I listened into the last half hour of the UK Top 40 this evening. It’s been years since I have taken an interest in the Chart Show. The last time was when South Park’s Chef released Chocolate Salty Balls, which was in contention for Christmas Number 1. Chef didn’t win. I think he missed out to some shite from the Spice Girls.
Tonight, I was hoping for The Wealdstone Raider to be No. 1 and beat Simon Cowell. Sadly, he finished 5th. Considering The Raider’s record has only been out a few days, he has never released anything before or been on a talent show watched by millions, it is a remarkable achievement.
He also beat a lot of other contenders for the Number One spot…
Take That – You’ve got no fans!
Taylor Swift – You’ve got no tunes!
One Direction – You’ve got no ground!
Calvin Harris – I’ll give it ya!
While you’re all enjoying tonight’s Eurovision Song Contest, cast your minds back to Ireland’s entry from the 1996. My favourite Eurovision song of all time.
I watched the football this evening, so haven’t seen any of The Brit Awards. I assume The Wurzels won something?
This was released a decade ago!
I’m not generally a fan of rap music. I don’t enjoy the aggressive lyrics and violent nature which the artists portray.
However, I was saddened this morning to learn of the death of Nate Dogg. He was one of the few hip hop artists I actually enjoyed listening to. His deep tones, often collaborating with other artists, were a joy on the ear.
Although I do not always like to content of his lyrics, which like fellow rap artists, reference murder and gang life, Nate Dogg always performed them in a way which musically I could not help but admire.
Personally, I cannot see how the likes of Eminem, who ‘whinge raps’ about brutally murdering his ex-wife, can be so highly rated while Nate Dogg’s talent went generally unnoticed in comparison.
I’ll leave you with one of favourite Nate Dogg records – Warren G’s Regulate.
On this website, you’ll find me blogging (almost) daily about everyday life, living in Bath, working with computers, and the occasional bit of football stuff thrown in.
If you're expecting The Man Booker Prize, you've come to the wrong place. If you want to read a collection of sometimes eccentric, often disturbing and rarely amusing ramblings, gorge your eyes on this.