Yesterday, a great man passed away. Beastie Boy Adam Yauch, aka MCA, aka Nathaniel Hornblower died at the criminally young age of 47. The outpouring of grief around the world can be measured by looking at social media – at one point in the US yesterday evening, nine of the top ten trending topics were Beastie-related.
As I tried to get a handle on the shocking, sorrowful news, I remembered my own period of hardcore Beastie Boys fandom – hearing Slow & Low on an EP that was given away with Record Mirror in 1985 and having my 13-year-old mind BLOWN; avidly buying up everything they released over the next year or so; being disappointed when they broke into the mainstream with Fight For Your Right (it wasn’t hip hop – I didn’t like it). Yes, I liked them before you did – I’ve always been hipper than you.
But this morning, my sadness has turned to blind rage after seeing and hearing the ‘tribute’ to Yauch from those unwelcome suppliers of lite-rock corporate shite, Coldplay (the Hamfatter that somehow made it) – a piano-led cover version of the aforementioned Fight For Your Right. Here, look… see… cringe…
In case you don’t have the stomach to play the video, what Chris Martin and his gang of humming building society cashiers have done is take a goofy, dumb-as-fuck, rock anthem and clinically removed everything about it that made it great, before infusing it with their trademark empty, soulless earnestness. Yes boys, you’re sad; we get it because we’re ALL sad – just don’t apply the standard Coldplay filter to what is the Beasties’ best-known song and instantly rip apart everything that it represents.
The only thing they could have done that would have been LESS appropriate than this fucking fiasco would have been to break into the morgue, find Yauch’s still-warm corpse, flicked his penis into some kind of vague erection and then wanked him off while Chris Martin played the harmonica and tapped his foot on the floor to keep time.
NOW look what they made me do….
So, I made an advert for a top firm…
Here’s some cartoon strips that I wrote for Loaded a long time ago. A genius called Tim Major drew the pictures.
Remastering Electronic’s second album
Taking the pig to market
Borrowing God’s socks
Cancelling a standing order
Draining the Zambezi
Contacting the ombudsman
Singing the browns
Conquering the Cayman Islands
Supporting the Brand New Heavies
Upgrading to HD
Giving away the image rights
Knocking the top seed out in the quarter-finals
Burping the keynote speech
Getting the bonus ball
Observing the 10pm curfew
Ignoring the lodger
Combing the beach for old coins
Puking the blue Smartie
Exercising the witch
Hosting the Eurovision
Bombing the car boot sale
Chatting with Edwyn Collins
Queuing up for Pearl Jam tickets
Intimidating the witness
DMing Pee Wee Herman
Sneaking in to the labour exchange
Peter Panning / Tinkerbelling
Handing back the MBE
Paddling in the septic tank
Fiddling while Rome bursts
Fanning Her Majesty
Ignoring the gymkhana
Feeding Boss Hogg
Loving the alien
Mining for spam
Driving Miss Daisy
Escalating the grievance
Drizzling the beatnik
Getting to know James Bolam
Decorating the panic room
Multi-Coloured Swap Shop
Being affected by one of the issues in tonight’s show
Drinking the bra dry
Cheese and cheese and cheese and cheese and cheese and cheese and biscuits
Spoiling the Durham Miners’ Gala
Got the January blues? Take heed of the advice handed out by this car park ticket machine in Durham…
Typical – bemused by the success of Sherlock, you try to come up with a winning alternative idea for BBC1’s Sunday evening line up. Having duly thought of one, you then do a quick Google search only to realise that it’s been done before.
Now I must go and mournfully throw away my hastily-written one page treatment for ‘Starfish Hitler’…
Or at least according to Ebony magazine in 1985. Brace yourselves, because it’s eerily accurate…
Earlier on, I was alerted to the FULL list of So Solid Crew members on Wikipedia. It was a thing of wonder. Shortly afterwards, it was removed from the site, probably by laugh-allergic boffins. So I got a screengrab. Here it all is….
(By the way, I didn’t write any of this, although I wish I had)
You’re probably stumped about which one to buy from of the plethora of enchanting celebrity autobiographies that are available ahead of Christmas. Fret no more dear reader, because I have read them ALL for you*. Here’s my handy guide…
LEE EVANS –THE LIFE OF LEE (£20.00)
The rubber-boned joker concentrates on the gruelling life he endured before finally making the big time, revealing for the first time some of the grotty jobs that sustained him before he became a household name. Anyone who isn’t moved to tears by Lee’s description of his three months spent as a novelty penis salesman in Jakarta doesn’t deserve to have any eyes.
OPENING LINE: “No one sees the man behind the clown mask; no one sees him sitting in a bush in the car park of his local Asda at 4am because he still can’t get over that garbled punchline he delivered in Hull in 1992.”
JAMES CORDEN – MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE? (£18.99)
Heavy stuff from the roly-poly funnyman, belying his public image as a loud, detestable buffon. Four of this 654-page book’s five chapters focus on the occult, as Corden reveals his belief that he is only a few years away from being able to transform his own urine into liquid gold.
OPENING LINE: “It was my 15th birthday, when I tranquilised my pet dog Wilfie just so that I could eat the tin of Pedigree Chum that was rightfully his, that I knew something needed to change on Planet Corden.”
ALAN SUGAR – THE WAY I SEE IT: RANTS, REVELATIONS AND RULES FOR LIFE (£20.00)
He started out with a few quid and a van at the age of 16 and he’s now one of Britain’s best-loved millionaires. But he’s retained his hard edge, as displayed in this book. For example, one of Lord Sugar’s ‘rules’ focuses on male employees who don’t tuck in their shirts – he says of them: “My sole reason for entering the House Of Lords is to pass legislation that will make this despicable practice punishable by death. Death caused by the forced feeding of said shirt, its breast pocket filled with the hottest chillies known to mankind.”
OPENING LINE: “People look at me and think I live the life of Riley but there’s nothing I enjoy more than shaving my mother-in-law’s back on a Sunday afternoon”
SUE JOHNSTON – THINGS I COULDN’T TELL MY MOTHER (£18.99)
The much-loved actress has a lifetime of tales to tell from her showbiz and personal life, and this book is a weapons-grade page-turner. You’ll be as astonished as I was to learn that Waking The Dead ended after Trevor Eve took legal action against Sue, claiming that he had won one of her kidneys in a drunken card game at a post-filming wrap party.
OPENING LINE: “Fate is a funny thing. If I’d replied to a certain advert that I saw in the Liverpool Echo in 1967, I’d almost certainly by now be one of the most celebrated Formula One drivers of all time.”
BRENDAN SHEERIN – MY LIFE: A COACH TRIP ADVENTURE (14.99)
Finally caving in to immense public demand, the tour guide from TV’s Coach Trip has put pen to paper and laid himself bare. He glosses over his early life as the President of the UK Golliwog Preservation Society, choosing to share anecdotes about the show that has made him famous. Worth reading if only to learn which contestant was ejected from the coach while it was still moving after exposing himself to a group of blind nuns through the rear window.
OPENING LINE: “Some people find it hard to believe that I was allergic to buses until the age of 32 – until I show them the photo I always carry with me, with my face so swollen that my eyes look like raisins and my cheeks like raw steaks.”
*I didn’t read any of them. Do I look like some kind of twat?