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A rundown of 30 outstanding quotes to celebrate 30 issues of Crack.

We’ve been around for a while now, y’know. In fact, our last issue, sporting the iconic Modeselektor on the cover, was our 30th. It’s something of a landmark. Some people say life begins at 30, although obviously that’s not true. It’s almost halfway through, but that’s another point altogether. 

But it definitely feels like a perfect opportunity to reflect on some of the incredible individuals to have graced the pages of our publication since 2009. We’ve been fortunate enough to speak to some of the most prominent and fascinating figures in art and music, so here’s a run-down of 30 of the most outstanding quotations we’ve been treated to over the years.

“I just love the thought of the A&R guy sitting in his office with his Dido album on his desk. He’s sold 29 million copies and he’s thinking: ‘What would be the next touch that would really take this campaign in a new direction? I know! Let’s get Kieran to do a mix!’ Hilarious.”

Kieran Hebden, aka Four Tet, on exciting industry suits with his ‘credible’ reputation // Issue 2

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“I don’t want to be any more professional than I already am. I like being unprofessional. I think politics could use some unprofessional politicians and music could use some unprofessional musicians.”

James Murphy reveals the secret to LCD Soundsystem’s success // Issue 5

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“Themes of sex, violence and the mundane … depictions of oral sex, beheadings and a few office chairs, armchairs – that kind of thing.”

John Squire casually discusses the concepts informing his artwork // Issue 6

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“I’ve tried camping and it doesn’t agree with me. I need my home comforts. Just give me a dark, air conditioned room with a sofa in it and I’ll be happy.”

Julio Bashmore, on struggling to embrace the festival spirit // Issue 7

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“The city has been an amazing playground for club culture and something unique in the world. Low rents, lots of empty spaces, clubs that didn’t even pay rent and very liberal laws. But that’s pretty much history. My world is all shiny now. Lots of young and happy families and healthy food shops. In one word: boring. I need to move …”

Apparat expresses his disapproval of Berlin’s yuppie gentrifiers // Issue 8

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“You know Mumford and Sons – I don’t want my indie bands to be into pheasant shooting. I’ve got nothing against privileged people and I’ve been privileged, but my issue is if you do anything against the grain or you kick out against something and be a bit of a wanker, the industry won’t touch you. I would love a punk revival. Just not like The Libertines.”

Portishead’s Geoff Barrow on ideologically barren nu-folk, not being like Alex James // Issue 12

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“The bands that were copying the style and all of the sounds you could stereotypically call ‘trip-hop’, they disappeared didn’t they? Because they had fuck all else to say other than copy what they heard from this area, or whatever. So they fucked off. The people that were making that kind of music have moved on.”

Barrow’s fellow Portishead bandmate Adrian Utley dismisses unimaginative imitators // Issue 12

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“This is very sensitive and grass-roots music at its core, so the best of it, and the most feeling of it, is going to be dealing with and reflecting the sentiments of the nation, and it’s often going to be counter-government, counter-hierarchy, counter-culture even.”

Shabazz Palaces’ Ish explains how the rawness of hip-hop reflects socio-political climates // Issue 13

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“I like to be at the show playing music that I’d actually like to be dancing to myself, the shit that’s gonna make me happy. Then hopefully it’ll make everybody else happy – and I’ll get some titties in my face!”

DJ Funk feels his intentions are benevolent  // Issue 14

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“I went and did an Art Foundation, but then didn’t get into university so I thought ‘fucking wankers’ and went and got a job as a bin man… When I did get into university, on my breaks I’d go back to the bins. Everyone else would have been off working at some trendy bar in Brighton or whatever, and I’d been away picking up other people’s shit.”

Foals affiliated artist Tinhead, on resisting art student pretentions // Issue 15

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“When I started the Lykke Li tour I wasn’t remotely prepared to play those shows. I think that made me a professional musician. It was either respond right now or suffer huge humiliation.”

Grimes admits struggling to catch up with her sudden wave of hype // Issue 16

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“I think the music speaks for itself, as does the fact that people still want to sing the songs. Queen seems to be more current than ever. There seems to be an incredible momentum out there and more love for Queen than I ever remember. It’s an incredible, spontaneous thing. I hear from people of all ages and people who weren’t even born when Freddie died about how much they love his music. If the music speaks to people in any way then it’s very rewarding for us, and very precious.”

Brian May discusses the legacy of Queen // Issue 17

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“Gender is always gonna be a topic that pops up, but I don’t think it’s that important to think about. I just want to be respected for what I do without my gender being part of the equation. It shouldn’t matter whether you’re male or female cause at the end of the day you’re still doing the same thing. It’s just what’s in your pants that’s different!”

Maya Jane Coles on the ‘Female DJ’ tag // Issue 18

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“I’m from the punk world which is very out and out anti-establishment, saying ‘fuck you!’ and ‘fuck this!’ and ‘fuck the Queen!’ and nothing in particular got done about it. And then you’ve got the rave thing, which is a load of people loved up on E, running around the woods not bothering anyone and the government goes all Orwellian and starts passing laws where they can confiscate equipment. Then you’ve got the suspicion law, where a copper can suspect you are going to an illegal rave they suspect is happening down the road and arrest you. The fact that the category of beat music is written into law is quite astonishing really.”

Orbital’s Phil Hartnoll on rave culture // Issue 19

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“Look out for Dough Dough, look out for Yung Simmie, look out for Amber London, Denzel Curry, Harvey G, Ethelwulf , Chriz Traviz … fuck, wait we got more, shit is real… ummm… Keynyata and Yung Renegade. We got a squad man. If I missed some of my niggas, it’s because there’s a lot of us.”

Even Spaceghostpurrp sometimes struggles to remember who’s in his crowded Raider Klan collective // Issue 20

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“It’s politics with a little ‘p’ though, because I’m not as eloquent as someone like Billy Bragg who has political argument in his songs. My songs are more about reaction and how it affects the individual. It’s definitely a colloquial response, but political writing is probably for someone else, though I have done it before. Tonight The Streets Are Ours was definitely a response to politicians patting themselves on the back after creating the ASBO. I just wanted to stove the fucking TV in. I just thought, ‘you fucking cowards. You’ve never had the balls to look at the root causes of what makes someone behave like that.’ It takes years for someone to be that dysfunctional. I get angry now and again over things like that and I just rear up and write songs.”

Richard Hawley on the flames of discontent that inspire his music // Issue 21

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“I’ve read some of that stuff, and it’s so ridiculous. You meet a lot of kids and I try to advise people, even if they don’t get signed or whatever. He’s just one of those kids at Low End Theory, like Burial in a way. He just doesn’t wanna make a big deal or nothing, he’s not trippin’.”

Flying Lotus literally lies to our face about the identity of his once-anonymous rap project Captain Murphy// Issue 23

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“There were American inspirations like the Millionaire video, and obviously we had Big Pun on there, but I wanted to make something that was quintessentially British. We were going to have the PMR pitbull in there, but he couldn’t fit in the two seater and Bashy couldn’t drive the car because he is under 25, so I looked like an [clicks fingers diva style] independent woman driving him away.”

Jessie Ware on making of the 110% video with Julio Bashmore //  Issue 22

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“We were supposed to play at this festival in Santa Barbara but the cops shut it down, so we played out of the back of a U-Haul van in the parking lot. People were diving off the top of the U-Haul and shit. I could just see bodies flying from over me. Some crazy ass girl climbed up the fire escape of this two storey building and dived off, that was the illest moment for me.”

Trash Talk’s Lee Spielman reflects fondly on his favourite gig // Issue 23

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“To show some form of physical abandon is quite a daunting task for a young man of the straight persuasion. Dancing is such a wonderful release, it’s one of the best feelings you can get and you can get into an amazing sort of trance and you naturally … listen, you don’t need drugs, you might need a couple of whiskeys to get you on the dancefloor, but once you’re up and running the endorphins start flowing and you get very high from just dancing. I would say that the trainspotters, they’re studying and they’re there. They don’t have to be standing there; they could very easily be at home masturbating or whatever else they do.”

DJ Harvey delivers his verdict on the various crowd reactions to his set // Issue 24

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“I think when the riots last year happened, it just became apparent that it solved nothing, that romanticising of rioting seemed to be over. All it’s doing is getting kids put in jail, it’s destroying people’s businesses, it’s terrifying people, it’s nearly killed people and yet, the next day, no bankers had been locked up, nothing’s changed, it’s the exact opposite. In fact, it’s quite mad how justice was delivered to the rioters. If you look at that kid who attacked the Sheffield Wednesday keeper the other day, he was jailed within two minutes. Yet a lot of these perpetrators, whether it’s media crimes or banking crimes, are gonna drag this shit through the courts for the next decade. You see the lack of balance between everyone’s civil and legal rights quite blatantly.”

Massive Attack’s 3D, offers his perspective on 2012’s turbulent civil disobedience // Issue 25

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“I can understand that if you’ve flown to Berlin from another country, saved up to go to Berghain and then you stand in line for three hours and you get told ‘no’, that must suck. But on the other hand, you can’t just let everyone in for capacity, and it’s important to protect the vibe inside. Sometimes people are like, ‘well this time I didn’t get in, hopefully I will next time.’ Then you get the haters who say ‘fuck it, never again am I going to go there.’ Once you are inside, you drop all the bad energy and have a good time in there. If the door staff didn’t have their policy, in a year from now it wouldn’t be what it is any more.”

Ben Klock on Berghain’s notoriously aggressive door policy // Issue 25

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“The most dangerous rap group in America was Public Enemy because our weapon was the truth. And the truth will set you free. So that’s what makes it dangerous. If you’re just acting like a goddamn fool with no fucking direction, you’re only a danger to yourself. You ain’t truly a threat to nothing if you ain’t got your shit together. Bob Marley dealt with the truth, Bob Dylan always dealt with the truth, so a rap group can do the same – why not? And there’s people in the Western world who are afraid of any grouping of black men who are uniting together, that’s just period.”

Public Enemy’s Chuck D  explains the group’s empowering manifesto // Issue 26

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“This was rebel music to begin with. It’s gone from basements in the South Side [of Chicago], full of struggle, with gunshots outside, to … Starbucks! [laughs] That means that somewhere along the way the message got missed, it got co-opted. But that’s part of the beauty of it — it’s the most recognisable sound out there. Anyone on the planet can relate to it. The problem is that not everyone knows where it came from – or cares. And being a person that cares, I have to accept that there’s plenty of people that just don’t care; they getting in and they getting on it. And I’m upset. But if someone comes tapping on my shoulder after an endorsement for something that’s half-baked they’re gonna get an honest opinion. They may not like it, because that’s something that’s also scary today: everybody’s scared to critique everybody’s shit. I love it. Tell me my shit is garbage, I’ll go back and do it again and do something better.”

Theo Parrish on the rise (and contamination) of house music  // Issue 27

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“We recorded outside and collected bones to try and make percussion out of them, we played in the dark, we had Ouija boards. Y’know, even if it was just to trick ourselves, but to make something that’s more than just twanging your guitar in front of an SM7.”

Yannis from Foals on livening up the studio grind  // Issue 28

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“I’ve started getting annoyed very easily… I’ll probably just grab a Kaoss pad and fuck about with all that shit.”

Heterotic’s Lara Rix-Paradinas contemplates playing live during her late stages of pregnancy // Issue 29

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“I’ll repeat this again; I’ve said loads of times, I think Skrillex is one of the best producers around. Technically, and I don’t give a shit how many people want to shout at me on the internet, he’s great. I understand production and that’s why I rate him so much.”

Skream claims his buddy Skrillex is tragically misunderstood // Issue 29

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“It’s a well known fact that Steven Gerrard’s favourite cheese is grated cheese. Some people laughed when he gave that answer in an interview, but we think it’s a fine choice. A very delicious cheese indeed.”

Sports Cheeses creators Willliams Sisters defend the intellectually challenged footie player’s taste in dairy products // Issue 30

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“That’s ridiculous. Look, some of the best records of all time came out on majors, especially when you look at the 70s and early 80s. I mean, would I not listen to the Gang of Four Solid Gold record because it was on Warner Bros? Would I deny myself the first two Elvis Costello records? Would I? The Sex Pistols? The Ramones? Would I not listen to those? Talking Heads? The Dead Boys? I’ve never had a problem with that. There’s not enough good music to get picky about labels. To me, there’s so few bands, I’ll take it where I can get it.”

Melvins’ Buzz Osbourne rejects the major label stigma // Issue 30

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“The funny thing is, a lot of the tapes from those very early parties I threw were actually taken by the local dope dealer! He was the only one with enough money to afford a proper video camera, and he used to walk around the rave with this big light strapped to his head so he could see while he was filming everyone! Can you imagine a drug dealer strapping a light to their head these days? It was hilarious!”

Modeselektor’s Sebastian Szary on partying in their early days // Issue 30

Budgets can be a pretty dull affair for the uninitiated, even in the days when chancellors knocked back brandy and water, or sherry and a beaten egg. Still, for a political junkie there’s nothing more fun than watching a belligerent Tory government with its back against the wall. The government’s austerity plan lies in tatters. The UK growth forecast for 2013 has been cut in half on what was expected just three months ago, and we could be in a triple dip recession.

When the Tories were elected they wanted to reduce government spending until the budget was balanced,at which point we could start paying off debt. They proclaim it as a sensible strategy, but it’s seriously problematic. In the last three decades, only two chancellors have run a budget surplus: Gordon Brown (played by a part-melted waxwork model) and John Major (played by the colour grey).

Right now, the government owes a staggering 13-figure sum that’s running up like the water meter in the Soho Sweatbox. We spend almost as much paying the interest on debt as we do on education. And, in spite of the Tories’ austerity measures, the government is expected to borrow about £120 billion this year. That’s the same amount we borrowed last year (unless you figure in the £100 million reduction which has been labelled “fiscally and statistically insignificant”) and roughly the same amount we’re going to borrow next year.

Cameron said a few weeks ago that the Office for Budget Responsibility (OBR) had made it “absolutely clear” that external factors and not the deficit reduction plan were to blame for depressed growth. The OBR wrote back: “For the avoidance of doubt… tax increases and spending cuts reduce economic growth in the short term.” Even Tom Hanks’s paramilitary neighbour in The Burbs (played by a bald Vince Cable) took time to point out that reducing capital spending is ineffective and that economic stimulus is needed.

By this stage, Osborne and Cameron (who remains faithfully by George’s side like an obnoxiously foreheaded Eva Braun) appear to be pretty much the only two people left in the country who still believe austerity hasn’t impacted growth. The government’s Plan A economics have failed and it is too dogmatic to consider a change of course. First we were told the deadline for the austerity programme had been extended from 2015 to 2017, and then to 2018, and now we find out the deficit could be running at 2.2% that year – by the time the Tories balance the budget Little Mix will be in the wrong side of 25, coming out of the coke-addled reality TV side of a solo career and working at a petrol station.

If you amalgamated all the coverage of this Osborneomics from the past three years it would run to a War and Peace-esque tome and read something like the dull retrospectives of an ex-junkie that repeats the same mistakes ad nauseam – think the first 400 pages of the Anthony Kiedis autobiography. The blame for the UK having weak-to-no growth placed on the price of oil, the weather, Labour, Europe and more. Those factors have played a role, but Osborne’s been pinned in by his own deficit-reducing rhetoric and a seemingly wanton desire to please ‘The Markets’: “You don’t get out of debt by borrowing more.”

It sounds like perfect sense, until you consider that the government’s income is directly linked to its expenditure. At the moment the UK can borrow money at such a low rate it’s negative in real terms. Clearly our interest rates could increase if The Market loses faith, but how long can we maintain their approval with the hunk of debt as large as it is and no growth? And why won’t the government revisit its strategy when it clearly isn’t working?

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Words: Christopher Goodfellow

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Send rants to: media@crackmagazine.net

You know when all your mates go for a wicked night out and you have to stay home and watch T.V and try and bash one out over the bird on Bid Up TV cause the chick you fancy hasn’t replied to the 18 texts you sent over half an hour ago and therefore must be busy having an orgy with several muscle bound men with giant peni? You have the time to make observations like – “my walls are eggshell, not magnolia!” and “Wow, what a mind-fuck, I have Hellman’s ketchup and Heinz mayonnaise!” There’s only so many episodes of Breaking Bad you can watch before realising you don’t really “get it.” (I’m convinced HBO is little more than a conspiracy to make me lose hours and hours of my life watching endless reels of pseudo-interesting suck that everyone and their nan really rates. Watch the latest Haneke if you want something of actual integrity, moron brain.)

Sorry, I went off on a tangent. So, all your friends have gone out and you’re left at home staring at the scaffolding outside your window and wondering how long it would take you to learn to play the second Nickelback record on xylophone. You think you’ve got it bad? Try being, literally, the only one of your friends who isn’t skiing, stuffing their face with all manner of intoxicants and listening to fine, fine electronic music in the Austrian alps. Then, try that when you work for a magazine that likes to update it’s blog every two minutes with yet another mind meltingly excited gush of happiness about the fantastic weekend they are all having. Yes, we all know you’re having a good time, but how many of them can do cat’s cradle up to the eiffel tower bit? Probably none of them. So what good has come of this time spent alone? Well, aside from the endless stream of new music I haven’t take the time to discover, the live reviews I have neglected to write, and all the pitches I haven’t prepared or sent out to noted publications in order to further my career, I can now knit, in actual fact I’ve knitted all of the staff welcome home scarves.

Not.

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Words: Billy Black

We’ve actually been eating pretty well. Our chalet’s Come Dine With Me style cooking series kicked off with Pardon My French’s vegetarian curry (a substantial dish and, despite being a little too spicy for some, the flavours were generally well balanced – 16/20). An excellent effort, but the threshold was inarguably raised by the self-proclaimed ‘Managing Directors’, who produced a three course extravaganza, boldly entitled ‘Mediterranean Magic’: antipasti and cured meats as an appetiser, a prawn linguine (18/20) for the main course and a Viennetta for desert. Surely that’s the first time anyone’s actually bought a Viennetta since 1997. I ate a family sized one for breakfast the next day. That shit tastes good.

Putting that much cream in your belly before hitting the slopes is a daft idea (although, not quite as foolish as necking a couple of jugfulls of White Russian first thing in the morning, as one staff member did. Since he was unable to string together a coherent sentence by mid-afternoon, we sent him to wait at the bar as if we were dropping a kid off at the crèche). But I gave it my best shot anyway. This is my first time skiing, and after a lifetime of athletic incompetence (I can just about manage a game of darts) and a complete lack of sportsman’s mentality (if I watch a game of football, I’ll end up feeling sorry for the team that lost), I’ve just about learnt to go down hills, turn and stop in order to prevent a re-enactment of a scene from the Sylvester Stallone movie Cliffhanger.

And despite living in Bristol for nearly half a decade, this is also the first time I’ve been to an Alfresco Disco event. From what I can tell, their totally impeccable rep has been earned due to the standard of the tunes, their innovative use of surreal DIY venues and a determined, quality-over-profit ethos. Last night definitely justified the buzz around their name. After briefly getting lost on our way and arguing like that episode of The Sopranos where Christopher and Paulie get stuck in the Pine Barrens and almost kill each other over a sachet of ketchup, we followed the sound of House beats echoing through forest, crossed a moonlit lake and entered a party which everyone’s saying is the most fun they’ve had since… well, since the last time Alfresco Disco threw a party.

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Words: David Reed

“Yeah man, I tore up the Dolomites when I was 14. And that day we spent at Tamworth Snowdome I was like Jimmy B in The Spy Who Loved Me. I’ll be the king of the black runs by the end of day one mate, trust.”

So turns out that, despite some incredibly misplaced bravado, I ain’t no skier. Within an hour of taking to the picture postcard slopes of Söll, the reality kicked in. There I was, a flailing dervish of pirouetting skis and windmill limbs careering towards a particularly attractive pine tree. And before I knew it I was a desolate husk of a chap, stumbling down the side of a mountain through quicksand snow, skis perched across my back like some biblical martyr. And the cynical lady who asked me if I was fully prepared to be up this high … if we’d been playing Sarcastic Monopoly, she’d have been Mayfair with a hotel.

But despite this sudden, enforced acceptance of my limitations, this has already been a very special few days. Fumbling around the nursery slopes is not withouts its charms, and throw in the delightfully cheesy Après Ski bars, indoor fags, crates of beer for €10 (for those unfamiliar with the current exchange rate, that’s around £9.99), an array of ludicrously nice people playing ludicrously good music (see Pardon My French, Lukas, the Hypercolour team, Hodgson and WLT), making new pals by the minute … it’s solid gold vibesin’. And the views. Did I mention the views? The fucking views!

It already feels as if Monday is looming on the horizon. Don’t make me go home. Alpfresco is just too good.

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Words: Geraint Davies

Vibes: Alpfresco

Crack’s gone skiing, and if you’re the kind of person that doesn’t enjoy other people glorifying what a great time they are having then I wouldn’t check into Crack Towers over the course of the next few days. Cause know what? We’re having a belter with our nearest and dearest in Austria at the inaugural Alpfresco, courtesy of Bristol’s most ambitious and inventive party collective, Alfresco Disco.

But first some observations. The textbook skiing soundtrack of Oompa music is shit. Real talk. It’ll effortlessly kill your buzz when you’re at the top of a mountain with the best view you may have ever seen. It’s not even funny, it’s musically situated somewhere between Agadoo on repeat and trombone donk. It fucking sucks. So how about having your Après Ski defined by the best disco cuts you never knew you wanted to hear until you find yourself bopping up and down in your salopettes. That’ll do.

Secondly, just cause you’re from round these ‘ere parts, have been skiing since you were foetal, and have more than one pair of skis to suit the conditions, that doesn’t give you access to universal supreme smugness. Have you ever tried skiing in the UK? It’s crap. So when we’re hitting the slopes with over 100 of the soundest people we’ve ever met, it definitely gives shooping down a mountain with no concern for your own wellbeing another dimension.

A final immediate observation is that skiing is the best hangover cure of them all. If only there was an Alpine slope between our house and the greasy spoon … more’s the bloody shame. Getting dressed up in layers of clothes, getting in a gondola that more or less acts as an incubator and the struggle not to chunder in front of a middle-aged Austrian woman is not an initial help. But skiing down a mountain quaffing gobfulls of the finest Austrian oxygenated air will sort any man’s head out. The technique was questionable, but we tackled everything in our path. Shoddily, yes, but we did it.

Either way we’re about to settle down in the chalet and tuck into a three course that Crack’s head team has elaborately entitled Mediterranean Magic… Season.

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Words: Thomas Frost

Photo (seriously, that’s what it looks like here): Timmy Fist

The Joy of Capitalism

By raising the prospect of increasing the US federal minimum wage, President Obama’s State of the Union address has instigated the kind of left-right pissing contest that constitutes serious political debate in the world’s largest economy. Progressives argue that employees deserve a living wage, conservatives berate that it’ll reduce employment levels.

Lawmakers have increased the hourly rate just three times over the last 30 years and these increases haven’t nearly matched inflation, therefore the spending power of the nation’s poor has fallen dramatically. It’s gotten so bad that in 2012 someone working 40 hours per week on minimum wage falls below the poverty line if they try to support a child or out-of- work partner. In the 60s, when the minimum wage peaked in real-income terms, a single adult could support two children, and afford the basic goods and services needed to get by.

“When you raise the price of employment, guess what happens? You get less of it,” retorted John Boehner, Republican House Speaker and basis for the House of Cards’ dog-strangling psychopath Frank Underwood. Higher wages mean fewer jobs, so we’re doing the people a favour by forcing them into the breadline, he argues.

It could seem logical on first read, but a large number of economists think a reasonable minimum wage increase would have little-to-absolutely-no negative effect on employment. There’s empirical evidence both ways though, apparently; the cat in the Queensbridge flat is either alive, or has run out of food and starved while its gas-pumping kitten nurtures a crack habit.

But let’s try to counter the “price of employment” argument another way. The real cost of hiring minimum wage workers is considerably lower than at any point in recent history and overall worker productivity is way up, roughly doubling over the last 40 years. This suggests that labour, as a commodity, is dramatically underpriced.

The likes of the fast food restaurants and supermarkets that employ the majority of these workers have had to deal with above-inflation price increases for other commodities that affect their businesses – fuel/oil, energy and food stuffs etc – for decades. Businesses adjust to meet these costs, it’s the key trait of the free market you so adore, Boehner, and there’s no good reason why a fixed price system operated by the government shouldn’t reflect this.

On top of that, these businesses benefit monetarily in ways that are harder to quantify. Increased employee retention reduces hiring costs and employees’ sense of self worth encourages them to work harder. And, unlike the Bush-era tax breaks which are lavished on the mega rich and can end up either in savings accounts or pumped into property bubbles, the increase in spending power is pretty much guaranteed to go straight back into the country’s GDP.

In fact, there are some analogies here. These are two very different ideas, but both the “trickle down” effect and the “price of employment” arguments perpetuate the same lizard-tailed Republican reasoning. They both play on tenuous, bordering on downright fictitious, economic arguments about jobs and they both seek to make rich people richer and poor people poorer.

It stinks.

Labour isn’t a homogenous product, like a commodity. It’s the opportunity to improve the quality of real people’s lives that Boehner and co. are attacking.

There are economic reasons and free market reasons for increasing the minimum wage, but most importantly there are humanitarian reasons.

What President Obama has proposed — an increase from $7.25 per hour to $9.00 dollars over three years – doesn’t go far enough. This needs to happen now and it needs to be around $10.00 to match previous historic levels, to ensure the US economy and the country’s poor get the impetus they desperately need.

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Words: Christopher Goodfellow

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Over the years McDonald’s has had its fair share of shonks, upsets and controversies. The fact it exists is enough to make some dreadlocked crust munchers start crying into their vegan BLTs. That said, I’ve heard various vicious rumours with varying degrees of realism, from the supposed fact the milkshakes contain more meat than the burgers, or that the burgers contain so much sugar they’re legally classed as a dessert, to the slightly more believable spoon shaped milk shake stirrers being discontinued due to their frequent use by coke heads for hoofing beak up their snouts. Of course the average coke head doesn’t know where to find a suitable alternative, but that’s a different story for no other time ever.

The fact remains, none of these things can be proved, and while I would stop eating at McDonald’s I’m not convinced that a meaty milkshake, much like a horse lasagne, is really that big a deal. In fact, I like a good steak, I like a good shake, why the heck not? If it feels good, do it. What’s really been eating me up recently is the last few TV spots Ronald and chums have decided to air. There’s been a slew of them, soppy, hyperbolic, painfully overemotional adverts aimed right at the fucking heart. The only thing is if you have a brain, or even half a brain, they will miss your heart and just make you want to vomit all over the little plastic tables.

Last year we saw the one where the guy in the suit goes to his first day at work, gets bamboozled by a load of new information such as a host of confusing names like Barry and Harry and Larry, sits at his grey desk and then fucks off for a Big Mac Meal. At this point he smiles and sees the girl of his dreams across the room. What they are telling us is that the only way to escape the grind is to eat fast food served to you by acne scarred teenagers who hate their lives because they have to spend each and every day serving smug office workers shit quality burgers in a uniform that smells constantly of grease and death. But don’t worry, there might be an average looking wench in there who you can bang in the toilet and never talk to again.

Next came the one where we were told McDonald’s was a place for every occasion including; falling in love, proposing, doing spreadsheets (I thought that’s why the other bloke wanted to get out of the office in the first place), breaking up, having a funeral, banging your coworker, doing a kidnap… the list goes on but I won’t bore you. Suffice to say, the advert is another travesty of the highest order, trite, overblown, sentimental nonsense. Imagine having your heart broken in McDonald’s? Chances are you’d probably throw that delicious, piping hot fresh ground coffee in her face before exiting and leaping in front of the nearest bus. Fuck me can it get any worse?

Yes, of course it can. Enter Dave. Dave is mum’s new boyfriend, he looks like he might have been into The Stone Roses once, probably did a few pills in the 90s, and knew Bez before he was famous. Basically, he’s probably an alright guy, but what happens when mum wants him to move in? Of course, as every child from a broken home knows, step parents are inherently evil and like fuck do you want them coming in your house and being all Ian Brownish, leaving cool records around, and offering to fix your bike. Fuck no, he’s kissing your mum and only you get to kiss your mum right? So every time he offers you something nice you say, “nah, you’re alright!” That’ll show the bastard who’s the man around here! Wrong. Grow up you twat, he’s fucking mad fer’ it and he’s proper sound like.

Fair enough though, I’ve done a bit of research and found out that apparently if you’re not well adjusted and middle class like me it can be a pretty raw deal seeing your mum get nobbled by a guy called Dave who’s not your old man, so I can let the little brat’s angst slide. The real horror, however, comes when Dave can’t figure out how to make an omelette so he takes the kid to McDonald’s. He doesn’t like  gherkins so he offers it to Dave and then what does he say? He only goes and says “nah you’re alright”. Which has been the kid’s catchphrase through the whole fucking ordeal. The kid promptly smiles and realises that Dave is actually sound after all.

So what does it take for a former lad from Madchester and his brand new noughties android step son to make that connection that will hopefully secure a more stable family unit for both of them? Yes, thats right, it’s McDonald’s gherkins. I’ll make sure to remember one for my future failed marriage, divorce and eventual encroachment on to a fifteen year old lad’s old dear. If he doesn’t like me, I’ll take him to McDonald’s and mimic him. To be fair though, that exact technique is how I got my boss to finally give in and give me a raise, it’s also how I pulled my last girlfriend so there might just be some weight in this after all…

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Words: Billy Black

It was recently brought to my attention that Jeremy Clarkson is a complete prick. Of course, I already knew this, so really it was just reaffirmation. It was in a charity shop. My good friend had bought me a present. “Here you go mate,” he said with a gleam in his eye, “Early Christmas present.” It was a compilation of Clarkson’s favourite driving songs, compiled, apparently, during a time when pop music was so wet and formulaic that you could be forgiven for thinking you had drifted off and woken up in a shampoo advert. The few tracks the country’s most tolerated fascist had chosen to showcase on his Full Throttle Anthems LP prove exactly how much of a massive sweaty ball sack he really is.

The opener is an obscure track, a B-side in fact, from failed British cock rockers The Darkness, subtly titled Bareback. I was going to listen to it but then I decided to just pull out my own eyelashes and glue them back on instead. It wasn’t fun and I ended up in A&E for six hours of excruciating treatment, but at least I didn’t have to listen to Bareback by The Darkness. He follows this up with the timeless classic, Meat Loaf’s Bat Out of Hell. I skipped that one too, because I’ve heard it before and it fucking sucks. What’s next Jezza? Oh yeah, The Cardigans’ My Favourite Game. Why anyone would want to put themselves through the torture of listening to this whilst driving down a highway before the crushing truth that they are actually doing 40 on an A road in Berkshire on their way to a job selling insurance in Andover hits home, is beyond me. It’s the kind of moment where you realise your entire life has just been a big fucking amalgamation of bullshit Hollywood clichés and you should probably hightail into the nearest very deep ravine. Clarkson continues in the same fashion, a lot of intolerable bullshit like the tired snoozefest that is Black Betty by Ram Jam and Reef’s crooning ballad of sweat and bad bootcut jeans Place Your Hands. In case you were wondering, the latter sounds as shit today as it did when you were fingering that nerdy girl at your school disco in the early 2000s as a favour because she let you copy her science homework.

There is, however, one glimmer of hope on the album. Oh wait, that’s just my reflection in the jewel case. Do one Clarkson, basically everyone I know thinks you’re a twat and hopes that when you finally get fired from the Beeb for being a moron you end up presenting pricedrop.tv, become addicted to heroin and end up emaciated, struggling to scrape a living from hand jobs on the streets of Warsaw.

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Words: Billy Black

I’m not here today to moan on and on about something we all hate, I have come to preach a message of deep loathing that is actually quite personal to me. People who say they “respect” Elbow. Tosspots who say that Keane are “credible”. Morons who think it’s ok to like Athlete as long as it’s only the first album. In fact, it’s this small minority of chin stroking trendsetters who are directly responsible for the popularity of this kind of M-O-R bullshit ultimately filtering down out of the mainstream and into pseudo muso credibility.

I give it three years before we see kids in doc martens and skinny jeans wearing Snow Patrol T Shirts and saying they just think Lightbody has written a few really great tunes. Fuck off. It’s neither cool nor edgy to be the Terry Wogan of your local dive bar. Discussing the finer points of Doves’ second record at an Animal Collective gig isn’t going to make you look rad, it’s just going to make your friends think you’re their dad and see them immediately ditch you for the nearest person in a Lower Dens tee.

This is an impending apocalypse, honestly, if irony and idiocy continue to grow with the huge momentum they’ve already gained it will be pretty much impossible to stop this flux of stupidity before it’s too late and we’re all wearing lots of beige and eating after eights in our mid-20s just for the sake of your postmodern perceptions of “cool.”

Of course everyone knows what’s really cool is pretending you’re in the 90s and only ever listening to Dinosaur Jr and Sebadoh. It makes guys look dumb, girls look really fly and bands sound like they’ve smoked so much weed they’re about to fall over. Let’s stick with that yeah?

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Words: Billy Black

I will be in a deep, damp hole in the ground before you catch me wearing leggings anywhere apart from an Alfresco Disco afterparty. According to a wanker I met in the pub though, I should be wearing them on the high street, all the time, without shame or fear of getting my head kicked in by a normal. He was wearing them, he even gave me his card so I could find out where to buy some of my own. He was essentially a travelling salesman. He called them “meggings.” He was, and most likely still is, a cunt.

After a 13 second discussion about the practical virtues of meggings and whether or not I would be buying a pair, I think it became apparent to him and his travelling sales mate that there are none, and no I would not. Having failed at their cunning ruse, they fucked off to find one of my mates to turn them down instead. Can’t help but wonder if these absolute tools had actually googled ‘Bristol Hipster Hangouts’ and come down from Dalston to try and sell me a Goldsmith’s uniform. Hopefully though, come summer, they will have replaced cuffed mauve chinos on your average high street tosspot and all of us highly evolved dudes will have something new and unbelievably sucktastic to laugh at. The only place I can see these absolute disasters catching on is wrapped around the legs of Luke Kook wannabes at festivals called things like “Indie-Rave-Neon-Buttfuck-Wanker-Fest.” So, no, I will not be wearing meggings in S/S 2013 and you can be damn sure I won’t hesitate to shout something like “You’re no longer my friend” if I see anyone I know wearing them anywhere near me. Before you’ve even arrived, good riddance meggings you foul fucking monstrosities.

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Words: Billy Black

After stumbling home from a groggy piss-up and a few rounds of Magic: The Gathering at the local ale hall, some folk like nothing better than packing their pipe with swamp weed and blasting out the Lord of The Rings soundtrack. Other people, however, don’t.

If there is a time and place for pan pipes and lutes, I haven’t found it yet. It’s probably safe to say I never will. The only time anyone really wants to hear them is if they have taken so much acid that they decide it would be amusing to leave their home and pester a Peruvian street merchant at four in the afternoon. Even then the sound of a lute would be enough to push a man over the edge, forcing them to dive into the nearest hospital bin and eat the first AIDS needle they find.

In fact, can we just do away with anything vaguely fantasy related? Making up fictional cities and calling them things like Grathanbahir and characters called Raskagin son of Raskorath? It’s not clever and it fucking stinks of that really annoying mate who keeps inviting you paintballing and banging on about the latest Blind Guardian record.

For the children’s sake at least, put an end to this god awful atrocity immediately, and for the love of R Kelly, please stop buying extended editions of Robert Jordan novels. It directly funds the continual production of awful, awful fantasy-themed music. Which is essentially worse than terrorism.

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Words: Billy Black