Category: Comment

Bryan Adams, I have been to two of your concerts. I enjoyed myself on both occasions. I thank you for that.

Now, with that said, the legacy of that song of yours that stayed at number one for an eternity has turned all guys into utter doormats. The Spice Girls didn’t exactly help later on with all that girl power shit either, but you set the ball rolling Bryan. You’re responsible for tipping the scales in their favour.

I think it’s only fair to ask; when you said “Everything I do, I do it for you?” did you really mean that or were you just trying to get some action?

If you meant it then, well, thanks for sticking us all in the same boat. And, if you didn’t mean it, well, you’re a selfish son of a bitch because your blatant disregard for the consequences of your early 90’s chat up line resonate to this day.

“I would give it all, I would sacrifice” – you just didn’t know when to quit, Bryan – the everything I do line was a virtual pant remover, and you had to go on with the crazy talk that the chicks still believe a decade and a half after the torrid ballad finally faded from the charts. How badly did you need to get laid, Bryan? Were you a test pilot for the early viagra lab tests or something?

Good god Bryan, did you ever stop to think of the damage you were doing to the very foundations of mankind?

This year it’ll be seven years since The Matrix was released – a spectacular sci-fi action movie with ground breaking special effects, accompanied by an edgy soundtrack containing tracks almost tailor made to fit the onscreen content.

Perhaps it was due to the almost perfect soundtrack, or maybe the runaway success of the original movie was to blame. But for the last seven years, every time we see a fast cut montage on any sports programme it’s always set to the Propellerheads Spybreak. Likewise, if it’s a moody slow motion piece, it’ll have Clubbed to death by Rob D behind it.

And we’ve had seven bloody years of it – nobody in a Video Editing department has used a brain cell since the millennium. It’s always “Right, we have a bunch of snowboarders in an SSX event, dueling it out to the finish line. We need some music to set the mood for the quick cuts and jaunty camera angles we’re using in this piece. Anyone have any ideas?” A hand will go up in the room and someone will suggest Spybreak. “Genius! That’s that sorted. Next on the agenda we have a a minute or so of tense build up footage for a boxing match. The two fighters really hate each other, and we’re possibly going to have a voice over after the first ten seconds or so. Anyone got anything?” Someone in the room, possibly the same someone as before, will suggest Clubbed to death. “Again – genius! Lets get to it.”

I swear that exact same meeting takes place all over the world in creative departments several times a day, and has done since mid 1999. Due to that, it’s been a long time since I actually listened to The Matrix soundtrack – mainly because I watch a lot of sports, so I’m sick to death of hearing it.

People, you know who you are; it’s time to let go and use a grain of originality when you’re choosing your backing tracks. Take the red pill. Or any other pill, for that matter. Just stop abusing a great soundtrack because you’re a bunch of lazy fuckers.

“May Contain Nuts” said the sign clipped to the shelf of nuts and snacks in a store I was in recently. Really? I thought. I’d have been disappointed if I’d bought that packet of honey roasted cashews and peanuts and it hadn’t contained nuts.

I took a look at the selection of fresh sandwiches and pastries that would act as the pre-nut main course. Reading the small print on a chicken filled pie I recoiled at the line “Contains Mechanically Recovered Chicken”. Why would they need to do that?

Unless the chicken truck broke down on the way to the chicken preparation factory, and a helpful mechanic gave the chicken truck a tow, I didn’t see how “mechanically recovered” chicken could be a good thing. I’m not expecting them to lie to me – creating the impression that the chicken in the pastry was prepared by cheerful Oompa Loompas working at a factory where they tickle the chickens to death. Fact remains I’m eating a dead bird, so there’s no need to candy coat it for me. Although I do find myself wondering if that would be a tasty option!

Seriously, though; why would any food produce company interested in making a profit tell me that the chicken had been “mechanically recovered” in any shape or form?

Whatever that means, it’s hardly going to be nice. For me it conjures up images of whirling claws of metal tearing the very flesh from chickens that they didn’t have to kill first because the poor fuckers had heart attacks the second they set eyes upon on the mechanical recovery machine.

Actually, to answer my own question, it is only the quality food produce companies that do make a profit who tell you that kind of thing, albeit in small print, on the label.

Makes me wonder what the rest of them get up to. I mean, if they’ll admit to mechanical recovery, what macabre practices aren’t they telling us about? Mechanical recovery of anything sounds absolutely grim, but something like, say Electrically De-Sphinctered would have me running from the aforementioned food outlet with puke squirting between the fingers of a two handed attempt to keep the previous meal on the inside.