No, I am not. Firstly, because considering the average age of their writers and target audience the sex wouldn’t even be legal. Secondly, because what was once the authority on the then-aspiring music genres of rap, reggae, punk rock, rock ‘n’ roll, metal, and pop, has shrivelled to a barely recognisable parody of its former self.
Flip to the reviews section and you’ll feel as though a gig, that could arguably have been as good as Woodstock, is being regaled to you by the gang of ASBO-touting monosyllabic teenagers at the end of the road who frighten old ladies and torture hamsters. It’s a desperate, fickle shouting contest garnished with many witty attempts at trying to drop a ‘Fuck’ into every paragraph. If it weren’t in print with the heading of NME, how many of you would let this rabble advise you on which albums to buy? Which gigs to go to?
“Alex Turner’s jeans are well tight ‘n’ they’ll blow your fucking head off!” “Cool, what was the music like?” “…Music?”
Music! Because that, at the end of the day, is what music magazines should be about, whether it is rock, pop or Irish New Wave reggae. That’s what this blog is for. There are many bands out there worth seeing and many albums worth buying, and I’d like to tell people about them.
I may not be the authority, but I’m fairly certain I could vomit something onto a blank page more literate, more comprehensive and more witty than the NME with my hands tied behind my back while being flogged by a naked Peter Mandelson…and it would probably result in someone buying a marginally better album than Lil Wayne. Know who he is? The NME do. I bet his jeans are well tight.