Lost notes – 1

No need to power the rumour mill The secret died with the first indiscreet glancing A special smile that pierces through the clouds in my head Is the square meal that the beggar dreams of When the day ends and you look at the climb back home You know that I will always carry you in my heart When the sighing that indicates the start … Continue reading Lost notes – 1

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Interview: Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin

Or: Hangin’ with Boris Yeltsin dans le metro…

Listen to their latest album, Let it sway,  while you read this interview!

It’s no secret that Polyvinyl gets a lot of love from us at Sloucher.org. It’s no secret either that we are into bands that do have a sense of humour. How chuffed were us (Tonan & Sam) when we found out we could have an email interview with Phil from Someone Still Loves you Boris Yeltsin ? A lot. So we went to town, had a few cups of mokaccino and, sadly, reacted badly to caffeine. What follows are the questions we did under a massive overdose of coffee and fanpersonism…
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Dan Williamson and CatsforPeru @ West Street Live

Lickity Split Presents… Down To The Woods 2! (Featuring Dan Williamson and Cats:for:Peru).

It was a slow Wednesday night on Sheffield, but West Street Live had a little jaunt made by the lovely people of  Lickity Split. Stalls with clothes and some rather scrumptious cupcakes helped pass the time before the free gig started. The musical selection (on vinyl, natch) was righteous, too.

Ah, Dan Williamson, saw him back in March, enjoyed his show, and was looking forward to this. Don’t know (nor care) what genre he’s playing, I just care that I like it and that it’s honest music. With a few depressing moments mixed with some uplifting musical choices, it delivered. But hey, check the links section at the end and grab a copy of his album and chime in!
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The Sunday Soapbox – 2

Editor’s note : As you know by now, head honcho and loony extraordinarie Quinto was stuck in Bristol. This is a serialised story of his return to Sheffield – M.

Part 1 : A disgraceful comeback

So I was in a coach back from Bristol, still clutching on a red sweater, when a stinky arse Indieholic  sat by my side. You know the type: crap bear, floppy hair, a light beer gut (ironically used, of course), clothes from some random shop with a 70s style logo, brimmed glasses, a J.D. Salinger book. The whole damn scenester/hipster/wankster package.

He chuckled from time to time while reading ‘Catcher on the rye’ while doing notes on a notebook with Snorkel stickers, making VERY sure that everyone in the coach knew he was a writer. What a flippo, I used to do that, but, you know, matured. Haven’t done it in 2 months and am proud of it.

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La Folie, c’est mon truc

La Folie – Risus Sardonicus

I got a very interesting album today, though the cover seemed a little bit as if all of my childhood traumas were reflected on that image: circus, an elephant, acrobats… anyway, I was pretty excited to listen to this new acquisition called Risus Sardonicus, by La Folie (I dig the name!)

There’s something about the circus that has always left me at unease; it’s maybe pretending, it’s maybe a parallel reality or just making fun at reality itself. Circus is the main concept of this album, and the result is quite interesting and calls for the uncanny.
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Tramlines 2010 – Sunday

Sunday 25: Coogan warned us about you (gushing and ranting).

Sunday was the last day and The Knackering was setting in. Going to sleep at 4 am didn’t help, but hey, S1 Artspace was worth it completely. Massive Gig attendee tip #19: for blisters try using ample shoes and painkillers.

Typing interviews and general writing shenanigans had been taxing and just missing the buskers bus with Cats:for:Peru was downright depressing. Still, soldier on.

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Looking back at … The Sundays

The Sundays – Blind

There are seasons and times in our lives we call our very own favorites. Mine are the 90s. Even though I cannot remember much (I was a dispersed child, now I am a dispersed grown-up) I do remember odd hairstyles, my sister wearing strange black boots as she danced to “Industrial” music (and other odd sounding to my ears rhythms), and grunge.

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A night at The Grapes is always intense…

Repo Men + Dr. Robeatnik + Cats:for:Peru @ The Grapes

The poster read “Pisco presents Sugar Rush”. And the inside smell sweet. Sickly sweet. Candy. Lots of candy. Gingerbread men, balloons, fake jars on stage and a frickload of free candies. That was the scene at the Grapes, your number one room for intense shows.

And that was exactly the best description for Repo Men‘s chaotic set. It was intense. But then again, the life of a repo men is always intense. You could ponder if “Stella” is about a girl they fancied or if it’s about the beer. It could also be about a plate of shrimp. Or a plate. Or just a shrimp. Or the pecan pies in the back of a Cadillac El Dorado.

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None of them knew they were (twee) robots

Japanese Sleepers + The Rocky Nest @ Stockroom – A testimonial

(editors’ note: We refuse to call this a review, it’s more a rant. Against better judgement, Sam left his recovery process on Friday. Hilarity and a huge dry cleaning bill ensued. – M & Q).

It was a Friday afternoon in the cold, unforgiving concrete jungle that is the area near the Stockroom. The place was slightly isolated and I was just brooding over some chemistry notes, having an ale.

The man behind the bar approached me. “you here for the bands?” I nodded, still feeling a bit sick. So against the doctor’s orders, I waited for a while until the whole thing started.

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Remember the time Wet Nuns averted the Rapture?

This rant is based on actual events at the Wet Nuns + Serious Sam Barrett show @ Stockroom, April 18th.

Cars were aflame. Screams and moans filled the atmosphere. The swanky buildings surrounding the Roebuck tavern laid asunder. The smell of destruction lingered as a thousand Wednesday and United fans congregated and fought, whilst police in riot gear took turns bashing skulls in at Orchard Square.

The Bus driver had stopped in the street and said “May God be with you”, as he open door and left us to our own devices. I was alone, my head swooning with the rankness of football fans turning into creatures from Hell.

But amidst that stench, I found a familiar smell. Jambalaya.

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