WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE FOR A HAPPY, HEAVY '17
UDR - METAL BLOG, Vol. 17 - by Steff Chirazi
Let’s not arse about here. The signs acre that 2017 could well be a strange one. The world, it appears, is hellbent on separatism, devouring the divide and conquer streams being fed by the fat and powerful worldwide.
I’D LIKE TO TEACH THE WORLD TO SING AND DANCE… AND NOT BE QUITE SO STUPID…
AND READ A LITTLE MORE… AND GIVE A DAMN!
UDR - METAL BLOG, Vol. 16 - by Steff Chirazi
I THINK it is safe to say that 2016 has descended into the sort of global farce that Monty Python could not have scripted. As if the British Brexit vote hadn’t been looney-lemming-like enough, the US proved that anything those stupid tea-bag loving bastards could do, the ol’ Yankee-doodle-dandies could do BIGGER AND BETTER by allowing Donald Drumph aka Trump to become the next President Of The United States with a theocratic Christian right-wing nutcase beside him in Mike Pence who believes in creationism. Look, whatever, if Pence genuinely believes there was a little God with a big oven, endless model making materials and a massive conveyer belt, faaaantastic, however could we then please explain the reason for duckbilled platypuses? Could the beaked-beaver be promoted to the US national symbol in place of the golden eagle? If not, why not? A nation demands, or at least this ex-pat Brit who’s been living there for a good long while.
My Most Noble Literature Prize In Music List
UDR - METAL BLOG, Vol. 15 - by Steff Chirazi
I AM going to take a wild guess and say that most of the people reading these words are not die-hard Bob Dylan fans. Me? Well, having been raised by hippy parents, having been brought to the Isle of Wight at the age of 3, having been fed a steady aural diet of Dylan, Leonard Cohen, 10 Years After, Hendrix, The Doors, The Who, Soft Machine and countless others whilst my parents entertained a merry bunch of weed smoking hippies, and having seen Dylan’s face smiling at me every morning as he looked in from the bedroom wall at my bed, it appears to have soaked in yet never really come out. My dad wants “Desolation Row” played at his funeral. I like “Maggie’s Farm”. I think the fact he’s grumpy is sort of cool, and I get it. You know. That’s about it.