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The Show June 2004

I would have never believed that this was only Larks 3rd gig. You probably don't believe me now when you read this.
Lark very like Dennis Hoppers Choppers (who, if you missed in January- shame on you, but as we are such nice people you will get another chance to see them at the July special), have the same musical menace about them. They sound like you are in the wrong pub, in the wrong part of town and you have just spilt the wrong pint. Musically they look (as do Dennis Hoppers Choppers), like they drink in that pub as well, (they don't, they are all nice people, honest), there is, however still an element of 'nervous tension' about them. Encapsulating some of the best bits of Babybird (NOT 'You're Gorgeous'), Tom Waites and elements of The Fall this was a measured and sublime performance from Lark. Containing short instrumental tracks between full songs that stood, not as fillers, but to maintain and enhance the overall feeling of the set. Lead singer Karl even managed to pull of some nice Mozzer poses as well. Top. If you missed them; you mug, now don't do it again!
On the other hand the intriguing 'Paloma and the Penetrators', (far from being the all girl band as misinformed by my erstwhile colleague, apologies here for that), were the exact opposite. Watching `the Penetrators has all the joyous carefree abandon of drinking cheap martini at a party and getting your hand up a girls / boys, (delete as appropriate), jumper at the age of 15, (actually that sounds good to me now), they blazed through a set of cover versions of pre 1962 material succeeding in making incredibly famous songs such as 'twist and shout' all their own. Some feat. They're two pronged attack on the front of the stage and the multi layered harmonies had the whole audience on their feet dancing. Brilliant. The best I've ever seen them play, which is nice for you, lucky 'Show' punters.
All this and Paul Doc, big brother of show dj-meister Jim, who had the crowd going buck wild with a full set of some of the finest tunes to grace any decks around the country. A master class so good he was begged to support both Paloma and Vincent Vincent and The Villans at all their future gigs. Enough said, a set list is promised by the man himself.
Be looking out for a Doc v Doc djing set at the show very soon. My ears are watering at the prospect, if they can do that……. Actually, I'm off to the doctors.

Kid Kordial At The Pleasure Unit June 2004

ruby don't take your love to town - kenny rogers
pass it on - the coral
dead flowers - the rolling stones
happy place- the jesus and mary chain
last gang in town - the clash
eardrum buzz - wire
soldier girl - the polyphonic spree
40 - franz ferdinand
tijuana taxi - herb alpert and the tijuana brass
songs of love - the divine comedy.

John Crewdson Esq. Part 3 – "My House Is Trying To Kill Me"


Ah, the joys of owning your own home. Owning, as opposed to Renting, can have many advantages. You can have pets, use blue tack with abandon, or daub 'stop me before I kill again' in blood red letters across your living room walls with out fear of landlord wrath or deposit loss.
However, with such freedoms come great responsibilities. When things go wrong you cannot simply phone the letting agents and expect them to dash round and fix leaking taps or mend drain pipes that have turned 'foolish'.
Also, there is no one to blame for the errors made by previous owners. Their wayward attempts at DIY will come back to haunt you, and they will be long gone.

I was preparing to decorate my new abode, removing the dozens of nails and picture hooks that festooned the living room walls when, upon removing one particularly large nail I noticed gas issuing from the tiny hole. At first I was confused, I thought I'd burst the house, until I realised that the nail in question had been driven into an old lead gas pipe, and that this one rusty nail had been plugging the hole for god knows how many years. Years of deadly noxious gas seeping slowly into to the house….

Then, a few weeks ago I started hearing loud popping noises in the same room. "Odd", I thought. I checked all the electrical appliances and sockets but they seemed fine.The noises continued, so I unplugged everything and switched off all the sockets. Then I saw a great flash coming from one corner of the room! The very walls where exploding! Perturbed, I telephoned an electrician. He told me to turn off all the electric in the house and await his arrival. So there I sat. In the dark. Waiting.
Picture the scene. It's the early 80's and you're a young apprentice electrician. Your name is Barry. Your sporting faded denim, a thin blonde moustache and side burns like your dad. You tell your mates you think The Quo are 'ace' but secretly you yearn to be a New Romantic and wear eyeliner.
Your working on wiring up a new extension on a poxy little terrace in Blackpool. Its late Friday afternoon and your mind is on other things (Rubic's cubes, Ford Capri's and Boy George). You're thinking of that instead of doing the job in hand: wiring up the kitchen properly. Insulating the wires properly. You run the wire horizontal instead of vertical to save time. It doesn't matter, no one will know once its been plastered. Your shitty work will not come to light for another 20 odd years! Admit it! You Don't Know What Your Doing Do You, You Miserable 80's Fuck!

Fast-forward to 2004, and the same bit of wire is sitting in my hands, smouldering, freshly dug from the walls by the Emergency Spark. "That's the worst bit of wiring I've ever seen" he says. "its probably been burning away inside your wall for years". I sit there dumfounded, nervously eyeing the rest of the house and wondering what will go wrong next, when it dawns on me:

Leaking Gas Pipes + Exploding walls = Oh dear.

The Electrician gathers his things and prepares to leave. "I'll take that", he says grabbing the blackened bits of wire from my hands. "One for the Black Museum" he jests.
He begins to leave. Then I notice something...
Is he wearing eye liner?


I still haven't got round to murdering my neighbours. Their latest bit of mind torture involves repeatedly watching the final of Pop Idol on video. At 3 in the morning. Very loudly. And, even more bizarrely they follow this with The Worlds Strongest Man, all fucking night! My latest scheme is to send them 'free samples' of 'Oatsosimple' laced with ground-up glass, or releasing ravenous pigs into their house.


I bought one of them 'Lloyd Grossman' pasta sauces the other day. The label said, "I make it, so you don't have to". I waited all night for the cunt to show up, but he never did. I was starving.


What ever happened to Motorcycle Display Teams?

Patrick Kagoul Notes from the Frontline Part 7

Get me to the church on time………….

Well as you read this I am probably on my way to get hitched. Yes there will soon be a Mrs Kagoul. Shocked? Me too, but I'll explain, or try.

I have a friend that I know, biblically, that is about to be kicked out of the country. She of course, wants to stay. Now the only way that she can achieve this is, yep, you guessed, she needs to be British and she isn't. Now this isn't the ideal scenario that I dreamed of throughout life but……it serves a purpose and it helps out a friend. I'm also at that age where everyone I know seems to be getting married and settled down so why not me? Just because I can't manage to get a girlfriend isn't my fault, well I suppose it is but I've tried absolutely nothing and I'm all out of ideas. Seems like if I want to keep up with the 'Naylor's' then I may have to cheat a bit.

I had hoped that I would marry for love and I have managed to have 3 serious relationships, 2 of which with people I would have married, but they have gone wrong (the girls, not the relationships) I have tried, and regular readers will know this, to get in touch with these people. I have sent emails to both of them and neither of them has replied. Now this is the thing that I always find so odd, how two people can be so close that you could appear on Mastermind with that person's life as your specialist subject and then something happens and you never speak or see each other again? I think that this is wrong, but I tried and no response, obviously I'll be sending a copy of this column to them.

So what about my future bride, just who is the 'lucky' lady? Well she has slept with two of my mates, so obviously this narrows down the choice for best man. I don't want this to be too much of a literal title. Hey, it wasn't my fault I was very drunk, I can do better. And on the down side she is Australian. I know I'm painting a bad picture, but on the plus side she is nice, we do get on really well we have a lot of fun, she really likes my friends - actually scrap that one - but she's, well I dunno, she's everything I look for in a woman. Desperate to do exactly what I want and not make my life a misery or I'll turn her over to the authorities. So you see we make the perfect couple. It's a match made in well, somewhere.

So feel free to send in your congratulations and also some presents. We, unlike most couples do not own a toaster, actually she might I have no idea, what I don't want is any fecking vegemite or any of that Australian palaver, as she now needs to be British then she will have to denounce all this in a ceremonial Kylie Minge record burning and some chips and gravy or something in the rain to prove her love for her new country.

Right now where did I put that top hat?