Incoming: Friday BANGER...

There can't be a better way to wake up in the morning than having Ricky Ross pour you a strong cup of coffee. Just imagine. I can practically hear the engaging, stimulated conversations that would follow, if an interview I read on SoundSlam is anything to go by...

SoundSlam: Rick, how are you doing?
Rick Ross: Just hustling.

SoundSlam: For a while, Hip-Hop has been about partying and diamonds. But it seems like Hip Hop is getting back to being grimy. With all these artists claiming to be hustlers, what makes you different?
Rick Ross: Cause I'm me. I represent the 305. Miami. I'm Rick Ross.

And there can't be a better way to kickstart the weekend than dropping the boss' new single. Some straight up epic shit.

Rick Ross - Trilla

I'll throw in another Rawws banger, because it's Friday. And also because I've entered myself in an eating contest at Cargo on Sunday (time for my American roots to shine, bitches - that prize is mine). The line "I weigh 300 pounds, and it's time to eat" will be the mantra that carries me to victory.

Montana Da Mac feat Rick Ross & Bun B - We Runnin The Streets

Please note that Rick Ross will forever change how you pronounce words ending in 'oss' - boss, floss, sauce, lacrosse, etc. He's also likely to make you name your firstborn son Ross (or is that just me?).

Big Brother's Samanda - WTF is this world coming to!!!!

Now then, I've had to hold back on dissing this year's series because I feel its a waste of the 2 minutes I would have spent typing about that shit when I could have spent the time better touching myself.....but WHAT THE FUCK!!!!! Its the last day of BB8 (yeah 8 - as it feels like this series has infected by TV forever) and I cannot hold back no more

They say that these "fine young ladies" (for want of a better term) are going to win this shit tonight which is shocking enough.....what has also shocked me as I found out today is that they have entered Big Brother as one entity that they have called Samanda (see what they have done there - clever huh!!!). What is that all about??? Is it so their combined IQs are now high enough that they can be considered one person, or is it that the 2 of them combined might now be fuckable

Guy's probably look at pictures like this and think "hmmm.....twins!!!" Don't fall for that shit....you're putting the twins on a pedestal - take the twins off a pedestal for fucks sake

Now.....don't get me started on this guy!!!! Big Brother need to sort it the fuck out - they are misrepresenting brothers everywhere......why can't they have a black person on that show that is slightly normal and a little bit intellectual - I'm not asking for a rocket scientist here

Why is the guy here in a tie - Ni**a please - u ain't got no job, and u never been to school!!! I am fucking hoping he is fronting like everyone says he is - I haven't watched it enough to see, but HOW THE FUCK does the guy not know who Shakespeare is if he went to school!!! and they guy also says that the moon is bigger than the universe!!! damnnnnn

Big Brother sort it the fuck out please get a normal black guy on your show!!!

YOU KNOW WHAT - FUCK IT!!!! I am going to enter into Big Brother next year, it will be a first - the first black guy on BB with a degree. I'll be like Samanda and enter myself and my cock into the contest, but as one person. My cock is big enough to be considered as a separate entity, but smart enough and cute enough that I want it to be considered part of me!!! My cock also knows who William Shakespeare is, and also Charles Dickens!!! hehehe

fuuuuuucks sake

BIG BROTHER - SUCK MY COCK!!!!!!!!

I only have eyes for Wu...

This promoter had balls, throwing big numbers and taking a massive punt of and dozen egos and a crackhead...



and here's a tune I like to play out, a filthy remix of a effing tune.

Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nutin' To Fuck With (Fucked Wit) - Bird Peterson Remix

I wish I could "develop the negative into a positive picture"...

Hot damn, my eyes are bleeding.
Last week I got curious to see what Lauryn Hill was up to, besides hating white people, and I found this picture. L Boogie. What the fuck happened? As far as I remember, she didn't have a drug problem...maybe a slight problem with the Bible but I'm not sure if that book of fairy tales would really affect her fashion decisions so badly. Or her ability to perform - apparently at her last Oakland concert back in June, the madwoman was huffing, puffing and wiping profuse sweat with a black handkerchief (see exhibit B below).


Voice cracking, talking some crazy (said to the concert-goers: "I can’t fit into a stereotype that makes me comfortable for you. If that makes me feel uncomfortable to you, I need to find some new company"), coming on 2 1/2 hours late and singing 'Ready Or Not" over techno - it apparently got so bad that, only 4 songs into the show, over 100 people had demanded refunds for their $90 tickets.

Ah, yet another sad story of fame gone wrong. Damn shame though, to this day her lyricism remains unparalleled...

picture me nappin' in my 500 Benz

wish this was me right now...

I do it for the kids

As a condition of my most recent parole, I need to do 20 hours of community service a month. I chose to go to camps, daycare centers and elementary schools dressed as "Needles the Clown" to entertain the children. My P.O. seemed fine with the idea.

So last week was my first visit to Briar Ridge Day Care. I get all prepared, rehearsed, dressed and show up as Needles. Now they tell me I need to find another way to fufill the 20 hours a month. WTF?

Battle of the inventors

Who would win in a fight....Thomas Edison or Benjamin Frankin? They were both brilliant inventors but more importantly, who would whoop whose' ass?

We'll know soon. I've enlisted the help the most brilliant inventors the most prestigious academic institutions the United States has to offer (Boces, Chubb, RonCo) They are currently working on an ambitious project to resurrect the dead men. The details of the project are top-secret, but I can tell you it involves approximately 2 dozen slinkys and a wiffle-ball bat dyed blue with food coloring.

Once reanimated, the men will be brought up to date on all advances to modern science, politics, culture and international relations since their respective demises (Edison 1931), (Franklin 1790) then placed in a ring provided by WWE's Vince McMahon to fight it out in "Twelve rounds of utter chaos and brute force".

After the fight, both men will be shot to death so they don't stand in the way of development on George Foreman's latest grill/flashlight/fishing rod device.

The Weak Ruin It For Everyone

The Japanese Arcade game Arm Spirit has been recalled from 150 game emporiums across Japan as a precaution for the weak to not injure themselves.

"We think that maybe some players get over-excited and twist their arms in an unnatural way," a spokesman said. "The machine isn't that strong, much less so than a muscular man. Even women should be able to beat it," company spokesman Ayano Sakiyama told AP news agency. Arm Spirit gamers advance through 10 levels, pitting their strength against a French maid, a drunken martial arts master and a Chihuahua dog before reaching the final challenge - a professional wrestler.

I hear the last game that was recalled from a Japanese Arcade was Amsterdam Spring Break 2K7: Redlist District because of a herpes outbreak that spread across Tokyo arcades after a visit from Deter Jeter. If you having trouble knowing if this affects you please refer to the chart below.

Nature, Get A Fucking Move On!

What is the fucking point of nose hair?? All it does grow there, looking ugly, and make my nose itch. I'm sure that back in prehistoric times it had some ultra clever purpose. Perhaps it was designed to help block the foul genital stench of the knuckle dragging cavewhore you were trying to bang, but not anymore. Thankfully these days the kind of girl I chase has neither dragging knuckles, or a smelly cooch, thanks to the advent of 400,000 years of evolution, and developments in the labs of Sure deodorant. I think in these fast paced times we should stop waiting for nature to do it's job and start looking for artificial ways of simply speeding up evolution.

My personal wishlist would go something like this:

Multiple orgasms (why should women get all the fun?).

Better bladder control. Required these days especially since 24 hour drinking was introduced.

Shark like teeth that simply regenerate and replace themselves, because all dentists are CUNTS.

Some kind of pocket, like a Kangaroo has to store loose change and my Oyster card.

An extra pair of eyes so I can look at two websites at the same time.

And finally, NO FUCKING NOSE HAIR!

It's an alien

From the 'Trapped In The Closet' screening last week...




One of these days I'll get around to posting something non-Kells - but until then, you can feast your eyes on three brilliant R articles I found:
* Hillary Brown's Nature Vs Nurture
* Mr Show Biz's Magnum Opus
* Hattie Collins Meets R Kelly

Fuck it, here's something for your feet too - do your 2-step to what's possibly the most ridiculous T-Pain remix yet...
Kells & Ush feat T-Pain - Same Girl (remix)

Lovely Musicology

Quite recently, I spoke ill of dwarves - and I also spoke ill of the Almighty - so I guess it's ironic that a few nights ago, a Jesus-freak purple clad midget made me wanna go back to Church and thank God (or some similar fictional figure).... He may be a Jehovah witness nowadays, and the quality of his last album may be highly questionable to say the least, but I'll worship him for a good while longer without any doubt.
I am speaking of course of the-artist-now-known-again-as Prince, hero of my childhood, spirit of my first erotic dreams, creator of the soundtrack to my life. On stage in London, this little dude really had me in a trance - working up a Black Sweat alright. "It's Friday night - do you know what I'm gonna do to this place?" - not so much a question to the audience as a mission statement. The mighty Maceo Parker led the early proceedings with the enthusiasm of a high priest on acid, the crowd was frantic....Dude, I actually had tears in my eyes at one point, I was that happy.
With over 25 years worth of material, there was plenty at this gig to keep the most discerning of Prince fans happy. For me the experience was almost religious (though with a deliciously heathen twist of course). "I don't care where we go, I don't care what we do..." It must have been an epiphany. Somehow thoughts flooded my mind about the genius of man, the power of music, the rights and wrongs of getting older, the importance of memories, the poetry of each moment. I wouldn't have gotten this deep on LSD, I'm quite sure. I'm going back to he 02 church to pray at the LoveSymbol-shaped altar again as soon as possible.

HATER'S CORNER: Rich Kids

This entry is a one-way ticket to Haterpalooza...my favorite 365-day-long festival.

Earlier, as I painfully tried to budget out the remaining pre-paycheck days by the penny (my masochistic daily ritual), the floodgates of hate opened wide and washed over the idea of: trust fund babies. My first target was Lily Allen, always an easily-aimed bulls eye on the hate radar. Last week in the Metro, in a front page article needlessly obsessing about whether or not her visa was rejected (give. a. fuck), there was of course the pervasive sentence about how "Allen found fame via myspace." Right. I'm sure her media-frenzied father and his ride-worthy coat tails had nothing to do with it. Funny how Lily Allen became the world's latest rags-to-riches story ("she comes from the streets!"), when daddy's blatantly got mad money in the bank. I highly doubt her cankles were ever covered in rags. The girl has an admirably brash attitude - but she ain't gangsta, contrary to her hideous ear-splitting collab with Dizzee or her insistence that she knows all about hyphy...oh wait, but there were all those nights in the ghettos of Notting Hill.

Speaking of which, YoYo have spread the rich kid epidemic to the big apple, equipped with Aaron LaCrate (trustfunded midget moonlighting as a Bmore thug) and my next spoon-fed victim: Mark Ronson, celebrity party DJ and song-plunderer extraordinaire. I personally wee'd myself when Geoff Barrow spazzed out on the Portishead myspace blog the other day. Amen to that. I'm still having seizures from Ronson's funky-white-boy take on Radiohead's poignant 'Just'. That atrocity was worthy of an ass-whooping - but I suppose his freakshow of a family is punishment enough. Oh the glamorous, the flossy flossy...

Meanwhile, on the other side of the equation, bless Amy Winehouse for keeping it real. She may also be guilty of hacking into everything that's already been done musically, but at least she ain't a trustafarian (her dad's a taxi driver). I feel for Amy because I'd probably swing in the exact same direction as her (maybe without writing a foreshadowing/ironic song about rehab first) if ever I did actually have that much money to throw around.

Plus I always liked this beat...
Amy Winehouse feat Ghostface Killah - You Know I'm No Good

Well Intentioned Wrongness

Edu-Comics? Most my education on Paedophilia was through being told that Mr. Mowe was a kiddy filddler. THAT's how kids should learn, not like this...







Such well intentioned wrongness.

I'm too tired to give this a title, so just watch it instead.

more merchandise....

we could also start selling these joints in the merchandise section....they would fly off the shelves fo' sho' - perverts everywhere will want one.....but only satin will do - none of the fake plastic shit

R.Kelly has actually requested that these masks be made in a sweat shop.......not to save money but he wants them created by the bare hands of a girl under the age of 15!!!

"I'm no angel here, but I'm no monster either..."

I saw someone wearing this tee on Friday and felt thoroughly inspired...maybe we should set up a WAMP merchandise section?

Wilmer Whateverthefuckhisnameis

Continuing with the stars general debauchery with underage gash theme - my new chump to get dissed this week is Wilmer Valerranananajnsndsndnsdnsand. This guy played the weird guy Fez in that 70's show - a character he played a little too well....after the show ran its course he then tried to get to his street roots with his own show on MTV - Yo Momma.

This guy gets his honourable mention in this blog cos of his 2 celebrity girlfriends - probably the only 2 girls he has fucked in his life. The first being an then underaged Mandy Moore.....after she dumped the chump he then moved to a underaged Lindsey Lohan.....once again she kicked his punk ass to the curb

Whats with this guy and underage gash?!?!?! Guy is like 30something.....Dakota Fanning needs to watch the fuck out!!!

Wilmer Vanmmaddkdskfdsolfdgkdfgkdfdf - YO MOMMA!!!!!!

The best $10 I ever spent

Gas, Break, Dip

I have to say I'm loving VBS TV right now.

First, I got totally addicted to 'Thumbs Up!' which follows Korean-American ex-con art superstar David Choe hitching around the States. (New Orleans is probably my favorite episode...another good one is when they ride a blow-up boat down the Mississippi, for real).

And then this little gem appeared as part of the VBS Music World series.

It's called 'Bay Area Rap Daddy'. Pretty radical title for starters. But watch for the 'Hyphy 101' t-shirt featured about 2 mins 50 in. AMAZING. I nearly broke through the screen trying to get my hands on it.

Anyway, the episode features a lot of next-level insight into the hyphy movement, inlcuding a great dance breakdown featuring about 15 of the sisters of one rapper, dancing in his living room.

Enjoy.

Really though, I NEED that t-shirt...

Does UK hip hop have hope, after all?

Youtube find of the day.

oh shit

i just watched a sneak preview of the new trapped in the closet chapters (actually chapter 12.5) and oh that kells! we not only get a recap of the first 12 chapters (with kells in the background) but you get a preview flash of the upcoming chapters. there will definitely need to be a chicago screening with london on via teleconference when it comes out. t-minus 10 days and counting...

Thank God it's Friday

Those of you who were raised under the oppressive umbrella of religion will remember Fridays back in the day, when you had to make sure you went to mass in the morning and also had to eat fish rather than meat, as a symbolic sacrifice in honour of Jesus (who by the way never declared himself to be a vegetarian, as far as I know - I'm sure he would have enjoyed a kosher hot dog or two...) Those memories have left me slightly traumatised, I must say. I am glad to leave them far, far behind me.

I stopped being interested in the Almighty when my religious studies teacher, who happened to be a nun with far too thick a moustache to ever be taken seriously, told me the reason women cannot become priests in the Catholic faith is that "God has other plans for them". That's bullshit, right. What plans are these - period pain maybe? Even this bunch of ugly ladies agrees with me.

Anyway, nowadays Fridays are a much happier occasion, usually the eve of spectacularly debauched celebrations...It's also the day when you're allowed not to do too much at work because, you know, it's almsot the weekend... It's definitely the day when you get sent most of the sometimes-funny-sometimes-not silly jokes from all your like-minded friends and colleagues. My all time favourite has got to be this no-more nails classic - thought you'd appreciate it.

If you are in Leicester square around 6 pm saturday evening (heaven forbid), may you take part in my new game. It's most amusing! You'll need a partner, or accomplice depending on how you view it. It's called.... UP WEST CLOTHES. Yay!

How you play is like this... You are either on the boys team or the girls team.

If you are on the boys team, you are on the look out for men wearing the rather cliché "UP WEST" outfit - white shirt, blue jeans and brown shoes.

If you are playing for the girls you're looking for cheap floaty dresses with sparkly or metallic strappy shoes.

You get a point for each, first one to 10 wins. If you spot a person from the other team before your partner, they lose a point.

In all seriousness, you will not believe how many people dress this way and how quickly the game finishes. good luck!

I Wanna Poo Poo, I Wanna Pee Pee

As you may have noticed WampCamp covers all things R Kelley and that includes court cases about him peeing on things 10 years ago *Cough Cough 14 year old girls Cough Cough* E! says:

A Chicago judge has announced Sept. 17 as the start date for the trial. The case has dragged on as prosecutors and defense attorneys sparred over various issues, including the timeline when the X-rated home movie was made, and which evidence was admissible. In the interim, the "I Can Believe I Can Fly" crooner has released seven albums, including Double Up in May, and continued to tour.

I don't know what big deal is. R Kelley has peed on me many times. Most of the video is on YouTube and you don't see me complaining. Just for the record if R Kelley loses this court case then the terrorists win.

David Lee Roth Pony

David Lee Roth Pony

Leaky Leaky...

God bless the internet - 5 tracks in and the hype is oh so valid (so far anyhow)

Kells and...Cells?

Truth is damn stranger than fiction. Probably the best evidence imaginable: Celine Dion has decided to make an RnB album. That's right. And she's lined up Timbaland, Ne-Yo and R Kelly (obvs the album would just be 'nB' without R) for the shocker. Timbaland's been acting slightly eccentric recently, but Dion's a full-on unabashed embrace with crazy. M.I.A. did say in a recent interview that he'd said, "I'm done with being cool; I want to work with Celine Dion." But I suppose that's fair enough, 'Come Around' is enough to put anyone off the supposed "cool"(cough). Anyway, I'll be all over this shit when it's out in October - I just hope Cells will let Kells direct the videos.

How do you go from Cee-lo to Celine? Answers on a postcard...
Cee-lo Green feat Timbaland - I'll Be Around

Hot Doug's

I don't care what anybody says... Chicago is the absolute king of fast food. Only certain places in Wisconsin can even be compared to the kind of filthy excess and disgusting eating habits of the Chicagoan. It pretty much obliterates all competition. I have never been anywhere on the planet with nearly as many Vienna Beef hot dog stands, taco burrito kings, pizza restaurants, gyros factories, etc... the list goes on, and on, and on, and on, and on. What would you like today? A fucking fried twinky? I can get you one of those.

Other cities have pizza joints that claim to have "Chicago-style" pizza. This is a total falsehood. Never in my life have I encountered a restaurant outside of Chicago that has captured the TRUE essence of Chicago-style pizza. Nowhere else can you buy a 15-inch pizza with three vertical inches of cheese stuffed within cheese, layered over a buttered pastry crust. Nowhere is the excess quite as glorious. Granted, I imagine that SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE has exported this phenomenon to some other city and made a killing for offering a service so unique. However... the list of examples is probably a short one.

Some fast food joints around the city even offer a kind of multi-culti, all-in-one grease-festival that only a city as culturally diverse as this could. Where else can you find a singular location to offer burgers, tacos, hot dogs, gyros, pizza and chinese food in one? I know a place. This one place right by my house even features burgers, fries... and fucking bi bim bop!? Whose fucking idea was that?!

Anyways, for the most part, its a pretty awful phenomenon. Is it so wrong to desire a quick, accessible meal that doesn't make you feel like you've been swimming laps in a pool of toxic waste while being fed raw sewage intravenously? I don't think so.

HOWEVER... there are those days, like today for example, where nothing would more perfectly remedy your mid-day hunger than a chardonnay-infused rattlesnake sausage with blackberry creme fraiche and Saint Nectaire cheese. Rest assured, you live in Chicago... and this is completely attainable.

Enter Hot Doug's: The Sausage Superstore and Encased Meats Emporium. This is quite certainly among the world's finest establishments. One glance at the daily specials hosted on line is enough to destroy all thoughts of the turkey sandwich you brought to work from home in favor of some incredible, 600-calorie sausage monstrosity. Its just too easy.

Take a look for yourself and enjoy.

The sausage gods have blessed this city with eternal tastiness.

Blueberry venison sausage?



Duck foie gras?


It's all good!

KARMA CAN TONGUE MY BALLS

Some people are into religion. Some people are into spiritualism. Some people are into existentialism. Me? Well, I am into myself. Simply put, I am my religion. I worship at the alter of myself. I pledge allegiance to me. It's a scientific fact that 99.9% of the population are utter fuck knuckles. It must be true, it's on Wikipedia... I know, because I put it there.

Last week I went to put some change into the machine that tops up Oyster cards, and to my annoyance it refused to accept the last pound in the long succession of coins I busily stuffed into the little bastard. After trying 3 times, I gave up and wiggled my arse in front of the reader to finish the transaction. While stood on the escalator that slowly took me deeper into London's lower intestine - the Victoria line - I had a minute to look more closely at the pound coin that had delayed my journey by an unacceptable 45 seconds. It was round like a pound, it felt like a pound, in fact when it kept dropping out of the machine not 30 seconds earlier it sounded like a pound, but as I raised the gold disc towards my eyes the problem became obvious. The print was shoddy, the colour slightly off, the design worn. This was a fake pound!

According to Wikipedia around 1% of all British pound coins in circulation are counterfeit. In 2005 there were 1,452,000,000 £1 coins floating around, so that makes £14,520,000 in fake quids! I know this now, but as I walked along the platform, fingering the coin and bringing it up to my eye like a Jewish diamond appraiser, I was awe-struck at the audacity of pirating a pound. My mind raced with images of Sheffield steel workers angered at losing their jobs in the 80's and deciding to skip the middleman, fire up the furnace and print their own money. Or evil Al Qaeda members hell bent on subverting the British economy by descending on London's kebab shops en-masse to buy Halal donor kebabs with pockets stuffed full of shady spondoolics.

I arrived at my destination and was suddenly struck with a thought. I couldn't change it at a bank. I didn't want to spend it in a shop for fear of it being noticed and not accepted. I couldn't spend this pound in any kind of vending machine, I had already proved that. My demeanour suddenly changed from being fascinated by the strange coin, to being supremely annoyed that I could actually be out of pocket. Suddenly, the world presented me with a solution. Stood before me, in the doorway of the station was a blind man collecting money for charity. Without hesitating I walked up to the man, barging other members of the public busily dropping small quantities of 1p and 2p coins into a pot out of the way, and placed the coin, still warm from my hand into his palm. As the blind man felt the familiar weight and shape of a whole pound coin he looked up at me, his lame eyes focussing a few meters beyond me, and raised a massive smile. "Thank you so much" he said beaming, "that is so kind of you". "Would you like a sticker?". To emphasise my supremely benevolent act even more I said quietly "no thank you. have a nice day", slipped my £110 aviators down over my eyes and walked out of the sun-drenched doorway.

Karma doesn't exist, because if it did, I would be dead by now. Struck down by whatever deity patrols these things. Instead, I am here now, recovering from an amazing weekend and relaying my story to you, dear reader. Go forth and celebrate. Ignore young mothers struggling down stairs with 3 wheeled prams. Give tourists comedically incorrect directions. Don't refill the loo roll in the office toilet. Don't hold the bus door open for that old lady with the heavy shopping bag.

Be part of the 0.1% and join me in saying Karma can tongue my balls.

This is the word of the lord, and the lord is me. Amen.

Mobile phone soundsytems

So, I'm sitting on a bus, minding me own, when the world famous Mobile Phone soundsystem sits behind me. What an honour. Luckly, they decided to give an impromtu one off set. Whoohoo!!! Lucky me. I wonder if they've got any R KELLY.

Now don't get me wrong, I love a tune. God knows, I love a dance but come on... Mobile phones are called such because they're designed for making and recieving calls. THEY ARE NOT CALLED MOBILE SOUNDSYSTEMS FOR A VERY GOOD REASON... THEY SOUND TERRIBLE.

So after one formulaic R n B track after another, we get a sound clash... Team Samsung get on. But they're into grime... terrible grime... with no bass. Rather predictably, a loud argument ensues over who has the right to play no bass, crap music for the, ahem, entertainment of the other passengers. Fantastic.

"Here's an idea!" I said after enduring this intollerable cacophony for long enough. "Why don't you all clear off?!" delivered in my best old codger tone. The odd thing about is was, they actually did a minute of silence later. All except one of the original team, who thought he had a new pal. On yer bike son.

StarbuckWILD...

Sometimes I feel like Starbucks has a personal vendetta against me. I'm not as paranoid as this crazy motherfucker, but I feel as though that they are attacking me on all sides lately. First, my wallet. In London, a Frappucino is the price of a decent lunch (and c'mon now, who can afford lunch at the end of the month in this unfeasible city?). Second, my tastebuds. The lushness of a Starbucks coffee makes it so easy to justify financing their globalized takeover. One foamy caramel macchiato doesn't really hurt anyone, right? Thinking about their aggressive "cancerous"expansion techniques (hyperactive growth of chains; they're happy to crush one of their own branches as long as they take someone else down in the process) always makes my Chai tea latte a little hard to swallow...but damn, it still goes down so smoothly. Third, my eyes: that fucking logo is everywhere. There are FOUR Starbucks within a 2-block radius of my office in central London - say what?

And now, most recently and most offensively, the 'bucks has even hit my ears. Starbucks' record label has been paining me for obvious soul-destroying reasons, the further degradation of the music world and what not. But, to add insult to injury, Starbucks keeps picking musicians I once held so morally high - artists that have nothing to prove, that already have more money than they could spend in one lifetime. In the words of AniDiFranco, "everyone is a fucking Napoleon." Paul McCartney came as no surprise, that man and his fugly ex-wife will do anything to get noticed...but Joni Mitchell? That's where this shit gets personal. Her albums are pretty much the soundtrack to my formative years; I still have yet to find anything quite as heartbreakingly beautiful as 'Blue.'

Flashback to 6 months ago, when Joni talked about how 'ashamed' she was of the music industry: "I just think it's a cesspool. I would never take another deal in the record business, which means I may not record again, or I have to figure out a way to sell over the internet or do something else...It's tragic what MTV has done to the world."

Hypocritical sell-out or not, she's still the shit.
Joni Mitchell - Woodstock

There's also rumors of Prince (the artist formerly known as credible) and James Taylor being signed up. And then today I read about Dave Matthews and Starbucks teaming up on some sort of yawnworthy live release - how's about that for a corporate wet dream? Whatever, I gotta go...my latte's getting cold.