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Sunday, November 30, 2003
Sunday, November 30, 2003
bitchiekittie's Barbelith thread on blogs has rekindled an idea that I was playing with a few months ago. It goes like this: this blog is shit. No two ways about it, it's pretty much a waste of everyone's time and is only of any use to me. It keeps me writing and it gives me a space to opine about things which I don't really get the opportunity to discuss with people I know IRL. Now that the Barbelith Reviews site is up, though, that kind of takes care of that. Why keep on posting here?
I've never made any great secret of my love for moriarty's (hopefully merely resting) comics blog. Not only was it focussed and informative, it was also full of the guy's passion for his subject matter. So, what I was thinking about was giving this one a tighter remit. Not much point in me doing music or films, because they're covered - and covered well - by people in the list down there on the left. Video games, though, aren't.
The reason I originally dropped the idea was that I get the feeling that my current three readers (bless 'em, they keep on coming back - wonderful thing, optimism) wouldn't be very interested in the subject. That thread - the bitchiekittie one - and the replies to it have got me thinking that I should probably take the leap regardless. It's something I'd like to write about, it's a subject which I'd like to have an excuse for delving even further into. So I'm going to give it a go, starting tomorrow. Yeah, it's a shameless fucking rip-off of somebody else's idea. So sue me (actually, don't). I don't think I'm going to go the whole Flux and force myself to write at least one post a day, simply because I've got other things that I really should be knuckling down to and have managed to avoid for the last nine weeks (hello, final semester project!), but I might impose some kind of lesser demand on myself. Twice a week, or something. Something vaguely pathetic that even I should be able to keep up with.
E. Randy Dupre's brain told him to write this at 23:05
This ntsc-UK thread should be a valuable resource for any aspiring game developer. Rename it "How not to create a game."
C' on Driver:
I remember being stuck on one of the later levels and spent days trying to beat it. Eventually I put in a remarkable run and cleared the stage. Everything seemed to go perfect so I thought I'd watch the replay.
Starts out OK, then something strange happens.
"I don't remember hitting that car"
The replay continues for a further 10 seconds before a load of police cars ram me into submission and the replay ends as though I failed the mission. I quit the replay to be met with another Mission Failed message.
Ady on the original Street Fighter:
The third opponent (the boxer who could floor you in 3 hits) could be hit once and then all the player had to do was crouch in the far corner to avoid being hit for the remainder of the match.
A triumph in AI.
Me on Syphon Filter:
On the monastery level, it was possible (and, first time you played it, inevitable) that you'd run into one of the larger rooms before the Playstation had decided to draw anything in. Kiss goodbye to your character as he falls into the enormous hole where the floor should be...
Oh, how we laughed.
E. Randy Dupre's brain told him to write this at 19:49
Needing to listen to something that I haven't heard for a while, I remembered Ooberman's The Magic Treehouse. So I dug it out and stuck it on.
It's got some ridiculously fey moments, moments that even Belle & Sebastian would find offensively twee. You know the kind of thing: tracks that scream 'STUDENT WANKERS' right into your face; tracks about talking to cows. The world really doesn't need that sort of thing. It's the kind of disturbingly hippie-ish pacifism that actually creates violence. It's the kind of thing that got the record ridiculed on release, and rightly so.
Thing is, there's not *that* much of it, certainly not enough to detract from the quality of the best tracks. Yes, Shorley Wall is manipulative in a way that only the director of the Nothing Compares 2 U video can truly understand. Yes, Physics Discotakes the student wankery to new depths. But, but, but... Blossoms Falling is an explosion of happy, an infective jumping-into-the-air-and-clicking-your-heels virus. It's not alone; Bees is enormous fun, Roll Me in Cotton is delicate and pretty (and, remarkably, not cloyingly sentimental) and Million Suns makes a great, upbeat opener.
The best stuff on it is reminiscent of Gorky's Zygotic Mynci's most Pop! moments (a good thing) and actually makes me want to hear the rest of their output, just in case it contains a few more hidden gems
E. Randy Dupre's brain told him to write this at 16:44
Saturday, November 29, 2003
Saturday, November 29, 2003
How come The Name of the Rose is *still* not available on DVD anywhere in the world apart from Italy and Brazil?
E. Randy Dupre's brain told him to write this at 23:06
Friday, November 28, 2003
Friday, November 28, 2003
And another. Many thanks to Scott for the link and the praise.
Not letting this site go the way of the Johnson Family and the Webzine, even if it means having to write half the content myself (and fail the degree as a result) or spamming Rizla into submission for more reviews. Like my old mum used to say, if at first you don't succeed, use emotional blackmail on the fuckers.
E. Randy Dupre's brain told him to write this at 14:02
Thursday, November 27, 2003
Thursday, November 27, 2003
I probably shouldn't be doing this, 'cause you know what it's like when something sneaks out instead of being revealed to everybody at the same time, but I like you because you come over here to read this shit. You might as well get something in return. Plus, it's kind of out already - Flux seems to have tripped over it, as has this guy (who I don't know, but - apart from providing an extraordinarily useful music resource - gets extra points for slagging the very idea of an NME cool list).
So, if you go here, you'll be able to have a look at what a few Barbelith people (Flowers, Rizla, Not Me Again, myself), have been working on for the last month. There's not much there and the layout and design are still up in the air, but it's something, and it's something that's progressing at a steady rate. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep it hush for now, though - I'd like to get a bit more content in there before its existence is announced to a wider audience.
On which subject, any and all written contributions are not only welcomed with open arms, but actively requested. If you want to make your opinion known on a film, novel, album, gig, blah, then *please* email me and I'll get you joined up and ready to post.
Don't ever say I'm not good to you.
E. Randy Dupre's brain told him to write this at 18:00
Saturday, November 22, 2003
Saturday, November 22, 2003
Right at this moment, I'm certain that The Only Ones' Another Girl, Another Planet (hey kids, guess which period Randy's been immersing himself in again over the last couple of days) is It, The One, The Best Song Ever Written. Every time I hear it I come to the same conclusion, so it must be true.
It's got the perfect lead-in - a steam train getting closer and closer and closer and then WHOOOOMF, it turns into the one from the end of Back to the Future Part III, only it zips straight off the tracks and fucks off into space instead of just hovering there and looking a little bit silly. And that bit in the middle, the bit where you go "another girl, another planet, anothergirlanotherplanet WHOO WHOOOOO!" and the stupid guitar climbs higher and higher and gets faster and faster, like it's trying to cover the middle section of Daft Punk's equally ludicrous Aerodynamic. And then the bass goes all Dick Dale for two seconds.
It's perfect for shaking off the shit for three minutes, which is what all great music should do. It makes me jump all the way down the stairs just so that I can run back up them and do it again. Its special sprinkling of magic powder hasn't worn off since I first heard it. It *will* be played at my funeral, when my corpse is stuffed into a circus cannon and fired into a brick wall.
E. Randy Dupre's brain told him to write this at 01:39
One day we'll get broadband in this village. Then my blog'll piss on all of yours.
Honest.
E. Randy Dupre's brain told him to write this at 00:54
I will now state the bleeding obvious instead of writing a proper blog entry.
Wire's Chairs Missing is one of the greatest albums of all time. It also contains some of the greatest individual songs of all time. Just as Elastica were for their shameless Three Girl Rhumba steal, The Beta Band should have been sued for basing the entirety of their second album around Used To.
That is all.
E. Randy Dupre's brain told him to write this at 00:45
Sunday, November 16, 2003
Sunday, November 16, 2003
Johnny Suede finally went and finished off a complete piece of work, and very good it is too. Go here to read it, then go here to tell him how impressed you are.
The stuff about lethargy and being unable to focus on work is not only bang on, but worryingly similar to the current situation Chez Dupre. I *will* make a start on this project... after I've seen if there's anything worth watching on telly right now.
E. Randy Dupre's brain told him to write this at 16:16
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
Now it's all cleaned up properly, there's a pretty huge scar appearing. Thankfully, it's on part of my head where there's still hair.
As promised:
Council estate freakshow!
Quickly, Igor! Fetch fresh parts!
E. Randy Dupre's brain told him to write this at 21:12
Sunday, November 09, 2003
Sunday, November 09, 2003
Halloween party last night. Spent ages getting prepared - three of us in a group as Dr Frankenstein, the monster and Igor. Taxi to party. Joke conversation: "Jesus, imagine if one of us had an accident tonight and ended up having to go to casualty dressed like this."
You know what's coming next.
Midnight. After taking the piss out of our monster (long-time Barbelurker Fra Dolcino) and his famous lack of co-ordination, I collide head-first into a brick wall, slide all the way down it and spark out, my poor, battle-weary skull bouncing off the patio slabs. Ambulance arrives. I get to A&E dressed in a lab coat covered in Ribena and tomato ketchup stains, face mask, bottle-bottom glasses and latex gloves. My stethoscope and bloody saw are, thankfully, not present. The monster waits for me in reception, greened-up and wearing a stained brown suit, three sizes too small.
My head feels like my brain wants out.
Pre-collision photos soon!
E. Randy Dupre's brain told him to write this at 11:22
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Losing the fight against mediocrity for the last few years. Fire a volley |
