Catching Up

05/12/200905/12/2009 crystaltippsLeave a comment

If you’ve just discovered the magical ramblings and professional articles then hello, I’ m Hannah and I’m a wordaholic. Welcome back if you’re one of those who has commented, critiqued (or just laughed at me) over the past 12 months.

So, its been almost a year since I kicked things off; using this site in part as a way to share my truly random findings, my best music, fashion and lifestyle pearls and also to link to my work elsewhere. It has been met with complimets and confusion, so much so that I think it might be time to reorganize things a bit, and redefine… something I’m not going to start now, because I have two months worth of material to just offload here…

So here we are, catching up with the calamity.

I’ve been told to write in black from now on by a load of very valued readers, but my green font and pink background are part of what makes me the ‘Schindler’s List girl’ of music websites. Yes, I know that film was about the Nazis. Maybe I should’ve just stuck with a comment about my Daria-like cynicism.

Anyways, I haven’t enirely been slacking off from writing in recent months. Firstly, I did another truly fantastic work placement at NME which meant listening to lots of new music and helping out in the most beautiful building in London* where anything can happen! (*my view entirely).

Inevitably, there are mundane, everyday goings on (stalkerish post, terrible demos, arguments over deadlines), but not many work experience girls can say that they’ve got to swoon over The Drums in person, who popped by to record a session for NME Radio. The Kink(s)y pair were a Stroke(s) away from me (those were much better in my head)..I digress: I was three metres away from the sparkly Speakeasy-city charm of the polished-and-deconstrcted duo. They are a dream of 1950s/60s surf soul and self-conscious noughties prose and repition. Choirs and restless brass accompaniment courtesy of these beach boys put me at a night spent in passionate conversation on a Brooklyn fire escape in swirls of iced (latte) rain. I hate on the bougeousie far too much for my own good, but The Drums are romantic and possess – for fear of tarring them with the same brush as CSS, The Shins, Fleet Foxes – a future-forward cult cool on tracks such as Instruct Me which is usurped by mixtape grainy licks of grunge rhyme”Submarine”, which seems to cite The Polyphonic Spree and Placebo.

Oh yes, and they look like they should be working at A&F.

Proper highlight material there, as well as the fact that I got to present an opening for a Roland Eye Session (a new performance venture from the guys at Roland Amps/Keyboards) and attend an unforgettable session with hardcore sweethearts Failsafe.

Here are some pics from the Eye session:

The boys performed their Kerrang anthem ‘Only If We Learn’ as we glided over London in our spacious pod. Not only did they give a stunning, intimate rendition, they were also some of the nicest guys I’ve yet to meet. It was easy to cast aside the Metalhammer image of a 2000s metal band being a masked gang of animal-sacrificing Viking warriors, greasy-haired axe-wielders or a pre-pubescent suicide forum with fringes…and feel what I call ‘soulcore. Metal music, courtsesy of the soul. Fellow worky Anna and I couldn’t believe our luck, and typically we spent most of the journey snapping panoramic shots on our BlackBerrys and getting soundbites about the band’s next gig which was the following evening in Newport.

And our express tickets meant absolutely no queuing. Haa.

Check Failsafe out here, and keep your eyes peeled for the video of the session which will hopefully be up here very soon!

I haven’t been totally slacking from the writing side of things, however, and I reviewed the BBC Emerging proms for my friends over at Converse Music last month – you can find that review here !

By sheer coincidence, the gig I was reviewing (which, I unfortunately didn’t enjoy at all, see above!) was at the Roundhouse on the same night Failsafe supported Bowling For Soup. Would’ve rather been with the latter bands.

I also wrote a little piece on my favourite fanzine, The Pix, run by the incredible journalist, DJ, fashion goddess of i-D Hanna Hanra. Yes, I would love to meet her, and not just because we have the same name bar one letter.

This picture pretty much confirms her status as like, SUPERCOOL…like. Anyhow, here is what I wrote – flippantly and sans title – for her fabulous website.

Here’s a review of a single I did whilst at NME. Be warned…its not too pretty:

The Duke and the King

Summer Morning Rain (Loose Music/Universal)

What exactly does ergonomic mean in relation to keyboard design? That is a question I pondered as I struggled to capture a sense of creation behind the faceless and self-indulgent mundanity that is ‘Summer Morning Rain’. Optimistically billing themselves as glam, folk and soul, these Later alumni deliver no more than unremarkable join-the-dots guitar which borrows more than slightly from Tom Petty’s ‘Free Falling’. Cliché seeps from every apparently cultish Brooklynite pore via sweet but ultimately dry observations. If there is one noble thing about The Duke and the King, it is their ability to endow the masses with genuinely comforting, uncontroversial blues. However, they seem to be swaying in the middle of the same dead-end dirt track inhabited by tributes, buskars and other imitators…and for this they will never be the raconteurs an original fairytale of New York.

Don’t think I’ve ever written a positive single review.

I went on a journalism course this month, run by the brilliant Debate Chamber, which confirmed for me that I definitely want to keep slagging people off writing and commenting and thinking, and ultimately that I WANT TO BE A JOURNALIST! Very useful course either way, would really recommend it to anyone thinking of joining the media.

Anyways, I’m going to have to get some sleep, feeling pretty vile and in need of these

those:

(yeah, they’re limited edition Snoopy tissues I went crazy for aged 12, ok?!)

and this

(the beautiful Converse/heel combo I’ve seen about London town, possibly an asian copy of a catwalk style but they are buff…even if they smell of pvc and polystyrene, and the heels might break at an awkward moment resuling in severe injury/loss of feeling in your toes).

Merry Christmas .. I’ll be back to give a cynical overview of the world very soon.

Yours,

x x x x

Currently watching: The Thick Of It, Sat, 10:40, BBC 2. Hilarious, sharp, culture-rich, punchy even after the commercial success of cinematic spin-off In The Loop…if it were a person, I would marry it, if only for the witty banter and eventual inheritance.

Currently reading: Hippo Eats Dwarf by Alex Bosse…a detailed look at Urban Legends through the ages. Well-written, if not slightly alarmist with its gruesome tales of the link between human hair and soy sauce. Pass the bento bucket!

I’ll leave you with a image from my favvvvvvvvvourite website of the year, thisiswhyyourefat.com. Hot Apple Bacon Turnover With Icing is wrong, dirty and makes me so very hungry.

Grands bisous.

Kill the musical mockingbird?

30/09/200901/10/2009 crystaltipps1 Comment

Yoooo. Shit that is even more 2004 when written than in my vacuous little head.

I’m toying with the idea of giving my entries lyrically-inspired names again. Yes, I used to do that a lot…then I got bored and decided to stick with these random titles. Like when they tried to give Neighbours episodes names for a while back in about 2003. Needless to say, it didnt work…after all, if something isn’t broken, why fix it with poor wordplay.

Not much continuity there, really. I’m rambling incoherently like a Clay Aiken song now. God, he used to scare me… like Elton John if he had been raised on a diet of maize and corn in Africa, malnutritioned suitably and then dumped in the Deep Sawwwth to push corn and meatloaf around his plate and experiment with MAC on the weekends. Praise Jesus! I DIGRESS, this month has been one massive load of change for me, probably because I’m in a different school and because my best friend has moved away from London. So here I am – alone – wondering whether a drag queen has ever innocently emptied some of MAC’s Crystal Avalanche eyeshadow into a small bag and been arrested for possession of crack.

I’ve also been thinking about music…surprising eh? My current hang-up is how much people are TOTAALLY in lurrrve with the oh-so-folsky, uninspired class of today rather than enjoying the masters of yesteryear. Ok, so its plain stupid to say that everyone around nowadays is ripping off what was popular 10 or 20 or even 30 years ago. But to prove a point…

CASE IN POINT NUMERO UN im too lazy to write a proper caption: DEVENDRA BANHART

Let’s start with the random, relaxing imagery. ZEN BABES. GOOD FUNG SHUI…

I’m not gonna lie, I have literally wasted yearss listening to Little Yellow Spider by this guy since it was on an Orange advert about three years ago. I have recurring dreams about daisies, salads with pickles, banjos…and this ditty whirring out of an anologue radio like the Mad Men picnic scene from last season. The cutesy if slightly retarded intonation (“shpider”, “munn-key”) and the fucking repetitive guitar strumming of three strings challenged me to think of greater things like ABCDEFG. And to check under the bed for little yellow spiders, such was my OCD. Anyhow, so Devendra is a MAN, just fyi, and if you know your stuff about the uberhip, underweight Californian classes then the idea of giving your child a Hindu name and a Star Wars inspired middle moniker is nothing new. As Gwyneth ‘Goop’ Paltrow said, its like yoga, Blackberry, colon cleanser, Pinkberry, yoga, (little yellow) spider diagram of potential names. Devendra is a talented performer, and reeks of nonchalant South American charm like a child called Pepe running without shoes across a field shaking a maraca…dispell any images of them running away from a militant attack on their delightful, colourful village and you have Brand Banhart. It’s haut culture for a generation who know that the West Coast means programmes from The CW and red string Kaballah bracelets blocking up the gutter.

Just for good measure, watch this smugfest gastroporn. Deboning chickens is soo much less exciting than she’d wish us to think. Champagne vinegar and maple syrup weren’t made to mix.

My major hang-up is THE OLD MEDITERRANEAN MAN DRAWL. It might not be too obvious what I mean, but check out ‘Will Is My Friend’ by Banhart, and ‘Candy’ by Paolo Nutini for examples of this truly annoying tendency to sound like Herbert from Family Guy / Manuel from Faulty Towers. Paolo especially. God, I have tried so hard to enjoy his music, but something about his known skirt-chasing behaviour versus his elderly voice at only 22 years makes me want to chuck my head down the toilet and spell out Crimewatch Update with my puke.

Devendra’s main problem is that he has focused so hard on being the cool, vaguely foreign bearded guy who also shops at MAC – the sort whose lift you politely decline, clutching at rape alarm as you back away from the hemp-scented car with the Magic Tree and Eric Clapton slowly drifting in the breeze – that he has almost forgotten that he is an artiste. On first listen, ‘Bad Girl’ seemed the antidote to his love of playing some kind of Richard Gere/Anansie figure. Letting his voice melt down somewhat into an almost modern, Julian Casablancas-style with minimal animal sounds and not a ‘cultured’ Spanish word in sight, it seemed that ‘Bad Girl’ was a slightly more mainstream Devendra – moving his style along slightly to accomodate our need to feel included rather than left behind in a stream of confusion. ‘You know I taste Great’ on ‘At The Hop’ from an earlier album only ever evokes Tony The Tiger’ unfortunately, rather than moody soulfulness or even sexiness. ANYHOW, ‘Bad Girl’ is a pretty song, but a quick Youtube confirmed my suspicions that he had been not only lifting the mood but the content. The M&S song – Albertross by Fleetwood Mac – may not have just been a point of reference here.

Dev: Count Dracula fanboii? — Dev: tender Count Dracula fanboii, moi?

And so, my slightly renewed faith in the artists of today lulled again. Plus, he starts miaowing halfway through the song which is enough to bring visions of a stool and rope into close view. I have been told before that I am a true 80s child, and often feel upset that I was born too late to be a true fan of the bands I really adore, like Tears For Fears. BUT, maybe there is something advantageous about being born in this join-the-dots age I guess. Sure, Florence isn’t Kate Bush, Winehouse is not going to go down as one of the greats and Pixie Lott is consistently cheesy, flat and smug, but at least this seeming lull is allowing me to explore what I might’ve missed in the time BC (Before Cynicism) whilst pretending to care about the crap floating out of Capital Punishment FM.

PS: I’m just bitter because my dream of becoming LA Reid’s bitch never happened. I wasn’t talent spotted (errr…why?!) and I don’t own a car, a house or even a wig like Miley Cyrus’.

But what I do have is the hope that one day we might actually get some people who play instruments, don’t mime when ‘live’ or demand shit like Blue Smarties and ten lines of coke just to do substandard sets and let people down. Devendra, if you were British, I might salute you – not for your talent but for your strength of character. Pixie’s fellow Italia Conti alumni Newton Faulkner take note. Playing your only hit on an advert for your NEW ALBUM is even worse than your ginger dreadlocks.

After all, there’s copying other people, and then there’s copying yourself.

May CLAY watch over you and possibly infect your dreams into a nightmare of Disney and Deep Truth Highly Pigmented Eyeshadow Powder by MAC. He is a true American Idol. I haven’t been paid to sponsor any products but I am open to whoring out my writing space for blatant adverts.

LOVE THE JOBS YOU HATE,

YOURS,

x x x x

Reading 09: Hannah J Davies is waste…

31/08/2009 crystaltippsLeave a comment

Hannah J Davies was too busy living it up at Reading festival to prepare a blog this month. In actual fact, she almost came to a terrible end during Bloc Party, who obviously don’t understand the meaning of party. Their demeanours are most like Bloc Funeral.

D

I

n g 2009 MMIX.

Radiohead were amazing of course…in that offbeat, half-caring, underdone, overdone, thoughtful way that only they and a few other bands can lay claim to. It was an amazing experience, nonetheless: Hannah J Davies’ first Reading festival…breathing in dusty air and smoke, breathing out awe and idolatry as she watched her dream headline act. Thom Yorke’s Kermit-style croak of “wassup” did little to question his place as the awkward but ultimately genius Master of The Universe.

Anyways, enough about her, she is waste and didn’t prepare a blog for her readership. Let’s turn our attention to 3OH!3 instead, whose straggly swagger was current. “I’m Not Your Boyfriend Baby” separated the men from the boys, although ironically there was some plenty of couple action during the tune.

Master Shortie infected our minds with his subliminal Demon Headmaster promotion of – in no particular order – his tour, album and trainer line. Phew! His cover of Prince Charming by Adam and the Ants is standout, and rather memorable if not ironic.

Amateur H had an amazing day, even though she was almost crushed and owes her life to three gentlemen who aided her in crowdsurfing out of aforementioned Bloc Mortuary. She sustained a twisted ankle and a few bruises, and lost a friend who she has consequently not seen since but who got out of the lion’s den alive.

Reading was eyeopening – a small, self-sufficient world just beyond a motorway and a McDonalds where anyone – from former teachers to friends of friends of friends could be found. Communities were formed, but alas Amateur H was not part of any particular one, going only for one day, and – primarily – to see T Yorke and co. deliver classics such as Karma Police alongside …wait for it… two new songs, one of which had never been heard before! So much so that I now don’t remember what it was called, but boy was it good to be involved in that tenuous make-or-break moment.

It was a success, and lame claims to fame include seeing Edith Bowman’s hair and shoulder pads sans neck, floating through a glass window, and standing 10ft from Vampire Weekend’s drummer at Radiohead. That is lame, based on a VP set which was a happily mediocre crashcourse in mediocrity. Although Ezra has to be in the top 10 musical Jewish hotties…way above Simon & Garfunkel at any rate.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs are given a resounding Yeah Yeah Yes by this writer after an amazing set…and Karen O’s pointlessly yet highly important costumery. A true, crazy legend.

So home we went, with the search for our missing friend over and a train which featured artbitches snorting cocaine (literally) and a bunch of perving wideboys. I’m sure the french people would’ve been of no help whatsoever had the rapey atmosphere exceeded its 12/10 mark.

So, alls well that ends well…and I’ve had enough music to last me a good few weeks.

x x x x

…Artrocker coverage for Underage Fest!!

03/08/2009 crystaltipps1 Comment

Just a quick one to tell you about my second appearance on Artrocker.tv!

Click here to read my highlights of the Underage fest, along with some from fellow writer Jasmine Sherman!

There will be a whole lot more to read when the FULL REVIEW is published in issue 94 of Artrocker Magazine, out on September 5th and available in WH Smiths, Borders and more!

Til then…

Kai Fish (Mystery Jets) and I by Cathryn Innocent

x x x x

2 days late!

02/07/200902/07/2009 crystaltippsLeave a comment

Hellooo!

I absolutely hate delivering a late blog entry…it makes me angry! Still – I had quite a good excuse not to have been slogging over the Bberry or laptop, eyes glazed over and fingers bent…I also managed to go ginger somewhere in there as well:

I had my prom, when I should have been thinking about this very blog (Tuesday night). I had always imagined feeling like Cinderella on my prom night – rising up from the aesthetic mediocrity of not straightening my hair for weeks on end, not wearing any make-up and sitting around watching ‘The Hills’ in a tracksuit which looks like a Juicy second. Then – suddenly – the exams were over, and it was time to start thinking about looking nice – an alien concept after weeks of nighttime revision with Lucozade and Brickbreaker as my only friends…

An LBD was the order of the day, as were NBHs and an SGB. Make of that what you will – in other words, I dressed up, and then danced so much that my feet will surely never forgive me…

Anyhow, this blog isn’t all about me; in fact, this month it is about someone much more interesting: Michael Jackson. I was watching BBC 3 last Thursday night when the 60 Second News announced that he had been taken ill with a heart attack. Then, I went to check Facebook a few minutes later, and the story had exploded like a popular culture atom bomb all over the usually mundane midweek updates of “I need a fag” or “tonight was so much fun” etc etc. The word on everyone’s status was Jackson, soon followed by “dead”.

But was he dead? Was he actually dead or were these just vicious rumours. For someone whose life had been shrouded in mystery the clear cut accuracy of “Michael Jackson is dead” scrolling across the screen of Sky News did not quite fit. Neither did the Twitter tributes pouring in from @aplusk (Ashton Kutcher) and @mileycyrus (errrm, Miley Cyrus). He was a little boy had never quite grown up, and who was the epitomy of a child star gone wrong. Whilst I was a great fan of his music – tunes such as ‘Beat It’, ‘Thriller’ and S’mooth Criminal’ are truly timeless – his life was some kind of candycane sugar-topped Disneyland JM Barrie adventure with a distinctly bitter aftertaste.

Here he was, in the early days of change…

But, before long, Michael Jackson was truly unrecognisable as the baby-faced boy who had charmed with the Jackson 5 (see below).

In life he was surrounded by scandal and allegation, not least those that he was a dangerous paedophile who had built his Neverland ranch to abuse young children. However, it was his physical appearance which fans such as myself had often wondered about? Did Jackson’s bitter memories of his family, and his early years spent as part of the band in a ‘travelling circus’ style, force him to shed his ‘black’ appearance for a new ‘white’ one, or was his obvious transformation one which happened because of a skin disease or even skin cancer as had been rumoured? We may never know now, but we are left which the legacy of his music and an exciting possibility to hear previously unreleased tracks which he recorded prior to his death, in order to provide a future for his children posthumously. A tragedy has occured in the world of music, but I for one think Michael Jackson has bowed out with some dignity intact and that, left any later, his death may have occured in worse circumstances.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Golden Oldies Glistening at Glastonbury

I wasn’t down in Somerset, but I know quite a few people who were rocking out at NERD, Lily Allen and errrm Bruce Springsteen. Now, neither they nor I were born in the USA, nor were we born to run, nor were even born, when Bruce was in his prime. But – for them watching him there in Somerset, and me watching here at home on the BBC – was an eyeopening experience. Here was a star from another generation – a generation of rock n’roll, peace and love and Gardener’s Question Time – showing ‘young’uns’ how to have a good time. He even went over his set, still full of energy and vigour, crowd-surfing and slapping hands as he went like a mahoghany cowboy. Think what you might about the oldie crowd dominating modern music festivals, but stars like Springsteen sure know how to get things going (his foray into overtime ended with a fine which was – rather ironically – paid off by the festival’s organizer, Michael Eavis, who had enjoyed the set).

Also performing were Crosby, Stills and Nash (the beardy guys with the funky pagan logos methinks) and Neil ‘not-so-Young-but-very-talented’ Young.

Old Jersey: Bruces heyday involved posing in front of the flag shop — Old Jersey: Bruce's heyday involved posing in front of the flag shop

Liking:

– Beautifully hot weather

– Beautiful sunshine

– Creepy criminality courtesy of the Crime & Investigation Network

Not liking:

– Stupid spammy @ replies clogging up Twitter thanks to Tweet Bots. Who thought up these literal, disasterous things?

– The NHS. Swine Flu is clogging up our clinics like the Ho Chi Minh trail.

That’s enough I think, I wouldn’t like to squeeze anymore Springsteen puns into this post…

x x x x

The Lady Is a Tramp

28/02/200903/03/2009 crystaltippsLeave a comment

…sang Lily Allen back in December when she appeared with other ‘celebs’ to see the new year in with Jools Holland. Was she singing about a certain ‘Lady’, or simply reciting a song chosen by her mangagement, is the baffling question which I would now love to disect, whether or not you actually care 🙂

A TALE OF TWO CITIES (AND THEIR DAHLINGS):

In the blue corner, LDN’s Tesco-Alfresco Finest, Lily Allen…

The obligatory fairytale: Once upon a time, an unconvincing indie ‘grimesterrrrr’ turned into an unconvincing LA dahling. First propelled to fame by daddy dearest after enjoying a supposedly awful unbringing, said ‘grimesterrrrr’ turned being a brat into her career.

Likes to… : Cringeworthily cry about how fat, ugly and talentless she is via MySpace like a 13 year old emo, cuss down other female celebrities, play dress up at boutiques, complain about ‘old men’ stalking her with ‘long-lens cameras’. Firstly, zoom is usually not a good thing (see Now’s ‘Circle of Shame’ etc…you know…VPLs, sweat patches, cellulite, etc). Secondly, not all paparazzi are old. In fact, some are young and date celebrities (admittedly only sleazy ones like Britney’s ex Adnan Ghalib…)

Most likely to say: I’m just a normal lundun gal, honest…ooh but Chanel shoes are amazing!!

In the red corner, LA-LA land fruit-loop Lady GaGa (1)…see also GaGa – (2) – noun, a liar or an impersonator, i.e.: Lily Allen pulled a GaGa last week…

The obligatory fairytale: There was once a singer who seemed to be the poster girl for post op success. In fact, she was a woman, but besides that she was totally fake, so much so that everything from her long ‘platinum’ hair (read: ‘peroxide and hair extension partayy’) to her KKK-at-Christmas costume (see right) may have made people assume she was once Little Mr Riding hood… Or in a No Doubt tribute band…

Likes to… : Party, presumably? She went to school with Paris Hilton, which seems to say a lot about this Lady’s attitude. ‘Just Dance’ definitely doesn’t ask to be followed with the words ‘but it’s 3am and I’m too tired!!’ I imagine that she practices her moves whilst doing ordinary stuff like say…walking over men wearing stilletos and busting into random houses (this didn’t take much of the video to said song to asscertain..)

Most likely to say: “Just Dance”, “Just Drink…Probably No Rohypnol In There”, “Just Get In The Kiddies’ Paddling Pool And Ride Shamu With Me”, “Just Rent Some Friends For The Night”…

HERE WE GO…

Hannahjdavies.com takes an indepth look at the two high-living ‘heirheads’…:

It’s always been okay to have multiple occupations. Unless your name really is Martine McCutcheon, then you can be a singer moonlighting as an actress and vice versa; a reality TV star turned perfumer turned writer; you can even be famous just for the size of your assets, whether they’re paper, bricks or simply silicone. However, projecting an image of classiness and professional standard is always advised, first and foremost. How can one talk about money in the press let alone brag about a bank balance which makes Miley Cyrus’ paycheque look like child abuse?

1. Ange's pouty lips and hot hair scream smouldering screen siren, rather than just screaming like a siren

The trick is not to go in for all out P-O-S-H, whether you were born so or have recently acquired your squillions (the idea being that one obviously didn’t go to finishing school in Switzerland if one feels the need to prefix her name with a word with makes the real aristocracy cringe, (right Vickaaaay Beckham?) and if one did, then one obviously didn’t take much away from their education other than a Blackberry crammed full of viscounts and heiresses Pins…)

2. Paris shows that showing off isnt always necessary, in a £30 dress from Brit store Dorothy Perkins... — 2. Paris shows that showing off isn't always necessary, in a £30 dress from Brit store Dorothy Perkins...

Anyhow, I digress. The idea is to hint to a life well lived rather then advertise it, neon sign and all. The Cuban cigars in the ashtray and the red soles of your Louboutins will tell your illustrious story without the ‘umms’, ‘likes’ and references to that ‘thing’ you had with Russell Brand.

(Not unless that actually IS the story…take note 2008’s Georgina Bailie (aka Andrew Sach’s granddaughter)).

Basically, it’s all about “keeping it real”…or giving the illusion that you’ve kept it real. Nouveau riche is a brassy and un-classy look, and, having heaped a title onto herself, I expected so much more from one such madame.

US export Lady GaGa – real name Joanne Stefani Germanotta – not only went to school with and dresses like Donatella Versace but also sings, quite repetitively, of her obsession with money (see “Money Honey”), fame (not just on title track “The Fame”), the paparazzi (eponymous ditty “Paparazzi” says it all), men (“Boys, Boys, Boys”), champagne (name checked a fair few times) and Hollywood (I just couldn’t listen to anymore of this pretentious twaddle by then, sorry).

Hearing her repeat “we’re beautiful and dirty rich” over and over again without a hint of sarcasm or irony or modesty or gratitude is quite depressing, honestly. In times of economic struggle, GaGa’s material obsession seems to amount to little substance. In fact, I think if you left this Stefani in a petri dish overnight, then maybe she would dissolve into a perfectly formed mountain of glitter.

I say this simply because she is glamourous, shiny and overtly sexual, yet totally and utterly boring. There’s less lyrical depth than the previously mentioned paddling pool on “The Fame”, and the title was annoyingly etched into her fly-eye glasses on the cover (because rich people do stupid things like that, surely?)

A true child of the mid-80s, she unfortunately still appears to erk back to a time when stress meant glamour, glamour meant money and money meant financial security and happiness in the bottom of an expensive bottle.

Oddly enough, the next single to hit (and consequently inflict GB onto) my ears after “Just Dance” (translation: Christina Aguliera rip-off writhes around and commands us to follow her in doing so for a tiring 4:10), was Lily’s latest, “The Fear”, from her new album “It’s Not Me, It’s You”. It is catchier than anything from the GaGa stable, yet annoyingly it is just another song about flashing the cash (and I mean this literally – in the video Lily parades around with dancing hotel staff à la Rick Astley). As for the astronomical amount of swearing which fag-ash Lil manages to pack into this 3:45 homage to money (and Gordon Ramsay?), I was totally appalled. That and her moronic, hopefully ironic, lyrics about learning that people die whilst mining diamonds. Did she bunk all of her Citizenship lessons, one has to wonder?

Being two girls who enjoyed privileged upbringings to say the least, both Lady GaGa and Lily Allen are doing a fantastically unconvincing job of sounding like the aforementioned grimy, dirty gold diggers, and are identical in every way, from their blunt eye-skimming fringes and hair extensions to their piss-poor lyrics.

I’d rather have real chavs turned princesses any day.

In fact, here’s the real winner:

x x x x

Watching: Mad Men…I sense an upcoming feature about this amazing show…

Activity of the week month: Tweeting about various things, which is totally not egocentric whatsoever.

Listening to: the sound of my own voice. N*Sync (no lie).

Changes to Hannahjdavies.com

18/01/200918/01/2009 crystaltippsLeave a comment

Dear all, its time for a shake up *shakes you*…Hannahjdavies.com is going monthly rather than whenever-I-feel-like-it, in order to create a sense of routine by which you can follow me; call it a bodyclock or something!

I will continue to bring you the best content I possibly can, just at a regular time, which shall be the last day of every month.

I’ll be able to round up the music, fashion, lifestyle and news stories from that month, whilst also looking forward and setting my own personal humourous challenges for the month ahead. Also being launched is a time-to-time top secret collaboration with an up and coming photographer as of next month. Keep your eyes peeled for an interview, too!

Just to stress, this isn’t the end of Hannahjdavies.com – in fact, its just the beginning of a more efficient way of running the show. 😀

The mailer will probably be on hold for quite a while because of the changes; if you would like to keep your name on the mailing list then don’t worry, I will store the details of existing subscribers for future reference, and if you wish to join my list, then please continue to email hannah@hannahjdavies.com with ‘Registering Interest’ as your subject.

Grandes Bises,

x x x x

2009

05/01/2009 crystaltipps1 Comment

Welcome to 2009…oh, wait its the 5th of January…I do apologize for being late, but as you can tell I am not in my right mind…too much of thison New Years Eve, coupled with far too little of this …sleeping, not androgynous mullets, lippy and dandruff sharing as I think the picture might imply. Anyways, who else saw Lenny Henry making an arse of himself on Jools Holland’s Hootenanny? Could Len possibly be THE unfunniest man to have ever had a BBC comedy show comissioned?

This got me thinking…my New Years resolution should be to stop crappy shows getting made and taking up airtime…here’s a few that I think should go…

The acting is like an impromptu theatre school at a morgue. The storylines (dead policemen in lakes, stupid inbred brutes setting fire to things) are primitive and lifeless. I am never, ever going to be swayed on those two things. Not even Paddy – a parallel-world Peter Griffin in Damart apparel – can sway me.

2) I was out of the country when Heroes began – maybe that’s why I’ve always felt frozen out of the hype which has surrounded this superturkey for a few years now. Sloppily written, sadomasochistically smattered with a pervy and fat villain, starring a blonde girl who designs handbags for Coach (similar to Gap, Abercr0mbie, Juicy etc…) but NO, the reason I hate Heroes is simply because it is 45 minutes long, and then it is immediately followed by a 15 minute episode showing you how they did all the effects and badly wrote the dialogue. Spoiling the magic, moi?

3) ’nuff said I think. Stupid, talentless, bimbos…and that’s just Dannii and Cheryl. I’m here to rate, rather than slate, so I will tell you something which the X Factor is good at. Ruining TV.

Ditto Strictly come dancing, with its foppish winner, Tom somebody or other? Rather than thanking the crew, the home audience who wasted their pennies voting for him even when it was a blatant fix or the poor Vietnamese kids who I’m sure worked pretty damn hard sewing sequins onto all those dresses, selfish mummy’s boy Tommy gushed about his wife, and then danced atrociously and awkwardly with her on stage. It was like some kind of bad wedding reception at a hotel next to Heathrow…the kind where you fill your plate with spring rolls and crisps, and sit in your best dress/waistcoat talking to a 90-year-old ‘relative’ whilst everyone else gets drunk and does the conga.

NOT LIKE THESE TWO…

Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that TV is poor at the moment, very poor indeed…cinema isn’t much better, as I discovered at Twilight. Vampires…lust…vampiric lust…that’s it basically. Save your money and watch a real horror film, rather than a gushy pseudo-horror romance where the central love interest is suppressing the urge to suck the main girl’s blood 24/7. Edward Cullen – Robert Pattinson – is a socially inept weirdo, whilst the rather horny Bella Swan is played by Kristen Stewart – a Zooey Deschanel/Liv Tyler-look-a-like who I can only remember for playing a moody bitch in Jamanji-esque flop Zathura. It’s sloppy, it thinks its an action film and there are far too many cliched polt devices…generously I’ll go with a 3/5, as it was truly laugh-a-minute during the more ‘lovey’ moments.

I vant too suk yurr bludd: Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart getting a bit too close for comfort in Twilight

Currently listening to: Elbow…a lot of Elbow…One Day Like This is a string-laden, heavy affair which reminds me of an alternative Christmas carol somehow, and the effervescently cool Grounds For Divorce combines a sultry riff with dark lyrics and some edgy production and mixing.

Toodles, I’m off to eat noodles and poodles. Just joking about the poodles bit, I should make it clear that I love all creatures great and small. Even Lenny Henry *shudders*

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