Never Enough Notes e-zine // reviews + interviews + music

I don’t know about you, but humans are the sole reason why other humans deign it necessary to commit murder and why this generally mangy country fails to operate freely and effectively.

Take roads for example – they work fine when they’re empty, but squeeze a few human idiots into things called motor-cars and tragedy strikes – death by dangerous driving, speeding like a cock, shaving at the wheel, cutting other drivers up, overtaking and undertaking. In fact, pretty soon, I imagine the gloriously irritating charity Liberty will castigate a judge in the near future, as he hands over a life-sentence to spotty Darryl who has just mown down 40 remedial school-children outside their classroom, whilst cracking one off at the wheel, listening to the entire back-catalogue of Lisa Lashes and eating a family bucket of Kilkenny Frazzled Chihuahua through a straw.

And then there’s supermarkets – marvellous places until some numb-crackers unlocks the front-doors and allows shuffling, bumbling and arse-scratching bibble-heads into its tempting aisles, priming them all for the ultimate and most heinous of crimes – queuing in the express aisle with 75 items, including 45 packs of rocket and Snickers salad that won’t scan because it’s just shit.

But my biggest irritation (today at any rate) is reserved for the can-brains that plague public transport with their inaudible bollocks emitted from their cheap headphones.

Let me give you an example:
“Nnn – tstst – tstst – tstst – chenkachenka – tst – tst – tst – Nnn – schweep!”

Or how about:
“Bombebombebombip – bombombebombebombip – wooooowweeee – bombomskupskupskupskup”

Minge, isn’t it? That’s your journey to work in the morning (and back again, in the evening).

It’s like listening to a fly concert in a dustbin, or someone using hedgeclippers on a dog’s nutsack. Why don’t these lame f*ckers listen to decent music at breakneck volume? Why, WHY is it always that insipid urban and nu-soul horse-poo that trills from their budget ear-pieces (and their mobile-yapping bricks)? Or mindless ‘uds-uds-uds’ beats? If I want to hear the sound of Crawley’s notorious Haemorrhage Heights Estate, I’ll bloody move there. In fact, I’m surprised some of these dollops haven’t got blue neon lights beaming from under each ear-lobe, just to feel at home innit?

Why is it never, and I mean, never EVER the entire New Order back-catalogue being piped from the vents in their heads? Or the latest album by Efterklang or Skream? The entire works by Simple Minds might not be so bad to hear (unless it’s that Celtic-sputum from Hell’s throat, ‘Belfast Child’) and I could even tolerate that turd on my shoe, Doherty, with his pseudo-rebel whimsy via The Libertines (but definitely only for three stops).

But absolutely not, and I mean NOT ‘Screamobloodboilingwaaaaaaaaaarrrrr’ metal or ‘yoyoyoyogunnaspitallmapipzonyotitsinajiffyyoyo’ rap-flange, the kind of aural ejaculation best experienced by feeding McFly through a muck-spreader already filled with road-drills.

I can’t decide whether it’s the poor quality of headphones, the shoddy shite taste of Londoners or the fact that most commuters are deafer than a starling in a jet-engine. Or maybe it’s all three – either way, I seem to be capable of listening to my choices at a reasonable volume without getting a tut or a sneer from fellow travellers, so why not others?

I guess I’m not dim-witted enough to crave attention from those around me, nor am I dull or desperate enough to pump out the latest pile of ‘chart’ pissflaps like Sellafield having an orgasm. Or maybe I give a toss about others.

People – get some taste, get some decent headphones and keep the sound down. Or at least look as though you really like what you’re listening to, instead of standing on the tube like a gormless wired-up hat-stand about to embark on a trip to the National Museum Of Table Mats.

The only sound I want to hear on the tube from now on is:
“Bombebombebombip – bombombebombebombip – wooooowweeee – bombomskup – BANG!” and the smell of fresh gunsmoke, satisfyingly wafting from a double-barrelled irritation-snuffer. Aaaaaaah.