Sunday, February 27, 2011

Thom York ate my Snotty Naan

I remember when Radiohead's Kid A came out. Neil, my brother-in-law, was working at a record shop at the time and when a customer walked up to him and asked what the album was like, he replied, "Give me some pots and pans and a kazoo and I'll knock you one up in half an hour." It wasn't the only funny thing he's ever said, but sometimes the humour isn't quite as accurate or well placed.

King of Limbs feels like it comes from the same pots, pans and kazoo stable that Kid A does. Have this band, the one that did such indie classics as Fake Plastic Trees, Street Spirit (Fade Out), Karma Police and The Gloaming, forgotten how to write a tune? It almost feels like they felt obligated to do an album, so they locked themselves in a studio for 45 minutes and came up with a 38 minute long album - the other 7 minutes was having a fag, drinking a mug of coffee and watching Thom go through some moves for the video of Lotus Flower.

I thought In Rainbows was evidence of the law of diminishing returns; King of Limbs does nothing to change that opinion, it actually reinforces it. I'm betting 99% of the band's fans would welcome an album that they can interact with again.


Last night, feeling slightly healthier than I have for a fortnight, the wife and I ventured over to Leicester to see Jay and Selina and go to a restaurant we've attempted to go to for about 5 years. Sharmilees on the Belgrave Road has become something of an Indian food Mount Everest for us; we see it, but we've not managed to sit down in it and have a meal. We had a takeaway from there about 3 years ago; just after J&S got Loki, their little man, and didn't want to leave him alone for the night; but that was the closest.

Selina booked up and amazingly the place was half empty - it's always been packed to the rafters. The food, in a nutshell, is good. Maybe not as good as I'd been expecting, but good enough to make the journey worthwhile - although the company would have more than made up for it even if the food tasted like pig shit. But, and you knew there was a but coming, it wasn't the kind of food that I expected from a place that once had a 'book well in advance to avoid disappointment' policy. My criticisms were few - it could have done with being a bit hotter in temperature; I was disappointed to see the use of frozen vegetables and there seemed to be an over eagerness from the staff, which sometimes isn't needed and can be a way of detracting from the rest of the service.

Perhaps I'm just used to the wonderful food from Pooja in Wellingborough; but I've yet to have a complete meal in Leicester that compares with my favourite restaurant. That makes it sound like I don't rate Leicester; I do and in a big way. I just can't help wondering if it has become slightly Anglicised and has forgotten its roots?


(To be read in a blues stylee)

Woke up this morning and wondered if this ongoing bout of metamorphosing cold was ever going to end. I have a horrible feeling that whatever this cold is doing, it's seriously considering having a go at my chest again. The wife reckons its revenge for having avoided everything that's been floating around over the last 6 months - because it will be 6 months since I packed up smoking at some point in March. But I've now had 3 consecutive long weekends where I've felt much less than 100% and this is not fair...


It very much looks like I shall be serialising my autobiographical comics book on as the bits I've looked at and edited so far have been okay...

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