FAC

Fanks FAC!

batman Stupid FAC and their foolish fuckery went and got me all popular on the internets today, leading, as popularity on the internets does, to my site going down. I was busy editing the Andrew W.K. VS Chilly Gonzales footage, and Tila Tequila wasn't killing herself, but everybody else on the internets was trying to read about The FAC being idiots, because Neil Gaiman and some people on the Radiohead message board told them to.

Actually, they still are. The only way this site is still here is via some clever re-routing of the offending post to a Google cache. Damn! (It'll be back tomorrow, BTW, so save your thoughts 'till then) EDIT: It's back!

Anyway, poor Charlie who's been hosting this site for the past few years got his little mac server mashed up by this - he recorded 136469 hits before his server got merked - so I'm moving the site to it's new house. So It might be a bit glitchy round here for the next 24 hours hours. Thou hast been warned.

Today's Mathematics

zefblob Aight, time has escaped me, so you're gonna have to wait until next week for the full recap of what went down last Friday at Joe's Pub in New York. I got a lot of footage to edit, narrate, and make look sexy, and I am but one lone Donovan. Rest assured it'll be worth the wait. You won't be getting coverage like this anywhere else. OH LORD!

What have I been doing that's so important? Packaging up all your CDs, T-shirts and Don Shoes, for one. One of these days I'm gonna make enough money to employ some elves. Right now it's just me and my Max B MP3s keeping the electricity meter stacked up. I might have to make my own Max B mixtape for y'all, some of you aren't convinced of his greatness yet. I gotta admit, there is chaff, and there is wheat. But that wavy stuff? Owww!

Speaking of which, where's my Google Wave invite at, huh? I find it hard to believe that there are people who work their Google accounts harder than I do. I was even rocking Chrome all day yesterday, but I had to switch back to Firefox 'cos it was doing weird shit to my audio interface. Rah though, me and Google, we go funkhouser. Which reminds me. Curb came back! Yes! And it is STILL INCREDIBLY AWESOME! We got the first episode streaming right here. Number two coming up.

In other good news, the FAC accepted my resignation. My email has been bubbling with people saying I have jumped the gun on this one. Oh yeah? You know back in May Billy Bragg was calling this three-strikes-and-we-fuck-your- internet-up thing David "Dave" Geffen and Peter "Mandrakk The Dark Monitor" Mandleson cooked up, that him and the FAC are now wholeheartedly endorsing "shamefull"? Is he getting paid off or something now? Where's my gif?

smh

Ah. There he is.

The First Meeting Of The Featured Artists Coalition

Where's Wally? So, me and the Jee Bay went down to Heaven in Charing Cross to the first meeting of the Featured Artists Coalition yesterday. Me in town, two days on the trot. Madness. The weather was clement, and we met in a nice little wine bar around the corner, and got a bottle of the house red, and chopped it up about collecive consciousness, and Idea Space, and Steam, and Motive, and all that good shit.

Then we went Heaven. There was a buttload of paparazzi swine outside, but they werent allowed inside, so people weren't preening too much. It was a pretty nice vibe, all things considering. The bar was serving tea. I got some plastic cups, and we sat ourselves down on some fold-up chairs near the front of the stage and poured ourselves some wine. Then we decided that see through plastic cups might be a little conspicuous, and we didn't want any trouble, so I went to get some paper cups. On the way back I noticed Mr Sroobious Pip was sat on his own behind us, studious studying the event literature, so I said hi. He looked thirsty, so we gave him some of our wine. His beard has gotten epic.

Presently the show started, with some music, and a projected video about the interwebs, networking, STEAMCULTURE and all the stuff we'd been talking about in the wine bar, really, which is the sort of thing that happens just about every day. The FAC's public faces, Billy Bragg, Ed O'Brien from Radiohead , Kate Nash and all round Blur-drumming, plane-flying, animation-making politikal superstar Dave Rowntree were introduced, and took turns to say why they were doing the damn thang. Billy had a cold, poor love, but spoke passionately about artists' rights in The Brave New Digi World, and the importance of backing the PRS, and fighting the Major Labels, the Googles and the Nokias of the world for Fair Bucks and a say in what they do with our tunes. Ed gave a brief, but succinct speech about his experiences with Radiohead, and how that's lead him to believe so strongly in the importance of musicians having a say in what happens to their music. Kate Nash filled everybody in on the moneystuff, and Dave waxed elegant about the Big Picture. Video greetings from a number of FAC types who couldn't make it, like the gloriously pointy-beared Peter Gabriel, and the awesome Jazzie B were shown, to varying degrees of applause.

Afterwards they all took questions from the Floor. Parlimentarianism has evidently done well for Dave, who spoke easily and fluently about the plight and the right of The Artist, who he felt didn't just deserve a seat at the table - sheeet, its their table... Between the well versed responses of Mr Dave and Mr Billy, Poor Kate couldn't get a word in edgewise. Ed smiled, beatifically, like Buddah.

Wee Frannie Healy from Travis wondered if the ISP's shouldn't be paying up (word to Paylouder), and Billy pointed out that while there wasn't actually all that much dollar spare in that department, the FAC would be going for theirs anyway.

Somebody asked if, since Peter Gabriel was a member of the FAC, he'd be paying him back the money he said Gabriel's Real World had stole from him, and pointed out that a number of people in the room were the same music industry swine that'd been cockblocking him all these years, and the FAC were supposed to be fighting.

I asked if we couldn't come up with a better word for our peoples than "fans", given its disrespectful, segregationist connotations, which proved contentious (as did my suggestion that people's eagerness to "steal" music might be related to musicans' eagerness to rampage about the place like landed gentry), but it was agreed that an effort would be made. Billy suggested "audience", and Mr Mick Jones, formerly of The Clash, asked me if I didn't think "comrades" was the way to go.

It was nice to see Mick Jones, a lovely man. He suggested we play some more shows together. I don't think his partner in Carbon/Silicon Tony James, ex-Siegue Sigue Sputnik likes me much though, and I can't think why. Perhaps I was drunk around him once. That can go either way, depending on the wind, and other such factors. Ergo bibamus.

Anyway. For what its worth, I believe in most of what what the FAC are trying to achieve, in principle - importantly the FAC agrees that criminalising those that enjoy the music we make is Wrong and Dumb. And one of the main things they want to do is educate and assist young musicians, so that they don't get Fucked Over By Swine. Which is crucial. So I have become a member, which isn't the sort of thing I tend to do, coming from the Groucho Marks school of thought on such things. But as Dave Rowntree pointed out, history is made by those that bother to turn up. I can hardly sit around moaning about the music industry on here all day when there's an opportunity to help change things. Similarly, if the FAC doesn't turn out to be what it says it wants to be, I can't complain if I refrain from taking part. Well, I could, I suppose. But that would be super-lame. And I have no intention of being super-lame. So there!

OK. In other news, Artrocker have some pics from the Example video shoot. Opposite of lame. And that guy who threw his shoes at George Bush got three years. Dictionary definition lame. "[Iraqi Prime minister] Maliki is the son of a dog!” one woman screamed on hearing the verdict. “Maliki is an agent of Bush!” yelled somone else. Well, duh.

In less depressing news, the record Mercury Rev are giving away on their website is really good. No singing, just lush noises. Win.

Appologies

So, there were a bunch of updates and pictures and things, and they got wiped! Oh, the tragedy. So, a recap. On my last day on Rivington Street I saw a white thug in an open-top Hummer drive by blasting out 'I Want The One I Can't Have' and nodding along with a serious expression about his face.

Then we went.

Wade and I ended up on the coach, as there was no room in the van, or car. We got there early, and checked out the scene. The scene is small.

We don't actually live in Woodstock. We live in Shandaken, outside. Well, just outside. Half way up a mountain, hidden away by forest, amongst bears and chipmunks and what have you. In a big old dusty house full of weird porn and broken stuff, with brown water and giant ants. Like, there's a jacuzzi, but it doesn't seem to work. There is the biggest TV you've ever seen, but it's got a big black tear across the front and doesn't tune properly. It's a two hour walk to the nearest shop, whihc is a petrol station, and does a good line in biscuits. The local girl's got a lot of guns.

It is very lovely to look at up in Shandaken. Mountains covered in trees, mainly. Streams. Clouds so low you can jump up and punch them.

I miss Wade, who is back in London sorting out affairs. All my stuff is in boxes.

Lush

So I fell alseep on the sofa after 5, and was awakened gently by Super Phil at 6:20, and it transpired Bird left my bag with my passport in it at the venue last night. But Bird's got me another ID card, so we're outside waiting for Jeff to pick us up at 6:30. And at midday we're in LA, and soon after that we're in Interscope's offices,and I'm filling a bag with Nirvana, Guns N Roses, Gilbert And Sullivan, Dre, Peter Gabriel, Police and other such back catalogue. Jimmy Iovine has a signed letter from Tupac and a video console that won't switch on. And loads of ideas. A balcony. A lush view. LA is lush to look at, from these places of advantage. Like, later we visit Jeff and Trent's, and there's this fucking alien cat that loves me, and an incredible, incredible view, of this desolate wilderness spattered with money.

It was a lovely day.

But in the nighttime it is hard not to see that LA is awash with cunts. It is a sad and massive amount of cunts, and I am not sure whether it is sad because this is what the world did to them, or because this is what they do to the world, or because they are cunts, and you can see their faces rotting right in front of your eyes.