By Duncan Ratters, on June 4th, 2010
 So another Eurovision song contest has been and gone.
What have we learnt? Shit all!
Germany won with the cheeky kind of shiny cheese skin pop guffary you’d have bet on every time to win. Bjork without the weirdness. Kylie slapped with a sherbet fist. It’s not bowel surgery – write some catchy sing-along positive nonsense and get someone attractive or vaguely peculiar to sing it.
So what do Britain do? Get goons like Pete Waterman, Andrew Lloyd Webber and Mike Batt to write a Rick Astley/Sarah Brightman/Wombles b-side and try and find someone in a Waitrose supermarket to sing it. Anyone. As long as they’ve got a nice tan and post-Cif like sparkle to their teeth when they pipe up (ie. they look nothing like your typical Manchester band!).
This show has an audience of around 120 million people. Ok, it’s a credibility hell-hole, but you’d think we’d put in a bit of effort or at least try something a bit different.
Next year let’s lose in style. Get Jonathan King to do a reggae sequel to Bucks Fizz’s, Making Your Mind Up, called, Teenagers Grind Up. The video can have loads of flash mob dancing teens in spandex, obliviously camel-toeing themselves towards breakdowns.
At least then it’d be funny.
By Duncan Ratters, on June 2nd, 2010
I need time, I don’t need people like you breaking my mind
And showing me signs,
Oh no, I wanna go with the flow
Just like a swimmer that’s following tides,
But your lies feed my enemies
And your words are a new disease,
Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello,
Is there anybody listening?
You neck wine, it’s what you do cause the fools that you rule
Are lonely sheep without spines,
God! I wanna punch till you drop
Then sit back and watch you slowly decline,
Cause your lies feed my enemies
And your words are a new disease,
Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello,
Is there anybody listening?
Is there anybody listening?
I dream of violence, o-oh Leviathan Jones,
Bring me a silence, o-oh Leviathan Jones,
I dream of recompense – ohh!
Taste what I’ve got, this faith I’ve got,
These breaks I’ve got, they’re hot, your not
And it’s your pot I’m pissing in!
It’s like 1999, except this time your speeches die amongst the wise
It’s no surprise cause you’re blind
To all the weekend warriors
Who want to take and break your lifeline,
Take and break your lifeline (x4)…..
You’re like an orange’s rind, you think you’re tasty but you’re just a waste of space
And up the ladder you climb,
But it wont be long till someone comes along to
Take and break your lifeline.
Take and break your lifeline (x4)…..
Read more Foilface song lyrics
By Duncan Ratters, on May 28th, 2010
 There’s always been an eclecticism with Mancunian bands and a mish mash of influences. Whether it be Shaun Ryder’s obsession with Funkadelic, Parliament and Can, John Squire’s love of all things Page and Plant or Ian Brown’s penchant for Sizzla and The Clash.
Over at Foilface HQ our listening choices pull in everything from YES to God Speed You Black Emperor via Roy Harper, Wire, Pavement and Dire Straits (yes, Dire Straits). Now, I’m not sure about the others, but the one album this year that’s really got me thinking, Mmmm Dwi’n hoffi…, is the new Gonjasufi album, A Sufi and a Killer.
Pitchfork have labelled it, “one of the most fascinating slabs of hallucinogenic head-nod music to arise from Southern California’s post-hip-hop vanguard” – and that’s not a bad (slightly pompous) conclusion.
It’s fuzzy, grizzly and quenched in hot light and smoke > i can’t recommend it enough. It’s the best recent music blast I’ve heard in quite some time!
By Duncan Ratters, on May 25th, 2010
 I watch her smiling face just like it’s me she’s searching for,
But in her vacant eyes there’s no surprises just rotating doors,
Inside my mind I call for silence but it’s all in vain,
I am a storm of stolen moments all I feel is rain.
It’s times like these that I need your honest words
You’ve heard I’m lost a little,
The way that you seem to get everything,
Knock me down with the truth but I dance,
This is a fine bromance!
In darker days than these you listened as I cursed the world,
Set nights on fire getting high away from guns and girls,
If life is really just a bunch of nearly men and kings
I think we’ve staked our right to fight until the beggars sing.
Oh really, really? This is clearly just my time to fall,
It’s not the first and it won’t be the last time that I call
On you to set me straight and talk until I see the light,
These darkened lanes won’t last forever, they’re just holy frights.
It’s times like these that I need your honest words
You’ve heard I’m lost a little,
The way that you seem to get everything,
Knock me down with the truth but I dance,
This is a fine bromance!
Want to see any other song lyrics from our free music 2 download? Just let us know.
By Bro. Jo Stern, on May 24th, 2010
 Endured a bit of that Radio 1 big weekend malarkey on Saturday for reasons that can’t be justified. Following a tut-fest over the unbelievable fact that these fools still haven’t got wise to the magnificent recent music of Foilface, we couldn’t seem to get past the notion that Florence Welch was reportedly ejected from the womb only 23 years ago.
There’s no disputing that she swings a fat bag of vocal prowess down the high street of pop, but 23? She could easily pass for Patsy Palmer’s mum, and oft dresses like Helen Mirren’s gran.
She’s upfront about her booze love, but there’s only around 135,000 drinking hours in 23 years so the grog can’t account for that much wear and tear alone can it? She does say on her website, “I want my music to sound like throwing yourself out of a tree, or off a tall building,” so perhaps this explains things somewhat.
By Bro. Jo Stern, on May 19th, 2010
 We love hearing your opinions about Foilface – good or bad. And just to prove it, read this – it’s badder than a stabbing on the way home from a cancer diagnosis, yet we enjoyed it all the same:
“Where do I start? Foilface are Smile Like Fools, without the youth, wit, charm, and excellent songs. The mixes are awful, a silly lo-fi mish mash of mostly symbols and the old kitchen sink mentality. If you are aiming at an international market, you need clarity, and you dont have it here. Everything is up in the mix. Your ace card has to be the vocals, and these vocals are very poor, and in my opinion, badly double tracked to hide the lack of any real feel, and therefor the message is lost. However clever lyrically it is, they are lost on the average lead vocal. Pop is supposed to be fun, not complicated ‘clever’ arrangements. You need to focus on where you want to take this, and find a better singer. Who is your audience? Who would buy a 100,000 copies? Forget the 50 songs, and write a bliding hit simple wonderful 3 chord wonder in two and a half mins!”
This latest Foilface review comes courtesy of a highly prolific and in-touch music promoter calling himself ‘Mickey Modern‘, who you’ve no doubt heard of. We thank him kindly for taking time out of his busy schedule to listen to and review our new music.
Become a music reviewer today!
Do you agree? Is Mickey on the money? Obviously anyone buying 100,000 copies would be quite stupid when all our music is available to download for free, but what about the other points?
Send us your review of our recent music and we’ll publish it here for the world to feast upon.
By Duncan Ratters, on May 16th, 2010
So, we’ve released a couple of EPs online (Jean Claude Naïve and EP2). Those of you who’ve listened have strolled hand in hand with us on a first (and indeed second) date, you’ve given us a bit of a kiss and a cuddle. Maybe you’ve even had a fumble and touched our naughty bits. And maybe, just maybe, you’re a tad moist over the thought of what’s coming next.
Well, good news. It’s sexy time. Our next date is going to be a dirty, hot and sweaty weekend away. The British latex industry is literally quivering in anticipation. Things are never going to be the same again.
But, enough of the foreplay. What we’re here to tell you is that we’re very close to completing our debut album – and in all honesty, it’s going to pork you silly!
Till Then Amigo (for that’s what it will be called) is going to be between 12 and 14 songs long and packed to the rafters with our own unique brand of gritty-brain-slapping-post-punk-slacker-gonzo-folk-rock. The tunes are all recorded and semi-mixed (in all honesty, tunes-wise, we’re not a million miles away from a second album – we ferkin loves it) – all we’ve got to do is tweak, twiddle and master the thing.
So keeps your ears peeled. There’s a brand new Manchester band in town – and we don’t want to be The Smiths/Oasis/The Fall/The Stone Roses/Doves. Music you can smell and taste. Get scratching, sniffing and licking….
By Bro. Jo Stern, on May 9th, 2010
 Who the fu** is Joan? And who’s got her?
Is she a deliciously dense and dirty bimmer who’s been bundled into the trunk of a sedan, praying for the A-Team to show up just in the nick of time? Perhaps it’s some kind of terrorist plot to overthrow the conspiritorial international spy ring headed up by the sex-starved, Sara-Lee-chocolate-gateaux-plastered Thatcher wannabees on Boots’ make-up counter.
Or maybe she’s an heroic figure in the community and the people who’ve got Joan just don’t know where they’d be without her.
Maybe it’s some kind of slang for a bastard of a disease.
Who knows? Whatever the story is, there’s definitely a reference to someone having Joan in “Silent Fishnets“, another recent music offering from Foilface, and nobody knows how it got there.
Here is the Music Player. You need to installl flash player to show this cool thing!
By Duncan Ratters, on May 8th, 2010
Set me on fire, I’m on my way to Bordeax,
I’m saying, “O-oh, O-oh, O-oh, I’m made of polyester”,
I stress for hours just because I’m alive,
My French is shit, I’m singing, “Ce’st bon Jean-Claude Van-Damme le merde”.
There are no junkies in Uzbekistan,
My gland is not aroused by photo’s of sailors,
Put down your onion sandals,
I handle death threats like they’re titties on a Tuesday,
I bruise like peaches but you will never ever see me
Reaching for a bacon licker!
Holistic Peter,
Aggressive Sebastian,
Talking like the last bastions
Of a nuclear future vision.
Crafty spoonfuls of a creme brulee,
It’s not a Tuesday, it’s a Saturday,
Fuck off Dad I’m going to Bob Hattersley’s,
Coz he’s got a Ninetendo Wii.
What’s that you’re saying?
You smell of translation frenzies,
This isn’t class based, it’s not an anti-euro message,
It’s just a rural riot,
If I had piloted a plane in 9/11
I would of tolf the muslims heaven
Was filled with fat virgin lesbians,
Holistic Peter,
Aggressive Sebastian,
Talking like the last bastions
Of a nuclear future vision.
Crafty spoonfuls of a creme brulee,
It’s not a Tuesday, it’s a Saturday,
Fuck off Dad I’m going to Bob Hattersley’s,
Coz he’s got a Ninetendo Wii.
Put out my fire I’m heading back to Soho,
I’m crying, “Oh no, oh no, oh no, I look like Simon Weston”,
I rest on laurels like they’re benches in a park,
I spark the dark but it never ever turns into an early sunshine.
There are no junkies in Uzbekistan,
My gland is not aroused by photo’s of sailors,
Put down your onion sandals,
I handle death threats like they’re titties on a Tuesday,
I bruise like peaches but you will never ever see me
Reaching for a bacon licker!
By Bro. Jo Stern, on May 6th, 2010
 I was saying to the missus, on this general erection day morning, how I was feeling strangely nostalgic for the weird excitement I remember feeling as a kid when parties used to drive past our house blurting toss through a megaphone in the build up to elections.
There are probably still plenty of places around the UK where this has never died, but I couldn’t remember witnessing such an event during my adult years. Until about half an hour ago.
Yes, amidst the modern day multimedia wrangle of pissing out lies en masse from a distance via screens and type, I felt a warm tingle of something happening in the real world that I actually live in when I heard the unmistakable muffled screech of loudspeakered bullshit approaching.
As it came nearer I could make out the words, “Britain is full, end immigration, vote BNP” (time well spent – I’m sure they can now count on the full support of the people in this area, who hail from just about everywhere). It’s a well-worn lesson, but the message is not to yearn for nostalgic memories to revisit reality, or they’ll be forever ruined by a retarded scumbag with a megaphone.
One of the safest ways to distract those in possession of speech, who don’t yet have the counterpart brain to safely operate it, is through the use of music therapy. So we’d like to encourage all BNP members to download and listen (constantly) to our new 100% English music songs (recorded using German equipment, whilst guzzling Italian beer and munching American snacks and inspired by great musicians from everywhere – even ones who aren’t white).
|
|
