Looking out the velux window this morning at the candy blue sunshine saturated sky I momentarily forget that last night the car's temperature gauge read -4°C post-Valentines Day (not the event - the movie, which was equally as torturous). I imagine a balmy breeze cooling my Havaianas-flopped feet before realising that I have, in fact, woken up to Glasg-Arctica once more.
Thank Zimbabwe (or, Hackney) for Tinashé then. The London via Africa troubadour charmed the socks off a Q crowd opening for Marina & The Diamonds a few weeks back with his suave demanour, butter-melting vocals and feet-shuffling guitar pop. I was in heaven... if heaven's a hammock on a white sandy beach in the middle of a turquoise diamond-and-pearl strewn ocean.
Jaz suggests you are promptly swept ashore by A-Liar: a jam that (without subtlety) reclaims Afrobeat roots back from Vampire Weekend's A-Punk while melding Arctic Monkeys' When The Sun Goes Down into pure reggae soul.Jack Peñate? Who needs 'im?
Also check out the drummer as he abandons his instrument in favour of the old hand clap. Love it.
Tinashé joins previously blogged about Tiffany Page on tour with the Noisettes. So if you're soon to watch Shingai Shoniwa do her rhythmic best make sure you get there early. Head to the mighty MySpace for more: http://www.myspace.com/tinashemusic.
As I spend all of Sunday in ecstasy watching TV from my bed - another failed attempt at a Grand Slam championship by Andy Murray and an edition of Dancing On Ice (a programme I traditionally find intolerable) - I rehydrate and extend my arm to intermittently scoff at the box of emergency cereal in my bedsit. In this state of inertia I wonder what I've learned. Some names may be worth remembering, most notably Ellie Goulding. Mainly I am Old To Q, and music is transcient. Although Marina & The Diamonds' Hollywood is still glued to my cerebellum, it won't stay there forever. And that's ok. Enjoy what you enjoy. Stop chasing the next bandwagon. The music will keep on playing on and on regardless. And, as for my inner grandma? There's life yet in the old bird... Jaz x
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.
5.10 am. I’ve gone and blown it. Why does alcohol do this to me? How did I think 5 cans was a good idea on an empty stomach? In what world did I convince myself that topping that off with “Shots!” of sambuca was recommended? Bollocks. I just about manage to get my arm into my glittery bolero, which I wear strategically to meld into the crowd for tonight’s Marina & The Sequins… sorry, Diamonds. I haven’t inherited any of those yet.
Check out my review of tonight on http://news.qthemusic.com/2010/02/day_4_marina_and_the_diamonds.html#post
If I could go further, I think Mar-ika would make the perfect "fag hag" pair. Also, if this girl does, in fact, not make a success of herself I’m sure all her “Oh My Gods” and “Obsessed”-ness would safely score her a career in the new West End production of Legally Blonde. Personally, I react to her like I react to celery. It’s completely unpalatable. But as I get home in time for Friday Night With Jonathan Ross and witness the nightmare that is Jedward I realise, love them or hate them, loathsome novelty acts are laughing all the way to the bank.
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