Azealia Banks and Perez Hilton are amateurs: wittiest celebrity insults of all time

Jumping the shark? Azealia Banks

So Azealia Banks apologised to her gay fans after calling Perez Hilton a “f*ggot” and telling him to kill himself, because that was a jaw-droppingly stupid thing to do. The ugly spat arose because he sided with her rival, Angel Haze, a couple of days after Ms Haze posted a diss track about Ms Banks, to which she retaliated in kind.

[Caution: all links contain strong language]

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“Radiohead is because it’s like this total triumph of short people”

We’ve been having fun with Googlism, a website that filters descriptions from Google to tell you what Google “thinks” of you. For example:

princess stomper is normally represented as a small pink bunny
princess stomper is a former magazine contributor and music researcher
princess stomper is making way too many assumptions in this article  Continue reading

30 day song challenge: day 23 – a song that you want to play at your wedding

Oh wow. How do I even start with this one?

Funnily enough, we didn’t have a song at our wedding. We had the usual stuff like Pachelbel’s Canon in D during the service (which always reminds me inappropriately of the Rob Paravonian sketch – much as Red Dwarf‘s “faith, hop and charity” skit came to mind during the bible reading and we both had to stifle our giggles), but after the meal and speeches, we had to dash off to catch our flight. So no “song”; no “first dance” – not that we minded. Continue reading

Is there really such a thing as selling out?

New on Collapse Board

I know this is going to come as a shock to you, but albums aren’t made by little pixies waving magic wands. Whatever dreams are spun of, Phase 1: plan to be famous; Phase 3: profit, the reality is more mundane. It’s something we accept about the film industry, because it lets us in on its processes. We understand it’s a giant corporate behemoth mired in politics and dodgy dealings, but can appreciate that this can still result in magical works of art.
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Offsetting the Uncool Footprint

“Would you sleep with that?” A sleeve-art picture of a young Dave Mustaine was thrust into my hand.

I looked up at the doppelganger. “I do sleep with that.”

Him Indoors shrugged, replacing the CD with its 12 brothers in the Megadeth section of our record collection. It was the first time we’d done this, despite having lived together for nearly a decade. We finally alphabeticised and listed our 925 sound recordings before boxing the CDs into special stackable clear plastic boxes so that we can actually find music when we want to listen to it.

Fear Factory … Filter … Flyleaf … Foetus. I picked up one of the 19 pieces of Thirlwell magic and checked the condition of the jewel case, noting the same moody pout. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t have any redheaded uncles who maybe travelled a lot?”

He laughed. “Is this your copy of Implode or mine?”

Front Line Assembly are by far the most represented act in our collection. That’s the trouble when your tastes overlap – you end up with two of everything. Even taking out the duplicates, we have 32 FLA records; 7 on vinyl, 25 on CD. Two sets of Delerium, two sets of NIN, two KMFDM collections and two copies of Die Krupps vs Front Line Assembly: The Remix Wars.

Of course, we don’t have all the same records. The pop and indie is decidedly mine, just as the metal and most of the dance music is his. If it’s from the 60s, it’s mine, but most of the 80s releases are his. Normally, we can glance at a record and know immediately who bought it. Cardiacs’ Baby Heart Dirt? Mine. ZZ Top’s Eliminator? His. There’s a fair number where our overlapping tastes allow us to neatly fill in the blanks in the collection (Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Mission), and a fair few oddities such as how the hell we ended up with two copies of Pigface’s Gub despite neither of us thinking that it’s actually any good.

Then there’s the ones that you honestly don’t know how the hell they ended up there. Van Morrison & Cliff Richard’s Whenever God Shines His Light. I mean, really? I honestly do not remember buying it. I don’t remember ever even liking it. I’m definitely sure it doesn’t belong to Him Indoors, so how on earth did it end up on this list? Did it get accidentally swapped with a former flatmate for my missing copy of Dark Side of the Moon?

That got me thinking, however: what’s the difference between the embarrassing records you’re quite proud of, and the ones that actually make you cringe? You know how people are trying to offset their carbon emissions. Can you do that with music?

What would it take to Offset the Uncool Footprint of that particular single? I mean, I’m not embarrassed about it because of the content – I’ll happily own up to enjoying spiritual sing-alongs by Donna Summer and Candi Staton – it’s just that it’s Cliff-Bloody-Richard and he kinda creeps me out. Let’s face it, we all know that hardly will his corpse be cold but all the revelations will come spluttering out about how he’s spent the past 50 years snorting cocaine off the backs of boy prostitutes. I suppose I have no real opinion on Van Morrison.

If I combine my original 7″ Magical Mystery Tour EP (which includes I Am The Walrus) with my copy of Diana Ross’s Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, would that do it? How about if I throw in my glow-in-the-dark 12″ of Kraftwerk’s Neon Lights? Or is that no longer cool?

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