There's a new interview with Tim Chipping, singer with Orlando, at Designer Magazine <a href="http://designermagazine.tripod.com/OrlandoINT1.html">here</a>.

Orlando was a band I was in some years ago. Tim and I are reforming in a couple of weeks' time, though not as a band. We have been invited as guest DJs at Simon Price's club, Stay Beautiful. It's the club's Christmas Party. Details <a href="http://www.staybeautifulclub.co.uk/news.htm">here</a>.

The idea is that we play one song each alternately, keeping the details secret from the other in advance. We shall be using our own specially made CDR compilations with personal mnemonics as the track listing just in case.

This will be my debut as a DJ. I have DJ-d one song on just one occasion before, though it doesn't really count. It was at Club Automatic years ago, one of the many London indie discos that the now famous Erol Alkan spun records for. Mr Alkan had to go to the toilet and asked me to cover for him, for one song only.

I played The Jam's "Beat Surrender".

It cleared the floor.

I won't be playing that one on Saturday December 14th, I promise.

I've already put together my set, filling up my CDR with plenty of alternatives if I change my mind on the night or if Tim plays something that negates one of mine, perhaps a song by the same artist, or even the same song, as it's not impossible.

Our set is only an hour long, which means a mere half an hour's worth for me, plus alternatives. So I had to devise a system of elimination.

I started out by listing all the many, many songs I'd like to dance to if I went to a club.
Then I took out all the songs that no one else would dance to.
Then I took out all the songs that only Simon Price would dance to, if he wasn't at the bar at the time.
Then I took out all the songs that only my friends would dance to, and only out of guilt. And as Mr Michael says, guilty feet have, it's true, got no rhythm.
Finally, I took out all the songs that didn't have a searingly personal relevance to my life so far, taking a leaf out of Proust.

That just about did it.

I'm looking forward to it immensely. Do come along if you can. We'll be "on" at about 10pm.

Ever intrigued by new forms of comedy, last Friday I attended a recording of a new BBC Radio 2 show, "Lloyd Cole Knew My Father", at the Drill Hall. The ticket price was: free. Which, coincidentally, is my favourite ever ticket price. In a shortlist of one.

The show was written and performed by three ex-NME music journalists who have since gone on to carve successful writing and presenting careers in British radio and TV: David Quantick, Andrew Collins and Stuart Maconie. These names have lurked around the schedules for years, and the latter appeared as a pundit on so many of those sarcastic clipfest nostalgia programmes (I Love The 80s, Top Ten etc), that he was in danger of having on his headstone the words 'That Little Northern Man Off The Telly Who Remembered Things'.

Ricky Gervais even marked his status thus:
<i>"If Stuart Maconie ever gets Alzheimer's, his career's fucked."</i>

Considering Mr Gervais himself, along with Mr Quantick and Mr Collins, also appeared on such programmes, this is a mite unfair. However, Mr Maconie did seem to pop up rather more than anyone else, so it's his own fault.

It's been said that one of the problems with the current music press is that writers treat the various publications (NME, Mixmag, Smash Hits etc) as mere stepping-stones to a more high-profile media career elsewhere, and the likes of Kate Thornton and Emma Jones would certainly seem to bear this accusation out. "Lloyd Cole…", however, goes some way to remind you that Messrs Quantick, Collins & Maconie wrote about music because <i>they were actually interested in music</i>, and palpably still are. The show is made up of skits, anecdotes and gags based on their experiences. And it's an engrossing, deeply entertaining show. They were assisted by a fourth performer, the comedy actress Amelia Bullmore, and even had a special guest musical interlude, with Roddy Frame, Edwyn Collins or Ian McNabb chipping in with acoustic renditions of their hits. The spirit of Elaine Paige on 'The Two Ronnies' lives on!

One routine about the baffling promotional items sent out by record companies produced my favourite gag of the night: "Beth Orton jump-leads".

Another skit compared the wags who write in to the NME letters page as sitting around the Alquonquin Round Table: "Dear Sir. If the members of Atomic Kitten were laid end to end… I wouldn't be at all surprised." This latter got such a big laugh from the audience, that I wasn't sure if they were laughing at the Dorothy Parker reference, or at the 80-year-old Parker joke itself. It <i>is</i> a great joke, after all.

Watching a radio show being recorded, one does have to put up with re-takes of fluffed lines and so on, though this often produces welcome little bits of improvised entertainment from the performers. If they're any good. What came as a revelation to me was that, while not giving Paul Merton anything to lose sleep over, the three old rock writers displayed perfectly acceptable comedy performance talents of their own. Mr Collins (Andrew, not Edwyn) can even do a great Bruce Forsyth impression. It was additionally amusing to watch them having to do their own sound effects, going over to a little table of props to ring door bells, bang gavels, and so on. And I did wonder why Mr Maconie had to <i>grab</i> his free-standing microphone while everyone else was happy to hold their scripts and speak into the thing hands-free, like you're meant to. Maybe that's one for the psychiatrists.

Afterwards, I loafed around the Drill Hall bar, taking advantage of the drinks kindly bought for me by friendly types I'd met off the <a href="http://www.notbbc.co.uk/">NOTBBC web forums</a>. And then I took advantage of the discounted bar prices kindly offered to me by one of the bar staff that I just happened to know (thanks, Farzana). Several glasses down, I naturally then rudely collared anyone that couldn't get away, including the cast, the singer and BBC London presenter Jackie Clune (whom I've always wanted to meet), the author Jenny Colgan, and the journalist Andrew Mueller (whom I've annoyed at London gatherings for the last seven years, the poor man). So apologies to them. For being a bit tipsy, that is.

I can report that Mr Quantick, as well as being a deadpan Somerset Philip Larkin impersonator (complete with lugubrious tones), is Very Tall Indeed, a trait that occurs an awful lot in the world of comedy writing. If you find yourself born into the dimensions of a giant, and are no good at basketball, writing comedy seems to be the only possible option to take. Mr Collins in particular is extremely amiable and friendly, and not at all sarcastic and deadpan like one would expect a media type to be. So it is possible.

Some minutes later, I found myself arriving far too late at <lj user=andypop>'s RRR club in Chalk Farm, where <lj user=cleanskies> took my photo (did it come out, Ms Dennis?). I spent the rest of the club's duration continuing to drink, dance, and annoy all and sundry. Someone took my details with a view for me modelling or appearing in something (I think). One was encouraged to contribute a haiku to the club's Haiku Wall, so I quoted my favourite all-time haiku, by Mr John Cooper Clarke:

<i>"TO-CON-VEY ONE'S MOOD
IN SEV-EN-TEEN SYLL-ABLE-S
IS VE-RY DIF-FIC"</i>

And then I went home.

Within hours of posting that entry about the NME, <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/talkread.bml?journal=dickon_edwards&itemid=17220&thread=84804#t84804">I got a comment from "an insider"</a>.

Something I've learned from this, and from that gentleman from Q Magazine responding to my Moz tickets piece is this: clearly it's easier to get a reaction from the UK music press by writing a vaguely infamous online diary than it is to make an album and send it to them for reviewing.

I used to think that, if you've got something to say to the world, putting it in song was the best way of reaching the world. Pop music is populist, after all. Now I'm not so sure. One can toil over the creation of a song, its arrangement, its performance, the recording, the mixing, the mastering, and the artwork, only to find that you can't get the thing reviewed in most of the mainstream UK press, even if you ask them very nicely and promise to take back what you said about their mother. Your album is released with virtually no reviews, and the resulting implication that you are less important, less interesting, less <i>worthwhile</i> than Tarquin Scrump from Coldplay hits home. And it hits hard.

But write an online diary, and despite the fact that your diary is one of millions as opposed to one album against mere dozens of new releases that month, people WILL find it. They will come to you. And they <i>react</i>. And the turnover of reaction is faster, often within minutes. They come offering unconditional love, or demands of your immediate suicide, but they DO come. So we now know that when Mr Forster wrote "only connect", he was predicting the coming of Freeserve Anytime.

I only became an online diarist by accident. I started the diary in 1997, years before 'weblogs', 'blogs' and Livejournals became a way of life for so many. I did so in an attempt to Mark Time Before Time Marked Me. Then Select Magazine made the diary Website Of The Month, and continued to quote from it in later issues. They eventually offered me a proper monthly column in the magazine, though the publication folded before my debut effort was published (I still got paid, however).

I'll be the first to admit that my strengths, if I have any, lie in writing words and looking distinctive rather than musical talent. In the band Orlando I took my cue from my namesake out of the Manics (I was born Richard Edwards), happy to write the lyrics and look beautiful while badly strumming an inaudible guitar and leaving the actual musicianship to others. I'm sure many wish I'd followed Richey Manic's example to its logical conclusion, and vanished off the face of the earth.

In Fosca, I'm doing the bulk of the musical work and singing as well. Or rather, as well as I can with my silly rasping voice. It is a sad day for a young man when he realises he will never be Diana Ross. And there's also the problem that the music isn't to everyone's taste.

But in this diary I am truly myself, unfettered, liberated and instantly available to the world. The smell of the greasepaint, the roar of the virtual crowd. So if I must be known as a diarist who makes music rather than a musican that writes a diary, let it be so.

In a bookshop, I spy the Kurt Cobain diaries and take a quick look. The book falls open at a late entry that refers to Calvin Johnson of the band Beat Happening and legendary indie label K Records:

<i>"Last year I made five million dollars. And I'm not given a red cent of it to that elitist fuck Calvin Johnson."</i>

Later on he talks about how selling out feels good. I'm paraphrasing from memory here (feel free to correct me if you have the diaries to hand):

<i>"I exploited Riot Grrl. But then, the girl who invented it is exploiting the fact that she fucked me, so she's exploiting me too. Everything is exploitation of a kind."</i>

I presume he means her out of Bikini Kill, now in Le Tigre.

This week's NME bumps Jarvis Cocker from the front cover in favour of The Strokes. I know this because the Pulp info mailing list said "look out for Jarvis on the cover of NME this week." <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/talkread.bml?journal=dickon_edwards&itemid=17220&thread=84804#t84804">[Since writing this entry, it transpires the mailing list made a mistake, and Pulp were never planned for the cover. See these comments.]</a>

As Pulp are releasing their Hits album and calling it a day (for now), you'd have thought that would warrant some attention. But instead the Cocker interview is tucked away inside, at a page and a half, most of which is taken up by a photo. The piece isn't even referred to on the cover at ALL.

The Strokes cover story, meanwhile, is a three page "news" article by Steve Sutherland. The news? The Strokes play a gig in LA and go down quite well. They haven't even got a new record out.

Sample text: "[A bunch of Strokes fans]… look so like a band, if you were in A&R you'd sign them on the spot and worry about songs and record sales and shit like that later."

And:
" 'Dr Julian says get fucked up!' Sounds cool. Let's get to it!"

And:
"Join us at the Whiskey later, and provided you're down with a chick on the guestlist…"

Without a hint of irony anywhere. The piece is deeply embarrassing to read.

Just how old is Steve Sutherland?

I recall he was once a champion of Orange Juice in the 80s, that famously anti-rockist band. A band who, like Jarvis Cocker, had a little bit more to say than how great it is to get fucked up and rilly rilly out of it, maaaan.

NME is now officially Darwin's Waiting Room.

Thought: I want to Appear In More Things. I want to put the way I look to good use. If I must be attacked at bus stops, I want the flip side.

The article in Sleazenation has sparked off a burning desire in me to be painted, drawn, written about, photographed, to appear in videos, adverts, films, the sides of crisp packets, and so on. I can't act, but I can pose. I DO pose. Accidentally.

While watching 'Tipping The Velvet", I envied Alexie Sayle and Sara Stockbridge for their appearances: they got about three lines each to say (not particularly well), but looked wonderful.

So I'm gathering phone numbers of agents that handle extra work for People With A Look (unusual as opposed to good-looking) as well as those who book models for life drawing in art schools, and, well, having a go.

Any advice is most welcome.

If you go to <a href="http://www.googlism.com/?type=1">Googlism.com</a> and type in your own name, you can find out what you are according to web pages found by Google.

My results made me laugh out loud. Here are a few of them.

dickon is the most attractive of these characters because he is able to look after wild animals and birds and they seem to like him
dickon is quick to defend his position
dickon is the convivial host tonight
dickon is curious when she asks him to get her garden tools
dickon is happy to acknowledge andrew richardson of ucl chemistry for much assistance with the production of the gifs
dickon is a throwback to a less liberated age
dickon is joking about providing pancakes when he arrives at ian’s without any
dickon is the cornerstone of the gents
dickon is still my hero
dickon is preposterous
dickon is very cheery if slightly simple
dickon is a "common moor boy" rather than a member of the "privileged class"?
dickon is clearly studied and careful
dickon is an older member of the thieves' guild who now only works on drawing floorplans of houses to be robbed
dickon is a bit over the top
dickon is nearly silent
dickon is a legendary boy
dickon is like no other
dickon is right
dickon is delightfully funny and looks like he has been drinking to much carrot juice for his own good
dickon is up to now? for dickon's profile in the thisisromo who's who section click here
dickon is a boy that is friendly to all animals
dickon is an ideologically sound secret
dickon is growing up
dickon is allowed to make his own entertainment out on the moors
dickon is associated with natural forces
dickon is our prefab expert
dickon is in such extreme pain now with corey dead
dickon is really good with the sword
dickon is an inspiring speaker and now bitten with the exploration and endurance bug
dickon is singing "you're the square in the social circle"
dickon is tons of fun
dickon is a jerk to ditch you for an opportunity to grovel at thomas hassan's feet

<a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/cbbcnews/hi/uk/newsid_1944000/1944376.stm">S Club Juniors</a> is a chart pop band made up of children aged 11-14. Their image, and the fact they're marketed as pin-up idols, brings back, for me at least, memories of a notorious 80s TV show called Minipops.

Me: What's that CD you've got?
Miss Senay: The S Club Juniors album. It's really good.
Me: I have a friend who fancies one of them, I'm afraid to say. (points to blonde girl on CD cover). That one, I think.
Senay: Ugh, that's really sick.

(pause)

Senay: If you HAD to, it'd be that one (points to black girl).

Some of my friends do have a sick sense of humour. Still, underage kids in pop bands are nothing new. The Jackson Five, for one. I hesitate to say the hits of S Club Juniors are as good as that, but apparently their album IS good 2002 pop music.

But what do I know? I haven't bought any actual new music in ages. The last CD I bought was Alan Bennett's "Poetry In Motion".