sir Joshua Homme in Joshua Tree, and latterly with serial collaborator and friend Lord James Ford in Brooklyn, the new material is the fresher for being steeped in the boys’ various (and almost unbelievable) experiences and achievements of the last two years. They hope you enjoy it.

Factual Monkeys Piece

This is the first piece I was commissioned to write for Arctic Monkeys in preparation of the release of their third album...

HUMBUG

- As recording began in Joshua Tree, the boys stayed at the interestingly named Joshua Tree Motel. Nick thought it rude not to appropriate liquor left outside his door by fans of the late Gram Parsons, who died at the hotel, and Matt grew particularly fond of the Ouija board on display outside his.

- The new experience of recording with Josh Homme proved enjoyable as well as fruitful. So refreshed by and respectful of his approach to recording and influencing their material, the boys could not be swayed even by his gesture of purchasing a pair of rubber clogs, the worst shoes in the world, for each of them.

- While in the desert, the band took advantage of the proximity of the Integratron, an acoustically perfect sound chamber built by ufologist George Van Tassell, supposedly under strict instructions provided by visitors from the planet Venus. Whilst the band tested the sonics of the chamber by recording a stripped-down version of new song ‘Cornerstone’, their manager was so calmed by the cosmic energy that the Integratron emitted that he slept there undisturbed for days.

- Having recorded a pleasing and substantial body of work with Josh Homme, the boys deemed it prudent to seek the advice and production of James Ford. Using Homme’s engineer for an element of continuity, the boys slipped back in to working with Ford easily, referencing what had been achieved in Joshua Tree whilst working on new material.

- In stark contrast to the pellet gun shooting and pull-up competitions which dominated the extra-curricular in Calfornia, the band spent their spare time while recording on the other side of the United States with Ford tending to the nightlife of New York, and obsessing over marble madness at the The Barcade.

- Considered less of a snapshot of a period than the previous albums, created in quick succession, the new record represents a new approach to song choices and album composition for the boys.

- After ceasing touring ‘Favourite Worst Nightmare’, the band discussed the idea of making a heavier third album. Despite intensifying the live experience with an abundance of darker, louder tracks, the boys thought it wise to make a more musically balanced album as recording progressed.

- Despite recording more than twice as many songs as appear on the album in the sessions with Homme and Ford, the boys felt the ten chosen shared a certain intangible temper which distinguished them from the rest.

- Once again, Alex relieves himself of guitar playing duties on this album on penultimate track ‘Pretty Visitors’, instead focussing solely on dexterous lyrical mischief.

- Not content with twiddling knobs and telling Helders that he plays ‘like a f**king octopus’, Homme ‘muscled his way’ onto some of the recordings themselves, lending his voice to backing vocals on several tracks.

- After much deliberation, ‘Humbug’ was finally settled upon as the album’s title. Whilst pick and mix sweets, strawberry laces and gobstoppers are playfully referred to in the opening verse of second track ‘Crying Lightning’, the connotations of Ebenezer Scrooge’s exclamation of choice reflect a sinister and haunting tone which cannot be escaped on several songs in this third work.

- The band have currently shelved plans to record a series of other albums based on distinctive Dickensian utterances. However, it is more than likely that once ‘all that bloody touring’ has ceased, they will begin work on a concept album based on the numerous expletives mentioned in the short-lived serial ‘The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit’.

Engrave Danger

Those of you who have been reading / have known me for some time will be aware that I have an unyielding fascination with tattoos, without actually having or wanting one myself. That is not to take anything away from those who do, frankly I wish I had the nerve and lacked the neuroses to commit to visual pleasures of the flesh.

Beware though, as there may be unforeseen consequences of getting a tattoo, pitfalls that only come to light after the commitment has been made....

This example (despite being the least amusing) triggered my want to write this post. A friend of mine told me of a beautiful and elaborate tattoo of a moon her sister has etched across her stomach. Art in one of its purest forms... Until she inevitably becomes pregnant, and looks down at the stretched and distorted splodge that the picture has become.

That particular image was pure for a time, and will be spoiled later on. A small price to pay for having the most interesting stomach in town for the duration of your twenties, and a blow softened by the joy that comes with a firstborn child.

These next examples though, serve up a different kind of Tattoo Tainting Tartare... That of a new light in which the tattoo can be seen, shed only after it is there indelibly.

A girl I know wanted some 'charms' etched onto her wrist, three symbols that might playfully represent parts of her personality. An anchor, a heart and a '£' sign (in that order), she thought. Whimsical, neat, and fun for being random. Little did she know that with the heart being red, the tattoo would later be interpreted by many as meaning 'Sailors Love Money'... Something I had not previously heard her attesting to.

The image above, as many of you will recognise, is Duncan's rib-based tattoo in the style of a cave painting. The monster could only look more like it was doing a poo if the mole by its hind leg had cartoon steam depicted above it. Top marks for the use of multiple media, I suppose.

Another friend of mine recently had a very well rendered portrait of a classic gypsy lady in profile tattooed on his left bicep. As is the norm, the tattooist shaved his arm first to etch the image onto as smooth a surface as possible. Six weeks later, the tattoo is completely healed, and a fine example of the form it is too.

Oh, and the beautiful gypsy lady now has a full beard.

Do be careful, guys and gals. Amusing new contexts are lurking behind every corner on Healed Tattoo Lane. They have a habit of rubbing their owners up the wrong way... And not rubbing off.

Nike Like Crikey

Much to the chagrin of my friends (and others besides), I have been campaigning for the 'correct' pronunciation of the word and brand 'Nike' to become more widespread for some time now.

To an English speaker, it is reasonable, on first impression, to assume that the word Nike is pronounced in the same way as 'bike', 'like' or... 'Dyke'. In fact, as the brand is named after a Greek myth (the goddess who personified triumph throughout the ages of the ancient Greek culture), and is thus pronounced 'Nigh-key'. Just ask Philip H. Knight, co-founder of the company. Go on, ask him.

Incidentally, Adidas was founded by a chap called Adolf 'Adi' Dassler, and a 'reebok' (in Afrikaans) is a species of antelope native to southern Africa. ASICS is an acronym of the latin phrase 'anima sana in corpore sano', which translates as 'a sound mind in a sound body'.

Upon learning all this a few years, I simply modified the way I said Nike, and my inner nerd was comforted whenever I watched advertisements for the brand which confirmed that realigning my pronunciation was indeed the 'right' thing to do.

Recently however, I have come under fire for a) being so pernickety, and b) saying 'Nigh-key' full stop. For most, it seems that pronunciational diligence loses by a landslide to uttering the word phonetically, in conversation at least.

This loss is all the more ironic given that Nike was the goddess of Victory. Indeed, her Roman equivalent is 'Victoria'.

Perhaps I will go one step further than defying the 'official' pronunciation, by using Victoria in place of Nike in conversation from now on.

As Kanye said, 'I can't even pronounce nothing, pass that Versaysee...'

Pick One

'Pick One' is an experiment designed by a chap called Ben Nyberg. The neat little program offers up two random things, and you, er, pick one. Every time a thing is picked, it gets a point.

http://heyben.com/pickone/index.php

When you get bored (it takes a while to), click on the Top 10 and Bottom 10 links at the top to see the most picked and the least picked choices.

My hardest choice was between Onions and Hell.

Out of It

by Duncan Buxton

The issue of how 'switched on' I currently am to the contemporary music scene has started to haunt me a little.

There is no questioning the fact that I am slower to hop on the zeitgeist wagon than I'd like. It's easy to work out why; as far as new artists are concerned, an apathetic attitude towards personal research combined with a relative lack of radio patronage (especially in the case of the mainstream), generates vast gaps in my knowledge of the modern musical landscape.

These cracks had never been a problem before. Bluster and a vague journalistic process of assimilation made papering over them with convincing semi-fabricated opinions fairly easy. However, recently these apertures have begun to appear directly underneath me during in-depth pop-culture discussions, like embarrassing potholes in the otherwise smooth boulevard of my cultural discourse. To cite a recent case in point, only after several minutes of heated debate as to the various merits of shiny disco-comet Lady GaGa did it emerge that I had not heard a single song. Hang your head in shame, Buxton.

While my peers argue the cases of various bands, DJ's, MC's, etc. etc. ad nauseam, I find myself frequently alienated. This is in no small part due to an affinity with older, more easily accessible music - why trawl the internet trying to find the latest barrel of hype when I can just slap Bacharach: The Ultimate Collection on Spotify, and have a cup of tea? It may sound regressive, but if you've seen as many house parties as I have ruined by minimal techno at the expense of good ol' hip hop, you'll understand. Sometimes it's best to stick with what you know is good, especially if the alternative is sitting nursing your wilting party hat whilst watching a raver minority making wonky shapes to lo-fi 'industrial'.

Bit of a personal cul-de-sac there. But the question remains: can I marry aspirations of cultural omniscience with a lingering mistrust of the avant-garde?

Quite simply, probably not. At least, not as long as flyers and other promotional materials (which ought to be enticing the reticent likes of myself) continue to baffle and frighten, as did this latest specimen:

'SEXBEAT RADFEST - MALE BONDING - PENS - A GRAVE WITH NO NAME - MAZES - HUMAN HAIR - TEEN SHEIKS - THEE FAIR OHS - NO PAIN IN POP - SEX IS DISGUSTING - SPLIT TAPE - THIS IS MUSIC - STOP SCRATCHING'

Gosh. Only the penultimate item gave me any inkling that this was in fact a club night and not a sinister village fête. As long as trendy is this aggressive, I'll keep hedging my bets. And keep scratching.

Names & Shame

The way people approach tweaking (or leaving) their given names can say a great deal about them. Much as Queen Elizabeth has never been a 'Liz', the man born Thomas Cruise is firmly, and will only ever be known as, 'Tom'. I doubt we would have the same impression of composer Philip Glass were he called Phil Glass.

This is interesting for me (as someone with a fairly unusual name), as there is no definitive shortening of 'Rupert'. I introduce myself by my full birth name, and sign off e-mails and fill in forms accordingly. However, that 'policy' of doing so has only come to bear in the last couple of years, after I deemed introducing myself as 'Ru' too contrived or affected.

I do not mind the abbreviation, I am in fact quite fond of (and stuck with) it, having insisted that everyone from my parents and friends to teachers and nemeses call me it during my teenage years. The problem lies in the fact that if you tell somebody you are known as Ru, they do not know you are in fact a Rupert in the same way that they know an Alex is an Alexander. Which can lead to confusion, or worse, a presumption that you are a pretentious fool (an inherent truth best kept under wraps).

I have compiled a list of inverted and therefore inappropriately named individuals...

Mike Jackson, Vicky Beckham, Baz Obama, Dave Bowie, Chuck Dickens, King Jimbo I, Robert The Bank, Bill Shakespeare, Edward Murphy, Bradley Pitt, Frederick Astaire, Steve Fry, Steven McQueen, Michael Jagger, Jo Lumley, Jenny Lopez, Vinnie Van Gogh, Robert Dylan, William Cosby, Ernie Hemingway.

God knows what the artist formerly known as Prince and then known as a logo, later to be known as The Artist and now known as a twirp introduces himself as. Probably 'Hank'.

X Tractor

Hellair. I have been so ever so ever so busy with other writing and various prodgekts that I have neglected this little creature for nearly one twelfth of a year.

I am keen to avoid rust (though it did take me upwards of thirty seconds to consider the correct spelling of 'twelfth' just then), so without further ado, I present my latest brilliant / tragic set of puns...

Music artists from the farmyard realm, compiled with Dun 'Can Pun (and How)' Buxton.

PJ Harvest, Swill Young, A-Traktor, Stile Council, Agriculture Club, Sir Mixallotment, Amy Swinehouse, Maizey Gray, Korn, Fat Freddie's Crop, Piggy Pop, Sheep Purple, Roger Poultry, The Bovines, Simon Trowell's 'X Tractor', T'Plough, Piglet Loose, Sheepdoggy Dogg, Barnye West, Cabbage Garden, Taskhorse, Lham!, Shepherd's Deee-Lite, Corinne Barley Rae, Grain Day, Does It A Fence You Yeah?, Reverend & The Acres, Bromheads Barbour Jacket, Murder Oink, Mariah Dairy, Eggzibit, Jarvis Cockeral, Another Shovel, Spadeakiss.

iBerry

I am currently in the throes of a common contemporary problem... The iPhone / Blackberry debate.

The adolescent in me (not literally, it's only Thursday) will never stop salivating over Apple's little charmer... Though I have come to realise that the arguments in favour of plumping for the previously oh-so-serious Blueberry (and also those against the iWant) are stronger than ever before.

The Bold version of the Halleberry is the first version designed as a direct response to the iDesire, and is subsequently by far the best looking creature the company have created. The internet is nigh on as user-friendly, the camera is the same, blah blah blah. The music player is also much improved (so I wouldn't have to carry my iPodge and a Raspberry at the same time, necessarily).

The Chuckberry is free and the tariffs are better value, thanks to multiple networks competing for custom. Sean Bean & Oxygen Crew make committing to an iYearn a fairly iWatering experience, thanks to the pocket stinging, wildly lengthy contracts. By the time mine would have elapsed, I would more than likely be wearing pearlescent, spiky clothing, having other Apple products injected into my bloodstream. They DO gleam to the point of euphoric blindness in the shop window though. Damn your monopoly Sean, you make it so difficult for a boy.

One solution would be to fuse the devices, as I have imagined and illustrated above. An iBerry would be a mighty compromise. I don't think such a hybrid is coming any time soon though. Ultimately, I have to choose.

To choose between an expensive Apple, or an Orange of good value (with a 'berry at its core). Ever one to try and stubbornly defy expectations, I think I will go for the Orange. I can only hope the juice does not spray into my eye as I peel it.

I will try and do without O2 for a year... Though I won't be holding my breath.

Spam / Twitter

So... With a burgeoning Twitter addiction comes this, a list of what I have learnt from spending half an hour a day reading sentences about what people are 'doing'.

1. Those who have been labelled as 'essential to follow' (Stephen Fry, Russell Brand, Barack Obama etc.) are not, and have been removed from my 'following' list. I love Fry, but don't need him to wish me goodnight. It made me feel as though he was leaning over my bed and kissing me gently on the forehead. Brand witters on so self-indulgently ('I just ate a great apple, I did!') that I have now lost the shred of respect for him that remained after the storm in a BBC cup. Obama is Overlord of Earth now, so doesn't need to Tweet.

2. Tim Westwood is an incredible human being. Much as my opinion of those above has lowered, there are certain people whose credibility has taken a turn for the better since the dawn of Tweeting, and nobody more so than Timothy Dubya. Talk of 'getting my mind right, my cake up and my swag on full blast' (perplexingly) never fails to raise spirits, and it is impossible not to love rhetoric such as...

'My road dawg Cohen is goin in on a pigfest - bacon, sausage AND black pudding, nasty. Boiled egg with soldiers for me, olk skool!'

Followed by, ten minutes later...

'My yolks were to hard to get my soldiers dipping so no yellow helmets for those troops.'

UN. BELIEVABLE.

3. In between the Brands and the Westwoods are those who are just themselves, which is fine. Annie Mac, Lily Allen, Graham Lineham, Armando Iannucci and Q-Tip's Tweets are all more interesting (or at least, entertaining) than most.

4. A mad rush of fake and mildly amusing accounts (Borat, Robert Mugabe, Steve Jobs, Nick Cave) have also started popping up if you're into that kind of thing... 'Mugabe' recently floated the idea that Michael Sheen should play him in a biopic.

5. With Twitter it seems to be all about keeping your friends close, but your breakers-of-news closer. If you are already involved, feel free to follow me (http://twitter.com/rupertmurphy)... Though you'll note that I have not begun Tweeting myself yet. Perhaps that is the most telling point of all.

Which Came First

An eggcorn is a distinctive substitution of a word or phrase for one that sounds similar. The new phrase introduces a meaning that is different from the original, but plausible in the same context ('old-timers' disease' for 'Alzheimer's disease'). An eggcorn is an error that exhibits creativity or logic, as opposed to a classic 'malapropism'.

The term was coined by linguist Geoffrey Pullum five years ago, after the case of a woman who substituted the phrase 'egg corn' for the word 'acorn', as the precise phenomenon lacked a name at the time.

Examples include...

To all intensive purposes / To all intents and purposes
Hone in / Home in
On tenderhooks / On tenterhooks
Preying mantis / Praying mantis
Sore grapes / Sour grapes
A posable thumb / Opposable thumb
Can't be asked / Can't be arsed

That should curve your appetite for linguistic trickery for a week or so. Or curb it, whatever.

Smirk & Mirrors

After some cloak and dagger discussions about a potentially exciting art direction project over a Turkish beer, Pipes (with crew in tow) and I scuttled over to the Stella Dore gallery at the heart of Snoreditch to check out Kid Acne's first solo show, Smoke & Mirrors.

Pipes, having shared a studio with Kid Acne throughout the duration of the show's preparation, was keen to see the work displayed on gallery walls, I was just keen to see it full stop. Highlights included the 2D animal heads protruding from shields, the ouija boards (which would double nicely as chopping boards) and the thematic abundance of pagan imagery and characters with broken bones.

Duncan came to meet me, and we spent the remainder of the show pondering how we wished we had bothered to carry on drawing, and arguing over whether Alice Dellal was at all attractive in a) print (Duncan - no, Me - of course) and b) the flesh (Duncan - absolutely not, Me - a bit not).

They Do The Math

This site boils down vague (or supposed) truths to amusing mathematical equations...

http://www.morenewmath.com/

Highlights include,

MODERN ART = I COULD DO THAT + YEAH, BUT YOU DIDN'T

DEATH = NAP + FOREVER

ONIONS = WEEPING - CATHARSIS

It is certainly worth a peek / glance / look.

Impales in Comparison

This is the final cut of Richard Ayoade and Warp Films' latest collaboration, a short video for the latest Kasabian banger, 'Vlad the Impaler'... Hold tight my red polo neck.

Just for the Halibut

It has been at least one yonk since last I posted a series of puns, a fact that has seemingly not gone unnoticed by upwards of one human. So below, for your smirking pleasure, is a reasonably comprehensive list of music artists from the sea. I can by no means be credited with the idea, and the list's best (which is saved until last), must be attributed to Helders. Here you jolly well go...

Ace of Plaice, Pike & Tuna Turner, Fleetwood Mackeral, Crabba, The Whiting Stripes, The Gills, Herman's Hermit Crabs, Jarvis Cockle, Jamie Cullumari, Macy Grayling, Albert Salmon Jr., Cod Stewart, P Squiddy, Eel Young, An Jovi, Kylie Minnow, The Dorys, Char, Bob Marling, De La Sole, Shrimply Red, Stickelback, Clam!, B:Ream, Badly Drawn Buoy, Prorn, Katy Periwinkle, Crill.i.am, Brine Ferry, Gareth Skates, The Spencer Davis Grouper, No Trout, The Sea Monkees, Musselline Dion, Daft Monkfish, Stingray Charles, Planktony & The Johnsons, The Dorys, Brill Withers, Areefra Franklin, Scouting For Pearls, Crustacean Dub Foundation, Limpet Bizkit, Mystery Jetskis, Shipso Facto, Skate Bush, Hake That, Oyz II Men, Alesha's Aquatic, Jelly Fishtardo, Octopussycat Dolls...

... Buoyancy Knowles.

England in Girl Land

OBVIOUSLY I have been engrossed by the brouhaha that has followed the release of the new England football shirt on Saturday.

I was sucked in not only by the mystical labyrinth of football shirt history that (the newly Nike owned) Umbro has contrived on its gleaming new website, but also by the fact that Aitor Throup (of whose idiosyncratic graphics and 'fashion' work I have been a fan for some time) had been enlisted as Chief Designer.

http://www.aitorthroup.com/

The blog and description of 'The Process' Umbro have published read like a sort of sportswear Brass Eye... Though the marketing and general concept will leave those who have ever cared about the nuances of football kit production salivating. It has clearly been a huge undertaking to realise, whether taken seriously or with a pinch of salt (or in my case, something inbetween. A pinch of seriousness.)

http://www.umbro.com/england

The fact that Umbro have drafted in Paolo Di Canio, Juninho and Peter Schmeichel to 'explore Englishness and the heritage football shirt culture for both players and fans' is contrived but novel, nonetheless. Di Canio, stripped of any Italian panache, looks like an extra from This Is England (which I suppose is the point).

Don't Mind, do you?

I have always thought the logo for the mental health charity Mind to be quite odd, given that a scrambled squiggle might be interpreted in some quarters as an insensitive representation of the disordered and jumbled nature of an affected mind or brain. I think my new version is far more sympathetic...

(A sane person's mind might be represented with a perfect blue spiral, though I do not think this should be included in the logo, so as to avoid direct comparison.)

Distant Cousins of Invention

I love it when people think they've invented colloquial words that they have merely picked up and used a great deal...

It is amusing to hear admissions of instances in which people have done this at the age of about fourteen, but claiming invention of terms that span the country now will not likely covet anything other than ridicule.

Malley told me that he thought he had invented the term 'chillax' as a teen, before sadly accepting that, whether he had thought of the contraction or not, it had been prominent elsewhere for quite a while. That's a good one.

Alex Buxton is still adamant that he turned the word 'pants' from a noun into an adjective. I was fairly sure he did not, a theory later confirmed by Alex Horner who (worryingly specifically, I might add) remembered that Dominic Diamond had in fact coined the term in that context on Gamesmaster. Wow.

Peter Cook dubbed David Frost 'The Bubonic Plagiarist', on account of his joke stealing... In particular for the satirical programme 'That Was The Week That Was'. I have also heard that Peter Kay 'steals shit jokes', a fact that has apparently raised wry smiles in the business for some time. Claiming to have coined slang terms pales in comparison, I suppose.

On a related note, I would just like to make it clear that I invented wearing baseball caps backwards. Credit where it's due, eh?

More Intensity

This website, Film the Blanks, is worth a quick look...

http://www.filmtheblanks.com/

Described by its creator as 'An ongoing experiment in deconstructing and abstracting film posters', quite a few of the works are very, very simple but still starkly recognisable. I really like this Lost in Translation one, and the Jaws poster is particularly neat for its simplicity.

Giving Hedberg

Somebody told me about Mitch Hedberg when I was last in the woods. He is absolutely brilliant, his nervous energy and Minnesota lilt make his delivery genuinely cool, which is a pretty rare thing in stand up comedians. He died really young of a speedball overdose... Not leaving a great deal of recorded material behind. Above is some of his best.

Véjà Du

Infinitely more so than with the experience commonly known as Déjà Vu, I have a keen interest in the notion of being made aware of something (a word, idea, place, etc.), and subsequently, and seemingly improbably, seeing and hearing it referenced soon after, often again and again.

Allow me to demonstrate... A few weeks ago I read a brief interview with Kenneth Clarke in which he described himself as a polymath. I was previously unaware of the term but was curious, so looked it up (a polymath is a person of learning, and with an interest in, several fields of study). A few days later, Adam Buxton described Stephen Fry as a polymath to Joe Cornish on their BBC podcast. My friend Roman then used the term, in a context that slips my mind, a couple of days later still... The trigger for bothering to write this.

As somebody who has not only received some public recognition for his work, but also has a distinctive manner of speaking, Tom / Toddla seems to influence the vocabularies of the impressionable more than most in Sheffield, and through no fault of his own. Having exaggerated the use of a rudimentary response to any question by perpetually replying 'Why not?' when queried, the usual suspects, naming no names (oh, alright then... the likes of Nathan Armstrong, Lucy Ing, and last but by all means most, Tom Robjohns), followed suit.

This would hardly be a pertinent tangent, were it not for the fact that upon this occurring, the phrase was visible to me in all manner of forms. I watched Flight of The Conchords soon after, and in the office of the protagonists' agent is a prominent poster replete with the slogan 'NEW ZEALAND - WHY NOT?'. Arrested Development was my next box set of choice and, in an episode which plots the plight of striking trawlermen, one sailor holds aloft a placard with the question 'Why knot?' scrawled across it.

Véjà Du, a strange concept. I suppose it would be stranger still if things like that NEVER occurred. Nevertheless, I think it might be interesting to test the theory (not that there is much of a science to it). So, I will conclude with a word / idea that I hope you will see or hear of, and subsequently smile wryly at, in the not too distant future.

The word is... Duck.

Keep your wits about you. Why not?

Eccellente

Apparently, the world record for eating Ferrero Rocher in one minute stands at seven. Given that they come in boxes of sixteen, and that eating eight in a minute seems tantalisingly feasible; setting up and attempting a new world record with a friend sounds like an amusing way of spending an afternoon. Gorge yourselves, ambassadors.