Great Cure Songs (with wanky captions)

Bestival is over! Here's a playlist. The "hits" have (mostly) been omitted in favour of album tracks and B-sides, because i) I'm a snob and ii) I'm sort of trying to convert the unenlightened, and if they've not liked Boys Don't Cry for the last twenty years, they ain't likely to change now. The rest of you are welcome to share your opinions - unless, of course, you went to Bestival.

The Playlist (#2):

Breathe. Gorgeous.

Sugar Girl. Also gorgeous.

Plainsong. In which Robert perfects the formula for The Perfect Song, multiplies it by a million and makes a recording of what happens.

A Letter to Elise. 75% of why the Wish album is underrated. As in; it's so good it even atones for Wendy Time.

Pictures of You, Robert being lovely and melancholic over eight minutes (not five) of lovely melancholia. (It's late, shush).

2 Late. Not actually a Field Mice cover, though you'd be forgiven for thinking so for all the beatific jangly bliss.

Apart. For the chemists out there, this represents the other 25% of Wish's allure (and 100% of its woe).

Catch. Though I love it and regard it as one of the Cure's finest pop songs, I've partially included this for the video, which produces in me an inexorable desire to touch Robert's hair.

Underneath the Stars. From 2008's 4.13 Dream. Yep, they've still got it.

One Hundred Years. Well it wouldn't be complete without the mandatory dose of nihilism.

Guys,

I am home.

In the sage words of Papa Charmer...

"ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer."

Shit Cure Songs

Because the Cure are at Bestival and I'm not, I've compiled a Youtube playlist of their worst songs. The idea is that we pretend that they're always this bad and therefore won't even care that we're not there, pissed in a field, clad in fetching onesies and partying to the best bits of Galore.

However, as I recently tweeted, the Cure have the unique distinction of being sort of adorable even when they're really bad, so no-one will judge you for secretly loving these songs (just as long as you kind of hate them too.)

The Playlist:

Foxy Lady. Vocals by Lol Tolhurst: drummer, keyboardist and generally belligerent gentleman. Disillusionment by Robert Smith. If you listen, you can hear Robert going "no Lol, no" at the beginning, which essentially tells you all you need to know about this one.

The Weedy Burton. Tom's favourite Cure song. At my wit's end here, seriously.

It's Over. The sound of Robert sitting on the loo and shitting out the worst bits of the 80s.

Fight. According to certain Youtubers, this has stopped them from going over the edge so I probably shouldn't mock it. I just think it's crap and enormously lacking in subtlety, melody and the general art of being listenable.* That's all.
*the internet says it's a word so a word it must be.

Club America. Wild Mood Swings is the Cure's worst album, and this is its nadir. It's just rubbish. I don't know what else there is to say, so I'm just going to whimper inaudibly.

Just Say Yes. In fairness, the awfulness of the song pales in comparison to the terrifying video. On the plus side, it's warming to know that they have more than one use for their groupies.

Wrong Number. Fun fact: if you recite the spoken word bit to cold callers down the phone, they never ring again. Trust me, I would know.

Never Enough, or as it is also known, "what happens when Robert goes, 'well hey we just wrote one of the most beautiful albums of all time (Disintegration) but general excellence is never enough for me, so let's go and write the shittest thing we're capable of right now." No, Robert. No.

Screw. An unsightly whitehead on an otherwise beautiful face, and the sort of song I imagine you put together after finally mastering Smoke on the Water, when you're making the transition into writing your own material. The problem is, at this point the Cure had Faith, Pornography and the preceding eight songs of the Head on the Door behind them and I... well... I just don't understand.

When Bestival is over I'll make a similar playlist of their best stuff, because I'm secretly quite nice and also 'cause I'm irrationally afraid Robert will read this and whinge about it/entitlement generally in his next interview (eta: March 2017).

The Kili Diaries

I was meant to upload these a while ago but unsurprisingly, I couldn't be arsed. Here, for your reading pleasure, are the unabridged bits and bobs I scrawled in a notepad halfway up a mountain.

19.07
General observations and happenings:
- Kili is high
- Kili is steep
- Kili gets very cold, very fast
- We're camping at 3000m. Not dying yet. YET.
- Tom's ball keeps popping out.
- Steep drops abound.
- Pissing in the open is oddly liberating. No wee on my legs yet.
- I'm terrified of needing a poo.
- Rainforests aren't that rainy.
- I have an insect bite that looks like a nipple, albeit a super an alarmingly pink one.
- Lunch is nice. Cheese and avocado. (Boring).
- Beever laughs like a monkey.
- The only time you don't hear "Pole Pole" is on the mountain. In Moshi, however, it's a total catchphrase - up there with "cheaper than Primark!" blah blah.
- Thinking is hard (Altitude).

20.07
- Today I got lost on Mount Kilimanjaro. Now everyone thinks I'm super fit, which is at once hilarious, and bemusing and untrue.
- Loughborough folk are actually nice! I retract all my filthy looks.

[Unknown]
- Africans like their meat well done.

21.07
- I got given a random sausage today. It reminded me of the end of Blasted, which in turn reminded me of sodomy and mutilation. Delicious.
- My hands are burnt.
- Today everyone felt absolutely shit. I only felt mildly shit. I win.
- Our tent is dirty. Tom is upset.
- Tom likes coleslaw sandwiches.
- I dislike descending and sunburn.
- Like a twat, I assumed I would not need walking poles. No. I definitely do, for I am clumsy and pointless inept.
- I keep getting a crispy face.
- It is Chris Trotter's birthday.
- Carwyn fainted.
- Diamox tastes like cheating.

[Things I didn't write about, but should have]
- the hilarious joke I made about my "pussy lips", brought to you by a sunburnt mouth and hypoxia.
- the bit where I summitted.

Eat your heart out, Hemmingway.

Intro

Hello!

Welcome to my new blog. It's exactly the same as the other one, but now the apostrophes are in the right place.