IT MUST be a confusing and unsettling time for Americans. How awful for you. Welcome to the party. Where the fuck have you been until now?
I don’t have any advice for you. As one of your former colonial overlords, it’s not really my place to tell you how to vote. The best I can come up with is: Make America Great Britain Again.
Obviously, as someone who inhabits the same hemisphere as all you paranoid, gun-crazy, passportless halfwits, I have a view – for what it’s worth: Hillary is your only rational choice. Trump is an obvious nut case. You can only blame yourselves for this lack of meaningful choice – but why would you listen to me?
And whoever you vote for, the government wins, right?
ULTIMATELY, I don’t actually give a shit whether you like Rudimentary Peni or not – come to think of it, I’d probably prefer it if you didn’t – but if you’re coming to this cold, but you can find out everything you need to know about them here.
Essentially, in the words of a very wise man, Peni “took the basic thrash blueprint, wiped their arses with it and screwed it up into a tight little ball before exploding all over you like a bad medieval disease.”
If you’re already a fan, and you’re looking for catalogue numbers and release dates, you’d be better off elsewhere.
ONE-TIME Playboy bunny Marion Benoist and ex-Motherfucker feedback enthusiast Fred de Fred (aka the Lovers) have been making beautiful music together since they were introduced by a mutual friend in London on September 11, 2001.
Now based in Sheffield – they have no plans to invade Afghanistan, for the moment – the Lovers’ naughty but nice second album continues the saucy crusade they began with their eponymous debut three years ago. Recorded in Texas and South Yorkshire, Pardon My French contains the kind of big production pop nobody is supposed to make anymore. I think it could be my favourite album of the year.
An effortlessly exotic and eclectic sound – whistling, kazoos, ukuleles, a glockenspiel, a sousaphone, even a clarinet are all thrown into the mix – might make Pardon My French seem like it’s from another time and place but closer listening reveals some talented musicianship and a resolutely individual, contemporary and internationalist outlook.
If that wasn’t enough, they’re sexy and funny, they sing in French, English and a strange combination of the two, and they write killer hooks too. What more do you need to know?
EVEN by the less-than-genteel standards of the Crass label, Farce was a ridiculously extreme record – from the seven-inch fold-out sleeve, containing mostly strange spidery drawings rather than the usual typed polemic, to the extraordinary music Rudimentary Peni created, which took the basic thrash blueprint, wiped its arse with it and screwed it up into a tight little ball before exploding all over you like a bad medieval disease.
And there was also the very name of the band itself.