Dear Record Store Day

It’s been a while since anything was able to rouse me from my bile-induced coma, but spring has awakened and I finally feel the urge to flex those raging muscles once again. With that in mind, I have this to contribute to the ongoing cultural discussion you seem to have taken it upon yourself to mount.

Fuck you, Record Store Day. Fuck you. I say this as respectfully as possible given the nobility of your intentions (as in “Nice one, but fuck you”) - but I’m afraid I’m ultimately going to have to side with Paul Weller on this one (and there’s a phrase I never thought I’d find myself using).

I know, I know - I’ve only got myself to blame. I took that willing first hit of vinyl, mainlining it straight into the jugular and ensuring that I can now never go cold turkey again. You dangled the sparkly orange carrot; I simply followed it. Now, clearly, your initiative is all Bonzer Funtimes for record stores themselves, and I can’t knock that - at least not in principle. Let’s face it, the poor cunts over at Platter City, Bognor [fictional locale for comedic and/or illustrative purposes - may not exist] have a hard enough time getting short-changed by loss-leading supermarket chains and the ongoing antics of the gimme-that-now download generation, and probably deserve their occasional day in the sun. But I’ve just blindly purchased one £67 TAANG! box-set too many, and think that officially entitles me to Have My Say.

Do you know what the worst part of all this is, Record Store Day? I ALREADY SHOP IN FUCKING RECORD STORES!!! Me! I am that person! So an extra ‘fuck you’ for exhausting my goodwill in willingly paying a couple of quid extra for those regular purchases if it helps to keep the local indie store afloat or in some way neuter the rampaging Amazon beast. I am, like virtually every other sucker who seems to fall for this cocking ruse year after year, the VERY INDIVIDUAL who constitutes your own innate, built-in demographic! In fact, given the proliferation of middle-aged blokes in macs and/or flat-caps (of which I am clearly destined to become one in the coming years - watch this space), long-suffering wives packing absent husbands’ wishlists and slanty-haircutted indie kids who constitute the queuing populace of these annual shindigs, I don’t for one second buy this idea that your initiative in some way helps to expand or democratise the space. Still, I suppose that’s at least one thing I don’t end up buying on the day.

As for One Direction releasing a 7-inch single this year (at a fucking TENNER, no less!) - since when in fuckity fuck has SIMON-BASTARD-COWELL exhibited any degree of civic-mindedness when it comes to independent production, exhibition and distribution? In fact, since when does any One Direction fan OWN A BLOODY TURNTABLE, OR IS LIKELY TO CHANGE THEIR ENTIRE CONSUMPTION HABITS BASED ON THIS ONE ITEM, WHICH IS NOT (AND NEVER WILL BE) AVAILABLE SOLELY ON ITS ONE GIVEN FORMAT? While I’m at it, what 14-year-old Green Day fan gets enough pocket money to be able to shell out £29 for a set of unreleased demos on clear vinyl? (For the sake of fairness, I feel compelled to add at this juncture that these admittedly did kick seven shades of shite out of the versions on Uno, Dos, Tre!)

So, again - in case you’ve failed to grasp the gist thus far - fuck you, Record Store Day. Fuck you for your wobbling, random distribution policy and the fact that there’s no consistency in release numbers or pressings, no fairness or logic in stock allocation, no guarantee that the title you’re looking for will even be available at your local store REGARDLESS of who gets there first, and (despite a speculative one-per-customer approach on individual titles - when it’s adhered to...) no limit on the total number of items a given individual can take home, meaning that it so easily becomes a free-for-all for net-savvy touts with the nouse to get down early to the front of the queue. It was fairly obvious to me that several of the first few people in line at both my local indies last Saturday were simply loading up their bags with the most potentially profitable goodies, barely able to conceal their intention of going straight home and bazzing them up on eBay (“We've got all the good stuff - there's nothing left for you”, sneered two particularly objectionable twonks while the rest of us stood shivering outside for another 90 minutes waiting to get into the supposedly hallowed space we call our spiritual refuge. Cheers, you... CUNTS!)

Yes, Record Store Day, with Harry Styles getting his face pressed on a slab of wax, consider this the year when you finally jumped the shark - and fuck you for dragging us along for the ride, leaving us all mugging pitifully on the sidelines like a hapless Ralph Malph hoping to bag the overspill of Fonzie’s totty. Yes, Record Store Day, you were a great idea in theory, but like Josef Goebbels stricken by a hobbling case of elephantitis, the entire thing has now got way too big for its boots and become little more than a colossal cash-grab (again, great for the stores, but not for those who ultimately end up sniffing the shitty end of the stick: that age-old schnook, the purchasing music fan.) Rather than liberate the medium, you’ve simply become the latest extension of that god-forsaken ‘Deluxe Edition’ of a new album - the new means by which the industry gleefully sticks it to the very people whose custom they should be actively courting (“What’s that? I bought this in the week of its release, and now I’m able to get double the content for the exact same price three months later? WHOOPAH!!!”)

Fuck you, Record Store Day - but don’t think I can’t be vaguely constructive while dishing out said fucking. If you and your willing coterie of cohorts REALLY want to make a difference in the long-run, perhaps you ought to consider roping in labels to release titles exclusively to independent stores across a much broader time-frame and in much bigger quantities, rather than forcing everyone to jam themselves in for one day on the promise of a flimsy ‘prestige’ which serves solely to jack prices up to beyond-exorbitant levels. While you’re at it, sort out your ridiculous stock-allocation lottery. If labels and stores don’t know how many will sell, why not instigate the ability for individual customers to pre-order and then press on demand? And don’t give me any more of that ‘supply and demand’ cobblers - I’m through with taking it in the arse from the music industry, and suggest that it’s time for a major rethink on your part. Until this happens, I’m going to put this in terms you’ll hopefully understand by borrowing the lexicon of speculative capitalism from Dragon’s Den: I’M OUT. (Do you get Dragon’s Den over there in the States?)

...AND THIS IS COMING FROM SOMEONE WHO MANAGED TO GET HOLD OF ALL-BUT-ONE OF THE BASTARD TITLES THEY WERE AFTER! 

So, er... what was it I was driving at? Ah, yes. Fuck you, Record Store Day. Above all else, FUCK YOU for turning me into one of those utter fucking idiots who queues outside a fucking shop at 7am to get their hands on some jumped-up piece of superfluous tat.

That all said, I did well enjoy the Parquet Courts single.

Regards,
Davis.

PS - I don’t suppose anyone’s got a copy of the R.E.M. Unplugged set they want to flog me for under £70, have they...?

Dear John McClane

I present, for your consideration, today's main News and Entertainment headlines from the BBC News homepage.

...Coincidence? I think not.

Regards,
Davis.

Dear World (V)

I suppose that if there's a modicum of good news to be extrapolated from this headline -

 

- it's the comforting thought that there is another.

...And now, Sam & The Wampa.

 "I've lost my arm, arm, arm!"

 

Oh, I do amuse myself.

Regards,

Davis.

Dear Leader of Roman Catholics in England and Wales Archbishop Vincent Nichols

Well, a MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS to you too, you miserable cunt!

- Seriously, aren't there other slightly more trifling matters you should be concerning yourself with today?

Peace on earth, and goodwill towards all men... unless, of course, they happen to like other men. Jesus would be utterly ashamed of you (well, I imagine he would be if he hadn't been dead for centuries, anyway).

What an absolute, 24-carat, grade-A megabastard.

Festive fucking regards,
Davis.

Dear Headline Writers, News Perusers, Bored People

I've come up with an absolute belter of a game you can all play at home, entitled Punctuate The News. The concept is simple: take an existing news headline, and - without adding or removing any words - change the punctuation so that it completely recontextualises the story.

I'll start with this zinger, which is perhaps unfortunate since it may prove hard to top:

           
Boss asked Savile about 'Rumours'

...in which Bruce Springsteen had a thoroughly enjoyable chinwag with renowned TV kiddy-fiddler Sir James Savile about Fleetwood Mac's seminal 1977 album.

Now you try!

Regards,
Davis.

Dear All

It might be too soon to call at this stage, but I think I may have just solved two of music's longest-running mysteries.

Regards,
Davis.

Dear Glastongoers

Congratulations on bagging your tickets to next year's prestigious event! Advance registrations have sold out in record time once again, and it looks set to be an absolute fucking banga.

Just FYI, I've received an advance leak of the line-up ahead of its announcement, and can confirm that they haven't skimped on it in the slightest - truly, 2013 is shaping up to be the festy experience to end them all. It runs as follows:

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

FRIDAY

PYRAMID STAGE

DUFFY - performing that song from the Diet Coke ad in full

RAIN AND INCESSANT WHINGING ABOUT THE VOLUME OF THE SOUNDSYSTEM

JEFF LEACH'S COMEDY CHARACTER SPECTACULAR

MICHAEL KIWANUKA'S VERRUCA

JIMMY SAVILE PRESENTS JIM'LL FRIG IT  ...LIVE!

CURLY-HAIRED BLOKE FROM CAST (Solo acoustic)

KATE NASH - exploring her 'difficult' new mature direction

A TRAMP

OTHER STAGES

None, sorry - cutbacks.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

SATURDAY

PYRAMID STAGE

ULTIMATE MASH-UPS: HOWARD FROM THE HALIFAX ADS vs. THE GO COMPARE MAN

THAT BIRD FROM TEXAS

DARCEY BUSSELL PRESENTS: A DANCE TRIBUTE TO TERRY NUTKINS 

TRACEY EMIN SHITTING HERSELF WHILE DAMIEN HIRST CUTS UP FERRETS AND THAT

SPANDAU COCKING BALLET
THAT DANCING PSY CUNT

JEREMY HUNT - My Life in Poetry

MENSWEAR MK. II - 15th Anniversary Reunion Tour

OTHER STAGES

Look, we're all in it together.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

SUNDAY

PYRAMID STAGE

ROBBIE FUCKING WILLIAMS

JEDWARD'S COMPLETE HISTORY OF BRITAIN

THE KATE MOSS EXPERIENCE

SHOVELL OUT OF M PEOPLE
SHELDON FROM THE BIG BANG THEORY RECITES HIS MANY HILARIOUS CATCHPHRASES

BODGER UND BADGER (German tribute act)

FEARNE COTTON (DJ set)

LOCAL BRASS BAND OR ROLF HARRIS NO DOUBT

OTHER STAGES

Take it up with your local MP, the Eavises are very busy people.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Enjoy the legendary "Glasto vibe", suckers!

Regards,
Davis.

Dear BBC News

What's wrong with this article, as featured on today's Birmingham and Black Country News? Is it the headline and opening paragraphs, in which you describe what's happened...?




...No, that seems to all be in order. So is it the next part, which provides additional context and information about the case?

...Nope, that seems okay as well. So maybe there's some fault to be found with the next few sections, in which we get the  Judge's comments upon passing his verdict.

 

...Again, nil problemo. So perhaps, then, it's the very end of the piece, in which - after heartfelt pleas for restraint from the presiding magistrate - you proceed to publish the NAMES AND ADDRESSES OF THE ACQUITTED DEFENDANTS...?

You know, it's strange - despite this information being reproduced here for the sole purpose of gobsmacked and incredulous illustration, even I had the basic decency to not dish out names and Google map directions to any brickbat-wielding vigilante who might fancy having their say on the case.

Well fucking done, Anonymous Reporter. WELL FUCKING DONE.

Regards,
Davis.

Dear Jay-Z and Kanye West

Yeah, I'll be honest, lads, this is another of those times when I turn out to be quite pleased with myself.



Ball so hard, muh'fuckers want to fine me. Whatever the chuff that means.

Regards,
Davis.

Dear Home Office

I filled in your online survey on same-sex marriage. To be honest, I felt it all got a bit too bogged-down in overly-technical nitpicking for my liking, so I've cut-and-pasted the edited highlights below.

Q1: Do you agree or disagree that all couples, regardless of their gender, should be able to have a civil marriage ceremony?

A: Agree.

Please explain the reasons for your answer:

I fail to believe, in this day and age, that outmoded, predjudiced and archaic notions of what marriage 'should' be - apparently based on the didactic 'teachings' of a fictional 2000-year-old text - are even considered worthy of discussion.

Q16: Do you have any other comments on the proposals within this consultation?

A: No further comments necessary. Please get with the programme and live in the 21st Century.

SINCERELY,
D. McLELLAND.

Dear The Offspring

I listened to your upcoming single, Cruising California (Bumpin' In My Trunk), as I always do: with a sense of keen, eager and willing anticipation. I must say, it baffled the living shit out of me on first listen. "What the fuck are they playing at?!", I thought to myself, getting ready to pen your musical obituary with the sort of venom usually reserved for the latest piece of 30 Seconds To Mars promo 'cinema'.

Midway through, however, the audible clinking sound that could be heard resonating in the depths of my subconscious was that of the proverbial penny dropping. Not only is this record quite CLEARLY a massive joke, it's a fiendishly clever one, somehow managing to be both a spot-on parody of this sort of inane drivel and much catchier than the bulk of it. It will presumably therefore be a massive hit as a result of it being bought by the exact same people you're ripping it out of mercilessly.

At the end of the day, then, it all comes down to the simple question of which of these options you'd prefer: Katy Perry and Black Eyed Peas raking in millions while spouting this shit for real at the top of the charts, or The Offspring doing the exact same thing while blatantly taking the piss. Frankly, it's a no-brainer as far as I'm concerned (even if this does sound a bit like Iglu & Hartley).

The naysayers will scream bloody murder, of course, but more fool them: the great rock'n'roll swindle marches on proudly with a cynical smirk and one eye on the establishment's hard-earned dollar. And what, I ask you, is more punk rock than that?

In the meantime, I'm off to clear some space next to those Biffy, Rage and Nirvana tattoos for a flaming skull design, you fabulous bunch of japesters, you.

Forever yours,
Davis.

Dear 'Draw Something'

Can I take a punt? Is it "Tedious fucking drawing 'app' which seems to have reduced adults to a state of perpetual fucking childhood"?

- Or would that be too many letters?

Regards,
Davis.

Dear Norm Lurie of Larrikin Music (2)

I'm not sure if you recall our previous conversation, but I thought that it was perhaps worth a quick follow-up in light of today's tragic news.

My question, I suppose, is this: are you happy now, Norm?

In case you didn't hear me okay the first time, I'll repeat it. I said:

ARE YOU
FUCKING
HAPPY NOW,
NORM?

I wonder, in all seriousness, how you'll sleep tonight. In the meantime, well done to you and your team of leeching bean-counters at Larrikin. Well done. Fucking round of applause.You absolute shitbag.

Go to fucking hell,
Davis.

Dear Hollywood

I notice that, in addition to bunging Justin Timberlake into whatever crappy rom-com you've got him as the snappy urbane lead in this week, you've started casting Rihanna in films. We're doing this now, are we? Great.

However, I can't help but think that you might be missing a bit of a trick here by not using her to plough a fine line in Schwarzenegger-style puns. Frankly, the only way I can imagine she'd be any good in Battleship is if she played a mechanic, and halfway through got to utter the line:

"CAPTAIN! Something is caught in our propellor!

- Ella, ella, ay, ay, ay..."

Thankyou, thankyou...

Pundeniably hilarious regards,
Davis.

Dear Internet

I was highly moved by your latest viral video sensation, the heartwarming story of a virtually catatonic old man in a nursing home who is finally brought out of his shell by listening to a selection of his favourite music through an iPod.

It's in that spirit that I decided to craft my own version, which details what I think we all know he was actually listening to...

"Religious" music, indeed. 'Head' would be proud.

- See you in hell, then! (Again...)
Regards,Davis.

Dear Royal Bank of Scotland, UK Government, World

I notice that RBS has reported an annual loss of £2 BILLION today, up £0.9 BILLION from last year's total of £1.1 BILLION. Top-notch work in turning that shit around, bang-up job, backslaps all round, well fucking done.

"Yeah, alright, I admit, I probably don't deserve that new Ferrari."

And yet, despite this, those HEROIC INVESTMENT BANKERS from RBS will still be sharing a bonus pool of £390 MILLION (of our £45 BILLION, which we still haven't got back and apparently won't be doing for the forseeable future) between them.

An investment banker, saving the world.
Thank GOD for them!

Now, granted, I only have a borderline B-grade in GCSE Maths (certificate provided on request as proof), and am admittedly a bit hazy on the complex ins-and-outs of this global Economics malarkey, so I was wondering if you could just answer me this simple question:

WHAT'S

WRONG

WITH

THIS

PICTURE?

Give it fucking back. It's not yours, it's ours. GIVE IT FUCKING BACK.

In short:


Up yours, and I'm dead fucking serious, go fuck yourselves and die somewhere miserably, horribly, wretchedly, every last scum-sucking fucking one of you,

Davis.

PS - I can feel my mask of sanity slipping. At the rate we're going, it's going to have to be suicide, but rest assured: you're all coming with me.

Dear BBC News website (II)

Just copped a goz at your latest Entertainments and Arts page.


Beezer stuff. I can't help but think, though, that what your pages really need is MORE STORIES, FEATURES, ANALYSIS PIECES AND ARTICLES ABOUT ADELE. Why, this week alone she must have taken at least five shits, inhaled and exhaled thousands of times a day, said something, done something and maybe sang something, somewhere, at some point.

If you're stuck for inspiration, try looking back at your coverage over the last couple of weeks, when you reported on that time when Adele "triumphed at the Brits", was then "cut short at the Brits", followed by James Corden saying "something about cutting her short at the Brits", then some utterly fucking random bloke expressing displeasure at her "being cut short at the Brits".

We could also then do with a special report from the Arts editor on how Adele "triumphed at the Brits", followed by reaction from some other people on Adele's "triumph at the Brits", plus some additional footage of Adele "triumphing at the Brits". This, of course, after some build-up to Adele's inevitable "triumph at the Brits" and innumerable special features on Adele prior to "triumphing at the Brits" - possibly incorporating something about her throat here. And here. And here. And here.

All of these were, astonishingly, SEPARATE FUCKING ARTICLES - a bit like that time you reported on how she wouldn't be playing gigs that weren't even slated, then might have been quitting for a while, but wasn't actually quitting at all (where I come from, they're what might be classed as non-stories). Why, if I actually paid my license fee, I would have legitimate cause to get jolly well cross about this sort of flagrant, superfluous, wanton overkill!

In short, change the fucking record, yeah? That goes for every single one of you bastard radio programmers, too. Enough already. Enough. PLEASE. If nothing else, do it for my own sanity, and so that I can free myself from the bizarre Adele irony trap I appear to have become ensnared in, whereby the only place where you can read and hear more about Adele being in the news is from me bitching about Adele being in the news. Adele Adele Adele.

Adele.

Adeley regards,
Davis.

Dear Michael Cocking Gove (II)

I noted with great interest your invitation for the public to Tweet you questions using the hashtag #AskGove.

A preliminary scan of Twitter yields a vertiable smorgasbord of tantalising teasers (most of them, admittedly, honing in your spurious lack of qualifications for the post of Education Secretary), including such hot-to-trot dillemas as:

"Why are you saying your changes will take ten years to have an impact,
yet you want to sack teachers in a term?"

"Why do you insist on discrediting every educational achievement I get?
It's not actually easy to get 9 A*s as GCSE and 6 A's at AS"

"Would you accept the new average teacher pension to survive on?
Would you work until 68?"

"Who will replace the teachers who are sacked for being inadequate,
considering the inadequate teachers beat others to the job?"

- Tough cookies, all. However, I don't suppose it'll come as any great surprise to you that I've decided to cut through all this idle conjecture and get right to the nub of the issue. Are you ready? Here's my question:

Childish, unhelpful, unconstructive... but enough about your education policy.

All the best,
D
x

PS - @davismclelland if you'd like to reply, though I suspect 140 characters probably isn't enough to cover even the most basic overview.

PPS - Oh, pipe down, you humourless prick.

Dear BBC News website; Reporters & Journalists nationwide

Oi oi! Just clicked on a very interesting-looking article on your homepage which I felt warranted further investigation. To wit:

Blimey, this one looks like it's going to get interesting! One of our most beloved filmmaking houses embroiled in a row over insensitive material in their latest family film? Do go on...

Crikey! Aardman have really got it wrong here, haven't they? Perhaps you could fill in the blanks with a bit more exposition though, just so we really know what we're talking about here.

Good work! A terse and factually accurate description of the moment in question - I think all the article needs now is the opposing faction's perspective, in order to provide a more rounded view of the conflict:

Bravo! Excellent reporting! Well-sourced, objective, brilliantly reasoned, mercifully free of flab, and it -

Oh, for FUCK'S sake.

Despairing regards,
Davis.

Dear Michael Cocking Gove

Not a great day to be you really, is it, Boat Boy?

[Smack here]

Funnily enough, in a quite mind-boggling display of affrontery, you'd somehow managed to make my morning shitlist even before I'd got wind of you suggesting we generously spooge £60 million on a gift boat for Her Majo (and oh, 'twas a pungent guff indeed).

No, Govearino, you can only imagine my look of blank-faced stupefaction when I read this morning that you'd like to see fewer GCSE and A-Level passes next year in a bid to tackle "exam inflation" - this just three days after you advocated that "underperforming" teachers be given the heave-ho within as little as one month for failing to get their kiddlings to achieve... [drumroll]... GOOD GRADES.

I'm confused, Mikey Mike. Which is it to be? Are these "real achievements of children on the ground" you're so valiantly seeking in the interesting subjects like English and the Arts, or just the 'important' ones? Have you ever been in a class of 15-year-olds, taught a cunting lesson or attempted to hold the attention of a bunch of dead-eyed, soulless brand-slaves-in-waiting whose only concern is getting out of the classroom to bazz messages back and forth on their smartphones while listening to Rihanna bleat on about fucking all evening? No? Right, then.

Way to fundamentally misunderstand your own remit, Goveanator. Perhaps try quoffing back some some Imodium next time before opening your trap and blithely spewing shit all over public policy?

In short, your Department of Education:

Regards,
Davis.