Anti-Mood Music

by BenSix

“Mood music” attempts to induce or enhance a particular feeling. By this definition, most fits the bill: lush harmonics for the tired and lazing; euphoria for the dancefloor; black, fucking hatred for Norwegian metalheads. It’s all very enriching, but – comfortably premeditated – it can be terribly bad at creating a mood: once you’ve hit such emotional aridity that the full depths of your consciousness can’t move you to feeling, worn routines aren’t going to shatter the burden.

Anti-mood music jars you from whatever funk you’ve been lumped with. It’s nervy, discordant, and varied and striking enough that it presents a vivid contrast to whatever you’re feeling. It hurls you into a maelstrom of tones from which you may emerge with any emotion. Think My Bloody Valentine at their most conflicted; electro at its most unhinged; Syd-era Floyd, with his paranoia bumping up against blissful, woozy melodies…

One of my favourite such bands is Xiu Xiu, an ever-evolving trio from California. Fretful rhythms burst into rich harmonics as easy as distortion (or both); Jamie Stewart gives an overwrought delivery, and lines which cut through the songs like blades…

On An Island

by Obnoxio the Clown

I’m afraid it’s time for a specialist rant again.

Roger Waters was (and probably still is) a real fucking bastard: a manipulative, bullying, uber-control-freak shithead with an ego the size of Jupiter; pernickety, difficult, abrasive and unpleasant. He was (and definitely still is) a genius as well.

Of all the members of Pink Floyd, he was probably the most mediocre musician. He made up for it with a capacity for composing and for steering and bullying greater musicians than he into his chosen musical direction.

He was, without a doubt, a complete cunt, who had, by the time “The Final Cut” was released, managed to eject Rick Wright from the band. He was probably the only reason why Pink Floyd broke up.

However, with all that, he was probably the only reason Pink Floyd was such a seminal and remarkable band. I am sure that the frustration and stress of having such a cunt making your life an outright fucking misery definitely inspired the band to greater heights, and of course, his positive contributions were in the quality of the writing he produced.

It was embarrassingly obvious to all just how important he was to Pink Floyd when “The Division Bell” was released: a technically superb, well-performed, well-produced, but utterly forgettable album which went nowhere, especially when compared to such masterpieces as “Dark Side of the Moon”, “Shine On, You Crazy Diamond” and, of course, “The Wall”. Even the much-maligned “Final Cut” was much more coherent and more musically interesting.

Many years on, and we come to the real subject of this rant. David Gilmour is a content and successful man: he tours his solo projects, he enjoys rapt acclaim for his breathtaking live acoustic shows, he is happily married and has a great relationship with his kids.

He has just produced a new album, called “On An Island”, which he co-wrote with his wife. Despite the fact that he’s as old as my father, his guitar playing is possibly better than it’s ever been. The album is beautifully produced and packaged, a joy on the eye and easy on the ear.

There’s only one problem, though.

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It’s fucking SHIT!!!!

Part of the greatness of Pink Floyd’s music is doubtlessly the competition between Waters and Gilmour to write and play the best tracks. It’s certainly clear to me that Gilmour after Pink Floyd wrote much less interesting music than when he was harbouring murderous thoughts about Waters. And his music has reached an all-time fucking low now, his biggest beef is whether or not it’s his turn to pack the fucking dishwasher. What kind of fucking inspiration is that?

He has repeatedly said that there is no way he’s working with Waters again, he’s done that and he’s moved on. David, you fucking need to get something a bit more challenging in your life than arguing with the missus about whose turn it is to do the cunting dishes.

Stop this fucking limp noodling around on your guitar and start fucking stretching yourself again, you lazy fucking CUNT.