The MOG Music Network has once again invited us to review albums, despite offending every person on earth during our last run.

In the comeback webisode of Home Taping, we “review” the solo albums of Julian Casablancas and Ian Brown who — as one or two of you might know — made their names as the charasmatic lead singers of their resepective super groups, The Strokes and The Stone Roses.

Who will win the battle of the band leaders? Who gives a shit? The tension is unbearable!

MOG reaction here.

Transcript

For those of you who find our Irish brogue too seductive, poetic and beautiful to be understandable, we have provided a transcript below. It will also help the MOG legal department prepare for the inevitable slander trial to follow. (Sorry, Rihannna.)

Title Card - Home Taping with Jill & Colin
FX: Jill and Colin arguing off screen.
C: Are you working with me, or what?
J: Yeah, sorry, I am.
C: I’m gonna start one more time.
J: Fuck’s sake.

Colin is decked out from head to toe in Adidas clothing, a la Ian Brown. Jill wears a Star Wars T-shirt
C: Where’s your Adidas gear?
J: I don’t have any.
C pulls face.
Title Card: Ian Brown - My Way
FX: Own Brain.
J & C dance energetically in their seats.
J: Oh, I love this bit!

Title Card: Own Brain
J & C chatting
C: Ian has come back with an absolutely amazing album, hasn’t he?
J (whistles): Amazing!
Dissolve to C in mid anecdote…
C: His daughter was playing Rihannna in the house and he rightly came up to the room and said, ‘Could you please turn that off, it’s rubbish.’
J: I don’t like her voice.
C: Yeah, that’s what he said… And she said, ‘If you’re so good, Ian — or, Daddy — why don’t you make a song for her that you think would be better.’ So he did, he wrote song which he thought would be better for her, sent it off to the record company… and it was rejected.

Title Card: Stellify.
J sings along in the voice of Rihanna.
J: I’ll Stellify-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!
They laugh.
C: OK, that’s how it would have worked. Surprisingly, she turned that down… the opportunity to sing an Ian Brown song.
J: Yeah.
C: Which John Squire has turned down as well, for the last twenty years.
J snorts into her drink.

Title Card: So High
C: Apparently John wants to get back and to a Roses reunion tour. And Ian has strongly told him…to fuck off.
J: He doesn’t need him.
C: He doesn’t want to do it. NO. So he’s written a couple of songs having a go at John on this album.
J: Which ones are they?
C: ‘John, You Bastard.’ Number 8. And ‘Up Yours, John.’
J (laughs): Which is number 5.

Title Card: Marathon Man
FX: Marathon Man
J & C shuffle in their seats to the beat.
J: Is Ian from Manchester or is he from Liverpool?
C: Is Ian from Manchester or is he from Liverpool? (C drops head in exasperation.)
J: And what is the different in the accents—
C: There’s a million Stone Roses fans, crying into their fucking Adidas—
J: I know there’s a difference in the accent. Do it!
C (in thick Manc accent): Manchester!
J: And what’s Liverpool?
C (sings in thick Scouse accent): ‘Ferry, across the Mersey!’
J laughs.
C: Both idiotic. But different.

Title Card: Just Like You
C: This is a man who was sent to prison for an awful, awful crime… He got pissed up on a plane.
J: What did he do?
C: What did he do? He wrote four albums about it. Now, he’s coming out of that period, right? And he’s making happy songs.
J: Is it ‘cause he has kids?
C: Kids would depress you. No, he’s looked past that. He’s said, ‘I’ve got kids, I’ll forget about that, and I’ll make some happy music.’
FX: Just Like You.
J dances in her seat.
J: I could put me jazz shoes on!

Scrolling Block: So…What does Jill’s daughter think?
J: Her and her mates think it is electric.
C: A bunch of fifteen year olds like it?
J: She said to me, “I thought a granddad like that wouldn’t be able to come back
with a great album.”
C: Now that this crowd, a bunch of emos, like it, I’m a bit worried.
J: She’s not an emo, she’s a ‘scene’ head.
C: A scene head? What’s the difference?
J: They like Paramore and they like…
(long pause) Paramore.
They laugh.

Scrolling Block: So… what does the future hold for Ian Brown?
C: Ian’s got this persona on all his records where he’s like a preacher, preaching to people… preaching to the fucking converted, ‘cause it’s only Roses [fans] buying the albums. But maybe he’ll get a new audience with this—
J: Do you think that’s what he might go into eventually?
C: What?
J: Like, the priesthood?
C: The priesthood?
J: Yeah, ‘cause over in England, you can be married and have children. The only thing about it is I don’t think their mass’s have— Oh, they do— My nanny was a Protestant.
C: Oh, I didn’t know that. Seeya now.
C gets up and exits. J laughs.

Title Card: Julian Casablancas - Phrazes For The Young
FX: 11th Dimension
J dances energically in her seat. C just stares.
J: It’s kind of, like, from the era of Fame. Only better.
C: That wouldn’t be difficult though, would it?
J: When I got out of the car, I had it on, and I wanted to just jump with leg warmers.
C: I didn’t have a single thought to do with leg warmers.
J: That’s the difference between me and you. (Indicates her clothes) Fashionista. (Indicates C’s clothes) ‘Excuse yourself’.
C (laughs): And ‘excuse yourself’.

Title Card: Out of the Blue.
Fx: Out of the Blue
C rubs his face, J smiles happily.
J: [There was] another song, which I can’t remember, which was kind of slow, and I went, ‘Hmmm, that would grow on me’, but—
C: It wouldn’t grow on you enough to actually remember the name of it?
(J laughs)
C: You’re getting ahead of yourself now.
J: Am I?
C: Let’s do one song at a time.
J: I thought we were only going to do two, because there was only one song on the album that was actually good.
C laughs.

Scrolling Block: So… who wants to hear a longwinded Casablancas anecdote?
C: Me and Richard hid in the toilets, right? So we could get to see the electro band afterwards, who we liked. OK?
J: For free?
C: For free. But Casablancas came out of the dressing room—
J: Into the toilets?
C: No, not into the toilets, it’s not one of those stories, OK? He came out of he dressing room into the crowd, just to walk around, look out the window…
J: And did anybody know him?
C: …In other words, to be noticed. Nobody recognized him because they were the electro crowd.
J: Aaaah.
C: So, he’s walking around from window to window, looking out windows… and there’s only alleys…
J: I wasn’t there.
C: You weren’t there. Thank God… So, me and Richard were there and we said, will we actually tell him, will we tip him off? And we said, No, we won’t.

Title Card: The Verdict
J: I like him, I catually really fancy him, I think he’s amazing looking, but I was a bit disappointed.
C: Amazing looking doesn’t sell albums. Or does it?
J: Yeah, it does.
C: True.
J: In a magazine they said it was CD of the week! Were they giving it away for free?!
They both laugh.
Title Card: (c) Crooked Tooth Productions 2009
The pair talk off screen.
C: I thought you were gonna like the album.
J: So did I.
C: So did Julian.

Yours truly enjoying an early morning tipple or two at the car park rave in Electric Picnic.

(Big thumbs up to Hal. I’m framing this and putting it on the mantelpiece.)

An office relationship hits the rocks, thanks to the world’s most popular grapevine.

NATASHA pushed away from her desk like a speed boat from a jetty, turned on her heels and stormed across the Claims and Loss Control floor.

Her walk was so confident, so commanding, that co-workers of both sexes lifted heads from screens to admire it.

Graham was one of them. He had a rapport with Natasha, a platonic friendship built on a shared sense of humour. Secretly he adored her, wished their relationship was much more, but for now he was confined to playing Ant to her Dec.

Natasha came to a halt at his desk. Graham was delighted. So much so that he immediately launched into a bit of comedy business: that of pretending to be annoyed at the interruption.

“What now?”

He held a straight face for a few seconds, before breaking out in a big smile. He couldn’t stay mad at Natasha, not even in jest.

She shot him a withering look.

“Why did you write that about me on Facebook?”

Graham’s jaw dropped.

“What, today?” he dithered.

“Yeah, today. The quiz where you had to describe me in two words. You said, “Pocket Rocket”?” She wrinkled her nose like he was stale milk.

He looked at her blankly. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Too right, there is,” she said. “How would you like to be described as some kind of cock tease?”

The woman at the next desk, Trish Nolan, snorted out a huge horse laugh. One or two others nearby joined in.

Graham was absolutely horrified.

“No, no, that’s not what pocket rocket means. It means, you know, petite but with a big personality.”

Natasha digested this morsel for a millisecond.

“So, basically, what you’re saying is that I’m short and loud?”

“No, I’m not saying that—”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying— I don’t know what I’m saying— but I’m not saying either of the things you think I’m saying—”

She threw her eyes to heaven, pivoted on those heels and headed back to her desk.

“I’m going to do that fecking quiz now,” she called over her shoulder, loud enough for the whole floor to hear. “I’m going to describe YOU in two words.” The floor duly crackled with laughter.

Graham tried to feign nonchalance. He shrugged in a ‘what can you do’ way.

In reality he wanted to vomit. He pretended to work for a few minutes, and then made a swift exit to the men’s room.

He splashed water on his face and tried to make sense of what had just occurred. He had travelled from platonic friend-with-hopes-of-somet

A scene from the movie Cocoon, Killiney, yesterday morning.

On arrival at the Octoberfest on Fri at 3pm, I asked the barkeep for my usual small sherry, but to my horror was served with a half litre of beer instead. Fast forward to 12 hours later, I’m taxiing around Dublin city centre, revisiting every single bar, restaurant and piss lane I’d been in that night, looking for my beloved man bag. Which I hadn’t even brought out with me. I thang yew.

We’re having our Christmas party in Club Oiche in Bray. Really looking forward to it.

Kramer: So I’m fighting him off with one hand and I kept driving the bus with the other, ya know. Then I managed to open up the door and I kicked him out the door…
Jerry: You kept making all the stops?!
Kramer: Well, people kept ringing the bell!

Kramer’s hair is not as wild as it once was, but I’m hoping his antics will be. The Seinfeld team are back. Co-creator Larry David has gathered the cast for the latest episode of his current sitcom Curb Your Enthusiasm. “The Hot Towel” kicks off a series of shows that will lead to a fictional Seinfeld reunion. Can’t wait to see it? Here’s a 21 minute trailer:

One more Seinfeld quote? Oh, go on, then:

George: When do you start to worry about ear hair?
Jerry: When you hear a soft rustling.

Midnight, last night, Rathborne.

While stumbling through town the other night, Richie and myself got a glimpse of the “mad looking” result of a flash animation competition in conjunction with the Theatre festival. We were a  half mile away on the Ha’Penny Bridge. Richie and Kanye take up the story…

Linda sat hunched over her breakfast in the staff canteen. Alone, thank Christ. Normally she’d be surrounded by co-workers yapping on about their husbands or kids. She pitied them, she really did.

She checked her watch, more out of habit than necessity. She knew in her bones it was five a.m. on the dot. A while yet before anybody else arrived. A good while, she chuckled, seeing as it was Saturday morning.

Linda slurped down the last drop out of coffee from her Styrofoam cup. Breakfast over, time to move. Outside the ground floor lifts hung a framed poster of employee of the month, Paula Fecking Dempsey. The Dempsey wan won’t know what hit her come Monday morning. Linda’s invoice tray would be empty, Dempsey’s full. See how she liked it.

A Pakistani security guard was at the reception desk down the hall from the lifts. He stared at the CCTV monitors. Suddenly he looked up, directly at Linda.

She turned away, pretending not to see him. If he thought Linda was clearing away that coffee cup, he’d have another thing coming. Linda was already doing the work of six or seven people, and didn’t plan to do the cleaning lady’s job, too.

The security guard left his desk and strode towards her.

Hurry up, hurry up, she silently implored the lift.

”Miss?” said the guard.

Come on, come on, Linda roared inside her head.

She saw the lift door ping open and charged in shoulder first. She stabbed the button for floor six and the doors slide shut in the guard’s face. He wouldn’t dare follow her, Linda thought. Those foreign fellas didn’t feel comfortable on the upper floors, among the real employees. The employees without whom the company would grind to a halt. Employees like Linda.

The lift headed for the eighth floor. The first thing Linda would do after firing up her computer is send an email to Mr. Lowry, cc-ing the entire administration floor. Letting everybody know that the accounts system was down, or something like that. The important thing was that Lowry saw the time and date of the email. After all, she wasn’t coming in at this hour for the good of her health.

The security guard, Rizwan, returned to the front office, picked up the telephone and rang his wife. “I saw the woman,” he said, matter of factly. “The one Ali saw.”

“The little curly-haired one?” said his wife.

“Yes,” said Rizwan. “She walked straight into the lift, without the doors even opening.”

“Are you OK?” she asked.

“Of course,” said Rizwan, defensively. “Dealing with these incidents is all part of the job.”

There was silence for a short moment. It was broken by Rizwan’s wife.

“Do you know how the woman died?”

“No. Ali asked around, but nobody in the building remembers her.”

“She must not have been a good worker,” his wife concluded.

Rizwan had no opinion on the matter. He bid his wife goodnight and went back to watching the security screens.

Flashfiction: Dead Busy [dft2] (c) CJ Scuffins 2009

A Shamrock Rovers fan gets carried away during The Hoops’ dramatic 1-0 win over arch rivals Bohemians in a sold out Tallaght Stadium on Friday night.

Photo by Fergus McNally. More deadly derby pix here.

Joined at this hip event were Beautiful Bride Liz and Jumpsuit Jill Sartini, both wearing original Jill Sartini (TM) creations. Camera shy: Ray and Richie.

Little Oscar during Uncle Ed’s set.

Liz starts as she means to go on: laughing at Dave.

The wedding car, as demonstrated by Dapper Dave.

Lady Gaga and Jill.

Richie The Ride, Jumpsuit Jill and Dapper Dave.

“Just one cornetto…”

Lake Como, Blessington.

Wedding party animals.

Bride gone wild.

You’ll win a football match! Dance with gay abandon! Be greeted by a statue at your B&B! See a stuffed sheep’s head with glasses! And, if you’re really lucky, get surprised by a cock or two!

Interested? Then read on…

I was in Sligo last weekend with a few mates to see Shamrock Rovers beat Sligo. With that result, we went top of the league for the first time since women got the vote. The hardcore fans celebrated in typical manly fashion, by doing the Hokey Cokey:

I hope to see 5,500 doing likewise in the Dublin Derby against the dreaded Bohs tonight. The winner will be odds on to win the league title…we must show no F.E.A.R.

On the topic of things religious, Sligo town was full of all manner of Catholic iconography, more so than any other place I’ve visited in Ireland. Our B&B had a sense of humour about it (we think):

Lots of stuffed animals, too.

There was also a big cock. Two, in fact:

So, come to Sligo! Home of Yeats, Queen Maeve, and a cock in a window!

…a.k.a. WTF?

My analysis? The green-eyed child represents Ireland. She’s bawling her jealous little eyes out at the thought of all the other backward countries getting a piece of the euro pie for themselves. If so, spot on, Libertas!

(Strand Road, Bray.)