Tuesday, 2 February 2010



Mr & Mrs Third Beatle, George & Patti.

George Harrison was the second least talented of the fab mopsters; both the meanie, McCartney and the wife-beating drug addict, Lennon were far more accomplished guitarists and all-round musicians. Harrison was never more than an ersatz, doped-up Chet Atkins, his country licks later augmented by tremolo and whine in the style of his cuckolding chum,

Mr & Mrs Clapton is God, Eric & Patti-Layla.

Clapton ( who actually played the guitar part on the Beatles' While My Guitar Gently Weeps); Georgie's over-rated solo efforts saw him hauled through the New York courts for plagiarism and his later, ensemble affairs with Orbison, Dylan, Petty and that Brummie from ELO - the Travelling Stooges -recycled forty years' worth of pop cliches. Harrison, though, corny, lacklustre and risibly sanctimonious, is the bastard to blame for all this charity-pop, the useless fucking would-be swami, Hare-Krishna-ing his way round the world in a private jet, smoking himself to death, lecturing us, from his hundred room palace, on our materialism. Prat.

Chez George. All you need is love.

The Concert for Bangla Desh, in 1971, the first charity bash concert, organised by Harrison, in deference to his new inspiration and second, replacement Maharishi (the first one having turned out to be an altogether too Earthly, cock-waving shitbag ) Ravi Shankar, the sitar maestro, revitalised a moribund Bob Dylan and brought to prominence the monster skills of Leon Russell; aside from that, it achieved bugger all, monies earned were squandered in litigation, how very Beatles, how very Apple but the idea of the light entertainment - or rock - aristocracy revitalising it's flagging sales whilst claiming an amaterialistic ministry was born.

Since then, of course, every natural disaster or famine seems to have spawned a concert, great or small; in Hyde Park or the Orkney Islands, shameless exhibitionists have insisted that only their talents can truly acquaint a cruel, uninterested world with whatever the tragedy is, that charitable giving can only be unleashed by the combined piety of the likes of the toilet-creeping George Michael, by the bombastic stompings of Queen and the relentless geriatric boogying of the Undead, Status fucking Quo, and by Phil Collins jetting across the Atlantic to beat his drums and whinny about the homeless, modestly exercising his limitless talent on two continents in the same day or by some skriking, beardy fiddler announcing to his ghastly, greybeard audience that this interminable and indistinguishable reel is for the poor people of wherever it is; it's off my new album, on sale at the door. Recently, snapping at the behemoth heels, come all sorts of revolting boybands and freak graduates of Cruelty TV, blinking in the limelight but keen to blackguard us with their concerns for the world's trod-upon, a world of which they know nothing but in which their pimps and handlers can smell opportunity.

Save for some poor bastard being pulled miraculously from the ground, the earthquake in Haiti has slid down the news agenda but it is coming to the top in the world of showbiz/Cruelty TV. This from the show-biz industry Bible, the fucking awful Rolling Stone:

"The Simon Cowell-curated all-star rendition of R.E.M.’s “Everybody Hurts” premiered this morning on U.K. radio, Reuters reports. The Haiti benefit single, which will be available for download this Sunday, February 7th, features Mariah Carey, Leona Lewis, Susan Boyle, Rod Stewart, Jon Bon Jovi and Miley Cyrus. Cowell’s version sticks pretty close to the Automatic For the People original, with all the stars involved each singing a line from the R.E.M. classic.

With Cowell’s involvement, “Everybody Hurts” aims more at a British audience than an American one, as several contestants from Cowell’s U.K. shows like The X Factor and Britain’s Got Talent make appearances, including Joe McElderry and X Factor judge Cheryl Cole, and members of Brit boy bands Take That (including Robbie Williams). JLS and Westlife. Rounding out Cowell’s crew are Mika, Kylie Minogue, James Morrison, Michael Buble and James Blunt.

Check out photos of Justin Timberlake, Bruce Springsteen, Madonna and more stars from Hope for Haiti Now.

As Rolling Stone reported yesterday, producers Quincy Jones, Lionel Richie and RedOne rounded up 100-plus stars in a Los Angeles studio for a re-recording of “We Are the World” that will also raise money to help those struck by the earthquake in Haiti. So far, the entertainment industry has helped raise at least $64 million thanks largely to the “Hope For Haiti Now” telethon."

It may seem churlish to compain about sixty-four mill being raised by posturing egomaniacs but fuck it, let the fabulously wealthy pay more tax, instead of giving their "time" in the hope of shifting more product, let the UN and the MFI and the World Bank establish a global Emergency Fund and the personnel and materiel necessary to storm in and blitz Disaster wherever he strikes. We will need one.

Fuck me, if the survival of the damaged and damned depends upon the squeaky voice and the scrawny gyrations of the buck-toothed mutant, Kylie Minogue or the faux blue collar gruntings of Bruce Springsteen or, God fucking help us, the charitable instincts of the grotesque gabshite Simon Callow then we are all doomed to drown in shit. The idea that we may only respond to our fellows' plights if, in exchange for our money, we receive some discordant, atonal anthem by the dregs of showbusiness is so obscene as to curdle the milk of human kindness, Fuck off Cowell, fuck off SUBO, go back and stuff your face in Dumbarton and fuck off showbusiness, is there nothing, no sorrow which you cannot bend into a photo-opportunity? Speaking of which, the vile Cowell was energised by a 'phone call from our friend, the great warmongering humanitarian, Gordon Snot. Odd how we have billions to spend Chilcotting the Iraqis and Afghanis, yet need record sales to help the Haitians. It is probably the right thing for the country. And the world.

We are the world.

Bob Dylan at the Concert for Bangla George,N.Y., 1971


Verge said...

Damn straight. Ghastly shower of shit that begs the old question: "Haven't they suffered enough?" Obviously not. Caritas Incorporated strikes again.

(Anyone ever gets a splinter in their arse while listening to a Frenchman drone on about liberty, equality, fraternity, ask the fucker how much L.E.F. was going for in 1825: 150 million francs to Haiti, reduced to 90 on appeal. Cheap a la prixe, mon vieux. How's that for voodoo economics?)

Madonna said...

Give a Haitian band aid and feed him for a year.
Buy his children and feed him for life.

Anonymous said...

I for one would be more impressed if these "we are the world" types gave some of their ill gotten gains to the needy or the proceeds of the next record/film part, Did yer fookin hear that Sir Bob? or were yer too fookin busy trying to buy a TV station? Great don't you think multi millionaires demanding the lower orders to give victims money?

call me ishmael said...

Geldof buried his probably-driven-mad-by-him former wife, the baggage, Paula, in the graveyard of his own private church in his own private village.

What has always surprised me is that while he is issuing one of his turgid proclamations (he can no longer speak but only proclaim) about Rock or Famine, no-one has ever smacked him in the gob. I would, and say Fuck off, you pig ignorant gabshite. And here's another for bringing to the nation the talents of the cunt and cradle-snatcher, Chris Evans.

woman on a raft said...

You'll be telling me that The Edge bloke from U2 has a £15m luxury yacht next. He says it is his, not Bono's.

Warning: I'm sure you've already seen them, but the Mail printed two series of photos of astonishingly, er, astonishing events. What curdles the tongue is that if I were in either of these, I'd be getting Schillings to do everything to suppress them, whereas Cherie and Bono seem to think this is OK.

The pair had arrived in the French town of St Jean Cap Ferrat to inaugurate a peace fountain bearing the inscription 'Coexist'.

The yacht 'Amadeus' in France belongs to Bernard Arnault, the bloke who paid for Kathryn's time in Paris.

The second photoshoot needs to be seen in the context of the first. While the guv'nor of this blog would take a dim view of it, given the choice between snogging Cherie or a full-body massage from two enthusiastic health-care assistants, even I think it's a 'no brainer'.

The colunist Molly Good explained how the situation was of philanthropic benefit: Bono Parties on Yacht with Barely Legal Teens to Fight AIDS in Africa

Ms Andrea Feick probably blew her chances of another invite by her kittenish honesty, which has at least some element of slap in the gob about it, albeit by accident.

Miss Feick told The Mail on Sunday 'I think that for somebody who’s much older than I am... no thank you.' ‘No...God no!’ she laughed. ‘God no! He’s a friend of mine and that’s pretty much it.

Je suis un rock star.

mongoose said...

Will you please not, Mrs WOAR, I've not long had my lunch.

call me ishmael said...

Mrs WOAR'S link to the Daily Filth-O-Mail is well worth a look, for those whose blood pressure is within the normal range. God bless the papparazzi.

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