Love to Hate You

I wanted to write something today but couldn't be arsed. Through a semi-hungover haze I discussed topics for this post with the Tea Queen and realised that by writing this I could justify staying in bed for a while longer (it's the only place in my flat where I can ponce onto my neighbour's wifi).

There are many many bands I truly despise. Music is such an important part of my life that it upsets me when people are shite at it and make massive amounts of money from it. Muse? Wank. U2? Overblown arse biscuits. Coldplay? Aural magnolia emulsion. Anything from the bowels of Cowell? Explosive diarrhoea spattering the brain pan.

The only thing worse than detesting a band with every fibre of your existence is when they go and write a decent song. You're in a friend's car listening to Radio 1 and Jo 'have you ever seen/heard Dido and I in the same room' Whiley announces that next up is a world exclusive: the first play anywhere in the known universe of Cold Patrol's new single. She builds it up as if they've somehow found a cure for cancer through banal guitar dribble and you start flexing your sneer muscles. There's a moment's pause before it begins and every atom in your body is filling with bile as you prepare to rant about the eternal awfulness of this band. But something is amiss. The opening chords don't make you want to kill fluffy animals slowly. Your foot has started tapping of its own accord and your head is borderline nodding along in time. The realisation hits you: this song isn't too bad. You feel dirty. You feel used. You want to go home, dip a cotton bud in Swarfega and scrub your ears raw. Today's five are in honour of this.

Snow Patrol: Chocolate



I prefer to post live versions of songs whenever possible but I just couldn't with this one. I found clips of this from T in the Park and Live 8 but Gary Lightbody's smugly twattish face and complete inability to sing live almost resulted in my laptop landing in the garden. Neither wonder he looks smug, he's somehow managed to take a gnat's penis of ability and turn it into a machine that just shits money. Snow Patrol are the musical equivalent of Rohypnol and the fact Chasing Cars was the number one song of the last decade says more about the state of Britain than any hysterical Daily Mail editorial ever could.

Starsailor: Good Souls



According to one of their other songs, Daddy was an alcoholic. With progeny like this, who can fucking blame him? However, unlike the Lightbody twat, James Walsh can at least deliver a live version of his only decent song without sounding like a cat being forced to shit pineapples.

Bryan Adams: Summer of 69



Bryan Adams is a bastard. I will never forgive him for ruining an entire summer holiday by staying at number one for several millenia. To this day I will never understand who kept buying it 14 weeks into its stint at the top of the charts. Until the Arcade Fire and Wolf Parade came along, Adams, Morrisette and the Barenaked Ladies were the reasons why I imposed an embargo on Canadian music. Having said all that, scientists have proved that it is physically impossible to dislike this song.

Coldplay: Yellow



Before he married the human equivalent of his band's epically dull music and decided to rail against climate change from the back of his 4x4, Chris Martin was a practicing satanist who sacrificed kittens on an altar made from the skulls of his human victims. Nah, not really, but you've got to hope there's something more interesting going on with him than his music would lead you to believe.

Moby: Feeling so Real



There was a time when Moby made music to get off your tits and jump around like an idiot to. Unfortunately, he then realised he could make more money by making music to sell cars to middle-aged, middle-management wife swappers from Tunbridge Wells. This is an example of the former.