from Gutterbreakz's splendid auteuristic arc through the output of A Guy Called Gerald, I liked this bit especially in the closing peroration calling for:
"a shift of emphasis away from the information-overload and dynamic complexity of glitchy drill'n'paste and towards a spacious zone where direct emotional expression can flourish again. A place where we can be 'dancing with tears in our eyes' once more"
Simon Silverdollarcircle while back concurred with my "bloggworld, it's like the 1970s innit" quip, albeit praps only to big up beyond the implode and kid shirt as "the punk revolution come to shake us up" (personally I'd say Captain Beefheart and Sensational Alex Harvey Band respectively, maybe). Well all I meant was that there's a vague disquieting entropic feel of fatigue and fragmentation about while also still being a lot of really good stuff being done. But that got me thinking again, being a freak for making rockhistorical parallels with absolutely anything, whether i could map out the current state-of-bloggs as really being rock-Seventies-like. All I could come up with though, was that Woebot retiring was like the Beatles splitting up, that ILM is somewhere between Exile on Main Street and Goat's Head Soup,
and that MP3 blogs were like glam'n'glitter--high on flash, short on substance. Gutterbreakz being one of the rarre glorious exceptions, of course--the Roxy Music of MP3 bloggaz, perhaps. Hats off to Nick, and applause for his decision to go less frequent and (even more) in depth.
Mind you I've been toying with going the MP3 route, although only to put up almost-utterly- unfindable-otherwise para-musical cultural ephemera such as long-lost ardkore MCs going off on imagistic/scatalogic flights, vintage pirate radio ads, or indeed recent grime pirate ads. Which reminds me, there's a couple of ads from last year that I should have put in Fave Discrete Moments: the one for rather-heavy-sounding grime rave Young Man Standing (using those opening most-doomy synth-notes of "Frontline") and the almost Sasha Baron-Cohen-worthy ad for a club in Aiya Napa, featuring a borderline offensive fake Middle Eastern person and the most weed-woozy voiceover ever--in whose wasted tones i heard the words "Grimy Limeys" uttered for the first time. It's a crew, apparently. Absolutely inspired nomenclature.