lemon revolution

In the gloom, gold gathers the light about it Sunbeaten dead Turf reached off all around me Miles and miles, deadness Beating sun, like some searing echo ringing on my flaking skin- Water falls one drop From nowhere But was too tired, fucked To glance up at its source Felt one small pin of water whip down softly on my skin Morning beams of gold swarm gently into a darkened room Stained walls, ripped wooden boards Fleeting glance of grace Dances thru this hellishpit Feet softly skip and hop along jagged rock Image rings round and round the skull, for again and again Hope dares fly from a smoking mound of ash

Choruses on both of these tunes are out of this world. Choruses I want to hear forever on repeat. Leaves you wanting more, more more. Second vid, the MJ tune is probably the most underrated, underplayed, underanalysed undercited tune of all time. so tonight gotta leave that 9-5 up on the shelf and just enjoy yourself groove let the madness in the music get to you life aint so bad at all if you live it off the wall That's all I'll need chaps, thankye very much. 

The recent wave of anti-Trump protests are great. They are bringing people into the political arena who have been left out for a long-time. At a time of terrible political interest and participation, any event which can command such a large turnout across the UK must be commended. The election of Trump as US President is a tragedy, but a tragedy that is the product of the way Western politics has been administered over the last thirty years. A swelling underclass of people who are not seeing any real gains in income year on year, and who see practically no representation whatsoever at the tables of power (with a particular nod to the decline of trade unions), is exactly what Trump has thrived off. Could the anti-Trump movement be a mechanism for not only fighting Trump, but also fighting the turning wheels of profit and social exploitation which helped propel his ascent to power?

my blood lost its way rivuletting through sand turning and twisting glimmering red beads slide slowly away from my beaten body sun light falls, plummeting through warm summer air but no breath rings in its shimmering pulse only broken bones and rotten clothes once a city trembled here now gone, simply gone and nothing remains but fits of old sirens the dull thud of a lapping sea and rusted shards of useless keys

ribbons wind over my limbs at midnight a python wakes binds bites and breaks me sleep is an awakening into a nightmare where shrapnel and brick rain in smokey blasts where i see my son again screaming in a broken coffin tears break and drop from the cliff of my bruised cheek soiling these pitiless roads in my despair flames gently waver and kiss, as the sun slowly climbs but even they, these restless stones of my quivering hope look weak and tired before my eyes i wonder will i ever see him again and will i ever kiss those soft gentle lips will i ever close shut my creaking front door will my people ever flee off this blood-soaked moor

I must say, the biggest disappointment of the Etihad gig (Sunday) for me was the fans. I went with a bunch of mates who were all loading up on gear, but as a 22 year-old with the £80 chance to see a band that had soundtracked practically every minute of his last 5 years, such an option felt nothing more than foolish. I just wanted to rejoice with thousands of people to my favourite tunes, to hear a stadium bellow out the songs I had poured over endlessly in my bedroom for so long. Unfortunately, the fans were terrible. The warning signs were set alight when, prior to the Roses coming on stage, a gang of lads nearby started singing "10 german bombers in the air" and "England/Vindaloo". 10 german bombers in the air? At a Roses concert? Did these guys know nothing about Ian Brown? The most disheartening point arrived during Bye Bye Badman. My favourite Roses song, the very embodiment of the debut album's ethos and energy, a tune which rattles and blee...

 1995 - the year Oasis released Morning Glory, and the year before the band really started losing it musically and characteristically: 96 was the Union Jack guitars, and Liam's voice beginning to sound weary and cabbaged at Knebworth, and endless infighting as a product of endless touring and musical friction within the group. At this point, in these interviews, Gallagher appears bewildered by the sheer absurdity of the position he finds himself in - the voice of a working-class band quickly gaining international fame, and simultaneously a convenient hero of elites in the media, entertainment industry and even in government (Gallagher famously visited Downing Street to meet Tony Blair in 97). Some of the questions fired at him surrounding other bands (namely Blur) and the state of British music are so obviously picked from a media agenda he hadn't signed up for, and his black-faced responses point to a man who is trying to work out just what the hell is happening around him....