Today I am chewing, dancing to 'We Built This City' and attempting discourse on the horrifying shitwagon of Neon Yes Men otherwise known as The Radio One Presenters.
Look at them. Everything that is wrong with the airwaves starts on that fucking couch.
Please stop hitting your screen, it will do no good. I took a hammer to mine and when I woke up the next day they were still there, spreading I Can't Believe It's Not The Zutons all over an otherwise decent day.
After several lengthy conversations with others on this subject, it is agreed the human epicentre of this BBC Audio turdquake is the one known as Jo Whiley. This walking talking bowl of unsweetened ReadyBrek rolls around the commercial airwaves bumping into programs saying 'Kasabian' whenever prompted by the BBC trend stick. The vile male counterpart of this vacuous popularity hole is known as Zane Lowe. His name alone makes me want kick him down some stairs. Added to this seething chorus line from hell is Moyles. Perfect contestant for an episode of 'Celebrity Gut Punch' As a group they induce many to set light to their own ears in an attempt to avoid the tone of their nightmareish voices.
Through the rage, there is a salient point. I appreciate music greatly. I remember the first time I heard The Kinks. When I heard them I thought that Sony had replaced their speaker range with hi fidelity orgasm peripherals. The current state of affairs on the radio has me wondering whether anybody gives a shit about music anymore. When the radio is held hostage by a banal cavalcade of nodding heads reiterating whatever they overheard from the sarcastic kids on the way to work that day.
It then encourages a tidalwave of singing haircuts who would have been best served staying in their bedrooms, to make demo's and myspace pages flooding the internet with horrendous skinny jeaned karaoke all wailing the like minded version of Delusions of Grandeur 2011. Saying that one of those little shits may be reading this page and thinking that Delusions of Grandeur is a fitting name for whatever pile of audio vomit he is burning to disc this evening.
The people mentioned in this article may be aging as we speak, still clinging to youth by wearing their parka jackets and running around the Glastonbury Festival with their heads up the arse of who ever is head lining that year, but for those of you stupid enough to enjoy these cretins, do not fear, father time will not take them from you. As we speak the new face of Radio One is busying himself around the capital. Nick Grimshaw, Lily Allens Pet Twat and the inspiration for the Wii's new release, Who Wants to Glass a VO5 Cock.
In conclusion if you are a fan of Radio One, I apologise. Well actually I don't apologise. I wonder why you are here in the land of reason and not out and about socialising in your Tinie Tempah glasses with your finger on the pulse. Waiting for the next craze like a child waiting for the toy to fall out of the fucking cereal box.
To everyone else. We paid for that station. We have rights.
Audio Revolution. Engage.
Until the next time.
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