Some things in life serve only to induce rage. No matter how small these annoyances may be, they are never insignificant. 'Rant List' is the chronicle of one self-loathing narcissist's seemingly unending pettiness.

Monday, 20 April 2015

107. Nigel Farage's jowly neck

DISCLAIMER: If you are repulsed by the sight of Nigel Farage like most humans, you may want to pass on this one. Right, on with it then.


      Yes folks, it’s nearly election time and what kind of commentary pundit would I be if I didn’t hastily mash together my own opinions about politics for public dissemination? I’ll tell you dear reader, I’d be a worthless one! Because everybody knows you can only succeed in the world of op-ed content by having inflammatory views about the political landscape!

However, I think all those riled up news outlets are really missing a trick in identifying what really makes this year’s election so different to all previous ones. Yes, of course it’s the presence of British everyman-who-likes-a-pint-and-hates-immigrants, Nigel Farage. Or ol’ Nigey to his mates, the UK populous (as long as they’re British born and bred though haha, am I right? Get me a pint of Spitfire, stat*).

"Lookit, I'm doing politics!!"

However, when journos talk about Nigey, they always harp on about his anti-human policies, his never-ending hypocrisy around foreigners stealing our jobs whilst employing his ostensibly non-British wife, his utter ignorance around HIV, the fact he always seems to be holding a pint or his affably matey guffaw. Frankly, I hadn’t actually noticed any of these things until someone told me about them at work last week. Why? Because every time I see something relating to Nigey, the only thing I can focus on is the bloated skin-fest that is his neck; the jowly abundance that nestles the precipice of hate that is his pint-and-fag reeking mouth; the chin swallowing abyss that only has enough structural integrity to support the out-of-date head atop it thanks to an incredibly tightly done up tie and top-button combo; the abundance of gnarly foreskin around a true dickhead.

It’s like he’s had a giant earthworm surgically grafted atop his shoulders, the rings surrounding its body giving him an overspill of chin over his collar and tie every time he cackles maniacally about how immigrants are to blame for the economic crisis and the ban on fox hunting. At a certain point, it seems like ol’ Nigey is more jelly-neck than man, which is ironic considering what a spineless scrote he is.

But damn, doesn’t he photograph well?

*For those of you interested in the writing process, when I originally drafted this entry, I initially wrote “Get me a pint of [insert racist drink here]”. A little peep in to the craft of ranting for you. Not everything comes to me instantaneously, hours of research went in to my drink choice. Did I succeed? Why not tweet me @rantlist and I’ll be sure to block and report you for harassment.

106. Megadeth having the cheek to crowdfund their latest album

^ I shamelessly took this off Tumblr, but it's such an accurate picture of Megadave that I couldn't resist. Credit to whoever made it, you're a genius,

       Look guys, we all know that deep down inside, I’m a spotty 15 year old kid who thinks that Rust In Peace by Megadeth is probably the absolute zenith of music. It’s got so much going on – densely technical riffs, absolutely monstrous drumming, guitar solos so shredded they’ll tear your face right off and vocals that sound like an alley-cat giving with a hernia. It’s so metal.

For many years of my teenage life, Megadeth were *the* band. A band that basically spent a large part of its career dedicated to complaining about things to the backdrop of needlessly complicated riffs is always going to have some emotional resonance for me. However, the last few years have seen some of that undying love waver a bit for a variety of reasons.

At first it was the slightly lacklustre live performances where frontman, Dave “The Strawberry Blonde Mop” Mustaine, couldn’t quite get his feline screeching right anymore. Then it was the never-ending interviews with Mopstaine where he just kept turning everything in to a conversation about how he doesn’t believe Obama is American or how he thinks evolution is a lie. As an Anthropology grad, I really struggled with that. But then I always thought to myself, “Look, they may be idiots, but you’ll always have that music; that music that made you feel like somebody got you when you were a nerdy teen, sitting alone in your room, cranking 'Addicted to Chaos' (you know, despite the fact they were generally singing about prolonged suicide through drug abuse and your plight was more about how you couldn’t beat Gill in Street Fighter III – same difference).” Then that Super Collider album happened in 2013 and it was genuinely atrocious.

And so it’s against this ever tattered backdrop that Megadeth have announced the campaign for their as yet untitled follow-up album. But being the progressive young things they are, they’ve decided to crowdfund their album.

Of course, my issue is in no way with crowdfunding and Pledge Music. On the contrary, I think Pledge Music is a wonderful platform and has given artists who would probably really struggle to put out the albums worthy of their creative vision to their baying fanboys and girls a chance to thrive – whether it’s your Devin “I’m going to write a metal opera about an alien" Townsends or your Ginger “I like pop choruses and extreme metal” Wildhearts, plenty of great records have only been possible thanks to crowdfunding. But these guys are relatively small meat in the world of global music, having had genuine ups and downs in their careers that have put them on the edge of obscurity at one point or the other.

Megadeth on the other hand are undoubtedly one of the most moneyed bands in the world of heavy metal. Second only to Metallica in the early ‘90s, the band still play huge, sell-out global tours. Even without label support, I’m sure they could afford to record an album out of their own deep, deep pockets. But no, they’re crowdfunding the album and, what’s worse, they’re bleeding their crowd completely dry. 

Yes folks, you too can pay £22 for a CD from a band who’s discography since 2007 has been patchy at best. But what about the wider fan experiences? Well, for a measly £2042, you can have a guitar lesson with the one and only MegaDave himself (travel obviously not included). Learn how to play the riffs to ‘Holy Wars’ whilst Dave tries to convince you that 9/11 was an inside job!

I’m all for bands trying to creatively turn their art in to a business model. But when you’re one of the few bands out there privileged enough to have made an incredibly well-funded living off your music, you can’t just rob your loyal fans like this. Especially when your hey-day was nearly thirty years ago.

Megadeth sells, but who’s buying? For the first time ever, I really hope no one.

105. The increasing difficulty in seeing anything through to completion

    ^Me, Q3-Q4 2014

       I've whined a lot on this little blog and, whilst it all reads like a rogue’s gallery of first world problems, I have no intention of stopping any time soon. However, intention means nothing when you can’t really get it together.

You may have noticed Rant List has been quiet for about a year. Why? I actually don’t really know. I've certainly not become any less petty and mature in the last year. If anything, the period of June – December 2014 probably encapsulates one of the most rage-filled periods of my life as I struggled to enjoy my general existence against the unrelenting suplexes of working life. And there have been plenty of times in that time-frame and since where I've cracked open Word and started fervently mashing my keys against the keyboard, fingers reduced to calloused stumps as the self-entitled indignance flowed from their tips. But every List entry started is usually abandoned after about 15 minutes.

Something about life has tired me and it has made the process of expressing myself in any tenuously creative manner harder than it ever used to be – even if that “creative” self-expression normally takes the form of a low-budget Charlie Brooker impersonator who makes references to obscure metal bands (what a lucrative niche!!). As a result, over the last year I've ironically amassed lists of ideas, but simply had none of the gumption to see them through. Of course, that lack of having not actually seen any of those ideas through in the last year was a petty frustration in and of itself. Turns out it was just enough of a spoilt brat-esque, first world problem of a frustration to spur me on to finish writing something.