Has Lindsay Lohan proved the Scientologists right?

For the armies of fans obsessed with Lindsay Lohan's every film, song, television appearance, stumble, court appearance…it's become increasingly difficult to justify our idolatry of her and her behaviour. Fans and lusty-gazed admirers don't want to see their idol fall from grace so dramatically, and this case of a woman who's flown too close to The Sun and its brethren has disappointed many.

It's discomforting to know that the same girl who charmed so many of us in The Parent Trap and Mean Girls went on to DUIs and rehab stints. Much of the criticism heading her way inflicts the pain of a double-edged sword as she is so frequently compared to Paris Hilton. The two are 'treated' to the same press attention, but Paris Hilton's forays into work, for all their capital gains, have been flippant; the heir to a millionaire's fortune doesn't need to lift a finger. Whereas Lindsay has been working since she was 3 years old. Her pushy stage mom wasn't only there for the fame, but as far as the reports show, after being ditched by shifty father Michael, the family kinda needed the money, yeah?

In the discourse of female celebrity, we find it all too easy to compare disparate people. No female cook can crack an egg without an instant juxtaposition with Nigella Lawson, no female singer can claim independent sexuality without comparison to Madonna. When regarding the case of Lindsay Lohan, we can't shift our relativism to accommodate her talent instead of her crimes. We won't analyse the similarities between her and Winona Ryder, another skilled actress gone wayward, but we will gladly box her in with Paris Hilton, another female socialite who's had a DUI.

When Paris was packed off to Lynwood, I didn't get in this much of a fuss. This is because, from a background with so much money that the sense would have to be on steroids to catch up, Ms Hilton was always destined for some sort of tragedy. You can't fall that far when your highest point was on a hotel bed as your shifty boyfriend filmed you blow him in night vision.

Although it would be facetious to insist that Lindsay deserves no jail time, let's not pretend that she had no potential as a bona fide actress. Tina Fey's stamp of approval, along with the praise Robert Altman and the cast of Prairie Home Companion bestowed upon her, are proof of this beyond her subjectively-judged filmography. Where did it all go wrong? If written by the less homophobic of its staff, a Daily Mail report would state that a 'tragic cocktail of drugs and booze' was directly to blame for the criminal offences. Maybe her dwindling fortune was spent on as many grams of coke as it was on items from Cavalli. Though, as a recent graduate, I know oodles of people who, if followed around daily by packs of paps, could be painted out as drug addicts, alcoholics and more. Wasn't Lindsay just doing what every young woman with a leetle too much money and a lot of free time does?

Not quite. There's something more at work here. There are problems which warrant not only 90 days in jail but a further 90 in rehab. I'm not denying the addictive qualities of drink and drugs, but Li-Lo's SCRAM bracelet didn't pick up on either, and as rough as she looks, she's not gone through cold turkey. Girl's got a problem with something else..

What Lindsay, like Casey Johnson before her, has a clear problem with, is legal. Legal at all ages in the US. Adderall. And Ambien. And Dilaudid. And more. I don't know what all these things are, and I don't think I should do. Should a healthy young, successful person ever know the literal highs and lows of prescribed medication? Perhaps not,  but the heaving medicine cabinet comes as standard in the Hollywood hills; fitted in Heath and Brittany's bathrooms, too. 

Now I know Tom Cruise is nuts. I doubt the Presleys' motives. And I completely question the veracity of a religion which allows through its hallowed kitschy gates the todally serious offspring of one Mr. Robert Geldof, who's like, todally named after a fruit. Yet, when the religious poodle that is Scientology damned prescription drugs, it wasn't barking up the wrong tree…

How To Party With The Coalition Party

After months of political in-fights and bitching, we've got a boiled ham for Prime Minister and a Cabinet who no-one really voted for. And no amount of pseudo-anarchic Facebook groups are going to change the situation.

So here are 5 reasons why this government will do right by clubbers.

1. No ID cards. The 'Con-Dem'-ed coalition agrees on this above all. This paranoid, Orwellian style of monitoring baddies and scaring the living daylights out of the good, law-abiding citizens was always going to have its problems, especially amongst clubbers. How often do we lose our stuff on a night out? Calling the bank at 3am for the third weekend in a row to get your cards cancelled is one thing, but having to call up the home office each weekend? Spare us the hassle.

2. Greg Knight. As MP for East Yorkshire, Greg may, at first glance, have precious little effect upon clubbers nationwide. But this chap is at the forefront of the 'Save Our Pubs & Clubs' campaign, which is requesting that the smoking ban be relaxed in order to keep booze Britain alive. If successful, clubbers could go back to those halcyon days of smelling toxic tar, tobacco and burnt formaldehyde in their favourite jaunts, instead of beer and puke.

3. Cuts to universities. Seriously, a brilliant idea. How amazing would it be to turn 18 without the pressure of having to spend another three years getting a degree which employers find entirely irrelevant? All of that money spent on student digs can now be spent on going out a lot more and listening to a hell of a lot more music.

4. Even if the new government takes a turn for the worse and repeats all of Thatcher's mistakes, we'll get some great music out of it. Some of the biggest pioneers of dance music were inspired by the Iron Lady's fuckups. In the early 80s alone, New Order's Blue Monday was all about the Falklands War, Bronski Beat wrote a whole album dedicated to overturning homophobic statutes and the New Romantic scene was all about escaping the dire realities of Thatcherite Britain.

5. The extremist right-wing nut jobs who are out to ruin everyone's fun (see: Norman Tebbit kicking a kid in a dragon costume up the bum during Chinese New Year festivities) will feel so disenfranchised by a government that doesn't charge four year olds for milk money, that they'll up and leave, making Britain a friendlier place for all people, including clubbers.

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This piece was written for the Ministry of Sound blog.

Gordon Brown Loves Mephedrone

MEPHADROZ

Mephedrone is everywhere. On toilet seats, mirrors, keys, cards and notes. In students' noses, down raver's throats. Most importantly, for the future of this country, it's in our Prime Minister's head.

Two young men from Scunthorpe died on Monday. Mephedrone's been cited as the foremost cause. In each article you will read on this, buried somewhere beneath the fourth or fifth paragraph, there's mention that the guys had been drinking heavily and also taken methadone before they died. Without delving into the scientific specifics of these substances, meph is an upper, meth is a downer. People take uppers before they take downers. A property which the two drugs share, is that, unlike booze, MDMA or ketamine (etc), they affect the user immediately. Thus follows that many people are blaming the breakfast for what essentially was the dinner's fault.

So why meph and not meth? Because meph is new and intriguing. It's the toyboy to heroin's geriatric. And we're all cougars. And that's an analogy too far. What I mean is, if you're in the newsagents buying some ciggies and you're faced with a headline as ridiculous as 'Meow Meow Raver Drug Kills Kids', and you (rightfully) don't know what it means, and you get some change back for your cigarettes, you'll happily pay a couple of quid to find out what The Daily Twat even meant by that headline. On the very basic principle that new news shifts papers, mew mews will bring profit to tabs and broadsheets alike.

Gurndon Brown

I am not rushing to the defence of mephedrone. Anything intoxicating enough to work as a get-out-of-school-free card for up to 180 kids needs to undergo testing. And it goes without saying that the government is responsible for any restrictions imposed upon a substance. So jolly good then, that Peter Mandelson has piped up. Yes, Peter Mandelson. The man who resides in the cabinet as Business, Innovation and Skills Secretary. He's said that he'd never heard of meph before, but that his cabinet will: "take any action that is needed... to avert such tragic consequences occurring in the future". Well that's awfully nice of you, Mandy, but who overdosed and made you Health Secretary?

"Aaand pinch...aaannnd sniff.."

Why isn't Alan Johnson, the actual person in charge of Health policy, talking about mephedrone after these two deaths? He's had "grave concerns" about the drug for at least a month, but he's keeping schtum for now. Maybe he doesn't want to face the inevitable double embarrassment that I'll endeavour to illustrate in the next two sentences. Firstly, mephedrone's been available in the UK for long enough for it to filter down to kids aged 8. It must be incredibly easy to manufacture as it's selling for as little as £7 a gram in some places. Secondly, Johnson's drugs advisory council has been made up of many people with no scientific expertise since he sacked Prof David Nutt. Why did he sack Prof Nutt? Because Labour's up shit creek and to have a scientist with a calm, rational approach to what really causes danger to our society on your side isn't going to win those pesky contested seats.

Peter Mandelson's a stumbling block for many voters. We haven't actually voted for to be in our present government, yet he's literally Lording around Westminster with a phone directory's worth of titles and a place set for him at nearly every committee and subcommittee going. By attaching 'Mandelson' to stories about the government restricting a 'killer' substance, he's mincing into many voters' good books.

MM-Cat

It is also worth noting that meph is getting a bad rap (ha) because it isn't a controlled substance, but meth is. Meth is used as part of drug addiction rehabilitation, as a substitute for heroin. It's given out by the NHS to ex-junkies trying to wean themselves off of the juice. How these boys got their hands on meth will inevitably lead back to a story of government-sanctioned ineptitude. Whether it's a crooked pharmacist, inconsistent customs officials, or even a dodgy policeman, whoever's to blame for the drug which actually killed these boys is working in the public sector, at the taxpayers' expense.

Blaming meph also saves face in another way. Scientific tests will inevitably show that it's dangerous enough to be banned, so it's the perfect battle for Labour to play. As ITV1, televised debate and smear campaigns steer voters to judge party leaders by their personalities instead of their promises, shiny Cameron emerges as the frontrunner. What will work in Brown's favour, though, is if he can convert voters' many fears into effective policy in the run up to the election, as this is the only realm where he can outdo Cameron.

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Note: This article was edited the morning after I wrote it just for a little clean-up

Let The Music Play

In the case of Jordin Sparks, I've always had a soft spot for 'Battlefield'. The lyrics are so emotional and hyperbole, in a way reminiscent of everything good Phil Spector did. And the mid-tempo, yet euphoric nature of the song is actually pretty similar to most of Florence and the Machine's album. By disguising good music as shitty R'n'B, Jordin's doing really well. I don't know where the hell she's come from, I'm guessing it's an American talent show competition...

There we go. I just wikipediad (sp?!) her, and she's the winner of the sixth American Idol and looks a fair bit like America Ferrera.

I've recently become partial to latin freestyle music, starting with Nayobe's 'Please Don't Go'. Not only do I like the idea of going to Mexico in the 1980's to score, I really like women with strong voices barking on about their weak souls and wildly romantic dispositions. When I discovered that Jordin's 'S.O.S. Let the Music Play' uses a sample of Shannon's 'Let the Music Play', I jumped up out of my seat. I've been a fan of Shannon's 'Give me Tonight' for a while, but apparently it was nowhere near as commercially successful as her debut single, 'Let the Music Play'. The latter pushed dance music to a new place, and is a credited as a revolutionary song, putting dance music back in the mainstream, when so many had shunned disco that it had spent the past couple of years hidden away in the exclusive gay clubs of the big cities (Paradise Garage, Chicago Warehouse etc).

Shannon - Let The Music Play

A little more exploration has informed me that there are loads of remixes of Shannon's 1983 hit, but they are all abominations to the ears, and are most probably heard in the less glamorous Mediterranean holiday resorts. Jordin's sampling is very splendid, though. Just like old-school Xenomania, the producers and writers have crammed in a brilliant middle 8, and as many melodies as they can get their grubby mitts on. Embedding is disabled by request, so there you go.

get down to some vicious love

My dissertation is coming along beautifully. The structuring just fell into place today. I've put everything nicely into its context, I like to think. And instead of disagreeing or agreeing with one critic, I'm analysing the two texts (Breakfast at Tiffany's and The Apartment) and picking and choosing critics to agree with me. I feel confident and smarmy about it. Here's what's helped me along tonight to get to the 1100 mark:



and this is more of a surprise but again confirms my hopes/desires that rap has got a soul to it:



You see, last week at fuel4life, at 1.58am, I whacked on this:



After a good two hours of bassline, fidget and dubstep, the crowd didn't falter. I usually whack on a soul track so as to clear the dancefloor, but everyone stayed on, proving how fucking good soul can be.

ALSO. Bangers&Tash are playing Beach Break Live on the 16th-19th June. I don't really know who reads this, if anyone. But come along.

Frankie Knuckles and Esser Chuckles

Frankie Knuckles has helped me over the past couple of days to get some work done.

I also impromptu left the library to get to the Cavern to see ESSER.

I had a chat with him afters. Being a bit obnoxious my friend had called him Rufio and then I'd stolen his roadie's jumper. Here's my exclusive post-Cavern interview with the band.

Esser's band: Oh god, we thought you were Adam

Me: No, it's me.

(Adam shows up)

Adam: Watch out for the rich tea biscuits

Me, answering the rich tea biscuits: Hello? Oh, oh it's for you. (passes biscuits to Adam)

Adam: Oh hello?

Me: So guys are you all absolutely fucked? You look fucked when you perform, which is nice.

Esser: Yeah, we're fucking wasted.

(Soundguy starts to take photos of me on his blackberry)

Esser: Do you have a spare cigarette?

Me: You can have THIS one, Rufio.

Esser: Me? Really? Thankyou so much. Why did you call me Rufio?

Me: I just do not know. Are you on twitter?

Esser: Oh yes.

Me: I'll twat you.

Bandmates: We've got to go now, are you coming or going?

Me: Oh goodbye.

The music is a bit like Lily Allen for boys. I liked it.

If there's a cure for this, I don't want it.

On the search for more Larry Levan, I got to this.

I sent it to a dear dear friend who's mostly into soul/motown and does have a certain affinity for cheese club nights. This is probably because she gets to convince the DJ that it's our friend's barmitzvah. And that our friend is called Barchard. And is a girl. Queue Barchard dancing to Kool + The Gang's 'Celebration' on a podium, with Devonshire deejay shouting 'HAPPY BARMITZVAH BARCHARD', unawares to all of the errors of his chant.

However, my friend really likes this song. It's sexy. Apologies for the lack of video content. Do something else when you're listening. Go for a pace around the room. Did your hair. Fix your nails. Sharpen your talons. Whatever, bitch.

Larry Levan and a whole host of other people

A couple of Popbitches ago this marvellous piece was featured:

>> Miami splice <<
Sam/LiLo: not the new Larry Levan

Honk writes:

"A friend was in a Miami club this week where

Sam Ronson and Lindsay Lohan were booked to DJ.

They shared a single laptop between them, indeed
Lohan seemed to be 'rocking' a room of 600

using nothing more sophisticated than iTunes.

And it showed, as her four-second attention

span meant guests were treated to something

akin to the 'intros' round of a pub quiz. Lohan

disappeared to a crouching position behind

the decks for a good 10 minutes whilst she er,

blew her nose and Ronson took over. She at least

tried. 15 minutes later, they'd packed up, the

club emptied immediately, and a real DJ took

over and played to a near-empty club."

I wrote an article about Lindsay Lohan and Sam Ronson. Why, despite not being amazing role models, are brilliant because their relationship can serve to teach some home truths. Like: not all girls need to be super-feminine to get laid, but that's cool. Or that really generically astoundingly hot girls do fancy other girls. Or that people don't have to define their sexuality anymore.

The shortened article is here. The full article is remarkably defunct now, as a whole load of shit happened. But I wouldn't want to write any further on that in case the whole thing changes again.

Changes is the name of a song by Larry Levan. He was a DJ and producer in the 70's- 80's.



He's credited as the founder of dub, and dubstep is meant to be a derivative of dub. But I think it's a bit like taking that little plastic thing on the tip of your shoelace of your Nike Air Force IIs and putting it in your nose. Dubstep takes a small, irrelevant element of dub and makes it really dangerous for no particular reason other than to look a bit hard.

Larry used to play at the Paradise Garage in New York. People used to have sex on the dancefloor. Men used to wear heels and big hair and women were mostly made of sequins. The Paradise Garage probably reeked of poppers. When I was 14, my mum found some poppers in my bag and made me pour them in the sink. She muttered "Smells like Studio 54".

Remember that scene in Forrest Gump when Jenn-nay is in a bar doing lines and KC and the Sunshine band is playing? Well, yeah, a bit like that. I think Jenn-nay had a cooler life than Forrest. Like when Lynyrd Skynyrd's Free Bird is playing and she's about to jump out of a window a gajillion storeys high? That was cool. She was played by Robin Wright Penn who was married to Sean Penn who was married to Madonna and is also known to hang out with Lindsay Lohan. Who got compared to Larry Levan.

Madonna used to go the Paradise Garage. The promotional video to Madonna's first song, Everybody, was filmed there. Not that Youtube will let me find it. Wikipedia says: "The song introduced classic Madonna themes like individuality, dancing and singing as forms of self-expression, as well as the optimism that dominated the first five years of her career."

And now I kind of wish, oncemore, I could do my dissertation on Madonna. Enjoy: