It’s that time again. Time to slide another unwanted CD into the player and see what fate has in store. This time around we are meeting The Baseballs, who are presenting us with their debut album “Strike!” from 2009. I hadn’t heard of this album, or this band, before, but a look at it and a bit of cursory research suggested this Four Word Review wouldn’t be too bad. Some are painful, of course, and others are just a bit of fun. I was dismayed to find, however, that this was a genuinely unpleasant experience, and in this review I’ll be attempting to work out why.
Devastating news for Chris Crimz aka Chris Marshall solo fans as artist claims he is still no closer to finishing his epic trilogy of songs.
Crimz rose to fame with the now stone cold classic ‘Wasting your life!” which was written prior to but only saw a formal release through the Papples debut album of the same name. He then cemented the popular but not quite as good, ‘That’s your life!’ which despite constant demands from the fans is still waiting for a formal release. Tapes of the demo have been trading hands for astronomical amounts of money on Ebay, sometimes reaching up to ten whole English pounds. There was a recent bidding war between two diehard fans, Polin Clodbrook and Rolio Chaffinch, for a very rare tape which, if the rumours are to be true, claimed to be a duet between Crimz and Kelly Clarkson during their short-lived romance at the tail end of 2009.
Newsboost reached out to Mr Marshall for an exclusive interview and eventually, once he stopped repeatedly slamming the door into my foot, we were granted one.
“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” said Crimz, partially through a crack in the door between his dining room and kitchen, “I seem to remember I once attempted a third part but it wasn’t very successful. The lesson is that you can’t rush genius.”
When asked what the composition was like and what kind of arrangement it was (joyous possibly or further leaning into the sad melody of the second part), Mr. Marshall changed the subject to a future release in 2024. “I’ll be putting out another greatest hits album shortly. I want the fans to know that I am listening and that I do care. It’ll be jam-packed with exclusive b-sides, live tracks and the odd Pet Shop Boys remix. Guaranteed to put a smile on their faces. The CD edition will come in a gold coloured cardboard sleeve with a commemorative booklet. A premium product.”
That sounds like something we can all enjoy. At least if the epic closer of his musical journey isn’t coming any time soon then we’ll all have a piece of the pie to chew on. You really can’t rush genius.
While rummaging in the dusty Beans archives for material to put in the 2024 calendar, I found a load of photos we took during the making of the Papples’ second album, Masterpiece, back in 2010. (I also found pictures from 2011, when we were making Pop Squared, but I’m saving those for next month because you have to keep those post totals up.)
There are 149 pictures in the set, so you’ll be relieved to hear I whittled them down to 80 before adding them to a new photo gallery in the usual place.
The photos start out in my old flat in Streatham, where we can be seen doing a bit of recording and editing, but then quickly turn to a day trip we took to Kent. I think we spent the day touring around various seaside towns, messing about, taking photos for the album cover and possibly sending postcards to Kev. I’m fairly sure the photos include visits to the Isle of Sheppey, Westgate, Whitstable, Sandwich and Samphire Hoe, though there may be other places too.
In Westgate we refused to get out of the car, and instead spent our time getting into stupid positions (in the boot, legs out of the window) and using the headrests to pretend to be walruses.
Along the way we learn a number of things.
Ian enjoyed taking a self-portrait. Selfies hadn’t been invented in 2010, but if they had, he’d be the king of them. Among the 69 pictures I discarded were lots of alternative shots of Ian’s face that he took himself. There are still loads in here.
I thought it was funny to be completely expressionless and vacant in pictures, and did this almost every time a camera was pointed at me. Most of these are irritating and don’t work, but I will admit that the picture of me outside a pub called “The Smack” still makes me laugh.
We also learn that Kent is full of places with stupid names, and we photographed most of them. Pictures of daft streets, towns and businesses litter this album. It’s a masterpiece of silliness. Enjoy.
I see you, dressed in a sharp suit and turning towards the camera. That’s not a wry look on your face, Pitney, that’s the look of someone who knows something. So what do you know, Pitney? Do you know that you’ve got a great voice and before your passing in 2006 you were well-respected by pretty much everyone? Do you know that not only did you have a magnificent set of pipes but you also played instruments during the early part of your career? I didn’t know that but now I do.
Are you hiding the fact that you are also a gifted songwriter and had your fingers in a lot of pies in the 1960’s? Pretty chuffed that you wrote the lovely song ‘Hello Mary Lou’ for Ricky Nelson, later covered by Creedence Clearwater Revival?
Something in your pocket, Pitney? Perhaps it’s a diary of the time you were present when the Rolling Stones were recording their first album. What’s that? May have played some piano for them too?
Well I wouldn’t be that happy if I’d written the piss stain train tracks of ‘Rubber Ball’ by Bobby Vee, a song so irritating it should have cement poured on its feet and be thrown into the sea. Get in the sea, ‘Rubber Ball’. No more of that, Pitney.
Remember who you’re dealing with, Pitney. You’ll be twenty-four hours from my fist in your chops if you come at me like that again.
Devastating news has been reported from the United Nations after it was decided that, having reached the grand total of one billion love songs, there will be no more after midnight tonight.
When top-charting scuzz pop double act Mozz P released ‘Love Ring’ on streaming services at 9:01am this Monday little did they know how important a song it would end up being. I mean it’s not a great song, in fact it’s pretty awful and degrading to both men and women. I would even go so far as to say it’s less a song and more two idiots shouting, “LOVE RING! LOVE RING!” through an auto-tuner whilst someone else’s music plays in the background. It has, however, been decided that this will be the very last love song ever released and that moving forward no new love songs will be permitted. This may seem like a pretty harsh indictment but when you consider the evidence it makes perfect sense. Jupiter Bromport from the United Nations spoke with our reporter earlier this week.
“There’s too many of them. One billion songs? Are you kidding me?” mused Jupiter Bromport as she sipped a cappuccino from the side of her mouth. “We paid an intern to write an algorithm to work out the percentage of songs in the modern world concerning love and apparently a staggering 94.6% of all songs ever released are about love. We need a little more diversity. Considering the amount of “things” we have today it is strange that people still tend to dwell on the same ideas and notions. Nobody is condoning the universal appeal of love and all aspects of love but would it kill people to maybe write one about a pirate cat or a mud princess swimming in Stockport every once in a while? I personally would love more songs about what happens to your clean washing if you leave it on the floor for too long.”
The news has left several prominent song writers in quite a quandary. Ed Sheeran was seen downing a whole bag of ‘Pick ‘N’ Mix’ all at the same time. He refused to comment and spent over an hour hiding in the bathroom at the Butt and Oyster pub before climbing out the window. Billie Eilish openly protested when she heard the news; she threw a loud and nasal tantrum and then threw a tin of pop over a carousel horse in New York. Reports are still coming in however it has been mentioned that Ariana Grande may or may not have aggressively solved a child’s Rubik’s Cube in downtown Los Angeles. Whether it was to do with the news is still unconfirmed. We are still awaiting official news from Michael Buble and Lionel Ritchie.
It’s not all doom and gloom though. Roger Waters had been working on a new rock opera about the name change when cleaning product giant Jif changed to Cif in December 2000. Since the headlines first hit, his ticket sales have quadrupled, selling out venues all over the UK and Ireland.
Last weekend, some people hopped in a car and drove over six hours out of their way to go and see some men with musical wooden sticks on a big stage.
The sticks were played well. The musical men did good. It did not rain which is good because the people were outside and not wearing coats.
The less said about the toilets the better.
As the big ball of flaming gas disappeared from the sky, the stone structure on the hill looked pretty and made everything better.
That said, if you wanted a bottle of cold liquid you had to part with 300 pennies. A cone of frozen milk cost over 600 pennies. Huge posters telling you to keep hydrated was a piss take by all accounts.
Overall if I could have scooped out the men with music sticks and moved them somewhere else I would have done. Highly recommended.
Do you know what it isn’t any more? It isn’t April. And that’s a shame, because April is traditionally the month in which we Four Word Review the heck out of a Christmas album (see Mahalia, Barbra Streisand, Michael Bublé), and right now I’ve got another Christmas album burning a hole in my CD collection. So let’s throw tradition to the wind and have a listen to Joy: A Holiday Collection by Jewel, even though it’s May and May is nowhere near as inherently Christmassy as April.
