Bonkers

Jaz isn't big into demographics but suspects that there may be a trend emerging of shorter life expectancies among certain Western communities. How else to explain today's news that 24-year-old Dizzee Rascal has signed a book deal and will be relating his memoirs (thus far) via autobiography before he even gets a Number 1 album? This begs the question: when do we now qualify as ready for penning our 'life' history?

If, dreading a long arduous train journey, you went to the autobiography section of your nearest WH Smith ten years ago, you'd maybe be looking at Nelson Mandela, Audrey Hepburn, potentially moaning Morrissey. Don't get us wrong, it doesn't strictly have to do with age: what valuable tidbits can we really be learning from Lulu, for instance (besides the latest 2-for-1s from Morrisons)? But the former had substantial stories to tell and not just a fast buck to make. Much like Greatest Hits album, autobiographies no longer signal the swan song in a person's career. So, think before you breathe that sigh of relief as your eyes pass over the latest chapter in the Katie Price saga.

Sure, Dizzee has apparently had a difficult upbringing, but will that enrich our experience when grinding like muppets to hits such as Bonkers, Dirtee Cash and Dance Wiv Me? Next time we rap along to Holiday... I know you're really busy and I know you've got plans/But are you really too busy for a sun tan... knowledge of the fact that Dizzee once got stabbed on vacation in Cyprus is sure to get our summer juices flowing. Really Dizzee, could you not have just gone on Piers Morgan's Life Stories instead?

Jaz x

Night 5

I wake up to Marina’s Hollywood doing forty laps around the vacuous swimming pool of my mind. It’s exactly the same relationship I had once with Kylie Minogue. Hate it. Can’t get it out of my head. It’s Saturday. I’m teetering towards death and averting mirrors. Just about managing to muster up some last lap adrenaline I contemplate three final acts: Liam Bailey of whom I’ve heard nothing, Daisy Dares You of whom I wish I’d heard nothing and Ellie Goulding of whom I’ve heard nothing besides.

Daisy Dares You… to suffer for half an hour of your life. MIEEOOOOW is what I think I hear (and see) as a feline just-pubescent Katie Price who looks like she’s been dragged through a bush backwards quite literally tears up the New To Q stage. The Ess-eeks gal can’t sing to save her arse, which, by the way, she doesn’t want you to touch according to one of her pop punk “song”s. She evidently, however, wants you to touch her developed bossom, which is very much on display (not that her “arse” isn’t). Kudos to Avril Lavigne who, despite her vile nature, isn’t tone deaf. Lionel Bart, would you call the copyright police? A minor has committed first degree ditty homicide. The victim is Who Will Buy?, killed via Oliver: The Mosh-ical remake.

Ellie Goulding is an entirely different animal and the most anticipated having already won this year’s Critics Choice BRIT award before the release of her debut (something only achieved thus far by Adele and Florence & The Machine). Hiding behind no name other than her own and suffering from laryngitis, she creates an ice cool electro disco to do away with the carefully produced Diana Vickers-meets-Dido hue of her record. Her dramatic eyes, doll-like voice and exerted mouth are reminiscent of Bjork… but Welsh and probably incapable of random violent outbursts. You never know though, it’s always the quiet ones…



By the way, still know nothing of Liam Bailey owing to... I was late.

Jaz x