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Friday, September 05, 2003
  I wanted to go out and destroy something until the random selection of MP3s on my computer threw up 'What's Going On'... thanks Marvin, I needed that...

My ire had many causes, not chief but significant among them the half an hour of 'Cats' I forced myself to endure on BBC2 this afternoon. I hate the obese slack-thwack of live bass, it sounds so smug, so hollow... I know cats are famous for being genetically doomed to smile, but the makeup was grotesque, gruesome thin lips and mutton-chop hair extensions. The movements of the dancers were tired, slim toe dragging shimmies across the stage, both completely alien to the actual sublime freedom cats betray when they move, and also to any idea of a human moving beautifully.

Sonically it was loathesome, the bludgeoning of a perfectly nice anachronistic set of children's poetry, made to fit a disgustingly thin musical gruel. Swimming with stringy electric guitars, wet spongy brass nuggets and that all pervading constricting bass, that snakes around every sound and slowly squeezes from it all life, all originality, and the hope and expectation of beauty.

And the diction, dear God, the diction...  
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