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Posts Tagged ‘Sigur Ros’

State magazine has unearthed some sublime footage of a recent Sigur Ros gig at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. MoMA is a fantastic space as it is without Sigur Ros showing up to perform, so you can only imagine how special an evening this was. Those lucky, lucky bastards. Seriously, I urge you to get this 46-minute gig down your gullet. They’re even throwing in (what I assume to be) the Icelandic national anthem for good measure (even that sounds awesome). There’s a statue in the middle of the stage…you don’t get many shows like that to the pound, folks.

For the princely sum of about €50, I got to see SR in a venue (The Central Hall, Westminster) which is the size of Tripod, and one that was as ornate as Dublin City Hall to boot. I think I slept about 17 minutes that night, what with the happiness and adrenaline fizzing in my ears. I was grinning like an absolute gobshite throughout the entire gig.

Sigr Ros are not without their detractors: one ex of mine – not this Scooter-loving yoke, I hasten to add – denounced it as ‘bleedin’ whale music’. Then again, he had the gall to describe Billie Holiday as ‘bleedin’ Tom & Jerry music’. Needless to say he’s living back with his parents, the big spa.

I can’t really describe what it is about Sigur Ros that so enchants and enthralls me: I have no idea what Jonsi is even saying half the time, for crying out loud. But those soaring, bracing climaxes that they’re so fond of make my insides want to leap onto the outside. One listen to ‘Festival’, and you forget how to breathe.

Now, if only I could find a boy that could make me feel like Sigur Ros can…calm, content, giddy and, on occasion, heart-stoppingly excited. How wonderful would that be?

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So, someone has a crush on us. That’s deadly, so it is. Right back at ya, Rosie. Though I’m not sure what Twenty Major would make of our little love-in.

Still and all, where would we be without our girlie crushes? Here are some of mine:

1. Dawn Porter

Truth be told, I never had much time for the Balls Of Steel-era Dawn Porter, but my appreciation for the Porter really took flight when she got her own BBC 3 seriesof documentaries last year. Unapologetically candid and real, the documentaries explored lesbianism, being single, childbirth, nudity and the much maligned Size Zero debate. Dawn is, quite frankly, a lethal combination of doe-eyed sexiness and quirky, unassuming sass. On top of all else, she rides a folding bike and is an Aquarian, therefore rendering her pretty much perfect in my eyes. Arguably one of the most natural and charming TV presenters out there, Dawn is the sort of girl that would make truly drinking company. Good old Dawn would be the saucy, bat-yer-lashes yin to my violently smutty, X-rated yang. I’d be going on about my gagging-for-it cuntflaps, curved cocks, gay porn, double penetration and the like; she’d blush, peer coyly over the rim of her Pimms & Lemonade and in her cute, posh Veruca Salt voice, say something cheeky like, ‘Actually, they’re called fanny-flaps, Leigh’. You can tell I’ve had a think about this, right?

2. Diablo Cody

You can’t not have a girl-crush on someone whose name is Diablo Cody. When the opening credits started for Juno – hands down, the best film of last year – I couldn’t wait to get out of the cinema and Google the heck out of this person on the strength of her moniker (her real name, Brooke Busey, makes her sound like a prissy, bitchy prom queen in a John Hughes film). Imagine my delight, surprise (and, oh Jesus, cold-blooded envy) when she turned out to be a foxy babe in the LA-rockabilly vein. I love those kind of broads, all jet-black fringes and tatty leopard print coats. Not only is Diablo a sort of glamorous, old-Hollywood throwback; her writing kicks serious ass. Say what you will about its Degrassi Junior High teen speak, but Juno has as whip-smart, perfectly-pitched and touchingly funny a script as you’ll find anywhere. Still, as much as I love Diablo, I do have to take points off for her watery Oscar acceptance speech. That’s the other thing: I really was downright jealous of her Oscar dress, and indeed of her Oscar win. She didn’t even have to fuck sing with Glen Hansard to get it.

3. Immodesty Blaize

Dita Von Teese me hoop…Immodesty – sturdily created in the original burlesque tradition – is a proper ridebag. Much like me, this lass – born Kelly Fletcher – has plenty of junk in the trunk. (Hell, what am I talking about? I have junk in the backseat, the bonnet, the glove compartment. Fuck, even my air fresheners have junk on ‘em. Anyway). On top of being endlessly sexy, Immodesty has a devilish glint in her eye that suggests that she too might be a rather fun girl to down cocktails with. What’s more, in addition to becoming the world’s most smoulderingly sexy burlesque dancer, she’s also written two novels. Is there no end to the wagon’s talents, I ask you?

4. Julie Burchill

The one thing I adore about Julie Burchill is the fact that she could – and readily would, without much provocation – eat a young one like me for breakfast. Seriously, The Burchill would probably pick a fight with her own shadow – you have to dig girls like that. It’s not so much Burchill’s colourful and strong opinions that do it for me – girls who rail against boys and Daily Mail readers are a dime a dozen, after all – but it’s the way she undercuts her vitriol with this puny, girly voice. It’s incredible, really. Float like a Minnie Mouse, sting like a motherfucking bee. Still, imagine getting on the right side of The Burchill though…how incredible and gratifying an experience would that be? One of my favourite Burchill rants was aimed at housewives who bang about making ‘a contribution’ while watching Jeremy Kyle all day: “it’s just tidying up after yourself!” she once squeaked. Brilliant. Yet for all those perfectly-pitched pot-shots, Julie came a little unstuck when she became particularly vocal while defending chavs, and celebrated her own chav existence. Yet surely she knows that marrying boys called Cosmo and writing for the Guardian does not a chav make?

5. Peaches

Good old Merril Niskel. I love the fact that Peaches used to be a schoolteacher and coined the phrase ‘hermaphrodite envy’…what’s not to like? Also, can you believe this girl is 41? Hot feckin’ dang! There’s something about her caustic , tough-as-boots sexuality that really cranks my proverbial chain. I should imagine that going down on Peaches would probably be not dissimilar to sticking your tongue on a car battery. And I do mean that in the best way possible.

6. Floria Sigismondi

You can keep your Zadie Smiths and your Cate Blanchetts…Floria Sigismondi is, bar none, the most talented person in possession of a fanny out there. You may know some of her music videos: she has directed ‘Untitled 1 (Vaka)’ for Sigur Ros, ‘Obstacle 1’ for Interpol and, famously, ’The Beautiful People’ for Marilyn Manson. In fact, she’s largely responsible for much of the latter’s imagery.

Her elaborate books of photography are like crack-fuelled space shuttle trips for your eyes. The daughter of Italian opera singers, this Canadian is responsible for some of the most incredible goth/Victoriana imagery out there. Steely, original and uncompromising, Floria describes her images as “entropic underworlds inhabited by tortured souls and omnipotent beings.” Oof! On top of that, Floria is a bit of an imposing babe herself. Some girls have all the luck.

I think I’m beginning to see a pattern to my girl crushes – they are all multi-talented, alpha-females who can (probably) drink like fish, curse like sailors and might go off like a pocket of firecrackers in the scratcher. Being from Canada and having a sexy fake name: optional.

Over to you peeps…got any girl crushes you might like to share?

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