Le Monsieur Warches...Alanis - Feel Your Love.

Not that bad video from the very early days of Alanis Morissette's music career in Canada. Strange to hear the electronica-poppy sound and the dancing that is ever more present in her recent videos, but takes a very poppy form here. Put it this way, not as good as her later , more satisfying albums, but still worthy as a stepping stone to the future.

Le Monsieur

Le Monsieur Talks Albums.

Well, here is an article that hit me in the right place tonight. There aren't many people saying it these days, but the album is much more preferable to the single track. Disagree? Well, I do on occasion too. The thing with music is that it divides and unites everybody in their various agrees and disagrees. The album experience is one that I prefer raw and unedited.

Arudou Debito, taking a break from his worthy human rights issues, drops an article in the vein of the cultural commentary. As an avid listener of almost every genre of music in popular existence, I wholeheartedly agree with the point he makes about the modern theory of single track listening that is slowly diluting the art of making an album. For Le Monsieur, this is something which definitely needs addressing. As a generation of serious music fans become enabled with iPods etc we slowly see the point of the album disappear completely from the psyche of the modern listener, when it should be growing and nurturing the listener to a lifetime's enjoyment. To be honest, there probably isn't much that can actually be done about it.

After all, the fact remains that there are still many good albums released, and in my opinion they do contain tracks that are good on their own, but only to a degree. Can you imagine listening to the same song twenty times in a row? Very unlikely, unless you're a musician learning chords or a listener with highly obsessive tendencies. Of course, you could just love a song that much, that you need to listen to it twenty times. But it does rarely happen, and the album is the reason for that. The album is like a family of songs that belong together, and their right to be unseperated remains.

But, since talk is cheap, here's some of Le Monsieur's suggestions for a good listen all the way through album:

Blondie - Eat To The Beat
Dolores O'Riordon - Are You Listening?
Love Psychedelico - Love Psychedelic Orchestra
Prince - The Rainbow Children
The Invisible - The Invisible

Of course, there are many more, but only you can discover them!

Le Monsieur

Le Monsieur Reads Vice Magazine Vol 7, Number 8.

If I was an evil maniac, I'd have strange hobbies such as flesh manipulation, eyeball golf and T-Cell sculpture. But, since I am not an evil maniac, I have to settle for more serene leisure options, like embroidery, sculpture and reading magazines. Magazines like, say it quietly, Vice Magazine. Have your drum kit ready, because it really is bit of a vice. The old ones are the best, readers.

Well, after the scandalous two score and nine days last month when the June issue just didn't want to come home with me and nestle on my kitchen counter to be fumbled and groped by the greasy hands that bless my residence, I was losing hope of being able to get this issue. Luckily, for what ever reason, the creatures - for that is what they are - who deliver Vice to the distribution points in Liverpool every month deigned to supply the goods that this addict wanted and yesterday I jumped for immature, smutty and quite artistic joy when I saw it looking at me through the window of Size, which is actually not full of very tall and scary
Swedish people, as many seem to think, although there must be a reason why they sell so many obscenely huge sized shoes when the majority of people in Liverpool are stunted in their growth cycle form eating too much McDonald's from when they were just a vendor of shit on a bun with odd looking ketchup. Hey, I survived the despair generation intact, and would purchase a pair of the trainers there if my bills would ever let me have enough money to actually be able to buy them.

But, I think I'm talking off the right track here, as I came here today to talk about the rather bizarre world of Vice Magazine. If I'm right, big people must read Vice Magazine. And when I mean big, I mean bigger than Proposition Joe from The Wire. That guy was big, and he wasn't trying to hide it, which is more than can be said for the people who distribute Vice. It' s very rarely within easy view, and when you do find it you get very excited very soon. That's me, and because I'm a sad Monsieur I go straight to a cafe and read it over my Latte, evading the looks from frowning passers by as I do so. Although, to be honest, this months issue has a relatively straight faced cover, unlike the usual in your arse or bare something or other placed artfully in glossy semi-glory in pride of place on the front page like a purple dildo in a sex shop.

At least this month I can leave it on the kitchen table and not have worry about my toddler asking what that thing on the cover is expectantly. The inside is the opposite option though, there's more questionably artistic photo shoots with girls who look like students in need of a bit of cash, and there's the usual brilliantly awful cartoon from Johnny Ryan at the back. But, for those who say that Vice is an immature collection of semi pornographic images and dirty jokes, it generally is except when it does some genuinely eye opening independent journalism like the feature on North Korean deserters helping fellow deserters by sending balloons with drawings and letters describing their horrific stories back over North Korea as a form of reverse propaganda. Read it and feel extremely sad, people.

The best thing about this issue is that it actually has some content of an actively interesting nature. If you can finds yourself a copy, have a look.

Le Monsieur.

Soil and "Pimp" Sessions: Storm PV

Le Monsieur highly recommends that you feast your wily peepers on this lovely video from the wonderfully cool Soil & "Pimp" Sessions, whom my friend Seba loves very much!

Le Monsieur

All Good Things Must Come To An End.

In these days of recession and swift change as fast as the wind itself, all good things must come to an unfortunate, if not unavoidable , end. This is unfortunately the case with one of the free magazines I discovered only a few months back, +1.

I picked it up today from the usual over priced boutique selling tat on Bold Street, (Which one? My left lobe.) and was flicking through it amiably enough, soaking up the content into my extremely spongy frontal lobe when I came upon the last page, entitled, curiously, Obituary. The word obituary is an everyday buzz phrase when you're a morbid undertaker, or classifieds editor, but to this Monsieur it sends a signal so spine chilling I had just cause to take a sip of my double strength mocha post haste. Problem was, the obituary was of a selfish nature. You know people choose to die just at the wrong moment, like in the middle of sex, or whilst tied to a lamp post in Newcastle, well +1 has decide to die for , quote, adult reasons.

And, we're not talking auto erotic asphyxiation here, either. We're talking post economic heaving. That meaning, lack of revenue to maintain publication. You know what, fuck this fucking economy! What the hell am I supposed to read over my mocha now, huh? Tell you, if there's any reason to string a banker up to a lamp post and prod him with blunt metal objects, this is one. OK, I've still got Vice to furtively perv through, but that's the point. See, it's damn hard to find a nice publication, worthy of thine own intelligent eyes these days, and +1 was as close to that as is possible in the days of Big Brother, X Factor and other shows slowly sapping away the already depleted intelligence quotient of the nations bus stop fucking youth.

Mesieurs et Madames, I am saddened. But still the web version lives on, even if it's not half as satisfying as clutching the magazine and sniffing it's freshly printed smell in the summers breeze.

RIP +1 print edition. You will be missed.

Le Mnsr

Some Apologetic Moments from Japan.

OK, because I like to spread the love around like jam on a particularly sexy piece of burnt toast, I'm gonna deliver some lovin' to y'all in the motherfucking hard form this video! Why motherfucking? Well, because when it comes to apologies and all things fight wise, the Japanese are just so great. By the way, I just abhor unnecessary bad language.

So, imagine you did something mega bad, anything, the worst thing you can think of. And, depending on what you actually did, admitted to doing, left out of the official explication and what the do-ee actually feels, you may need to place an apology in his mental letter box. How would one go about righting the inevitable wrong that blackened your actions in the first place? Well, after self mutilation, flagellating and prayer to your chosen God, there is the polite bow. Shall we try the latter, less onanistic option? Let's make it so and move on with the bows!

See, if you choose to believe this lying video, put together by a bunch of surprisingly gifted humorists from Japan who actually have some humor in them, (Quite a rarity, to be honest!), the Japanese are so polite they'd break their own back just to prove their innocence and conviction of apologetic stance. Maybe, to a degree, you could believe them. I've seen plenty a person bowing in the street, in the course of their duties etc, and they look extremely sincere, for someone who is an expert at not giving anything away for the best possible reasons. (Inner self versus public self, a very Japanese concept, which is why the various levels of politeness came to be.)

Heck, that sarariman I always saw on my train used to bow as he was talking on the phone, something which I have been known to do on occasion. But if you really want to know about the extreme cases of bowing and apologetic attitudes in Japan, here's a very amusing place to start!

Le Mnsr

Murder In The Forest...or is it?

Readers, there are some things in life that we shouldn't take for granted. Amongst which include the walk in the park. The walk in the park can be a genuinely uplifting experience for many reasons. For most it's the thrill of being outdoors in the middle of nature, companionship with animal or human. or even the opportunity to take it slow for a while.For me, it's the opportunity to spend quality time with my son in the playground and runaround madly for an hour so with out fear of being looked at like a strange person. As well as that, we also take lots of photographs and meet squirrels. But, the other day I had the weirdest photograph ever on my camera. Well, there are probably weirder photos in my collection, but recently this is the weird one. For what ever reason, somebody decided to hang their kids cuddly toy from a very tall tree. Very nice, that's the best thing to do for your kid. Hang their kids toy and for what reason? Well, I can't fathom it. Maybe a freak wind storm blew it there in the night. Whatever the reason, I got a very good photograph. I think it's a Teletubby hanging there, but the way that the height and distance of the tree combined with the hazy light made it somehow Twin Peaks-esque and just plain bizarre.

And why not? Have toy, will hang it! Obviously that's what the perpetrator of this crime thought...

Le Monsieur

THE DREAM AND THE REALITY.

Readers, Le Monsieur has a dream.

In my dream, the people behind the dictionaries would categorise words that are apparently *offensive* as now not quite so offensive after all. The effect on society would be massive, but slow to take it's full toll on the people's conscience. I could potentially march around saying "Hey nigga!" to every cracker on the street and they be very unoffended. They would, in my imagination, respond with a very hearty "Yo cracker, wossup!" and we'd bond in the way that homies do, by playing loud music from our beatboxes and pretending to be Bob Marley's lost sons. Anything is possible in a dream!

What a dream it is. Well, Eminem's been living the dream for years now, dissing on all us whiteys who don't rap as if it's a prescription drug for Swine Flu. Hip Hop, whilst admittedly an *Urban Passtime* for kids with issues, was certainly built for a sociopath like Eminem, who, contrary to my vocab requisition, isn't on my Black List. I quite admire him, in his ability to send hate mail to Mariah Carey and get seemingly no criticism at all. Heck, if I did that, the cops would knock on my door and search house for any nipple clamps that happen to be strewn about like anything perfectly innocent. I'd probably be punished by having Mimi played non stop in my cell on a loop! But, all this urban stuff is making me feel rough, and there are other words that people dislike as much as the dictionaries, who are influencing them way too much to my mind.

See, the way I was raised, language is a tool with a definite purpose. For example, if you want someone to go away, suggesting politely that they are in the way won't work, and they are more likely to stay firmly in your way than move out of it. But telling them to F*ck off in a loud uncompromising manner will work more easily, I guarantee. Now, I'm not suggesting that you be like that to everyone, as you'll be mistaken for a rude fucker. This technique is reserved only for times of extreme irritation, and in places where guns and knives aren't commonplace. Point is though, I'm saying that our once effective communication lines are being hampered by words and phrases being constantly "outlawed" by people with more moral substance than sense.

Truth is, I love my dirty words as much as the next person does, but slowly they are being bled out of our societies media portrayed face and pretended out of existence by the ignorant sociopaths who control education these days. There are many teenagers who have no idea how to answer the questions on The Weakest Link, let alone the test they do at school, and the way it's changed our use of language is concerning, to say the least. Language changes, of course, and I love it, the English language is apparently the most expanding language in the world and I say let it expand, but don't cancel out the words you think society doesn't need! Very American, to put it mildly. It's amazing how words like disabled, once able to be uttered freely without fear of causing offense is slowly being turned into a swear word, and replaced with "special person", which is equally as offensive as calling someone a coon to my mind. There are numerous more examples of it, but I don't want to drone on for too long. Suffice to say, you can probably think of a few yourself!

The biggest problem it's causing though, is that swearing is now a form of humour ! It's not big, and it's not clever, and although I love etymology, swear words in particular, I'm not amused. What was once an expressive tool for anger, irony etc has become a controvertial non-issue that makes people ashamed of the words they heard as they wre growing up.

Le Monsieur

THE EVER INCREASING MOUND OF LE MONSIEUR.

The ever increasing mound of free papers on my desk is threatening to either topple over and bury me like the rubble from an earthquake or bend desk irreparably into a weird shape. Solutions available? Well, as Confucius once said, he who tidies his desk will discover wisdom. (Very homocentric guy was Confucius...) But concerning the wisdom bit, he was right on the ball. See, there are wisdoms and wits just waiting to be stirred into brain stimulating activity in my gigantic pile, and despite my love for cleaning out, developed in small spaces in Tokyo where keeping tidy was de riguere, I haven't been able to bring my self to get rid of the legions of magazines in my apartment yet. In fact, I seem to be a bit of a prisoner to them!

My Stockholm syndrome like condition has me nodding in agreement as I read them, and occasionally laughing like a paralytic maniac at three am in Liverpool on Friday night on occasion! What kind of sweet trap have I let myself fall into so willingly? See, I'm a sucker for free things, and when I spotted a rather innocent looking magazine in Size the other day, giving me eyes like a desperate charity fund raiser, I just had to say "Yes! I will help the free magazine community by delving into the new issue of the new magazine Rader! Yay!" Well, I didn't really say that, I just picked it up, raised an eyebrow and slipped in into my bag to be read at a later minute. And, what a read it was. More of a look really, as it was big on imagery and somewhat more minimalistic with the actual words.

But any magazine that recommends you to visit Tokyo by virtue of the fact that there are many virgin otaku guys in Akihabara where fresh blood can be obtained by virtue of their, erm, virtue is definitely a class act! Heck, I'd rather have a blood donation from a mangafied virgin guy than some Shibuya backstreets girl who's had half the Crews in the area already, probably leaving them distinctly browner in the process! Of course, there are other reasons to visit Tokyo besides that, maybe there are some of you who prefer the Shibuya backstreets girls with more fake tan on than Jordan on a bad day to the otaku strewn wastelands of Akihabara. Personally, I'd prefer to go to Harajuku and try on some of the more bizarre items of couture, if I don't have to under go surgery to even be able to consider the putting on of these "kawaii" garments. But, that's just me. Le Monsieur is just of himself, after all.

But, in all seriousness, Rader has the snap, brightness and originality of concept that makes the best magazines what they are. Sure, they could have done with a translator with a bit less American in their brain, but that's forgivable for now. Afterall, it's not often one finds a Japanese free paper in a Liverpool boutique. Curiosity did indeed bite me in the right place, instead the orifice it usually nips into submission.

Le Monsieur