Hubris.co.nz

So two Wellington musicians get together to work on some music. You’ve heard this story many times before, but there’s a couple of twists: Matthew Mitchell is now living in Hungary and so his work with Bevan Smith (Aspen, Marineville) was done entirely online using p2p technology. Also, Skallander sound like many things and like nothing else all at the same time.

Thickly textured and layered with intricate detailing, Skallander is a chunky blend of lo-fi, electronica, and indie, which sometimes suggests Smith’s other projects, or perhaps The Phoenix Foundation. The title track, which is undoubtedly the album’s highlight even sounds a fair bit like American Music Club relocated to Wellington. It’s easy listening music for the complicated person. The Camels is one of those soft albums perfect to crawl into at the end of a long day and it comes highly recommended.

Pulp

Moloko always excelled at making quirky entertaining music that was still danceable, and now that she is on her own, Rosin Murphy has maintained that standard. Her voice is the first thing that stands out, as a sort of Margaret Thatcher meets Beth Gibbons enchantment, and the lyrics are playful to match. On ‘If We’re In Love’, the first single she asks “if we’re in love, why don’t we make love?” while on ‘Through Time’ she wonders “how did you predict the end of the world when you can?t see past your nose?”

The production of the album by collaborator Mathew Herbert (Bjork’s Vespertine) is as distinctive as Roisin’s voice. Some songs, like ‘Off on it’ with its horn section sound like scratchy old jazz records while others like ‘Sow Into You’ are pure pop with clicky house beats like Moloko’s biggest hit ‘Sing it back’, yet all tracks have their own very different identity. On the album highlight ‘Ramalama (bang bang)’, drums pound along like the George of the Jungle theme song transported to Mars ? and it works. Ruby Blue is like nothing else you will hear this year, and it is utterly brilliant.

4.5/5

Pulp

When I sat down and thought about a date to have my belated birthday party on, I texted the three people that form the core of my friendships in Wellington, to make sure that they’d all be free that night, and to reserve them in advance.

On Saturday afternoon, I got a call from one of them saying that he’d had to go to Auckland, and therefore wouldn’t be coming. Okay, two out of three is fine, and I was more concerned for his welfare. Then later, the second one called me, and said that surprisingly enough, complications had come up with something that was bound to get complicated anyway, and so he wouldn’t be coming. Righto. I’m aware that I’m being very much less than supportive here, and that makes me a bad friend, but when I hear through my SISTER about another friend being ***, when my sister doesn’t even know that girl, I get more than a little shitty. And this isn’t about the *** friend, it’s about the inevitable feeling of being replaced (ie: it’s all about ME. And also about the vicious circle of me becoming more pissy and less pleasant and therefore less desireable as a friend). At 9.30pm when no one had showed up and Anji and I had tired of taking photos of each other’s boobs (we were both in corsets, making us go “kaboinga”),

I decided that if the third person from that original trio didn’t show, I would move back to Auckland.

But then at 10pm there was a big rush and everyone (excpet for Karen) arrived within ten minutes of each other, of course. And then it was choice, and mostly very civilised, except for setting off fireworks in the backyard and forgetting that there’s a grannyflat with a very nice nurse called Eve who lives under us. Here’s a photo that doesn’t feature my boobs – or in fact, me at all:

Karen stumbled in very drunk very late and so I made up a bed for her in the study, and Al and Korina were the last to leave around 2.30am. I had a really good time, although someday someone’s really going to have to teach Joel that when you say “oh and this is my workmate”, the correct thing to say is not “but you don’t do any work, Jo, you just post on your site all day long”. Nevermind. There’s glitter on my sheets and also on Sebastian from my very good imitation of a pirate (everyone said I needed an eye patch – I said “I’m a good fighter and I’ve managed to avoid getting poked in the eye”). Miss Lisa Fur and I got to exchange Knowing Looks about something else too, and that was very amusing.

There’s also oh so much mess now. How can fifteen people trash a house so much? It just doesn’t make sense. And cleaning is something I’m pretty much very very over right about now, given that on Thursday night I broke into Mummy & Daddy’s house (oh okay, I used Karen’s key) and cleaned their kitchen and lounge for them as a nice surprise cos Mum’s been very stressed out lately. She rang me today and was very grateful, so yay, good times. And then I cleaned lots on Saturday to get ready for the drinks. Our house looked fabulous, by the way, with fairy lights and candles everywhere. Very civilised. It functions very well as a house for entertaining in, which is great even if my couches are so comfy that Al fell asleep for hours on one. So instead of cleaning yesterday, Anji and I camped out on the couches after a hearty lunch, eating leftover food (there’s still chocolate crackles and garlic bread and wedges if you’re interested, but sixty something jelly shots have been shot) and watching the last five episodes of Buffy Season VII, both of us crying our little eyes out over ‘Chosen’, of course. Keeping it spoiler-free, it’s the final speech that kicks back in as a flashback, with Buffy walking around in her living room wearing a fancy blouse that I can’t figure out if I love or hate, and then the girl with the bat and oh oh the tears they bucket out at that point, every single time I watch it.

I had a long conversation last night with Miss Fur about how dorky I am, in terms of how much trashy television I watch, and the Buffy obsession, and the reading of tabloids, but she says that my dorkiness could be endearing. Hmmm.

EDIT: Here’s another picture of me that Anji must have taken at the party and I rully like it. Please note the partial throwing of goats.

I don’t normally do this kind of thing on Hubris, but hell, at least it’s all about me…

1. Everyone (who’s anyone) uses the phrase “jumped the shark” about TV shows, or sometimes bands, or just celebrities in general (for example “Milan totally jumped the shark when he let that groupie wear his hat right in front of me”). I’ve started to use it to describe friendships. Not cool.

2. I have seven sets of duvet covers (yellow, pink with gold, magenta & purple, brown & red retro, blue undersea, burgandy oriental brocade and brand new silver brocade) but only two sets of sheets – black and lime green, and four single duvet covers, including my New Mexico-ish Ralph Lauren cover that I got when I first moved to Japan, which we had to specially order and cost like $400 (shoosh. We paid $150 for an Xmas tree once…)

3. I have real problems with trust and jealousy – and given my background, I’m really not surprised.

4. The reason I hate being called a blogger is because I’ve been doing this for EIGHT FUCKING YEARS motherfuckers, when that word wasn’t even a glint in anyone’s eye, and why the fuck do all these newbie people get the attention and book deals and why aren’t I famous yet?

5. I made Anji and Sebastian worm themselves this weekend right along with me. My next guess is that I have haemarroids. Of course my reason for thinking this has absolutely nothing to do with an advertorial in the local rag of course…

6. I’d really like to have a cock to fuck Jessica Simpson with. This is not a “lesbian sex doesn’t count compared to hetrosexual sex” blah blah blah crap, it’s just that dude, she’s so horrible but there’s something about her that makes me want to fuck her ass and mouth.

7. I no longer talk to anyone I’ve had sex with (this would probably be an advantage if I fucked Jessica). There’s only a couple of people on that list that I wish were still in my life. Others I miss when I think of jokes that only they would get.

8. I am secretly impressed with how much pus I can squeeze out of my various pimples and assorted other bumps.

9. I am terrified of people liking my online persona and then meeting me in real life and going “wow, she’s just not real at all” and disliking me.

10. Often I think that I will spend the rest of my life without ever hearing anyone say that they love me again.

11. I find the idea of being a housewife in the 1950s strangely appealing.

12. Half the reason that I want to be a music writer is that I have a fantasy of having a musician fall head over heels in love with me and write songs about me.

13. There’s this one song on this one CD by this one guy that makes me go huh, but I’d be too scared to lose it if I did ever find out that it wasn’t actually about me.

14. If I had an infinite amount of money to spend on a car, I like to think that I’d still just buy something like a prius. Or maybe an oldskool convertible. But definitely nothing too ridiculously expensive and/or evil.

15. If I was cloned, I’d probably be friends with me, but I might think that I was too needy and/or insecure. I’d probably have sex with me though, if I got myself drunk and came on to me first.

16. I feel like I have a decent enough grasp of the English language that I don’t feel bad about twisting it to better suit my purposes.

17. When I was under five or so, whenever I counted to 20, I would generally forget the number 17. Spazz.

18. I can’t get a credit card for another four years because I didn’t pay my car registration fee.

19. I often prefer Latinish type beers, like Amarca, Corona and San Miguel, but I’ll drink pretty much any kind, except for Lion Red.

20. I plan a lot of funerals in my head – not just mine, but those of an assortment of people I know. I think about what I’d wear, what I’d say in the eulogy, what we’d serve at the wake and how I’d spend my inheritance.

Okay, I have a lot more work to do that I really should get around to doing (damn you, Julie/Julia blog!), so I’ll do a bullet points update. That’s okay with everyone, right?

Please come to this:

Truth be told, I kind of wish that it was Sunday and that it was over already, or perhaps the Saturday afterwards so I wouldn’t have any more “Oh, how was your party? Sorry I couldn’t make it” type smalltalk to make. I haven’t had a big successful party in Wellington EVER. Trying to have one is making me a little crazy. I am terrified of no one showing up except for a few suckers who have to try to put on a brave face and me wanting the floor to open up and swallow me before getting too drunk and abusive at the people who actually made an effort. That said, there’ll be great music and snacks and atmosphere, and costumes, and so please, do come along. If you don’t have my address and you’re not a Level 2 Hubrette and therefore able to read the secret footnotes that have my address in them, just drop me an email – anything @ hubris co nz – and I’ll tell you where it is and that will be choice okay rock.

Thanks to the ridiculously hott boys in The Edukators I have decided that I will buy No Sweat shoes instead once my chucks finally give up the last gasp of ghost that they have left in them, which won’t be long given that they are only held together by their stench right about now. Yum. The other thing that was they played song association in it, and by virtue of a) being raised on tracks “Greatest hits of 1985″ records that my parents brought in Germany when we were living there (which featured Nena, amongst other songs sung in German) and b) having Anji tell me about the joke beforehand, I was able to laugh when they talked about “Tausend-und-eine nacht”. Okay, no one else will get this paragraph. Nevermind.

Anji and I – but mostly me – went homeware crazy on the weekend, during a very pleasant drive out to Lyall Bay (which coupled well with what I’d said to my workmates on Friday night when we were having some jugs – “I had my first ever pash at the house of the bar manager here” – since that was the last time that I went to Lyall Bay, to the best of my knowledge). I bought tealight holders galore along with little candle lanterns at the warehouse, and we spent aaaaaaaaaaaaaages trying to choose wine glasses (we’d gone to the ware whare with the intention of purchasing a box of 18, but since they didn’t have those, we got six very large ones and two very large ones in a different shape) along with assorted tumblers destined for gingerbeer & vodka and handtowels at Briscoes. I agonized over bed linen and ended up getting some at Spotlight the next day. We also had lunch at The Empire – the new/old movie theatre in Island Bay, except that my friend who works there had the day off. Nevertheless, their gelati is fucking OMG mouth explosion.

Speaking of fucking OMG, Miss Lisa Fur had sought shelter at my house on Saturday night, and after Moulin Rouge she was like “It’d be so cool if you had Spiceworld” so I was like !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and nearly fell to my knees to perform cunnilinguis on her, but since I was not sure about the spelling, I instead got out the video and we watched it together and it was great. 27 times and counting and it still feels fresh. And now I hear that Ginger Spice is preggers? Woah!

And speaking of fucking brilliant rock star biographies, I got sunburnt on Saturday sitting outside reading The Dirt again. I still want to fuck Motley Crue. I’d even take the time out to learn how to umlaut their name if they’d just umlaut me.

Oh that’s right, the umlaut made me remember that after Anji and I had brunch at The Realm on Saturday, as we tend to do every fortnight or so, or at least often enough that the staff recognise us and seem to laugh at us a lot, we discovered that the bottle store across the road was doing a wine tasting. Who doesn’t like free wine? Well, certainly not us anyways. There were three ladies there with varying degrees of product knowledge and professionality (the last one raved on about Jacob’s Creek being $7 when she was ‘promoting’ a very different brand), and they were a little bored, so I tried thirteen wines or so in a short space of time, and got rather lightheaded. Most of the wines were things like Sacred Hill and Gunn Estate that I’d tried before (indeed, Gunn Estate seems to be the default wine at all the bars around here, so I’ve had quite a lot of it), but one that I hadn’t was a sparkling sav from Mount Riley called Savee, so this is where the umlaut comes in, because it’s actually Sav’ee, and given that my mother’s name is Aim’ee you’d think I would have learnt how to put in accents – but I can’t. Nevermind.

Corpse Bride, which I was able to furnish 19 people with free tickets to, thanks to the lovely KateH, is absolutely fantastic and you should go and see it and also buy me posters for it. Hurrah.

For a guy whose name has appeared on over 50 million album sales, Butch (real name Bryan) Vig is extremely down to earth. While he admits that doing interviews can be awkward, he seems happy to be doing press for Garbage’s new album Bleed Like Me ? perhaps because at one stage he thought that their fourth album would never get finished. “It’s a huge fucking relief because this record almost broke us as a band, so we see it as a huge triumph
“.

The fact that Garbage have been together for so long, having watched many of their contemporaries fall by the wayside can also be regarded as a triumph. Their story starts over twenty years ago, in Madison, Wisconsin, when Vig dropped out of his pre med studies in order to play the drums in a band called Spooner, led by Doug Erikson. A fan named Steve Marker had a four track in his basement, and he offered to record the band. While Spooner broke up, Vig’s friendship with Marker lasted. In 1983 they formed Smart Studios together, borrowing $3000 from Vig’s parents. In an old warehouse with egg cartons glued to the wall they started recording singles for local bands at $100 a pop.

While neither Marker nor Vig had any prior experience, by 1989 Smart Studios had gained enough of a reputation that they were asked to produce Gish, the debut album for The Smashing Pumpkins. The next year in April Vig started production work on Nevermind for Nirvana’s major label debut. After Nirvana catapulted into the mainstream, Vig was seen as a superstar producer and he worked with a variety of other alternative bands such as Sonic Youth and L7 on their crossover albums.

But by 1994, Vig was getting tired of guitar music. His work on remixes for Nine Inch Nails and House of Pain, which headed in the direction of electronic loops and samples, inspired him to start working on writing songs with his old friends Marker and Erikson. Their project took on the self-deprecating name of Garbage, and then the three decided that they needed a woman singer.

“It’s a damn shame that there?s not more bands fronted by girls today,” he says, citing PJ Harvey, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and The Distillers as current examples of groups led by strong women. “Perhaps girls were put off by all the bullshit macho bands in the late ’90s like Limp Bizkit. Hopefully they?ll come to our shows and see Shirley and decide to give it a go”.

They first spotted Shirley Manson on MTV, singing in her band Angelfish. After making contact, they met her in London ? for conspiracy theorists, on the same day that that Kurt Cobain died.

Manson was fierce, Scottish and strikingly beautiful; seemingly the opposite of the men in Garbage. Indeed, even biographies straight from the record company describe their early videos as “[appearing to be] three covert government operatives keeping tabs on a red-haired geisha” but the chemistry that developed over the course of making their eponymous first album was undeniable. Manson’s lyrics had a rage and aggression that the intricate production channelled with finesse, making it stand out in the grunge aftermath of music charts in 1995. With singles ‘Queer’, ‘Stupid Girl’ (their highest charting single, at #4 in the UK charts and #24 in the US) and ‘Only Happy When It Rains’ and three Grammy nominations to drive it along, Garbage sold four million copies.

Meanwhile the band started performing live for the first time, touring extensively. Manson quickly began to be seen as the band’s Most Valuable Player, or at least the most recognisable. In an interview in 1996, Vig said that when the band had first formed everyone wanted to talk to him, due to his success with Nirvana, but a year later he was referred to as “the drummer in Shirley Manson?s band”. While that kind of focus had a negative influence on No Doubt, a female-fronted band Garbage has toured with, Vig doesn’t see it as a problem for Garbage.

“Shirley should get all the focus, because they?re her lyrics and she’s up front,” he says, “I don’t want to be the centre of attention, I still have enough fans from Nevermind, I get plenty of ego boosts”.

In 1998, Garbage released their second album, Version 2.0. It was slower to take off than Garbage, but eventually sales reached similar figures. Musically, the album was very much a second version of the first, with new features and a metaphorically shinier interface built in. The electric imagery that the production called up was echoed in the video of ‘Push It’, in which people’s heads were replaced by light bulbs. Manson’s lyrics continued to spit out venom (“If we sleep together / will you like me better?”) which no doubt endeared her to those raised on Alanis Morrisette records, and indeed the band toured New Zealand with Morrisette. Meanwhile Manson’s status as a sex symbol was cemented in 1999, when the band were asked to do the theme for the James Bond film The World is Not Enough, and she got to play a killer robot in the video.

But while Manson’s appearance may have helped record sales, fans turned on her when she cut her hair and dyed it blonde before the third album, beautifulgarbage was released. Others were put off by its more eclectic nature, and the fact that the record was polished within an inch of its life. Many talk about beautifulgarbage as a failure because it ‘only’ sold 2 million copies, which is admittedly half of its predecessors. Vig points out that the single ‘Cherry Lips’ was huge outside of America, and it is worth noting that Garbage singles never charted particularly well in the US, even while the albums were selling platinum. He also blames the comparative failure of the album on the fact that it was released on September 4th, 2001, and so America was in a state of shock, not ready to embrace a pop album. Certainly Garbage didn?t have fun touring the album, even though they were doing a support slot for U2.

Mid tour, in 2002, Vig was diagnosed with Type A Hepatitis, and was replaced on tour by drummers Matt Chamberlain (who has played with Fiona Apple, Tori Amos and NZ’s own Anika Moa) and Matt Walker (The Smashing Pumpkins, Filter). “First time I?ve played with another drummer in 20 years,” said Erikson at the time. Manson also had a health scare when she needed to have a cyst on her vocal chord removed. None of this helped to get the band in the right state of mind to record their fourth album. Nevertheless, Garbage returned to Smart Studios in 2003, liking the isolation that Madison provided. They laid down ‘Right Between The Eyes’ in 30 minutes, and then as Vig describes it, the band spiralled into a black hole. Everyone needed to take time out.

Eventually it was their long suffering management ? who also manage Metallica and were responsible for calling in that band’s therapist when it seemed Metallica couldn’t work together anymore as depicted in Some Kind of Monster ? who pushed Garbage back into jamming together. Vig felt rejuvenated, and he believes that everyone had needed to hit the bottom and take a good hard look in the mirror and decide that they actually wanted to be in the band making music together before they could proceed. Manson had come back with lyrics that were more topical and political, with what Vig describes as a ‘frenetic scrappiness’. Bleed Like Me signals a return to Garbage’s earlier work, sounding more raw and guitar-based than beautifulgarbage. Vig called in Dave Grohl to drum on ‘Bad Boyfriend’, bringing in the wild, chaotic rhythm that Garbage fans have learnt to love, and with the exception of that track, which was produced by Dust Brother John King, the band handled production themselves since they are stuck in their ways. The lower overheads of recording in predominantly in Madison meant that the budget didn?t spiral out of control when the record took so long to perfect.

Putting aside their scrapping, Garbage are back on the road touring. “Everyone is in a good mood,” says Vig optimistically, “due to how well the record has been received”. ‘Bleed Like Me’ is currently the most added record to radio in the USA. Once they?re done with this round of touring, Vig intends to take a year off from Garbage to produce albums. He is also keen to get into scoring for films, which isn’t surprising given that he does have a degree in film from the University of Wisconsin.

Aside from Garbage, the obvious question to ask is does Vig see a new Nirvana ready to emerge? “That?s something you can’t predict. If I knew who they were, I?d be in the studio with them right now,” he laughs.

Originally published in Pulp.

Run “sales, rich profit re-emerging” through any good anagram website, and you’ll come up with the much more exciting phrase “the Spice Girls are reforming”. Pulp investigates whether there’s any truth to the rumours, and why the hell you should care about a cheesy manufactured band (that changed the face of pop music forever).

5 become 1

It?s been ten years since Chris Herbert first ran an ad asking “R. U. 18-23 with the ability to sing/dance? R.U. streetwise, outgoing, ambitious, and dedicated?”. He and his father Bob planned to put together the female equivalent of Take That. This wasn?t the Herberts’ first time attempt at a pop group ? they had brought the boy band Bros together in the late 1980s but missed out on signing them.

The girls who answered Chris’s advertisement were a mix of singers, dancers and attention seekers. Five girls were chosen – Melanie Chisholm, Melanie Brown, Geri Halliwell, Victoria Adams, and Michelle Stephenson, and they were given a weekly stipend as well as signing onto the dole, and placed in a house together where they were meant to bond, learn to sing and dance together. Most of the girls got along, swapping eating disorder tips, and according to some tabloids becoming rather special friends, but Michelle was altogether too serious. She was fired and replaced by Emma Bunton.

The Herberts hadn’t learnt their lesson from Bros about contracts, so the girls took their demos and scampered off to the welcoming arms of Simon Fuller and 19 Management instead. After a battle between labels they signed to Virgin for a rumoured ?2 million. Don’t feel too bad for the Herberts though, because they took their payoff from legal action and went on to inflict 5ive and Hear’Say on the world.

Spice Up Your Life,

The girls renamed themselves the ‘The Spice Girls’ and in a move straight out of The Smurfs, the girls adopted the personalities that a teen magazine had assigned to them. Mel C as Sporty Spice only ever wore trainers and tracksuits, Victoria as Posh Spice stopped smiling, Emma as Baby Spice grew pigtails, Scary Spice Mel B got louder, and Ginger Spice Geri’s shoes got taller and her makeup thicker. The resulting caricatures allowed young fans a range of personalities to identify with (everyone’s thought about which Spice Girl they are, right?), while men could chose their favourite fantasy ? a winning combination.

Their first single ‘Wannabe’, was released in July 1996, and it shot to #1 in the UK, as did eight more of their singles. The album Spice sold 23 million copies around the world, driven by the phenomenon of kids pestering their parents to buy the records. Tying in to the new ‘tweenies’ market, as pre-teens are called, by the end of 1996 the Spice Girls were endorsing over 35 products and had eight sponsorship deals – totally over ?5.5 million, including Asda, Sony Playstation (the Spice Girls game is, very amusingly, a dancing variation on ‘Simon Says’), Walkers Crisps and Pepsi each signing them for ?1 million.

Too Much

Of course along with their saturation of airwaves and magazines came the backlash. Some critics carried on as if a prefabricated pop group achieving success was the first sign of the apocalypse, instead of something that had been happening ever since The Monkees had been on TV in the ’60s. It is probably worth pointing out here that along with the swags of Teen Choice & Smash Hits awards it won, Spice was also nominated for the very prestigious Mercury Music Prize in 1997, alongside OK Computer and Roni Size’s New Forms.

Music snobs aside, the Spice Girls could do no wrong. Their second album Spiceworld sold a cool 18 million copies, and their movie of the same name, written by Simon Fuller’s brother Kim with tongue firmly in cheek, had moderate success at the box office, despite receiving a record five Golden Raspberry awards for ‘Worst Film’.

In a case of real life imitating art, just as in the movie they’d fought to free themselves of their manager, the Spice Girls decided that they?d had enough of Simon Fuller and took over management of themselves. As one of the few British bands to truly crack America, they off on a stadium tour. But then Geri announced she?d had enough.

Goodbye

In her biography, If Only, Geri says that she always knew that the Spice Girls would have a short life. Although she?d originally intended to stay until the end of the tour, she skipped out early. The remaining Spice Girls released ‘Goodbye’ ostensibly as a tribute to her, but handily just in time to catch the coveted Christmas #1 for the third year in a row. Everyone then went off to side projects for a while.

The Geri-less Spice Girls released their much delayed third album in 2000, but by then the market had changed a great deal. When the Spice Girls had first started out, the only girl groups around were slick R&B ones like Eternal and En Vogue, the members of whom appeared to be sophisticated but homogenous. The Spice Girls seemed younger, louder and more approachable, wearing high street fashion and cheekily acting up. Their success paved the way for similar bands like B*witched, S Club 7 (put together by Simon Fuller), bands for the TV show Popstars, and even younger female singers like Billie and Britney Spears. But by 2000, pop records had become increasingly layered and overproduced. The sheer glee of Spice sounded tinny in comparison to Destiny’s Child, so the Spice Girls tried to catch up. The result, the bland Forever meant that the joy and enthusiasm that had made the Spice Girls so catchy was missing. While the first single, ‘Holler’ went to #1, the record “only” sold 4 million copies. Although there was no official announcement, it was generally accepted that the Spice Girls were dead.

Say they?ll be there?

Of course, no band who has sold 45 million albums and 30 million singles can ever really be thought of as finished. Rumours of a reunification tour have grabbed headlines ever since Geri left. Given the mixed levels of success that each Spice has had in their solo careers (see sidebar), and the reported ?10 million each Simon Fuller, who has kept himself busy (and rich) with the Pop Idol franchise, has offered for a final tour, the urge to strap on the platform boots must be pretty strong.

It was widely believed that the Spice Girls would reform for the recent Live 8 series of concerts, but according to Bob Geldof, Mel B, now living in L.A, was the only holdout. Meanwhile plenty of other media outlets have quoted her as saying that the Spice Girls will tour in July 2006, just in time for their ten year anniversary and no doubt a Greatest Hits album. Although Mel C has been heard to say that they?re too old now, their ages will offer one advantage ? they?ll be able to play in licensed venues since the main body of their fans will have finally reached the drinking age.

Who Do You Think You Are? – Life Post Spice

Emma:
Emma?s first single ‘What I am’ famously battled for the #1 position (and lost) with Geri?s second, ‘Lift Me Up’, but she got her #1 in 2001 with “What took you so long?”. After being dropped by her record company, she signed with 19 Management, dropped her last name and picked up some TV work. She still hangs out with her mum a lot.
Star rating: 2/5

Mel B:
At their wedding, Mel B?s husband Jimmy Gulzar allegedly sung “I will always love you” to the best man. Their marriage didn?t last long, but at least it gave Mel B a daughter, Phoenix Chi to go along side her one #1 hit with Missy Elliot on ‘I want you back’. She can also be proud that nu metallers Korn’s cover of Cameo?s ‘Word Up’ sounds eerily identical to hers. No wonder she’s trying to make a life for herself acting in L.A now.
Star rating:1/5

Mel C:
Everyone always said Mel C was the best singer in the Spice Girls and was most likely to have a successful solo career. Whether that proved to be the case is fairly subjective. She got #1s with duets with Bryan Adams and Lisa Lopez, and a dance remix, but her second album sold abysmally, and after she was dropped by Virgin she started up her own record label to release her third album. She maintains a fairly low profile when she doesn?t have an album to promote.
Star rating: 3.5/5

Geri:
With four solo #1s under her belt, as well as two best selling autobiographies Geri could be considered the most successful post-Spice Girl. She attracts more column inches chronicling her struggles with eating disorders than for her work as a Goodwill Ambassador for the UN, but at least she?ll never have to worry about anyone coming up with topless pictures of her because the world has seen that all before.
Star rating: 4/5

Victoria:
Victoria is the only Spice Girl who can claim to have her own football chant ? though it’s unlikely that she lists “Posh Spice takes it up the ass” on her CV. She hasn?t had her own #1 hit, but she?s the only one married to David Beckham. She gathers the most attention these days, mostly for her skeletal frame and her bad choice in nannies. Many ears were glad to hear she?s giving up music to pursue a career in fashion instead.
Star rating: 3/5

Joanna McLeod

Please note, this is the FULL text of the story that was cut down and published in the last issue of Pulp

On Friday I left my comfortable position in one of the partially enclosed courtyards at the front of Red Square with leather couches and company directors buying the drinks (although it wasn’t THAT comfortable cos I was feeling bad for wearing a rather low cut new top, which would have been fine had there not been 13 of us in a small space and if those people hadn’t been the top brass, one of whom commented that she was feeling underdressed, but meh) to go up to Katy’s house for a girlie night. It was fabulous. There’s nothing like insulting the personalities of pretty girls on America’s Next Top Model to make yourself feel ever so slightly shallow. Lots and lots of wine and snacks and vege lasanga and nice girls who seem keen to come to birthday parties make it better though. LisaB went off on a hilarious riff about girls who sit on boys’ laps and because of the teeth inside their cunts they stay together for years. Katy and I also had a big long discussion about morals and people’s often lack of them too, which was great.

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On a vaguely related note, don’t think that I fail to see the irony – or the contradiction, perhaps, in someone saying that maybe she doesn’t want to come to my party cos she doesn’t want to hang out with my friends but she’s perfectly happy to co-opt certain people. Not impressed.

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Also this weekend I finally decorated my room. There’s been a Bic Runga poster up since I moved in, pretty much, but now there’s all kinds of goodness – well, mostly Hellcat Amazon posters. They’re so great. Also great is SUNSHINE, and sitting in it drinking pina coladas. My hot tip? Condensed milk added in to the blender. Yum. The problem with our back garden though is that the concrete is on an angle. We need bean bags, or something. I’ve discovered, however, that I can cook a mean roast beef. I like that we seem to have people for dinner every Sunday (so okay, it wasn’t actually a ‘beef’ I was roasting. Heh).

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You know how it’s really hard to stop squeezing your pimples? On that same note, damn I wish I could stop reading all those websites that I really loathe. It’s even worse now that I’ve made some comments. I’m sick, I’m diseased. I need help. And ewww, people who have sex with Winston Peters – that is so so wrong.

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When I was ten and my father was working as secretary to the Minister of Foreign Affairs I sat in Don Mckinnon’s chair during a tour of Parliment with an exchange student from Palmerston North (when I stayed with her they took me to the stock car racing). Now I wish that I had pooed in the chair. If Daddy ever actually answered his emails, I’d ask him what he thought about the current state of affairs.

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I’m going to be pretty happy when my bleed finishes and the full moon buggers off so I can stop having filthy but unsatisfying dreams. I would like my dreams to stop featuring me 1) being sexually assulted 2) sucking on the boobs of random slappers in bars cos everyone was doing it 3) making out with one of my female friends a lot in a hotel room 4) giving one of my male friends who I haven’t seen in a very very long time a blow job, only to discover that his penis was pretty much finger sized. All so wrong wrong wrong. It’d be great to be able to control my dreams – or actually, you know, do something in real life. Ha! I don’t think I actually even remember how anymore….

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Random points to finish up on cos I gotta go do dishes:

You do still have my Straitjacket Fits CD, right Joel?

Rachel Hunter is so much more betterer on TV than I imagined that she’d be.

There are still literally too many people on the Internet who say “literally” when they literally mean “metaphorically”.

And yes, I am well aware that I just said “much more betterer”.

Dave and Jessie asked how Oma’s doing now. The short answer is: I don’t know. I went to see her on Monday and found her to be a lot more perky than she had been on Sunday, but the nurse was dressing her arm, and the wound from where she fell was the size of my fist, and suppurating (ha, I learnt a new word at work from editing transcripts of Michael Hurst talking about Macbeth and the transcriber had written “soppy raging sores” and I thought that was what it was, and my mentortype person raged/laughed at me), and her arm around it was all black and rotton and it just made me feel so bad to look at it. Oma was talking much clearer, but the battery in her hearing aid was flat, so it was like the worst conversation ever, and I fled after twenty minutes. She was supposed to go home today, with someone coming in to check on her and change her bandages and stuff, and I think Mum was going to go with her for a bit, but apparently she’s not as well as she thought she was. My cousin Jacinta’s written about how Oma is a stroppy Dutch woman (and I also found out she’s 87), but she’s so teeny tiny and from everythign I’ve ever heard, strokes aren’t something that are that easy to get over. But she IS doing better.

Did you read between the lines in the previous paragraph where I listed the people who took the time to find out more about the things that are affecting me in my life right now? Yeah. This causes a conflict in me, because yes, I turned off the comments on my last entry because I didn’t want a string of “hope she gets well soon!” nothingness, because I know that I hate having to do that publically too, but you know, I’m not exactly very hard to get ahold of. Ick, yes, I’m making this all about me, when she’s the one who’s sick.

Speaking of being all about me, and all about the people I know over the interweb, and my insecurities and everything else, I’m having my not-in-hospital Birthday & Flatwarming and Halloween Drinks on October 29th, and you should come, please. I’m calling it drinks cos I’m scared I won’t have enough friends to make it a ‘party’, so I will try to keep expectations low key so as to avoid disappointment. Please bring a friend, and you get bonus points if you come in costume, and super super bonus points if you a) dress up as me or b) come in a bear costume.

In keeping with my Wellingtonisa post about Drinking Wellington on the Cheap, Karen and I went to Chow for cocktails and then dinner tonight. Her apartment isn’t up to fire standards. The builders suuuuuuuuuuck. Then we tried to come up with metaphors to be the opposite of “I love you like meat loves salt” for how much I hate someone (I am petty. I need to let things go). She texted me after I got home to say that I hated her like ten thousand spoons when all I needed was a knife, and also that she’d forgotten to give me Gareth’s book, yet again. I think Wellington needs a large system of tubes, or flying monkeys. That’d rock.

Remember how last week I was all bawling my eyes out cos I slipped down the stairs, and then I was like “this is how I am going to die, alone and old”? No? Well it definitely stuck in my mind, and seems especially stupid and/or poignant today. Oma had a stroke on Saturday night. When Mum rang me today on my cellie I was like “oh man, I so can’t be assed answering this” cos I thought she’d be hassling me to write her a brochure, but I decided the grumpy answerphone message would be even worse, so I answered and found out that Oma was in hospital and that they didn’t know how long it’d been between the stroke and when she finally managed to push her panic button. Mum had slept about three hours and she wanted us to go to the hospital to see Oma.

I hate hospitals. That’s a dumb thing to say, because of course, I don’t think that there’s anyone who actually likes them. But the idea of death, or mortality, or any kind of situation that I can’t do anything to fix scares the crap out of me. I feel really fucking useless and I don’t know what to say. I fall to pieces. It all seems like foreshadowing to me. That said, it was easier to go there with Anji and Karen by my side, except when we got to Oma’s ward, she was asleep, and neither my mother or my aunt was there, so we didn’t know what to do. We found some seats further down the corridor and I suggested that maybe we should go and get coffee while we waited for my dad to text me back and/or for Oma to wake up. When we were strolling out through the maze of hospitalness, our aunt drove up, so that was good. We went to The Ballroom, and when we got back up, Oma was awake.

She was struggling to talk, only managing about two words at a time, and what with her being deaf, and also us not speaking Dutch, it was really hard – at one stage we could see that she was close to tears with frustration. but she was glad to see us and seemed to perk up some. She was covered in bruises from falling over though, and so battered. Oma’s always been tiny, but she seemed even smaller. So fragile. I just made stupid jokes. The old lady in the bed opposite us lent us her chair because she said no one would be coming to visit her and I wanted to cry some more. They don’t know if Oma’s speech is going to be permanently affected, and obviously she can’t go on living by herself anymore. I haven’t even called my mother to see how she’s doing, although Anji talked to her.

I don’t want to get old.