I’ve copy/pasted an AIM conversation with a friend with his permission. the nicknames have been changed to protect our secret batman identities….

Davion: It has its appeals….
assorted: surely
Davion: Like the virgins and shit
assorted: oh yeah!
Davion: But do you only get them if you blow yourself up–or can you just do comedy?
assorted: islam comedy?
assorted: now THAT’S interesting
assorted: fundamentalist islam standup comic
assorted: i wanna see that
assorted: okies; i gotsta clean
Davion: Yeah–thats good
Davion: OK–talk to ya later
Davion: I’m gonna work on some Islamic Stand Up for when you come back
Davion: …I ran into my buddy Hassan the other day…now you know Hassan is a Shi’ite (boos and hisses from the crowd) Now, now , now. Hassan is a good guy–really. But I just don’t get his taste in television. His favorite show is Kate And ALI!!!!! (Laughter)
Davion: I told him no virgins for you infidel!!!!
Davion: (More laughter)
Davion: But seriously…..
Davion: I just flew back from the Gaza Strip..and boy are my arms tired (Laughter) No, really. Those Palestinains, I’ll tell you what–I went to visit my Palestinian friend Hakeem–I’ve known Hakeem forever–and we were watching his children play outside. I remembered little Mohammed when he came up to my knee. Boy, they BLOW UP so fast! (Riotous laughter) Thank you, you’re too kind.
Davion: God is great.
assorted: oof; that was just lovely; hehe
Davion: You like?
assorted: it was charming
Davion: I think I may have something.
Davion: I’m gonna work it
Davion: I just need the Turban and the beard
Davion: See–the Kate and ALI joke is very funny, because the Sunnis don’t accept Ali as Mohammed’s successor–so it truly is Islamic Fundamentalist comedy in the stricktest sense of the word
Davion: I kill in Yemen
Davion: …literally
Davion: Seriously…I’ll be here all week

A new installment of Yak in the City by myself and supahC -

The Super Furry Animals first came to my attention during the Britpop “explosion” in the mid-90s with the single “Herman Loves Pauline” from their album Fuzzy Logic. Looking back on it, the only connection bands like SFA (and for that matter, Pulp) had with the rest of the Britpop rank and file was that they were erm British. Fucking NME.

A couple of years later, I saw them hearlded as part of “Nu Psychedelica” - another NME sponsored fake genre that also encompassed Mercury Rev, The Flaming Lips and the Beta Band. You see, the NME hypes new bands as the next big thing every few months: Terris (terrible, woeful, very poor shit), Gay Dad (shit and fronted by an ex-NME hack) and Campag Velocet (I kinda liked these guys). When that fails: HEY, WHY NOT JUST FEATURE A BUNCH OF ALREADY SUCCESSFUL BANDS AND LUMP THEM TOGETHER WITH SOME VAGUE TENUOUS LINK? THAT’S BOUND TO SELL PAPERS! Cocksuckers. I’ve since given up on music magazines, the PFMS board is where I get most of my new music recommendations now, even if they do like Deerhoof.

The man don’t give a fuck, however was my favourite tune of that year and looking back on it I can’t think of a better single for the entire 90’s. Loud/Quiet/Loud with a very unlikely Steely Dan vocal sample, it shone compared the rest of the Menswear, Semi-sonic crap that they used to play at that cheap, cheap indie night I used to go to at University.

So five years on from that, I’m basically a fan of the SFA’s singles like “Whereever I lay my phone, (that’s my home)” and “The International Language of Screaming” but I’d never gotten into their albums. I knew enough about them to know that their appearence at Dolan’s was probably going to be one of the best gigs in Limerick this year.

I wasn’t disappointed either and I nearly missed it altogether. Doors were opening earlier than normal (8 pm) and the Sutras were slated to be the support act. So we headed out around 8:30 and had a quiet pint in Mickey’s, assuming we had plenty of time. A half 9, we decided to be cautious and forgo another pint and get a taxi up. Ten minutes later, the Furrys are already onstage playing “Demons” as we arrive. It was the first tune, thankfully.

The support band had been cancelled and S.F.A were appearing alone. Looking at the stage, it’s pretty easy to see why. From where I was standing I saw an elaborate percussion set, a drummer, the bassist, the guitarist, a keyboard/synth guy, some lad fiddling at a PC, Gruff and JackUzi informed me he saw two people on brass and another on slide guitar. Add to that their custom quadroneosuperphonic PA they haul around to every gig and you’ve got one full stage. They couldn’t fit all the gadgetery and we spotted a lead extending from the bus outside into the venue (they had a seperate vehicle for the instuments). It took an hour to take down and it must have taken double that to put up.

So normally you’re meant to actually write about the performance in a gig review but this preamble has run over, I’ve got beer to drink and I’m going to compress it into a couple of paragraphs. If you want a faithful song-by-song analysis go to the NME or something.

I only knew about 40% of what they played but I gotta admit that this nu-psychedelic, britpop, Welsh music, audio-visual, whatever-the-fuck mishmash blew me away. At a one point, Gruff put this mental oversized Mighty Morphin’ Power Ranger mask on his head and started rotating a multicoloured snake-type-thing over his head while what sounded like 20 different instuments went off at once, getting faster and faster. Groovy.

They finished with “The Man don’t give a fuck” which ended with a wall of feedback decaying into one of their number playing 15 minutes of what I think is their own techno offshoot before mixing back into TMDGAF. Deadly.

US indie rock and dance music. It’s like chalk and cheese. UK indie and dance have crossed paths ten years ago now. Primal Scream, Happy Mondays and so on. But US indie stays in it’s own little compartment totally oblivious to whatever musical changes are going on around it. Incorporating rap music would seem too much like ‘cultural slumming’ and dance music, well only gays and yuppies listen to that right?

Punk band The Rapture however have crafted US indie’s very own “Screamadelica“. It’s a lot more brittle and less luved-up than that album however but tis’ still there and if The Rapture=Primal Scream then hot production team (Peter Murphy and Tim Goldsworthy)DFA=Andrew Weatherall. It’s fair to say the DFA do their job here, they get these drum sounds that sound live but you can’t imagine a live band getting to this levels of funk-eh-ness. Maybe The Rapture do live but “I need your love” has shock!horror! no live guitars! It’s got a great first track of the club feel to it, light and dainty. “Olio” sounds like The Cure gone electroclash. “Killing” is like Timbaland gone punk with slashing riffs and beats going off like a sprinkler system. The guy’s voice is great too. We’re talking high registers here! 80’s angst-pop ahoy! “House of jealous lovers” has got the ebbs and crescendos of a great dance anthem and its got that Gang of 4/P.I.L. (insert uber-hip post punk band of choice here) jittery punk thing going on too. My favorite track of the moment however is “The coming of spring”, it’s an exhortation to get off yer arse and dance with its floppy disco hi-hats and abrasive guitar riff. “Down on yer knees/Pleading for life/Shards of a mirror/Twist of a knife”. Militant disco. “If I drink myself to death at least I’ll know I had a good time”.Yes, they do sound like a zillion other bands (and singers) you’ve heard but don’t confuse ‘em for some Interpol “I cant believe they’re not Eighties!” retro novelty act. The Gang of 4 were never this funky.

This album is schizo all the same, you’ve got out and out house tracks next to piano ballads (”Open up your heart”), next to punk-funk, next to woe-is-me power pop (”Love is all my crippled soul will ever need”) and spaced out acoustic blues (the closer “Infatuation”, the album’s “Damaged” and like that song you’re not sure whether it’s about a drug-love that’s broken through into wasted dependency or not and the song peters out with a lone, solitary hi-hat shuffle like one last shake on the dancefloor). Album of the year…so far.

Narc is just another one of those undercover cop films you know like the back of your hand except…well it really is just another one those movies except…it’s brilliant. Narc is a hypodermic needle punched through the chest of cop movies delivering a shot of lifesaving adrenaline while the rest of us were already drunk at the wake. Watch that metaphor stretch!

It takes all the features of those movies that have become cliches - cops crossing the line, cops becoming junkies, cops accidentally killing innocents, every cop is a criminal etc. - and reinvigorates them with genuine sense of reality. Truth, if you will. When you see Al Pacino shoot someone in one of his cop movies you know it’s just ol Al shooting some bad guy and maybe he’ll feel bad about it for awhile but who cares he’ll get over it in time to ride the pretty one. In Narc you really feel the characters are been eaten alive inside by the things they’ve done. They want to believe that they’re fighting the good fight, but in reality they’re just fighting. The sense of desperation that drives the two central characters seems to stem their fear of this being true.

Jason Patric is a disgraced cop recalled from indefinite suspension to investigate the killing of a narcotics officer. Staring at a photo of the cop with his wife he imagines the rookie to be the innocent he once felt himself to be and so takes on the investigation in a misguided attempt to ‘rescue’ that ideal (I am aware that that sounds quite pretentious, but that’s me, not the film.) He joins the dead officer’s partner - Ray Liotta (best performence since Goodfellas) - in attempting to find the killers. Liotta’s character Lt. Harry Oak seems to struggle daily with an overwhelming desire to strangle every person he meets, and clearly frightens the shit out of Trellis (Patric), no angel himself. As the investigation goes around in circles getting nowhere Trellis finds himself casting wary glances towards his partner who may know more than he’s letting on.

The film is shot raw, rough and grimey, as if it itself is in withdrawal from some nasty ass seventies narcotic, while the dialogue snaps like a terrier at your heel. There’s plenty of gratuitous violence that everybody loves and a great support cast that includes Busta Rhymes (so good I didn’t realise it was him till I looked up the website.) The film has already been a big hit on the festival circuit and is going on general release any day now. Joe Carnahan, the director, is probably a name to watch for in the future (he better not let me down like Christopher Nolan, lousy sellout bastard.)