Implementor

Review: 16 major problems — My darling YOU!

Not minor problems. Major problems. Major.

The first three EPs by My darling YOU! on one CD. Sixteen sweet, lo–fi, indie–pop songs from two guys in Göteborg. Sort of twee, but a bit spiky, and summery even during the songs from The Winter Will Take Us All.

Listening to all three EPs one after the other like this, it’s kind of obvious how very far they’ve come. Which is to say, a lot of the older tracks sound a bit crap compared with, say, Please Don’t Talk To Me I Fall In Love So Easily. But it’s also obvious how much potential they have so, y’know, support them. By buying this.

Fun facts about Nottingham: there’s literally nowhere in the city centre you can get a clear line of sight to the sun rising without standing somewhere you’re not supposed to be. Every relatively open space in an elevated position has either a big fence around it and a padlocked gate, prominent “trespassers will be prosecuted” signs, or both.

I stood next to a newish BMW with smashed windows to take these photos. I love living here.

…is the sound of LocoRoco flying along in the wind, of a special move in Marvel vs Capcom, and of another year whizzing past. These were some of my favourite things in 2006:

Game of the Year

Winner: LocoRoco

Sony’s PSP is a pretty awful piece of hardware, from its dodgy controls to its meagre battery life to the fact that it’s literally about twice the size of my mobile phone, iPod and camera put together. PSBP, more like. And its software catalogue is grimmer yet, ports of ugly “urban” franchises, hardly a blue sky in sight.

Even so, LocoRoco transcends its rubbish format. The shoulder buttons are pretty much the only ones not designed by an idiot, and it’s such a breath of fresh air that I really don’t mind lugging the PSP onto the train, even though I know it’ll be cumbersome and annoying all day and the battery will probably be flat before I get wherever I’m going.

“The first time you played Sonic the Hedgehog’s Green Hill Zone” seems to be a common point of reference, and with good reason. Even now, exhaustively completed, it still makes me smile every time I play.

Runner–up: LEGO® Star Wars™ II: The Original Trilogy

All the brilliance of the first game, plus all the magic of the original films, and some extra high score–style challenges to aim for. If, like me, you thought any goodwill you had left for Star Wars had long since fled, pick up either of the LEGO® Star Wars™ games to be reminded how special it used to feel.

Slips into second because, despite how much sense infinite lives makes in context and how persuasively Jonathan Smith explains the reasoning behind it, I’m fundamentally a “one credit, three lives, game over” sort of gamer.

Book of the Year

Winner: In Search of a Distant Voice by Taichi Yamada

Okay, this isn’t quite as good as Strangers but if they had been translated in the order they were written (i.e. this one first), nobody would make that comparison anyway. A sweet, melancholy unrequited love/ghost story.

Runner–up: The Bonehunters by Steven Erikson

Er, bit of a guilty pleasure, this one. Blame the fact that although I read loads of books, only about three of them were published this year. But even so, in the field of absurdly vast, convoluted, complicated fantasy epics, nobody’s better than Erikson.

Film of the Year

Winner: El Laberinto del Fauno (Pan’s Labyrinth)

Dark, pretty and horrifically sad. The effects are occasionally a little bit ropey, but the storytelling and imagery carries it through. Dullard Jackson and his wretched ilk couldn’t make a fantasy this fantastic in a million years.

Runner–up: Romanzo Criminale (Crime Novel)

I’m not generally a fan of gangster movies. As well–made as films like Goodfellas undoubtedly are, my enjoyment of them is invariably tainted by the type of cunts who cite them as their favourite films. Unfair maybe, but true.

Beautifully shot and only sparingly violent, Romanzo Criminale is a rare exception. And it features no exaggerated Brooklyn accents and the worst plan to break out of prison ever in the history of all things.

Music of the Year

Winner: Silent Shout, The Knife

Deep and dark and sharp and cold as a glacier. Perhaps in another season it might not be so firmly the best album of the year, but I reckon it would still be in with a shout. Their strongest and most coherent album yet.

Runner–up: Breaking Up, The Research

I didn’t think this year had been all that great for music until I checked my iTunes library. But there have been loads of brilliant albums this year, from artists like Love is All, Jóhann Jóhannson, MONO, Lo–Fi–Fnk, Herman Düne, Isobel Campbell, The Pipettes, Casiotone for the Painfully Alone, Cansei de Ser Sexy, etc etc.

The Research take second place by virtue of me playing them more than any of those, according to iTunes’ playcounts. You can’t argue with science.

Things also happened at ATP that didn’t happen in toilets. Imagine!

Move the mouse over the pictures to read the accompanying story.

More photographs on my flickr page.

Each night of this December’s ATP was marked by a notable toilet–related incident, like some twisted trio of Dickensian ghosts.

Banana Milkshake

On Friday night, a drunken Scotsman in an otherwise (unusually) deserted toilet asked me if I knew where he could get a banana milkshake.

Naturally (naturally! — everyone knows you should never even look at a stranger in a gents toilet, let alone speak to him) I assumed this must be some sort of disgusting gay slang, made a vague suggestion about buying bananas from Tesco, and left before he could, I don’t know, cottage me or something.

I maintain that this was a rational and reasonable response.

“Oh, ow, get off!”

On Saturday night, there was a couple having sex in the toilets by the main stage, accompanied by some energetic moaning and an occasional red Converse boot or absurd winklepicker thrust from beneath the cubicle wall. I guess this is what happens when you make people queue for ages to get into venues with pretty much no chance of ever getting back in if they leave.

Unlike Friday, every man in there stoically maintained traditional urinal etiquette, despite the sort of crowding and queuing that meant that extra cubicle would have been extremely useful.

Even when a series of panicky gasps and protestations indicated something had apparently gone badly wrong in said cubicle.

Take note, Scotland.

We still don’t know what a TV dinner feels like

On Sunday night, it was discovered that there was an open ventilation shaft in the toilets of Reds bar, from which could clearly be heard the sound of Iggy and the Stooges playing the main stage.

I don’t think anyone really wanted to watch a man who resembles nothing so much as an antique suitcase leaping around and singing songs we don’t like, but obviously any opportunity to circumvent their draconian system of queues and wristbands had to be taken.

Alas, real life once again proved itself inferior to video games and Die Hard, and despite Simon’s best efforts, the ventilation system wouldn’t support the weight of a man. A disappointing anti–climax, then.

Much like that cubicle on Saturday night.