Crime and Punishment

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
(Novel)

NEILL says:

A truly astonishing work; gripping, vivid, breathtakingly involving. You wouldn't like it.

8.9/10

Yo' Momma

(Yo' Momma)



JAMES says:

Yo’ Momma so fat, when she auditioned for the part of Brunhilde in Wagner’s Ring Cycle, a part traditionally given to overweight women who are able to produce the low notes needed for the performance of the final ‘Fire Song’, the proverbial fat lady singing which brings the epic opera to a close with the end of the world, she was told she would have to lose a few pounds to get the part.

4.2/10

The Saturday Guardian

(Newpaper)



JAMES says:

The best newspaper in the world. The Sydney Morning Herald is quite good on a Saturday, but has too much stuff about Australia for my liking. The Saturday Guardian has it all, magazines for the ladies, a little guide so you can know what’s on TV wherever you are, a big intellectual book review bit, jobs and nicely left wing news. However, I never actually buy it anymore, and I’ll tell you why. It’s too blummin’ big! Now, I’m not a guy who can just dip into things. There’s only one James way of doing things, and that’s beginning to end. So working my way through the paper, even ignoring crappy bits like sport and travel, just takes too long. I’m still reading the book reviews come Friday, and I have no time to read books or watch TV hardly at all. It takes a couple of hours just to work my way through the news bit. So I’ve had to cut it out, right out. It’s still good though.

8.9/10

NEILL says:

I hate to say it, but he's right. I’m sorry, Saturday Guardian, but… well, it’s over. It’s not you… you’re wonderful… clever, funny, atttactive… it’s just, you take a week to read and I just don’t think I can deal with that kind of commitment. What's that? No, there's no one else. Your friends said what? They've seen me around town reading the tabloid-sized Independent? That's crazy. No, it's not because it's more compact than you, don't be stupid. I like my newspapers big, you know that. It's me, I'm just… I’m not in a newspaper-reading place right now. What? Is it because Julie Burchill left?

My God, how can you even ask me that?

8.4/10

Vernon Kay and June Sarpong

(Television Presenters)



NEILL says:

I have never been beaten up and then peed on by a gang of PCP-crazed Albanian sadists wearing David Hasselhoff masks, so I can't technically guarantee that it is the only thing more degrading and unpleasant than watching ‘T4’ as presented by Vernon Kay and June Sarpong; two people so colossally mentally subnormal that one can only imagine they are somehow the inbred bastard offspring of each other.

But I would hazard a guess.

1/10

Combining music collections when you move in with someone

(Thing that happens when you move in with someone)



Keep reading for your chance to WIN STUFF!

JAMES says:

In theory this should be brilliant, as you automatically double the range and quantity of your available music listening to reserve. However, in my extensive research for this review which is not just entirely based on my own experience but stands as a universal truth for all cultures and societies, one side usually brings a lot less to the table. And, without meaning to be sexist, that side is usually the ladies (or the ‘bitch’ in single sex relationships). The man brings his boxes of eclectic but always interesting CDs, a whole wealth of joy and excitement which if the woman had any sense she would take a week off work and listen through in alphabetical order twice, and in return gets a couple of albums that the girl bought when she was 14 because she fancied the lead singer.

Then you come to the integration dilemma. It’s easy to just have your music separately, thus avoiding the nightmare scenario where someone is looking approvingly through your collection at a party only to come across ‘Abba Gold’ or somesuch. You tell them it’s your girlfriend’s, but you can see in their eyes a doubting glimmer. It also means that your partner can find her CDs when she wants them, which I suppose is a good thing. However, these are far outweighed by the negative, that the CD collection in your house will not be in order. Not alphabetically, not by genre, not even by colour, and I know I certainly couldn’t sleep if that state of affairs prevailed in my house. Anarchy.

There are benefits of course. When your little lady starts listening to your favourite bands of her own volition, it fills you with a pride almost as great as if you’d made it yourself. On the flip side, though, you might find yourself in the position of being in the mood to listen to a Divine Comedy CD, which can shake your self esteem to the core. You can also buy your loved one an album that you actually wanted yourself as a present, and then get unlimited access to it. Finally, you get duplicates of albums which you can give away in a competition to boost interest in your hilarious yet insightful website. Like I said, universal truths, no personal experience in here at all.

4.5/10

---

COMPETITION: Yes, dear readers, in the spirit of the above review we are giving one lucky reader the chance to win James' superfluous post-merging extra copy of the superb album '13' by Blur. To win this rare, exclusive and cutting-edge prize, and possibly a tube of Rolos thrown in too, simply tell us the WORST record you have ever found in the CD collection of a girlfriend / husband / PVC sex dwarf / whatever. Anyone and everyone is allowed to enter this fun contest, except for Neill; partly because it's his website, and partly because he once went out (briefly) with a girl whose entire music collection consisted of military band music and Telstar TV-advertised 'Best of Soft Metal' compilations, so he would win too easily.

Just e-mail your entry to competition@urtheory.co.uk - closing date… oh, not for ages.

Frank

By Amy Winehouse
(Album)



NEILL says:


I surprised myself the other day by buying a record based on the strength of absolutely nothing more than the fact that I quite fancied the singer. This is the sort of behaviour that would be risible in a thirteen-year-old boy, so in one of my own advanced years it is more than a little alarming. Especially given that I've spent the last five years or so mocking one Bobby Hazlehurst for once buying a 'Sleeper' CD for the precisely the same reasons. Still, though - Louise Wener? I mean, it's hardly the same thing.

Anyway, given the above, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that 'Frank' by Amy Winehouse was actually quite a good record. Because, let's face it, it could have sucked more dick than Michael Portillo in the back of a cab with the members of Busted, and I'd have had no-one to blame but myself. But no; Winehouse has an astonishing growling motherlover of a voice that would do credit to a 300-lb Detroit-born Soul Mama, let alone a damn cute 19-year old Jewish girl from North London. (Which is what she is, apparently). Possibly Winehouse's greatest strength, apart from the 'damn cute' thing and the ‘shit-hot singer’ thing, is her lyrical wit and intelligence. 'Fuck Me Pumps' is a hilarious ode to Saturday-night High-street scrubbers everywhere ("You can't sit down right / Cause your jeans are too tight / And you're lucky it's Ladies Night"), whilst 'I heard love is blind' contains the singularly poetic lines:

"I couldn't resist him, his eyes were like yours/
His hair was exactly your shade of brown/
He's just not as tall, but I couldn't tell/
It was dark and I was lying down"

In general, Winehouse combines cool maturity and brassy showstopping confidence with the faintest suggestion of vulnerability in a way that pretty much guarantees her a future as an icon to generations of as yet unborn gay men. There is, unfortunately, a weak point in all this fabulousness; and it is in the rather key area of the songs themselves. On the numbers where Winehouse has a tune to match her (such as the absolute belter 'In My Bed') it all goes off thrillingly, but too often her undoubtedly astonishing voice is left to carry a series of rather unremarkable and repetitive melodies.

Still, though. Like I say. DAMN cute.

6.3/10

Free Stuff

(Free Stuff)



JAMES says:

Anything, anything at all, is at least ten times better when it’s free. If I had a choice between a job with tons of free stuff as perks, or a job that paid better so I could actually buy the stuff myself, I certainly know which one I’d go for.

When it comes to marking Free Stuff I have a dilemna, as it is obviously dependent on the stuff that is free. I was going to give it a value of +3, in a Dungeons and Dragons-stylee, so that anything we’ve reviewed would be 3 marks better if it was free. So, for instance, free Australian Beer would be 7.2/10. However this would mess up the chart, and would mean that free Mince would get 12/10 which is clearly insane. Therefore I’m going to give it 8/10, which is the average mark of 5/10 plus 3.

It’s not so easy being a reviewer, you see.

8/10

Wednesday 19th November, 2003

(Day)



JAMES says:

There’s a limit to how well a day can be when it starts off with an exam (no, I’m not 16 years old, I’m an accountant. We spend half our lives doing exams, and then the other half marking them for small change). But to maintain the cosmic ying/yan balance I decided to spend the afternoon having lots and lots of fun. My name is James Cameron and this is not the longest day of my life.

The exam itself was OK, 3 hours went by super quickly, and only the end dragged, when we couldn’t leave as the idiot next to me couldn’t work out how to stick a bit of card down. And he wants to be an accountant? The idiot. Anyway, fresh out of the municipal building and filled with the elation of three months of watching TV anticipated, so I decided to go and stuff my face with KFC then watch the Matrix Reloaded. Which wasn’t lots and lots of fun. Admittedly after all the fried chicken and the reduced to clear marsh mallows I had consumed I wasn’t in the most receptive mood, but I spent most of the film bored. Now, being bored in a Matrix film, that ain’t right, that’s what old people and girlfriends do. But there I was, praying for the protracted Star Wars rip-off war to end. Lots of characters you’d hardly seen before and no real chance of winning without making the whole film more pointless than it actually was. It was during this section that about 8 people walked out of the cinema, so I wasn’t alone. Though as there were only about 10 people to start with I very nearly was. I have lots more cleverly amusing put downs for the film, but I don’t want to ruin it so anyone wanting to hear them write in and you’ll get a special ‘Too hot for the internet’ version of this review.

Anyway, I now had an unexpected fun deficit to deal with, so I decided to go for some well deserved shopping. Unfortunately the puritan skin-flint Scotsman in me then made me feel very guilty about spending money on myself. It also exhausted me, being a man an not used to it, and I felt the last few months effort catching up with me, so I was exhausted by the time I met Debbie. She was recovering from a lunchtime drinking session, so neither of us was feeling particularly vibrant and the whole day looked doomed to disaster.

Thankingfully, salvation came along in the form it so often takes, a Barbeque. We dined that evening at Bodean’s BBQ restaurant, and I cannot recommend the place enough. Or, rather, I can’t be bothered to recommend it enough, but it is very good. Half-price cocktails and piles of meat as big as your plate. The pulled pork and burnt ends were particularly fine. If you’re in Soho and not a vegetarian, get thee to the BBQ. After that I just feel full and happy, so went home. There followed a brief attempt in the ongoing project of teaching Debbie how to play video games. I thought we might but alright on this one as the point of the game was to crash as badly as possible, but she just fell asleep, and thus the day ended.

Exam – 3/10
Matrix Revolutions – 6.1/10
Shopping – 5/10
Bodean’s BBQ – 8.8/10

Total for Day – 5.7/10

NEILL says:

Uh… I think I had chips.

5/10

Premature Baldness

(Cosmic Tragedy)



NEILL says:

I don't think of myself as a vain person, but having to face the fact that I am undeniably and irreversibly going bald has induced in me a crisis of frankly girlish proportions. The sheer implausibility of it offends and astonishes me. I mean, for God's sake - who goes bald at 26? Me and fucking Lex Luthor, apparently. And I'll tell you, I have a whole new world of sympathy and understanding for that guy. No wonder he was a little bitter, having to look at Superman flying around all day with a full head of wavy lustrous oddly-blue hair, like he was such hot shit. Luthor, Ming the Merciless, George off Seinfeld... bald men have a great tradition of being evil bitter maniacs, a fact which is perhaps only capable of true comprehension by those who have themselves felt the brush of the wind where no man should. The insanity stems from a complete inability to move, rationally or emotionally, past the enormous and intractable question: why? What possible reason could there be to justify this horror? How could a loving creator allow this to happen? Science certainly cannot help us; I find it impossible to discern the evolutionary purpose served by walking round with one's scalp exposed to the elements. Unless it were to stop one's head overheating, but I would have thought this concern were already comprehensively addressed by the simple expedient of living in Britain. The only possible explanation I can think of is the supernatural; it is clearly some kind of a curse, sent by Gods who were jealous of my otherwise flawless staggering physical beauty. This notion is one that would afford me some small comfort, were it not so patently, demonstrably and hilariously false.

However, as anyone who knows me will happily concede, I am a cheery and unfailingly positive soul, not the sort to dwell for one second on life's bleaker aspect. It is in this spirit that I have compiled the following list of Good Things About Looking Like Phil Mitchell:

• People on the whole do seem less inclined to fuck with you.


• There is a certain soothing satisfaction to be had from rubbing one's bristly head contemplatively, like the old geezer in 'Seven Samurai'.


• Um... increased sensitivity to changes in atmospheric pressure.

And that's the lot. Scant compensation, I think you'll agree. The striking thing about premature baldness, and the real reason it is so massively and cosmically unjust, is the way it forces the individual to confront stark realities about time and mortality that could normally be swept under the psychological rug until well into middle age. Yes, you are getting older. Yes, you are going to die. No, you don't get to score with teenage girls any more.

…I'm sorry, I can't go on.

1.6/10, and that's only for the 'Seven Samurai' thing.

Comparitive Review: AIM vs AIM

AIM
(Evil Organisation)



NEILL says:

AIM (Advanced Idea Mechanics) is a subversive scientific think-tank founded in secret during WWII by the demented Baron Wolfgang Von Strucker to develop cutting-edge technology and weaponry for his terrorist organisation HYDRA. In the years since its inception, A.I.M. has been at the forefront of scientific development, introducing the world to countless inventions that are now commonplace; inventions such as:

• the Super-Adaptoid, an android capable of duplicating the form and superhuman powers of another being,


• the Cosmic Cube, an unimaginably powerful object capable of restructuring reality,

...and of course, who could forget:

• MODOK (Mental Organism Designed Only for Killing), an artificially mutated human being with an enormous head and a stunted body who possesses superhuman intelligence and various psionic abilities.

Despite these impressive achievements, several questions hang over the organisational efficiency and long-term 'product roadmap' that governs A.I.M. For instance, many observers ask why, if these guys can invent laser beams and flying cars and MODOKs, why on Earth don't they patent some of this shit and make with the fat cash, instead of sitting around in their crappy secret lair underneath the Hudson River or wherever waiting until Nick Fury or Captain America turn up to kick their sorry asses. One also has to question the sanity of a Human Resources policy based on the principle of making their top scientific brains run around with guns like some kind of freaky yellow stormtroopers. Staff turnover is presumably pretty high due to the twin dangers of employees either being smashed by the Hulk or simply deciding they'd be better off relocating to a lower-risk, better-benefit-plan evil organisation. Like Microsoft! A Ha ha ha! No? Sigh...

In the final analysis, A.I.M. stand as a decidedly second-rate evil organisation; they lack the edgy glamour of a C.O.B.R.A or the sheer glorious acronymical excess of a S.P.E.C.T.R.E. Furthermore, their efforts in the field of downtempo instrumental Hip-hop are decidedly negligible.

4.3/10

AIM
(Recording Artist)



NEILL says:

AIM, known to his parents as Andy Turner (or 'Andy', we may suppose) has produced two classic studio albums to date; Cold Water Music and Hinterland, and is probably the single finest Hip-hop producer ever to come out of Barrow-in-Furness, Cumbria. His music is part of the great British tradition of downtempo instrumental Hip-hop, standing in a direct line with such artists as The Herbaliser and Rae & Christian, but his work shows a vision and a potential that could conceivably yet carry him far beyond such comparisons and into a whole other weight class. Whilst complex and utterly cool, many of his tunes carry an honest emotional charge rare in this kind of electronic music; from the joyful exuberance of the Souls of Mischief collaboration No Restriction to the sleepy melancholy optimism of A Twilight Zone. His collaborations with vocalist Kate Rogers are particularly effective; Sail (on Cold Water Music) being simply one of the more beautiful things you're likely to hear in a good year.

For all that, though, it must be said: he has never invented a Mental Organism Designed Only for Killing (or 'MODOK'), and indeed it seems unlikely that he ever will.

8.5/10