The Leeds Debacle

Despite, or perhaps because of previous experience, I am drinking lager in the morning. Don't try this at home kids, it is not to be condoned and will almost definitely lead face-first towards embarrassment, amnesia & never-agains. But, if your home town will insist on hosting all-day music festivals on sunny bank-holidays, it would be rude not to.

Saturday begins for many with hangover already in full flow, Live at Leeds having opened the night before with The Unconference and a trio of gigs, from local garage-gothers Black Moth at The Wardrobe, homegrown good-timers Hope & Social at The Brudenell, and teenage 60s impersonators The Strypes at The Cockpit.

So, as afternoon strikes, Milo is supposed to ease us in gently with two fine Leeds troubadours, Lone Wolf and Sam Barrett. Except the venue is immediately packed and the former's atmospherics are less a polite introduction and more a brooding and rousing wake-up call.

Continuing the theme is Harry George Johns at Holy Trinity. A man of many a kick-ass heavy band, Johns solo is infinitely quieter yet equally raw. His heartbreaking human tales are openly touching and made all the more cathartic in this ideal church setting.

Quite the opposite approach at an overcrowded Academy, The Pigeon Detectives are shallow, unoriginal, easy to criticise and bloody enjoyable. Typically leaping and kicking, their infectious energy rouses the rabble and more than a few cool kids accidentally catch themselves joining in with the terrace singalongs.

Next, Post War Glamour Girls prove why they have a strong Stylus home crowd behind them with a set wound tight by creepy-catchy tunes and menacing eruptions in a half-hour that blasts by.

At the Met, newly-hyped London Grammar are an icy presence that wrap an anticipating audience in the warmth of their slowly-building songs. Impressive vocals keep their dangerously sparse approach enchanting and appreciated.

The buzz only increases at The Cockpit where The 1975 draw an astonishingly huge crowd that surprises even themselves. Those that get past the queues become a sweating surging mass treated to a passionate pop performance I cannot see.

A more predictable rush back to Stylus to see the next big thing, or the last big thing, punk-grrls Savages. The edgy atmosphere intensifies when the sound repeatedly buggers up. Fortunately, this makes an angry band angrier and potential disaster becomes a unified rock'n'roll riot.

I miss current big things AlunaGeorge and Rudimental at The Academy because hours of lager & loudness in darkness & daytime make a head woozy and a curry necessary. Apologies to all offended by my subsequent stench, although the day's various dubious odours by now overwhelmed everywhere.

In an array of excellent headliners, I catch the start of The Walkmen's wonderful garage sermons then join the Refectory throng for Everything Everything's jittery rhythms, complex structures and sugar-rush harmonies. The day ends suitably dancing badly and grinning moronically.

There were complaints of queues and clashes but these are inevitable at such an event and, it could be argued, add to its vitality. With surprise shows at shops and cinemas, Sunday's Millennium Square concert, Monday's football tournament and Saturday's showcase, Live at Leeds has once again proved itself to be an inventive, eclectic, organised and essential success. Well worth drinking lager in the morning for.

Tuesday, 30 April 2013

FESTIVALS

It's festival season again folks! Here's our pick of the many music happenings close to home...

LIVE AT LEEDS
150 acts on 15 stages across the city make L@L the year's best pub crawl. We recommend this year's cool crowds stumble upon alunageorge, Everything Everything, Savages, The Walkmen, Still Corners, Hawk Eyes.....

SHEPLEY SPRING
Folk festival in Kirklees village this year impresses with genre legends Martin Simpson & Nic Jones.

HEBDEN BRIDGE BLUES FESTIVAL
Award-winning roots sets the right atmosphere in a splendid location headlined by Ron Sayer Jr, Jo Harman & Paddy Milner.

CROOKED WAYS
Second year of Pontefract sun sees lads, legends & locals unite for The Enemy, Grandmaster Flash & handmadehands.

LONG DIVISION
Independent Wakefield trawl put on by local zine Rhubarb Bomb ups the ante terrifically by adding The Fall to an already enjoyable list including Ghostpoet, Let's Wrestle & Post War Glamour Girls.

WILLOWMAN
Camp in beautiful North Yorkshire hills for a retro line-up of fitting festival acts New Model Army, The Orb & The Wonder Stuff.

BEVERLEY FOLK FESTIVAL
Long-time traditional gathering presenting big folk players The Proclaimers & Show of Hands amongst family-friendly fun.

COCOON IN THE PARK
Techno intensities at Temple Newsam where Sven Vath & Richie Hawtin keep crowds high.

DEER SHED
By families, for families, this is a recent success which this year welcomes Gaz Coombes, Willy Mason & Edwyn Collins to the Thirsk park.

TRAMLINES
Sheffield festival attracts large turn-outs to see Lianne La Havas headline after Lanterns On The Lake, Veronica Falls & Jim Jones Revue. All for FREE!

FELL FOOT SOUND
Lovely Lake District surroundings for intimate festival featuring the best local discoveries Sky Larkin, Witch Hunt & Sam Airey.

BEACONS
Hipsters in glorious rolling Skipton moors can this year relax to Julia Holter, riot to Fucked Up, rave to Bonobo and rejoice to Local Natives.

LEEDS FESTIVAL
The huge one offers Eminem & Green Day, Phoenix & Foals, Tame Impala & alt.J, and a whole lot more of the usual shenanigans.

BINGLEY MUSIC LIVE
Growing success keeps the Madchester-friendly line-ups flowing enjoyably, this year happily tempting Primal Scream & The Cribs.

SCARBOROUGH JAZZ FESTIVAL
The beachfront Spa continues their annual weekend of jazz for a final summer holiday, headlined this year by the masterful Courtney Pine.

Friday, 12 April 2013

LOCAL MUSIC REVIEWED!

INVISIBLE HANDS https://soundcloud.com/invisiblehandshome

The five Invisible Hands have honed an accomplished sound to stride confidently into the Leeds scene. Swirling keyboards, searching lyrics and psyching soirees are beefed up by big choruses equally likely to get hands rising and heads thinking.

CATTLE http://cattle.bandcamp.com/

Drum & bass for the noise-rocker, Cattle’s rhythm section chug intriguingly before vocals explode dementedly. A sludgy mess of hallucinatory horror, which we mean only as a compliment.

MARK WYNN http://markwynn.bandcamp.com/

Impressively prolific Mark Wynn has quickly released three albums of offbeat oddball commentaries on social awkwardness. Short ragged songs of literate wit over catchy acoustics are monotonous, mundane and exquisitely charming.

HUMANS AS ORNAMENTS http://humansasornaments.co.uk/

Riff and roll newcomers Humans As Ornaments kick up an infectious racket. Blasting off with a fuzzy fury that keeps the pace through pleasing choruses and wordy verses, these chaps are a welcome addition to Leeds rock.

RUPERT STROUD http://www.rupertstroudmusic.com/

After admirably raising money and awareness for Alzheimer’s Research UK, local singer-songwriter Rupert Stroud continues his consistent output of bulked-out-folk and indie singalongs of satisfying sincerity.

THE PIGSKIN GODHEAD https://soundcloud.com/ballooning-brain-records/the-constant-the-pigskin

Meandering from Humberside is a mesmerising trip when taken through the warped weirdness of The Pigskin Godhead. Broken psych intersperses with jangly jaunts that invite us in to experience their drugged dreams

THE MOTHER ONION http://soundcloud.com/mother-onion/

There appears to be something in the Yorkshire water. More spaced-out stories, this time from Halifax's Mother Onion. English eccentricities float to other worlds on a ride through fairgrounds, fairytales, foreboding and fun.

Saturday, 30 March 2013

NEW ISSUE OF THE LEEDS DEBACLE OUT NOW! Read it here:
http://issuu.com/thedebacle/docs/debacle11

Thursday, 21 February 2013

Leeds Arena

by John-Paul Craven

2013 will finally see the opening of The Leeds Arena. The building of the arena had been on and off more times than I care to remember. I did think it was going to be yet another mythical Leeds entity, like the Leeds Supertram or even the Blue Lady at Temple Newsam, but here were are, it’s here and it’s here to stay. It looks quite impressive as you drive past, and I can’t say I miss the Brunswick Building it replaced either.
The Merrion Centre nearby has undergone a lot of redevelopment in the last couple of years with the Arena in mind, after many years of neglect. The Merrion Centre Supermarket there is no more, currently being ripped out and developed, presumably into faceless identikit fast food units serving tasteless identikit foodstuffs to gig goers. This makes me sad in a way, as it was a bit of Leeds that was untouched and was how I remembered it from being a child in the 1980s.
The arena’s effect on the nearby transport infrastructure will no doubt be keeping the letters page of the Yorkshire Evening Post busy from the off. The times I have been to Sheffield Arena, which relatively speaking is located out of the city centre, it has been nothing short of a total nightmare to get to/from if you go by car. Now our Arena is located near one of the busiest areas for commuters in normal rush hour traffic, so heaven knows what it’s going to be like in the lead up to an event. Total Chaos it’s fair to say. I can’t see that the nearby car parks will be able to cope.
One of the main criticisms of arenas is the soulless atmosphere they create, in part due to the way the seats are set out, meaning that not everybody can see clearly. We are told that Leeds Arena’s seats have been constructed in a ‘super theatre fan shaped format’, so everyone should be able to see perfectly. Another common arena gripe is having to pay £4.20 for a pint of watered down Tuborg. It would be nice if some of Leeds’ independent food/drink providers were involved in what is sold inside the arena. As well as this, I hope that long-standing servants of musical excellence to the people of Leeds, Crash and Jumbo Records, are given decent ticket allocations for events and not just a token amount or for gigs that aren’t selling well. These shops are fundamental in stocking releases by artists early on, some of which will end up playing the arena.
But it’s the programming of the venue that will attract the most interest. The first act to be announced, JLS, saw a collective gasp of outrage all over the city. In fact, the day it was, my Facebook news feed lit up with statuses of outright contempt and ‘how dare they’ statuses, but what do you really expect? Who did you think they were going to book, Whitehouse or Throbbing Gristle?
A far more popular choice has been that of local lads done good Kaiser Chiefs, and I’m sure as time goes on the odd decent show will appear in between ‘Cbeebies characters in oversized costumes-on ice’ and Olly Murs. Elton John as the opening act was also better received, although I wish it was him appearing via time travel from 1973 after seeing his recent appearance at the Queen’s Jubilee Concert.
Anyway, surely the whole point of “The Leeds Arena” is for it to put things on to appeal to different kinds of people. (Well, I’m sure the main reason is for
SEG/event promoters to make money but you get my drift.) Different strokes for different folks as Sly & The Family Stone once sung. A glance over your Facebook/Twitter feed on a weekend when X-Factor is on will let you know that a hell of a lot of people you know like to be entertained by rubbish entertainment. Thus they probably would pay money go see such rubbish entertainment in a large venue. This isn’t a surprise to me, nor should it be to you really.
Lets face it; there aren’t many credible acts that will be able to fill a venue that size. But for the ones that can, a lot of the decent bars up there will do very handsomely out of it. I’d say an act like The Black Keys playing the arena would be the equivalent of the Mad Friday before Christmas trade-wise for bars in Leeds’ Northern Quarter such as Mojo, Sandinista and Wax. Plus with some of these shows happening during the week, a lot of those bars will get a much needed midweek boost, with the way things are at the moment it could be just the shot in the arm the independent bar scene needs. Even the nearby Hobby Horse pub might do well, if it’s still open that is.
But finally, let’s just hope they find a decent sponsor to name it. The Mike’s Carpets Arena anyone?

Monday, 11 February 2013

Valentine's Day

by Kyle James-Patrick

As I approached the worn counter and asked for two tickets, the old Korean man, sat on a seat made of non-descript packing boxes, slowly lifted his head, revealing his weathered face and salted eyes, he stared me up and down before, in an explosion of gradients, laughed in my face.

"Don't talk to strangers" does not apply in the virtual world. While approaching someone in a public space to offer conversation is frowned upon, it is quite acceptable to stalk their digital profiles and personal information like some kind of cold war commie-hating Carter-enthusiast; frothing at the mouth trying to find evidence of loose morals or at least an inclining towards 'rope games'. I was told that this behaviour is “what everyone does" so I donned my Columbo coat and started my own personal search for my next ex-girlfriend.

Quickly I found this process of displaying all that you are interested in and wrapping it in a photo vetoed by your own insecurities to be completely absurd. Where an honest idea was birthed, it soon grew up to being a lying little shit who convinced a load of heavy set women to "shoot from above" to hide the most obvious feature of their physical form; plump is only beautiful when it isn't a surprise. My tales of internet dating would take up this entire journal so place trust in me, dear reader, that I have experienced all the shocks the social network can launch at me.

Now when meeting someone from a digital representation the first thing you will note is their flaws. This isn't because I am a monger of self righteousness or a shining example of the what man can be if he tries; trust me, I am so flawed that it's an illusion of colour and distracted gags - the 3D magic eye personality that won't stop moving and allow you to see what's in the picture - it's not a sail boat. Online everyone has the opportunity to display their plus points, the editorial cuts out anything that would turn a person off. When you meet the person you will notice immediate physical attributes like height, teeth, voice tone and mannerisms like a lack eye contact when speaking, which will feel like meeting rejected pets at a rescue centre.

After some oddball text messaging with my next venture we decided to meet on the day of all days for dating. From a brief awkwardness in the station we moved to a bar that offered a choice of olives and fine ales, draped in solace and atmosphere. We expanded our internet bios and drank until we could make fun of ourselves. Due to the nature of the evening, everywhere that was popular was packed with couples and couple potential, a giant speed-dating event set over 24 hours where condom machines would rejoice.

Our options were limited so I suggested an art-house theatre in a notorious part of town. As we approached the area I pointed up to a triple X sign that was glowing in the rain. She laughed and suggested it would be funny if we went here instead. I had a bottle of Argentinian Melbec in my bag and a couple of pure Americana red cups I have become obsessed with. The venue had a sign outside that proclaimed "4 movies for 1 ticket". We stepped through the double doors and understood exactly what the man at the counter was laughing about; two mid twenties kids on a date in a porn theatre designed by the mind of Hunter S. Thompson.

There were approximately 40 rows of seats, with 12 seats either side and a large walkway in the middle. There were around a dozen patrons already in the room, all men, all over 40, and seated at least three rows and ten clear seats away from each other - now most people complain at how awkward it is picking a theatre seat when you walk in late, well try it in a porn theatre. We sniggered as we picked our seats, the alcohol adding to the self-awareness, the sound system is not quite loud enough to drown out any comments. When I cracked the wine open the pouring sounded like a pregnant woman’s water breaking across the grime-ridden floor.

The screen was displaying some kind of early 2000's adult film - pre gonzo - which translates into porn with dissolve cuts and tracking shots. The participants in the film were a near jaundice yellow and a flashing message in the corner indicated the source; "Please Replace Bulb" rhythmically reminded the audience that a colour was missing from the feature. Not that it disturbed the narrative.

Enjoying a wine whilst trying not to think about the cleanliness of your seat as a phallus does what nature intended thirty feet high in a dark room is an experience I recommend to all wine critics. If the sound of old men jerking off wasn't enough to disturb your senses, at the front of the theatre a woman of questionable gender danced awkwardly to the soundtrack, facing forward trying to catch the eye of the patrons. We soon realised that this was a prostitute who found a niche market to exploit: Interactive Adult Entertainment Experience. Shame that she had an appearance that looked like a failed attempt to clone Mickey Rourke.

As we laughed about the floor show a somewhat younger man had entered the theatre and had sat down in the row in front of us, a couple of seats over. This invasion of space was unnerving, especially when I looked around and noticed that all the men in the theatre had shifted positions and were sitting in the vicinity of me and my date. There are not many moments in my life where my mind has asked "are we going to be gang raped?" and I’ve been to Thailand. We decided that it would be a good idea to finish the wine and haul ourselves out of the theatre. The film had changed to something even more 90s as a young Jenna Jameson was polishing a pole that was never going to sparkle, despite her keenness.

As we stood up the full extent of the scenario was unveiled to me; we were surrounded by men who were all furiously, unashamedly, masturbating in the glow of the screen. To make this more of a scar on my conscious, one of the men noticed my shocked expression and smiled at me, to what aim I don't know - was he pleased with himself? Did he want me to feel at ease? Was he just being courteous? I did not stick around to find the results and we burst out of the back doors, instantly looking at each other with one of the loudest laughs we could muster. They say people laugh in horror movies because they are nervous and vulnerable, try being surrounded by the fap sounds of strangers.

I ended up dating this girl for a few months until she fantastically broke up with me via facebook because she discovered I still had my online dating profile and assumed I was cheating on her. I wasn't, I simply didn't think to delete it. I could have protested it and put the relationship back together, but that was a warning shot from the battleship of fully mental female that I could not ignore. What I did learn is that creating a memorable experience can do a lot more for a relationship than sitting in a bar waiting for one to ask the other back to their place. When Valentines Day rolls around, do something different. Go to a porn theatre. Bring wet wipes.

Saturday, 26 January 2013

Sun Over South Leeds

When the sun shines down over Beeston
you'd mistake it for being a nice place
All the tramps on the bench have a less foisty stench
and the gangs have a smile on their face

And when the sun reflects off the whorehouse
and over the woods beyond
You can stroll up the path where used needles are stashed
right up to Middleton pond

And the pavements all glitter with diamonds
or so it seems when it's bright and it's quiet
Though on closer inspection it's just the reflection
of glass from the previous night's riot

And the muggers all bask in the sunlight
as it streams through the trees in the park
And they gather like vultures round burnt out car sculptures
til it's time to start work after dark

And there's plenty to see here in Beeston
we've got no castles or forts
But we've a house that was actually a terrorist bomb factory
and it was a tourist attraction of sorts

So when planning your next summer holiday
say no to Italy or France
Avoid all the sunspots follow the gunshots
give sunny Beeston a chance

by Dave Barlow

Thursday, 27 December 2012

ALBUMS OF THE YEAR*

We’ve gone and done one of those lists that should be avoided with added pretentious muso sentence.

1: Swans – The Seer

A 2 hour album with a 32 minute song and not a second is less than sublimely vital.

2: First Aid Kit – The Lion’s Roar

Innocently wise sisters’ gorgeous harmonies sing magical campfire melodies.

3: Actress – R.I.P.

Masterful and challenging dance music layered and enveloped in reflective brilliance.

4: Frank Ocean – channel ORANGE

Substantial intelligence and literate truth covered in an irresistible smooth R&B exterior.

5: Ty Segall Band – Slaughterhouse

Powerful, exciting and unrelenting garage rock that kicks melodic ass.

6: Bob Dylan – Tempest

Bob Dylan released an album in the year and so it was the best album of the year.

7: Tame Impala – Lonerism

Psychedelic sounds spiral into a modern pop classic.

8: Jens Lekman – I Know What Love Isn’t

Heart-wrenchingly honest break-up album emitting humour and hope.

9: The Cribs – In The Belly Of The Brazen Bull

Blasts of raw energy and chaotic choruses confirm why you always loved them.

10: Bill Fay – Life Is People

Slowly moving masterpiece about life, death, hope and regret crooned with accepted wisdom.

11: Liars – WIXIW

Off-kilter, nagging noise from dark souls creeps to inviting warm and tuneful depths.

12: Bat For Lashes – The Haunted Man

Dignified, exposing and beautifully realised collection of crafted songs.

13: Japandroids – Celebration Rock

Aptly named joyous riot of guitars, slogans and energy.

14: Scott Walker – Bish Bosch

Difficult, abstract, impenetrable, twisted, terrifying beauty.

15: Julia Holter – Ekstatis

Hypnotic dreams float organically into artfully pretty melodic bliss.

16: Converge – All We Love We Leave Behind

An aggressive pounding in thrilling complex time signatures.

17: Killer Mike – R.A.P. Music

Poetically aggressive, politically raw, cunningly produced old-skool rap.

18: Crystal Castles – (III)

Atmospheric foreboding electronica that sparkles and soothes.

19: Tall Ships – Everything Touching

Wonky electronic riffs and roaring organic choruses impress.

20: The Coup – Sorry To Bother You

Addictively infectious hip-hop party with engaging underlying messages.

*not made in Leeds

Friday, 21 December 2012

NEW ISSUE!!!

The Leeds Debacle issue 10 is online now. Please read it at the link below. We hope you enjoy!

http://issuu.com/thedebacle/docs/debacle10

Wednesday, 28 November 2012

Joseph's Well

Another institution disappearing to make the city a whole lot worse is The Well. The announcement that the building situated behind the LGI would no longer continue as a music venue was devastating, if not unexpected. Only last year, there was a petition to stop the premises being taken over by some monstrosity or another followed this year by a premature announcement that it had lost. Then, just when it seemed to have won…

Memories of The Well are many. From as far back as when it was Josephs and I am working out whether my 16 year old schoolmate on stage has a red-face because his bass-string has just broke, because it’s fecking hot in here, or because his mum’s dancing like a lunatic Bez next to the girl he’s trying to impress. Later and I am scoffing at a Kaiser Chief telling me that Parva have been dropped but how their change in direction is sure to take him from pulling my pint to Glastonbury. Then it is new years eve and I am in drunken delirium being hit in the head by a snowball thrown from the arm of the headliner. Next it is Live at Leeds and I can’t even get into the bar area let alone the stage because it’s too full of people watching my best mates band even though they’re not famous. Oh, and there’s been some damn good music too. The Kills, British Sea Power, Buck 65, Fucked Up, Gallows, Earth… to December when the doors must close with a suitably sweaty, emotional and rocking farewell.

Maybe The Well ultimately carved out too fine a niche for itself as an out-of-town down-to earth hardcore rock and metal.venue. The location was hardly remote but people can be lazy. The bands weren’t always obscure but people can be safe. The Well was always about the music; a huge support for a myriad of local bands stepping out into the world of rock’n’roll and a showcase for any number of superb cult acts unlikely to visit Leeds were it not for here. I, along with many others, grew up with The Well. On behalf of us all, we salute you.

Saturday, 24 November 2012

X Factor to English

Steff Higgins translates...

For years I’ve been perplexed by the fact that I seem to hear something completely different to the X Factor judges. No matter how often King Simon Cowell throws a strop and axes someone, replacing them with someone more attractive and less talented, I always seem to find myself open-mouthed at their reactions. Then I realised… It must be that there’s a secret X Factor language that they are taught vigorously before they’re allowed on our screens to judge the nation. It’s the only explanation (that doesn’t mean I have ridiculous taste in music)! So I went ahead and devised this phrase dictionary so that, on Saturday, you’ll know what they’re actually saying.

* “You’re the dark horse”
I didn’t really like to start with, but after seeing the reaction of the public, I’ve had a sudden change of heart (£££)

* “You’re the one to beat”
You’ve peaked too soon, you’ll probably get voted out around 3 or 4 weeks before the final and no-one will ever hear of you again, despite your voice actually being pretty good

* “You own the stage”
Don’t get too cocky

* “You haven’t got the best voice in the competition”
You sound awful, but my god are you attractive.

* “You’re a born entertainer”
You’re controversial and, without you, no-one would be talking about the show

* “You’re very likeable”
What’s your name again?

* “You look amazing up there tonight”
You usually look like dog shit, big well done to hair and makeup

* “You look like a pop star”
We’ll have to auto-tune you, and you could never sing live; but you look like we could make you do ANYTHING in a music video (Alexandra Burke)

* “I think you’re better than that performance”
I don’t like that song

* “That was a safe song choice”
Might as well've listened to the original

* “Yours was the performance of the night”
Yours, and everyone else I’ll say that to over the course of the night

* “You looked like you were having a really good time up there tonight”
At least someone was

* “What a great start to the show”
Let’s get this over with

* “What a great end to the show”
Can I go now?

Now I’ve cracked the code, you can watch with the confidence that you’re in the loop.

Enjoy!

THE DATING GAME

The cherry on the crapcake of TV programming has to be "Take Me Out" with the baldy bouncer from Phoenix Nights. This indication of how we have slipped as a society should not be ignored! First of all, there's Paddy himself, a man who would not be out of place, and indeed would be the coolest, funniest guy, in Oceana. Have you heard the shit this bloke comes out with? And to rapturous applause from the overweight, undereducated rabble of an audience. So, what's it about? Well, a particularly pathetic man descends down an oversized hamster tube into somewhere within the 8th circle of hell. Where has he come from? What's at the other end? Is the tube just sucking up twats from around the UK like some massive dickhead hoover? If only. How I would love the idea of moving the chute to the middle of the North Sea. I fear the reality of the situation is far more disturbing, they're actually putting themselves forward for this - oh, the humanity! He strides to the back of the studio (or dances) in either jeans and a shirt (George at Asda) or an ill-fitting suit (purchased for court appearances), turns round and strikes a pose. His job is to impress and then choose one of about 40 hags, all as charmless and desperate as the jabroni up for grabs. At this stage the females decide whether they would like to go on a date with him or opt out, Pad then asks a select few the reasons why they are interested or not. The answers require subtitles. I have no idea what they're plying these women with beforehand but judging by their answers it may have started life as floor cleaner. Perhaps one of the requirements for applicants is a full frontal lobotomy, ".....well 'e's a bit full of 'imself inni, I mean yer know...what's all this eh", she flails around showing off her bingo wings. The next is completely indecipherable, god knows where she's from but she sounds like a cup of hot water thrown into a deep fat fryer, cackling something about "not her type". Because he doesn't have two heads? Is his forehead not quite as sloping as she would like? Should Paddy carry round a protractor testing for homosapiens? "Oooh this one's borderline!" One of the girls with their 'light still on' is questioned. "I loved the way 'e just come out, like you know, with a bit o' this (she shakes her hips) I think 'e could be a bit of a wild one, and I'm a bit of a wild one too!!" The audience go fucking crazy, she's a character it would seem. He then gets to show a tape of himself, a kind of promo, showing the girls how average he is, hopefully he will be average enough for them. "Hi I'm fucking Greg, I have a car and a job (great start), I've been to see James Blunt 12 times this year already! (really great start)." Greg, or whatever he's called, is on a roll, but if round two (his mum/sister/boyfriend telling everyone he's a wimp/bully/bore) doesn't get him, round three (displaying his delusion of having a talent, such as playing air-guitar whilst showing no shame) sure as hell will. Greg then selects one of the bozos not turned off by a man who defines talent as sitting in a bath. As our Pad spouts one more nonsensical rhyme and the word Fernando's rises above the wit of Wilde, it is time to turn my TV light off this excrutiatingly moronic meat-market. No lighty, no fucking likey.  

Friday, 9 November 2012

CHRISTKINDELMARKT

Let it not be said that Millennium Square is a paved waste of
space and council money surrounded by mercenary bars spilling over with
brainless lads and clotheless lasses. It’s not. Since opening in, erm, the
millennium, the square has provided a serene space to potter, bask and relax in
an otherwise hectic city centre. The following year saw the beautiful adjoining
Nelson Mandela Gardens opened by the loud-shirted man himself, who thought he
was in Liverpool. Since then, a string of ingenious events have provided us
Loiners the chance to have some great days and nights and put some money back
into the project. Music gigs, art exhibitions, theatre, fashion shows, sport
screenings and food tasting are some of the impressive showcases staged at
Millennium Square, all with huge success. The most successful of all returns
winter after winter: Christkindelmarkt aka The German Market.

Friday, 5:05pm, mid-November: I am two of thousands upon
thousands of feet clomping hurriedly up The Headrow. Offices and staff-rooms
across Leeds descending from all sides, eyes bulging, mouths shrieking, tummies
rumbling. For tonight, 11 months later, the city comes together for a
previously unknown mutual love of sausage, steins, mulled wine and oompah. The
anticipation is palpable.

Within minutes, I have queued for a spicy sausage, put too much
pressure on the ketchup dispenser, queued for a cheese sausage, put too much
pressure on the mustard dispenser, wiped mustard excess off with a paper towel,
demolished a spicy sausage and too much ketchup sandwich, and demolished a
cheese sausage, mustard and paper towel sandwich. I’ve injured my girlfriend on
the dodgems, perused the lovely stalls, laughed at mullets and been told I’m
too old for the merry-go-round. Things are going well and can only improve with
a massive jug of overpriced German lager next to roaring drunks watching an
aged hirsute brass band.

Fifty minutes later, I am two of hundreds of feet standing
miserably still, way away from our holy grail, outside the mockingly named
Walkabout. Queuing and waiting. Tummies bulging, mouths rumbling, eyes
shrieking. Waiting and queuing. One in one out. Only another eighty to go I
reckon. Only no-one’s leaving. Another couple of joy-sapped call-centre staff
trundle off towards The Cuthbert Broderick. Only another seventy-eight to go I
reckon.

I am sitting in the window of Wetherspoons with
an underpriced pint of German lager, a wooden rocking horse, 3ft of salami, a
reindeer rug, 45 chocolate marshmallows and a toilet roll holder of a man
pooing. People outside shiver with broken hopes, from the bierkeller to the
exit and beyond. The group of booming louts to my right cheer or jeer, it’s
hard to tell, as another pint goes tumbling over. The evening has disintegrated
into a din of wordless noises; yelps and grunts, wahays and woahs. I smile at
the moustachioed old gentleman to my left carrying a trombone case as he rinses
his bangers & mash down with a gulp of English ale. Sir, the city is
waiting for you.