A Concept Album, of sorts.

I've been threshing out the meaning of a "concept album" in my brainbox of late. One of my favorite albums, The Black Parade (quiet at the back, it's brilliant), is described by it's creators as a concept album. It would seem to be about someone dying of cancer, but then it throws a few complete curve-balls with songs like "Mama" (which is about going to war. And not a metaphorical war with cancer, either- a bombs and guns and soldiers war) and "Teenagers".
But then take Tonight, by Franz Ferdinand, which was described by lead singer Alex Kapranos as "a very loose concept album". How loose? So loose, say, that the only common factor throughout the album is the band?
But then you've got a Dream Theatre concept album which is so thunderously narrow and blatantly clear to anyone higher up the evolutionary scale than an erogenous zone as to leave the listener with not one ounce of equivocation as to the story of the album they have just listened to. Oh, wait a second.

A discussion at the BBFC, of sorts.

Fight Club is a brilliant movie. Ah, g on, it is- it's bitterly funny, Brad Pitt is astonishingly good and Edward Norton punches Jared Leto's face in. Top entertainment. I only watched it last week, though, because it is an eighteen. It is an eighteen not because of extreme vioence (apart from a few punches thrown and a bit of explosions here and there) but because it features three frames of a erect penis.
Now, Cabin in the Woods- a fantastic film, by the way- that's violence. From redneck zombies eviscerating hapless teens, to a merman feasting on the face of a lead character while shooting blood out of it's blowhole like a particularly questionable Redtube video, to agiant  scorpion fully furnished with buzzsaws, it has literally every kind of violence you could imagine implied or actually shown. It also has a positive depiction of drugs, tits, and someone really going at it with a stuffed wolf. And it's a fifteen.
Is it perhaps the tone of the violence? Because Fight Club is pretty serious. Meat Loaf with tits, for the love of God, dead. Not an ounce of fatuosity (?) about it. But then, amongst all the obvious Cenobite homages and killer ballerinas, Cabin in the Woods someone kills themselves on camera- puts a gun to their head and commits suicide, right there. A few moments later, a brief shot showed a group of people tied up, gagged, and being doused in petrol by a sinister bunch of masked psycopaths. That is, to say the least, a little disturbing. So the tone obviously isn't the issue.
I tell you what I think it is- it's the director. Consider the scene at the BBFC: "Right, chaps, we've got this film, right, and Josh Whedon was involved, right? It's a pretty violent, and I was thinki-"
"Him who did Buffy? Ah, put it through as a fifteen. I love that show".
"Right, chaps, we've got this film, right, and it was directed by David Fincher, right? It's not too bad, except for this bit with a co-"
"Hang on. Him who did Se7en?"
"Aye."
*amidst an ocean of screams and repressed memories* "I don't care if he's directed the fucking Muppet movie. No man who did that scene with that....*gestures to crotch with hand held out to resemble a blade*...will ever make a film that is less than an abomination. The creepy bastard. How did we let that one slide? I wish I could love again."
Because I've run out of steam, I'll leave you with this- the new Muppet Movie, directed by David Fincher, starring Morgan Freeman voicing Fozzie Bear and Brad Pitt as Kermit, full songs, show tunes, dancing puppets, and Paltrow's decapitated head. It'll happen.

A Cannibal Walrus, of sorts.

Viral videos, eh? Don't you just love 'em? Like a sugar-fuelled child at a Christmas party, they keep running up to you, tugging on your trousers, then throwing up down your leg, while everyone looks over and coos at them because LOOK, IT'S A PANDA SNEEZING! LOOK AT IT SNEEZE! IT THINKS IT'S PEOPLE!
I only mention it because today, over a civilised dinner of daupinoise potatoes and apple sausages, my dad made an oblique reference to a cannibal walrus.  I looked at him, puzzled, until he produced the video of a cartoon walrus singing a song about being happy, until it was informed it was a cannibal and would rot in walrus hell. How awful. How disturbing. How catchy a tune. And so on.
It's now impossible to even make reference to any kind of large amphibious mammal without setting him off into a giggling fit.
I'm one of those annoying people who doesn't pick up on viral videos till six months later. I'm that Facebook friend who is still posting about "taking the hobbits to Isengard" weeks after everyone put it on their Ipods then forgot it existed. That's why, even though I think it's a bit annoying, juvenile and "QUUUUUIIIIIIIRRRRKKKKYYYY", I am going to officially, right here, on my second blog post, jump on the cannibal walrus bandwagon. I will not be left behind again; I'm going to buy the t-shirts and wear them in an ironically self-aware fashion in Costa; I'm going to put it on my ipod and listen to it fourteen times a day; I'm going to have it as my ringtone. I AM the bandwagon. I AM the cannibal walrus. And I AM signing off now.

A beginning, of sorts.

Teen. Amateur. Caucasian. Tit shots. Now I've finished quadrupling my readership with a list of categories off Redtube that also happen to apply to me, I'd like to say welcome. I several doubt anyone will be reading this save for the hapless employers who foolishly allowed me to apply for a job, but if you are: greetings, and good luck. I hope you'll enjoy the rollercoaster ride of excessive pornography, extremely violent horror films,  and a vintage MX-5 called "The Smurfmobile". I'm afraid I must say farewell for now, as I fear that resounding crash and the excessive cursing that followed it was my father demolishing some moderatley important part of the house. Take care, and I hope to see you again.