The Revolution Will Be Publicized

After an escapade of near death at my last assignment in the field, Sean Carroll demoted me to simple desk jobs, stubbing his cigar out on my forehead with a flourish of his wrist. But I wasn’t too disappointed. Why? My task was to review the next Weezer album.

I eagerly opened the case with my shaking fingers. It was like Christmas, albeit a Christmas with Rivers Cuomos singing about girl troubles in my lobe-less ears, and a Christmas taking place in late spring. "Weezer," I said, "you won’t disappoint this time. I know you wont," only partially aware that I sounded like an Enid Blyton creation, and fully aware that Michael Bay could write better dialogue. I could have sworn Rivers winked back at me from the cover, his thick spectacles acting like a magnifying glass. If I hadn’t be on hallucinogenic drugs at the time. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so optimistic. After all, the album was called "Make Believe", the cover had a little too much pink for my liking, and the lead single "Beverley Hills" was nothing to write home about, even if you had an urge to write home about Weezer to a puzzled family. But I listened.

And I was angered. Shocked, in fact, by the banality, and pure shitness of the music that was on offer. Am I being harsh? Its true, I am slightly more critical due to what I expect from Weezer. After all, I was, in my mind, out clubbing with Rivers in the Good Life, I was the very-American tank-top wearing mound speaking to Rivers in the sweater song, heck, I was even the 18 year-old girl in Across the Sea. And this betrayal is foisted upon me? I’d burn the CD but I’m afraid that it would melt into my skin, leaving a permanent reminder of this horrible album etched physically onto my arm.

There are few positives, but there are some. Perfect Situation is an upbeat enough, catchy enough, tune. Beverley Hills is Rivers reliving his high-school past- he must be more than 30- bitterly. It seems he is so eager to stay in a perpetual state of discomfort- i.e. jocks stealing his glasses, girls rejecting him with well-crafted tales of lesbianism- that he wont leave College. We are all on drugs is an aurally pleasing song, that has some sort of theme. Sadly Rivers executes it poorly, rhyming words together for pop-effect, rather than impact- "beat-street, cool-school". This, coupled with fairly formulaic instrumentation, leaves a sour taste in the mouth. We wouldn’t expect this from Blink 182, why Weezer? All the rest of the songs are similarly lyrically idiotic. "Fascist pig" is used in one song. Considering the dexterity He shows in El Scorcho, Pink Triangle and Only In Dreams, it’s a shocking effort. "The damage in your heart" is slightly better than the rest, but no where near the standards of other Weezer efforts. "Freak me out" is one of the most risibly irritating songs I have ever heard, The sort of song Britney Spears would release if she could play two chords on a guitar.

Instantly forgettable (thank God), this album is a poor addition to the Weezer cannon, inspiring me to attack Robert Coleman due to his resemblance to a band member. A band member who may or may not have left. Robert Coleman is probably bleeding in a ditch somewhere. And its all this albums fault.

2.5/ 5

Things haven’t been easy for the Queens of the Stone Age. The road to success has been particularly cruel to the Californian based rock and rollers. The band struggled for over a decade before releasing their first main stream accepted album and then, after releasing the phenomenal "Songs for the Deaf", life got even harder for the rock 4 piece. Singer/Guitarist Mark Lanegan was kicked out of the blossoming band by front man Joshua Homme. Bassist, Nick Oliveri (the bald, bearded, screaming, constantly naked guy) was also fired by Josh, who told him that it was a direct result of his "reckless behaviour" (which in the music biz translates as "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY BAND YOU GODDAMN JUNKIE!"). And from there things just got worse. Drummer Dave Grohl disappeared from the Queen’s list of friends who would work for them. The critics began to write them off, saying that after the string of firings the band was doomed. Their record company threatened to drop them if they didn’t come up with a new album. Bassist Mark got a bad haircut. Singer Josh’s parents forgot his birthday. Guitarist Troy learnt that Santa wasn’t real. Ex-member Nick’s cat died. Yes, things looked bad.

But all that is in the past and QOTSA are back on top! They overcame adversity, struggled up the arduous path to musical inspiration and finally got there, even if it meant jettisoning two members (including my favourite member Nick) to make it. The Queen’s problem strewn path to their new album could be compared to the band walking up a large mountain. Whilst Josh and the other surviving members cautiously crept through the woods that grew on the mountains fertile slopes, they were beset upon by three mysterious professionals, one a bass player, one a guitarist/singer and lastly a lawyer. After killing the lawyer and consuming his sweet, sweet brain, Josh and the other two forest inhabitants bonded. They became the replacements to Oliveri and Lanegan and the rest, as they say, is slander.

The new album is worth the wait. Skip past it’s opening to the excellent "Medication" and realise that Mr. Homme was the leader of the band from the start. The sound hasn’t changed. The raw energy is the same as previous albums, sending a frenzy of charged acid-rock anthems through your wildly reverberating speakers. The eerie droning is still there and lyrically it’s not much different (Oliveri’s screaming of obscenities is still missed though).

After the bass fuelled, gut-wrenching, explosion of "Medication" (which oddly features Mark Lanegan on bass. Although he’s gone he still pops up once or twice. Perhaps a kind of musical departure wave?) "Everybody Knows That You’re Insane" kicks in, with a slow, melodic almost Soundgardenesque opening. However, the frantic drums and chords that rip through the centre of the song destroy all melodic aspects, and once again an up-tempo power anthem, that will have you thrashing your air guitar around your bedroom, is born. All the rest of the albums first half is of the highest quality, the Queens living up to the standards that they had set for themselves with their penultimate album.

But then disaster strikes! If up to half way through the track list is the band pleasantly strolling up the side of the mountain, then after that is the band tumbling hideously and awkwardly down the other side. The album goes downhill and the incline is steep. A mess of songs are left, some more cacophonic and unbearable than others. Luckily the band does, a few times, manage to halt their descent by grabbing a loose tree root, giving a brief respite from the drone of the bewildered guitars and the seemingly independent drumming, but soon after this the tree uproots leaving the band to plummet even more furiously then before. It is then that Oliveri is truly missed. His drug induced lunacy and gimmickry offered a break from Homme’s ultra-cool, focused, drudgery. The word "filler" is only too apt to describe certain songs that infest the album’s second half or "dark side" if you will.

In conclusion, the new Grimm Brother’s fairytales inspired album is not as good as "Songs for the Deaf", but then again few albums are. The album is, like all great albums, one that will grow on you over time, as you begin to realise the detail and work that has gone into it. And it is wise to remember that when an album’s second half is said to be terrible, but still a cut above most others, it is no mean feat. Buy this album if you like Queens of the Stone Age, and if you don’t like ‘em, buy it because you like good rock music.

4/5

- Sean Carroll.

This is it, the hallowed, unheralded and subconsciously anticipated launch of the greatest cult publication in the history of subversive wit on the interweb. Sure it may be a shitty blog, and yes, the options are horribly confining, and true, the garish colours and wobbly font will eventually result in blindness, but we are officially on the Internet. Viva La Revolucion! As I would say after having a milk too many.

The Revolution, initially a school newspaper run in the halls of Terenure College, has outgrown its once humble surroundings. Today we cater for a typical audience of about 13 a week on the internet. Before you get a perception of us as Roysh Fucks wearing rugby jerseys with collars-up, and Chinos and Dubes, read our articles and reviews. For we are but simpletons with a lot of free time on our hands, hoping to exploit and foist our views on an unwitting, naïve generation eager for the slightest push in an alternative direction. And so, to business.

Since the Revolutions arrival, our fans have welcomed us with open arms, a medically dangerous way of showing appreciation. I am pleased to report that The Revolution has been embraced by so many, that only the few heathens that darken the corridors of our celebrated youth brainwashing machine are yet to be converted to our soul-destroying, cynically adept, dark side. As you all should know, all of our potential fellow magazine threats have been destroyed! Shit English lad-mags (cor blimey, you fat slag), free indie glossy publications (fight the machine) and the Irish times (I say) are now as much of a threat as an old lady covered in foam. Gentleman, victory is ours! Viva La Revolution!

Apparently these publications were such an embarrassment to life in general, and everyone involved in them in particular, that large groups of literary vigilantes, and foolish perpetuators of their once thriving sales, were so consumed with righteous anger that they began burning them all in a Nazi-style "Burning-of-the-rival-magazines" event. Various responses to our paper have emerged, varying from people spitting at us, to people lying on top of this spittle so as to keep our shoes clean. To our critics, you are the reason we write and to those who love us, you make me uncomfortable. If someone like you likes our work, we must be doing something wrong. Just kidding (fuckers!)

In this issue we have an interview with the world’s most powerful man, a man capable of destroying all that we hold dear and subjecting every nation to mass anarchy, as he says himself, "at the whim of a hat." As well as Padge, we also have an interview with the American president George W. Bush. After reading the first issue Mr. Bush sent us this letter, requesting to be interviewed.

Dear Editors,

Hey Y’all! Just wanted to let you no that I loved "the revulution will be publicationalised". It was exselllent. I laffed and laffed when I read "Juno and the Paycock". I was surprised you guys were allowed to say "cock" in a school paper. However I was a bit worried at your lack of your grasp of the American language. You made up a number of words such as "ostentatious" and "recognition". Once I saw a play but it had no guns or anything in it so I walked out. It was very intellectualised though and gave me lots of culturing. It was funny in the sense that I found some of it funny, just like the funny towels that the Irackis wear on their heads! Did they all just get out of the shower or something?! But I digest. I am righting to u in order too request a inte…iterv..talking with you. I’d be very interresanted in talking to Conitor as I hear he is also a good freedom loving American cityzen. I would like him to tell the irelanderish people that I love freedom and that terrur.. terru… Arabs hate freedom. I will outline my polisees of freedom, whereby I propose to bring freedom to those without freedom. I will set them free in the sense that they will be free to have the ability to be free. I will take the towels from their heads and replace it with a freedom-loving baseball cap. I will take their ak-47s and replace them with freedom-loving hotdogs and I will take their weird dress things they wear and put them on freedom-loving women. I stand for freedom, I sit for un-freedom. You sea, God tells me what to do. Once, in a dream, He said to me, "George I want you to spread freedom". I said "Lord, why me?" God looked at me with a twinkle in His almighty I and said "George, I want you!" and then I realised. The bloo, white and red suit, the American flag top hat! It all made cents now! God was actually Uncle Sam! Uncle Sam is America! America is God! I rule America, so I AM GOD! GOD begins with G! GEORGE begins with G! cowinsydental?! I don’t think so! Of course, I don’t think much. But again I digest. I find your paper to be freedom-loving. I love freedom. Do you love freedom? Sometimes you have to ask yourself a question. Who do you trust? A man with a towel on his head or me, a man in a suit? The answer is simpel. You trust in freedom, cos when there is nothing else to trust in, trust in the chillderen, as long as the chillderen love freedom. Freedom. Freedom. Freedom.

Good-bye,

W.

USA president / cattle wrangler.

(We did it! We captured Michael Moore’s ability to print libel under the legally impervious guise of comedy, and his ability to force our views onto the uneducated masses, who, unquestioningly, will believe whatever we, the puppeteers, tell them. I also found that Vinnie’s- a contributor and designer of the Revoulution- brand of unmitigated arrogance is fun and somewhat therapeutic!)

And so enough of this charade. Enjoy the blog!

Words- Ed Shanahan Sean Carroll.

The Band Member on the far right is Robert Colemans exact double.