Captain Purplehead

In Ireland, it’s perfectly legal to fall out of a pub at twelve in the afternoon, absolutely bolloxed from drink. It’s frowned upon, but it’s absolutely legal. In fact, you can sit outside a pub, spouting profanities at random passersby, whilst in your cups, and there’s very little anyone can do about it… legally. It is, however illegal to have a few sociable night time pints while listening to live music at 2am.
‘Ok, we all know that, Cap’n. What’s the fucking point?’
Ok, it’s ok to fall around drunk while kids are still legally allowed to walk home from school or just be in our view but it’s absolutely verboten, to have an extra couple of pints after a gig!
Frankly, it’s fucking ridiculous! It makes no sense whatsoever. The idea is to allow each bar to trade for 12 hours per day, as long as the cease serving at 4am. It would solve so much. Yes, there’s a drink problem in this country but it should not prohibit sense! It should not be a restriction of trade.
In the “boom” years, it wasn’t a problem because there were many departments that did nothing. Regulatory bodies who spent their time going for elevenses and passing the time on Bebo. Some even went on extended leave so they could play golf more often. It didn’t matter because we were rich beyond our wildest dreams. You could take stress leave from your job as a regulator - presumably because you were bored from having nothing to do - and still qualify for a mortgage you couldn’t afford. In fact, because you worked for the government, you could phone in a mortgage request.
The problem was, they never really had any idea what they were employed to do. “Well, my father is a councillor/guard/TD/banker/property developer and I never really had to work so he/she/it got me this job and its one handy fucking number”. And that’s fine; they’re wanking to pictures of Princess Lea while we’re paying their wages but not being over-charged. Happy fucking days! Have a nice, unrewarding life and free valium for your retirement, you pointless fucker.
Suddenly there’s a recession. All the captains of industry have been found out to be really scratching their own privates. We’re fucked, through greed and incompetence and a slavish devotion to cloud people and fear. “Bollox! We’re going to have to justify our handy numbers, especially now that our fathers/brothers/sisters/aunts/uncles/grandparents are completely broke and under investigation!”
So what do these fucking, knuckle-dragging fucking stupid fucking moronic wankers do? They become pedantic. They don’t understand subtlety and the idea of a judgement call. They start raiding restaurants, pubs, shops and any other business they can claim travel expenses for walking to and they start closing them down. Yep, let’s regulate ourselves into deeper shit. Let’s fucking restrict revenue to the extent that we can put small businesses out of business. “Your kitchen is 5 centimetres too small. You will either have to pay to extend it, or close down”. Never mind MacDonalds who have perfectly appointed kitchens but no skilled staff!
“Me fahder was a gard, me mother was a gard and all de wans before them were gards and I’m here to tell you, I’m trying to make an oul name for meself before I get a plum job in Ballyfuckmesister and retire on a King’s ransom. Now, you miscreants are here having a pint, listening to a bit of live music. If ye don’t feck off out of it, I’ll arrest the lot of ye”
Fucking pond life!
Here’s the thing. I don’t blame them. They are too fucking utterly stupid and beholden to their culture of nepotism to ever get the point. These people are fucking morons. These people are utterly useless. They are the people who put people out of homes but give rapists and murders suspended sentences. Yes; this is Ireland, where 174 people served custodial sentences last year for default on loan and mortgage payments because of the incompetence and greed of our government, whose pensions we are still paying, and 4 rapists got suspended sentences. No time served for ruining someone’s life but a few weeks in prison for being foolish enough to buy into the lies that were told to us by our government. No, I don’t blame them. I don’t blame these people at all. They don’t understand the simple tenets of decency. They’re idiots.
So what is pissing me off at the moment? Well, the businesses that made huge profits in the boom, with inflated prices and admission fees, are now reporting new businesses to the idiotic regulatory bodies who are, in turn, quite thankful for the tip off, because they never would’ve been able to even form the idea of an investigation themselves. They aren’t reporting them for harbouring criminals. They aren’t reporting them for being troublesome. They are reporting them for being in direct competition. If they shared the wealth and said, “Let’s form an alliance, where we can provide proper entertainment but never clash with each other”, they would be fucking gifted. It would work. It would ensure a balance of trade, while providing a balanced variety of entertainment, where each venue could promote the idea. The main thing here is that, there would be trade.
The current template is destined to be temporary because Ireland will eventually eat itself through moronic greed. We don’t need a revolution as much as we need revolutionary thinking and behaviour. In all honesty, if we were to have a revolution tomorrow, there would be too many morons shooting off in too many different directions to make it valid.
STOP!!!! Think about the fact that you’re an idiot and try and change that. Just try and change the fact that you’re a fucking idiot. It all starts with acceptance.
Ireland is a stupid fucking country. Utterly stupid, with very little to recommend itself.
To finish, here’s one of my favourite songs.

Ok, I’m going to get it in the neck for this but all I ask is that you read and get the point of this post. If you gloss over this and miss the point, I will exercise my right to call you a blithering moron. Ok, so you’ve been warned so I have prefaced this enough.
Right, I will be the first to admit that there are some great D.Js out there who are both talented, intelligent and musical. This post is NOT about my hatred of D.Js. Indeed, in our great City of Limerick, there are a few whose gigs I like attending. People like John Greenwood, Phil Wade and Paul Tarpy make an effort to be original and different and show an aptitude and understanding of music. No problem with those guys, and I’m sure I’ve left loads out. My problem is not even with the proliferation of D.Js going around the place. No, my problem is with the attitudes of some of these fuckers.
Look, just because you’re outgoing, moody, thin, want to be a part of the artistic community and own a laptop does not qualify you to be a D.J. Yeah, you might get a lot of your mates to the pub to listen to you mix Beyonce with Stevie Wonder but that doesn’t mean you’re any good. If you don’t understand music, you’ve no business trying to play a part in any musical genre. And, should you meet any actual musicians whilst bluffing an apathetic public, you should pay them some respect and not look down your fucking bony, fucking nose at them simply because you believe you, and only you, are privy to the secret of the perfect mix. Ok, if it’s someone pretending to be a musician but really just plays cheesy covers, accompanied by a rack of midi files, then say what you want to them but always remember, you’re no better than those fuckers.
These fucking wannabe D.Js just love to be aloof and utterly obnoxious because they weren’t silly enough to actually learn how to play an instrument. Perish the thought that they’d even write a piece of music. Nah, they’ll just download some free software and mix other peoples music and call it fucking art. Now, this is where it gets a little confusing because I’m not saying that good D.Js are incapable of being artistic. Indeed, I’ve heard some mixes of old 20’s music, given a more expansive beat, mixed with Led Zepplin and thought, “fuck me, that was fucking inspired”. It is a medium that can be extremely creative and artistic but, unfortunately, all too often isn’t. I’ve no real problem with the stuff that isn’t all that creative. My problem resides with the attitude that accompanies some of these fuckers.
Artistic people are mostly generous people, who never look down their noses at anyone. In fact, the best artists, musically or otherwise, never feel that they’ve reached a stage where they’ve nothing to learn or prove. They will look at people that may not be as proficient as they are and still see something that they can learn.
Look, any more of this and I’ll end up repeating myself. Just think of this. You may have a fucking great taste in music. You may want to be cooler than the coolest person you’ve ever met. You may think the world owes you a fucking favour and some adulation, but you’re wrong. You are owed nothing. If you haven’t invested the time to, at the very least, understand music, then don’t fucking perform in public and act like you’ve got it all cracked. I’m going to say this and I’m going to get castigated for it but, in my experience, most D.Js are fucking bluffers. Stop looking down at people who actually went to the trouble of learning an instrument! You don’t have to like what they do and they don’t have to like what you do. It’s a short fucking life. Try to spend five seconds of it with your heads removed from your own fucking arses!
In the meantime, if you want to see some real fucking D.Js, check out Dr John’s on Thomas Street in Limerick or Mickey’s in Augustinian Lane. There, nuff said.

The worst argument I’ve ever heard in favour of an artist is, “well look at how much money they’ve made”. It is a sad indictment of modern society that we have become so enamoured with possessions that we exclusively equate success with wealth and now we equate talent to exactly the same thing. People who think like this are fucking muppets. Sorry, that’s an insult to muppets.
If you set out solely to make a billion euro and you make a billion euro, you’ve been successful in your endeavours. If you set out to join a boyband and make lots of money and you join a boyband and make lots of money, you’re a success but that does not mean you’re talented. Equally, if you set out to make a decent album, and you do make a decent album, you’re a success. You may not make any money on it but that doesn’t take away from the fact that you have been successful in your endeavour. Other artist set out to make an album that will sell well, and despite their success in doing so, it doesn’t always make them musically talented.
People also choose to call the things they don’t like, shit. I have a very real hatred of the guitar player Yngwie Malmsteen. I believe he has a skill, rather than a musical talent. I would never call him a shit guitar player because he knows his way around the fretboard like few others do. My problem is that, for some, the faster you play, the better guitar player you are. Music is much more than mere musical wanking though and a real musician is generous to those with whom they play and always obeys the melody. Melody is king in a decent song. That’s not just an opinion, it’s a fact. Without melody, you don’t have a song. The melody is what you engage with. You may prefer decent drum sounds or bass sounds or piano, guitar, sax, flute or fucking spoons. It doesn’t matter. If all you can hear is your favourite instrument zig-zagging all over the melody, you can’t properly engage with the song.
It’s like baking a beautiful Black Forest Gateaux and then smarming mustard, ketchup and vinegar over it and offering it to someone to eat. If you can scrape off all of the needless shit that has nothing to do with the cake, you may be able to enjoy the actual cake but the memory of all that shit taints it for you anyway.
You then come to people who understand that certain melodies and certain arrangements resonate with people on a strictly distractionary basis. In other words, if there’s a decent hook, the lyrics don’t matter at all. If it gets people dancing, the hook or the lyrics don’t really matter. This is where the likes of Simon Cowell and Louis Walsh come in. They take on people who will never be passionate about music but wouldn’t mind being famous and making a few bob. These people seldom rock the boat and, if they do, Simon and Louis can just destroy them and move on to someone else. They control what you hear on TV and radio and now they’re so tied into commerciality that you have the unheard of travesty of Paul McCartney appearing on X-Factor. If you’re on that piece of shit of a show, you get a wide audience.
It’s never about music on these shows. They give you songs that you know well and they ask poor, misguided Kim Kardashian wannabees to sing them. Even if they lose, they’ll still be mobbed for their three month career of opening chippers and hairdressers but will then invariably lapse back into oblivion.
These shows have nothing - absolutely fucking nothing - to do with music. These shows are all about making Simon Cowell wealthier. It is truly amazing that so many people buy into this show. This is the show that spawned Jedward. If you slag Jedward these days, people say, “ah can’t you leave them alone. They’re living their dream, fair play to them”. Well I’m sorry but weren’t these guys famous for having absolutely no talent? Yes, yes, that was it. They were shit. They were utterly embarrassing shit. They were also too fucking stupid to realise that they were shit so they just kept going until, Louis sold them as some sort of an act. Fuck me!
Look, music isn’t about making money. The people who make the best music are the people who got into it because of their passion for music. These are people who constantly strive and struggle and work and save to keep doing what they do because people like Simon Cowell or Louis Walsh will NEVER help them. With the amount of money those two fucking conmen have made from inflicting templated, syruppy fucking shit on the world, they should be obliged to help struggling bands.
In short, if you ever use the argument, “yeah, but look how famous they are and look how much money they’ve made”, you’re a fucking moron and should never speak again… about anything.
Here’s a guy who is utterly original. He put time, energy, talent, knowledge and passion into his craft. Yeah, he can dance across the fretboard with great speed but, when the song kicks in, listen to how he obeys the melody. Very unique talent. If this guy was to appear on X-Factor, Simon Cowell would explode in a ball of fecal matter and then reassemble himself, Terminator-like, and vote him off the show for not having mass appeal. I challenge you though to tell me this is shit.

I wasn’t going to do a Christmas post this year but, everyone seems to be so full of fucking cheer, despite having being shafted from every possible angle and in every orifice by greedy right-wing pricks, I feel I need to point out a few fucking home truths to people. No, I’m not going to go on about the worsening European crisis or fascism or anything political because you’ve heard enough of that and there are people out there doing it much better than I could. No, I’m going to talk about the Christmas formula, particularly – (ah fuck it, exclusively) – the entertainment side of it. Because of this, I’m not going to do just one post, I shall do two.
Right, let’s briefly speak about the music side of it. I don’t mind the old crooner songs because they are not invasive and annoying, they are what all Christmas songs should be; something to be played lightly in the background to build atmosphere. The crooners knew that. The orchestras that backed them knew that and that’s correct and proper because that’s just how it should be. I don’t mind a Christmas atmosphere. No, I’ve come to hate Christmas because people tend to just shove shit in your face and expect you to swallow it. There is never an acceptable occasion to do that to anyone. My personal peeves are that fucking horrible Driving home for Christmas song. Fuck me, how pathetic is that piece of fucking horrible rancid shit? Chris Rea was obsessed with traffic jams at the time. He wrote a song called The Road To Hell. It was a song about a metaphorical traffic jam. He likens the world’s slide towards doom to a traffic jam. He uses this imagery because it occurred to him when he was stuck in a traffic jam once. His bad mood about being stuck in traffic gave voice to some dark thoughts he had about the plight of the world. “It boils with every poison you can think of”, chirps little Chris. He’s right, I fucking hate traffic jams. When it comes to Christmas, however, he writes a happy little ditty about Christmas. What is the subject matter? Being stuck in a traffic jam as you’re driving home for Christmas. All of a sudden, that murky, dark, hopelessness evoked in an earlier recording is transformed into “Top to toe in tail lights”. Suddenly, he’s so delighted to be in this traffic jam that he’s singing to himself. Not only that, he looks at the driver next to him and he’s fucking singing too. Too much fucking Prozac on the motorway is never a good fucking idea! MAKE UP YOUR FUCKING MIND, CHRIS!
Slade seem to have started this fucking all encompassing need for bands to bring out fucking Christmas songs. This is mainly because more singles are bought around Christmas so it is the hardest No. 1 to get. Call me cynical but I guarantee there is NO other reason for Christmas singles. They don’t fucking care if you’re out in a fucking pub, covered in glitter, singing it between shots of over-priced luminous fucking syrup. They want the cash! Simple as that.
Look at Mariah Carey, for instance. I’ll be the first to admit that she can be quite pleasing on the eye. Not so much the ear though. Look, being able to reach high C may be a talent or it may simply be an ability akin to being double jointed. I haven’t given it much thought and it doesn’t matter either way. The point is this. The fact that you are able to reach high C, does not mean, under any circumstances, that you fucking should. Mariah Carey is a disgusting little fucking money grubbing trollop that is less fucking appetising than a marmite and toejam sandwich with extra fucking earwax. She bleeds cheese. She almost makes Jordan look fucking classy. And, yes, she spouts some fucking horrible Christmas shite. “All I want for Christmas is you”. I’m willing to bet that they had to put a fucking small mountain of cash and a diamond encrusted rampant rabbit to inspire her to sing that. Fuck off, Mariah, you fucking toerag!
We cannot discuss Christmas songs without mentioning that fucking nut tumour, Cliff Richard. What a fucking spoofer that man is. If you play the Lord’s Prayer backwards, it says, “fuck off and die, Cliff, you old fucking cunt”. I haven’t tried it, but I’m reliably informed. Enough about that fucker.
Then we have the Bandaid song. There won’t be snow in Africa? Really? I’m not even going to go into how badly conceived that song was. Yes, their heart was in the right place but it’s a terrible fucking song.
Fairytale of New York is a very well crafted song. It is an excellent song but it’s overplayed. How Ronan Keating ever thought it was a good idea to cover it is, frankly, beyond me. The idea of the younger Cliff Richard singing “T’was Christmas Eve, my love, in the drunk tank”, is hilarious.
People like Dana and Cliff order us to remember the true meaning of Christmas. They want us to remember that it is a time when our saviour was born. He was unique because he was born without original sin. Original fucking sin! For fuck’s sake! They want you to believe that you never had a hope. They want you to believe that you can’t possibly amount to anything good without the guidance of their makey uppy religion. Your children are born without a malicious thought or intention. They are born innocent and beautiful and precious but these fucking zealots want you to believe that they are born sinners. How utterly disgusting! How fucking dare they. Of course, this is just to coral you into a ball of fear and confusion, which can only be fixed by the guidance of the church. If you’re lucky enough not to be dicked in the ear by one of them, you may grow up to understand that the whole thing is a load of bollox.
Part 2 of this rant will be up shortly. Stay tuned, or don’t, it’s up to you.

Ok, so I can already hear the chorus of discontent and people researching any article that could tell me I’m full of shit after you read this, but the point in this post is undeniable. After you read this, you will come to the conclusion that I’m calling everyone an idiot but I’ll explain why that isn’t so later. I’m not saying you’ll be happy with my explanation, but you can’t keep everyone happy.
Ok, so let’s get started. Back in the day, the day being the early sixties, The Beatles were becoming a phenomenon. They were a special band; driven, talented and focussed. You have to wonder what would have happened if they had everything absolutely their own way. From a record company point of view, they pretty much did but I wonder how big an impact the emergence of The Rolling Stones had on them. That question is for another post, which I may or may not write sometime. For now, let me get to the kernel of a lot of my angst.
When the Stones renegotiated their contract, their manager, a fella so young he needed a more adult partner to accompany him to the office of the record executive, asked the band to attend the meeting. He instructed them to just stand around behind him and look broody and menacing. After a short meeting, they came away with the best contract in the business, including three times the standard royalty rate. Brilliant move from a truly brilliant band. That record executive was probably insanely pissed off about the contract but couldn’t let a band of the stature, popularity and power of The Stones move to another company. Since then, there has been a catalogue of rebellions by bands. Jimi Hendrix seriously pissed off his record company because he wanted to experiment with his music. There are a few stories of Led Zeppelin being less than compliant in dealing with their record company and, of course, you have Prince.
Love him or hate him, you absolutely cannot deny his brilliance. He is one of the most creative and talented people to grace the music business. He deserves that seldom correctly used term; genius. Prince is also responsible for the most public and creative protests against the business side of music ever staged. Everyone said he had lost the plot when he started producing albums as The Artist Formerly Known as Prince and Symbol. He wasn’t mad, he was rebelling against his record company, who wanted him to stick to a formula and were stifling his creativity. It was brilliant and it worked but it also marked a time when record companies, and so-called gurus, finally got sick of talented people getting in the way of their profits. They came up with a plan. They would force the public to listen and love compliant and grateful pretty people.
Don’t get me wrong, there have always been novelty acts. The Monkees was probably the first big manufactured band. There’s nothing really wrong with novelty acts and The Monkees actually had some decent songs. Pleasant Valley Sunday and Stepping Stone are excellent songs. Most of their songs were written for them, but they had their own relevance and their own place. Country music is littered with novelty acts, some good, and some bad. What record companies have decided to do over the past couple of decades is actually capitalise on their own faltering status. In 1990, you would’ve had to sell around 20,000 copies of a single to get it to number one in Ireland. By 1995, it was less than two and a half thousand. People like Louis Walsh and Simon Cowell realised that you could put a monkey farting the theme tune to Jaws at number one and the kids will just automatically love it. If it’s so easy to get to number one, why not buy the requisite amount of singles and get them to number one. Once the kids love them, that’s enough. Think about the first time Boyzone were seen on TV. That Late Late Show appearance. Why did RTE agree to let them on? Who knows but the fact that they were clearly lacking in any kind of talent eventually became a brilliant marketing ploy. A short time after they displayed their unbelievable lack of talent, they’re topping the singles and album charts. That’s just how sinister the music business is. They give you a number one single, they bombard you with these bands on TV and radio and the general public end up loving them because they’re famous. Because they’re famous. Think about that. Real musicians don’t want to be famous, they just want to earn enough from what they do to survive and to get their music heard. You might think that that is a desire for fame but it’s not. It’s a love of music. The music business loves a formula. Musicians love to create music.
Now it’s gone one step further. We now have shows like X-Factor, which puts flakey karaoke pub singers in front of you and asks you to invest in them emotionally for a short time. Very few actually make a meaningful career out of that show and none of them ever challenge the formula. It’s the perfect crime. An absolutely perfect situation and the public love it because they don’t know any better.
This is where you tell me I’m calling a lot of you idiots, but I’m not. I’m probably a bigger idiot than any of you. The difference is that most people only want to hear background music. Most people prefer glamour to talent and that’s why a hell of a lot of people buy OK magazine and other such pointless publications sell like hotcakes. People worship celebrity, even though most of it is ill-deserved. Let’s move it a step further. TV executives cottoned on to the same idea. Why do we pay a crew, writers, a costly cast and director to produce a quality drama series when we can just put a collection of morons in a room or a jungle or a farm, get them to do moronic tasks and film it. People will lap it up and, once the series finishes, that same public will want to watch their lives outside of TV, they’ll want to worship them because they’re now celebrities. They will place their collective cock in your mouth and you will suck, whether you want to or not. Most of these faux-celebrities become casualties and the public laps it up. They watch these people unravel because that is all part of the entertainment package. That is what the public wants. So morons are paraded like sacrificial lambs so the public are appeased and the big money machine can just keep on rolling. Art is the biggest casualty, however.
Paris Hilton became famous because she’s a rich kid. That notoriety wasn’t enough so she filmed herself fucking her boyfriend and allowed it to go public. Once she was a proper celebrity, she decided to make an album. She then decided that she wanted to be an actress and it was made so. Art looks on and issues its death rattle.
Jordan gets her tits out and goes on reality TV and is called an inspiration by some misguided people. She has done nothing but she’s everywhere. Her life is lived in a bottle and the public gather around and ooh and aah, in unbridled awe at a nonsense person. Art has a bit of a puke, tries in vain to rally but to no avail.
So what would be a perfect world for art? Imagine if art was a trade, just like being a plumber or a carpenter but without the constraints of design. Imagine if you just got a moderate wage for being a successful musician. Think about it. Would there be a Jedward or a Westlife or a Boyzone or a Sinita? No there wouldn’t. I would imagine there may not be a Pink or a Madonna either. Madonna would probably have been a slight loss but not by much.
I’m not saying that there would only be the music I want to hear. I firmly believe there would be an Elton John and a Take That. They are acts who write great pops songs. I think Gary Barlow is an excellent songwriter. I don’t like to listen to the songs he writes and, yes, they are quite formulaic, but he has talent. That is undeniable and Take That would exist if music didn’t lead to fame.
Let’s face it, the world is fucked and the reason it’s fucked is because we’re all compliant. Music is vital. It’s important. Music forms the soundtrack to your life. In your last moments, you will probably think of some song or other that is important to you. I would hope that most people would prefer that their soundtrack wasn’t just from a bad comedy.

Limerick, like every other town in the country has had its fair share of trouble because of low life fucking pond life who have no respect for anybody or anything, other than their “gangsta” personae. Pathetic fucking people, who prey on innocent, law-abiding people and bring children into their ranks so as to perpetuate the problem that successive governments have done absolutely NOTHING about.
The murder of a decent and well loved rugby player, Shane Geoghan resounded around Limerick City and united us in our disgust and our sorrow. Shane was killed because he was mistaken for someone else. He was innocent. He was never involved with the utter filth who ended his life. I remember the rage I felt when I heard this. My rage, as you know, mostly manifests itself as aimless ranting and raving. Shane’s family and friends, however, reacted in a far more cerebral and inspired way. They decided that Shane’s death would not count for nothing. It would not go down as another statistic uttered by some mono-syllabic politician for the purposes of ousting an opponent, and end in the usual lack of action that has blighted the political landscape of this sad country of ours. No, they have dedicated their time and energy into raising awareness of the problems that exist in Limerick and have set about doing something about it. Certainly more than our government and judiciary combined have ever done.
The Shane Geoghan Trust was launched in Limerick in October 2009. Building on its motto, “helping lives shine”, the Trust aims to offer children a range of community-based sporting and creative activities as alternatives to anti-social behaviour. A registered charity, the Trust was founded by the family and friends of Shane Geoghan, as the necessary positive response to Shanes Death in November, 2008. The Trust recently concluded a second season of the highly successful Street Games programme. The objective of Street Games is to deliver sports activity in the community, ensuring that it is delivered in the right place, in a style to engage young people who do not warm to more traditional opportunities.
The people behind the Shane Geoghan Trust are living evidence to the integrity that lives in this town and is never reported on because positive news simply doesn’t sell.
On Friday 11th of November in Dolan’s Warehouse, a collection of some of the many great musicians Limerick is blessed with will get together and play for The Shane Geoghan Trust charity. Admission is €7 and the line up includes The Legendary O’Malleys, the fantastic Damien Drea and The Healers, a really incredible band, amongst others.
If you’re around Limerick on Friday night or, if you’re simply looking for a place to go, why not make a stand for Limerick and come to what is going to be an incredible gig in Munster’s best venue, Dolan’s Warehouse. I guarantee that this will be a gig you’ll remember for a long long time. Not only that but you will be lending your support to a cause that is actively trying to improve our much maligned city.

I’m going to give the useless Limerick City Council a break for one post to talk about that rare being, the truly cool man. I’ve met many cool people throughout my years but few fit into the absolutely cool category.
Is Johnny Depp cool? Yes, I believe he is but he has put a lot of work into being cool and, anyone who has seen The Tourist, will know that he is more than capable of lapsing into uncoolness. Is Samuel L Jackson cool? certainly but he has a propensity for being uncool in his pursuit of coolness.
Truly cool people don’t have to try. They don’t have to cultivate the right look or the right accent. These are people who could wear anything and make it work because their look doesn’t matter. You could force them to be a presenter on Bosco or, worse again, Loose Women and their coolness would not falter. Not for a nano-second.
I was recently introduced to a truly cool person recently, goes by the name of Wrinkly Joe. Before I met Joe, I was often possessed with a random feeling of calm and gratitude that I just couldn’t place. I’d be sitting in a pub having some pointless debate with some random fucking primate, teetering on the edge of some lunatic diatribe, when suddenly a calm would pervade the entire pub. I had thought this was just the wonderful way beer has of not letting you fuck up until it’s had its way with you. Later I realised that this phenomenon occurs because Wrinkly Joe has walked in. Man, he has saved so many knuckle dragging morons from a Cap’n’s ear bashing down the years. The thing is that he doesn’t need to do anything to create this calm, it’s just him. He has no idea he has this ability and, if he did, he’d probably shrug those shoulders, give that slanted grin and just be cooler for it.
Last night, while I was attempting to be cool myself, I saw Wrinkly Joe drinking with a slightly less cool friend of mine. I can say this because my friend knows that anyone associated with Joe is doomed to be less cool. I was kind with my use of the word “slightly”. Joe just stood there, drinking pints and taking in the atmosphere. As people passed him, they became some much cooler just because they were close by. They seemed to sense it, unwittingly feed from his coolness. I had an idea that Joe was drunk but when he shook my hand, he had still not lost an ounce of coolness. He and my, hobbit by comparison, friend wandered off home and the pub became duller for his leaving.

Can you feel the coolness? If you meet Joe and you value a truly cool person, buy him a pint. Just put the pint down, thank him for choosing the same pub as you did and walk away. Arthur’s Day was cooler in Limerick than anywhere else only because Joe was there. Here’s to Wrinkly Joe!

What have the Foo Fighters, Coldplay, Primal Scream, Imelda May, Fun Loving Criminals, Beyoncé, Slash, Eels and Two Door Cinema Club got in common?
Anyone?
Yeah, they all made it because they have talent but that’s not the answer I’m looking for.
No?
Do you give up?
Ok, they all get to play at the same festival as Amanda Brunker.
Who?
Ok, well here’s a brief synopsis of her career to date. She is a former Miss Ireland, who became fat, became a spokesperson for curvy women, slimmed down, became a slimming expert, had sex, became a sex therapist, had two kids, became a an expert on motherhood, got married, became a marriage counsellor, read a recipe for cornflakes, became an author, recovered from a particularly nasty bout of the sniffles, became a doctor and now, after hearing herself sing in the shower, she has become a singer. Yep, she didn’t need a lifelong passion for music to drive her to learn the craft and begin the long journey that leads one to play at a major festival. Nope, she just sent her buddy Denis Desmond an email and asked if she could sing a few covers at the biggest music festival in Ireland.
Who?
Oh Denis Desmond is a Cork lad who arranged gigs in college and now runs the biggest event promotion business in Ireland. He’s the guy who thought it would be a good idea to put Jedward on the bill to play for President Obama. In short, he’s a fucking gobshite.
But back to Amanda. Here’s Amanda doing what she does better than all her self-proclaimed professions; being a vacuous fucking nonce:

Yeah, she’s a twat alright. She had this to say about her upcoming performance: “I know people think this is a joke, but it is not at all,” Brunker said. “We’re definitely on. There is no backing out of it as this stage. I’ve started as I mean to go on. It’s quite terrifying.”
Yes, it is terrifying, Amanda. I fear greatly for the future of music in this land, blessed with an abundance of talented bands who will forever go undiscovered because of idiots like you, Denis Desmond and Louis fucking Walsh.
When pushed about the fact that her inclusion on the bill of the Oxygen festival is the ultimate travesty, she had this to say:
“Why shouldn’t I get a chance?” retorted Brunker. “As far as I’m concerned, there are always people out there who want to have a go. At the end of the day I don’t like to just talk about doing things. I like to go out and do things. I believe there are limitless possibilities of what we can be and this was on the list. What little girl hasn’t dreamed of being a pop star?”
Why shouldn’t you get a chance? Hhmmmm, let me see. Oh, ok, well you’re a fucking talentless knob polisher who hasn’t put in the time, energy and devotion it takes to be an artist. You shouldn’t get a chance because there are actually talented people out there who could have benefitted hugely from the slot you have usurped. Oh, and let me just add this; fucking wagon!
“At the end of the day I don’t like to just talk about things, I like to go out and do things”. Ok, well fair fucks to you, you jizz-guzzling slapper. There are a lot of bands who don’t just talk about making great, original music, they go out and do it but don’t get the chance to play at Oxygen.
“What little girl hasn’t dreamed of being a pop star?” Fair point, you vacuous little cunt. Yeah, a lot of girls have dreamed of being a pop star but, when they figured out they didn’t have any talent, went on to become something else. Those that did, went to the trouble of learning their craft.
What is fucking happening to this country? This snivelling little fucking swine just waves her tits at Denis Desmond, he whacks one out after saying yes to her ridiculous request.
Unfortunately, when one espouses an opinion as I just have, they are accused of jealousy and sour grapes. It is neither. Music is precious. It is a gift that has been exploited, raped and destroyed by greedy little fucking pricks, out to make a quick buck. This is another major embarrassment for Ireland.
So here’s a video from a band that aren’t playing at Oxygen but should be.

Ok, so the stupid twat went ahead with her shambolic performance at Oxygen, denying someone with actual talent. She has even acknowledged that she agreed with bands who protested about this. The fact that she went ahead with it just means that she is lacking just as much in integrity as she is in talent. Here’s her performance, during which she ably demonstrates her lack of range, melody and timing.

Ok, I feel that posting lupins in an earlier post worked in heading off those easliy offended from reading what lay beneath the picture. Unfortunately, today’s particular bug bear is a lot more potent than the previous one and so I feel that lupuns might not be sufficient distraction. To this end I’ve decided to go with chrysantemums. So, if you’re easily offended by aggressive, heartfelt, deep and varied profanity, I suggest you just take a look at these lovely flowers and then fuck off and read one of Ronan Keatings biographies or something. Follow that by a light lunch and a soak in a bubble bath before snuggling up to your favourite teddy bear and pretending everything’s ok with the world.

There you go. Now, if you’re still reading this after the very clear warning above… well, you’re a fucking moronic cunt, aren’t ya. There will be no more warnings.
Here’s a couple of perfectly acceptable jokes to illustrate the points I’m about to make:
Q. Why did the Paddy stick a screw driver in his eye?
A. Because he’s a thick Irish fucking cunt”.

An Irishman walks into a bar. The barman says, “Fuck off, you fucking Irish moron”.

Aghast, are you? Well you shouldn’t be. Ireland is now officially a fucking joke. Not just that, we’re intent on letting the world know that we’re thick fucking cunts.

The Queen recently visited Ireland and I’ve nothing against that. I wasn’t all that interested but I think it was a good thing. Nothing at all to say on that. Yes there were a few thick fucking cunts who protested but, what do you expect, they’re Irish. She spoke to us in Irish and she even ignored her doddering racist husband and all went well from a British point of view. What went wrong was when we decided to entertain her. Mary Byrne is an slightly above average pub singer but she’s not an artist and she doesn’t write her own material, yet she was chosen to entertain the Queen. Similarly, Westlife, who in any other country would have been reminded long before now that their fifteen annoying fucking minutes is well and truly fucking up, aren’t artists. They’re manufactured by the evil gimp, Louis Walsh and they too were chosen to entertain the Queen.
No big deal you might say, if you’re a thick Irish cunt. Y’know, you might be right. For all I know the Queen got a wet on for the lads, I don’t fucking know. Maybe she secretly listens to Cradle of Filth or Megadeath behind closed doors. That isn’t the point though. We had a chance to celebrate our creative culture but we decided to wheel out those who haven’t contributed anything whatsoever.
Ok, so Obama comes to visit. Now we must be reserving particular hatred for him because, in addition to Westlife, we are inflicting The Saw Doctors and Jedward on him and his wife. For fuck’s sake! What in the name of fuck is going on in this fucking country? Is that the impression we want to give the world? Representatives of the two countries who gave us the best popular music ever are treated to two fucking prancing clowns and a shower of fucking smarmy, plastic morons? Really? I mean what fucking arse reaming son of a bastarding cunt came up with that fucking idea? Ok, I don’t like the Saw Doctors but they could - and did - choose worse.
England gave us The Beatles, The Stones and so many other brilliant fucking bands and we give the fucking Jedward? There are actual artists in this country but it must have escaped our attention because we’re THICK FUCKING IRISH CUNTS!
America gave us so much more. Elvis, Johnny Cash, Hendrix and countless other musical lumiaries and we give them four preening fucking maggots singing covers of songs that Bette Midler covered? Is this really the best we could’ve done?
I don’t give a fucking toss about Obama’s politics or the pointlessness of the Queen; the eyes of the world have been on Ireland and what is the best we can come up with in terms of cultural entertainment? THICK IRISH FUCKING CUNTS!

Occassionally, I get bored of my entire music collection. I don’t go off it, I just don’t have anything I feel listening to from time to time. It is at times like these that I trawl the internet for new music. Lately I’ve been looking for unsigned acts and I’ve found a few excellent ones. These, I found by accident as there didn’t seem to be much of a blurb about the bands. This, I’ve found, is key to finding a decent band. Someone who doesn’t think they’re the most important fucking band to grace the planet.
This is a small section of one artists bio. I’ve removed the name to protect the rubbish:
“___ was considered the most influential member of the much loved _______. A singer songwriter from NYC, she exudes passion, talent and excellence. A richly talented musician and lyricist, ____’s live performances have been described as electric and exhillerating…”
Ok, “richly talented lyricist; let’s explore that fucking myth by viewing some of this fucking numpty’s lyrics:
“We don’t talk anymore. We don’t speak anymore. I have been your loving wife, now looking at you, it cuts like a knife.
We don’t cry anymore. We don’t weep anymore. I’ve been your lover, I’ve been your friend but now iiiiiiiiittttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt’s…………………… THE END”
Ok, firstly, this husband of hers is clearly a fucking moron because she has to use two different words to describe the same fucking thing. Oh, and by the way, robbing clichés from Bryan Adams does not make you a fucking “richly talented lyricist”.
As for the vocal, it is a mixture of Karen Carpenter with a peg on her nose and Bonnie Tyler with a sock in her mouth.
The point of this rant is that I fucking wish people would stop writing their own blurb or press releases. The above one is clearly written by herself because, if she has been influential in anything it is that she has influenced people to reach over and fucking throttle her.
Here’s another thing. Parents; stop being fucking stupid about their kids. If they think they can sing but can’t, just fucking tell them they can’t sing. Don’t fight back the grimmace of genuine pain to say, “that was beautiful, love”. Just say, “look, you could do a lot of things in your life but, let me tell ya, singing aint one of them”. Think of the hatred and ridicule you’re letting them in for. We’ve all seen that idiot in a pub who is “cajoled” up to sing, looks all humble and embarrassed and then assumes some enigmatic pose and proceeds to caterwaul through a horrendous version of Wind Beneath My Wings. That person’s parents and friends have been cruel by not not telling him or her that they are utter shite!
If you love music but have no talent, become a fucking DJ or a fucking cult leader or something. Fuck’s sake.
Ok, I’m aware that some of you may feel tainted by the aforementioned lyrics so here’s some great music to put you back in a good mood. Remember, if you can’t sing, don’t fucking sing along!