I'd like to chuck my titfer into the ring with regards to the NME and the offence it seems to have caused my fellow scribe. Now first of all, the NME has always, always been just one step up from shit tickets. It hasn't needed to dig itself into any kind of black hole, it has always lurked somewhere beneath the lowest rung of the journalistic ladder (the very same ladder that up which we tappy-tap-tappers all aspire to shimmy)
My point is this: If, in their severely restricted wisdom, the editorial weasels (a business of weasels i believe is the correct collective noun) behind the inky rag wish to cover the front page with a bit of flesh then mores the better. Granted, the Ditto-potamus isn't one to make my jeans creak; i wouldn't touch her with kens, but at least she's up for cracking them out. Let's hope this is the NME setting their stall out. Let's hope they've seen the error of their ways and from now on we'll see them negate the opinionated drivel and opt for a decisive movement towards smut; good old fasioned prostitution, instead of the covert, industry driven lip service that has all but swallowed up the burgeoning UK music scene. Maybe one day, and this is a big shout, one day the NME will be reduced to basic service journalism: a huge picture of some fitty from a shit band with her feeders swinging on one page, and the other with a running tally of which bands have had the most money chucked at them by hand wringing A&R departments and shadowy record executives.
Just a thought.
The World Russelling Federation
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