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Rene les Flames! on t'stereo:

Mommy & Daddy - What Is The Function?
The Futureheads - First Day
Youth Movie Soundtrack Strategy - The If Works
Ex-Models - The Idea Of Peter North
Relaxed Muscle - Sexualised
Kenosha / The Black Helicopters / The Tennessee Traincrash demos

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Hello chaps, my name is Lord Shuteye.

Every so often I'll treat you to another installment from my memoirs 'The Japes Of Wrath'. Read on dear friends....

Happy New Year, my dear Wratheteers.
Lord Shuteye here, with another puckered serving of literary sweetmeats for your delectation.
Traditionally, as you are no doubt aware, the commencement of January is a time of confusion and dismay, to which seasonal set of conditions I must attribute the unusually pleading nature of the various epistles contained within the Wrath postbag this month. Thus, at the behest of the less sagacious denizens of our collective enterprise, and unhampered by the constraints of sobriety, I shall attempt to address one or two of your more pressing enquiries.

Denise Kebab of Burley in Wharfdale enquires: “If Wrath Records produced a musical version of The Lord of The Rings, who would be whom?”

Sink me, Denise, what madness fills your evenings? Having said that: Steve and Paul Morricone would obviously play Sauron and Saruman respectively, and Julia Arnez would do the Liv Tyler bit. Ieuan from the Farming Incident would make a sublime Treebeard, and I myself would be Sean Bean. Perhaps readers would like to make their own suggestion?
(So many Les Flames, but only one Gollum…)

Meanwhile, Kurt Gothical, of Basingstoke, asks:” is it alright to like that pop group, The Darkness?”

Dear Kurt,
Ah, The Darkness: The Showaddywaddy of heavy metal. A band whose relationship to groundbreaking pioneers such as Thin Lizzy or The Sweet bears a direct comparison to that between mid 80’s Shakin’ Stevens and Elvis Presley in 1956. In short, as our colonial friends in the Americas might phrase it- they’re pissing down the kid’s backs and telling them it’s raining. If one was at all interested in historical re-enactments of out-moded musical forms, I’d rather subject myself to the cider-fuelled prancings of a troop of Morris dancers. As for The Darkness- Lord Shuteye says: “Hey Nonny… NO.”

And finally, before strolling down to the puffin enclosure to feed Filey his bowl of devilled kippers, I just have time to respond to Mr Chip Chobington, of Brockley, South London, who writes:” On a recent sojourn north I attempted to cross Otley Road during rush hour and was reminded of Death. Do you have any tips?”

Indeed I do, my dear sir. Having attempted this lethal traversement on numerous occasions myself, I can fully endorse the following stratagem: Arm yourself with a brace of placards bearing the legend “Muddy Fields and Scrubland, This Way”. Place one facing oncoming traffic in each direction, then marvel as fleets of 4x4’s, driven by the raisin-faced habituees of sun beds and Harvey Nichols screech to a halt at the merest hint of driving conditions appropriate to their ludicrous juggernauts. As the flow of traffic ceases, simply stroll across the tarmac in a fashion not dissimilar to that of Moses crossing the Red Sea.

Lord Shuteye

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