Fear and loathing in New York. The past fortnight has been spent on such illustrious activities as being driven about Brooklyn wasted to the glorious sounds of Bauhaus and witnessing top soldier Doogan asking an armed policeman if his Scottish relatives had originated from 'Mingeton'. Bad Idea. Now back in the holy isle I am in a constant state of jet lag and am mostly scared of my own right hand. I'll probably conquer my warped sleeping habits the day I have to go back, thus elongating the recovery process.

Amidst occasional bouts of reording, the main entertainment to be had in NYC revolved around the annual CMJ Festival [like In The City but with slightly less wanks and much better bands]. My highlights were getting to hear sets comprising almost entirely of new songs by Arab Strap, Bardo Pond and Low. Low's new single 'Dinosaur Act' is pretty indicative of their new sound. They played another new song, 'In Metal', which was outrageous. It's good to see bands who are five or so albums into their lifespan trying new stuff and getting better. I'd be extremely surprised if the pishy new bands kicking about the UK just now own five albums by any particular band, never mind posses the ingenuity to progress beyond their third themselves. [He says, doubtlessly shooting himself in the foot in the process.] There you go.

One of the stranger sights from New York was that of Becky from Roseanne buying a Dead C record. Also, the creepy realisation that the crowds at baseball matches only know when to applaud when they are told to do so on the big screens. The upcoming [past by the time this gets printed - or maybe not] presidential election is something of a concern. The fact that the most powerful nation is having to decide which of two of the most imbecilic dullards on Earth to hand the reigns of power to is fucking scary. Bush is a drink-driving warmonger and Gore is married to a book-burning witch who would happily ban NWA and took the Dead Kennedy's to court. If one of these wankers starts a stupid war I certainly know that none of my pals will be getting shot.

Much as my inane ramblings have amused my friends, and getting away with rattling out nonsense without retribution has pleased me, I don't think I can do it any more as my role as pointless noise muppet/international disgrace has to be resumed on a more time-consuming basis. And as Stephen Patrick sang, "It pays my way but it corrodes my soul... I have to leave, you will not miss me." Thank you and goodnight.

WORD OF THE MONTH: kid606remixingnwa

Stuarto B. pLasmatron xx