Wednesday, 17 August 2011

Dear UK News Organisations

It's 2am, I'm quite pissed, but I'm going to take a bet right here and now that EVERY SINGLE FUCKING REPORT ON TOMORROW'S EXAM RESULTS will feature some permutation of the phrase "A-Levels getting easier".


"Kids getting smarter; adults don't like that".

Regards,
Davis.

Wednesday, 10 August 2011

Dear Universe, Both Inner and Outer

What would be nice, just once, is if the noise were to stop. Just for a few minutes. Nothing but quiet - silence, even. The muting of the frenzy. The quelling of the panic. Stasis to the feeling of perpetual railing, windswept, dizzying motion.


I don't know if I'm talking about sleep, the apocalypse, alcohol, God or Valium. But we could get along then, if only for that few fleeting moments of peace.

Turn down the volume. Halt the vibration. Bring order to the chaos. But please, do it soon, before the hysteria becomes paramount.

Yours, apparently,
Davis.

PS - Supposedly it all calms down a bit at 30? Ripper.

Sunday, 31 July 2011

Dear George W. Bush

I know it's been said before, George, but you're a dumb motherfucker, aren't you? I mean, like, really, really dumb. I realise that it's pointless debating concepts as weighty as ethics or common sense with someone for whom "fostering a culture which protects the sanctity of human life" squares up directly against killing thousands of innocents in another 'just' war, but we'll let that slide for now. Let's talk money, wonga, casheroo.


Yes, George, for while I'll freely admit to knowing absolutely piss-all about economics, even I know that it's better to be in surplus than in deficit. How's that altruistic tax plan of yours working out now, having pissed it all away in a display of short-sighted expediency which even Mr. Magoo would've been forced to blink twice at?

Oh, George, I picture you now, sat at home on your million-acre ranch in Texas, feet up on the porch swing, kicking back with a non-alcoholic 'brew' while watching the deficit crisis unfold on TV. You turn to Laura, a look of bewildered, childlike innocence etched on your face, and limply enquire: "Did I do that?"

Yes, George, you did. You took the largest budget surplus in US history and turned it to shit. You plunged the country into various ongoing military crises which plundered the public coffers, gave back millions of tax dollars to the few who needed it least, and casually allowed your buddies on Wall Street to play Russian Roulette with the nation's 401ks because that's the 'beauty' of the free market. Well done, George. Well done, indeed.

The thing about not being able to see the woods for the trees though is that history will judge you, George, brutally so. You stupid, stupid motherfucker.

Regards,
Davis.

PS - I think it's time, in the light of this report, for even the most conservative ideologue to finally admit that money and America are two things which simply shouldn't be allowed to mix.

Saturday, 30 July 2011

Dear Biffy

To prove that I’m not all hatred, I’ve decided to balance things up by writing you an open letter on this public forum. Why, I hear you ask? Because you’re absolutely bloody awesome, that’s why.

Moody; good beard; two really cool gingers.


That's right. I remember watching you as wee nippers when 57 came out, and it changing my life. I remember Blackened Sky providing the soundtrack to my darkest days, The Vertigo of Bliss blowing my tiny mind and Infinity Land contributing wave upon wave of sonic brilliance to the most pivotal moments of my existence thus far. I remember glitter, trauma, the middle-eight to Questions & Answers (unbeatable), the bird frapping herself on your album cover and that bit in Strung to Your Ribcage that went “FUCKING SAY IT!!! FUCKING SAY IT!!!” (not to mention the Q&A video where you carted each other round in wheelbarrows). I remember watching you perform Now the Action is on Fire! in any number of sweaty dives and thinking it was the best thing I have ever, ever seen on a stage. It still is.

Cover frap.


There are those who say that you’re not as good now that you’ve gone mainstream, that you’ve “sold out”, that you’re not as interesting any more. Well, that’s utter bollocks, and I’m not having a second of it. Frankly, I can’t think of any other act who has worked harder for their success, not to mention achieved it so stubbornly on their own terms, and I’m damned if I’m going to begrudge you a second of it. Besides, Puzzle is basically just the mirror-image of your debut album as filtered through a half-decade’s life experience, and it’s an absolutely bonzer record any way you slice it. My favourites will always be the first three, but that’s just because of what they meant to me at a certain time. The later ones are blatantly the best. Bubbles? AMAZING.

"Sold out", my arse. Stone-cold 'banga'.


You’ve mirrored the career trajectory of R.E.M. (slow build, big explosion, universally-recognised greatness) and the artistic path of Pearl Jam (several records of experimenting in a bid to define one’s sound, before ultimately finding the niche you’re most comfortable with and were probably always building towards – it was certainly there as far back as All the Way Down). And who out there is better to be compared to than R.E.M. and Pearl Jam when it comes to career builds? Exactly.

R.E.M. - also fucking whizzer. Singer possibly a Thalidomide with massive hands.


I watched your Live at Wembley DVD, and almost bloody wept. It was magnificent. How did my boys get to this stage? Like a teary-eyed parent sending their beloved off into the world, I’m so proud. You’ve risen to the occasion admirably, and if you want to continue putting out records as awe-inspiring, refined and graceful as Only Revolutions while performing to the biggest crowds possible, you have my honest, sincere and heartfelt blessing. We all know it should’ve won the Mercury. Indeed, great though it is, Eradicate the Doubt seems like a bit of a mess compared to Many of Horror nowadays anyway, and you still kick seven shades out of the competition live. A buddy of mine who clearly knows what he’s talking about texted me a two-word review while watching you at Glastonbury this year, which pretty much said it all. It read - “Biffy: whoah.”

Morrissey: a twat.


Oh, I know, there’ll always be the fly-by-nights at gigs who don’t know Justboy or get confused by all the choppy bits, but such are the perils of commercial success. At the end of the day, we’ll always have Bodies In Flight. We’ll always have 27. You belong to the people now, but I’m honoured to have shared your animal years and will always be grateful for the experience (though admittedly not as grateful as I was for the moment at Reading 2008 when you got a load of people to shout "Fuck you" live on Jo Whiley's show during an acoustic performance of Killing in the Name. She almost shit a lung.)

Whiley: clueless, clumsy, mumsy try-hard who shouldn't be on radio. Or telly. Or living.


You have conducted yourselves magnificently at every turn, displayed bull-headed integrity throughout your career and remain a shining example of how to maintain an honest and open relationship with your fan-base. Quite aside from that, you are just really, really nice blokes. THAT’s why I paid £50 for the limited edition Only Revolutions box-set, £86 for The Vertigo of Bliss on vinyl (eBay, admittedly – apologies that you won’t see a kickback), and shelled out a few extra bob for the extended Revolutions DVD package off your website. Above all else, I’m just glad to help.

Nice blokes.


If I ever got band logos as tattoos, it would go like this: Nirvana, Rage Against the Machine, Biffy Clyro. Inked on my body, for all eternity. I bloody love you, Biffy, and it’s not often you’ll hear me say something like that. So there you have it. Take me to your blackened sky.

Eternal regards,
Davis.

Dear Ed Fucking Sheeran

I can't be fucking doing with you, Ed Fucking Sheeran, and I don't even fucking know anything about you apart from the fact that that fucking song you have in the charts is fucking shit, and the rest of your stuff sounds like bad fucking Nizlopi (who were fucking good, and whose memory you've now royally besmirched), or fucking Maroon 5 (who were equally fucking shit).

Facepalm is fucking RIGHT, mate.

Also, I can't be fucking doing with all those fucking clueless fuckers who fucking wank on about you and "real musicians" as if there aren't any out there who aren't ten times fucking better or more deserving than your fucking mediocre output, but evidently aren't fucking palatable enough for the brainless fucking masses to cope with.

What a wonderfully fucking sweary weekend I'm having so far.

Fucking regards,
Davis.

PS - Anyone who writes a song called The A-Team and makes no reference whatsoever to a crack commando unit who were sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit is just fucking asking for it in my book.

PPS - That's MY fucking top you're wearing, give it back.

Friday, 29 July 2011

Dear Facebook

I read with great interest the news item detailing how you'd banned the photo on the cover of Nirvana's Nevermind from the site on the basis that it violated your terms of use.

I note that you've since denied this claim and reinstated the image in question. Which is a shame, as I've just had a crack at redesigning your logo for you - do click through for a better view.


Regards,
Davis.

PS - Actually, thinking about it on a more profound intellectual level, the following variants also work quite well:


- and -


- and -


...Okay, I've run out of ideas now. Oh no, wait! Jig it around a bit and here's two more:


- and -


...Okay, I'm really done now. Can I have a job or summat?

PPS - Oh, alright, one more for the road:


Saturday, 23 July 2011

Dear Tabloid Press, Gossip Merchants, Fans At Gigs Who Were Booing Five Minutes Ago, World

Well, you got what you wanted. Happy now?


Couldn't give a shit for Amy 'Wino' Winehouse, her music, mangled vocal phrasing or her private life; never did, never will. But I speak through gritted teeth when I say that the dripping hypocrisy of the simpering eulogies contained in your grubby pages tomorrow will be truly sickening.

27, Amy; just in time to join 'That Stupid Club' and hop on the Canonisation Train, which can now keep on a-rollin' for many a year. Just as well we have the following rhapsodies from Twitter to see us through the coming years of 5CD reissues, unreleased toilet demos and dewy-eyed tributes from Jools Holland:

Myleene Klass: "OMG. Amy Winehouse. Exceptional talent and really nice lady. RIP." ...'OMG RIP'? Really?

Kelly Osbourne: "i cant even breath right now im crying so hard i just lost 1 of my best friends" [sic].

Selena Gomez: "Amy Winehouse died?! I was dancing to Valerie last week, you serious? See how drugs kill people? R.I.P” - Nice one.

BBC News: "Daily Telegraph rock critic Neil McCormick said he was 'utterly shocked' at her death." Thanks for your insight; not really much of a 'rock critic' if you didn't see that one coming.

BBC News: "Doug Charles-Ridler, co-owner of Winehouse's favourite Camden pub The Hawley Arms, called her 'a special person with a good soul', adding, 'this should not have happened'. " Probably kept the pints pouring though, didn't you, buddy? That'll be £4.50 please, love!

Back to black, indeed; truly, a "losing game" all round.

Utterly disgusted regards,
Davis.