#oneaday Day 905: The Breakfast Show

It was announced today that self-professed “saviour of Radio 1” Chris Moyles is stepping down as the host of the station’s Breakfast Show, a post he has held since January of 2004. Moyles’ early-morning show is the longest-running show in Radio 1’s history, but it is sadly coming to an end in September of this year.

I like Chris Moyles. I have done ever since I first inadvertently discovered him by tuning in my radio to our local station at 10pm one night when I was a teenager. I was enraptured by his irreverent humour and continued listening long into the night. I was accustomed to DJs on said local station being characterless, personality-devoid track title  reading machines, so to hear someone actually acting like a human being — taking the piss out of the music he was playing, having light-hearted jabs at callers and taking an irreverent (though never offensive) approach to reviewing the day’s happenings — was something of a revelation.

I was delighted when, a number of years later, I rediscovered Moyles on Radio 1. I hadn’t followed his career after I stopped listening to the radio regularly, so I had no idea what he had been up to in the interim. But having him back on my stereo entertaining me in the mornings as I endured a lengthy commute to a job I hated was a bright spot in an otherwise fairly dark part of my life. The chemistry he had with his team was excellent, and the fast pace of the show was just the thing I needed to wake me up in the morning. Some criticised him for “talking too much” but I actually preferred listening to the team’s light-hearted banter to the musical monstrosities that make up the majority of Radio 1’s playlists.

At some point, it became fashionable to hate on Moyles. This happens with certain comedians, usually once they have reached a certain level of fame and ubiquity. Recently, it’s happened with Peter Kay (everyone loved him for a while, around the time of Phoenix Nights, then suddenly everyone hated him), Michael McIntyre (who appeared semi-regularly on shows such as Mock the Week for a while before everyone arbitrarily decided that he was no longer Flavour of the Month) and, as I say, Moyles, who is most frequently criticised for being egotistical and arrogant.

Moyles’ “persona” certainly has a large ego and a degree of arrogance, but it’s important to note that it is a persona — it’s a character he plays, a mask he puts up to the public. It’s the act he’s always done, ever since I first heard him on that late night local radio show, and I’ve always found it entertaining, because it’s abundantly clear to anyone who listens that all the self-aggrandisement is done with a knowing wink to the listener. Moyles was well aware that his ego and arrogance seemed ill-placed — he knew he wasn’t the most attractive guy in the world, that his occasional beard made him looked like a tramp and that he was overweight — so he played it up deliberately to an absurd degree. Some people took that literally, however. Understandable, but inaccurate. When he needed to be, Moyles could be genuine and heartfelt, and some of his most memorable moments on radio came when he was at his most earnest and honest.

It’s for these reasons that I’ll miss listening to Chris Moyles on the radio. Granted, I haven’t had the Breakfast Show on for a while now — I tend to get up a bit late for it these days, and I don’t have a clock radio by my bed any more — but Moyles and the team were very much a fixture in my life for a considerable amount of time, and I’ll be sorry to see them go. I hope they find a new home somewhere else — Moyles is certainly well over the unofficial “age limit” to become a Radio 2 presenter!

#oneaday, Day 50: Old Men Rant At The Hit Parade

Caution: YouTube frenzy ahead.

There’s a lot of shit music around at the moment. One only has to look at this week’s top 40 to see most of it. Let’s explore it, shall we? Call it a cultural exchange.

Before I go any further, I would like to add that I don’t hate black people, despite whatever you might interpret from my song choices which follow. I just hate shit music. And a lot of it happens to be by black artists. I can’t think of any awards ceremony I would like to attend less than the MOBO’s. Not that I particularly want to go to any awards ceremonies, ever. But I digress. Let’s dig into the sewers of the UK music scene, shall we?

Hanging in there at number 40, we have Sidney Samson’s Riverside. A song that starts in an atonal, idiotic place and then goes nowhere fast.

This is one of those songs that thinks that having a single hook of about four bars long is enough to build an entire song around. And to be fair, the philistines of the world don’t appear to know any better, as this song has been lurking around the charts for quite some time. But it has no depth to it. There’s no development. At all. The whole song is that irritating twangy synth line and some twat saying “Riverside, motherfucker” over the top of it. What does that even mean? Don’t answer that, because I really don’t give a shit.

Next up, number 30 sees Florence and the Machine performing You Got The Love.

Now, I have a lot of time for Florence, in that she can actually sing, has a distinctive voice and has a band with actual instruments in it. But this song? Ugh. It was already the most overplayed song in the world before she covered it, and with her and her machine being one of the most overplayed bands in the UK at the moment, you get an irritating song which is never more than five minutes away from when you turn the radio on.

One space below that, we have Iyaz and Replay, the first of many whiney black men in the charts today.

I find something profoundly irritating about this style of music. Perhaps it’s the fact that one song in this style is virtually indistinguishable from another. Perhaps it’s the gratuitous mentioning of iPods in the lyrics (I have a weird thing where I think that mentioning brand names or things/people that actually exist is somehow obnoxious. Don’t ask me to explain why, because I can’t.) Perhaps it’s just the fact it’s a shit song. Who knows?

Moving up the charts, we have Jay-Z ruining a perfectly good Alicia Keys song at number 28.

Alicia Keys can actually sing, so why she needs a douche like Jay-Z babbling his nonsense over the top of it is anyone’s guess. To her credit, the infinitely superior version of the song, with no rapping and just Alicia singing, is currently at number 6, proving it is indeed possible to polish a turd.

At 26, we have the Helping Haiti record.

I have nothing against charity records. But I fucking hate this song. And every charity song there has been in the last few years has been of this ilk – slow, boring, dirge-like and filled with “celebrities” trying to outdo each other vocally. Ignore this drivel and just donate directly to the charities if you feel that strongly about it.

At 22, we have another whining black man, this time accompanied by a shouting black man and Sean Paul, who sadly isn’t dead. It’s Jay Sean, Sean Paul and Lil Jon with Do You Remember.

This is just awful. And on a side note, compare Jay Sean’s singing with Iyaz’s. I defy you to tell them apart. The only thing which sets this record apart is Lil Jon’s incoherent shouting and Sean Paul’s incoherent burbling. At least it isn’t a full-on Sean Paul record. I thought we had got rid of him for good. Sadly, he’s still about, but at least it’s only in a “Ft.” role.

I, of course, couldn’t let Glee slide. They’re at number 20.

Golden rule: Leave Journey alone. Golden rule number two: If you must cover Journey, don’t turn it into a wet fart of a song. This song breaks both of those rules.

This next song is unforgivable purely for the fact it uses the Flintstone-based chat-up line. It’s Young Money with Bed Rock, at number 18. I am sure you can guess the line which is used.

In other news… it’s some rappers “singing” about fucking. In their video they wear lots of gold. Stereotype much?

At number 12, Gramophonedzie do their best to destroy everyone’s favourite memories of Jessica Rabbit.

This song brings back unpleasant memories of Audio Bullys [sic] molesting Nancy Sinatra’s Bang Bang a year or two back. So, to make it all better, here’s a far superior version.

Mmm… Jessica Rabbit. Err, where was I?

Oh, right. Number 5. Does this one, by any chance, sound familiar?

That’s right. The most overplayed song in the world by the most overplayed band in the UK now has the most overrated babbling twat spouting chavvy nonsense over the top of it. I don’t think anything else needs to be said.

Just time to stop off at number 3, and Jason Derulo’s In My Head, whiney black man number 3.

Pro tip for Mr Derulo: Singing your own name at the start of a song wasn’t cool when Craig David did it. It still isn’t now. Plus, your song is shit and sounds like every other whiney black man out there. Shut up.

And finally – I’ve saved the best for last – it’s the current UK number 1, the appallingly spelled Tinie Tempah and Pass Out.

I’m going to say nothing about this song… but I am going to share the lyrics with you after the jump (if you’re on the front page, click this post’s title or the “Read More” link below to read the full thing in all its… err… “glory”), and you can make your own mind up. Bear in mind this is the current number 1 in the charts. Once you’ve listened to it and read the lyrics you might understand why I mourn the UK music scene’s sorry state. So without further ado, I leave you with Tinie Tempah. The twat.

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One A Day, Day 5: It’s the Weekend!

Yes, it’s the weekend, assuming you’ve finished work.

As much as a love the end of a working week, I find something profoundly irritating about people who talk about the weekend as if it’s some sort of magical entity capable of curing all evils and making the world a better place. It’s not magical. It’s two days off, after which you’ll have to go back to your stultifyingly boring and depressing job, coming just to the borderline of seriously contemplating slitting your wrists by Friday, before you get to go home, get some actual sleep, spend two days wanking and crying then start the whole hideous process over again.

The worst culprit for weekend-hype is Annie Mac‘s show on BBC Radio 1. Radio 1 is irritating at the best of times, but Mac’s show takes the biscuit. Her jingles seem to consist entirely of either airhorn noises (the use of which seems to be growing in popularity, annoyingly) or special needs people yelling “It’s FRIDAY!” then giggling like they’ve got a wasp in their Jap’s-eye and don’t know whether it tickles or really fucking hurts. Take a listen if you can stomach it. The thing is, some of the music she plays is actually quite good for a Friday night drive home. But as soon as she starts talking or pressing the magic noise-making buttons on her console, I want to throw smelly things through my radio into her stupid face.

Still. The weekend is good in that you can sleep in and then get things done that you’ve been intending to do all week. Or, indeed, spend two continuous days wanking and crying, as intimated earlier. Both are perfectly acceptable uses of your time. The choice is yours.

I know what I’m planning to do.